Not long after I arrived in Israel, the secondary school teachers and University professors declared a strike. During the period I and my friends conducted English lessons for accelerated students in Dimona, the high school halls were dark and empty. I knew that in some parts, wealthier students were able to hire tutors to prepare them for the upcoming bagrut (the mandatory standardized test), but for students in that lower-income Negev town, TV filled the unexpected time gap. To the kids I tutored, my semi-weekly class was the only academic diversion as they waited for classes to resume. I imagined the strike might last a week or two. Four months later, the union signed an agreement with the government, and school hallways filled up with life again.
The strike was my first introduction to the faults of Israel’s educational system, but I soon discovered it was merely an indication of a much more permanent phenomenon. I am convinced the educational system is among the most bizarre dualities in Israel: The formal education system is dramatically flawed, yet Israelis are some of the most intuitive, well-spoken people I’ve ever encountered.
Recently, I helped an Ethiopian girl named Bhatiya with her English homework. We discussed the present progressive tense in Hebrew because my three months of Hebrew ulpan had earned me a greater command of the language than her four years in English classes. She caught onto the concepts alarmingly quickly. I drew her a simple chart, and within three homework problems she had mastered the concept without trouble. “See? You got it!” I insisted. “How long have you been studying this in school?”
Bhatiya shrugged. “It’s hard to hear the teacher.”
“How many students are in your English class?”
“45.”
My mouth dropped.
The education system in Israel's periphery towns follows an inescapable cycle of dysfunction. Like many public institutions, it begins in the government, and trickles down to every level involved. At the start, education is not properly funded, largely since defense calls for such a high quotient of government spending. As a result, teachers cannot be properly compensated for their skills, so potential teachers often seek work in other professions instead. Many of the educators who accept the low wages are under-qualified for the job. (Yesterday, while helping a kid with his English homework, I noticed the teacher assigned him the question, “Dose the man has a tructor?”)
The qualified teachers who continue to pursue their career are generous idealists. The Israelis call them “friars”, a term most accurately translated as “suckers”. The friars soon become lost in the logistics of school politics, where even the most inspired teachers can not penetrate an over-packed room of students persuaded that their education is not a high priority.
I became acquainted with one such teacher when I began to volunteer in an Israeli high school. I, a rule-loving American, felt surprised and a little vulnerable when on the first day she called some students out, sent them away with me, and told me I could teach them whatever I wanted. Following the lesson, she led me into the staff lounge where she collapsed on a chair. “What a horrible class!” she said, “These kids know they can get away with anything. They yell in class, they threaten you, they talk on their cell phones, and what can you do? The Principal’s office doesn’t want them, and we’re not permitted to kick them out of school.”
It seems as though a lasting improvement would require a dramatic change in the way the country visualizes the role of education. But for the time being, Israel works. Conventional education is flawed, but Israel is not a conventional place. Perhaps it’s the attention to experiential learning, innate Jewish bookishness, or the intense life-skills gained in their mandatory military service, but despite shortcomings in the school system, Israelis are knowledgeable, politically aware, and irrefutably opinionated. Regardless of what happens inside the classroom, there exists in the Israeli mind an indecipherable spirit and determination that has shot this country to the top of global innovation. A British immigrant recently told our group an anecdote which I believe perfectly encapsulates the Israeli approach to learning: He and his wife had taken their first ever ski trip to the Alps, where they ran into a group of Israeli tourists who had likewise never been on skis. “The first day, as my wife and I joined the beginner’s class and slid around the bunny hills, the Israelis headed straight up to the top of the mountain. ‘Are you sure you want to do that?’ I cautioned. ‘It’s fine!’ they said, ‘We saw it on TV!’ The next day, when my wife and I again approached the bunny hills, the Israelis, banged up from the day before, were ready to join us in square one. But you know something? Their initial effort had given them an advantage we didn’t have, and by the third day, as we advanced towards the next tier of difficulty, they were already prepared to ride to the challenging slopes and glide confidently down.”
