"Come on, let's start with the market"
The little reading recalcitrant from the fourth grade: "Wait, wait, I'm reminding you... (undoing her braid)... Ahhhhhh... Mom did this to me, what's wrong? There are a lot of lice in the classroom, do you smell it? This is oil that won't get lice. Today I told Mom, of course they won't get lice, no one will come near me with this stench..."
I laugh: "I actually like the smell, it smells clean. Okay, let's get started."
She: "So you remember?"
Me: "No, what do I need to remember?"
She: "Well, that word we learned, 'frustration.' In the last lesson you told me you wouldn't let me fall in the elevator of emotions? Well, with that part where I no longer had the strength to read and I was frustrated and you said you never force me, which I know. And also that together we'll try to pay attention a minute before the fall? When it starts to get boring and annoying?"
Me: "Wow, that's right, we'll always stay in good taste. Thank you for reminding me and also taking responsibility for noticing how you enjoy studying and how you don't."
In the previous meeting (a lesson for me is always a 'meeting'), we actually talked about effort and willingness to suffer and overcome resistance and frustration. I like to give my sweeties personal examples. I told her that when I was her age and couldn't understand things in math, at first I was simply in a daze (you start to see the goal as dim) and I became more and more frustrated because what I wanted didn't happen and so I plummeted down the elevator of emotions and very quickly descended to the floor of fears, fear that I would continue to fail and then what would happen... and especially the fear of expressing anger in front of authority. I wasn't ashamed to tell her that I had plummeted into sadness and despair and helplessness, and that only thanks to Itzik, the math teacher who knew how to encourage me, did I begin to rise and succeed.
When I first started teaching, I discovered very quickly that children ride the emotional elevator, as they teach, test, influence, dictate, and decide. When I ask them to give advice and suggest solutions, they begin to become interested and enthusiastic.
"You should have noticed that you were falling and stopped the elevator." The recalcitrant Smurf teaches me, "For example, when I was playing with my friends at jumping rope? They did it too fast (she demonstrates) and every time it got stuck and I got annoyed? So I told them that they needed to slow down a little to get better."
Me: "Oh, so you were angry and didn't give up on them and taught them... actually... you didn't give up on yourself either?"
She: "Yes, because I wanted to succeed."
Me: "Wow, wow."
Just so you know that we talk a lot about feelings. And why? Because she is especially open to such talk. And by the way, there are children who really don't, and that's completely fine.
One of our reading games is pulling out emotion cards. We both read the names of the emotions together and she's the one who makes up stories (with the dolls) around the words and dictates them to me.
Today we are at a stage where I write two lines and she writes one, but she is the one who decorates and adds drawings. We like to make 'agreements' and always check whether the agreement really suits both her and me, both of us.
And just so you understand, it is much more important to me to 'practice', meaning to internalize values of coordination and consideration as a result of mutual examination, than to pressure them to read and write. I believe that skills grow better on the soil of desire. Therefore, when I am asked what the most desirable quality in a teacher is, I say, a natural talent for garnering goodwill and interest.
Sometimes she gets angry when she thinks the painting turned out ugly and she's not satisfied.
And what did we stop to feel and see later, in the next meeting? That when people are angry, they close down and push away instead of being interested. It's really, really hard to listen, she said. I told myself that in most arguments, people don't really reach an agreement because there is no emotional openness to accept a different point of view. Agree?
And we also noticed that only when we truly relax can we begin to soften and open up to listening. This is called learning.
We once got to talking about two types of anger (she said there are many). I said that I think sometimes there is 'healthy' anger and sometimes there is sick anger. We agreed that healthy anger also gives us the strength not to give up on what is dear to us and to rebel when something that is important to us is hurt. We learned the word, protest.
“It’s anger that goes up in an elevator… so anger that goes down in an elevator is sick anger.” She quickly concluded.
We agreed that it is not healthy to be angry with ourselves over and over again, over our failures, and to blame ourselves.
"Once is enough, twice." she said.
We made some funny angry faces and punched my red punching bag and also yelled a little for release. It was very fitting.
I told her that angry and sad thoughts stick to the head (“like lice,” she said) and wrap around like a spider’s web. I argued that these webs start out thin but if left untangled, they can become steel wires. She didn’t respond to that, but she opened up when I shared with her the stories I told myself in my head when I was little without telling anyone else, such as: I’m afraid I’ll never be successful again… I’m bad… They’re better than me… I’m not pretty enough and my hands sweat… Or, I’m not that good a girl… (Children love teachers’ candor. The soul craves honesty).
The little one comforted me: "There's nothing to be ashamed of if you have heavy thoughts that bring you down and then you don't have the strength to get up. That's what you told me I needed." (She points to the floor with her finger, curious).
Me: "And why do you think curiosity is important?"
The beauty, now with braids undone, wears a look of philosophical importance: "To not suffer. You didn't say that, it's my thought."
I'm surprised by the pearl of wisdom that rose from the depths at this moment: "I think a lot of great people didn't think about that at all."
She nods vigorously: "Af'had doesn't want to suffer for nothing."
Me: "So I want to tell you something else."
She has a serious look, this scumbag.
I continue: "Teachers suffer too. Do you know when? Every time they try and try to teach a child who has no curiosity and who is not interested in listening and learning."
I feel that a new insight is about to come and indeed it says: "Yes, then he gets bored and he interferes and the teacher tries to force him and then he gets nervous and some even cry."
"I saw it too." That's how I am. "So what do you suggest teachers do when they feel like they're starting to suffer?"
“Stop,” she says, “and have a cup of tea.
Laughter again.
Me: "Would you like it? With lemon? With cookies to dip?"
She ponders: "Ummm… later. I can read a little more, even though it's hard. I have no problem continuing to look for something with you. The main thing is something interesting."
Well, we broke the record. We read a page and a half! In a children's newspaper.
Competing against yourself is a big thing, and there are children who especially love breaking such records, especially boys.
She found an article in the newspaper that interested her about a cheerleading team at basketball games in America.
"This is so that the players who don't manage to score don't get discouraged, so they dance like that on the sidelines and laugh and sing. And it makes everyone happy."
We also saw a video on YouTube. Me: "Okay, great, now we'll make up questions"!
She doesn't buy my usual teacherly intention to 'manipulate' her and continue in the world of words.
"No, we won't make up questions, we'll make up a cheerleading dance." She suggests.
This time I'm going with you. Sorry, you're dancing.
You should have seen us in the flow. She makes a movement and I am a mirror image. Then we switch. We invented steps and jumps and again facial expressions for all kinds of cards with names of emotions, and she determined whether we were going up or down in the elevator while we encouraged each other. When I beg her to encourage me, she is in the clouds. I repeat for you readers. Want to see children begin to fly in their studies? Put a wind of warm emotions under their wings.
And one more thing, do you want them to work? Let them work!
The little admirer: "Pazit, I want to tell you something, I love this stolen elevator. Did you invent it?"
Me: "No. Just writing on a board is my idea. I saw that children are sometimes sad and sometimes angry, sometimes scared and some are bored and sometimes excited and interested and happy, so I was looking for some order and logic in all this confusion of emotions, it really interested me."
"What, were you on the curiosity floor?" she teases me.
"That's right, it's only fun to learn when you're curious. And then I rose very quickly." That's me. "Remember when we said that curiosity is the power level to search? Listen, I was interested, so I searched the Internet because I wanted to and I got excited and I remembered, for example, that when someone is angry, it's very difficult for them to listen attentively, and if they only listen pretending to, in order to answer, how can they even learn anything? Remember we already talked about that?"
The eyes sparkle.
"And something else."
"What?" she asks.
"There, now you're curious to know." She laughs.
"When someone suddenly becomes curious and it raises them from the level of anger to a higher level, only then will they open up to seeing something new. Have you ever climbed a high mountain and noticed that you can see further?"
"Many times," she says. "When we took the cable car to Masada, and on the Muharraq."
Me: "That was fun, right? Were you excited? Did you feel like you were rising inside, in your heart?"
She: "Yes, I was happy."
I take the opportunity to recite the well-known rhyme: "He who is happy grows! And he who is sad - falls. Do you see the flame of the candle you lit? See the flame? That's how I love, that's how I get excited!"
She laughs again. Children love rhymes and remember them. And I, who want to have fun in every meeting (a lesson is a lesson, remember?), make them laugh endlessly because there is nothing like warm humor to dispel fears and objections (it is not easy for children to understand 'demeaning humor', cynical, stinging, mocking, satirical and sarcastic). And when we talk about the spirit that uplifts and encourages, these are not the words of course, it is always the music, the tone of voice, the frequency that stems from the illuminating intention to do good. The tone of voice is, as we know, the main thing.
There are always candles at my place. Many children get involved in the lighting ceremony. They love it.
As a rule, rituals create security, stability, and a sense of belonging among the participants, and therefore they are comforting.
The little one: "Do you think you can put the oil from the lice killer in your burner? Rosemary? I think it's a good idea to check, maybe two drops for every cup of water."
Me: "That's an intriguing idea. Worth a try."
She: "Mom won't allow it. It's probably expensive. And besides, the smell... I'll throw up from it..."
Me (who this time doesn't correct the Hebrew): "Well, at most it will be a fall."
She laughs the rolling laugh of a 9-year-old girl: "So that the lice fall and not us."
Her laughter infects me. What fun it is to study like this on a high floor and at the level of those shining eyes.
So in conclusion, tell me, how do you see a girl going up the emotional elevator? And how do you see her going down?
It's simple, according to the corners of the mouth. When they go up, we go up and when they go down, we go down.