My Yeshiva.Indd

Looking Before and After By Aharon Lichtenstein A wealthy and patriotic Texan, the father of two talented sons, wanted them to attend West Point. They, for their part, very much sought to learn at a yeshiva. They compromised — so the word ran at Chaim Berlin, where I learned prior to coming to Yeshiva University — and the sons went to Yitzhak Elchanan. It was a pallid joke, reflecting the brand of condescending chauvinism, then very much in vogue, whose diminution could much enrich the Torah world; and, from an objective standpoint, it was, in many respects, offensive. No one questioned the stellar lomdishe credentials of the RIETS staff. Its members having, collectively, mostly come from premier Lithuanian yeshivot — Radin, Telshe, Slabodka, Mir, et al — were acknowledged to be fine talmidei hakhamim, including disciples of the Hafetz Hayim, R. Shimon Shkop, and the Brisker Rav, as well as the erstwhile rabbanim of Lomza and Suvalk. Above all loomed the towering figure of the Rav, regarded by the talmidim at Chaim Berlin with a measure of ambivalence bordering on suspicion, but unequivocally referred to by the Rosh ha-Yeshiva, mori ve-rabbi R. Yitzhak Hutner, as one of the gedolei ha-dor. Moreover, it was clear that the great scholars at “Yitzhak Elchanan” taught much Torah to serious talmidim; and, finally, at a time when so many of those learning at the major Brooklyn yeshivot also went to college, the quest for higher secular education per se did not disqualify for entry into the world of benei To r a h . Why, then, the Rabbi Dr. Aharon Lichtenstein, YC ‘53, RIETS ‘59, is the son-in-law of the late Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik and the Rosh Yeshiva of Yeshivat Har Etzion in Alon Shevut, Israel. He is a Rosh Yeshiva at the Rabbi Isaac Elchanan Theological Seminary, where he lectures at the Joseph and Caroline Gruss Institute in Jerusalem. 231 232 My Yeshiva College: 75 Years of Memories putdown? And yet, judged retrospectively, by the standards to which we have become accustomed, the remark was not utterly without foundation. For, indeed, many of the ingredients endemic to the identity of a yeshiva and essential to maximal spiritual realization of its talmidim were then woefully inadequate at Yeshiva. Personally, together with many other budding benei Torah, I benefited immensely from the YU of the fifties, both spiritually and materially, and I am deeply indebted to all, from R. Dr. Samuel Belkin down, who sustained the institution and to those, within the yeshiva and within the college, who taught there. Jointly and concurrently, they put me on the road to lomdut and enabled me, upon graduation, to earn a doctorate during a four-year interlude at Harvard. However, inasmuch as I perceive this book as more history than autobiography, I feel bound to relate to a broader canvas. Nevertheless, I trust that these remarks will not be viewed as reeking of base ingratitude, but rather as retrospective evaluation. If space permitted, I ought perhaps have attempted an analysis of my total venue, academic as well as of the beit midrash. Inasmuch, however, as it does not — and, in any event, my expectations of the college were and are more limited, and my knowledge of its course far less familiar — my predominant emphasis shall be upon the yeshiva proper. Undoubtedly, at mid-century, at a time when the Torah world was perceived as having its shaky back to the wall and sociologists projected the bleakest of futures for it, YU contributed immeasurably to the cause of Yiddishkeit; woe would have befallen large segments of American Orthodoxy in its absence. And yet, internally, there is no question that the yeshiva side — particularly as regards its experiential and existential component — left much to be desired. Institutionally speaking, Shabbat and Yom To v were virtually nonexistent. During a period of over six years, I spent exactly one yom mo’ed, the Shabbat of an aufruf, at Yeshiva. Generally, the only ones who stayed with any frequency were the out-of- towners (I lived in Brooklyn) who were, in effect, incarcerated. On yamim nora’im, the local ba’alei batim appropriated the beit midrash and Lamport Auditorium for their tefillah, while the incipient and still miniscule Yeshiva minyan was held in a moderately sized classroom in Graduate Hall (since demolished) across 186th Street. The room was more than adequate, inasmuch as the great majority of the older bahurim took leave to officiate in outlying shuls, many with mixed pews — in part in order to service Aharon Lichtenstein 233 communities, but also, in part, in order to earn some money. On another front, the level of religious commitment at Yeshiva often left something to be desired. By way of example, it might be noted that one of the hottest issues raised during my freshman year in 1950 concerned an annual play presented by the Dramatics Society under the aegis of the dean. The vehement debate did not focus upon the drama proper but rather upon its character, that is, its serving as a social event to which dates would be brought en masse. The president of the Student Council was vigorously opposed. He had come to Yeshiva out of a secular high school in Bayside but had been turned on to Torah, and now found himself regarded by many peers as farfrumt. As regards talmud Torah, there was much serious quality learning going on and some fine talmidei hakhamim being developed; but here, too, the scene was far from optimal. The entire library of the beit midrash was housed in the glass-enclosed bookcases at the southeastern corner. As to its population, the evening seder was woefully weak, with only a relative remnant staying on after 10:00 ma’ariv. There was no meaningful kollel presence, with less than a minyan of RIETS students having joined a small group of European refugees who came to learn, pretty much as an independent unit, in the aforementioned Graduate Hall, and from 1954 to 1961 there was no kollel at all. For all intents and purposes, no one beyond the age of 24 could be found in the beit midrash. Prior to the introduction of the semikhah program in the mid-fifties, upon graduating from college, one learned Hullin and Yoreh De’ah while also learning and/ or reviewing ninety blatt over a two-year period, and then underwent a two-hour make-or-break oral behinah before leaving. Some of these deficiencies were signs of the times, barely intelligible to today’s generation. In 1950, Chaim Berlin did not yet have a kollel either, and the rosh yeshiva explained to me that he often had to present concepts to as yet unseasoned talmidim because if he waited till they ripened, he would discover that so many had left at age twenty-two. Of my 1948 high school graduating class, it was internally anticipated that only roughly half would remain shomrei Shabbat. At RIETS, however, there were additional aggravating factors. The most pressing was probably the issue of direction, personal and institutional. The cultural divide between the staff and the students was frightening. The mashgi’ah, a disciple of the Alter of Slabodka, was a genuine oved Hashem, but he never realized he had left Lithuania. He 234 My Yeshiva College: 75 Years of Memories was shocked to discover, for instance, that talmidim had radios in their dorm rooms. Many of the rebbeim did not identify with the institution and exerted little effort in seeking to mold it (staff meetings were a great rarity) or its denizens, whose language they simply could not fathom. It wasn’t a question of the King’s English — although that, too, could be a barrier. (One of the rebbeim once asserted that he knew enough to read the Post or the News but not the Times.) The divide was, rather, cultural. They had simply never heard of Robinson Crusoe or of Jackie Robinson. Some, like R. David Lifshitz, cared passionately about their talmidim and reached out to them with all their heart and soul. Many, however, were either indifferent or in despair, and left their students to fend for themselves. Of these, some groped successfully, but many either floundered in confusion or were beset with spiritual schizophrenia, torn between Torah and secular values and identity. At the apex were the two individuals who, each in his own way, both represented and articulated the ideology of Torah u-Madda — or, as it was then more commonly denominated, synthesis — the Rav and Dr. Belkin. Both were committed to the ideal, both sought to develop and initiate strategies for its implementation; and both regarded it as defining the character of Yeshiva University generally, and of RIETS and YC in particular. And yet, impressive as their pronouncements and achievements were, the students’ thirst was only partially slaked, and many of the hungry sheep looked up and were not sufficiently fed. Dr. Belkin, for his part, was burdened with overseeing the university and meeting its financial needs, and was driven by a passionate impulse to extend its bounds. The fifties saw the founding of SCW, JSS, AECOM, BSS, and AZG. These were notable achievements, but they consumed time and energies which were not available for regular contact with talmidim. Earlier, Dr. Belkin had been a stellar maggid shi’ur, and in 1950-1 he sought to revive this position with a regular shi’ur on Yoreh De’ah. However, he had to give it up in fairly short order, and he remained, sadly, captain of a ship with whose crew and passengers he had little dialogue.

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