An Innovator of American Chinuch
December, 2022
PART 1
Every shul has the older gentleman or couple who are the last to stick around after retirement and who remember, perhaps, when the shul first opened. Like you, they were once surrounded by their closest friends on those same streets. They are sometimes overlooked for the reservoirs of wisdom and history that they are.
I once read that when ArtScroll was first working on its machzorim, they had an issue concerning the placement of a certain Kaddish when Rosh Hashanah falls on a Shabbos. Understanding that what they published would be accepted by many as fact, they needed a final determination. Rav Zlotowitz and Rav Scherman went to their rebbeim and ArtScroll advisors, Rav Moshe Feinstein and Rav Yaakov Kamenetzky, for guidance. Both eminent leaders gave the same response: “Find an old shul, search for the oldest member or gabbai, and ask him.”
When I entered the rabbinate, that older man for me was Rabbi Dr. Irving Fried. He was a classic old-time American Jew whose descriptions of growing up in Boro Park in the 1930s and ’40s had me laughing hysterically. He once recounted watching as some chickens got loose and the shochet chased them down 13th Avenue, which was then a dirt road, in his bloody apron!
After receiving his semichah from Beis Yosef Novardok and Torah Vodaas, Irving Fried dedicated his life to chinuch. He refused to be called “Rabbi” (even asking that I not use the title in this article) and got upset even at an aliyah if the typical “Ya’amod rav” was used; he often joked, “I am not a rav…maybe an eruv rav.”
Around 1954, after teaching in Trenton and then in Springfield, Mass., he became the founding principal of Atlanta Hebrew Academy in Georgia. In 1960, he moved to Columbus, Ohio, to serve as the principal at Columbus Torah Academy, working closely with the city’s beloved Rav Stavsky. In 1973, he received his doctorate in education from Ohio State University. His dissertation was titled “Trends and Issues in Hebrew Day School Education.” His thesis became the cover story for the October 1976 Jewish Observer.
Rav Nisson Wolpin wrote in that article, “The extent of the [day-school] problem and some of its causes were uncovered in a study by Dr. Irving Fried, principal of the Columbus Torah Academy. He launched his study in fall 1972, and its results were published in Torah Umesorah’s Jewish Parent (June ’74).
“He surveyed 35 schools… The day schools themselves are, in some measure, falling into the hands of the Conservatives. ‘There is pressure being exerted on the Hebrew day-school movement to change the religious philosophy on which it was founded. In 27.6% of the cases, there had been a movement within the school to bring about a change in the religious philosophy during the previous five years (1967-72), almost always towards a weakened religious position. Parents were the primary group seeking change… The likelihood for the future is towards an increased shifting in the direction of a weakened Orthodox position…
“To head off this impending crisis, he suggests that day schools embark on an intensive one-to-one rabbi- or teacher-to-parent education campaign, concentrating on such core mitzvah experiences as Shabbos. The parents, too, should witness the beauty of the private life of the Torah Jew ‘to taste and see that it is good.’ Dr. Fried’s suggestion is a worthy one…”
With great pikchus, Irving Fried sensed when children were willing to grow in their Yiddishkeit; he sent some girls to Yavneh in Cleveland, and many boys to Ner Yisrael, Telshe, and other yeshivos. In fact, at his levayah several years ago, Rabbi Yonasan Seidemann, his former student who is now a rav in Baltimore, remarked, “Rav Ruderman used to tell Rabbi Irving Fried that he was in the exporting business because he would export so many students to Ner Yisrael from Columbus.”
In the late 1980s, when he became principal of Kadima Academy in Buffalo, he had the same success. Countless descendants of his graduates owe their Yiddishkeit to him, and some even owe him their lives:
In 1974, he and a few teachers took the eighth grade on a trip to Washington, DC. They went by plane, and his son Rav Mordechai Fried, who is now the rabbinic administrator for Kosher Miami, tells the story of what happened.
When they arrived at the gate, one of the chaperons—likely the father of Rabbi Yonasan Seidemann—discovered that there was no ticket for him, and the flight was sold out. He encouraged the class to go without him, but Irving Fried wouldn’t hear of it. He felt that dividing the group would be a bad lesson for the children, and he found another flight, enabling them to stay together.
They didn’t know that the original flight was the infamous TWA Flight 514, which crashed and killed everyone on board, R”l.
This news caused panic in Columbus. Another son, Rabbi Tzvi Fried, today the rav of Young Israel of Bedford Bay, was eight years old at the time and remembers the dread in his home before everyone learned that the eighth-grade group was safe.
One student, Agi Hartstein (née Neubauer), kindly shared her recollections of the event. What struck me was that she didn’t recall any traumatic reaction at the time, and another former student shared the same thought. It’s likely that Irving Fried and his staff were very careful about the way they handled these events in front of impressionable young people.
Irving once brought in a rebbi named Rabbi Greenbaum to teach in the school. When this rebbi retired, Irving asked him, “Why are you still in Columbus? Don’t you have family and friends in larger frum towns?” Rabbi Greenbaum explained that his plan was to retire in Eretz Yisrael,but he was in debt and couldn’t go. One day Irving called to tell him that his debts had been taken care of. It was later discovered that Irving had gone door to door to collect for him.
When he first moved to Buffalo, he was given a list of potential Jewish donors to the school, and one person’s name had been crossed out. He learned that this was a wealthy man who never gave to Jewish causes. Irving saw this as a challenge and called him. The man responded dismissively, but Irving was prepared. “I don’t want money,” he said. “I just want to show you something. I’ll let you know when.”
On Chanukah, Irving asked him to come down to his office. It was the day of the school’s Chanukah event; the kids, dressed in their best clothes, were singing and giving divrei Torah, and the man started to cry. “I never gave to Jewish causes because of my anger after the war,” he said. “I believed that supporting Torah causes was a waste of money because I couldn’t believe that Yiddishkeit would ever thrive again. I was wrong.” He left a hefty check.
There are many more stories about Irving Fried, and I hope to tell some of them next week, iy”H.
PART 2
Sometimes when I have an idea for a column and begin to write, the words take me on a completely different journey than I intended.
Before Chanukah, I shared a little about Irving Fried, a”h, who was an older member of my shul in Buffalo when I first entered the rabbinate. I spoke about his sixty-year career in chinuch, which took him all over the country, the pioneering methods he introduced that were embraced by Torah Umesorah, and the extraordinary story of how he saved an entire class from a plane crash.
Initially, I planned to share two stories about Irving that have aided me in rabbanus, butI thought it would be best to share a little about his life first. I found cover stories about him in The Jewish Observer, as well as many news clippings and amazing stories about him that I thought readers would enjoy, so I included some of that information in the column. At the end, I realized that not only did I not get to half of what I discovered about him, but I never even got to the two stories!
Well, here they are.
About a month ago, I ended a shiur with a little chizzuk about the importance of being kovei’a ittim laTorah. My shul, baruch Hashem,has a significant Daf Yomi contingency, but I felt it could be even stronger and said so. One member of the shiur came over to me afterward and said, “Rabbi, we are in the middle of Nedarim, almost halfway through Shas. Why would anyone join now?”
And thatis when Irving came to mind. I responded to this man with the following story.
A few years after I arrived in Buffalo, Irving became ill and went to live with his son, Rabbi Tzvi Fried, rav of Young Israel of Bedford Bay. He was niftar soon afterward.I could not attend the levayah, but I drove to Brooklyn to be menachem aveil.
When I left the shivah house, I thought it would be wise to learn the daf before my long drive back. Then I noticed where we were up to in the daf…and I could hardly believe it.
You see, during my first month in Buffalo, Irving had approached me and asked, “Rabbi, could you give a daf shiur before Minchah each day?”
Although I was overstressed, I was also relieved. The daf is an opportunity to learn lishmah, disconnected from any occupational responsibility. I readily accepted.
After about a week, we got a mezuman, and soon more people came. It was turning into a real daf shiur. I asked Irving, “How many times have you been through the daf?”
“This is my first cycle. I didn’t want to die without going through all of Shas at least one time.”
“So you began right after the last siyum?”
“I wish I had done that. A thought occurred to me while they were in the middle of Gittin. The yetzer hara told me that it was too late, that I could start at the beginning of the next cycle, or maybe the next masechta. I almost listened, but then I realized that one never knows if there will be a next time. As it says in Avos (2:5), ‘Al tomar lichshe’efneh eshneh shema lo sipaneh’—a person should never delay, telling himself that he will learn when he has time, because maybe that time will not come.”
Imagine joining the daf in the middle of Shas, in Gittin, and not even at the start of a new masechta!
Years later, when I was sitting in the car outside of his shivah, I saw that we were again in the middle of Gittin! Although I cannot say for certain that he was niftar right after completing his cycle, it’s possible.
I turned to the daf member who was gently challenging my approach and replied, “Irving taught me that it’s never too late to start anything.”
Speaking of Irving, the daf, and seizing the moment, I will share another story that always comes to mind.
As I have mentioned before, thousands of visitors used to pass through the shul in Buffalo each year. Sometimes they would stay for several days or even several weeks, for business or medical purposes. There was once a Klausenberger chasid who was with us for a few days and came to the daf shiur.I decided to share something that his last Rebbehad said on the daf so that he would feel more at home, but first I gave a little information about the Rebbe’s amazing life so that the other participants could appreciate his gadlus.
When the shiur ended, we were heading to Minchah when Irving said, “I met the Rebbe. He had just arrived here from Europe. He came to our shul in Boro Park and made an appeal for the she’eiris hapleitah. He came right off the boat!”
I was in astounded. “You witnessed a seminal moment in our history! What did he say? ”
“I was young,” Irving responded. “But I do remember his image and the sound of his voice telling about the machine guns and all… It never left me.”
I said, “He likely collected a significant amount of money after that drashah.”
Irving laughed at this.
“Rabbi, I hope he did. And I am sure that what I am about to tell you is not indicative of most people. But I remember like it was yesterday going to the back of the shul to retrieve my things when the Rebbe was finished. I overheard two men talking. One of them asked the other, ‘How did you like the drashah?’ The other responded, ‘It was fine…but all these rabbis are the same. All they want is money!’”
I am not a fundraiser, but when I do have to collect for a cause, I often share this story. It highlights the fact that one never knows when he is witnessing history. It is easy to be cynical and to dismiss this type of event, but in the long run, the cynic may lose out on very valuable sechorah.
May I continue to learn from my amazing congregants, both those in this world and in the next.
Shul Chronicles 
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