My Good Old Siddur

There is a small maroon softcover siddur that I keep in my tallis bag and which I use every day.  I bought the siddur from a seforim store back in 1984 or 1985.   The design on the cover and the lettering on the spine have long since faded away.  Some of the pages are a bit faded and a number of the page corners are dog-eared or missing entirely.  The edges of the pages have long since lost their bright white glow and turned a dingy, dull gray.

I have sometimes been asked why I use such an old siddur.  Most people would retire a run-down, well-worn siddur after twenty-five years, especially when the siddur wasn't an inheritance or gift from a special relative, rebbe, friend, etc.  After all, siddurim are not particularly expensive.

As it turns out, there is a reason why I keep this particular siddur and use it daily.  The reason for it can be best explained after you've seen a scan of two pages.

There are eleven pages in the siddur that have scribbles on them in the same red ink.  These scribbles were made by Walter about sixteen years ago when he got a hold of my siddur and a red pen one day when I wasn't looking.  I remember, at the time, being somewhat upset about it, since I had already been using the siddur for a number of years and I happened to like it.

But in the years that have followed, the siddur has grown on me, precisely because my young son scribbled on eleven of the pages.  Those pages have come to have special meaning and significance for me over the years.  I've learned to understand that when I see those pages, I now have something to pray for -- my children.  I see the pages and I'm reminded that I have to pray for their welfare -- their physical welfare, their emotional and spiritual welfare, their social welfare and probably a dozen other welfares as well.  You'd think that a person shouldn't need a reminder to pray for something, but sometimes we show up for davening in the morning bleary-eyed and half-asleep and just "go through the motions" without taking the time to reflect upon what it is that we are asking our Creator for and why we are asking it of Him.  But I have something to help me focus on what's important.  I have some red scribbles on the opening pages of my siddur that has, for the past sixteen years, reminded me of why I need to entreat my Creator.

I may have been upset at the time, but, in retrospect, I realize that I owe a great deal of gratitude to my then-toddler son.  By taking a red pen to my siddur, he has given me a reminder everyday to focus my prayers on the important things in life.

The Wolf

Questioning The Educational Paradigm In Chinuch

As many of you know, I have three children -- Walter, George and Wilma. Walter is finishing up his junior year in high school and will be starting his senior year in the fall.

Walter is a highly intelligent teen. He analyzes situations, asks penetrating questions and is fully capable of thinking matters through on his own. He has the uncanny ability to tell when people are giving him sincere answers to his questions and when people are just "blowing smoke" at him to shut him up.

However, for all that, he is still a teenager, with the maturity of a teenager. Like many teens, he does not always understand the long-range implications of things. He does not always see how life experience gives his parents and elders an advantage* in life with regard to the grander picture. And he does not always understand why he needs to study things that aren't immediately relevant to his life.

One particular area of angst for him is Gemara. Walter is a "cut to the chase" kind of person. If you can give him a good reason for something, he can understand it and accept it (even if he doesn't particularly agree with it). He can understand, for example, the need to learn halacha, since it's relevant to him in that it informs him of the laws that govern his life as a Jew. But Gemara, on the other hand, doesn't interest him all that much. At this point in his life, it doesn't really matter all that much to him how Rava and Abaye argue out what the final law is going to be. Just tell him what the final answer is and leave it at that. The fact that the Gemara is in a foreign language written and paginated in a format that makes it very difficult for beginners to master doesn't help matters.

Truth to tell, I can understand his frustration because I felt the same way at his age. At his age, I too often complained that the Gemara wasn't organized more like the Shulchan Aruch, with chapters and law numbers that are very easy to find and tell you, in a very practical and final way, what the halacha is. I, too, was confounded by the language, the arcane rules (what's a binyan av again?) and the maddening lack of any indication on the page when a new topic begins or picks up on a topic that was dropped from the discussion three pages ago. The fact that not one of the rabbeim in my high school made any effort to engage me in Gemara didn't help matters**.

Of course, I'm much older now. I like to think that I'm a bit wiser as well. I have a better appreciation for Gemara than I did when I was sixteen and seventeen. But that's probably of little comfort to Walter at this stage of his life. In addition, I have to wonder how many other kids there are out there like Walter (and myself when I was that age) who wouldn't mind learning halacha but just aren't all that gung-ho about Gemara. I would guess (based on purely anecdotal evidence from other kids Walter's age) that the answer is quite a few.

In most Yeshivos, Gemara is taught beginning in the fifth grade, when a boy is about ten years old. By sixth grade, it is the major Judaic course of study, with students spending hours per day on the topic. This is usually done without any sort of "Introduction to Talmud" mini-course where the structure and methodology of the Gemara is explained. Usually it's taught by simply "jumping right in" to the first line.

Sometimes I wonder (and, admittedly I have no way to prove this) if things would be better if the system were changed. The Mishna in Avos gives us guidelines about when to introduce new topics in chinuch. The Mishna there says that at age five children should begin learning to read Tanach, at ten learn Mishna and at fifteen learn Gemara. The point that's being made, I believe, is that children should not be rushed into topics ahead of time. Perhaps we should have our kids spend five years learning Tanach primarily before advancing to Mishna. Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to spend five years learning Mishna before jumping in Gemara. There are probably several advantages to this approach:

• Our kids would probably have a better understanding of Tanach. Heck, they might even finish most of it in the five years.
• Our kids would have a better understanding of Mishna.
• When our kids finally do advance on to Gemara, they will be a bit older, wiser and more intellectually and emotionally capable of handling Gemara.

Of course, if a student is showing exceptional ability and is able to handle more advanced forms of study (for his age) he should be encouraged to do so. But that's not everyone. Not every 10 year old is an illuy (genius). The vast majority would stick to the 5-10-15 model (which is roughly equivalent in the United States to first, sixth and tenth grades).

But that's not quite what's happening. Nowadays, our boys start learning Chumash in first grade (some schools even start in preschool!). By third grade they're starting Mishna. They start Gemara during the fifth grade and, from the sixth grade onward, spend upwards of 60% of the Limudei Kodesh (Judaic Studies) portion of the day on it. The result is that kids come away with a substandard knowledge of Chumash and Mishna.

Other topics barely make it to the radar screen at all. Halacha is often taught on an ad-hoc basis. Navi is barely taught and, when it is, it is often limited to the early "historical" books -- Joshua and Samuel. Kings is barely taught. I have yet to hear of a right-wing yeshiva high school that teaches any of the true "prophetical" books -- Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel or the Twelve "Minor" Prophets. I'd be willing to bet dollars to donuts that outside of their Bar Mitzvah Haftorah or following the weekly haftorah in shul (do teens do that?), well over 90% of yeshiva high school graduates have never even cracked open a copy of Isaiah or an Ezekiel. Jewish Philosiphy? Forget about it. History? Maybe in some more left-leaning schools, but certainly not amongst the yeshivish. Hebrew language? Puh-leeeeez.

To be honest, I wonder if we're doing our sons a disservice with the existing educational model. They may (not will -- may) come away from high school knowing a fair amount of Gemara and Rishonim, but how much Judaism do they know? Does your average high schooler understand who Isaiah was and what he was prophesying about? They all know that Elijah was a great prophet, but do they understand why? Do they know anything about him other than the fact that he's still alive and something about a confrontation on Mt. Carmel?

Or, an even better question -- does the average high schooler even come away knowing how to learn Gemara well?

I'm curious why we have abandoned the educational paradigm as outlined in the Mishna. I've heard people say that it's a matter of "one-upmanship" among the schools to be "more frum" by starting Gemara earlier than the other schools. I'm not convinced that that's entirely true. Were it completely true, I'm sure we'd be hearing of yeshivos that claim to be teaching*** Gemara in the third grade. But if that's not the reason, there must be another -- and I'm very curious as to why those who put great stock in the words of Chazal chose to abandon their model of chinuch.

The Wolf


* Although, of course, by no means does that make us *always* right -- just more likely to be so.

** That's not to say it's all their fault, of course. A good share of the blame does lie with me -- but they have their share as well.

*** But not actually teaching, of course, since your average eight year old is not really capable of learning Gemara.

What An Interesting Concept... An Open Minded School

Eeees and I have an 8th grader, who, for blogging purposes, is named George. As you can imagine, we've been looking at various high schools for George. Usually, George accompanied us to these open houses so that he could see what the school was like, but there was one open house to which we did not take him. Sadly, George was sick that day.

As it turned out, Eeees and I were somewhat impressed with what we saw that day. We were a bit sad that George missed the open house as it seemed like the type of school that would be just right for him.

Fortunately, the school held a "Spend the Day" program this past week for potential incoming students. And so, I drove George to the school for Shacharis that morning. Since I was in the neighborhood, I also stuck around for davening as well.

While I watched the students enter the shul and get ready for davening, I noticed something very interesting -- the lack of uniformity among the kids. Some wore hats and jackets with white shirts. Others wore hats or jackets. Some didn't wear either. Some kids had the big black velvet yarmulkes. Some had leather yarmulkes. Some had knitted. One kid had the large knitted cap that some sephardim wear. While all the boys wore button-down shirts, some wore white, while other wore colored shirts. Some even had stripes (sometimes of numerous colors).

I found it very interesting that this school is willing to accept (and seemingly embraces) kids from a wide variety of derachim (paths). In addition, it seems that they are willing to let each kid be who he is and not try to force him into a mold that he might not be comfortable with.

Quite refreshing to see. I think we might have a winner here.*

The Wolf

*Not for that reason alone, of course... but the seeming open-mindedness was a nice surprise.

THE NUMBER and My Irrational (or is it?) Fear...

Eeees and I are now in the process of looking for high schools for our two children (a boy and a girl) who are graduating elementary school this year. That means that next year we will have three high-schoolers at once (including Walter, who is already in high school).

Part of the process that we are going through is attending the open houses that various schools have. We've already pretty much narrowed the prospects down to about two or three schools for each kid. However, as we attend the various open houses and get the information for each school, the thing that strikes the greatest fear into our hearts is the number. You know which number I mean -- THE NUMBER -- the one with a dollar sign in front of it, followed by five digits and then the decimal point. Usually, the first digit is a 1, but sometimes, after transportation and all the other "miscellaneous" extras are added in, that first digit could easily blossom into a 2.

I did a rough, off-the-cuff calculation and figured that, at full tuition, we're looking at about $55-60 thousand dollars next year in tuition. I don't mind telling you that this is *significantly* higher than what we are paying now and there is simply not the room in the budget for it. Short of us winning the lottery, it ain't happening - at least not if we want to keep eating. Perhaps in about two years, after Eeees and I both graduate from grad school such a sum might be possible, but for now? No - it's just too large a sum to include into our budget along with the other required expenses. That being said, we'll be applying for tuition breaks from all three schools (yes, it'll be three different schools).

Have you ever had a fear that was completely irrational -- and yet, you were still afraid? For example, when I was a younger pup, I had a horrible fear of vampires. Eeees and several freinds can vouch for the fact that I didn't do very well when we watched The Lost Boys together many years ago. The fear was completely irrational -- there was a 0% chance of my actually being attacked at any time by a vampire -- but nonetheless, I was terrified.

Well, I have a tuituion fear that is probably irrational, but certainly has a greater chance of happening than being attacked by a vampire. What is that fear? Very simply, the fear is that when we apply for tuition breaks from the schools, they will simply tell us no -- that we should get the other two schools to give us breaks. "Why should we subsidize your sending your other son/daughter to a different school?" is what I'm afraid I'm going to hear. School A will tell me to get a break from B and C -- B will say to ask A and C and C will tell me to go to A & B. In the end, no one reduces their tuition and that's that.

Yeah, I know... in reality they will (hopefully?) take other tuitions into account. But this irrational fear actually sometimes keeps me up at night. Anyone else have any experience in this area? Is my fear truly irrational? Or am I headed for a big heap of financial trouble next year?

The Wolf

Teens, Boundaries and Trust

Rabbi Horowitz's column in this week's Jewish Press* addresses a problem that many parents of teens have -- balancing the want (and need) of kids to "do something" on a long winter Saturday night against the need of the parents to make sure that their kids are in a wholesome environment.

He makes one recommendation that parents take the proactive step of organizing an activity for their kids, such as an organized athletic league. Depending on where you live, you may find such programs already exist. There may be basketball leagues for the athletically inclined as well as learning groups for those who want to devote some extra time to learning.

However, not everyone has access to these, or has kids that want to participate in an organized activity. Sometimes, kids just want to "hang out" with friends, go to the local pizza place, or engage in some other "disorganized" activity. I remember when I was a kid, I spent many a Saturday night out with friends of mine. Sometimes it was bowling, sometimes to a movie, or to some other place. And, yes, before anyone asks, it often was mixed (boys and girls). My friends' sisters and their friends were often along for the ride. But we'll get back to that later.

In his article, Rabbi Horowitz makes an important point about establishing a trusting relationship with teenagers while remembering to allow them the freedom that they need. Teens are not five and ten year olds... in many respects, they are young adults, looking to find their own identities. If they are to do this, they have to be allowed a certain amount of freedom to explore. That's not to say that you have to allow everything, of course, but, as a parent, you have to be somewhat flexible. Sure, you might not like to have your son spend his Saturday night at a bowling alley, but you have to may need to compromise to show your teen that you trust him or her.

When I was a kid, my mother trusted me to make certain decisions for myself with regard to which friends to hang out with or where I wanted to go on a Saturday night. Of course, she was always ready to listen to me if I needed advice, but, for the most part, I was allowed to make my own decisions. The reason is that I had her trust - she knew that I was (for the most part) a good kid and hung around with kids who were (again, for the most part) good kids. Yeah, maybe she wasn't so thrilled that I was spending time in mixed company, but I demonstrated to her early on two important traits, which I believe most teens can be taught: (1) that I could develop good judgement and be responsible and (2) that I could learn from mistakes that I make.

My mother had a few rules for when Skipper** and/or I went out. The first was that she had to know where we were going. The second was that if we were going to be late, we had to call. She didn't mind if I stayed out until midnight or one (provided, of course, I made it to the yeshiva's minyan the next day on time) as long as I called her and let her know I was okay (and remember, this was before cell phones).

That's not to say that I was a perfect teen. But I knew enough to know when to "say when." I knew, from the lessons that my mother gave me, what was right and what was wrong (and how far I could venture into the gray area in between). And, most importantly, I had her trust.

I suppose, in many ways, Rabbi Horowitz was writing about my teen years. He stresses the importance of cutting teens slack, and my mother did. He also stresses the importance of maintaining some rules (curfew, checking in if you're going to be late, etc.), which my mother did. And he mentions the importance of, while maintaining a veto power over your teens' choice of destination, using it sparingly -- even if it means going to an activity that you might otherwise disapprove of -- and my mother did that as well.

Walter is now in his mid-teens. George has just entered them and Wilma is not far behind. They are no longer little kids, and Eeees and I can no longer supervise every moment that they spend out of the house with friends. The way I see it, we have a few options: (1) We can just let them go out and, as long we don't get a call from the cops, all is okay. (2) We can forbid them to go anywhere unless the activity and the people are completely pre-approved by us. (3) We can give them some freedom (as is age approriate, of course) and work to instill in them a sense of right and wrong, and give them the mental and emotional tools to allow them to make decisions on their own.

The proper path, I think, is obvious. The first one is the easiest for Eeees and I to follow. However, the risk of things going wrong is just too high that something can go wrong. Kids (yes, even teens) need boundaries and "don't get arrested" is just not enough of a boundary, IMHO. The second path is also a pretty bad one. Yes, the kids won't get in trouble if you supervise and monitor everything they do as teens (assuming you physically can do that). But what happens once they are no longer under your control. However, the day will come (whether it's when they actually become adults, or move out of the house, or when they simply get tired of what they perceive to be excessive parental influence in their lives and rebel) when you simply cannot be on top of them all of the time. If you haven't given them a chance to practice making decisions, then how are they to know how to act once they are out on their own?

Sadly, I think too many parents in our community take the first option out of sheer laziness or the second option out of genuine concern, while not realizing that they are robbing their children of the learning experiences that will serve them well in later life. The last approach is the one taken by my mother and the one that I think is the best to take with kids. Is it possible that the kid will make a bad decision? Yes, it certainly is possible. But you are also giving them the chance to learn from their mistakes, to grow and mature, and, most importantly, to acquire the necessary experience to enable to make responsible life choices in the future.

And isn't that our ultimate job as parents anyway?

The Wolf

P.S. Oh, yeah, I said I'd get back to the mixed company I kept as a teen. Here's the short story: yes, we went out as a group -- my friends, their sisters, some of their female friends. Number of girls I kissed, held hands with or had serious physical activity with at (or as a result of) those meetings: none. Number of girls who became pregnant at any of those meetings: none. Number of "serious relationships" that developed from those meetings: none. Number of times I or one of my friends ended up drunk or high: none. Number of times that we were arrested: none.

Related Post:
Our Kids... Do We Want To Force Them To Keep The Mitzvos?


* This post in no way means to imply that R. Horowitz would have approved of my actions as a teen (described later in the post).

** It should be noted that very often Skipped did *not* go out with my friends and I -- but the rules applied to her as well, whomever she was out with.

An Open Letter To George's Camp Rebbi

Dear Rabbi Ploni,

My son George came home from camp very upset today. Specifically, he was upset about something that he heard during your shiur. He reports that you told your shiur that anyone who marries a non-Jew will burn in Gehenim forever.

I would ask that in the future you please be a little more thoughtful about making broad sweeping statement of this type in the shiur. Unfortunately, in our family, we have family members who are intermarried. These are relatives that George (and the rest of our family) love and care for, despite the choice of spouse. I can certainly appreciate the necessity of educating our youth that intermarriage is wrong and is one of the greatest wrongs that a Jew can do today. Nonetheless, telling a child (and yes, even a pre-teen) that someone that they care about is bound to hell forever is highly traumatic and unnecessary. You can easily make the point that it is wrong without having to “scare them straight;” after all, we’re talking about pre-teens here – they’re not going to be marrying *anyone* for quite a few years.

I understand that this was not done out of malice on your part. You probably could not fathom the idea that a frum family would have relatives who are intermarried. Sad to say, however, this is the case and we must deal with it as we can. I ask that in the future you please consider the fact that not all families are in ideal circumstances and that there are children who, because of the nature of their families, can and will be hurt by broad generalizations of eternal condemnation of people whom they know and love.

If you wish to discuss this matter further, I will be happy to make myself available to you in the evenings. I can be reached by phone at [[phone number edited out]] or via email at me@non-Wolfishaddress.com.

Yours truly,

[[Non Wolfish Name]]

On Kids Getting Older

Walter didn't have bus service to school this morning, so he and I traveled on the train together this morning - him to school and me to work.

Walter is a high-schooler now. George and Wilma are not too far from high school either. These kids at one time used to be small, but now they've grown. Walter now travels on the train by himself. The kids go off to sleep away camp during the summer. They are responsible around the house for chores and for doing their homework. They are growing up, doing things and taking on responsibilities that they did not and could not when they were younger. And I began to wonder:

When was the last time I said Sh'ma with them before they went to sleep? I used to do it every day, and now I don't do it with them at all. They're just too old for it. But I don't remember the very last time I did it. I'm fairly certain that the last time I did it I wasn't conscious of the fact that it would, in fact, be the last time.

When was the last time I carried them in my arms? When was the last time I changed one of their diapers? When was the last time that I handed one of them a bottle? When was the last time I read a Dr. Suess book to them?* When was the last time I fed them by hand, scooping the food onto a spoon and making airplane noises to get them to laugh and open their mouths?

Don't get me wrong... I'm not actively looking to return to those days. In many ways, I'm *glad* my kids are older now. I certainly don't want to change their diapers again. But what I regret is the fact that I can't identify the last times that I did these things. I know it seems kind of silly, but the passage of each of those events was a milestone of sorts -- only at the time I didn't know it. When I last said Sh'ma with my kids at night, I didn't know it would be the last time... I probably just assumed that I would do it again the next night or the night after. When I last fed Wilma by spoon, I didn't realize that the next time she would pick up the spoon on her own and would no longer need me to make silly noises. But yet, that very last time came and went; and I wasn't cognizant of it enough to realize that I should remember that moment as the moment that my kids grew up just a little bit more.

The Wolf


* Actually, I read the Hebrew version of Fox In Socks to them about two weeks ago. But it just wasn't the same as when they were younger.

Our Kids... Do We Want To Force Them To Keep The Mitzvos?

Rabbi Horowitz (who has been recently appointed at the "Bloggers' favorite rabbi") wrote a new article concerning teenagers. He makes the point that there are kids who rebel at young ages (13 or 14) and no longer have an interest in being frum. These aren't kids who are getting involved in drugs, alcohol, sex, etc., they just aren't interested in keeping the mitzvos (commandments).

As he says:

I am getting a new wave of parents begging me to speak to their children. The profile is chillingly similar: 13-14 years old boys and girls. High achieving in school. No emotional problems; great, respectful kids from great homes. Well adjusted. They just don’t want to be frum. Period. They are eating on Yom Kippur, not keeping Shabbos, not keeping kosher; et al.

No anger, no drugs, no promiscuous activity. They are just not buying what we are selling. Some have decided to ‘go public’, while others are still ‘in the closet’. In some of the cases, their educators have no idea of what is really going on.

Without offering any concrete ideas on what should be changed, Rabbi Horowitz correctly points out that *something* must be done.

What I found interesting was that right away, the very first commenter, chose to bury his (or her) head in the sand. The comment was:

I dont believe it. 13 and 14 year old kids are still very much under their parents control. They might not be as frum as their parents might want them to be, but eating on Yom Kippur and being Mechalel Shabbos at home with their parents there? Personally I think that you are trying to scare up some business for yourself. Maybe get more speaking engagements or more people reading your column. Kids at that age are not bold enough to go against their parents.

The commenter, IMHO, missed the point entirely. Could a parent enforce observance on a thirteen or fourteen year old? Probably. They could probably lock up the kitchen on Yom Kippur, make sure the kid doesn't go to parties on Friday night, bentches after every meal and so on. But is that really what we want? In my opinion, if you have to *force* kids to keep the mitzvos, then you've already lost a good deal of the battle.

Teenagers (and yes, even ones as young as 13) are old enough to begin searching for their own identity and to begin forming world-views. They are no longer at an age where they will simply accept the hashkafos of parents simply because it's what their parents believe and do. They are beginning to find their way in the world and will not be stuffed back in the bottle. As the parent of three kids in the age range of 11 to 14, I can tell you that they can all think independently of how you *want* them to think.

The goal, as I said earlier, is not to enforce observance of the mitzvos. The goal should be to foster an environment in which your children *want* to keep the mitzvos. That's the only method that has any chance of success... because the time will come when your thirteen-year-old turns twenty, and you have no control over him/her at all. At that point, the only thing that you have left is how much you made your kids want to keep the mitzvos. You won't be able to force them anymore.

The Wolf

Rabbi Eli Teitelbaum: Kids Need To Have Fun

Rabbi Eli Teitelbaum wrote an article which appeared in The Yeshiva World today. In it, he decries how it has become standard operating procedure to ban anything that is remotely fun. Concerts, trips, sports and other youth activities which are, in varying degrees, banned in our communities, should be allowed and encouraged in a kosher environment. He correctly points out that kids need an outlet for their energies (aside from learning) and that if one removes all such outlets, kids will find other outlets... and they will be far worse. If you don't allow kids to participate in sports or cultural activities and the like, then they will be gathering in pool halls in the Catskills. Or, as he succinctly puts it:

When sports and concerts are forbidden, and all forms of kosher entertainment are off limits, we are asking for trouble. If our kids can’t find a place to vent their energy within a kosher environment, then they will find it elsewhere.

Amen.

In his article, he gives examples of times that he organized youth activities and met with resistance. In one case, he tried to have the boys in his Pirchei organization put on a play based on the book Family Aguilar. When people tried to have the play banned, the matter ended up being escalated to R. Moshe Feinstein. Instead of issuing a ban, R. Moshe gave it his blessing.

In another example, he arranged for a two-day trip to Washington at low cost for boys. The trip was going to be taken on the two days that the yeshivos gave off for Channukah. One Rosh Yeshiva wrote R. Teitelbaum a nasty letter accusing him of encouraging bittul Torah. Fortunately, R. Teitelbaum was able to fend him off.

It's very interesting that the difference between R. Teitelbaum's point of view and the point of view of others in our community is brought to my attention right now. Walter just began high school this week and it looks like he's going to have a great time there. He's encouraged about the learning programs, the secular education and the extracurricular activities. Indeed, when we went looking for a school, we purposely went looking for a place that had all three of these elements -- we wanted a school that had a great learning program that would keep him challenged and interested; we wanted a school with a quality secular studies department that would show him the possibilities that exist in our world, and a school that had supervised extracurricular activities for him to be able to channel his creative energies. I purposely didn't want to send him to a high school such as that I went to: where the learning was boring and uninteresting, where the secular studies were a joke, and the word "extracurricular" didn't exist because the school day went from 7:30 in the morning to 9:30 at night every day without variation; where the word "trip" didn't exist and the word "activity" might as well have been in Mongolian. In my old school, if it didn't involve learning, it shouldn't be done (although I suppose they did allow for some recreation -- boys were allowed to play basketball during recess). In looking for the type of school for Walter that recognizes that kids are kids and need kosher extracurricular activities, I find that I have explicitly rejected the opinions of the "banners" and embraced the opinion of R. Teitelbaum.

I can only be thankful that there are rabbis out there, like Rabbi Teitelbaum, who have not forgotten what it is to be a kid and to need an outlet for youthful energies.

The Wolf

Dear Walter,

Dear Walter,

Mazel Tov and congratulations on your graduation from elementary school. Your mother and I are very proud of the accomplishments and progress that you've made over the years. We've watched you grow from a little five-year-old entering first grade full of promise, to a maturing young man who is well on the way to fulfilling that promise and potential. We've watched you grow physically, emotionally, intellectually and spiritually. Weve seen you grow in Torah, going from your aleph beis, through the study of Chumash and Navi and on to Mishnah and Gemara. We've seen you progress through your secular studies, going from one subject to the next taking on ever-increasingly difficult topics. We've watched with pride as your davening progressed from a simple recital of Modeh Ani to being the Shliach Tzibur in your daily minyan at school. We've seen you grow from a little boy to a capable, considerate young man.

But this is not the end of the journey... it's only a milestone along the path. Just as we've had incredible pride and nachas in your progress thus far, we look forward to watching your further accomplishments, to seeing you grow further in learning and yiddishkeit and to your becoming a full-fledged member of K'lal Yisrael and the community at large. Just as we've watched with joy as you tackled each educational task, we look forward to seeing you continue to make growth and reach for the stars.

Mazel Tov on reaching this momentous occasion. We look forward to seeing many more wonderful things from you.

With love and respect,

Dad

Repeating (Family) History

I have the good fortune to have a younger sister, whom I will refer to in this post as Skipper.* Skipper is about three years younger than I am. Of the two of us, she is, by far, the smarter one. Oh, there may be times that I can grasp a concept (especially an abstract one) quicker than she can; but, on the whole, when it comes down to practical intelligence, she is heads and shoulders above me. For just about any problem that we encounter, she'll usually have three solutions to a problem thought up before I've even worked out one.

You'd think that she always knew how smart she was... but that's not the case. When she was younger, Skipper was sure that she was quite dumb. I don't know where she got that silly idea from, but as a child and a teen, she was convinced that she was not the sharpest knife in the drawer.

Now, I always knew that she was quite smart - even as a teen. I knew this because when we weren't trying to kill each other (as teens often do) I would help her out with her school work. I helped her to understand Rashi on Chumash. I helped her out with Algebra, Geometry and Trig. She would often throw up her hands in frustration and yell out that these subjects were impossible and that there was no way that she could understand them. y=mx+b?! A squared plus B squared equals C squared? Logarithms? Pi-R squared times height? Forget it, she would say. However, as a big brother, I tried my best to help her understand the concepts and, with some hard work on her part, she managed to pass high school.

Skipper didn't go to college after high school. She got a job teaching in pre-schools (she *loves* children) and eventually went on to get married and have kids of her own.

About seven years ago, Skipper decided to go to college and get a degree. She ended up attending a combined B.S.-M.S. program at a good college (no, not Touro) and graduated as the class valedictorian. Today, she's a working professional.

I don't know at what point in her journey she realized that she is quite intelligent, but at some point, she finally came to accept what I (and countless others) had been telling her all along -- that she can do anything that she sets her mind to. You don't end up as the valedictorian in a Master's program by being a dummy.

There was a point to this whole story. It's coming... just bear with me.

Your friendly Wolf has a non-lucrative side job teaching Kriah to pre-Bar-Mitzvah boys. It's something that I've been doing for quite a while now and it's a job that I enjoy. Skipper's oldest son (I'll call him Velvel for this post -- and no, that's not his name) is now twelve years old and for a while I've been teaching him to lain (read the Torah) at his Bar Mitzvah. He, like his mother, is quite intelligent and can do just about anything he sets his mind to. I generally meet with him twice a week and last night was our night.

Imagine my surprise when I walk in the door and find Velvel in frustration over the fact that he can't understand the Gemara he's learning in school. He was complaining to his mother that he can't do it, it's too hard, he doesn't have the head for it, etc. Skipper was doing her best to try to convince him that he can do it.

Normally, I don't get involved in family disputes -- especially when it doesn't involve my kids. However, at this point, I felt I needed to break in. I told Skipper that I found the whole scene a bit amusing, since, I told her, I could have sworn that I heard this tirade before. I was positive that I once heard someone tell me that they couldn't possibly understand the subject material, that it was too hard, that they were just plain "too dumb" to understand it. At that, Skipper smiled knowingly. Later on, I told Velvel about our childhood experiences and informed him that in my humble opinion, he was quite intelligent and could do just about anything he put his mind to.

Isn't it funny how our kids become what we were when we were younger?

The Wolf


*Skipper is not a derogatory term. My sister has a way of keeping a million things straight at a time. She runs a "tight ship" at home. Somehow, between school, work, raising a bunch of kids, caring for our mother and various other assorted projects, she somehow manages to get everything done in her house and not drown in all the work. Since she can manage all these tasks and still keep her ship afloat, she has earned the title "Skipper."

A Rant on Parental Responsibility and My Son's Classmates

Some recent events have forced Eeees and I to have a talk with Walter, our oldest, about birds, bees and other similar topics. He is approaching an age where he has to learn to cope with certain urges and understand certain feelings that his body is giving him. He has to learn how to properly deal with women and what are the healthy and unhealthy ways of dealing with them.

During the conversation, the topic took a detour from him to his classmates. To be honest, I was kind of surprised to hear the things that I heard. I've been told that the vast majority of his classmates spend a fair amount of their free time discussing "hot babes" with each other. Some of them have pictures of "hot babes" on their cellphones, including some that are unclothed. Many of them, it seems, have seen movies or television shows that are highly inappropriate (IMHO) for thirteen-year-old boys. All this in a yeshiva that, while, not at the outmost fringes of the right-wing is certainly on that side of center.

To be honest, I'm kind of shocked and a bit angry. I'm shocked that there are parents that are so clueless as to what their children are doing. I'm not saying that Walter is an angel -- heaven knows (pun intended) that he's not -- he's got his own teenage issues to deal with -- but I can honestly say that we have a pretty good handle on what he sees, listens to and reads, and we do screen for inappropriate material. We didn't let him see the latest (fourth) Harry Potter movie because we felt the bath scene with Moaning Myrtle was somewhat inappropriate for his age. Maybe in another year or two... but not yet. I know that most (all?) of his classmates have no doubt seen it. One kid in his class carries around episodes of Family Guy (a funny show, but not for kids) on his MP3 player. The kids in the class talk about Borat (they saw Borat??!!) and some of the reported homosexual content in the movie (I haven't seen it, so I can't comment on it one way or the other. However, according to the report from CommonSenseMedia, it's fairly explicit).

Do parents know what their kids are doing? My son sometimes complains that we won't let him watch this or that. But in the end, we believe that it's for his benefit and that he'll thank us in the end. After all, isn't that what responsible parents do -- shield their children from things that are inappropriate?

I'm also a bit angry, but I suppose that it's somewhat my own fault. I'm angry because for years the yeshiva has been making me feel (or, perhaps more correctly, I've been *allowing* the yeshiva to make me feel) like a sub-standard parent because we have a television in the home and we allow our kids to watch DVDs, read secular books, etc. But now, I see what other kids in the class are doing and, with perhaps one other exception, I find that our child is probably the most "shielded" kid in the class -- and I'm angry. I'm angry because (a) I feel like I've been stigmatized by the administration for no reason and (b) instead of needing to screen the other kids from mine, I find now that all along it's been my kid who has been needing screening from the other kids! And yet, Eeees and I were the ones who were told that we run a "liberal household" by a former principal at the school. If only he knew what would become of this class five years later!

I just don't get it. Who is in the wrong here? The "good parents" who "don't have a television" or "don't watch movies" but have their kids watching things that are highly inappropriate and who have pornographic pictures on their cell phones; or me, who openly has a television, who openly goes to movies (although my kids don't) and who does his level best our guide our children in what they should watch and see and try to teach them that some media are just inappropriate for them at the present time?

The Wolf

Average Kids

Rabbi Horowitz had an article last week (OK, so I'm somewhat slow...) about kids who are average learners (even if they are excellent in middos and yiddishkeit) finding it more and more difficult to get into mainstream yeshivos. More and more often, these kids are being pushed into "alternative" yeshivos where they are often grouped together with "at risk" kids when, in reality, they don't suffer from the same problems that many at-risk kids suffer from.

As the parent of an eighth grader who is less than stellar in Gemorah, his article certainly struck a chord within me. Eeees and I were dreading the high-school application process because we knew that our son was average at best in Gemorah.

Maybe it's because we didn't apply to schools like Mirrer, Chaim Berlin, Torah V'Da'as, etc., but it seems that B"H, we were matzliach. He applied to four schools of a more "modern" bent (how I hate that word in that context) and he was accepted into three of them.

Sadly, the way Rabbi Horowitz reports it, it's a vicious cycle -- parents demand more excellence, so more "average" kids get left out. As the schools are increasingly populated only with excellent students, the average is pulled ever higher.

Truth to tell, I think that it is the responsibility of parents to try to find the best school that their son will fit in, and not necessarily the best school. We certainly could have applied to a school such as the type I listed above, and who knows, maybe he would have gotten into one -- but he certainly wouldn't be happy there. He needs a school that will work with him on his level of learning, challenge him to grow in learning to the best of his abilities and provide direction for post-graduate learning -- in limudei kodesh AND limudei chol. Simply going for the "best" school because of fear of losing social standing or future shidduch issues is incredibly counter-productive and the harm that you can cause a child far outweighs the benefits. Engaging in such behavior does far more to put a kid "at risk" then sending him to a yeshiva that accepts "average" students.

The Wolf

Standards, Expectations and Unconditional Love -- What's the Right Mix?

This weekend, I made a trip up to YU for the annual SOY Seforim sale. One of the books that I picked up is Off the Derech by Faranak Margolese, which I am finding truly fascinating. So far, I've finished the first seventy pages or so and am eagerly looking forward to the rest.

One of the main points that Ms. Margolese makes early in the book is that people leave observant Judaism not because of intellectual issues (Science/Torah and the like), but primarily because of emotional issues. Adolescents can gain a negative emotional view of Judaism from parents, teachers, school administrators and friends. These factors together can contribute to a person's decision to "ditch" observance of the mitzvos as they get older - regardless of any belief in the historicity of the Revelation at Sinai or the Creation story as told in B'raishis (Genesis).

One of the factors that is brought up is the need of children to feel loved unconditionally. She brings a few anecdotes of people who felt that their parents' love for them was conditional on the level of their observance (whether that was actually the case or not). Because they felt that their parents wouldn't love them as much if they weren't observant, Judaism developed as a negative in their minds as adolescents and was (in their own admissions) a part of the reason that they strayed from observance of the mitzvos.

I can certainly understand the need for a child (including adolescents) to feel that they are loved without reservation. As a child, friends may come and go, teachers may be good one year and bad the next, this year's well-loved or well-hated principal may be out the door next year, but parents (barring the truly drastic of life events) are just about the only constants in a child's life. They are (or should be) the one place that a child knows that they can turn to no matter how bad things become. Parents are that last thrown life preserver in a child's life when stormy seas threaten to engulf them. In short, children need to know that when the chips are down, their parents are there for them.

On the other hand, there is much to be said for maintaining standards and expectations of a child. One example that Ms. Margolese brings is of a girl whose father would ask her in the morning if she davened. If she replied no, then he would tell her to go daven. However, since she was not particularly interested in davening, she would simply go up to her room, read for about half an hour, and then come back down and tell her father that she davened.

Now, as parents, I do believe that we have a right (and indeed a responsibility) to set standards and expectations for our children. We have an obligation to tell them what behavior is considered acceptable and which is not considered acceptable. Who among us wouldn't try to reprimand our teens if they were caught stealing? Certainly we would go about it in different ways -- one parent may try the "soft approach," another parent a stricter approach and yet another with a mixed message. Not all responses are valid or correct, of course, but we would all agree that *some* measures are called for. Only the most irresponsible parents would take no action at all.

Well, just as we impose standards for behavior in the realm of bein adam l'chaveiro (relationships between people), we also set standards for behavior in the realm of bein adam lamakom (relationships between man and God). When my children are older, they will have to know, for example, that I will not allow them to bring chametz into the house on Pesach. They will know that I expect them to daven and learn every day. I expect him not to sacrifice his little sister to Molech. In short, I expect a certain minimum commitment to the observance of the mitzvos. Of course, if he does more -- all the more power to him; but a minimum is expected. I believe that children need standards in order to achieve... and that applies to all realms, academic, behavioral, religious, extra-curricular, you name it.

Of course, the question then becomes how to express your expectations and make them stick without endangering the security of the child's knowledge of the parent's unconditional love. You can't just sit your kid down and tell him "Walter*, we expect you to do A, B and C, but even if you don't we still love you," because such a statement lacks the force that is necessary to tell the kid what you expect of him. It's weasly and wishy-washy.

Of course, as adults, we can separate love and approval as two separate concepts, but I'm not so certain that most adolescents can emotionally make that distinction. You can try to explain it to them, but I don't know if (at the younger ages of adolescence especially) they can really distinguish between the two. I can tell an adult that I may still love him or her even if I don't accept what they are doing. Heck, I love my mother, but I strongly disapprove of her life-long smoking habit. She knows my feelings on the matter of her smoking -- she has for a long, long time, but she also knows that I love her unconditionally. But if I ever (God forbid) caught my kid smoking (something I don't expect too -- I think we've well ingrained the anti-smoking message into our kids), I could probably tell him the same thing I tell my mother, but I don't think he'd react the same way - one is a teen and the other is nearing sixty. My mother is much, much more mature than my son - and can understand disapproval of an action much better than Walter can.

In the end, we don't want our children to go off the derech. I think that among those of us that are observant, having our children become observant is a major goal in life - if not (for some) the most important goal. But we don't want to create an atmosphere that is so overbearing that the child will rebel at the first opportunity. We want to infuse them with a Yiddishkeit that is positive, not negative. On the other hand, we don't want to give blanket approval for any and all behavior. Adoniyah turned out the way he did, the Navi tells us, because Dovid never bothered to correct him on his behavior. As usual, there has to be a happy medium somewhere in the middle. It's up to us to find that exact message.

The Wolf


* No, Walter isn't our son's name. But it is one of any number of nicknames that we sometimes call our kids.

High School Yet Again... One More Fear Of Mine

As you no doubt know from my previous posts, Eeees and I have been looking for a high school for our eighth grader. We've seen several that we have been impressed with and we will be applying to them.

However, I personally have one big fear about the whole processes... and I don't know if it's because I, personally, had a very bad experience or if this happens more often. Perhaps others who have gone through this process can give me some help or insight.

Our son goes to a fairly RW Chareidi, black-hat, white-shirt/dark-pants only school. The high schools that we have looked at are not like that at all - they all encourage their students to go to college, they allow clothing with colors, many of the kids wear kippot s'rugot, many of them have televisions (well, so do many in the current school, even though it's officially highly discouraged), and most of the schools are Zionistic.

Part of the application process for just about every school that we are interested in involves having the principal fill out an evaluation on the student. Now, to be perfectly fair, my son is not the greatest student - when he's not sufficiently interested or challenged. I've found that when he has an interest in the gemara that they are learning, he is usually pretty capable of understanding it. However, if it's not so interesting, then his grades will start to plummet.

The menahel has spoken with us about this several times. Usually we can crack the whip on him for a while and get him to pay attention, but then he sometimes slides back as his other interests take over his attention. The result was that in seventh grade, his grades in Limudei Kodesh were less than stellar.

The menahel thinks our son has a problem. He thinks that because our son has an interest in animals and other things aside from full-time learning, there must be a problem with him. He's advised us to seek professional counseling for him. To be honest, Eeees and I don't see that as his problem - he's pretty well adjusted, has friends and acts like a typical adolescent (meaning that he alternates between being very good and making our lives miserable). He enjoys reading anything he can - Judaic and secular. He does learn on his own sometimes (although not gemara). However, he's not going to be a Rosh Yeshiva (at least based on his current temperment - in the future, who knows?) and learning doesn't occupy his every waking moment. As with me in high school, the harder he is pushed in one direction that he doesn't want to go in, the more he will recoil in the opposite direction. The menahel thinks that is a sign that the kid needs therapy. We think it's the sign of a teenager.

Anyway, to make a long story short, I have a real fear (possibly unfounded) that when the menahel sees the application forms and the schools to which we are applying, with their radically different hashkafos than the present yeshiva, he may try to sabotage the process.

Why do I say this? Because it happened to me. Allow me to present my story.

As many of the readers of this blog know, I was pretty miserable in high school. I had little in common hashkafically with the administration or my classmates. I did not have the skills or the interest to learn at the level of the class - and no one thought to actually try and help me out. That's not to say I was not at fault - I certainly could have tried harder - but I didn't. With few exceptions, my learning in high school was pretty non-existant. The only reason I can learn today is because of the yeshiva I went to after high school. And therein lies the tale.

When I was in twelfth grade, my mother was ill. She spent most of the school year in the hospital with various related health issues. Since I hated school, I took unfair advantage of the situtaion and played hookey - quite often. One time, I missed an entire week, hiding out in the house. That was no one's fault but my own. Sure, if the yeshiva had made more of an effort to reach out to me and include me in the learning it might not have happened, but I was more than capable of knowning that my actions in skipping school were wrong.

About February, the Rosh Yeshiva called me into his office. "Wolf," he told me, "I want you to know that we can legally hold you back. You've missed enough days of school this year that you can be held back another year."

I gulped. Being stuck in this school another year was the last thing I wanted. I had had it up to here being the square peg that they were trying to pound into the round hashkafic hole. I wanted out - as should have been evidenced by the fact that I was missing school to begin with.

In the end, he offered a deal. I had to move into the dorm, be in school *every day*, be present at every davening and learning seder. If I could do that, I'd graduate in June. If not... I had no choice; I took the deal. I moved into the dorm (oh, how I hated that dorm) and was there every day since then. I missed one day in May due to a family member having an operation - but I got permission from the Rosh Yeshiva in advance to be out that day. I kept my end of the bargain to the letter.

In June, the Rosh Yeshiva called upon me again and asked me what I had planned for next year. I informed him that I planned to go to a small local yeshiva (I didn't mention that I planned to go to college at night - I wasn't *that* dumb) that was recommended to me by someone who knew my family, and I mentioned the name of the Yeshiva and it's head. His response: "Why don't you go to a normal yeshiva next year?" I had no idea what he was talking about. True it was a small yeshiva - it wasn't a Chaim Berlin or Mirrer, but still it was pretty RW hashkafically. However, the school wasn't to his liking. He threatened me that if I didn't make plans to go to a "normal yeshiva" (with him defining the word "normal") that I would not graduate.

I was heart-broken - I nearly left the office in tears. I had kept my end of the bargain faithfully. I did everything that was asked of me - and yet I was going to be stuck in that school again for another year. It just wasn't fair! It would be one thing if he just held me back because of my absences - that would have been his right since I did play hookey. But he offered me a deal - and I kept my end of it! It wasn't right of him to use threaten the graduation I had earned.

My mother, upon hearing the news, called the RY and asked him to reconsider. How could he do this, she asked? What was she going to tell her son about frumkeit when he sees that a rabbi's word means nothing. How would she keep her son on the derech if he sees that honesty means nothing? His response to my mother was "I don't tell you how to cook rice, you don't tell me how to run a yeshiva."

As it turns out, my mother knows the wives of some influential rabbanim in the community and she called them and literally poured out her heart in sorrow to them and their husbands. All this, of course, happened behind my back, but wheels were set in motion; phone calls were made.

About two days later, the RY called me over and said "Wolf, who started this rumor that you're not graduating? Of course you are. In fact, I'd like you to speak by the graduation." I was stunned and speechless.

In the end, I graduated, and I spoke by the graduation. But the whole process left me scarred and contributed a great deal to the some of the skepticism and cynicism that I have today about the frum community.

It wasn't until next year that I found out what the problem with the new yeshiva was -- the RY of the new yeshiva (unbeknowst to me) used to be a rebbe at this high school and when he left, it wasn't on the best of terms.

So, that's my story. Someone in a position of authority tried to interfere with my choice of yeshiva after high school and used his considerable power to force me to attend a yeshiva of his choosing.

And, I fear, the same thing may happen here with my son. To be honest, it could be (and I'm hoping) that my fears are unfounded. Maybe this doesn't go on all the time and I just had someone who, for whatever reasons, felt that playing with my life was good. Maybe I just had one rotten apple and other Roshei Yeshiva and Menahels are not like that. I really have no idea whether the Menahael will torpedo our son's chances of going to a different school because he thinks it'll be better for him in a school of his choosing and of like hashkafah. It's something that I really am afaid of.

Or, it could be that based on my experience, I'm just being paranoid.

The Wolf

... And Then There Are Days...

... when we wish we seriously reconsider sending him away to high school. Ah, the "joys" of adolescence. :)

The Wolf

High School Regrets

Eeees and I have spent the last two weeks looking at various high schools. Our oldest is now in eighth grade and will be attending high school next year. We've already ruled out the yeshiva he's attending now for high school, so we've been looking at alternatives.

We're purposely steering away from the "black hat" type yeshiva that he currently attends. He's not terribly happy there and it's fairly clear that he's not cut out for learning ten hours a day. In addition to that, we want a place that will teach him to be able to learn on his own, and prepare him for both college and post-high-school yeshiva. I think that if he remains where he is now, he may be marginally prepared for the first two, but not for the third; I think he'll be "burnt out" on learning in that type of atmosphere. I have other reasons as well for steering him away from there... I'll get to those a little later.

And so we're looking elsewhere. We've seen three high schools in the New York area (sorry, PT, we're really not keen on sending him to Wisconsin) and have been favorably impressed with all three. They all stress learning, have different levels of shiurim to accomodate students that are stronger or weaker in learning, offer real secular studies classes, AP courses, electives and generous extracurricular activities. He's really liked what he's seen by two of the schools (we didn't bring him to the third, although we now regret that decision - we know him well enough to know that he'd love what he saw by the third school as well) and we'll probably be applying to all three.

In short, I'm hoping for him to have a vastly different high school experience than I had. My high school experience was... well... let's just say that it works for certain communities, but not for me. The high school I went to was very small - about 40-50 boys at any one time. Since it was so small, there was only one class per grade - there was no room to try to accomodate those who were weaker in learning - of whom I was one. I was usually left behind by the third daf in any given year. It was rare that anyone tried to help me out. Eventually, I just stopped trying.

The day was as follows:

7:30 Shacharis
8:15 Halacha seder
8:30 Breakfast
9:00 Morning Seder (15 minute break in-between)
1:15 Mincha
1:30 Lunch
2:30 Second Seder
3:45 English
6:20 Dinner
7:00 Night Seder
9:15 Ma'ariv

English consisted of four subjects in ninth and tenth grades - Math, Science, Social Studies and English. In 11th grade, Science dropped out, extending the Second Seder to about 4:20. In 12th grade, there was no Math, and so Second Seder went to about 5:00.

Every other Sunday there was no English. Second Seder ended at 4:00 and if you had no Night Seder that night, you were done for the day.

If you had no Night Seder at night, your day was done at 6:20. 9th grade had Night Seder two nights a week, 10th grade had three nights, 11th grade had four and 12th grade had five nights - Sunday to Thursday.

There were no extracurricular activities, except one. On Lag B'Omer, we'd take a field trip to the park for a softball game or some such activity. The only other break in the routine was that once a month the Rosh Yeshiva would give a one-hour lecture on the sugya the Yeshiva was learning. Of course, the lecture was given in Yiddish - and I didn't understand a word of it. One time, the Rosh Yeshiva said to me after the lecture "Wolf, if you can tell me what I said in the lecture, I'll give you twenty dollars." I wanted to punch him in the nose.

But that was it - that was my high school experience for four long years. Long days, long learning hours, barely-there secular studies classes (it's a minor miracle that I made it into college), no help at all from the rabbeim who looked at me as largly a consumer of space and oxygen, and disdain from the administration. Any mention of anything that was out of their definition of the "torah world" was verbotten. The day after the Challenger shuttle exploded, I got in trouble for discussing the fact that I had seen news replays of it on television. My attempts to (secretly, of course) play Strat-O-Matic baseball were secretly taped by school spies, as I related in a previous post). I dared not bring in any book that I might have been reading at home.

Of course, one is entitled to ask why I spent four years at that school if it was so miserable. Well, there is an answer to that too. Without going into too many details, suffice it to say that my mother (who is disabled) was unable to work. My father (who isn't frum) didn't contribute anything toward my yeshiva education. The one thing that I give the administration of the yeshiva credit for was that they allowed me to remain there for six years (including two years of elementary school) pretty much for free. For that act of chesed, I can thank them, but not for much else.

In short, for four years, I barely learned anything and was miserable. In looking at the yeshivos over the last two weeks with my son, I could not help but feel extreme regret for my "misspent" youth. I can only imagine what I would have accomplished when I was younger if I was in an enviornment such as what these schools presented.

Don't get me wrong - an intense learning schedule such as the one above may be right for certain individuals - but it was wrong for me. The extremely long schedule*, the monotony, the attitudes of the teachers and the administration, the spying, the conniving and manipulation that went on nearly caused me to go off the derech altogether. That's something that I desparately want to avoid for my sons. I just wish I could have avoided it myself.

The Wolf

(N.B. - Just to be fair, I don't want anything to think that I was a completely not at fault in high school. I was certainly no angel - but I do place the fault of my experience largely on the yeshiva I went to).

* One time, the Rosh Yeshiva called everyone into the Bais HaMidrash and lectured us that there was too much battalah (time wasting, non-learning) going on in the Bais HaMedrash during learning time. "I don't understand it," he said. "You have a half hour for breakfast, an hour for lunch, forty minutes for dinner and fifteen minutes recess in the morning. Get all your battalah done then." After the lecture, a friend of mine turned to me and said "I'm surprised he didn't mention the ten hours between Ma'ariv and Shacharis"

A Nice End to the Bar Mitzvah Se'udah

Last night was the Bar Mitzvah Se'udah of my oldest son. It was (if I may say so) a nice affair - the music was good, the number of people was small (by New York standards, anyway) and the food, as I was told, was delicious. Since no one likes to listen to speakers, we kept it at a minimum - I spoke for about four minutes and the Bar Mitzvah boy spoke for about five - and that was it. I spent some time at all the tables on the men's side and managed to spend "quality time" with just about all the guests.

The downside of that was that I really did not get a chance to eat too much. I ate part of one course with some friends, part of the barekas with family members, part of the main course with an old rebbe of mine from elementary school who I've kept in touch with (he was the Bar Mitzvah boy's sandek thireen years ago), and desert with my sister's father-in-law and his son-in-law (my brother-in-law's brother-in-law [or, as I like to say, my brother-in-law once removed]). But, in reality, I didn't eat much of anything.

By the time we got home, we were exhausted. Kaput - and it was only about 9:30 (we started earlier because we wanted to have kids at the se'udah and have people stay as long as possible). Not too much longer after we got home, I got into my sleeping attire (pajama bottoms and a T-shirt - don't ask) and was ready to settle in for the night. However, before I was going to do that, I was going to get something to eat - we brought home food and I was hungry!

Before we actually started eating, I asked my wife if Rabbi & Mrs. Neighbor were there, since I didn't see them. We were expecting them to come (Mrs. Neighbor had even done Eeees's makeup for the affair), but, in the end, neither one of us had seen them. As if on cue, there was a knock at the door. Before she even got up to answer the door, Eeees smiled and said "it's them." Sure enough, there they were at the door, dressed up, wishing us Mazel Tov. (I quickly threw on a pair of pants over my pajama bottoms!) They had another simcha to go to (a family vort,[engagement party] suddenly called) and apologized for not being there. We invited them in, offered them a chance to sit down. At that point, I said "Listen, I was about to eat something from the Bar Mitzvah since I really didn't get a chance to eat. Why don't you sit have something too?" So, we brought out the challah rolls, the barekas, the potatos and the chicken and served another meal. The Bar Mitzvah boy joined us as well. As we washed and started to eat, I remembered that the musician had given us a CD he recorded at the end of the affair; so I pulled it out and put it on the stereo. The Bar Mitzvah boy said his speech again and he and Rabbi Neighbor even danced for a while (I was all danced out by that point)!

Afterwards, we had dessert and bentched (how many Bar Mitzvah boys can say that they led in bentching twice on the night of their Bar Mitzvah se'udah?) and they went on home.

In truth, however, although I was ready to plotz before they came, that portion of the evening became one of the highlights of the day. It was nice to have a chance after all the hustle and bustle and greeting and shaking hands and music and photographers and everything else that went into it, to have a chance to sit down with friends and just have a simple pleasant meal. It definitely beat sitting in my pajamas in front of the TV with the chicken. We got to immediately reminisce some of the highlights of the evening and share and laugh about the good (if exhausting) time we had.

It was truly a nice end to the Bar Mitzvah day.

The Wolf