“Do your students speak to you about yahadut, about Judaism? Do they discuss their questions and doubts?”

H

is name was Yaniv.

“L’aan?” he asked curtly. “Where to?”

Just the one word. No hello, no good morning, no greetings or pleasantries. Just the facts; where to.

I gave him the address.

“Atah holech l’hitpalel? Are you going to daven?” He had obviously noticed my tallis bag.

“Yes.”

“So late?”

Great, I thought to myself. Now he’s going to lecture me about zeman tefillah and tell me that he davens netz before he hits the road.

I felt the need to explain. “I teach in a yeshivah for troubled boys and we schedule the tefillot a little later to make it easier for them to come.”

He stared at me for a minute, sizing me up.

“Atah rav?” he asked. “You’re a rabbi?”

“Yes, I’m a rabbi.”

“The boys you teach are ba’alei teshuvah?”

“Well, some of them. I mean, that’s our hope, our mission. We’re trying to help them build better lives for themselves and hopefully, they do teshuvah.”

He sighed.

I looked at him. Something was weighing on his mind. I sat in silence, not sure what to say.