With stories compiled by BYQ staff and students, past and present
Sometimes a gem lies in our midst for so long that we grow accustomed to its glow; only when its setting stands empty do we recognize the full brilliance it cast all along. Queens has been crowned with a jewel so dazzling and radiant that its light continues to shine – not despite her absence, but because her brilliance was powerful enough to leave a lasting glow. Queens, and more specifically the Bais Yaakov Academy of Queens, was blessed with the presence of Morah Binah Kasirer a”h for nearly four decades. During that time, countless students, teachers, and staff members were uplifted simply by standing close to her warmth, clarity, and sparkle.
As we approach the shloshim, it feels especially meaningful that this week’s parshah is VaYeishev. Rashi explains that when Yaakov Avinu hoped to finally enjoy peace after a life of struggle, kafatz alav rogzo shel Yosef – the ordeal of Yosef was suddenly thrust upon him. Tzadikim are not destined for ease; their serenity is reserved for Olam HaBa. Indeed, like Yaakov Avinu, Morah Kasirer faced many moments of adversity. Yet, like carbon transformed into a diamond through pressure, each challenge refined her, giving greater clarity to her faith and deepening the luster of her character. What could have fractured another person instead polished her into a radiant example of strength and emunah.
Coworkers and students alike recall her immense joy, unshakable positivity, and deeply inspirational lessons – each a gleaming facet of who she was. Every person who encountered her seemed to glimpse a different angle of her brilliance: her simchas ha’chayim, her warmth, her depth, her sincerity. Yet no matter which facet you saw, the core was the same: She reflected Hashem’s light with extraordinary purity. She saw His hand, felt His presence, and walked with Him in a way that made even ordinary moments shimmer with meaning.
Each morning, the Bais Yaakov of Queens began for Morah Kasirer with a tremendous smile and her signature booming, “Good morning!” In later years, climbing the stairs became difficult, forcing her to pause and catch her breath. Yet she never complained. She accepted her reality with grace, often saying simply, “One step at a time.” By the time she reached her classroom, any personal struggle had been left at the door. Her students received one hundred percent of her: present, loving, attentive, and fully engaged. Even when awaiting medical results or a critical phone call, her students never sensed worry; they saw only a morah ready to connect.
Morah Kasirer made every day feel special. Some days, she focused on appreciating the beauty of Hashem’s world; other days, on a different aspect of connecting to Hashem in our lives. And every Thursday was “HP – Hashgachah Pratis – Day.” She shared stories that were simple and small – stories most people would overlook as insignificant. But she understood that the smallest glint can reveal the greatest light. She encouraged her students to share their stories, too, and she never viewed this time as detracting from the curriculum. These moments of schmoozing, reflecting, and connecting were, to her, the real lessons. She taught her students to look closely, as one does when examining a gem, because Hashem’s presence is always there.
T’filah, too, became a lesson in polished intention. Each morning, she davened with her class, word by word. She taught that davening wasn’t a task but a conversation – one carried out with deliberate clarity and heartfelt sincerity. When students asked, “Can we daven to ourselves?” she gently corrected them: “Not to yourselves – only to Hashem. Daven to Hashem, by yourself.” A subtle shift in wording, yet a profound lesson.
Every child was precious to her – a gem worth noticing, valuing, and polishing. Each week, a girl was chosen as the VIP – her helper, someone she would meet with privately for a meaningful mechaneches schmooze. One student remembers a classmate who frequently walked in late with a Dunkin Donuts drink. Instead of criticizing her, Morah Kasirer smiled and said, “Next time, get one for me, too!” This was her refined approach – gentle, humorous, connecting rather than cutting.
Her care extended far beyond the classroom. She coordinated eighth-grade events with attention to every detail: the Melaveh Malkah, the Tzedakah Fair, the Shabbaton. She invested hours planning because she understood how meaningful these experiences were to the girls. Students recall learning how to use a double boiler in her kitchen, as they prepared desserts together, or on the Shabbaton itself, sitting in a circle on her couch talking, each girl wrapped in a blanket she provided so they would be cozy and comfortable. Even the eighth-grade sweatshirts received meticulous attention; she wanted the girls to feel proud wearing something just right. In her humility, no detail was beneath her if it mattered to her students.
This same dedication made her a beloved star in the Teacher Play each year, helping introduce the Middos Program theme. While many teachers were shy, she was the first to volunteer; she understood how valuable it was for the girls to see adults model growth and joy. She brought energy and enthusiasm to every performance and infused the two-week Middos Program with stories, discussions, and an infectious excitement for self-improvement.
Her lessons sparkled with that same passion. Whether teaching Parshah, Y’dios Klaliyos, Yamim Tovim, or Hilchos Shabbos, she inspired each student with warmth and love. Her introduction to Hilchos Shabbos was famously long; she simply could not shorten something so precious. During Covid, students remember her vibrance over Zoom; teaching from her kitchen, she joyfully demonstrated halachos hands-on, turning challenge into opportunity and monotony into meaning.
She never complained about her hardships, yet she was endlessly available to listen about the hardships of others. She empathized deeply and often surprised coworkers with a treat or thoughtful gesture to lift their spirits. She viewed every difficulty as an opportunity to learn what Hashem wanted from her. Coworkers recall a PD workshop meant to help students; she excitedly declared afterward that Hashem had sent the presenter just for her, delivering the exact message she needed. Her ability to interpret life as a personal letter from Hashem inspired everyone around her; all would be in awe at her David HaMelech-like ability to praise Hashem through the good times and the difficult ones.
She brought spirituality even to everyday moments. At lunch, she delighted in discussing Shabbos recipes or sharing which married children or grandchildren were coming for Yom Tov. Whether it was her favorite potato knishes with mushroom sauce or a trick for shredded beef, food was another facet of avodas Hashem – physicality refined into something elevated. She embodied the vision of the sulam mutzav artzah – firmly grounded in the practical world, yet always reaching upward, connecting herself and her students to something higher.
She appreciated everything – what Hashem gave her, and what others gave her. A coworker who brought her supper or a small gift during a hospital stay would receive a detailed message filled with warmth and sincerity. Her positivity brightened even the darkest challenges. She gave chizuk to others even when she was the one who truly needed it. Bubbly, cheerful, and uplifting, she never denied the weight of her struggles; she saw them as tools for connecting more deeply with Hashem. She simply refused to let them dull her shine.
A diamond is forever – enduring, timeless, and precious – and so is everything we gained from knowing Morah Kasirer. Her lessons remain etched in the hearts of her students and coworkers. We will always live with her sparkle, her clarity, her brilliance. And we thank Hashem, as she surely would have, for giving us this gem – the crowning jewel of the Bais Yaakov of Queens.
May we continue to feel her radiance, catching the rays of Hashem’s light reflected through each facet of her legacy, allowing them to guide our way.
Y’hi zichrah baruch.
