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.

Today, I interviewed Shaindy Kelman.

What year did?you graduate?Bais Yaakov Baltimore, and what was the school like then??? 

I?graduated in 1975?with a class of 22?girls! We were in the old building on Greenspring Avenue, and Rabbi?Steinberg, z”l,?was our principal.?We had a very loving and cohesive class.? 

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.

Adults view the world differently than young people. I thought it might be interesting to hear about an important Jewish concept from the perspective of a teenager. Here is a persuasive essay my eleventh-grade granddaughter wrote for school. Bayla has a TorahMate whom she learns with and she is trying to persuade her readers to do the same.

TorahMates is a project of Oorah that facilitates weekly Jewish learning over the phone and video call for more than 11,500 partnerships. The partners range in age from 7 to 97, and Torah is studied in eight different languages.

Here is Bayla’s essay. Does it persuade you?

* * *

Do You Want to Be a TorahMate?

by Bayla Schor

Do you find time to do things that are meaningful to you? Do you care deeply about all klal Yisrael? If so, doing kiruv is a worthwhile investment! The reward? The way Sammy’s face lights up putting on tefilin for the first time, the smile as Eliana starts her first Shabbat. The refreshing spark in their eyes makes your heart happy. We are one big family and are responsible for one another. It’s our obligation to help others find Hashem.

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.

 I was young once upon a time, but I, too, have reached the “old man” years. I have seen many things, yet sharing the miklat (bomb shelter) this past week with 30 some neighbors opened my eyes.

Over 15 times we gathered, and though mechitza-less, we men and women gravitate to different sides of the miklat, an echo of the splitting of the Red Sea.

A 70–year-old man who minds his own business sees and hears things that are difficult to internalize, difficult to forget, such as the wan tired faces of the teenagers. I have raised – and been raised by – eight daughters. I am no stranger to the desperate sleep needs of the young and hearty.

The booms begin....

We men sit, of stolid face and posture, pretending it’s no big deal. Bring them on, our faces declare, until the next boom arrives, and our hearts ... flutter ... stutter.

On the other side of the miklat, truth resides.

With every boom, a responsive squelched scream … accompanied by a half-leap from the fragile plastic chair. Then the next boom ... and again ... the leap...the chair.

And the Master looks down … for so He desires – to unsettle, in order to settle.

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.