Religious education at a Chicago-area temple in 1995. A study, Part One of Two.

Bringing Jewish kids up to Judaic speed.

At Temple Jeremiah second-graders are dancing. It's the top of a late October morning, in1995 on Happ Road in beautiful Northfield, Illinois. "The second grade dinner is coming," says the teacher. "You will dance for parents then."

Eighteen kids have filed to the big lobby, formed a tunnel of hands joined overhead. Two at a time scamper under.

On one side is the auditorium of Jeremiah's splendid all-purpose building. On the other is an open lounge area with sofas and tables. A man in his 70s, balding, in coat and tie, sits reading the funnies. The smell of coffee is in the air.

"We need the whole line straight," says an aide named Rachel, now not bewailing her lost ones. She and the teacher join hands to make a bridge. "Trot on under," says the teacher.

Dancing in the sanctuary . . . In the sanctuary, carpeted, high-ceilinged, "because this is a loud one," says the teacher. They form a circle. "Left shoulder inward," she says, "right foot ready. Four steps, stop, clap. One step, two step, tiny step."

Cantor Amy, tall and slim with short dark hair, in purple velvet with white turtleneck top, hums and sings while they dance. Four steps, clap, hands in the air.

Then to the Joan and Stanley Golder chapel, smaller, with permanent seating, layered ceiling, indirect lighting. Here waits the kindergarten-to-third grade group. "On the seventh day, rest," says the cantor. "We call it?" she asks. "Shabbat," she answers, accent on the last syllable.

Remember the dinner . . . The cantor stands in front, strumming her guitar. "This very special morning . . . in this newest part of our building, like a sanctuary, with ark and torahs, an eternal light, eventually a menorah . . . " She asks how many have been to a Jewish wedding, speaks of the canopy.

"It's treated as their home" in the service, she says. "So this chapel is a gift by a man after forty years of marriage to his wife." She tells the experience from which came this chapel.

She takes them through recent holidays, asks what's next. "The answer is, Shabbat is coming," she says. "The most important holiday of the Jewish year. It comes once a week. So let's have some songs about the Shabbat."

A song unto the Lord . . . She leads them in a lively melody, singing "Bim bam bim biddy bom," slowly, then faster. Kids giggle. Some poke and prod each other. Teachers sit among them.

"A new one," says the cantor: "Bim bom cheery cheery. Shabbat shalom . . . shabbat, shabbat . . . " she sings, with finger snaps, hip slaps, clapping, in rhythm. She sings, kids follow, most in full cry.

Then a "roller-coaster song," more "Shabbat." A teacher turns to look at a noisy girl, catches her eye, smiles.

"La la la la" from the cantor, more clapping. The singing is the strongest yet. The cantor looks at them as she sings and strums, using no microphone. "Louder," she says. More "Shalom."

There's independent activity. A teacher in a red coat stands, gets the attention of a boy, who turns, waves smartly, stops what he'd been doing.

It's over, they file out. A small boy in a Bulls jacket lingers, talking to the cantor about guitars.

Issues and answers . . . Teacher Neil Stein has 17 middle-grade kids in a class about big issues. In white shirt and blue and white tie, he poses conundrums and solutions, asking, "Agree? Disagree?"

A girl in a Michigan State tee shirt has a flower painted on her cheek. Others wear denim jackets, one is in overalls. They are standing. Each responds to the issue at hand.

"Is it all predetermined?" a girl asks, about life in general. Stein dodges. "Some believe that," he says. "It could be . . . " He's not going to make an issue of it.

A classroom of his peers . . . They sit in a circle. "Make room for Alex," Stein says. "Teacher of the week" is Stephen, in Bub City Crabshack & Barbecue sweatshirt. He stands and delivers, reading from three-by-five cards, telling what he has read about the prophetess Deborah from the Book of Judges, one story after the other. Sunlight pours into the white-walled room.

"No one should be impressed by other people," says Stephen, passing on what he learned from his Deborah stories.

Then he announced, "I have a game" -- tic-tac-toe. Several move to the blackboard, chosen by him from waving hands. "Whom did Deborah ask to help her fight the war?" he asks. The right answer wins a move on the tic-tac-toe crosshatch.

Alex takes his fully constructed paper airplane, crunches it up, rises, crosses the room and drops it into a waste basket.

There's disagreement over an answer, whether it deserves a tic-tac-toe move. Stephen as teacher threatens to remove a scored point when some resist his decision. Stein sits quiet at his teacher's desk. Stephen continues, shuffling three-by-fives.

A girl just misses an answer. "No," says Stephen, adding Solomon-like, "Very close."

"If it's so close," asks Alex, "why not give it to her?"

Stephen continues. They listen; they want to do well in the game. A girl puts a final O, her side wins, joy to the victors. Snack time, says Stein.

Snack time is intensely social. In action eerily reminiscent of Christian communion, Stephen goes around with a lumpy loaf of fresh bread, allowing each to break off a piece. A boy with "Sky Warriors" on his shirt munches on a large piece. They seem comfortable with each other. It's a comfortable scene.

Class over, Stein leads them in prayer. They disperse.

Meanwhile, the third grade was trying Eve for eating the apple. With OJ Simpson on their minds, they could go through the motions. "A hung jury," says the teacher afterward.

Next, creating Jewish memories and other teacher talk . . . Plus some reader response.