I grew up in a small community where everyone helped out. Post-confirmands taught grades kindergarten through third on Sunday morning along, with parent volunteer teachers for the upper grades. Professional staff taught Hebrew school and confirmation classes.
Three of us team-taught kindergarten one year. The class met in the gym-social hall in the basement, right under the meeting room on the first floor.
The lesson for the week was Joshua at the city of Jericho. Five of the students stood in the middle as “Jericho.” The rest of us marched around them, in step, seven times. Then we all blew our pretend shofars and the “city” of students fell down. At the same time, we all heard a terrible crash from above us and wondered what the men’s club could possibly be doing in the room above us.
A few minutes later, the rabbi came storming down to our class demanding to know what we were doing. We explained the re-enactment of the destruction of Jericho, including the fact that we had marched around seven times in perfect cadence.
“Well,” said the rabbi, “it worked.” It seems that our little kindergartners set up such a vibration that every folded chair leaning against the wall in the upstairs meeting room had fallen down at the same moment our “city” did.
Physics aside, I have always considered this my own personal miracle from God.