Editor's Note:
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Dear
Friend,
It’s
not hard to find the relevance to current events in this week’s Torah
portion. In
Between
boycotts of Israeli goods, anti-Israel protests throughout the world, hate
crimes on the rise, and multiple condemnations by the UN, we are constantly
reminded that anti-Semitism is alive and well. Yet there’s a silver lining,
argues Rabbi Yossy Goldman in his article, “
Of
course, xenophobia is evil and has caused unfathomable suffering for our
people over the years. But as Miriam Karp writes in “
This
Elul, the month in which “I am to my Beloved and my Beloved is to me,” let’s
reach into the deepest parts of our soul to connect to G‑d and our fellow
man. Let’s become a stronger, united nation, one that does not need any
external reminders to embrace its Jewishness.
Sasha
Friedman
on behalf of the Chabad.org Editorial Team  Why the Heavens?
Why were we made so small, with such great heavens above our heads?
Because He desired creatures that would know wonder.(Maamar Bati L’Gani 5732)
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This Week's Features
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Parshah
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For survivors of
trauma, the ability to let go of frightful memories is essential to the
healing process. by Chaya Shuchat
Memory is a terrible thing to lose, a fact that becomes painfully clear when you reach middle age. But forgetting can have its uses as well. For one thing, it keeps the mind from being cluttered with irrelevant information. And memory loss can even be therapeutic—such as when we overlook past hurts and agree to forgive and forget. For survivors of trauma, the ability to let go of frightful memories is essential to the healing process.
One of the most traumatic events Memory is a terrible thing to losein early Jewish history was the ambush of Amalek on the newly liberated people, fresh out of Egypt. Amalek was the first nation that dared attack the Jews after G‑d miraculously redeemed them, and in their vulnerable state, this attack was particularly devastating. In this week’s Torah portion, we find a curious mitzvah: Remember to forget Amalek.
You shall remember what Amalek did to you on the way, when you went out of Egypt . . . You shall obliterate the remembrance of Amalek from beneath the heavens. Do not forget!1
This mitzvah is one of the “Six Remembrances,” events recorded in the Torah that we are commanded to remember every day, including the exodus from Egypt, the giving of the Torah on Mount Sinai, and the Shabbat day of rest.2
If you are wondering how remembering an attack by Amalek fits in with remembering sanctified occasions such as the Shabbat and the exodus from Egypt, you’re not alone. The Midrash writes that after the commandment to remember Amalek was given, the Jews said to Moses: “One Scripture text says, ‘Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy,’ and it is written, ‘Remember what Amalek did unto you.’ How can both these texts be fulfilled?”3
The question the Jews were asking was: how can we keep such opposite thoughts in mind at the same time? Sanctifying the Shabbat helps to implant in our heart the awareness that G‑d is the Creator of all existence. Amalek, in contrast, is a nation that “knows its Creator and deliberately rebels against Him.”4 How can we remember the holiness of Shabbat at the same time that we call to mind the evil of Amalek?
And to this, Moses answered, “The glass of spiced wine is not to be compared to the glass of vinegar! One ‘Remember’ is in order to observe and to sanctify the Sabbath day, and the other ‘Remember’ is in order to destroy.”
Why does Moses compare the memory of Amalek to a glass of vinegar?
Vinegar on its own is excessively sour and not fit to drink. Mixed with other foods, however, it adds flavoring, and even has health benefits. Furthermore, since vinegar is derived from wine, it has some of the properties of the wine itself.
What this means in spiritual terms is that even an experience as sour as our encounter with Amalek has a source in holiness. In fact, the very existence of an entity that “knows its Creator and intentionally rebels against Him” is a testimony to G‑d’s omnipotence. G‑d created a world with dueling, conflicting powers to give us the opportunity to vanquish the evil and channel its energy to good.
This is why Moses compared both the Shabbat and Amalek to a glass. Both are vessels for containing G‑dly energy. However, the vessel of Shabbat, the “glass of spiced wine,” requires no special preparation. It is ready to drink as is. The cup of Amalek, on the other hand, is not a suitable container for G‑dliness until it undergoes some refinement—its tendency to rebel must be tempered and channeled appropriately. Then it, too, is a vessel for G‑dliness, with life-sustaining power of its own.
In the Tanya, Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi describes two types of delicacies: those that are sweet, and those that are sharp or sour, but when properly prepared can be tasty condiments.5 As it is written in Proverbs, “The L‑rd made everything for His praise—even the wicked man for the day of evil.”6 G‑d created a world with dueling, conflicting powersWhen the evil man repents for his evil and returns to G‑d, then the energy that he put into his wickedness becomes converted into holiness—the darkness of his past deeds becomes a greater light.
And this is how we can remember Shabbat and Amalek in the very same breath. On the one hand, celebrating Shabbat is a time to disconnect from worldliness for a short while. We might think that it would be best to let the memory of Amalek fade into the background for the time being. We want to enjoy our sweet wine with no taint of vinegar. Yet the power of Amalek is so great that it can disturb the tranquility of Shabbat—so even on Shabbat, we must be vigilant and protect ourselves against it.
On the other hand, there are times when we are not in a Shabbat mindset. Perhaps we are in a state when we are completely absorbed in the “Amalek” aspects of our lives—the pain, the turmoil and the trauma. We need no memory of Amalek, since it surrounds us constantly. In this situation, holding on to the memory of Shabbat will help us rise above our circumstances. It will even help us recognize that this period of evil that we are going through is temporary, and it, too, has a source in holiness. Life may have dealt us a glass of vinegar—but we can draw strength from it and turn that glass of vinegar into a life-sustaining brew.
(Based on an address of the Lubavitcher Rebbe, Likkutei Sichot, vol. 19, pp. 221–226.)
FOOTNOTES
1.Deuteronomy 25:17–19.
2.See What Are the Six Remembrances?
3.Pirkei d’Rabbi Eliezer, ch. 44.
4.Torat Kohanim, Bechukotai 26:14.
5.Tanya, ch. 27.
6.Proverbs 16:4.
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More in Parshah:
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• Who Needs
Anti-Semites? (By Yossy Goldman)
 It has been called “the world’s longest hatred.” It continues to rear its ugly head across countries and continents. Whether it manifests in the crude bigotry of the lower crass or the snide subtleties of the upper crust, anti-Semitism is a fact of life.
Of course, we all wish it would finally go away. We even had reason to hope that after Auschwitz, it really would. Who among us doesn’t want to feel accepted and appreciated? But there is a strong argument to suggest that, in a perverse sort of way, anti-Semitism has been good for the Jews. The French philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre made that point in his book Anti-Semite & Jew. Without the constant reminders and threats to our existence, we Jews would have been lulled into a peaceful and passive state of national amnesia. Secure in our comfort zones, we might have lost much of our unique identity.
History records that under regimes that persecuted us, we remained steadfastly Jewish; whereas under more enlightened, liberal forms of government, we gradually embraced a welcoming but dominant culture, forfeiting much of our own.
Back in the ’70s, when I was working with Jewish university students, we were struggling to break through a wall of icy indifference towards Judaism. It was so frustrating that my colleagues and I even considered going onto campus in the dead of night to paint a few swastikas on the Student Union building, in the hope that this would jolt them out of their apathy. Of course, we never actually did it, but I confess to having been very tempted.
Towards the end of this week’s Parshah we read of the commandment to remember the unprovoked attack by the nation of Amalek against the Israelites when they left Egypt. The command comes in the form of the word zachor—“Remember”—at the beginning of the section. The final words are lo tishkach—“you shall not forget.” But why the need for both expressions? And what difference is there between “remembering” and “not forgetting”? Surely one is superfluous?
Commentaries suggest that “remember” is a command to the Jewish people, while “do not forget” would seem to be a more of a prediction—i.e., they will not let you forget! Should you ever lapse into a false sense of security and forget your Jewishness, the anti-Semites of the world will be there to remind you who you are—“a people that dwells alone” (Numbers 23:9).
Everything has a purpose in creation. There is nothing superfluous in G‑d’s world. So what is the purpose of an anti-Semite? Just that—to remind Jews that they are Jewish!
But why wait for the Amalekites of this world to remind us? Do we want or need their taunting? Rather, let us be proactively Jewish, positively Jewish and Jewishly positive. You can sing the old Yiddish song one of two ways. Either it is Oy, es iz gut tzu zein a yid (“Oh, it is good to be a Jew . . .”) or Oy, es iz shver tzu zein a yid (“Oy, it is hard to be a Jew . . .”). There are a million good reasons, positive reasons, to be proudly Jewish. If seventy years ago being Jewish carried a death sentence, today it is a life sentence, promising a meaningful and blessed life. And when we decide to live proud, committed Jewish lives, we make a fascinating discovery: when we respect ourselves, the world respects us too. And that applies across the board, from the individual Jew to the collective Jewish community.
Judaism is a boon, not a burden. We should be staunch about our heritage. It is a badge of honor to wear with noble pride. If you don’t know why, go and study—but that’s another sermon.
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• Where Is the
Reward? (By Tali Loewenthal)
 A basic principle of Jewish belief is that G‑d rewards us when we carry out His commands. This week's Torah reading1 tells us that G‑d will "do good to you, and give you length of days" if we perform one of the commands. But does it always work like this?
The command in question is the law of sending away the mother bird when taking eggs from her nest.2 We are allowed to take the eggs for our own use, but rather than cause pain to the mother bird by taking them in front of her, we are commanded to send her away.3
"Honor your father and mother" is another command in the Torah about which we are told that through keeping it we will be rewarded with length of days.4
However, the Talmud tells us of an occasion when someone carried out both these commands at once and instead of being rewarded, he came to grief. A father told his son to climb a tree or a building and get eggs from a nest. The son did so, and also carried out the command of sending away the mother bird. The boy then fell and was killed.
This event was seen by Elisha ben Abuya, a scholar who lived after the destruction of the Temple. He was horrified, and the effect of this experience, together with other factors,5 was that he abandoned Jewish observance.
Elisha's daughters were cared for by the community, and his grandson Rabbi Jacob became a noted scholar. He too also saw a similar event. However, he had a quite different response. He said: "Where is this person's length of days, and where is the good promised him? In the World to Come..." He interpreted tragedy in this world as signifying an emphasis on the importance of belief in the World to Come and the Revival of the Dead. There we receive the reward for our service of G‑d, not in this world.6
But the Torah tells us in many places that if we obey its laws, then, as it says in the second paragraph of the Shema: "I will give you rain in its season... and you will gather in your crops."7 Isn't this telling us that we should expect a reward in this world?
One way of understanding this is to see the difference between physical benefits and a reward. G‑d grants each person the wherewithal to keep the Torah, just as a master gives his servant the tools with which to carry out his job. Peace, good health and material comfort help in the study and observance of Torah, and in maintaining a Jewish lifestyle. Yet sometimes too, G‑d wants the person to keep Torah in the face of great difficulty or oppression: in order to bring out a deeper quality of dedication to Judaism. Why should this person be picked for this tremendous task? We do not know. Why should that person's soul leave the world at that particular moment? We do not know the Divine plan, and what each person was intended to achieve in life, and how and when.
At this stage of history, what happens in this finite, confusing world often remains a riddle. By contrast, the reward for our efforts is without limit: it cannot be squeezed into the limitations of our physical world. The reward for the commandments, and for the pain and self-sacrifice for Judaism, is in the World to Come.8 There the infinite radiance of the Divine is revealed to the Soul, with boundless joy.
FOOTNOTES
1.Ki Tetze, Deuteronomy 21:10-25:19.
2.Deut. 22:6-7.
3.Note Berachot 33b, which states this is a Divine decree, beyond rational understanding.
4.Exodus 20:12.
5.See Talmud Chagigah 15b (end).
6.Talmud Chullin 142a, Kiddushin 39b.
7.Deut.11:14.
8.See Rambam, Laws of Teshuvah 8:1, 9:1; the Lubavitcher Rebbe's Likkutei Sichot vol.19 pp.204-5
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Deuteronomy 21:10–25:19
 Seventy-four of the Torah’s 613 commandments (mitzvot) are in the Parshah of Ki Teitzei. These include the laws of the beautiful captive, the inheritance rights of the firstborn, the wayward and rebellious son, burial and dignity of the dead, returning a lost object, sending away the mother bird before taking her young, the duty to erect a safety fence around the roof of one’s home, and the various forms of kilayim (forbidden plant and animal hybrids).
Also recounted are the judicial procedures and penalties for adultery, for the rape or seduction of an unmarried girl, and for a husband who falsely accuses his wife of infidelity. The following cannot marry a person of Jewish lineage: a mamzer (someone born from an adulterous or incestuous relationship); a male of Moabite or Ammonite descent; a first- or second-generation Edomite or Egyptian.
Our Parshah also includes laws governing the purity of the military camp; the prohibition against turning in an escaped slave; the duty to pay a worker on time, and to allow anyone working for you—man or animal—to “eat on the job”; the proper treatment of a debtor, and the prohibition against charging interest on a loan; the laws of divorce (from which are also derived many of the laws of marriage); the penalty of thirty-nine lashes for transgression of a Torah prohibition; and the procedures for yibbum (“levirate marriage”) of the wife of a deceased childless brother, or chalitzah (“removing of the shoe”) in the case that the brother-in-law does not wish to marry her.
Ki Teitzei concludes with the obligation to remember “what Amalek did to you on the road, on your way out of Egypt.”
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The
Month of Elul
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I confess: After 35
years of living as an observant woman, I am pretty mediocre and irregular at
davening (prayer). by Miriam Karp
I confess: After 35 years of living as an observant woman, I am pretty mediocre and irregular at davening (prayer).
I have plenty of excuses: I prefer to pray in Hebrew, but didn’t learn to read and start to understand it until I was 20. It’s still not so easy.
Way back then I took on a lot of new practices, such as keeping track of milk and meat dishes, preparing for Shabbat, and so on. I was blessed with a large family, and didn’t have too many quiet I am pretty mediocre and irregular at prayermoments when they were underfoot. And I’ve never been the most structured person. Davening never became a habitual daily practice.
On an internal level, I still vacillate between two realities. There’s my passionate knowledge and belief in connecting and aligning oneself with G‑d through the beautiful and holy words in the siddur (prayerbook). I’ve experienced praying as a vehicle to connect, ask, receive blessings, and somehow soften that stubborn, crusty ego and sprinkle it with heavenly dew.
On other days, however, that stubborn, crusty, university-trained ego is sitting in the driver’s seat, asserting, “Hey, I’m in control, and no, I’m not sharing the driving with anyone, thank you very much.” G‑d, my Higher Power—all that stuff just seems a bit remote. I’m busy, got a checklist of a million things to accomplish today. Of course I believe, but I don’t have time to stand there and sway; I gotta do. When I think of those passive folks whiling away their day with that prayerbook in their hands, remnants of the outlook I was raised with whisper in my ear, “Wishful thinking. Opiate of the masses.”
What’s really going on is this: I don’t want to surrender, to connect to something higher.I’m the Higher Power here.
Laziness, ego, lack of structure, too much to see on Facebook and the Web are all part of the shtick and folly that keeps my siddur closed and on the shelf way too often. I just can’t get off the treadmill of life long enough to center, to humble myself and reach beyond.
But this summer was different. Times of trouble, of danger in Israel, shot my soul into high gear. All of a sudden, the fog lifted. I’m feeling my soul; I’m feeling the fear, the joys, the miracles, the amazement as so much of the news can be found—sometimes in allusion, sometimes pretty darn directly—in prophecies, in the siddur, in the daily Torah portion. Soul reality shoots to the forefront. My people are in trouble; they need, I need, G‑d’s loving protection—desperately. We need to feel like a child in the nook of our Father’s arm. My job, my cleverness, what’s for dinner, where I hid that last piece of chocolate—all that static of egotistic demands and bodily needs suddenly fades away into the background.
I feel the pulse of G‑d, of being a Jew, of being so deeply connected with this amazing nation that we’re almost one heartbeat. I’m re-zapped with the awareness that there’s a deeper reality underlying the news; I want to be connected to it. Maybe I can even affect the fearsome news with that quiet wellspring of power.
Like many of us, I spent a large amount of the summer’s hours incessantly following the news, checking in almost every hour. One day it hit me: Was I merely observing, or participating, fighting, helping? So I logged off and opened the siddur. I felt the strength oozing from those ancient words—the holy, timeless power. I felt the collective prayers of the nation of Israel and its supporters, those straight and good non-Jews who just get it.
 ©Miriam Karp
I climbed back into that driver’s seat, clicked on my seatbelt—but with a difference. No, I was ready to admit, I was most decidedly not the boss here. I did not make those manifold miracles. And all my grandiose powers sure couldn’t beat Hamas. I was happy to surrender control and tune into G‑d’s GPS, to connect to Him.
One July night, some women got together to recite Psalms. Jews and non-Jews, in English I was most decidedly not the boss hereand Hebrew, praying and strengthening each other, feeling the waves of goodwill flow to those precious soldiers, so beautiful, vulnerable and strong.
The next day I sat alone in my favorite armchair, praying. Waves of power, of solace, of meaning, washed over me. Beautiful words and sounds, those I understood and those I didn’t. I felt I was riding on G‑d’s palm, doing my part to help His plan unfold in ease, in goodness.
As the summer wanes, we move into Elul, the month of preparation for Rosh Hashanah. A time of accounting and introspection. A time of deep mercy. Beneath the reality of back-to-school shopping, there’s another reality, of depth, closeness, trembling, as we prepare to beseech our loving and patient King for yet another year.
Usually I need this month before the New Year to start to break through my erratic praying habits of the year, to start to pick up the threads of my connection to G‑d, fix the frayed ones, try to weave them into something more solid. This year, I’m ahead of the game. I’m more ready than I ever remember. The summer’s challenges have morphed me into a daily reciter of prayers, almost without fail. When I have an extra minute, I reach for the Psalms. Hamas’s rockets have blasted more than buildings; they’ve blasted through the crust around my soul.
Each day of Elul, Jews recite Psalm 27. This year it rings truer than ever.
The absolute horror of the foiled Rosh Hashanah terror plot, when Hamas planned to wreak havoc through its extensive tunnel network, drives these words home. We beg for G‑d’s continued protection against the hatred and evil that Israel faces. There’s not even a vocabulary for this utter blackness. Only King David’s words go there, almost forcing us to wrap our minds around the unimaginable. In more placid times, his words can seem extreme, at least remote. Definitely not PC. Daily life in America, at the mall, just doesn’t reflect this reality, at least outwardly. But now it’s real, all too real:
 ©Miriam Karp
When evildoers approached me to devour my flesh, my oppressors and foes, they stumbled . . . Do not give me over to the will of my oppressors, for there have risen against me false witnesses, and they speak evil. [They would have crushed me] had I not believed that I would see the goodness of the L‑rd in the land of the living.1
Last week I overheard some women talking about Carl Sandburg and the life of a poet. As I drink in the Psalms, I realize: we Jews are poets, big time. These words are the truest poetry. Achingly beautiful. Metaphoric.We Jews are poets, big time Helping us verbalize, conceptualize, on the deepest level, both the horror of what we’re up against, and our deepest, most soulful wishes for the new year, to be inscribed and sealed in the precious Book of Life—physically, emotionally, spiritually.
One thing I have asked of the L‑rd, this I seek: That I may dwell in the house of the L‑rd all the days of my life, to behold the pleasantness of the L‑rd and visit His Sanctuary.2
It’s a privilege to be able to access and connect to these words, words that resonate, that make our souls vibrate like a tuning fork. Words that were written down so long ago, but somehow touch and express the deepest, most personal truths.
May these eternal images of peace and wholeness be accepted On High, be revealed and unfold, not just as a vision in our hearts, but on the ground, as the reality in our lives, our beautiful homeland and our desperately waiting world.
FOOTNOTES
1.Psalms 27:2, 12–13.
2.Psalms 27:4.
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More in The Month of
Elul:
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• The High
Holiday Anthem (By Shlomo Yaffe)
 Nations, states, provinces and even some Japanese corporations have anthems.
An anthem is a piece of music that expresses the essence of the entity it celebrates, a common theme which unites all of the diverse people and variegated activities of life in that place.
For example, there are a lot of different types of gatherings at which the "Star Spangled Banner" is played in the United States. Some are happy and some sad. Some are deeply serious, and some are frivolous. Some are large and some quite small. The common theme the anthem gives voice to is: we are proud to be Americans, and are grateful for the opportunities this country has given us; we know that our felicity and security has been bought with sacrifice and blood, and we know that only absolute steadfastness in protecting our liberties will retain them. We are cognizant of these truths both when swearing in a new president and when enjoying ourselves at a baseball game, as they are equally crucial to both.
The High Holiday season also has an "anthem."
We are now entering a season of profound, powerful, and experientially diverse days on the Jewish calendar. The festivals and special dates of this season pluck every string of our being and sound virtually every note our soul can sing.
During the month of Elul we engage in introspection and self-evaluation.
On Rosh Hashanah, we explore our personal and communal connection to G-d and renew our belief that we can make a difference in our world.
During the Ten Days of Return which climax on Yom Kippur, we confront the negativity in our past. We then connect ourselves to our ultimate Source at a level deeper than our shortcomings can reach, and with the power of that bond transform the bitterness of the past into the sweetness of a better future.
With this new-found closeness to the transcendent, we then enter the festival of Sukkot, where every aspect of our lives is embraced and suffused with the presence of G-d's love for us and our reciprocal love of G-d -- an experience that engenders the great happiness which culminates in the consummate joy of Shemini Atzeret and Simchat Torah.
These experiences are very varied, yet are part of a single continuum. They have an anthem that expresses that continuity.
The "anthem" of the High Holiday season, which spans the Jewish months of Elul and Tishrei, is Psalm 27, "G-d is my Light."
For fifty days -- from the Rosh Chodesh ("head of the month") of Elul to the 7th day of Sukkot ("Hoshana Rabbah") -- we recite this psalm twice a day, morning and evening. Its opening line is the key to all of the aforementioned experiences: "G-d is my light..."
The purpose of light is to reveal. It enables us to see clearly that which it shines upon. This anthem gives voice to our sense that during this time of year G-d is uniquely accessible, and we therefore can open the doors of our consciousness to G-d and allow His light to reveal all that we possess, but have somehow missed in the dimmed corridors of everyday life.
This light is the overarching theme of this season:
The light reveals our flaws.
It reveals our potential to transcend those flaws.
It reveals that our negativity runs no deeper than a bad dream from which we can awake with a surge of willed consciousness.
It reveals that our dream of perfection is a vision we are empowered to attain.
It reveals that we are not as far from G-dliness as we thought we were.
It reveals that we are not a separate entity from G-d, but an extension of G-d’s essence.
It reveals our ability to see this Divine quality in everyone else, as well.
It reveals our capacity to rise above the pain of the transient and ephemeral.
It reveals our capacity to rejoice in the real and eternal.
As we say these magnificent words each day during this crucial period, let us open ourselves up to the G-dly light within us, and transform ourselves and our world -- for good.
Tehilim (Psalms)- Chapter 271
1. Of David. G-d is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? G-d is the stronghold of my life; from whom shall I be frightened?
2. When evildoers draw near to me to devour my flesh, my adversaries and my enemies against me -- they stumbled and fell.
3. If a camp encamps against me, my heart shall not fear; if a war should rise up against me, in this I trust.
4. One [thing] I ask of G-d, that I seek: that I may dwell in the house of G-d all the days of my life, to see the pleasantness of G-d and to visit His Temple every morning.
5. That He will hide me in His tabernacle on the day of calamity; He will conceal me in the secrecy of His tent; He will lift me up on a rock.
6. And now, my head will be raised over my enemies around me, and I will sacrifice in His tent sacrifices with joyous song; I will sing and chant praise to G-d.
7. Hearken, O G-d, to my voice [which] I call out, and be gracious to me and answer me.
8. On Your behalf, my heart says, "Seek My presence." Your presence, O G-d, I will seek.
9. Do not hide Your presence from me; do not turn Your servant away with anger. You were my help; do not forsake me and do not abandon me, O G-d of my salvation.
10. For my father and my mother have forsaken me, but G-d gathers me in.
11. Instruct me, O G-d, in Your way, and lead me in the straight path because of those who lie in wait for me.
12. Do not deliver me to the desires of my adversaries, for false witnesses and speakers of evil have risen against me.
13. Had I not believed in seeing G-d's goodness in the land of the living!
14. Hope for G-d, be strong and He will give your heart courage, and hope for G-d.
FOOTNOTES
1.Translation adapted from the Judaica Press edition of the Tanach by Rabbi A.J. Rosenberg
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Your
Questions
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I got into Jewish
things and spirituality around a year ago, and I was feeling really motivated
and inspired. But now I just don't have the passion for it anymore. What
happened? By Aron Moss
Question:
I am experiencing a major lull in my spiritual motivation. I started getting into Jewish things around a year ago, but now I just don't have the passion for it anymore. Rosh Hashanah is coming - last year I was all inspired, this year I don't feel any drive whatsoever to attend services. Is there something I can do to revive my enthusiasm?
Answer:
Do you remember how you learnt to ride a bike? Your first bicycle was fitted with training wheels on both sides, to keep you from tipping over. The training wheels allowed you to get the feel of riding the bike and build confidence. You felt so good, speeding along and never falling.
Then, just as you started to get comfortable, your parents removed the training wheels and told you to get on the bike and ride. So you got on, rode for half a second and then lost balance and fell flat. "How can I ride without training wheels?" you thought. But your parents insisted that you try again. So you did, and again you fell.
Your frustration built up, to the point that you were ready to give in. You may have wondered why your parents took the training wheels off in the first place. But had they not, you would never learn to ride your bike all on your own. It's harder to ride without training wheels, but only then is it really you riding the bike, using your own skill rather than depending on outside help. You may fall a few times, but as long as you get back up and keep pedaling, eventually you get your balance and the bike rides smoothly along the road.
When someone gets in touch with their Jewishness for the first time, there is a thrill and an excitement unlike anything else in the world. This initial inspiration is a little helping hand from G‑d; spiritual training wheels that help us start our journey. But once we get the hang of it, once we have advanced along the spiritual path and are ready to go deeper, the training wheels are removed and we have to ride on our own. The inspiration disappears, the motivation fades, and we are left dangling.
Here's the real test. When the excitement wears off, there are those drop out of the spiritual life. They think that the fun is over, this spiritual stuff isn't for me, and they move on. If we do that, then we miss out the chance to go to the next level: to connect to our souls through our own efforts. Precisely the moment when the inspiration fizzles out is when the real soul work begins. Rather than being propped up by divinely created inspiration, we have to look within and start riding on inspiration that we create ourselves. The spiritual path has to become ours, something we work for and earn.
We will fall again, but every fall brings a chance to take things to a new level. Keep on pedaling, inspired or not, and you will advance further and further in your soul's journey.
Feeling uninspired? Your training wheels are off. You don't need them anymore. Get up and ride.
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More in Your
Questions:
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• Undecided
(By Rochmy Ollech)
 Dear Rachel,
Over the last 10 years or so, my husband and I have saved up to buy a home of our own. I am looking forward to this new stage. However, I am also filled with anxiety and indecision. So much so, that I sometimes wish we didn’t have the money to buy the house at all. I can’t face having to decide which neighborhood to buy the house in, what kind of house we should buy, what price range we should choose, which kind of mortgage we should get . . . I am afraid of making a decision that I’ll later regret. The truth is that I always find it difficult to make decisions, even relatively small ones like choosing a new outfit or settee. Only now, because the stakes are higher, I am finding it harder.
Can you advise me how to make the decision-making process easier?
Many thanks,
Undecided
Dear Undecided,
What you are describing sounds like a very painful situation.
You have a very special character trait: cautiousness. First, let’s look at the advantages of having this character trait. It means that you don’t spend money recklessly and fall into debt unnecessarily. It I am afraid of making a decision that I’ll later regretmeans that you make sure to look at all options before you make a decision, so you act responsibly. And it also means that you seek advice before taking action, hence your question.
However, as with all character traits, there needs to be a middle path, a path of balance. At the moment you find yourself on the extreme end of caution, which leads to frustration, stagnation, and the feeling of being stuck in one place.
You say that you feel this decision-making anxiety even when buying a product which is cheaper and involves less risk, like buying an outfit or a sofa. That means that you feel chained by the fear of doing something wrong. Let’s look at some of the thoughts that may be causing you to feel stuck when having to make a choice.
Any decision is better than no decision
It’s almost as if you have a maxim emblazoned on the wall of your mind: “No decision is better than a wrong decision.”
This mindset reminds me of a story: There was once a Russian farmer who was happily tilling his field, when the czar of Russia came by in his carriage. He stepped out and handed four sticks over to the surprised farmer.
“W‑what h‑have I done to deserve this?” stammered the farmer.
“The four sticks are for you to plant in the soil. Wherever you plant them, the area in between will be yours.”
The farmer couldn’t get over his luck. He planted the first stick and walked a while. He was about to stick in the second but then reconsidered, thinking that if he walked further, even more soil could be his. So he continued walking. He was about to plant the stick again but then reconsidered, thinking that if he continued walking, he could acquire even more land. This indecision happened every time he wanted to plant the stick in the soil.
So, the story goes, he’s still walking . . .1
Likewise, you may feel so afraid of making the wrong decision that you have decided to make no decision at all.
In fact, making a decision moves you to a better stage in your life. If you make a decision which you later appreciate, then it’s certainly good. But if you make a decision which brings you difficulty, then you can use it as a springboard for growth by learning from it. Let’s say you buy a cream outfit, and then you find that the color doesn’t suit you. You’ll know for next time that cream is not your color, and you can choose a different outfit.
How can you prevent pain in your life?
Another statement that may be preventing you from making choices is “By staying where I am, I can prevent myself from feeling pain in life.”
As you can see, the opposite is true. When you don’t make decisions, you may be preventing the pain of mistakes, but you don’t prevent the pain of feeling stuck and stagnant.
Remember that the outcome is in the hands Making a decision moves you to a better stage in your lifeof the One Above. Think about the story of Bilaam, the non-Jewish prophet who wanted to curse the Jews. He had all the tools to kill the Jews—he knew the exact moment when G‑d would get angry, so that he could curse the Jews effectively. But despite all his planning, G‑d didn’t get angry at that time, and He turned Bilaam’s curse into a blessing. This teaches us that we can plan all we want, but if something is meant to happen, it will happen anyway.2
Sometimes we think we can “outsmart” G‑d by doing a lot of research before making a decision. In fact, all the research in the world won’t help us if a challenge is meant to occur. And if we are meant to make a profitable decision, then even if we don’t ask 20 people for advice, we will still earn the profit. Obviously, this doesn’t absolve us from the responsibility of making good choices.
What are you afraid of?
Another thing to ask yourself is: what am I afraid will happen if I make the wrong decision? Will I lose respect from the people I love? Will I feel like I’m losing control over my life? Will I lose the feeling of security?
Let’s say you fear losing approval of someone you love if you make the wrong decision. But by not making a decision, you are also losing the approval of some people! Some people won’t be too impressed by the fact that you have money saved but you haven’t done anything with it yet. So, doing nothing and not buying won’t help you gain others’ approval.
Let’s say you fear losing control or security. Then you can ask yourself whether the feeling of control or security is more important to you than the joy of moving ahead in life. Furthermore, control and security are very relative. You can also feel secure knowing that you took control of your life and made a responsible decision.
Decide to decide
Whichever option you decide on, the most Control and security are very relativeimportant thing is that you do just that—decide. If you continue weighing your options indefinitely, you will be like the person who stands in the Paris train station the whole day deciding whether to go to Nice or Toulouse. If he goes to Nice, he will have the advantages and disadvantages of Nice. And if he goes to Toulouse, he will have the advantages and disadvantages of Toulouse. But if he stays in the train station, he has neither the advantages of Toulouse nor the advantages of Nice. He’s just living in no man’s land, wasting time.
The same is true for you: If you don’t make a decision, then you may find yourself in the same position you are now, renting a house in another 30 years’ time. However, if you do make a decision, at least you will be moving forward in your life. You may encounter difficulties, but you will also encounter joy.
If you have optimism and faith that G‑d is leading the way and directing you, then you are sure to find blessing in your life.
I wish you much success,
Rachel
FOOTNOTES
1.Kolhashiurim.com (Rav Miller).
2.Tiferes Shimshon, Bamidbar, p. 249.
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Video
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In our daily lives
we come into contact with a variety of people and our interaction with them
is often limited by the way we perceive them.
 Watch (6:30)
http://www.chabad.org/therebbe/livingtorah/player_cdo/aid/2660953/jewish/You-Dont-Have-to-Be-a-Rabbi.htm
http://www.chabad.org/2660953
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More in Video:
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• Getting Into
the Grind (By Tzvi Freeman)
<script language="javascript" type="text/javascript" src="http://embed.chabad.org/multimedia/mediaplayer/embedded/embed.js.asp?aid=579625&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>
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• Back to Her
People - A remarkable Jewish odyssey (By Tova Mordechai)
http://www.chabad.org/multimedia/media_cdo/aid/635321/jewish/Back-to-Her-People.htm
http://www.chabad.org/635321
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Women
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I have learned to
train my eyes on Charlie’s brilliant smile and to forget the other children
gawking at her on the playground.
By Nora Yagolnitser
We are going to the park today, and I’m watching her eyes carefully. I am used to this—all of it—but to her, it is new. As she scans the playground, I can see the doubt forming in the corners of her eyes. She is hiding it well, and she certainly won’t admit it out loud, but when Emily glances worriedly toward Charlie, it is clear what she is thinking.
Her worry makes me remember those first years and my own I’m watching her eyes carefullystruggle accepting that this was my life. Was, and still is. Over the years, I’ve become somewhat desensitized to the sting that accompanies many of these small moments. I have learned to train my eyes on Charlie’s brilliant smile and to forget the other children gawking at her on the playground. I have become well-practiced at hearing the joyous ring of Cameron’s laughter instead of the silence that falls as his first gurgling giggle breaks out. With time, I have come to accept that I don’t need the approval of strangers to know that my children are beautiful.
“Charlie, are you excited?!” Emily is wearing a big, warm smile as she reaches for Charlie’s hand, and I smile, too, as I turn my attention back to Charlie and Emily. It still makes me so grateful to see how genuine Emily’s smiles are. Our last volunteer, Veronica, liked playing with Charlie, too . . . on her good days. That’s not how it is with Emily. Every day she spends with our family, she exudes love for my children. She is never afraid to jump into whatever they’re doing. She sings along with Barney, hops like a frog, and dumps leaves in her hair. “Because Charlie wanted to.” That’s the only reason that matters to her.
I watch Emily and Charlie head to the playground, and then I step over the rim of the sandbox and plop Cameron in. Maybe it’s only because I saw that look in Emily’s eyes today, but I notice the woman next to me sit up a little straighter when she sees Cam. Of course, it might be because I’m not used to it yet. Up until about his second birthday, Cameron could pass for “normal,” just a kid who took a little longer to grow up. I have to admit, on days like today, I miss that time.
Now Cameron is nearly three years old, and he’s just struggling to take his first steps. The heavy way his diaper drags along the sand when he reaches for that red shovel a couple feet away is a dead giveaway that he can’t walk yet. As if to prove my point, Cameron raises his voice to a wail as his pudgy fingers come short of the shovel. Before I can catch myself, I have one of those thoughts: “Anyone else’s three-year-old would have just walked over a step farther, claimed the shovel, and triumphantly displayed it to Mom.”
I stop myself immediately when I realize what I’m doing. It’s not so much that I pity myself, because I feel, on the contrary, very blessed with all of the good in my life. And it’s not that Cameron embarrasses me so much, though he can, a little. It’s more a silent longing that I keep buried in my chest for a “normal” child, a three-year-old who can brag to me about his successful conquest of the far side of the sandbox. I’m daydreaming now. We don’t know when Cameron will start walking, let alone talking. I am not holding my breath.
As I reach over to wrap an arm around Cam’s torso and soothe him without touching his skin (which would drive him crazy), I can see the mother sitting on the other side of the sandbox stiffen. Her eyes bore into us, not leaving me or my son for an instant until I am able to gently return Cameron to a peaceful state of mind.Her eyes bore into us
It’s amazing how the strangers stare when I am with my kids. What is even more amazing to me is how many of them seem to think that if my face is turned toward Charlie or Cameron, they become invisible. Well, they don’t. I can see her eyes dart from us to the opposite corner of the sandbox, where her cherubic, blond toddler is building dilapidated sand castles, masterpieces created in his innocent ignorance of the supposed impending danger his mother has spied.
“Brendan,” she calls to him, in a voice that oozes casualness. The words slide out in a way that could happen only if she was very intentionally faking calmness. “Mommy is going to take you to the play structure now, okay?”
“Swings?” Brendan asks hopefully.
“No, lovey, let’s go to the play structure. We’ll do swings another day,” she replies, quietly stealing a look at Emily and Charlie on the swings as she does. I look too, and I see Emily happily pushing Charlie, who is awkwardly gripping the chains with her bent fingers, emitting very undignified squeals. They are the purest expression of joy, and to know that my daughter is happy is the best thing in the world.
But sitting here, in this sandbox with that perfect mother on my left whose biggest worry is probably buying the wrong brand of applesauce for her picky eater, I don’t only hear happiness. I also hear the unnatural squeak of Charlie’s laughter, a sound that, I must admit, I would have once cringed from myself. I glance down at Cameron, and I notice the other mom’s eyes flicker to him for an instant as well. I know as well as she does that she’s waiting for him to make the same awkward sound. I see her. She flinches when Charlie’s giggles announce contact between the soles of her sneakers and the low-hanging branches. This mom is scared my son is about to do the same, sitting not three feet away from her own beloved Brendan. Maybe she thinks the squeals are contagious.
“No, Mommy! I want swings!” Brendan does his best impression of folding his arms and pouts at his mom, whose plastic smile tightens on her face. Despite my better judgment, I grimace. Her acute unease is written all over the line of her mouth and the set of her jaw, but it seems her toddler has not yet learned to read this language. He doesn’t notice the razor-sharp edges of her words as they slice at my heart.
“No, Brendan, Mommy said play structure, okay?” I can see the words in my mind in some deadly, bolded font, brashly proclaiming in my face that I am not wanted, Cameron is not wanted, not wanted, not wanted, not wanted. Brendan still has not caught the drift. It’s almost comical, her dilemma. She can’t stay here because she’s terrified Cam will infect her son, but she can’t let him go on the swings either because Charlie’s over there. Never mind that there are four empty swings beside her.
Brendan is clearly on the verge of throwing a tantrum, and as the first crocodile tear slides down his tiny cheek, his mother’s entire facial expression shifts. I guess she decides that her comfort and composure are not worth the drama. “Build me another sandcastle, will you?”Frustration and embarrassment flash over her face, and then her features soften into compassion as she reaches out a gentle hand to brush her precious baby’s solitary tear away with her pinky finger. “Oh, it’s okay, lovey, Mommy loves you, right, sweetie? It’s okay, shhh, shhh, we’re going to stay in the sandbox and build sandcastles, baby, all right? Look at Mommy, angel, look at me. See? I’m not going anywhere. Build me another sandcastle, will you?”
Brendan smiles up at his mom, instantly forgetting that she was the source of his troubles in the first place, and says, “Okay.” Then he turns his back on Cameron and me to dump more sand into his pail. But the other mom knows that I know why she wanted to get away. And I know that she knows that I know. So we sit there, knowing, and neither of us wants to say anything because, quite frankly, both of us are wishing we could be anywhere else on such a beautiful, sunny day. But here we are. Oh well.
I kneel down and scoop some cool sand onto Cameron’s palm, watching him experience the sensation of sand running between his fingers. If I just play with him, I can let the other mom fade out. I hear Charlie’s giggles from the monkey bars, and this time I hear only pure joy.
Then, in the blink of an eye, Cameron loses his balance and jerks backward, his closed fists flying open, releasing the gobs of sand he was clutching. I know before I see it that the tiny grains have landed between the eyelashes of this Brendan boy, and I know before I hear it that his mother is accusing me. But then I hear her, and I am taken aback.
The long strands of her silky hair whip around to mask her face as she whirls away, but they cannot mask the word that slips from her lips, under her breath, almost as though she doesn’t mean for me to hear her. Almost. “Retard.”
She grabs hold of Brendan’s hand and drags him away, ignoring his pain-filled shrieks. It feels like she’s leaving a trail of fire in her wake, and it must be the smoke from the fire that is blurring my vision right now. A hot tear sizzles down my skinI blink once, twice, and a hot tear sizzles down my skin, burning a streak of torment into my face. I can feel the word, carved into my cheek. Retard.
Cam looks at me, his mouth drawn into a small O shape, his eyebrows slightly raised, as if he can’t quite figure out why another mommy has made his mommy cry. It almost breaks me, that face, but I cannot let it do that. Instead, I let it give me the strength to straighten myself up again. I wipe the tears away with my sleeve, and then I pull Cameron into a fierce hug.
Then Charlie’s there, too, tugging on my ponytail to get me to look at her. I glance up, and she’s got the funniest expression on her face; laughter explodes from my lips. Maybe it’s the wave of emotion, or maybe the hug, or maybe just Charlie being Charlie, but I just can’t stop laughing. And there are still tears coming, but right now they have lost the power to hurt me.
When Charlie was born, they all told me this life wouldn’t be easy or pleasant, and I’d listened because I believed them. They were right, and I remember that today, but I also remember something else that no one had ever thought to tell me. If I could choose from all the kids in the world, I would only ever pick my own. I would pick them because I love them, and because on days like today, it doesn’t matter if they’ll grow up to dance in the ballet or study law at Harvard or develop the cure for cancer. No matter what, they are my everything, and today I choose them again.
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Story
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Published and copyrighted by Kehot Publication Society
Once upon a time there lived a poor orphan, who had neither father nor mother. His name was Moshe, but because he was a small boy and an orphan everybody called him "Moshele." As long as he was still a little boy he went to cheder where he learned chumash and gemara together with the other children, but when he grew a little older he had to go out and earn his livelihood. So a collection was made to provide him with a basketful of merchandise, such as needles, buttons and other trinkets, and Moshele set out to sell them to the peasants and farmers in the villages and hamlets that surrounded his native town.
It was a very hard job, of course. In the summer the heat was unbearable, and in the winter the snow and icy winds often made his teeth chatter. But Moshele did not mind. His only regret was that he could not go to the yeshivah, for he wanted to become a scholar.
One wintry day Moshele was trudging along on the snow-covered road, with his basketful of merchandise under his arm. He knew some Psalms by heart and he recited them cheerily as he walked. Snow kept on falling from the grey skies, and soon he found himself plodding ankle deep in snow. It was getting difficult to walk, and it was even more difficult to follow the road, which was now completely covered with snow, as far as the eye could see.
Unwittingly he strayed off the road and presently found himself in a little wood. Moshele felt very tired and decided to have a little rest. He noticed a big stump and sat down on it, placing his basket down on the snow. "No, you must not fall asleep" he kept on telling himself ,"it is very dangerous; you might freeze to death!" So he sat there huddled up and shivering, trying in vain to keep himself warm, and his eyes open.
Suddenly he felt a breath of warmth through his body. He found himself sitting by a nice, cozy fire, and stretched out his hands and feet towards it. He felt as if sharp needles were pricking his fingertips, but that stopped soon as the flames blazed bigger and bigger....
A peasant passing on the road in his sledge noticed the huddled figure of a lad almost fully covered with snow. He stopped his horse and ran to the body. Brushing the snow off, he found that the body was almost frozen stiff, with no sign of life.
Without losing time, the peasant set to work. He pulled out his knife and cut up the clothing around the still body. Then he started to rub it briskly with snow. After half an hour's work the blood began to flow in the young body again, and the boy stirred. The peasant then carried the lad to his sledge, covered him up, and drove his horse as fast as he could to his home in the nearby village. There he again rubbed the body of the lad with snow, until his skin began to glow, and finally poured some hot brandy down the lad's throat. Moshele opened his eyes and closed them again. Thereupon the peasant carried him onto the oven and covered him up snugly. Moshele fell asleep.
The crowing of the cock woke him up very early next morning. Moshele opened his eyes and looked around. He could not understand where he was, and why so many pins and needles were pricking him all over his body.
The farmer's wife was up and came up to see him. "'How do you feel?" she asked him in Russian, for she was a Russian peasant-woman. "Alright," Moshele said, still wondering what had happened to him. The woman boiled up some tea for him, and he drank it gratefully.
"What is your name?" she asked him.
Moshele tried to think hard, but could not remember. "I don't know," he said, thinking how strange it was that he could not remember his own name.
"Never mind," said the peasant woman, "we'll call you Peter."
Thus Moshele, or Peter as he was now called by all, remained in the peasant's home, little knowing that he was a Jewish boy and did not belong there at all.
When summer came, Peter helped the farmer in all the work in the field: plowing, sowing and reaping. Peter was an industrious, capable lad, and the farmer was very pleased with him.
The summer passed by and autumn came. One day the farmer said to Peter: "To-morrow we shall drive to town and take some of our products to the market."
Peter was very glad, and looked forward to seeing the town. When they finally got there the next day, the market place and all the streets were deserted. When they passed by the synagogue, they saw it was crowded with worshippers, and the peasant realized that it was a Jewish holiday. There was nothing to do but to drive back home. But Peter was fascinated by the quaint synagogue and begged the peasant to stay in town a while. "Very good then," said the peasant, "you will meet me in the public house," and he went to have a drink, while Peter felt an irresistible desire to look into the synagogue.
Peter came in quietly and stood by the door. The worshippers wrapped in praying-shawls seemed very intent on their prayers; many of them were weeping. No one paid any attention to him. Peter looked closely around him. His heart began to beat faster. Somehow the scene was familiar to him. Had he ever been here before? Slowly his memory returned to him, as everything in the synagogue brought new memories into his conscience. The tune and melodies of the cantor were familiar to him. The scrolls of the Torah that had just been brought out of the Ark were familiar too. As if glued to his place, Peter stood motionless and stared...
Peter did not know how long he stood there, but presently he noticed a little excitement among the worshippers. The very air appeared to become tense with sacred animation, as if angels were fluttering in the air. Peter was transfixed with awe.
The silence was broken by the shaking voice of the aged cantor, and immediately the entire community joined in fervent prayer. For some time the roar of the whole community praying seemed to shake the very walls of the synagogue, and then it began to subside gradually, until a solemn silence fell again. In the stillness of the air the sobbing of the cantor became clearly audible, and Peter found himself weeping too.
Suddenly he heard --tekiah-ah-ah-- and the blast of the ram's horn pierced the air. Shevarim… teruah --and again the broken sound of the shofar seemed to stab Peter's heart. Tekiah-ah-ah --the shofar called again....
"Moshele, you are a Jew," the shofar called. "Moshele, you are a Jew! Hurry now ... Now is the time to return to G-d ... Tekiah-ah ... Teruah-ah-ah. . . .
Everything now became very clear to Moshele....
“Dear G-d, forgive me," Moshele cried, and fainted.
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Lifestyles
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Crafts for Rosh
Hashanah, Yom Kippur and Sukkot
Craft it Jewish—High Holidays, 5775-2014
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• Traditional
Rosh Hashanah Tzimmes (By Miriam Szokovski)
Tzimmes is one of those traditional Jewish foods that seems to have dozens of variations. Carrots and honey are standard, but beyond that you might find sweet potato, apricots, raisins, cinnamon, orange juice, brown sugar, nutmeg, prunes, maple syrup, stew meat, apples and even broth.
If you prefer a very simple tzimmes, you can use just carrots and honey. For a less-sweet version, onions, carrots and maybe a little orange juice. I went middle-of-the-road and used carrots, sweet potato, onion, prunes, orange juice, honey, cinnamon and salt. Feel free to play around with the ingredients to fit your family's taste.
It's certainly easy to make. Saute the onions for about 20 minutes, add the rest of the ingredients and simmer for about two hours until vegetables are soft and liquid is sweet and slightly syrupy.
Why do we eat tzimmes on Rosh Hashanah? Well, there's the sweetness factor. We try to eat sweet foods to symbolize our wish for a good, sweet year ahead. It is also customary to eat foods whose names in the vernacular allude to blessing and prosperity, and the Yiddish word for carrot, meren, also means to multiply.
Ingredients:
1 large Spanish onion, cut in half or quarter rounds
¼ cup oil
1 lb. carrots, sliced in ½-inch rounds
½ lb. sweet potato, cubed
10 prunes, diced
1 ½ cups orange juice
½ cup honey
½ tsp. cinnamon
½ tsp. salt
Directions:
Sauté the onion in the oil over medium heat for about 20 minutes.
Add the rest of the ingredients and simmer for 2 hours, until vegetables are tender. Serve warm.
What do you include in your tzimmes? Do you have a special family recipe?
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• Iyov (Job)
(By James Herman)
Acrylic on Canvas with Wooden Frame
Artist’s Statement: This painting, completed in 2002, references Iyov (Job)1-42.
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Jewish
News
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The city has shifted
hands twice between pro-Russian and Ukrainian sides, with everyone watchful
of what’s next by Dovid Margolin
During the summer months of any other year, southeastern Ukraine’s seaside city of Mariupol would draw scores of tourists to its foaming shores. Vacationing by the sea, the morya, is almost a ritual in this part of the world, and until recently, Mariupol, an important port on the northern banks of the Azov Sea, had served that purpose well.
But these days, the only thing locals have come to expect is the ongoing war between pro-Russian fighters and the Ukrainian army, both of which have alternated in controlling the city. And now, with reports of heavy shelling that has turned into a full-scale invasion in nearby Novoazovsk—a town that sits along the road from Russia to Mariupol, and until this week was quiet—locals have once again begun to fear that war is coming their way.
“People are very worried now,” relates Rabbi Mendel Cohen, Mariupol’s rabbi and Chabad-Lubavitch emissary. “There are lines at all of the gas stations and ATMs, and people are stocking up on food, so there is nothing left in the stores. We don’t know what’s going to happen.”
With columns of tanks, artillery and well-trained infantry rolling into Novoazovsk, Ukrainian and Western officials today accused Russia of leading a quiet invasion into the country, thereby opening a third front in the current war between the Ukrainian army, which has been making recent gains, and pro-Russian separatists.
Thus far, Cohen reports that despite the growing anxiety, most of Mariupol’s Jews have chosen to stay in the city, fearing the lawlessness they might face on the roads that lead out. Cohen has stayed with them through it all, making sure that the work of the Jewish community continues.
 "The Stars" college-age student group takes time to enjoy a meal together.
“We have a minyan three times a day and Torah classes. Our day camp just ended, and we are now preparing for the school year,” says Cohen. The Jewish community has also worked to supply food packages to a growing number of people who need them.
Mariupol, the second-largest city in the Donetsk region, lies about 35 miles west of the border with Russia. Located in the Russian-speaking east, it was the site of heavy unrest in February when its central administrative buildings were occupied by pro-Russians. In early May, government troops attempted to retake control of the city, culminating in a bloody offensive on a rebel-held police station that left a dozen dead.
Ukrainian troops were able to recapture Mariupol on June 13, bringing a relative calm in their wake.
“There were armed men with masks right next to the shul. Until three months ago, it was dangerous to walk around in the streets,” says Cohen. “Since June, thank G‑d, it has become more stable.”
 .
Despite the fragile situation in southeastern Ukraine, the rabbi is working to provide services to the community. The day camp recently ended, and he is preparing for the upcoming school year.
Donetsk, which is 70 miles north of Mariupol, and Lugansk, further to the east, have in the last month become the sites of the heaviest fighting between pro-Russian fighters and the Ukrainian army. The battles have displaced some 330,000 residents and killed an estimated 2,000 people.
“Along with the bigger communities such as Dnepropetrovsk, which has been helping people tremendously, many refugees from further east have come to Mariupol, and we have tried to accommodate them and help them any way we could,” adds Cohen.
The Only One Left
Out of the four Chabad communities in southeastern Ukraine (Chabad rabbis are the only ones serving in that area of the country), rabbis in three of them—Donetsk, Lugansk and Makeevka—have been forced to evacuate their embattled cities, along with most Jewish residents.
“The shluchim were together with their communities in those cities through the most dangerous of times,” says Cohen, noting that Donetsk’s chief rabbi, Rabbi Pinchus Vishedski, stayed in his besieged city until very recently. “I hope and pray that they will be able to return to their work very soon.”
Meanwhile, in Mariupol, the situation has become ever more worrisome, as mixed reports from the rapidly approaching battlefront filter into the city.
“Thank G‑d, it was all quiet here today,” says Cohen. “We pray that it stays that way.”
The minyan in Mariupol takes place three times a day, and Torah classes are going on as usual.
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• CTeen Leaders
Recharge Their Batteries at Summer Retreat (By Leigh Hershkovich)
Like anyone, teenagers need to recharge their batteries from time to time, even during the summer when they’re officially “off.” And that’s exactly what a group of young Jewish leaders did as part of a long weekend of inspiration, introspection and rejuvenation.
In the backdrop of the bucolic Isabella Freedman Jewish Retreat Center in Falls Village, Conn., in mid-August, that energy was palpable as 32 teens and 13 Chabad-Lubavitch emissary families got together for a three-day CTeen Leadership Retreat Weekend.
The program was offered to young men and women leaders of CTeen chapters, who were chosen to participate (or in some cases, elected) for their reputations as role models and for their passion to make a difference in their communities. They represented cities and towns across the United States and from Montreal.
More than 40 workshops and activities were led by various Chabad emissaries and educators. Topics included effective recruiting; how to plan and design an effective CTeen program; how to teach Chassidus to teens; and more. Teens also discussed the power of youth, Jewish superheroes, relief for age-related anxiety and using their time efficiently.
“At one session, we were given time to ‘vent’ and share challenges we faced with our chapters and gain perspective,” said Risa Mond of Plano, Texas. “Once someone shared a setback, numerous hands shot up from fellow leaders to offer advice through personal experiences or an idea they had just thought of. One of the biggest lessons I learned was that a leader doesn’t always have to ‘lead.’ A good leader delegates, gives others the chance to take charge and leads selflessly.”
 Teen leaders Zach Zimmerman, left, and Mikah Semon. (Photo: Itzik Roytman)
In addition to the Chabad emissaries and teens who moderated workshops, the lineup of presenters included Rabbi Shais Taub, a popular speaker and author known for his work in addiction recovery; internationally known author Rabbi Simcha Weinstein; Rabbi Dov Yona Korn, who co-directs Chabad at New York University; and Rabbi Asher Crispe, director of Interinclusion.org, a nonprofit focusing on the convergence of contemporary arts and sciences, and timeless Jewish wisdom. Women presenters included Miriam Lipskier, co-founder and director of the Chabad Student Center at Emory University in Atlanta; Sara Esther Crispe, a writer, national speaker and co-director of Interinclusion.org; and Nechama Laber, founder and co-director of the Girls Jewish Retreat.
Mollie Jakofsky from Skokie, Ill., said she has never witnessed anything as special as the open arms of CTeen and its leaders. “It didn’t matter if we had met before or hadn’t met at all. That is the duty of a leader—to make people feel at ease and a part of the teachings. I have no doubt that our amazing leaders will continue to create a home for those who start off as ‘strangers’ to CTeen.”
One part of the program that really got everyone talking was the question-and-answer session moderated by Rabbi Mendy Cohen, director of youth activities and the Hebrew school at Chabad on the Main Line in Merion Station, Pa. Questions were posed to a teen panel, such as “What do teens wish their rabbis and rebbetzins knew about them?” and “Are your parents a good source to get extra staffing power, or will you resent a teen program if your parents are involved?”
Jonathan Palagashvili made it a point to wrap tefillin. (Photo: Itzik Roytman)
For his part, Cohen said “the retreat was an incredible mix of useful and tangible workshops, plenty in depth esoteric farbrengens [informal celebrations], real and practical motivation, and of course, stress-free time, thanks to the great camp. I don’t have the words to explain the beauty of the Shabbat we shared, but suffice to say that it was massively beneficial, both spiritually and physically, for all.”
Shaping the Future
For some down time, teens and adults competed in games of volleyball, basketball, relay kayaking and a survivor game. And a mini-fair was hosted on Sunday so that teens could sign up for leadership committees, on both local and international levels, in areas such as social-media management, trip and event organization, and regional event planning.
Leigh Bojan from Milwaukee said she learned so many new things about herself, that so many inspiring words were spoken throughout the weekend. “I felt a strong connection to Rabbi Korn, who did not grow up religious. He knew what it was like to be a Jewish teen in a very public environment.
“We teens, as leaders—no matter where we are or how we live—have the power to change the world and lead it in the right direction,” she continued. “I look forward this year to connecting Jewish teens and making a measurable difference while shaping the future of the Jewish people.”
 Women and girls lit candles prior to the onset of Shabbat. (Photo: Itzik Roytman)
Rabbi Mendy Kotlarsky, executive director of Merkos Suite 302, found the weekend impactful and inspiring. “Watching the teens connect with each other and interested in learning about leadership showed how fit they are to be leaders, and how important it is for them to connect and share ideas. The most uplifting part for me was the ‘Ask the Teens,’ which was a panel where the directors could ask the teens questions for their perspective on CTeen programming. We gained so much useful information from this panel.”
The Chabad emissaries at the retreat also spoke of the wisdom and knowledge they gained.
“It was both inspiring and practical,” said Rabbi Yosef Orenstein, who directs the Teen Leadership Initiative at Valley Chabad in Woodcliff Lake, N.J. “Listening to and learning ideas and methods from fellow emissaries was a great opportunity for my wife Estie and me, and it was a beautiful, relaxing environment. We are now able to bring home and apply many creative new elements to our CTeen program.”
Down time included games of basketball, volleyball and other sports. (Photo: Itzik Roytman)
Teens and adults alike shared in the Havdalah ceremony, which marks the conclusion of Shabbat and the beginning of a new week. (Photo: Itzik Roytman)
Hands up for a group that learned, lived and and laughed together. (Photo: Itzik Roytman)
Nostalgia and Newly Discovered Wonders at Wisconsin Camp
Mothers and their daughters talk about their experiences then and now at end-of-summer program
By Menachem Posner
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School buses are already rumbling up and down the streets, taking children back to school after the summer break. As everyone seems to be packing in their last bits of seasonal fun, two girls—and their mothers—described an eight-day overnight program in Wisconsin that the girls attended a few weeks ago, organized by Camp Gan Israel of Chicago.
Founded almost 40 years ago by Rabbi Daniel Moscowitz, of blessed memory, Gan Israel of Chicago has served generations of Jewish campers with parallel programs for boys and girls. In fact, 13-year-old Meira Groth, of Buffalo Grove, Ill., is a second-generation camper; her mother, Alina, attended in the early 1980s. Another mother-daughter duo is Anna and 10-year-old Emily Slezberg of Vernon Hills, Ill.
The eight-day overnight has been following the day-camp season for more than 20 years, and often serves to solidify the bonds forged and lessons taught in the day-camp programs earlier in the summer. The girls’ division is hosted by the B’nai B’rith Beber Camp in Mukwonago, Wis., as part of a unique partnership between the two camps.
Director Rabbi Schneur Scheiman explains that the program, which packs the punch of a full-length summer camp into one week, is perfect for beginners who want to ease into the sleep-away experience or children wishing to end their summers with a bang.
Q: Was it difficult sending your girls away to camp for the first time?
Anna: Before she went away for the first time, I was so afraid that Emily, who was only 8, wouldn’t be comfortable with the bigger girls since she was among the youngest campers. When I came to meet her at the bus after camp, I saw her face and she was so happy. I knew I made the right decision.
She went without knowing anyone at camp, but she made friends one-two-three, and now they keep up throughout the year with emails and phone calls.
Meira Groth is a second-generation camper; her mother attended back in the 1980s.
 Alina: I myself went to the eight-day overnight one year as a child and remember how much fun it was, so I knew I could send Meira and she would have a good time.
When I was a little girl, Gan Israel was a big part of my life. My family emigrated from the Soviet Union in 1979, with just $90 per person. We were a family of four, so you can do the math. My parents worked very hard, and within two years they were able to purchase a home in Des Plaines, Ill. My dad loves to tell how he sat down with Rabbi Naftoly Hershkovich of Chabad and F.R.E.E. (Friends of Refugees from Eastern Europe).The rabbi asked him how much he thought he could pay for day camp. My dad told him a number, and that was it, we were in. That is emblematic of the Gan Israel approach; they are there to serve the children, no matter whom and no matter how.
I was 7 the first year and went back to day camp every year until I was too old for it.
Through Gan Israel, I met many people who introduced me to Judaism and helped me reclaim the heritage that my family had lost through the years of Communist repression, and truly created the Judaic foundation in my life. Without Gan Israel, it would not be as strong. It also gave me enough background that when I want to high school, I was able to go to a Jewish school. I would not be able to do it any other way. Everything I knew I got from camp, and I was able to use that to merge into a pretty standard curriculum.
As you can see, I felt very confident sending Meira away. It was like sending her to my own home.
Q: What was your favorite part of camp?
Emily: My favorite activities are archery, the water trampoline, praying and listening to stories.
Emily Slezberg, right, lists her favorite camp activities as archery, the water trampoline, praying and listening to stories. The stories are a hit across the board.
Shabbat is really fun because we dress up and celebrate. At home, I light candles but here we do so much more, and we have a big meal on Friday night and another one on Shabbat day, which we don’t do at home. Also, you get to be with your friends and sing songs. I love the songs we learned in camp.
Meira: In day camp, you go on field trips and you do crafts. But when you go on the overnight, you really create connections—to G‑d, to the counselors and to the other campers. A major part of the camp was the stories. I go to a nondenominational day school, but I never get to experience stories like these about a long time ago and Jewish history.
Alina: That pretty much sums up how they teach. At Gan Israel, they teach through not teaching. They tell a story, which the girls enjoy, and they learn in the process.
Anna: The stories are a major thing for us as well. First thing I do when Emily comes back from camp is ask her to tell me all the stories she heard.
Meira: I also enjoyed the water. I love going out on the boat. On the boat, you let loose and you see the fun sides in everyone. You can feel the wind and look at nature. At the Beber campsite are several lily pads, which are an endangered plant. You need to tell people only to look and not to pick them. You also see animals. The lake is one of the best parts of camp.
Q: Will you be back in Camp Gan Israel next year?
Anna (speaking for everyone): That’s not even a question—of course!
The overnight experience is hosted by the B’nai B’rith Beber Camp in Mukwonago, Wis.—seen here in an aerial view—as part of a unique partnership.
Joel Bennett, director of operations at Beber Camp, discusses having Gan Israel campers and staff temporarily at the site.
Q: What’s it like for your camp to host another camp?
Joel: For us to have another Jewish group come and enjoy our facilities is just fantastic. It’s a great bonus for our staff, and we feel very good about the pluralistic nature of the Jewish community and our camp site.
Q: What is the division of labor between the two groups of staff?
Joel: We work together with them. Our kitchen staff works under their supervision, and all the meals are kosher to the highest standards. We primarily take care of the water programs, the climbing wall, crafts, outdoor adventure and other aspects. The Gan Israel counselors control the programming and care for the children all day.
Q: Seeing the children come year in and year out, what makes a lasting impression on you? What do you remember or take most from the different campers and their experiences?
Joel: I find it special to see kids expand their horizons and do things they would never do at home—for children to venture out at night, to master water-skiing or build another skill. That’s a “wow” moment for me.
For our staff, many of whom come from a more liberal background, it’s a pleasure for them to work with a population they may otherwise not be exposed to and see Judaism in a totally different way.
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