A Memorable Dream

 

               “A good dream is a good gift.” – Reuven Alcalay

               “Dreams do not die if they bloomed once in your soul.” – Jacob Fichman

All of us dream, at least once in our lifetime.

Some remember their dreams, others forget. There are those who visualize the same dream repeatedly and there are those whose dreams are etched on their brains. Such dreams can be either haunting or comforting.

The one I am about to share with you belongs to the latter group.

My late father passed away in 1994. As I have mentioned more than once, he was a very constitutive figure in my life.

A Shoah survivor, who came out of the abyss, my father was what I would call a “Tzdik” (a righteous man). He never drifted from his faith in G-d. Every Shabbat, after coming back from the synagogue, instead of resting, he taught me G-d’s Torah and the wise words of our Jewish elders.

During the week, my father, who owned a small butcher shop, would get up at the crack of dawn, harness his horse to his cart, take chickens to the slaughterhouse and ensure that they are all ready and prepared by the time he opened his shop.

That, however, never stopped him from acquiescing to my request to stay with me a little longer on days that I had tests, review and go over the material with me, to ensure that I am ready for them. I drew so much comfort from his support and invigorating patience.

On Fridays, he would keep his shop open, albeit not for profit. Friday was a charity day. All that was left over from the week went to those who needed to prepare a Shabbat meal yet could not afford to pay.

Following a fall which left him debilitated, he spent his last days on this earth in a hospital. He was in his 90’s.

When the call bearing the sad news of his passing away arrived, I drove like a mad woman to the hospital. His body was still warm when I kissed his forehead and whispered to him, “Dad, G-d has prepared a special place for you next to His Throne of Glory.” I could swear he was smiling at me, for a split second.

Fast forward to September 1996.

I was then on my way to New Zealand. I briefly fell asleep on the plane. That is when the most awe-inspiring dream occurred.

In it, I saw my father. He was all skin and bones and naked, save for an ivory-coloured piece of cloth covering his groin. He was standing on stairs ascending to an unknown place and facing me who was at the bottom of them. His weak body was so fragile that he was supporting himself, with his right hand, on a rail that was connected to nowhere. He slowly raised his left hand, and waved goodbye to me.

Suddenly, from behind him, a very bright light glared, flashing brightly and powerfully. It blinded me. It also woke me up from my reverie.

I was calm, and I was happy. Somehow, I knew that my father had finally reached that special place which G-d prepares and reserves for the selected ones only.

Rest in Peace, abba.

My first grandson, may he live a long life, is named after you. Your legacy will always stay with us.

Shabbat Shalom

Mitzvot, a Code for a Better Tomorrow

 

“If you are not a better person tomorrow than you are today, what need have you for a tomorrow?” – Rabbe Nachman of Breslov

This week’s Parasha, “Ki Tetze” contains the largest number of Mitzvot in all the five books that compose the Torah. In contrast to last week’s parashah which addressed the appointment of public officials and their duties, this one focuses on private matters of individual, familial and neighbourly nature.

Rabbi Saadiah Gaon, (“Book of Beliefs and Opinions,” Chapter 3) divides the Mitzvot into two kinds. The first are the intellectual kind. These are the ones we can understand rationally and see the benefit of following them or abstaining from performing the ones we are prohibited because we recognize their denigrating or disparaging nature.

The second kind are a G-dly decree and are beyond the grasp of humans. Rambam elaborates on that and adds that these are the kind of Mitzvot that only G-d, in His infinite wisdom, can discern. We, humans, unlike Him, are limited and lack, in our mental faculties, the ability to see their rationale and reason (Ramabam, “A Guide to the Perplexed,” part 3, chapters 21-28).

 The Mitzvot that are listed in this Parashah belong to the former kind. They cover a wide range of our lives as Jews and as members of humanity and are aimed at ensuring the proper functioning of society and keeping it whole and continuous.

The Parashah is situated in the middle of the book of Devarim (Deuteronomy) and for a reason. It stresses what happened prior to it and what is about to happen in the future after Moshe is gone.  The Mitzvot are the elixir of Jewish Life. They are the axis of Jewish continuity. They define our past and are a guarantee to our future by providing us the tools and the guidelines to living and leading a more meaningful life. The Mitzvot and the Halachah are the key to understanding our Jewish essence as human beings. They provide an important foundation for a better as well as a rewarding tomorrow that is ingrained in them.

The first Mitzvah that the Parashah addresses is how to conduct oneself during war. According to Chaza”l, the enemy it refers to is not necessarily a national or physical enemy such as our Jewish People faces on a daily basis. It can also refer to the ongoing internal struggles that rage within us every day.

 The point raised by Chaza”l is reinforced by the fact that “Ki Tetze” is a Parashah that is read in the month of Elul, the last month of the Jewish year. During that month, we are expected to examine our conduct, resolve internal conflicts and assess how they are integrated in our general existence as human beings and our eternal Jewish chronicle.

Another Mitzvah, one I, personally, was unfailingly raised on and one I to adhere to is mentioned in verses 14-15: “Thou shalt not oppress a hired servant that is poor and needy, whether he be of thy brethren, or of thy strangers that are in thy land within thy gates. In the same day thou shalt give him his hire, neither shall the sun go down upon it; for he is poor, and setteth his heart upon it: lest he cry against thee unto the Lord and it be sin in thee.”

The moral obligation to pay promptly for labour performed was hammered into my brain since early childhood. “When, for instance,” my mother used to say, “you give a shoemaker a shoe to be repaired, while working on your shoe, he is already planning what he would do with the money you will pay him.” That is the logic behind such a very important decree.

There, as I stated in the past, are rewards and benefits to following the Mitzvot.

The Book of Mishlei (Proverbs), for instance, where the Mistvot are referred to as “your father’s instructions and your mother’s teaching” (1:8), likens them, in several verses, to jewels. In 1:9, it describes them as “For they shall be an ornament of grace to your head and chains around your neck.” These words of wisdom add elegance and beauty to the one who internalizes and follows them. In Mishlei 4:8-9, the wisdom and understanding of the Torah and the Mitzvot passed on to us by our parents, “will be a garland to grace your head and present you with a glorious crown.” They will add speldour and grandour to the wisdom that man learns throughout life. In the words of Rabbi Pinchas Bar Chama, “Wherever you go, the Mitzvot will follow you.” (Devarim Raba, 6).

The greatest and most important reward of the Mitzvot, however, is that the wisdom instilled in them will paint present and future life, for those who adhere to them, as more meaningful and fulfilling.

What is more important than a satisfying life? Could there be a better recipe for a long, gratifying life to all, especially the followers of a tradition which, above all, sanctifies Life, commands us to “Choose Life” and hang on to the “Tree of Life?”

May the promise of an improved world and a better tomorrow continue to emanate from those who follow the Mitzvot and those whose life they touch.

The Fire that Hardens the Egg, Melts the Butter

 

People who read my articles, occasionally, write to me asking about the level of my piety and Jewish observance.

Though I am not an observant Jew in the traditional sense of the word, I do believe, and very deeply, in G-d. I try to understand His wisdom, His teachings and accordingly live up to the role I have been destined to fulfill.

As I am sitting here, trying to grasp the enormity and the underlying messages of G-d in this week’s Torah portion, “Ki Tetze,” which I was first introduced to as a child, through my father’s teachings, I am yet again, thankful to have been born into such a great culture padded with so much insight and enlightenment. Its depth and wisdom are flabbergasting. The more I delve into it, the more I am left in awe.

It so happens that, in recent days, I have also been listening and watching a video where the mother of one of my childhood friends unfolds her horrific ordeals and misfortunes during the Shoah. She also shares experiences from her childhood where she was raised in a home steeped in Jewish tradition and customs and a staunch belief in G-d.

Auschwitz, unfortunately, "cured" her from her faith in G-d. That cursed place is where, for her, G-d existed no more.

That awareness, naturally, affected and determined the extent of Jewish education that my friend received at home. It was minimal if any, at all.

Like her mother, though, my late father had also been a survivor of the Nazi inferno.

Unlike her, however, and despite witnessing the horrible death of both his parents (burnt in the synagogue, along with other "useless" beings), as well as the untimely death of other family members, my father never lost faith in G-d. His motto was "G-d giveth and G-d taketh, may G-d's name be blessed." Somehow, I felt that the older he got, the stronger became his trust in G-d.

How else could my father, part of the remnant of the big fire, express his gratitude for his survival, for moving with my mother and brother to Eretz Yisrael, raising a family and living a long rewarding life?

Both my friend’s mother and my father were scorched by the same fire. They both came out of that experience different people, each with their own conclusions, resolutions, and world view. One melted, the other hardened. It is not my place to say which is which. I will leave it to each reader to decide that, should they wish.

Having said that, it is important to emphasize that one cannot and should never judge people for their decisions and choices. Each person holds life stories woven intricately which, jointly, make up the tapestry of their essence.  Each responds accordingly and reacts differently to similar experiences.

What I can and will continue to do is be obliged to my earthly father and the choices he had made, choices that had defined his Jewish substance which left its footprints on my core. Likewise, I will, forever, be beholden to my Heavenly father for that which I have and for that which I do not have. Both molded me and defined the terrain and the course of my physical and spiritual journeys through life.

 

The Weakest Link

 

We are all part of a chain in one way or another. Some are a link in a family line, others are the connectors in the history of an ethnic group, a nation, a social, cultural or any other assembly.

That link is not always staring at us or is clearly visible. Sometimes, we need to search for it, join scattered dots, cross- check facts or dig deep to discover it. In some instances, we may be lucky enough and discover that tiny clue which will lead us to the component that we are in search of. In others, unfortunately, we may find that the weakest link is not only weak, but also nonexistent.

In 2002, I embarked on the quest for one.

It happened when my daughter and I attended a summer school programme in Yiddish studies at the University of Vilnius, Yiddish Institute.

Over one weekend, we went to visit both my parents’ hometowns.  My mother’s, Smorgon, was first on the list. Since I had visited the place two years earlier, I was rather familiar with its layout which, incidentally, unlike that of my father’s and others that I visited, changed considerably since the time my mother had lived there.  

My mother’s house was no longer there. The large and menacing grey Pravoslav Church that had once stood there and which my mother could see through her bedroom window, was demolished once the Soviets entered town. The only remnant of the days gone by was the habitual market day which took place on Wednesdays.

Just as I had in my first visit, two years earlier, I tried, again, to find some information about my family’s history, a shred of evidence, a weak link that could reconnect me to that place.

Our tour guide, Regina, a Yiddish speaker herself, was immensely helpful. She was able to find one man who was seventeen years old when WWII broke out. Surely, I thought to myself, he would have heard of the Kozlowsky family (fictitious name, for obvious reasons). My grandfather owned a big, successful wholesale business. He was the richest man in town and their big spacious home was located near the city square.

The old man we met (in the photo below) who was eighty years old at the time, was blind and could not remember much. I tried to help revive his memory and mentioned the name of my grandfather’s competitor, Bernstein (likewise, a fictitious name) but to no avail. Nothing!

I felt empty. I had brought my daughter all the way for nothing, no proof, whatsoever, of a world, part of her world, that once was. The missing link was nowhere to be found.

Our next stop was my father’s hometown. A poor place with a few scattered houses where time stood still. No slight chance of finding the long searched for missing link, there, it was obvious.

“Is there another place you wish to visit before we head back to Vilna?” Regina asked me, noticing my great disappointment.

“Oshmiany,” I responded automatically.

Both my daughter and Regina looked surprised. “Why?” probed Regina, “did you have any family there?”

“No,” I said, “But my parents used to mention that name more than once. I am curious to see it.”
“Interesting,” observed Regina, “I happen to know a Jewish family there, the only Jewish family left there.”

Like my father’s hometown, not much seemed to have changed in that small community since the war ended, according to Bluma De Leon.

Bluma, a woman in her eighties, lived with her daughter, her son in law and two granddaughters in a small house, surrounded by farms, in an area sprinkled with what seemed to have been semi built houses, and many ruined ones.

Somehow, she managed to survive the war and moved to Oshmiany after it ended.

“I was born in Kreve,” she started her story, in Yiddish, of course, “where my father owned a small retail store.”

“Kreve?” I asked, “it was not far from Smorgon, was it not?” I knew the name since my grandmother used to tell me stories, in Yiddish, about life in those little shtetles. I could see them in my mind’s eye. I could draw a map and place each and everyone of them on their approximate locations.

“Yes, I knew Smorgon. I used to go there with my father,” she answered without hesitation. A glimmer of hope was ignited in me. A sliver of light was shinning towards me from afar.

“You have been to Smorgon as a child?” I asked with my mouth wide open and sparkling eyes. “What did you go there for?” I persisted as if clinging to the edge of a lifeline.

“My father used to buy supplies such as flour and sugar from Bernstein.”

“Wrong name, wrong link,” a tiny voice whispered to me as I sank deeper into the armchair in which I was seated. And just when I was ready to give up, I suddenly heard Bluma’s voice as if in a dream, “herring, however, the best herring, he bought from Kozlowsky."

I jumped in my seat. “Did you say, ‘Kozlowsky?’” I heard myself saying.

“Yes, because he was famous for his herring. It was the best there was.” As the tears began gushing down my face, I stood up, walked to Bluma, hugged her and in a strained voice said, "I am his granddaughter. You are the evidence I have been looking for, the living proof, the confirmation that the chain has never been broken. Thank you,"

“But I am just a weak eighty years old woman,” she added, as she was wiping her tears.

“Even the weakest link can, sometimes, become the strongest one.” I whispered to her as we stood there holding each other for a long while.

Jewish Folklore and One of Its Lessons

Disclaimer: the opinion expressed in this article are those of its writer ONLY. It is written from the Jewish point of view and its belief system. One of the courses I attend at Bar-Ilan University is Yiddish language and Literature.  A few lessons ago, we read a story by Y.L. Peretz. It is entitled “Three presents.” The story tells the adventures of a departed soul that goes up in front of the Heavenly Court. Since according to Jewish belief, it is only one’s behaviour on earth which determines whether their soul will enter Paradise or Ghenna, its good deeds are weighed against the bad ones.

Unfortunately for the soul in question, its transgressions slightly outweighed its acts of kindness. One of the angels had mercy on it and decided to give the soul another opportunity. It was sent back to earth and told to return with three presents which would please the Court.

The soul roamed the earth for many generations. One night, it noticed, through an open window, a Jewish man being robbed. The man pleaded with the burglars to take all his silver, gold and precious stones while clinging to a little box, refusing to part with it. The robbers were intrigued. Thinking that the box contained some treasure, they killed the man. As he fell down weltering in his blood, the content of the box spilled out. It was holy dirt from Eretz Yisrael. The soul took a morsel of the soil soaked with the Jew’s blood and brought it up.

The first present was accepted. On its second trip to earth, the soul found itself at the center of an ancient European town. There, a beautiful Jewish woman who was accused of tainting and desecrating Easter holy day by her mere presence on the street at that time, was put on trial. Next to her, a wild horse was being held by ten men. Her sentence was to be tied by her hair to the horse’s tail and dragged through the streets of the town. She had one request only. Much to the surprise and amazement of all present, she asked for a few pins. Her wish was granted. As the horse galloped through the streets, the soul noticed how the young woman was struggling to fasten the rim of her dress to her flesh in order to keep her modesty and prevent her nakedness from being exposed. Surreptitiously, the soul went down and detached a red bloody pin from her dying body. The second present was graciously accepted. “One more present,” thought the soul, as it made its way down to earth for the third time. “If all souls were to be weighed as I was,” she thought in anguish, “the world would be full of lost souls trying to make amends to their wickedness. And what would G-d do then?” she wondered. “Will He bring the world back to chaos?”

Steeped in her thoughts, she suddenly noticed a fortified prison in an isolated area. It was surrounded by black walls. Next to it, she noticed two rows of soldiers, each holding a whip.

Between them was doomed to walk the convicted, a pious Jewish man, wearing a shabby shirt and on his half shaved head, an old yarmulke.

And his crime?

No one was certain. Was it murder, theft or perhaps a blood libel?

As he was pushed between the two rows of soldiers, they were each lashing him incessantly, smiling and wondering how long the victim would hold on. Yet, he remained defiant. The whips whistled in the air wrapping the Jew’s torn body like snakes as the blood gushed out. But he kept on walking.

One of the whips, suddenly, hit the yarmulke which dropped to the ground.

When the victim noticed that, he stood still contemplating his next move. “I cannot walk bare headed, no matter what” he decided. He turned back, picked the yarmulke, put it on his head and resumed his harsh sentence until he fell and expired.

The soul approached the fallen man and took a blood soaked thread from the yarmulke. The third present was welcome…… the soul was redeemed. We can each draw our own lesson from this sad and heart wrenching tale. My lesson is that in our Jewish tradition, as our folklore well reflects it, redemption and the world to come are not handed nor guaranteed. They must be earned. It is only up to us, how we carry ourselves and what we do in this world. We, and no one else, are the only ones who are held responsible for the outcome of our deeds. Not only does our mature and enlightening Jewish tradition command us to choose life, we have to do justice, perform acts of kindness and hope that they would please G-d, and grant us a place among the righteous of the world.

The Perpetual Desert Generation?

Two weeks ago, Jews the world over celebrated Pesach, the Holy Day marking our People’s Exodus from Egypt and embarking on our journey from slavery into freedom. For me, at least, it bears a very meaningful period in our Jewish timeline.

Unfortunately, this Pesach was quite a different one, one that we are not going to forget anytime soon. This year, it was celebrated in the shadow of Corona, serving as a reminder of the fragility of the fabric of our existence.

It is not just Corona, however, that served as a wakeup call for many. For some, myself included, this Pesach, unfortunately, presented, yet another proof that though we may have physically come out of bondage, mentally and emotionally, we are still drenched and perceptually bear the yoke of serfdom. We are still in the Sinai desert trying to make our way to the Promised Land.

Remember how our forefathers complained to Moshe on a regular basis during that time? Here are some examples.

Exodus 16:3 : “If only we had died by the Lord’s hand in Egypt! There we sat around pots of meat and ate all the food we wanted, but you have brought us out into this desert to starve this entire assembly to death.”

In Exodus 17:3, we hear a similar gripe when they accuse Moshe of trying to kill them. This time, though, they add, “children and livestock,” thus making the accusations against him even more severe by including these two feeble and vulnerable groups. “Why did you bring us up out of Egypt to make us and our children and livestock die of thirst?”

Later, in Exodus 32, when Moshe is away on Mount Sinai, receiving the Torah, the Yisraelites lose patience and continue with their complaints. Aharon, who is not well versed in the art of leadership, caves in and erects the golden calf.

This was going on for forty years when all that Moshe wanted was to deliver our People to their own Land and secure their future.

Fast forward a few thousand years. That brings us to the modern-day Jewish state of Yisrael.

Looking around me nowadays, I see members of a Nation and a country that I love so dearly. Although we have moved forward and are experiencing the opulence of the Age of Technology with its many conveniences, something that did not exist during the Exodus, attitude wise, not much seems to have changed. Our mindsets and reactions to serious issues has unfortunately remained pretty much the same. It pangs me to see that we are still doing what our forefathers did thousands of years ago during what should have been considered a landmark in our history.

We are still complaining precisely as did the Biblical desert generation.

When we could celebrate Pesach freely among family and friends, many Yisraelis preferred to do it on some remote exotic island. It is probably and most likely because they did not want to be in the company of salivating auntie Frida and blabbering uncle Maurice.

Now, we have an epidemic, rather a pandemic which forces us into a new reality. “Now” they told us, “you are relieved of the company of auntie Frida and uncle Maurice. In fact, we forbid you to spend any time with them.”

And what do some do in response? Yes, they complain, as did the desert generation. .

The Yisraeli Health Ministry issued some extremely strict guidelines in order to stamp out a virus that has claimed many lives. These directives have one goal and one goal only. It is to secure the health well-being of Yisraelis (a tactic which, by the way, proved itself as remarkably effective).

And how do we react? You guessed right again. Just like them.

We keep complaining while some still refuse to cooperate and to adhere to the instructions.

I could come up with some more examples to prove my point. But you do get my gist, don’t you?

For a nation, a People that has been through so much in history, witnessed so many miracles, saw devastation and renewal, death, and rebirth we, Jews have much to be grateful for.

But hey, if we follow the logic of Cohen’s quote above, I guess the question that is begging to be asked is, if we drop our complaints, would we still be Jewish?

Happy Independence Day, Medinat Yisrael and Am Yisrael.

Pidyon HaBen

{Note:  Pidyon HaBen (redemption of the firstborn son) is a Jewish ceremony wherein the father of a firstborn male redeems his son by giving a Cohen (a descendant of Aharon, the High Priest) five silver coins, thirty days after the baby’s birth}. 

The following article was written by Tal Gilad in Hebrew and translated into English by Bat-Zion Susskind-Sacks.

From here to there, I find myself, one day in a Pidyon HaBen ceremony, at some friends’ home. The last time that I attended such an event was at my son’s Pidyon HaBen which too place twenty years ago.

I must admit that I do not get excited by events in which the subject of the event is not asked whether he wishes to be there or not. The same is, more or less,  true for weddings but there, at least one still has the theoretical option to jump out the window and escape to Ben Gurion airport, a privilege which one does not have at the age of one month. Make no mistake, I am all for it, I just pity the baby and his parents surrounded by salivating aunts and uncles who possess a sense of humour older than wine.

Still, a pleasant surprise awaited me as soon as I arrived, when I realized that the ceremony will be conducted by my dear friend, Yechiel Safra (yes, that same one from the programme “It is Language Time”), one of the most amazing people that I was fortunate to meet.

 It was clear that this occasion, was not going to be boring. However, one glance at the audience, raises doubts in me: the scenery is entirely secular, most of whom look younger than the spectacled-bald-enlightened breed that is travelling to attend critiquing an exhibition in Berlin.

The parents themselves look like children, a bit stressed, trying to smile. The father is still not certain about handling the child, gets advice and light reproof from female relatives. Oy, how well I remember this.

The ritual commences and I realize how convenient it is to be a guest and not a frightened parent. You can listen and even understand when the mother is reading certain explanations from her notes. And then she invites Safra. The well experienced fox stands up and while walking starts chanting with his thundering voice, the proper Biblical trope, “And G-d spoke unto Moshe…..” I am always envious of people who do not need a microphone and who were blessed with the voice that I only have when I have a cold. The sudden attack finds the spectacled-bold unprepared and in need of that split second to grasp the cynicism. They tense up and you realize that it suddenly interests them. No, it is more than mere interest. It is something that is reminiscent of methods used to locate spies: someone behind them utters something in their native tongue and checks to see who instinctively turns, before they contemplate their move. No use trying, Judaism is there, in all of them, underneath a crust that is much thinner than we believe.

Safra does not hold the baby and does not raise him upward, as they did to my son twenty years ago, a moment where my blood froze and a decision to become a Buddhist ripened. It turns out that it is not an essential or inseparable part of the ceremony. For a second, I retroactively get upset but in no time return to the present. Here, the parents continue to hold the baby. And those who remember what being a fresh parent knows how comforting it is to all involved.

“Firstborn son, you shall redeem after thirty days,” I did not know the explanation it formed the Hebrew acronym of “Bresheet,” (in the beginning). The origin of the text is, of course, associated with the tenth plague that preceded the Exodus from Egypt, which spared the firstborn sons of Bnei Yisrael. “And each of firstborn sons you shall redeem.” Jews enjoy doubting themselves. There is a cosmopolitan halo about it. The Exodus from Egypt? No proof! We are enlightened, scientific, and hopelessly sober.

Many of the researchers who are, with all due respect, no less scientific and sober than the bald-spectacled above, are fairly certain that the Exodus from Egypt did take place. A blend of shreds evidence, the Egyptian Ipouwer Papyurs which even the enlightened of the enlightened will have to chuckle while reading the text and at least say: “ This, of course, proves nothing, yet it is interesting” and, mainly, the use of that very rare commodity, common sense.

There is no reason for the presence of such a popular story if it has no basis in reality. Nations do not invent story that describe themselves as originating from slaves who had escaped. It is a story that outlines  an ongoing, not always complimentary, story which involves many people and generally sounds credible.

The ceremony continues, a mixture of light and heavy, the course of redeeming the baby is performed according to all rules and regulations. What would you prefer the baby or the shekels? Surprisingly enough, the father elects to have the baby and we reach the stage of Birkat Cohanim.

And then comes the genuine great surprise.

Some of the participants (not only the uncle with the kippah from Nes - Tziona which everyone seems to have) mumble lines from the blessings along with Safra. I know because I learned it from my son. But where in the world does a Tel Aviver who produces a feature and has a cat, know it? And here – unbelievable, or, in fact, why not – there appears a little tear. Not one facial muscle moves, the young man sits with folded hands, no one would have noticed if not for the wipe, as if by happenstance, of the eye and quickly reverts to folding his arms. Someone once told me that there is not one person in Yisrael who is secular.

Safra concludes, explains a few points and leaves us all with a smile. The mother ends with a few Torah words and everyone’s attention is shifted to the plates. All of this in less than a quarter of an hour, a feel-good timeout and unveils in you what you truly are. Secular or observant, Leftist or Right wing, a believer or very lucid. A Jew.

Shabbat Shalom.

Is Jewish History Repeating Itself?

The last few months, here, in Yisrael, have compelled me to re-evaluate our Jewish history, especially its latest chapter, which is unfolding itself to us, as I write these lines. As many know, Yisrael has been going through a period of upheaval surrounding our recurring elections.

It is not the repeated elections that I have a problem with. Rather, it is the platforms of some, those spewing “justnotBibi” slogans (https://wingnsonawildflight.blogspot.com/2019/08/the-just-not-bibi-party.html and spreading “anti-Hareidi” arrogant messages.

The hatred and disdain displayed at the Hareidi echoes, at least for me, other periods in our long Jewish history, times that were of great concerns to many who lived through them. The contempt projected at that segment of the Yisraeli society is, I believe, the product of both internal and external forces.

Other cultures and traditions, their concepts and values have always been attractive and tempting to our Jewish people. Already in the Book of Samuel 1 (8;5), Am Yisrael demands of him “appoint a king to lead us such as all the other nations have.” How quickly had they forgotten that a)  we are NOT and were never meant to be like “all other nations,” b) that we are not supposed to have any king other than G-d.

Samuel does not understand it. G-d, however, does. “It is not you they have rejected, but they have rejected me as their king,” He tells distressed Samuel.

Unfortunately, it was not merely the desire to abandon G-d that put our treasured tradition at risk. It involved many other aspects that came as part and parcel of the covenant that we entered with Him at Mount Sinai. It meant not only deserting some observances and customs but some wonderful Jewish values as well.

Who has not heard of the Hellenizing Jews during the ancient Greek and Roman times, those Jews who chose to adopt Roman principles, assume their names, espouse and practice their hedonistic habits while mocking their Jewish ones?

The 12^th century Spanish Jewish society is another such example. The rejection of Jewish values and heritage in favour of the more “enlightened Greek philosophy” threatened to undermine the foundations of Jewish belief among the more educated segment of the Jewish population. The apprehension at what he had witnessed then compelled Rabbi Yehudah Halevi to write his greatest work, “Hakuzari.” The book, originally named, “The Book in defense of the humiliated and debased religion,” was written in response to such trends.

We have all heard about the “forced conversions” and the “secret Jews” during the Spanish and Portuguese Inquisition which took place one century later. In a revealing research (“The Origins of the Inquisition in Fifteenth Century Spain” 1995), Professor Ben-Zion Netanyahu challenged some traditional views and suggested that those Jews whether converted unwillingly or otherwise, were dedicated Christians who never practiced their Judaism. Some even became great thinkers of the Christian faith in Spain and reached high ranks in the Church there. Others, according to him, even elected to write books in praise of Christianity and its greatness and lived a Christian life in the true sense of the word.

There are many more examples to such tendencies among our Jewish People.

Only recently, during my studies towards my doctorate degree, I have learned about the devastating effects the Haskalah (Jewish Enlightenment) movement of the 18^th century posed to Jewish existence. The willful abandonment of Jewish values in favour of adopting foreign ones, the shameful existence laced with anti-semitism and poverty which were the lot of many members of the Jewish population in Eastern Europe, pushed many Jews to convert.

Just like Rabbi Yehudah Halevi, some Jews were concerned about the dangers that loomed over the Jewish world. It was in response to such worries that the Hareidi movement was established in central and eastern Euope the late 18^th century.

And Frankly, I , personally, am grateful for that.

Had Judaism not been preserved and kept by some segments of our Jewish world, what justification would there have been to setting up a Jewish Homeland in Eretz Yisrael? It could have, instead, been established anywhere else (far from this dangerous neighbourhood) as a “state for Jews” rather than the Jewish state.

Which brings me to the sad reality we are faced with in the Yisrael of today. Now that we have a state of our own, why are there forces toiling so hard to remove its Jewish essence? Would we have survived thus far had we not adhered to the commandments of the Torah that were meant to preserve us both physically and spiritually? Why would we want to distance ourselves from the very source that has imbibed us with the elixir of Life, our Torah? Why do we want to be like everyone else when history has shown us time and again that we simply cannot no matter how hard we try?

I remember my late mother telling me how, while incarcerated in the Nazi death Camps, they always asked “My G-d, my G-d, why hast thou forsaken me?”

Dear mom, He has not forsaken us. Rather, in today’s Yisrael, I am afraid, it seems that we, yet again, have forsaken Him.

Shabbat Shalom and may we all have a week filled with every blessing.

Judaism and Compassion

“Christianity is more compassionate and loving than Judaism,” said to me one of my students who was indoctrinated by missionaries to parrot their words. “Judaism is vindictive, harsh and inflexible,” he went on to give me the reasons why he chose to adopt the Christian faith. As an example, he cited the verse from Mathew that states: “You have heard it was said, ‘An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.’ But I say unto you, ‘Do not resist one who is evil. But if anyone strikes you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also.” His example caught me somewhat flabbergasted as all it did was merely mislead him to believe that compassion is synonymous with abuse since, in the views of some, “turning the other cheek” is what it boils down to. I also found his observation and conclusion about Judaism not only unfounded but also surprising since that student came from a non-practicing home and had very minimal, if any, knowledge about Judaism and our Tanach in order to be able to form an objective view and disprove or refute such allegations.

So lest other innocent souls fall prey to such disinformation and deceitful messages, I have decided to take the opportunity and educate some of our fellow Jews about our own beautiful culture and hopefully rectify the damage that has been inflicted upon us through similar antics by those who will do all they can to “steal our souls.”

Firstly, not only is Judaism not vindictive or encourages to carry grudges, it teaches compassion and sympathy to the suffering of others. What then is a better way to arm the uneducated among us with knowledge than through revisiting our Tanach and other sources for pointing out the truth?

Towards that end, I decided to focus this article on this week’s Parasha, Ki Tetse.

Ki Tetse addresses several issues. They all share a common denominator, Compassion. According to the Cambridge Dictionary Compassion is: ”A strong feeling of sympathy and sadness for the suffering or bad luck of others and a wish to help them.” And these are the sentiments that are echoed in many of the commandments that are discussed in this Parasha. Let us look at a few.

The first issue in this Parasha discusses the treatment of non-Jewish women who are captured in war. The text stresses that the captive women need to be treated well. According to it, they have rights and privileges. And that, dear readers, was decreed thousands of years before the Geneva Convention was initiated.

Another important issue that is mentioned in this Parasha refers to the kind treatment of lost or hurt animals. “Thou shalt not see thy brother’s ox or his sheep driven away and hide thyself from them; thou shalt surely bring them back unto thy brother.” The text further expands to say:” Thou shalt not see thy brother’s ass or his ox fallen down by the way and hide thyself from them; thou shalt surely help him to lift them up again. ” Neither should one tie a donkey and an ox to the same plough when cultivating a field as they are not equal in capabilities and the weaker one might suffer as a result.

I can almost hear those who are familiar with the Parasha calling me out and claiming that some of the commandments that are listed here display women as disadvantaged to men. That, unfortunately, is correct. Though I do not condone such attitudes of inequality, I would ask the readers to look at this part of the Parasha from the perspective of the ancient world, mainly Mesopotamia, in which the Hebrew culture of the Tanach was reared. There, women were not regarded as autonomous individuals and did not practice much personal sovereignty.  

However, as I pointed out above, overall, these commandments do present a compassionate society. Honest compassion encompasses empathy and is perceptive to the needs of others. Compassion, therefore, can, eventually, inspire and encourage greater equality for everyone. All one needs to do, nowadays, is look at the modern-day Jewish society and see how our compassionate essence has produced a better and happier Jewish world.

Shabbat Shalom

Tanach, the Elixir of Jewish Life

Today, I met with a fellow student who is doing her doctorate in Tanach studies.

She needed help with translating some research for her dissertation.

What a refreshing break it was. What a bliss to be able to unchain myself from the daily chores, from a world that is slowly draining itself off any trace of decency and dignity, where personal agenda replaces the imperative to make the world a better place and where the commandment to choose life is crushed by cultures of death. .

As someone who grew up in an observant home with a father who was very knowledgeable about the Tanach , I developed a wonderful and very rewarding love affair with this great book.

It, therefore, deeply saddens me to witness our Jewish people (the ones I care about first and foremost) distance themselves from the BEST piece of writing ever presented to mankind.

I do not prescribe to the belief that the Tanach was written by G-d. Humans, like you and I, I believe, made of flesh and blood with emotions, wants, desires, faults and imperfections, wrote it. They did, however, have one trait in common. They were very wise.

The Tanach is not just about the righteous or people that lived by or adhered to the strictest of moral codes. It is about reality and, like any reality, where humankind is involved, it is composed of the good, the bad, the beautiful the not so good, the not so bad and the not so beautiful. It tells stories of betrayal, sacrifice, love, deceit, power struggles, conflicts, pain, joy and some victories.

Its narrators were very crafty.

Each tale, each experience was meant to teach, to educate. Their lessons are so great, woven so intricately into each book, each chapter and each verse. Their eternal message is, sometimes, camouflaged in the form of parables, adorned with the finest of pearls, and sometimes hidden in plain sight, just waiting to be uncovered.

As I read and re-read them, they unfold new angles, new insights, and new understandings. They are the fountainhead of unending wisdom, a river of pure, clear water that refreshes one's tired soul, the elixir of Life, if only we opened ourselves to absorbing them and their teachings.

It is a book that recounts the sagas of a unique and determined nation, from its infancy through adulthood. It describes its various stages of growth and spiritual development as it never fails to list its contributions to a, often, hostile world.

So, my dear fellow Jews, when your tired spirit seeks a respite, longs for a quiet corner away from the madding crowd or wishes to take a break from a troubled burdening world, heed my advice. Shake off your shackles and delve into the most soothing ancient cradle called Tanach.

 Let it lull your troubled essence on the verses of Psalms and reignite any fading spark which is begging to be revived. Imbibe the wisdom of Solomon and reconnect with the treasure of our Jewish soul. Allow its pillar of fire to guide you back onto our glorious path washed out by the foamy and angry waves of a grim history.  Let it nourish your every cell with renewed vigor and be awaken to a bright new dawn in our Eternal Covenant.

Against all Odds

As a child, Alina was always skinny, sickly and constantly bullied by her friends. They mocked her for her small size and pale complexion.

“One day,” she used to retort back at them, “I will be on top of the world. Where will you be?”

The dream to shake off the image of her dreary childhood, in the city of Khabarovsk, her birthplace, located in the far eastern part of Russia, took hold of her heart and shaped Alina’s essence. Though she ended up living a very comfortable life, earned a business management degree from one of the top and most prestigious universities and had all her needs taken care of, something was missing in her life. Life in that remote part of the world was empty and seemed to hold no future. The dream, however, refused to extinguish itself. Parts of her spirit and soul were begging for a change.

It was her Jewish ancestry, of all factors, which helped revive the dream, bring about the change and help fulfill her wish.

“Why don’t you travel to Yisrael?” her mother asked her one bright day trying to cheer her up. “Since my father is Jewish,” she suggested to Alina, “ under the Law of Return, you can move there without any problem. Give it a try. You can always come back home.”

Despite warnings against the difficulties that Yisrael poses to new immigrants and in spite of the doubts expressed by those that were close to her about her ability to adjust to life here, Alina took her mother's advice. In 1999, she arrived in Yisrael. She was immediately placed in an absorption center in Tiberias where, a year later, she was joined by her mother.

From Tiberias, they both moved to Eilat.

In 2004, Alina moved to Herzliya where she commenced her studies towards earning a Personal Training Certificate at the American-Israel Fitness college. Life, it seemed, was finally beginning to smile at her. She was on her way to realize her childhood dream.

In October of that year, Alina was preparing for her final exams in the course. She needed a break and, along with her mom, went on holiday at the Hilton Hotel in the resort town of Taba in the Sinai Peninsula. She was planning on doing her studies in the tranquility of the relaxing desert atmosphere. That vacation changed her life and shaped its destined path in every respect.

Many Yisraelis may recall October 7^th of 2004 as the day in which two devastating terror attacks took place in two resorts frequented by Yisraeli travelers. The Hilton Taba was one of them.

Alina was sitting just outside the hotel lobby reading her course notes when a powerful blast ripped through the hotel. It was caused by two separate car bombs each carrying 200kg of explosives detonated in the lobby. He mother was upstairs in the room.

The scars caused by the many pieces of flying glass that hit Alina are etched on her body. They are an eternal reminder of that devastating day, a day that marked a turning point in her life.

With each passing moment of her long and painful recovery, following the terror attack, Alina felt weakness leaving her body. She was getting stronger not only physically but also emotionally. The “skinny and sickly” young girl from Khabarovsk was fading away into parts of a very remote past. Determination to defy all odds filled every cell in Alina’s body. If she can challenge death, she decided, she can overcome any of life’s tests.

Her attempt to study for the final exam of her course were one of those tests. The blood-soaked notebooks and her scarred body refused to let the waves of grief that threatened her troubled soul to subside. At the same time, Alina was determined not to let victimhood dictate her life. She would study and pass her exams! Failure was one term that evaporated from her vocabulary. Her efforts paid off. She passed her exams with flying colours and earned her certificate.

Something else happened to Alina on the day she survived the terror attack. She realized WHY she survived. “Mom,” she called her mother one day, “I am going to convert to Judaism. My maternal grandfather was Jewish. His People became a nation on Mount Sinai. I am coming back Home.”

Alina embarked on the journey of Halachic conversion to Judaism. Several months later, her mother joined her.  The sliver of hope on the cloudy skies of Alina’s life was getting wider.

In 2007, Alina gave birth to a beautiful boy. “I named him Roniel,” she told me as she turned around, exposed part of her upper back and pointed at one of her scars. It was in the clear and defined shape of the Hebrew letter Reish. “Roniel is my precious gift. He is part of my reward and the soothing balm to my bruised soul.”

Alina’s regained inner strength has pushed her to take her dream even further. This year, she has participated in three body building competitions. The first, Nabba - Israel where she earned first place in the 40+ category. The second WBF – Israel where she earned second place in the bikini 35+ category. She also earned second place in the NAC competition of bikini 40+.

 

“Though my resolve to turn my life into a success came from within me,” she told me when we met for lunch last week, “I am very grateful to my partner, Oded Saba, for his ongoing support and encouragement through this journey.”

The balance of beauty, wisdom and determination that Alina has been blessed with are the traits that have brought her thus far and have made her a role model to many.
  

We wish her the best of luck and every blessing! 🇮🇱 🏆 🇮🇱