Smoke Screen

My 19-year-old son Levi is a great kid by all standards, even though I’m biased as his mother. He is sweet and kind and sharp and diligent — a talented learner who loves sitting in the beis medrash for hours at a time.

When Covid hit, he was in a mesivta in our city. His yeshivah decided to keep everyone in the dorms for a few months without any breaks. This way the bochurim could learn without having to worry about catching the virus and being endlessly tested and isolated. It made sense, but there was one major drawback: There was very little for the boys to do in the way of outlets. Apparently, though, they’d found something to keep them busy after seder, because when he finally came home and we happily hugged him, we noticed a certain smell.

One of our children filled us in on what we would not have guessed ourselves. Our Levi was  vaping. In our Midwestern family, vaping and smoking are nonstarters, even if vaping is “just” e-cigarettes. All our kids know exactly how strongly we feel about this issue.

We tried speaking to him about it. We tried scaring him. He would nod in agreement, but the lingering smell continued to come home with him every off-Shabbos. It became more pervasive once he left to learn in a yeshivah in Lakewood.