Dear Matzav Inbox,
We are privileged to live in a time when Boruch Hashem there is no shortage of inspiration at our fingertips. The frum world has been bentched with beautiful podcasts that uplift, inspire, and bring us closer to Avinu Shebashamayim. There are beautiful platforms out there that offer chizuk, hisorerus, and meaningful insights through thoughtful interviews and discussions. NOTE: This letter is not referring to those podcasts. I wish them continued hatzlacha.

Dear Matzav Inbox,
I’m writing this out of deep frustration and disappointment, and, frankly, with a heavy heart. I’ve lived in the Lakewood srea for several years now. During this time, I’ve struggled with long-term unemployment. I’ve reached out to people in the community—neighbors, acquaintances, “connections.” Time and again, I’m met with well-meaning but ultimately hollow phrases: “I’ll keep an eye out.” “I’ll let you know if I hear of anything.” Occasionally, someone sends me a job lead completely irrelevant to my background or skills. And then… silence. They forget. They move on. And I’m still here—still trying to provide for my family, still without steady work.

Dear Hanhala,
You can take away our UGGs and sneakers, change the logo, or even rename the school—but the essence of this place remains. When you focus only on the external, you’re repeating the same mistakes so many other schools have made. You’re trying to mold us all into a picture-perfect Bais Yisroel, but it’s suffocating. When will you stop obsessing over how we look and start paying attention to what we’re going through inside? Because the truth is, we’re all struggling—whether you see it or not.

Dear Matzav Inbox,
I’m not proud to be writing this. But I’m being honest…brutally honest. I want to love other Jews. I really do. I want to feel ahavas Yisroel in my heart. I want to be the kind of person who looks past the flaws, who sees the tzelem Elokim in everyone. But lately, I’ve come to a painful, ugly truth: I just can’t stand people.

Dear Matzav Inbox,
Many in our community are still reeling from the shocking story of R’ Binyomin Kubani—a devoted yungerman, a kind-hearted friend, a beloved father and husband—who, without warning, found himself thrown behind bars in what can only be described as a baseless and bewildering bilbul.
How does something like this happen? How can a man like this  be dragged into such an absurd nightmare? It’s the kind of thing you read and hear about and shake your head—“Crazy story, no?”—until it hits close to home and you realize it could happen to anyone.

Dear Matzav Inbox,
In the aftermath of the disgraceful arrest of R’ Binyomin Kubani — a father whose only “crime” was trying to hire help at a car wash — I’ve been hearing disturbing whispers. Not just from the news or social media. From real people. From my own cleaning lady. From the streets. From those who see what happened and are already preparing to exploit it.
They saw that a 15-year-old boy made up a wild story — no evidence, no investigation, no common sense — and within minutes, an innocent man was behind bars. No due process. No questioning. No presumption of innocence. Just a quick arrest, because it was easy.
Because he was a religious Jew.

To our esteemed Gevirim and Community Leaders of Brooklyn,
I write to you with great admiration and respect, aware of the many ways in which you have supported and sustained our kehilla with generosity, leadership, and vision. Your dedication to Klal Yisroel — in Torah, chesed, and communal growth — has built institutions, supported families, and shaped the future of generations.

Dear Matzav Inbox,
Every year, as sure as the traffic clogs Route 17, we get treated to the same tired charade: families pack up for the “summer in the country,” only for husbands to vanish back to the city by Monday morning, leaving behind wives to play single parent all week long. Then, come Thursday night, these husbands trickle back up for a quick 48-hour reunion, if that.
This bizarre ritual, so widely accepted in our frum community, is not cute. It’s not “reality.”
It’s dysfunction parading as normalcy, and it’s time someone said it out loud.

Dear Matzav Inbox,
Let me begin by stating the obvious: The Adirei HaTorah event this week was stunning. From the kavod haTorah to the emotional energy in the room, it was everything we hope for in a gathering that celebrates the crowns of Klal Yisroel.
But I have to ask a question for a friend — and I’m sure he’d not the only one thinking this:
Are the only singers we can find for a Litvishe yeshiva event Chassidish?
Yes, Naftali Kempeh was there — and it was a welcome breath of authenticity. But he was given one song. One. Why?
Can we take a moment and flip the script?

Dear Matzav Inbox,
We hear it all the time, and we’ve repeated it to our children as if it were a goal to strive for, an ideal to pursue: Torah ugedulah, or as it’s often called, Torah ugedulah b’makom echad.
The image is powerful: a person immersed in the depths of Torah, while also commanding influence, wealth, status, and worldly success.
It sounds noble. It sounds inspiring. It also happens to be, for the most part, a fantasy.