Volunteering-palooza: the Raison d'Etre of This Year

Considering that we're here on a program focused on volunteering in Yafo, I think it's high time that some mention was made of what we're actually doing with our time. When we're not being treated to homemade pastries and turkish coffee by Essam, the wonderful man we buy our vegetables from, or having lots of guests for Shabbat, we're actually spending time being reasonably productive. While my Hebrew prevents me from being a truly productive and/or functioning member of society, my English and teaching experience are actually making me feel like I'm contributing something to my adopted community. Thanks, mother tongue. You're pretty great. During the first month of the program, we were able to shop around at various community organizations, schools, NGOs and the like in order to figure out where we would fit in and be useful.

With that said, here are my volunteer placements:
1) Beit Daniel, a mixed kindergarten that is a project of the Daniel Center for Progressive Judaism.
2) Aros El Bahar, an Arab women's organization dedicated to women's education, legal rights, small business development, the prevention of early marriage, and to being a safe space for the women of Yafo.
3) Ironi Zayin's College for All program, an intensive and early intervention after school enrichment program based out of a mixed high school
4) Ironi Chet, an Orthodox high school with a diverse population of Ethiopian, Ashkenaz and Sephardi students.

I'll be splitting this post into several posts, so stay tuned as there is also a distinct possibility of Nate sharing his thoughts.


Part One: Beit Daniel
A kindergarten/nursery school suffering from an inexplicable lack of nap time

The Israeli school system isn't really comparable to the American system in terms of structure or pedagogy, other than the fact that there is generally a classroom and there is generally some sort of attempt to impart knowledge. Think back to the last time you taught or volunteered or tutored at a school. There was probably some sort of orientation or background check or conversation about rules and regulations. Oh no. Not here. You're here to volunteer with kindergartners? Sababa. Go through that door and go volunteer with kindergartners. You've never worked with little kids in the form of a swarm before? Don't worry about it. Have fun!

While I appreciate the prevalent Israeli attitude of "Don't ask me, figure it out for yourself and make it work," it just doesn't seem appropriate e to, say, interacting with tiny impressionable people between the ages of three and six. Along with three of my fellow volunteers, I was shown the main room of the kindergarten and told to just help. Help with what? Your guess is as good as mine. Most days, it boils down to helping the instructional aid keep from losing her mind or pointing out when one of the children is being truly inappropriately violent.

This place alternately makes me want to laugh, cry, scream, shout, or break something.
The actual structure of the kindergarten is particularly interesting in that it's an all Arab class with two primarily Jewish classes that have two or three Arab/Jewish children of mixed parentage. The mixed kindergarten classes are run by the Daniels Center for Reform and Progressive Judaism, whereas the Arab classroom is under the auspices of the public school which hosts the Daniels Center's program. The contrasts between American standards of discipline, respect and general classroom behavior initially overwhelmed and infuriated me, but the entire picture is much more complicated (surprise!). Some of the hardest working women in the world share their lunches, offer to come over to take care of me when I'm not feeling well, help me enormously with my Hebrew, commiserate with me about the difficulties of wedding planning, and are generally downright amicable towards me, in spite of my embarrassing Hebrew skills.

These same women will stare at a violent kindergartner who happens to be Arab, not interfere, and proceed to let loose with random epithets about the Arab kindergartners, or about the poor people in the neighborhood, or about Arabs in general. When I ask them what they mean by these statements, it usually results in a fascinating and unflinching description of the poverty experienced by the Arab students, of their one parent households where a father was arrested for reasons ranging from terrorism to drug trafficking, and of the pervasive lack of regard for the teaching profession in Israel. Unlike the particular brand of American racism where a great deal of hemming and hawing takes place after calling people out, Israeli racism and discrimination are right out there for discussion. Racism certainly isn't restricted to the realm of Jews, and yes, there are people who are fighting racism tooth and nail, but I'm not talking about those situations at the moment, dear readers. A teeny-tiny bit of me respects the Israeli cab driver or school teacher who, without prompting, display contempt for Arabs and will back up their contempt with lines of reasoning that are oftentimes shocking in their clarity. I have yet to hear an American justify, much less explain, their racism after being called out. What goes on here is unacceptable and ugly, but at least people are generally willing to have a conversation on it (unless you're at a government sponsored event on security issues, of course). What I'm saying is: no "kol hakavoed" (good job) for you in the race department, Israel, but thanks for generally being willing to talk to me about it.

It's not exclusively Mohammad's fault that he's so angry he punches Nate in the groin, or throws a chair at a teacher. It's the convergence of negligence, hunger, substandard housing, near total lack of discipline and poorly trained and compensated teaching staff. You cannot expect well-socialized behavior out of a four year old whose only full meal of the day comes from school and who doesn't get to take a nap during a seven hour school day, followed by two hours of the Israeli equivalent of latchkey. I don't care what stream of social thought you align yourself with, you just can't have reasonable expectations of tiny children barely able to use the bathroom on their own who are in such unreasonable circumstances.

So what do I do about this? Where do I fit in? It's been incredibly difficult to manage my own reactions to what happens at the kindergarten. Other than lots of nannying experience involving herding toddlers, I don't have formal education or training in classroom management of little ones. I barely speak the language. With that said, I can wield a mean pair of scissors and have made some pretty awesome Chanukah headbands for the upcoming Chanukah recital. I spend a lot of time trying to coax some of the quieter kids into being more social. I also do lots of other assorted grunt work ranging from squeegie-ing floors to making sure hands are washed before mealtime to playing a combination of hide and go seek and tag with fifty screaming kindergartners. More than any of my other volunteer places, the kindergarten has been an opportunity to experience the good, the bad and the ugly aspects of Israeli society. There is a lot of screaming and dragging of kids by their arms, but there is also an incredible amount of positive affection that would result in a lawsuit back in the States.

My reactions upon coming home from the kindergarten range from elation:
"Bat-toot didn't kick me today!" "Mohammad smiled and didn't break anything!" "Rami played with the other kids!"

to moral and social confusion/despair:
"Nate got punched in the balls by Mohammad and the teachers didn't do anything." "The teachers abandoned us on the playground and we were left to face 50 kindergartners on our own." "Two of the kids went over the fence and we're hoping they weren't hit by a car."

With that said, do look forward to more updates about the other places I'm spending my time at. Next up are Aros El Bahar and Ironi Chet.