Shame on me: When humiliation was routine

‘Not so long ago, humiliation was a standard disciplinary tactic. I remember those incidents clearly’

Janet Silver, age 9, with her father, Robert Martin Silver, at a summer rental in Fairfield, Conn.

by Janet Silver Ghent May 9, 2025

J. The Jewish News of Northern California

When I was in kindergarten, I ate an apple on the school bus and tossed the core into the street in front of P.S. 13. The principal, who in my 5-year-old eyes loomed 10 feet above me, made me pick it up. Then she boomed out, “The girl with the apple core!” And she directed me to a garbage can. 

Not so long ago, humiliation was a routine disciplinary tactic. In fourth grade, I asked a boy who sat next to me why he wore the same checked pants every day. He raised his hand, telling the teacher what I had said. 

Our teacher angrily chastised me in front of the whole class, telling me that his attire was none of my business. Then she changed my seat to another table. The boy and his friends applauded.

Was I in the wrong? Certainly. But our teacher’s transgression was worse because she humiliated me in front of the class. Even at age 82, I tear up at the memory. 

Classroom humiliation did not dissipate as I grew older. Mrs. Smith, my sixth-grade teacher, was notorious. She lashed out with scathing tirades in a high-pitched voice that often reduced children to tears in front of the class. I recall one rant in particular.

“Dear little brother Alexander, wasting his time again. You’re going to get along fine in junior high,” the teacher said, dripping sarcasm. “Just remember, young man, it’s your funeral. I get my check at the end of the month just the same.”

Alexander went on to become a successful Long Island businessman. At our 50th high school reunion, he let me know that he still remembered Mrs. Smith’s rants and that his school years after sixth grade were considerably less harrowing.

I never saw anyone wear a dunce cap. However, the command to “stand in the corner” had a similar effect. During the Cold War, my social studies teacher took a more sophisticated approach. She would tell an impertinent kid to “go to Siberia,” which happened to be an area at the back of the classroom. My friends who attended Catholic schools report even worse experiences, including corporal punishment.

In the song “Sabbath Prayer” in “Fiddler on the Roof,” the Jews of Anatevka call upon God to “shield you from shame.” That’s because shaming or causing embarrassment is viewed as tantamount to a killing in Jewish tradition.

The principle of never causing shame is derived from Leviticus 19:17: “‘You shall certainly rebuke your neighbor, and don’t bear sin because of him.’ Even when we rebuke a fellow for a sin he has done, which itself is a Torah command, we must be careful not to embarrass the individual — lest we ‘bear sin because of him,’” according to an interpretation on Chabad’s website.

Rabbi Rachel Barenblat, aka the Velveteen Rabbi, writes: “Someone who embarrasses another person in public causes their face to turn paler (… hilbin et panav) as the blood drains away. When you shame someone, the Talmud says, it’s tantamount to wounding them and shedding their blood.”

A few years ago, I attended a Shabbat dinner at the Palo Alto home of Chabad Rabbi Yosef Levin. After the meal, a young woman who was a guest began singing alone. In most Orthodox homes, it is not the custom for women to sing in mixed company among non-relatives. 

The rabbi refrained from reproving the woman in front of others, but later he turned to me and simply said, “She doesn’t know.” Her misstep was innocent. But for him to embarrass her would be a serious transgression on his part.

I grew up in a home in which humiliation was not off limits. I wasn’t much of a dancer, and my parents would occasionally ask me to perform the military tap, to the tune of “Dixie,” in front of their friends. It took me a while to realize they were making fun of me. It has also taken me awhile to recognize that my own behavior is not above reproach. 

Years ago, when I was a fashion editor, I wrote a column describing my former husband’s unusual sartorial combinations. Was he upset? Of course. Did I learn a lesson? I’m still learning.

In my present marriage of 25 years, my husband has told me more than once not to make comments in front of others about matters that would embarrass him. Fortunately, he has the grace to reprove me in private.

Janet Silver Ghent, retired senior editor at J. The Jewish News of Northern California, is the author of Love Atop a Keyboard: A Memoir of Late-Life Love (Mascot Books).