For many years I believed that I was a good educator. Students, alumni, and parents told me so. I was mostly effective at exciting my students to learn, drawing them in, and teaching them content and skills they remembered for a long time. Students thought that I was fair and sensitive and really committed to their success. Hey, I even learned how to admit my mistakes and learn from them.

And then I got married and started raising children.

I learned that every kid is different, really different. Some just cannot get up in the morning; it’s not their fault and it’s not their parents’ fault, it’s just how they are wired. Some are disorganized at the core; it’s not laziness, it’s that their brains don’t really understand how to organize or manage their time, no matter how many times we try to explain. Some think associatively; their inability to follow a process sequentially is because their brains work differently. Some simply cannot prioritize. Speaking with friends about their children and speaking with my children about their friends, I became acutely aware of just how much I had overlooked in my many years in the classroom. I had taught the classes, but not the individuals.

I’ve spent many hours thinking about the many students whom I missed or misunderstood. The ones whom we might today be able to identify as neurodivergent, the ones with difficulties socializing or making themselves heard, the ones who were completely unaware of the others in the room, the ones whose hands go up first every single time and who got upset if they weren’t called upon every time, and the ones with hyper-sensitivities to odors, noises, and even the clothes that they wore. The boys and girls who secretly battled with depression, self-image, and eating disorders. I’ve been wondering how I could have taught them differently, interacted with them more constructively, or adjusted my expectations of them to meet their capabilities—and how any of that could have helped them to turn the corner, to get past what was holding them back, and given them just enough that they could experience success and learn to truly feel confident in their abilities.

A number of years ago I had the privilege of visiting the classroom of a teacher working in a small, rural day school. I don’t know much about the teacher’s professional training or personal background, but what I saw in his classroom took my breath away. He knew what was happening with every one of his students every moment in the class. He knew which ones were experiencing tension in the home or a sick relative and how that was affecting them. He knew which ones always came in with headaches on Monday morning or who had difficulty sleeping. Every student in his class knew that he knew and that he cared; each one felt seen and understood. And he knew just how much to encourage and push, how much to accommodate and forgive, so that they all felt that the teacher was deeply committed to them and to their success.

The topic for this issue of the journal is driven by the hope that we can collectively do better in serving the kaleidoscope of individuals who pass through the doors of Jewish educational institutions, each with their unique capabilities and needs, each brimming with potential that informed and thoughtful teachers can help to develop.

BIVRAKHA,

RABBI ZVI GRUMET, ED.D.