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This week’s Musings is dedicated in loving memory of my Sabba, Mr. Abe Staum z”l, whose yahrzeit is this week, 4 Nisan. Among his many other noble attributes, Sabba was very conscientious about time. He was always early to shul and never kept anyone waiting. He was reliable and dependable, respected as a man of his word and extreme integrity. May his memory be a blessing for his family and the many who admired and respected him.

It’s incredible to think that it’s been over three years since the onset of the pandemic. It’s already becoming hard to remember just how difficult and anxiety-provoking that time period was.

Yet, there were also some blessings of that period that I remember fondly. One of them was having the opportunity to go for a walk every morning with my wife. After Shacharis and breakfast, we had time to take a stroll around our neighborhood, before all the Zoom and phone call-ins began.

The first time I flew somewhere on a plane, I was eight years old. I went to Eretz Yisrael with my Aunt Miriam at the end of the summer. At the time, I remember thinking how spacious and comfortable the seats were.

Our children are often told that growing up entails becoming more mature. I occasionally ask my students and my children how they define maturity and what it means to them. Their answers are varied and sometimes they can’t really pinpoint what it means to them.

Yes, my Pesach was beautiful. Thank you for asking.

However, trying to take a lesson from the Haggadah, I was thinking that the blanket statement that “Pesach was really nice,” is insufficient.

I have a colleague who is a beloved teacher and masterful storyteller.  He often recounts his experiences while serving in the IDF (Israel Defense Forces) during the late 1970s and early 1980s. He recently related the following story: