In my professional practice of mind-body healing, I often tell people that difficulties can be looked at as stones. It is up to them to decide if they view these stones as stumbling blocks or as steppingstones. Aside from the “sunny side” of living in Eretz Yisrael, my own experiences here included such challenges – stumbling blocks that were really steppingstones – as well.

My husband is Israeli, but we met in America and settled in Lakewood. Although I was never exposed to life in Eretz Yisrael, nor did any of my own close family members live there, I knew I wanted to live there. As a Jew, being drawn to Eretz Yisrael was just an integral part of my neshama (soul). When we already had four children, I told my husband that if we didn’t make the move now, we would never. So, on Zos Chanukah 1970, we moved to Bnei Brak.

A good friend of mine in New York took a chance and went on a date with someone I suggested but barely knew. He said he called her, and they had a nice conversation. When they met, he asked her where she wanted to have lunch. She named an expensive restaurant (of which there are many in NYC), at which point he had no choice but to acquiesce. They had lunch. He got the bill. She didn’t offer to share it. And $150 later, he knew he was done. When we spoke later, he laughed and said that this had been the most expensive dating lesson, which he wasn’t going to repeat.

Many Baltimoreans dream of escaping the heavy August heat, even for just a few days. Though their vacations differ in distance and destination, they all seek a change in scenery (and humidity). Some take the opportunity to spend quality family time filled with fun outings, while others just want to relax. But, as much as people enjoy their well-earned time off, there is something special about coming back home. Despite the fear that whatever was left in the fridge will not be pretty, it feels satisfying to finally open your own front door after being away.

As we mark the 78^th anniversary of the Hungarian Holocaust, it is fitting to focus on the summer of 1944 and examine the enigmatic Hungarian leader of that time, Admiral Miklos Horthy. Horthy was a complicated war figure whose Holocaust past is debated. While Horthy is customarily painted by World War II historians as Hitler’s “buddy,” a recent Moment magazine article entitled, “How Anti-Semite Miklos Horthy Saved the Jews of Budapest,” sides with historical revisionists who portray him favorably.

On the one hand, Horthy aligned his country with Nazi Germany and, after the war, lived in seclusion in fascist Portugal. On the other hand, he was not included by the Allies among the Nazi war criminals in the Nuremberg Trials, and he was supported after the war by Hungarian Jews who claimed they owed their lives to him. The question before us is, therefore, was Admiral Miklos Horthy an accomplice of the Nazis or a savior of the Jews?

Pre-Covid seems like such a long time ago. In reality, it has only been just over two-and-a-half years since the world was so much more stable and seemingly normal. These days, it’s quite hard to remember what normal felt like. We are living in such bizarre and unsettling times.

Ever since my teens, I’ve always had a sense of foreboding as we entered the three weeks of mourning for the Beis Hamikdash. That feeling would intensify from Rosh Chodesh Av through Tisha b’Av. Then, after Shabbos Nachamu, my mood would improve, and I returned to enjoying summer. This year the feelings of foreboding started many months before Shiva Asar B’Tamuz.

There’s nothing like a Goldberg and Goldstein who are best friends. You know the type? Friends since the nursery at the hospital. With the same birthdays, living on the same block – can you even imagine us not getting mixed up? I mean, come on. Basi Goldberg and Batsheva Goldstein both living on Glengyle and in seventh grade.

Batsheva and I decided that this would be the best summer of our lives. As best friends, I’m sure you can imagine we have had our fair share of fun times and great summers. Like last year, when we decided to make a camp. Did you know that choosing a name for your camp is almost as important as the counselors that you hire? The two of us hacked the system and figured out the method to the madness. You ready? Nursery through second-grade age: Camp names must include a food. Camp Sprinkles, Camp Ice-Pop, Camp Mac’n Cheese, Camp Cupcake. We stayed up late wondering why there are no boy staples in the mix, like Camp Deli-Roll or Camp Kishke or Camp Cholent – but I digress!

Sweet and Spicy Meatballs

Most everyone knows this classic for “Meatball Mondays.” My twist on it is adding some kebab seasoning with chili flakes. It comes together easily and is a full meal when served with spaghetti or rice and a salad. My family enjoyed it for a last-minute Hoshana Raba seudah. From my experience, I prefer fresh ground beef with half of the fat. It has better consistency and holds its shape, not getting too watery.

Despite the heavy toll Covid took on us, many people found opportunity in the midst of a difficult situation. At the risk of minimizing the hardships and losses we faced during this time – especially of those who suffered horrendous tragedies – I polled members of our greater community to see what their personal silver lining was. After all, isn’t the legendary resiliency of the Jewish nation in the face of tragedy partly due to our seeking out any possible good?

It was November of 2001, shortly after the savage attacks of 9/11, and America was gripped with fear of illness and death from the anthrax envelopes sent to government officials. The U.S. government was concerned about a much larger biological attack against Americans with a more potent infectious agent – smallpox virus. Smallpox vaccinations had ended in 1972 after smallpox was eradicated in the U.S.A. Millions of Americans thus lacked immunity to the virus. To prepare for a possible smallpox attack, the University of Maryland School of Medicine opened a clinical trial. Because there was a limited supply of the smallpox vaccinia vaccine, the question was whether a reduced dose of the vaccine could generate a sufficient immune response to protect the population.

Dear Dr. Kidorf,

I just came home from Israel. I was in a good yeshiva, and it was a great two years. I learned a lot, saw the country – it was great. One thing I learned in Israel was how to drink on Shabbos. Most guys did, so I tried it. And I liked it. But I only drink on Shabbos; never during the week.

Before my first Shabbos home, I asked my mother if she would buy some beer. (I can’t buy it myself as I am only 20.) She agreed. On Friday night, I was trying all the wines on the table. My parents always put out a lot of bottles of wine, all different kinds – not that anybody drinks a lot. But they enjoy wine.

“Children are investments. Grandchildren are pure interest” goes an old saying. Everyone knows that the relationship between grandchildren and their grandparents is special. The question is why? What do grandparents actually do? How do their grandchildren feel about it? And is it always an idyllic relationship? 

Growing up, I did not know my grandparents well because they lived in England. Many of my classmates did not have grandparents living in the same city as themselves either. Some of them were children of Holocaust survivors, and their grandparents had been killed. Others were children of immigrants,