?I’m not sure when it happened, but at some point, I grew up.
The special thing about growing up 50 or 60 years ago is that growing up meant
taking responsibility for yourself. If you were a guy and you wanted to get
married, the first question your perspective father-in-law asked was “How do
you plan to support my daughter?” These days, the question commonly asked to
parents and prospective in-laws is, “How do you plan to support the young
couple?”
Growing up back then actually
started in toddlerhood. Your parents had clear expectations and didn’t
disempower you by overprotecting you and making excuses for your conduct. They
loved and cared for you, but they didn’t spend a lot of time trying to prove
how much they loved you. If you misbehaved, you were punished without
apologies. If you wanted something that wasn’t a necessity, you had to figure
out how to acquire the necessary funds to obtain it. You learned to earn money.
Two incidents involving my dad,
which I mentioned in an article a few years ago, bear re-mentioning: one from
my childhood and one from my late teens. The first was when I was in second
grade. I came home and told my dad that a kid had beat me up in school that
day. My dad put down his newspaper looked at me and said, “Well, I guess you
have two choices: learn to fight or learn to run.” That was the entirety of our
conversation. No calling the teacher, the principal, or the other kid’s
parents. Some who are reading this are likely thinking that’s almost child
abuse. Back then, it was my father’s method for educating me to take
responsibility by working towards a solution and learning to toughen up.
The second incident occurred in my
senior year of high school while discussing career choices. I mentioned to my
dad that I thought I’d like to be a psychologist. My dad said, “Why not be a
real doctor?” My dad pretty much said whatever he was thinking.
I replied, “I think I’d be a good
psychologist.”
My dad thought for a few moments and
then said, “When I was a kid, we didn’t have time to be nuts; we were too busy
working. Nowadays, people have a lot more time on their hands. I’ve noticed
that the more time you have, the more nuts you can be. So I guess you’ll make a
living.” In my dad’s inimitable (plain talk) fashion, he honed in on a reality
that he could see developing almost a half century ago! That the more time we
have, not usefully filled, the more “nuts” we can be.
* * *
An essential part of my growth and
development was when my parents decided to send me to Talmudical Academy for
junior and senior high school. At the time, their primary reason was that the
public schools in our neighborhood weren’t great. It was during my years at TA that
– influenced heavily by NCSY and my mother’s growing Jewish awareness – I
started on the path of religious observance and commitment. Just as my parents
encouraged me to become more self-reliant, so did some of my excellent rebbeim
and teachers at TA. The wonderful part about attending TA back then was the
fact that sons of roshei yeshiva were
in the same class with guys like me who came from non-observant backgrounds. We
were all one class: “K’Ish echad b’lev echad.”
It was a special time. Many years later, while serving as a rabbi in Capetown,
Rabbi Dr. Abraham J. Twerski, zt”l,
was sitting next to me, next to the aron hakodesh,
looking out at my congregation. He smiled and said, “I believe that our
Heavenly Father loves looking at these, His children, some wearing black hats
and tzitzis out, some wearing a kippa seruga, and others wearing kippot with fold lines that they just
pulled out of their pockets before entering the building – all sitting together
in one shul. That was the hallmark of the amazing Jewish community of South Africa,
and that was the beauty of the old Park Circle TA that I attended. Our class,
comprised of boys from chasidishe
families, yeshivish families, Mizrachi
families, and non-frum families had
an amazing achdus (unity). We
produced an incredible array of talent in music, the arts, science, and Torah
scholarship.
Anyone who attended TA in my era
remembers the saintly and righteous Rabbi Baruch Milikowsky, zt”l. Simply known as “Rebbe,” he was a talmid of the Chofetz Chaim. He escaped
the inferno of Europe via Shanghai. Rebbe was a unique personality. With his
Yiddish-accented English, he understood his “boys” (“boyes,” as he’d say). He taught us, he advised us, and he
encouraged the best from each of us. In addition, Rebbe could hit a baseball
over the fence. He was awesome!
Of the many wonderful memories that
I have of Rabbi Milikowsky, one stands out. It was the night of our high school
graduation. As the graduates were leaving the auditorium and heading out the
back door of the building, looking forward to a night of celebrating, I felt a
tug on my tuxedo jacket. (Yes, in those days, at TA’s graduation, we wore white
tuxedos, cool bow ties, and a variety of fancy kippot. (You can check the photo archives.) I looked around; it was
Rabbi Milikowsky! All of a sudden, his face was about six inches from mine. He
said “Lehrnehr [his pronunciation], I know that you’re a good boy – but,
sometimes…sometimes, you may think of doing something that you maybe shouldn’t
do. When that happens, REMEMBER THIS FACE!” Then he stared at me for a moment
followed by a big bear hug. Let me tell you, over the years, on more than one
occasion, I’ve seen Rebbe’s face.
* * *
Then there was the time that I got
busted in twelfth grade.
Dr. Gershon Kranzler, zt”l, who served as principal throughout
my years at TA, was way ahead of his time when it came to both scholastics and
discipline. He was a huge scholar in Torah and secular studies and, in addition,
was a mechanech (educator) way ahead
of his time! I cannot fathom how he was able to deal with all of the shtick that the TA high schoolers (me
especially) dished out. His lovely wife Trude, a”h, also left a lasting impression on me.
Five non-masmidim and I “needed” to take a midday break. In those years,
Baltimore’s one and only kosher restaurant was Leibes’ Delicatessen (way
uptown) on Rodgers Avenue, just off of Park Heights. The place wasn’t exactly a
five-star Michelin eatery, but the hotdogs wrapped in bologna were pretty good.
We had limited time to make the round trip, so we needed a car. Dr. Kranzler
had an old army surplus Chevy with the words “U.S. ARMY” still showing through
the spray paint that was supposed to cover the insignias and lettering. The
Chevys of that era were big cars with long bench seats in the front and back.
You could easily fit six guys in. The most important feature of the old
military Chevys was that you could start them without a key. (Yes, without a
key!).
At TA we were taught to be
enterprising young men. So we figured that the ride to Leibes would be about 10
minutes each way, giving us 40 minutes to have our hotdogs and fries. I was the
designated driver because I knew how to drive a stick shift. It was amazing. We
got a parking space directly in front of Liebes, went in, and placed our
orders. All was going well, and we even got a booth for six! Then I looked up
and could not believe my eyes – it was Trude Kranzler, the principal’s wife!
She smiled and calmly said, “Hello, boys, have you seen my husband? His car is
outside.”
Okay, let’s pause for a minute. If
you were a 17-year-old who had just “borrowed” the principal’s car prior to
obtaining permission (which would have never been given), what would be going
through your mind?? In a millisecond I thought of expulsion, handcuffs, prison,
or being sentenced to French class for eternity.
As Mr. Liebes was delivering our
hotdogs, my fellow conspirators didn’t look too hungry. Since I had been the “wheel
man” – for those not familiar with gangster vernacular, that means the driver
of the getaway car – I felt that I needed to take one for the team. Although
only a few seconds had passed since Mrs. Kranzler asked about her husband, it
seemed like a lot longer.
I said, “Um, well, he’s not actually
here.”
“Really, his car is outside.”
I said, “Yes, we are on a small
field trip and are just borrowing Dr. Kranzler’s car.”
“Did my husband give you permission
to borrow his car?”
“Not exactly.”
“Really?! So you took my husband’s
car?”
“Yes, but we were planning on
returning it in about half an hour.”
What happened next is so incredible
that I had to wait well over a half century to reveal the classified
information. Mrs. Kranzler said, “Well it looks like I intruded on your lunch.
Those hotdogs look delicious; enjoy them. And boys, may I suggest that, in the
future, if you want to borrow something, get permission first. Also, it’s
probably best for you to park the car exactly where it was and go back to class
and be on your best behavior. That way we can keep this between us. Okay?”
Can you believe that?! The principal’s
wife just commuted our sentence. I think that’s called probation without
verdict. Is that unbelievable?! She was so cool about it that it psyched us out
for weeks (which I later realized was the brilliance of how she handled a
rather uncomfortable situation).
Subsequently when Mrs. Kranzler and
I would occasionally meet, she would smile with a look that conveyed a message:
“Be a mensch.” Many, many years later,
my mom, a”h, and Trude, both widows, became friends. I was
invited to join them for lunch one day. At the table, Trude said, “Well, Rabbi
Dr. Lerner, have you borrowed any cars lately?”
My mom was clueless, and a bit
confused as to why such a question would be asked. I told the story, and we all
had a good laugh. Then my mom assured Mrs. Kranzler that as soon as we left the
restaurant I would be grounded for a year!
* * *
On another occasion, some members of
my esteemed class and I were charged with taking a (non-official) field trip to
the zoo. We walked the 20 minutes to Druid Hill Park (notwithstanding the fact
that an old Army Chevy was sitting idle). It was a lovely spring day. Upon
returning from the zoo, we found Dr. Kranzler awaiting our arrival. He said
that he would have loved to go to the zoo, too, but he took his job seriously
and therefore couldn’t just leave whenever he wanted – and, as students,
neither could we. The “punishment” was to come in on a non-school day and clean
up and paint over the “artwork” in the high school’s rear fire escape stairwell.
(All of us convicts agreed that the punishment was fair and reasonable.) As we
were leaving the principal’s office Dr Kranzler called me back in. He said, “Someday,
you are going to be a school principal; then it will be your turn to deal with
students like you.” He then said, “You can leave now.”
I was perplexed. The thought that I
would ever be a principal had never crossed my mind. Sixteen years later, I was
sitting at my desk in the principal’s office of the Hebrew Academy in Orange
County, California, and I remembered Dr Kranzler’s words. I phoned a friend and
got Dr. Kranzler’s phone number. I called and he answered. (That was before
caller ID and nonstop bogus and scam calls.) We had a lovely chat, during which
I asked him how he knew that I’d become a principal. He said, “You completed
most of your training at TA.” We laughed, but to this day I have no idea how he
made his prediction when I was only a senior in high school.
* *
*
Unlike today, back then, unless someone did
something truly grievous, most of what happened during school time was between
you, your teacher, and sometimes the principal. That was part of accepting
responsibility for yourself and dealing with the consequences of your actions.
It was also partly due to the fact that the school administration didn’t want
to aggravate parents unless it was truly necessary. I was fortunate to grow up at
a time that wasn’t over-regulated and over-legislated, and where good solid
common sense prevailed. Overthinking wasn’t common practice, and virtue
signaling didn’t exist. Before I became a principal, I visited another of my TA
rebbes, who was the chashuve Rav of
the Glen Avenue Shul, Rabbi Mendel Feldman, zt”l.
He told me to be very sparing when disciplining students. Years later, prior to
accepting a position as a shul rabbi, he told me to “never preach or teach if
you are upset or frustrated, and never take out your frustrations on your
congregants. Remember, they are congregants not hostages.” Rabbi Feldman’s
advice was excellent.
Finally, about 10 years ago, I
arrived at Young Israel in Silver Spring for Mincha one day. The lobby door was
unlocked, but the shul door was locked. Without thinking I removed a wire
hanger from the coat rack, slid it into the door jamb, and opened up the shul.
(Interestingly, the shul upgraded its locks a few months later.) One of the minyanaires remarked to his friend, “How
did he do that?” Immediately, the friend replied, “He went to the ‘old’ TA in
Baltimore.”
