Squiggly Lines- From the Annals of a 2nd Grade Math Lesson

Ms. Day agreed to let me make long paths of masking tape on her carpet before school. In minutes, I had one 3-meter squiggle and one 5-meter zigzag running across the middle of her brightly colored meeting carpet. Her 2nd grade students would no doubt wonder what we were up to. Later that morning, I brought her class in from recess and asked them to sit in a circle around the tape. This may sound like an easy task to accomplish. It was not. Several students froze in a standing position on the carpet, like deer caught in the headlights. I guided the confused to the perimeter of the carpet. Shilo was sitting in between the tape paths staring straight ahead. I asked him to return to his seat. He started screaming repeatedly, ‘I DIDN’T TOUCH THE TAPE!’ Clearly Ms. Day had gone over the ‘don’t touch the tape’ directive I had requested earlier. I didn’t engage. I had bigger fish to fry. The class and I discussed and recorded reasonable estimates for the lengths of the two tape paths. Then I pulled out my red yarn. “How could I use this piece of yarn to measure the squiggly path?’ Many hands flew up in the air. I called Jaylani up and handed her the yarn. She took one end and placed it by the beginning of the squiggly tape path, then carefully stretched the yarn into a straight line until it reached the end of the path. I asked her to sit back down so everyone could observe. I wasn’t sure what to say next. The class I taught this lesson to yesterday just measured it the way I expected them to measure it, by covering the path with the yarn exactly so they could get an exact measurement of the length of the path. I didn’t explain anything. I asked if anyone else wanted to try it a different way. The next student walked over to the beginning of the path and pulled the yarn a centimeter closer to the end of the path and sat back down. The next 3 kids did the exact same thing, but the last one went a step further and rolled the excess yarn that had now developed into a neat little ball. I giggled silently into my mask. ‘Guys, we’re going to need to do something VERY different if we want to measure this path accurately. Does anyone else have any ideas?’ Dallas raised his hand, and had a confident smile on his face. He always does, and his answers never make sense, mathematically. I had a good feeling this time though. He came up, picked up the red yarn, placed the end at a random spot on the squiggly path, and laid the yarn down precisely over the tape. I assisted him. And now Ms. Day’s class knows how to measure squiggly lines. We still had our problem set to complete, but the kids were too antsy to focus any longer. I had several students pull up the tape paths and we scrunched the masking tape into a little ball. I lined the students up and brought them outside. Again we had to form a circle, but this time there was no descent. We took that tape ball and played a raucous game of ‘hot potato.’ The kids loved it. Whenever someone dropped the ball, that person had to sit in the middle. They screamed in glee.

Moral: Masking tape is more fun than we realized.

 

Ima

 

Sari's Wedding

When I was 18 years old, I bought a one-way ticket to Tel Aviv for $800 that I earned working at Fotomat. It was the first major decision I made towards a future after high school and I was numb with my fear of the complete unknown. I learned the Hebrew alphabet, and also one phrase that a woman from Beth Israel synagogue taught me: ‘Al t’gabi’- ‘Don’t touch me.’ This immediately brought to mind a mass of disembodied arms chasing after me down the Ben Gurion airport corridors. Somehow the idea of worrying about not being able to properly chastise them seemed the least of my problems.
I had signed up for a six month program on Kibbutz Sde Eliyahu- a religious agricultural community. The plan included 6 days a week of Hebrew and Israeli culture studies mixed with various work assignments like pomegranate picking and milking cows. My program, called an Ulpan, was for young people around the world between 18-35 years old. In addition to our group, there were also a handful of other young military groups from both France and Israel who worked on the kibbutz. Social opportunities were rich, and my whole world opened up.

I quickly became friends with a woman from Ohio. She was a little older than me, and she would look out for me like a big sister. One weekend she left the kibbutz to spend shabbat with the family of one of the girls serving Sherut Leumi. (This was an alternative military service offered to young people who objected to joining the Israeli Army for religious reasons.)

Shoshana continued to spend weekends at Tsivia’s family's house. It was about this time that I began to feel very disconnected from the people on the kibbutz. The people who lived there full time were both welcoming and distant; they had their own families who lived with them and they ate meals together. On Shabbat especially, when we weren’t working, I felt like an outsider. This feeling stayed with me. When Shoshana invited me one weekend to go to Tsivia’s family’s house, I didn’t think twice.

The 2-½ hours of bus rides to Kiriat Ata on a Friday afternoon were filled with sleeping soldiers with their rifles resting nearby, religious men and women loaded with fresh baked goods for the sabbath, and a wide variety of humanity that represented the country at that time.

When we finally arrived, I was introduced to many daughters- too many for me to keep track of. Each one was dressed in her finest dress, and some had freshly washed hair still wet, while others waited patiently for their turns in the bathroom. Tvisia’s mother was introduced to me as ‘Ima’- Mom. She had the cutest shy little smile when she met me. I remember she was wearing an apron (it’s not that my memory is so great- she was almost always wearing an apron!) and she apologized in Hebrew to me for not knowing any English. I assured her that it was refreshing to meet an Israeli that didn’t speak English, and I was excited that maybe now I would finally learn to speak Hebrew. She handed me a brush and some hair accessories, and asked if I’d be able to help fix the twins’ hair. Rachel and Shulamit were these tiny little muffins of little girls, and within minutes, they each had two little ‘kookiote’- ponytails. That would come to be my job when visiting. I was the kookiote person. This is what it looks like to make someone feel like part of the family.

The Shabbat dinners at the Dan family’s house were pure joy. Delicious food, tons of singing around a very long table, and always a friendly person to talk to. On many occasions Ima and I would get a chance to check in over washing the dishes after everyone had gone to sleep. Her goal was to have all of her daughters married, eventually. When she shared this with me, I realized that she considered me in this esteemed group.

I was to learn that she and her dear husband Shimon had 5 biological daughters, and 5 adopted daughters. How they had the energy and love to share with so many so selflessly was a mystery to me. And yet I knew without a doubt that this family loved me. They provided me with the nurturing care and stability that I was lacking.

And then the time came for me to leave Israel. And I left, and I did not keep in touch. I was no longer religious, and I was once again in a new situation, but this time with no container to hold me. I found my way through odd jobs, and eventually back to college. I had a few rough years where my life was spiraling into a bad direction.

This family was so good to me, I have no idea why I didn’t keep in touch. I guess I just felt like we were in two completely different worlds, and I didn’t know how to make it work, so I did nothing.

I went back to school and got my master’s to become a teacher. I have been working for the past 8 years in mostly high needs schools in the lower elementary grades. Every year I come across a handful of little girls that remind me of myself when I was their age. They have this sadness about them- maybe they are missing their mother, or they are hungry, or they are just not getting enough attention at home. Or maybe worse things are happening. I try to give my students a safe, stable classroom environment. I make sure to offer art and drama so that they have opportunities to express themselves, and to just have those meditative experiences art offers, that they may be craving. I started realizing that I was becoming the safe harbor for children that Ima had been for me. And It made me proud of myself, and also her- and it made me realize that I wanted to contact her.

I searched the internet, and was able to find her old address. I planned on calling her, but I didn't have her phone number. I could have mailed a letter. Why didn’t I do that?

More time passed, and the momentum had faded.

Fast-forward a few months, and I received this email from my sister saying Shoshana had requested I call her as she had urgent news. I knew right away that Ima had passed away.

I did call Shoshana, and Ima did pass away. A beautiful light has been extinguished in the world. Her legacy of kindness and emotional tzedakah (righteousness or tithing) will live on through her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.

I had not made contact in over three decades. Despite religious differences, this family mattered very much to me during a time in my life that I really needed them. I'd like to be there for them this time. Maybe a visit in the future. I'll pack extra hair accessories in case they're needed.