It wasn’t the most stellar moment of my teaching career. It was after a winter break, and I asked the students to share what they did over the break. Some had flown to Florida, others had gone to the library, still others had gotten together with friends. Finally, I got to Sara who looked at me sadly and said, “My Mommy had a baby, and I couldn’t go out of the house.” A question that had been intended to be light and cheerful had caused a little child pain. I didn’t ask the question maliciously. Rather, I had made an assumption that, over winter break, children do things. I found out that assumptions are dangerous in a classroom.

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I’ve been asking friends what topics I should write about in this column. While people had fantastic suggestions, which I hope to write about in future months (I’m always looking for more! Hint, hint), a few friends shared a similar idea, and it struck a nerve. My friends’ pain was so real that I needed to share it with you even as I am just as guilty as the next person of doing what I will now describe.

These friends have told me that they and their families are not what is considered the norm in frum Baltimore. Maybe they are leading a single-parent home, perhaps the husband or wife travels two weeks a month to make a living, maybe they have too few or too many children to fit into the average frum household. Their parents may be non-Orthodox or even non-Jewish, they may be of a different ethnicity than the majority. They may be affluent or poor. What all of them have in common is that they, and especially their children, are acutely aware that they are different and that being different is not okay.

Last month I wrote about how to create an intellectually-stimulating home to help our children, especially those who are superior students, grow in their curiosity, creativity, and critical thinking. This month, I’d like to shift my focus to ask how we can enrich all our children’s learning experiences, no matter what their ability and level of knowledge. After all, no matter how much a class is tracked, there will always be those who are more advanced and those who need more support. I’d therefore like to explore how we can keep all children engaged and growing when we are actively teaching them.

In the typical classroom, children who understand the material the first time it is taught are often asked to sit quietly; do extra, monotonous, worksheets; or become a second teacher to other students. Is there anything we can do to help these students reach their potential? Even if only for the sake of self-preservation, it may be in our best interest to make sure the advanced students receive enrichment because kids who are bored can often become mischievous, defiant, apathetic, or resentful.

My son’s first pediatrician was a man in his sixties with a jovial sense of humor, an essential characteristic for a new, nervous mother. At the eight-month checkup, the doctor asked me, “So would you say your son is average, below average, or above average?”

With a big smile, I said, “Definitely above average!” and I began to list all the remarkable qualities of my child, who could smile, crawl, and even eat solids. The doctor laughed, “I’ve only had one parent who said her son was average. I said to her, “You must not be Jewish, are you?”

The doctor’s comment was so true. We Jewish parents tend to fit the stereotype. To us, all our children are above average. And indeed they are. Every child is above average in one area or another, whether it be intelligence, speech, artistic ability, athleticism, or even single-mindedness. Every child has gifts and weaknesses. A parent’s job is to help the child develop his gifts to the fullest potential, and provide supports to overcome weaknesses.

As any good boy scout will tell you, there is a technique to building a bonfire. If you put together large sticks, as I’ve seen in picture books, the fire won’t catch. If you put a match on a pile of leaves, they will light quickly and burn out just as quickly. If you want to build a bonfire, there needs to be both tinder to start the flame and larger logs to sustain it over the long term.

Building a bonfire struck me as a good metaphor for chinuch, after a conversation I had with some other women. They had raised their children half a generation ago. Their children complain that they left their schools without feeling a deep connection and understanding of their Yiddishkeit; they were only drilled and tested to excel in Torah learning. I have had an entirely different experience. I find my children’s chinuch to be inspirational and aspirational. In fact, when I talk to young parents, I’m more concerned about the continual push for even more inspiration and less academics. The pendulum has swung in the other direction.

“Homework that students cannot do without help is not good homework and is de-motivating. Homework should make students feel smarter, not dumber,” says Cathy Vatterott, associate professor of education and author of Rethinking Homework: Best Practices that Support Diverse Needs.

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When I thought about writing on the topic of homework, I had nightmares for a few nights. I’m kind of traumatized from my history as a parent. There was the year of the impossible kriya (Hebrew reading) homework – one to two pages – that left one child’s confidence in shambles. Another year, a first-grade teacher assigned writing 10 spelling words – in sentences! – starting after Sukkos. The complaints of hand cramps still haunt me. Another year there were shorashim (Hebrew roots) worksheets that my child didn’t know, so that I was the shorashim dictionary most nights. Then there was the teacher who decided she had no time to teach spelling, because of the dual curriculum, but thought it was a valuable subject. She assigned spelling, along with math, independent reading, and English for homework to make up for her lack of class time. Grandpa was recruited that year to help via Skype. Ahh…and then there was the challenge of Common Core math. There is nothing that so warms the heart as watching your children draw 150(!) circles to solve a basic math problem.

Everything in life has a mazal – even Yomim Tovim. Before Purim, Pesach, and Shavuos, our children have had plenty of time to learn all about the holiday and come home with binders full of divrei Torah, projects, and catchy songs. Compare this to the Yomim Tovim in Tishrei, when four holidays plus one minor fast are packed into one month.

Most years, school doesn’t even begin until halfway through Elul. At the beginning of the year, the children are getting settled into routines; the focus is on preparing students so they can learn all year. (Woe to the teacher who skips this important step.) This leaves the teachers only a few days to teach some of the most important concepts in Judaism.

This calendar was set by G-d, so we can’t blame teachers for poor planning. We can, however, see what we as parents and teachers can learn from situation.