story of the Babylonians

I recently spent a week in the Holy Lands. I was invited as half of a two-person team to present leadership training to 20 Principals of private schools in the West Bank, in Palestine. I was a little intimidated at the prospect. Would they value what I had to offer? Would I be understood by people from such a different linguistic and cultural background? Would I be welcomed as an American? The answer to all three questions was a resounding “yes.”

I ended the seminar with a story. As I told the participants, this is the story a Montessori teacher would tell when introducing the degree symbol in studying measurement of the circumference of a circle.

Story of the Babylonians

Do you remember when we talked about the Babylonians? How they lived in the area between the two rivers, the Tigris and Euphrates in what is now Iraq? How the Hanging Gardens of Babylon were one of the 7 Wonders of the Ancient World? Even though the height of their civilization was 4000 years ago we still are talking about them and benefiting from their discoveries and inventions today.

I want you to think back to what their life was like those many years ago. They didn’t have electricity, so in the evening when it would get dark they wouldn’t be able to do what you do, read or watch TV. They would gaze at the stars and they would tell stories. Even so large a city as Babylon would be quite dark at night. Have you ever been out at night and away from the city and seen how many stars you can see in the sky? Because of their life between the two rivers they were great travelers and would also have used the stars for navigation.

So they looked at the stars and compared where they were in the sky against certain landmarks like mountain peaks and they noticed that it looked as if the stars were in a slightly different position each night. They came to think of the sky as a circle and their home as the center of that circle with the stars very slowly wheeling overhead. They counted and noticed that it took about 360 days for a star to complete its circuit and come back to the same position in the sky. So they used 360 days as a measure of time that we now call a year.

We now know that there are actually 365 days in a year and perhaps the Babylonians knew it too. But, in Babylon, 60 was a holy number. When they built a temple it would have 60 steps; when they made an offering of wheat in their temple they would offer 60 grains. 360 is a multiple of 60, so, perhaps they decided to honor the year by making it 360 days.

Somebody in Babylon, and we don’t know who, realized that this could also be a useful way of thinking about any circle, not just the circle of the night sky. He or she decided that whenever we see a circle we could divide it into 360 parts. Do you remember the fraction insets and how we divided a circle into 10 parts each of which we call a 10th? Well this person realized that people could divide a circle into 360 fractional pieces and in their language they called it something which we now call a degree.

Let me show you the symbol we write for degree. [At this point the teacher draws a circle on paper.] Now, when you use this symbol, think back to these people 4000 years ago, gazing up at the circle of a black and star-filled Babylonian sky.

Then I looked around at the participants, human beings and educators from across a vast geographical, experiential and cultural divide, but human beings and educators nonetheless, and asked: “Is there an unspoken question implicit in this story for the student to ask him or herself?” Immediately, Iyad, Principal of a large school in Ramallah and a Palestinian Arab, nodded in understanding. “What will my contribution to the world be?”

I’d like to point out three things about this lesson on the degree. First, it’s important for children to learn to measure the circumference of a circle, and it could be done more quickly and easily, but not more effectively. For who can doubt that, once the child’s imagination is engaged, he or she will never forget this lesson. In this way children experience learning not as a series of random memorizations, but as a series of ideas and accomplishments to which they are personally and wondrously connected.

Second, there’s been a lot of talk in recent years of the importance of an integrated curriculum. Can you think of a better example than this, a lesson about which one might ask, “Is this is a lesson in Mathematics, or History?

Thirdly, and most importantly, through stories like this, the Montessori elementary student is imbued with a deep gratitude for the contributions of all of the plants and animals and people who have come before. This speaks to the truest and deepest purpose of education, as these Palestinian school principals immediately grasped. The outcome of education we all wish for, and which our world so desperately needs, is not students who ask “What is the world going to do for me?” but students who ask themselves, “What am I going to do for the world?”

it's the people

Tonight from a hotel room in Jerusalem, the conference over, a day to be a tourist before the interminable flight back to the U.S., I'm thinking about my experiences on the West Bank these past 5 days. Has it only been 5 days? When have I been so completely immersed in an experience as these last 5 days?
The google headings are in Hebrew tonight after 5 nights of flowing Arabic. This neighborhood of Jerusalem seems to be all about orthodox Jews in black suits, fedoras and ringlets, Palestinian street urchins scratching for entertainment or money, and cats. Everywhere are cats.
And I miss my Palestinian friends. Their kindness, generosity and openness. I look forward to the next time we meet. Until then, I wish them peace. I wish them peace.

an angel on the mountain of temptation

Jericho is the lowest (900' below sea level) and many would say the oldest city in the world. I am here as part of a two person team, providing leadership training for some 20 Heads of Palestinian schools. Yesterday, we delved into the book Good to Great and discussed some of its implications for leadership in private schools. One of Jim Collin's concepts is that it is most important who you have in your organization. He calls it "getting the right people on the bus." (Although, my new friend Hani says there are times as Head of school when all he wants to do is get off the bus!)

My part was to present a new perspective on hiring, namely, crafting questions that allow a candidate to demonstrate from past behavior that he/she has a requisite quality or characteristic rather than simply relying on opinion. I had suggested a question to probe a candidate's ability to follow through on a commitment, and had asked the audience, "Can anyone tell me of a time when you followed through and kept a commitment when it was difficult to do so?" Several people suggested examples from their own lives, thus demonstrating that they possess that important quality. But, the best example didn't arise until dinner last night.

We had taken the tram up 1300 meters onto the Mount of Temptation, the very place where, according to the New Testament, Jesus spent 40 days and nights fasting and meditating during the temptation of Satan. We were gathered around a large table enjoying the local cuisine, taking in a view to the East across the Jordan River to the mountains in Jordan and south to the Dead Sea.

The young man to my left showed me pictures of his family on his cell phone, including a daughter whose name in Arabic translates as "angel."

He confided in me that he had been tempted to answer the question about keeping a commitment, posed earlier in the day. To do so, he would have told the story of his wedding day.

This was in 2003 during the Intifada. He and his bride-to-be returned from Ramallah to his tiny village in the mountains for the ceremony, taking nearly an entire day to cover the short distance due to the many checkpoints and the length of time to pass each. They had a wonderful celebration with family and friends, then prepared to return to Ramallah and work.

By this time, though, the road to ramallah was closed. But their commitment to work (and keeping a scarce job) was strong, and so they attempted the arduous trek up a trail and over a mountain on foot.

It was March and the elevation was high. It was cold and wet and miserable and slippery and dangerous, but they persevered. Just as they had congratulated themselves on crossing the highest section of the mountain trail, they met other travelers coming back, and learned that there was an Israeli tank below blocking the way, firing tear gas and letting no one through. During the hours ahead they tried the trail again and again, only to be turned back by the danger of the Israeli tank. Finally they made it through and appeared for work exhausted but on time.

It's unusual for me to be speechless. But in Palestine, this is a daily occurence for me. All I could say was that "I hear you, my Friend, and I will take your words with me when I return home."

And so we sat together in the gathering dark, the lights coming on across the river in Jordan, and gazed at his cell phone and the photo of a young girl dressed in white, his daughter, his angel.

the crossing

The West Bank is filled with checkpoints. In a car with Israeli plates and a U.S. passport it's pretty hassle free. But this morning we want to leave our hotel in Ramallah and visit Jerusalem. You can only get a taxi as far as the checkpoint. From there you need to make your way through the checkpoint on foot, with the Palestinians, then catch a bus to Jerusalem on the other side. So, for the first time we get a hint of what the average Palestinian goes through. It's a dirty warren of narrow metal bar passageways and turnstyles. The wait is long; the lines unpredictable. They let a few people pass the turnstyles at a time. How you are treated and how long it takes is completely at the whim of an Israeli guard, who looks at each person with a disdain bordering on belligerence. You hope he isn't having a bad day, or perhaps you will have one as well.
Once outside we ask locals for the Jerusalem bus and a kindly gentleman insists that we go in line before him to board. He sits next to me and turns out to be from Detroit, here to check on his family property. He tells us how to get to the Mount of Olives, where we'll meet our tourguide. As he gets off at his stop, he takes my hand warmly, then reminds the driver to make sure that the Americans get off at the right place and know where to go. It seems so far that the guide books are correct: the Palestinians will go out of their way to help us.
Our tour guide, a Palestinian Christian named Osama, is another revelation of kindness and friendliness. Wherever we go he seems to be recognized by friends among the priests, fellow tour guides, and vendors. He is working on his PHD and incredibly informative. How do I describe Jerusalem with its crowded, narrow, winding streets with this mix of ancient architecture from the time of Christ and before? It feels like a trip to the center of human history. But more on that when I have more time.

thankful

On my way to Tel Aviv, I'm voluntarily bumped out of my aisle seat in favor of an Israeli Dad with a youngster. About to park in the middle seat, I notice an empty aisle seat next to a silver-haired gentleman with a cane. With a smile and a gracious gesture he invites me to sit, and so it is that I make my first Palestinian friend of the trip before I'm off the tarmac in Philly.
Hamed means "thankful" in Arabic. The cane is not for him but for his Mother, the surprise return of a favorite cane left at his house in Virginia during her last visit. He is a dutiful son, a pious Muslim, a thoughtful passenger, a kind and generous human being. I learn a lot of the true nature of Islam just listening to him and observing his behavior.
Hours later, as we fly over the Mediterranean islands, he trades seats with me so that I can look out the window. He shares my excitement as we cross the coast and set down in Tel Aviv. "It always feels special to return to the Holy Land," he says as we taxi to the terminal, but I can see the tension growing in him. He tells me of the difficulties for a Palestinian Arab even getting around in the West Bank these days. Because of the wall, it can take close to an hour by car to get to the next village, not the customary 20 minte walk. "Probably the Israeli in customs who will pass judgment on my ability to return, wasn't even born here himself. I want peace. We all want peace. The way to peace starts with the offer of a little justice."
You get the feeling that he would be truly thankful for that.

Love the One You're With

Friday night of MAA (Montessori Administrators Association) weekend, Japanese restaurant, all 36 participants gathered around the two hibachi stations, guitars ringing, some standing and some sitting but all singing: "California Girls," "Help Me Rhonda," "Blue Suede Shoes," "Teach Your Children."
But the very first song we sing? CSNY's "Love the One You're With." And, as I sing along and look into the eyes of these my colleagues from all corners of America,
the fresh, young and optimistic,
the experienced, realistic, and a bit worn around the edges,
the ones who have been down the road of another year of travail and triumph, of personal cost and personal fulfillment, of hopelessness overcome and hope refreshed,
I see the common thread, a rope and lifeline really, that ties us all together in shared experience, passion and pain,
and I think: "Yes, I Love the ones I'm with."