There is a wise Yiddish saying that translates into this observation: "Yichus (illustrious ancestors) is like potatoes - they are both under the ground."
My relationship with social media is and remains an ambivalent one. Unlike many of my peers, I did not initially embrace social media, from its beginning stages with AOL instant messenger and proceeding quickly on to MySpace and Facebook.
In February 1861, Abraham Kohn, one of the founders of Chicago’s Congregation Kehilath Anshe Maariv and at the time the city clerk in the administration of Mayor John Wentworth, presented Abraham Lincoln with a unique American flag.
Tommy's eyes were fixed on the screen for the fourth hour that day. He sat there immobile, staring at the people fighting on the TV show. Unsurprisingly, the next day the principal called Tommy's mom - Tommy had beaten up two boys in his class that day.
When the train has departed the station, Fresh of food and of saturation, The journey ahead excites, With all the could bes and the might's,
I nod my head and smile again, The burning creases brand my skin
The New York Muni-Meter system is a disaster! There are many issues that have presented themselves with this new idea and they need to be solved.
It’s history. You can’t deny it. The Holocaust. Just about the worst six years in Jewish history. The Nazis slaughtered our nation during its journey to world domination. Six million innocent people were murdered. We have evidence. We have witnesses. We have proof. So why are people denying it?
Judith Levy is a gorgeous French-born woman with a flair for fashion and the written word (she’s an editor for French editions of Artscroll). At the start of her second marriage she found herself in a shaitel vs. tichel predicament very similar to mine.
Artisan gefilte fish. For some, the phrase seems like an oxymoron. While salmon, chilean sea bass and tilapia may all be in vogue, gefilte fish, the traditional ground fish mixture that is de rigueur in Ashkenazic Jewish households at Shabbos and Yom Tov meals, is like the Henny Youngman of fish: it gets no respect.
You know what I noticed since I started writing this column? That people don’t write in to ask questions so much as they write in to complain.
It truly defies logic when I am told by a relative’s machataynesta that on her block in Brooklyn there are a dozen girls in their mid to late 20’s and even 30’s who are waiting in vain for the phone to ring.
Taking the words from my mouth, Twisting them, stretching them, turning them round and round, Negating their true meaning, as it was meant to be heard, You hear what you want without really listening.
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.
Last month, I had the privilege - and I do mean privilege – of attending an event at the Ritz Carlton Hotel in Toronto hosted by the Canadian Friends of Machon Lev, the Jerusalem College of Technology (JCT), at which an honorary degree was bestowed on John Baird, Canada’s Foreign Affairs Minister.
Last month we dealt with the building of the Lloyd Street Synagogue, the first synagogue to be built in Maryland. This month we look at how the building became a church, then again an Orthodox Synagogue, and finally a historic site.
Picture this; Mr. Smith is driving down on the Brooklyn Bridge, eager to get to work on time. At the corner of his eye, something flashes. He turns to look at an electric billboard. BOOM…CRASH…BANG… he’s been hit. That billboard took more than his attention - it took his life.
Imagine, sitting through nine classes each day, not understanding the material being taught, and failing many subjects. This would be a terrible school experience.
The blade of the penknife sliced cleanly into my thumb and a thin stream of crimson blood appeared immediately, getting thicker by the second. I dropped the penknife onto my lap and reached for the green hem of my school skirt. I pressed it tightly against my thumb. Only then did I glance up at Sister Giovanna who was standing, as usual, slightly to the right of the black board. I raised my hand and hoped that she would call on me soon.
They say there’s no bigger nightmare than starting to go out / You’re playing emotional mind games that involve another’s feelings, no doubt / Your hopes atop a roller coaster, but soon to be set in loops / Where you’ll have to make good conversation again, over your cream-of-broccoli soup.
I take my usual spot the one by the door and I let out a sigh cuz I’ve seen this scene before.
The eyes crawl down my spine. The eyes examine the bumps and ghost-like skin. Proceeding to turn around, our eyes meet. The stranger looks down.
Throughout the long dark night of our exile, when we found ourselves at the precarious "mercy" of the inhabitants of the lands we were residing in, each and every Jewish community made it their utmost priority to rescue any man, woman or child who had the misfortune to be kidnapped, captured or unjustly thrown in prison. Whether these unfortunate souls were being held by bandits, landlords or greedy officials eager for ransom money, every effort was made to free them.
On the twenty-fifth day of the month of Kislev, over twenty-one hundred years ago, the Temple in Jerusalem was rededicated after it was wrenched from the hands of the defiling Greeks. Thus ended a war no one planned or even dreamed could happen.
Unless you are one of the lucky few who were born with picture perfect hair immune to frizz and flyaway's, you have got a few curly hair problems - just like me.