When the student becomes the teacher – a path for our people

The Mishna (in Pirkei Avot, Ethics of the Fathers), teaches that when you turn 50, you have reached the age at which you can provide counsel gained from meaningful life experience. Having recently turned 52, it apparently took me a couple years longer than anticipated. I have come to appreciate that the most refined pursuit of Torah knowledge comes through the simple act of opening your eyes to the insights of others, regardless of their age. In my case, it took a reflection on past remarks made by our son to reveal a sacred path for our people — one paved with intensely dedicated brotherhood and unapologetic Zionism.

Before going down that path together, we must go back to 2017 and 2024…

Story #1.

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In 2017, our family traveled to Israel to celebrate the b’nai mitzvah of our son, Eli, and my nephew Zachary. It was a memorable trip for all the usual reasons, but there is one anecdote that has resurrected itself nearly a decade later — perhaps I needed my hair to go gray to recognize its importance. During our trip, we visited Yad Vashem. The museum offered a bar mitzvah program wherein, among other things, the boys would participate in a twinning exercise — meaning they each received a dossier with biographical information and pictures of a 13-year-old boy murdered during the Holocaust. Upon receiving his curated folder, my son Eli said “Thank you. I always wanted a brother.”

His innocent response to a heavy moment, pregnant with both tragedy and beauty, struck me. I recall my mother, the child of survivors, wiping away tears. She has spent countless hours tirelessly volunteering her time in service of Holocaust education, but it is unscripted moments such as this one that cut to the core due to their unadulterated purity of purpose. What could be more important for our people’s future than treating every Jew as a member of our family and taking responsibility for their welfare? This is especially true as today’s global Jewish population barely approaches similar numbers as just before the Holocaust. We’re missing much of our team.

Story #2.

During the summer of 2024, our family was fortunate to visit Italy. From there, my then 19-year-old son and I were scheduled to fly to Israel, where he was volunteering at a post-October 7 program — his first trip back since that catastrophic day. As we walked through the Rome airport, we checked our phones because there had been persistent news of an imminent Israeli invasion of Lebanon to attack Hezbollah (which inevitably would lead to rocket attacks on Israel). Some of my Israeli clients had informed me of the mobilization of reserves in anticipation of the campaign, warning me that there was a reasonable chance that things would get interesting while we were in Israel. Approaching the boarding gate, I turned to Eli and asked something along the lines of “Are you ready for this?” Without hesitation, he replied, “You think I’d rather watch it burn from New Jersey?” I smirked, told him it was a fair point, and we went on our way to the Promised Land.

Ultimately these stories are not about my son. Like all other teenagers, Eli feverishly drove us across the full emotional spectrum — intermittently either filling us with pride or wondering who his parents were. I share these stories because they reveal deeper lessons about how we should think about our fellow Jews and our precious homeland.

When 13-year-old Eli said he “always wanted a brother,” he was simultaneously projecting a self-centered view of the world and an innate understanding that all Jews are part of a special family. Four years earlier, his youngest sister, Leah, had been born, and upon learning that he had another sister — i.e., no brother — Eli locked himself in his room, refusing to accept the news. Looking back, it was a hilariously heartbreaking moment for our family because his reaction was 100 percent honest; after all, what 8-year-old boy doesn’t want to have a brother? Eli’s remarks at Yad Vashem channeled his latent frustration in a profound way — embracing as his brother an unknown boy whom the Nazis murdered more than 75 years ago. During these uncertain days of tense discord and occasionally harsh differences of opinion, it behooves the Jewish community to take a page out of the Torah’s peoplehood playbook and focus on our shared heritage. This focus requires more than sentiment; it demands each of us to internalize our fundamental responsibility for every Jew.

As for our trip to Israel, the battle with Hezbollah did not transpire during our visit. And even if it had, we would not exactly have been heroes for hunkering down at a hotel in Tel Aviv while our brothers and sisters risked their lives to protect the Jewish people. Eli’s remark about preferring not to “watch it burn from New Jersey” was, really, a comment on the mentality each American Jew should have about Israel — that Zionism is not a spectator sport. It demands that we get in the game, whether traveling to Israel, supporting the Jewish state financially and spiritually, and never — ever — apologizing for its existence.

Our post-October 7 existence has taught us that there is never a perfect time to be in Israel; sadly, our enemies never seem to rest. But that does not mean we should never visit — millions of our people live, work, and raise families in the sacred land. They have been suffering on our behalf, sheltering from missiles, comforting scared children, and sending their sons and daughters to the front lines. For those unable to physically travel to Israel, there are myriad ways to support — at bottom, each of us should avoid watching the show from America’s comfortable confines without meaningfully contributing (in our own way) to the future of the Jewish state.

Eli undoubtedly will be annoyed by this article, but I pray that as he ages, his annoyance evolves into understanding, and one day into pride in his having shared essential Torah wisdom at such a young age. It only took his old man a few years to figure out what he was trying to convey; even having lost a step or two, I eventually caught up.

My prayer for my fellow 50-something-year-olds is for each of us to embrace the wisdom of our children, who tend to see things more clearly before life gets in the way. As the Grateful Dead sang, “once in a while you get shown the light in the strangest of places if you look at it right.” Let our eyes remain open to all forms of Torah learning as we breathlessly pursue a life devoted to Jewish peoplehood and love of Israel.

Ari M. Berman lives in West Caldwell and is a member of Congregation Agudath Israel in Caldwell. He is an attorney.