When I first learned this halachah, I did not think it would be particularly relevant. Then, over the course of two weeks, I saw it come up twice, and it stayed with me.
The Gemara teaches that during Maariv on Motzaei Shabbos, we insert Havdalah—Atah Chonantanu—into the berachah of Atah Chonen, the blessing of knowledge. The Gemara explains this placement with the phrase, “Im ein da’as, havdalah minayin”—without understanding, how can one distinguish? Havdalah, at its core, is an act of discernment.
Interestingly, no one ever “klops” before Shemoneh Esrei on Motzaei Shabbos to remind the tzibbur to say Atah Chonantanu, as we do for Rosh Chodesh or other important insertions. Part of the reason is practical—we would be knocking every week—but part of it is halachic. If one forgets Atah Chonantanu, there is no need to repeat Shemoneh Esrei, since Havdalah will be recited later al hakos.
There is another halachah related to Havdalah that at first seems unrelated. Even if one did say Atah Chonantanu in Maariv, it is still forbidden to eat until Havdalah is made over a cup of wine. These two halachos—one about tefillah and one about eating—appear to function independently.
Yet the Gemara draws a connection between them. If a person makes two mistakes—first, forgetting Atah Chonantanu in Maariv, and second, eating before making Havdalah al hakos—the halachah is that he must repeat Maariv. The Shulchan Aruch records this ruling in Orach Chayim 294.
Most people are careful enough not to make both mistakes. However, the Rashba, cited by the Biur Halachah, takes this a step further. He writes that this applies not only to eating before Havdalah, but even to doing melachah. If one forgot Atah Chonantanu and then performed melachah—such as driving home from shul—before saying “Baruch hamavdil bein kodesh l’chol,” he would also be required to repeat Maariv.
Although the Biur Halachah notes that we are generally lenient and do not rule like the Rashba, the takeaway remains clear. Havdalah—whether in Maariv or al hakos—is not meant to be rushed or treated as a mere technicality, as if Shabbos were a burden we cannot wait to unload. The way we transition out of Shabbos and into our weekday activities often reflects how much we truly valued the Shabbos we just experienced.
Yitzchak Kaminetsky is a member of the Greater Washington Community Kollel and serves as an Assistant JSU Coordinator with NCSY. A graduate of Yeshiva University, he received semicha from RIETS, and is currently pursuing a graduate degree at the Azrieli School of Education and Administration. He previously held rabbinic appointments in New York, including roles at Congregation Beth Shalom of Lawrence and the Jewish Center in Manhattan. He lives in the Washington area with his wife, Elisheva, and their two children, and can be reached at ykaminetsky@washingtonjewishlife.com.
I thought about Biblical intertextuality in, of all places, Las Vegas.
For more than a decade, I’ve attended the Consumer Electronics Show (CES) – an immense conference that sprawls across 23 million square feet and attracts more than 150,000 people each year. And for most of those years, I’ve benefitted from the kindness of strangers. Specifically, a team dispatched from B&H Photo Video that organizes minyanim and kosher meals for attendees. There are far more potential participants than the 40 or so who join, but for those of us privileged enough to be there, it’s a group where warmth and camaraderie pervades – where Chasidim and modern Israelis daven in the same minyan (and noch besser at a Sephardic beit k’neset led by a Lubavitch rabbi) and gather at the same table for meals. So how does Biblical exegesis fit into this equation?
Biblical texts often echo each other. Sometimes these parallels serve legal interpretation through gezerah shavah. Other times they illuminate lessons through shared imagery or linguistic patterns – what scholars call intertextuality.
Consider two moments of apparent resignation, separated by 1,100 years but linked by nearly identical linguistic construction.
Toward the end of Breishis, Jacob reacts to his sons’ insistence that Egypt’s viceroy (Joseph, though unbeknownst to Jacob at this point) has demanded Benjamin’s presence to secure Shimon’s release from prison. Jacob initially refuses. As famine intensifies, he relents. Even as he strategizes – instructing his sons to bring gifts, praying for G-d’s protection – Jacob voices resigned acknowledgement: “v’cha’asher sha’cholti, sha’cholti“—”As I have been bereaved, so am I bereaved” (Gen. 43:14). Rashi explains Jacob’s sadness as expressing, “Just as I have been bereaved of Joseph and Shimon, so will I be bereaved of Benjamin.”
Fast forward to Megilas Esther. When Mordechai urges Esther to intervene with King Achashverosh against Haman’s plot, she responds: “v’cha’asher avadi’ti, avadi’ti” – “And if I perish, I will perish” (Esther 4:16).
These are the only two instances of this syntactic pattern: v’cha’asher + perfect verb + same verb repeated. And if Biblical language is not random, then we are compelled to derive comparative meaning.
Both passages signal resignation of the subjects to forces beyond their control. But they express different strains of consequence.
Jacob’s resignation is personal. G-d has already assured Jacob of his family’s national future – at the ladder (Gen. 28:13-15) and later at Beth-El, shortly before Rachel’s death (Gen. 35:12). Jacob understands that no matter the circumstances – even the potential catastrophic loss of three sons – his surviving heirs would return to inherit the land. The nation would endure.
Esther has similar justification to view her fate as personal rather than national. One commentary suggests the doubled language reflects her recognition of dual threats: Whether by visiting the king without being summoned or whether by Haman’s decree, Esther perceives that she might perish (Da’at Mikra). Yet Esther, too, understands that the national fate would evolve independent of her involvement: Mordechai had already messaged, “Do not think that you, of all the Jews, will escape by being in the king’s palace. For if you keep silent at this time, relief and help will come to the Jews from another source, while you and your father’s house will perish” (Esther 4:13-14).
Esther’s situation presents a conundrum. Mordechai was clear – Esther’s intervention is largely unnecessary in the grand scheme because events would evolve toward a desired outcome regardless of her actions. Nevertheless, it was an opportunity she could (if not should) seize: “And who knows,” Mordechai asks rhetorically, “Perhaps it was for such a time that you became queen?” (Esther 4:15).
In this context, Esther’s response becomes more profound. She recognizes her personal fate will not affect ultimate national outcomes, yet she assumes the risk anyway.
This speaks to a fundamental tension in leadership: Are we mere cogs in a greater machine (“Relief and help will come from another source”) or the “right person at the right time” (“Perhaps it was for such a time . . .”)?
Even as Esther is assured the cause will succeed without her, she chooses to act, accepting personal risk for an outcome that transcends her individual survival. And this occurs even asMordechai seems to dilute the nobility of her choice: If “relief and help will come from another source,” then Esther’s efforts are fungible. The nation doesn’t need Esther to act, just someone to act, even if that action (or actor) remains wholly undefined.
Through this lens, what might have been resignation transforms to recognition: Esther recognizes the risk, recognizes she’s expendable, and yet knowing “relief and help will come from another source,” she acts anyway. The line between historical necessity and individual agency fades.
Shakespeare understood this tension. When Henry V rallies his vastly outnumbered army at Agincourt, he recasts duty to privilege:
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers.
For he to-day who sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother . . .
And gentlemen in England now a-bed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here.
(Henry V, Act 4, Scene 3)
Leadership settles a paradox: The cause transcends any individual’s leadership, even whiledepending upon the leader’s actions.
Which brings us back to Vegas. I knew the “ringleader” of the B&H crew as Mr. Tyrnauer – a big, gregarious guy with an always-on smile and two simple rules: Meals were on the house, but you finished what was on your plate. Woe to the diner who attempted to hide uneaten vegetables beneath a napkin. And you couldn’t claim ignorance, since the food was always presented French service with the opening line, “A halbe or a ganze?” (“Half or full portion?”).
On my second night in Las Vegas this year, I saw a portrait of Mr. Tyrnauer in the shul kitchen. I asked his lieutenant Pinchos when Mr. T would arrive, since I hadn’t seen him the day before. Pinchos paused and apologized: “I’m sorry to tell you, Mr. Tyrnauer passed away suddenly nearly a year ago.” The team had debated whether to continue. They decided to forge forward as a merit to the memory of Mr. Tyrnauer, Yisrael ben Eliyahu Dovid ha’Levi, a’h.
This was leadership and succession – even if unplanned.
Smaller perhaps than the national question surrounding Esther’s decision, but echoing themes that while humility recognizes replaceability, leadership is the response to temporal needs whose particularity we can serve, and whose opportunities we can embrace.
Josh Seidemann is a senior telecom attorney with broad experience across private practice, government, and national trade associations. He specializes in emerging technologies and Federal regulatory policy shaping rural U.S. markets, and has worked extensively with public and private sector organizations to advance telehealth, distance education, and rural economic development. In addition to his legal and policy work, he is a recognized thought leader who publishes regularly in trade and academic outlets on the intersection of technology and industry
By Jared Dunkin, Tax Lawyer, Author, and Community Member
Thirty years ago, I was deeply moved by Mitch Albom’s Tuesdays with Morrie. I was in college at the time, and like many readers, I was determined to find my own “Morrie” – a mentor who could provide a roadmap for a life well-lived.
Following a health scare he faced at age 85 during the COVID-19 pandemic, I realized I had to seize every possible moment with him. For a full year, my wife and I visited him every Wednesday. These visits became a sacred routine: she would bring two soups and fresh baked goods, while I would bring my deepest questions and concerns about how to be a better husband, father, leader, and human being.
The lessons I learned are shared in my book, Wednesdays with Avrom. It captures his unique ability to use humor to dismantle the “ruminations” that pull us away from the present. He once told me about a man who refused to tell a stranger the time because he imagined a chain of events ending with the stranger marrying his daughter. The man concluded, “I’ll be damned to get a son-in-law who doesn’t even own a watch!”.
In an age where we carry little devices in our pockets designed specifically to steal our attention, Avrom’s wisdom is more relevant than ever. He taught me that “if you try to be in too many places at once, you are actually nowhere”. True fulfillment comes from being “all in”—giving 100 percent of your mind to wherever your body happens to be, whether at work, with family, or in prayer. He showed me that by mastering these transitions, we can experience the “tremendous power of each moment”.
JARED DUNKIN is a tax lawyer who lives in the Kemp Mill with his wife and five children. He is also the author of The Cat’s Meow https://a.co/d/043QEGfe and Brass Taxhttps://a.co/d/0hrXbYe3.
🟦 All profits go to charity
Wednesdays With Avrom is a warm, wise, and often humorous collection of life lessons drawn from the conversations, experiences, and character of Avrom — a truly remarkable human being. Through stories rich with insight and heart, the book shows how every person can find meaning, purpose, and a place to make a difference, even in today’s complicated world.
What readers are saying:
“Deriving wisdom from Avrom is like finding water in the ocean… a repository of knowledge, erudition, good taste, sagacity and friendship.” — Hanoch Teller, renowned author and storyteller
“A sparkling book, filled with wisdom, and a must read… it could just as easily have been called The Book of Avrom.” — Prof. Shnayer Leiman, Touro University & Yeshiva University
“There is no end to what one can learn from his life lessons, experiences, teachings, and humor.” — Rabbi Moshe Walter, Woodside Synagogue
Most small business owners don’t have a website problem. People simply cannot tell what the business does.
When someone lands on your homepage, they aren’t there to admire your logo. They are trying to answer one question fast: “Is this for me?”
That decision happens quickly. If your website does not clearly spell out what you do, who it is for, and what to do next, most visitors leave. They click on a competitor who made it easier.
Here are the three most common mistakes and how to fix them.
Mistake #1: Making It About You Instead of the Customer
Many websites lead with company history or a “Welcome” message. That information is not bad. It is just in the wrong place. A homepage is not where people go to learn more. It is where they decide whether to trust you.
Lead with what the customer actually cares about: • What you do • Who it is for • What changes after they purchase your product/service
In other words, clarity beats cleverness.
Mistake #2: Wasting Your Most Valuable Real Estate
The “Above the Fold” section is the area visible before someone scrolls. This is where most websites lose people.
Generic headlines like “Quality Service You Can Trust” sound nice, but they are meaningless. They could apply to almost any business.
The “Before & After” Fix:
The Mistake: “Excellence in Everything We Do.”
The Fix: “Emergency Pipe Repair in [Your City]. Same-Day Service. Call for a Quote.”
The Mobile Reality: A huge chunk of local traffic comes from smartphones. On a phone, above the fold is tiny. If someone has to hunt for a menu or scroll just to find your phone number, you have already lost them.
Make your “Call Now” or “Book Now” button impossible to miss.
Mistake #3: Trying to Impress Instead of Making It Easy to Take the Next Step
Many sites prioritize flashy design over results. They rely on stock photos and buzzwords that distract instead of helping someone take action.
The best small business websites are simple: • Clear language (no jargon) • Real photos (your team and your work) • Proof that reduces doubt (reviews, guarantees, results) • One clear next step (don’t give five choices, give one)
Your Website Has One Job
A website does not need to be fancy. It needs to be obvious. If a stranger can land on your homepage and immediately understand what you offer and how to take the next step, you are ahead of most competitors.
The best websites do not win because they are beautiful. They win because they are clear. They respect the customer’s time by making it easy to get what they came for.
David Goodman lives in Silver Spring with his wife and four children. He runs a marketing agency focused on helping businesses turn their websites and advertising into reliable sources of leads and revenue.
The Torah recounts the story of the manna — the Heavenly food that sustained the Jewish people in the wilderness during their journey after the Exodus from Egypt. The food provided by the Almighty to the Jewish people in the wilderness was called manna, and the Torah describes in great detail its appearance, the quantity apportioned to each family, how it was gathered daily, and the unique relationship between Shabbos and this Heavenly food. The description of the manna is found not only in the Torah’s narrative of the wilderness, but also in Book of Bamidbar (11:7), where certain additional details are given that deepen our understanding of this miracle.
It is interesting to note that when the phenomenon of the manna is first introduced in Parshas Beshalach (16:4), the verses relate how the manna appeared on the surface of the wilderness, to the amazement of the Children of Israel. They were commanded by Moshe Rabbeinu to gather a specific amount in accordance with their daily needs, reinforcing the Torah’s lessons of faith, trust, and reliance on Hashem. They were prohibited from leaving over any of the manna from day to day, except on the sixth day, when they gathered a double portion in preparation for Shabbos — a foundational concept in Jewish thought regarding Shabbos observance and Divine providence.
A close study of the verses in this chapter shows that, after introducing the subject of the manna, its actual physical description is not given until the conclusion of the chapter. Only then are we told, in verse 31: “It was like coriander seed, it was white, and it tasted like a cake fried in honey.” The question naturally arises in classic Torah commentary as to why the Torah does not provide this vivid description at the outset, when the miracle of the manna is first introduced.
One of the great Torah commentators of recent generations, Rabbi Yehoshua Leib Diskin, asks why it was necessary for the Torah to describe the appearance and form of the manna both here and again in Sefer Bamidbar. He explains that the answer lies in Moshe’s instruction to Aharon in verse 33: that he should take a jar, place manna into it, and set it aside for safekeeping for all future generations. Rashi explains that in the era of the prophet Yirmiyahu, when the Jewish people were rebuked for neglecting Torah study, they responded that they could not abandon their livelihoods in order to learn Torah, as they needed sustenance.
Yirmiyahu answered them by producing the tzintzenes haman — the “jar of manna” — and declaring, “Behold and see the manna with which your forefathers were sustained in the wilderness.” He continued with the enduring words: “Harbeh shluchim yesh laMakom l’hachin mazon l’yere’av” — “G-d has many messengers and many ways to provide sustenance for those who fear Him.” This powerful moment stands as one of the most profound Torah lessons on bitachon and Divine sustenance.
From this episode we learn that the container of manna served as a lasting reminder of the great miracle that sustained the Jewish people in the wilderness. It reassured them — and all future generations — that just as Hashem provided food in the desert, He continues to sustain His people when they place their trust in Him and dedicate themselves to Torah. Yet a critical question remains: how could the Jewish people be certain that this jar truly contained authentic manna?
The answer is that it perfectly matched the Torah’s detailed description of the manna’s appearance — like coriander seeds, which are normally dark, yet these were white, radiant, and crystal-like. This unmistakable and miraculous appearance authenticated the contents of the jar as the very same Heavenly food that descended daily from Heaven to nourish our forefathers.
It is precisely for this reason that the Torah delays the description of the manna until the end of the chapter. By doing so, it directly connects the physical description of the manna to the verse describing the tzintzenes haman preserved for all generations. In this way, the Torah emphasizes that the manna was not merely food, but an eternal testimony to Hashem’s care, His Divine providence, and His promise to sustain those who commit themselves to the study of Torah — in every generation and in every circumstance.
How Cafe K owner Dan Kugler turned a Silver Spring kosher food order into a masterclass in hospitality—making Cafe K one of Silver Spring’s most talked-about kosher restaurants
In the heart of downtown Silver Spring, Cafe K makes an immediate impression. The café is modern, warm, and beautifully designed—inviting without trying too hard, elevated yet comfortable. It’s the kind of space that feels thoughtful the moment you walk in. But what truly defines Cafe K goes far beyond its look or its menu. Owner Dan Kugler brings an approach to hospitality that feels increasingly rare: attentive, instinctive, and deeply personal. His care for customers isn’t performative—it’s sincere, grounded, and quietly exceptional.
What follows is a Facebook post that captured that spirit in a single, unforgettable moment. Shared by a customer, the story spread quickly—not because it was planned, but because it was real. It offers a candid glimpse into the values behind Cafe K, and into the kind of leadership and humanity that leave a lasting impression far beyond one meal.
Bh
Hi Elan,
My name is _. We have not met, but I am deeply appreciative of you, your kosher food group, and all of the incredible chesed and achdut you have inspired across continents.
In my single years, I used to consider myself a foodie. My favorite activity was eating out. Over the last couple of years, however, I’ve found myself even more excited by posts about the weddings people run to attend, the tefillot for Israel’s finest, and anecdotes like your visit to the Ohel.
I’m writing to share a truly delicious story about a tzadik named Dan, the owner of a new restaurant in Silver Spring called Cafe K.
I live in Riverdale, NY, and today I was trying to send food to our friend’s mother—aka “Savta.” She had just spent weeks in Riverdale caring for her daughter and her four beautiful grandchildren, all under the age of ten (G-d bless them). I’m tired just thinking about it. After weeks of taking care of everyone, Savta returned home to Silver Spring—just in time to get the flu.
Our family had it. Savta’s family had it. It’s a monster. We all prayed she had escaped it in time, but she didn’t. It hit her hard.
I’m not very familiar with the kosher scene in Maryland, aside from reading a lot about David Cho’s and this group (great crunchy noodles) and that sweet son who always posts about his dinners with his mom (she has a great smile). I assumed I’d find plenty of options on Uber Eats, but there really weren’t many restaurants that delivered.
I placed an order through Cafe K, relieved to find something, but when it came time to pay, it switched to “pickup only,” and they were closing at 3:00 PM. If I had more time, I might have panicked less—but this Syrian woman has Aleppo genetics that make it physically impossible to make any Savta wait for food.
I called the restaurant and asked for the manager. Dan, the owner, answered the phone. I explained the story about Savta and asked if he would deliver, holding my breath for his response.
He didn’t hesitate for a millisecond.
“We don’t deliver,” he said, “but I’m going to take your order and deliver it myself.”
He then added that he was on his way to the hospital because his son was having surgery—and he would deliver it on the way.
I was stunned. I actually froze and didn’t know what to say next. I had fully prepared myself for several rounds of imploring, and I was not above bribery. Honestly, if I were in his position, I don’t think I’d have the presence of mind to make a food delivery stop on the way to the hospital.
But it didn’t end there.
Dan insisted there would be no charge for the delivery. He included a handwritten note to Savta in the bag, and about twenty minutes later, my phone was ringing off the hook.
Savta had received a full feast, hand-delivered by this shaliach mitzvah, and thank G-d, she was happy.
Two minutes later, Dan called me to let me know the mission was a success. He mentioned he was calling from his personal cell phone and told me to keep the number in case I ever needed anything in the future.
I have never enjoyed placing—and paying for—food more in my life. I thanked him profusely. He was incredibly modest and mentioned that he opened this business because he genuinely cares about hospitality.
Emet. His tent is open on all sides. Avraham Avinu better watch his six.
May Dan’s son and Savta have immediate and complete recoveries.
May Cafe K’s business—and Dan’s parnassah—explode beyond nature.
Mi camocha Yisrael.
No.
One.
I know things look grim these days, but Am Yisrael should not worry.
The light is strong.
Mashiach is coming.
And the kosher food is going to be banging.
Everywhere.
Forever.
G-d willing, we will all see each other very soon, in health and good times.
I’ll be the one with the endless table of matza
and an Islanders cap.
Stories like this are the reason Cafe K is already resonating so strongly within the community. In an era where convenience often replaces connection, Dan Kugler and Cafe K remind us what hospitality can still look like when it’s driven by genuine care. It’s not just about kosher food, or beautiful space—it’s about people, responsibility, and showing up when it matters most. And that’s why this café is quickly becoming one of Silver Spring’s most talked-about places, for reasons that go far deeper than what’s on the menu.
First of all, thank you so much for inviting us into your chambers here in D.C., and for taking the time to sit down for this conversation.
Chief Judge Solomson: It’s my pleasure. I’m happy to share a little of my story with the community. Fire away.
Chief Judge Solomson at his Senate confirmation hearing.
Let’s start from the beginning—how did you grow up, what was your education like, and how did you find yourself drawn to law?
I grew up all over the country as an Army brat. My father is a retired colonel and surgeon. By the time I reached eighth grade, I had already lived in nine different places: Louisiana, Texas, West Point, Silver Spring (once before), Savannah, San Francisco, Honolulu, Augusta (Georgia), and finally back to Maryland.
I went to public school here in the area, in Potomac. For college, I attended Brandeis, and by the end of 1995—just a month before my wedding—I didn’t have a job lined up. It was stressful. I had been interviewing in New York, Boston, Chicago, and here in DC, but with no luck. Lisa and I were getting married in three weeks and I had no job lined up. Although it’s really not my thing at all, I was spending Shabbos in Brookline (Boston) and went to the Bostoner Rebbe for a bracha for parnasa. I received a job offer from a large economics consulting firm back in D.C. later that very week (conclude what you will). That brought us to Silver Spring, and we’ve been here ever since (minus a half-year of yeshiva in Israel). Kemp Mill has been a wonderful community in which to raise our three kids. We have friends who are like family, and it’s been such a blessing to watch everyone’s kids grow up together. Our wonderful mechutanim also live around the corner – something we could never have foreseen when we first moved in. And my parents still live in Potomac.
So once you were back in the area, what path did your career take?
I knew that I wanted to apply tojoint JD/MBAprograms and those generally require work experience, so I worked at the consulting firm for a little more than a year. Once I applied and was accepted to a JD/MBA program, however, I left the firm, asked the school for a deferment, and took a year off to learn. We spent some time in Israel, and here at YGW as well.
After law and business school, my first job was clerking for a judge on the U.S. Court of Federal Claims, where I now serve as the Chief Judge. So my career has come full circle in a way that I could never have anticipated.
When it comes to managing a career, you can make plans, do everything “right,” and still have no idea where you’ll actually end up. When I started clerking here at the court, I couldn’t even tell you exactly what this court did. But I interviewed, received an offer, and accepted the position. At the time, I fully expected to go into patent litigation—that was my plan – and the judge for whom I clerked promised me the opportunity to work on patent cases with him. But when I joined my first firm after clerking — Arnold & Porter, one of the largest firms in D.C.—they steered me into work before the Court of Federal Claims, primarily focused on government contracts. At first I wasn’t thrilled about it, but over time I came to really enjoy the work and the completely unanticipated career path. It’s why I tell new lawyers to keep an open mind about what they want to do.
Chief Judge Solomson being sworn into office by then-Chief Judge Sweeney, with his wife Lisa holding the Chumash.
So I ended up building my career around the jurisdiction of the Court of Federal Claims, which includes not only government contracts, but also a wide-range of monetary claims against the United States government, including intellectual property, tax, employment, Fifth Amendment takings, amongst other types of claims. Eventually, I published a very thick and boring book about the court’s jurisdiction and that – combined with my experience in the private sector and the Justice Department – ultimately positioned me for the bench. It was a grueling, nearly three year process.I first interviewed with the White House for the judicial position in 2017, just after the inauguration, in April—right around Pesach. In fact, the initial interview date I was offered was on yuntiff and I considered trying to work it out rather than ask for a different date, but Lisa – who is always supportive – all but made me ask for another date. The White House had no problem with accommodating for unavailability for Pesach. Then, about a year later, on Purim, the White House called to say they would move forward with my nomination, assuming the background check went smoothly. The background check took a full year. Following the nomination, it was another few months before I had a Senate confirmation hearing and then approximately nine more months before I finally had a Senate floor vote.
What made you want to go through the interview process in the first place?
Sender, itwas a complicated set of considerations. On the one hand, being a judge in the federal system is, I think, one of the highest honors you can have as a lawyer in this country. It’s also an opportunity to serve the country and play a vital role in the legal system.
One of my biggest regrets is not having joined the JAG Corps following the 9/11 terrorist attacks. I really wanted to join the Army as a lawyer, at least in the reserves. But with young children at home, it just didn’t seem like the life my wife had signed up for. Lisa had no objections, for the record. But I didn’t do it, and I regret that to this day. Now, I’m not trying to compare serving as a judge to serving in uniform—our armed forces put their personal safety at risk and often leave their families for long stretches of time—but being a judge is still a way to do some small part to serve my country. I’ve also always had a passion for the legal system itself. We have a fascinating, beautiful, and fundamentally just system in America. The chance to be part of it, to resolve cases, and to apply the law to new factual situations is both meaningful and enjoyable professionally. So I won’t claim it’s only about service. It’s also what I love to do—solving legal problems and helping to resolve disputes. And that’s a privilege in itself. Because what’s the alternative? In other systems or societies, people sometimes settle disputes through violence. In America, we have the rule of law—rules that are known in advance, applied by an impartial judge. Whether as a judge or as an attorney, whether in private practice or with the government, I think the practice of law is a noble profession and everyone who participates in the system is helping the country in a material way.
So when I got a call from a friend of mine—someone else who lives in Kemp Mill—proposing to recommend me to the White House for this judicial position, I said, “You’ll have my resume in five minutes.” And that’s how I wound up here. Of course, it was a very long process, and it didn’t happen without the help of many friends along the way. I am happy to share the hashgacha stories with you some other time.
The confirmation process sounds exhausting. What was it like going through such an intensive background check?
It really was crazy. The investigation went all the way back to my eighteenth birthday. At the time I started in the process, I was, perhaps, forty-three? I had to provide the FBI, the DOJ, and the Senate with every location I had ever lived, every job I had ever held. I had to provide a slew of professional references—including the names of opposing counsel from my cases—and copies of everything I had ever published.
Chief Judge Solomson leading Tehillim at a memorial service with fellow judges at Har Herzl.
I thought I had submitted a complete set of my work, but DOJ or the Senate staffers still dug up a letter to the editor of the Brandeis newspaper I had written in college—a piece I didn’t even remember. When they showed it to me, I acknowledged that it looked like my writing at that age, and that it had my friends’ names as co-signatories, but I insisted I had no recollection whatsoever of having written it. The letter had criticized my college newspaper for running an advertisement from a Holocaust denier. My point was simple: as a private newspaper, they didn’t have to accept such ads, and I couldn’t believe that the flagship newspaper of a Jewish-sponsored university like Brandeis would publish one. I asked the Justice Department lawyers, “Is this going to be a problem for me?” I worried someone might call it anti–free speech or something. They laughed and said, “Do you really think any senator is going to attack an Orthodox Jew for criticizing Holocaust denial? No one’s going near that with a ten-foot pole.” And they were right—it was never an issue.
But that shows how deep the process goes. The FBI talked to my neighbors, my parents, my friends—and then asked my friends for more names. Because we had spent six months in Israel, they even contacted the Israeli national police to confirm I had no criminal record in that country. That step alone added several months to the process. And of course I had no record there – I spent all of my time walking to and from yeshiva or doing Shabbos shopping in Geula.
Speaking of anti-semitism and universities, after October 7 you took to LinkedIn with a strong stand, refusing to hire law students who signed letters sympathetic to Hamas. How did you find the strength to do that?
It’s funny—when I was confirmed, I made perhaps two final thank-you posts on social media. One on Facebook for friends, and one on LinkedIn for professional colleagues. I announced I had been confirmed, thanked everyone, and essentially said, “This is the last you’ll see of me on social media. Everyone knows where to find me. Have a great life.” And I meant it. I stayed off social media almost completely—until October 7.
That day changed everything. I felt compelled to speak out. Reasonable people can disagree with that decision. Judges generally aren’t supposed to opine on controversial issues outside of their cases. But our ethics rules also encourage us to teach, to express opinions about the law and the profession, and to promote the rule of law and principles of justice. I thought it was important to address not only the terror attacks themselves, but also what they meant for the Jewish community in America. Within days—before Israel had even responded—you already saw anti-Israel protests. Really, anti-Jewish protests. On campuses, in New York City, and elsewhere.
Initially, what received a fair amount of press was my statement on LinkedIn that I would not hire as a law clerk any Harvard student who remained a member of the organizations that signed onto a pro-Hamas letter. If you resigned in protest, fine. But for students who stayed members of those groups, I argued they were not fit to be hired as Federal judicial law clerks, any more than would a student who expressed support for the KKK. Both the legal and mainstream press covered my statement.
Soon after, a number of major law firms—far more powerful than a single judge—began rescinding job offers to students who had signed or made pro-Hamas statements. Soon after, another judge, a friend of mine, followed suit with a similar statement.
Look, there’s a wide range of legitimate views about the Middle East. You can argue for two states, or whatever. That’s fine. But when you cross the line into supporting terrorism, that’s different. Free speech protects your right to say even very offensive things. But it doesn’t obligate me to consider you for a clerkship. And when protests move from speech into physical harassment—physically blocking Jewish students or intimidating them on campus—that’s not speech anymore. That’s prohibited conduct. And that’s exactly what we saw on a range of campuses.
After Harvard, you were also involved in the boycott of Columbia Law School. How did that come about?
I have hired law clerks from a range of law schools, including Harvard, UPenn, NYU, Georgetown, Notre Dame, Maryland, Cornell, Pepperdine, Fordham, Cardozo, and GWU. I pay attention to what is happening at law schools. At a certain point, what I was seeing at Columbia was intolerable. On my own, I knew I wouldn’t move the needle—if one judge says he or she won’t hire Columbia grads, no one cares that much. So I reached out via email to Judge Jim Ho of the U.S. Court of Appeals for the Fifth Circuit and to Judge Lisa Branch of the Eleventh Circuit. Both had previously led boycotts of Stanford and Yale – refusing to hire their law students – after those schools mistreated conservative speakers and generally showed hostility to conservative students. Neither judge is Jewish.
Together, we concluded that a simple letter of condemnation wouldn’t change anything. The only way to get the university’s attention was a boycott. So thirteen or so federal judges, including myself, signed onto a statement saying we would not hire Columbia graduates going forward—starting with the incoming class, so prospective students had the chance to choose a different school. I published a Wall Street Journal op-ed explaining our decision. (Incidentally, it must’ve been Kemp Mill day at the Journal – my close friend Dr. Tevi Troy had an article published on the same page as mine.)
Some people argued that our hiring boycott would unfairly hurt innocent students, including Jewish students. But as Judge Ho explained, that critique is born of a loser mentality because it assumes failure. If you assume the boycott will succeed, that would mean the university has changed and reformed, and the boycott ends with a net positive result. And, indeed, Judge Ho is correct that if only thirty or forty judges had joined, the pressure would have been overwhelming, and the schools would have no choice but to change, and then no student would face any repercussions. So asking about innocent students makes a critical assumption that the boycott would not achieve its intended effect. All of those who signed the boycott had the attitude that we would succeed and perhaps more judges would join us.
Another final story on this is worth relating. Judge Ho called me later and said that his initial reaction to my email request was that this antisemitism issue was not his fight. After all, he had already taken a stand against Yale and Stanford, and caught flak for that. But then, he told me, he prayed on the matter one evening, and woke up thinking – and this brings me to tears every time I tell it – “what kind of person would I be if I only stood up for Christians and conservatives, and not my Jewish brothers and sisters.”
You mentioned that the boycott didn’t come without cost. What was the reaction like, and did you ever worry about security?
I think we’re tremendously blessed in this country. By and large, our fellow citizens support us, and that’s why America doesn’t look like some other places that seem to have been overrun by Hamas sympathizers.
But yes, the boycott drew criticism. Professors criticized us. Even some Jewish professors criticized us, calling it mean or unfair. And it wasn’t cost-free—we all faced ethics complaints (that ultimately were dismissed as meritless). But it was a small price to pay to help focus legal employers on the plight of Jewish students at Columbia. As for security—yes, it’s always a concern. Judicial security is an important issue. There’s always someone who loses in court, which means there’s always someone unhappy with you as a judge. In fact, if you look at recent years, Congress has been grappling with this very problem. One Federal judge in New Jersey, Judge Salas, was the victim of a serious crime – an evil man who I believe once had a case before her, came to her home, shot her husband, and killed her son. And I think that some (if not all) Supreme Court justices today need around-the-clock security due to threats. So yes, it’s definitely something we think about.
I heard that after October 7 you even brought Rabbi Frank in to speak at the court. How did that come about?
Yes. In the aftermath, a number of Jewish colleagues—both inside the court and lawyers I knew outside—felt this real need to connect with other Jews, to connect more deeply with Judaism, and to process what had happened and what we were experiencing in the Diaspora. I think we were all feeling that need, no matter our observance level. October 7 was like a pogrom out of old-world Europe—or like Chevron in 1929—only carried out in our time. When you stop and scale the numbers, if the same thing had happened here in the United States, it would have been the equivalent of something like 40-50,000 people murdered in a single day. It’s unfathomable.
Because of that need, I invited Rabbi Frank to come in and speak to a group of judges and lawyers who expressed interest in getting together. It was a very diverse group of Jews—I think he remarked that it was the most diverse group he’s ever addressed. We actually brought him in twice, and the feedback was incredible. People said it was sensitive, thoughtful, and exactly what they needed. In fact, I think one of those shiurim ended up being his most downloaded from his podcast library. We’ve talked about doing it again and I’ve had others ask about it. It’s been a while now, so maybe it’s time to regroup.
And what about being an openly observant Jew—has that ever posed unique challenges for you on the bench?
Not at all. Honestly, it was more of a challenge in private practice. When you’re a young lawyer, you have to explain Shabbos and yom tov to every new boss. Or you’re out to eat with colleagues, sipping a Diet Coke and eating cold fruit while they’re eating burgers, and it can feel awkward.
As a judge, though, I set the schedule. And I have the luxury of being able to close chambers for Jewish holidays—and out of respect, I do the same for my non-Jewish clerks between December 24 and January 1. I’ll work from home, but they get that time off.
Before my Senate confirmation hearing, I asked a DOJ lawyer helping us nominees through the process whether it would be a problem for me to wear a yarmulke at the hearing. He said, “Not with our side of the aisle—and we have all the votes.” Funny answer. I was confirmed by a very wide margin, so nobody was too troubled by my religious observance.
Do you have any memorable experiences explaining your observance to employers before becoming a judge?
One of my favorite stories goes back to when I received a job offer at a company. I had a standard spiel I’d give to every potential new boss. I’d say: “I’m a Saturday Sabbath observer. From Friday evening until Saturday night, I’ll be completely out of pocket—no phone, no email. But I’ll pick up the work Saturday night, I’ll answer emails every night before bed and first thing in the morning, and I’ve never dropped the ball. If this is a problem for you or the company, that’s fine—just let me know now. I won’t sue or complain about discrimination. I just want this to be a good fit.”
One boss—now a good friend—told me it wouldn’t be a problem. But on my very first Wednesday, he came into my office and said, “Don’t you have to be getting home?” I replied, “Why would I need to get home?” He shrugged and said, “Well, it’s getting dark out.” I said back “So?” “Your Sabbath?,” he asked. I realized he thought I had to be home every night before dark. I laughed and explained, “The Jewish Sabbath starts Friday night and ends Saturday night. I don’t need to leave early today.” He just shook his head and said, “Whatever, man,” and walked out. He literally didn’t know when Shabbos was. That’s a common thing I warn young professionals about – outside of NY or LA, people aren’t familiar with Jewish observance or, say, yarmulkes.
That’s hilarious—but did you ever feel it was a challenge to maintain observance in the workplace?
I never really had an issue. Sometimes you do have to work harder to show you’re not slacking. But if you do great work, if you’re responsive and deliver high-quality results, people respect that. They’ll be respectful of your religious commitment and the fact that you’re offline on Shabbos or yom tov.
But you absolutely can’t coast and expect special treatment. You’ve got to set the bar high, because in the middle of a litigation deadline, when everyone else is working around the clock, you may need to say, “Sorry, I’m out for three days.” And of course, people don’t understand that you’re not at the beach. On Rosh Hashanah or Yom Kippur, you’re in shul twelve hours a day, or fasting—but nobody cares. To them, you’re just unavailable and on vacation. And you can’t expect sympathy. You just make it work, and you make up for it by being excellent and fully committed the rest of the time. I also always offered my non-Jewish colleagues to cover for them during the Christmas season or around Easter.
Sometimes people assume that being an Orthodox Jew must affect how you approach the law. How do you think about that intersection?
It’s important to separate between two very different things: halacha and skills from learning.
Halacha has nothing to do with the substantive answers to American legal questions. My oath is to uphold the Constitution and to faithfully apply American law. Above me in the judicial hierarchy, I have the U.S. Court of Appeals for the Federal Circuit and, of course, the United States Supreme Court. My role is to faithfully apply to cases the statutes Congress passes (and the President signs into law), the regulations the Executive Branch promulgates, and the binding decisions of the Federal Circuit and the Supreme Court.
It’s hard to even think of an issue in my court where halacha would have a view, but if you asked, what if halacha conflicted with American law in a case before you?—the answer is simple. I would apply American law. Period. My oath and duty require me to apply American law. If halacha ever conflicted with American law, my duty would still be to apply American law. If I ever felt I could not fulfill my oath to do so, for whatever reason, I would resign. That’s the deal. Other religious judges — including a sitting Catholic Supreme Court justice — have essentially been asked this kind of question, and to me it reflects a subtle anti-religious bias. Nobody asks a secular judge what happens if the law conflicts with their secular humanist philosophy as if it’s not essentially a religion. In any event, my answer is that my religious views stay outside the courtroom.
What about the skill set from learning in yeshiva—does that translate into your work as a judge?
That’s a different story. Yeshiva provides a kind of legal training in its own right. You do case analysis, close reading of texts, and you apply rules to new factual scenarios. That’s excellent preparation for law school. At the same time, law school also teaches things yeshiva doesn’t—structured theory, legal vocabulary, and different frameworks for interpretation.
For example, in American law, there are at least three approaches to interpreting a statute, for example:
Textualism – sticking closely to the plain, original public meaning of the words of a binding text like a statute or constitutional provision.
Purposivism – looking to the broader purpose of the law, even if it pushes beyond the text.
Intentionalism – focusing on what Congress specifically intended, sometimes based on congressional committee reports or debates.
When I was learning YorehDe’ah, I sometimes noticed that one authority might be more sensitive to specific language and word choices, another to the broader purpose of a rule, and another to a related text elsewhere. It struck me that some poskim were essentially doing “textualism” while others were “purposivists,” etc. – even that vocabulary isn’t used. But that’s my point – in my experience, the beis medrash isn’t focused too much on legal theory or methodology (even in the context of halacha).
And you’ve kept up your learning alongside your legal career?
Well, I’ve tried, but admittedly some periods of my professional life have been more productive than others in terms of Torah learning. A few years ago, however, my son encouraged me to pick up something more challenging that would motivate me. And so I applied and was accepted to the yadin yadin kollel program at YU/RIETS. The learning is self-study, and it takes about four years, I understand, to complete the basic curriculum. We have weekly chaburas via Zoom and in the several past years I have attended the chabruas at RIETS in person (thanks to Amtrak). In addition to bechinos, another requirement is that we must present a chabura once per year. I’ve completed two thus far (available on YUTorah) and it is likely the most challenging, most intimidating thing I have ever done – more so than appearing before an appellate court or the Senate. I am not exaggerating even a little. The Roshei Kollel – including HaRav Mordechai Willig, HaRav Yona Reiss, and HaRav J. David Bleich – typically attend, as do the other chavrei kollel, all of whom are, ofcourse, tremendous talmidei chachamim. It is a tough crowd. My goal is limited – not to embarrass myself.
In 2024, you joined a delegation of judges on a trip to Israel. Can you tell me about that experience?
Yes. A group of three other Jewish judges and I organized it—14 federal judges in total, evenly split: seven Jews, seven non-Jews; seven appellate judges, seven trial judges. The World Jewish Congress sponsored the trip, and it lasted four or five days.
We met with Supreme Court justices, Knesset members, Israeli State Department lawyers arguing Israel’s case at the ICC, and military lawyers and generals. But we also went south. In Kibbutz Be’eri, we were guided by a chayelet who had lost a handful of family members on October 7. She walked us through their homes, through the devastation, and shared her story with extraordinary gevurah. I honestly don’t know how she did it without breaking down. For the rest of us, it was overwhelming.
We were also shown a 47-minute video of the atrocities – the one that hasn’t been released publicly (phones weren’t allowed in the room). The footage was horrific. Everyone came out shaken; some sat in silence, others cried openly. It was, without question, one of the most emotional moments of my life.
It was a great privilege—and very emotional—to stand together, to meet hostage families, and to bear witness to the atrocities. I think every judge who joined us on the trip has since spoken to law school groups about October 7, our experience in Israel, and what we learned there.
As we enter the High Holidays, do you have a message for the community? My wife Lisa always reminds me – correctly – that the holidays are a chance to take a beat to be grateful … to express gratitude to our Creator for our lives and to appreciate the opportunity to spend meaningful time with our family and friends (who are like family), while also reflecting on what makes life meaningful. It’s a chance to rebalance our priorities for the upcoming year. We in Kemp Mill are indeed very lucky to live in such a special community with special friends and neighbors. I don’t think I’m in a position to offer a message, but I’d say that everyone should try to appreciate the time you have with the people you love and don’t wish the time by. Even if you’re young, and work (with the Jewish holiday season) feels very difficult – something I remember – it all goes by quickly and you can’t get the time back.
There is something unmistakably unique about Chanukah. When we reflect on the Jewish calendar, we notice that most of our holidays are inward-facing. We celebrate them within our homes, our shuls, and our personal spiritual space. We do not stand in the middle of the street blowing shofar for all to hear; we do not walk around publicly holding up our matzah to declare our freedom; even the kedushah of Shabbos is observed with dignity and privacy.
Chanukah alone breaks that pattern. The mitzvah of pirsumei nisa, publicizing the miracle, is not a detail but the very definition of the mitzvah. The Gemara (Shabbos 21b) states clearly that the candles must be placed “קובעת שהדלקת נרות חנוכה נעשית על פתח ביתו מבחוץ”, at the entrance of one’s home, facing the outside world. So central is this value that one cannot even recite a bracha unless the light will be visible to someone (Shulchan Aruch O.C. 672:2). It is a mitzvah designed for the eyes of others.
There is another perplexity as well. No other mitzvah excludes personal benefit. We eat and sleep in the sukkah. We enjoy Torah on Shavuos. Shabbos itself is “חצי לה’ וחצי לכם”, half for Hashem, half for us. Yet the words of הַנֵרוֹת הַלָלוּ remind us that the Chanukah lights are kodesh, holy, “ואין לנו רשות להשתמש בהן”, we are prohibited from using their light for any personal purpose. The candles radiate outward, yet remain sacred and untouchable.
Why the difference?
A Light Born of Crisis
To understand this, we must revisit the history of Chanukah. The Yevanim decrees were not aimed at our bodies, they targeted our identity, our spirituality, our Torah. The Yevanim sought to “make them forget the Torah and to remove us from Your ways”, the ways of the Torah (Al HaNisim). Many of our brethren succumbed and assimilated. The Maccabean revolt was not only a battle against an empire but a battle within our own communities as well. There were those who gave in, leaving Torah life, and there were those heroes, like Chana and her seven sons, who embodied unwavering courage, sacrificing everything to remain faithful to a life of kedushah.
The miracle of Chanukah was not only the military victory or the oil that burned beyond nature. It was the miracle that a group remained loyal, that the flame of Torah did not go dark. As the Midrash in Bereishis teaches, “מעט אור דוחה הרבה מן החושך”, even a small light can push away great darkness.
This is at the heart of our pirsumei nisa. We place the candles facing outward to declare publicly that not only did Hashem perform miracles then, but the light of a committed few can uplift the many now. The message is one of solidarity and strength:
“איש את־רֵעהוּ יעזורוּ ולאחיו יאמר חזק”, each person helps his friend and says to his brother: Be strong (Yeshayahu 41:6).
Our lights say to one another: We are still here. We are still strong. And together, we will remain faithful.
Why We Cannot Use the Light
The prohibition of using the Chanukah lights emerges naturally from this understanding.
The Ramban (Shemos 27:20) writes that light represents spiritual clarity. The Maharal (Ner Mitzvah) explains that the Chanukah light represents the supernatural divine illumination that preserved Torah in that dark era. Such light is not utilitarian. It is not meant to serve our needs. It exists to proclaim something greater, the presence of Hashem even when darkness seems overwhelming.
By forbidding personal use, the halachah teaches us:
This light is not about me.
It is about us but our identity, our faith, our resilience, our collective future.
Building Community Through the Candlelight
If the candles are meant to shine outward, what does that ask of us today?
The outward flames remind us that our community, like these neros, is holy, that each person carries a spark that lifts the whole. The holiness of the candles reflects the holiness of the people who gather around them. When we light, we declare that our community, too, is kodesh and that we carry responsibility for each other.
Chanukah invites us to ask:
Drive around your neighborhood after lights the Chanukah Menorah and consider these ideas; How do we care for our neighbors? How do we unify our families and our shul, or friends, and Yeshivas and schools? What chessed can we illuminate for someone facing darkness? How can we strengthen the kedushah of our community so that children grow up surrounded by light? Just as the candles must be seen by others, our actions must shine as well.
A Prayer for Our Community
As we stand before the menorah this year, let us daven that our community continues to grow in strength, achdus, and kedushah. May we support one another during challenges, lift each other during moments of weakness, and build a future where the flame of Torah burns with warmth and clarity for our children and for all generations.
יהי רצון שנזכה להאיר זה לזה, ולעשות את קהילתנו מקומות של קדושה, חסד, וביטחון.
May the light of Chanukah shine outward, and inward, guiding us toward a stronger, holier, and more connected community.
About the Author:
Rabbi Dr. Avichai Pepper is a seasoned educator with a rich academic and professional background. A graduate of the New England Rabbinical College in Providence, RI, he has devoted his life to the pursuit of knowledge and the nurturing of young minds and support of Torah and Jewish communal growth. Rabbi Pepper holds a Doctorate in Educational Leadership from Liberty University, alongside a Master’s degree in Educational Leadership from Bellevue University and a Master’s degree in Counseling from Liberty University.
Currently serving as the Director of Educational Advancement and Community Relations at the Yeshiva of Greater Washington, Rabbi Dr. Pepper leverages almost 30 years of dedicated service in Chinuch (Jewish education) and community development. His extensive experience in Jewish education includes various impactful roles, demonstrating his commitment to fostering academic excellence and personal growth within the Jewish educational system. He has played a role in the Jewish Day School movement in several cities including Providence, RI., Houston, TX., Seattle, WA., Phoenix, AZ., and currently, Silver Spring, MD. He also serves as a teacher coach through Lomdei and is an adjunct professor at Woodmont College – School of Education and School of Behavioral Science..
Rabbi Pepper’s expertise lies in cultivating an environment of positivity and encouragement, where students thrive academically, socially, and spiritually. His leadership is rooted in the belief that a supportive and dynamic school culture is key to unlocking each student’s potential and empowering students’ growth, ensuring their holistic development and success.
We got you in. Well… kind of. Not through a secret back entrance — but the next best thing. And thanks to Jake Turx, you’re walking into the White House without ever leaving home.
Silver Spring Live! is bringing you a behind-the-scenes experience you don’t get every day — a walk inside the White House with Jake Turx, Senior White House Correspondent at Mishpacha Magazine.
Thanks to Jake, our community gets an exclusive two-part video series:
The moment Jake arrives and makes his way into the White House grounds:
Stepping into the legendary White House Press Briefing Room — where presidents’ press secretaries take questions from reporters around the world.
From security gates to the front row of American journalism, these clips put you right in the action. Whether you’ve followed national news for years or just want a peek behind the scenes, you’ll enjoy this rare view.
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When passion meets planning, industries change. This is how the Jewish trade show world was born. Let’s start from the beginning—how did this whole idea even come about?
Sure. Maybe we can spend a few minutes going back to how this all started. First of all, to introduce myself—my name is Mike Weber. I grew up in Boro Park and went to yeshiva there for a few years. I got married in Boro Park and started out working upstate in the Catskills. My first job was actually managing a bungalow colony.
It so happened that they needed some upgrades, and during my first year managing, I got involved in some construction projects. That’s really what got me into construction. While I was doing that, a friend introduced me to the National Builder Show in Vegas. It was a big group of frum people who went together.
The timing was complicated because the show was Thursday through Sunday, which meant being there over Shabbos. But we had an organized group and a full Shabbos program. This was about 23 years ago, when the internet was barely a thing. Email wasn’t common, and social media didn’t exist—so trade shows were one of the few ways to connect and share.
I remember thinking, “We need something like this for our community.” But these things take time, money, energy. A few years later, I partnered with a good friend, Mendel Lerner, who ran the Raleigh Hotel in South Fallsburg. I told him, “Mendel, we need to do something. Maybe you’ll help me out?” He said, “Sure, I’ll give you the venue and a good price on food—just make it happen.”
We scheduled it three weeks later, and boom, we were doing an expo.
Most people in the community had never even heard of a trade show. They thought it was like a camp performance—they didn’t really get the concept. So I had to explain: “You do what you do every day. You talk to people about your product or service. You see if they’re interested. You give more information. That might lead to a deal. That’s a trade show.”
Fast forward 15 years—now you have big events being done by major kehillos like Satmar, Skver, Klausenburg, and others across New York. People are much more familiar with what a trade show is. And it’s taken off in a very big way.
Today, the New York show takes place in a venue over 60,000 square feet. We get over 5,000 attendees and 300+ booths. It’s become a real movement.
That’s a major leap—from a bungalow colony to 60,000 square feet in NYC. How did it grow from Catskills-to the broader community and start reaching other communities like Washington D.C., Silver Spring & Baltimore?
At some point, I felt a sense of mission—this can’t just be for New York. Other communities need it too. The first event I did outside of New York was actually still upstate, in the Catskills, but on a small scale. Since I was already a contractor, I had connections with a lot of subs. I reached out to them, and we put together our first local expo with 30 booths. That was the first year. And it was a hit—people left on a high.
The next year we had 50 booths. The following year? Seventy. It just kept growing. Then someone came to me and said, “You need to take this to the next level. It’s time to do something for the broader community.”
Upstate was still limited—it was mostly for the bungalow colony crowd. People had just started buying second homes up there, but it wasn’t the main market. So we pivoted. We decided to bring the event to the Monsey area—Monsey, Monroe, that whole region.
It was a huge step. I still remember: one company really pushed me. They said, “I’ll sponsor. I’ll help. Just do it.” I ended up getting nothing from that company in the end, but it was their nudge that gave me the guts to put down a $25,000 deposit on a 60,000 square foot venue. That was a serious leap of faith.
That kind of risk—$25,000 upfront—that’s not small change. Did you already feel confident in the model?
I knew we had something powerful. The event had already proven itself. So we jumped in. And since then, we’ve done more. We did a big event for the tri-state area, centered around the five boroughs and surrounding parts of New York. Obviously, Brooklyn is a hub, and people were asking us, “When are you doing something for the city?” So we did it.
But I always try to emphasize: nothing starts out big. It starts with a vision, and it takes a huge amount of effort—cold calling, explaining what this is, convincing people to try something new. It was a process.
Last year, we brought the show to Baltimore for the first time. And baruch Hashem, it was a huge success. We had nearly 1,000 attendees and over 50 exhibitors. For that community, it was brand new. The concept was unfamiliar. But people were excited.
And now we’re gearing up for year two. There’s momentum.
You’ve built something incredible—what’s your message to families and professionals in Silver Spring, Potomac, Rockville, Chevy Chase, and D.C.? Why should they be there?
Because amazing things happen when people come together. I’ve seen it—guys walk in not expecting much and walk out with real opportunities! New vendors, new clients, even new direction. There’s so much talent and drive in your area, and this event brings it all into one space. If you’re even a little curious, just come. You never know who you’ll meet or what doors might open.
And you really believe one day can make that kind of impact?
I do. When people show up with an open mind and good energy, powerful things happen. One conversation, one handshake—it can shift your entire year. And that’s what this is about: real connections, real growth.
And the truth is, we’re just getting started. There’s so much more I want to share in Part Two next week. You’ll see—it’s only going up from here!
