Teaching Jewish Girls in the Shtetl!

Greiding, Ukraine c. 1900
Binyoumin Kreplach and the class of girls

The girl, top row second from the left is my grandmother Rissel the Ruta (the readhead!) and this picture was taken in Gorodok/Horodok, Ukraine where she was born around 1888. The teacher's name was Binyoumin Kreplach who gained this name having once expressed his yearning for yesterday's kreplach one Yom Kippur afternoon. Small town's don't easily let you live these things down. It seems this didn't spoil the shidduch because the little boy to the left of Mr. Kreplach is his son.

Rissel Schwartz
official ID photo

My grandmother Rissel Schwartz left the shtetl for Odessa where she lived with cousins and studied in a Gymnasium which as I understand was a secondary school, like a high school. I guess she must have learned enough from Binyoumin to hold her own in the school.  She was there during the revolution but immigrated along with her brother to the United States around 1922.

I would love to have asked her questions about her childhood and education but unfortunately she passed away a few months before I was born and I am named for her.

Beginnings*

A lot of water has flowed in the Jordan since the last time I wrote. That would give me an excuse to continue not writing, since there's no way I can make up for all the events I didn't post about. I am therefore faced with either giving up blogging altogether (continuing not to blog) or picking up and moving on.  I have chosen to move on, take the bull by the horns, get back in the saddle, batten down the hatches and full speed ahead and go at it once again.

*I would have written "New Beginnings" but David tells me that this is an oxymoron as all beginnings must be new and I don't like being called a moron, oxy or otherwise. 

Two major bits of news you may have missed if you are not my friend in real life or on FaceBook: 

The birth of Eitan Harari on 21 Iyyar 5772 in Sroka Hospital Be'er Sheva. Eytan is the long awaited brother of Tamar. He is named in honor of my father Abraham Rich. The connection is from the Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur service where we ask God to listen to pleas of our father Abraham - the first to advocate for God's mercy on sinners - to intercede for us with the Almighty. The words in Hebrew:  עוד יזכר לנו אהבת איתן אדוננו are translated (in my Birnbaum siddur) "O Lord, remember still the love of faithful Abraham". But in the Hebrew, Abraham is not named but instead called Eitan which can be translated as steadfast or strong or firm or sound or secure, you get the idea. It is, of course, our wish that our Eitan grow into the kind of man who will do justice to his namesakes, both my personal father and the father of our nation.

We moved to Jerusalem!

Welcome Ye'elah Tzohar!

Last Wednesday the country celebrated Tu B'shvat, the new year of the trees. The very  next morning my daughter-in-law and son were in the nearest hospital delivering a new baby girl to the world. They called from the delivery room to tell us about this little (actually not so little - over 4 kilo - 9 pounds!) miracle which God sent.  

Friday I went to visit the newbornYe'elah, barely a day old, in Sroka Hospital in Be'er Sheva. 

I joined big sister  Gali now 3 years old and big brother Eytam  who will be 5 in a few weeks. Ye'elah, who had not yet been named slept peacefully through the visit. 

 She was born the day after Tu B'Shvat, the new year of the trees, a time when the almond trees begin to bud. In Israel it has turned into a celebration of nature. 

We wouldn't have been surprised if she were named for a tree or a fruit. Her name reflects the family's love of nature and alludes to the graceful  Negev gazelle and is used poetically to allude to a graceful and gracious woman. 

Now I have to add a picture to my banner. I will wait till I can get a shot of her with her eyes open

Winter Friday in Rehovot

Nothing says Israel more than Friday noontime downtown. People are coming and going with their last minute purchases and there is a general feeling of rushing to get ready. By 3 PM (summer or winter) everything is closed or closing down. Religious and the not yet religious alike are winding things down in preparation for something that unites us all. Shabbat, shabbos, sabbath. This is Israel's day of rest. No matter how you define it. 

My daughter Racheli and I met for conversation, coffee and quiche on Friday. I met her on the busiest corner of  downtown Rehovot. The one where these three men have been singing for many years. They brighten even the grayest of Fridays making getting ready for Shabbat special. 

Racheli and I spent almost two hours at a lovely cafe and bakery a few blocks from this crosswalk where the proprietors had enlisted this gentlemen (dressed as I'm not so sure exactly what) to brighten our coffee date. 

Have a great week everyone!

Honoring my father's memory

  Oz Avraham 'Finishing' a Tractate a few months ago

On the Shabbat before Passover my whole family all my children and grandchildren were in Mitzpe Ramon where we enjoyed each other's company and had our meals together in a local guest house, so that no one had to interrupt their Pesach preparations to cook and we didn't get any new chametz in any one's house. A lovely time was had by all. On Saturday night we all gathered together to mark my father's eleventh yahrtzeit (anniversary really, but it sounds so much more appropriate in Yiddish).
A traditional way of commemorating a yahrtzeit is by making a siyyum. studying a book or a tractate (of Talmud or Mishna) and gathering a minyan, reciting the last sentences of the book, teaching the meaning of that section and then reciting a formula in which the one who learned acknowledges that he has finished learning the section and promises to return to learn it once again. A special kaddish is recited.
David did a siyyum marking the culmination of his studying a tractate of Jerusalem Talmud. (Hopefully, he will write about that himself.)  
My first-born son and his first-born son (named after my father) learned a tractate of mishna together in time to do a siyyum too. So we had three generations participating. I felt particularly blessed that we were able to be together and remember my father. Both David and I spoke about him and I explained to my family the significance of the direct descendants of the deceased doing mitzvot especially (but of course not exclusively) on his yahrtzeit. (I explained it here but my kids don't really like reading in English.)
My father, Abraham Rich was the son of hard working Jewish immigrants, educated in New York City's publics schools and also in the traditional Jewish synagogue after school program, where he learned to read Hebrew for prayers and prepared for his bar mitzvah. Richmond Hill was a warm community, I know that because it was my first synagogue experience too, and my father's teacher, Mrs. Tombeck, taught me the ins and outs of shabbat prayers. I have been told he was known as 'honest Abe' and I know that he always believed in fairness and equality.

I remember my father only with a mustache

He and my mother were determined that their children would have a better Jewish education than they were able to get. To that end they looked for a school that would be suitable. They enlisted my mother's cousin, a Hebrew teacher and her husband a Rabbi to help find a school in the wilderness of Queens. (Yes, in the 50's orthodox Jews lived in Brooklyn.) I clearly remember sitting in the sunshine in my grandparents backyard in Richmond Hill when he came out calling 'who's got my girl?' with a braod smile on his face. My mother looked up and asked 'you found a school?' and he answered 'certainly looks like it!' And in the end, it did work out. (Along the way, there was a point when money was tight and someone suggested that maybe it wasn't necessary for a girl to have a day school education. My father told the man, if my daughter doesn't get the education, my son won't either. I have always more than appreciated that.)

This is the Saba my kids knew

A very early memory of mine is of my father putting on tfillin in the morning and standing at certain parts and then sitting down again. I remember asking about why he sometimes stood and sometimes sat. As we learned more, he learned more and as a family our observance became stronger. By the time my parents planned my brother's bar mitzvah keeping shabbat had become so important to them that instead of a party their invited the whole family to a hotel for the entire shabbat, so that no one would have to desecrate shabbat to come. I remember a long difficult phone conversation of his with a first cousin (of his) who wanted to come only to the service in the morning. He did not give in, she did not come. Everyone else did and it turned out to be a wonderful celebration.
My father became an active member of a number of shuls and was gabbai for a while. He was not the gabbai concerned with giving out the honors, he was the gabbai who had the key. You could rely on him to get there first and set things up. And of course, tell people to keep quiet during the service.

Savta & Saba

Another thing about him was his amazing patience. I don't think I every would have learned the multiplication tables if he hadn't made flashcards and taken the time to drill it into me, over and over and over again. I can also say that I did not learn long division in school. I learned it from him. And when my kids were being taught some new-fangled system for 'understanding' division I sat them down and said, "I'm not sure what they want you to do but let me teach you what Saba taught me." And I taught them the way he did. (My mother taught me to 'borrow' when subtracting. Most of my arthmetic skills I learned at home.)

I always felt secure in my home and with my family. Whether it was at the beach with the waves crashing around us or climbing the stairs to the crown of the Statue of Liberty I aways felt safe and secure when my father and mother were around. I am also grateful for the encouragement and understanding shown for my Zionist activities and later when I came to Israel. He was a very creative grandparent and overcame language difficulties to create a lovely relationship with our children.
May his memory be a blessing to us all.
יהי זכרו ברוך

An End In Sight?

Halutza, May 2010

Esser Agaroth: Haveil Havalim #312 - It's Time To Talk About The Elephant In The Room begins with a discussion by Ya'aqov Ben-Yehudah, this week's esteemed host, of pluralism which I guess would mean including all the posts submitted vs.editorial selection and exclusion of posts which the host deems 'offensive'. Ideally, I come down on the side of inclusion, except that I know that when I hosted there were one or two posts that I did not include because they were from missionary type sites. So, I guess we all have our boundaries for good taste. It's good to talk about it and if a host does disinclude a post it should be noted why. Thanks Ya'aqov for a thoughtful and well done review. (I like it when you can tell that the host actually read all the posts.)

Bibi Netanyahu is talking tough (here) about meeting 'further fire' with a 'harsh response'. In the meantime the Hamas has escalated the shelling only to be thwarted by 'Star Wars" style technology. Iron Dome. Today, as the Viflic family face grief and sorrow of watching their only son Daniel fight for his life in Soroka Hospital  (Iron Dome does not protect school busses from anti-tank missiles) there are some mumblings from Gaza about a 'cease fire'. But as has been pointed out, there has been not one month since Cast Lead without shelling from Gaza.

In some personal news my son's family has moved from their temporary settlement in Yated to the new home of the Atzmona Pre-military Prep Yeshiva in the new settlement Naveh in the sands of Halutza. The place is so new that Google maps doesn't even name it. But it is really close to where they were temporarily.
View Larger Map

I can not help but see the irony here. Atzmona is a settlement which existed in Gaza and it's residents were exiled  in 2005 in order to 'give peace a chance'. So far the least cynical thing I can think of to say is that this is ironic.

Not exactly Gaza, but definitely in the same vein, I'd like to share this video of a constructive initiative. A hearty Kol Hakavod (more power to them) to these women in Gush Etzion: 

I am looking forward to a week of Pesach preparations and I hope to be thinking mainly about matzoh.

Happy Passover! !פסח כשר ושמח

Learning to Ask ~ Passover Preparation

ראש חודש ניסן תשע"א

Rosh Chodesh Nissan 5771

Frume Sarah's World is hosting Haveil Havalim #311- The Warp and Woof Edition here. Ima on (and off) the Bima has the latest Kosher Cooking Carnival here. 
 Like everyone else, I am getting ready for Pesach. Of course I'm cleaning, planning menus and shopping planning to shop. There is Pesach in the air here. The day after Purim, all the stores are advertising cleaning materials and housewares. Pesach has taken over the airwaves and the advertising.
Our shiurim (classes) are all about Pesach, getting ready for the holiday spiritually and practically. This Shabbat we announced the coming month of Nissan and read the Maftir emphasizing the importance this month, calling it THE month. And what a month it is!
 No holiday beats Passover for nostalgia. I believe that some of my earliest memories are of the seder night. I remember sitting at the table in my grandparents house and my grandfather getting up to go to the kitchen to wash his hands and my mother calling me over to take a matza from the table. She said "we"ll hide this in the other room while grandpa is washing" and we went into the small closed porch where there was no light on because my baby brother was asleep there (just shows how long ago that was) and she said to me "we'll wrap it in this diaper and put it here near the baby so they won't see it". I remember feeling vaguely confused as to why my grandfather was making such a fuss about getting up from the table to go to the kitchen and why we needed to put the matza near the baby.
 Then first grade rolls around and I am attending an all day Jewish school where we learn Jewish subjects and Hebrew reading in the morning and the three R's in English in the afternoon. We have been given a Hagada and we must learn the Ma Nishtana (4 Questions) by heart in time for the seder. We spend  what seemed like weeks repeating the Hebrew words alternately with the Yiddish translation.

Tate, ikh vil dir fregn de fir kashes
Ma nishtana halayla hazeh mikol haleylot.
Farvos iz di nakht fun peysekh andersh fun ale nekht fun a gants yor?

The Yiddish, it was explained to us, was so that our grandparents would understand (and be impressed with us). My memory of getting up that year and singing this is of a great feeling of accomplishment at having done it and lots of smiles and encouragement from the assembled mixed with a total blank as to understanding what I was saying. I'm glad my grandparents understood what I was singing, because I certainly didn't. Oh well. What I did understand was what the English teacher taught us and that was this song:

At the time, I didn't know it was associated with slavery in America. I really did think it was about Moses and the Jews.Over the years I have developed an understanding of the significance of feeling that I too was led out of Egypt and have tried to pass it on to the next generation. Now, dozens of seders later I am getting ready once again. Only now it's my turn to prompt grandchildren to 'steal' from their grandfather and ask questions. What a privilege!

25 Years Since Natan Sharansky Returned Home

Don't forget Haveil Havalim at The Rebbitzin's Husband!
So where were you on February 11, 1986? Me? I was living on a farm in the Golan Heights raising 5 kids and wondering how it would all work out. I had been living in Israel almost twenty years. I'd seen the euphoria of the aftermath of the Six Day War turn into the pessimistic depression of the aftermath of the Yom Kippur War. In 1975 we moved to Ramat Magshimim where all six of our kids were born.
The seventies ended with the upheaval caused by the Likud's Menachem Begin forming the first ever government not run by Labor. They made peace with Egypt and instituted far reaching economic changes. Our middlemost daughter (at the time our youngest) was a few months old when the whole moshav (or just about) went down to Yamit on Chanuka to express our solidarity with the settlers there on the eve of their eviction.   The twins were born the following year during the first Lebanon war which we called Shalom HaGalil (שלום הגליל) and it was meant to bring peace and quiet to the settlements along the northern border. By 1986 Peres (Labor again) was Prime Minister and Yitzhak Shamir was Foreign Minister. Inflation was rampant and we were in need of some good news.
In February 1986 the Kinar resort on the northeastern shore of the Kinnert was just being finished and had not yet opened for business. My older daughter (8 at the time) and her friend were taken down there one afternoon a few weeks after Sharansky came home and she was very excited when she came home because she and her friend had seen Natan and Avital walking along the beach. (She told me, they didn't go over to them because they knew that they needed to be alone together and it was a secret that they were there.) When she told me the story you could see that it was as if she had glimpsed the fairy princess and her prince charming. Such is the Zionist mythology. For us, this is our nobility.

An ironic footnote. Sharansky was released in exchange for two Russian spies handed over the US. It was about two and a half months after Jonathan Pollard and his wife were arrested. Pollard remains in jail in the US. 

A Pile of Kids

ערמת ילדים -A Pile of Kids

When my kids were young they sometimes used to pile on top of each other and sing out 'areimat yiladim' (pile of kids) and then role over in all directions and laugh and giggle. I felt very nostalgic when one of my sons sent me this photo he took catching my oldest son's family (ranging in age from 9 years to 7 months) in that familiar pose. I feel so blessed. 

And here they are arranged horizontally 

Making the Desert Bloom: The MOVIE!

The term "Zionism" has been taking a beating even here in Israel. Media and opinion-makers have been informing us that we are now post-Zionism. That may account for some of the indifference to the injustice and self-defeating nature of the 'disengagement' from Gush Katif. There is no denying that in some circles the connection between putting down roots dunam by dunam, plant by plant, tree by tree is seen as an outmoded concept of neo-colonialism. The word 'settlers' has become a pejorative for some.
Watch this video, see what Zionism without quotes can be.
See that Zionism is every bit as relevant today as it was a hundred years ago.
Zionism is alive and thriving!
Yasher koach to Kerem Ramon!

Yishai Begins his Jewish Journey

To the  strains of a Sephardic piyut (religious poem) the new baby was passed from his mother to her brother's wife to her brother and around to uncles grandfathers and even a great-grandfather. Then he was placed on the knees of his father's rabbi (Rav Tzvi Kostiner of Yeshivat Midbara KaEden, Mitzpe Ramon)  who held him as the mohel performed the rite first performed by our father Abraham thousands of years ago. Abraham's life was a journey from his idolatrous upbringing to his discovery of one god, following that God's commandment to move to a new land and in that land to enter into a new covenant.  Little Yishai was welcomed by a loving family and by words of Torah from his father, grandfathers and rabbis. There is much to teach Yishai and each other and I hope that over the years our family will continue in the path of unity and Torah that I was privileged to witness yesterday.

More blooming in the desert!

On Tuesday we went down to Mitzpe Ramon for the inaugural planting of "Kerem Ramon" (Ramon Vinyard).  The weather was unusually hot and dry and the sands of the Sahara were relocating to the Negev. It was one of those middle-east chamsin days, so called because of the Egyptian folklore about there being 50 days like this a year. (Hat tip to עברית שפה קשה). Fortunately for us there are usually a lot fewer than 50 days like this in Israel. 

In this age of post-Zionism it was refreshing to be part of this expression of faith in this dream of a Jewish state. Planting is the ultimate expression of faith. It would seem to me that there can be no atheists in a vineyard. A farmer sows his seeds and from that moment until the harvest those seeds are affected by so many environmental factors that even our modern technological agribusiness wisdom is incapable of controlling all of them. No, it takes the planter and the massive help of God to bring those seedlings that we planted to maturity and fruition. (See David's comment below) So it was fitting that this ceremony was begun with words of Torah by Rabbi Tzvi Kostiner of Mitzpe Ramon's Yeshivat Midbara KaEden. The Yeshiva is at the heart of a vibrant young community of families who make their homes in Mitzpe Ramon. Most of the men were once students at the Yeshiva. 14 of those families joined together to form an agricultural cooperative and bought the land where we planted the vineyard. They plan to use half the profits earned from the vineyard to further educational and social projects in Mitzpe Ramon. In addition they hope to be able to employ Mitzpe residents at the vineyard and the winery which they hope they will be able to build to make wine from the grapes.

I am so proud of this amazing initiative and I add my prayers to theirs for the success of this endeavor. 

שִׁיר הַמַּעֲלוֹת

בְּשׁוּב יְהוָה, אֶת-שִׁיבַת צִיּוֹן--    הָיִינוּ, כְּחֹלְמִים.

  אָז יִמָּלֵא שְׂחוֹק, פִּינוּ--    וּלְשׁוֹנֵנוּ רִנָּה
אָז, יֹאמְרוּ בַגּוֹיִם--    הִגְדִּיל יְהוָה, לַעֲשׂוֹת עִם-אֵלֶּה.
  הִגְדִּיל יְהוָה, לַעֲשׂוֹת עִמָּנוּ--    הָיִינוּ שְׂמֵחִים.
  שׁוּבָה יְהוָה, אֶת-שבותנו (שְׁבִיתֵנוּ)--    כַּאֲפִיקִים בַּנֶּגֶב.
  הַזֹּרְעִים בְּדִמְעָה--    בְּרִנָּה יִקְצֹרוּ.
 הָלוֹךְ יֵלֵךְ, וּבָכֹה--    נֹשֵׂא מֶשֶׁךְ-הַזָּרַע:
בֹּא-יָבֹא בְרִנָּה--    נֹשֵׂא, אֲלֻמֹּתָיו.

A song of ascents. When God brought back the exiles of Zion we were like dreamers!

Then our mouths filled with laughter and our tongues with joyful songs. 

Then it was said among the nation: 

"God has done great things for them!" 

God did do great things for us and we rejoiced. 

Return our exiles Lord, like rushing streams in the dry desert. 

May those who sowed in tears reap in joy. 

May one who goes out weeping, carrying a bag of seed return with songs of joy, carrying his sheaves!

Jerusalem for our chiefest joy!

It was a busy week for the Tzohars. Besides celebrating a first haircut in Jerusalem on Sunday (see here) we were blessed with the birth of a granddaughter on Tuesday. She was also born in Jerusalem.

On Wednesday her big sister received her first siddur (prayer book) after a trip from Mitzpe Ramon to the Western Wall.
She received the siddur in the same place and from the same rabbi as her older brother did last year (see here).    

 

I was in Mitzpe with the other kids but Saba met them in Jerusalem and here's a photo of them in front of the newly rebuilt Hurva synagogue. 

Milestones

Three years is a long time to wait for a haircut. Actually 3 years and two months. That's how long we've been waiting for our grandson to have his first haircut. 

Yesterday was the big day!

Early in the morning his parents gave him his new tzitzit, took him to the tomb of Shimon Hatzadik where Jerusalemites who don't want to go all the way to Meron for Lag B'omer go instead. 
There they met other families who were celebrating their three-year-old's first haircut as well. My son symbolically began the haircut there. They were given honey coated letters to lick. This is so that Hebrew letters should be sweet for them and they will enjoy learning to read Torah. There was music and dancing. Then they went to the Western Wall where the child gave charity. 

We met them and went to a friend's home in the Old City of Jerusalem where another friend, conveniently a barber, came to give a real haircut. David and the other grandfather, also named David, cut the first locks of hair. Then Nati the barber finished the job professionally. 

When the haircut was finished we danced with the kids and  Eitam got his cake and a present. 
Traditionally three years old is considered an age when a child's formal education begins. They begin to learn the letters and basic religious things. 
After this festive haircut, We went to the Mamilla Mall just outside Jaffa Gate and had lunch. 
Below is an interview with Eitam: 

Transcript
Q. What did we do for you today?
A. Chalakeh (haircutting, also sometimes called upshernish in Yiddish)
Q. What happened to all your hair?
A. It disappeared!
Q. Disappeared? Where did it disappear to?
A. Now I have payot! (sideburns)

Happy Faces

This week's challenge was faces! I have lots of pictures of happy faces which I love to share!!! Special thanks to Leora  for pointing me in this direction. 

Thursday Challenge is a place for photographic fun and learning. A theme is announced on this site each week. You may either take a new photograph related in some way to the theme or select one that you have taken previously; Then submit your single permanent link here:

Making Deserts Bloom and Other Miracles

Singing Hatikvah with my children when they were young filled me with awe. Could this be me? Monday night I stood and sang the national anthem with my grandchildren!!! What an honor and privilege! Baruch Hashem!
For some statistics on Israel's population today see: 
here.











David and I drove down to Mitzpe Ramon to celebrate Independence Day with our children and grandchildren there. The super-rainy winter left the desert greener than usual and we took full advantage of the phenomenon. Here's what the roadside looked like. 

We arrived in Mitzpe Ramon just in time for the ceremony marking the transition from Memorial Day (Yom Hazikaron - see below) to Yom Haatzmaut (Independence Day). It was nicely done beginning with words by the Rav Tzvi Kostiner of Midbara Kaeden Yeshiva. Tehilim were read and there was a presentation about bereaved families and fallen soldiers. After the flag was raised to full mast we had presentations by the local music ensemble and the kindergarten children danced for us with flags and balloons. Then we sang Hatikva and went inside for a festive evening prayer. This year there were two separate venues for the ma'ariv, one at the Yeshiva and one in the community synagogue in the local elementary school. I am overwhelmed by the realization that I live in a time and place where we are thanking Hashem for a miracle that we are witnessing. I find it hard to put into words. 
Then, as with so many other Jewish holidays, went home to show our appreciation for the miracles that G-d sends us by eating! 

In the morning, after the shaharit (morning) service which included Hallel and a leisurely breakfast (in commemoration of  Sundays in golus/New York :)) we organized ourselves for a trip to the local swimmin' hole. Because of the generous rainfall this year (a blessing from Hashem, part of which we witnessed on the very rainy Shabbat HaGadol just before Pesach) there is a rather large natural pool of water right down in the Ramon Crater about 10 minutes drive (can also be done by hike or bike) from Mitzpe Ramon. It was a bright sunny day and my son brought a beach umbrella and mat so we were able to spend over two hours at this amazing attraction (unshielded from the sun you really want to leave after about 10 minutes). So sunscreened and with lots of good spirits we enjoyed our 'beach' outing. We even had ices! 
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, busy family members were setting up the traditional Bar-B-Q without which no Yom Haatzmaut is complete. We were joined by many friends and neighbors of my children including families who had once lived in Mitzpe and returned to visit. Everyone was in a good mood although I don't know where the kids get all their energy. 


David and I still had one more stop we wanted to make on our celebratory itinerary. We wanted to see the new site of the Atzmona (the pre-army Torah learning and training program for religious boys which was uprooted from Gush Katif) community where one of our sons teaches and plans to live. So off to the western Negev we went. 

 

And then we went to have coffee before the drive home and say hello to the rest of our grandchildren in the temporary housing of this community in Yated. 

Happy, tired and feeling really blessed we returned home to Rehovot. 
What a week!

From Generation to Generation

Happy Birthday Mom!!! 
April 9, 1925 was the night of the (first) seder and also the night my mother was born! 


This year David and I were privileged to be at the first seder led by our son  in Mitzpe Ramon. It was an evening of great joy and satisfaction because more than any other holiday Pesach (Passover) stresses the importance of passing on our traditions from one generation to the next. I watched as my son worked hard at making the seder an enjoyable lesson as well as a showcase for his kids to show off what they had prepared in school and kindergarten. How well I remember the first time I recited 'ma nishtana' (in Hebrew and Yiddish, so actually I was the only one who didn't really understand what I was saying). So, now I have participated in seders led by my grandfathers and  my father and prepared by my mother, seders of our own doing here in Israel and now we have the joy of seeing our traditions passed on and enhanced by our own children. It is a great 'nachess' moment. 


My mother's generation, born in the freedom of the US was faced with the challenge  carrying on the traditions of their parents (see here) and taking advantage of the opportunities that America offered. I am proud that my mom was able to do both, and do them both well! Growing up in the difficult years of the great depression she took family responsibility seriously and worked and studied hard all her life. She was determined that we keep our traditions and learn as much about them as possible. She and my father whose 10th yahtzeit we marked erev Pesach were determined that both my brother and I get the best Jewish education. I am very grateful that they didn't listen to the 'wisdom' that it important to give the day school education to the boy, but the girl didn't really need...


In my mom's honor I would like to answer TrilCat's niece's Bat Mitzva project survey

Sabbath Candle Survey

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  When did you start lighting candles for the Sabbath?

  I think when I was about three, I started making the blessing over the candles with my mom. We always lit the candles together and sang the bracha out loud. 
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  What made you start lighting them?

  She noticed that I would mimic her by putting something on my head and covering my eyes. She began to sing the bracha out loud (to the tune used for lighting the chanuka candles). 
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  Do you light candles every week? If so, what makes you keep lighting them each week?

  Yes, I light candles every week. It is my earliest connection with Judaism and the one I identify with most. 
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  Do you have any special traditions related to lighting the candles (e.g., my husband always gets them ready, I cover my hair, etc.)? If so, what?

  I always put a scarf on when I lit candles, even as a little girl. My mother told me that candle lighting time was a special moment for connecting to God and should be used for important wishes.
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  How do you feel after you have lit the candles?

  I usually feel tired and happy to have reached Shabbat once again.
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  Are you the first generation in your family that lights candles for the Sabbath?

  No, I am part of a long chain of Jewish women who lit and light candles for Shabbat. 
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  Do you have any memories to share from previous generations?

  My father's mother did not cover her eyes when she lit candles she blocked her sight of the flames by  spreading her fingers the way the cohen (priest) does for the blessings. Her father was a cohen.
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  Is it important for you that your daughters light candles for the Sabbath?

  Of course.
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  How meaningful do you feel it is to you to light candles for the Sabbath and why?

  All mitzvot are meaningful because they represent the way we practice and apply the laws we have from the Torah. Lighting the candles mark the end of the preparations for the Shabbat the culmination of the six days we have worked and the beginning of the day when we remember and mark Hashem's resting, looking around, taking stock and pride in what he created and hope to be worthy of it all. 

Shabbat Shalom!

Saturday Closed

 . This is a photo of my grandfather David taken in front of his store in Brooklyn in 1938.There are many reasons that I love this picture and have it hanging on my wall. First of all, I have very fond memories of my Zaydee Dovid who I remember well. I remember the adventure of going with my mother by subway to Brooklyn to visit him in his grocery store. I have a memory of coming into the store and he was sitting behind his counter with a book open propped against the counter. As we entered he put the book on a shelf under the counter and rose to greet us. He was a very tall man and in the shop he wore a large white apron and I remember looking way up at him as he handed me a red box of animal crackers. My mother told me that he once asked her, "do you think she'll remember that I gave her cookies in my store?" I do, Zaydee,  I do! 

I guess it was around the time that I started school my grandfather suffered a stroke. Early one day the regular customers came to get their fresh rolls and when he didn't come down to open the shop they called an ambulance (he was always there early in the morning). I was not allowed to visit him in the hospital but I remember my mother telling someone that there was a note on his bed saying 'kosher food only'. Eventually he was released from the hospital but it was clear that he could not live on his own any more nor keep the store. The doctors thought he would probably no be able to even walk much again. He came to live with us. But my Zaydee Dovid was a very determined man. He was determined not to be an invalid. He had been independent too long for that. At first it was difficult but he would walk with my mother and hold on to my brother's carriage. (Baby carriages in those days offered a lot more support than the folding contraptions we used to nowadays.)  My father made him a cane and he slowly started walking by himself. He had soon surprised everyone and was taking long walks in the neighborhood.  

It wasn't until I was much older that I realized the real strengths of my grandfather's character. Now when I look at this picture I can read the "Saturday Closed" (and in Yiddish on either side שבת געשלאסען shabbes geshlossen). In New York there were laws that forbade opening stores on Sunday so in order to keep Shabbat  an orthodox Jew had the choice of keeping his store closed two days every week or to open on Sunday and if a policeman passed by pay a fine. My grandfather did a little of both. So what was only a marginally profitable business in the dark days of the Great Depression became even more marginal. That book he kept under the counter, it was a Talmud. His father had been a Talmud scholar but my grandfather was the youngest of his children born from a second marriage when his father was already a grandfather himself. My Zaydee Dovid was jealous of his older brothers who had studied with their father longer. But he kept the study of Torah part of his life. Even in America, even where it was hard to keep you store closed on Shabbat.He could have given up on the Shabbat, rationalized like so many others did that family obligations took precedence. But he didn't. He had his priorities and he stood proudly by them. 

And that's why I love this photo.  

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Hat tip to Leora who mentioned that her grandfather sold eggs in Brooklyn in a post about watching a movie with her 7 year old daughter about the Great Depression of the 1930's (here). I have been meaning to write about my grandfather for a long time. 

Do you believe in miracles?

This post, written by David, is dedicated to his father, Henry Fenster on his 85th birthday, may Hashem grant him many more years of health and happiness - biz hundret un zvantzig! 

I don't mean miracles like the parting of the Red Sea or extracting water from a rock. I'm talking about miracles performed by wonder working Hassidic rebbes who could bring children to the barren, heal the sick, protect the Jews from the goyish neighbors or travel in a sleigh from Rufschitz to Radomsk (a full day's journey) in the blink of an eye. 


Myself, I lean to a more Litvak-misnagdish (opponent of Hassidim) outlook. That is, I think every problem can be dealt with by sharp observation, cold analyses and maybe with a little pilpul (casuistry) for flavor. So I didn't believe in the wondrous power of Hassidic Rebbes -- until I heard this story from my father. 


It was 1944. My father a Jewish boy from the Jewish neighborhood of Logan in Philadelphia was nineteen years old. His father had passed away after a long illness and he had  graduated  Central High School and gone on to study business administration at university. After a year at college he joined the army and was sent to an engineering course. But then the army needed all their forces for the final fight against the Nazis. He was assigned to the infantry and trained to operate a field mortar. Before he shipped out to Europe, his mother (my Bubba Rose) went to the local Hassidic  Rebbe to ask for a blessing for her son. This was Rav Moshe Tzvi Twersky, scion of the great Tolne Hassidic dynasty founded by the first David Twersky around 200 years ago in the town of Tolnoya in the Ukraine. 


Bubba Rose was received in the Rebbe's shtible (Hassidic prayer room) by the Rebbe, who gave her 18 pennies “chai fenik”. The number 18 symbolizing 'chai' life. He told her to give the pennies to charity, that by virtue of the tzedaka (charity) and tefilla (prayer) her son would G-d willing return to her from the war. 
My father's unit landed in France in September, after the allied invasion on D-day. The first troops that landed  were well organized and had been together in training.  But the fighting was difficult and while they were pushing the the German army back to the German borderthey sustained over 70% casualties. My father's group were replacement troops sent to take over and make up for the men lost in the earlier battles.They participated in  battles in Normandy moved on into Alsace. Moving forward  meant digging a foxhole for shelter and shooting at the Germans and then moving to another place where another foxhole had to be dug and more firing. 


On October 14, near Luneville, his unit came out of a forest and advanced through a field towards a low hill. Suddenly the world exploded. They were caught in the open by a German artillary barrage. They  ran up the hill to the next place they would begin their digging in and my father felt what seemed like a sledgehammer blow to his lower back. He tried to keep up with the others but couldn't. The rest of the platoon continued advancing, leaving him there. This was not the IDF that 'never leaves the wounded in the field'. In WWII the army advanced and only later dealt with the wounded. There were no medics on the platoon level. He might have died in that field but by chance an armored vehicle was stuck in the mud and could not advance with the rest of the unit. As they extricated themselves from the quagmire they saw my father and took him in the vehicle to the next road. They left him on the road and moved on to join the advancing troops. Some time later, by chance, a partly disabled tank traveling back to the American lines for repairs found him and took him to the command bunker. He was shocked and worried that the officers would think he should have continued with the attack. Removing the heavy web belt he was wearing it became clear that he had lost a lot of blood. The belt absorbed the blood when he was hit by a cluster of shrapnel which lodged in his back near his spine. He reached down to take his helmet with him and the army surgeon who just happened to be in this forward command  bunker told him 'you won't be needing that' and started to work on him. The last thing my father remembered before going under the anesthetic was the surgeon saying that he had a million dollar wound, meaning it was serious enough to get him out of the war, but with luck would not leave him crippled for life. 


And so after two more operations in France he found himself being carried by German POWs onto a troop ship bound for the U.S. 

After recuperating in an army hospital for six months he was released. In July 1946 he married a Jewish girl from Philly (my mother Blossom Lichtenstein) and I was born five years later. 
Do I believe that the Tolne Rebbe miraculously watched over my father while his comrades were dying around him (and in the larger picture millions of Jews were being murdered in Europe)? 
Not really, but I also do not believe that it is the result of chance. I do believe in the divine destiny of the Jewish people, and the destiny of those Jews who survived WWII was to behold the rebirth of the Jewish Nation. 
I also believe that the prayers of a saintly Jew and a distraught Jewish mother opened a window in heaven through which divine providence would find my father and save him. And just maybe the Tolne Rebbe had a feeling this Jewish soldier would return from the war and raise a son who would go up to Israel to take part in the return of the people of Israel to its land. God would give him the privilege to see grandchildren and great grandchildren born in Israel who would close the circle on one Jewish family's sojourn in the exile. 
There is a footnote to this story. Recently I discovered that the present Tone Rebbe has a shtible in Bayit Vegan. I have heard a number of his sermons and lessons. He is an impressive speaker and is reported to be a wonder worker too.