As is my longtime custom, I went to שילה הקדומה Shiloh HaKeduma, Tel Shiloh to pray on Rosh Chodesh Adar.  Considering the problems Prime Minister Binyamin Netanyahu is having constructing/negotiating his latest coalition, maybe he should go to Tel Shiloh, site of the Mishkan, Tabernacle to pray, too. 

Biblical Chana prayed in Shiloh for a son who would be the national and spiritual leader of the Jewish People to establish monarchy.  So, considering the state of our nation today, Shiloh is the perfect location for prayers.

The Jewish Month of Adar is known as a time of change, reversals, bad to good, winter to spring.

Yes, I was amazed at how richly the trees were in bloom and how beautifully the wildflowers had begun to cover the ground.  Last month, Rosh Chodesh Shvat, we saw green and brown, but now we also see red, pink and white.

Shiloh has been the location for prayer since Joshua made it the capital of the Jewish Nation after the Exodus from Egypt.  The Mishkan, Tabernacle, which had been a mobile synagogue during the forty years we wandered the desert, was set up in Shiloh and stayed there for 369 years.

That location, a large flat area to the north is now being excavated by archaeologists.

Wherever you look you can see signs of ancient building and construction.  Stones don’t naturally look like these.

Next Rosh Chodesh is Nissan.  Women are invited to join us for Women’s Rosh Chodesh Prayers.

New and old observation towers, plus ancient ruins at Tel Shiloh

Visit Shiloh Musings.

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Yishai and Malkah broadcast away from our Mt. of Olives studio and start off by talking about the major differences between life in the US and in Israel. They discuss celebrating Purim in the US and end the segment with a discussion about American President Barack Obama’s upcoming trip to Israel.

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We first met Shlomie (name and some details have been changed) over 20 years ago. He davens in our shul, and he and my husband share a love of photography. Over time, we got to know each other well.

Every year, Shlomie would come to our house for Purim seudah. He would wear a costume and bring his famous chocolate Oznei Haman (Hamantashen). Together with the rest of us, he would don a funny clown’s hat and we would pose for our annual family Purim photograph. He considers himself an uncle to our children, and they have adopted him as well.

Shlomie had a history of health issues. There was a point in time when he was relatively young and the doctors did not have too much hope for him to survive. As he lay in his hospital bed, he overheard the doctors discussing his helpless case. With Hashem’s blessing, he proved them wrong.

Shlomie was always full of emunah. He always wore a smile and was friendly to everyone. He loved learning Torah and had recently taken on a new chavrutah, a young yeshiva student learning in our neighborhood.

A few months ago, Shlomie was tested again. It was late Friday night when he tripped and found himself on the floor of his living room, unable to get up. As no one could hear him, he spent the night on the cold floor. He unsuccessfully tried to get up on Shabbat morning. He lay there all of Shabbat, Sunday and Monday. There was a bottle of water on the floor nearby, and he was able to reach it and drink some of it. He had no food to eat, and he could not reach his much-needed medicines.

On Tuesday, a neighbor began to wonder if Shlomie was okay. Having not seen him for a few days, she called for help. An emergency crew showed up at the apartment building, and broke open the windows. They found a very disoriented, but very alive, Shlomie lying helplessly on the floor.

The doctors could not believe he had survived this nightmare – but once again he had. We went to visit him in the hospital, and he amazed us with his optimistic attitude. He did not feel sorry for himself; rather, he told me how thankful he was that Hashem was still watching over him. He told me how he was waiting to feel stronger so he could begin several projects he had long been planning to undertake. Each one involved completing a cycle of Torah learning. Instead of looking at what he just experienced as a setback, he saw it as an opportunity for advancement.

I told him that he inspired me with his strong faith and positive outlook. He smiled, saying, “Debbie, I inspire myself.”

May Hashem continue to watch over him and give him the good health and strength he needs to fulfill his dreams of continued Torah learning. May he continue to inspire others as he inspires himself.

A traditional Purim in Hong Kong requires an obligatory visit to Pottinger Street in the bustling Central District. Also known locally as Stone Step Street, Pottinger Street is more of a steep, irregularly paved pedestrian stone path (with steps too small for Western feet) than a street. My children run ahead up the stone slabs as I carefully balance my size nine feet on the thin, uneven stairs. My five year old stumbles but quickly recovers and catches up to the big kids.

There is a cacophony of bartering and city sounds surrounding us. And while the buzz of Cantonese is expected, sounds of Hebrew, French and English also fill the air. My children bounce from stall to stall, greeting their friends on similar Purim missions. I have counted 11 children from the Jewish community though we have been here for less than 30 seconds.

It is not mere coincidence nor fate that has brought us to totter together on these indiscriminately paved concrete slabs the day before Purim, it is rather the work of our own procrastination and Asian efficiency. In Hong Kong, similar to other cities in Asia, markets are often segregated by the types of wares they specialize in. For sneakers, there is Sneaker Street, for computers the Computer Centre, for games the Gaming Center and for aquariums and related goods, the Goldfish Market. There is a flower market, a street of only fabric shops, one of only costume jewelry and another of only beads. And at some point in time, long predating our arrival in Hong Kong nearly a decade ago, Pottinger Street became the costume cornucopia of Central. Synthetic wigs in every color and style hang from above, stalls are crammed with thousands of props, costumes are bunched together on racks and rubber masks line the walls.

Between haggling with stall owners and negotiating with my children, I tell them the stories of Purim from my childhood. They have heard them all and can likely retell them as well, but this retelling is all part of our tradition. A favorite, of course, is the story of my brother’s post-Megillah reading fall that necessitated five stitches in his knee. The highlight of the story not being his unfortunate hospital visit, but the image of my Synagogue’s chazzan, dressed as a surgeon, now speckled with real blood on his full operating theater gear, running by carrying the patient to my parents’ car.

To me, Purim-costume-past also conjures up a secret, unmet childhood longing. I coveted those leftover Halloween flimsy, tie-on, extremely flammable costumes that came neatly folded and incased in plastic that other kids were allowed to don. Those costumes, with their lingering scent of toxins and plastic, spoke of seventies and eighties pop-culture. But my parents were unimpressed and, although secular, when it came to Purim, they were costume traditionalists and Purim theme purists. I am pretty certain that I was about 12 different renditions of Queen Esther, one every year until I was finally old enough to protest. And, of course, my mother sewed my classic costumes from neatly planned patterns. While I am more of a pen than a pincushion type of person, I do now appreciate the process.

Photo Credit Linda Cheung

When it came to my own parents and their friends though, Purim was decidedly a children’s holiday. Aside from the chazzan and the rabbi, few adults dared to don costumes. I wonder if there is any irony to the fact that many of the adults in my community seemingly declined to fully engage in a holiday that speaks to a theme of assimilation. Likewise, while many of my friends grew to relish the costume tradition, they simply referred to Purim as the Jewish Halloween.

In Hong Kong, however, the return of the humidity also invariably signals the joy of Purim for many. As I stand in the courtyard of the Ohel Leah Synagogue, which itself is in costume this year, complete with a clown hat, I watch the parade of costumes swirl around me in the heavy spring air. Adults and children alike, decked in unmistakably Pottinger Street purchases, happily chatter outside as they await the notoriously late start to the Megillah reading. I sometimes struggle to recognize even my own friends. There are pop culture connected costumes, a strong showing for Disney characters generally speaking (with an overabundance of Disney princesses, a phase that fortunately dissipates by age 7), historical figures, career-themed costumes and creative interpretations of favorite foods. Not surprisingly, a couple of giant homemade iPods wander past. My fellow last minute shoppers and I nod in approval at our final decisions and purchases.

Question: Why do we read four special Torah sections between Purim and Pesach. Also, why do we call each of the four Shabbatot on which we read these sections by a special name – such as Shabbat Shekalim, Shabbat Zachor etc.?

Celia Gluck
(Via E-Mail)

Answer: The four sections you refer to – the arba parshiyot – are read starting from the Shabbat preceding the first of Adar through the Shabbat preceding the first of Nissan. This year, the 25th of Shevat, Shabbat Parshat Mishpatim, was Shabbat Shekalim; Shabbat Parshat Tetzaveh on the 9th of Adar was Shabbat Zachor; the 23rd of Adar, Shabbat Parshat Vayakhel-Pekudei, was Shabbat Parah; and Rosh Chodesh Nissan, Shabbat Parshat Vayikra, will be Shabbat HaChodesh.

There are additional Shabbatot referred to by special names, such as Shabbat Nachamu after Tisha B’Av; Shabbat Shuva (also known as Shabbat Teshuvah) between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur; Shabbat Shira, the name given to the Shabbat on which we read Parshat Beshalach; and Shabbat Hagadol, which is always the Shabbat preceding Pesach.

On these Shabbatot we do not read a special Torah section in addition to the parshat ha’shavua, but their names denote a significant factor distinguishing them from a “regular” Shabbat. For example, Shabbat Shira is named such because it the Shabbat on which we read the Shirat Hayam – the songs of praise sung at the Red Sea by the Jewish people led by Moses and Miriam.

And now to the arba parshiyot. The gaon, Rabbi Shlomo Yosef Zevin, zt”l, writes as follows in his HaMoadim BaHalacha (Jerusalem, 1956, p. 188): “The unique importance of these parshiyot is found in rabbinic literature. Even before the parshiyot of the Torah were divided among the Shabbatot of the year, the requirement [to read] the arba parshiyot was already noted [Megillah 29a]. However, in both the Mishnah and the Tosefta we find no mention of the names of the weekly parshiyot [nor the requirement to read parshat ha’shavua].

“The requirement to read the Torah every Shabbat (in a congregation of ten) actually dates back to the time of Moses [Bava Kamma 82a].”

This Gemara enumerates 10 enactments of the prophet Ezra. Among them is that the Torah be read publicly every Shabbat at Mincha, as well as on Monday and Thursday. The Gemara questions this list of 10, arguing that the enactment to read the Torah on Shabbat, Monday, and Thursday dates back to Moses.

The Gemara proves (or roots) its point based on two verses. Exodus 15:22 states, “Moses brought the Children of Israel from the Red Sea and they went out toward the Desert of Shur; they traveled three days in the desert without finding water.” And Isaiah 55:1 states “Everyone who is thirsty, go for water.” “Water” is often used metaphorically to refer to Torah. The verse makes evident that going for three days without water is not desirable and, hence, we learn that we should read the Torah, i.e. “water,” thrice weekly so that three days never pass without Torah.

In light of this point, the Gemara backtracks and clarifies that reading from the Torah began with Moses and states that Ezra’s enactment was merely an “upgrade” – Moses required that three verses be read while Ezra enacted that we must read 10 verses and call up three people to the Torah, a kohen, a levi, and yisrael.

Rabbi Zevin continues: “Dividing the Torah reading into 54 [weekly] parshiyot came at a much later time [than Ezra]. We find (in Megillah 29b) that the bnei ma’arava in Eretz Yisrael, [as opposed to the Jews in Babylonia] used to conclude reading the entire Torah every three years.”

The Mechaber (Shulchan Aruch, Orach Chayim 669:1) clearly states that on the second day of Shemini Atzeret, we in the Diaspora read Vezot HaBeracha, the last parshah of the Torah, until its conclusion and then begin reading Parshat Bereishit until “asher bara Elokim la’asot.” (We then read, for maftir, “Bayom hashemini atzeret.”)

Since the Gemara states that the bnei ma’arava would complete the Torah once every three years, we might infer that the Jews in exile in Babylonia completed the Torah every year. The Gemara does not state this specifically, but we can derive it from two statements in the Gemara. First, R. Yirmiyah (Megillah 30b) rules that the four parshiyot’s Torah readings only cause a change in the haftarah; on the succeeding Shabbat we resume reading the usual weekly haftarah (see Rashi sv. “l’seder haftarot…”). Second, the Gemara (ibid., 31a) states that on the last day of Shemini Atzeret (Simchat Torah in the diaspora) congregations would read Vezot HaBeracha.

Thus we have answered your second question first. The arba parshiyot and the times we read them are clearly mentioned in the Mishnah (Megillah 29a) by name. Therefore the Shabbatot on which one of them is read are referred to by its name.

I know I’m going to be crucified, but if the appeal I make below helps even one girl in shidduchim, then it will be worth all the fury and outrage that shall inevitably descend upon my soon-to-be beleaguered head.

The other night, I was invited to a fascinating new shidduch initiative. Endorsed by leading rabbonim and spearheaded by a few righteous women valiantly trying to transcend the spiraling “shidduch crisis” in some small but meaningful way, the concept was to bring mothers of eligible young men together with young women looking for shidduchim (members of both groups were pre-screened and issued personal and discreet invitations by the organizers) in both a balabatish setting and a dignified way.

Everybody knows that the experiences of boys in shidduchim–in contradistinction to their female counterparts–is vastly different. This is the harsh truth: The mothers of “good boys” are bombarded with shidduch suggestions on a daily basis – a veritable barrage of resumes either flooding their fax machines or pouring out of their e-mail inboxes– while those with similarly “top” daughters sit with pinched faces anxiously waiting for the phone to ring. The disparity is bare, bold-faced and veritably heartbreaking: In the shidduch “parsha,” boys are constantly being courted and pursued, while the best girls’ resumes barely elicit a modicum of interest.

As a friend recently told me: “When my nephew was 19 and started shidduchim, he went out with 19-year-old girls. When he turned 20, he still went out with 19-year-old girls. He kept getting older, but the shidduchim that he was “redt” continued to be 19-year-old girls. Now he is 24 and baruch Hashem just got engaged –to a 19-year old girl.” Sadly, women do not have this same recourse.

To rectify this inequity, a few concerned mothers brain stormed together and concluded that “shidduch resumes” (which never even existed as a concept when I was dating 35 years ago) fail to accurately capture the essence of the person being “summed up” and often–especially in the case of the girls– get lost in the shuffle. One organizer told me: “The boys’ mothers barely give the girls’ resumes a passing glance–they are so overwhelmed by the sheer numbers coming their way–and it becomes a daunting task to sift through them. And the resumes themselves are severely limiting. Can you really get a genuine sense of who the girl is from the resume? What does it tell you about her personality, her character, her intellect, her neshoma? It is demeaning to reduce a girl to a few sentences.”

The rationale underlying the new shidduch initiative was this: If eligible girls would be given personal and meaningful “face time” with prospective mother-in-laws, they would be able to present their qualities far more efficaciously than a cold and lifeless curriculum vitae.

Now for my full disclosure: I am the mother (baruch Hashem) of a great boy. He is continuously sought out, “in perpetual demand” (kinehora). I should be grateful that in shidduchim, he “wields the upper hand.” But as a woman who identifies with and feels great compassion for the throngs of girls in a parallel universe who are not being chased, I feel a little sad each time the fax machine cranks out yet another resume for my son. I know full well that there are fantastic girls out there who are his equals–perhaps even his superiors–who are NOT receiving comparable treatment. They are neither being hounded nor pursued half as vigorously as he, and they are denied the latitude of choices that he receives every day. I ache for their mothers who repeatedly call the shadchanim who never call back, but are visibly more responsive if you are the mother of a boy. Inwardly, I rail against the unfairness of it all (although the shadchanim are completely innocent of any wrongdoing, whatsoever; it is the system that is at fault– not they—the stark realities of supply and demand). Thinking of the mothers who do not have the privilege to wade through as many resumes as me, I try consciously not to revel in the continuous stream that cascade over my desk. I know how fortunate my son is, and I feel for those who aren’t.

So, when one of the extraordinary women who organized this event invited me to participate, I was actually reluctant to attend. Quite simply, there was no need. But because I like and respect this woman so much, and wanted to validate her efforts, I RSVP’d “Yes.”

“How are you going to work this?” I asked. “How are you going to ensure that all the girls get equal time? Are they not going to feel degraded? Is this process not going to end up even more demeaning than a resume?”

The organizer assured me that there would be facilitators on site who would introduce each girl to every mother. The facilitator would escort the mother to the tables where the girls sat, and be hyper-vigilant that no girl gets bypassed. I wondered how many girls would feel comfortable with this arrangement and actually show up, but as I said before, I wanted to support my acquaintance’s endeavor with my physical presence, so I went.

The big 7-8 day Holiday is approaching. The one that seems to get people more uptight than happy (as they should be –Rambam, Laws of the Holidays, 6:17), to the extent that when you are actually brave enough to utter the word “PESACH,” it often feels like you’ve put people on edge.

These less than “30 days before the Holiday” offer us an opportunity to evaluate the above phenomenon, which seems to be more and more commonplace in our times.

It amazes me that Pesach comes just a month after Purim. More than anything, what makes Purim unique is that it is a day in which the edict that “one should become inebriated on Purim till one doesn’t distinguish between the curse of Haman to the blessing of Mordechai” proclaims it a day in which…everything goes, in which one has very loose – to non-existent – borders regarding what is permitted and what is forbidden. In a word, it’s a day in which the word “fear” seems to be put into a drawer for 24 hours, as we permit ourselves to do things otherwise unthinkable – in terms of what we wear, what we say, which jokes we crack, and of course, how much alcohol we allow ourselves to consume.

And then, right after the hangover passes, the costumes are put away for next year, and the last cookie from the “Mishloach Manot” is eaten, we get…fearful and nervous; just 30 days to clean the house, buy the (new and expensive) groceries, and cook for Pesach!

From too much courage to neurotic fear, and all this in two months!

Leaving aside how much one needs to clean for Pesach and how crazy one must get (based on the Torah’s dictates, without the “extra’s” of cleaning the windows as well…), I’d like to comment on just one point – the “fear” of it.

I believe that something has crept into the Religious Jewish community over the last few years that shouldn’t be there – our fear of holiness. Let’s introduce it with the following episode, usually read right after Purim in the weekly Torah reading (except in a leap-year). The Jewish people have just been forgiven for the elevated sin of the Golden Calf, and Moshe is coming down Mount Sinai…with one small change to his face:

29. And it came to pass when Moses descended from Mount Sinai, and the two tablets of the testimony were in Moses’ hand when he descended from the mountain and Moses did not know that the skin of his face had become radiant while He had spoken with him 30. that Aaron and all the children of Israel saw Moses and behold! the skin of his face had become radiant, and they were afraid to come near him.31. But Moses called to them, and Aaron and all the princes of the community returned to him, and Moses would speak to them…..

Reading these verses, I would have thought it wonderful – the people behold Moshe looking holier than ever, and thus maintain their distance, knowing that they are not on the level. After all, we don’t just barge into a shul, open the ark and greet the Torah Scrolls with a “Hello Mate…,” nor do we ascend the Temple Mount without proper preparations! And so, the Jewish people recognize Moshe’s new, elevated radiance/holiness and keep their distance from his holiness.

But then we get to Rashi’s read, which offers a radically different interpretation:

and they were afraid to come near him: Come and see how great the power of sin is! Because when they had not yet stretched out their hands to sin [with the golden calf], what does He say? “And the appearance of the glory of the Lord was like a consuming fire atop the mountain, before the eyes of the children of Israel” (Exod. 24:17), and they were neither frightened nor quaking. But since they had made the calf, even from Moses’ rays of splendor they recoiled and quaked. (from Sifrei Nasso 11, Pesikta d’Rav Kahana, p. 45)

What forces Rashi to see the above in negative terms rather then the positive? Why not just applause the people for their reverence of holiness?

Seems to me that Rashi wants to give us a message: We dare not stay away from holiness. Quite the contrary – we should embrace it and try to get a “piece of it.”

Our Torah is full of commands to “be holy” (Vayikra 11:43-44, 19:2, 20:7), or “to be for me holy” (20:26)! Moreover, when the Torah commands that we shall go to “the place” in order to sacrifice and more, it adds the edict that “you shall inquire after His dwelling and come there” (Devarim 12:5). The Ramban explains (ad-loc) that “the reason for ‘you shall inquire after his dwelling’ is that you shall come from afar, and ask: ‘where is the house of God,’ and say to each other: ‘Let us ascend and go to the mountain of God to the house of the God of Jacob.’” In other words, according to this interpretation, we should not only be holy but should actually pursue it, seek it out, and make “an issue” of asking people how we can arrive at holiness.

Purim is the one Yom Tov all Jews can celebrate. Special knowledge is not required and the demands of its observance are easy enough.

There are no restrictions, no prohibitions; we are simply called upon to rejoice and listen to the megillah with its story of the miraculous salvation of our people despite the evil designs of Haman. We exchange gifts, give tzedakah to the poor, dress up in costumes and celebrate at a festive seudah. In short, on Purim, we can experience joy without bounds; we need only plunge into it.

On Purim, the front door to my house, normally closed, is wide open. It simply takes too much time to respond to each ringing of the doorbell. As in all Jewish neighborhoods, young b’nei Torah come collecting for their yeshivas and people of all ages and backgrounds come soliciting for their various tzedakahs.

When the yeshiva boys come to my house and announce which school they are collecting for, I make a demand of them. “Not so fast,” I say. “Make it freilich. Let me hear a good song. Let me see a good dance. Give me a little d’var Torah. Come to the table. I have some cake there so that you can make a berachah and I can say ‘Amen!’”

We talk. I inquire about their families, where they reside, etc. I learned this from my revered father, HaRav HaGaon Avraham Halevi Jungreis, zt”l, who was never content with just greeting people but always engaged every person in conversation and gave him a berachah.

As a young rebbetzin with small babies, I spoke daily at the Pineview Hotel in the Catskills during the summer months. I had the great zechus to have my parents with me every Shabbos. I am not exaggerating when I say it would take us over an hour to make our exit from the dining room, as my father would stop at every table and speak with every individual, giving each a blessing. That awesome legacy left an indelible impression on my soul.

I love all my Yiddishe kinderlach. They are proof positive that Am Yisrael continues to live and thrive. These are Yiddishe neshamalach who devote this day not only to celebrations with their families and friends but to going door to door raising funds for Torah institutions.

Of course, one needs to be wary. This year, a Hispanic-looking man wearing a yarmulke came through my door and announced he was collecting money for himself and his family. He explained that they were in dire need of support.

As I mentioned, I always have a tray of cake on the table and invite all those who come in to make a berachah. On my counter I also happened to have some food I was preparing. Without asking, this man went to the counter and helped himself to the food.

“I didn’t hear you make a berachah,” I said. “I always like to say ‘Amen.’”

He ignored me and just went on eating. I became suspicious and doubted he was a Jew.

“Do you know how to say ‘hello’ in Hebrew?” I asked.

“No,” he replied.

“Do you know what we do as we enter and depart from a house?”

This time he answered “yes,” placing his hand on his lips and making some kissing sounds in the direction of the door.

“What is this called?” I asked, pointing to the mezuzah.

“I don’t know,” he said.

“I don’t think you’re a Jew,” I said. You just want to collect money from Jews.”

Before sending the man on his way I told him, “I will give you a few dollars because it is Purim and we are a compassionate people. But please don’t try to take advantage of our goodness in this way again.”

May Hashem grant that next year we will all celebrate in Yerushalayim Ir HaKodesh, where we will eternally celebrate Purim even when Mashiach comes. May we see him soon in our own day.