Duvid’l my boy, where have you gone?

Duvid’l my boy, where have you gone? It feels like in my very own home, circumstances have defied the adages of all ages.

They say that every adult harbors an inner child, that there is a remnant of youth in every grown-up. Yet in my son’s alternate personality, I see no sign of my little boy.

I’ve always known that change was a slow process, a tedious work of bringing down walls and rebuilding from scratch. I have not been forewarned that along with a tech-savvy world comes a microwave generation. In what seems like just a few seconds, my son has virtually abandoned his old self- hat, suit, and alland has emerged as something entirely different.

My son was just a boy in cheder; my pride and my joy. My son has barely entered yeshiva; a serious, innocent boy. That was a lifetime ago.

He now owns a device that I don’t approve of, his choice of attire makes me cringe, and evidently his brain waves are being tainted with theories and ideals that have not been my sustenance to him all these years.

My heart is clenched, trapped between clawing tongs that obstruct the way for logic to seep in. Give him your hand, hold him close, let him feel your acceptance. It’s the chorus that they’re all singing, but I cannot bring myself to follow the beat. Maybe they don’t realize how quickly the tracks have gone wild, hurling me into a dizzy haze.

There has to be a way to halt the whirlpool that holds my son hostage to its dreadful depths. Most certainly, there is someone, somewhere, that can press his buttons right and gently coax him back home.

Who will restore my son’s inner child? Who will assist in reverting his rapid turnaround?

I want my child back.

Please call me back.

Hitting a brick wall would be better than hitting none at all. I would prefer being between a rock and a hard place, if the alternative is the place where I am right now.

It may seem like I have chosen my lifestyle, a different new life to lead. Possibly there are people who ponder my choices, and have come to the conclusion that I must have a goal in mind, and am headed there with confidence and conviction.

It is not so. It is so not so. Where outsiders see confidence, I am confused. Where others see me as cool, I feel feverish with pain. I appear to be put together, but inside I am unraveling and raw at the edges.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. Who was to tell that with one tiny peek I would be lured into a world where I don’t want to be? Where are all the warning labels, on a device that brings on demons so monstrous and domineering? Perhaps if I would have known, I wouldn’t be what I am today.

I am in the passenger seat, watching the monster at the steering wheel recalculating my values and standards. I know I’ve changed on the outside as much as I have in the inner chambers of my thoughts and feelings. My apparel is now different, and somehow, once that changed, the adults in my life have interpreted my look to say “do not touch”.

And as such, all the Very Important People in my life have turned silent. There is no doubt in my mind that they have plenty to say, but they have gone mute in the face of my new fragile state.

I want walls and boundaries; discipline would soothe my soul. It breaks me most to realize how afraid my parents are, too frightened to admonish their troubled little boy.

Directionless and pained, I yearn for a hand that will catch me before I fall. Please.

Call me back.

Open a door, Turn on a Light.

This is no wait at a doctor’s office when you know that your turn will yet come. It’s not waiting for the car, the bus, or the mail.

These children are waiting to be saved from the clutches that are robbing their thoughts and their days. They wait amidst suffering and heartrending loneliness, and sometimes, the ache of the wait stretches so long, that it dies a slow and silent death.

We cannot afford to lose even a few. But if we wait some, we lose some. And we want a win-win.

It is an undeniable fact: These children can be brought back. When a child is groping in the dark, they only need a ray of light to illuminate their way. Expertise, acceptance, and undiluted love have proven the ability to thaw the most frozen and hardened of hearts.

The equation is simple. A remarkable program, expert orators, satisfying food and their souls are sold. In a matter of a few days, the impossible suddenly doesn’t feel so daunting, so far away and unattainable. All that these little boys and girls need is a mild, yet firm, approach to help them swim in the waters of their youth once more.

We at Tzohar, have jumped through many a hoop for these individuals who are confined to the challenges of our times. Seminars take place in forest clearances to avoid indoor event restrictions. We spare no toil to provide each of these kids with every amenity conceivable to afford them comfort and calm. No expense is denied, no cost too high.

The bottom line comes down to millions of shekels yearly. Follow-ups and private coaching are enormously costly endeavors. Price tags hardly matter when the product is a lost child.

But when the coffers run low, these children wait. We cannot work the Tzohar magic; we are forced to press pause on the healing of souls. These miraculous events give children the tools to fight their battles and ultimately return. Pushing them off for financial restraints is a devastating reality. Too many children who could have been helped have gone adrift while we were working to raise more money on their behalf.

Finance a soul. Invest in a future.

We’ll bring these children back.

Tzohar: Care, Compassion, and Acceptance

Anything for a yiddishe neshama. Every possible method that will accomplish to kindle the withering spark within. That is Tzohar’s mission.

There are multitudes of organizations that specialize in bringing back those that are far gone and unfortunately, completely astray.

Tzohar is unique. We work with children who are still in their adolescence, clinging to their respective schools and yeshivos with the last tiny thread.

Generally, the children we help have had difficult childhoods, and have grown up in the background of dysfunction and distress. The challenges that each one has faced, has blinded them from the beauty and the sanctity of their heritage.

The concepts and ideas that are imparted to them in the realm of a Tzohar seminar are glaring new truths that they have seldom contemplated previously. Paths in life that appeared to be distant, become their new way to go; their attitude changing dramatically.

In Tzohar’s hands they are no longer lost. They are the greatest treasures found