What had Mrs. Greenbaum just said? Had I misheard her? Had I misunderstood my favorite, dynamic, engaging, amazing teacher?

ITwas one of those gorgeous early spring days, the kind of day that leaves everyone wishing they could just be outside, sprawled on the grass. Our classroom was bright, with sunshine pouring through the open windows. To be stuck in a classroom on such a beautiful day could have been torture, so I was glad that we had Mrs. Greenbaum. She was one of the most popular teachers in my school, and for good reason. This was no dreary class; Mrs. Greenbaum moved around the classroom speaking quickly and animatedly, while we hung on to her every word.

Well, I certainly hung on to her words, anyway. I was an excellent student and was taking careful notes, scribbling diligently about the upcoming Yom Tov, Shavuos, as my teacher raised her voice and then lowered it dramatically. “We are the chosen people,” she said in a near-whisper, “We were chosen by Hashem, to be His nation.”

I stopped writing to watch her. Mrs. Greenbaum closed her eyes briefly in emotion. “Hashem loves us so much,” she continued, “and we thank Hashem every day” — her voice started climbing again — “for making us Jewish. For making us Yidden. Do you understand, girls? You didn’t have to convert. You didn’t have to find Yiddishkeit. You were chosen to be a part of our nation, chosen by the Ribbono shel Olam Himself!”