I used to think that teaching for 10 years was a long time. Then I passed the 15-year mark, then 20, and I am now embarking on my 25^th year in chinuch. In other words, a quarter of a century of my life has been dedicated to teaching Hashem’s children. It is a milestone and achievement I am proud of. But when I began asking the morahs around me how long they were in chinuch for, I felt like a baby! One woman answered 30, another 40, and yet another morah told me she had been in teaching for nearly 50 years. Wow! Fifty years teaching Hashem’s words, 50 years handing down mesora, 50 years molding neshamos, 50 years of mesiras hanefesh for the klal. What an unbelievable zechus!

In last year’s back-to-school article, I focused on child development and preparing students and their parents for the school experience. This year, in recognition of a milestone in my teaching career, I would like to pay homage to those in the trenches, who give of themselves to our most precious commodity, our children.

Teaching is not an easy pursuit – especially if one views it as a “job.” But if one takes the perspective that this is avodas hakodesh (holy work), it becomes an honor to uphold. Chinuch is a calling. Some of us feel that push as soon as we enter the work force. Some discover it by accident or finally embrace it well into their working life. And some discover that they shouldn’t be in this line of work at all. Some people, coming from a long line of mechanchim, have chinuch in their blood. Other are the “Nachshon,” the first in their family to become a teacher.

I credit my passion for chinuch to my family history. One of my great grandfathers was a rav in several villages in Hungary, served as av beis din, and published many sefarim. Another great grandfather was a melamed, and his daughter, my namesake, grew up in that environment of Torah, continuing that mesora to her own children. Whatever the history or reason for going into chinuch, being a rebbe or morah is an endeavor that must be recognized for the great avoda that it is. It is an avoda that lives up to its name; it is hard work! ? (In fact, one young adult questioned why anyone would go into this field as she sees how hard her mother works.) It is a tremendous achrayus (responsibility) yet also brings great merit.

It’s that time of the year again: A new school year! A new beginning!

As days begin to shorten and the weather turns cool and refreshing, everyone involved in our schools looks forward to the new year. Yet along with the excitement, there may be a bit of anxiety. Parents pray that their child will be happy and successful. Children worry about their teachers and friends. But they are not the only ones. Teachers, too, may be nervous. One teacher, describing her anticipation of the first day of school, said, “I prepare myself for the responsibility of 22 or more precious children who will be in my care – prepare myself to love them, understand them, respect them and help them grow. I want to give them my all; they are my responsibility. They are the children of Hashem, and they are depending on me.”

As the first day of school gets closer, the anticipation grows and preparations begin. I spoke to some teachers and asked them what a parent can do to help their child succeed in school.

The table is stunning, laden with flowers, honey dishes, and new fruits. The place of honor goes to the fish head, of course – or a gummy fish head! (You can admit it; it’s not just for the kids.) Or you might see a sheep’s head. (And you were scared the fish head was “looking” at you!)

Each unique item is more special than the last, but the pomegranate is the undisputed crown on the Rosh Hashanah table. It practically glows, bursting with sweetness and meaning.

The word “pomegranate” comes from the Latin words “pumum” (apple) and “granatum” (seeded). Interestingly, both the words grenade, in English, and rimon, in Hebrew, the weapon that soldiers hurl at their enemies, were inspired by the pomegranate. Although real pomegranates, too, occasionally “explode” while still on the tree, there is a natural explanation for that phenomenon. It is linked to the consistency of their water supply: If the pomegranates get too little water while their skin develops and then a lot of water when the seeds are growing inside, the latter will simply outgrow the skin, and the fruit will burst open. This really shows how every part of a process is valuable and that consistency matters.

Many people assume that profound spiritual concepts belong in advanced classes, adult lectures, or thick books. We imagine that ideas such as Divine Providence, gratitude, trust in Hashem, humility, and purpose in suffering are too abstract for young children.

Yet children often understand these ideas more naturally than adults do.

Adults have accumulated years of skepticism, distraction, and complicated thinking. Children are still looking at the world with wonder. They are asking the questions we have stopped asking: Who makes the flowers grow? Why did this happen? How does Hashem hear everybody at once?

Children are already searching for meaning. They are already trying to understand their place in the world. The question is not whether they are ready for deep ideas. The question is how we present those ideas.

The mistake many educators make is assuming that simplicity means shallowness. Children do not need watered-down Judaism. They need Judaism translated into the language they speak. A child may not understand a philosophical discussion about Divine Providence. But that same child can understand that every leaf, every raindrop, every animal, and every surprising event is noticed and cared for by the Source of all.

by Shmuel Goppen

The numbers from this month’s Maryland primary are a measurable, countable record of a community that showed up too late and in too small a number for a moment that mattered more than almost any in recent memory.

State Senator Dalya Attar, the first Orthodox Jewish woman ever elected to the Maryland Senate, lost her seat in the District 41 Democratic primary to Delegate Malcolm Ruff by roughly 3,700 votes out of just under 18,000 cast. Baltimore County Executive candidate Izzy Patoka, the only Jewish candidate in that race and a longtime advocate for the community, finished second to Julian Jones, trailing by nearly 6,900 votes. Both losses are now permanent, at least for this cycle. Both losses were close enough that a modestly larger Orthodox turnout could plausibly have changed the outcome in District 41, and even in the county race, organized turnout would have mattered far more than it did.

This is not simply a story about two lost elections. It’s a story about what happens when a community that prides itself on civic engagement, chinuch (education), tzedaka, and communal organization treats electoral politics as optional. Lest you think sitting on the sidelines right now is optional, let us look at what has happened so far around the country this election cycle and then we will zero in on our own community.

by B. Halevi

His frenzied fingers played frantically along the forlorn blades of grass, digging into the ground, entrenching themselves well past his nails before jerking their way out. He barely registered the ruin he was wreaking on his long, beautiful fingers or the clumps of shredded grass collecting around him or the tears snaking down his face. They moved slowly down the bridge of his nose, catching on his nostrils, and dangling off his frozen mouth, suspended in midfall as if turned to granite, along with his expression. He had eyes only for what lay behind him: a black, black cloud.

From the hollow among the bushes where he crouched, Yehuda could see the thick heavy mass that stood against the black of night – an even darker black. It hovered above the Har Habayis, and he knew that it was filled with smoke, debris, and human remains – the charred remains of his brothers. His assessed the lower portion of the blackness, straining but failing to make out the structure of the ruins underneath he knew were there. It was too dark. Or maybe there were no ruins. He didn’t know how much of the Mikdash remained; thank G-d he’d fled too early to find out. He only knew that it was a building that was practically impossible to utterly and totally destroy. He hoped. He had been in that building.

As his memories from earlier in the day engulfed him, it looked as if he was in another world, and he was. A searing heat emanating from the city tore at his body, and his nose filled with the rising stench of smoke and the sickly-sweet smell of burning flesh. He tried to slow his breathing, turn back the nightmare, but it was no use.

A loud wailing wafted through the night, seeming to begin in the westernmost corner of the city and spreading until it was flowing from across the whole city. Woman and children helpless against the marauders, keening for their lost husbands, fathers, lives, and for the Mikdash. In his deranged state, it seemed as if the very ground itself was crying.

His whole body was trembling, and when he failed to stem the memory, his fingers finally left the soil so he could clamp them tight over his face. O, Yerushalayim….

Our community has many organizations offering a range of services for physical and spiritual needs. However, for seniors, support often focuses on physical issues, neglecting spiritual and emotional fulfillment. Yet many seniors crave spirituality just as much – if not more – than younger people. Since 2011, The Golden Network (TGN) has focused on addressing the spiritual needs of seniors.

The Genesis of The Golden Network

While at the Greater Washington Community Kollel, I noticed a lack of opportunities for learning and social interaction among retirees. Many wondered how to use retirement to grow spiritually. I considered how to reach all seniors: providing companionship to the homebound, learning opportunities at home, and connecting those in non-Jewish facilities with their heritage. It became clear there was a lack of spiritually focused programs for seniors. After meeting with community leaders, The Golden Network was established in September 2011.

On my most recent trip to Brooklyn to visit my daughter and son-in-law, I realized I didn’t have my EZ-Pass with me. I wouldn’t have thought that driving without an EZ pass could be so absurdly challenging, but somehow, keeping an eye out for toll booths and navigating my way was more difficult than I thought. Normally, a family member or a stranger who posted for a ride would help me with this new divided attention task, but alas, this time I was driving solo.

On the plus side, even though I was traveling alone, I was able to establish a better relationship with my GPS lady. She not only kept me apprised of the speed traps along the way but also offered her reassurances when traffic slowed down to a crawl by telling me that we were “still on the fastest route.” I’m not really sure how I would’ve managed to get off the highway while surrounded by cars on every side if I hadn’t been on the fastest route, but luckily in the cases where I did hit traffic, it seems that going five mph was as good as it was going to get.

With the GPS lady by my side, the main thing my attention was focused on were the police cars lurking along the side of the highway. Fortunately, I have some experience in this matter since I take the 695 to work every day. Due to the construction that has finally sprung to life after sitting dormant for close to a year, speed zones and speed traps have been set up. The speed traps consist of strategically placed police cars on each side of the inner and outer loop. Fortunately for those of us who are inclined to avoid getting a speeding ticket, the large police SUVs that they’ve chosen to mount the speed cameras on are “hidden” behind a port-a-potty. I kid you not. It’s kind of like playing hide-and-seek with a hippopotamus who’s hiding behind a flagpole. I have yet to receive a speeding ticket.

You are davening Ne’ilah, and your stomach growls while you should be thinking of teshuva. Well, let me be honest; I am usually thinking about whether to choose a sesame, poppy, onion or everything bagel. That leads me to the food that pairs with the bagel. It is cream cheese and lox, of course.

Food pairing is very important. For example, what is cholent without kishka? Or a potato knish without mustard? And what is turkey without cranberry sauce? We all combine peanut butter and jelly, pretzels and beer, spaghetti and meatballs, and French fries and ketchup. Pea soup goes with chunks of hot dog, and chicken soup with matza balls. Cookies need chocolate chips, and Scotch complements herring. And what would macaroni be without cheese, crackers without dips, tacos without salsa, burgers without fries, or soup without croutons?

Kokash and Babka are perfect with coffee. Coffee is enhanced by milk and tea by honey. Then we have baked beans with hot dogs and burgers with coleslaw, string beans with almonds and rib steak with fried onions, latkes with apple sauce or sour cream, and gefilte fish with horseradish. Sweet noodle kugel is best with raisins, cheesecake with fruit toppings, and ice cream drizzled with hot fudge. Maple syrup is a must for pancakes as are humus and tehina for pita. They all go together.

You don’t have to be raised in Baltimore to read Take a Walk Through My Shtetl (2025), the new book by Eli W. Schlossberg – but it helps! I have known the author’s mother, Mrs. Greta Schlossberg, a”h, and his sister, Aviva Sondhelm, since childhood, so the book held special interest for me, but I think that anyone with an interest in nostalgia, local Jewish history, and wise advice would find it intriguing.

In his previous book, My Shtetl Baltimore (2017), Schlossberg recounted the history of the Baltimore Jewish community, including his childhood, as well as fascinating personalities, institutions, and incidents of the past 65 years. Now, with Take a Walk Through My Shtetl, Mr. Schlossberg continues the story of life in religious Baltimore, his “shtetl,” on a more personal level. His new book is a tribute to the unique community that is Baltimore – including the continuity of German (Yekkish) minhagim (customs) and the ability of the kehilla to grow and prosper under all circumstances. It is not at all limited to the world of German Jews, however. All of us living within the eiruv and donating to Ahavas Yisrael – the author’s beloved community tzedaka organization, where he is trustee – are all members of Schlossberg’s shtetl.