Focus on the Light

December 24, 2022

Author(s): Rav Hazzan Aliza Berger,

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Parshat Mikketz
Focus on the Light
December 24, 2022 — 30 Kislev 5783
Temple Emanuel, Newton, MA

       

            For the past few years, 5th grade has been my sweet spot teaching religious school.  To be honest, I think 10 is the perfect age.  They’re just beginning to think of themselves as individuals, and just beginning to access abstract thought.  Because they’re still kids, they haven’t learned the teenage trick of looking bored and disconnected at all times.  They’ll squeal with delight when you share a cool story, and they are so full of energy and joy.

            I love teaching 5th grade.  But this year, my class has put me to the test.  Renowned child-psychiatrist, Foster Cline, used to say that any kid worth their salt will test your boundaries.  Let’s just say my class this year is worth a lot of salt.

            Teaching them feels like playing verbal whack-a-mole:

            “Please stop rocking your desk I’m afraid it’s going to…ok, can you please pick your desk up and put it flat on the floor?…I’ll take that pen back, we’re not drawing on the board now….Can you please stop throwing that?…please stop poking them…” you get the idea.  I consider myself to be a decent teacher, and yet, with this class, I felt like I was grasping at straws.  There was one day this fall in which I sent 3 kids to the office.  I hate sending kids out of the class, but on that day, that was the best I could manage.

            When Ilana Snapstailer, our new religious school director, came back from maternity leave, she sent me the sweetest message.  “I noticed you sent three kids to the office this week.  Is there a time we could check in?  I would love to support you and have a couple of ideas I would love to share.”

            We met, and I gladly shared all the challenges I was experiencing.  I told her teaching felt like 60% behavior management and 40% desperately trying to share content.

            Ilana listened to me with compassion and then shared a radical new perspective.  She said that my behavior management style meant that the kids who misbehaved got the most attention. She explained that kids want attention more than anything else, even when it’s negative.  Instead, she said, see if you can change up the dynamic.  Tell the class that you hope to be able to have a party at the end of the year, but to do so, they’ll have to earn that party together.  Then set up a system—any time a child raises their hand or contributes positively or keeps their desk flat on the floor, put a marble in a jar.  Ignore bad behavior unless it is physically unsafe and focus on what they do right.  If you only give energy to good behavior, kids will start competing to do the right thing rather than to get on your nerves.

            Walking out of that meeting, I thought she was full of it.  But none of my strategies had worked, so I figured I had nothing to lose…

            That day, class started every bit as badly as the week before.  But then I remembered Ilana’s Torah.  Amid flying paper-airplanes and beeping watches, I turned around and started writing the children’s names on the board.  Suddenly there was a chorus of voices:

            “Why is she writing our names on the board?”

            “Guys, she’s going to punish us!  This is for strikes against you—three strikes and you’re out!”

            I told the class Ilana’s recommended spiel—that I hoped we would be able to have a party at the end of the year, but that they would have to earn it together.  They were stunned and quiet.  Suddenly, the loudest and most disruptive child in the class raised their hand.  I put a star next to their name, thanked them for raising their hand, and called on them.  Then the next child raised their hand, and the next…I tried not to broadcast my surprise…suddenly the kids were competing to see who could be the best behaved and earn the most points.  When a student began to interrupt someone else, the whole class piped up, saying, “guys, stop interrupting—we want to earn our party!”  Now, suddenly, we had a common goal. Ever since, it’s as if I have a completely new class.  Now, teachers are asking me how I got the kids to be so well-behaved.  And I tell them, it’s not me, it’s Ilana.

            Ilana’s strategy is simple and brilliant.  Instead of focusing on what’s wrong, or working to fix bad behavior, spend your energy focusing on what’s right. Focus on the light.

            That, in essence, is the secret of Chanukah.  Thousands of years ago, in the aftermath of war, it would have been easy for our ancestors to focus on everything that was wrong.  The Temple was destroyed. The golden menorah had been stolen.  For years, under the oppressive Syrian regime, children were deprived of their Jewish education and entire communities had been disconnected from ritual and religious support.  As a result, the Jewish community had largely assimilated.  They were out of practice living Jewishly; left with a ransacked Temple and one tiny cruet of oil.

            It would have been appropriate to mourn.  To bury the dead and grieve their losses.  It would have been appropriate to set a date in the future to relight the menorah when they had enough oil and when they had a menorah fit for purpose.  But our ancestors knew that focusing on the darkness would only magnify the intensity of their loss.  Instead, they chose to focus on the light.

            The made a menorah out of scrap metal.  They took that one tiny cruet of oil and lit that menorah. They focused on the light.

            We all know the story.  They focused on the light, and somehow that light miraculously magnified.  The oil that should only have sustained them for one day, lasted for eight. And now, every year, we spend time lighting the chanukiah in the darkest nights of winter to remember that it is our challenge in every generation, not to dwell on darkness, but to focus on the light.

            You might say, that’s lovely, but that story is made up to cover up the intensity of war.  That’s our version of Santa.  A nice fairy-tale for children. You might say, I’m glad you finally learned how to manage your 5th grade class, but that doesn’t have anything to do with me.

            Let me tell you a story.  I was at a Yisod shabbat dinner and spoke with a young adult who was there for the first time.  He has a job I’ve never heard of before.  His title is “scrum master.”  What does that mean?  He is a professional motivator.  His company hired him to create a positive work environment for adults—to make sure they are having fun and feeling motivated in their work, to set reasonable expectations and monitor their progress, and to reward their successes in such a way that they feel positively about their work.  He says to me that being positive is a lot harder than you might think.  It requires constant attention.  It requires commitment.  But in the end, when you create a positive work environment, employee’s do higher quality work in less time, and with less turnover.  The positive work environment makes such a difference that his company is willing to pay his salary to make sure their employees stay focused on the light.

            What would it mean if we could become scrum masters in our own right? 

            Internally, that might mean changing our self-talk.  Instead of indulging in thoughts about how bad we are or how we can’t do x, y, or z, it might mean focusing on the qualities we love about ourselves and how capable we are. When we start to pick on ourselves, it might mean actively choosing to focus on the light.

            In our relationships, that might mean choosing to overlook bad behavior and affirming when the people we love rise to the occasion.

            In our world, that might mean focusing on what’s right, on the light that exists, rather than bemoaning what should be.

            Let me share one more story.  This one comes from Foster Cline.  He says one day he was walking behind a mother in the grocery store.  In her cart, her little one was having a total and complete melt-down.  They were screaming and crying and reaching out to pull food items from the shelf and throw them on the floor.  The mother was speaking softly and kindly, saying, “Kayla, you’re doing great.  You’re going to get through this.  It’s ok.”  She calmly leaned down and picked up the food her child had thrown and put it back, carefully steering to keep their hands away from the shelves.

            Foster Cline followed her up to the register and tapped her on the shoulder.  “Ma’am,” he said, “I just wanted to commend you.  You are showing remarkable compassion and patience to your daughter.”

            “What are you talking about?” she said.

            “You keep telling Kayla what a good job she’s doing, and you’re so calm.”

            The woman laughed.  “My name is Kayla.”

            In this season of darkness, Chanukah reminds us to focus on the light.  Build a party, celebrate what’s good, honor the blessing of what could be, until it is.