It’s not clear whether she’s the oldest Jewish woman in the world, but her grandchildren say she is certainly the most charming. They believe her historic birthday, celebrated recently in London, is not just a family event—it carries messages for all of us.

Yes, they have documentation— 105 years ago, on July 11, 1920, baby Rachel (Renee) was born in London to Jewish immigrants who had fled from Romania and Russia. During World War II, she worked as a typist in the British postal service, living through the Nazi blitz on London. After the war, she married Grandpa Joe (Yosef David), and they had two sons, Shlomo and Anthony. The family earned a living from a clothing manufacturing business. Joe passed away at age 74, and Renee continued to run the business successfully until she retired.

Shlomo moved to Israel when he was young, thus creating the Israeli branch of the family.

Today Renee has seven grandchildren and 21 great-grandchildren. One of the grandchildren, Rabbi Yair Binstock of Efrat, recounts: “On the wall of Grandma’s small apartment hang two framed letters—one from Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth on her 100th birthday, and a new one from King Charles and his wife Camilla in honor of her 105th.

“Grandma organized her own birthday party. She greeted us standing upright, smiling, perfectly lucid, and spoke for 18 minutes straight. She personally thanked each family member and friend who came to celebrate with her, for everything they had done for her—especially in recent years. Her first thanks went to the Master of the Universe, for the privilege of reaching such an advanced age.

“All her life, from early childhood, Grandma has been meticulous in living a fully observant Jewish life. Her devotion to mitzvot was such that at age 99, when the UK was in full lockdown during COVID, she cleaned and kashered her home for Pesach entirely on her own—just months before her 100th birthday. On Rosh Hashanah, during that same lockdown, the shul’s rabbi came specially to her home to blow the shofar for her.”

Rabbi Binstock shares that at the birthday celebration last week, he sat with his cousins trying to figure out her secret. They came up with two answers:

“First, she’s interested in everything. For example, whenever my cousin, an economist, comes to visit, she asks about his work in such detail that he finds himself explaining to her complex economic concepts while she listens intently.

“Second, she doesn’t dwell on life’s heavy and painful points. It’s not that she isn’t sad when something happens, or that she forgets—it’s that she won’t allow it to weigh her down for too long. She moves on.”

The birthday girl is exceptionally independent, and only after turning 100 did she agree to have a live-in helper.

 When she was born, the Jewish population in the Land of Israel numbered about 84,000. She has always been a strong supporter of Israel, but since October 7 her connection has deepened; she prays regularly for the hostages by name, keeping their pictures before her. Even in her birthday speech she said: “I love Israel not only because my family is there. It’s deeper than that. It’s our life. It’s there for us. We must all strengthen Israel.”

Happy birthday, Renee, and mazel tov on 105 years of Jewish life, not only in quantity, but in quality.

Words of Wisdom from the Chofetz Chaim

There are times when we know we must act, yet the task feels so burdensome that we prefer to hand it off to someone else—or at least delay it until tomorrow. The Chofetz Chaim, Rabbi Yisrael Meir Kagan of Radin, offers a powerful approach to overcoming such resistance. He urges us to remember three simple truths:

There is only one thing I need to do.

Only I can do it.

I have only today to achieve it.

In last week’s Torah portion, we read the verse: “Let these matters that I command you today be on your heart.” From this single verse, the Chofetz Chaim derives three motivating principles that can help us focus on Torah learning and tackle our daily responsibilities:

“These matters” — only these things. Concentrate on what is before you right now—the page you are studying, the task in front of you—without being distracted by what comes next.

“I command you” — you specifically. Recognize that God is addressing you personally. Imagine you are the only one in the world learning Torah, and that the entire world depends on your efforts.

“Today” — right now. Act as if you have only today to complete the task. Yesterday is gone, tomorrow has not yet arrived; all you have is this moment.

When faced with laziness or procrastination, hold these three reminders close: only today, only this, only me. They can turn hesitation into action and help you accomplish your goals.

Comfort Time

These are days of comfort. Do we know this? Do we feel it?

Our sages teach that after the great darkness of destruction—after Tisha B’Av, and beginning from Tu B’Av which fell this year on Shabbat—a light of comfort and joy begins to shine. This is the Jewish pulse beating now: after Tisha B’Av come the Sheva D’Nechemta, the Seven Shabbatot of Comfort, marked by seven haftarot read in shuls. It began this past Shabbat with the words: “Comfort, comfort My people, says your God.” For thousands of years, these prophetic readings have strengthened and encouraged our people through every exile and trial.

Comfort is a woman’s and a mother’s expertise. The prophet Yeshayahu offers a beautiful metaphor: “As one whom his mother comforts, so will I comfort you.” True comfort is natural, tender, and loving—like a mother embracing and soothing her child. That is our model.

But comfort must be genuine. The Gemara warns against “vain consolations”—words that hurt more than they heal. When we comfort someone, our words must be thoughtful, precise, and truly restorative. We need to consider not only what we want to say, but what the other person needs to hear.

Rabbi Avraham Yitzchak Kook wrote: “The comfort of Israel is now our greatest and holiest obligation.” What does that mean for us today? It means speaking words that strengthen, words that lift others up—not only for those in formal mourning, but for anyone around us who feels in darkness or in need of kindness. It means listening. It means helping others find meaning in sorrow and pain. And it means reminding ourselves and each other how great and holy we are, and how important our mission remains—both personally and nationally.