Dear Matzav Inbox,
It is often said that “no one truly understands another’s struggles until they’ve walked a mile in their shoes.”
Nowhere is this more true than in the life of a rosh hamossad. Running a school is not just a responsibility. It is an all-consuming mission that eats up every corner of one’s life—mentally, emotionally, spiritually, and physically. Yet, despite the Herculean effort it requires, the rosh hamosad is so often treated as a convenient punching bag for every complaint, grievance, and unmet expectation within the school system.
Let me pull back the curtain for a moment and explore what it truly means to shoulder the leadership of a mosad chinuch.
Fundraising: The Never-Ending Cycle
Every rosh hamosad begins their day with the knowledge that their institution is only as secure as the funds they can raise. Tuition doesn’t cover a fraction of the actual costs of education, and the rest must be made up through relentless fundraising efforts.
Imagine constantly knocking on doors, making calls, and writing emails—often to people who politely decline, ignore, or criticize you. Imagine sitting in meetings with donors, pleading for the future of your bochurim or talmidos, all while knowing that without their generosity, you may not be able to pay your dedicated melamdim or teachers on time.
Fundraising isn’t a side job. It’s the job. And yet, many parents still complain that the school charges too much, demanding discounts or payment plans, with little understanding of the financial reality that every school faces.
Admissions: Damned If You Do, Damned If You Don’t
As if fundraising wasn’t challenging enough, every rosh hamosad is bombarded during admissions and farher season with an endless stream of calls, texts, and messages begging for “just one exception.”
“Reb Yid, my son is an amazing boy. He just needs a chance.”
“Rabbi, if you don’t accept my daughter, you’re sending her off the derech.”
“I’m a longtime supporter of your school; how could you turn me down?”
These pleas tug at the heartstrings, but no school has unlimited space. Hard choices must be made, and every decision comes with backlash. Parents who aren’t accepted feel betrayed, even when they know it’s not personal. Those who are accepted sometimes bring issues that strain the school’s already-overburdened resources.
And let us not forget that the rosh hamosad has no one to turn to when these decisions weigh heavily on their soul. At the end of the day, everyone—parents, staff, the community— blames them without considering the impossible situation they face.
The Day-to-Day Struggles
Running a school isn’t just about fundraising and admissions. It’s about navigating countless daily challenges that arise out of nowhere. A rebbi or teacher is unhappy about their workload or pay. A parent is upset about their child’s grades. A student has behavioral issues that disrupt the classroom.
Every issue is brought to the rosh hamosad as if they are the ultimate authority, expected to solve all problems, no matter how big or small. And when they do make decisions, they’re scrutinized endlessly.
“Why did the menahel suspend my son for that?”
“Why wasn’t this teacher reprimanded for their actions?”
“Why is my tuition going toward something I don’t personally approve of?”
It’s a no-win situation.
A Life With No Rachmanus
The most difficult part of being a rosh hamosad is the lack of rachmanus. People assume that leadership comes with perks or prestige, but in truth, it is a lonely and thankless position.
The phone doesn’t stop ringing, day or night. A crisis at 10 PM? A parent who insists their situation is the most urgent thing in the world? A donor who needs attention now? The rosh hamosad has no “off” hours.
Vacations? Forget it. Even supper is interrupted by parents or board members who feel entitled to discuss the latest school issue. Family time becomes a casualty of the job, and personal well-being takes a back seat to the demands of the klal.
The Weight of the Klal on Your Shoulders
And yet, despite it all, the rosh hamosad carries on. Why? Because they understand that the education of the next generation is the foundation of our people. They see the neshamos in their care and know that every moment of their toil is an investment in eternity.
But can we, as a community, truly say that we have supported our roshei hamosdos? Have we taken a moment to thank them, to offer encouragement instead of criticism, to recognize the sacrifices they make on behalf of our children?
The next time you’re tempted to blame the rosh hamosad for a perceived injustice, remember this: They are human beings, carrying the weight of an entire mossad on their shoulders. They do so with love and dedication, but the burden is heavy.
Let us all take a moment to be mechazek the roshei hamosdos in our communities. A kind word, a note of appreciation, or even just a little patience can go a long way. Leadership is lonely enough without the added sting of constant criticism.
To the roshei hamosdos reading this: May Hashem give you strength, wisdom, and clarity to continue your holy work. May you see nachas from your students and their families, and may the community recognize the immeasurable value of what you do.
Sincerely,
One Who Lives This Every Day
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