Dear Teachers,

This is a reminder about the in-service days scheduled for…

I scanned the dates, details, presentation titles. It wasn’t relevant to me; I rarely go to the in-service days. I live out of town, or whatever they call a large and flourishing frum community that isn’t in New York or New Jersey. The school calendar always clashes with the camp calendar, and it’s annoying, because I’m always getting caught between the two.

This year, for example, camp ends on a Tuesday. We start school the day before, on the Monday. I’m leaving on Sunday, the last possible minute, but still, the camp director was upset.

“We need our camp mother here until the end,” she kept saying.

“Trust me,” I told her. “I wish I could stay till the end. I hate missing the banquet and goodbyes and seeing my girls off on the buses… but I can’t exactly miss the first day of school. And my kids have school, too.”

The first day of school is one thing, but in-service days are another. I’ve been in the field for years; a lot of the trainings are ones I’ve taken before. And leaving camp a full week early was just not an option.

I was about to click off the email, when I saw a small line in bold print: Please note, attendance at the in-service days is mandatory. RSVP to confirm you have received the email and will be attending the trainings.

Mandatory? I tried to remember if they’d written that before. Was this a yearly thing that I somehow missed? But half the teachers couldn’t make it to the in-service days. I wasn’t the only one with a summer job in New York.

So maybe this was a new rule.

Well, mandatory or not, I couldn’t make it back in time.

I hit reply and began drafting an email, when two counselors ran into the office, shrieking something about bedbugs and bites and groooooosssssss!!!

I logged out. “What’s going on, girls?”

When Mrs. Blumenthal called me the first time, it barely registered.

I think I was sitting in the ambulance with 13-year-old Faigy Kohn, in terrible pain from what seemed to be appendicitis, when the phone rang the first time. I checked it in case it was Faigy’s mother, but then silenced it.

School-related matters, even if it was coming from the principal herself, could wait. The girl in agony right next to me couldn’t.

I think Mrs. Blumenthal tried calling again, but it was in between dealing with Faigy and the doctors, fielding calls from her parents, from camp, from the director and the counselors and dealing with emergencies long-distance until the Kohns finally got to the ER and could take over.

By the time I got back to camp, it was somehow night again. I’d missed supper, my kids were rattled and overtired, and there were around 30 missed calls and texts on my phone, from camp staff, from parents, and a message from Mrs. Blumenthal: Please call me back at your earliest convenience.

Well, right now was certainly not convenient.

My kids needed me. It would take me a good hour or two to herd them back to our bungalow, get everyone ready for bed, sit with them a little, throw in a load of laundry. Then I had to find myself something to eat. And last night had been approximately two hours long — I was feeling a headache pounding behind my eyes and my vision was starting to blur.

Mrs. Blumenthal would have to wait until tomorrow.

IT

was one day, maybe two days later, that I remembered to return the principal’s call. Usually, I get back to someone quicker than that — certainly my boss. But camp time was like another planet, it was fluid and fast-paced and hours bleeding into each other, and sometimes the first free time I had all day was at 2 a.m. Not exactly prime time to call back the principal.

But here we were, midmorning, all the bunks at their activities, and only some minor fiasco with missing laundry in Bunk Ches to deal with before I got to sit down with a coffee in the main office to return some calls.

“It’s about the in-service days,” Mrs. Blumenthal said.

She sounded harried; I felt bad for her. It’s intense working in a school; everyone should have a change of scenery in the summer, in my opinion. But I guess principals don’t have that luxury.

That being said, it’s hardly a luxury having to take a summer job, because my teacher’s salary just doesn’t do enough to support my family. I happen to love the job, but it’s crazy to compare what I earn here in two months to an entire year of teaching.

Anyway. “The in-service days, right. I saw the email,” I told the principal. “I actually began replying, but didn’t get to send it… I’m so sorry, I won’t be there in time for the training. Camp only ends the week after….”

Mrs. Blumenthal cleared her throat. “I understand, Mrs. Flam,” she said, sounding a little too formal. Uh-oh. “But we’re emphasizing attendance at the in-service days this year. It’s going to be mandatory for all staff, and since it was marked in the calendar a long time ago, I was hoping this wouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone.”

My eyes opened wide, even though Mrs. Blumenthal couldn’t see. “I did see the dates in the calendar, but we have this issue every year. Lots of us work in camps, it’s our job. We can’t just leave a full week early.”

“This is your job, too,” Mrs. Blumenthal said. “I know that for some reason, there’s been an assumption that the in-service days are voluntary. But a veteran mechaneches like yourself surely understands the need for ongoing training, for all the staff to be fully on board with the school’s policies and systems, for a solid foundation to start off the school year. How can we do that without the staff there?”

“I hear that,” I said. “But I can’t leave camp a week early, and I can’t travel back and forth either. I would be missing three days, and it wouldn’t exactly be fair to the camp to do that. I have my family here. It’s not even feasible to change our travel plans.”

I wanted to say, why can’t the school dates accommodate camps? But there was nothing I could do to change the system, and what could we do, we didn’t live in town, where everything revolved around each other and the dates slotted neatly together so that you could have it all, all of the time.

“I’m so sorry, but if you can’t attend, it will be considered as taking off three of your personal days for this year,” Mrs. Blumenthal said quietly.

This made me choke on my coffee. Three personal days? Out of what, five? We had so little leave during the school year — and I had kids, a family. When someone got sick, I needed to be able to take time off. My sister would be making a chasunah after Succos; I’d need to take off two days for that. I had parents in New York who were getting older — we liked to go spend Shabbos with them here and there, and that meant taking off Friday from work. Days of leave were sacrosanct. I couldn’t possibly lose three of them over an in-service I never thought I’d need to attend.

“I don’t understand,” I said to Mrs. Blumenthal, my voice rising a little. The camp secretary gave me a curious look and I hastily modulated my tone. “This is what happens every year. You know me, you know I’ll catch up whatever I need to know… I can watch the slideshows, listen to recordings, whatever. But I can’t leave my job just like that.”

“I’m sorry,” Mrs. Blumenthal said. She didn’t sound exactly apologetic; more like weary. “I know this happens every year. That’s why we’re changing things. It’s caused a lot of problems to have teachers miss the most important meetings of the school year. The year starts off wrong. Systems are messed up before they can even begin. And we have particularly important trainings this year.”

I didn’t know what to say.

“Remember, camp is two months long. High school is four years. And we need to be mindful of this achrayus, of what’s at stake when we come in to teach. When we can come together and make valuable changes, introduce programs, learn better skills as educators — it’s an investment in the entire year.”

I

hung up the phone and just stared out the window without seeing anything.

My radio crackled, something about a counselor crying behind the bunkhouses and the assistant counselor not handling things, could I go see what’s happening, and could Toby and Batya — the head counselors — please send backup staff ASAP to Bunk Vav, in the art room.

I responded without really knowing what I was saying, and starting walking toward the bunkhouses on autopilot.

This new rule was… ridiculous. And completely unfair to the teachers who need to work camp jobs just to support their families.

The summer had already begun. What was I supposed to do, spring this on the camp director now? They would be really upset. But forget about that even, what would I do next year, and the year after? With all the advance notice in the world, I still couldn’t leave camp so early without risking my entire job here. And I needed the job, to make ends meet.

What was the solution, moving to New York?

And being realistic for a moment — what exactly was I supposed to do now?

If I could tell Mrs. Blumenthal one thing, it would be: I’m putting myself out to be there for the first day of school — how can you expect me to jeopardize my camp job for a training I’d willingly catch up on in my own time?

Mrs. Blumenthal

There’s no such thing as summer vacation for school principals.

While students and teachers enjoy a two-month break from routine, putting homework and grading out of their minds, the school administration is still busy. First comes cleaning up, sorting out, and getting the school back in order after the long year, and then, after a short family getaway, it’s jumping right into preparations for next year — finalizing the schedule, class lists, repairs and renovations to the school building, and, closer to the time, meeting with teachers, preparing the in-service days, putting together all the paperwork and systems and processes and signs and whatever we need to start a brand new year.

This year, I had an important project on my mind. We’d been through a tough year, encountering not one, but two, severe mental health crises that caught us unprepared as a school. We had to handle the girls, the parents, the classmates, and the domino effect of so many students who’d been affected and unnerved by the situations, conducting emergency meetings with staff, bringing in psychiatrists and social workers to help out, and trying our best — but it wasn’t a situation we wanted to go through again. Of course, we hoped to never have such a crisis come up in the first place, but it was our responsibility to be well educated and prepared so we could identify warning signs earlier, prevent situations from escalating, and respond as best as possible if anything would come up.

After speaking it through with the rav the school consults with on complex matters, and discussing it with the board, we decided to implement new trainings and systems in order to effect what we hoped would become a culture change across the board — giving the teachers new awareness and insight, and helping them handle any challenges that could come up in a more informed and educated way.

The initial training and introduction of the new systems would take place during our three-day in-service, the week before school began. We usually had a fairly light program, a chinuch expert speaking; implementation of any new systems for attendance or homework or the like; a review of school rules, processes, and procedures along with any updates; and a training or two on specific educational topics such as differentiating for various styles of learning, or how to test knowledge and question effectively.

This time, we designed the in-service days around the new awareness program. We wanted to do this properly; the board gave the go-ahead for us to fly in a keynote speaker from another state, an expert in both chinuch and mental health, who could introduce the topic, give perspective, offer some chizuk after the challenging year we’ve had, and guide us to ensure that the entire staff was on the same page and could be more educated in such matters going forward. He would also give a Q&A session, which I knew the teachers would appreciate.

Following that, I planned to implement the new systems, and Miss Levitan, the secretary and my right-hand, prepared beautifully designed slides to accompany the presentation. I wanted the teachers not just to be inspired for the short term, but be able to follow the systems and processes we were setting up to ensure that they could act on the knowledge throughout the year, flag concerning behavior, and handle any incidents with assurance. I wanted them to be able to identify the difference between a typical teenage phase and something that might be a warning sign of a more serious issue, and we had a short video presentation from a respected psychiatrist giving some advice on that.

It would be a pretty intense day of training, but after that, the other in-service days would be more or less routine — though also important. The regular review of school rules and process; new updates on classroom allocation and duties; and a big change — the shift to an online gradebook that would hopefully make the lives of the office staff a whole lot easier when it came to generating report cards, averages, and so on.

The assistant principal, Mrs. Hershler, and I spent several days preparing a seamless program for the in-service days, working hard to ensure a balance between the “heavy” material and the lighter sessions, drawing up a program for Miss Levitan to design and print for every seat, and arranging (and rearranging) the speaker slots so they’d work for everyone.

When we were done, I was satisfied with the results. It would be a great way to launch the year, with solid foundations, with the staff on board for the changes we would be making, to give our students the best care and the best opportunities this year.

I truly believe in the power of beginnings to set the tone, and getting this right could make all the difference in the success of the school year — if the teachers showed up.

The big if.

“W

hat is it,” I wondered aloud to Gita Hershler. “What is it about in-service days that teachers treat them as optional?”

I thought back to our experiences of the previous years. It was always the same, the most dedicated, veteran teachers were the ones who showed up early and stayed all the way through every day of every training — even when they honestly don’t need it. And the teachers who really could do with extra training, the newer ones or the ones who struggle with classroom management and the like… you got it, they’re the ones who come late, leave before the trainings are done, scribble shopping lists while the speaker is talking, or worse yet, don’t show up at all.

I remember one memorable year when we set up a new system for attendance taking, and explained it in detail at the in-service days. We also sent out memos, hung up reminders, and reminded teachers on the first day. But you know how it goes, it’s hard to take in information like that in theory, and the in-service presentation was a lot more helpful.

Except that half the staff hadn’t been there. One had a simchah and three were still on vacation and another had her kids home and couldn’t get out the house, someone else came to the in-service but only an hour later, six others were missing without giving a reason…. And after all the efforts, time, thought, and frustration that went into creating a new system, designing the attendance record sheets, training everyone in, explaining it to the entire student body on the first day — half the teachers didn’t even know how to implement it.

We had some teachers using the new system, some the old, some so confused that they were doing nothing. I ended up calling more than one emergency staff meeting during lunch period, to re-explain the system, which was nowhere near an effective solution, because if too few people attend an in-service day, even fewer show up at lunch period staff meetings.

The system became a joke even before it could really start. And while we eventually managed to get everyone on board… it was already something that the students weren’t taking seriously enough.

And then there was the other year when we’d flown in a speaker to give a training on teens and technology. It was an important topic, and we’d put in tremendous efforts to get this noted expert to come in, rearranging our schedule to accommodate his, and so on. And then the attendance at the training was so sparse it was simply embarrassing.

Not to mention extremely frustrating, considering the costs and efforts of arranging the program.

“We need to make attendance at the in-service days mandatory,” Gita told me. “Take attendance and all. And if someone can’t make it, they need to take a vacation day. It’s part of the job, showing up to trainings.”

“The teachers aren’t going to like that,” I said.

“But this is a job, not a volunteer program. They’re paid to teach, and part of the job description is to take the trainings necessary to do the job well.”

I agreed entirely. I just knew we were not going to find it easy to implement such a rule.

“It’s the last week before school, most people are back from vacation, and lots of kids are still in camp,” Gita said, summing it up. “And we’ll make it easier for them — we’ll offer child care on premises. We’ll bring in refreshments like we always do. We’ll make it work, and hopefully, it will become the standard thing — you have to show up to in-service in order to start the year as a teacher.”

I

braced myself after the emails were sent out. Miss Levitan had done a masterful job, setting up the emails to look attractive and clear, and making sure to include the fact that attendance at the in-service days was mandatory. We’d asked everyone to RSVP to show that they’d received the email, and then I sat back and waited for the responses.

Several teachers responded quickly, indicating that they would be there. Of course, there were some replies that trickled in later, and some that didn’t come at all.

At some point, Miss Levitan printed off a list of all the staff members, indicating whether or not they’d responded that they were coming to the in-service trainings. I sat down with an extra-large coffee to make the calls to everyone who hadn’t yet responded, to check that they’d seen the email and make sure they were planning to be there.

Several of the newest teachers, the young ones right out of seminary, who most definitely needed whatever training they could get, hadn’t responded. It could be they weren’t checking their email regularly — but they did have to know about the dates and times, and the fact that this wasn’t a free-for-all but a necessity.

It took a few tries to get through to one of them. Miri Faigin was in camp, apparently, along with three of the other new staff members. It was hard to communicate with blaring music in the background, the occasional shriek, and spotty service on her end.

“Oh, no, sorry, there’s no email in camp,” she told me, after I’d repeated my question a couple of times. “What was that? In-service? We’re only coming back from the country the day before school starts… huh? No, over there, behind the green cabin — sorry, Mrs. Blumenthal, it’s hectic here.”

The line went fuzzy. I took a deep breath. “Hello?”

“Hi, I’m so sorry about that.” Miri’s voice was clearer now. “I’m by the dining hall now, there’s usually better service here.”

“I’m calling to make sure you know about the mandatory in-service days for all teachers, the week before school starts,” I told her again. “I know you said you planned to come back only the day before school, but the training is taking place on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday of the previous week, and we need all staff there. I believe the dates were on your yearly planner, which was sent out when you signed the contract.”

“Oh, right, we saw that. But the problem is, we’re in camp, and camp doesn’t finish before Monday… we’re already missing the last night… I asked another teacher and she said it was fine, a lot of people can’t make it to every training and we can catch up.”

That made me upset. Who gave some random teacher the right to reassure newer staff members that they could miss training sessions?

“I’m sorry that you were misinformed, then,” I said, tightly. “But in-service days are not optional. They’re vital. And we do need our teachers to make sure that they’re in attendance.”

A

fter an uncomfortable end to the conversation with Miri Faigin, during which she stammered some sort of response about trying to figure it out, I felt drained. Why did I have to fight my staff to attend these crucial events?

Some of the calls were easier. A teacher who hadn’t checked her email, but absolutely planned to be there. Another one who had a family simchah that week, and would have to miss part of the in-service training, but assured me that she would be there for the other two, and understood that it would be considered a day of personal leave.

And then I got to Shuli’s name.

Shuli Flam is a fantastic teacher. The girls love her, she’s vibrant and full of positive energy. She teaches with passion and manages her classroom well.

Her weak point? Organization. Following school policy. Doing her own thing when we had structures and systems in place for a reason.

And, when we had that crisis last year… she was one of the teachers who hadn’t known quite how to handle the situation. We’d figured things out in the end — but she definitely needed to take whatever training we were going to give.

I didn’t get through to Shuli right away. When we finally got to speak, I was drained and exhausted from having to explain to teachers why they had to attend training days that were for their own benefit, and the benefit of the school that employed them.

“Sorry it took so long to get back to you. I’m working in a camp, it’s a real full-time job.”

Right, Shuli was a camp mother in… one of those camps, I couldn’t remember the name.

“I’m calling about the in-service days. Did you see the email that Miss Levitan sent out?”

“Oh! Right, I did, and I actually drafted a reply to you but I think I never got to send it. I’m so sorry. I just can’t get back in time for that week. Camp only ends the week after, and I’m already missing a day or two….”

Again, camp!

I should be used to this. Running a school in an out-of-town community means we run into this kind of situation every year. The schools in New York coordinate with the camp dates, but here, in our state, we don’t have that luxury of running our calendar around the dates of camp. Which is why we’ll have girls show up a few days late to the school year; we have teachers rushing back from camp jobs at the very last minute possible; and yes, it’s one of the culprits behind the no-shows at our in-service days each year.

But it was time to put an end to it. It was nice that teachers could enjoy a summer job, but they had an achrayus to their students — the ones they’d be teaching all year long. And this culture that had developed, of not taking staff training events seriously, of treating things as purely optional… it had to stop.

I told Shuli what I’d told everyone else — that the in-service days were mandatory, and that some of the other teachers would be coming back for those three days, and then returning to camp for the final Shabbos. That these dates had been marked in the calendar a long time ago and that the assumption that they were voluntary was simply incorrect.

She was quiet.

“I hear that,” Shuli said. “But I can’t leave camp a week early, and I can’t travel back and forth either. I have my family here. It’s not even feasible to change our travel plans.”

I bit my lip. I hated playing this card, but I had to stand my ground — just like I’d done with everyone else.

“I’m so sorry, but if you can’t attend, it will be considered as taking off three of your personal days for this year,” I said.

ON

the first of the in-service days, I came to school extra early. There was an energy in the air that hadn’t been there all summer, maybe because there was finally something happening inside the walls, people coming and going, crunch time.

The room where the training would be taken place was set up and waiting; rows of chairs, pens and clipboards; a screen and projector. Ten minutes before the first speech was scheduled to start, I left my office and took up my place at the front of the room, noticing that half the chairs were already filled, and that more teachers were filing in even as I sat down.

So it worked. The changes we’d made, the phone calls — the staff had understood that we were a school, with responsibility for our students’ welfare, their neshamos, and that we took our achrayus seriously. Which meant preparing right for the year ahead, getting the training and support necessary to do the job as best as we possibly could.

Miss Levitan sat near the door, taking down names as people walked in. It was awkward to take attendance of the staff, and we didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. But I hoped everyone would understand that this was a necessary change, to strengthen the way the school ran, to make things better for everyone — primarily our students.

Maybe some teachers were upset over the tightening of policy; maybe Shuli Flam didn’t come back from camp — I didn’t see her, at least not yet. But when they saw the results — how a united front and a solid start to the year could make all the difference — I was sure they would begin to understand why it was necessary.

If I could tell Shuli one thing, it would be: You have a responsibility as a mechaneches to give your full commitment to the sacred mission you have all year round and the school that employs you full time. How can you put a two-month side job before that? 

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1026)