In today’s politically charged environment, where elections seem to dominate every conversation, and with the election coming up, I find myself increasingly disturbed by the act of voting itself. As a Torah-practicing Jew, I wonder if voting has become a form of avak avodah zara, subtly pulling us away from our trust in Hashem’s sovereignty. Why should I, a mere individual, have the audacity to assume I know how Hashem should conduct the affairs of great nations? When we step into a voting booth, we are essentially making a decision about the leadership, policies, and future direction of entire societies. But how can I know what the preferable outcome is? As much as I can analyze policies, weigh pros and cons, and consider the consequences, I still lack the perspective of Hashem.

We are deep in the Yom Tov season, a time traditionally filled with joy, togetherness, family, and connection. But for someone like me, who battles anxiety and depression, it’s also a time when my world gets turned upside down. Normally, it’s the structure, the distractions, and the steady support of my routine that keep me afloat. Recently, I’ve heard mental illness compared to diabetes—just as a diabetic needs insulin to survive, someone struggling with their mental health often needs medication, therapy, and a lot of support to function. In my community, people know me for running an at-home daycare for 14 years. They know me for the clothing Gemach I run that helps hundreds of families.

With Sukkos approaching, the annual scramble to purchase the perfect set of daled minim is in full swing. However, this year, as families face major financial struggles, there’s renewed frustration over skyrocketing prices — particularly of esrogim, which can often come with a hefty price tag. I’ve heard grumblings about wholesalers and direct-to-consumer sellers placing exorbitant markups on esrogim, pushing the prices far beyond their true market value. While I can’t personally confirm or debunk these claims, I think it’s worth pointing out another factor contributing to these rising prices that no one seems to be talking about: the role of tzedakos.

I write in response to Monday’s incident in Beit Shemesh involving police violence against Charedi protesters, as well as the subsequent investigation. While I unequivocally condemn any form of police brutality, I believe it’s important to understand the context of the event being protested and the community dynamics at play. The protesters were not rallying against some harmful policy or oppressive regime—they were protesting an event designed to help young Charedi men acquire valuable skills for the workforce. The programs highlighted at the event offered education in areas like programming, bookkeeping, engineering, and healthcare—honest professions that enable individuals to support their families with dignity.

My brother died when I was ten. He had cancer, and I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t prevent his death, no matter how much I wished I could. But you, on the other hand, have the power to protect your child from an avoidable tragedy. There’s one simple step you can take to potentially save your child’s life: buckle their seatbelt. I know, some of you may be thinking, “This doesn’t apply to me” or “What’s the big deal?” But the reality is, I see too many children not buckled up when they should be. I understand that we can’t control everything, and as adults, we sometimes make poor decisions. We text and drive, we take risks. But children shouldn’t have to pay for the careless mistakes of their parents.

In recent years, I’ve noticed two parallel trends that are hard to ignore, and I can’t help but feel a sense of unease as these developments unfold. One trend involves frum baalebatim—individuals who have been incredibly successful in business—who seem to be engaged in an ongoing race to outdo each other with displays of luxury. Whether it’s the increasing use of helicopters for short trips or private jets for longer hauls, this competition for status and wealth is becoming more and more extravagant. What was once an occasional luxury has now become a routine for some, elevating the already feverish competition among the “one percent” of the Jewish community. Simultaneously, I have also been following the emerging space race among secular billionaires.

I would like to express my concern regarding the current approach to chinuch in Bais Yaakov schools. It seems that the focus has shifted from cultivating a genuine love and passion for Yiddishkeit to transforming these subjects into academic exercises. For many students, this learning feels like just another subject, burdened with challenging tests and heavy memorization. Unfortunately, once they graduate high school, many girls lose interest in continuing to cultivate their connection to Torah and mitzvos. In contrast, yeshiva high schools for boys take a very different approach. The emphasis is on fostering a love for Torah, encouraging students to internalize the teachings.

Several months ago, YWN published an editorial following a tragic incident in Lakewood where a mentally unstable woman took the lives of her two children. The piece called out those gossiping about the story under the guise of “spreading awareness.” At the time, YWN faced major backlash, accused of vilifying well-meaning people, ignoring those trying to make a positive difference, and misjudging our community’s response to the horrific event. I heard both sides of the debate and found myself on the fence. Rather than choosing a side, I decided to sit back and observe. With all the noise and supposed “awareness campaigns” surrounding the tragedy, I wondered if anything truly positive would come from it.

I often see anonymous letters posted on your platform addressing issues within our community, and I felt inspired to share a thought that I believe could lead to positive change. Am I the only one noticing this problem? When I explain the shidduch system to those outside the frum community, I often find myself embarrassed by its glaring flaws. The concept of the shidduch system is beautiful in theory, but its execution has become bogged down by unhelpful technicalities, causing unnecessary challenges for everyone involved. One particular issue seems to have a simple solution. Many boys and their parents express feeling overwhelmed by the constant flood of resumes they receive, often lacking meaningful context or thought.

Dear Klal Yisroel, Tu B’av is here. I see that there are many inspirational speeches and tzedaka campaigns going on as well as tefilla events. It is truly heartwarming to see how deeply we care about the plight of our daughters, granddaughters, sisters, neighbors and friends; may these tefillos etc. bring positive results with many shidduchim b’karov. I would just like to bring to the attention of my dear fellow yidden that Tu bav was seemingly primarily a day of hishtadlus. Therefore, along with your tefillos, don’t forget to do your basic hishtadlus by reaching out to shadchanim, family and friends. As much as these actions usually leave one feeling that they accomplished nothing, it is still worthwhile. Keep in mind that all you need is one boy and one girl.