Take Me Seriously

If you met the rosh yeshivah, Reb Sender, or his fellow rebbeim — his brother Reb Mordechai, Rabbi Mermelstein, Rabbi Zvi Pinter, Rabbi Binyomin Meisels, and Rabbi Shloimie Rubinfeld — you’d probably peg them as typical yungeleit in Beth Medrash Govoha’s kollel. They followed a predictable track — Novominsk, Brisk, and Lakewood — wear identical dark suits and ties, and have the earnest speech and mannerisms of the thousands of yungeleit that fill the halls of the great yeshivah just ten minutes from where we sit. It takes some imagination to see any of them leading a spirited ski trip to Vermont or flipping burgers at a late-night barbecue, but observing them as they interact with the flow of talmidim in the halls, on the steps, and even in the office during our interview, you can start to visualize it.

There’s a casual ease with which they come into the office, a freedom in the way they speak, and most of all, a joy of accomplishment that they exude. One articulate young man remembers his pre-mesivta experience on the streets. He was on drugs and out of touch with his family; yet somehow he followed a lead and ended up meeting Rabbi Kaszirer.

“It’s like quitting smoking. No one is going to be successful if he doesn’t have some sort of desire for change — but if it’s there, anything is possible. I guess Rebbi detected that sincerity, because he took me in.”

What did Rabbi Kaszirer offer, I wonder, that could compete with the pleasures of the street?

Another pleasant young man, Josh, answers without hesitating. “Stability. Respect. Being taken seriously.”

They Didn’t Listen

I’ve come to interview the Rosh Yeshivah, but his talmidim do the talking. Yitzy, a married alumnus, picks up the thread. “The rebbeim here treat you in a way that you just don’t want to disappoint them, you want to justify their trust.”

Rabbi Kaszirer looks proud as his talmid speaks; his gaze rests on Yitzy for a moment before he comments.

“We grew together. Yitzy was one of our first talmidim, and we learned on him. He taught me one of the most important concepts in chinuch, one I still live with. Remember the Florida trip, Yitzy?”

A look passes between them, contemplation tinged with nostalgia.

In the yeshivah’s first year, 2006, the fresh Rosh Yeshivah addressed his talmidim. It was the eve of midwinter break and Rabbi Kaszirer made it clear that the boys weren’t permitted to travel beyond the tristate area.

They didn’t listen. A group traveled to Florida and Rabbi Kaszirer faced his first real test.

“Many experienced mechanchim I spoke to told me that since the boys had openly defied me, I had no choice. I had to put my foot down and suspend them. I understood their perspective. Then Yitzy called me on the phone, he heard I was upset and he said, ‘Rebbi, we didn’t do it to spite you — we did it because we wanted to have a good time.’ It was a profound statement. Kids don’t misbehave to hurt us, and if we don’t take it personally, we’re much more equipped to step back and deal with it rationally.”

Rabbi Mottchy Kaszirer interjects. “It’s one of the fundamental principles that Rav Aharon Leib Steinman is constantly reiterating to mechanchim — there are no bad kids, and it’s unusual for a child to misbehave simply to show the rebbi up or challenge him. If the rebbeim view the misconduct in this light, it’s that much easier for them to forgive.”

Everyone’s Right

Sender Kaszirer’s career began when he filled in as a substitute learning rebbi in summer camp, and then, after delivering a weekly shiur in Yardley, Pennsylvania, he was offered a teaching job in the yeshivah high school there. When the school closed down, he made a quick calculation: He would go where he was needed, not where others expected him to go.

Lakewood wasn’t yet ready for a high school with no dress code, where talmidim wear colored shirts or jeans, so he established the mesivta in nearby Eatontown. It followed the traditional model: learning in the morning and general studies in the afternoon.

Though the curriculum mirrored that of mesivtas everywhere, the approach used was tailor-made to the individual student, and talmidim were welcomed regardless of history or past struggles. “The formula we used was fairly simple, no sophisticated methodology or anything,” he grins. “Once we accepted that they wanted to have a good time, we tried to give it to them. The thing is, there is a Torah, halachos of what’s permitted and what’s not; so we try to teach them the Torah’s approach, what’s accessible, how to walk the line between being an erlicher Yid and enjoying life. If that sounds like an oversimplification, it’s not. Torah was given to every Jew. Even those who want to have a good time have a right to learn and grow.”

“And everyone just fell into line and lived happily ever after?” I wonder, perhaps a touch cynically.

“No, of course not. Even good boys have bad days. But we found that if we respect them, then they respect us. We have a zero-tolerance policy regarding drugs. A surefire indication that a boy is high is if he speaks with disrespect. Otherwise it just wouldn’t happen here.”

So what happens when the yeshivah’s policies are violated?

“I’m not saying we don’t act, but we try to look at it as if one of our own children let us down. Somehow, as parents we give children the benefit of the doubt. And as mechanchim, we have the same responsibility.”

Without statistics, graphs, or studies, the mesivta has been delivering real results, sending a large number of alumni forward to mainstream yeshivos in Eretz Yisrael each year.

It’s this last fact that led me to the office of Rabbi Kaszirer in the first place. His way of dealing with teenagers at risk is to treat the young man essentially like every other teenager, providing the same basic diet as in the general yeshivah framework. The young rosh yeshivah has a tranquil, matter-of-fact way about him that immediately reassures. He’s not railing against the “system,” and is less concerned with placing guilt than with solutionizing.

Start the Healing We were once told that fluoride would prevent cavities. Then the experts said, “No, not really, it doesn’t make a difference.” We read that coffee was dangerous, and then the authorities said, “Um, actually, it can help prevent disease.”

This phenomenon — at-risk teenagers — isn’t any different: First we heard that children in large families were a problem, then they said it was those children from smaller families. It was oldest kids, then youngest kids. Rich kids, then poor kids.

Rabbi Kaszirer concedes that there is no single cause for this communal predicament.

“Look, there are no rules about who or why. The only thing relevant to all parents is how they will respond. Parents should never be embarrassed because of their child. They should never put the family image before their child’s needs. And the boys get it. They know exactly when their parents are reacting out of genuine yiras Shamayim and when it’s about shame and humiliation.”

That minefield relationship between parents and children is one area where Rabbi Kaszirer and his staff are innovators.

A struggling teen will usually blame his parents; when the inevitable conversation with a rebbi or therapist ensues and the young man shares his tale of woe and brings examples of parental mistreatment, the natural reaction in the age of “validate, validate, validate” is to listen and sympathize.

“But telling a kid, ‘That’s terrible, your parents really blew it,’ is doing him a disservice,” the Rosh Yeshivah says with uncharacteristic fire. “A child needs that relationship to work. Period. In time, he will want to go back home, and the job of the rebbi is to start the healing process, not the opposite. You have to listen to the boy, but that doesn’t mean you have to agree. That’s the biggest favor you can do for him. There are rare, unfortunate situations where the parents really are damaging, but that’s not usually the case. Parents love their children and generally try to help them.”

The three rebbeim exchange glances, and seem to tacitly agree to continue. “It’s more of a problem with concerned laymen, bystanders who care and want to help, but don’t really understand what’s best for the boy. Sometimes, one of our guys will hitch a ride here in Lakewood and the well-meaning fellow behind the wheel will engage the boy in conversation. These people want to help, they mean it only lishmah, but it’s counterproductive when they validate the boy’s taanos against his parents, against the system. And I know they mean it lishmah,” Reb Sender reiterates.

“It’s very geshmak when a kid confides in you, you feel so smart,” Rabbi Mermelstein weighs in, “but it’s wrong to use the opportunity to build yourself up. You should be only focused on helping him.”

A therapist familiar with the yeshivah shared his own impressions with me. “You get a sense that the staff at that yeshivah really isn’t focused on their own careers or image — it’s about the boys. Which is nice, because often, even well-meaning educators can fall into a rut of trying to justify their own methods.”

One question that comes up often with these educators is whether there is a time when a child should be removed from the home. But Rabbi Mermelstein cautions that it’s almost never wise for parents to throw a child out of the house. “There was a time when it was effective, when the need for a warm meal and bedroom, for safety, brought a child back. But these days, there are too many baalei chessed ready to welcome these struggling kids into their own homes, so the parents have no leverage.”

Rabbi Kaszirer concurs. “It’s sad, but it’s very hard for parents to draw lines in the sand anymore. You are the boss of your home, but not of your child’s neshamah. He or she ultimately controls his own destiny.”

Rabbi Mordechai Kaszirer — who works two jobs and is a Hatzolah member — says that the key is in communication.

“Communication is much more effective than rule-making,” he says. “Make time for him, listen to him, and you’ll get further. And if you have no time? Then make time. Everyone finds time for what’s important.”

What about if keeping a child at home negatively influences the other children, a hot-button topic that’s been debated endlessly, including in the pages of this magazine?

“It’s a question for gedolim,” Rabbi Kaszirer doesn’t hesitate to say, “but I will say this. When a child is ill, the parents are busy with treatment and the like, but wise parents make time for the other children. They try to give the siblings of the patient extra help, if it’s therapy or outings, to make it up to them. A kid at risk is no different. The siblings need extra love, time, and attention to get through it.”

These rebbeim have learned many things on the job, and chief among them is that there is no instant gratification. It can take years to see results, and the waiting process can be grueling. Today, after close to a decade, they are beginning to reap the nachas — there is an alumni night seder, with over 20 former talmidim coming together to learn each evening. And few boys will make a major move without consulting the Rosh Yeshivah or the rebbeim.

But on a large scale, that’s an intangible dream, a distant hope, when the journey is just beginning.

“We already know,” Reb Mottchy sighs, “that the day after a major trip will always be a rough day — because when we expect them to respond with fresh energy and eagerness to please, they go in the opposite direction. If you want quick-fix nachas, find another job. This isn’t for you.”

But there are some perks, as one rebbi notes: “It’s a chance to be a rebbi and still get to talk about sports.”

“In a way,” says the Rosh Yeshivah, “we have it easier than rebbeim in more formal mosdos, because the success of any relationship is its honesty, and we are completely human and normal with our talmidim. Other rebbeim don’t always have the luxury of admitting human failure, but our talmidim appreciate that we’re fighting battles as well and that we aren’t afraid to admit it.”

Confrontations

As heroic as the staff is, they’d be nowhere without their dedicated wives. “Our wives are the heroines,” the Rosh Yeshivah says. “They never dreamed that their homes would be turned wide open, that a steady stream of young men would live by us. But today, they wouldn’t have it any other way.”

His brother Rev Mottchy agrees. “It’s an amazing thing, testimony to the intrinsic mentshlichkeit of the boys that as much as they struggle to follow rules in the yeshivah, when they’re in our homes, they are role models of personal conduct. Our wives and families love having them.”

Rabbi Mermelstein points out that it goes far further than mere hospitality. It’s part of the chinuch mandate. “Giving them the opportunity to see happy, functional homes, to participate in a Shabbos seudah, is as important as teaching them Gemara and halachah.”

But surprisingly, the exposure to functional frum life comes with its questions. When the boys join their rebbeim for Shabbos, daven in “regular” shuls, and spend time in thriving frum neighborhoods, the lapses in behavior of adults who appear respectable throws them off.

“They ask me, ‘That guy with the long beard talks a whole davening, and the other one uses foul language, yet they seem so frum?’ ”

A fair question. Rabbi Kaszirer smiles. He’s waiting for the question. “I tell them how lucky they are to be able to identify and confront their yetzer hara in their teens, when it can still be conquered. These older people obviously ignored latent tendencies within themselves when they were young and now it’s too hard for them. But our guys can still fight back.”

He Hasn’t Skied Yet

The talmidim who join us want to bring up another point — how the rebbeim don’t blindly follow the Rosh Yeshivah, but will go to bat for the boys. If the Rosh Yeshivah is upset with a boy, the rebbi is expected to defend him.

Rabbi Mermelstein shrugs in his friend’s direction. “Rabbi Kaszirer here is no control freak. We have the liberty to work against him and we do it all the time. Someone always has to take the boy’s side, so we argue it out.”

This is particularly true when it comes to asking a bochur to leave. There was a talmid who violated every one of the yeshivah’s rules and added a few more misdeeds of his own; it was obvious that he didn’t belong in the yeshivah. But when the Rosh Yeshivah made the decision, his brother Reb Mottchy challenged him.

“He’s never gone on the annual ski trip with us, so it’s as if he hasn’t really joined the yeshivah yet. How can you send him away?”

Rabbi Kaszirer nods. “I know when I’m beat.”

It’s this respect for the innate goodness of their talmidim that puts the Eatontown team on the other side of the table from many experts in the industry.

When educators suggest that the school add vocational classes — teaching plumbing or electricity so that young men who clearly won’t develop into roshei yeshivah will have a source of income — Rabbi Kaszirer is quick to shoot back, “Do they teach wood-working in Patterson? In Novominsk? In South Fallsburg? This is a yeshivah like those yeshivos, with the same goals.

“You can say Kaszirer is naïve,” he reflects, “but I think the opposite is true. We’re the realists. We’re seeing a deep truth here, it’s just not as obvious.”

Rabbi Kaszirer keeps the mesivta small, under 40 talmidim at a time. This way he and his rebbeim belong to the talmidim 24 hours a day; if a bochur wants to talk, the rebbeim know that voice mail won’t do the job, and there might not be another chance.

They get the fallout, the boys who fall between the cracks, but Rabbi Kaszirer refuses to get sucked into the blame game over a system that’s open to criticism and attack. “The system works,” Rabbi Kaszirer affirms. “It’s producing great kids. No system is perfect or foolproof and every person is different, but to say there are serious flaws and that’s why kids are going off is unfair and untrue.”

So there’s nothing they would change in the current system, given the chance?

Reb Mottchy can’t resist. “Maybe I would have the elementary school kids have a bit more time and space to play sports, which is necessary for them. But that’s pretty much it.”

Another Answer

The mesivta staff position counters another bit of conventional wisdom: that most kids at risk have questions in emunah and it is those unresolved hashkafic puzzles that drive them away.

“Not true. If a boy stands up at the Pesach Seder and announces that he doesn’t believe in Yetzias Mitzrayim, what he’s really saying is that his life is too hard or restrictive.”

Rabbi Kaszirer offers a proof, his tone shifting to Talmudic sing-song. “B’chasdei Hashem, many kids at risk come back, most of them, in fact. Yet I’ve never heard that someone left and came back after attending a Discovery seminar or Arachim lecture, after addressing the questions that led them off in the first place. When they leave, they are looking for fun, adventure, distraction. Once they taste it and realize it’s not all it’s cracked up to be, they wander back to the last place they felt good.”

“We showed a video in yeshivah about the dangers and effects of smoking,” says Reb Mottchy. “It was very graphic in its description of the effects of tobacco on the body. When it was done, a kid looks at me, clearly shaken up. ‘Boy, Rebbi, that was heavy stuff. I need a cigarette right now.’

“You see, it’s not about what you believe — the kid had no doubt that smoking causes illness — but what you want.”

“That’s not to say that we don’t encourage the boys to ask hashkafah questions,” the Rosh Yeshivah clarifies. “Of course we try to answer them — when we have the answers.”

Rabbi Mermelstein, the refined-looking yungerman who, I am told, is a monster when on the ski slopes with talmidim, gets the last word. “Sometimes we have answers, sometimes we don’t, but we can always smile. That’s also an answer.”

(Originally Featured in XXX, Issue XXX)