“I would like, hesitantly and haltingly, to confide in you and to share with you some concerns which weigh heavily on my mind and which frequently assume the proportions of an awareness of crisis.

“…I am lonely. I do not intend to convey to you the impression that I am alone. …. I am lonely because at times I feel rejected and thrust away by everybody.”

This message comes not from a suicidal teen or an uninspired adolescent. These are among the opening lines composed roughly 55 years ago from the beacon of Modern Orthodoxy, Rav Joseph B. Soloveitchik.

And yet as many times as I’ve read “The Lonely Man of Faith,” I find new meaning as if I’m back at Maimonides, listening to a shiur or a schmooze from the Rav.

Today, his cri de coeur responds to the messages crisscrossing the fine pages of The Jewish Link and other publications in the Greater New York market.

In recent weeks, a wave of important, well-meaning opinions have splashed before our eyes about the current state of Modern Orthodoxy. One asserts that a growing herd of youth model themselves more like Lot than Abraham, ensconced in the immoral pulls of secular society, while finding mild succor in the measly vestiges of a few traditions.

Another addressed finding a new purpose in the path of Modern Orthodoxy and yet a third article spoke to the recent coalescence of more than 100 Modern Orthodox high school students to address “a crisis plaguing the teenage community,” based on a poll they conducted across the tri-state area that found “27% of the over 400 who responded admitted to using their phones on Shabbos, either as a one-time thing or routinely.”

[Incidentally, I believe there’s a significant difference between a one-time Shabbos violator and a chronic dissenter.]

The authors of these op-eds and articles offer a variety of both thoughtful and, in some cases, polemical solutions, from basically purging universities not called Yeshiva University and Touro from our lexicon, to creating elegant repositories bearing the words “Shabbos Kodesh” for all family members to deposit their smartphones as an important symbolic effort to disconnect from technology on Shabbat.

To all of the ideas presented over the past several weeks, there is much to agree. But there is a critical piece missing in virtually all of the conversations I’ve read.

You. The individual. We like to speak about crises and dire straits. We cite statistics and surveys. And indeed, those are important barometers to create an assessment.

But every good pollster will tell you that numbers are only numbers. Ultimately, it’s about the individual.

When we classify a 14-year-old texting on Shabbat as being a “half-Shabbos” observer or a member of the “crisis,” we are diminishing the humanity of that adolescent. We are discounting the concerns, fears, indifferences he or she may be encountering regarding his or her faith.

Over some 30 years, I have worked with many youths described by parents or associates as being “off the derech,” a derisive expression with a nefarious riptide that propels families to pull their children away from those “troubled” kids, further isolating them.

In virtually every case, the child thought differently than the mold their parents sought to cast. Some boys abstained from the black hat their parents insisted they wear upon being a bar-mitzvah. Some boys and girls enjoyed spending a long summer Shabbat schmoozing at a park, only to be reported to the principal of the school that barred such unsupervised interactions.

And yes, in some cases, these young men and women were/are genuinely struggling with faith and whether they believe in God.

For virtually all of these kids, the magic box to stow away a smartphone – while a cute idea – only recognizes the symptom, not the underlying challenge.

If we address the root causes in a loving, respectful way that does not in any way diminish the holiness of each struggling youth; and we raise our children with an emphasis on the positivity of Judaism – and not just the list of “forbiddens” — I do believe we can resume the opening section of Rav Soloveitchik’s seminal struggle.

“I despair because I am lonely and, hence, feel frustrated. On the other hand,” he continued. “I also feel invigorated because this every experience of loneliness presses everything in me into the service of God.”

And even if not every teen wants to walk into God’s house, let’s make sure they’re welcomed into our homes.

Mitch Morrison is a journalist, a graduate of Maimonides School in Brookline, Massachusetts and is a board member of the Union for Traditional Judaism. He and his family reside in Passaic.