It’s one thing for a two-year-old to throw a temper tantrum, quite another for an 18-year-old to froth at the mouth that way.
“M
rs. Biderstein, can you tell the eim bayit that she should let me have late curfew tonight? I want to go to the Kosel.”
Curfew was at 10:15 p.m. prompt, and Henny was calling from the dorm at 10:10 to ask me for this special exemption. As the vice principal of a seminary, I’m willing to grant late curfew privileges in certain unusual situations, such as if a girl has a family simchah. But the Kosel happens to be one of the more dangerous places in Yerushalayim, surrounded as it is by Arabs, and as one of the adults responsible for Henny’s safety, I couldn’t allow her to be in that part of town late at night.
“I’m sorry, Henny,” I said, “but going to the Kosel is not a valid reason to get late curfew.”
“What?” she gasped. “Did you just tell me I can’t go to the Kosel? I want to daven to Hashem! Are you telling me I can’t daven?”
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