Chinuch plays a pivotal role in our lives throughout the year, but it’s only on Pesach that we’re commanded v’higadeta l’bincha, to tell our children. On this extraordinary night, we’re charged with the mission of imparting our legacy of emunah so our children can feel the steady presence of Hashem’s love and guidance at all times.

But what happens when some of our kids aren’t just slipping through the cracks, but are tumbling head-first through a gaping crater in our community structure?

What happens when some of our children aren’t at the Seder to learn these lifelong lessons?

What happens when too many of our teens are looking elsewhere for excitement and thrills?

The Voice takes a look at an agonizing reality that has not received its due attention.

It was only after much deliberation that The Voice approached this painful topic and decided to give it comprehensive coverage.

Every contact The Voice reached out to about this issue asked the same question: What’s the purpose of this article? What’s to be gained by displaying this as-of-yet-unresolved problem for all to see?

And so, before we begin, I’d like to clarify what it is we hope to accomplish in this article:

For one, we believe the community deserves an explanation. This situation has been spiraling out of control for some time now, and it’s affected many Lakewood residents—with certain neighborhoods feeling it more than others—for years already. The community deserves to know exactly what’s being done and what can be done about this.

We also hope to highlight various ways the community can step up and help to alleviate the issue. Because this isn’t one family’s problem and it’s not one school’s problem.

 

It’s all of our problem.

The problem

The cool night air was far too calm for the storm that was about to explode.

The young man, 21 years old and fighting his own lifelong battles, calmly walked into the pizza store with his friend. His mother was waiting in the adjacent parking lot to drive him home, as he doesn’t yet have a license.

He ordered his pizza and prepared to pay when he heard loud snickers from a table near the wall.

He turned around and ogled the crowd of rowdy teens who met his gaze with mocking stares.

One of the boys approached him.

“Hey, elephant,” he sneered. “Enjoy your pizza.”

The words were dropped with the perfect blend of hostility and derision, and the young man knew it.

Maybe he should have finished his purchase, taken his pizza, and walked out.

Maybe the boy who approached him should have returned to his table and let the young man go on with his business.

But that’s not what happened.

Instead, more barbs were hurled and fists started flying. Soon, the offending boys’ friends joined the fray, the pizza store owner banished them from the store, and the brawl continued outside.

By the time it was over, the cops were on the scene trying to restore order, and the boy who had been attacked was on his way to the hospital nursing a raw gash on his chin and holding his shattered eyeglasses in his hands.

This story wouldn’t be noteworthy if not for the town in which the entire sorry tale went down. This didn’t happen in Harlem or Detroit or Chicago or in another community where violence and teenage brawls are an everyday occurrence.

It happened right here in Lakewood.

And it happened between one of our own and a group of boys that’s also our own.

Unfortunately, this incident—which happened outside JII North several months ago and received extra attention because the victim wasn’t part of the group of teens—isn’t an anomaly, not by a long shot. Just a few weeks later, another scuffle broke out in 7-11. A few months ago, some cars were stolen over Shabbos. What was once an occasional trickle of violence has turned into a torrent of crime that doesn’t seem to be slowing down.

Why does it seem like the police isn’t doing anything about the skyrocketing violence? Why are these teens not being arrested, fined, or sent to prison for misdemeanors like trashing a storefront? Is there someone on the inside protecting them?

We’ve always prided ourselves on our family-focused communities, where our neighborhoods are safe and violence is non-existent. But now the rules are changing, and the community wants an explanation.

 

Why is this happening?

Teens at risk isn’t a new issue in our community, but there has never been this blatant disregard for authority.

What happened in recent years?

“I think this all started after the Black Lives Matter riots,” says Rabbi Gavi Feldman,* an askan who’s been heavily involved in this issue for years. “The culture of the outside world affects our own communities, and right now, the culture is to be disrespectful to the police.”

Teens at risk are often unruly and sometimes violent.

“None of these kids want to be bad,” explains Rabbi Feldman. “They’re all in pain—tremendous, unbelievable amounts of pain.”

Unfortunately, the pain sometimes manifests as violence. But while in the past these kids could be controlled by the police, that leverage no longer exists.

There’s also no clandestine coverup for these kids as many would believe. The schools for at-risk kids, the programs, mentors, and askanim, have all made it clear that none of them condone violence in any manner. Each one of them works hand in hand with law enforcement agencies to ensure complete and lawful compliance at all times. In fact, they’ve held several meetings with the police department, the teenagers, and all askanim involved in an effort to resolve the problem, but the solution continues to elude them.

At the same time, Rabbi Feldman urges the community to recognize that this is a community problem.

“These kids live in Lakewood, and it’s our achrayus to step up and make sure their needs are being met and they’re being given the best chance at healing.”

Moe Heinemann, an askan who’s been helping these kids for years, adds another layer to the community’s responsibility toward these teens. “Most of these boys are acting out because they’ve been badly hurt by the community,” he says. “And the community needs to do something about it.”

Pinny Haber,* a business-owner who routinely tries to befriend these boys and help out in any way he can, reminds us that none of these boys wants to be a dropout.

“No teen wants to hang out until all hours of the night or do kol davar assur.” he notes. “No teen wants to be on drugs. No teen wants to shoplift. No teen wants to get arrested. They engage in this behavior because they’re in pain. This pain may come from a variety of sources—learning disabilities, childhood abuse, social struggles, low self-esteem, or problems at home.”

Rabbi Feldman urges the Lakewood community to remember that none of these kids are strangers.

“When you pass these kids in the streets,” he says, “you need to know that they’re your neighbors’ children. They might be your nephews or nieces. They can be your coworker’s sons. You may be sitting next to their father in shul. These kids aren’t strangers; they’re family.”

 

The limitations of the law

Mr. Chaim Lichtman* volunteers for law enforcement agencies and acts as an unofficial liaison between the police and members of the community. Recently, he’s been spending inordinate amounts of time trying to help resolve this issue as it has escalated out of control.

He explains the limitations of the law when it comes to minors.

“New Jersey law protects the civil rights of minors to such an extent that the police can’t do anything to them unless it’s a very serious offense or there have been multiple offenses. They can’t arrest them or prosecute them—and the kids know it.”

This means the hands of the police department are tied when it comes to laying down the law for most break-ins, streetside brawls, and more.

Sometimes, the police will pick up a minor and demand that his parents come down to release him, but this is more of a penalty on the parents than on the teen. Other times, they may impose a fine, but here too, the one paying the price is the parents.

The police can detain a minor in a holding cell overnight, but according to New Jersey law, each detained minor must be accompanied by a police officer at all times.

“The Lakewood police department can’t spare an officer for every teenager that commits a small crime,” Chaim explains. “They just don’t have that kind of manpower, so they rarely detain minors overnight.”

Is there anything the police can do in these cases?

“Sometimes, the police will place a tracking device on a kid,” Ben Rokowsky,* another askan involved in these cases shares. “They give him a bracelet and enforce a nightly curfew. They can monitor the kid through the bracelet and see if he’s violating curfew. Sometimes, this works.”

Pinny echoes this sentiment. “The situation is untenable right now,” he says.

He explains that sometimes, if a boy is a repeat offender, the police will slap a monitoring bracelet on him, which tracks his location to make sure he sticks to a 12:00 a.m. curfew—and that does help. But they can’t give out these bracelets to every kid who breaks into a shul or steals a car.

Pinny shares that in very rare cases, which typically include actual physical assault and multiple offenses, a teenager will be sent to a juvenile prison. There’s no kosher food available in these prisons, and Pinny is one of the few volunteers who bring over food for the Jewish boys incarcerated there.

“You can’t imagine what goes on at these places,” Pinny says. “It’s the worst kind of environment you’d want for these kids.”

He describes the lowlifes who are typically imprisoned in juvenile centers: hard-core druggies and dealers, criminals, and actual gang members of the worst kind.

“Sadly, when a kid from our community ends up in jail, he often comes out with more contacts that dig him into a deeper hole.”

 

The role of the parents

What can the parents of these teens do to help the situation?

“A lot of these kids’ parents are clueless about how to deal with this issue,” Chaim says. “They can’t handle their angry teen, and they’re just kicking the can down the road, hoping the problem will go away.”

However, Chaim says, if a kid is being openly destructive to society, the parents need to be proactive.

“Yes, it’s painful; yes, it’s very, very hard,” he says. “But this is your child; you brought him into this world, and it’s your responsibility to step up and do something if he’s being a real menace to society.”

Chaim explains that parents need to understand the role of the police department. “It’s not their job to discipline your child—it’s yours.”

If a child chas v’shalom has a tumor, Chaim says, the parents wouldn’t hesitate to pick up and move the family (or one parent and the unwell child) to Cleveland or Texas so the child can get the treatment he needs.

“We need to look at these extreme cases in the same way,” he says. “These kids shouldn’t be part of society until they prove they can live alongside other people. If they’re going to steal cars, break into shuls, and beat people up, we need to show them this behavior won’t be tolerated.”

Rabbi Moshe Ehrman, a chaplain, agrees with the notion of sending struggling teens out of town. “We need to create a place removed from the community that’s designed to help them heal and learn a trade,” he says.

 

Who’s to blame?

So, whose fault is it that petty and not-so-petty crime has become a regular occurrence in Lakewood?

Is it the fault of the police, who stand by idly as teenagers commit a string of offenses without a single consequence?

Is there an organization to blame for not doing their job of protecting the community and guiding these boys toward a productive life?

Is it the school system, which clearly failed these boys?

Is it the parents of these kids who are to blame?

Or maybe it’s the community that’s at fault, the system everyone loves to point fingers at.

The obvious answer that many miss is that no one is a fault for the situation as it stands today. We can’t point to the schools, an organization, the parents, or the community at large and claim they’re the ones responsible for the way things are.

Because no one is at fault, and everyone is at fault.

If these boys are on a rampage in our community, if they’re prowling the streets at night with the singular goal of inflicting damage on members of our community, it means we all failed them. Every single one of us.

“Even if you’re living in a safe bubble and all your kids are nachas machines, you can’t remove yourself from this problem,” Rabbi Feldman explains. “We’re all family, and this is a community issue. We all need to step up and do something about it.”

“Everyone likes to say this doesn’t affect them, until one day it does,” Pinny says. “You can ignore what’s happening until it’s your car that gets stolen over Shabbos, or chas v’shalom it’s your son who is struggling. And even if it doesn’t touch you personally, these boys are part of Klal Yisrael, and that makes it everyone’s problem.”

Rabbi Feldman notes that the community often seems to expect the impossible from him and others in his position.

“Everyone wants this problem taken care of. They want these boys off the streets; they want them back in shul, wearing yarmulkes and davening three times a day. But if the community doesn’t step up and raise the funds to keep programs and schools geared toward these boys running, there’s nothing anyone can do.”

 

 

 

Killing crime with kindness

If you’re reading this article while clucking your tongue and feeling grateful that it doesn’t affect you, stop what you’re doing and ask yourself these questions: Who are these boys? Why did they grow into such hostile, angry teens?

The answers are obvious: These kids are children of the community. They were raised here, and they’ve been through the system. And we need to change the way they feel about Lakewood and about Yiddishkeit.

“These boys have been rejected by the community, and that’s why they’re out to destroy what they can,” Moe adds. “Any positive interaction we have with them will show them they’re worthy of love and acceptance.”

He urges Lakewood residents to acknowledge these boys when passing them in the street or meeting them in a store. “Say hello; offer to buy them a drink or a slice of pizza,” he says. “You don’t have to welcome them into your home, but you can make them feel like a person, like they’re part of the community.”

“When a boy shows up in shul on Shabbos without a hat for the first time,” says Rabbi Feldman, “don’t ask him where his hat is. Just smile at him and wish him a good Shabbos.”

“These are Jewish neshamos craving recognition and attention,” Moe reminds us. “Anything we can do for them will go a long way.”

Rabbi Ehrman emphatically agrees. “These kids have the same great-grandparents as us. They stood at Har Sinai with us. They’re Yiddishe neshamos even if they look different than you.”

If we can take a step in the direction of reaching out, of trying to bridge the gap and make them feel welcome, maybe we can stem the tide of crime we’re seeing from these kids.

“Smile at them; say hello,” Rabbi Ehrman advises. “Show these kids that no matter what they look like or act like, we still accept them as one of us. You never know what a good morning or a smile can do.”

 

Taking it to Trenton

Pinny has another idea for how the community can help. He believes there’s real action to be taken that can make a genuine difference in the situation before it truly spirals out of control. As we’ve established, right now, the hands of the police are essentially tied when it comes to disciplining these kids. However, we can overturn the law that limits police action in regard to minors by appealing to the government’s office.

“I know that Avi Schnall and some others are working on getting this law rewritten, but the more people who appeal for it, the more likely it is that it will happen,” Pinny says.

If we, as a community, collectively appeal to the government’s office to rewrite this law, we can see real change. If the police have more power, this can prevent crime from happening in the first place. Perhaps, if there’s a stronger deterrent in place, kids will think twice before committing an offense, and they may decide it’s not worth it after all.

Chaim also believes we should be lobbying the governor’s office for funds.

“Our struggling teens need more programming. And the programming that already exists, like Rabbi Abadi’s Minyan Shelanu, needs more money to continue running and to broaden its scope,” he says. “There’s also Mesivta of Eatontown, a wonderful yeshivah that’s doing the work for the entire community and can also use more support. Let’s petition the governor for additional funding so we can really give these kids what they need.”

If you’d like to make your voice heard on this pressing issue, you can reach the government’s office directly through their website at nj.gov.

It may be years before we see any real change from Trenton, but until then, each of us can ask ourselves: are we doing enough for these kids?

 

From a chaplain’s perspective: Q & A with Rabbi Moshe Ehrman

Q: What happens when the police are called about teens committing a minor offense?

A: The assistant prosecutor is called about the case and makes a decision about the repercussions. Usually, nothing is done. If the offender has a long rap sheet or it was a very violent offense, the prosecutor will ask the judge to give the teen a monitoring bracelet and place him under house arrest. In extreme cases, the kid will be sent to a juvenile detention center.

Q: What if the teen violates the house arrest?

A: If a teen with a monitoring bracelet leaves the house, the violation is automatically tracked, and the parents must pay a fine.

Q: Do you find that sending kids to a juvenile detention center helps them improve their behavior?

A: Sometimes struggling teens hook up with gang members and serious drug dealers in prison, but it very often does the trick of waking these kids up and helping them realize that they’re on a self-destructive path that will only get worse with time.

Q: Do you think the system we have in place now is working?

A: No, it clearly is not. The police don’t have enough power in this town, and unfortunately, the government of New Jersey is more concerned about the civil liberties of minors who are committing offenses than protecting the rights of tax-paying citizens.

Q: What do you think the police should do when a minor commits an offense?

A: Every case is different and needs to be looked at individually. I believe law enforcement agencies should consider the degree of harm caused, the teen’s prior history, and whether there are underlying family issues—such as mental illness or an unstable home—that may be contributing to the behavior.

Q: How can we help these teenagers heal and become functioning members of society?

A: I think an out-of-town program that caters specifically to these kids would be ideal. With the proper facilities, trade training, and actual responsibilities, they can thrive.

 

A mother’s perspective

You know who I am.

I’m the mother of the kid who was in the news yesterday, the one who tried to steal some cigarettes from 7-11 and then started up with the cops when they were called to the scene.

I’m the one you love to judge. Because clearly, if I raised a child like this, I did something wrong.

But here’s what you don’t know. My son has friends who are just like him—an entire group of boys who are angry, bitter, and openly hostile to the community. And many of them have last names that would make your eyebrows jump.

These are boys who come from the most chashuve families in Lakewood. These are sons of maggidei shiur, roshei yeshivah, and roshei chaburah. These are children of high school menahalos, the most sought-after therapists, and inspiring speakers.

Because no one is immune.

This isn’t a machlah that only affects certain families. Ein bayis asher ein sham meis—it happens everywhere. In the finest of homes, homes where children receive the best chinuch and go to all the right schools.

And no one knows if it will happen to them.

So you can clutch your pearls as your neighbor fills you in on the most recent run-in my son had with the police. You can catch up on the latest hock as you rub your beard and shake your head.

But you can’t judge me.

You have no idea what it is to live with this kind of raw, soul-wrenching pain.

You have no idea what it feels like to see your precious boy—the one your husband once wrapped in a tallis and brought to yeshivah so he can lick the honey and learn that nothing in life is sweeter than what we have—and watch him turn into a stranger. A stranger with a mop of hair on his head where a yarmulke once topped a neat haircut. A stranger whose mouth spills words so foul you almost can’t remember how he sounded chazering his Gemara just last year. A stranger who roams the streets of Lakewood at night looking for trouble.

You have no idea what it’s like to try falling asleep when you know that at any moment your phone can shrill with a cop on the other end demanding you come pick up your son.

You have no idea what it’s like to watch your other children turn into social pariahs as sanctimonious mothers tell them not to play at your house anymore because you have a son who’s struggling with his Yiddishkeit.

You have no idea what it’s like to try to join a conversation at a simchah and watch as the chatter falls silent because how can they talk about which yeshivah their boys are hoping to attend for beis medrash next year when they know your son hasn’t been in any school for eight months?

No, you have no idea what it’s like. And you never have the right to judge.