By Rabbi Eli Sandhaus – Principal at Mesivta Darchai Menachem

One afternoon in Yeshiva, I met a bochur who was considering joining our Mesivta. We spoke for a bit, and at some point I asked him what he knew about our Yeshiva.

He hesitated. “It’s for the ‘problem kids’.”

I appreciated his honesty and asked him if he knew any of the boys in the Yeshiva. He didn’t. Had he ever been here before?

No.

It was simply the impression he had picked up from what people said.

The contrast struck me.

Here I was, spending my day surrounded by the very boys he was talking about—watching them learn, daven, laugh with their friends, interact with their Rebbeim, struggle with some things and succeed at others.

And sitting across from me was a bochur who had never walked through our doors, already claiming to know exactly what kind of boys were inside.

We spoke for about 45 minutes and discussed some of the reasons he had agreed to come in despite his hesitations. We spoke about some of the things that weren’t working for him in his current yeshiva, and some of his frustrations with school over the past few years.

Afterward, he went to sit in on some classes and stayed for the rest of the day.

Before the day was over, he came back to my office. This time, the conversation was very different. He told me how much he had enjoyed the day. He liked the Rebbeim. He liked the classes. He felt that this might be a place where he could learn and grow.

It wasn’t long before he decided that this was the right place for him.

Sadly, this wasn’t the first bochur to walk into Darchai Menachem with that impression. I’ve had similar conversations more than a few times over the years.

There are quite a few boys who were afraid to walk through our doors, but thankfully managed to get past that fear. Many ultimately spent years succeeding here, growing in their learning and in themselves, and eventually moving on to Zal to finish their bochur years with dignity and pride.

What stands out to me is how easily it could have gone the other way. A boy hears a certain reputation, decides that a yeshiva is “not for someone like me,” and never even considers a place that may actually be a very good fit for him.

And I find myself wondering about the boys who never make it through the door. And I don’t mean only the boys who never make it through our door.

This really isn’t about whether a boy chooses Darchai Menachem. Darchai Menachem is not the right yeshiva for every boy (No Yeshiva is right for every single boy).

I mean every boy who remains in a yeshiva that isn’t working for him because the alternative carries a label he is afraid to wear.

Sometimes we can become so focused on where a bochur is supposed to go that we lose sight of a much more important question: Where will this particular bochur actually grow?

Not every boy thrives in the same environment. Not every talmid needs the same kind of yeshiva. One boy may flourish with a very demanding schedule and large classes. Another may need more personal attention. One may need stronger academic support. Another may need a little more breathing room. Another may need to discover that learning can actually be enjoyable before he can begin pushing himself further.

A boy can spend years sitting in the “right” yeshiva while slowly becoming convinced that learning isn’t for him. That he isn’t successful. That yeshiva is something to endure rather than a place where he can grow.

And those feelings don’t necessarily disappear when he graduates. The relationship a bochur develops during these years with learning, with Rebbeim, with davening, and ultimately with Yiddishkeit can remain with him for many years to come.

To me, helping a boy find the environment in which he can flourish isn’t settling for less.
That is chinuch.

Yet I have seen how difficult it can be for a boy (or his parents) to make that change. A boy may know that he isn’t succeeding where he is. His parents may know it. His teachers may know it.

But changing yeshivas can feel like making a public statement about who he is. What will people say? What will my friends think? What does it mean about me if I go there?

And so sometimes a boy stays in an environment where he is unhappy, unsuccessful, or slowly disengaging – not because there isn’t somewhere else where he could thrive, but because the stigma of going there feels worse than the pain of staying where he is.
That is sad.

Because these years are too important to let other people’s judgments determine where a bochur belongs.

At the end of the day, the name of the yeshiva matters far less than what is happening to the bochur inside it. Is he growing? Is he succeeding? Is he developing a positive connection to learning and Yiddishkeit?

Darchai Menachem is not the right yeshiva for every boy. But I know what I see when I walk through our Zal.

What I see are young bochurim, learning and davening, having fun and building friendships, surrounded by dedicated Rebbeim who know their Talmidim and care deeply about them. I see Bochurim who are really working on themselves and growing every day.

At the same time, there may be another boy right now who needs exactly that environment. A boy who could be happier, more successful, more connected to his learning and more confident in himself, but who will never give himself the opportunity to find out.

Not because he came and didn’t like what he saw.

But because he never came at all.

Because someone told someone, who told someone else, what kind of boys go to a certain yeshiva.
And sometimes, that is enough to keep a boy from ever finding out for himself.

–Rabbi Eli Sandhaus is Principal of Mesivta Darchai Menachem, where for over 20 years he has worked closely with Bochurim through the challenges of adolescence and young adulthood. He can be reached at [email protected]