It was Sunday night, March 15, when a close family friend returned my call regarding a business-related matter. She sounded terrible. I assumed that she, like many of us, was scared of the virus: the injury and damage it has already wrought as well as the unknown potential effects, chas veshalom, that may loom ahead, Hashem Yishmor.

I was wrong. She had full faith in the Ribono shel Olam (G-d) – that only He was in charge and knew exactly what He was doing. Hashem would only do, or allow happen, what is best for His people. So why was she so depressed? The news of  the shul closures in Baltimore had just been released. The men in her family at home, her husband and 16-year-old son, would not be able to daven with a minyan. In particular, the thought that her son, who had developed an unswerving desire and love for tefilah b’tzibur, rarely if ever missing a minyan, would not be able to daven with his friends in yeshiva or his father in shul, was extremely distressing. I tried to “comfort” her with words I cannot even now remember. We talked it through for a few minutes. I think she felt better. But I felt worse.

In a mother’s womb, twins had a conversation.

One asked the other, “Do you believe in life after delivery?”

The other replied, “Why, of course. There has to be something after delivery. Maybe we are here to prepare ourselves for what we will be later.”

“Nonsense” said the first. “There is no life after delivery. What kind of life would that be?”

The second said, “I don’t know, but it will be lighter than here. Maybe we will walk with our legs and eat from our mouths. Maybe we will have other senses that we can’t understand now.”

Dear Kids Who Are Home All Day,

My name is Rena Schor. I am 8 years old, and I am in third grade. I am homeschooled always, not only during the coronavirus!

I love playing with paper dolls! My grandmother, who runs the WWW with a few other ladies, once tried to make a paper doll business. She gave me lots of samples. We got more by printing out extras from the computer. Soon we had about 60! I printed them out and colored them in. They’re in a box in my room. Sometimes I take them out and play with them. You can make your own and make clothes and everything!

Pesach preparations are often fraught with frustration and angst. We rid our homes of chometz and turn over our kitchens while attempting to keep our families from starving. We pore over menus, shop for ingredients, and prepare Yom Tov meals for our loved ones. We also invite guests.

During the year, inviting guests is a simple process; on Pesach, however, it is different. Why is this invitation different from all other invitations? Pesach meals present a unique numerical challenge. Not only do we have first and second day meals; we also have first and second day meals of the first days as well as first and second day meals of the second days. Far be it from me to point out that virtually everyone I know can count to eight. After all, we spend the rest of springtime counting all the way to 49. This brings me to the heretical suggestion that we refer to the second days of Pesach as the seventh and eighth day. I know this is a radical departure from the minhag hamakom, but it might serve to ease some of the confusion that we face in these difficult times.

According to the National Institute of Mental Health, anorexia nervosa, most commonly referred to simply as anorexia, has the highest mortality rate of any mental disorder. People with anorexia view themselves as overweight – even when they are dangerously underweight – and without treatment, this medical and mental health condition can be life-threatening. Our community, as we well know, is not immune. Former Baltimorean Rochelle (neée Cook) Garfield creatively tackles this important issue, among others, in her newly released novel, Out of the Shadow, which is dedicated to the memory of her grandmother, Mrs. Ethel Bagry Shafran, a”h. I had the pleasure of finding out the back story for our WWW readers.

For those of you who were not fortunate to be among the over 800 women and girls in Rabbanit Yemima Mizrachi’s audience on Tuesday, February 25, let me tell you what you missed. The much-sought-after speaker’s Baltimore lecture debut, “Simchas Hachaim, Finding the Joy in Life,” brought inspiration and laughter to a wide array of our community members. The evening was coordinated by the Storch/Bregin/Spetner Family, The Chesed Fund & Project Ezra, and The Women’s Institute of Torah (WIT).

The Yerushalayim native, an attorney-turned-Torah-lecturer/writer was voted one of the most influential women in Israel. She started out 18 years ago giving shiurim in her living room to 10 students. Today she fills large auditoriums around the world in venues as diverse as women’s seminaries, stadiums, and addiction centers, mesmerizing her audiences with her unique perspectives, practical advice, quick wit, and personal experiences related in her own charismatic style.

Recently there had been much publicity in the media about the lax standards of Facebook in allowing false and inaccurate information to be posted. One of the great liberties of Western society is freedom of speech. In former times, much of society lived in fear that any words they said or wrote could be used against them, interpreted as connoting something negative regarding the government or the official religion of the state. In some countries, this was taken to a fearsome extreme. In the mid-1930s in Germany, Rabbi Shimon Schwab lectured one Shabbos about the sin of the golden calf. Rabbi Schwab explained that this was not true idol worship. Rather, since Moses had ascended Mt. Sinai and not returned at the expected time, the Jews wanted to use the calf as a replacement for Moses. The calf was to serve as a “middleman” between them and Hashem. Rabbi Schwab explained that, in truth, Jews should relate directly to G-d without a middleman. He said, “We did not need a mittler (German for middleman).” An informer told the Nazis that Rabbi Schwab had said that we do not need “Hitler.” Rabbi Schwab was heavily interrogated and ultimately had to flee the country.

I could feel my heart pounding, the constriction in my throat and the warmth of the blood in my face as my turn approached. The directions had been simple enough: Select an image (or several) to represent: 1) the reason you are here; 2) what you are most concerned about or afraid of in reference to being here; and 3) what you are most hopeful of getting out of this. There were nine other men in the room, and I had struggled to focus on their description of the relevance of the photos they had selected due to my anxiety over sharing my own. I had purposefully waited to go last because I knew my thoughts would likely be jarring for the others, and I had no idea how I would be received after sharing them.

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On December 11, 2019,  yud gimmel Kislev, in the early afternoon, my Bubby, Tzerel Mindel (Celia) Neuman, a”h, was niftera. That is one sentence. But it took me a long time to be able to write it. My grandmother was the strongest, most incredible woman you could have ever met. She was sweet, funny, and kind. She was a huge part of my life, for all of my life. The memories are endless. And the world needs to know what it lost – because she was not just a light that flickered and went out. She was a grand finale firework that kept the night alight.

How can I express it? How can I make you understand why my heart now feels like shattered glass after her death? I don’t know how, but I’m going to try.