The Jew-hating bastards on yet another Holocaust denial site (based in the U.K., there’s a surprise) have linked to one of my old teaching posts (and not in a good way). And they don’t like my No Israel-Bashing Zone policy, either. Aww. My heart bleeds. Jew-haters are unhappy because I won’t let them pour out their filth on my blog.

The Purim mentality is not confined to Zionist opinion formers, but would seem to be shared (and passed on) by many ordinary Jews such as teacher and blogger Meryl Yourish, who under the heading Teaching Little Jews to be Big Jews, tells us:

I’m a Jew-hater’s worst nightmare: I teach little Jews to be big Jews. I may not have children of my own, but I’m doing my part to propagate the Jewish nation. That knowledge gives me great satisfaction.
…I pass it on to my students. I’ve taught them that one way to piss off a Jew-hater is to chant “Am Yisrael Chai” (”The people of Israel live”). I’ve noticed that if you start that chant at an anti-Israel protest, it really torks off the anti-Israel protesters. This always leads my students into chanting the phrase for a minute or two in class, which they love. They also like it when I say things like “Purim is the holiday where the Jews kicked the crap out of the Persians.”

Don’t even think about debating with the like of Ms Yourish, since she tells us that her website is a No-Israel Bashing Zone.

I’ve no doubt that she and her students will be cheering on the bombs and missiles, if and when they start falling on Tehran.

So, should I consider it an honor that I’m on the front page of a Holocaust-denying, Jew-hating site? Or should I just laugh at them and continue to do what I’m doing, as it’s obviously working.

I think I’ll just laugh. Poor, pitiful people. Their feelings of inadequacy are so large, they have to blame someone for their failures. And hey, why not blame the people who have the largest per capita representation in Nobel prizes, in the arts, literature, and science in the world? Why not blame the people who have invented the cure for polio, instant messaging, drip-irrigation technology, and a thousand other things that helps humanity thrive? Why not blame the people who have defied the odds to remain not just in existence, but thriving in every nation they comprise a significant population?

Clearly, the Jew-haters have issues. Psychiatry might help. But their hatred is so deep, I suspect it’s incurable.

Like I teach my children: They tried to kill us. They failed. Let’s eat.

Am Yisrael chai.

Or, to put a more modern turn on it: In your face, assholes.

Way to go, guys. Give Israel’s enemies ammunition to prove that Israel is racist, by being racist assholes.

Four months after harrowing accounts of discrimination against Ethiopian students, Ynet has reported that the parents’ associations of the three largest state religious schools in Petah Tikva plan to shut down these aforementioned institutions next week to protest what they call “outright discrimination by private schools in the city as well as the Petah Tikva municipality.” Other state religious schools might also join in this boycott.

On Sunday, the school day at the city’s three major state religious schools will begin at 10am, and starting Tuesday, the Petah Tikva Parents’ Association has announced that it would suspend studies indefinitely to protest the fact that religious private schools in the city are not accepting their fair share of Ethiopian pupils. The boycott will affect the Morasha School, Ma’alot Chaim school, and the Kfar Ganim School which have a total combined number of 2,000 pupils.

This is shameful. Refusing to accept Ethiopian pupils? And the reason would be….?

I’d love to say this is a one-time thing. But there appears to be a pattern of discrimination against Ethiopian Jews by certain religious schools in this town.

These Ethiopian immigrants were consequently placed in a separate classroom at the very end of the school corridor. One teacher alone was allotted for teaching them all of the various academic subjects. Moreover, the girls were assigned different recess hours to their peers, and given cab fare home so that they would not “overly socialize” with the rest of the girls.

The girls’ parents immediately noticed that their children were lonely, depressed and less than eager to go to school. “We do not understand what we did wrong, what crime we’re guilty of. Is this only because we are black?” they asked Ethiopian activist Daniel Uriah, who tried to speak to the principal on their behalf and was unceremoniously kicked out of the school building. Uriah then met with the director of the education administration, who told him that “the school in question is elitist and the girls must learn how to behave if they would like to fit in.”

Uriah next turned to Deputy Mayor of Petach Tikva, Paltiel Aisenthal of the National Union-National Religious Party. At a joint meeting with the girls’ parents, Aidenthal glibly stated: “Don’t worry about it. We know what is best for the girls. It is no big deal if they are separated from their peers.”

Unacceptable. Unacceptable actions, unacceptable answers.

I normally do not write about subjects like this. There are more than enough Israel-bashers out there, and while I read all of the news, positive and negative, I prefer not to get into the disagreements on various subjects (particularly the “Who is a Jew” argument). But this? If there is anything other than racism behind this story, I’m at a loss to figure it out.

A Jew is a Jew is a Jew. The Ethiopians are black-skinned? That won’t stop Hamas and Hezbullah from murdering them because they’re Jewish.

Okay, I don’t watch the TV news very often, and I didn’t last night. I don’t listen to the news on the radio much, either. And, well, I completely missed out on a very important fact. Like, moving the clocks forward an hour.

So this morning, I am up before the alarm goes off (mostly due to going to bed at a reasonable hour and, well, being tired enough to sleep). While I’m deciding whether or not to get up, the phone rings. It’s a familiar voice asking if I’m someone else. “Nooo,” I tell him, and try to continue as he apologizes. “Michael… Michael, it’s Meryl!” (It’s another member of my congregation, who had my number written on a piece of paper and thought it was the other one.) We chat a bit, he apologizes for calling so early, I tell him I’m already up, he says his daughter has an 8 a.m. basketball game, and I’m wondering why he’s talking to me at 7:45 when he should be driving to the game. We hang up, I do my morning routine, get downstairs, can’t figure out how my computer got to 9 a.m., change the clock, start writing a post as I have a ton of time. 8:30 rolls around, and I get a phone call. It’s my madrich.

“Um, Ms. Yourish, did you forget to set your clocks back last night?”
“What?”
“Did you forget it’s Daylight Savings Time?”
“Holy crap! It’s 9:30?”
“Yes. But it’s okay, we have a Purim lesson we can do until you get here….”
“No, wait. We have music at 9:30. Take the kids to music class and I’ll get there as soon as I can. And tell someone.”
“Okay.”

I no longer have a leisurely breakfast (but I have breakfast), get to school at about five to ten, sign in, and discover that no, the kids don’t have music class, because the music assistant is not in today. I hurry to class and find the principal monitoring my madrichim, who are teaching the children abour Purim. I thank her, we finish the lesson, and go on with the day. Of course all the kids had to ask me why I was late.

Well, that was embarrassing. But at least I know my assistants have really moved forward in giant steps. They were scheduled to have a Purim lesson later in the day (crafts and games plus the story of Purim), and they just pushed the story part into the first half hour of class. They did a great job, the principal told me.

I feel guilty. But I feel well-rested. It evens out.

Last Friday night, for the sixth time in my teaching career, my fourth graders led services. Every year, they get better and better at singing the prayers and psalms in front of their parents and the congregation. I’d love to take all the credit for it, but it’s not just me. I’m only a small part of their improvement. It’s the program that was set into place by our former rabbi and education director, who were also responsible for the presence of over twenty-five children and young people at my adult bat mitzvah in November. And by “responsible for the presence,” I mean that the children came up eagerly when called on to assist me during services on Friday and Saturday. The older ones helped out with things like the Ashrey (which I still need to learn fully), and the younger ones came up for Mizmor l’David, fully prepared and able to lead the congregation along with me.

This year, I decided to teach my students the Hatzi Kaddish, which I used to think was too difficult for fourth graders. We also worked on Mizmor l’David, Mi Chamocha, and the Bar’chu. Believe it or not, that last gave them and me a world of trouble. They kept mixing up the melody of the lead and the response. But we finally got it right by the Tuesday before we were due to lead, and I went to services on Friday night feeling confident. The rabbi was out of town for the weekend, so the principal of the religious school and I ran the show. I had my students up for everything but the Amidah. The principal and I sang along sotto voce, but not to help the kids—they didn’t need our help at all. They were letter-perfect on just about everything, and when they sang the Hatzi Kaddish, I was prouder of my students than if they’d been my own kids. They were great.

Instead of a sermon, we played, “Are you smarter than a fourth grader?” and asked their parents and congregants questions about Judaism. If they didn’t know the answer, they picked one of the students, who did. Of course I skewed the questions to ones I knew the children could answer. But it was fun. When one of the congregants got a typical Ms. Yourish holiday question (”Tell me three things about Purim”), he answered, “Haman, Esther, Mordecai.” I had my students follow up after we all stopped laughing. Every year, they learn whether or not a holiday is a three-line holiday (”They tried to kill us, we won, let’s eat!”). Then they go on to tell me who tried to kill us, and what special foods we eat.

Now here’s the really special thing about learning the Hatzi Kaddish this year. We have only one page in the Siddur with the transliteration, and it’s for the Saturday morning prayer service. My fourth graders are not fluent in Hebrew, and I believe in letting them use transliteration until they learn the words, then move onto the Hebrew. Not only does it help them learn their prayers, but I think it improves their Hebrew skills as well. So I brought in Post-It flags for them to put on the page with the transliteration, because it takes a nine-year-old child a lot longer than it takes you or me to turn to page 324 (and even with the flag, one of the students took a while getting to the page). They read from the transliteration, they did well, and that, I thought was that.

The next day in Sunday school, the third grade teacher asked me to help her students prepare for their turn to lead services at the end of the month. (We have our classes together the last 45 minutes of Sunday for another project, and we’re playing to each other’s strengths during that time.) So I asked them if they’d like to learn the Hatzi Kaddish.

“No! It’s too hard!” was the response.

“Tellya what,” I said. “Let’s just all do it—Daled class will show you how, and you can just listen if you like, you don’t have to sing along—and at the end of the prayer, you decide if you want to try it for your service.” We turned to page 324. My students led, third graders sang along, and by the end of the prayer, they decided yes, they would like to make the Hatzi Kaddish their special prayer for their service (they’ll be with the kindergarten, first and second graders due to a scheduling change).

But we’re still not at the punchline to this story. Third and fourth grade practiced the Hatzi Kaddish on Sunday and again on Tuesday afternoon early. Tuesday near the end of class, we met with the rest of the school (grades five through seven) for T’filah. The principal called for the Hatzi Kaddish. It was on a page without transliteration. I walked around the children, listening intently to the third and fourth graders. They were singing along. With all of it. They were looking at the book, at the Hebrew. All of them.

These are the moments a teacher lives for. The third and fourth grade can chant the Hatzi Kaddish in Hebrew, and they didn’t even know they could do it.

I am so moving on to Mizmor L’David for third grade on Tuesday.

Not.

And amid all this hype, Winehouse’s representatives said late Friday that she won’t attend tonight’s Grammys in Los Angeles. Although she resolved her visa issues with the U.S. Embassy, she’ll still appear via satellite from London. Winehouse apparently decided not to stray too far from the very place she sang about never entering: rehab.

The New York Times tells the story of
a new principal at a troubled high school. (h/t Shalom USA.)

On his first visit, in October 2004, he found a police officer arresting a student and calling for backup to handle the swelling crowd. Students roamed the hallways with abandon; in one class of 30, only 5 students had bothered to show up.

Who is he?

Junior High School 22, in the South Bronx, had run through six principals in just over two years when Shimon Waronker was named the seventh.. . . “It was chaos,” Mr. Waronker recalled. “I was like, this can’t be real.”

Teachers, parents and students at the school, which is mostly Hispanic and black, were equally taken aback by the sight of their new leader: A member of the Chabad-Lubavitch sect of Hasidic Judaism with a beard, a black hat and a velvet yarmulke.

“The talk was, ‘You’re not going to believe who’s running the show,’ ” said Lisa DeBonis, now an assistant principal.

Not surprisingly, not everyone has accepted him, though it seems that most of the critics are no longer with the school, so it might just be that they have an ax to grind.

When an etiquette expert, Lyudmila Bloch, first approached principals about training sessions she runs at a Manhattan restaurant, most declined to send students. Mr. Waronker, who happened to be reading her book, “The Golden Rules of Etiquette at the Plaza,” to his own children (he has six), has since dispatched most of the school for training at a cost of $40 a head.Flipper Bautista, 10, loved the trip, saying, “It’s this place where you go and eat, and they teach you how to be first-class.”

In a school where many children lack basic reading and math skills, though, such programs are not universally applauded. When Mr. Waronker spent $8,000 in school money to give students a copy of “The Code: The 5 Secrets of Teen Success” and to invite the writer to give a motivational speech, it outraged Marietta Synodis, a teacher who has since left.

“My kids could much better benefit from math workbooks,” Ms. Synodis said.

Mr. Waronker counters that key elements of his leadership are dreaming big and offering children a taste of worlds beyond their own. “Those experiences can be life-transforming,” he said.

One of the themes in the report is that Mr. Waronker has a personal touch. For example:

So when Emmanuel Bruntson, 14, a cut-up in whom Mr. Waronker saw potential, started getting into fights, he met with him daily and gave him a copy of Jane Austen’s “Emma.”“I wanted to get him out of his environment so he could see a different world,” Mr. Waronker said.

My guess is that despite the problems, Mr. Waronker is having some success. And it comes from his seeming religious commitment to the school.

Back in Crown Heights, Mr. Waronker says he occasionally finds himself on the other side of a quizzical look, with his Hasidic neighbors wondering why he is devoting himself to a Bronx public school instead of a Brooklyn yeshiva.“We’re all connected,” he responds.

Gesturing in his school at a class full of students, he said, “I feel the hand of the Lord here all the time.”

* Yiddishe Nachas could be translated as “Jewish Pride.” It’s something I get when I read of someone like Shimon Waronker, but not a spoiled, self-destructive pop-singer.

Crossposted on Soccer Dad.

I was talking to one of my students’ parents today before class, telling her that her son is already proving to be one of the most knowledgeable in my class. She told me he came home last Sunday loving the class. He told her “Mom, you don’t even notice that you’re learning in Ms. Yourish’s class!”

Teachers don’t get compliments much better than that. It’s like pitching a perfect game. In fact, it makes me very happy, because that’s what I’ve been trying to do for five years, and hearing that tells me that I’ve succeeded.

Today, for the third straight class day, the students asked me how long they’d been in class. “An hour,” I told them. They said it felt more like ten minutes. Yep. Things are going well so far.

Every year, I get more and more on my teaching stride. I was a bit worried about this year’s class. They’re a bit, ah, rowdy. Last year, they used to stampede down the hall at the end of every day (except when I was in the hallway to stop them). They’re a little tough to manage sometimes, as they love to talk, well, all the time—but they’re mostly fine.

It’s only been a week, and I’m already falling for my new students, and not really missing my old ones. They’ve moved on. I’ve got a new group of kids to teach, and to learn about, and learn from. Every year, my students surprise me. Every class has its own dynamics and its own unpredictable quirks. The fun, and the challenge, is in figuring them out and working with (or around) them.

Today was the first day of religious school. It featured a new class, a new principal, new books, and an extra 30 minutes of class time.

I am exhausted. It didn’t help that I was up an hour before the alarm, either.

I always miss my last class for the first week or so of the school year, even though I inevitably fall in love with my new class. My old class always seems to miss me about the same way. We all get over it rather quickly. Although throughout the year, my old students will constantly ask me if my new students are getting negative points. They each like to think they’re the best-behaved (or in one case, worst-behaved) class I will ever have.

This year will definitely be a bit more challenging than last year. I always keep my eye on the third-graders. I knew most of my current students’ names before they even got to my class. But that’s purely self-interest. Their class was large and noisy and, shall we say, behaviorally-challenged last year. For instance, I informed them that there will not be what I referred to as the third grade stampede moved into fourth grade. Minus five points for running in the hall, I told them. They were suitably chagrined and did not run screaming out of the room when I dismissed them.

The class is very boy-heavy. Two girls, seven boys. I expect to be exhausted after every class.

And for the fifth time in six years, I have a pair of boy-girl twins. Our congregation seems to be heavy on the boy-girl twins, especially considering how tiny we are. I think these two are it, though. Which is too bad. Boy-girl twins add a special dynamic to the class that I’ve enjoyed very much. I’ve found that it really lessens the boy-girl competition so prevalent in fourth graders.

Exhausted. I may just go take a nap to recover.

The last of my second-year students has his bar mitzvah this weekend. I know you’re not supposed to have favorites, but I confess that J. was always one of mine, even as he was one of my most challenging students. He has ADHD—for real, not the conservative “oh, he’s just a boy” thing—and he moves through life on a constant fast-forward. But he’s also one of the sweetest boys I have ever known. He’s the only b’nai mitzvah child that I noticed said “Thank you” to the rep from the religion committee when she presented him with his kiddush cup. I’m sure some of the others must have said it, but none as loudly and clearly as J.

He and his mother gave me a Hulk pinata towards the end of his year as my student. I have a collection of Hulk memorabilia from various students, parents, friends, and relatives. The pinata has not been smashed. It has been put away. J. likes to identify me to new people by telling them, “She likes the Hulk.” His class was during the year the movie came out, which explains their fascination with my fascination with the Hulk. B.’s mother gave me the Hulk Slim Jim canisters she’d bought from Costco (minus the Slim Jims). Now B. and I discuss comic books, to his mother’s great amusement.

I think one of the main reasons I get such a kick out of J. is because he’s so enthusiastic, about almost everything. His grandfather was telling him about a kiddush cup made from a twelfth-century souvenir from Israel that has been in their family for some time, and J. ran out of synonyms for “Cool!” before long. I told him the oldest things I own are nineteenth-century coins inherited from my father, and he thought that was cool, too.

Well. I think J. is way cool. I look forward to watching him grow up. I’m getting a real kick out of seeing all of them turn into young adults. And in four more years, my first class goes to college. Now that’s going to be cool.

I have just finished the last of my students’ progress reports. That’s what they call report cards for Hebrew School these days.

I am done with my paperwork obligations. Finished. Completed.

All I have to do is get through two hours of class tomorrow, one hour of awards assembly, give each of the students an hour of rock climbing at the rock climbing gym, give H. her Jeep ride, and my obligations for the 2006-2007 Religious School year are done.

I’m actually much happier that the progress reports are finished than anything else. The rest of the stuff is a snap. I’ll snag half the parents tomorrow and arrange a rock climbing day, then get the rest of them. Two groups of four kids each. As for Hannah and the Jeep ride, I already let her father know he messed me up by having the nerve to have a family obligation tomorrow instead of going to the picnic, where I would have given his daughter the Jeep ride. So he feels guilty and will meet me somewhere on the next free, sunny day.

Yup. School year is almost finished. As soon as b’nai mitzvah season is over (third week in June), I’ll also have my weekends back. But at least I can start sleeping in again on Sundays. Aaah. I can feel the relaxation setting in already. Free until next September. Then it starts all over again, with the class that is currently terrorizing the school. (It’s the largest and the most, shall we say, enthusiastic.) ((Okay, when they leave, I say, “Third grade stampede!” and my students wait until it subsides before they exit our classroom. And may I say, NFW will that be happening next year.)) (((And when I say “NFW,” I mean, “N.F.W.” I have already made my presence known to the third graders on the subject of their behavior.)))

Well, I have all summer to recharge for that challenge. When all is said and done, they’re still only nine years old. And I have Authority Voice down pat. Last week, I spent the afternoon with Sarah and Larry and the kids watching Max’s T-Ball game. Game’s over, we’re getting ready to leave, and Nate wants me to watch him do this neat thing, which turns out to be swinging around a pole on the edge of a hill and leaping downward. “Ah, Nate—that’s a really dangerous thing to do and you can’t be doing that again,” I said. Sarah backed me up on that, and Nate was chagrined. Max had seen all this, but had not heard Sarah and me tell Nate what a dumb idea that was, and because he idolizes Nate and wants to do everything Nate does, Max grabbed the pole and started to swing. “Max, NO!” I said loudly, basically in unison with Sarah. Then I turned to her and said, “Sorry. Instinct.” She was fine with it.

Mommy Voice. You don’t have to be a mom to have one.

This is the time of year that drives me the craziest. The kids all have spring fever, and Tuesdays are the worst. They’ve been in school all day, and now they have to come straight ot religious school with barely a break between. That’s why I try to have my curriculum finished by mid-April if possible, or as early as I can get the kids past their mastery skills.

Today, I wanted to test them on the alefbet. You would think that they wouldn’t have any trouble with the letters at all, but I know there are still a couple of letters that each of them blank on. It’s either a blind spot thing or just a fourth grade thing. They read spectacularly for me on Sunday, so well that I went home thinking that yes, I really did manage to teach them to read Hebrew on a higher level by the end of the year.

So the alefbet test: I held up a flash card, and A. said, “Underarm sweat!”

Sigh.

Fourth graders.

They drive you crazy, and they keep you humble.

Long-time readers will doubtless remember that this is the time of year that I am driven absolutely crazy by my Daled class students. Spring hits Richmond very early each year, but we have class through the end of May. By this time of year, I have gotten nearly through our curriculum, my students have finished or nearly finished their mastery skills, and the sun is bright and warm and there are bugs and birds and trees and flowers to distract my nine- and ten-year-olds.

In short, this time of year is really tough if you’re a Hebrew school teacher trying to impart knowledge into young, impressionable minds. It’s an uphill battle when it isn’t gorgeous out. Add springtime to the mix, and if my students get out of class having learned only one piece of new information, I consider it a victory.

Which is why I try to do things outside the curriculum in late spring. This is the time of year that I scour the internet for something that I can bring in that will keep my students’ interest and yet still teach them about being Jews. Today, I brought in my laptop to take advantage of the synagogue office WiFi. I showed my class the Miri Ben-Ari video that’s been making the rounds. I asked them to tell me if they recognized the music—it’s the Uzi Chitman version of Adon Olam that the rabbi taught them this year (my favorite!). I also asked them to watch the video and tell me what it was about. They caught on to both immediately. Of course, then I had to explain interpretetive dance to them. (”Weird” and “silly” were the words most used most frequently to describe the dance.) And then I had to tell them no, the dancers were not naked, those were flesh-colored bodysuits.

Some of the students were watching more Miri Ben-Ari videos while I worked on a mastery skill with the others. One told me that a box had popped up and was saying something. Turns out that Rahel was IM’ing me. I told her I was in class and asked her to connect her microphone, and then “called” her with Google Talk. I asked her to please tell my students where she was calling from. When they heard “Jerusalem, Israel,” they were awestruck. So, since we had Rahel on Google Talk, and we had just finished listening to my class’ favorite version of Adon Olam, we proceeded to have a sing-along with Rahel. My students sang the first verse, then I asked Rahel if she would sing a verse. The kids got even more awestruck, because if you haven’t heard Rahel sing, you are missing out on something wonderful.

We finished the song, and thanked Rahel, said goobye and went on with our lessons.

It was a wonderful, wonderful lesson. My students all loved it, and even the madrich was impressed. Best of all, I had my camera today. So Rahel, here they are, singing along with you, 6,000 miles away.

Oh, and the kids all think you have a shot as a professional singer and should pursue that. (Yes, after they said that, I reminded them that I’d already brought in your CD for them.)

I really have to figure out a way to get Rahel to my Bat Mitzvah in November. I do believe there will be a fundraiser for her airfare before long.

Today is my baby brother’s birthday. That would be the brother with the teenaged son. We are not getting any younger, but Alex is getting older. He’s about ready to start driving. Yikes.

Dave’s birthday coincides with my Hebrew school class leading services tonight. This will be my fifth time watching my students stand in front of the bimah and chant prayers and psalms. They’re a little nervous about Mizmor L’David and Mi Chamocha—I wound up asking the Rabbi to record it with us on Tuesday and emailed the mp3 to whichever student requested it—but they’ll be fine. And, I told them, Ms. Yourish would be bringing a special snack to the Oneg (reception afterwards). It’s brownies. I thought briefly about making them myself, but Costco has kosher brownies available in a 3-lb. container, so off to Costco I went this afternoon. Turns out the children are going to have even more of a surprise: There’s hamentaschen tonight. Usually, they have to wait until Purim, but apparently we had extras, or the adminstrator wanted to make sure that the Friday night crowd got some, too.

I have noticed many changes in my students over the last five years. My first class wasn’t nearly as confident leading services as my more recent classes have been, and I ascribe that entirely to the rabbi and director of education, both of whom are moving on this year. They instituted a program of twice-a-week t’filah (prayers) practice, during which we learn the Friday and Saturday prayers. That, in my opinion, is what makes them so great leading services—not my making them practice a few weeks before the date.

Tonight’s my students’ turn to shine. They’ll do well. I’ve been practicing with them in class, and they always turn out better than they think they will. This year, I have a student that is very vocal about his opinions, and he kept saying “We stink!” during practice. It took a little convincing, because of course that kind of sentiment catches on. We’ll see how they feel tonight. I’m guessing they’ll decide they did well. Especially after a couple of brownies and hamentaschen.

Update: Perfect attendance, and they were superb. I was so proud of them.

Today’s class was, well, horrible. For whatever reason, the students were at their worst behavior of the entire year. They were unruly and talkative and simply would not listen. In fact, I gave every single student a negative point at the end of the class for their abominable behavior.

All that being said, there was something extremely amusing today, too.

I have never had a poker face, or at least, not when it comes to being angry. The entire world knows when I’m angry. I am simply unable to hide what has become known as “The Look.” I flash people a look even when they’re only mildly annoying, apparently. Today, after one of my students was being particularly annoying, he and the other students commented on the look I was giving him. They particularly noted that they had never seen that specific expression before. “That’s because you’ve never been this bad,” I said.

“Can you do it again?” they asked.

The lesson was not learned.

For the rest of the class, every time the students misbehaved and I shot them a reproving look, there was a chorus of, “She’s doing it again!” and “There it is!” and (sigh) “Can you do it again?”

This look, I explained to my madrich (assistant), is but a pale shadow of the look that has been known to cause grown men to flatten against the wall as I walk past, hoping against hope that it isn’t directed at them. It is the look that used to get my father, one of the only men in the world who was not afraid of it, to say, “Stop looking at me like that.” It is the look I used to call the “Eff-you” look.

Sigh. The Look has been relegated to an entertaining expression for fourth graders when they are misbehaving.

I guess I’m not nearly as angry as I used to be.

Then again, they were just misbehaving children. I’m perfectly sure The Look is still there for when it’s truly needed. Disciplining unruly children in religious school is not one of those times.

Earlier this year, the first of my first class of fourth grade students began having their Bar and Bat Mitzvahs. There’s a post sitting in the spike file of my thoughts from the first Bar Mitzvah, because I couldn’t get it to work. In the meantime, next Saturday two of the last three (they’re twins) are having their Bar and Bat Mitzvah (they’re boy-girl twins). I’ve been helping them a bit with some of the Shabbat service prayers, mostly because they felt unsure and partly because they needed to attend more Shabbat services. But they’re kids, and kids absorb knowledge like a sponge absorbs water. I have no doubt they’ll do extremely well next Shabbat.

The last Bat Mitzvah will be sometime this spring, and then all of my first class—whom my ex-student M. calls my “lab rats”—will have achieved this milestone. They will have led the congregation in prayer, which is actually something that I have never done. I’m doing that in November of 2007. I’ve let a few people know to save the date, like Judith Weiss, and I also know that she can chant Torah, so I asked if she’d be interested in doing one of my Torah portions. I don’t think I”m up to doing seven. She said yes so quickly, I began to wonder who else I could get to help me. So at the latest Bat Mitzvah (last week, in fact), I asked M. if he’d be interested in learning one of my portions. I told him I wouldn’t be at all offended if he refused. He said yes. Then the kids started volunteering. A. asked if he could do a portion. A new boy, S., said he’d be interested. Another one just volunteered today, asking if any portions were left.

I cannot think of a better way to celebrate my adult Bat Mitzvah than to have my former students taking part in it, but I didn’t expect this degree of participation. If this keeps up, I’m going to have to rescind Judith’s invitation and give her portion to another student. Somehow, I don’t think she’ll mind.

Four years ago, when I said yes to the question, “Do you think you could teach Daled class in our religious school?”, I had no idea that I would fall in love with teaching as much as I have. And when my students do something like this, four years after graduating from my class, it makes me love teaching even more.

Like I told my A. last week: That first class taught me how to teach. Every class teaches me something new and different. But one thing they all have in common: They make me love teaching, and children, all over again.

They can be so funny, too. Last Tuesday, I was explaining the difference between patrilineal and matrilineal, trying to explain the laws about passing your Judaism on to your children. The students found much of it profoundly unfair, and at the end of the discussion, younger A. said, “Boys. Can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without ‘em.”

She’s not quite nine yet.

I didn’t laugh then, but boy, did I laugh when I relayed that anecdote to a friend.

Kids are great. Teaching is a blast, most of the time. I’m so glad I was dragged into this.

Okay, I no longer have the student whom I shall call Bad Boy Number One (he’s not really bad, just rather difficult to discipline). I sat in the row in front of him during t’filah (prayers) today, moving back and forth behind my students, who sat in the row in front of me. I’ve learned that sitting behind my students is the best way of keeping them on task and in line.

So I’m moving back and forth, and I feel a squishy object beneath my shoe. I lift my right foot, and there on the carpet in the Sanctuary is what looks like gum. Extremely annoyed, I reach down and pull it up. It turns out to be a putty-like substance, so I wonder if perhaps a workman dropped it. In any case, I leave the sanctuary, go downstairs, and throw it away.

When I come back, I see Bad Boy Number One and Bad Boy Number Two pulling something out of One’s turned-out pocket. “He left some Silly Putty in there and it got all over,” Two said. Now I’m even more annoyed, and I very frostily tell Number One that I found his Silly Putty, stepped on it, thought it was gum, and threw it out. “That’s okay,” One said, “I don’t really want it anymore.” That’s what he said last year every time I took something away from him. And yet, after class, I saw that he had a large lump of what was left of the Silly Putty. Perhaps he wasn’t quite done with it after all.

“You know,” I told him, “you’re not even my student anymore and you’re still giving me trouble.”

He did apologize, though. He said he dropped the Silly Putty and then forgot he had dropped it. Yeah, that’s what he used to say last year, too.

Not missing my old students nearly as much today as I was on Sunday.