Why I Didn’t End Up Going to Bais Yaakov

This story is from Gila Golder. 
I never went to Bais Yaakov, and here’s why:
The year before I started first grade, my parents went around visiting the local schools to decide where they would send me. In every school, they visited a first-grade classroom to see what it would be like for me. Except unfortunately, the day they visited Bais Yaakov, the first graders were SINGING. Well, the teacher was singing too, along with a cassette tape and about thirty 6-year-olds. Could you distinguish the teacher’s voice from all the others? Probably not, but of course they still couldn’t let my father in to the classroom.
My parents sat down with the principal and the principal asked them what they thought. My father responded, “I don’t know, I wasn’t allowed to see anything.” The principal was not amused.
After that, there was no way my parents were going to send me there. But the icing on the cake is that my mom, who was allowed in to the classroom, noted that the girls (remember, these are 6-year-olds) were all sitting ramrod straight with their arms neatly folded on their desks.
I ended up in a co-ed community school, where 90% of my class wasn’t even frum. The horror.
Why I Didn’t End Up Going to Bais Yaakov

Pride & Prejudice & Seminary

I used to love The Importance of Being Ernest, because it seemed like a farce about shidduchim; it was super-important to be something you weren’t because that is what was ostensibly desired. 

But the truth is, being a Bais Yaakov maidel is more like being stuck in a Jane Austen novel: perpetually trying to “fit in” in order to maintain or gain social status. Worrying about what the neighbors will think. And losing sleep over your eligibility. 

They start you young, and it doesn’t rub everyone the right way. Here’s some reminiscing from Leeba Weisberg. 

About halfway through 9th grade at Bais Yaakov of Barely-Out-of-Town, I noticed the older students acting strangely one afternoon. The 12th graders were usually the calm and collected ones — the mature students we lowly 9th graders were meant to look up to. But today they were chattering nervously, biting nails, slamming locker doors shut harder than usual. They were a uniformed wave of unsuccessfully repressed anxiety. Of course voices lowered to whispers as teachers passed. But I knew something was definitely up.

So I did what I always did when I sensed I was out of the loop. (Which was often.) I asked my friend Dina who had eleven siblings — most of whom had gone to our school once upon a time. She had an honorary doctorate in everything Bais Yaakov as far as I was concerned.

Dina grabbed my hand, pulled me into an empty classroom, hastily shut the door and said “You don’t know?!”

“No, I have no idea,” I responded, feeling even more clueless than before.

“The 12th graders are getting their seminaries acceptance letters tonight. Most of the best seminaries send them at the same time on purpose.”

“So what? Aren’t there lots of seminaries? If you don’t get into one you can always get into another one, right?”

Dina looked aghast. “But there are only a few top seminaries. And it matters a lot for shidduchim. Getting into the right seminary shows everyone what kind of girl you are and what kind of boy you want to marry. It affects your whole future.”

The thought had never occurred to me before. Did I even want to go to seminary? What kind of seminary? I was fourteen and still relieved that I had gotten into high school. I felt a little sick — like I had been punched in the gut.

For the last several years before high school, all the teachers ever seemed to talk about was getting into high school. Sure some of it was along the lines of “You better master that and study hard because you’ll need it for high school”. But far more was like “How can you let your socks slouch like that, Ruchy?!! You’ll never get into Bais Yaakov looking like that!” or “If you don’t start behaving yourself I’ll tell Bais Yaakov not to accept you!”. It was all “do this” and “don’t do that” in the name of getting into high school.

I had cleared that hurdle. I (mostly) kept out of trouble. I wore the long socks. I managed to seem moderately ‘aidel’. I studied well enough to pass the entrance exam and my yeshivish Hebrew was passable. When I was told at my interview that I was invited to attend, I breathed a huge sigh of relief. It was done. I was free. My life didn’t revolve around ‘getting into Bais Yaakov’ anymore.

And now, only a few months into my school year a new hurdle was set in front of me: Getting into seminary. Would it ever end? Getting into high school, then getting into seminary, then getting a good shidduch, then getting my children into the right kindergarten, getting them into the right yeshiva and on and on and on forever? Would I have to worry about fitting the mold until I was dead? Would I be closing the curtains to watch a movie at age 75 out of fear my grandchildren won’t get a good shidduch? Was this any way to live? Was it the way I wanted to live?

“Are you okay, Leeba?”

Dina was tapping me on the shoulder.

“Oh, I’m fine” I lied.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah….it’s just that I don’t know if I want to go to seminary. I might want to go straight to college or just start working or something.”

“Um…..” Dina looked a bit uncomfortable, like I had just said I thought four suns revolved around the earth.“Okay….just don’t tell anyone, okay?”

And we never spoke of it again.

Pride & Prejudice & Seminary

The Time My Teacher Assumed Too Much

This one is from BaisYaakovLiberal: 

My teacher was talking about the power of habit. She told a story to illustrate her point. There was a rabbi (sorry, I don’t remember his name) who never put his hand below his waist.

When he passed away, people tried to straighten out his arms [for burial] but they remained straight.

Clueless girl: “Why did he keep his hands there?”

Teacher: “It’s an inyan of zehirus.”

Clueless girl: *Looks confused*

Me: *cracks up*

The Time My Teacher Assumed Too Much

The Time I Was Told To Avoid A Student Who Was A Bad Influence

This story submitted by Leeba Weisberg. It’s one of those stunners that just leave your jaw flapping loosely. 

My Bais Yaakov of Barely-Out-of-Town 9th grade had about ninety five students in three classes and many of my classmates came from other schools. So a few months into the school year I was still getting to know them. One of the girls I met – let’s call her Aliza – seemed nice. She didn’t have the ‘my father is a Rabbi and yours works for a living (gasp) so I’m better than you’ vibe many of the others seemed to project. My parents were baalei teshuva so someone may as well have stuck a “Mudblood” sticker on my forehead because it certainly felt like one was already there.

To me Aliza was certainly in the range of normal for a Bais Yaakov girl. She dressed modestly, stayed away from boys and focused on her studies, although she struggled in many subjects. Which was understandable given the rigor of the coursework.

Like me, she was allowed to watch movies and read whatever she wanted, unlike our classmates from more yeshivish families. But her mother’s style choices were a bit too eclectic for Bais Yaakov tastes (wearing colors other than black and chunky jewelry, for example), her father was clean shaven and her family had a dog. Her family even went on vacation to Florida on occasion – totally verboten. Nothing they did was actually against halacha, but they committed the cardinal sin of not fitting in.

One morning, I was summoned to the principal’s office where the Rebbetzen (no, not the original Rebbetzen – that was before my time) sat me down, looked at me sternly and told me that Aliza was a bad influence and I shouldn’t be friends with her anymore.

I was completely taken aback by this.

I asked if Aliza had done something wrong.

The Rebbetzen said she hadn’t, but that there are certain things her family does that don’t fit within the Bais Yaakov hashkafah and she thinks I’d be better off with other friends. She was only looking after my well-being, you see. I thanked the Rebbetzen and silently resolved to become better friends with Aliza because if she’s someone the Rebbetzen doesn’t like she’s probably someone worth being friends with.

Fast-forward about sixteen years and I’m the intermarried one with a totally secular lifestyle whereas she’s Modern Orthodox living happily with her husband and two kids. We still keep in touch. Who was the bad influence on whom?

The Time I Was Told To Avoid A Student Who Was A Bad Influence

Purim Torah

It has come to my attention that the principal of a major metropolitan girls school informed her students that it is not tznius for them to walk in the streets on this most joyous of holidays. They should be quietly slipping in and out of cars, if they must go out.

Don’t let the post title fool you. I didn’t make this up.

Purim Torah

The Time My Principal Hit the Ceiling — But Then Apologized For It

This is a great story because it features a Bais Yaakov principal acting like a stereotypical Bais Yaakov principal… but then doing teshuva for it. It warms my heart. Story from Kaylie. 

Our school had the rule that you could only wear a school sweater or school sweatshirt. One day the principal came in to talk to us, because we weren’t really following the rules.

One student was wearing a simple, solid-colored crew-necked sweater. When the principal was done explaining the importance of wearing an official, sanctioned sweater, she raised her hand and asked, “If it’s a non-school sweater but with no words, crew-necked,  like this one, is it okay?”

The principal said “I think that’s fine.”

So we all went out and bought crew-necks.

A few weeks later our principal saw us all in our crew-necks and admonished us for still not following the rules.

“But you said a crew-neck sweater is okay!” we protested. It got a little heated on our end. Our principal got heated as well. She actually got really angry — and yelled like we had never heard her yell before.

We were all furious as well, because we’d only bought those sweaters since she’d said they were okay.

A few days later she came back and apologized for yelling. But the rule still stayed the same.

The Time My Principal Hit the Ceiling — But Then Apologized For It