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April 23, 2014 / 23 Nisan, 5774
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Part I: The Beginning


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This wasn’t supposed to happen, especially not to me.  I could give you all the stats: my great-grandfather learned in Radin with the Chofetz Chaim, my grandfathers learned in Slobodka and Novardik, and my father has smicha from Ner Yisroel in Baltimore.  Outside of the brief fantasy (which lasted a lot longer than I care to admit) that I would be the star player who takes the Chicago Bears to the Superbowl, I always saw myself in yeshiva.  It is what I had always planned to do, and I never really contemplated anything else.

I missed all the warning signs, too.  The fact that I really didn’t like to learn, and that that might have some impact on my plans, never crossed my mind.  After all, I was good at it, winning awards and learning competitions in day school (I definitely liked that) and shooting up through the ranks in high school to the highest shiurim.  I also failed to notice that as high school transitioned to beis medrash most of my peers really wanted to learn and didn’t play those silly “hiding from the Rebbe games.”  The truth is learning was something I did because I had to, not something I did because I wanted to or enjoyed it.

That fantasy world came crashing down on me after I seriously injured a high school boy in a football game that took place when I was supposed to be in seder (I guess I didn’t want to give up on that Chicago Bears fantasy so quickly).   Sometimes you just see things more clearly after an event like that, and I suddenly realized that I wasn’t really doing much of anything in yeshiva.  I still see that play, that tackle and the pain from his broken collarbone playing over and over in my mind.

Things were mostly a blur at that point, and even though I have a very good memory, I cannot remember the actual moment at which I decided that it was time to leave.   In all honesty, I probably thought that I’d just leave and start again in another yeshiva, somewhere else.  I also don’t remember the point at which I decided not to even apply for admission to another yeshiva, although the fact that I couldn’t give a decent accounting of what I had learned over the previous two years probably had a lot to do with it.   The football game was on a Sunday.  I was home by Tuesday afternoon with no idea what to do and what my future would hold.

I was only partially aware that for most people a quick exit from yeshiva without even an attempt to transfer someplace else was usually an indication of some serious offense.  While I had been guilty of no such thing, I didn’t feel comfortable telling people that I had never lived up to any of that potential they always thought I had in learning.

I must have been asked scores of times over the first few weeks, “Why aren’t you in yeshiva?”  It was a question I really couldn’t answer for myself, let alone anyone else.  Luckily, my response, “I lost my football scholarship,” made people laugh and walk away without pursuing the question any further.  In retrospect, I probably would have been better off trying to develop a real response to that question.  It may have given me some of the kind of guidance I really needed.

The point was I always had a vision of where I saw myself going.  Yeshiva as far as the eye could see, marriage and kollel and the likelihood that I would spend my life learning in the mornings and teaching history (my favorite high school subject) in a yeshiva’s General Studies department.

I never questioned the wisdom of what I was doing when I was in yeshiva.  I was just doing what I was meant to do.  The fact that I didn’t really do much learning also didn’t factor into my thinking.  It almost felt like destiny to me.

And then suddenly, all of that was gone.  My entire vision for my future was gone in an instant.  I was a failure, but even worse, I had absolutely no idea where to go.  I had no idea how to reconstruct my life and decide what I wanted to be outside of the yeshiva setting.

Up until that point, the chapters of my life were pretty clear.  I didn’t have to think about the next move, because they were all part of that kollel track.  I didn’t realize it at the time, but I had really lost every definition I ever had about myself.  I literally did not know who I was or what I was going to do going forward.  My parents, on the other hand, had a very clear idea of what I was supposed to do next; I was supposed to go to college, but I would have none of that!

The decisions I made subsequently, and the experiences I had trying to make peace with my decision to leave yeshiva, while trying to adjust to a college world that was completely foreign to me, would reshape my life and present challenges and triumphs I never could have imagined.

Stay tuned for Part II.

 

Chaim Shapiro, M.Ed is a social media consultant and a freelance writer currently working on a book about his collegiate experience.  He welcomes comments and feedback at chaimshapiro@aol.com  or on his website: http://chaimshapiro.com/

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About the Author: Chaim Shapiro, M.Ed is a freelance writer, public speaker and social media consultant. He is currently working on a book about his collegiate experience. He welcomes comments and feedback at chaimshapiro@aol.com or on his website: http://chaimshapiro.com/


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One Response to “Part I: The Beginning”

  1. Leah says:

    Hi,

    I can’t wait to read the next part. It’s really well written and makes you want to read what’s next. It’s interesting to see another person’s perspective on college experience and transition from yeshiva world.

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