Unfairly Treated — Rabbi Meir B. Kahane, menahel, Chedvas Bais Yaakov, Yerushalayim

As usual, the insight of my dear friend and colleague Rabbi Shimon Russell in his expertly written article “All of Our Children” is uncanny.

As an educator for over two decades in both yeshivos and Bais Yaakovs and as the principal of a Bais Yaakov, I have had much exposure to both the successes and challenges in the classrooms of today’s Torah institutions. One of the points Rabbi Russell makes needs expansion.

He correctly addressed the need for our yeshivah and school systems to be emotionally safe environments for our children. Environments that allow the “vast majority of our children to feel truly capable of getting good grades” and not “feel like a failure.” He writes that “such feeling can erode the last remaining drops of self-esteem… and turns him against himself, his school, and our mesorah…” Absolutely correct.

However, I feel very strongly that the school systems, Bais Yaakov system, and yeshivah system are being unfairly targeted as the culprits of this issue.

The Torah world is a victim of its own incredible (read: miraculous) success. Our classrooms and schools are packed, baruch Hashem. What Klal Yisrael must realize is that such success makes it entirely unreasonable to expect a teacher or even a school to cater to every academic category and religious struggle. There are simply not enough resources or manpower. Consequently, schools must choose the levels they feel most qualified to cater to and build their system accordingly.

It is certainly true that many students are not getting what they need. But what is a school to do?

One obvious solution would be to create many types of schools catering to varying academic, emotional, and religious levels. Unfortunately, this is not a viable solution — and only partially due to a lack of resources and manpower. The shameful reality is that too many parents are unwilling to send their children to such schools and will push, lie, and even blackmail school administrators to get their child into more “prestigious’” institutions despite it being less than ideal for the child. The tragic truth is that parents would rather send their daughter to a “top” school or seminary and their son to a “top” yeshivah than to one that will actually build them.

I have many talented friends and coworkers who, in a heartbeat, would start schools catering to students who need assistance. Some have tried. These schools never get off the ground or close a few years later due to lack of registration.

It’s ironic that we yell and scream about how “the system” (usually said with a negative angry tone) doesn’t cater to our kids. Please ask yourself: Would you send your child to a school that does? Many parents would. But too many parents would not.

I personally know a number of parents whose children privately suffer religiously, some from drugs and alcohol. Yet those parents refuse to send their child to a school or program that caters to such struggles because es past nisht. I guess having an off-the-derech child is pas yah?

(As an aside, a large catalyst for the so-called crisis regarding a lack of Bais Yaakov high schools and seminaries is because many parents refuse to send their daughters anywhere but the “most prestigious” of schools, and get insulted if a school tells them their daughter is not right for their school. They then push and get their daughter in and when she doesn’t get what she needs, they blame the school. How backward. How can every girl go to a “top tier” school?)

Please don’t misconstrue my words. I am not claiming that there are no problems in the schools and yeshivos. There are problems everywhere — Adam ate from the tree. Certainly, there are teachers who make serious mistakes and handle things incorrectly and that is unacceptable. But if your daughter or son needs help academically or religiously (even mild), don’t expect that a school who does not claim to cater to those types of issues will handle your child’s challenges correctly. They don’t claim to be capable because they are not. And your child is your responsibility, not theirs.

Bashing the system is easy, but a red herring. The system is not the issue. When parents stop sacrificing their children upon the altars of self-image, we will have students who feel valued by, and love for, the systems they are in.

As an extension, making a child feel negatively about the school or system they are in will guarantee they hate it. Turning every mistake that a teacher makes into a flaw in the Bais Yaakov or yeshivah system will set your child up for an academic career of misery.

Even without verbalizing negativity per se, simply having lower standards than the values being taught in the school builds disrespect and negativity for the school. If you choose to send your daughter to a stronger school, you must raise your own standards. If you cannot raise your own standards, send them to a school with weaker standards. Oh, wait, I forgot, you can’t do that! Es past nisht. I hear. It’s easier just to blame the system.

Where Credit Is Due — Devorah Sasson

Thanks for your magazine, I enjoy it each week.

This week’s Guestlines by Rabbi Shimon Russell had great points, but unfortunately didn’t give credit to the person who developed “The Four S’s.”

This idea was developed by Dr. Dan Siegel in his series of books about parenting (which are grounded in attachment theory — an interesting topic in itself).

I particularly enjoyed Gedalia Guttentag’s “Open Mic” piece. I think he said things that no one is saying. Not every kid goes off the derech because they are damaged, traumatized, or in pain. Thank you for printing it.

A Third Explanation — Parents of a Questioning Teen

The “Open Mic” article in the August 4th issue of Mishpacha notes that the phenomenon of youth from Orthodox families abandoning the frum lifestyle cannot solely be explained by trauma and hurt. The article correctly mentions a second factor — the allure of the secular world.

That too, however, does not fully explain the reality. There is often a third explanation. Some of our youth have questions of belief, and are not finding satisfactory answers to the big questions of life and faith. Common, clichéd answers such as “we have a mesorah,” or extolling the beauty of Shabbos, do not tend to work well for these individuals. If we want to keep these children on the path, we need to think beyond “unconditional love” and “just love them,” and give them answers that truly satisfy their questions and quell their doubts.  All branches of the Orthodox community should give some serious thought about how to best approach this challenging phenomenon.

Doubly Bereft — A Parent in Pain

I’d like to thank Gedalia Guttentag for expressing so well that which I have felt for so long.

I am choosing to remain anonymous because most people in our society have still not come to understand that bechirah goes both ways, as Gedalia pointed out. Therefore, hearing of any non-conforming children, the first reaction is to look for “the reason.” How hurtful this is to the parents and siblings of those who chose “out.”

We would prefer not to have people talking behind their hands about us or our erliche children. We would prefer not to expose our family members, many of whom are klei kodesh or mechanchim and mechanchos, to the scrutiny of people who look for skeletons in everyone else’s closets, casting a jaundiced eye on the innocent and possibly eroding the effectiveness of their contributions to Klal Yisrael.

One danger of always attributing the choice to leave Yiddishkeit to pain and abuse is that the response that is appropriate for that situation is definitely not appropriate for a child who chooses to follow taavah and justifies it with pseudo-intellectual thoughts.

Our child left our home to pursue his own lifestyle, but maintained close bonds with his siblings. We consulted rabbanim, therapists, and counselors. All agreed that it would be best for us to encourage the other children to keep in touch with their sibling, to meet, go on outings, etc. The mentor who knew our child well assured us that he would not attempt to influence the others, since our child acknowledged that he was suffering emotional and not hashkafic pain, and that our child is a good and trustworthy person.

We were told to be loving and accepting, and not to push Yiddishkeit, either in action or thought — not to ask him to conform to community norms when he visited, not to make our Shabbos table “too Torahdig,” to minimize hashkafah or halachah talk in favor of family shmoozing, and so on.

So we did. And we lost another child.

We did not discourage or monitor their conversations or meetings. We trusted our older child, we trusted those who had advised us, and we hoped for the best. But nothing prepared us for the worst.

Should we all have noticed that there were none of the usual reactions to abusive treatment? Our child was not on the streets, not doing drugs, not hanging out with unsavory friends. In fact, he was earning respect as a success in his chosen field, making good money, and living well. Should that have been a warning sign that it was not “pain” that caused his exit? Should we have spent more time with our other children discussing hashkafah, rather than sympathy for their sibling’s angst? Could we have gotten a different result if we had used a different response?

I have heard that to say “I could have...” is apikorsus. Hashem gave us the knowledge and advice He wanted us to have, and there was nothing else for us to do but follow instructions.

But it still hurts. And I still feel guilty.

So what do we do? We let our tears soak the Tehillim, we take solace in the words of Dovid Hamelech, who himself suffered such anguish from his children (two of whom actually tried to murder him), yet he continued to daven for their redemption. “Avshalom, bni…”

Layers of Pain — A Sister Who Knows

I am the younger sister of what you call “off the derech” brothers. Not brothers who are tattooed or green-haired, not alcoholics or addicts, but exactly what Mr. Guttentag describes, smart, gifted boys who have “chosen” the second option. Chosen to go astray in search of what seems to be taavah, and intellectualism. Dressed exactly to match the criteria of “teens who simply opt out of frum life for something cooler.”

And I used to think exactly like he does. I assumed that there must be something out there that’s attractive and luring these intelligent thinkers. Something that I might still be too young to be aware of or understand, but is forceful enough to be pulling my brothers, who I had always admired and respected, to go an unfamiliar route and destroy the family in their wake. On occasion they’d even be the ones to say to me, “When you grow up, you’ll understand.”

And so, I waited, for years and years to understand. I still don’t know exactly how I thought it would play itself out, but after expecting it for many years, it happened.

No, I didn’t leave the folds of anything. I didn’t change my dress code, lingo, or friend group. I simply changed my perspective, my mindset, and my understanding.

It happened when the most talented and charismatic brother of the bunch, the one I always banked on for proof that not only shallow kids who have been burned and couldn’t make it through the system go off, who was literally in yeshivah till he was 23, related an experience in a moment of vulnerability. He choked out one Shabbos afternoon an astonishing revelation that still has me cold and shivering as I write.

A few of us were sitting around as he reminisced about those days when he “did believe in Hashem” when he’d lie in his bed in his yeshivah dorm room at night and wait till the lights went out so he could cry and beg Hashem not to wake him up in the morning. I watched the tears well up in his eyes, I saw the shudder and quiver pass over his body, and I’ve been forever changed from that moment on.

Can you imagine that a successful-looking college student, who has graduated multiple programs and holds more than one degree, can still cry thinking about the intensity of the emotions he felt as a young boy of about 14, when over 15 years have passed since? Can we even try to measure the magnitude of the pain and low self-worth he must have been experiencing to be asking Hashem to die at such a young stage, when his peers were probably busy with kumzitzen or sports?

No matter how hard kids in pain try to assure you that they are just like you — only enjoying their lives more — know, that under all those layers of self-defense and self-glorification to prove that they are better off than anyone else, there are layers and layers of pain and pain and more pain. Their past is pushing them forward. There is no doubt that they’ve been through more than you imagine and if you don’t see it at first glance, you’re obviously not close enough to the person in question. You’re likely judging and deciding without knowing real facts or feelings

So, though I’m still young and my experience is limited, life has taught me to believe that exactly the opposite of the article is true. There are almost “no teens or adults who have never been abused or bullied but still leave frum life!” And no, it’s not “all about joining the fun, looking like most people your age, and indulging in urges with abandon.”

No one gives up everything they’ve got just for fun. If someone is prepared to trade in their whole life, their family, their comfort zone, every acquaintance, and habit they’ve known, to face their fate in an unknown world, they’ve obviously found themselves in such a low that they considered this their only shot left to pitch.

Attachment Is the Key — Rabbi Gershon Schaffel, rav, Young Israel of Skokie; dayan, Chicago Choshen Mishpat Kollel and the Business Halachah Institute

Although unsolicited, I would like to join the conversation between Rabbi Russell and Rabbi Guttentag from last week’s issue.

Rabbi Russell has been talking about the impact trauma and, more importantly, microtrauma, has on children. He often quotes his rebbi, Rav Mattisyahu Salomon shlita, who says that we should not refer to OTD children as “drop-outs, but “push-outs” due to the many contributing factors that the system is responsible for that leads children “off the derech.”

Rabbi Guttentag, however, raises an interesting point. What about the children who were not traumatized but were not inspired and thus exercise their bechirah to choose a secular lifestyle?

There is an important factor that addresses not only the impact of trauma but even those who exercise their bechirah in choosing the glitzy, immediate gratification world of secular society. The common denominator of both phenomena is the child’s lack of attachment to either his parents, the system, or both.

Attachment is one of the most powerful forces in the universe. The ultimate in life is our deveikus with Hashem. Hashem wired us with the need to attach. As newborns, we are completely helpless and rely on our attachment with our parents for survival. Throughout our lives, we are managing our attachments and will almost always choose attachment. Children seek attachment in times of danger, and the urge for attachment overpowers their survival instinct.

When attachment roots are firmly in place, children can weather the storm of theological and philosophical questions that cannot be answered. Though Moshe Rabbeinu could not understand why the righteous suffered, his attachment to Hashem preserved his faith. But a child who is not attached to parents, grandparents, rebbeim, or morahs will seek attachment elsewhere and that is with their peers.

Peer pressure becomes an active force in a child’s life when our children are not attached to a charismatic adult in their lives. A major indicator of whether kiruv efforts will be successful, referenced by Rabbi Guttentag, is whether the kiruv candidate is attaching to the mekarev or not.

As Rabbi Russell indicates, brutal honesty and an accurate assessment of where we stand is the most important step to address and resolve the most important challenge we face in chinuch.

I applaud Mishpacha magazine for bringing the issue to the consciousness of our community and hope that we can work together to assure that every last one of our children has the benefit of deep attachment with parents, rebbeim, and morahs, and ultimately, with Hashem.

Wanted: A Sense of Mission — Ayala Brown

In response to Gedalia Guttentag’s essay about kids who make the choice to leave Yiddishkeit, I would like to offer one theory for why that happens. As he says, if we can identify the problem, we can work on a solution.

I am not a rav or even an askan. I can only offer the perspective of a mother of school-age and teenage children, the “boots on the ground,” so to speak.

The community, baruch Hashem, has matured. We have many institutions that support our lifestyle and an organization for practically every need. These are all good things.

But as a result of all those good things, I think sometimes kids feel they aren’t needed. They are born into a huge, basically functioning system. They never have the opportunity to make choices. The system has made all the choices for them.

Kids today are growing up without a sense of mission. They are not rebuilding Yiddishkeit after a war. They are not fighting a particular movement. Teenagers in general struggle with a need to “find their place.” Everyone needs to feel needed. But for today’s teens, that inevitable question of “where do I belong, what gives me value?” is not easily answered.

Further, some kids (many more than we would like to acknowledge) experience rejection by the system. They are not easily accepted to elementary or high school, or they have friends or siblings who were not easily accepted. And our girls grow up in fear that no one will want to marry them.

The message they absorb is: We don’t need you. And the yetzer hara is strong...

This does not mean every kid with such experiences will leave Yiddishkeit. But without a sense of their own value and importance to the klal, kids are more likely not to identify with the whole.

I wonder what can be done. A strong family unit can definitely mitigate some of this effect, as may a rebbi or teacher who explicitly addresses the value of every Yid and of every mitzvah.

But on a systemic level, how can we give our kids a sense of mission and inspiration strong enough to motivate them to cling to the ways of the Torah?

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 874)

The post All Our Children: The conversation continues first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.

For American yeshivah bochurim, a year of learning in Eretz Yisrael has become an anticipated rite of passage. The famed Israeli yeshivos, their maggidei shiur and rebbeim — often enigmatic as they are beloved — the romanticized sights and sounds unique to Yerushalayim, and the ability to finally stand on one’s own two feet, all beckon to American bochurim.

As parents send off their sons for a year of learning, they often do so recalling their own idyllic memories of the year they spent in Israel. Has the scene for American bochurim in Israel changed since their fathers were there decades ago? Are there new challenges that need to be addressed? More opportunities to be taken advantage of?

Mishpacha asked leading mechanchim on both sides of the Atlantic what parents can tell their sons to help them have the most productive year possible. Timely and timeless, their advice can help parents give their sons the tools they need to have a year of growth in the city of Torah.

Unplug.

In no uncertain terms, and without exception, every mechanech we spoke to made it clear that bringing a smartphone to Eretz Yisrael is the single most effective way to make sure any aliyah in ruchniyus does not occur.

“When I went to Eretz Yisrael, we spoke to our parents once a week — and at a dollar fifty a minute, we kept our conversations short,” one mechanech remembered.

The disconnect from family and friends afforded by being 6,000 miles away from home allowed for bochurim to soar — by connecting with Torah, rebbeim, and even chaverim on a level that hitherto did not exist. Today, that opportunity still exists — but the advent of 21st-century technological wonders packs up society, sport highlights, and the family WhatsApp chat into one alluring screen, conveniently sized to fit into a jacket pocket.

And thanks to the iPhone, one can be 6,000 miles away and still not miss a beat. The connectivity that a smartphone offers, even with the highest-level filters, ensure its owner never truly leaves his environment.

“If you want to take advantage of Eretz Yisrael, don’t bring America with you,” warned one post-high school rebbi who has seen dozens of bochurim go to Eretz Yisrael. “The ones who leave their phones at home shteig and come back changed people, while those who couldn’t manage to part with their devices return unaffected by the glorious opportunities that could have been theirs had they only managed to unplug.”

The bounty of ruchniyus has its counterpart. One veteran rebbi in an Israeli yeshivah that caters predominantly to Americans notes the change he has witnessed in Eretz Yisrael.

“Twenty-five years ago, if an American bochur spent a year in Israel, his parents were able to rest assured he was learning. That still may be the case — and very often is,” he says. But it’s no longer a guarantee. “The yetzer hara makes sure to balance the abundance of ruchniyus here in Eretz Yisrael with less than holy pursuits.”

With discernable pain, he notes that some elements in the secular Israeli world have managed to introduce American-style bars, entertainment, and alcohol shops to the streets of the Holy City, and often in close proximity to chareidi neighborhoods.

He makes it clear that despite its proximity, most American bochurim still wouldn’t know the direction to Ben Yehuda Street — a pedestrian mall that, like its namesake, is not exactly known for its kedushah. But parents should be aware that it exists, and that on occasion, there have been pockets of American teenagers who took advantage of the unsupervised atmosphere to frequent it.

His point is not to alarm parents, nor to chas v’shalom imply that any significant number of bochurim even entertain the thought of spending their time and money in these unholy parts of town, but merely to point out that it’s a reality that did not necessarily exist 25 years ago.

A responsibility, not a right.

Notwithstanding Taglit’s branding its Israel trips for young Jews as a “birthright,” it is a privilege to be in our homeland. The Vilna Gaon and Chofetz Chaim were among the gedolim who vied for the opportunity to step foot in Eretz Yisrael, but were prevented by historical circumstances. One wise mechanech from Brooklyn, New York, who has seen more than two generations off to Eretz Yisrael, exhorts parents to give their sons the right perspective.

“Talk about the zechus — and responsibility — to be in the natural habitat of a Yid — the place that was on the lips of Yidden for generations, for whom Yerushalayim was not a mere place, but a hope, and a promise.”

The privilege of being in Eretz Yisrael comes with responsibilities. The children of Rav Shlomo Breslauer ztz”l, the late rav of Monsey’s Beth Tefillah shul, recalled that when their father flew to Eretz Yisrael, even as he left his home for the airport, his demeanor already became extremely sober, as he was embarking on the first leg of his journey to “paltrin shel Melech, the King’s palace.”

On the flight, the venerated rav sat and learned the entire flight, until the pilot announced that they were beginning their descent and would soon land in Tel Aviv. At that point, the normally reserved and composed rav burst out crying, and upon his arrival he threw himself on the ground, kissing the holy soil. Before his own grandchildren left to learn in Eretz Yisrael, he would talk with them about the awesome responsibility that comes with being in Hashem’s land.

Nosh. Not just the Zisalek and Pitzuchei Mashiach variety. At a time when the more formal rebbi-talmid relationship is giving way, exposing bochurim on a personal level to great men in Yerushalayim from whom they can “nosh” can have an profoundly positive impact, said rosh mesivta Rav Meir Rubin of Mesivta of Passaic.

“There are poshute Yidden in Yerushalayim who are pulsating with Torah and yiras Shamayim. If a parent can make a connection with an old friend or family member there and have them facilitate a chavrusashaft, even once a week, or Shabbos seudos with their son and a Yerushalayimdige Yid, the impact is immeasurable.”

By osmosis, a bochur will glean from the greatness if given the opportunity.

“The resources are there” said Rav Rubin. “Set your child up to take advantage.”

See the good.

Seek, see, and speak about the good of Yerushalayim. It’s Hashem’s most beloved land, and we should be mindful of its exalted status when we converse about it.

This point is driven home by an episode recounted about the previous Amshinover Rebbe, Rav Yerachmiel Yehuda Myer Kalish ztz”l. Once, during a sweltering summer day, the Jerusalem sun blazed down, and the Rebbe’s driver — who normally wore a jacket in the presence of the Rebbe out of respect — felt uncomfortable in the stifling heat. After quite some time, the driver asked the Rebbe for permission to remove his jacket, just this once, as the heat was becoming unbearable.

The Rebbe looked at him and replied, “For my part you can [even] take off your shirt. But please don’t speak lashon hara about Eretz Yisrael.”

Let’s see and speak only about the good. It’s the land most opportune for a rendezvous with Hashem — how can we not?

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 872)

The post Before You Send Your Son first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.

Rachel Ginsberg’s piece on the heartrending questions raised by a child’s departure from frum life (Still Our Children) was an inspiring and thought-provoking read. But the story told about the off-the-derech phenomenon felt incomplete.

The core idea was that trauma or hurt — not rebellion — is the root of most young people’s struggles with Yiddishkeit today. Parents are told that “someone or something broke your child. No one gets a tattoo just to spite their parents, but because they’re so wrapped up in their pain it’s not even their consideration.”

But the anecdotal evidence suggests that while the above is true in many if not most cases, it is only a partial explanation. There is a significant percentage of teens and adults who have never been abused or bullied but still leave frum life, and it’s clear that there is often something else at work.

That little something is what we call bechirah. Think of the choice that the 21st century presents a frum teen: You can spend years learning much of the day, looking different from most of society and living with restrictions in a world where all boundaries are down. Or, for a certain social cost, you can actually join that fun, look like most people your age, and indulge urges with abandon.

The task of chinuch is to convey to our teens that things aren’t as they seem: Our Torah-observant lifestyle is where the long-term, far-deeper, and more meaningful enjoyment is actually to be had. On the other side, the allure of a secular life is deceptive: It provides temporary pleasure but leads to the pain and regret of broken relationships and often aimless existence.

What happens, though, when a frum boy or girl decides that they actually prefer the second option?

The default seems to be to search for where and by whom they were hurt. That instinct is entirely understandable: The thinking goes that if we could only spot the abuse, bullying, or learning disability early enough, we wouldn’t have the incredible pain of children who abandon Shabbos and tzniyus. With enough chinuch investment, in other words, we could eradicate the dropout phenomenon.

But this is wishful thinking. Because a certain percentage of teens — despite all the intervention in the world — simply opt out of frum life for something cooler.

How else to explain the high attrition rates in those segments of frum society where there is greater exposure to the secular world, or less passionate observance of Yiddishkeit? Are all these people also hurting or abused? More likely, at a certain age, the pull of a world with lots of options leads to very tough choices that don’t always go our way.

It’s not a dynamic that should surprise us. The frum world supports large numbers of organizations predicated on giving teens and adults the possibility of changing their current lifestyle. We call them kiruv organizations. If we expect that people can make a rational assessment to live a more meaningful life — if we respect the idea that choice exists — then we shouldn’t be surprised that our own youngsters also make choices. Unfortunately, sometimes that means they opt for a lifestyle that seems attractive in a more short-term way.

None of this is to say that hurt and abuse aren’t real. But if we continue to see the tragic phenomenon of those who leave the Torah world as a function purely of pain and not of free choice, we miss a crucial opportunity. Because more clear-eyed thinking about the different triggers for those choices opens different possibilities.

If we acknowledged that teens leaving the fold is not exclusively or universally about abuse and pain, but also a product of free choice, we might be able to create more compelling ways to convey to wavering teens just how much meaning we have in our lives, and what immediate pleasure is possible within their frum framework. It’s then possible that some would not head for the exit.

Accepting that dropping out can also be about opting out might give us other tools to deal with it. Early identification of a struggling teen could enable parents or teachers to acknowledge that the teen is uninterested in the strictness of their current standards of Torah life, and to steer them instead to a more realistic, less stringent, albeit still halachic model of observance. Both these possibilities depend on a paradigm shift in understanding why teens leave Torah behind: It’s not all about abuse and pain, but also about exploring more attractive options.

None of this detracts from the avodas hakodesh that characterizes so many who are dealing with this terrible problem. Whatever the percentage of children who are truly hurt, unconditional love surely goes a long way toward healing their wounds. But if a teen is simply choosing a more attractive way of life, unconditional love won’t affect that calculation.

And that’s why the off-the-derech debate needs to be broadened, because failing to see that there is another road out of frum life closes off the possibility of doing anything about it.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 872)

The post Pain is Only Part of the Picture first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.

Having just read Rav Aaron Lopiansky’s excellent piece “Crumbling Foundations,” I find myself both sad and inspired. Sad, because his premise is so painfully accurate. Inspired, because that premise resonated deeply with me, and I feel compelled to put pen to paper in an attempt to urge us all to do something about it.

Are we brave enough to do a little research? Consider interviewing a random sample of all students graduating from our schools and yeshivos, including a representative sampling of students who dropped out (or were pushed out) before graduating. Let’s ask them the following multiple-choice question:

Which of the following answers most closely reflects how you feel about your experience in the system?

(a) I feel that I was seen as a success.

(b) I feel that I was tolerated at best and scraped through.

(c) I feel that I did not succeed on the level that was required and expected of me.

I believe that we will discover that a very significant number of children will respond with choices (b) and (c), and therein lies the root of the crumbling foundation and corrosion that Rav Lopiansky has so eloquently referenced.

The fact that so many of our 18-year-olds seem to feel they have fallen short or failed the system is a disaster of epic proportions. We as a community are failing these children, and thus, ourselves and our future. We must wake up and see this situation for what it is.

All our children are entitled to feel safe, loved, and successful. We must ensure that they all feel appreciated and valued. Indeed, they must feel this way if they are to build that future we envision for them, full of ahavas Hashem, yiras Shamayim, and Torah values. Rav Lopiansky related an episode in which Rav Shach expressed his foreboding about the future of the young generation’s Yiddishkeit. That concern is as relevant and urgent now as when Rav Shach first voiced it — perhaps more so.

How are we meant to handle such a serious situation? I would like to suggest three areas that we must urgently and collectively address.

The Parenting Piece

First, we as parents must look closely at our relationships with our children.

In order to thrive and be resilient to life’s challenges and difficulties, children must possess healthy attachment to their parents. That is, parents must provide an environment in which all of their children feel safe, secure, seen, and soothed. It is our responsibility as parents to provide these “4 S’s.” Without them, we deprive our children of the basic building blocks that connect them to their parents and to our mesorah. This issue is both simple and complex. Let me explain.

When I use the term safe, I mean that we do all we can to protect our children from any and all abuse — not just physical, but also emotional, psychological, and spiritual abuse. Secure means that we provide them with a secure environment, one in which they are confident of their parents’ love and respect for each other. One in which they feel secure that the Shabbos and Yom Tov table is an inviting place to be. It means giving them the confidence that they will be taken care of and not neglected.

Seen means that our children feel special and unique. To see them is to proudly reflect back to them what their special G-d-given qualities are, so they may know and value themselves.

Soothed means that when they get hurt, especially when they make mistakes and seem to have brought that hurt upon themselves, we first soothe their pain before giving them mussar and critique about the missteps that led to this pain.

During his childhood years, a child must experience his father and mother as merciful parents — “Av Harachaman.” That is, as kind, caring, loving parents, capable of laying down rules, structure, and discipline in a way that draws their child to them, and doesn’t push them in the opposite direction. This dynamic will prime the child to eventually transfer that experience from his relationship with his biological parents to a relationship with his Father in Heaven, the true Av Harachaman.

We take great pride in our large families. Let us ensure that all of our children feel deeply attached to us by giving focused attention to the 4 S’s of attachment. Raising our children with the 4 S’s will help our children develop resilience for dealing with and recovering quickly from life’s challenges and hurts. Furthermore, this and only this will reliably communicate to our children that they are truly loved by us.

A Positive School Experience

While parents must strive to do their part, schools and yeshivos play an outsized role as well. We can no longer allow a situation where only the academically inclined children feel successful in our school system. Our schools and yeshivos must serve as a safe environment for all students.

We must ensure that our academic programs allow the vast majority of children to feel truly capable of getting good grades and being considered successful. This feeling of success cannot be the private domain of the book-smart. If a child feels like a failure in math or English, history or geography, then we can probably find another area for her to excel in. But when we make her feel like a failure in Yahadus — in Torah subjects — then we destroy her relationship to our mesorah. That’s not an inconvenience. That’s a crime.

Additionally, when delivering discipline and consequences to children for misbehavior in school, we must once and for all find a way to deliver them with love and kindness, and the clear message that we are here to help you, not hurt you. Children must believe that they are valued by their school if they are to succeed.

A principal, rebbi, or teacher dare not give the impression to any child — even the most difficult child — that the teacher would be happier if the child just stayed home. Telling a child, “Be careful, we’re watching you,” or “You are on probation” will never motivate a child to do better. It instead will simply erode the last remaining drops of self-esteem the child may have and turns him against himself, his school, and our mesorah.

Addressing the Issues

Finally, we have to be brave enough — both at home and in school — to address contemporary and developmental issues to our children in an age-appropriate and sensitive fashion. Given their inevitable exposure to the world around us, we must be proactive and find culturally sensitive ways to talk to our children about these challenges. We must be more attuned to what their real-time experience is, and not to what we wish it was.

We must prepare our children for the challenges they will face as they mature, and teach them the responsibility that comes with this maturity. We must show them that they can feel safe to talk to us, that we understand their struggles and are here to help them. We must make sure they are not ashamed to seek counsel and help to control and to channel their personal challenges.

We must also talk to them about the challenges and potential dangers of the Internet and social media. We cannot just rely on outright forbidding these media and trying to intimidate and scare them away. Children are naturally curious. More so if they are feeling unsuccessful at school. Technology calls to them.

An effective antidote to their interest and curiosity is to talk with them more openly about why we are so concerned and scared for them to have access to these channels. Being more open and honest with them and helping them understand our concerns will make them feel more respected and ultimately have a stronger impact on them than threats.

While in the past, keeping certain topics taboo may have been an effective way to shelter children, today that is no longer the case. Trust me, it does not work. At far younger ages than in the past, today’s children know much more, far more, than we could ever have imagined. They need us.

Being more honest with them will give them the go-ahead to seek our guidance, input, and help. Scaring and shaming them leaves them to their own resources.

On Tishah B’Av we read in the first pasuk of the fourth perek of Eichah: “Tishtapeichnah avnei kodesh, b’rosh kol hachutzos — Sacred stones are strewn out on all the street corners.” Clearly the Navi is referring to the stones of the destroyed Beis Hamikdash. Rashi, however, tells us that the “holy stones” refer to our children. What is he telling us?

I once heard my rebbi, Rav Mattisyahu Salomon shlita, offer the following explanation. All the great historical tragedies brought upon our nation were meant to arouse and inspire us to do teshuvah and return to Hashem. From the churban Bayis, to the churban Europa, and all the tragedies that occurred between — all serve the same single purpose. Rav Salomon suggested that Rashi is telling us what will happen, G-d forbid, if we fail to pay attention to this heavenly message. As the time of Mashiach approaches, Hashem will rouse us through the most painful and sensitive wake-up call of all: the scattering of our children.

We hope and pray to finally witness the widespread teshuvah toward which Hashem, in His infinite wisdom, has been guiding us. Until that moment, let us do everything in our power to strengthen the foundation, shore up and repair the cracks — and help all of our children feel loved, valued, and confident in their role as the future of Klal Yisrael.

Rabbi Shimon Russell is a psychotherapist in private practice in Jerusalem, a popular author and speaker, and an authority on the challenges of struggling adolescents and "at risk" children and teens.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 872)

The post All of Our Children first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.

Photos: shlomysphotos

Gedalia Miller has been in the insurance and financial services industry for nearly three decades, and with all due respect to his affiliated companies, MassMutual and Guardian Life, today he’s involved with another kind of life insurance policy: He’s helping turn the darkness and isolation faced by so many in this generation into light, by changing the way parents look at their struggling, at-risk children.

While Reb Gedalia, a Bobover chassid from Boro Park, is an award-winning salesman and recruiter, social engineer was never on his CV. But then he faced the challenge of his life when his own child began to struggle with religious observance — a challenge he calls the “nisayon of the dor.” Shocked and confused, he and his wife sought guidance, pushed through their pain, and realized they could bring light and hope into that dark, frightening, lonely, and baffling place where so many in our wider community are now finding themselves.

As he navigated his own journey, Reb Gedalia became an address for advice, guidance, connections, and support. Eventually he created Kesher Nafshi, a support organization for parents of at-risk children that brings them together several times a year for extended-weekend shabbatons that give families the tools not only to survive, but to heal and thrive during these incredibly challenging trials. And none too soon: After just four events, participation has swelled to over 2,000 parents — primarily from the chassidic and yeshivish kehillos — and that’s without advertising.

There’s a veritable underground network of these parents, and many are ashamed to reach out and ask for support or build connections with other parents going through similar ordeals. But that support can be a crucial game changer for a parent lost in an unfamiliar new world.

“So many kids today are coming back because the parents are changing the way they’re looking at their children, embracing them with love and understanding and realizing that this isn’t chas v’shalom some kind of punishment from Hashem, but the nisayon of the generation,” Miller explains. “The nisayon is the nisayon, but how we deal with it is in our hands. Our aim is to keep these kids at home and in a loving relationship, helping them to heal, and empowering them to make the right choices.”

Reb Gedalia stresses that he’s not a trained therapist. He’s a facilitator and resource person, directing parents to experts in the areas of addiction, rehab, and other professional services. Even so, he’s a sought-after baal eitzah in his own right, and a natural when it comes to human connection. He’s had training from the top guns in the business world of recruitment, marketing, coaching, motivating, negotiating, and sales, and has weathered the waves of volatile financial markets over the past 25 years.

Then, in 2015, when his own daughter made a lifestyle switch, he harnessed all those skills to keep his own family intact.

The post Still Our Children first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.

"I once heard from Rav Michel Yehudah Lefkovitz ztz”l that often, in his experience teaching generations of talmidim, he’d notice that one boy was weaker than his brothers, less capable than the other brothers who came through the yeshivah. Rav Michel Yehudah said that over time, he realized that the ‘weaker’ brother usually overtook the others and soared even higher than they did. Why? He said he could only speculate…that for the successful brothers, the parents davened. But for the weaker one? They cried! And that makes all the difference.”

--RAV ELIMELECH BIDERMAN, in a recent shmuess.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 862)

The post Overheard: The “Weaker” Brother    first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.

The Jewish world is reeling from the wave of tragedies that began on Lag B’omer. Even the biggest apikorus would have a hard time blaming it all on chance. Hashem is sending us a wake-up call. We all know that. But what does He want from us?

We all have plenty of shortcomings. Almost every area of our mitzvah performance has room for improvement. But when Hashem takes the lives of dozens of people, it’s not a gentle nudge to make a marginal upgrade. It’s a demand for major change. We have to find the areas in our avodas Hashem that need serious repair, not just fine-tuning.

But even after we identify the problems, just saying “I’m going to work on X” won’t lead to lasting change. We need to make a kabbalah — a concrete, tangible step to address our area of weakness. The yetzer hara wants us to choose something grandiose, because he knows it won’t be sustainable. A good kabbalah has to be small and achievable.

But then we’re back to square one. The point is to really change, not just tweak our halachic performance in one area. How can we give our small kabbalah real transformative power?

On its own, the kabbalah won’t do it. Let’s say we commit to learning an extra ten minutes a day. Lighting the Shabbos candles ten minutes earlier. These are beautiful ideas. But if the kabbalah is just another task to do, another requirement in our individual Shulchan Aruch, it won’t do the job. Of course, we’ll gain an extra ten minutes of learning, another ten minutes added to Shabbos. That’s wonderful. But that won’t necessarily change us.

The issue isn’t what kabbalah to accept. Almost anything can change us. The secret to change is the way we approach our kabbalah. Let me illustrate this point.

What’s the difference between a business owner and an investor? They both put money into a business, and they both want it to succeed. The difference is that the investor doesn’t run the business. He just stands from the sidelines and cheers it on. The business owner, on the other hand, is involved in every detail. He gets down on his hands and knees and works like a dog to make the enterprise succeed. He constantly studies what went well and what didn’t, learning from experience in order to maximize success and minimize failure.

In business, an investor can strike it rich. But in ruchniyus, a passive investor won’t get very far. In the business of Torah, we need to be the owner. Everyone dreams of being the lucky investor who enjoys high dividends without putting in (much) work. But that’s not what the Torah wants of us. The Torah wants to build us. The goal isn’t just that the mitzvah be performed. Hashem doesn’t need the mitzvah. He wants the mitzvah to build us. For a mitzvah to build us, we have to be totally engaged in it. Each mitzvah corresponds to one of our spiritual limbs. Just as only hard work will strengthen our physical limbs, the same holds true for our spiritual limbs.

Aspiring musicians, scientists, and athletes work arduously to realize their dream. That’s because they make it their business. But more often than not, we don’t see avodas Hashem as a personal endeavor. We see it as the collective duty of Klal Yisrael. Of course, I have my share in it, I invest in it, but it’s not my own business. That’s why we’re always measuring ourselves against others. If we do the same as our friends, we feel respectable; if we do more, we feel commendable.

But every morning in birchos haTorah, we say, “la’asok b’divrei Torah.” We have to “make an eisek” out of Torah; Torah should be our business! If avodas Hashem were our business, we would do our best to make it flourish. Business owners never suffice with equaling the profits earned by other companies. The accomplishments of others might open our eyes to see what we’re really capable of, but it should never set the bar for us to feel we’ve done enough.

Now more than ever, we realize that we need to change. The mitzvos need to change us. And they can, if we approach them the right way. A small kabbalah gives a great opportunity to work on this. It’s not a societal requirement; our friends won’t be applying themselves to the task, or even be aware that we are. We therefore won’t be gauging our success in relation to others. It will be easier for us to view our kabbalah as our personal enterprise. If we work on it consistently and to the best of our ability, we’ll train ourselves to become Torah businessmen, to make avodas Hashem our business. That’s called “making an eisek” out of the mitzvah — making it our business.

Being a business owner doesn’t just require us to work; we also have to think. A business owner constantly studies the ups and downs of his operation and the reasons for them. For us, that means monitoring when our kabbalah goes smoothly, and when it flags. Then we have to identify the reasons. Did it go well today because I was well-rested? Because I enjoyed my learning earlier? Did I botch it today because of external factors, like my location or the people around me? Or because I couldn’t stop thinking about how that jerk dared to criticize me this morning?

If we do that, we’ll improve our performance of the kabbalah, and we’ll learn about ourselves — our strengths, our weaknesses, our middos, what motivates us and what doesn’t. Those lessons will help us a great deal in other spiritual endeavors. But most importantly, we’ll be making mitzvos our personal business.

Our constant work in one area, using our hands and minds to improve our mitzvah observance — that’s what makes us grow, step by step. The daily growth is almost imperceptible, but over time shows its impact. Like a plant that grows cell by cell, but eventually breaks through thick pavement. Mesilas Yesharim says that chazarah and hasmadah — continuous repetition and persistence — are what change us. Rabi Akiva saw how soft drops of water can pierce a boulder when they fall consistently in the same place. If we have a kabbalah that engages body and mind day after day, it will change us.

The fact that we approach one mitzvah with such devotion will spill over to other areas as well. Gradually, we’ll start to make an eisek out of other parts of our avodas Hashem. Becoming a person who makes an eisek out of mitzvos, who sees avodas Hashem as his life, not just meeting requirements — that’s the biggest reward of the kabbalah. That’s how a small kabbalah can change us. That’s how we can answer the wake-up call Hashem has sent us in the last few weeks.

—Prepared for print by Rabbi Eran Feintuch

Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 862.

The post Make It Your Business first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.

The powerful simchah on Lag B’omer is uplifting, but it’s shrouded in mystery. Many of us find ourselves dancing around a bonfire, wondering what exactly we’re celebrating. Rabi Shimon bar Yochai revealed secrets of the Torah, which an elite group of outstanding scholars can understand. That handful of mekubalim can rejoice in the revelation of the Torah’s hidden realms. But we have no clue what’s going on in those inner chambers of the Torah. Is there anything in the simchah of Lag B’omer that we can relate to, or is it a secret reserved for the wise few who study Rabi Shimon’s teachings?

To answer this question, we need to first understand a basic principle about Torah. The Midrash poses a fascinating question: Which is more central — Torah or Klal Yisrael? The answer seems obvious. The Torah is Hashem’s word, the blueprint and life force of Creation. And we are lowly beings of flesh and blood. But, says the Midrash, it is Klal Yisrael that is the main purpose of the world. The ultimate goal of Creation is a perfected Klal Yisrael, and Torah is the vehicle to bring the Jewish nation to its rightful level. Chazal liken the Torah to the wife of Klal Yisrael. The Torah is the “ezer k’negdo” that brings every Jew as an individual, and the Jewish People as a whole, to perfection.

I’ve seen how Torah builds a person. One day, I was running late to a vaad of Rav Wolbe ztz”l. In my rush, I threw open the door, and it slammed forcefully into something. That something was nothing other than Rav Wolbe’s back. I expected him to turn around and glare at me till I melted. But instead, I saw something unbelievable.

He carried on giving the vaad without even a pause. He didn’t turn his head. He didn’t move a muscle. He simply did not react. This wasn’t a scenario he had prepared for. It wasn’t his mind that told him to refrain from making mincemeat out of me. His body itself had internalized that it wasn’t the center of the universe and had no right to demand respect. It was the Torah that brought him to the level that his body was willing to take such a blow without protest.

The Torah is Divine, but it’s intended to build a person. It’s from the heavens, but it reaches down to us at our low level to raise us up. That’s what the secular world can never understand. The sciences deal with objective reality, and are unconcerned with the human being. The humanities deal with individuals and their trials and endeavors, but only through subjective lenses. Only Torah is both objective truth and yet deeply personal.

Every area of Torah builds a person. This is a major misconception people have about Torah in general, but especially about Kabbalah. People usually think of Kabbalah as abstract, mystical concepts that have little connection to our simple reality. They think it’s esoteric wisdom about exotic concepts, and people learn these concepts like someone viewing a distant galaxy with a telescope. It’s an exciting experience, but it doesn’t change them.

This is a fundamental mistake. The deeper levels of Torah wisdom are also aimed at building a person. If they don’t move a person to live differently, he’s missed the point, and what’s more, he didn’t understand the teachings. Someone who doesn’t see how they’re connected to the world we live in hasn’t grasped their true meaning.

Like all areas of Torah, the penimiyus of Torah isn’t a foreign world we glimpse from afar. It gives deeper meaning to the world we live in and enables us to live in our world at a higher level. The basic level of living is like a single-story building. When Torah teaches a person a deeper understanding about life, it adds another floor. He’s still grounded in the world, but he’s able to experience the world at a higher level as well. Everything in Torah can do this, because the Torah always offers us deeper perspectives about life than we would reach on our own.

Even the “simplest” aspects of Torah can add deeper meaning to life. For example, the Torah describes how the sun rises in the east, sets in the west, and returns the next morning to the east. We all know that astronomically speaking, it’s really the world turning on its axis, not the sun’s travels, that creates the cycle of day. But the Torah wants to build us, not to impart scientific facts, so it describes the phenomena in the way we relate to them and therefore learn from them.

When we think about this simple lesson, over time we’ll start to see its message to us. Every day is a cycle of renewal; each morning is a new beginning. We, and the whole world, are being created anew. That’s why the brachah Yotzer hame’oros is in the present tense, and that’s why we say asher yatzar and Elokai neshamah every morning, to thank Hashem for our physical and spiritual re-creation. The more we understand the depth of the Torah, the more it elevates us and enables us to live in the world at a higher level.

When something in the Torah moves us to live more deeply, it adds another level to the way we experience the world. That’s penimiyus — the deeper world built by Torah. The great Rabi Shimshon of Kinon said that after he learned the secrets of Kabbalah, he davened like a young child. He didn’t do intellectual somersaults or juggle mystical kavanos. He davened the same words the way we all do, but at a much deeper level.

I once heard a shiur from Rav Yonasan David shlita that captivated me. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. After a week, I felt I had reached a novel understanding of the matter and couldn’t wait to tell Rav Yonasan about my insights. I told him my “chiddushim” with great excitement, but when I finished, I was shocked. I realized that I had simply reiterated Rav Yonasan’s shiur, word for word.

Then he told me, “Now you’ve begun to understand.”

Penimiyus in Torah doesn’t mean a new world. It means a deeper world. Even within the exact same words we’ve learned already, we can find new meaning that moves us and raises our lives to a higher level.

That’s how we can connect to Lag B’omer. True, we don’t know the teachings of Rabi Shimon. But the point of his teachings isn’t the information itself, but to build a person, to move him to live a deeper life. And that’s true about everything in Torah. The hidden realms of Torah are just deeper levels of meaning, beyond those contained in the revealed areas. They are the uppermost floors in the building a human being can construct. We can’t all access those highest levels, but we too can reach higher levels through the Torah’s wisdom.

Of course, we shouldn’t get ahead of ourselves. When we see wisdom in Torah that shows us a higher level, it doesn’t mean we’re there yet. People sometimes learn lofty and inspiring ideas in Torah, and they forget that getting there takes years of work. Adding another level to a building is a gradual process of intense labor. But the first step is seeing that the Torah offers us a deeper way of living. Then, we’re ready to begin the journey.

Even we can experience how the Torah’s wisdom raises us to a higher level in life. We, too, have a connection to penimiyus. Even the simplest ideas in Torah are infinitely profound and offer us unbelievable depth — if we seek it. Even if we’re not scholars, we can approach Torah with wonder, eager to allow its depth to penetrate our hearts and elevate us. We can ponder the words of the Torah like a jeweler handling a perfect gem, observing it from all angles to discover its unique qualities. We too can celebrate on Lag B’omer, and rejoice in the revelation of the depth of Torah, and a Torah-driven life.

—Prepared for print by Rabbi Eran Feintuch

Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 858.

The post Celebrate the Depth of Torah first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.

Dear Seminary Teachers,

You’re the last in a truly impressive lineup.

Baruch Hashem, I’m the mother of daughters, the oldest of whom is currently studying for finals in one of your venerable institutions. My daughter has gone through the most fabulous educational system. She’s had dedicated, professional teachers from two-year-old playgroup through high school. These teachers worked tirelessly to impart Torah knowledge and instill passion in their students.

This year, she’s continued to receive stellar education in Eretz Yisrael. It’s been a year of growth in many ways.

I sincerely thank you for giving so much of yourselves, for taking my place over these past few months. My daughter has already shared with me some of her notes on Shir Hashirim and told me the new details she learned in halachah.

But I’m worried.

I’m worried because of what I see and of what I hear. I’m worried because I see the beautiful young girls who live on my block walk by. I’m worried when I hear the tefillos of the 19-year-olds davening in shul. I’m worried when I pass the capable young moros who are my colleagues at work.

These girls are all impressive. Beautiful, brilliant, kind, hardworking, and motivated, they all have incredible qualities that will, b’ezras Hashem, serve them well in their future roles as wives and mothers.

So why am I worried?

I see panic.

I hear panic.

I see the look in the girls’ eyes as they dance at a simchah. I overhear conversations between the girls and their mothers. Those mothers, my friends, confide in me how worried they and their daughters are.

They’re panicked about shidduchim. And the panic is contagious.

These girls have only recently left your classrooms and have either forgotten or missed out on something that’s the basis for them to begin their adult life.

And I wonder. Has my daughter imbibed bitachon from her parents and her teachers over the years? Has her year in Israel given her an extra dose so she can hold tight to it?

I’m afraid I don’t know the answer to those questions.

The parshah of shidduchim can be tough. I know Hashem has a timetable for each and every girl that only He is privy to. I daven with all my heart that all the women waiting to find their zivug will do so very soon. It’s heartbreaking to watch their pain.

But I’m saddened to see the young girls, fresh from seminary, beside themselves with worry that they haven’t found their zivug just yet.

I apologize, dear teachers, that I may not have instilled in my daughter enough of the bitachon that I work so hard to keep in my own heart. I apologize on behalf of the teachers who have been my partners all these years if they’ve been unable to cement it as well.

You have my daughter at this most precarious time — just before she enters the world. There are a few weeks left, during which they’re soaking in your direction and perspective. Please spend a good portion of this precious time instilling within them true faith in Hashem, and fortifying our daughters with something they’ll need more and more as they travel through adulthood.

With admiration and thanks,

Your Student's Parent

The post Dear Seminary Teachers first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.

I got to the coffee shop late.

As a general rule, I’m usually late. I would love to claim it’s an occupational hazard, but the truth is it has nothing to do with my job. As my wife, my students, and my editors will tell you, I’m just always late.

In this case I was only five minutes late, which was fine, because the guy I was supposed to be meeting wasn’t even there yet. I ordered my coffee and sat in the back corner table. I don’t mind when people are late (I guess I don’t really have the right to be) — I can always work while I wait. I pulled out my phone and started to respond to some week-old emails.

“I know your shtick!”

I looked up. The guy standing in front of me was wearing sunglasses, a pink shirt, and tight jeans. He was holding a milkshake the same lurid color as his shirt. I couldn’t help but notice that he wasn’t wearing socks.

He sat down across from me. “You’re Simcha, I take it,” I said, stretching out my hand.

“Call me Randy,” he said.

“Why would I do that?”

“I like the shtick with the cap and the getting dressed up,” he said, indicating my clothes. “I read some of your stories, they’re cute.”

I looked down at what I was wearing — same thing I had been wearing for the meeting before this. Did he just call my articles cute?

“You know, we’re the same,” he said confidingly. “I read people, too. Look, I know why my brother wants me to meet with you, but it ain’t gonna work.”

“Hi, my name’s Yossi,” I said.

“Ha! I know who you are! I know what you do. I’m just telling you, we’re wasting our time.” He leaned back and folded his arms, smirking at me like this was a game.

I’m not very good at games.

“What exactly is it you think I do?” I asked.

“You read people, then you convince them to do things.” He said this very matter-of-factly.

“If that were true, then I would agree with you that this is a waste of our time. But I don’t believe anyone really has those abilities,” I said. “And since that’s not actually what I do, then maybe you can’t know yet if this is a waste of time.”

“Then what do you do?” he asked.

“Well, I definitely don’t read people. I listen to them, try my hardest to understand them. There’s a very big difference,” I told him. “And I don’t convince anyone of anything. I just act as a sounding board for people who are figuring out what they want to do.”

“A sounding board,” he said, making quotes in the air and rolling his eyes. “I don’t need a stupid sounding board. I do what I want. Period.”

“ So tell me, Simcha, what is it you want to do?”

“I just want my freedom,” he said immediately. “Is that so bad?”

“Can you define ‘freedom’?”

“I’m turning 18, I want to do whatever I want. I’ve been so sheltered my whole life. I don’t want to go to Israel, I don’t want to go to yeshivah, I just want to move to Cali and chill,” he said.

When Simcha’s brother had called me, he’d informed me of the extracurricular activities that Simcha was involved in. They were far from innocent. My goal here was not, contrary to what Simcha thought, to get him to go to yeshivah. My goal was for Simcha to modify his lifestyle before it was too late.

“So basically, your goal is to chill with no one on your back,” I said.

He looked at me suspiciously and gave a cautious yes.

“Look, people need to make mistakes and figure out life for themselves. I can totally understand your wanting to do that,” I told him. “Why is your brother acting like such a buzzkill?”

“Thank you! Also, it’s not like he didn’t have his turn to party, by the way,” he said conspiratorially.

This I knew was true — I had been with his brother through his struggles to put his life back together.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t see the problem.”

“Exactly,” Simcha said, grinning.

I grinned back. “I mean, I completely disagree with just about everything you said, but it’s not the end of the world. I don’t think you need me. No offense, but you’re just immature and that will pass with time.”

He looked confused. I stood up and started pulling on my coat.

“Wait,” he said, “that’s it?”

I turned to him. “Were you expecting something else?”

“Well,” he said, looking at me like I’d let him down, “aren’t you going to try to talk me out of it?”

“Ha! I’ve been doing this long enough to know when I don’t stand a chance,” I said.

For one instant he lost the façade. “I’m beyond help?”

The question wasn’t for me. It didn’t even seem like a question. More like a confirmation.

“No, the opposite,” I replied.

He looked up at me standing there.

“Want to talk about it?” I glanced down at the seat I had just vacated.

“If you have time, I mean…”

Simcha wasn’t going to listen to a word I had to say as long as he was being forced by his brother to talk to me. He was too protective of his independence. It had to be his idea.

I sat back down.

“You’re not beyond help. You’re just not ready for it. Despite the show you put on, you’re a scared and lost kid. Your plan makes no sense. Your definition of freedom is so far from anything resembling freedom, I’d be surprised if you could spell ‘freedom,’” I said.

He looked like he’d been hit by a train.

“Look, you’re a good kid, and I understand why you want what you want, but it’s not freedom,” I said seriously.

“You don’t think I could take care of myself?” he asked.

“Well, you forgot to wear socks today, so I’m guessing you can’t.”

He laughed.

“I’m sure you could take care of yourself, but what you’re describing now is survival, not freedom. It’s better than what you were describing before, which was anarchy. Survival mode might make you successful. You’re a talented guy and you’re very likable. But although survival is a powerful tool for success, it’s also insatiable. You will never be content. You will never be able to be happy in the moment. Your life will just be about stress and the next move to stay alive.”

He was listening intently now. Something about the description was resonating with him.

“Now, freedom is something entirely different. Freedom is earned. You’re the only person who can give it to yourself. And it starts with the decision that you value being free in every moment more than you value feeling or looking good. That’s where we start, at least.”

He sat there for a minute, thinking.

Then he looked directly at me. No smug looks. No false confidence. Just raw emotion on his face. He leaned in and said, “You really think I’m likable?”

The question hurt so much. I swallowed.

“Yes, despite your insufferable arrogance,” I said, smiling. “You’re likable and you have a lot to look forward to. But you’re scared to commit to being free.”

“I am free, I do whatever I want,” he repeated, without too much confidence.

“No, you don’t. You do whatever you feel like doing. You have no idea what you really want and that’s what scares you.”

He stared at the milkshake, looked back at me, then back at the milkshake. “Fine,” he said. “What do I really want?”

I smiled and shook my head.

“Oh, right,” he said. “Okay. I want…” A host of emotions played across his face.

“Go ahead,” I said. “I’m listening.”

Identifying details have been changed to protect the privacy of patients, their families, and all other parties.

Rabbi Yossi Bensoussan serves as mashgiach ruchani at Yeshiva High School of Cleveland. He is a Certified Alcohol and Substance Abuse Counselor (CASAC) who currently maintains a private practice, and does motivational speaking and community education on addiction all over the US and Israel.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 854)

The post Freedom   first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.