One of OU-NCSY’s outstanding educators, Rabbi Yisrael Lashak, recently received this stunning note:
Hi Rabbi Lashak,
You don’t know who I am, but I want to share with you a story of how you changed my life.
About six and a half years ago, I was a confused ninth grader trying to figure out my life. I had just started high school but was looking into switching to a different school. I had always been serious about my religious growth, and the school I was attending at the time didn’t have the strongest learning or the most spiritually conducive environment. I was looking to switch elsewhere, but something was holding me back. I knew that if I stayed in the school I was at, even though I wouldn’t necessarily be learning as much, I would be able to make an impact on the environment around me. I would have the opportunity to be a role model and inspire people religiously.
When I shared my dilemma with some of my mentors, many of them told me a variation of the same thing: “If you want to overflow your cup onto others, you have to make sure you fill up your cup first.” I would never be able to impact others if I didn’t first work on myself. As much as that answer made sense, it didn’t sit well with me, so I kept looking for answers.
At that time, I attended the NJ NCSY Spring Regional Shabbaton, where you were a guest speaker. I slipped into the back of a Q&A session you were running and was amazed by the thoughtfulness and wit with which you answered every question. I soon found myself raising my hand and being called on. I shared my dilemma with you and asked what your opinion was: Is it better for me to be in an environment where I can help myself or in an environment where I can help others?
I remember you pausing to think. Then you looked me in the eye and told me the following: “It definitely is important to work on yourself. The more you have in your toolbox, the more you are able to give to others. But,” you said, and I have never forgotten it, “in Parashat Vayigash,1 Yehudah turns to Yosef and asks rhetorically, ‘Ki eich e’eleh el avi vehana’ar einenu iti—for how can I go back to my father if the na’ar, the lad, is not with me?’ I sometimes ask myself the same question. When I get to 120, how will I be able to ascend to my Father in Heaven if I don’t bring the na’ar with me? There are so many ne’arim (youth) out there who are disconnected from their Judaism, who are so lost. I would never be able to face Hashem if I didn’t do my part in helping to bring them up to Him.”
Rabbi Lashak, I am not exaggerating when I tell you how much that answer has changed my life. Not only did I choose to stay in the school I was at, where, thank G-d, I was blessed with the opportunity to make an impact on those around me, but as the years went on, I used your answer as a guide when I made important life decisions. Now I am a college student making plans for my future. Because of you, I have decided to go into chinuch (education), to impact the ne’arim around me. Because of you, every day I try to find ways, both formally and informally, to make the world just a little more cognizant of Hakadosh Baruch Hu’s presence. Because of you, please G-d, when I eventually ascend to Heaven at 120, I won’t be doing it alone.
There is much to unpack in this powerful note, from the impact of Rabbi Lashak’s words on a young student, to the question of balancing personal growth and impact on others, to the haunting reading of the verse, “How will I ascend to my Father in Heaven without bringing along His children?!” All of it helps us focus on what is—and ought to be—our preoccupation as individuals, as an organization and as a community: identifying what we can do better to ensure that our own connection to Judaism is compelling and enduring, that we will successfully transmit it to our children and students, and that we are able to effectively introduce and welcome others to Torah and to the Orthodox community.
To help us approach these existential questions in an informed manner, the Orthodox Union undertook and recently released the results of a qualitative study on attrition and connection in the Jewish community.2 It is a very worthwhile read, and some of its critical findings are highlighted in this issue of Jewish Action. The following is intended to provide a conceptual and Torah-based framework for those findings.
1. Caring
Essential to our effective transmission of Torah, emunah (faith) and mesorah (tradition) is that the children or students clearly sense our overall concern for them and their well-being. This was the model of Avraham, whose influence began with his care for others, providing them with food and shelter,3 and heeds Hillel’s instruction4 that we act as disciples of Aharon, who loved people and (thus) brought them close to Torah. Lessons and values are always best absorbed in a caring and trusting environment; this is especially true of religious teachings that can be easily interpreted as puzzling, limiting and imposing rather than as clarifying, liberating and uplifting.
The study demonstrated in multiple ways the negative religious impact on children and students whose social and educational well-being was not prioritized by their parents and teachers. Conversely, there is an inestimable positive impact when parents and teachers show consistent care and concern, when their own choices prioritize stability in the lives of the children, and when they build resilience in their children and students by their effective response to trauma.
2. Modeling
While trauma, misalignment and serious negative interactions with parents, teachers or community are demonstrable push factors leading individuals to want to leave the fold, the strength and staying power of their bond to Orthodoxy will be built significantly on the power of the authentic connection to Judaism they observe in their parents and role models. An astute observer of human nature5 noted what he saw over time between fathers and sons in his own community. Inevitably, the parents who paid the most attention to what their children were doing during davening and Torah study times were responding to them with a constant feedback stream, such that they spent all their time together critiquing them rather than modeling their own engagement in Torah and tefillah. Other parents displayed greater ease and confidence, bringing their child along to shul and paying far less attention to what the child was doing while there; the child would then see the parent and the other congregants engaged in their davening and learning.
One senses this same attitude in the Haggadah’s story of the sages who were engrossed in discussing Yetziat Mitzrayim (the Exodus) throughout the night of the Seder until their students came to inform them that it was time for the morning Shema. Those sages certainly conducted the Seder with their students but continued afterwards until the wee hours on their own, carried away by their interest in the subject. Rather than alienate the students, their example of passionate engagement was observed and appreciated by them.
3. Listening
Effective communication requires a clear understanding of the intended audience, the questions that are on their mind and their level of openness to what is being shared. The study demonstrates the disenchantment experienced by students who felt that their questions were not welcome and who could not fully meet the religious expectations of parents and teachers.
It is noteworthy that at the Seder, an event dedicated to sharing our past with our future by transmission of the mesorah, we encourage and even stimulate the children’s questions, as we recognize that teaching children what we think is important without being aware of and responsive to what is on their minds will be ineffective.
Lessons and values are always best absorbed in a caring and trusting environment; this is especially true of religious teachings . . .
In a broader sense, when considering the Talmudic statement6 that we learn most from our students, mitalmidai yoter mikulam, one may wonder why questions posed by students teach us more than those raised by our peers. Rabbi Aharon Schechter, zt”l, suggested that while one may be able to dismiss the questions of peers, we do not have the luxury of doing that to the students who are dependent on us for their understanding. As those charged with their education, we must instead enter their world and see the matter through their eyes until we are just as troubled by their questions as they are. That process, undertaken by a teacher or parent who is entirely focused on addressing the students where they are, is what teaches us the most.
In this vein, Rabbi Levi ben Gershon (Ralbag 1288–1344) offers an entirely novel understanding of Moshe’s initial failure to communicate effectively with Klal Yisrael due to kotzer ruach, a shortness of spirit.7 While this verse is generally understood as referring to the shrunken spirit of the enslaved Jewish people, Ralbag understood it as describing Moshe’s own limited ability to focus on how to communicate most effectively to the Jewish people, because of the amount of time he was spending in the loftier spheres of attaining prophecy.8 Especially because of Moshe’s higher personal standard of engagement, he needed to spend time understanding his audience and formulating his message to them in a way that would be received by them where they were. Like Moshe, we need to bend down to reach our students and children.
4. Prioritizing
Many, like Rabbi Lashak’s correspondent, have grappled with the balancing act between nurturing one’s own Judaism and impacting others. The Chatam Sofer (Rabbi Moshe Sofer 1762–1839) is perhaps best known for his uncompromising commitment to tradition and his readiness to confront and dissociate from promoters of reform; yet he defined himself by his dedication to positively educating others, such that he noted with pride that from when he was eighteen years old until his passing sixty years later, he taught Torah to others every day other than Tishah B’Av.9 He would explain to his students that Avraham was called G-d’s beloved specifically because of his untiring dedication to spreading belief in G-d to non-believers. In a classic insight, the Chatam Sofer asked why Hashem needed to justify sharing with Avraham His planned destruction of Sodom,10 and he answered that Avraham had made a choice to prioritize his kindness and outreach to the simple and unlearned, feeding and entertaining them. This left him little time to nurture his own spirituality in the manner that would typically result in attaining the lofty spiritual experience of prophecy. G-d nevertheless communicated with Avraham because He knew “that he would instruct his children and his household thereafter to safeguard the way of G-d, to do charity and justice.”11 Avraham’s prioritization of teaching G-d’s Torah to his children and students could not and would not result in a reduction in his own access to G-d’s word; quite the opposite. The greatest spiritual and scholarly attainments come to those who focus on growing the connections of others, mitalmidai yoter mikulam.
. . . if all involved in raising the child are not on the same page, that may increase the likelihood that the children will discard the entire book.
It is striking that both paragraphs of the Shema that we read daily to express our commitment to G-d and His mitzvot include the mandate to teach the Torah to our children and students.12 This clearly demonstrates how our own spiritual aspirations may never be entertained without our being mindful of how those values are being communicated forward, and without asking ourselves constantly how our halachically discretionary religious choices will influence our children and students for better or for worse. As the study demonstrates, misalignment in the religious values and aspirations of family, school and community profoundly affect the ability to transmit our values. Our personal and organizational religious choices must be made with the awareness that if all involved in raising the child are not on the same page, that may increase the likelihood that the children will discard the entire book.
Conclusion: Bringing Along the Na’ar
A vibrant Jewish present requires a focus on the Jewish future. While both the Jews and the Egyptians were equal witnesses to the miracles of Yetziat Mitzrayim, the Egyptians allowed what they learned to be forgotten, while millennia later we continue to teach it to our children, remember it daily and commemorate its anniversary. This contrast is on display when Pharaoh seemed to bend and grant us leave to serve Hashem but asked, “Mi vami haholchim—Who would be going?” Moshe responded that to serve G-d we would go with young and old, with both our sons and our daughters, which Pharaoh refused, saying, if you are going to serve G-d then only the adult males need to go.13 While for others the service of G-d may be reserved for the man of the house, for the Jewish people it is a way of life that includes all of us, young and old, male and female. Our experiences, our values and our religious practices shape and form our lives and the direction we provide our children.
Our success in providing that direction will derive from our genuine care for those children, from the strength of our own engagement with G-d and Torah, from our humbly listening and responding to those children’s questions and fears—and from the priority we place on bringing home to Hashem every one of our children and every one of His.
Notes
1. Bereishit 44:34.
2. https://research.ou.org/research/.
3. Bereishit Rabbah 43:7.
4. Avot 1:12.
5. Lada’at Ba’aretz Darkecha, Yehuda Greenwald, p. 283.
6. Makkot 10a.
7. Shemot 6:9.
8. Ralbag conveys this idea several times in his commentary to Shemot, chaps. 4–7. I am grateful to my friend and colleague Jeffrey Korbman who made me aware of this gem.
9. See extensively the introductory essay to the responsa of the Chatam Sofer, entitled Pituchei Chotam.
10. Bereishit 18:17.
11. Bereishit 18:19.
12. Devarim 6:7 and 11:19.
13. Shemot 10:8–11.
Rabbi Moshe Hauer is executive vice president of the Orthodox Union.