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The Jewish Home | JUNE 17, 2021
OCTOBER 29, 2015 | The Jewish Home
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Israel Today
Faint Discipline By Rafi Sackville
D
uring a Shabbos meal at a friend’s house, the topic of discussion turned to disciplining school children. How, I was asked, did I manage to control the large classes that I taught? While pondering the question, my host – who is also a teacher – mentioned that there are occasions when raising one’s voice is a classroom management necessity. His eldest daughter, a mother of three young girls, who was visiting from Netanya, reminded him that, when she was small girl, she would faint when he’d raise his voice at her. Fascinated, I asked her if she had used it as a ruse to mitigate her father’s anger and escape his wrath. She shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know why it happened. All I can remember is the flow of blood draining southwards from my head, and then everything going black.” “Did it work?” I asked her. “Yes, he rarely yelled at me after it occurred a couple of times. But that was a long time ago. It doesn’t happen anymore.” I’ve been teaching for over 35 years. Early into my professional career I realized that raising my voice as a disciplinary tool was mostly a waste of time and energy. It is worth noting that, in general, there are differences between Israeli and American students. Some of those differences aren’t exactly subtle. I live in the periphery where over 40% of our students are categorized as learning “challenged.” These students can be as unstable as a house of cards. Some of the students possess a boldness that can often result in uncomfortable classroom situations. If one’s arsenal includes yelling, it’d best be done if you do it for show and not from anger. The louder you raise your voice in anger, the less likely you are going to be heard. In my neck of the woods, yelling is sometimes an
invitation for a student to yell back in response. I’ve observed that quick-draw responses by Israeli students are often a manifestation of a lack of confidence: a form of defense that so many young people employ when they feel threatened. When they do yell, they’re sent to the principal for a dressing down, which, in most, instances only puts a temporary halt to hostilities. It’s not pleasant. For example, Tehila, a senior, will not suffer being told she’s in the wrong. Any hint of castigation by a teacher, and she lashes out without thought. And yet, when the conversation is on her terms – that is, when the teacher defers to her as an equal – she is as pleasant as pleasant can be. Her friend Li-em reacts similarly, only she does it with a sense of humor. During one lesson, I asked her twice to concentrate on her work. As I was about to do it a third time, she pointed one finger at me and replied with a cunning grin, “I’m listening to you, but I’ve got other things to do.” Secondly, when I was teaching in New York, the formal distance maintained between students and
teachers always began with them calling me Mr. Sackville. That small formality is an important tool that delineates territory. In most Israeli schools (I exclude yeshivot and girls’ schools), teachers are called by their first names. This familiarity oftentimes leads students to overstep this formal red-line, and once they enter a world of informality, they – not many of them –have one less barrier on their way to a lack of respect. Thirdly, one cannot underestimate the underlying existential threat that hovers over Israel. Over the last 73 years this has transformed the population into millions of prime ministers, each knowing better than the next what is good for the country and how to solve its ills. This brazenness is as present among teenagers as it is among their parents and grandparents. Sitting with some parents can be a harrowing experience. Their child may have broken every rule in the book, may have blackened an eye or threatened a teacher. It matters not because some parents will support their children to the hilt. One mother I know screamed at me for not passing her daughter. After it was made
clear to her that this wasn’t the case and that her daughter had, in fact, passed, the mother offered no apology. It was as if she hadn’t yelled at me in the first place. I’ve known teachers who have come from abroad and have not succeeded in bridging the “expectations” they have of their Israeli students and how they expect them to behave in class. As simplistic as it sounds, I found the formula for success in the classroom boils down to this: just love all students regardless; show them respect and they will return it in spades; don’t set your expectations too high; never consider your position in a classroom as a vehicle of power. Most importantly, know that teachers have flaws and can improve their performance in class. This will help any teacher to strive to be better. I couldn’t help thinking about my friend’s daughter and her fits of fainting. In my eyes she was, without being aware of it, educating her father how to deal with her. Her sensitivity might have come at a cost, but those around her quickly discovered how to relate to her without hurting her feelings. Later that week, my wife asked me to do a household chore – nothing more than to move a vase from point A to B. I was feeling lazy and feigned hearing her. Again, she asked. Again, I ignored her. She then raised her voice a little louder and asked me again. So I fainted. At least I pretended to faint. Did it work, you might ask? Let me put it this way; the vase, which I quickly moved, looks much better where it is now. I’ll never pull that stunt again.
Rafi Sackville, formerly of Cedarhurst, teaches in Ort Maalot in Western Galil.
