"You're gonna have to leave your coat and bag outside," ordered the proctor on the fifth floor of Furst Hall in an annoying monotone that indicated the proctor had repeated the request many times, already. Slowly rehearsing the facts that the mesorah notes had said would definitely be on my exam, I dropped my bag, hung my coat, and entered the testing room without thinking twice about the proctor's words.

Some time later, I recalled the incident and began to wonder at the logic of what had occurred. I was asked to leave my bag, containing valuables, unguarded outside of the room so that I would not, under the watchful eye of my professor and professional proctors, use it to cheat inside the room.

I had no problem leaving my bag unattended, not thinking that it might be stolen; yet, I was leaving my bag outside precisely because a fear existed that someone might steal in the room.

The absurdity of the situation continues to bother me. In Yeshiva, an atmosphere exists where students feel safe leaving their book bags, coats and other valuable items unattended. At the same, we have allowed the converse atmosphere to exist relative to exams.

It is perfectly natural - and, perhaps, expected - before an exam, for a student to come running through the dormitory holding a copy of the next day's test, either removed from an office or a copy of the one given the day earlier at Stern. It is, further, expectable - if not acceptable - for students within our yeshiva to use books, papers and other unapproved aids during exams.

Days before my encounter with the proctor, I sat in my Bible class taking a final. To my right, one student was using a prohibited, translated Chumash, and behind me, another student was using a complete set of notes from the class.

Having completed my exam, I walked out of the classroom without saying a word. Relieved to have done well on the test, to be done with the class, and to be one step closer to graduating, I walked, liberated, from the room.

As the proctor's words resonated in my head that sense of freedom gave way to a feeling of enslavement to the bondage of guilt. I began to question what I would have done had I found those same students who were cheating on the Bible final going through my professor's bag. Would I have told the professor? Would I have alerted the authorities?

To be honest, I have not the foggiest notion as to what I would have done in that situation. What I do know is that I walked out of that classroom and did nothing. A gross violation of the rules of our yeshiva, society and Torah occurred and I did nothing.

Yeshiva's Faculty Student Senate, arguably one of the few functional deliberative bodies in the university that regularly succeeds in producing worthy pieces of policy recommendations, has endeavored to rid our university's testing halls of cheating.

The debate, which began months ago, with argument over whether changing the culture of Yeshiva or placing restrictive policies would best quell the epidemic that has infected our classrooms, has shifted to an argument regarding the technical wording of a document that will be distributed to all students at exam time. Compliance with proper testing procedures would require each student to sign the document and hand it in with their completed exam. In short, the document states that a student did not cheat, and that he did not assist others in cheating, either before or during the exam.

A disputed clause in the document simply recommends that students who witness cheating report the incident to proper authorities. Presently, the majority opinion of the senate states that the clause should not be made a directive requiring action; rather, they argue, it should remain a recommendation serving only as a friendly reminder.

Deferring to sound logic, I argue that students who cheat on an exam possess few qualms that would hinder their signing a document that says they did not cheat, and subsequently breaking their word by cheating. Meanwhile, students who took their exams under proper conditions would certainly sign the paper in the present form. Establishing this circumstance questions the new document's purpose and usefulness. Other than wasted time and money, I can see no result, certainly nothing beneficial from forcing students to sign a document that states they did not cheat.

If however, the senate approved - and the faculty and administration implemented - a document that required students to sign a statement obligating them to report any incidents of cheating that they become aware of, the document would become a useful tool in the war against cheating.

Students who witness cheating forcibly become instruments playing an active role in stemming, preventing and punishing those who cheat. A change of epic proportions would immediately ensue. The notion of cheating being an accepted practice on this campus would implode on itself in an apocalyptical moment of triumph for the principles of righteous behavior. Such an environment would place being caught cheating by your peers as embarrassing a circumstance as publicly desecrating the Shabbos.

Would creating such a rule place good students who neither cheat nor want to become an informer in a bad predicament? Certainly. However, creating a bad taste in the mouths of students who do no wrong seems a small price to pay to avoid living in a society where we allow cheating - stealing - to go on in broad daylight.

According to Rav Shachter, the answer never stood in doubt. Student discomfort remains far less offensive than an atmosphere of unfettered cheating. In fact, according to Rav Shachter, if rules were made by him, and the gravity of the situation was presented and justified, and the reality of cheating was clear, he would in a moment draft a regulation that would require all students who witness or are aware of any cheating to report those incidents to the authorities. Of course, the rule would have to be adequately publicized and should be established either before - or earlier in - a semester, but it would be made nonetheless.

If we shy away from requiring our good students from standing up for truth and protecting their academic and moral environment, then what are we doing here. If it is not a halachic issue, then what is it? Have we created such an individualistic atmosphere within our own unique balance of Judaism that we are afraid to require one to look out for another? Is the desire to take a class, graduate, and get out without ever encountering any obstacle, issue, or new person so appealing that we would rather live in a corrupt and degenerate society than stand on the box and make a difference?

The message resounds clearly for those who wish to hear it. Authorities and rules are ineffective at controlling atmospheres in society. The activities and inclinations of individuals are what really shapes a people. With that power to influence other people's actions comes the responsibility to do what is right.

It is a shame that, at an intellectual university guided by the most fundamental moral principles known to man, we are less informed and willing to stand up for what is right than our counterparts in other institutions.