They're Not My Kids
by Kim Ellis
 

Exactly one year ago, just before the school budget vote, I wrote an article in the MWTA News about the crowded conditions in the Smith Clove school building.  At that time I was teaching English as a Second Language (ESL) on the stage above the cafeteria.  Over the summer, a large storage closet was cleverly turned into a small classroom space for the ESL students.  Our new room is bright and safe and infinitely quieter than the stage.  The crowding problem, though, remains.  The ESL population at Smith Clove has almost doubled since May of 2005. 

            Also in that article, I mentioned a friend of mine who voted against the school budget in her town.  My friend—we’ll call her Ellen—and I met when our kids were in preschool.  We lived near each other for four years.  The kids bounced back and forth between our houses until my family moved to New Paltz.  My kids went to public school.  Ellen sent her three boys to parochial school.

            Now all our children are college-age or older.  Ellen and I keep in touch, but only intermittently.  Perhaps it is no coincidence that I had lunch with her recently and the topic of the school budget came up again. 

            “I always vote against it,” Ellen declared.  “You know that.”

            My stomach clenched up as I tried to decide how to respond.  It’s amazing how many thoughts can flash through one’s mind in the seconds between spoken words.  I look at my half-eaten quesadilla on my plate and I am thinking, “Here is Ellen, who, along with her husband, owns a successful business.  Ellen and Rob are a religious couple who attend services regularly.  They are generous, concerned members of their congregation.”

            I must have a peculiar expression on my face because Ellen adds, “My kids are out of school.  Do you know how much we have to pay in taxes?”

            For me, this is scary thinking.  People like Ellen may not be aware of the impact a forced austerity budget has on our schools.  I recall an administrator saying that it takes three years for a district to recover from an austerity year.  Staff may be frozen or positions eliminated; supplies may be cut back; field trips are forbidden. 

            But why should Ellen care?  Her kids aren’t students in the district, and they never were in public school.  I find myself thinking of the kindergarteners in my classes.  Sometimes, after a task that involves a lot of cutting of paper, there are scraps on the floor.  If I ask a child to pick them up and throw them away, I often hear, “They aren’t my scraps.”  “True, but it is our classroom.”

            “They aren’t my kids.”  True, but it is our community, our country, our world.

            There is something familiar in this line of reasoning that has me hunting for a quote I remember from my sketchy Jewish education.  When I get home, I go online.  The keyword is “Hillel” and I find what I am looking for.

            Hillel was a famous religious leader who was a contemporary of King Herod.  Hillel lived in Jerusalem where he founded a school for teachers.  He is considered one of the most important figures in Jewish history.  Hillel made some pithy statements, two of which are the ones I seek. 

            The first quote is part of a story that I have always liked.  Rabbi Shammai was a scholar and an engineer who also lived in Jerusalem during King Herod’s reign.  He was known to be an impatient, quick-tempered man, just the opposite of Hillel.  The story goes that a Gentile came to Shammai and said, “If you can teach me the whole Torah (Jewish law) in the time I can stand on one foot, I will convert to Judaism.”  Rabbi Shammai drove the man away with a stick.  The Gentile then gave the same challenge to Hillel.  Hillel responded, “That which is hateful to you, do not do to your neighbor.  That is the whole Torah; the rest is commentary.  Go and study it.”

            Most teachers make a conscientious effort to instill a sense of compassion and community in the children under our care.  Often our classroom constitutions, created by the students, include the Golden Rule; that same concept Hillel distilled from the Torah.  It is called “the ethic of reciprocity.” 

            If my friend Ellen’s children were in public school, would not she want the best for them?  Would not she want smaller classes, up-to-date textbooks and the enrichment provided by art, music and field trips? 

            Ellen and Rob pay their taxes, and they paid for their sons’ private school education.  That is their right and their choice.  Do they then vote down the school budget and put the clamps on other children’s educations?  What should be the ethics of the privileged?  I am still pondering this when I find my other favorite quote from Hillel and I have an answer:

            “If I am not for myself, then who will be for me?  And when I am only for myself, what am I?  And if not now, when? (Pirkei Avot 1:14)

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