On the Winning Team

As told to Rivka Streicher by Yehuda Weiss

While my parents were well-intentioned, their hardline approach in our insular community didn’t work for me. I was restless, confused, maybe depressed, yet all I knew was that I wanted out. I began engaging in self-destructive behaviors, felt like a failure, and fell and fell. But here’s the thing about hitting rock bottom. There’s no way out but up

Iwonder, sometimes, if I was ever a carefree child. From early on, cheder was not my happy place. The rules, keeping my finger on the place in the siddur, Chumash, Mishnayos — and the, often, corporal consequences if we didn’t do, listen, follow, follow, follow.

For a thinking, inquisitive child it was hard. I felt like a sheep — always having to shuffle, trot, and bleat the same way as the others, and if not, I was at the rebbi’s mercy.

If only home could’ve been my safety zone, the place I could retreat to lick my wounds from cheder. But home was just another place to hide.