We inherited our refrigerator from the previous owners of our condo. Okay, so it wasn’t the latest and greatest. It didn’t take up one entire wall in our kitchen and couldn’t hold enough food for 15 families. But it was good enough for us.

Recently, I decided that I wanted to start using the icemaker and dug out the manual that came along with it. I figured I’d read the booklet while I was at it and stumbled upon something amazing: My fridge has a Shabbos mode! Well, how do you like that? I practically jumped for joy. This discovery was like finding money in the backyard. And all along I thought my old appliance was far from being state of the art. I thought it didn’t compare to the other new and gleaming appliances that stood boldly and beautifully in my kitchen. Who knew?

I don’t ever remember having a well-lit refrigerator. I was used to not being able to clearly identify the many contents that were contained inside. I kept the light bulbs unscrewed at all times so I wouldn’t have to remember to unscrew them before Shabbos. Well, no more. I simply press two buttons simultaneously, and viola, the readout says “Sb” and I’m good to go. I don’t know what to do with myself.

On January 24, in Annapolis, Dalya Attar (D) was sworn in as senator for the 41^st District in the Maryland State Senate. Previously a member of the Maryland House of Delegates, where she was the first frum person to serve, she is now the first frum state senator in Maryland. Senator Attar may also be the highest-ranking Orthodox Jewish woman in politics in American history.

Senator Jill P. Carter, of the 41^st District, resigned on January 3 to take a position with the Maryland Board of Contract Appeals, which handles state contracts. Whenever a Democratic vacancy occurs in Maryland’s legislature, the Democratic Central Committee is responsible for recommending replacements to the governor. After interviewing Delegate Attar, Delegate Malcolm P. Ruff, and six other candidates for almost two hours on Zoom, the eight committee members voted five-to-three to recommend Attar to Governor Wes Moore.

Summary: Mr. Wasserman, one of the founders of the iconic Wasserman and Lemberger butcher shop in Baltimore, was born in 1923 in a village in Germany. In part one, he described his family’s life, his schooling, and the cycle of the Jewish year. When he was about 10 years old, the Nazis came to power, and the harassment of Jews began. There was street violence and arrests. He could no longer attend public school, and the family began to think of leaving Germany.

Well, things went from bad to worse. We children were kept in the dark about a lot of things as our parents tried to protect us. I recall one incident where our next-door neighbor shot into our bedroom; the slugs hit just above my brother’s bed and became embedded in the wooden beam. Fortunately, no one was hit, but we knew then that we had to somehow make plans to leave.  This neighbor’s brothers were very big Nazis. They always claimed they wanted part of our property. Whenever we had visitors, either Jews from out of town or relatives, they used to sing “When the Jewish blood drips from the knife, then everything will be better” and other Nazi hate songs, which were directed against Jews without any cause or reason. They were indoctrinated to such an extent, there was so much hate in them, that they did whatever they could to make our lives miserable without actually outright shooting someone – so that, if you didn’t leave voluntarily, you were really forced to go sooner or later.

I got my beatings after school, either with snowballs or with dirt. They tore my clothes, tore my school bag from my back. You had a dozen guys run after you, push you down. Everything was rocky on the ground. It’s very hard to describe ordeals like that, being afraid and being pushed around all the time for no apparent reason. If you complained to their parents, either they didn’t care, denied it, or just didn’t give a hoot about the whole thing. And if you reported it, it didn’t mean a thing. In other words, this was free season on Jews. Of course, some were better and didn’t participate in this, but it takes only a few. The other ones didn’t hurt you, but they didn’t help you either.

People often ask me, “Are shidduchim harder now? Was it easier to make a shidduch 10 years ago? 20 years ago? 30 years ago? 40 years ago?” (I guess when they look at this Bubby, they realize that I’ve been doing this for a very long time.) I, too, sometimes wonder, was it easier back then? Has anything really changed? And most importantly, why am I still doing this?

While some things have definitely changed, the basic challenges remain the same. Here’s a short list of the biggest changes that I have seen in the past decades:

·         There were no resumes.

·         There were no pictures.

·         The boy actually called the girl to set up the first date (what a concept!).

·         Couples often met at Shabbos tables – accidentally-on-purpose.

The biggest constant is that the need for shidduchim is still as great as ever, and with our ever-growing population, baruch Hashem, may be even greater. But not enough people feel they have the time, energy, or, let’s be honest, the patience to be a shadchan. I firmly believe that everyone can be a shadchan – and should be. The worst that can happen is that someone says “no thank you” to your suggestion. (This happens to “real” shadchanim every single day and often without a “thank you!”)

So, why am I still doing this? Well, truth be told, I am slowing down. But every time I say to my husband, “I’m done! I just can’t do this anymore,” a shidduch goes through, and it’s like Hashem is whispering in my ear, “You can’t stop yet!”

And let me tell you, there are days when I’m ready to pull my hair out, but then I let my mind wander to the happy couples I bump into at school or at Seven Mile Market. But what really keeps me going are the funny stories – the crazy hashgacha pratis moments. Let me share a few with you from many decades ago.

When I got the following email from four of my local Orthodox shuls on the same day, it definitely got my attention: “Halachic Guide to Wildfire Evacuation on Shabbat.” B”H, in our Pico-Robertson neighborhood, we did not need to put this information into practice. 

What can I tell you that you haven’t already seen or read about the fires in Los Angeles? Everyone has seen photos of buildings reduced to rubble and learned about the billions of dollars in losses, not to mention the loss of human life. So it occurred to me that I might just share some random scenes of what has been going on away from the front lines, the cameras, and the microphones.

For the first few days, black clouds filled the sky in many directions, sometimes blotting out the sun. In the early morning hours, the sun appeared as red as fire. Things felt quite surreal, unsettling. One woman worried aloud that “the apocalypse is now.” Everyone was wearing masks outside. We were told that N95 masks would be most effective in protecting us from harmful particulate matter; it felt like Covid-19 all over again.

It was a little past midnight at my niece’s chasidic wedding, when the badchan appeared. I can’t say I was happy to see him.

Loosely translated as a jester or comedian, a badchan is someone who is paid to make Yiddish rhymes and jokes at a chasidic wedding to delight the bride, groom, and guests. He also serves a more serious and lengthy role during the mitzvah tanz ceremony performed after the wedding meal. Rooted in the Talmud and Kabbalah, the mitzvah tanz is when various family members are called up for the honor of symbolically “dancing” with the bride. It is during this ceremony that the badchan really earns his buck.

Before the wedding, the badchan researches the family members to be called up. He discovers their life stories and accomplishments, their lineage, personality, and strengths. He then composes lengthy rhymes that he recites to call them up to dance. In essence, the badchan is more of a paid poet than just a jester. Depending on the size of the family and the eloquence of the badchan, the proceedings can take hours, in some cases all night, with guests only returning home at daybreak.

When the badchan appeared at my niece’s wedding, I had never seen one live before. However, not knowing Yiddish, and being surrounded by my overtired and highly sugared children (one of whom was already begging to go home), I have to admit there was a part of me that was not excited to see him. But once he started, I realized I did not have to understand every word of the performer to be mesmerized by his performance.

Let me begin by saying that we in Kiryat Arba have been praying for the hostages for 15 months, and we are glad that they are being released, whatever mixed feelings we have about the terms.

Hostage deals with extravagant price tags are not something new. The first big hostage deal was in 1985, when Shimon Peres was prime minister. It was called the Jibril Deal, and I remember protesting against it at a Tel Aviv demonstration. It freed 1,150 terrorists in exchange for three Israeli hostages held by the terrorist Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine (PFLP). Israel had never seen the likes of that.

Later, in 2011, there was the Shalit deal, which freed arch-terrorist Yihye Sinwar, mastermind of the October 7^th attack, and 1,026 other terrorists in exchange for one soldier.

In November of 2023, after a month of heavy fighting following the October 7^th attack, Israel achieved a hostage deal in which 108 hostages were released in exchange for 150 Palestinian prisoners. At some point, negotiations broke down and the Gaza war resumed.

Last month, a year later, presumably following pressure from Donald Trump for a deal, an agreement was reached in which 33 of the remaining 82 Israeli hostages were to be released by February 16 in exchange for the release of about 1,900 terrorists, a thousand of them serving life sentences. Another 49 living hostages remain after that, and their release will involve further negotiations.

Disclaimer: The information in this article reflects the informed opinion and speculation of one anonymous air traffic controller. It does not represent the views of the Federal Aviation Administration (FAA).

When we think of air travel, our minds often turn to pilots, flight attendants, or the planes themselves. But behind every safe takeoff and landing is a group of unsung heroes: air traffic controllers (ATCs). Their voices guide pilots through complex skies, ensuring safety and efficiency with every instruction. To get an inside look at this demanding profession, we spoke with an anonymous air traffic controller who shared candid insights about the job’s challenges, the rigorous training process, and the realities behind recent headlines.  

Reviewed by Rabbi Mordechai Shuchatowitz, Head of the Baltimore Bais Din

It is well known that the Chofetz Chaim wrote sefarim about the prohibition of lashon hara for the sake of making his fellow Jews more aware and careful about speaking negatively about others. It is not as well known that the Chofetz Chaim wrote the sefer Ahavas Chesed to bring about awareness of other interpersonal halachos that pertain to relations between people. One such area of halacha that the Chofetz Chaim discusses pertains to paying workers on time. The term for this in Gemara is the prohibition of bal talin   – delaying the payment of wages. The purpose of this article is to discuss this mitzva and its practical applications. 

It should be noted that in his introductory remarks to this topic, the Chofetz Chaim mentions  that there are many religious Jews who are careful about other mitzvos but are lax about paying their workers. He continues that these people may justify their behavior by the fact that the amount owed is not that large, or they may have some other excuse. The Chofetz Chaim concludes that it is clear to him that this laxity comes from ignorance of these halachos, and that if these people were aware of the Torah imperative to pay in a timely fashion, they would certainly be much more careful.

When I settled in Baltimore in 1979, it was understood that “learning in kollel” meant the kollel of Ner Israel, established just 20 years prior. Today, 250-plus kollel fellows learn at Ner Israel’s Kollel Avodas Levi, and dozens more learn in other local kollels, which seem to have sprung up overnight. In part two of this series, I highlight some additional kollels that contribute to Baltimore’s reputation as a makom Torah, a place that is conducive to growth in Torah.

The Baltimore Community Kollel

In March 2000, the Baltimore Community Kollel opened its doors as an early morning kollel with an inclusive mission to enhance the love of Jewish learning and practice for all Jews – young and old, learned and novice – regardless of background or level of observance. In Elul of 2003, the morning kollel was transformed into a full-time kollel. (It is the longest running full-time kollel within city limits.) The Kollel bought its current building on Labyrinth Road in 2005 and moved in almost 20 years ago.