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October -November 2012 / Tishrei -Cheshvan5772 Volume 18 Number 1 issue 110

Features No ordinary Shidduch Whose Pleasure Do You seek Not Just Juice Man of the year At this moment This is what Hashem wants from me now A Jim Thrope Adventure A fair exchange

Recipes

8 12 18 28 40 50 56 88

Every Month All Care Restoring balance, strength, confidence

Eshes Chayil Proclaiming in words and silence Husband at Home This is what Hashem wants from me now

October-November 2012 / Tishrei-Cheshvan 5773

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October-November 2012 / Tishrei-Cheshvan 5773

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It’s that time of year when we can almost feel the kedushah in the air. Yom Kippur is behind us, and our slates have been wiped clean. We’re ready to begin a new year without the baggage of the old, to look at ourselves, and at others, with fresh eyes, eyes that see only goodness and purity, and the desire to come closer to Hashem. Then, we step into the sukkah. With renewed awareness that this world is just a preparation for the true reality, we surround ourselves with mitzvos that remind us that everything, including ourselves, belongs to Hashem. Holding the arbaah minim, we remember to see ourselves as part of a united Jewish people, each of us with our different strengths, compensating for each other’s weaknesses. Many of the special Jews featured in this issue excel in finding the exceptional qualities in their fellow man. There’s Uzi-Eli, the “Etrog Man,” who spends hours standing in Jerusalem heat or cold, serving doses of health and vitality to his brothers. There’s also Erez Cohen, who struggled to break free from the forces of tumah, and now dedicates his life to rescuing other lost neshamos. Most of us are already familiar with the Berditchever Rav, and his boundless determination to present his People in only the best light. There are times when it’s appropriate to look beyond our borders, too, and acknowledge the goodness in the hearts of non-Jews, those brave enough to stand up for morality and justice. In the times of the Beis Hamikdash, we offered up korbanos for the nations on Sukkos – now, we offer up our gratitude to one of their righteous members, Stephen Harper. Who can truly fathom the greatness of a Jewish soul? We will never be able to comprehend the battles our friends, neighbors, or even spouses face – each of us must undergo a totally individual, personalized tikkun in this world. But each of us receives unbelievable siyatta diShmaya, Heavenly assistance, in reaching our goals. May we all join together and strengthen one another in our tasks. Wishing you all an uplifting Sukkos and an incredibly joyous Simchas Torah,

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October-November 2012 / Tishrei-Cheshvan 5773

Yehudis Rabinovitz

Enjoy our ted Newly Redecora ent & Sound Absorb Restaurant

The night before the accident, Mrs. Cohen and Mrs. Goldberg met at a chasunah. The two were casual acquaintances and although they chatted warmly whenever they happened to bump into each other on line at the local kosher grocery store or at simchos, their friendship didn’t extend any further than that. And so, when they discovered each other at the chasunah, they were happy to fill each other in on the latest in their lives. Mrs. Goldberg recounted how pleased she was that her youngest child, Chaim, was about to join her oldest son Yossi in yeshivah in Eretz Yisrael for the year. Yossi had already been learning there for four straight years and Chaim was anxious to follow in his footsteps. Mrs. Goldberg was excited at the prospect of finally having her home to herself, and she told Mrs. Cohen about the wide variety of projects she was planning, to help her get used to having an empty nest. Mrs. Cohen, on the other hand, expressed how hard it was for her to have her daughter, Shaina, studying in Eretz Yisrael for the second year in a row, especially since she was starting shidduchim that year. She would have liked to be more involved in the shidduch process, she told her friend, but being on a separate continent made this almost impossible. The two then chatted for a little while longer, on more superficial topics, and went on to mingle with other guests at the simchah. Neither of them could have imagined what a drastic turn the course of the lives was about to take.

The very next day, Mrs. Cohen heard the news; Mrs. Goldberg’s son Yossi had been in a terrible accident. He was working as a camp counselor in the mountains for the summer, and on that fateful morning, he had been driving eleven campers and one other counselor up north for a weeklong hiking and canoe trip, pulling five heavy canoes in tow. Just outside of a small New England town, on Interstate 95, he lost control of the vehicle and the van veered off the road, flipping over at least once as it tumbled down the sleep slope beyond the barrier. One of the boys was killed instantly, and the other twelve 8

October-November 2012 / Tishrei-Cheshvan 5773

were seriously injured, but Yossi was in the worst condition of them all. His spine had been crushed and his neck and arm were broken. It took seven ambulances to transport all of the victims to a nearby hospital and Yossi was soon being airlifted, unconscious, to a spinal trauma center in his home town. After undergoing intensive treatment in the emergency room there, it became clear that Yossi would likely never walk again unaided. In an instant, Mrs. Goldberg’s year alone in the house vanished, perhaps forever – but more importantly, Yossi, a budding Torah scholar, seemed to have been robbed of the bright future once predicted for him. Mrs. Cohen didn’t know how to react at hearing such tragic news. She wasn’t close enough to the Goldbergs to be amongst their first visitors, and to phone up with words of support seemed woefully inadequate. And so, when she heard of an informal network set up to help the Goldbergs, she volunteered her services to help in any way she could. A few weeks later, she finally got her chance to express her feelings in action, when the Goldbergs needed someone to cover for them for a Shabbos at the hospital, so that they could get some much needed rest. Together with their youngest child, the Cohens spent Shabbos with Yossi, singing zemiros, telling divrei Torah, and trying to create a joyful atmosphere to give him positive encouragement. Although the Cohens had briefly met Yossi once before, many years back, they had never spent an extended period of time with him. And now, in such a weakened state, partially sedated from strong painkilling medication, how much could he benefit from their company? Yet he did seem to be enjoying their presence, and a few weeks later, he requested that the Cohens visit him again. On the previous visit, his physical state had seemed far gloomier. Then, Yossi had just been officially declared a quadriplegic, with only a limited ability to move his fingers and arms. His prospects for recovery were extremely low, with the healing process being predicted to take up to two years to complete. But this time, he seemed to be doing much better physi-

Nofei Yiosrael

cally, and his spirits too were much higher. He was already expressing his desire to resume learning in any way possible, and when she saw that he still had difficulty in turning pages, Mrs. Cohen recalled a technique she had once learned, which helped a person to access memories from the recesses of his mind. If Yossi couldn’t learn directly from sefarim, he could at least immerse himself in reviewing the many masechtas that were already stored in the depths of his memory. And so Mrs. Cohen set out to teach Yossi the technique, and the more they learned together, the more Mrs. Cohen was impressed with Yossi’s depth of character, quickness of mind, and strength of spirit. He was determined to overcome his physical limitations and committed to making sure that this period in his life would become another steppingstone in his spiritual growth.

Meanwhile, the Cohens’ daughter, Shaina, had started shidduchim in Eretz Yisrael. After going out with five different guys, she was ready to call it quits. She was looking for someone who shared her passion for ruchniyus – and was beginning to despair of finding that someone, who was committed to Yiddishkeit and personal growth from the inside out, not the outside in. “Ima,” she told her mother over the phone one day, “I give up! You find me the right guy!”

Eventually, Yossi was discharged from hospital, and began an outpatient rehab program. One of his friends was about to get married, and he wanted to give Yossi one of the sheva brachos under the chuppah. Watching her son intone the words, Mrs. Goldberg sobbed quietly, wondering if Yossi would ever merit to stand under his own chuppah. Mrs. Cohen also happened to be present at the chasunah, and she keenly felt her friend’s pain. And then, suddenly, a nagging thought began to creep into her mind: Yossi was exactly the type of person her Shaina was seeking! He was deeply spiritual, genuine, and committed, despite adversity. “I had found the right guy for my daughter,” she later related, “but he was a quadriplegic…” Nonetheless, she couldn’t shake the thought away – and the more she pondered it, the more she became convinced that this was Shaina’s zivug. “He’s such a wonderful person – why should I care that he has a disability?” she kept telling herself. Eventually, she tentatively broached the idea with her daughter – and to her surprise, Shaina didn’t automatically dismiss the suggestion. She trusted her mother implicitly, and if she said that she had found someone to whom she would be able to relate on a spiritual level, then she was definitely open to hearing more. But Mrs. Cohen proceeded with 10

October-November 2012 / Tishrei-Cheshvan 5773

caution – she told Shaina to take a few days to think it over on her own. After davening all night at Kever Rachel and all day at the Kosel, Shaina called her mother back. “I’m still interested,” she said. The next step was to approach Mrs. Goldberg, telling her that she had a shidduch idea for her son. “A shidduch?” Mrs. Goldberg responded in astonishment, amazed that anyone would consider dating her son in his present condition. “He’s just barely out of the hospital – who’s thinking about shidduchim?” Nonetheless, she agreed to meet Mrs. Cohen at a local coffee shop to discuss it. “There’s a girl I know who is absolutely perfect for Yossi,” Mrs. Cohen began, as they sipped their drinks. “She’s sweet and innocent and a tzanua.” Mrs. Goldberg listened only halfheartedly, a skeptical expression on her face. What kind of problem case was she about to hear about? But Mrs. Cohen was undaunted. “She has a strong sense of adventure and she’s very spiritual,” Mrs. Cohen continued, “just like Yossi!” Mrs. Goldberg began to pay closer attention, despite her misgivings. “Most importantly,” Mrs. Cohen pressed on, now trembling slightly, “she doesn’t care about how a person looks on the outside – she can see beyond the external body of a person to their eternal inner soul. Yossi may come in a broken package, but his inner essence shines.” By now both women had tears in their eyes that began to spill onto their cheeks. “And the best thing of all,” Mrs. Cohen concluded, “is that . . . it’s my daughter!” Mrs. Goldberg burst into tears. When he heard of the suggestion, Yossi found it hard to believe that a good, normal Bais Yaakov girl was interested in meeting him. He spoke to his Rebbe in Eretz Yisrael, who asked to meet Shaina himself to make sure she was serious and understood what she was getting into. After meeting her, he declared, “It’s a perfect match!” The first date was arranged for when Shaina came home for Pesach. The two instantly hit it off. “We felt so comfortable together,” Shaina related. The next few dates soon followed suit. By the end of the fourth date, both of them felt certain that they had found their soul mate. “You understand that this will mean that your life won’t be easy,” Mrs. Cohen cautioned her daughter one last time, just to make sure. “He won’t be able to take out the garbage or do the dishes, it will be hard for him to play ball with your kids, and you’ll have to take care of him your whole life.” “I know, Ima,” Shaina replied. “I’m prepared for that.” “And you understand that you won’t have an ordinary life.” “That’s okay, Ima,” Shaina smiled. “We won’t have an ordinary life. . . we’ll have an extraordinary life!”

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Tale

t was a small gathering, but sprinkled with illustrious figures. The head table particularly was a focus of attention, but not necessarily due to the presence of the chassan. At his left side sat the father of the kallah, but the small, ever-changing crowd of listeners were mostly clustered to the right side of the chassan, where his choshuve Zeide was sitting, the Rosh Yeshivah of PinskKarlin – Harav Yisrael Grossman ztz”l. The first course has already been served, and while some guests still linger at their places, chatting comfortably among themselves, others have already gravitated towards the place of the rosh yeshivah, and there they stand, hopefully waiting to hear words that they are sure will prove to be a source of inspiration. And they will not be disappointed. Rav Grossman pushes his plate away and clears his throat. “R’ Berel,” he addresses his mechutan. “Perhaps you’d like to hear an interesting story. I have many such stories, but this one – this one is something special.” All ears prick up and R’ Berel turns his full attention to the rosh yeshivah. This is still a few years before I-pods enter the chareidi mainstream, otherwise – who knows? – maybe we would have a full audio transcript? But some things are still better conveyed in writing, perhaps.

WHOSE Pleasure

SEEK

Do You

October-November 2012 / Tishrei-Cheshvan 5773

Y. RABINOVITZ

“It was at the sheva brachos for one of my sons, Reb Zalman. I was still a young man in those days, but my mechutan was already getting on in years – it must be some thirty years now, since he was niftar. I’m referring to Harav Yosef Knoblech zichrono livrachah. We were sitting together, talking in learning and relating chassidishe ma’asehs, and I related a particular story which will always stand out in my mind – not so much because of the story itself, but more for its ‘impact’ – soon you will understand what I mean.” R a v Grossman pauses, and takes a sip from his glass of water. Glancing up, he notices the growing crowd gathered around him, and his eyes glide out of focus as he pictures the scene he is describing. “One year, just before Sukkos, it was still terribly cold in Russia – nothing unusual to be sure, but this year, the little town of Karlin was still blanketed in snow, which just kept falling without respite. The Yidden of the little shtetl had done their best and put up the sturdiest sukkahs they could manage, but the prospects of even just eating the first kezayis in the sukkah for the first night alone were looking slim. “Now, a poshute Yid – what does he do? He sighs, he davens to the Eibeshter that he should merit to be mekayem the mitzvah of sukkah as it is commanded in the Torah, and then, he sits back – he did what he could. “But for the heilige Beis Aharon, this was a disaster. To be sure, he davened plenty, he beseeched Hashem with tears

and pleading – but to no avail. The snow kept on coming down in full force, and the schach was being slowly crushed with its weight, until it looked like it could collapse at any minute. Of course, a person could clear the snow off, but was there any point? Within the hour, it would be covered again. “The Beis Aharon knew no peace. Perhaps he didn’t sleep, or eat – such details we don’t know, though we can imagine.

(in his eyes) avodas Hashem at stake, then he would have quietly submitted to ratzon haBorei. But here it was the ruchniyus of the heilige Rebbe at stake! He had to do something, and something he did. “That night, when all were sleeping – it must have been the night before erev Yom Tov, I would think – that chassid creeps out of his lodgings, tiptoeing as he goes – he wanted his deed to be as perfect as it could be, b’tzina, untainted by any seeking of kavod. And so he treads softly down the street, turning this way and that, until he finally reaches the home of the Beis Aharon. “So – it’s the fourteenth of the month already, and the almost-full moon lights up the night, illuminating the outlines of the Rebbe’s house and the dejected sukkah standing nearby. The chassid takes a good look, and it seems to him that maybe, just maybe, if the snow continues to hold off, then the schach can still be salvaged, and there will be at least one kosher sukkah in Karlin that year. “And so, he gets to work, clambering up the sides of the wooden boards – maybe he had taken along a ladder or a rickety chair. At any rate, it was strenuous work, and must have taken a good few hours, but he was elated at having the opportunity to help his Rebbe and he happily anticipates the joy on the Beis Aharon’s face when he gets up in the early hours and sees his now-kosher sukkah. “The chassid is so intent on his work and so sure that it must find favor in the

The snow kept on coming down in full force, and the schach was being slowly crushed… And while a person can theoretically be prevented by Shamayim from fulfilling a variety of mitzvos, this is the only mitzvah where Chazal tell us explicitly that rain on Sukkos is like the servant who comes before his king with a glass of water – only to have the king throw the liquid back in his face. Not being able to be mekayem the mitzvah of sukkah is a rebuke from Hashem, a siman that He is not satisfied with our level of avodah, chalilah. Perhaps this was why the Beis Aharon so took the matzav to heart. “In any case, time was moving on and the weather showed no signs of improving. The chassidim who had traveled to Karlin to be with the Rebbe for Yom Tov could not help but be aware of the Rebbe’s state of mind, and they felt his pain keenly, as one feels the pain of a father. Yet what could be done? “One chassid refused to be deterred. All of the natural elements of the world seemed to be conspiring against them – and if it had just been his own humble

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Eibeshter’s eyes that he is convinced that in this merit, it will not start snowing again at least until after the first days of Yom Tov. And he is so intent on his work that he doesn’t notice the passage of time, and that the first rays of dawn are already shooting across the sky. I suppose even if he would have noticed, it would have made no difference, as he was determined to complete his task, to the very best of his ability. “Meanwhile, the Beis Aharon has awoken, and he settles himself down in his room to learn for a few uninterrupted hours before Shacharis, quiet blissful hours before the chassidim begin to besiege him from all sides. “Now, these days, a person can sit and learn undistracted by noises from outside, and even indoors, since noise is constant in our modern age – when is there ever total quiet? Even in the dawn hours, the streets are still occupied, lights burn – it’s a different world from then. But in those days, before sunrise it was utterly still – maybe a bird chirped – it’s still winter there in Russia, remember, you wouldn’t even hear the animals since they would have been kept indoors. “And so, when the Rebbe, the Beis Aharon, hears maybe a scraping sound from outside, a thud of falling snow, a cough perhaps – it is enough to make him start, and wonder what could be the cause of the ‘commotion.’ He gets up, and goes to the window, pulling aside very slightly the curtain to peek out – after all, plenty of goyim lived in Karlin too – one never knew…

“And there, hanging precariously from one of the beams of his sukkah, he spies a figure in the darkness, his features just about discernible in the faint light streaming from the horizon. He looks more closely, and then realizes – it is Reb Shlomo – I admit I don’t remember the actual name – one of his chassidim, busy

out fanfare too. Quietly he returns to his table and resumes learning, I would imagine with far greater hislahavus than before, his mind sharpened with his love and gratitude to the Eibeshter, that he merited to raise up such a talmid. “Meanwhile, the chassid has finally completed the task to the very best of his ability, and he stands back to survey the sukkah with supreme satisfaction. Suddenly, he realizes that sunrise is not too far away, and that anyone passing would immediately notice him there and guess what he has done. And so he quickly dashes away as discreetly as he came, making his way to the mikveh before Shacharis, and then retrieving his tallis and tefillin from his lodgings before repairing to the beis medrash. “By the time he enters the shul, the news has spread – remember, this is a small shtetl, and by now full with Karliner chassidim all fired up before Yom Tov. The chassid makes his way to his place and tries not to get pulled into the commotion, fearing that his expression might give him away, and so he begins to daven. “Now, a Rebbe’s sukkah doesn’t just serve as a sukkah for him alone – there will be many tishen, b’ezras Hashem, and so that night already, all the chassidim flock to the home of the Beis Aharon and admire the work of the unknown chassid. They can’t but notice the satisfaction – even delight – on the face of the Rebbe during the tish, and they too are swept up in the heightened emotions of Yom Tov, full of gratitude to the Eibeshter

One chassid refused to be deterred. The ruchniyus of the heilige Rebbe was at stake! He had to do something…

clearing the snow off the schach. “A broad smile spreads over the Rebbe’s face. If the love the chassidim feel for the Rebbe is something special, then the love the Rebbe feels for each and every one of his chassidim is far greater, and the Rebbe is overwhelmed with his warm emotions towards this chassid, who shows such devotion, and with-

October-November 2012 / Tishrei-Cheshvan 5773

that they managed to reach this day and bask in the kedushah of Karlin. “And then, in the middle of the tish, the Beis Aharon suddenly calls out: ‘Reb Shlomo!’ All eyes turn in his direction, to the blushing chassid. ‘Reb Shlomo,’ the Rebbe continues, ‘for your mitzvah, I offer you a choice of two brachos. Either one I promise you will be fulfilled to perfection.’ “By now it is obvious that Reb Shlomo is the mysterious snow-clearer and the chassidim gaze upon him with unconcealed envy – halevai they would have had the foresight, the devotion to their Rebbe, to undertake such an act. “The Beis Aharon looks intently at Reb Shlomo, a humble chassid, impoverished as the majority of Karliner chassidim always were, yet never complaining, and never seeking material riches – they came to their Rebbe seeking madreigos in ruchniyus, not physical blessings. ‘Reb Shlomo – two choices. Either you will sit at my side in Gan Eden, or, whenever you will wish, you will be blessed with abundant riches. Whenever you wish,’ the Rebbe repeated. “A hush fills the sukkah as the chassidim wait in anticipation to hear what Reb Shlomo will choose. Reb Shlomo hesitates for a moment, and then replies, with certainty in his voice, ‘If the Rebbe is maskim, I will choose the second brachah, parnassah b’shefa.’ His voice trails away, his eyes drop to his feet, uncomfortable at being the object of such scrutiny. “And yes, a gasp can be heard from many mouths – but the Rebbe merely re-

plies, ‘As you wish – and so shall it be.’” Rav Grossman pauses again, noting the intense silence all about him, and then continues. “And the person who told me this story, a chashuve elder chassid who himself remembered the Beis Aharon and the story itself, assured me that the brachah was fulfilled to perfection – Reb Shlomo became a truly great gvir.

“Rav Yosef had listened patiently to every detail of the story, without uttering a word. He was a Belzer chassid, a truly chashuve Yid, and I was curious to hear his response. I didn’t have to wait too long. “ ‘And I would have made the same choice,’ he told me, without the slightest hesitation. “I didn’t gasp, but I was shocked. I had the greatest respect for Rav Yosef, and knew him as a great talmid chacham and yarei Shamayim, almost totally disconnected from this world – what did he need apart from his blatt Gemara? Then I thought that maybe it was that he was a Belzer chassid – did that mean that he lacked appreciation for the Gan Eden of the Beis Aharon? Now that thought truly irked me! “But I didn’t give voice to my feelings, though they must have been clear from my expression, for Rav Yosef smiled at me indulgently and explained: ‘And what will the Eibeshter get out of it, if I will sit next to the heilige Beis Aharon in Gan Eden? Although it would be very nice for me… But with money, I can be mechayeh a Yid, I can be machnis orchim, I can give tzedakah, I can fulfill so many mitzvos b’hiddur that I couldn’t do otherwise. And from that, the Eibeshter will surely have nachas ruach.’ “I was truly humbled at his words,” concluded Rav Grossman with a sigh. “Mamash ah Yid fun amolige tzeiten – truly a Jew from the old times.” And what can we say?

To give up a place in Gan Eden next to mamash a tzaddik elyon, just for gashmiyus? I couldn’t understand it… “This was the tale I chose to tell to Rav Yosef, and I fully expected him to react as I had done when I heard the story. To give up a place in Gan Eden next to mamash a tzaddik elyon, just for gashmiyus? I couldn’t understand it, and certainly I pitied that Reb Shlomo.

(As heard from one present at the sheva brachos, admittedly somewhat embellished, but all the crucial details are entirely true.) October-November 2012 / Tishrei-Cheshvan 5773

alking through the noisy, colorful streets of the Mahaneh Yehudah market in downtown Jerusalem, you can find almost anything you want for sale. But one little stall takes the choicest ingredients from all of them, to distill into a variety of potent condiments that treat everything from eye infections to hormonal imbalance, from emotional problems to high blood pressure… Meet Uzi-Eli Chezi, better known as “The Etrog Man,” in honor of the main ingredient used in virtually all of his products. It’s been almost ten years since he set up his modest stall in an unobtrusive corner of the Mahaneh Yehudah shuk, furnished with little more than a juicer, a blender, and an abundant supply of his own home-grown fruit esrogim. 18

October-November 2012 / Tishrei-Cheshvan 5773

An Esrog a Day…

“I had so many etrogim, I didn’t know what to do with them all,” he explains. Which is not so surprising, given that his farm, on Moshav Eshtaol, around fifteen miles out of Jerusalem, features a tenacre esrog orchard where Uzi-Eli grows a special Yemenite variety of the fruit. Unlike the esrogim we’re used to seeing around Sukkos time, these are much larger, and a vibrant green color. Inside, most of the fruit is white, spongy pith, with very little juice. And yet, “just a few drops of this juice can cure over seventy different types of ailments,” Uzi-Eli exclaims passionately, citing none other than Rambam as his source for this remarkable statement. After more than a decade spent poring over Rambam’s medical texts, he rightfully considers himself something of an expert on the topic, but he isn’t seeking recognition – just to help people become healthier and happier. After all, “the etrogim are what help keep me healthy and happy,” he says, adding, “I haven’t seen a doctor in fifteen years.” According to him, esrog juice is a potent general tonic that strengthens the body, especially the heart; furthermore, he asserts, it is even effective in treating emotional conditions such as chronic depression and anxiety. And he can bring countless examples to back up his claims, tens of people he’s helped in the last few months alone, with all kinds of problems: eye infections, high blood pressure, outof-control diabetes… He also has a range of creams, sprays, and soaps, all homemade from his own natural ingredients, to treat topical conditions ranging from acne to wrinkles to scars and minor wounds. Enthusiastically he recounts stories of people helped by drinking one or other of his various concoctions, and when he relates of the many women who have 20

overcome fertility problems after drinking his juices, his eyes light up. He actually treats hormonal imbalances in both men and women, with

October-November 2012 / Tishrei-Cheshvan 5773

an astonishingly high rate of success, despite never having undergone any formal medical training. As for the esrog itself, no modern scientific case study has confirmed its medicinal benefits, but Uzi-Eli isn’t the slightest bit concerned, pointing out that it has a centuries-long record of use in folk medicine, almost certainly going back to long before the days of Rambam, eight hundred years ago. What he does know is that esrog is very high in Vitamin C, which is believed to strengthen the immune system, reduce the incidence and severity of asthma and diabetes, as well as possibly aid in warding off cancer

“just a few drops of this juice can cure over seventy different types of ailments”

and heart disease. Uzi-Eli also sells – or rather, prescribes – many other medicinal, yet delicious products such as juices from dates, pomegranates, passion fruit, and khat. His khat juice is high in healthy chlorophyll and has double the amount of Vitamin C than the same quantity of orange juice, as well as hefty amounts of magnesium and zinc. His stall also features goat milk yogurt, kombucha mushroom, schug (chili pepper paste), and the ubiquitous Yemenite fenugreek dip, hilbeh – made, of course, using esrog… Although many of his ingredients sound rare and exotic, he can actually find them all right there, in the shuk – one of the reasons why he chose Mahaneh Yehudah to set up shop.

Healing Inherited

“I’m the third generation of healers in my family,” he relates, to anyone interested in hearing his background story. “Both of my grandfathers – who were brothers – knew how to make healing potions to increase strength and vitality.” This was, of course, back in Yemen, where Uzi-Eli was born, seventy years ago. At the age of eight he and his parents traveled to Eretz Yisrael as part of “Operation Magic Carpet,” one of the names given to the aliyah of Yemenite Jews under the auspices of the Israeli government. After completing his stint in the

army, Uzi-Eli set out to tour the world, but not as a pleasure seeker. His grandfathers’ knowledge of the healing properties of many plants and fruits had been passed down to his parents, and then to him, and he wanted to deepen his knowledge, investigating different traditions wherever he went. His travels took him to a total of twelve countries, including the United States and Canada, where he learned about organic farming practices. Twenty years ago, he made his way back to his childhood home, on Moshav Eshtaol, and started to work on the farm that his mother had started up. Drawing on his accumulated knowledge as well as his own keen

Forbidden Fruit? The esrog is not mentioned by name anywhere in the revealed Torah, but there are several veiled references to it that illustrate its importance and kedushah. In Sefer Vayikra (23:40) we are told to “take… a beautiful fruit of the tree…” along with the other species. Targum Onkelos and Rashi identify this fruit as the esrog, and Rashi adds that the bark of the esrog tree shares the flavor of the fruit, referencing the Gemara in maseches Sukkah (35). According to the Divrei Dovid (Bereishis 1:11), this explains the view in Chazal that holds that the fruit of the eitz hada’as was the esrog. Whereas the other trees created on the third day failed to obey

Hashem’s instruction to be “eitz pri oseh pri – a fruity tree that produces fruit,” the esrog tree followed orders, which tempted Adam Harishon to eat of it – he wished to savor the taste of perfection. Nonetheless, if you’re one of those “lucky” ones with an almost perfect esrog, remember that the initials of the word (aleph, tav, reish, gimmel) stand for “Al tavi’eini regel ga’avah – Do not bring me toward arrogance” and keep its beauty under wraps. According to the Tiferes Menachem of Chernovitz ztz”l, this is the true beauty of the esrog – it is the smallest of the four species, which hints to us at the middah of anavah – humility.

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spiritual instincts, he began to concoct a variety of healthful, stimulating drinks, at first only for his family. When he saw how potent these drinks could be, he realized he could be helping a whole lot more people than his wife and children, and he decided to expand to local health fairs. His products were received with enthusiasm, so much so that he took the plunge and opened up his stall in Mahaneh Yehudah. He built his own juicing machine, and all his formulas are entirely his own brainchildren. So, what is he? A herbalist, like his mother was, or a spiritual healer, following in his father’s footsteps? “I take from what I learned, and then create my own special brand of things,” he says, adding that most of the formulas for his cosmetic esrog products are revealed to him in dreams. In the best tradition of Judaic healing, he combines worldly wisdom with a deep spiritual sense, cloaking the quasi-miraculous in natural causes. “I can look at a person and know exactly what his problem is, and what ‘medicine’ to give him,” says Uzi-Eli. “Some customers – my patients – come to me with a specific request, but others are happy to accept my recommendation” – they know, from experience, that what he gives them will help. And yet, despite his success, Uzi-Eli is not looking to expand – a refreshing attitude in today’s increasingly aggressive business world. In recent years the shuk area, like the rest of downtown Jerusalem along the light rail route, has undergone

most of the formulas for his cosmetic esrog products are revealed to him in dreams extensive restructuring and restoration, but he prefers to retain the personal touch characteristic of the shuk of old. 22

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“I can look at a person and know exactly what his problem is, and what to give him” The Biggest Esrog Ever… …was harvested seven years ago in Netanya. It weighed in at over nine pounds, and measured twelve by eight inches. That same year, another huge esrog was discovered in the Neot Kedumim nature reserve – this fruit weighed almost nine pounds. Both these esrogim were of the Yemenite variety, the largest known, which are accepted as not having been grafted with any other citrus fruit. Both these pale in comparison to a particular esrog described in the Mishnah, one owned by the Tanna Rabi Akiva. The Gemara (maseches Sukkah 36) records: “Rabi Akiva came to the house of prayer with his esrog on his shoulders…” carrying it as one would an extremely heavy object. It probably weighed somewhere in the region of fifteen pounds. However, the Gemara concludes that size is not one of the attributes that determines how mehudar the esrog is.

“I prefer to have a smaller, loyal clientele,” he explains, adding that he is not just a vendor, but also – or perhaps, essentially – a diagnostician. Each and every client receives not only his personal attention but also a personalized blend of ingredients designed to address his specific problem. And he manages to achieve this even though around a thousand people visit his stall each week! It’s clear after speaking with him that Uzi-Eli’s sole ambition is to help others, not to reap personal benefit from his expertise. And although he has no plans as yet to expand his operations across the country, he does have one idea cooking on the back burner which he is keen to see implemented. It’s a device that so far exists only in his mind’s eye, one that incorporates many of the very latest modalities utilized in alternative healing. “My big idea for the future is to create a special magnetic recliner… it will play all kinds of natural sounds – the sounds of the sea, the

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wind, the desert – and simultaneously make a rocking motion, like the motion of a fetus in its mother’s womb. It will also illuminate the person’s face with a special light corresponding to his unique patterns of energy… it will help people relax, and truly know themselves from the inside-out.” Chazal advise us, “What is the best method to use? … To have a good heart.” (Pirkei Avos 2:13) Since the esrog corresponds to the heart, it seems only fitting that Uzi-Eli, with his heart so overflowing

with ahavas Yisrael, should be busy day and night with his beautiful esrogim. May he merit to see many more fruits of his labor!

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t would probably take a miracle for all of world Jewry to see eye-to-eye on any issue. As the popular saying goes, “Where there are two Jews, there are three opinions.” Nonetheless, I dare to venture that if Jews around the world were to unite as one entity, with the sole objective of nominating a non-Jewish “Man of the Year,” the list of eligible contenders would boil down to a paltry few, what with the anti-Israel, antiSemitic climate that currently holds sway across the globe. What we'd look for in a candidate 30

would be faithful support of Israel, an unwavering stance against antiSemitism, and a championing of our religious freedom. Presidential hopeful Mitt Romney would certainly stand a chance, owing to his acknowledgement of Jerusalem as Israel’s capital, along with his citing of the historic connection between the Jewish people and their land. So would the CEO of News Corporation R u p e r t Murdoch, who was described in an Israeli publication as “The patriarch of an unparalleled international media conglomerate that has stood out for its overall fair portrayal of Israel in related news items.” Alongside him on our hypothetical

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dais of distinction would be Manmohan Singh, Prime Minister of India, who is touted as being largely responsible for cultivating and developing the “vital alliance” between his country and Israel. And yet, without question, the staunchest non-Jewish supporter of Israel and the Jews today is a man who is so pro-Israel that some suspect him of being a Jew himself. This man is Stephen Joseph Harper, Prime Minister of Canada.

Leading an About-Turn

Stephen Joseph Harper PC MP is the twenty-second of Canada’s prime ministers, and leader of the Conservative Party. Harper became Prime Minister when his party formed a minority government after the 2006 federal election. Since then, Canada has become arguably the most pro-Israel country in the world, under a leader who does not hesitate to speak out against the global tide of rising anti-Semitism. As Prime Minister, Harper has transformed Canadian foreign policy toward Israel and the Middle East, abandoning Canada’s longstanding

policy of “even-handedness” in the Arab-Israeli conflict. “It is hard to find a country friendlier to Israel than Canada these days,” said Israeli Foreign Minister Avigdor Lieberman, in 2010. “No other country in the world has demonstrated such complete understanding of us.” This praise has been earned not only by Harper’s words, but also by his deeds. One of his first acts in office was declaring Hamas and Hizbullah to be terrorist groups, and then cutting off all Canadian funding for them – Canada was actually the first country in the world to cut off funding to the Hamas government in Gaza, after it gained power in the 2006 elections. Two years later, when terrorists launched multiple missile attacks at Israel, Canada was quick to defend the legitimacy of Israel’s response, even as almost the entire world joined in a chorus of criticism leveled against Israel’s

“History shows us that those who threaten the existence of the Jewish people are in the longer term a threat to all of us”

“disproportionate” actions. “Hamas bears the burden of responsibility,” asserted Harper’s Junior Foreign Minister Arthur Kent. “The history of Hamas is to use civilian infrastructure and civilian populations as shields for their terrorist activities.” Harper defended Israel’s right to defend itself, and rejected widespread calls for an immediate ceasefire. He even issued a statement saying that global anti-Semitism was rising and that “anti-Israeli sentiment is really just a thinly disguised veil for good oldfashioned anti-Semitism, which I think is completely unacceptable.”

Against All Opposition

Against all opposition, Harper has remained firmly at our side. In 2008, the Conference of Presidents of Major American Jewish Organizations presented Harper with its inaugural

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Prime Minister Stephen Harper Lighting the first candle at Yad Vashem

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International Leadership Award for boycotting the Durban II Conference, a UN conference supposedly against racism which fast deteriorated into a rabidly anti-Semitic gathering, and for consistently siding with Israel at the United Nations. And last year again, under Harper, Canada was the first country to announce that it would boycott Durban III, warning that the anti-racism conference held in September 2011 at the UN in New York would once again turn into a platform to single out and demonize Israel. The United States and several other countries later followed suit. But Canadian Immigration Minister Jason Kenney went one step further and attended the philo-Semitic counter-conference held in New York, parallel to the UN event. The Israeli government has enjoyed a longstanding friendship with PM Harper. Canada doesn’t wield anywhere near the influence of the United States in the Middle East, even with the waning of American influence in the region. Yet Harper has had a much closer relationship with Prime Minister Binyamin Netanyahu than President Obama. When one considers his track record, this is hardly surprising. When G8 leaders met in France five months ago, almost all of them planned to issue a statement calling for the renewal of Israeli-Palestinian peace talks based on a return to the 1967 borders. This position was forcefully promoted by US President Obama, and endorsed by the other countries, under the guise of taking advantage of the “Arab Spring” to jumpstart peace talks. Indignant that the proposal was one-sided and represented major concessions to the Palestinians, Harper successfully maneuvered to have the statement dropped. Harper’s fearless stance has also been visible

in relation to Iran. Just this month, he ordered the closure of Canada’s embassy in Iran and gave Iranian diplomats five days to leave Canada, after Canadian Foreign Minister John Baird called Iran the “most significant threat to global peace and security in the world today.” He cited the country’s appalling human rights record, support of Syrian President Bashar al-Assad, the “military dimensions” of its nuclear program, and “anti-Semitic racist rhetoric” as reasons for the sudden decision. The Harper government also suggested that Iran does little to protect foreign diplomats. Iran’s response was not slow in coming. Spokesman for the Iranian Foreign Ministry Ramin Mehmanparast issued a typically inflammatory statement and threatened Iran’s own response. “The current government of Canada, under the leadership of Mr. Stephen Harper, is known for extreme policies in the domain of foreign policy,” he claimed, adding that “the hostile behavior of the current racist government in Canada in reality follows the policies dictated by the Zionists.”

Prime Minister Stephen Harper with Israeli President Shimon Peres

Politically Calculated?

Harper’s strong stand may end up having grave repercussions for Canada in the international arena; at home, however, his positions have yielded some positive results. In elections last May, Canada’s Jewish community gave Harper’s Conservative Party a majority of its vote for the first time ever, marking the kind of shift American Jewish conservatives have long dreamed of for the Republican Party. Data released from exit polls by the Ipsos Reid polling firm revealed that while the Conservatives’ share of the popular vote rose only 2% nationally between 2008 and 2011, among Jews their support climbed from 32% to 57%. “This is due to the policies of the Conservative government,” said Ed Morgan, a law professor at the University of Toronto and board member of the Centre for Israel and Jewish Affairs, explaining the Conservative Party’s success in weaning away Jewish voters from their traditional allegiance to the centrist Liberal Party. “If those policies stay pro-Israel, a lot more Jewish votes will probably continue to swing their

Harper is a man who is so pro-Israel that some suspect him of being a Jew himself

way.” Harper has also made a number of high-profile Jewish appointments to public office. In 2008–09, he appointed two Toronto Jews and one from Montreal to Canada’s nonelected upper chamber. Following last May’s election, he named a rookie Jewish legislator, Toronto’s Joe Oliver, to the senior Cabinet post of Natural Resources Minister. Oliver’s appointment is expected to reinforce the Cabinet’s already pronounced proIsrael tilt. For the actual implementation of his foreign policy, Harper relies on Montreal-born lawyer Morris Rosenberg, whom he appointed last

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year as deputy minister of foreign affairs. Rosenberg, although an experienced civil servant, was the first official without diplomatic experience ever to be named to the post. The Montreal-born, Harvardtrained lawyer has often had to contend with the opposition of senior civil servants who tend to favor a more “even-handed” approach to the Middle East conflict.

A Staunch Ally

Overall, Harper himself has taken plenty of punches for his policies. In a recent speech at the annual conference of the Canadian Parliamentary Coalition for

Combating Anti-Semitism in Ottawa, the Prime Minister commented that he has “got bruises to show” for speaking out in the international community against enemies of Israel. Although he did not give specifics, Harper was likely referring to Canada’s failed bid for a non-permanent seat on the UN Security Council last month. What he did mention was that he could get “a lot more votes” for opposing Israel than for “taking a stand.” Critics of the Conservative government have in fact cited Harper’s unwavering support of Israel during its ongoing conflict with the Palestinians as a possible reason for Canada’s failure to gain a Security Council seat for the first time since the international body’s creation. But Harper showed no signs of regret. 34

“We must be relentless in exposing this new anti-Semitism for what it is,” he insisted, explaining that the “evolving phenomenon” of anti-Semitism targets the Jewish people by portraying Israel as “the source of injustice and conflict in the world, and uses perversely the language of human rights to do so.” Israel, like any country, may be subjected to reasonable criticism, he added. But Harper told the audience that Canada must continue to oppose what

“As long as I am Prime Minister, Canada will take a stand whatever the cost”

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he called the “three Ds” – demonization, double standards, and delegitimization. “Like any free country, Israel subjects itself to such criticism: healthy, necessary, democratic debate,” he said. “But when Israel, the only country in the world whose very existence is under attack, is consistently and conspicuously singled out for condemnation, I believe we are morally obligated to take a stand.” For the Prime Minister, it seems, losing the UN seat was a small price to pay. “Whether it is at the United Nations or any other international forum, the easy thing to do is to just go along with this anti-Israeli rhetoric,” Harper said. “As long as I am Prime Minister, whether it is at the UN or the Francophonie or anywhere else, Canada will take a stand whatever the cost.” It’s hard to fathom the motivation behind his uncompromising stance, particularly given that Muslims far outnumber Jews in Canada. Out of a total population of nearly 34 million, Jews number only 315,000 – and that figure has been continually on the decline. Muslims, on the other hand, number some 940,000 citizens, and the Pew Research Center estimates that this figure will triple over the next twenty years. Of course, sheer numbers are only one measure of a minority’s clout. Brent Sasley, a political scientist at the University of Texas at Arlington who studies Canadian ethnic demographics, suggests that Canadian Jews have been more successful lobbyists than their Arab and Muslim counterparts, but argues that historical factors are responsible for this: “Put simply, Jews have had a much longer history of acclimatization into the Canadian economic, social, and political environment,” he states. Nonetheless, it does seem that Harper is truly acting out of personal conviction. According to Gerry Nicholls, who worked with Harper at the National Citizens Coalition, a conservative economic organization,

from 1997 to 2001, the future Prime Minister was pro-Israel in those days, too. “Although our group didn’t really deal with foreign policy, he was always very clear that he believed Canada should be a loyal, true ally of Israel,” says Nicholls, speaking of a context in which there were no political gains to be made from this stance. And when, in 2003, Alberta’s rightwing Premier Ralph Klein sent a letter to President George W. Bush expressing support for the Iraq War, Harper and another prominent Conservative, Stockwell Day, wrote an op-ed in the Wall Street Journal calling Canada’s decision to opt out of the war a mistake, a view that was highly unpopular in many parts of the country. Harper’s strong feelings for Israel are consistent with his distinctly conservative background and worldview. He believes Israel is a bulwark of democracy and Western civilization standing strong against terrorism in a region dominated by brutal autocrats. In 2010 at an Ottawa conference on anti-Semitism, the Prime Minister stated that he supports Israel “not just because it is the right thing to do, but because history shows us, and the ideology of the anti-Israel mob tells us all too well, that those who threaten

the existence of the Jewish people are in the longer term a threat to all of us.” This view is in line with the prevailing sentiment in the US Republican Party. One thing is for sure: Jews around the world have taken notice of Harper’s loyalty, and are showing their heartfelt appreciation. As early as August 2006, at a fundraising event for the United Jewish Appeal’s Israel Emergency Campaign

Prime Minister Stephen Harper with Rabbi Arthur Schneier of the Park east Synagogue

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Iranians being kicked out of their embassy

in Toronto, Washington Post columnist Charles Krauthammer singled out for praise Canadian Prime Minister Stephen Harper, among other leaders who supported Israel in the conflict then underway with Hizbullah in Lebanon. At the mere mention of Harper (who was not in attendance), the audience of 2,500 erupted into fervent applause, as if it had been waiting for the opportunity to articulate its collective gratitude to the Prime Minister.

Prime Minister Stephen Harper watching the troops

“It is hard to find a country friendlier to Israel than Canada these days” – Israeli Foreign Minister Avigdor Lieberman

Prime Minister Stephen Harper with London’s Prime minister David Cameron Leaving Camp David

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This week, Stephen Harper finds himself yet again the object of public acclaim, with his nomination for the World Statesman Award from the Conscience Foundation at New York’s Waldorf Astoria hotel. This award recognizes Prime Minister Harper “as a leader of integrity who has earned the respect of his people for his commitment to democracy, freedom, human rights, and peace, in the service of humanity,” according to a statement issued by the foundation, which was founded by Rabbi Arthur Schneier in 1965 to promote religious freedom and human rights across the globe. On behalf of world Jewry, let’s second their vote of confidence, and collectively say, “Thank you.”

B”H

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Elie Furst elie@plazaautoleasing.com

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Story Y. RABINOVITZ

ar away on the hills the wolves are howling. I follow the specks of light with the last energy left in my eyes, watch them dim as the camps in the distance end the day and snuff out the last embers of their fires. Is Sara in one of their tents? How I had cried, and sworn I would never leave her. Cried and pleaded for them to let me go with her, even though neither of us knew her destination. But beneath it all, I had the security of knowing that even the utmost desperation would not sway them from their determined stance. And so I could pour floods of tears, safely. And Sara had known – to my shame. She had seen through me, pityingly, without scorn but with something of an understanding, that I could not carry through my thoughts into action. Or maybe, that my thoughts were still too confused, too uncommitted to transform themselves into deed. She had known I would never leave, even before I admitted it to myself.

I conjure up her image before me and imagine myself speaking to her, seeking comfort and reassurance as I always could. But do I not see a reproach in her eyes, an unspoken accusation referring not to acts already committed but to those I would surely perform in the future, without her presence as a bulwark to keep me on the right path? And can I deny the truth to her allegation, that when she will have left, I will slowly regress to my old ways? I am fearful, so fearful, that I will begin a descent, pace accelerating as I fall, pulled as I am by so many forces from all around. What will become of me? A footfall from behind catapults me back to the present; I whirl around swiftly to see my father standing there, a stern expression on his face, as usual. I lower my eyes in submission – and yes, in embarrassment too. For surely he has fathomed my thoughts, and they do not meet with his approval. “So she has left.” There is no need for elaboration, or even an answer. His words

At this moment Article 6 pages

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thud into me with the force of a well-aimed projectile and I feel their blow in my chest. “So maybe now, you will come to your senses.” Again, it is not a question but merely an assumption, or rather, a demand. “In two days time, as you know, there is a feast, and a procession for the inauguration in Sula. And you will accompany your family, as befits a true daughter.” I shudder. The last such occasion had been a blessed seven moons ago and I had been incredulous at my good fortune of being severely ill with high fever. And before then, it had been too far away to travel for the young, and before then… I let my thoughts wander back, it must be four years ago already – yes, when I had been but a child of nine – but I remember it well – how could one forget such an occasion? We had traveled for what had seemed many days, but maybe it had been less – Vashu was not so far away. The excitement had been palpable and the talk was of nothing else, for even moons before

I turned to my mother and asked, “Why? Why mercy? What evil have I done?” and after. And I had been caught up in it, as were all the youth. Vashu was a big city with many families and it had been felt by many that it was not fitting that it should not have a shrine to the regional deity. Finally, the procedures had been initiated and the image was ready to be consecrated in its position. The noise and the smells seem to linger in my ears and nose as I cast my mind back. It had been an overwhelming experience even for the adults, an occasion to plead for mercy and present individual requests, as well as experience the grandeur of one of the larger cults, since people had come from far and wide, as many as traveling conditions would allow. At one point my mother had seized me along with my younger sisters, and thrust us forward in the great throng that had come on the fifth day, when a time had been set aside for personal supplications from women and minors. “Go as close as you can, and plead for mercy,” she had instructed us. My sisters had obeyed

without further thought, but I had turned to my mother and asked, “Why? Why mercy? What evil have I done?” Of course it had been a mistake, but surely the gods had placed such words in my mouth since they had not been premeditated. A ringing slap across my cheek was my reward. “Crazy child, have you lost your senses? Are you then so assured of divine approval that you ask such ridiculous questions? For you too have suffered illness, and your future is far from assured. So go and plead, pour out your eyes in tears, that you dared to speak such words.” I had been humbled – indeed, I still felt the brand of shame over my shoulders and it was a yoke I carried with me, always. A yoke that reminded me, when I cast my eyes up to the heavens above, or down to the hard cruel earth below, that who was I, after all? Just a servant, just one of many, just.. just.. worthless. Until Sara. There had been great upheavals in

the nearby villages, or so I managed to gather from snippets of overheard adult conversation. Many families had changed their dwelling places and some came to our small village, seeking land or any other possibility of making a livelihood. Sara was among them. Among them, but not. She was not like anyone else I had ever met, not that I had met many, but it was obvious to all at first sight that there was something out of the ordinary here. And that was despite the fact that she was rarely sighted in the public places. She only exited when absolutely necessary, but even from those brief moments it was clear that she was different. From the first time I saw her, I was possessed with a burning desire to meet her, to talk with her, to ask her all the questions that had been driving rivets through my mind. I knew instinctively that she had answers. Arranging an encounter had been far from simple. I had many chores and little time left after

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they had been completed to satisfaction. But I was determined, and eventually, the fates contrived to bring us together in the market place, both with empty baskets and some time to spare. I spied her from afar and my heart began to pound within me, with a terrible urgency that this was my opportunity and I must not let it elude me! Swiftly but without immodest haste I made my way to where she was standing, and without too much forethought, poured out my turbulence to her. “Please – if you would have mercy on a poor young girl and spare some time for me – I have so many questions – please…?” My voice trailed off, my eyes flitting between being cast hopefully upwards, and then downwards in bashfulness. But then she smiled! And I felt a radiant glow spread over me, a warmth that I felt not even from the sun, whose glow was rather

a malevolent glare, a perceived threat and warning. Yes, she would be happy to talk to me, she had replied, but only after she received my reassurance that my parents were not expecting my immediate return. In a euphoria of anticipation, I completed my transactions as quickly as I could, and hurried once more to her side. Both our baskets were full by now, and she balanced hers on her shoulder as we began to carefully tread our way out of the stony market place. She turned on to a dusty side-track with which I was not familiar – it must have been a new addition, for the arrivals of the last months, and in any case, I was not free to roam and wander as I had been in my younger years. I was already a responsible twelve-year old, with adulthood and marriage not too far ahead of me – the running and frolicking of my youth had been relegated to the past.

Not too many minutes passed before we were standing outside a low mudbrick dwelling. She darted quickly inside, and then re-emerged without her basket and led me through a different doorway, explaining that her husband was in the first room. “Oh – so you and your children sleep here?” I said, and then blushed at my forwardness. But she did not chide me for my lack of decorum. No, she clarified, only she alone, since she had not yet been blessed with children. But there was no sadness in her eyes as she made that statement, only a calm confidence as she assured me of her belief that “G-d” would surely help, in the right time. “G-d?” I thought, wonderingly. Who was that? To which deity was she referring? Nobody talked in such general terms – what did she mean? But I had cautioned myself against further impudent

I could no longer continue, knowing that ultimately, the fates controlled my destiny…

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inquiries, and remained silent as I sat down on the simple rug, hiding my hands in the material of my skirt to conceal my nervous fidgeting. In one corner stood a clay pitcher and she drew water for both of us, and placed a cup before me. Grateful for the refreshment on that hot day, I immediately brought it to my lips and was about to take a sip when suddenly she interjected: Wait! Her rebuke was spoken gently, as were all her words, but I was still startled. And then I heard the words I would repeat to myself on so many other occasions in the future: Before we take anything from this world, we must thank the One from Whom it issues. Again the “One.” It was as if she spoke a foreign language, although the individual words seemed to make sense. Who was this “One”? To thank that god for water, and that one for meat, and that one for fruits – I knew there were those pious ones who sometimes engaged in such practices in order to gain favor, or to remove omens or bad fortunes. But “One”? She smiled, obviously comprehending my confusion. But I had come as a willing student, and now she had taught me my

first lesson. Somehow, she had sensed that I was capable of assimilating this new, revolutionary idea; somehow, she had detected in my eyes a quest for truth, for answers to resolve the anguish that was my constant companion. And she promised me that there were indeed answers, and moreover, that they would not require me to flagellate myself, or torment myself further. She would lead me to a place of clarity that I knew instinctively I had been seeking as soon as I had become cognizant of my existence. For the first time in my life, I felt hope. What would be with that hope now? For there was no hope in their world. It was a life lived under a hostile sky, subject to its forces along with many others. One could fling oneself on the fickle graces of the gods, recite long confessions, give up one’s possessions to the priests with a desperate pleading that any one of the actions undertaken might prove to be the correct path. But to hope was forbidden. To hope had suggested that I could somehow evade the inevitabilities of maturity, marriage, and a constant renewal of the cycle that had began so many moons ago and would carry on turning until the

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blessed moment when the gods would tire of their play, or decide that the poor people below had completed their allotted tasks. But I had reached a point where I felt I could no longer continue with such a decree of nothingness hanging over my head, knowing that whatever I did was of no import – that ultimately, the fates controlled my destiny and I had but to submit. My father’s eyes are still boring into me – I can sense it without even daring to look up. “A good riddance to that couple, the cursed of the gods!” he exclaims abruptly. “How could you have dared to associate yourself with such low creatures, whom the gods clearly despise?” I know to what he is referring and I feel the blood rising to my face in preparation for yet another frenzied defense of her, for having been seemingly forsaken and left childless. But I remain silent – for what can it achieve, at this point? By staying I have cast my lot here, and now I must face the consequences. So I fasten my lips tightly, and blink furiously against the torrents that threaten to unleash themselves from my eyes. He glowers down at me again. “Curse her, you low creature, or you are

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no daughter of mine. Curse her, unless you wish to share her fate!” He has become bold, I see, with their departure. Such words would have been unthinkable even a week ago, when he knew what response they would elicit. Today he assumes that without my pillar behind me, I will crumble and fall – and he will be there to form me again, to mold me into the family pattern, the desired image. Sara – why did you have to go! What will become of me now? But my lips are sealed. I will not curse her, never. For even if I could not follow her, I will never forget, never deny the gifts she gave me, the glow that will, I hope, never fade from my heart – and may it carry me through all the trials I know are ahead. He does not pursue a response – he turns now in anger and storms away. I gaze longingly out of the window again, but there is already nothing to be seen. No light remains, only the howling from afar and I pray that the camps will be unharmed. Dawn is breaking. At first the leaping of the heart, for once that was my time to visit with Sara, to gather pearls to caress

for that day, or however many days might pass until the next time. But then cruel reality strikes me and I remember. No more. I am alone. I would stay sleeping, even all day long, if not for the mother and the duties that do not permit me to remain idle. A last few minutes of contemplation until I decide that the torment of thoughts is certainly worse than any alternative. My mother is already standing in the large room, preparing the kneading trough and she sighs at my entrance. “So much work, and where were you when I needed you to bring the sack and the water? That woman only taught you to be idle.” I bite my lip to force down the retort, and get down on my knees to start kneading. I feel my mother’s presence behind me and for a moment I flinch, fearing a hard blow to my head to “banish my laziness” or punish some other shortcoming. But nothing happens. Instead, her tone changes. “Today we bake double, to prepare already for the journey. Double will suffice – it isn’t too far and there will be provisions

there from my sisters for the journey back home. And we have preserves enough already.” My fingers are already sticky and she adds more flour as I pound the mixture. “Finish quickly – your father wants to talk to you afterwards, my dear.” My dear? Do I hear correctly? To the other girls she occasionally uses such language, but to me? Not for many moons already, since she began to despair of forming a child in her image. But now that Sara is gone, maybe she has renewed her expectations of me. And I am far from delighted at the prospect. Eventually the dough is smooth and I wipe my hands on the rough mat. “Go outside to the sheep. Your father is waiting.” My sandals are hanging from a peg and I don them for the rocky walk to the sheepfields. So I don’t feel the pebbles beneath my feet, but instead in my gut, as I tread the path with anxious steps. But he is waiting for me, and he is smiling! “My dear daughter!” My back stiffens in suspicion. “I have been waiting for you – ah, yes, waiting for many long days for such

“My life…” I hear myself saying. “It is not for me…” The priest allows himself a hint of a smile – he thinks he has won… 44

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an opportunity. You are so special to us…” His honeyed words trickle on; I am waiting for the sting. “You are surely readying yourself for the journey tomorrow.” Respectfully I inform him of the double batch of dough just prepared, soon to be baked. He nods, and then adds, “Not just that. Also you must prepare yourself.” I raise my eyebrows questioningly. “We have been waiting for rain for so long now – the situation is becoming critical as you must know. Thankfully, the cursed ones have left, so maybe now the favor of the gods will rest upon us once again, but it could be that we need to exert ourselves especially now, to show our repentance at having hosted such ones for so long, for not having driven them out sooner.” My face must be a mask of confusion, for he then exclaims, “Oh privileged offspring of mine! You have been chosen by the council to repair our breaches – you will have a chance to save yourself and your family from the false attachments you chose until now, until you blessedly left the accursed ones.” My eyes widen. Surely he can’t mean that I am to become a priestess? Such a tainted being as myself? Then what does he mean? And then, suddenly, I know, and I want to retch in horror. My stomach tightens, contracts, twists, and I clutch my arms about myself in panic. He watches with evident satisfaction. “At first they are all like that. But then, they realize their great privilege and merit.

And you will too! The priest will come this afternoon to speak with you, and then you will be full with joy and anticipation. And you will bring great honor to your family.” He turns and strides away – I am dismissed. Dismissed to my fate… Sara – Sara – if you would have known to what you are leaving me, would you still have gone? Oh, if only you would return, to snatch me from their talons once more, and I would flee with you to the ends of the earth – as I feared to do then, but now? Now I have no better option, no other hope. Sara – what shall I do? Flee to the desert to a certain death of thirst, flee to another village and beg for my sustenance, only to be despised and banished to a netherworld where only mud greets me, with none to sustain me there? For although you tried to dispel those fears from my mind, they are still real within me, they are my life’s blood fed to me from my earliest days, and they persist. Sara, where do I turn now? I have no more strength to fight! For so long already I have fought them, and now it is abundantly clear that my efforts have been for naught. They remain mired in their beliefs, despite all the arguments I have mustered to defend my position. And I can even understand them – just as I can understand myself, the wavering and doubts, the gnawing worry that perhaps, just perhaps, one should offer yet another sacrifice, just in case there is something there, just in case that piece of stone or

wood does hold even the tiniest piece of my fate in its hands. What do I have to lose, in any case? Or so my mother had said – or rather, pleaded, when I showed my reluctance to follow in her footsteps. What do I have to lose? I’d cautiously posed the question to Sara, not anticipating her vehement response. I risked losing the little clarity I had gained; one step forward, and many back. A person is influenced by his deeds, even regardless of the thoughts and intentions that may accompany them. If my head bows to idols, then my heart will be pulled, inexorably, after it. Her emphatic words penetrated my heart and I sensed their truth, and yet I still quavered, unsure whether I possessed the resolve to live by them. She had her husband as a support, whereas I was alone among enemies, those who sought to steal my soul and body in their defense. Alone and isolated, a stranger to my family, an outcast among my people – despised and yet courted, feared and yet downtrodden. How could I extract myself from the gloom I felt descending on me from all sides? I try to recall my feelings from the time before, before Sara brightened my world, before her ideas offered me a glimpse of an alternative reality. Not for the first time, I reflect that my life was far simpler before I began to understand something of truth. Simpler, less painful… But pain is a sign that you are alive! she had protested, when I suggested, feebly, that a person might seek to avoid pain. A

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life spent running away from pain is a life spent running away from self, running away from contemplation of one’s role in creation. The sacrifice of self that is their highest ideal only takes on genuine significance when there is a true sense of self to sacrifice. “Perhaps,” I had offered tentatively, “this is one thing that we can learn from them – that at the moment of total submission, a person can lose sensation of self in the pursuit of a higher ideal. Their belief that this act has a value that transcends their own significance is so powerful that it supersedes all other sensation.” Sara’s eyes lit up. And imagine living that way, not just dying that way. Living with a constant appreciation of the worth of a life spent pursuing truth. A candle in a dark room is still a small candle, but the whole room benefits from its light. Never consider yourself insignificant! And she had carried on encouraging me, trying to show me that even the tiniest move I made towards truth was of value. Yes, I was still so young, so small and seemingly powerless, but just see how much the establishment was shaken up by my intransigence on matters of importance to them. That was evidence enough that every one of my actions had meaning – everlasting meaning. I hadn’t been to the shrine for weeks. Not that Sara had forbidden me. It was just that her presence had been so radiant, so compelling, that everything else seemed dull and lifeless in comparison. The priest,

when he arrived, would hardly recognize me, though he was familiar enough with my deeds and rebellion, which had long been the talk of the village. What approach would he now use, I wonder? All the spouting of doctrine, all the threats and curses had so far failed to bring me back into the fold. He must think that now, with a sentence hanging over my head, I will view entrance into the next world somewhat differently, I reflect grimly. Do I? I have been fed a diet of fear and trepidation from my first days in this harsh world – a world where even blind obedience to all their rules and rituals offers only a glimmering of hope. Souls groping through the netherworld are still dependent on the generosity of their descendants, so I have been taught. The meal offerings in the crevice in the wall under the little house god – those will provide my sustenance once my flesh has crumbled to dust. So now, if I comply, they will presumably promise me that much – that they will remember me, keep me alive after death, not consign me to an eternity of deprivation. And the alternative? To throw myself on the mercies of Sara’s one G-d, solidify my conviction in the truth of her words, and rely on compassion and mercy rather than self-serving, empty lies. A voice calling from the direction of the house shatters my reverie. It is my younger brother, sent to bring me back for the morning meal. Slowly I pull myself to my feet and walk back down the sloping path. I feel no hunger, nor thirst, just a

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vague sense of foreboding coupled with the notion that nothing really matters now anyway. Inside, my mother is frantically sweeping. “The priest will honor us with a visit!” she exclaims, “and what honor can dust provide?” She offers me a piece of bread but I shake my head wordlessly. Then a knock sounds at the door. My father hurries to open it, then falls to his knees in a show of respect. I remain standing. The priest’s eyes flash around the room and settle on me. “I will speak with you in private. Come outside.” Numbly I cross the threshold after him. “Your father has surely told me why I am here.” I nod slightly, still refusing to meet his gaze. “You are most fortunate. Another person in your position could easily have been cast out of the village and left to wander for all eternity. We expect your gratitude, and your compliance. In return for your good fate – the offerings and penances we will offer on your behalf once you are gone.” So there is no attempt at wooing. Knowledge of my stubbornness has preceded me and the priest does not even try to inspire me with joy, only cause me to cower in terror. “You will recite a confession, and plead for mercy, for yourself and for your village. Your family! Surely you will take pity on your parents, who have provided for you, fed and clothed you, and your siblings, who have taken upon themselves to provide for

your soul afterwards. If you would only rejoice in your portion…” His voice trails away, miserably aware at his failure in reaching me, reflected in my eyes which are focused on the horizon. “My life…” I hear myself saying. “It is not for me…” The priest allows himself a hint of a smile – he thinks he has won… The sun is drifting up into the dawn sky, painting the scenery in reds and fiery orange. Like the robe, the one my mother is proffering. “The ceremonial robe,” she whispers reverently. “A gift from the shrine, as we will not have time to prepare one specially for you. But I do believe it is the right size, or near enough.” I stare curiously at this woman who brought me into the world and is now preparing to escort me from it. I detect no glimmer of hesitance, no doubts, no sorrow. Should I attempt to shatter her mask of piety and peer behind it, to search for some vestige of maternal feeling? Or would it be best to leave the mask intact, lest behind it, the face is as faceless as the empty eyes, dulled by fanaticism, false brightness from incense and too many supplications. No – I prefer not to know what lurks in her mind. It is enough that I cannot even understand what transpires in my own. I take the robe from her hands and slowly stroke the soft brushed linen. Then

I turn and retreat to the corner, to roll up my sleeping mat and stack it in the corner. Too late, I remember that I will no longer need it tonight. A shiver pulses through my body. I try to ignore it. To ignore my physical existence for these few hours – I refuse to eat. Hunger has no place now. I have to withdraw from sensation. Dressed in the soft robe, I begin to imagine myself as a flaming torch, lighting up the world. As I step into the wagon I barely feel my feet meeting the rough wood – as the wagon jolts and sways, I barely sense its motion, barely sense time passing as I fix my eyes on the open land beyond and try to contemplate the Master who brought it – and myself – into existence. Soon I will give myself back to Him… My mother is shaking me and I turn to see the cause of her agitation. We have arrived, she tells me, pressing something into my hand. I look down at the object and shudder. The journeying idol, shaped in grotesque form. “Take it with you, on your journey,” she instructs me, as I am pulled out of the wagon into the embrace of the surging crowds. The priest pushes forward amid the throng and grabs my hand, leading me towards the raised altar that I now notice in the distance. They are shouting, though I cannot distinguish the words, only noises,

swirling all about me, combined with the powerful aroma of the burning spices. I stumble and almost fall, but they will not let me fall – they need me now, to save them, and they will not let me go. Three steps up and the chanting begins. It is too hot, the robe is stifling me – and then I remember. The smoke… Sara – what do you want me to say, in these last few minutes? In just a few instants, what can I say? The idol is still in my hand. I clench my fist tightly around it and then raise my arm slowly. “This is a piece of wood!” I cry. “It is nothing! There is only one true Power!” I try to fling the idol into the fire but I am too late – they have seized me, in their rage, and they are lifting me high, high up, until I can see the flames dancing below and feel their tongues licking towards me. “Repent!” Anger, mingled with fear, and desperation. Suddenly, I realize the chanting has stopped. Only one lone drummer continues his pounding, marking out the last seconds of my life. A life that was given to me, that I might become a flame of truth, never knowing the true effect of my deeds, yet never doubting that they have purpose. How beautiful is the world at this moment. Oh G-d, I thank You for this moment…

I stare curiously at this woman who brought me into the world and is now preparing to escort me from it

October-November 2012 / Tishrei-Cheshvan 5773

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October-November 2012 / Tishrei-Cheshvan 5773

Story

THIS IS WHAT

HASHEM WANTS FOR ME NOW M

IRIAM IS ONE OF THE most confident, empathetic, and kind people I know. Her children are happy and well-adjusted. She runs a successful business from her home, is active in her community’s chessed organization, and is invariably the first one to bring a kugel to a sick neighbor. She is also the survivor of an abusive marriage. Miriam: When I returned home after attending one of the best seminaries in Eretz Yisrael, everyone expected that I would find a top-notch shidduch. I came from a fine home that emphasized Torah learning, and my teachers thought very highly of me. Everyone, myself included, assumed that I would marry the shpitz of the yeshivah and live happily ever after. I got engaged to the – and I mean the – top boy from a large, prominent yeshivah. It seemed a perfect match and I felt myself to be the luckiest girl in the world. The period of my engagement, the chasunah, and the sheva brachos were like a dream. My chassan and I spent hours talking together as we learned more about each other and shared our deepest feelings and aspirations. The only warning sign prior to the chasunah that something might not be picture-perfect appeared after we were already engaged. I discovered that my chassan’s mother had psychological problems. After making discreet inquiries, we found out that she had been diagnosed with OCD and that occasionally she

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found it impossible to function. What we were not told is that apart from that, she was also extremely abusive, and that the entire family showed signs of dysfunction. Obviously this information was only known to those very close to the family, since the image they managed to present to the wider world was still one of a harmonious unit. The first signs of abuse appeared about three weeks after our wedding, although I didn’t recognize them for what they were. How could I, without any frame of reference? I’d never come across such a person before, and I didn’t know how to compute what was going on. My husband could be incredibly loving and kind, just as during the first few weeks after the chasunah, but then suddenly, without warning, he would hit me and tell me that I was ugly. Things escalated

My husband succeeded in convincing me that I was worthless. I felt that I had less value than a piece of dirt

AS TOLD TO DEBBIE SHAPIRO

pretty quickly after that – within just a few months, it had already got to the point that when he was home, I was afraid to wash the dishes, since I wouldn’t know if he was about to attack me from behind. When we were in public, he still made a fabulous impression. He is a very intelligent, charismatic man, and a phenomenal learner. Everyone took it for granted that he was also a wonderful husband. After all, outwardly he looked like a real tzaddik. No one could have dreamed that he spent most of his day sleeping – they just assumed that he was learning around the clock, and occasionally collapsed from exhaustion. I spent the first year of my marriage trying to come to terms with my disappointment. I went to work in the morning and returned home in the afternoon to find my husband still in bed, asleep. I watched as my dreams disintegrated right before my eyes, and although I tried to accept that this was what was bashert for me, it was still devastating. That was why eventually, I went to consult with someone. Several people told me that a certain woman was an expert in shalom bayis issues. But although she genuinely meant well, she had most likely never been trained in recognizing the signs of an abusive relationship; furthermore, she lacked the empathy and perspective that might have compensated for this. Although I didn’t feel able to tell her the full extent of what was going on, I still managed to convey that my husband criticized me a lot, shouted at me, and left me to shoulder the full burden of the home as well as parnassah. I didn’t tell her that he actually hit me. Even before going to her, I already thought that I was the one to blame for his failings, and so I guess that to admit that things had gone that far would have been too difficult for me. She tried to convince me that if I would only do more and give more, then

my husband would change. And of course, this only enhanced my feeling that all the problems resulted from me not being the perfect wife. I began to truly believe that it was all my fault – that despite my best efforts, I had somehow turned my fine, upstanding husband into a lazy, angry, and violent person. My husband constantly told me that I was ugly. He claimed I was a failure and that I couldn’t cope. In the face of the reality, his accusations were ludicrous; I had succeeded in building a flourishing business from scratch while running a home and raising my two children – and doing it all with almost no help. Yet my husband succeeded in convincing me that I was worthless. I felt that I had less value than a piece of dirt. Today, I can see that he was simply acting out his frustrations and his jealousy that he was the one who couldn’t manage – he envied my success, and didn’t know how to deal with his feelings. And so he would curse me for hours on end, and then physically abuse me. It was a nightmare. The turning point came when the shalom bayis counselor told me that no matter what he did to me, I must continue to respect him. She suggested that every day, I should make a list of five things for which I respected him. But as much as I tried, I couldn’t find what to write on that list. I realized that there was nothing about him that I found worthy of respect. And this realization terrified me. A few days later, I attended an evening sponsored by Bnos Melachim during which one of the speakers talked about how each woman must take responsibility for herself, as an aspect of tzniyus. I decided that I had to do something about the situation and I contacted a different shalom bayis counselor, whom I’ll call Rochel. Later, I learned that she had been trained in dealing with cases of abuse. Nonetheless, at that point, I still didn’t realize that I was in an abusive relationship

She convinced me that if I would give more, my husband would change – which only enhanced my feeling that it was all my fault for not being the perfect wife – I only knew that something was very, very wrong. But Rochel picked up on it right away. Just a few minutes into our first conversation, she asked me if he ever hit me. Although he did hit me, often, I told her that he didn’t. I was still in denial and couldn’t face the painful reality that my husband behaved in such a brutal way. Rochel spent the first six months building me up as a person. She taught me how to believe in myself, and also to realize that I should not, and could not, take

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responsibility for my husband’s behavior. Although she never explicitly detailed his faults, once I gained self confidence and was happier with myself, I was able see the situation realistically – and it was bad. I remained in my marriage for a further six months, carefully recording everything in a diary so that I would be able to look at what was going on and evaluate it from a distance. It soon became clear to me that the situation was totally insane and that I could not continue this way. The more I weighed the different options, the more I realized I had no choice. My decision to divorce was carefully thought out, not emotional, and not one I made in a moment of desperation or anger. And since I didn’t want to make a big fight, I left him everything, while I got what I wanted – my children and my freedom. While I was going through all this, I read the following story, which had a tremendous impact on me: A man in a European shtetl told the rav that he wanted to divorce his wife and asked him to arrange a get. When the rav asked him why, he replied, “She’s my wife, and I don’t want to speak badly about her.” The rav told him to return in three months, and if he still wanted a divorce, the rav would arrange it for him. Three months later, the man returned

I realized that there was nothing about him that I found worthy of respect. And this realization terrified me 52

and the rav arranged for him to give his wife a get. After everything was finalized, the rav turned to the man and said, “Now she’s not your wife any more. Please explain to me why you wanted to divorce her.” “But now she’s another Yid,” the man answered. “What right do I have to speak badly about another Yid?” After reading this story, I made a conscious decision to emulate that man, and refrain from speaking badly about my former husband. Although I haven’t been perfect about this, I feel that I’ve really risen to the challenge. It has been extremely difficult since my ex-husband spread terrible stories about me and I had no doubt that people were talking about me behind my back. But I’m proud of the fact that today, when people ask my friends why I got divorced, most of them can honestly say that they don’t know. Speaking of friends, they have been amazing, and they still give me so much support. A woman going through divorce needs to know that there are people there for her; people who trust her and who will give her the emotional, financial, and physical help that she so sorely needs. And baruch Hashem, I received all that. Friends invited us for Shabbos meals, took my son to shul, and even babysat occasionally so that I could have some time off and go to a shiur or just out for a walk. Their support and compassion made all the difference and gave me the emotional strength to face everything that I was going through. As a consequence, I was able to parent my children in a much healthier manner than would have been possible otherwise.

Debbie: How did you explain the divorce to your children? Miriam: I told my younger child that when Mommy and Daddy lived together, Mommy was very sad, and then I went on to explain that since I wanted her to have a happy Mommy, I moved away. It was much more difficult for me to explain things to my older child. He remembers seeing my husband hitting me,

October-November 2012 / Tishrei-Cheshvan 5773

and he heard a lot of screaming and yelling in the house. I made it very clear to him that it was for these reasons that I got a divorce – he has to know that a husband may never hit a wife, and that if he does, there are consequences, including divorce. But I am still very careful never to say anything bad about his father, or that I got divorced for my son’s sake – I don’t want him to feel “guilty” for the divorce – even though, l’maaseh, all the professionals say that my leaving was the best thing I could have done for the children. No one can imagine how witnessing abuse damages a child. By removing my children from that situation, I gave them the gift of life, a safe home in which to grow up. Today, in addition to raising my wonderful children and running a thriving business, I often speak to women going through ordeals similar to those I experienced. I try to show them that although divorce is certainly not ideal, it is possible to have a beautiful, fulfilling life afterwards. Yes, of course I’m lonely, and yes, I do hope to someday remarry and continue building my family, but until that happens, I am living my life to the fullest instead of grieving over what could have been. Had I been given a choice, this is certainly not what I would have chosen. It is not even close to what I davened for. But it is where Hashem wants me to be now and for that, I am very, very grateful.

October-November 2012 / Tishrei-Cheshvan 5773

Adina Lebovic

October-November 2012 / Tishrei-Cheshvan 5773

I’ve always loved Pennsylvania. Every time we make the pilgrimage from the Midwest to NY for Yom Tov, I am awed by Pennsylvania. In fact, I recall how on one particular Erev Rosh HaShana, I looked at the mountains and felt a glimpse of HaShem’s majesty. So when my husband said, “Would you prefer a vacation by the Atlantic or a vacation in the mountains?” with hardly a moment’s hesitation, I said “the mountains.” Living in the Midwest, after all, we don’t see mountains very often. When my husband told me that we were going to a placed called Jim Thorpe, I was disbelieving. What sort of city bears the full name of a person? I wanted to go to a place with a beautiful sounding name, such as Walnut Creek or Crystal Lake. Nevertheless, Jim Thorpe was located in the Poconos and that was good enough for me. Since my husband actually did all the planning for this trip, an unusual occurrence indeed, I had some very mistaken images in my mind. I was picturing a trip to a rustic cabin in a wooded area. There would be pine needles everywhere, with the heady scent of pine in the air. In fact, the truth was totally different. Upon our arrival, we approached Jim Thorpe from a winding mountainous road. As we approached, we could see the clock tower of the city and various buildings of the town, perfectly nestled in the mountains. It didn’t take long to understand why Jim October-November 2012 / Tishrei-Cheshvan 5773

Thorpe is known as both “Switzerland of America” and “Gateway to the Poconos”. As we drove through the town, we saw the scenic railroad, and one quaint building after another. We pulled up at a lovely, antique looking building, called “The Inn at Jim Thorpe.” After searching fruitlessly for parking and finally parking some distance away, (we were later told about an additional hotel parking lot,) we schlepped our luggage up a flight of stairs to enter the hotel. We later found an accessible entrance, but it wasn’t obvious at the outset. The hotel was beautifully and charmingly furnished. There was a fireplace in the lobby and lovely plush red 58

couches. I couldn’t resist sitting on the couch while we waited for the elevator. From the outside, we could also see that the hotel offered a public balcony that looked down upon the main street. I couldn’t wait for the opportunity to sit peacefully in one of those balcony rocking chairs. Our room was well appointed, and a request of a refrigerator was unstintingly granted. After we brought up our luggage and settled in, we headed outside to see the town. We first walked northeast, past the scenic railroad, to the Lehigh River. The river, in fact, was only a five-minute walk from our hotel. There were several people coming out

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Just down the road were rows and rows of Grapes, hanging in

clusters from their vines of the river at the time, holding tubes. The river itself reminded me of my trips down the Delaware while in Camp Sternberg. The spot at which we stood had only minimal whitewater, and was relatively calm. The mountains across from us formed the stunning backdrop. I think I could have spent the entire vacation at that very spot. Dusk was falling, and we headed back toward the town. We walked up the main street, with occasional detours to interesting side streets. The

walk, as is common in a river town, was uphill. All the storefronts had a similar architectural style, as if to display a uniform presentation. I found myself wondering if the style was Irish, since a large number of the town’s residents are Irish Americans. However, I later discovered it to be Italianate Victorian style. (Carney, Donna J. Jim Thorpe, Pennsylvania: “An Image Preserved”. Harmony Press. Circa 1980’s. Print.) The name of the town was originally Mauch Chunk (pronounced Mock-

Chunk), which means Sleeping Bear in the language of the Lenni Lenape tribe. Mauch Chunk was first founded in 1818, and operated as a coal-shipping town via the Switchback Gravity Railroad In the 1950’s Mauch Chunk and neighboring East Mauch Chunk received the name Jim Thorpe, in honor of a man who was considered the greatest athlete of the 20st century. At around that time, Jim Thorpe the city became the final resting place of Jim Thorpe the person. (Source: Visitors Guide Jim Thorpe PA) Not surprisingly, there is a large statue of Mr. Thorpe in the town. We passed many interesting looking shops, such as the Mauch Chunk 5 & 10, but as it was after dusk on Sunday, most everything was closed. Other shops we would like to have peeked into include: Everything Nice, Serendipity, and The Gandy Dancer. The Dimmick Memorial Library is a beautiful example of the town’s architectural style. At the top, it says, in Roman Numerals, 1889, the year the library was first built. Then there is a sign in old letters that says 1889 and then another above it in newer letters that says 1989. For their hundred-year anniversary, they opened a time capsule from 1889 and then started a new one. Near the library, I spotted a sunflower that was notable for being about 6 feet tall. Finally we turned back to our room, to eat the dinner that we had brought with us from Passaic, earlier that day. We spent time that evening perusing the numerous guidebooks we had collected, in order to plan the rest of our stay. Although we certainly were not able to see and do everything during our visit, there are numerous attractions in the Jim

October-November 2012 / Tishrei-Cheshvan 5773

Sitting near the riverbank, the mountains across from us formed a stunning

park available. In fact, Lehigh Gorge State Park is a good outdoor destination even for non-bikers. Hickory Run State Park, and access to the Appalachian Trail are other hiking options, located about a half hour from Jim Thorpe. There is a scenic drive to a vineyard, Galen Glen Winery, where one can truly be awed by the contrast of the mountainous scenery and the peaceful vines and farmland. Other activities include a guided walking tour of downtown. If you wish to do a DIY walking tour as we did, you can use the handy downtown walking map at the back of the Jim Thorpe Visitors Guide. You can visit the Asa Packer Mansion, which belonged to a very wealthy man.

backdrop

Thorpe area. The variety of attractions can appeal to multiple types of visitors. Whitewater rafting and kayaking are very popular activities along the Lehigh River and can be geared toward different skill levels. Kayaking is also an option on Mauch Chunk Lake. Within walking distance of town, is the Switchback Trail, where one can hike to a waterfall. We very much wanted to try the Lehigh Gorge Scenic Railway, but it only operates on weekends and holidays, and only during the summer and fall. Another popular activity is biking along a converted rail bed in Lehigh Gorge State Park. It is a 25mile long trail, but the grade is low and so can be enjoyable for beginner bikers. There are bike rentals and shuttles to the 60

October-November 2012 / Tishrei-Cheshvan 5773

This individual turned Mauch Chunk into a town where half of all the millionaires in America lived, at one point in time. Six miles north of Jim Thorpe is Bear Mountain Butterfly Sanctuary, open only Thursday through Monday, and only in summer. In nearby Lansford, PA, one can tour a coal mine. And the most unusual attraction, in my opinion, is Pennsyl Pointe Writerâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Retreat, in Albrightsville PA. For those who are interested in art, Gallerie B at Opera House Square, Artefino, Inc., and Black Diamond Gallery are just a few of the art galleries in town. You might wish to stay away from the Mauch Chunk Museum and Cultural Center, as it was formerly a house of

worship. One unusual attraction of the town is the Old Jail Museum, although visiting a jail on vacation truly does not appeal to me. Some alleged criminals known as the Molly Maguires met their end here. Our trip was from Sunday evening through Tuesday afternoon. A visit to Jim Thorpe can be a one day trip, as it is only 2.5 hours from Brooklyn, 2.5 hours from the country, and about 1 hour from the Delaware Water Gap. However, it can be even more enjoyable as a two day, one night trip, and this is what I would recommend. There are many options in terms of

lodging. We stayed at “The Inn at Jim Thorpe” and found it to be very enjoyable. Our room was spacious and comfortable. Don’t forget to inquire about an AAA discount, if that is relevant to you. Other options include Hotel Switzerland, guesthouses, bed and breakfasts, and a camping resort. The plans we had made for Monday were to go whitewater rafting along the Lehigh River, first, then to walk up to the waterfall on the Switchback Trail, and finally, to go to Lehigh Gorge State Park. In the morning, I packed up all our stuff – sun lotion, caps, and snacks. There were heavy curtains drawn in the room, and so

until my husband went outside in search of coffee, we didn’t know that it was pouring. The rain was coming down in sheets, and upon checking the forecast for the day, we cancelled all our plans. I was worried that we would be disappointed and that it would put a damper our trip, but we both worked hard not to let that happen. Do check the forecast before you go, as many of the fun activities in Jim Thorpe are outdoors. We managed okay in the end though. Around 6:30 pm the rain finally let up. We had read about a scenic drive to a nearby vineyard, mentioned above, and we decided that would make the perfect activity, given the limited daylight left. It was a beautiful trip, past rows and rows of growing corn, along windy mountain roads, and past brown and green stretches of farmland. We arrived at the vineyard, which was located at the top of a hill. The view was breathtaking. We had a 360 degree view of mountains and valleys, trees and farmland, and again, six foot high corn stalks. Just down the road were rows and rows of grapes, hanging on their vines. It was the perfect place to play with all the various settings on my camera and I took many shots. As we returned from the vineyard, we

Shulamis courses

October-November 2012 / Tishrei-Cheshvan 5773

drove past our hotel to see more of the town. Once the shops ended, there were houses. The houses maintained some of the same charm and architectural style as the tourist area, although not to the same degree. We passed a small brook, and then the town abruptly ended. It was so quaint. There was a house and then there were just no more houses and the road disappeared into forestland. It certainly can give people from urban areas, for whom one city quickly blends into another, some clarity in understanding the halachos of tefilas

haderech and techum Shabbos. On our way to the supermarket later, to scout for some dinner (which ended up being potato chips for my husband!), the night was dark. It reminded me of the darkness of the roads in the Catskills. I relished the feeling of being deep in the country. Tuesday dawned bright. Our plans for this day were modest, as we would spend only a few more hours in Jim Thorpe before driving east to NY to briefly see my parents. Then we would return westward,

October-November 2012 / Tishrei-Cheshvan 5773

and drive through the night back home. Before checking out of the hotel, I took the opportunity to spend a few minutes on the lovely balcony overlooking the street. They were moments well spent, as I enjoyed the charm of the town. We decide to hike in Lehigh Gorge State Park. A word of caution - although the park is close by, the entrance to the park is very hard to find. Do your best to get specific directions to a park entrance! Eventually though, we entered the park through one of its more distant access areas. Finally, we achieved our goal. At first we sat by a rocky river bank and watched the water rushing by. Then we hiked a short walk along a wooded path, seeing here a different branch of the river, complete with white water and mini waterfalls. Here, on this path, was my first exposure to pine needles of the entire vacation. We could see magnificent private properties nearby, houses that had tinted glass windows, with views of the river from their stately homes. Then we drove to another area entirely and walked along a paved path. On one side of us were rocky mountains and on the other side was the river. At one point we noticed that the rock seemed wet. As we continued, we found a rock that was dripping in numerous places. It seemed that water was somehow getting through the rock. As we walked on, we came to a bridge over the river. On one side, the water was wild and full. On the other side, was a seven tiered waterfall, with a small pool at the bottom. This pool led into the river on the wild side of the bridge, but was, amazingly, only a small part of the larger river we saw. After taking pictures, we followed the lead of several other tourists, and made our way carefully closer to the waterfall. We sat on a rock and received occasional sprays as the water roared in our ears. Around 3 pm, we left the waterfall for the return trip to our car, where we would be spending most of the next 24 hours. Jim Thorpe was completely different than I had imagined, but it certainly surpassed my expectations with its magnificent scenery and old world charm. Whether you seek a restful vacation or an excitement filled one, Jim Thorpe is an excellent destination. I know I canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t wait to return to Pennsylvania, back to the heart of the water, the mountains, and the adventure of it all.

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Story

Proclaiming in Words

AND IN SILENCE T

he second we turned into Biashara Street a young beggar, who had appointed himself as a “parking boy,” found us an available spot for our car. Then he put out his hand so that my husband could pay him for his unsolicited help. “I’m not paying for something I didn’t ask for,” my husband, Yechiel, said. I smiled. We had been married for only a few months and it was the first time that Yechiel and I were visiting my parents in Nairobi, Kenya. I was excited to be sharing the memories of my childhood home with him. Earlier that morning, I had decided that it was the perfect day to go shopping for fabric in the city center. Now, as we stepped out of the car, I suggested, “You had better pay if you want to find the headlights and side mirrors still attached to the car when we return.” Then, watching Yechiel trying to figure out which coins to use in the parking meter, I added, “Don’t put any money in the meter; give it to the parking boy and he will fill the meter if the police come by. If they don’t appear, he can keep it.”

“And who pays the fine if ‘parking boy’ is busy putting money in a different meter when the cop gets to our car? No thanks.” Yechiel fed our meter. He glanced at the boy’s tattered shorts and then his shoes, noticing the fraying string that was wound round the soles and over the bridge of his feet to keep his shoes on his feet. Yechiel dropped another few shillings onto the palm of the boy’s still-open hand. “Chunga mzuri – watch it well,” I said to the boy, as we crossed the street. “What did you tell him?” Yechiel asked. “I told him to watch the car.” It was Yechiel’s turn to smile. We headed for the same store that I walked into years ago when I went searching for fabric for a shirt I was making in a course in school. I never did finish that shirt, and my sewing prowess never really moved beyond sewing on a button. But now, at the cusp of a new beginning, I was ready to combat this deficiency in my homemaking skills. Like every new bride, I was thrilled to be setting up my own home and I wanted our apartment to boast my personal touch. We had already bought a

October-November 2012 / Tishrei-Cheshvan 5773

few woven baskets and now the next project on my list was the sewing of two bags to hold the Shabbos toilet paper. “What colors should we choose for the bags?” I asked Yechiel, a little bewildered by the panoply of fabric. “Whatever you like,” he replied. “Well, what colors do you like?” I was so eager to please that I decided to curb my personal preferences and chose solely according to his taste. Luckily, Yechiel sensed that I expected a little more enthusiasm in this house decorating venture, and since he was also eager to please, he rallied some of the advice he had been given in his chassan classes. “I think blue will match the grey tiles in the big bathroom and orange will match the

“You’d better pay if you want to find the headlights still attached when we return”

RHONA LEWIS

same grey tiles that we have in the small bathroom,” he offered. I swallowed and nodded my agreement. Orange is such a cheerful color, I told myself. Never one to procrastinate, I quickly spotted a navy-blue bolt of fabric. Then I found a soft peach that could pass for orange. “We’ll take these,” I said to the shop manager, who had appeared at our side. “And how much does madam want?” I hadn’t though of that. I turned to Yechiel. He shrugged. “I’m not sure,” I said to the manager. “That’s okay,” said the manager. “Plenty of people don’t know their exact measurements. Would you like to be measured?” “Not at all,” I answered. “We’re really looking to make something about this big,” Yechiel held out his hands to the size of an open notebook. “I think it needs to be a bit bigger,” I said. “Why?” “Because that size is too small.” “Why?” “Because it just is,” I replied, reluctant to tell Yechiel, in front of the manager, that I wanted to make a bag big enough to hold sufficient paper for two weeks. I was planning to cut up paper on a bi-weekly basis. “Perhaps I can help you decide,” the manager offered. “What exactly are you making?” I wasn’t going to be the one to tell him. “Um,” I said. “Ah,” Yechiel added. “Yes?” the manager prompted, prepared to invest a little more time to make a sale. “Um,” I repeated. “Ah,” Yechiel added. The manager looked at Yechiel’s kippah and tzitzis; the former rarely seen in Nairobi, the latter, almost never. Now the manager was curious and not just interested in his sale. “I understand. It’s something religious. I am a practicing Hindu and we also have religious customs.”

“She couldn’t believe that there are parents who actually teach their children not to hurt one another’s feelings…” But I bet you don’t use pre-cut toilet paper once a week, I thought. “How interesting,” was all I said. “We are making sort-of pillowcases,” Yechiel said. “Yes, sort-of bags,” I clarified. “So what size will these sort-of pillowcase bags be?” the manager asked. “This big,” Yechiel held his hands out to double the size he had suggested before. A bag that size will hold enough paper for a family of ten for four weeks, I thought, but kept quiet. I could always make the bags smaller. The manager explained that we needed double the amount of fabric because a pillowcase bag would surely have two sides. I was impressed at how quickly he had caught on. We had already paid and were about to walk out of the store, but the manager had something more to say: “It is good to keep religious customs,” he smiled, and then

turned back to his bolts of cloth.

Nearly ten years after that trip, Yechiel and I had a chance to make a second kiddush Hashem in Africa. This time it wasn’t in Kenya, but in South Africa. And this time we were accompanied by our five small children. We had traveled to Cape Town to visit Yechiel’s parents. One cloudy day towards the end of our trip, we took the children to the famous Victoria and Alfred Waterfront. Situated between Robben Island and Table Mountain, this former harbor area has been transformed into a massive complex of shopping malls, a craft market named The Red Shed, and other innumerable attractions. We wandered through the stalls in The Red Shed looking for the perfect parting gift to give my in-laws. Then my husband saw it: a photography stall run by a jaunty Boer lady. We could take a picture

October-November 2012 / Tishrei-Cheshvan 5773

“Why are they singing about a broom?” of the children and make it into a key-ring, a place mat, or even a calendar. The photographer, with a wide smile, introduced herself as Anne. She sat the children down on a low wooden bench. Five failed photographs later, her smile had narrowed a little, but her patience still held strong. “I have just the thing to keep them still,” I said, and pulled out four toffees from my bag. The next photo was the worst of all. All the children had puffy cheeks and contorted jaws from trying to simultaneously smile and chew a toffee; the baby’s face looked squashed from Elisheva trying to keep her positioned. “Maybe you’d like to do a calendar instead of a place mat,” Anne said brightly. “You could put a photo of a different child on each month.” My husband shook his head; it was beyond our budget. I shook my head; we didn’t have twelve children. By now my five children had lost their patience. One of the bigger girls whispered to her younger sister, whose eyes filled with tears. The offended child edged towards me and gulped out, “She said that the photo isn’t turning out because I’m so ugly.” I glared at the offender. “You hurt you sister’s feelings. You mustn’t do that. Say sorry and don’t speak like that again,” I told her. Somehow, eventually, we got a beautiful shot and had it laminated to make a placemat.

One day when we were back in Eretz Yisrael, my mother-in-law called. After getting an update on the children, she said, “Yesterday I went into The Red Shed and looked for the photography stall. I asked the owner if she remembered a family with five children coming in and she immediately recalled you. I guess she doesn’t meet such large families that often,” my motherin-law paused dramatically. I wondered what was coming next. “Well, you made a good impression on her. She told me she couldn’t believe that there are parents today who actually teach their children not to hurt each other’s feelings.”

A few more years down the line found me dipping my feet in one of the pools along Nachal Gilboa in the Golan. I was sitting on a rock with my two-year-old balanced on my lap. He dipped his toes into the cool water and kicked around a little. Two other older children were perched next to me. The others had wandered further down the trail with my husband. All of my attention was focused on splashing the children with the cool water, while ensuring that they didn’t slip into the pool. Suddenly, I was distracted: I began listening attentively to a group of young boys, men almost, who were singing a strange sounding song with much gusto. It sounded like “Habariani. Zuri sana. Kuna matateh.” They repeated this refrain without variation and stopped only to crack another sunflower seed, and another, before spitting the shell onto the ever-growing pile at their feet. My eldest daughter understood only the word “matateh,” which means ‘‘broom”

October-November 2012 / Tishrei-Cheshvan 5773

in Hebrew. She looked at me, puzzled. “Why are they singing about a broom?” she asked. “I doubt that the boys are promising to sweep up their sunflower seeds,” I replied. Then I let myself feel the wave of nostalgia. How many times in my childhood in Kenya had my friends and I sung that Swahili refrain with gusto? “Habari gain? Mzuri sana. Hakuna matata – How are you? Very well. No problems.” The rhythm sent me whirling back in time. “They’re singing it wrong,” I explained to the two older children, telling them the correct version. “Tell them, Ima. Tell them,” both children called out excitedly, never for a moment doubting my wisdom. I just shook my head and smiled. The young men kept singing. “Tell them Ima. Tell them,” the children urged again. And again I just shook my head and smiled. But it wasn’t enough for my children. They wanted an explanation for my reluctance to speak to those young men. I was still formulating a reply when my eldest daughter piped up, “It’s not tzanua. It’s not modest for Ima to speak to boys.” Now that the other children had received a satisfactory answer, they continued splashing in silence. I smiled at my perceptive daughter. These three incidents, in two different corners of the African continent and later in Eretz Yisrael, taught me that where ever we find ourselves, Jews are always faced with the task of proclaiming Hashem’s Name in the world. Sometimes we achieve this by being a part of the world, and at others, by remaining apart.

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October-November 2012 / Tishrei-Cheshvan 5773

“Desperately, I cried out, ‘Hashem, please! Help me! I can’t do it by myself!’ And then, from nowhere, I suddenly had the feeling that the help would come. But I also knew that I only had until sunset to get myself out of there…”

From

the Depths

ICalled to You

Written by Yaakov Zinger

ooking at him today, you’d never guess correctly at his past. But Erez Cohen wouldn’t allow us to publicize his photo. He doesn’t want his former “friends” to be able to track him down. The “friends”? Messianic Jews… Today, Erez Cohen is one of Yad L’Achim’s most active fieldworkers, one who reaches out right into the hearts of those who find themselves in situations similar to where he once found himself. And he knows, first-hand, how hard it is to escape. Culture – at a Price

“I grew up in Ramat Hasharon,” he begins, “in a secular family. We weren’t anti-religious, but our observance of the Yamim Tovim consisted of little more than a festive meal. It was a matter of culture, not religious experience. “In fact, becoming ‘cultured’ is the basic aspiration of the average Israeli, as it was mine. After finishing my army service and going through university, I went on to study the arts in Beit Berl college, following the path taken by many in my community. 68

October-November 2012 / Tishrei-Cheshvan 5773

“It would be many years before I actively questioned this path,” Erez says. “And I certainly never dreamed at the time that it would lead me so far away from my heritage.” Indeed, that was not his intention in the slightest, but ultimately, Erez came to understand something of how his study of the arts and art history led him directly into the waiting arms of heresy and idol worship. “An artist puts his entire essence into his work, and that’s what the observer sees. He actually absorbs the inner being of the artist when he looks at his creations. “Modern art, contrary to what many people think, is not something totally new that emerged only recently out of nowhere. It’s something purposely created, with its roots still firmly entrenched in Hellenist – Christian Greek – culture. The Renaissance influence is still there, though it’s more subtle, or hidden, than in the past. Therefore, the ideas upon which all art is essentially based are diametrically opposed to Torah values. And those ideas seep into all of Western culture, affecting the entire philosophy of nations and their beliefs regarding the essence of Man.”

A Web of Lies and Deception

It was during his years in college that changes started to happen. Among Erez’s circle of friends were several who had

At the beginning, it all looks so innocent. What could be wrong with learning Tanach?

already become part of the Messianic Jewry movement, and they invited him to join them. “The Messianic Jews rent out buildings all over the country and give Bible classes to anyone interested. Together with my friends, I started traveling up north every week to hear what they had to say. “It’s a gradual process,” Erez explains. “At first, they don’t want you to know what they are all about. So, in the beginning, it all looks so innocent. What could be wrong with learning Tanach? Most of us hadn’t studied much Tanach in the past, and certainly hadn’t delved into it in any depth, and so we were easy prey for all their trickery, based on real verses. “They also played on our emotions, preaching values that they knew were close to our hearts, and presenting them as if they originated in Christian theology. And, ignorant as we were, we had no idea that those very ideas were actually Jewish, distorted by the church for their own ends.” In fact, deception is central to the strategy of the Messianic movement, as Erez continues to relate: “They came up with a name designed to mislead people. It’s a total perversion of the truth, since they claim

October-November 2012 / Tishrei-Cheshvan 5773

to be an actual sect within Judaism. And unfortunately, it’s a very effective strategy. They know that if they present themselves

all this,” continues Erez, grimacing as he recalls his experiences. “They have actually adopted our tallis, tzitzis, and

is a religion that knows how to sell itself very effectively to every type of customer. To each one they present the face that is most appealing. For some people, that means fear, which they can supply in abundance. For others, it means kindness, and they can supply that, too. Personally, I was most open to universal humanistic values, and that’s what they used to attract me. And, just like in business, they know how to devalue the competition’s merchandise. They want you to choose their product over that of the opposition. So gradually they start to insinuate antiSemitic notions and negate Jewish ideas, replacing them with their own.”

The Battle Begins

Slowly, almost inexorably, Erez found himself

“I turned to the snake and told it, ‘You can go now. I got the message.’” as Christians, they’ll have a much harder time attracting Jews. “They actually utilize all the familiar Jewish symbols – the “culture” of Judaism, if you will. For example, to someone accustomed to lighting Shabbos candles, they’ll say, ‘Sure, keep lighting candles – that’s fine. Just light them in honor of oso ha’ish.’ Or, they’ll go to great lengths to stress that just like Orthodox Jews have mikvah, so do they. And that they also use wine in their ceremonies. “But the modern Messianic missionary has actually gone one step further than 70

kippah. Instead of using the word ‘church’ they call it ‘congregation’ and in place of their cross, they use a Jewish star. “Today I know how to debate them, how to silence all their arguments and prove them wrong within minutes,” Erez states. “But back then? We were a bunch of ignorant kids, vulnerable to their attack. They are spiritual terrorists,” he emphasizes. “They are actually worse than physical terrorists, because they are after our souls. As Chazal say, ‘One who causes another to sin is worse than one who kills.’ “Of course it doesn’t feel like an attack at first, though gradually, it dawned on me that I was heading away from Judaism. It was a period of great inner struggle. And they knew exactly how to entrap me. When it comes down to it, Christianity

October-November 2012 / Tishrei-Cheshvan 5773

being sucked in. How did his family react, seeing what was happening? “For a long time, my family was unaware of what was going on. It wasn’t until I was baptized that they found out.” His family was devastated, and turned to Yad L’Achim for help, desperate to extricate Erez from the missionaries’

“They’ll say, ‘Sure, keep lighting candles – that’s fine. Just light them in honor of oso ha’ish.’” clutches. Yad L’Achim didn’t waste a moment, and immediately sent out an activist, who met with Erez and engaged him in a theological debate. He tried to get Erez to reconsider what he was being taught, but the Messianic Jews were not about to let him out of their grasp so quickly. Before Erez could begin to ponder the activist’s words, they sent him out of the country to begin his training in advance of pastoral ordination. “That was a torturous stage,” recalls Erez. “At that point, when a person realizes, on some level, what is happening, he tries hard to detach himself from the psychological process he’s going through.” He tries to explain better, but can’t find the right words. It’s clearly something that takes place at the soul level, which can’t be expressed consciously. Meanwhile, his family was continuing its efforts to turn things around. They kept in constant contact with Yad L’Achim, and also turned to a rabbi from Chabad. “If my Erez comes back,” his mother tearfully told the rabbi, “I promise to fully observe Shabbos.” “Turn that around,” advised the rabbi. “ K e e p

Erez will return…”

Strange Occurences

Many months passed, and Erez continued with his studies, on the way to becoming a fully-fledged missionary himself. “Thank G-d I never reached that point,” he says, “but it was definitely my goal at the time. The truth is that there isn’t a single Messianic Jew, or even Christian, who isn’t something of a missionary. Trying to convert others is a central tenet of their religion. Some achieve this more aggressively; others use a more gentle approach. And all the new recruits are trained to become what they call ‘messengers.’ These messengers are then sent out to gather their own recruits, and are told that if they are successful, they can eventually become congregation leaders. This is what

they told me, and I was on my way to reaching that objective. “Who knows what it was that eventually stopped things in their tracks?” he muses. “What I do know is that my parents were doing all they could to rouse a storm in Shamayim. We weren’t even so close before everything, but they felt an incredible sense of obligation to do everything in their power to rescue me.” Spurred on by the promise of the Chabad rabbi, Erez’s mother staunchly kept Shabbos, and drenched the pages of her Tehillim with tears. The family also arranged for all their mezuzos to be checked, and when they brought out Erez’s long-forsaken tefillin to show the visiting sofer, all those present were stunned to read what was written in the parshiyos. Where “Shema Yisrael, Hashem Elokeinu, Hashem Echad,” should have been inscribed, the sofer

Shabbos, and in that merit, October-November 2012 / Tishrei-Cheshvan 5773

pointed with a trembling finger to the last word. The last letter was a reish instead of a daled: “Hear, O Israel, the Lord is G-d, the Lord is ‘another’…” Without knowing why, Erez began to feel uncomfortable with his surroundings, and the missionaries, ever alert to any threat to their dominance, were quick to act. “They noticed that something was bothering me, and told me that I needed a break, to get away from all the pressure of being in Israel, near my family and everything,” Erez continues. The church is anything but short of funds, and the leaders of Erez’s branch sent him off on a vacation to Greece, to stay near one of their ministry schools, and, more

excursion, we stopped short before the doorway. There, just outside, was a poisonous snake. My friends were petrified, but I, who had always been in mortal fear of snakes, felt no anxiety whatsoever. I couldn’t explain it then, but now I know that ‘It’s not the snake that kills, but the sin.’ “I approached the snake, and, standing just inches from it, I told my friends, ‘Move away – the snake hasn’t come for

The last letter was a reish instead of a daled: “Hear, O Israel, the Lord is G-d, the Lord is ‘another’…”

my bed. Instinctively, out of sheer terror, I screamed out, ‘Shema Yisrael!’ But in the morning, it felt like it had just been a nightmare. “Later that day I went with my friends to the marina. It was Friday, but that was irrelevant, as far as I was concerned, especially there on vacation in a foreign country, where one day blurred into another. “Secular Jews don’t usually feel the presence of Shabbos too much, and so I was bewildered when I somehow heard an inner voice telling me, ‘Today’s Friday – Shabbos is coming.’ But I ignored it, not knowing what it meant, or what I should do.” But Erez’s neshamah wouldn’t let him disregard the message. “We carried on walking along the harbor, looking out at the yachts not far out at sea. Suddenly I saw what looked like a small blaze coming from one of them. Inexplicably, it reminded me of Shabbos candles, but that didn’t make any sense – Shabbos candles on a yacht, in Greece? “I looked again, and this time I saw clearly two candles lit inside the yacht, standing on a table. And around the table sat a Jewish family – a father, mother, and son, celebrating Shabbos! I was amazed, and felt a sudden urge to join them, there on the yacht, but of course it wasn’t that simple. I tried to explain it to my friends, saying that it was surely a sign from Heaven, but they rebuffed me. “ ‘You have nothing to do with this any more,’ they told me, and I could see that they were starting to worry that they were losing me.”

Saved by Shabbos importantly, to prevent him from being in close contact with his family. “Later, I found out that it was just around this time that my parents strengthened their mitzvah observance,” he relates. On a spiritual level, everything is interconnected, and “in Greece, I could literally feel the vibrations of their struggle to save my neshamah. And I saw the results, in practice. There were a number of strange occurrences which even then I interpreted as signs that I was being called to return. “One day, when my friends and I returned to our apartment from an 72

you. It’s for me.’ Then I turned to the snake and told it, ‘You can go now. I got the message.’ Before our very eyes, the snake uncoiled itself and slithered away.” Erez was beginning to awaken to the true reality of the negative spiritual energies surrounding him – the episode with the snake was just the first example. “The next ‘encounter’ I had was less tangible. I started to feel like evil spirits were floating all around me in the house where we were staying. The feelings became more intense, and reached their peak one night when I awoke in a panic, certain that ‘something’ was looming over

October-November 2012 / Tishrei-Cheshvan 5773

Erez and his friends returned to Israel, to the apartment the missionaries had rented for them, to make sure Erez wouldn’t be tempted to move back home. “When I got back from Greece, I felt the kedushah of Eretz Yisrael as I’d never felt it before,” Erez relates. “I was torn between two worlds, two visions, and had never felt so confused in my entire life. I decided to take a trip out to the hills, to pray and do some soul-searching. “At first,” he admits with a wry smile, “I didn’t even know who to pray to. In the end, I spoke to the ‘G-d of Avraham, Yitzchak, and Yaakov.’ After all, both Jew and Christian believe in this part, or so I

thought. For four long, tormented hours I poured out my heart to my Creator, sobbing like a small child. “ ‘G-d, You have to help me!’ I cried. ‘I have to get out, but I don’t have the strength. Please – send me angels just like you sent Lot, to rescue him from Sodom. Surely I’ve done some good deed in my life that makes me worthy of Your help? Or just because of Your goodness – save me! Somehow I’ll figure out how to repay You…’” Eventually, exhausted and brokenhearted, Erez returned to his apartment. He felt drained, but couldn’t eat or sleep. That evening was Leil Shabbos, and his friends were making plans to head up north to spend the day with the congregation there. Erez made up his mind not to accompany them. “They tried to sway me, but nothing they said worked any more. As always, they started off with the velvet glove: Why don’t I appreciate everything? I have an apartment, a car, a good job… They even offered me a new apartment. But their words had the opposite intended effect – I realized that all they had was the material, gashmiyus, which could never satisfy me. Then they showed the iron fist: If you leave, you’ll never be able to come back… “I didn’t answer, and eventually I fell asleep that night, and the next morning, they left. I was alone in the apartment, and yet, I didn’t know how to leave. I sat at the window all day long, until the sun started to set, feeling paralyzed. But I knew Shabbos was leaving, and desperately I cried out from deep within me, ‘Hashem, help me! I can’t get out on my own.’ And an inner voice called back, ‘This is your opportunity to escape – but you only have until sunset! The merit of Shabbos will stand by you, but only if you leave now. If you remain for even one minute after Shabbos ends, you will be lost.’ “The sun was descending fast, and I knew what I had to do. I would have to leave everything behind: the apartment, the car, the job… It would be like leaving Pharaoh’s palace for the desert, a place of uncertainty, but by now I understood that it was just a golden cage. “They had provided me with everything, but now I was going to take responsibility for myself. Change only occurs when one is ready to assume responsibility, when one realizes that all the events in one’s life happen for a reason, because Hashem wants us to change. “I fully woke up to the realization that there is a G-d and He expects me to do something with my life. I was born a Jew, and that is my mission. And so, taking absolutely nothing with me, I walked out to freedom. I felt like I was experiencing Yetzias Mitzrayim. As I reached the main junction, the sun disappeared below the horizon and an incredible feeling of relief flooded through me. “It was Motzaei Shabbos, and I hitchhiked home. My family was overjoyed to see me, and bombarded me with questions – mainly, ‘How did you manage to get out?’ “That same evening my parents called Rabbi Alex Artovsky, the head of Yad L’Achim’s anti-missionary department. ‘Not everyone is as fortunate as you,’ he told us. ‘You must have zechus avos. It’s not easy to escape from there.’ He sat with me till three in the morning, explaining all the theological lies and distortions. And he also reached my heart, helping me to begin the work of redirecting my emotions. This was when my affiliation with Yad L’Achim began.”

A New Mission

The process of recovery would take time. Erez had been deeply involved with the missionaries for over two years, and they had used all their wiles to convert him to their way of thinking. “Those first days were very hard. I felt spiritually broken, and I completed Tehillim twice in two days. I was parched for spirituality, and that propelled me on the path to teshuvah. I knew that my whole life, even my basic habits, would have to change – I felt like a baby, taking his first steps. “Now I use these experiences to reach out to others, Jews who grew up without Judaism. Remembering my own pain compels me to contemplate the torment of their souls, still locked in captivity. I speak with many teens, and help them see where their mistakes lie – either in Torah, or, l’havdil, in Christianity. Often they come back to hear more, and sometimes, they move quickly towards mitzvah observance. “But it’s not easy,” Erez stresses. “These Jews have so many questions – they are so confused. And just at the point where they are gathering up the courage to change, the Satan comes along and sets up stumbling blocks. In my work with Yad L’Achim, I’ve seen this happen time and time again.” Nonetheless, Erez is not easily deterred. “I am a Jew, and this is my mission,” he repeats. “I use the skills I gained to serve Hashem. I was like a child, who had to grow up and actualize my potential,” and now he is passing along the gift to others. May he, and all the other workers in Yad L’Achim and similar organizations, see much hatzlachah, Amen.

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“When one does chessed shel emes, Hashem has numerous ways of paying back”

The Price of a Loaf of Bread

ood morning,” began the email. “We are seeking information regarding an account we are holding, under the name of Mr. Abe Lawron. We were unable to contact him, and recently found his name on your website, with a notice indicating that he passed away several years ago. “We are now trying to locate the executor of Mr. Lawron’s estate, and would appreciate your assistance in doing so. Any information you can provide would be greatly appreciated.” At first, Yehudah Rosenberg* wasn’t sure whether to take the letter seriously. But when he found himself with an hour to spare towards the end of the afternoon, he decided to take a look in his website’s archives, just out of curiosity. And there it was: two years previously, in 2010, Rabbi Eliezer Ralbag had sent him a notice about a congregant of his, named R’ Avraham (Abe) Lawron, who had passed away on 26th Ellul at the age of ninety-seven. Rabbi Ralbag was the rav of the Lakewood Courtyard, where Mr. Lawron (shortened from Laronovich) had lived, and Yehudah decided to contact him. “Yes, I remember him well,” answered Rabbi Ralbag. “R’ Avraham was a Holocaust survivor, who was incarcerated in a series of concentration camps, where he lost his entire family. After the war he made his way here and rebuilt his life, but he never married. At one point he asked me to set up a trust account, which I would administer, whose funds would be used to support various charities, and also to pay kollel yungeleit in several night kollelim that he set up. When he was niftar, I arranged for several individuals to learn Mishnayos l’ilui nishmaso, as they do in the kollelim he founded.” Rabbi Ralbag knew little more about the elusive Abe Lawron, who had left no physical descendants behind, but had made sure to establish a legacy of Torah and gemilus chassadim. Yehudah thanked the rav for his time, and then 76

contacted the bank with the little information he had managed to glean, giving them the rav’s telephone number and telling them that they could rely on Rabbi Ralbag to distribute the funds available. A few days later, the phone rang in Yehudah’s office. It was Rabbi Ralbag, who wanted to tell him about the latest twist to the story.

* not his real name October-November 2012 / Tishrei-Cheshvan 5773

Rabbi Malkiel Kotler at Mr. Lawron’s Yartzeit at the lakewood court Yard

“I spoke with the bank manager,” he began, “and it turns out that the funds they are holding are in an account whose contents are supposed to be allocated to someone called Gedaliah Schloss* who lives in Israel. In the case that Mr. Schloss is no longer alive, the funds are to be sent to a separate trust fund, and eventually distributed to several charitable causes. “I decided to try and find out if Mr. Schloss was still alive, though I really didn’t know how I’d go about it. So I contacted a Holocaust memorial organization in Eretz Yisrael, and asked if they had anyone of that name on their records. Amazingly, my very first phone call bore fruit, and they found him. He’s still alive! They gave me a phone number, and I called them, to tell them about the trust fund and the money they’d soon be receiving, b’ezras Hashem.” Yehudah was astonished at the turn of events. The likelihood of finding a Holocaust survivor still alive was very small, and in all probability, just a few years later the man would have passed on and lost out on the chance to inherit the money that should rightfully be his. But

why? That was the remaining question, and Rabbi Ralbag didn’t keep him in suspense. “The Schloss family had no recollection of any connection with Mr. Lawron, or Laronovich, for that matter. But Mr. Schloss’ son, with whom I spoke, thought that his sister might have some idea. She traveled to the United States several years ago, and he vaguely recalled hearing something about a visit with an acquaintance of his father. He told me he’d get in touch with his sister, and call me back with an answer.” Rabbi Ralbag didn’t have to wait long – just a few days later Mr. Schloss called him back. His sister had indeed visited with Mr. Abe Lawron in his Pennsylvania home. She’d initially contacted him on behalf of her father, since both men had lived in the same Lithuanian town, Shavil, before the war. Despite his advanced age, Mr. Lawron had clear recollections of the war years, and he recounted many episodes from his history. And then, to the daughter’s astonishment, he revealed that he and Mr. Schloss actually had a personal connection dating back almost seventy years. Both men had been incarcerated in the Shavil ghetto, suffering from the cruel forced labor and starvation rations. As time went on, Mr. Lawron became progressively weaker, and one day, he collapsed in the street, almost fainting from lack of nourishment. It was in that

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condition that Mr. Schloss found him, literally at death’s door. Then came the nisayon. Mr. Schloss was carrying a loaf of bread, worth its weight in diamonds in those terrible days. And yet, here was a man about to die of starvation… Quickly, before he had time to regret his action, Mr. Schloss reached into his sack, pulled out the loaf, and handed it to Mr. Lawron, who took it wordlessly, his eyes trying to express a gratitude that knew no bounds. Indeed, how can one adequately thank another for saving his life, and in such conditions? Both men eventually made it through the war, and made their separate ways out of Europe. They never met again, and until that moment, when Mr. Schloss’ daughter contacted him, Mr. Lawron had no idea that his personal malach had survived. Delighted to hear that Mr. Schloss was still among the living, he told his daughter that in the merit of her father’s great mitzvah, he would be opening a special account for the Schloss family. He would make every effort to deposit funds there from time to time, and after his petirah, the money would be transferred. For some reason, Mr. Lawron had omitted to inform the bank of anything more than Mr. Schloss’ name, and around eighteen months after his passing, the branch manager wanted to close the account and transfer the funds to the government. And that’s what would have happened, if it hadn’t been for an obscure website posting informing the bank of Mr. Lawron’s petirah. Armed with this information, Rabbi Ralbag called back the bank manager, who made immediate arrangements for the contents of the account to be transferred. The Schloss family waited impatiently, curious to see what a loaf of bread was worth after seventy years… And when the check finally arrived in the mail, it was made out to the sum of $29,000! “When one does chessed shel emes, Hashem has numerous ways of paying back,” comments Rabbi Ralbag. “Sometimes the hakaras hatov is instantaneous, and at other times it might take over seventy years in a roundabout way, but nothing is ever forgotten.” Jewish Lifestyle thanks TheLakewoodScoop.com for contributing to this article.

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d n a b s H u ome H t a

By Chana Rothman

Finally, the last child is out the door, on his way to school. After the frantic morning rush of lost shoes, missing pencils, and phantom homework, Mrs. Levy can finally breathe a huge sigh of relief.

Or cAn she? She walkS into the kitchen after waving the last goodbye, and scans the countertops, adorned with sprinkles of breadcrumbs, splotches of peanut butter, and the occasional smear of cheese. this is her quiet time, to set the house in order, and to set her own mind in order, before the children return, hours later, and demand her full attention. her quiet time, did i say? a knock at the front door is followed by the familiar sounds of her husband’s footsteps in the hallway. he’s back from minyan, and not just for breakfast. no, he’s home, for the day. home for the day – and yet, somehow, he’s managed to evade many of the duties of the home. he wasn’t there when she scrambled to get the children off to school in time, nor did he participate in the find-the-shoe treasure hunt. So although he’s surely a fully-fledged member of the family, she now perceives him as an uninvited guest, turned up at the worst possible time of the day, his very presence constituting a request for breakfast, an unspoken reproach that the house isn’t tidy yet, and a reminder that she has yet to iron his shirts. even before he opens his mouth, her feelings are rising to the surface with increasing turbulence, and he’ll be lucky to escape unscathed. of course, some days, she prepares in advance, and tries to prevent the explosion that sometimes seems so inevitable.

October-November 2012 / Tishrei-Cheshvan 5773

She pastes a cheery smile on her face, despite everything that’s going on behind it, and attempts to convince herself, and him, that she’s really glad to have him around for the next however-many hours. whatever the outcome on that particular day, the underlying tension is ever-present. they both know it, but it’s a truth they both dance around. though one might think that such a scenario is only a possibility if the husband is home against his own volition (usually because of unemployment), in fact, the conflicting emotions in both husband and wife regarding his presence in the home all day long arise in all types of scenarios, including where the husband is working from home, even in a self-contained office. The following interviews with wives of homebound husbands illustrate many of the difficulties that arise, and noted counselor Sara chana radcliffe offers some of her sage advice in dealing with this not-uncommon situation.

Mindy K. is a housewife whose husband is a sofer who works from home. How do you experience your husband working from home? first of all, i’d like to emphasize that my husband and i have a great relationship. we get on really well – we’re almost like best friends. But that’s actually the root of the problem. when he’s around, we end up chatting, about all sorts of things, and neither of us is as productive as we could be.

i waste time, and so does he, until he’s misgaber and gets down to work. But hours can get wasted, and we regret it later.

How about him making hours that he’s in his home-office, and sticking to them – would that help? A home-office would be great – but not everyone has a house big enough, with an extra room, and we don’t. i guess that makes things a lot harder, with him working at the dining-room table. he can concentrate, once he gets going, even if there’s background noise, and he can even hyperfocus so that i have to yell to get his attention, but it’s still not the same as being in a separate room with a closed door, somewhere nobody enters unless it’s important. Yes, i can see that it’s really problematic that way. Did you start off like this after you got married, or is this a recent development? My husband started out in kollel, which is a totally different ball game. later, even when he was working, he still had a kollel on friday mornings, until one p.m., and i got so much more done in terms of Shabbos preparations when he wasn’t around. these days i have to be a lot more self-disciplined – i can’t rely on him to get down to work, and i sometimes have to tell him, mocksternly, that he’s not allowed in the kitchen on fridays, otherwise we both waste too much time and then it’s a rush for me and a loss of working hours for him.

Sara C. is the assistant manager in a private medical facility. Her husband is a computer consultant who works mostly from home. Sara, your husband’s been working from home for about eight years now. How’s it going? Well, it’s better than it was at first, that’s for sure. the whole thing came about because he lost his job, and those months when he was home without what to do were terrible. Baruch hashem he picked himself up fairly quickly and set up his own business – from home.

And how’s that been, for you, having him around all day? To be honest, I find it takes away my privacy. i guess i’ve gotten a bit used to it over time, but at the start, it was awful. well, no, not quite. we were making renovations then, and i was shlepping boxes, and then i got sick, so it was min haShamayim that he was around to help out, since i couldn’t. But once things got back to normal, and he was getting settled in his new routine, i realized that i really couldn’t deal with it. Don’t get me wrong – we get on well, under normal circumstances. i enjoy being with my husband, but mainly outside the home, like on an outing, or on vacation. in the home, it’s totally different. And so, during those first few months when he was setting up his business, i tried to get him to see that this was a temporary arrangement, until he’d find himself back in the workforce, in an office building someplace. the unspoken message i was constantly signaling to him was, “Don’t get too comfortable here – this isn’t meant to last.”

But it did – and then, what did you do? i couldn’t get him out – so i got myself out of the house instead! Can I fight against what hashem wants? that was how he was giving us our parnassah, from my husband’s new business, so what could i say? and the truth is that i learned a lot, about relationships, about not expecting other people to fit around what we think our needs are. Sometimes we get pushed in a particular direction in order to make ourselves grow in a way we thought wasn’t possible. that’s what happened with me.

So, you got married with a different set of expectations? that’s right. i imagined that my husband would go out to work from nine to five, or even nine to seven, and then, when he came home, we’d eat a family supper, and then have family time. it didn’t work out that way, at all.

How was it when you made your decision to go out to work, and leave him in charge of the household?

i actually feel a bit guilty about the way i did things. it says that when we leave the sukkah, we shouldn’t slam the door behind us. in a way, that’s what i did. i reached boiling point, and left in a huff, basically throwing the whole responsibility of everything at him and running away. now, it’s not like that any more, but at first, that was the way i did things, and probably the way he saw it.

Considering your busy life these days, people probably think that lechatchilah you chose this way of life. no way! i’m a very conservative person by nature, and i like things to stay the same, as far as is possible. i like predictability, stability, and the whole traditional picture of husband out at work, wife at home taking care of things there.

Do you manage to get some quiet time for yourself, these days? It must be quite a challenge. that’s part of it. a housewife gets those few quiet hours in the morning, ideally, to recharge her batteries. Before i went out to work, i felt like my husband had stolen that from me, that he was stifling me with his presence. I felt like i couldn’t breathe. the moment i woke up in the morning and remembered that he was going to be home, it was like a black cloud settled over me.

Did you seek advice from others, at that point, or was it more of an impulsive decision to look for a job? i did things a bit abruptly, but i did consult with our rav first. He validated me, which was really important. he said, “it’s really hard, you’re right.” But he added, “But that’s what your husband is doing. the situation isn’t optimal but there’s no choice at this point. Your husband’s parnassah is obviously in the home, for now.” Because he validated my feelings, and didn’t make me feel like i was some big baal aveirah for feeling angry at how hashem was directing my life, i could hear his words, and accept the new reality.

That’s amazing, that you could really shift your mindset like that. It’s not easy.

October-November 2012 / Tishrei-Cheshvan 5773

look, it didn’t happen overnight. it was hard at first, easier now. And I had to really accept that my idealized version of how life should be was gone. i really mourned it. the whole picture i’d grown up with, as a girl, as a teenager, that my life was going to be a certain way – i had to let it go, and realize it was gone.

So, over time you’ve come to see the advantages of your new way of living? Definitely, though I had to really accept things first. You don’t see the good when you’re so focused on “it shouldn’t be like this.” You only focus on what you don’t like. So i had to get past that, and it took time. But after that, i really saw the advantages, that hashem pushed me into doing what i wouldn’t have done without that push, and how it was really for the best.

Can you specify? for instance, when i was home all day, i wasted so much time! i wanted to see myself as a “professional” housewife, that my career was “balabusta,” but it wasn’t even true. i dreamed of having a soup bubbling on the back of the stove, cakes in the freezer, the whole thing, but it never really materialized. i simply didn’t have the necessary self-discipline. So, even though i thought that it was my husband ruining my self-image by staying home, the truth is that i ruined it myself. or rather, that it was never there to ruin in the first place.

Libby V. is a housewife whose husband has been home, looking for employment, for the last eighteen months. Libby, thank you for offering to share your thoughts. it was a chiddush when you asked to talk to me about my feelings on the situation. normally, people have rachmanus on my husband, but they don’t see me as part of that picture. the truth is that unemployment affects all family members, and not just financially.

Which aspect of your husband being 82

home affects you the most profoundly, do you think? that i see him as infringing on my territory. Maybe it’s not so nice to say, but i see the house as mine, my space – it’s where i invest all my energies, where i spend most of my time, and i have the satisfaction of setting it up the way i see best. that’s my profession. into that steps a man who has little understanding of the way things run, but automatically, he starts to insert his opinion.

This is a sentiment I’ve heard from other ladies too – that they feel like their privacy is being invaded. exactly that. i start to feel claustrophobic some mornings, when i think about all the hours ahead of me with no space of my own. i can’t take a nap if my husband’s around, for instance. he wouldn’t mind, but i can’t do it.

I get the impression that you don’t really want your husband’s help with housework. right. Domestic responsibilities are made for women to juggle – we know how to multi-task. Men just get nervous, and my husband gets very agitated if he has to take over anything houserelated. he’s not built to deal with the pressures of children and housework – he’s not supposed to be cooking lunch, or worrying about any of the thousandand-one tasks that a woman naturally takes in her stride.

henpecked, it’s going to impact negatively on everyone. he’ll start to take out his frustration on his wife and kids, especially when he starts to resent the fact that they are all getting along okay in the home and outside, whereas he perceives himself as a failure.

So, in practice, how do you deal with your feelings about the situation? look, it’s simple. i can be hostile, decide to hate it, or i can choose shalom. hashem sent me this test, and it’s up to me to decide what to do about it. there are areas where i’ve seen some small advantages. for instance, i quickly discovered that it’s terrible for us to both be home all day. So i try to get out every day, with some purposeful activity, and that makes me more organized with the household tasks, like cooking and laundry. i wasn’t like that before when i was home with little kids. now my children are older and i have more time on my hands. But it wasn’t till my husband lost his job that i got myself moving. Before then, i wasted lots of time just puttering around. hashem gave me that push forward, and now i’m much more productive.

But you didn’t know that was what you wanted, at first.

“I had to accept that my idealized version of how life should be was gone”

no. i davened a lot – for my husband to find work and be out of the house. I still daven for him to find work, but I realized along the way that him being out of the house wasn’t necessarily the answer hashem was going to give me. instead, he showed me that i had to get myself out. Our tefillos are always heard, always answered, just not always in the manner we expect. we have to keep an open frame of mind. Sometimes, the answer to a tefillah is being able to accept a situation we thought we would never be able to come to terms with. that’s a big brachah, not to be taken lightly.

is something else altogether. it’s helping, not assuming total responsibility. the husband can retain his masculinity and not feel degraded. if he starts to feel

Sure, even though i know that i wouldn’t trade places with so many people with harder pekelach than mine. it’s just human nature.

But you surely know of women who do ask for their husbands to help out. of course. helping out occasionally

October-November 2012 / Tishrei-Cheshvan 5773

Did you ever wish for a different nisayon?

But it also forced me to consider things in a broader sense. is this the way things were supposed to be? Maybe it’s one of the curses of galus. i mean, the natural order, the way hashem set things up to be, is that men go out to work, or to learn. when things deviate from that natural order, it causes pain, and makes so many things more complicated. Should a man be at home all day watching his wife clean the house? He likes sparkling floors, but does he have to watch his wife scrubbing? he likes good food for Shabbos, but he doesn’t need to see her plucking the chicken. i think part of femininity, part of what makes a husband appreciate his wife, is, paradoxically, that he doesn’t see the whole process. it remains something of a mystery. You know, even the malachim only come on friday night after the food is all cooked and the table is set! and secrecy – not keeping secrets, but just having a life of one’s own, not having to offer explanations for everything. Some days, a woman feels she needs something to pick up her spirits, and it might mean a short outing with a friend for a coffee. he doesn’t need to know about all those little things. he can’t always understand her needs, and she shouldn’t have to explain herself all the time, either. So, really, you still wish things were different. Yes, but i’ve basically accepted that i may have to wait for Moshiach before it happens. this is the way hashem wants things right now, and i’m too small to understand why. But we don’t have to wallow in the pain and disappointment. Just acknowledge the loss, and move on. Don’t whitewash the pain – don’t deny it, because you’ll get stuck. accept the pain, and then you’ll see the good behind it. there’s always the good hidden there.

Esther L.’s husband retired several years ago.

What’s your instinctive response when I ask you, “What’s it like having your husband home all day?” that everything has a limit. Seeing your husband too little is also a very hard test. Sometimes i think of women i know whose husbands are very rarely home, and i see them as heroines. it’s very hard to hold the home together without the husband’s presence, sup-

“Sometimes, the answer to a tefillah is being able to accept a situation we thought we would never be able to come to terms with” port, and help. then i tell myself, “Baruch hashem that my husband is at home.” But even then, it needs to be in moderation. even good things have to be in moderation. a woman needs to have her husband’s help, but there should also be times when they’re apart, and miss each other’s presence.

Are there any methods you’ve come across, that make things easier when the husband is at home, for whatever reason? i think the main thing is to make sure that husband and wife aren’t home together all day, every day. they have to go out regularly, both separately and together.

constantly being distracted by a multitude of things. even if they manage to have a normal, adult conversation once in a while, it’s often interrupted, by the children, the phone ringing, or whatever else. when they go out, they get each other’s undivided attention, they can dress up a bit for each other, consciously make a good impression, just like when they were dating. why should all that be forgotten just because they got married?

It’s so true. People can seem so different depending on the circumstances. Yes, and especially when it comes to husbands at home! at home, all you see, all too often, is how he spilled something, how he trod mud over the kitchen floor, how he didn’t fix the broken chair yet despite your nagging… But when you go out with him, suddenly, he’s “your man.”

It’s that simple? It’s not about working on yourself to see him as “your man” even in the house? of course it’s that, too. But in the home it’s hard not to be overwhelmed by things happening all the time – it can be like a whirlwind with little kids and the mess and everything. getting out is a breath of fresh air in so many ways. then you can turn to your husband as you walk along by his side and remind yourself of how much you davened for a shidduch, how happy you were when you got engaged… it’s about regaining that perspective every now and again.

Together? Aren’t they together enough at home? Why out of the house, too?

So a wife shouldn’t get down on herself when she feels like the stress of the home is damaging her shalom bayis – she should just recognize that it’s part of life, and look for ways to repair things?

it’s not the same thing at all. when a woman’s at home, her mind is on the laundry, on the dishes in the sink, or any other duty that’s beckoning to her. She’s also not usually dressed her best, or anything near it, unfortunately. the same goes for her husband. he’s more casual then when he goes out, and he’s

Yes, on a certain level, if that’s what’s happened in the past, that things have been strained, then that’s what hashem wanted. acknowledge that, and then look for solutions. the woman is always the backbone of the home, regardless of how much she’s there, how much he’s there – you can’t get away

October-November 2012 / Tishrei-Cheshvan 5773

from that. So much depends on her attitude and way of thinking. if she starts to crumble, to resent her role, her circumstances, then everyone will feel it. So make sure you’re enjoying your life! it’s contagious!

Chana’s husband was home for twenty years, due to ill health. Baruch Hashem today he has fully recovered, and learns half a day, working the other half. What can you tell me about husbands at home? they don’t belong there!

That’s it?! So simple? truthfully… well, the way i see it, hakadosh Baruch hu created men to go out “hunting” – at best, to go learn torah. we know that from the kesubah. it’s written there that the husband takes on the responsibility of providing for his family. how he does that is up to him.

Okay, so what if his parnassah is from home? If you say it’s up to him how… i still don’t think it’s ideal, or the way things should be. hashem set things up with men as his representatives to the outside world, and women behind the scenes. But if he really does have to be at home, then he should at least have a separate office. Not in the living room – that’s family space. certainly not in the kitchen!

Is that the way things were when your husband was home?

You have to pick your fights. And focus on the advantages of having him home. if you want to fight that particular battle, give up on others. it’s a waste of your energy. Better to build up good feeling in general, and then hopefully his criticisms will gradually ebb away. instead, remind yourself that you have an onsite babysitter, for free, a pair of hands to help when needed…

Did you sometimes feel, or did he, that you didn’t respect him as much, when he became the babysitter, or household help? to be honest, yes. it’s a lot better now that he’s out learning and working. a lot of things have improved. Baruch hashem for a good reason – that his health has improved enough to enable him to get out. we reassumed our traditional roles, and became more independent, too. everything just seems more normal, more natural, simpler.

Rebbetzin S. from Yerushalayim comments on this issue: Rebbetzin S., do you think it’s healthy for a husband and wife to be home together all day long? look, it’s hard for anybody to be home together with anyone else all day! never mind a husband and wife, whose relationship is lechatchilah full of all kinds of variables that can lead to misunderstanding or even conflict.

Do you think husbands can ever actually belong in the home all day?

Yes, he had his own office. And in any case, i went out, which helped a lot. the problems mainly arose when we were around each other too much. i started to feel like he was supervising me, making sure that i was doing what he thought i should be doing – without caring about whether he was doing what he was supposed to be…

Do they belong? what a question! it’s their home, too! But in general, it’s still true to say that it’s better for them, and for their wives, to be out of the home for most of the day, working or learning.

Do you think that most husbands fall into this pattern, of supervising their wives when they’re home?

what she needs… that’s really hard to define. She certainly has the right to ask, no doubt about that. But the results might not always be what she anticipated. here it’s particularly apt to keep in mind the saying, “Better to be smart than right.” i’ll give you an example to explain what i mean. a certain woman’s hus-

no, although it does seem to be something of a natural tendency. But for the wife, it’s an intrusion, even an insult.

So, if a woman finds herself in that position, what can she do? 84

So, if a particular husband is at home, for whatever reason, how can a woman ensure that she still gets the space, and quiet time, that she feels she needs?

October-November 2012 / Tishrei-Cheshvan 5773

band lost his job, and found himself at home. So he set up a home-office in the living room. why there? all his working life he’d been in an office with other people, and he couldn’t stand the idea of being alone in a room, so he made sure to situate himself somewhere where people would be passing through all day long. the problem was that their home was designed with the kitchen and living room open-plan, with no divider between them, and his wife felt she never had any space of her own, and barely a moment during the day when her husband wasn’t within her daled amos. At first she tried to be patient, and accept the new reality, but it didn’t take long for her to make up her mind that the situation was untenable. She asked her husband if he could find some other place to work. where? the bedroom, maybe? there really wasn’t anywhere else in their tiny home. her husband exploded – probably all his pent-up frustration and despair came pouring out right then and there. was the wife to blame? i don’t think so, and neither was he, really. it was a very hard nisayon for both of them. was she right to ask for her space? let’s say she has the right to ask. But was it wise? what could he do? there was only one “person” who could help them, and that was where her request should have been directed – to hashem.

Because, sometimes, b’derech hateva, it simply doesn’t seem like there is a solution, so it’s a test of emunah more than anything else. to remember why we have been given this test. or, rather, who is giving the test. Yes, you’re right. it’s very humbling, to daven for a yeshuah, when we don’t even see how it can come about. it’s really admitting that we don’t have the answers.

What about a wife’s duties, in this situation, I mean, things like cooking meals. Some women might feel that if their husband is at home, then he may as well take a more active role in housework, babysitting, etc.. it’s very tempting to do that. But i think that the role division, the natural order of things, should still be maintained as

far as possible. in any case, most women will retain a natural desire to give to their husbands, to cook for them, serve them tasty and healthy meals. whether she’s required to do so is another question – i don’t think there is a halachic obligation, if he doesn’t specifically ask for it, but that’s out of my domain.

What if he does ask, and she starts to feel overburdened? Or let’s say he’s home, and she works outside the home, and he still wants her to do all the housework. there are ways to get around these issues without open, angry confrontation, which is never the best way of going about things. She can simplify her household duties: for instance, she can put up a one-pot meal in the morning, and have it simmering all day long, so he, or the children, can serve themselves when she’s not available to do so. Sandwiches can also be prepared in the morning, or evening, and meal-sized pots of soup frozen for a few weeks in advance. the main thing to remember is that she should use her seichel, and not let her emotions take over. that’s harder than it sounds! even for men, actually, though they won’t admit it so quickly. rather than squelch her anger, and make that pot of stew with beans and resentment, she should encourage herself and give herself compliments that she is continuing to provide for her family and trying to keep everyone – including herself – happy. if she can’t get over the anger and resentment, then she will have to talk to her husband about it – hopefully, while she’s still able to speak calmly and pleasantly. Looking to find solutions, not to apportion blame. a smart woman – and that’s all of us – has the tools to build her home. the woman is the akeres habayis – the ikkar, the main support of the home. if she wobbles, the whole structure shakes.

JEwiSH LifEStYLE was privileged to interview the noted family therapist Sara Chana Radcliffe, and glean some invaluable tools and strategies. The phenomenon of “husband at home” seems to be becoming more and more widespread. What advice can you offer for wives in this situation?

You’re right that it’s becoming more widespread. I find myself dealing with this situation in my office more and more frequently. But i would like to take issue with the phrasing of your question. if there’s no other option, then we have to address only the wife. ideally, however, the husband should also be entirely involved in trying to make this situation as easy to deal with for both of them. it’s just as much his responsibility as hers. The first thing, I’d say, is to make sure their roles are defined. Wherever there’s confusion, misunderstandings arise, which can easily lead to conflict. So they both have to know what each of them is doing, what they expect the other person to be doing, what they feel capable of handling. no unspoken assumptions. that’s a recipe for disaster. once they have this all on the table, there’s no reason for the wife to start feeling that he’s intruding into her space. there’s no reason, either, for him to start supervising her, making sure she’s doing what he thinks she should be. he’s not in the kitchen, and she’s not in his office, making sure he’s not just sitting there with a newspaper. they have to trust each other, obviously. furthermore, their tasks shouldn’t overlap. if she cooks three days a week, then he should keep out of the way. they

have to respect each other’s privacy. they can be very open about this, and not feel guilty about it. Some wives might feel, “how can i tell my husband to get out of the kitchen? it’s his kitchen, too!” of course it makes a world of difference how she makes the request. But she is totally justified in politely asking him to give her space when she’s cooking, for example, explaining that it’s hard for her to concentrate with someone around, or simply telling him that she needs the quiet time to recharge her batteries. it helps if she then adds that once she gets the time and space she needs, she is far more efficient with all her household tasks, and has more patience and good humor to interact with the other members of the family. it’s always better to present a request in a way that makes it seem mutually beneficial – and here, it certainly is.

You seem to be addressing a situation where the husband is working from home. But if he’s unemployed, and really doesn’t have much with which to occupy himself, then what? then it’s a problem. he really does need to have a schedule of some sort, regardless of his job situation. he still has to respect her privacy and space, and he should make himself as busy as possible, in a productive way.

What about an even more trying situation

“How can I tell my husband to get out of the kitchen? It’s his kitchen, too!” October-November 2012 / Tishrei-Cheshvan 5773

– let’s say the husband is sick, and needs his wife’s attention and assistance. here it’s probably even more vitally important that they are both upfront about their needs and expectations. if the wife starts to feel like a martyr, without a choice in the matter, and doesn’t express her feelings, she’s going to end up being a very bitter and resentful person. in practice, she could tell her husband, “every half an hour i’ll come to see how you’re doing, and if you need anything. if you call for me every ten minutes, it’s not going to work – i won’t get anything done.” even with this situation, the wife should still be able to get out of the house when she needs to. and she will need to – it’s imperative for her to take care of herself, for herself, and in order to be able to take care of others, too.

And if the husband isn’t ill, but is home for other reasons, should he be helping her around the house? A lot more than he would be if he were working or learning? this is going to depend a lot on the individual circumstances. if she doesn’t work, and he does work, from home, then it’s not really any different from him working outside the home. But if he’s home and she’s out working, then they should make some adjustments. Just because he’s, let’s say, unemployed, doesn’t mean he became a child again!

he still knows how to cook basic foods, tidy up, and wash dishes. of course she should show her appreciation for his taking some of the load off her shoulders, just as he should show her appreciation for what she does. and thanking him, wholeheartedly, also goes a very long way in preserving his kavod. a man who feels pushed into the housewife’s role finds this very demeaning. Moreover, his wife will also look down on him. telling him what she’d like him to do has to be done the right way, the smart way.

What if the husband tells his wife that it’s her job to take care of the house, not his. What then? i really can’t emphasize this too much: healthy boundaries protect relationships. they have to be open with each other, and not hide resentment. if she starts to give in to him, against her wishes, she won’t respect him. She’ll come to see him as a child who just drains her of energy and makes unreasonable demands on her. what’s more, she’s actually enabling him to become that child, and she’ll resent it. instead, she has to be open about her feelings, and insist on getting the help she needs. this is the healthy way to proceed for both of them. Usually they’ll find a way to compromise. if that doesn’t happen, then something is very wrong. She should seek professional help. it should

October-November 2012 / Tishrei-Cheshvan 5773

never come to the point where the wife is hiding either feelings or actions from her husband, or vice versa. if she’s worrying about being “caught red-handed” doing something he doesn’t approve of, or of being thought lazy or incompetent, then she should see this as a red flag in her marriage.

What about a wife who sees the home as her primary responsibility, as it has been in the past when her husband was out at work, or in kollel. Some women are going to feel guilty about asking their husbands to, for example, cook lunch, even if they are rushing out to work. this happens because the basic tendency, the basic instinct of a woman is to give, to nurture. She enjoys giving, to her husband, to her children. But if she has nothing to give, then what? She has to have the help she needs, to keep herself going. otherwise she’s withdrawing from an empty bank account. She might need household help, or to go out with friends now and again, or whatever she feels gives her the energy input she needs. if that entails getting her husband’s help, then so be it.

So a woman does have a right to her own space, and privacy in her home – which is also his home. absolutely. She needs it. okay – if her husband is at home, she’ll have to make

some adjustments, but her life doesn’t suddenly disappear because he showed up. they have to respect each other’s needs in their mutual space. if they really can’t, they should seek counseling.

In your experience, can this type of situation lead to divorce? Divorce is, generally, the result of lack of mutual respect. Selfishness. if the husband makes himself into a demanding baby, it’s hard for the wife to truly love him, or to respect him. this rocks the foundation of their marriage. i recall one couple i helped – the man was home all day, in pajamas… i told him to get dressed, properly, with a jacket and tie. a wife should respect her husband, but he has to play his part, too! even when he’s unemployed, he can still be the man of the house. that means, in a nutshell, being a giver. there’s always something he can give her. emotional support, his time, a listening ear… But if he starts taking, instead, he becomes a baby in her eyes, and it’s very hard to respect a baby…

So, in practice, what’s a wife to do if her husband is home and she is tempted to readjust her life to revolve entirely around him. Should she? if she wants to, genuinely, then why not? if she wants to reorganize her schedule so she’s home to serve him lunch every day, if she enjoys that, fine. But if not, then there are other ways, better ways of going about things. She can say, “where would you like to meet me for lunch? i’m going to be out shopping today.” or, “would you mind getting yourself lunch today? i’m sorry – i won’t be able to get home in time.” She could even ask him to prepare enough for her to eat when she gets back. Many men are delighted to know exactly what their wives want, something simple that they can do that will bring them appreciation. others will look for a different way out – they might make their own arrangements to be out of the house lunch time, and that’s also fine. Every couple has to find their own way of doing things.

What if the wife has already fallen into a pattern of enabling. Can she salvage the situation? Sure. once she realizes that it isn’t working for her any more, she can simply tell him, “i’m really sorry, this used to work well for me, but it’s not working any more. can we come up with a different solution?” as long as the intent is to be caring, understanding, and compassionate, you can’t really go wrong. Sometimes the wife will have to be more creative – it’s easier for her than him, since a woman is more flexible by nature. She can teach him to cook if he doesn’t know how, for instance. or she can ask him to run her errands while she prepares lunch. the main thing to remember is to be open and honest. Don’t let resentment simmer until it erupts. Define roles as sharply as possible, and be ready to be flexible when necessary. Where there’s mutual respect, things will work out.

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October-November 2012 / Tishrei-Cheshvan 5773

Tale

Y. RABINOVITZ

Photo Credit: Kobby Dagan / Shutterstock.com

A Fair

lmost as soon as the last pure, clear call of the shofar echoed through town, its plaintive voice gave way to the noise of hammer and saw, along with an occasional yelp of pain at a misplaced blow. With joy and great eagerness, the Jews of Sanz set about their Sukkos preparations, enveloped in the glow of forgiveness that the holy day of Yom Kippur had left in its wake. Nonetheless, as the days passed, the Rebbe’s gabbaim became increasingly frantic. This year, although there were a reasonable number of esrogim on the market, none of them met the exacting standards of the holy Divrei Chaim of Sanz zy”a. Each and every day, as the merchants set out their wares, the gabbaim descended upon them like eager vultures, determined to find a perfect, mehudar esrog for their Rebbe – and each and every day, they returned home with disappointment etched on their faces and hearts full of anxiety. What was to be done? Time was marching on relentlessly and their quest seemed by now futile. And so eventually it was decided to send out two emissaries to the largest city of the region, a few days’ journey away, in the hope and with the prayer that there, they would find their treasure. Two upright, reliable chassidim were selected, and supplied with a large sum of money along with explicit instructions to find the very best esrog they could, regardless of the asking price, to present to the Rebbe in advance of the upcoming Yom Tov. And, they were warned, they had better hurry, as there was little time remaining…

EXCHANGE

October-November 2012 / Tishrei-Cheshvan 5773

Market in Eastern Europe

The emissaries set out, accompanied by the tefillos of the gabbaim and the good wishes of their families for a speedy return and the success of their trip. They hired a swift carriage, and by the following evening, they had arrived at their destination. By then, the market had already closed for the night, so they found lodgings in a Jewish-owned inn, and went to sleep with the intention of being the very first ones at the market in the morning. Everything went perfectly to plan. After rising before dawn and hurrying to the mikveh, the two emissaries davened vasikin with the town’s laborers and then, after gulping down a few bites of bread, they rushed to the market place. Only the most industrious merchants had already arrived, and they were still busy setting up their stalls. The emissaries waited patiently, while murmuring Tehillim for the success of their mission. Eventually, the first merchant finished laying out his wares, and the pair hurried to his side and began to inspect his esrog collection. This year had been a terrible year for imports, and the fruit ranged from mediocre to poor in quality. The merchant sighed as he related how difficult it was to provide his regular customers with an esrog that was even minimally adequate, and the emissaries sighed in turn at the failure of their mission they saw staring them in the face. Nonetheless, it was still too early to despair. “Od hayom gadol,” and more merchants were still arriving, gathering in one little alleyway at the edge of the

market in order to make things easier for those seeking their own chefetz mitzvah. The two men from Sanz went slowly from stall to stall, inspecting, holding up to the light, replacing with a sigh… it seemed hopeless. Meanwhile, the sun was climbing ever higher in the sky and they knew that soon they would have to leave town in order to arrive back in Sanz before Yom Tov… Suddenly, one of them felt a tap on his shoulder, and he turned around in surprise to be confronted with a smiling merchant, holding a small cloth sack.

whisper. He only hoped they had been given enough money to compensate the merchant for what had to be the best esrog to have passed through his hands that year. But they were pleasantly surprised and relieved when he named a sum almost equal to, but not quite, the sum they had at their disposal, and so, without even bothering to barter, the deal was concluded and the two emissaries hurried to retrieve their belongings from the inn and charter a horse and cart for the journey home. By the time night fell, they had not yet reached the half-way point of their journey, and the weary travelers could only hope that on the morrow they would make good progress and still arrive in Sanz with time to spare before Yom Tov began, the following night. They found an inn in the little village where they had stopped, and asked for the simplest of quarters – their funds were so severely depleted that they could afford nothing more than a tiny slither of a room. The innkeeper invited them to sit down by the fire and have a bite to eat before they retired for the night, and they gratefully accepted his offer, while stipulating that they would only take bread and water. The innkeeper smiled. “Hakadosh Baruch Hu has been very good to me, and I don’t lack for money, baruch Hashem. I’m happy to provide you with a good meal of fish and pie, without extra payment. I am a fish dealer, as you may already know, so don’t worry that you are causing me a loss.”

What an esrog! The clear yellow of its skin, unblemished by the slightest blettel, beamed up into their eyes “I have something I think may be of interest to you,” he began. “I heard that you come from Sanz, and are seeking an esrog for the holy Divrei Chaim – I think I have what you are looking for.” The man placed the sack gently on a nearby bench and unwound the string securing its opening. Carefully he withdrew an esrog – and what an esrog! The clear yellow of its skin, unblemished by the slightest blettel, beamed up into the eyes of the emissaries, signaling loud and clear that their search had come to a end. Reverently, one of them picked up the esrog and turned it around slowly, examining it critically from all sides. It was not perfect – for where does perfection exist in this world? – but it was the closest to perfection they had ever encountered in the fruit called “beautiful.” “How much are you asking for this esrog?” the emissary asked, almost in a

October-November 2012 / Tishrei-Cheshvan 5773

The emissaries exchanged glances. In Sanz, although it was just a day’s journey away, there was never fresh fish for sale – fish le’kavod Shabbos meant salted herring. How the Rebbe would appreciate a real fresh fish to grace his Yom Tov table! Their eyes lit up as they contemplated the prospect, and then one of them spoke up: “A fish dealer! I wonder – perhaps you have a nice, large fish for sale? In Sanz, where we come from, such fish is a true delicacy, and we would be delighted to be able to present the Rebbe, the holy Divrei Chaim, with fresh fish for Sukkos.” The innkeeper’s face clouded. “I am sorry to disappoint you,” he began. “The fish I will serve you tonight is not the best quality, but it is the only one I have left. Recently there has been a shortage of fish – usually I would have plenty for you to choose from, but right now, nothing. Except for one,” he added

thoughtfully, before swiftly continuing, “but that is for my own family, le’kavod Yom Tov. No – I cannot part with it. I am sorry.” And no amount of imploring would cause him to budge.

tempted to reconsider. Nu – what do you say? How about an exchange – a fair deal, wouldn’t you say?” The emissaries were in a quandary. On the one hand, they had been specifically commissioned to purchase an esrog – and yet… They wavered, and then finally made a decision. The fish it would be! And so, early the next morning they packed the fish carefully in a large container of water, securing it on all sides so it wouldn’t be able to jump out however much the horse pranced and cantered, and they set out for Sanz. The hours dragged on and they exchanged anxious glances, davening that they would arrive at least a few hours before sunset. Their prayers were answered, and in a cloud of dust, the little cart finally rolled into town, to be immediately surrounded by the Rebbe’s gabbaim along with their families and neighbors. “Nu – let’s see the esrog!” came the

They slowly withdrew the coverings from the container of water and revealed… the fish!

“It’s no use,” sighed one of the emissaries finally. “At least we got the esrog – we will just have to suffice with that. After all, that’s what we were told to buy.” “An esrog?” The innkeeper pricked up his ears. “You found an esrog mehudar? May I see it?” The emissaries agreed readily, proud to show off their find. The innkeeper was impressed. “You know – I had resolved not to sell my fish at any price,” he mused aloud, “but now, seeing this esrog, I am

October-November 2012 / Tishrei-Cheshvan 5773

excited cries, and the emissaries grinned as they anticipated the reaction to their purchase. Slowly, they withdrew the coverings from the container of water and revealed… the fish! A stunned silence greeted them. Eventually, one of the gabbaim found his tongue. “You imbeciles! You blockheads! You incompetent pair of… How could you do such a thing! You were told to buy an esrog, and you come back with a fish? Are you out of your minds?” The poor emissaries turned first red, then white, then red again, and then, before their wives even had a chance to stop them, they jumped back into the cart and raced off, all the way to the next village, there to spend the first day of Sukkos and try to get over their shame and humiliation. Meanwhile, the gabbaim were left holding the container with the fish, who swam about madly as if infuriated at the

hostile reception it was receiving. After a hasty conference, they decided not to inform the Rebbe of the mishap, so as not to cause him unnecessary agmas nefesh, and they sent in the fish to his wife to prepare for the seudah.

twofold! Eating fish at this seudas Yom Tov is being mekayem both the mitzvah of “vesamachta bechagecha” and also of “vekarasa leShabbos oneg” – rejoicing on Sukkos and making Shabbos a delight. Please see to it that the two meshulachim are sent shirayim on Motzoei Shabbos.” And now it was the turn of the gabbaim to turn red and white in embarrassment… And so, immediately after Shabbos, they sent for the two emissaries and brought them back to Sanz to be accorded great honor. And just a short while later, a swift carriage swept into town, bearing none other than the fish dealer, who had come to spend Chol Hamoed in Sanz in the presence of the holy Divrei Chaim, and to present the tzaddik with a unique gift – an esrog.

The fish swam about madly as if infuriated at the hostile reception it was receiving That night, after Maariv, the Rebbe entered his sukkah in high spirits, and made Kiddush with great hislahavus. When the fish, beautifully prepared and presented, was brought in on a special platter, the Divrei Chaim beamed. “Baruch Hashem, that we merited faithful emissaries, sheluchim ne’emanim. They realized that this year, as the first day of Sukkos falls on Shabbos, the mitzvah of arbaah minim is only d’Rabbanan – whereas the mitzvah to eat fish is d’Oraisa, and not only that, but

Heard from the tzaddik Harav Nuta Freund shlit”a, who heard the story from Harav Yehuda Horowitz of Dzhikov ztz”l.

October-November 2012 / Tishrei-Cheshvan 5773

Recipe

Time to Rejoice GITTA BIXENSPANNER N.D.

The Yom Tov of Sukkos is the culmination of this wonderfully uplifting season. The Days of Awe are behind us and we can now rejoice in our reinvigorated state knowing that all our sins have surely been forgiven. What a remarkable people is Am Yisrael! At the lushest season of the year, at the time of the harvest, when all the other nations are heading indoors with their produce, we are told to go dwell in a temporary abode – and yet, far from resenting this, we willingly leave our comfortable homes to be under Hashem’s protection and bask in His glory. Furthermore, we exert ourselves not only to build the sukkah but also to enhance and beautify it as much as we are able. Chassidim relate the story of a melamed (teacher) who was hired to teach the young children of a wealthy landowner for a short period of time – just one semester. It happened that during this period the landowner built himself an exquisite mansion and during the inauguration festivities the joy was tremendous. The melamed also rejoiced in the simchah of his employer along with all the other members of the household. His employer asked him, “Why are you so full of joy? After all, you’ll only be here for short while – your contract is almost over.” The melamed smiled. “And you, my dear employer, do you think you are here forever? You too are only here for a short while!” Sitting in the sukkah is a stark reminder that our entire life as well as our livelihood is totally dependent on Hashem.

October-November 2012 / Tishrei-Cheshvan 5773

We are commanded to dwell in the sukkah; Chazal tell us that for all seven days of Sukkos we must make the sukkah our permanent home. All meals are eaten there and it is customary for men to sleep there, too. For us homemakers, this all means, among other things, that we have to try our best to provide the tastiest feasts to enhance this wonderful Yom Tov. With many meals to serve, we certainly have a lot of cooking to do, therefore I try to keep things relatively quick and simple.

The MENU Roast Cod With Pomegranate-Walnut Sauce Flanken & Vegetable Soup Sesame Chicken Beet Salad with Red Onion and Pistachios Delectable Chocolate Honey Torte Delicious Nutty Baklava

ROAST COD WITH POMEGRANATE-WALNUT SAUCE Low-fat cod comes alive with this tangy sauce, made with anti-oxidant-packed pomegranate and walnuts. Walnuts are also high in fiber and promote brain and heart health. Ingredients 1 cup quinoa 1 tbs olive oil 1 shallot, finely chopped (about ¼ cup) 1/3 cup ground walnuts plus ¼ cup broken halves 3 cloves garlic, minced 1/3 cup dry red wine ¼ cup water 1 tbs cornstarch 1½ tbsp pomegranate juice (fresh or concentrate) 1 tbs honey 4 cod fillets (6 oz each) ¼ cup chopped fresh parsley

Directions Prepare quinoa according to package directions. (Makes about three cups.) Heat oil in medium nonstick skillet over medium heat while quinoa cooks. Add shallot and cook, stirring, until softened, for two minutes. Add ground walnuts and garlic and cook, stirring, until walnuts are goldenbrown, about four minutes longer. Remove from heat and set aside. Mix water and cornstarch in a small saucepan adding wine, water, pomegranate juice, and honey. Simmer, stirring occasionally, until thickened, for about four minutes. (Makes about 3/4 cup of sauce.) Transfer sauce to gravy boat. Heat oven. Season fish with salt and pepper. Arrange in a single layer on sheet pan lined with nonstick foil. Broil until cooked through, about six minutes per side. Toss quinoa with parsley and broken walnuts. Spoon onto four plates and top with fish and sauce. PREPARATION TIME: 10 MINUTES TOTAL TIME: 30 MINUTES SERVINGS: FOUR October-November 2012 / Tishrei-Cheshvan 5773

FLANKEN & VEGETABLE SOUP Our family loves beef, but we do not eat it often, so when Yom Tov arrives I like to incorporate some beef flanken into the soup. When I want it to look traditional I serve it with whole vegetables, just as I would my chicken soup, but for a variation I can blend the vegetables with a blender stick and serve the flanken as the main course with the side dishes below. Ingredients 2 -3 lbs beef short ribs, known as flanken 4 -5 quarts water 6 oz dry vegetable soup mix 1 bay leaf 5 medium carrots, cubed 2 stalks celery, sliced 2 medium onions, chopped 2 potatoes, cubed 2 -3 garlic cloves, crushed, to taste, or garlic powder 1½ tsp salt, to taste ½ tsp black pepper, to taste (you can use whole peppercorns) fresh parsley in a cooking bag (optional) 94

October-November 2012 / Tishrei-Cheshvan 5773

Directions In a large pot, cover the flanken with water; bring to a boil and simmer for five minutes, then drain to remove the scum. Wash the pot and the meat, and then refill the pot with the full amount of water (4-5 quarts). Bring this fresh water with flanken to a boil. Add the dried soup mix with contents of seasoning packet enclosed, and the bay leaf. Cook for half an hour. Add vegetables and cook for at least two hours on a low flame, stirring occasionally. Then add the garlic (fresh or powder). Add salt and pepper to taste, and potatoes. Simmer for another thirty minutes and taste for seasoning, adjusting if necessary. When ready to serve, remove bay leaf. If you want the soup creamy, you can remove the flanken and blend the vegetables with a blender stick. Watch out for bones that might have detached from the ribs. Once the soup is blended you can replace the meat in the pot. Serve with a piece of meat in each bowl. This soup freezes well and can be prepared ahead and rewarmed. PREPARATION TIME: 30 MINUTES TOTAL TIME: 3 ½ HOURS APPROX SERVINGS: EIGHT

SESAME CHICKEN Since I chose a very hearty soup for this meal, I am lightening up the menu with a quick, easy, and delicious stir fry that is sure to please every palate. It takes only minutes to make if all the ingredients are prepared in advance, and it can easily be assembled on Yom Tov itself. Ingredients 6 boneless skinless chicken breast halves, pat dry with paper towels ½ cup honey ½ cup soy sauce 1 cup water 2 tbs cornstarch ½ inch fresh ginger (pierce a toothpick through it so you can remove it before serving) ½ -1 tsp red pepper flakes (optional) 1 tbs toasted sesame seeds

Directions In a dry skillet toast the sesame seeds for 5-8 minutes until aromatic, stirring constantly so they don’t burn. Toasting brings out the flavor of the sesame and it will taste so much better. Cut the chicken breasts into either one-inch strips or bite-size pieces. Heat a large non-stick skillet that has been sprayed with Pam over medium-high heat. Cook the chicken for about six minutes or until it is no longer pink. Mix together honey, soy sauce, water, corn starch, ginger, and red pepper flakes. Whisk until there are no visible lumps of corn starch. Pour the sauce mixture into the skillet with the chicken. Cook for about five minutes until the sauce thickens slightly. Add more water if the sauce is too thick. Sprinkle with toasted sesame seeds. Cover and simmer for ten minutes or until the chicken starts to soak up the sauce. Serve over a bed of cooked basmati rice or your favorite pasta. PREPARATION TIME: 15 MINUTES SERVINGS: SIX

October-November 2012 / Tishrei-Cheshvan 5773

BEET SALAD WITH RED ONION AND PISTACHIOS This salad is delicious and adds color to any dish. Beets are in season this time of year so take advantage of the many hues of beets available that blend well together for a splendid side dish, while enhancing your health along the way. Ingredients 2 medium red beets, with greens 2 medium golden beets, with greens 1 small red onion, peeled 2 tsp sherry wine vinegar or apple cider vinegar 1 cup water 1 tbs extra virgin olive oil 1 tsp coarse salt Garnish ¼ cup pistachios, toasted and coarsely chopped Directions Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Cut off the greens from the beets and set aside. Place the beets in an ovenproof dish and add enough water

to cover the bottom. Cover with foil and bake for one hour or until they pierce easily with a knife. Remove beets from the oven and allow to cool. Once cooled, peel and discard the skins. Cut the beets into wedges or slices. *Remember* to keep the red beets and golden beets apart, to avoid the red color bleeding. Drizzle ½ tsp of your favorite vinegar over the red beets and the other ½ tsp over the golden beets. Toss to coat and set aside. Now take the beet greens – wash well and chop coarsely. Place in a colander. Slice the red onions into thin rounds and place on top of the greens. Transfer to a bowl and stir in the beets. Drizzle the vegetables with the remaining teaspoon of apple cider vinegar and the olive oil. Season to taste with salt and pepper; toss. Garnish with the pistachios. PREPARATION TIME: 10 MINUTES PLUS COOKING TIME SERVINGS: SIX

DELECTABLE CHOCOLATE HONEY TORTE Ingredients 1 (6 oz) cup semisweet chocolate morsels 1 stick transfat free margarine ½ cup honey 4 eggs, separated 2 tbs all-purpose flour 1 tbs instant coffee granules ½ tsp baking soda ¼ tsp salt Directions Line the bottom of a 9-inch springform pan with waxed paper. In a medium saucepan over low heat, melt margarine; stir in chocolate morsels. Remove from heat; continue stirring until chocolate is

melted. Gradually add honey, stirring to blend. Lightly beat egg yolks; whisk into chocolate mixture. Stir in flour, coffee, baking soda, and salt. In a large bowl, beat egg whites until soft peaks form. Fold ¼ of egg whites into chocolate mixture. Stir lightened chocolate mixture into remaining whites; do not over-mix. Pour mixture into prepared pan. Bake at 325 F for 45 minutes, or until toothpick inserted halfway from center to edge comes out clean; cool for five minutes. Run knife around edge to loosen cake from pan Invert cake onto plate; remove paper. When cool sprinkle with chopped almonds and chocolate shavings and a dollop of whipped cream for garnish. Can be served warm. PREPARATION TIME: 25 MINUTES SERVINGS: EIGHT

October-November 2012 / Tishrei-Cheshvan 5773

DELICIOUS NUTTY BAKLAVA There is a custom in most Jewish homes not to eat nuts during the High Holiday season, but many resume eating nuts on Simchas Torah. This Nutty Baklava is one of my favorite desserts. a specialty that I reserve for special occasions. If not Yom Tov then when? It is a bit time consuming but well worth the effort. Ingredients 1 pound phyllo pastry sheets (defrost overnight in the fridge and keep covered with damp cloth while working with them) 1 cup oil 1 lb walnuts, finely chopped Â˝ lb toasted blanched almonds, chopped (toast at 300F for 20 minutes, shaking often) 1 tsp cinnamon 3 cups honey syrup Directions Combine 1 cup of honey with 2 cups of sugar and 2 cups of water in a saucepan, and bring to a boil. Boil for ten minutes. Make this syrup early in the day

and set aside to cool. You will pour this syrup over the warm baklava, making sure it soaks all the way through. Combine nuts and cinnamon. Line the bottom of a cookie sheet with eight sheets of phyllo dough, placing the sheets down one at a time and brushing each one with oil. Sprinkle the top sheet, the eight one, with the nut mixture. Continue adding oiled phyllo sheets and sprinkling every third sheet with nut mixture until it is all used up. Spread the remaining four or five sheets on top and pour the remaining oil over them. Cut baklava into small diamond-shaped pieces before baking. Bake at 350F for one hour or until golden. Pour the cooled honey syrup over the warm baklava. Garnish with toasted ground pistachio nuts. PREPARATION TIME: 40 MINUTES SERVINGS: APPROX 60 PIECES

Wishing all our readers a wonderful Yom Tov season! 98

October-November 2012 / Tishrei-Cheshvan 5773

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If It’s Getting On Your Nerves… By Ofir Isaac of Allcare Physical Therapy

f you’ve been following my articles, you’ll know by now that my aim is to inform our community of various painful, chronic conditions, and how we at Allcare tailor our treatment plans to cater to the needs of each individual. This time I’d like to focus on a certain condition that many, unfortunately, in our community suffer from – spinal stenosis. The patient I’m featuring this time – let’s call him Ira – is in his early seventies. In fact, stenosis can strike people even in their forties, so Ira is one of the “luckier” ones. Ira is a widower who lives alone, and his children were getting concerned about him due to his decreased mobility. Lately, he found himself unable to walk more than half a block before feeling exhausted. More specifically, his calves and upper legs ached, and his back felt sore and sometimes even numb. Sitting down to rest for a while relieved his symptoms but also limited his freedom of movement, especially on Shabbos when he wanted to walk to shul. Since his children didn’t live nearby, Ira decided to go to a local physical therapist, assuming that one therapist was like any other and that a little exercise would sort things out. But he was wrong. All the therapist recommended was ten minutes on a stationary bike and some leg stretches. What the therapist didn’t realize was that the source of Ira’s problems was in his back, not his legs. What he really needed was hands-on (manual) treatment to his back, but all he got was a few twenty-minute sessions devoted to strengthening his legs. Unsurprisingly, Ira’s condition didn’t improve, and after telling his children, one son decided to get involved. He’d actually been following my articles in this magazine, and made a few inquiries in the community. Satisfied by what he heard, he contacted us to make an appointment. Ira and his son came in for an evaluation and were impressed by the thorough examination and the therapist’s willingness to answer all his questions regarding his condition and prognosis. After listening carefully to Ira’s description of his symptoms, the therapist called his primary care physician to recommend a MRI,

in order to confirm his diagnosis of spinal stenosis – the scan did indeed confirm his suspicions. Ira’s treatment plan consisted of a specific program to reduce the pressure of nerve impingement in his lower back – the cause of all those symptoms in his legs. He received manual therapy to his back, as well as manipulation of his back joints, and was taught special exercises to strengthen his stomach area, in order to increase the support to his back. Within a month Ira began to see real results, and by three months of following this regimen, Ira was once again walking to and from shul without experiencing any difficulties, and getting around in the neighborhood without needing any assistance or stops to rest. He still continues with the home exercises we taught him, and as an added benefit, he has lost five pounds since he began our program.

If you or someone you know is experiencing pain, don’t wait.

Call (718) 339-6885 to schedule an appointment today. vvv To learn why physical therapy is the best first choice for chronic pain or post surgery rehabilitation, go to

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