Erev Tishah B’Av. We were two (mostly nice, mostly good) Bais Yaakov girls seeking the answer to a critical question: Could we still brush our teeth????
BRUSH OFF Our only hope: Rabbi Rosenberg the humble camp posek. Surely he would tell us we had a few minutes to play with! Surely he would find some obscure heter! (Pikuach social life? Post-halitosis-stress-disorder?) At the very least he could probably give us the green light to brush with some H2O
T he sun was setting the air was steamy and two panicky 14-year-olds embarked on an emergency mission: find Rabbi Rosenberg NOW.
It was Erev Tishah B’Av. We were two (mostly nice mostly good) Bais Yaakov girls seeking the answer to a critical question: Could we still brush our teeth?
Minutes earlier hundreds of campers and counselors had speckled the lawn in solitude a somber mottling of grounds that normally pulsed with song. It was like someone had pressed the mute button muzzling 300 girls to make space for something bigger heavier transcendental.
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