“Every day I ask Hashem to please let me accept the fact that it’s okay to age and that aging is a beautiful process”

Most Women Don’t Use Botox {To Be Honest / Issue 918]

I was disturbed by the premise of the cover feature, “Fountain of Youth,” about the pressure to get Botox injections. I believe the article was well-intetioned in defending those who age naturally, but fear that it may have had the opposite effect. It addressed the majority — asking them not to judge those who don’t use Botox and other injectables — thereby implying that nonusers are the anomaly.

This is a gross misrepresentation of the reality in today’s Torah world. Most women aren’t using these treatments. Introducing the misleading idea that “everyone is doing it” to thousands of women across the spectrum of frum society makes the author and editors responsible for causing the boomerang effect mentioned: “...You could almost hear people think, ‘What about me? Maybe it’s true for me, too.’ ”

Many pages in this magazine have been devoted to debunking unhealthy perceptions and to promoting a healthy self-image. Let’s hope that this piece doesn’t ruin that and that the beautiful women of Klal Yisrael can continue to age naturally (as most do) and confidently, free of societal pressure.

L.S.

To Botox or Not [To Be Honest / Issue 918]

Several years ago, as a result of taking a necessary medication, I began noticing muscle spasms in my face. They were relatively minor, and my husband and friends said they barely noticed. We live in a simple neighborhood where such a thing isn’t the end of the world. But several of my siblings — who don’t live such simple lives — called the twitches unsightly, or worse.

My doctor said that regular Botox injections might be the least invasive route to fixing the spasms. I consulted with a close local friend, who confided that she herself had gotten Botox on her forehead. She explained the procedure and the costs. While she reiterated that she thought I looked fine, she also gave me the courage to go ahead.

At the next family gathering, the same siblings who’d commented on the muscle spasms also commented on the Botox, saying that I now looked plastic and rigid.

The piece about Botox seems to encapsulate being in this position of not being able to do anything right. Like me, the writer neither wanted to get Botox nor wants to live with the judgment of not getting Botox.

I wish I could say that the solution is to move to a nonmaterialistic neighborhood and surround yourself with quality people. But I know from my own life that some people are unavoidable, and we can’t cut off every person who says something we don’t like. What is the answer?

Name Withheld

I Slept Through My Youth [To Be Honest / Issue 918]

This piece was exactly what I needed to hear. I’m in my early forties and have been having a very hard time accepting my age and the new wrinkles and crow’s feet.

I’ve been so busy raising my kids and changing diapers all through my thirties that by the time I came up for air, I realized I was already in my forties and “slept” right through my youth.

Now, I’m trying to turn back the clock by spending small fortunes on skincare and such. (I still don’t have the guts to try Botox.)

Every day I ask Hashem to please let me accept the fact that it’s okay to age and that aging is a beautiful process. I try to focus on the positive aspects and look back at all the beautiful things I’ve accomplished until now (marriage, children, a career, simchahs…). This helps to keep things in check, but I do admit, this takes work and I’ll always miss my youth.

Name Withheld

It’s the Parents’ Job [Two Left Feet / Issue 918]

In response to the article about a young couple struggling through shanah rishonah — which highlighted the need for young couples to learn fiscal responsibility and suggested this responsibility be placed on chassan and kallah teachers — I’d like to offer a different perspective.

As a former chassan teacher and the husband of a very dedicated and active kallah teacher, I can confidently say this suggestion misses the mark. Teaching fiscal responsibility, while crucial, is not a task that can — or should — fall to chassan and kallah teachers, whose plates are already full.

Allow me to share a story from my training as a chassan teacher. A young chassan once approached Rav Ganz shlita, a prominent posek and close student of Rav Shlomo Zalman Auerbach ztz”l, and asked, “Rebbe, how do I become a good husband?”

Rav Ganz replied, “You’re fifteen years too late. First, you learn how to be a good child, then a good teenager, and then a good bochur. Only after that can you learn how to be a good husband.”

This response underscores the fact that much of the groundwork for marriage should be laid long before chassan and kallah classes. These teachers already juggle numerous responsibilities: teaching halachah, guiding on shalom bayis, mediating familial issues, addressing past traumas, and providing ongoing support well after the wedding.

The responsibility for teaching fiscal responsibility lies squarely with the parents, not with overburdened chassan and kallah teachers. Shifting this responsibility to them isn’t only impractical but, frankly, unrealistic.

Zave Rudman

Therapy Isn’t Always the Answer [Two Left Feet / Issue 918]

As someone’s who was in a challenging marriage and went to couples therapy, I read this article about a shanah rishonah couple’s journey through marriage therapy with mixed feelings.

Yes, there are many cases where a marriage can be rebuilt by both sides doing inner work and healing themselves.

But this isn’t always the case. There are also cases where an oblivious therapist will only make the issue worse by suggesting that couples therapy can heal their marriage. There are times when one side is so injured, there’s no healthy way for the marriage to last. In such marriages, if the emotionally capable side opens up to the other side, it will only prolong their suffering, as their unhealthy spouse will use this knowledge against them.

Unfortunately, as I know only too well, marriage counselors and couples therapists aren’t always trained to recognize such cases.

There are times when couples therapy will not solve the issue whether because one spouse is unwilling or unable to cooperate, or whether because there is a deeper problem at play.

Name Withheld

Plant a Seed [Family Connections / Issue 918]

I’d like to comment on the Family Connections that asked if an employee should convince her boss to go for help for her paranoia and lack of confidence.

I understand that seeking help must come from within, but I also believe that “planting a seed” can be incredibly valuable at times. How often do we hear someone say, “If only someone had told me they noticed I was struggling with postpartum depression,” or something similar? Sometimes, even though it may feel awkward in the moment, those words can make a world of difference.

I recently heard about a playgroup morah the mothers weren’t happy with, and stopped sending their children. How I wish someone had spoken up and shared their concerns with her, giving her the opportunity to make improvements for the future. It might have been uncomfortable at the time, but it could have been such a helpful piece of feedback for her professional growth.

Even if the person’s initial reaction is defensive, the “seed” has still been planted. It might make them reflect and realize that change is needed. Should we really allow people to suffer through life, hit rock bottom, and only then seek help, when a small intervention earlier on could have made all the difference?

Name Withheld

Bring Hashem Into It [Parshah / Issue 918]

I always enjoy the Parshah column, and I really enjoyed the column for parshas Vayeira. The concept it mentioned — having a gratitude journal for children to express hakaras hatov to their mothers, and for mothers to say thank you to themselves — is wonderful. I believe it would be more effective if the journal would express gratitude to Hashem.

Examples could come from yourself: Thank You, Hashem, for giving me the ability to go shopping and find the brand of socks my child likes. Thank You, Hashem, for being able to do the laundry so my child could wear his favorite shirt to school.

And then your kids could do the same thing: Thank You, Hashem, for my mother who….

Our goal in life is to be grateful to Hashem, and then teach this to our wonderful children.

Thank You, Hashem, for my children. Thank You, Hashem, for this magazine, which gives me the ability to grow.

Name Withheld

You’re Not Alone [Know This / Issue 917]

I’m writing in response to the article about hirsutism.

As a fellow sufferer, I feel your pain. I also struggled with “growing a beard,” as I called it. As a teen, it wasn’t so severe, so I ignored it. The first time I addressed it was in seminary, but doing these laser hair treatments made it way worse.

I only got a formal PCOS diagnosis long after I was married, and I’ve since found out that many family members of mine have it, too.

I want you to know that you’re not alone. They say that one in four Ashkenazi girls have it. Not everybody is aware, and not everybody talks about it, but it’s very common.

About the hair treatment, I personally have been doing electrolysis now for eight years, and the last four years were just maintenance. Baruch Hashem electrolysis is a solution that works for me.

My point is: There’s relief and you’re not alone. If you have more questions, feel free to reach out through Mishpacha.

Another Hirsutism Sufferer

A Very Special Reunion [Finding Hope on the Other Side / Issue 917]

As a follow-up to my article, I wanted to share an interesting “shidduch” that was made from publishing this story. Bronia’s Holocaust journey was etched in my memory, and as I sat with another survivor, Dolly Rabinovich, and listened intently as she rehashed the death march and arriving in Ravensbrück concentration camp, her words began to feel distinctly familiar to me. Once I heard the name Neustadt-Glewe camp, I was certain it was a story I knew. I immediately stopped her, but didn’t want to shock her, so I gently said, “Listen, I’m not a hundred percent sure, but I think there’s a woman living right near you who was also with you during the Holocaust. Should we call her?”

I didn’t see Bronia’s face during their phone conversation, but sitting next to Dolly I saw her mouth keep opening wide, and then she gripped her head with her hands. She whispered different questions to me to verify with Bronia, as her hearing isn’t perfect, and she seemed to be too shocked to do it herself.

Bronia was more calm and collected, but almost seemed to be extremely intrigued, responded, “I do not remember the exact dates, but the dates you are suggesting seem very accurate that we were in the same concentration camps and death march at the very same time, and now I am a half a block away from you, and you are welcome to visit, it’s not too far!”

I am so happy that sharing Bronia’s story inspired others and also brought about a very special reunion between two very special ladies who share this story.

Elisheva Lock MPA LCSW

A Pinch of Mistaken Identity [A Pinch of Salt / Issue 917]

It started off as a typical Shabbos morning. I woke up early to a quiet house, my husband and children still asleep, enjoying the extra hours of REM that the winter Shabbosim bring. I headed downstairs to the kitchen, poured myself a cup of tea, and settled onto the sofa to catch up on some reading.

An hour later began the usual hustle and bustle of getting the men off to shul, preparing salads to bring to a friend who was hosting a few families for lunch, and getting the rest of us up and ready to go.

My husband came home and we started making our way to lunch.

When we arrived at our hosts, a few of my friends came rushing toward me, eager to share how excited they were about my article in Family First. “How come you didn’t tell us you were being published?” they exclaimed with genuine joy, as they showed me the article A Pinch of Salt. “It’s such a cute article!”

I was touched by their admiration and respect, and, if not for one minor detail, I would have greatly enjoyed the attention and love. But, you see, I didn’t write the article.

It seems that there is another Hadassa Jacobowitz, a writer for this magazine, who spells her name exactly the same way I do, and who also has two sons, who sound about the same age as mine.

And in some master plan, that truly only the One Above could perfectly orchestrate, that other Hadassa has become a writer, even though this Hadassa has always dreamt of becoming a writer.

When I was in the sixth grade, on Sundays, while most of the girls my age were busy at our local shopping plaza, searching for scrunchies and scented markers, I, together with my friend Batsheva, took a creative writing course at the home of a young English teacher.

For 90 minutes a week, we practiced our writing skills, while we strengthened our critical thinking, developed our writing styles, and polished our grammar. I loved the feeling of expressing ideas in writing, sharing thoughts, my very own conversation with the reader.

It’s now almost three decades later, and although I haven’t officially become a writer, I still enjoy the occasional opportunity to pick up a pen, helping my younger children with their latest English assignments, or the older ones with their personal essays for seminary and college applications.

Somewhere along this journey called life, my passion to write took a back seat, but never fully extinguished. And as I sit here writing, I can still feel its fire burning.

So thank you to the other Hadassa for this wonderful case of mistaken identity, and for the opportunity to write once again.

Hadassa Jacobowitz

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 920)