Joni left us to go to yeshiva after Pesach when he was not
quite seventeen. He was to be away till the following Pesach
and I cried bitter tears. He was still such a baby and had
never been away from home before. The oldest of 11 children,
he was also the most demanding and the most difficult. What
would he eat? He was a terribly fussy eater. Who would pick
up his dirty laundry from under the bed, and who would wash
it? Was it really seventeen years already since I had nursed
him through nights of teething and earache? My baby was
leaving home and I knew that things would never be the same
again.
After the first month, the daily phone calls dwindled to
twice weekly. Gradually we only heard from him once a week:
short calls, which were very uninformative. 'How are you?
Fine. Are you eating enough? Yes. Have you got good
chavrusos? Yes. His weekly letters, "Dear Family"
continued regularly, but they too gave us very little
information about his daily life. The mashgiach
assured us that he was doing well.
He came home, taller and thinner, with an incipient beard. A
serious expression on his face, which we had never seen
before. His voice was deeper. He was a proper Yeshiva
Bochur. What had happened during the year to bring
about this transformation?
A boy who goes to school or cheder is still a child.
He waits for Break to play football (although in some places
this is strictly forbidden, in which case the boys will find
some other pastime) and comes home at night to fight with his
siblings. Like most children, he thinks he is the only person
in the world. As he gets older, he knows everything best, he
certainly knows things better than either of his parents do.
This is generalization, and perhaps slightly exaggerated, but
parents of children in their early teens will recognize the
syndrome.
The first year away from home, these boys are exposed to an
entirely new world. The mashgiach in a yeshiva is
father, mother, policeman, mentor and very good friend,
although these traits or occupations are not combined in one
person. Some mashgichim are not very popular among the
boys and at the other end of the scale, there are those rare
ones like the late R' Yeruchem Levovitch zt"l of
Mirrer Yeshiva, who was a mashgiach par excellence. He
left a lasting impression on anyone who came into contact
with him.
Our Joni seems to have had an excellent mashgiach
because he quoted him day and night. He never once fought
with his brother, one year his junior, during his stay at
home. He thanked me for almost every meal, and commented on
how wonderful it was to have Mommy's food. He showed
appreciation for his clean, ironed laundry, and took out the
garbage without being asked. He had not turned into an angel;
it was just that he now appreciated his home. In spite of
this, he could not wait to get back to yeshiva.
The difference between school and yeshiva is mainly the
freedom. Boys learn of their own free will: they are not
governed by the bell and by homework assignments. They learn
because they want to shteig and they feel in their
element. There is an outstanding yeshiva, mainly for
exceptional boys, whose rosh yeshiva has instructed his staff
not to lean heavily on a boy who is learning well, if he does
not come to davening on time.
He told them that these boys have not yet sorted out their
biological clocks. They sit and learn halfway into the night,
and find it difficult to get up in the mornings. Many people,
parents in particular, might disagree with this point of
view, yet this particular yeshiva produces very fine young
men, with the right perspectives.
Not all boys maintain this complete changeover during the
second year. There are many who seem to fall slightly from
their high aspirations of the first year, and become a little
less intense. However, by the third year, they are back to
their single-minded objective, they want to become
lamdonim and talmidei chachomim.
So, mothers, when you send your sons away, rejoice. They are
in good hands and you will be pleasantly surprised by the
change!
