Word Power

Their homeroom teacher called me on Monday, a few minutes before the scheduled Zoom class with my eight graders was about to commence.

“This is Einav. I was wondering if it would be okay for the girls to skip your English class today because they are working on the song for the school competition tomorrow. I told them I would ask you if you grant them permission,” she began.

“So, the girls know that you are calling me and I will be the bad guy if I don’t let them continue with their preparations. How can I say no? But, on the other hand, they have missed myriad classes over the past month and I can’t afford to lose them another day. So, I will make a deal. If the girls agree to do the homework I assign them, then I will allow them to skip the class,” I responded.

“I will inform them of your condition and get back to you,” Einav said.

True to her word, she sent me a message that the girls had agreed to my terms and the assignment would be done by the deadline of the night prior to the next class, two days hence.

Wednesday evening arrived, but, to my consternation, less than half the class had deigned to upload any semblance of work to the school’s online system. “What punishment are they deserving of?” I asked myself as I tried to come up with an appropriate penalty to fit the heinous crime. Images of the students roasting over a spitfire seemed too gruesome to contemplate, so there had to be another option.

The day before, my friend had posted a video of Rabbi Y. Jacknis describing an event that was indelibly etched on his mind. His father had bought tickets to attend the 9th Siyum Hashas with his son, who was 10 years old at the time. The rabbi’s father had a friend, Danny, whom he had promised to pick up and drive to the siyum in Manhattan.

The morning of the siyum arrived and they could not find their tickets, despite an extensive search of the house and its environs. They placed phone calls to see if there was a way for them to gain access to the event, despite their lack of tickets, but it was for naught. There was no way they were getting in.

As the time drew near for them to drive to Manhattan, Rabbi Jacknis’s father told him to prepare to depart. The young boy questioned his father about the purpose of driving there, since they would be denied entrance. His father explained that he had given his friend his word that he was going to drive him to the event. The young boy internalized the message that “your word is golden. You should keep it.”

Under the influence of the video’s potent message, I scoured the internet for materials to explain to my class the power of words and the gravity of not keeping promises. I found a video of a billionaire who had come upon a poor man who had no coat. The wealthy man promised to return with a coat, only to forget and find the destitute man dead the following morning as a consequence of the freezing temperatures and dashed hopes. I read stories about Honest Abe, the devastating repercussions of not keeping your word and the importance of speaking the truth. Ultimately, I decided that they would have to look for a video or story that demonstrates why their actions were wrong, along with a written submission of what they had learned from it.

Thursday dawned bright and early and I had an hour before class to recite my daily morning prayers. As I started to move my lips, I realized that the words forming and emitting from my mouth had infinite power, and I prayed not by rote, as usual, but with much greater fervor and intent. I remembered my mother cofiding in me that she didn’t understand how some people finished the Birchat Hamazon in three minutes. “I think of every word when I pray and it takes me a long time to focus and contemplate on my supplications to G-d.”

That morning, every word I uttered in prayer took on new significance and was said in complete concentration. A short while later, my students received a special lesson in, not only English, but in learning about the consequences of keeping promises. They watched the video about the poor man and the billionaire, exclaimed vociferously about the tragic ending, and I believe the lesson reached its intended target. But not only did it hit home for them, but for me as well. From now on, I will take more care when I utter words while praying to Hashem or in my interactions with others.

I promise?

Oof! All this writing has made me thirsty. Luckily there is a glass of water in the vicinity. As I reach for it, I begin to recite the benediction, “BARUCH ATTA HASHEM bezhebezhebezshbizhebeszeh bidvaro."

Are you surprised by the ending? After rereading what I had written up to the penultimate line, I felt that I came across as a sanctimonious holier than thou character, and I wished to show that I am just as fallible as my students. Furthermore, upon reflection, I came to the conclusion that I had failed to take into account the underlying reasons for the paucity of submissions from the majority of the class.

The fact is that these teenagers are subject to a plethora of tasks vying for their attention. Their parents are using them as babysitters, house cleaners, and shoppers in a period where we are all subject to the vicissitudes of the pandemic. Moreover, the teachers have been assigning homework without regard to the extra responsibilities these children are faced with. So, yes, I may have rushed to judgment, and imposed supplemental homework unfairly, but I do feel they learned something valuable today. And, so did I.