My worst memory is when a “Rebbe” in the yeshiva accused me of talking during class. I wasn’t talking, and I denied it. He threw me out of class until I was ready to “tell the truth”.
He didn’t let me back in for a few days, because I wouldn’t admit to talking. The menahel asked me, “Why don’t you just say you did it so you can get back into class?” I asked him why he felt it was ok to lie, and he said he’d speak to the Rebbe.
It turned out that after class the day I was thrown out, the boy sitting next to me went to the “Rebbe” and admitted that he had been talking, not me. So why was I outside? Because I told the Rebbe I hadn’t been talking, and he felt that was chutzpa, to contradict him in front of the class.
At least that was what he told the menahel. It doesn’t explain why he asked me each morning, “Are you ready to tell the truth yet?”
My best memory is graduating, knowing I was finally finished with the school and wouldn’t have to go back there.