Page 8 - Issue 20

both chanichim who wrote me compliments wrote
something along the lines of "Lonny never yells". I
understood how meaningful it was to them that I
respected them enough not to raise my voice, not to try
to control them.

But this week, I yelled.

My ability to yell is something I inherited from my
father. It came in handy when I needed to project for my
middle school musical role as Tevye in Fiddler on the
Roof. People in the back rows didn't miss a word. It's
also helpful on the accordion busses in Israel, where
God help the passengers on a bus whose driver doesn't
hear my call of "Nahag" the first two times he fails to
open the back door for me.

But I hate yelling at children. I recall the moments
when my father released the full force of his voice on
me and to this day they make me squirm.
And yet this week, I yelled, with full force. The first
time I yelled was at a group of kids returning from an
Aliyah Bet activity that I had run for them on the
outskirts of Rishon LeZion, in a wooded field. They had
started throwing sand and dirt at each other on the way
back. Annoying, but not life-threatening. By the time
we got back to the urban areas they had progressed to
throwing small rocks at each other. I was worried they
might hit a car, or get hit by one while shoving or
running from one another. I stopped them before we
crossed the first avenue and told them to end it. It
didn't work. About 50 meters later a rock hit the other
madrich who was with me. He raised his voice. He took
two of the kids ahead with him. One of the kids with me