“The thing is, the tough-love guys, the ones who preach hard-line chinuch, don’t get how sweet and vulnerable kids can be"
ver the summer, Faigy Korman would often point to that first meeting as the moment her husband had climbed up a tree, with no rope to get down. She used the allegory several times, wondering aloud why someone running a business, who virtually never came home for supper anymore because of board meetings, who had seven children that would have loved to spend time with him, would decide to open a new yeshivah.
She spoke as if she was exasperated, but her children knew she was proud.
On a late June evening, Sholom Wasser — whom she respected, there was no question he’d gotten through to her Dovi, she’d made sure his shalach manos was extra special — with his stringy beard and oversized hat and oh-so-sincere way of speaking, sat at her dining room table speaking with her husband. Her husband described the site — even though she knew he hadn’t yet seen anything more than a few grainy pictures — and Rabbi Wasser lunged in, sharing his vision for the imaginary yeshivah. In the kitchen, she shook her head and concluded that Be’er Mayim was fine, she didn’t need to bring out Perrier or Saratoga for this meeting.
Faigy had to admire her husband’s patience, the way he listened as Rabbi Wasser spoke. Avi wasn’t saying “hmmmm, zeier intressant,” like he did when her brothers had asked him to invest in their kosher restaurant review app — he was really taking this seriously.
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