יום שישי, י״א תמוז תשפ״וFriday, June 26, 2026
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Rabbi Pesach Lattin is a media executive and Phoenix-based rabbi – a fiery blend of tradition and innovation, captivating hearts with wit and wisdom.
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Strip away the punditry and the word still means what it always meant: a Yid going up. The mountain hasn't moved. The Beis HaMikdash is still missing. The longing in the word is still older than any flag.
At birth, nobody knows how the story ends. At death, the ledger is complete. You don't celebrate a ship launching. You celebrate it arriving at port.
Chazal say banav hem ma’asav – our children are our deeds. Maybe that’s the only balance sheet that matters.
Truth is, we owe a lot to that corner of the world. Without Paras, you don’t get Purim. Without Paras, there’s no megillah in shul, no matanos l’evyonim, no yelling Yimach shemo! at some poor guy dressed as Haman.
The Chofetz Chaim kept a Moshiach suit pressed and ready. Just as a soldier must be ready for battle, every Jew must be prepared for Moshiach.
But beyond his public platform, Rabbi Fink was someone who offered a listening ear and genuine friendship, particularly to those who felt overlooked.
While we’re complaining that we don’t have time for seder because of some shtus, Rebbi was writing the Mishna with one hand, holding up the klal with the other, and still finding time to give kavod to every last talmid chacham like they were Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai himself.
I recently read a story about an Israeli student at Harvard who was asked by a university employee if Jews orchestrated 9/11. This isn’t some random street in the middle of nowhere – it’s one of the most elite institutions in the world.
Let’s face it: in a community where Sara and Rivka are seen as the epitome of tznius, Bruriah might feel like it’s too loud, too forward. Maybe some see it as a statement.
It’s not just my stomach that craves forshpayz all year long; it’s my neshama.
Morah, rooted in the same shoresh as Yirah – fear, they say. But as I pondered over the cholent this past Shabbos, I concluded that it's more about awe, a reverence beyond measure.
The common apple (Malus pumila) doesn't quite fit the Eretz Yisrael native bill. Some even propose that these apples might've gone through a Cinderella-like transformation over time, evolving from their humble origins into biblical superstars. Talk about a fruit with a story!
Using the Lashon Kodesh reveals its true majesty. It encompasses not only the art of comforting but also the radiant restoration of hope, the gentle touch of healing, and the grace of solace for all souls in need.
I ask that both Jewish and non-Jewish publications please verify the stories of people who make ridiculous claims about frum Jews as if they represent us or have anything to do with us.
June 26, 2026 
