On a recent visit to the United States, I felt an unfamiliar disorientation. It began with the mundane: a quick trip to the grocery store and the shock of seeing how much more expensive everything felt compared to just a year or two ago. But it was a frum podcast that truly unsettled me. The hosts casually asserted that an average Orthodox family earning less than $250,000 annually is not merely struggling but verging on poverty—and that true financial security requires at least $400,000 a year. I listened, baffled. I have never earned anything close to that so-called “poverty line,” and yet I raised five children, paid tuition, married them off, and even managed to send some to camp.

Life in Israel over the past few weeks has developed a strange new rhythm. Usually, there is first a warning – a message on the phone that something may be coming – and then, sometimes minutes later, the siren cuts through the ordinary sounds of the day. Conversations stop mid-sentence, children are quickly gathered, and people step outside and make their way down the street to the public shelter. The door closes behind us, and for a few minutes we sit together waiting for the all-clear. Sometimes it is only a single siren, and a few minutes later everyone returns home. Other times, another siren follows, and then another, and we remain there longer than expected, listening, waiting, and checking our phones to see what may come next.

The Ten Commandments occupy a unique and exalted place in the Torah. Much has been written by our Sages about why these ten, of all mitzvos, were chosen to be proclaimed at Sinai and engraved on the Tablets. Without entering that broader discussion, it is clear that their selection reflects their foundational role in shaping Jewish belief and moral life.