The Accidental Teacher

We all know that teaching by example is one of the most effective ways of passing lessons from one generation to another. Even when children don’t seem to be paying attention, they are watching and absorbing lessons taught to them by both peers and adults.

I learned many of my pastoral skills from my mother. When I was a teenager, we belonged to a swim club. Almost every day during the summer, my mother, my siblings and I would head for the pool. My mother would spend time with us, with her friends or the week’s New York Times crossword puzzle, while us kids went back and forth into the pool. One summer, my mother spent a lot of time with a friend of hers whose husband had recently collapsed and died of a heart attack unexpected in his early 40s. He was athletic, friendly and a leader in the community, and his death was a shock to everyone. Many people would speak to his widow, conveying words of sympathy and words of advice, but few people spent much time with her. My memory of that summer
was my mother sitting with her for hours just listening. There was no advice or words of wisdom — just a consistent presence day after day. That acceptance and steadfastness was a model for me.

We all know of unhealthy or dangerous behaviors learned from adults. Children brought up in households where there had been physical or psychological abuse become abusers themselves. Studies show that children whose parents don’t wear seatbelts or who smoke are more likely to have children who carry on these risky behaviors than those who don’t. Attitudes, priorities and coping skills are all learned from parents — even when the parent teaches these things unintentionally.

We are all accidental teachers. As often as we haul out the old cliché “do as I say, not as I do,” the doing is the more effective teacher. And during those times when we are overwhelmed by circumstances — or allow ourselves to be overwhelmed by circumstances — and our own coping mechanisms are stretched, it is particularly difficult to remember that others are watching, absorbing and learning.

Last month I wrote about the carpool line at Hebrew School, pleading for patience with a system designed to maximize both safety and efficiency. To my surprise, I received more feedback on that article than any other I’ve written in the last seven and a half years — many from parents thanking me for addressing a potentially life-threatening situation. The article also drew attention from our teachers, who stand in front of our school and help guide the traffic and pedestrian flow — and have prompted them to share their daily experiences with me. Several have remarked on parents who, at their wits end with the carpool line, hustle their children into the car making very public their frustration at the inconvenience. None of us are as concerned about impatient adults as we are about the effect on their children. With the huge effort that goes into making Hebrew School a place for effective Jewish learning, and a community where the students have fun and feel valued, we are dismayed that a successful ninety minutes may be undermined in an instant by a parent’s aggravation.

I’ve watched parents set wonderful examples. During the five months of b’nei mitzvah training, those with long rides to and from Temple have turned the commute into precious family time. Parents go out of their way to show appreciation to members of our staff for the smallest kindnesses. And when unexpected mix-ups occur, they take it as an opportunity for creative thinking. Sadly, I’ve also seen parents who complain, bully, lose their patience or attempt to sneak around the system — and I wonder what lessons their children are taking from this.

I am quite aware that we all have bad days where the simplest encounter can be the proverbial straw that breaks the camel’s back. I’ve had many of those myself. But I also try to remind myself that my own frustration is rarely the fault of the person standing in front of me, and that what is a passing moment of irritation for me can translate into a permanent lesson to someone else. Where children are concerned, we are teachers at every moment.

L’shalom,
Andrew Bernard
Cantor