Poetry, ah, poetry.

My sixth-graders just finished their second semester poetry unit, during which we read, dissected, and wrote our own:

Cinquains
Diamantes (sort of the Cinquain's Italian cousin)
Acrostics
"This is Just to Say" poems, a'la William Carlos Williams

Including this standout example:

This is just to say
That I kicked
Your football over the fence
Now it's in the street

I'm not sorry
And I'd do it again

I'm going to give you a slap also.



Omonatoepia. Onomon. Monoi. Sound word poems.
And
Haikus.


Now, I love Haikus. Basho is my homeboy, as the young people say. And in teaching the form to the kids, I tried to make it super engaging and fun. We started with a Haiku quiz: I wrote a bunch of haikus describing different areas in the school and different teachers, and the kids had to guess who/what the haikus were describing. Why? Because who doesn't like a short, easy to read poem about the boys' bathroom or the frequently enraged school janitor? Also, this is how I introduced the  5 syllables/7 syllables/5 syllables structure.

 Then, they all got to pick out and read haikus from the Haiku Hall of Fame (an institution of which I am the sole curator, custodian, and consigliore) from within the mysterious depths of the "Haiku Hat"(Skeptical question from the back: "Becky, isn't that just your recess hat?" Shut up, kid, and enjoy the fun and wonder! . . . Yes, yes it is..), we organized those haikus into different groups to figure out recurrent themes and images in classical haikus (the changing of the seasons, elements of the natural world, details involving the five senses, etc).

Next, everyone got clipboards with haiku templates and we went outside to be inspired by the school gardens and the animals in the peenat chai (the school zoo--literally "the corner of life."). Everyone's enjoying, everyone's having a good time. The carefully scaffolded, differentiated, constructivist lesson is a success. Japanese poetry is alive and well in Israel!

We end the class by going inside and listening to everyone read at least one of their poems out loud. The highlights follow (author names changed to protect privacy, natch):


A Pair of Haikus by Shira

University!
I love university!
Why? Because it fits!

Refrigerator!
I love refrigerator!
Why?See it! Also fits!


"The Teachers' Room" [Ed: i.e. "The Teachers' Lounge] by Avi

Room with many chairs
Students hate who is inside
Except for Becky

[Ed: This would have been very flattering if Avi did not add after reading it aloud, "I wrote that so Becky wouldn't get mad."]

"Untitled"
(This is by Tamir, and is very meta-poetic and post-modern, commenting on the form as he creates it)

I walk to the court
But I can't play basketball
I have to write this.

"Biebr Fiver" (sic, read: "Bieber Fever")

[please enjoy the scansion and meter employed here]

Justin  was just here
For a concert in Tel A[erased smudge]
viv and I saw it!


"Japan" by the extremely sweet, altruistic (and exclamation point-loving) Maayan

Home of the haiku!
But then there is earthquake!
Let's all give money!!!!

And last, but certainly not least:

The untitled and guilt-inducing work of Noy

Becky teaches me
But not forever because
Moves to Chicago
[Frowny face, frowny face, frowny rain cloud]

רפסודיה של בוהמה**

**[Transl. literally "The Rhapsody of the Bohemians"]

The posthumous induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame?
 Probably.

The tribute bands?  
Maybe.

The screenprinted t-shirts bearing his likeness being sold at Hot Topic for $29.99?    
Anything's possible

But the likelihood that Freddy Mercury would ever, in his wildest, cocaine-addled dreams foresee the day that  lyrics to one of his most enduring hit songs would be printed by Eric Cohen Publishing Ltd. in the "Sports" chapter of an English language textbook geared at eight year-old Israeli schoolchildren?

Incomprehensible.

And yet.

Behold:

Teaching First Graders About Native Americans

Becky: (With a book, pointing to illustrations): And this is a special doll called a kachina doll. Members of the Hopi tribe make-

Gaea: (Interrupting): Becky, are Native 'Merkans cannibals?

Jacob (Gaea's cousin): What's a cannibal?

Gaea: Jacob! Don't you remember Grandpa taught us about them? (Triumphantly) They are people. Who eat other people. They live. In. The Amazon.

Becky: No, Native Americans were never--

Jacob: (Interrupting) I remember, I just don't remember what they did.

Becky: Well, that doesn't have much to do with--

Jacob: (Interrupting) In South Africa, we call them "Rehhhhhd Indians."

Becky: (rubbing her eyes) Ohhhhhhhhkaaaaaaay, let's talk about why we shouldn't use that name--

Rotem: (hanging upside down with his ankles hooked around the arms of his chair) REDDDDDDDD INDIANSSSSSSSSSSS! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !

End of Scene. (Unfortunately, the music signaling the end of the class period does not mercifully play. There is now a full forty minutes to talk to first-graders about the dangers of racial slurs and reassure them that no cannibals live in Israel, or anywhere else in the Middle East.)

Defining the term "Native"

. . . So, for example, who can name an animal that is native to Israel?

"Kangaroos!"

--"Kangaroos are native to Australia."

"I saw some in the Ramat Gan Zoo."

--"Well they came here from Australia."

"Did they swim here?"**

--"No. First of all I'm not sure if they can swim. And Australia is very far away. I know it seems funny, but I'm sure they flew, just like how Australian people get here."

(Credulous look directed is directed my way, then:)

"If they can't swim, they can't fly."




**When later asked why she wanted to know if the kangaroos swam to Israel, Gaea calmly replied, "My dad says that's how animals came to grow up on islands." When gently reminded that Israel is not an island Gaea answered, in a triumphant sing-song "But Austrrrrrrrrrrrralia is!" (I did not bring up the fact that kangaroos are massive land mammals with tiny, comically ineffectual front arms and marsupial pouches that would quickly become water-logged during a cross-oceanic voyage).

Classroom Rules I Did Not Anticipate Needing

1. No guinea pigs in the classroom!
2. NO. GUINEA PIGS. IN THE CLASSROOM!
3. Don't put tape on anyone's butt.
4.Don't lick the glue.
5. Don't pretend the aerosol fixative for your oil pastels illustrations is hairspray.
6. And don't lick it either.
7. If you have a bloody nose, go to the medic and do not use your sleeve.
8. In fact, don't use your sleeve to wipe away any bodily fluid. Ever.
9. "No snacks in the library" does not mean "Cram half a sandwich into your mouth on the threshold of the library entrance."

and

10. No guinea pigs in the bathroom.

Herding Cats

Becky enters the library with three giggling first-graders: Gaea, Gaea's newly-emmigrated cousin Jacob, and their classmate Rotem.

Becky: Okay! Let's sit down and--

Gaea: (In charming  but heavy South African accent )What are we going to do today?

Jacob and Rotem speak simultaneously

Jacob: In heavy South African accent, augmented by whistling "th" and "s" sounds due to his Jack-o-Lantern smile Are we going to play puppets? Ooh! Ooh! Becky, shall I tell you what Sugar did yesterday?

Rotem: (with two fingers in his mouth as he speaks) Becky? Can we read Hungry, Hungry Sharks?

Gaea: (impatiently) Becky! What are we going to do today? (Then hearing the magic words "Hungry, Hungry Sharks")Ooh, yes Are we going to read Hungry Hungry Sharks?

Rotem is now seated under the table poking his finger into his bellybutton comtemplatively.

Jacob: Becky, do you know what you say in Afrikaans to tell someone to go away? He says something that sounds vaguely Dutch D'you know what that means? Shall I tell you? It means, 'Go poop in the bush!'

Peals of laughter from all three

Rotem: (from under the table, with relish) Go ca-ca in a bush!

Gaea: (to Jacob) Go poop on your head!(hysterical laughter)

Becky: OH-KAAAAAAY. Let's all take a seat in our chairs (Rotem army crawls out from under the table, making himself into a human Swiffer-mop in the process. Jacob throws his pencil case onto the chair next to Becky in a proprietary "dibs" gesture then wipes his nose on his sleeve as he sits down on top of it. Meanwhile, in one fluid motion, Gaea vaults into her chair, kicks off her sneakers, then expertly leans back, balancing her chair on only one of its back legs) Gaea? Four on the floor, please! Gaea complies with a long-suffering sigh. All right, who can remember what we did last week?

Jacob: Ooh! Becky, shall I tell you? (Not waiting for a reply) We made dragon alphabet puppets, and also we wrote a story about dragon alphabet puppets. And then our dragon alphabet puppets fought! And my dragon was the strongest!

Gaea: No, Jared! My story was about a real dragon!

Rotem: Also me! I did write about the dragon of Captain Tachktooneem [Transl: "Captain Underpants"]!

Jared: Yes, but they were stories about our dragons, who are dragon alphabet puppets! And also real. But they are our puppets.

Becky silently contemplates the semiotic complexities of this claim. Rotem and Gaea accept it without pause.

Becky: Great, that's right! Yes! So, today, we are going to start by reading this storybook (brandishing the book) Can anyone tell me what the title of the book is?

Gaea: IfIhadadragon!

Rotem: What? What she say?

Jacob: She didn't raise her hand! Becky, she must raise her hand, am I right?

Gaea: (repeating, slower) If I had a dragon

Rotem: Oh, avanti! [Transl: "Understood"] And I HAVE a dragon! I have a dragon!

Becky: Yes, Gaea, try to wait to be called on next time, but great job reading the title! Wow!

Jacob: (Quiet but pointedly) I could have done a great job reading the title.

Gaea: Shall I tell you something about dragons?

Becky: gamely Okay.

Gaea: There are dragons who live in Galahoush [Ed. Galapagos Islands?] but they are not like dragons and--

Jacob: There is also one in the zoo, am I right Gaea? No, there are two. They live in a pit.

Gaea: Yes, Jacob. They have poison mouths, and if they bite you just a little, you die. Because of the germs in their mouth which. Which is poison.

Becky: Oh, right! Komodo dragons.

Gaea: (gently correcting) Kimono. Kimono Dragons.

Becky: Actually (then thinking better of it) Well, good introduction, Gaea-Girl! Let's turn to the first page and--

Gaea: Shall I tell you something else?

Becky: Does it have to do with the story we're going to read?

Gaea: Yes.

Jarred: Shall I tell you something else too, Becky? That has to do with the story?

Becky: One more thing from each of you, then we start the story. And Roh, do you want to share anything before we start reading too?

Rotem: Ehmm. . . (long pause). . . No. No, yes! Yes.

Becky: Okay, well you'll go third, okay? Now, yes, Gaea?

Gaea: Do you know the bird with the longest wings?(She illustrates with outstretched arms) It is the King Condor. And it must run before it starts to fly. Like an airplane does before it takes off.

Becky: (wondering what King Condors have to do with dragons) Cool, I didn't know that. Okay, Jacob, you have the floor!

Jacob: (vacantly) Uhm. Uhmmmmmmm. I've forgotten.

Becky: (briskly) Okay, we'll come back to you if you remember, okay buddy? Rotem, what would you like to--

Jacob: (urgently) I REMEMBER!

Becky: (small sigh) Ohhhkay. Let's have it.

Jacob: The fastest animal on land is the cheetah. And cats' claws only come out sometimes. But cheetahs' claws are always out. Because the claws help them run fast.

Becky: Another great animal fact. So, now I think we're ready to read If I Has a Dragon and when we--

Rotem: (plaintively) Also me?

Becky: Oh, Rotem! Sorry, bud! Of course, go ahead!

Rotem: (choking back giggles) Go-oh! Poop! INNN THHHHHHHE BUUUUUUSH!

                  A short melody plays on the PA system, signaling the end of the class period.

                                                             End of play.

Ninjas versus Zombies and Tornadoes versus Rockets.

Today at noon, my school took part in a country-wide 'emergency drill' and the cultural disparities between my first country and my second one were readily apparent from the name alone. As an American, I would call the very term 'emergency drill' a euphemism, a slightly more oblique, neutered way of referring to a rocket attack. The Israelis around me counseled me that this was certainly not the case, and in fact was merely the product of typical Israeli pragmatism and utilitarianism. 'Emergency drill' covered all the bases in the most concise way--katyushka rocket attack, mortar barrage, kalashnikov fire, dirty bomb, kornetkophet anti-tank guns, etc, etc, and so forth. (Considering the three k's above, maybe the vitriol directed at recent Russian immigrants in Israel is triggered less by the psychological "fear of the other" than by the visceral "fear of scary weapons."

These drills are held several times a year, and as mentioned earlier in this blog, are further supplemented by classroom instruction in emergency safety. I do not envy the textbook designer first tasked with creating an elementary school workbook taking students through the basics of protection against artillery, aerial, and chemical attacks, but it has been done. For those of you imagining the worse, I can reassure you, it is the epitome of restraint, no unsuspecting Smurfs being air-strafed or anything like that, and a very tasteful use of color-by-numbers and connect-the-dots.
At the sound of the air-raid siren that marks the beginning of a school drill, the whole student body heads to one of two cavernous emergency rooms--which, from my callow American perspective, strongly resemble underground bomb shelters. That is, bomb shelters with a practice barre and parquet dance flooring in one corner of the room, piled-up gymnastics mats serving as improvised benches, a fleet of push-pedal cars hanging from hooks on the ceiling, and a passel of rusty music stands clustered underneath a pull-up bar and a yellowed poster announcing in Hebrew that, "Champions Never Quit!"

 Representatives from the upper grades--4, 5, and 6--wear neon-yellow safety vests with 'warden' printed on them and are responsible for aiding their classmates, the younger students, and the staff. Some direct traffic, others collect class lists from teachers, and six are responsible for carrying navy blue backpacks full of first aid supplies into their designated bomb shelter emergency rooms. These are vaunted roles usually accorded to the responsible student-council types--no booger eaters or nose bleeders among them, which does instill a certain amount of confidence. Once everyone has made their way downstairs (or underground, in the case of the fifth and second grade students who fill the outdoor classrooms separated from the main building) the kids sit in groups under a sign with their grade and classroom number printed in Comic Sans. The teachers each do a headcount, and then a second one, before we commence to waiting for the all-clear signal.

The first-graders look a little wide-eyed and converge around their homeroom teachers like ducklings, but all the older kids quickly pull out books, cards, and board games. Three or four minutes is all it takes for the volume in the room to reach shreeking levels. The teachers are marooned in a sea of  chattering kids. Sixth grade boys cluster excitedly around a heated game of Taki, while third-grade girls french-braid each others' hair and color with fruit-scented markers. Mixed in among the tangle of conversations, I can hear the latest iteration of an ongoing argument between a trio of fourth-graders (who definitely have eight-sided dice in their future) about the enemies Ninjas can (and cannot) destroy. From what I can pick up of the Hebrew, pirates and orcs are no longer under dispute but dinosaurs and zombies remain highly contentious. It's sunny outside now, but the morning thunderstorms just let up, and the aroma of wet and muddy clothing mixed with the incipient funk wafting over from the 6th grade boys newly arrived in the akward N.U.D.N.U.  period (Needing Underarm Deodorant but Not Using it yet)  is a heady and complex bouquet. You'd think the thick cinderblock walls would dampen some of the noise, but it just keeps rising.

Ten minutes in, and one of the fourth-grade English teachers is plugging both her ears and doing deep-breathing exercises, some of the college students here to observe for their university education courses are gazing longingly at the staircase, and the inclusion aide for the autistic boy in grade three has started rocking and flapping too.

I flash a rueful lopsided smile at Alfa, a curly-haired blonde who teaches first grade and who I can say with firsthand authority possesses the sang-froid and poise necessary to comb modeling clay out of someone's pigtail while teaching 34 other six year olds the two-times table and balancing on a pilates exercise ball (the last part is by choice, not school policy). Just as I'm thinking, "I bet none of this fazes her in the least," she leans over conspiratorially and  whispers in my ear, "Right now? I'll take the rockets."

Roi, one of my British-born students catches my eye and shouts over the din, but I can't hear a word of what he's saying. I motion him over with an outstretched arm, and lean down for his question: D'you hahve these exercises in American schools as well, then?" "Well, not for. . . emergencies but, yeah, in the part of the country where I'm from, we have drills where we practice what to do if a tornado comes, and in junior high we would go down to the school's boiler room. . .which is a room sort of like this," I motion with a tilt of my head. "Tornadoes?" he asks while twirling a  finger questioningly. "Yeah, you know, like, the beginning of Wizard of Oz." He nods appreciatively, so I go on. "Illinois is on the edge of a part of the country called "Tornado Alley," because there are so many of them." Roi's eyes light up at the imagined mayhem, so I even add, "Sometimes television shows and radio programs are interrupted by tornado alerts and tornado warnings, and towns have tornado sirens they set off when a funnel cloud is coming." " Woah!," he says, his yes widening, and then I lose the second half of the sentence. "What'ja say, buddy?" He cups both hands around his mouth and this ten-year old, who had to demonstrate for a nineteen year old IDF soldier that he knew how to put on and adjust a gas mask in September, bellows into my ear, "I'm rahly, rahly glad we don't have those here!"