By Aiden Harow, Senior Features Editor
Yeshiva University is turning away from one of its core values.
The five “Core Torah Values,” introduced to the university by YU President Ari Berman and persistently defended by him in the face of never-ending skepticism and mockery, are described by the official YU website as “compris[ing] our moral compass and guid[ing] us towards a better future.” These values, Emet (truth), Adam (infinite human worth), Chayim (life), Chessed (compassion) and Tzion (redemption), make up the pillars of the administration’s vision for YU’s direction, each one corresponding to a goal for both the university and the Jewish people as a whole.
Four out of five of these values have been adhered to pretty well, even amidst all of the strife that YU has recently endured. YU has remained committed to truth, steadfast in compassionately upholding its values and focused on solidarity with and support for our brothers and sisters in Israel.
However, there is one value that YU has recently forsaken, and the decision to do so could have tremendous consequences for a number of young future leaders and the Jewish people as a whole.
In a recent update, the administration announced that, beginning this fall, applicants to the school can only apply to the various YU honors programs as Early Decision applicants, limiting scholarship eligibility to only those students who are willing to commit to YU at the beginning of their senior year of high school to the exclusion of all other college options. This commitment takes away the ability to apply Early Decision, thereby increasing odds of admission, to other schools, and comes without any guarantee of being accepted into the Honors program and receiving the accompanying scholarships. Admissions Director Marc Zharnest told the YU Observer that “the changes to the Honors scholarship qualifications were driven by a strategic effort to further align our merit-based awards with the university’s broader goals of academic excellence, values-based education and leadership development.”
Academic excellence I can understand. Attaching a ticking clock to generous financial aid is definitely powerful leverage on highly qualified students to commit to YU early, allowing the school to fill its class with top applicants without having to work as hard on recruiting. Leadership development also follows logically. The recent introduction of the prestigious new Honors Leadership Society will attract students that exhibit leadership qualities to apply to YU while the time-sensitive scholarship qualification will put pressure on them to commit early instead of considering other options.
That being said, I am deeply troubled by the third goal put forward by Director Zharnest as the impetus for this decision, that these changes were supposedly implemented in pursuit of offering a “value-based education.” How can that possibly be true when this decision is in direct violation of one of the core values that YU holds dear, one of the values upon which this administration has based its every decision? I am referring, of course, to Torat Adam: the belief in each person’s infinite potential, the faith that every individual has the ability to grow, to change, to become the person that Hashem wants them to be.
As a religiously apathetic high school senior with Ivy League aspirations, I did not give attending YU a second thought during my college application process, even going so far as to demand that my school remove my name from the mandatory YU interview list. After all, YU was ranked significantly lower than the other college options I was considering and required all students to participate in a dual curriculum, anathema to a teenager that would rather have stared at a wall than learn gemara for even an hour a day, let alone three-plus.
Many of my friends and peers who had had significantly less strenuous high school experiences than myself, hanging out with friends instead of cramming for APs, going to the beach instead of relentlessly drilling for the ACT, would be going to YU. I felt that, if I joined them, I would be invalidating the hundreds of hours I spent slumped over textbooks and keyboards, waving the white flag and admitting that all of my hard work had been for nothing. Even the more exclusive honors program held little appeal to me relative to the “glory” I could achieve by gaining admission to a top ranked school with a name that would impress everyone who heard it.
My ego inflated and my neshama dimmed, I threw myself at college apps with a chip on my shoulder the size of Mount Everest. After being rejected by my top six choices, all of which I chose with their large Jewish communities in mind, I was lucky enough to receive a full-tuition scholarship from Emory University. There was a catch: Because of a button I had accidentally pressed when submitting the application, in order to receive the scholarship, I would need to spend two years at their Oxford College liberal arts campus in Covington, Georgia, population 1200, 45 minutes away from the nearest shul in Atlanta. I was the second Orthodox Jewish student to enroll in the school’s 186 year history and the first ever to request a kosher meal plan.
There was no Chabad, no Hillel, no Yavneh, not even the smallest trace of support for a connection to Judaism. While I was initially daunted by the prospect of “leaving the bubble” to such a jarring degree, I quickly swept those thoughts aside. I was wounded by all the rejections I had endured and angry at Hashem for “rejecting” me as well. I had been awarded a quarter-million dollar scholarship at a top school. I had proven that I stood out, not just from the other kids in my class, but from elite students around the world. My parents were overjoyed, my teachers and advisors stunned. My ego, ever hungry, continued to feed, and the chip on my shoulder grew steadily heavier. I paid my deposit, shut the door on YU, and never looked back.
That is, until I did.
For my gap year, I decided to go to Aish Gesher, the Modern Orthodox yeshiva program at Aish HaTorah in the Old City of Jerusalem. When I signed up, I didn’t think much of it. My best friend had decided to go there, Jerusalem was a pretty cool place to live, and I would get to spend time with my Israeli family and live in a foreign country for a year with no parents or teachers telling me what to do. At the time, it seemed like an extended vacation before heading off to pursue my college dreams. The Torah learning aspect was unimportant to me, connection with Hashem the last thing on my mind. Little did I know that my yeshiva experience would change my life forever.
After spending the first few weeks stubbornly resisting the attempts my rebbeim made to connect with me, I finally gave in, and had tough conversations about my future plans and my relationship with Judaism. My rebbeim, kind, caring and persistent, pushed me harder than I had ever been pushed before, asking me questions I had never previously considered and framing Judaism in ways that deeply resonated with me.
It became clear to me that I had not given frumkeit a fair shot, and had been approaching it with the jaded, transactional cynicism all-too-common amongst Modern Orthodox youth today. I slowly began attending minyanim and sedarim, and became invested in my learning as my skills improved. This newfound appreciation for Torah, combined with incredible new friends, speakers, trips and shabbosim, helped me develop warm feelings for Judaism for the first time in years, and I started to feel like Judaism was a part of my future.
As my excitement and determination grew, so did my unease about my college plans. How could I possibly go from the uplifting and growth-oriented environment I found myself in to one that was effectively a barren, lonely spiritual desert, a place where I would be faced with challenges that I was completely unprepared to handle?
I voiced these concerns to my parents who, while sympathetic, were deeply worried about my desire to change course. The scholarship I had been awarded to Emory lifted a huge financial burden from their shoulders and a degree from a prestigious university would ensure me a secure, successful future, just what every parent wants for their children. They wanted me to embrace the challenge, to test my ability to thrive outside of my comfort zone and develop my leadership skills in an environment unlike any I had ever experienced. Besides, it was too late in the year to reapply to other schools. I had no other options. What was I thinking? I was confused and scared, torn between two opposite paths. I wanted to continue to grow in my Judaism, but couldn’t bear the guilt of disappointing my parents and costing them a tremendous amount of money.
In my desperation, I knocked on a door that I thought was closed and locked forever. And to my great surprise and relief, somebody answered.
After conversations with Rabbi Jonathan Cohen (who should have a refuah shleimah), Admissions Director Marc Zharnest and Director of Student Finance Robert Friedman, YU gave me the opportunity to go in both directions at once. They allowed me to make my parents proud and limit the financial impact on my family without compromising on my frumkeit. They granted me admission to the Honors Program along with the scholarship that comes with it while also letting me stay in yeshiva for Shana Bet, gifting me another year of growth in Israel with the promise of another three years of learning both morning and night seder ahead.
It was the perfect solution for both me and my family, elegant and shockingly generous, and I am incredibly, eternally grateful. I am now at the end of my Junior year at YU and have spent my time trying my best to be a worthy investment, learning two sedarim a day under top-notch rebbeim, positioning myself to be a competitive applicant to elite law schools, and making my voice heard in conversations about YU’s future. I am invested in YU’s direction because I know how valuable it is, both to me and others like me, of which there are more than you would think. Few know their stories and fewer tell them, but they are here too, grateful for the chance to experience what YU has to offer, determined to take full advantage of the opportunities afforded to them and to make YU into the best institution it can be.
Which is why the changes to YU Honors scholarship eligibility cannot be allowed to stand.
Taking these opportunities away from students like me, students who needed the chance to grow into their Judaism and understand the importance of the YU experience, is slamming and locking the YU door on countless elite, uniquely motivated students. It is driving them away from the growth that time at YU provides and missing out on the limitless potential they have to improve the futures of both YU and the Jewish people. It is forcing them to pursue options that risk erasing them, their families and their descendants from the book of Jewish history.
YU made this decision because it believes the current political climate has put it in a position of strength, but YU’s true strength lies in its values, its belief in every individual, its ability to serve as a safe haven in a storm of uncertainty and fear. For me and so many others like me, YU’s generosity opened the door to years of Torah learning, to a network of hundreds of fellow young Jewish leaders, and to a college experience that prepares us for a life of secular excellence synthesized with uncompromising Avodas Hashem and Kiddush Shem Shamayim. We need YU, now more than ever, and hopefully, YU will soon realize that it needs us too.
President Berman, Board of Trustees, the pen of the Jewish story is in your hands. Are you going to write us out of it?