Torah.org Nobody's Business The Judaism Site https://torah.org/interest/nobodysbusiness/ NOBODY'S BUSINESS by Charlotte Friedland Based on a story by Morah Blanca Rosenfeld Debby had begun her career as a terrorist early in life. The talk of the teachers' lounge, the bully of the playground, she had achieved a notoriety seldom earned by a ten-year-old. So, it was not surprising when I chanced to enter the principal's office one nippy day in November and overheard Debby's teacher resigning once again. The woman was gesturing frantically, raving about the antics of the devil in pigtails. This time, she insisted resolutely, either she or the child would have to go. The principal could take his choice. As I stood in the doorway listening to the tirade, punctuated by the principal's soft monosyllables of sympathy, a strange suspicion swept over me. It intrigued me that teachers in the school had targeted Debby for all disruptions. If lunch went sour, it was probably Debby's fault. "What is it about this child that invites blame?" I wondered. Without another thought, I volunteered to try my hand with her. The answer was a flat "no." "Don't do it," muttered the other teacher. "You'll ruin your reputation." "It's not your business to save every wayward child." counseled the principal. "I'll find some other school to take her off our hands ..." "...where she will be kicked from class to class," I countered. "Look she's none of my business and none of yours. Next year she'll be nobody's business again. What will happen to such a child? ' I badgered I argued and I nagged until I had won Debby. At the time, I thought it was a victory. As it was, this year's group had only recently reached a shaky cohesiveness. Instinctively, I knew that bringing Debby into my class would be like throwing a shark into a goldfish pond. The very least I should do is consult first with the goldfish. Page: 1 Torah.org Nobody's Business The Judaism Site https://torah.org/interest/nobodysbusiness/ It pays to be direct, especially with children: they see through euphemisms and double-talk. The whole school knew about Debby. Why mince words? I asked the class if they could find it in their hearts to do this special mitzvah, the mitzvah of giving someone a new start in life. I made no secret of the fact that it might be rough at times, but that I felt it would be worth the trouble. I promised not to bring her in if they didn't want her. Then I waited. It is rare for children to be given any true power, and some educators might say I was risking an instant veto. But I knew my girls. I felt they would rise to the challenge, and they did. My next step was to find Debby. Banished from class once again, she had retreated to her own private corner of the hallway. This was her domain, a place to weave fantasies and plan revenge. I came upon her leaning into her niche, her arms crossed in defiance, her toe kicking an imaginary object. Putting my arm around her shoulders, I whispered, "I hear you're having some trouble with your teacher. Would you like to join my class?" Debby stiffened at first, then stared at me in surprise. "Yes," she mumbled, "yes, I would." She quickly ran to gather her things and I triumphantly led her into my room. Suddenly, we heard loud clapping and hooting from Debby's previous class: they were celebrating her departure. As I showed Debby in, my class broke out in spontaneous applause and cheers. With lowered eyes she grinned shyly at them and they smiled back. That night, it was time to do some detective work. I itched to find out her story, the whole story of what made her the spiteful child of horrid repute. I dialed her phone number. Debby's mother answered and, upon learning that I was from the school, snapped, "Don't talk to me about Debby. I've heard it all." I explained that Debby had been transferred to my class and that I merely wanted to become acquainted. There was silence at the other end of the wire. "Debby told me," she finally said, her voice suspicious, but softer. "She seemed excited about it. She said, 'Morah Blanca put her arm around me.' She mentioned that the class clapped for her, too. I guess they don t know her yet." I told her that we were happy to have her daughter in our class. She didn't seem to hear me. "Yeah, well let me know when she gives you any trouble. She'll get a good spanking." She yawned wearily. Page: 2 Torah.org Nobody's Business The Judaism Site https://torah.org/interest/nobodysbusiness/ Five words from that conversation bounded through my brain over and over: "...put her arm around me...." Why would the child report in such detail? From her guarded manner, I never would have guessed that Debby had been so elated by my gesture. I mused over the "good spanking" too. The violence Debby inflicted on others in the schoolyard was probably only a fraction of what she suffered at home. There was more to her story, I sensed, but for the moment this information would suffice. Clearly, Debby was deeply troubled, her behavior in school only a symptom of the complex emotions barreling through her. It was then that doubts first began to pierce my armor of idealism. Wouldn't it be better to refer her to a psychologist? Could my efforts with her drain my ability to cope with the others? After all, is it any mitzvah to destroy my class for the sake of one child? I spent a sleepless night. When I returned to school in the morning, I found that these same fears had been circulating among the class parents. In a chain-call ricochet, a frantic crescendo of antagonism had culminated in a petition to remove the troublemaker from our class. I was stunned, but the block was enough to strengthen my resolve to keep Debby. That evening, with the help of two mothers who shared my determination, I started a telephone campaign of my own. We made it clear to the parents that the child will remain in my class, but anyone who cared to, could switch her child to another teacher. Ultimately, it was the children themselves who resolved the show down. Though their parents urged them to take refuge in another class, not a single child would leave me. It was settled then. Debby was ours, and we were hers. In the days and months that followed, I observed Debby in all of her phases: the time she giggled uncontrollably, the time she spread glue all over her face and hands; the time she bit another girl. But through it all I noted with pride that the other children treated her with care and tenderness. The knowledge that they were participating in a mitzvah of enormous magnitude brought out a selfless dedication and maturity far beyond their years. Day after frustrating day, I asked myself, "Why am I drawn to this impossible child?" As I reflected on my teaching career, I noticed that I have always been touched by the child who is most rejected. I remembered five-year-old Suri, who burned with self-hatred for the most absurd reason: her bright red hair had triggered a bigoted antipathy in her old-world grandparents. Shamefully nicknamed and teased by her family, she had developed a disgust for her hair and everything else about Page: 3 Torah.org Nobody's Business The Judaism Site https://torah.org/interest/nobodysbusiness/ herself. Naturally, other students shunned this child whose tough exterior shielded a shattered ego. How I yearned to counteract this terrible influence on her life! I would tell her each day how pretty she looked. I took her on my lap to brush her long, truly lovely tresses. On the last day of school, I brought her a blue satin ribbon and braided it into her hair. She wore it as though it were a medal of honor. What about the obese child, the gawky child, the shy child? There are many with noticeable impediments, others just carry it in their hearts. All you have to do is look. A caring teacher can make all the difference in such a child's life. By simply showing that you recognize his problem and respect his struggle, you can help a child jump the hurdles barring his way. As far as I'm concerned, that's what being a teacher is all about. But a simple word of encouragement would never be enough for my Debby. Her pain was too deep for a smile to cure. I was determined to find out more about her now. On the excuse of giving a daily behavior report, I called her home each day, alternately speaking to her mother and father, I strained to catch any clues in their conversation that would explain her agony. Slowly, the puzzle pieces fit together, forming a terrifying picture of an emotionally tortured child. Born second after their son, Debby had been treated like an intruder by her parents since the day she was brought home from the hospital. In order to prevent jealousy in their favored older child, Debby had been systematically ignored. She was never hugged or kissed, never played with, rarely picked up at all.