It’s funny how things change so easily with time. I remember having a conversation with my mom right around the time I became a Bat Mitzvah. I was in my snotty stage, and I said, “No one ever grows up dreaming to become a Hebrew school teacher or principal- it’s such a boring job.” My mom was smart enough to disregard my comment, but not before mentioning that my own Hebrew School principal, Mrs. R., had aspired towards that goal since her tenth grade year.

Well, sure enough, sometime in high school, I realized that I wanted to spend my life doing those same things that Mrs. R. did. It was not one of those clarifying moments where you role out of bed, and the metaphorical light bulb flashes above you. It was a gradual process, owed in large part to Mrs. R. herself.

Because my family was known in the synagogue and Mrs. R. and my mom had a good relationship, I got a job working in a classroom on Sunday mornings, helping first graders learn the Hebrew alphabet and Jewish songs and holidays. At the end of that first year, I finished eighth grade, and Mrs. R. asked me how I would like to contribute during the following year. It was then that I made the ‘big move’ from teacher assistant to office aide.

My experiences in that office opened my eyes to so many aspects of education. I saw the hours of planning that went in to the development of a single program, and the work it took to gather all the necessary materials. I saw the organization that was required to plan budgets, create curriculums, and maintain certain levels of student achievement. I saw the interaction with clergy, other temple administrators, teachers, parents, and students that took up large portions of the day. I saw the bad things as well as the good, and I saw Mrs. R. ecstatic about her successes and frustrated by her challenges.

During the years I worked for her, totaling six by the time I graduated and went off to school, I also got to know Mrs. R. personally, and discovered in her qualities that I respect, admire, and strive to emulate. She was dedicated wholeheartedly to her students, myself included. She listened to problems, gave advice when needed, and always remained objective. She encouraged learning independently, and was always ready with a book recommendation, or some idea or concept that forced her students to really think, sometimes even to evaluate and adjust their own thoughts or actions. And if achild was disruptive in class and was sent to the office to see her, her reprimand was firm, but always reflective, allowing the wrongdoer to understand why their teacher was angry with them, and granting them the opportunity to mend their ways.

Having decided what to study and which career path I hope to follow, I was able to spend my last years working in the office gathering the kind of knowledge you can’t learn from books. By simply paying attention to and often participating in the numerous and varied interactions that were constantly taking place within that tiny office, I learned so much about the art, and science, of being an effective teacher. I hope that years from now, when Mrs. R. looks back at her career as an educator, she remembers me fondly, regardless of whether we stay in touch or drift apart. More importantly, I want her to know that she pointed me in a good direction, and provided me with the tools I would need to be able to reach my destination. Anything she couldn’t give me, she enabled me to find within myself. Without her influence, I do not know who I would be or where my life would be headed. So, thank you Mrs. R. I am forever grateful.