I am a sucker for sports stories. I played sports as a child, both at recess and in the JCC leagues. I enrolled in sports camps during the summer, trying out everything from swimming to tennis to batoning, basketball and soccer. I even played one season of volleyball in the CYO league. And my barely talented team and I represented the Broome County JCC at the Junior Maccabiah Games in Toronto one summer. We played with heart but not a lot of skill. Let’s just say that our flowered uniform shorts, donated by K-Mart, weren’t the only reason we were the laughingstock of the games. My children have tried their hands and feet at dance, soccer, running, baseball, football and tae kwan do. Some are more fanatical than others but playing and following sports is definitely part of our family culture.
Most of the time listening to the news is disheartening, so when I want to listen to the radio, I tune in to ESPN as I commute, hoping for the stories behind the game. I like to hear about who is coming from behind, who is achieving more than anyone expected, and who has pushed themself in an inspiring way.
Recently while my son was watching a video in the Rookie NFL series about five prospects in the 2019 NFL draft (that’s football for all of you who are not in the know), I knew the video would be right up my alley. There was the kid who had to leave his family behind and come to America to train; there was the boy chasing the shadow of his father’s NFL career; there was the one who had all the family support and was doing all his entitled life brought him to achieve.
With this season of high school (and seminary) admissions, I was wondering what it would be like to make a documentary about a few eighth-grade boys during the year leading up to the admissions letters. Of course this would not happen, but what if it did…
Camera pans in on a closed front door in the dark early morning light. The door opens bringing a flash of light and a small 13-year-old walks out wearing his seemingly oversized black hat. He unchains his bicycle and tosses his briefcase and hat into the basket while he clicks on his helmet. His warm breath meets the cold air and small clouds condense as he begins to peddle away. We hear the boy’s voice in the background as the name “Chaim” flashes on the screen. “Getting into the yeshiva I want is going to be tough. There’s a lot of competition for each seat in the yeshiva. To make sure I’m at the top of my game, I head to the beis medrash early every day. I am there at 5:45, seven days a week. I am learning the Daf, and trying to complete the Mishna Berurah before the first faher. I know I have to work hard to make this happen. I think yeshivas want boys who want to learn and work for it. I need to show them that I am the boy who they can count on to take learning seriously.”
A lanky eighth-grader sits at his dining room table with his tutor. “OK, Moshe, read the line again.” His father hovers close by. Moshe begins to read as his father paces nervously. “There is a lot at stake,” the father says to the camera as Moshe begins to read the lines again. “I went to Yeshivas Pinchas Shmuel Yaakov and I want my son to go there, too. I don’t have the kind of money to make a big donation, so the best I can do is get my son some hours of tutoring. I hope it helps. We don’t have big yichus either. There are boys who are left without a yeshiva every year; I guess they mostly find schools in the end. If that happened, I would be devastated and so would my son. He is a good kid and a good student, but you just never know. We know that the way Moshe reads the Gemara at the faher is his first chance to make a good impression.”
“What about the report cards and discussions with his current school’s menahel and rebbi?” a voice asks from off camera.
The father looks off to the horizon. Pauses and shrugs as he responds. “They might not know what makes my son tick. They perceive him one way but I know who he is and what he can become. His report cards haven’t been stellar. That can stand in his way. But a good faher can change that all. This tutor is my hishtadlus. And….” His gaze returns to the camera, “I am davening.”
“Perfect, Moshe! You got it!” The tutor says as Moshe smiles for the first time since we arrived.
A few boys are shooting hoops in the broken-down courts outside the elementary school. “Yosef, can we ask you about the high school admissions process?”
“Sure,” Yosef answers with his broad smile. He throws up another shot that swishes from the free-throw line.
“How are you preparing for your faher?”
“We have been learning a sugya in class that I am planning to read at the faher. The assistant menahel is going to review it with each of us.”
“Are you doing any extra review outside of school?”
“I may read it over once or twice at home that morning,” Yosef responds. “Do you think I need to do more?” His question hangs heavily in the air.
A classroom scene opens next. The rebbi is reading through the Gemara and then begins to call on boys. “Dovid?” Dovid pauses before quietly answering. The rebbi encourages him to elucidate further and Dovid responds. The scene switches to the rebbi speaking directly to the camera. “These boys in my classroom all need a yeshiva to go to. I need to be honest about them to keep my credibility with the yeshivos. It’s all about trust. The boys go into their fahers. It’s like the NFL combine. They display their skills. The boys’ reputations are checked. People ask around.
Dovid’s grandfather is a big rav in our community, so even though he has learning issues, he will get in. Yosef will have more of a problem. Yosef is a plugger in class but doesn’t have the means for out-of-class support. Chaim is really motivated and out there in the beis medrash every morning but his skills are weak. I just don’t know if the extra effort will make the difference. Everyone loves self-motivation so that will certainly help him. Moshe has a tutor for his skills but his real issue is that he creates a bad atmosphere in the class at times. I push for them all because they all need a yeshiva. Admissions days are always painful. We try to support the boys and help them plan but the reality is the reality.”
“Admission day” flashes on the screen. The scenes rotate between the boys approaching their houses and taking envelopes from their mailboxes. One by one they open the letters. The scene changes to an auditorium filled with men in black hats. One stands on stage and calls out “With its first pick for the class of 2025, Yeshivas Pinchas Shmuel Yaakov chooses….”
Well, this is as far as I can play out this fictionalized version of the NFL draft/high school admissions movie. We don’t really know the criteria. And maybe it’s better that way. In the rookie NFL movie, three out of five of the main characters are drafted in the first round. One was drafted in the second round. The tears of this huge, athletic man as he was finally drafted – ok, it was the sobbing of someone who felt completely broken, not tears – cut heavily into my heart with so much emotion. He had been passed over again and again and again and was finally taken in by a team that appreciated his dedication, sincerity and skills. And I could not help but cry along with him as his family cheered and danced around him.
Then in the sixth round, days and days later, the fifth featured rookie was taken at the 197th pick by the Ravens, two ahead of where Super Bowl MVP Tom Brady was drafted. His mom cried. His dad cried. His grandma cried. I cried again but this time for our sons and daughters who wait not for their NFL draft call but for a yeshiva to appreciate and want their souls to be part of the future of their school. To tell them that they are worthy of the dream they worked towards.
I’ll always enjoy a good story. My dream story would be the one where the academically challenged, yichus-less, socially and academically challenged boys and girls, together with the rest of their classmates in both Modern and yeshivish schools receive acceptances on the same day at the same time. No anxious anticipation. Not one tear shed. No exhausted-with-stress parents. No frantic phone calls. No embarrassment. Happy people all around. That would be a great Cinderella, come-from-behind story. And maybe this season, I mean year, will be the year to make my dream come true.
