pastor announced, “I invite you all to come up and join me.” His arms were outstretched, and the sleeves of his long white robe cascaded to the floor. He reminded me of an albatross about to take flight.
You want us to do what? Come up there?
All the teachers stepped up to the altar, while I remained seated. The two eighth grade homeroom teachers waved me up, encouraging me to join them. I politely nodded my head “no.” But they wouldn’t give up. So begrudgingly, I dragged myself up there. After all, I wasn’t a rabble-rouser.
“Let us all hold hands,” the pastor instructed. My hands were grabbed from each side.
There’s no running away now! At least they aren’t holding my hands behind my back and forcing me to bow down. How many times throughout history were the Jews forced to bow down to other gods?
At least their grip isn’t iron tight, so I could still run away if I had to.
What now? I assume we aren’t going to do a folk dance. I hope I won’t be asked to speak. Please don’t put me on the spot and ask me to recite some prayer I don’t know.
Are we going to turn out the lights and use candles? Are we going to perform some kind of ritualistic ceremony? Is there a lamb to be slaughtered or some kind of sacrifice to make? It isn’t me, is it?! Are they going to ask me to chant something in Latin? What have I gotten myself into?
The leader directed us to bow our heads. After watching everyone else, I did the same.
“Let us pray,” he said. “We pray for a good school year. We pray that our students will learn and grow with us.”
My whole body relaxed and I started breathing again. I felt the grip of the teachers’ hands.
Did they notice my hands are sweaty?
The leader continued, “We pray that we make the best possible decisions for our students.”
He prayed a little more and asked the Lord to watch over us. When he stopped speaking, everyone dropped hands.
That was a beautiful prayer, and one I agree with wholeheartedly. You don’t have to be Christian to deliver a prayer like that.
As my body started to relax, I could feel my toes again in my dress shoes.
I have to stop getting so worked up. It’s only a prayer. They didn’t even mention Jesus Christ this time.
During my interview the principal had informed me that I was required to bring the children to services. I didn’t realize the frequency, once a month or more. The first time I took my homeroom class to church, I directed them to sit in the pews. After they filed in, I turned to head out the door when I noticed all the teachers seated with their classes.
Oh no! Am I supposed to stay? Nobody told me that. I wonder if they would say anything if I just walked out. There’s the door. It’s only about fifteen feet away. I could just walk out as if I have somewhere to be. I better not. If I do that, I’ll probably get in trouble.
I sat down next to the last student.
Darn it. I know I’m expected to be here. They seem to always expect these things of me.
I asked Mrs. A after we returned to our classes and I saw her in the hallway. She confirmed that I was required to stay. I grew accustomed to attending church services, even learning several prayers. By the end of the year I told some friends that I felt as though I was half Jewish and half Catholic! I was actually proud that I was familiar with a religion other than my own.
When the teachers’ service was over, I was happy we were permitted to go home early. I couldn’t wait to get out of there! I’d already been forced to do something that didn’t feel right. I thought I should have been given the option of my level of participation since everyone knew I am Jewish. A little warning beforehand would have been appreciated as well!
Chapter 3
Thy Kingdom Come
After my welcome note had been taken away on that first day, I had no time to dwell on it. I put it out of my mind and focused on the students who would be arriving within the hour. I had a long day ahead with lots of work to do. I was excited to meet my students, but at the same time, there were random butterflies doing figure eights in my stomach. I expected that I would experience this, but once the children joined me, the butterflies landed, and I felt enveloped by a warm cocoon and the sanctuary we created together. Being with them made me happy.
The first bell rang, and since I couldn’t see the front of the school, I could only imagine the throng of children pushing their way through the doors. Several moments later there was the turbulence and cacophony of a herd in the distance. Then, like cattle who couldn’t be wrangled, an offshoot headed down the hallway, a mixture of third through eighth graders. Students of various sizes donned in plaid and navy school uniforms with backpacks and lunch bags were “looming large on the horizon.”
Mrs. A reappeared right after the bell rang to inform me that all the teachers have hall duty every day and are required to stand in the hallway between classes to monitor students. That was news to me. It was a good thing my classroom was ready since I wasn’t going back inside until the students arrived.
I have to stand in the hallway every day? There goes more of my valuable time. Can’t they find other people to monitor the hallways? Was this in my job description?
We both stood lookout by our doors. The sixth grade homeroom students knew which classroom was theirs since most of them were next door in fifth grade the previous year. Plus, they knew if they had Mrs. A or “the other teacher.” I greeted my students with a pleasant “Good Morning” that would become my daily routine. They brushed past me into my classroom, mumbling something unintelligible, not very concerned with the new teacher but more annoyed by the early hour, the lack of sleep and the end of a slower summertime pace. As I greeted each student, I kept my other eye on the incoming traffic to make sure there were no jams, collisions or road rage. Since the hallways had no lockers, it was an easier job than in public school.
As the children entered, I instructed them to sit anywhere for the time being. I had arranged the desks in a more modern way than they were accustomed. While my teaching partner had the traditional layout with all the desks facing forward toward hers, I chose to arrange the desks around the perimeter of the room, facing inward, two rows deep forming three sides of a rectangle. The front of the rectangle I left open, and I could easily walk over to anyone. It allowed open space that I planned to use if we were going to act something out or needed floor space for a project or assignment.
Mrs. A. had appeared in my classroom the day I had rearranged the desks.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“I’m trying a new seating arrangement. I think I like it. It’s a little different and leaves space for students to sit on the floor when we do an activity.”
“Well, we’ll see how that works,” she snarled, turning on her heels and walking out.
I guess she doesn’t like it.
The arrangement worked so well that I never changed it. The students enjoyed sitting on the floor when working on group book projects and other assignments. Even the DARE officer (police officer who comes to teach the kids to “say no to drugs”) commented how much he liked the arrangement, especially when he had them act out skits.
While the school seemed to be a mixture of old and new, the actual seats for the students were “vintage.” I imagined that students who attended this school in the 1950s used the same desks. They were the old wooden chairs with the desktops attached and space underneath for books. You often see the more modern version of plastic, fiberboard and chrome today on college campuses or in places where space is limited.
On this first day, a larger seventh grade girl muttered, “Oh dear,” as she wedged her wide bottom into the narrow seat opening. She must have been accustomed to this, because she withstood the obvious discomfort without complaint, and thankfully no one teased her. I asked her later