Luke Ford

The Telshe model is a specific, structured approach to learning and character development known as the Telzer derech. It produces a distinct type of scholar who is deeply loyal to the institution’s internal system. While Telzer graduates often become leaders, the training itself focuses on the internal life of the scholar. The prestige comes from rising through the levels of the yeshiva’s own curriculum.

Written with AI: The Telshe model functions as a closed alliance system that prioritizes internal coordination over external marketability. David Pinsof might view the Telzer derech not as a mere pedagogical tool, but as a specialized dialect or “proof of work” protocol. By mastering a very specific, structured approach to learning and character development, the student signals a high degree of loyalty to the specific group. This creates a high switching cost; if a scholar leaves the Telshe network, the specific intellectual capital they spent years acquiring carries less value in other yeshiva circles. The system effectively “locks in” its members to the Telshe alliance.

In Alliance Theory, prestige often stems from the ability to navigate complex, arbitrary hierarchies. The Telshe curriculum acts as a ladder where each rung is a coordination point. Rising through the levels of the yeshiva’s own curriculum provides a clear, unmistakable signal of status within the group. This internal hierarchy serves to minimize conflict over who holds authority. Everyone in the alliance knows exactly where everyone else stands based on their progress through the structured system. This reduces the need for constant status posturing and allows the group to coordinate more effectively on communal goals.

The focus on the “internal life of the scholar” rather than external leadership roles acts as a powerful filter for commitment. If the training were designed to produce general-purpose leaders, it would attract “fair-weather” allies who might leave for better opportunities elsewhere. By focusing on a “distinct type of scholar” who is deeply loyal to the institution’s internal system, Telshe ensures that its members are intrinsically tied to the survival and success of the yeshiva. The prestige is not portable. This makes the Telshe alliance exceptionally resilient and cohesive, as the members’ social wealth is entirely denominated in “Telshe coins.”

This model mirrors how certain elite military units or exclusive corporate cultures operate. They do not just teach you how to do a job; they teach you how to be a specific kind of person who speaks a specific language and values a specific set of internal markers. In the social marketplace, a Telshe graduate is a “branded” product. Potential allies know exactly what they are getting: a scholar with a predictable intellectual framework and a proven track record of institutional loyalty. This predictability is a valuable asset in the complex landscape of Orthodox politics.

In David Pinsof’s Alliance Theory, Modern Orthodoxy—represented by institutions like Yeshiva University (YU)—operates on a strategy of “multi-market signaling.” While the Telshe model emphasizes a closed, internal alliance where status is non-portable, the Modern Orthodox model seeks to maximize status across two different social markets simultaneously: the Torah world and the secular professional world.

Prestige in the Modern Orthodox framework comes from the ability to coordinate across these overlapping hierarchies. A graduate of YU signals value to the Orthodox alliance by demonstrating mastery of Gemara, but they also signal value to the secular professional alliance by holding a degree from a recognized university. In Pinsof’s terms, this is a “bridge strategy.” The institution acts as a clearinghouse that certifies an individual as a reliable ally for both religious and secular networks. This makes the prestige highly portable but also more vulnerable to dilution, as the institution must constantly negotiate the conflicting standards of two different groups.

The “outward-facing” nature of this prestige creates a different kind of costly signal. In Telshe, the cost is the time spent on a highly specialized, internal curriculum that has little value outside the yeshiva. In Modern Orthodoxy, the cost is the cognitive and social effort required to maintain a “fragile balance” between two worldviews. Pinsof might argue that the complexity of Modern Orthodox life—balancing halakhic stringency with professional ambition—is itself a signal of high status. It suggests the individual possesses the resources and “executive function” to navigate multiple, often contradictory, coordination points without defecting from either alliance.

While Telshe maintains high barriers by being “aloof,” Modern Orthodoxy maintains status by being “indispensable.” By training scholars who also become doctors, lawyers, and communal leaders, the Modern Orthodox alliance embeds itself in the infrastructure of the broader world. This creates a “network effect” where the institution’s prestige is reinforced by the secular success of its members. However, from a Pinsofian perspective, this also creates internal tension. Because the alliance depends on external validation (like university rankings or professional accreditation), it has less control over its own status markers than a closed system like Telshe.

The internal prestige of Telshe is vertical and deep, while the prestige of Modern Orthodoxy is horizontal and broad. Telshe produces a scholar whose loyalty is to the “internal system,” while Modern Orthodoxy produces a scholar whose value is defined by their ability to translate between systems. Both are valid alliance strategies, but they optimize for different social environments: one for institutional resilience and the other for cultural influence.

Defection costs and the management of dissent reveal the true strength of an alliance. In David Pinsof’s framework, a group maintains its integrity by making the cost of leaving higher than the cost of staying. Telshe and Modern Orthodoxy handle this through very different “lock-in” mechanisms.

Telshe uses a strategy of high “specific human capital.” Because the Telzer derech is so specialized and internal, a scholar who dissents or leaves finds that their hard-earned status does not transfer easily to other networks. They have invested years in a proprietary system. To leave is to abandon their social currency and start at the bottom elsewhere. Dissent is managed through a “conformity tax.” If a member challenges the internal system, they risk losing the only audience that values their specific expertise. This makes the Telshe alliance remarkably stable but also prone to a “sunk cost” mentality among its members.

Modern Orthodoxy, by contrast, faces a “leaky” alliance problem. Because it prizes portability and secular success, its members have many more exit ramps. A YU graduate who decides to stop being observant can still rely on their professional degree and secular social skills to find new allies in the broader world. To counter this, Modern Orthodox institutions often rely on “identity signaling” and social density. They create a “lifestyle brand” that is difficult to replicate. Dissent in these circles is often absorbed and “managed” rather than purged. The alliance stays together not because the members lack other options, but because the specific “Modern Orthodox” niche provides a unique social and professional network that is highly efficient for its members.

In Telshe, the “rebel” is an outcast because they have no other market for their skills. In Modern Orthodoxy, the “rebel” is often a “hyphenated” member who stays within the tent while pushing its boundaries, because the cost of a total break—losing the dense community of peers, schools, and social connections—is still higher than the frustration of dissent. Pinsof might say that Telshe keeps you through “monopoly,” while Modern Orthodoxy keeps you through “high-switching-cost convenience.”

Telshe Yeshiva (Cleveland and Chicago) is a closed-system loyalty factory whose primary function is to reproduce a specific internal type of Torah elite by binding status, identity, and advancement to the yeshiva’s own intellectual grammar.

It is not just teaching Torah.
It is teaching how authority works inside Telz.

Here is the alliance logic.

First, the Telzer derech as internal constitution.
The highly structured Telzer method is not merely pedagogical. It is a constitution. Alliance Theory predicts that alliances seeking durability encode norms into process. By training students to think, analyze, and argue in a particular way, Telshe ensures that authority judgments feel natural and legitimate only within its own system.

Second, status through internal progression, not external validation.
Prestige in Telz comes from moving through its curriculum levels and mastering its modes of analysis. Outside recognition is secondary. Alliance Theory treats this as a self-contained prestige economy. When advancement depends on insiders recognizing insiders, loyalty becomes rational and exit becomes costly.

Third, character formation as allegiance discipline.
Telzer emphasis on mussar and character development is not ornamental. It shapes temperament: restraint, seriousness, deference to process. Alliance Theory predicts that alliances which want leaders without factionalism train character as much as intellect. This produces leaders who act within the system rather than against it.

Fourth, leader production without vocational framing.
Although Telzer graduates often become roshei yeshiva or communal leaders, the yeshiva does not train for leadership as a job. It trains for belonging at the top. Alliance Theory predicts this inversion. Leaders who rise organically from internal status hierarchies govern more stably than those credentialed for roles.

Fifth, intergenerational loyalty loops.
Telz produces graduates who remain emotionally and intellectually loyal for life. That loyalty feeds back into placement, funding, and prestige for the institution itself. Alliance Theory treats this as alliance autocatalysis. The system reproduces its own validators.

What Telshe does not do is crucial.

It does not chase scale.
It does not translate Torah outward.
It does not optimize for modern relevance.
It does not rely on charismatic figures.

Those omissions protect coherence.

Contrast points.

Lakewood maximizes reproduction and dependency.
The Mir maximizes density and global sorting.
Philly maximizes intellectual intensity.
Zichron Moshe maximizes identity absorption.
Staten Island maximizes standards continuity.
Telshe maximizes internal system loyalty.

Telshe Yeshiva succeeds because it makes advancement, prestige, and moral authority intelligible only inside its own framework. By tying status to mastery of the Telzer derech rather than to external roles or recognition, it produces scholars who are not just learned but institutionally loyal. In alliance terms, Telz does not merely train elites. It trains custodians of its own order.

Founded by Rabbi Moshe Feinstein, this yeshiva continues a legacy of pure intellectual pursuit. While Rabbi Feinstein was the preeminent posek of his time, the yeshiva itself focuses on the development of talmidei chachamim. The internal hierarchy respects the ability to innovate within the Talmudic text. It does not exist to fill pulpits in suburban congregations. It exists to maintain the standards of the litvish world.

Written with AI: David Pinsof’s Alliance Theory suggests that humans do not form groups to pursue abstract truth or communal service but to coordinate in a social marketplace. High-status groups like the Yeshiva of Staten Island function as exclusive clubs where members signal their value to potential allies. By focusing on the development of talmidei chachamim rather than filling suburban pulpits, the institution signals that its members possess rare, difficult-to-acquire cognitive traits. They are not training for a service industry. They are signaling elite status within a specific intellectual hierarchy.

Pinsof often argues that moral and intellectual standards serve as “coordination points” for alliances. The “pure intellectual pursuit” described here acts as a filter. If a student can innovate within the Talmudic text, they prove they have the mental stamina and cultural literacy required for the upper echelons of the Litvish world. This creates a powerful alliance of scholars who recognize each other’s status through shared, costly signals. They do not need the approval of suburban congregations because their “customers” are other elites within the same network.

The refusal to focus on “pulpits” is a classic example of an alliance strategy that prioritizes quality over quantity. In Pinsof’s framework, a group increases its power by raising the barrier to entry. If the yeshiva produced neighborhood rabbis for every synagogue, the “Yeshiva of Staten Island” brand would dilute. By maintaining a narrow focus on “standards,” the institution ensures that its name remains a high-value signal. This signals to the broader Orthodox world that the men within these walls are the guardians of the tradition, which grants the institution immense soft power and prestige.

You can see this as a way to avoid the “commoner” market. The Litvish world values the “Gaon” over the “Communal Leader.” In an alliance landscape, being the person who defines the rules—the intellectual innovator—is a much stronger position than being the person who applies the rules to a suburban congregation’s bake sale. The yeshiva provides the intellectual capital that other, lower-status groups use to justify their own existence. It sits at the top of the prestige hierarchy by remaining aloof from the practical needs of the masses.

Elite secular universities like Harvard or Yale operate through similar coordination strategies. They claim to pursue truth or leadership. Pinsof might argue they actually coordinate to certify status for a specific ruling class. The Yeshiva of Staten Island uses the Talmudic text as its coordination point. Harvard uses a mix of prestige credentials and “holistic” markers. Both institutions create a high barrier to entry that serves as a costly signal. If an applicant gets in, they signal to potential allies that they possess the intelligence and cultural conformity required by the elite.

These institutions do not just teach skills. They provide a “stamp” that reduces the cost of searching for high-quality allies. A graduate from a top yeshiva or a top Ivy League school does not need to prove their worth in every new interaction. The institution has already done the filtering. This allows members of these elite groups to form powerful networks with less friction. They recognize each other as “people like us” who have passed the same grueling tests.

The focus on “intellectual pursuit” rather than “vocational training” is a common feature of high-status alliances. Vocational training is for the service class. The elite focus on abstract, difficult, and often “useless” knowledge because it is a more reliable signal of surplus cognitive resources. If you have the time and brainpower to master the intricacies of a sugya or a complex sociological theory, you signal that you are not struggling for basic survival. You are playing a high-stakes game of prestige.

The “litvish world” and the “Ivy League world” both maintain their standards to prevent the devaluation of their social currency. If Harvard admitted everyone, a Harvard degree would no longer function as a reliable signal. If the Yeshiva of Staten Island focused on suburban pulpits, it would lose its position as the guardian of the tradition. Both must remain exclusive to keep the alliance strong and the signal clear.

The Yeshiva of Staten Island is a standards-preservation institution whose function is to keep the Litvish intellectual hierarchy coherent after its greatest authority figures are gone.

It is not a production line.
It is a calibration device.

Here is the alliance logic.

First, derivative authority without dilution.
Rabbi Moshe Feinstein was a singular sovereignty node. His psak shaped global Orthodoxy. After such a figure, alliances face a danger Alliance Theory predicts well: either authority fragments, or it gets vulgarized into mass credentialing. Yeshiva of Staten Island exists to prevent both. It does not try to recreate Feinstein. It preserves the conditions under which someone like Feinstein could emerge.

Second, innovation inside constraint.
The yeshiva values chiddush and analytic originality, but only within the internal grammar of the Litvish tradition. Alliance Theory treats this as high-level boundary maintenance. Creativity is rewarded, but only when it strengthens the internal system rather than importing outside frameworks. This is how an alliance renews itself without losing sovereignty.

Third, internal hierarchy over external placement.
Status at Staten Island comes from how you learn, not where you are sent afterward. Pulpits, titles, and communal visibility are secondary or irrelevant. Alliance Theory predicts this structure in elite preservation institutions. Once external validation becomes the metric, internal standards erode. Staten Island resists that drift deliberately.

Fourth, elite continuity rather than elite expansion.
The yeshiva is not trying to grow numbers or broaden access. It is trying to keep the mean of Litvish learning high. Alliance Theory predicts that mature alliances maintain small, quiet institutions whose job is not reproduction but norm enforcement. Staten Island is one of those quiet governors.

Fifth, legacy without sanctification.
Rabbi Feinstein’s presence is foundational but not mythologized into a cult. The yeshiva does not trade on charisma or nostalgia. Alliance Theory predicts that durable alliances honor founders without freezing them into idols. Authority must remain textual and procedural, not personal.

What the yeshiva does not do is decisive.

It does not train rabbis as professionals.
It does not translate Torah into public moral language.
It does not optimize for suburban or outreach needs.
It does not justify itself to the outside world.

Those omissions are not failures. They are the mechanism.

Contrast points.

Lakewood maximizes reproduction and dependency.
The Mir maximizes density and global sorting.
Philly maximizes intellectual intensity.
Zichron Moshe maximizes identity absorption.
Staten Island maximizes standards continuity.
Telshe maximizes internal system loyalty.

The Yeshiva of Staten Island exists to ensure that Litvish Torah learning does not become either nostalgic or bureaucratic after its greatest figures pass. By privileging internal innovation, deep mastery, and peer-recognized excellence over external roles, it preserves the alliance’s intellectual ceiling. In alliance terms, it does not grow the system. It keeps it honest.

This yeshiva sits in the Catskills and provides a more isolated environment for total immersion in study. It emphasizes a specific brand of Lithuanian scholarship that values depth over practical application. The goal is to produce a person whose entire identity is defined by Torah study. South Fallsburg functions as a hub for the elite because it filters for students willing to leave the city for a more ascetic, learning-centered lifestyle.

Written with AI: Yeshivas Zichron Moshe (South Fallsburg) functions as a high-cost filter that selects for asceticism as a status marker. In David Pinsof’s Alliance Theory, elite groups often coordinate around traits that are difficult to fake and carry no value to rival groups. By locating the yeshiva in the rural Catskills, South Fallsburg forces a student to abandon the “creature comforts” and social networking opportunities of Brooklyn or Lakewood. This isolation serves as a signal of total group commitment. A student at Fallsburg is not just learning Gemara. He is demonstrating a willingness to prioritize the internal standards of the “learning” alliance over any competing secular or even urban-Haredi values.

The specific focus on depth over practical application ensures that the skills developed are purely symbolic within the alliance. Since these skills cannot be sold in a secular labor market, the student’s social value is entirely dependent on the roshei yeshiva and the elite families who fund the system. This creates a state of total dependence that Pinsof would identify as a loyalty-ensuring mechanism. The “intellectual aristocracy” of South Fallsburg does not derive its status from professional utility but from its proximity to a specific, rigorous lineage of Lithuanian scholarship. This proximity acts as a social voucher, signaling to the alliance that the student possesses the self-discipline and ideological purity required to lead future generations.

The yeshiva’s reputation as a feeder for the Brisker institutions in Jerusalem further solidifies its role in the alliance’s hierarchy. By filtering for students who can thrive in an isolated, ascetic environment, South Fallsburg identifies the most reliable “true believers” for higher-level placement. This creates a multi-stage signaling process where each step—from Fallsburg to Brisk—increases the individual’s “brand equity.” For the families in the alliance, a son-in-law from Fallsburg is a high-value asset because his history of isolation proves he is unlikely to defect or be influenced by outside “modernist” pressures.

The authority of the Rosh Yeshiva, Rabbi Elya Ber Wachtfogel, serves as the ultimate anchor for this hierarchy. His recent public opposition to artificial intelligence, framing it as a threat to “ameilut” (toil), reinforces the alliance’s boundary-maintenance strategy. By defining status through the “toil” of manual, non-automated study, the leadership ensures that status remains a scarce, human-mediated resource. This prevents technological or external shifts from devaluing the traditional scholar’s “market price.” South Fallsburg remains a hub for the elite because it consistently produces individuals who embody this rejection of external utility in favor of total internal immersion.

The “isolated rural” model of South Fallsburg and the “urban elite” model of the Philadelphia Talmudical Yeshiva (Philly) represent two distinct high-status products in the shidduch market. In David Pinsof’s framework, these institutions produce different types of social vouchers that cater to specific “buyer” profiles within the alliance. While both institutions command the highest prices in terms of long-term financial support, they signal different personality traits and lifestyle commitments to potential allies.

Philly functions as the “Ivy League” of the urban Litvish world. Because the school is located in a major city and maintains a highly refined, intellectually rigorous reputation, its students signal a type of “sophisticated” elite status. A Philly student is seen as possessing high cognitive ability and the social poise necessary to navigate elite communal circles. In the marriage market, Philly students often attract families from established urban centers like Brooklyn, Lakewood, or Baltimore who seek a son-in-law who is both a premier scholar and “well-rounded” in his social presentation. The status here is intellectual and aristocratic. It prizes the ability to master the most complex Gemara while maintaining the prestige of the Philly “brand.”

South Fallsburg produces a different signal: the ascetic “True Believer.” By selecting for men willing to live in the Catskills year-round, the institution filters for an extreme level of ideological purity and a rejection of material distractions. In the shidduch market, a Fallsburg student appeals to families who prioritize “insulation” from the modern world above all else. This signal is often priced higher by families who view urban environments as a source of spiritual risk. While a Philly student might be seen as an intellectual leader, a Fallsburg student is viewed as a spiritual anchor. His value derives from his proven ability to thrive in isolation, which suggests he will be less likely to drift toward “modernist” or “working” lifestyles later in life.

These differences create a niche market within the top tier of the alliance. Families who are themselves part of the “intellectual aristocracy” may prefer the Philly graduate for his cognitive pedigree and social alignment. Families who are more “reactionary” or fearful of cultural drift may prefer the Fallsburg graduate for his proven asceticism. Both groups are buying the same thing—long-term commitment to the alliance—but they are choosing different methods of verifying that commitment. Philly uses the “intellectual rigor” test, while Fallsburg uses the “environmental isolation” test.

The financial outcomes for graduates of both schools remain similar. Both are “top shelf” options that typically secure full-time learning arrangements funded by the wife’s family. However, the geographic trajectory often differs. Philly graduates are more likely to end up in leadership roles in major urban kollelim, while Fallsburg graduates frequently move toward more insular communities or prestigious “Brisk” circles in Jerusalem. This sorting ensures that the alliance has different types of elites to man different posts, from the sophisticated urban leader to the ascetic rural guardian.

In the Lakewood shidduch market, the interaction between a groom’s yeshiva status and a bride’s family pedigree functions as a sophisticated price discovery mechanism. This system converts symbolic capital—intellectual prestige and lineage—into concrete social and economic arrangements. David Pinsof’s Alliance Theory suggests that these marriages are not merely personal unions but strategic mergers between different factions of the Torah alliance. The “final price” of a wedding is a negotiation over whose social vouchers are most valuable at a given moment.

The bride’s family pedigree serves as a primary signal of reliable alliance membership. A family with “yichus” (distinguished lineage) provides a groom with more than just financial support. They provide a legacy and a network of high-status allies that can accelerate his rise within the communal hierarchy. When an elite scholar from a place like Philly or South Fallsburg matches with a daughter of a prominent rabbinic family, it is a “horizontal” merger of two elite signals. In these cases, the “price” often involves a 50/50 split of expenses, as both sides bring roughly equal symbolic value to the table. The groom brings the raw intellectual talent, and the bride’s family brings the institutional “brand” and historical legitimacy.

A different pricing dynamic occurs when the bride’s family lacks high symbolic pedigree but possesses significant material capital. In this scenario, the family “buys” into the elite tier of the alliance by offering an outsized dowry—often including a fully paid-for apartment in a central hub like Lakewood or Jerusalem and a guaranteed long-term stipend. The “Torah elite” groom essentially rents out his status to the bride’s family, raising their social standing through his presence. From Pinsof’s perspective, this is an exchange of material resources for symbolic protection. The wealthy family secures its future in the alliance by anchoring itself to a high-value scholar who acts as a social voucher for their piety and commitment to core values.

The “market price” is also heavily influenced by the scarcity of the specific signal the groom provides. A student from South Fallsburg, with his proven asceticism and insulation, may command a higher premium from families who are most fearful of cultural drift. These families are willing to pay more for the “safety” that a Fallsburg graduate represents. Conversely, a Philly graduate may be more valuable to a family looking for “aristocratic” social mobility within the urban Litvish establishment. The shadchan (matchmaker) acts as the market analyst in this system, possessing the “intimate data” on each family’s financial capacity and symbolic needs to suggest an opening bid.

This system ensures that the most valuable “Torah capital” remains concentrated within the alliance. By pricing the elite scholars so high, the alliance forces families to choose between secular material accumulation and internal social status. Those who choose to fund a top-tier learner are double-downing on their commitment to the group. This high cost of entry prevents the “brand” of the Torah elite from being diluted by casual members, ensuring that the hierarchy remains clear and the most dedicated members receive the greatest rewards.

Yeshivas Zichron Moshe (South Fallsburg) is an identity-totalization and commitment-filter institution whose function is to produce Torah elites by stripping away competing alliance pulls and collapsing the self entirely into learning.

It is not optimizing for brilliance alone.
It is optimizing for total allegiance.

Here is the alliance logic.

First, geographic isolation as allegiance sorting.
South Fallsburg’s location is not incidental. Leaving Brooklyn, Lakewood, or other urban hubs is itself a loyalty signal. Alliance Theory predicts this move precisely. Physical withdrawal filters for people willing to subordinate social life, convenience, and optional affiliations to the learning alliance. The environment pre-screens commitment before learning even begins.

Second, asceticism as boundary reinforcement.
Life in South Fallsburg is intentionally narrow. Few distractions. Limited prestige leakage from outside worlds. Alliance Theory treats ascetic environments as identity compressors. When alternative status systems are removed, the internal hierarchy becomes absolute. Torah learning becomes not just the highest value, but the only one.

Third, depth over application as sovereignty defense.
Zichron Moshe’s emphasis on deep Lithuanian analysis rather than practical rabbinics or communal function signals something crucial. This yeshiva is not interested in producing usable agents for the outside world. Alliance Theory predicts this in elite enclaves. The goal is not outward utility but inward authority. Mastery legitimizes the alliance internally, not externally.

Fourth, total-person formation.
The yeshiva aims to produce a type, not a skill set. A person whose reflexes, language, time horizon, and self-concept are shaped entirely by Torah. Alliance Theory treats this as maximal identity fusion. Once achieved, exit becomes psychologically and socially costly even if physically possible.

Fifth, elite re-sorting within the elite.
Zichron Moshe does not compete with Lakewood, the Mir, or Philly. It complements them. Alliance Theory predicts layered elite systems. After initial filtering by talent, a second filter sorts by willingness to embrace deprivation and intensity. South Fallsburg captures those for whom total immersion is not a hardship but a calling.

What it does not do is the key.

It does not prepare students for careers.
It does not translate Torah outward.
It does not cultivate public-facing leadership.
It does not justify its model to modern sensibilities.

Those omissions protect its function.

Contrast points.

Lakewood maximizes reproduction and dependency.
The Mir maximizes density and global sorting.
Philly maximizes intellectual intensity.
Zichron Moshe maximizes identity absorption.
Staten Island maximizes standards continuity.
Telshe maximizes internal system loyalty.

Yeshivas Zichron Moshe exists to create Torah elites whose loyalty is not divided between learning and life, but resolved entirely in favor of learning. By isolating students physically and culturally, it filters for those willing to let Torah become their total identity. In alliance terms, it is not just producing scholars. It is producing irreversible members of the elite.