The Number One Thing a Bochur Needs

By M (a Yeshiva and Smicha graduate)

The farbrengen was winding down, and the janitor had already begun throwing away the empty plates and sweeping the floors. Ari, my brother-in-law, had one last question before everyone called it a night.

“Rabbi, what is the number one thing that a bochur in yeshiva needs?”

Ari asked sincerely yet with a knowing smile on his face as he waited for the Rosh Yeshiva to answer. He had recently initiated his oldest son into Mesivta and was curious to hear the Rosh Yeshiva’s advice.

He was confident that the element a bochur needed most to grow into a strong, healthy chassidishe Tomim was – Love. Love, he felt, is essential and so important. For without love infused in a Yeshiva, one’s Torah learning and Yiddishkeit quickly turns dry and cold, slipping one into disassociation and spiritual decline.

The Rosh Yeshiva smiled. “More than anything that a bochur in yeshiva needs, a bochur needs respect,” he stated.

Ari recoiled in surprise. After sharing their opinions back and forth, Ari compromised: a bochur needs both of these vital components – respect and love.

When I heard this story, I was deeply taken aback and astounded. These words struck a deep chord. It made me think of my younger self as a fresh bochur in Yeshiva. I can’t tell you what I needed, but I can tell you what I wanted. I wanted more recreation, better food and a little more love and care. I now realize that what my soul was starving for and most desperately needed was respect.

Respect is a bit of a tricky word. Like all language, it conjures up our associated meanings and usage in similar contexts. Respect may bring up images of “Kavod” shown towards one’s parents, a Sefer Torah, or standing up for one’s teacher.

The kind of respect that the Rosh Yeshiva meant and that my heart knew deeply at that moment was as the psychologist and psychoanalyst Erich Fromm defines it, according to its Latin origin, “respicere” – to look at. “The ability to see a person as he is, to be aware of his unique individuality. Respect means the concern that the other person should grow and unfold as he is and not as I need him to be as an object for my use.” (Fromm, Erich. (1956). The art of loving. Page 22).

Thinking about what a bochur most needs, I couldn’t help but be flashed back to a particular experience as a young bochur.

One afternoon during Girsa seder (afternoon Gemara), a classmate summoned me to the Mashpia’s office. The Mashpia, a yungerman in his mid-thirties, had served as a pillar in the Yeshiva since joining a decade earlier. My peers and I very much appreciated him. His kind, personable nature, excellent Chassidus classes, niggunim sessions, and farbrengens made him a legend in our eyes. His one-on-one “talks” functioned similarly to how school social workers check-in and inquire about students’ well-being but generally with additional spiritual, Chassidus-inspired guidance.

I was looking forward to my private time with him and hearing his advice on where I should consider going for the following year of Zal (grade 12 +). “Zal” plans were on everyone’s mind, and it was my priority for our talk.

I sat down across the table from him, and he began speaking to me in his gentle and accented elementary English, due to Yiddish and Hebrew being his primary languages. After a few pleasantries and discussing his “Zal” ideas, he said to me in the sweetest and most caring way, “I see you are unhappy, what’s bothering you?”

At that moment, I felt like I was going to break down and cry. I wanted to show strength, pretend that I could hide certain feelings under the rug, and keep “cool.” I held back the emotions as I felt my eyes moisten and tear. I remained silent, unable to answer. I did not know the words at that moment to authentically express myself.

I wanted to tell him that I felt unseen, disgruntled, and alienated by Yeshiva, that the demeaning manner in which the Menahel (principal) lined us up after davening to discuss late infractions filled me with dread and degradation. I wanted to tell him that in front of the Menahel or his constant looming presence on campus, I wasn’t a person; I was a soldier who went AWOL, an undeserving creature, a misbehaving cog. That when I walked in the hallways, I was afraid that he would get me for something. A bad test score, an early absence, or that my pants or shoes were unacceptable, thereby defining me, in my mind, as inadequate and unbelonging. For the past three years, this culture of fear and daily survival had become my norm, and articulating an alternative reality or clear aspiration for one at that moment proved difficult.

Don’t get me wrong; I am not promoting a new-age, relaxed Montessori-styled Mesivta. Rules and discipline are extremely important. If executed correctly, they give bochurim the orderly routine and structure they desperately need to be successful. The way they are communicated and implemented, however, makes all the difference.

I have tremendous respect and appreciation for the educators and principals of our Chabad institutions. They are the ones in the arena devoting their lives, time, and resources to educate and raise the next generation. It’s easy for me to say how things should run and how to balance the complicated dynamics of successfully running a yeshivah. However, I speak on behalf of my younger self and the many souls that have gone and those who will go through our Yeshivos. This affirmation of every individual’s respect is and must be the foundation and basis of education. For it is this premise of respect that separates education from manipulation.

Respect means giving room to see another as they are. This requires distance and a release of absolute control. When there is this space and distance, there is the need for faith. Faith that although I am giving room for you to be you, I have faith in your innate neshama, goodness and potential, even though you may temporarily stumble. Without this space and its necessary faith, there is no longer anyone there to build anymore, no individual, only an object and “robot” to mechanically follow the rules and fit the mold.

The incredibly fertile seeds containing the joys and responsibilities of being a Yid and a Chossid can only take root where there is a bochur with dignity, seen as an individual, deserving of respect, care, and help. Otherwise, these beautiful and precious seeds spill on unreceptive shallow earth and create in the consequent years not treasured teenage memories but painful wounds and limiting beliefs that carry far beyond adolescence.

A culture that has its principal and teachers showing genuine respect for its students will, in turn, have its students genuinely respecting their teachers. That would thereby allow their teachings, lessons, and inspiration to take hold and sprout deep roots. As it is so astutely stated in Pirkei Avos (Chapter 4 Mishna 1 & 12), “Who is respected? He who respects his fellow” and “Let the honor of your student be as dear to you as your own.”

I firmly believe in the adage that you cannot give what you don’t have. Only an educator who has developed a deep and healthy respect for himself can extend that same respect to his students. If a person doesn’t hold a sense of healthy love and dignity for oneself, they will be incapable of offering anything but what they have to their students.

Although I believe there is a lot of work to be done for our Yeshivos and their advancement to be all they could and are called on to be. I am advocating for our educators and parents to recognize this most pivotal issue that has plagued on for many years.

Too many of our precious youth feel burned by their formative yeshiva years. Too many of my friends resent the tyranny of those years. Many unfortunately never got the chance to fully taste or appreciate the richness and beauty of being a Yid and a Chossid.
A bochur treated with genuine respect will, in turn, learn to view himself positively and as a bearer of dignity and opportunity. This healthy self-image creates a positive feedback loop that can enable bochurim to learn, develop, and actualize their potential.

In conclusion, love is the flagship of so much good. It is the glue that holds us together. It is so necessary to bring out the best in people. That’s why my brother-in-law, Ari, was so adamant about its priority. However, respect, as the Rosh Yeshiva wisely said, is the necessary precedent and unquestionably the most essential need in education and our bochurim. Love without respect, as is sadly seen on news headlines, can be detrimental, abusive, and dysfunctional. Only on the foundation of respect, can love play a significant role in education.

Due to the deeply personal resonance and the recurring theme of respect that I heard from fellow bochurim and many friends, I decided to share this perspective and my experiences. I recognize that I am limited and want to make clear that I don’t have the ultimate solution or answer. I am confident that through people sharing their candid experiences and with more discussions relating to the most important needs in education we can make positive advancements. Advancement, that will enable the light of Torah and Chassidus to empower, strengthen and build our bochurim and not chas vshalom degrade, disempower or burn our most precious commodities – our children.