The last days at school

It is well known that at the last days at school the kids are able to do anything, just anything, to celebrate their new freedom after so many years of slavery…children-celebrating

So every freedom loving person should feel a bit happy for President Barak Obama that is finally freed from the obligation to serve his white racist masters at the white house.

It reminds me of my school years…

I never loved school but I had a habit of always preparing homework. I was so much obliged to do my duties that once, maybe twelve years old, when we were told to write a short description of every region of the country, I stayed home filling notebooks for several days because there were so many regions that should be described.

When I was in high school most kids already stopped doing homework, but I stayed with my obsession. Some teachers, as they didn’t want to have trouble, would simply turn to me at the beginning of the class and ask me to read homework.

I was lucky enough to leave school at the eleventh grade… I was allowed to make my exams directly through the ministry, so I didn’t have to attend classes. So, at last, in my last week at school, I didn’t prepare my homework.

My teacher, expecting a smooth sail, turned to me at the beginning of the class.

  • Please read homework.
  • I didn’t make it.

He was really shocked.

  • But why?
  • Give me a few minutes; I will give you a good excuse.

This is a basic human joy, being free at last.

Congratulations Mr. Obama for not being a slave of the Zionists any more.

My First Protest…

You can say I was a shy and quite kid, in those old days… I lived in a small village and the local school even didn’t have enough kids to open a new class every year. But for some reason, which I fail to remember now, I always regarded myself to be from the opposition, unlike the good kids that only wanted to do what the teacher wanted them to.

It was in the seventh grade, when I made my first public protest. My teacher was a narrow-minded woman that came to the school after finishing a religious teachers-seminar. At about the same time my aunt, which used to live in New York, lost her husband and came back to the village to live with the family. She started teaching English in the local school. At night we would all gather in my grandma’s “Tolstoyan” salon, speaking about life. Making fun of our provincial school was a favorite topic.kindergarten_paid_teacher

One day my aunt taught us an English phrase: “The teacher is not always right, but he is always the teacher”. I liked it. Soon I organized my best friend and together we wrote this phrase (in Hebrew, of course) on a placard, waited after school hours when the classroom was empty, built a pyramid of school tables and chairs, and hanged it on the top of the wall, just near the ceiling.

When the teacher came the next morning she clearly didn’t like what she has seen. She threatened to punish the whole class, so we admitted that we did it. But when she demanded that we put off the placard we refused, and were thrown out.

For several days we spent our schooling time in the yard. I don’t remember what we were doing there, but it could hardly be more boring that attending classes. After some days my best friend told me that he want to surrender – his parents were not happy with him spending his time out of class and he couldn’t stand their pressure. So he went on to remove the offending phrase.

I never told my parents about the whole issue. But a few days later, when my mom waked me up, she had something to tell me. “I hear you make problems at school.” She told me. “Your teacher talked with me. I don’t know exactly what you did. And I know that your teacher may be sometimes narrow-minded… But…”

“Yes, mama, I know. She might be wrong, but she is always the teacher.”

“Yes, exactly”

It was a special joy to be punished for telling the truth.