Ilu Haya Li- My pilgrimage to see Rav Dov Zinger

אילו היה לי רבי כמו שלכם הייתי הולך אליו ברגל,

ובחזרה הייתי רץ לעבוד אותו יתברך עם מה שקבלתי מרבי

If I had a Rebbe like yours, I would travel to him on foot,

And on my way back, I would run, in order to serve The Blessed one, with what I received from my Rebbe

Rav Avraham of Tolchin

I’ve tried to write this several times over the past few weeks. I’ve written, deleted, written again, edited, and edited some more. This is unusual for me. Usually, I know what I want to say, and can find the words to do so. My struggles to express what I want to, speaks to how deeply meaningful this experience was for me. I almost wonder if my challenge in finding the right words should be taken as an indication that I shouldn’t write about it. Some things cannot be shared. Still, I try, with the hope that what I write may be of use to even one person.

There are many stories told him about a chassid leaving home for  an extended period of time to visit his rebbe in a far off location. These stories often end with the chassid returning home having learned something of great importance. What is often implicit in these stories is the fact that getting to the rebbe involves all sorts of challenges including financial loss and time away from the family and work, but that what he gains is worth far more than anything he loses.

I don’t know how common it is these days for chassidim to make a pilgrimage to their rebbe, but many people are familiar with the fact that each year, many Breslov chassidim, chassidim of various stripes, and non-chassidim travel to Rebbe Nachman’s kever in Uman for part or all of the Yamim Noraim. Among the criticisms levied at those who go (and for good and bad, there are many) is that they leave their wives and children home to spend the Rosh Hashana and/or Yom Kippur by themselves. If I’m to be honest, as much as I would like to go to Uman, this is the only reason which would prevent me from going for the Yamim Noraim. Still, I’d like to share as much as I can find the words to do so, about a recent pilgrimage of sorts that I made, as it leaves me believing that certain tradeoffs may be worthwhile.

Less than a year ago, I merited to meet and develop a connection with Rav Dov Zinger, the Rosh Yeshiva of Yeshivat Mekor Chaim, and author of Tikon Tefilati, an incredible sefer on tefillah. In the brief time that we had together it was clear that I had not just met a teacher, or even just a rabbi. I had found a mentor, or to put it better, a rebbe. As you can imagine, I was very happy to spend more time with him in Israel this past summer, and thrilled that my son who joined me, was taken by him, and by his yeshiva as well. I left Israel wondering when I’d get to see Rav Dov again. I was deeply excited when I was invited by a friend to come to Cleveland for a weekend where Rav Dov would be speaking and teaching.

I won’t pretend that there were major obstacles standing in my way. My wife was fine with my being away for a few days, and I received permission to miss work, as I would be learning things which I could use in and out of the classroom. Still, after agreeing to go, I discovered that from a family perspective, that weekend was not an ideal one for me to be away. I even considered cancelling.

As I drove west on route 80, I imagined myself as the proverbial chassid leaving his little village to see his rebbe. The dark grey sky and stunning fall foliage further lifted my spirits, something that even a massive storm which accompanied me from one end of Pennsylvania to the other, could not ruin. As I drove, I listened to Yosef Karduner soulful singing on my phone (click here for his amazing rendition of the quote at the top of this post). I couldn’t help but feel that this was all part of the pilgrimage. As excited as I was, I was alsonervous. Was I getting my hopes up to high? Could this weekend be all that I hoped it would be?

What can I say? It was better than I could have possibly hoped. Not surprisingly, the Torah was great. Each shiur and schmooze touched me deeply. I took copious mental notes making sure that I could share his ideas with others. Still, none of that was a surprise. I’d heard enough of Rav Dov’s Torah to know what to expect.

What made this experience so deeply meaningful was everything else. The conversations, the hugs, the jokes, the non-verbal communication, the lesson in hisbodedus put into practice late on a freezing night, and a wonderful walk in the woods, and, and, and.

I can’t find the right words to describe it, and I’m not sure I should try. I can only say that I imagine that many rabbeim have concentric circles around them, with some chassidim all the way on the outside, while others get the opportunity to discover a closer more intimate side of their rebbe. I don’t think I can point to a specific moment, but at some point during our time together I realized that it wasn’t just that I viewed Rav Dov as a rebbe, but that he had allowed me access into a deeper more personal side of himself.

Of course, at the end, in two stages, in Cleveland and New York, I had to say goodbye again, for an undetermined amount of time. It was hard, and I was sad, but it had to happen. Not just in terms of Rav Dov having to go home, but in terms of the ratzo v’ashov, which doesn’t just describe the back and forth relationship we have with God. There is an intensity I experience being in Rav Dov’s presence. In those moments, I don’t quite feel like myself, as fear, excitement, happiness, and trepidation combine to take me away from myself. I don’t think I could handle like living like that all of the time, trying to daven in his presence while trying to watch and not watch his davening, as I hopelessly try to have kavana, or sitting at a meal hoping that my comments are worth sharing, and my jokes appropriate, funny, but not crossing a line.

Most of all, there’s a sense that when I’m with him, I’m not walking on my own, but rather being held up like a child learning to take his first steps. It is only by letting go, by letting there be some distance, that I get to be who I am, taking the so many things I learned from him, not all of it Torah in its most narrow sense, but all of it holy; and trying to implement it in my life.

While I don’t pretend that my travels were particularly long or difficult, or my time away a major sacrifice, I can still say that I strongly believe that whatever was lost in my being away from home, is more than made up by what I returned with as I came back home. I dare say that my time away has the chance to make me a better husband, father, teacher, and Jew.

Can MO High Schools learn From The year In Israel? Some thoughts on the movie Unorthodox (Part III)

[This is the third part of a three-part series on the movie “Unorthodox”. In this post, I address ways for Modern Orthodox high schools to replicate some of what makes studying in Israel so powerful. To read part I, where I addressed how Israel schools have changed, please click here. To read part II, where I addressed how communities can work to better serve high school students, please click here].

“My So-Called Life” and “Freaks and Geeks” are probably the two best TV shows I’ve ever watched about life as a high school student, and its challenges, and I’m not alone in my praise. Both were critically acclaimed, and developed cult-like followings after they went off the air. Each, however, was off the air after only one season. There was something that made people uncomfortable about the realistic portrayal of the struggles of high school students. Viewers were hesitant to revisit their own high school years, even through the lens of a TV show.

If you know a teenager who attends a Modern Orthodox high school, ask them how often they learn something in their Judaic studies classes which seems relevant to their lives right now. Although it has been a number of years since I taught high school, my guess is that most students will struggle to come up with instances when Torah seemed relevant or meaningful to them. While schools have done a good, or even great job of improving their guidance departments to help those like Tzipi and Chaim, who struggle with complicated issues in high school, on the Torah side of things, the Judaic studies curriculum still often seems out of touch. Students continue to spend the majority of their time studying and analyzing a small number of texts.

There are many aspects of the year in Israel which cannot be replicated by high schools. Among them is the time away from home, the older age of the students (at a time when they are more reflective about life), very high-level rabbeim and morot, as well as the atmosphere which exists in many Israeli religious communities. Still, there is what to be learned and copied.

Many students encounter Jewish thought for the first time during their year in Israel. One rebbe told me that his students come back from Israel wondering why they never learned Rav Kook’s Torah before. I do not blame him for not having taught it, but I do wonder why it is that our students are not being exposed to his thought by someone. Of course, it’s not just about Rav Kook. Many students discover that they are inspired by chassidus, or love the Ramchal during their year in Israel. How is it possible that high students are not learning that many of their biggest questions on faith have been addressed by many great thinkers? How is it, that many students leave high school, and too often, observance, thinking that Tanach and gemara (but only the halachic parts) are the only thing that Judaism has to offer?

Additionally, many yeshivot and seminaries offer classes, chaburot, or speakers on issues dealing with real life challenges, both as currently faced, or ones which are on the horizon. Students discover that Torah speaks to real life as lived, and not just to hypothetical situations as discussed in the gemara or Shulchan Aruch. In short, Torah goes from a book of laws, history, and stories, to a Torat Chaim.

Learning these lessons are important for a number of reasons. Why should only the students who go to Israel get the benefit of Torah being exciting meaningful and real? In fact, I suspect that were they given such exposure, more students would want to continue their Jewish education. Even for those who would go straight to college, I believe that fewer would be so quick to throw off the shackles of their Modern orthodox upbringing, if Jewish life was made more meaningful in high school.

If I am correct that high schools are not for the most part learning these important lessons, why is this the case? In too many schools, the teachers are too monolithic. If every rebbe attended one of several yeshivot in Israel or America, they are less likely to be capable of delivering classes which move beyond the standard texts taught in yeshiva. If every morah has a similar outlook on what a frum woman needs to be like, they are unlikely to be able to reach the student who needs something else.

“Unorthodox” did a really good job of showing the value of the year in Israel, and how it can meaningfully change lives. Rather than simply viewing it as a couple of hours of thoughtful entertainment, let’s think about what practical ideas can be learned to help all of our students think meaningfully about what it means to be a Jew, even before they figure out what to do after high school.

Finding God in the Lincoln Tunnel- a brief thought on my daily commute

I was astounded upon doing the math, to realize that I spend nearly 20 full DAYS a year driving to and from work.

I'm in the car on average 2 1/2 hours a day, and multiplied by 180, that means I spend about 450 hours in the car. Not only in the car, but quite often in traffic, covering a distance that in Iowa would likely take me 20-30 minutes at most. It's pretty much the only part of my job that I don't love, but how do I make peace with this?

The Piascezna Rebbe has a powerful piece in what is known as Aish Kodesh (he called it Derashos Mishnos Ha'zaam) where he riffs off of the words:

אל תחלוק על המקום

Do not argue with, or maybe, don't dispute God.

He read these words to say don't argue on the place where you are. It's particularly powerful as he said these words on a Shabbos, while in hiding from the Nazis. He taught that wherever you are is a place where you are connected to God.

So what do I do while I'm tired and stressed, and sitting in bumper to bumper traffic? On a simple level, I try to listen to shiurim, podcasts and music, but that only a beginning. That's just the Litvak in me worrying about bitul zman and bittul Torah.

Can I really be at one with God in the ugly dreariness of the Lincoln Tunnel? Can I be as connected to Him at that moment as I am while hiking in nature, spending time with my family, or learning a piece of the Rebbe's Torah? Because if I'm really to learn from the Rebbe, that is indeed what he taught. That the world truly is filled with God's glory, and that if I'm not feeling it, it's not because God is not there, but rather because I'm not opening myself up to him, indeed to reality.

It's a battle but I try and speak with him while driving and to feel his presence even as a taxi is cutting me off to get a fare.

Both meanings of the words אל תחלוק על המקום are connected. If I can make peace with where I am, I am together with HaKadosh Baruch Hu no matter what surrounds me.