Before my recent trip to Israel, my niece asked me if I could bring coats for her son and daughter, both size 2T. I remembered that Ilana Smith has a collection of baby and children’s clothing that she stores in her basement and gives away for free. I went there to look for coats, but Ilana directed me to Sara Lea Wetstein.

At the Wetsteins’ house, I was amazed to see a room wholly set aside for coats. She has men’s, ladies’ and children’s coats, hats, boots, gloves, and snow pants. In less than five minutes, I found both a boy’s and girl’s jacket in great condition and perfect for my niece’s children. I also found a jacket and a protective car seat cover for my granddaughter here in Baltimore!

Banners festoon the streets of Yerushalayim and flap in the wind, borne aloft by the hands of the youth, whose hearts beat in fervent loyalty to their chosen party. It is election day for the second time now in this storm-tossed State of Israel, and tensions are high. Music blasts from the amp speakers of a kid on a bike, trying to broadcast his political message to the crowds heading for the voting booths. It feels like Yom Ha’atzmaut! For we are one nation, albeit split into various camps: rightwing, leftwing, religious, secular, each one fighting for a voice in the Knesset, a voice to establish the law of the Land according the the truth that emanates within each one’s heart. How will we ever unite?

“The ladies decided that a sheitel looked too much like their hair,” my American grandmother, born and bred in America’s South at the beginning of the twentieth century, told me. “They talked about it for a long time, debating the pros and cons. In the end, they decided they could do better – raise the bar on tznius – and everyone started wearing hats.

Last February, Malka read a book her mother bought, called Shidduch Secrets. One chapter was about a girl who, turned off by a shadchan’s harsh words, decided to focus on doing chesed and started visiting a nursing home. Malka was inspired by this true story, in which the girl ended up marrying the grandson of a nursing home resident. She pushed herself to make the three-mile roundtrip walk, alone, to Tudor Heights Senior Living, one Shabbos shortly after Pesach, since no friend was available to go with her.

The cool air blew gently past me; the velvety darkness enveloped me in a warm embrace. The night was quiet, heavy with countless tears and so much pain, yet light with relief and so much hope. The crowded plaza lay sprawled before me, its well-worn cobblestones whispering my name, tugging at my heartstrings. A haphazard array of women stood shoulder to shoulder, their hearts woven together with threads of unspoken unity. Countless individuals merged into one – exploded in a dazzling display of connection and happiness and desperation. Each face hid a world of experiences; each heart held a gamut of emotions. And in front of it all stood The Wall, so tall and proud yet so humble. The stones, so pure yet simultaneously soaked and sullied, beckoned, their cracks mirroring each woman’s splintered heart. The stones promised to absorb all the tears and pleas, crying along as countless prayers swirled to the heavens.

It is a new school year and time for a new commentary on an old and growing problem: the Jewish day school tuition crisis. We all feel it in different ways. This past school year was particularly crushing for us, because our kids needed special education supports that were very costly.

Several years back, one of our kids needed to leave her Jewish day school and attend a non-Jewish private school for dyslexic students. Her special private school was an amazing place where they reached children who learned differently, but it was expensive. Maybe in a perfect world, Hashem would pair up special needs with wealth. It was only with tremendous miracles from Hashem and kindness from very special people that our daughter received a lifesaving, six-figure elementary and middle school education. 

Sukkos Sixty Years Ago

The first days of school have begun. All those nervous days of anticipation are behind us, and stretching before us now is a bright new year full of promise and potential. School is a time of growth, learning, and preparation for what is to come. How can we maximize what our students and children accomplish during these precious months?

Last year at this time, I wrote about the importance of establishing routines to ensure that a year’s worth of learning can take place. Now is the time to set up routines once again. But this year I’d like to talk about another important topic – relationships – without which nothing can be accomplished.

Questions crowded my mind like a stampede of wildebeest. It was 1943, and I had just been drafted into the American army. How would I face this war alone? Where would I be stationed? What did I need to know? Rabbi Minkowitz will have the answers! I took the stairs two at a time and pulled open the doors. The smell of stale tea and musty books led me to the Rabbi’s study. A glass teacup and a lone sugar cube shared the desk with a stack of papers and an olive green rotary phone. The Rabbi sprang from his high-backed birch swivel chair.

“Ahh, Sidney, good to be seeing you.”

We all know that technology is remarkable and has completely changed the world from what it was 100 years ago, but few things have changed as much in my own lifetime as the telephone.

When I was a child, we had electricity, indoor plumbing, a refrigerator, and a washer and dryer (unlike my aunt, who told me that at one point she had three children in diapers and washed the diapers by boiling them on top of the stove!). My parents did not drive when I was young, but I certainly rode in cars. So, though today we may have fancier cars, more air-conditioning, and nicer refrigerators – and can’t imagine life without them – they serve the same function as in the past. The telephone, however, has metamorphosed so drastically that, while it is still called a telephone, I think it qualifies as a new phenomenon.