Tag Archives: Terry Lee Marzell

An exploration of Israel’s Yad Vashem Holocaust Remembrance Center

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Author and retired teacher Terry Lee Marzell examines a display at Yad Vashem, the internationally-renowned Holocaust Remembrance Center located in Israel. Photo credit: Hal Marzell

Now that Covid-19 stay-at-home restrictions have been eased, many educators are eager to incorporate travel into their summer vacation plans. Teachers know that travel, in addition to being fun and restorative, is one of the most meaningful learning opportunities available for both themselves and for their students. Recently, I was able to travel to Israel and Jordan, and I could see many opportunities for incorporating my experiences into learning opportunities in the classroom.

An excellent example of this is the visit I made last month to Yad Vashem, the internationally-renowned Holocaust Remembrance Center located in Jerusalem. The center, founded in 1953, is located on the western slope of Mount Herzl, also known as the Mountain of Remembrance, in western Jerusalem. With approximately one million visitors each year, Yad Vashem is one of the most-visited tourist destinations in Israel, second only to the Western Wall. Like any study and contemplation of the Holocaust, this visit was a somber and disturbing one. Nevertheless, I would definitely recommend a trip here to anyone who is able to go.

Young Israeli soldiers are required to take a tour of the Yad Vashem Holocaust Remembrance Center as part of their military training. Photo Credit: Terry Lee Marzell

One thing that surprised me during my visit was the presence of so many young Israeli soldiers, both men and women, who were also touring the museum. Such a tour is required as part of their military training.

In addition to the exhibition pavilion, we visited a very moving memorial to the 1.5 million children who perished in the Holocaust. This unique memorial was hollowed out from an underground cavern. Five memorial candles are reflected in the extremely dark and somber space. These candles created the illusion of millions of stars shining in the firmament. As we proceeded through the memorial, the names of murdered children and their ages and countries of origin are recited in the background. The effect was both beautiful and haunting.

Author and retired teacher Terry Lee Marzell at the Pilar of Heroism which commemorates the resistance to Nazi domination and extermination. The Pilar is located at the Yad Vashem Holocaust Remembrance Center  in Jerusalem. Photo Credit: Hal Marzell

When I was still in the classroom and teaching about the Holocaust, my curriculum evolved to cover what I believed to be three important aspects of the Holocaust. First, I believe that teaching the Holocaust is important, bt this is not the only theme about the Jewish people that is important.  Therefore, I incorporated Jewish cultural aspects such as folk tales, music, and art into the lesson plans. Second, I didn’t want my students to view the Jewish people only as victims. Therefore, I included information about resistance efforts, including the Warsaw Ghetto uprising, into the lesson plans. At Yad Vashem, these efforts are commemorated by the Pilar of Heroism. And third, I didn’t want my students to be burdened by feelings of guilt about an event which they did not participate and over which they had no control. For this reason, I incorporated information about individuals who rescued, hid, or aided Jewish people in their efforts to avoid Nazi extermination. Yad Vashem honors these individuals, whom they call the “Righteous Among Nations,” in a tree-lined avenue and a garden.

If you, too, are involved in teaching aspects of the Holocaust in your classrooms, Yad Vashem offers a wealth of resources on their website. The website offers background information, including a timeline with over 200 entries related to the major events that occurred before, during, and immediately after the Holocaust. Also available are digital photo archives, full-length survivor testimonies, an online film catalog, a documents archive, and a database of the righteous. All of these materials, and more, are available for you to choose from on their website.

I hope that if you are teaching about the Holocaust, someday you will be able to visit this memorial in person yourself. Until then, please explore the online resources available from Yad Vashem. Simply click on this link to YadVashem.org.

Teachers and the dilemma about homework

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Homework. Hmmm…yeah. The topic is as controversial today as it was when I began my teaching career 36 years ago. Although I am now retired, this exasperating subject surfaced the other day when I was veritably blasted by my periodontist for failure to floss. Let’s just say I really got schooled. In a nutshell, he said he was a highly trained professional, and furthermore a very busy man, and if I couldn’t be bothered to do my share of the work at home, then I should not come back. Wow. I mean double wow.

So let’s be honest. Hasn’t every teacher run those same thoughts through their head when confronted by a recalcitrant student who refuses to do their homework? Educators everywhere have wrestled with this problem for decades. Every teacher knows that there are some students who will do all their homework, some students who will do some of it, and some students who will do none of it. And in my experience, unless you’re teaching an honors class, the amount of homework that doesn’t get done is greater than the amount that does.

So what strategies can the teacher use to increase the amount of homework that gets turned in? We’ve all experimented. Here are a few I tried. First, I increased the weight of the homework category so a student could not pass my class unless they completed at least a large percentage of it. The result? The students still didn’t do their homework, and tons of kids were failing. Then I tried reducing the number of assignments from four nights a week to two nights a week. That helped with their grades, but it did not increase the number of assignments that got turned in. Next, I tried giving assignments that couldn’t be quantified, such as, “Your homework tonight is to study for your test tomorrow.” And then I just hoped they would do this, although I was pretty sure they wouldn’t. Finally, I gave them classwork assignments and told them if they didn’t finish in class, they should finish for homework. And then I gave them enough time to finish in class.

I can’t say I felt very professionally satisfied with any of these strategies. One thing I can say with certainty, though, is that if I had given voice to my frustration in the same way that my periodontist did, if I had pounded them into the ground for their errors, I could add another failed strategy to my list. Even if my students showed up empty-handed, I was always glad to see them come back the next day. Because every day a student shows up to class is a new opportunity to guide them, to help them be more successful, and to lovingly plant that suggestion one more time that, yes, homework is an important part of continued progress. And seizing these opportunities is never a waste of time or energy, even for a busy, well-trained professional.

I understand full well my periodontist’s exasperation. I empathize. I am truly sorry that my failure to floss provoked such an angry outburst from him, and I forgive him for losing his temper. After all, I’m not a kid. I know the man is right. Since that day I have attempted, in New Year’s resolution fashion, to mend the error of my ways. But I also found a new periodontist.

Author Terry Lee Marzell addresses AAUW

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Author Terry Lee Marzell addresses the Glendora chapter of the American Association of University Women at Glendora Public Library on Sat., Nov. 13. Photo credit: Hal Marzell.

Many, many thanks to the Glendora chapter of the American Association of University Women (AAUW). The group invited me to speak about the two books I authored to recognize the achievements of remarkable American teachers. The event took place at the Glendora Public Library, in Glendora, California, on Sat., Nov. 13, at 10:00 am.

The AAUW is such a wonderful organization. Though nonpartisan, the AAUW champions a number of important causes. For example, they work to remove the barriers and biases that stand in the way of gender equity and, they champion equal opportunities in education for women.

Learn more about the AAUW, click on this link to their website: https://www.aauw.org.

 

Author Terry Lee Marzell published in Inlandia anthology

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Author Terry Lee Marzell shows her copy of the newly-published anthology 2020 Writing from Inlandia, which contains two nonfiction pieces she has written. Photo credit: Terry Marzell

Terry Lee Marzell, author of Chalkboard Champions and Chalkboard Heroes, announces that two of her short pieces have been included in an anthology published by The Inlandia Institute. The anthology, entitled 2020 Writing Writing from Inlandia, was just released on September 2, 2021.

The first piece, “Flash Flood Casualties,” describes a true event from Terry’s life, when she was caught in a flash flood while driving through the Southern California desert. The second piece, “The Beauty in a Hundred Mundane Moments,” also nonfiction, describes a typical day in the life of individuals taking part in a community service project. Terry is among some 65 contributors to the collection, which features poetry, nonfiction, and fiction selections. The volume can be purchased on amazon.

Inlandia is a regional literary nonprofit and publishing house. The mission of the organization is to recognize, support, and expand literary activity in all of its forms in the Inland Southern California. The group is supported in part by an award from the National Endowment for the Arts and in part by the California Arts Council. to learn more about the Inlandia Institute, you can visit the website at www.InlandiaInstitute.org.

Sept. 11, 2001: That was a difficult day to be a teacher

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Terry Lee Marzell shares her memories of teaching anxiety-ridden students on Sept. 11, 2001. Photo credit: Terry Marzell

That Tuesday started out like just about any other weekday in just about any other month in just about any other year of my teaching career. I groaned when the alarm clock sounded off; nevertheless, I forced my eyes open, peeled myself out of bed, and stumbled to the bathroom sink to brush my teeth. Like just about any other night in my teaching career, I’d been up late grading papers, I hadn’t slept well, and even though I’d slept, I was exhausted.

As I was running cold water through my toothbrush, my level-headed and unflappable husband, who typically watches the morning news while he dresses for work, called me into the next room. “Come look at this,” he said in an even tone. “Something’s going on in New York.”

The North Tower of the World Trade Center had been hit by an airplane. Side by side we silently watched the continuous repetition of the explosive impact and the resulting inferno on the screen. We were still standing there when, to our horror, the South Tower was hit by a second plane. The aircraft sliced into the concrete and steel structure like a knife cutting butter, igniting a second conflagration. Shocked news commentators began to speculate the crashes were not accidental.

Half an hour later I was driving my customary route through the Chino dairy preserve on my way to school. My ears were superglued to updates announced through the car radio. That’s how I heard that the South Tower, the second building to be struck, had collapsed.

Once I arrived at the campus, I grabbed the contents of my mailbox and hustled to the teachers’ lounge, where I found a hushed group of co-workers clustered around the television mounted on the wall. My eyes skimmed the words “Special people work here” stenciled on the wall in black letters on a red background. I glanced back to the “breaking news” on the TV screen. Before the bell signaled the start of first period, we learned the North Tower, too, had collapsed, causing each of the 70-odd floors below the point of impact to pancake, until all that was left of what was once one of the tallest buildings in the world was reduced to a dusty heap of smoldering concrete and twisted steel. Disbelief and distress was evident in the face, the humped shoulders, the posture of every person in the room.

I taught my first period Sophomore Language Arts class that morning on automatic pilot. I didn’t mention anything about what I had seen or what I knew about the events that had already occurred that day. I didn’t want to upset my kids. But I remember thinking that many of my colleagues, particularly those in the Social Studies Department, use news reports on television as a springboard for class discussions about current events. So it was no surprise that by the time my second period class arrived, many of my students were already aware. They knew our country was under attack. And they were distraught.

Frankly, when distressing things like this happen, my instinct is to stubbornly forge ahead with the plan or the routine. I wait until the work day is over and I am at home to deal with my reactions and feelings. But kids aren’t like that. They want to know what’s happening, and they want to deal with it, NOW. No matter what the teacher wants, the students will demand to know what’s going on, they ask questions, they react, and no matter how hard you try to keep them to the lesson, they insistently pull the conversation back to the topic. And on this particular day, they were begging to be reassured that everything was going to be all right. I couldn’t just forge ahead without first addressing their concerns.

Having said that, I would also like to say that I don’t believe it’s beneficial for students to go from classroom to classroom all day, watching alarming news reports on television, and getting more and more upset as the day progresses. But on this day, I myself felt a driving need to know what was happening, so I agreed to turn on the television, just for a few minutes.

By this time, hijackings were confirmed. Reports of the fiery plane crash into the Pentagon in Washington, DC, were being described. A fourth hijacked plane crashed in an empty field in rural Pennsylvania. Legislators were evacuated from the White House and the US Capitol, accompanied by images of men in business suits and women in professional ensembles and heels scrambling down the steps of the stately historic building. All over the country, airline flights were immediately cancelled to prevent further hijackings. And the images of the collapsed structures, the once imposing buildings disintegrated into a pile of rubble amidst a huge billowing cloud of choking dust, were apocalyptic.

Holy mackerel, I thought, no wonder the kids were walking buckets of anxiety.

I turned the television off and took a deep breath. I faced the kids and encouraged them to verbalize their thoughts and reactions. They were terrified. I mean, really terrified. Their biggest fear, it was clear, was that at any moment the next hijacked plane would crash right on top of them. Right there, at school.

I took another deep breath. “I don’t think we need to worry about that,” I said finally, in the most soothing voice I could muster. “These hijackings appear to be taking place on the East Coast, in big cities with tall buildings, or at important military buildings. We’re on the West Coast, Corona is a small town a good distance away from Los Angeles, and we don’t have any tall buildings,” I reasoned earnestly. “I think we’re safe here.”

I could see the kids digesting and accepting this logic. I could feel the tension loosening. With about 15 minutes left in the period, I asked them to write whatever else they felt needed to be said about the attacks. This was important because not everybody feels safe sharing out loud, but everybody needs an opportunity to process and express.

I had to go through this three more times that day. Each period, I had to hold myself together, no matter what I felt personally, no matter what happened, until at last I was free to go home and I could allow myself to fall apart. As soon as I hit the door, I flung myself into my husband’s arms, and the two of us expressed our own fears and sought our own reassurances.

In retrospect, I know that I am just one of, literally, millions of teachers all over the country who had to abandon a carefully-constructed lesson plan that day to conduct impromptu on-the-spot counseling for panicky kids. Nor was that the only traumatic occasion in our nation’s history when a day in the life of a teacher required this. Helping our kids understand, cope, and endure is part of the job.