By a bochur

There are few missions more sacred than chinuch.

Every year, countless mechanchim, mashpiim, maggidei shiurim, and talmidei hashluchim dedicate their lives to helping shape the next generation of Chassidim. They invest endless hours, sacrifice precious family time, and pour their hearts into the success of their talmidim. For that, they deserve our deepest gratitude and respect.

This article is not about them.

It is about a question that our yeshiva system must be willing to confront: What happens when a yeshiva decides that a bochur is no longer the right fit?

For obvious reasons, I prefer to remain anonymous. My story is personal, but I know that I am not alone. Over the years, I have spoken with many bochurim, parents, rabbanim, and askanim who have witnessed similar experiences.

Like many young boys, I entered mesivta at thirteen years old. I left behind a comfortable environment, close friends, and familiar routines because I believed in something bigger than myself. I wanted to grow as a chossid.

The transition was not easy. Being away from home, adapting to a demanding schedule, and finding my place in a new environment all came with challenges. But slowly, I found my footing.

I learned seriously during seder and beyond. I developed meaningful relationships with talmidei hashluchim, mashpiim, and maggidei shiurim. I embraced chitas, Rambam, mikvah before Chassidus, mivtzoim, and sharing Torah with family and friends before Shabbos.

For the first time in my young life, I felt that I was becoming the person I was meant to be.

At the same time, I often felt that parts of the administration viewed me differently. I was the type of bochur who asked questions—not out of defiance, but because I genuinely wanted to understand.

I remember one particular incident vividly.

After arriving a few minutes late to Chassidus, I was called over by the mashgiach and instructed to learn a letter of the Rebbe about the importance of shmiras hasedarim. The message itself was powerful, and I accepted it.

But afterward, I asked a sincere question.

I said, “In all my years here, I have only heard criticism from you. I have never once heard acknowledgment of the growth I’ve worked so hard to achieve. Wouldn’t bochurim respond better if they felt that the mashgiach’s role was not only to discipline them, but also to guide and encourage them?”

His answer?

“If you don’t like it here, pack your bags and go home.”

I did not leave. I accepted that perhaps this was simply a different educational philosophy than my own, and I continued trying to grow.

As my final year of mesivta approached, I met with the menahel to discuss my aspirations and my hopes for the coming year. Instead of discussing ways to help me succeed, I was informed that the decision had already been made that I would not be returning.

Perhaps the administration truly believed that another yeshiva would be a better fit. Every institution has the right—and sometimes the obligation—to make difficult decisions.

But this experience left me with a question that I believe our community must ask: When a yeshiva accepts a bochur, does it not also accept a responsibility for his future?

Additionally, the responsibility to take grave levels of sensitivity to protect the bochur’s exposure to feeling waves of uncertainty and C”V resentment!

Not every talmid belongs in every institution. Sometimes a transfer is necessary. Sometimes personalities clash. Sometimes another environment can help a bochur flourish.

But if a yeshiva concludes that a talmid should move on, should the process end there? Or should the hanhalah actively help him find the right place, advocate on his behalf, and ensure that he does not simply fall through the cracks?

A bochur is not an application file. He is not a statistic. He is not a problem to be solved. He is a precious neshama.

Baruch Hashem, I eventually found direction and continued growing. But I often think about those who are less fortunate—the bochur who hears that he no longer belongs, yet has nowhere else to turn.

The Rebbe spoke endlessly about the infinite value and potential of every Yid. Surely that message applies most of all to our own children.

This is not a call to weaken standards or eliminate accountability. It is a call for greater achrayus.

If we accept a bochur into our yeshiva, we should accept responsibility not only for his learning but for his future. And if the day comes that another path is better for him, we should walk that path with him until he finds his place.

No bochur should ever feel that he has simply been left behind.

May we merit a chinuch system that reflects the limitless ahavas Yisroel and faith in every neshama that the Rebbe taught us, and may we soon merit the coming of Moshiach now.