I write with disbelief regarding a policy recently introduced in a local frum school: a “Free Pass” initiative that exempts students from a final exam if they raise or donate $550 to a designated organization. Encouraging chesed and tzedakah among our children is admirable. But linking a mitzvah to an academic incentive is, at best, misguided and, at worst, a distortion of the very values we claim to uphold. Tzedakah is not a bargaining chip. It is not a ticket to privilege or a means to bypass accountability. It is one of the foundational mitzvos of a Torah life, meant to be done lishmah, out of a pure desire to help Klal Yisrael—not in exchange for skipping an exam. This policy does more than blur the lines between ruchniyus and reward—it erases them.

By all moral accounts, this should be simple. The Orthodox Jewish community stands at a critical juncture as New York City’s mayoral race heats up. On one side: Mayor Eric Adams—a proven friend who’s stood up for us when it mattered most. On the other: disgraced former Governor Andrew Cuomo—a man whose policies killed thousands and whose lockdown-era rhetoric fueled antisemitism well before it became hip for college kids to run around in keffiyehs. Yet somehow, instead of locking arms with the mayor who had our back, some in our community are cozying up to Cuomo. It’s an outrage, a betrayal, and a chillul Hashem. Let’s not dance around the truth. Andrew Cuomo’s COVID-era nursing home policies led to the deaths of 15,000 elderly New Yorkers.

Back in November, Yeshiva World News published a controversial mailbag article titled “Why I’m Voting For Kamala Harris Over Donald Trump, And Why You Should Too.” Many of you will remember it—not necessarily for its content, but for the uproar it caused. The writer made a compelling, if unpopular, case: that Kamala Harris represents a steadier and more principled approach to foreign policy, while Donald Trump’s decisions are more impulsive, more ego-driven, and more transactional than ideological. He warned that Trump’s alliance with Israel wasn’t based on shared values, mutual respect, or any enduring strategy—but rather on whether leaders “like him” or not. And he concluded, quite boldly, that this type of relationship was risky and unsustainable.

Anyone in the parsha—whether for themselves or for their children—knows the crushing anxiety that comes with researching a potential match. How can we possibly determine the right fit from a piece of paper? Is he/she like this or like that? Will their personality align with our hopes? With every profile, our minds spin endless possibilities—and anxiety, ever the pessimist, convinces us to assume the worst. Maybe they have this issue… Maybe they won’t understand that part of me… The doubts pile up, and before we know it, we’ve talked ourselves out of even considering the shidduch. But it doesn’t have to be this way. I adopted a new approach—one that has been nothing short of life-changing.

I love Eretz Yisroel with every fiber of my being. I daven for its safety, rejoice in its nissim, and cry over its tzaros. I am mechanech my children from the youngest age to say, “V’sechezena eineinu b’shuvcha l’Tzion b’rachamim.” In our shuls, our yeshivos, our homes — there is nothing more precious than the kedusha of Eretz HaKodesh and the situation of our brothers and sisters living there. And that’s exactly why I have no patience — not an ounce — for the chaos that Itamar Ben Gvir brought to our streets this week. He came to America under the banner of an “official visit.” To meet with who? Nobody. There were no real meetings scheduled. Not in Crown Heights. Not at Essen. Not at Shaarei Zion. Not at the Young Israel of Woodmere. Not anywhere.

A month ago I wrote a letter to Yeshiva World trying to give some context and support to the new Shidduch initiative. I wrote it as a complete outsider to any and all efforts to help with the Shidduch crisis, with my only connection being a witness to the suffering it causes to so many. I wrote the letter simply frustrated with the criticism of people who, before even hearing what the plan is, rush to criticize an effort that Rabbonim have collectively given thousands of hours to formulate and develop to help with such a real and painful problem.

Dear Editor of Yeshiva World News, I am writing to you with a heavy heart and a burning sense of outrage, mortification, and shame after witnessing a scene that has left me questioning the values of our community. On Thursday, Chol HaMoed Pesach, I visited the Coney Island boardwalk, hoping for a pleasant outing with my family. Instead, what I encountered was nothing short of a travesty—a grotesque display of disregard for basic decency and cleanliness. The entire boardwalk, a public space enjoyed by thousands, was transformed into a landfill of kosher wrappers, plastic cups, plates, spoons, dirty diapers, soiled baby wipes, eggshells, and more.

Trump’s tariffs are tanking global markets. Trillions of dollars of national wealth have been lost since Trump announced his “Liberation Day” tariffs. However, the stock market losses do not account for the very real pain that large frum families will begin to feel once the tariffs kick in on April 9th. It will take some time to feel the pinch, but it will come unless these tariffs are stopped. A frum supermarket in Miami told a local news station to expect price increases of twenty-five percent. All food imported from Israel will be taxed at an additional seventeen percent. The Yale Budget Lab projects increased costs of $3,800 for an average American family. Large frum families can expect to see increases of $10,000 annually. Tariffs hit middle-income families the hardest.

If we read one more article offering some brilliant, sweeping solution to the shidduch crisis that no actual individual can implement, we might just scream. You know the type: “Stop all 19-year-old girls from dating!” “Force all 21-year-old boys to start dating!” “Get tall girls to marry short boys!” “Get younger boys to marry older girls!”—and so on. The theories might be interesting, but let’s face it: none of us regular folks are in a position to singlehandedly rewrite the system. So no need to brace yourself—we’re not here with another grand solution. We’re here to rant about a part of dating that people can actually fix.

Dear Mommy and Totty, I hope this letter finds you both well, but I have to admit, I’m not doing so great, but you knew that already. There are things I need to tell you, things I’ve been keeping locked away inside for too long and I’m not sure if it is safe for me to express myself. I’ve been feeling so confused lately, like I’m stuck in a maze with no way out. You know how you’ve always talked about those people who claim to be victims, saying they’re just seeking attention? I’ve heard you, and I’ve nodded along, perhaps I even believed your line of thinking. But that was before “it” happened. And “it” was something that I’m not proud of. “It” is something that is still confusing to me. “It” is being abused myself.