Abstract

entered the familiar classroom, and the door closed softly behind me. Sunlight streamed through the windows. At the front of the room, my battered oak lectern beckoned. approached it and set a thick, pink candle on top. The bell rang, followed by a cacophony of voices. Here goes, thought. The door burst open and in blasted my class: a girl with mirrored orb earrings swaying; a boy with a crop of brilliant red hair; then a swirling tangle of bodies, banging backpacks down, flinging themselves into seats, and eying me up and down. Hi, everyone, said, smiling. Welcome to high school. I'm Ms. and this-I pointedis my briskly struck a match and lit the candle. The delicate scent of peaches wafted through the air. continued: I light my candle each time welcome new students. do it to remind us of why we're here. You see, during this year, plan to teach you everything can about writing, and hope that in the future, you will write to make a difference in the world and promote a greater peace. hope that you will take my tiny flame, add it to your own, and use it to light the flames of others. No offense, Ms. Roberts, said one student, but who'll want to hear what we say? We're just teenagers, from a tiny Jewish school, and we have a history, you know. What a strange remark, thought. But it seemed complicated, and pretended not to hear. Several weeks later, on a Friday, one of our classes was about to end.

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