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This shouldn’t take long, but it might. And as always, my situation might be specific
to Hebrew school but should apply universally to any teaching activity geared
towards grades 5 and up [ages 10+]. Kids,
folks, crowds are different in the morning than they are in the late afternoon
and evening. I know, this isn’t rocket
science nor is it breaking news, but I’m just here today to shine a light on
it.
It needs to be addressed, in a world of
curricular goals but infinite pedagogic methods and modules, that we have to
prepare lessons while taking into account a myriad of factors. But those factors, while limiting our scope,
shouldn’t hamper us but, rather, guide and fashion how we approach each topic
and how we unpack the material for the kids.
Of any or all of these factors, many of which are clearly independent
variables that could never be foreseen and, consequently, must be dealt with on
the spot, there are the predictable behaviors and expectations of students in
proportion to the time of day of the lesson and activity.
And I’ve known teachers, master
teachers with decades under their Torah belts, who completely eschew any classroom
or activity planning whatsoever, depending only on a combination of their
classroom management skills, wrangling kids into appropriate and acceptable
decorum, and their Spidey® sense, knowing right away which games
to play or stories to tell or art project to develop in class based on the
overall tone of the kids in the room that day.
And I applaud those teachers. And
I am them, at times, though I don’t think “winging it” to be an ideal plan for
success, nor is it ultimately an inclusive way to teach, as I’ve often heard
from students of these teachers, and their parents, who complain throughout the
year that their kid’s needs are overlooked in lieu of the rest of the class.
While it’s easy to predict that kids
will be more tired on a Sunday morning in consideration of the fact that preteens,
for the most part, are just getting to the point in their lives where they’re
finally allowed to stay up and watch “Saturday Night Live” or some other social
late night activity [or maybe a Shabbaton], it’s just as easy to predict that
the mid-week Hebrew school kids will be tired after a 630am wakeup and full day
of school, thin lunch, sugary snack, and schlep in the car or bus to your
classroom.
This means, as it seems, that the students
are always tired, regardless of the time of day. Chronobiology, be damned.
So in planning classroom lessons and
activities, we use what we know, or think we know, to our advantage whenever
possible. But when we overthink whether
the students will be tired walking into class on a given day, we end up with
the Catch-22 that could lead us, frankly, to thinking the kids will be tired
EVERY time they walk in the classroom.
And if that’s the case, or at least, if that possibility is an
impediment to your attempts to plan anything at all for your class, then simply
take that factor as a given and take it out of your equations.
I would argue the contrast between
“being tired” and “acting tired.” Kids
are tired, kids are nudgy, kids like to complain, and it’s age-appropriate for
preteens to act this way. Notice that I
said they “act” this way, not that they truly “feel” this way. Kids want to be heard so badly at this age,
they often instinctually revert to the non-verbal cues, almost as if they’re assuming
that nobody will pay attention to them if they simply open their mouths and say
how they feel.
From this, we realize that many of the
kids now have a decade of experience of being taken, brought, driven, and
dragged from place to place without their consultation. And even if that’s not entirely the case, by
the preteen years, they have the emerging need to make their own choices for
their own lives while still assuming that a grown-up will say “no.” It makes sense that they’d feel that way, and
that their manifest behavior reflects this notion.
They want to want something, and even if they don’t really want anything, they feel they should want something. Wait,
but they also assume that nobody will give them what they want no matter how they
ask for it, even though they don’t really want anything. So they jump over the steps of identifying
and clarifying what they want as well as asking for it out loud, and they skip
right to the point of internalizing their resentment for grownups or leaders or
older kids or anyone who might take their request and hold it over them,
tantalizing them with…well, nothing.
It’s this feeling of “I’m never gonna
get what I ask for, so I’m gonna sulk to get attention” that must be addressed. And it’s my assumption, every single time I’m
in front of a group of kids ages 10+, that they’ll have this attitude. They’re not tired, they’re not lazy, and they
didn’t suddenly forget the English language.
There’s no such thing as spontaneous illiteracy, and I would guess that
sudden onset nominal aphasia would probably be ruled out as a reason that
they’re non-communicative.
So I leave you with this notion. While teachers, leaders, and program
facilitators want so much to include every single child – and that’s a great
instinct – we must assume that kids need the time to ease into the classroom
each time, even when you’re bringing them back from recess or break. They don’t want to be lectured, they don’t
want to feel like someone’s going to pounce on them or fire 100 questions at
them, and they aren’t so eager to launch into a complex activity with a lot of
rules and boundaries.
I try to gauge my students’ attitude
and energy level by standing out in the hall for 30 seconds, listening to who’s
talking, what they’re saying, and if it’s relatable to Hebrew school. Then I walk in. Sometimes, especially if it’s a small group, I
join their conversation and have it bloom into a more pointed discussion
related to one of my lessons of the day.
If they’re very quiet that morning, I often take out the Hebrew texts
and workbooks and have them do a few pages, then review and have them read
answers aloud. The next activity would
start with reading something aloud, then asking what they think, getting them
talking about their own experiences, and families, and traditions.
Then they have to get up. Have them act out a story, or dramatize a
situation they were just relaying, or even offer up alternate resolutions to a
moral conundrum you’ve presented. Then gradually
move the class into a more independent activity, where they’re either doing
individual projects, working as teams, or creating and running their own
activity. By the end of the day, they
see themselves developing and facilitating their own program, insinuating both
a sense of independence and a feeling of ownership in the group.
Those are the feelings the carry out
the door. And those feelings of
belonging and responsibility will grow until they return. And when they return on the next class day,
they’ll openly express to you their excitement for certain activities, their
enthusiasm for creating even more new experiences, and their sincere
appreciation for where they are. And you
will share with the students the joy and mystery of our Jewish legacy, which
must be rebuilt and renewed by each generation.
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