The administration was furious that my father was teaching Torah values

T

he Sundays and Wednesdays that I attended “Talmud Torah” as a child were one of the highlights of my week. Less so for my parents, I expect, who would have preferred to leave me with the babysitter most of those times, but needs must. And Abba and Ema were needed for this kiruv project, even if they had to bring along some extra “students.”

Most unaffiliated Jewish parents saw the bar/bat mitzvah as the end of their Jewish education, not the start. But Talmud Torah was introduced as another option for post-bar/bat mitzvah kids. Parents had gotten used to sending their kids to Hebrew classes on Sunday mornings and Wednesday nights; why not continue?

These were kids in public schools, and it was work to keep them focused. Ema taught about the Holocaust, along with an entire class about Jewish food and what could be learned from when and how we eat. Abba taught a slew of classes, everything from hashkafah and Pirkei Avos to the connections between Tanach and science fiction. Both my parents were popular, but Abba was particularly so.

When we would come along, we felt like celebrities. These big kids would cluster around us and ask us question after question. They couldn’t believe that preschoolers had the same basic knowledge they were receiving only now. Abba once brought three-year-old me and my five-year-old brother, Daniel, in for a dinnertime class. After we ate our sandwiches, Daniel and I sang a very loud bentshing together. The kids were in shock.

Never one to miss an opportunity to teach, Abba had Daniel “teach a class on Bircas Hamazon.” Daniel stood atop Abba’s desk and taught them the four brachos and their origins.

When he was finished, the kids came over to Abba. “Rabbi W., level with us. That’s a midget, right? That’s not a kid.”

But there were many complications. Most of the students came from the non-Orthodox rabbis who would funnel their congregants’ children into the program. To them, this was some Jewish programming they could offer, because they didn’t have anything to offer themselves. They were expecting some light stories from Tanach, maybe an overview of some feel-good Tikkun Olam-style Judaism.

They weren’t expecting Abba.

Some of them were more positive about Abba’s no-holds-barred classes on Torah Judaism. One of them used to tell him, “Rabbi Weishaut, you’re my ticket out of Gehinnom.” (No news yet on how that worked out for him.) But most of them strongly objected. Abba wasn’t teaching their values; he was teaching Torah values.

The eighth, ninth, and tenth graders were one thing. But the eleventh and twelfth graders, in what Abba liked to call the “graduate program,” were a little too into Yiddishkeit, a little too enthusiastic. Abba would teach one of the standard classes for all the kids from 7-8:30 on Wednesday nights, then hosted an additional class for the small group of older kids who wanted it.

Some of the parents and many of the rabbis in charge were livid. They were so unhappy they banned Abba from the Talmud Torah synagogue after 8:30pm. Never one to be deterred, Abba moved the class to the parking lot. When it got too cold to teach outdoors, the group sat in Ema’s minivan for the hour.

Eventually, one of the supportive parents came to pick up her son and spotted him in the minivan. When she figured out what was going on, she made such a fuss with the administration that the next week, Abba was given his pick of rooms at the synagogue to continue the program.