I went as far off the derech as a kid could possibly go — and miraculously, I made my way back.,I was an “off the derech kid.” Ask me why. ,I went as far off the derech as a kid could possibly go.
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hat do you think when you see a “kid at risk?” Does it make you wonder about the family as a whole, about the shalom bayis, about chinuch in the home? Do you try to come up with a plausible explanation for what went wrong?
Personally, I don’t think there are any easy answers. You see, I was a “kid at risk” myself. I have been through it all, and let me tell you, it often isn’t so simple. I went as far off the derech as a kid could possibly go — and miraculously, I made my way back. This is my story.
My upbringing wasn’t particularly remarkable. I grew up in a happy and loving home in New York City, the youngest of many siblings. There was no dysfunction, no childhood trauma, no family history of alcoholism. But I was unusually sensitive to the world around me, a common thread I’ve observed among other recovered alcoholics.
The world made no sense. Way back in first grade, snatches of overheard conversations about the Holocaust caused me exquisite pain. Newspaper articles about domestic abuse, and hearing about the imperfections in frum society cut right threw me.
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