I’m looking at Scott Levin. Scott Levin is looking at me. I’m looking at Scott Levin . . . It’s one of those moments when two people are thinking exactly the same thing and they each know what the other person is thinking. So I say — or was it he who said it first? — “Wow. This is not the Hebrew school I went to.”
As he put it to me later, Scott learned in Hebrew school that his first name, in Hebrew, was “Sheket.” And his full name was “Sheket Be-vakasha.” I knew exactly what he meant.
Different era. Different methods. Discipline. School. Chairs. Frustrated teachers. Kids who didn’t want to be there.
What was unfolding before our eyes was totally different. We had been asked to serve as judges. I didn’t know what that meant, but I said yes. I figured it’s good to interact with kids and see scenes I don’t see too much of. I didn’t know that Scott, too, had been asked to be a judge, but when we both arrived at the Chabad of South Metro Denver we did not see a classroom. No chairs. Now rows. Actually, we saw bleachers. And there was a screen. And music. I didn’t notice them right away, but there were also a couple of boxes of prizes. We were up on a stage.
Meanwhile, the room was almost empty. I’m saying to myself, “OK, this little contest I’m judging must be not so popular. It’s OK. Educating a single Jewish kid is worth it.” Boy was I wrong. Rabbi Meir Simon tells me that the kids are still in class. Turns out that this Hebrew School starts at 9:30 on Sunday morning and now it’s not quite 11, which is when the judging begins. Well! By the time 11 a.m. rolls around, there’s maybe 40 or 50 kids filling the bleachers, and on the opposite side of the room are several rows of chairs for parents.
Kids are smiling.
Anticipating.
The parents too are excited.
I’m still not sure what this contest is going to be, and what I’m supposed to judge, but it’s clear that everyone wants to be here.
Then the screen flashes on; music, too. On the screen it says that this contest takes place in some 400 schools in some 25 countries. Filmed on the screen are excited kids from around the world being tested for their “JewQ” and rejoicing when they win. Everybody in the room is watching. No boredom here. No discipline. All the kids want to be here.
When I was asked to be a judge, I said to myself: I don’t even know what the questions are. What if I don’t know all the answers? How can I be a judge?
Not to worry. The questions were all printed out, provided to Scott and me — and right beneath the questions were the answers. Whew.
The truth is, somebody is doing some teaching here. The questions were pretty sophisticated, and the kids got just about every one of them right.
Scott and I alternated reading out the questions, but first Rabbi Simon provided a short introduction to the Intermountain Jewish News and to the ADL, from which Scott just retired as Mountain States director. Another piece of education smoothly slipped in.
The questions were divided into three levels, as the kids were divided into three age groups; the youngest sitting on the first level of the bleachers, the next age sitting on the middle level and the oldest kids on the top level. The whole setup conspired to involve every person in the room, both the parents and the kids.
Here is one of the questions for Grades 2 and 3: What happens to our neshamot (souls) when we sleep? A. Nothing. B. They switch with another soul. C. They go on “auto-pilot” mode. D. They recharge. As I say, the kids got the question right. But I’m not going to give away the answer — better to enroll, to find out!
Here is one of the questions for Grades 4 and 5: How many mitzvot of Purim are there? A. 1. B. 613. C. 10. D. 4.
Here is one of the questions for BMX: A true Jewish leader must be: A. Rich. B. Well known for their sharp judgment. C. Selflessly committed to the welfare of the Jewish people. D. Famous. Great question to get the kids thinking about Jewish leadership, no?
With all the answers being read out as multiple choice, the event moves along pretty rapidly.
With a lot of kids in the room, it’s important for everyone to participate. With a list of questions, and with three different age groups, it’s tough to expand the participation. But after the individual questions were asked, the participation was expanded indeed. Somebody devised a very clever way to engage all three groups at once, posing a different question to each group. How could that happen? Am I the last one to have seen this:
A question is projected onto the screen. Alternative answers are provided, each one with a different color outlining them. The kids are given little electric batons with a button that turns on a green or a red light. The kids are supposed to turn on the color that surrounds the right answer and wave their baton. This way, every kid gets to participate.
Not only that, but different questions, for different age groups, can be projected simultaneously, and if each correct answer is surrounded by the same color, then every kid from all age groups can participate at the same time — each kid at his grade level, answering only those questions for his grade level, waving the right color on the baton.
While the questions come on the screen, the music is a-going, loud.
Then, when it’s all over, the kids are handed a prize, a “JewQ Gold Cup.” Then there’s another table across the rooms with still more prizes: a JewQ Swirlscribe and a gizmo called a JewQ FlashPop that I couldn’t figure out how to work. No matter. Each prize has a QR Code. Plus, of course, the kids can keep the electric batons.
The Jewish calendar is based on: A. The moon’s appearance. B. The solar calendar. C. The school year. D. The weather.”
The correct answer was A. Actually, it could also be B. But it’s complicated. We’ll save it for when these kids advance way past Grades 4 and 5. Based on what Scott and I witnessed on Sunday morning a couple of weeks ago, these kids will be back for more when they get older. Everyone, kids and parents, left the event smiling. A good time was had by all.
Actually, back in my Hebrew school days, we also had a kind of audio-visual. Once a year, at Chanukah time, at the old BMH Hebrew School on 16th and York St., the late A. B. Hirschfeld would come on a Sunday morning. He was equipped with a large sack of shiny new uncirculated dimes from the Denver Mint. We kids formed a very large circle in the social hall and would proceed slowly past Mr. Hirschfeld. He handed each one of us a dime. A Chanukah present. We were thrilled. A. B.’s grandson Barry Hirschfeld, a few years older than we were, stood by watching.
As I say, this happened every year. Each kid looked forward to his shiny new dime.
Put that on steroids and you have today’s Hebrew school with bleachers and videos and music and contests and judges and prizes, at least at Chabad of South Metro Denver.
© IJN 2025
