On a cold rainy Wednesday morning in December, I went to the Israel Museum (IMJ) with my class from Pardes. We were, by far, the oldest organized group in the museum. Everywhere we went, we crossed paths with groups of children, brought by their schools.
I knew that schools take advantage of the resources of the museum to teach students about history, art, archeology, and religion. When I have taken my grandchildren there, they often express interest in seeing specific things. Last winter on a visit to IMJ with then nine year old Yocheved, she led me to the theater in the Shrine of the Book. She wanted me to see the movie about the time traveling girl. She had seen it when she was there with her class earlier in the year. Then we went into the large white-domed part of that complex to see the documents themselves. As is her practice with any exhibit, she raced through it, allowing me to time to read maybe a quarter of each explanatory sign under the vitrines. Yocheved told me that her school would bring her to the Israel Museum four times that year, and four more times when she was to sixth grade.
When my grandsons were eight-and ten-years old, I took them to climb a
special exhibit. “Bambu” was a construction of bamboo sticks that looked like a forty foot high nest built by a very large messy bird interested in architecture. We had arrived early and instead of just sitting around waiting for our turn, Yakov asked to go see the synagogues which have been brought to the museum from other countries. Not only did Yaakov know what he wanted to see, he led the way to the exhibit.
So I wasn’t surprised to see groups of schoolchildren in the museum. I was surprised to see the number and variety of groups. In the lobby, a group of preteen Arab girls, dressed in navy jumpers and white blouses, dark slacks modestly covering their legs, was supervised by teachers wearing hijabs. Quartets of teen aged boys raced to complete their worksheets about specific exhibits in the area of Roman antiquities. A corner of the room displaying portions of Byzantine churches and mosaics was occupied by ten or twelve year olds sitting on the floor in a large circle, listening to an explanation of the history of the period. As we walked through a hall that displayed clothes associated with birth, marriage, death, and other life events, we tried to avoid being run over by six or seven year olds being hurried through the room by the teachers.
Leaving the museum, we huddled in the semi-protected walkway waiting for our bus. We were passed by a seemingly endless procession of young children from an Arab school, rushing through the rain from their buses.
It’s wonderful to see all the children. They will grow up understanding the depth of history in this land. They will appreciate the diversity of cultures in this country, the archeological evidence left behind, and the variety of experiences that can be expressed through the arts.