The Implicit Messages We Give our Talmidim

One Shabbos afternoon, after a short nap, Rav Moshe Feinstein, zt”l, woke himself up and returned to his learning. The rebbetzin pleaded with Rav Moshe to get more sleep, but he refused and said, “I must learn; I don’t want to be an am ha’aretz (ignoramus)!” The rebbetzin turned to their guest and asked, “Would anyone say that Rabbi Feinstein is an am ha’aretz?!” But R’ Moshe insisted that he needed to push harder to reach greatness in Torah.

This is an example of the type of powerful message that many of us heard in yeshiva that inspired us to put in our utmost to become talmidei chachamim and live the elevated life of a ben Torah. The pinnacle is to become a gadol b’Torah, and one has failed if he remains an am ha’aretz. These messages at times are explicit and, more often, implicit. Regardless, they serve to fuel much of the inspiration for yeshiva talmidim of all ages.

I have personally been inspired to become a talmid chacham and a ben Torah, and I transmit this to my talmidim, as well. I want to share a conversation that broadened my perspective on this matter. A mother arranged a meeting with me to discuss where to send her son to yeshiva. In the course of the conversation, she made this heart wrenching comment: “I know someone who went to a certain prominent yeshiva. He loved his yeshiva and his rebbeim. He came from a good frum family, but his father was a working man and not an accomplished talmid chacham. The rebbeim were always very respectful when speaking about his family, but the implicit message that he got from yeshiva was that his father was not good enough. He is a balabus (working), and he never became a talmid chacham. The son is somewhat embarrassed about his father and has feelings of inferiority. But his father is such a good, sincere Jew. He should be so proud of his father. This hurts. This really hurts.”

As I reflected on this conversation, it struck me that this mother’s perception [E1] was very accurate, and I realized that this was not an isolated incident. So many talmidim attend yeshivos that inspire them to become part of a society that is more yeshivish and more learned than their family. In some yeshivos, the message is that success is only when one is in long term kollel or klei kodesh. In some, it is based on a certain lifestyle, and in others it is measured by the level of Torah scholarship that they attain. I have always been focused on the positive growth that this inspires, but I think that we have to consider the negative repercussions. Are there talmidim who work very hard to live up to the spiritual expectations of their yeshivos but who come up short on their emotional need to respect their parents, whose love cannot be replaced by their yeshivos?

The positive ideal to be bnei Torah and become talmidei chachamim is tremendous. But there can be peripheral damage from the explicit or implicit message about the status of non-bnei Torah, balabatim, or amei ha’aretz.

I once had a talmid whose parents wanted him to leave yeshiva and go to work. I and the other rebbeim at our yeshiva insisted that it was crucial for this student to remain in yeshiva. The student was torn between his parents and his rebbeim. In the end, we agreed that, since the talmid had heard both sides, he should be left to make his own decision. He decided to listen to his parents and go to work. I commented to another rebbe that this talmid was very close with his parents, strongly under their influence; he had not gained the independence to appreciate that his rebbeim might understand his spiritual needs better than his parents. Although it is unfortunate that the yeshiva did not have the impact on that talmid that we would have hoped for, it is true that that talmid had something that many others like him do not – a tremendous respect and admiration for his parents. Had I fought harder, could I have won the battle and convinced him to stay in yeshiva? I don’t know. But even if I could have, would it have been worth it to intensely pull him away from the insistence of his family and cause damage to such a close relationship? Would I have been able to fill the void resulting from the domestic tensions and his newfound lack of respect for his parents? I dare say not.    

In the 1950s, Rav Aharon Kotler, zt”l, waged a figurative battle to build Torah and bnei Torah in the United States. Torah in Europe had been destroyed, and learning Torah lishmah (for its own sake) in America was almost nonexistent. Rav Aharon was on a mission to push talmidim to be fully invested in learning Torah, not to attend college, and go to learn in kollel. Rav Aharon acknowledged that not everyone was cut out for the agenda he pushing, but he explained that, unfortunately, every battle has its casualties. As he explained to Rav Yaakov Weinberg, zt”l, the Torah is the heart of klal Yisrael, and when someone has cardiac arrest, you do everything you can to restore a heartbeat, even if that means ripping the skin and smashing through the ribcage.

Rav Aharon was tremendously successful in his mission – perhaps even more successful than his own dreams. Today, learning in yeshiva, kollel, and, in some communities, even long-term kollel is the rule rather than the exception. Already in the 1990s, Rav Weinberg wondered whether Rav Aharon’s battle still needed to be waged and suggested that now we can start to focus on the other organs of the body – using Rav Aharon’s metaphor.

In light of this, I want to pose the same question in our scenario: If Torah is thriving today and the heart is alive and well, do we still need to give the same intense, unequivocal message to our talmidim – with the same derogatory implication about their parents, who may not be talmidei chachamim or bnei Torah? Or is there perhaps a more nuanced way to convey the message to grow in Torah and mitzvos, without compromising the respect that our talmidim have for their families?

I was once trying to get into a certain very yeshivish chaburah (learning group), and the rosh chaburah was trying to get a sense if I would meet the cut. I think he was skeptical, and he started asking me about my present chavrusa. My chavrusa was one of the best talmidim in the yeshiva. But, I mentioned, apologetically, that he was a ba’al teshuva. The rosh chabura looked at me and said, “I don’t disrespect ba’alei teshuva. The gemara says that they stand in a greater place than perfect tzadikim!” However, the conversation ended there, and we both understood that there would be no further discussion. As much as he appreciated the stature of ba’alei teshuva in olam habah, they were apparently lacking in their status in the society of this elite chaburah.

But does it have to be like this? Perhaps we can change our lens and stand in awe of such people who changed their entire life around with so much mesiras nefesh – a feat that most of the rest of us have never come close to! Is there a way to give the message to talmidim from non-yeshivish backgrounds that their tafkid and mission is to become great talmidei chachamim, and everything that they can achieve is only riding on the shoulders of their parents, who were moser nefesh to remain steadfast to keeping Shabbos and infused them with a love for mitzvos?

You and I cannot answer these questions. These are for the gedolei hador and roshei yeshivos to decide. Perhaps they will respond that a more nuanced message will lose more than it will gain. But maybe, just maybe, there is room to reassess our approach. I am not here to give an answer; I have only come to pose a question.

But even if the answer to my question from the perspective of the yeshivos is an unequivocal no, I still have a reason to share this question with you. I want the parents who do not come from yeshivish backgrounds to realize that every yeshiva has a message in its own flavor. When you make a decision regarding yeshivos for your children, find out what the message of each yeshiva is. If this message may detract from your relationship with your children, discuss with your rav whether there is another yeshiva whose message is more compatible with your family. Don’t get me wrong: I implore all of the readership to send their children to yeshivos and imbue them with Torah, which is the heart of the Jewish people. But my suggestion is to consider that not all yeshivos are the same, and some may be more suitable for the emotional needs of a particular family.

May we all merit to find the golden balance of inspiration for greatness in Torah learning and as Torah Jews, while maintaining love, respect, and admiration for those frum Jews who did not have these opportunities.