I’ve seen the pattern. When you see a girl slipping, nebach, you’re suddenly nice
When I go out, I see girls my age, from the same chassidish background as me, dressed in garb that — to put it mildly — does not reflect a bas Yisrael. I hear the music blaring from their cars as they drive down the road on Shabbos.
You see them, too. You feel for them. You wish there was something you could do for them. If they were in your school, you would do everything in your power to ensure their happiness. You wouldn’t make them crazy about detentions, lateness, absences, or even (gasp!) the occasional open button. How am I so sure? Because I saw it happening with my friend. You saw she was slipping, so you sent her notes, gifts, and chocolates. She rebuffed it all.
Whenever you see a girl slipping, you transform into this kind, understanding person.
But before she slipped? When it comes to me?
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