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in the morning, such as the creation story, and what we were taught in the afternoon, such as
evolution and genetics. No attempt was made to reconcile Torah (scripture) and Madah (secular
knowledge). They were simply distinct and entirely separate world views (or as my late colleague
Steven Jay Gould put it in his always elegant choice of words, "separate magisteria"). We lived
by the rule of separation between church and state, and for most of the students it raised no issue
of cognitive dissonance. In the morning, they thought like rabbis; in the afternoon like scientists;
and there was no need to reconcile. It was like being immersed in a good science fiction novel or
film: one simply accepted the premises and everything else followed quite logically.

For a few of us, that wasn't good enough. I recall vividly our efforts to find--or contrive--
common ground. For some, this quest took them to wonder whether the God of Genesis could
have created evolution. For them there was an abiding faith that both religion and science could
both be right. For me, the common ground was an abiding conviction that both could be wrong--
or at least incomplete as an explanation of how we came to be. I was skeptical of both religion
and science. Genesis, though elegant and poetic, seemed too simple. But so did evolution--at
least the way we were taught it.

The apparent conflict between religion and science did not move me to search for reconciliation.
It moved me to search for doubts, for holes (not black ones, but grey ones), for inconsistencies
not between religion and science--that was too easy--but rather within religious doctrine and
within scientific "truth." I loved hard questions. I hated the easy answers often given, with a
smirk of self-satisfaction by my religious and secular teachers.

The mission of our modern Orthodox Yeshiva was to integrate us into the mainstream of
American life while preserving our commitment to modern Orthodox Judaism. "Torah" and
"Madah" were the two themes. Torah, which literally means bible, represented the religious
component. Madah, which literally means knowledge, represented the secular component. They
were thought to be reconcilable, though little explicit effort was directed at reconciling the very
different world views implicit in the relatively closed system of Orthodox Judaism and the
openness that is required to obtain real secular knowledge. When it came to culture, however,
there was actually very little conflict, because becoming good Americans—including immersing
ourselves in mainstream American culture—was part of the mission of our schools. Of course I
hated anything the teachers tried to imbue in us, because with a few exceptions, they taught by
rote and memorization. Although I was good at memorization, I rebelled against the
authoritarianism implicit in religious teaching.

As much as I hated my teachers, they hated me even more. I loved conflict, doubt, questions,
debates and uncertainty. I expressed these attitudes openly, often without being called on. I was
repeatedly disciplined for my "poor attitude." My 6th grade report card, which I still have, graded
me "unsatisfactory" in "deportment" and "getting along with others." I received grades of D in
"effort," D in "conduct," D in "achievement," C in spelling, D in "respects the rights of others," D
in "comprehension," C+ in geography and A in "speaks clearly." One teacher even gave me an
"unsatisfactory" in "personal hygiene." My mother, who was meticulous about cleanliness and
scrubbed me clean every day before school, complained. The teacher replied, "his body is clean,
but his mind is dirty; he refuses to show respect to his rabbis.”

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