I am sitting down to write this the day after the Rosh Yeshiva’s 38^th yahrzeit. In honor of the occasion, I emailed my article about him that appeared in the Where What When as the first of this series of articles. I received such incredible, positive feedback that it brought back many memories. I ended up rereading the original article at least half a dozen times, and each time, I thought of more stories and more lessons that the Rosh Yeshiva taught me. As I noted in the earlier article, I will refer to him in this article exclusively as “the Rosh Yeshiva.” I cannot bring myself to refer to him any other way.

Halacha

The Rosh Yeshiva was my final authority in halacha, but, far more than that, he was my daas Torah, directing me in the decisions that would build chinuch and Yiddishkeit in the small Torah community where I served as rav. On numerous occasions, I called him to ask what I should do in a given situation, and there were as many times that I asked him how to halachically navigate a challenging circumstance. Often, it was a question of what type of halachic standard was required for a community’s kashrus. At times, it was to determine whether a geirus (conversion) was acceptable for someone to become a member in our shul. Always, the Rosh Yeshiva’s piskei halacha and advice were available. They were, without question, a significant factor in the success of my years in rabbanus and the institutions that I was able to build. I note that the Vaad Hakashrus I built there is a highly respected organization over 40 years later as is the shul where I was rav, notwithstanding the fact that both have had numerous changes of personnel.

Here are some stories of advice regarding communal matters that I received from the Rosh Yeshiva:

Approximately a dozen years ago, I traveled to Baltimore with my daughter for a kever avot visit in advance of the Yamim Noraim. At my late mother’s insistence, and meticulous supervision, we painted the heretofore illegible faded letters of my great-grandfather Rav Yitzchak Schuman’s matseva (tombstone), some 70 years after his 1942 passing. Family legend held that the text, composed in a beautiful acrostic literary Hebrew, was written by his great chaver in learning, the Gaon Rav Michoel Forschlager, zt”l, who, by prior arrangement, was buried nearby.

Shortly after I completed that trip, an ad appeared in the Baltimore magazine called Where What When, seeking anyone who could share information about Rav Forschlager. At my mother’s insistence I responded to the ad and told all I knew about Rav Forschlager and Rav Schuman; it was a short conversation indeed since the matseva was all I knew about them at that time. The author of that request, Rabbi BenTzion Bergman, informed me that he was researching Rav Forschlager and was collecting information. Thus, he requested facts and photos of my great-grandparents, Etta Gita and Rav Yitzchak Chanoch Schuman, z”l. I acceded to his request and then closed the book on those memories as I had nothing more to discuss or offer Rav Bergman. Or so I thought....

“Which way is mizrach (east)?” This is a very common question for those preparing to daven in a strange place to fulfill the obligation to face Eretz Yisrael. The answer seems simple, but there are a lot of nuances. For instance, which direction is Eretz Yisrael, actually? What if your shul faces the “wrong” way? In what direction should you face if you’re in Eretz Yisrael itself? Surprisingly, there are places north of Eretz Yisrael where one would still face north.

Rabbi Yosef Weisenfeld eloquently addresses these questions and more while also inviting the reader to rethink the concept of facing mizrach. His excellent new English sefer, Derech Ha’Ir (Feldheim 2025), is replete with sources and pictures that provide a clear understanding of the different methods that have been used to calculate where to face.

Writing a long overdue article entitled “No Problem” would on the surface seem “no problem,” but the opposite is true here, because the expression “no problem” was not your standard blasé phrase but one repeatedly said to me by many people, circa Pesach 2024. Please let me explain.

      B”H, my children are all married, all but one living outside of Baltimore. Being with each other is usually reserved for big Chanukah get-togethers or family simchas, such as bar mitzvahs and weddings. Those happen, but not as often as we would like, and in February or March of 2024, my daughter in Passaic came up with the idea of my hosting Pesach for as many of the family as could arrange to come to Baltimore. While feigning joyous rapture at the suggestion, the mere thought of it filled me with dread! At my core, I truly believed this was totally beyond my capabilities. My panic level soared! Where would I put all these people? How would I feed them? Did I have enough linen, wine, matzah, garbage cans? The list was endless. My daughter in Passaic answered each one of my concerns with what would become the mantra of the season: “Don’t worry; it will be no problem.” Without even realizing it, this project was becoming a reality.

Dear Readers,

A heartfelt thank you to all who sent in your thoughtful, creative, and sometimes surprising suggestions for navigating retirement – or, as I like to call it, “The Big What’s-Next.” Your ideas have been inspiring and insightful.

That said, I have to confess I was a tiny bit disappointed that I only heard from those whom I can only describe as “retirement overachievers.” You know who you are. You’ve mastered the art of meaningful days and purposeful living, and while I’m genuinely happy for you, it’s made this column a bit one-sided. Where are my fellow worriers? The ones who wonder if spending money instead of making it counts as a hobby? (Full disclosure: My husband wonders this, too, every summer!)

For now, I’m still working – at least as long as my bosses keep saying yes. I’m filing away your wisdom for future reference (with the same efficiency I use for lesson plans and recipes). And to be brutally honest, even summer vacation (yes, I’m a teacher) sometimes feels a little too long and aimless. That’s really the heart of my retirement hesitation: What will I do with all that time?

Before I officially wrap up this series, I’m sharing the last two letters I received – each one offering a fresh and meaningful take on retirement. One even made me think, “Hmm, maybe I’ll sign up… right after I finish writing this!”

One morning, more than 30 years ago, when my baby was only four days old, a friend drove my carpool. She got into an accident on the corner of Taney and Cross Country, and all the occupants of the car were taken to the hospital. I rushed to the emergency room to be with my children. My father also came. B”H, no one was badly hurt, and my strongest memory of that whole event was how worried my father was that I was walking around. He remembered how new mothers were treated when he was growing up in England and was sure that a woman who had just given birth should not be walking around. I felt fine, but he urged me to go home.

Different Times

I asked Mrs. S, an elderly lady whom I used to visit, about childbirth in pre-war Czechoslovakia, where she grew up. “We children were very excited when we saw the midwife running through the street with her black bag; we knew that a new baby was coming. As a teenager, I was sent to a few of my aunts when they gave birth. Mothers were not allowed to get off the bed at all for two weeks, so I ran the house during that time. In fact, once, when two aunts were due at the same time, they fought over me since I was considered more helpful than their other nieces.”

Was there such a thing as postpartum depression? I asked her. Mrs. S. replied, “One of my aunts had a few girls and desperately wanted a boy. Wouldn’t you know: She gave birth to another girl. She didn’t want to look at the baby or nurse her. Maybe it was her hormones, although we didn’t know anything about that in those days. The father didn’t know what to do with his wife, so I said, ‘I’ll take her home with me.’ I was ready to do it, too, and named her after myself. It didn’t happen because, fortunately, by the time I left, the mother had recovered and decided to keep her little baby.”

Antisemitism is not a momentary lapse in the moral compass of society, nor merely one prejudice among others. It is a recurring phenomenon that reappears with distinct intensity and irrationality across times and cultures, adapting itself to the emotional needs and ideological frameworks of those who harbor it.

In recent months, the eruption of anti-Israel protests – particularly on university campuses and in public demonstrations across the Western world – has starkly revealed how antisemitic symbols, slogans, and ideologies are again moving from the periphery to the center of societal discourse. While these movements present themselves as political protests, they often carry unmistakable echoes of ancient hatreds: Jews as bloodthirsty, cunning, global manipulators; and Israel as a proxy for the eternal Jewish malevolence. The veneer of “anti-Zionism” has, in many places, peeled away, revealing the older and deeper animus beneath.

To understand this phenomenon with the seriousness and nuance it demands, we must adopt a multifaceted framework that examines antisemitism across historical, psychological, societal, and theological dimensions. We must also investigate how these dimensions interlock, forming a dynamic system in which individuals, subcultures, and societies collaborate, consciously or unconsciously, in the perpetuation of hatred.

A tent rose on our street, where sorrow met holiness.

      We had seen tents before – in the news, even on the streets of Ramat Beit Shemesh. There was really nothing new to see here; move on. Except….

      It’s different when it happens to someone you know.

*  *  *

Eight hundred eighty-eight was the number of soldiers who had died in the line of duty with the tragic ambush of the Netzach Yehuda soldiers in Beit Hanun, Five souls. One unspeakable day.

When the news hit…some people sighed. As they usually do.

Some people cried. Once more.

Others clicked on by, compartmentalizing their grief to preserve their sanity. Yet again.

One by one, the names and hometowns of the first four appeared in the media, and people sighed, and cried, and clicked. But when the last name was published, the community of Beit Shemesh lost its breath.  

My son Chaim wrote a beautiful article about his father, Rabbi Joseph Katz, z”l, in a recent issue of the Where What When, and I got many comments from readers as well as requests to write my own memories of our life together. As you might imagine, life was very different when we started out in the mid-1950s.

I grew up in Cleveland, Ohio. Although Telz yeshiva had already been established, the Orthodox community was small; I had only two frum friends, and in the absence of a high school for girls we attended public school. After high school, I moved to Williamsburg, where I worked as a secretary during the day and attended Bais Yaakov Seminary’s evening program.

When we think of rescue flights, what usually comes to mind is bringing people from a place of war or disaster to a safe area. But, as the oft repeated joke that became popular in Israel goes, “Israel is the only country where people who are in a country where there is peace are eager to be rescued to a country where there is a war.” During the recent 12-day war with Iran, many people were struggling to get home – in both directions. Here are a few stories of the very circuitous ways that some people managed to make the trip. 

Rikki Rubin

My daughter and son-in-law, Chana Leah and Motti Margalit, sponsored a hachnasat sefer Torah at Suburban Orthodox on Sunday, June 15^th. Among the many participants were Motti’s family members from Israel. The Margalits had a full house of guests a few days before the ceremony, many of whom were planning to return to Israel within a few days. However, once the war with Iran began, on Friday, June 13^th, Ben Gurion airport was closed, and all foreign carriers canceled their flights, disrupting plans for thousands of people

My grandfather, Rav Chaim Cohn, z”l, was the Rav in the Lessinstrasse shul in Berlin, from 1919 until 1939. This shul attracted a range of daveners: important rabbanim, such as Rav Ahron Neuwirth, the father of the author of Shemiras Shabbos k’Hilchasa; Rav Shlomo Wolbe, a father of modern mussar; as well as less important people, such as Albert Einstein and other famous intellectuals. Yes, before you ask, Albert Einstein did go to shul – maybe not every Shabbos but not only on Yom Kippur. Interestingly, he went to an Orthodox shul, and that was not because he could not find a Reform temple; there were plenty of those in Berlin. The fact is, davka, that this Orthodox shul with 250 seats was nicknamed intelligenztempel, the shul of the intellectuals in pre-WWII Berlin. Interestingly, Opa was actually mekarev Rav Wolbe as a young boy, which Rav Wolbe often acknowledged during his lifetime.

In November 1939, on Kristallnacht, the shul was burned down. A few weeks later, my grandparents with seven children and one mother-in-law left for Switzerland. They were fortunate; my grandfather was born in Switzerland and had Swiss citizenship. They ended up in England, where my grandfather never held another rabbinic position. I don’t think he ever learned English. 

One Shabbos afternoon, after a short nap, Rav Moshe Feinstein, zt”l, woke himself up and returned to his learning. The rebbetzin pleaded with Rav Moshe to get more sleep, but he refused and said, “I must learn; I don’t want to be an am ha’aretz (ignoramus)!” The rebbetzin turned to their guest and asked, “Would anyone say that Rabbi Feinstein is an am ha’aretz?!” But R’ Moshe insisted that he needed to push harder to reach greatness in Torah.

This is an example of the type of powerful message that many of us heard in yeshiva that inspired us to put in our utmost to become talmidei chachamim and live the elevated life of a ben Torah. The pinnacle is to become a gadol b’Torah, and one has failed if he remains an am ha’aretz. These messages at times are explicit and, more often, implicit. Regardless, they serve to fuel much of the inspiration for yeshiva talmidim of all ages.

A tent rose on our street, where sorrow met holiness.

      We had seen tents before – in the news, even on the streets of Ramat Beit Shemesh. There was really nothing new to see here; move on. Except….

      It’s different when it happens to someone you know.

*  *  *Eight hundred eighty-eight was the number of soldiers who had died in the line of duty with the tragic ambush of the Netzach Yehuda soldiers in Beit Hanun, Five souls. One unspeakable day.When the news hit…some people sighed. As they usually do.

Some people cried. Once more.

Others clicked on by, compartmentalizing their grief to preserve their sanity. Yet again.

One by one, the names and hometowns of the first four appeared in the media, and people sighed, and cried, and clicked. But when the last name was published, the community of Beit Shemesh lost its breath.  

Most people are fascinated by nature – as long as it stays outside. Birds are delightful (until they accidentally find themselves in a grocery store), and spiders are very helpful (but not really appreciated in your bedroom). Ants are no exception to this rule. Their industrious nature has inspired people to persevere for generations. Sefer Mishlei shares the ants’ message: “Go to the ant, lazy one; watch its ways and become wise.” This idea is especially relevant today, when young and old alike have made it their mission statement to avoid investing effort at all costs. Unfortunately, we most often encounter ants when they get into our kitchens, which somehow does not leave us feeling very inspired.

Putting aside our unfavorable meeting place (inside), ants are beyond fascinating. For example, if an ant accidentally drops a kernel of grain, the other ants won’t take it, even though it would make their personal trip to find food much shorter; stealing from each other is not an acceptable short cut. Furthermore, they can carry 50 times their body weight, which is the equivalent of a person carrying a car, and they selflessly work for the good of the whole group.

By clearing away dirt to form a network of vast underground tunnels, ants aerate the soil, which lets air and water penetrate more deeply. They also carry tons of organic material into the ground, some of which decomposes before it can be eaten, adding valuable nutrients to the soil.

My face beamed with excitement when I woke up in the morning. Even six time zones away from America, on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean, I felt myself amongst the Americans celebrating the country’s 238^th birthday and was overwhelmed with gratitude to the country that adopted me and transformed me into a happy, content, and fulfilled person. This was the second summer that I had come to this small town on the marvelous shores of the Baltic Sea or, more accurately, of its Gulf of Riga, to escape the heat and humidity of the Washington D.C. area and to work on my memoirs. I was delighted to notice the Latvian national flag at a single-story office building located exactly in front of the window where I was sitting and writing. Latvia also had something to celebrate on the Fourth of July. It was windy, and the flag, two red strips with a narrow white one between, was cheerfully fluttering in the breeze.

Around 12 years ago our youngest son, Dani, was assigned a project at school where he was required to interview a Holocaust survivor. He asked if I thought my father, Rabbi Joseph Katz, z”l, would be a good person to talk to. Born in Guxhagan Germany in 1932, my Dad rarely spoke about his experiences growing up, but from what I knew, I told him that, if my father agreed, it would be a worthwhile pursuit. Little did I know. What I thought I knew was nothing compared to what I was about to find out.

Watching the video of Dani’s interview, I realized that, while I had heard much of what my father had told me, including my dad and his parents getting out in May of 1941, it wasn’t until my father said something like, “Yeah, I have my passport in my sock drawer,” that he got my attention. I told my dad it might be helpful for the project if Dani could add a picture of the passport to his report. My father returned from his bedroom and placed the three passports – his and his parents – on the table in front of us.

There are moments in a person’s life that are so jarring that they become seared in your memory forever. Looking at the front cover of his passport with its big swastika, I could not wrap my head around the fact that I never knew these existed. “Dad, did you ever think, at some point over the past 50 years, you could have found a minute to say something like: ‘Chaim, can you please pass the salt and ‘Oh, by the way, I have a Nazi passport in my sock drawer’?” My father responded in his usual casual fashion, “I didn’t think it was important.”

Dear Rochelle,

I am disturbed by the rites of the engagement period which include more and more expensive presents to the chassan and the kallah. This puts a lot of pressure on the families who do not have the money and do not want to go into debt but do not want their chassan or kallah to get less than everyone else. I think our community should encourage the chassanim and kallos themselves to protest this trend and tell their families that they do not need so many expensive presents. They are the only ones who can do this honestly. 

Of course, this will not solve everyone’s problem, but it will solve the problem of each family that participates in such an initiative. And once it becomes more common, we can start a revolution and take the pressure off the families of newly engaged couples. What do you think? 

Contemplating a Chasana

If you are looking for a fun summer trip for your entire family, American Dream Mall in East Rutherford, NJ, might make a perfect choice. Located in northern New Jersey, close to New York City, this sprawling mall is full of kosher food, including some chain stores that have a kosher location! So, not only can you be entertained all day long with loads of activities but you don’t have to pack food! They have meal food and snack food, great for a variety of needs.

More Readers Respond

So, dear readers, let me set the record straight – right here and now: Yes, I am thinking about retiring. But not tomorrow. Not next week. Not even next month. Just… eventually. Someday. In the distant land of “the Future.”

You’d be surprised at how many people have asked me if I’m retiring since I first wrote an article in the Where What When two months ago. They ask at weddings, in 7-Mile Market, even in the school hallway – always with the same wide-eyed question: “Are you really retiring?”

Well, of course I am. Eventually. I mean, doesn’t everyone retire at some point? That brings me to the purpose of this column: to explore what you all think about retirement. I’m especially interested in hearing from those still in the “thinking about it,” “wondering if I should,” or “silently panicking” phase.

Just this past Shabbos, I was sitting outside with my beloved Shabbos Afternoon Shmooze Group, where we sit and try to solve the world’s problems between Mincha and shalosh seudos. And the topic came up. All four of us still work. All four of us still claim to “like” our jobs. And – most importantly – none of us has been gently nudged toward the exit.

There’s an eight-year age gap among us, yet we share a deep sense of friendship, commonality, and all feel pretty vital and purposeful in our professions. Are we slightly delusional? Maybe. But you’d have to ask our coworkers – assuming they’re not secretly pondering the same questions!

My friend Judy put it best: “I’m working till I drop!” We all just nodded in silent agreement, checking our watches to see if it was time to head home and set up shalosh seudos.

So, in the spirit of research (and procrastination), I continue with this column. I have three interesting letters to share with you, again, from people who are happily retired.

In these crazy times, when the news does a complete 180 degree turn every day, when there is much more that we do not know than what we do know, I would like to take a look back and a look forward.

For many years, Israel faced a nuclear threat from Iran, and that fact had great political meaning. Two American rabbis I am close to each expressed these fears to me, separately, 30 years ago, during the Oslo period, in almost the same words. Both viewed holding on to all of Judea and Samaria (my view) as endangering Israel. Both rebuked me, more or less gently. One said, “If we provoke Iran by holding on to Judea and Samaria, and they drop an atomic bomb on us, maybe Kiryat Arba where you live will survive, but I have my doubts about the millions of Jews in the Tel Aviv area.”

The two men who thus addressed me were not hedonistic, bar-hopping atheists. They were both learned men, committed to teaching as much Torah as possible to as many young people as possible, and that was what they spent their lives doing, one in America and one in Israel. They were both very good at what they did, and both still are. I almost never respond quickly to oral arguments, and I just listened when they spoke, especially as I revere both.

Today, I interviewed Elise Wolf.

What year did you graduate from Bais Yaakov of Baltimore, and how have you seen the school change since??? 

I graduated in 1986. We had two classes with 35 girls. We had outstanding teachers, like Mrs. Willner, and Rabbi Steinberg was principal. There were color wars, trips, and productions! Back then, the plays were written by students or borrowed from other schools. Or we put on popular plays like Oliver or The Sound of Music.? 

The high school used to be seventh through twelfth grade, so it has significantly grown in size. You might not know everybody in your grade like you did then, but because of the size of the grades, there are many more opportunities today to be involved in your school.?