“She’s just here to wreak havoc,” she cried. I thought Miss Reiner was overdoing it, getting worked up about something minor, but I understood that she was a new teacher who needed my encouragement and support.

We tried charts, which seemed to work, but Miss Reiner complained that despite her efforts, Rivka seemed to be jumping out of her skin. Another child in the class had ADHD, but she took medication and her behavior was under control. Rivka, Miss Reiner claimed, didn’t display the classic symptoms of ADHD. It seemed to her that there was something else going on. Miss Reiner conferred with the school guidance counselor, who confirmed that what she was describing did not sound like ADHD; Rivka just seemed to have a hard time adjusting to Miss Reiner’s class.

The weeks passed, and as the other teachers didn’t seem to have any issues with Rivka — none that they told me about anyway — I was certain the “situation” was behind us. Then, Miss Reiner brought up Rivka’s name again around Purim time.

“I don’t understand it,” Miss Reiner told me. “Rivka sits in class, participating, and then she suddenly gets very quiet, and I notice her crying quietly in her seat. I approached her after class one day, and she promised me that she wasn’t crying. Then she tried to tell me something, but when I asked her to speak a bit louder so I could hear her, she shut down. What am I supposed to do?”

It was time to reach out to Rivka’s mother. I asked if something was going on at home. Does Rivka complain about being bullied in school? I asked. Is school too hard for her? Is there anything we should know about? But Rivka’s mother reacted in surprise, claiming her daughter loved school and was an angel at home.

I discussed the situation with Rivka’s other teachers. Yes, she did display odd behaviors, including sudden bursts of laughter and periods of spaciness in their classes, they told me. But it was nothing these more experienced morahs couldn’t handle. We came to the conclusion that Rivka was looking for negative attention and decided that the best thing would be to not feed into it. If her behavior continued, I told the teachers, we’d have to take more drastic measures. I hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

The following week, Miss Reiner was back in my office.

“I’m really not sure what to do now,” she said. Rivka’s behavior was erratic: Some days she would laugh manically through her class, disturbing the other girls. At other times, she would be completely in her own world, not responding to anything around her. Nothing Miss Reiner tried to engage her or end her disruption seemed to work.

“We need to stop this negative attention seeking once and for all,” I declared.

The next day, I knocked on Miss Reiner’s classroom door and spoke to the first graders in a very low and authoritative voice. In all my years as principal, I’ve done this only a handful of times, and I still remember the scene exactly. More so because the words that came out of my mouth seemed to do so on their own volition. Now, so many years later, I shudder as I recount them and realize what we, the adults in Rivka’s life, did to her.

I explained to the class that they had a classmate who did not belong in first grade. She would have to take her knapsack and coat and leave with me. I noticed the girls shrink into their seats from fear. And I continued, “Rivka, please take your bag and follow me.”

As surprised as I was by my own words, the utter shock on Rivka’s face proved to me that this was the consequence she needed. After this, there would be no question of Rivka behaving in class for the rest of the year. I noticed how her mouth quivered and that she was fighting tears, and I felt bad for her. At the same time, it was clear to all that the message was received.

Rivka’s mother was admittedly horrified by what I had done, and we promised to keep in touch to bring Rivka back to school.

But Rivka refused to come back to school for the rest of that week. I did wonder to myself if I’d gone overboard — I hadn’t gone into the classroom expecting to suspend Rivka. But it was done, and I reassured myself that this was the only way we were able to get through to her. In the end, her mother promised her a big prize, and Rivka was back in school. The new Rivka no longer disturbed the class.

That was the end of the “Rivka Saga.” Still, I felt uneasy whenever I saw Rivka in the hallway. She looked so quiet. She didn’t say much and kept to herself. At her siddur party, while I sat in the audience and shepped nachas, I noticed Rivka’s eyes. They were dead. Her lively spark was gone. It couldn’t possibly be from my midyear punishment, I reasoned. Children are resilient, I comforted myself. Rivka would forget the whole thing, and now her teacher could teach and her classmates could learn.

And then I met Rivka for the first time in over 18 years this past summer — and I haven’t slept through the night since.

I bumped into Rivka at the supermarket. An adult now, she had moved out of town and was back for a simchah. I greeted her warmly and inquired about her life. But she seemed upset to have bumped into me. This was more than the natural awkwardness of meeting your old principal; I’d experienced that many times.

Suddenly, Rivka’s face contorted in pain. “Why?” she asked me.

“Why what?” I responded, confused. She looked to be in so much pain that I was concerned.

Rivka looked me straight in the eye and asked again. “Why? Why did you have to do that to me? I know it was many years ago and I was only in first grade. But couldn’t you have dug a little deeper and been there for me at a time when my life was crumbling?”

My heart started to pound. I needed to understand what she was saying. I invited Rivka into my car. She hesitated for a long moment but then followed me, for the second time in her life.

We sat and spoke for three hours. Nothing mattered outside of my car.

“I still remember that day, the first day of school,” Rivka told me. “I was so full of hope. Life out of school was dark: My parents knew nothing about this, but a neighbor of mine, a teenage boy, had befriended me that summer. At first, I felt honored and privileged, like the luckiest kid on earth. But that soon changed when he threatened to hurt me in unimaginable ways should I disclose our relationship. He turned into a beast, and I was too little to fight back. My happy-go-lucky childhood was over. I was living a nightmare. All alone.

“It’s hard to describe my life at that point. It was horror and torture at the best of times, and unbearable at the worst. I stayed quiet, literally in fear of my life. At the same time, I couldn’t wait for school to start. I was counting down the days until the safety of school would arrive. I remember skipping into school feeling like I was floating in the air. I was the happiest kid.

“My happiness didn’t last too long. I couldn’t concentrate on anything as my mind kept wandering to frightening places. I couldn’t focus. I was all over the place. But at all of six years old, I had no clue how to control myself or help myself. I knew I needed help, but I also knew I couldn’t tell anyone. I’ll never forget my brainstorm. I lay in bed one night and realized that if I became friends with my teacher or principal, I could tell them that someone was hurting me. In my naive mind that was how it worked. But how could I develop that close relationship? By acting up, I decided. The teacher would need to talk to me. I’d get to spend time in the principal’s office. I made as much trouble as I could so the teachers would send me out. But they never did send me to the principal, and instead of being listened to and given love and warmth, I was treated harshly. Looking back, I realize that they hoped their punishments would stop me from acting out. I don’t blame or point fingers, as there was no way for them to have known what was going on in my undeveloped brain. Still, I did hope for understanding.

“It got worse when one day, I was sent home. Until today I cannot wrap my head around how something like this could have happened.”

Rivka paused, then took a deep breath. She told me how she’d met Miss Reiner a few years back, also as an adult. Her former teacher had no recollection of the incident. She laughed it off, saying, “Wow, I was so inexperienced at that time.” As a young teacher, she couldn’t handle having students disrupt her lessons. “I was so hurt and upset by how casually she viewed the whole episode,” Rivka continued, “that I just turned and left. I couldn’t even bring myself to say goodbye.”

“For the rest of first grade,” Rivka went on, “I became a shadow of myself. I stopped trusting adults and just trudged along for the rest of my school years. I was scarred. I suffered in silence. It left a tremendous impact and didn’t do much good for my healing.”

Rivka went on to describe her life outside of school — as all along, we, the teachers and principals who should have been there for her, added so much to her suffering.

I cried along with my former student. Then I begged her for forgiveness.

“I don’t blame you or any of the other staff members,” Rivka said, leaving me in awe of her generosity. “How could you have known? But I decided to tell you all this for a reason. You’re still in chinuch, and you’re still in a position to influence so many people. Please make sure that no other child suffers like I did. Maybe you couldn’t have changed my reality, but you could have been there as a safe shoulder to cry on. Even worse than the pain and abuse I suffered was the loneliness of being such a young child and not having the adults around me be there for me.”

We hugged and promised to keep in touch. Then Rivka left my car. I drove home, and like I said, I haven’t slept through the night since.

I cannot erase the mistakes I made, or undo the damage done to Rivka, but I gave her my word to try to be there for others in the way that no one had been there for her. To listen to children and to hear what their actions are saying when they are unable to speak. And to tell others what I’ve learned, so that no other child should be left to feel so alone and abandoned.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 931)