The Attack of the Grammar Yekke

I received a comment on my last blog entry, Yikes! It's Adar II! from a grammar Yekke* (who uses the handle Muffin) that annoyed me.
The entry itself was quite long, and I realize that the nature of the discussion was probably not of interest to a lot of people, although I wanted to post it for reasons of my own. However, there were many ideas in the piece that could well be discussed and argued that would have been interesting and enlightening. However, this comment was a priggish little poem about a specific English usage that must have offended the commentor.

*Yekke: What the Israeli Sabra calls the German Jew. They are so concerned with 'properness' that they wear a jacket even when it's 100 degrees in the shade. You know the type.


I suppose that sooner or later it was bound to happen. What I wonder is this: Do these people go trolling the blogosphere looking for what they consider to be "incorrect usage" with their copies of Eats, Shoots, and Leaves in hand? What is really interesting about this particular objection is that the usage in question is correct or not depending upon whether the writer is using standard American expression or the Queen's English.

I wrote a reply to the comment, but did not end up posting it in those comments. I thought rather to blog it as a separate entry, because I think it would be useful for all of the grammar prigs out there to think about.

The comment was about the correct use of "who" and "whom," and since the commentor did not actually quote the offending phrase, I am making an assumption--always a dangerous proposition--about what that phrase might be.

The piece I posted was actually the written format of a talk I gave in an informal setting. At several places in the talk, I used the phrase, "Who do they think they're kidding?!" I am guessing that this bothered the Grammar Yekke so much that she was unable to actually digest the content and the meaning of the talk. At least, I choose to believe this more charitable interpretation above other less charitable ones.

Here is my response:

Dear Muffin,

Perhaps you are from England, in which case, you can ignore everything I write below, and go on believing that you are correct. I am assuming that you object to my use of the word "who" in the question "Who do they think they're kidding?" For standard American usage in the 21st century, the writer may choose to use either "who" or "whom" even though in English usage, "whom" is considered to be correct.

In the case to which you refer, I made my choices based primarily on the 'voice' I wanted to convey to my listeners--that's right, listeners--because my purpose for this piece was first that it be spoken in an informal setting. In this setting I wanted to project a colloquial and unaffected voice, as well as draw my listeners in to the rhythm of that phrase interspersed with the other content of the piece. Additionally, I knew my audience and thus was aware that the phrase would likely bring to their minds a line from a Simon and Garfunkel song. Yeah, we are that old!

And, yes, I am aware that 'yeah' is another one of those improper colloquialisms.

When considering how to phrase a piece of writing, I generally consider both the purpose of the writing and the audience for whom it is intended.

Digression: You should note here that I do know the correct usage of the word "whom." You should further note that the usage for the word "whom" is a remnant of the 'objective' or 'predicate' case, and I also know that cases are no longer normative in modern English. Rather, we use word order to convey the meaning that used to be expressed with cases. Cases are important in Latin and in Russian, and probably other languages, too.

Beyond the issue of voice, you may have noticed that the piece of writing to which you had this objection was also not very elegant in phrasing and had quite a few parenthetical statements. These would all sound better than they look, because eye contact, spoken phrasing, and tone of voice were used to convey meanings. Of course, when relying on the written word alone to communicate meaning, it is a good idea to minimize parenthetical statements, and to clean up the phrasing, so to make the writing more elegant. But, as I said, this was a talk and much meaning was communicated in other ways.

And now, I would like to go beyond your objection to my usage in order to provide you with some food for thought, if you choose to take a bite.

Language is arbitrary. This means that words, phrases, colloquialisms, and rules of grammar are in constant flux as people use language in everyday life to communicate with each other. As language is carried by people through space and time it evolves in order to remain useful to the people who are doing the communicating. Language in use is thus called 'living.' If it was not, it would not be very useful. One can only worship at the altar of perfect and unchanging usage for languages that are 'dead.' For example, the French Academy of Language has a bone to pick with Anglicisms and Americanisms coming into usage in French. One such is the Americanism "le weekend." But if the Academy is honest with itself, its members would have to say that they have not been terribly successful at getting rid of "le weekend'. "Le weekend" simply conveys a precise meaning that would require a more convoluted phrase to convey in "proper French." So ordinary French people continue to use it because they want to quickly convey meaning, and they really don't give a damn about keeping French frozen to some arbitrary level of 'purity' approved by the French 'language police.'
For American English it is even more so. That is because the language is so very polyglot, as Americans have adopted words and phrases from many different languages--and has even invented neologisms to convey meanings important to us in the here and now. Think about the following words: bayou, moccasin, patio, chaps, byte, blog. The first is Cajun (French-Canadian-Indian), the second is Indian, the third and fourth are from Spanish, and Spanish Indian, and the last two are computer-neologisms.

Finally, a confession and a warning.

First, the confession. I am a reasonable typist, but not a great one. When typing fast, I miss letters and sometimes mispell words due to "typos" (another neologism from the American Century. For shame! I am sure that Shakespeare never used that word). I am not a great proof-reader, especially when I am reading on a computer. I know this about myself: I am much more interested in the ideas I am trying to convey, and although I do strive to convey them clearly, I am not fussy about the use of perfect grammar. I will generally bow to local acceptable use and I do not get priggish about the fact that this often differs from the Queen's English. This is why I got a "pro" (another neologism--shame on me!) to type and edit my thesis. I will do the same for my dissertation.

Now the warning: Muffin, if the way I write bothers you so much that you cannot pay attention to the content, you might want to consider taking this blog off of your list. I would hate to raise your blood pressure on a daily basis. But if you are trolling for errors to demonstrate how superior you are with respect to grammar, then please, please do not come back here. I am simply not interested.

As the ubiquitous "they" say: "Never try to teach a pig to sing. It wears you out and annoys the pig!"

And for those whose blogs I read regularly, I may notice spelling errors and such, but I do not get huffy about them. It would be, to use an old colloquialism, "the pot calling the kettle black."

Yikes! It's Adar II!

Last night, I celebrated Rosh Chodesh, the New Moon of Adar II, with the Women's Rosh Chodesh Group.
I was a founding member of that group, when N. was a nursling, and I was the first Shliach Tzibbur (prayer leader) for the group in those days.
But my life changed, and I found myself needing to distance myself from the group and leadership of it for a variety of reasons, the most pressing of which was overcommitment.

But I got an e-mail recently asking me ever so nicely if I would be interested in coming back to the group. And, oh, by the way, could I give a D'rash and lead a discussion from the Women's Torah Commentary (WTC). So I agreed, and then wondered if I was getting myself overcommitted again. (It's one of my faults. I put it down to FMS--Fear of Missing Something).
But it turned out to be a great time in a very relaxed setting. The current leaders are doing a wonderful job of it. Better than I did, I think.

Being somewhat of a perfectionist, I spent some time last week putting together a D'rash, and since it pertains to the fact that it's now Adar II, and therefore six weeks (Yikes!) until Passover, I thought I'd post for the edification and amusement of ritual perfectionists the world over.

D'rash for Adar II: Be Happy, It's Adar II?!

Tonight we celebrate and bless Rosh Chodesh Adar II, the last month of the old Jewish year. Next month we will welcome Nisan, the New Year of Months. And it is a leap year, too.

As the Adar of Purim begins, our rabbis teach us to “Be happy, it’s Adar!” And it’s a strange admonishment for me, because when the Adar of Purim comes to my house, I also feel a certain sense of anxiety. Pesach anxiety. If it’s the Adar of Purim, then Pesach is six weeks away. Oy.

I don’t know who is coming to my Seder. Maybe nobody will. What if I make a Seder and nobody comes? Oy vey!

And would you look at my kitchen? Coffee grounds in the drawer. Sticky stuff in the recycle bins. And what is that in the junk drawer? What was I thinking when I saved three hundred and fifty-two twist ties? And just look at the shelves the broom closet! I can’t even find my cleaning supplies in the disorganized mess there. Oy vey ist mir!
Be happy? Who do the Rabbis think they’re fooling?

All of this anxiety brings me to this week’s Torah portion and the Women’s Torah Commentary. The Torah portion for this coming Shabbat is VAYIKRA—“And (G-d) Called”. (It's 3 AM. The red telephone in the mishkan is ringing. Who do you want to answer it?) It is the first portion in the book of VAYIKRA—Leviticus. At first glance, this Torah portion hardly seems relevant to the anxiety at hand. It begins:

“God called to Moses and spoke to him from out of the tent of meeting, saying: (Lev. 1:1)
The human being that wants to come near (the Hebrew root K-R-B is the same as the noun for 'sacrifice', which does not have the same connotation as the Latin meaning. It means "the bringing near") to Adonai...” (Lev 1:2)

and it continues with detailed instructions concerning animal sacrifices. We read about unblemished animals “taken from the flock or from the herd.” We learn about “burnt offerings by fire” and “pleasing odors to Adonai.” (Pleasing odor? A burning animal. I don't think so). We read phrases like “dashing the blood on the horns of the altar” and turning “the whole of it into smoke.” It is, as Rabbi Janet Marder says, “...Torah like a tough grain of gristle that runs through a tender, juicy steak.” (WTC). It is a book of blood-ritual, technically correct priestly ritual that “not only arouse(s) anxiety in the squeamish” but also seems irrelevant to how we modern women seek to come near to the G-d.

This is the priestly book that provides detailed instructions about how to be holy according to the technology of the priest. And yet we know that we—all of us who are Israel, those who wrestle with G-d—we are taught to aspire:

“You shall be to me a kingdom of priests...” (Ex. 19:6). All of us are to act in our lives to bring holiness into the world as priests. Not as prophets—calling the world to justice, not as kings, commanding from above. But it is as a kingdom of priests that we will work our destiny of holiness.

And what is the work of priests? It is the domestic work of becoming “G-d’s housekeepers,” as Melila Hellner-Esched so pointedly calls it (WTC). The kohanim do not have the normative rights of males—land ownership and warrior status. Rather, they sublimate the yetzer ha-ra, the evil inclination (this actually means agression, and other acts that can lead to evil--which makes me wonder about how warlike the Levites were before they got those priveleges taken away--it clearly was important to domesticate them a bit), to the discipline of "the bringing near", which is so carefully outlined here in the first several parshiot of the book of Leviticus.

But how—now that the temple animal sacrifices are but a dim memory (to which most of us say ‘thank goodness’)—how, as Rabbinic Jews, do we accomplish this calling? To what do we sublimate our aggressions, our self-righteousness, the whole of our evil inclinations? Certainly we are not expected to go out and sacrifice a lamb in our front yards. Thank goodness!

Our rabbis and commentators found a hint in the way that the first word of Leviticus was written. In the Torah scroll, the alef at the end of the word is written smaller than all of the other letters on the page. Since our Rabbis taught that everything written in Torah—every word, every letter—has meaning , the commentators sought meaning for this small change. In Itturei Torah (on Lev. 1:2 IV, p. 10 quoted in WTC) we are told that that small alef means that if we are to “come near” (l’hitkarev) to G-d, we must offer up a part of ourselves, we must offer up the yetzer ha-ra, our evil inclination. We must become priests, mindful that our smallest actions are done in the service of the Eternal One.

Traditionally, as Jewish women, we have a unique way to come into this kingdom of priestly ritual. One of my teachers (years ago when I was a young 'whipper'), the anthropologist Mary Douglas, noted something interesting about the exacting procedure of laying out the animal sacrifice upon the altar. The movement of arranging the sacrifice is from the outside of the animal body to the inside, a movement from the ordinary to the holy (Leviticus As Literature). This mimics the movement of person from the outside of the ohel moed, the tent of meeting, through the courtyard, through the outer to the inner sanctum. This movement from the outer, ordinary life to the inner, sanctified life is also a movement from the outer masculine self to the inner feminine self.

This movement has traditionally been the responsibility of the Jewish ba’alat bayit, the mistress of the house. It is signified when a bride circles her groom seven times, drawing him deeper and deeper with each circle, into the inner sanctum of kiddushin, the holiness, the completeness of the inner life. As in the days of the Temple, the priests conducted the rituals that allowed those who wished “come-near” to G-d; in these days, when the Jewish home is defined as the mishkan, the dwelling place of G-d, and the family table has become the mikdash katan, the little altar, it is the Jewish woman who makes it possible for human beings who desire it, to “come near” to the Eternal. We create the “kingdom of priests.”


Who is usually responsible for making the holy days and festivals happen? It is not generally an egalitarian enterprise. It is the Jewish woman who is in charge. And what is the festival that takes the greatest amount of planning, of arranging, of sheer physical labor? So it is that Rebetzin Blu Greenberg, in her book How to Run a Traditional Jewish Household, subtitles her chapter on making Pesach 'For Men Only' since, she says, women already know how, having done it for millenia.

No wonder that many of us start hyperventilating at the very thought of making Pesach and organizing the Seder. Oy. Vey. Ist. Mir. Speaking strictly for myself, I start thinking about it shortly after Hanukkah. Just those little niggling thoughts of how it is now certainly coming... And then, in these leap years, Adar I gives me the illusion that I still have lots of time, if only I would start getting ready early. Of course, I don’t. So Adar II catches me napping, and the Pesach Panic starts in earnest.



Be happy it’s Adar?! Who do they think they’re kidding?!

Except that removing the leavening is symbolic of removing all that is “puffed up” in our lives, leaving us to content with being content with the simplicity of who we really are. Pesach is one of those rare times when we can "be in the moment" entirely in our otherwise busy lives. Removing the leavening is to offer in return a part of ourselves, the yetzer ha-ra, the evil inclination in order to come near to the four promises G-d made to us at the Seder table: I will sanctify you, I will redeem you, I will bless you, and I will bring you into the land.

Be happy it’s Adar? Who do they think they are kidding?

Unless of course, as we scour the kitchen, change the dishes, and remove the leaven, we can remember that the exacting priest-like ritual is done mindfully, so that we become “G-d’s Housekeepers,” and draw our families and friends, and the strangers at our gates, into being a “kingdom of priests, a holy nation.”

“Do you ponder?” A student once asked me that question. Often, I stay too busy to ponder. But during Adar, and into the beginning of Nisan, if I can breathe through Pesach anxiety, and actually begin the work of making Pesach, I find that the anxiety is mostly an artifact of procrastination and of thinking ahead too much. So, as I move into the act of being “G-d’s Housekeeper” in the little mishkan of my kitchen, I do find that the rhythm of the work is the mother of being in the moment. It's a bit like the exacting ritual of the Japanese Tea Ceremony. And as the leavening is taken out, I find my "coming near" on the altar of the ordinary work of my life. It’s hard to be puffed up and full of yetzer while scrubbing out that sticky stuff in the recycle bin. Or while wiping coffee grounds from the drawers.

I still have a few weeks yet. There’s Purim for hilarity before the pondering work of priesthood begins in earnest.

Be happy it’s Adar? I guess I am. I am happy to ponder the sisterhood of Jewish women, all doing the priestly service of making Pesach.

Be happy it’s Adar? Here’s to the priesthood of Jewish women. L’chaim!

The March Lion Continues Roaring!

Yesterday afternoon, when N. and I left the house, the sun was shining, the sky was blue, and the temperature was 49 degrees (F). We did notice the clouds over the Sandias. And we were aware of the winter storm watch posted for the northeastern quarter of New Mexico. But when I dropped N. off at the library, it was 55 degrees and still sunny in Albuquerque's Northeast Heights. By the time I parked the truck at UNM, the temperature had dropped slightly, the wind had come up, cold and damp. Just before class began, I got a text-message informing me that the East Mountains were under a winter storm warning. Two-and-a-half hours later, as I left class, it was cold and windy and Albuquerque was under a cloud cover. The East Mountains were socked in. Still, I stopped at the grocery store and the pet store on my way home.

There was no snow in Tijeras Canyon, though the wind was strong and the trucks were going only 50 mph. But when I got off the freeway at Zuzax, I was met with flurries. The snow intensified as I climbed Sedillo hill, and the wind drove the snow straight at me, so that my headlights made a tunnel in the snow. And when I turned off on Via Sedillo, the howling wind blew the falling snow across my path, and also picked up the powder on the ground. The little Catholic Chuch was a ghostly presence, and I had to slow to 10 MPH and follow the center line to stay on the road. Still, the roads were wet but not snowpacked. But by the time Bruce and N. got back from Taekwondo a half-hour later, two inches were on the ground. Whoah! The NWS was not kidding about the storm warning this time.

This morning, we woke up to 9 inches,and the snow was still falling. It was a heavy,spring snow, making frosting on the fence, and weighing down the branches. Although the snowplow had not yet made it up our hill, the newspaper guy did. He's got to have 4WD!

We took the "short walk" today, Bruce and I together, because he was waiting on the snowplow. The short walk, around Teypana Drive and then through the meadow and up the hill to our house, usually takes about 20 minutes.

Today, as we broke trail through knee-deep snow in the meadow, it took 50 minutes. But it was so beautiful, the snow on the new fence, piled up with abandon on the shrubs and trees, the sky gray and snow still falling lightly.

In the woods south of the house, the snow was the deepest of all, and we lingered, taking pictures as the dogs broke trail. They were chest-deep in the snow, and moving slowly, snow on their tummies, and frost around their noses. Even their collars were coated in snow and ice.

By the time we got home, they were happy to be there, but it still took nearly ten minutes to sweep off four pairs of boots, two sets of pant legs, eight dog paws, and two dog bellies and chests.

By the time we got inside, the dogs were more than ready for breakfast, and even Zoey, Miss Picky Geriatric Eater, at a full breakfast .

Now the clouds are coming and going, as the center of the storm moves south and east, toward Union County and the Texas State Line.

We are still getting snow off-and-on, but I think it is safe to say that we have already gotten the lion's share of accumulation. My truck is buried, the rain guage is frosted, and the temperature is still well below freezing.

Although Bruce got off to work rather late with the Focus, which has front-wheel drive, I probably will not be going anywhere in the truck. It is not 4WD, and although I can get it down the snow-packed hill--probably--I will not be able to get it back up. So we are home for the day, like it or not.

Frankly, I rather like it. We are having a homeschool snow day, complete with a movie--Letters from Iwo Jima--a part of N.'s World War II study. We'll venture out to shovel a walkway up the drive later, and have hot chocolate made with real cream. I can taste it already!

I'll have to see if I can make it to class tonight. I think not.

Lion or Lamb? A Bit of Both

Nearly Wordless Wednesday

On Saturday, March 1, it was clear and warm.

We prayed the Shabbat Service outside.

Picture by Elisheva Levin, March 1, 2008, Sedillo, NM.

On Sunday, March 2, the Weather Bug Cricket started chirping away, as a storm front advanced over the Sandia Mountains.

Picture by Elisheva Levin, March 2, 2008, Sedillo, NM

Soon, Hertz-Rent-a-Mountain took back the mountains, and snow began falling over the Sedillo Valley.

Picture by Elisheva Levin, March 2, 2008, Sedillo, NM

On Monday, March 3, we woke to a winter wonderland, soft powder covered the garden, the driveway, and the cars. Was it only forty-eight hours ago that we were dreaming of spring?

Picture by Elisheva Levin, March 3, 2008, Sedillo, NM

Puffy, fair-weather clouds lingered over the Sandias, and the storm from remained to the north, and the snow began melting immediately.

Now the cycle of fair-to-storm begins again!

Picture by Elisheva Levin, March 3, 2008, Sedillo, NM

Carnival of Homeschooling 114: It's March!

March is here!

Did March come in like a lion or a lamb at your house?

To find out all kinds of cool facts about the month of March,

and to discover what homeschoolers around the world are up to as this month begins,

head on over to Palm Tree Pundit, for the 114th Carnival of Homeschooling, brought to you from the lovely islands of Hawaii!

A Practical Matter: Power and Control at Machon

Last week, I wrote about my thinking on Jewish prayer. That post was a response to ideas that came from a Christian writer through another blogger, as well as a difficulty N. has been having in Machon--his secondary religious education program. When I wrote, I said that I did not know yet what I was going to do about N.'s concerns.

Concerns. Note the plural ending there.

There has been more going on at Machon than the experience N. had during T'fillah last Wednesday night. I have discussed the concern we had last spring, as well as problems that occured this fall in other posts here on Ragamuffin Studies. And those problems combined with some incidents that happened in early January, are what is driving my thinking about the goodness-of-fit between N.'s unique needs, my educational philosophy, and the Machon program. Once again. Oy.

Our rabbis taught in Pirke Avot: "Turn it and turn it again, for everything is within it." They were talking about wrestling with Torah, but it seems that N. and I --and even Bruce and the Chemistry Geek Princess--are having a similar experience with our discussions about wrestling with Machon. So although I am feeling rather grumpy about it, since I have once again made an appointment to go see the rabbi about this, I can say that this mizukis does have the benefit of making us struggle with what our Jewish practice means to us, consider what we want N.'s Jewish education to accomplish, and clarify our values concerning our affiliation with a particular religious institution.

And there is another piece to this puzzle, one that comes out of something N. witnessed in January at Machon, an incident that illustrates issues of control that pertain to a wider discussion about the purpose and practice of education in general.

Last month, N. witnessed part of an incident in which a staff member at Machon engaged in a power struggle with another child at Machon. This staff member is the same one who insists that the students keep their eyes on the prayerbook in T'fillah and follow the Hebrew words with their fingers.

An aside: This is not necessarily a bad technique to improve Hebrew reading skills for some students. And it is true that in the Jewish practice of prayer, a tight focus on the Hebrew words is emphasized. My objection to this practice is two-fold: where it is done, and to whom it is done. First, that this kind of drill is better reserved for Hebrew school proper, and not for the practice of public prayer. Second, that the technique be applied kindly and creatively, and only with students who's learning will be benefited by it. Some students either do not need it because they already can track the service well, or they will not benefit from it because it is not the best match for how they learn. One size does not fit all.

Back to the incident. The gory details do not matter to us here. (N. gave me a blow-by-blow account, so the incident clearly made an impression on him). The precipitating event does matter. The power struggle started because the student asked this particular staff member for permission to go to the bathroom. And the staff member refused the request.

Think about that. Kids in school are relatively powerless. They must follow the instructions and directions of adult who may or may not care about them. They must accept humbly numerous evaluations of their work, their disposition, their very selves from adults who may or may not appreciate their individuality. And their personal power over their bodily functions is limited by adults for institutional reasons. They may not be allowed to eat when they are hungry, get a drink when they are thirsty, and they must notify an adult if they need to leave the room in order to use the bathroom. Their lack of privacy extends also to the emotional realm, in that feelings such as happiness, joy, rambunctiousness, hurt, anger, and sadness, are all judged as appropriate or not by adults.

Much of this powerlessness and lack of privacy is necessary for the sake of safety and accountability in an institutional setting. But in my years in the classroom, I have witnessed many teachers who took their power over children to an extreme that I judged to be harmful to the child's dignity. Such adult behavior puzzled me and still does. Not every word that comes out of a teacher's mouth is a pearl of wisdom. And even if each word was, a child in need of the bathroom, a drink, or a good cry, is unlikely to hear those pearls anyway. And sometimes, believe it or not, a kid really needs a break from the teacher. And that's okay.

I have taught children of all ages, and I quickly learned to set policies in the classroom to minimize my control over a child's need to use the bathroom, get a drink, or even to go cry in private. I did this by establishing a permanent pass to leave the room. I had two such passes, made of wood, and nicely painted. They were on my demo bench where I taught high school science, and these same passes hung by the door of my Gifted Pull-Out classroom. At the beginning of the year, I explained to the kids that although I understood their desire for dignity and privacy, I also had the obligation to know who was out of the room. And I also had the need not to be verbally interrupted in the middle of a thought. It was distracting. Therefore, a child in need of leaving the room ought to quietly get up, get the pass, and go. Of course, if s/he did not return in a reasonable amount of time, I would probably come looking or send someone else to see if s/he was still breathing. Emergencies like needing to be sick were exceptions, I told them, and if they bolted without a pass, I would certainly follow up right away to ensure their safety and inform the nurse.

It was amazing how well this worked, too. (Of course with the younger elemetary kids, I also had regular bathroom breaks, because the little ones can get so absorbed in the classroom activities that they forget until...oops). I think that the kids appreciated my understanding of their need for some dignity and privacy, and they responded to my respect of their situation by respecting my need to account for them.

Back to the incident N. witnessed at Machon. I might have chalked it up to a mistake on the part of the staff member, except for other evidence of an extreme need for control over others. Evidence that comes from the way in which the T'filllah experience has been handled, the use of a disrespectful tone towards parents when policies are questioned, and attempts to control adults in other situations.

I cannot even guess at what drives this kind of behavior. I can say that it is unlikely to provoke a desirable response. And it certainly did not in this case. The details of the fireworks that ensued, including use of various inappropriate words by the angry student, were known throughout the school. (Another lesson I learned very quickly as a teacher: the kids know everything. Always). Of course, this did nothing to provoke respect by the other students towards this staff member. And, although I am not excusing the response of the student (there are better ways to get your point across), ultimately the responsibility for an incident lies with the person in power. Another lesson I learned early on in my teaching career: never, never engage a power struggle with a student. Nobody wins. But the teacher will be the bigger loser.

On the more personal level, this incident, as well as the other issues of control, have resulted in problems for N. He has become afraid. His generalized anxiety about everything--a common comorbidity of AS--has found a target. He is now anxious about Machon in general, and about T'fillah in particular, when this person is present. On Friday night, we went to Shabbat services, and when this staff member entered the chapel, N. departed. He sat out services in the lounge. This indicates that for him, the fear is not about Machon, but about T'fillah. Or about T'fillah with this person.

So at Seudat Sh'lishit (supper on Saturday evening), we had a discussion. Bruce told him that he understood why N. left services, and explained that we thought if best to let him do so on Friday night. And then I talked about the need to take control of the fear, and focus on the keva (appointed ritual) and kavanah (aim of the heart) of T'fillah in order to carry him beyond his anxiety about this person. After all, he cannot control the presence or actions of another person, he can only control his own. And then we gave him permission to politely tell anyone his limits.

If, for example, during T'fillah, an adult insists on a certain practice--and he is not being disruptive (very important)--he should nod politely and when the adult moves on, go back to praying his own way. Later, after the service is over, he should then respectfully but firmly tell that adult that he has his own way of praying, and that he would like to be left alone to do it. And that should be the end of it. We hope.

If an adult asks him for a hug--another control issue with--you guessed it!--the same person, he should say: "I'm not a touchy, feely person. But I'll be glad to shake your hand." And that should be the end of it. We hope.

Naturally, we practiced these situations, and helped him form a statement that would be seen as polite but firm. In this way, we hope to return to N. some sense of control over his situation and alleviate the anxiety.

This, then, is what we are going to do about it. And this will be the content of my conversation with the rabbi. We've determined that we cannot change the overall situation in Machon, but we hope to change the situation for N. in order to alleviate his anxiety so that he can pray.

I hope this is truly the last time I have to go to the rabbi about Machon. The whole situation feeds my own anxieties. Parents with children who are behaviorally different will understand what I mean. When your kid responds differently than others your parenting is always on trial. And the judgments never go in your favor.
But it's the child's needs that matter.

"A person's a person, no matter how small!"

Nice Day

Shabbat Shalom!
Winter is loosening the grip, and Spring is wooing us, even if prematurely.

It is a nice day.

You know, one of the first days on which we can open the windows, and smell the fresh air, coming to us on the south winds.

The sky has taken on that spring-like robin's egg blue, so that we know the real eggs are not too far in the offing now.

It's a strange contrast of a day.

One on which it's good to be outside, and the sun feels warm on the rock, but the snow lingers in patches, not quite worn out from the warmth.

The solar angle is rising,

so that the length of the shadows and the length of the day fortell the coming of real Spring, and beyond.

It's a good day.

A day to sit out on the porch and read for the first time this year, and listen to the breeze, so recently cold and hard, but now warm and soft, as it sweeps through the tree tops.

But it's early yet. A body still needs a wool shirt to protect against just a bit of chill on that south wind.

It's a nice day!

I wish I could post the smell and feel of the wind, and the warmth of the sun.

But all I can post are these pictures,

tantalizing hints of the Spring to come, though they are, they do not completely convey the niceness of this day.

It's a really, really nice day! Sixty degrees, soft winds, golden sun, blue sky.

We might say that March is coming in to 2008 like a lamb.

Except it's supposed to snow tomorrow night.

So it's just a bit too early to say that Spring has sprung!

But it does seem as if Spring is tensing the coils, gathering the energy, and demonstrating her potential to Spring out fully, later.