The fundamental question is not merely, “How do we get in?” but rather, “Is this school truly the right place for our child?”

The Question

Everyone told us that if we don’t get into the school we think is right for our son, we need to call in all the protektziya we can. If we don’t have any, we should keep calling the school until they give in. This feels deeply unnatural for us. How much pull is too much? And even if we do get in, will this negatively affect my child’s relationship with the school that we pushed ourselves into?

Rabbi Ari Schonfeld

When I got accepted to ninth grade using my grandfather’s “pull,” I cried bitterly that I wanted to be accepted for who I am, not for who I am not. Still, I feel that if parents have done their research and feel that a place is best for their son, they should do anything and everything to get him in.

W

hen I was in eighth grade, six boys in my class applied to the same yeshivah. Five got in. I did not. For some reason that still eludes me, I was told that a previous rebbi of mine did not give the best report to the mesivta regarding my behavior. The only other option I can think of is that somehow, they called my older sister for information. Then it would all make sense.

Either way, I was not accepted, and I was devastated. My grandfather, Rabbi Fabian Schonfeld ztz”l, was the “pull” I needed. As a local rabbi, he had helped the yeshivah with zoning boards when they built their dorm. My grandfather reluctantly called on my behalf. (He preferred that I go to Novominsk, as we were related to the Rebbe. How would life have turned out? We’ll never know.)

I distinctly remember a meeting at my dining room table between the ninth-grade rebbi and my parents to discuss my acceptance into the yeshivah. I was upstairs in my room crying. My parents were dumbfounded. Why was I not excited that I got in? I explained that I want to be accepted in the school for who I am, not for who I am not. I was afraid there would be unfair expectations, and that I got in only because of pull but wasn’t really a match.

My parents went back downstairs to the rebbi and shared my concerns. He told them they had nothing to be worried about. Once I was accepted, I would be treated exactly the same as everyone else. The process of getting in was one thing. But once that process was completed, no one got treated differently. I spent six wonderful years in that yeshivah, for high school and beis medrash.

Back to my rebbi, who had not exactly been helpful throughout the process. When he heard I was accepted, he called me into his classroom. “Schonfeld, don’t be too excited that you got in. You won’t last six months in that yeshivah.”

It’s funny how life turns out. As a mechanech myself, I wonder how I would’ve gotten along with eighth-grade me. Actually, I’d rather not think about it.

Anyway, let’s hope that rebbi doesn’t read Mishpacha. Is there a Yiddish edition?

I know this is just my story, but I think it is a fair roadmap for parents to follow. If (and this is a big if) you as parents have spoken to your son’s rebbi and menahel, done your research, and really feel this is the best place for your son, you should do anything and everything in your power to help get him in. If you have protektziya, use it. If you think the menahel will be swayed by the tears of a Yiddishe mama, go for it.

I would not worry about any negative effects this will have on the relationship with the school. They understand that this is all part of the process and the reality of the world that we live in. The truth of the matter is, you don’t know how many other people also pushed their way in.

There is a reason that on the door to Brisk it says, “Pull to get in.”

Rabbi Ari Schonfeld is the menahel of Yeshiva Ketana of Manhattan, Rosh Mosad of Bais Tzipra of Manhattan, and director of Camp Aish.

Rabbi Yerachmiel Garfield

While living in-town means parents usually have a selection of schools to choose from, obtaining an honest assessment of school fit is exceedingly challenging. Parents are motivated by love for their children, but that sometimes clouds their judgment and they should turn to other people who care for their child to get their honest opinion.

I

have often been told that one of the central challenges of raising a family “in town” is simply gaining entry to the right schools. From the outside, it appears that acceptance itself carries enormous weight, and the emotional strain surrounding admissions is very real. There are many tradeoffs involved in living far away from major centers of Jewish life, and one of them is the limited range of school options available.

That lack of choice can at times be deeply frustrating. Yet within it lies a small silver lining, a far more straightforward and less fraught approach to school acceptance. By contrast, families in larger communities must navigate an admissions process that can be stressful, emotionally charged, and at times deeply unsettling.

When I first began reflecting on this question, I viewed it primarily through an out-of-town lens: families striving to find a school that may or may not be the right fit, often with little choice in the matter. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that many readers are navigating a very different reality, one in which numerous capable children are competing for a limited number of seats in schools that, at least on the surface, could reasonably meet their needs.

That distinction reframes the conversation. The fundamental question is not merely, “How do we get in?” but rather, “Is this school truly the right place for our child?” And possibly most importantly, “How can we know?”

This is perhaps the most difficult part of the process. Obtaining an honest assessment of school fit is exceedingly challenging. Parents, quite naturally, view their children through a lens of love and hope. At times, however, that very perspective can make it harder to clearly evaluate a child’s academic, social, or emotional readiness for a particular environment.

I think we can all agree that using protektziya to place a child into a setting that is not appropriate for him is a serious mistake, one that may carry long-term consequences. The difficulty, of course, lies in discerning whether a school’s rejection reflects a genuine concern about fit, or whether it is simply the result of an unusually large number of applicants competing for limited space.

There is no simple way to generalize. Still, parents should be cautious about relying exclusively on their own assessment in these matters. This is not to suggest that parents do not have a critical and indispensable voice in decisions about their children, because they most certainly do. However, when it comes to placement, there is a particular risk of distortion.

At such times, parents must turn to trusted mechanchim and friends, people who know the child well and care deeply enough to speak with honesty and sensitivity. Parents should strive to create a safe space for that feedback and have the humility to hear it, even when it is difficult.

Once that fuller picture emerges and there is a clear sense that a particular environment is where a child can genuinely grow in Torah, middos, and yiras Shamayim, I believe parents are not only justified but have an achrayus to make every appropriate hishtadlus to help their child access that opportunity. What else is protektziya worth if not to assist your child flourish and grow into a true ben or bas Torah?

Rabbi Yerachmiel Garfield is the Head of School at Yeshiva Toras Emes of Houston and the director of the Yeshiva Leadership Group.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1097)