It was the night of Motzei Shabbos before Rosh Hashana, and my husband and I were invited to a pidyon haben in Lawrence at...
Our daughter and son-in-law looked at each other for a second and then burst out laughing. They knew!
In Eretz Yisrael, it is customary not to remain in a house without a mezuzah for even one day. This placed the rav in a quandary. What were they to do?
Truth be told, my kavanah was often better in the privacy of my home.
The Hatzalah volunteers administered oxygen and got the family to the hospital. B’ezrat Hashem they will all be O.K.”
I endured a personal trial as I struggled to become a mother. In a community where just about every event is geared toward families, I felt the pain of not fitting in.
I never questioned why he insisted that we had to meet Naomi, and immediately acceded to his request. Yet when he had suggested that I write to the Lubavitcher Rebbe to ask for a bracha for children, I feared a negative response and refused.
Off my friend and I went to search for the skirt. After trying the regular racks, we decided to search the clearance rack, which was completely disorganized.
My son-in-law's parents live close by, so that was their first stop. But over a half-hour spent knocking with all their might yielded nothing but aching knuckles.
Rav Lieberman called the simcha hall to cancel their booking, but it wasn’t so simple to find another date at a suitable venue.
The tremendous blessing of Hatzolah became even more clear when the paramedic rescue services showed up at the house forty-five minutes after Hatzolah had already left!
Finding appropriate company for Shabbos was a challenge of its own. No longer a youngster, my mother did not enjoy coming to our homes and she did not appreciate large families with many children coming to hers.
As the news spread, more and more people joined the family in fervent prayer. The gates of heaven received all of the prayers for David, and he eventually came out of the coma.
During this period of time, Shai often drove to Lubavitch Headquarters in London to hear the Rebbe’s sichot. He was hooked.
What disappointment! How he longed for the semi-comfort of being in his childhood surroundings. If he could not have his parents back, at least he could be in familiar territory.
Sophie eagerly anticipated her meanderings through the ancient streets of the Old City of Jerusalem where her ancestors had walked thousands of years ago.
To have arrived at the momentous occasion, therefore, the zchut of participating in this simcha – the tears flowed freely, as my husband benched our dear granddaughter at the kabolat ponim.
Along the way I started to feel literally drugged. It was different than feeling tired because my thinking process felt different. I wasn’t aware of this at first.
It made a profound impression on my husband and he decided he was going to call up some of his relatives and maybe even long lost friends whom he’d barely spoken to in years – not for any particular reason but because they’d just lost touch.
I calculated on my fingers. She was now up to week 27. Yehuda hung up, but he sounded very upset. I wished I could help, but I had no idea what to do. So, I turned to my Tehillim.
I ask for her name and where she is from. She tells me her name is Orit and that she comes from Israel.
Our son understood that Aviv, up until this point in his life, had failed in everything. The army was his last chance to succeed.
Peeling paint and mismatched chairs were not the only signs of deprivation in the Cohen’s Yerushalmi home.
Last night, my late uncle appeared to my sister in a dream and said that the reason our father is ill is because he didn’t sit shiva for my uncle.
Hearing the argument, Reb Chaim jumped out of his seat and ran to the front of the bus. He withdrew some cash from his pocket, gave it to the driver on behalf of the anonymous fellow, and then returned to his seat.