S asson was ready to leave the yeshivah. His rebbi from high school had tried to convince him to stay his parents had encouraged him to stick it out and the Rosh Yeshivah had tried to intervene personally. Still he seemed resolute that the new place just wasn’t for him. I’d had a previous relationship with the Rosh Yeshivah from my studies back in the day and had seen a number of his talmidim so I wasn’t surprised to get a phone call asking me to meet with a new student.
“Kevod Harav what can I do to be helpful?” I answered when I saw his number on my phone.
The Rosh Yeshivah told me a bit about Sasson’s story. He was a young man from a Persian family back in the USA. He’d done superbly at Ner Israel and was one of the top bochurim in his class which is why he’d been accepted into this prestigious yeshivah. As I listened I ascertained that there were no red flags for drugs abuse mental illness or any other things that I was normally called about.
“If you don’t mind me asking kevod Harav why does he need a psychiatrist?”
