Below are a few words I wrote about my father, whose sheloshim is marked today.
Perhaps you can learn a shtikel Torah leilui nishmato.
As we mark the sheloshim for Grandpa, I want to begin with a piece of Torah that feels, to me, like a window into his life. In the Gemara, in Masechet Pesachim (68b), we find the following:
רַבִּי אֱלִיעֶזֶר אוֹמֵר: אֵין לוֹ לְאָדָם בְּיוֹם טוֹב אֶלָּא, אוֹ אוֹכֵל וְשׁוֹתֶה, אוֹ יוֹשֵׁב וְשׁוֹנֶה. רַבִּי יְהוֹשֻׁעַ אוֹמֵר: חַלְּקֵהוּ, חֶצְיוֹ לַאֲכִילָה וּשְׁתִיָּה, וְחֶצְיוֹ לְבֵית הַמִּדְרָשׁ. וְאָמַר רַבִּי יוֹחָנָן: וּשְׁנֵיהֶם מִקְרָא אֶחָד דָּרְשׁוּ, כָּתוּב אֶחָד אוֹמֵר: ״עֲצֶרֶת לַה׳ אֱלֹהֶיךָ״, וְכָתוּב אֶחָד אוֹמֵר: ״עֲצֶרֶת תִּהְיֶה לָכֶם״. רַבִּי אֱלִיעֶזֶר סָבַר: אוֹ כּוּלּוֹ לַה׳, אוֹ כּוּלּוֹ לָכֶם. וְרַבִּי יְהוֹשֻׁעַ סָבַר: חַלְּקֵהוּ, חֶצְיוֹ לַה׳ וְחֶצְיוֹ לָכֶם.
When Grandpa was in yeshiva, a Rav once came over to him and his friends while they were learning and asked them: “Where is the chatzi lachem?” They got up, went out to the sports field, and started a basketball game. That wasn’t just a moment—it was a model for a life.
Grandpa lived his life balancing worlds. He was deeply, seriously immersed in Torah learning, and at the same time, he created for his family a life full of rich, memorable, and sometimes unexpected experiences.
We even saw that balance in moments that became family legend. When we were growing up, we were taken to have a private audience with the Steipler Rebbe.
On the side of חציו לה׳, we were zocheh to learn Mishneh Berurah with him at the Shabbat table, to hear his divrei Torah, and to watch the way he davened—slowly, deliberately, with care for every word. Just this past Chanukah, I saw him fully absorbed—either on the phone dealing with a court case or shteiging in his Gemara. When I asked to borrow his siddur for Shacharit, he handed it to me immediately. I was struck by how worn it was—the pages threadbare, almost falling apart. I offered to buy him a new one, but he refused. He wanted that siddur, the one that had accompanied him through years of tefillah. That, too, was part of his chatzi laHashem—constancy, depth, and loyalty to the things that mattered.
And on the side of חציו לכם, he gave us a world of experiences. Because of him, I once took a photo with a celebrity. I caught my first fish with him alongside me. I got to play basketball with him in the park on Sunday mornings while my brothers were in school. At the Shabbat table, alongside the learning, we played blindman’s bluff and listened to his spooky stories including "The Monkey’s Paw."
He even helped shape the way we think and speak. Grandpa would “help” me with book reports—reading the first page, the middle page, and the last page, and then dictating an A paper. From him I learned words like opined, succinct, myriad, and mediocrity. And yes—he wrote my valedictory speech when I graduated elementary school.
He moved comfortably between worlds. One moment advising on court cases, the next immersed in Torah. One moment asking for accordion music, the next for Jewish music—his tastes wide, his appreciation deep.
At the shiva, someone told us how much it meant to have Grandpa daven in his shul, how he would come early and daven with intention. Grandpa didn’t just live a life of “half and half.” He showed us that the two halves are not in tension—they enrich each other. His Torah shaped his life, and his life gave depth and warmth to his Torah.
As we move forward, that is the legacy he leaves us. To live fully, to care deeply for the people around us, to take joy in this world—and at the same time, to stay anchored in something higher, something lasting. If we can carry even a small part of that balance forward, then his voice, his values, and his presence will continue to guide us. May his neshama have an aliyah, and may he be a meilitz yosher for all of us, continuing to bring nachas to the family he loved so much.
18 Mar 2026
17 Mar 2026
Don't Make Cheshbonot
Last week my mother was niftar. In the days since, I have been sharing small anecdotes about her life so that we can learn from the way she lived—with purpose and with a deep love for every person she encountered. If we try to emulate her exemplary behavior, I believe we can bring ourselves one step closer to the final redemption.
My mother was someone who did not stand on ceremony. If she called someone three years in a row to wish them a good year before Rosh Hashanah, she never stopped to calculate whether it was now “their turn” to call her. She didn’t think, “I’m older,” or “I’ve already called the past three years.” Those kinds of considerations simply did not enter her mind.
She just picked up the phone.
She called because she cared about the person and wanted to connect. It didn’t bother her that they hadn’t initiated the contact. She was simply happy when they answered and she could hear what was happening in their lives.
My mother was a listening ear. When she spoke to someone, she made sure they felt valued, appreciated, and loved.
One of her most beautiful character traits was that she was mevater—she didn’t keep score.
If we can try—even in small ways—to follow her example of letting go of calculations and reaching out to others with warmth and generosity, we will be honoring her legacy in the most meaningful way.
May her memory continue to inspire us to live with kindness, humility, and genuine care for others. May her neshama have an aliyah.
R' Nosson Scherman speaks here about the power of renewal. - Parshas Vayikra
My mother was someone who did not stand on ceremony. If she called someone three years in a row to wish them a good year before Rosh Hashanah, she never stopped to calculate whether it was now “their turn” to call her. She didn’t think, “I’m older,” or “I’ve already called the past three years.” Those kinds of considerations simply did not enter her mind.
She just picked up the phone.
She called because she cared about the person and wanted to connect. It didn’t bother her that they hadn’t initiated the contact. She was simply happy when they answered and she could hear what was happening in their lives.
My mother was a listening ear. When she spoke to someone, she made sure they felt valued, appreciated, and loved.
One of her most beautiful character traits was that she was mevater—she didn’t keep score.
If we can try—even in small ways—to follow her example of letting go of calculations and reaching out to others with warmth and generosity, we will be honoring her legacy in the most meaningful way.
May her memory continue to inspire us to live with kindness, humility, and genuine care for others. May her neshama have an aliyah.
R' Nosson Scherman speaks here about the power of renewal. - Parshas Vayikra
16 Mar 2026
Three Words My Mother Lived By
Those who follow this blog regularly know that I have been silent this past week. I was sitting shiva for my mother. As I rise from shiva, I would like to dedicate the next few posts to her. She was a special, optimistic woman who truly loved people. I will share some anecdotes about her in the hope that her example may inspire others.
There are three simple words that captured her outlook on life: “It’s all good.”
Toward the end of her life, my mother suffered from physical ailments and a loss of mental acuity. Yet during the past year, whenever she was about to complain, she would stop herself and say simply, “It’s all good.” Those three words reflected her deep belief that, despite difficulties, there is always good to be found.
This past week, when I felt waves of sadness or anger, I found myself repeating her words. Instead of dwelling on those feelings, I would pause and say, “It’s all good.”
On the first day after the funeral, I needed to take a bus to reach the home where I would be sitting shiva with a relative. Only in Israel can you step onto a bus and encounter a moment like this. A woman on the bus was crying in panic because of the rockets that had been flying overhead during the past few weeks. Sitting across from her was a bus inspector, trying gently to calm her and offer words of encouragement.
He said to her, “Everyone has his or her day. What if someone is hit by a car and dies in a traffic accident? In fact, there was one last week when four people died.” He reminded her not to be afraid, because Hashem runs the world and determines life and death.
When he finished speaking, he looked at her and said, “Smile. It’s all good.”
I was blown away. In that moment, I felt as though I was hearing the very essence of my mother—her cheerful countenance, her warmth toward everyone she met, and her unwavering conviction expressed in those same three words.
Perhaps that is the challenge she leaves for us. Life will always give us reasons to complain, to worry, or to feel overwhelmed. But we can choose a different response. We can pause, take a breath, and look for the good that still exists.
And when we do, we might just find ourselves smiling and repeating her words:
“It’s all good.”
תפילין נותרו שלמות, הטלית חוררה: הנס הבלתי יאומן בבית בבני ברק
There are three simple words that captured her outlook on life: “It’s all good.”
Toward the end of her life, my mother suffered from physical ailments and a loss of mental acuity. Yet during the past year, whenever she was about to complain, she would stop herself and say simply, “It’s all good.” Those three words reflected her deep belief that, despite difficulties, there is always good to be found.
This past week, when I felt waves of sadness or anger, I found myself repeating her words. Instead of dwelling on those feelings, I would pause and say, “It’s all good.”
On the first day after the funeral, I needed to take a bus to reach the home where I would be sitting shiva with a relative. Only in Israel can you step onto a bus and encounter a moment like this. A woman on the bus was crying in panic because of the rockets that had been flying overhead during the past few weeks. Sitting across from her was a bus inspector, trying gently to calm her and offer words of encouragement.
He said to her, “Everyone has his or her day. What if someone is hit by a car and dies in a traffic accident? In fact, there was one last week when four people died.” He reminded her not to be afraid, because Hashem runs the world and determines life and death.
When he finished speaking, he looked at her and said, “Smile. It’s all good.”
I was blown away. In that moment, I felt as though I was hearing the very essence of my mother—her cheerful countenance, her warmth toward everyone she met, and her unwavering conviction expressed in those same three words.
Perhaps that is the challenge she leaves for us. Life will always give us reasons to complain, to worry, or to feel overwhelmed. But we can choose a different response. We can pause, take a breath, and look for the good that still exists.
And when we do, we might just find ourselves smiling and repeating her words:
“It’s all good.”
תפילין נותרו שלמות, הטלית חוררה: הנס הבלתי יאומן בבית בבני ברק
9 Mar 2026
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3 Mar 2026
Mashiach Mentality
Rav Moshe’s Mashiach Mentality
A gofundme page has been set up for the grandson of a friend of mine. Click here to donate. May he have a refuah sheleima bekarov.
A gofundme page has been set up for the grandson of a friend of mine. Click here to donate. May he have a refuah sheleima bekarov.
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