C. B. Weinfeld

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My Vacation at Laniado Hospital: Part II of my Trip to Eretz Yisroel

There’s nothing like spending a day at the hospital to top off a blizzard-struck vacation. Okay, okay. Just kidding. Still, you can’t deny that my experience is every writer’s dream. People often ask me, “How do you come up with all these stories and ideas?” My steady response? “I don’t ‘come up’ with them. They just happen.”

The Historic Blizzard of Yerushalayim: An Eyewitness Account

Zuz! Maher! The irate taxi driver stuck his head out the side window, clenching his fists at the row of cars piling up on Rechov Malchei Yisroel, slipping and sliding in the snowdrifts. “Yashar! Yashar!” he shouted. “Nu! Zuz!” I stood on what was once the curb, stranded in a knee-high pile of slush, shivering with cold yet drinking it all in. The scene was surreal, historic. For the past fifty years (some old-timers claim it was longer), there has never been a blizzard of such magnitude in Eretz Yisroel. It had snowed intermittently for three days straight, from Thursday morning until Shabbos afternoon, and not one inch of snow had been cleared. In fact, it didn’t seem as if the city owned even a single snowplow. Egged had been on vacation for three days, taxis were stranded in the middle of the kvish, and little children pranced about, plastic bags tied to their shoes, playing with the snowballs. Tens of thousands of families lost their power on Erev Shabbos and spent a snowy, frigid Shabbos without light or heat.

Totty’s Treasure- The Search For A Family Heirloom

My siblings and I grew up in the shadow of the Holocaust. It was always there, lurking in our closet, though we rarely spoke of it. I knew both my parents had numbers on their arms, they were the sole survivors of their large families, and had met in the DP camps. My mother’s twin sister was chosen to be part of Dr. Mengele’s sadistic experiments, and her little brother was sent with her mother to the gas chambers. Mommy never spoke about it, though. We only absorbed little snippets and clues over the years.

Mrs. Avigayil Rechnitz a”h

As we go to print, we are pained to learn the sad tidings of the petirah of Mrs. Avigayil Rechnitz a”h, who was 39 years old. Mrs. Rechnitz, the devoted wife of noted philanthropist Reb Yisroel Zev Rechnitz of Los Angeles, and daughter of Rabbi Chaim and Rivka Penina Wakslak of Long Beach, was a legend in our time.

Tisha B'av A Week After Purim – R' Nachman and Raizy Glauber z

There is nothing to say. We feel numb. Shattered. On Sunday afternoon, there was a double levaya. The cries of pain and grief ascended to the very heavens. Tisha B’Av has intruded a joyous season, just a few days after Purim, with an unfathomable tragedy that shook us up and wrung us out. A young, sweet couple, on the cusp of parenthood, were taken from us after a hit-and-run collision involving a drunk driver and a convicted killer who ran from the scene.

Mrs. Miriam Weinrib a

Greatness isn’t created overnight, an “instant package” of kochos hanefesh available on demand. To be a truly great person - someone who is mekabel yissurim with perfect faith, who responds to life’s challenges with grace - requires middos fine-tuned over years of yegiah. Just as one cannot climb a mountain without intense preparation, so, too, one cannot hope to overcome a spiritual “mountain” without an intense course in mountain climbing. By the time a nisayon arrives, it is too late to fine-tune those muscles.

Rav Don Ungarischer zt”l

Growing up on the cul-de-sac of Edwin Lane nearly four decades ago, we lived two houses away from a black-and-white sprawling country home, a remnant of the era when Monsey, NY, consisted of acres of farmland. Our neighbors, the Ungarischers, resided in the two-family home with one of their married daughters. From time to time, I would see Rav Don Ungarischer, a patriarchal figure in his frock, heading to or from yeshiva, a sefer under his arm, a serene smile on his face. I was but a child, yet I instinctively sensed that I was in the presence of greatness. Forty years ago, Bais Medrash Elyon was the pioneering yeshiva in Monsey, a mighty citadel of Torah that spawned some of our generation’s Torah giants, including Rav Shmelke Taubenfeld, Rav Shraga Moshe Kalmanowitz, Rav Hersh Goldwurm, and, ybl”c, Rav Moshe Green of Yeshiva D’Monsey, Rav Chaim Steinwurzel of Bobov, and Rav Yisroel Chaim Menashe Friedman of Satmar, and many, many others. It was during the early stages of Monsey’s birth as a Torah community that Rav Don Ungarischer came to Bais Medrash Elyon to assist his illustrious father-in-law, Rav Reuvain Grozovsky. Rav Reuvain founded the yeshiva in 1945, at the end of World War II, along with the legendary builder of Torah in America, Rav Shraga Feivel Mendlowitz. Bais Medrash Elyon, affiliated with Yeshiva Torah Vodaas, was founded in the rural, small-town environment, conducive to peace of mind and ameilus baTorah.

Memories of 9/11 An Interview with Rabbi Shraga Greenbaum, Paramedic with Hatzoloh of Rockland County

Rabbi Shraga Greenbaum, or Shragi as he is better known, is a warmhearted Hatzoloh member and paramedic with Hatzoloh of Rockland County. Ten years ago, Reb Shragi experienced an unforgettable journey into the chaos and terror of Ground Zero on 9/11. As one of the members of the first Hatzoloh ambulance from Rockland County to reach Ground Zero, Shragi and six other Hatzoloh members spent that horrific day helping the severely injured and barely escaped with their lives. In a recent interview, Shragi shared his memories of that fateful day with the Yated. • • • • • I remember coming home from Selichos and putting up a kettle of water to boil for coffee. I turned on the radio, out of habit, and heard that there was a fire in the World Trade Center. I suddenly recalled the chaos and destruction of eight years earlier, on February 26, 1993, when a truck bomb exploded underneath the North Tower of the World Trade Center, instantly killing six people and injuring thousands.

Irene Claims Precious Lives

On Motzoei Shabbos before midnight, the much-feared Hurricane Irene, which meteorologists and politicians alike had warned about, arrived with a bang. We’d been warned to stay put, stock up on food and water, and not, under any circumstances, attempt to brave the winds. All through the night, sheets of rain mercilessly pounded our windows, as gales of wind gusting up to 80 mph made contact with tricycles, lawn chairs, and anything that wasn’t tied down. The strongest part of the storm, between 2:00 and 4:00 a.m., was frightening, sending floodwaters cascading down the streets amid eerie howls of the wind. Boruch Hashem, the storm wasn’t nearly as bad as predicted. Yes, it did bring pounding rain, lots of water, and the shrieking wind; but much less-fearsome than was predicted.

The Plane Truth: the Hidden Miracles we experience all the time

In days of old, when tragedy struck in a distant shtetl, it took months, or even years, for the news to travel. Often family members living in a village just two miles away were oblivious to the trauma their loved ones were experiencing, even days afterward. The advent of the telegram and postal service meant that messages could get through, but it took a while. Eventually, people heard what they needed to hear, often long after it was ‘old news.’ News of births, weddings, the passing of a loved one….these filtered out slowly, conveyed by letter or personal messenger. Nowadays, thanks to the wonders of modern technology, news from anywhere in the world becomes instantly relayed to us, even as it is unfolding. Such was the situation on Sunday evening, when tens of thousands of acheinu Bnei Yisroel were glued to their phones and/or computers, sharing a sense of foreboding and panic.

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