All the great lecturing in the world will not accomplish a thing until the student is a willing participant

“Bnei Yisrael will not listen to me and how will Pharaoh listen to me since I am of sealed lips?” (Shemos 6:12)

Why does Moshe go backward to the old excuse of his speech impediment? Wasn’t that dismissed by the burning bush?

The Sfas Emes offers the following explanation. Because Klal Yisrael weren’t ready to hear, therefore, Moshe’s speech was impeded since he had no audience.

There’s no question that Moshe was our greatest teacher, hence his title, “Rabbeinu.” All the Torah for all generations traces back to him. Yet, there’s an even greater teacher we can learn from. The word “Torah” means teaching. Hashem is our greatest teacher and we can learn from the way He teaches. (Rabbi Label Lam)

AS

a student, I had a hard time sitting in the classroom. I was mostly bored and wished I could be anywhere else besides those uncomfortable plastic chairs.

You’d think with such a background in schooling, I’d never return to the classroom, but surprising all, I started teaching when I was 19 and discovered there are two sides of the classroom. I loved teaching.

Standing in front of the classroom, I didn’t forget what it had been like to be sitting on the opposite side of the desk. I was determined that my classes would be interesting enough to pull in the most bored student.

Teaching can be like acting in a play, and setting the props and the scenery all became part of my job.

A lesson plan is always the key to a great teaching session. One of the critical ingredients of that plan is an anticipatory set. It’s meant to whet the appetite of the student and awaken an interest in learning.

All the great lecturing in the world will not accomplish a thing until the student is a willing participant. A good teacher has to create a teachable moment.

One of my classes always had a hard time getting started on time. I’m a Yekkeh, and the moment the bell rang, I was ready to begin, but they were not.

After some thought I started the next class by pulling a $50 bill from my wallet. Holding it up, I asked for a volunteer. Several girls raised their hands right away. They probably thought they’d get to walk away with it.

I selected Meira, who walked to the front curiously. I gave her the bill and asked her to verify that it was genuine. Having examined it from all sides she agreed to its validity.

“Now rip it in half,” I told her.

“What?” Meira paused. “Do what?”

“Rip it in half,” I insisted.

“No,” she said. “Why? It’s fifty dollars. I can’t just rip it up.”

Despite my reassurances that that was I wanted from her, she still refused. Finally, I took the bill from her and in front of the shocked faces of my students, I ripped it in half and then into quarters. There’s wasn’t a sound in the room as I delivered the punch line.

“Time is more valuable than money. Let’s stop wasting it.”

The greatest teachable moment was at Har Sinai, when Hashem broke a 2,448-year silence. When the student, Klal Yisrael, was ready, that’s when Hashem, the teacher appeared. This only was possible after witnessing the nissim of the Makkos, Kri’as Yam Suf, and the mahn. All these were a grandiose anticipatory set so Klal Yisrael would be ready to hear.

Another time I was having difficulty with a senior class on Ivrit. Despite all my efforts, they simply didn’t consider the subject matter important enough to give it their attention.

One day I announced that today would be mute day. We’d take the class without uttering a sound, either in Hebrew or in English. They were excited with the idea, but the novelty wore off completely when they tried so many ways to communicate without words and were repeatedly frustrated.

At the end of the class I brought the point home. I explained that most of them would be spending the next year in Israel, and they’d be even more frustrated spending a whole year without being able to make their needs known.

To quote Yeats: “Education is not the filling of a pail, but the lighting of a fire.”

Be prepared; that’ll teach ’em.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 977)