We have good news to report on the vaping front! Across the United States, rates of teenage nicotine vaping have taken a genuine nosedive. Currently, about 20% of high school seniors report any nicotine vaping over the past year. This is far less than what we observed pre-pandemic, when about 35% of high school seniors reported vaping. The results from 10^th and 8^th graders bring similar good news that vaping nicotine is on the decline.

These results align well with a recent personal experience speaking to a group of high school students. Most of these kids already recognized that vaping was essentially no healthier than smoking traditional cigarettes. In fact, use of alcohol, cannabis, and other drugs have also trended downward in high school students, making this generation about as mischievous as the teenagers on Happy Days. As the legendary British band, “The Who,” sang many years ago, “The kids are alright!”

Of course, we are not ready to quit our day jobs here at Johns Hopkins (though we might get fired by President Trump). We do not know how these national statistics translate to our unique community. Many teenagers and adults continue to struggle with vaping and other substance use. And as parents, the job of providing correct substance use education is never completely over because curiosity, sensation seeking, and peer pressure are all part of normal adolescence.  

As Pesach approaches, I often think about my Great Aunt Cele and the Seders she held for my family in the 1950s on Cylburn Avenue. Aunt Cele was never married, but she was the matriarch of our family. She treated her nieces and nephews like they were her own children. And her great nieces and nephews were a special joy for her.

With great passion, Aunt Cele held on to the tradition of her parents, who came from Kovna Geberna in Russia. I don’t know what Seders were like for her growing up, but for me they were the highlight of every year. At the Seder, adorned in my favorite dress and shiny, black Mary Jane shoes, I sat on one side of Aunt Cele, while my brother Julian, in his brown suit-like attire, sat on her other side. Across from us were my mother and father, and at the head of the table sat my Uncle Nate, Aunt Cele’s brother, who led the Seder in his lyrical Hebrew.

Each of us had our own kiddush cup. My brother’s and mine were tiny glass ones. Each cup sat on a white plate with a painted flower design in the middle. I believe those plates had belonged to Aunt Cele’s parents, my great-grandparents. Also, we each had our own Haggadah. For Julian and me, they were small booklets with colorful pictures to make the story come alive.

A friend called a month or so ago to share an idea with me. I’d like to say she’s a good friend, even though we rarely speak to one another. Our conversations flow naturally and easily as if we’ve known each other for many years when, in fact, it’s been far shorter than that. The topics vary, and who knows what they are about. But one thing I can say for certain is there is a common theme threading through each one of them.

My friend and I are roughly the same age and from the same generation. I can’t speak for her, but like most of my friends, I had a stay-at-home mother and a father who worked hard building a business. We children grew up, got married and raised a family. The women I know worked hard, too. Many of my friends are baalei teshuva, and as we parented our children and worked in our chosen fields, we began a journey the likes we had never traveled before.

Then our children were married off, one by one, and as we faced retirement – or when we suddenly realized the nest was officially empty – we weren’t quite sure where we were going. Still, many of us were fired up and excited, all the while curious as to where we were headed.

by Where What When Writers

Old family recipes, new exciting ones – we writers and staff of the Where What When wish all our readers a chag kosher v’sameach and hope you enjoy these delicious dishes!

Leek Dip

by Dena Katz

1/4 c. avocado oil
2 leeks, cleaned and chopped
1 T. white wine
1 tsp. salt
1/4 tsp. black pepper
1 tsp. lemon juice
2/3 c. mayonnaise
1/4 c. scallions, thinly sliced
1/4 c. fresh chives, chopped

Heat oil in a frying pan over medium heat. Add leeks and cook until soft and caramelized, about 25 minutes, stirring occasionally. Add white wine and mix to combine. Cook for another minute. Season with salt and pepper, mix well, and remove from heat. Stir in lemon juice and set aside to cool. Once cooled, add mayonnaise, scallions, and chives and mix well. Refrigerate in an airtight container for up to five days.

This is what happens when you plant a seed....

One Friday night, my husband went to his regular minyan. His friend, an occupational therapist who had recently returned from volunteering at ADI Negev, told my husband that the facility could really benefit from occupational and physical therapy volunteers. The seed was planted, and I was excited at the opportunity to volunteer my occupational therapy skills. ? 

ADI Negev is an all-encompassing rehabilitation village in Ofakim in southern Israel. The rehab village includes an emergency room; inpatient hospital; therapy units for neurology, orthopedics and geriatrics; hydrotherapy; and outpatient therapy. There are subsidized apartments for staff and their families. I stayed in an apartment for female volunteers. ?? 

Recently, my two brothers and I were reminiscing about our childhood years. My brothers started to sing some old songs; I noticed that almost all of them were Seder songs. My mind drifted back over the years to our family Sedarim. To my father, the Seder night was of supreme importance. In one of his recorded shiurim, he said:

As we sit around the magnificent table, we relive the birth of our nation together with our children. In the process, we impart to our children their spiritual genetic makeup. Everything that they will accomplish in life, the success of their individual missions in life, the people that they will grow into – everything! Everything depends upon the way that we transmit our mesorah to them.

But what is that “way”? How does the Seder transmit the mesorah? What do such lofty ideas as the “birth of our nation,” our “genetic makeup,” and our “mission in life” have to do with whether we use potatoes or celery for karpas? Whether we tip the cos or drip the wine with our finger?

Pesach is a holiday with many halachos but it is also, perhaps more than any other Yom Tov, replete with minhagim. They are the conduit through which the mesorah is passed down, the audiovisual/kinesthetic/culinary spectacle that makes the Seder memorable. Here are some memories of our family’s minhagim as well as those of the people I spoke to.

Have you and your children ever started a Chol Hamoed morning with the question, “Where should we go?” and ended up still debating the issue at three o’clock in the afternoon? Where to go is the universal question for families with children. I do not have young children anymore, so it is not my dilemma, but it was interesting to gather ideas for young families or grandchildren interested in trips.

I have not been to most of these places, so I can’t vouch for them, but seeing the ideas may ring a bell and remind you of places you enjoyed in the past. I’ll start by mentioning some businesses that advertise with us specifically to attract the Chol Hamoed trip goers.

?A number of readers have contacted me to ask why I didn’t write an article for the previous (February) edition. Firstly, I apologize that I couldn’t make the last deadline. Secondly, I was gratified to learn that some people actually read my articles.

I have had the privilege of writing for the WWW for almost five years. Sometimes readers agree with my take on things and sometimes not. I am grateful that WWW has allowed me the freedom to express myself as I see fit. Occasionally, my articles have been controversial, but still, the magazine’s editors allowed me to be me.

Over 25 years ago, my dear friend and mentor, Rabbi Dr. Abraham J. Twerski, of blessed memory, told me that I should write a book. He said, “You should write along the lines of Rabbi Emanuel Feldman’s Tales Out of Shul or Rabbi Paysach Krohn’s Maggid stories. Rabbi Twerski said, “I’ll be happy to give your book my haskama (approbation).” I always wanted to write the type of book Rabbi Twerski described, but so many things that seemed critical or more important filled my days.

It was a Thursday afternoon last fall, and I was sitting at my computer with thoughts of making Shabbos. I had planned to start my preparations ahead of time and made a mental list of what to make Thursday morning. However, as the sun rose higher in the sky, the kitchen remained in the dark while I sat in the den with my fingers tapping the keyboard, happily absorbed in sending emails to contacts near and far. I knew what was waiting for me in the other room but chose to ignore the signals my mind was sending me – the same way our grandson purposefully tunes out the repeated reminders from his parents when they tell him to take a shower.

I guess it’s time to admit that I’m not the biggest fan of cooking. I enjoy making food for my family and other guests, but I like eating out and prefer picking up takeout on the way home. There are some weeks when I’ll cook a different meal every night, and other times when that just doesn’t happen. I do have some guilty feelings about it, but thankfully, my husband doesn’t feel that his wife should spend any more time in the kitchen than she wants to.

transcribed by Howard Wasserman

Summary: As the violence against Jews in Germany worsened, Mr. Wasserman, one of the founders of the Wasserman and Lemberger butcher shop, was sent to Baltimore by his family at age 13. Taken in by a kind family acquaintance, he started junior high in Lower Park Heights. After graduating high school, he found jobs and lived on his own. He tried to get affidavits for his parents and siblings to come to America but was unsuccessful.

I was inducted into the army at the beginning of 1943. I was a non-citizen, but non-citizens were inducted at that time. I was sent to Fort Meade, Maryland, where I was put on KP (kitchen patrol) the next morning. I was washing dishes and pans that had been used for treife spareribs. I couldn’t eat for a week after that. Next, I was transferred to Camp Wheeler, Georgia, and put in an infantry replacement battalion. I was given basic infantry training there in preparation for being sent overseas. However, they found out that I had very bad eyesight in one eye, so I was left behind when the other guys were shipped overseas.

I was given various duties at Camp Wheeler until I was finally assigned to a headquarters company, where I did clerical work. After that, I was transferred to Camp Landing, Georgia, a replacement training center. Here, too, I was assigned to a headquarters company. I stayed around other Jewish personnel who were stationed there. I ate non-kosher food but never any pork or seafood, and I kept Shabbos when I could.

All in all, I didn’t fare too badly in the service. I got good medical attention, and outside of problems that everybody had, such as strict discipline and being restricted, I had no problems whatsoever with anybody. I became a citizen while I was in the army, in Macon, Georgia, after being investigated by the FBI because of my German background.

Also, while in Camp Landing, I took correspondence courses at the University of Wisconsin, which were offered to the armed forces. I made some very good marks in history, geography, bookkeeping, etc. I furthered my education quite a bit.

After three-and-a-half years in the Army, I was honorably discharged and came back to Baltimore in 1946.