?In 1974, Harry Chapin recorded a poignant and meaningful song entitled, “Cat’s in the Cradle.” The song speaks of a boy who longs for attention from his father throughout his childhood, but “there were planes to catch and bills to pay,” and dad repeatedly says, “we’ll get together another day.” The years fly by, dad ages and longs to have time with his son. But, by then, his son is grown and has “planes to catch and bills to pay.”

After reading a recent article on FoxBusiness.com, entitled, “Nearly 70% of Americans Struggling to Pay Grocery Bills, Survey Finds,” I decided to conduct my own poll in our community, regarding life after food boxes. Now that this era has come to an end, I wondered how local families were managing – what they were eating, what their average weekly food bill totaled, and if they had any money-saving food shopping tips for those with dwindling stockpiled food box groceries.

“My fridge and freezer are emptier,” Malka Friedman* responded. “We are eating the basics and no longer eating all the new and different foods that came in the box. We have a lot less to share with others. I keep an eye out for discounts when possible. Every little bit helps. We are doing what we can to get what everyone would like to eat – which is not always easy with picky eaters – but we are managing, b”H.”

The trip was surreal. I had traveled to Budapest before, but this trip was different. I had visited my grandmother (as well as the rest of my mother’s family who still lived there) many times during her lifetime. I had also been back several years ago to “invite” my father, z”l, to the chasana of his grandson (his namesake). With my father and maternal grandmother, as well as many other relatives buried in Hungary, I was going this time for kever avos. The trip turned out to be more meaningful than ever. In truth, every trip to Budapest – walking the land of my Avos – is its own incredible experience. What made this one even more so was not the what-once-was factor but the what-there-is-now! In order to appreciate this fact, permit me to share some family history with you.

The call came in at 2:05 a.m. The 911 operator who took the call was a veteran of many years. He intoned with a mixture of compassion and authority, “Do you have an emergency?” But the caller couldn’t talk. Over the phone line came choking sobs. To the operator it sounded a bit like gasps for air. Or was it shock and panic that the operator was hearing? The sobbing, gasps, and attempts to talk in a hushed tone continued, leaving the operator baffled.

Clearly there was an emergency.  But despite years of training, it was impossible for him to tell what type of emergency it was. Was it a person in the throes of a physical or mental crisis? the operator wondered. Or was this a mass casualty event, and the caller was the lone survivor, suffering from shock and pleading for help?

Identifying the caller’s location through EMS tracking, the operator responded in the only way he felt he could. He called for a city-wide multi-disciplinary response.

I want to thank the many people who expressed how much they appreciated my recent article about the history of our Baltimore community. In this generation, the number of strictly observant families is growing by leaps and bounds, bli ayin harah, and the younger generation, especially those who have moved here from out of town, are not aware of the history of Jewish Baltimore. History is comprised of events and dates, but history is not written in broad strokes alone; it is made by individuals. We are the beneficiaries of those who planted the seeds and whose harvest we now reap.

Did you beautify your Chanukah party this year with a garland of homemade paper dreidels and menorahs, or did you use an elaborate themed décor you saw described in one of the weekly magazines? Did you fry your own potato latkes served with a side of applesauce and splurge on the 79-cent jelly donuts from the local store? Or did you create a themed Chanukah dinner replete with Asian marinated fried chicken, maple bourbon chicken poppers, Yapchik latkes, and expensive Chanukah donuts that set you back about $10 per decadent treat?

In the articles in this series, I explained what a clinical trial is and how to access one. Currently, there are 437,173 research studies registered with clinicaltrials.gov. They are conducted in more than 220 countries, with just under half being done within the U.S.A. in all 50 states. They offer hope to patients with serious illnesses, yet finding and participating in one is a daunting process. My vision is to offer members of our community hope through a chesed organization that would walk with them during this very frightening time in their and their family’s lives. I call this new entity Path to Hope, for now, and its purpose would be to provide the expertise and energy to support, guide, and advise patients and their families as they search for and enter clinical trials. I pray that such a non-profit will be formed soon. 

I have a good friend who put me down as a family reference on her children’s shidduch resumes. I have gotten phone calls over the years asking about the family. Now their youngest child is entering shidduchim, and the calls are starting again. The situation has changed, though. Being a good friend, I have information about this child that people might want to know. Watching her grow up, I have seen her in many situations, and my opinion of her is that she is selfish and has a difficult and unpleasant personality. I now feel uncomfortable answering questions. Should I tell or not tell? I said to my friend that maybe I am not doing a good job and she should take me off as a reference. She said, “Oh no, you know us so well.” But I don’t think she would want me to express my unflattering opinion to callers.

A few months ago, neighbors of mine, Meira and Eli Greges, moved to Ramat Beit Shemesh, in Eretz Yisrael, with their four children, the oldest of whom is only seven. Meira’s parents, Eliezer and Sandy Gunzburg, still live here in Baltimore. Since I am friends with Sandy Gunzburg, and I know that Meira is close to her parents, I wondered what could motivate a young couple to leave their parents to move across the world. But, first, I asked Sandy what she thought.

I have been reading your column for the past few months and appreciate your abundant information and wise insights on alcohol and drug abuse. Alcohol is an ancient drug, and we know – or are at least learning – about its dangers and how to deal with them. But now that marijuana has become legal, what are the hidden consequences? Do we have to be concerned about cannabis-laced brownies at a kiddush or wedding or on the Shabbos table? Will edibles become as common as sushi and as acceptable as a glass of wine or shot of whisky? Can a person unknowingly overdose on such edibles and become very sick? Finally, you wrote a lot last time about the effects of cannabis on teenagers. What about adults? Is there any difference in the symptoms or rates of addiction? How do adults react to cannabis, and how would it affect their parenting?