Yated Neeman

With the passing of Rebbetzin Esther Paler a”h this past week at the age of 99, the last living link to the home of Rav Shmuel Ehrenfeld, the prewar Mattersdorfer Rov, has been lost. For nearly a century, Rebbetzin Paler occupied a front-row seat to Torah greatness. Within the homes of her grandfather, father, husband and sons—all distinguished rabbonim and roshei yeshiva—she witnessed the transmission of an unbroken mesorah across successive generations.

My grandchildren were by us for Shabbos, and they were chewing gum, as children are wont to do. As I watched them, I was thinking about something my rebbi, Rav Mendel Kaplan, would tell us. He would say, “Life is like chewing gum. Ah bissel tzuker un kei kei kei — It has a little sugar, but most of the time you are simply chewing.” His pithy comment is quite deep and has much meaning. There is actually a lot packed into that little expression.

A childhood memory. During my early teen years, I had the zechus of spending time with the Satmar Rebbe, Rav Yoel Teitelbaum, during summers in Sharon Springs, NY. Many tzaddikim and Holocaust survivors flocked there for the healing powers of the sulfur baths. My father seemed to be friendly with his legendary gabbai, Reb Yossel Ashkenazi, and he somehow arranged for us to have seats near the rebbe at seudah shlishis.

I grew up around politicians. I’m not saying it as a point of pride, and I don’t want to say it was a necessary evil. But it was epes, “necessary.” Opening a yeshiva in a dilapidated abandoned mansion smack in the middle of an otherwise pristine neighborhood was not easy. The neighbors on those “Tree Streets” were WASPS and Jews who were running from Judaism, in the Woodmere of the mid-1950s.

Faced with a Senate resolution holding him in contempt and a potential DOJ prosecution for refusing to answer questions at a July Senate hearing, Dr. Anthony Fauci took another major hit this past week as explosive revelations of incriminating text messages from his cell phone were released to the public.

My daughter and I were recently discussing a book we were both reading. Though the beginning was admittedly a bit lackluster, I found as I read on that the story had begun to grip me. My daughter, still plowing her way through the early chapters, had to take it on faith that the story was worth pursuing. When, she wanted to know, would she actually start enjoying the book? I had no answer. All I knew was that, at some point, I’d come to care about the characters and enjoy the plot.

There are certain memories of Rav Nosson Wachtfogel, mashgiach of Lakewood, that I often think about, even though it is already more than a quarter of a century since his passing. One memory, of course, is about the way he was metzapeh l’yeshuah, the way he longed for the geulah. He always spoke about “him,” Moshiach, as if he was mamish at the doorstep.

When American and Israeli warplanes struck across Iran on February 28, 2026, Trump administration officials privately predicted the fighting would be over within six weeks. Nearly six months later, that timeline now looks ridiculously unrealistic.

One Hundred Years Since the Petirah of Rabbeinu Meir Simcha Hakohen of Dvinsk zt”l, the Ohr Someiach, Whose Torah Burned and Whose Heart Embraced Klal Yisroel Daled Elul 5686. Daled Elul 5786. One hundred years have passed since the petirah of one of the great giants whom Hakadosh Boruch Hu planted in Klal Yisroel in the later generations, Rav Meir Simcha Hakohen of Dvinsk, author of the Ohr Someiach on the Rambam and the Meshech Chochmah on the Torah.

I’m back on an El Al plane, heading for Eretz Yisroel, expecting to spend a couple of weeks in Yerushalayim. Making the trip was not Read More » A number of years ago, I wrote an article for this newspaper entitled “Learning from the Mafia,” which later appeared in my ArtScroll book Blueprints. Read More » By the time you read these words, it will probably be Rosh Chodesh Elul or later.