The Power of “Yet”: Why No Child Is a Finished Product
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The memory will last forever. Eight hundred students of the Hebrew Academy of Long Beach (HALB) elementary school on New York’s Long Island gathered in the gym on the last Monday of the school year to surprise me with an adorable song they had created in my honor. The love they showered upon me was hard to fathom. Looking back, I often wonder what, in my nine years at HALB, had led to such a moment.
Perhaps a clue could be found in one of the verses of the song they sang: “Students come to see you anytime you’re free, Wednesday bentching, Laffy Taffy just for me!”
Was it just the Laffy Taffy I handed out as a reward? Or was it something deeper—about a school culture where even the youngest children felt noticed and welcome? (Though I imagine the candy didn’t hurt.)
I spent my time disciplining students, as any principal must. I set rules for teachers and curriculum standards that needed to be met. There were plenty of days when students—and parents—were unhappy with me. Yet even months after my retirement, when I see children in New York’s Five Towns, where I live, they often run up to hug me or give me a high five. As one parent wrote to me: “Thank you for believing in my son and not giving up.” That line meant more to me than any formal praise.
This mindset guided my nearly-four-decade career in education. I was fortunate to learn from two giants of chinuch: Rabbi David Eliach, z”l, and yibadel lechaim aruchim, Rabbi Yaakov Bender, shlita. Brooklyn’s Yeshivah of Flatbush High School, which I joined in 1984, had a culture of high academic performance shaped by Rabbi Eliach’s dedication to helping every student strive for excellence. When I shared success with my students, Rabbi Eliach encouraged me to reach higher. “They can do it if you expect it of them,” he would say. Kids rise—or fall—to expectations.
In 1988, I moved to Yeshiva Darchei Torah in Far Rockaway as a young general studies principal. There, I had the zechut of working for Rabbi Bender, who believes that all children can succeed when given the right environment and support. I recall a sixth-grade student who arrived from a Chassidic yeshivah with minimal preparation in reading and math. I asked Rabbi Bender how to integrate him among peers years ahead. His answer: “You’ll figure it out.” That was all he said—and that was the point. With support from the Gruss Foundation–sponsored computer labs and one-on-one resource help, the student reached grade level within two years. Today he is a successful nursing home administrator.
Another story: A boy arrived at our school diagnosed with dyslexia and was unable to read until the third grade. Recognizing his mathematical gifts, we allowed him to take Advanced Placement (AP) Computer Science by ninth grade—a bold decision that raised eyebrows but paid off when he scored a perfect 5. Later, he gained the confidence to tackle AP European History, a course requiring extensive reading skills that had once seemed impossible for him. He passed that exam as well. Today he holds a PhD from Yale University and develops computer models for theoretical physics.
Communicating Motivation: The Art of Leadership
I gravitated toward research on motivation theory because it helped put words to what I had already seen work with students, day in and day out. Carol Dweck’s mindset theory taught me the importance of the word “yet”—that a child who hasn’t succeeded yet still can. I’m also a fan of Angela Duckworth. Her research showed that success isn’t driven by IQ alone, but by grit—the ability to persevere through challenges. The question was: How does one develop grit? My answer: Parents, teachers and rebbeim must communicate belief in a child. When a child knows you believe in them, you help build resilience—and grit follows.
Don’t confuse accommodation with limitation. I need glasses to drive, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t learn how to drive.
I recall a student who struggled greatly in school despite multiple interventions. Though our team exhausted every tool we had, we recognized that he needed a different environment to flourish. When we helped transition him to a school better suited to his needs, I made sure he knew something crucial: I believed he had the capacity to succeed—we simply hadn’t found the right key yet. Years later, he called to share his success in his new school, and when he asked me to donate to that school, I knew he had found his place. That taught me that while I may not have the solution for every child, I must believe the solution exists.
I applied these ideas at Yeshivat Shaare Torah Boys High School in Brooklyn, where I served as principal from 2011 to 2016. My staff and I helped students understand that their abilities were not fixed and that setbacks were simply part of the process. One case stands out: A senior was devastated after failing the English Language Arts Regents Exam because that failure meant he couldn’t participate in his planned gap-year learning in yeshivah in Israel. I showed him Angela Duckworth’s TED Talk on grit, and we spoke about what it means to keep going when things don’t work out the first time. I told him what I genuinely believed: that he could pass, though it would take real effort.
He passed with a 75, which opened the door to his Israel experience. Years later, when I met Duckworth at a conference, she was so moved by the story that she sent him a signed copy of her book. These moments confirm what Chazal teach: that anyone who withholds teaching from a child is as if they stole from him. Low expectations are a form of loss. Every child should be pushed to learn as much as he or she can.
Children with learning differences can be just as successful in a school setting as their peers. It’s not about lowering expectations; it’s about changing how a child accesses the material. If a child is a visual learner, present it visually. If a child needs questions laid out differently, then lay them out differently. But don’t confuse accommodation with limitation. I need glasses to drive, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t learn how to drive. Everyone can learn the material; they may just need different lenses.
A Full Circle Journey
In 2016, I became the principal of HALB, an institution I had attended as a child. As a student there, HALB not only helped me grow into a frum Jew but helped my entire family grow in frumkeit as well. I have unbelievable hakarat hatov to the school. My work there was a labor of love, and my goal was to create programming that would help all learners succeed, including those with differing abilities. A. was one such child. He was a non-reader in early grades, struggling with both English and Hebrew reading. Instead of pulling him out of his class for remedial services, we created a program so that there are two teachers in the classroom—one with expertise in special education who can work more closely with kids like A. Slowly but surely over time, he developed the skillsto read and ended up graduating with an A average in middle school.But ultimately, A. learned how to overcome his disability because we taught him how to believe in himself.
Timeless Truths
I left HALB after nine meaningful years. On that final Monday, when all 800 children gathered to sing, I shared the most important lesson I had learned: “I believe in you—and if you believe in yourself, you can achieve anything you set your mind to.”
I have spent almost forty years in chinuch, teaching children who grow up to be remarkable adults. There’s no greater honor than that. As I have often said, some people make money; I try to help make people.
Richard Altabe is currently serving as the chief education officer at the JIEM Education Initiative Foundation, working as a consultant to various yeshivahs across the US. Mr. Altabe also currently serves on the Blue Ribbon Commission of the New York State Education Department, working on graduation standards for all students in the State of New York.