Editor's Note:
Dear Friend,
My daughter is beautiful, talented and bright (no bias here, of course . . .). And I let her know it. All the time.
Am I doing her a disservice? In this week’s magazine, we are featuring a Chabad.org classic by the late Jay Litvin, who reinforces my positive parenting approach. In The Benefits of Being Stupid When You’re Old, he asserts that parents should encourage and recognize their children’s successes, and “it is this sense of self-esteem and confidence that will yield the courage to learn, explore and succeed far more than any knowledge.” Score for Mommy!
But Chana Weisberg says quite the opposite in A Great Smallness: According to recent research, high self-esteem doesn’t improve grades or career achievement. Be discriminating with your praise, she advises.
So, what do I do with my little star? Chana concludes that “the most empowering self-image that you can give your child is the knowledge that she is a part of something much greater than herself.” So, as much as I love to heap on the praise, I want my daughter to know that she is much more than a pretty face and a bright mind. She is a little piece of G d. And she is here to do mitzvahs and make this world a better place.
As are we all.
Sasha Friedman,
on behalf of the Chabad.org Editorial Team
Do you have something to say about this note? Please click here to leave a response or ask a question.
Daily Thought:
Dancing With Us
This self we are conscious of, it is only a tiny portion of the whole, a finely focused constriction of light, the tip of a peninsula from a great, fertile continent.
Upstream lies unimaginable wealth, storehouses of treasures left by many generations. There can be found the deeds and wisdom of our holy mothers and fathers, the iron courage of every martyr, the eternal power of G‑d’s breath within His eternal people.
Next time you dance and sing in the joy of a beautiful deed, hear your holy mothers and fathers of ages past dancing and singing along with you.
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This Week's Features:
Purim & Alcohol
Do I have to get drunk on Purim? by Tzvi Freeman
Question:
I’m going to sound like a nerd, but I’m not. Do I have to drink on Purim?
Response:
Purim is not about drinking. Purim is about being drunk with sincere happiness.
Traditionally, Jews have celebrated Purim by drinking a little extra wine at their Purim feast with friends, and if that gets you there, then it’s the halachically prescribed way to do the mitzvah. If all drinking does is make you sick or do stupid things, then it goes against everything that Purim is about.1 If you are planning to drive, or you know that drinking can otherwise get you in trouble, then alcohol might as well be pork juice.2
So, what’s the whole story with people drinking on Purim? Why is Purim the holiday that’s not just happy, but totally, insanely nuts?
Here’s the story, straight and simple: Two and a half thousand years ago, the Jews in Shushan were delirious with joy. We’re not talking just happiness, but an explosive, spontaneous mass celebration that nobody had ever experienced since Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden. So they wanted that for all generations, Jews should experience the same ecstatic celebration that they felt then.
Why were they so insanely happy? Not just because they were finally rid of Haman’s antisemitic thugs who had been harassing them for an entire year. It was deeper than that. It was because they had withstood an awesome challenge and came out with flying colors.
You see, this was the first time Jews had experienced antisemitism as an exiled nation. They had been picked out from all the other conquered peoples of the Persian empire for persecution because they were, well, just different. Any of them could have easily escaped that persecution and threat of annihilation just by deciding to be not different. By saying, hey, I’m just another Persian citizen. Speak Persian. Eat Persian. Do Persian stuff. Worship Persian idols. Simple. Like they say, why beat ’em when you can join ’em?
And why shouldn’t they have joined them? They had already gotten the boot out of the Promised Land. And at that point, the prophet Jeremiah had told them the exile was going to last 70 years. Well, they had counted the 70 years, and everyone figured it was up. And they were still in exile.
Worst of all, only a few years back they had actually started returning and rebuilding in Jerusalem, by royal decree. And then, after just one year, the whole project was axed by a new king’s royal decree. You know what it’s like when you see the light at the end of the tunnel—and then it goes out? Or, what if that light turns out to be a locomotive coming at you at full throttle?
Which is just how things looked then. The entire nation was under threat of termination, extinction and utter annihilation. And G‑d is nowhere to be found. So it would have been a simple, excusable, knee-jerk reaction for those Jews to say, “Look, He abandoned us, so why shouldn’t we abandon Him?”
But they didn’t. Every last Jew stood up and said, “I’m a Jew and I’m proud! Haman and his thugs can do what they want! I was born a Jew, and I’ll die one too!”
As you can imagine, they were fairly stressed out that year. But then comes the big civil war where Haman’s thugs come out in full force, and whaddayaknow, the Jews fight back and are miraculously saved! They see the G‑d of Israel is still on their side! So they break out the champagne and celebrate. Deliriously.
In many ways, Purim was like a second birth for the Jewish People. The first time they were born was at the foot of Mount Sinai, when they heard G‑d telling them, “I’m your G‑d; you are My people. Now, this is what you have to do . . .”
At that time, they didn’t really have much choice. I mean, here’s a G‑d who just liberated you from slavery amidst fantasmic miracles and hi-tech wonders, fed you bread from the sky and water out of a rock. And He’s choosing you for His people, with a promised land of milk and honey to boot. Who could turn down such an offer?3
But this time was the real birth, the true bonding of the Jewish people with one another and with their G‑d. Because this time they had every excuse to cop out. And they didn’t. This time was for real.
So, that explains the wild celebration. When the Jewish nation was born the first time around, everyone was also pretty euphoric. They say that at every word G‑d spoke, the souls of those Jews took flight. Special angels had to be appointed to stuff their souls back into their bodies each time. If that was so back then, you can imagine the euphoria when they were born for real this time around. And the Jews of Shushan wanted you to feel that exhilaration, that rapture, that jubilant ecstasy and bliss, every year again and again.
Okay, so how are you going to get there? You’ve got your own worries and concerns around your neck, anchoring you down and nailed into a body on earth. You need to break out. You need to be set free to fly in the ecstatic, egoless joy that they felt then.
Well, in the Talmud, Rava gives this advice for transcending the ego: “A person has to get drunk on Purim until he cannot distinguish between ‘cursed is Haman’ and ‘blessed is Mordechai.’”4 That works for some people, especially those so high on their Jewishness already. Like they say, “Wine goes in and secrets come out.”5 Some people’s secret self is pretty holy. But the rest of us . . . well, we all know our own secrets.
Fortunately, there are alternatives.6 Some pretty good ones, too. Keeping in mind that you have to: a) give gifts to two poor people, b) give a food package to one friend, and c) celebrate a Purim feast (with a few l’chaims), here are some enhanced methodologies for an ultimate Purim:
Snap on a bright red nose, a curly purple wig and a lunatic smile. Drop into a retirement home or hospital and make an utter fool of yourself, just to cheer up all the lonely people. Nobody has to ever find out who you are. If you visit the psychiatric ward, just make sure you have a way to get out when you’re done.
Hire a clown and offer to be his sidekick. Go with him to the local children’s hospital. Take along a pack of lollipops. Go wild.
Fill a shopping cart with groceries for a whole family. Drop in unexpected on some jobless immigrant family who can’t pay their rent. Fill up the fridge and write a check for the rent. Leave some toys for the kids.7
Dress yourself up along with your kids in full Purim gear. Run around your neighborhood the entire day delivering Purim packages (mishloach manot) to Jewish neighbors who’ve never heard of the whole thing. Continue until you collapse on the couch at the end of the day. Do this two years in a row, and you will transform your neighborhood.
I’ll bet, if you put your mind to it, you can think of way more. Or maybe don’t use your mind. On occasions like this, you might get further losing your mind a little. All in a good way.8
Rabbi Tzvi Freeman, a senior editor at Chabad.org, also heads our Ask The Rabbi team. He is the author of Bringing Heaven Down to Earth. To subscribe to regular updates of Rabbi Freeman's writing, visit Freeman Files subscription.
FOOTNOTES
1.Proof that you do not need to drink comes from Rabbi Yehudah bar Ilai, a sage of the Mishnah. Rabbi Yehudah taught that we are obligated to drink four cups of wine at the Passover Seder, even if it makes us sick. He said about himself that he drank all four cups even though that made him so sick that he was incapable of drinking any wine until 51 days later, on Shavuot. Apparently, then, as those who deal with halachah point out (Shaloh, Shaarei Teshuvah), he couldn’t have drunk any wine on Purim—since then he would be unable to drink on Passover, which is only 30 days later. This is cited as proof that on Purim, unlike Passover, the drinking in and of itself is not a mitzvah. There is a mitzvah to be drunk—but there are other ways to accomplish this, as explained later.
2.In the words of Orchot Chaim, cited by Beit Yosef (Orach Chaim 695:2): “To be thoroughly drunk is completely forbidden. There is no greater sin than this, for it leads to adultery, bloodshed, and many other sins besides. Rather, you should drink a little more than you are accustomed to.”
And here is Maimonides, discussing drinking on other holidays: “When a person eats and drinks on a festival, he should not get pulled into the wine and laughter and frivolity, saying that the more of this, the greater the mitzvah of rejoicing on a festival. For drunkenness and too much laughter and frivolity are not rejoicing, but wild and stupid behavior. We were not commanded to be wild or stupid. We were commanded to rejoice, because this is a way to serve the Creator of all things, as it says (Deuteronomy 28:47), ‘Because you did not serve the L‑rd your G‑d out of joy and with a good heart when you had everything.’ This teaches that serving G‑d must be with joy. But it is impossible to serve G‑d in the midst of mockery, frivolity and drunkenness” (Mishneh Torah, Hil. Yom Tov 6:20).
3.See Talmud, Shabbat 88a, where the rabbis claim it was downright coercion. They even go so far to say that the acceptance at the Torah at Mount Sinai was outright iffy due to this legal technicality—if not for the authentic, fully volitional acceptance on Purim.
4.Talmud, Megillah 7b. Cited as the halachah in Shulchan Aruch, Orach Chaim 695:2.
5.“Wine” (yayin) and “secret” (sod) have the same numerical value (gematria) in Hebrew.
6.Maimonides (Mishneh Torah, Hil. Megillah ve-Chanukah 2:15) provides this option: “What are a person’s obligations at this feast? One must eat meat and prepare a fine meal according to what one can afford. One should drink wine until he is drunk, and fall asleep in his stupor.”
7.A final note from Maimonides, near the end of the laws of Purim (2:17): “Better that a person should increase his gifts to the poor on Purim than to expand his Purim feast and gifts of food to his friends. For there is no greater and more beautiful celebration than to make happy the poor, the orphan, the widow and the immigrant. One who rejoices the hearts of these sorrowful people is similar to the Divine Presence, as the prophet says (Isaiah 57:15), ‘To revive the spirit of the downtrodden and to revive the heart of the oppressed.’”
8.On all the above, see Likkutei Sichot, vol. 31, p. 177.
© Copyright 2014, all rights reserved.
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PARSHAH
A Great Smallness
As parents, we obviously believe that genuine self-esteem is important to our children’s psychological and spiritual development. But how can we avoid the hubris and laziness that invariably accompany an inflated self-image? by Chana Weisberg
An article in New York magazine entitled “How Not to Talk to Your Kids” described Thomas, a gifted fifth-grader who attended a highly competitive school. In his school, prospective kindergarteners were given an IQ test to confirm their precociousness, and only the top one percent of all applicants was accepted. Thomas scored in the top one percent of the top one percent.
Since Thomas could walk, he has always heard that he was smart. But as he progressed through school, this self-awareness didn’t always translate into fearless confidence in tackling his schoolwork.
In fact, Thomas’s father noticed just the opposite. “Thomas didn’t want to try things he wouldn’t be successful at. Some things came very quickly to him, but when they didn’t, he gave up almost immediately.”
The article explained that since 1969, with the publication of The Psychology of Self-Esteem, in which it was opined that self-esteem was the single most important facet of a person, the belief that one must do whatever he can to achieve positive self-esteem has become a movement.
“Anything potentially damaging to a kid’s self-esteem was axed. Soccer coaches handed out trophies to everyone, and teachers threw out their red pencils. Criticism was replaced with ubiquitous, even undeserved, praise.”
Studies over the past ten years, spearheaded by psychologist Carol Dweck, however, have concluded that high self-esteem didn’t improve grades or career achievement.
“When we praise children for their intelligence,” Dweck wrote in her study summary, “we tell them that this is the name of the game: Look smart, don’t risk making mistakes.”
On the other hand, she explains, “Emphasizing effort gives a child a variable that they can control . . . Emphasizing natural intelligence takes it out of the child’s control, and it provides no good recipe for responding to a failure.” Offering praise, the article concluded, has become a sort of panacea for the anxieties of modern parenting.
As parents, we obviously believe that genuine self-esteem is important to our children’s psychological and spiritual development. But how can we avoid the possible negative effects in praising our children’s achievements?
This week’s Torah reading, the first portion of the third book of the Torah, is called Vayikra, which means “He called.” It begins with G‑d calling to Moses from the Sanctuary to teach him the laws that he would transmit to the Jewish people.
There is an interesting anomaly in how the word vayikra is written in the Torah scroll. The last letter of the word, the letter aleph, is written in a small, undersized script. In contrast, the first letter of the opening word of the Book of Chronicles, “Adam”—also an aleph—is written with a large, oversized script.
What is the message of the small and large alephs? And do they perhaps hold a lesson for us as parents in how to help our children gain a positive and productive self-image?
The chassidic masters explain that Adam was formed by G‑d Himself, fashioned in the “divine image.” Aware of his superior qualities as “G‑d’s handiwork” and the crowning glory of creation, he became somewhat proud. The large aleph in Adam’s name indicates his self-importance, which led to his downfall in the sin of the tree of knowledge.
In contrast, Moses was also aware of his superior qualities as the greatest prophet to ever live, through whom the Torah was communicated to this world for perpetuity. But, rather than cause him conceit, this awareness brought him humility. Moses recognized that his impressive capabilities were granted to him as a gift from G‑d. Accordingly, he felt no conceit, but a pressing sense of responsibility. Thus, when Moses recorded in the Torah that G‑d called to him, he wrote the word vayikra with a small aleph.
Adam and Moses were both great men, aware of their greatness. But in Adam this sense of self-worth caused his disgrace, whereas in Moses it evoked humility and further greatness.
True humility and a productive self-image do not come from denying one’s talents, but rather from acknowledging that they are merely a bequest from Above, providing a channel through which to exert the greatest effort in accomplishing His will.
The most empowering self-image that you can give your child is the knowledge that she is a part of something much greater than herself. She is a creation of G‑d, who has great expectations from her. It is not the talents that she is born with that matter, but what she makes of them.
The lesson of the aleph is: Teach your child his greatness. Show him his infinite potential, his vast talents and his special capabilities.
But at the same time, clarify to your child that these are gifts endowed to him by G‑d, who desires that he utilize his unique talents to better our world—in a way that he, and only he, can.
Help your child experience her largeness, but at the same time, let her feel her smallness. Realizing her responsibility and the significance of her personal attainments will cause her to continually strive to reach ever higher.
Chana Weisberg is a writer, editor and lecturer. She authored several books, including her latest, Tending the Garden: The Unique Gifts of the Jewish Woman. She has served as the dean of several women’s educational institutes, and lectures internationally on issues relating to women, faith, relationships and the Jewish soul.
© Copyright 2014, all rights reserved.
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More in Parshah:
• From Darkness to Light (by Tali Loewenthal)
central theme in life is the transition from darkness to light. It is often there in one’s experience as an individual: a patch of darkness, tinged with gloom and misery, which seems to swallow up everything. And then one moves on, making a step forward, and the darkness gives way to light.
A hint of this transition is seen in the way the book of Leviticus connects with the preceding Torah reading, the final words of the book of Exodus. The final verses of Exodus describe the completion of the Sanctuary, the wonderful portable Temple which was built at the foot of Mount Sinai, which was to accompany the Jewish people throughout their long journey in the wilderness, and which was to be set up in the Land of Israel when they finally got there.
A thick cloud then covered the Sanctuary. In fact, on account of the cloud, Moses himself was unable to enter the Sanctuary. After all the effort which had gone into building it, it was covered by a mysterious cloud, and was inaccessible.After all the effort which had gone into building the Tabernacle, it was inaccessible
Then comes the beginning of Leviticus: “G‑d called to Moses . . . !” The cloud cleared, and Moses was now able to enter the Sanctuary and be instructed by G‑d.
This, comments the Lubavitcher Rebbe, expresses the revelation which came after the darkness. The fact that it was preceded by a period of inaccessibility, when Moses could not enter the Sanctuary due to the thick cloud, heightens the power of the divine revelation when it came.
Torah teachings are eternal, and apply to each individual. One way the process of transition from darkness to light relates to each person is in terms of the step of teshuvah, repentance.
The person strayed, or fell, into a realm of darkness. G‑d is concealed. The person feels remote from the divine, unable to enter the Sanctuary. Then he or she makes a step forward, towards G‑d, returning to their own essence. This is teshuvah, repentance, return. The person makes a single tiny step, and G‑d “calls” to him or to her, like G‑d calling to Moses, meaning: you are Mine.
The new closeness with G‑d is greater than it was previously. For this reason, the Talmud comments that “the place where the repentant stand cannot be reached by those who are always righteous."1
This process of personally entering the Sanctuary after the period of dark cloud and concealment has different modes. It can be so powerful that it is not only a transition from darkness to light, but a total transformation of darkness itself. One does not simply put the gloom and misery behind oneself; the negativity and darkness are themselves transformed into radiance. We start to see our problems and frustrations as opportunities for growth. The negative becomes a springboard for the positive. Somehow, paradoxically, joyfully, the ultimate effect of all the ups and downs is goodness.
This personal transformation is a taste of the goal of the Jewish people as a whole, and for all humanity, when the darkness of exile will be transformed into the radiance of redemption. Then, truly, the gloom of night will shine like day.2
Dr. Tali Loewenthal is Lecturer in Jewish Spirituality at University College London, director of the Chabad Research Unit, author of Communicating the Infinite: The Emergence of the Habad School and a frequent contributor to the Chabad.org weekly Torah reading section.
FOOTNOTES
1.Berachot 34b.
2.Based on the Lubavitcher Rebbe’s Likkutei Sichot, vol. 1, pp. 202–203.
© Copyright 2014, all rights reserved.
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• Schmaltz (by Elisha Greenbaum)
No one will make schmaltz for me anymore.
When I was a kid, one of the highlights of the eighth day of Passover was smearing schmaltz and gribbenes on matzah. Crispy pieces of deep-fried chicken skin swimming in rendered fat and sprinkled with salt—it was instant gastronomic delight.She says it’s not healthy
I don’t like to kvetch, but even on Passover, when many people prefer fat rendered at home to factory-processed oil, my dear wife refuses to make schmaltz. She says it’s not healthy. You would think my mother might be more of a stickler for tradition, but she gave it up, too. As for my bubbe, oy, better you shouldn’t even ask.
I tried to explain to them that eating traditional foods strengthens and builds up the walls of your arteries, but they’re not interested in listening to reason. They’re prejudiced against animal fat. They trim their beef, skin their chickens and skim the soup. It’s still food, of course, but it’s not the same.
It wasn’t always this way. Until relatively recently, fat was considered a delicacy. People would scrape the drippings out of the pan, and fight over who would be served the helzel (neck) in the chicken soup. Cooking with schmaltz was a way of life.
However, there were some fats that Jews would never eat. In the book of Leviticus we read, “All cheilev belongs to the L‑rd.”1 In a kosher animal there are certain fatty deposits, referred to as cheilev, that we may not eat. During During Temple times, these fats were burned on the altarTemple times, these fats were burned on the altar in the Beit Hamikdash.
The cheilev was considered the most delicious part of the animal, and rather than indulge our own desires, we offered it to the Creator.
The Rebbe suggests that the mitzvah of surrendering the cheilev to G‑d is a lesson in how to live. Putting on weight is generally a sign that one has been indulging too much in the pleasures of this earth—eating fatty foods makes you fat. When we say, “All cheilev belongs to the L‑rd,” we’re declaring that true pleasure is spiritual pleasure. Studying Torah, praying, and performing mitzvahs--that’s where the real geshmak is. The more corporeal indulgences can take a back seat.
Maybe my wife is right after all. Maybe it’s time for me to stop pining for the schmaltz and gribbenes of my youth, and start pursuing a more refined form of gratification. Maybe it’s time for me to stop asking what the world can do for me, and start asking what I can do for the world. With a slimmed-down personality and a more svelte perspective on life, maybe I could bring some pleasure to my G‑d, my family and my community.
Rabbi Elisha Greenbaum is spiritual leader of Moorabbin Hebrew Congregation and co-director of L’Chaim Chabad in Moorabbin, Victoria, Australia.
FOOTNOTES
1.Leviticus 3:16.
© Copyright 2014, all rights reserved.
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• Vayikra Poem (by Chana Engel)
Do you ever hear voices arguing in your head?
One screams “hold back,” the other, “go ahead,”
The two opposite drives make your head spin,
And the battle continues ’til one force finally wins.
Those two little men live inside every Jew,
There’s a good inclination and an evil one too.
One side is G‑dly, pure without stains,
But the other’s animalistic; selfish, mundane.
In times long ago, when our Temple stood,
We’d offer korbanot, sacrifices to G‑d.
Now we don’t have an altar, where animals are burnt,
So what’s the use of the laws upon laws that are learnt?
Because this practice isn’t so ancient, though it seems that way,
We’re still offering sacrifices each and every day.
There’s a home for G‑d in each of our hearts,
But this “Temple” needs service, to put in our part,
To take that animal, that’s living within,
Burn it on our altar—dedicate it to Him.
When a better income is what you work towards,
Or when being in style is a focus of yours,
When you see a cake and instinctively run,
That’s your animal within, having some fun.
Earn money, no problem, but use it to share,
Choose stylish, yet dignified clothing to wear,
Hold back for a minute; eat your cake with a plate,
It’s the animal that doesn’t know how to wait.
Our worldly desires aren’t for us to shun,
They should be channeled for good, rather than numbed.
Your efforts and talents are a medium to use,
So you’ll find G‑dliness any place that you choose.
Chana Engel grew up in Melbourne, Australia, and shares her poems with a wide-ranging circle of Jews. She is currently studying in Israel.
© Copyright 2014, all rights reserved.
-------• Vayikra in a Nutshell
G‑d calls to Moses from the Tent of Meeting, and communicates to him the laws of the korbanot, the animal and meal offerings brought in the Sanctuary. These include:
• The “ascending offering” (olah) that is wholly raised to G‑d by the fire atop the altar;
• Five varieties of “meal offering” (minchah) prepared with fine flour, olive oil and frankincense;
• The “peace offering” (shelamim), whose meat was eaten by the one bringing the offering, after parts are burned on the altar and parts are given to the kohanim (priests);
• The different types of “sin offering” (chatat) brought to atone for transgressions committed erroneously by the high priest, the entire community, the king or the ordinary Jew;
• The “guilt offering” (asham) brought by one who has misappropriated property of the Sanctuary, who is in doubt as to whether he transgressed a divine prohibition, or who has committed a “betrayal against G‑d” by swearing falsely to defraud a fellow man.
© Copyright 2014, all rights reserved.
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VIDEO
Turn Up the Volume of Your Joy
Why the constant focus on joy, and how do we increase in our joy during the month of Adar? Comparing and contrasting the holidays of Purim and Pesach sheds light on how to serve G-d with greater joy. by Nomi Freeman Watch (26:51)
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________________________________________
More in Video:
• A Needle in a Haystack, Part 2 - The Journey Back
http://www.chabad.org/2489393
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• Purim Secrets (by Tzvi Freeman)
<script language="javascript" type="text/javascript" src="http://embed.chabad.org/multimedia/mediaplayer/embedded/embed.js.asp?aid=837573&width=auto&height=auto"></script><div style="clear:both;">Visit <a href="http://www.chabad.org/multimedia/default_cdo/aid/591213/jewish/Video.htm">Jewish.TV</a> for more <a href="http://www.chabad.org/multimedia/default_cdo/aid/591213/jewish/Video.htm">Jewish videos</a>.</div>
Jack Schwartz was so big into Kabbalah, he left his upscale Long Island home to travel for many days so he could meet with a great Kabbalah master hiding out in a health spa in Guadalajara, Mexico. In breathless awe, he asked the master his one burning question, “Great Kabbalah master! My name is Jack Schwartz, and I have come all this way to ask you: What is Kabbalah?”
In typical Jewish form, the great Kabbalah master answered, “Who is Jack Schwartz?”
That was all Jack needed to open his eyes and his heart to the mysteries of Kabbalah.
You see, you could wonder for years, “Who am I, really?” Some people think they are their job. Others believe they are their clothes, or their car. A lot of people believe they are their portfolio. Well, they used to, but nowadays they don’t have much of that left anyways. So they’re starting to realize, “Hey, maybe I exist even without my portfolio! But then, who am I?”
And that, really, is what Kabbalah is all about.
Well, it’s a little more complicated. You see, you are not just one person. You’re two people. Actually, three. Actually, you’re a whole bustling metropolis of people and personalities. A study on bilinguals revealed that they had one personality when ordering a hamburger in English at McDonalds and another when ordering papas y beer at the Casa del Chili. So, which one of these many people are you really?
Among all those personalities inside, the two main players are the human-animal person and the G‑dly person. Feivel is nothing more than a material manifestation of the human-animal person within most of us. Miri, on the other hand, is playing the part of the G‑dly person. The clothes and disguises she is talking about are the behaviors a person takes on—clothes to express the soul.
Feivel always remains Feivel, no matter how you dress him up. You can teach him, train him, discipline him, and maybe he’ll even start acting a little more civilized. You can inspire him with love, imbue him with a sense of awe and fire him up with a taste of wonder. But under all that, he still remains the same instinct-driven creature as he was born, and you can just never be sure what he might do next. The clothes look nice, but clothes can’t make you a man.
The G‑dly person inside you—that’s like Miri, just the opposite of Feivel. Even when she is not dressed in her royal robes, without any inspiration, no clue of how she’s supposed to act, unadorned with the regalia of mitzvahs and jewels of Torah that belong to her as a princess—nevertheless she remains untainted, a pure and dignified G‑dly soul. Dress her in that regal finery, and immediately you see her true essence come out. The clothes become her—because they really are her clothes.
So, who are you really? It’s hard to answer, because each of these souls inside is vying for that position—the position of being you. The truth is, however, that even the animal inside knows that it can never be complete without that G‑dly spark guiding and directing it. And eventually, with the help of a tzaddik, that animal-person will also be a least a little transformed.
Happy Purim!
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PARENTING
The Benefits of Being Stupid When You’re Old
There is one benefit in feeling stupid, at least when you’re old: compassion. by Jay Litvin
First of all, I’m not really stupid. And second, you can’t really call 53 old. But lately I have been feeling very stupid, and being the oldest in my class makes me feel very old. But perhaps there is some benefit to all of this.
I haven’t felt so stupid since I was 10 years old and my family moved from the upper-lower class Chicago neighborhood where I fit in, to the upper-middle-class neighborhood where I did not. I felt pretty smart at my old grammar school. But when I transferred to the new one, I seemed to be the dumbest in the class. It was a tremendous blow to my self-esteem, especially since both my sisters were honor students.
I got through grammar and high school, but I dropped out of college and chose instead to apprentice at a film company, where I eventually learned a lucrative trade and then went on to develop a career. I even received a college degree at the age of 32. I am married, with some very nice children.
So, self-esteem-wise I recovered. Until I moved to Israel and started going to ulpan to learn Hebrew.
I am the oldest and the dumbest in my class. I’m having a terrible time learning Hebrew. I can’t remember any of the words, no matter how often I hear them or look them up in my English/Hebrew dictionary. Verb conjugation is beyond me. And trying to form a sentence just to answer a question, let alone express a thought, causes my throat to tighten involuntarily. I am embarrassed by my incompetence among the other students. I sit in dread of being called on by the instructor, a very kind, middle-aged woman who, I can tell, takes pity on me. She calls on me rarely, and even when I make mistakes, she treats me kindly and pretends I gave sort of the right answer. Fortunately, it is an adult class, so people don’t make fun of me; at most, they treat my erroneous responses with compassionate sickly grins, and then look away quickly. At break time I grab a cup of coffee and stand by myself, hoping no one will come up to me and try to start a conversation in Hebrew.
I sit in class with a terrible pressure in my chest, difficulty breathing, and with a constant running diatribe at myself: You’re so stupid! How come everyone else gets it, and you don’t? Why are you so shy? Why can’t you just speak up and make your mistakes, and practice? Why have you put yourself in this position? Why didn’t you just stay in America, where at least you could speak?
There seems to be this downward spiral of thoughts leading to a dark cavern of negativity that feels old and familiar, more connected to my childhood than to my reality.
By the time the class is over, I feel terrible. Like a loser. And I dread the next class.
On the train ride home, I try to console myself. “Look, it’s just a class. You’re the public relations director for one of the largest organizations in Israel. You speak and write English better than most. You have a lovely wife and beautiful children . . .”
But it doesn’t help.
Fortunately, I have a wife who I can talk to, and when I express all this to her, she makes me laugh and I feel better.
But today she didn’t laugh. Today she said to me: “Can you imagine what it’s like for a young child to sit in a class and feel the way you do? Or what it must be like for someone who is learning disabled? Or for the Goldsteins’ daughter, who is failing miserably in school and wants to drop out?”
“No wonder she wants to drop out!” I said. “And maybe she should!” I continued, surprising even myself. “Maybe she can at least salvage her self-esteem, if she doesn’t have to sit in a classroom feeling like a dummy.”
I had just returned from a particularly difficult day in my Hebrew class, and so I had no difficulty doing the imagining my wife suggested.
What if, I thought, I were 10 years old instead of 53? What if I didn’t have any professional success to counter the stupidity I was feeling in class? What if I didn’t have a lovely, understanding wife to talk to, but rather two demanding parents who were embarrassed at my failures? What if the teacher was not so kind, and instead mocked and embarrassed me when I made mistakes? What if my fellow students were other 10-year-old brats who enjoyed teasing and giggling when I goofed up? And what if these little cruel monsters were the only kids I knew? And what if I was so embarrassed by my stupidity that I avoided other children and had no friends? And what if—and this is the big one—I spent not just three hours a day three days a week in a Hebrew class feeling dumb, but six hours a day every day of the week in school feeling this bad? And then, to top it all off, when school was over, I went home to face my parents with my poor grades or a note from the teacher?
What if I were the Goldsteins’ daughter, who is now 17 years old, and has probably been feeling like this, hour by hour, minute by minute, for the past 12 years, since she was 5 years old and entered kindergarten?
Yes, I thought, drop out! Save your life! Stop the torture immediately and save your self-esteem! It’s more important than math and science. Save your pride and go on with your life!
Feeling stupid is awful—at any age. And no one should be made to feel this way. It’s damaging and will only lead a person, like my friend’s daughter, to a series of bad choices just to avoid the terrible feeling. To survive, they’ll find some place, some group of people where they don’t feel stupid. Maybe other dropouts, maybe drugs, maybe just boys looking to give a pretty runaway girl a place to stay and some kind words to make her feel attractive rather than stupid.
But, there is one benefit in feeling stupid, at least when you’re old: compassion. Hopefully, a little more patience and kindness with my own children. More diligence in rooting out the source of their problems at school. Making more time to advocate for them with their teachers. More encouragement and recognition of their successes.
Every person has his strengths and his talents. And it is up to us, parents and teachers, to find them and nurture them. It could be a good sense of humor, or the ability to sing, vacuum the rug or set the table for dinner. It may even be as simple as being pretty. Fostering self-esteem in any area is better than destroying it, even when a child does not live up to our expectations. In the long run, it is this sense of self-esteem and confidence that will yield the courage to learn, explore and succeed far more than any knowledge.
I hope I’ll hang in there at Hebrew class. But I’m not sure. After each class of feeling stupid, I find it harder to get up on time in the morning of my next class. Other responsibilities seem to be more urgent than learning Hebrew, and the distraction of reading or playing with the cat at night after a long day’s work seems more important than struggling with my Hebrew homework.
But I’m an adult, and hopefully the importance of learning the language of the new country in which I live will keep me plugging away. After all, I’m not 10 years old, or even 17; I’m 53, and should have learned how to handle these feelings by now, don’t you think?
In truth, I don’t know if I would really encourage the Goldsteins’ daughter to drop out of school. That’s a tough decision with many serious consequences. But, I tell you, before feeling this stupid in my Hebrew class, I never would have understood how it could be a consideration for her at all. Now I do.
Jay Litvin was born in Chicago in 1944. He moved to Israel in 1993 to serve as medical liaison for Chabad’s Children of Chernobyl program, and took a leading role in airlifting children from the areas contaminated by the Chernobyl nuclear disaster; he also founded and directed Chabad’s Terror Victims program in Israel. Jay passed away in April of 2004 after a valiant four-year battle with non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma, and is survived by his wife, Sharon, and their seven children. He was a frequent contributor to the Jewish website Chabad.org.
© Copyright 2014, all rights reserved.
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More in Parenting:
• Kids in the Kitchen (by Yvette Miller)
Friday morning dawned frigid—it was colder in Chicago than in Anchorage(!)—and snowy. My kids were off from school, and I woke up with a pounding headache and fever.
Normally, Friday is my busiest day: I wake up early and start cooking my soup first thing, so it can simmer all day. Once my kids are at school, I shop for groceries, do laundry, straighten up, and cook our favorite Shabbat dishes. I love the peace and quiet of the house as I chop vegetables and prepare meals.
Clearly, this Friday was going to be different.
“What’s for breakfast, Mommy?” one of my kids asked. I blinked at him blearily. It dawned on me that I was going to need to rely on him if I was ever going to make it through the day. “You know what?” I replied. “I’m going to need your help.”
As I got toast and eggs ready, I gave him his first task: helping his younger brother say his morning prayers. I’d never asked this of him before, and I couldn’t help but smile as I overheard their conversation. “This part is really hard,” he said to his brother. I got ready to step in to help, when I remembered something I’d heard the noted author and child psychologist Wendy Mogul say years before.Clearly, this Friday was going to be different
It’s important to give kids tasks and chores to do, she said, but that’s only half the battle; just as crucial is to let children find their own ways of doing them. Forcing children to mimic the way we act is akin to slavery, she said; it saps their excitement in new tasks, and prevents them from “owning” the chores we want them to master.
So I bit my tongue, and heard my son continue, “This part is really hard; it’s like a tongue-twister!” And then slowly, painstakingly, he worked through the passage for his brother. I’d rarely heard the two of them more animated; the pride on their faces was touching as they finally put the prayerbook away and came to breakfast.
As we ate, I outlined the day. “Shabbat starts in a few hours,” I said, “and we have to get ready. I’d like you to do some of the cooking. What would you like to do first?”
“Dessert!” my kids cried in unison. Biting my tongue again, I set out ingredients. I’m not sure if it was the flu or remembering Wendy Mogul’s advice, but I stayed silent as my kids got out copious amounts of sugar sprinkles to decorate their creations with. I didn’t say anything when—searching for cookie cutters—they dragged out the bucket containing their modeling clay stamps and molds.
After a while, the kitchen table was coated with a sticky mix of dough and sugar, Play-Doh and sprinkles. But two dozen fantastic cookies lay on a tray for me to bake, and my kids were excited, eager for their next task.
As I laid out more ingredients and we all cleaned up, I noticed something unusual for a Friday in my house: as messy as we all were becoming, we were all in great moods. There was none of the usual stress I normally associate with cooking and cleaning with kids.
Instead, we talked about Shabbat. My oldest son took time out to explain the week’s Torah portion to his younger siblings. One child unexpectedly started singing a Shabbat song. One son announced that he was going to go take a bath and dress for Shabbat—hours early. (I was about to ask him to wait—he did wind up getting his nice Shabbat clothes all dirty—but I held my tongue; my kids were so excited about their Shabbat preparations, I didn’t want to spoil it.)
The afternoon passed by in a blur. My five-year-old polished our silver kiddush cups and candlesticks (and his entire body and most of the kitchen and bathroom). My eight-year-old discovered a passion for peeling potatoes (and peeled ten pounds of them before I stopped him). When I noticed that some things still needed finishing, I searched for ways to phrase my requests. “Kids,” I finally said, “I see there are still some things that need to be done before Shabbat—can you please figure out what they are?” Like magic, my kids got to work, cleaning and tidying and getting everything ready.
Just before Shabbat, my son saw me putting on my boots, and asked where I was going. When I said I was taking out the garbage, he jumped up. “I’d love to!” he cried. Standing there, in all his (now slightly dirty) Shabbat finery, he looked so eager, so excited.Our soup was a hard, burned solid
That magical Shabbat, our soup was a hard, burned solid. (All the broth had somehow evaporated away.) We still hadn’t gotten all the silver polish off the bathroom sink. But our kiddush cups shone, and so did my kids’ faces. This was “their” Shabbat, and I noticed they treated it differently. They seemed to enjoy their food even more after planning the menu and doing the cooking. They were proud of how neat their rooms were, and took extra care to keep them tidy. They even took charge in other ways, suggesting we all sing after dinner, for instance, and choosing their favorite songs.
I’m not sure I’m ready to hand over the reins so completely again; I’m still finding lumps of cookie dough all over the kitchen floor, and I doubt our experiment in extreme kid-empowerment would be so successful each week. Besides, I like my professional-looking challahs, and enjoy doing Shabbat “my way.”
But as my kids get older, I’m going to try to remember they need a “my way,” too—that the surest route to feeling you own something is to work on it and make it yours. I want my kids to grow up loving Shabbat—I want to see the joy and energy of this recent kid-directed Shabbat in them again. If the best way to make that happen is to tolerate a little cookie dough (and silver polish and burned soup . . .), it’s a price I’m more than willing to pay.
Yvette Alt Miller, Ph.D. is a mother and adjunct professor of Political Science living in Chicago. She is the author of "Angels at the Table: A Practical Guide to Celebrating Shabbat" (Continuum 2011).
© Copyright 2014, all rights reserved.
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WOMEN
Meet the Month of Adar II
The spirit of Purim permeates the entire month, making it a time of unparalleled rejoicing and good mazal (fortune) for the Jewish people.
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More in Women:
• Overly Sensitive (by Beryl Tritel)
Dear Rachel,
I have always been a very sensitive person. When I was younger, I used to think it was an excellent quality, as I thought that it kept me in tune with others. But as I get older, I find that I am getting more self-centered. I think that everyone should be as in tune with my feelings as I think I am with theirs. And, as painful as this is to write, I am not really in tune with others, because all I see is how their behavior affects me, rather than what they may be going through. I find myself constantly getting hurt by others, and then refusing to talk to these people based on my perception of how they slighted me. How can I stop this cycle? My best friend sat me down the other day and pointed this out to me. I was so upset, I almost stopped talking to her! But then I realized I needed to do something. Can you help me?
Too Sensitive
Dear Too Sensitive,
First and most importantly, I want to commend you on the courage it must have taken to write this letter. Making life changes, Kudos for your self-awareness and willingness to changeespecially ones like you describe, is huge. So, kudos for your self-awareness and willingness to change.
I hear you saying that have a middah of sensitivity which you always thought was commendable, and now you realize that it is not as beneficial as you thought. While I agree that your sensitivity may be isolating you from those around you, being sensitive is an excellent character trait that more people should be trying to develop.
So, rather than trying to eradicate your middah of sensitivity (which may not be possible), focus on how you can modify this aspect of your character.
Take a step back and try to identify how being sensitive is good for you and those around you. Does this sensitivity help you remember to call a friend who may be depressed? Does it propel you to make a meal for a new mother in your neighborhood? These are two wonderful examples of how sensitivity can help you be in touch with others.
But you said that you are too sensitive. What does that mean? Take the time to identify where this middah “goes wrong.” For example, if you make that meal, is it because you just want the thanks, or do you really want to help someone? If it’s the former, then you may be setting yourself up for disappointment (new mothers may not remember to say thank you, etc.). If it’s the latter, then practice appreciating yourself for what you do, and learn to be satisfied with that. I know this may sound painful, but, ultimately, you need to rely on your own positive feedback. As you have noticed, once you search outside for approval or appreciation, the trouble Ultimately, you need to rely on your own positive feedbackbegins. While it feels good to get approval and appreciation from other people, you must have your own inner source of self-worth.
Here’s another exercise to try: Consider where other people are coming from. They, too, have their feelings, hopes and disappointments. When you take the time to look at a situation from another’s perspective, you will begin to find that while your feelings are important, other people’s feelings matter too. Then you will truly be a sensitive person.
You may need to engage the help of a competent therapist to help you figure out where this extreme sensitivity comes from, and how you can temper it to help you lead your life in the most fulfilling way possible.
I wish you the best of luck on your journey.
“Dear Rachel” is a biweekly column that is answered by a rotating group of experts. This question was answered by Beryl Tritel.
Beryl Tritel, MSW, is a therapist practicing in Ramat Bet Shemesh. She specializes in Women’s Life Issues as well as Parenting and Marriage Counseling. She is the author of the popular column “Ask Beryl” in Connections magazine. You can visit her blog by clicking here.
© Copyright 2014, all rights reserved.
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YOUR QUESTIONS
Help! I Ate Something That Wasn’t Kosher!
It was an accident, but I feel so guilty and awfully depressed about it. I feel like my soul and body are contaminated forever. by Yisroel Cotlar
Dear Rabbi,
It was an accident, but I feel so guilty and awfully depressed about it. I feel like my soul and body are contaminated forever. How can I make up for it?—Guilty
Dear Guilty,
Feeling like you want to make up for a messup is a good thing. Feeling depressed and guilty is not.
Sometimes it’s hard to sense whether a particular feeling is coming from the yetzer tov (good inclination) or the yetzer hara (other inclination). So, here’s a rule of thumb: Any feeling that brings you to do something good definitely comes from the yetzer tov. But any feeling that brings gloom and depression—no matter how noble and virtuous it may seem—is just another sneaky tactic of the the yetzer hara.
Let’s apply this to your situation:
This was an accident. But still, if you are really concerned about keeping kosher, messups like this don’t happen. So, even though you did this by accident, you still need to do teshuvah. Essentially, that means remorse for what was done, together with the pledge not to do it again. You already seem to be pretty remorseful; now all you need is to resolve to be more careful in the future. Resolve to think twice, and make sure you know what you are eating before you eat it.
But, as you recognize, you also need to remove any negative energy remaining from the deed—and from that food, which is now metabolized into your physiology. We don’t chase away darkness with broomsticks. We use light. It just so happens we have a very powerful light in our hands for zapping away all sorts of darkness. It’s called tzedakah—simply giving more money than you usually would to a worthy cause. Tzedakah is like bringing a sacrifice in the Temple—you give away something precious to you, and that takes away those things that you don’t want to be part of you.
Tzedakah helps in all situations. But here are some additional suggestions, specifically for kashrut:
1) Spend some time reading up the laws of kashrut in detail. I would be happy to suggest some books, if you’d like.
2) Inspire another Jew to start keeping kosher.
Doing these things not only erases the deed—they actually transform what happened into something positive. Now this deed is no longer a low point in your life, but a point of inspiration, driving you and others higher and higher.
Let me know if this helps.
Yours truly,
Rabbi Yisroel Cotlar
All names of persons and locations or other identifying features referenced in these questions have been omitted or changed to preserve the anonymity of the questioners.
© Copyright 2014, all rights reserved.
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JEWISH NEWS
Fear of War and Economic Collapse Brings Uncertainty to Ukraine Jewry Jewish community leaders and residents throughout Ukraine describe an air of increasingly worried uncertainty about the possibility of war. While some fear resurgent anti-Semitism, all are subject to the financial crisis hitting the nation. by Dovid Margolin
In the week since the collapse of President Viktor Yanukovych’s pro-Russian government in Ukraine and the incursion of Russian troops in Crimea, Jewish community leaders throughout the vast country describe an air of increasingly worried uncertainty about the possibility of war. While some fear resurgent anti-Semitism, all are subject to the financial crisis taking place throughout the nation.
“Last week people were worried because of the uncertainty of what each day might bring,” says Rabbi Yechiel Shlomo Levitansky, a California native who with his wife, Rochie, has directed Chabad-Lubavitch of Sumy, near the Russian border in northeastern Ukraine, since 2004. “Now people are worried that there might be a full-fledged war here. We don’t know what will happen next.”
As the situation deteriorates, Jewish leaders there say the main difficulty they face is the economic crisis that has come as a result.
“Our community and Jewish communities around Ukraine are struggling financially,” says Rabbi Moshe Moskowitz, chief rabbi and Chabad representative in the eastern city of Kharkov, which in recent days has become the scene of intense street clashes between pro-Russian activists and pro-Western Ukrainians. “At this point, the economic situation is what we’re most worried about. Banks are only giving hryvna, and only certain amounts. Many donors are worried now, and therefore have stopped their regular donations. Our financial position is grave.”
More than 170 Chabad-Lubavitch emissary couples serve the Ukrainian Jewish population of about 250,000 in 35 cities around the embattled nation. To help respond to the dire financial difficulties that Chabad centers throughout Ukraine are facing, an emergency fund has been created under the auspices of the Federation of Jewish Communities of the FSU and Merkos L'Inyonei Chinuch to help pay for additional security, as well as keep regular activities going.
“On Shabbos, the shul was packed,” adds Moskowitz, who moved with his wife, Miriam, to Kharkov in 1990. “They want to know what’s happening, the latest news, to talk to each other— but most important, they want to feel a part of the community.”
With the formerly unthinkable specter of war hanging over Ukraine, Moskowitz notes that the support and services the Jewish community supplies in each city remain vital.
“Some people are on one side, others are on another, and they all come to us to talk it over,” he says. “It’s a tense time in our community, and all we can do is try to direct people’s emotions towards doing something good.”
A Turbulent History
Ukraine’s Jewish history is long and rich, stretching back hundreds of years. Western Ukraine includes historically significant Jewish places such as Uman and Berdychev, and during the last century borders were redrawn to additionally encompass ancient Jewish cities like Lemberg (Lvov) and Ungvar (Uzhgorod). The country’s Podolia region is the birthplace of Rabbi Yisrael Baal Shem Tov and the Chassidic movement he founded, and also remains the resting place of dozens of Chassidic masters.
Yet coupled with such a great past is a darker one as well. For as long as Jews have lived in Ukraine, they have found themselves the targets of vicious anti-Semitic campaigns by locals. Cossack leader Bogdan Chmielnicki’s infamous massacres of thousands of Jews in 1648-49 left the Jews of the region in despair. It was as a direct result of those attacks that the Baal Shem Tov began to reveal his teachings, hoping to raise the spirits of a broken nation.
Babi Yar, the ravine on the outskirts of Kiev, where some 34,000 Jews were shot and buried by Nazis and their Ukrainian collaborators during a single week in 1941, is a more recent reminder of that ominous relationship.
While Jews in Ukraine suffered from repression and government-sanctioned anti-Semitism during Communist rule, Ukrainian Jews have historically viewed far-right Ukrainian nationalism as the greater threat. To modern Ukrainian nationalists, Chmielnicki was a hero (today, a Ukrainian city is named for him), as was Stepan Bandera, a World War II-era Ukrainian revolutionary who actively collaborated with the Nazis against the Soviet Union—and the Jews.
More Security Necessary
Under the circumstances, Levitansky’s Jewish Center in Sumy has added more security, as have Jewish establishments throughout the country.
That need was intensified on Feb. 24, when Molotov cocktails were thrown at the Chabad synagogue and community center in Zaporozhye, in southeastern Ukraine, jangling nerves, but injuring no one.
Rabbi Moti Levenharts has served as director of the Simcha School-Chabad in Kiev since moving there from Israel with his wife, Devorah Leah, in 1998. Along with the school, Levenharts also leads one of Kiev’s Chabad synagogues.
“I live very close to the Maidan,” explains Levenharts, “and [last] Thursday was the most frightening day of all. People began to stock up on all sorts of canned goods,” he adds. “Now things are calmer, and people are going to work and to stores, but there is still a sense of lawlessness.”
Levenharts says when foreign businessmen began to flee, they urged him to leave as well.
“I told them that we cannot go, we are here as shluchim [emissaries], and we must remain here together with the community, giving chizuk [strength] and helping people any way we can,” he says.
He adds that although no one knows what direction the conflict will take, it has remained free of established anti-Semitism, noting that a number of obviously Jewish acquaintances have walked through Maidan Square without drawing negative attention.
Day-by-day
Farther west, in Zhitomer, Esther Wilhelm describes the situation as relatively calm.
“Generally, people are going about their routine, but there is an undercurrent of tension,” says Wilhelm, whose husband, Rabbi Sholom Wilhelm, has served as Zhitomer’s chief rabbi and Chabad emissary since the end of 1995. “During the worst of the violence in Kiev, the stores were emptying out of products with long shelf lives: grains, kasha, barley, sugar, flour. Flour was disappearing from shelves. ATMS are also empty, and the hryvna has been falling fast.”
Over the weekend, clashes eastern Ukraine between supporters of the new government—many of whom came from western Ukraine to bolster the new government’s control over eastern Ukraine—and pro-Russia activists have brought violence to Kharkov, Donetsk and Dnepropetrovsk.
“The main government buildings here were controlled for a week by Ukrainians from the west, and on Shabbos, they were dragged out of the buildings and a Russian flag was raised over the building,” explains Miriam Moskowitz. “Later in the afternoon, Kharkov’s mayor had them raise the Ukrainian flag over the building again.”
Although implicitly felt in the pro-Russia areas of eastern Ukraine, Russian might has now been exerted in Crimea, where armed Russian soldiers bearing no insignias took control of the autonomous republic’s parliament and two airports, raising Russian flags over them.
While violence remained at bay, Jewish community members in both Sevastopol and Simferopol described the situation as “tense” and “frightening.”
Leah Lipszyc—who with her husband, Rabbi Yitzchak Meir, directs Chabad of Simferopol—was initially unable to leave the peninsula prior to Shabbat because Russian troops had closed the roads to mainland Ukraine. She was eventually able to make it out by train.
“No one ever thought we could have such worries in 2014,” says Rabbi Sholom Gopin, a Chabad emissary in the far-eastern city of Lugansk. “People are worried and scared because there is a feeling that whichever side you’re on, someone will blame the Jews. That’s what people are afraid of, although so far we haven’t seen any of that.”
In assessing the situation, Gopin notes that more people have come to synagogue since the upheaval began. He echoes Moskowitz’s warning of the financial impact the instability is having on the Jewish community. “There are many donors in Kiev and other big cities who have cut off their support at this time. It is very difficult for us to continue. The question that remains is: What will be tomorrow?”
© Copyright 2014, all rights reserved.
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More in Jewish News:
• Burgeoning Preschool in Argentina Sets Its Sight on the Future (by Menachem Posner)
Gisella Friedman’s story mirrors the typical Jewish experience in Cordoba, Argentina. Her family crossed the Atlantic Ocean around the turn of the 20th century to become gauchos, South American grassland folk known for farming and raising cattle on the pampas, the fertile Argentinian lowlands, on colonies established by the largess of Sir Moses Montefiore and Baron Maurice de Hirsch.
By the time she was born, most of the original settlers’ children had moved on, attracted to the education and opportunities of bigger cities like Cordoba and Buenos Aires. And when she came of age, she, too, left the colonies behind to study in Cordoba, a university city of 1.3 million located in the heart of Argentina. In time, she married Moishe Teicher and settled in Cordoba.
Because of her involvement with Rabbi Yossi and Chana Turk, co-directors of Jabad Lubavitch Cordoba since 1989, she says she and her husband deepened their Jewish involvement. Cordoba’s religious community is small (the city’s 8,000 Jews are scattered throughout the sprawling metropolis), yet she says that she and her husband are committed to making the city home in large part due to Gan Meorot, a Chabad-run preschool that has grown exponentially since it was founded with just eight children in 2004.
“My girls, Yara and Tamar, go there, and it is excellent for them,” says the mother of two. “It is like my home. The teachers are so professional and so caring that it attracts people from all over the city. It’s an excellent place for everyone.”
For the coming school year (which begins in March in the Southern Hemisphere), Rabbi Turk says 70 children, ages 2 to 5, will fill six spacious classrooms on the ground floor of the newly-built Chabad center in Barrio Cofico, a quiet residential neighborhood near the city center. The location is optimal, he adds, because it allows parents to drop off their children on their way to work each morning. As the school building nears capacity, plans are in the works for an additional story that will house a spacious indoor play area.
Reaching Milestones and More
Turk attributes much of the school’s success to the dedication and skill of his wife, Chana, who teaches Jewish traditions, prayers, holidays and culture to all classes. “She spends her day hopping from class to class, making sure that each of the little Jewish souls entrusted with us is growing and thriving,” he says. She is joined by directors Silvia Guelbert and Karina Quevedo, both accomplished educators in their own right.
While many are drawn to the top-notch facilities, and calm and loving atmosphere, Friedman says that she and her husband are most attracted by the Jewish education her children are getting.
“My girls know how to say the Shema prayer, the blessings before the foods and everything else Jewish children should learn about,” she explains. “Morah [teacher] Chanah teaches them with such love. I feel good knowing that they are being taught by a Yiddishe mamma. I don’t think I could imagine a better teacher for them.”
The rabbi says the school’s impact has been felt by parents, who participate in regular educational courses and family-friendly Shabbatons. “It is quite common for a father to drop his child off at school and then go upstairs to our sanctuary, and join the prayers or just put on tefillin and pray on his own for a few minutes. This would have never happened before,” he notes with satisfaction.
In fact, just a few weeks ago, the 220-seat sanctuary was home to a celebration that demonstrated how much of an impact Gan Meorot had made: the bat mitzvah of a girl who had been part of the pioneering class almost a decade earlier. Speaking to a packed hall, she shared cherished memories of her time there, and credited it for giving her a strong foundation for her growth as a proud and committed Jew.
The school’s accomplishments have not gone unnoticed by the ministry of education (known as Dirección de Institutos Privados de Enseñanza, or D.I.P.E.), which offered to link the school with the city’s most exclusive private school so that Gan Meorot would be authorized to add a kindergarten class as an official affiliate of the other school.
Yet with her oldest child already 4 years old, Friedman says it’s time for the preschool to become a full primary school of its own. She and her husband are members of a local group working on gaining the necessary permits to allow the school to add another grade every year, ensuring that her daughter’s classmates will be able to continue their Jewish studies for many years to come.
“It will be wonderful for Jewish life,” she says hopefully of the proposed day school. “To have authentic Jewish education in Cordoba is like a miracle.”
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• Preschool in Australia: One of Several Firsts in Capital City (by Faygie Levy)
The children came in one at a time on Feb. 12, the first day of school.
Some toddled in, clutching a parent’s hand. Some wore hats to protect themselves from the blazing summer sun. All told, the eight tots, ages 2 to 5, entered the strikingly modern building for the usual reasons—to play, socialize and learn.
But they were there for another purpose as well—to explore their Jewish identity as the inaugural class of Gan Yisroel Community & Childcare Centre.
The preschool is the first, full-time Jewish child-care center in the Australian capital of Canberra, located inland, almost halfway between the larger, seaside cities of Sydney and Melbourne. It follows the recent establishment of an afternoon Hebrew school for children ages 5 to 12 (with a concurrent program for younger kids ages 2 to 5), in addition to the opening three years ago of Mikvah Chaya Mushka, a ritual bath for women.
“We aim to impart strong Jewish values to our children; for them to grow with a healthy Jewish identity and solid knowledge about their religion, while situated in a conducive and beautifully crafted environment where they will lack for nothing,” explains Rabbi Shmueli Feldman, who directs the Chabad ACT (Australian Capital Territory) with his wife, Chasia, who is also an educator. “We wish for our children to continue the chain of our heritage and become stronger links to lead our future generations to an even brighter future.”
The Feldmans—the parents of four young children—made the move to Canberra in January 2013 after discussions with Rabbi Aharon Serebryanski of Melbourne, director of Merkos L’Inyonei Chinuch there.
Encouraging the Next Generation
Of the approximately 1,200 Jews living in Canberra, many are temporary residents, including foreign-embassy staffers and high-tech employees on multi-year postings to the region.
“Unfortunately, our biggest issue here is combating intermarriage, which has been endemic in this part of the world with the younger generation,” says the rabbi, “and this is where we are placing a lot of our efforts into preserving Jewish continuity.”
Given a lack of available and affordable properties in Melbourne and Sydney, coupled with the high cost of living there, Canberra has become an attractive alternative, especially for young families. And that makes Jewish educational programs a necessity.
“Since we arrived, we have seen more families moving to the capital, influenced by the fact that we are building a Jewish infrastructure,” says Feldman, who notes that the city now has more learning programs for adults and more regular Shabbat services. While there is no kosher butcher or deli, kosher chickens, pastries, Judiaica and more are imported by the Chabad House and supplied to the community. Other smaller kosher items are available in certain local supermarkets and at the membership warehouse club Costco.
As another first, Chabad in Canberra now offers kosher catering services for local residents and visitors to the city.
Bringing the Outdoors In
For resident Ruth Blakely, originally from Melbourne, and her Israeli-born husband Aviel, the establishment of a Jewish preschool has been a joy. The parents of two young daughters, Maya, 5, and Ella, 2, moved to Canberra to run an IT business. They are among the first to enjoy the benefits of a Jewish preschool in their neighborhood.
“I am thrilled that now, whilst living in Canberra, my children will receive an authentic Jewish education in a warm and professional environment,” says Blakely.
That warm environment starts with the school’s stellar design, which won the Master Builders Association’s Commercial Conservation Award, for the building’s refurbishment. Originally an old preschool, it was purchased by Chabad when the government put it up for sale.
That warm environment starts with the school’s stellar design, which won the Master Builders
Association’s Commercial Conservation Award for the building’s refurbishment.
That warm environment starts with the school’s stellar design, which won the Master Builders Association’s Commercial Conservation Award for the building’s refurbishment.
It has since been re-envisioned as a modern, state-of-the-art school with large airy, multipurpose rooms that are transformed for Shabbat services and more. The bright white walls and green accents—and perhaps most striking of all, the wooden beams that highlight the ceiling—give the building a fresh feeling, almost like bringing the outdoors in.
The building can hold up to 55 students, and the hope is that after this first year the number of youngsters enrolled will grow.
While in the United States much is made about different educational philosophies for early-childhood education (such as Montessori or Reggio-Emilia teaching styles), according to Feldman, educational preschool programs in Australia are “strictly regulated by the government.” As such, Gan Yisroel conforms with the national Early Years Learning Framework.
Still, the Jewish educational aspect is a key ingredient in the learning day.
“We meet our other learning objectives by implementing Jewish concepts and integrating them with the national, expected outcomes,” explains Feldman. “So, for example, when we need to give the children an appreciation for the environment, we may teach them where food comes from and which brachot [blessings] are said on them. This meets the required secular outcome for creating environmental respect.”
Also notable, he adds, is a dedicated staff of professionals who strive to meet the needs of each child.
The Gan Yisroel Community & Childcare Centre. The preschool is the first, full-time Jewish child-care center in the Australian capital of Canberra.
The Gan Yisroel Community & Childcare Centre. The preschool is the first, full-time Jewish child-care center in the Australian capital of Canberra.
“We are committed to providing the highest level of education,” stresses Chasia Feldman, and “care for the children who attend our school.”
Though the preschool may still be in its infancy, the Feldmans are already thinking ahead. “The vision is that the preschool and community grow to such a state where we have to build a Jewish day school as well,” says the rabbi.
“Canberra is a very secular place; there are very few observant Jews living here,” he continues. “We hope that through the connection with the children that we will help influence their parents to strengthen their connection to their heritage and culture, and build a strong Jewish community that will serve the population well into the future.”
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STORY
Two Guests
“Today, two people came to see me. From one, I derived great pleasure; from the other, only aggravation . . .” by Yanki Tauber
A pleasing fragrance to G‑d (1:17)
Regarding an animal offering the Torah says “a pleasing fragrance to G‑d,” and regarding a bird offering the Torah also says “a pleasing fragrance to G‑d.” This comes to tell you that whether one offers much or offers little, it is pleasing to G‑d—so long as one directs his heart to heaven . . .—Rashi’s commentary
One day, Rabbi Shmuel of Lubavitch said to his son, Rabbi Sholom DovBer: “Today, two people came to see me. From one, I derived great pleasure; from the other, only aggravation.
“The first was Reb Eliyahu, a simple merchant from Abeleh, a small settlement near Lubavitch.1 My conversation with Reb Eliyahu went as follows:
“‘Reb Eliyahu, how are things with you?’
“‘Thank G‑d.’
“‘How's business?’
“‘Thank G‑d. But, Rebbe, my heart aches for Yosef of our village—he simply has no success in anything. We raised a small sum between us and bought him a horse and wagon so that he could take some goods to the city, but the poor fellow has no luck. Always something happens: the axle cracks, the horse breaks a leg, and then the horse is stolen altogether. All shlimazeldik possibilities befall him. Oh, Rebbe, how can I help him?!’
“Reb Eliyahu emitted a deep sigh and burst into tears: ‘Rebbe! Please help him!’
“I said to Reb Eliyahu: ‘But indeed, there is much that you can do for him. When a Jew participates in the sorrow of his fellow and prays for him, he banishes all negative decrees.’
“I then took a coin from my pocket. ‘I want to be your partner,’ I said. ‘May the Almighty grant that you be privileged to be of assistance to a fellow Jew, and may your efforts meet with success.’
“‘Rebbe, you want me for a partner!?’ cried Reb Eliyahu, trembling from head to foot. ‘Do you know what I am? I am the ‘coarse substance’2 which the Tanya (the fundamental text of Chabad chassidic philosophy) speaks of, whose only rectification is to be crushed . . .’
“And my second guest? The esteemed chassid Rabbi Eliezer of Plotzk, author of the work Mishnat Eliezer, was also in Lubavitch today.
“‘How are things?’ I asked.
“‘Thank G‑d. I give an in-depth class in Talmud to the young men, and they learn well. On Shabbat they meditate and pray long after the congregation has concluded. They study the teachings of Chassidism . . .’
“‘What of their character traits?’ I interjected.
“‘Well . . . You know how it is with the children of the rich . . .’
“I said to him: ‘The fault is their mentor’s, not theirs. The foundation of education and guidance is the imparting of a good character. Not to teach the book, but to teach the person.
“‘As soon as you return home, I want you to establish a free-loan fund. Every one of these young men should contribute half of his dowry.’
“‘But Rebbe,’ protested Rabbi Eliezer, ‘I will never prevail upon them to do this!’
“‘If I say so, you will manage. Tell the young men that when they give, they are not giving what is theirs, and if they do not give, they will not have what to give. I hope that on your next visit you will bring me better tidings.’
When the rebbe finished telling his son about these two encounters, he remarked: “Had I wished to give in to the desire of my G‑dly soul,3 I would have grabbed Reb Eliyahu Abeler and covered his face with kisses . . .”
Yanki Tauber is content editor of Chabad.org.
FOOTNOTES
1.Abeleh was one of the hamlets that Rabbi Shmuel was trying to turn into a “town.” At the time, a new anti-Jewish decree had been passed by the czarist government forbidding Jews to live in villages, so the rebbe invested much effort to promote as many settlements as possible to the status of “town.”
2.Chomer ha-gas, in Hebrew.
3.See Strength In Numbers.
© Copyright 2014, all rights reserved.
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COOKING
Greek Salad
Fresh & Healthy by Miriam Szokovski
Who doesn’t love Greek salad? It’s easy to throw together, and the feta cheese makes it more filling than a vegetable-only salad.
You’ll need romaine lettuce, cucumbers, grape tomatoes, black olives, purple onions and feta cheese. If you want to prepare the salad in advance, cut up the vegetables and cheese and store in a Ziploc bag in the fridge. Store the dressing in a separate container in the fridge, and when you’re ready to eat, just mix the two together.
The dressing calls for olive oil, vinegar (white or balsamic), fresh garlic, salt and sugar. I usually use balsamic vinegar, or half white and half balsamic, but you can use all white if you prefer.
For a variation on Greek salad, try my Greek pasta salad. It’s a bit more labor intensive but well worth the effort. I’ve made it for a few parties and so far it’s always been one of the first things to get finished.
Now, with Purim right around the corner, it’s time to start thinking about holiday food. There are the traditional hamantaschen, of course, and kreplach. But it’s also good to have some healthy food around during the day, to help prevent the junk-food overdose. If you have a big fresh salad sitting on the table, kids (and adults) are more likely to get in some healthy veggies.
Salad Ingredients:
2 hearts romaine lettuce
1 cucumber, sliced
10 grape tomatoes, halved
10 black olives, sliced
½ small purple onion, sliced in rings
3 oz. feta cheese, cubed or crumbled
Dressing Ingredients:
¼ cup olive oil
¼ cup vinegar (white, or balsamic - of half white and half balsamic)
1 tbsp. sugar
1 tsp. salt
3 cloves garlic, crushed
Directions:
Toss salad ingredients together.
Whisk dressing ingredients together and pour over salad immediately before serving. Dressing can be stored in the refrigerator for several days.
Yields: 6 servings
Looking for more salad ideas? Try some of these:
Pepper Steak Salad.
Winter Salad, with mixed greens.
Romaine Sweet Potato Salad, with mango dressing.
Cabbage Turkey Salad.
Pomegranate Green Bean Chicken Salad, with peanut sauce.
Miriam Szokovski is the author of historical novel Exiled Down Under, and a member of the Chabad.org editorial team. She enjoys tinkering with recipes, and teaches cooking classes to young children. Miriam shares her love of cooking, baking and food photography on Chabad.org’s food blog, Cook It Kosher and in the N'shei Chabad Newsletter.
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ART
Rose VII
It’s important to concentrate on the beauty that “thorny” situations bear. by Yaakov Bressler
Ink on Paper
Rose VII is the concluding drawing of my venture into the fantastic tangles of roses and their thorns. I came across a clever quote that describes the relationship I had drawn: “You can complain because roses have thorns, or you can rejoice because thorns have roses.”—Tom WilsonI think it’s important to concentrate on the beauty that “thorny” situations bear. Otherwise life will seem like a thornbush, and you will have missed out on the roses.
Yaakov Bressler is a Brooklyn-based artist. His artwork focuses on the complexity, beauty and overlooked details of seemingly ordinary affairs.
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Chabad.org Magazine - Editor: Yanki Tauber
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