When my husband and I first moved to a new town as newlyweds, I was eager to figure out my next steps. Having married young, I hadn’t gotten the chance to complete my degree, so I knew exactly what I wanted to do with my time. The town was home to more than one frum college program, each one offering attractive courses in the field I wanted to train in.
One college stood out for its stellar reputation and close proximity to my home — and best of all, I managed to win a scholarship, which was incredible news given our limited financial resources. There was only one catch — there were several modules missing from the program that were vital for the field I was training in. After some haggling, they made me a generous offer: I’d do the course with them, but I’d take the additional modules elsewhere and they’d cover the cost in its entirety.
There was no formal contract — just a chain of emails between us. The guy at the helm of the finances was friendly; he seemed eager to make it work for me. He told me I’d pay out of pocket, and they’d reimburse me in installments over time. Trusting them completely, I went ahead. I completed all the courses there and in the other college, and started to receive reimbursement checks.
A few months passed, but then suddenly, no more checks were forthcoming. I was still owed a few thousand dollars, and I needed the money. A check-in with the guy I’d liaised with revealed that this particular branch of the program was suddenly struggling with a complicated repositioning of leadership that affected the funds, and I’d have to wait a bit longer for the repayments. They were in middle of ironing things out.
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