Suffice it to say: we’re here! Before I get into describing Florida, though, I want to focus on my last night in Long Beach, where I had the honor of participating in Mom’s retirement service. It was beautiful, I thought, with people speaking from all different corners of her life, including a whole bunch of teens sharing their favorite memory of her.
First I read a lovely piece written by my grandmother:
My beloved Daughter Janet,
From an early age, even pre-kindergarten, you were a perceptive child, full of compassion and capable of sincere empathy. Your depth of understanding and tolerance meshed well with your strong sense of Jewish identity. It was only natural that you would turn to teaching.
The forty-four years you devoted to teaching at Temple Israel, our spiritual home, were a blessing for you and for the families with whom you interacted. There are now generatiions of your students who were enriched by the learning, encouragement and inspiration they received from you.
I cannot be there tonight in person when you are being honored for your service, but all my thoughts are with you, and I don’t apologize for feeling pride in the accomplishments of your illustrious career. I wish you good fortune in all your future endeavors.
With love and hugs, your Mother
Then I read what I wrote:
I was never actually a student in any of my mother’s classes. To my chagrin, she actually did her very best to avoid me; she would shift herself around in grades so that she would never teach my year, because she was afraid of treating me differently somehow. What I don’t think she realized is that she already was my teacher, and has been all my life.
Some of my earliest memories are accompanying my mother to religious school teacher’s meetings on Sundays and nabbing a bagel and cream cheese, learning about the importance of sharing, and being a part of a community. When I was twelve years old and practicing liturgy with her in the car for my Bat Mitzvah, I remember being amazed, and really really jealous, that she could be merging into the fast lane on the 405 and still correct my pronunciation of a prayer. “Once you truly learn it,” she told me, “you’ll know it forever, and you can join any Jewish community in the world and feel like you belong.” On Wednesday nights, I would wait for her to finish teaching the 8th grade class, and I would finish my homework in the old library across from the kitchen, and every week, she would encourage me to check out another book, and on the ride home in the car, she would ask me what I learned. Mom would make me care packages every summer when I traveled to Israel as a kid, infusing memories of arriving in my second homeland with love and care and sweetness.
As a teenager I would very often hear the tune of the Ve’ahavta or the Sim Shalom filtering through my bedroom wall at home, and then hear crying, and then hear soothing sounds. And I’d realize that a Bar or Bat Mitzvah student had broken down in her arms yet again, and that what she said was only a small part of her pastoral care; what mattered most was how she listened. When I followed in her footsteps as an adult and came back to teach Torah Center myself, she and Andi would ask about me my lesson plan every single Wednesday without fail, and would invariably help me to improve it even more. She would give examples of her own classroom techniques, and helped me to see that what students remembered most was not the content of a lesson, but the ability to infuse it with a love of Judaism, and a sense of community and responsibility to the larger world. Everything my mother teaches enhances a child’s rootedness and grounding in Jewish culture, but at the same time encourages them to ask questions, so they feel safe to spread their wings and develop their own identity.
Mom, you have been teaching here at Temple Israel for 44 years. I’m 34, and owe so much of who I am, and pretty much my entire career path, to you. I am honored to be your daughter, and I wish you the best of luck, and all my love, as you begin this new phase of your life. You may no longer be teaching at Torah Center, but you still are, and always will be, a teacher of Torah.
After you've read the words of Michal, speaking about her mother Janet, you can understand why I, Janet's mother, am proud to stand in their shadow.
ReplyDeleteGod bless them, as I have been blessed.