The following was submitted to TLS by a Rosh Mosad, who requested to remain anonymous.

I’m writing because the frustration around the seminary process has reached a breaking point.

Somehow, over time, seminary shifted from being an opportunity to becoming a necessity. And once that happened, the pressure intensified. If it’s “necessary,” then every girl must get in and get in with dignity. When that doesn’t happen, the fallout is painful. Mothers are crying. Girls are crying. That alone should force us to pause. Emes does not produce this kind of widespread pain.

We often speak about communal crises that feel beyond our control tuition, housing, finances. But this particular crisis is different. This one is man made. And because it is man made, it can be changed.

The current obsession with marks did not originally begin in the seminaries themselves. Many seminaries once accepted girls with weaker grades and helped them thrive. Over time, however, the pressure shifted. Seminarys became concerned about how they would be perceived by American principals and mechanchos if their student body was not seen as academically elite. The result was a system increasingly driven by transcripts and rankings.

But we must ask ourselves: Is this what the Bais Yaakov system was built for? Was it created to elevate numbers or to elevate girls? We are talking about exceptional young women, many with outstanding middos, depth, and sincerity, who will build extraordinary homes. And yet they are being filtered through a narrow academic lens.

At the same time, we are exhausting enormous energy helping girls who already have multiple acceptances analyze which option is “best.” Hours are spent dissecting subtle differences between strong programs, as if the choice were a corporate acquisition. Imagine if even a portion of that time were redirected toward advocating for the girls still waiting for a place.

This brings us to the core issue: leverage.

This is basic. When demand is guaranteed and a product is viewed as essential, the supplier controls the terms. As long as seminaries know that students must attend and that there is no coordinated alternative, they hold the leverage.

But principals also hold a product: their students.

Every seminary depends on American high schools for enrollment. Without those students, there is no seminary. The leverage exists it simply has not been used collectively.

There needs to be a clear, structured understanding with seminaries. After the primary admissions process is complete, each seminary should commit to allocating a defined percentage of seats to solid, capable girls whose marks may not be exceptional but whose character and potential are unquestionable. This must not be left to informal conversations or isolated advocacy; it must be part of the framework.

And it must apply equally. Every seminary participates. Those unwilling to be part of such a system should not automatically receive access to the strongest applicants. Access to top students cannot be unconditional.

We have already seen how coordinated pressure changes outcomes. When a certain seminary entered the market offering quality at a more reasonable price, pricing dynamics shifted. Once parents had options, other institutions adjusted because they did not want to lose students. The same principle applies here.

Some principals argue that students ultimately make their own decisions and that schools cannot control where they go. But seminaries value their relationships with principals and mechanchos. They depend on recommendations, credibility, and ongoing enrollment stability. Unified leadership carries weight.

There are also difficult questions we must confront honestly. If grades are documented for internal educational purposes, that is understandable. But when those same marks are transmitted in a way that predictably limits a girl’s opportunities, we have to examine our responsibilities. What must be shared? What is discretionary? Where is the line between transparency and unnecessary harm? These are serious shailos that require daas Torah but they cannot be ignored.

The current structure is not producing calm, healthy outcomes. It is producing anxiety and tears.

If we believe in our students truly believe in them then we must build a system that reflects that belief.

This will require courage. It will require unity. And it will require leadership willing to say that the rules of the game need to change.

Because right now, the ones absorbing the consequences are our daughters.

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