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a recent therapy session I had with a young Jewish man, he told me he often ruminates about deep questions: Why are we here? Why did Hashem choose the Jewish People to give the Torah to? And why does Hashem allow evil to exist in the world?

I advised him that these were very deep questions and perhaps he could seek out a rabbi to find helpful answers.

“I look up the answers on AI,” he told me.

“I think a rabbi might be more helpful,” I said.

He answered, “Well, I tell the AI to answer as if it were a rabbi.”

Did that make you shudder? When I heard it, I certainly did. But as a good therapist, I suppressed my reaction.

But why did it make me shudder? I think the answer is simple. However, it should be elaborated upon so we can recognize the hazards AI presents.

AI is a computer program. It has no feelings, no love, no soul. If this young man had sought out a rabbi, he would have received information, just as AI provides. But more importantly, he would have encountered another person who understands and cares about him and can empathize. Information cannot ultimately soothe an aching soul — only another caring soul can.

The confusion between actual human intelligence and synthetic intelligence is one of the many dangers of AI that impacts the younger generation.

In a world that increasingly relies on AI, young people are at risk of losing touch with reality and with real human connection, which could have monumental consequences on their lives.

Many readers might respond, “Not my kids! I don’t let them have a smartphone.” If that applies to you, great. But don’t assume that your kids are immune. All it takes is access to the Internet to make them vulnerable to the attractions of this synthetic world.

Why Do Young People Like AI?

Decades ago, when people were bored, they’d get dressed up and go out and interact with others. With the invention of television, they could stay home, sit in front of the TV, and still feel connected to the world.

Over time, though, we saw that sitting in front of a TV all day was kind of sad. People realized they still needed to be around others.

Then, the Internet came around, and with it, social networking. We could use the devices in our pockets to talk to people and not feel so lonely. Young people, who grew up with this technology, have been using it since childhood. As they’ve gotten older, some show diminished capability for real-life interaction. Their social skills atrophied as they looked more at screens than at other people’s faces. Instead, they could rely on the artificial socialization they got online.

Even there, though, real people were on social networks — and sometimes they could be mean or challenging. What if you said the wrong thing on Facebook or Instagram? What if you made a YouTube video and people left negative comments? What if online social interactions left you feeling bad about yourself?

Many young people, whose social skills were already lacking, didn’t want to take that risk. So they turned away from interacting with real people and now focus on AI instead.

They want something that humans can’t provide them: constant attention and no criticism. They think, “Let me go to AI, and I can instruct it to be who I want it to be.” There are no risks… right?

Social Dangers

Interacting with AI instead of with real people may seem harmless.

In many ways, AI is an ideal friend. It’s never tired. It always pays attention to you. It strives to be non-offensive and makes no demands. And it takes what it learns about you and becomes smarter over time, providing responses that perfectly suit you.

However, this “relationship” can become a rabbit hole, a world of fantasy. AI doesn’t care about people. But the human need for attachment overrides the better judgment of many young people to make them feel like they have a friend in AI. Sadly, tech companies are happy to exploit these human needs.

The allure of this AI friendship often becomes an obsession, robbing the young person of time that could be used on real relationships, sleep, and self-care, all of which are important for maintaining mental and physical health.

Furthermore, the social skills needed to maintain a real relationship atrophy, resulting in a vicious cycle, pushing the unfortunate person deeper and deeper into the AI obsession.

Loneliness is a very important and well-known psychological risk factor of overusing technology and AI. The younger generation often depend on their phones for any type of interaction and are experiencing very little connection amid soaring loneliness rates.

AI is socialization junk food. At first, it may make users feel like they are getting what they need from it. But in the end, they will be left feeling emptier and lonelier than ever if they don’t get real human connection. AI pretends to be offering them something, while it is actually depriving them of an attuned and caring ear that could make all the difference in their lives.

What Can We Do?

Parents have to watch their children and see what they’re doing. What makes them hide too much at home or in their room? Their phone? Their computer? Video games?

Parents must also encourage their children to participate in social activities, especially ones that are challenging. In our generation, kids don’t want to be uncomfortable. And seeking comfort itself can become an addiction. We need to teach children that it’s okay to be uncomfortable; when we embrace the possibility of discomfort, we can begin to grow.

Parents also need to discuss with their children, in an age-appropriate manner, all of the issues with AI, and provide appropriate limits, supervision, and guidance.

Although the AI conundrum challenges all young people, we as Jews have a certain advantage in our efforts to avert harm to our children. We have Shabbos, when we are free from all technology; and we stress the importance of in-person interaction at school and beyond.

AI will become more prominent in our lives — that’s for sure. But it’s up to us how much we let it in. Used appropriately, it can have some value. But if misused, it will rob us and our children of human connection, purposeful behavior, and a true appreciation for emes.

It is a well-known concept in Judaism that the essence of love is giving. AI has no needs; nothing can really be given to it, so a young person immersed in a relationship with it will not be able to experience true love with it. But the young person may emotionally mistake this relationship for love. We can offer something better to our children than a pretend world with pretend love.

Michael Milgraum is an attorney, psychologist, and author. He has a private psychology practice in Kensington, Maryland. His latest book is To Seek a Larger Spirit: Reflections of a Jewish Psychologist (Guidelight Books).

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1040)

The post The Hazards of AI for Young People   first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.

Three decades into life and I’ve become a Grinch.

That happens sometimes.

The term “Grinch” was coined by the legendary Dr. Seuss in his book How the Grinch Stole Kratzmach (now, now, Spellcheck, settle down).

A Grinch is a sourpuss who can’t get into the spirit of the time. While everyone else celebrates, he grinches.

It’s no fun to be a Grinch.

And yet every year, on Simchas Torah, I feel the grinchiness seeping in.

I strongly suspect I’m not alone. My grounds for this suspicion — and I ask forgiveness if you find this offensive — is the prevalent practice to drink during hakafos. Like, lots.

To be clear, I’ve got no problem with drinking.

This is more about curiosity. When the empty bottles outnumber the meat boards, you can’t help but wonder. How? Why? In what way is this a reflection of the avodah of Simchas Torah?

My theory to answer these questions can be summed up in one word: grinchiness.

For some reason, people are struggling to put the “simchah” in Simchas Torah and are resorting to artificial means to help move the process along.

I’d point to another sociological trend to support a similar conclusion: hashkamah minyanim.

The popularity of Simchas Torah hashkamah minyanim only seems to be growing. In these minyanim, hakafos take a grand total of seven minutes — one per hakafah.

As a bona fide Grinch, I attend these minyanim, and I can’t help but notice that the room keeps getting stuffier each year. (Grinches tend to be claustrophobic.)

But why? Why not go to the regular minyan, where you can dance and sing and have a great time?

I guess because you’re afraid you won’t have a great time.

There’s grinchiness going around — I’ve heard this expressed explicitly. “I’m no longer disappointed when Simchas Torah doesn’t work out,” a friend once told me, “because I stopped having any expectation that it would.”

That’s grinchiness if I’ve ever heard it. But how come? What’s causing the spread of this unhealthy virus?

I think the answer is a deep one. And that is that Simchas Torah — true, actual, authentic celebration of the Torah — is not as easy as it sounds.

Torah is everything and more. It is the totality of ruchniyus. It is the spiritual reality of which the entire world is merely a reflection.

To relate to that, to celebrate it, one must unleash himself from the confines of the physical. His neshamah must leap forward and cling to the current blazing from the Torah’s burning force.

Many are able to access that spark — the non-Grinches certainly outnumber the Grinches by a long shot.

And the truth is, even the non-Grinches may find themselves resorting to alcohol, merely as a means to shake off the natural inhibitions to such extreme expressions of joy.

That’s perfectly legitimate.

But then there are those who find the spark elusive. They want so badly to be swept in by that rush of uplift, but, alas, it hovers beyond reach.

A Grinch doesn’t give up without a fight. Out comes the Glenmorangie, in comes a torrent of alcohol, and pretty soon, the lines between Grinch and non-Grinch are blurred. Everyone’s dancing. Everyone’s happy.

The drinking is nothing more than an effort to de-Grinch. So goes the theory. Now for the addendum.

MYdear Grinch, you’re making a terrible mistake. You’ve concluded that true joy of Torah is beyond your capabilities. You’re wrong.

It’s well within your reach — in fact, you reach it all the time.

Let’s try the following scientific experiment. One day, take a drive to the nearest university library. Take a seat somewhere in the tastefully arranged furnishings, lean back, and… listen. What do you hear?

Silence.

I did my time as a law student for three years. When I think back to the hours I spent in the library, all I recall is a suffocating silence. Every now and then there was a whir of the photocopy machine just to remind me that I was still alive. The polite tap-tap from the computer stations was a funeral march for those less fortunate.

The university library — that citadel of academic integrity — offers an atmosphere as bland as a raw potato.

But let’s not dwell on that.

Endure the silence for an hour or so, then beat it. Your head might be throbbing — mine always was.

Run to your car and drive to a beis medrash. Open the door. Walk inside.

Hear the roar. Absorb the energy. What do you feel now? Has your heart rate quickened? Has the headache begun to fade away? Do you discern a wonderful difference between the library experience and what you’re witnessing now?

You do? You know what that means?

Like Yaakov Avinu in his mother’s womb, your neshamah jumps when exposed to a firestorm of Torah learning; morashah kehillas Yaakov, you are heir to the inheritance of Yaakov.

My heilige Grinch, you’re a Simchas Torah Jew as much as any of the non-Grinches are — you just don’t believe in yourself.

Grinches lack confidence, that’s their problem.

We need to build themselves up; and so, Grinch to Grinch, let’s talk this out.

Over the course of a year, how many Simchas Torah moments have you had? If you really think about it, the tally will be high. How many times have you learned a Gemara once and you didn’t get it, twice and you didn’t get it, then on the third time… it clicked! Do you recall that jolt? The urge to leap up and pump your fist in the air?

They don’t feel that in universities, certainly not in law school. They say “hmm” when they don’t get it; “oh” when they do.

They don’t dance seven hakafos when they finish the textbook.

How many times have you heard a devar Torah and broken out into a smile in response? Many?

One of the most profound cases in US Supreme Court history is Marbury v. Madison. Wanna hear a quote that has been lauded as monumental? Here goes: “It is emphatically the province and duty of the Judicial Department to say what the law is.”

Did that make you smile? No? Whyever not?

Have you ever seen a shiur advertised and you decided to attend? Yes? Many times? What did they offer in return? Food? Coupons? Academic credits? Networking opportunities?

Nothing. Go tell that to my law school buddies. They’ll have you plead insanity.

You’re a Simchas Torah Jew! You recognize, just as your non-Grinch friends do, that Torah is the sustenance of your soul, and so many times a year, without even realizing it, you celebrate exactly that.

Dear Grinch — if I see you show up at that hashkamah minyan, I’ll… wait, what will I be doing there?

True, it takes time for Grinchiness to wear off, so daven hashkamah if you so desire.

But don’t let anyone tell you that you don’t know how to celebrate Torah. You do — and you know you do.

As for the drinking, this year, more than ever, Simchas Torah will demand authenticity. Somehow, we’ll have to find comfort from the horrors of just one year ago — we dare not let that comfort come from a bottle.

And there’s no need to.

Because that bottle is inside you — filled to bursting with a love for Torah you never realized you possessed.

Grinches of the world unite! This year’s Simchas Torah will be the most meaningful in your life.

Because you’re a Simchas Torah Jew.

And you’d better believe it.

 (Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1033)

The post How the Grinch Stole Simchas Torah    first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.

MYcolleague Mordechai just notified me that in the last two days, four secular high schools in Israel have called to ask us to meet with their students. Why would a secular school want to meet with chareidim? Because after October 7 last year, a tectonic shift has shaken up daily life for all Israelis, particularly the young. Traumatized, they’re seeking something. But what, from whom, and how?

So, who is “us,” and why would liberal-leaning schools want their students to sit with us? Firstly, my medical training was in a somewhat obscure specialty called psychoimmunology. You can look it up. I live in the central part of Jerusalem and have been blessed to author three books — Be a Mensch, A Wholly Life, and the new Amazon release, Extreme Trauma: October 7 as an Outlier in the Range of Human Potential.

I’m also the co-founder of Israel’s Be A Mensch Foundation, which brings polarized Israelis together in dialogue about big issues that historically fuel the fires of division. When others hear what we’ve been doing for a decade-plus, they often look askance. How is it possible to get secular Jews to interact meaningfully with chareidim? Why would uber-leftist students engage for three hours with members of our team, who are visibly uber-religious? Why do they all want to meet again — and again? And why would schoolteachers, administrators, and parents tell their peers, “You’ve got to meet these Mensch people”?

Before October 7 last year, it was partly curiosity inspired by two Israeli hit TV series, Shtisel and Srugim. They’d met everyone else — the Bedouins, Peace Now, the Palestinian Authority, the advocates of alternative lifestyles, and, prior to October 7, the opponents of judicial reform. But 22% of Israel’s population — the dati-chareidi mix — had been excluded from classroom conversations, except in derisive characterizations.

After October 7, everything changed. The social schisms so pronounced on October 6 vanished as a sweeping new national unity emerged on October 8. People modified their interactions.

Gavriel Sanders, a member of our team in Jerusalem, sensed the new mood and began boldly asking strangers on the street, “With what does unity — achdut — begin?”

Seeing the question in their eyes, Gavriel declared, “It begins with ach [brother]. It includes achot [sister]. And the middle letter, daled, represents Hashem, Who unites us as a family — especially now.”

Gavriel says, “They all nodded in affirmation. We’re family — no matter how we look.”

The achievement of mutuality and commonality is the hallmark of our work. You know the adage that “no one cares how much you know till they know how much you care.” And care they do. We’ve attracted some remarkable chareidim who know how to dismantle antireligious biases and touch the heart of another with genuine interest. They’ve developed a technology of interaction that melts “myth perceptions” about religious values, lifestyles, and practices.

As one bright student from a Ramat Aviv school said, “Now I see that Judaism is not what’s been represented to me in the media.”

Another student there affirmed, “This type of conversation changed my perspective completely. Everyone needs this.”

I’ve spoken mainly of Israeli high schools. But Mensch is now in universities here, with a three-credit, yearlong course that tackles tough issues between the observant and nonobservant. Result: Students become friends for life with their religious counterparts, often coming for Shabbat and holidays and simchas. Mensch is working with the IDF, the Israeli Scout leadership, and even C-level executives in high tech who want to learn the application of Talmudic concepts to business transactions.

Across the board, everyone responds to the simple notion of “be a mensch.” After over 30,000 one-on-one encounters, we see proof that this universal imperative, along with interpersonal guidance on how to achieve menschlichkeit, is the foundation for lasting unity among “acheinu kol beis Yisrael.”

As a physician, I offer my prescription for 5785. What’s curing trauma in Israel can cure across the Jewish world. Just be a mensch.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1032)

The post Meeting Extreme Trauma with Extreme Love    first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.

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lot of discussion around this time of year is about teshuvah. People talk about it, think about it, and try to figure out exactly how to do it. At some point, we usually end up noticing that the traits and actions we intended to abandon last year are still very much affecting our lives this year. We may even notice that they’ve been hampering us since significantly earlier than last year. They may have been with us for decades, surviving every attempt to leave them behind. It can be disheartening, to say the least.

The Rambam tells us that one of the integral parts of real teshuvah is commitment to not repeat the aveirah. How can we make an honest commitment to leave the aveirah behind if we know that we’ve repeated the same actions for years on end? This thought process is very common, and can leave people feeling hopeless and guilty. It can even stop people from trying to change anything. After all, what’s the point? Experience has shown us that change isn’t something we can do.

Although that’s a decidedly pessimistic way of thinking, the core concern isn’t wrong. If commitment is part of the process, there needs to be a plan in place to buttress it, so we can avoid repeating what we’ve done. We have to believe in the possibility that the a plan will work. Even if it doesn’t, we have to come up with plan on some level for our teshuvah to be considered a serious attempt.

How do we create and follow through on a realistic plan? We need to understand what’s behind such a commitment.

Identifying the Problem

We’ll need to ask ourselves a few questions. The first is, “What exactly are we doing wrong?”

Without knowing specifically what we’re trying to uproot, we can’t commit to avoiding it or plan to do something else. An important part of this is clearly identifying whether or not the behavior in question needs to change. This can be done by consulting with a rav and learning the relevant halachos.

The clearer we are on what needs to change, the more likely it is that we’ll be able to productively address the situation. Even if we identify several actions that need to change, it may be smarter to limit our focus to one. We may have to figure out what takes priority.

We can also do teshuvah for one specific part of an aveirah. Saying, “I won’t speak lashon hara on my way home from shul on Shabbos morning when walking with my friend” is a more sustainable commitment than “I won’t speak lashon hara at all.” A realistic plan will be based on something sustainable; if it’s based on something unspecific, it is likely to be unrealistic.

How Does the Problem Work?

Once we’ve identified a specific action to work on, we need to understand how the action arises. Where are you when the actions in question come up? What time is it? Are you by yourself, or with others? How are you usually feeling? Part of the commitment to avoiding the action is knowing what the triggers are and how you can either avoid them entirely or react to them differently.

For illustration, let’s work with the example from above. A person has a tendency to speak lashon hara when he’s walking home from shul on Shabbos morning with a particular friend. There are several potential triggers that may contribute to this. It’s a familiar setting for this person, which may itself be a trigger. “I know that I’m going to do this because that’s what I always do.”

Perhaps he can avoid the triggering setting, or change the setting so it’s less of a trigger. Find a different walking partner. Discuss the problem with him. Change the system in an intentional way to change the outcome.

There are also internal triggers. There’s the emotion of wanting the pleasure involved. He may think to himself, “What’s the point of fighting it? I’m going to give in eventually anyway,” or, “It’s not really such an aveirah, in my situation it’s okay.”

When he’s walking home, he knows that: a) speaking lashon hara is satisfying in some way; b) it’s happened before and will likely happen again, which weakens his resolve against it for right now; and c) he may be able to convince himself that it’s not so bad. Maybe it’s even a mitzvah. It’s almost a done deal.

Changing Our Thoughts

There are many ways of addressing the problems raised in these examples, and may different mindsets a person can adopt. He will need to be creative, because there are also many ways a person will justify giving in to doing something that goes against the values he’d like to live by.

We call these cognitive distortions. They’re thought patterns or themes that come up and stop you from thinking clearly. We can change them to thoughts that work for us, like “Even if I may slip at some point, I don’t have to do it now.”

At this point, we should have some sort of idea of what kabbalah al ha’asid looks like. The hard part is putting it into long-term practice. Support makes it easier. Have a friend to compare notes with. Getting a group to work together on similar challenges can give you a sense of community and collective purpose, which can keep your motivation going. Support can help you keep your belief in the possibility of change intact through the challenges that are bound to come up.

Many derashos around this time of year ask us to consider, “How can I do teshuvah? I’ve gone through so many Yamim Noraim without lasting change.” Hopefully, by following through on these steps, we’ll be able to confidently question that assertion. Real and lasting teshuvah is possible. By taking small steps, we can make real progress, and become more closely connected to Hashem in the process.

Yeshaya Kraus is a therapist, writer, and speaker living in Far Rockaway, New York.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1031)

The post A Therapist’s Guide to Practical Teshuvah     first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.

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any shmuessen and lectures delivered at this time of the year start out something like this: “It’s hard to believe another year has gone by. And did we change? Did we keep our Yamim Noraim resolutions and kabbalos? We’re still the same people we were 12 months ago!”

I would like to suggest that these kinds of statements are not really productive, encouraging, or even true.

But let’s first talk about a great and popular niggun: Reb Eitan Katz’s “Elul.” Its lyrics are: “De de daye, daye, de daye, daye, daye, de de daye, daye, de daye, daye, daye...” If you haven’t heard it, I suggest you do. It is not slow and somber but upbeat and full of joy.

I recall the first time I heard it. I wondered, “Why would a niggun that is supposed to be related to teshuvah have such an upbeat feel?”

I knew there must be an explanation — Reb Eitan doesn’t compose songs on a whim.

And then I realized that, if we reflect properly on it, we really should be very excited at the opportunity to do teshuvah.

There’s a mistaken translation for the word teshuvah: “repentance.” That is simply not what the word means. “Teshuvah” — whose root word is “shav” — means “returning.” But what are we returning to? In his sefer Oros Hateshuvah, Rav Avrohom Yitzchok HaKohein Kook z”l explains that teshuvah is the return to one’s self.

This is how we must look at teshuvah. It is not merely that we need to rectify what we did so that we avoid the negative consequences of our actions, punishment and suffering. Rather, when we do teshuvah, we are returning to who we truly are. We are coming in touch with our long-lost selves. Teshuvah does not come to sour life but to sweeten it. There is nothing sweeter than to reveal one’s personal spiritual greatness that has been dormant for far too long.

But teshuvah also demands that we face reality, and that can prove difficult. When we reflect on the mistakes, the failed opportunities, the if-onlys and the how-could-I’s? — a sense of remorse, or even melancholy, will inevitably slip in.

But once again, a proper perspective can help ease the pain.

When we do teshuvah, Hashem gives us an amazing gift. Not only can we apologize for ignoring Him and have Him accept our apology, but He considers us brand-new. As Rabbeinu Yonah (Yesod Hateshuvah) says, one should consider himself born anew when he does teshuvah: “Throw away all your sins and consider yourself as if you were born today. You have neither merits nor transgressions. Today is the beginning of your life.”

Rav Yaakov Hopfer delved into the questions we often ask ourselves when confronted with the need for teshuvah: “Why should I bother accepting something new upon myself? I know I’m not going to be able keep it for the long term anyway. So what’s the point? I tried it last year and the year before that and years before that. I might as well stop fooling myself and just accept the reality of who I am. I might as well just survive Elul and the Yamim Noraim but not plan or hope for any real changes.”

Said Rav Hopfer, this is the wrong attitude and outlook. We have to see our mistakes and transgressions as aberrations — not as a car careening off the highway and coming to a total halt, but rather as a veering car. We sometimes swerve off the spiritual road, and sometimes we do this in significant ways. But if we don’t allow ourselves to come to a complete stop, we can survive our drifts and make them temporary. That enables us to more easily jump back on the highway to proper avodas Hashem.

Rav Hopfer gave the example of a man with a temper problem. He lashes out at his family, friends, and co-workers pretty regularly. He decides to truly work on his anger, seeking advice and strategies how to avoid blowing his stack. He manages to go an entire week without becoming enraged, until something finally happens to really upset him, and he loses it. What should he do now, and how should he think of himself?

He should be proud of himself! He used to lose his temper several times a week, but this week he only failed once. He has grown and improved. He will try again and probably manage better and better for a good while. But let’s even say he doesn’t continue in his growth; was he better off having tried to improve?

The bottom-line result was fewer flared tempers, at least for that week, so it was most certainly a big gain. He showed himself that he is capable of controlling himself, and he can use this as a point of reference for future potential inspiration and success.

Yes, we did grow spiritually last year. And we have to internalize this reality, even if we haven’t perfected our growth yet, even if we have gone off the right path at times.

Elul and teshuvah can be exciting!

Let’s sing that special Eitan Katz Elul song and let’s appreciate the magnificent teshuvah process as we return to who we really are, as we return to the land of our soul.

Rabbi Boruch Leff is a rebbi in Baltimore, an editor, and the author of six books.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1027)

The post Don’t Think You Haven’t Grown first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.

Everyone in the recreational outdoors industry is aware that when engaging in hiking activities, especially during the scorching summer months, lots of water and wearing a hat are essential. Yet that knowledge alone is insufficient to protect people in particularly hot and challenging outdoor conditions.

We found out about this in the hardest and most tragic way possible — through the death of our only child, Ariel Yitzchak a”h, on September 10, 2014.

This is a story about life. Your life. My life. And my son’s legacy.

My wife Ellen and I were not raised in shomer Shabbos homes. We became frum through Aish HaTorah when we were in our 30s. Unfortunately, we had fertility issues for years, and it was a miracle when Ellen gave birth to Ariel Yitzchak in 1996.

When Ariel Yitzchak, who grew up in Great Neck where we live, graduated from high school, it was a given that he would go on a gap year program to cement his love of Torah and of Eretz Yisrael.

We heard that there would be a two-day hike in the Judean Desert at the end of the first week of the program, and, with the knowledge that our son was in good hands, we didn’t question the timing of the trip or the temperature in Israel in early September.

But the world is getting hotter in many places, especially in areas such as Israel’s Negev region and America’s Southwest. With increased heat comes an increasing danger of heat stroke, especially exertional heat stroke during activities that can push the body’s outer limits, if the proper precautions are not taken.

Although the first day of the hike was very hot, the hikers walked under waterfalls, which offered considerable relief. That night, their campgrounds were overrun by biting bugs which kept them awake most of the night. The group began the second day of the hike at 8:00 a.m., and over the course of the morning, the temperature quickly rose, eventually reaching 98°F. They were encouraged to press on despite the heat and exhaustion, and at two in the afternoon, Ariel Yitzchak collapsed. He could not be revived.

When Ariel Yitzchak arrived at the hospital, his internal temperature had reached around 109.4°F/43°C. Although doctors spent over an hour trying to revive him, Ariel Yitzchak succumbed to severe heat distress.

As his parents, words can never fully express our loss. We knew only that, in an effort to bear our sorrow, we felt compelled to educate others about heat-related illnesses, so that no one else ever dies this way and no other family loses a loved one under such circumstances.

After the initial devastation of our loss, we began looking for answers and explanations, and discovered some startling information: We learned that there is a difference between exertional heat stroke and regular heat stroke. This happens when your body overworks and produces more heat than it can dissipate. Your body temperature keeps climbing, and although water can help with hydration, it doesn’t always lower the core body temperature.

One day, a friend and medical doctor told me that checklists are a proven way to prevent certain calamities in hospitals.

“Maybe you should take all of your research and compile a checklist?” she suggested. And so, Ariel’s Checklist became my son’s legacy, to ensure proper safety protocols are in place when it comes to preventing heat stroke during outside exertion.

I engaged the help of Professor Yoram Epstein, at the time Israel’s leading expert on exertional heat stroke, who cowrote the IDF’s heat safety protocols. I also engaged Dr. Robert Huggins, who works with Professor Douglas Casa of the Korey Stringer Institute (KSI) at the University of Connecticut. Both Professor Casa and Dr. Huggins, two of America’s foremost experts on exertional heat stroke, were critical in making Ariel’s Checklist credible.

Ariel’s Checklist is the world’s only comprehensive scientific document on the prevention of exertional heat stroke. In easy-to-read English and Hebrew, it focuses on the dangers of hiking in hot weather. (There is both a short one-page hiker’s version and a longer hike leader’s version).

For the first five years after our son’s death, my wife and I went to Israel once a year to promote heat safety using Ariel’s Checklist.

Scientists from around the world have requested permission to use this material in their research publications and in other writings that relate to the topic of exertional heat stroke. (An Outside magazine article by Peter Stark titled, “How to Prevent and Treat Heat Stroke,” for example, has a link to the Ariel’s Checklist website.) We have heard numerous individual stories of people whose lives were saved because they followed the instructions on Ariel’s Checklist and refused to go along with dangerous hikes or other unsafe activities in extreme heat.

The following are the ten key points in Ariel’s Checklist. (You can find the full list at www.arielschecklist.com. Readers should prepare for hot-weather hikes by looking at the actual checklist and not relying on this article alone.) Ariel Yitzchak, unfortunately, suffered from every one of these points on his fatal two-day hike. It is important to note that not any one risk factor alone is likely to cause serious heat-related illness, but rather, the degree of the risk factor(s) and how many of them are being simultaneously compromised.

1. ACCLIMATE TO THE HEAT. It takes 14 days for the typical person to acclimate to the heat if he is not already so acclimated. That doesn’t mean that if you go to Israel, the American Southwest, or anywhere hot, and spend most of your time in air-conditioned buildings, those days count. They don’t. You need 14 days in the heat in order for your body to acclimate. Ariel Yitzchak got off the airplane on September 3 and went on the two-day hike on September 9.
2. THE HIKE SHOULD BE APPROPRIATE TO THE SKILL LEVEL. If you’re a novice and have a low fitness level, don’t go, or make others go, on a demanding hike. Extra care and planning is mandatory for multiple-day hikes. Hiking through rough terrain is considered an intense physical activity.
3. MAKE SURE YOU’RE HYDRATED. This cannot be emphasized enough. Ensure you are hydrated before, during, and after each hike. Merely bringing enough liquid is not enough. The person responsible for safety must actually monitor how much the hiker has drunk. Electrolytes from salty snacks and fruits/vegetables or other foods is essential. In the dry, arid desert, a good rule of thumb is to drink between half a liter to a liter (quart) per hour to avoid severe dehydration. Understand that if the water gets too hot, the hiker won’t drink it. Have insulated water containers and/or bring a lot of ice, depending on the circumstances. Winding up in the hospital for intravenous fluids is an indication of inadequate planning or supervision.

We have heard stories of women, who, concerned with modesty, didn’t want to go to the bathroom out in the open during a summer desert hike, and so they didn’t drink any water. Instead, they wound up in the hospital suffering from dehydration.

4. WEAR LOOSE, MOISTURE-WICKING CLOTHES. Hikers must wear clothing made of a fabric that “breathes” or that moves the moisture to the outer surface. Ariel Yitzchak was the only participant on his hike who wore long black nylon pants, which not only don’t breathe, they actually trap body heat. Those pants trapped half my son’s body heat and contributed mightily to his exertional heat stroke.
5. ENSURE ADEQUATE SLEEP. This is critical! Sleep loss has been shown to impair the body’s ability to regulate body temperature adequately. Failure to be aware of this factor can be hazardous. The night between September 9 and 10, few people on Ariel Yitzchak’s hike got more than three hours of sleep due to the excitement and a lot of buzzing insects.
6. MEASURE THE WET BULB GLOBE TEMPERATURE (WBGT). The WBGT is the “feels like” temperature, the measure of the heat stress in direct sunlight, which takes into account temperature, humidity, wind speed, sun angle, and cloud cover. Make sure it’s below 89 degrees Fahrenheit (31.7 degrees Celsius). There are consumer hand-held devices to measure the WBGT, and it can be measured by a thermometer wrapped in a wet cloth, which simulates the cooling effect of sweat (which is influenced largely by wind and humidity). Since the thermometer is exposed to the sun, it also accounts for the effects of sunlight.
7. ENSURE ADEQUATE WORK/REST CYCLES. This is a key factor against overheating. The more rest, the better/safer the experience is for everyone.
8. AVOID MID-DAY HIKING. Especially in the desert. If you must hike at the hottest part of the day, at the minimum, greatly extend the length and frequency of the rest periods.
9. PREPARE FOR MEDICAL EMERGENCIES. There should be at least one person who is trained in medical assistance, particularly in the treatment and care of heat-related illness. Bring a portable tent or bed sheet to create shelter from the sun when there isn’t any other shelter.
10. INSIST ON SAFETY. It should be emphasized to everyone before and during the hike that it is not only fine, but imperative, to speak out at any time if they are not feeling well. Some people like to prove that they can push their limits, or might be feeling bullied by a macho hike leader or participant who has no patience for signs of weakness. Not feeling well? Garner the confidence to speak out that hiking in the current heat environment no longer feels safe for you. Look out for your fellow hiker as well. Don’t let yourself, or your friends, be bullied into doing something you no longer feel is safe. If it gets to that point, you need an immediate change to safety. Don’t accept any other response.

Hiking is fun and it always will be, but it must also be safe — and it too often is not. Please be that person who is knowledgeable in the details of Ariel’s Checklist and insist that its conditions are upheld at all times. Your life, and my son’s legacy, are dependent on it.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1020)

The post Stay Safe, for Ariel’s Sake  first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.

I loved my grandfather very much. Zaida Harry lived into his nineties — like all good Jews, he had some shenanigans with his documents, so no one really knew his true age.

For old-time Torontonians, Harry P. Botnick was a legendary figure — though few knew that the P stood for Pinchas. He was a brilliant attorney and bona fide Galicianer. It wasn’t worth starting up with him — whether in English or Yiddish, he had the perfect one-line zinger in response.

Which is why it was so sad when Zaida began to forget. I’d regularly take him to the Viewmount Shul — of which he was president emeritus — for Minchah and Maariv, an experience that became progressively disheartening. He didn’t always recall my name. Sometimes he’d forget what day it was, or get confused as to which tefillah he was supposed to be davening.

Painful, isn’t it?

But here’s the good news. What did not happen is the Toronto Star plastering a picture of Zaida, looking thoroughly uncertain, along with jeering headlines mocking his latest blunder.

A review of the local TV stations revealed that they, too, neglected to air this story. Come to think of it, I don’t recall news outlets ever taking to the front covers to ridicule an elderly individual for undergoing a condition that is entirely out of his control.

And that is probably based on a simple policy: We don’t make fun of old people.

It isn’t nice.

To criticize the elderly for their age is no different than criticizing the disabled for their handicaps.

Decent people don’t do that.

Right? Right.

Uh, maybe.

We’ve all seen the jabs made by every major news outlet in recent weeks, the way they minced no words in their coverage of the president’s performance at the recent debate.

We’ve watched replays of the cringiest moments and some of those memes circling are takke very funny.

But here’s the thing. They may be humorous, they may be sharp, they may reassure our political convictions.

But they’re vicious. They’re wrong. It’s that simple.  To clarify: You may harbor a strong dislike of President Biden and that could be well-justified. You have every right to take to social media, or, for a more effective response, the 15-minute break between Minchah and Maariv, to vent your heart out. You can lambaste him for his policies on Israel or Ukraine, decry the damage he has wrought upon the economy, or condemn the erosion of the southern border that has transpired under his watch.

But don’t make fun of his age. That’s wrong.

Another clarification: Concern about President Biden’s cognitive decline is something to be taken seriously, and has in fact been raised in the pages of this magazine. As the nation’s leader, his ability to function is of utmost importance in terms of qualifications for the highest office in the land. But there are ways to discuss that without desecrating a human being’s dignity. Have the conversation. Raise the questions and concerns.

But don’t make fun. Don’t mimic. Don’t pass around videos showcasing his every slip.

Don’t do what you would consider horrifying if it were done to your own grandfather.

By now you have probably seen the Economist’s front cover, featuring a walker festooned with the American presidential seal and the words, “No Way to Run a Country” printed alongside it.

The headline crosses a red line, as does the image of a walker. (It’s annoying that “headline” and “red line” rhyme, because that makes for such an awkward sentence but you get the point.) Like him or not, he’s a human being. Treat him as such.

I don’t know the folks at the Economist, but one thing I’m pretty sure of is that each morning, they don’t declare the brachah “shelo asani goy.” They also don’t recite birchos haTorah, praising He who was “bachar banu mikol ha’amim — chosen us from all other nations.”

It’s not the Economist’s mission to rise above that which all others do.

But it’s ours.

And here’s what we, as the am hanivchar, know about the Torah’s sensitivities to those who suffer from memory loss.

In the Aron, the holy arc serving as the epicenter of spirituality in this world, there are a few select items. There’s the sefer Torah written by Moshe Rabbeinu, and there’s the set of the second Luchos.

And then there are shards of… what? These glimmering pieces of sapphire may not be recognizable, but they are none other than the shattered remains of the first set of Luchos — “Luchos v’shivrei luchos munachin b’Aron,” says the Gemara in Berachos (8b), “the Luchos and the broken Luchos are placed in the Aron.”

And this, the Gemara explains, is to teach us to adhere to the honor deserving of a zakein sheshachach talmudo machmas onso — a talmid chacam who forgot his Torah through no fault of his own.

The Torah directs that this message eternally emanates from the Aron Kodesh itself, the very focal point of spirituality. Perhaps this is because respecting a talmid chacham who has forgotten his Torah is an expression of derech eretz, which, as we know, is kadmah laTorah.

If one were to criticize the luchos rishonos, he can forget about the luchos sheniyos. There’s no place in the Torah for such lack of sensitivity.

President Biden is no talmid chacham and is certainly not what the Gemara is referring to when they cautioned against demeaning a “zakein sheshachach talmudo.”

But the underlying principle is applicable nonetheless. A human being is a tzelem Elokim and degrading him because of the unfortunate decline in his cognitive abilities goes against all that the Torah stands for.

In a moment of great honesty, I actually find myself admitting that were I on that stage, I would have had far more embarrassing lapses, like a random rant about how the oilam, after all these years, still doesn’t chap the full gadlus of Abie Rotenberg’s “Joe DiMaggio’s Card.” (And the comeback would be subject to yeshivah-style meditation. There’d be pacing, air-beard scratching, leaning my back against the wall and shuckeling vigorously, coming one centimeter within knocking myself out cold.)

So let’s get real (c’mon, man!). No one remembers everything. No one except for Him — the Zocher Kol Hanishkachos.

And ultimately it is He, and no one else, Who will determine the outcome in November.

And that is something we should never forget.

Shmuel Botnick is a contributing editor of Mishpacha magazine.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1019)

The post Unhealthy Lapses        first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.

S

ome years ago, I was invited to a wedding that, given the parties involved, I knew would have a shmorg that met my most elaborate expectations: an endless variety of sushi, numerous meat boards, a plethora of hot dishes, and so on.

I prepared well for the grand affair by eating next to nothing the entire day. It was to be a day of fasting to feasting, and well worth saving the room in my stomach.

Waze told me I would get there with at least an hour to spare — ample time to enjoy the entire gamut of gastronomical delights.

But then disaster struck. Traffic ground to a halt. The Waze ETA began creeping up... and up… and up. Apparently, there had been a big accident up ahead, and the highway was transformed into a parking lot as emergency personnel worked the scene.

I shifted into neutral. The idling of the motor gave way to the grumbling of my stomach.

A torturous 45 minutes went by. Finally, the traffic began to move. I drove as fast as I could, within the bounds of safety and the law, hoping against hope that the shmorg had somehow been prolonged.

It wasn’t. I arrived to find the long tables — empty — save for some vegetable salads. (I don’t like vegetable salads.)

And as I choked down forkfuls of greenery, I was suddenly hit by a sense of shame.

Is this really why I’m here? Did I really come to a wedding to eat? Is that all a Jewish wedding has to offer?

I was aware that much is discussed in the seforim about the deeper meaning of weddings, and I decided, right then and there, to discover what that was.

What follows is a brief summation of some of the ideas I found.

Rabbi Aryeh Kaplan (Made in Heaven: A Comprehensive Wedding Custom Guide) brings many sources for the idea that a chuppah is like Har Sinai. The candles that the parents hold as they walk down to the chuppah are meant to represent the fire at Har Sinai. Rav Gavriel Zinner, in his sefer Nitei Gavriel on weddings, says that Rav Chaim Sanzer was afraid to even lift his eyes or make a move at a chuppah due to the presence of the Shechinah. Other tzaddikim would do teshuvah at a chuppah and would sit with great yiras Shamayim.

Clearly, a chuppah is a very exalted event. But who is the true baal simchah at a wedding?

Rav Tzvi Meir Silberberg says it’s Hashem. When a Jewish wedding takes place, Hashem is the real Father — of both the chassan and the kallah. The establishment of a bayis ne’eman b’Yisrael is a true simchah for Him.

Perhaps we can explain Hashem’s exultation at a wedding in light of a concept we find in the first chapter of Mesillas Yesharim. Hashem is Tov, and He created the world to be meitiv, to bestow good upon His creations.

Hashem’s purpose in creation was that He wanted to give to us, and we are taught that we must emulate His ways: Mah Hu rachum, af atah heyeh rachum — just as He is Merciful, we too must be merciful. Although one can fulfill the virtue of “giving” with any human being, it is ideally realized in the context of a marriage. Rav Gamliel Rabinovich, in his introduction to Tiv Hachesed, quotes Rav Chaim Vital as saying that a person is judged on bein adam l’chaveiro and v’ahavta lerei’acha kamocha mainly within the context of his or her marriage.

But the coming together of chassan and kallah is not the only cause for Hashem’s celebration. When we attend weddings, we are actually expanding the Shechinah’s presence in the world.

This is a concept that Rav Shlomo Wolbe addresses in Alei Shur (volume 1, page 256). We know there is a special mitzvah to make a chassan and kallah happy. Rav Wolbe asks: Isn’t it a mitzvah to make any Jew happy? What is unique about a chassan and kallah? Rav Wolbe answers based on the Gemara in Shabbos (30b), which teaches that “ein haShechinah shoreh elah mitoch simchah — the Shechinah only dwells amid joy.”

When a chassan and kallah set out to build a home, it is our foremost aspiration that this home be filled with the Shechinah. Since the Shechinah “dwells amid joy,” this necessitates an increase in simchah. Thus, we try our hardest to provide as much joy as we can to the chassan and kallah.

Rav Wolbe goes on to explain that this stems from the Shechinah’s presence at Matan Torah. This is what lies behind the Gemara’s teaching (Berachos 6b), “Anyone who takes pleasure from the seudah of a chassan and kallah but does not give them joy violates ‘five kolos.’ ” What are these kolos that the Gemara refers to? Rav Wolbe says these are the kolos of Matan Torah. At every Jewish wedding, the eternal roar of Matan Torah reverberates.

There is a prevalent custom at a chuppah to provide pamphlets containing chapters of Tehillim and various tefillos. I have not found a specific source for the idea that davening at a chuppah holds particular significance but, given the above, it seems logical. If Rav Chaim Sanzer was afraid to lift his eyes or make a move at a chuppah because of the Shechinah’s presence, we can certainly assume that it is an opportune time to daven.

And having said that, the inverse is obvious as well. Using the 20 minutes of “chuppah spare time” to catch up with old friends would certainly seem to be squandering a very sacred opportunity. (Women seem to sense this intuitively. My admittedly passive-aggressive remarks are directed at myself and others on my side of the mechitzah.)

I still enjoy a good shmorg. And when I drive to weddings, I still beg the ETA to behave. But now, I think it will listen.

After all, it doesn’t want to miss the chuppah either.

Boruch Leff is a rebbi in Baltimore, an editor, and the author of six books.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1017)

The post Beyond the Meat Boards  first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.

Recently, at one of my anti-vaping seminars in Florida, a Jewish woman in the audience raised her hand while I was presenting a segment on the medical and psychological issues involved with teenage marijuana use. She asked if she could have the microphone to tell the audience of over 140 about a tragic event that occurred with her 15-year-old son. This woman was attending the seminar to learn more about what had happened to her son at school. I handed her the microphone.

“I am the mother of a 15-year-old boy in middle school,” she began. “My son is bright, curious, and an honors student. He has always been able to resist peer pressure and stay away from drugs. That is, until one day about six weeks ago.

“One early afternoon at school, my son accepted a ‘vape pen’ from one of his friends and decided to take a couple of drags from the device, to be cool like the other kids who had been vaping for months already. My son had never tried cigarettes, vape pens, or marijuana before. Immediately after taking three drags from the vape pen, he began to feel ill and, within 90 seconds, was unconscious on the floor. One of the other boys had the good sense to call for a teacher, as they thought my son could die in the bathroom.

“After the paramedics arrived and stabilized my son, they transported him to the hospital, where he regained consciousness about six hours later. When the police found the device that sent my son to the hospital, they tested the cartridge and found that it contained 90 percent THC ‘vape juice.’ The ER physician told me that we were lucky my son did not die from cardiac arrest or have a stroke from such a high dose of THC. He further explained that he sees this reaction all the time in the pediatric ER with high THC concentrations in teenagers.

“My son is now on probation, involved with the Florida juvenile court system, and the school has ruled that if he has one more ‘drug’ incident, he will be expelled. This is the consequence of his ‘one time’ yielding to peer pressure with a marijuana vape pen.”

I could, unfortunately, fill a thick book with stories like this about Jewish teenagers and beis medrash students that I have heard personally from parents and psychologists in the last six years at my lectures. I have met Jewish teens who are so addicted to nicotine and THC they sleep with vapes under their pillow and need to vape in the middle of the night to fall back asleep. Here are some facts that parents, teachers, and roshei yeshivah need to understand:

1. There is a remarkable absence of credible information about the real effects of vaping and marijuana on our society. Our kids who use these substances will succumb to addiction, schizophrenia, psychosis, and, G-d forbid, suicidal ideation.
2. The vast majority of today’s marijuana is either smoked or vaped, which is extremely dangerous given the massive increase in potency available. I have personal knowledge of three young people who have died from fentanyl-tainted vapes they believed were just nicotine or marijuana.
3. These vaping issues are an immediate and growing crisis for the Jewish community. Our children, potentially those who are looking to try vaping marijuana for the first time, are bombarded with messages that marijuana is “legal and safe.” We need to get to them first with the correct messaging. Vapes can be purchased virtually anywhere.

Here is a second recent story from a principal at one of my lectures in a New York yeshivah day school.

“Things were different just a few years ago. If I were to walk into a bathroom, I would smell either tobacco smoke or marijuana smoke and find the bochurim smoking either cigarettes or joints. This is not the case anymore. Now, when I walk into these areas, I smell fruits and candies. These vape pens are filled with either nicotine or marijuana compounds impregnated with things like cucumber, mango, coconut, and bubblegum flavorings. These are the new smells of the teenage vaping epidemic.

“There is not a day that goes by in the school where I do not confiscate some modern type of vaping device, emitting these smells from the chemicals in the vape juice. I have found over 25 different vaping devices this year, some of them tiny and very sophisticated, that the students purchased online. It is also happening on school buses and field trips. Sometimes, you cannot distinguish between suntan lotion, cologne, or vape juice smells.”

Here is the unvarnished truth.

Electronic vaping devices have been in existence for more than 15 years. Recently, vaping rates among teens have increased dramatically, approaching 60 percent in some areas of the United States. E-cigarettes are now the most frequently used tobacco product among adolescents; more than four million middle and high school students reported using e-cigarettes in 2022.

Vaping nicotine is a gateway to vaping marijuana.

Addressing the issue of vaping marijuana and nicotine among adolescents requires a multifaceted approach. One of the key strategies is education and awareness. Schools, parents, and community organizations can play a crucial role in educating adolescents about the risks associated with vaping, including addiction, exposure to harmful chemicals, and potential health problems. This education should also expose common misconceptions, such as the belief that vaping is a safe and “legal” habit.

In addition to education, prevention programs can be implemented in schools and communities to discourage adolescents from starting to vape. These programs can provide adolescents with the skills and resources needed to resist peer pressure and make informed decisions about their health. Similar to “stop smoking” campaigns, “stop vaping” campaigns can also be designed to protect future generations from harmful substances that adolescents use in vape devices.

Addressing the epidemic of vaping among adolescents also requires the development of healthy skills and habits by the adolescents themselves. One such skill is critical thinking. Adolescents should be encouraged to critically evaluate the information they receive about vaping, especially from sources that may downplay its risks, such as certain advertisements or peer conversations. Understanding the marketing tactics used by vaping companies and the actual health risks associated with vaping can help adolescents make informed decisions.

Finally, health care providers can play a crucial role in screening for vaping use during medical visits and providing resources and support for adolescents who want to quit.

We’ve all been laboring under the delusion that vaping is somehow safer than smoking cigarettes. Our ignorance on the subject exposes our children to the greatest dangers involved with vaping. We owe it to ourselves and our children to get educated. It is my view, after fighting against these devices for the past six years, that we all — Jewish educators and parents — need to take a much more aggressive stance against this growing problem.

Dr. Eric Bornstein is a biochemist, dentist, photobiologist, and renowned medical lecturer who has delivered lectures about vaping and marijuana to over 170,000 health care professionals.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1016)

The post Our Teens Need to Hear the Truth about Vaping first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.

I could have written the Double Take story “Of Two Minds” (Issue 1012), and I could have written it from both sides. In the story, Kayla, an older kallah, is devastated when she is told that her grandmother, with whom she is close, can’t attend her chasunah. But her uncle points out that Savta is battling dementia and the event would be overwhelming for her.

I speak from my experience as an event coordinator, in another time and place: Weddings (actually, most simchahs) don’t tend to bring out the best in anyone. The joy, the pasted-on smiles, the singing hearts, the too-tight shoes, the dreams realized, the anticipated happiness, the “joys” of family dynamics, the naivete, the strain, the realities, the gifts, the money, the waste, the disappointments, and the timing — all these contribute to stress on steroids.

Throw in a bride on hormones — along with her mother, whose dress is still too tight and who’s on meds just to get through this. Add a dash of Oma (or Bubby, Grandma, or Nana) with unrealistic expectations, plus family members who are only too happy to add their own unsolicited opinions, and the recipe for disaster has just been written. Did I mention mechutanim?

Nothing happens in a vacuum. And it really does take a village. We forget that each and every part of any simchah has the potential to arm the satan to the teeth.

The scenario as presented in the Double Take story makes up only one (small) part of this picture, and given that everyone’s nerves are shot, this specific aspect could get blown out of proportion. I can certainly offer some suggestions that can help things go more smoothly, although everything depends on individual circumstances.

First and foremost, just be honest. Given how our simchahs usually go these days, especially with priorities being adjusted, how can you expect anyone to think clearly? The crowds, the noise, the lack of respect for people’s time, the clothing, the make-up and the coifs, all make it difficult for us to recognize ourselves in the mirror. How can we ask that of our beloved elderly, who are overtired at best and sundowning at worst?

You really want their participation? Here’s a list of must-haves, in no particular order.

1. Do not leave them alone. Ever. Make certain that you know where the restrooms are and how close they are to your elderly loved ones.
2. Have they eaten? And I don’t mean the shmorg. Keep them hydrated.
3. Create a list of close friends and family members who can sit right next to Bubby or Zeidy— and have them make that commitment in half-hour increments.
4. Double desserts if the people on that same list are able to identify other family members, along with friends, who will approach Bubby or Zeidy with mazel tov wishes. They’re not used to seeing any of these loved ones in their clothing and coifs (are you?), and their compromised hearing prevents them from distinguishing the sounds they need to feel comfortable.
5. Your elderly loved ones deserve to have dignity (theirs, not yours) that is safeguarded. If they are marching down the aisle, make certain they can do so with grace. Provide chairs for them until it’s their turn and check that the runner (if there is one) is safe and smooth. Have seats been reserved for them in the front row? Are little ones sitting haphazardly on the floor crouched too close to their chairs?
6. No surprises. If Papa is getting a brachah under the chuppah, tell him, and make certain someone will escort him there (watch out for steps) and return him to his seat afterward. Sometimes you might want to practice the brachah— especially if the lighting in that area is not clear. If he has a tremor, make certain someone else is holding the kos.
7. Make certain that someone (everyone) has a list of whatever meds they are on. Every venue now has emergency numbers. Make sure you have one on you too, along with doctors’ info. Type it into your phone, along with their list of meds, in advance.
8. Take family pics earlier in the evening, rather than later. Have someone there who makes sure it happens.
9. Keep them away from the maddening crowds. Once they’ve been brought into the circle for the obligatory dance with their grandchild, take them back to their seat and have someone keep them company. If they need it (and who doesn’t?), give them a quiet corner. If they are participating in a mitzvah tantz, make certain there is a room where they can rest until that time comes. Those hours in between the end of the chuppah, the first dance, the meal, and more dancing can be longer than galus.
10. Provide adequate and safe transportation both there and back. If need be, take them home early. Have a family member escort them both ways. They deserve it. The wedding has cost you this much— the budget has to include this. It’s not a luxury. Please don’t ask them to stay until you have said thank you and kissed the caterer good night.

I knew all this. It was my job. And then it was my turn.

Our daughter was getting married (she’s our fourth child) and we had the privilege of having our mothers (our fathers were, unfortunately, no longer alive) participate in our other three weddings — all sons, all out of town.

Because this wedding was taking place in our own hometown, I knew all the available venues intimately. I had worked in them all and had chosen the one best suited for our needs. Though my mother-in-law was fine, at that point my own mother was much more physically compromised.

That beautiful venue, which had an attached hotel to accommodate our out-of-town guests, and where I had reserved a room for my mother so she could rest when necessary, had no steps, at all, no elevators, and the restrooms were in a perfect location. I felt grateful that this would be the most comfortable and convenient setting for my mother.

Every decision about the evening was made with my mother’s needs in mind. I had even decided that — except for the bride and groom — there would be no riser for the head table, so my mother’s wheelchair would be accommodated, and she would be afforded the dignity and honor she deserved, without being made to look different.

The day before the wedding, I was visiting with my mother. She reached for my hand, looked me in the eye, and said, “Suren’yu, mein kind, I love you very much, and you know how much I love Chavi. I’m not coming to the wedding.”

I was shocked.

My parents were the sole survivors of their immediate families, and here we were, celebrating this glorious simchah. How could I celebrate without her? She was present — she was compromised, but she was present.

And that is why we have the most beautiful picture of our daughter on her way to her wedding, with her hair in an updo and her make-up and veil perfectly placed, wearing her navy blue shirt and jean skirt, bending down while my mother blessed her. (Yes, she changed into her gown when she got there…)

My mother was right. If we had been honest — and my mother was nothing if not honest — the best place for her at that point in her life was in her own surroundings, with her own schedule and timing, her own food at her own time, and her comfort and security, the way she so wisely recognized it.

My mother made that decision on her own, and it must have been so difficult for her to do that and to have to tell me.

Yes, our wedding was wonderful, and yes, we were privileged to host, along with our gracious mechutanim, our extended family and friends. But at the time, I felt simply devastated. I still feel the tug in my heart because my mother wasn’t there, because after all, this was now about me.

Except it shouldn’t have been. And I sadly recognized the difference when, a number of years later, we were privileged to take our youngest son to the chuppah, with our parents all there in spirit, watching from Above.

The older I get, the wiser my mother becomes.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1015)

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