G irls running about briskly with determined looks on their faces, their hands laden with seforim and notebooks of all shapes and sizes. The voices of renowned rabbanim whose words simultaneously captivate the mind and challenge the brain resound enthusiastically throughout the campus. Engaging discussions and DMCs, dorm rooms boasting loud music and jolly laughter.

This is my seminary experience, in a nutshell. My life at the moment. As an 18-year-old student, my life is a dizzying whirl of working hard and having fun blending harmoniously. Here I recount the major event of a room change, which heralded the beginning of my second year in sem. I was looking forward to getting to know new girls and broaden my horizons.


Seriously, I never knew I owned so much stuff. Those fuzzy pink slippers from my grandmother, that small, battered diary — I mean, where had these things come from? Oh, and was that my long-lost parshah essay stuck behind the night table? I sighed in aggravation when thinking of the stress and panic its disappearance had caused only a few weeks prior.

My eyes quickly scanned our crowded room and I laughed to myself. It was just simple havoc. Chaos like never before. Mess everywhere. Wrappers made friends with long-forgotten papers and clumsy shoes, as the carpet became slowly hidden, barely identifiable.

“Should I start packing?” Freidy, my roommate lazily asked, flipping her bangs softly as she blinked tiredly.

“Perhaps it’s too early,” was my sarcastic reply, “after all, it’s time for us all to change rooms in only in ten hours.”

My heart fluttered nervously, like a butterfly just emerging from its cocoon, as I imagined myself leaving my room, my cocoon. These four walls had kept my deepest secrets safe, watching quietly as new friendships formed. These four walls had borne witness to my confusion during the first few weeks in seminary, and my gradual settling in which had followed. How could I leave?

And who knows where I would be going now? Who would my new roommates be? The thought of picking myself up and moving was daunting and seemed almost impossible. It would take fortitude and a positive, sensible attitude, of which I didn’t have any. Help!

The situation had become so ridiculously blown up, it was actually bordering on pathetic. Virtually any girl I passed became a potential roommate. An atmosphere of uncertainty descended upon us as the upcoming room change became “the elephant in the room,” clumsily stamping around as we desperately tried to duck in fear.

The sky began to darken as great storm clouds gathered, perfectly matching my mood. The hours flew past as our close-knit room sat together, cohesively chatting and crunching to the beat as our food supply slowly diminished. (Excerpted from Mishpacha Jr., Issue 674)