“I didn’t realize he was on top of the hiring.” The words were acrid on my tongue. Was I personally rejected by my own father-in-law?

Chananya: I can’t mentor my son in law without jeopardizing our relationship.

Tzviki: Why wouldn’t you help me land my dream position?

Tzviki

Back when I was dating my wife, we discussed The Plan: kollel, for as long as we can make it work, and then chinuch. It wasn’t a question for me; my father was a rebbi, and my parents-in-law both were in the field too. As Ruti liked to joke, there was no reason for the two of us not to keep making the same mistake.

But for all its difficulties, teaching was in the blood. Ruti held a full-time position as a high school mechaneches, and I tutored in the evenings. Running a summer day camp rounded out the picture, and together with my kollel stipend, we made it work for a while.

Eventually, inevitably, the honeymoon was over. We’d been married a few years, the family was growing, and it became clear that my kollel days were numbered.

I’ve always been a forward-thinker. So when we realized that things would have to change in the coming months, I registered for a few highly recommended courses in teaching. Classroom management, interactive lesson, questioning and assessment techniques, approaches to teaching Gemara, handling emotional issues in students. Some of these were evening classes, some entailed taking off kollel, but I knew there was no choice.

I learned a lot at these course, and they also made me feel excited. Of course, the years in kollel had been a boon and a blessing, and I wished we had the means to make it work for longer. But if I had to leave the world of full-time learning, the field of education drew me like a magnet. I wanted to be the one up there in a classroom, unlocking worlds to eager young faces. I wanted to grapple with thorny discipline issues, untangle motivations, change lives. I knew teaching wasn’t easy — I had more than enough secondhand experience in the matter — but I also knew it could be immensely, superbly satisfying.

Still, when winter was drawing to a close, and the conversation at various courses took a tentative turn toward job applications and available positions, I felt a sudden apprehension.

What if, after all this, I couldn’t find a job?

What if I found a job but hated it?

What if this was all a big mistake?

“All you can do is hishtadlus,” Ruti said sensibly, when I brought up my worries one evening. “Let’s polish up your résumé, find out which yeshivahs are looking to fill a position, and apply. Then we’ll see what happens.”

Job applications. This was actually real. And now that it was becoming practical, I knew exactly what my first choice of yeshivah would be.

“I’d love to be a rebbi in Darchei Chochmah,” I said suddenly. “Do you think your father could help out, pull some strings?”

Yeshivah Darchei Chochmah was a large elementary school in the area. Besides being my alma mater, it was nearby, there was a fantastic staff, and my father-in-law had been a rebbi there for years. Now he was something on the administration, he arranged teacher training and was sort of an assistant menahel, I wasn’t sure exactly what. But I knew the school, it would be a great environment for me.

Ruti was a little hesitant at the idea of involving her father.

“Why not just find out if they have availability and apply?” she suggested. You’re one of their alumni, you have a good name, and you have the personality for it. I’m sure they’ll grab you.”

It would be nicer not to rely on pull. I decided to ask around, find out whether there were any openings at Darchei Chochmah.