The biggest surprise was not what I’d left, but what I found
The end of the 2001 school year marked the end of my career of 12 years as an eighth-grade rebbi. Four years before, in 1997, I became the rav of Ahavas Israel in Passaic, and the shul had grown exponentially. Although I attempted to juggle both responsibilities, it was clear that I could no longer be both the rav of a growing shul and a rebbi for talmidim who also needed to grow.
My obligations to the shul kept me entrenched in Passaic until after Tishah B’Av, at which point my wife, in her ingenuity, realized that I needed some time in “the Mountains” to refresh.
Born and raised in Brooklyn and having spent my entire life in New York City and Passaic (an honorary extension of Brooklyn), going north for me meant a 25-mile trek to Monsey.
Was there life beyond Monsey? Perhaps the Catskills in the summer, but didn’t America end at Monticello?
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