Our money should be used to strengthen our connection with Hashem and with each other

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It was a freezing Yerushalayim night, the sky an inky black, as I drove along. Suddenly the heavens opened, and sheets of water poured down, obliterating visibility. Thunder roared; lighting cracked. I shivered. It wasn’t the best setting to be driving to a levayah.
But an old friend of mine was flying in for her father’s kevurah, and although I hadn’t seen her for many years, nor had I known her father, I wanted to be there for her. Little did I know that I would be the one gaining more.
Reb Ephraim, my friend’s late father, was born in Berlin and saw Hitler’s troops marching down the streets of his city. At age seven, he and his family escaped to the US, leaving behind a family business, comfort, and security. They made it out alive, but life as immigrants wasn’t easy. Parnassah was tight because his father refused to work on Shabbos. As Ephraim grew older, he helped the family’s finances by driving an ice cream truck. Still, he never had his own route, as he, too, refused to work on Shabbos.
Ephraim was one of the few boys in his hometown to make it to Rav Aharon Kotler to learn in Lakewood. Torah was his lifeline, his focus that would drive him for the rest of his life.
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