“He doesn’t even know us, but wrote it seems like he knows all of us.”

That was the remarkably insightful response from one of the young adults with severe learning disabilities whom I taught in the late 1960s. We had decided we would write to Brooks Robinson, the great Baltimore Orioles third baseman, as a class project. In the letter, we asked if he would write a letter back wishing all of us good luck in the future. Almost immediately, we received a response to our correspondence.

Brooks will be 81 on May 18, and I wish him every happiness. When we wrote to him, Brooks was a human “Hall of Fame” stat line. Wrapping up his career after 23 years, from 1955 to 1977, the numbers (and Brooks was far more than mere numbers) leaped out at you: 16 All-Star games, 17 Golden Gloves, MVP in 1964, 2,896 games played, 286 home runs, and 1,357 runs batted in.

The rabbanim teach us that it is important to do hachanos (preparations) before undertaking a mitzva. Last year, as Pesach approached, I was reluctant to admit that, in addition to all the rooms in my house, there were many areas of my life that could also benefit from my attention. I figured I could surely combine it with the chametz-free theme of Pesach and cleanse myself of both physical and spiritual demons. Dramatic? Yes. Inspiring? Apparently, not so much.

As I scoured the oven and scrubbed the floors, I decided that my first personal goal would be to lose the five pounds that I had gained during the previous Yom Tov. After a few days, I assessed the situation and saw that things were progressing nicely. Not only was I getting extra exercise while ridding my home of chametz but the weight loss was also going well since there wasn’t a thing in my house that I could eat.

I was avoiding work by reading articles online when I saw a link to a parenting article. I clicked, I read, and I sighed. I felt sad as both a teacher and parent.There is a new parenting paradigm out there meant to address “helicopter parenting.” These are the parents who constantly hover over their children, placing extremely close attention to all their experiences. The new paradigm is called “no-rescue parenting.” The writer of the original blog post that coined the phrase was featured on a segment of the “Today Show” and received a lot of support.

At its core, no-rescue parenting seems to make sense. If a kid forgets something, rather than rushing in to save them from consequences or discomfort, the parent stays home. Forget your cello at home and today is band practice? Too bad, too sad. Forget a notebook? Oh well, next time you will remember.

Zev Zalman (Z.Z.) Ludwick is the only Breslover chasidic luthier in the state of Maryland – if not on the entire East Coast. Most likely, he is the only one in the world. (In case you were wondering, a luthier is someone who makes stringed instruments.) Interestingly, it was a string of Divine Providence incidents that led this musician to discover his passion for building and repairing violins.

“I always wanted to make a living in music,” says Z.Z. I wanted to be a rock star from the time I was five, and I also wanted to be involved in building instruments from a young age. I really did not have the follow-through, though,” admits Z.Z., proprietor of Ludwick’s House of Violin, in Silver Spring. “After a few weeks of searching online for an apprenticeship, I was ready to give up this dream when the hand of Hashem touched the situation.”

Mr. Andrew Pollack, grieving father of Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School student Meadow Pollack, who died at the horrific school shooting in Parkland, Florida three weeks ago, recently met with President Trump at the White House. Mr. Pollack said he couldn’t understand how, while authorities “protect airports, concerts, stadiums, and embassies,” we still don’t protect our children at school. He asked Mr. Trump, “How many schools, how many children have to get shot,” before they get adequate protection?

In the wake of this latest horrific attack on a school, we cannot and must not be complacent. When terrible events like the Parkland shooting happen, it is all too easy for those of us not immediately touched by the tragedy to feel that “there is nothing we can do,” “it’s not up to us,” or “this won’t happen to us.” But there is a great deal we can and should do, as individuals and as a community. We need to realize that even with all our tefilos (prayers) and bitachon (faith), it is also imperative for us to do our hishtadlus (action). Even one change to a school’s security measures can save a life.

My mother, Mrs. Paula Eisemann, a”h, passed away yesterday, Sunday, March 4, 2018, in Lakewood, New Jersey, where she was in a rehab unit recovering from a fall at the end of December. Today is the first day of shiva, and I would like to share some thoughts about my mother’s life.  Each person is unique, and I want to share the uniqueness of my mother.

My mother was born in 1932, in Germany, where her father was a rabbi in Berlin. The family escaped from Germany after Kristallnacht, right before the war started. They first went to Switzerland but eventually settled in England, in a small town near London called Dorking. Her mother supported the family by running a boarding house in that small town. My mother’s marriage to my father came about through that boarding house. My father’s family used to frequent the boarding house for vacations, and one of my father’s sisters thought that my mother would be a good match for her brother.

Every Pesach shiur I hear begins the same way: Don’t be afraid. Don’t overdue it. Just enjoy your Pesach preparations. Give your kids a positive experience. There is nothing to be scared of.

I am waiting for one shiur to just validate the feelings of those of us who are afraid. For many thousands of women, simply hearing the words “Pesach is coming” sends chills down our spines We feel our palms start to sweat and begin breathing rapidly. We are clearly scared.

But when Paul Revere warned the colonists, in his famous midnight ride, that “the Redcoats are coming,” they weren’t paralyzed in fear. On the contrary, they used the opportunity to show the world what they were made of. So...what are we made of? What are we missing that those determined colonists had? Or, to cut right through the grease, what are we really so afraid of?

Starry, starry night.
Paint your palette blue and grey,
Look out on a summer’s day,
With eyes that know the darkness in my soul.
Shadows on the hills,
Sketch the trees and the daffodils,
Catch the breeze and the winter chills,
In colors on the snowy linen land…

These words are being written as the family of the founder and Rosh Yeshiva of Bais HaMedrash and Mesivta of Baltimore, Rav Zvi Dov Slanger, zecher tzadik livracha, is getting up from shiva. The sudden loss of this vibrant leader has cast a pall on the city and shocked those close to him.

I shall attempt in this article to relate some stories, some of which were told during shiva, others from my personal experience, to present a picture of the Rosh Yeshiva. I acutely recognize that whatever I write will fall well short of the kavod that Rav Slanger deserves, but I will do my best.

On Sunday evening, as the winds of the “bomb cyclone” that hit Baltimore calmed down, Rabbi Menachem Goldberger, of Congregation Tifereth Yisrael, stood before a crowd of 500 at a concert celebrating his shul’s 32nd anniversary and spoke of unity. The chasidic Rav said that in the upcoming week’s parsha, Vayakhel, Moshe Rabbeinu gathered the people together, united as one, to hear the words of Hashem. Many in the Baltimore community experienced a similar feeling of unity when power outages, falling trees, and closed bridges threatened the sanctity of Shabbos on Friday, Shushan Purim, just three days before.       

After the storm passed, the stories began to emerge. Among the most astonishing were about the Jews who had been traveling from New York to Baltimore that erev Shabbos, some on their way to simchas, but never made it. With tractor trailers overturned by the wind littering the Susquehanna River bridge, this essential passageway to Baltimore was closed, and traffic was snarled for miles behind it.