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I sit down with one of my students, for what turned into a reflection on the last chapter of my time at this school. She talks about how important it was for students to have someone who could bridge the gap between them and their teachers—someone who spoke up for “the party that wasn’t there.” Explaining the teachers’ perspective to frustrated students made a real difference. I was genuinely shocked when she told me, “I know for me personally, if we didn't have some of the conversations we had, I would still not like a ton of the teachers I have.”
I wish I hadn’t needed the reassurance, but the bullying and ostracization from some of my colleagues—and their insistence that teachers thought I was a "joke"—got to me.
My student’s words reminded me why the values I held onto as an educator—the importance of empathy, the necessity of real communication, and speaking up for those who aren’t present—were worth it, even if it meant losing my position.
In July 2024, Taniya, a member of the class of 2021, reflected on her experiences during the pandemic and how they shaped her journey.
Taniya shared the isolation and frustration of learning from home, the importance of getting therapy, and the need for more ethics training in both education and work. She also discussed the lack of accountability in education, both during and after that time. Now, as she builds her cybersecurity business and continues her education, we reflected on the long-term effects of those years and the urgent changes still needed in education today.
This episode is a reminder that the pandemic’s impact on students didn’t end when schools reopened. I also hope it gives you insight into how incredible my students are and why they were, and still are, worth fighting for.
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In this Google Meet, recorded in June 2021 after more than a year of virtual learning, we discuss the systemic failures that virtual schooling exposed and the ongoing communication breakdowns between students, teachers, and administration. The conversation sheds light on the emotional toll, the inequities in the system, and the persistent denial of institutional accountability.
Although these students’ voices—like those in November 2020—were ignored then, they now serve as invaluable primary sources that challenge the narrative of education during the pandemic. As the school system attempted to return to “normal,” students shared their frustrations with being forced to navigate an experiment that left many of them struggling.
My advocacy for students—based on the very principles my school had taught me—ultimately led to me being labeled a pariah and painfully treated as one. But we need to protect students, and we need to protect integrity.
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By February 2021, students weren’t just burned out—they were exhausted, mentally and emotionally. They needed relationships, support, and understanding. That is not what they received.
The plans to return to school didn’t offer much hope either. The regulations meant to keep them “safe” would actually prevent them from learning if they returned to buildings. Students would be sitting in classrooms, isolated and still glued to their computers. Nothing meaningful would change. But the system kept moving forward, pretending everything was fine, while many of our students were struggling just to keep going.
We need to stop denying how poorly our education system treated students during the pandemic. And we need to stop ostracizing and gaslighting the educators who care enough to speak up.
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By February 2021, my students discuss how mentally and emotionally drained they were. One incredibly talented and caring student described how all her friends were failing, and how the school’s response only made things worse. Another shared how the endless assignments, the lack of social connection, and the constant grind were just sucking the life out of him.
And that’s when I broke down. I remember how terrible I felt, crying in front of my students for the first time, wondering if it was the “wrong” reaction. But I couldn’t hold it together anymore. I couldn’t understand why we were doing this to them. Why weren’t we listening? Why couldn’t we fix this?
I just wanted someone to take responsibility for the mess we created—admit that we were wrong, and that these kids didn’t fail, we failed them.
This is about more than just virtual school—it’s about reaching the breaking point. It’s about being ok with showing vulnerability. It’s about admitting we got it wrong and demanding accountability. It’s about the adults in our school systems demonstrating what it means to be an adult.
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My student Emoni was struggling with her mental health, and it was clear: the response from the adults in the school—the ones who were supposed to care—was only making it worse.
I told her the truth—this wasn’t about taking the easy way out by transferring. The system was broken, and we had failed to give her the support she needed. These conversations were becoming more than just feedback; they were turning into a record of the emotional and psychological toll the pandemic had on students.
We need to stop pretending that virtual learning was just “hard.” It was harmful. And if we don’t start listening to students now, we’re going to keep failing them.
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By January 2021, the plan to send freshmen and seniors back to school wasn’t giving my students any real hope. One of my students summed it up perfectly: “It’s like someone’s dying of thirst and you hand them a cup of salt water because you’re like, well, it’s water.” Students would be sitting in classrooms with peers who weren’t even in their classes, still stuck on Zoom, but now with masks on. What was the point?
What students needed were relationships and support, not just a different location to continue struggling. My student suggested the plan was just a way for schools to say they offered something—only to then further blame students when they didn’t show up.
Students saw through the empty promises of “returning to normal” when nothing meaningful was actually changing. With so-called “health” measures in place, this wasn’t a good faith effort to return students to in-person learning. Like much of pandemic schooling, it left students with a well-earned distrust of our educational institutions.
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In this conversation from December 2020, my student talks about the mental toll virtual learning took on her and her friends. The lack of social interaction, the pressure to keep up, and the unrealistic expectations had worn them down. They weren’t learning, and they had lost their motivation.
I agreed. We were asking too much from students in a system that couldn’t deliver. My student’s honesty reveals a mental health crisis that was unfolding in real time.
This isn’t just about virtual school—it’s about what we were allowed to put public school children and teenagers through, against all research, logic, common sense, or basic human decency.
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In November 2020, during virtual school, I noticed that my once thriving students were struggling, so we started recording our experiences. I wasn’t trying to criticize anyone; I just wanted to figure out what wasn’t working and fix it. I believed that we could make things better.
These conversations didn’t lead to the change I wanted at the time. My hope is that, while their voices were ignored then, these recordings can now serve as a resource for other students, families, and policymakers as they adopt new strategies for education. It’s time we stop pretending these failures were inevitable. Let’s listen to their voices, and start asking why their concerns were dismissed—and how that dismissal is still affecting schools today.
This is also part of my own healing process. Sharing this story helps me work through the disillusionment and pain of being misunderstood, part of my journey to recover from the institutional abuse I endured for what I thought would be welcome student advocacy and the PTSD it caused. It also shows who I am as an educator, and I hope that through sharing this, I can find a place that values the talents and principles I bring to the table.
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There’s a lot of talk about chronic absenteeism in schools and an equally troubling narrative around students who haven’t found success. Too often, the conversation narrows to just two options: lower the standards or let them fail. I strongly disagree with either of these options.
Before sharing my own thoughts, I revisited my archives to hear what my students had to say.
In Judaism, there is an obligation to “judge everyone favorably.” After listening to student recordings, I realized that one of the guiding principles in my practice is Unconditional Positive Regard—the idea that students should be accepted without judgment, which allows them to engage deeply in their learning. Ethan’s experience with his extended essay is a perfect example of this.
When he visited the library three years after graduation, he reflected on his hesitation to push beyond his comfort zone due to a fear of failure. In many of his classes, the focus had been on what he hadn’t done, which only reinforced his apprehension. However, the environment I created was different. It wasn’t about past shortcomings; it was about offering time, space, and support without judgment. This allowed Ethan to explore his potential, take risks, and ultimately enjoy the process.
As Ethan put it:"In most of my classes, it felt like the focus was on what I didn’t do, and that only made me more anxious. But in the library, it wasn’t like that. It felt safe. I could work at my own pace without worrying about being judged, and in the end, I not only finished my essay, but I actually enjoyed the process."
Ethan’s story highlights the power of Unconditional Positive Regard and the importance of judging students favorably. When educators move from being judges of past work to allies in students’ present and future success, we create the conditions for real learning and growth. This isn’t just theory—it’s a practice that can transform how students experience their education.
I want my students to develop both the skill set and the mindset to thrive in college and beyond, regardless of their prior learning experiences. When we embrace approaches like Unconditional Positive Regard, we set them up not only for academic success but for life—and give them a reason to want to come to school.
However, after virtual learning ended, the environment in which I thrived was no longer welcome. I was told that before I could even listen to students, I had to make sure they had always done every single thing right in every class. My focus on creating safe, non-judgmental spaces for learning was dismissed, replaced by an expectation of perfection from students before they could be heard. This shift goes against everything I believe about fostering student success. Instead of helping students move forward, this mindset pressures them into silence and fear.
But I won’t stop advocating for a better way—a way where students are met with understanding, support, and the belief that their current efforts, not just their past, are what matter most.
Anyone need a librarian or writing coach?
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