Tiyul with a Tanach (II)

I get the impression that a "rant" implies a strongly worded, oft-repeated, negative post. So consider this a "positive rant." I know I've said this before but since it's my blog and since I feel very strongly about it, I thought I'd say it again...

Over Chanuka, my family and I took a tiyul to the Dead Sea. We stayed with my cousins in a very small yishuv overlooking the Dead Sea. (To get a sense of how small it is, when I got there, I made the minyan... together with another guest!)That in itself was an incredible experience.

We walked where Avraham and his nephew Lot split (Bereishit 13), where the battle of the 5 kings against the 4 took place (Bereishit 14), where Avraham argued with Hashem to save S'dom (Bereishit 18), where the angels stay with Lot (Bereishit 19), where the tribe of Yehuda lived (Yehoshua 15), where David hid from Shaul (Shmuel I, 23), etc. etc. etc. (not to mention where the Dead Sea Scrolls were found in 1947).

It was a great, fun trip for a lot of reasons. But I simply cannot say enough how special it is to take a vacation - with a Tanach - where every step has religious and spiritual connotations.

What's in a Name?

First, thank you Grovepark for your compliments. As I mention below, I really write for myself. But knowing you also get something out of my experience means a lot to me.

In response to your question, "Can you tell me what 'Moreh-Derech' actually means?".... here goes.

Separately, "Moreh" means, "One who shows" and "Derech" means a road or a path. Together, therefore, the two words are used in modern Hebrew to mean "a guide, especially for trips, one who shows the path."

I intended the blog to be used first for myself, to help me find the way through the experience of moving to Israel as a husband, a father and a teacher.

Secondly, I thought the blog might be of assistance in whatever small way, to other people who have moved or who are thinking of moving to Israel and who work in education.

But I chose the name because I also like the meaning of the two words separately as well. The word "moreh" is also the word for teacher... "one who shows." It does not mean, "one who stuffs with information" or even "one who is stuffed with information." Rather, one who shows. That has always had special meaning for me because it implies that a teacher is there as a guide, one who can hold hands down the path of knowledge and growth walking together, but never dragging and never being dragged.

Chanuka

Our school is now on Chanukah vacation. That is, our major vacation between Sukkot and Pesach falls out, every year, on Chanuka.

I have never worked in a school that times their vacation to Chanuka (and not, for example, to the end of December or some random dates at the end of January).

I like not having school on Chanuka. I love the idea of a Jewish school following the Jewish calendar. What a powerful message sent to the students all year, every year.

There is a drawback that I didn't expect. The entire in-school experience on Chanukah is lost. In-school parties, plays, dreidel exhibits, etc. etc. are all nonexistent. Our school is having a chagiga and so are my children's schools. But somehow it's not the same.

December 25th

A post with a message that is cliche..... but that doesn't make it less true.... at least to me.

It's simply refreshing and exciting to come to school on December 25th with absolutely no hint of the secular implications of the English date. No problems with transportation, no additional absences from students (taking the day to spend with family members that are off from work), no secretaries or custodians off from work, no vacation from learning (as some schools do, similar to Thanksgiving).

I'm not saying that I was horrified every year at this time in December. I knew we were not in our land. Still, it was hard to escape the messages, the colors, the commercials, the magazine supplements, etc. etc.. etc.

And now, here, nothing.

It really is amazing to have this day come and go with absolutely no attention paid to the secular calendar.

Just a regular day.

Another reminder why we're here.

Bloom's Taxonomy... Israeli Style

One of my favorite - and most challenging - responsibilities is to arrange, create, and develop the professional development in my school. This past session, we talked about Bloom's Taxonomy..... in Hebrew (obviously). I do not believe that Bloom's is the first and last word in education. But I do believe it is a nice starting point for discussions about good education.

In a nutshell, his categories are:

1. ידע (Knowledge)
2. הבנה (Comprehension)
3. יישום (Application)
4. אנליזה (Analysis)
5. סינתזה (Synthesis)
6. הערכה (Evaluation)

(If you're interested, two nice websites in Hebrew - here and here - summarize the concepts nicely. For a review in English, try here, here or here.)

I noticed two interesting things in this session (which went very well):

First, with all the talk of inferior teachers in Israel, every teacher on our staff had heard of the taxonomy and many had even taken a course or two where it was utilized. It may be the specific population of teachers with which I work, but all I know is what I see. And what I saw was interested, self-reflective teachers who enjoyed thinking about their practice.

You don't hear that that often about teachers in Israel.

Second, there was a feeling among the faculty that his taxonomy was not complete when speaking about limudei kodesh. Many teachers felt that the "la'asok" was missing: we want our students to connect with the Torah, la'asok b'divrei Torah, to "acquire" the Torah and make it their own. Others suggested that it was already included in "Evaluation", the highest in the taxonomy, which requires the students to assess, decide, and judge the material.

I do not know who is correct. But I did love the thoughtful question about chinuch that ensued.

You don't hear that that often about teachers in Israel.

The Laugher Part II

I have become indispensable. I laugh on records, I laugh on tape, and television directors treat me with respect. I laugh mournfully, moderately, hysterically; I laugh like a streetcar conductor or like a helper in the grocery business; laughter in the morning, laughter in the evening, nocturnal laughter, and the laughter of twilight. In short: Wherever and however laughter is required -I do it.

It need hardly be pointed out that a profession of this kind is tiring, especially as I have also -this is my specialty - mastered the art of infectious laughter. This has also made me indispensable to third - and fourth - rate comedians, who are scared - and with good reason - that their audiences will miss their punch lines so I spend most evenings in nightclubs as a kind of discreet claque. My job is to begin to laugh infectiously during the weaker parts of the program. It has to be carefully timed. My hearty, boisterous laughter must not come too soon, but neither must it come too late. It must come just at the right spot: at the pre-arranged moment, I burst out laughing, the whole audience roars with me, and the joke is saved.

But as for me, I drag myself exhausted to the checkroom. I put on my overcoat, happy that I can go off duty at last. At home, I usually find telegrams waiting for me: "Urgently require your laughter. Recording Tuesday," and a few hours later I am sitting in an overheated express train bemoaning my fate. I need scarcely say that when I am off I duty or on vacation I have little inclination to laugh. The cowhand is glad when he can forget the cow, the bricklayer when he can forget the mortar, and carpenters usually have doors at home that don't work or drawers which are hard to open. Confectioners like sour pickles, butchers like marzipan, and the baker prefers sausage to breads Bullfighters raise pigeons for a hobby, boxers turn pale when their children have nosebleeds: I find all this quite natural, for I never laugh off duty. I am a very solemn person, and people consider me - perhaps rightly so - a pessimist.

During the first years of our married life, my wife would often say to me: "Do laugh!" but since then she has come to realize that I cannot grant her this wish. I am happy when I am free to relax my tense face muscles, my frayed spirit, in profound solemnity. Indeed, even other people's laughter gets on my nerves, since reminds me too much of my profession. So our marriage is a quiet, peaceful one because my wife has also forgotten how to laugh: now and again I catch her smiling, and I smile, too. We converse in low tones for I detest the noise of the nightclubs, the noise that sometimes fills the recording studios. People who do not know me think I am taciturn. Perhaps I am, because I have to open my mouth so often to laugh.

I go through life with an impassive expression, from time to time permitting myself a gentle smile, and I often wonder whether I have ever laughed. I think not. My brothers and sisters have always known me for a serious boy.

So I laugh in many different ways, but my own laughter I have never heard.

The Laugher Part I

The Laugher is a wonderful short story by Heinrich Böll (Translated by Leila Vennewitz) (I located this version here - with some changes - though I am not sure that this is a complete translation.)

For a variety of reasons, I think this an incredibly poignant narrative about, among many other things, some people in the field of Chinuch.


When someone asks me what business I am in, I am seized with embarrassment: I blush and stammer, I who am otherwise known as a man of poise. I envy people who can say: I am a bricklayer. I envy barbers, bookkeepers, and writers the simplicity of their avowal, for all these professions speak for themselves and need no lengthy explanation, while I am forced to reply to such questions: I am a laugher. An admission of this kind demands another, since I have to answer the second question: "Is that how you make your living?" truthfully with, "Yes." I actually do make a living at my laughing, and a good one, too for my laughing is - commercially speaking - much in demand. I am a good laugher, experienced, no one else laughs as well as I do, no one else has such command of the fine points of my art. For a long time, in order to avoid tiresome explanations, I called myself an actor, but my talents in the field of mime and elocution are so meager that I felt this designation to be too far from the truth. I love the truth, and the truth is: I am a laugher. I am neither a clown nor a comedian. I do not make people gay, I portray gaiety: I laugh like a Roman emperor, or like a sensitive schoolboy. I am as much at home in the laughter of the 17th century as in that of the 19th and, when occasion demands, I laugh my way through all the centuries, all classes of society, all categories of age: It is simply a skill which I have acquired, like the skill of being able to repair shoes. In my breast, I harbor the laughter of America, the laughter of Africa, white, red, yellow laughter - and for the right fee, I let it peal out in accordance with the director's requirements.

continued.....

HaRav Dov Zinger

I had the opportunity to meet Harav Dov Zinger and to hear him speak about his philosophy as an educator. Rav Zinger (or, as his students affectionately call him, Rav Dov) is the Rosh Yeshiva of Mekor Chaim, a very unique high school for boys in Kfar Etzion.

There is a lot to say about the school and their philosophy... but this is not the place. I cannot say that I agree with everything he said or with everything they do. And, even regarding those things about which I did agree, I cannot say that they would apply in every school. (His school, for example, accepts only 10% of the 500+ applicants that he receives every year!)

A few examples: his school has virtually no dress code (earrings, long hair, etc. are allowed), no supervisors on exams (all tests - including the entrance exam! - are given on the honor system) and attendance is rarely taken in the classrooms or the Beit Midrash.

Whether I agree or disagree and whether these rules are applicable to other schools and environments, and what are the long-term effects of these and other ideas are all important questions.

But there is one thing that resonated with me: when I asked him why he doesn't have a dress code, he responded,

"I don't notice their clothes or their hair. It's not something I pay attention to.... When you talk about irrelevant things, you become irrelevant. Aside from major heart-to-heart conversations, how long do you speak with each student in a week? 5 minutes? 10 minutes? If I only have 5 or 10 minutes to talk to a student, why would I waste the time talking about irrelevant, external things? Why not spend the time talking about real, important, relevant things?"

Again, I am not sure that I can agree with everything that he says. I think there is a value in the way we dress and the way we present ourselves. But I also certainly appreciate the need for, and the value in, talking about real issues with my students and, as much as possible, leaving "irrelevant" things for another day.

Sever Panim

One of the most difficult, day-to-day realities for a teacher (and a parent) to internalize:

Rava said: ‘If you see a student for whom study is as difficult as iron, it is because the teacher does not show him a favorable disposition (Taanit 8a).

Going through the day-to-day pulse of a school from the sublime (powerful Tefilla experiences, a class that simply went great) to the banal (arranging buses, attendance) and everything in between, makes it difficult to internalize, recall and actualize Rava's powerful words.

But that is what the students need. Above all else.

Toni Morrison said what Rava already knew:

...[W]hen a kid walks in the room - your child or anybody else's child - does your face light up? ...that's what they're looking for. When my children used to walk in the room, when they were little, I looked at them to see if they had buckled their trousers or if their hair was combed or if their socks were up. And so you think your affection and deep love is on display because you're caring for them. It's not. When they see you, they see the critical face. ...[L]et your face speak what's in your heart. It's just as small as that, you see.

Tefilla in Hebrew by Hebrew Speakers

I always thought that native Hebrew speakers did not experience many of the questions that I did growing up because they, unlike me, at least understand the words. They can start at a very different point than I did when I was younger.

The reality: Non-native Hebrew speaking students struggle with Tefilla just like non-Israelis: Why do we daven? Does G-d really listen to our tefillot? How can we teach Tefilla? How can we make the experience more meaningful? etc. etc. etc.

[The Lookstein Center for Jewish Education in the Diaspora has a few helpful discussions and curricular initiatives on this topic that are worth looking at (here, here and here).]

But Israelis also experience many of the same translation problems that non-Hebrew speakers feel. I sat in on a tefilla class today where the kids complained that they did not understand Ashrei. The teacher had to tell them how iyun Tefilla is a must in order to make the best of, perhaps, the most important part of the day.

Just as my former students - all of them Amerian - would have a have time reading Shakespeare in high school, Israelis have a hard time reading the tefillot.

While the Israeli students knew many of the words, they certainly did not know all of them and certainly not in a way that would enhance their kavannah. (And the other theological questions are certainly extant in the minds of Israeli teens.) As I mentioned in a previous post, the fact that they speak Hebrew fluently may serve against them in that they think they know the meaning of many of the words when, in reality, they miss a lot; their understanding is from modern Hebrew and not from its Biblical relative.

Days-Off Woes

In a previous post I mentioned how strange it has been to work regularly on Sundays.

Another, slightly-related issue, is the fact that the students (often) go to school 6 days a week. However, teachers and administrators usually only work 5 days a week (or less). (My experience in the U.S. was that most teachers were there when the students were there and certainly the administrators were almost always in the building when students were there.)

The fact that in Israel, the students are often in school more than the faculty has major implications on internal communication in the school. For example, the mechanech has his day off on Sunday, he is obviously not there to help his students that day with any problems they may have.
The next day, for example, the mechanech may be there to talk about the issues but the teacher who had the problem yesterday with that student may not be there.
The rakaz (coordinator) of the grade or of that subject may be the one who coordinates all of this communication traffic, but he/she has a day off too!
The administrator who oversees all of this has a day off as well!
And so on and so on.

Of course memos and paper trails are a good place to start, but there is nothing like talking face to face and that is lost when not everyone is around all the time.

Tiyul with a Tanach

No surprises here. Just a simple comment.

It is hard to describe how amazing it is to take a tiyul, to a place about which you are teaching, with a Tanach in your hand. It's a hands-on class at its finest. The kids learn, the teachers learn, the classes (both those and others) benefit immensely. It is simply amazing. Every time.

Nothing new or earth-shattering. Still, it shouldn't go unnoticed or unmentioned just because it's obvious.

Stealing Second Base (Making Aliyah Without a Job)

[Advice to future olim:]

There is a wonderful saying attributed to Fredrick Wilcox: "... You can't steal second base without taking your foot off of first." (A more graphic and powerful quote, by Ray Bradbury is equally true: "You've got to jump off cliffs all the time and build your wings on the way down.")

This is particularly true about finding a job in chinuch in Israel. The American and Israeli calendars are not in synch at all. (This may be true for other countries too but I cant only speak from experience about the U.S.) In the U.S., if you are looking for a new job, especially a job in administration, you begin sending out feelers in December/January, maybe even earlier. As job offers come back (hopefully), you need to tell your current school in January/February that you're leaving.

In Israel, usually, schools cannot even speak with you about next year before February/March... and even that's early! (I was exteremely fortunate, thank G-d, that I got a job offer in February. I interviewed in a few places and other offers came after February. One offer came as late as June and, when I told the principal of that school that I already accepted another offer, he couldn't believe that I had already accepted another offer without waiting to hear from other places! June!)

What all this means is that you will, most probably, have to jump off the cliff and build your wings on the way... up (aliyah). That is, you will probably have to tell your current school that you plan on making aliyah before receiving a solid job offer in Israel.

That is scary, to say the least.

On the other hand, there is work to be found in Israel. You will (hopefully) receive an offer before arriving in Israel. That way, you can get on the plane knowing where you will be working, and approximately how much you will be paid. (See my earlier post about the Misraed Hachinuch and the ambiguities there in salaries.) (If I am not mistaken, many other professions cannot say that you will have a job before you get on the plane.)

In short, taking the leap will be (hopefully) harder than building the wings.

Admissions

We're in the middle now of the admissions process for high school. Many religious high schools begin in the 7th grade. That means that 6th graders need to take entrance exams, have interviews, visits to schools, etc. It also means, therefore, that a number of 6th graders are going to be receiving rejection letters in the near future.

That is an incredible amount of pressure for an 11 or 12 year old. (I think it's an incredible amount of pressure for an 8th grader too. But I guess I'm a bit more used to that.) I don't think this is an Israeli-vs.non-Israeli issue; from what I have seen so far, Israeli 6th graders are just as nervous (petrified?) as non-Israeli 6th graders.

When I interview 6th graders for entrance to our school, I try to make the interview process as user-frendly as possible. Still, there must be a better way.

Teacher Absences

There seem to be an inordinate number of teacher absences in the school where I work. Why? It seems to me that some of the most fundamental, deep-rooted issues in Israeli society and in the Israeli educational system have far flung consequences. For example...

1. Teachers are not paid very well. Therefore...

• ... a number of teachers participate in a variety of "השתלמויות" (professional development) for a variety of reasons: a) to improve their practice, b) to be paid a higher salary in general (someone who attends a certain number of PD courses ina career or a school year gets paid in a higher bracket), or c) to be paid for for attending the courses. These are wonderful things... but they often come at the cost of teaching time.
• ... a teacher often needs to hold down more than one job. Different schedules in other schools (trips, meetng, etc.) often come at the cost of teaching time in our school.
• ... children (i.e. sick children, or giving birth to them!) are often the cause of teacher absences in any school. Teachers here - at least in our school - are on the younger end and seem to have these excuses more often.
• ... most teachers have only one car. A missed bus or tremp (hitch-hike) can mean coming late to classes.
• I also sense a little lack of professionalism (I imagine it's worse in other schools; in my school, it's only a little) and therefore willingness to miss a class here and there. This may be due to the salary as well.

2. The Army (מילואים)

• Teachers (usually male) teachers are out for an extended period of time at least once a year. And that's in peace time.

3. Misrad Hachinuch

• All of the paperwork and bureacracy that I have mentioned in an earlier post, has its toll on absences as well. Our teachers needed to go to Tel Aviv in the beginning of the year for something or other. Some had to go to the local police station for some kind of form. Others went to an office in Jerusalem for this or that. And on and on and on. All at the expense of class time.

4. Kupat Cholim

• Not a major reason but important enough to mention: their hours are not incredibly convenient. Emergencies are understandable but appointments are sometimes hard to get and often come at the expense of class time.

(There may be other reasons, but, so far this is what I've seen. I'll fill in more details as time allows.)

Israeli Parent-Teacher Conferences

Just finished my first Parent-Teacher conferences in Israel.

I imagine that a lot of ink (or blogger comments) have been spent on the differences between Israeli and non-Israeli parents. There are differences.

But this comment is about the similarities. And the similarities far outweigh the differences. For the most part, parents in any country focus on their children, want what's best for their children, respect the teachers' position, opinion, and advice. Sure there are exceptions to this rule. But there are exception in every country.

My experience at my first Parent-Teacher conference in Israel was mostly positive with a couple of wrinkles. But that was my experience in the U.S. too!

[Adice to future Olim: I have been trying to focus on the similarities between the various parties here (students, parents, teachers, administrators); it's not as flashy and the blog comments not as juicy...... but, from what I have seen, it's more accurate..... and healthy.]

Report Cards

Writing report cards with comments that are substantive, meaningful, appropriate, articulate, relevant, constructive and grammatically correct in Hebrew is arduous.

Maybe it won’t be hard forever but, for now, it is simply grueling.

As an administrator, I’ve had to read and comment on everyone else’s report cards! And, I must say, reading teachers’ report cards and providing substantive, meaningful, appropriate, articulate, relevant, constructive and grammatically correct comments in Hebrew is arduous.

And yes, maybe it won’t be hard forever but, for now, it is simply grueling.

Administrative Dissonance

I know full well that many of my posts are specific to...

• my school,
• my specifc position,
• my experience,
• my personality,

Still.....

... the administration in our school meets regularly with an advisor provided by the Misrad Hachinuch who assists us in our administrative responsibilities. He is a former principal who has "been around the block" and serves as an objective advisor about issues like long-term planning, organization, budgeting, etc.

One of the most fascinating and frustrating things about the advice and guidance that I'm getting from this advisor is that my primary job is to a) delegate and b) stay in the office as much as possible. For example, we talk about how to conduct meetings in an effective way so that I can delegate to the people who work for me (his words) and close the door to my office and get some work done (again, his words).

It has become clear to me that the stuff I love - getting to know the students, observing and guiding teachers... basically all the MBWA (Management By Wandering Around; made famous by Bob Waterman and Tom Peters in their great book In Search of Excellence, look here or here) - is, to this advisor, far less important than the delegating from above! Not just less important but tolerable at best and a waste of my time at worst. Not that that is not important, but it's not important for me. My position in the school - pretty high up but not #1 - is "too high" for the MBWA. Huh?

That drives me crazy.

Hebrew Texts to Hebrew Speakers in Hebrew

Perhaps a counter-intuitive surprise in this post....

The advantages of teaching Hebrew texts to Israelis are pretty obvious. Much of the work in a non-Ivrit shiur is translating and understanding the words. (Whether that is what should be taught is a wholly different matter.)

In Israel, (most of) the translating work is done already. Certainly there are words or expressions that require explanation. But often we can jump straight into the more meaningful discussions of dissecting and understanding the choice of words, the context, the themes, the author's intent, application of new ideas, recognition of patterns and hidden meanings, etc. etc.

I have been surprised, though, that native Hebrew speakers have certain troubles that non-natives do not. The best way to describe it is, I think, by comparing it to the halacha of using a candle, at night, to do bedikat chametz rather than by daylight or with all of the lights on: when you only have a candle, you tend to look at each nook and cranny more carefully. You know you're at a disadvantage so you become far more careful. When you have daylight, your eye tends to drift around the room rather than focus on the details.

That is (often) what happens to Israeli: s/he looks at the Chumash in the 'daylight.' There is an assumption - often justified - that I understand what is being said, so why look closely? Details, nuances in wording, context, grammar are often overlooked. I find, therefore, that much of my job is to educate the Israeli students to slow down, to become sensitive to nuance, to look carefully. My experience with non-native Hebrew speaking students is different. They know that they have to slow down and look at the details (at least the motivated ones). When that happens, those nuances can then be noticed, investigated, and discussed.

[By the way, I once heard Richard Joel speaking to a group of educators bemoaning the fact that our youth today - in the age of IM's, emails, internet, etc. - don't pay attention to nuance. What an important message to educators in every country!]

When all is said and done, the Israelis certainly have an advantage over the non-Israelis when it comes to textual issues.

Still, that advantage is not all one sided.

Misrad Hachinuch (I)

Any blog about Israeli vs. American Jewish education would be incomplete without a few comments/ideas/complaints about the Misrad Hachinuch, the Ministry of Education. In the first 3 months that I've been here, the most glaring issue regarding this monolithic organization is that of salaries. For now, I'm not even discussing the amount of our salaries (which will be a future post). I'm simply discussing getting a salary in the first place.

I have become a government employee. At least somewhat. Our school is partially funded by the Ministry of Education so I need to become part of that system. How much I am paid is dependent on a lot of things: 1) How much I work, 2) Where I work, 3) My experience, 4) My education. The first two components are site-dependent. What is their budget? What are their needs, etc. Simply put, as I understand it, the school receives a total number of hours from the Misrad Hachinuch and then it hires each teacher "by the hour" per week. A full-time teacher may be budgeted for 24 hours, 28 hours, 30 hours, whatever. Some of those hours may be in the classroom, some for meeting with students, some for meetings, however the school decides to "spend" its hours.

How much money each teacher receives for those hours is a wholly different matter....

A teacher's salary is computed after s/he is given a certain number of hours and is dependent on the person's education and experience. The simple formula: the more experience and the more education, the higher the salary.

As an American coming to Israel, proving my experience and my education in a way that the bureaucracy at the Misrad Hachinuch accepts has been, at times, a hassle and, at other times, a nightmare. I am now being paid in a way and in an amount that I do not understand. In other words, I do not know why, when, and how much I get paid. That's hard to swallow.

[Advice to future olim: while still in chutz la'aretz get all of your education and experience paperwork in order. For example, get letters from every place that you ever worked, on letterhead, describing exactly what you did, when you did it and for how long you did it.

For example, if you wrote sessions for NCSY, get a letter from NCSY on letterhead stating that you wrote sessions. If you worked in a school in a semi-administrative capacity, get a letter, on letterhead. etc. etc. etc. Another example: if you presented at a BJE conference get a letter. If you gave an in-service at your school, get a letter. If you have a Masters degree, bring the original diploma to Israel. If you have a Doctorate, bring the diploma. If you can, bring transcripts and even course syllabi.

I would recommend this even to people who think they are working in a post-high school institution. The long-arm of the Misrad Hachinuch is longer than you think!

I cannot tell you how hard it has been to get these letters almost 20 years after I worked at some places or went to school at others. Save yourself the hassle and do it now. There will still be hassles, but you can cut them down tremendously if you get these letters and diplomas now.

I certainly do not mean to scare you off. I really believe that your experience does not have to be a nightmare. My experience with the Misrad Hachinuch has been - at times - due in large measure to my lack of preparation.]

Mechanech

One of the things that American schools can learn from Israeli schools is the concept of a Mechanech. In all of the schools that I have come across in Israel (where I work, where my kids go to school, where colleague work), there is a mechanech in every class. In the school where I teach, a high school for boys grades 7-12, there is a Rav-Mechanech, or R"aM.

I look at the mechanech as a "Class Principal." They are in charge of the general welfare of the students, their educational and social development, and after-school activities as well. They are, simply put, the first address for the students in their class. Of course, to assist the mechanech there are more staff members: the assistant principal, the administrator of the class, the supervisors for each subject, the principal and, in certain schools, the Rosh Yeshiva. That is most certainly a lot of bureaucratic levels that would dizzy even the most seasoned government employee (which is, after all, what most teachers are in Israel!). But, I believe in the case of the mechanech, the student definitely benefits from those layers of bureaucracy.

Sundays

I never worked in a school in the United States that had school on Sundays. Working on Sundays has been one of the more difficult components of my transition in Israel. I know that a number of olim feel the loss of Sundays so I guess there is nothing new here. It’s not terrible, but the family time, the relatively-relaxing time, the sleeping-late, these are all things which I miss. Many people in Israel get Fridays off. I teach on Fridays but I do get another day off during the week and that certainly is welcome! (The downside, though, is that my children have school and my wife works on the day that I have off. Great for getting work done, rotten for spending time with my family!)

In addition to all that, though, there is another part to working on Sundays. Preparation! Teaching on Sunday means preparing on Motzei Shabbat. Again, not terrible, but our Saturday nights are much different now that I need to wake up at 6:00 AM and teach the next day. Once the day gets going, it’s hard to remember that it’s Sunday... but on Saturday night and Sunday at 6:00 AM, it’s hard to forget!

Speaking Like a Native

When I spent my “year” in Israel after high school, I said to myself that I would not care how I sounded or what people thought of me when speaking Hebrew. That worked fairly well for me over the years: Though my accent is horrendous, my vocabulary and conjugation are more than passable. Most adults are able to see past the poor accent and the gender-specific mistakes that I make on a regular basis and are able to judge me by the content of my words not their style.

Not so with Israeli teens.

I figured that they would not “see past the poor accent and the gender-specific mistakes.....” I assumed they would see only the poor accent and gender-specific mistakes. So I addressed it head-on in my first day of teaching. After introducing myself, I mentioned that if they pay attention very, very carefully, they’d notice a slight accent [chuckles]. I said that it was indeed true. I am not from here; I’m from Haifa [more chuckles].

For the most part it worked. They knew that I didn’t take myself too seriously and that language was not (or should not) be a barrier to our teacher-student relationship. Since then, I most certainly make mistakes (I’ll post some of the most egregious errors in a future post). But we have created a learning relationship where I learn from them and they learn from me. When there is a great word that they teach me, I take out my pocket-sized Kohinor notebook and write it down during class.

Once in a while, I used to get a jab in the hallways. A “boker tov” from me might have received a heavily accented “bokerrrr tow-vvvv!” I decided to address that head on too. When a child honed in on my accent, I looked him straight in the eye and said, very gently, that if he had any advice on how to speak, I would appreciate it if he told me directly and not behind my back. I had, after all, feelings too! It sounds cliché, but he is one of my closest students today!

Reflections of an American Teacher in Israel

I have been teaching in Israel since the beginning of the 2005-2006 (5766) school year. I have been privileged to have a moderately long and relatively successful career in chinuch in the United States. My family and I have wanted to make aliyah for many years but, for one reason or another, we pushed it off. Now, we are in Israel and now I teach in an Israeli institution. (For now, I'd like to withhold further details.)

Certainly, some of my first-year aliyah experiences will find their way into this blog, but, first and foremost, this blog is a public diary of my transition, experience and hopefully-successful growth as I move into the world of Israeli Jewish education.