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The Last Day (June 2009)

The day begins like any other Wednesday: emails read and answered, phone calls made, a little bit of study. But as I drive to the synagogue that day, I can feel my anticipation growing. Today will not be like any other Wednesday, for today is the last day of Hebrew school. And I know that the day will hold a bittersweet mixture of joy, immense pride, and a bit of sadness.

The pride begins as I walk through the lobby, and for the hundredth time marvel at the hard work and creativity of the Jerusalem projects. Each class had researched a different aspect of our people’s beloved city, and had created visual displays of what they had learned. There are Lego models of the sacred objects of the Temple, Western Wall models made out of marshmallows, sugar cubes, and pretzels, and glitter filled drawings of Jerusalem’s eight gates.

On one of the tables dolls stand, each representing the architecture of Jerusalem, and on another table there are poems and songs composed by the older students. On another table, the cards for peace written by the first graders are displayed, with the simplest of prayers written inside one of them: “Peace, God – just give us peace.”

The joy begins as the final school assembly takes place. The littlest students dance in circles, and older students sing songs about Jerusalem in Hebrew. Second graders stand and proudly teach us what they learned about the city, and fourth graders recite acrostic poems. In between the class presentations, our choir, Kol Simchah, sings clever songs in Hebrew, English, and Latino. Throughout the year, the students had learned so much, and they are now delighted to share that knowledge with their parents and friends. And I am delighted to watch it all unfold.

The joy increases as the assembly ends, another good year of learning and growing together concluded. The students happily return to their classrooms for a final celebration, and to say goodbye to their teachers, some beloved, and all devoted and dedicated to the students.

As I was leaving the sanctuary, a small child excitedly hands me a note that he had written for me. It had a Jewish star on one side, and on the other, written in the unique letters of a 4-year old, were the words: “Have a happy day.” What could possibly make my day happier than this?

But then, as the students began to leave, the sorrow begins to enter my happy and pride filled heart. There are warm hugs goodbye, and wishes for a good summer are heard over and over again in the crowded lobby. The students of my sixth grade class make a special effort to say goodbye to me personally, and I find myself wishing that they would stay in my class forever. I realize that I will not get to see most of these students, students whom I have greeted and interacted with two or three times a week for nine months, for a long time.

I will miss the way they bounced through the front door, and smiled at me as they arrived. I will miss the requests for bandaids and pencils and an occasional hug. I will miss looking into the classrooms and seeing children writing, or listening to a story. And I will miss hearing the sounds of Hebrew and laughter coming from the classrooms. But most of all, I will miss them, the students of our school, the children who make it all worthwhile.

As the last children are leaving, one of the smallest ones, a recent graduate of our kindergarten class, pulls on my sleeve, and I bend down to hear her quiet voice. She looks at me with the most serious of looks, and says “I want to tell you something…I love Hebrew school.” As my heart melts, she gives me a hug, and skips out the door with her father.

“Yes,” I want to say to her in return. “I love Hebrew school too.”