“Every year people think it’s the teachers who inspire the students. In my many years of teaching, I find that it is often me who is inspired by them”

Reverse Inspiration [Screenshot / Issue 1076]

I read Shoshana Friedman’s article with much intrigue as I always do. While we as teachers might be inspiring beyond the syllabus, I am writing to make a different point.

Last year, my father Rabbi Paysach Krohn had a stroke as Shabbos was starting at the Agudah Convention. My husband and I were attending the convention as well. My father was taken to Stamford Medical Center. Needless to say, my Shabbos became a very nontypical Shabbos. Instead of going to inspiring speeches, my husband and I walked back and forth to the hospital to be with my mother and to see how my father was doing.

Shabbos was over, and the world found out. As I traveled back to Baltimore on Sunday my phone was blowing up with texts, WhatsApp’s, and emails of well-wishers, family, friends wanting to know details, and just seeing how I was doing.

Monday morning, I realized that at noon I must go to school to teach Trigonometry. I stared at my notes. It seemed so futile to teach about reference angles, when so much else was going on. But I knew I had to. The girls need to learn, and this is my job. Life must go on. (and they’re only teenagers, I thought to myself)

I walked into school, and my friends greeted me with looks of empathy, concern, and warmth. “I need to teach,” I said, “But thank you so much. It means the world to me how much everyone cares.”

I walked down the hallway to my classroom, going over my lesson in my head. I opened the door and all the girls were sitting quietly. Each girl had a Tehillim in her hands. I looked on the whiteboard. These 20 girls, 11th graders in an accelerated track, had split up Sefer Tehillim and were saying Tehillim for my father. They would finish the Sefer in the 45 min class we had. I took one look at all these girls, put my face in my hands and started to cry. It was the first time I had cried since Friday night. There was no time to cry before this. Here were my students, high track no less, with a normal daily thirst to learn, giving me a virtual hug. They were communicating, “We care about you, Mrs. Kramer, and what’s going on in your life.”

I walked out and went to the teacher’s room to try to gather myself and freshen up. I kept thinking. “We are doing something right. The girls knew exactly what to do that would be meaningful”. I returned to class, cried some more, and said some Tehillim with the girls. We learned Trigonometry the next day…..and I thanked the girls for doing something so meaningful.

I write this anecdote to say that every year people think it’s the teachers who inspire the students. In my many years of teaching, I find that it is often me who is inspired by them. Our students have depth, feelings, and sometimes know exactly what to say and do. It is because of that inspiration, that I love what I do, and continue to go back to teach each September with excitement.
K’siva V’chsima Tova and Hatzlocha to all of the teachers of Klal Yisroel

Faige Kramer

Baltimore, MD

Meaningful Tribute [Growing Up Greenwald / Issue 1076]

I greatly appreciated your recent cover story on Rabbi Ronnie Greenwald. The article did a fine job capturing the many accomplishments of this uniquely gifted and well-rounded individual.

On a personal note, I had the privilege of knowing Rabbi Greenwald as my very first educator in Toras Emes back in 1960. To me, he will always be remembered as “Rabbi Ronnie, the Great Guy” — someone who could always be counted on to stand up for us children and handle the local bullies who tried to disrupt our recess.

It is heartwarming to see his legacy of care, strength, and leadership recognized so widely. Thank you for honoring him in such a meaningful way.

Yehei zichro baruch.

Yehuda Widawsky 

Petach Tikvah, Israel

Ripple Effect [Growing up Greenwald / Issue 1076]

To everyone in Camp Sternberg, he was Rabbi Greenwald, but to many of us Greenwald nieces and great-nieces, he was, and always will be, Uncle Ronnie.

I was fortunate to grow up as a staff kid in Camp Sternberg, thanks to my mother, who was the camp nurse for many years. Those summers were a gift, and my sisters and I were privileged to spend so many summers in camp.  But I also was very proud to be invited up for Uncle Ronnie’s kiddush on Friday night, and made sure everyone knew I was also cousins with the Wolffs and the Lewensteins, even though my last name wasn’t Greenwald. (If any of my friends needed proof, I would show them the picture of my grandfather, Reb Sidney, in the beis medrash that was dedicated in his memory.)

Each of us has our own memories of Rabbi Greenwald, from his legendary baseball games and headstands to his visiting day announcements. But there’s one story that has always stayed with me.

When I was in Pioneers, fresh cement had been poured — I can’t recall if it was for a path or the base of a volleyball court. A few campers saw the wet cement and couldn’t resist drawing in it. Rabbi Greenwald, who held a deep respect for camp property, announced in the dining room that he would like the girls responsible to come speak with him.

But what left an impression on me was what happened afterward. The next day, he got back on the microphone and publicly apologized to the entire Pioneer dining room, saying the girls were likely embarrassed, and he regretted how he had handled the situation. I was only 12 years old, but I remember being in awe of his humility. That day, we all learned something about leadership.

Today I run my own girls’ day camp in Yerushalayim, and I constantly draw on the values I gained during my summers in Camp Sternberg. Our campers come from all different backgrounds, and by the end of the summer everyone has new friends they would not have met anywhere else. Though we’re not a sleepaway camp, we still wash for every lunch meal, sing Yibaneh after bentshing, and cheer until we are hoarse.

Mothers of my campers often ask me if I went to Sternberg, because they can feel the Sternberg spirit in our day camp.  Throughout the summer, I witness interactions that bring me back to my Sternberg days. When I noticed this year that one bunk had girls from eight different schools in Yerushalayim, I said, “Uncle Ronnie would be proud!”

Rabbi Greenwald instilled something in all of us, and its ripple effect continues to inspire countless girls, even years later.

A.L. (Lerner) Tendler

Pain Point [Smarter Giving / Issue 1076]

Esther Kurtz’s piece on donor-advised funds (DAFs) was an excellent introduction. As both a CPA and a trustee of a local nonprofit, as well as a happy DAF client, I want to highlight one specific pain point:

Organizations think giving their tax ID is enough. It’s not.

As the article noted, DAFs typically have a minimum grant amount, often around $100. So when an organization hands me its tax ID, what they’re really saying is: “Please log in, fill out a form, and send us at least $100.” That might work for large gifts, but it cuts off all the smaller donations — the $18 and $36 donations that really add up.

That’s exactly where frum DAF cards step in. They are designed to work like any other credit card on an organization’s website or campaign page. But the organization needs to set up this capability — either by using a card processor that supports DAF cards or by getting links from the frum DAFs to their card forms and posting them on their site. Without that setup, donors who would gladly give smaller amounts, simply can’t. This Elul, I couldn’t act on many mailed solicitations for exactly that reason.

Speaking personally: Before I had my own DAF, I didn’t think about this either. But once I became a DAF donor, I saw how limiting it is when an organization doesn’t accept cards. Now that I’m on the other side, I made sure our nonprofit implemented DAF card acceptance right away. I can’t send $100 grants for every request, nor can I give outside my DAF — but I will gladly swipe my DAF card for smaller gifts, if you let me.

Name Withheld

Is Wanting Enough? [Guestlines / Issue 1075]

I read with interest the initial article about the importance of a close relationship with a rav, and the letter in response reiterating this important point. I found myself tearing up at the article and the letter, as I reflected sadly on the lack of a close local rav in our lives.

We are a typical frum family in a mainstream in-town community. Years ago, when we moved here, we joined a shul that we felt was relatively aligned with our hashkafos and life circumstances. While the rav is a major talmid chacham, it has been very hard, despite our efforts, to create a kesher with him. While some in the shul have succeeded, many — who desperately want a kesher — have not. We have put in major effort, but unfortunately have not been met with success. Different circumstances kept us in this shul, and now, years later, it hurts to know what we’re missing.

I know many people in this situation. I don’t have a solution, but it’s a very sad situation. There have been both individual and collective attempts to respectfully convey this concern, but they have not succeeded. As our children are growing up, we desperately wish for a rav who wishes to have a real connection with all the members of his shul.  We, more than anyone, as well as people like us, realize the importance of a personal rav, and are deeply saddened by this situation.  I wish there was a solution.

A Reader

Kosher Fantasy [Voice of History / Issue 1075]

As I read your extensive, wonderful tribute to Rabbi Berel Wein, I recalled an occasion when I had the privilege of driving him as he arrived in Cleveland to give a lecture.

As we talked, the subject eventually switched to sports, and we both slid into what today would be termed “trash talking.”

“My Chicago Bulls with Michael Jordan will easily beat your Cleveland Cavaliers,” he said.

After I absorbed what was unfortunately true, I asked him in a more serious vein, “Rabbi, how do you and I, as serious Jews, justify our involvement with this kind of sports talk?”

He offered an immediate response. “The human psyche was created to need or crave fantasy. Few are blessed to fantasize day and night about Torah. The rest of us look for a kosher fantasy and rooting for your favorite team is a kosher fantasy.”

I often quote this to my friends as we spend too much time preoccupied with sports.

Oh, and I live in Baltimore, but I still love my Cleveland Browns.

Abba Spero

Heartwarming Writing [Voice of History / Issue 1075]

I wanted to write and express my profound appreciation for Baruch Cohen’s recent “One Family” article published as part of a wider tribute to Rabbi Berel Wein.

The way he portrayed the deep and genuine love between his family and Rabbi Berel Wein — especially the anecdote about Zaydie Berel’s selfless bar mitzvah speech honoring Rabbi Cohen’s late father — left me deeply moved. It wasn’t just a gracious gesture; it was a testament to character, humility, and the beauty of embracing legacy rather than competing with it.

Moreover, the richness of Rabbi Wein’s legacy — the sharp wit, economy of expression, and the depth of his mentorship — is beautifully captured in Cohen’s reflections. The line, “What made Rabbi Wein’s quips timeless was their economy. He didn’t need a paragraph; he needed a line. He didn’t need theatrics; he needed timing,” particularly resonated with me.

Through Baruch Cohen’s elegant storytelling, this article became more than just a family vignette — it offered a powerful example of honorable continuity, of cherishing what came before while building what comes next. It reminds us of the power of memory, respect, and the enduring lessons passed from one generation to the next.

Thank you, Mishpacha, and thank you, Mr. Cohen, for sharing such a meaningful and inspiring moment. It’s the kind of writing that warms the heart and uplifts the soul.

B.M.

For the Books [Voice of History / Issue 1075]

I enjoyed reading all the incredible stories about Rabbi Berel Wein and wanted to share a personal anecdote that highlights his skill as a master storyteller.

In my first job as a young typesetter at ArtScroll, I was assigned to lay out Triumph of Survival. Working alongside Rabbi Wein was incredible. Unlike siddurim, Tanach, or other text-heavy books ArtScroll normally published at the time, it was a fun challenge to design a book with so many images.

As we’d work on a page, Rabbi Wein would lament how there was so much more depth to what he could fit on the page and before you knew it, our entire team would just stop working and be transported back in time as he expounded on each story.

The project was supposed to take two weeks to complete, and one day, Rabbi Zlotowitz a”h, came by to ask why the project was taking so long. I tried to explain the challenge of fitting everything on each page when Rabbi Wein picked up a photo, pointed to it, and started explaining the importance of that moment captured in time. Two minutes into the story, Rabbi Zlotowitz pulled up a chair, and before you knew it, over an hour had passed! He smiled as he walked back to his office and never asked about the status of the book again.

Mordy Golding

Cedarhurst, NY

Required Reading [Screenshot / Issue 1074]

I wanted to thank Shoshana Friedman for her beautifully written article about the mother in Israel who was trying to arrange her yearly family party and running into issues due to the growing divide between her children’s lifestyle choices. That article was so powerful and should be required reading for every Jew! What an important reminder to each of us, that although we may all be different and we might not agree with other people’s choices, we are all brothers and sisters and we should never forget that.

Anonymous

Family First [Open Mic / Issue 1074]

I’d like to share my perspective on the discussion about allocating tzedakah money proportionately to luxury spending.

I know many families struggling financially while their siblings or close relatives are extremely wealthy. These are not assumptions; I know them directly. It is difficult to understand how one can live in luxury without recognizing that halachah — and simple morality — obligates them first to help their own brothers, sisters, nephews, and nieces.

The same applies to tzedakah. How can someone donate hundreds of thousands to institutions, dedicate buildings, or give sifrei Torah, while siblings struggle? The conscience should demand first writing a check to a struggling brother or sister so they can fix broken appliances, replace a car, repaint the house, and just live with dignity. And if one plans to give large sums, let them give generously to family — not just enough to scrape by, but enough to live like a mensch. The Gemara in Bava Basra criticizes those who delay help until relatives become desperate. That is a deeply flawed fulfillment of tzedakah.

I also know cases where wealthy individuals employ siblings but pay only market wages, leaving them struggling. If you are wealthy and employ a brother or brother-in-law, why not pay him well — far above market value — so he can live with dignity, afford family events, and provide for his children without humiliation? This is true kindness, and anything less reflects poor middos. I personally know of five such cases, and surely many more exist but remain hidden.

Perhaps the “discipline” we should encourage is not about regulating vacations, renovations, or jewelry, but reminding people that when spending on themselves — or giving tzedakah — halachah and morality demand they first take care of their own in a big way.

I’m not even asking you to give up your luxuries; just redirect your tzedakah first, and then you can donate buildings from your luxuries if you desire.

That, in my opinion, is worth pushing for.

Name Witheld

Lakewood, NJ

Share the Wealth [Open Mic / Issue 1074]

The article titled  “Let’s Turn Luxury into Lifelines” got me thinking. While the original article elicited mixed reactions, I have another idea that I think almost everyone is capable of doing.

For those of us who are lucky enough to enjoy luxuries such as pools, basketball courts, or tennis courts in our backyards, condos in Miami or apartments in Israel, here is my idea:

Invite a group of almanos or divorced women to use your pool once a week. Let the boys in your local yeshivah use your basketball court on Fridays. Let some struggling teens play tennis. Set aside a week or two in the year, in months when you know you don’t usually go south, and give your place in Miami to a Chai Lifeline family dealing with a serious illness. Allow a family going to Israel for a simchah that can’t afford a hotel or rental to use your empty apartment in Yerushalayim.

Thank Hashem for the blessings in your life by sharing them with others!

Goldie Hauer

Not One of the Guys [Refracted Light / Issue 1074]

The tribute by Shmuel Botnick to our rosh yeshivah Rav Gurewitz was very well written and really touched on many facets of the Rosh Yeshivah’s life.

I just wanted to mention that sometimes when trying to relay how down to earth the Rosh Yeshivah really was, it creates an image that almost makes him sound like he was “one of the guys.” Even though he tried very hard to relate to any type of talmid no matter where they came from, it’s important to portray him for who he really was: a tremendous talmid chacham who spent 50 years spent writing chiddushei Torah on all segments of Torah. All his talmidim knew he was always involved in the sugya he was currently working on in his sefer, regardless of where he was and what he was doing. He even had a special room with basic seforim in the US so that even on his trips he could continue his writing uninterrupted.

Everything that he gave to the talmidim and others was in a sense giving away time from writing his chiddushim.

Even though he tried (successfully) to hide from the limelight as much as possible, when other great talmidei chachamim would look at his seforim they were blown away by the breadth and length of the content, almost always commenting, “How did Rav Gurewitz manage to write so much at such a high level?”

He was available to talk to talmidim, both about learning and whatever was on our minds, and knowing he was giving us time he could have spent writing made it all the more special.

Yehi zichro baruch.

A Talmid

London Fog [Pendulum / The Butterfly Effect]

Thank you for printing your historical supplement, Pendulum. I especially enjoyed Rabbi Housman’s piquant treatment of gezeiras hamalbushim.

Rabbi Dr. Katz, in his Footnote, identifies Rav Leib HaCohen — who posed a halachic query to the Noda B’Yehudah regarding umbrellas on Shabbos — as Levi Barent Cohen, father of Judith Montefiore. He suggests that, though not a scholar, Cohen’s religious strictness influenced his daughter.

On my podcast Veiled Reference, I challenged this theory, showing that Judith’s father could not have been the author of such learned correspondence. The responsum (1783) cites a “sage from overseas” who permitted umbrellas, and the Noda B’Yehudah lauds this sage’s erudition, even while disputing him. As the sh’eilah is signed by Leib HaCohen of London, it’s a fair assumption that the sage was the local London rav, Rav David Tevele Schiff, a highly respected rabbinic figure with whom the Noda B’Yehudah often corresponded and held in high esteem. Alternately, it may have referred to the Sephardic rav in the community — at that time, Rav Moshe HaCohen Di Azevedo, or another rav altogether.

In any event, it’s a stretch to portray Levi Barent Cohen, an immigrant and merchant from Amsterdam, as a zealous scholar capable of competing with the rav of the London community or another rav of similar stature.

Moreover, the Noda B’Yehudah addresses Reb Leib HaCohen with honorifics befitting a Torah scholar, not a layman.

Additionally, Levi Barent Cohen’s tombstone names him Yehoshua Levy ben Yissachar, and there is no evidence — aside from conjecture originating with Dr. Cecil Roth — that he was Reb Leib HaCohen.

In fact, the Barent Cohen family was not noted for strict halachic observance. Levi’s will does not emphasize mitzvah observance; only his wife urged their daughters to remain faithful. Perhaps Lydia Lieba Diamantschleifer Barent Cohen deserves more credit for Judith Montefiore’s piety.

Rebbetzin Tzipora Weinberg

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1077)