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Buck Naked

According to Jewish tradition, someone in mourning is "Onen", under duress, and he isn't required to pray or responsible for his actions. (So I guess if you're an observant Jew and always wondered what pork bacon tastes like, that would be a good time to find out.)

After tossing and turning all night, I wrote "Kaddish" early this morning. I think technically I'm not "Onen", but I hope God gives people some slack when confronted with some of the hard things in life. I went to bed last night angry and got up angry. I suppose I could have been angry at the kid that committed suicide, but kids notoriously do impulsive things. And I could have been angry with his father, who might have prevented a tragedy by paying attention to his son and certainly by locking up his gun, but who could have known?

So I took it out on God. Because He was handy. Because He's supposed to be in charge and it seems like someone dropped the ball this time. So it was easy to be angry with God.

And now I've had a day to run it through my mind, and the anger has burned down to embers and I have had a chance to rest a bit.

And I'm sorry for the things I wrote. Because I don't want anyone to think that I don't love God or worse, not love God anymore and use what I wrote as just one more excuse. Because I do love and certainly believe in Him, because you don't get mad at someone you don't believe in.

So I thought about deleting "Kaddish".

One of the blogs I love the most is "January Winds" by Xiu. (Who has moved to Wordpress for those who have been looking for her.)

Once she wrote this:

"I wonder if bloggers feel naked. I feel naked, like everyone knows me inside out just by reading this space. And even more so, because I am not perfect and I am flawed."
(Xiu, 'Friday Noon')

I have come to admire Xiu, not only because she's talented, but mostly for her honesty and openness; with God, with her readers.

So I am going to take a little courage from Xiu and not delete "Kaddish". Maybe it will be a witness to others about my God who is big enough to let us come back to Him after we blow up at Him, a witness that you don't have to be perfect to believe in God.

So I decided to leave all my flaws and nakedness on "My People" for all to see.

(And the reason I chose the title for this entry is that it will catch alot of people surfin' on Google.)

Kaddish

24 or so hours ago, a 13 year old boy tidied his room, laid out his photo albums on the kitchen table, sent messages to his closest friends' E-mail and parents' SMS; and then went out into the darkness of the wee hours of the morning and shot himself in the head with his father's pistol before the rising sun.

He went to Odelia's school, a year ahead of her. She went to his funeral, and I went because she had never been to one and I knew she wasn't prepared for what she would see.

They brought the boy to the graveyard and the father, prompted word for word by our Rabbi, said:

"The Lord gives. The Lord takes. Blessed be the Lord."

Nothing can describe a broken father asking forgiveness from his son deaf and dumb, or a mother's scream when they start to throw stones and soil on his body.

30 years ago a girl and I decked out like grown-ups and went to Leonard Bernstein's "Kaddish" at Portland's Civic Auditorium. The music was heaven. But somewhere after intermission a soloist began to read angry and defiantly to God; and I heard enough blasphemy, grabbed my girl and made for the aisle in righteous indignation.

I've heard the prayer for the dead, Kaddish, before. Many times. I'm a Jew now.

"Let His mighty name be blessed forever and ever more."

Amen

"And blessed and praised and glorified and exalted and extolled and honored and adored and lauded be His name."

Amen

I stood there in the cemetery listening to the father. I don't know him. I don't know if he was numb with pain or valium, or if he is a man of great faith.

I listened to a father forced to praise his Maker in the hour of his agony, and I was incensed no less than I had been 30 years ago.

Once…

He could say,
What she wanted to hear.
She could hear,
What he wanted to say.

Then…

She couldn't hear,
What he wanted to say,
He couldn't say,
What she wanted to hear.

Now…

She won't say,
And he isn't heard.
They're deaf and dumb,
Isn't that absurd?

My Teaching Gig

I prepared a "rainy day" presentation (an activity for two or more classes which can used on short notice in case one or more English teachers call in sick and no substitute can be found.)

The idea is this: first show them an excerpt from the Vin Diesel action comedy "The Pacifier" (Walt Disney, 2005) and then another clip from "The Sound of Music" (20th Century Fox, 1965), and finally discuss the connection between them.

Huh? Connection?


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The Pacifier is a US Navy SEAL officer sent to care for and protect the children of widow Julie Plummer (Get it? Julie Andrews + Christopher Plummer). This is a twist of the Sound of Music, where the nun Maria is sent to be the governess for the children of Captain (Navy, get it?) von Trapp. The tough commando and the kids don't hit it off, but he ends up falling for them and they pick up combat tactics (As opposed to Maria teaching the von Trapp kids to sing.)


Now you have to understand; I got this teaching gig totally by accident.

Six summers ago I was a farmer and gardener between jobs, and our high school needed an English speaker to fill in for a real teacher on Sabbatical. I didn't have a clue what I was going to do with my students when I walked into a classroom that first day of school; and when the year was over and they had actually made progress, I hadn't the foggiest how I had done it.

I wasn't a very good teacher. The kids gave me hell and I don't think I've ever given a proper lesson. I hated grades, which for me are meaningless numbers, and discipline because I'm not a disciplined person. I was so bad at teaching that I up and quit in the middle of my second year.

But something had happened. The kids had gotten under my skin. So I came back as a volunteer. At first I was with the English staff, tutoring and helping out. Then I caught up with "my kids", who were in 11th grade by now, and joined their homeroom staff. I went with them on their field trips and sleepovers and chaperoned their parties.

Then last year a very special girl, Neta, was all mine. She was just a hair away from expulsion when I asked to take her under my wing. I don't know how it came to me, but I decided that Shakespeare is just the thing for a student that is failing almost everything and is weak in English. And she made it, if just barely.

This year, last year's 12th grade homeroom staff started a 4 year journey with the freshmen, the 9th graders I blog about. I asked to again teach, with a real class with real grades, for just one year. I wanted to get to know the kids and the kids to get to know me. And by now I knew what would happen. I fell in love with them.

For the next 3 years I will travel with them until they graduate and go to the army and out into life. Yesterday they got their report cards and started their summer vacation. I can't wait to see them again next September.











I think what stays with everyone that has seen The Pacifier and The Sound of Music is how Maria teaches the von Trapp's music and how Lt. Wolfe (Vin Diesel) trains the Plummer kids in hand to hand combat, and how the kids change and blossom. But how many remember that no less remarkable is how the children changed Maria and the tough Navy SEAL? But I noticed. Because that's what happened to me.

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I'm not a very good teacher. I'm not even a real teacher. I don't know what my student learned from me, or if they learned anything, and if they did, how I did it. I don't know how many of "my kids" will remember me. Well, I suppose Neta will.

But I know this; I will remember them all.