Is a child being raised in Flatbush, I was surrounded by girls whose fathers learned in places like the Mir, Chaim Berlin, Torah Vodaath.
Me? I was the daughter of a baal teshuvah from some hick town called Saratoga Springs — a place no one knew about. Blank stares were de riguer, and I quickly learned to say “upstate New York.” That was safe, and to a Flatbusher, sparked images of the Catskills, Monroe, and familiarity.
And at least I could say my dad had learned in Ner Yisrael…
Saratoga Springs was a nice tourist attraction, a road trip our family took every summer. There were horse races, apple picking, and sulfuric water, fresh from mineral springs, which made your nose tingle and eyes sting from just one sniff.
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