By Marsha Smagley

A ba’alas teshuva of only the last ten years, I have difficulty letting go of the holidays, especially Chanukah.

It is the last night of Chanukah and as I watch the glowing lights of our three menorahs, two with flames from oil and one from wax, I feel sadness at its end. I want to hold onto this night, I want to hold on to this magnificent light.

The wax candles in our menorah are slowly melting down, its flames fading into the night. The oil candles will burn longer; their light is exquisite, I want to hold onto this light. How can I still keep Hashem’s light burning bright, with the lights of Chanukah fading away? Tears fill my eyes, the very tears of the soul, imploring the gate of tears in Heaven to return the eternal light of the Shechinah.

When we gaze upon the lights of the menorah, we are basking in Hashem’s Tree of Light (Rav S.R. Hirsch describes the menorah as a “Tree of Light” in his chumash on Parshas Teruma in Shemos), the gift He gave to His beloved children of Israel, to get through the darkness of winter, and the bitter darkness of gulus. G-d’s light is hidden in the thirty six Chanukah candles. We light a total of thirty six lights during Chanukah, the same number of times the word ohr, light, is found in Torah and the same number of times neir, candle, appears in Torah. When I light the lights of Chanukah, I take comfort in being enveloped in His Divine light.

The soul is compared to a candle; trying to break free of its body of wax, yearning to touch the Heavens. As the candles’ flames seem to shuckle to and fro, I am reminded of the dance of the soul, as it strives to lead the body through life, trying to shine Hashem’s light onto this world.

A little light dispels a lot of darkness. The light of the candle slowly flickers within the recess of my mind, with the realization that we have a pintelle yid, a spark of the Divine forever burning brightly within our soul. As the light in the tent of Sarah Emeinu never went out during her life time, our pintelle yid too forever burns brightly. I take comfort in knowing that G-d’s candle is always burning within me.

“Ki neir mitzvo ve’Torah ohr,” For a commandment is a candle and the Torah is light.” (Mishlei 6:23). Each time we perform a mitzvah, we attach ourselves, like a candle’s flame to its body of wax, to His Divine will, and become an emissary of His light of Torah.

The numerical value of neir is 250, which corresponds to the 248 positive commandments and the 248 limbs of the body. The additional two needed to equal the 250 of neir, is ahavas Hashem and yiras Hashem, love of Hashem and awe of Hashem. When a Jew performs mitzvahs with the koach/strength of their entire life force, igniting the flame of the candle with ahavas Hashem and yiras Hashem, it awakens the pintelle yid within. (Sfas Emes L’Chanukah, suf reish lamed-aleph).

I take solace in knowing that when we light the lights of the menorah, the tree of light, we are reminded not only of the miracle of Chanukah, but our very calling as Jews The Jew is a wick that allows an infinite light to be manifest and that is a miracle, and through the mitzvahs, we illuminate the world with Hashem’s light of Torah, and sanctify it with His glory.

As the flames of the last candles of our menorah reach upwards, I am reminded that I too can strive to perform the mitzvahs with my entire being, and ignite the flames of the pintelle yid within, with yiras Hashem and ahavas Hashem, and keep His Tree of Light forever burning bright.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
May we merit to touch the Heavens on earth, and ignite the everlasting light of redemption, speedily and with rachamim, mercy.

Marsha Smagley resides in Highland Park, Illinois, with her husband and two children. She has devoted the last ten years to studying Torah, becoming observant, guiding her family in Torah life, and recently, writing articles appearing in The Jewish Observer, Kashrus Magazine, Hamodia, Horizons, Binah Magazine, and Yated Ne’eman, which convey her heartfelt journey to Torah.

This article can not be distributed or published without the prior permission of its author.

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All three of these situations occurred this past Shabbos and Sunday.

1) The loud Shomoneh Esrai davener.
A father of a guest davened a really loud silent Shomoneh Esrai. My friend moved his seat during every Shomoneh Esrai after Shacharis. I tried to wait him out by davening very slowly. I remember asking a Rav about this in the past and he suggested not saying anything as it would make the person very self-conscious when they davened.
Anybody have any suggestions on how to handle this?

2) The potential Art Scroll Offense.
There was an Auf Ruf on Shabbos and I gave the non-observant grandfather an Art Scroll Chumash for the leining. A friend mention that he seemed to be unable to find the place in his all Hebrew Siddur for Hallel so I went to get an English Art Scroll. Just as I was about to go over to hand it to him, he seemed to be davening with no problem out of the all-Hebrew Siddur so I refrained from giving it to him to avoid potential embarrassment.
How have other people handled this situation? Should one risk embarrassing the potential recipient?

3) During one of the Kaddishes on Sunday Rosh Chodesh Chanukah the Baal Tefillah was about to say the wrong Kaddish before Mussaf. Many people loudly stopped him in his tracks. This is a time-is-of-the-essence mistake.
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By Ruby

With 5 weeks left to my son’s Bar Mitzvah, invitations were sitting at home waiting to be addressed and mailed. All my wife had to do was create the spreadsheet with all the addresses, set up the mail merge, and feed the envelopes through the printer. I had the really tough job – to buy stamps – and I was determined to do it right. I estimated 150 stamps would do. But which theme stamp would be most appropriate for a Bar Mitzvah? I went looking at the USPS website. Flags? Too standard. “Happy Birthday”? Too juvenile. “I Love You”? Too mushy. Flowers? Too feminine. Fighter planes? Maybe… But not very mitzvah-ish. Then I saw them. Chanukah stamps with a dreidle. Perfect! We’ll be mailing them on Chanukah. And they come in sheets of 20, so I needed 8 sheets of Chanukah. What could be better?

Off to the post office on Pine St. I went, and when my turn came I happily requested “8 sheets of Hanukah, please”.

The clerk frowned and said “Hanukah? We’re out of Hanukah”.

“No! it can’t be!” I exclaimed. “You must have Hanukah stamps”.

So she looked and looked through all her drawers and all her folders. In the end, all she could find was one single sheet of Hanukah stamps.

“But that won’t do”, I said. “One sheet won’t last. I need eight sheets of Hanukah.”

She called over to the next clerk who looked through his folders. He came up with another two. “Three, that’s all we have”, she said.

Suddenly emboldened, I said “Please check in the back. I know you will find 8″.

Her eyebrows raised at my attitude, she headed towards the back. As she passed each other clerk I saw her say something to them, and each time the clerk shook his head. After checking with the last clerk, she looked across the room at me and shrugged. I gave her a nod of encouragement and she disappeared into the back. (If I were one of the people standing behind me in line I would have killed me…) Several minutes later she emerged with a triumphant look on her face.

“8 sheets of Hanukah!” she proclaimed.

“Thank you so much for your perseverance”, I said. “I knew you would find 8″.

“How could you be so sure?” she asked.

“Why, it’s the miracle of Chanukah”, I said.

A Freilichen Chanukah to All.

Originally Published December 22, 2006.

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Maybe it’s because I grew up listening to Xmas carols. Maybe it’s because what passes for Jewish music these days is frequently Jewish words grafted onto pop or rock instrumentals. Or maybe it’s because the perpetually waning enthusiasm I see in our young people today might be stemmed if we helped them tap into their neshomas rather than strengthening their connection with secular culture.

I suppose it’s really all three and more. But the bottom line is this: the one thing I despise about Chanukah is the pervasive, annoying, and distinctly un-Jewish niggun the whole world sings to Maoz Tzur – evoking not the heroism of the Hasmoneans but the flaky ambivalence of “Rock of Ages” and the red-suited jolliness of “Good King Wenceslas.”

It should come as no surprise that our popular Maoz Tzur sounds so goyish. It’s been traced back to an old German drinking song, and before that to the 16th Century hymns of the Benedictine Monks. I guess it fits right in with the inescapable practice of gift-giving, also borrowed from Christian society.

I know there are those who don’t object to borrowing Gentile melodies for our niggunim. But why can’t we borrow something that’s worth borrowing? Why do we have to embrace a tune that sounds like it should be accompanied by fat carolers sporting white cotton beards? And if we have to sing it, why can’t we limit it to Maoz Tzur and not repeat it endlessly in Lecha Dodi, Birkas HaChodesh, Shabbos morning kedusha, and twice in Hallel?

Above all, why doesn’t it bother us that on this of all holidays, the season when we celebrate the integrity of Jewish culture, we define our celebration by embracing the culture of Eisav, the culture that continues to dominate us in our final exile and which stands between us and the coming of Moshiach?

What’s that? You don’t know any other niggun? Call me, and I’ll hum a few for your over the phone.

Check out Rabbi Goldson’s latest article on Chanukah in the current Jewish Observer The Candle and The Stars.

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Written by: Gemma

I got speaking to a mother who had reluctantly just sent her daughter to seminary. She wasn’t religious herself but was angry that her daughter had become religious and couldn’t understand what she saw in Judaism.

I got to the root of the problem – she then told me that Judaism was forced down her throat, “Do this! Why? Because that’s how it must be done!” She said she rebelled the opposite way, she wasn’t going to listen to that. She couldn’t understand why anyone would want to be religious, “it’s like being in prison, you can’t do anything you want, your whole life is controlled – “you can’t do this, this and this!”

Judaism was very prescriptive in her generation, she was turned off. She rebelled. Now her daughter is doing the opposite, thereby creating guilt on the mother’s behalf. Had the daughter come up with any other dietary requirement I’m sure she’d only be too pleased. The reason why there exist so many unobservant Jewish families is because the only way the older generations were taught was through force, prescriptive and seemingly meaningless laws. There was no Jewish thought, philosophy, mussar (ethics) and other works which we are fascinated by today, no nice “vorts.” And because of this, their kids have the same perception of Judaism, i.e. a burden.

I think, therefore, that perhaps the challenge of our generation is to remodel Judaism into its true essence. Judaism isn’t a load of laws and don’t-do’s; that’s missing the whole point. You can’t keep Shabbat simply by not driving, not turning on lights, not cooking, etc without doing the positive mitzvot on the day like making Kiddush, special davening, family time, self-reflection, special food and delicacies, learning with our children and wearing our best clothes. Judaism and happiness go together; if you don’t have the latter you’re not doing the former properly. “Ivdu et Hashem b’simcha” – serve Hashem with joy, King David tells us.

One of the best ways to experience true Judaism is by seeing it in action. Most unobservant Jews will regard Shabbat as restricting and boring, yet how many of them have actually seen a religious family on Shabbat? They’ve not seen the atmosphere around a real Shabbos table, they’ve not watched the wife being praised, the children being blessed, the beautiful songs, fine food and spirituality. And maybe that’s where we as observant Jews have to take responsibility. We have to not only retain our tremendous hospitability but we have to perform our mitzvot with joy and enthusiasm. If we look like we’re watching paint dry in shul on Shabbos morning or if we talk to Hashem the way we talk to the tax man then that’s exactly how mitzvot will be perceived; not only by other Jews but by our children. It’s all very well to say that Judaism is great, but we have to show it’s great. Not through being fake and acting like it is, but by truly believing it is.

Originally posted here.

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One of the reasons non Observant people give for not finding out more about Judaism is that they feel judged.

How are we to understand the pain of being judged when we enter into a relationship with a non Observant Jew?

Is it because at some level we may feel superior because we are observing G-d’s will to a greater degree, and therefore make the other person feel inferior?

Is it because the mere fact that we are observant, makes the person judge themselves as to their own non-observance?

Is it because the teacher-student relationship is inevitably one sided and in regards to Judaism we automatically assume the teacher role, making the unsolicited student feel uncomfortable?

Is it because we believe that G-d judges observant people better through his granting of a better world-to-come for the observant and therefore we feel justified in following what we understand to be G-d’s judgment?

What do you think?
Why do non-frum people feel judged and more importantly, what positive steps can we make to reduce the pain of being judged?

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By Azriela Jaffe

The Judiasm of my youth was defined by what I was not able to do. Is that not what characterizes any observant Jew? I may not eat non-kosher food, as G-d commanded. I may not work on Shabbat, as G-d commanded. I may not eat on Yom Kippur – as G-d commanded. I may not eat chometz on Passover – as G-d commanded.

True, but these Jewish ideals were alien to me as a child. We didn’t know from kosher, I had no awareness of even the concept of Shabbat, and although as dutiful – and perhaps superstitious- secular Jews, we always attended synagogue on Yom Kippur morning, we ate lunch that day, too. Our Passover celebration did include a rather abbreviated seder, but I had no understanding of chometz, or the avoidance of it – we bought a singular box of matzohs for the seder table, and enjoyed our bagels the next morning, (with no guilt, mind-you, as my uneducated family had no idea that this was a problem).

So what then, do I mean by this notion that my Jewish identity formed around what I could not do – when in fact, our family was so assimilated, it would have been difficult to differentiate us in any way from our goyish neighbors, and there were seemingly no restrictions on our life?

You knew our Judaism in December. Although my parents worked extremely hard to assimilate our family in every way imaginable – and they succeeded – there was only one time a year when they took a firm stand, and we children knew that we were Jewish, and different from non-Jews. Our family did not have Xmas trees and wreaths of holly on the door. Our family did not go to church on X-mas day, we went to the local Chinese restaurant and to the movies afterwards, where the parking lot was littered with hundreds of other Jewish-owned vehicles. We were Jewish, and therefore, we didn’t celebrate X-mas.

As a child, I saw this as a problem. The rest of the world got to have fun, and we were deprived. When we lit the menorah and eagerly awaited our presents, the complete absence of spirituality around the holiday made it only a competition we were sure to lose – which kids got the most presents – the Jews, or the non-Jews? We would comfort ourselves with the thought: Our holiday lasts 8 days, and the Christians only get one day, so we’re actually luckier. But I distinctly remember as a child that lucky is not how I felt. I was a Jew and therefore, I was not allowed to do the holiday that the rest of the world celebrated. We were different, and deprived.

With the perspective of adulthood, I now see my Chanukah “celebrations” with gratitude. It was my parents’ last hold-out, and through it, they formed my identity, albeit uneducated, as a Jew, different from my Christian neighbors. They had given up all other semblance of separation between us and the non-Jewish world, yet somehow, they hung on to this one. Thankfully, as an Orthodox Jew of many years now, I do not have memories as a child of singing Xmas carols, even if M ’aoz Tzur was not in our family’s vocabulary.

The Judaism of my children’s youth is also defined in part by what they cannot do, according to Jewish law, but now, their heads, hearts, and souls are filled with so much they can, and do, look forward to about Chanukah, there isn’t a glimmer of deprivation. The excitement of Chanukah starts early in school with Chanukah chagigas, lessons from their Morahs and Rebbeim about the true spiritual meaning behind Chanukah, and the exciting story of the Macabees, and of course – what would Chanukah be without homemade menorahs brought out of their storage bags year after year? The house smells of latkes, Tatty comes home early from work so he can light the menorah with us, and as we sing M ’aoz Tzur by the window, we thank G-d not only for the miracles that the Macabbees experienced so long ago, but also, the miracle that we are frum, and despite our secular lineage, we have returned.

The Macabees waged a war against assimilation, and with Hashem’s help, they won. We waged our own fight, and also, with plenty of help from Hashem, we’ve won, too. Thank you, G-d.

Syndicated newspaper advice columnist and author of twelve books, Azriela Jaffe is an international expert on entrepreneurial couples, business partnerships, handling rejection and criticism, balancing work and family, breadwinner wife and dual career issues, creating more luck and prosperity in your life, and resolving marital conflict. Her mission: “To be a catalyst for spiritual growth and comfort. Visit her web site here.

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It’s ironic that the present-giving orientation of the holiday threatens to usurp its purpose. Recapture the essence of the holiday.

Download the mp3 – R’ Moshe Schwerd – Chanukah and American Materialism (right click and save target as).

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After 23 years in federal prison, it is time for Jonathan Pollard to go home.
Just a few moments of your time can help Jonathan Pollard regain his freedom. Your phone calls, faxes and letters can help make that happen. He needs your help now.

Please visit http://www.freepollardnow.com/index.php to find out how you can help by doing one of these things:

- CALL THE WHITE HOUSE DAILY
Click here for more information

- SEND A LETTER DAILY TO THE WHITE HOUSE
Click here for addresses and sample letters

- ONLINE PETITION
Sign up to have your name added to the petition that will be sent to President Bush

- DOWNLOAD THE PETITION
Print out the petition and give it to your family and friends to collect signatures

- GET INVOLVED
Collect letters from Clergy, School Principals, Elected Officials, and other community leaders

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Rabbi Dov Brezak recently give a shiur entitled “Staying Focused: How to Build and Maintain a Loving Relationship with Each of Your Children”. Rabbi Brezak is an internationally renowned lecturer and author of Artscroll’s “Chinuch in Turbulent Times” and the acclaimed “Chinuch Concepts” tape series.

You can download the shiur here. (right click and save as)

Here are some points from the shiur:

- Our goal as parents is not so much that our children should become a mensch or a servant of Hashem, but rather that they should want to strive for those goals.

- The key is to create positive ongoing relationships with your children.

- Catch them doing things right – even minor things.

- Be quiet in the face of power struggles.

- Preserve their dignity.

- Don’t expect them to be there, help them get there.

- Set them up for success

Listen to the mp3 to get the full benefit of this great shiur.

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For better or worse, I am not an alarmist. So when I got an e-mail or two that tzaddikim of various stripes were warning “The End is Near for American Jews! Get Out While You Can!” I was a little underwhelmed. After all, I’ve gotten e-mails in the past that “Mashiach is DEFINITELY coming by this coming Rosh HaShanah” and, sadly, he didn’t. In other words, the track record of alarmists is not an argument to heed any of their warnings.

Mind you, I don’t mean to say that their messages should be ignored or summarily dismissed. Rather that current events are fairly inscrutable and people should not hurriedly make life decisions based on what’s reported in the e-mail de jour that so-and-so said such-and-such. Did he? Exactly what did he say? In what context? Was he addressing his own congregation/community/adherents or all of Klal Yisrael?

Nonetheless, even Ozer Laidback realizes that what we’re witnessing requires a response. The world is certainly undergoing some serious changes, even if those changes aren’t leading immediately and directly to Armageddon (you’ll pardon the expression). Some of us are old enough to remember the fall of the Berlin Wall and the collapse of Communism. Maybe now it’s time for capitalism and democracy to fall. After all, despite any personal affinity we may have for them, neither is kadosh or Torah m’Sinai.

That said, please allow me a digression. I want to publicly express my dismay and distress about the reaction of too many people. The reaction and my subsequent distress go back to 9/11. Too many (even one is too many) in our community feel that gloating is an appropriate reaction to America’s trials and tribulations, to its suffering and setbacks. This is an un-Torah and even anti-Torah attitude and view.

Our holy Torah teaches us that converts from certain nations, though they become Jewish, may never marry into what is called Kahal Hashem. Some may marry in after a defined waiting period (Devarim 23:4-9). Egyptian converts may marry after three generations because we we were guests in their land. Even though they enslaved, humiliated and beat us for close to a century; even though they drowned millions of Jewish babies, because they gave us a place to stay when we were in need we are not to totally shun them (see Rashi, v.8).

In Sefer HaMidot (aka The Aleph-Bet Book) Rebbe Nachman teaches that it is forbidden to be an ingrate, to a Jew or to a non-Jew (Tefilah A:62). This seems to be based on “David asked, ‘Is there still anyone left of the House of Shaul with whom I can do kindness for the sake of Yonatan?’” (2 Samuel 9:1); and on “David said, ‘I will do kindness with Chanun son of Nachash, as his father did for me…’” (ibid. 10:2). The Rebbe also teaches that one is obligated to pray on behalf of his host city (Tefilah A:56).This is apparently based on Yirmiyahu HaNavi words, “Seek the peace of the city to which I have exiled you. Pray to God on its behalf because its peace will be your peace” (Jeremiah 29:7).

Whatever the shortcomings and failures of the United States of America in regards to its Jews and the Jewish people, it has been a very, very good home to millions and millions of us. Instead of gloating, we ought to be praying strongly for its protection and prosperity. Amen.

Returning to our initial topic: Mashiach has to come; why not sooner than later? God is shaking things up, and that is certainly part of the unfolding process that will result in Mashiach’s arrival—speedily, in our lifetimes. Amen! But in the meantime it is both disconcerting and scary. What can we do get our bearings and overcome our fears of the what the future holds?

Rebbe Nachman recommends holding on to a genuine tzaddik. The Torah teaches that in the Messianic era Hashem will grasp the ends of the earth and shake off the wicked (Job 38:13). But the genuine tzaddik—and those holding onto him—will not be cast off. He/they will survive. Let’s work on strengthening our faith in Hashem’s unending, loving providence (aka hashgacha pratis), that on the heels of this cloudy whirlwind ride, is clarity and calm. Let’s actively seek out the clear wisdom and advice of genuine tzaddikim, past and present, and do our best to live accordingly. Amen.

Originally posted on A Simple Jew.

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Last week, Rachel, a columnist in the Jewish Press (Chronicles of Crises in Our Communities), published a letter from an older single in which she is considering marry a not yet observant spouse. Here is a relevant excerpt:

Recently I started dating someone who is considering becoming religious, to conduct a Torah household when he is married; however, not at this point in time. This is someone I truly like and can see myself with. He is kind, generous, smart, funny, honest, serious and mature. What do I do? He is not the type of person that comes around often. I am not oblivious to the consequences when children are in the picture; education and lifestyle need to be considered. I would like to raise them in a similar fashion to my upbringing, but I know that I will have to take a chance with their religious education.

I have finally met someone whom I can relate to and admire and can live with what more can I consider right now? I am aware that it is usually the more religious minded partner in a relationship who will end up changing, rather than the “left”-minded one. I just have to make a decision – knowing that there is the realistic probability that I may not have Shabbos Zemiros or Torah conversations at the table. Perhaps I will need to compromise more on the actual halachos than the Spirit of the law.

I am taking the risks quite seriously and the pros on my list do not outweigh the cons. This is something many of the women of my generation are considering and yes, it is sad in a way, that dating has come to this point. But what am I to do?

This week, Rachel published her response to the writer in which she seems to advise against marrying a non observant man.

Here is a relevant excerpt:

You claim to be G-d-fearing, religious and serious. Surely, then, you take your religion seriously. You feel that matchmakers are not as concerned with you (older singles) as with the younger generation. Do you mean to say that you have actually entertained the thought that your Maker, the Arbiter of all matchmakers, is less interested in you than in the younger generation? Believe purely and simply that nothing is beyond His capability; beseech Him purely and simply to guide you in the right direction; rely on Him whole- heartedly to lead you where you were meant to go and He will relieve you of the enormous burden of uncertainty.

If all your friend can offer is a “maybe one day I’ll think about becoming observant,” your projection as to how your future with him will play out may prove prophetic. Notwithstanding that the choice is yours to make, be forewarned that the consequences of that choice will be with you a lifetime − and the hands of the clock cannot ever be turned back.

If it is children you yearn for, consider the option of becoming a foster or adoptive parent to a child who has already been brought into the world but has been shortchanged and is in desperate need of a mother’s love and nurturing. The satisfaction and benefits of such an arrangement can be vastly fulfilling.

I was in a similar situation (although divorced and with kids) and I did marry a non-observant man. He is still not observant. We are an older couple so we have no children together. All our previous kids are now grown up.

Do you agree with Rachel? What would you do?

- Phyllis

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By Marsha Smagley
Twas the night before Xmas, (or maybe a week before),
When all through the house, (that is. my best friend’s house),
Not a child was stirring, not even a mouse… (Except for the little Jewish girl, that would be me)
In hopes that.. (Santa) soon would be there! (That is until the little Jewish girl chased him away!).

The Episode
When I was four years old, I told Kathy, my best friend who was Catholic, and her three siblings, that there was no such thing as Santa Claus. The little Jewish girl (that would be me) thought she was supposed to tell the truth. Although I do not remember many things from when I was four years old, unfortunately, I vividly remember that one.

It took place in a modest apartment in Chicago in the early 1960’s. The little Jewish girl of fair complexion, with very short thick strawberry blonde hair, stood in front of her best friend and her three siblings, all contently nestled on the couch in their apartment, and innocently, did the unthinkable…

“You know there is no such thing as Santa Claus”! I proclaimed in my little but determined voice. Suddenly all four children, with voices as one, loudly sobbed! There was a waling of tears, an orchestra of disappointment, and I sadly, was the conductor of gloom. Oh how I wish I had not been the messenger. Kathy’s mom, who was my mom’s best friend, came out to see what the commotion was all about and I am sure, was disappointed. She wanted to tell them, but later.

Kathy and I continued to be friends as did our moms. It seemed that all was forgotten, but I did not forget. Kathy in first grade enrolled in Catholic parochial school, and I went to public school. My family was not observant, but my parents instilled good values and were committed Jews, though its practice was more of a cultural one.

Kathy and I had so much in common, yet there were some subtle differences. Kathy still remembers my mom’s knishes, she loved them. Kathy’s mom never made knishes. My family ate rye bread with seeds; Kathy’s family ate mostly white bread. Kathy went to church every Sunday. My family did not. During the spring time, I used to help her color eggs. My family did not do this, but did buy chocolate covered shaped eggs made of marshmallows.

One Sunday I went with Kathy’s family to their church. I was very little but still remember that there was a point during the service when wafers were passed out. Something inside of me (I later discovered to be my soul), told me not to eat them, I also noticed that there benches attached to the bottom of each row of pews. I wondered what they were used for, and then I knew.

Suddenly everyone began to kneel down. I wondered how they all knew to do that. I too began to bend my knees because I thought it would be bad not to since all the grown-ups were, but froze in my tracks and stood up straight. I did not know why. Later I would discover that it was my soul telling me that I am a little Jewish girl and we do not do this.

How I wish I had known then, that G-d was in my life and I had a Jewish mission to fulfill. Yet behind the scenes, He was always orchestrating each detail of my life, even on that day at church. G-d was telling me that I am a little Jewish girl who is the daughter of the King, and we do not believe in Santa Claus,

When I was eight, my family joined a synagogue and enrolled my sister and me in Hebrew school. My parents wanted to do this so I would learn about being Jewish. My mom was raised in a reformed German Jewish home, and remembers the light of the Xmas tree, but not the light of the Shabbos candles .My father was raised in a traditional Jewish home but did not know khow to pass this onto his children. I never saw Shabbos candles lit in my childhood home.

The Move
Our neighborhood began to change and Jewish families were leaving. When I was ten years old, a girl threatened to beat me up after school. I had recently gone to her birthday party and thought she was my friend. I had no experience with fighting, but somehow sensed that it would be best to not act scared. Just like that day in church, something deep with in me, told me how to act and what to say. “You are the daughter of The King,” the voice must have whispered.

Jackie, the bully, was much shorter then I, but she was also much tougher physically. She tauntingly told me during our last class at school that this was the day she was going to beat me up. “That’s fine; I we can fight today”. I lied. I then casually added, “My mother is picking me up after school to wait with me for the bus to go to Hebrew school”.

I listened to my words but had no idea who was saying them or where they were coming from. I had not planned this, and I could not believe that I was not scared! Looking back, I can see that my loving Father in Heaven, once again came to my rescue, and gave me the words as well as the inner calm, that helped to transcend this physical threat. Jackie the bully never bothered me again.

Kathy’s family decided to move to a nearby suburb closer to her father’s office. It seemed so far away to me because my parents did not drive and to a child (and an adult too), you don’t want your best friend to leave. We wrote to each other, and saw each other whenever we could.

My father wanted us to move to a more Jewish neighborhood, so when I was in sixth grade, we moved to West Rogers Park, in Chicago. I made another close friend, Lisa*. Lisa was Jewish and lived in a traditional Jewish home. For the first time in my life, I had a Shabbos meal and it was nice. I did not like the liver, but I did like the chicken matzo ball soup and sensed that this was special.

Throwing Away the Bread
Lisa became my escort into forging a stronger Jewish identity, though I still did not know how to live a Jewish life. On Passover, Lisa taught me about kosher for Passover chocolate candy bars which I enjoyed. I could not believe that her family’s sedars lasted until 1:30am in the morning! Our family occasionally attended the sedar at our synagogue, but we did not have them at home.

I learned in Hebrew school that we do not eat bread during Passover. One Passover, when I was eleven years old, I went into our bread cupboard and threw away all our loaves of bread. When my mother questioned me I told her what I learned in Hebrew school. To my mother’s credit, she did not get mad at me. She knew that she wanted me to learn these things.

One day during Passover we went out to eat. The meal included a choice of desert. I chose the bread pudding. “I thought you were not eating bread!” someone in my family teased! I was embarrassed. I was trying so hard, I had only understood the prohibition on bread to be the sandwich kind. I did not know about all the other things you could not eat.

Finding My Jewish Song
I went to a public high school. At least half the kids were Jewish, but non- observant. I joined the symphonic choir. The conductor, who was Jewish, taught us the beautiful “Hallelukah” songs (I wish I knew to use the “K”) to perform for our holiday assembly. We also went Xmas caroling. Although Chanukah also fell around the same time, I do not remember our choir singing any songs about dreidels or menorahs.

Without a strong sense of my Jewish heritage to stand on, I entered adulthood feeling a sense of “Christian envy” during the winter “Holiday” season. Xmas permeates the air and the sound waves. It looked so alluring and magical, with all its shiny lights, warm family gatherings, and charming old movies and song. Yet I knew that deep down, I was still the little Jewish girl looking in from the outside. It bothered me when strangers would happily greet me with “Merry Xmas!” I so wanted to answer, “You mean, Happy Chanukah, I am Jewish!”

The tunes played all the time and some stayed in my head. There was one song, which I wished to get rid of, “When Grandma Got Run over By A Reindeer”. Maybe it reminded me of when I was four years old and innocently, chased Santa Claus away from my childhood friend’s home.

Epilogue
Now more than four decades later, the little Jewish girl became observant, (that would be me). Only ten years ago, in the middle of my marriage and my life, when my son was eight and my daughter was two years old, I went to a Torah class with my friend, with no real plan, but my Father in Heaven had one. I kept learning, and finally heard the true music that was always playing within the depths of my soul, and I came home. With much help from Above, as well as many wonderful people, have led my husband and children to becoming observant. I am so grateful that they did not put me on a sled and chase me away!

I recently spoke to Kathy, my childhood best friend about that fateful day over four decades ago. Then an unbelievable thing happened. It turns out that Kathy and her siblings continued to believe in Santa Claus for at least four more years, after my announcement! They did not stop believing in Santa Claus because of the little Jewish girl, they stopped on their own. Kathy said that she wished I had asked her so many years ago. I realized that the story had now come full circle as had my life. I felt blessed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When what to my wandering eyes
Should appear,
But a miniature sleigh
And eight tiny reindeer!

The eight tiny reindeer that I had been so familiar with from childhood, especially that shiny nosed one, were replaced with the eight shining candles of Chanukah.

I have learned that by observing the Torah mitzvahs, I can become a candle of G-d, a shining emissary of His Divine light. I can also pass the candle; and pass His glorious light on to my children, and to the world.

The little Jewish girl (that would be me), found her way home.

*For privacy, the name has been changed.

The author retains all rights to this article. It can be printed for personal use only; it can not be used for publication or professional use, without prior consent from the author.

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And Yaakov remained alone and a man wrestled with him until break of dawn. And he saw that he could not defeat him so he grabbed him in the hollow of his thigh and he dislocated the hollow of Yaakov’s thigh with his wrestling with him. And he said, “Send me because the dawn has broken.” And he said, “I will not send you unless you bless me.” And he said to him, “What’s your name?” and he said, “Yaakov!” And he said, “No long will your name be Yaakov but rather Israel, because you struggled with the Divine and man and you prevailed.” And Yaakov asked and he said, “Tell me please, what your name is?” And he said, “Why is it that you ask for my name?” And he blessed him there. (Breishis 32:25-30)

This is a very odd dialogue. After wrestling an entire night, the man that Yaakov wrestled with became desperate to leave. Yaakov refused to let him go without first receiving his blessing. The man tells him that his name is no long Yaakov but rather Israel. Why does Yaakov demand a blessing from his opponent? Why does he accept a change of his name as a blessing? What does that mean? Who was the person with whom Yaakov struggled all night long?

I’m not such a numerologist. Numbers go through my system like diet soda. I like chunky calorie rich ideas. However with regard to Yaakov and his name change there is an amazingly instructive way of appreciating what happened with a few simple calculations. The numerical value of the name Yaakov (Yud-10+Ayin-70+Kuf-100+Beis-2) equals 182. Our sages inform us that Yaakov was victorious that night against not less the “yetzer hora”-the negative inclination. Another name for that opposing force in Hebrew is Satan. The name Satan when spelled out numerically (Sin-300+Tes-9+Nun-50) equals 359. It is a curious fact that Yaakov (182) plus Satan (359) together add up to Yisrael (Yud-10+Sin-300+Reish-200+Aleph-1+Lamed-30=541). What are we to make of this discovery, not my own?

The sages offer a curious comment on the verse, “And G-d saw all he created and behold it was very good!” (Breishis 1:31) Why did everything suddenly improve from good to “very good”?

The simple answer, we would think of, is that after all the good quality ingredients are harmoniously blended together a new synergistic whole that is greater than the sum of its parts emerges and that is what is “very good”. Our sages say, “Very good! This is the evil inclination!” Whoa! What a shocker! What does that mean? Let us try two approaches.

1)It could be that as Reb Tzadok HaKohen wrote that wherever we struggle the most, wherever the Yezter Hora has invested so much energy, there in that spot, is the where our greatest potential lies. If we would peak into the Kremlin during the cold war and observe that they have a thousand warheads aimed at some benign location on the plains of Kansas where there sits an elderly man on his front porch smoking a corncob pipe and rocking in his chair while his old hound Boo slumbers, we may wonder, “What’s he got in that pipe?” However, when we dig a few stories beneath the surface we discover America has a secret silo with thousands of weapons pointed at strategic locations in Russia.

It’s not unusual that in the overcoming of a given difficulty a person can make his greatest achievements. I know of a man of with a great record of helping people that testified that he has a cruel streak and in curing himself from that tendency he found the milk of human kindliness buried beneath the shale of his callous nature.

2) Imagine that the Israeli army has chased the Syrian army to the Golan and their soldiers have abandoned their tanks as they scramble back to Damascus. Would the Israeli army just leave all that valuable equipment there? No! They would incorporate them into their own arsenal.

So too Yaakov was not going to send away his negative inclination in defeat. He was now ready to subjugate and sublimate all worldly forces in the service of HASHEM. This signals a grand expansion of potential for Yaakov, and such a major merger calls for a new name. With the surrendered weapons of the Yeter Hora in his employment the promise for Israel is no longer a life of mild goodness. However good it is, it’s not good enough.

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Leah Larson shows her gratitude on her Yaldah Magazine site.

Thank You!
I’m happy to announce that YALDAH is the Grand Prize Winner of Wells Fargo’s Someday Stories Contest!!

visit Leah’s site for the list.

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By David Bogner

One of the most significant stumbling blocks standing in the path of a Jew who is toying with the idea of becoming more religiously observant is embarrassment. Or more correctly, the fear of embarrassment.

You see, when viewed from the outside (i.e. from a Ba’al T’shuvah-eye view), religious communities and their intricate customs and institutions look suspiciously like a huge minefield filled with endless opportunities to stumble and humiliate oneself.

On one of my first trips to a synagogue after my decision to explore becoming more observant, I was offered an ‘honor’ during the service… which I quickly declined. Someone sitting nearby who correctly guessed the reason I’d refused the honor, tried to put me at ease by sharing the following joke that perfectly sums up a Ba’al’ Tshuvah’s deepest fears:
(more…)

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A friend of mine, an FFB Ben Torah, received this letter from his estranged intermarried niece as a response, to a family wedding invitation. His sister an avowed atheist who has since passed on; isolated herself from the family well over 50 years ago and raised her children as atheists.

The letter which is pretty self explanatory basically poses the classic challenge of “How are you going to accept my (non-Jewish) spouse?”; within the framework of the background of “my mother estranged herself from yiddishkeit but I grew up this way and is there any way for us to have common ground”. This is another twist on the timeless issue of how to deal with intermarried relatives, but when neither side has changed or forfeited their original lifestyle

Any ideas for a response or an approach?

- R’ Reuven

Here is the letter:

Dear,

It has been a long time since you have heard from me so I have decided to share some of my thoughts with you so you would better understand what is behind that silence. I have felt confused about how to handle a relationship with you knowing we live in different worlds though we come from the same family. There is much you do not know or understand about my world and life and the same can be said about my dim knowledge about your life. I do however appreciate your reaching out and making some efforts to see me. I was curious to meet you and anxious to learn more about my mother’s years with a family destiny has cut me off from knowing. I wanted desperately to understand my own mother better since there was so much about her past she did not talk about or share with me. But there was a serious problem with our meetings we never addressed. How come we could not meet in my home where you could meet my husband who was made to feel left out of the picture as if he did not exist? I do not wish to exclude him from any future contact I would have with my family which has caused me to distance myself from you.

Last year I received an invitation to a wedding in your family and I was very pleased at the thought of meeting the family and being invited. There was something holding me back from feeling comfortable with the invitation. There was no mention of my husband. Was he also invited, would he have been welcome?

I do not foresee the possibility of close relations between us because of the complexity of the past and the differences in our lifestyles and life choices. However, some degree of communication could be possible, even desirable, if there would be some acknowledgement of the fact that my husband is part of the family dynamic. His exclusion is unnatural and hurtful to both of us. I know my mother left this world with many things unresolved in relation to her family and her tangled past. But I also know there were many painful things she could not talk about openly that bothered her, and one of them was how to resolve or bridge the rift between the family she was born into and the family she created and raised. I have no doubts that if we could find some way of overcoming these obstacles she would have been very pleased, especially since it was something she could never find a way of accomplishing in her own lifetime.

This letter is meant as a friendly gesture, a means of conveying what is on my mind and a chance for you to think about how you wish to handle our relationship. It is important to me that any relationship we might have include both me and my husband, for that is the family I belong to. You and your wife are welcome to visit us in our home in ……. where we have been living the last few years since our retirement.

………………………….

I hope your family is well and that you are in good health.

Respectfully,

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I have, it seems, made my mark on Facebook, which is poised to become the world’s leading online social networking medium. Without going in for the adolescent (and worse) “applications” that people are constantly cooking up, I’ve managed to combine the RSS feeds of my two blogs, and my sensibilities for nostalgia, multimedia, self-promotion and wisecracking, plus a semi-plausable rationale — I’m trying to raise the profile of my strongly Internet-oriented law practice — into a pretty sizable “following.” I’ve met a lot of people from all around the world, Jewish and gentile, reconnected with innumerable friends I was certain I would never hear from again, and unquestionably opened up a number of opportunities that could bear fruit in the medium run. As I said, I’ve made my mark on Facebook.

But what kind of mark has Facebook made on me?

There are so many issues that arise from the point of view of Jewish sensibility that almost any one of them is worthy of a separate essay. I hope these bullet points, however, will stimulate constructive discussion… and not merely more lookups of my Facebook profile.

* The forgotten past: BT’s are always struggling with the issue of whether to bury the past, and if so how deeply. Facebook certainly brings this concern into “real time.” My observation is that, on the whole, this aspect of the Facebook experience — people from my past reemerging — has been very positive for me. Many of our ideas of what we’ve left behind, and whom we left behind, are based on rose-colored projections that are themselves premised on inaccurate or wishful recollection of the real past. Without going too far into it or getting too personal, what I see of the lives of people with whom I haven’t been in touch for 20, 30 or sometimes even more years, via their Facebook profiles, is that I haven’t missed all that much, in any sense of the word.

* A world of respect: New friends I’ve made on Facebook, who quickly are able to ascertain from my profile and my ongoing contributions to it (via blog feeds, photographs, “status” updates and the like) that I am orthodox, express great respect for my way of life. Naturally those who are put off by it don’t become friends. I believe this does result in a Kiddush Hashem. I regret that I can’t magnify this effect by posting family pictures, which as a rule I will not do on an open Internet site. On the whole I believe this is an overall positive result.

* Drawing near of hearts: We Jews have a concept that we are supposed to beware of k’rivas hadaas — an inappropriate “drawing near” of emotions between men and women who should not have intimate relationships. It is well known, and has been discussed here often, how the Internet has, in many contexts, caused many people who otherwise would not have inappropriate relationships with members of the opposite sex in “real life” to drop their usual guard and to become ensnared in unfortunate situations. Oddly enough, there is something about Facebook, at least in my experience, that seems to militate against this. It may be that there is, as a rule, less anonymity on Facebook than in the old chat rooms or on instant messenger; people are mainly there to project their personalities on some level, not to hide them. There also ground rules and a person can be kicked off. At least as a middle-aged adult interacting entirely with other adults, I have found this not to be a problem.

* Whither dignity?: On the other hand, there is no question that, just as in the real world, there is a much lower standard of personal dignity, especially as it relates to “modesty,” on the Internet and on Facebook than there is in our frum communities. There is no particular reason I have any interest in interacting with people who are much younger than I am (who are typically the least dignified in this respect) or whose standards of behavior is not in line with what I would typically expect to experience in an environment in which I would ideally operate. But there is little question that if only by virtue of friends of friends or other incidental interactions, that on Facebook I am — just as I do in real life — interacting with people who hold themselves to a lower standard of dignity than is ideal.

* The other side: And that brings me back to a point related to my first one. The more I am exposed to what’s out there, whether it is among my former friends, associates and classmates who “look me up” or vice versa or among new people that I meet, the better I feel — by far — about the decision I have made about how to live my life. I cannot stress how much more valuable this is to me than the finger-pointing homilies in frum literature, periodicals and classrooms about the emptiness of gentile or non-frum Jewish lives. I see people whose lives are pathetic or sad, yes. I encounter a very distressing number of photographs of people of both sexes in their twenties, not life’s losers but professionals and prospective professionals, who are comfortable posing with alcoholic beverages hoisted in the air, as if life were just one drunken binge. This could go into the “dignity” point above, and it is a sad thing to see. But I also see people with rich, full, interesting and accomplished lives, professionally and, by all indications, personally, and nothing — not a thing — makes me want to switch places with them. The overall effect for me is one of chizuk, reinforcement.

The greatest reward from Facebook of all, for me, is the opportunity to connect, communicate and commune, on whatever level, with more and more people who are interested in ideas, in life, in each other just because of who we are. Ultimately I spend more time on Facebook than I should, and I have resolved to spend less, simply as a matter of prioritizing how time is spent in life by a Jewish person. In fact, if I had no career rationale for it at all, I may be hard pressed to justify it in any event. On the other hand, online social networking is probably one example of a mode of human social — and business — interaction that will get more, not less, important in the coming years. Face it.

Contributor Ron Coleman’s blogs are LIKELIHOOD OF CONFUSION®, about trademark, copyright, Internet and free speech law, and Likelihood of Success, about everything else.

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I’m here at the Aish Conference in Stamford. It’s a tremendous inspiration to be with hundreds of inspired Baalei Teshuva. The conference theme is “YOU CAN make a difference”.

We got here late last night, so we missed the opening session. Rabbi Yitz Greenman lead a discussion on The Greatest Problems Facing the Jewish People. At the end of the session, Rabbi Greenman reduced the 20 problems raised by the participants to primarily 2 – lack of proper Jewish Education and lack of enough leaders. Steve Mantz was at the talk and he gave a nice plug for Beyond BT and the discussion we had on the subject.

Lori Palatnik gave an amazing talk on “Why I Donated a Kidney to Someone I Didn’t Know”. She is an amazing speaker and she showed the tremendous power of giving, on others and ourselves.

Rabbi Eric Coopersmith is talking about steps of learning, listen carefully (plowing), understand the support of what is being said (seeding), make a judgment whether the teaching is true (harvest) and understanding the implication of what was learned (eating).

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And [Yaakov] saw that there was a well in the field. Three flocks of sheep were there lying beside it, since it was from this well that the flocks were watered, and a great stone [blocked] the mouth of the well (Bereishis 29:2).

This is how the Torah describes Yaakov’s arrival at the house of Lavan, his uncle, after fleeing from his wicked brother, Eisav, and beginning his search for a wife. Curiously, when Eliezer, servant of Yaakov’s grandfather Avrohom, arrived at the same place a generation earlier, the Torah describes the location of the well not “in the field” but ”at the edge of the city” (Bereishis 24:11).

This seeming inconsistancy provides the basis for an enigmatic debate recorded in the Talmud (Bechoros 8b):

The Elders of Athens said to Rabbi Yehoshua ben Chananyah, “We have a well out in the fields; bring it into the city.”

He replied, “Then who can bring a well from the field into the city?”

Last week, we explained that the Torah employs the imagery of a well – the source of water, which is the basis of physical life – as a symbol for Torah itself, which is the source of spiritual life.

The Malbim explains that when peace and a sense of unity exist among the Jewish people, when they live in the Land of Israel with the Divine Word guiding their actions and their attitudes, then the “well” of Torah is “in the city,” providing the people with security and their settlements with prosperity.

However, when our spiritual negligence and complacency cause us to be exiled from our land and subjected to the uncertainty and unpredictability of life among the nations of the earth, when we have to struggle against all manner of obstacles to keep G-d’s word and His commandments central in our lives, then the well of Torah is “in the field.”

This was the assertion of the Elders of Athens, the scholars of the Roman Empire who based their wisdom on the teachings of the ancient Greeks: If you Jews are divided against one another, if you yourselves recognize sinas chinom, the senseless hatred among you, as the cause of your exile, then how can you ever expect to earn your redemption? How can you believe that the well “in the field” will ever become transformed into a well “in the city?”

Rabbi Yehoshua’ s answer finds its meaning in the continuation of the Torah narrative:

And all the flocks would gather there, and they would roll away the stone from the mouth of the well and allow the flocks to drink, and then they would return the stone to its place over the mouth of the well (Bereishis 29:2).

To bring the well from the “field” into the “city” requires a spiritual “rope” to bind the future with the past. The Malbim explains that the three flocks represent the three eras of Jewish exile, each imposing upon the people the challenges and crises. Only by working together to overcome these challenges will the people achieve a level of unity to become worthy of redemption and acquiring the merit to build HaShem’s Temple so that the Divine Presence can dwell in their midst.

In the course of the first two exiles, the collective merit of a unified Jewish nation ultimately ”rolled away the stone” of temptation and transgression, allowing the waters of spirituality to flow free and revive a spiritually thirsty people. And each time, prosperity encouraged the people to stray after the inclinations of the hearts, so that the stone of self-indulgence and self-interest rolled back to its place and drove the people back into the parched desert of exile.

The first era was galus Mitzrayim, the exile in Egypt, which forged the people into a nation and culminated in their entry into the land and their ultimate construction of the first Beis HaMikdash. Tragically, without the external pressure provided by enemies around them, their commitment to one another dissolved and, over time, led to the erosion of their collective merit and their exile to Babylon.

Thus began the second era, in which the Jews gradually earned back the privilege of living in their land, rebuilding the Temple, and regaining political autonomy in the aftermath of the miracle of Chanukah. But infighting among the descendants of the Hasmoneans eventually led to the disintegration of political stability, the conquest by the Roman Empire, and the destruction of the second Temple.

Out of the ruins of the Roman Empire grew Western Civilization, the final exile of Jewish history, in which the twin attractions of material prosperity and cultural assimilation have exceeded all the obstacles to spirituality that have confronted the Jews throughout all previous ages. And once again, the divisiveness that traces its roots back to the senseless hatred of 2000 years ago stands in the way of bringing the well of Torah and spiritual redemption from the “field” into the “city.”

Scattered like chaff, the Jewish people will remain in exile until, by bonding together in unity, they form the “rope” that connects them back to their origins as a cohesive people. When that happens, Rabbi Yehoshua told the Elders, when the “chaff” of disunity becomes a “rope” of redemption, then the Jewish people will find their way home.

But how is that possible? the Elders asked. Just as chaff cannot make a rope, disaffected and disparate individuals cannot form a people.

That may be true, answered Rabbi Yehoshua. But the image of chaff only describes the Jewish people in the most simplistic and superficial way. We may appear cut off from one another, but we share the collective soul of the Almighty’s chosen people. The more we become distant from one another, the more we yearn to return to our common roots. As the exile grows darker and deeper, we come closer to the time when the very depths of our spiritual darkness will compel us to pull together, thereby pulling ourselves forward into the light of the messianic era.

Rabbi Goldson writes at Torah Ideals

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