A playground for the rich

Once again, as the mayoral election draws near, the hand-wringing begins.  Rents in NYC are just too damn high.  Our current mayor has done very little to alleviate this issue.  The "housing lottery" system is a joke, and most units in the lottery are too costly for anyone making less than $60,000 per year.  The solution, for many people, is simple.  "If you can't afford NYC, just leave!"
Challenge accepted.
Let's set the bar for minimum income at $70,000 for a single earner.  On this salary, a basic apartment, transportation, food, clothing, and a few luxuries are attainable.  Anyone who can't meet that threshold has to find a cheaper city to live in.
Great plan.  New York is now a city without waiters.  There are no busing staff to clear your table, nor are there many cooks below the rank of head chef.  There are no housekeepers or custodians.  Certainly no store clerks.  That's going to put a damper on all the hotels, restaurants and stores so crucial to NYC's bustling tourism industry.  Continuing on to the performing arts scene, that would let out most theater staff and box office staff, as well as every performer and member of the crew of every show not on Broadway or at Lincoln Center.  So I guess nobody will want to see a show.
OK, so you don't really need restaurants, theaters or hotels.  And with online shopping, do we really need stores anymore?  Well, let's look at the things people actually need to survive in a city.  There are no new teachers, social workers, firefighters or police officers, and no EMTs period.  No traffic cops or 911 dispatchers.  No nurses below the rank of RN.  And that custodial shortage extends to the places we actually use, including hospitals and schools.  Speaking of schools, we've just gotten rid of all the para-educators who work with disabled students, as well as specialty instructors.  At the collegiate level, getting classes will be even harder because there are no adjunct professors anymore (as in the people who teach the bulk of college classes while scraping by on poverty-level wages).  There are no cabdrivers or maintenance workers.  And I hope that you weren't planning a remodel, because your contractor doesn't have a construction crew anymore.  Your nanny has also quit on you, as has your gardener and cleaning lady.  And if you hired a home health aide for your aging parent, that person has just left the city as well.
Going into the office, all of the financial industry will grind to a halt because the administrative staff has gone.  No receptionists.  No assistants scheduling meetings and drafting contracts.  No bookkeeping staff.  Sure, technology could handle most of it, but does a stockbroker handling billions in trade every week even have the time to manage his own calendar?
In our court system, there would be no legal aid attorneys.  No new hires in the district attorney's office either.  Clerks at every level of government would be gone, from the sanitation department to the DMV.  Gone would be paralegals and legal researchers.  And I hope you don't plan on spending the day in a city park, because the groundskeepers aren't there either.
You can't build a city solely for people of means.  It's the working people who not only keep the city running, but make it what it is.  They not only need a decent home, they deserve it.

The Excelsior Scholarship--good intentions, poor implementation

The latest idea to come out of Albany is the Excelsior Scholarship--free college for anyone whose income is less than $100,000 per year, to increase to $125,000 by 2019.  Sounds like an ideal benefit--proof of New York's growing commitment to middle-class families.
It looks good on paper anyway.
The Excelsior Scholarship is little more than a raised cap on New York State TAP grants, with a catch.  The scholarship only covers up to $5,500 per year--which is not the full cost of CUNY tuition.  If you receive any other aid, the scholarship will only provide funds to bring the total to $5,500.  You have to work in New York state after graduation for as many years as you received the grant (which makes sense--it is taxpayer funded).  Recipients must earn 30 credits per year--a hardship for working students.  Also, the grant only covers four years, and is not offered to people with bachelor's degrees.  Since degree holders are not eligible for federal aid or TAP grants, this would have provided much needed assistance to people trying to enhance their skills to keep up with a changing world. 
This provides some assistance, but not much.  This is designed for people taking a traditional route through school--but state schools have a number of non-traditional students.  Students who are taking fewer classes to go to school around a job.  Students getting second bachelor's degrees because, whoopsie, the world changed; the economy's in the toilet, and that B.A. in liberal arts that was supposed to provide a decent living doesn't, and why didn't you get a degree in STEM you idiot.   Students who are taking more challenging degrees that take five and six years to complete.  Students changing majors because that math degree is harder than we thought.  Students taking a semester off because life happens and I got meningitis and couldn't finish the term.  And guess what?  All of them could use the grant, and almost none of them qualify for it.

A partner in hope

This is the story of a young woman with no family.  A naive girl, duped into marriage to an older man.  A young woman who endured years of abuse, then fled with her children.  To this day, she is embroiled in a custody fight, her husband menaces her, and she is just trying to obtain her Get.
No, it's not my story.  The young woman in question is fellow Brooklyn resident Rivky Stein.

Her story resonates with me, and also gives me hope.  Her Facebook page has close to 8,000 "Likes," and she's gotten a great deal of support from both anonymous donors and ORA.  

But as hopeful as I am, her story also makes me sad.  For all her supporters, there are many voices online (and perhaps in person) who would rather silence her.  Those who call her "unstable" or "crazy", or those who claim that she is playing the domestic violence card to win in court.  (Just read the comments.)  Those who claim her husband is a sweet, charming man who has been blindsided by a drama queen looking for a payoff.  

Let me say this: Having gone through a similar experience, I believe her.  Both the video and the documents she posted to her page make her husband sound like a more extreme version of Builder.  Moreover, since she was not legally married to Yoel Weiss, she can not put in any claims against his property or assets.  In other words, she gains nothing by lying.  She got an order of protection, which in Kings County is all but impossible.  That alone adds weight to her allegations.  

Rivky, this is for you.  You are in my thoughts and prayers, and I hope you receive your Get soon.

My experience with white privilege

For the past twelve weeks, I have been a student in a job-training program for women.  Graduation day is looming, and I'm going to miss it.
However, I think that I come off as a bit of a shill.  White, Jewish, under 40, native-born, and college-educated, I have to admit that I'm one of the few in the class to hit all those markers.  However, this doesn't bother me in the slightest.  When I was a kid, I went to school in Baldwin Hills.  For those readers unfamiliar with Los Angeles, Baldwin Hills is an upper-middle-class neighborhood in LA.  An upper-middle-class black neighborhood.  I was the poor white kid from the broken home with the crazy, alcoholic father, and most of my classmates were black kids with intact families whose parents were professionals and drove BMWs.  (It was the 80s--decade  of greed and status symbols.)  It was like living in the movie White Man's Burden.  Naturally, given the demographic of the school, we learned a lot more than the usual Martin Luther King and George Washington Carver and Civil Rights Movement during Black History Month.  In fact, it took me years to realize that suffrage leader Susan B. Anthony was Caucasian.
Fast forward to today.  I consider myself fairly colorblind, with the upbringing I had.  However, there were a couple of instances where I'm not so sure.
First of all, we had to create PowerPoint presentations for businesses we might like to start.  When I put in pictures, I included a rather adorable one of Thing 1 (since my business was a forest kindergarten for city kids, it was relevant).  My classmate saw the presentation, and asked me if the school was only for white people.  I quickly added another picture, this one featuring two black kids.  It hadn't even occurred to me that my classmates might not see themselves or their children in my presentation.
The other was a little more amusing.  We were planning an end-of-course potluck party, and being something of a queen of the deep-fry, I offer up some of my homemade fried chicken.  It's one of my comfort foods, and I've been told that it's quite good by people who are not related to me.  One of my classmates told me, "Now, you know we're all black women, and we'll know good fried chicken.  It had better be good."  I looked around at my cohort.  (We were divided into three cohorts for this program)  These were women I had been in class with for twelve weeks, and the cohort had only a little bit of change.  I realized, after going to class with this group for three months, that I was the only white person in the room!  I hadn't really thought about it.  To me, they were just my classmates, and race had never really been a factor.  But that is also a form of privilege in itself.  To go through life not having to think about race.

What did I sign up for--Domestic violence

I had another court date last week.  As I sat waiting on the Integrated Domestic Violence (IDV) floor, I saw two--two--different women with covered heads who were not related to Builder.  Nor were they attorneys. 
Two more.
Another at the Children's Law Center.
More than I care to count at the Family Justice Center.
And, if you go off the "iceberg theory," (only the tip is visible), for every one of those women, there are how many more who DON'T report?  Nine?  Ten?
Since Builder is now on his third arrest, this means that I am very much on the radar with the local precinct.  Every so often, the DV officers check up on me to make sure I am safe. The last time they were there, they told me that they were in the area, and happened to notice that I was home.  Apparently, there were a few other families on the block that they were checking up on.
The block.  Not Boro Park.  Not the neighborhood.  The block.
It should be mentioned at this point that most of my neighbors are very frum.
Is it any wonder that I see frum men as predators?  Is it any wonder that I don't want to remarry?  Is it any wonder that I am more "tifrosh min hatzibur" than before?  Is it any wonder that I walk through boro Park and mentally ask every frum woman I see, "Does your husband hurt you, too?"
When we are told to "walk modestly with G-d," we are also told to "do justice and love mercy."  How, then, can that be compatible with spousal abuse?  How can a Torah-observant man justify hurting his own family?  Moreover, how can it be so common that frum abuse victims keep turning up everywhere? 

When there are no easy answers

Today, I was coming home from Barnes & Noble in Union Square on the F train (browsing is free).  A young man with a black lab boarded and began panhandling.  Normally, my rule is to give only to street performers and not panhandlers because I can't afford it.  However, this kid broke my heart.  He was dressed in such shabby clothes that the heels of his sneakers were worn down into a diagonal line.  He looked like he hadn't had a decent meal in days and smelled like he hadn't showered in weeks (hard to stay clean on the street).  And his dog didn't look much better--it was skin and bones, and too listless to move.  The kid was begging so that he could buy something for his dog to eat.  An older man on the train asked the kid "Why don't you get a job?"
Right.  Because the Employment Fairy is going to tap him with a magic wand and turn him from a down-and-out street kid into a professional with a middle-class salary and benefits.  Because companies are falling all over themselves to hire someone without an address, phone, clean suits and access to a shower.  Because the economy DOESN'T suck right now so that even middle-class, college-educated, experienced people aren't struggling to find and keep jobs.  All of this ran through my head at this sanctimonious pronouncement.  And, since keeping my mouth shut has never been my strong suit, I responded with the only thing I could say:
"You can't get a job without an address."
Suddenly, the train car came alive.  People who didn't know each other were suddenly discussing the dearth of social services available in what is supposedly the richest country in the world.  I even volunteered a bit of my own story--that I was fleeing an abusive marriage, and that there was very little available even for me.  Sure, there is shelter space--sort of.  Most shelters are full.  Sure, there is Section 8, and everyone assumed that an abused woman with kids would get to the top of the list.  Yeah, right behind the thousands of OTHER abused women with kids on the list.  And, unless Builder ponies up tuition like YESTERDAY, I will have no childcare and will end up homeschooling again by default.  This, of course, puts the kibosh on my plans to get a job and be self-supporting.
And then I thought how narrow the chasm is that separates this young man from myself.  If it weren't for the grace of G-d and the court system, I could be homeless too.  Sure, I'm sitting there in clean clothes, with a wig and scarf on my head, jewelry, makeup, manicured nails, an Anne Klein purse and a smartphone.  I look like any other middle-class person.  But who can tell?  Builder is only paying half his court-ordered child support every month.  I'm living in a house that isn't really mine.  The wig and scarf were bought prior to my marriage.  Queen Mom paid for the purse and smartphone.  The makeup is drugstore grade, and I do my own nails with Sally Hansen polish.  And the jewelry is street-vendor costume, all bought before I came to New York.  I'm no stranger to the condition of having the thinnest veneer of middle-class prosperity separate me from the streets. 

What did I sign up for--To tell or not to tell

OK, just so we're clear, I DID NOT leave Builder because of homeschooling.  What he did to me was far worse.  In fact, it was criminal.  (Builder, if you or any of your allies are reading this--and since you brought up my blog in court, I know you are--I did not leave over homeschooling, religion, advice from my allies or anything else.)
This puts me in a quandary.  What do I do with Builder?
The truth is, I could possibly prosecute him for his actions.  But what would I gain?  And more importantly, what would I lose?
I have seen what happens in this community.  Just look at the Weberman case.  The entire community held public rallies to support him.  Meanwhile, his victim was publicly shamed.  Her family was shunned.  Her siblings were kicked out of school.  Her husband and father both had their businesses affected.  She was harassed, intimidated, photographed in court.  Her name appeared on posters all over Williamsburg.  Or look at poor Aron Rottenberg.  For the simple crime of changing the venue in which he davened, his house was almost bombed.
All of this could happen to me.  (Except for the bombing part--I think Builder wants his house back eventually, with or without me in it.)
With my daughters starting school in the fall, I have to be very careful.  I can't afford to let myself become a pariah to such an extent that it affects them.  Unless I get permission to relocate (and that's not easy), I'm stuck here.  And, yes, while it would be empowering to report Builder for his actions, and it might ensure that he could never do anything like this to anyone else, I have to worry about the backlash.
And that's disturbing. 
As I've said before, this community could give the Mafia lessons on omerta.  Mesirah, or ratting out your fellow Jew to the secular authorities, is an evil on par with murder, idolatry, or leaving the house bareheaded.  This is despite the fact that the United States government is not the Grand Inquisitor, the SS, or the Cossacks.  Meanwhile, the perpetrator, is treated like a victim, and funds are raised for pidyon shevuyim (redeeming a captive).  Um, whatever happened to dina malchutah dina?  Or establishing courts, which is not only a mitzvah but a Noahide law?    Or that wonderful line in Pirkei Avos about praying for the welfare of the government, because without it, a man would swallow his fellow alive?  Judaism is more than the minutae of Shabbos.  It's more than using an electron microscope to check for bugs in the lettuce.  It's about loving justice.  It's about not doing what is hateful to your fellow man.  It's about being a light unto the nations.  Unfortunately, every single crime we perpetuate against our fellow man is a choking layer of grime over our light.

Flying solo on Shabbos

Since I became frum, I have fallen, deeply, madly in love with Shabbos.  I absolutely love it.  Making Shabbos, even after all this time, is a labor of love.  And then, when the house in clean, the work is done, and the candles are lit, it's just fun.
Of course, Shabbos in the Aztec Palace is a little different without Builder.  Not bad, just--different.
While it's true that Builder is not there to sing zemiros and learn with (and it's one of the things I miss--we'd crack the seforim every Shabbos, everything from the parsha to the daf to Pirkei Avos), Shabbos is still Shabbos.  Truth be told, I kind of enjoy making Kiddush and Havdalah (and spare me--I've been drinking the Havdalah wine for weeks and have not grown a beard, so let's put that little myth to rest.)  I enjoy leading my seuda'ot, just me, the Things, and AriSparkles, who has been joining us as late.  Sometimes Queen Mom comes in, and it's really fun.  And, while the zemiros have given way to show tunes (I'm sure ours is the only Shabbos table in Boro Park where the strains of "Stepsister's Lament" can be heard), I think the Things enjoy it more.  And really, isn't that part of the point?  If our children see Shabbos as something enjoyable, won't that keep it going more than the hellfire and damnation of the community?

Losing my community, finding myself

Being in Boro Park post-separation is an odd experience.  The city that I have called home for almost eight years is now openly hostile territory.  Part of the problem is that it's so small.  The entire Boro Park/Flatbush area is only about 30 blocks by 20 blocks.  Part of the problem is that Builder is connected.  Very connected.  I can't even go to the store without running into either one of my in-laws or one of his friends.  Or both.  (So far, I haven't run into him outside of his vehicle, and I'd like to keep it that way.)  Usually, there is some awkward staring on each side, and we move on.  In a way, it's kind of sad.  As much as I've been tifrosh min hatzibur, I do genuinely like some of them.  However, for obvious reasons, I couldn't tell them what was going on.  I knew they would take Builder's side.  I have changed synagogues to avoid stalking, so a lot of people have now disappeared from my life.
But there is another side to that.
Because I no longer have Builder and his expectations of what good Jewish wives do breathing down my neck, I'm coming more into my own.  I'm getting out more.  I can spend more time with my allies without worrying about getting the third degree.  I can even create a Facebook page for my blog without worrying that it will get back to him.  I can make whatever I want.  Once my future is a little bit more certain, I want my children to know what real freedom is.  And, I can enjoy them more now.

When are you too old?

Today, I got a call from Giant Bais Yaakov.  At first I thought they would want to schedule an interview.  Not so much.  Apparently, the director was concerned that Thing 1 (who, by the way, is all of SIX YEARS OLD) has never been to school.  These are the answers I would have given if I were less of a lady.  (FTR, I was exceedingly polite.  Even Emily Post would have marveled at my restraint in the face of her rudeness.)
"Your kids are homeschooled?"  (asked in a tone of abject horror)
Yes, we have three heads and leprosy.
"Nobody in Boro Park homeschools their kids."
You mean, all this time, I've been searching for a secret cabal of homeschoolers in Boro Park that DOES NOT IN FACT EXIST?  I'm shocked, shocked!
"Why would you homeschool your kids?"
To keep them away from people like you.  Middos, my tuches.
Then, she grills me on my background.  Of course, I don't come from Boro Park.  Of course, I'm a BT.   Surprisingly, Builder is not.  Yes, I teach them limudei kodesh.  Then she tells me that it's "too late for my kids."
Huh?
Apparently, Thing 1 should have started school four years ago.  Even Thing 2, who is entering Pre-1a, or what the rest of the world calls kindergarten (in other words, still very young), is too old to enter school.  It seems that they would rather not deal with children who are transitioning into school for the first time.  They want kids who are already used to the routine.  Otherwise, they are "improperly socialized."  (There's that word again.  Just once, I would like to see a school put more focus on academics.)
However, I should still fill out an application and come in for an interview.  Looks like BYOD all over again. 

I doubt he'll survive his sentence

Today, a NY state judge sentenced Nechemya Weberman, an unlicensed therapist convicted to 59 counts of sexual abuse against a girl who came to him for counseling when she was twelve, to 103 years in prison.  The abuse lasted three years and included a four-hour trip upstate.
This should be fun. 
First of all, Weberman is 54 years old.  If he begins his sentence today, he won't get out until he's 157.
Secondly, word travels fast in prison.  Child molesters are the lowest of the low in prison, hated by guards and inmates alike.  Sure, the system will keep Weberman in isolation--but he has to get out sometime.  And, if does end up in isolation, it means 23 hours a day in lockdown, with one hour outside.  No minyan.  No Daf Yomi.  Probably only supervised use of tefillin (the straps could be considered a weapon.).  Fear of reprisals from inmates who see him raping their little girls.
Finally, the judge also sentenced seven people of trying to intimidate the witness.  This case has blown the lock of a secretive community.  Hopefully the fresh air will get rid of the festering rot inside.

Cutting the middleman

So, Builder is still determined to get the Things into a school, any school , no matter their personalities.  However, Small Modox Girls may be out of the running.  (The price tag scared off Builder, and their hard-sell tactics with a side of soft deception scared me off.)  His new project is Big Mainstream Girls, where one of our nieces is enrolled.  (It came highly recommended by my SIL--whose kids go elsewhere.)
My response:  Isn't that particular niece still illiterate--in the third grade?
Builder then said that it's not the school's fault, because the girl has a learning disability and her mother doesn't put in the time I put in.
Of course her mother doesn't put in that kind of time.  The girl goes to school!  The school, which charges tuition, is supposed to handle that.  And, if I have to teach my kids everything anyway, why not just cut the middleman and teach them myself?  (Incidentally, Thing 1 may have a learning disability as well--but she's still reading at least at grade level.)

When the city is the textbook

Last night, Builder got on my case for taking the kids on two and three trips a week instead of having them bone up on their reading.  So, I did what any reasonable parent would do.  I grabbed My First Parsha Reader off the bookshelf, opened it to the first page of Va'era, and set it down before Thing 1.  "Okay, Thing 1.  Read it."
Thing 1 read it.  Thing 1 read it accurately and fluently.  You were saying, Builder?
Then I explained to Builder that our trips were not only fun, but educational.  After all, who can argue with the National Museum of the American Indian?  Or the Metropolitan Museum of Art?  Or the zoo?  Or the library?  I have a theory that a person could run around New York City for a year and learn more that that person could learn in a classroom.  In fact, part of the reason I like homeschooling is that we sit down for an hour or two of lessons, and then we're out the door.  There's so much that can be learned about history, science and the arts just by running around NYC's landmarks and museums.
Why call it homeschooling?  We're never home.  And that's the way I like it.

Hunkered down

Hurricane Sandy has come and (mostly) gone, although the damage will be felt for a while.
There are two downed trees on my block, one blocking off an adjacent street.
The MTA is still shut down, and no one is sure when trains and buses will resume.
The Things are getting a bit stir-crazy.
Downed trees and power lines are blocking off some streets.
The bridges and tunnels are closed, so everyone is stuck.
Public schools are closed, as are all Catholic schools and some yeshivas (although there were some yeshiva buses running--crazy.)
Meanwhile, here at the AztecPalace, we still have power, cable, and our phone.  Homeschooling will continue.  We're stocked up on candles and low-tech activities, so we'll be fine.

Homeschool report cards

According to my planning sheet, Thing 1 is on Week 9 of our curriculum.  This means that it's time for me to write my first quarterly. 
For those of you not familiar with NY State Homeschool Law, I have to write up four quarterly reports, and then an annual evaluation.  And then send them to the Department of Redundancy Department NYC Central Office of Homeschooling (and I bet you didn't even know we had one.)  Each quarterly has to show the dates started and ended, number of absences (every parent marks it as zero), hours of instruction (225+ for grades K-6, 247.5+ for grades 7-12), a record showing 80% of the planned work for the quarter was covered, and a grade.
You're kidding, right?
I mean, one COULD use a narrative approach.  But a grade?  As in A, B, C, D or F?  Or Excellent, Good, Satisfactory or Needs Improvement?  Seriously, I'm evaluating my own kid!  I know her strengths and weaknesses.  I don't need some cutesy little form showing straight A's.  I don't even grade her work!  The only grades I ever give are "100%" and "Fix it."  More to the point, why does the city even NEED report cards?  We have to have an evaluation done at the end of the year, in either standardized test or portfolio evaluation form.  Doesn't that prove we did what we were supposed to?

What did I sign up for--Yeshiva snobbery.

Normally, I don't buy women's service magazines, whether secular or frum.  I'd rather curl up with a good book, or a sefer.  However, when I'd heard that Mishpacha's Family First had an article about a little girl  that had been rejected from six different nursery schools, my curiosity got the better of me.  The author had supposedly done everything right.  Both she and her husband had grown up frum, and the little girl had gone to playgroup.  However, the schools were rejecting her over things like the school the author had attended, or her driver's license, or the way she looked, or other outright snobbery.  (Reminded me of my Bais Yaakov of Doom experience.)
Then I got to thinking.
The child in question is two years old.  TWO!  She has no academic record or test scores.  I doubt she could spell her own name yet.  And yet, because of lifestyle choices that had nothing to do with her, she was rejected six times, sight unseen.  Now, of course, most parents think their kids are the greatest.  However, a nursery school should only be thinking of admitting kids until they are full.  (In all fairness, one class was already full between siblings and legacies before enrollment opened--but that's one out of 6.  That's 16.6 percent!)  Have we finally come to the point where we dance attendance on a school's whims?  Where they are in control?    Where details about a person's childhood or lifestyle are more important than educating our children?
Why do we have yeshivas?  I always thought it was to impart Torah values to our children.  Builder insists that it's the best environment for our kids to learn good middos.  However, unless we change our attitude, the only benefit to a yeshiva education will be a notch in the belt--and that won't really play out too well with Hashem.
(BTW--the magazine included an article about homeschooling--for parents who want to avoid this craziness.)

Sukkah magic

Sukkos has come and gone, and with it, our sukkah.
Like Sara Crewe planning a party in the attic, I know that our sukkah is nothing more than a few boards, some plastic chairs and tables, laminated posters, and foil chains.  But, when you put them all together, there's something beautiful about it.  And, when you take it all down, there's the feeling that Miss Minchin crashed the party (did I mention that A Little Princess was one of my favorite books as a kid?  It was.)  Walk into our sukkah.  The tables are covered with white cloths and drinks of all descriptions.  Posters of Jerusalem, and of various flower-decorated brachos hang over the walls.  A large tarp stretches across the back wall, hiding the plywood underneath.  Two cloth pictures, one of the Temple, another if King David's palace, cover the other wall.  Lights glisten off the chains that hang from the schach, and off our silver becher, saltcellar and honey dish.  Candles glow from a corner.  And, when I was taking it down and packing it away, there was a bittersweet feeling.  The magic was gone, and our beautiful sukkah was back to bare boards and plastic tables.
See you next year!

Vouchers--a solution that causes problems

In Brooklyn, a major issue is vouchers.  "We pay property taxes, but that money goes to public schools we don't use!  Why can't we get it for our yeshivas?" is the rallying cry.  As someone who attended six public and two private schools in four different states between the ages of four and sixteen, I wouldn't push too hard for it.
1. Yes, private prep schools invariably show better test results than public schools.  But why?  Is it because they have resources provided by wealthy donors?  Is it because they can cherry-pick students based upon test scores, grades, and recommendations?  How many private schools can exclude learning-disabled, developmentally-delayed, or autistic students who don't test well?  Public schools have to take anyone who walks in the door.  No exceptions.  Even if the school is full to bursting, they must take every child.
2. The per-student funding cited by the pro-voucher crowd not only goes for textbooks and teacher's salaries, but for library books, physical plant, school nurses, administrators, office equipment and maintenance (someone's got to keep the Xerox machine running for all those lovely forms), security, resource room instructors, gym equipment, art supplies and other miscellaneous expenses.  Each child given a voucher represents a loss of funding to the school as a whole, and will result in an even more unequal distribution of resources than already exists.  Those parents most likely to obtain vouchers are those who are more aggressive, wealthier, or more politically connected--and whose children are groomed to be successful in school.  Meanwhile, everyone else is left in decaying buildings with broken windows, inexperienced teachers and out-of-date textbooks because of a perpetual lack of funds.  (I went to a school like this--it was the tail end of inter-district busing to enforce Brown v. Board of Education in Tampa, FL.)
3. IN NYC, a city that regulates the size of a soda, no government official is going to hand over money to a school without a lot of regulations.  If money for private schools come from the same kitty as public school funding, why would anyone think that the same rules wouldn't apply?  Particularly for yeshivas where teachers are not certified and secular subjects are disdained or outright ignored, this regulation could lead to a Hobson's choice--intense restructuring including replacing the entire teaching staff with certified non-Jews, or giving up badly needed funds.
In my life, I have attended schools that ran the gamut from beautiful, loaded with amenities and well-funded (Las Vegas--your gambling dollars go to public schools and libraries), to schools which had broken windows, geography textbooks that were a decade old (and this was in 1993--think recent breakup of the Soviet Union), a music program without instruments or songbooks (we had to provide our own), and more students than desks in some classes.  I attended a private prep school that had the same read-the-chapter-answer-the-questions-none-of-your-lip teaching style that I thought I'd left in public school.  There is no guarantee that an expensive education is necessarily better.  However, there is a near certainty that pulling out both money and successful students from public school cannot be good for education as a whole.

Siyum HaShas--one small step for achdus...

...one giant leap backwards for any illusion of the frum world respecting women.
Builder bought tickets for me, the Things, and Queen Mom.  We get to Metlife Stadium after passing through some major security theater (complete with bomb-sniffing dogs), and go to our gates.  Yes, gates.  While Builder entered through the main gate, we lowly females were shunted off to the side gates.  Then we went up our separate escalators (yes, they had separate escalators for men and women) all the way up to the top.  All the women had to go up to the top, top.  And there was STILL a mechitza!  Fortunately, once mincha was over, the mechitza curtain was pulled back so we could see everything on the Jumbo-Tron.
Most of the speakers discussed the miracle of the event.  How Daf Yomi started out as an idea thrown out at an Agudah convention by a junior member in the twenties.  How the first Siyum in Lublin had only a few thousand people in attendance.  How we were almost completely destroyed by the Holocaust.  How Daf Yomi grew to prominence after the war.  And now, 89 years later, how there were celebrations all over the world.  How there were 90,000 Jews at MetLife Stadium--and that was just the New York siyum.    And Jews of all stripes too!  Every kind, from Chassidish, to Yeshivish, to Modern Orthodox, and even over 5,000 baalei teshuvah!  Every type of Jew was represented!  Sort of.  No mention, of course, to the Conservative, Reform, or secular populations who may have found daily Talmud study intriguing enough to dip into the Daf. 
Meanwhile, the Things were getting restless, and Queen Mom was wavering between boredom and resentment.  (The event started at 7:30, and ended at about 1:00 am).  As the Siyum continued, speakers like and Rabbi Yissochar Frand and Rabbi Yisroel Meir Lau encouraged further study and review.  And, of course, when the Daf was finished, everyone on the floor got up and danced!  Also, there was a presentation of all the children (read: boys) who were also beginning to learn the Daf.  And, of course, some waxing rhapsodic about the role of women in all of this.  For after all, we must receive our nod.  From up in the balcony, we heard all about our importance in encouraging our men, in staying home with the kids, in pushing our husbands out the door at 5:00 am so that they could learn the Daf.  But what of our learning?  Or is Builder the odd exception in that he actually goes over the Daf with his wife?
After Chazzan Helfgott's rendition of Kel Malei Rachamim, it was time to head out ahead of the crowd.  Builder joined us at the car about 45 minutes later.  When he found out where we were sitting, he was incensed.  (Builder was one of the fortunate souls on the floor.)  He was furious that he had a good seat, while our tickets cost the same and were so far away.
Will I be there in 2020?  I don't know.  There will have to be some changes made.

It's more than socialization

Recently, Queen Mom had an idea.  Why not take the Things upstate for a week, rent a bungalow in a colony, and then, instead of just hanging out there, going out and doing all the fun, woodsy, outdoorsy stuff we want to do with them?  Go hiking, find a stable and go riding, maybe even do some fishing?  Sounds good to me.  Last night, I saw an ad for a bungalow that could be rented by the week.  When I called up, Builder whispered  "Ask about the people who stay there?  Are they Satmar, Skvere, Modern?"  So, I asked.
"What school do your kids go to?"  Seriously.  This was the woman's response.
Obviously, no one knows what to do with the homeschooled kids, but who knew?  Who knew that everything about you and your compatibility with others could be defined by Bais Yaakov vs. Prospect? 
Personally, I hate pigeonholing.  When I was in San Diego, I hated people pigeonholing me on the basis of my age and marital status.  So what?  After 21, age ceases to matter unless you're cheese.  And as for marital status, I've seen people get married at 18, and I've seen them get married at 80.  It says nothing about the person.  So, just because I'm single and 22, I can be written off as a kid?  I hated it then.  I still hate it.
Now, the only pigeonholing seems to be in the form of which bus you ride in the morning.  (Or, don't ride, hehehe.)  However, it can be determined, according to a total stranger, that I would or would not be a good fit because of something so insignificant as a school choice?  What if I lived in a place where there was only one school?  What then?
But this points to an even bigger problem.  There are too many wedges in the frum world as it is.  If we can get to apoint where we tell people "If you're not X, don't bother coming here," then we've already lost.  We're still living out the Churban.  And it will replay, again and again, unless we change our attitude.
Just a little something for the Three Weeks.