Writing this article brings back painful memories of a lost teaching opportunity. On the first Wednesday last September, I set out for a small town in an insular religious community, located in the northern suburbs of New York City, to lead what I expected to be the first of several English classes for an unspecified number of Yemenite Jewish women. The immigrant women were long-time residents of the area who had come to the United States as refugees years before from their native country of Yemen.

Given the women’s limited education, and their being part of a tight-knit community steeped in oral tradition, classes were to be based on the mutually adaptive learning paradigm (MALP) model developed by my professor Dr. Helaine Marshall and her colleague Dr. Andrea DeCapua (DeCapua & Marshall, 2011; Marshall & DeCapua, 2013). Based on the principles of culturally responsive teaching (Gay, 2010), MALP is designed to help transition language learners who have different culturally based ways of learning and thinking than are the norm in Western-style educational settings. MALP asks educators to accept certain non-Western conditions brought by the learners; combine Western and non-Western processes for learning to move students toward proficiency in Western ways of seeing and interacting; and focus on engaging students in school-based ways of thinking and performing decontextualized tasks, initially scaffolded through the use of familiar language and content. For example, to familiarize students with the Western idea of linear, historical time—the academic task of sequencing—a teacher could have students create timelines, using information that is personally relevant to them, such as birthdays or important events in their lives to create a timeline. Students would work together and the teacher would scaffold their learning through oral interaction and written sentence frames to model correct linguistic form. Once students have mastered the concept of timelines, they can be used in many other areas, such as science, to illustrate geologic periods, or English language arts to show the chronology of an author’s work.

In my bag are the materials I need: construction paper and markers to make a paper chain that would link our names together in a learning chain to illustrate our interconnectedness, a spiral binder to take notes and a CD of Yemenite Jewish women’s songs that I had acquired many years ago after meeting the son of the singer and attending one of her performances. Although I didn’t intend to use the CD in my lesson, I threw it into my bag thinking it might be a way to connect with the women.

The drive goes smoothly. As I search for the exact house where we will meet, I notice a fairly dark, leathery-skinned woman dressed in black sitting on the steps in front of a house. Not having seen the number I was given and not yet ready to step out and begin, I continue driving. Realizing that where the woman was sitting must’ve been the place, I turn around and retrace my steps. As I approach and start looking for a place to park, I am relieved to see Leah pull up. Leah is the community liaison who had, after 6 months, finally succeeded in gaining permission from the rebbetzin (rabbi’s wife) to hold the lessons. I allow her to walk in front of me, a sort of shield. “Is she the teacher?” the woman asks Leah in Hebrew, as we approach the doorstep, rather than addressing me directly.

Inside, Rachel, mother of eight, welcomes us into her home. The large dining room table is set up with refreshments: soda, cookies, pastries. At first, there are only four women who have come to learn, including the hostess, the rebbetzin, and a young Ashkenazi woman (of Eastern European descent) with her baby, who at the last minute asks Rachel, her neighbor, if she can join us.

The session goes well. I introduce myself and show the women my name in the Tanakh (Jewish Bible), reading the no-doubt familiar Hebrew phrases about the woman Naomi and her husband Boaz from the Book of Ruth, which is read every year in the synagogue on the holiday of Shavouth. Also known as the Feast of Weeks, as it comes 7 weeks after Passover, this holiday commemorates the Jews receiving the Torah on Mt. Sinai. By showing the women my familiarity with their tradition and my being part of it, and pointing out my name in a printed text, I am making a connection between us while linking the oral with the literary. Next, I pass around pictures of my family, including one of my nephews at his bar mitzvah ceremony, creating another point of connection.

As each woman introduces herself and I write her name on a strip of construction paper, they begin spelling their names, demonstrating more literacy than expected—I’d been told they might not even read and write in their native language, Arabic. More women, some with children in tow, arrive. They are provided with strips of paper and, when offered, write their names on their own in English and Hebrew. A buzz goes up as we connect the name strips to form a chain. The rebbetzin, a long-time teacher in Israel before coming to the United States, murmurs approvingly, “Ah, we are all connected.” Exactly. Or so I thought.

Next, the women participate readily in the game of telephone I planned for them, as they had indicated in a previous meeting with Leah and my TESOL graduate advisor that talking on the telephone was an area of difficulty for them. In this way, some simple phrases are also introduced, such as “It’s nice to meet you” and “Can I help you?” Two of the women, the rebbetzin and Rachel, supply their own phrases to pass around. As a final closing, I whisper the Hebrew phrase “Gemar hatimah tovah,”a customary greeting used before the fast day of Yom Kippur, which would be celebrated in a few days. Once again, a flurry of approving voice rises up in agreement.

Finally, we arrange the next meeting, which would not have taken place for another 3 weeks, due to the ensuing holidays (Sukkot, Shemini Atzertet, Simchat Torah in addition to Yom Kippur), and the circle breaks up into small groups. Looking for a way to join in the informal conversation (schmoozing, in Yiddish) I take out the CD from my bag and ask whether anyone knows the singer. Only the rebbetzin notices and takes it from me. Her reaction, unexpected, is fierce: “This woman, who sings with men and dances, desecrates the Hebrew language, taking the holy words and throwing them ‘into the toilet.’”

The next day, during a break from class with my advisor, she takes me aside to her office. Bad news: The project is off. “They didn’t like the lesson?” No. “The CD?” More a statement than a question. Yes. The teacher . . . inappropriate.

How ironic. What better way to connect than through music, I had thought. Music, the universal language. Really? I know better now.

Saddened and angered by the experience—by the absolute power of the rebbetzin who prevented these women from getting the help they wanted and needed—I shared the episode with an Orthodox Jewish friend of mine who was born in Zimbabwe and lived in Turkey and Israel before settling in the United States. “It would have happened at some point,” she said. “Better now than later, before you got more attached to these women.” Her comment, in this case, rang true for me, although one could argue that if it had happened later on, perhaps more trust would’ve been established that would’ve allowed for a resolution of the misunderstanding. Nevertheless, I am left wondering what I could do differently next time, in such a situation. Perhaps it was my assuming familiarity with their culture, having attended Orthodox Jewish day school and attended for a time a Hasidic synagogue in New York City, that blinded me. Perhaps with a community I was less familiar with, I actually would’ve been more careful to ascertain our differences and be mindful of them. While this may be true, it seems to me that cultural misunderstanding and conflicts will be inevitable in our line of work. If so, we must be prepared to handle them as sensitively and diplomatically as possible, while accepting that some breaches may be impossible to repair.

Acknowledgments

Note: I would like to thank Dr. Helaine Marshall and Dr. Andrea DeCapua for their guidance and inspiration on this project and article.

References
DeCapua, A., & Marshall, H. W. (2011). Breaking new ground: Teaching students with limited or interrupted formal education. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press.

Marshall, H. W., & DeCapua, A. (2013). Making the transition to classroom success: Culturally responsive teaching for struggling learners. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press.

Gay, G. (2010). Culturally responsive teaching: Theory, research, practice. (2nd ed.)  New York: Columbia University Press.