My dogwood is dying.
This spring, with great hope and enthusiasm, I planted three trees in my yard to replace ones torn out and smashed by Hurricane Sandy three years ago. I planned out the locations, chose each plant, planted them just so, got the recommended watering bags to let the water soak in over the course of an entire day, and dragged my hose around the yard regularly to keep the bags filled.
And yet, although two of my young trees are doing nicely, one—the dogwood—is dying. And it’s disheartening because I have been so carefully following the plan outlined by the nursery as the best way to guarantee their health.
But it’s turning out that each of my three trees is handling the summer weather differently, and maybe my limited repertoire of gardening skills has not been enough to meet their varied needs successfully. Perhaps I needed several methods—but I had access to only one.
I found myself thinking about this while catching up the other day on some Facebook posts about the "best" way to teach Hebrew. And it occurred to me that this search for the "best" way to teach Hebrew is a snipe hunt.
There can be no best way, because what works in one setting to accomplish one set of educational goals with one group of learners can be completely wrong in a different set of circumstances.
If we buy into the notion of a "best" way, then while some of our learners thrive, others will wither. If we buy into the notion of a "best" way, then we have stopped putting our learners at the center of their own learning.
In this time of year for making plans, for adopting methods, for choosing materials, how can we leave behind the question of what's "best?" Let’s ask instead: What do I want to accomplish—this year and beyond? Where are my learners now? How do they feel about that? What skills will they need? What will get in their way? What’s available that can help? How can I be more prepared with a variety of tools they can try?
Because for Hebrew learning, as in gardening, the "best" way isn't just one way.
