Jewish Action Fall 2025 by Jewish Action

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INSIDE

FEATURES

SYNAGOGUE & PRAYER

Between Nusach and Niggun: The Chazzan’s Evolving Role By Yosef Lindell

ON MY MIND

The Power of Preparation: Elevating Mitzvos Through Hachanah By Moishe Bane

Tips for Preparing for the High Holidays By Rabbi Gil Student

COVER STORY

Building a Community: Stories from the Ground Up

Getting It Done, and Doing It Right, in Houston: Yakov Polatsek By S. Schreiber

Warmth Beyond Sunshine in Phoenix: Shaun and Gary Tuch By Sandy Eller

Living Together in Linden: Andy and Samantha Van Houter By Sandy Eller

Putting Springfield, New Jersey, on the Map: Ben Hoffer By Judy Gruen

How a Shul Rewrote Its Story: Yosef Kirschner By Judy Gruen

The Accidental Activist: Avi Apfel By Merri Ukraincik

Modeling Leadership in Memphis: Noam and Dr. Deena Davidovics By Rachel Schwartzberg

Lessons in Community Building—From Israel: How a Religious Community Took Root in Ariel By Carol Ungar

The Artistry of Shabbat Lights By David Olivestone

Shabbat Candles: Halachot and Customs By Rabbi Dr. Ari Z. Zivotofsky

The Sacred Pause: Finding Shabbat in a World That Never Stops By Charlene Trino

The Shabbat Table That Found Me By Shirley Parker

Shabbat in a Changed Israel: How Israelis Have Embraced Shabbat Since October 7 By Carol Ungar

LETTERS

FROM THE DESK OF RABBI MOSHE HAUER

Sodom, Akeidat Yitzchak and the New York Times: A Yamim Noraim Reflection

MENSCH MANAGEMENT

The Spirituality of Imperfection: Lessons for the Yamim Noraim By Rabbi Dr. Josh Joseph

JUST BETWEEN US All the Lonely People By Esther Kook

KOSHERKOPY

From Kashering Boards to Cookie Factories: Inside a Groundbreaking Kashrus Program Just for Women By Naomi Ross

THE CHEF’S TABLE

An Apple a Day . . . Recipes for the High Holidays By Naomi Ross

NEW FROM OU PRESS

Kosher Certification According to Halachah: The Foundations of Communal Kashrut By Rabbi Peretz Moncharsh

REVIEWS IN BRIEF By Rabbi Gil Student

BOOKS

Articles of Faith: Traditional Jewish Belief in the Internet Era By Rabbi Gil Student Reviewed by Rabbi Steven Gotlib

LASTING IMPRESSIONS

The High Holidays of My Youth By Adina Sapir

Cover Design: Rivky Schwartz Inventivenyc.com

TAKING A STAND AGAINST PHONES IN SCHOOLS

THE MAGAZINE OF THE ORTHODOX UNION jewishaction.com

Editor in Chief Nechama Carmel carmeln@ou.org

Associate Editor Sarah Weiner

Editor in Chief Nechama Carmel carmeln@ou.org

Assistant Editor Sara Olson

Associate Digital Editor Rachelly Eisenberger

The principals in the recent article “Taking Back Our Schools— and Childhood” (spring 2025) should be applauded for taking a stand against phone use in schools. They are probably downplaying the pushback from many parents who are concerned with their children’s social status. These principals should stand firm and inspire every principal of every Jewish day school in the country to do the same.

Rabbinic Advisor

Literary Editor Emeritus Matis Greenblatt

Rabbi Yitzchak Breitowitz

Book Editor

Rabbi Gil Student

Book Editor

Rabbi Eliyahu Krakowski

Contributing Editors

Rabbi Yitzchok Adlerstein • Dr. Judith Bleich

Contributing Editors

Rabbi Emanuel Feldman • Rabbi Hillel Goldberg

Rabbi Yitzchok Adlerstein • Moishe Bane • Dr. Judith Bleich

Rabbi Sol Roth • Rabbi Jacob J. Schacter

Rabbi Emanuel Feldman • Rabbi Dr. Hillel Goldberg

Rabbi Berel Wein

David Olivestone • Rabbi Sol Roth • Rabbi Jacob J. Schacter

Editorial Committee

Rabbi Dovid Bashevkin • Rabbi Binyamin Ehrenkranz

Moishe Bane • Rabbi Dovid Bashevkin • Rabbi Yaakov Glasser

Rabbi Avrohom Gordimer • David Olivestone

Gerald M. Schreck • Rabbi Gil Student

David Olivestone • Gerald M. Schreck • Dr. Rosalyn Sherman

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There is another step that principals can take. In some schools, administrators and teachers walk around the school with their noses in their phones. This is rude to the rest of the staff and to students. Let’s support the principals in the “no student phone in school” rule and “Wait Past 8” policy. And let’s instill the message that adults in schools should save checking messages for their offices and show their faces to the students and staff as they walk around school—modeling greeting every person with a “seiver panim yafot” [cheerful face]. Now that promotes emotional health!

Sima Greenman Teaneck, New Jersey

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REMEMBERING TOBIE AND RABBI ARYEH KAPLAN

Vice Chairman of the Board Mordecai D. Katz

ORTHODOX UNION

I was so pleased to see the kavod Tobie Kaplan’s children expressed for her in the recent tribute article by Tova Cohen (“Tobie Kaplan: The Woman Who Helped Shape Rabbi Aryeh Kaplan’s Enduring Legacy,” summer 2025).

Chairman, Board of Governors Henry I. Rothman

President Mitchel R. Aeder

My family and I knew her as Toba Leah.

Chairman, Board of Directors Yehuda Neuberger

Vice Chairman, Board of Governors Gerald M. Schreck

Executive Vice President/Chief Professional Officer Allen I. Fagin

Vice Chairman, Board of Directors Morris Smith

Chief Institutional Advancement Officer Arnold Gerson

Chairman, Board of Governors Henry Orlinsky

Senior Managing Director Rabbi Steven Weil

Vice Chairman, Board of Governors Jerry Wolasky

Executive Vice President, Emeritus Rabbi Dr. Tzvi Hersh Weinreb

I can attest to the warm welcome she extended to our son Daniel Epstein, z”l, when he was a student at Yeshiva University; he would often spend Shabbat with them during which Rabbi Kaplan helped him with his studies.

Tobie’s grandfather, Louis Goldstein, was my mother’s brother, and although Tobie grew up in the Deep South, she was part of a very committed frum family from Louisville, Kentucky.

Chief Financial Officer/Chief Administrative Officer Shlomo Schwartz

Executive Vice President Rabbi Moshe Hauer

Chief Human Resources Officer

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Rabbi Dr. Tzvi Hersh Weinreb

Chief Innovation Officer

Rabbi Dave Felsenthal

Managing Director, Communal Engagement

Rabbi Yaakov Glasser

Director of Marketing and Communications Gary Magder

Director, Jewish Media, Publications and Editorial Communications

Rabbi Gil Student

Jewish Action Committee

Gerald M. Schreck, Chairman

Jewish Action Committee

Joel M. Schreiber, Chairman Emeritus

Dr. Rosalyn Sherman, Chair

Gerald M. Schreck, Co-Chair

My fondest memories are of Tobie’s great-grandfather, my Zadie Isaac, who went to bed early each evening so he could come back down and learn at the dining room table for an hour at midnight. Indeed, it was our family, the Goldsteins and Simons, who founded the Eliahu Academy Jewish Day School in Louisville, where Rabbi Kaplan taught. I grew up in Cincinnati, Ohio, where my father was the shochet and mohel during Rabbi Eliezer Silver’s reign, but many of my extended family members had the privilege of having Rabbi Kaplan as their teacher. He had a profound influence on their lives, and six generations later, my mother Anna and her siblings all have grandchildren and great-grandchildren who are on the derech

Joel M. Schreiber, Chairman Emeritus

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Esther Rae (Lowenthal) Epstein Indianapolis, Indiana

I read with interest your article about Tobie Kaplan, Rabbi Aryeh Kaplan’s wife, who safeguarded his legacy through his

I am privileged to empower women through advanced Torah learning as both a proud YU alumnus and educator.

Dr. Nechama Price Director, Graduate Program in Advanced Talmud Studies

The Graduate Program in Advanced Talmud/Tanach Studies (GPATS) empowers a select group of accomplished Orthodox women to deepen their mastery of Torah through rigorous, immersive study of Talmud and Tanach. Accredited to grant a Master’s in Biblical and Talmudic Interpretation, the program equips students with the skills, scholarship, and credentials to become dynamic educators and leaders in the Jewish community.

writings. In 1983, I came to Israel at age twenty-nine to study in yeshivah for the first time in my life. Rabbi Kaplan’s writings about Yiddishkeit were very important to those of us returning to the fold. Since I had been involved with meditation in the context of Zen Buddhism, I was especially interested in his work on Jewish meditation. His books, Meditation and the Bible, Meditation and Kabbalah and Jewish Meditation: A Practical Guide helped me make the transition to Jewish life. He not only wrote about meditation but also practiced it and was truly a pioneer in this often-neglected part of Torah.

Uri Mendel Weinberger Jerusalem, Israel

DEALING WITH DEMENTIA

Thank you for the excellent articles about dementia in your summer 2025 magazine. For the past five years, my husband has been suffering from Alzheimer’s. I was able to identify with so much of what was written. Unfortunately, dementia has become more widespread, and with no cure on the horizon, life can be extremely challenging for patients and their families. I am fortunate to still be working part time, which really helps me stay sane. As mentioned in the articles, we live for the moments, semachot, nachas from our families, trips or just smelling the flowers!

I could have written the very articulate fictional letter with which Rabbi Daniel Rose began his article, “Writing the Final Chapter: A Torah View on Facing Mortality.” However, I would like to add to Rabbi Rose’s answer on what we [the caretakers] should daven for. In addition to davening for “Hashem’s compassion . . . that [the patient’s] aides should be kind, that his overall health should remain strong,” among the other things he mentions, I daven daily for Hashem to give me the koach (strength) and patience that I need to get through the day. Also, in Shemoneh Esrei I concentrate on the berachah of “chonen hada’at,” that I should continue to have the da’at to be able to take care of my husband and myself.

Shulamit Gartenhaus Baltimore, Maryland

Thank you for your articles on dementia, especially “Dementia in Halachah” by Rabbi Dr. Jason Weiner. There are several areas in which more information is needed. For example, halachic guidance is also needed in the area of kashrus—especially when a home attendant is in the home. Preparations might include putting away china and other non-kosherable items and clear labeling of the kitchen. Another area where halachic guidance is needed

is in taking things away from the person with dementia (keys, cars, banking and financial documents) and easing anxiety by making promises and not telling the truth. Aspects of physical care need to be addressed as well. Because of the changing nature of dementia, halachic guidance is needed at each stage and as new issues arise. Since most forms of dementia are long term—lasting many years—care can get progressively difficult and more expensive as outside assistance might be needed. It is prudent to consult with a lawyer who specializes in longterm care options, Medicaid and estate planning.

Many people who have early dementia start to wander. A medical alert bracelet should be purchased. In the case of a single caregiver, a duplicate bracelet stating that you are the caregiver of a person with dementia is advisable. This is so if, chas v’shalom, something happens to the caregiver, Hatzalah and the police will also look for the person with dementia.

Many physical changes can be made in the home to help a person with dementia maintain independence for a longer period of time. Preparation can make things easier for both the person with dementia and the caregiver.

Susan Methal RN, CMCDPT, CADDCT Corporate Director

Bainbridge Adult Day Health Care Centers Brooklyn, New York

THE HUMAN

SIDE OF THE DISENGAGEMENT

I especially appreciated the articles focused on the dismantling of the Gush Katif community and its aftermath (“Twenty Years Later—Remembering the Uprooting of Gush Katif,” summer 2025). Having previously only had exposure to it through news stories, the articles gave me an inside glimpse into the human side of this important episode in our recent history.

Dr. Howard Lear

Department of English Levinsky College of Education

Tel Aviv, Israel

THE GREAT Z’MANIM DEBATE: RABBI AHRON NOTIS RESPONDS

I am writing in regard to Rabbi Yaakov Hoffman’s review of my book The Great Z’manim Debate: The History, the Science, and the Lomdus printed in your most recent issue (summer 2025).

I would like to begin by thanking Rabbi Hoffman and acknowledging that his review contains valid points and insightful halachic arguments. I would, however, like to clarify that my book is not a halachah l’ma’aseh sefer; it is

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Dr. Jeong Mun Heo Head of Development for South Korea at Revel Head of Hebraica Veritas: Korean-Jewish Fellowship Program (Certificate in Jewish Studies), South Korea

The Bernard Revel Graduate School offers a rigorous and comprehensive education in Jewish Studies, equipping students with both an extensive understanding of the field and the intellectual acumen necessary for advanced scholarly and research pursuits. This distinguished program not only prepares graduates for distinguished careers in academia but also provides a robust foundation for success in a variety of other professional paths, including law, business, education, and public service.

a presentation of all the major opinions in this debate with an explanation of the science and astronomy that underlie these opinions. As I make clear in the book, regarding practical halachah one should speak to his personal rav.

In his review, Rabbi Hoffman writes that he is not convinced that shekias hachamah in the Gemara refers to what we call sunset. This definition of shekias hachamah is found in responsa from the Geonim. My book presents this opinion, as well as the opposing opinions found in Rishonim, together with the insights and analysis of gedolei Yisrael. It does not issue the author’s halachic ruling on this dispute.

Rabbi Hoffman correctly points out that in a number of places, the book uses strong language when discussing the lack of scientific knowledge of previous generations. I would like to clarify that the strong language appears in quotes from gedolim, not from the author.

What is unique and fascinating about the topic of halachic zemanim is that the fundamental issues debated by Rishonim have been resolved by Acharonim such as the Levush, the Minchas Kohen, the Vilna Gaon and the Ba’al HaTanya, based on science and observation. The book presents the arguments and counterarguments in this fierce Torah debate and explains the science and realities to which they refer. This debate in Torah contains some forceful positions, which these gedolim expressed in firm and conclusive language. The strong language used by these gedolim when pointing out scientific errors of previous generations is indeed unusual and upsetting to some people. The book discusses why they used such strong language and how to understand their criticism of earlier chachamim.

Anyone seeking the final word on halachic zemanim should not expect to find this in The Great Z’manim Debate; that is not the book’s aim. Anyone interested in exploring a fascinating halachic debate that is intertwined with science and astronomy, and which has engaged great minds for a thousand years, will enjoy this book.

Jewish Action Wins Five Rockower Awards

Jewish Action won five Simon Rockower Awards for Excellence in Jewish Journalism for work that appeared in 2024. The prestigious awards, referred to as the “Jewish Pulitzers,” are sponsored by the American Jewish Press Association (AJPA), which holds a journalism competition for leading Jewish magazines and newspapers across the country. The entries are judged by a panel of judges with expertise in journalism, writing/reporting, editing, graphic design and cartooning in both Jewish and nonJewish media. Winning articles included:

First Place

• Gideon Askowitz, Rebecca Massel, Adin Moskowitz, Eitan Fischer and Isaac Ohrenstein, “Voices from Campus” (spring 2024)

WE WANT TO HEAR FROM YOU!

To send a letter to Jewish Action, e-mail ja@ou.org. Letters may be edited for clarity.

Transliterations in the magazine are based on Sephardic pronunciation, unless an author is known to use Ashkenazic pronunciation. Thus, the inconsistencies in transliterations in the magazine are due to authors’ or interviewees’ preferences.

This magazine contains divrei Torah and should therefore be disposed of respectfully by either double-wrapping prior to disposal or placing in a recycling bin.

Second Place

• Carol Ungar, “A Laughing Matter” (spring 2024)

• Leah Lightman, “The Holiest Work” (summer 2024)

Honorable Mention

• Steve Lipman, “The Eruv Maven: Meet Rabbi Micah Shotkin” (fall 2024)

• Tova Cohen, “How Students Are Responding to Antisemitism” (spring 2024)

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Andrea

Schneider Professor

of Law Director, Kukin Program for Conflict Resolution

Cardozo School of Law

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FROM THE DESK OF RABBI MOSHE HAUER

SODOM, AKEIDAT YITZCHAK AND THE NEW YORK TIMES: A YAMIM NORAIM REFLECTION

By Rabbi Moshe Hauer

I. It is infuriating. The incomplete and twisted narrative promoted by many in the media and government casts Israel’s holy and dedicated army and Jewish people everywhere as genocidal, oppressive and hateful. How can they forget who initiated the attack on October 7, including not only the “soldiers” of Hamas but the common Gazans who joined them? How dare they preach about Israel’s humanitarian responsibilities while failing to exert maximum pressure on Hamas to unconditionally and immediately release the hostages? How do they level accusations of genocide against an army that warns its targets before launching attacks? How do they highlight the destruction of homes and hospitals while ignoring the terror infrastructure embedded within and beneath them? Don’t

they understand that there is only one army in the entire region that follows a moral code and reviews its actions for compliance with international law; that one side in this conflict sees civilian casualties as a tragedy while the other cynically uses them as a strategy? Why is the plain truth so hidden from them?

II. “The outcry against Sodom and Amora is great and their sin is very grave. I shall go down now and see if they have really done as much as the outcry that has reached me, and if not, I will know.”1

The city of Sodom had a reputation of being a terrible place, inhospitable and uncaring to the extreme, where the culture of alienation persisted despite the city’s proximity to Avraham, the world’s greatest model of kindness, and even after his nephew and student Lot came to live among them. Sodom’s treatment of others had reached a boiling point, but before acting to destroy the city, G-d wanted to see it for Himself, so to speak, by sending angels posing as guests to see how they would be treated by Lot and the locals. Made aware of the plan, Avraham prayed and pleaded successfully with G-d to be as forgiving and tolerant as He possibly could and to extend compassion to Sodom if He found even a glimmer of goodness in its midst. That goodness was not to be found. When Lot followed the model of Avraham and welcomed the guests into his home, he and they faced the vicious fury of the entire city, “from young to old, all of the people from every quarter.”2

Sodom clearly deserved its fate, as it demonstrated its persistent

cruelty and its resistance to being influenced by the greatest teachers and role models. Yet even as Sodom was destroyed, G-d plucked Lot from the midst of the devastation such that the righteous would not be destroyed along with the wicked. The destruction of Sodom was done with perfect justice and left no theological questions.

Sodom’s destruction should therefore presumably serve as a powerful and prominent religious symbol, vividly displaying G-d’s existence and presence and His true and unquestionable justice. Wouldn’t its story be the perfect illustrative Torah reading for the Day of Judgment (Rosh Hashanah)? Shouldn’t its ruins serve as the ultimate monument to G-d’s presence in this world? Yet while we read much of Parashat Vayera on Rosh Hashanah, we disregard this section—and the ruins of Sodom are altogether forgotten, serving neither as the location of G-d’s Temple nor as a place of pilgrimage.

Why is this rare and vivid display of G-d’s truth virtually ignored?

III. The context! Do they not realize that Israel’s occupation of Gaza ended in 2005? Do they not recognize that the checkpoints and sieges were not created to humiliate Palestinians but were a failed attempt to prevent Hamas from building its massive terror infrastructure and arsenal with the goal of destroying Israel? How dare they suggest granting a state to those who remain committed to Israel’s destruction—and do so now, as a reward for the terror of October 7? How can they hypocritically call for two states for two peoples

Rabbi Moshe Hauer is executive vice president of the Orthodox Union.

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without noting that the Jewish State will always welcome Arabs while the Palestinian territories are Judenrein? How do they call for deescalation and ceasefires without realizing that one side will use that quiet to resume their quest to create the next revolution in artificial intelligence, medicine or agriculture, while the other will use it to rearm and rebuild its terror tunnels? How do they claim to champion peace and coexistence without noting that it is one side’s dream and the other’s nightmare?

How can they consistently ignore the full picture?

IV. “Take your son, your only one, the one whom you love—Yitzchak— and go to the land of Moriah and offer him up there as a burnt offering on one of the mountains, the one that I will show you.”3

How could it be? Avraham and Sarah had waited for the birth of this child for decades. Finally, and miraculously, he was born, and it was he who would carry forward the covenant, mission and destiny that G-d had chosen for Avraham, whom He knew “would teach his children and his household the way of G-d, doing what is right and just.”4

And now G-d is asking his beloved Avraham to sacrifice his future in an act that would contradict every principle of righteousness and justice that he had taught the world! Avraham, who had always walked before G-d,5 anticipating6 and identifying with7 His every command, was being asked to do the incomprehensible. The happy outcome of Yitzchak being spared was certainly welcome, but it did not resolve the overwhelming questions that arose along the way to the mountaintop.

If Sodom is where G-d and His judgment are made vividly clear, Moriah is where He and His ways are most hidden and mysterious. Yet it is the place consecrated forever as G-d’s Temple on Earth, where He will be most visible—b’har Hashem yeira’eh8—and it is the story that

we read from the Torah on Rosh Hashanah and repeatedly invoke in its prayers and rituals, as the shofar represents the horn of the ram that was offered in place of Yitzchak. We may deeply admire and take pride in our forefather Avraham’s heroic willingness to sacrifice that which was dearest to Him for G-d, but is the Akeidah the fitting thing to highlight on G-d’s Day of Judgment? Avraham’s words in praying for Sodom resonate here: “What a desecration it would be for You to kill the righteous with the wicked, treating the righteous like the wicked. . . . Shall the Judge of all the Earth not do justice?!”9

V. The Israeli government, army and people are imperfect. Technical mistakes will cause their bombs to kill those they did not target, and the horror and trauma of war will even lead some of their soldiers to commit war crimes. Politicians are always complicated, security cabinets and army chiefs of staff may make poor strategic decisions, and some within the government, army and citizenry who have had enough of Arab intransigence will call for vengeance and population transfer. In the thick of an existential war with an enemy explicitly committed to its destruction, Israel has not made it a priority to clearly explain its actions or address valid issues that others consider pressing. These are the bugs, not the features, of the Israeli war effort. Yet these imperfections are repeated so often that they have become a mantra among Israel’s critics, used to characterize—or, perhaps more accurately, to condemn—Israel and the Jewish people: the nation of goodness that is a source of blessing to the world and its leader in charity, morality and faith.

It is infuriating and humiliating. The false and incomplete narratives portray the “Light unto the Nations” as a source of darkness. Klal Yisrael is defamed and disgraced. We are so very far from seeing the fulfillment of the Rosh Hashanah prayer of tein kavod Hashem l’amecha, that G-d deliver honor to His people.

VI. While Rosh Hashanah is the Day of Judgment, it is also the anniversary of Creation, the moment when G-d, in His kindness, created man in His image so that we would benefit from His ultimate goodness.10 G-d built the world on kindness,11 to offer opportunity and blessing to His creations—gomel chasadim tovim v’koneh hakol.12 G-d’s goodness is such that He wants only that which is good for us. “Remember us for life, O King Who desires life, and inscribe us for life.”13 Even as we approach Him in Judgment, we are reminded that He “does not seek the death of the wicked but their improvement so that they may live.”14

That is the truth. But is it the prevailing narrative? Already on that first Rosh Hashanah, the snake convinced Chavah that G-d was not giving but rather withholding from them the ultimate good.15 And ever since, do we believe G-d’s narrative or the serpent’s? Do Jews come to shul en masse on the High Holidays because they want to greet the King Who desires life—or because they are frightened for their lives? Do we fixate on U’netaneh Tokef because of its imagery of the caring shepherd lovingly tending to each member of its flock—or because of its dramatic and humbling depiction of G-d’s judgment? How many rabbis find their schedules filled with people wondering aloud why G-d has showered them with so much good?

Several years ago, a longtime acquaintance of mine lost his wife, Rachmana litzlan, at a young age. She had battled cancer, and one summer, while their younger children were at camp, it returned with a vengeance. The couple decided not to share the news with their children to allow them to enjoy the summer. When the kids came home, they found their mother still very aware, very alive, but very, very sick. Upon seeing her, one of them broke down and cried, “Mommy, why does this have to happen to you? Why you?!” She held her child and told her, “You know, I have had the most wonderful life. I was blessed with you and with your brothers and sisters. I was

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blessed with wonderful parents, with Daddy, with good friends and many good times. When I had all that, I never questioned, ‘Why me?’ If I didn’t ask it then, I won’t ask it now.”

No, we, and the world at large, neither appreciate G-d’s goodness nor understand His judgment. The G-d of tzedakah u’mishpat stands constantly accused of being uncaring and unjust and making bad things happen to good people. The G-d of goodness, the source of blessing in the world and the source of all that is, Who models every virtuous trait, is demonized as the very opposite.

During the Yamim Noraim, we seek to restore G-d’s good name. We pray for the day when the world He created will recognize Him and celebrate His goodness, honor His people, and value all those things that will bring the righteous to rejoice. That is the world we pray for—but for now, at best, His presence in our world can only be perceived in its hiddenness. If we search for Him in the ruins of Sodom, in the transparent, perfect exercise of fairness and judgment, we will not find Him. G-d is only visible to those whose vision can pierce the cloudy mystery of the Akeidah. The Days of Judgment revolve not around Sodom but around the Akeidah—on our belief in the G-d in Whose judgment we trust even as we cannot fully understand, and in the ultimate acknowledgment of the Yom Kippur confessions, “V’Atah tzaddik al kol haba aleinu—G-d, You are the righteous one in all that has befallen us.”

VII. The central motif of our prayers on Rosh Hashanah is our hope for the restoration of G-d’s honor and kingdom in His world; on Yom Kippur, our confessions, assumption of responsibility, and pleas for His forgiveness take center stage. It is a season of rebirth—hayom harat olam—our opportunity to move from anger to trust. A time to lift ourselves out of the frustration over all the terrible things “they” have been doing to us and instead reflect on what “we” can do better: to shift from being plagued by the shame and demonization heaped upon us and focus instead on how we can deepen the world’s honor and love for G-d.

In this world, we will find G-d in the clouds hovering over Moriah that we approach in the trusting and committed footsteps of Avraham, leaving there with G-d’s blessing to him: “I will bestow My blessing upon you and make your descendants as numerous as the stars of heaven and the sands on the seashore; your descendants shall seize the gates of their enemies; and all the nations of the earth shall find blessing through your descendants, because you have heard

10. Derech Hashem 1:2:1.

11. Tehillim 89:2.

12. Opening berachah of the Amidah.

13. Ibid.

14. Yechezkiel 33:11.

15. Bereishit 3:1–5.

16. Bereishit 22:17–18.

5. Bereishit 17:1, 24:38; Rashi 6:9. Bereishit Rabbah 95:3. Hilchot Teshuvah 10:2.

Bereishit 22:14.

Bereishit 18:25.

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THE SPIRITUALITY OF IMPERFECTION: LESSONS

By Rabbi Dr. Josh Joseph

I missed the deadline for this essay. I’m sorry about that. It’s just one of the daily mistakes I make, the imperfections I try to own and learn from.

If “perfect is the enemy of the good,” as attributed to Voltaire, might we infer that “imperfection is the friend of the great?” As the Jewish High Holy Days approach, many of us engage in a practice called cheshbon hanefesh—literally, an “accounting of the soul.” It’s time for our annual performance review, on a personal level and not just at work, a time for honest self-reflection, acknowledging our failures and charting a path forward. While this tradition is deeply rooted in Jewish practice, its lessons are profoundly relevant to corporate and nonprofit leaders of all stripes who are navigating how best to drive meaningful change while maintaining the trust and credibility essential for lasting influence.

From an early age, we are taught that failure is a bad thing and that we should do everything we can to avoid it. What this causes is a tradeoff: it creates a culture focused not on succeeding but on not failing.

Our fear of our imperfections also holds us back from learning and growing. As Rabbi Elimelech of Lizhensk noted: “Only G-d is perfect.

FOR THE YAMIM NORAIM

Man’s actions must be basically defective in part. If one believes his good deed or holy study to be thoroughly pure and perfect, this is a sure sign they are thoroughly bad” (Louis Newman, The Hasidic Anthology [New York: Scribner, 1954], 315).

The prophet Michah stated (7:8): “Ki nafalti kamti—though I have fallen, I rise again.” How might we adopt this mindset and shift our focus toward success rather than merely avoiding failure? And how might we embrace our imperfections so that we may achieve even greater heights?

In a digital-first world that often seems to revolve around touting our accomplishments and announcing our successes, perhaps the most important assumption underlying this season is that it’s not about all we’ve achieved in the past year. Quite the opposite—it assumes we’re imperfect and have accumulated failures, mistakes and missed opportunities.

The question, then, isn’t whether we’ve fallen short personally or professionally. Rather, the challenge is facing the reality that we have all inevitably fallen short.

The Three Pillars of Embracing Imperfection and “Failing Forward”

From my experience as an imperfectionist and a nonprofit leader, I’ve identified three steps for transforming personal and organizational mistakes into growth opportunities.

1. Pushing to and through failure: if at first we don’t succeed . . . I’ve missed more than 9,000 shots in my career. I’ve lost almost 300 games. Twenty-six times I’ve been trusted to take the game-winning shot and missed. I’ve failed over and over and over again in my life. And that is why I succeed (Michael Jordan in a Nike commercial).

Whether on a personal level or organizationally, growth and innovation are often elusive. This is

especially so in a culture built on selfprotection, process and fear. When fear of failure holds us back, we never fully push ourselves to next-level thinking, bold action and, ultimately, success. When we exercise, we actually break down muscle. The process can be painful, but we must achieve that failure in order to grow. We need to establish a culture that not only allows for but even encourages failure so we can create space for the learning opportunities that spring from the failures, the imperfections, the misses. In a recent training with a group of intrapreneurs at the OU—talented employees across departments and levels—I asked them to “please fail.” The best way to learn your limitations is to sail past them!

2. Embracing imperfection: accepting limitations and owning mistakes Fay Vincent, who served as Major League Baseball commissioner from 1989 to 1992, famously said: “Baseball teaches us, or has taught most of us, how to deal with failure. . . . I also find it fascinating that baseball, alone in sport, considers errors to be part of the game, part of its rigorous truth” (Ernest Kurtz and Katherine Ketcham, The Spirituality of Imperfection [New York: Bantam, 1993]).

When you’re managing complex operations and multiple stakeholders, mistakes are inevitable. Perfectionism isn’t just unrealistic—it’s counterproductive. Baseball is a milieu where if you fail seven times out of ten, you’re a hero. As organizational leaders, we must embrace this kind of imperfectionism—although perhaps not at that rate! In The Spirituality of Imperfection, the authors write that this kind of spiritual wisdom isn’t about knowledge—it’s “a spirituality of not having all the answers.”

Rabbi Dr. Josh Joseph is executive vice president/chief operating officer of the Orthodox Union.

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Saving Children from an Epidemic

In the early 1900s, tens of thousands of children in pre-state Israel were going blind. The disease was trachoma. In 1912, an extraordinary woman named Henrietta Szold from Baltimore brought American Jewish women together to make an impact. This was the beginning of Hadassah, The Women’s Zionist Organization of America. Hadassah not only helped eradicate the disease but helped pioneer a national healthcare system that set the standard for medical excellence and innovation.

Rescuing Children Since the Holocaust

In the 1930s and ’40s, European children needed to be saved from the horrors of the Holocaust. Henrietta Szold and the women of Hadassah successfully helped rescue approximately 13,000 Jewish children and gave them homes, medical care and the love they needed to lead meaningful lives. Since

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Building Israel’s Health Infrastructure

Hadassah was instrumental in creating Israel’s healthcare infrastructure even before the State was formed. Hadassah Medical Organization, established in 1918, built hospitals, clinics and medical training facilities, and opened its two major medical centers in Jerusalem—Hadassah Mt. Scopus in 1939 and Hadassah Ein Kerem in 1961. Today, these world-renowned hospitals treat over 1 million patients a year.

Pioneering Medical Treatments

Hadassah hospitals are the birthplace of firsts: first-in-the-world stem-cell therapy and robotic surgery breakthroughs; Israel’s first artificial heart transplant, bone marrow transplant registry, AI-driven IVF techniques to improve implantation results, proton therapy to more precisely target cancer tumors and more. Hadassah Medical Organization also engages in international collaborations sharing medical research, training, treatments and humanitarian e orts. These medical milestones restore lives, reunite families and enable healthy futures.

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*Source: The Times of Israel, February 11, 2025

Advancing the Future of Medicine

At Hadassah hospitals, we’re applying revolutionary medical solutions to save lives every day. For one man with stage four melanoma, an individually tailored breakthrough vaccine gave him a new life. For a woman su ering from debilitating MS, a cutting-edge stem cell treatment enabled her to walk again. For millions of others treated at Hadassah hospitals, supported at our Youth Aliyah villages or touched by our work in the US, our impact—thanks to Henrietta Szold’s vision—has been truly lifechanging.

The Women’s Zionist Organization of America, Inc.

Imperfectionism isn’t about lowering standards or accepting mediocrity. It’s about creating a culture where failure becomes a catalyst for growth rather than a source of shame. As Shlomo Hamelech writes in Mishlei (24:16): “Ki sheva yipol tzaddik vakam—Seven times the righteous man falls and gets up.” If this is true for the righteous, then how much more so for me?

What that looks like can vary from small, personal examples of imperfection to bigger, more institutional ones. One instance of imperfection I experienced recently was in expressing my support to our 200 staff members huddling in bomb shelters across Israel during the recent Israel-Iran war. While each person I was writing to was in my thoughts, I incorporated some of the same language in multiple messages, and at one point I copied and pasted a note to a different staff member with the wrong name in the subject line.

It may have been a comparatively small-scale imperfection, but it stings to receive a note of support that’s actually addressed to someone else, and it suggests that the sender sees people as items on a checklist rather than as individuals. In this case, I immediately owned my mistake, apologized and reaffirmed my genuine care for each team member. Failure never feels good, but when we take ownership of it, it can teach us to strive to be better. A fundamental element of leadership is the willingness and ability to take full responsibility without deflecting blame or asking for special consideration. Your team is watching how you handle failure, and your response sets the organizational tone. There’s another, darker side of this equation that has serious consequences. In “The Pain of Perfectionism” (The New Yorker, August 2025, https://www.newyorker. com/magazine/2025/08/11/ the-pain-of-perfectionism), Leslie Jamison discusses the insidiousness of perfectionism that “perpetuates an endless state of striving. It’s an affliction of futility, an addiction to finding masochistic refuge in the familiar hell of feeling insufficient.”

She investigates the work of Gordon Flett, a psychologist known for his research on perfectionism, who

believes that younger generations are facing an “epidemic of perfectionism.”

In a survey of Canadian high school students, Flett found that 54 percent identified with the statement “I need to be perfect.” A recent Gallup poll (2024) agreed, finding that a third of teenagers in the US “feel pressure to be perfect.” Worse, Flett and Paul Hewitt, a professor of psychology, have demonstrated a connection between perfectionism and more serious forms of mental illness, including depression, anorexia and even suicide. If we are unable to acknowledge our mistakes and own them, we can lead ourselves and others down dark paths. So how might we overcome the tendency to pressure others into perfectionism? My friend Joey used to encourage his kids—and taught me to encourage mine—every time they fell while learning to walk or ride a bicycle, or got hurt in any way. He would yell, “Safe!” as if they had just slid home with the game-winning run! His tone of voice and the smile on his face encouraged failure and changed the child’s perspective. It was magic watching my own kids smile when I did that.

3. Learn to grow: understanding the implications of our imperfections

The thing that was most helpful was when you made a mistake, you recognized it, and we got through it. When the perfectionist sees her therapist owning up to a mistake, she has an opportunity to see that imperfection “just is . . . [t]here’s no devastating consequence” (ibid.).

For both organizations and their leaders, it is often challenging to discern the valuable lessons hidden within our imperfections. Kurtz and Ketcham share this concept in a parable of a disciple who complains: “You tell us stories, but you never reveal their meaning to us.” The master responds: “How would you like it if someone offered you fruit and then chewed it up for you before giving it to you?”

There is no universal template for understanding the implications of each mistake, but it is possible to learn from our errors. A personal example that comes to mind is when an organization awards a grant to the wrong candidate: we recently introduced an intensive process for internal leaders and

departments to apply for strategic grants—but that doesn’t always guarantee the funding is used in the best possible way. We had a grant recipient who presented impressive goals but failed to spend the funding for a full year, despite being clearly informed that it was earmarked for a specific project. When they returned to request additional funding, we acknowledged that awarding the original grant had been a mistake—and we chose not to allocate any further resources.

Though we owned that mistake, there are additional implications that may be more complex to address. The grant recipient should consider what obstacles may be preventing them from utilizing the funding effectively— and reflect on how to either remove those obstacles or adjust their goals accordingly. For the organization, the implications include taking a hard look at our grant-awarding process and evaluating whether additional variables should be considered or whether new guardrails need to be put in place. As this is a relatively new program, we are wide open to continuing to learn how to do this effectively and responsibly. Creativity and innovation are key elements for the growth of any corporation or organization—not only for new programs or projects but also for solving longstanding or complex issues. To take some pressure off everyone’s need to agree with the “boss,” I often introduce new suggestions by saying, “I have a terrible idea”—and in fact it often is!

Recently I was inspired by The Spirituality of Imperfection to launch an optional session called “Imperfectionists Anonymous” at our upcoming leadership retreat. The intention is to gather anyone interested in a heartfelt and vulnerable session where team members can share their stories of imperfections and mistakes. My hope is that this exercise will push us through our failures, encourage us to own and embrace our imperfections, apologize for our mistakes, and, most importantly, learn from—and with— each other so we can grow from these experiences.

And if not? I’ll apologize and, hopefully, learn something that will help us do better at whatever we try next.

BETWEEN NUSACH AND NIGGUN: THE CHAZZAN'S EVOLVING ROLE

BY YOSEF LINDELL

Photo: Jenya Pavlovski/Dreamstime

The Yamim Noraim are approaching, and everyone has an opinion about the chazzan. Some say he’s too slow. Others say he doesn’t sing enough. Still others claim there’s too much singing. Yet another group judges the chazzan by an entirely different metric: how long was the break on Yom Kippur?

Music and song have been integral to Jewish prayer since time immemorial, and the chazzan has been present nearly from the beginning. For decades, the chazzan was a fixture in American Orthodox congregations, and though his role has diminished in recent decades, many shuls still hire a chazzan for Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.

A good chazzan’s soulful singing can deepen congregants’ kavanah, making them feel they are in the presence of Hashem. Certainly, a chazzan can make—or break—the Yamim Noraim experience. Given the importance of the chazzan to the upcoming holidays, it’s worth exploring the history of singing in shul.

TRACING THE HISTORY OF SINGING IN SHUL

The earliest indication that music accompanied Jewish worship is found in Amos. When criticizing the people’s sacrifices, G-d says, “Spare Me the sound of your hymns, and let Me not hear the music of your lutes” (Amos 5:23), alluding to music accompanying korbanot. The Mishnah records that in the Beit Hamikdash, the Levites sang Tehillim, and the music and song could be heard as far away as Jericho (Tamid 3:8, 7:4).

When the Beit Hamikdash was destroyed, prayer replaced sacrifice—but song remained. In the Land of Israel during the second half of the first millennium, there was a remarkable efflorescence of piyyut—Hebrew poetry. Paytanim like Yannai and Rabbi Elazar

HaKalir wrote ornate compositions drawing on Tanach and midrashic literature to beautify the standard tefillot. Seemingly, at least parts of these piyyutim were originally sung. During the same centuries, the Ba’alei Mesorah standardized the ta’amei hamikra (trop/cantillation), codifying how the Torah should be chanted in shul.

Centuries later, synagogue song was important in medieval Europe. Rabbi Yehuda Hachassid (thirteenthcentury Germany) writes in Sefer Chassidim (Siman 158), “When you pray, use those tunes that are pleasant and sweet in your eyes.”

One might surmise that song and vocal artistry became even more central to tefillah after the invention of the printing press. Once the text of the siddur was standardized by printers, a cantor distinguished himself not by composing new piyyutim but with the quality of his voice and musical choices.

Some musical innovations met opposition: In 1605, Rabbi Yehuda Aryeh Modena recounted how, in Ferrara, Italy, some congregants were surprised when a choir rose to enhance the prayers. But Rabbi Modena championed such changes. He writes (Teshuvot Ziknei Yehudah 6) that he did “not see how anyone who has a brain in his skull could cast doubt on the fact that praising the Lord in song in the synagogue on special Sabbaths and holidays is a mitzvah.” He also defended the compositions of Salamone Rossi, a court musician for the rulers of Mantua, who set many tefillot and chapters of Tehillim to six-part harmony in the Renaissance choral style of his time. Music, Rabbi Modena wrote, was an antique Jewish art “stolen from the land of the Hebrews,” and it was high time for his brethren to reclaim it.

Rossi’s music did not catch on in his own time, but European-style choral music sung by trained choirs

and cantors entered the synagogue in the nineteenth century through composers like Salomon Sulzer of Austria and Louis Lewandowski of Germany. (Their melodies remain iconic; although Sulzer had Reform tendencies, many Orthodox shuls in America still sing his “Ain Kamocha,” “Vayehi Binsoa” and “Shema Yisrael” before opening the aron.) Sulzer made the cantorate a profession; he wore a special hat and robes, cantorial paraphernalia that survive in some places today. Most importantly, he adapted traditional nusach to Western musical modes and arranged pieces for chorus. Eastern European cantors also adopted Sulzer’s methods. Choir shuls sprang up from Hungary to Russia. Vilna’s Choral Synagogue, built in 1903, was a grand edifice in Neo-Moorish style with a distinctive blue cupola. But these shuls were controversial. Some Hungarian rabbis forbade entering them. Rabbi Yosef Zechariah Stern in Lithuania declared (She’eilot U’Teshuvot Zecher Yehosef 50) that there was no place for singing in shul at all, “only the uttering of the liturgy with gravity.” Even the more moderate Rabbi Azriel Hildesheimer in Germany, who allowed prayer in a choir shul, thought synagogue choirs were too great a concession to modernity. Nevertheless, throughout Europe, cantors and their vocal virtuosity reigned. Congregational singing was virtually nonexistent outside Chassidic shteibels, many of which still had professional cantors and choirs.

Yosef Lindell is a lawyer, writer and lecturer living in Silver Spring, Maryland. He is a former editor of the Lehrhaus and has published more than forty articles on Jewish history and thought in a variety of venues. He often leads davening throughout the year and on the Yamim Noraim.

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THE GOLDEN AGE OF CANTORIAL MUSIC

The first half of the twentieth century was a cantorial Golden Age. Star cantors sold hundreds of thousands of records and performed internationally. From 1881 to 1924—the peak period of Jewish immigration to the United States— there was something of a cantor craze. In 1930s New York, sometimes 100 cantors waited in line to try out for positions. Shuls competed fiercely for star cantors like Yossele Rosenblatt, who was brought to America in 1911 by New York’s Ohab Zedek in Harlem. When Rosenblatt led davening, the shul overflowed and the police managed crowd control. His fame spread beyond the Jewish world; he toured on vaudeville and appeared as a singer in the 1927 Hollywood movie The Jazz Singer.

Originally, in Europe, cantors began as meshorerim (choir boys) apprenticed to established cantors. In 1954, Yeshiva University founded the Cantorial Training Institute—now the Belz School of Jewish Music. The school, along with other similar institutions outside the Orthodox world, standardized and shaped nusach hatefillah, preserving the ancient modes of chanting each prayer service and publishing its musical notation for posterity. Belz instructors emphasized that nusach hatefillah is not arbitrary, often citing fourteenth-century Germany’s Rabbi Yaakov Moelin (Maharil), a renowned chazzan who cautioned against changing the tunes used in

davening (see Rema, Orach Chaim 619:1). In fact, the chants for certain Ashkenazi prayers are so deeply rooted that some call them miSinai tunes—considering them as if handed down to Moshe at Sinai.

The Golden Age ended in 1966 with the death of the generation’s last star cantor, Moshe Koussevitzky. Yet, decades before that, many shuls—such as those affiliated with the Young Israel movement, which sought to inspire young Jews—began emphasizing congregational singing. Sherwood Goffin, cantor at Lincoln Square Synagogue in Manhattan, was one of many transitional figures. Deeply devoted to correct nusach hatefillah—he taught at the Belz school for many years—Goffin also aimed to inspire worshippers by encouraging greater participation. In the 1970s and beyond, the music of Jewish folk singer Shlomo Carlebach and other easy-to-sing tunes—like melodies from Abie Rotenberg’s Dveykus—began to replace operatic cantorial solos.

CHAZZANUT TODAY

Today, you’d be hard pressed to find an Orthodox congregation with a choir—Breuer’s, the German congregation in Washington Heights, New York, being a well-known exception. Professional chazzanim are also far fewer. While cantorial concerts remain popular worldwide, you won’t hear much chazzanut in shul. Lay-led services predominate, and ba’alei tefillah rarely employ the vocal acrobatics of yesteryear’s

“Rabbi Yosef Zechariah Stern . . . declared that there was no place for singing in shul at all , ‘only the uttering of the liturgy with gravity.'"

cantors. Melodies are often straightforward and easy to sing. Now, even on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, some shuls forgo a hired chazzan, relying instead on trained congregants to lead services. While the Belz school is not as popular as it once was, there are, however, two successful cantorial schools in Israel, and there is a modest resurgence of chazzanut among a handful of young Chassidic singers.

Some of the reasons for the shift away from chazzanut are selfevident. Cantorial music has simply fallen out of style. Carlebach’s folk music or the sweet tunes of Abie Rotenberg’s Dveykus are more palatable to modern shul goers. Today’s popular Jewish music draws on rock standards—drums, electronic keyboards, guitars. When Mordechai Ben David debuted in 1973 and Avraham Fried released his first album in 1981, they infused their music with the sounds of disco and pop. The non-Jewish influences were unmistakable, and not everyone was pleased. A memorable 1997 letter to the editor in The Jewish Observer, Agudath Israel of America’s magazine, criticized an “Orthodox telethon in LA” that “showed a rocking Chassid shoving a microphone down his throat,” alongside yeshivah men with “sweat rolling down their peyos, their hands and hips gyrating in all-too-perfect synchronization.” But cantorial music was not entirely pure either—it drew on Western European choral traditions, even church music. Nevertheless, Jewish pop was here to stay, and over time, it has only grown more diverse and more popular. Not only has the cantorial style fallen out of favor for some, but there are also those who view cantors as performers more focused on showcasing their voices than on leading the congregation in prayer. This is hardly a new complaint. The Shulchan Aruch, written in

the sixteenth century by Rabbi Yosef Karo, chastises a “leader who lengthens the prayer” if he “intends to . . . rejoice in his [own] voice” (Orach Chaim 53:11).

Fast-forward a few centuries, and the Lubavitcher Rebbe puts it even more bluntly. In one of his sichot, he remarked: “A ba’al tefillah for the most part brings out the best in worshippers, whereas a chazzan for the most part causes them to sin.”

Part of the problem may be that many of the star cantors of the Golden Age blurred the line between shul and stage. They brought their concert hall compositions back to shul. But what works in a concert, where one is trying to impress an audience, doesn’t always work in a synagogue, where one should be attempting to inspire a congregation to sincere prayer.

Moreover, worshippers no longer want to sit passively in shul and listen to the cantor; they want to participate. Herman Wouk, in the

book This is My G-d, recounts that in mid-twentieth-century America, many congregants were unfamiliar with the prayers. A worshipper, he writes, “is handed a prayer book that strikes him as a jumble. . . . Now and then everybody stands, he cannot say why, and there is a mass chant, he cannot say what; or if he dimly recalls it from childhood, he cannot find it in the prayer book.” But at least in Orthodox synagogues today, Hebrew literacy is nearly universal. Do we really need a cantor if everyone knows how to read?

Yet perhaps we’re being unfair to the chazzan. Chazzanim have always been performers, but a good one also brings people with him into the tefillah. By modulating his voice in sync with the meaning of the words, a chazzan can create an atmosphere of kavanah. A true cantor is a master interpreter of the nusach hatefillah. He uses vocal drama not for show, but to plead with Hashem—repeating words for emphasis, drawing out phrases to stir the heart, helping build a sense of kavanah among the crowd.

And though it might be hard for us moderns to imagine, there was a time when the cantor’s emotional range truly moved people. Many people were deeply affected by the cantor’s improvisations and dynamism, hanging onto every word. There was a genuine charisma to the cantor that stirred the congregation— they would shed tears or gesture with their hands or fists. Sometimes we forget that worshiping Hashem can be just as much about listening as

it is about singing along. Chazzanut, at its best, was a gateway to the numinous: it created a space where one could listen and hear the still small voice of G-d.

It is also important to note that traditional chazzanim are preservers of nusach. Aryeh Samberg, who studied at what became the Tel Aviv Cantorial Institute and served as the chazzan at Anshei Sphard Beth El Emeth in Memphis, Tennessee, for thirty-seven years, says that although he never used flashy chazzanut and was an early adopter of congregational singing, he can’t abide some of the new popular tunes because they don’t match the flavor of the nusach. “The music is to interpret the words,” he explained. “It has to come out of the correct nusach.” The way the chazzan sings certain phrases is a form of commentary.

For example, the paragraph Ochilah LaKel, which the chazzan says before the open ark on the Yamim Noraim, includes the words “meHashem ma’aneh lashon—the tongue’s eloquence comes from G-d.” When the chazzan chants that phrase, it’s supposed to sound like speech itself is coming down from Heaven. “I go really high for that part,” Samberg says. If the chazzan gets people to think about the meaning of the words, “something’s been accomplished in terms of the congregation connecting to the tefillah.”

The nusach also serves as a compass, orienting congregants to the time of year. Each holiday and tefillah has its own unique sound. Samberg points out that a nusach that is universal creates connection; someone can walk into any shul anywhere and feel grounded. Since the days of the cantorial training schools, proper nusach has been tightly bound to chazzanut. Without chazzanut, nusach is in danger of being lost. Finally, the precision and

Yossele Rosenblatt's fame as a cantor spread beyond the Jewish world. Courtesy of the Library of Congress, Prints & Photographs Division

professionalism of cantorial singing remind us that davening should be beautiful—elevated, like a work of art. We are commanded to glorify and beautify G-d through the performance of mitzvot (see Rashi, Sukkah 29b). This ideal should apply to tefillah no less than to a gleaming Torah crown or a flawless etrog. A traditional cantor may no longer stir congregants as he once did. But there is something in his fidelity to proper nusach, the reverence he brings to the tefillah, and the way he shapes prayer into an expressive, almost sculptural experience that we can’t afford to lose. Too often today, tefillah feels rushed and routine, led by untrained ba’alei tefillah who fail to convey its depth and beauty.

Eliyahu Beer—a singer, ba’al tefillah and rising force in the Jewish music world—has given serious thought to how best to blend the old with the new. His influences include Breslov and Carlebach, but he also studied cantorial music at the Belz school. Beer “appreciates nusach as it is” and often wishes he could use pure nusach more frequently. But because “there’s more crowd involvement that’s needed,” Beer often begins the service with dancing, hoping it will lift participants to a more elevated and focused place for the tefillah itself. He still incorporates some chazzanut but only after singing with the congregation—so that, as he puts it, they feel, “I’m bringing you into that chazzanut by having sung with you.”

What are ways to make tefillah more awe-inspiring but with a modern aesthetic?

• Shuls must be intentional about creating a space for beautiful davening. Ba’alei tefillah who lead on Shabbat and yom tov should have pleasant voices, a strong command of nusach, and the ability to uplift the congregation through song.

“Too often today , tefillah feels rushed and routine , led by untrained ba'alei tefillah who fail to convey its depth and beauty."

• A few times a year, shuls should organize special Shabbatot. They can invite groups like the Maccabeats or other a cappella ensembles to elevate the davening with layered harmonies.

• Alternatively, they might bring in popular singers like Simcha Leiner or Shulem Lemmer, who not only sing beautifully but are also trained chazzanim—attuned to the nuances of nusach and able to inspire with virtuosic flourishes.

• Some shuls now hold musical Selichot or a pre-Selichot kumzitz, or they bring in musicians and singers to occasionally lead a musical Hallel on Rosh Chodesh. People want to be moved. Tefillah should be a religious experience. Shuls ought to find ways to create such experiences, not just on the Yamim Noraim, but all year round.

Earlier this year, I attended a Friday night davening led by Beer in Silver Spring, Maryland, where I live. The experience had little in common with listening to a traditional cantor: People were clapping their hands, stamping their feet, even twirling about the room.

Some participants gathered around Beer like a spontaneous choir, with him as their conductor—as he raised and lowered his arms in rhythm, he drew out melody and harmony through the movement of his body. We sang many Carlebach tunes and other melodies, but Beer also stepped into the role of chazzan, improvising cantorial flourishes at the end of paragraphs and playing

creatively with the traditional nusach. By pulling everyone into the davening, Beer blurred the line between performer and participant. Each person was leading their own prayer—yet somehow, we were all doing it together.

This style of tefillah, admittedly, is not for everyone—but it resonated with me. I felt fully present, engaged with the congregation but also in dialogue with Hashem. Tefillah that night was anything but perfunctory. I found myself thinking: the spirit of chazzanut isn’t dead. The music has evolved, as musical styles always do. But at its core, chazzanut is simply a tool—a way to draw us closer to G-d.

Sources:

Rebecca Cypess, “Reclaiming the Musical Past: Leon Modena and Salamone Rossi in Context,” Lehrhaus (March 12, 2023), https://thelehrhaus.com/culture/ reclaiming-the-musical-past-leonmodena-and-salamone-rossi-in-context/.

Ari Y. Kelman and Jeremiah Lockwood, “From Aesthetics to Experience: How Changing Conceptions of Prayer Changed the Sound of Jewish Worship,” Religion and American Culture: A Journal of Interpretation 30:1 (2020): 26–62.

Jeremiah Lockwood, Golden Ages: Hasidic Singers and Cantorial Revival in the Digital Era (University of California Press, 2024).

David Olivestone, “Shul or Show?

The Golden Age of Cantorial Music,” Segula: The Jewish History Magazine (September 2020): 30–39.

Mark Slobin, Chosen Voices: The Story of the American Cantorate (University of Illinois Press, 1989).

!ה ב ו ט הנש

THE POWER OF PREPARATION: ELEVATING MITZVOS THROUGH HACHANAH

By Moishe Bane

Fifty years ago, a leading American Torah sage noted that while earlier generations of American Jews grappled with the challenge of observing Shabbos, late-twentiethcentury observant Jews, by contrast, struggled to observe erev Shabbos. Over the subsequent decades, our community has steadily deepened its devotion to careful Shabbos observance. Yet, fully embracing the spirit of erev Shabbos preparations, unfortunately, remains a persistent challenge.

Admittedly, I am among those who too often enter Shabbos with little more hachanah (preparation) than

Bane, president emeritus of the Orthodox Union, serves as a contributing editor of Jewish Action

a quick shower and a change into Shabbos clothes. And it is not just erev Shabbos hachanah in which I fall short. There have been years when I first begin to contemplate the meaning of Selichos only upon arriving at shul on that solemn autumn Motzaei Shabbos, or I truly reflect on the depth of the Rosh Hashanah prayers only as I open my machzor on Rosh Hashanah night. I am not much better when it comes to engaging in the functional aspects of mitzvah preparations. While I might manage a grocery run before Shabbos or yom tov, all the real family preparations—planning, cooking and cleaning—are handled entirely by my wife. To make matters worse, after weeks of exhausting pre-Pesach efforts by my wife and others, each year I insert myself on the final evening with the audacity to supposedly conduct the “definitive” chametz cleansing, completed within twenty minutes while armed with a flimsy feather and a wooden spoon. Sukkos is no better, as I have for years deftly outsourced sukkah construction and lulav and esrog shopping to one of my sons.

It seems unlikely that our lack of focus on hachanah is rooted in laziness. After all, we devote countless hours to Torah study and to mitzvah observance, and we generally approach our family, occupational and religious responsibilities with great care and commitment. Our lukewarm attention to hachanah may stem from a perception that personal involvement in preparations

is either not so important or altogether unnecessary.

Even Moshe Rabbeinu Needed the Lesson

Even Moshe Rabbeinu, the greatest eved Hashem, was not immune to this misperception, as revealed in a stunning episode during the construction of the mishkan and its vessels.

When the righteous women of Israel offered their copper mirrors to contribute to the formation of the kiyor, the mishkan’s washing basin, Moshe initially rejected the offer. We are taught that Moshe found the proposal distasteful, since these mirrors had been used by the Israelite women in Egypt to beautify themselves in order to attract their husbands and thereby ensure the continuity of Klal Yisrael during the years of harsh bondage. Although Moshe Rabbeinu surely recognized the women’s pure intentions, both in their original use of the mirrors and in offering them for the kiyor, he was nevertheless unsettled by the mirrors’ prior association with what he perceived as mundane, perhaps even immodest, purposes. Yet in reproving Moshe, Hashem praised the mirrors’ prior use and ultimately commanded that the kiyor be fashioned from these mirrors. As I studied these passages, I found myself wondering: where exactly did Moshe Rabbeinu go wrong? What had he overlooked that required Divine illumination?

It all became clear to me when I learned that the kiyor was not actually part of the mishkan proper but rather

Moishe

a vessel used to prepare for the service within it. It struck me that the women of Klal Yisrael, then, as now, had the spiritual sensitivity and binah yesairah to recognize that the preparation for mitzvos is holy and connected to the mitzvah itself. As a vessel devoted to preparation, the kiyor embodied this profound truth, making the mirrors—themselves instruments of sacred preparation—a uniquely fitting choice for its construction.

Moshe Rabbeinu had not yet grasped this spiritual truth. In revealing to Moshe what the women of Klal Yisrael already understood, Hashem affirmed the profound significance of hachanah, and declared, kivyachol, “These mirrors are more precious to Me than anything else.”

The days leading up to Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur offer a fitting opportunity to reflect on how we can meaningfully incorporate

“

Our lack of meaningful personal hachanah may well lie at the root of many of our religious challenges.

hachanah into our daily lives, both in mindset and in action. We might consider the teachings of the Sefas Emes that the performance of a mitzvah lifts the soul, drawing it closer to Hashem in ways that our neshamah experiences but our human mind may not easily perceive.

But hachanah for that same mitzvah elevates our human bond with Hashem in ways that are tangible, loving and unmistakably real.

As a starting point, we might begin by dividing hachanah into two distinct categories: personal preparation and functional preparation.

• Personal hachanah is the spiritual and intellectual preparation required for mitzvah observance, such as cultivating the right mindset, mastering the correct manner of performing the mitzvah and acquiring an understanding of the mitzvah’s significance.

• Functional hachanah is engaging in the practical and logistical arrangements, however mundane, that are necessary to allow a mitzvah to be performed or a religious occasion to be observed.

Personal Hachanah

The Torah places great emphasis

“ “

Rosh

Hashanah and Yom

Kippur

. . . are days of relationship, not reckoning; they are days to renew our bond with Hashem through connection rather than calculation.

on both the collective and the individual’s halachic obligations and personal relationship with G-d. The personal nature of avodas Hashem underscores the critical importance of personal hachanah. After all, we cannot don tefillin or properly take and wave a lulav and esrog without first learning how. Nor can we meaningfully connect to Hashem through mitzvah observance, let alone through tefillah, berachos or Tehillim, without cultivating the proper mindset and at least a basic understanding of the words we are saying and mitzvos’ foundational depths.

Thus, every mitzvah calls for personal hachanah across three essential dimensions. First, we must understand the mitzvah’s halachic requirements to fulfill it properly. Second, we must cultivate both intellectual depth and emotional resonance to imbue the mitzvah with meaning. And third, we must pause and reorient our focus to ensure that we approach the mitzvah with mindfulness and a clear sense of purpose.

These expressions of personal hachanah are reflected in Chazal’s guidance to begin studying the laws of Pesach thirty days in advance, and to dedicate the month of Elul to preparing for teshuvah in anticipation of Tishrei and the Aseres Yemei Teshuvah. Similarly, Chazal underscored the value of personal hachanah when they praised the righteous individuals who spent an hour in reflection before engaging in

prayer.

Our lack of meaningful personal hachanah may well lie at the root of many of our religious challenges. It cannot be surprising that prayers will be dry and mechanical, and Shabbos will be nothing but a leisurely, if not boring, day off from work, if we fail to engage with these obligations’ depth and purpose. And, can we truly expect to sustain our commitment to the nuanced halachos of sensitive mitzvos, such as taharas hamishpachah or the laws and values of tzenius in both dress and lifestyle, without thoughtful reflection and a deep appreciation for their majesty and sacredness?

Rabbi Shimon Schwab, zt”l, the esteemed twentieth-century rabbinic leader of the Breuer’s kehillah, once recounted a pivotal lesson he heard decades earlier while sitting at the Shabbos table of the venerable Chafetz Chaim, zt”l. The Chafetz Chaim had shared the well-known teaching from Chazal that, following Yetzias Mitzrayim, the taste of the manna the Jews ate in the desert would change to match the flavor of whatever food each respective person had in mind.

The Chafetz Chaim then asked those around the table, “What if a person had no specific food in mind, what would the taste of the manna be then?” When no one responded, the Chafetz Chaim answered, “If a person had no thought in mind, the manna had no taste at all, it was entirely flavorless.” He then continued: “This is true of every religious experience.

Without thoughtfulness, without intent, it will necessarily be dry and tasteless. But when we are mindful, each word of Torah study and each mitzvah observance becomes suffused with sweetness.”

Personal hachanah may be the quiet force that transforms our avodas Hashem into something rich with purpose and sweet beyond measure.

Functional Hachanah

While the value of personal hachanah is undeniable, the role and scope of functional hachanah can stir differing opinions.

By “functional hachanah,” I refer to those preparations that are important, sometimes even essential, for the proper observance of a mitzvah yet do not necessarily need to be carried out by the individual performing the mitzvah itself. Examples include Shabbos and yom tov preparations such as cooking, home cleaning and washing clothes, as well as readying oil and wicks for the Chanukah menorah and procuring or verifying the kashrus of mezuzos to place on doorposts. Indeed, the conveniences of contemporary affluence and industrialization have diminished the need for functional hachanah Modern home appliances have certainly eased the demands of hachanah for Shabbos and yom tov, and larger Orthodox communities benefit from stores stocked with baked challahs, oven-ready chickens, and pre-cut, pre-checked vegetables. And even prepackaged Chanukah oil cups with wicks are increasingly popular. Seemingly, those who can afford cleaning and other hired help enjoy the significant reduction in the need for traditional preparation. Families who spend Pesach in a hotel tend to experience this even more dramatically, as they completely forgo Pesach preparations. Looking ahead, some predict that robots may soon render functional hachanah nearly obsolete. Are these developments signs of progress or harmful indulgences? Should functional hachanah be seen as

a burdensome task to avoid when the mitzvah can still be fully observed without it? Or does forgoing personal effort in the mundane and routine aspects of hachanah deprive us of something deeply meaningful? There are at least three perspectives. I favor the third.

The first view regards functional hachanah as purely utilitarian, necessary only when no one else can perform the task. From this perspective, the value lies entirely in the result, not the process. Though ensuring hachanah’s performance is a religious obligation, the actual act of preparation holds no intrinsic spiritual weight. What matters is that the table is set, not who sets it; that the path is cleared, not whose footsteps shaped the way.

Functional hachanah is measured only by the mitzvah it enables, not by the effort expended to prepare it.

A second view sees holiness woven into every step toward a mitzvah, and to disregard the spirituality inherent in functional hachanah is to overlook the sacred that dwells within the mundane. Yet this view distinguishes between types of preparation. While functional hachanah may be carried out by others, personal hachanah, necessary to one’s own halachic literacy and rooted in inner reflection and spiritual readiness, can only be undertaken by oneself. Therefore, when choosing where to direct one’s limited time and energy, it is wise to delegate the functional when possible and reserve the personal for oneself.

The third view sees profound spiritual opportunity in functional hachanah, and all the more so when performing a task that could have been delegated. Like personal hachanah, it is not merely a means to an end, but a sacred path toward deepened connection with the Divine.

Our relationship with Hashem is often likened to that of husband and wife, a bond rooted in love and devotion. In a loving marriage, each partner understands the duty to see to the other’s needs. Meeting those needs is foundational, but the relationship flourishes not through efficiency alone but through personal investment.

When a spouse chooses to personally meet the other’s need, be it greeting the other at the airport, preparing a meal or taking out the trash, an otherwise mundane act becomes a gesture of love. The beauty of the relationship grows not only in the one who receives but even more deeply in the one who gives.

So too with hachanah. Living lives committed to intensifying our relationship with Hashem, when we embrace the tasks of hachanah ourselves, and even more so when others could do it, it becomes a quiet offering, nurturing the bond between us and our Creator.

Mitzvah observance anchors our covenant with Hashem. Halachah is the unshakable foundation of our duty and devotion. But it is functional hachanah, performed with intention and personal effort, that elevates this relationship from one of obligation to one of intimacy and majesty. The Talmud (Shabbos 119a) does not idealize passivity when it comes to mitzvos; instead, it esteems

great sages for engaging in physical Shabbos preparations like salting fish, chopping vegetables, and sweeping floors. These were men of the highest spiritual stature, yet they embraced the most ordinary of tasks, signaling that greatness lies not in withdrawal from the mundane but in imbuing it with holiness.

Hachanah and the Yamim Noraim

Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur are not days of Divine bookkeeping, as though we stand before a distant auditor tallying our spiritual gains and losses. Rather, they are days of relationship, not reckoning; days to renew our bond with Hashem through connection rather than calculation. In this pursuit, the realm of hachanah, both personal and functional, offers a profound pathway to deepen that relationship.

Personal hachanah imbues our avodas Hashem with both meaning and sweetness, reaffirming its central place in our lives. Yet, as with all deep relationships, the bond grows richer when we engage not only in moments of subliminal focus but also in the humble, often overlooked mundane acts—acts of functional hachanah. Even when such tasks could easily be delegated, choosing to perform them ourselves transforms ordinary, everyday labor into a quiet but potent gesture of love.

TIPS FOR PREPARING FOR THE HIGH HOLIDAYS

BY RABBI GIL STUDENT

Inspiration is 90 percent preparation. Here are ten meaningful things you can do during the forty days of Elul and the Aseret Yemei Teshuvah to prepare spiritually and emotionally for Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. These suggestions build gradually over the period of introspection and repentance leading to the Yamim Noraim:

1. Set Aside Daily Time for Cheshbon HaNefesh

Use a few minutes each day to reflect on your behavior, relationships and character traits. Deliberately think through the details of your days and consider what needs work and what has improved.

2. Prepare Your Prayer

Rabbi Chaim Soloveitchik used to prepare for Rosh Hashanah by memorizing the special Amidah prayers for the holiday. You can prepare by studying them in advance and thinking about the meaning of the words and the structure. Ashkenazim begin Selichot the week before Rosh Hashanah, while Sephardim recite them throughout Elul. Prepare by studying the words and themes ahead of time.

3. Strengthen One Mitzvah

Choose a mitzvah you already do and double-down on it. This might be prayer with more concentration, stricter observance of lashon hara, or doing something special to honor Shabbat like reading only religious material on Shabbat. Growth in even just one area can shift your spiritual trajectory and lead to growth in other areas over time.

4. Reach Out for Reconciliation

Initiate sincere conversations to apologize for past misdeeds. Don’t wait until the erev Yom Kippur rush. Use Elul and the Aseret Yemei Teshuvah to clear your slate and make amends.

5. Slow Down

Start practicing slower, more mindful tefillah now. Start a few minutes earlier than everyone else, and say each word thoughtfully.

Learn About the Yamim Noraim

Dedicate weekly time to study the halachot and deeper meanings of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. Find a book you like on the themes of the holidays that will increase your appreciation and observance of the Yamim Noraim.

7. Give Tzedakah Thoughtfully

Prepare a plan for giving before Rosh Hashanah. Set aside an amount for daily giving and look for causes that reflect your personal teshuvah goals or correct previous inattention.

8. Choose a Middah to Work On

Identify one character trait you want to improve. Use classic mussar techniques: daily reflection, short and intense learning sessions and practice. Over time, small changes can build deep habits.

9. Limit Distractions

Gradually cut down on timewasting habits like excessive phone use or endless media consumption. Replace them with more spiritually nourishing activities—Torah learning, quality time with family or even quiet walks for introspection.

10.

Write a Personal Kabbalah List

Rabbi Yaakov Lessin, a former mashgiach of Yeshiva University’s Rabbi Isaac Elchanan Theological Seminary (RIETS), used to say that a Yom Kippur without a kabbalah (resolution) is not a Yom Kippur. Before Rosh Hashanah, write down specific commitments or goals for the coming year. These should be realistic, personal and actionable. Keep this list in your machzor on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.

and Editorial Communications.

These practices don’t require perfection. They require sincerity and forethought. The days between Rosh Chodesh Elul and Yom Kippur are an opportunity to make more of your Yamim Noraim. Start small and early to see big results.

Rabbi Gil Student is OU director of Jewish Media, Publications

BUILDING A COMMUNITY

STORIES FROM THE GROUND UP

What does it take to build a community?

Ask Yakov Polatsek in Houston. Or Dr. Deena Davidovics in Memphis. Or Shaun Tuch in Phoenix.

One night they’re sweeping the floor after a kollel fundraiser; the next they’re at the grill for the shul barbecue. One week they’re planning a shul carnival; the next they’re making sure the local day school makes payroll.

In the pages ahead, we meet some of these builders—men and women whose steady efforts have shaped the rhythm of Jewish life in their cities. Who are they? And how did they do it? Read on.

Transliterations in the magazine follow Sephardic pronunciation unless an author is known to use Ashkenazic pronunciation. In this section, we have especially aimed to preserve each individual’s speaking style; any inconsistencies in transliteration reflect the preferences of authors or interviewees.

Greetings

from:

HOUSTON TEXAS

By S. Schreiber

The principal was nervous. One year into his tenure as head of Houston’s Yeshiva Torat Emet (YTE) day school, Rabbi Yerachmiel Garfield was facing a massive budget deficit. He glanced at the calendar: October 17. Payroll was already two days late. The teachers, he knew, were getting restless. He needed advice, and he knew the person to ask. Yakov Polatsek, a local businessman and school parent, was known for his financial acumen—and for having connections that stretched well beyond their own nascent community.

But an hour later, sitting in a Starbucks with Polatsek, the rabbi got more than a pep talk and a phone number. “He sat with me for half an hour, called his wife, took money from one place, borrowed from another place and addressed the deficit,” Rabbi Garfield recalls. “From that moment, by default, he took financial responsibility for the school.”

Polatsek (pronounced “Polatchek”) is in the business of taking responsibility. The principal and founder of Interra Capital

GETTING IT DONE, AND DOING IT RIGHT, IN HOUSTON: YAKOV POLATSEK

Group, a boutique private equity firm specializing in real estate and construction, Polatsek, who serves on the OU Board of Directors, has made it his mission to build and nurture Jewish life in the Bayou City. As in the school budget crisis, he works largely behind the scenes and eschews the credit for his accomplishments. “In a young community like Houston, it’s very easy to make a difference just by showing up and doing something,” he says. But in the years since Polatsek met with Rabbi Garfield, his responsibilities have grown exponentially—along with Houston’s Jewish community.

Second Growth

Until recently, Orthodox life in Houston was a story of boom and bust. In the early twentieth century, the city absorbed a large cohort of observant Jewish immigrants from Russia who established a thriving community. Houston’s economy, however, proved inhospitable to many who were used to life in the Old World. The oil bust of the 1980s sent even more families fleeing to the East Coast, and when Polatsek and his wife, Frumie, arrived as a young couple in 2000, they found a few dwindling congregations

that struggled to scrape together a minyan for Minchah-Maariv: “Even with two shuls together, they still had to pay these two old Russian men who lived nearby in assisted living to come,” Polatsek recalls.

In fact, it was the poor state of Jewish life in the city that drew the couple there. A graduate of Ohr Somayach’s Ohr Lagolah kiruv training program, Polatsek had committed to spend a year or two putting his skills to work before settling down on the East Coast. A job as executive director of the fledgling Torah Outreach Resource Center of Houston (TORCH) was a perfect match for Polatsek, who combined an MBA program at Boston University with the traditional year of learning after his marriage.

A combination of kollel and adult education center, TORCH was designed to attract young yeshivah families while bolstering Houston’s existing community. It began with just four members, among them Rabbi Yaakov Nagel, who moved to Houston in 1998. “We were just trying to spread Torah to the people here. We didn’t know what we were doing, but we cared, and I guess it resonated,” says Rabbi Nagel. The organization, with Polatsek at the

S. Schreiber is a freelance writer.

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helm, achieved its goal. “People started moving here, and there was traction,” Rabbi Nagel says. “It’s like a snowball—once it’s big, it gets huge.”

Houston’s appeal for young Jewish couples, especially in the beginning, was largely economic. The low cost of living—home prices are about 40 percent lower than in the tristate area—combined with its probusiness environment (Texas does not have state income taxes) drew aspiring entrepreneurs. And the people were friendly. “There isn’t that eat-or-be-eaten, kill-or-bekilled mentality,” Polatsek says. The fourth largest city in America is also home to Texas Medical Center, a massive complex including twentyone hospitals and the city’s secondlargest employer.

As more like-minded families arrived, a community developed around the Young Israel synagogue in Southwest Houston’s Fondren neighborhood. A mesivta and girls’ high school were established. Yeshiva Torat Emet, which opened its doors in 2004 with twelve children, quickly outgrew its first building and is now working on another.

The Polatseks’ two years in Houston stretched to three, then four, then they stopped counting. “We got so involved in the community that we didn’t go through a process of thinking about whether we should stay. It was just a given,” Polatsek says. Five years in, he left TORCH and made good on his long-held intention to start a business, keeping his priorities in mind. “I made a very conscious decision that I would always stay involved in the Jewish community as a volunteer,” he says. “Having had that good training being on the other side of the table, I knew what it takes to be involved and really make a difference.”

Attitude of Abundance

Polatsek’s move into business provided a twofold benefit to the Houston community. Many

fledgling Jewish entrepreneurs have found a generous first employer at Interra Capital—and, in Polatsek, an encouraging mentor. “We celebrate entrepreneurship,” he says. “If we’re able to give them the opportunity where they can grow their own businesses and become partners and continue to help the community, that’s a success.” That some of his former employees are now his competitors, he says, might be a problem in another city, but not Houston: “There’s really enough for everyone.”

That attitude of abundance carries over to communal matters as well. At YTE, where Polatsek serves as president of the Board, no student who could benefit from the curriculum is rejected. “The school is

bulging,” Rabbi Garfield says. “There are some students who may not be the best fit, and there’s room to say that we shouldn’t take them. Yakov said very clearly, ‘We’ve never let that get in the way, and we won’t let it get in the way now.’” And the good vibes extend across communal and denominational lines: “He stays very connected to a wide range of leadership no matter who they are,” the rabbi adds (Polatsek also sits on the Board of Houston’s Jewish Federation). “It’s a kiddush Hashem, and it’s also of great value to our community. We’re an extremely wellliked organization across the board due to his leadership.”

While life in an out-of-town community is generally slower paced, it’s this orientation toward positivity

“He sat with me for half an hour, called his wife, took money from one place, borrowed from another place and addressed the deficit . . . From that moment, by default, he took financial responsibility for the school.”

Houston's Yeshiva Torat Emet (YTE) students enjoying recess. Courtesy of YTE

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and peace that sets Houston apart, several residents say. “It’s a nonjudgmental place, but there are a lot of opportunities for growth, a very rare mix,” Rabbi Nagel says. “The people are the biggest asset that Houston has. They’re genuine, they’re available, they’re real people.” Polatsek concurs: “It’s a calmer life. A lot of the pressures that you have in larger communities just don’t exist here.”

An active spokesman for the community, Polatsek, who grew up in Monsey, New York, has convinced a large portion of his own family: five of his siblings and his parents now live in Houston.

The rapid growth the Houston community has experienced

Greetings from:

inevitably creates some pain points. Several years ago, as demand for housing in the Fondren neighborhood outpaced supply, some grew concerned about the future. Then a new project was announced: land near the synagogue that had been purchased cheaply during the bust years would now be used to build spacious homes featuring kitchens with dual sinks, spacious laundry rooms and appliances equipped with Sabbath mode. The Northfield development rose quickly and without fanfare, a project of Interra Capital. Nobody who knew Polatsek was surprised. “He’s a smart guy, a creative guy,” Rabbi Nagel says. “If there’s something he can do, he’ll do it.”

WARMTH BEYOND SUNSHINE IN PHOENIX: SHAUN AND GARY TUCH PHOENIX ARIZONA

By Sandy Eller

The distance between Phoenix and Los Angeles is just under 400 miles, but to Shaun Tuch, the two cities seem worlds apart.

Johannesburg-born and LA-bred, Shaun had no trouble finding his niche as an adult in his hometown,

Sandy Eller is a freelance writer who writes for print and web media outlets, as well as private clients.

running his own business, davening in a shul where he felt he belonged, and co-founding a kollel known as the Pico Bais Medrash. But the high cost of living, and the abundance of both questionable values and homelessness taking its toll on the City of Angels had Shaun checking out other Jewish communities. A conversation with a friend who had settled in Phoenix turned out to be life-altering.

“I was like, ‘wait, Phoenix?’” recalls Shaun. “I hadn’t even thought about

Phoenix, but he spoke so highly of it, telling me that the weather is great eight months out of the year, and that they had just gotten a new rabbi, and that the school was amazing, and that it was relatively inexpensive to live there.”

Shaun and his wife, Rachel, took a trip out to Phoenix, where they met Rabbi Shafir Roizman, rabbi of the Ohr HaTorah shul. With Shaun and Rabbi Roizman both born in Johannesburg, South Africa, the two

Yakov Polatsek has made it his mission to build Jewish life in the Bayou City. Courtesy of Yakov Polatsek

forged an instant connection, and long after Shaun returned home, Rabbi Roizman’s thoughts on living in an up-and-coming community echoed in his mind.

“He said that in LA you have everything; everything is already done for you, but in Phoenix, you have the opportunity to make things happen,” says Shaun. “If you want to be a builder, Phoenix is a good opportunity.”

The fact that Phoenix wasn’t far from Los Angeles sweetened the deal for Shaun, and in the summer of 2021, he and Rachel packed up their four young children and made their big move to Arizona. The Tuchs took to Phoenix instantly, loving how it felt like LA in many ways but without the drawbacks of big-town life. They made the leap from apartment living to a house with a pool, and members of the local Jewish community set up a two-week-long meal train that had friendly faces showing up at their front door with food, welcoming them into their new home. Shaun was able to continue operating his business remotely (he runs Young Ninjas, a children’s sports company), while Torah Day School of Phoenix created a job that offered Rachel the flexibility she needed at that particular time in her life. Today, she is the school’s preschool director.

“In Los Angeles, it would have taken her forever to get a position like that, but when you live out-of-town, those skills are really desired,” explains Shaun.

All in the Family

Just weeks after the Tuchs’ arrival in Phoenix, Shaun’s brother Gary, his wife, Tova, and their kids moved there as well. Gary was weary of the heavy traffic and frenetic pace of life in LA, while Phoenix had much to offer.

“I think we were both looking for a little bit of a change of pace, in terms of quality of life, and then in our search we narrowed our choices down to communities that had Jewish infrastructure, including

“I’m Priced Out!”

Early in my presidency at the OU, I got a call from a man in Suffolk County. He told me, “My daughters got involved with NCSY—they love it. I love it. They’re becoming more observant. It’s amazing.”

Then he said, “But I can’t afford your product.”

I asked him what he meant.

He said, “I’ve got three kids, one with special needs. I can’t afford to move to West Hempstead or the Five Towns. I’m priced out— housing, tuition, everything. You’ve got the greatest product in the world, but I can’t afford it.”

That hit me hard. How many people are we trying to mekarev only to bring them into a lifestyle they can’t afford?

That’s when I realized: we have to make Orthodox life more affordable. It’s not just about inspiration—it’s about access. And that’s why building affordable Jewish communities is so important to me.

—Steve Savitsky, former OU president and founder of the OU Savitsky Home Relocation Fair

mikvaot, shuls, schools and so forth,” shares Gary.

While Phoenix still doesn’t have a sefarim store, and it can’t compete with LA when it comes to restaurants, having fewer school choices was irrelevant to Gary.

“At the end of the day, there are three day schools here, but only one that we would send our children to,” he says. “It’s no different than in LA, where there was also only one place we would send our children to.”

As the fifth largest city in the country by population, Phoenix is far from a small city, and despite its proximity to the Sonoran Desert, it is anything but a spiritual midbar

There are over five shuls in Phoenix, with several others in nearby Scottsdale.

In addition to having an eruv, Phoenix has two mikvaot,

a keilim mivkeh, its own branch of TAG (Technology Awareness Group), and the community takes part in several national learning programs, including the Semichas Chaver Program. (Sponsored by the OU, the Semichas Chaver Program [SCP] is the fastest growing practical

Shaun and Rachel Tuch moved to Phoenix, Arizona, in 2021. Phoenix’s firmly established Jewish community and its amenities continue to draw families like the Tuchs who were looking for a change of pace.

Courtesy of Shaun Tuch

halachah learning program for men with locations worldwide.) Chaverim is up and running in Phoenix in partnership with Scottsdale’s Jewish community, and there has been no need to start a local branch of Hatzalah given the excellent response times of local emergency teams. The community also has a kosher eatery and multiple stores selling kosher products, with residents learning to anticipate their needs for things that aren’t available locally, stocking their freezers with items brought in through seasonal and monthly deliveries.

“Some people call that a downside,” says Shaun, “But I enjoy it. We make more food at home, and I look forward to it; although, when we go to LA, my kids have fun eating out.”

And while having food delivered always adds to the price, not having easy access to takeout can translate into monetary savings.

“There isn’t the let-me-just-stopinto-the-coffee-shop-for-the-$8mocha-smoothie option here,” notes Gary. “You aren’t going to the gas station to pick up sushi. Those extra costs you have in larger cities because of convenience don’t exist here, plus property taxes are lower and income taxes are lower, and you have to take that all into account.”

You Build

It, They Will Come Phoenix’s Jewish communal roots stretch back over a century, but the founding of the Phoenix Community Kollel in 2000 helped sow the seeds for the Yiddishkeit that exists locally today.

“Everything started with the kollel,” explains Gary. “The rosh yeshivah, the rabbeim—they all came through the kollel, which became the heart of the community, and that spread outward.”

The kollel attracted Orthodox Jews to Phoenix, and the community blossomed with new arrivals moving in, and crucial elements of its Jewish infrastructure developed. Even as the kollel ultimately petered out over the

years, Phoenix’s firmly established Jewish community and its amenities continued to draw families like the Tuchs who were looking for a change of pace.

In the four years since they arrived in Phoenix, Shaun and Gary have both rolled up their sleeves and thrown themselves into local life, doing their part to take the community to the next level. Both were all in on the growing movement to re-establish the kollel, an effort that was widely viewed by frum Phoenicians as a way to build on the city’s existing infrastructure and ensure that Yiddishkeit continues to bloom in the area. The brothers made multiple trips to Lakewood to seek guidance on the matter; the fact that they were representing Phoenix’s Jewish community gave them opportunities to speak with prestigious rabbanim who provided them with invaluable guidance.

sustain the size that we are now, and to grow even larger.”

As much as the kollel was close to his heart, Shaun took a step back from the project after being encouraged to take on the presidency at Ohr HaTorah. With the shul moving four times to keep up with its rapidly growing membership, it

Plans for the Phoenix Community Kollel are proceeding, with a tentative re-opening scheduled for Elul under the leadership of Rabbi Aron Stauber. Gary is still in the process of lining up eight families who will move to Phoenix to anchor the kollel, a number he would love to see grow even larger with time.

“The kollel can become the power plant for our community,” says Gary. “My hope is that the kollel will bring more people moving in, more people staying here, more investment in the community, more kids in the school, and so on, so that we can build a Jewish economy that will help

became clear that the all-volunteer, mom-and-pop approach that had worked for years was no longer enough. Seeking to professionalize the shul, Shaun consulted with Rabbi Asher Brander of the Los Angeles LINK Kollel to better understand how to transition the shul to the next level, hiring employees to fill key positions and systemizing the shul’s operations. “Our shul is not run like a mom and pop anymore; we have over 100 kids in the shul. It’s run like a business,” he says.

Weary of LA’s heavy traffic and hectic pace, Gary and Tova Tuch relocated to Phoenix, following Gary’s brother Shaun. Courtesy of Gary Tuch

“Heimish is nice, but we are too big for that,” says Shaun. “We need to make sure that we can maintain a shul that isn’t just surviving but thriving.”

Being the president of a flourishing shul isn’t without its challenges, especially when unpopular decisions have to be made.

“We are raising membership dues, as they haven’t increased in a long time and the additional revenue is essential due to increased costs associated with our growth,” explains Shaun. “While I anticipate that not everyone will be happy about this, it is a necessary step to ensure the shul’s continued success.”

Shaun has been drawing on his business experience to guide him through his presidential responsibilities at Ohr HaTorah, particularly the lessons he learned over time about the importance of effective communication, collaboration, honesty and transparency.

“I’m constantly learning, and while I don’t always get things perfect, I try to learn from any missteps,” he says. “Ultimately, I’ve learned that significant achievements are rarely accomplished alone. I rely heavily on our dedicated team and volunteers here. It’s truly the people who drive our community forward.”

Big Fish in a Small Pond

As a rabbi in an emerging Jewish community, Rabbi Roizman knows firsthand that living out-of-town does come with its challenges, including not having major established Jewish institutions and rabbinic authorities living locally. But he firmly believes that the positives

of living out-of-town outweigh the negatives, citing the lack of societal pressures in Phoenix, its innate natural beauty and the relaxed pace of life.

“When you live in-town, where everything is established, it is a well-oiled machine,” explains Rabbi Roizman. “Here, there is so much space and room for people to find their voice.”

The Tuch brothers are prime examples of that phenomenon, notes Rabbi Roizman, lauding Shaun

all made, and everything was set up,” shares Gary. “All the children went to school late that day because everyone was at the brit, and that’s something that you just wouldn’t see elsewhere.”

Both Shaun and Gary are elated to be living in a place where they are building on foundations laid by those who originally established the local Jewish community, leaving their own mark on the city they now call home. They hope that others will appreciate the benefits of living in a place like Phoenix, where

“Shaun and Gary have both rolled up their sleeves and thrown themselves into local life, doing their part to take the community to the next level.”

and Gary for using their talents for building communal infrastructure, opportunities they probably never would have had in LA.

“You really count here,” says Rabbi Roizman. “You’re important. You’re significant.”

Those realities create a tangible sense of achdut in Phoenix, where community members feel truly connected to each other. One shining example of that special bond surfaced recently when a community member had a baby boy, and he and his wife just showed up to the brit, knowing that their friends and neighbors had taken care of all the details.

“They got there, and the food was

The Joy of Building

When I travel to different Jewish communities across the country, it’s amazing to hear people say, “When I moved to this town, there were thirty people in the community; now I don’t even know everyone.” Sometimes they will say, “We built the shul, we built the yeshivah.” That’s a tremendous feeling of accomplishment.

—Steve Savitsky

average temperatures can soar to a scorching 106 degrees in July, but the atmosphere is always delightfully warm and welcoming.

“There are so many opportunities, whether it is your shul, a kollel, helping with the mikveh or just doing your own thing,” say Shaun. “If you are passionate, you can contribute, or you can start something yourself, which people have done here. When we came to Phoenix, there was a defunct kollel—who were Gary and I to make a kollel? We are a bunch of ba’al teshuvah kids. But you just do it.”

“The community here is so beautiful and so diverse, something I haven’t seen anywhere else in my travels,” adds Gary. “When people come out here, they’re always surprised to see that it is a community that has everything we need. I think that’s something that people definitely need to come here to see for themselves.”

LINDEN NEW JERSEY Greetings from:

By Sandy Eller

On paper, it could be the plot of an Israeli sitcom—a Jewish community that is home to two distinct populations—one Modern Orthodox and the other Chassidic. But far from being a modern-day remake of The Odd Couple, that atypical scenario is a reality in Linden, New Jersey, with members of both groups demonstrating daily what it means to put the “unity” back in “community.” Linden’s Orthodox presence dates back 111 years, but by the time Andy and Samantha Van Houter moved to the city in 2009, it was clear that the community was petering out. The local shul, Congregation Anshe Chesed, had gone from being packed to the rafters to having to hire someone to say Kaddish, and it was clear to shul officials that young blood was needed to revitalize the community.

Reinventing a Community

The Van Houters were drawn to Linden in the early days of their marriage because of its easy commute to their respective schools—a short fifteen-minute drive from Andy’s law school in Newark, and a modest thirty-minute train ride from Samantha’s occupational

LIVING TOGETHER IN LINDEN: ANDY AND SAMANTHA VAN HOUTER

therapy program in Manhattan. At the time, it was far from an established community—when Andy and Samantha made a pilot visit to Linden on Shabbat Hagadol, there were just eleven Modern Orthodox couples living there.

“It was nice, but we left thinking, ‘Nah, this isn’t for us,’” recalls Andy. The Van Houters changed their minds after stumbling across a threebedroom apartment with a living room, dining room and separate eat-in kitchen, and a monthly rent of $1,575, all utilities included. Packing their bags, they moved across the Arthur Kill to Linden, and despite being just twenty-two years old, Andy suddenly found himself sitting on Anshe Chesed’s Board of Directors.

“They were very accepting of young people, as opposed to other places which never let young people get involved,” notes Samantha.

Other than Anshe Chesed, which was home to the more right-wing Yeshiva Gedolah Zichron Leyma at the time, Linden didn’t have much of an infrastructure in place, and residents took advantage of the resources in Elizabeth, where yeshivahs, pizza and kosher food were just a short drive away.

Linden’s relative proximity to other established Jewish communities including Passaic, Hillside, Springfield and Livingston, meant that its Jewish residents had no

problem supplementing the offerings that existed in their local ShopRite, Trader Joe’s, Walmart and other stores. Still, it was clear that if it wanted to attract Orthodox couples, Linden needed a mikveh of its own, and a fundraising campaign was launched. The Ziga Roshanski Mikvah opened in 2015, and with real estate prices still relatively low, Linden’s shomer Shabbat population trended upward in the years that followed.

“We grew to about fifty families at one point, with 100 kids under the age of ten in our shul,” says Andy.

Changing Faces, Sharing Spaces

But by 2020, Linden’s steady growth had slowed. The pandemic had some community residents reevaluating their lives and choosing to move elsewhere, while an influx of Chassidim was welcomed. Winds of change continued to blow in Linden in 2021, where within days of Andy becoming president of Anshe Chesed, the shul’s long-term rabbi left to take another position. Andy rolled with the punches, and as the pandemic began fading away, Anshe Chesed hired Rabbi Yossi Katz as its new rabbi.

“We got people to come back and to give up their house minyanim,” remembers Andy, adding, “We had equilibrium, and we knew we had to build back better.”

Sandy Eller is a freelance writer who writes for print and web media outlets, as well as private clients.

Even as Anshe Chesed continued to reestablish its footing, Andy understood that the shul property held the key to its success. Finding a tenant to take over the space that had been previously occupied by the yeshivah became his top priority as president. With multiple groups of Chassidim looking for a space of their own, Andy was soon able to cross that item off his to-do list.

“We took the one who gave us the most financial guarantees,” explains Andy. “They put more than $2 million into the building, and the rent they pay each month keeps us from having to dip into our reserves. We now make a profit every year.”

When a long-time community member passed away and left Anshe Chesed a sizable amount of money, the shul embarked on a capital campaign, first building a large beit midrash and then renovating its ballroom. With a capacity of 400 people, an expansive meat kitchen, and a later-donated new dairy kitchen, Anshe Chesed became the place to make a simchah, and not only for Linden residents.

“Our neighboring communities have a lot of people, but no building that can house a crowd that size, other than a school gym, so they make their simchahs here,” says Andy. “It has become an important source of income for us.”

While cultural differences can sometimes spark tensions in Jewish communities that are home to different groups, Linden is that rare place where everyone gets along. Linden’s Chassidic residents have added tremendously to the local infrastructure, starting branches of Hatzalah and Chaverim and opening eateries, while the city’s Modern Orthodox community has been happy to share its facilities and its connections with local officials. “We don’t butt heads with them at all,” says Andy. “We work together, and when they have a big event, Rabbi Katz and I go, and they seat us on the dais.”

Bonds between Linden’s Modern Orthodox and Chassidic communities go beyond the superficial, and when Samantha was sitting shivah, she was touched to receive a personal visit from the wife of the Kossoner Rebbe, who has been living in Linden since 2017.

“I don’t think that this type of relationship between Modern Orthodox and Chassidic Jews exists anywhere else,” observes Samantha. “We had a speaker once from Israel who talks about how communities should be united and how you shouldn’t judge your neighbors. She said that this was the first place where she actually saw that happening.”

Similarly, the community holds a challah bake each year as a zechut for a local boy who suffers from a rare form of cancer. All the women in Linden come, with heimish pre-sifted flour to accommodate the Chassidic contingent and ShopRite-brand flour with a regular hechsher for everyone else. A Shabbat afternoon visit to the park is further proof of the rare achdut that permeates Linden, where no matter where people come from or what nusach they daven, local moms are standing side by side shmoozing as they push their kids on the swings.

“At the end of the day, we might do things a little differently, but we all have the same things going on in our lives,” explains Anshe Chesed’s Rebbetzin Emma Katz.

Both segments of Linden’s Jewish community have tremendous respect for each other and are well aware that their commonalities

are far more numerous than their differences.

“There are things you don’t know about people unless you live with them,” observes Rebbetzin Katz. “They joke that we taught them how to be on time, and they taught us how to be more heimish about it. There is a vibrancy here as we live together and learn from each other.”

That level of acceptance isn’t just something that exists between Linden’s Modern Orthodox and Chassidic residents. Walk into Anshe Chesed, and you can find a siddur for every nusach and language, with both yarmulkas and doilies available for those in need of a head covering. That same warmth extends to the weekly kiddush, which can last two hours as community members enjoy each other’s company. Seniors who live alone often attend Anshe Chesed’s kids’ events, pitching in as staff members, instead of feeling excluded.

Andy and Samantha Van Houter, who moved to Linden in 2009, have never shied away from rolling up their sleeves when needed. Courtesy of Samantha Van Houten

“We take people where they are— religious, not religious,” says Rabbi Katz. “Everyone is welcome here and everyone has a place.”

Making It Work

Many of Anshe Chesed’s older members still recall Rabbi Steven Dworken, the legendary rav who led the shul from 1977 until his retirement from the pulpit in 1999, passing away just four years later at the age of fifty-eight. Rabbi Dworken’s sensitivity, empathy and genuine concern for all members of Klal Yisrael helped build a cohesive, growing Jewish community, laying the groundwork for the Linden that exists today.

Still, life in Linden isn’t without its challenges. The previously cordial relationship between the Jewish community and city officials seems to have cooled, with Mayor Derek Armstead sued in 2024 after a recording surfaced of him saying that he wanted to “save our community” from “being taken over by guys with big hats and curls,” a remark that he ultimately apologized for but insisted was not antisemitic.

Things quickly went from bad to worse. While Linden’s zoning laws hadn’t been changed in years, city officials created restrictions that made Linden less hospitable to

those with large families. In addition to outlawing basement kitchens, bedrooms or bathrooms, the new ordinances specified where in homes bedrooms could be located, and prevented residents from putting up extensions or finishing their garages. Basement ceilings were suddenly limited to a height of no more than six feet, while the number of required parking spots per home increased to an amount that couldn’t possibly fit on existing driveways, ensuring that garages were being used to house cars and nothing else. Adding insult to injury, the required minimum lot size for houses of worship was increased from 25,000 square feet to 75,000 and then finally to 90,000. With no lots of that size available in Linden’s residential areas, and another ordinance prohibiting combining lots, the city effectively barred the construction of any new shuls.

Even as what is likely to be a legal battle with city officials continues to unfold, Linden’s Jewish community remains on an upward trajectory. Housing prices have gone up as the community has been reinvigorated, and with many available properties selling before they officially hit the market, finding a place to live can be tough.

Socialization, however, can be tough for kids who go to school in one place

and live in another, a reality that often precludes Shabbat afternoon play dates, say Andy and Samantha who are the parents of three sons, ages thirteen, eleven and six.

“Still, everybody actually plays with each other here, and it doesn’t matter what school you go to or how old you are,” says Andy. “Our kids’ school friends love coming here because of the freedom, the environment and the parks.”

The language barrier can be a huge obstacle when it comes to getting Linden’s Modern Orthodox kids together with their Chassidic peers, particularly at the younger ages.

“We do encourage them to play together,” says Andy. “Sometimes my son takes another kid who speaks Yiddish with him, and they all play basketball together.”

But those downsides pale by comparison to the positives of living in Linden, say the Van Houters. Anshei Chesed’s membership of 116 (both families and singles) includes thirty young Modern Orthodox families, and as the shul recently held a “Discover Linden” Shabbaton, that number is likely to grow higher.

“Nobody falls through the cracks here,” notes Samantha. “Everyone knows your name, your mother, your father and your grandmother’s dog. You fit in. You find your people. And you feel at home and find the warmth

At Congregation Anshe Chesed in Linden, New Jersey, there’s a siddur for every nusach and every language.

and the unity.”

Building a community is hard work, and over the years, Andy and the rest of the Anshei Chesed Board have tried various incentives to attract prospective community members, with mixed results. People who moved in simply to take advantage of monetary offers aren’t necessarily community-minded, and while those opportunities do exist, Anshe Chesed has been focusing more on leadership grants, which can total as much as $10,000 per year for a family’s first five years in Linden.

“We are looking to hire youth directors, ba’alei keriah, ba’alei tefillah, people who can give back to the community and be on committees,” explains Andy, who stepped in to read the Torah during the pandemic because, while he

isn’t a ba’al korei, it was a job that needed to get done. “We are looking for people who will be community leaders, as opposed to people who might just move in and not be involved.”

Both Andy and Samantha are no strangers to rolling up their sleeves when needed, and Rabbi Katz describes them as the glue that holds the community together.

Rabbi Katz noted how Andy became a driving force behind Linden’s mikveh—explaining its importance to older non-observant members who questioned its relevance; he also jokingly describes Samantha as the community’s unofficial mayor.

“Whether it is the daily running of the mikveh or overseeing the shul dinner, she is the one making it happen,” says Rabbi Katz. “She is the

lay person par excellence, rolling up her sleeves and getting down into the weeds to get things done.”

The Van Houters’ level of commitment isn’t universal.

“Young people have no comprehension about what it means to build a community,” says Samantha. “When you come from very populated places, everything is done for you, so you don’t see the need to pitch in. Since we both came from smaller communities, we recognize the need.”

“You have to realize that if you want to make a difference, you have to go beyond your comfort zone,” says Andy. “The community has to be able to provide services, no matter what, and if there’s no one there do to it, you have to be the one stepping up to the plate.”

BUILDING A COMMUNITY: POINTERS FROM THE PROS

You need a school. At the very least, a K–8 day school. If you want a lasting community, you need a high school. A lot of communities don’t take off because families leave when their kids reach seventh or eighth grade.

—Rabbi Ezra Sarna, OU director of Torah and Halacha Initiatives

Here’s a shortcut to growth: bring in a dynamic, charismatic rabbi people will gather around.

—Steve Savitsky, former OU president and founder of the OU Savitsky Home Relocation Fair

It’s not enough to build a great eruv or open a day school if the core leadership isn’t aligned on what kind of community they’re trying to create. Communities need clarity about the value proposition they offer to potential newcomers— what makes them unique, compelling and spiritually resonant.

—Rabbi Adir Posy, OU national director of the Department of Synagogue Initiatives

In a community that seeks to grow, there needs to be a sufficient supply of housing within walking distance of the shul. Post–Covid-19, many retirees prefer to “age in place,” rather than move to assisted living. This has resulted in a housing shortage across the country, as people are not selling as much.

—Rebbetzin Judi Steinig, OU senior director of Community Projects and Partnerships

To grow a community, you need the basics—a school, a shul, a mikveh, an eruv, affordable housing, jobs. But the problem today is people say, “There’s no pizza store? No big kosher supermarket?” They want all the conveniences. To grow, you need a core group of families who want to build—and are willing to sacrifice.

—Steve Savitsky

We often tell communities: families don’t just move for affordability or amenities— they move because they sense something dynamic is happening. People are drawn to places where the leadership exudes confidence, purpose and optimism.

—Rabbi Posy

Most high schools are built because a few families say, “We don’t want to move out of this community. We like it here.” And they start building a school, even though they know nothing about it. Necessity is the mother of invention.

—Rabbi Sarna

Infrastructure matters. While some families are still willing to be communal pioneers, most today want a baseline of comfort and functionality in their Jewish lives: a reliable minyan, mikveh access, Torah education, kosher food, meaningful programming. But they’re also looking for housing, jobs, schools, parks—all the quality-of-life factors that make a community livable, not just viable.

The communities that plan holistically—investing in both mission and infrastructure—are the ones that succeed in attracting and retaining families for the long term.

—Rabbi Posy

A community could have all the right elements, all the infrastructure, and still it needs mazel to grow.

—Rebbetzin Steinig

SPRINGFIELD NEW JERSEY Greetings from:

By Judy Gruen

In 1999, Ben Hoffer was an eighteenyear-old yeshivah student at Reishit Yerushalayim, in a shiur led by twenty-five-year-old Rabbi Chaim Marcus. The two formed an instant connection and, outside of shiur, began discussing their future plans.

Rabbi Marcus shared his dream with his young student: to build up an out-of-town community in the US, preferably in a one-shul town.

“He wanted to promote a spirit of avodat Hashem and a commitment to growing in ruchniut, and this spoke to me,” Hoffer recalls. “I saw the potential for Rabbi Marcus to lead the community in Springfield, New Jersey, where my family lived.”

After returning to the States, Rabbi Marcus reached out to Yeshiva University—where he had received his semichah—for leads on pulpits in smaller communities. There were six openings at the time; one of them was Congregation Israel of Springfield. In 2001, he was hired as the assistant rabbi/youth director, but his talents were so apparent that—with the blessing of the senior rabbi—he was promoted to main rav just one year later.

Judy Gruen is an awardwinning columnist and author of the memoirs Bylines and Blessings and The Skeptic and the Rabbi. She is also a book editor and writing coach.

PUTTING SPRINGFIELD, NEW JERSEY, ON THE MAP: BEN HOFFER

At the time, Springfield—a picturesque suburb in the northcentral part of the state—was a Modern Orthodox community with about 130 member units (individuals, couples or families), but it was aging. On Shabbat, just two or three lonely strollers were parked in the lobby. A majority of members came to shul only on the High Holidays, and pulling together a daily minyan was a struggle, especially during the frigid winter months.

These days, securing stroller parking at Congregation Israel can feel more daunting than finding a parking space in Midtown Manhattan. The shul now counts around 180 member units, and its youth population is booming, with 225 children—most of them toddlers and preschoolers.

The Making of a Lay Leader

Hoffer’s parents, David and Emmy, a”h, left Bayonne for Springfield in the 1980s when Ben was eight. Along the way, they moved closer to Orthodoxy and transferred their kids from a Conservative day school to an Orthodox one. Ben and his siblings later became active participants in NCSY, while their parents threw themselves into communal life, joining numerous committees and injecting new energy into the kehillah “Community building must run in the genes,” says Hoffer.

After leaving Reishit, Hoffer attended Yeshiva University, continued learning at YU’s Gruss Kollel and earned his law degree from Brooklyn Law School. He began his career at Atlantic Realty Development Corporation, where he now serves as general counsel. He married Daniella, and even as a young couple living in Teaneck, the two were enthusiastic ambassadors for Springfield. The Hoffers, now blessed with four daughters, always planned to move to Springfield— which they did in the summer of 2007.

“It’s a little slower here, housing is less expensive, and it’s a little nicer than in many other metropolitan communities,” Hoffer says. “People are surprised at what we have here, and all it takes is one Shabbat for them to see the potential for a different way of living.”

Springfield has a kosher Chinese restaurant, a classic deli and a bagel shop that’s a point of local pride— its bagels were even praised in the town’s secular press. A new mikveh opened in 2007, and schools are just fifteen minutes away in nearby Elizabeth and Livingston.

Located so close to New York City, Springfield—known for its warmth and friendliness—is often referred to as an “out-of-town community thirty-five minutes from Manhattan.” Ariella Konigsberg, a fourth-

generation Springfield resident in her twenties, appreciates living in a community that’s close-knit and has “a small-town feel.”

“I love my community,” says Konigsberg, whose greatgrandparents were involved in founding Congregation Israel. “Even families that move away for one reason or another always come back to attend a Springfield simchah,” she says. “They are still part of the Springfield family.”

Hoffer, says Konigsberg, is a “pillar of the community, always making time for everyone.”

Now in his mid-forties, Hoffer is a former president of Congregation Israel and has served as a community leader throughout his adult life. He’s a former board member of the Joseph Kushner Hebrew Academy in Livingston, New Jersey; a member of the Board of Trustees for the Jewish Federation of Greater MetroWest NJ; a member of the National Young Leadership Cabinet for the Jewish Federations of North America; and he is involved with the Board of Governors of the Jewish Agency for Israel.

Over the years, concerted and consistent efforts to put Springfield on the map have borne fruit. As community leaders, Ben and Daniella—she currently serves as co-president of the Sisterhood— have sometimes been surprised and momentarily deflated when their efforts haven’t worked as planned. They’ve hosted many guests from other tri-state communities checking out Springfield for Shabbat.

“You can plan all you want, but Hashem runs the world,” says Hoffer. “You plant seeds, you water, you have no idea how long it will be until you see a return on investment.”

The community began gaining momentum around 2005, when several families moved in through an initiative that offered stipends for families who relocated there. Even after the stipend ended, a slow

Don’t Wait—Relocate Together

I once gave a talk to a group of young people in a thriving—but expensive—community in the tri-state area. There were about eighty guys under the age of thirty in the audience. I told them, “In five years, 75 percent of you won’t be living here.” Then I said: “Why not move together? Build a community somewhere.” Getting groups of young families to move together has been my dream for years.

—Steve Savitsky

stream of families kept arriving. Then, in the summers of 2013 and 2014, Springfield welcomed a bumper crop of fourteen young families, ushering in a new kind of growing pain: how to retain the small-community character as the neighborhood expanded. “So many people were new,” Hoffer recalls, “it was difficult for everyone to feel personally welcomed.”

Community fairs sponsored by the Orthodox Union, where Ben and Daniella frequently served as Springfield’s representatives, have proven to be winning strategies for promoting the community, as has placing ads in Jewish media. The OU’s Semichas Chaver Program (SCP) has been a hit as well, with thirty to forty attendees each week. (SCP is a practical halachah learning program for men with locations worldwide.)

While proximity to Manhattan and the smallcommunity feel are big draws, Hoffer points to Rabbi Marcus’s vision and sincerity as the true source of the community’s strength and vibrancy. “He is deeply committed to the people

here, and everybody appreciates his authenticity,” says Hoffer.

With a growing kehillah, the easy intimacy of a smaller community now takes a bit more effort. To help foster that extended-family feeling, the shul hosts community-building events like social nights, BBQs and “Torah on the Turf” during the summer to connect newer and longtime families.

“It’s a shul that breeds an appreciation for those who aren’t exactly like you,” says Rabbi Marcus. “Everybody’s growth is on a different trajectory. And once you’re settled here, it’s like the theme song of the old TV show Cheers. It’s a place where everybody knows your name.”

Ben and Daniella Hoffer are pillars of the Springfield, New Jersey, community. Courtesy of the Hoffer family

Greetings from:

CINCINNATI

OHIO

By Judy Gruen

In 2010, a majority of congregants broke away from Golf Manor Synagogue in Cincinnati, Ohio. Shabbat minyan attendance plummeted from over one hundred to barely twenty, leaving a small and devoted but aging core membership. The shul cycled through various turnaround efforts, but nothing seemed to stick.

Today, Golf Manor tells a different story. The shul now counts more than one hundred families, with about eighty attending on a typical Shabbat morning. Roughly 35 percent of its members are under forty.

How did they do it?

Most congregants credit Rabbi Yosef Alt, a dynamic personality who gained community-building experience when he was a member of the Atlanta Scholars Kollel before accepting his first pulpit role at Golf Manor in 2018. Cognizant of the need to recruit youthful leaders, he tapped twenty-five-yearold Yosef Kirschner, a gregarious “people person,” to join the Board of Directors in 2019. Kirschner, newly married, had grown up in Cincinnati attending the shul, and

Judy Gruen is an awardwinning columnist and author of the memoirs Bylines and Blessings and The Skeptic and the Rabbi. She is also a book editor and writing coach.

HOW A SHUL REWROTE ITS STORY: YOSEF KIRSCHNER

had returned to his hometown to work as an engineer in a medical device start-up.

“Yosef has been involved in a number of start-ups,” says Rabbi Alt. “His positive energy and understanding of business structures and human resources in the start-up world made him a tremendous asset for our shul, which was in a start-up phase when he was onboarding,” he says. “When he joined the shul board, that was a pivotal point for our shul. His leadership has been fantastic.”

The invitation came as a surprise to Kirschner. “Growing up, I never saw myself as a leader and never sought out leadership positions,” he said. Nevertheless, he agreed to take on the role, and despite his limited experience as a shul lay leader, he managed to win over the shul leadership. And after only a few months of serving on the board, Kirschner became chairman of the Board of Directors.

“I came with a mindset of I’m here to learn as well as to contribute. The other board members had more experience and history; I tried to build the culture that we are partners,” says Kirschner, who has three young children with his wife, Elka.

“My situation was unique. While I was very young, there was a big trust factor because people at the shul had

known me virtually all my life.”

“Recruiting young leadership is a challenge for many shuls,” explains Rabbi Adir Posy, OU national director of the Department of Synagogue Initiatives. “Younger members are balancing careers and family life, leaving limited time for volunteer commitments.”

Golf Manor was fortunate. Kirschner was able to step up. At the time, juggling his responsibilities, he often felt like he was working at two start-ups: his day job at the medical device company and Golf Manor.

“In both places, you have to make everyone feel like a stakeholder,” Kirschner says, “and find ways for everyone to feel they have something meaningful to contribute.”

As they worked to reimagine the shul, Rabbi Alt and Kirschner turned to Rabbi Posy, who consults with more than 250 shuls a year in his OU role. Rabbi Posy flew from Los Angeles to Cincinnati to help Golf Manor develop a clearer strategy, establish stronger governance and rebuild its lay leadership structure.

“There was a palpable sense of pride in what the shul was—and what it could become,” he recalls.

Shul Reboot Step 1: Solidifying an Identity

Cincinnati’s Jewish community dates back to 1817, making it one

“After a few years of soul searching, we realized our biggest strength was not to fit in any box but to welcome everyone. This helped us absorb new people into the shul.”

of the country’s oldest. In recent years, however, a growing number of Orthodox Jews have been drawn to the area—especially during Covid— attracted by affordable housing, generous school vouchers and the relaxed, welcoming vibe of a classic “out-of-town” community.

Today, Cincinnati boasts two day schools, separate high schools for boys and girls, a kollel, a mikveh and a range of kosher restaurants. Housing remains affordable, kosher food is readily available at major chains like Trader Joe’s and Kroger.

“There’s a big family-community feel here, but also a strong infrastructure compared to other similarly sized communities,” says Rabbi Alt. While the pace of growth has slowed, each summer brings a fresh influx of families relocating to Cincinnati—creating a housing shortage in the Jewish community. Hoping to appeal to the growing number of younger Jews moving to Cincinnati, Kirschner made rebranding the shul one of his first priorities, overseeing the creation of a new website and logo. Still, the shul— one of a handful in the area—strove to define its identity.

“For a long time, we struggled to find ourselves. Our constituency didn’t fit into a box. We were strategizing, asking, ‘who do we want to be?’ We couldn’t even settle on our hashkafah, and we had to figure ourselves out so that we could create a vision. After a few years of soul searching, we realized our biggest strength was not to fit in any box but to welcome everyone. This helped us

absorb new people into the shul. It’s one of our core tenets, that we’re all growing together.”

Shul Reboot Step 2: Identify and Fulfill Community Needs

Ironically, Covid presented Golf Manor with opportunities to grow. Boasting the largest sanctuary and building in the community, the shul, with its large main building and smaller second building with classrooms, invited the local kollel to host Shabbat services in the social hall, large enough for social distancing recommendations. The main Shabbat minyan had dwindled, so adding the kollel hashkamah minyan made the shul feel “more alive, especially with families and children,” says Kirschner. “We’d have thirty or forty people in the building instead of fifteen.” Giving up the social hall was sometimes logistically challenging when the shul had an event, but it infused the building with energy. There was a kiddush and a shiur afterward, and community members began coming to shul events. It turned out to be a winning strategy.

The kollel minyan drew not only kollel families but other community members due to its appealing 8:20 start time, social distancing spacing and faster-paced davening. After Covid, the kollel stopped organizing

the minyan, so Golf Manor hired the minyan’s unofficial rabbi, Rabbi Dovid Tzvi Meissner, as its associate rabbi. He has continued to lead this minyan and offer expanded learning opportunities, boosting shul membership. Rabbi Alt and Kirschner agree that adopting the kollel minyan under Golf Manor’s roof was a turning point. “It familiarized people with Golf Manor,” says Kirschner. “It built vibrancy. It helped build community.”

Filling the shul space with activity from other pockets of the community continued to upgrade Golf Manor’s profile. The shul rented space to a Jewish Montessori program and the boys’ high school for about three years, bringing a welcome injection of youth to the campus and “attracting community members who might not otherwise have visited,” says Kirschner. The boys’ high school had a beit midrash program that drew additional people to learn with the students. Not only did this arrangement show Golf Manor as a community-minded organization, but the rental income supported

Yosef Kirschner’s understanding of the startup world made him a tremendous asset as a shul leader. Courtesy of Yosef Kirschner

“The invitation came as a surprise to Kirschner. ‘Growing up, I never saw myself as a leader and never sought out leadership positions.’”

additional programming that would otherwise have been unaffordable.

Additionally, the shul began organizing larger-scale events, positioning itself as a broader community resource. Among its early initiatives was a community-wide hachnasat sefer Torah, marked by an elegantly catered dinner. It was also the first local shul to host a simchat beit hashoevah, a celebration that has since become a rotating event among neighborhood synagogues. Other offerings included a Chanukah party—complete with hired

Greetings from:

PHILADELPHIA PENNSYLVANIA

entertainment and co-sponsored by neighboring shuls—and a Mother’s Day brunch, both open to the entire community free of charge. Rabbi Alt and Kirschner deliberately sought to identify and respond to unmet communal needs, helping reposition the shul in the local landscape. Their efforts introduced programs such as a Shabbaton for older singles and a lunch-and-learn series tailored to seniors.

“We try to think about the pulse of the community’s needs,” says Kirschner.

By Merri Ukraincik

For the past eight years, Avi Apfel and his family have lived in Rhawnhurst, a quiet, parkfilled neighborhood of Northeast Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, with a

Merri Ukraincik has written for Tablet, the Lehrhaus, the Forward and other publications, including Jewish Action. She is the author of a book on the history of the Joint Distribution Committee.

Unexpectedly, Kirschner’s role at Golf Manor has boosted his career. “I learned what I could do, gained confidence and started to use the same skills at work, facilitating meetings, working with different stakeholders, trying to align people in a direction. Failures and successes go hand in hand, and learning from them boosted me into a real leadership role in the company.” Kirschner is now the technical lead at his company, overseeing about a quarter of the staff.

During a Shabbat kiddush about a year ago, Kirschner looked around the social hall filled with kids running around, fathers sharing a few l’chaims, and young mothers catching up about their week. He went over to Rabbi Alt and said, “Look, shep some nachas. The ‘stroller parking lot’ is full.”

THE ACCIDENTAL ACTIVIST: AVI APFEL

mixed urban-suburban vibe. The Apfels deeply value what their small yet growing frum community has to offer. They also appreciate what it does not.

“It’s warm and friendly and everyone knows everyone else,” Apfel says. “There’s no materialistic pressure. Regardless of our individual means, we tend to live in the same four-bedroom, semiattached houses.”

With about 250 Orthodox families, Rhawnhurst is the largest of the four neighborhoods that compose the Northeast Philadelphia community. The others are Elkins Park, Somerton and Bensalem, with 75–100 observant families each. They share schools, a kosher supermarket and several kosher eateries.

Originally from the more in-town community of West Hempstead, New York, Apfel never imagined

“To be heavily involved in an initiative like this, you must have thick skin . . . . And that’s before you start fundraising or recruiting a board.”

settling with his family in a small place like Rhawnhurst. Yet he came to value the perks of the out-of-town lifestyle when he lived in Pittsburgh, where he pursued doctoral studies in biostatistics after learning in the kollel at Ner Yisroel in Baltimore, Maryland.

He and his wife, Rivky, loved the proximity of Pittsburgh’s Jewish amenities, as well as “the exposure our kids had to every sort of Jew, another huge advantage of this kind of community,” he says. Apfel also had unique opportunities, like learning b’chavruta with both his shul rav and the rosh kollel

something he never imagined possible in Baltimore.

“We had been hesitant to leave the large, beautiful, well-established and growth-minded Baltimore kehillah behind. Once in Pittsburgh, though, we found it easier to feel we made a difference because of the community’s size.”

For example, Apfel began giving shiurim, something he’d never done before. “It was a case of rising to the occasion to fill a need,” he notes. He even joined a course offered to young kollel members—he was made an honorary member—to hone their public speaking skills.

Yet, Apfel never considered himself an activist or a community builder. That changed when, with his PhD in hand, he and his family had to pull up roots again. On the recommendation of a friend, they investigated the Northeast Philly area, which checked most of their boxes.

The community was both within reach of the East Coast–based pharma industry, where he worked, and driving distance to family in New York. It had the small-town values they appreciated in Pittsburgh and schools that matched their hashkafot. Apfel also knew that a community kollel was in the works.

came to town, Rhawnhurst was undergoing a demographic shift. Most members were older families in the process of relocating, with very few young ones replacing them. Gradually, however, recruitment efforts began to bear fruit.

“These efforts inspired me to move!” Apfel says. Fourteen other families moved in the same year the Apfels did, many finding Rhawnhurst through the OU Savitsky Home Relocation Fair. (Rhawnhurst still participates.)

“We all found a wholesome environment in which to raise our families, without feeling compelled to keep up with the Joneses,” Apfel points out. “But after living here several months already, the kollel project wasn’t making progress. I was disappointed, having chosen Rhawnhurst on the pretext of there being one.”

In the meantime, he learned part time at a special kollel for educators at one of the local shuls. “I knew I had to be patient before getting involved, to have humility, to first let people know me, to earn their respect. To use seichel to get a real lay of the land.”

“[The kollel] was a huge draw, a priority for my own learning and for what I believe it adds to a community’s ruchniyus.” Despite the academic demands of his doctoral program, he’d managed to attend sedarim at the Kollel Jewish Learning Center during his years in Pittsburgh. Once he moved to Philly, he planned to work afternoons and evenings and spend the mornings at the kollel

When the Apfels

Luckily, Rhawnhurst is small enough that it didn’t take that long. Apfel soon met all the main players and came to understand the reasons why the process of establishing a kollel had stalled, among them both funding challenges and getting broad buy-in from the community.

Next, he approached a local rav

“That’s where you start when you want to get things done because he [the rav] has a unique bird’s eye view of the kehillah and its needs,” says Apfel. “We discussed the pros and cons of bringing in the kollel and whether it would really get more people to learn. Only with the rav’s endorsement that it represented a huge growth opportunity for the whole community did I join the team that was working to make it happen.”

The first step was to create consensus around the idea of having

Rabbi Mordechai Terebelo, rav of Congregation Ahavas Torah, seen here with one of the Apfel boys.

Photos courtesy of Avi Apfel

a kollel in the neighborhood. “Not everyone was as eager as we were or even comfortable with it,” says Apfel. “Some people were worried about the financial burden. Others weren’t convinced it would enhance spiritual life in Rhawnhurst.”

“Things started to move once Avi got involved,” recalls Rabbi Mordechai Terebelo, rav of Congregation Ahavas Torah.

“Avi played a huge role in winning over those who were hesitant or uncomfortable,” says Rosh Kollel Rabbi Yonah Burr. “It was really something to see his impact. He’d

Not a Business Plan

Often people forget that Hashem is your partner. They approach community building like a business plan. But Jewish growth often happens miraculously. Hashem wants Torah communities. If you believe He’s your partner, you’ll take leaps of faith—not recklessly, but with emunah.

—Rabbi Ezra Sarna, OU director of Torah and Halacha Initiatives

only been here for a few months.”

However, Apfel is quick to point out some of the personal challenges that arose along the way. Most notably: His commitment to the project on occasion made him less than popular. “To be heavily involved in an initiative like this, you must have thick skin,” he says. “And that’s before you start fundraising or recruiting a board.”

The key to staying on course, he says, is to consult da’at Torah “every step of the way. It ensures you’re doing the right thing and for altruistic reasons, especially when you face inevitable pushback.”

He adds that when it comes to establishing a new institution or looking to make any kind of change, this is true anywhere. “So, you have to ask yourself: Am I thinking about the community or my own daled amos?”

When they began the search for a rosh kollel, Apfel says, “We had to carefully weigh the needs of the whole kehillah, not just what would be good for the individuals on the board. There’s a spectrum of people who can serve in the role. For Rhawnhurst, it had to be a community-centric talmid chacham who would also find a way to connect with everyone here.”

As with the kollel, Apfel’s latest community-based leadership effort—helping to build a new boys’ high school—is about creating institutions that meet the needs of the greater Philadelphia kehillah. “Most of our boys go out of town for high school because there isn’t a local option that matches what they are looking for,” says Apfel.

“My eldest son learns in the Talmudical Yeshiva of Philadelphia, and I have another son in lower elementary school. But from a broad community standpoint right now, and for the future, we need to build a more community-oriented yeshivah with strong Torah learning.”

In addition to his work on behalf of the high school, Apfel is involved in some way with nearly every Jewish institution in Rhawnhurst, giving of his time, talents and resources. What keeps him motivated when obstacles get in the way?

“Mindset is key. Stay passionate about whatever it is you want to build because you’ll undoubtedly need to persevere.”

While Apfel does not expect Rhawnhurst to ever become a large community, he says the neighborhood continues to grow with a sprinkling of three to five new families annually, with very limited attrition. Among his own recruits to Rhawnhurst are his parents, a brother and two brothers-in-law and their families, who found Apfel’s enthusiasm for Northeast Philly contagious.

“While we don’t have all the amenities of a larger community, the good more than outweighs that. You can have real impact on Jewish life here,” he says.

Rabbi Burr credits Apfel for “helping to lay the groundwork that makes our community so attractive.”

Still, Apfel is surprised by his own accidental activism. “If someone had asked me ten years ago, I would never have envisioned myself playing this kind of role.”

Avi Apfel learning with his son at an Avos Ubanim program.

Greetings from:

MEMPHIS TENNESSEE

By Rachel Schwartzberg

High on the list of things Noam Davidovics never thought he’d do is stay up all night in a sweltering parking lot, tending to brisket on a barbeque.

But if giving up a night of sleep was what his shul needed him to do, he was all in. And his efforts paid off when his slow-cooked brisket won an award for the Young Israel of Memphis’s booth at the city’s annual ASBEE Kosher BBQ Contest & Festival.

“All in” is an apt description of Noam and his wife, Dr. Deena Davidovics, who have spent more than thirteen years giving of their time and talents to help strengthen the Orthodox community in Memphis, Tennessee.

Noam is currently the president of the Young Israel of Memphis, which he describes as “very grassroots.” The presidency is not only about running board meetings but also about literal heavy lifting. Noam can frequently be found at the shul, setting up, cleaning up and pitching in on various projects around the building.

Young Israel is the smaller of

MODELING LEADERSHIP IN MEMPHIS: NOAM AND DR. DEENA DAVIDOVICS

the two Orthodox synagogues in Memphis. It is located just down the street from the more historic Baron Hirsch Congregation, which traces its roots back to the 1800s. The city’s eruv encompasses both shuls, as well as the Orthodox day school, Margolin Hebrew Academy/Feinstone Yeshiva of the South (MHA/FYOS). A Chabad congregation is in a suburb about ten minutes away.

When he’s not busy with the shul, Noam is an IT professional and helps support technology infrastructure at MHA/FYOS. Deena recently served as president of the Board of the school, where she has also chaired major fundraising efforts over the years, including its annual sweepstakes and ad journal. Additionally, she is a member of the chevra kadisha.

The couple believes that everyone— in every community—has something they can contribute to the klal, and when people do their part, the community is stronger for it. Whether they are lobbying the city for a crosswalk or volunteering to coach a flag football team, they feel fortunate that their five children, who range in age from ten to twenty-two, are learning this lesson in real time, growing up as part of Memphis’s close-knit frum community.

The Davidovicses moved to Memphis in 2012 when Deena accepted a position at St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital, where she is now the director of the Division of Quality of Life and Palliative Care.

Rachel Schwartzberg is a writer and editor who lives with her family in Memphis, Tennessee.

The historic Baron Hirsch Congregation traces its roots back to the late 1800s. Courtesy of Baron Hirsch Congregation

Life in a smaller Jewish community was new to Noam and Deena, who grew up in Englewood, New Jersey, and Miami Beach, Florida, respectively. They met as New Jersey NCSY advisors and moved several times during Deena’s medical training. But it was their time in Baltimore, prior to coming to Memphis, that ended up being formative.

The Davidovicses’ two oldest children were enrolled at Yeshivat Rambam when the school announced in 2011 that it was closing due to financial challenges. “It was a painful experience as parents,” says Noam. “It dominated every discussion, every Shabbat meal. We all questioned if we could have done more.”

It was during that period that the couple got involved in communal work. “The experience in Baltimore made us realize that things can actually fall apart,” says Noam. “It’s not theoretical. We can’t take it for granted that an institution will survive without hard work.”

The awareness of just how much goes into keeping a school running is front and center in Memphis, says Dr. Larry Wruble, a retired

gastroenterologist who has been actively involved in Memphis’s Orthodox community for more than sixty years—including serving as president of Baron Hirsch and “at least twice” as president of MHA/ FYOS. “This is the type of place where people roll up their sleeves and see how they can help. I believe people are more involved here than elsewhere because we feel ownership in a way that someone might not in a larger community.”

MHA/FYOS was founded in 1949 and serves about 200 students. The school is co-ed from preschool through eighth grade and includes separate girls’ and boys’ high schools, both of which have welcomed dorming students from other cities. Although having only one Orthodox school in town can sometimes be a point of friction, Deena embraces it as a unique feature of Memphis. “We’ve got all hashkafot here, all types of Jews,” she says. In fact, the school’s beit midrash is used regularly by both the members of the Memphis Kollel and the Israeli shlichim in the Torah MiTzion Kollel. “The school is truly the heart of the community, and we can see there’s a reason to work together for a common good,” she adds. “There is a unity that you don’t see so often elsewhere.” In fact, loyalty runs deep at MHA/FYOS, where a surprising number of current students have parents and grandparents who are also alumni.

In a city like Memphis, whose Orthodox community has a long and proud history of community builders, Deena and Noam are in good company, adds Dr. Wruble. “But just like we don’t take our school for granted, we don’t take anyone for granted. Even on top of their jobs and everything else, the Davidovicses have done so much for the community.”

Both Noam and Deena are passionate about increasing the opportunities for Torah learning in Memphis. To that end, they have hosted and given shiurim, spearheaded an annual Shavuot learning program for girls, cosponsored scholar-in-residence programs and more.

A few years back, Noam heard his brothers in Israel talking about a new in-depth halachah shiur they were attending, and he wanted to join the program, too. So, in his usual quiet way, he got to work.

“Noam approached us to ask if we’d consider bringing the OU’s Semichas Chaver Program (SCP) to Memphis,” says Rabbi Yosef Braha, rosh kollel of the Memphis Kollel. “He did the recruiting for the initial cohort, and he continues to recruit participants with every new semester. SCP has been our most successful, longstanding program, with a solid group coming each week.” Additionally, he says, Noam has dedicated hours of his time to create review sheets for the tests—which are now shared with more than 250 other SCP groups around the world. “Thanks in part to Noam’s energy and commitment, the group in Memphis is bigger than in much larger cities, and the program is really changing people’s relationship with halachah, learning and observance.”

Small Community, Big Heart

The Orthodox community in Memphis numbers about 200 families, accounting for a fairly high proportion of the estimated 10,000 Jews in the city. Although the cost of living is about 10 percent below the national average, the community still grapples with the universal challenge of how to make Jewish life both affordable and sustainable.

“In a small community,” Deena says, “it takes on added significance because we simply don’t have large numbers in our favor. With such narrow margins, if a family moves away, we feel it. While people are

In a city like Memphis, whose Orthodox community has a long and proud history of community builders, Noam and Dr. Deena Davidovics are continuing the legacy. Courtesy of the Davidovics family

truly happy to help out, it sometimes feels like the same people are continuously tapped for their time and donations.” Recognizing this challenge, several years ago Dr. Wruble spearheaded an effort to recruit new families to Memphis. Noam built the website. While the number of Orthodox households has grown in recent years, it’s been more of a trickle than a wave.

This year, Tennessee introduced Education Freedom Scholarships (aka “vouchers”), which many people are hopeful will be a financial benefit to current families and help attract more in the future. As the only Orthodox day school in the state, MHA/FYOS took an active role in advocating for the opportunity in partnership with other local private schools.

“Opportunities like this serve as a reminder that we are not isolated,” Deena says. This idea was especially driven home when, as president of the school, she welcomed

Tennessee Governor Bill Lee and US Congressman David Kustoff to MHA/FYOS to discuss safety and security in the weeks following October 7. “It’s so clear that what we do in our small community can have an impact on a wider level and create a kiddush Hashem.”

In her professional role, Deena has a front row seat watching the quiet chesed that happens in Memphis on a regular basis. Her colleagues at St. Jude usually notify her when a Jewish family is coming for their child’s cancer treatment. With limited kosher options at the hospital, members of the community volunteer to cook and deliver meals— often over the course of weeks or even months.

On one memorable occasion, the community came together to make a bar mitzvah at Young Israel for a boy whose sister was getting treatment at St. Jude and wasn’t able to travel. From preparing the kiddush to

arranging Shabbat meals for outof-town guests, every detail was taken care of, on par with any local simchah. “You would never have known that most people here hadn’t met the family before that Shabbat,” Deena notes.

That event was possible because community members are used to working together, she explains. “The systems are in place so that people are always helping each other. When someone is sick, has a baby or is making a simchah—it’s not just their circle of friends or a committee that helps. We all step up.”

At the end of the day, Deena and Noam are grateful that their children are growing up in a community where leadership is modeled all around them. “They see that instead of waiting for something to happen, we can make it happen,” says Deena, “and that there’s real value in being so devoted to something greater than ourselves.”

WHERE IS TENNESSEE?

Far from the frum frenzy, one newly Southern Jew reflects on finding home—and herself—deep in the heart of Memphis.

By Rachel Schwartzberg

When my husband was offered a job in Memphis, Tennessee, I agreed to the move, sight unseen. I had never been to Memphis, but we were looking to leave New York City, and I figured we could go anywhere for a year or two.

Fourteen years later, we’re still here. Sitting on the plane from New York, squirming baby on my lap, I turned to my husband in frustration. “Why is this flight taking so long? Wait . . . where is Tennessee?” It only occurred to me at that moment that I—a Canadian–turned–New Yorker—actually had no idea where in the country we were headed. It took some getting used to when the “tri-state area” became Tennessee, Arkansas and Mississippi.

Notwithstanding the challenging adjustment, what we found here in Memphis ended up checking so many boxes—the ones we knew about and the ones we couldn’t have foreseen. We discovered a lifestyle that back in New York seemed like the proverbial unicorn: an affordable home, no state income tax and easy commutes. How excited we were to have a driveway and endless street parking! We found a shul where we felt comfortable, and our family has grown alongside it over the years.

Granted, we traded our winter gear for hot, sticky summers. But when our kids complain about traffic because there are four cars ahead of us at the stop sign on the drive to school, we laugh knowingly.

When we arrived here, I had no idea I’d become the mother of daughters— some of whom are now teenagers. These girls of mine are figuring out who they are and where they fit in this vast, complex world, just as all teenagers must. But in some ways, the world they’re growing up in is a little less big and maybe just a little less complex.

From a distance we’ve watched as frum culture has blossomed in the years since we left New York. From modest clothing brands to highend food options to kosher travel experiences and a growing cadre of Orthodox lifestyle influencers, all sorts of trends and fashions play an ever-increasing role in mainstream Orthodox life. In tandem, the list of

“Our children know they matter . . . they know they contribute to the klal, just by showing up. They understand they can make a difference . . . and so they do. ”

“must haves” for frum families—and especially teenagers—seems to be growing at a feverish pace. Sure, my kids care about styles and trends and wanting the “in” things of the moment. But in our little corner of the world, that’s not what they’re surrounded with. It’s not about having the exact right sweatshirt and the trending skirt and the brandname hair ties and, and, and, and . . . Are there girls in their social circles who have some of those things? Definitely. Are there girls who place a lot of value on having all those things? Maybe. But here in Memphis, slightly removed from the booming, and all-consuming, frum culture, it’s certainly easier to sidestep the “stuff” in favor of substance. The seemingly endless list of children’s “needs” is a little shorter and just a little more negotiable.

It’s not always easy to navigate the social dynamics of a small class. But amazingly, the kids learn to get along with classmates who are not just like them, and end up with friends they probably would never have met in a larger community. In our one-school town, our children see up close that different families live differently—the Orthodox community encompasses the entire spectrum of observance and income levels.

The age-old “but everyone is doing it” has that much less potency because, well, we know everyone personally. In five minutes or less, we can usually verify with the other parents if, in fact, “everyone” truly is doing something that my child thinks she’s missing out on. (As it turns out, not every first grader stays up until 9:00 pm on a school night after all; but yes, almost everyone else

in eighth grade has a smart phone already.) It doesn’t mean my kids won’t occasionally try the argument anyway, but the fact remains that the unnamed mass of “everyone” simply doesn’t exist.

Another bonus we couldn’t have anticipated: In a place where we’re very obviously in the minority, our fellow Jews are on our team. Other Jews are not the competition—not for acceptance to school or camp, or for a spot in a coveted carpool, or even for parking spaces on erev Shabbat. In fact, there’s a certain camaraderie with our fellow Jews that only someone from a smaller community can relate to: When you see frum people in public places, you instinctively assume you must know them. And if you don’t know them, you’d better welcome them to town and see if there’s anything you can help with while they’re here.

Of course, it’s not all peaches and magnolias. Aside from the humid summers, which will never be my favorite, when you move to a smaller Jewish community, you cast your lot with people who, until recently, were strangers. No one warns you how everyone becomes so interconnected that it’s very hard when friends move away— our friends, our kids’ friends, sometimes both at once. No

matter how legitimate the reason for their relocation, it somehow always feels just a little bit personal. Nevertheless, the other side of that same coin is what makes it all worthwhile: Our children know they matter. They know they’re important—not only in our family, obviously, but in the wider community. They know they contribute to the klal, just by showing up. They understand they can make a difference . . . and so they do.

In fourteen years, we’ve wondered periodically if it’s time to move on, to greener pastures with more Jewish amenities. And each time, our conversations circle back to versions of the same: Would we really give up the values our girls are internalizing growing up here in Memphis for kosher sashimi? Should we willingly accept upon ourselves and our daughters the social and financial pressures of bigger-town living, in the name of wider opportunity? But as we debate the pros and cons, the fourth car passes the stop sign, and we’re already at our destination . . . and the conversation usually ends right there.

Rachel Schwartzberg and her husband, Steve, live in Memphis where they have a driveway and endless street parking. Photo: Rivka Braverman

Greetings from:

ARIEL ISRAEL

By Carol Ungar

From its early days as the Shomron’s outlier secular town, Ariel is finally finding its Jewish soul.

Founded in 1978 with government approval, Ariel spreads over a scenic and breezy mountain top local Arabs once dubbed “the mountain of death” because its land was considered nonarable. Though Ariel always had religious residents, they were a small minority.

That has changed.

“Today, more religious people are moving to Ariel than secular,” says Chava Rozmarin, a veteran Ariel Religious Council employee and longtime resident. South Ariel, a new neighborhood whose first phase includes 839 homes, is nearly complete and includes three synagogues and a mikveh; there are two other mikvaot in other parts of town. According to Rozmarin, 300 religious families are already living there.

With fourteen Orthodox synagogues, two religious elementary

Carol Ungar is an awardwinning writer whose essays have appeared in Tablet, the Jerusalem Post, Ami Magazine, Jewish Action and other publications. She teaches memoir writing and is the author of several children’s books.

LESSONS IN COMMUNITY BUILDING— FROM ISRAEL

How a religious community took root in Ariel

schools, a brand-new religious girls’ junior high and plans for a religious girls’ high school, two Bnei Akiva chapters, and even a kippah-wearing mayor, Yair Chetboun, religious life is thriving in the city, and the future looks bright.

How did a religious community come to be built in Ariel?

“Some religious Jews come for ideological reasons,” says Rozmarin. “They want to live across the Green Line to keep it part of Israel. [At the same time,] they like living in a real city that retains the flavor of a yishuv.” Rozmarin says that Ariel is now home to 1,000 religious families, making up 30 percent of the city’s population. Once a sleepy outpost, Ariel now boasts shopping malls, medical clinics and a university with 17,000 students—some of whom end up settling there for good.

Many of the religious newcomers actually grew up in Ariel and have come back home to raise their own families. Some secular families do this, too. “People like living in Ariel,” says Avi Zimmerman, a US immigrant and a consultant who worked closely with each of Ariel’s three mayors.

It wasn’t always this way. When Zimmerman and his wife, Dana, landed in town in the early 2000s, religious life was far less vibrant. “Back then, the Bnei Akiva chapter

had five kids,” recalls Zimmerman. Today there are 250.

In those years, half of Ariel’s residents were Russian immigrants who were drawn to the city by its visionary mayor, Ron Nachman, who greeted them upon their arrival at Ben Gurion airport. Some had brought along their non-Jewish spouses and children.

“There was fear of Jews and nonJews mixing, so many of the religious residents left,” recalls Rozmarin.

“When we came, the other religious people said, ‘you’ll leave too,’” recalls Rabbi Avner Ben Yosef, who arrived in the city twenty-seven years ago as part of a six-family Garin Torani—a group dispatched by the Shiloh Hesder yeshivah with the mission of revitalizing religious life in the area.

(A Garin Torani is a group of young Religious Zionist families who move together into a neighborhood to effect social change and strengthen Judaism.)

Religious neighborhoods dot the city of Ariel. One such neighborhood, led by Rabbi Ben Yosef, is the Shvut Ariel community, a network of 300 families spread over three synagogues.

“[In the early years,] I put ads in the religious newspapers to get people to come [to Ariel],” recalls Rabbi Ben Yosef. For the most part, his efforts weren’t successful, at least not initially.

One factor keeping people away was the persistent and widely publicized rumor that Ariel was rife with missionary activity—it was not.

“We were very scared to come,” says Tamar Silberschein, a former New Jerseyite and a Torah teacher who arrived in 2005 along with twenty other families who came from the Gush Katif town of Netzarim.

“The town was very secular and very nationalistic,” recalls Rabbi Zion Tawil, the rabbi of the Netzarim community in Ariel, known as Netzer Ariel, and head of the Netzarim Hesder Yeshiva.

The Netzarim community was founded after the disengagement of 2005. Evacuees from Gush Katif were looking for a place to settle; Ariel—its mayor, Ron Nachman, and the townspeople—warmly welcomed them.

But most of the members of Netzarim couldn’t adjust to a diverse

city after being thrown out of their pastoral all-religious Gush Katif village. Of the seventy-six families who came, only twenty stayed. The rest moved to the Gaza envelope to recreate their destroyed home.

For those who stayed, it wasn’t easy.

“Our kids were shocked to see cars on Shabbat,” says Asi Hiller, a retired nurse and mother of eleven who came to Ariel with the Netzarim group.

While the Shiloh Garin Torani families spread throughout the city, the Netzarim evacuees settled together in a tightly knit enclave that came to be known as the Atar Hakaravanim—the caravan compound. For the first nine years, they lived in what was essentially a trailer park of tin-sided temporary homes. Today, they reside in permanent housing in a nearby neighborhood.

But it was ideology that drew some of them to Ariel.

They believed that their fight against the disengagement failed because the Gush Katif communities were perceived as having distanced themselves from the rest of the country.

Their answer was to “join the nation”—to embed themselves in existing cities and towns and, in doing so, bridge the divide that had once left them isolated. By building relationships and living side by side with the broader Israeli public, they hoped to change hearts and prevent their tragedy from repeating.

Like the Shiloh Garin Torani, which was committed to making a positive religious and social impact on the local population, the Netzarim community wanted to make their mark in Ariel as well. “Our goal was to integrate,” recalls Hiller.

The city’s secular residents weren’t far away—they were right next door or down the block.

Though Ariel’s religious residents prefer to live within walking distance of a shul, the town lacks an exclusively religious neighborhood. The closest approximation is a section of the Moriah neighborhood, near Ariel University, where many Netzarim families eventually settled. Even that area is mixed: the Netzarim residents often rent out rooms to secular university students.

“We all live near chilonim,” says Dana Zimmerman. “The goal was, of

Approximately 1,000 religious families live in Ariel. Courtesy of the Ariel Development Fund

Wishing for a year of peace, endless opportunities, blessings & growth

NATIONAL DEVELOPMENT ZIONIST EDUCATION

“Though Ariel always had religious residents, they were a small minority. That has changed.”

course, to be good neighbors, and the community has succeeded.”

Working side by side at the university and at Ariel’s other businesses and health care clinics, religious residents gradually wove themselves into the city’s social fabric. “For twenty years, I ran the local Kupat Cholim [a branch of one of the health funds that provides health care services in Israel],” says Hiller. “And I heard a lot of praise for the religious community.”

Hiller and her husband, Rabbi Yair Hiller, also made ties with the Russian community. She recalls one particularly moving Shabbat meal that they shared with a secular Russian couple. “This was their first real Shabbat meal,” says Hiller. “When I brought out a kugel, the husband jumped out of his seat to tell us that his grandmother made the same dish in Russia. He was so emotional.”

Eventually, the couple became fully observant. While that isn’t the norm, some of the Russians living in Ariel do move closer to their Jewish roots. “There is a large population

of [intermarried] Russians who have converted to Judaism,” says Rozmarin.

Perhaps the key to Ariel’s religious success is that the city is rich in chesed organizations.

Anyone seeking Shabbat hospitality can turn to the local Shulchan Shabbat, which feeds some sixty people a week, among them students, singles and widowed or divorced people. Efforts are underway to establish a second branch in the city.

The Ginsberg Gemach, which operates through the city’s welfare department, provides money and

food to needy families before holidays. The Netzarim and Shvut Ariel communities operate similar initiatives.

Additionally, there are gemachim for medicines, breast pumps, and baby carriers, as well as meal trains and other help for families in which one of the parents is doing IDF reserve duty. All of these groups serve both the secular and the religious.

In a society that is so torn by disagreements, many of them over religion, Ariel points the way to a better future. Religious and nonreligious can live together with respect. “We talk about it daily,” says Yaden Cohen, a forty-one-year-old Ariel resident who is an educator, father of eight and director of OU Israel’s Teen Center in Ariel. “Our goal is to influence the public space to be more value oriented. We want to be a lighthouse for Israeli society.”

Since 2008, the OU Savitsky Home Relocation Fair has helped thousands of Orthodox families find the right community in the US and in Israel. Held every other year, the now-virtual event, directed by Rebbetzin Judi Steinig, OU senior director of Community Projects and Partnerships, draws more than 2,500 participants and features dozens of communities from across the US and Israel. The OU Savitsky 2026 Community Fair is scheduled for Sunday, February 22, 2026. If you are a community leader and would like to showcase your community, please apply at https://communities.ou.org/savitsky-fair-2026/. For those looking to relocate, stay tuned for upcoming registration information.

SNOOKER AND SECOND CHANCES

How OU Israel's Teen Center Is Changing Young Lives in Ariel

By JA Staff

For some teens in Ariel, life comes at them fast and rough. For others, it offers no clear path at all. But on most evenings, a few dozen of them gather in a large, newly renovated space in the heart of the city. The lights glow, music hums through the air, and the snooker tables fill with players.

“Snooker is the way we attract

them,” says Yaden Cohen, the forty-one-year-old educator who serves as the director of OU Israel’s Teen Center in Ariel. (Snooker is a more sophisticated version of pool, popular among Israeli teens.) “Once they are in, they can join—along with their advisors—a game of ping pong, a field trip, cooking and volunteering with seniors and other groups.”

Cohen, a father of eight, knows how to reach teens who don’t always have adults they can rely on. The Teen Center he leads draws over 100 kids each week—mostly secular junior high and high school students who would otherwise spend their evenings on the streets. Some come from rough home lives. Some are children of immigrants. Many are

simply adrift.

“We try,” says Cohen. “And often we succeed.”

OU Israel currently operates Teen Centers in eighteen communities across the country—from Kiryat Shemona in the north to Dimona in the south—serving more than 3,000 young people annually. These centers are designed for teens on the margins: those shaped by street culture, on the verge of dropping out of school, or simply missing the structure and warmth of a home.

More than just a refuge, the centers offer a path forward—something all

the more vital amid the turbulence of the past two years of war.

“It’s not just about having fun,” Cohen says. “We educate the kids to be more Zionistic and more idealistic and more connected to their Judaism.”

“We create a community of young people,” says Chaim Pelzner, program director, OU Israel, “and it gives them a strong sense of belonging.” Teens are equipped with the tools for meaningful living— emerging more independent, more proactive and more attuned to the world around them.

The approach works. Often deep connections are forged between teens and their advisors, many of whom are local university or yeshivah students just a few years older than the kids themselves. Some 40 percent of the advisors attended the centers themselves when they were teens. The result is a bond that feels like family.

Sometimes, those bonds quite literally change lives.

Cohen tells the story of Dani, a teen from a troubled home who was accepted into the elite Duvdevan commando unit of the IDF. “He could have had a very different life story,” says Cohen. “We inspired him.”

Then there’s Ben, now twenty-five, an alumnus of the Teen Centers and former Givati soldier. The child of immigrants from the former Soviet Union, Ben was not halachically Jewish when he entered the IDF. But he joined the army’s Nativ conversion program, which pairs soldiers with religious families. That’s how he found Yaden Cohen.

“Ben became our son,” Cohen says. “He is our ninth child. Now he’s looking for a religious girl to marry.”

The OU recently funded a 150,000 shekel renovation of the Ariel Teen Center, which Cohen hopes will help even more young people. “These kids have difficult lives,” says Cohen. “Our goal is to change their trajectory.”

OU Israel currently operates Teen Centers in eighteen communities across the country—from Kiryat Shemona in the north to Dimona in the south—serving more than 3,000 young people annually.

Guided by Rav Simcha Hochbaum

THE ARTISTRY OF SHABBAT LIGHTS

BY DAVID OLIVESTONE

For Jewish women, the moment of lighting the candles on a Shabbat or holiday eve (in Hebrew “hadlakat nerot;” in Yiddish “lichtbentchen”) is one of profound spirituality and powerful emotion. After waving their hands over the flames and whispering the berachah with covered eyes, many women say an intense prayer for their family’s welfare, for their personal needs or for Am Yisrael in general.

The earliest text to mention Shabbat lights is the well-known second chapter of Mishnah Masechet Shabbat, which begins with the words “Bameh madlikin—With what are we to light?” But while it lists in great detail the types of oils and wicks that may or may not be used, there is scarcely any mention of the type of lamps used to hold them as they burn.

We can assume that in the time of the Mishnah, and for centuries both before and after, Shabbat lights were lit in the everyday clay oil lamps that archaeologists have unearthed in Israel in large numbers. Some of the lamps that were found with Jewish symbols on them may have been reserved especially for Shabbat use.

As techniques for working with different materials evolved through the ages, bronze and brass lamps, as well as lamps made of glass, known as ashashiyot, which Rashi (Shabbat 23a) translates as “lanterns,” became more common.1

During the Middle Ages in Germany, an oil lamp specifically designated for Shabbat lighting gained popularity. Known as the “Judenstern” (Jewish star), because of the six or more spouts arrayed in a star-like pattern

David Olivestone is a contributing editor of Jewish Action

around its base to hold the wicks, it was hung from the ceiling, often by means of a ratchet that could be raised or lowered in order to light it. Originally simply made of brass, the Judenstern spread across Europe and wealthy individuals commissioned silversmiths to create ornately detailed hanging lamps, adorned with figurines depicting Biblical or holiday scenes.

By the fifteenth century, with wax candles increasingly more affordable, the use of candlesticks became widespread. Typically made of brass, with a varying number of candle holders, they often featured motifs of animals mentioned in rabbinic sources—such as lions or deer—and sometimes bore the inscription “lehadlik ner shel Shabbat—to kindle lights for Shabbat.”

Wealthy Jewish families would purchase or commission silver candlesticks, often of great beauty, which were out of the reach of the common folk. But unlike other Jewish ritual objects, which call for unique designs based on the requirements of the specific mitzvah, candlesticks are household items used by people around the world.

Recognizing a niche, two nineteenthcentury Polish silversmiths, Fraget and Norblin, began to market their relatively inexpensive silver-plated candlesticks to Jewish consumers.

Embellished with elegant flourishes and often decorated with embossed leaves or grapevines, many styles had a removable “bobeche” at the top that would catch any dripping wax and could be easily taken off to be cleaned. Candlesticks such as these became the most treasured possessions of European Jewish households and would be the first items to be packed when fleeing oppression, often being handed down as family heirlooms.

In the twentieth century, master Judaica designers such as Ludwig

Wolpert and Moshe Zabari created striking designs in silver and other metals that have become museum pieces and sought-after collectibles. At the same time, the custom grew of adding one candle for each child in the family, resulting in the popularity of large and more flamboyant candelabra.

Still more recently, the use of compact candles known as neronim, set in glass containers on top of the candlesticks, became widespread as a safeguard against the danger of fires. And responding to contemporary needs, the Zomet Institute developed rabbinically-endorsed electric candles for use in hospital and hotel rooms or other locations where open flames are prohibited.2

Yet for all the evolving styles and materials, the essential mitzvah remains unchanged. The flickering flames continue to illuminate the Jewish home each week, just as their glow has illuminated Jewish life throughout the ages.

* My grateful thanks for their help in preparing this article to Dr. Susan Nashman Fraiman, Sharon Liberman Mintz of Sotheby’s, Professor Shalom Sabar of the Hebrew University, Dr. Abigail Rapoport of the Jewish Museum in New York, and Rabbi David Aronson. My gratitude also to Joyce Faust of Art Resource, Inc., Warren Klein of Congregation Emanu-El of the City of New York, Megan Malta Scauri of the American Jewish Historical Society, and Sarah Weiner, associate editor of Jewish Action, for their help in obtaining the photographs.

Notes

1. For a fuller historical account, see Susan Nashman Fraiman, “The Candlestick Collection of Dr. Rimma Bobava,” in Art and Research 3 (BarIlan University, 2017).

2. The packaging includes references to endorsements by Rabbi Ovadia Yosef, zt"l, and Rabbi Yehoshua Neuwirth, zt"l. For a full halachic discussion, see https://zomet.org.il/product/רניל/.

Courtesy of the Education Center of the National Library of Israel

Painting by Moritz Daniel Oppenheim, “Ushering in the Sabbath” (1865). Dressed in her silk gown and fur-trimmed jacket, the mother lights the hanging Shabbat lamp, while her husband checks the time and takes his son’s hand as they leave for shul.

The Jewish Museum, New York/Art Resource, New York

A woman waves her hands around the Shabbat lamp as it hangs over the table. Woodcut from Sefer HaMinhagim (1723).

Photo:

Typical brass “Judenstern” lamp with six spouts and drip tray. The lamp would hang from the ceiling by an adjustable ratchet.

Photo: Yaal Herman

One of a pair of brass candlesticks, probably nineteenth century, with the Polish eagle on top. One of the words of the berachah “lehadlik ner shel Shabbat” is inscribed on each of the deer.

of the Isabella Stewart Gardner

Eighteenthcentury silver hanging Shabbat lamp by Johann Adam Boller (1679 – 1731), one of a family of celebrated silversmiths who produced works for the Frankfurt Jewish community. This lamp has ten oil spouts and also five candle holders. Human and animal figurines on each level represent Biblical characters and the various Jewish holidays.

Courtesy of Congregation Emanu-El of the City of New York

Courtesy

Museum, Boston

A pair of large nineteenth-century German silver lion-form Shabbat candlesticks. The lions, on domed bases chased with Biblical scenes, hold flowers that support the candle holders.

Courtesy of Sotheby’s, New York

Gold Shabbat lamp from the island of Djerba, Tunisia, early twentieth century, with a two-tiered tray system for the candles above and a drip tray below. The pierced backplate features floral motifs around the words “Shabbat Kodesh.” At the top, a stylized hamsa holds a red glass inlay.

Silver Shabbat candlesticks manufactured in nineteenth-century Warsaw that belonged to a family in Kiev (then Russia). During a pogrom in the late 1880s, shots were fired at the family home, fatally wounding some family members and leaving a bullet hole in the base of the candlestick on the left. Those who escaped brought the candlesticks to America in 1892.

Courtesy of the American Jewish Historical Society

Not all Shabbat lamps were placed on or over the table. A pair of rococo-style silver two-light sconces, probably early twentieth-century Italian. One of the candle holders is missing.

Courtesy of Sotheby’s, New York

A pair of nineteenth-century classic “petticoat”-style silver-plated Shabbat candlesticks by Fraget of Warsaw, each topped by a bobeche to catch the drips of wax.

Photo: Yaal Herman

Courtesy of Sotheby’s, New York

Sleek Shabbat candlesticks fashioned in silver by master craftsman Moshe Zabari in 1977. Pierced in the disks around the top are the words “ melei’im ziv umefikim nogah —full of luster and radiating brightness” from the Zohar

The Jewish Museum, New York/Art Resource, New York

Battery-operated Shabbat lights produced by the Zomet Institute, intended for use in hospitals, hotels and other locations where the use of an open flame is prohibited.

Yaal Herman

“Reflections,” a twenty-first-century Shabbat candelabra crafted from a sheet of sterling silver by Israeli-Italian artist Luigi Del Monte. The prize-winning design is composed of five elements: the curved base, two supporting tubes and two detachable candle holders, which tend to disappear into the reflection.

Photo:

Side view.

Deepen your Days of Awe

Before Hashem You Shall Be Purified: Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik on the Days of Awe (Expanded Edition)

Ten teshuvah derashot of Rabbi Soloveitchik which address the meaning of the Yamim Noraim with the Rav’s characteristic insight, depth, and creativity. Summarized and annotated by Dr. Lustiger.

Return: Daily Inspiration for the Days of Awe

Dr. Erica Brown offers profound reflections for each day of the Yamim Noraim, guiding readers on a spiritual journey of renewal and introspection.

Machzor Mesoras HaRav for Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur

These Hebrew-English machzorim contain a running commentary adapted by Dr. Arnold Lustiger from the teachings of Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik.

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BY RABBI DR. ARI Z. ZIVOTOFSKY

T SHABBAT CANDLES: HALACHOT & CUSTOMS

he rabbinic mitzvah to mark the onset of Shabbat by lighting candles is an ancient and important halachah, especially beloved by Jewish women, who often embrace it as a time for heartfelt prayers for their families and the Jewish people.

WHY LIGHT?

Three reasons are traditionally given for this mitzvah: oneg (the joy or delight of Shabbat), kavod (the honor of Shabbat) and shalom bayit (peace within the home). Both oneg Shabbat and kavod Shabbat are derived from

Rabbi Dr. Ari Z. Zivotofsky is a professor of neuroscience at BarIlan University in Israel. Portions of this article are adapted from his essay, “The Number of Candles in the Context of Mitzvas Ner Shabbos,” published in Hakirah, vol. 30 (Summer 2021).

Yaeli Vogel is a self-taught, New York–based artist and gallerist celebrated for her vibrant, contemporary Judaica that blends spirituality, storytelling and modern expression. Born in Israel and raised in Brooklyn, Yaeli began painting as a personal outlet and has since transformed her passion into a thriving artistic career. Her work is rich in layers, movement and color. It explores themes of faith, identity and human connection, often drawing from Jewish tradition and personal experience.

the verse in Yeshayahu 58:13. Having light while eating the Shabbat meal is considered an expression of oneg Shabbat.

Kavod Shabbat is typically fulfilled by taking a hot shower on erev Shabbat, preparing special clothing and refraining from eating a large meal on Friday afternoon. Similarly, having a special light burning in honor of Shabbat is also an expression of kavod Shabbat.

Without light, people are left in darkness and are likely to stumble or bump into things. Light, therefore, plays a vital role in promoting shalom bayit—“peace and harmony within the home.”1

The mitzvah of lighting Shabbat candles applies to the household as a whole, not to each individual,2 and in theory, it can be fulfilled by any member of the household. However, it has traditionally been embraced by the woman of the home, and even if the husband wishes to light, she takes precedence.3 There is a custom that the husband sets up the lights in preparation. In the absence of the wife or mother, it is preferable for the husband or father to light the candles rather than one of the children.4

HOW MANY LIGHTS?

Despite the attention given to other details—such as which fuel and wicks to use—the early sources do not discuss how many lights should be kindled. This may be because

lighting Shabbat candles was not merely a ritual; it was a practical matter of providing light wherever it was needed, so the number of lights was likely fluid. Over time, the minimum requirement of one light was codified, and in extenuating circumstances, that is still considered sufficient.5

At some point in the early Middle Ages, a practice emerged—first recorded in the early thirteenth century6—to light two candles. This eventually became the standard custom, and various explanations were offered. The most well-known is that the two lights correspond to zachor (“remember,” Shemot 20:8) and shamor (“observe,” Devarim 5:12)—the two phrases in the Ten Commandments regarding Shabbat observance.7

In the sixteenth century, the Rema (263:1) notes a custom to light three or four candles. Others had practices of lighting seven (for the days of the week) or ten (for the Ten Commandments).8 Kaf HaChaim9 quotes a custom to light six on Yom Kippur, five on yom tov and four on Rosh Chodesh to parallel the number of aliyot.10

ONE PER CHILD

Today, it is commonly believed that the number of Shabbat candles should correspond to the number of members of the household, and many assume this to be an ancient

tradition. Surprisingly, however, this custom is not mentioned in any of the classic sources and appears to be relatively recent. The earliest known reference seems to be in Likutei Mahariach11 by Rabbi Yisrael Chaim Friedman (1852–1922), rabbi of Rachov (in present-day Ukraine). He mentions the standard custom of lighting two candles but notes that one may add more, citing practices of lighting four, seven or even ten candles. He also records that some women have the custom of adding a candle for each child born.

Rabbi Friedman offers no source for this custom but finds support in the Talmudic statement12 that one who is meticulous in beautifying13 the Shabbat lights will merit sons and sons-in-law who are Torah scholars.14

Rabbi Menashe Klein (1924–2011) later suggested a possible explanation for this practice:15 a postpartum woman would often miss lighting candles on the first Shabbat after giving birth, and the additional candle was instituted because of that missed lighting.

It thus appears that the practice of lighting a candle for each member of the household first appeared in writing only around the turn of the twentieth century. While usually lack of evidence is insufficient to assert evidence of lack, in this case, the silence is striking. Given the large number of halachic works that address the mitzvah of Shabbat candles in detail—carefully documenting various customs—the complete lack of any mention or even hint of this practice (of lighting a candle for each family member) may suggest that it simply did not exist earlier.

In addition to these customs, some women choose the number of candles based on the design of a candelabra they particularly like, without attaching specific symbolic meaning. A common practice is that even women who light more than two candles when at home will light just two when they are away, and this is

SHABBAT LIGHTS WERE

INSTITUTED TO ENSURE THAT THERE WOULD BE LIGHT IN THE HOME ON FRIDAY NIGHT."

accepted even without their having made an explicit declaration of such intent when they originally began lighting the additional candles.16

In most areas of Jewish custom, it is generally accepted that upon marriage, a woman adopts her husband's family’s practices. However, when it comes to candle lighting, some sources17 indicate that a woman may continue following her own family’s customs, including the number of candles she lights, rather than adopting her husband’s family’s practice. This exception is attributed to the special connection between this mitzvah and the woman of the home, as well as its association with shalom bayit

WHERE TO LIGHT

Ideally, Shabbat candles should be lit in the place where the Shabbat meal will be eaten. In any case, one must derive some benefit from the candles (Shulchan Aruch, OC 263:9). For example, someone who is going out for Friday night dinner typically lights at home and benefits from the candles either before leaving or upon returning.

Recently, Israeli soldiers have asked what to do if they will not be on base for Shabbat evening. Rabbi Udi Schwartz, the IDF’s chief halachic authority, ruled that unlike Chanukah lights, Shabbat candles are not intrinsically tied to a house. Therefore, a soldier who regularly lights Shabbat candles and will be stationed in a guard booth from before Shabbat for many hours—and

who will be eating there—should light in the guard booth.

ELECTRIC LIGHTS

Shabbat lights were instituted to ensure that there would be light in the home on Friday night. Today, with electric lights being ubiquitous, the question arises: Can they be used in place of traditional Shabbat candles? And does their presence affect the mitzvah?

The general consensus is that electric lights may be used for the mitzvah, even with a berachah, since they fulfill the core purpose— providing light. This can be particularly important in places where fire cannot be lit, such as hotels or hospitals. Rabbi Moshe Soloveitchik once instructed his hospitalized wife that she could recite a berachah over electric lights (Rav Hershel Schachter, Nefesh HaRav, 1994, pp. 155–156).

The Zomet Institute of Halacha and Technology even sells Lee-Ner Electric Shabbat Candles, and the IDF works with Zomet to supply these specially designed electric lights to soldiers who are unable to light a flame, such as those confined to a tank from before Shabbat through Friday night.

The question of whether it is appropriate nowadays to recite a berachah over candles whose minimal light is effectively drowned out by the ambient electric lighting is a separate issue. Because of this concern, it is recommended that electric lights turned on Friday afternoon be

switched on with the intention of honoring Shabbat (Shemirat Shabbat Kehilchatah 43:32).

Some authorities suggest turning off the electric lights shortly before candle lighting, then switching them back on with the specific intent of having them on for the sake of the mitzvah. The woman would then light the candles and recite the berachah, having in mind both the electric lights and the candles.18 Alternatively, one may turn off the electric lights, have the woman light the candles with a berachah—again intending to include the electric lights—after which another

household member, who has not yet accepted Shabbat, can turn the electric lights back on (Shemirat Shabbat Kehilchatah 43:34).

In light of this, it seems that all women today are, in practice, “lighting” a significant number of Shabbat lights—the electric ones— with the candles representing just a small part of the mitzvah.

The unique and enduring bond between the Jewish people and the mitzvah of Shabbat candle lighting is highlighted by none other than the New York Times. On Saturday,

January 1, 2000, the Times published an imaginary front page depicting what they envisioned the Friday, January 1, 2100 edition would look like. And there, at the bottom of the front page, was a reminder for Jewish women to light Shabbat candles. Despite all the dramatic changes they predicted for the world, the writers clearly assumed that in the year 2100, the Jewish people would still be lighting Shabbat candles.

Notes

1. Rashi, Shabbat 23b, s.v. shalom bayit ; and Rashi, Shabbat 25b, s.v. hadlakat ner b'Shabbat

2. Rambam, Shabbat 5:1; Aruch Hashulchan, OC 263: 5,7.

3. Magen Avraham , OC 263:6.

4. Rabbi Yehoshua Neuwirth, Shemirat Shabbat Kehilchatah 43, n. 46.

5. Mishnah Berurah 263:9, 22, 45.

6. Ra’aviah , p. 265–6.

7. Shulchan Aruch, OC 263:1.

8. Kitzur Shulchan Aruch 75:2; Mishnah Berurah 263:6.

9. OC 263:9.

10. Regarding Shabbat, Kaf HaChaim does note a custom to light seven candles and attributes it to a variety of reasons in addition to the number of aliyot 11. vol. 2, p.13b [1903 and 1964 ed.].

12. Shabbat 23b.

13. Tur, OC 263.

14. Mishnah Berurah 263:2.

15. Mishneh Halachot 7:35; see Shemirat Shabbat Kehilchatah 43, n. 51 which has a problem with this reason.

16. She’arim Metzuyanim b’Halachah 75:13.

17. Teshuvot Ya’avetz 107; Shevet Halevi 7:10:2.

18. Shemirat Shabbat Kehilchatah 43, nn. 166, 171.

In Her Light by Yaeli Vogel hello@yaelivogel.com

Yaeli Vogel hello@yaelivogel.com

THE SACRED PAUSE: FINDING SHABBAT IN A WORLD THAT NEVER STOPS

BY CHARLENE TRINO

The notification sounds on my phone had become as natural as breathing.

The gentle ping of an email, the buzz of a text message, the cheerful chime of social media alerts—a constant symphony of connection that played throughout my days and, increasingly, my nights. This was the soundtrack of my life

as a Jewish marketing professional in Manhattan, where success meant being perpetually available, constantly responsive.

I grew up in a moderately observant home where Shabbat meant Friday night dinner with family, lighting candles and saying the blessings over wine and challah. But by Saturday afternoon, we had typically drifted back to our regular activities— shopping, homework, catching up on work emails. The concept of a full day of rest remained an abstract ideal, something from another time that didn’t quite fit with the demands of modern life.

It wasn’t until my father’s heart

attack three years ago that I began to question this perpetual motion. As I sat in the sterile hospital waiting room, my phone buzzing incessantly with work concerns that suddenly seemed trivial, an elderly man with a worn tallit bag sat down beside me. He was there for his wife’s routine check-up, he explained, noticing my distress.

“You know,” he said gently after I explained my situation, “in all my eighty-two years, I’ve never regretted taking Shabbat, but I’ve regretted every Shabbat I didn't take.”

His words lingered with me, even after my father recovered. What did it mean to truly “take

Charlene Trino is a Jewish writer and marketing professional based in Manhattan, exploring the intersection of tradition and modern life. Her work reflects her journey of rediscovering sacred rhythms in a world of constant motion.

A Wedding Gift by

Shabbat” in today’s world? Could the ancient practice offer something I desperately needed but didn’t know how to name?

My journey back to Shabbat observance began tentatively. One Friday evening, I placed my phone in a drawer before lighting candles, promising myself I wouldn’t retrieve it until after Havdalah. The first few hours were excruciating—phantom vibrations in my pocket, anxiety about missed messages, the strange emptiness of time unscheduled and uninterrupted by technology. But as the evening progressed into the next day, something shifted. I found myself noticing details I had long overlooked: the changing patterns of light through my apartment windows, the voices of children playing in the courtyard below, the complex flavors of food when eaten without the distraction of screens. I read books that had gathered dust on my shelves. I walked to shul and actually observed my neighborhood instead of rushing through it with earbuds in place.

Most profoundly, I rediscovered the joy of unrushed conversation. That Shabbat, I invited two neighbors—a couple I had exchanged pleasantries with but never really known—for lunch. Without phones to check or the next appointment looming, our conversation meandered beautifully. We discovered shared connections to a small town in Poland where both our families had originated. We debated the meaning of difficult Torah passages. We laughed until tears came.

“This is what we’ve been missing,” my neighbor, Sarah, said as the couple prepared to leave hours later. “Just being present with each other.”

The following week, I found myself eagerly anticipating Shabbat rather than seeing it as an inconvenience. Week by week, my observance deepened—not from obligation but from recognition of what this sacred pause was giving me.

Of course, embracing Shabbat in a non-stop world isn’t without challenges. I had difficult conversations with my employer about weekend availability. I had to explain to non-Jewish friends why I couldn’t join certain activities. I struggled with FOMO (fear of missing out) when social events happened on Friday nights.

But the rewards have been immeasurable. My creativity at work has flourished, fueled by the mental rest that Shabbat provides. My relationships have deepened through the gift of undivided attention. Most surprisingly, I’ve found that by accepting the limitations of Shabbat, I’ve discovered a profound freedom—the freedom from constant accessibility, the freedom to just be.

The wisdom of our tradition recognized something essential about human nature long before psychological studies confirmed it: we need regular, complete breaks to function at our best. Shabbat isn’t an antiquated restriction but rather a radical act of liberation in a culture that increasingly measures human worth by productivity.

As the pace of life accelerates and technology further blurs the boundaries between work and rest,

I’ve found that this ancient practice speaks more urgently to our modern condition than ever before. Shabbat isn’t just a religious obligation; it’s a revolutionary statement about what makes life meaningful.

That elderly man in the hospital waiting room was right. I don’t regret a single Shabbat I’ve observed, but I do regret the ones I missed—each representing twenty-five hours when I could have been fully present in my life rather than scattered across a thousand digital distractions.

‘IN ALL MY EIGHTY-TWO YEARS, I'VE NEVER REGRETTED TAKING SHABBAT, BUT I'VE REGRETTED EVERY SHABBAT I DIDN'T TAKE.’ ”

True

Elegance by Yaeli Vogel hello@yaelivogel.com

Whome of twentythree years, I stood alone on the sidewalk feeling utterly unmoored. My husband, Dovid, had passed away just seven months earlier, and now I was leaving behind the neighborhood where we had raised our children, celebrated simchahs and built our life together. The decision to move closer to my daughter in Monsey, New York, wasn’t just practical—it was necessary. The emptiness of our apartment had become unbearable, each room filled with memories that both comforted and haunted me.

At sixty-two years old, I was starting over in a community where I knew almost no one except my daughter’s family. The small twobedroom condo I’d purchased felt sterile and impersonal compared to our Brooklyn home with its worn furniture and walls that had absorbed decades of laughter, tears

Shirley Parker lives in Monsey, New York, where she writes personal essays exploring Jewish life and community. Her work examines the intersection of tradition, family relationships and the renewal that comes through shared experience.

THE SHABBAT TABLE THAT FOUND ME

FILLING THE SILENCE WITH WOMEN’S VOICES

BY SHIRLEY PARKER

and the everyday sounds of family

“You’ll adjust,” my daughter Miriam assured me, while helping me unpack kitchen items that first day. “You’ll make friends. The community here is warm.”

I nodded but didn’t believe her. How do you transplant yourself at my age? After losing your life partner, your best friend, your other half? The prospect felt as impossible as trying to replant a fully grown tree and expecting it to thrive.

During those first weeks, I established a tentative routine. I’d walk to the local shul for weekday Minchah. I’d shop at the kosher market where the young cashier would smile politely but couldn’t possibly understand the effort it took for me to cook meals just for myself. I’d visit Miriam, her husband Eli and my three grandchildren for dinner twice a week, careful not to impose more often despite the magnetic pull of their warm home.

What I couldn’t establish was Shabbat. That first Friday night after moving, I lit candles in my new dining room and burst into tears before the first blessing left my lips. For twenty-three years, I had watched Dovid make Kiddush at our table, his voice strong and melodic, his face illuminated by candlelight. Now

there was just silence after my solitary “Amen.”

“Come to us every Shabbat,” Miriam insisted when I confessed how difficult that first Shabbat night had been.

“I need to figure this out on my own,” I told her, not wanting to burden her young family with my constant presence. “I’ll come for some meals, but I need to learn how to do this.”

What followed were a series of experiments in Shabbat solitude. I tried eating Friday night dinner alone, but the quiet was deafening. I invited myself to neighbors’ homes after Miriam connected me with families in the community. These were lovely people who welcomed me warmly, but I felt like an awkward addition—the widow who needed a place.

“Are you Miriam’s mother?” someone would inevitably ask midway through the meal. “How wonderful that you moved here to be near family.”

I’d smile and nod, careful not to mention Dovid too often or let my grief show. No one wants a mourner to dampen their Shabbat joy.

After six weeks of this unsettled existence, I received an invitation that would change everything. It came from Mrs. Bernstein, a woman

about fifteen years my senior whom I had met briefly at the shul kiddush.

“I host a Shabbat lunch for women only,” she explained after approaching me one morning.

“Mostly widows, some divorcées, a few never-married. Would you join us this week?”

My instinct was to decline. A table of older women sounded depressing—a reminder of what I had lost rather than what I might gain. But something in Mrs. Bernstein’s confident manner intrigued me.

“We meet at my apartment,” she continued. “Everyone brings something. Nothing fancy. But the conversation—that’s what keeps us coming back.”

That Shabbat, I walked to Mrs. Bernstein’s apartment carrying a homemade kugel, feeling oddly nervous. Upon entering, I was surprised to find seven women of varying ages gathered around a beautifully set table. Some were in their seventies or eighties, a few were closer to my age, and one surprisingly young woman couldn’t have been more than forty.

Mrs. Bernstein—Sheila, as she insisted I call her—made the introductions. “This is Shirley Parker, newly arrived from Brooklyn,” she announced. “She’s joining our Shabbat table.”

“Welcome to the club no one wants to join,” said Esther, an elegant woman with carefully styled silver hair. The others chuckled knowingly. What struck me immediately was the absence of that cautious sympathy I’d grown accustomed to receiving. These women looked at me with understanding rather than pity. They asked about Dovid without lowering their voices, wanted to know how long we’d been married, what he did, how he died. And when I mentioned that we’d been married for thirty-eight years, no one murmured “I’m so sorry” or awkwardly changed the subject.

“Thirty-eight years is a blessing,” said Ruth, who explained that she’d

lost her husband after just twelve years of marriage. “You hold onto those memories.”

Over cholent and salads, the conversation flowed naturally between topics sacred and mundane. These women discussed the week’s parashah and then seamlessly transitioned to complaining about their doctors’ appointments. They debated whether the new kosher café in town was overpriced and shared tips about which pharmacy delivered medications most reliably.

Most surprisingly, there was laughter—genuine, uninhibited laughter. When Esther described her disastrous attempt to fix her own leaky faucet, ending with a flooded bathroom and an emergency plumber visit, the whole table erupted in giggles.

“My Seymour would have fixed it in five minutes,” she said, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. “But I’m learning.”

“We’re all learning,” Sheila added, refilling water glasses. “Every day is an education in this new life.”

As the meal progressed, I learned that Sheila had started this Shabbat gathering ten years earlier, after she lost her husband. “I couldn’t bear the silence,” she explained. “So I decided to fill it with women’s voices.”

What had begun as four widows sharing a meal had grown into this rotating group that met every Shabbat. Some came weekly, others monthly. There were no obligations, no expectations—just an open invitation to share food, conversation and understanding.

“The world doesn’t know what to do with us,” said Marion, who, at eighty-two years old, was the eldest at the table. “We’re uncomfortable reminders of mortality. But here, we don’t have to explain ourselves.”

By the time we bentched, I felt something I hadn’t experienced since Dovid’s passing—a sense of belonging. These women weren’t replacements for what I’d lost. Rather, they were guides on a journey

I was just beginning.

As weeks turned into months, Sheila’s Shabbat table became my anchor. I still joined Miriam’s family regularly, but now I had another place where I belonged. I learned that Ruth taught art at the local elementary school, that Esther was a retired accountant who now volunteered helping seniors with tax preparation, and that the youngest member, Dina, had lost her husband to cancer at just thirty-seven years old, leaving her with twin boys to raise alone.

Each woman had constructed a new life from the broken pieces of the old one. They showed me that widowhood wasn’t just about loss—it was also about discovery. Sometimes painful, often challenging, but occasionally surprising in its gifts.

One Saturday night in winter, about six months after my first visit, my phone rang.

“Shirley, it’s Sheila.” Her voice sounded strained. “I’ve fallen and broken my hip. They’re taking me to surgery tomorrow.”

Within an hour, our Shabbat group had mobilized. One woman contacted Sheila’s children who lived out of state. Another arranged for cleaning help. I volunteered to organize meal deliveries.

Standing in my kitchen the next morning, preparing a pot of soup for Sheila, I realized something profound had shifted. The condo no longer felt like a temporary stopping place but like my home. And these women— with their shared experiences, wisdom and unfailing support—had become my community.

When we gather now at Sheila’s table, I sometimes look around in wonderment. None of us would have chosen this path. Yet somehow, in the aftermath of our greatest losses, we found each other. We have created something precious: a Shabbat table that belongs to us all, where our stories—both of what was and what might yet be—are honored and held sacred.

A Mother's Prayer by Yaeli Vogel

hello@yaelivogel.com

Ination since October 7, it is the remarkable increase in faith and Shabbat observance.

Since the earliest days of our history, Shabbat observance has been a defining marker of Jewish identity. The term shomer Shabbat has long served as shorthand for a Torah-observant Jew, even finding its way onto tombstone epitaphs. In

Carol Ungar is an award-winning writer whose essays have appeared in Tablet, the Jerusalem Post, Ami Magazine, Jewish Action and other publications. She teaches memoir writing and is the author of several children’s books.

traditional day of rest, Shabbat—with its many intricate halachot—remains one of the most challenging mitzvot to reclaim. And yet, in the wake of the tragic events of October 7, a growing number of Jews in Israel, especially hostages and hostage families as well as October 7 survivors, have embraced this foundational mitzvah. Perhaps the best known of them is twenty-year-old former hostage Agam Berger who famously demonstrated an inner strength of Biblical proportions by resisting her captor’s demands to violate Shabbat. Berger’s journey to Shabbat did not start in a Gaza tunnel. It began in her suburban Tel Aviv home nearly a year before her abduction, when

SHABBAT IN A CHANGED ISRAEL HOW ISRAELIS HAVE EMBRACED SHABBAT SINCE OCTOBER 7

BY CAROL UNGAR

Agam’s beloved grandmother, Sima Rosenthal, suddenly passed away. “She had been my whole world,” says Agam’s mother, Meirav. As a merit for her mother’s soul, Meirav decided to start keeping Shabbat.

Why Shabbat? Meirav, who lives in Holon, near Tel Aviv, attributes the decision to a book she read Lo Bikashti Lavo Laolam (I Didn’t Ask to Come to This World), a collection of thought-provoking articles based on the teachings of the well-known Chabad lecturer Rabbi Manis Friedman.1 The book led Meirav to realize that the Creator has expectations of us, including observing Shabbat. “I decided I would keep Shabbat for a year,” she recalls. During that first year, Meirav kept Shabbat mostly alone,

sometimes joined by Agam and her twin sister, Li-Yam.

From the moment Agam was abducted from her army base in the Gaza Envelope on October 7, the rest of Meirav’s family joined her in keeping Shabbat. Meirav’s decision didn’t just transform her home—it inspired her neighbors to make the same commitment. For six weeks, she recited morning and evening prayers in Agam’s room until it occurred to her that a Torah scroll should be brought in.

“I put a sefer Torah in her room,” Meirav recalls. “Eventually, I moved the Torah into the lobby of our building.” Soon after, the neighbors began to gather there to pray together on Shabbat.

“Every Shabbat, seventy to eighty people—some of whom had never attended Shabbat services before— came together to pray, hear a devar Torah and share the third Shabbat meal,” Meirav recalls.

Now that the scroll is housed in a synagogue, Meirav and her neighbors still hold a Friday night service together in the plaza outside of the family’s home.

Meirav is far from alone in recognizing the power of Shabbat. “There is a trend. Many people took on Shabbat observance,” she says.

Among them is Merav Daniel, from Kfar Saba, who began to keep Shabbat on October 7 after learning that her son Oz, a soldier stationed near Gaza, was missing. For 142 days, Merav and her family held out hope that he had been kidnapped rather than killed, until the army discovered his blood stains on a tactical vest and stretcher—both were buried in a funeral the Daniels held for their son. They learned that Oz was killed while fighting the terrorists on the first day of the war. As of this writing, they are still waiting for the return of his body. For Merav, Shabbat is the way she honors her son’s memory. “Shabbat is a holy day with great meaning. I feel a need to protect this day because it

does something good for Oz’s soul,” she says.

Meah She’arim–born Tzili Schneider is one of a small but dedicated group of kiruv workers who have supported these families almost from the moment their loved ones were taken captive.

A former teacher, mother of eleven and founder and CEO of the Jewish unity initiative Kesher Yehudi, Schneider first met the hostage families in the winter of 2023 when she visited the protest tent they pitched outside of Prime Minister Netanyahu’s Jerusalem residence. “As a Chareidi woman, I thought I would be criticized,” recalls Schneider. Instead, she was welcomed. After Schneider offered each of the mothers of hostages a hug, all of the women became teary-eyed. “I then pointed to their sign with the words ‘Bring them home now,’” she recalls. “‘Who can do this? Bibi?’ I asked. At once, all fingers pointed Heavenward. ‘So let’s tell Him. Let’s do something that Hashem won’t be able to refuse.’” Schneider’s idea was to give the hostage families a chance to keep one Shabbat according to halachah. A week later, thirtyeight members of hostage families gathered together at a Jerusalem hotel for that purpose. For many of them, this was the beginning of their journey into Shabbat observance.

Schneider has glowing memories of that Shabbat. “It was a Shabbat of pure holiness. The families didn’t skip a single prayer service,” she recalls.

Since that time, Schneider and Kesher Yehudi have held many more such Shabbatot

In the spring of 2024, Schneider had another dream. “I wanted the Nova survivors to keep Shabbat in the merit of the hostages,” she recalls. When she shared the dream with one of her supporters, New York–based philanthropist Ralph Rieder, she got the green light to move forward.

To date, the organization has held five Shabbatonim enabling Nova

FROM THE MOMENT AGAM WAS ABDUCTED FROM HER ARMY BASE IN THE GAZA ENVELOPE ON OCTOBER 7, THE REST OF MEIRAV’S FAMILY JOINED HER IN KEEPING SHABBAT.

”

survivors to keep Shabbat in the merit of the hostages. Schneider says that miracles have ensued. “Sinwar was killed. Then, Nasrallah. The Nova survivors’ Shabbat makes an impression in Heaven.”

Schneider says that 230 members of the hostage families and survivors have Torah study partners arranged via Kesher Yehudi and at least half a dozen formerly secular hostage families and thirty-five Nova survivors have become Shabbat observers. That has a tremendous ripple effect. “If one person starts to keep Shabbat, he can influence another ten people,” says Schneider.

That’s where V’Shamru comes in. Founded in the aftermath of the Meron tragedy in 2021 and dedicated to the memory of those who lost their lives, V’Shamru is committed to helping Jewish families embrace keeping Shabbat across Israel and around the world by providing “Shabbat kits.” Over the past two years, especially since the outbreak of the Swords of Iron war, V’Shamru

with about halachot and for help in getting ready,” says Rabbi Avihai Darshan, who founded the organization together with the singer Avraham Ben Yisrael.

“Before the war, we distributed twenty to thirty kits each week,” recalls Rabbi Darshan. Since the Gaza war started, that number has doubled, and when war broke out with Iran in June, the numbers rose

AFTER A MISSILE FELL 200 METERS FROM OUR WAREHOUSE, THIRTEEN PEOPLE APPROACHED US TELLING US THEY WANT TO KEEP SHABBAT. ”

has helped more than 40,000 families start observing Shabbat. Designed to remove barriers to keeping Shabbat, each kit includes essential items such as a ceramic hot plate, electric kettle, Kiddush cup, Shabbat lamp and Shabbat timer as well as books that explain Shabbat. The Bnei Brak–based organization provides the kits at no cost.

Additionally, V’Shamru matches recipients with shomer Shabbat families in their communities for support and guidance. “We want them to have someone to speak

once again. “After a missile fell 200 meters from our warehouse, thirteen people approached us telling us they want to keep Shabbat,” says Rabbi Darshan.

For those who are not used to keeping Shabbat, even with the right supplies, taking on Shabbat can be a formidable challenge.

Part of the challenge is FOMO (fear of missing out). “Shabbat is when all the best festivals take place,” says twenty-nine-year-old Nova survivor Shira Cohen, from Ramat

Gan, who took her first steps back after attending a Kesher Yehudi Shabbaton. Gradually, she moved along to full observance. Shira wants to help others, especially those who live in secular environments where keeping Shabbat can feel lonely. “I want to rent a large house. Then everyone who finds it hard to keep Shabbat alone can come to me.”

On the same page is Tehila Dvir, an ADD coach from Tzefat who also took on Shabbat observance in the wake of October 7. In May, Tehila posted a video on social media suggesting a gentle path into Shabbat, which has garnered more than 50,000 views. “You can introduce Shabbat slowly,” she says. “There are ups and downs in the process. For example, you might watch a movie on the computer but not drive, or you can put up a hot plate and not cook,” she says. “Start with small things. Just think about one Shabbat, not about forever.”

Having taking on the mitzvah of keeping Shabbat, Shira and Tehila are deeply devoted to observing the holy day each week—and have no regrets. “Shabbat,” says Tehila, “is a present to my soul.”

Notes

1. The book was written by Dr. Elad Ben Elul, an anthropologist who discovered Rabbi Friedman’s YouTube lectures. Dr. Ben Elul collected, edited and translated materials from the rabbi’s YouTube channel.

Jerusalem in Color by Yaeli Vogel

Just Between Us

Readers are invited to use this forum to express personal views and address issues of concern to fellow Jews. Send submissions to ja@ou.org.

ALL THE LONELY PEOPLE

By Esther Kook

Songs have a way of resonating and connecting with us on a deep level.

Long ago, when I first heard the song “Eleanor Rigby” by the Beatles, it seemed to put my own thoughts and feelings into words. Listening to the song on the car radio, I recognized Eleanor Rigby. She wanted to belong, and so did I.

During the 1960s, I was an anomaly in my Modern Orthodox community. I was the only child in my yeshivah class who lived in a single-parent household. During my formative years, separation and divorce were taboo topics—no one spoke about

Esther Kook is a teacher, learning specialist and freelance writer. Her work has appeared in Hadassah Magazine and the Jewish Standard.

Ashiva is a new OU department dedicated to raising awareness about the challenges faced by individuals who do not fit the typical Orthodox family mold, and to ensuring they are treated with the respect they deserve.

them. I often felt like a square peg in a round hole, carrying a nameless and lonely void. What made things worse was that people didn’t know how to reach out to me or help me name that void that lay in the pit of my stomach. I can’t recall anyone ever looking me in the eyes and asking how I was doing or saying, “How can I help you? Do you want to talk about how it is for you at home?” There were no outlets for expressing my feelings.

As I moved forward into adulthood, I kept those feelings bottled up. However, there is a long-term price to pay for pushing through—it often leads to a sense of shame, anxiety and even depression.

My experience is not unique. So many people feel invisible and experience deep loneliness. We have a need to connect with others and to belong; we’re hardwired to be social from birth.

Rabbi Elliot Schrier, rabbi of Congregation Bnai Yeshurun in Teaneck, New Jersey, observes that loneliness is particularly evident among certain groups, including those who are widowed and divorced, singles, people living with chronic

illness, and families with children who have special needs.

Rabbi Schrier shares how a congregant recently lamented that his social life was dramatically altered due to chronic illness. “I used to enjoy a large social circle; people always invited us for Shabbat,” the congregant told him. “But now it’s changed because of my condition.”

Discomfort, explains Rabbi Schrier, often triggers social isolation. “People feel uncomfortable and don’t know what to say or do when confronted with individuals facing difficult challenges. It is often painful for them, and because of their own discomfort, it is easier not to address it.”

Yet, he notes, we can push past our unease. “Focus on the individual going through a hardship, not on your own discomfort. Try to be fully present and available to them. It’s not helpful to be preachy or to give unwanted advice.” Sometimes, he says, someone might yearn for connection yet not want to talk on the phone. During those times, texting short notes can be a good option. Bottom line: the message should be “I’m here and I care about you.”

You’ve read. You’ve thought. Now, let’s talk.

Jewish Action is bringing the conversation beyond the magazine with our brand-new podcast.

Listen in as our host Rabbi Gil Student sits down with leading voices to explore the issues that matter most to our community. Stream wherever you get your podcasts.

According to Harvard Magazine, loneliness is defined as a subjective experience, but social psychologists believe loneliness is the gap between the social connections you would like to have and those you actually experience.1

There is also a direct connection between loneliness and physical health.

As former US Surgeon General Dr. Vivek H. Murthy writes:

Loneliness is far more than just a bad feeling—it harms both individual and societal health. It is associated with a greater risk of cardiovascular disease, dementia, stroke, depression, anxiety, and premature death. The mortality impact of being socially disconnected is similar to that caused by smoking up to 15 cigarettes a day, and even greater than that associated with obesity and physical inactivity.2

While the health risks are clear,

sometimes social isolation shows up when life changes.

“I often feel like a pariah,” says Sarah, who is recently divorced after being in a long-term marriage. “People who know me as a married woman don’t know how to deal with me. I just don’t seem to fit into a particular box anymore, and it’s obvious that some old friends and acquaintances are uncomfortable with my situation.

“Often I feel out of sight, out of mind, and don’t receive invitations for Shabbat meals,” Sarah says. “But when I make concerted efforts and become more visible by attending shul and other activities, people often respond positively. Then, the invitations trickle in. I’ve learned that being passive doesn’t work, and it helps me to reach out to people.”

Sarah appreciates the friends who show empathy and sensitivity. One friend asked, “What do you need from me right now?” Another friend asked,

“What am I doing that I can do better?” I sometimes wonder what would have happened if someone had addressed my parents’ separation way back then. Perhaps I might not have responded at all. Or, maybe I would have simply said, “I’m okay.” It’s even possible that, given the chance, I would have opened up and expressed my feelings. Certainly, however, I would have felt seen in my totality and less invisible—and that would have made all the difference.

Notes

1. Jacob Sweet, “The Loneliness Pandemic,” Harvard Magazine, May 15, 2025, https://www. harvardmagazine.com/2020/12/ feature-the-loneliness-pandemic.

2. Vivek H. Murthy, “Our Epidemic of Loneliness and Isolation: The US Surgeon General’s Advisory on the Healing Effects of Social Connection and Community,” 2023, https://www. hhs.gov/sites/default/files/surgeongeneral-social-connection-advisory.pdf.

INSIDE A GROUNDBREAKING KASHRUS PROGRAM FOR WOMEN

BY NAOMI ROSS

Alarge wooden cutting board with a deep, grooved channel around the perimeter was a staple in my grandmother’s kosher kitchen. Before the days when salting and soaking meats or poultry were handled at kosher slaughtering facilities, a kashering board was essential—an indispensable tool in the kosher homemaker’s kitchen of that era. How much the world of kashrus has changed! In our modern,

Naomi Ross is a cooking instructor and food writer based in Woodmere, New York. She teaches classes throughout the country and writes articles connecting good cooking and Jewish inspiration. She is the author of The Giving Table (New York, 2022).

technologically advanced society, the mitzvah of keeping kosher has grown more complex—and more distant from the rhythms of the home kitchen—than anyone could have imagined. So when an ad for the ASK OU Summer 2025 Women’s Kashruth Experience caught my eye, I was intrigued and applied to join the program. Having worked in the kosher industry as a cooking instructor, personal chef and recipe developer for kosher brands, it seemed like a timely bit of continuing education. But I had no idea what to expect—or who else would be attending the four-day symposium.

On a bright July morning, I joined approximately fifty observant women, from Chassidic to Modern Orthodox, gathered in a conference room at the OU headquarters in downtown Manhattan. These women had

come from communities around the country—including Boca Raton, Florida; Silver Spring, Maryland; Williamsburg, New York; and Lakewood, New Jersey—women from all walks of life who had taken time off work, traveled and convened for a single purpose: to deepen their knowledge and commitment to kashrus.

“The real strength of kashrus in the home comes from women,” said Rabbi Menachem Genack, CEO and rabbinic administrator of OU Kosher, in his opening remarks. Indeed, women have long served as the primary gatekeepers—and the unofficial mashgichos—of our home kitchens.

The conference offered a broad range of sessions on topics such as maintaining a kosher kitchen, pas Yisrael and hafrashas challah,

potential halachic issues with eating out, and the use of Shabbos mode on modern appliances.

In an age when so much of our food is manufactured or processed under others’ supervision, what is our role in ensuring kashrus? Understanding how the kosher industry functions today—how food is produced, inspected, and certified—was a central focus of the conference.

How Modern Kashrus Has Changed

Walk into any Stop & Shop or Walmart and you’re bound to pick up an OU-certified product. With more than 1.3 million certified items worldwide, OU Kosher today bears little resemblance to the small group of mashgichim who, about a century ago, certified just a handful of products.

How does the OU manage to certify such an enormous number of products and ingredients? The answer lies in a sophisticated infrastructure: some 1,000 Rabbinic Field Representatives (RFRs) stationed across the globe; cuttingedge technology that tracks every approved product and its globally sourced ingredients; and a meticulous system for kashering factories and machinery.

With more than 100 years of experience certifying kosher food, the OU has streamlined an extraordinarily complex process. But it wasn’t simple.

“What did Rabbi Genack do?” asked Rabbi Avraham Stone, senior RFR, explaining how Rabbi Genack, who joined OU Kosher in the 1980s, spent decades revolutionizing the kosher certification industry. “He turned [kosher supervision] into a profession, and he professionalized it.” Instituting policies, implementing checks and balances, and establishing an online database were all part of transforming the OU into the most widely recognized kosher certification agency in the world. “An RFR today doesn’t just turn on the fire; he must understand the inner workings of the

equipment well enough to know how to kasher each piece safely—without damaging the machinery,” said Rabbi Stone, who was on his way to visit a plant in Wahoo, Nebraska, to examine its machinery. “He must know what the company does, how and why, in order to avoid problematic issues. If a rav hamachshir (a rabbi who certifies food as kosher) inspects a line of milk products without knowing the same plant produces chicken stock at night, the supervision is obviously failing.”

The leap from theory to practice became real when our group toured the production plant of David’s Cookies, a nationwide manufacturer of cookies and baked goods, at its Fairfield, New Jersey, factory. A home cook might buy a two-gallon jug of “bulk” oil for baking, but the demands of large-scale production require massive totes—unmarked containers holding up to 550 gallons—to be transported and verified kosher upon arrival. A dedicated line of pareve cookie dough operates in its own production area, minimizing the risk of kashrus or allergen mix-ups with

dairy product lines. And with such large volumes of dough, the RFR must also ensure that challah is taken.

Kosherization Close Up

Have you ever attended a wedding, a dinner event, a Pesach program or a kosher cruise? Most of us assume the food is “all kosher,” rarely pausing to consider the sheer amount of work that goes into kashering an event space—or the complexities of dealing with non-Jewish venue owners. Rabbi Moshe Perlmutter, the OU’s kosherization expert, has been overseeing the kashering of large events for over thirty years. A tour of the Rockleigh Country Club’s commercial kitchens in Rockleigh, New Jersey, gave us a rare behindthe-scenes look at what’s involved. When is libun (method of kashering using dry heat) required versus hagalah (method of kashering using boiling water)? How do you kasher properly with irui klei rishon (pouring hot liquid directly from a vessel that had been on the fire or other heat source)? Most of us had never

Naomi Ross, Jewish Action’s food writer who has worked in the kosher industry as a cooking instructor, personal chef and recipe developer, participating in the conference. Photo: Rachelly Eisenberger

even heard of a tilt skillet or steamjacketed kettle, let alone seen one. What unique kashrus challenges do these industrial appliances present?

Rabbi Perlmutter also spoke about how evolving industry standards have simplified the kashering process and helped prevent potential problems—and damage. “I used to show up the night before, prepared to work through the night, kashering not just appliances but thousands of pieces of silverware and chafing dishes,” he said. “Nowadays, kosher caterers generally own and supply that equipment.” Learning about these commercial practices may not apply directly to home kitchens, but it equips us to ask more sophisticated questions when evaluating kashrus standards at events and venues.

Bugging Out

“Is that an aphid or a thrip?” “Is that a bug or just a strawberry seed?”

These were the most common questions heard throughout the hands-on bedikas tolayim (bugchecking) practicum led by Rabbi Daniel Sharratt, rabbinic coordinator and tolayim (insect) expert at the OU. Equipped with light boxes, thrip cloths and jeweler’s loupes, we paired up and got to work, becoming more familiar with our six-legged friends. For many kosher home cooks, checking vegetables is not only timeconsuming but often a stressful test of confidence. Education makes all the difference. Knowing what to look for—and the most efficient methods of inspection—means you can be your own mashgiach without fear.

This was exactly what drew Ronit from Passaic, New Jersey. “I have a lot of family with different backgrounds and kashrus standards,” she said. “I want to feel confident in my abilities to provide in a way that everyone feels comfortable at my table.” Like so many others in the group, she came to the conference with a passion to learn more—and to understand halachah better.

The Experts Behind the Labels

In the vast, layered landscape of halachah, it’s easy to get lost in the dizzying range of opinions and rulings on any given topic. To navigate this complexity, Rabbi Eli Eleff, managing director, OU Kosher Community Relations Department, brought in an expert for each specialty area of halachah to address the group.

Rabbi Chaim Loike, rabbinic coordinator and specialist in the mesorah of poultry, eggs and spices, discussed kosher species while displaying live chickens and quails. Rabbi Moshe Klarberg, senior rabbinic coordinator, tackled the modern-day realities of shechitah why new policies are adopted in large slaughterhouses (ever wonder why giblets no longer come inside whole chickens?) and how to recognize she’eilos in your own kitchen. Rabbi Chaim Goldberg, the OU’s resident fish expert, demystified the process of identifying and purchasing kosher fish and fish products. Interested in observing yoshon? Rabbi Dovid Gorelik explained the mitzvah and offered insights into sourcing grain and flour from mills across the country.

By the end of the conference, it was clear that to become an expert in halachah, you also have to be an expert in the science and industry behind it.

Michal, a halachah teacher from Boca Raton, Florida, who had flown in for the program, marveled at “the range and depth of knowledge among the rabbis.” She also developed a new respect for the “expertise and mesirus nefesh it takes to do the job of a mashgiach well.”

A Continuing Education

At the end of four days—twentyfour sessions, a tour of a local vaad-certified supermarket, a cookie factory, and a commercial kitchen—what did we walk away with? “I thought it would be a lot of review,” Ronit admitted. “But it

was incredibly eye-opening to hear about contemporary kashrus issues alongside old-fashioned practices that still shape current standards. The intersection of industry and home kitchens is a living, dynamic reality we encounter every day. This whetted my appetite to keep learning more.”

I felt the same way—like we had only scratched the surface.

When so much of what we consume is produced beyond our home kitchens and beyond our direct control, being informed— understanding key halachic concepts and modern challenges—becomes an essential tool. It helps us ask the right questions and steer clear of problematic situations.

Echoing this sentiment when closing the program, Rabbi Moshe Elefant, executive rabbinic coordinator and COO of OU Kosher, referenced a familiar slogan from the nowshuttered Syms department store, which once stood just down the block from OU headquarters: “An educated consumer is our best customer.”

The OU Kosher Community Relations Department brings high-level kashrus education to the Jewish community through its acclaimed ASK (Advanced Seminars in Kashrus) OU programs. Designed to educate the public and aspiring kosher professionals, ASK OU programs are overseen by Rabbi Eli Eleff, who has expanded the programming to offer engaging presentations, seminars and workshops to yeshivahs, girls’ high schools, Jewish day schools and universities, while continuing its collaboration with shuls, kollels and nonprofits like local kashrus councils. Programs like the Summer 2025 Women’s Kashruth Experience are held each year, alternating summers between men’s and women’s tracks. To learn more or to bring a program to your community, contact koshereducation@ou.org.

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To learn more about the OU Benefactor Circle or to become a member, please email Chaya Schechter at Chaya.Schechter@ou.org.

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An Apple a Day...

By Naomi Ross

In the world of farming and agriculture, even classic varieties of apples don’t remain the same, many having been genetically modified over the years to look more appealing or be more shelf stable for mass transport and sale. My mother tells me that Red Delicious apples actually tasted way better when she was a kid! Each fall, we love to go apple picking in search of new varieties, humbled by the myriad nuances of taste and texture that the Creator has put into this world (even if Man has helped along in the process). Rashi famously commented that the smell of Yaakov Avinu was the smell of apple orchards—the smell of the Garden of Eden. Perhaps that is why the apple is the distinguished emblem representing sweetness in the New Year, the sweet optimism of what is to come.

Here are some delicious ways to incorporate apples in your menus and holiday table.

Roasted Beet, Apple & Jicama Skewers

Yields 8–10 servings

The simple and colorful arrangement of these skewers is a fresh and flavorful way to serve the simanim on Rosh Hashanah (or an attractive hors d’oeuvre any time of year!). Seek out the best, pure silan (date honey) you can find!

2 large or 3 small (2- to 3-inchdiameter) beets, scrubbed (unpeeled) and ends trimmed 2–3 teaspoons olive oil

Kosher salt

2 Granny Smith apples, washed (not peeled), cored and large diced (½-inch)

1 large jicama, peeled (until clean white) and large diced (½-inch) Silan (date syrup) for drizzling Skewers (short length)

Roast Beets: Preheat oven to 400°F. Prepare 2 large pieces of tin foil, layered one on top of the other; place beets in the center of the foil layers. Drizzle oil over the tops and sprinkle with Kosher salt. Gather the tin foil around the beets and crimp tightly to form a closed, sealed pouch. Roast for at least 1 hour or until the beets are tender when pierced with a fork. When tender, remove from oven and cool (can be done 3–4 days ahead).

When cool, gently slip skins off beets, leaving the whole inner red flesh (wear gloves for this messy job!). Dice beets (½-inch large). Set aside.

Assembly: Carefully thread the cubes of beets, apples and jicama in an alternating pattern (with no more than 6 cubes per skewer).

Arrange skewers on a platter. Drizzle with silan immediately before serving.

Yields 10 servings

A cobbler is an easy fruit dessert to put together without the work of rolling a homemade piecrust. In this recipe, tender biscuits cook atop bubbling fruit to create a homey, satisfying dessert—perfect served with vanilla ice cream. Cobbler can be

made in a large serving dish or done as individual servings in ramekins.

Filling:

2 medium Granny Smith apples, peeled, cored and large diced (½inch)

2 Fuji or Gala apples, peeled, cored and large diced (½-inch)

¾ cup jarred sour cherries (in light syrup), drained

1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice (from ½ lemon)

½ teaspoon vanilla extract

½ cup (packed) golden brown sugar

2 tablespoons all-purpose flour

½ teaspoon ground cinnamon

¼ teaspoon ground nutmeg

Biscuit topping:

1½ cups all-purpose flour

¼ cups sugar, plus 1–2 tablespoons for sprinkling

2 teaspoons baking powder

¼ teaspoon salt

½ teaspoon cinnamon

5 tablespoons (¾ stick) chilled unsalted butter, margarine or coconut oil

½ cup heavy cream (or ²⁄₃ cup oat milk/soy milk), plus 1–2 tablespoons for brushing

1 egg

Vanilla ice cream, for serving

Apple Cherry Cobbler

Roasted Beet, Apple & Jicama Skewers.

Photo: Baila Gluck

Preheat oven to 350°F. Grease a 12inch baking dish or 10 (3.5-inch) ramekins

For Filling: Toss first 5 ingredients in a large bowl. Add sugar, flour, cinnamon and nutmeg; toss to combine. Transfer to prepared baking dish or ramekins. Set aside.

For Biscuit Topping: Combine flour, ¼ cup sugar, baking powder, salt and cinnamon in a large bowl; whisk to blend. Add butter; rub in with fingertips or with a pastry blender until a coarse meal forms. Mix cream or oat/soy milk with egg until blended and then slowly pour into flour mixture, mixing gently until mixture comes together as a thick batter (or loose dough). Additional cream can be added by the teaspoon if consistency is dry.

Bake: Spoon golf-ball-size pieces of dough (about 2–3 tablespoons) on top of apples mixture, arranging spaced apart in dish (or divided amongst the ramekins). Brush dough with remaining 1–2 tablespoons cream. Sprinkle remaining 1–2 tablespoons sugar over dough (coarse turbinado or demerara sugar can also be used and looks decorative). Bake cobblers until fruit is bubbling, biscuits are browned and toothpick inserted into center of biscuits comes out clean, about 45–55 minutes (or individual ramekins for 25–30 minutes). Cool slightly. Serve hot or warm with vanilla ice cream.

Sheet-Pan Honey-Roasted Squash & Apples

Yields 6–8 servings

Roasting intensifies all the natural sweetness in this sweet-savory side dish.

1 large butternut squash, peeled, seeded and cubed

2–3 Honeycrisp or Fuji Apples, peeled, cored and cubed

1 medium red onion, finely chopped or thinly sliced

2–3 tablespoons olive oil

1–1½ tablespoons honey

½ teaspoon Kosher salt (or more to taste)

Freshly ground black pepper, to taste

3–4 whole sprigs fresh thyme or ½ teaspoon dried thyme

Preheat oven to 450°F. Adjust rack to highest rack setting (about 3–4 inches from the heating element). Grease a large-rimmed baking sheet; set aside. Combine all ingredients in a large mixing bowl. Toss to coat and spread out in an even layer on prepared baking sheet. Roast for about 20–25 minutes, tossing halfway through or until squash is slightly caramelized and tender (easily pierced with a fork). Remove from oven and serve warm.

Yields 6 servings

Apple

Chicken Bistro Salad

Great entrée salads are always welcome during a holiday season that is full of heavier fare. Grilled chicken can be used interchangeably with the pan-seared chicken used in this salad. Pickled red onions are a great variation instead of raw if you like a kick.

Chef’s Note

All components of this salad (except sliced apples which tend to brown) can be prepared ahead and assembled prior to serving.

4 ounces beef fry

4–5 boneless chicken breasts (cutlets), thinned or pounded to even thickness

Kosher salt, to taste

Freshly ground pepper, to taste

6 cups torn Romaine lettuce

1–2 Honeycrisp or Gala apples, very thinly sliced

½ red onion, thinly sliced or minced

½ cup pecans or walnuts, toasted and chopped

Mustardy-Lemon Vinaigrette (recipe below)

Mustardy-Lemon Vinaigrette:

½ small shallot, minced (about 2 tablespoons)

¼ cup fresh lemon juice (from about 2 lemons)

1½ teaspoon Dijon mustard

1 teaspoons honey

½ teaspoon Kosher salt (or more to taste)

Freshly ground black pepper

½ cup olive oil

Crisp: Add beef fry to a large cold skillet (cast iron is best) and place over medium-high heat. The fat will start to render and melt. Cook for 3–4 minutes, turning once, until shriveled and crisped (be careful—it sputters!). Using a slotted spoon or tongs, remove from pan and drain on paper towels. Coarsely chop and set aside. Reserve remaining grease in the pan.

Sear: Season chicken cutlets with salt and pepper. Place chicken in hot skillet with reserved grease. Sear for 3–4 minutes or until browned; turn over and repeat on opposite side (you may have to do this in batches as they fit in your skillet). Transfer chicken to a plate to rest; set aside.

Blend vinaigrette: Whisk shallot, lemon juice, mustard, honey, salt and pepper in a mixing bowl until smooth; slowly add oil in a continuous stream while whisking until completely blended and emulsified. Alternatively, place all ingredients in a blender (or use immersion blender) and blend until smooth. Season to taste with salt and pepper as needed. (Dressing can be made up to 5 days in advance).

Assemble: Before serving, toss lettuce with a few tablespoons of vinaigrette in a large bowl, then arrange on platter (or divide amongst individual plates). Thinly slice chicken and place in center of salad. Surround with sliced apples, red onion, chopped beef fry and a sprinkling of chopped nuts. Drizzle with additional dressing as desired. Serve immediately.

COMING SOON FROM OU PRESS

HaHashgachah KeHilchatah: Shorshei HaKashrut HaTzibburit

(Kosher Certification According to Halachah: The Foundations of Communal Kashrut)

By Rabbi Peretz Moncharsh

OU Kosher prides itself on transparency and accountability to the kosher consumer. Now, the world’s premier kosher certification has taken the next step, opening up its halachic decisionmaking process to the world’s Torah scholars. From the beginning of his tenure, OU Kosher CEO Rabbi Menachem Genack has made it a point to establish OU policies in consultation with top-tier posekim. At first, Rabbi Genack consulted with his teacher and mentor Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik, zt”l; after the latter’s passing, Rabbi Genack recruited Rabbi Yisroel Belsky, zt”l, and (yibadel lechaim) Rabbi Hershel Schachter as official halachic consultants to weigh in on the pressing kashrut questions of the day.

As the OU expanded its reach to over 100 countries, 13,000 plants and 1.3 million certified products, halachic questions arose in unprecedented volume and complexity. Classic halachic texts offered little explicit guidance on the rapidly evolving technologies of modern food production and the sophisticated equipment it relies on. Only halachic authorities of such a caliber—deeply versed in both traditional sources and contemporary industrial realities—could extrapolate from existing literature to address questions such as whether microbial enzymes grown on media containing a non-kosher ingredient are permissible, or how to properly kasher a spray dryer.

While the OU has long maintained an internal archive of halachic rulings—meticulously compiled by Rabbi Moshe Zywica, executive rabbinic coordinator and director of operations at OU Kosher—these decisions were largely inaccessible to those unfamiliar with the sugya (topic) and typically circulated only among OU kosher staff. Recognizing the value of these documents for scholars and laypeople interested in contemporary kashrut, Rabbi Yaakov Luban, former senior rabbinic coordinator, took the initiative to transform OU Kosher policy into a user-friendly book.

To that end, Rabbi Luban enlisted Rabbi Peretz Moncharsh—rosh kollel of Kollel Shaarei Horaah in Beitar, Israel, and widely respected for his halachic clarity—to transform OU Kosher’s internal halachic documents into a resource accessible to the broader public. Rabbi Moncharsh was granted full access to the OU Kosher archives as well as to current OU Kosher staff, particularly Rabbi Eli Gersten—recorder of OU pesak and policy—enabling him to present the most

comprehensive picture possible of the intersection between classical halachic literature and contemporary OU Kosher practice.

Each chapter opens with a comprehensive discussion of the topic, beginning with the Gemara, progressing through the views of the major Rishonim and Acharonim, and continuing to contemporary halachic authorities. The chapter concludes with OU Kosher’s final policy decision, as determined by its senior halachic staff. To ensure accuracy, the author consulted extensively with Rabbi Belsky during his lifetime to fully understand his positions. The entire work was also reviewed by Rabbi Schachter, who confirmed that his own views were represented faithfully. Included as well is Rabbi Genack’s monograph on the topic of bishul akum in regard to industrially produced food today. Many sefarim offer extensive and penetrating analysis of the laws of kashrut. What sets this work apart is its unique lens: the contemporary challenges of industrial kosher supervision. While other volumes may focus on the halachot of pots and pans, this one delves into steam-jacketed kettles, enzymes, cheese production, dairy English muffins, kosherizing industrial machinery, large-scale insect inspection and more.

As the largest kosher certifier in the world and a pioneer in applying the laws of Yoreh Deah to modern commercial food production, OU Kosher is uniquely positioned to spearhead this important contribution to halachic scholarship. This book will appeal both to those deeply engaged in the study of Yoreh Deah and to the simply curious—those who’ve wondered about the halachic reasoning behind the certification of their favorite snacks. Given that kashrut has long been a cornerstone of rabbinic training, this volume also serves as an invaluable resource for rabbis and rabbinical students seeking to broaden their knowledge from kitchen-based halachah to the complexities of industrial kosher supervision.

While some kosher agencies formulate their policies behind closed doors, the OU has long maintained a different approach, with full-time staff dedicated to answering consumer questions. Now, the OU has taken a step further—proactively sharing its halachic expertise in a way that enriches the broader halachic literature. Anyone curious about the depth of thought and effort behind the OU symbol will find this book both illuminating and rewarding.

Reviews in Brief

By Rabbi Gil Student

JEWISH CUSTOMS: EXPLORING COMMON AND UNCOMMON MINHAGIM

By Rabbi Dr. Zvi Ron Maggid Books

Jerusalem, 2024

482 pages

We live in a time of rapid technological advancement and instant communication. Within the Jewish world, customs that once developed organically within isolated communities are now quickly shared, adopted or adapted across the globe. This social phenomenon makes it even more urgent to understand the origins and meanings of these practices. In Jewish Customs: Exploring Common and Uncommon Minhagim, Rabbi Dr. Zvi Ron, an educator living in Neve Daniel, Israel, provides a careful historical analysis of a wide range of Jewish customs, examining how they emerged and evolved over time.

Rabbi Ron approaches the topic from a historical perspective. He traces the development of specific

and Editorial Communications.

customs, seeking their earliest sources in rabbinic literature and responsa. Along the way, he explores the different possible causes and explanations for the custom. Because the original reason for a practice is almost always uncertain, he offers educated hypotheses about the possible religious, social or practical factors that may have given rise to it. His careful historical investigation and informed religious speculation offer insight on multiple levels into the customs we see today.

For example, it is now common Ashkenazic practice for a bride to circle the groom seven times under the chupah. Rabbi Ron shows that the original custom of circling the groom, first mentioned as common in the fifteenth century, was to circle three times. Due to Kabbalistic influence, beginning in the eighteenth century, it became more common to circle seven times as protection from demonic forces. We even see the number of times change between earlier and later editions of Rabbi Shlomo Ganzfried’s nineteenth-century Kitzur Shulchan Aruch, reflecting how the practice became widespread. Despite the custom’s obscure origin, contemporary interpretations have given it profound meaning about commitment and relationships.

In this book, Rabbi Ron explores approximately thirty customs, ranging from reciting Tehillim 126 and other verses before bentching, to the reading of different Torah scrolls in shul on the yamim tovim, to wearing stripes on a tallit. The exploration of the development of these customs is full of detective

work, including unraveling textual anomalies and the identification of historical influences. It is less a precise science than an intellectual adventure through which Rabbi Ron ably guides the reader.

At a time when diverse customs are rapidly entering Jewish communities divorced from their original contexts, looking at how practices developed over time provides valuable perspective. It allows for a deeper understanding of one’s own traditions and fosters an appreciation for the diversity of legitimate customs across the Jewish world.

AL HARISHONIM VE’AL HA’ACHARONIM

By Rabbi Dr. Nachum (Norman) Lamm

Kodesh Press New York, 2025 176 pages

Rabbi Dr. Norman Lamm, the former longtime president of Yeshiva University, filled many positions in the community— communal rabbi, educator, fundraiser and thought leader. In each of these roles, he succeeded via his charm, brilliance and hard work. And yet, throughout all his communal activities, Rabbi Lamm never ceased his activities

Rabbi Gil Student serves as OU director of Jewish Media, Publications

Unity Understanding begins

as a traditional Torah scholar. He continuously published articles of Torah scholarship in journals and whenever possible taught shiurim His son-in-law, Rabbi Mark Dratch, recalls that Rabbi Lamm once told him that, despite all he had built institutionally—both in the Manhattan community as rabbi of The Jewish Center and later at Yeshiva University—as well as the many lectures, books, and articles on Jewish thought and philosophy he produced, what he considered his proudest legacy was the Torah essays in his 1990 sefer of traditional Torah scholarship, Halachot VeHalichot Five years after his passing, his family has now published his second sefer of that nature, Al HaRishonim VeAl HaAcharonim.

Rabbi Lamm’s Torah articles are traditional in the sense that they analyze halachic and Talmudic sources from the perspective of traditional assumptions and methodologies that any rosh yeshivah might use. However, this is not to say that his style of thinking is typical—it is anything but that. The articles in Al HaRishonim VeAl HaAcharonim fall under three categories. Some of them are responsa to actual halachic questions submitted to him. For example: a kohen who was raised non-religious and in his spiritual quest engaged in Buddhist practices is now halachically observant; may he bless the community during Birkat Kohanim? Or if an elderly person is released from the hospital on Shabbat, may a retirement home bring him back right away, or must the transfer wait until after Shabbat?

Another type of article explores sugyot analytically using the tools of Brisker methodology. For example, when an authorized rabbi ordains someone, does he function as a representative of the Sanhedrin or as a rabbinic judge? Rabbi Lamm finds different practical implications to this distinction and uses it to explain

difficult passages in Rambam’s Mishneh Torah. Finally, in some articles Rabbi Lamm explores the intersection of Jewish law and Jewish thought, such as his articles about anger and gratitude.

Al HaRishonim VeAl HaAcharonim is at once a traditional work of Torah scholarship and a unique window into the personality of its author. Rabbi Lamm was a brilliant Talmudic scholar and communal leader with a special interest in Jewish thought. This sefer brings together his different interests and roles in a rewarding intellectual journey through traditional sources.

MASTERING THE MIND: A GUIDE TO FOCUSED LEARNING AND TORAH RETENTION

By Saul Clarke Mosaica Press

Beit Shemesh, Israel, 2024 268 pages

We live in an age of plenty— not only of material goods but of spiritual ones as well. With so many tools at our fingertips— books, apps, daily programs—we have more opportunities to learn Torah than we ever dreamed was possible. For many, the challenge is no longer finding time to learn Torah but retaining what they’ve learned. The spiritual high of Torah study may linger in our hearts, but the content itself must also be preserved in our minds. That is no small feat.

In Mastering the Mind: A Guide to Focused Learning and Torah

Retention, Saul Clarke offers a virtual encyclopedia of memory techniques. Before introducing specific strategies, he outlines the three essential stages of memory formation: encoding, storage and retrieval. He presents religious principles that support mastery, which include prayer, humility, sustained effort and more. True retention depends not just on cognitive technique but also on spiritual alignment with Torah values.

Clarke then turns to scientific methods for improving memory, many of which align with traditional Jewish wisdom. These include repetition, breaking down material into smaller units, vocalizing the text, restating ideas in your words and more. Used consistently, these methods significantly enhance retention. Clarke also addresses the impact of physical habit on cognitive function, a topic often overlooked but essential to memory. Exercise, sleep, healthy eating and freedom from distractions all contribute to stronger memory. Throughout the book, he weaves together Torah sources and scientific studies, creating an engaging, interdisciplinary approach to memory.

Perhaps Clarke’s most impressive contribution is his ability to present a wide range of memory techniques in a relatively concise volume. His clear explanations of mnemonic devices such as acronyms, memory palaces and numerical-verbal systems allow even beginners to grasp and begin applying these tools. He illustrates how to use these methods to memorize, for example, the topics of the first ninety-nine chapters of the Shulchan Aruch or the views in a complex sugya. Clarke’s clarity, conciseness and enthusiasm for the topic make this an exceptionally practical and accessible guide that offers readers strategies for immediate improvement in Torah retention.

“Torah is a commentary on life, and life is a commentary on Torah.”

RABBI LORD JONATHAN SACKS

from korenpub.com or

ARTICLES OF FAITH: TRADITIONAL JEWISH BELIEF IN THE INTERNET ERA

By Rabbi Gil Student Kodesh Press

New York, 2024

342 pages

Reviewed by Rabbi Steven Gotlib

In 2009, Rabbi Aharon Feldman of Yeshivas Ner Yisroel published The Eye of the Storm with the goal of presenting “a calm view of raging issues” including Zionism, feminism, Chabad messianism and more. Its publication led to a fierce yet respectful debate on the pages of this very magazine between Rabbi Feldman and his once-schoolmate Rabbi Aharon Lichtenstein, zt”l 1 Rabbi Lichtenstein saw their exchange as an opportunity for dialogue “which could focus, constructively, upon our ability, and that of our talmidim, to foster our common cause of advancing avodat Hashem, personally and communally, rather than upon reciprocal and competitive faultfinding denigration.” Unfortunately, the dialogue between Rabbi Feldman

and Rabbi Lichtenstein remains notable as an exception to the tone of general discourse rather than a rule.

The relocation of many communal debates to the internet has only exacerbated this issue, as relative anonymity and an inability to process tone does little but add heat to already fiery arguments— arguments which themselves become more numerous as new societal developments unfold faster than ever before in history. This too often leads to a proliferation of polemics and a dearth of depth.

Here is where Rabbi Gil Student comes in. In the introduction to his new book, Articles of Faith: Traditional Jewish Belief in the Internet Era, Rabbi Student writes that, while polemical writing has an important place within communal discourse, it is also dangerous. “If we examine things with a polemic mindset, if we lack the internal balance to first examine carefully and thoughtfully and only then render judgment, we will make tragic mistakes” (xxxi). It is for this reason that Rabbi Student introduces an important prerequisite to his engagement with controversial ideas from his left and right, from Open Orthodoxy to Chareidim: “I try to take the ideas seriously and charitably. First I try to understand what people are saying and only then do I criticize their ideas, if appropriate” (xxxiii).

Rabbi Student goes on to apply this critical openness, as I would call it, to a variety of topics within the realms of belief, technology, community, sacred texts and Israel. Topics such as postmodernism, artificial

intelligence, women’s ordination, Biblical criticism, Religious Zionism and more are addressed with a unique combination of care and calm. Rabbi Student himself, though falling more often on one side than the other, does not fit neatly into existing categories on the right or left and acknowledges his “hashkafic homelessness” in the book’s Afterword. In so doing, though, he provides a comfortable home for many who find ourselves, as he put it, too right for the left and too left for the right yet deeply desiring to live alongside our mesorah. In his words, the book represents “one long search, one big attempt, to do the right thing. May G-d help all of us follow the right path so that we can thrive spiritually” (297).

Examining just one chapter of Articles of Faith will give readers a clear understanding of both Rabbi Student’s approach and the importance of this book for our current moment. Chapter Five is titled “Torah Authority in the Internet Age.” Rabbi Student acknowledges that the internet has facilitated an unprecedented increase in Torah learning but has also contributed to a decrease in attention span and comes with many challenges. On a communal level, however, the internet has also led to a weakening of respect for Jewish leadership. In response to the mass of attacks

Rabbi Steven Gotlib is marketing manager at Yeshiva University’s Rabbi Isaac Elchanan Theological Seminary (RIETS) and associate rabbi at Mekor Habracha/Center City Synagogue in Philadelphia.

“ “

Halachic Judaism, Rabbi Student suggests, may well have been brought into its democratic age thanks to the internet’s ubiquity—an age in which anyone can ‘amass impressive arguments and even produce seemingly informed articles’ with minimal background in learning . . .

against traditional religious leadership (indeed, traditional religion and religious values writ large) that is common on the internet, Rabbi Student suggests that:

The only effective defense to mockery is sophistication. Rabbis need to become PR mavens, savvy in the judicial use of social media to convey a message. . . . We cannot defeat mockery outright, but we can wage a good fight. That effort, however, requires a willingness to use the right weapons. Leading rabbis need to follow basic PR ideas like staying positive, learning what your opponents are saying and trying to convince bystanders and not your opponent. (76)

So too, the internet has allowed for anyone, of any hashkafah, to be able to find Torah sources to defend whatever position they may wish. Halachic Judaism, Rabbi Student suggests, may well have been brought into its democratic age thanks to the internet’s ubiquity—an age in which anyone can “amass impressive arguments and even produce seemingly informed articles” with minimal background in learning, if any such background at all (78). This has led to a world in which people must be convinced, rather than simply informed, of how to live in halachically and hashkafically appropriate ways. Today, Rabbi Student argues, “all rabbis must clarify their views in depth before subjecting them to the inevitable challenges. This method will not prevent challenges, but it will convince many readers and will gain the respect of many others who find themselves forced to think hard about the subject” (80).

The whole of Articles of Faith can be read as Rabbi Student responding to this challenge by showing his work and making as strong a case as possible for approaching issues with the nuance he is known for. Nowhere is this clearer than Rabbi Student’s treatment of the contemporary controversy over women’s ordination, brought to the fore by proponents of what many call “Open Orthodoxy.” While the halachic question was addressed by a panel of leading rabbanim and roshei yeshivah, 2 Rabbi Student explores the philosophical questions that many were talking about in shul and around their Shabbat tables: While we defer to halachic scholars, in internalizing their conclusions the thinking person needs to consider each value and how important it is to him personally and to Judaism in general. Not every “slippery slope” argument is conclusive, and sometimes specific values are so powerful that they override all other considerations. Some innovations are relatively unobtrusive and don’t offend other values, while others are accompanied by a momentum and agenda that all but guarantee further changes in the near future. . . . Evaluating religious values requires careful attunement to communal trends and, more importantly, to the rhythms of Judaism, something accomplished only through extensive study and with great sensitivity. This type of values-analysis will yield confusing and occasionally contradictory results. . . . Depending on the specific practice, the measures on the scale will tip in different directions. (176) This style of in-depth analysis

and unwavering willingness to wade into difficult subjects is what makes Rabbi Student’s approach so refreshing. This is especially so for those of us who follow in the dialectical tradition of Rabbi Yosef Dov HaLevi Soloveitchik, living as halachic men and women in the tension between the real and the ideal. As Rabbi Student writes, we “use the term ‘Modern Orthodox’ not because we have found a way to resolve all difficulties, but because we are willing to acknowledge the importance of multiple values. And we attempt to balance their demands without negating them” (176). This will sometimes give more weight to modernity and sometimes less, but if done right it will always remain Orthodox.

In an age where nuance is too often neglected and emotions burn bright, Articles of Faith is a much-needed elixir that will remind readers of the value in thinking through what we believe and how we ought to live as part of an ever-expanding global village. Rabbis will learn important communication skills while laypeople will be able to accessibly engage in high-level discourse about subjects that are too often foggy and above their heads. It’s a must-read for anyone who wants to take the next step in living as a thoughtful and engaged Orthodox Jew.

Notes

1. “‘Dear Reb Aharon,’” Jewish Action 70, no. 4 (Summer 2010): 6–9, https:// jewishaction.com/letters/dear_reb_ aharon/. 2. https://www.ou.org/assets/Responsesof-Rabbinic-Panel.pdf.

THE HIGH HOLIDAYS OF MY YOUTH

By Adina Sapir

In the 70s and part of the 80s, I spent the Yamim Noraim davening in a small shtiebel on the corner of 38th Street and Fifteenth Avenue. The “shul” was really a large room on the ground floor of a two-story gray building located on a block of what was then considered the outskirts of Boro Park. With its dark wood-paneled walls and faded linoleum, the shtiebel was nondescript, unremarkable.

And yet, more than forty years later, during the Yamim Noraim, my thoughts invariably drift back to that shul.

My family lived on the same treelined block as my mother’s mother, “Bubby”—a shortish woman with a sandy-colored wig and dancing brown eyes. We all davened in the same shtiebel, located two short blocks away. But on the Yamim Noraim, Bubby would go early and sit next to her friends. The stylish and elegant, blonde-wigged Mrs. G., a Hungarian woman, would sit to her right, and the gracious Mrs. I., with her dark complexion and short black wig, would be on her left. Wearing freshly starched white aprons over their yom tov attire and white satin tichels (kerchiefs) on top of their wigs, these women occupied the most coveted seats in the women’s section—at a table pushed up against the lace curtain mechitzah.

When I arrived at shul with my mother and older sister, we would find my grandmother, sandwiched between her two dear friends, her petite frame hunched over her machzor as she mouthed silent prayers. Bubby, who spoke a rich, elegant Yiddish, only a sprinkling of which I understood, would glance at us and smile briefly and shift her attention back to the machzor.

The shul had a Chassidic flavor—

though most of the congregants were not Chassidic. They were simple, hardworking Jews from the neighboring blocks, men and women who had seen their families, and sometimes their entire towns, disappear in the chimneys of Auschwitz, but who persisted in coming to shul. In those years, Boro Park was saturated with Jews who had numbers on their arms; nearly everyone above a certain age had witnessed the unfathomable and had somehow mustered the strength to marry, have children and start over.

In that tiny shul, the prayers of survivors hung heavy in the air.

My Czech-born Bubby, a survivor of Auschwitz, and her shul friends, who had memories of a vibrant Jewish life in small shtetls that dotted the Hungarian, Czechoslovakian and Romanian countrysides, spent the High Holidays weeping, asking forgiveness from G-d.

They understood the Yamim Noraim in a way that I, as a twelve-year-old, could not.

Bubby was a personality—a feisty, energetic woman—a seamstress by profession, with a sharp business mind who played the stock market well. Bubby had a flair for drama, and she would get animated while doling out another piece of advice or recounting yet another story from the “alte heim.”

But on the Yamim Noraim, Bubby had no stories to share, no wise words to impart. She sat erect by the lace curtain mechitzah, quiet, contemplative. She would adjust the white kerchief on her head and press her finger against her lips, gently reminding me that today no mundane words would come from her mouth. She had the custom of maintaining a ta’anis dibbur, abstaining from idle chatter on these holy days.

On Rosh Hashanah, in the moments preceding shofar blowing, the women’s section would swell with young mothers in yom tov finery, toddlers squirming in their arms as the women searched for seats. Invariably, some of the crowd would spill onto the sidewalk, and the front metal door would be propped open for all to hear. A hush would descend on the crowd. Then the shofar would be blown—ten, twenty, thirty times. When the blasts were over, the mothers would gather their children, who were beginning to whine, and leave in a flutter of noise.

My grandmother and her friends would glance at the impatient toddlers, unfazed by the whining. These women, who once had no hope and no future, understood that children represented both.

Bubby has been gone for several years, but I was reminded of this childhood memory recently. While reading the Mesoras HaRav Yom Kippur Machzor, I came across Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik’s recollection of the Yamim Noraim of generations past:

To recount what Jews of earlier generations—not only the gedolei Yisrael but Jews in general— experienced on the Yamim Nora’im— the yearning, the nostalgia that overtook one’s entire being—to impart that emotion is almost impossible.

Reading the words of the Rav, I felt a pang of longing—and, at the same time, a deep familiarity. I knew the Jews he was talking about.

As a twelve-year-old girl, I had davened with them in a shtiebel on Fifteenth Avenue.

Adina Sapir is a freelance writer living in New York.

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