A unique and prestigious residential project in now being built in Mekor Haim Street in Jerusalem.
My first-born son’s recent marriage was a huge simcha for the family, but the wedding was actually the culmination of a simcha that began years ago – at his bris. At the time, I remember the guests at the shul asking me how I felt. I knew that they were asking me ? a first time kimpeturin (a woman who had just gone through and was in the process of recovering from the strength-sapping ordeal of childbirth) how I felt physically. But I couldn’t help internalize the question from an emotional viewpoint. I myself wondered how I actually felt about what was happening around me.
For months, I had gone about feeling “out of sorts” – unable to tolerate everyday, normally pleasant smells like roasting chicken or perfume without feeling nauseous. For weeks, I waddled like a penguin instead of walking. I was unable to find a comfortable position in which to sleep, though I desperately needed the rest, and was even unable to tie my shoes.
I eventually went through an excruciating 25 hour labor being “uncomfortable,” as the nurse so diplomatically informed the doctor. And finally, after swearing this would be an only child – a vow that was not binding because women in childbirth are not held accountable for any of the babble that comes out of their mouths – I was presented with a brick-red, wrinkled creature that resembled a water-soaked chicken more than a human being – and it was love at first sight! At that moment, I made an unsolicited promise that as long as I drew breath, nobody would hurt him … And then eight days later, here I was surrendering this dependent, totally helpless being who was beginning to trust me – to a man with a knife!
So when I was asked, “How do you feel?” I had to do some serious self-examination. I was sleep-deprived and exhausted, rather sore, nervous, petrified (what if the mohel makes a mistake) and basically ready to pass out. But when I heard a cry from across the room, and then the name “Menachem Mendel ben Shmuel” being called out, an incredible joy and pride flooded me, totally washing away my terror and anxiety. Every fiber of my being was filled with an intense happiness and an overriding sense of accomplishment.
Mendel was named after his paternal grandfather’s father who had perished in the Holocaust, and as his name was proclaimed for the first time, I had a vision of a celestial hand cutting through Gehennom – and slapping Hitler’s face.
Mendel is the grandchild of four Holocaust survivors from across Europe – Poland, Romania, and Hungary. For thousands of years, the Jew haters of Europe, Asia and the Middle East have tried – in vain – to eradicate the Jewish people. Hitler, a descendant of Amalek, had tragically been extremely successful. Millions were brutally butchered on his orders. But despite his best efforts, he, like his evil peers throughout the millennia, had been unsuccessful. Their determined efforts were for naught. This eight day old baby boy, who had just been entered into the holy covenant between G-d and the children of Israel – was indicative of this failure. This child, who bore his ancestor’s name and was his continuation, was spiritual and physical evidence of the Jewish nation’s existence.
A new link in the timeless chain that stretched out from Har Sinai, this infant would embrace the holy heritage that his grandparents and millions of his kin had been murdered for. His very existence was triumphant proof that Jewicide was an unmitigated failure.
Thirteen years later, the simcha entered its second stage, as Mendel, upon reaching maturity as defined by Jewish law, became a full-fledged member of the congregation of Israel.
And now, the simcha has reached a new height as he and his wife Shira, whose multi-generational American family survived another insidious enemy of Israel - assimilation – proceed to build a bayit ne’eman b’Yisrael. With Hashem’s blessing, the young couples of today are producing offspring who, in turn, will carry the spiritual torch that has been handed down through thousands of years of Jewish continuity.
No doubt, every birth, every bar/bas mitzvah attained by a Jewish child, every chuppah and the subsequent birth of a new generation make Hitler and his ilk feel the flames of Hell more intensely. Every neshama, every soul, that was prematurely separated from its earthly body by the enemies of Israel rejoices and celebrates in its heavenly abode.
How fitting then, that during the Sheva Brachot celebration of this grandchild of the Shoah, the descendant of four sons and daughters of Yaacov who survived extermination by a vile son of Esau – that another blood-soaked enemy of Israel was summoned to the Heavenly Court for his Day of Reckoning. No doubt as this hate-filled son of Ishmael was escorted to the One Judge, his ears rang with the deafening shout of the souls of his victims – who, looking down at the simcha – roared in unison, “Am Yisrael Chai!!”
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Regardless of age, parents play an important role in their children’s lives.
We peel away one layer after the next, our eyes tear up and it becomes harder and harder to see as we get closer to our innermost insecurities and fears.
Some Mountain Jews believe they are descendents of the Ten Lost Tribes and were exiled to Azerbaijan and Dagestan by Sancheriv.
Yom Tov is about spending time with your family. And while for some families the big once-in-a-lifetime experience is great, for others something low key is the way to go.
A fascinating glimpse into the rich complexity of medieval Jewish life and its contemporary relevance had intriguingly emerged.
Dear Dr. Yael:
My heart is breaking; my husband’s friend has gotten divorced. While this type of situation is always sad, here I do believe it could have been avoided.
The plan’s goal is to provide supportive housing to 200 individuals with disabilities by the year 2020.
Despite being one of the fastest-growing Jewish communities in the U.S. – the estimated Jewish population is 70-80,000 – Las Vegas has long been overlooked by much of the Torah world.
She was followed by the shadows of the Six Million, by the ever so subtle awareness of their vanished presence.
Pesach is so liberating (if you excuse the expression). It’s the only time I can eat anywhere in the house, guilt free! Matzah in bed!
Now all the pain, fear and struggle were over and they were home. Yuli was safe and free, a hero returned to his land and people.
While it would seem from his question that he is being chuzpadik and dismissive, I wonder if its possible, if just maybe, he is a struggling, confused neshama who actually wants to come back to the fold.
I agree with the letter writer that a shadchan should respectfully and graciously accept a negative response to a shidduch offer.
Alternative assessments are an extremely important part of understanding what students know beyond the scope of tests and quizzes.
A young lady in her early 20’s, “Sarah” was redt to “Shlomie” a boy from her home town who learned in an out-of-town yeshiva. The families know each other well, which in today’s shidduch scene is a big plus – since it was therefore unlikely the kids would “fall in” due to misinformation and misinterpretations.
They say the road to hell is paved with good intentions, and that is precisely what almost always happens in situations where a reference knew someone had serious but hidden emotional issues, but did not reveal the information to the person making inquiries.
Time never stood still for anyone – why would I be the exception? In my hubris, I thought that somehow I would live forever – and I suspect we all have secretly felt that way, even though we know it’s a fantasy.
One can argue that forgetting something on a regular basis is a sign of advancing age and it’s time to for a neurological evaluation, but based on the number of young people who need to replace a lost smart phone (too bad it’s not smart enough to warn its owner that that they have become separated – or is there an app for that too?), I safely can say that losing “stuff” cuts across the generations.
For quite a few days in late December, Toronto was transformed into a breathtaking – literally and figuratively – frigid winter wonderland, where every twig, leaf, car door, and outdoor wire and cable was totally encased in ice. When the sun shone the landscape was blindingly brilliant as if billions of diamonds had been glued to everything the eye could see.
Outside is a winter-white wonderland replete with dazzling trees, wires, and sidewalks seemingly wrapped in glittery silver foil. It’s quite lovely to look at, which is about all I can do since I’m stuck indoors. Icicle-laden tree branches are bent and hunch-backed by the frozen heaviness of their popsicle-like burden, and the voices squawking from the battery-operated transistor radio I am listening to are warning people not to go out since walkways and roads are extremely slippery, and there is real danger from falling trees.
The necessity of speaking up when you “have a hunch” applies even more when it comes to shidduchim. One little girl did just that – she said something – and I was fortunate enough to be in town for the very joyful, lively wedding that resulted from her speaking up.
Printed from: http://www.jewishpress.com/sections/magazine/a-sons-wedding-a-slap-in-the-face-of-our-enemies/2004/11/10/
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