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Jewish World Review July 6, 1999 / 22 Tamuz, 5759
A FEW MONTHS AGO, a mother walked into my office with a prospective student.
She wanted to enroll him at our Yeshiva, but the child didn't even know the
alephbet and we had to turn him away. Although he was bright, how could he
sit in our limudei kodesh (Jewish Studies) classes taught in Hebrew, hour
after hour, and not understand a word?
I spoke to the mother for some time, as she was terribly upset. Living in
another part of the city, she had been willing to move so that her child
could be near the Yeshiva. She told me of her search to become more
religious-how difficult it was. With tears in her eyes, she told me she
wanted to affix mezuzahs to her doors, but didn't know how. I spoke to her
for some time, suggesting other schools and outreach programs. She thanked
me and left sadly.
I went back to work. I felt sorry and guilty, as this was not the first child
without Hebrew language skills that our Yeshiva had to turn away.
As the days went by, I could not stop thinking about this mother. To accept
a child like this would be foolish, everyone told me. We had no program to
help this child.
A week or so later, another family came to apply. Their a child had won a
national scholarship, which pays for private school tuition. Here again was
the same problem--a bright child who knew little more than the alephbet.
I felt that I had been given another chance. Here was a child of the same
age as the one we had rejected--and in the same situation. We took the
plunge and accepted the child. After the family left my office, I knew what
I had to do. I picked up the telephone and called the other mother.
She told me, "I've looked at the other yeshivas that you had recommended but
I just don't like them like your yeshiva."
I asked her, 'Would you still like to send your son to our Yeshiva?' Her
voice was uncertain as she asked me why. I told her that we had decided to
start a program to accept children without Hebrew knowledge, give them
special classes and mainstream them back into the classroom within a year. I
told her I wanted her son at our school.
Two weeks later, the mother was in my office, ready to register her son. In
the two weeks that had elapsed, she had rented an apartment in the area and
had arranged her work schedule so that she could volunteer at the Yeshiva if
we wanted her.
The Yeshiva had not only gained a student, but an active and supportive
family. At the same time, it was another Jewish family joining our
neighborhood. This exceptional mother had taught me that cooperation brings
results.
This type of cooperation on a larger scale can bring the same outcome.
Community centers, synagogues and yeshivas should work together. As we help
each other, we build our schools and our communities.
The Talmud (Bava Basra) teaches us about the necessity of cooperation between
schools and their communities. Who is responsible for supporting a school?
According to the Talmud, the support comes from the place itself: the
community in which the school resides. But why is it so important for each
community to support a school?
In ancient times in Eretz Israel, just as in present times, Jews were
becoming ignorant of their own traditions. To prevent this situation, an
upper-level institution in Jerusalem was created. While this was a wonderful
idea, the limitations became apparent as only a few from each area were being
educated. So many were still ignorant. Yehoshua ben Gamla therefore
established schools in every community. The Talmud then gives us an
extraordinary statement--that without this one man, the Torah would have been
lost. One message this very powerful statement conveys is that each community
is seen as being responsible for saving the Torah.
Jewish tradition goes further by decreeing that our community schools must
educate rich and poor alike. The words rich and poor relate to more than
economics-they also refer to levels of education. Thus, we infer that
children who have no Jewish background are, in this sense, poor. We are
obligated to save them as much as we are obligated to help those who are
hungry.
Rav Kook, of blessed memory, taught that we reach our highest level of
holiness when we connect ourselves to our communities and work to perfect our
society. At the same time as we try to improve ourselves, we must reach out
to help our community.
Living away from any major Jewish center for more than 25 years has made me
realize the importance of community. It is the reason I uprooted my family
from a very comfortable existence to bring them to New York. It is the
reason I gave up a faculty position at a university to become a yeshiva
principal.
A friend in Indianapolis told me, upon hearing the news of my move, that if I
couldn't move to Jerusalem, Brooklyn was the next best thing.
It is a wonderful time to be in Jewish education and it is a wonderful time
to be in New York. Jews are returning to tradition in unprecedented numbers.
More Jewish children are attending Jewish schools in America than ever
before. In spite of this, we must work harder than ever to sustain the
yeshivas in our communities. It is clear that Yeshivas and communities must
have a symbiotic relationship--the existence of one will surely help the
existence of the other.
Communities which support their neighborhood day schools may be surprised to
find that these schools can be instrumental in putting new life into their
community in many ways. For the last 24 years, our yeshiva, for example, has
provided a daily minyan for our community at 7:30 am. As well, we allow a
senior citizens group to use our computer lab. And we provide many holiday
celebrations for the neighborhood, such as our Purim carnival. We are in the
process of giving space to a Holocaust library, open to all.
More importantly, the presence of our Jewish students points the way to the
future. Because of the diverse population served, our Yeshiva bridges many
Jewish communities: the Ashkenazic and Sephardic communities; the American
and the Russian communities; the frum and those on the journey towards
Yiddishkeit. We see the lines of fracture in our Jewish community -- Jewish
schools can help mend these breaks.
The responsibility to teach every child within a Jewish environment rests on
parents and teachers. But it does not rest on them alone. The community as a
whole shares this responsibility. As we approach this task together, we will
find that we have not only strengthened Jewish schools, we have saved our
communities as
The responsibility to
teach every child
By Susan R. Weintrob
The decision still bothered me.
This decree reminded me why the 1990's search for has often been a
disappointment for some--because the search has remained an interior one.
While certainly the search for spirituality should begin within each
individual, it should not end there, but take us to a search for community.
JWR contributor Susan R. Weintrob is the principal of the Yeshiva of Manhattan Beach in
Brooklyn, NY. Send your comments to her by clicking here.
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