September 16
The turtles have returned to their shells.
Not to say in any way that my kids are turtles. Well, at least somewhat. Coby is actually deceptively quick and light afoot, the piker that he is. Getting him to run, or to walk, or to do anything, for that matter, does magically bring out the turtle, however. Adina is slender and decidedly not of camouflage color. Yet she runs like a lumbering turtle, oh so painfully down the 40+ steps of our apartment building each school morning.
Socially, our kids are unquestionably turtles retreated into their shells. If it weren’t for the Anglo-euphoria of the first month in Israel, it wouldn’t be so hard. English, English, English. I’ve never heard the word so much – or at least paid attention to it – as I have since arriving on aliyah. The first month. The almost doting, English-speaking, Nefesh b’Nefesh-working lovers of olim. English-speaking camp for oleh kids. Playdates with fellow new arrivals. The International Herald Tribune (a.k.a. The New York Times) smiling at you each morning as you open the door. Free subscription just bursting at the seams – waiting to suck you dry next month.
Then school began. And so rang the bell calling the turtles to retreat.
Just imagine.
“I don’t understand a xxx!!!- thing going in this classroom. I can’t even say, ‘Can I go to the bathroom?’ Are they playing with me, or are they teasing me? Am I following directions? What are the directions? I can’t play without speaking! I’m sad, I’m scared, I hate this.
“Mom and Dad, I can’t really say this to you, because I am too young to know how to, but, I am royally pissed off at you, and I want to go home to Wallingford and Perelman (Jewish Day School) right now. I don’t want to go to school, I want English certification of any child I am going to play with, and I don’t want to participate in any after-school activities that aren’t in my mother tongue. And I’m going to be really mean to you. I hope you in your infinite maturity and intuition get the message. Do something about this.”
Social retrenchment. Kid crisis. Not enough treats in the world to salve the hurt. Parent crisis. Parent guilt. Ugh.
So sets the stage for the First International Playdate – translators, moderators, the neutral territory of sweets and snacks, the whole nine yards….
Stay tuned.
Posts
Mark,
ReplyDeleteI feel your pain. We went through all the same traumas with our kids. Only now, 5 years later, do I feel as though the kids are acclimated. Perhaps.... But every year was better than the last. Year 2 is much much better than year 1. You just have to get through year 1.... (and make sure you're making money!)
-Chaim