What Rabbi Kahn Taught Me About Grit and Determination

I can’t believe it’s going to be two years since the passing of Rabbi Kahn. On the one hand, the memories I have of learning with him feel like yesterday — I hold them close and think about them often. They are with me no matter what I do. On the other hand, the memories are beginning to grow more distant — and with that comes a certain pain. I want to reach back into the past and live in these memories forever, to feel what it was like to be in his shiur and to experience it all over again. 

Along with the pain of losing this Torah giant, there is also the recognition that I had the opportunity of a lifetime to experience Rabbi Kahn. He was the reason I came to Stern. I heard about his shiur from my friends and it sounded so incredible that I couldn’t pass it up. But even the excitement of anticipation nothing could have prepared me for what I was about to experience. Nowadays it is popular even amongst high-level learning institutions to do everything in one’s power to build up the student. The thought process is that if the student thinks they are smart and knowledgeable, they will continue on this path of success to keep learning more. We tell them, “You almost got the Gemara right, EXCEPT…” Well, Rabbi Kahn was not like this at all. You entered shiur with a certain smugness, feeling you were so smart. You wondered why the list of mekoros was not longer, considering where you got up to in your hachana (preparation). However, when you got to shiur, Rabbi Kahn swiftly dismantled this notion. “I know you are saying that’s what Rashi says, but how do you explain this word?! Do you know what this word means?” At first, it was nearly infuriating. I pretty much got it right. There was only one “minor” mistake in my reading of Rashi. What did it matter? 

But Rabbi Kahn was there to show you that it all mattered. And he was there to hold you accountable for every last bit of it. He demanded 100% accuracy. And in so doing, he actually built up the confidence of his students even more. He wouldn’t accept any half answers or partial understandings. He demanded more from us. Because he believed we could do more, if we worked harder, if we learned longer. And in doing so, we learned to believe in ourselves. It was a journey. Sometimes I questioned whether I was good enough. I wondered why he demanded so much from me in my understanding, if I clearly was not capable. But I kept going back for more, day after day. And eventually, his voice entered my head and became a part of my thought process. Learn it again. Try it again. Go back and try again. And so I did. And all he needed to say was the words “She’s got it!” to make you feel the best you have ever felt about yourself in your entire life. You needed to keep trying until you heard those words. 

The feeling you get from hard work and overcoming obstacles — from realizing not how much you know, but how much more you must learn and how much more room there is to grow — that is the most rewarding feeling. It is far more rewarding than being made to feel like you entered the Beis Medrash already knowing and understanding. In a generation of fragility, short-term gratification and short attention spans, I want to stand for the message that Rabbi Kahn taught me: Work hard and never stop until you’ve got it right. And when you do that, you can one day look back and be truly proud of what you have accomplished. It may not take a day. It may not take a month. It may not even take a year. But after looking back at nearly five years of learning with the Torah giant that Rabbi Kahn was, I felt the effects of the learning we did together as I finally was able to look back and see improvement. At the same time, I know now as I knew then, how much more there is to go. And that is the most beautiful part of Torah – the fact that its depth is beyond any of us, and there’s always more to learn and more to know. 

This message of hard work and determination will remain with me forever. I hear Rabbi Kahn’s voice in my head all the time, particularly when I am learning. I know he would have pushed me to understand it better and to learn more. But to me, the voice in my head is not enough. He was the wisest person I have ever met, and there is so much I wish I could ask him now that he is no longer with us. I wish I could hear his advice entering my first years of teaching, and ask him how he would have taught the class and what knowledge or skills he would have prioritized. I would love to hear how he would have addressed the educational and emotional needs of different types of students in the classroom. I wish I could talk to him about the joy and challenge of becoming a parent, and how to continue on a path of growth in Torah learning while this all-encompassing transition towards parenthood takes place. When I had a difficult pregnancy, I wished I could ask him how he learned so much while feeling so unwell, and how he mustered the strength of body and mind to power through. With each new stage of life that comes up, I find myself wondering what he would have thought, and how he would have advised me. 

I wish I could say I took advantage and got all the wisdom I could while he was alive. Rabbi Kahn was extremely humble and warm and always made himself available to his students. But the truth is that I was shy and intimidated by this larger-than-life figure, and I didn’t speak my mind as much as I should have. I sometimes struggled to express my answers in his class, to understand what he was looking for in his questions and select the right piece of knowledge to address the question. In my last year with him, we had a conversation about this. Not only did he respond with compassion and understanding, but he even offered to meet with me weekly to work on this skill, hoping it would help me both in his shiur and in other areas of life as well. Little did either of us know that it would be one of our last classes together. I mourn the opportunity I would have had if I had brought this up sooner. If only I would have communicated more, I could have learned so much.

People had different reactions when he announced his diagnosis. Some people made sure to ask him everything they could, to take photographs and make memories. I didn't. I was in denial that someone like him could ever leave us. I remained convinced that he would overcome his illness, and that everything would one day be like it was before. And he remained steadfast in his commitment to teaching, and in my mind I just knew he had to survive and remain our teacher, our guide. And now that he’s gone, I still can’t really believe it. A heaviness has remained with me since the day he passed. No matter how many people filled the Stern beis medrash since his passing, it feels emptier without him. A fire of Rabbi Kahn’s Torah once filled the beis medrash, and now that it has been extinguished, it feels colder, emptier. 

I wish I could shout from the rooftops how great of a gadol he was and have everyone who didn’t have the opportunity to experience how truly incredible he was. I wish I could give everyone a glimpse into a day in his shiur. But instead, I can only try to do whatever is within my sphere of influence. I currently have the pleasure of teaching Torah She’Baal Peh and introducing girls to Mishnayos and Gemara for the very first time. Though my students are much younger than I was sitting in Rabbi Kahn’s shiur, if there’s one thing I want them to learn from my class the very same thing I learned from him: Work hard. Keep trying. Try to understand every word. Every precious word. We will take whatever time we need to learn the information - to really learn it. My goal as a teacher is to do exactly as my Rebbe did for me: believe in each one of my students even more than they believe in themselves. 

I think it is this message that we can take with us to hopefully create Torah learners for life. Rabbi Kahn inspired generations of female learners who had little to no prior experience or Gemara education. He created legions of female Torah She’Baal Peh learners and educators where there were none. He never expressed having a specific goal of creating Torah educators, but just by being who he was, he created so many. I frequently wonder how we can possibly be tasked to continue his legacy. The load he carried as one person seems too great for even the many of us he left behind. 

Hard work. Grit. Determination. Keep learning. Keep going. 

It’s all we can do. 

Photo caption: Rabbi Kahn with members of his shiur wearing sweatshirts with his quintessential phrase "no shortcuts."

Photo credit: Tamar Beer Horowitz