Sociological perspective on teaching in Israel: social immersion or an avalanche of cultural shocks?

This blog post was written by Shannon Zietoun, a 2025/26 Yahel Social Change Fellow in Rishon LeZion.

I think you, readers, could call me Rothschild if I had been given 10 shekels every time I’m asked: “But Shannon, what are you doing here?”

First of all, what does “here” mean? Israel as a territory, promised land, holy place, risk zone? I will simply mention here the new neighborhood where I have the chance to live: Ramat Eliyahu, in Rishon LeZion.

For nearly nine years now, anthropology and sociology have made their way into my life: teaching me to take a sharp look at societies, to deconstruct certain beliefs, and above all to never take anything for granted. That is indeed what sociology is: learning to read the world, with all its difficulties, flaws, and mysteries.

I now navigate, as a 29-year-old French woman of Moroccan, Tunisian, and Algerian origins (yes, that’s a lot for one person), in an environment that I find fascinating, since my arrival in the Yahel program in September 2025.

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I am a teacher of anthropology and sociology, as well as French, English, and Spanish. Teaching is my passion, my inner fire, my destiny. But what becomes of this mission when it must be built around religious questions, cultural differences, and language barriers? Every sociologist knows that ethnocentrism (using the norms and values of one’s own culture as a dominant and exclusive model) is a plague —a great misfortune.

So I switched my brain to “off” mode. I took things as they were rather than as they should be. And above all, I observed, I listened. Which teachers come to talk to me? What are the social dynamics? What is the relationship between teachers and students with hierarchy? Who maintains order in chaos? I thought I had come to improve my teaching skills. I realized, from the very first week, that I was mainly interested in one question: will everything I love about teaching collapse in such difficult environments? I have always wondered whether people are defined by places or whether places define people.

I will spare you an unnecessary comparison between the French education system and the Israeli one, but it must be said that, according to my observations, relationships between teachers and students are drastically different. I initially stepped back to understand the environment I had landed in. It is an understatement to say that the fact that I am French went unnoticed. It has even become my daily life to juggle between questions, clarifications of stereotypes, perceptions of my language, and negative ideas about Paris following the tragic events of October 7th.

I am therefore as much a teacher as I am the presumed sister of Emily in Paris, a language laboratory, and an exotic woman. And I have learned to appreciate this unique position. Some of my days are literally experiments in cultural shock.

I am the only French person among the fellows in my program. I am the only one who doesn’t speak English in my home country, and I have never had a single Hebrew class in my life. I am the only European in the places where I volunteer and I live in a neighborhood composed mainly of Ethiopians and Russians…

My volunteer work can be understood as what sociologist Yvan Gastaut describes as a “space of encounter, sometimes community-based, but often intercultural.” This is particularly visible through the example of Avnei HaChoshen middle school.

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This school is very challenging: students have great difficulty concentrating, do not like school, have a complicated relationship with learning, are very attached to screens, and display behavioral disorders.

Yet over time, I have observed, almost surprisingly, the silence and discipline that prevailed when I was there. I think this place has enhanced my conception of teaching, which was already wrapped in deep love. Forgive the lack of depth here, but being myself works in any context. I place great importance on honesty and authenticity, and I cannot count how many times I have felt deeply seen for who I am in this experience. Here, the content of lessons matters less than the connection with students. A teacher at the school, whom I am particularly fond of, once told me: “We see no difference with you, you are one of us.” What these teachers and students do not know is that it was not I who helped them — it was they who carried me. When the days grow long and the lack of reference points is felt, my students are there. To smile at me, talk to me, compliment me, laugh with me.

I have rarely practiced a profession as close to the human experience as that of teaching, because it often goes far beyond the simple transmission of knowledge. Often, it is doubts that my students confide in me, advice they ask for, fragments of secrets they offer me. Their trust is a treasure that I will never forget and will never take for granted.

I will never stop defending youth, as complex as it may be. As Chateaubriand said: “Ensure that beauty remains, that youth endures, that the heart never tires, and you will recreate heaven.”

I wish them dreams — sociological ones, of course — as vast as the sky.

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