Torah Study on Toldot

Our synagogue, Tikvat Israel, has had a weekly, lay-led Torah study session since the beginning of the cycle last fall. Individuals volunteer to lead a Torah discussion on the weekly portion. Discussions are held after the kiddush. People are welcome to daven together at services and stay for the study; to come just for study; or any combination of the above. We've always had at least a minyan (10 participants) and frequently have between 18-24 people.

Because each of us brings his/her unique perspective to the table, the insights and discussion are often wide-ranging and frequently provide “food for thought” during the coming week. The internet facilitates our study by allowing us to “hear” the ideas of people from around the world. This past week’s Torah portion was Toldot – the story of Isaac, Rebekah, Jacob and Esau.

Our leader this week was a knowledgeable colleague who works with young children and their families. She particularly likes the stories in Beresheit/Genesis because they’re great stories—filled with insights into family dynamics and interpersonal relationships. The discussion she led yesterday focused on the relationship between Isaac and Rebekah – their playfulness with and attraction to each other early on in their story and the silence between them as their sons grow into adulthood.

As she was guiding the discussion, asking questions and sharing her own, she read the following from Rabbi Yaakov Asher Sinclair from Ohr Sameach, a yeshiva in Israel where her son is studying.

In this weeks Torah portion, Eisav returns home so ravenous after his work that he sells his birthright for a bowl of lentils. In fact, he is so consumed by his desire for food that he doesn’t even describe the lentils by name. He merely says to Yaakov "Pour into me, now, some of that red red" (25:30) English translators usually append a noun to the adjectives, such as "that red stuff," but in Hebrew there is no noun, there are just two adjectives one following the other. In Hebrew, a noun is called shem etzem, meaning "the name of the essence", the thing itself. An adjective is a shem toar, "a name of description." When our physical desires lead us to mistake appearance for essence, when we exchange a world of nouns for a world of adjectives, when style dominates meaning, then we have truly lost our birthright.

“Stop,” I interjected. “Can you read that again more slowly?” She agreed. Here’s the part that jumped out at me:

In Hebrew, a noun is called shem etzem, meaning "the name of the essence", the thing itself. An adjective is a shem toar, "a name of description." When our physical desires lead us to mistake appearance for essence, when we exchange a world of nouns for a world of adjectives, when style dominates meaning, then we have truly lost our birthright.

There's really nothing left to add, is there?

Shavuah tov/a good week.

On a High

I’m ending the week on a high…educationally speaking.

With a colleague, I’ve been facilitating/teaching a group of 15 for-the-most-part beginning religious school teachers.

We’ve met five times since the September, for slightly less than two hours each time. We’re a diverse group – some younger, some older; some still in college, many working first jobs; some Israeli, some Americans; some working with early childhood students, some with older students.

My colleague and I have tried to expose them to a variety of topics. We’ve tried to make our sessions interactive, modeling our belief that all teachers need to teach to a variety of learning styles. (Sometimes we've been more successful than others!) The topics we’ve touched on include the following:

• Jewish identification
• Challenges and Opportunities in Supplemental Education
• Jewish Values Guiding Our Teaching
• Multiple Intelligences
• Big Ideas/Goals/Objectives/Learning Activities
• Working in Small Groups
• Auditory/Visual/Kinesthetic Learning Styles
• Gender Bias
• Centers and Center-Type Activities
• Graphic Organizers
• Cooperative Learning Techniques
• Strategies to Build Energy in the Classroom
• Classroom Management “On One Foot”

All of which have been undergirded by reflective practice – what worked and why? What didn’t work and why not? What should we change next time?

This past week, participants in the course began to “present” – sharing a 20 minute lesson they’d taught recently. The assignment outline asked

1. how the lesson fit with the “Big Idea” for their class this year;
2. strategies they used;
3. complications they encountered;
4. evidence of learning – how they knew the students learned what they taught;
5. their assessment of the lesson; and
6. what they would change next time.

In a little more than an hour, seven participants shared their lessons with the rest of the group. My colleague and I kept our comments to a minimum and invited the rest of the group to ask questions of the presenters and comment on what they had heard.

Later that week – we kvelled.

What we heard were participants who demonstrated their clear understanding of key concepts: big idea, goals, different learning strategies, assessment of student learning, and assessment of their own experience.

What we heard were colleagues who were supportive and encouraging – not afraid to compliment or to question.

What we heard were participants who are so student-focused already that they were able to adapt the plan to fit unanticipated changes.

What we heard were colleagues who are able to show how their teaching builds on the teaching done by another participant.

What we saw were participants whose eyes lit up as they talked about key values and their students.

What we saw were eyes seeking out colleagues when participants were urged to “identify someone you work with who can help you brainstorm” when specific situations would occur.

What we saw are teachers who can laugh at themselves and genuinely funny things that happen when they work together or with students.

What we know is that this group of people is now

a) a community
b) a community of learners
c) a community of learners who will pass that love of community and learning on to their students.

Is it any wonder I’m on a “high” today?

Shabbat shalom.

Being a Fly on the Wall

In the past month, I've found myself doing a lot of teacher observations, at a variety of schools. It seems that's one of the things I do best!

In most cases, I'm met with some degree of hesitation, if not outright defensiveness. Part of my job -- as I see it, then -- becomes the challenge of getting past the hesitation/defensiveness before I leave the classroom. It's not always easy.

I walked into one classroom recently, where the teacher met me with a certain amount of resistance. She said, "I'm not even sure why you’re here." I THOUGHT "Oh boy!" but I SAID, "To help you become a better teacher." "Well, if that were true," she retorted, "you would come back after school one day during the week. That's when I really have problems!" Before I left the building that day, I did two things:

1. I spoke to her supervisor and we rescheduled another time -- of the teacher's choice -- for me to return.
2. I mentioned what a great activity she had planned and that I was looking forward to hearing how it played out.
   

That second visit went much better – the teacher greeted me with a big smile; when asked by a student about my presence in the room, she explained, “She’s a teacher of teachers and she’s helping me.”

The lesson moved logically from one activity to another; she used her madrikh in a substantive way, as a co-teacher working with a small group (after ensuring he knew what she was looking for); for the most part, the majority of students stayed on task most of the class period. The “problem?” One table of students who were loud, impulsive, and whose noise made it difficult for other students to make progress.

She had a couple of minutes between sessions, so I spent the majority of that time articulating examples of good teaching. We ended with – “There’s really only one problem I see.” She knew immediately what I was talking about and said she’s often told them she’s going to separate them. I suggested she stop threatening and just do it. The need for students to have friends to be with in religious school had been the value she was holding dear. But she realized that it was having a negative effect on the rest of the class, so we talked about other values and I made some suggestions of how to proceed with these changes.

I then went home, wrote everything up (setting, observations of class dynamics, evaluation, suggestions for improvement, and an end note), sent it to her supervisor and asked her to send it directly on to the teacher involved.

So what’s the learning in this experience for me?

• It really helps if the teacher knows that an observation is planned.
• It also helps if the teacher knows that my job is to help them become more effective.
• It is just as important for positive interactions/dynamics to be noted as the negative ones.
• Sometimes, the observer notices things (behavior triggers) that the teacher doesn’t. Those observations can be helpful to the teacher.
• Sometimes, the observer may pick up on student behavior that merits a closer look.
• The sandwich approach still works: good news – bad news – good news (or strengths—weaknesses-strengths).
• When giving suggestions to modify a teacher’s classroom behavior, it helps to explain “why” the change should improve the situation.
• When giving more than two suggestions, I’ll often make a list of five or six. Sometimes I’ll pick one from the list, if I think it’s really crucial, and I’ll ask the teacher to pick another suggestion from the list. I’ll ask the teacher to work on those two until they become more comfortable ways to operate. Then I’ll ask them to go back to the list and pick two more! This provides them with the opportunity to structure their own learning – and acknowledges that we all have different priorities. It can also help them set goals for themselves.
  

I left the room, feeling as if we (the teacher and I) had begun to establish a positive working relationship. We'll see how it plays out!

Missing Ellie

Today would have been my sister Ellen's 48th birthday. She died one August day, twelve years ago, of Crohn's Disease.

According to Jewish custom, we're supposed to remember our loved ones on the anniversary of their death (their yahrzeit date). But we were on vacation when she died and I have trouble remembering the exact date. Besides, Ellie wasn't Jewish... so somehow remembering her on her birthday "works for me."

Ellie was seven years younger than I - in many ways, she was my "first child." I loved her, cared for her, changed her diaper, encouraged her to walk, taught her to say "Mama" and "Dada" -- and when the time came, took a deep breath and talked with her about the "facts of life." (One of the most awkward and uncomfortable discussions of my life! Poor Ellie, I'm sure I embarrassed her greatly!)

Her illness was a long and ugly one - we figured later she'd probably been sick for almost 20 years when she died. It deprived her of many experiences. But she was funny and clever and remarkably bright. The world is diminished by her absence.

She lived with us while I was pregnant with our second child and on total bedrest. Our son, who was two and a half at that time, loved his Aunt Ellie as only a young child can - with every fiber of his body. When our daughter was born, Aunt Ellie delighted in holding this newborn on her lap and quickly figured out how to make the baby stop crying. She never quite mastered the trick of changing diapers, though!

Some years, the remembering has been more difficult than in other years. This year, it's been hard. My mother is not well. The current economic crisis reminds me of my family's economic crisis around the time that Ellie was born, shortly after my father had lost his job. And even the weather this past week has been more typical of mid-state Wisconsin weather in late October than typical Maryland weather this time of year.

There is a reading from the Yizkor service which has always been a comfort to me.

At the rising of the sun and at its going down,
we remember them.

At the blowing of the wind and in the chill of winter,
we remember them.

At the shining of the sun and in the warmth of summer,
we remember them.

At the rustling of the leaves and in the beauty of autumn,
we remember them.

At the beginning of the year and at its end,
we remember them.

As long as we live, they too will live;
for they are now a part of us,
as we remember them.

When we are weary and in need of strength,
we remember them.

When we are lost and sick at heart,
we remember them.

Where we have joy we crave to share,
we remember them.

When we have decisions that are difficult to make,
we remember them.

When we have achievements that are based on theirs,
we remember them.

At long as we live, they too will live;
for they are now a part of us,
as we remember them.

May her memory be for a blessing.

Maybe It's Not A Totally Lost Cause?

I may have blogged a little too quickly yesterday, about the two courses being cancelled due to under-enrollment.

In separate conversations with educators in both Virginia and Maryland, we were able to do some out-of-the-box thinking about other approaches that may work.

One colleague suggested front-loading the training next year, during school sessions. It would mean his teachers wouldn't necessarily have madrichim the first couple of weeks of school, but it would allow the participants to be trained during their already-committed time.

Another colleague suggested offering the course weekly during second semester, instead of spreading it out over the entire year. The compressed time might work easier for participants.

Another idea that surfaced was the possibility of a weekend retreat at the beginning, followed by intermittent "check-ins."

So maybe it's not a lost cause.... Sounds like a brainstorming session might be in the works for after our community-wide Education Day in early November.

I'm feeling better....

A Major Disappointment

I blogged earlier (this summer) about the class for 11th and 12th graders that I was looking forward to teaching this year – the one for kids who thought they want to be religious school teachers. I had decided to change the structure of the class to one that would include a “lab” portion each week. I thoroughly enjoyed the time I spent working up a Scope and Sequence, defining a Mission Statement and looking for materials that would work in the “lab.”

We had hoped to offer two sessions – one in Maryland and one in Virginia. Dates and times were chosen. The syllabus was finalized. A grant was applied for and received.

Unfortunately, neither location has had sufficient enrollment to allow us to offer the classes. I’m not quite sure why, but I suspect that we didn’t do an adequate job of marketing the programs and the recent sudden economic downturn has people apprehensive about spending additional monies. The ultimate reason, I know, could be that teens just aren’t interested. I’ll have to post the “official” cancellation notice tomorrow for both programs. ::sigh::

I still think it’s a good program; I still think there’s a community need for programs like this. It just may not be the right time.

I am very disappointed.

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.