By Shoshana Gross

 

Every year as Shavuos approaches, we renew the beauty of the promise we made at Har Sinai. And just as we all accepted the Torah at the foot of the mountain, every member of Klal Yisrael should be able to savor the words of Hashem’s gift. When Rabbi Dovid Newman first entered the classroom, he wanted to help every talmid taste that sweetness. Over the years, Rabbi Newman crystallized a system of values and beliefs that gives every boy a passion for learning—and now, in Lakewood and beyond, countless bachurim are loving the sweetness of our heritage.

On the plane… Amid the bustle of passengers entering the El Al plane and stowing their luggage, Moishy* spotted his friend Avi. “It’s a long trip to Eretz Yisrael,” he said. “How about we try to sit near each other and learn together?” Avi agreed enthusiastically, and when the plane soared into the sky, the chavrusashaft was already soaring even higher, well into daf beis of Maseches Sukkah. Hours passed and pages turned. Again and again. A short break for Minchah. The cadence of two voices continued. And a beautiful “hadran alach Maseches Sukkah” was said as they landed in Tel Aviv.

In a school… The last day of school is hard for rebbe’im. The last 45 minutes? Even harder. But while classrooms full of restless talmidim counted down the seconds until freedom, one sixth grade class was different. The boys were learning, chavrusas chazering and gesticulating over their Gemaras. As the last bell rang, the boys danced to celebrate the Torah, reveling in their connection, reluctant to leave.

At the hospital… “The yahrtzeit is tomorrow,” the boy’s father said. “And we need a siyum.” Immediately, the boy replied, “I can do it.” When he went to the hospital for his regular treatments, he pulled out his Gemara and started chazering Maseches Megillah. Twenty-five blatt later, the treatment was completed, and so was the masechta. All in one day.

How does this happen? How do bachurim who are regular, ordinary boys display such extraordinary commitment and devotion to Torah?

It’s a journey that began 15 years ago in a 12th-grade classroom.

 

 

 

Seven Cs                            

When Rabbi Dovid Newman entered his classroom for the first time, he saw the regular mix of bachurim, ranging from the studious to those less interested. And it wasn’t long before he realized that some conventional chinuch methods, which work well for the motivated bachur, don’t work for everyone. Tests and contests weren’t intrinsically motivating for most of the class. These were boys with solid potential but little inner drive.

“Production-based prizes don’t make you care,” explains Rabbi Newman. “And I wanted my bachurim to care.”

Over two years, Rabbi Newman tried different methods, refined his approach, and finally emerged with a philosophy and a set of convictions that he believes can motivate many.

“I first realized that I needed to remove the external pressures,” he says. If you ask, a bachur might say he’s learning for a test on Sunday, because the menahel is watching, or in order to participate in the upcoming trip for “real masmidim.” None of these are reasons that last. As soon as the test is over, the mental delete button is pressed. No one is forcing the learning? Many times, it won’t continue. There’s no extravagant reward? The interest in learning dwindles.

But when a bachur learns because he wants to, because he tastes the geshmak of learning, that’s when he goes out of his comfort zone and spends real time and focus to understand and own the Gemara.

“I would sum it all up with the seven Cs,” says Rabbi Newman. “Care enough to go out of your Comfort Zone and Commit to Consistent Chazarah, which brings to Clarity and Cheishek.”

Simple sentence. Tremendous impact.

But how do we get there?

 

Unconditional

“Removing tests and contests and external pressures is only the first step,” Rabbi Newman says. “A rebbi also needs to feel and show unconditional ahavah, chashivus, and trust.”

When a bachur is sick, Rabbi Newman delivers hot soup and a milkshake. If a bachur is absent, he’ll receive a text or a message: “We miss you.” During allergy season, when he heard that spoonfuls of local honey could help tame the miserable symptoms, Rabbi Newman showed up in class with twelve bottles of local honey for any bachur who needed it.

Unconditional ahavah looks different for every rebbi and every talmid. “The point,” explains Rabbi Newman, “is that your bachurim need to know you care, that you’re there for them, and that you support them b’ruchniyus and b’gashmiyus. Because a talmid doesn’t care how much his rebbi knows until he knows how much his rebbi cares.”

There’s also chashivus, where bachurim see how much their Torah is valued and then internalize the value of their efforts. Constant beautiful siyumim, long retzufos sedarim where talmidim immerse themselves in hours of passionate learning, heartfelt singing and dancing to celebrate their accomplishments, and tokens of appreciation—unasked and unexpected—demonstrate the chashivus of their efforts.

“It can be a cheesecake for Shavuos with a personal note—as long as it’s something that tells each bachur that he matters, that his Torah matters, and we’re acknowledging that.”

 

No ifs and ends

And finally, there’s trust.

On the first day of yeshivah, every bachur receives a special, monogrammed pencil—before they accomplish anything. And there’s a kiddush every Thursday, regardless of individual accomplishments.

“I never, ever use the word ‘if,’” says Rabbi Newman. “I will never say, ‘If you do X, then you’ll get Y.’ I believe in the bachurim until they come to believe in themselves.”

Rabbi Newman encourages his talmidim to not only finish a masechta, but to own it, love it, and bond with it. “To not only go through a masechta, but for the masechta to go through you.” One thing he instills in every talmid is that the difference between “knowing” and “owning” the precious words of Torah is a gap that can only be bridged with constant chazarah. Review happens daily, over Shabbos, and during hours-long retzufos sedarim, where bachurim experience hours of complete focus on the words of the Gemara.

Line by line, the message sinks in. It might take a few days. It can take weeks. For some, it takes months. But eventually, the words of Abaye and Rava enter their hearts. And miracles happen.

As one bachur said, “I wasn’t into the Seven Cs until one night, when I was already in bed. It was late, I was tired and almost asleep, when I suddenly remembered I hadn’t chazered that day’s Gemara. I got up, pushed myself, and felt so exhilarated that I haven’t looked back.” Because life begins where the comfort zone ends.

And it’s a thrilling journey that’s never done.

“In the non-Jewish world, they value a finite quantity,” explains Rabbi Newman. “After a few years of schooling, you graduate, and you’re done. In Hashem’s world, it’s about quality, about the ameilus, the effort—and that never finishes.”

And on this lifelong endeavor, the biggest gift we can give our talmidim is an intrinsic love for Torah and learning.

 

Knowing, owning, loving                           

                                                                               

Success spreads.

It wasn’t a program or a handbook, but Rabbi Newman’s clear and intuitive methods were working, and other rebbe’im noticed. He was happy to share his ideas, and soon other yeshivos were implementing his strategies. Bachurim in many different yeshivos were traversing the road from finishing the Gemara, to knowing, owning, and loving it. The growth was explosive, but completely unplanned, and before he knew it, Rabbi Newman found himself at the head of an organization which he called “Vhaarev Na,” making Torah sweet for every bachur.

The original Vhaarev Na program was modeled after the program Rabbi Newman used for his 12th-grade talmidim, but why wait to instill a love and appreciation for learning? Why not begin with boys on the cusp of their bar mitzvah years as they prepare for adulthood? Why not implement the premises of Vhaarev Na with those just beginning to understand how to really learn Gemara?

So Rabbi Newman refined and targeted his approach, creating the pre-bar mitzvah Bonai Chavivai program and the middle-school Torascha Befinu initiative.

 

The first taste                                                       

                                                     

                                                                                                                                                                                                     

Starting something new always brings a mix of excitement and challenges. “In sixth and seventh grade, every boy is still at the beginning stages of learning Gemara, focusing on mastering the basics,” explains Rabbi Newman about Torascha Befinu. “This is a crucial time to instill in the boys positive associations that will carry them through a lifetime of learning.”

Many rebbe’im now help countless middle-school boys believe in their success and feel the powerful desire to connect with Torah. There’s the same ahavah, chashivus, and trust of the Vhaarev Na program, and an attempt to minimize external pressures, but with one crucial difference—when boys start learning how to motivate themselves earlier, the impact is exponentially greater.

As Rabbi Dovid Newman strongly believes, when we use contests as motivation, we’re essentially saying, “We know you won’t like this, but here’s a prize to sweeten the deal.” Torascha Befinu is the opposite approach, giving the bachurim something special before they learn, knowing that the learning itself will become more enjoyable than anything else.

Unconditional gifts are given throughout the year, showing the rebbi’s ahavah, chashivus, and trust in each boy. For the boy who’s never won a prize or succeeded at learning, these gifts are a revelation—a rebbi’s belief in him. It’s often the moment when “I can never” becomes “Maybe I can.” When the boys see how much is invested in them, they begin to invest in themselves.

For one disinterested boy, it took several months. His first commitment to review one amud over Shabbos went unfulfilled. When he finally did one amud, he then reviewed two amudim. The next week, he decided to do an incredible (for him) five amudim. And the next week, when the rebbi asked everyone how their commitments went, the boy announced, “I did 16 amudim! Rebbi, once I started, I couldn’t stop!” The class, aware of their friend’s struggle, gave him a spontaneous ovation. The boy put his head down and cried. “I finally feel accomplished,” he said.

 

The greatest joy

In shuls and homes across Lakewood and beyond, countless 12-year-old boys learn with their fathers or chavrusas. It’s a personal journey, unique to each one, that begins with a Shas and a special pencil engraved with the boy’s name from Bonai Chavivai. This is in line with Rabbi Newman’s core belief of showing the boys confidence in their ability to succeed. And as the boys delve more deeply into “their” masechta, they love the learning.

Rabbi Shmuel Newman, Rabbi Dovid Newman’s brother, is the director of Bonai Chavivai in Lakewood, and he explains the structure of this innovative approach. “This initiative is for 12-year-olds, giving them a clear goal of owning a masechta and making a siyum by their bar mitzvah.” The learning takes place outside the classroom but is meant to enhance and complement it. If a boy wants to participate, he receives a special form that needs to be signed by his rebbi and menahel. They help the boy choose a masechta, and participants clearly understand that any assigned homework comes before this extra undertaking.

The culmination of months of effort is a beautiful bar mitzvah siyum, complete with a Bonai Chavivai celebratory cake, a shtender for the young masmid—and a masechta for life.

At one beautiful bar mitzvah celebration, when Rabbi Newman said mazel tov, the proud father mentioned the Bonai Chavivai cake sitting on the sweet table, and said, “When the party planner set up for the bar mitzvah, she said your cake doesn’t belong—it didn’t match the tablescape she was creating. I pointed at the festive room and told her, ‘Everything you see here, this entire event, is all for this cake!’ You can see that it’s now the centerpiece.”

The cake is the centerpiece of the table, and Torah becomes the centerpiece in these young boys’ lives.

 

Soaring

“How is it possible—physically, mentally, and emotionally—for two ordinary bachurim to learn together for an entire flight from America to Eretz Yisrael?” Rabbi Dovid Newman asks, referencing the first story he mentioned. “It’s possible only because the boys were learning ‘their’ masechta, the Gemara they bonded with, that they had chazered tens of times.”

They could have learned for half an hour or 45 minutes of the flight and closed their Gemaras with a sense of accomplishment. What kept them turning the pages, daf after daf, when they didn’t have to?

The Gemara itself. When they finished daf hei, daf vav was calling them onward. As they completed daf vav, the voice of Abaye beckoned. “Come review me!” called daf zayin, and so on, daf after daf.

It’s a sense of fulfillment shared by everyone—the bar mitzvah boy, the middle-schoolers, the 12th-grade bachurim—and it’s something every boy can share. A love of Torah is the beginning of a lifelong commitment to learning, and we see that in long-time graduates, who, no matter what they do for a living, truly live Torah, with their days revolving around the enjoyment of a blatt Gemara.

Ultimately, it’s not a program that brings us to value the Torah, but our core beliefs. With ahavah, chashivus haTorah, and the passion of commitment, we can all stand together on Shavuos at the foot of Har Sinai, tasting the eternal sweetness of our most precious gift.