Several years ago, one of my daughters was enrolled in a preschool. She loved one teacher in particular, who was nurturing and cheerful and seemed really to see each child.
One day, our young teacher disappeared. One day, two days, one week, turned into a month. And then, as dramatically as she disappeared (and such changes are certainly dramatic for 3-year-olds), she reappeared — rail thin, pale and tired. She had been sick, we were told.
But that’s all we were told. She was absent again — random days here, a week there. And then she didn’t return for several weeks.
With no facts to reassure us, parents did what parents do: We chatted in the halls. We speculated, worried and imagined the worst. We heard she was ill but didn’t sense any great compassion from the preschool’s leaders.
Finally, after an interminably long silence from the administrators, parents received a poorly written, cryptic note that seemed to say that our teacher had been fired. Or maybe she quit. Or perhaps she was lying ill with a terminal illness. The letter did nothing to quell the storm of rumors and ill-feelings.
That vacuum of leadership, which later became apparent in other mishandled situations, led our family to leave the preschool. I later heard from the teacher that she indeed had been fired (while lying in a hospital bed, no less).
In their effort to manage the situation, the school unwittingly damaged the parent-caregiver relationship. As parents, we needed reassurance from the school’s leaders that our children were in good hands.
We wanted to know that our children’s teacher, who we trusted to care for our children in our absence, was OK. Moreover, we sought assurance that our school was behaving according to the high moral standards that it purported to teach our children.
We were not just gawkers or gossip hungry suburbanites, though there may have been those among us. As parents and community members, we deserved more.
Not the last
Here’s what should have happened: Parents should have received a note saying that the teacher was ill. No great detail was necessary, nor was it appropriate, but someone needed to craft a letter assuring parents that their children were in good hands.
By being proactive, open and clear, the preschool directors could have displayed strength and trustworthiness. Instead, they shrunk in what appeared to have been fear.
Sadly, that incident was not the last such case of a community organization choosing awkward silence or cryptic notes rather than clear, proactive communication. Unfortunately, when a crisis hits, the automatic response is to contract and withdraw.
Several months ago, community members repeatedly approached me, asking: “What’s going on at the JCC?” They meant, “We read The [July 10, 2008] Chronicle story about Susan and Jay Roth being on administrative leave at the Harry & Rose Samson Family Jewish Community Center. But what’s the real story?”
(Roth retired last week after a long “negotiating process.” See Dec. 19 Chronicle.)
“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. Questioners inevitably followed their question with one of countless statements beginning with, “I heard….” The stories ranged from the ridiculous to the disturbing and most, I assumed, were total rubbish.
But these rumors, these tales fabricated in the absence of real information, gained traction in our community and, for a time, dominated the chatter at dinner parties throughout the community.
What a shame. This extreme lashon hara (negative speech) could have been minimized, if not avoided.
Respectful and open communication should be the policy among all our agencies. Within the confines of privacy concerns and legal limitations, community members, parents, campers, donors and stakeholders deserve to be told that our agencies are in good hands, that employees are being treated well and that volunteer leaders are behaving according to Jewish values.
Dual obligation
To be clear: We do not deserve to know the details of every case. We do not need inside information. On some level, we must trust our Jewish communal professionals and lay leaders to make good decisions — and make them behind closed doors when necessary.
But, considering the Jewish values regarding speech, there is a dual obligation here. Leaders and professionals are obliged to communicate openly and clearly with the community. And community members are obliged to guard their tongues.
I called Rabbi Michael Stern of Judaism Without Walls to talk about lashon hara. We did not talk about the JCC case specifically but generally about the power of speech.
A dominant Jewish value is avoidance of lashon hara, which includes the transmitting of any negative information, true or not, that is not essential for its recipient. When we engage in lashon hara, it is said, we harm ourselves, the subject of our tale and the listener. It is tantamount, some say, to murder, idol worship, incest and adultery.
Where, I asked Rabbi Stern, is the line between lashon hara and the right to know? Does the prohibition against negative speech mean that community members not demand information about sensitive or controversial issues at our agencies?
Of course not, he said, but when such controversies arise, rather than talking with peers, we should “go to the top” to ask for information, clarification and reassurance.
“The obligation of speaking properly comes from the administration, not from the parents,” Stern said, speaking theoretically about controversies at community agencies. “Why should a parent not be concerned? You want and need to know everything…. You want confidence in the institution.”
The key here is speech, Stern said. While negative speech has the power to destroy — lives, self-esteem, reputations, careers, marriages — speech also has the positive power to unify.
And that — power wielded with the intent to build a healthier, stronger, more unified community — is what I’d like to see more of from our local agencies.
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