Image may be NSFW.
Clik here to view.
Photo from Times of Israel
It’s the day after my oldest son’s high school graduation, so I’m feeling kind of mushy. Every child goes through his or her own journey from freshman year to senior year and my son was no exception. For a myriad of reasons, we made the difficult decision to send him to a smaller out of town yeshiva, close enough to come home for frequent out shabbosim, but far enough away that he would have to dorm at the school. This was an agonizing choice that we spent many sleepless nights over, but for the sake of his growth and happiness, we took a leap of faith that everything would work out for the best.
We chose his school because we had heard that it emphasizes middos and character. It’s a yeshiva that focuses not only on learning gemarah, but on living the lessons learned within its pages. The rabbaim work to develop not only the minds of their talmidim, but their hearts as well. Although my son was coming from a different hashkafic background than the majority of the other students (or so we thought), we wanted him to develop as a person, as a friend, and as a future member of klal yisrael.
I remember dropping him off that first day of school. The freshmen come a few days earlier than the upper classmen to give them time to adjust to their new surroundings. Immediately, we walked into the building to find boys playing ping pong, schmoozing on the couches in the main lobby, and generally exploring their new home away from home. Right away, my son was approached by different boys wanting to get to know him, asking if he wanted to play a game of ping pong. I could only stand back and make an effort to hold in my tears of hopefulness that he would find the friendships he so desperately desired.
My son came to the school a defeated kid. Academically, he was always a success, but socially he had experienced challenges from about sixth grade and onward. By the time he entered high school, he seemed convinced that he was unworthy of friendship or positive notice from his peers. If another child introduced himself, my son seemed poised for the punch line – the inevitable dig that would be sure to follow. His guard was up pretty high upon entering yeshiva and I only hoped that the school would help to ease his way into the freshman group.
The change my son underwent during his years in yeshiva is nothing short of miraculous. I don’t want to underestimate the effort and attention the rabbaim and teachers give to the students and all of the fires they put out. Certainly, the staff (from the office to the kitchen to the beis medrash and everything in between) was pivotal in helping my son to adapt not only to high school life, dorm life, and life with his fellow classmates. I give them a lot of credit for creating an atmosphere of camaraderie and respect among the students. However, it was the other young men who most helped my son to believe that he was likeable, that he could make friends, and that he could be a valued friend.
My son’s classmates, who we were certain would all be from haredi backgrounds, turned out to be a diverse group. There were some boys coming to the school with a very limited background in Torah learning and those coming from a very strong place. Yes, many students had different ideologies than those my son had previously been exposed to, but that didn’t stop them from all being friends. They could debate, shout, get heated in defending their positions, and then go outside for a game of football.
It was really a beautiful sight watching the graduates say farewell to each other. Some wore hats, some had already ditched theirs with the rest of their suitcases, but they were all hugging and holding back tears. The affection and respect they had for one another was plain to see. Brotherhood was a word that popped up in more than one graduation speech. While some will remain in the yeshiva’s beis medrash program and others will go on to college or Israel programs, this diverse group of kids have created friendships and good memories that will last a lifetime.
As I watched my son saying his goodbyes in a sea of talmidim, I was reminded of a conversation I’d had earlier that day with my husband. We had both gotten several emails from various Chicago synagogues and yeshivas about a citywide tehillim session for the safe return of three yeshiva boys from Gush Etzion (Gil-Ad, Naphtali, and Eyal) who were kidnapped while on their way home to spend Shabbos with family and friends.
We were struck by the diversity of the organizing institutions and marveling that when a tragedy happens, especially one involving kids, it is possible for all of the diverse groups within orthodoxy to rally and stand together for a common purpose. While I can’t imagine the suffering that these boys and their families are going through, and they should be returned to us speedily and unharmed, the unifying power they have had upon klal yisroel is a kiddush Hashem.
Our young people have the power to unite klal yisroel. I see signs of hope in my children, in their friends, and in the young activists I encounter online. It is possible to do away with the prejudices we have against how one adjusts the brim of their hat or whether one even wears a hat at all. Kids don’t care about those things – they are still capable of seeing the person behind the uniform. We grown-ups may not have gotten it right, but I have faith that achdus can be achieved through our kids.
Image may be NSFW.
Clik here to view.
Image may be NSFW.Clik here to view.
