Jewish Lifestyle Magazine April by life style

T N

E CH EM SA PPL E PE SU SID IN

PE CI RE

SHIDUCHIM Goes Hi Tech

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& COUNTING MATCHED How todays technology is helping the future of dating In the Jewish world

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CONTENTS

30 FEATURED STORIES Frumster.com The Palace OTHER The Churva Shul PASSOVER RECIPES FAMILY I got my eye on you The Story Of Prayer Jews & Food One For My Husband Seder Night Magic Wheres there a wheel My Dayeinu Ring Wisdom at 105

12 30 22 74

36 42 51 59 64 84 91 96

Shidduchim Nightmares Seen on the Scene

95 72

MUSIC Top 10 On/Off the Stage

70 68

HUMOR Humor Me!

HEALTH Dr Miller Mold Dental Question of the Month

81 46 88

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www.JewishLifeStyleMagazine.com April 2010 / Nisan 5770 Volume 15 Number 4 issue 99

102

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2010 LifeStyles Magazine, Inc. All rights reserved. Contents may not be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without prior written permission of the Jewish LifeStyle Magazine. All readers are invited to send their opinions by letter to the editor. The advertiser agrees to hold harmless the publisher for publication of submitted copy. The Jewish LifeStyle will not be responsible for typographical errors. We reserve the right to refuse advertising or editorial copy that we feel does not fit our policy. Advertising claims or kashrus of any product or establishment are not the responsibility of the Jewish LifeStyle Magazine. The opinions of each writer do not reflect those of the publisher. The Jewish LifeStyle is not responsible for unsolicited submissions.

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BY SARA GOLD

“

There’s something intriguing about his profile,” Shula thought to herself. Something about his warm, friendly smile makes me want to know more about him. Shula was impressed with Gavi’s bio. He’d written that he would like to have a Shabbos table filled with ten guests every week - but reassured that he would help with the cooking. That

together like interlocking pieces in a puzzle. She felt like she could talk forever. That night Shula asked her best friend to mark down the date so she’d always remember the moment she knew she was going to marry Gavi, still, without ever having met him! Sure enough, on November 12, 2007, Shula and Gavi became shidduch numbers 999 and 1,000 on

To date, 1,660 people have contacted Frumster, letting them know that this outstanding frum dating site was the direct conduit to their bashert. statement made Shula smile, even before she met him. So Shula sent Gavi an email: “I like your profile; please let me know what you think of mine!” Little did she know that by sending that one sentence into cyberspace, she’d be setting the wheels of destiny in motion toward her chuppah. Gavi responded a while later, and immediately after speaking to him on the phone, Shula realized that they fit

Frumster.com. If you think their beautiful story is one-in-a-million, think again! To date, 1,660 people have contacted Frumster to let them know that this outstanding frum dating site was the direct conduit to their bashert. Who knows how many more couples haven’t bothered to notify the Frumster staff. The actual number of newlyweds who tied the knot through their site may be triple that number. One thing’s certain,

though - this cyber-medium really works. Frumster was started in December, 2001 by a Canadian-Israeli, as an

In celebration of the Chagim,

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alternative to JDate - a dating site for nonreligious Jews. Surprisingly, there were a fair number of frum people who tried using it, but the environment on JDate wasn’t appropriate for Orthodox people, and so it wasn’t a very big draw with that crowd. Sensing a need, Ben Rabizadeh bought Frumster in 2003 and turned it into the remarkable, thoroughly filtered and screened medium it is today. He set it up specifically for those who are serious about getting married. Ben explains, “The dating crisis is affecting everyone in this generation. Every culture, every society, is having frustrations with finding their intended. People are turning more and more to online

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dating, to find their perfect matches.” Frumster has three main advantages over traditional dating methods, which contribute to its success. First of all, online dating provides a less dismissive environment. It’s a whole lot easier to say no to someone you’ve heard about through a third-party shadchan. Since you’re basing your judgment about the shidduch prospect solely on the opinions of others, it’s easy to rule that prospect out before the two of you even meet. Contrarily, on Frumster, you first hear about a prospect via a direct email from him/her. Before you have a chance to say no, you’re already in direct communication. Many people you would have rejected without a second thought may suddenly sound like they have potential. Maybe it’s because he wrote an interesting message, maybe you liked her sense of humor, or maybe you found his email endearing - and so you grudgingly agree to give the shidduch a try, even though it’s not exactly the ‘better half’ you had in mind. The second reason Frumster works is because it provides a discreet way for women to take the initiative. On Frumster, more than half of matches resulted from women sending the first contact email, whereas

traditionally, it’s the guy who always leads the way. In the ‘reddng’ process, it’s exceedingly hard for women to make the first move. The third advantage of Frumster is that it’s a premium service. Membership costs money. That may seem like a drawback, but in reality, it provides a tremendous benefit to all its members. The $20 charge for monthly membership is spent on Frumster’s meticulous and ongoing screening process, which ensures that all photos and profiles fit the impeccable standards of the frum community. It also ensures that all potential prospects are serious about marriage. Since everyone’s paying for the service, everyone is

APRIL 2010 JEWISH LIFESTYLE MAGAZINE

seriously invested in their future--not just wasting time. There are plenty of free sites that are set up just for chatting. Frumster isn’t one of them. It’s for men and women with an honest, sincere mindset. Many frum people are wary of internet dating. They think it goes against the grain, undermines tradition, or is unsafe. But with thousands of frum girls over twent-five still single and the shidduch crisis reaching downright scary proportions, perhaps it’s time for more people to keep their options open. Frumster may not be a person’s first choice for finding a partner in life, but if traditional shadchanim aren’t working for someone, why not give it a shot? Obviously, Frumster is working for plenty of other people, who’ve had successful experiences on the site. If the phone rings from the shadchan, go ahead and answer it. But if you’re just sitting there waiting

what people should do to increase their chances of finding a soul mate. “Other than creating a profile on Frumster, the answer is to know yourself. Have a realistic vision of your strengths and weaknesses based on who you really are. Don’t follow the ideals set by mainstream media, but look for what’s truly important in the person you want to spend your life with.” For those who want to help others find their match, his best suggestion is, of course, to suggest Frumster.com. You never know where you might find Mr. or Mrs. Right. In the

“Our neshamos are finally at peace, because Frumster helped us conquer one of life’s most difficult pursuits: The pursuit of joining together to create a powerful unit that can live, and honor one another.

for a call that never comes, what is there to lose by considering other means of finding your Bashert? Our Gedolim strongly warn against the internet and its terrible secular influences. Of course, there is much to be wary of. But if you already have internet access, you might as well use it for something positive and constructive in a secure and safe environment. The process works as follows. People register their profiles on Frumster, then wait to be screened and approved. Next, members are put into a virtual room, where they can conduct searches based on specific or general criteria that they are looking for. When someone’s bio looks favorable, either an email, IM, or an icebreaker - a short introductory message - is sent. While it’s free to create a profile and conduct searches, it costs $20 a month to contact people. All communication is conducted on-site. Including one’s personal photo is optional. If you do decide to upload a picture of yourself, you can use a photo password to be accessed only by those you trust, thereby protecting your privacy. I asked Ben, by now a consummate expert on frum dating, 16

JEWISH LIFESTYLE MAGAZINE APRIL 2010

case of shidduch numbers 999 and 1,000, Shula says, “Our neshamos are finally at peace, because Frumster helped us conquer one of life’s most difficult pursuits: The pursuit of joining together to create a powerful unit that can live, love, and honor one another. Nothing has ever felt so right or so true.”

Taken from Frumster.com success stories

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Nothing has ever felt so “bashert.”

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Churva is again a house of prayer By ABE SELIG AND HILARY LEILA KRIEGER

undreds gather for rededication of J’lem synagogue after nearly 62-year hiatus. After a nearly 62-year hiatus, the renowned Churvah synagogue inside the Jewish Quarter of Jerusalem’s Old City has been rebuilt and is again an operational house of prayer. Hundreds of people, braving the wind and an unexpected Jerusalem chill, crowded into a courtyard opposite the outer walls of the synagogue on Monday night to take part in an official rededication ceremony for the newly-rebuilt shul – which stands in the exact spot it did before its destruction at the hands of the Jordanian Arab Legion during the War of Independence in 1948. Meanwhile on Monday, the US State Department criticized Palestinians for stoking tensions at the rededication of the historic synagogue. “We are deeply disturbed by statements made by several Palestinian officials mischaracterizing the event in question, which can only serve to heighten the tensions we see. We call upon Palestinian officials to put an end to such incitement,” said US State Department spokesman PJ Crowley. “We are urging all parties to act responsibly and do whatever is necessary to 24

JEWISH LIFESTYLE MAGAZINE APRIL 2010

remain calm.” He added that the US was “not at all” objecting to the rededication itself. While the ceremony was a great source of joy – both for those inside the ceremony area and for the scores of onlookers who crowded around the cordoned-off area to try and get a glimpse of the goings-on – the Churvah’s rededication has also seen a rise in tensions between Palestinians in the Old City and those in east Jerusalem. Rumors about the synagogue, along with the perceived implications its reconstruction holds for the Temple Mount, have spurred numerous calls from Palestinian leaders to defend the Al-Aksa mosque from “Israeli attempts” to destroy it and begin building the Third Temple. Based on those calls and additional intelligence information obtained by Jerusalem Police, over 3,000 security forces have been deployed throughout the area since Friday. In addition, Muslim men under the age of 50 have been prevented from entering the Temple Mount for prayers. However, speaking inside the Churvah before the ceremony, Ashkenazi Chief Rabbi Yona Metzger attempted to calm these tensions with a message of peace to the Muslim world. TO ADVERTISE CALL 718-513-9885

“Pay no attention to malicious slander,” Metzger said. “All we are doing is resurrecting the Churvah, which was destroyed more than 60 years ago. We have no intention of rebuilding the temple, not this week – unless Almighty God sends it to us from the heavens.” Metzger added, “All the rumors that suggest we will later march on the Temple Mount are just that – rumors; a media spin by anti-Semites who wish us harm.” Still, the overall tone of the speakers during the ceremony was one of accomplishment and pride at the synagogue’s rebirth. After a musical rendition of the “shehechiyanu” blessing – recited in instances of renewal – by members of the IDF choir, Jerusalem Mayor Nir Barkat addressed the crowd, saying that the destruction of a Jewish holy site by foreign powers in the heart of the Jewish Quarter was something “we will never again allow to happen.” While Barkat also sounded a conciliatory tone toward the city’s Muslim residents, he added that “only we, the sovereign power in Jerusalem, know how to guard the city’s holy sites for all three major religions.”

After a nearly 62-year hiatus, the renowned Churva synagogue inside the Jewish Quarter of Jerusalem’s Old City has been rebuilt and is again an operational house of prayer.

Knesset Speaker Reuven Rivlin, who spoke after Barkat, echoed many of the mayor’s comments, though not before reading words composed by his mother’s grandfather describing the Churvah before its destruction in 1948. “From the hills surrounding Jerusalem, [the Churvah] rises up,” Rivlin said, visibly moved by the occasion. “And as it rises, it

is reminiscent of a moon among the stars in the sky.” Rivlin went on to speak of the Churvah’s history, beginning with its first incarnation in 1701, when it was constructed by disciples of Rabbi Yehudah Hachasid. Its first destruction came some twenty years later, when those same disciples lacked the funds to repay local creditors, who, in

Interior 1935

return, burned the Churvah to the ground. It was nearly one-hundred-fifty years before the Churvah stood again, but in 1864, after a massive construction project was approved by the Ottoman Turks and funds were procured from Jewish communities the world over, a neo-Byzantine Churvah was soon towering over the rest of the Jewish Quarter. However, that Churvah, which hosted the likes of Theodor Herzl and Ze’ev Jabotinsky before the creation of the state, also met with ruin. The Jordanian army took Jerusalem’s Old City in May of 1948, loaded the building with explosives, and set off a blast whose smoke cloud could be seen miles away. However, as Rivlin spoke to the crowd on Monday night, he vowed that such acts would never again be seen – not in Jerusalem, nor in any other part of the Jewish state. “Here, we will continue to live, and we will continue to build,” Rivlin said, his voice trembling with emotion. “Because no power in the world can distance us from our land.” 26

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he Palace is Brooklyn’s newest catering hall, and it’s already earned an impeccable reputation for excellence. I attended a recent wedding at this lavish venue, and was completely enthralled by the entire evening. From the ultramodern black and white lobby, to the opulent chupah room, to the take-your-breath-away ballroom, the Palace is unquestionably a superior, sophisticated establishment. Caterer Gedalya Jacobovitz is highly acclaimed for his gourmet cuisine. He’s been in the catering business for many years; his culinary expertise and acumen are legendary. He has decades of experience in 32

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making simchos run smoothly, so I knew Mr. Jacobovitz would synchronize a magnificent event. But at The Palace, he stepped up his signature style a few extra

notches, to present the highest caliber of celebratory banquets. To rave reviews from the guests, he orchestrated an affair that was both extravagant and extraordinary. First, I was treated to an elaborate smorgasbord with carving stations, hot stations, live cooking stations, and a sushi bar. I enjoyed the delicious repast, surrounded by splendor. All around me, people were sampling and savoring the fine and unique assortment of dishes, and taking pleasure in the wonderful ambiance. The chuppah was held in a separate room, with comfortable seating for one-thousand people. TO ADVERTISE CALL 718-513-9885

As Mazel Tovs echoed to the sound of breaking glass, I teared up a bit at the beauty of it all. I was then escorted along with the crowd, to the ballroom. This spectacular amphitheater of beauty is truly fit for a palace. The ceilings towered twenty-eight feet overhead, the chandeliers sparkled with attractive lighting that set the ebullient mood, and the tables were sumptuously set. Glasses gleamed, silverware shone, and everything radiated sparkling perfection. Courtly, white-gloved waiters graciously attended the guests. I was wined and dined with a meal that surpassed anything I was accustomed to--comparable to any five-star hotel or country club. I danced and chatted with friends and acquaintances, all were thoroughly enchanted with their elegant night out. This simcha at The Palace is one we would all fondly remember for a long time to come. It’s obvious that precise planning, attentiveness, and a highly skilled staff were all responsible for the evening’s success. It takes outstanding personal service to make customers and guests feel relaxed and well tended to. The event was coordinated to the minutest detail, allowing everyone to be carefree and delight in the simcha. Mr. Jacobovitz explained to me that The Palace was designed with a specific clientele in mind. It was built for those who want to treat themselves to the ultimate wedding experience. The Palace is for those who seek affordable luxury near the comforts and conveniences of home. It surpasses the best country clubs and hotels, adding a unique and distinctive touch to any once-in-a-lifetime affair. Those with discerning taste will definitely choose this magnificent hall for their wedding night. When two become whole, two hearts become one, it’s an event to be spent at The Palace. Located at 780 Mcdonald Ave. Brooklyn NY, Tel: 718-871-1770 34

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Dear Lifestyle, I was very touched by the letter of

the sense of childish innocence and growing up too fast. I have a lot of respect for people who can take in these children and care for them during the course of treatment. Mi KeAmcha Yisrael! Suri Goodman, Boro Park Dear Lifestyle, Recent political events are set to have a major impact on our lives, our health, and our incomes. There were many in our community who voted in our current president, and now we will all feel the results. PLEASE, let’s inform ourselves about those who want to represent us in government! Get to know the candidates – from what they say about themselves AND from what others say about them. Above all, look at their VOTING RECORDS! Then we will truly be able to make a carefully weighed, educated decision about whom to vote for. We live in this country, and we want to make our stay as pleasant as possible.

Dear Lifestyle, I really appreciated the story about the car service driver by Tirza Blum. I’m now in Shidduchim. My father has a blue-collar job, and I’ve been afraid to tell people what he does because I thought it might put people off. This story has given me a whole new outlook. I’m going to let my guard down a bit and let my pride in my father show through. I’m going to trust people to see all the Chessed he does in his job and not judge him by whether he takes a briefcase or a hard hat to work. Please keep printing such Chizuk-filled material! Annonymous

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the little girl whose mother was ill. The author perfectly captured

Chaim Silverstein, Far Rockaway

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I’ve Got My Eye

on You!

y plan for Pesach was simple and calculated. I loved Miami and I was a great cook, so I contacted a caterer who was hired to feed two-hundred guests in a moderate hotel in Miami Beach and offered my services. Not for free; nothing is for free. I simply wanted a financial token of his appreciation and two spectacular rooms for my husband and two boys, Moshe and Mordechai. Only later did it hit me that I was asking for a job and would somehow call it a vacation. Well, the call came and I was hired. I explained that my forte was salad and soup, so I called the head chef, whose name was Igor, and told him in broken English (why is it that an American speaking to an immigrant who does not speak English always speaks 38 LIFESTYLE MAGAZINE APRIL 2010 as ifJEWISH he/she too does not speak Eng-

A. ShermAn

lish?) that I would love to assist him by making the soup and salad for each meal. Igor seemed to understand me and gave me a fifteen minute lecture on how he was one of the most outstanding chefs in Mother Russia and how diplomats in Moscow would lick their fingers after his meals. I asked him if there was a shortage of napkins. He did not laugh. Igor was all business. “I vill tell you to jump and you vill say me how high,” was his parting advice to me until we would meet again at the hotel. The packing and preparation for our trip to Florida was exciting, and the entire family was psyched about spending two weeks in the sun. My husband spent his free time away from his plumbing supply business checking out sites in and around Miami and mapping out a very flexible itinerary. My sixteen year old identical

twins worked on their swimming and relaxation wardrobes. They bought new bathing suits, shorts, sneakers, polo shirts, tube socks….the works. My children are not spoiled. On the contrary, they are boys who have never asked for anything unnecessary. They never cared about the latest gadgets and never looked to impress their friends. They are well behaved B’nei Torah. Yet they had never gone on a vacation before and therefore simply did not have clothing to wear in an atmosphere of relaxation and sunshine. They enjoyed wearing identical clothing. It came naturally. They had the same tastes in colors and patterns. Even if they would go shopping in different stores, they somehow come back with the same clothing. It was something about sharing brain blueprints. I, on the other hand, did not think TO ADVERTISE CALL 718-513-9885 much about our upcoming vacation. I

delved into the world of soups and salads. I had worked for caterers in the New York area on a very small scale, but I knew my soups. I had made everything from cream of broccoli, to brittle squash soup, to corn chowder, to red lentil and apricot soup. I gathered and reviewed my secret recipes until I decided that I knew it all and felt very confident as we boarded the flight to Miami. The appearance of Hotel Cliffside (name was changed to prevent privacy) was dissapointing. My husband and I stood outside the hotel and just took in this vision of disrepair. The hotel needed more than a facelift; it needed demolition. As we were checking in, roaches were checking out. “There’s nothing to eat,” one whispered to me. Our reserved suites had nothing sweet about them. Two old queen-sized beds were in each room, with mattresses from Pharaoh’s time. The beds were hard and nearly creaked when we looked at them. There was a closet with no hangers and a clothing table that had a family of spiders sunbathing on its first shelf. I was afraid to open the lower drawers because I heard something move inside. “Wow, Mommy! This is great,” my two teenagers yelled from across the hall. I couldn’t believe that my twins were enjoying this. My husband and I looked at each other and shrugged our shoulders. I quickly unpacked what needed to be out and decided that we would live out of our suitcases, just to play it safe. I was not ready to discover what was lurking inside those drawers. As my husband and two boys decided to look around, I made my way downstairs to the kitchen. Unlike the rest of the hotel, the kitchen was fairly new and already very busy. There were no guests yet; they would come

As wE wErE chEckInG In, roAchEs wErE chEckInG out. “nothInG to EAt,” onE whIspErEd to ME. tomorrow. I noticed this small, stout man in a chef ’s uniform talking to what seemed to be two mashgichim. When he had finished, I said, “Igor, I presume?” “Yes, I Igor. Presume is funny name for woman.” “No, No…my name is Batsheva. Presume means to assume…” I just stopped there. I saw he had no idea what I was saying. “I am the cook for the soups and salads. The one who called two weeks ago. Remember?”

Igor just stared at me. Did he have something else on his mind? Did he have a mind? Then I noticed it. He was not staring at me. Only one of his eyes was staring at me. The other one was looking down. “Oh, yes. Igor remember you. You make soup for guests.” I could not believe that besides our obvious language barrier, I would have to contend with Igor’s lazy eye. As Igor rummaged through what seemed to be a schedule of meals for the holiday, I made my way to the stove and started to get acquainted with the kitchen layout and with the soups and salad station. “You, please write soup you vill make every day,” he said as he handed me the schedule. There was a space left open for “the two soup choice of the day” which I easily filled in the spaces, using as much imagination as I could muster in such short notice. He then gave me a produce supply form to fill out, which would assure that I would have the items needed for my soups. As I returned the paperwork to Igor and vowed to be in the kitchen the next morning to prepare soup for the first lunch crowd of guests, one of my boys, Moshe, burst into the kitchen. “Mommy, you’re not going to believe this. I was hired as a waiter. I am going to make money this Pesach.” Moshe was excited, but I was hesitant. As I walked him out into the dining area, I saw Mr. Goodman the caterer speaking to my other son, Mordechai. Mr. Goodman turned to me and explained that two of his waiters did not show up and that he was offering the jobs to my twin boys. I really had wanted the boys to relax and enjoy the vacation, but the boys seemed so excited about the opportunity of making a few dollars that I agreed--on the condition their father did.

Well, their father did, and soon I had two waiters ready to go to work. Their work day (and mine) started at 9 AM as they, along with three other waiters, prepared the tables for lunch. Meanwhile, I started on my opening salad and soup selections. The twins were dressed in identical serving jackets and were busy setting up the tables and taking orders. Things were progressing just fine in the kitchen as my cabbage soup and pea soup simmered to perfection. The dining hall was slowly filling up, and Igor was eager to produce a perfect lunch. Moshe came in with the first of his orders – six pea soups and four cabbage soups. Igor looked at Moshe and took out a small pad and pencil to make a notation. He was obviously taking count of the portions served, which would help him monitor the output of food and determine the approximate needs for each day. Mordechai came in a minute later and ordered seven cabbage soups and six pea soups. Igor looked again and took out his pad and pencil. Moshe walked in a minute later and ordered another six pea soups and five cabbage soups. Igor stopped what he was doing, gave Moshe a hard look, and pulled out his pad. A minute after Moshe left, Mordechai came in and ordered eight pea soups and four cabbage soups. By this time, Igor’s face resembled the color of my cabbage soup. He took out his pad and wrote again. Then he started counting. As I watched him, it suddenly hit me that he did not know that these waiters were two separate boys – twins. He thought this was one waiter. When Moshe came in a minute later and asked for four more cabbage soups, I almost burst out laughing. Igor had more steam blowing from his head than my pot of soup 40

JEWISH LIFESTYLE MAGAZINE APRIL 2010

had blowing from its cover. This was fun to watch. As Igor scribbled on his pad, I decided not to say anything and watch what would happen. The main course of the day was a choice of baked salmon or tuna casserole. Moshe returned and ordered five tuna casseroles and three salmon steaks. Igor took out his pad and took notes. Two minutes later, Mordechai came in and ordered eight salmon steaks and four tuna casseroles. Igor frantically scribbled on his pad as one eye looked at Mordechai and the other at the pad. Mordechai looked scared and ran out with his order. I heard Igor mutter something as he slammed a pot down on the stove. Soon Moshe came in smiling, oblivious to the chaos going on in Igor’s head. He then said cheerfully, “Hey Chef, I need eleven salmon steaks and six tuna casseroles….pronto.” That’s all Igor had to hear. He turned slowly to Moshe and said with superhuman restraint, “American boychik. You tell Chef how many table you serve and maybe I let you live.” I was about to explode with laughter. Moshe looked at me in utter fear. “Answer our mighty chef,” I advised my son. “I have two tables – 20 people al-

together,” my son answered. “You may go,” Igor said as if granting life to his subject. I could tell that Igor was counting the numbers, and soon realized that 20 portions were already given to this waiter. He had filled his quota. Mordechai waltzed in and said, “Yo, Yo, Chef. How about you give me twelve tuna casseroles and five salmon steaks.” I looked at Igor. His veins were beginning to portrude, and I was surprised that his eye didn’t do the same. He slowly turned to Mordechai, who had a “what did I do?” look on his face. “‘Yo Yo?’ Who is ‘Yo Yo?’ You hear me vell, you American Idiota. I master chef and I also master count genius. You say me twenty people you serve. Now you come say ‘Yo Yo, give more.’ You think me idiot. I vill slice you and serve you if…” Suddenly, Moshe walked in. Both of my identical twins stood before the master chef. He had one eye on each of them. Moshe stood still and whispered to Mordechai, “Is he looking at you or me?” “Both,” Mordechai answered. I couldn’t take it anymore. I started laughing so hard, I thought I was going to faint. My boys ran out of the kitchen as I explained to Igor that they were my identical twins. He sort of apologized and went back to making supper. From that moment on, he treated me nicely and was rather pleasant to the boys. Can you imagine how nice he would have been to me if I’d had triplets?

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the

storyof a

prayer A Seder in Bergen-Belsen. By: Sarah Shapiro as told by Joseph Freuchtwanger, nephew of Rabbi Davids

t was erev Pesach, 1944. The entire Jewish community of Rotterdam -- men, women, and children -- had just been transferred from Vesterbork, a deportation camp in Holland, to the Bergen-Belsen concentration camp in Germany. Conditions in Vesterbork had been harsh, but continued religious observance had to a remarkable extent preserved the Jewsâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; dignity and their will to live. Under the leadership of the loved and revered Torah scholar Rabbi Aharon (Bernard) Davids, some semblance of communal cohesiveness and optimism had been sustained. Upon arrival at BergenBelsen, however, daily existence took a sudden, overwhelmingly drastic turn for the worse, as most of the things that make a human being feel human were taken away. In what for us -- some 60 years later -- has become a familiar yet impossible-to-imagine scenario, families were divided, people starved, the absurdly hard labor broke body and soul, and disease was spreading fast.

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Matzah for the Seder was, of course, unavailable. Rabbi Davids, then in his early forties -- whose wife and three children had been separated from him upon arrival in the camp -- yearned to keep the spirit of his family and flock alive, even as their physical strength ebbed.

night, Rabbi Davids sat at the head of the long table in the male barracks, conducting the ceremony not from a Haggadah -- for of course there was none -- but from memory. When he reached the blessing, “...Who has sanctified us by His commandments and commanded us to eat matzah...” he

Most of the things that make a human being feel human were taken away.

Yet under such calamitous circumstances, refraining from eating chametz would surely bring on illness and death for an unknown number of Jews. What should be done during the week of Pesach with their small daily rations of bread? He conferred with other rabbinical authorities in the camp, and after anguished and lengthy discussion of this dilemma, they agreed upon a course of action. On the 14th of Nisan, the Seder TO ADVERTISE CALL 718-513-9885

lifted up his voice and clearly recited the following prayer, as later translated into English by Prof. Harold Fisch: Heavenly Father, it is manifest and known to You that we desire to carry out your will in regard to the commandment of eating matzah, and strictly refraining from chametz on the Festival of Pesach. But we are sick at heart at being prevented in this by reason of the oppression and mortal danger in which we find ourselves. We stand ready to perform Your commandments of which it is said,

“You shall do them and live by them,” (Vayikra 18:5) that is to say, you shall live by them and not die by them. And accordingly we heed Your warning, as it is written: “Take heed to thyself and keep thy soul alive.” (Devarim 4:9) Therefore we beseech You that You will keep us in life and establish us and redeem us speedily from our servitude so that we may in time come to perform Your statutes and carry out Your will with a perfect heart. Amen. He then reached for a piece of bread and took a bite, thereby urging his brethren to do likewise. Rabbi Davids, along with his son Eliyahu, died shortly before the liberation of Bergen-Belsen by the allied forces. His wife Erika and their daughters, along with approximately 2,800 others, were evacuated by train from the camp. During the two-week journey to nowhere, five-hundred-seventy died and were buried in a mass grave somewhere along the way. Those who survived the trip were abandoned by the Nazis near the East German village of Troebits. In 1947, Erika emigrated with her daughters to Eretz Yisroel, taking with her a copy of the prayer that her husband had composed. She died in a Herzliya nursing home in1997. Each year, her family and its descendants read the prayer aloud on the Seder night, to hear again how Rabbi Davids asked for Hashem’s help, beseeching a shattered people to do the unthinkable and live, not die, by them. This article originally appeared in Jewish Action, the magazine of the Orthodox Union.

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A TESTIMONIAL FROM A CONCERNED MOTHER

IN A MOLD STRICKEN HOUSEHOLD:

found out that I had a mold problem after it formed on my aluminum windows. It started in two bedrooms and one of my bathrooms. I took out my bleach and cleaners and scrubbed them down rigorously, thinking I had solved my mold problems. Happily, I put away all my cleansing agents and went on doing the rest of my errands for the day. After about a week or so I noticed a musty smell coming from somewhere on the first floor. After some investigating, I realized the mold had reappeared. It surfaced in the closet downstairs next to the garage. I took my mold cleaners and scrubbed, cleaned and wiped, even in the corners and thought that finally I had the problem under control. I then found mold in the garage weeks later. After cleaning it once more, scrubbing and scouring, it reappeared dramatically on my bathroom ceiling and in one of the rooms in my basement. I felt like I was chasing a ghost. You couldn’t see it initially. I never knew when it would appear again and where. I cleaned once more, but somehow the mold always returned, sometimes with a vengeance. I also began developing an irritating consistent cough that seemed determined to stay with me. After visiting my doctor, he suggested that perhaps my symptoms were related to my mold issue. Several days later, my friend Chaya, who was pregnant at the time, called me from Florida to arrange a weekend visit. After speaking with my doctor, I was well aware of the dangers that mold presents, especially to pregnant women. I suggested that she visit once the issue had been taken care of. Chaya’s phone call gave me the push I needed to act quickly. Having gone through this process for a little over eight months and having my doctor inform me that my symptoms could

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be mold-related, I reluctantly decided to call a professional mold removal company. Obviously I wasn’t going to be able to handle this myself. I had tried to tackle this issue on my own, but it looked like I would not be able to. Even with all the online advice, this was clearly beyond my control. I did some research on mold removal companies in my area, came up with a few names and made some calls. I got different information from a few and then narrowed it down to 3 companies to choose from. After spending time talking to each, the first did not sound like they had a lot of experience and did not know what to say initially. I had many pressing questions, which they could not seem to answer and they left me feeling they did not have enough “know-how” to take on my mold issues. The second company I called was on the phone for two minutes before I decided I was wasting my time. I hurriedly said my goodbyes and put down the phone. I then called the third company – Five Boro Mold Specialist. Of all three, this company stood out. They were professional and courteous and they gave me a “run-down” of what to expect, how long the procedure would take and what was entailed in the mold inspection. They even offered to mail me a proposal! I agreed and received an information package from them two days later. After reading and reviewing the information, I realized I had found my company. I called them back and scheduled an appointment. I felt I had finally found someone who could help me with this house invasion I was experiencing. On the day of my appointment, the technicians of Five Boro Mold Specialist called to let me know they were arriving at the specified time and were on their way. When they arrived, I had three technicians inspecting my home.

They took all the samples (surface and air) of the mold and all pictures required and informed me that the samples would be sent to a lab for review and I would get the results fairly quickly. They called me only two days later with results and a full comprehensive overview of what I would need to have done to eliminate the mold. They even scheduled a follow up telephone meeting to go over any questions I had after reviewing my test results. They were amazing. They were fast, thorough and efficient. They answered all of my questions and made me feel like they were with me every step of the way. I was confident my mold headache was about to be eliminated-and this time for good. On the day of the mold removal, they arrived on time and set to work quickly. By the time the technicians called to inform me that they were finishing up and I came home from my errands, the job was completed. The place was thoroughly cleaned with no trace of mold and was just as tidy as I had left it. I received a follow up call back from Five Boro Mold Specialist a few days later to make sure I was happy with the results and they again informed me of the mold removal service guarantee that they provide. Luckily, my adopted irritating cough left me high and dry about ten days later. I have to say that this was an ongoing problem and I was dreading all it would take to rid me of it for good. It’s been thirteen and a half months and we are still mold free. I have since recommended this company to both relatives and friends in similar situations. Without a doubt this has been a worry free experience because of Five Boro Mold Specialist. Thank you so much from a loyal and satisfied customer, Mrs. Bruchie Friedman

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Jews

Food and

The Passover Connection Strengthening the life force of the nascent, fragile nation. Dina Coopersmith

ost of the Passover mitzvot revolve around food. In fact, besides the telling of the story of leaving Egypt, all other commandments are eatingoriented: matzah, maror, the four cups of wine, vegetable dipped in salt water, leaning while eating, etc. As much as we Jews tend to focus on food on the holidays, there are always other characteristics of the holiday that are more important: shofar on Rosh Hashana, building a sukkah and the four species on Sukkot, lighting the menorah on Chanukah, hearing the megillah and giving charity on Purim, etc. And yet, on Passover, the first holiday in

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the Jewish calendar, food takes center stage on Seder night. What is the nature of food and its connection to Passover?

FOOD – THE LIFE-GIVING FORCE

Before eating you may feel weak, indicating a diminishing of life force and energy. Then, as you eat, your strength is restored and the life force is immediately infused into you. G-d is the only Giver of life; He holds the key to life and we essentially have no power over His constant giving. Therefore we can deduce that eating most powerfully gives us the opportunity to feel a direct connection with G-d. Although we have some control attaining other necessities of life, like oxygen and water, the actual force of life itself is completely in the hands of the Almighty. Each moment we receive that gift of sustenance, it is from G-d Himself. “If one attaches himself to the Almighty with a complete attachment, one might possibly even access from Him the power of reviving someone back to life, as this is the most specifically G-dly power, more than anything else.” (End of Path of the Just, Chapter 26, describing the highest level achievable in mankind, in the steps toward Godliness.) The feeling most associated with soaking up life directly from G-d can be attained through eating.

EGYPT – THE EPITOME OF INDEPENDENCE FROM G-D

Passover is the holiday which represents the birth of the Jewish nation. Prior to the exodus, the Jewish peoTO ADVERTISE CALL 718-513-9885

ple were considered in utero, not yet born. When a fetus is in its mother’s womb, it is completely part of its mother, dependent on everything she does, eating what she eats, drinking what she drinks. It doesn’t yet have a life of its own. Egypt was known at that time as the only country not dependent on

and death. At this very point of coming into existence, life is most fragile. Certain critical things have to change quickly to allow for the child to become an independent entity, separate from its mother. Its umbilical cord is no longer connected to its source of sustenance and instead its mouth and throat,

On the Seder night, the most important activity is to enable the existence of the new baby-to-be, the Jewish nation. rain for its livelihood. The Nile would overflow and water all the fields. Therefore Egyptians felt completely independent of G-d, with no need to look heavenward and hope for rain. Pharaoh expressed this feeling when he said, “Mine is the Nile and I created me” (Ezekiel 29:3). Therefore, while the Jewish people were in Egypt as a fetus, eating what their “mother” ate as an intrinsic part of that nation, that was their essence as well, completely disconnected from the spiritual and from G-d. They didn’t yet have their own inherent existence and identity.

SEDER NIGHT – BIRTH & EATING

When a baby is born, a hubbub of activity surrounds him. Until you hear that first cry, there is a tremendous tension, as the baby precariously hovers in a zone situated between life

which were closed all these months, have to open and start functioning as a medium through which the baby receives its nourishment. Its breathing system undergoes a radical change as well. This transformation and delicate beginning bring with it vulnerability and danger. Only after those first few moments do things calm down a bit and the status quo of life takes over. When the Jewish people left Egypt, that moment they came into being as a nation. That precarious night was fraught with danger. They had been submerged in such impurity that they really didn’t deserve to come into being at all. “They were hanging in the balance during that time, whether to be saved or destroyed with the Egyptians” (Midrash, Yalkut Shimoni 233). On the Seder night, the most imAPRIL 2010 JEWISH LIFESTYLE MAGAZINE

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portant activity is to enable the existence of the new baby-tobe, the Jewish nation. No other activities can happen when we are still in limbo, fragile, endangered. All that can occur is the strengthening of the life force, creating the essence of this child, namely: eating! And the kind of food we eat is crucial as well. Just like you can’t let a newborn baby ingest anything in the first few days that might tax her newly activated digestive system, nor expose her to any bacteria which her immune system can’t fight off, so too, we on Passover we have a strict diet to which we must adhere: “chametz asur b’mashehu” -- not even a drop of leaven is permitted on this holiday when our spiritual immunity is so low. We must build our resistance up in a “sterile” environment, with specially equipped nourishment, “mother’s milk” – matzah, which the mystical sources call “the bread of belief.” Later on as we develop and reach the giving of the Torah on Shavuot, we can allow a certain amount of “bacteria” -- leavened foods -- into our diet. In fact, these foods can even be part of the commandments of the holiday. But on Passover, as we create the foundation for our identity as a Jewish people, extreme care must be taken to enhance our spiritual nature, to eat only G-d-prescribed food which is tailor-made for our needs at this crucial juncture. On the Seder night, as we eat the matzah with its exacting requirements, keep in mind we are emerging into a new world, becoming a new entity, separate from the other nations, creating our own Jewish identity. We are ingesting Gd’s “milk” of spiritual nourishment, the “bread of belief,” and building within ourselves a direct connection with G-d which creates a rock-solid foundation of Jewish belief, fueling us for the rest of the year. This article was adapted mostly from a number of Hebrew essays on Passover by Rabbi Shimshon Pincus, zt”l.

Eating most powerfully gives us the opportunity to feel a direct connection with G-d.

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and one for me The Woman Who Won a Lottery — and Built Synagogues

Mirish Kiszner

are is the grandmother who doesn’t love to show off her grandchildren. A framed portrait gracing the coffee table depicting a toddler romping in the grass. A video clip of a little boy throwing his head back in laughter, his lilting voice like music. The mini photo album tucked into a proud grandma’s purse filled with smiling, happy children at play, at the park, at a wedding… But the pictures crowding the photo albums of Dubbe (“Dubbele”) Stern are of a different stock. No pictures of smiling babies peer out from those pages, no family portraits, no images of fathers looking down at their sons with unmasked pride. But this elderly woman displays her own set of nachas with unadulterated joy. In Dubbele’s albums, if you get to thumb through them, you will find pictures of synagogues, lecterns and prayerbooks. There are pictures of a Torah Scroll dedication celebration. Of dancing and leaping in tight circles around a canopy…Torches burning bright held high by little children parading before the new Torah… Sitting beside Dubbe at a circumcision, I listen as she tells me the story behind those albums. “I don’t have anyone,” she begins. “Not a husband, not a sister, not a child, not a grandchild. I have G‑d,” she says with a twinkle in her eyes and that sincere smile that never leaves her face. She’s dressed simply, in plain clothes, old and worn, that belie a woman known to have won the lottery. “Tell me about yourself,” I say. She laughs; a delicate, tinkling laughter like the sound of the china dishes the waiters are carting away. A Childhood Cut Short “I was born in Warsaw, Poland,” she begins. “Tatte [Father] was very religious. But bread there wasn’t and we lived in a cellar. My parents came to live in Warsaw from a small shtetl nearby to look for a livelihood. I went to the Bais Yaa-

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“It’s my day today. I’m on my way to buy a lottery ticket and I’m sure that I’ll win.”

We went up to a little shack and he knocked on the door. A polish peasant woman opened the door and the blind man began to sing a Christian song. Hearing him, the woman ushered us into her home and served us some soup… “In this way, we spent a few weeks, wandering and begging, the blind man and I, knocking on doors, subsisting on a piece of bread, a plate of soup, and every now and then, an egg. Until, out of the blue, the blind man disappeared. “I was on my own again. When hunger overtook me, I would walk up to one of the little huts dotting the roads and beg the gentiles living there to give me something to eat, a corner to sleep.” Dubbele’s looks up at me, there’s laughter in her eyes. “You could make a movie out of my story, eh?” She continues her story: “And so roaming the fields, I discovered an underground bunker where Jews were hiding out and they allowed me to join them. Whenever our food supply ran out, we would sneak out again to search for food: some corn, a bit of flour, every bit was precious. One day, as I was making my way across a highway in search for a farmer, a group of SS men swooped down on all the passersby and threw us into waiting trucks. “I found myself in a transport sent to the SkarżyskoKamienna slave labor camp. There I worked in a munitions factory, filling bullets with explosive powder, and then loading heavy, sixteen kilo barrels onto railway wagons. Later I was sent to a munitions plant in Leipzig. With the help of the UNNRA I came to Israel in 1948. I ask about the rest of the family and she tells me she never heard from them again. “Maybe they died in Treblinka, or of starvation in the ghetto, I’ll never know. My brother Moshe who learned in Baranovitch,” she becomes thoughtful, “maybe he’ll read this story and we’ll find each other…” The Lotto Ticket Dubbele got married to her husband, Tuvia, in 1957 and put her holocaust experiences behind her. She wanted nothing more than to build a new generation of Jewish children. However, it wasn’t destined to be. She never had children. Still, Dubbele’s joie de vivre never waned. Always she found ways to fill her life with joy, giving of herself, spreading happiness wherever she went. “I had an interesting hobby. Every week I would go out to buy a lottery ticket. There was one number I played with, all the time, 15,1957—the date of my wedding. My husband would laugh, ‘A million people

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CONTINUED ON PAGE 87

kov school for girls. “Then the war broke out in 1939. I was caught one day as I was walking on the street, and then I was liberated by the ninth armored division,” she says, opening and closing this harrowing chapter of her life in one breath—a subtle clue, perhaps, that explains her unwavering joyfulness. I wait for more. Those words – war, 1939, the Warsaw Ghetto – history-packed words…they dangle before me, enticingly, as I look up at the woman who carries all those memories in her heart. “How old were you?” I gently prod, searching for a side entrance to that pain-filled domain. “I was a young girl, maybe twelve or thirteen. We were six children: Moshe who learned in Baranovitch, Kalmen, Yankel, David, Rivkale and me—Dubbela. I was hungry. I would go out to look for bread, my brother and I. I was always on the alert, scanning the countryside for signs of danger—I knew that if a Jewish child is discovered a kilometer away from the city, she was shot. “One day, as I was roaming the countryside, I saw a man moving cautiously along. He was using a walking stick to feel out what’s around him, he was obviously blind. As he came closer, I heard him muttering under his breath that whoever will escort him will have what to eat. So I offered to accompany him and he was happy.

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Seder Night

Magic Yael ZoldaN

hen springtime comes I begin scowling at the insides of closets and the undersides of beds. “Pesach is coming,” I mutter to myself, and sigh. “Pesach is coming,” I repeat, “and I have more work than one human being could possibly do.” Then I sigh again, theatrically. I don’t even notice my son listening until I hear him say, “Well, at least we’re not in Mitzrayim anymore, right, Mommy?” I stare at him for a moment, ashamed of what he has heard. Pesach is coming and I have entirely missed the point.

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Back when I was his age, before I knew about cleaning and cooking and shopping, Pesach was a wondrous time. The house was scrubbed spotless, and the once-a-year dishes came out. The silver was polished so brightly that I could see my reflection upside down in the spoons. In the kitchen waited lady fingers and nut cakes and chocolates and meringues. At the table, my handmade Haggada could finally come out of its plastic bag and my mother’s finger pointed to the place. I shivered with excitement. The Seder was magical: staying up late, eating with the grownups,

all eyes on my face as I sang the Ma Nishtana. For once, no one was annoyed by my constant questions. No one shushed me, or whispered, “Later!” For once, every question was important, every answer well thought out. I drank from a silver becher, like my Abba, like my Zaidy. I dipped my pinky into grape juice ten times and no one stopped me! Even when I spilled, leaning against my pillowcase, no one really minded. My father was regal in his kittel. “Ha Lachma Anya,” he intoned, and I felt a chill run down my spine. How many fathers for how many years had said these same words?

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How many children had sat just like me, wide-eyed with wonder, and listened? And the story! There were heroes and villains, kings and slaves. My mind whirled with the magic of it all. The maror on my matzah was sharp and bitter. I knew it would be because I had stood beside my father as he grated it by hand into a bowl. He wore goggles and still the tears streamed down his face. But at the Seder he always gave me twice as much charoses as maror, and winked as he passed it down. Then we ate hot chicken soup and flanken and kugels. And I could hardly swallow waiting for the Afikoman. What joy! What awesome power in the hands of an eight year old girl! To ask for anything you wanted, anything! Sometimes, I got so excited, I couldn’t think a single thing to ask for. And besides, what more could I want than this moment and this night? But the best part was Shfoch Chamascha. I’d take a deep breath and pull open the door. Outside, the night was black as pitch and silent. But I thought I felt a breeze as Eliyahu Hanavi entered. “Baruch Haba!” we called out, and watched the wine shimmer in his cup. By then, my eyes were closing and I leaned heavily on my mother’s shoulder. “L’Shana Haba Biyerushalayim,”

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we sang, and “Shoin! Shoin! Shoin!” We banged our fists on the table with such authority that I knew Moshiach would listen and he would come. Tonight!

Pesach is coMing and i have entirely Missed the Point.

How lucky I felt to be a Jew on Seder nights! To know that the story had happened for me: the frogs, and the lice, and the darkness, and the fury of Hashem raining down on their heads just so I could sit here tonight, in my maroon velvet robe, and ask the questions and hear the answers. Just so I could hear how the bad guys got punished and the good guys got saved and we lived to tell the story and wait for Mashiach to redeem us again. But morning came and he did not. And years have passed and still he has not come. And I got busy with the drudgery of moving the fridge and lining the drawers and scrubbing the stove. When did I stop waiting? When did I stop wanting? Somewhere along the way, I forgot the point. I lost the magic. Now I look down at my son’s soft eyes and it all comes back. He is right and I have been so wrong. It isn’t about the stove, it’s about the story. It’s about the miracle and the magic. So this year, I resolve, I will stop sighing. I will come to the table wide eyed again and listen to the tale that is made new every year by our children and their questions and our faith in the answers. This year, I’m taking the magic back.

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Michel Sojcher of the Neshama Orchestra Judging A Jewish Star

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Outstanding

Passover Recipes A healthy and nutritious menu everyone will love. Gitta Bixenspanner

Passover is in the air! Hereâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s a healthy and nutritious menu, including a variety of salads and not much frying. Avail yourself of fresh fruits and vegetables whenever possible. With a little ingenuity, one can easily create great healthy meals aiding to avoid the unnecessary weight gain that seems almost inevitable every Passover.

Salmon with sweet and sour leek sauce I served these salmon fillets recently and got rave reviews. Tasty while easy to prepare. Ingredients 6 salmon fillets 2 Tbs olive oil 3 leeks, well washed and chopped 3 Tbs brown sugar 1/3 cup lemon juice ½ tsp salt Directions Sauté chopped leeks in olive oil on a medium flame until soft about 10 minutes, add brown sugar and lemon juice and allow to caramelize for another 10 minutes. Place salmon fillets over this mixture and broil for 10 minutes on each side. Remove from oven and serve, or allow to cool and cover for later use. Tastes great hot or at room temperature. Serves 6 Preparation 20 minutes

Matzah Ball Chicken Soup What’s Passvoer without chicken soup and matzah balls? Some like their soup full of vegetables while others serve it clear. Some serve soup with lots of little matzah balls while others like one per bowl. Whichever way you enjoy it here is a delightful recipe that can accommodate every taste. parsley root Ingredients 2 to 3 celery ribs, 3 to 4 carrots chopped or a 1 (4- to 5-pound) 2 zucchini chicken, cut small celery root 1 onion, cut into Sea salt, to taste into quarters quarters White pepper, to or if you prefer taste 2 cloves garlic use chicken 1 parsnip carcasses at 1 per 1 turnip or quart of water Directions Bring chicken and 6 quarts cold water to a boil over medium-high heat. Remove foam with a slotted spoon as it rises to the top. Reduce heat, cover, and simmer 1 hour. Add celery and next 6 ingredients. Cover and simmer 2 more hours, for a strong chicken flavor. Allow to cool. Skim fat. Remove chicken from bones, and return meat to soup. If using the carcass remove them from the pot and reserve for other dishes. Add matzah balls, and serve.

Matzah Balls Ingredients 4 large eggs, lightly beaten 1/2 cup oil ½ cup seltzer 1 teaspoon salt Freshly ground pepper 2 cups matzah meal Directions Combine first 5 ingredients in medium bowl. Add matzah meal, and mix thoroughly. Chill for 1 hour. Wet hands, and shape matzah mixture into 1 1/4inch balls. (They will double in size when cooked.) Chill matzah balls 20 minutes. 3. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Add matzah balls gently to boiling water, reduce heat, and simmer 20 minutes. Matzah balls can also be cooked in the chicken soup for added flavor

Chuck Eye Roast Chuck eye roast is a very tender roast that is tasty and soft. However, feel free to choose your favorite cut of meat, such as minute steak, Miami ribs, or butcher flanken for equally tantalizing results. Ingredients 1 3-5 lb Chuck eye roast 1 chopped Spanish onion ½ cup wine vinegar 3/4 cup honey ½ tsp fresh ginger grated ¼ tsp black pepper 3 cloves garlic crushed

Directions Place onions on bottom of roasting pan. Place roast over onions. Combine remaining ingredients and smear over all sides of meat. Bake covered 2-3 hours at 350°. (Generally, I calculate ½ hour per lb. of meat), serve over a bed of mashed potatoes, or nokedlech. Preparation 20 minutes Serves 8-12

Chicken Nuggets This is one of the most popular dishes with kids as well as adults. It is from the few dishes that I deem necessary to fry, because it is so delicious. Serve hot or cold Ingredients 6 chicken breasts 1 1/4 cups potato starch 1/4 tsp salt 2 eggs, lightly beaten 2 Tbs oil Directions Mix together the eggs, potato starch, salt and oil. Cut the chicken into nugget-sized pieces and dip into the batter. Fry in oil until done. ***Note: If the batter seems a little thick, add a few drops of water. If too thin, a little more potato starch dissolved in a tiny bit of cold water. This mixture can also be used to coat fish, eggplant, zucchini or sweet potato or your favorite vegetable.)

Pesach Specialty Layered Salad Every year I end up with too much grated maror (horseradish), so one year I decided to put my leftovers of the bitter herb to good use. I discovered that marorâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s sharpness could provide some punch to salads and dips. Delight your company with this wonderful and elegant salad that is almost a whole meal in one dish. Ingredients Dressing: 1/3 cup water 1/4 cup red wine vinegar 2 tablespoons olive oil 1 teaspoon sugar 1/2 teaspoon salt 1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper 3 garlic cloves, minced Salad: 4 cups finely chopped romaine lettuce 2 cups finely chopped iceberg lettuce 1/2 cup finely chopped radicchio 1/2 cup thinly sliced Belgian endive (about 1 small head) 1 1/2 cups finely chopped English cucumber 1/2 cup finely chopped kohlrabi 1 cup finely shredded carrot Â˝ cup shredded horseradish for added pizzazz (optional) 1 cup diced seeded plum tomato (about 4 tomatoes) peeled 1 cup finely chopped red onion 2 cups diced, cooked beets 3 hard-cooked large eggs, finely chopped 1 tablespoon chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley (optional) Directions To prepare the dressing, combine the first 7 ingredients, stirring with a whisk. Set aside. To prepare the salad, arrange the romaine in the bottom of a 2-quart glass bowl or trifle dish; top with iceberg. Layer radicchio, endive, cucumber, kohlrabi, carrot, peeled tomato, and red onion, evenly over lettuces. Drizzle with dressing. Cover and chill 4 hours or overnight. Serves 10

Kosher for Passover Mayonaisse This mayonnaise is easy to make and it is a real winner with young and old. It is great for a salad dressing. I make two batches because I have many uses for it. 1 egg 2 tablespoons lemon juice 1 small onion ½ cup moror ½ tsp. sea salt or salt substitute 2 cups oil

Blend 5 first ingredients in a food processor with the all purpose blade, until well mixed. Add 2 cups oil slowly, until mixture thickens. Add oil if needed. With lemon juice, it will last up to two weeks in the refrigerator. Yield: approximately 3 cups Preparation: 10 minutes

Kohlrabi, Carrot, Squash slaw Kohlrabi is a good substitute for cabbage, which lends itself in many delectable dishes and, being part of the cruciferous family, has the same healthy properties. 1 large kohlrabi or 2-3 smaller ones. 1 large carrot 1 medium summer squash. ½ cup moror (horseradish) 1 small onion Grate kohlrabi, carrot, squash, and moror. Cut onion in strips and toss lightly. Serve over your favorite green salad, or as is. You may also stir-fry these ingredients and serve it as a side dish for fish or meat. Preparation time: 20 minutes Serves 2-4 people

Chocolate Ice Cream Ingredients 8 eggs separated 3 cups water 2 Tbs potato starch 2 Tbs cocoa Âž cup sugar Â˝ cup chopped nuts (optional)

Directions Beat egg yolks until light and creamy. In a separate bowl, beat egg whites until stiff peaks form. In a medium pot cook water and potato starch add 2 Tbs cocoa, stirring constantly until it thickens. Fold gently into beaten egg whites. Combine both mixtures and add 3 Tbs oil. Last, add nuts, mix well and freeze in a 9x13 baking dish. Serve with sliced oranges Preparation: 20 minutes

FOOD FOR THOUGHT

Dear Rabbi Dear Rabbi, Why does the Jewish religion seem to fuss over insignificant details? How much matza do we have to eat, which spoon did I use for milk and which for meat, what is the right way to tie my shoelaces? It seems to me that this misses the bigger picture by focusing on tiny trivia. Is this nitpicking what Jews call spirituality? I actually already sent you this question over a week ago and didn’t receive a reply. Could it be that you have finally been asked a question that you can’t answer?! Signed, Rob Rabbi’s reply: Dear Rob, I never claimed to have all the answers. There are many questions that are beyond me. But it happens to be that I sent a reply the same day despite the fact that I’ve been away from home on a rigorous speaking tour in the USA. The fact that you didn’t receive it is itself the answer to your question. You see, I sent you a reply, but I wrote your email address leaving out the “dot” before the “com”. I figured that you should still receive the email, because after all, it is only one little dot missing. I mean, come on, it’s not as if I wrote the wrong name or something drastic like that! Would anyone be so nitpicky as to differentiate between yahoocom” and “yahoo.com”? No, it’s not ridiculous. Because the dot is not just a dot. It represents something. That dot has meaning far beyond the pixels on the screen that form it. To me it may seem insignificant, but that is simply due to my ignorance of the ways of the web. All I know is that with the dot, the message gets to the right destination; without it, the message is lost to oblivion. Torah observance and mitzvah fulfillment contain a world of symbolism. And every dot counts. When the mitzvot are performed with precision, a spiritual vibration is emailed throughout the universe, all the way to G-d’s inbox. If you want to understand the symbolism of the dot, study cyber tech. If you want to understand the symbolism of Judaism, study Torah.

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A Jerusalem taxi driver shows that God moves in mysterious ways.

Where there’s

a wheel...

e is not your middle-of-the-road Jerusalem taxi driver – the kind who routinely discuss the state of the nation/government or Betar Soccer Club (none of them in great shape, apparently). Oren is on a nonstop spiritual journey. His business card states, in English and Hebrew: “Yeshiva on Wheels,” and as he drives around the city, he hopes to teach and to learn. He did not always live in this kind of fast lane. He says he found his vocation about two years ago. And, in the way of many of the strongest religious experiences, it started from a low point. “I had been working at the Tel-Ad [television] studios as the manager in charge of props and scenery. After the company lost the Channel 2 franchise, I lost my job, along with hundreds of others, and started to drive a taxi,” he recalls. “After three days, I couldn’t take it any more. I came home, threw everything down and thought that that was it. Then I picked up the Zohar [the essential book of Kabbalistic 86

JEWISH LIFESTYLE MAGAZINE APRIL 2010

thinking] and after reading what I found there, I knew what I had to do.” Oren, a 55-year-old native Yerushalmi, who takes the view that everything is for the best and decided to turn what he was doing into something he could enjoy. “Look, being a taxi driver in Jerusalem is not easy, there’s not much work and not much money,” he says. It’s obviously hard to turn taxi driving into an uplifting experience, even in Yerushalayim, but Oren is doing his best. Like taxi drivers in any capital city in the world, he has his fair share of strange tales, but this being Yerushalayim, some of his experiences are unique – as befits the very concept of turning a taxi into a mobile yeshiva where the passengers become part of a Chevrusa. “Once I had an American lady who got in my cab,” recalls Oren. “She got in on Rechov Diskin [outside the medical center] and the minute I saw her eyes in the mirror, I somehow knew she didn’t have children. It turned out she had just come from a fertility treatment. I took her where she wanted to go, but told her she should really be going to TO ADVERTISE CALL 718-513-9885

Kever Rachel, the best place to pray if you want to have a baby... Later on she called me, said I was right, and asked me to drive her there.” Not all rides end with spiritual, or even financial, reward. “On Thursday, I had a passenger I could feel was unbalanced. He wanted to go to the Western Wall, but then changed his mind and asked me to take him back to the mall in Talpiot where I’d picked him up. In the end, I gave him money instead of receiving payment. I could see he was disturbed, so what could I do?” Oren picks his subjects to suit his passengers. “I often ask people what they want to talk about, what’s on their minds.” On my short journey, during Chanukah, we not only discussed Hebrew linguistics, something both of us are interested in, but also the nature of miracles. Oren, who says he studied at Yale University in Connecticut, can speak English (albeit heavily accented) and evidently likes wordplay in both languages. At some point in our trip, he tried to make the case that the Hebrew word “ness” and its English translation “miracle” are really the same. If you break “miracle” into three syllables you get mi rak k’el – who if not only Hashem. I suspect the unplanned religious studies could drive some passengers around the bend, but Oren says his approach is usually well received – a spiritual pick-up, as it were. I didn’t have a religious experience on the road to Katamon (a neighborhood in Yerushalayim), but it beat talking about the weather (or Beitar’s misfortunes). Oren, a divorced father of two (his daughter was recently married), says he is now very happy with his work and the opportunities it provides him. “The world is a beautiful place,” he declares when I speak to him between fares on his mobile phone in his mobile Yeshiva on a Motzei Shabbos, a couple of hours after Shabbos. What is his most important lesson in life? “Always be optimistic and look on the bright side of things, amd always talk positively and say nice things. After all, we create things with our words, so they should only be good.” Not a bad point to drive home. TO ADVERTISE CALL 718-513-9885

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CONTINUED FROM PAGE 60

buy the lottery,’ he would say, ‘you’ll be the winner? It’s impossible. Don’t burn up money, give it to charity, if you must.’ But Dubbele always assured him that one day she will indeed win the lottery. “One day, I was walking down Allenby St. with a dance in my step and humming a tune to myself when I met Rebbetzin Mund. ‘Dubbela, why are you singing?’ She asked, ‘What’s making you so happy?’ I told her, ‘It’s my day today. I’m on my way to buy a lottery ticket and I’m sure that I’ll win.’ “Rebbetzin Mund, the wife of Rabbi Simcha Mund, was a righteous woman, a good-hearted woman. She must have felt like humoring me. ‘If you’re going to win,’ she said, ‘let me join you. I’ll be your partner in the lottery.’ I said, ‘Great, you’re a rebbetzin, you are a holy woman, I can hardly stand next to you. You be the one to pull out the ticket.’ “’No,’ she said. ‘It’s your day, you be the one.’ So I bought a lottery ticket, placed the receipt in my pocket, thanked the rebbetzin, and was on my way.” That week, Dubbele’s wedding date turned out to be the winning numbers. She won fifty thousand dollars— a small fortune in the late 1960s. Without a moment’s hesitation Dubbele hurried to the rebbetzin and presented her with half the money. The rabbi and his rebbetzin were incredulous. “It’s your money,” they protested. “You could build yourself a beautiful five storey home!” “No it belongs to both of us,” Dubbele insisted. “We made a partnership.” In addition to the twenty five thousand dollars, Dubbela counted out two thousand five hundred dollars and

handed it to the rabbi. “This is a tenth of the money. Give it to the charity of your choice.” The rest of the money Dubbele presented to her husband. “It’s for you,” she said. “What do I need?” The Dividends Tuvia invested the money in a real estate property and Dubbele stopped buying lottery tickets. Years passed. Tuvia Stern left the world. Dubbele was alone once again. And yet, the joy on her face, her zest for living never left her. Eventually she sold the property her husband had purchased and used those funds to build two synagogues: “One for my husband and one for me.” Today, if one ventures to walk through the timeless arches and quaint twisting alleyways of the Meah Shearim neighborhood in Jerusalem, one comes across a small, humble structure. “Tuvia’s Shteeble,” reads the placard that hangs over the entrance. And in a city not too far away, the city of Ashdod, there stands another synagogue, “Beit Feige Dubba.” Each one a silent tribute to a woman who once searched for bread to nourish her body and now hungers for food to nourish her soul. And Dubbe herself? She can be found inside a hospital cafeteria or a senior citizen home, feeding a forlorn patient, smiling to an elderly woman, spreading her sunshine, giving to others wherever she goes. “I have no one,” she says. “No one but my Father in Heaven.” And of course, the albums filled with pictures of the two synagogues she built — her greatest joy in life...

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HEALTH

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Dayenu

Ring A lost diamond, a gaping black hole, and an inspiring Passover realization. Sara Yoheved Rigler 92

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he diamond ring I inherited from my mother, of blessed memory, is -- or should I say was -- my most beautiful possession. My father, o.b.m., had given the ring, a band of 16 perfect diamonds, to my mother shortly after their wedding in 1944. As precious to me emotionally as materially, the ring adorned my hand every Shabbos. Every time I looked at its glistening perfection, my Shabbos joy soared. TO ADVERTISE CALL 718-513-9885

Then, sitting at the Shabbos table six weeks ago, I glanced down at my ring and was horrified to see a gaping, black hole. A prong of the white gold setting had broken, and one diamond had fallen out. My horror gave way to a frantic search, with all members of the family on hands and knees searching the floors in the kitchen and living room, then sweeping, and finally giving up. The diamond was gone. Every time I looked at my ring, all I saw was the gaping, black hole, like a beautiful woman smiling to reveal a missing front tooth. My gorgeous ring had become a toothless hag. Bitterly, I took it off and put it in its box. I could not bear to look at it. Replacing the diamond would be an expensive and complicated procedure, as the setting itself had to be repaired. We were not just then in a position to undertake the expense. The ring remained in its place of exile every Shabbos, and whenever I, by force of habit, reached for it, I was poignantly reminded of my bitter loss. Then one Friday evening two weeks ago, I missed the ring so much that I decided to take it out and wear it. After all, I reminded myself, there were still 15 perfect diamonds there for me to enjoy. Why focus on what wasn’t there when I could choose to focus on what was there? A ring is round, I told myself, and whenever the black hole faces me, all I have to do is turn it to reveal the still-perfect other side. This turned out to be a potent spiritual exercise. Whenever I glanced down and saw the ugly hole, I said to myself, “I will choose what I will look at and what I won’t look at,” and I turned the ring until all I saw was the sparkling, perfect diamonds. Then something strange happened. At one point, I looked down and saw the gaping hole. Instead of turning the ring, I chose, by an act of will, to look at the diamond adjacent to the hole. I gazed at it intently, noticing its clearalmost-blue color, its exquisite cut, and its happy sparkle. Then I realized with a start that in the fifteen years I have owned the ring, while I loved the ring as a whole, I nev-

er really bothered to look at the individual diamonds. Losing one diamond made me begin to appreciate the beauty of the remaining diamonds.

DAYENU

One of the favorite parts of the Pesach Seder is the song, “Dayenu.” The 15 verses of this song enumerate the various kindnesses Hashem bestowed on our people during Golus, such as taking us out of Mitzrayim, splitting the sea for us, taking us through it on dry land, taking us to Har Sinai, giving us the Torah, etc. The refrain, “dayenu,” means: “It would have been enough for us.” Anyone who stops to consider the lyrics would find them enigmatic. After all, it’s preposterous to proclaim that if G-d had split the sea for us and not led us through it on dry land, “it would have been enough for us.” If G-d had not led us through it on dry land, we would have all been slain by the pursuing Egyptian army. And what good would it have served us to be led to Mt. Sinai and not to be given the Torah? In what sense is any of these individual steps “enough for us?” The song teaches the same lesson as my no-longerperfect diamond ring: Stop and notice the greatness of each and every part. The splitting of the sea itself was a tremendous miracle. Appreciate it for what it was, regardless of the next step in the progression. The Torah requires us to remember the Exodus from Egypt every day. Such remembrance leads to gratitude, the core characteristic of the Jewish people. The very name “Jew” derives from the Hebrew name “Yehuda,” which means “thank” or “acknowledge.” In the midst of the Seder, which is a process of spiritual elevation consisting of 15 steps, the song “Dayenu” teaches us how to achieve that quintessential virtue of gratitude: Focus, really focus, on each individual blessing you are given. Regardless of what came before or after it. Every blessing is a stand-alone gift, just as every diamond is its own treasure.

My gorgeous ring had become a toothless hag.

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HUMOR

Sorry Not Available This is the true story of my friend Yanky Schwartz of Brooklyn. He was going to bed, when his wife told him that he’d left the light on in the shed. Yanky opened the door to go turn off the light, but saw people in the shed in the process of stealing things. He immediately phoned the police, who asked, “Is someone in your house?” Yanky said no, and explained the situation. They explained that all patrols were busy, and that he should simply lock his door and an officer would be there when available. Yanky said, “Okay,” hung up, counted to 30, and phoned the police again. “Hello, I just called you a few seconds ago because there were people in my shed. Well, you don’t have to worry about them now because I’ve just shot them all.” Then he hung up. Within five minutes three squad cars, an Armed Response unit, and an ambulance showed up. Of course, the police caught the burglars red-handed. Cops: “I thought you said that you’d shot them!” Yanky: “I thought you said there was nobody available!” Leiby P., Boro Park

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Simplicity A pilot is flying a small single-engine charter plane with a couple of really important executives on board into Seattle airport. There is fog so thick that visibility is 40 feet, and his instruments are out. He circles looking for a landmark, and after an hour he is low on fuel and his passengers are very nervous. At last, through a small opening in the fog he sees a tall building with one guy working alone on the fifth floor. Circling, the pilot banks and shouts through his open window: “Hey, where am I?” The solitary office worker replies: “You’re in an airplane.” The pilot immediately performs a swift 275-degree turn and executes a perfect blind landing on the airport’s runway five miles away. Just as the plane stops, the engines cough and die from lack of fuel. The stunned passengers ask the pilot how he did it. “Elementary,” replies the pilot, “I asked the guy in that building a simple question. The answer he gave me was 100% correct, but absolutely useless. Therefore, I knew that must be Microsoft’s support office, and from there the airport is three minutes away on a course of 87 degrees.” Sammy K., Cedarhurst Numbers One day My son Avi went up to his father and asked,

“Tatty, what’s the highest number his husband said, “Well, I’m not exactly sure, but i think it’s in the stimulus package. Pessi S., Flatbush Life After Death My boss asked one of the new employees, “Do you believe in life after death?” “Yes, sir,” replied the new employee. “I thought you might,” said the boss. “Yesterday, after you left to go to your grandmother’s funeral, she stopped in to see you.” Benny W., B.P The Water Pistol My five-year-old son squealed with delight when he opened his birthday present from his grandmother. It was a water pistol. He promptly ran to the sink to fill it. “Mom,” I said. “I’m surprised at you. Don’t you remember how we used to drive you crazy with water pistols?” My mom smiled and said, “Yes, I remember.” Sarah L., Five towns

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16 S. Tyberg

It Could Happen to You...

alk about shidduch nightmares, you’re not going to believe this one! A few months ago, a shadchan set me up with a lovely demure maidel from Flatbush who I was hoping might be “The One.” As I got ready for the date, I realized that, as usual, I was running a bit late. This was date number three, and although I had met the girl’s mother, I had not yet met with her father. He was a reputed businessman, and I hadn’t seen him because he had been out of the country on the previous occasions. This time though, I knew he would be at home, and I was a bit nervous. I knew how important first impressions were, and I really did not want to be late. On my previous dates, the girl had quoted her father numerous times, and I realized she really respected him. “Come on now,” I chided myself. “How bad can it possibly be to meet her father? Although I sometimes get intimidated, I know how to carry out an intelligent conversation, so I’m sure things will go well,” I reassured myself. Shrek! As I approached the girl’s house, I realized that I had forgotten to daven mincha. Now I would really be late! “There goes my attempt to impress the girl’s father with my menchlichkeit and sincerity,” I thought wryly. Of course I had no choice but to turn back and made a quick detour to a local shul in the neighborhood. As I zoomed down the street of the shul, a black Lexus suddenly pulled out in front of me. Boom! Crash! With a shriek of brakes, we collided. “Now look what you did, you moron!” a big gorilla-like man climbed out of the car and shouted. Although he was twice my size, I wasn’t going to be easily intimidated. “Me?” I yelled back. “It was you! I had the right of way, but you just pulled 96

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out without checking.” “That’s only because you turned the corner speeding fifty miles per hour on a twenty-five mile street,” I exclaimed. He bellowed. “Just who do you think you are, talking to me that way, you chutzpinyak.” He continued to berate me. “Do you know who I am?” His face was practically purple with outrage. “Listen, it doesn’t matter who you are,” I informed him, trying to stay calm. “Its still not my fault. I had the right of way!” By this time, a curious crowd of onlookers had surrounded us. As we traded insults, I examined the damage to my car surreptitiously. Aside from a dent to the door and a scratch on the side, it really wasn’t so bad. Mr. Gorilla’s car sported a bent fender and a broken headlight, but that also didn’t seem irreparable. Truthfully, I was more shaken up by the guy’s attitude than by the actual damage. “Look, I really don’t have any time for this,” I said as I glanced quickly at my watch. “I have to catch a minyan, so please, just write down your information and I’ll get in touch with the insurance company later.” To my surprise the guy acquiesced. “I have to leave also.” I heard him mutter sullenly. He scribbled his phone number down on a scrap of paper, and drove away, still red in the face. As the curious crowd disbursed, I quickly entered the shul and davened mincha, glad to see the last of him. “Good riddance to him, and boy, do I ever have a story to tell my date,” I thought to myself as I drove to the girl’s house. Guess who opened up the door when I finally arrived at the girl’s house? And guess again if I ever got the chance to take her out on a fourth date! TO ADVERTISE CALL 718-513-9885

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wisdom

105 at

Life secrets from a woman who has lived more than a century. Mirish Kiszner

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he first thing I notice when I enter the room is her regal bearing. Quiet, poised, and in control, she radiates tranquility. My mother has brought me here to Jerusalem’s Ramat Tamir retirement community to meet this incredible woman. I feel awed as I gaze at her. It’s not every day that one is privileged to sit across from a woman whose life has spanned an entire century. At one-hundred-five years old, Mrs. Miriam Pollack is astonishingly attentive and aware. Unwittingly the question escapes my lips. “What’s the secret to your long life?” “I have no secret,” she tells me. “It’s His will. It’s His reason and His purpose. What’s the secret? I don’t know.” This statement reminds Charity, her caretaker, of a stoTO ADVERTISE CALL 718-513-9885

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ry.

Last year in August, right before her 104th birthday, Mrs. Pollack had to have a serious abdominal surgery. In the operating room, right before injecting the anesthesia, the surgeon bent down to Mrs. Pollok. “Remember,” he said gently, “you might not get up from the operating table.” Mrs. Pollack gazed at the doctor. “That’s His decision,” she said pointing her finger upward. The doctor nodded gravely. Mrs. Pollack inclined her head. “Doctor?” “Yes?” “Do I need this operation?” The doctor shook his head in the affirmative. “Okay,” said Mrs. Pollack with the enthusiasm of someone who’s about to sign up for an exciting business deal. “Let’s do it.” Mrs. Pollack looks at me, a hint of a smile playing at her lips. “You have a close connection to G‑d,” I comment. “Do you talk to Him all day?” “Day and night.” “What do you ask for?” “Ales gut [everything good]. A refuah sheleima [complete recovery] for everyone, nachas and simcha [joy]... Oh, 105 things...” A one-hundred and five year life is a long journey, and it wasn’t always easy for Miriam Pollack. “I worked hard my whole life,” she says. Charity laughs. “She still does. Working hard is her pleasure. It’s a long walk to the lobby from here, and there’s a wheelchair right outside the room, but Mrs. Pollack won’t use it. She says, ‘If I use that, I will forget how to walk. I will walk as much as 100

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I can.’” Mrs. Pollack, says Charity, makes her bed every morning. She gets dressed by herself – she even ties her shoelaces! Her age is not an excuse for her to slacken one bit from the selfdiscipline with which she has lived her entire life. It’s that same strength of mind that she employs in her conversations. Mrs. Pollack embodies the words of King Solomon: “He who spares his lips is wise.” Her wisdom is metaphoric, hinting at the splendor of a mountain—she’s majestic, silent and there. The day begins to wane, the dusky shades of twilight filter through the window but the room is suffused with

still a mother’s child. Lilyan shares with me the memories of her childhood. I listen enraptured as she unfolds before me an inspiring story of hardship and strength, challenges and faith. Lilyans’s Childhood Memories My father’s parents – Mrs. Pollack’s parents-in-law – were very poor at the beginning of the century. When they heard that gold and silver lie scattered over the streets in America, they embarked on the long journey to the goldene medina, the “Golden Land.” Much to their disappointment, they were quick to discover that there was neither gold nor jobs, especially for

Her age is not an excuse for her to slacken from the selfdiscipline with which she has lived her entire life. a powerful love that glows brighter than the most luminous rays. There’s a knock on the door; Mrs. Pollack’s daughter Lilyan and her husband enter. Lilyan bends down to embrace and be embraced by her mother. The eighty-three year old daughter is

a Shabbat observant Jew. Life was harsh for new immigrants in a foreign country. Their sojourn in America lasted two years. They packed their bags again and traveled back to their hometown in Hungary, bringing along with them two sons who were TO ADVERTISE CALL 718-513-9885

born in the interim. My father was one of those sons. When Hitler came to power in the 1930s, several people approached my father, who was already married by then, with the desire to purchase his American citizenship. After the third person came to him with the same request, my father took a train to the embassy – a trip that took him all day – to find out what was happening. The clerk at the embassy took one look at my father’s documents and cried, “With an American passport what are you doing here? Get out of the country today!” But Mama and the children needed a visa. It took nine months to get it. Meanwhile, Papa went ahead to America to find a job and prepare an apartment. By the time those visas arrived Mama had given birth to another child! With four youngsters – I was five, the twins were three and the baby was five months – Mama traveled by boat to America. The trip took three months. In America, life wasn’t easy for my parents. In 1931 money was scarce due the great depression. Papa worked as a ritual slaughterer and unfortunately in those days, perhaps due to the poverty, the standard of kosher meat left much to be desired. Papa was a scholar, well versed in the laws of kashrus; he couldn’t handle the deceit that was going on in the store where he worked and left the job. Papa wasn’t a union member; he was Shabbos observant and couldn’t find another job, so Mama took action. She found a manufacturer who formed sponges into shapes of animals and was able to bring home TO ADVERTISE CALL 718-513-9885

piece work. Mama and Papa worked all day. Even the children helped with the work. The glue had a terrible odor so we kept the windows open. Then Mama decided that the strong smell wasn’t healthy, and she went out to search for some other work. She was an immigrant; she didn’t speak the language well, but she didn’t get fazed. She scraped together some pennies and nickels and bought a sewing machine to sew neckties from home. Pushing her baby carriage, she went from store to store to get work. Old fashioned and rickety, the sewing machine shook and vibrated and made much noise, the neighbors downstairs despised our family. When the neighbors couldn’t stand the noise anymore, they informed the authorities that we were working at home illegally. The police arrived at our home one day and confiscated the merchandise. Undaunted, Mama took her baby carriage and once again began the search for work. She found workers striking outside a store—they had been laid off due to lack of work. Mama presented herself to the shopkeeper and offered to sew handmade ties for a very low price; he readily agreed. To avoid the wrath of the strikers, the shopkeeper came outside with Mama and surreptitiously placed the piecework into her baby carriage. How Mama missed her family in Hungary and dreamed of going to her old home. As news from Europe began to trickle in, Mama’s homesickness turned to fear. Sick with worry,

she felt further removed from her parents than ever before. Her family was sent to Auschwitz; most of her family members didn’t survive. Mama said the human brain cannot fathom G‑d’s ways and, in her stoic manner, continued with her life. Though Mama suffered from the pain of loss and the struggles of making a living, our home was always filled with happiness and love. The children were always involved in the work. Papa read to us from the newspaper, and mama always offered loving and encouraging words. The delicious meals she cooked were always lovingly arranged on the table in the elegance that was her trademark. A Mother’s Intuition Sitting in this room, surrounded by this affectionate family, Lilyan’s words can be understood in a most tangible way. All around us, five generations of smiling babies, laughing adults and joyful faces stare out from hundreds of family photos lining the walls and decorating the shelves— many placed over expensive Chagal paintings. Aside from Mrs. Pollack’s love for living, the whole atmosphere here is charged with a pervasive sense of love and care. From Mrs. Pollack’s conversation via Skype with her eighty year APRIL 2010 JEWISH LIFESTYLE MAGAZINE

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old son Moshe and his wife, to the way Lilyan tends to her mother as one would finger a precious jewel, Mrs. Pollack looks like a diamond,

denly turned to the doctor. ‘I want you to check my daughter,’ she said. Surprised, the doctor looked at

Mama gave me life twice. Once when I was born and once when she listened to the small still voice inside her.

her family like the ring setting. And then Lilyan shares with me a heartwarming tale of a mother’s love. “I used to take Mama to the cardiologist every six months. He would examine her, talk about which drugs would strengthen her heart and advise us which should be cut down, and then we would leave. Since Mama, thank G‑d, was always in good health, these doctors visits were brief and to the point. “During one visit, Mama sud102

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me. ‘Are you feeling all right?’ he asked. ‘Sure,’ I said, equally surprised. ‘I’m fine. I just returned from China. I was touring the country there from seven in the morning until ten at night for three weeks. I’m fine.’ ‘The doctor removed his glasses; there was a puzzled expression on his face. ‘She’s fine,’ he said to Mama. Since Mama was always wary of keeping the patients in the waiting room too long, I was bewildered at

Mama’s insistence. ‘Doctor, please.’ My mother’s tone was low; in her usual humble manner. ‘Please, for my sake doctor, examine my daughter.’ The doctor acquiesced and I went on to the table. When the doctor spent twice as much time with me as he did with Mama, I began to worry. He sent me to do an echocardiogram and some tests. A few days later, when the results came in, the doctor phoned me and ordered me to go to the hospital without delay. The doctor met me at Shaarei Zedek hospital and sat me down. ‘What you have is very serious,’ he said. ‘It’s a myxoma. Did you ever hear of people collapsing on the street without warning? A myxoma can cause that. It’s a small growth in the arterial of the heart. You need to have it removed immediately.’ At my six week postoperative appointment the doctor expressed his amazement. ‘You had no symptoms or complications. Why did your mother persist that I see you? Ask her.’ I came home and gave the doctor’s question to my mother. ‘G‑d pushed me,’ was her simple reply. Mama gave me life twice. Once when I was born and once when she listened to the small still voice inside her.” I gather my belongings. It’s time for me to go. “Mama, give her your blessing,” says Lilyan. I leave with the blessings of a onehundred-five year old woman and a poignant reminder of the power of love. Reprinted from Aish.com w permission

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