Premier Orthodox Jewish magazine covering news, lifestyle, and culture for the observant community.
Premier Orthodox Jewish magazine covering news, lifestyle, and culture for the observant community.
MishpachaMuch of life is so serious, so full of intensity. Sometimes you just have to let go, take the load off your back and let the Eibishter hold it, while you lighten up. Because really, you’re not in control of anything. I have a very light-hearted personality — in class I was always the silly guy. On the other hand, I’m always searching for deeper meanings and growth. Even my lighter songs have serious meanings and messages and it’s actually an easier way to get the messages across into people’s hearts.
Yidden have historically turned to humor as a way to cope with the ever-present dangers and pressures of surviving and succeeding in often hostile environments. Growing up in America in the 1960s, ’70s, and ’80s offered a measure of post-Holocaust respite, but it also came with its own challenges. There was intense pressure to make a living and build a successful business while raising a Torah-oriented family.
Sensing a need in our tight-knit — sometimes uptight — community for some much-needed humor to lift our spirits, I began writing funny parodies of current popular hit songs. I rewrote the lyrics to reflect our traditional lifestyle and values, always with a smile, a wink, and a Yiddishe knaitch.
It’s true that a song doesn’t change the world, but it can make the journey through life a little lighter.
If these silly songs managed to lift spirits and lighten burdens, then I consider it a privilege to have shared in the simchah of Am Yisrael.
I don’t know if I’d call our songs “funny,” but we definitely like to explore the lighter side sometimes. It’s a way to open up the heart and the mind. It’s also about trying to say it in a way that hasn’t been explored before. So it’s fun, or maybe a bit whimsical, but also very thought-provoking and exciting.
For us, there’s always a message that goes beyond the music. The holy tzaddikim taught that Yiddishkeit should be experienced with joy and vibrancy, constantly deepening our connection to Hashem and to other Yidden. Our goal is to spread Torah in a joyful way and we hope that comes through in what we do.
Joy is not just an addition to avodas Hashem, it’s a prerequisite. Doing a mitzvah with joy elevates the mitzvah infinitely. So it’s not about putting out funny music — it’s about putting out music that inspires growth and closeness with Hashem and with other Yidden.
In this generation, whatever kids want to listen to ends up on their parents’ playlists, in carpool, at home, and eventually at simchahs and bigger stages. Very sophisticated songs often don’t resonate with kids today. Instead, it’s about giving over deep messages using a medium that people want to listen to. And funny songs are one of those methods.
People have told me they really appreciate the lines from the song “To be a Yid”: “You don’t have to be Breslov to be b'simchah, but you have to be b'simchah to be a Yid / You don’t have to be a Litvak to learn Torah, but you have to learn Torah to be a Yid / You don’t have to be a Tzioni to love Eretz Yisrael, but you gotta love Eretz Yisrael to be a Yid…”
Years ago, when I taught in Rabbi Groner’s yeshivah, I was sitting schmoozing with the boys at a kiddush on Shabbos morning, when one kid said, “You’ve got to be Breslov to be b'simchah.”
I said, “No, you don’t.” And right there, I started singing “You don’t have to be Breslov to be b'simchah…” Instead of looking down at other people, let’s appreciate them and take whatever we can from their strong points.
When I perform this song, I often ad-lib for the crowd. I might sing, “You don’t have to live in Lakewood to be yeshivish… You don’t have to live in Passaic to be a baal teshuvah…” People find this entertaining, but is it deep? Of course, it’s very deep.
Obviously, there are too many to list, but one standout is Moishe Shmeel. He told his rebbi he was absent because his goldfish passed away. His rebbi then called him “a shtick fleish mit tzvei fees” — a two-legged chunk of meat! He also hid the baby at his brother’s bris. Inspired by… me, in sixth grade.
Probably “Chi Chi Wawa.” That was really the first funny song we did, and it introduced something unexpected. The inspiration came from a shiur we heard from Rabbi Yussi Zakutinsky, rav of K’hal Mevakshei Hashem in Lawrence and TYH mentor, about different approaches to dealing with the yetzer hara. One approach is to see the yetzer hara as a big, scary opponent, in which case you run away and avoid situations where you will have to confront it, which is a very high level.
But there is an even deeper approach, associated with the teachings of the Baal Shem Tov: Instead of seeing the yetzer hara as a big scary dog, you look at it as a small chihuahua gnawing at your pant leg that barks but doesn’t really bite. Instead of being stuck in fear, you double down on your avodah. When faced with temptation, you open a Gemara, do a mitzvah, perform chesed, daven harder. The focus is not on obsessing over the yetzer hara, but on being obsessed with opportunities for mitzvos. That mashal is what inspired the song.
Hard to say. We get a lot of feedback on our lyrics. The “Milton Kishenor” line in “Money Room” gets a lot of buzz. Personally, I think the “You’re blocking my driveway“ line in the song “Manhattan,” inspired by all the visits we made to Bubby, Zeidy, and the extended family in Brooklyn when growing up, is pretty funny.
Maybe our funniest and yet most meaningful lyric is “KuKaRecoo.” It sounds silly and children giggle when they hear it, but it’s based on one of the most beautiful stories of the Baal Shem Tov. A farmer boy who had no religious upbringing was inspired to cry out to Hashem on Yom Kippur, but he didn’t have the language of tefillah — and so he started making farm animal noises. When people in the shul tried to stop him, the Baal Shem Tov explained to them the boy had just opened the gates of Heaven and brought down tremendous blessings for everyone.
Maybe “Der krach fun der pickle?’’ Like many meshugassen, the original trigger has long been forgotten. A meme was going around of a chassid happily crunching a pickle, and then he says “Der krach fun der pickle… yoish.” People loved it and reposted it, but my message was that when you thank Hashem, you should go right down to the smallest detail, thanking Him for the crunch of the pickle and the taste of the apple. Hashem could have just created a mushy pickle, or a tasteless apple, but He gave it those extra little details as a kiss.
Oh, that’s an easy one. “Fishy swishy yum yum.” Admittedly, at the time, there was no super deep meaning behind it. In retrospect, if we were doing it again, we might try to inject more explicit meaning. The song “Yum Yum” was originally created as a parody by a well-known comedian, Rabbi Greenspan, poking fun at our music. When it came out, we received many messages about it. We thought it was funny, we appreciated it, and we had a good laugh at our own expense.
We chose to take it with humility and turn it into something joyful and positive by actually producing the song with a very entertaining music video.
Many people don’t know this, but the same applies to “Happy Clappy.” The term came from people cynically describing shuls that have long, musical, dancing Kabbalas Shabbos davening. Instead of rejecting the label, we embraced it. We see a great value in giving over the message that any way you serve Hashem, within the parameters of halachah, is something extremely precious and a cause for celebration.
Probably the “one-eyed, one-horned, Flying Lukshin Kugel Eater” — which actually contains many layers of profound, esoteric, kabbalistic secrets, ineffable incantations, and mystical allusions far too powerful to elucidate at this time.
Hey, lighten up! But really, we’ve created many very serious songs over the years — “Tik Tok,” “Sholom Ber,” “The Wedding’s Over,” and the nightmare-inducing “These I Remember — Eileh Ezkerah,” among others. I call these my mussar songs. So many people have gone to the Next World in my songs that some listeners have labeled me a serial killer. But when the serious messages are surrounded with silly and funny ones, hopefully, the messages get through.
Well, Jewish music is a very serious avodah. If all Jewish music was becoming silly, I’d hear that complaint. But it’s not. True, there’s a little bit of lighter stuff coming out on the side, but that’s nothing new. Country Yossi was bringing simchah to Yidden with his parodies years ago, and even Suki and Ding put out some really funny spoofs — who can forget “Just One Sheitel”?
Life today has gotten very complicated, and people are going through all types of challenges. Wherever I go, people tell me, “Keep making Yidden besimchah.” So I try to do that. No one ever told me, “Keep spreading seriousness.”
Maybe the people who complain need to smile the most?
You are also right. Being serious is essential, but being joyous is just as important.
We absolutely love slow and serious music too. There is nothing more powerful than a song that pulls at your neshamah and gets your serious emotions going. We’ve put out many serious songs, such as “Yidden,” “Rebbe I Wanna Learn,” and “Mi Sheomar,” which was composed after a terrible tragedy in our community. “Never Alone” brings home a strong message of emunah, and “Mamleches Kohanim” has so much heart, reminding us that Hashem desires greatness for each and every one of us — and the list goes on.
We produce music as a vehicle to spread a message, and when you look at what people are listening to the most, it is often the lighter songs. So we lean into the best way possible while providing context, using descriptions, videos, and additional Torah content so the message gets through.
We’d keep it going! It would be great to get his feedback!
We would never put out a song unless we believed the tzaddikim who inspire us would be proud of it. That said, every song has its time and place. There are moments where a song like “Yum Yum” would not be appropriate. But the tzaddikim also teach about the value of mili dishtusa, doing silly things, that can inspire growth and open the heart.
My rosh yeshivah was Rav Shlomo Freifeld ztz”l, of Shor Yoshuv. He loved my songs and would often ask me to sing them on Purim. Of course, I was very selective in my choice of material.
So there’s camp, and then there’s life outside camp. Outside camp, when the Rosh Yeshivah or any rebbe walks in, it’s a given that around a hundred guys come running over to be the one to tell the band that the Rosh Yeshivah’s here, and we quickly switch to “Yamim al Yemei Melech” or “Tzaddik Katamar Yifrach.” If my own rebbe, Reb Itche Meir Morgenstern, walked in and I was playing something silly, of course I would change up the vibe to something serious. There’s a pachad of tzaddikim.
Camp, though, is a different environment. I’ve had roshei yeshivah and major talmidei chachamim sitting through an entire concert and even enjoying it and hearing the serious messages behind the fun songs.
There is one song I wrote, “Shakshuka in Morocco for breakfast every day.” Don’t look for any deep meanings here. We were riding camels in Morocco, one of my favorite places, and I got into a silly mood and started singing about shakshuka for breakfast. We incorporated it into a medley with meaningful songs about Shabbos in Marrakesh and the tzaddik Rav Amram ben Diwan, but between you and me, that song happens to be complete silliness.
I would say that all our music is fun. Because fun that also has meaning to it brings to a place of true simchah. So even singing a slow, emotional, serious song, where you’re expressing your neshamah in a real way, brings you to a level of true simchah even though you’re not laughing or being silly. Tamid besimchah means always feeling confident and assured in your connection to Hashem, not second guessing or feeling down, chas veshalom. I would hope that all our music is fun in that way.
TYH has a very diverse audience. Our listeners range from people within the chassidishe communities all the way to unaffiliated Jews on college campuses. Different songs speak to different audiences. We know that not every song is for every person. In Bnei Brak, we would play something very different than what we would play in a high school in the middle of America.
Today, I don’t think I would write songs like “A Boy Named Zlateh,” “Then He Potched Me,” or “The Cholent Song.” Times have changed.
When I’m alone, I’m usually listening to Carlebach or to chassidish music. The heavy electronic DJ vibe and meaningless songs that some people are busy with are not for me. But I don’t go around trying to be mechanech the generation.
I would get rid of the line telling Tuki that kissing his bubby was nice, but not a mitzvah like kissing his mezuzah. I got a lot of flak about that one, especially from irate grandmothers. Even Rabbi Eli Stefansky took me to task during his Daf Yomi shiur.
In the song “I Wanna Be Like Zusha,” the TYH Boys are imagining themselves as popular singers, a dream that might be in the head of any kid, but then they realize that in order to be great, you just have to be yourself. Although the “Zusha” is referring to the chassidic folk band, we also wanted to connect it to the famous story about Reb Zusha, who said that in Shamayim he would not be asked why he was not Moshe Rabbeinu, but why he was not Zusha. But based on feedback, we realized the link to Reb Zusha didn’t land clearly enough for everyone. If we were doing it again, we would add a bridge that explicitly ties the song back to the story. We don’t want confusion. We want our message to be clear.
When I once met Sholom Mordechai Rubashkin at an event and introduced myself, he looked at me, smiled, and said, “You helped lighten my load.”
I once walked into a camp, and the bochurim told me they’d just had an entire shiur on one of my songs. I asked the rebbi what he’d said, and he told me he based his shiur on the line “You don’t have to be Breslov to be besimchah.” That was wild.
When “Every Yid’s a Big Tzaddik” came out, there was discussion and debate about its meaning. But by now, many shiurim have been given on that topic! And one particularly meaningful insight was that maybe the song is not about viewing yourself as the biggest tzaddik, but about how you look at others. Every Yid you encounter should be seen as a big tzaddik. We love to be a part of spreading a message that unites Yidden and brings us closer to Mashiach.
(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1101)
MishpachaWhat does it really mean to give? Not just to help — but to help in a way the other person can actually receive?
Rachelli Fried together with educator and therapist, Mrs. Gabi Horovitz, explore Eishes Chayil's powerfully profound lesson about human connection, sensitivity, and the art of attuned giving.
MishpachaITwas around Succos when the mother of Sorah and Larry passed away.
The responsibility to clear out her apartment was theirs.
While doing so, they found many volumes of family photo albums, Sorah’s and Larry’s
old report cards, and various family mementos.
However, what brought Sorah and her brother Larry to my office was a large journal whose pages had yellowed and frayed, a relic of more than 50 years ago.
It was the diary which their father, Bernard, had kept decades ago. It was an impressive volume. On the inside cover was written: “Private Diary of Bernard J. Blusting, not to be read by my family.”
Both Larry and Sorah knew that their father — who had passed away twenty years earlier — had a kept a diary during the early years of his married life. Their mother would often remind them, “Now, don’t forget, once I leave this world, you must read your father’s diary. He never let me read it, but I’m sure your father wrote important lessons in that diary!”
Now, however, Larry and his sister Sorah were at an impasse. Sorah felt strongly that their deceased mother had given them explicit instructions to read the diary. Yet Larry was reluctant. So on this frigid February morning, they presented their dispute to me, seeking a Solomonic solution.
“I know Mom told us to read Dad’s diary after they were both gone,” said Larry. “But if our father never wanted anyone to read it, including our mother, I think it’s better we leave it as a closed book.”
My ripping the diary in two and giving them each half was certainly not going to fly, so instead I offered them the option of having me read it first. As I told Sorah and Larry, even if their father restricted access to the diary, that only seemed to apply to his family. They both agreed and gave me the diary.
As I began to read, I was surprised, but not shocked. Bernard J. Blusting wrote openly and candidly about the struggles and challenges the newly married couple had faced. He related in painful detail their trials and tribulations, and how numerous times he had contemplated ending the marriage.
It now became crystal clear to me why Sorah and Larry’s father did not want anyone in his family, including his own wife, to know of his inner pain. He wanted to spare them the hurt. His pain was real, yet so were his persistence and commitment to making the marriage work, in spite of the challenges.
Why Bernard never discarded the diary is anyone’s guess. Perhaps he wanted an outsider to know how he struggled yet persevered?
When Larry and Sorah returned to me after I had read the diary and asked if they should read it, my thinking was: If their father never wanted these struggles to be known, I’m certainly not going to reveal them.
I looked up at them and said with confidence and honesty, “I read your father’s diary. Your mother was right. He left you a legacy of proper behavior which you should incorporate into your own lives.”
“So, Rabbi, I assume you feel we must read the diary?” asked Sorah with anticipation.
“Actually, no,” I responded.
“But what about the important lessons you said we could learn from it?” she pressed.
“The most important lesson you should learn from your father is that not everything one records needs to be publicized. Your mother was right, your father left you with a great and important lesson. Namely, certain things are better off never revealed and rather should remain hidden in the inner recesses of our hearts.”
(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1101)
Mishpacha
Photos: Elchanan Kotler
ATfirst glance, there’s not a lot to distinguish the third-floor apartment at 113 Sanhedria Murchevet from the surrounding ones. Located in a cluster of buildings that are home to a number of renowned talmidei chachamim, the apartment’s old-world Yerushalmi simplicity and walls lined with seforim and pictures of gedolim are what you might expect.
But come Shushan Purim, the entirely unexpected takes place here.
While the neighbors recall the Jewish people’s salvation in ancient Persia, the apartment’s owner adds something from another time and place entirely.
He takes out a shot glass and raises an unexpected toast — in Russian.
“L’chayim,” he says. “To the death of Stalin!”
For Rav Benzion Zilber — a man who was raised in Joseph Stalin’s long shadow — the annual custom is not simply a private commemoration. He wants the Jewish world to remember a miracle that is one of the great forgotten moments of Jewish history.
“The sudden death of Stalin when he was in the middle of bringing about the Final Solution for millions of Soviet Jews is miraculous,” he says. “It’s something that should be widely celebrated. Yet because Soviet Jewry was so oppressed, it was never able to tell its own story.”
I’ve wanted to meet Rav Benzion for a while — two and a half years, to be precise.
In summer 2023, I turned a long-standing interest in the dramatic last weeks of Stalin’s life into an article for Pendulum, this magazine’s history supplement.
The feature focused on the so-called “Doctors’ Plot” — Stalin’s plan to destroy Soviet Jewry.
On January 13, 1953, Pravda publicly announced that a group of Kremlin doctors — most of them Jewish — had conspired to poison Soviet leaders. Overnight, the campaign against so-called “rootless cosmopolitans,” the regime’s thinly veiled term for Jews, escalated dramatically.
As part of my research, I spoke to Rav Benzion, whose saintly father Rav Yitzchak Zilber was already in Siberia when the Doctors’ Plot broke out. Exiled for teaching Torah, Rav Yitzchak rallied fellow prisoners by sustaining Jewish life in the labor camp.
Over the course of my research for the article, I held lengthy phone calls with Rav Benzion, but never actually met him.
One fragment of conversation that lodged in my mind finally brought me to his door.
“Every Purim, I do as my father did: I make a l’chayim to celebrate Stalin’s miraculous death,” Rav Benzion had said.
Then, in a wry, Russian-inflected aside, he added: “It’s true that Stalin collapsed on the 14th of Adar, and I keep Shushan Purim — but why should Stalin get to dictate when I make a l’chayim?”
Mishpacha**
GEDALIA GUTTENTAG as YISROEL BESSER
YITZCHOK LANDA as JAKE TURX
SHMUEL BOTNICK as GEDALIA GUTTENTAG**
W
eeks dominated by dire predictions of war have, in retrospect, carried little more than piecrust promises — easily made, easily broken. Twain would likely define the saga as cataclysmic war largely exaggerated, and one must speculate as to the raison d’être of a massive display of unused force.
Pundits see this as Trumpian consueto modo, an Art of the Deal scare tactic to prevail at the negotiating table by coercion rather than persuasion. Equally likely, however, is the ever-present prolepsis of an impending midterm election. Republicans, and even more so, Trump’s stronghold of far-right-leaning adherents, suffer from an acute case of paradoxe intérieur — with an insatiable desire to display American dominance in constant friction with a concomitant insistence to avoid war at all costs, both in the name of isolationism as well as restrained fiscal policy. Trump has thus identified the perfect solution: Display force but avoid war. The wisdom and efficacy of this strategy will be discovered at the ballot box come November.
But in what seems like classic Trump modus operandi, this approach works for him, and for him only. The great sufferer is, of course, Israel. For the Jewish state, political expediency is far down on the list of priorities when weighing the pros and cons of war with its greatest geopolitical nemesis. In all likelihood, this reality promulgated Netanyahu’s impromptu visit to the White House earlier in the month. The substance of the discussion between him and his American counterpart remains, for now, under wraps, though a measure of imagination may prove instructive.
Knowing that an explosive indictment of Iran’s leadership would be a gift too pleasing to offer, Trump likely demurred from making any such suggestion. Flexing both literal and figurative girth, his response to Netanyahu’s plea for a US onslaught may have been the same that earned him the status of Manhattan’s greatest real estate mogul; as the Americans might say, “My way or the highway.” The ensuing three hours shrouded by the Oval Office’s oak doors featured a desperate Netanyahu exercising decades’ worth of political finesse in an attempt to convince Trump that it is, in fact, in his best interest to pursue war. The success of these arguments appear limited as the imposing warships lining the Persian Gulf have yet to fire their first shot.
MishpachaIllustrations by Esti Saposh
Are you the kind of person who uses the shorthand “u”? I always wonder how much time you think you’re saving by spelling one of the most commonly used words in the English language “u” instead of “you.”
I’m sorry, that’s a big, red no for me. Talk with derech eretz! Type like you would talk to a teacher or parent or grandparent! It’s not that hard!
No “u,” no “ur.” And while we’re at it, don’t start a sentence with “u,” either. No “u going to the hishenbrunners vort??” Instead, try “Are you going to the Hishenbrunners’ vort?” It sounds so much better!
Oh, wait. Possibly more important: Don’t ever, ever, ever add more than one question mark to the end of a sentence. Please! Spare me the agmas nefesh!! (My two exclamation points here are absolutely called for and necessary.)
MishpachaBeware of smoke. It stains. Trust me, I know. Every Chanukah we run into the same problem. All my boys light their own menorahs and they get very competitive about whose menorah is going to stay lit the longest. Hence the wicks get longer every year, the cups of oil get wider, and the smoke emitting from these menorahs lined up inside next to the patio door rises higher and stains my dining room ceiling black.
I’ve begged my boys. Made impassioned pleas. They all agree to tone it down every year. But somehow the wicks are still long, the oil still hot, and I still get black circles on my dining room ceiling.
I don’t know how most people would handle black circles on their dining room ceiling, but this poor housekeeper can’t stand them. It makes the room look aged and unkept. I tried to overcome my initial dislike and make peace with it. I told myself that it’s beautiful because it was smoke from a mitzvah permanently etched on my ceiling, but no matter what pep talk I gave myself, I wound up repainting the dining room ceiling every year after Chanukah. Beware of smoke; it’s expensive to repaint the ceiling once a year.
Finally, about two years ago, Binyamin and Yitzi built a whole contraption right outside the patio door to house the many menorahs. Hubby was happy because it was actually more mehudar than inside the house. Boys were happy because there was plenty of room to house even bigger cups of oil and longer wicks than before. And me, I was happy because I could keep my ceiling white and clean.
I feel awkward ending this tale like this. Ultimately, I wasn’t able to work on myself enough to overcome my natural aversion to smoke stains and accept them as the evidence of a mitzvah. Beware of smoke: It confuses me. I wonder what other people feel about this. Maybe I can open a support group. Contact me @dirtyceilingsamitzvah.com.
(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 983)
MishpachaAs told to Shoshana Gross
F
illing up a car with diesel is never a good move… especially when your car runs on regular gas. But there I was, standing at the pump somewhere between the Midwest and New York, my hand shaking as I squeezed the handle of the nozzle.
All I could think about were the jeans. My daughter. In the passenger seat. Wearing jeans.
It wasn’t the first time, but those stiff, ripped blue pants still felt like a heart attack waiting to happen. I was driving her to a special school in New York, a school for girls who had gone off the derech, girls who needed “a different kind of environment” (I knew all the euphemisms). Girls like my daughter.
I glanced stealthily to my left, and my stomach dropped. A chassidish family was filling up their van at the next pump. The mother in her tichel, the father with his long peyos flapping in the wind, a gaggle of children streaming out in their pressed, proper, tzniyus clothing. That was what a frum family should be. What I used to believe my family would be.
And there I was: a divorced mother of four, with my troubled, jean-clad daughter, driving to a school for kids who didn’t fit the mold I wished she would.
I could feel eyes boring into my back, and the flood of crimson crawling up my neck. I wanted to disappear. Or shout across the pump, “She’s a good girl, really!”
Instead, I just stood there, fumbling with the diesel nozzle, until an attendant bellowed, “Lady! Whaddaya doin’? Why’ya puttin’ diesel inna your car?”
My new car. Diesel.
I definitely had everyone’s attention now.
What am I doing wrong? Hashem, why are You punishing me? Why can’t I fix her?
MishpachaThis question has as much to do with Purim as it does with shalom bayis. Children live in the space between their parents’ values, and when that space becomes fractured, they feel it immediately. In marriage and parenting, clarity and alignment matter.
How is a parent supposed to transmit values when the other parent is not on the same page?
There is no simple formula here. When the two adults are modeling different standards, the child will inevitably absorb both messages. And if the father is not buying into your concerns, and especially if his behavior is consistent with what the broader culture normalizes, it becomes extremely difficult, if not impossible, to shield your child from that influence.
Sometimes, in our effort to protect a child from a specific behavior like vaping, we risk creating a larger wound by highlighting or deepening a rift between parents. A child who senses tension, criticism, or disrespect between his mother and father may internalize something far more destabilizing than exposure to a bad habit. Shalom bayis is not a side issue; it is the emotional ecosystem in which a child grows.
That does not mean surrendering your values. It means the first avodah is not only with the child, it is with your husband. Some parents may understand vaping to be so dangerous that it warrants zero tolerance. I am not a medical professional, and I would encourage each person to do his or her own research using responsible sources. But even if you conclude that it is highly dangerous, your ability to influence what happens in the home will remain limited, as long as maintaining a committed and loving marriage is also one of your core values.
The first step is a private, calm, and respectful conversation, not in the heat of frustration, not in front of the child, and not framed as “you’re wrong.” Rather: “I’m worried about our son. Can we think this through together?” The goal is not to win. The goal is to find alignment or at least a workable middle ground.
In a marriage of two healthy people who have their children’s best interests at heart, you should be able to find a solution you can both live with. If this is not the case, you should seek guidance from someone who understands the nuances of your situation to get hadrachah that takes all the details into account.
If you can approach it as a shared challenge rather than as a personal critique, you have a far greater chance of building consensus. Sometimes involving a rav, a trusted mentor, or an outside voice can be helpful, not to arbitrate who is right, but to facilitate a conversation that may otherwise feel charged.
Ultimately, children are shaped not only by the specific behaviors they see, but by the unity, or disunity, of the home. The long-term strength of your message will depend far more on whether it is delivered in partnership than on how forcefully it is delivered alone.
This is delicate terrain. Protect your values, but protect your marriage too.
Rabbi Yerachmiel Garfield is the Head of School at Yeshiva Toras Emes of Houston, and the director of the Yeshiva Leadership Group.
Being a menahel and trying to help parents and talmidim navigate the world around them is a challenging enough job. Being a shalom bayis mediator and therapist is not something I have any interest in pursuing. I say that at the onset to be clear that I will not even attempt to address how your husband’s habits may be affecting your shalom bayis. How do you as a spouse deal with his unwillingness to change the parts of his lifestyle that in your view are damaging to those around him? These are difficult scenarios that require proper guidance.
Now back to my lane. (My wife does complain that I sometimes do not pay attention to the road and that I unwittingly veer into the other lane. Hey, at least I’m trying.) We all want our children to thrive and excel. Most healthy parents want their children to be better at everything in life than they are. We hope that they avoid some of the mistakes we’ve made and improve to become way above what we are. So the mere notion of trying to have our children not struggle with the same things that we do is a noble idea and worth pursuing.
With that in mind, here is the tricky part. Being vulnerable and sharing with our children some of our challenges and weaknesses as a way of inspiring them is brave and can be very productive.
Some examples: “I refused to get help in Gemara as a kid and still struggle today as a result. I want more for you!”
“You’re right, Mimi. Balancing the kids and davening is hard for me and I don’t always make it to shul for Rosh Chodesh bentshing. But I watch you daven and I envy your connection to tefillah. Please daven for both of us.”
“Yes, I am a Mets fan. But it’s not my fault. I was forced into it by my older brother. Please, for the sake of your wellbeing, root for the Yankees.” ( Who says self-therapy can’t be included in a TLC column?)
But it’s easier said than done. Too often we don’t share enough of our own challenges with our children and instead just demand a certain behavior from them even though we fail to meet those standards. Preaching to our children to do one thing while we do just the opposite is not only hypocritical, it’s counterproductive.
It becomes even more challenging when there may be a disagreement between the parents on a specific issue.
So, here is my advice. Whether your husband changes his lifestyle or not, the two of you have to figure out a way to give the message to your children that is not hypocritical. If your husband understands that this is a struggle for him, even if he’s not actively working on it right now, then I do believe there is a pathway to inspire your children to live a different lifestyle. However, if he thinks that his constant vaping and drinking are totally acceptable and has no issues with his kids following suit, then I have no advice to offer without leaving my lane.
Bait not taken. (I hope my wife is proud.)
Rabbi Ari Schonfeld is the menahel of Yeshiva Ketana of Manhattan and Rosh Mosad of Bais Tzipra of Manhattan, and director of Camp Aish.
(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1101)
MishpachaGEDALIA GUTTENTAG as YISROEL BESSER
YITZCHOK LANDA as JAKE TURX
SHMUEL BOTNICK as GEDALIA GUTTENTAG**
P
ulitzer Prize nominee Arthur Schopenhauer once wrote, “If President Trump wants a Nobel Peace Prize, he need only begin a number of conflicts large enough to capture the attention of the Nobel Committee, and then end them immediately. History suggests that those who create crises are often best positioned to be celebrated for resolving them.”
That observation came back to me recently while listening to the Mark Levin Show, when he shared an anecdote about learning Daf Yomi with his six-year-old grandson, during an Avos U’banim program, while on a packed D train. He described how a father seated nearby glanced up from his phone and remarked, to no one in particular, how frustrating it was that yet another Shabbos had passed without President Trump attacking Iran.
“Does he want this Nobel Peace Prize or not?” the man sitting next to Levin fumed.
When the train arrived at the Coney Island Zoo, the father noted on his own podcast, how struck Mark Levin was to encounter Rav Moshe Shapira, in the aviary overlooking the reptile house, while preparing a shiur on the Maharal, on the dynamics of the great cosmic battle between Yaakov and Eisav. It was there that Rav Shapira shared something with Mark that he, the father telling over the story, would never forget.
“Do you know,” Rav Moshe Shapira said quietly, “why certain events have not yet occurred? People assume these matters are decided in the halls of governments. But Chazal teach that the tefillos of Klal Yisrael shape history far more than we realize.”
MishpachaAlthough you suspect that your Purim difficulty may stem from not experiencing this holiday in childhood, you’re correct in suggesting that there are other possible explanations, too — such as your natural disposition. In fact, disposition (talents, interests, etc.) also affect frum-from-birth people, causing many to have mixed feelings about the holiday. Being born into a large frum household doesn’t guarantee that one will have an interest in and competence in creative packaging, cooking, tablescapes, costume design, and so on. Of course, people who have the right skill set and mindset for the celebrations of the day truly do enjoy it to the point where, because it showcases their talents, they might look forward to it all year!
The question is what can you do about your distaste for the holiday? When it comes to feelings, the first thing is to acknowledge and accept them. Feelings are very resistant to being dismissed, criticized, or rejected. Suggesting to ourselves that we “shouldn’t” feel something that we feel often has the effect of strengthening the undesirable feeling AND adding a new feeling — guilt — to the mix.
On the other hand, if we can just accept our feelings, they’re more likely to shift, move, and release. Perhaps you aren’t aware of this, but it’s okay not to feel enthralled about doing things you’re not that good at or not particularly interested in. Once released of the obligation to love meal planning, table designing and costume creation, you may find it easier to fulfill the tasks without having to hate them. “I don’t enjoy this, but I can do it.” I can do it for Hashem because I want to fulfill the mitzvos I’ve learned about. I can do it for my kids because I want to teach them how to observe Yiddishkeit and because I want them to love Purim all of their lives. I can do it for my husband because I want to fulfill my part of the team we are building and living.
In other words, there are certain things I DO want to do, even if cooking, hosting, packaging and so on aren’t on the list.
Indeed, having mixed emotions is the norm of human experience. “I like this part of the activity, but don’t enjoy this other part.” I like cooking, but don’t like cleaning up afterward. I like playing with my kids, but don’t enjoy disciplining them. I like running my own business, but I detest the marketing and bookkeeping tasks that are required. And so on.
In the same way, you don’t need to like all the domestic activities of the holiday. There’s no obligation to like anything. Rather, there is an obligation to show up and do everything that is required.
These activities, by the way, have the potential to stimulate feelings of joy while we perform them (which is part of their purpose). You might be pleasantly surprised that on Purim itself you find yourself feeling happier than you do right now in anticipation of the day. But even if you don’t, you might like the feeling you get from doing something that is difficult but meaningful. And of course, if you’re looking for what there is to like in the celebration of Purim, you’re sure to find something, even many things. Turn your attention away from what you know you don’t like to make space for these discoveries.
(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 983)
Mishpacha
Photos: AbstractZen
F
ixing eiruvin can be complicated business, but there are some factors that really smooth the way. Having excellent assistants is one crucial element. In some cases, I’ve had assistants who are handy and capable, and in others, it’s been a bit more interesting.
“Rabbi, I’m going to need someone to help me tomorrow. Can you find me an assistant?” I asked Rabbi Silverstein after Shacharis. “I’ll be working on Main Street and I’ll need someone to do traffic control.”
I really hoped Rabbi Silverstein was listening. Main Street was a busy thoroughfare with three lanes of traffic in each direction. I would be stringing a wire across all six lanes of traffic, and I needed an assistant who could ably keep an eye on the whizzing vehicles and halt the traffic flow as needed. But Rabbi Silverstein’s mind was elsewhere, his eyes on his phone and his fingers tapping urgently.
Rabbi Silverstein was the rav of a large kehillah in the Midwest, and he regularly had weddings, funerals and a slew of important meetings on his agenda. Eiruv assistants were only one of a myriad of items to be checked off his to-do list.
Yet, he had also been the one to insist on upgrading his community’s failing eiruv and had committed to doing whatever it took to get the job done. Now what I needed was help sourcing a local volunteer to assist me.
MishpachaImagine a four-minute scene built around a man trying to open a jar of pickles. He wedges it against a curtain and the curtain collapses. He slams it against a cabinet and the cabinet falls apart. He bangs it into a wall and a chunk of sheetrock explodes outward. The tension keeps building as the audience leans forward, waiting for resolution. Eventually, another character enters the wrecked room, notices the jar of pickles, twists the lid once, and opens the jar effortlessly. That’s the joke. But the real punchline is that Ari Abramowitz can hold an entire audience in suspense over something as trivial as an unopened jar of pickles, and make it feel like high drama.
Part performer, part director, part storyteller, and part professional chaos organizer, Ari Abramowitz has spent years building theatrical experiences, each on a level bigger than the one that preceded it. He produces live storytelling programs with slides, sound effects, and dramatic staging for shuls, camps, and family events, while also creating filmed and recorded content for kids through projects like Ari and Friends on Mostly Music, Ropogos on Toveedo, and the English-language camp film Echoes of Faith. His newest venture, Kling, is a subscription phone line delivering stories and entertainment to children (currently in Yiddish, with plans for English).
What makes Ari unusual isn’t just that he creates content. It’s that he treats imagination like a communal activity, something meant to be shared, built together and experienced live. Give Ari a few props, a handful of volunteers and minimal adult supervision, and he’ll build you a universe.
One thing you learn quickly talking to Ari Abramowitz is that he takes jokes very seriously. And his approach to writing comedy is straightforward: Just start writing. He doesn’t begin by deciding where to begin, he begins by beginning.
“My thing is always — just start writing,” he says. “I don’t care if the first half is going to be completely scratched. I just start writing… and as I start writing, I get into it.”
Start writing. Start building. Start preparing. Don’t wait for the mood. Don’t wait for inspiration. Don’t trust your own greatness. Put your head fully into it, and the engine turns over.
Part of why Ari can do both comedy and drama, and can switch between them without needing to be rebooted, is that he doesn’t just observe a world, he enters it.
He illustrates this point by sharing how, when he was 17 and working in a kids’ shoe store, he decided that he was going to become an expert on shoes.
“Whatever I’m busy with, my head is 100 percent there,” he says. “Not only is my head there, I become that situation.”
It’s a revealing insight, and it helps explain why his comedy isn’t just “jokes.” It’s scenes; it’s worlds. He doesn’t skim the surface of an idea. He moves in, unpacks, hangs up a coat, and starts rearranging the furniture.
I ask how he’d approach a sketch about the invention of gefilte fish, and within seconds he’s narrating the story of a desperate fish seller staring at a pile of bones and thinking, I can sell this. So he grinds it all together, adds flour, invents a name on the spot, and now he has to convince customers this is intentional. Once that universe exists, the jokes start showing up on their own, pulled from mental storage like their props in a messy closet. He’ll sometimes anchor the whole sketch with an ending first. Maybe a carrot accidentally falls onto the dish, a customer buys it that way, and suddenly everybody wants what he’s eating. “I write the end at the bottom,” he says. “Then I work my way down to it.”
MishpachaTiramisu with a coffee-chocolate ganache filling? I’m so in!
Serves 8
Place chocolate in a medium-sized bowl.
Pour 1/4 cup whipping cream and ¼ cup coffee liqueur into a small saucepan over medium heat. Bring mixture to a simmer, taking care not to boil. Pour cream mixture over chopped chocolate and allow to stand for 5 minutes. Whisk until smooth and set aside.
In the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the whisk attachment, beat the pareve cream cheese until smooth. Add confectioners’ sugar, 1–2 Tbsp coffee liqueur, vanilla, and salt. Scrape down the sides as you mix. Slowly add the remaining whipping cream and beat until you achieve stiff peaks.
Scoop or pipe 1/4 cup tiramisu into the bottom of eight dessert cups. Pour 1 Tbsp chocolate-coffee ganache over it. Top with 1/4 cup tiramisu. Dust with cocoa powder and garnish with a ladyfinger.
MishpachaA perfect meat will take center stage at any meal.
Serves 6
Preheat oven to high broil.
Combine all marinade ingredients in a large ziplock bag. Shake well.
Pat the meat dry and add it to the resealable bag. Turn to coat evenly. Allow meat to marinate for 10 minutes.
Transfer the meat and marinade to a 9x13-inch (23x33-cm) baking pan. Broil for 2–3 minutes. Turn meat over and broil for an additional 2–3 minutes, until internal temperature reads 125–130°F (52–54°C) for medium rare.
Serve warm or at room temperature.
Tip: This recipe works on any medium-rare meat, such as London broil or French roast. Adjust cooking time accordingly.
MishpachaThese delicious chicken balls can be used either as an appetizer or as an entrée.
Yields 30 chicken balls
To prepare lemon-basil dipping sauce, combine all ingredients in a small bowl. Whisk until completely smooth. Set aside.
Combine all chicken ball ingredients in a bowl and mix well. (Do not overmix, as that will toughen the meat and yield dense balls.) Using a 1-Tbsp cookie scoop, form the mixture into balls.
To prepare the coating, place crushed crackers in a small bowl.
Whisk the egg, water, and chili-lime seasoning in another small bowl.
Dip each ball into the egg mixture, allowing the excess to drip off. Next, evenly coat each ball with the crushed crackers.
Heat a thin layer of avocado oil in a large skillet over medium heat. Add chicken balls in batches to avoid overcrowding. Brown the chicken balls on all sides for 6–8 minutes, until cooked through.
Transfer to a plate with a slotted spoon. Serve with lemon-basil dipping sauce or store-bought sweet chili sauce.
MishpachaSome of the best recipes are a result of playing with food. I’m so happy I played here. The results are nothing short of fabulous.
Serves 6
Bring beef broth and tomato paste to a boil in a 2-quart saucepan. Add quinoa. Reduce heat, cover pot, and simmer for 18–22 minutes, until liquid is absorbed. Remove from heat; fluff with a fork.
Heat a large skillet over medium heat. Add oil. Add onion and sauté for 5 minutes. Add garlic and stir for 30 seconds, until fragrant.
Stir in spinach, pecans, and sun-dried tomatoes. Sauté for 2 minutes. Add vinegar, lemon juice, salt, and pepper and cook for another 1–2 minutes. Remove skillet from heat and stir in quinoa.
Serve at room temperature.
MishpachaIn episode nine of The Learning Curve, Rabbi Schonfeld and Rabbi Garfield discuss if you should bribe kids not watch the superbowl, how a parent should approach poor Purim behavior, and welcome Rabbi Yoel Kramer, a chinuch legend, to the podcast to explain what makes a great Rebbi. Season sponsored by Israel Bookshop Publications
Shop now at https://israelbookshoppublications.com
MishpachaFacilitated by Faigy Peritzman
T
he first thing you need to understand is that davening is mostly about building a relationship with Hashem. In any relationship, there needs to be two-way communication. I speak to you; you speak to me.
Okay, so what does that look like in a relationship with Hashem?
We talk to Hashem through davening. Hashem talks to us through Torah, through nature, and through messages from other people.
But davening isn’t just about the siddur. Davening has two parts: scripted communication and unscripted communication. Just like in a relationship with a human being, there are certain things we say because those are the prescriptive expected phrases and they have the power to create a real feeling appropriate for specific occasions. Thank you for coming. Happy anniversary! These scripted phrases grease the wheels of social human interactions.
But if the whole relationship is about scripted communication, where it’s difficult to attach real meaning, then it’s neither organic or genuine. What Hashem really loves to hear is our unscripted communication. This is the impulsive “Thank You, Hashem!” when you find a parking spot or “Please, please, Hashem” when you’re waiting for test results from the doctor.
Hashem craves, so to speak, our unscripted communication because that’s the true glue of our emotional and spiritual connective relationship with Hashem as our Heavenly Father. Meaning, how you talk to someone impulsively and spontaneously says more about your relationship than what you read from a script — even an extremely holy and powerful script.
So, as a woman, you actually have the luxury of keeping the scripted communication, which is still extremely valuable and holy, but which you find hard to relate to, to a minimum, and your unscripted communication with Hashem, which hopefully feels more natural and “real” to you, to a maximum. In this way, you’re fulfilling the true purpose of prayer: building a real and connective relationship with Hashem.
Ruchi Koval is a parent coach, author, kiruv rebbetzin, and public speaker who helps parents struggling with their teens and adult children.
Y
ou want to speak to Hashem in your own words, and sometimes the siddur feels in the way. Chazal gave us a fixed text to support — not replace — our relationship with Hashem.
Many share your frustration: It’s hard to fit the specifics of your life into words that seem so general. If we are all saying the same thing, where is my connection? How can these shared lines carry my private heart?
A mashal helped me: My grandmother a”h sent a birthday card every year. I wasn’t the only one; all the grandchildren received cards. Yes — thousands of the same Hallmark cards existed. But she underlined the phrase in the card that showed why she chose that particular one — the line that conveyed, “This is you.” Those underlines turned a mass-printed message into a personal conversation. I still felt seen.
The siddur works the same way. The words are the card; your kavanah is the underline. When you pick a greeting card, you read to discover which printed message reflects your feelings. Do the same with tefillah. Before you begin, pause and ask: “What part of this tefillah speaks to my life today?” In Shemoneh Esreh, linger on “Hashem, sefasai tiftach” when you need help to daven, “chonein hadaas” for clarity, or “shema koleinu” when your heart is full. Underline with attention — slow down, stress a word, add a whisper in your own language before or after the printed line about what the words mean to you. Let the fixed text become a foothold for a personal conversation.
Small steps are holy steps. Chazal teach that it is better to say less with kavanah — thought and reflection — than more without that personal inflection. Read slowly. Ask, “What am I actually saying?” Bring one concrete detail of your day to that line.
Don’t wait to feel to speak; often speaking grows the feeling. The goal isn’t fireworks; it’s honesty. “Hashem desires the heart — Rachmana liba ba’ei.” Even an underline, quietly, can be precious in Shamayim.
Elisheva Kaminetsky is a wife, parent, grandparent, principal, adult educator, consultant, and kallah teacher.
M
any women quietly share this ache; I show up, I say the words, and yet I feel disconnected and frustrated with myself for feeling that way. It can be painful to pick up a siddur or Tehillim and wonder why the words don’t seem to lift us the way we believe they should.
Part of the struggle is that we live in an olam ha’asiyah, a world of doing. We’re conditioned for productivity, efficiency, and quantifiable outcomes. Tefillah, however, asks something very different of us. At its core, tefillah is less about doing and more about being in a spiritual and emotional state of connection with our Source. That can feel unfamiliar, even uncomfortable, in a world that doesn’t appreciate the stillness of introspection. We so value accomplishing, that simply being present, with our thoughts, longings, confusion, or pain, can feel elusive and even pointless.
Chazal understood this tension. The words of tefillah give us structure, but they aren’t meant to replace the inner world of a person. They’re meant to contain and articulate it.
This is why the quiet plea at the end of Shemoneh Esreh is so powerful: “Yehiyu l’ratzon imrei fi v’hegyon libi lefanecha.” We often translate this as asking Hashem to accept the words of our mouths, but it explicitly includes the meditation of my heart. Hashem receives not only what we manage to articulate, but also what remains unsaid and even unformed.
This means that frustration itself can become part of tefillah. The disconnect you feel isn’t proof of failure, rather it’s information about where your heart actually is. When you stand before Hashem and think, I wish this felt different, that thought itself is already an expression of relationship. Tefillah doesn’t demand spiritual perfection. It invites emotional and spiritual honesty.
For many women, connection comes from allowing small moments of truth. One line that resonates. One pause to acknowledge: This is hard for me today. One quiet recognition that Hashem is with you even when the feelings are muted.
In a world obsessed with doing, tefillah gently insists on being. Being tired. Being hopeful. Being disappointed. Being real. And in that space, sometimes slowly and unexpectedly, connection can begin to take root.
Shevi Samet is a wife and mother, educator, kallah teacher, and Core MMC.
(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 982)
Mishpacha
Photo: Flash90
WE
know President Trump always prioritizes economic benefits when weighing decisions. Whatever option he ultimately chooses regarding Iran — be it military action, regime change, negotiation, or some combination of the above —he must consider both the financial burden Iran’s current government imposes and the potential economic gains if a new regime replaces the current one.
To appreciate the scale of these economic considerations, it is important to examine the costs associated with military engagement.
According to the Costs of War project at Brown University, the United States has spent nearly $34 billion since October 7, 2023, on conflicts involving Iran’s so-called “3-H proxies” — Hamas, Hezbollah, and the Houthis. The US has allocated $22 billion to support Israel and directed an additional $12 billion to other allies and to its own military actions. Notably, this total is almost six times the typical annual US spending on military aid to Middle Eastern allies.
America’s current military deployment against Iran is costing it approximately $30 million per day, based on comparable estimates from the US military campaign against Venezuela.
These expenses underscore the urgency for the US to pursue alternatives that could deliver economic benefits, but only if a gentler, kinder government replaces Iran’s current regime.
In 2016, shortly after President Obama endorsed the Iran nuclear deal, McKinsey released a study estimating Iran’s economy could expand by $1 trillion over the next two decades. This projection was largely optimistic, assuming Iran would comply with the agreement and beat its centrifuges into plowshares, but that potential remains.
A more recent analysis by the Quincy Institution for Responsible Statecraft (June 2025) suggests that the US could export $25 billion annually to Iran, mainly in sectors such as aviation, agriculture, and automotive manufacturing. These exports could create 200,000 jobs for aerospace workers in Washington state, grain farmers in the Midwest, and auto parts manufacturers in the Rust Belt.
Despite potential incentives and economic benefits, Iranian leaders continue to rattle their sabers. The Islamic Revolutionary government won’t change, even at the risk of self-destruction.
Yet for the US to achieve meaningful change in Iran, it must clearly define its objectives and demonstrate resolve. The Trump administration claims it is acting wisely, pursuing negotiations and preparing for war. It’s a time-honored tactic that includes the art of deception, but Middle Eastern nations can easily misinterpret it as a show of weakness and a lack of resolve.
On the one hand, it’s hard to believe the administration would suddenly do an about-face and withdraw all of the military assets it dispatched to the region at great expense, including an aircraft carrier group and another on the way, advanced fighter jets, and anti-missile systems, without achieving any tangible results.
However, the time is approaching when the administration risks undermining itself by pursuing mutually exclusive agendas and contradicting its own positions.
President Trump said last Friday regime change is “the best thing that could happen” in Iran. But Vice President J.D. Vance told a Forbes reporter last week that “if the Iranian people want to overthrow the regime, that’s up to the Iranian people.”
Regime change will not occur spontaneously. We already saw the consequences when the Iranian people took to the streets, and the regime’s forces mowed down tens of thousands with automatic weapons. They continue to repress dissent with violence.
Vance added that America’s overriding concern is ensuring Iran doesn’t obtain nuclear weapons. That’s not going to reassure Israel, which is equally concerned about Iran’s ballistic missile threat, the money Iran continues to pump into its proxies, and the upgraded weapons systems China and Russia are pouring into Iran, according to open-source intelligence.
Trump’s own D-Day — the day of decision — is nearing. Maybe he’ll elect to wait out the month of Ramadan to avoid inflaming the Arab street, but the choice is stark. Either go to war, in which case you can never know all the consequences in advance; or make a deal you can be certain the other party won’t honor.
Israel is standing by, along with many other parts of the world that would like to see Iran’s 47-year reign of international terror come to an end, one way or another.
Canada abolished its Office of the Special Representative on Combating Islamophobia following widespread concerns, according to the Middle East Forum, that the office “blurred the lines between anti-Muslim bigotry and legitimate concerns expressed by secular Muslims and security agencies about the influence of Islamist actors within Canada’s Muslim leadership.”
By sending Foreign Affairs Minister Gideon Saar to this week’s meeting of President Trump’s Board of Peace for Gaza, Prime Minister Netanyahu is delivering a subtle signal that he lacks confidence in the process.
Bibi claims he can’t return to Washington a second time, after just getting back from last week’s meeting with Trump, even if that also means skipping his personal appearance at AIPAC.
He doesn’t need a pretext. Judging by the latest spike in Hamas ceasefire violations, Hamas is bored with peace and in no hurry to demilitarize.
Netanyahu’s stance is a further indication that he accepted Trump’s 20-point Gaza plan to achieve his goal of returning all Israeli hostages from Gaza, assuming the next stages of the plan would fail and he would instruct the IDF to finish the job it started.
Critics argue that even if Israel eliminates Hamas as a military and political power, it still lacks a plan for the “day after.”
The solution lies in the approach: If the IDF is the only force that can eliminate Hamas, it’s the only force to control it the day after. Once it’s clear the IDF is there to stay, the Board of Peace can redirect its focus to Trump’s original idea of relocating Gaza’s residents to greener pastures.
A new Congressional Budget Office estimate predicts that the US government will pay $1 trillion in 2026 just to cover interest on the nation’s $38 trillion debt. The total federal budget, across all categories, never exceeded $1 trillion until 1986 — 40 years ago — and now that sum will cover only interest payments.
(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1100)
MishpachaAs told to Rabbi Moshe Dov Heber by Shneur Steinberg
I run a hospice in Michigan, and over the years, I’ve seen many moments of pain and many moments of quiet courage. But one recent experience will stay with me forever.
A few months ago, I received a phone call from the sister of one of our patients, Jeremy Hoffman, who was living in a nursing facility but receiving hospice services from us. The woman’s voice trembled as she spoke. She explained that she couldn’t travel to be with her brother, and he had no other family. She’d had no choice but to ask the court to appoint a state guardian for him. From that point on, every decision about his care was out of her hands.
Not long ago, she told me, she’d sent a friend to visit him. The friend’s report was painful. “Jeremy doesn’t look well,” she said. “He hasn’t had a haircut in a long time, and his clothes aren’t clean.”
His sister was crushed. She felt helpless knowing her brother was alone in a nursing facility and she couldn’t be there for him. Now she was turning to me. “Now that he’s in hospice, is there anything you can do to help?”
I called the nursing facility immediately, but they said there was no way for Jeremy to get a haircut. Undeterred, I made several calls and finally found a barber willing to come to the facility. I would need to drive him, wait for him, and drive him home once he was done. I agreed; it didn’t feel like a big thing, just what had to be done.
After the haircut, I texted Jeremy’s sister a picture of him. She was so grateful. We spoke on the phone again, and I asked her for her name. “Helen Adler,” she said.
“That sounds Jewish,” I told her. “I’m Jewish, too.”
She paused and then said, “Yes, I’m Jewish, and so is my brother.”
Mishpacha**Zara Lace Trim Knit Cardigan
This Zara lace trim cardigan is one of those rare pieces that works equally well as a top or a layer. The mink color hue feels fresh yet classic for winter and pairs with everything from a denim skirt to a dressy, statement-patterned skirt. It adds texture, warmth, and just the right touch of femininity.
**By Téss Avery Maxi Dress
By Téss continues to be one of my go-to tzniyus brands for elevated basics that truly multitask. This stretchy maxi dress is flattering, thanks to its adjustable ruching. Add a jacket, belt, and accessories for nighttime, or style it with a cozy cardigan for daytime — plus, it comes in black and brown.
**Yakira Bella Mina Zip-Up Jacket and Skirt
This is the ultimate throw-on-and-go set that instantly makes a comfortable outfit feel polished and intentional. A true closet staple, it works just as well after a workout, carpool run, or errands. Layer it with booties and a blazer for an easy look that transitions seamlessly into the rest of your day.
**By Téss Black Slip Skirt with Lace Trim
This By Téss slip skirt — with its delicate lace hem — adds a refined twist to a classic. You’ll be pleasantly surprised by how often you reach for it: Oversized sweaters, blazers, turtlenecks, tees, even hoodies all look more put together thanks to the subtle detail.
**Commense Black-and-White Rib-knit Skirt and Cardigan
This black-and-white ribbed knit skirt set defines effortless — it looks pulled together with no effort at all. Dress it down with sneakers and a beanie or elevate it with heels and statement earrings.
**Commense Pleated Cinched-Waist Metal Button Blouse
A crisp, structured white button-down is the kind of wardrobe workhorse you’ll wonder how you ever lived without. Wear it with a simple slip skirt for an everyday chic look, or pair it with a dressier skirt and statement necklace for a simchah-ready ensemble. Clean, modern, and endlessly versatile.
**Sam Edelman Liona Loafer in French Merlot
A great loafer is an easy way to elevate an outfit, and this vintage-inspired Sam Edelman pair in a rich French Merlot shade does exactly that. It adds instant polish to even the simplest looks, from workout wear to Friday night. For a trend-forward touch, try styling it with a lace or textured crew sock.
Amazon Women’s Sweater Dress Trendy Color Block Fall Winter Long Sleeve Dresses with Silky Smooth Hem
The subtle color-block detail of this knit and silk sweater dress gives it a fresh, modern feel. Switch it up — it’s perfect for a cozy Friday night, styled with boots and a jacket for dinner, or pair it with sneakers or loafers for a polished daytime look. The price point makes it even more appealing, especially for a piece that feels this well made.
**Cider Collar Solid Belted Metal Detail Long Sleeve Blazer
I’m always drawn to a blazer that can double as a dressy top and instantly add edge to any outfit. The gold detailing on this one makes it feel especially intentional, while the belt adds shape and a layer of interest that elevates the entire look.
(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 982)
MishpachaM
odern mothers are all too aware of their human limitations. They tend to blame themselves for their children’s problems. Perhaps they didn’t listen well enough, say “I love you” often enough, give enough or take away enough. Perhaps they were too distracted, too busy, or too bossy. They know that they must have failed in a million ways because they know they’re imperfect. What they erroneously think, however, is that this imperfection has ruined or will ruin their children.
I recently read a disturbing book that documents the experiences of a family with 12 children, six of whom suffered from schizophrenia. The story was disturbing for many reasons, but what stood out most strongly was how much blame those in the story placed on the mother for her children’s condition.
What’s interesting, though, is that the mother wasn’t having any of that. She didn’t see it as her fault. There’s a lot we modern mothers can learn from her confidence.
The protagonist, Mimi, was a woman who did her best to raise ten sons and two daughters while her husband was mostly absent (first due to work and then due to illness). Six of her sons were extremely ill. Their story involves violence, murder, suicide, and abuse — the extreme consequences of extreme mental illness. Mimi ran her own “hospital ward” in her home, looking after these dangerous young men until her own death in 2017.
The boys were studied by the National Institute of Mental Health as part of ongoing research hoping to discover the cause and appropriate treatment of schizophrenia. However, the first explanation given to the parents was the one that was in vogue in the mental health profession in the years spanning 1940 to 1970: It was all Mimi’s fault_._ Mimi was declared to be a “schizophrenogenic mother” — the cause of her boys’ severe illness.
A schizophrenogenic mother was described as a parent who was simultaneously overprotective and rejecting, both cold and too involved or controlling. I believe that this description can apply to any mother at different times of any parenting day! According to the professionals, the competing traits were thought to create a “double-bind” that produced confusion so intense as to cause psychosis in young people.
Fortunately, both Mimi (and her husband) rejected the explanation and went on to search for medical treatment for their sons.
It took 30 years for the mental health profession to discard its “bad-mothering” theory of schizophrenia in favor of a biological model. Schizophrenia is currently viewed as a neurodevelopmental disorder rooted in a complex interaction between genetic material, brain structure, and environmental stressors including substance abuse. But during those years when the cause was attributed to confused parenting, innumerable parents, already suffering from the excruciating mental health conditions of their children, suffered even more anguish because of the blame heaped upon them by the mental health professionals they turned to for help.
Mimi knew how much love she gave and how hard she worked to take good care of her sons but one of her daughters, Lindsay, found fault with her. She thought that Mimi was too focused on the boys and didn’t pay enough attention to the two girls or the four other healthy siblings. All the attention, it seems, went to the sick brothers.
My thought about this was — “No kidding!” There were 12 children, one ill father, and one mother. Of the 12 children, six were very unwell. Should Mom have paid more attention to young Lindsay and the others? Of course! But realistically speaking — could she have done so? I don’t think so.
Mothers are limited human beings with limited energy and resources. But if Hashem had wanted one mother to be able to perfectly meet the needs and fulfill the wishes of each of her children, He would have made her without human limitations. If her perfection was the requirement for the production of a healthy child, then her perfection would have been part of creation.
It wasn’t.
From this, we can see that the natural imperfection and lacking that a mother necessarily brings to the task of raising children is actually good for her children (why else would Hashem create it?). Not getting what they want when and how they want it doesn’t make children ill or dysfunctional. If they become that way, it’s for many complex reasons. The mother who does what she can humanly do is doing enough. Mimi knew this and we should know it, too.
(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 982)
Mishpacha“IF you never had a refrigerator on your toe,” my sister wrote in her eighth-grade yearbook, “you cannot understand my happiness at having it removed.”
A couple of weeks ago, my big pareve pot encountered fleishigs. Or did it? In hindsight, it’s hard to know, because I did what every Jewish woman does when she sees her pareve utensils where they aren’t meant to be: Scream. And wash it quickly in cold water.
What’s relevant here is that my husband couldn’t be sure of the pot’s status. He suggested we reenact the crime in order to render a verdict — place the pot on the burner on top of the oven vent, to see if the steam that reaches from the oven broiler is yad soledes bo. My daughter, who’d wandered in after her father (what teenager doesn’t want to be privy to every mundane conversation her parents have in hopes they unthinkingly spill a state secret?) made her pronouncement: The pot was fine.
When I checked, I thought it was fine. But I have Mommy hands. When my husband put his hand over the burner, he jumped back. Under the circumstances, he thought it best to consider the pot fleishig.
I went through my own five stages of grief. Denial: It’s very hard to treif up a kitchen. This can’t be! Anger: Who was silly enough to put the pot somewhere it could be contaminated by meat?! (Me.) Bargaining: Okay, not so much. Would I really never yell at my kids for cutting half an onion with a milchig knife just because I had my pot drying on the vent-burner while meat was broiling underneath it? Of course not. Depression: This is a good pot! Almost 20 years old, purchased on a huge sale, and you know they don’t make things like they used to. It’ll probably cost $100 to replace this pot with something equivalent, and we’re not made of money. Acceptance: What’s $100 when it comes to a mitzvah? Take it! Take all my money. And break my oven — and my washing machine — at the same time! (True story.)
It was a process. I trudged through the next two weeks unmoored, doing things I never do. I made onion soup with butter and mushroom-barley soup with meat. On Friday, I went way out of my comfort zone and made popcorn in my is-this-fleishig pot, because, as my husband pointed out, we weren’t eating it with milk anyway. I washed the pot in the fleishig sink and threw the once-pareve-now-who-knows-what scrubber in the garbage.
Finally, I called the beis hora’ah. Turns out the rav on call knew exactly what was going on, had tried similar halachic experiments of his own, and gave me an eitzah for kashering.
It was like a weight lifted. I was giddy at the thought of resuming my life without worrying about researching recs and looking for bargains. Which is pathetic. All this to-do about a pot! Do you know that there are people out there with real problems?
It’s a pot. If it came to it, which it didn’t, thankfully, replacing it would have been $100. That’s money, don’t get me wrong, but it’s not a vast sum. It’s not an emergency. And yet I can’t shake the feeling of having escaped. I wasn’t ready to part with my pot, which I’d bought as a bright-eyed kallah. It had been $20, on sale at Macy’s.
I can make soup again! I can put the leftovers in the freezer to take them out at will. I can nosh on lokshen kugel and drink my coffee at the same time. I can sauté onions and leave them unlabeled in the fridge.
It’s okay, I don’t expect you to understand. After all, you never had the refrigerator on your toe.
(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 982)
MishpachaOne of the most common types of advice and guidance I am asked for is how to handle it when someone wrongs you. I can probably fill my word count for this column with stories galore, but I will suffice with the following brief examples.
The person who wasn’t invited to a friend’s simchah. Someone who had never been invited to a particular person’s home for a Shabbos meal. Someone who was on the receiving end of a nasty comment at a kiddush. An employee who was publicly called out by his employer at an important work meeting. Someone who was left out of a critical family decision. A talmid who suddenly stopped speaking to his rebbi. A mechutan who made a choice regarding the wedding without seeking input from the other side. And on and on.
Before I accepted my position as a rav, a prominent askan gave me a very important piece of advice: “You need to have thick skin and learn to allow people’s comments and opinions to roll off your back. If you take the comments too seriously, you won’t make it.”
He was absolutely correct. In close to two decades as a rav, I’ve heard countless times, “Rabbi, I just have some constructive criticism to share with you.” I can now claim a fair share of experience in handling personal affronts. I would like to share three important perspectives on this topic that I have found to be effective in dealing with offensive actions and words.
The first approach is to consider the alternative and be prepared to look at a painful situation differently, even when it seems so patently clear that the other party is wrong.
Let’s consider the following scenario. Someone makes a demeaning remark that causes you pain. One way to respond is to lash back. A second response is to dismiss the person. However, did you ever try the following?
Look at the situation from another angle. Consider whether the person who made the disparaging remark was ever given the proper tools to handle his rage. Maybe the person was never trained properly by his parents or family in how to react when things didn’t go their way? Additionally, maybe this person has had such a hard life, and from adolescence through adulthood, nothing has gone his way. If so, there is no reason to respond strongly, as the circumstances of this individual’s life do not allow him to react appropriately. Instead, try to see the situation in a different light and judge the person favorably.
This was exactly the scenario that was recently brought to my attention. Someone came to talk to me about a very inappropriate and nasty insult that he received. He shared with me the name of the offender, and I wasn’t surprised in the least. I explained to the person how sad it is that the perpetrator doesn’t know any other mode of communication. Try to consider the challenges this person has, recognize that, and allow that to chart your path forward. It doesn’t mean that you need to be his friend, but at least appreciate the challenges he has and do your best to consider this factor now and in potential future interactions.
I then shared the following story with the person. A sefer was written by an individual that contained chapter after chapter of refutations to various responsa of Rav Moshe Feinstein in his Teshuvos Igros Moshe. The author compounded this by loading his work with scornful and derogatory statements against Rav Moshe. This author then brought his manuscript to the very same typesetter and printer who published Rav Moshe’s seforim.
Seeing the contents of the work, the printer immediately contacted Reb Moshe and explained the situation to him and asked Reb Moshe what he should do.
Rav Moshe replied, “One who writes a sefer quite often needs it to supplement his income and achieve renown. One is obligated to do another Jew a favor. You depend on printing to earn your livelihood. Go ahead with the sefer’s publication.” (Recounted in Reb Moshe, ArtScroll expanded edition, page 449.)
While Reb Moshe’s pious ability to consider the alternative is difficult to imitate, it obligates us to think twice when we are wronged. Rav Moshe understood that just as effort must be made to unravel and decipher the depth and meaning of a challenging gemara, a difficult Rambam, or a problematic psak, so must effort be made in every challenging situation and with every difficult person.
With his sensitivity, wisdom, and judiciousness, Rav Moshe recognized that there is an entirely different way to learn this difficult sugya, and he emerged with an alternative conclusion. Be open to another possibility and challenge yourself to look at things differently.
The second approach is to shake off, let go, and wave away the offense and the offender.
The Torah explicitly commands us not to seek retribution from an egregious offender, as the pasuk states, “Do not reject an Egyptian, because you lived as a stranger in his land” (Devarim 23:7).
This is remarkable. The Jewish nation had been brutally enslaved by the Egyptians for hundreds of years and would be completely entitled to feel a lingering resentment. Yet Hashem commands us not to bear the Egyptians any ill will. How is that possible?
Hashem is teaching us that at some point we must move on and let go. The only way to transition from being a slave nation to a redeemed nation is by letting go of the sorrow and misery that we experienced at the hands of the Egyptians. If we hadn’t let go, we would have remained emotionally and cognitively in Egypt forever. By letting go, we became a free nation and the chosen nation.
Chazal stress this very point on an individual level as well. The Gemara states, “Our sages have taught that about those who are insulted but do not insult others, who bear their shame but do not respond, who act out of love and are joyful in their suffering, the verse states: ‘And they that love Him are as the sun going forth in its might’ ” (Maseches Gittin 36b).
Chazal are teaching us that the wisest and best approach for dealing with those who wrong us is by simply letting go. The Sefer Hachinuch explains that this technique, while not easy, is the way that great people live (Mitzvah 338). Holding on to the injustice will hold a person hostage, emotionally and cognitively, to the situation. Relinquishing one’s claim allows for detachment from the entanglement and thus complete freedom.
While contemporary psychological studies and research prove that letting go is the healthiest way to move on after being mistreated, I personally witnessed this at work. My grandparents, all Holocaust survivors whose entire families were murdered at the hands of the Nazis, never looked back, never blamed, and never articulated negativity.
Instead, they let go of the golden life they had, let go of the torment they experienced, and let go of the agony they endured. They moved forward, built beautiful families, successful careers, and defeated Hitler by letting go. Indeed, tens of thousands of such individuals rebuilt their lives and our nation. With incredible fortitude, they let go and rebuilt a broken nation to a glorious nation.
Of course, we can never judge the feelings of anyone who endured the Holocaust. But we can learn from our ancestors how to “forgive and forget,” “let bygones be bygones,” and to “bury the hatchet,” on a personal and national level.
The third approach is found in the writing of the Rishonim. We must understand that everything that happens to us comes from Hashem. For some this may be the hardest approach, and for others the easiest.
The Sefer Hachinuch (Mitzvah 241) begs us to take his words to heart and know “that everything that happens to man, be it good or bad, is an orchestrated event brought about from Hashem, and that no matter occurs without the will of Hashem. So when another person causes him pain or suffering, he should realize that his own sins were the cause, and that Hashem decreed this injury or suffering upon him.
“Therefore, he should not focus his thoughts on taking revenge on the one who has harmed him, since that person is not the cause of his distress. Rather his own sin is the true cause. As King David said when Shimi ben Gera heaped curses upon him, ‘Leave him be and let him curse, for Hashem has told him to do this.’ That is, that King David blamed the matter on his own sin, rather than on his antagonist, Shimi ben Gera.”
The Sefer Hachinuch, following the approach of the Chovos Halevavos, understands that “no person or other creation can harm another without Hashem’s permission” (Shaar Habitachon 3). With this attitude, we can walk through life with a protective shield against anyone who wrongs us. Everything that occurs is from Hashem, including the affronts that come our way. This approach requires study, work, thought, wisdom, and perseverance.
Rare is it that one goes through life without any unpleasant altercations. Each of us suffers insults, wounds, slights, offenses, or affronts on some level. When this happens to you, consider these three approaches to ensure a proper response cognitively, emotionally, spiritually, and verbally. This will calm you, internally and externally, and give you the greatest reward in this world and the next.
Rabbi Moshe Walter is the rav of Woodside Synagogue Ahavas Torah in Silver Spring, Maryland; the executive director of the Vaad Harabbanim of Greater Washington; a popular speaker; and the author of the Making of Halachah, Minhag, Mentsch, and Siddur series published by Feldheim.
(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1100)
MishpachaW
hen I was a kid, my parents owned an exercise bike. It sat in our basement — black and chrome and perfectly serviceable. I tried it a few times, pedaling frantically to nowhere.
It was boring work.
When I started exercising regularly, I didn’t consider adding indoor cycling to my routine, even though we owned an exercise bike. It belonged to my husband. I rarely thought about that exercise bike in my parents’ basement, but it must’ve made an impression on me. When I looked at his bike, I felt the same thing all over again — boredom. If there’s one thing that can squelch the inclination to exercise, it’s boredom, so I kept my distance. A while later, he got rid of the bike because he disliked it. I felt smug validation.
He told me it was the bike itself he disliked, not the activity. Being completely impartial because I had no plans to ever use it, I helped him choose a new one, never considering my preferences because it was irrelevant.
Then the bike came, and it actually looked inviting. It was sleek and easily adjustable. The design made me want to get on and take a ride. I felt a pull. Maybe it was time to reassess that automatic aversion I felt toward exercise bikes, I thought. I ordered a pair of cycling shoes. Then I tried a few cycling classes using a fitness app. To my surprise, I found I really enjoyed it.
I think timing had something to do with it. The bike came at a time when my fitness routine was starting to feel a bit too set, too regular. It needed a shake-up. Experts have long advised varying your fitness routine to avoid fitness plateaus. When you keep doing the same exercise all the time, your body becomes accustomed to it, so you can lose strength and endurance. One way to avoid this is to ramp up the challenge within the activity you’re already doing. But another way is to add something new.
Cycling is doing just that for me.
It’s a couple of weeks now and I’ve added a cycling class to my weekly routine. It meant cutting another cardio workout, but the variety makes it worth it.
Biking is gentle on the joints. It’s great for beginners or those who need a break from high-intensity workouts. The low impact protects joints and strengthens the muscles that protect the hips, knees, and ankles.
While biking can’t take the place of regular strength workouts, it still builds muscular endurance. When you intensify the resistance, it builds leg strength. You use your arms and core for stability and posture.
An intense biking session can get your heart pumping and your blood flowing. This also improves lung capacity, and overall is an excellent aerobic workout. Consistency will improve your stamina allowing you to ride harder and faster.
Post-ride endorphin and serotonin release makes you feel happier and less stressed. It’s also good for a mental reset. You can either focus on your workout or let your mind wander, which gives it a break from daily busyness.
If you have a regular fitness schedule, incorporating an activity you don’t normally do allows your muscles to rest between more intense workouts. This prevents injuries and boosts performance. It’s a good break for runners, walkers, and HIIT athletes.
“If you enjoy the outdoors and you enjoy beautiful scenery, and that’s part of the reason why you enjoy biking, you’ll find a cycling class very different,” says Bluma, an avid cyclist who’s done charity bike-a-thons and has biked as much as 60 miles.
The input is different when you cycle outside, she says. “An hour cycling class is the equivalent of biking two hours outdoors,” she says. “When you’re on an exercise bike, you’re pedaling the entire time. When you’re biking outside, you’re going uphill, downhill, sometimes you’re coasting. You’re not working the entire time.”
Some cycling classes try to ramp up the intensity by working additional muscle groups.
“Sometimes in a cycling class, they’ll also have you do different exercises, such as bending forward, standing up, or using weights,” she says.
Indoor biking can also be a safer choice. You don’t have to worry about weather conditions, traffic hazards, or nighttime biking. If someone has balance issues, a stationary bike can give the same benefits as outdoor biking without the worry of falling.
Cycling didn’t just change my workout. It reminded me that we need to check in with ourselves to see if our fitness routines are working for us. When they aren’t, and we need to add something new, sometime it’s worth looking at something we once dismissed.
(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 982)
MishpachaIT
makes no sense, when Miriam thinks about it, that children are only children for a decade or two. That those pivotal years, the ones that will define them, are so brief, just a flicker of time in their lives before adulthood. She still likes to think of Devorah as that freckle-faced five-year-old, her little fingers clutched around Miriam’s pinky as they first walked into her kindergarten class.
That image is all tangled up with Devorah as a teenager, rolling her eyes at homework and on the phone until after midnight. With Devorah as a beautiful kallah, standing beside a grinning Elchonon, her face glowing. With Devorah as a mother herself, lounging beside Miriam at the park near Miriam’s house, watching her five children shrieking with joy on the swings.
But Devorah will always be that freckle-faced five-year-old to Miriam, even if that comment makes her sigh long-sufferingly over the phone. “I didn’t even have freckles, Ma. You’re remembering it wrong. Shani was the one with freckles.”
No, Devorah had kept those freckles until adolescence, strong in the summer and barely there in the winter, until they disappeared in her teenage years. Miriam remembers it perfectly.
But with age comes wisdom, and the understanding that her conversations with Devorah are too precious to be wasted on disagreements. Shani and Rina call constantly, but Devorah has always been a little less willing to schmooze. Now that she lives across the country, the Friday calls are just about all Miriam gets of her.
“Maybe she was,” Miriam says easily. “Nu, tell me, what’s going on with the kids? How are the boys?”
“Running wild, as they always do,” Devorah says, laughing. “I see them when they come in for bedtime. Sarala has stopped playing with the boys on the block, though. She says they’re too crazy.”
“She’s really growing up into a little lady.” Sarala is five and freckled (just like her mother, mind you), on the verge of figuring out who she is outside of her older brothers. “And the babies?” Miriam can hear one of them kvetching in the background. The little ones are needy, always lingering close to Devorah, and Miriam remembers how her own daughters had been clingy at that age, too. “Send more pictures, will you?” Devorah comes every Succos and Pesach, her family spreading across her childhood house like a welcome tornado, and Miriam is only too happy to play the doting grandmother, but she misses the kids fiercely in the months in between.
She tries to imagine the children scattering across their own house, which she’s only visited once, when Devorah first moved in. Devorah’s Brooklyn house is small, and she prefers to fly to California instead of hosting.
Miriam doesn’t mind. Elchonon’s job is taxing, and Devorah works so hard. She can use the break. “Elchonon still working long hours?”
“Always. He tries to get home in time to do homework with the boys, but it doesn’t always happen.” One of the kvetching babies lets out a strident shriek, and Devorah sighs. “I’ve got to go. Talk to you.”
The phone clicks off, and Miriam holds on to it for another moment, thinking wistfully of that little girl who had once clung to her with absolute dependence.
MishpachaIT’S
seminary acceptance season. Twelfth-grade girls are navigating the process, with many bound for Eretz Yisrael. Simultaneously, their parents experience both eagerness for an idyllic experience and dread at the price tag. At many a Shabbos table, the debate about seminary in Eretz Yisrael centers on whether this post–high school year constitutes an essential spiritual investment or an excessive and unnecessary financial expense that has somehow become nonnegotiable.
The unique kedushah of Eretz Yisrael is central to the Jewish experience, and Yerushalayim in particular stands alone. The Vilna Gaon, who longed for Eretz Yisrael, teaches that the miracle of Purim was greater than the miracle of Chanukah. Why? Because the miracle of Chanukah occurred in Eretz Yisrael, and therefore “eino chiddush kol kach”; it was not such a great novelty. Where Heaven touches earth, miracles are almost mundane.
This is the environment we send our daughters to. At its core, the seminary experience should therefore be rooting our young women to Toras Eretz Yisrael in all its dimensions, not as a ger (stranger) but as a toshav (resident).
Consider what it means for our young adults, during this formative stage for their identities, to spend ten months living in Yerushalayim shel Maalah’s manifestation on earth. Foremost, it is connecting to and learning from the panorama of Torah personalities and communities that have transformed our ancestral homeland into the nexus of Jewish living today. It is learning Navi where the Neviim prophesied, studying Jewish history where it has unfolded and where it continues to unfold.
Imagine learning Sefer Shmuel and then hiking in Ein Gedi where Dovid Hamelech actually hid from Shaul Hamelech. When I was learning in Mercaz HaTorah in Yerushalayim, the yeshivah spent a Shabbos in Tzfas, where we learned sugyas related to semichah, then heard lectures about the Mahari Beirav’s attempt to reinstate classical semichah, centered in that very city. Such pedagogical possibilities are prolific.
(One criticism I have heard from several female family members: Their seminary experience was “13th Grade” — i.e., just another year of high school. An innovative curriculum that weaves text and terrain is vital in maximizing seminary’s value.)
And it is also found in what anywhere else would be mundane. It is riding her buses and shopping in her stores, not as bucket list destinations, but within the rhythm of daily life. Davening at the Kosel every other Tuesday. Buying groceries in Geula or Machaneh Yehudah, depending on the seminary.
If that sounds like lofty rhetoric, look at the results. The “flipping out” phenomenon that some fear is well documented. And even for those seminary graduates who don’t radically change, many, if not most, return with a deepened commitment to Yiddishkeit and higher levels of conscientious observance. That is compelling evidence that there is a significant ruchniyus value in inhabiting Torah life in its natural habitat.
Yes, the intensity will likely mellow over time. But a wise educator once shared with me an observation both humorous and profound: In high school, kids are less frum than their parents. In Eretz Yisrael, they become frummer than their parents. Then, ten years later, they become their parents. The seminary year doesn’t just create a temporary spike, it establishes a foundation that shapes who these young women become.
There are several quiet ironies worth noting. My better half, an alumna of a well-regarded Bais Yaakov–style seminary and native of Flatbush, is less convinced than I am of the value of seminary. Perhaps that is because our shidduch resulted from her own experience. A chance seat on the seminary flight beside my cousin from Passaic turned into a friendship that lasted throughout their year together and beyond, and ultimately produced our family.
Our story is not unique, and it showcases another major benefit to seminary; It is a cosmopolitan experience. Young women hailing from London and Los Angeles, Toronto and Toms River, meet and form friendships, gaining a broader and more nuanced understanding into the collective Jewish experience.
Most of us are not about to move to Ramat Beit Shemesh. Our lives are based in the diaspora. But if we cannot live in Eretz Yisrael permanently, can we give our daughters ten months? Ten months to learn Torah in air that makes one wiser. Without the formative years of seminary in Eretz Yisrael, the chances of building a life there as a young kollel couple or permanently drop dramatically.
Seminary does more than teach, it connects. Without those early roots, even sincere desire will likely not materialize into one day living al admas hakodesh.
Yet this formative year comes at a steep price. At roughly $35,000 per seminarian, the cost for sizable families can be crushing. If paying for seminary would burden you with crippling debt, don’t. If you’re 48 years old with next to nothing saved for retirement, your IRA takes precedence. And if your daughter simply doesn’t want to go, or would flourish better elsewhere, that’s legitimate too.
As with all significant outlays, planning well in advance, and saving small amounts in tax-advantaged accounts like 529s, adds up. Additionally, shorter six-month programs like Lahav Bais Yaakov should be promoted.
But consider the calculus carefully. The standard alternative is a local seminary, averaging $18,000, usually coupled with two weeks in Eretz Yisrael for another $3,500. Crucially, whether it be Sara Schenirer, Touro, or Stern College, most seminaries offer programs akin to a “freshman year abroad,” where students earn valuable credits toward post-secondary education that they otherwise would not earn. No doubt the net cost differential remains, but it’s a fraction of the $35,000 sticker-shock-inducing figure.
Perhaps I was raised a little differently than my contemporaries. My father a”h, a child Holocaust survivor, raised me on an old song of longing, “Me’al Pisgat Har Hatzofim, Shalom Lach Yerushalayim.” In 1946, only my grandfather’s sickness prevented my paternal family’s planned move to Eretz Yisrael with the Brichah.
I was raised with the assumption that all we have built here, while beautiful, is temporary. So while our Devorah is only four, and no doubt I will wince when the bill comes, I am saving a small amount for seminary now, and looking forward to her building her own connection to the Land. A Land that the first Rashi in Chumash teaches has been calling our people from the very beginning.
Shmuel Winiarz is a real estate attorney and amateur Jewish historian. He lives in Passaic, New Jersey, with his family.
(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1100)
MishpachaIN
the course of my eiruv travels, I try to be conscious of opportunities to make a kiddush Hashem. Truthfully, the goal of my work, to increase people’s adherence to halachah, is in itself a kiddush Hashem. Still, I’m often on the lookout for ways to showcase the chesed and integrity that is intrinsic to frum Jews. Sometimes the opportunities come about in unexpected ways.
I was kneeling down to angle my drill into the bottom of a utility pole in Cleveland, Ohio, when I heard a deeply Russian and very disgruntled, “Chey! Vat you’re doing to my property?!” (It wasn’t private property). I looked up into the aggressive eyes of a babushka lady standing over me.
I jumped up, straightening my reflective vest. “Oh, I’m a third-party contractor, just doing some work on the utility poles, ma’am,” I replied airily, trying to gloss over inconvenient explanations. “No vay,” she growled suspiciously, “you chave Illinois license plates. Zere is no vay you are chired by Cleveland Public Power. You are trespassing, zat is vat you are doing!”
As I was debating exactly what to say next, she continued, “And zat is vy I chave concealed carry, you know. In case of trespassers!”
MishpachaThat entry for 2026 might be an exaggeration, but as we will see below, not by much. Certainly, we are today blessed with an abundance of authentic rabbinic leadership that is learned, inspiring, and wise. But there is another side to this coin, shown by a recent survey of newly minted (non-Orthodox) rabbis. In a word, there are rabbis and there are rabbis.
Not long ago, the raging debate was on the subject of “Who is a Jew?” Today we have progressed, and now the question is, “Who is a rabbi?” And well might we ask….
What does “rabbi” mean? It once meant that one is a teacher, is knowledgeable of Torah and halachah, inspires and elevates his flock, is immersed in Torah study and spiritual growth, answers religious and halachic questions.
Although we are still blessed with such leadership today, in certain circles it is none of the above. Some view it as a profession among professions. Once it was a calling, a mission and a G-d-directed life. Today, one can be a lawyer or accountant without any religious obligations — or a rabbi without any religious obligations. In fact, he doesn’t even have to be halachically Jewish, as we will see below.
Worse: Anyone who so desires can call himself rabbi. There is no central licensing authority that permits the use of this title. There are a number of private rabbinic ordination assembly lines where, upon payment of fees, one receives an impressive diploma, and lo and behold, he — or she — is a rabbi. To add to the confusion, the secular media refer to anyone with a beard, peyos, black hat, and the ability to read elementary Hebrew, as “rabbi.”
Can one be a physician without having studied Gray’s Anatomy or Harrison’s Principles of Internal Medicine? Or an attorney without having studied Hart’s The Concept of Law? Or an accountant without the ability to add or subtract? Of course not. Can one be a rabbi without being able to read rabbinic Hebrew, and without the knowledge to make it through a Ramban or simple Rashi in the original? Definitely yes. I have known so-called rabbis who could not translate a Rashi on Chumash, much less a section of Mishnah or Gemara. But they delivered fine sermons about what they called “Judaism.” In a community where no one knows an alef, he who knows both an alef and a beis is a brilliant scholar, a thinker, and a teacher of Torah. It is instructive that, as a reaction to the degrading of the title, the Orthodox Rabbinical Council of America stopped referring to its members as “rabbi,” and instead now refers to them as “Ha-Rav.”
If the leadership of non-Orthodox Judaism is in such parlous state, one can only imagine the condition of the followers.
But there is more. In our day, not only are many self-styled rabbis ignorant of Torah and halachah, and not only do they not observe mitzvos or practice Judaism. Today, many of them were either not raised as Jews or are products of highly questionable quickie conversion procedures.
Some of today’s modern rabbis, in their pell-mell rush to identify with the spirit of the times in which all is permitted and nothing is forbidden, are not even deterred by what the Torah calls to’eivah, a highly pejorative term reserved for assaults on G-d’s natural order of the universe and for distortions of His blueprint for mankind. That to’eivah violations are an encroachment on the sacred premises of the Creator does not concern them. They are certain that the Torah’s “thou shalt not”s were never intended to be permanent prohibitions, and when times and circumstances change, these strictures — such as those dealing with Shabbat labor or food restrictions or the meaning of adultery and idolatry — become antiquated and can be ignored. Especially, they add, prohibitions that cause discomfort are by definition not binding, because the Creator loves us, and does not want us to be unhappy or uncomfortable. And thus, almost every Torah restriction is diluted into meaninglessness.
The key, as always in the modern world, is not what G-d wants and desires, but what I want and desire. With this philosophy, the ruler of the world is not the “I” of the first commandment, “Anochi Hashem Elokecha, I am the L-rd your G-d.” Instead, there is a new anochi: not G-d but I myself, and whatever pleases this new anochi is good, and nothing is out of bounds. Because the Torah’s laws are malleable, elastic, and its words mean whatever I want them to mean.
Thus it comes as no surprise that such elasticity should result in the recent ATRA Study of non-Orthodox rabbis in the USA, in which over 50 percent of those about to be ordained as rabbis have no clear gender identity. Not to mention that over 20 percent of newly minted rabbis were not even raised Jewish, and over 58 percent are women (Rosov Consulting Firm, 2025).(Question: When the rabbi is a woman, is her husband the rebbetzin?)
We have come a long way. What began as a slight watering down of Jewish law has today reached tsunami levels. Once we start tinkering with Judaism’s borderline guardrails, soon enough pillars like Shabbos and adultery and the other mitzvos begin to totter, and ultimately all the walls — including who is qualified to be a spiritual leader — come crashing down.
Welcome to 2026. Perhaps, with much prayer and heavenly intercession, the title “rabbi” will speedily be restored to its pristine glory, and we will once again point proudly to many more of our rabbis as old-fashioned, antiquated men of ruchniyus who are talmidei chachamim, models of piety, and halachic authorities, just as they once were. With His help, “once upon a time” might be reincarnated in our own day.
(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1100)
MishpachaWarning: This bark has attitude — it’s sweet, zesty, and totally irresistible. A big shout-out to Rachel, whose inspiration and creativity brought this recipe to life!
Yields 30–35 pieces
Preheat oven to 350°F (175°C). Line a baking sheet with parchment paper.
Toast the pistachios for 10 minutes, or until fragrant. Let cool, then chop roughly.
Melt the white chocolate in the microwave in 20–30-second intervals, stirring between each round, until smooth.
Break half of the freeze-dried strawberries into pieces and set aside.
Once the chocolate is fully melted, stir in ½ tsp sour salt, lemon zest, 1/3 cup toasted, chopped pistachios, and the broken freeze-dried strawberries. Taste and add up to an additional 1/4 tsp sour salt for a brighter tang, if desired.
Spread the mixture evenly on the prepared baking sheet. Immediately sprinkle the remaining pistachios and the whole freeze-dried strawberries on top, along with a little lemon zest and a light sprinkle of sour salt, and press it all down gently.
Refrigerate for 15–20 minutes, or until firm. Lift the parchment paper from the baking sheet and break the bark into pieces.
MishpachaCelebrate Purim with extra sparkle and a whole lot of fluff! These cocktail-inspired marshmallows are playful and utterly irresistible, perfect for adults wanting a sweet treat with a twist. With a flavor for every festive mood, each bite is a little party in your mouth. Big thanks to Rivky, whose creative genius and enthusiastic testing brought these spirited marshmallows to life. You can taste the magic in every bite!
Yields 24 marshmallows
Pour 1/2 cup + 2 Tbsp water into the bowl of an electric mixer. Sprinkle the gelatin and jello, if using, evenly over the water and let it bloom.
In a medium-size saucepan, combine sugar, corn syrup, and remaining water. Stir once before turning on the heat. Bring to a boil over medium-high heat and cook for 7 minutes, until clear and bubbling, without stirring.
Lightly grease a 9x13-inch (23x33-cm) pan with cooking spray. Combine confectioners’ sugar and cornstarch and lightly dust the pan with a small amount of the mixture.
With the mixer running on low speed, slowly pour the hot syrup into the bloomed gelatin. Increase the speed to high and beat for 8 minutes, until very thick, white, and fluffy. Add flavorings according to variation and beat for 1–2 minutes, just until incorporated.
Working quickly, pour the mixture into the prepared pan. Generously coat the top with the remaining sugar-cornstarch mixture to keep it from drying out. Let sit, uncovered, for 6–12 hours, until fully set.
Turn the marshmallow slab onto parchment paper. Using a bench scraper or sharp knife, cut it into 24 marshmallows. Use excess sugar-cornstarch mixture to coat the sides as needed.
Note: For non-alcoholic marshmallows, omit the alcohol and replace it with an equal amount of water or juice. The marshmallows will set perfectly and retain all the bright cocktail-inspired flavors.
MishpachaThese are the perfect easy mishloach manos treat — rich, chewy, crunchy, and completely irresistible. These bites come together in minutes and slice beautifully for gifting. Cut them in a rustic or candy style for a festive, stress-free Purim win.
Yields 16–24 pieces
Line a 5x10-inch (13x26-cm) loaf pan with parchment paper. Sprinkle the bottom lightly with milk powder.
In a bowl, combine the mixed nuts, cookies, and white chocolate.
Melt coconut oil over low heat. Add marshmallows and melt until mostly melted. Add milk powder and stir until smooth. Pour the marshmallow mixture over the add-ins and mix well.
Press the mixture firmly into the prepared pan, wearing oil-sprayed gloves.
Sprinkle the top lightly with milk powder. Allow to cool completely.
Once cooled, remove from pan and cut with a sharp knife or bench scraper into 1 1/2-inch (4-cm) logs, biscotti-style. Cut each log in half and wrap candy-style in cellophane. Alternatively, cut the logs into bite-size thirds and package in a jar or box.
These stay fresh for one week, wrapped or in a closed container in a cool, dry place
MishpachaThese whimsical, customizable treats are perfect for any theme or color scheme. Soft coconut cookies form the base, topped with a mini cookie inside a clear dome. Sprinkle a little sparkle, add decorations, and create a magical edible display.
Yields 8–12 cookies
Mix margarine, sugar, and egg yolk until light and fluffy. Add vanilla and coconut extracts. Add egg white, flour, shredded coconut, and baking powder, and mix until a soft dough forms.
To shape the cookies, roll the dough to 1/4-inch (1/2-cm) thick on a floured surface and cut 2 1/2-inch (6-cm) circles with cookie cutters. With the remaining dough, cut some mini cookies for inside the snow globes.
Preheat oven to 375°F (190°C).
Bake cookies for 8–10 minutes, until lightly golden. Remove from oven and allow to cool completely.
Frost the cookies generously and dip into shredded coconut. Place mini cookies or decorations on top. Spritz lightly with sparkle powder, if desired.
Cover the decorated cookies with dome-shaped plastic covers to create a snow globe effect.
Cookies can be baked in advance and frozen; decorate and assemble fresh.
MishpachaThese soft, bakery-style muffins are inspired by classic strawberry shortcake. Made with strawberry yogurt and filled and topped with a light strawberry-vanilla cream, this is a true muffin with a special twist.
Yields 12 muffins
Preheat oven to 375°F (190°C) and line a muffin pan.
Mix eggs, sugar, oil, vanilla, and yogurt until combined.
Sift together the flour, baking powder, and baking soda; add to wet ingredients and mix just until combined. Fold in the dried strawberries. Divide the batter among the muffin cups.
Bake for 18–22 minutes, until lightly golden. Allow to cool completely.
To prepare the cream, beat the whipping cream until stiff peaks form. Add remaining ingredients and mix until smooth.
Fill a piping bag fitted with a metal tip with cream. Insert the tip into the center of each muffin and squeeze some cream inside. Add a small dollop of cream on top to cover the filling point.
Dust with confectioners’ sugar and garnish with sliced strawberries.
These muffins can be made in advance and frozen, but the cream must be made fresh.
MishpachaA treat board is a fun and creative way to pack Mishloach Manos. By adding personalized graphics, these boards can be tailored to any theme or aesthetic—from fun and whimsical to clean and modern.
What makes this packaging especially appealing is how simple it is. There’s no wrapping, no cellophane, and no ribbons to fuss with — and honestly, that’s a big part of the charm. We know so many of our readers love the satisfaction of a DIY, but still want to keep things clean, streamlined, and easy. This is one of those projects that feels creative and hands-on, but requires minimal effort to pull off.
Everything comes together neatly and quickly, making assembly stress-free and mess-free. The finished boards are sturdy, polished, and easy to transport.
If you’re into this style of simple-but-elevated mishloach manos, be sure to check out our other Minimalist Mishloach Manos.
MishpachaIf you love a fun party food bar , you will love this interactive, adorable, and totally unexpected fill-your-own dessert experience—where guests become the pastry chefs— a chic and playful way to serve something sweet.
It’s hands-on, creative, and honestly… smiles are guaranteed.
Designed to be both interactive and fun, this fill-and-enjoy sweet bar invites guests to customize their own treats with ease and creativity.
Cannolis and cupcakes are displayed ready to be filled with luscious creams and finished with an assortment of toppings. Hanging pastry bags add a playful touch while tying beautifully into the Purim theme. We love this idea for Purim or any day!
Adult supervision is suggested, but the fun is 100% worth it.
MishpachaWhat if the goal isn’t changing your responsibilities but changing the way you experience them?
Rachelli Fried and Adela Buchsbam explore the mindset shift that reshapes everyday life.
MishpachaBaron Wilhelm (Shimon Wolf) von Rothschild: a Rothschild who chose an Orthodox life, backed yeshivas, advised emperors—and met a tragic end. Rabbi Efraim Zalman Galinsky and Gedalia Guttentag uncover his remarkable story.
The post Eps 9. The Holiest Rothschild first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.
MishpachaLast week, Rabbi Michoel Ber Weissmandl, who leads Kollel Heichal HaTorah in Manchester, England, shared with his kehillah a personal story that highlights the lasting impact even a relatively small gesture can have. The Rav related that his daughter had spent several weeks in a local hospital due to medical complications. During that time, his rebbetzin would often purchase several bars of chocolate before heading to the hospital, and distributed them among the staff and patients in her daughter’s ward, spreading sweets and smiles.
On one such visit, an elderly patient graciously accepted the treat and then turned to Rebbetzin Weissmandl with a wide grin. “You’re Jewish!” she exclaimed. Then she added, “I have an amazing closeness to the Jewish people, and whenever there is bad press about them, I always say, ‘You don’t know these people!’ ”
Intrigued, the Rebbetzin asked her why. The elderly woman explained that her positive feelings stemmed from a single episode that had occurred some seven decades earlier in that very medical establishment, where she gave birth to her son. The joyous occasion, however, was marred by difficult hospital conditions. There was a shortage of available rooms, and as a non-insured patient, she was at the bottom of the priority list. Compounding the difficulty was the way things worked back then in the 1960s, when mothers and babies were often subject to extended hospital stays, designed to ensure both were fully healthy before returning home. The prospect of a long, uncomfortable stay in a makeshift room wasn’t especially appealing to the new mom.
Hospitalized at the same time was a Jewish woman who had paid for a private room. She somehow learned of this woman’s predicament and invited the roomless patient to share her private room for the duration of her stay, gratis.
“We became friends,” the grateful patient recalled to the Rebbetzin. “Once, she received jelly for dessert, and I asked the staff for the same. They told me that she was a private patient, and that was why she received jelly. When the Jewish woman heard that, she turned to me and said, ‘I really don’t need or like this jelly, and I would be so happy if you would have it.’ ”
The two new mothers eventually left the hospital and never saw one another again. Yet that simple kindness inspired a lifelong affinity for the Jewish People that was still going strong nearly seven decades later.
This past Thursday, the second annual TorahLinks J3 Conference was held at Bell Works, NJ. The J3 Conference brings together hundreds of students and young professionals from the Olami network, many of whom are in the process of finding their way toward a more observant Jewish life, alongside a similar number of Orthodox business leaders, for an evening of networking. The event represents a natural outgrowth of TorahLinks’s years-long partnership with the Lakewood Torah-centric business community.
At one dinner table, the conversation turned to everyone’s occupations, and a group of students learned that one of the Lakewood business executives also serves as a dayan on a local beis din and spends his mornings in the yeshivah in Lakewood. The students were duly impressed and requested to join a study session the next morning instead of their planned tour of Lakewood.
The conference buzzed with the energy of nearly 600 Jews gathered together, and included fireside chats with leaders at the top of their industries. Yet for this group, the highlight of the weekend didn’t take place in the grand setting of Bell Works, but in the far humbler setting of a chaburah room in Beis Yitzchak, sitting around a table, learning Torah.
Two years after the passing of Lakewood mashgiach ruchani Rav Mattisyahu Salomon ztz”l, the yeshivah held a formal maamad hachtarah to install Rav Reuven Hechster as the new mashgiach. The monumental event took place Sunday evening, drawing thousands of talmidim who sang Rav Hechster from his office to the yeshivah’s cavernous dining room, where he gave his inaugural address.
Rav Hechster was born and raised in Eretz Yisrael before going to learn in Beth Medrash Govoha, where he became a talmid muvhak of Rav Nosson Meir Wachtfogel ztz”l, the legendary Lakewood mashgiach who served until his passing in 1998. Rav Hechster penned a series of seforim called Leket Reshimos containing the teachings of his great rebbi on a host of topics.
In 1999, Rav Hechster returned to Eretz Yisrael and was tapped by Rav Nosson Tzvi Finkel ztz”l to serve as mashgiach in Mir-Brachfeld alongside Rav Aryeh Finkel ztz”l. For a quarter of a century, Rav Hechster held the position with distinction, developing into one of the central figures of the Israeli yeshivah community.
This past Sunday, Rav Hechster expanded that role to include the American Torah community as well with his appointment as Lakewood mashgiach. In his opening address, Rav Hechster made clear that he saw himself as perpetuating the derech he was first exposed to in Lakewood.
Rav Malkiel Kotler described the job of a mashgiach as instilling in the tzibbur the sense that they are a mamleches Kohanim v’goy kadosh, and that it was Rav Nosson who helped the talmidim of the yeshivah connect to Rav Aharon’s derech.
Rav Hechster opened his address by quoting his great rebbi. He quoted the Gemara (Berachos 6b) that states, “Kol adam she’yesh bo yiras Shamayim, devarav nishma’in — Any person who has the fear of Heaven, his words are heeded.” Rav Nosson added two words: “sof sof devarav nishma’in — eventually, his words will be heeded.”
Almost three decades after Rav Nosson’s passing, his talmid muvhak stood in front of a crowd that had, bli ayin hara, swelled well past its humble beginnings as living proof of his rebbi’s prescient words.
(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1099)
The post The Moment: Issue 1099 first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.
Mishpacha**
The next personality that the Midrash explores is the mother of Shimshon, whom Chazal refer to as Tz’lelponis (Bava Basra 91a_)_. She’s called this because “tzel — shadow” captures her pivotal spiritual experience: She saw the “shadow of Hashem” through the malach who appeared to her twice, informing her that she'll have a child and that she must raise him as a nazir. How does this verse in Eishes Chayil relate to the extraordinary woman, Tz’lelponis, and what can we learn from her?
As noted by Rav Binyamin Eisenberger in Mesilos B’nevi’im, both of Shimshon’s parents were known to be righteous people, so it's curious that the malach appeared to the woman and not to her husband, Mano’ach. Chazal indicate that they disagreed about the source of their childlessness; each of them believed that the flaw lay in the other. The malach comes to tell Tz’lelponis that it is she who is barren and that they would merit to receive significant blessing only when peace would reign between them.
This dynamic is captured in the second half of the pasuk. We can interpret the word “vachagor” as “she strengthened herself,” “la’kena’ani,” related to the word “hachna’ah,” to defer to her husband. She understood the lesson of the malach and internalizes the message — blame is destructive; it's only with humility and unity that one engenders an atmosphere of shalom in a home and becomes a conduit for much blessing and goodness.
Rav Gamliel Rabinowitz in Tiv Haftaros emphasizes that parents’ behavior has a profound effect on their children. It's for this reason that the malach commands Tz’lelponis to adhere to the laws of nazir. Carrying her child in these circumstances created the spiritual energy necessary to infuse her son, Shimshon, with the level of kedushah that he needed.
Someone once approached the Chazon Ish and asked when the age of chinuch for a child begins. He responded, “Ten years before one gets married!” The implication is that each person must work on his personal development and middos, since it will deeply impact their child in subtle and not so subtle ways.
Indeed, Rav Aharon Soloveitchik ztz”l points out that this is one way to understand the midrash that links this pasuk to Shimshon’s mother — because Tz’lelponis was comfortable selling what she produced to traveling peddlers, Shimshon also developed the skill of interacting with other populaces and was able to integrate seamlessly among the Pelishtim and cause chaos and havoc from within, thereby saving Klal Yisrael.
Tz’lelponis typifies one who focuses on creating her home with mutual respect and serenity. She is also the Eishes Chayil, one who understands that her physical and spiritual character directly influences her future generations, not only in words but more importantly, in deed.
Rebbetzin Shira Smiles is a lecturer in the Yerushalayim area, and a mechaneches in Darchei Binah Seminary. She is the author of Torah Tapestries_, which includes extensive essays on each parshah, and_ Arise and Aspire_, on birchos hashachar._
Many people today have a fascination with whatever royalty remains in the world, much of which is ceremonial. While it’s interesting to see what Princess Kate wears, and the regal way she carries herself is instructive, her popularity far exceeds her level of influence in the world. The Jewish woman, on the other hand, is capable of being a true source of influence. How does that work?
In our pasuk, the Malbim sees the cloth or tunic the Eishes Chayil makes and sells as the knowledge she has acquired and then passes on to others. The belt she weaves and then gives to the kena’ani, translated here as the peddler, is compared to the binah, the understanding, that she extrapolates from the knowledge she attains.
Knowledge can be bought or sold. We pay for schooling, or for the expertise of someone knowledgeable in their area, and it can be given over in a straightforward way, if there is a willing teacher and a capable student. Binah, understanding, isn’t sold. It has to be offered differently and is acquired in a more nuanced way. The inner binah that is hers, when integrated into her life and expressed through the way that she lives (da’as), can overflow onto others who come in contact with her. Her understanding is her shefa (bounty) that flows from within her, and the Eishes Chayil is the mashpiah, the ultimate influencer.
As Jewish women, we carry within ourselves the deep wisdom and understanding of how to keep the Jewish people going until Mashiach arrives. Though many women enjoy learning and sharing words of Torah, as I do, the real hashpa’ah — influence — comes from how we carry ourselves in the world and how we hold the wisdom of the ages that is our spiritual DNA. When it’s congruent with the dignity with which we present ourselves, it overflows on all those we come in contact with and makes a mark.
The work of the modern Eishes Chayil is to make sure she continues to fill her inner well with Torah-true knowledge, from which she can draw deeper understanding. When she absorbs this into her life, she ensures that she is a ma’ayan novea, an overflowing spring of influence in the world.
Rebbetzin Debbie Greenblatt is a senior lecturer for the Gateways organization and a teacher of both the observant and the not-yet-observant. She is also director of education at Core.
When is enough, enough? The Eishes Chayil has linens and regal clothes, her children have clothes of shani, and her husband is prominent. What should she do now?
The pasuk tells us that the Eishes Chayil doesn’t stop. She continues to make sadin, linen fabrics, but instead of replacing her last season’s clothes — va’timkor, she sells them. She also makes belts that she distributes to other merchants to sell.
Although the Eishes Chayil has enough, it would be a waste of her potential and time to stop creating (Nishmas Chayim). Rather than indulging in another outfit, or retiring and going on endless coffee dates, she uses her time and talents to invest in her future by selling her handiwork. She exchanges the pleasure of wearing something new to earn money that she can invest in her future, either to buy things needed by her family for the long term (Meiri) or to give tzedakah (Malbim).
Rav Chaim Kanievsky, in Taama D’kra, adds an additional dimension. According to halachah, the sadin requires tzitzis and can’t be given to a non-Jew to sell, while other articles like belts don’t require tzitzis and can be given to non-Jews to sell. The Eishes Chayil knows this halachah and makes strategic decisions so that her work is always governed by halachah.
The Eishes Chayil has achieved a balance that is a model for all of us. She takes care of herself, but doesn’t spoil herself. She prompts us to stop and think before we buy yet another outfit or extra bag, and ask ourselves whether we should rather save so we can invest in something that will last into the future — whether this is for our family or for tzedakah.
She also reminds us that the professional world isn’t neutral territory. We need to continue to stay educated and aware of halachah so that we do things according to it. She also reminds us that we should continue to develop our potential and use our time wisely to build a better world, both in This World and the Next.
Question: How can I use my talents and material wealth with a focus on the future both in This World and the World to Come?
Mrs. Shira Hochheimer is the author of Eishes Chayil: Ancient Wisdom for Women of Today_, a presenter for Torat Imecha Nach Yomi, and an administrator for WITS in Baltimore, MD._
(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 981)
The post The Shadow of Hashem first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.
MishpachaAs always, Yonoson Rosenblum hit the nail right on the head with his excellent article “No Right of Return.” I’d like to add a small (or maybe not that small) detail that lends context.
The Palestine Liberation Organization (the so-called “good Palestinians” of the Palestinian Authority) adopted the Palestinian National Charter in July 1968. Article 6 reads as follows: “The Jews who had normally resided in Palestine until the beginning of the Zionist invasion will be considered Palestinians.”
It is questionable whether the “beginning of the Zionist invasion” refers to 1917, the year the Balfour Declaration was declared, or to the 1880s, the years of the First and Second Aliyahs. In any event, the vast majority of Israel’s eight million Jews are considered foreign usurpers and fall under Article 20 which states: “Judaism, being a religion, is not an independent nationality. Nor do Jews constitute a single nation with an identity of its own; they are citizens of the states to which they belong.”
When President Clinton visited Gaza in 1996, he brought the matter up with Yasser Arafat, who convened the Palestinian Parliament and asked for a show of hands to vote on repealing the objectionable clauses. This meaningless gesture satisfied the naive US president.
I guess countless nations all over the globe had significant increases in their Jewish population.
Yosef Eisen
Reading your feature about the Ohel Sarala chizuk trip to kivrei tzaddikim in Europe led by Rav Chaim Aryeh Zev Ginsberg and Rabbi Shlomo Bochner left me very moved. That being said, as a boy in shidduchim, I was kind of jealous.
While yes, I am thankful to be in “the driver’s seat” and that my mother gets so many suggestions, I also need chizuk, like everybody else who has been in shidduchim for a while. I feel this is a very overlooked point in our shidduch system. People think that since boys are in yeshivah, “they are fine.” Well, that is not true... boys struggle, too! I wish there was more support and chizuk for boys. We do not receive that in yeshivah. How nice would it be to feel part of something, too.
I also wanted to address the article featuring some new initiatives intended to help with shidduchim. While all that is great, I feel the most important issue was left out, and that is the high expectations of both boys and girls. I’ve seen many times in my own shidduchim how people are simply not looking for what is important. Middos such as being thoughtful, conscientious, kind, and caring are put to the side. Instead the focus is on things that have little bearing in a marriage, such as the boy’s level of learning or what yeshivah he attended or the kind of phone he uses. I believe that if this issue were addressed, many more shidduchim would materialize.
Another issue the article neglected to mention is the lack of hadrachah for girls. Personally, I’ve built close relationships with several rebbeim and they are able to guide me during this challenging stage. But I’ve also how some girls don’t have this support and how it negatively affects their shidduchim. Ending something without giving it a chance does no one a favor.
I really would sign my name (I don’t believe in anonymous letters), but I’m still in shidduchim….
A bochur dating for three years
I very much enjoyed Yitzchok Schwarz’s recent article highlighting new initiatives aimed at addressing the challenges of shidduchim. The more we are willing to try new approaches, the greater our chances of making a real dent in this complex and painful area of communal life.
As someone actively involved in shidduchim, as both a dating coach and shadchan, I’ve become involved in several newer initiatives that focus on empowering and supporting young married couples to step into the role of shadchan. These couples are encouraged to think intentionally about their friends, neighbors, classmates, shiur-mates, and former neighborhood peers, and to actively suggest and redt shidduchim.
The idea is a simple but powerful one: Young peers often know today’s daters best. They understand how they think, what they value, and what might truly be a good fit. Just as importantly, singles often feel far more comfortable speaking openly with people their own age. To support this, there are WhatsApp groups, dinners and gatherings, collaboration and networking efforts, and even shared databases being developed by and for these young couples and daters.
In addition, I’m also part of an initiative focused on spreading education about shidduch dating to the broader community. Through vaadim, Zoom classes, and concise, jam-packed video content, we aim to raise awareness about some of the key challenges that exist in the shidduch world and to provide healthier frameworks and practical tools for parents, daters, and community members alike.
I would like to encourage everyone to remember that anyone and everyone can be a shadchan. Sometimes it simply requires looking to our right and to our left, noticing the singles around us, and being willing to help in whatever way we can. When more of us take responsibility, the burden becomes lighter and the possibilities grow. Sometimes the greatest shadchan isn’t a professional at all, but someone who simply cares enough to notice.
Jordan Ginsberg
The Gift of Compassion
The scenario presented in last week’s Double Take was very true to life, but I was disturbed to see the closing argument presented by the principal. She was quoted as such: “If I could tell Tova one thing it would be: Trying to reshape an entire school program around your daughter’s trigger is impossible — and risks teaching her helplessness, not healing.”
I disagree. That’s not how traumas work. This kind of thinking harms those who are working so hard to get through difficult life experiences, and the only lesson that the student will learn from such a scenario is that her needs don’t matter. Reshaping the program would not teach her helplessness; it would teach her about the gift of compassion.
Realistically though, I understand it was hardly likely that the program could be changed after it was announced. I think a more appropriate message from the principal could have been, “If I could tell Tova one thing, it would be: Trying to reshape an entire school program around your daughter’s trigger is impossible — but we will offer her compassion and a substitute prize to recognize her hard work.”
Vichna Belsky, BS
Certified Life Coach
Thank you so much for your insightful articles that offer lessons we can all gain from. A few weeks ago, Rav Chaim Aryeh Zev Ginzberg wrote an article about Rav Yaakov Kamenetsky, describing his steadfast adherence to speaking only the truth. I’d like to add another anecdote.
Toward the end of his life, Reb Yaakov suffered a stroke and struggled to speak. Ideas did not come out as he conceived them. This was obvious at the Agudah Convention, and one could see how much it bothered him. Subsequently the word went out that he was not able to speak anymore.
Three weeks before Reb Yaakov was niftar, I was at the Diskind home in Baltimore where he was staying. We had a minyan there for him and I clearly heard him saying Shema word for word. Following davening, Rav Diskind ztz”l (Rav Yaakov’ son-in-law), asked me if I could come over after the Seudas Leil Shabbos to speak with Reb Yaakov for 15 minutes, since I spoke Yiddish well and Reb Yaakov knew me. That conversation ended up lasting 45 minutes and it may have been his last.
Reb Yaakov only responded to questions with “yes,” “no,” or “maybe,” but his wisdom was distinctly perceptible. Finally, he took my hand and gave me a full brachah. Obviously, he was indeed able to speak but chose not to, in order to stay true to “Titain emes l’(Rav) Yaakov.”
Rabbi Dovid Yankelewitz
Yeshiva Darchei Torah
Far Rockaway, NY
Thank you for highlighting the issue of the nurses strike currently taking place in NYC. It put an important spotlight on how it is affecting patients and families in many ways. As a nurse for 18+ years at New York-Presbyterian Children’s Hospital, I want to clarify some points.
The last nurses strike in NY Presbyterian Hospital was in 1996, 30 years ago, and lasted just one day. Contracts are negotiated and renewed every three years — and often down to the last hour. This time around, negotiations at NY Presbyterian Hospital began in August to prepare for a renewed contract that expired on December 31.
From August onward, hospital administration did not bargain in good faith, ran around in circles with the same terrible offers, and often did not show up at all to bargain. Even when a (legal) ten-day strike notice was given on January 2, the administration still did not seriously participate in negotiations. On January 11 (the evening before the strike was to begin), they arrived over six hours late to negotiations, stayed for 20 minutes, and walked out laughing at the nurses.
Instead, they chose to spend millions of dollars and utilize their strike insurance coverage to bring in temporary nurses to work on site. They paid 8–12k per week, per replacement nurse, to come and work while they locked the rest of us nurses outside without pay, without health insurance, without parking access, and without email or scheduling access. We were out in the cold in the dead of winter — and the hospital refused to come and negotiate further. The strike insurance covered their costs, and the hospitals didn’t feel the hurt.
The hospital was backed by Governor Hochul’s emergency order to allow nurses unlicensed in NY to come and work. They also chose to close down many units and transfer out 50 percent of their patients to affiliated hospitals to maintain a low patient census. They hired a high number of temporary strike nurses and forced all the doctors, fellows, and residents to be on the units. They collaborated with Montefiore and Mt. Sinai all along the way, with the hospitals acting in unison for months.
No, the nurses did not suddenly disappear on the morning of January 12.
No, the hospital was not caught off guard.
No, the nurses did not want to walk away from their patients. From their jobs. From the work they love to do.
Nurses are the backbone of healthcare and have made my hospital what it is today. If you need surgery, have a high-risk pregnancy, or need chemotherapy or other procedures, the doctor and surgeon may be who you decide to come for. However it is the nurses, their work around the clock, lab draws, medication administration, wound care, catheter and ventilator management, IV fluids, etc. that dictate outcomes of your care. Recent Mishpacha articles discussed a baby born with a cleft lip, a woman enduring a miscarriage, and a woman with severe fragrance allergies. Nurses are needed for all of this, but also need to be taken care of so that they can continue to care for others.
Two of the biggest issues of this current strike are safe staffing ratios and healthcare coverage. The hospitals threatened to cut back our health coverage or make us start paying more for it, when they themselves control the rates of insurance increases!
Safe staffing ratios would ensure a proper number of nurses to care for the patients. When my 58-bed NICU has a patient census up to 78, where do those extra nurses come from? Literature has proven that insufficient nurse staffing leads to poor patient outcomes.
So yes, we are standing outside in the freezing cold winter, without income, fighting for you, our patients, and for your health outcomes. And we should be supported for doing so.
Shevi Rosner, RN
Clifton, NJ
I’ve noticed that in the conversation about spending and peer pressure, one major expense hasn’t been mentioned: seminary. As I see it, seminary is a wonderful thing but a major expense, something I think most parents really can’t afford but do anyway because of the peer pressure. From ninth grade, it’s drilled into the girls that the only way to marry a ben Torah is if they go to seminary. Pity the parents who dare to buck the trend and say no to this meshigas.
Name Withheld
I’d like to weigh in on the issue of overspending, especially when a child wants a very specific item that “everyone” is buying. If my child wanted something that I thought wasn’t necessary I used to ask if they wanted to split the cost. If they said no, I knew that it wasn’t as important as they presented it to be.
Aside from clarifying this for me, it taught my children the lesson of earning money. I know children who never babysit or take on a summer job or any other position that teaches the discipline of earning a dollar. When I was in Bais Yaakov, there was a girl who gave haircuts during lunch and recess. My husband told me there was a bochur who did the same thing in his yeshivah. You can get a job in an overnight summer camp instead of paying for camp. I did canteen work for three years and learned a lot about sales. At the same time, I had a ball.
Going to Israel for a year or longer to learn is an incredible experience. The parents can commit to help paying the tuition but let your child know in ninth or tenth grade that you will pay a portion of the tuition and possibly even the airfare, but they will need to earn all the pocket money.
These simple but maturing ideas help to get young people out of the race for “more” early in life.
Anna Maryles
Chicago, Illinois
(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1099)
The post Inbox: Issue 1099 first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.
Mishpacha(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 981)
The post Expect to Spend: It’s a Girl! first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.
MishpachaLiving in historic times means that we’re blessed with an abundance of Mashiach predictions. Random quotes from medieval Kabbalah seforim are passed around with urgency, undeniable evidence that a rise in oil prices or a heavy snowstorm was foretold as the indicator. Sometimes, these messages are accompanied by imaginative gematrias and dazzling remazim that leave no room for doubt.
They are beautiful, of course, fragile constructs that don’t tell much about when Mashiach will arrive, but say so much about how badly he is wanted.
You don’t have to forward these messages to ten people. I promise that when he does come, Mashiach won’t penalize you for not heeding the prophets of WhatsApp.
Chazal, however, did give us indicators, training us to read the pattern of history.
Quoting the pasuk in Yeshayahu (59:15), “Vatehi ha’emes ne’ederes — And the truth is lacking,” Chazal (Sanhedrin 97a) tell us that in the Ikvesa D’Meshicha, the period before Mashiach’s arrival, truth will be formed into adarim, flocks, and go away. (The words for absent and for a flock share the same root of eder.)
A flock doesn’t vanish in a flash; one sheep drifts away, then another, followed by a third, and suddenly, the field feels empty. The truth is gone, off to the side grazing quietly, as life in the field goes on.
But some mefarshim understand this gemara differently. Like flocks of sheep walking in different directions, there will be many claimants to the title of truth, each one claiming that they are the essential truth.
Emes will not retreat — it will fragment, partial truths mistaking themselves for the whole. So instead of a shared field, we get rival pastures, all of them holding on to half-truths. When each flock feels that it alone carries the truth, then there is no truth, and this is the tragedy.
But it’s also a signpost, marking the generation of destiny, and thankfully, that is us.
In America, a civil war has erupted, masked ICE agents waving guns facing off against equally zealous protestors brandishing megaphones; each side is convinced the other is ruining the country.
We don’t do civil war, baruch Hashem. We are a people raised on color war, so our battles play out on 24/6, theme songs proclaiming our vision and values.
The thing is, like in color war, the themes are not competing truths, but parallel loyalties that were never meant to cancel each other out.
There are certain realities that are built into the fabric of creation.
Shulchan Aruch, and its every word, is absolute. Learning Torah, horev’ing in learning, is the purpose of the universe, and the oxygen that sustains it.
Simchah shel mitzvah is a prerequisite for hashra’as Shechinah, the source of all blessing.
Both are true, and can easily be proven.
Now, bear with me for a moment.
Last week, my children had midwinter break, which is what it’s called here in Montreal, rather than “yeshivah week.” (Even though I know what a yeshivah is and I also know what a week is, I don’t get the shidduch that led to this very mudneh term.)
I was happy for my kids to have an opportunity to relax during what has been a particularly brutal winter, and we spent Shabbos in Orlando under the “Parents know what’s best for their children and don’t judge the decisions they make, even if you think they’re wasting money or spoiling their children” act.
It was beautiful.
Children (and parents) who, for the past three months, have walked with hunched shoulders under heavy coats, suddenly felt not the slap of frigid air, but the steady warmth of sunshine on the back of their necks.
And then it stopped being beautiful. It got a bit cold, then even colder. In case we didn’t realize that it was freezing, funny friends back home, having access to up-to-date information about Florida weather thanks to frum websites with a mission of Schadenfreude keeping us hashkafically informed, sent us all sorts of jokes.
Along with this, those of us visiting Orlando from Montreal had to keep our faces in a permanent smile to accommodate the hilarity of the “You brought the weather with you from Canada?” brigade, farginning them their laughs as well.
Standing on the Orlando sidewalk after Shacharis on Sunday morning, I heard an interesting exchange.
Most of the parents gathered chose to be positive, focusing on the fact that there was no snow, it was still warmer than back home… that sort of stuff.
“Thank You, Hashem!” one man exclaimed emphatically as the wind lifted his yarmulke off his head.
Someone else turned to him and said, “Oh, you’re Thank You, Hashem?” asking the question as one might ask, “You’re Israeli?” or, “You’re Vizhnitz?”
It was odd, because l’maiseh, we’re all Thank You, Hashem — every single Yid (as hinted by that very word, a derivative of Yehudi, a name we carry because we live with gratitude) ascribing to the basic ideal of a movement that encourages us to be conscious of His steady kindness and love.
One story.
Another story from Orlando. (Once you’re going, you might as well get your money’s worth, right?)
On Sunday morning, one of my children ended up in a minyan that was a bit more new-age, lots of singing, clapping, dancing, a flow of aggressive warmth in protest against “cold” shuls. It was all very nice; they davened, and leined, and then, it came time for Tachanun. It was no special occasion, and there was no chassan in attendance. Yet the baal tefillah beamed at the crowd and waved his hand: “No Tachanun on vacation, obviously,” he said, and quickly moved on. No one protested.
That’s frightening.
A person who, under the banner of “shul has to be a happy place” and “Yidden have suffered enough, it’s time to laugh,” breezily waves away a tefillah, is not choosing Yiddishkeit, but something else.
The good Yidden who launched and carry the Thank You, Hashem movement, and certainly the talmid chacham of extraordinary depth, breadth, and humility to whom they have bound themselves, would no doubt get nauseated from that sort of thing; as soon as you start editing Shulchan Aruch to fit your mood, you’re in crisis.
If you’re getting that message from someone, then they are impostors; they aren’t Thank You, Hashem, but a different group called We Are Grateful, Hashem, but Please Don’t Micromanage Us.
As soon as mood, uplift, and vibe become the goal of a religious endeavor, there is a risk that some sense of obligation will be forfeited.
“Zeman Krias Shema is just too early! Aren’t you supposed to enjoy davening?”
Just like the right color and decor can only beautify a home built on a firm, well-structured foundation, emotional vitality and joy can only enhance and elevate an experience based on halachah.
Boredom is to say “be happy when things are good and sad when things are bad and holy when you’re feeling it.” The opposite of boredom is to find one of the tools Hashem gave you — a blatt Gemara, doing a favor for another Yid, immersing yourself in a mitzvah, or even enjoying a beautiful sunset or piece of music — whatever it is, and to discover joy. That takes strength.
There are four words that epitomize this balance: Mishenichnas Adar, marbin b’simchah (Taanis 29a, Magen Avraham 686:3).
“How can the dry, precise calendar tell me what to feel? Emotions don’t come with a switch you can flip off or on!”
The answer is that the Torah is teaching you that you can control your inner life; you don’t need the right music, weather, or ambience, because it’s already there, if you’re ready to work.
That’s why halachah, black-and-white letters with no animations, graphics, jingles, or catchy beat, can instruct us: Be happy!
It’s what the Torah says, to each and every one of us. That’s the most important thing, and it’s the only thing.
(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1099)
The post Be Happy! first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.
MishpachaIT’Snot every day that a former White House press secretary finds himself demoted, voluntarily, to the peanut gallery, elbowing for airtime with the rest of us. But last Thursday delivered precisely that plot twist.
There he was: Sean Spicer, Trump’s first press secretary. The man who took a briefing room that once doubled as a federally sanctioned nap pod and turned it into appointment television. Before Spicer, briefings were something a few thousand people snoozed through. With Spicer, they were something millions watched, often with popcorn.
And now? He was one of us.
Sean Spicer, podcast host, author, civilian. Just another credentialed colleague, another raised hand, another hopeful squint toward the lectern.
He took a standing position at the front of the right-hand aisle, and we chatted while waiting for the briefing to begin. He’s just wrapped a book, Trump 2.0, out next month. His thesis was simple: Absence sharpened the blade.
“Had Trump gone back-to-back,” he told me, “the second term wouldn’t have been nearly as consequential. Time out of office lets you think. Analyze. Decide who you want around you, and what you actually want to get done.”
He mentioned a recent visit to Mar-a-Lago, but Trump wasn’t there. They did speak on the phone, though. When I asked for details, he smiled and gave me the most Washington answer imaginable: “We were just catching up.”
We then discussed a moment back in 2020, when Spicer was hosting a show on Newsmax and showed up for a Trump briefing, instantly making history as the first former press secretary to be called on for a question by his old boss.
“Yeah, please, in the back,” the president said, gesturing toward his former spokesman.
It didn’t go unnoticed that POTUS never actually said his name. Still, he got the question.
We took a selfie and I drifted back to my own spot on the other side of the room. Just before the briefing kicked off, Spicer made a move; crossed the room, switched aisles, repositioned himself on the left-hand side directly in front of me. In his hand was a single sheet of notepad paper upon which a handwritten question was scrawled.
Press Secretary Karoline Leavitt took the podium and delivered her opening remarks. Then she scanned the room and called on reporters for a total of 38 minutes. She did not call on her predecessor, who was standing maybe 12 feet away, close enough to read the seal on the lectern. In the end, Spicer didn’t get a question.
As the room cleared, I overheard him quietly auditing his own decision-making to another reporter.
“I shouldn’t have moved spots,” he said. “If I’d stayed on the other side, she would’ve seen me.”
Once upon a time, the room revolved around Sean Spicer. On Thursday, it spun right past him.
The price tags on lifesaving medications have become something between a national frustration and a chronic illness of their own. Everyone is sick of being sick and tired of being billed, no one expects much to change and nothing ever does.
Enter TrumpRx.gov. Unveiled this past week by President Donald J. Trump, the new platform offers a direct path for American patients to purchase some of the most expensive, high-demand prescription medications at the same price paid in other developed countries, often at a fraction of current US rates.
Behind its sleek federal interface lies a sweeping policy experiment rooted in a concept known as Most-Favored-Nation (MFN) pricing, which means that if Pfizer sells a drug to Denmark for $250, that becomes the baseline price for America. For decades, this notion was considered a policy fantasy. It was too legally fraught, too diplomatically messy, too ambitious to operationalize. And the Trump administration has pulled it off.
At its core, TrumpRx.gov is not a new entitlement; it’s neither insurance plan nor social program. It’s not an overhaul of the pharmaceutical industry either. Patients with valid prescriptions simply log on, find their medications from a growing list of 43 (and counting), download a manufacturer-backed coupon, and redeem it at the pharmacy.
Some of the cuts are so dramatic they read like a mistake featured on Dan’s Deals. Ozempic and Wegovy, once priced over $1,000 per month, now range between $149 and $350. Fertility medications that used to cost hundreds per dose are being offered for under $30. Medications are typically available at discounts as high as 80% to 90%.
How did this all come to pass? Rewind to May 2025, when Trump signed an executive order mandating MFN pricing for American patients. In July, the White House mailed what can only be described as “compliance encouragement letters” to pharma CEOs. By September, 16 major manufacturers had signed on to the pricing framework. And then came the kicker: In December, the administration inked a trade deal with the United Kingdom to raise their drug prices by 25%, forcing foreign nations to start picking up their fair share of global R&D costs.
The plan forces American prices down and foreign prices up until equilibrium is achieved. It’s a novel blend of health care policy and trade enforcement, and one that may only have been possible under an administration willing to treat pharmaceutical pricing like a geopolitical negotiation rather than a technocratic reform.
Legal challenges may emerge. There are open questions about how these discounts will interact with insurance plans, and whether the temporary cooperation of drug manufacturers will hold over time. The administration, for its part, is pressing Congress to codify the model through a legislative proposal called the Great Health Care Plan, something that would cement MFN pricing, increase insurance transparency, and potentially reshape private market incentives.
But regardless of the next legislative steps, TrumpRx.gov is live and is already slashing prices on some of the most in-demand drugs in the country. It’s one of the rare moments in American politics when a sitting president promised to lower your out-of-pocket costs and actually launched something that’s tangible, navigable, and unironically helpful.
Arash Aalaei, a congressional reporter for Iran International, showed me something interesting. He was scrolling through live conversations with contacts inside Iran — messages that were getting out despite the regime’s latest Internet blackout. I asked the obvious question: How?
According to Arash, the regime has flooded major cities with vehicles equipped with mobile jamming devices, rolling blackouts on wheels designed to smother any signal trying to escape. So Iranians adapted, as they always do.
People have begun embedding Starlink routers directly into the ceilings of their cars. When they need to communicate with the outside world, they go for a drive. Far beyond the city limits, beyond the reach of the roaming jammers, they pull over, power up, and send their messages to the free world.
In today’s Iran, the road itself has become the Internet.
(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1099)
The post Spinning Past Sean Spicer first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.
MishpachaThe eight-year-old boy sat confidently in his seat. He knew he would win the most coveted prize: a pair of Radio Shack walkie-talkies.
His camp rebbi, Rav Moshe Chaim, had made memorizing yedios klalios the focus of the summer’s learning program. The boys were encouraged to learn by heart the names of all 24 seforim of Tanach, as well as the names of Shishah Sidrei Mishnah. Our young friend had not only mastered all of that, but he had even memorized the names of all 63 masechtos of Mishnayos!
Therefore, our child prodigy sat assuredly as the names of the various awards were called.
Rav Moshe Chaim took the microphone and added a cursory caveat: The grand prize would be awarded not just for excellence in yedios klalios, but also for exemplary middos tovos.
Our protagonist never digested these words as thoughts of Radio Shack walkie-talkies danced in his mind.
“The winner is….”
Our boy-wonder was beginning to stand when, as if in a trance, he heard another name being called, and he saw another boy walk to the stage and take hold of his walkie-talkies.
He sank back in his seat, hands hiding his tear-filled eyes as he reeled in utter disbelief at this horrific miscarriage of justice.
Suddenly, he realized he was not alone. Someone had sat next to him and placed his arm around our disappointed friend’s shoulder.
With much love, Rav Moshe Chaim said, “I know you’re disappointed. But you could have done even better in middos and overall behavior. It would not have been fair to award you the prize. One day, you’ll appreciate that you have potential for greatness, and maybe you’ll even thank me for this.”
At that moment, though, our friend could only see someone else walking off with his walkie-talkies.
Fast-forward 20 years. Many years of learning Torah have almost erased the memory of the walkie-talkies from the mind of our now-married kollel fellow. He is spending Shabbos 3,000 miles away from home, a guest in a shul he has never been to.
His ears perk up when he hears, “Ya’amod Moshe Chaim ben Avraham.”
In an instant, our protagonist is transported back two decades, and he is reliving the camp banquet. The walkie-talkies are front and center in his mind, and there is his former nemesis standing just a few feet away, walking toward the bimah to receive his aliyah.
When Moshe Chaim heads back to his seat afterward, he suddenly turns and makes a beeline for our hero and places his arm around his shoulder. Before anything is said, tears begin to flow as our friend recalls the same embrace over twenty years earlier.
He looks at Rav Moshe Chaim and says, “I was planning on telling you I’m mochel you. But now I realize I must thank you. You may have deprived me of the walkie-talkies, but you gave me something much more precious. You showed me that you cared about me and believed in me.”
Twenty-five years later, our story continues.
The camp is running a reunion, and our friend is asked to share one memory; he chooses the story of the walkie-talkies. The clip is forwarded around, and eventually Moshe Chaim sees it as well.
A day later, our friend notices a package on his porch. The attached note reads: “You are truly deserving of these now.”
If you ever happen to be in Far Rockaway, stop by the White Shul and say hello to Rabbi Eytan Feiner.
And don’t forget to notice the brand-new walkie-talkies, proudly displayed on his bookshelf.
(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1099)
The post The Walkie-Talkies first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.
MishpachaOne of my close friends likes penguins. So when I saw an ad for a diamond-art penguin, I ordered it — in a moment of possible insanity. After many, many hours of dropping tiny black and white “diamonds” into minuscule openings_,_ I presented her with a sparkly, smiling penguin to adorn her desk.
I’m always on the lookout for things to gift. Of course, birthdays deserve a present, and I wouldn’t miss the chance to bring back a “souvenir” from an Israel trip. Sometimes, a visit to the local dollar store will inspire me to pick up some craft or squishy toy for a grandchild.
Is there a downside to my willingness to give out gifts? Is it spoiling children, making a relationship about what they expect to be given? Well, I’m going to have to disagree on this one. Spoiling’s in my contract! I base my actions on what I always fantasized having a grandmother would be like. But there is more to it.
The post The Gifts That Keep on Giving first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.
MishpachaOpen your fist. You can’t take it with you. Let go and let go and let go.
Whatever you think you own, you don’t. Possession is an illusion, truth is transcendent. The more you want, the less you have. It takes so much faith to just let go.
The sun rises on a day that belongs to you. Your hands stretch out and grab fistfuls of air. But the sun sets, and the day is gone, never to be seen again. What have you gained with all of your reaching?
Let go.
You hoard your anxieties. Relentlessly rushing. The endless piles of stuff. The terrible weight of your beautiful expectations. Counting, recounting. So much need. So much greed. But truly nothing is yours except what you give away. You must release to acquire.
Let go and let go and let go.
The post Open Your Fist first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.
MishpachaINgeneral, if one of my chassidic patients brings me to meet his rebbe, the rebbe will want to ask me about the case and to hear my diagnosis and treatment plan before making his own assessment. If there is more time, I’m sometimes asked to list my ruchniyus resume in addition to my medical credentials: Where do I daven? What seforim am I learning? Did I know the Bostoner Rebbe ztz”l during my time at Harvard Medical School?
But at my first meeting with Rebbe Yissachar Dov of Lelov-Piotrkov years back, the Rebbe immediately smiled at me as I entered his private room and asked me if I’d like to learn with him. He flipped through the pages of Rebbe Aharon of Karlin’s Beis Aharon, which happened to be on his shtender and which opened my mind to a world of chassidus that until then I had only visited but had never really been zocheh to live.
Ninety minutes later, after we’d delved into the most central chassidic topics of hiskashrus and dveikus, the Rebbe closed his sefer and told me to return and learn with him whenever I was in the area of his beis medrash on Rechov Bar Ilan in Jerusalem.
“And what about the patient?” I asked, my mind still floating in a bewildered haze, having seemingly traveled back in time to a generation where a rebbe still had time to teach strangers one-on-one about the fundamentals of avodas Hashem.
“He will be fine, b’ezras Hashem. Come back to learn. And bring your friends. A gutte nacht.”
After that encounter, I wasn’t even surprised when the patient who initially asked me to speak with the Rebbe made an immediate change towards a healthy life — a turnaround that would have been highly unlikely based on prior behaviors and statistics. Nor was I surprised that all the various people I brought to the Rebbe over the years felt as though he had given them a spiritual gift that they would have for the rest of their lives.
This list didn’t only include my cousin who was floundering at a yeshivah for at-risk kids and is now shteiging in the Mir, or an old friend who couldn’t commit to a healthy lifestyle and is now on the right track having avoided a heart attack, or a rosh yeshivah who finally found his personal gadol. The Lelov-Piotrkov Rebbe, who passed away last week, was an admor for every Jew.
But somehow for me, it felt even more personal. The Rebbe always seemed to find time for me in his days that were already packed with avodas Hashem, intensive learning, and helping his fellow Yidden. And it consistently happened at the times when I could use it the most after a long day in the clinic and in need of his varmkeit and Torah pearls. How many times did the Rebbe instruct his gabbai to call me just as I was driving past his beis medrash and ask me to come in?
We studied Noam Elimelech, Yismach Yisrael, and Beis Aharon, but we mostly learned what the Rebbe referred to as “Maseches Dovid Lelover,” stories and lessons of the otherworldly chesed and ahavas Yisrael that the Rebbe’s holy ancestor Rav Dovid of Lelov was famous for — and which he bequeathed to his progeny through the next generations.
Rav Yissachar Dov Biderman is the seventh generation after Rebbe Dovid Lelover, who was a close talmid of the Chozeh of Lublin. It’s a bit confusing how today there are dozens of Lelover Rebbes, and that’s because in addition to the seven generations of rebbes from Rebbe Dovid to Rebbe Yissachar Dov’s father, Rebbe Moshe Mordechai of Lelov, there were branches created by sons and sons-in-law over the 200 years since Rebbe Dovid’s passing, as well as the fact that all seven of Rebbe Moshe Mordechai’s sons (Rebbe Yissachar Dov and his brothers) became either rebbes or heads of batei medrash.
There are many famous stories told about Rebbe Dovid, like how, as a six-year-old, he gave his own fur coat to a poor child in cheder during an especially harsh winter because he couldn’t bear to see another Yid in pain, even if it meant he’d suffer in their place.
The Rebbe would repeat these stories to me, and before Succos one year, he told me an especially moving one: Rebbe Dovid Lelover had painstakingly saved money all year in order to buy an esrog. On his way to the market, he saw another Yid standing on the side of the road next to a dead horse. As the Yid told him about how his parnassah as a woodcutter was dependent on the horse and how he’d be unable to feed his family without a means of transportation, the two of them cried together. And then Rebbe Dovid put his hand in his pocket and gave the Yid all the money he’d saved during the year, telling him, “Everyone will be blessing their esrogim and I’ll be blessing your horse.”
Reb Yissachar Dov was so moved by this story that he began to cry. He took his tears and wiped them on his forehead, teaching me that this was a very powerful means of washing away one’s aveiros. He then took his finger to dry his eyes once more before reaching across the shtender and wiping his tears upon my own forehead.
“This will help you to be a good chassid, an even better chassid, a great professor, and a great Yid,” he said. I can’t describe those moments in words, but I definitely felt the holiness doing its work.
(I once began to tear up when discussing a patient of mine who had suffered tremendously in his life. The Rebbe took his finger, wiped away an escaping tear, and put it on my forehead, telling me, “This will help.”)
Rebbe Yissachar Dov loved to teach me specifically about Dr. Chaim David Bernhard, the most famous talmid of Rebbe Dovid Lelover, who was the personal doctor of the Polish king. Dr. Bernhard’s father was a chassid of Rebbe Elimech of Lizhensk, who blessed him that his son would light up the world. But Chaim David himself had other plans. As a young man, he left the traditions of his fathers and was pulled into the glitter of secular high society and nobility, eventually serving as the chief physician of Polish counts and even the king.
But then, through several Providential events, he had an encounter with Rebbe Dovid Lelover, and by the time it was over, he was recommitted to Yiddishkeit, slowly relearning the ways he’s set aside long ago. Eventually “Rabbi Dr.” Bernhard became a mashpia and rebbe in his own right.
“Rebbe Dovid Lelover came back to the world just to bring Dr. Bernhard back to Yiddishkeit and chassidus,” the Rebbe told me one evening as he closed his sefer. “So perhaps I’m only here in this world to teach you a bissel chassidus.”
He repeated the story as he graciously put up a mezuzah on the door of my new clinic in Jerusalem. “You shouldn’t need to be a doctor. You should just teach chassidus like Dr. Bernhard.” he said. “But if you need to be a doctor, then you should be as good a doctor as Dr. Bernhard!”
And I felt it, the unique attention that he gave me, which made me feel as though I was the only person on the entire earth when we spoke. It wasn’t only the hours he gave me or even the tish beketshe that he took off of his own body and handed to me in order to uplift my own Shabbos. It was the look in his eyes that told me very clearly that I was his favorite chassid.
But the amazing thing was that every single person he had contact with felt the exact same way. I remember watching dozens of times over the years as the same elderly neighbor came to the door to schnor a cigarette and how the Rebbe jumped to his feet and ran to give him one in spite of his own physical pain due to multiple medical conditions. This neighbor also felt as though he was the Rebbe’s favorite chassid, in the same way that we all did.
And this love wasn’t limited to frum Yidden. I remember the day after Simchas Torah, October 8, 2023, when the Rebbe called me from his personal cell phone (I didn’t know he even had one, and didn’t recognize the number) no less than 20 times before I finally picked up.
“Come immediately,” he told me. “I have a mitzvah for you to do.”
When I arrived, the Rebbe handed me a wad of bills and told me, “Go as fast as you can and buy a huge quantity of almonds, nuts, and garinim, and run to give them to Jewish soldiers. Tell them that I love them, and that they should be strong and not lose faith when they do their mitzvah of protecting their fellow Yidden. Tell them that if I had the koach that I would hug and kiss each young soldier and tell them how much I love them.”
(The Rebbe really didn’t have koach. He suffered from a severe chronic lung disease, and at one point when I looked at his CT scans, I was shocked. Based on his scans, his lungs had essentially stopped functioning four years prior. He was one of those tzaddikim that was able to stretch time and bend physics.)
Following the Rebbe’s instructions, I spent thousands of shekels on all sorts of pitzuchim for soldiers over the next few days and told them that it was from the Rebbe. Many young men cried and told me that indeed, at this point in their precarious mission, they felt a deep connection with every Jew. I’m sure this was Rebbe Yissachar Dov’s intention. Every Yid was his favorite chassid.
One Friday afternoon, I was leaving a levayah for a soldier who was the son of a neighbor. Although it was Erev Shabbos in the winter and the clock was ticking, the Rebbe called as he always did just as I was driving past his home, to see if I would come to learn a bit of Torah with him before Shabbos. I told him that I had a car full of people, and he said, “Good, then bring them, too. We can all give each other chizuk.” To the soldiers who were with us, the Rebbe said, “You should know that you are on a big shlichus to protect your fellow Yid, and when you wear tzitzis it will protect you, so make sure to have your friends wear them, too.”
Like his heilige ancestor Rebbe Dovid, giving chizuk to his fellow Yid was the Rebbe’s greatest concern. He went through many personal challenges in his own life, including losing his first wife in a deadly fire, but would see those tragedies as blessings as well, saying that his pain made him able to feel the pain of others, the pain of Klal Yisrael. During one of the many Covid lockdowns here in Israel, I remember the Rebbe’s gabbai calling me to ask for my gardener’s phone number. The Rebbe wanted to know if he could pay him to plant a single lemon tree in his courtyard, “because he probably doesn’t have so much parnassah right now and it will give him chizuk.”
The gardener — a man whose Persian roots and status as a former IDF commando made him an unlikely chassid — was excited to find some extra work during a time where luxuries, like his services, were hardly being utilized. While the physical work took only an hour, the Rebbe spent twice as long discussing the halachos of orlah and shemittah with his new chassid. Less than a month later, the Rebbe took a minyan of chassidim out to visit the gardener on a hilltop not far from the Psagot Winery where they discussed the brachos inherent in Eretz Yisrael and davened as they watched the skyline view of Jerusalem.
The Rebbe’s learning and his davening were mesmerizing to watch, but his avodas Hashem in everyday activities was something I imagined to see in a different time, perhaps the era of the Baal Shem Tov’s talmidim. I remember watching the Rebbe wash his hands before taking terumah and maaser on grapes that he had asked me to bring him. Time froze as he prepared for the mitzvah.
He once told me, “There is a special ‘L’sheim Yichud’ tefillah you say for every action in the world, whether it’s for separating terumah, for eating, or even for being a psychiatrist! You have to connect the gashmiyus with the ruchniyus. So you daven and ask Hashem to help you to do right. I remember as a child that when I washed before eating, I used to always say, ‘Hashem, I’m only eating so that You will give me strength to do more mitzvos.’ I still try to do that today.”
Yet as lofty as his avodah was, the Rebbe never considered it an interruption to help another Yid. In fact, for the Rebbe, that was the ultimate tachlis.
“My zeides always had a sefer open,” he told me. “Either they were learning from it or running to help another Yid and didn’t have time to close it.”
The Rebbe grew up with a personal role model for avodas Hashem and ahavas Yisrael. His father, Rav Moshe Mordechai Lelover, who moved his beis medrash to Tel Aviv in the early 1940s, was known as true gadol and tzaddik both inside and outside the frum world.
“My father was the rebbe of Menachem Begin,” he told me. “He introduced Begin to his friend the Baba Sali, but Begin relied on my father and always asked him everything. In 1981, he came to get a brachah before he gave the order to bomb the Iraqi nuclear reactor. My father gave him a big brachah that this should be a great help for Am Yisrael, and at the exact moment the bomb fell, my father had a stroke and never spoke again. It was like his last sacrifice for Am Yisrael.” Rebbe Moshe Mordechai passed away six years later.
IFyou want to know who Rebbe Yissachar Dov of Lelov-Piotrkov was with one quick vort, maybe this is it: “If you see a Yid who’s doing something that doesn’t seem so good,” he once told me, “you should know that either it’s not really the way it looks, or that it’s not really him doing it at all. This is the teaching of my holy ancestor Rebbe Dovid Lelover — that a Yid never does something intentionally that’s not good. It must be the yetzer hara, because how could the essential neshamah do something not good? Perhaps he didn’t say the brachah shelo asani goy with enough kavanah that morning, but it wasn’t really him.
My rebbe passed away at age 84 on Erev Tu B’Shevat while in the mikveh, something he had always said would happen, to ensure that he left this world as pure as he came. Heartbroken, I pulled my car off to the side of the road and tore kri’ah. After a few moments, though, I thought of those words the Rebbe said so often: Even this couldn’t be bad because Hashem only creates good. I took the tears that were running down my face and wiped them across my forehead — and thought about how I could help my fellow Yidden in his merit.
Yehi zichro baruch.
Dr. Yaakov Freedman is a psychiatrist and a business consultant practicing in Jerusalem. His newest book, Stories and Halachah from The Psychiatrist’s Couch_, is available from Adir Press._
(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1099)
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MishpachaClick here for the links to the items used in the article!
https://www.amazon.com/hz/wishlist/ls/3OS9BSX1MRJZ8?ref_=wl_share
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In episode 8 of Season 3, Rabbi Garfiel and Rabbi Schonfeld answer reader emails and voicemails, including how rebbeim can assur texting for bachurim when they have texting themselves, whose responsibility is it decide if a child should be medicated for ADHD, and how should someone know if he should go into chinuch?
Season sponsored by Israel Bookshop Publications! Shop now at https://israelbookshoppublications.com/collections/sale
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MishpachaThis Mishloach Manos is all about clean lines and confident simplicity. A simple black box, sealed with a black ribbon and finished with an embossed label, creates a look that’s sharp, minimal, and striking without trying too hard.
The post Black and Bold Mishloach Manos first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.
MishpachaWhen it comes to Mishloach Manos, we love ideas that feel fresh, creative, inexpensive, and just a little unexpected. This year, we came up with a really cool out-of-the-glass idea—literally.
The post Stemware Jars first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.
MishpachaWhen putting together a Mishloach Manos, we’re always drawn to ideas that feel simple, practical, and nicely presented. This covered tray is an easy option that looks put together without feeling overdone.
You can find the printable labels here: For Canva Files_02
The post Cheesecake Mishloach Manos first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.
MishpachaSometimes all you need is a pretty box and a few beautiful food choices. We love this floral box paired with simple, elegant treats—it’s an easy combination that feels thoughtful and put together.
The post Floral Gift Box first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.
MishpachaWe love a good baking hack, and this one is definitely a keeper. We recently developed this idea and can’t believe how simple they are to make. It’s one of those shortcuts that feels just as satisfying as baking from scratch.
The post Lotus Pecan Cookies first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.
MishpachaMacaroon boxes are a great packaging option for all kinds of baked goods, not just macaroons. Their clean shape and clear presentation make them perfect for cookies, brownies, bars, or any favorite treat you want to showcase.
The post Macaroon Box Mishloach Manos first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.
MishpachaIf you’re looking for a creative and cost-effective way to elevate your packaging, a personalized embosser is such a smart investment. It’s a great alternative to custom-made stickers and adds a timeless, professional touch without the need to reorder supplies every year.
The post Embosser first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.
MishpachaWe were super excited to discover these drawer boxes on Amazon—they’re incredibly versatile and work beautifully for Mishloach Manos. With their clean lines and compact design, they instantly feel special while still being practical.
These boxes come in many different colors, which makes them easy to adapt to your style. Go neutral for a more classic, elegant look, or choose brighter colors for something playful and festive. They can fit right into almost any theme.
One of the best parts of these boxes is their flexibility. You can use as many drawers as you’d like, depending on how much you want to include. Whether you’re keeping things simple or adding a few extra treats, the design works either way.
You can find the printable labels here: For Canva Files_01
The post Treat Drawer Boxes first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.
MishpachaA nut tray is always a great choice for Mishloach Manos. It’s timeless, practical, and universally appreciated—especially when it’s done with creativity and elevated details.
For Purim, we wanted to take this classic idea and make it feel fresh and special, without overcomplicating it.
You can find the printable labels here: For Canva Files_05
The post The Rustic Nut Tray first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.
MishpachaCustomizing canvas bags is an easy and creative way to make a personalized Mishloach Manos that really stands out. With iron-on transfers, you can turn any size canvas bag into something special in just minutes. Simply choose your bag, place the design, and iron it on—no complicated steps required.
The post Custom Canvas Bags with Transfers first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.
MishpachaWith just a drop of creativity, you can turn a simple paper bag into a special and eye-catching packaging idea. It’s proof that you don’t need complicated materials or elaborate designs to create something that feels thoughtful and intentional, just like our Kraft Box Packaging.
The post Paper Bag Packaging first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.
MishpachaGranola is a wonderful idea for Mishloach Manos—it can be prepared in advance, packages beautifully, and is always appreciated. It’s practical, delicious, and feels thoughtful without being overly complicated.
You can find the printable labels here: Granola
The post Granola Tower first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.
MishpachaChocolate and cold brew are both classic Mishloach Manos items—and they pair beautifully together. It’s a combination that feels familiar, well loved, and always appreciated.
This setup keeps things neat and understated for a polished look. Simple packaging lets the items shine while still feeling intentional and gift-ready. It’s an easy way to create something that looks put together without extra fuss.
You can fill the pouches with homemade cold brew or use a store-bought option, depending on what works best for you. Either way, the end result feels thoughtful and practical
You can find the printable labels here:For Canva Files_12
The post Coffee Break Mishloach Manos first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.
MishpachaIt’s a simple concept that makes a strong visual statement.
Go tall and dramatic for a statement piece
Either way, the stacked design stays polished and cohesive.
We filled ours with jerky, but the options are endless. This packaging works beautifully with:
any flavor Jerky
nuts
candy
chocolate
or any favorite treat
Mix and match fillings to suit your theme or taste.
This stacked container idea is creative without being complicated. It’s easy to assemble, easy to customize, and works for a wide range of Mishloach Manos treats—making it a practical and stylish option for Purim gifting.
You can find the printable labels here: For Canva Files_07 For Canva Files_08
The post Beef Jerky Tower first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.
MishpachaIf you enjoy making acai bowls and are looking for a change, this Mango Piña Colada Bowl is a refreshing and delicious option. It keeps the same thick, spoonable texture you love, but with bright tropical flavors that feel light and satisfying.
We found these flat bowls with covers and felt they were a smart, practical size for this recipe. They’re easy to fill, simple to cover, and ideal for delivering or serving later.
The shallow shape also makes it easy to add toppings evenly.
If you’re preparing these bowls in advance or sending them out, keep in mind that they should arrive at least partially frozen.
This recipe is a great and refreshing dessert as well. Serve with or without the toppings.
You can find the printable labels here: For Canva Files_10
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MishpachaThey say good things come in small packages—and this Mishloach Manos is a perfect example. Thoughtful, compact, and delicious, it proves that you don’t need something large or over-the-top to make a meaningful impression.
This set includes three flavored brownies, each one individually wrapped and then stacked together neatly. The individual wrapping keeps everything fresh while also adding a polished, intentional look to the final presentation.
The stacked design feels clean and organized, making it easy to package and easy to gift.
One of the best things about this brownie box idea is how customizable it is. You can choose any flavors you like to suit your taste or theme, and you can easily adjust the quantity as well. If you prefer, you can give just two brownies instead of three and still create a beautiful, thoughtful Mishloach Manos.
Simple, Elegant, and Practical
There’s something especially appealing about a Mishloach Manos that’s straightforward and well thought out. This one checks all the boxes:
Simple to assemble
Easy to transport
Elegant yet inexpensive
You can download the printable labels here: For Canva Files_04
The post Brownie Box first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.
MishpachaWe were a big family, and, like most frum families, at some point, we got a keyboard. I think I was about eight years old then. A month later, no one else was looking at that keyboard anymore, but I never stopped playing.
At the very beginning, when I first started to work in music as a parnassah, I worked for Naftali Schnitzler for six years. I learned an unbelievable amount from being with him, and I’ll always be grateful.
I always sing the four zemiros that my father sang at his table: “Kol Mekadesh,” “Mah Yedidus,” “Menuchah Vesimchah,” and “Tzur Mishelo.” If the kids are in the mood, we sing some Yiddish songs, too. But usually, they’d rather play a game than sing.
The song “Miracles,” written by Yossi Green for RCCS in 2010, and more recently performed live by Meilech Braunstein and Shira Choir at an RCCS event last year (“Hoping for a miracle, protect me from the storm, the clouds, the dark, a world of unknown….”). It was arranged by Shea Kaller and I did the mix. It really moved me, and I was almost crying when I worked on it.
I had a Thursday evening job in L.A. with Shira Choir, singing at a major Chabad siyum. We flew out of New York in the morning, and were supposed to fly back at 11 p.m. We were already at the gate when we heard an announcement that the flight was cancelled, as the pilot hadn’t shown up. It was rescheduled for 7 a.m. Friday morning, which meant it would arrive in New York after Shabbos came in. After a bit of drama, we managed to get on another flight and arrived home two hours before Shabbos. I didn’t even have my tallis and tefillin with me, because I had planned to be back home for Shacharis.
Avrum Mordche Schwartz has a single called “Ezkeru,” which is something special. I once drove at night from Yerushalayim to Meron, around three dark hours, and I had this song on repeat the entire time. I don’t think the song is that popular, but there is definitely something himmelish and holy about it. A SONG I NEVER GET BORED OF SINGING
Avrum Mordche Schwartz has a single called “Ezkeru,” which is something special. I once drove at night from Yerushalayim to Meron, around three dark hours, and I had this song on repeat the entire time. I don’t think the song is that popular, but there is definitely something himmelish and holy about it.
Arranger Hershy Ginsberg from London was in the studio with me a few weeks ago. He told me, “The reason I like when you mix is because you respect the music.” It was a compliment that meant a lot to me, because respecting the music is challenging but so important.
Honestly, I don’t really listen to music much on the outside, because I’m constantly working on new music projects. I’m in the studio from nine a.m. to 5:30, and when I leave, I’ve had enough. I don’t want to listen to any music — I’d rather hear a shiur or a podcast. Sometimes I need to listen to the mix I’m working on in a different environment, to hear it outside the studio, but that’s still part of my work.
Although I sing in Shira Choir, I don’t perform on Shabbos or Motzaei Shabbos. But for myself, there’s a really nice “A Gita Voch” on Ahrele Samet’s first album, with some of the words from the tefillah G-tt fun Avraham.
The Meron music is very powerful. You can sing it at any wedding — it’s always appealing and speaks to everyone.
(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1098)
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MishpachaIN
a world obsessed with intelligence — measuring it, categorizing it, outsourcing it, and now even automating it — we often overlook the most basic prerequisite for it. Before a child can think creatively, reason deeply, or express ideas of his own, he must first know one essential truth: that he is not interchangeable. Real intelligence does not begin with information or skill. It begins with identity.
Rabbi Yisroel Beyda, a rebbi in Yeshiva Ketana of Waterbury, once shared a thought with me. “We need to teach our children to use R.I. — real intelligence.”
He was not speaking about academic achievement or test scores, and certainly not about artificial intelligence. He meant something far more fundamental: teaching children to think from within, using their own minds, hearts, creativity, and neshamos.
Over time, I’ve come to believe that R.I. can also be understood as “real identity.” The two are inseparable. A child cannot think independently unless he first feels that he exists independently, that he matters as a distinct person. Intelligence, in its truest sense, is not the ability to retrieve information or produce polished output. It is the capacity to think, choose, and express from within. And that capacity cannot develop without a sense of self.
That idea crystallized for me one Shabbos morning in Camp Romimu, where I spend my summers. The early sunlight shimmered across the grounds, still holding traces of an overnight thunderstorm. The air was crisp, fresh with the scent of rain-soaked earth, and the camp, usually bursting with youthful noise, rested in a rare and peaceful stillness. As I walked into the dining room for my pre-Shacharis coffee, I noticed it was nearly empty, except for a few boys from the special-needs bunk lingering quietly.
That’s when I noticed Yanky.
He was standing by the coffee station holding his own jar. Not just any jar — a large container of Taster’s Choice, with his name written boldly across the label in thick block letters. Curious, I asked him why he brought his own coffee when camp had plenty available.
He looked up at me, almost surprised by the question, and answered simply, “But this one has my name on it.”
Yanky wasn’t talking about coffee. He was expressing something far deeper. He was telling me, in the purest way possible, that being named matters. Being recognized matters. When a child feels that he is seen as someone specific and irreplaceable, he begins to see himself that way as well.
I saw the same truth play out again later that day. I watched Rabbi Armo Kuessous, the head counselor, standing with a group of new campers. As he prepared to leave, he paused and challenged himself to name every boy in the group. One by one, he called them out. With each name he called, a boy’s face lit up, his posture straightened, and something inside him visibly shifted. There was no speech and no reward —just the quiet power of being called by name.
Recognition does more than make a child feel good. It shapes how he understands himself.
ITbrought to mind a powerful story about my great-grandfather, Rabbi Leib Heber ztz”l, who for many years traveled throughout western Pennsylvania, bringing Yiddishkeit to jails, hospitals, and homes. When he arrived at a facility one Sunday, he discovered that only one of the original Jewish residents, an elderly woman named Charlene, remained. She was upstairs, and the public-address system was broken, so the staff could not announce his arrival to her.
When the rabbi’s aide went to get her, she refused. The rabbi himself called to her, but still she refused.
Finally, he went upstairs and gently said, “I have a kosher salami sandwich for you. Come down — I’m here for you.”
But Charlene remained unmoved. Then she broke down and cried, “You didn’t call my name. You didn’t announce my name!”
The pasuk in Tehillim (147:3–4) captures this so powerfully: “He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds. He counts the stars and calls each one by name.” Some mefarshim explain that every star has a unique name because every star has a unique purpose. Sometimes, the deepest healing comes not from answers or solutions, but from being recognized.
Technology has always shaped how we think. There was a time when the phone company charged for calls by the minute, and people planned in advance what they would say. Before GPS and Waze, one had to map a route, ask for directions, weigh alternatives — Route A or Route B — and think things through. Each new advance brought convenience, but also quietly removed a layer of thought.
Artificial intelligence may represent the most far-reaching stage of that progression. It doesn’t only assist thinking; it tempts us to replace it. It not only takes away effort; it takes away creativity, struggle, and choice. When thinking itself is outsourced, the result is not just intellectual weakness — it is a loss of identity. Less thinking, diminished creativity, fewer moments of genuine human interaction — and ultimately, a weakened sense of self.
When children are rarely asked to think, imagine, or wrestle with ideas, they can slowly stop seeing themselves as thinkers. And when a person no longer experiences himself as a thinker, he begins to feel replaceable.
This awareness followed me back into the classroom as well.
One afternoon, I walked into my afternoon ELA class and announced that we would be writing an essay. Predictably, there were groans. Writing often feels like rules without meaning. But when the boys were given a prompt that invited them to imagine, choose, and articulate their own values, the room grew quiet. For nearly half an hour, they wrote — not because they had to, but because they had something of their own to say.
They still had to pay attention to mechanics, but that was no longer the point. What mattered was that each student was being asked to think from within. They were not filling in a template. They were discovering that their thoughts mattered.
That, too, is Real Intelligence.
We live in an age overflowing with input — information, opinions, images, and now artificial intelligence. AI can organize, refine, and assist. But it can never supply identity. That comes only when a child is treated as an individual. When he is called by name. When his thoughts are invited. When his inner world is taken seriously.
Being called by name does not make a child intelligent. But it allows him to see himself as someone whose thoughts matter. And once a child believes that his thoughts matter, he begins to think, choose, and express — which is the soil in which real intelligence grows.
Yanky’s coffee jar with his name on it was not about coffee. It was about existence. And in a world increasingly tempted to let machines think for us, the greatest gift we can give a child is the knowledge that his real identity — and therefore his real intelligence — still matters.
Real intelligence begins the moment a child realizes he is not replaceable.
Rabbi Moshe Dov Heber is a rebbi at Yeshiva K’tana of Waterbury, where he also teaches personal finance, and a division head in Camp Romimu.
(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1098)
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MishpachaIF
you give a shadchan your résumé, she’ll ask you for a picture — just for her records. After searching through photo albums and unlabeled SD cards, you find a nice picture of yourself from last summer’s family trip to Niagara where you look natural, happy, and relaxed, and send it to the shadchan.
When you send her the picture, she’ll probably ask you for a more formal photo. You’ll wonder why her records need a formal picture while you go through your closet to find that perfect outfit, but then you realize you don’t have a dress that’s casually glamorous.
You’ll run out to Junee and buy a beautiful, casually glamorous dress you’ll probably never touch again until you need an updated shidduch picture. At home, you put it on and prepare to do your makeup.
When you open your makeup bag, you’ll notice that you’re out of your special Shabbos lipstick. So you grab your purse and run to CVS for a new tube of lipstick — in your brand-new outfit.
The post If You Give Your Shadchan a Résumé first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.
MishpachaWE
were going to go hiking. My husband and I had decided that, and our decision was final. Yes, it was freezing outside and we had seen snow already, but at 40˚ F, we could handle a mountain, right? We’d work up a sweat and cast off our coats, desperate for a breeze. It would work. Anything to avoid another winter visit to American Dream.
It’s not that I’m opposed to American Dream. It’s a lovely place. There are activities everywhere, a little something for everyone. Go ice skating for an hour for an exorbitant price! Mini golf for 20 minutes for an exorbitant price! Ride a Ferris wheel for half a nhour with a beautiful view of… the highway… for an exorbitant price!
There’s just one, tiny, exorbitantly priced thing that gives me pause. Mostly, it’s this: Why am I spending half my salary on a single day of vacation?
Sadly, when the day dawned, we hadn’t broken 30˚ F, and I suspected the medical bills might be even more exorbitantly priced than the riding toys in American Dream ($10 for ten minutes! Per child, obviously). So off we went.
The post My American Dream first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.
MishpachaPhoto: AP Images
S
audi Arabia is a large geopolitical puzzle piece in the center of the Middle East.
Its oil reserves, its usefulness as a staging ground for regional military action, and its role as a bulwark against Iran have kept it a valued American ally — even through bumps in the relationship, such as the 9/11 terrorists who originated there, and more recently the murder of journalist Jamal Khashoggi.
But with the ascent of Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman (MBS) to the leadership, the stage seemed set for a new era. MBS was eager to diversify his country’s economy and curry favor in Washington, and some saw an opportunity to nudge the kingdom toward greater moderation, possibly including normalization with the State of Israel.
Yet since MBS’s warm reception at the White House only a few months ago, Riyadh’s latest moves seem to be hinting at a drift back toward radicalism.
The Saudis have now shelved the possibility of joining the Abraham Accords and have aligned themselves instead with Turkey, Qatar, and Pakistan — nations whose relationships with the West are more complicated. The Saudis even came to blows in Yemen with the UAE, a US alley.
To try to read these shifting sands, Mishpacha spoke to Edmund Fitton-Brown, a former British diplomat who has served in Saudi Arabia and Yemen and is now a senior fellow at the Foundation for the Defense of Democracies.
Mr. Fitton-Brown says that on the question of regime change in Iran, the House of Saud seems to be hedging its bets: “If there is a real change, that could either be a source of greater risk or perhaps greater opportunity for the Saudis.”
That would explain why, even with the regime in Tehran on the ropes, the Saudis seem reluctant to take advantage of its weakness. Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman is reported to have helped dissuade President Donald Trump from striking Iran amid protests.
Now, as the US gathers an armada around the Islamic Republic, MBS has publicized his promise to Iranian president Masoud Pezeshkian that Saudi Arabia will not allow its airspace or territory to be used in an attack on Iran.
Mr. Fitton-Brown suggests the Saudis don’t fully trust the US to finish the job: “If the US loses interest in Iran, and Iran rebuilds its military capacities and revitalizes its wounded proxies, that very quickly becomes the same threat which worried the Saudis in the past.”
Just a few years ago, Saudi Arabia seemed to be moving toward joining the Abraham Accords, with MBS telling an American interviewer that “every day we get closer.”
One of Hamas’s aims in its October 7 attack was to drive a wedge between the Saudis and Israel — and it seems to have worked. The war in Gaza sank Israel’s image in the Arab world, and the Saudis halted normalization talks.
Now, increasingly harsh anti-Israel and anti-Semitic rhetoric emanates from official and quasi-official Saudi channels. The new era between Israel and the Saudis that many in the West hoped was around the corner now appears to have been wishful thinking.
The deepest problem is that normalization with Israel remains unpopular among Saudi subjects. A recent poll of Saudis conducted by the Washington Institute for Near East Policy showed that 81% of respondents viewed normalization with Israel negatively.
The Saudis are also hesitant to follow the lead of the UAE and Bahrain, which they view as “little brothers.” Given the monarchy’s role as guardian of Islam’s holiest sites, the House of Saud has to tread more carefully. “They’re more pragmatic than ideological, but Saudis have always been very nervous about criticism that doesn’t fit their image as leaders of the Islamic world,” said Mr. Fitton-Brown.
Mr. Fitton-Brown says MBS still wants to please President Trump, who took a strong pro-Saudi line after the frostiness of the Biden administration; that might push him toward normalization with Israel. Another motivation is messaging to Hamas and other terror groups.
“They’re aware of the argument that they should not give Hamas a veto over normalization with Israel, which is exactly what Hamas did on October 7,” Mr. Fitton-Brown says. “They’re not particularly keen on encouraging that line of thinking.”
The Saudis’ growing alignment with Turkey and Qatar, two nations with deep ties to Hamas and the Muslim Brotherhood, is creating concern on a number of fronts. But Fitton-Brown cautions against making too much of it.
For example, the Saudis conducted an aerial attack on a UAE weapons shipment to an anti-Houthi faction in southern Yemen. Although the Saudis are sponsoring the fight against the Houthis, the UAE had thrown its support behind a different coalition.
“[The Saudis] woke up and said, ‘We can’t break up the government coalition and risk weakening the anti-Houthi front. We have a border with Yemen, the Emiratis don’t.’ ” Fitton-Brown says.
The Saudis took a similar tack in Sudan and Somalia, backing forces with recognized Islamist ties, while the UAE supported their rivals. But while these moves put Saudi Arabia on the same side as Qatari and Turkish interests, Mr. Fitton-Brown feels this was happenstance. The kingdom’s primary concerns in both conflicts were keeping oil shipping lanes open and slamming the door on refugees. Its preference for the Qatari and Turkish-backed factions, which were stronger, was pragmatic rather than ideological.
“The Muslim Brotherhood is still proscribed as a terrorist organization in Saudi Arabia, as it is in the UAE,” says Mr. Fitton-Brown. “Qatar is still one of the leading state sponsors of the Brotherhood, so I don’t buy that the Saudis have left an alignment with the UAE and Bahrain in favor of one with Qatar.”
Mr. Fitton-Brown suspects that this same pragmatism was behind Riyadh’s overtures to Turkey and Pakistan on a mutual defense agreement. Although on the face of it, this seemed to convey that the Saudis had lost interest in pleasing the US, Fitton-Brown suggests this alliance was more technical. The Saudis aren’t ready to help Pakistan fight India, any more than Pakistan would offer them its nuclear umbrella to fend off Iran.
“There’s a history with Saudia Arabia that its big enough and independent minded enough to always insist on maintaining a full range of international relationships.
(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1098)
The post Shifting Sands first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.
MishpachaWhat you’re describing is actually normal — and healthy! — child development. At around two, a toddler’s cognitive capacity begins increasing, allowing her to have a clearer perspective of the world around her. She’s now able to recognize recurring features of her environment, including the faces of familiar people. At the same time, she’s become aware that the world is also populated with unfamiliar people (strangers). Moreover, these strangers may be dangerous in that they’re unpredictable and may signal an upcoming separation from known people (like Mom). When someone or something new comes toward her, safe feelings are replaced by feelings of uncertainty, confusion, and sometimes even panic. A child can quickly become emotionally overwhelmed, responding as your toddler does, with tears and intense upset.
Contributing to these feelings of anxiety are newly developed powers of imagination. Toddlers are beginning to consciously remember their experiences and extrapolate from them. For instance, they can remember the doctor’s office, the strange people there and the needle that hurt; upon visiting that location again, a small child can have a sense that something unpleasant is about to occur. Her body may respond with stress chemistry, priming it for the fight-or-flight response. This can lead to “inexplicable” meltdowns in previously calm children.
Similarly, bedtime routines can trigger memories of separation, leading to distress responses such as crying, clinginess, and refusing to fall asleep independently even though doing so was once a given. All in all, the toddler is becoming “smarter,” but has not yet developed self-soothing skills to deal with a world now recognized to be uncertain and threatening. It’s as if her brain has gotten ahead of her heart. She now knows that all isn’t always well, but she doesn’t yet know how to stabilize herself through uncertainty, transitions, unfamiliarity, and other challenges. As a result, she regresses, collapsing into helpless tears or stubborn resistance.
Now let’s discuss how you can help your daughter negotiate this new stage. As she’s dealing with internal changes beyond her control, it is important to be accepting, gentle, and calm. She’s not intentionally trying to be difficult or demanding! “You want Mommy to stay here in your room while you fall asleep? Okay, Mommy will stay for a while.” There will be other separations that will have to happen, so she’ll have plenty of opportunities to survive those. This anxious need for your presence at bedtime is temporary; giving her what she wants will actually speed up her ability to become an independent sleeper again, because you’re soothing the alarm response in her, which will then make bedtime a less traumatic and traumatizing event.
When she cries at the approach of others, be careful to refrain from explaining that “she’s shy.” That label may create a condition that can take a long time to outgrow. Instead, explain to the approaching adult that your daughter isn’t in the mood for friendly conversation right now. There’s no need to impose socialization on your daughter. Doing so may prolong her sense of helplessness and lack of control, thereby prolonging her phase of anxiety. Your calm, confident attitude will put everyone at ease — especially your frightened toddler. Again, the more she feels accepted, safe, and in control, the quicker this new stage of development will pass. For the same reason, she should be allowed to close a “scary” book if she wants to for now. She doesn’t have to “face her fears” as an older child or adult would do in order to resolve anxiety.
In most cases, toddlers gain confidence and shed their temporary developmental panic and anxiety fairly quickly. Therefore, don’t alarm yourself by assuming that your daughter has an actual anxiety disorder. While not impossible, there’s no reason at this point to assume such a thing because what you’re looking at is far more likely to be just a normal developmental process. Hopefully, she’ll soon be back to her calmer, happier self.
(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 980)
The post Anxious Toddler first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.
Mishpacha
Photo: Flash90
BY
launching solidarity protests with the Arab sector, have Israel’s left-wing demonstrators found a new cause to rally around? If so, what impact could this budding alliance have on Israel’s upcoming 2026 elections?
Some 40,000 protesters gathered in Tel Aviv on Motzaei Shabbos to demand government action to stem the rising murder rate in some predominantly Arab-populated cities. More than 250 Arabs were killed in 2025 — the vast majority by gun violence. The trend has continued into 2026, with at least 15 Arabs murdered in January alone.
At the demonstration, Jewish and Arab demonstrators waved black flags — a symbol of the protest movement that began in 2019 as anti-Netanyahu marches and later evolved into rallies against proposed judicial reforms and the government’s handling of hostage negotiations.
Their concerns about the soaring Arab death toll — and the very real possibility that violence could spill into Jewish neighborhoods in Israel’s mixed cities — are genuine. Yet the timing of their new solidarity, ahead of the impending elections, points to a deeper agenda. The protest movement is being redeployed to the next stage — an Israeli version of the Red-Green alliance between progressive left groups (Reds) and Islamist factions (Greens), to achieve their long-term goal of toppling Netanyahu and electing a center-left government in his place.
Many forces are aligning to put this program into action.
Just last week, the Knesset’s four Arab parties agreed to run on a Joint List in the next election. On cue, new polls came out showing that the Joint List could become Israel’s third-largest political party. For now, the only opposition party leader to say he would invite an Arab party into his coalition is Yair Golan of the far-left Democratic Party. Once the electoral math becomes clear, the temptation for other left and center-left parties to join forces with the Arabs could be too strong to resist.
The same week, President Yitzhak Herzog, whose sympathies lie with the center-left, met with the head of the Arab side of the protest movement in Sakhnin. Herzog declared that the fight against crime and violence in Arab society was a “moral obligation” that “must be at the very top of [Israel’s] national priorities.”
Declarations of moral obligation or designations of national priorities, sincere as they sound, are just words. The battle against pure evil and immorality requires resolute action.
The Institute for National Security Studies, a center-left think tank, notes an increase in mafia-like activities by clans, gangs, and organized crime organizations that intimidate Arab society through protection and extortion rackets. The Arab sector is awash in illegal weapons, some smuggled in from Jordan and others stolen from IDF bases and police storehouses.
For now, let’s set aside the idea that the Arab public needs to practice the Muslim version of cheshbon hanefesh, or muhasabat al-nafs (self-accountability), rather than blaming Israel.
While Sakhnin is burning, the Israeli justice system is preoccupied with trivial and petty personal pursuits.
In March, the High Court of Justice will convene to consider Attorney General Gali Baharav-Miara’s demand that the government dismiss Itamar Ben-Gvir as national security minister. This position gives Ben-Gvir authority over the Israel Police. Ben-Gvir and Netanyahu are convenient scapegoats, but the upsurge in Arab violence has little to do with Ben-Gvir or Bibi, whom the attorney general handcuffs at every step.
The Jewish Institute for Strategy and Security (JISS), a center-right think tank, says that while the government and the national security minister bear “significant responsibility,” the attorney general, as Israel’s chief law enforcement officer, is also responsible. Netanyahu has ordered Baharav-Miara to convene a weekly meeting of the national task force for combating serious crime, first established in 2006. Still, she has yet to comply, citing budgetary and personnel constraints.
The JISS strongly recommends that Baharav-Miara declare violence in the Arab sector a state of emergency, allowing the government to fully mobilize and empower the Shin Bet, Israel Police, and the Israel Tax Authority to act against violent crime organizations, just as they do with Islamist terrorist organizations.
None of this will solve the problem overnight, but neither will the ritual Saturday night demonstrations in Tel Aviv, nor the ongoing standoff between the government and the attorney general. Both must end for Israel and its Arab sector to enjoy some real peace and quiet.
The percentage of Israeli respondents polled by Channel 12 who thought that Israel won the war in Gaza.
Some 54% said they believed Israel did not win, while 17% were not sure.
President Trump is hoping that Kevin Warsh, his pick to replace Jay Powell as Federal Reserve Board chair when Powell’s term ends in May, will make America’s interest rates lower again.
Warsh, 55, a Fed governor under presidents Bush and Obama, is Jewish, born in Albany, New York, and is married to Jane Lauder, daughter of World Jewish Congress President Ron Lauder.
Warsh supports lower rates and has called for “regime change” at the Fed — disruptive language that appeals to Trump. But he may not meet Trump’s lofty expectations.
The Fed chair is just one of 12 votes on the panel that decides rates, and he cannot fire or hire others, so he will have to lead by persuasion and consensus-building, not by coercion.
Outgoing chair Powell already cut rates three times since Warsh told Fox News last July that the Fed had lost credibility on interest rates, leaving Warsh with less room to maneuver. Financial analysts suggest he might make two or three quarter-point cuts in 2026, but most analysts expect 30-year mortgage rates to remain at or above 6% for the foreseeable future.
Warsh might end up provoking Trump by proposing that the Fed factor in government spending and the money supply when setting rates, at a time when US debt is headed north to $40 trillion.
Wisconsin voters are preparing for an important vote in November’s midterms — a simple yes-or-no decision on a constitutional amendment that would bar state and local governments from ordering houses of worship to close during a state of emergency, including public health crises. If it passes, it would prevent a repeat of the state’s “Safer at Home” order from March 2020, which limited public gatherings to fewer than ten people in a room. The state’s Supreme Court struck down that order two months later.
(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1098)
The post Rally Around the Black Flag first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.
MishpachaYou were born 16 days ago, my perfect little boy with radiant skin and a soft fuzz of brown hair. You came into this world on a Sunday evening, and when they placed you in my arms, I almost stopped breathing with wonder.
You’re the oldest grandchild for my parents, and you arrived into a family that’s been waiting for you from the moment I stood under the chuppah.
The funny thing is that five weeks before you were born, Bubby had a baby girl, my youngest sister. For reasons I still don’t fully remember — maybe her breathing was a little fast, maybe they were just being cautious — the doctors sent her to the NICU for observation. Two days later, she was perfectly fine and ready to go home. I went with one of your older aunts to pick Bubby up from the hospital. We were watching Bubby sign papers, ready to leave, when a nurse stopped us.
“Before you go,” she said to Bubby, “you need to do the infant resuscitation training.”
Then she looked at me and my sister. “You two might as well join in.”
I remember shrugging. Why not? I had nothing else to do. I was almost due. I was tired and uncomfortable, and figured I might as well sit down for 20 minutes and watch.
So I sat in that small hospital room with its educational posters and plastic baby dummy and the occasional cry from the babies in the nursery. I wasn’t paying full attention. I remember laughing a little at how strange it felt to practice pressing on a doll’s chest. But it was baby CPR, and I’d always wanted to learn CPR. The steps. The rhythm.
I didn’t know I’d ever have to use what I knew.
Love, Mommy
The post 23 Million Seconds first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.
MishpachaIs it healthy for young couples to start their marriage in Eretz Yisrael?
Moving to Israel as a young couple is a beautiful thing. That said, my biggest concern is the financial aspect. What is this couple going to live on? Can the wife find a job — or a job that pays more than the bare minimum?
Fully supporting married children in Israel is something that the wealthy might be able to afford, but for the rest of society, too much pressure falls on parents. It becomes just another aspect of a culture in which “this is what we do” ( year of seminary in Israel, unaffordable wedding standards) because we want our children to feel that we can give them what they need, and that these opportunities are open for them.
People are killing themselves to give their kids something that isn’t necessary. There are wonderful kollelim in America. You don’t have to start out in Israel. You certainly don’t have to start in Israel while also being flown back every Yom Tov and getting yearly visits from family.
If you’re a newlywed who wants to start out in Israel, ask yourself: Am I willing to work hard, really hard, and sacrifice for this? If it’s truly my dream, and I want the kedushah and the beauty of a life in Eretz Yisrael, what am I willing to give?
Fifty years ago, moving to Israel was a tremendous sacrifice. A phone call “home” cost a fortune. American products were a luxury. These days, it isn’t like that. But are you willing to lower your standard of living even a little? Take a smaller or less nice apartment? Work hard, buy less, and lower your material standards?
Or… with the abundance of imported brand names and American-style luxury available in Israel today… do you just want the best of both worlds?
The post Plane Talk first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.
MishpachaF
ollowing our article on the significance of healthy attachment some time ago, we received responses from parents who felt badly that they didn’t understand the importance of being emotionally responsive or creating a safe, secure, and soothing atmosphere in the home.
Some parents parented exactly how they were raised, not knowing any other technique or strategy. It’s difficult to break that cycle, as we often revert to what is familiar and comfortable to us. Some parents used shame and fear as tools to get children to behave, and while initially it may have seemed effective, it didn’t work for too long and almost always exacted a terrible cost.
The good news is that there is always room for repair. While repairing doesn’t undo a rupture, it can rebuild safety and trust in the here and now. Guilt over what was isn’t productive. Children don’t need to have perfect parents; they need to have accountable, emotionally connected, and present parents. It may not be too late to become that person.
(Note: This isn’t for repair after any form of abusive parenting.)
A repair conversation includes some of the following components:
The goal of repairing with adult children isn’t to wipe the slate clean, but rather to open up an avenue of reconnection and communication about your parenting and their childhood.
For younger children who you’re still raising, you need to do a repair as soon as you’ve lost your temper at them, even if they did actually do something that needed a consequence — because chinuch shouldn’t involve yelling and screaming.
Don’t expect a response right away and sometimes not even at all. Both young and adult children need time and space to process. These conversations are meant to help you communicate and convey understanding and intent on bettering your relationship in the future.
Zipora Schuck MA. MS. is a NYS school psychologist and educational consultant for many schools in the NY/NJ area. She works with students, teachers, principals, and parents to help children be successful.
Devora Schuck LCSW is a psychotherapist who treats anxiety and trauma in children, teens, and young adults.
I
try not to visibly flinch when I see younger kids riding in the front seat. But on my daily carpool route (especially on snowy, icy Chicago streets), I see it so much, it’s become hard to ignore. As a pediatrician, I know how often these seemingly small choices show up later in emergency rooms and trauma bays, and that knowledge can be hard to turn off.
Motor vehicle crashes remain one of the leading causes of serious injury and death in children, with a consistent and heartbreaking pattern: Kids are most often hurt when they’re unrestrained, improperly restrained, or moved to the front seat too soon.
The back seat, paired with the right car seat or booster, isn’t a “nice extra” or an overly cautious rule.
Children’s heads are proportionally larger, their spines and chest structures are still developing, and they sit closer to the dashboard. Forces an adult body can tolerate can be devastating to a child. Add a front-seat airbag, which deploys with enormous speed and force, and the risk rises further.
Decades of research show that children riding in the back seat are significantly less likely to suffer severe or fatal injuries, and that moving out of age-appropriate restraints too early dramatically increases injury risk. This is why we recommend the back seat, properly restrained, until at least age 13.
My patients often remember it as, “Back seat until after your bar or bat mitzvah.” Nothing magical happens on a 13th birthday — it’s a safety buffer, reflecting when airbag-related risks begin to decline for most kids.
Most crashes happen close to home, on familiar roads, during routine errands. Distance doesn’t change physics. Five minutes or 50, the back seat protects every time.
This is a real challenge for many families. Still, from a medical standpoint, convenience shouldn’t come at the cost of safety. Rearranging seats is frustrating, but it’s safer. The back seat isn’t about rules, it’s about giving children the best chance to walk away unharmed from a crash they never saw coming.
Dr. Jennie Berkovich is a board-certified pediatrician in Chicago and serves as the Director of Education for the Jewish Orthodox Women’s Medical Association (JOWMA)
F
eeding a baby can sometimes feel like a full-time job. It’s an unavoidable part of new motherhood, so why not turn it into something you actually look forward to rather than a task to rush through?
Create a little feeding station — your personal corner of calm. Start with the essentials: pillows to prop you and baby comfortably, maybe a footstool or that perfectly cosy chair. Then add the extras that make it yours: water bottles, and a stash of your favorite comfort foods. While you’re there, read a good book, flip through a magazine you didn’t get to read yet, or listen to a podcast you love.
When feeding becomes paired with comfort and pleasure, it transforms from duty into downtime. Before long, you’ll find yourself sneaking away for “just another feed,” and they’ll be wondering where you’ve gone. That little corner? It’s not just for baby — it’s your happy place, too.
Tsippy Kraus is a childbirth educator and birth trauma release practitioner. She also founded Birth Journeys Online, a prerecorded online childbirth education course for Jewish couples.
(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 980)
The post Can This Be Fixed? first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.
MishpachaI’ll admit it. I’m a total sleep nerd. Dare I say, a sleep junkie? I relish a restorative, peaceful Shabbos afternoon nap like anyone else, but the best way for me to function in my prime is to get eight to eight-and-a-half hours of sleep every night. Still, even though I’m super diligent about trying to get a good night’s sleep, I often do go to bed much later than I should.
Sound familiar?
Aside from loving to actually, well, sleep, I find the science of sleep completely fascinating. I read sleep studies and look for patterns associating sleep and mood, and especially children’s sleep needs and functionality. In fact, I love it so much that after suffering from sleep deprivation after having my first child, I made it my job, quite literally, to help others get a good night’s sleep, too.
Like any skill, sleeping well often needs to be taught. As a baby sleep coach, I’ve found that some children (and adults) naturally embrace it, while others require more learning and practice. And if the number of men who nod off during the rabbi’s speech on Friday night and the women who fall asleep on the couch after lichtbentshen is anything to go by, it’s not just the babies in our community who could stand to improve their sleep habits.
The post The Science of Sleep first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.
MishpachaWhen we discovered fruit cubes—available in so many fun and fruity flavors—we knew they would make the perfect addition to a salad. Not your everyday healthy, low calorie salad, of course, but one that’s colorful, festive, and fun to eat. This Treat Salad is a fresh and playful twist that’s perfect for Tu B’Shvat or any special occasion.
To read the complete article click here
The post Dried Fruit Salad first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.
MishpachaThis project invites children to turn dried fruit into colorful works of art. You’ll be amazed by the creativity that comes out as they design trees, flowers, animals and more.
If you love this idea- you’ll love our other creative and fun dried fruit craft ideas too!
encourages creativity and imagination
strengthens fine motor skills
connects children to Tu B’Shvat in a meaningful way
fun for a wide range of ages
This simple and engaging activity is a wonderful way to bring Tu B’Shvat to life while spending quality time together as a family.
To see the complete article click here
The post Dried Fruit Art first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.
MishpachaCreating fruit trees out of chocolate — from crisp apples and juicy oranges to sweet peaches and bright, sunny lemons — this Fruit Tree Cupcake project is a fun and delicious way to celebrate Tu B’Shvat.
This edible craft is about creativity, not perfection. It doesn’t matter if the trees aren’t exactly alike or perfectly shaped — just like in nature, no two trees are the same. Each one is imperfectly perfect, whimsical, and one-of-a-kind — just like Hashem’s beautiful world.
To see the complete article click here
The post Fruit Tree Cupcakes first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.
MishpachaThis is a flaky, golden pastry filled with a tender sweet and spiced pear filling. Pears become softer than apples when baked, giving this dessert a melt-in-your mouth texture. It’s more delicate tasting than apple strudel. I topped it with cranberry sauce to give it a fruitier flavor.
Serves 10
Preheat oven to 375°F (190°C). Grease a muffin pan with cooking spray.
Stretch each square of puff pastry, gently pressing it down into the cups.
Place pears, maple syrup, cinnamon, and ginger into a small saucepan. Cook for 5 minutes, or until just soft. Add flour and stir to thicken for 30 seconds, or until liquid is absorbed.
Place a heaping Tbsp of pear mixture on each dough. Top with 1 Tbsp cranberry sauce. Sprinkle the tops with vanilla sugar. Fill the empty muffin cups halfway with water so it bakes evenly.
Bake for 20–22 minutes, or until golden. While baking, the fruit mixture will rise. Either flatten it halfway through the baking time, or wait until it cools, when it sinks a bit.
Serve with vanilla ice cream, drizzled with maple syrup.
These strudels freeze well.
Note: If puff pastry squares aren’t available, cut puff pastry dough into squares.
Tip: Leftover cranberry sauce can be frozen. Label the container (you won’t remember what’s in it otherwise!) and use it in meat sauces or other baked goods.
The post Pear Strudels first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.
MishpachaA welcome, playful twist on typical apple crisp. This one is also somewhat healthier than most. While it’s baking, the house is filled with an inviting fragrance of a complex blend of sweet apples, warm spices, and a streusel-like topping. Drizzled with caramel syrup, it’s irresistible.
Serves 12
Preheat oven to 350°F (175°C). Line a pizza pan or very large disposable round pan with low sides with parchment paper.
Mix cookie crumbs, oil, sugar, cinnamon, and salt in a small bowl, until it resembles wet sand. Press the mixture evenly into the prepared pan to form the base. Bake for 8–10 minutes. Allow to cool.
To prepare the apple filling, mix all ingredients in a bowl. Let sit for 10 minutes so the flavors are absorbed.
To prepare the topping, mix the flour, oats, sugar, 3 Tbsp coconut oil, and spices until crumbs are formed.
Arrange the apples in a single layer over the cooled cookie crust. Sprinkle the topping evenly over the apples. Drizzle 1–2 Tbsp coconut oil over the top. Bake for
35-40 minutes, or until the apples are tender.
Drizzle with caramel topping while still warm. Serve warm or at room temperature.
Note: The cookie base recipe makes a lot of crumbs. If you prefer to use less crumbs, freeze some for later use.
Tip: If you prefer a sweeter filling, add 2 Tbsp coconut sugar to the apples.
The post Apple Crisp Pizza first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.
MishpachaWhat’s better than a chocolate chip cookie? A warmed up jumbo chocolate chip cookie with tiny pieces of dried fruit. Topped with almond cream with hints of citrus, this is a pleasure to serve and a treat to eat!
Serves 20
Preheat oven to 350°F (175°C). Line 2 10-inch (25-cm) round pans with parchment paper.
Add oil, sugars, and eggs to the bowl of an electric mixer. Beat for 2–3 minutes, until it resembles creamy caramel.
Add vanilla. Gradually add the flour, baking soda, and salt and mix until incorporated. Stir in the chocolate chips, nuts, and dried fruit.
Spread the mixture evenly in the prepared pans. Bake for 15–20 minutes, switching shelves midway. Remove from oven and cool.
To prepare the almond cream, beat whipping cream until it begins to thicken. Add the rest of the ingredients and mix. Freeze until using.
To serve, scoop out or cut a portion of cookie with a spoon. Top with almond cream. Drizzle with raspberry syrup, if desired.
These cookies freeze well.
The post Jumbo Chocolate Chip Cookie with Almond Cream first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.
MishpachaThis butterscotch pudding is made from scratch with dark brown sugar for a deep, toffee-like flavor and a creamy, velvety taste. The cookie bark adds amazing textural contrast, making this an irresistible treat.
Serves 4–5
Place the sugar, cornstarch, and salt in a small pot and whisk. Add the oat milk and maple syrup. Cook over medium heat for 10 minutes, stirring constantly, until thickened.
Remove from heat. Add the coconut oil, vanilla, and spices and mix until smooth. Pour into serving dishes.
To prepare the cookie bark, preheat oven to 350°F (175°C).
Mix all ingredients very well in a bowl until a dough forms. Roll the dough between two sheets of parchment paper, until it’s thin, like bark. Alternately, wet hands and press a thin layer onto a piece of parchment paper. Transfer to a baking sheet with the bottom piece of parchment paper.
Press a few pieces of sliced almonds on top. Bake for 12–15 minutes, or until golden and crisp. Allow to cool.
Drizzle with melted chocolate, if desired. Break into small pieces of bark to garnish the pudding or into larger pieces to serve alongside the pudding.
This cookie bark freezes well. You’ll have leftover bark for noshing!
The post Butterscotch Pudding with Oatmeal Cookie Bark first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.
MishpachaEver feel stuck in negative self-talk or unsure what you’re truly capable of? In this episode of Good Vibes, Rachelli Fried sits down with therapist Chaya Taub to dive into how understanding your strengths, thoughts, and actions can help you break free from self-doubt, build real self-esteem, and show up as the woman you were meant to be. This conversation is full of practical tools, honest insight, and a fresh perspective on what it really means to know yourself and embrace your potential.
The post Eps 9. Stop Doubting Yourself: How to Know Your Strengths and Build Real Confidence first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.
MishpachaI enjoyed reading Tzippy Goldhar’s honest concerns about sending her youngest off on a bus and the impending conclusion of the homework years. A lot of what she described sounded familiar to me. But I want her to know that a lot of her fears are unfounded. As your kids get older, they may not need you so much in the physical sense — they can get themselves dressed, feed themselves, watch themselves without a babysitter, put themselves to bed (well, maybe not that). But you will find, as they become teenagers and then young adults and hopefully young spouses and parents, that they need you just as much, if not more, than ever. The era of “shared confidences and dreams” won’t be over just because they know how to cook on their own.
Kids need parents. Young parents need their parents. Even young grandmothers need their mothers. For advice, for reassurance, for reality checks. For an honest opinion whether the sheitel, the dress, or the paint color is working. No one else in the world cares the same way and no one else in the world is as invested in a child’s success. There may be a few years when our teenagers forget that, or pretend to forget it, but it never goes away.
So don’t say goodbye to nighttime DMCs with your kids just yet. In just a few years you might find yourself talking your daughter through a complex dating parshah at 2 a.m., or counseling your son through his oldest child’s first ear infection after you thought the day was over, or talking your super-competent married daughter through her own school bus emotions.
Happy parenting!
Blumie R.
“Because choosing this life — as beautiful as it is — rather than being born into it, creates a sense of being slightly ‘other’ that never fully disappears. I’ve had people tell me, ‘You chose this life, so you can’t complain.’ And that hurts.”
These words, from the Know This last week about a woman who changed communities, really resonated with me. Even though I’m an FFB, I live in Israel, in a community that’s more chareidi than the one I grew up in, and I often feel “other,” that I don’t fully understand how things work, and I will always be a foreigner.
I remember my first feeling of humiliation, when the ganenet told me that my daughter was going to be yaldat hashavua, girl of the week. Where I come from, girl of the week means star student. When I heard this, I hugged my daughter and gushed, “Well done, I’m so proud of you.” I gathered from the odd look the ganenet gave me that I’d misunderstood. Turns out that in Israel, girl of the week isn’t recognition of an achievement, it’s a way for the teacher to give students extra attention by appointing a student to be her helper.
This article was also a good reminder to be more sensitive to people who are new to the community, or new to Yiddishkeit.
Dina Cohen
Thank you so much for the article on synthetic fragrances. While the condition you mentioned is rare and really interesting, I wanted to share another angle. Even people without a diagnosed sensitivity are affected by synthetic fragrances in some way.
Over the past year, I’ve been making a real effort to remove scented products from my home, including diffusers, toiletries, laundry detergent, and cleaning products. I did not expect to notice such a big difference, but I really did. I have fewer headaches, my skin feels calmer, and I generally feel better day to day. Once those scents were gone, I realized how often my body had been reacting without me being fully aware of it.
I think many people do not realize how much these fragrances can affect them. Things like frequent headaches, skin irritation, or just feeling run-down can sometimes be linked to scented products. Because the effects are often mild or gradual, people rarely make the connection.
Name Withheld
I read the recent letter describing a mother’s decision not to engage when her son’s yeshivah gedolah reached out, and I’d like to respectfully respond. I understand the logic of stepping back when a child turns 18, but I don’t believe that a school calling a parent automatically means helicopter parenting.
Sometimes, a school reaches out not to ask for the parents’ intervention, but to communicate with them. Or perhaps they’re going behind the bochur’s back to protect his dignity. Whatever it is, I don’t think it should be a question whether to be involved or uninvolved, but how to remain connected with our children and their places of chinuch without taking over.
Another Mother in Eretz Yisrael
I enjoyed reading the roundup of doctor advice. They were so practical and many felt especially relevant as I’m baruch Hashem newly postpartum.
My wonderful sister-in-law, who is a doctor as well as a mother of five children, imparted these words of wisdom after I had my first child and was worried about whether he was eating enough. I replay these words in my head almost daily, and have told them to many others: “If they’re regularly wetting or dirtying their diaper, they’re getting enough!”
I hope these words can be a calming mantra to other women out there.
Name Withheld
Having been on both sides of those dreaded phone calls, I know the pain and fear on the parents’ part as well as the frustration for the school. Sometimes it seems that people forget that chinuch is an inherently difficult task.
Schools who make a fuss about everything lose the parents’ trust. And a principal or teacher must be prepared to go the extra mile to handle a student. There’s a balance to running a school effectively and at the same time recognizing that children aren’t robots.
Ultimately, though, it’s the parents’ job to raise their children, so if we hand them over to the care of others, we must be willing to actively support our children’s success in that environment.
Sending a child to school when they’re not equipped to succeed erodes the child’s self-esteem, which will likely affect them tremendously in the future. This isn’t a theoretical or exaggerated idea; I’ve seen it happen too many times.
B. Schuster
(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 979)
The post Family First Inbox: Issue 979 first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.
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hen I was in eighth grade, six boys in my class applied to the same yeshivah. Five got in. I did not. For some reason that still eludes me, I was told that a previous rebbi of mine did not give the best report to the mesivta regarding my behavior. The only other option I can think of is that somehow, they called my older sister for information. Then it would all make sense.
Either way, I was not accepted, and I was devastated. My grandfather, Rabbi Fabian Schonfeld ztz”l, was the “pull” I needed. As a local rabbi, he had helped the yeshivah with zoning boards when they built their dorm. My grandfather reluctantly called on my behalf. (He preferred that I go to Novominsk, as we were related to the Rebbe. How would life have turned out? We’ll never know.)
I distinctly remember a meeting at my dining room table between the ninth-grade rebbi and my parents to discuss my acceptance into the yeshivah. I was upstairs in my room crying. My parents were dumbfounded. Why was I not excited that I got in? I explained that I want to be accepted in the school for who I am, not for who I am not. I was afraid there would be unfair expectations, and that I got in only because of pull but wasn’t really a match.
My parents went back downstairs to the rebbi and shared my concerns. He told them they had nothing to be worried about. Once I was accepted, I would be treated exactly the same as everyone else. The process of getting in was one thing. But once that process was completed, no one got treated differently. I spent six wonderful years in that yeshivah, for high school and beis medrash.
Back to my rebbi, who had not exactly been helpful throughout the process. When he heard I was accepted, he called me into his classroom. “Schonfeld, don’t be too excited that you got in. You won’t last six months in that yeshivah.”
It’s funny how life turns out. As a mechanech myself, I wonder how I would’ve gotten along with eighth-grade me. Actually, I’d rather not think about it.
Anyway, let’s hope that rebbi doesn’t read Mishpacha. Is there a Yiddish edition?
I know this is just my story, but I think it is a fair roadmap for parents to follow. If (and this is a big if) you as parents have spoken to your son’s rebbi and menahel, done your research, and really feel this is the best place for your son, you should do anything and everything in your power to help get him in. If you have protektziya, use it. If you think the menahel will be swayed by the tears of a Yiddishe mama, go for it.
I would not worry about any negative effects this will have on the relationship with the school. They understand that this is all part of the process and the reality of the world that we live in. The truth of the matter is, you don’t know how many other people also pushed their way in.
There is a reason that on the door to Brisk it says, “Pull to get in.”
Rabbi Ari Schonfeld is the menahel of Yeshiva Ketana of Manhattan, Rosh Mosad of Bais Tzipra of Manhattan, and director of Camp Aish.
I
have often been told that one of the central challenges of raising a family “in town” is simply gaining entry to the right schools. From the outside, it appears that acceptance itself carries enormous weight, and the emotional strain surrounding admissions is very real. There are many tradeoffs involved in living far away from major centers of Jewish life, and one of them is the limited range of school options available.
That lack of choice can at times be deeply frustrating. Yet within it lies a small silver lining, a far more straightforward and less fraught approach to school acceptance. By contrast, families in larger communities must navigate an admissions process that can be stressful, emotionally charged, and at times deeply unsettling.
When I first began reflecting on this question, I viewed it primarily through an out-of-town lens: families striving to find a school that may or may not be the right fit, often with little choice in the matter. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that many readers are navigating a very different reality, one in which numerous capable children are competing for a limited number of seats in schools that, at least on the surface, could reasonably meet their needs.
That distinction reframes the conversation. The fundamental question is not merely, “How do we get in?” but rather, “Is this school truly the right place for our child?” And possibly most importantly, “How can we know?”
This is perhaps the most difficult part of the process. Obtaining an honest assessment of school fit is exceedingly challenging. Parents, quite naturally, view their children through a lens of love and hope. At times, however, that very perspective can make it harder to clearly evaluate a child’s academic, social, or emotional readiness for a particular environment.
I think we can all agree that using protektziya to place a child into a setting that is not appropriate for him is a serious mistake, one that may carry long-term consequences. The difficulty, of course, lies in discerning whether a school’s rejection reflects a genuine concern about fit, or whether it is simply the result of an unusually large number of applicants competing for limited space.
There is no simple way to generalize. Still, parents should be cautious about relying exclusively on their own assessment in these matters. This is not to suggest that parents do not have a critical and indispensable voice in decisions about their children, because they most certainly do. However, when it comes to placement, there is a particular risk of distortion.
At such times, parents must turn to trusted mechanchim and friends, people who know the child well and care deeply enough to speak with honesty and sensitivity. Parents should strive to create a safe space for that feedback and have the humility to hear it, even when it is difficult.
Once that fuller picture emerges and there is a clear sense that a particular environment is where a child can genuinely grow in Torah, middos, and yiras Shamayim, I believe parents are not only justified but have an achrayus to make every appropriate hishtadlus to help their child access that opportunity. What else is protektziya worth if not to assist your child flourish and grow into a true ben or bas Torah?
Rabbi Yerachmiel Garfield is the Head of School at Yeshiva Toras Emes of Houston and the director of the Yeshiva Leadership Group.
(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1097)
The post “We Have No Protektzia” first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.
MishpachaM
inoxidil (Rogaine) is considered to be the best treatment for thinning hair. The foam form is recommended over the liquid version, as the latter contains propylene glycol, which can cause skin irritation.
Typically, minoxidil is available in gender-specific formats. The men’s version is 5% strength; the women’s version is half that strength. Don’t be put off by the blue box on the product that says, “Not for use by women.” There’s no reason women can’t use the men’s version — the FDA approved 5% strength minoxidil for men to use twice a day, and for women once a day. (If you need reassurance, the Kirkland Women’s Minoxidil is 5% strength, and the instructions say to apply once daily.) Women should be careful to apply it specifically where needed, using a small brush like a toothbrush for accuracy, because wherever minoxidil ends up, it will cause hair growth.
Minoxidil isn’t active on its own. For minoxidil to work, it relies on a specific enzyme called sulfotransferase to be present within the hair follicle. When minoxidil interacts with the enzyme, sulfotransferase converts it to minoxidil sulfate, which in turn increases blood flow to the hair follicle.
Not everyone has sufficient amounts of sulfotransferase in their hair follicles, so for them, minoxidil doesn’t work as they’d hoped. If you haven’t seen results from minoxidil after a few months, apply retinol to the scalp before minoxidil. This can be done with a storebought retinol like Roc or Differin adapalene or with a prescription retinoid (up to .025%. More than that will be too irritating). Retinol boosts sulfotransferase levels, which in turn should properly activate the minoxidil. Retinol will also help minoxidil penetrate deeper.
Your hair should be clean but dry before applying; wet hair will dilute the medication. Shampooing every other day should be sufficient for a clean canvas.
Your scalp can’t be “trained” to produce less oil, so if you struggle with a greasy scalp, just shampoo it. Oil and buildup aren’t good for scalp health, and by extension, hair health, so cleanse as needed. Use a clarifying shampoo, like Garnier Fructis Pure Clean, or a salicylic acid shampoo such as Neutrogena T-Sal or Target’s Up & Up version, and ideally shampoo twice. You want to achieve that “squeaky clean” — literally — feeling. When applying shampoo, apply it on top and on the base, at the neck, under the hair. Your focus should be on the scalp, not the hair strands.
When conditioning, keep clear of the scalp. You should apply conditioner only to the ends of hair, no higher than, say, the earlobe. The scalp doesn’t need help with moisturizing; the longer parts of the hair do, since hair isn’t alive and doesn’t renew itself.
Blow-dry hair rather than letting it air-dry; blow-drying can help keep grease at bay. This is also recommended for those with dandruff, as wet hair creates a moist, bacteria-friendly environment for yeast to flourish. Takeaway: Don’t go to sleep with wet hair.
You should clean your pillowcases regularly to prevent oil from redepositing on hair. The same goes for hairbrushes. Hairbrushes get nasty pretty quickly, and all that gunk simply ends back onto the hair if you don’t remove it from the bristles. I do this by removing as much buildup as possible by hand, then bringing the brush into the shower weekly to get a clarifying shampoo treatment (this isn’t appropriate for hairbrushes with wooden handles, obviously).
Glycolic acid, like The Ordinary 7% Glycolic Acid, is an excellent pre-shampoo treatment for oily scalp and dandruff; it sloughs off lingering sebum and flakes from the scalp. Apply it to your scalp 10 to 30 minutes before showering; you can put it in a spray bottle for easier product distribution.
If you like to use dry shampoo, apply it after blow-drying your hair, rather than on already greasy hair. By applying it before oil accumulates, it can soak it up before it becomes a problem. In my single days, I used storebought dry shampoos, but found cornstarch to be an ideal, fragrance-free alternative. Sprinkle a tiny amount on your hair, fluff it through, then brush it out.
If oil caught up with you and a shampoo isn’t possible just yet, try micellar water. Soak a cotton round in micellar water, like Garnier Micellar Water for Oily Skin, and after dividing hair in sections, swipe it along the roots.
(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 979)
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PHOTO: SHUTTERSTOCK/ MARK REINSTEIN
AS disastrous as Israel’s hasbarah efforts have been since the beginning of the Gaza War, of even greater long-range concern is the failure to persuade young Jews around the world of the justness of Israel’s cause. The more that young Jews feel alienated from Israel, the more attenuated their Jewish identity will become.
For that reason, I wish every Jew in the world would read Adi Schwartz and Einat Wilf’s The War of Return; How Western Indulgence of the Palestinian Dream Has Obstructed the Path to Peace (2020). Written prior to the Gaza War, it seeks to answer why there is still no peace between Jews and Palestinians nearly 80 years after the creation of Israel.
Dr. Wilf and Schwartz are members of the Israeli “peace camp.” She was a left-wing MK and he a long-term writer for Ha’aretz, Israel’s progressive daily. Both were committed to a “two-state solution” based on territorial compromise. And both were puzzled when the Palestinians walked away from proposals in 2000 and 2008 that would have given them a state in the West Bank and Gaza, free of Jewish settlements, with a capital in East Jerusalem.
Their solution to the quandary: The Palestinians, and indeed much of the Arab world, never have reconciled themselves to Jewish sovereignty in any part of the Land. And the demand for a return of refugees to their pre-1948 homes is the concrete expression of that refusal.
Prior to 1948, Azzam Pasha, then secretary-general of the Arab League, told Abba Eban that there could be no agreement to a Jewish state: “It is a question of historic pride.... What would be shameful would be to accept [an unjust and unwanted situation] without attempting to prevent it.” The decision, he said, “will have to be by force.”
Even after the Jews had secured their state and armistice agreements were signed, the Arabs refused to accept the result as anything more than temporary. On the very day of the signing of an armistice agreement, the Syrian ambassador to the UN declared, “The [next] war with Zionism is approaching.” Again, Azzam Pasha explained to Abba Eban the Arab opposition to any peace with Israel as a matter of pride: “As long as we don’t make peace with the Zionists, the war is not over, and as long as the war is not over, there is neither victor nor vanquished.”
The Grand Mufti, Hajj Amin al-Husseini, head of the Arab Higher Command, continued to oppose any negotiations with Israel over return of refugees, as that would constitute de facto recognition of Israel. Emil Ghury, another Higher Command official, rejected such negotiations as turning “a matter of jihad [religious war] into a problem of refugees.”
The departure of approximately 750,000 or so Palestinians from their homes after the UN vote on partition, beginning with the elites of Palestinian society, was completely unanticipated by the leaders of the Yishuv. Yet those who fled convinced themselves that they had suffered a tragedy unique in human history. They had not.
In mixed Hindu-Muslim areas of the Indian subcontinent, 3.5 million people lost their lives in ethnic fighting around the same time, and 14 million fled their homes; 12 million ethnic Germans were expelled from Poland and other countries after World War II, as were 300,000 Italians from Yugoslavia.
The position of the victorious Allies after World War II was that refugees from ethnic conflict should be absorbed into countries where they would be part of the dominant ethnic group. And that became the model for the UN High Commissioner for Refugees as well. Over three million Koreans fled Northern Korea for the South during the Korean War. Aided by the UN Korean Reconstruction Agency, those refugees helped turn South Korea into one of the most dynamic economies in the world. And in the late ’40s and early ’50s, Israel absorbed more Jewish refugees from Arab lands, where they had lived for over a millennium, than the existing population of the state. And it did so without any help from the international community.
BUT THE PALESTINIANS and the Arab states hosting them rejected all plans for their long-range integration into their new host societies. With the exception of Jordan, whose King Abdullah was assassinated in East Jerusalem in 1953, no Arab country granted citizenship to Palestinian refugees. And they were discriminated against in access to higher education, the learned professions, and land ownership. Ahmad Sukeiri, the first chairman of the PLO, explained that the Arab states would never “integrate the Palestine refugees because the integration would be a slow process of liquidation of the Palestinian problem.”
But the Palestinians, too, rejected all efforts at their rehabilitation in their host countries as implicitly giving up on their “right of return” to their former homes. Under the auspices of the UN, an Economic Survey Mission was created in 1949 to make concrete proposals for the permanent resettlement of the refugees. In particular, the Mission was not to content itself with temporary relief programs or emergency works.
To direct the Economic Survey, the US chose Gordon Clapp, who had formerly headed the Tennessee Valley Authority, a massive government development project. No sooner had Clapp and his team of experts arrived in Beirut in September 1949 than they found themselves accosted by a delegation of thousands of Palestinian women who came to protest his mission and to proclaim their intention “that they must go back to Palestine even if they face death.”
Musa Alami, the son of a former mayor of Jerusalem and at one time a member of the Arab Higher Committee, began digging for wells near Jericho in 1949, with a dream of creating employment for his fellow Palestinians. He succeeded in finding water, and created an experimental farm that eventually employed thousands at its peak.
But in 1955, thousands of refugees from camps around Jericho attacked and leveled the farm. Alami’s anti-Israel bona fides did not spare him. The rioters chose remaining in the camps for the foreseeable future over recognizing the State of Israel and abandoning their claimed right of return.
UNRWA, too, began life with the mandate for massive projects to rehabilitate the refugees, including one to settle 50,000 refugees in the Sinai, and another to redirect the waters of the Yarmouk River to the Jordan Valley to resettle 200,000 refugees. Between 1951 and 1955, however, only $7 million of the $200 million earmarked by the international community was spent, due to lack of Arab cooperation.
THOSE ATTEMPTS turned out to be about the last useful thing UNRWA did. By 1959, the US and UK, eager to keep the Soviets out of the Middle East, decided that placating the Arabs by effectively turning over UNRWA to their control would be a cheap gesture. It was not.
Unlike all other UN refugee projects, which had durations of only a few years at most to ease the absorption of refugees into their new host communities, UNRWA’s mandate was extended indefinitely. All other projects under the UN High Commissioner on Refugees were limited to the actual refugees. In 1965, refugee status for Palestinians was extended not only to children of the original refugees but to their descendants in perpetuity.
As a consequence, while there are no refugees remaining from the more than ten million created by other ethnic conflicts in the ’40s and ’50s, UNRWA’s rolls today exceed five million. That figure is grossly inflated because it does not account for the 40 percent of the original refugees who became citizens of Jordan, or those who went to the Gulf States in the ’70s, or who became citizens over the years of the United States and other countries. Or for those living today within the original territory of the Palestine Mandate, who thus are not refugees.
It was in the camps created by UNRWA that the most intense and violent Palestinian identity based on the right of return was forged. In UNRWA schools, children endlessly recited songs such as: “Palestine is our country/ Our aim is to return/ Death does not frighten us/ Palestine is ours/ We will never forget her/ Another homeland we will never accept.”
All maps of Palestine in the UNRWA schools showed Israel painted black. A 1969 UN report on the textbooks used in the UNRWA schools found that 79 out of 127 should be banned or substantially modified, as they contained more or less open calls for violence against Israel. The purpose of the textbooks, the UN’s own experts found, was to strengthen the idea of revenge in schoolchildren. David Bedein’s Center for Near East Policy Research has demonstrated that nothing has changed in UNRWA textbooks over the past six decades.
Not surprisingly, a large percentage of the terrorists who hijacked airplanes in the ’70s or killed Israel Olympic athletes in Munich in 1972 were raised and educated in UNRWA camps in Lebanon or Gaza. By 1974, 50,000 camp residents had received military training.
After its expulsion from Lebanon in 1982, the PLO switched strategy and gave voice to recognition of Israel and to a readiness to accept a Palestinian state. But a host of PLO leaders and spokesman took pains to make clear in Arabic that this was only as part of a phased strategy, culminating in the destruction of Israel.
Meanwhile, Israeli peace negotiators convinced themselves that the Palestinians’ continued insistence on the right of return was but a minor issue that would be resolved with some sort of symbolic acknowledgment at the end of negotiations over territory. At most, they believed, it was being used as a bargaining chip by Palestinian negotiators.
They were wrong, however. As long as the Palestinians claim that the “right of return” is a personal right belonging to every 1948 refugee and their descendants, there is no room for piecemeal or symbolic implementation. As Mahmoud Abbas explained to Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice, he had no choice but to reject Israeli prime minister Ehud Olmert’s offer of everything Israeli and US negotiators believed the Palestinians wanted: “I can’t tell four million Palestinians that only five thousand of them can go home.”
Like Arafat before him, he had done nothing to prepare his people for peace. And they continued to look at Israel’s eight million Jews, located in the midst of hundreds of millions of Arabs and one billion Muslims, as a temporary stain sure to be removed one day.
Schwartz and Wilk sum up their findings on how the refugee problem was deliberately allowed to balloon over decades in order to continue the 1948 war: “It was not by chance that that after the war ended in 1949, the only option the Arab states would countenance was full return of the refugees. It was not by chance that in the 1950s the Arab states and refugees themselves rejected any possibility of rehabilitation.
“Nor was it by chance that before the 1967 war and Israel’s military occupation, the refugee camps developed a culture of violent struggle against Israel for the complete liberation of Palestine from the Jordan River to the Mediterranean Sea. And it was not chance that during what Western negotiators thought were serious peace talks, the Palestinians walked away from the chance for a negotiated two-state solution because it did not contain the principle of return.”
And that refusal to accept Israel’s existence is why there is no peace.
(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1097. Yonoson Rosenblum may be contacted directly at [email protected])
The post No Right of Return first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.
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Photos: National Library of Israel
Cool winds blow gently across the landscape, wildflowers splash color across the fields, and white almond blossoms — always the first trees to flower and without fail on the week of Tu B’Shevat — signal the Tu B’Shevat season, prompting hikers and stay-at-homes alike to hum “Hashkeidiah Porachat_”_ almost without realizing it.
But this year, the rains that Jews in Eretz Yisrael have been davening for arrived in abundance and don’t seem to be letting up yet. While we rejoice in the gishmei brachah, that rain can turn a scenic trail into a muddy mess.
So what’s a nature lover to do? On a rainy day, one idea is to skip the soggy paths and head instead to the National Library (NLI) in Jerusalem for its current exhibit, “There Are Flowers in the Library,” which explores the cultural and historical meaning of Israel’s floral landscape. While nothing can replace a brisk walk through nature as soon as the skies clear and the ground dries, leafing through NLI’s books and artifacts offers a different kind of blooming experience.
Tu B’Shevat as the holiday of trees is sourced in Maseches Rosh Hashanah: The 15th day of Shevat is a halachic date tied to the agricultural mitzvos. When the Jews still lived and planted in Eretz Yisrael, questions about when to date the beginning of an agricultural year for matters like maasros and shemittah were relevant in a practical, day-to-day way. Yet after the Churban, most of the Jews were exiled from the Land and therefore couldn’t keep mitzvos connected to it — the mitzvos tluyos b’aretz.
But we could still study those mitzvos, no matter how far from Eretz Yisrael the galus took us. Through study of these halachos, Jews kept alive the enduring connection to and longing for Eretz Yisrael. And even if Jews could no longer keep the mitzvos connected to the Land, they could still mark Tu B’Shevat, the day that affirms the eternal bond between the Land and the Jewish People. The mitzvos tluyos b’aretz were only waiting to be lived again — like the seeds of flowers, just waiting for the right time to emerge from beneath the ground to blossom.
In the sixteenth century, Rav Yitzchak Luria of Tzfas, the Arizal, introduced a kabbalistic dimension to Tu B’Shevat, manifested by the Tu B’Shevat Seder. An early written mention of this minhag is in Birkas Eliyahu by Rabbi Eliyahu of Ulyanov, published in 1728, a little over 150 years after the Arizal’s passing. But long before that, the Arizal’s followers continued in his tradition, and today, the Tu B’Shevat Seder has endured, especially in the chassidic world.
A Tu B’Shevat Seder borrows the structure and many details of the Pesach seder — four cups of wine, a family gathering, questions and answers, ritual and foods that tell a story — to delve into the mystical aspects of trees and fruit. Pesach traces a movement from confinement beneath the ground — Egyptian slavery began with Yosef thrown deep in a pit — to freedom, while Tu B’Shevat marks the first stirrings of growth beneath the cold, wintry and dead-looking surface of the land. Neither is a random festive meal, but a carefully ordered process that teaches patience, memory, emunah and hope, especially when those roots of redemption are yet unseen, buried deep underground.
The post Coming Up Roses first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.
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The day we updated the school’s Shine Together Middos Project bulletin board with confetti and celebratory emojis, it felt like the entire building was shaking from the cheering.
I could hear it from inside my office with the door closed and the outer office creating a buffer zone in front.
I stepped out and smiled at Shira, the secretary. “So, did you hear the news?” I asked. “Our girls met their target and got enough points to win a major trip.”
“How could I miss it?” she laughed.
A few teachers stepped in, talking animatedly.
“Oh, Mrs. Fein. They are so excited! What’s the prize going to be?” asked Miss Jacobs, who taught seventh and eighth grade Yahadus.
“We’ll do a special assembly tomorrow to announce it,” I said.
Mrs. Schachner leaned in, conspiratorial. “I need to know. Did they actually get enough points, or did we tip the scales at all? It’s literally the last day.”
“No tipping the scales at all,” I said, smiling. “The girls won this fair and square. And they’re going to be really excited when they hear what’s been arranged. Mrs. Kraus and her team have been working really hard to make it a trip to remember.”
T
he perks of my position — middle school principal — meant that although I had nothing to do with actually planning the trip, I got to be the one to announce it (or rather, introduce the eighth grade G.O. heads who performed some complicated breakout in dazzling blue costumes and finally unfurled a banner reading, WAVE WORLD WATER PARK, HERE WE COME!)
I watched from the side as the auditorium erupted in cheers. I knew Mrs. Kraus, our extracurricular director, had jumped through hoops to work this out, but the girls deserved something special. And joining a midwinter women-and-girls-only trip to a water park was definitely special.
The Shining Together Middos Program was something we’d rolled out this year. I’d spent hours in meetings with the mechanchos and extracurricular team, figuring out what we’d work on each month, how to give it over in a meaningful way, and how to motivate the girls to engage with the program and track results. In the end, it was a combination of special assemblies each month; class-wide projects and workshops; and an incredibly complex scorecard system through which each girl, and then each class overall, kept track of their points, tallying a total every week for the school scoreboard.
We’d set a collective goal of 20,000 points, with various ways to collect and receive them, and as the number on the bulletin board grew and grew, the excitement had grown, too. This past week, up until the deadline, when the number was hovering at 19,000 and change, that excitement reached a fever pitch — girls scrambling to fill out scorecards, gain bonus points, and submit their cards while they still could — and we’d surpassed our goal.
Now, looking around the sea of excited faces, I knew the program had been worth it. There was a new awareness of the middos we’d tried to promote: kindness, respect, inclusivity, thoughtfulness, noticing others. The achdus in the school was strong, and what better way to celebrate that than with a school trip?
Later that day, I spotted Mrs. Kraus in the office, reviewing consent forms that would be sent out to parents before the trip.
“They’re on a high. Thank you so much for your efforts in arranging this,” I told her.
“I won’t say it was simple,” she answered wryly. “But I will say it was worth it. The momentum had built up so much; we couldn’t give a prize like a trip to a nature reserve.”
“Agreed. They put so much into this program,” I said.
The post Sink or Swim first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.
MishpachaIF
any couple ever needed marriage counseling, it was Pinny and Penina. Just about the only thing they had in common was the first letter of their first names.
When I met with them for the initial consultation, I asked what I could help them with. Pinny motioned with a hand gesture to Penina that she should start. But before she completed two sentences, Pinny interrupted her. And that is how it went for the first ten or fifteen minutes. Penina kept trying to continue where she left off with Pinny repeatedly interrupting her to contradict, correct, or criticize. Even after I pointed out to Pinny that he had deferred to Penina at the outset and I reassured him that he would have his turn, he continued his verbal assaults.
Finally, I turned to Pinny and asked him to describe the relationship between his parents.
“They didn’t get along too well,” Pinny confessed, as his combative deportment was replaced by a more sullen, contemplative demeanor.
“Try to be more specific,” I gently probed.
“Well, actually, they fought a lot,” Pinny continued. “That is, until they divorced when I was in sixth grade. I suppose you might say that my father was pretty verbally abusive to my mother, both before and after their messy divorce.”
“What was messy about it?” I asked.
“My father didn’t want the divorce,” Pinny explained. “It was my mother who wanted out of the marriage. And frankly, I really wondered what took her so long. I guess she was worried about how she was going to provide for my sisters and me on her own, because my father never gave her any financial support after the divorce.”
Then I understood where Pinny was coming from. He was simply following in the footsteps of his father. As a popular poster puts it, “Children learn what they live.” And as Chazal put it, “Yoreish kar’ei d’avuha — a son who is the inheritor is considered a limb of his father” (Eiruvin 70b).
As I sat with Pinny and Penina, I could not help wondering whether Pinny’s father would have conducted himself with such acrimony and rancor during and following his divorce if he could have foreseen what damage his conduct would have many years later on his only son, Pinny.
The length that some divorcing couples go to denigrate each other and/or attempt to deny their children access to the other parent can boggle the mind. I am reminded of one such case in which I was involved a number of years ago.
A frum lawyer who was extremely prominent in matrimonial matters contacted me and asked if I would serve as an expert witness by conducting a custody evaluation of his client. He explained that his client, a divorced yeshivah ketanah rebbi, was being accused of being an unfit parent by his ex-wife. She had gone to court to deny him visitation rights with their six-year-old son.
“I want an honest evaluation,” the lawyer asserted. “If you feel he is unfit, I want you to say so. And if you determine that he is a suitable parent, I will need a written evaluation that I can submit to the judge at the upcoming hearing.”
I met with the father twice, once alone and once with his son, on a day that he had visitation. I also reached out to the mother to get her take on the situation firsthand. She took my call but flatly refused to meet with me.
After my two meetings with the father, it was abundantly clear that aside from being somewhat on the passive side, he demonstrated appropriate parenting skills, good judgment, a healthy, warm connection with his son, and a marked absence of any psychopathology.
In the midst of my conducting this custody evaluation, I was contacted by a senior, prominent, and well-respected community askan with whom I had had some previous meetings. He asked to see me in his office. He did not explain the purpose of the meeting. And although I was quite curious, out of respect, I did not ask.
When I met with the askan, he explained that he had a longstanding relationship with the father of the ex-wife of the man I was evaluating. The father had learned that the askan and I knew each other. He then told the askan about the custody evaluation I was conducting and requested, therefore, that the askan “put in a good word” for him with me.
“Look, I’m not trying to influence your report,” the askan said apologetically. “I simply wanted to do a favor for my old friend.”
With that, the askan gave a forced smile and dismissed me from his office. Needless to say, I lost a lot of respect for the askan after that brief meeting.
A few days later, a close friend and colleague called to tell me how upset he was. “I just got off the phone with someone I don’t know who knows that we are buddies,” he began, almost breathlessly. “He said you are conducting a custody evaluation of someone. And he wanted me to try to influence the way you write your report. I told him, ‘You don’t know Meir Wikler very well if you think that anyone can influence what he writes in a report!’ And then I was so angry with him that I just hung up the phone. What a chutzpah he had!”
The next day, I was still so frazzled by these two attempts to influence my final report that I unburdened myself to one of my chavrusas.
“I can’t believe that people would stoop so low as to try twice to get people I know to pressure me,” I said.
“It wasn’t twice,” my chavrusa replied, softly.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“They called me, too,” he explained. “And I made up my mind and I told them that I wouldn’t even tell you about the phone call. But now that I heard that they tried two other times, I thought you should know that it was really three times.”
After completing my evaluation, I submitted my report to the lawyer. A few weeks later, he called to tell me that he had submitted copies of my report to the presiding judge and the lawyer representing the ex-wife. Without explanation, shortly thereafter the ex-wife withdrew her complaint. And the lawyer shared with me his presumption that my report may have played a significant role in the ex-wife’s decision.
Chazal taught, “Shloshah shutfim hein b’adam: HaKadosh Baruch Hu, aviv, v’imo — There are three partners involved in the creation of each person: Hashem, his father, and his mother” (Kiddushin 30b). And in order to develop into a healthy adult, every child must be able to maintain an unobstructed, positive relationship with all three partners in his creation.
While some divorces could be prevented, certainly many are unavoidable. Whenever any marriage ends in divorce, however, why must some spouses approach the divorce with an attitude of l’hashmid ul’harog, by withholding a get, visitation, and/or support? And why must the children bear the brunt of the conflict between their parents?
Why?!
Dr. Meir Wikler, a frequent contributor to this space, is an author, psychotherapist, and family counselor in full-time private practice with offices in Brooklyn and Lakewood. He is also a public speaker whose lectures and shiurim are carried on TorahAnytime.com.
(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1097)
The post Two Exes and a “Why?” first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.
Mishpacha**Saved: Stories to Inspire
IT
was the coldest night Atlanta, Georgia, had seen in eight years. The kind of night where the cold feels alive, biting through walls and windows, demanding attention. A cold we definitely were not used to, having spent ten years in Eretz Yisrael.
Inside our home, though, all was warm and peaceful. The Shabbos candles still flickered faintly, the children were asleep, and my husband and I were winding down after the seudah.
Until the beeping began.
Somewhere around midnight, a shrill beep, beep, beeeeeep pierced the quiet. My husband, Shlomo, dragged himself out of bed to investigate. It turned out to be an old carbon monoxide detector plugged into the hallway outlet.
We stood there in the dark, whispering back and forth. Our newer, hardwired detectors hadn’t gone off, so surely this outdated one was malfunctioning. Confident that modern technology was on our side, we went back to bed.
But the peace didn’t last long.
Another round of beeps. Then another.
Each time, I checked on the kids, placing my hand on their backs to assure they were breathing. Each time, we decided it was nothing. This went on throughout the night in a pattern of rather thoughtless futility.
At around eight Shabbos morning — the temperature outside a record-breaking eight degrees Fahrenheit — our “fancy” system suddenly came alive: “Carbon monoxide detected. Go to fresh air. Carbon monoxide detected. Go to fresh air.”
The words hit like a thunderclap. We weren’t half-asleep anymore. We weren’t confused. We were terrified.
I shook the kids awake, trying to sound calm even as my heart pounded. “There’s something in the air,” I said. “We need to go outside right now.”
We rushed across the street to our dear friends and neighbors, while Shlomo called 911. Within minutes — a record response from the Dekalb County Fire Station — a hook-and-ladder truck pulled up, lights flashing against the frozen morning sky.
Five firefighters entered our home, moving swiftly and deliberately, handheld detectors in hand. The readings were high. Dangerously high. The source — a leak in our furnace. They shut everything down, opened the windows wide, and waited until the levels dropped. Then, as quickly as they’d come, they were gone, leaving behind the echo of sirens and an overwhelming sense of gratitude.
We sat huddled under blankets, the house frigid but our hearts full. The what-ifs swirled endlessly. But beneath the fear was something deeper — a quiet awe at the mercy of Hashem, Who had spared us from what could have been unthinkable.
Later that night, as the house quieted down, Shlomo turned to me. “Oh — I forgot to tell you,” he said. “On Friday, I decided to give a bit more tzedakah before the year ended. I wrote five checks — to five local institutions.”
I stared at him, stunned. “You’re serious?”
He nodded.
And that’s when it hit me — the full picture. The same day our house filled with carbon monoxide, Shlomo had given extra tzedakah. That same night, Hashem had quite literally saved our lives.
We sat there, speechless, hearts pounding with the realization.
Tzedakah tatzil mimaves — charity saves from death.
Not just a saying. Not just an idea.
A living truth, whispered through the coldest night in Atlanta.
T
o give is to live.
Sounds cute?
A study by Norton, Dunn, and Aknin (2008) provided real evidence for this idea. They took two groups of students and asked them to evaluate their happiness baseline on a scale of one to ten. Everyone was then given $5 to $20. Half the group was told they needed to spend it on someone else and the other group could do as they pleased.
What they found once the money was spent was the following: In reevaluating the happiness of everyone in the study, they found that the givers scored much higher than the ones who spent the money on themselves. The actual amount they gave made no difference at all. After all, what could they buy someone for $5? An ice cream? A pretty hair clip? Not much of a grand giving, and yet this act of giving raised the happiness quotient! It also increased their sustained happiness.
Research suggests that altruistic behavior activates regions of the brain associated with pleasure and social connection, creating a “warm glow” effect that contributes to the boost in happiness. The benefits of giving are often greatest when people have a choice in how they give, feel a personal connection to the recipient, and can see the positive impact of their actions
As neshei Yisrael, we are in unique roles as givers. Ma Hu af atah — to be like Hashem is our goal. And all Hashem wants is to give to His creations and even more so to his children — Klal Yisrael.
Rav Dessler famously points out that the word “ahavah” love has the root “hav,” to give. Giving builds love, and love most certainly builds happiness. When we give to one another, we create the best balm for our hearts and give nachas to Hashem. It’s a win-win!
I
was approached by someone who had recently recovered from a long and painful illness. She knew she should thank Hashem for her recovery, yet struggled with the fact that Hashem had brought her the illness in the first place. She said it felt like thanking someone who had been beating her for finally stopping. She wanted to understand how to approach this feeling.
The Piaseczner Rebbe in Tzav V’ziruz (os 35, middle of section daled), addresses this, albeit from another angle. His core message is that really, we should thank Hashem for the illness as well, not only the recovery. Although the Rebbe doesn’t reference it, the Gemara (Berachos 54a) says, “Chayav adam l’vareich al hara’ah k’sheim shemevarchim al hatovah — a person is obligated to bless Hashem for the bad just as he blesses Him for the good.”
Of course, nothing Hashem does is bad, everything He does is good (Berachos 60b); the Gemara’s wording is simply being sensitive to the way it feels (see Maharal, Derech Chaim, 3:15). But that’s exactly why we make a brachah and thank Him for it. The illness was good and no less an act of love and chesed than the healing, even if we can’t fathom how.
The Rebbe’s tone is extremely sensitive to the fact that this can be very hard to hear. It’s a difficult avodah and reflects a high level of emunah, one that may take time to cultivate. It’s for this reason that we generally emphasize gratitude for the recovery rather than the illness. It’s simply not fair to expect a person to be immediately capable of thanking Hashem for the pain he went through. It’s for this reason that Chazal instituted a different text for the brachah on tovah than on “ra’ah” since naturally, our feelings of appreciation are far stronger for the salvation than the pain (Berachos 60b and Rashi there, s.v. l’kabulinhu).
Still, both experiences warrant a brachah and both call for gratitude. Our job is to work towards acquiring such clarity.
(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 979)
The post Saved first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.
Mishpacha
Photos: Elchanan Kotler, Mishpacha archives
**
IT definitely competed for one of Israel’s shortest organizational appointments.
I was traveling with Rabbi Yitzchak Pindrus, who just the week before had publicly signed on as the senior government liaison to the Israeli-Anglo advocacy organization Chaim V’Chessed. I was hoping the drive would be a good opportunity for a bit of chit-chat with someone who had served as mayor of Beitar Illit, spent years on the Jerusalem City Council, and who’d been a Knesset member on and off since 2019.
Although he missed the cut in the 2022 elections by one seat on the Agudah-Degel HaTorah (UTJ) slate, Pindrus reentered the Knesset in January 2023 because of something called the “Norwegian Law,” whereby a member of Knesset who is appointed to a ministerial post vacates his parliamentary seat, which is then filled by the next candidate on the party’s list. When Agudah MK Yitzchak Goldknopf was appointed Minister of Housing and Construction, Pindrus was back in; but when UTJ exited the coalition this past summer over the draft law, the ministerial posts were forfeited and Goldknopf returned to his seat — forcing Pindrus out of parliament once again.
That’s when Chaim V’Chessed began to woo him — and on January 7, he publicly agreed to the position of government liaison. And now, here I was, for an inside conversation about his new role. But what I failed to factor in was that that very afternoon, MK Yisrael Eichler was appointed deputy communications minister (even though UTJ officially remains in the opposition, but that was a Bibi magic trick), once again freeing up a seat and putting Pindrus back in the Knesset.
This did not, however, mean that Yitzchak Pindrus was about to abandon his public service for the Anglo community.
“Reb Yitzchak has been with us in various capacities since our organization’s founding ten years ago,” says Chaim V’Chessed CEO Rabbi Paysach Freedman, “and when the political alteration happened in the summer, we knew that he was the natural person to bring in to what we’ve built, due to his experience, national recognition, and deep understanding of the Anglo community, where he has his own roots.”
Even so, neither Freedman nor Pindrus — both seasoned observers of Israeli politics — could have anticipated the speed at which the winds in Jerusalem would shift.
The post He Speaks Your Language first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.
MishpachaI
’m a big chassid of Waze. I follow it almost blindly; you never know when traffic is going to rear its ugly head.
Recently I was traveling into Yerushalayim, a trip that can take 25 minutes without traffic. The highway was open and traffic was moving swiftly. I was hoping to reach my destination soon. Suddenly without much warning, Waze signaled me to get off the highway. I was pretty skeptical. The new route was through a series of narrow back streets and red lights (the kind that never turn green).
I was tempted to ignore this new development and continue along my way. But I’ve learned the hard way that Waze is generally right. So I drove to the exit and made my backward way to my destination.
I was right about the streets. They were two-lane streets that were barely wide enough for one car, and I had to squeeze by parked cars as I inched my way along. Why on earth was this faster than the highway? I grumbled. But I was stuck with it.
Eventually, I arrived at my destination: a government office where I had to take care of something. Anywhere you go in Israel, you’re going to be exposed to the daily news and the speaker’s opinion of that news. No less than three people at the office asked me how traffic was and how I’d gotten there. It turned out one of the infamous full-blown protests was going on in the heart of the city. People were staging a sit-down on the highway, and traffic was closed in all directions. If I’d continued along the highway, I would have been stuck for hours in the road shutdown with nowhere to turn around.
Thank You, Hashem, for always directing my “waze.”
(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 979)
The post Parshas Beshalach: 5786 first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.
MishpachaIT
was in mid-November, when the sky was so laden, it looked like its belly would split any second. Indoors, my mind and nerves were on the verge of giving way. I was on the floor, trying to play with my little ones. But Yitzi kept hurling toys at his brother. When I assembled a tower of stacking blocks, he yanked my headscarf and scratched my face.
I decided to go out.
My phone rang just as I put the boys into the stroller. It was my mother.
“You’re going out?” she shrieked. “Have you seen the sky?”
“I’m going to the local park, there’s a shelter there. We’ll be fine,” I said as I quickly ended the call before Yitzi managed to undo the stroller straps.
We reached the park just before the heavens opened. I was wearing my raincoat and my babies were shielded by the stroller’s rain cover. The pounding of the rain soothed my nerves.
Unsurprisingly, the park was deserted. I took my place under the ornamental bandstand to protect us from the rain. I felt like a sole player in a huge stadium, singing my own song, to an audience of One.
I lifted the plastic from the stroller and together with my twin sons, we watched in awe as the pelting rain flattened the grass and ricocheted straight off the asphalt path. A short distance away, down the hill, a dirty yet peaceful river lined up with dusty barges. We gazed in wonder as the deluge crashed onto the peeling exteriors of the river homes, making patterns and circles in the murky water.
For a precious 20 minutes, Yitzi was silent. Moish had fallen asleep. I felt almost at peace. Almost, because since the twins’ birth two years ago, I couldn’t allow myself the luxury of feeling relaxed. Because of Yitzi, my beautiful, beloved, highly aggressive child.
The post Mother of a Neurodivergent Child first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.
Mishpacha
Photos: Ishay Yerushalmi, Faiga Rus Yelen
AS a rule, where to go on vacation depends on your weather preference. If you prefer it warm (as most older people do), you head south. If you like the cold and the snow (as some young people do), you head north. At times there are exceptions. I recently returned from just such an exception.
Permit me to explain.
I write these words after a four-day trip of a lifetime, in which a group of several hundred participants traveled to Poland, Slovakia, and Hungary with only two goals in mind: tefillah and chizuk. The weather wasn’t just cold, it was way beyond that. We experienced frigid single-digit temperatures along with several feet of snow, and yet it was the warmest trip that I ever had the zechus to participate in.
Our trip was organized by Ohel Sarala, an initiative that matches single women waiting for a shidduch with couples waiting to be blessed with children. Each half of the pair davens for the other, and we’ve seen over 8,000 engagements and over 1,000 babies born in the nine years since its inception.
On this trip, I joined over 350 bnos Yisrael from three continents, five countries, and dozens of cities, who visited some of the most wrenching sites in our nation’s history with red frozen cheeks and faces glowing with warmth. They walked through several feet of snow in frigid weather, bundled in several layers — yet the heart and soul were on fire.
Our singular goal for this trip was not a historical tour (though we did learn so much) but to provide chizuk to an (unfortunately) growing segment of our community: the singles struggling through the shidduch process, very often forced to deal with this overwhelming challenge all alone.
Did we succeed in our mission? As I was entering the airport in Budapest at the end of our trip to fly back to Eretz Yisrael, a young woman approached me and said, “Rabbi Ginzberg, my name is Miriam from Manchester, England, and I just want to thank you, because while I have no idea how much longer Hashem wants me to be on this journey, one thing that I know for sure is that the chizuk that I received over the past four days will help me remain strong for as long as I need to be, until this journey will be completed.”
As the young woman receded from view, I turned to my wife and said, “Mission accomplished.”
The post Four Days and a Lifetime first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.
MishpachaAs a new Iran showdown looms, history reminds us of the devil's bargain of the 1980s as thousands of Jews fled revolutionary Iran, and hundreds of Israelis moved in to build Khomeini's army. Do Israel and America really understand the land of the ayatollahs?
The post Eps 8. Khomeini’s Jews first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.
MishpachaSay goodbye to gummy gnocchi. Roasting them turns out a perfect side dish that will satisfy all ages.
Serves 4–6
To prepare the dressing, blend all ingredients in a bowl. Set aside.
Preheat oven to 375°F (190°C). Line a baking sheet with aluminum foil.
Spread gnocchi, onion, peppers, zucchini, and garlic on the prepared baking sheet. Drizzle with dressing, olive oil, salt, and pepper. Toss until well coated; smooth into a single layer. Bake on the center rack for 20 minutes.
Remove from the oven; add spinach and toss to combine. Return baking sheet to the oven and bake for another 10 minutes. Remove from oven and drizzle with remaining dressing. Toss and enjoy.
The post Shallot-Dressed Gnocchi and Vegetables first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.
