On a cold, rainy morning in late October, a group of people of various ages, places, and points in their lives gather together in Central Park to train for an upcoming marathon.
I’m a hungry mama and winter definitely brings more cravings than my pregnancy did!
If you are anything like me you may have noticed that slowly but surely the Internet is creeping further and further into your everyday life as you turn towards the web for countless tasks.
The family: Parents Avinadav and Hanna Kalef; son, Ortal; daughter, Kinneret and son, Ronen. All of three Kalef children married while the family lived in Gush Katif and are themselves today, parents.
Master of the Universe, I am filled with remorse and compunction. My head is bowed in shame, my hands tremble, and my heart overflows with trepidation as I approach you with my abject confession of guilt.
What began 10 years ago as a small group of volunteers providing mental health referrals within the Jewish community has evolved into a full-fledged mental health referral, education and support organization that takes on 6,000 new patients annually in four major cities across the globe.
As we get older, nostalgia takes over many areas of our life and we often yearn for things from the past.
To explain to my children what Chanukah was like for me as a young girl, I find I am just as inclined to recount what it wasn’t as I am to describe what it was.
Miss Ida is our beloved teacher. Her brown hair is piled softly on her head. Her dress is of course old and worn, and she must...
Suddenly and abruptly, everything I had always known about myself no longer applied. There would be no long yeshiva career, Kollel or the like. At that point I really had no identity. I didn’t know who I was or what it was that I was going to do.
It was a lovely Sunday afternoon in the park when I bumped into a friend whom I hadn’t seen in a long time. After the obligatory pleasantries were exchanged, she tentatively asked me if something was wrong with my health. “No,” I responded, confused. “I’m doing better than ever.”
Daily newspapers in Israel have recently included an uptick in drunk driving related articles, invariably detailing the horrific carnage left in their wake.
Welcome once again to “You’re Asking Me?” It’s pretty much like your typical ask the expert column, with one minor difference (if you want to get technical): I’m not an expert on anything. Just ask my wife.
As the members of the I.D.F. lined up for the daily flag raising ceremony held on the Tel Hashomer Army Base outside of Tel Aviv, Gloria Schreiber approached the flagpole with a mixture of pride and awe. Standing at attention, dressed in fatigues, she grasped the rope, pulled gently and watched the white and blue flag slowly ascend.
This past week was Parshat Chayei Sarah and I had the good fortune of being in Chevron for Shabbat. I was in Israel for only three days (approximately 80 hours) and was asked many times, “You’ve come to Israel for such a short stay?” Let me explain.
Presumably, almost all the readers of this publication are Orthodox Jews – those that pride themselves on serving G-d through fulfilling His commandments. Keeping in mind the rabbinical edict, "A mitzvah that comes your way—don't miss it!" (Rashi, Bavli Megillah 6b), it would behoove the readers to know that an oft-missed mitzvah has come their way.
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This wasn’t supposed to happen, especially not to me. I could give you all the stats: my great-grandfather learned in Radin with the Chofetz Chaim, my grandfathers learned in Slobodka and Novardik, and my father has smicha from Ner Yisroel in Baltimore. Outside of the brief fantasy (which lasted a lot longer than I care to admit) that I would be the star player who takes the Chicago Bears to the Superbowl, I always saw myself in yeshiva. It is what I had always planned to do, and I never really contemplated anything else
When my big sister was in fifth grade, she came home one day with a new trick. “You take a paper,” she demonstrated, “and you fold it back and forth, like a fan.” She expertly turned and folded, then pinched and held the “fan” in the middle to form a sort of bow.
Welcome to “You’re Asking Me?” where we answer any and all questions -- not necessarily in the hopes that we can make your issues go away by waving a newspaper at them, but more in the hopes that if we make enough jokes, you’ll forget what your problem was, unless you reread the beginning of the article, where we helpfully put your problems in bold face.