Please allow me to introduce myself, I am Chaim Shapiro, the new Executive Director at Project 18 * in New York. I have all the expected qualifications for a position of this sort, the academic background, the experience, etc, but it is something that I don’t put on my resume that gives me the passion necessary to adequately advocate on behalf of project 18; my life history.
Most people presume I am joking when I say it, but it is true. I was kicked out of nursery school. In the 1970's, there was no room for a child with learning and behavioral problems in the Yeshiva classrooms. My earliest memories from my preschool years was my daily punishments, being held tightly around the forearms until my fingers turned blue and sitting in the corner. I could do no right, for even trying to participate in class with the other students was angrily preempted by my teachers not wanting to deal with another distraction.
I spent five years outside of the Yeshiva system. It was a bold move by my parents, as removing a child from the Yeshiva system was unheard of at the time. But it was the right move. I clearly recall my mother coming home crying on a regular basis, having had her simple requests for educational support rejected by Yeshiva administrators. I was trouble, and no one felt the need to deal with me.
Even at that young age I constantly wondered what was wrong with me, why I had no place with all of the other children in Shul and in the neighborhood. One particular conversation at Shul stands out from those years. A boy my age, a friend of the family who knew me even though I was not in the local Yeshiva, explained to another child who I was and why I was not at the local Yeshiva by saying, "he goes to a special school because something is wrong with his brain."
There were times that I was very angry. I just wanted validation, to believe I was a legitimate part of my community. I clearly remember one winter day when I was seven, in which I was particularly distressed about my situation. It was the end of December and I was on break from my school while all the neighborhood children were at their Yeshivas. I just sat staring out of the window, thinking. As I thought, I grew angrier and angrier, angry at myself, angry at my community and angry at Judaism. I took my Yarmulke, the object that most represented Judaism and my suffering to me, tore it off my head and threw it across the room. Five minutes later, I walked to the place where my Yarmulke landed, picked it up and threw it once again, this time out of the room I was in. Judaism had given up on me and I had given up on it.
I don’t know what it was that made me get up some 15 minutes later and put my Yarmulke back on my head. I do know that it was a watershed moment in my life, one for which I will always remain thankful to Hashem, as I know how rare it is for a boy who rejected his upbringing in such a forceful manner to change his mind so drastically without outside intervention. I decided that if everyone felt I could not achieve, I would prove them wrong. I cannot tell you what it was that made me decide that I needed to prove I belong in Orthodox Judaism as opposed to rejecting it as I felt it had rejected me, but, I shudder to think where I would be today had I not decided to turn my pain into motivation.
I was mainstreamed a year and a half later. Within one year in the Yeshiva system, I had caught up to my peers. By the middle of the second year, I was receiving awards for academic achievement in Judaic studies. As the years passed, and my academic success continued, I started to realize academic performance was only a small part of the battle. Knowing the pain of rejection, I wanted to ensure no Jewish child EVER felt that s/he was not welcome in the Jewish community. I chose to pursue a career in Jewish education, taking undergraduate, graduate and Ph.D. course work to that end.
Although I didn’t know Rabbi Goldberg* by name, I continually told friends and family that I would dedicate my life to helping those children who seemingly have no place in the Orthodox school system, even if I had to create my own organization to do so. A friend introduced me to Rabbi Goldberg four months ago. It became clear, rather immediately, that Rabbi Goldberg has been doing the very work I promised to dedicate my life to. It was an honor to join his team, even though doing so meant moving my family cross country for the second time in less than two years.
I believe I see children at- risk a little differently than most people in the Frum world. While some may see a boy wandering the streets as a Shanda or a Nebach, I see myself. I see the pain I felt, the isolation and rejection and the need to belong. I see a boy of seven sitting in his living room a quarter century ago, rejected by all, wanting nothing but to be accepted.
I cannot tell you what it was that made me chose to dedicate my life to achievement instead of depravity. But I can tell you I feel a gratitude to Hashem and an intense obligation, having felt the pain and lived the nightmare, to do my part to ensure children never have to face the same agonizing decision I did.
Perhaps I feel that obligation out of guilt for having considered embracing the dark side, but more likely, I feel that responsibility because I know that with the right motivation, the right level of acceptance, a child expelled from nursery school, rejected by the Jewish community, on the literal brink of disaster can become a valuable, productive part of the Frum community. And I know Project 18 is the vehicle by which I can send that message to all.
* Rabbi and Organization name has been changed
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