Sometimes it seems that too many people are worried about the high cost of living and are feeling that frum life is unaffordable. From expensive summer camps to the challenge of planning a bar mitzvah on a budget, families are feeling overwhelmed. We have all had conversations, ranging from rising grocery costs to our high tuition fees, which leave us feeling discouraged and without practical solutions.

Imagine this scenario: A hardworking father returns home late at night to find his wife exhausted from a long day of work or teaching. As they open their mail, bill after bill confronts them, triggering a heated argument. The father exclaims, “How can you spend so much on Amazon? We can’t afford that!” In response, the mother says, “Didn’t the Rav suggest reaching out to our community tzedaka organization? It would make such a difference for us.” Can you imagine the embarrassment the father feels? Can you grasp the impact on the children who hear these words day after day? This heart-wrenching scenario is unfolding in hundreds of households within our community.

Before I start, a few words about Rabbi Moshe Yechiel HaLevi Tzuriel (Weiss), born in 1938, who passed away 24 Av, three days ago. He was a musmach of Rav Ruderman, zt”l, in Ner Israel, and moved to Israel as a young man. An enormous talmid chacham, the author of 49 books on halacha and Jewish philosophy, he also came into contact with the writings of Rabbi Avraham Yitzchak HaKohen Kook and was attracted to them. In Israel, he learned in both Mercaz HaRav and Kollel Chazon Ish. He remained a chareidi rabbi all his life, raised a chareidi family, and was revered in Bnei Brak. But he also served as a moral beacon to the Torah-true settler community, particularly during the difficult 1990s and 2000s, the years of Oslo and the Disengagement, and provided guidance when it was needed. His son, Rav Avraham, is the Chief Rabbi of Nes Tziyona, a medium-sized Israeli town.

?The Yomim Nora’im (High Holidays) are an emotional time. In addition to being serious days of judgment and an opportunity to examine ourselves and our behavior, for me it is also a time to remember my parents, grandparents, uncles, and aunts, who have moved on to the next world.

When I was a child, my family was fortunate to live in close proximity to each other, allowing us to conveniently gather together for chagim (holidays). Before Rosh Hashanah, my grandpa (my mom’s dad) used to buy two rows of men’s seats and one row of women’s to accommodate our family at Mishkan Israel (Rabbi Yechiel Shoham’s shul) on Madison Avenue just above North Avenue. In those days, that was a safe neighborhood, and lots of people walked to shul. On the High Holidays even the Jews who weren’t shomer Shabbos walked. Everyone dressed in their nicest clothes, and both men and women wore hats.

Rav Nota Greenblatt, one of Rav Moshe Feinstein’s greatest talmidim, moved to Memphis, Tennessee, as a single, young man to see what he could do for Yiddishkeit. He remained in the city for almost 70 years and became renowned as one of America’s top halachic authorities, the posek sought after by most other poskim, people such as Rav Moshe Heinemann and Rav Yosef Rottenberg, for his halachic opinion. At the same time, he traveled to scores of places to be mesadeir gittin (the rav overseeing the procedure of a get), check mikva’os, eruvin, and kashrus, and whatever other halachic issues were needed.

On March 28, 1944, six-year-old Tatiana and her four-year-old sister Andra were roused from their sleep and arrested by German and Italian soldiers. With their grandmother, mother, aunt, and cousin, they were deported to Auschwitz, where Joseph Mengele performed deadly experiments on children. More than 230,000 children were deported to the camp, of whom only a few dozen survived.

Determined to keep track of her girls, their mother Mira, whose barrack was on the other side of Birkenau, managed, somehow, to visit them several times in the camp, each time repeating their names and telling them to “always remember your name.” By keeping this promise to their mother, the sisters were eventually reunited with their parents after the war.

by Shani, Dena and Daniella

 I have wanted to go to shul for as long as I can remember. Sitting in the row, with my mother on one side of me and my sisters on the other, listening to my father davening for the amud, I felt so connected and accomplished as I moved through the Machzor and poured my heart out. I want to go to shul.

But the past few years have been different (for good reason, baruch Hashem). Instead of being in shul this Rosh Hashanah, I will be home with my young children, while my husband davens on behalf of our whole family. I want to go to shul, yet, in the same way that it is my husband’s avodah to daven, it is mine to take care of our kiddies. So I won’t be going this year, and since there are many other young mothers like me adjusting to this new Yom Tov reality, I want to focus on what we can do and think about to bring meaning to our Rosh Hashanah.

The stores are hosting their annual school supplies’ sales; the children are (hopefully) finishing up their summer work. Last-day-of-camp parties are complete, final vacation plans are settled, and preparation for a month of Yamim Tovim has begun. This year, Baltimore will be joined by a new school, Binyan Yisroel. Meet Alana Weinberg, the founder and executive director of this new, revolutionary school.

 Elaine Berkowitz

 Soon, many of us will share our Rosh Hashanah tables with the head of a fish. And that is not so strange; Jews and fish have a long acquaintance with each other.

In fact, Jews have been compared to fish. A Roman asked Rabbi Akiva why the Jews risked death by studying the Torah when the Romans outlawed it. Rabbi Akiva answered with a parable: A fox, seeing the fish in a stream scurrying here and there to avoid the fishermen’s nets, beckoned them to come ashore. He had ulterior motives, of course. But the fish were not taken in. They said, if we are at risk of death by the fisherman, we will certainly die if we come ashore. And so it is with the Jews, who must be immersed in the waters of Torah to survive.

In previous issues of the Where What When, we discussed three common money mistakes. The first is not having a budget, the second is living above your means, and the third is not having an emergency fund. Let’s look at two more common money mistakes: needing more retirement funds and not having enough insurance.

For some time, I have been a subscriber to an email group called “Avira d’Eretz Yisroel” (loosely translated as “the holy atmosphere of the Land of Israel”). There, and on his website, www.aviraderetzyisroel.org, Yoel Berman promotes successful “chareidi” aliyah from North America by educating and informing his readership about communities, old and new, that are appropriate for American bnei Torah and their families – a goal that he shows to be practical, attainable, and worth striving for. If you’re a regular reader of the Where What When, you’ve probably seen some of his articles featured in these pages.