“I inwardly cringe and feel so worthless when I hear how people casually talk about autism — and the language they use”

Roaring Forties [Musings / Issue 968]

I had my last baby in my forties, so I really related to the essay from the 45-year-old woman who just had her 12th child. At the time I had a running list in my head titled, “You know you had a baby when you were old if….” First on the list was, “You have to put on your reading glasses to cut your baby’s nails.” It was certainly an experience!

P.F.

There’s a Bunch of Us [Diverging / Issue 968]

I have so much to say about the new column sharing the story of a girl with autism, but where to begin?

Meira, your story is so different from mine, and yet so similar. I’m so excited to read along with you on this journey.

A few years ago, I actually pitched a feature to Family First about autistic women. They were interested, even asked for an outline and draft, and greenlit the idea. But life happened, and it never got written.

I was diagnosed very young, which is rare for girls, and I got all the therapies and interventions. No matter how hard I tried, I was always the “different” one. In high school I had daily meltdowns I thought were panic attacks. I kept trying to overcome my anxiety and ADHD, never realizing there was another piece missing.

Growing up, “autistic” meant kids who only talked about trains, wore mismatched clothes two sizes too big, and were obviously different, so I was convinced it was a mistaken diagnosis. I never met anyone who looked or sounded like me. Then at 19, I fell down an Internet rabbit hole and found thousands of women who were just like me — smart, funny, fashionable, talented, married, with kids; they had eccentric creative homes and quirky hobbies that made me want to jump up and down with joy.

Over time, I learned how to work with my brain instead of fighting it. I got Loops earplugs — they lower the volume but still let you hear, perfect for socializing, parenting, and surviving those charged, noisy chasunahs. I learned when to stop pushing myself, how to ask for accommodations, and how to explain things simply: that I have sensory issues, ADHD, or anxiety, and can’t do xyz, or need to leave early, or take a break.

You’d be surprised how kind and understanding people can be when you just ask. But sadly, I still can’t just say I’m autistic. I still have to hide behind the mask of common comorbidities like ADHD or anxiety.

The stigma still exists, and education is sorely lacking. We’re too weird to be “normal,” and too “normal” to be seen as autistic. A friend of mine lost her job to “budget cuts” a week after she mentioned to her supervisor that she’s autistic. My Thursday yoga class buddy I’ve chatted with every week for two years suddenly acted differently when I mentioned I’m autistic, even though she has an autistic son herself!

And at work, I inwardly cringe and feel so worthless when I hear how people casually talk about autism — and the language they use.

I dream of helping educate people and helping young autistic preteens and teens in our community — I think lack of representation is one of the biggest issues. When you know you don’t look or think like anyone else, but you have no blueprint of what you should even try to work toward. I wish I had met real autistic women with jobs and kids and hobbies and lives as a teen when I was struggling too much to understand myself and my brain.

But the stigma still holds me back. A friend of mine, who’s been a parenting coach for over 20 years specializing in difficult kids, recently became a certified neurodiversity coach. She says she turns away at least five clients a week because she just doesn’t have time — and the worst part is she doesn’t even have anyone to refer them to. The need is huge.

I often see flyers for spa nights or events for parents of kids with special needs and think, But what about me? Where’s the support for us — not just the high-functioning kids, but the kids who grew up and became adults? I’m a 30-year-old mother of four neurotypical kids, but I still need support, too. I need Chol Hamoed outings with accommodations and dimmed lights and fewer people.

Because of all this, that same friend and I started a WhatsApp group for frum autistic women about a year ago — a space to laugh, cry, share, and make friends. Non-Jewish support groups were just not enough (um, sensory issues + tzniyus?) We talk about everything from special interests to our Squishmallow collections to weddings, big families, Shabbos, and chagim. Some of us are married, some single. Some diagnosed for years, some still figuring it out. We’re about 70 women, ages 18 through 60 (for safety and legal concerns we do not accept minors), from all over the world. It’s a safe, supportive little corner where we just get each other.

Meira, I’d love for you — and for any readers who relate — to join us.

We can be contracted through Family First.

Looking forward to hearing from you!

J. H.

It’s Our Zechus [The Tell / Issue 967]

I read with great interest the recent essay, “The Waiting Game,” from a teacher anxious about the impact having her SNAP food stamps cut was going to have on her ability to feed her family.

She said, referring to relying on Tomche Shabbos, “But their packages are limited to the funds they have to pay for them. While they’re a lifesaver, a family can’t be sustained on a box a week — and that’s assuming your kids are willing to eat what they’re served without complaint. Most organizations are past their financial capacity, and some are starting to turn families away due to lack of funding.”

I can only speak for Tomche Shabbos of Rockland County. We’ve never turned away a family due to a lack of funds, and im yirtzeh Hashem hope never to do so. One day this past week, more than 20 families called up stating that due to a loss of SNAP, they now needed our assistance. We accepted each, and will accept as many as reach out to us.

From where do we get the funding? HaKadosh Baruch Hu hasn’t let us down yet. Members of our community continue to rise to the challenge in a most impressive manner. A family that had saved up for a dining room set decided instead to give us the money to help their neighbors. Children hold carnivals or set up lemonade stands. High school girls have formed dance classes. Businessmen and businesswomen are creative in how they fund this vital effort. Each makes a kiddush Hashem by how they respond. Their enthusiasm and dedication are what drive us forward.

As to what’s in the box we deliver anonymously at the door, each is customized to what that family eats. We try to make Shabbos special for every single family, with more than enough to last the week.

As to your statement that a family can’t be sustained by a box for the week, if you live in the greater Monsey area, I ask that you contact me directly. I guarantee you that, with siyata d’Shmaya and the backing, generosity, and enthusiasm of Klal Yisrael, we will provide whatever food your family needs.

Lastly — and most importantly — thank you for all you do to help raise the next generation of bnei and bnos Torah. The reward for that far exceeds any SNAP or other benefits.

Alan Rosenstock

Tomche Shabbos of Rockland County

The Be-All and End-All [Conversation Continues / Issue 967]

A letter writer observed that although Bais Yaakov alumnae are scrupulous in their observance of the halachos of tzniyus, there seems to be a certain element of modesty that’s missing, which more simply dressed Israeli communities have captured.

The writer suggested that despite being more lax in certain halachos of tzniyus, such communities display a commendable lack of emphasis on external appearance and superficial image.

I’d like to take issue with this perspective for several reasons:

Halachah is not an optional virtue.

The implication of the letter seems to be that halachah is one of many values to be weighed and balanced. However, from a Torah standpoint, halachah is absolute and nonnegotiable. No other virtue or social quality can override the obligation of adherence to halachah.

Tzniyus begins with halachah.

True, tzniyus is not merely a list of dos and don’ts — it’s an attitude, a mindset of dignity and modesty. But without the foundation of strict observance of the halachos of tzniyus, any “attitude” remains hollow. Halachah is the bedrock upon which genuine tzniyus is built.

Sociological factors vs. spiritual ones.

Even within the Bais Yaakov world, external emphasis varies: It’s generally stronger in “in-town” communities than in smaller, out-of-town ones. This suggests that the difference may have more to do with social environment and communal pressure than with ideological or hashkafic superiority of one group over another.

Casualness isn’t a maileh.

Without judging anyone’s approach, it’s worth noting that in many circles, the lack of emphasis on external tzniyus seems to stem from a general casualness toward dignified conduct and proper boundaries. Far from being an advantage, such attitudes may actually detract from the spirit of tzniyus.

By contrast, the Bais Yaakov community’s care in dress and appearance reflects a sense of dignity befitting those who represent Torah values — projecting refinement, restraint, and respect for the kedushah of the Jewish people.

While it is certainly praiseworthy to appreciate the strengths of other communities, we must never compromise on our own Torah values in doing so.

I.S.H.

Yerushalayim

The Inbox is the Front Line [Reply at Your Own Risk / Issue 964]

I read your recent article suggesting that phishing texts have surpassed phishing emails as the main cyber threat. While that may have been true about five years ago, the situation has changed. As a cybersecurity analyst, I’ve seen clear evidence that phishing emails have once again become the greater threat — driven by advances in artificial intelligence and the growing availability of personal and business information online.

Attackers today use AI tools to create phishing emails that look and sound completely authentic. They can mimic a company’s tone, use proper grammar, and reference real events or projects. With the amount of leaked and publicly available data, these phishing emails can be carefully customized to appear trustworthy, making them much harder to identify than in the past.

Phishing texts are limited in what they can convey. Phishing emails, by contrast, allow attackers to share longer, more detailed messages, include links or attachments, and even continue conversations that seem legitimate. This makes them particularly effective at tricking recipients into clicking, sharing information, or approving actions that they normally wouldn’t.

In short, while phishing texts do exist and continue to evolve, phishing emails have become far more sophisticated and dangerous with today’s technology. The email inbox — more than the text message — remains the main front line in the fight against digital deception.

Yanky Wilson

Cybersecurity Analyst

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 969)