My immediate reaction was that she needed my help. Unconcerned, I walked up to Dally and quietly asked if she wanted my assistance. She shook her head and continued to stare into space. I asked if she’d had difficulty in the past, and assured her that mistakes were welcome in my class. Again, I was rewarded with a blank stare and a shrug. I opened her binder and located the booklet, page, and verse. Dally firmly shut the binder and turned it away from herself.

I was perplexed. Dally did not present as oppositional. In fact, she had shown me a lovely, dimpled smile that morning. She had a slew of friends and wasn’t unpopular. Why was she behaving so strangely? I stood by her desk, watching her for a little while, then asked her, “Dally, what is going on?”

“I don’t do any work,” she said, with calm confidence and no defiance. Then she folded her arms. The conversation was over.

The class stopped what they were doing and stared at us. I hadn’t considered that Dally would put up this barrier. She had seemed like a good kid. But here’s the thing: No one, and I mean no one, doesn’t work in my class. You can work at your own pace, with special accommodations, in a group, or on your own… but work, you must.

Everyone works in my class.

And I mean everyone.

I considered my choices and realized that I had none. I lowered my body to meet her gaze and said as softly as possible, “Dally, no one does not work in my class. If you do not work in my class, you do not belong in my class. It’s as simple as that.”

Her eyes flickered with inner turmoil. I stayed in my position, my gaze fixed on her.

“Well, then,” she said, placing her binder in her desk, “I guess I’ll hafta leave.” And with that, she stood up.

I nodded. “I guess you will. Go to the office. I’ll call them from here and let them know to expect you.” I was shaking internally. I had no idea if this was normal behavior in this school, but I knew that I had to lay down the law. My classroom, my rules. There would be no wiggle room.

More troubling questions followed. Was I too harsh with her? Did I have the right to do what I had just done? More importantly, how could I teach her if she refused to work? And how would I stop any copycat behavior if Dally faced no consequences?

I could have adopted a more lenient approach, but that would have robbed her of the exhilaration of success.

No. Dally would simply have to work.

Eventually.

She left the room with a dramatic swoop and a matching thump of the door. I searched the other students’ faces for their reactions. “Is there something I should know?” I tried not to sound nervous.

“Oh, yeah…” Some helpful kids enlightened me. “Dally doesn’t work.”

“Ever?” I asked, incredulous at how easily Dally’s habits were dismissed by her peers.

“Yes,” they assured me. “Ever!”

At recess, I went to the office and sat down next to a bored and lonely–looking girl. “Dally, I don’t know what to say.”

She shrugged. She didn’t look at me.

“If the work is too hard, that’s fine. We can tailor it to your needs. That’s what I’m here for. But work, you must.”

Again, shrug. Eyes still focused on the floor.

“Dally?”

Nothing.

“Dally, look at me.”

Nothing.

“Okay, Dally. Here’s what I want you to do. Go join your friends at recess. Then, you’ll come back to class. When we’re learning, you’ll pay attention, and when it’s work time, I’ll sit with you and we’ll work together. Sound like a plan?”

Nothing.

“Okay, Dally. Go to recess.”

Dally walked away without looking back. Oh, golly! Could I have messed up so badly that I might never reach this kid?

The rest of the day went smoothly. But the next day, Dally threw me the same curveball. Again, it was during Chumash, while the other students were writing, and Dally didn’t open her binder. A similar scene repeated itself, with a similar outcome: Dally swooping out of the classroom and closing the door with a resounding thump.

The same scenario repeated itself every day. I consulted with the administration, who gave me her history, but no real guidance. In every other sense, Dally was a regular kid. She was blessed with great social skills, a robust sense of humor, and a likable personality. My suspicion was that she had gotten away with this behavior for so long, gaps had formed in her learning that were holding her back. It was just a hunch but if I was right, I knew that I had to break the cycle.

In truth, I just wanted Dally to taste the sweetness of learning, to open her mind, to have her yearn for and work toward success. It is the greatest gift I can bestow upon my students: thirst for knowledge, and the skill to acquire it for themselves.

I want it for all my students.

I wanted it for Dally.

But still, she refused to do any work in class, so I refused to have her in my classroom. It was untenable. I knew it, and I was scared.

Scared of running out of time.

Scared of being hauled over the coals by the administration for my unyielding stance.

Scared of hurting Dally even more than she was already hurting.

I spoke with Dally’s mother, who only tentatively agreed with me. Naturally, she also wanted what was best for Dally, but she was unsure that this was the right approach. I asked her what was tried in the past, and she went quiet. Then she admitted that no other attempt had worked. We could experiment with this technique, she conceded.

Baruch Hashem, the momentum kept being interrupted by the Yamim Tovim, slowly breaking us in for the school year. Rosh Hashanah was followed by Yom Kippur; and by the time we neared Succos, my class had completed our first perek. Their first Chumash test was scheduled for the last morning before we broke for Succos.

The days leading up to the test were fraught. We were all steeped in study games and preparation. Well… all of us apart from Dally, who had no notes and no grasp of the text, having spent much of class in the office.

I took her outside the classroom for a small hallway talk. I told her I understood she might feel panicked about the test. I didn’t expect the same performance from her as I did from the rest of the class, but I was expecting something. What did she feel comfortable giving me?

She stared blankly at me, as though I were speaking a foreign language. To her credit, she was not chutzpahdig. She kept her dignity, but gave me no response at all. I asked her if she would want to take the test on half the perek. Nothing. How about only the first ten pesukim, minus Rashi or any other complex questions? Nothing. “What if I take off all the shorashim, and you just need to answer translation questions on the first ten pesukim?” Nothing. “Okay, how about this: you prepare the first ten pesukim. Could you give me that? First ten pesukim of the perek, you read them to me, and that will be your whole test. How does that sound?”

Dally nodded.

I got a nod!

Woo-hoo!

I was flying high on that nod!

“Okay. Signed and sealed. You read the first ten pesukim to me. That’s your test. Now, let’s go back inside.”

On the morning of the test, Dally entered the room with furtive eyes. The class was buzzing with apprehension, bordering on melodramatic hysteria. As soon as the test papers were distributed, the girls calmed down and got to work, quietly scribbling their answers.

Dally’s desktop was empty. I motioned for her to follow me outside with her Chumash. She did me the favor of joining me in the hallway, but her hands were empty.

“You didn’t bring your Chumash?”

Shrug.

“Are you not ready to do your test today?”

Shrug.

“Are ten pesukim too many?”

Nod.

“Okay. I’m willing to cut it down by fifty percent. After Succos, on the day we get back, can you read me the first five pesukim? And that can be your test?”

Nod.

“Great! I’ll email your mother and let her know. First five pesukim. First day back. Meanwhile, while everyone else is taking the test, do you want to borrow someone’s binder to catch up on some of the work you missed?”

Nod.

Yay! We were getting somewhere.

After sending the email to Dally’s mother, I didn’t give school another thought. Baruch Hashem, Succos is always a crazy time of year. The cooking, baking, hosting, and cleaning kept my mind far away from school and its minutiae. On Isru Chag, after the last of the sechach had been removed, I emailed a reminder to Dally’s mother so she’d be prepared for her test the next day.

As soon as Dally walked into the classroom, I knew. She wouldn’t be reading for me today. Again, I was filled with recriminations. Was I pushing her too hard? Was this going to blow up in my face?

I invited her outside again, but her body language was clear. “Dally, are five pesukim too many?”

Shrug.

“Okay. This is my last offer. Tomorrow, you are going to read and translate the first two pesukim of the perek. I cannot reduce it any further. This is my final proposal. Do you accept?”

Nod.

The next day, Dally walked into my classroom with a smile on her face. I took it as a good omen. I settled the class into their routines, began teaching Chumash, and waited until everyone had mastered the new material. Once they were working without me, I walked over to Dally’s desk. “Are you ready?” I asked, and my smile matched hers. We were both very excited.

She nodded. Nodded!

We went out to the hallway once again — but this time, she brought her Chumash. There were no chairs in the corridor, so I suggested that we sit on the floor. Her face registered pleasant surprise as I lowered myself onto the floor, legs stretched out before me. With reluctance, she joined me. We must have made a peculiar sight, but I didn’t let that disturb our breakthrough moment. We balanced her Chumash between our laps. I pointed to the beginning of the pasuk, and Dally began to read in a quiet, cautious voice, translating to perfection. As the words formed phrases, we found ourselves shaking with excitement.

I could have burst with pride for what she had accomplished.

“Congratulations, Dally, you just scored 100 percent on your first Chumash test of the year!” I croaked, my eyes filling up. “Today is the first day of the rest of your life!” She couldn’t hold back her grin. “Now, get in there and work, girl! You have a head on those shoulders and a beautiful future!”

Dally and I got up from the floor, dusted ourselves off, and reentered the classroom, both standing a little taller than before.

For the rest of that year, Dally did not miss a word. Not. One. Word. She recorded and studied every detail of every lesson. She turned around her entire attitude toward school. True, she had some catching up to do, but she now understood that she could.

Two pesukim.

That was all it took.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 908)