JNF's New "Big Blue Box"

Before we left S'derot with Karyn London, we decided to try and find the new indoor playground in S'derot. We asked someone for directions and were told "Look for the big blue box." Sure enough, we found it at the end of the street!

The inside of the building was just as welcoming as the entrance - and even more amazing!

There were areas for little kids to play "pretend" and to jump and roll around;

DDR stations; basket ball hoops and punching bags; a half-length soccer field with goals;

a climbing wall; a fuse-ball (!) table; and even a separate space for teens to have dances!

For so many of the kids (who are struggling with PTSD), perhaps the most important space was this one:

a place where parents can hang out comfortably, yet be in clear view of their children!

The facility has a computer room, an arts and crafts room, party rooms (one with "boy" decor and one with "girl" decor), and a comfortable area to have snacks.

As you can see, the colors are bright and cheerful; the facility is well lit; and kids can do the running and jumping and bouncing that kids need to do.

What you don't see is how the building has been reinforced. Not only has extra reinforcement been added to the structure itself, but each individual room within the "big blue box" has been reinforced as if it were a stand-alone bomb shelter. It's that extra that makes the kids -- and their families -- feel secure here.

I used to think JNF's job was growing trees. I guess they're in the business of "growing kids," too.

For more information about the Sderot Indoor Recreation Center, click here.

S'derot: The City That Survives

“Israelis say that Haifa is the city that works,” our guide on the coastal tour said last Tuesday, “Tel Aviv is that city that dances. Jerusalem is the city that prays.” We were in Haifa at the time, and everyone on the bus smiled appreciatively.

The following day, Neal and I went to S’derot, with Karyn London from Atzum. Karyn, as I’ve written before, is the Social Worker for the Roberta Project for Survivors of Terror.

How would one describe S’derot?

It’s very different from the other Israeli cities Neal and I have stayed in, toured in, or been driven through. The other cities are teeming with activity: people walking and talking, automobile traffic, kids playing in parks, people shopping, horns blaring.

S’derot (on the day we were there) was quiet, with few people on the sidewalks, and less automobile traffic. That may have been partially because we were in primarily residential areas, and the open-air market was not operating that day. Or it may have been because many of the residents of S’derot have lived for the last 10 years with regular bombardments of kassam missiles by terrorists from the Gaza strip- approximately 2 miles away. As a result of Operation Lead Cast (from December 2008 – January 2009), the missiles have been almost silenced, at least temporarily.

One might think, with the danger set aside, that residents of S’derot would be out and about – enjoying the freedom to roam their city. Unfortunately, although the attacks have ceased, the fear resulting from them remains unabated for many.

Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) is a psychological disorder that many of us are unfamiliar with. It generally results from a traumatic event – physical or psychological – and manifests itself in a variety of ways. Paralyzing fear is triggered by sights, smells, sounds, or memories of the traumatic event. These triggers often occur randomly, with no prior warning. The fear causes the body to react as if it were in extreme danger and to seek to protect itself as best it can. Self-protection becomes the primary goal, frequently resulting in regression from previously-attained competencies. For example, a child (or adult) may begin bedwetting at night. Sleep disturbances are common. Clinging to a safe person in a safe place is critical.

Most of us don’t really understand the complex dynamic between fear, triggers, physiological reactions, and the body’s natural reaction to protect itself. We frequently offer well-meaning advice: “Just push through the fear” or “You can’t let the past event rule your present and future” or “Everyone’s afraid of something: just pull yourself together.” In our society, fear is often seen as a weakness, a lapse of moral fiber, something that can be conquered with just a little willpower.

If only it were that easy.

It’s not.

I can’t begin to envision what it must be like to live through attack after attack; to see my children injured; to experience such profound fear myself and yet know I must find a way to help my child heal. This in addition to the physical injuries resulting from such attacks and the loss of property – and the sense of violation that comes with those losses.

These are the people that Karyn works with. Atzum helps by providing direct services – money for therapeutic swimming lessons or tutoring for a child who’s missed too much school because fear keeps him/her glued to a mother’s side. Atzum also helps provide indirect services – helps survivors navigate the bureaucracy in order to obtain necessary disability payments or home repairs or career training for a life that’s been altered.

Neal and I had the privilege of making three home visits with Karyn on Wednesday.

The first family – mom, 15 year-old daughter, and 9 year old son – still struggle with the aftereffects of a rocket hitting their home. And, oh yes, Mom’s mother who’s had a severe stroke lives with them – lying on a bed in the living room. Mom suffers from mental illness resulting from earlier attacks; also, the son’s vision is impaired and he lost almost a year of schooling because he was unable to leave the house due to fear. The daughter has participated in leadership programs in England and New Jersey – and behind her bright sunny smile, one can see the fear in her eyes when she talks about hearing the missile hit their home. Atzum is paying for the son’s tutoring in hopes that he will be able to re-join his class in September. Karyn’s encouraging both children to participate in after-school chuggim/clubs this coming school year, but a final decision has not yet been made. It’s a testament to how safe the son feels with Karyn that he’s willing to leave the apartment to show us the reinforced, “safe” outdoor playground. He demonstrates the apparatus for us, climbs through the caterpillar and generally acts like a giggly, nine year old boy who’s loving the attention. But the playground is a short car ride away – there’s no place near his apartment for him to play outside safely. So most of his time is spent indoors. It seems safer.

The second family is fairly new on Karyn’s caseload: two children, a mom and a dad. The dad’s PTSD first manifested itself in the early 1980’s as a result of his army duty in the late 1970’s. Mom’s PTSD is of more recent inception. She used to support her family by cleaning houses. Now, neither she nor dad is able to leave their apartment. Recently they needed to make a choice – tutoring for the almost-bar mitzvah aged son? Or shoes for him? … They chose shoes. It’s hard to envision needing to make such a basic choice.

The last family we visit is a more financially stable family. The first attack destroyed their roof; the second one hit the front room of their house. Mom relayed that after the attacks her now-ten year old son began to wet the bed, refuses to leave the house without her, and sleeps with her at night. She quit her job because he was unable to function without her physically near him. He’s agreed just this summer to attend camp each morning, allowing Mom to work four hours a day, but refuses to go on field trips to the swimming pool with his camp group. Mom’s working on establishing support groups for others in their situation and has a proposal pending for an afterschool program/ curriculum to be introduced in S'derot to help the children understand what’s happening to them, and empower them. And by the way, did I mention that when he was eight, he wrote a letter to then Prime Minister Ehud Olmert which was published in Maariv newspaper asking for him to protect his school?

Karyn works with approximately 15 such families in S’derot (in addition to families across the entire State of Israel who are survivors of other terror attacks). Most of the families she works with are people who would otherwise fall through the cracks. Historically, many families in S’derot lived a marginal existence even before the rockets began to fall. There’s no industry in S’derot. The train from Tel Aviv doesn’t go that far.

It would be easy to think of the families Karyn works with as “victims.” She – and we – prefer to think of them as “survivors” whose daily lives demonstrate great courage.

CORRECTION:
I was in error by saying "There's no industry in S'derot." From my friend and colleague, Arnie Draiman, comes the following: "There is a LOT of industry in S'derot. a big industrial park with some of the biggest names in Israel there - Osem, for example."

Todah rabah, Arnie: thanks for the info.
7/30/09

Our Last Day

Today was our last full day in Israel and it was a very full day, indeed.

We took the train to Ashkelon this morning to be picked up by Karyn London, of Atzum. Karyn had invited us to go to S'derot with her as she made some client visits. We met with three clients - all families of survivors of terror - and saw a remarkable one-man miracle maker who as a volunteer, and ONLY WITH VOLUNTEER ASSISTANCE

• provides food for 600 people a day;
• feeds an additional 150 in their soup kitchen;
• runs a parent room for families to borrow books and toys (also providing families with diapers and food);
• and runs a clothing center where people who need new or extremely-gently-used clothing can pay a few shekels and have something clean and in good condition to wear.
  
  

From there, we went to an indoor playground. Opened after the war and funded totally by JNF and the municipality of S'derot, this "Blue Box" is a reinforced bomb shelter which provides a wide variety of indoor recreational activities for children of all ages. A few of the activities include DDR stations, a half-size soccer field, basketball hoops and a climbing wall; foam climbing and tumbling mats for the younger set and a pre-school-sized house for the little ones to cook, clean, have tea parties, and put their "babies" to bed. It's only been opened since March, but it's a safe place for both current survivors of terror and will be available in the future, as needs arise.

That's the short version - so many impressions/feelings/thoughts rolling around. They'll need to settle before I can write more. So that's now two pieces I "owe" you - on the Palmach Museum and on S'derot.

Back at our hotel in Tel Aviv - getting ready to go out for an early dinner. Then it's packing and early to bed for a nap before the desk calls us at 2:00 am for our 2:30 pickup for Ben Gurion Airport. Our flight's at 6:10 am (Israel time); with a 6 hour layover in Madrid, we hope to land at Dulles at about 7:30 tomorrow night (EDT).

And here, I thought today was a long day!

L'hitraot / See you soon!

Thursday Afternoon

Did you ever have something happen in the middle of the day (or week or whatever) where you thought, "This was so wonderful, nothing can match it or even top it?"

It often seems to me that bad/difficult/sad things come in twos or threes (or sometimes more), but good things seem to come as single events. I once asked a rabbinic colleague why that might be and he supposed that the bad things are an abberation and once they begin, we seem to be more attuned to additional ones. Haven't yet decided if I agree with him or not.....

Anyhow, I digress.

Thursday afternoon was just as rich and mind-bending as Thursday morning was.

After we left the Rabbanit, Steve, Neal and I went with a group from Congregation Olam Tikvah in Faifax, Virginia to visit Meled. Founded in 1997 by Dr. Menachem Gottesman, Meled is an Alternative Dati (Religious) High School for New Beginnings. Dr. Gottesman says, "Our students have dropped out or have been ejected from traditional educational settings due to a variety of reasons; some of our students have had difficulty in dealing with the academic rigors of high school while others have issues of substance abuse, anti-social behavior, have been abused or come from dysfunctional home settings." Meled students learn to "drop in" and, when they are ready, they learn to value learning for its own sake, not for the ability to pass the exit exams.

Menachem describes his school as a "cardiac care unit" - he and his staff teach the students that they are loved and valued and trusted. In turn, that helps the students learn to love and value and trust again. Until the hearts are mended, the kids aren't available for learning.

He talked about the difference between Meled and other high schools in Israel: at Meled, the program and curriculum are "child-centered:"

At Meled we convey acceptance, continuously, of youths who have experienced alienation at school and, possibly, at home. We provide choice: each student decides what he or she can realistically undertake to learn, under the guidance of the school's professional staff. We encourage being part without forcing the issue. We reward with love each student's showing up. We respect differences. We affirm Jewish values.

As Menachem spoke, my eyes filled with tears. As he shared his students' individual stories, I saw pictures in my mind's eye of kids I've known. From my earliest years as a social worker (where my caseload consisted of abused and neglected children), through my years as a teacher and then a director - there have been children I've worked with at each of those points, who hungered for acceptance and sometimes who had learned to push people away before they could be pushed away.

I've seen the pain in their eyes as we've tried to make these "square pegs" fit into our "round holes." In order to fit, they must "shave off" parts of who they are - and, in doing so, begin to doubt their worth. "If they really knew what I was like," the thinking goes, "they wouldn't like me."

Menachem Gottesman and his staff refuse to allow kids to be thrown away.

=======================

When Menachem heard where Steve and I were going next, he smiled. "Do you know Caryn?" one of us asked. "Do I know Caryn?" he repeated. "Of course I know Caryn - we work with some of the same kids!"

"Caryn" is Caryn Green. Eight years ago, Caryn started Crossroads. Crossroads works with English-speaking kids who are in trouble. Some are abused, some are runaways, some use drugs. Many are kids who were just not able to make the transition from the English-speaking communities they were born into and the Hebrew-speaking communities they found themselves in when their parents made aliyah. Almost all the Crossroads kids are from traditionally observant families.

Where did Caryn meet these kids? On the street, where they hang out. How does she get the to come to Crossroads? She doesn't "get them to come" - she offers help: a place to hang out, to listen to music, to eat, to talk to someone, to be. Because they've gotten to know her and trust her on the streets, they feel safe in asking for help.

Crossroads opens at 3 pm each day and stays open well into the night. Between 700 and 1000 kids pass through its doors each year. They take art classes and cooking classes-- or hip-hop, a new offering this summer. They work on resumes, and brush up their job skills. They learn how to fill out applications - for university, for the army. They hang out, in a place that feels safe to them.

With Caryn's help - and that of her staff of four and a half social workers - they learn to put the pieces of their lives back together, to find a safe place to live, to learn that while it's good to set their achievement bar high - it's even better to have options.

We had the privilege of visiting with a "graduate" of both Meled and Crossroads while we were visiting Caryn. He is a young man from a troubled family who has completed his army service and is ready to go to University. He's not quite sure where - but he has goals, skills he's learned along the way, and a keen sense of self-awareness. His biggest concern now? His younger brother, who's struggling with some of the same issues he struggled with. "I keep telling him I believe in him," my new friend said. We talked at length and I could assure him that the belief of an older sibling could be pivotal in helping a younger sib find his/her way.

Going through my mind, as I listened to Menachem and Caryn and my new friend was something that was written in my 9th grade yearbook (1968, Edgewood High School, Madison WI) by Molly McGuire - one of those very popular but incredibly nice people that you're sometimes lucky enough to meet.

Molly wrote: Our lives are shaped by those who love us and by those who refuse to love us. Molly - if you're out there - your thought has echoed in my mind many times in the last 41 years.

Caryn and Menachem exemplify "those who love" who "shape our lives."

A full day indeed.


Meled and Crossroads are two projects supported by the Mitzvah Heroes Fund.

Family Programs

I’ve been working on a couple of large projects this past month.

Although they’ve been interesting, I’ve found myself struggling with the “brain fog” that often seems to hit in December and/or January, in which it takes a great deal of effort to stay focused and productive. But the days are growing longer and, this week, we were blessed with unseasonably warm weather. So now I know again, that winter will *not* last forever: Spring is on its way!

So, what – you might ask – have I been up to?

I just finished a Tu B’shevat program for a family program at a local synagogue. It was actually a lot of fun to prepare for! As a brainstorming tool, I used a web format like this:

I find it helps me a) make sure I include activities for different types of learners; and b) visualize the interrelationships between some of the areas.

You’ll notice that some of the areas are “content” areas (eg, Israel, Mitzvah work) and some are “modalities” (i.e, writing, art, drama) and some can be “either/or” (texts, music). Depending on the age of the group, I may add other ideas to the web. “Movement” is a popular one, as is “books or stories.” After brainstorming, I share the web with another person to see what ideas it triggers for them.

And then, I get to work!

Especially if it’s a multi-age program – but even if it’s not – I generally try to come up with more than one idea or activity for circle in the web, using Bloom’s taxonomy as a loose guide. For example, if the topic is “Tu B’shevat,” in the writing center, I might offer the following selections:

• Write 15 things that come from trees.
• Write a poem (haiku or acrostic) about some aspect of trees.
• Write a journal entry as if you the boy in Shel Silverstein’s The Giving Tree trying to explain to his children why there were no trees planted on their street.
• Pretend you are an inanimate object that helps people fulfill the mitzvah of bal tashchit/do not destroy. Describe yourself; tell what you do; discuss how you feel when people use you; and provide one rationale for people who ignore you to change their behavior.

Particularly for large-group program, but also for class lessons, I often like to provide participants with a variety of options from which to choose. If possible, I like to do this both when presenting the lesson, but also in reinforcing it through class work and assessment. By providing choices, I find that students are apt to focus more on the content and less on the method. The ultimate question I’m asking them to answer is “What do I know (or what have I learned) about this topic?” A student may do a better job of illustrating what s/he has learned rather than writing a descriptive paragraph. For family programming, the levels of projects also allow parents and children to work together on something slightly more sophisticated or nuanced than the child would undertake on his or her own.

I like setting up “centers” or “stations” for people to work at – it gives me an opportunity to locate several “quiet” activities near each other; to break the group into more manageable subgroups; and gives me a quick view of which activities seem to be attracting the most (or the least) participants. My personal preference is to provide one large block of time for “center work” and allow people to move through the activities at their own pace. For some groups, that sense of freedom translates into chaos – they do better with defined time blocks. In that case, it’s particularly crucial that I provide more than one activity per center, to accommodate those who work at a faster pace than others.

It is important, however, to have both a formal beginning as well as an ending to the program. During the beginning you can set the stage for the experiences the group will be having, and outline whatever specific parameters there may be. The ending provides a chance to summarize the learning as a whole group. Asking “What’s one thing you learned today” will result in more targeted responses than “Did you enjoy the program." I also use the final period as an opportunity to have participants fill out a brief (half-page) evaluation sheet consisting of the same questions I use in my own reflective exercises. I ask both students and parents to fill out an evaluation, with the only difference in the questions being the final one.

1. What did you learn today?
2. What worked particularly well?
3. What should we change next time?
4. Did your child participate the way you thought s/he would? OR Did you get to work with your parent the way you wanted to?
   

Organization helps make a program like this more successful. My next posting will contain some “tricks of the trade” I’ve learned along the way!

A New Insight

Sometimes, when I least expect it, I run into some information that causes me to re-examine what I thought I knew.

A SCENE FROM THE PAST: At a school I directed for a number of years, we had a high percentage of students who had a variety of learning disabilities. We also had several – eight to be exact – students who had either autism or asperger’s syndrome. We – the students, teachers, parents and I – worked to find ways to involve our students in authentic learning and community experiences. Sometimes we had more success than others.

There was an older student in our program, one who was bright, articulate, curious, fond of routines and a lover of predictability: a student who thrived when he knew exactly what to expect; and who was rattled when others couldn’t “see” what he “saw” in a discussion. Situations in which there was more than one right answer were difficult for him to cope with – or comprehend. As he entered seventh grade, we found the social piece was becoming increasingly difficult and causing pain to him, to his classmates, and to his teacher.

After one particularly distressing day, Mom and I spoke about possible alternatives. We had an existing HomeSchool program at that time and Mom requested that he be allowed to participate in the HomeSchooling program. Social interactions, she pointed out, were a stumbling block for him across the board, in every setting he found himself. He wanted to learn – was eager to pursue advanced studies. We’d tried, she said, to make the traditional setting work. Maybe it was time to try something else.

After discussion with the student, with Mom, with the teacher and the Rabbi, we all agreed it was a viable alternative. I agreed to work up an accelerated course of study designed to challenge him well beyond what we were able to do in class. I spent time in transition discussions with both the family and the class he was leaving behind.

HomeSchooling worked – for about three weeks.

Then Mom called and asked if I could meet with her and the student. The student told me he was learning a lot, but that there was something missing: a learning community. Even though he’d had problems in class and with the other students, he missed being with them and hearing their ideas. He asked if he could come back to class. I reminded him that the class wouldn’t be able to move at the accelerated pace – he understood that. And that there were going to be times when he disagreed with others – and I expected him to remain in control of his temper. He agreed to do that.

So I began to do some scripting, both with him individually and with the class collectively. I told them how I expected them to greet each other; what words they could use to disagree (respectfully) with each other; and specifically how to stop pushing each other’s buttons. We also provided a couple of safety nets for the more volatile participants.

As things settled in, the Rabbi and I conferred. I expressed how incredulous I’d felt when the student said he missed being with the class, even though it was hard for him. I remember saying, “All the literature tells us that Asperger’s kids prefer to work along – they don’t want to be in groups working.” The Rabbi listened. “Perhaps,” he said, “the literature is wrong. And maybe these kids fit in when the community can accept them.”

FAST FORWARD: Last week, rushing through the grocery store, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a book: Look Me in The Eye (John Elder Robison). I stopped in my tracks.

How often had I said that to students, until I learned that for some students, eye contact makes it impossible for them to share their thoughts?

I reached for the book and read the subtitle: “My life with Asperger’s.” I read it through in two days, unable to put it down.

On page 211, John Elder Robison writes:

Many discriptions of autism and Asperger’s describe people like me as “not wanting contact with others” or “preferring to play alone.” I can’t speak for other kids, but I’d like to be very clear about my own feelings: I did not ever want to be alone. And all those child psychologists who said “John prefers to play by himself” were dead wrong. I played by myself because I was a failure at playing with others. I was alone as a result of my own limitations, and being alone was one of the bitterest disappointments of my young life.

I am very grateful that my former student felt safe enough to approach his Mom and me about re-entering the classroom. I am very grateful that I had the sense to LISTEN to what he was saying. I am very grateful that I was able to pull out specific words and phrases to teach this group of young men and women not only what to say, but how to say it. I am very grateful to the other students in the class who were able to rise to the occasion. And, I'm very grateful that I was able to discount what "all the literature said" and regard my student as a unique individual.

It ended up being a good year.

Quick Note

Still swamped and tried to dig out and settle into a routine. Hopefully that will happen sooner rather than later, and I'll be able to blog again more regularly.

In the meantime, here's an inspirational blog for parents and teachers about meeting our kids where they're "at" instead of trying to push out kids that are all equally adept at the same things.

From Raising Small Souls, here's why differentiation is critical.

Enjoy!

The 3 R's: Rigor, Relationships & Relevance

Last month, at CAJE, I had the opportunity to participate in two learning sessions with Marc Kay, an educator from the Detroit, Michigan area. Marc has taught in the following settings: day school, supplemental school, youth group, and is currently a secular high school English teacher. He brought a wealth of practical experience, as well as research-based findings, to his workshops.

The title of one of his workshops was “Jewish Education in the 21st Century: Relevancy and Rigor in the Classroom.”

Honesty compels me to admit that my initial reaction to the word “rigor” is to flinch: the connotation for me usually implies a lot of jargon that ends up meaning, “teaching to the test,” “college-credit for high school work,” and “how much can we cover in how short a period of time.” In fairness, my Merriam-Webster defines it as “a strict precision or exactness” – a values-neutral definition.

By adding “relationships” and “relevance” to “rigor”, Marc changed the equation.

“The primary aim of all education is not to enable students to do well in schools or colleges, but to help them do well in the lives they lead outside of the schools and colleges,” he explained. He went on to say, “This theory applies to our hope to how our students apply their Judaic education to becoming part of their greater Jewish community.” [emphasis added]

Marc debunked some of the false ideas of “learning” currently circulating:

• finishing a textbook means achievement
• listening to a lecture means understanding
• getting high test scores means proficiency

Instead, he identifies the roots of learning as containing the following:

• meaning, not just memory
• engagement, not just transmission
• inquiry, not just compliance
• exploration, not just acquisition
• personalization, not just uniformity
• collaboration, not just competition
• trust, not fear

Too many students see education as something that happens to them, he adds. Seeing real-life applications of what they are learning and understanding how they learn and developing the ability to monitor their own learning progress changes that passive state to an active one.

Relationships between students and teachers are a key factor. Learners flourish if they know that they matter to someone. From my own experience as a parent and teacher of students with learning difficulties, I know that students are more willing to exert themselves and plow through their challenges when they know that their teacher cares about them and believes in them.

Relevance comes into play when students are able to understand how the information or skill has some relevance to their lives; when they are encouraged to grapple with their own understanding of what they are learning; and when they learn how to learn as a result of the process.

In a meditation on the blessing that precedes Torah study, Rabbi Leila Gal Berner comments on the Hebrew phrase l'asok b'dvrei torah:

The Hebrew words here do not say "to study Torah," but rather to "be engaged" or "to be busy with" the study of Torah. We study Torah not an an intellectual exercise alone. Rather, we understand our "engagement" with Torah more holistically, as an evey day, every moment activity. We also understand that to be fully "engaged" with Torah is to wrestle with Torah - to challenge our tradition while loving it, to question while celebrating it. (Kol Haneshamah: Shabbat Vehagim, JRF)

Ultimately, Marc believes that we need to adapt our lessons (and our approach, I might add) so that the students we interact with can answer the question, “So what?”

How many of my students this week can answer why the content we’re grappling with matters and what impact it will have on their lives?

Thanks, Marc!

The Actors

Written two years ago...after a local education day

Yesterday, I got to teach Sam again.

At a local educators’ day, I was standing outside the door, waiting for teachers to filter in when a young man approached me. “Morah Mary,” he said, “do you remember me? You taught me in third grade and now I’m back to learn from you again.”

Do you remember me? “Of course, I remember you,” I replied as my eyes filled with tears.

I remember one day early in the school year, after class I complimented you on your high participation and the quality of questions you asked. You grimaced and said, “But you really shouldn’t compliment me: I didn’t want to come today. My Mom made me.” I remember writing you a note that evening and explaining that although Mom may have “made” you come to class, Mom wasn’t in our room and she didn’t “make” you walk in with a smile…she didn’t “make” you raise your hand…. she didn’t “make” you help the kid seated next to you…..

I remember that you were part of a group of six friends who thought the best part of religious school was the chance to see your friends and get caught up on each others’ lives. What you had to share with each other was infinitely more interesting than what I could teach. At a parent/student meeting to brainstorm solutions, I remember wryly responding to a parent, “Putting one in each corner of the room might work, but my classroom has only four corners….” After that meeting, you were the student who came up to me to apologize for being thoughtless and disrespectful, and you vowed to improve.

I remember your face when we’d talk about how what we were learning connected with our daily lives – and the way your face would light up when you were able to make a personal connection.

I remember the questions you asked – thoughtful, provocative, eager to put the pieces together.

And I remember the last day of class. You weren’t there. I was so disappointed. I wanted to say goodbye – to find a private moment to let you know how privileged I felt to have had you in my class that year.

Five minutes after class, you and your Mom walked in. You were obviously distraught. Mom explained that you hadn’t wanted to say goodbye, but realized that you had to. We spoke for a moment – you looked at me with your soul in your eyes. I took your hand and remember saying, “Some day, Sam, you’ll be a religious school teacher too – and you’ll be blessed with students just like you.”

What I learned from Sam those many years ago was a simple, critical lesson. I shared it with him and his colleagues in the workshop I taught yesterday – in order to be “master teachers,” we must let our students touch our hearts and be willing to touch theirs in return.

Yesterday I got to teach Sam again – and he got to teach me. Baruch haShem – my life has been blessed!

Saturday's "Time Out"

It was an interesting Saturday…. wherever I looked, it seemed as if there were lessons to be gathered.

I became reacquainted with an old friend – a delightful book by Phillip Done entitled 32 Third Graders and One Class Bunny. If you’ve ever taught early elementary (oh, perhaps up to fourth grade), there’s nothing in this book that you haven’t heard at least once! What a true ear Done has for the authentic dialogue and rip-roaring humor that catches a teacher off-guard when s/he least expects it. It’s a joyful book and reminds me – again – why I work with kids.

Saturday night, my husband and I had the pleasure of attending a house concert sponsored by a friend of ours. The guest artist was Steve Eulberg, who delighted us with his instrumental and vocal compositions. Steve played guitar, mountain dulcimers and – a real treat – a hammered dulcimer with tones so rich they resonated in your mind long after the strings stopped vibrating. Two of Steve’s songs spoke to me.

He opened the evening with a tune called “A Ship May Be Safe.”

A ship may be safe in a harbor/at anchor close to the shore;
yeah, a ship may be safe in a harbor / but that ain’t what ships were made for.

Ships were made for sailin’ across the high seas
More ships and sailors rot in the port
than ever are drowned in the sea. (2x)

Made me think: how often do I go for the safe and predictable instead of being willing to try something new? Change doesn’t come without risk – but without change and growth, we (I) atrophy.


And later Steve and our host sang a wonderful song entitled “We Are An Answer to Prayer” which addresses the question: what if our prayers to survive the current struggles actually send our descendants into the future to pull us through? The harmony was exquisite – the words provocative. It reminded me of Doug Cotler’s song (Standing on the Shoulders) with the phrase “I’m standing on the shoulders of the ones who came before me.”

Both Steve’s song and Doug’s evoke the sense of interconnectedness – l’dor v’dor/from generation to generation.

The torah of Phillip Done and Steve Eulberg challenged me, refreshed me – and brought a sense of wonder and gratitude into my life. What a wonderful Shabbat!

Words from a Master Teacher

One of the nice things about the summer is the opportunity to catch up with people. I happened to be involved in an email conversation with a remarkable Master Teacher this past week.

She's been teaching quite a long time. She taught both of my 20-something children when they were in seventh grade. Their faces still light up when they see her. Our paths had diverged for a while and then re-intersected a couple of years ago when I was leading a knitting and crocheting group at our synagogue.

Our conversations during the K&C group were wide-ranging and one night in particular, the rest of us were enthralled with the stories she shared about some of her experiences in Israel, shortly after the founding of the State.

It was just a short jump in my mind from having her share her stories with us to asking her to share them with the students in my school (third through sixth graders) as part of their studies of the land/geography of Israel.

I have very clear memories of her kicking her shoes off and (starting at Haifa in the north) walking the length of a huge, room-sized map, telling stories about people she knew, the sights and sounds, and helping us experience Israel in a way few others can make it come alive. My students were enthralled, mesmorized, silent - wrapped up in the stories from another time and place. Fifty minutes later, she took a breath and asked for questions. We ran out of time before we ran out of questions. She was our text person that day.

Anyhow, we were talking -- emailing -- about our favorite subjects: students and teaching. Here's what she had to say:

I still shake my head, as a passionate educator, when I remember my heyday as a kid, hookey player par excellence. No one would have laughed louder than I, had someone told me I would spend most of my life as an educator. You know the drill: loved learning; hated school. At this advanced stage in life, I am convinced the beloved teacher is one who, still, loves learning and appreciates that the mind of a child must soar beyond bricks and mortar - and now. We have to mind travel with them; we have to stimulate their own willingness to let go the fetters of here and now to travel back into the past and forward into the future. That's the part I've always loved best because, as I now know, I've never grown up. :-) Like Peter Pan, I see no sense in that.....

How many lives she's been able to profoundly affect through her ability to travel with her students.

Awe-some.

Putting It All Together....

So, we've got 1) looking for the positive in each kid and 2) owning responsibility for the classroom climate and weather. Doesn't that cover it all?

It's a good beginning....

One of the things I wished I'd given more thought to in my early days of teaching is my philosophy about kids. I spent a lot of time on lesson plans, classroom activities, newsletters home to parents (pre-email days!), record-keeping and collecting tzedakah.

I spent almost no time thinking about kids: how I felt about them, what I expected from them, how to build relationships with them, what kind of a community I wanted my classroom to be. In those days, I thought that all I was responsible for teaching was content.

Boy, was I wrong!

Content is an important part of Judaic education, to be sure. But it's not the be-all and the end-all. To quote Abraham Joshua Heschel: “We have to have more than textbooks, we need text-people.”

What I do now, when I begin a class, is deliberately remind myself how I think about kids. Here's what I've finally come up with, after all these years:

• I like kids
• I expect kids will be kids, not little grown ups
• I don't think kids get up in the morning and think, "Oh, boy, I get to see Morah Mary today. I wonder how many ways I can push her buttons?"
• I think kids learn different ways.
• I think kids show you what they've learned in different ways.
• I think kids want the grownups in their lives to like them.
• I think kids want, need and deserve respect.
• I think kids want to be heard.
• I think (often) that kids have as much to teach me as I have to teach them...and sometimes more!

What other core beliefs do I have regarding kids?

• To quote Rick Lavoie, "A kid would rather look bad than dumb."
• There's no wrong answer when I ask, "What do you think?"
• Sometimes the answer I get that I'm not expecting is much more insightful than the answer I thought I should get.
• A kid might not remember what I taught, but s/he will remember how they felt in my class.
• I need to remember at all times that I'm the grownup in the room -- and need to model "grownup behavior."

And, ultimately: a classroom needs to be a safe place for everyone - students, madrichim /aides, and teachers.

I've decided I want to be one of Heschel's text people.

Classroom Weather

About five or six years after I began teaching, someone shared the following quote from Haim Ginott with me:

“I have come to a frightening conclusion. I am the decisive element in my classroom. It is my personal approach that creates the climate. It is my daily mood that makes the weather. As a teacher, I possess tremendous power to make a child’s life miserable or joyous. I can be a tool of torture or an instrument of inspiration. I can humiliate or humor, hurt or heal. In all situations, it is my response that decides whether a crisis will be escalated or de-escalated, and a child humanized or de-humanized.”

By that time I already understood that my students were apt to be more cooperative if I identified something I liked about them and focused on trait instead of on the behaviors that made me nuts.

But Ginott upped the ante – and laid the responsibility for classroom dynamics squarely on my shoulders.

At about the same time, my mother-in-law gave me a T-shirt that we both found hilarious. It read simply: “When Mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy.”

My kids gleefully affirmed it: “Yeah, when she’s in a bad mood, we suffer.”

Ginott puts the same theory into educationalese and provides graphic examples of the “ain’t happy” part.

The T-shirt is long gone, but the quote has remained above my desk ever since. As teachers, the responsibility for the classroom weather is ours.

Did You Really Mean It?

The first couple of years I was teaching, it seemed that all I could do was keep my head above water from week to week. I poured over teacher guides for text books, ran to our central agency for information and worksheets, plotted my two hour class time down to nth degree, made extensive notes so I wouldn’t forget a single thing, packed my school bag, and did it all over again!

Fortunately, in those early years, I had very small classes and things went fairly smoothly.

By my third or fourth year, my classes were getting bigger as the synagogue and school were growing. And, as always happens, things – relationships – became more complex.

One year, my class and I just seemed to start off on the wrong foot. It was more kids than I’d ever taught before – I think we were up to twelve at that point. Some of the kids had special needs. Some of them were children of prominent members of the community. And – horror of horrors! – some of them were more interested in what their friend had to say than what I had to say!

I came home that first week almost in tears, and began complaining to my husband, son and daughter what a rotten class I’d gotten that year. They listened (or actually, probably didn’t listen) as I ranted and raved. Finally, my daughter looked up at me and said firmly, “Mom.”

“What?” I muttered, mumbling something unkind under my breath.

“Mom,” she said again firmly.

I looked at her. “What?”

“You know how you always say that there’s some good in everybody?”

“Yeah,” I responded suspiciously.

“Well, I want you to tell me one good thing about each of your students.”

I tried to laugh her off, but she was fixed on her goal. “Did you really mean it when you said everyone has something good in them?” she pushed, “or were you just saying that?” (I swear I heard someone whisper: “Busted.”)

To make a long story short, I was able to come with “something good” about all of the kids – except two. Then Miss Put-Your-Money-Where-Your-Mouth-Is gave me my assignment for the week: “Next week when you come home from school I want you to tell me something good about those two kids, too.”

And darned if that wasn’t the first thing she asked when I got home from school the following week.

A funny thing happened after that. As I began to look for something positive in each of my students, they became less obnoxious, more interesting, and more interested.

We ended up having a good year, that year – my kids and I. Thanks to someone who believed in making an honest teacher out of me.