What Rabbi Chodakov Told the Father Who Demanded English in Cheder

A recent discussion on Anash.org about the use of Yiddish in our mosdos prompted Rabbi Sholom Horowitz of Crown Heights to share a memorable incident from his years as a melamed in Oholei Torah some 50 years ago.

In his account, Rabbi Horowitz relates how a disagreement with a parent over the language of instruction eventually reached Rabbi Chaim Mordechai Aizik Chodakov, the Rebbe’s longtime secretary and director of Merkos L’Inyonei Chinuch:

About 50 years ago, I was a melamed in Oholei Torah, teaching fourth grade. In those days, the language of instruction in Oholei Torah was Yiddish. That’s how we taught, and that’s how the children learned.

Among my talmidim was a boy whose father was a fine young man, a baal teshuvah who had become a successful and prominent member of the community. The problem was that the father didn’t speak Yiddish, and neither did his son. He wanted me to switch to English so that his son would understand what was being taught.

I told him, “I’m from Yerushalayim. I speak Yiddish. I don’t even know English. If you want to learn in English, send your son to United Lubavitcher Yeshiva which conducts classes in Yiddish. What do you want from me?”

But the father wasn’t ready to give up. He went to the hanhalah and spoke with Reb Michoel Teitelbaum, Reb Yosef Blizinsky, Reb Yosef Rosenfeld, and others, trying to convince them that I should change the language of instruction.

This went on for several months. Finally, Reb Michoel Teitelbaum suggested that we take the matter to Rabbi Chodakov. “Let’s go to Rabbi Chodakov,” he said. “Whatever he says, that’s what we’ll do.”

In those days, when there was a question concerning chinuch, the Rebbe would often refer people to Rabbi Chodakov, who was deeply involved in the educational work of the mosdos.

So we went to Rabbi Chodakov’s office. There was the father, Reb Michoel, myself, and some others, all crowded into that little room. I remember that there was a telephone sitting there, off the hook. In those days, it was understood that when the telephone in Rabbi Chodakov’s office was left open, the Rebbe could hear what was being discussed.

I turned to the father and told him, “You start. Say whatever you want to say.”

The father began explaining his problem. “I don’t speak Yiddish, only English. And the kid doesn’t understand Yiddish either. Every day he brings home homework in Yiddish. If I don’t know Yiddish, how can I help him? It means the kid goes to school for nothing.”

Rabbi Chodakov listened to what he had to say, and then responded clearly: “A Yid speaks Yiddish, and Yiddish is the language.”

The man was not happy with the response, and being a gevir, he was not used to others telling him how things should be.

“But Rabbi, you don’t understand,” he said. “My kid comes home to me, and I can’t help him. He goes to school and comes home the same way. It’s like parking a car. You park the car, and then you take it out. Nothing gets to him.”

Rabbi Chodakov answered again, “A Yid speaks Yiddish.”

The father tried another argument. “Look, you’re an old-fashioned guy, from the old generation. Today we speak English.”

But Rabbi Hodakov didn’t get drawn into a lengthy discussion. He simply repeated his response that “a Yid speaks Yiddish.”

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