Fighting the Good Fight: What does Bais Yaakov fight today?

Bais Yaakov was founded to combat the isms of its day, which included communism, Zionism, and socialism. Today’s Torah world is still under siege from a panoply of pernicious isms, but the nature of the threats is different.

In an increasingly hedonistic and anti-intellectual world, relatively few frum girls are lured away by philosophy books or erudite lectures.

As director of Torah Umesorah’s National Council of Yeshiva Principals for Women, Mrs. Rochel Zimmerman has spent many hours considering the challenges our girls face today. Paramount among them, she enumerates the trifecta of materialism, secularism, and perfectionism. Both schools and individuals suffer from the pressure to present a perfect facade.

Today’s student feels pressure to always look “right,” to have the perfect résumé, to host magazine-worthy Shabbos meals and simchahs. And are her teachers providing a better role model? One Lakewood mechaneches points to the trend in most schools today to use pre-recorded music at school productions. “Aren’t we giving them a message that if there’s one mistake on stage, the performance is a failure? That’s a very poor message we’re transmitting without realizing it.” Some seminaries ask if the applicant has ever experienced a mental health challenge. “Maybe it’s being well-addressed? Maybe it happened years ago? It can still make them a non-candidate,” she says. If tzniyus is about pnimiyus, and education is about depth, then superficiality, and the need to play the game, are the antithesis of what we are trying to inculcate, she concludes.

“People in certain communities talk so easily about ‘my interview sheitel,’” she observes. “It promotes sheker.”

Superficiality, and its sister ill, materialism, are Mrs. Lerner’s* greatest concern, too. An early student of Rebbetzin Vichna Kaplan’s Bais Yaakov in Williamsburg, and then a teacher in a  Midwest Bais Yaakov for decades, she has firsthand experience with multiple generations of Bais Yaakov girls. “Today there’s much more money. In my generation, we were all refugees. Most of the girls were poor, and couldn’t afford a lot of what they afford today.” In past decades, remembers Mrs. Lerner, it was self-understood that a chinuch family would make do with less, and that a lifestyle of dedication to Torah meant fewer material things. Today, peer pressure, higher incomes, and ease of shopping fuel an increasing need for conformity.

The inroads of technology have also changed the face of chinuch. Students today are struggling with distraction (both their own and that of their parents), the lure of social media, the intense social pressures that come along with technology use, and an unprecedented ease of access to the non-Jewish world with all its vices. In fact, much of the focus formerly devoted to tzniyus, that mainstay of the Bais Yaakov education, has shifted to technology, says Mrs. Shani Herzka, principal of Bais Yaakov D’Rav Meir high school.

I wonder, perhaps, if this explains Bais Yaakov’s seemingly more defensive current stance. When the threat was external and intellectual, a well-reasoned, solidly-grounded response could inoculate the student against foreign ideas. But in an age where the threats are emotional and self-indulgent, being intellectually “right” cannot guarantee a student’s spiritual safety.

Subsequent conversations reinforce my theory that the Bais Yaakov approach has had to become more than providing a compelling alternative to secular ideologies. One area that’s becoming increasingly important, according to Rebbetzin Baila Kviat-Kaminsky, principal of Bais Yaakov Shoshanas Yaakov of Boro Park, is teaching the need to distinguish right from merely okay, to discern the holy from within the perfectly fine, acceptable, and even desirable.

“Today, a girl has many options to feel shaleim and connected — we’re raising girls of high proficiency,” she observes. Girls are lauded, and feel justifiably proud, for the many successes that they have in completely kosher arenas, whether those are housekeeping, parnassah, hobbies, or style. Within these kosher, and even necessary, fields, we need to educate our girls to keep Torah at the very center of their lives. “So much of what we’re battling today doesn’t require me to step out of the Yiddishe world — it’s all right there on our Torah highway.”

Torah life can be so easy and comfortable that it’s easy to lose the passion. It can be an uphill battle to position Torah consciously and vibrantly at the core of our lives, despite the complacency and ease of living in thriving communities surrounded by every kosher convenience. Mechanchos see maintaining that sense of purpose and mission, despite the blessings of spiritual and material abundance, as one of the challenges of the day.

Additionally, today’s students face a variety of personal struggles. “They’re fighting on every level,” says Mrs. Aliza Feder, head mechaneches at Bais Yaakov Machon Ora of Passaic. “Today’s parents can be pressured and not always present for their children. There are increasing numbers of family members struggling with mental health, at-risk siblings, burgeoning chronic health concerns, pressure from technology, and rampant materialism.

“I would not last as a teenager for ten minutes,” she concludes.

Beyond Book Knowledge: Why do we teach girls anyway?

When I looked for a school for my daughter, a neighbor asked me where I hoped to send her. When I named the school, she said, “Oh, that makes sense. That’s a good place if you believe girls need to know things.” I confess to having been astounded by the “if,” but it’s a sentiment that makes subtle appearances in other contexts, as well. Answering my survey, several respondents wanted to know why our schools don’t focus more on halachah and the practical aspects of running a home, like budgeting and parenting.

The curricula for Bais Yaakov are not determined by a mandate to know kol haTorah kulah for its own sake. Reversing centuries of tradition in which young women were not formally taught Torah, Bais Yaakov was founded to impart specific and necessary lessons. “Unlike the boys’ chiyuv to learn Torah lishmah, every limud for girls should be relevant to their lives and improve their avodas Hashem in specific ways,” avers Mrs. Zimmerman.

If you met a child who was a completely blank slate, and were charged to fill her with yiras Hashem and love for Torah, how would you begin? What tools would she need?

Tefillah and halachah — the practical dos and don’ts of the Jewish home — are obvious first choices.

Bais Yaakov’s next priority may be a surprise to some. In Sarah Schenirer’s schools, after tefillah and dinim came Jewish history, to foster a connection to Am Yisrael. Whereas men’s learning naturally develops in them a sense of thousands of years of Jewish history, Sarah Schenirer felt it was important to actively connect girls to their millenia-old legacy.

And then? Why the advanced Chumash and Nach that are the mainstay of Bais Yaakov curricula everywhere?

When Mrs. Zimmerman began her work at Torah Umesorah, this was the first question she asked Rav Aharon Feldman: Why do we teach girls Tanach? Ideally, he explained, their exposure to the depth and breadth of Torah should lead to heightened levels of ahavas and yiras Hashem. “The students should be amazed by chochmas haTorah,” he said.

While Sarah Schenirer’s original students covered vast amounts of ground with Rashi, post-war Bais Yaakov also deepened students’ analysis of meforshim, an aspect of Bais Yaakov education whose purpose sometimes eludes students or parents. “I never understood why the teachers needed to dissect meforshim. Why make things more complicated, when we can learn the same lesson from the pshat?” asks one graduate, voicing a question shared by many.

The answer, according to most mechanchos, is the inherent kedushah of the seforim themselves. It’s not mere academic study like trigonometry that sharpens the brain but is soon forgotten.

“We were raised knowing that it was important for girls to learn,” says Rebbetzin Brina Fried of Bais Yaakov Derech HaTorah of Cleveland. “Even at the seminary level, it’s not just to train them to be teachers.  Kedushas haTorah is so great that learning from inside gives a bit of an idea of how kadosh it is. By the process of osmosis, it gives the girl an ability to tracht Torahdik, redt Torahdik, fir Torahdik (think, speak, and act in a Torah-true way).”

With these goals in mind, Rebbetzin Kviat-Kaminsky emphasizes that we need to keep Torah learning lishmah as much as possible. She cringes come June, she says, when finals are over and students announce that their learning is now “lishmah.” What have they been doing until now? Every teacher should be approaching each lesson not as preparation for a test, but as a uniquely holy moment, an opportunity to share life-changing Torah wisdom.

Yavneh seminary under the legendary Morah Chaya Ausband didn’t have dedicated “hashkafah” classes, recalls Rebbetzin Fried; her students learned all of Chumash, from “bereishis bara” through “l’einei chol Yisrael,” and any necessary hashkafah lessons emerged from the shiurim. Today, though, forward-thinking educators have developed standalone curricula that help all schools and teachers, no matter their experience level, present complex topics like emunah and tzniyus in a cohesive framework accessible to students with a wide range of scholastic ability. Programs like Penimi, Yesodos, and Hineni address contemporary challenges with new, targeted ways of learning to make the lessons personal and impactful.

Besides imparting hashkafos hachayim, mechanchos maintain that a close familiarity with the mechanics of Lashon Kodesh and the language of seforim fills practical needs, too. More than one educator emphasized that their goal is to produce girls who are lifelong learners — not simply students who can master material for tests, but women who are unafraid to open a sefer, whether to learn on their own, to look up a halachah, or to help children with homework. Their mastery of seforim during their school career will build a confidence and a familiarity that they can carry with them into adulthood.

“My dream is, they really should have the ability to hear devar Hashem,” says Mrs. Esther Reisman, principal of BYA High School. “Yes, it’s hard to have kavanah all the time, but at least a woman should be able to hear the words of davening. To find chavivus, meaning, and connection when she does reflect on them, whether in the parshah or the machzor. Our education should equip them to be able to hear and appreciate a devar Torah.”

And finally, there’s the question of what else the girls are learning. Certainly, if schools offer sophisticated secular classes filled with stimulating ideas, it’s critical to impress on students that Torah has levels of depth and complexity that can surpass the most elegant theorem or novel. “When there’s so much yedios of minus and apikorsus in the world at large and at institutions of so-called ‘higher learning,’ the more Torah inside them, the better,” says Rabbi Yechezkel Zweig, principal of Bais Yaakov of Baltimore. “The more they know, the more strongly shielded they are from corrupting influences from the outside.”

Setting the Academic Bar: Have we gotten carried away?

You hear it at every bus stop, on every playground bench, and in a fair number of shidduch calls: “They don’t need to become roshei yeshivah!” “There’s so. Much. Homework.” “Your son needs a wife, not a chavrusa.” If bus stop banter is any indication, schools are ramping up the academic pressure on our girls to intolerable levels. My daughters’ school — the one that believes that girls ought to know things — sustains frequent criticism for piling on what critics call “busywork.” How does today’s academic level compare to previous generations of Bais Yaakov?

The idea that Bais Yaakovs’ academic demands are becoming increasingly rigorous is, in common parlance, fake news. Overall, educators concur that the level of learning in our schools is dropping.

When she attended Rebbetzin Kaplan’s Bais Yaakov in its earliest years, says Mrs. Lerner, several teachers knew vast amounts of Tanach by heart, and some taught completely in lashon Kodesh. Calling someone a “melumedes” was a real compliment, but that kind of mastery was also considered attainable. Today, she says, while girls may have more polished test-taking skills, intellectual accomplishment is valued far less, and the melumedes is not the object of high regard she once was.

Aside from the general lowering of regard for intellectual endeavor, Mrs. Lerner. also notes that parents used to be far more invested in their children’s schooling. In the post-war generations, education was seen as key to survival, and parents used to be deeply involved in their children’s progress, helping them with homework and ensuring that they studied. Today’s blessedly large families make such involvement  all but impossible, she says.

Today’s teachers also need to contend with the generational erosion of respect for authority. “When I started teaching sixth grade, it was a given that students behaved respectfully,” remembers Rebbetzin Fried. Now, she says, teachers’ concern is how students will behave.  And she traces that changed attitude to the parents’ priorities.

“Today, the first question many parents ask their children when they return from school is, ‘Do you like your teacher?’” she says. “No one asked that 50 years ago. It was a given that you acted respectfully.” In contrast, parents today tend to assess the success of education based on the child’s happiness, rather than on their scholastic achievements or spiritual maturation.

“Nobody really cares much about learning per se anymore,” says Rabbi Zweig. “It’s true of the world in general, and we’re just a microcosm; people don’t really appreciate the value of knowledge. Parents don’t really care what the kid is learning, only, ‘Is my kid happy?’”  The corollary, of course, is that if the kid is not happy, it’s the school’s fault.

Today’s classrooms contain more weak students than previous decades. While there continues to be an academically strong tier in every class, Mrs. Reisman says, the level of the average student is sinking. “People used to be able to sit with a certain amount of struggle, but these days, people give up right away. And because of their declining literacy, girls today want to be inspired without decoding words.” But when teachers acquiesce and teach the messages of the neviim and Chazal without the resonance of their original language, students risk losing a certain depth of understanding.

“Academics need not create undue pressure if adapted to students’ ability level,” notes Rabbi Zweig. “It’s important to keep in mind that stress and pressure are not the same. Pressure helps people be productive.” He notes that students often feel a real sense of accomplishment when they finish the “murder” finals.

The Long View: What counts as success?

IFa school is first and foremost an educational institution, but also has a practical, goal-oriented mandate to prepare our girls for life as wives and mothers, what is the schools’ metric for successful chinuch?

One way you certainly can’t measure a school’s success is by students’ opinions, suggests Mrs. Feder. Teenagers are notoriously black-and-white thinkers, and will enshrine the specific way they experienced their reality into adulthood, even when not quite backed up by facts.

“Although it’s not a terrible metric,” she concedes. “It’s definitely not a great sign if students consistently don’t like their teachers or their learning. On the other hand, if I as the teacher am consistently getting sippuk, it’s a pretty good sign.” An experienced teacher can gauge students’ level of engagement, and will be able to sense whether they are tuning in to her messages. “If I’m boring myself, I’m probably boring the kids,” she says. “But when I’m on fire, loving it, it’s a pretty good barometer that good things are happening.”

She says students usually forget most of what they learn, and even teachers’ names, but they never forget how they felt in the classrooms or school halls. If they retain a warm feeling, and positive associations with their mechanchos, their lessons, and what they stood for, there’s a good chance they’ll carry the messages forward through life, and will reach out to connect when faced with challenges or crossroads in their future.

But there are specific goals, too. “They need to leave with real yedios — a hashkafic system they can lean on for the rest of their lives,” she says. Even if they won’t be able to quote sources after they leave school, the knowledge that their way of life is rooted in a solid, ancient foundation will fortify them for the challenges they will face. Mrs. Feder likes to give her students a list of questions they need to be able to answer by the time they graduate. “It’s a chinuch fail,” she offers by way of example, “if at 24 you can’t explain why we need to daven if Hashem already knows what we need.” (Quick, put down the magazine and grab a sefer… the article will wait.)

Of course, students may not always remember the answers — not every student is receptive to everything her teachers are offering — but at least the school knows it has provided the framework that made the understanding available.

It’s hard to know in 12th grade whether you’ve succeeded in a girl’s chinuch, acknowledges Mrs. Herzka. “The measure of success is down the line. How are they raising their families? What are their sh’ifos hachayim? What inspirations that we gave them are they still abiding by?”

Cradle of Innovation?: Is Bais Yaakov still meeting the challenges of the times?

Innovation is not, perhaps, the word most associated with Bais Yaakov by its thousands of students, but many mechanchos emphasize that teachers and administrators are constantly thinking about the demands of the day, and reconsidering their approaches in light of new challenges.

While Bais Yaakov’s message is the same chinuch that Jewish homes always taught, the medium adapts to the times. At a recent Torah Umesorah conference of principals, Rav Uri Deutsch of Lakewood told his audience that Bais Yaakov was founded as a revolutionary concept, and their job is to continue to revolutionize chinuch, in whatever ways the generation needs.

Rabbi Zweig offers a homiletic interpretation in the name of the Alexander Rebbe. The pasuk in Haazinu commands us, “binu shnos dor vador,” literally, “contemplate the years of succeeding generations.” Instead, says the Rebbe, translate “shnos” as “the change;” contemplate the differences between each generation, to understand the correct way to reach each one.

“You’re deeply mistaken if your attitude toward chinuch is, ‘This is how it was, so this is how we do it,’” concludes Rabbi Zweig. He cites the example of a parent who recently voiced his opposition to traveling camps for teenaged girls. To buttress his opinion, the parent quoted Rav Avigdor Miller, who spoke out against girls gallivanting about. “I said to him, ‘It’s 2025. Don’t quote a gadol from decades ago!’ If you apply an anecdote from a different generation without understanding the background and context, you will ruin your children.”

“The needs change — not even every week, but every day!” laughs Rebbetzin Kviat-Kaminsky.

There’s no question, says Rabbi Zweig, that we have moved the needle significantly in our children’s Torah education. As an example, he cites an anecdote from his own high school years. Back when he attended Kamenitz Mesivta in Boro Park, he and his friends thought nothing of asking a rebbi permission to leave seder early to attend a Yankees game. In Camp Agudah, a head staff member, today a prominent Torah personality, announced the major league baseball scores daily at breakfast. Today, in contrast, Rabbi Zweig says, our educational institutions  have absorbed the importance of distancing ourselves from our host culture, and the battle lines have moved far from where they used to be. “Bais Yaakov has grown in quality and quantity. Our girls are bnos Torah with great hasagos,” he reports with pride.

Another significant change Rabbi Zweig sees is the shift to what Rav Aharon Feldman has termed “edutainment.” Where school used to be mostly about education, with maybe 5 percent of its time devoted to extracurricular programming, today he sees the split as more like 35 percent/65 percent. (“And there always has to be food!” says Rebbetzin Fried.) “That’s what today’s girls need, the opportunity to have a great time in school so they don’t have a need to seek a great time outside,” he says. “It makes a principal into something of a program director. School is like a ten-ring circus with dozens of moving parts.”

This concession to entertainment in education can sometimes come at the expense of the discipline and decorum typically associated with schools, as girls frequently miss class and teachers struggle to cover ground. But it also brings tremendous benefit, points out Mrs. Selengut — namely the opportunity for teachers to get to know their students in more varied, relaxed settings. “This has to be a priority on the school’s part, to create opportunities and compensation for teachers to devote extra time. Once they get to know their students, they have to take those observations and share it with the parents in the most sensitive and beautiful way: ‘Here’s what’s amazing about your daughter. Here’s what I noticed about her, here’s what I learned from her.’ Once you have a relationship with the parents and with the girl, then we can talk about growth.”

While many educators bemoan plummeting academic standards, Mrs. Feder notes that in some ways, Bais Yaakov education has reached new heights of sophistication. In earlier decades, she observes, chinuch emphasized the “whats” — mastery of texts, large quantities of knowledge, and academic prowess. Subsequently, the pendulum swung the other way, toward the “why”s, with curricula heavy with hashkafah, discussion, and lighter fare.

Now, she believes, “We’re getting much better at the ‘hows’ — articulating fundamental hashkafos while also showing how they can be mined from the original sources.” The result is a more discerning form of avodas Hashem that involves both mind and heart. While she agrees with the chorus pointing out that levels of literacy and analytical thinking have fallen, she says more than ever before, girls are eager to understand how the principles they’ve been taught are grounded in Torah sources. “Our girls don’t want fluff anymore. They don’t want my personal opinions as a hashkafah teacher. For the first time, when I have a source sheet, they want to see it.”

The most massive shift Mrs. Zimmerman sees is in the way educators think of struggling children. While students with behavioral or academic challenges used to be written off as “problem children,” today’s mechanchos understand them to merely be lacking skills. “There is so much more empathy today,” she notes.

Mrs. Lerner, who has taught early elementary classes since the 60s, says this change has enormous ramifications in the classroom. Where once only frontal instruction was offered, today students are pulled out for individualized lessons and a smorgasbord of therapies; teachers employ a wide variety of teaching modalities and offer modified testing; honors groups and resource rooms supplement the classroom environment.

The biggest beneficiaries may be the children who were once marginalized, but it’s a shift that extends to all students.

“Rav Elya Brudny told us that the word to emphasize in Bais Yaakov is ‘bais’ — seeing the school as a bayis, a home,” says Mrs. Zimmerman. “Teachers and rebbeim come to school with the intention to make students feel noticed, valued, and welcomed.  They used to come to offer chomer only, but now they come to offer relationships, too.”

“As an assistant principal for 4th and 5th grades, I rarely get a call about academics. It is almost always about relationships, whether with friends or teachers,” agrees Mrs. Selengut.

While Bais Yaakov was originally intended as an intellectual answer to an intellectual threat, today’s mechanchos understand that students are showing up primarily for social and emotional reasons, not because most of them are thirsting for knowledge. Mrs. Zimmerman says this understanding helps teachers plan lessons with a “WIFM” mindset — to enable the student to answer, “What’s in it for me?”

“If you can’t answer that, they’ll disengage,” she warns. Teachers don’t have to reinforce selfishness, but they do have to show the relevance of their teaching to their students’ lives.

The Way Forward: Where does work remain to be done?

Commensurate with our girls’ vast strides in tzniyus, chesed, and other areas, Rabbi Zweig sees a need to work to ensure that the accomplishments don’t remain superficial. “We place a huge emphasis on doing, not so much on being,” he observes. The outpouring of organized chesed from any Bais Yaakov is incredible, and deserving of praise; at the same time, he says, it’s critical to consider whether the chesed is turning the girls into true people of chesed, or simply doers. “We ask our students — on your way out to your chesed job, did you say something insensitive to your little sister who wants your attention? Are you nurturing kindness in yourself? Those are the types of matters that have to do with depth of understanding and a real acquisition of Torah values.”

Similarly, he says, students have largely incorporated the rules and technicalities of tzniyus, but many unfortunately lack the internalization that transforms them into genuinely modest people. Do our girls understand instinctively not to hoot at weddings? Not to make a scene at the airport when meeting a friend they haven’t seen in years? “I’m nervous that if Rus Hamoaviah would attend Bais Yaakov today, she might be viewed as a nerd, not with-it, because her tzniyus was deep and internal,” he reflects.

As much improvement as there has been in attention to girls’ emotional needs, some think there is still room for improvement. I ask our interviewees for their takes on our survey results, which indicated that a minority of graduates viewed their schools as highly punitive environments, with administration poised to pounce on every infraction, no matter how minor.

One educational consultant responded with a study she read about recently. According to the study’s authors, if you ask teachers how many care deeply about the students, about 99 percent will assure you that they do. However, when asking the students the same question, only between 45 to 50 percent report feeling the teachers’ concern. On a recent visit to a tri-state area high school, the consultant asked the same questions, and her results were almost identical.

What explains the gap between the teachers’ self-reported care, and the much lower rate that the students reported?

She thinks it’s because the human brain is wired to notice irritants and aberrations from the ideal. So teachers — like parents, bosses, and all people — notice infractions far more readily than cooperation. “Might we serve our students well by really thinking deeply about the things we want them to grow in, then finding 100 ways to positively reinforce them, rather than correcting them?” she wonders. Teachers need to be proactive in creating an atmosphere of positive reinforcement and appreciation. “It’s a trend I’m seeing and that I hope will pick up speed.”

“Our generation grows from hearing that we are great, and we can be greater,” agrees Mrs. Selengut.  “We are a sensitive generation, and the old style of fire and brimstone turns people away. If a teacher is negative or punitive, it is time for her to go. When you hear from a teacher over and over again, ‘Kids today are so difficult, so disrespectful, so thin-skinned’ — it’s time for that teacher to go.”

Mrs. Feder, too, has seen significant improvement in teachers’ understanding of students, and especially struggling students, but acknowledges that there’s still room for growth. Today, teachers know not to answer questions sarcastically, and not to label them as apikorsus. However, she thinks that there is sometimes a subtle vibe in the classroom that makes girls feel that they can’t ask certain things. “What I’m hearing from parents and teens in various schools is that certain teachers seem so disconnected that the students feel stupid asking their questions, because they feel like the teacher won’t get it.”

If they feel like their teacher is a stereotypical “Rebbetzin type” who has no familiarity with texting, apps, or social media, they may never voice their questions, and then may describe their experience by saying, “Questions weren’t allowed,” or “My teachers said anyone with smartphones would go to Gehinnom.”

The truth is that there definitely are topics that teachers shouldn’t necessarily be comfortable addressing publicly, whether due to tzniyus concerns, a disinclination to suggest ideas to students who weren’t aware of them, or fear of normalizing certain types of behavior. At the same time, teachers need to cultivate an atmosphere where students intuit that nothing they say will be too shocking. “Teachers need to sound relevant without needing to bare all,” says Mrs. Feder. “We need to give off approachable, nonjudgmental vibes.”

At the same time, we can definitely aim for improvement in the staffing of our schools. One change Mrs. Feder would like to see is a more robust, structured mechaneches program. In most schools, one mechaneches has responsibility for a grade that may number upward of 150 students. “A mechaneches shouldn’t just be one teacher with a vague job description who pulls a girl out once a year. Maybe we can hire one or two per class instead of one per grade? And have a better-defined job description that will help make sure no one slips through the cracks.”

Hot-Button Issue: How effectively do our schools teach tzniyus?

IT’Sthe Big One. The topic that triggers more charged reactions and fraught memories than any other within the Bais Yaakov system. Why is there so much baggage associated with the topic, and is there anything that can be done about it? As one respondent poignantly asked, “I wish I loved tzniyus. Is there a way to teach it so girls love it?”

Without exception, every mechaneches we spoke to agreed that tzniyus is one of the foundational elements of Sarah Schenirer’s legacy and part of the definition of a Bais Yaakov school. Besides being important per se, it’s also often an outward sign of a person’s identification. Tzniyus is a uniform of sorts, and the extent to which a person conforms is often a conscious statement, says Mrs. Reisman.

She remembers a student asking a rav a question about a certain style, and being told, “If you identify with a Bais Yaakov standard, it’s not appropriate.” There is much within the jurisdiction of tzniyus that is not strict halachah, but rather minhag, and the practice of the community you identify with. And it’s important for teachers to acknowledge that reality, which takes nuance and honesty. More than one survey respondent mentioned the confusion between bottom-line halachah, chumrah, sensitivity, and communal norms as being a major source of frustration in their tzniyus education.

It’s an issue that elicits such strong emotions, says Mrs. Herzka, for the simple reason that “nafsho shel adam machmadetan,” it’s a tremendous yetzer hara that people are drawn to; of course that’s where people will get worked up and resentful.

“There’s no single right way to teach tzniyus,” says Mrs. Feder, who has written a book on the topic, “but there are many wrong ways.” Generally speaking, she says, the Bais Yaakov system has learned to identify and remove many of the wronger, more punitive approaches from the schools, but there’s no surefire way to reach everyone. “The right way must be individualized. Statistically speaking, the smaller your crowd, the higher your chances of any chinuch.” Realistically, though, it’s nearly impossible to try to convey a complex and fraught concept to a wide public with 100 percent buy-in.

In her experience, no one currently teaches tzniyus with fire and brimstone, says Mrs. Herzka. Because of contemporary challenges, much of the educational focus has shifted away from skirt lengths (midi and maxi skirts certainly helped) to technology usage.

Barrier To Entry: Why do today’s Bais Yaakovs tend toward elitism?

INat least one area, segments of the Bais Yaakov system have veered from its original course. While Sara Schenirer and Rebbetzin Vichna Kaplan accepted students from all types of homes, as long as they were committed to growth, many schools today have adopted much more selective admission criteria. The larger the community, the more fragmented and competitive the schools tend to be. While smaller out-of-town communities may have a single community school, a sure sign of growth is when the “frumer” Bais Yaakov splits away, and the biggest frum metropolises boast dozens of schools that each compete for the “best” students and families. And since only Hashem knows each person’s heart, “best” is often measured by external metrics, like dressing right, affiliating with the right institutions, and generally maintaining a flawless facade.

“When a school tries to be more inclusive, they end up being ‘that’ school, and then no one wants to send there,” notes Goldie Schechter, a former guidance counselor in several Bais Yaakov high schools who is currently the Clinical Advisor of Maayan Academy in Lakewood. “The consumers vote with their feet.” She says she’s been asked to start a school, but she sees it as an exercise in futility, since she would maintain a broad acceptance policy, and the same people who complain about exclusionary admissions would disdain her open-door institution.

This elitist trend, she believes, underlies the experiences of many who felt they were invisible or overlooked during their school years. By their very nature, schools attract Type-A, CEO-material administrators and staff. The most successful principals and teachers are typically those who excel at structure, discipline, and doing things the “right” way, and they most naturally relate to students like themselves. At the same time, as schools define success more and more narrowly, with more superficial criteria, there is less and less room for the atypical or colorful. The unintended result is that students who are more creative, artsy, or otherwise out of the box feel underrepresented and don’t find teachers to relate to.

Mrs. Schechter is quick to reiterate that the parent body plays a significant role in the problem. Most mechanchos care deeply about all their students, but without enrollment and tuition, they can’t serve anyone. In high-pressure, high-conformity communities, getting a name for being too broad or not selective enough can be a death knell for the school. So it is the parents who demand a completely homogeneous environment, and who are afraid of sending to a school that isn’t perceived as “top,” even when it more closely aligns with their homes’ values, who are driving the push toward plastic perfection.

One Lakewood school owner (anonymous, because Lakewood Schools Do Not Do Interviews with Magazines, perhaps an illustration of this very trend) reports that she originally intended to have a broader student base, but she finds that it’s the youngest generation of parents who are pushing for more and more exclusivity, out of fear of negative exposures. If she wants to have a school at all, she says, she has no choice but to tighten her admission policies and parent handbook.

Not only is there a trend of elitism when it comes to accepting students, the same trend is sometimes present when hiring staff. While some schools pride themselves on only hiring wives of klei kodesh, Mrs. Selengut emphasizes the importance of having role models who speak to the reality of the students’ lives. While this varies by community, it’s important for girls to see teachers who are living Torah lives in all its legitimate variations. While many teachers are married to rabbanim and other klei kodesh, it’s valuable for girls to also see n’shei chayil whose husbands are erliche, working balabatim so that they understand that one can live a meaningful, fulfilling life in that way as well.

In a telling episode, Mrs. Reisman once contributed an article to a different school’s newsletter. In it, she responded to a girl’s question about a working husband by explaining the benefits of a kollel life, but noting that there are many different shevatim in Kal Yisrael, and not everyone belongs to Shevet Levi. Still, they all camped around the Mishkan: Everyone can and must claim their chelek in Torah. The principal refused to print it, preferring not to acknowledge any path aside from that school’s kollel-only ideal. “Sometimes, giving them a very narrow view of society can show them that there’s only one right way to live,” cautions Mrs. Selengut, who is also a kallah teacher. “Then, as adults, when their husbands choose to do something different, and their lifestyle may differ from that of their moros, that can lead to tremendous breakdown in the marriage.”

To me, this particular complaint — that schools paint a very specific picture of success, largely dependent on one’s husband — seems to point to a skewed understanding. One of the core messages of Bais Yaakov is that a woman’s worth is dependent on her own spiritual efforts, not solely on her husband’s and children’s achievements. Everyone has her own bechirah, and is not judged for the results, only for her efforts. Whatever a Jewish woman’s marital status and, if she is married, no matter what decisions her family members make, “She is a person of spiritual worth and dignity,” emphasizes Mrs. Reisman. “Some of the most heroic women are the ones without conventional success stories. They carve out a personal relationship with HaKadosh Baruch Hu.”

Mrs. Reisman points out that when students or parents complain about a very narrow or idealized definition of success, they may be experiencing a misfit between their values and the school they’ve chosen. “Within the system, there are schools with greater breadth. Parents have to be wise, and choose the school congenial to how they’re raising their kids,” she advises.

In her own experience, she was grateful to find a school that was more welcoming and more broad-minded. Her questions were honored; the teachers were happy to discuss the books she was reading. “Every school has its personality and culture,” she concludes.

Of course, schools that teach nuanced approaches receive criticism in both directions; some complain that the girls are being pressured to support husbands in learning, while others complain that they give too much credit to working men. It’s impossible to please everyone, but educated consumers should examine the school’s messaging and choose one appropriate for their family.

But let’s be real. Apologetics aside, we have girls who make it through 13 years of education, and come out saying things like, “I was just another number.” “The people teaching tzniyus don’t understand much about it.” “They led through fear and intimidation.” “There’s no room for differences or individuality” (all quotes from our survey).

Through countless informal conversations, it’s clear that a minority of students feels marginalized and resentful after years in the Bais Yaakov system. They point to unfeeling teachers, uncaring administration, and punitive approaches. Yet, as a teacher myself (and therefore, admittedly, biased), I see a different picture. In my fellow teachers I see people of nuance and compassion, not one of whom ever mentions Gehinnom (except me, but that’s because I teach about the kindness inherent in its creation). Where, I ask my interviewees, does this discrepancy come from? How do two sets of respondents — teachers and disgruntled students — describe two entirely different pictures?

“The problem with the system is that it’s a system, and the problem with any institution is that it’s an institution,” avers Mrs. Feder. “As soon as you have a classroom with more than one student, the personalized chinuch will inevitably be compromised.”

Every system consists of people, some better and some less so. Along with the many inspiring and uplifting teachers, there will be some who are burned out or afflicted with foot-in-mouth disease. And some inspiring and uplifting teachers will have a bad day and say something catastrophically unwise. But although the hurt student may generalize from her experience to “the problem with Bais Yaakov,” it’s really the problem with people: they’re human.

Some girls who describe being ignored, says Goldie, were in fact noticed, and teachers reached out, but were rebuffed. However, because the student ultimately did not receive the help she needed, the narrative she carries into adulthood will be that she was overlooked. “There is no such thing as a perfect system. You won’t find it anywhere, except Hakadosh Baruch Hu and the Geulah,” says Goldie. “We’ve made a system that generally works. Of course it’s desperately sad that there are maybe five percent who are very bitter, and maybe another ten percent who quietly slip through the cracks. But the success rates are incredible.”

Every year, the fifth grade of Yeshiva Ketana of Passaic performs a play about Sarah Schenirer. One year, the play was attended by a great-grandmother who had been a student of the original prewar Bais Yaakov. Mrs. Selengut gave the honored guest a tour of the entire building, kindergarten through 12th grade, and asked a question: “Is this what it’s supposed to look like? Would Sara Schenirer be proud of us?”

The older woman, a woman of few words, smiled. “This is exactly what it’s supposed to be.” The trappings were different, the building, the furniture, the language, were all foreign to her. But the energy, the connection, the joy in passing on the torch to the next generation… Sarah Schenirer would be proud.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 963)