Rafael Maarek was an English 
Teaching Assistant at Vysoké Mýto in 2019/2020. A recent graduate of Biomedical Engineering with a passion for STEM, Rafael was placed at Civic Engineering High School and Integrated Technical High School in Vysoké Mýto. With little teaching experience, Rafael started to teach about 400 mostly male teenagers with the support of his Czech colleagues. Besides teaching English language, in the afternoons, Rafael hosted technical clubs, which focused on programming and electronic design, where his students had the opportunity to practice English conversation while working on an engineering project of their interest. Together with one of his students, Rafael built a calculator from scratch! He also tutored a number of students who required extra help one-on-one, and in his free time, he explored the broader culture of engineering in the Czech Republic. After his Fulbright experience, which was cut three months short due to the pandemic, Rafael returned back to the U.S. and successfully used his newly gained skills to apply to the prestigious Yale School of Medicine. In this blog post, Rafael shares a couple of memories of his time in the Czech Republic to "shine a light on the challenges that ETAs face and the personal growth that's possible while on a Fulbright grant."
In early April 2020, while quarantining in my childhood home following my abrupt departure from the Czech Republic, I began to tackle the next stage in my academic career: the medical school application process. Day after day, I worked through essay prompts gauging personal qualities such as resilience, empathy, and cultural competence – the “essential qualities” of the 21st century physician. I tackled questions like, “Tell us about an encounter you've had with another culture,” “Tell us about a challenge that you have faced,” and “Tell us about a time when you failed.” Thankfully, I had answers to these prompts. Teaching abroad had left me with a multitude of memories to choose from, and to complete the essays I turned back time to the defining moments of my time in the Czech Republic. I considered how I had responded to novel situations and what lessons I could bring back home with me. I finally (despite struggling with an incurable case of writer’s block) put my memories to paper. As the first wave of the pandemic raged across the United States, my days were sweetened by these memories: some good, some not so good, but all uniquely Fulbright.
These memories are what I have to share with you today. They are arranged roughly in chronological order, and when presented together they tell a greater story of adapting to a new culture and way of life. Each memory is prefaced by a phrase hinting at the prompt that inspired me to write it down. Note that the names presented have been changed to preserve the anonymity of my students. I am beyond grateful to Kristýna for the opportunity to share these stories with you today, and I hope that by providing glimpses of my time abroad I can shine a light on the challenges that ETAs face and the personal growth that's possible while on a Fulbright grant.
Rafael with his students during an afternoon Technical Club, November 2019. (Rafael and three students work together on a laptop in a classroom, a paper box with electronic components on the table.)
On adapting to a new environment
"Startups. Startup companies. It's the same word in Czech." My statement was met with blank stares and general confusion. This was turning into a pattern. I had begun my Fulbright grant with the goal of inspiring Czech high school students to innovate. It was my first week, and I was pitching my idea for a club where students could practice English-language business presentations by presenting on Czech startups. But no class of students had ever heard of a startup before. My grand plans were fading before they even started.
As a recent engineering graduate, I was used to hearing words such as prototypes and pitches on a daily basis. Since I was teaching at engineering high schools, I had expected my students to recognize the startup language. I had expected them to be similarly excited about innovative companies and technologies. Yet the concept of a “startup,” even when translated to Czech, suddenly had no meaning in Vysoké Mýto. Through a humbling revelation, I realized that my understanding of innovation was a privilege that did not translate to the reality of the town. To succeed in my Fulbright mission, I would need to be a student of my community as well.
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On racism
I had heard about the Romani people before moving to the Czech Republic, but I will admit to having been naïve to the systemic discrimination they face. Thus, my first few weeks presented an uncomfortable thought experiment into the nature of race. When I first arrived, I would never have classified the Romani people as different than their neighbors. I only saw multiple shades of “Czech.” Yet after weeks of being surrounded by this socially constructed classification, I too had to classify. I could not ignore the fact that most Romani children were taking vocational, rather than college preparatory classes. I understood that for the few Romani children I taught, I may need to work harder to integrate them in classroom activities since many of their peers saw them as different.
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Rafael teaches English language, October 2019. (Rafael stands in front of a classroom with notes in his hands, eight students watch Rafael's presentation.)
On teaching
“My parents are … wait a minute, please.” Štěpán pulled out his phone and opened a translator application, clicking furiously. “Not together?” he ventured. I understood. Working with Štěpán was always a guessing game. He came to me early in the year looking for additional help, and our first few conversations were challenging. I quickly learned that I needed to speak slower, to always enunciate, and often to repeat myself with simpler vocabulary. We struggled together, and over time his confidence grew.
-
On being the “other”
I attended a school field trip to the memorial at Lidice, a Czech village exterminated by the Nazis. It was a harrowing experience, akin to my prior visits to Holocaust museums in Los Angeles and Jerusalem. Our tour guide used Lidice to symbolize overall Czech suffering under Nazi oppression. I empathized with their tragedy, yet as a Jew, I felt an underlying alienation. 340 villagers perished in Lidice, whereas thirty miles away 35,000 Czech Jews perished in Terezín and nearly 90,000 were deported to Auschwitz. My colleagues taught our students that Lidice represented the Nazi crime against the Czech people, thereby ignoring the Czech Jews who had thrived in Bohemia for centuries. While we shared a victimization, our understanding of history differed by our upbringings. I was the “other” in that I perceived their tragedy in the context of the Jewish tragedy.
When you view history through someone else's perspective, you realize how malleable it is, and how much it is shaped by its writers.
-
On failure
I once ran a warm-up activity with my students focusing on jobs. I asked them to describe the jobs of their parents using adjectives such as “stressful” and “rewarding.” After a few minutes I reached Jan, a quiet, bespectacled boy who muttered that his mother was a shop assistant in the local mall. “Cool,” I replied, “and what about your dad?” He stared back, unsmiling. I asked again, substituting “father” for “dad,” and then again more slowly, until I noticed Jan was on the verge of tears. His partner lifted his head and quietly told me that Jan did not have a father. I froze, stunned by my oversight. After the longest moment I whispered, “I’m sorry” and moved on. I managed to maintain my composure throughout the rest of the lesson, but I was burning inside. How could I have been so insensitive?
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Rafael explores Czech culture and history at "Veselý kopec" (in English "happy hill"). National Open Air Museum in Rožnov pod Radhoštěm. (Rafael poses in front of an old wooden log house. )
On inclusivity
Skip Milan? Surprised, I paused for a second to look at my co-teacher, who smiled back warmly as if such action were routine. I had assigned the Halloween skit to all the students and preferred that they all perform. But I was still in my first week of teaching this particular English class, and she knew them much better, so I assented. After class, she explained that Milan struggled with speaking in class and his classmates were not usually willing to wait for him. But it was clear to me that he loved English. He spent snack breaks reading a little brown notebook filled with English vocabulary, occasionally adding words he had heard in class. And I could tell that he wanted to speak.
If Milan wanted to speak, he deserved the opportunity to speak.
-
On giving
I lived in a small apartment across from a middle-aged man and his two sons. One day, he knocked on my door and presented me with a squash from his garden. “For you,” he whispered in Czech. I took the squash – how could I refuse – and thanked him before returning inside. A few weeks later he knocked again with a basket of carrots, and then again with onions. His gifts were not unwelcome, but over time they made me increasingly uncomfortable. I didn’t garden, or bake, or cook in any extravagant way. I did not want to keep taking without giving, but how could I repay him? I offered to tutor his children, but he shook his head. Nothing was expected in return, and all I could do was be grateful.
What I eventually realized is that if you change the perspective of what giving is, if you give with time and smiles and words of friendship, then you always have something to give.
I invited my neighbor over for tea – nothing fancy – and he brought over a photo album he had made after a trip to Thailand thirty years earlier. He spent a couple hours babbling in Czech about sites he had visited and the people he had met, with me just listening and smiling as he recounted these memories. I did not matter than I did not understand much of what he was saying. By spending time with him, I gave him a memorable evening for seemingly nothing.
-
On disappointment
When I was invited to give a guest lecture in Prague, I was told to expect a very large audience and prepared accordingly. After spending over a month reading research articles, designing slides, and rehearsing, I was definitely disappointed when only a few graduate students and professors attended. In some ways I felt that my efforts deserved a bigger, more memorable event. However, I realized that the small size of the audience diminished neither my preparation nor my impact on those present. I was ultimately grateful for the opportunity to present my research abroad.
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Rafael together with his colleagues from Vysoké Mýto high schools during a reception for Fulbright grantees organized by the U.S. Embassy in Prague, September 2019. (Rafael and four other people, dressed formally, with wine glasses in their hands, pose together for a group picture.)
On cultural relativism
I once handed back a graded exam to my students face down to respect their privacy. Without warning, my Czech co-teacher walked around the classroom and read each score out loud, unabashedly revealing those who had failed. As an American outsider, how should I respond?
Some would argue that the obligation to speak up in the face of perceived wrongdoing holds even when abroad. I tend to disagree. Differences in norms are affected by differences in cultural values, and as a foreigner, who am I to impose my values onto others? I learned that Czech students did not expect their grades to be private, and most did not expect their teachers to be kind to their weaker peers. I felt the responsibility to remain true to my values, and the added responsibility as an American ambassador to defend American values, particularly that of inclusive education. But as a foreigner, I also had the responsibility to respect their norms and remain non-judgmental. Sometimes righteousness in one context equates to ethnocentrism in another.
-
Rafael: School Ski Course, February 2020. (Rafael poses for a group picture with two of his colleagues. Everyone in ski clothing with ski boots on.)
These memories are what I have to share with you today. They are arranged roughly in chronological order, and when presented together they tell a greater story of adapting to a new culture and way of life. Each memory is prefaced by a phrase hinting at the prompt that inspired me to write it down. Note that the names presented have been changed to preserve the anonymity of my students. I am beyond grateful to Kristýna for the opportunity to share these stories with you today, and I hope that by providing glimpses of my time abroad I can shine a light on the challenges that ETAs face and the personal growth that's possible while on a Fulbright grant.
On adapting to a new environment
"Startups. Startup companies. It's the same word in Czech." My statement was met with blank stares and general confusion. This was turning into a pattern. I had begun my Fulbright grant with the goal of inspiring Czech high school students to innovate. It was my first week, and I was pitching my idea for a club where students could practice English-language business presentations by presenting on Czech startups. But no class of students had ever heard of a startup before. My grand plans were fading before they even started.
As a recent engineering graduate, I was used to hearing words such as prototypes and pitches on a daily basis. Since I was teaching at engineering high schools, I had expected my students to recognize the startup language. I had expected them to be similarly excited about innovative companies and technologies. Yet the concept of a “startup,” even when translated to Czech, suddenly had no meaning in Vysoké Mýto. Through a humbling revelation, I realized that my understanding of innovation was a privilege that did not translate to the reality of the town. To succeed in my Fulbright mission, I would need to be a student of my community as well.
-
On racism
I had heard about the Romani people before moving to the Czech Republic, but I will admit to having been naïve to the systemic discrimination they face. Thus, my first few weeks presented an uncomfortable thought experiment into the nature of race. When I first arrived, I would never have classified the Romani people as different than their neighbors. I only saw multiple shades of “Czech.” Yet after weeks of being surrounded by this socially constructed classification, I too had to classify. I could not ignore the fact that most Romani children were taking vocational, rather than college preparatory classes. I understood that for the few Romani children I taught, I may need to work harder to integrate them in classroom activities since many of their peers saw them as different.
-
On teaching
“My parents are … wait a minute, please.” Štěpán pulled out his phone and opened a translator application, clicking furiously. “Not together?” he ventured. I understood. Working with Štěpán was always a guessing game. He came to me early in the year looking for additional help, and our first few conversations were challenging. I quickly learned that I needed to speak slower, to always enunciate, and often to repeat myself with simpler vocabulary. We struggled together, and over time his confidence grew.
-
On being the “other”
I attended a school field trip to the memorial at Lidice, a Czech village exterminated by the Nazis. It was a harrowing experience, akin to my prior visits to Holocaust museums in Los Angeles and Jerusalem. Our tour guide used Lidice to symbolize overall Czech suffering under Nazi oppression. I empathized with their tragedy, yet as a Jew, I felt an underlying alienation. 340 villagers perished in Lidice, whereas thirty miles away 35,000 Czech Jews perished in Terezín and nearly 90,000 were deported to Auschwitz. My colleagues taught our students that Lidice represented the Nazi crime against the Czech people, thereby ignoring the Czech Jews who had thrived in Bohemia for centuries. While we shared a victimization, our understanding of history differed by our upbringings. I was the “other” in that I perceived their tragedy in the context of the Jewish tragedy.
When you view history through someone else's perspective, you realize how malleable it is, and how much it is shaped by its writers.
-
On failure
I once ran a warm-up activity with my students focusing on jobs. I asked them to describe the jobs of their parents using adjectives such as “stressful” and “rewarding.” After a few minutes I reached Jan, a quiet, bespectacled boy who muttered that his mother was a shop assistant in the local mall. “Cool,” I replied, “and what about your dad?” He stared back, unsmiling. I asked again, substituting “father” for “dad,” and then again more slowly, until I noticed Jan was on the verge of tears. His partner lifted his head and quietly told me that Jan did not have a father. I froze, stunned by my oversight. After the longest moment I whispered, “I’m sorry” and moved on. I managed to maintain my composure throughout the rest of the lesson, but I was burning inside. How could I have been so insensitive?
-
On inclusivity
Skip Milan? Surprised, I paused for a second to look at my co-teacher, who smiled back warmly as if such action were routine. I had assigned the Halloween skit to all the students and preferred that they all perform. But I was still in my first week of teaching this particular English class, and she knew them much better, so I assented. After class, she explained that Milan struggled with speaking in class and his classmates were not usually willing to wait for him. But it was clear to me that he loved English. He spent snack breaks reading a little brown notebook filled with English vocabulary, occasionally adding words he had heard in class. And I could tell that he wanted to speak.
If Milan wanted to speak, he deserved the opportunity to speak.
-
On giving
I lived in a small apartment across from a middle-aged man and his two sons. One day, he knocked on my door and presented me with a squash from his garden. “For you,” he whispered in Czech. I took the squash – how could I refuse – and thanked him before returning inside. A few weeks later he knocked again with a basket of carrots, and then again with onions. His gifts were not unwelcome, but over time they made me increasingly uncomfortable. I didn’t garden, or bake, or cook in any extravagant way. I did not want to keep taking without giving, but how could I repay him? I offered to tutor his children, but he shook his head. Nothing was expected in return, and all I could do was be grateful.
What I eventually realized is that if you change the perspective of what giving is, if you give with time and smiles and words of friendship, then you always have something to give.
I invited my neighbor over for tea – nothing fancy – and he brought over a photo album he had made after a trip to Thailand thirty years earlier. He spent a couple hours babbling in Czech about sites he had visited and the people he had met, with me just listening and smiling as he recounted these memories. I did not matter than I did not understand much of what he was saying. By spending time with him, I gave him a memorable evening for seemingly nothing.
-
On disappointment
When I was invited to give a guest lecture in Prague, I was told to expect a very large audience and prepared accordingly. After spending over a month reading research articles, designing slides, and rehearsing, I was definitely disappointed when only a few graduate students and professors attended. In some ways I felt that my efforts deserved a bigger, more memorable event. However, I realized that the small size of the audience diminished neither my preparation nor my impact on those present. I was ultimately grateful for the opportunity to present my research abroad.
-
On cultural relativism
I once handed back a graded exam to my students face down to respect their privacy. Without warning, my Czech co-teacher walked around the classroom and read each score out loud, unabashedly revealing those who had failed. As an American outsider, how should I respond?
Some would argue that the obligation to speak up in the face of perceived wrongdoing holds even when abroad. I tend to disagree. Differences in norms are affected by differences in cultural values, and as a foreigner, who am I to impose my values onto others? I learned that Czech students did not expect their grades to be private, and most did not expect their teachers to be kind to their weaker peers. I felt the responsibility to remain true to my values, and the added responsibility as an American ambassador to defend American values, particularly that of inclusive education. But as a foreigner, I also had the responsibility to respect their norms and remain non-judgmental. Sometimes righteousness in one context equates to ethnocentrism in another.
-
On challenging decisions
My moral compass was stretched when my assistant principal invited me to a zabijačka, a pig slaughter. Coming from a left-leaning, highly educated background, this age-old Czech tradition seemed archaic and barbaric. I also grew up in a Jewish household that, while we did not keep kosher, tended to avoid pork. I certainly had never tried pig blood or pig brain before. As an American representative, I was expected to “say yes” to cultural invitations. Saying “no” risked offending my Czech hosts, and it contradicted the Fulbright mission of creating cross-cultural exchange. But naturally, I was afraid of what I might be asked to do. I decided to attend and observe but not to participate, at least in the slaughter.
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On trying something new
A Czech student of mine, Pavel, invited me to spend my February break training with the Czech national team of skibobbing. Although I am an experienced skier, I had never tried skibobbing before and was at first intimidated by the suggestion that I race down slopes on what looked like a bicycle on skis. However, I decided to embrace the “say yes” motto of my Fulbright Commission and accepted his offer. Doing so led to an exhilarating week RV camping in the Czech mountains and the exciting opportunity to try a new sport. Perhaps more importantly, it strengthened my friendship with Pavel.
My moral compass was stretched when my assistant principal invited me to a zabijačka, a pig slaughter. Coming from a left-leaning, highly educated background, this age-old Czech tradition seemed archaic and barbaric. I also grew up in a Jewish household that, while we did not keep kosher, tended to avoid pork. I certainly had never tried pig blood or pig brain before. As an American representative, I was expected to “say yes” to cultural invitations. Saying “no” risked offending my Czech hosts, and it contradicted the Fulbright mission of creating cross-cultural exchange. But naturally, I was afraid of what I might be asked to do. I decided to attend and observe but not to participate, at least in the slaughter.
-
On trying something new
A Czech student of mine, Pavel, invited me to spend my February break training with the Czech national team of skibobbing. Although I am an experienced skier, I had never tried skibobbing before and was at first intimidated by the suggestion that I race down slopes on what looked like a bicycle on skis. However, I decided to embrace the “say yes” motto of my Fulbright Commission and accepted his offer. Doing so led to an exhilarating week RV camping in the Czech mountains and the exciting opportunity to try a new sport. Perhaps more importantly, it strengthened my friendship with Pavel.
