Keeping Jewish - July 2023

Jewish day of love

Marriage insights inspired by a biblical character

Belated Kaddish

Grandson from Tucson Tucson helps find grave in Russia helps find grave in Russia

Kosher, to go

Handmaker chefs offer new take-out menu menu

Meet the Yekkes

15 facts about German Jews and their unique customs and

TUC

HEIR TUCSON RESIDENTS SHARE THEIR JOURNEY OF SETTLING IN THE U.S.

2443 E 4th Street, Tucson, AZ 85719

EXECUTIVE DIRECTOR

Rabbi Yossie Shemtov

REBBETZIN

Chanie Shemtov

OUTREACH DIRECTOR

Rabbi Yehuda Ceitlin

PROGRAM DIRECTOR

Feigie Ceitlin

Affiliates:

Congregation Young Israel, Chabad at the University of Arizona, Chabad on River, Chabad of Oro Valley, Chabad of Sierra Vista, Chabad of Vail and Lamplighter Chabad Day School of Tucson

Five marriage insights from Aaron the High Priest

By Rabbi Yehuda Ceitlin

EDITOR

Rabbi Yehuda Ceitlin

COPY EDITOR

Suzanne Cummins

CONTRIBUTING WRITERS

Seymour Brody, Feigie Ceitlin, Libby Herz, Sruly Meyer, Menachem Posner, Mordechai Schmutter, Rochel Spangenthal, Benjamin Weiss, Shlomo Yaffe

COVER PHOTO

David Evans / Unsplash

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Note: “G-d” and “L-rd” are written with a hyphen instead of an “o .”This is one way we accord reverence to the sacred divine name. This also reminds us that, even as we seek G-d, He transcends any human effort to describe His reality.

The yahrtzeit (anniversary of passing) of Aaron, the High Priest, is observed on the second of Av. Some two weeks later, we celebrate the 15th of Av, the Jewish Festival of Love.

And it’s no coincidence.

Aaron, the brother of Moses, was the quintessential example of a person who sought peace and expressed love in an unconditional way. From infancy, he showed a special sense of caring for others. When the speech-impaired Moses was tasked with confronting Pharaoh, it was Aaron who served as interpreter, selflessly playing second fiddle to his younger brother. And as High Priest, he strove to promote and pursue the cause of peace.

When he passed away, the entire nation mourned him, for he had brought them together as a nation of lovingkindness. So yes, it’s no coincidence that the day young Jewish singles would search for their soulmates occurs so soon after his yahrtzeit.

Every marriage requires effort, wisdom, and insight to succeed, and Aaron’s exemplary character, as illuminated by the teachings of the Rebbe, can provide us with useful insights on what it takes to build a solid and enduring marriage:

1. There should be love. Aaron was known for his boundless and unconditional love for people. At the core of any successful marriage is unconditional love and its power to overcome challenges together. Yes, you may often disagree with your spouse, but you should never stop loving them.

2. There should be a relationship. Aaron sought to build connections. Beyond the initial sparks of love, a nurturing, developing relationship is needed to support each other through life’s triumphs and tribulations. As you live together, you grow together, and you grow to understand each other’s unique needs. A relationship is built over time, and it creates the steadiness and reliability that can weather the good times and the tough times.

3. There should be a partnership. Aaron was tasked with kindling the Menorah, causing the flame to rise forth from the spun cotton wicks and the pure, cold-pressed olive oil in the golden branches of the Menorah. The candle and wick work in unison to create a glowing flame — and without both, the flame would soon sputter and die or never catch fire at all. So too, the husband and wife

contribute their unique qualities and fulfill their respective roles, and without their partnership, neither is even half as effective as they can be as a team.

4. There should be a support system. All of us — even those who are not priests — are encouraged to “be of the disciples of Aaron” (Ethics of the Fathers 1:12). Yes, the responsibilities of the priesthood belong to the priests — the sons of Aaron — but the rest of us create a support structure as the students of Aaron, empowering them to succeed. And as the students of Aaron, we, too, are enjoined to “love peace and pursue peace” as Aaron himself did. While the primary responsibility of building a successful marriage lies with the couple, the people around them can — and should — offer guidance, encouragement, and a listening ear.

5. There should be faith.

When G-d taught the Jewish People commandments (mitzvot), He did so through Moses. But when G-d taught mitzvot that applied specifically to the priests, He often did so by way of Aaron, the High Priest, whose shining example of steadfast faith and service of G-d was emulated by his descendants.

A couple can seek wisdom from their faith, draw strength from their spiritual practices, and embrace the values and principles that resonate with their hearts.

Let Aaron’s profound insights guide you in building a marriage that thrives on love, connection, partnership, support and faith.

- Rabbi Yehuda Ceitlin is the Outreach Director of Chabad Tucson

The Jewish outreach and education network of Southern Arizona

Grandson’s dedication uncovers grave Grandson’s uncovers grave

Tucson resident helps grandfather unearth family legacy

By Sruly Meyer

Yosef Lapko, a real estate developer and business consultant in Tucson, has been on a mission to document his family’s history, unearthing hidden stories and connecting multiple generations. Through this exploration, the importance of preserving and sharing the stories of Holocaust survivors became profoundly evident.

His investigation is centered on the life of his grandfather, Reuven (Roman) Zlotin, who was born in Russia in 1931 and experienced the horrors of World War II.

In 1942, at the tender age of 11, Zlotin and his mother fled their hometown of Briansk, near Moscow, seeking refuge during the war. Leaving behind his father and older brother Zalman who chose to stay behind, Zlotin embarked on a perilous journey to find safety in the East. Sadly, the fate of his father and brother remained unknown, and the war ravaged their hometown, leaving Zlotin with little information except for the heartbreaking speculation that they had perished.

After the war, Zlotin joined the Red Army, eventually rising to the rank of Lieutenant Colonel. He played a vital role in establishing submarine stations for supply purpo-

ses in Kamchatka. Later, he relocated to Kaluga, where he became the town’s chief engineer. In 1992, following his children and grandchildren who had already made Aliyah the year before, Zlotin immigrated to the Holy Land of Israel, starting anew after years of hardship.

Since arriving there, Zlotin spoke about his experiences with friends and family. It is was spurred his grandson, Lapko, to start documenting the family history in 2011. His journey led him to Yad Vashem, the World Holocaust Remembrance Center in Jerusalem, where he made a profound discovery.

During a visit, Lapko heard his grandfather’s brother’s name Zalman included in the names of the Holocaust victims that are played through loudspeakers to remember those who perished.

It confirmed the tragic reality that Zlotin’s brother had met his untimely fate, never having the chance to build his own family.

Motivated by this newfound understanding, Lapko dedicated countless hours to researching and collecting information. He made further visits to Yad Vashem

and collaborated with a distant relative to uncover astonishing details about his grandfather’s brother.

Through their efforts, they learned that he had joined the army, fought for six more months, and eventually succumbed to his injuries in a hospital. Contrary to earlier assumptions, the long-lost older brother was buried near St. Petersburg, Russia.

Lapko contacted Rabbi Yehuda Ceitlin of Chabad Tucson, who connected him with Rabbi Chaim Shaul Brook, Director of the Jewish institutions in St. Petersburg. Once the gravesite was located, Lapko flew to Israel and traveled together with his grandfather to Russia. Despite being 92 years old, Zlotin was determined to make the journey and prepared himself physically to be strong enough for the trip.

Upon arriving at the burial site, Zlotin and Lapko were met with a minyan that Rabbi Brook had coordinated. Zlotin was able to recite the Kaddish prayer, with Lapko singing Keil Malei, the Jewish prayer for the deceased. Zlotin bent down and emotionally touched his long-lost brother’s gravesite. “My grandfather didn’t want to leave,” Lapko recalled. “It had been 81

years since he last saw his brother, and he needed more time.”

Lapko is planning on producing a documentary film about his grandfather’s extraordinary life and the discovery of the burial site. “Everybody has a story,” he said. “I’m so grateful to spend so much time with my grandfather, and I hope it encourages others to invest in documenting and preserving family histories, and making the connection between generations.”

Having spent all my formative years in Colombia (South America), the idea of living in the United States was not even a distant dream of mine.

I was born and raised in Medellin, a vibrant and densely populated city that is the second-largest city in the country after Bogota and home to 3 million people. After completing my undergraduate studies in Spanish education, I decided to move to Spain to get a PhD in literary analysis.

While in Spain, my local “family” suggested I have coffee with a nice American guy named Zachary Naiman, who was in town working on his Spanish. Little did I know that he would become my husband two years later, and my life would be transplanted to Tucson, Arizona.

When Zach and I decided to get married in 2005, we could have stayed in Spain, Colombia, or the United States. Thinking about the well-being of our future family, it didn’t take much to decide the U.S. was the way to go. Although originally from the east coast, Zach’s family had strong ties to Tucson, so we came here. The idea was to

allow me to settle into my life in America in a small, manageable place.

Truth be told, the transition to Tucson was challenging.

Even though I could already speak English and had never lived through the isolation that language barriers can impose, I didn’t know how to drive and had never been in a suburban-style town. I missed the pedestrian life and cultural scene that big cities can offer. The tropics are nothing like the desert, and I felt ill-prepared to deal with the hot Arizona summers.

Transferring the remaining portion of my PhD studies to the University of Arizona and focusing on my degree helped me acclimate to Tucson. I gradually learned to like my new environment.

Fast forward to 2010, when we decided to have children, Tucson suddenly became a very different place for me: it was now the hometown of my daughters. Seen from that perspective, the quiet and suburban place I struggled to get used to was now a fantastic place to raise a family.

I have been fortunate enough to have a job that is flexible enough so that I can be an engaged mother, and my kids have a great place to live, with a wonderful school, great musical education, and our beloved community of Chabad Tucson to support us. After 18 years of living here, I can absolutely call Tucson my home. I love and respect this country and have nothing but gratitude for the wonderful opportunities it has given my family and me.

- Adriana Betancur is a Senior Lecturer for the Department of Spanish and Portuguese at the University of Arizona’s College of Humanities

From the sun-drenched streets of Beer Sheva to the desert beauty of Tucson, my journey has come uniquely full circle.

As a child, my family left Israel for Canada, seeking a new beginning. My parents were born in the French Colonies (my father in Morocco and my mother in Algeria), so Montreal was the right choice because of the bilingual Province of Quebec.

I graduated from Montreal’s Herzliah High School in 1984, and then my parents decided to move us to Jerusalem, where they believed we could live a more Jewish life. Despite being born in Israel, I needed to relearn Hebrew as it wasn’t in our home in Canada.

Still, I completed my biochemistry degree at Hebrew University in 1988 and spent three years in the IDF Medical Corps as a lieutenant. Following that, I pursued a Master’s degree at the Universite de Montreal, dedicating my research to Cystic Fibrosis, a condition my brother Aharon Chaim suffered from.

Because of my brother’s condition, my parents moved to Paris to get

him treatment there. I consequently left Biochemistry and began to study Ophthalmic Optics at the Higher School of Optics of Paris. My father owned a few optical shops in Paris, and I worked with him.

Getting married to an American allowed me to return to the North American culture I grew up with in Canada and realize my aspiration to study at an American university.

It was in my late thirties when that dream was fulfilled in 2003. I was accepted at the University of California, Berkeley School of Optometry. After graduating in 2007, I worked in an ophthalmology practice in San Rafael, California.

With the rising cost of living in California and my children graduating from high school, the time was right for me to move, and I found a job in Tucson. Until then, I had only heard of Tucson from the Hyundai crossover SUV. But when I got here, I fell in love with the city.

The Jewish community received me with open arms, and I feel a stronger magnetic pull to my Jewishness here than I did while living in Montreal, Paris, or Jerusalem. America is vast and has different congregations and communities, each addressing specific needs for one’s Jewish identity and values. This receptiveness is unique to the USA.

I never thought that I would come back to the desert. A friend from Israel once visited here and commented, “I feel like I’m in Beer Sheva!” The intense heat, the dry air, and the mountains are reminiscent of the Negev. I am completing the circle - from the Negev to the desert of Tucson.

- Dr. Jacob Wanon, M.Sc., O.D., is an optometrist at Alvernon Optical - Sunrise in Tucson, AZ

Adriana Betancur Dr. Jacob Wanon From Medellin, Colombia From Beer Sheva, Israel

TUCSON RESIDENTS SHARE THEIR JOURNEY OF SETTLING IN THE U.S.

the last sibling to emigrate to the USA. A chance encounter in 1983 changed the trajectory of my life. While on vacation, I met a kind couple from Ohio with whom I shared my aspirations and goals. To my surprise, the man, having recently purchased a new business, thought I was the perfect person to do the accounting. I did, and over my career, I also worked for two Fortune 500 companies.

Reflecting on my life, I can’t help but be grateful for the experiences that have shaped me into who I am today, living in America.

Born in Johannesburg, South Africa, I grew up in a close-knit family that cherished the values of responsibility and independence. Both of my parents had professional careers—my father was an accountant, and my mother was a bookkeeper. Despite having maids to assist us, we were taught the importance of selfsufficiency and caring for ourselves.

After completing my education at a private school, I continued on to The University of Witwatersrand in Johannesburg and graduated with a degree in Commerce. Given the political instability and random violence in South Africa, my siblings and I had already decided that as soon as we were able to, we would leave South Africa and make a life in America.

Sharon, the oldest of my siblings, had already emigrated and was living in Columbus, Ohio, where she was working as a nurse. I soon joined her there. My brother Norman and my parents emigrated to Los Angeles. My younger sister Desi was

Our family has always been close. When I was ready to exit the corporate world, I looked for a new position close to my sister, who moved to Tucson with her husband and two children. I moved with my husband Terry to Tucson in 2007. Subsequently, my parents and older sister moved to Tucson as well. Living near one another makes it effortless to spend quality time together, nurturing the bonds that have always defined our family.

I have found immense joy in my connection with Chabad Tucson. Through my younger sister’s involvement, I was welcomed into their warm and accepting community. With my parents passing away within eight months of each other, we have the responsibility of carrying our traditions forward.

As an immigrant, the Fourth of July is an important day for us to remember. The USA is a melting pot, built by immigrants, and we are fortunate to be part of that. This is a nation that emerged from British rule to forge its own path. This country has also allowed my family and me to build comfortable lives and feel safe in our adopted homeland.

-- Linda Cohen is a freelance bookkeeper responsible for accounts of various companies and private individuals.

Raziel Henry Levidis

Growing up in Santiago De Cuba, Cuba, in 1987, life was a constant struggle for survival.

Our ancestors held prestigious positions as politicians, doctors, and musicians. They had beautiful houses and vast farmland. Our fortunes were traced to a remarkable great-great-grandmother, a devout observer of Shabbat. But the communists snatched it all away.

As an infant, I experienced the harsh reality of hunger, often eating whatever I could find. My mother recalls finding me hiding outside, devouring a raw onion like an apple, and throwing pebbles at our neighbor’s house, demanding sweet potatoes. It was a desperate act, a means to fend off starvation.

My zayde (grandfather) would patiently stand in line with his ration card, hoping to secure our meager food supplies. I vividly remember waking up one morning and asking my mother for milk, only to witness her bursting into tears because she couldn’t provide it.

As I grew older, the consequences of the hunger I endured became apparent. Chronic gastritis plagued me, a painful reminder of my hardships. Fortunately, my

bubbe and zayde managed to escape Cuba and emigrated to Miami, Florida. Soon after, they generously sent us money to make our way to America.

Arriving in Miami, my bubbe, in true bubbe fashion, prepared a magnificent feast that filled me to the brim. Then, my zayde took us to the shopping mall, where we bought new clothes. My bubbe explained that our clothes symbolized a past we needed to leave behind.

Despite frequent hospital visits during early childhood, I never knew hunger again. The market shelves in America brimmed with food, and Cuba’s limitations were a distant memory. I received proper healthcare and access to medication. Education became my pathway to independence and the future.

My family celebrated our ability to be together and to be Jewish openly. Shabbat meals at my grandparents’ house always featured a dish that captured my heart: a rich and hearty stew with meat, beans, potatoes, cumin, paprika, and other spices—a Cuban Jewish cholent, as I would later discover.

Eventually, I began to unravel the depth and richness of Judaism and the customs our family had quietly maintained. As a young adult, I spent time with Chasidic Jews at a Chabad in North Miami Beach, which expanded my understanding of my Jewish heritage. I have continued my quest since recently moving to Tucson.

My journey from starvation to abundance and freedom has profoundly shaped me, especially concerning my ability to embrace Judaism. I am forever grateful to my bubbe and zayde for rescuing us from the clutches of communism. The thought of what might have become of me had I remained in Cuba sends shivers down my spine.

— Raziel Henry Levidis works for a governmental agency in Tucson, AZ

Linda Cohen

From Johannesburg, South Africa

From Santiago de Cuba, Cuba

Why is it that in the space of one hour, we can be full of faith and then skeptical, kind to one stranger and abrupt with another, deeply inspired to seek holiness and then be drawn to the basest desires?

We are so accustomed to this phenomenon we do not often question it, but we should.

Do we desire to live a G-dly life or not? Do our negative inclinations and deeds prove that our convictions and commitments are only a sham? If our commitment to “do the right thing” is not superficial, why does the opposite draw us in so easily on a moment’s notice?

I DON’T HAVE A DREAM Tisha B’Av, nightmares and embracing our essential potential

By Shlomo Yaffe

The answer to this lies in understanding the continuing influence of the events of Tisha B’Av.

Tisha B’Av—the ninth day of the Hebrew month of Av—is the saddest day in the Jewish calendar. Among other things, the ninth of Av is the day on which: The men of Israel accepted the false reports of the spies, thereby causing 40 years of wandering in the desert; The Babylonians destroyed the First Temple; and the Romans destroyed the Second Temple.

These events propelled us into exile, or

more importantly, into galut. Exile is being out of one’s place. The Hebrew word of Galut is a state of alienation from a tangible sense of the presence of the G-dly around us, which we enjoyed when the Holy Temples existed.

In this state of galut, G-d is concealed from the world, and we are distanced and disengaged from Him. At least, that is our human perspective.

From G-d’s perspective, He remains engaged in the universe at every moment. Galut is like a one-way mirror, in which we only see our limits, but G-d sees all.

The Dream

There is a powerful metaphor in Psalm 126 that can help us understand—and more importantly, do—something about this state of being. It begins, “When G-d will return the exiles of Zion, we will [see our experiences in exile] as having been dreams.” The nature of sleep and its unique attendant experience—dreaming— holds the key to understanding galut.

When we sleep, we are most certainly alive. Our brain is functioning, as is the rest of the body. However, according to the

Photo: Evgeni Tcherkasski / Unsplash

Chassidic masters, all psychological and physiological aspects of sleep and dreaming flow from a spiritual source.

In a dream, we can be simultaneously old and young, in two different places, or in the presence of two people, one of whom died before the other was born. All contradictions “fit” in a dream. Only when we wake up do we realize that what we saw could never be or have been.

This is the essence of the galut experience. The withdrawal of G-d’s revealed presence from our world leads to the capacity for self-delusion and self-contradiction.

This is why we accept the contradictions noted at the beginning of this article. The deepest part of us remains attuned to the truth of who we are and what we truly desire; but our deep-seated convictions coexist with an alienated and confused self that is ignorant or in denial of them. It’s not that we deny or abandon our source and innermost self. We do something that is, in a certain sense, even more destructive: we simultaneously know and ignore, commit and shrug off, believe and deny.

Waking Up

What do we do when a bad dream becomes too horrible to bear? We make ourselves wake up, and all the impossible predicaments and disturbing

What Are the Three Weeks?

contradictions of the night disappear as if they never were. Once the soul is reengaged, we see that the dream could not have been real.

Every time we refuse to accept the limits that our capacity for self-delusion places on us—we are waking ourselves up.

Every time we insist that each moment of our life can, and should, reflect our essential potential rather than the force of habit and social convention—we are waking ourselves up.

By these acts of awakening and refusing to accept the nightmare, we shatter the oneway mirror and enter a world in which we see G-d as clearly as G-d sees us.

This is the world awoken from the nightmare of human suffering, emptiness and petty hatred. This is the world envisaged by all our prophets: a world free of hunger, disease and jealousy; a world in which all humankind will focus together on the ever-exhilarating experience of knowing G-d and living accordingly.

This wonderful world is not a utopian dream. Our world is the nightmare. All we have to do is wake up.

- Rabbi Shlomo is Dean of the Institute of American and Talmudic Law in New York, N.Y., and Rabbi of Congregation B’nai Torah in Springfield, MA.

The period known as “The Three Weeks” is an annual mourning period that falls during the summer each year. This is when we mourn the destruction of the Holy Temple and our launch into a stillongoing exile.

The period begins on the 17th of the Hebrew month of Tammuz, which is a fast day that commemorates the day when the walls of Jerusalem were breached by the Romans in 69 CE. This year the fast begins on Thursday, July 6, at 3:53 AM and ends at 8:04 PM.

The Three Weeks concludes with the fast of the 9th of Av because (though six hundred years apart) both Holy Temples were set aflame on that date. This is the saddest day of the Jewish calendar and the date many other tragedies befell our people. The Fast of the 9th of Av begins on Wednesday, July 26 at 7:22 PM and ends on Thursday, July 27 at 7:54 PM.

Observances:

Various mourning-related customs and observances are followed for the entire Three Weeks (until midday of the 10th of the Hebrew month of Av, or—if that date falls on Friday—the morning of that day). We do not cut our hair, purchase new clothes, or listen to live music. No weddings are held.

The 17th of Tammuz

17 Tammuz is a fast day on which we refrain from eating and drinking from

dawn to nightfall. The fast commemorates five tragic events that occurred on this date, including Moses breaking the Tablets and breaching the walls of Jerusalem.

The Nine Days

The final Nine Days of the Three Weeks are a time of intensified mourning. Starting on the first of Av, we refrain from eating meat or drinking wine and from wearing freshly laundered clothes.

The 9th of Av

The fast on the 9th of Av is more stringent than the one on 17 Tammuz. It begins at sunset the previous evening when we gather in the synagogue to read the Book of Lamentations. Besides fasting, we abstain from other pleasures: washing, applying lotions or creams, wearing leather shoes, and marital relations. Until midday, we sit on the floor or low stools.

The Inner Message

Yet there is more to the Three Weeks than fasting and lamentation. Our sages tell us that those who mourn the destruction of Jerusalem will merit seeing it rebuilt with the coming of Moshiach. May that day come soon, and then all the mournful dates on the calendar will be transformed into days of tremendous joy and happiness.

For more: Chabad.org/ThreeWeeks

Handmaker launches kosher take-out menu

By Benjamin Weiss

Handmaker Jewish Services For Aging has announced the launch of their new kosher take-out menu, skillfully crafted by executive chefs Mike Felde and Claire Ferguson. This exciting offering provides the local Jewish community with an array of kosher dishes that are perfect for office meetings, park outings, or simply enjoying at home.

Felde, Handmaker’s Director of Food and Facility Services, previously worked at a number of restaurants and hotels, including Hacienda Del Sol, Boccatta Bistro, Jerome’s, The Lodge at Ventana Canyon, and Doubletree Hotel at Reid Park.

Before joining Handmaker, Ferguson worked as a lead chef and pastry chef at the Tanque Verde Ranch, a vegan restaurant and a gastropub. “Serving the community is a pleasure, and I hope to continue my work with Handmaker for years to come,” she said.

With a commitment to providing great kosher cuisine, Handmaker ensures that their offerings meet the highest standards, certified glatt kosher by Rabbi Yossie Shemtov, Executive Director of Chabad Tucson.

This soft opening of the kosher takeout menu aims to cater to the needs of individuals and groups seeking convenient yet tasty kosher meals. Orders are accepted until 4:00 PM, with an available pick-up in approximately one hour.

The menu features selections designed to satisfy a range of preferences. Customers can indulge in the timeless flavors of the Reuben on Toasted Rye, featuring housemade corned beef, sauerkraut, Thousand Island dressing, and a pickle spear. For those in the mood for easy finger food, the Chicken Wrap is a great choice, with its combination of fried chicken tenders, fresh greens, tomato, red onion, and

honey mustard wrapped in a toasted flour tortilla.

For those who prefer a traditional deli experience, the Deli Sandwich allows you to choose between deli turkey or pastrami, served on your preferred toasted bread. It is complete with lettuce, tomato, onion, mayo, and mustard on the side.

There are the basic tuna and egg salad sandwiches, and no menu would be complete without the classics like hamburgers and hot dogs.

The Chef Salad presents a refreshing combination of chopped romaine, carrot, tomato, red onion, hard-boiled egg, and grilled chicken, providing a healthy and satisfying meal option.

The main course is complemented by a selection of sides, including pickled herring,

pickle spears, potato salad, pasta salad, and more. For those craving something hearty, the baked potatoes and baked sweet potatoes with green onion and margarine are sure to please. They also have a Dessert of the Day as a sweet ending to your meal.

“We are delighted to introduce our kosher take-out menu to the Tucson community,” says Elie Pollak, CEO of Handmaker. “Kosher cuisine holds deep cultural significance, and this new initiative furthers the mission of Handmaker, which is to enhance Jewish life to the greater Tucson Jewish community with a variety of professional services.”

To place an order from Handmaker’s kosher take-out menu, call Naftali Levin at 520-8701808.

From left, Rabbi Yossie Shemtov of Chabad Tucson with Handmaker Director of Food and Facility Services Mike Felde, Pastry Chef Julie Ogroski, and Executive Chef Claire Ferguson * Photo: Faye Gandolfi

Mushroom, feta and onion quiche

By Feigie Ceitlin

During the first 9 days of the month of Av, commemorated by a mourning period for the destruction of the first and second Holy Temples in Jerusalem, it is customary to abstain from eating meat and poultry. (An exception to this rule is Shabbat or a meal marking a mitzvah such as circumcision and completion of a tractate of Talmud).

A fantastic recipe to enjoy during these meatless days is this savory quiche that is packed with flavorful ingredients that come together to create a satisfying and filling meal. The combination of earthy mushrooms, sweet yellow onions, and tangy feta cheese is truly delightful.

With a creamy egg mixture and a hint of mozzarella on top, this quiche will surely please vegetarians and non-vegetarians alike. The recipe makes two quiches, so you can share this delightful dish with friends and family or freeze one for later. It’s a versatile option that can be served for breakfast, brunch, or even as a light dinner when paired with a fresh salad.

INGREDIENTS:

2 standard-size frozen pie crust

16-ounce container of mushrooms

1 large yellow onion

5 eggs

1 1/4 cups milk

1 cup shredded mozzarella

1 cup feta cheese

Salt and pepper

DIRECTIONS:

Slice mushrooms and onion and saute

until translucent

Add salt and pepper

Add mixture to the 2 frozen pie crusts Crumble feta cheese on top of each.

Make egg mixture:

Whisk 5 eggs and the milk

Add salt and pepper

Whisk and pour over the pies.

Top with shredded mozzarella

Bake at 375 F for an hour (mixture in quiches should be firm)

The blessing: Mezonot

Baruch atah A-donay, Elo-heinu Melech

Ha’Olam borei minei mezonot.

Blessed are you L-rd our G-d, King of the Universe, Who creates various kinds of sustenance.

B’Tayavon!

— Rebbetzin Feigie Ceitlin is the program director of Chabad Tucson and head of school of Lamplighter Chabad Day School.

Photo: lacuisinedegeraldine.fr

15 facts about Yekkes, the Jews of Germany

By Menachem Posner

Among the various ethnicities and cultures that make up Klal Yisrael, the entirety of the Jewish nation, a special place is occupied by Yekkes, Jews from Germany.

Punctilious and particular, the stereotypical Yekke is a creature of habit; reliable, devout, and exact. He or she is also skeptical and ambivalent toward vagaries or anything that cannot be quantified, qualified, and documented.

1. The term is both laudatory and mildly derogatory

There is ongoing debate and discussion surrounding the origin of the term “Yekke” and how it came to refer to Jewish people of German descent. Some posit that it comes from the German word for “jacket,” since German Jews tended to wear short suit jackets, not the long frocks of their Eastern European contemporaries. Whatever its source, the term is both a badge of pride and an expression of derision, which is used in a variety of ways: “That Yekke is amazing, never a single

minute late!” but also, “That Yekke gets all bent out of shape when I’m even a single minute late!”

2. They are the firstAshkenazim Ashkenaz is the Hebrew name assigned to Germany. The various migrations of Europe’s persecuted Jews over the centuries have meant that, on the one hand, Ashkenazi culture spread far east into the Russian Empire. Yet, within the big-tent Ashkenazi universe, Ashkenaz still refers specifically to German Jews, and even more specifically to those from Southern and Western Germany.

3. They had unique customs

each child born into the congregation. Another difference is that on Shabbat and holidays, they wash for bread before reciting Kiddush and then break bread immediately after partaking from the Kiddush wine.

HISTORY

4. Synagogue tunes are very exact Synagogues following German rites have specific tunes unique to each holiday and even special Shabbats throughout the year. For example, on the Shabbat of Chanukah, Adon Olam is sung to the tune of Maoz Tzur, and on Passover, to the melody of Adir Hu (which is sung after the Seder).

different language with many unique features. Traditionally, German Jews spoke a unique dialect of “Yiddish Deutsch” (German Yiddish), which (quite understandably) was more similar to German than was its eastern counterpart, which evolved in a Slavic milieu and was thus less influenced by the German language. As German Jews assimilated (to varying degrees) into the wider German culture in the 19th century, the language effectively became extinct.

6.Assimilation hit early and hard

The Jews of Germany have their own unique customs, some of which are shared amongst all Yekkes and some of which are particular to a specific region or city.

Some of the most noticeable synagogue customs are that boys begin wearing a tallit (prayer shawl) from a young age, and the wimpel—a Torah sash made to honor

Thus, a Yekke can enter a synagogue any day of the year and, without even hearing what is said, can identify the (approximate) calendar date as well as where the congregation is up to in the service.

5. Historically, they had their own form of Yiddish

While Yiddish shares a common ancestor with modern German, it is, of course, a

As the Enlightenment swept through Western Europe, the walls of the figurative ghettos came crashing down. Sadly, some German Jews were enticed by promises of acceptance and acculturation and converted to Christianity. Others chose to “reform” Judaism into a limited set of limited and sanitized rituals, which they hoped would allow them to become palatable to their German neighbors without officially renouncing their Judaism.

Art by Sefira Lightstone / Chabad.org

(quite counterpart, (to language figurative some

7. Frankfurt was a bastion of Orthodoxy

Throughout Germany, there remained pockets of Jewish people who stayed faithful to the Judaism of their ancestors. This was particularly pronounced in Frankfurt, where a separate Orthodox community was formed in an event known as the austritt. With members who were learned in Torah and also well educated in secular matters, the community became a model for others to follow.

8. They adopted Western appearances

While Eastern European Jewish males tended to maintain a distinct form of dress, including long coats, black hats, beards, etc., the typical Yekke was not externally distinguishable from his neighbors. The rare exception was the rabbi, who typically wore payot and sometimes also a beard.

9. Yekkes have their own Hebrew pronunciation

Four pronunciations of the cholam vowel prevailed among pre-Holocaust Ashkenazic Jews: two in Eastern Europe and two in Western Europe. Thus, the word cholam itself would be pronounced as choilam among Polish (and Austrian) Jews, chaylam among Lithuanian (and Russian) Jews, chaulam amongst northern Yekkes and cholam when pronounced by southern Yekkes. It appears that German Jews also once differentiated between the aleph and ayin, and chet and chaf, but that seems to have fallen away by the 17th century

10. They referred to prayer as Orenen

Influenced by Eastern European Yiddish, many American Jews use the word daven to refer to the act of prayer. Among Yekkes, the word oren was used, based on the Latin ora (“pray”).

11. They often had two names

Many German Jews had two names, their Hebrew name and a corresponding German (Yiddish) name. While a Jewish boy received his Hebrew name at his brit milah (circumcision), among western Yekkes the secular name was given at a separate ceremony known as hollekreisch.

12. There were three tiers of rabbinic ordination

Among Yekkes (and also Austrian Jews), a person who had studied in yeshivah and was capable of independent study was

given the title chaver (“peer”), which was technically not ordination. An advanced scholar was known as a rav (“rabbi”). One who actually issued Torah guidance on a communal level was referred to as moreinu (“our master”).

13. Yizkor was not said on holidays

Like Sephardim, Ashkenazim traditionally did not say Yizkor on Passover, Sukkot, and Shavuot (some congregations did say it on Yom Kippur) since the melancholy nature of remembering our departed loved ones would detract from the joyous holiday. Instead, on two specific Shabbats during the year, they pulled out the memorbuch, which contained records of the community’s loved ones going back centuries, and recited memorial prayers for them all.

14.

Yekke life was transferred to the new world

With the rise of Nazism, it became increasingly clear that there was little future for German Jewry. Many escaped to the US, Mandatory Palestine, and other places, replanting their uprooted communities in their new surroundings.

In time, many Yekke communities faded and the children and grandchildren of the original immigrants became one with the wider Jewish community. However, vibrant and distinct German-Jewish communities still remain, notably K’hal Adath Jeshurun in Manhattan’s Washington Heights neighborhood, founded by transplants from Frankfurt, led by Rabbi Dr. Joseph Breuer (1883-1980).

15. There is

(new) Jewish life in Germany

Following the Holocaust and resettlement of the Jewish survivors, few Jews remained in Germany. In 1952, the Jewish population was reported to be just 10,000, a mix of native-born Yekkes and Jews from elsewhere in Europe who ended up in Germany at the war’s conclusion and had not moved on. Starting in the 1990s, German Jewish life flourished once again, as Jews from the USSR (as well as others) poured into the newly unified and prosperous country. Today, there are more than 100,000 Jews in Germany, served by over 40 Chabad Rabbi-Rebbetzin couples across 19 cities.

Shabbat dinner at the Heim des Jüdischen Frauenbundes (Home of the Jewish Women’s League) in NeuIsenburg, Germany, founded in 1907 by Bertha Pappenheim * Photo: Leo Beck Institute

A menorah organized by Chabad in Berlin stands at the Brandenburg Gate in Berlin, Germany on Sunday, December 25, 2016 * Credit: Alex Timanoff / Chabad.org

German President Frank-Walter Steinmeier (left) and Berlin Rabbi Yehuda Tiechtel chat with Jewish refugees from Odessa, Ukraine at Chabad of Berlin, on March 7, 2022

REFLECTIONS

A time for war and A a time for peace a time peace

By Rochel Spangenthal

Art History 101

9:00 AM

Relinquishing the sunny outdoors, the students file into the cramped, artificially lit classroom. The professor turns on the projector and commences her lecture as they type steadily on their laptops.

Sounds like the start of a productive day.

But zoom in on the life of one student during that lecture and you will notice that in one hour, she is accomplishing much more than her parents could have hoped to accomplish in any single day. She is simultaneously taking notes in Word, empathizing with her sister’s latest relationship pitfalls on a chat, emailing a letter to the Office of the Registrar about her transferred credits, and Tweeting about her ever-present boredom.

In order to score some participation points, she raises her hand and asks a question about Antoine Watteau’s painting style, then returns to Facebook and congratulates her three newly engaged friends.

It’s only 9:15 AM.

She sighs and takes another sip of her coffee.

*

Welcome to a new age.

Welcome to an age of multitasking, in which you can download an application for your phone called “TextNWalk,” which advertises, “Don’t ever run into another person or object again! TextNWalk lets you see what’s in front of you as you type!”

Welcome to an age of enhanced productivity; an age in which nine-to-five jobs are rare indeed.

Welcome to an age of instant communication; an age in which the boundaries between my life and yours are blurred so effectively that I can be informed of your every thought as I eat my supper.

In this new era, technology allows us to truly experience every aspect of our world.

Or does it?

The Urban Overload Hypothesis is a psychological theory positing that the pace of modern life causes people to attempt to escape the world. Life comes at you fast, and studies have shown that in order to protect themselves, people withdraw from

others and their environment.

And in this age of perpetual urgency, it can be difficult to focus on what’s truly important. We can easily find ourselves so busy taking care of the minute-to-minute “urgents” that we miss out on the more significant things. Items that require our immediate attention are dealt with; the rest are relegated to the bottom of the pile for “when I have time.”

Enter Shabbat.

Try to conjure up the feeling of looking up at the dark night sky, viewing the brilliant stars from a deserted country road. The stars are always there, but until we stop to savor their beauty, their magnificence goes unnoticed.

This is the gift of Shabbat. Shabbat allows us to take a hiatus from the rush and truly notice our surroundings. It gives us the opportunity to tune in to and connect with those around us. On Shabbat, we stop trying to escape real life; instead, we immerse ourselves in it.

My father first began walking to the synagogue on Shabbat when he realized he would be creating a weekly opportunity to spend time with his children. Sure enough, Saturday mornings were quickly

transformed into a magical oasis of stressfree family bonding.

My mother began lighting Shabbat candles when she realized she could bring warmth and light into an increasingly cold world. The warm glow of her candles turned our Friday nights into enchanted periods of calm.

My friend stopped using electronic devices for one hour each Shabbat when she realized that her environment held gifts that she was unintentionally avoiding. Those sixty minutes became her weekly hour of peaceful appreciation.

Shabbat is

A day of rest

A day to experience life

A day of inner connection and exploration Shabbat is a day when we can focus on exhaling; on experiencing and appreciating.

Shabbat is a day when we live Live life; live family; live G-dliness.

- Rochel Spangenthal is a freelance writer, photographer and world traveler. She recently acquired a BA in psychology and biology from Yeshiva University.

Photo: Yahaduton

Jacob Barsimson

Paved the way for full Citizenship rights

By Seymour Brody

The first Jewish settler who came to New Amsterdam, later to be called New York, was Jacob Barsimson, a Hollander who arrived on August 22, 1654. He was soon followed by other Jews from the West Indies and Brazil who were unhappy with their homelands’ religious and political situations.

The Jews settling in New Amsterdam sought equality, hoping to worship freely and have equal opportunities and obligations alongside Christian citizens. But Barsimson and the other Jews found New Amsterdam no different from where they came from. Peter Stuyvesant, Governor of the Province of New York, treated them as separate citizens. They couldn’t engage in retail trade, practice handicrafts, hold a public position, serve in the militia or practice their religion in a synagogue or gatherings.

Even the simplest rights had to be fought for. Barsimson was among those who presented a petition to Governor Stuyvesant for the right to buy burial plots. The petition was initially denied, but later, under pressure from the New Amsterdam Jews, Stuyvesant allowed Jews the right to buy burial plots.

Stuyvesant imposed many restrictions on the Jews in the colony, limiting them from training in the militia and serving guard duty but requiring each male over 16 and under 60 years of age to pay a monthly fee of 65 stivers, a former nickel coin of the Netherlands, for their exemption.

On September 22, 1654, Stuyvesant wrote to the Amsterdam Chamber of Commerce to complain about the presence of Jewish refugees from Brazil who had recently

arrived in New Amsterdam, claiming they would infect the colony with trouble.

These were mostly descendants of Portuguese Jews who had escaped the Spanish Inquisition to Holland. Those descendants then made their way to Brazil and then to New Amsterdam. By 1654, many Portuguese Jews were investors in the West India Company, which controlled New Amsterdam. They petitioned the West India Company to allow the Brazilian Jews to remain in New Amsterdam.

In the meantime, Barsimson, Asser Levy, Abraham de Lucena, Jacob Cohen Henricques, and other New Amsterdam Jews were pressuring Stuyvesant for full citizenship rights. Among other things, they pursued the right to serve in the militia and do guard duty on the city walls to protect the settlers and the cattle kept inside the walls. They continued their petitions and pressure until the Governor finally granted them full citizenship.

Barsimson and the other Jews proudly did their guard duty on the colony’s walls alongside the Christian militiamen. When the British conquered New Amsterdam and changed its name to New York, the Jewish settlers continued to have full citizenship.

Under the leadership of Jacob Barsimson, this tiny group of Jews displayed persistence, courage and bravery to obtain equal citizenship for all Jews coming to the New World for future generations.

- Originally published in Jewish Heroes & Heroines of America: 150 True Stories of American Jewish Heroism (Frederick Fell Publishers, ISBN-13: 978-0811908238)

Illustration by Art Seiden

Looking back

What life was like in a station wagon

By Mordechai Schmutter

Kids nowadays don’t know what station wagons are. At least the kids I have nowadays. I showed them a picture and asked, “What is this?” and they didn’t know. One of them guessed it was a limousine.

So if a limousine is a vehicle where the rich people are thrown in the back, someone throws luggage on them, and the driver spends the whole time yelling at them to keep it down back there - then a limousine is a station wagon. Although I wonder why anyone would think rich people would not quickly figure out they could do better.

The truth is that a station wagon was more like a minivan’s short friend. It was great if you wanted to carry a lot of people but had no desire to see over traffic.

In the old days (like back in Europe), everyone had station wagons. Actually, Europe still has station wagons. In the US, we don’t really have them anymore because they stopped selling them, because we stopped buying them, because they stopped selling them.

Growing up, though, my family had a series of station wagons. As the oldest in the family, I always got to sit in the back seat, which, for no reason at all, was installed backward. As a result, I had no idea how to get ANYWHERE once I started driving. I just knew how to get back.

The station wagon was marketed as roomy because it had a third seat to keep your extra kids or luggage, but not both. Everyone tried for both.

Sure, there were downsides to sitting backward. For example, we got to sit there in horror and watch huge trucks bear down on us. But on the upside, everything we

saw was a surprise. We were also in charge of peering out the window when my father tried to parallel park and telling him when he’d just hit the car behind him.

There was also a certain safety in knowing that if my father made a short stop, we were not going anywhere. On the other hand, we went flying out of our seats when he started the car because he had no idea whether we actually had our seatbelts on yet or were still climbing in.

And that was the other upside – climbing over the seats. We loved climbing over the seats. Sometimes we’d climb over as soon as my father unlocked his door, all the way from the driver’s seat. Everyone in the entire car had to sit on muddy footprints.

We also climbed over the seats to get out because, thanks to the infinite wisdom of the manufacturers, there was no door handle on the inside door of the back seat. If you wanted to get out, you’d have to wait until your parents remembered you were back there. So usually, when the car stopped, you’d all immediately climb over the seats on top of whoever was in the middle and try to all fall out of the car at the same time.

But we had a station wagon because what were our options? Station wagons held 7-8 people; the next car was a van that held 12 people but had no air conditioning. And if you had any number in between, you had a station wagon, and everyone somehow magically fit anyway. The roof rack helped...

One of our station wagons came in two colors. The top half was maroon, and the bottom half was wood paneling like someone ran out of paint halfway through. So sitting in the back was like sitting in a trunk in a basement from the 70s.

But we were very excited about this car because instead of being put in backward, the seats were installed sideways, facing inwards, like on the subway, and you could see out the front AND the back! Just not out whichever side of the car was behind you. Actually, you also couldn’t see anything out the other side either, except your annoying brother.

According to the manufacturer, each seat was made for two people, although they had to be skinny people with no legs. Each seat also had only one seatbelt, so it was like that amusement park ride where you spent the entire time trying not to fall on each other. And if your father made a short stop, the two of you became literally one person.

My parents had no idea that the back wasn’t actually made for 4 people. Especially since – and here was another benefit of station wagons, as far as adults were concerned – you couldn’t hear people complaining back there. Or maybe you could. But you could definitely claim you couldn’t. My mother always said, “Whatever you’re saying to me back there, I can’t hear you.”

“Then how come I can hear you?”

“Sorry, can’t hear you.”

“Then why do you keep telling us to keep it down?”

Photo by CottonBro/Pexels

Spot the differences

Can you spot the 18 differences between these two illustrations of the Kotel in Jerusalem

by Batel Epstein