My clients often tell me that healthy eating and a balanced family budget are mutually exclusive. You may even have heard the saying, “If you plan on shopping at Whole Foods, you might as well say good bye to your whole paycheck.” Many people are of the mindset that food budgeting means clipping coupons for sugar- and white flour-based products and packaged, refined junk food. While less nutritious food may indeed be inexpensive, it is not your best option for improving you family’s health and well-being.

While shaving off hundreds of dollars each month on your grocery shopping may be a long-term goal, here are 10 tips to start you on your way towards a fiscally-sound food allowance that enables the purchase of wholesome fare for you and your family. Remember, the journey of a thousand miles begins with the first step.

Are you mentally healthy? Of course you are! You’re (most likely) not institutionalized, are coping pretty well with everyday life (with occasional regrettable lapses), and aren’t struggling daily with some sort of severe psychological disability. This is considered doing really well, and most of us would describe ourselves as pretty happy and mentally healthy.But isn’t it sad, truly sad, that this passes for mental health? What a low bar we’ve set for ourselves! If we can function normally, we’re mentally healthy, right? Is this the tzelem Elokim we’ve been promised that we are in our essence?

“Are you RiRi’s mom!?” asked my tablemate excitedly at Shabbos lunch this past January. I was in Florida with my daughter, Arianna (RiRi) Sharfman, my husband, Dr. William Sharfman, and hundreds of other Yachad runners and supporters at the 2015 Team Yachad Miami Marathon Shabbaton. What prompted this woman’s question was my casual comment that my daughter, Arianna, a senior at Beth Tfiloh High School, had participated in Yad b’Yad last summer. Yad b’Yad is a Yachad (NCSY) inclusion program that brings teens and young adults with special needs to Israel along with typical high school kids.

When Toby Friedman called to ask me to become a Torah mentor for Partners in Torah, my first reaction was one of uncertainty. Essentially, my attitude was encapsulated in the two simple words: Who, me? What did I have to offer that someone else couldn’t do better? Though I’d been blessed with a solid Bais Yaakov education, I was no wise, all-knowing rebbetzin with every answer at my fingertips. I was just a very human being with my share of flaws and inadequacies. Who, me? But there was an even stronger feeling that finally compelled me to accept the challenge

As we know, in contrast to the old adage, “Finders, keepers, losers, weepers,” Jewish law places a premium on returning lost items – the underlying implication being that “lost” means it doesn’t belong to you. However, as human nature enters into the picture, we come to realize that there is a category of lost items that actually do belong to you. These are the ones, that you, yourself have “misplaced or lost,” whether purposefully or because you lack the wherewithal to remember where you put things, like your glasses. (I once found mine perched on the top of my head.)

~~Dear Mr. Weisbord,
I am married to someone who is described by everyone who meets him as a “great” guy. He is funny, handsome, a good provider, and nice – to other people, not to me. He wants to control me. He decides how the house is set up, how much exercise we get, when and where we go for vacation, how much money I can spend, what diet we are going on next, and what I should wear. He wants a certain “look,” so he even tells me which sheitelmacher to use. He makes all the rules, and if I express an opinion, he just ignores or overrides it. It’s “my way or the highway.”
I grew up in a stable family where things weren’t always perfect, but if I complained about a sibling or things being unfair, I was told to “make it work.” That was the family mantra. All my many siblings seem to have good marriages. Only I am very unhappy.
 

As adults, we all hope to age in place and exit the world as gracefully and painlessly as possible. As children, we all vow to care for our parents lovingly in our own homes as they weaken and lose their independence. Unfortunately, these beautiful scenarios are not always possible. Medical realities, insurance considerations, and family dynamics often preclude being able to fulfill these dreams. Indeed, the current norm is that about one in ten older people will spend their ebbing time in a nursing home.  
 

I’m thinking of opening up a hotdog stand in the parking lot during carpool pickup. This is not for the benefit of the students but, rather, for the parents. You see, I’m not quite sure when this happened, but as the year progressed, carpool became a contact sport, for which I have season tickets. Two or three times a week, depending on how lucky I am, I get to drive carpool. (Believe it or not, there’s no sarcasm intended in that statement.) During this time, my van essentially turns into an end zone. The ringing of the school bell, which signals the culmination of another wonderful day of learning, has now become synonymous with the quarterback’s cry of “hut” as he snaps the ball. As each “team” comes racing across the field, carpool drivers brace themselves. Luckily, most afternoons the classes are dismissed at different times. However, on that rare occasion when they are not, all of the boys are trying to score at the same time. What is the goal? It is a seat. Which seat? A front row seat. How important is this? Very.
 

I appreciate the many positive comments on my recent article about a young woman who survived the Holocaust in the forest. This led me to pick up another volume by another young woman, whose story is very different. This time, I will share her experiences after the war, as well, because the story does not end with the end of the war. The effects live on, and we need to have more understanding of how the Holocaust affected its survivors.

Hope Never Dies is written by Holocaust survivor Sarah Wahrman, who was born in Czechoslovakia. Her father was a shochet, who traveled by bicycle to 18 surrounding villages to shecht for the few Jews who lived in each place. Her town of Coltova was so small that there was only a minyan on Shabbos in the shul that was attached to her house. Her father, Yaakov Elimelech Herskovits, Hy”d, was, by default, the one who conducted all religious services in the area. She describes their poverty and the fact that there was no Bais Yaakov in her country. Her only Jewish education was at home. After the war, she married a talmid chacham and must have learned quite a bit, as this book is full of divrei Torah and hashkafa, far more than any Holocaust diary I have read.