Chillul Tefila Bifarhesia, as well as halachicly challenged verbiage and dress, are external manifestations of a critical lack of personal yiras shomayim which has lethal consequences.
Another Shabbat Nachamu has come and gone, but its message should resonate with us throughout the year. More than just an opportunity to go away for the weekend or enjoy a live concert on Saturday night, Shabbat Nachamu means that regardless of what tragedy has befallen our people, the Jewish nation will live on.
My husband’s grandfather, Joseph Hoffman, did not just physically survive the Nazi regime, he did so with his faith intact. There always seems to be an angle in every survivor’s story, a miracle that helped get him or her through another day until liberation. Zaidy had always been reluctant to discuss his experiences during the Holocaust with his children and grandchildren. He felt it wasn’t necessary for every detail to be known.
As he got older, though, he became more willing to talk, and even revealed an old sepia wallet-sized picture of his first family. His wife, Tzipporah, is dressed in a flowery housecoat, holding a baby girl, Rochel, who is wrapped in a white blanket, her hair in pigtails. Standing next to their mother are two little boys, Yehuda and Sender, in short pants and without shoes. Yehuda is wearing suspenders and a cap perched rakishly on top of his head, an impish dimple creasing his cheek. Sender, his curly hair still uncut before his upsherin, is holding a toy wooden sword and wearing a more solemn expression.
Once, when we were visiting, I asked him what it was that helped get him through the war. Zaidy smiled slightly and in his mixture of English, Hebrew and Yiddish told me about Shabbat Nachamu 1943.
He had been laboring in a type of mobile work unit since 1941, and two years into the war, with no end in sight, he was feeling “very bad” and thinking about his family and future. The Nazi commander, who was well versed in Jewish tradition, gathered all the prisoners together and proceeded to give them a Shabbat Nachamu drasha. He mocked the haftarah where the Jews are promised their suffering will soon end and said to the wretched group standing forlornly in front of him, “Nachamu, Nachamu, Ami? This war is not ending anytime soon.”
Zaidy is still a stubborn man, and I’m not surprised when he says that when he heard those words he found the inner strength to continue the backbreaking labor of digging railroads, so determined was he to prove the Nazi wrong. One morning, in November 1944, after sleeping overnight in a grain silo, his group of two hundred men woke up to realize the Nazis were no longer guarding them. They cautiously opened the door, and there, marching down the road, were the Russians.
For two weeks Zaidy walked home to Mamarush, Czechoslovakia, without food or provisions. When he reached his small town, he found the place Judenrein and the Soviets in charge. The Soviets tried to conscript him for forced labor, but he ran away that night to Prague. There he met up with a group of Jewish refugees and for the first time in many years was able to put on tefillin, daven with a minyan and keep kosher.
When I asked him what was it like to keep Shabbat again, after all that he had gone through, I thought he would speak about conflicting emotions and arguments with God. But Zaidy simply said, “I felt like ah Yid.”
Later, at the end of 1945, he married his second wife, Faiga, and while languishing in the DP Camps waiting to immigrate to Israel, Faiga gave birth to my mother-in-law, Nechuma. Nechuma eventually married and had five children, the youngest of whom is my husband, Jacob. Jacob and I married in March 2006; just about sixty years after Zaidy had the strength to remarry and started a new family. A year and a half later, my first daughter, Faiga Shaindel, was born, and two years after that, we had a second child, a boy.
Zaidy serving as sandek at Yehuda Aryeh’s bris
My husband and I had discussed that if this baby were a boy we would name him after Zaidy’s oldest son, Yehuda Aryeh. Nobody had been named after any of Zaidy’s four children. They had died alongside their mother in Auschwitz on the second day of Shavout 1944, and I felt it was time to rectify that omission.
About the Author: Pnina Baim holds a B.S. in Health and Nutrition from Brooklyn College and an MS.edu from Yeshiva University’s Azrieli Program. She works as a nutritionist, and a freelance writer. She recently published a Young Adult Novel, Choices, available at all online retailers. Contact Pnina at email@example.com.
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parently an affront to J Street’s worldview, the focus of which appears to be the creation of a Palestinian State, whether or not that will bring peace.
The importance of the caucus on organ harvesting in China, sponsored recently by the Liberal Lobby in the Knesset, cannot be exaggerated. On the surface, the caucus’s topic seems odd. Knesset members and other VIPs were called together to discuss horrors being perpetrated by the Communist regime in China against what the government there calls “regime opponents.”
My mother, the eldest daughter of Reb Yaakov Kamenetsky, zt”l, was niftar last month at the age of 92. She took her last breath in her home in Efrat, Israel, next door to the shul that was my father’s for 24 years before his passing in 2007.
Following the Boston Marathon bombing, one crucial point will likely remain overlooked. The most loathsome aspect of this or any other terror bombing attack on civilians will always lie in the inexpressibility of physical pain. While all decent people will abhor the idea of bombs expressly directed at the innocent, whether here or in other countries, none will ever be able to process the very deepest horrors of what has been inflicted.
It’s only natural to see increasing evidence of Jerusalem’s glorious Jewish past being unearthed, quite literally, under modern Israeli sovereignty. The new archaeological finds are also very timely – as the Arab onslaught attempting to detach Jerusalem from its Jewish roots gains steam, the facts on the ground, or “under” the ground, show quite otherwise.
The Talmud (Berachot 26b) says, “tefillot avot tiknum” – “prayer was established by the avot.” The Talmud then uses the following verse (Bereshit 19:27) to prove how Avraham established prayer: “Vayaskem Avraham baboker el hamakom asher amad sham et pnei Hashem” – “And Avraham got up early in the morning to the place where he had stood before God.”
Nearly 13 years ago, then-Israeli Prime Minister Ehud Barak journeyed to Camp David to end the conflict with the Palestinians. With the approval of President Clinton, he offered Yasir Arafat an independent Palestinian state in almost all of the West Bank, Gaza and in part of Jerusalem. Arafat said no.
The news that the Internal Revenue Service unfairly targeted conservative groups has brought renewed spotlight on a 2010 lawsuit filed by the pro-Israel group Z Street, which alleges it was also singled out by the IRS when applying for tax-exempt status.
In an editorial last week (“Circling the Wagons”) we noted the efforts by the administration and its supporters to dismiss allegations that the government’s spin on the Benghazi attack was designed to shield the president and that the IRS was improperly used to stifle opposition to Mr. Obama’s reelection.
As the controversies besetting the Obama administration continue to grow in number and intensity, the prospect that President Obama would seriously consider military action against Iran, should that country continue its drive to become a nuclear power, becomes more and more remote. So we welcome the current enhancement of sanctions against Iran on the federal and New York State levels.
To his parents’ friends, he was “Mrs. Greenberg’s disgrace,” but to sports fans he is one of the greatest – if not the greatest – Jewish baseball players of all time. Long before Sandy Koufax, Hank Greenberg excited Jewish sports fans with his prowess on the baseball diamond.
To eat is to live – to keep our physical bodies alive. For without the body, there is nothing. No experience. No memory. No joy and no hardship. But man, unlike animals, eats to live and to enjoy. So how should a Jew respond when he is challenged as to why he imposes upon himself not just ceremonies dedicated to the enjoyment of eating but even more to the limiting of what he can eat?
As I mentioned in my earlier articles about our family trip to Israel, our night flight went pretty smooth, thanks to my children’s willingness to sleep throughout the flight. I, on the other hand, didn’t sleep a wink and I wasn’t feeling too great by the time we landed. But we were finally in Israel, and just being in the beautifully renovated Ben Gurion airport and hearing all the Hebrew around us was exciting enough.
Last month, I discussed our tumuloutous family trip to Israel and the many mistakes and some smart moves we made along the way. Hopefully you can learn from our mistakes and incorporate the lessons we learned in your own family trips.
I’m very passionate about Israel and it’s always been my desire to share that passion with my children. It was a sad day in our home when we missed out on the great deal to Israel earlier this year, but thankfully, my husband managed to snag an almost as good one a couple of months later.
But his third birthday was rapidly approaching, and I wanted him toilet trained before our family trip to Israel a couple of months down the line. Giving up wasn’t an option.
The thing about work is that it isn’t fun. If it were, it would be called play. Most people grumble about going to work, and look forward to their time-off – especially when it is paid. And yet, polls show that most people, given the choice, would prefer to work. It’s when we get to the office that we begin to moan and groan. What’s the point in that? If we spend the majority of our waking hours at work, we might as well enjoy it! Here are some ways we can accomplish that.
Oh, Chanukah! Chanukah, the festival of lights and the powerful story of the unlikely military victory of the Maccabees. One lesson we’re able to glean from the Maccabees is the importance of doing just a little bit more then you think you are capable of. As we all know, the Maccabees were quite aware that taking on the mighty Greek army was a suicide campaign. Yet, they succeeded.
My oldest daughter loves school. In fact, over the long holiday break, whenever her school was mentioned, she would say in a little sad voice, “I miss my morahs.” I repeated this story gleefully to my friends. Some of them, the ones with older kids, looked at me with a blasé face and said, “don’t [...]
I feel that I am a good authority to write on this topic, because although I love having guests, it completely stresses me out. Something happens to me when we have guests over; I feel this urge to have the table perfect, the food innovative, delicious and abundant and my children buffed and shiny. When things don’t turn out well, it’s not exactly pretty.
Printed from: http://www.jewishpress.com/indepth/opinions/zaidys-comfort-and-inspiration/2011/08/24/
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