Most of what I learned from Rav Gifter was from the times I heard him speak publicly or read his published material. Rav Gifter was a fiery speaker, with both exceptional content and powerful delivery in three languages: English, Hebrew, and Yiddish. But first, a small introduction to his unusual development as a gadol baTorah.

As we approach the nine-month point in the war, Israel is a different place than it was this past Sukkot, when I last wrote. But to Israelis, more importantly, the world has changed – and not in a good way. When you turn on the news in the morning, too many days begin with the dreaded words, “Released for publication…,” which means that the family has been notified and now we can tell you. Nearly every day, Israeli papers contain two depressing things – another casualty among Israeli soldiers and details on antisemitic incidents around the world. Those antisemitic incidents are in the usual places but also in places that Israel thought were liberal democracies and should be supporting Israel in its war against Hamas, not calling for attacks on Jews. The average Israeli now believes that there is no place where it is safe to be a Jew – not in the “goldena medina” and not in Israel. Being Jewish remains a difficult state of affairs.

All children have dreams of what they will be when they grow up. Every little boy wants to be a fireman or truck driver, and every little girl wants to be a nurse or morah. But not many people end up working in these jobs. Often the careers that excited us as children do not look so exciting once we are adults.  

My father kept an old framed letter hanging in his office for years and told us the story behind it many times. My grandfather was an antique dealer, and he wanted my father to be a judge. During World War II, my father’s family lived in a small town in England, where my grandfather became good friends with Rabbi Dessler, zt”l.

Rabbi Dessler convinced my grandfather to send my father to Gateshead Yeshiva when he was about 16. After spending time in yeshiva, my father lost his yearning to be a judge. He wrote a letter to his parents explaining his desire to stay in yeshiva and become a rebbe. His mother sent my father’s letter to Rabbi Dessler and asked him what they should do. Should they give up their dream of their son becoming a judge so he could stay in yeshiva? Rabbi Dessler wrote back, encouraging them to allow my father to stay in yeshiva. Here are some lines from the letter:

Reviewed By Rabbi Mordechai Shuchatowitz, Head of The Baltimore Bais Din

In previous articles, we discussed the concept of ribbis, which is the paying of interest for a loan. We discussed that a loan is when either money or some other commodity, such as food, is given from a lender to a borrower in order to be spent or consumed by the borrower. If the principal of the loan amount is paid back, and the borrower adds something extra to the principal, that extra is prohibited because of ribbis.

In this article, I will discuss cases that are prohibited in halacha because of ribbis, even though there is no actual loan. These are cases in which a business transaction has taken place and some additional compensation is made for waiting to receive what was committed. This includes both prepayment for items purchased that won’t be received until some time later, as well as to post-payments for items bought on credit and paid for later on. Although such transactions are not an actual loan and do not therefore constitute ribbis d’Orayisah (from the Torah), they are nonetheless assur mid’rabbon (rabbinically prohibited) due to their similarity to ribbis. This is called “agar natar,” which means reward for waiting.

Imagine a young boy named Avraham struggling with his math homework. Each night, his parents see him growing increasingly frustrated, often ending his study sessions in anger or tears. One evening, his mother, exasperated herself, tries a different approach. Instead of saying, “Don’t worry, you’re smart,” she praises his effort: “Avraham, I noticed how hard you tried to solve those problems tonight. Your persistence is impressive.” Over time, Avraham’s attitude towards math begins to shift. He starts approaching his homework with more determination, slowly realizing that his effort is making a difference.

About 17 years ago, we prepared to bid farewell to our eldest son, Avi, as he departed for his post-high school year in Israel. Little did we know that this gap year would turn into a life in the Holy Land. I have to confess that I was warned: “You spent three years in Israel after high school,” he cleverly argued, “so I get at least three years!”

Negotiations were unnecessary. My wife and I were happy to let him stay as long as he liked, and we’re even more elated that he and his family have made their lives here. 

These were the days before phones had decent cameras, so as the date of his departure drew closer, I asked a photographer friend to come to the house and take a family photo shoot. 

With a wry smile on his face, Avi said, “I get it. We’re doing this so you’ll have pictures of me, in case anything happens.” 

I was shocked. I don’t think that morbid idea was even in the back of my mind, let alone anywhere near my frontal lobe.

Off he went to Israel, followed a couple of years later by his baby brother, Arky. Both of them, as I like to put it, “forgot” to come back to the USA. Both spent a number of years in yeshiva and then did their service in the IDF. 

Countless family photos have been taken since then, and, thank G-d, the number of people in the photos has increased, as wonderful wives and adorable children have quite literally entered the picture. 

The events surrounding the destruction of the Beis Hamikdash are recorded in various historical sources and religious texts, and many of these have found their way into the current liturgy of Tisha B’Av. Although sometimes garbed in poetry and metaphor, the elements being described are real objects of stone, metal, and wood, and by further examining their details, we can gain a better understanding of our prayers. Consider the following incident, referenced in Kinnah 32, that occurred during the final hours of the First Beis Hamikdash era:

We’re visiting our daughter and family. I’m in their basement suite getting ready for Shabbos and hear our granddaughter’s voice from upstairs. She’s busy running here and there, singing her sweet songs one moment and making demands of her parents in the next, very much acting like her two-year-old self.

While I don’t remember being that age myself, the story that’s been told to me on numerous occasions is that by the time I was three, I was a force to be reckoned with. Like my cute little granddaughter upstairs, I had a voice that was naturally loud. I was interested in everything around me and made plenty of comments. I “called them as I saw them,” whether they were happy exclamations or angry outbursts. I had a voice and made my opinions known to one and all.