There is a conversation quietly unfolding in our community that cuts across lines of background and affiliation. It is heard in yeshivish homes and modern ones, among families who are comfortable and those who are struggling. It comes up at Shabbos tables, in carpools, and in school hallways.The question is simple, yet difficult to answer: Why are we sending eighteen-year-old girls to a foreign country for an entire year?

Ask thoughtful parents for a calm, principled explanation, and many find themselves at a loss. They know it’s what is expected and it’s what “everyone does.” But when pressed to articulate why, beyond habit and social momentum, an explanation is nowhere to be found.

It was not always this way. There was a time when a year in Israel was a genuine choice, not an automatic next step. It was suited for certain girls who needed the experience, who were particularly motivated, or who were seeking something specific. Most girls stayed home, and no one saw that as a failure or a compromise. Families did not assume enormous financial burdens, and remaining in one’s community was considered normal and respectable. Seminary was an option, not a standard.

Over time, in many circles, that option became an expectation. And once something is assumed, it develops its own gravity. Comparison enters, acceptance letters become symbols, costs rise, and conversations that should be about growth and readiness instead become about rankings and reputations. The focus moves from what is right for this particular girl to where she “got in.” Alongside this come painful moments: the girl who was rejected, the girl whose parents cannot afford it, the girl who stays home and feels set apart or left out. It is fair to ask whether this is what chinuch was meant to produce.

The financial reality cannot be ignored. A year of seminary often equals or exceeds several years of high school tuition. Parents borrow, deplete savings, and stretch themselves far beyond what is healthy. When a family says, “We can’t afford it,” that statement should carry no embarrassment. Mortgages, groceries, and tuition for multiple children are real obligations. Financial responsibility is not a reflection of diminished commitment.

There is also an emotional cost. At eighteen, identity is still forming. When acceptances become markers of worth, girls absorb the message that their value is tied to an institution’s decision. Rejection feels personal. Staying home feels like settling. These impressions can shape self-perception long after the year ends. That is a heavy burden to place on young people who are still discovering who they are.

None of this is meant to deny the real benefits of a year in Eretz Yisroel. Many girls grow from the experience. But it is not the only path to growth. A bas Yisroel can develop beautifully in Lakewood, Chicago, Los Angeles, Monsey, or any community where Torah is lived sincerely. In earlier decades, Israel offered an environment that was markedly different from American life: simpler material conditions, exposure to talmidei chachamim who were rarely encountered elsewhere, and an intensity in ruchniyus that felt unique. Today, many American communities have strong schools, vibrant kollelim, and serious learning. In some cases, the level of gashmiyus is more restrained than people assume, while parts of Yerushalayim now offer comforts that exceed what these girls leave behind.

Cultural patterns rarely change through protest. They shift when enough families quietly decide to act in line with their values. Imagine parents calmly saying, “We are grateful for what exists, but please stop presenting seminary in Israel as the only respectable path.” Imagine if teachers consistently reinforced that staying home can be honorable, that financial responsibility reflects maturity, and that one size does not fit all. The pressure would ease almost immediately.

The truth is that many people question the system, but few feel comfortable doing so publicly. Even fewer feel comfortable doing something about it. As a result, the illusion persists. Parents are not naïve. They want the best for their children. They worry about limiting opportunities and about social consequences. Those fears are human. But fear should not define communal norms. Conviction should.

If seminary in Israel is a thoughtful, intentional choice for a particular daughter, that can be beautiful. But if it is driven primarily by pressure or status, it deserves honest reconsideration.

If enough families reach that clarity, this conversation will no longer be discussed in kitchens and carpools. It will simply become part of a healthier, more honest communal understanding of what growth and responsibility truly mean.

Signed,

S. Shapiro

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