A Hanukkah Menorah

Private Stephen Winneger was on patrol one night during WWII when he saw a figure running through a field. He shouted, "Halt or I'll shoot." The figure ducked behind a tree and started to dig. Stephen again shouted, "Halt or I'll shoot!"  He didn't halt. Stephen caught up with him and tackled him to the ground. To his surprise, he found he had captured a young boy. An ornate Menorah had fallen from the boy's hands in the scuffle and Stephen picked it up. The boy tried desparately to grab it back shouting in Yiddish, "Give it to me! It's mine!" Stephen assured the boy that he was among friends, and that, furthermore, he himself was Jewish.
         The boy had just survived several long, tortuous years of the Holocaust in a concentration camp and was naturally mistrustful of all men in uniforms. He had come back to retrieve the menorah he had hidden there. It was all he had left in the world. He had been forced to watch the shooting of his father, and had no idea what had become of his mother.

        Stephen took the boy, whose name was David, under his wing. As they became closer and closer, Stephen's heart went out to the boy. He offered David the opportunity to come back to New York City with him. He accepted and underwent official adoption procedures.

        Back home, a curator of the Jewish Museum in Manhattan, saw the menorah and told David it was a very valuable, historic, European Menorah and that it should be shared with the entire Jewish Community. He offered David $2,500 for the menorah—a staggering sum of money in the late 1940’s!  But David refused the incredible offer, emphatically stating that the menorah had been in his family for over 200 years and that no amount of money could ever make him sell it. He would not part with a family mitzvah tradition.

        When Hanukkah came, David and Stephen lit the menorah in the window of their home in New York City. An hour later there was a knock on the door. When Stephen went to answer he found a woman with a strong German accent who said that she was walking down the street when she saw the menorah in the window. She said that she had once had one just like it in her family and had never seen any other like it. Could she possibly come inside and take a closer look?

        Winneger invited her in and said that the menorah belonged to his son, David, who could perhaps tell her more about it. He went upstairs and called David down to talk to the woman. And that is how David was reunited with his mother. (©2014. Printed with permission from Rabbi Baruch Lederman, author of Shulweek www.kehillastorah.org.)

A Blessing from India

On November 26, 2008 Rabbi Gabi and Rivky Holzberg were murdered in a terror attack in Mumbai, India. This tragedy was horrific. After the murder of the family, many people shared stories of how Holzbergs lived their lives helping people around them. Yet, there is one very special story that was shared by their brother-in-law Morchechai Kaler that was absolutely life changing.

The Kalers married in March of 2005. Right after the wedding they hoped and prayed to start a family. However, it soon became apparent that their path to parenthood was not going as smooth as they had imagined. After more than a year, they were diagnosed with “unexplained infertility”. To a young couple in their early twenties this diagnosis was absolutely devastating. They traveled from doctor to doctor, yet these visits did not bring the desired result. A few years passed and the pain of being childless became deeper and stronger. They tried fertility treatments but were unsuccessful. They were drained emotionally, physically and financially. Slowly, they were giving up hope to ever become parents.

Throughout this entire process, Gabi and Rivky Holzberg were the couple’s strongest supports. They offered encouragement in every possible way. On the 18^th day of the Jewish month of Elul on September 18, 2008, Kalers called Gabi to inform him that they are giving up on the dream to ever have a child. Gabi would not hear of it and he relentlessly tried to convince the couple to continue with the fertility treatments. He suggested that they contact an organization that could provide financial support. After a long conversation, the Kalers felt that they have what it takes to continue to fight for their dream. Before Gabi ended the call, he blessed the couple to have a child during the coming year.

As Gabi suggested, the Kalers contacted an organization that helped them set up an appointment with a great doctor and they immediately began treatment again. As time went on, the doctor recommended a more invasive approach. The Kalers were hesitant to continue, but yet again, the Holzbergs cheered them on, advising the couple not to give up.

The first of the invasive treatments was scheduled for November 26^th, 2008. As they were driving to the appointment that afternoon, they received a call from a family member. They were told that “something happened in Mumbai and no one can get in touch with Gabi or Rivky”. The couple debated whether to continue to the appointment or immediately turn around and head back, but after much consideration for what Gabi and Rivky would have wanted them to do, they decided to go to the appointment. It was not long after they left the doctor’s office when they heard of the terror attack in Mumbai….

The turmoil and sadness was beyond words. Yet, as a legacy to Gabi and Rivky, they agreed to complete the cycle of new treatments. It took every ounce of their faith and determination to go to these appointments and after the treatment was completed, they received a call of their lifetime. “Congratulations! Your test came back positive! You are expecting!”

It was a dream come true when nine and a half months later, on the 18th day of the Jewish month of Elul in 2009, exactly one year from the day that Gabi Holzberg had blessed them, their precious baby girl has entered this world. 

A Message from a Mother

Miriam Perlstein was one of eight siblings who survived Auschwitz.  It was so unusual for a family of eight—seven sisters and one brother – to emerge intact from the notorious death camp that when they landed on Ellis Island after the War, they became a media sensation.  Repeatedly photographed and interviewed, they were besieged by reporters who wanted to know : How was this possible?  What made you so unique?  Practically everyone else’s family was decimated.  Most of the survivors who limped into “The New World” had lost parents, children, spouses, siblings.  But for an entire family of eight to have survived and found each other!  How could it happen?

                “Miracles,” the siblings answered patiently to everyone who asked.

                And it was true.  Miracles had abounded in all of their lives during their incarceration at Auschwtiz, but Miriam’s, they agreed, was vastly different from those experienced by Esther, Faigy, Sima, Yitu, Monci, Binyamin,  and Leishu.  While their miracles fell under the realm of what could be called the rational, Miriam’s belonged to a different category altogether.

                Several weeks after her arrival at Auschwitz—after having survived several “selections” and having kept death at bay—sixteen-year-old Miriam was suddenly pulled out of the row of prisoners lining up for “roll call” one morning, and transported to a separate section of the camp  where a different procession was in place.  Perhaps something about Miriam’s demeanor that day had displeased the Nazi soldier whose gaze had settled upon her, or perhaps there was simply a quota to fill.  For whatever random reason that no one could ever explain (and was there an explanation, after all, for the Nazis’ haphazard and merciless decrees?) Miriam had been directed to join the column of prisoners marching slowly towards the crematorium that would turn them into ash.

                At first, Miriam thought that she might have been sent on a new work detail.  But the women in front of her and the women behind disabused her of that notion.   “Isn’t there anything we can do?” she begged them.  “Look around you,” they whispered.  “Nazi soldiers with guns everywhere. How can we possibly escape?”

                Miriam looked at where the women pointed.  Unlike them, however, she didn’t see the menacing guards with their drawn guns, nor the German shepherds who helped herd the pitiful tatters to their inevitable fate.  What she saw instead…several yards from where she stood…was the thoroughly unexpected but utterly beloved visage of her mother, Chinka Chaya Baba, who had been transported with her daughters to Auschwitz and then transferred to a different barracks somewhere else.  All these weeks, the daughters hadn’t had any contact with their mother, and couldn’t find her.   What was she doing here of all places, Miriam wondered, right near the crematorium, and why were the soldiers oblivious to her presence?  It was an incongruous emotion to be sure, but even as she trudged towards certain death, Miriam’s heart exploded with joy to see her mother again.   But why was her head not shaved like everybody else?

                As Miriam studied her mother in shock and bewilderment, her mother raised a scrawny arm, motioning that she should join her. Miriam glanced meaningfully at the guards nearby.  I can’t, she signaled with her eyes.  Her mother nodded her head encouragingly and beckoned her again.  How could her mother think that she could escape?   Miriam waved her hand at the soldiers who flanked her.  It’s impossible, her movements said.  But suddenly, there was a commotion in the back of the procession, and several guards dropped behind to investigate.  NOW! her mother gesticulated wildly.  It made no sense, it was doomed to fail, but Miriam obeyed her mother’s command.  She broke from the line and ran for her life, back to her barracks, back to where her sisters tensely waited and plied her with kisses and extra crusts of day-old bread.

                “What happened to you?” they demanded.  “Where did they take you?  Where did you go?”

                She told them everything: how her mother had astonishingly appeared at the precise place where she and the others had been rounded up, how the Nazis had been  oddly unaware of her mother’s presence, how she had  insistently pantomimed  that Miriam should run.  “And I was so overjoyed to see Mamma again!” she babbled almost incoherently, still dazed by her experience.  “She looked exactly as she always looked, they didn’t even shave her head!”

                The other sisters looked at one another wordlessly.  They too were shaken by Miriam’s recital: Her near-brush with death made them shudder in fear, but it was their mother’s intercession that made them tremble in awe. 

                “Miriam,” one of them said gently, tenderly caressing her cheek to soften the blow.“We didn’t want to tell you before, because you’re the most sensitive among us.  But we received reliable reports from several different prisoners working at the crematorium.  Mamma was killed the first day she arrived, weeks ago.”

                “But I saw her clearly,” Miriam wept.  “If she hadn’t signaled me to escape, I never would have tried.”

     As recounted by Hindy Rozenberg, Miriam’s daughter to Yitta Halberstam

 

The story is excerpted from "Small Miracles From Beyond:  Dreams, Visions and Signs that Link Us to the Other Side" and you can include the amazon.com  link if you wish, which currently offers 40% off the price.

The Power of Words

The whole of Jerusalem was in an uproar! A leader of Chasidic movement and his wife had just given birth to their first child - a boy - after being childless for twenty-eight years! Well over a thousand people came by to congratulate the proud parents. It was then that the father indicated that he would like to say a few words.

He began in a loud voice, "When I was still an unmarried student learning in the Rabbinical School, there was a cleaning lady who would come by every day to tidy up and scrub the study hall and adjoining rooms. She was a fixture in school and devoted her life to upkeeping the  building. She was, however, not a wealthy person by any stretch and as her own family grew she was at a loss of options as far as taking care of her children. She decided to bring her kids with her to work, and as she cleaned and mopped in one area of the building, the young children would run amuck, screaming, crying and generally causing quite a commotion, in the rest of the yeshiva. At first, we put up with it; we even thought it was cute for a time. But after a while, the kids really began to disrupt us in our learning. Try as we might to control them, they wouldn't listen and continued on in their childish games and noise. A number of younger students asked me, as one of the oldest in the group to ask her not to bring her children anymore to school.

"I agreed to talk to her and I brazenly walked up to her and told her that her kids were disturbing everyone in yeshiva and she should find some sort of alternative method of child-care for them. I'll never forget how she looked at me with tired eyes and said, 'Young man , you should never have the pain and anguish that one goes through when raising children.

The crowd gasped.

"As many of you know," continued the father, "my wife and I have been to countless doctors who've recommended every sort of treatment. We moved abroad for awhile to be near an 'expert' which proved to be fruitless. One last, extreme treatment was offered and after trying that, it too, turned out to be just a fantasy; we felt doomed to a life without the pleasure of raising a family.

"After that last attempt, as we walked back into the apartment that we lived in for the past twenty-eight years, our entire sad situation hit us full force, like a ton of bricks. Together, we broke down crying, trying to figure out why G-d was testing us this way.

"All of a sudden, I remembered the episode with the cleaning lady and the "blessing" she had given me. It occurred to me to try and reach her and ask for forgiveness. But after all these years, who knows where she would be?

"I spent hours on the phone until I came up with an address, which I ran over to immediately. She did not recognize me obviously, but when I told her over the story, a spark flickered in her eyes. I tearfully apologized for my harsh words and she graciously forgave me with her whole heart."
Beaming from ear to ear, the father announced, “That took place exactly nine months ago!" 

(©2014. Printed with permission from Rabbi Baruch Lederman, author of Shulweek www.kehillastorah.org.)

---

Lost Wallet

This incidence happened to me personally and I am glad it did, because it would be hard to believe that such story can really happen.

My girlfriends and I planned to go to New York City for a day of cultural fun. We live in Philadelphia and decided to take a train from Trenton to New York. It made sense to drive to Trenton together in three cars, instead of each one of us driving separately. We arrived in the morning at Trenton Train Station and parked at the garage. We then took the train to NY and went with our daily plan of visiting museums and spending time together.  All of the tickets were pre-bought and I never once needed to get my wallet. On the way back home, after exiting the train I realized that my wallet was missing. I was pretty certain that I dropped it on the train. As I was running back to the train, I was going over all the things that I just lost; credit cards, driver’s license, car insurance, ids, money… The wallet was not under my seat. I was devastated. My friends tried to calm me down but I just wanted to be alone. I dragged behind them , overwhelmed  by the enormous amount of work of restoring lost documents.  As I followed behind, I did not realize that we were walking around the garage in circles, looking for our car.

Suddenly, while going up the steps for the third time I heard someone call my name. I looked up from my misery and saw an older couple. The lady was holding up my driver’s license, looking intensely at the picture while comparing my face to the one on the picture. I was speechless. She held my wallet in the other hand and asked if I was indeed the rightful owner of the lost article. I was so shocked that I could barely speak.  Apparently, I lost my wallet in the morning when I was getting out of the car. It fell under the couple’s car and they arrived on the train that came a few minutes after our train. When they pulled out of the parking space, they saw a wallet under their car. Being the honest people that they were, they decided to walk around the parking lot looking for the owner. What were the chances of finding me after 12 hour day at the parking garage? The only reason we ‘bumped’ into each other was because we couldn’t find the car. If we remembered the parking space, we would have left 15 minutes before.

All of us were in complete shock. The couple insisted that it was G-d providence that we mat on the garage staircase. It was hard to deny that fact. I offered money but they refused. I promised to make a donation on their behalf and they agreed to a great cause of 'Cancer Research'.

Time went by but the lesson stayed with me. When we feel aggravated by being stuck in traffic, looking for a lost item, waiting for someone, being delayed or redirected by Divine Providence, remember that you are exactly where you are meant to be! This too is for the best. Relax and enjoy the Journey!

Lesson from the World Famous Performer

Though born in the Jewish state, Omri's childhood was devoid of any Judaism. Omri Vartash grew up in Kibbutz Ruchama - an affiliate of the communist Shomer HaTzair Movement.

A product of secular Israel, it didn't occur to anyone, apparently, to mark his bar mitzvah - not even with a symbolic celebration. He'd never set foot in a synagogue, or wanted to. "I knew that religious people didn't eat bread on Passover, but that was the extent of my information on that holiday."

His parents enrolled him in the School of the Arts in Mitzpeh Rimon, to develop his artistic talents. When, in time, Omri received a tempting invitation: to travel to Italy, the home of theater, to study acting, he jumped at it. The Theater Lab was headed by the world-renowned Jerzy Grotowski, who even after his death is held in such high esteem that some theater fans stand up respectfully at the very mention of his name.

"My parents were elated to hear that I would be studying with the great Grotowski," Omri recalled. "They stood tall, bursting with pride, and told anyone who was willing to listen!"

Occasionally, Grotowski would invite one of his students for a private meeting. His students hailed from all over the world. "Every one of us hoped for a chance for such intimacy with our mentor, a relaxed conversation in his home or in some secluded place. We learned so much from him then; it was a mini-lesson on the 'tricks of the trade' of theater life, a truly eye-opening talk.”

And then one day, it was Omri's turn. He was beside himself with excitement. What would Grotowski say to him? What questions should he ask "the master"?

Grotowski invited Omri to dinner in an Italian restaurant. There, in the midst of devouring an enormous plate of spaghetti, he asked the young Israeli a very pointed question: "What do you know about the Baal Shem Tov?" He even pronounced the Baal Shem Tov's name correctly

"Baal what?" Omri asked, thoroughly confused and at a loss. "What Shem?" The words sounded like Hebrew, but what was Grotowski talking about?

Now it was the great director's turn to be shocked. "You are a Jew, are you not?! Do you mean to tell me that you've never heard of the Baal Shem Tov?! Who educated you?! Where did you grow up?! Why, he was one of the greatest men of your nation!"

Grotowski, the Polish gentile, looked long and hard at his student. Then, patiently, he proceeded to tell him about the Chassidic movement, which began in the Ukraine and spread across Grotowski's native Poland. But mostly, he described the holy Baal Shem Tov, and the miracles he performed.

Omri Vartash, kibbutz-born secular Israeli, sat in an Italian restaurant in the heart of Rome, and listened breathlessly. He'd never heard anything remotely like it.

"It was the most meaningful discussion of my life. I started to think: 'How could this knowledge have been hidden from me for all these years? I'm completely disconnected from the history of my own people! How is it that a Polish gentile knows more than I do?"

Omri never imagined what would happen next. The next morning, Grotowski phoned to set up another meeting with his Jewish student. And he gave him a book, an English translation of Shivchei HaBesht (Praises of the Baal Shem Tov). "Read this! It will greatly enrich you," his "teacher” told him. Omri took the book, and so began his journey into Judaism. He read the book from start to finish, and the more he read, the more he wanted to know. Meanwhile, Grotowski was keeping tabs on his student, to see what he would do with his newfound knowledge.

"I'm simply astonished!" Omri told him. "But what should I do next?"

"Continue your search!" Grotowski told Omri. "You came here on a spiritual quest but all the spirituality you could ever need is right there before you, in your own ancient religion! I know that there are special books that explain the laws and customs to Jews who are searching for the truth."

Omri didn't sit idle; he went looking for more. And he began committing himself to observing certain practices. "I started by maintaining a separation between milk and meat, despite the fact that I didn't yet eat kosher food. And, with Grotowski's encouragement, I began going to synagogue for the first time in my life. I tried to take part in the prayers.”

"The deeper I went in my research of Judaism, the deeper my relationship became with Grotowski. My non-Jewish friends noticed that the two of us had developed a special kinship. He would question me in great detail about my visits to the synagogue, and about my experiences during prayer.”

"You have no further need to remain here," he told Omri, one day. "You must return home, and continue there to search for your roots."

And Omri, forever loyal and obedient to his master's words, packed up his bags and returned to Israel.

When he got home, he told his baffled parents just what he had learned from the famous director Grotowski: that he needed to become religious.

"My parents were speechless. Totally. They'd sent me to him so that I'd return as an accomplished actor. Instead, I was now going to become a religious Jew!"

In Jerusalem, he continued along the path to Judaism. Omri accepted upon himself, completely and absolutely, the yoke of religious observance, and totally became a part of the Torah world.

On the advice of a Torah sage, Omri decided that he needed to make use of his acting skills and of everything he had learned in Italy, in order to increase awareness of Torah. He and an actor friend, who was also returning to his roots, began to write skits that would teach children about their heritage.

"What we try to do is to use our acting skills to serve the greater public. We are tools to assist people in rediscovering their beliefs,” explains Omri.

The duo began their work with no equipment, no scenery, and no props. They traveled, as they were, from school to school, and performed for children. Today, three years later, there's no sector of society before whom the duo haven't performed - Yeshiva schools, Chassidic cheders, even some secular high schools. A highlight of their career was being awarded a National Prize, in recognition of a play they wrote, and performed all over the country, about guarding one's speech.

There is one performance that to Omri will never forget. The school principal warned that none of his students could sit still for more than five minutes. Throughout the play, the children sat unmoving, their eyes glued to the stage. Afterwards, one of the students, complete with a dyed blond, moussed, "mushroom-style'' hairdo, approached. There were tears in his eyes. He had a tough appearance, but his heart was soft. "You spoke about prayer," he explained. "Never in my life did I cry as much as I cried just now."

Says Omri: "Keep in mind that we're talking about a teenager whose entire life is entwined in the Western culture, with all its ugliness. Yet the Torah message succeeded in penetrating his soul, and awakening his faith. That is what is most moving for us." (The foregoing was researched by Aharon Granot.) (©2014. Printed with permission from Rabbi Baruch Lederman, author of Shulweek www.kehillastorah.org.)

'The Israeli flag is our Iron Dome'

Convenience store owner, whose store suffered damage from a nearby mortar hit, was amazed to find the only thing that remained undamage was the Israeli flag.

Ilana Curiel

Published: 08.11.14, 12:16 / Israel News

When Silviya Orshchovsky arrived at her convenience store in kibbutz Ein HaShlosha on the Gaza border on Monday morning, she was shocked to discover the great damage caused to the structure from a mortar rocket that landed nearby.

It what was even more shocking was that while the entire front wall of the structure was peppered with shrapnel holes, the Israeli flag hung over the front door remained completely undamaged.

"The flag stayed hanging," one of the residents of the kibbutz said.

 "The bomb fell on the road in front of the store. It hit the walls; it's all holes in the door and everywhere else, just not on the flag. It remained untouched," Orshchovsky said.

The store, located in a kibbutz in the Eshkol Regional Council that is right on the Gaza border, remained closed on Monday morning. "We have no communications or water, so we didn't open," Orshchovsky said.

'The flag is our Iron Dome' (Photo: Silviya Orshchovsky)

Orshchovsky spoke of the complicated situation in which the kibbutz residents found themselves - living in-between ceasefires.

"The situation here is unpleasant. It's very scary that we don't know where we stand. It's sad to see the kibbutz empty like this, without children," she said.

"I left only for a week, and came back because I wanted to be with my husband Sergio. It was harder for me to be far away up north than to be in the kibbutz," she added.

Our flag was still there (Photo: George Ginsburg)

Orshchovsky went on to say the residents of Ein HaShlosha weren't feeling safe.

"We have no security here, we're not safe. We don't know what could happen today or the day after tomorrow. The ceasefire is neither here nor there. Our children don't go outside because they can't. They returned to the kibbutz but remain inside the house. What kind of a routine is that for them? We want to live like in Tel Aviv, like in the north. I hope they don't start shooting again."
 

Visiting the Sick

Visiting the sick is one of the greatest commandments in the Torah. Rabbi Abba son of Rabbi Hanina said that “He who visits the sick takes away one sixtieth of his pain”. 

I would like to share with you a real life miracle story. My aunt passed away at a young age of 54. She battled cancer and excruciating pain over the last 7 years. Things were at its worse 6 years ago, when she was put into an induced coma and all of her organs except for her heart and brain had failed. The doctors had told us that she had about a 0.5-1% chance of surviving. We all prayed and many people had visited her in ICU as she had laid there looking worse and worse. However, seconds turned to minutes, minutes turned to hours, hours turned to days and in one month she actually woke up from the coma and all of her organs had restarted! There was not one doctor in the hospital who could explain how she survived. Medics would come visit her and just stare at her chart, trying to scientifically explain her recovery, but could not. She was now breathing on her own. Interestingly, when she woke up, she immediately started singing songs in Yiddish. Due to the extreme pain in her legs, she could not walk. This is common after a month long coma. Doctors then came and said she would not be able to walk as the nerves in the bottom of her feet are dead and show no signal. 

What do you think happened? Within half a year with no signal in the nerves under her feet, she was not just walking but driving herself to the supermarket. In June 2009, she celebrated her 50^th birthday where she walked around the restaurant and took shots (she drank water) with all her friends and family and even did some dancing.

Regardless of her miraculous recovery, people continued to visit and support her every day throughout the next 6 years. Those visits is what gave her the strength to survive to her last day. I had the merit to dance her last dance with her 8 days before she passed. My grandmother had not left her sight from the first day of her hospitalization and was the key in keeping her alive all these years. What makes this story even more miraculous? A few weeks later after she recovered and left ICU, another woman was brought into her old room with the same exact condition and the same slim chance of recovery. She also had a mother that never left her sight and she also recovered!!!!! The doctors would call her Polina 2!

I would like to take this idea to the next level and ask how can we apply this in our lives. Many of our fellow friends and family members go through stress every day. We all know someone who is sick, out of work, have a broken heart, feel lonely, betrayed, lost money or just simply had a bad day. We all have the ability to help each other heal. Simply visiting or calling a friend or extending our friendship to a stranger can do tremendous things. Kindness is what life is all about. As Hillel said,“Love your fellow as yourself” and the rest are just commentaries. 

Letter to the Three Mothers

by Slovie Jungreis-Wolff
You taught us how to live with the light of faith that defies even the darkest nightmare.

Dear Bat-Galim, Iris and Racheli,

What is there left for me to say? There are no words to describe the grief and pain we have all been feeling for your beautiful boys.

Racheli, I read your final good bye to Naftali and hot tears spilled down my cheek. “Rest in peace my child. We will learn to sing without you.”

Iris, your husband spoke for you to Eyal as the nation listened: “Your siblings want you near them…but Ima said that you are right now at God’s side. She asked that you whisper to God; ask Him to give her strength, to give us all strength.”

We all feel the same. There is a huge hole inside our hearts. We ask for strength.

I would like to thank you, dear mothers, on behalf of all the Jewish people, especially us mothers who know what it is to feel a child’s heart beat within. We mourn the loss of your precious sons. From the very first moment of this tragedy you carried Am Yisrael on your shoulders even as you bore your own anguish. You walked and talked with dignity as the eyes of the entire world were on you. We never heard you utter a word of complaint, a grumble, an angry scream of ‘why me’. Instead you taught us how to live with the light of faith so blinding it defies even the darkest nightmare.

You inspired all of us to do better and be better for your sons. We made promises to be kinder and watch our words. We vowed to kindle our Shabbos candles earlier; some for the very first time. We cried as we circled the flames and covered our eyes thinking of you. Little children went to sleep with a prayer on their lips, “Oh God, please bring our boys home.” Who could not be touched by the battalion of combat soldiers who have undertaken the commandment of wearing tefillin daily for the merit of the souls of Eyal, Naftali and Gilad?

Jews of all types, usually divided, stood together as never before. Young and old, religious and secular, Ashkenazi and Sephardi, all united. For once there were no walls. For 18 days we loved unconditionally. In unity we discovered how easy it is to break down barriers between brothers and sisters. You showed us the way. You did not choose this grueling test but you did pave the road on which we now walk, humbled, right behind you. It is a road paved with oceans of tears. I dare say it is holy.

Taken by the Nazis

When I was a little girl I would hear stories of brave Jewish mothers who suffered the loss of their children. Mothers like Channah whose seven sons refused to bow down to idols. Their only ‘crime’ was that they were born Jews. Not one son agreed to renounce his faith. Channah was forced to confront an unbearable pain. And yet she remained steadfast in her loyalty to God. I remember trying to picture the scene in my young mind but it seemed like an ancient tale from long ago.

“How can I sleep in my bed when Yosef Dov is not here? Is he cold? Is he hungry? Is he frightened?”

When I became older my father once shared with us the story of his own mother. One night there was a knock on the door. My father’s older brother, Yosef Dov , was brutally taken away as the Nazis began to come to power in Hungary. That evening my grandmother sat on her couch weeping. Hours passed. My father urged his mother to try and lay down in her bed. “How can I sleep in my bed when Yosef Dov is not here? Who knows where he is? What has happened? Is he cold? Is he hungry? Is he frightened?”

That was the very last time my grandmother laid eyes on her son. My grandmother never again slept in her bed. She mourned her child until the day that she, too, was taken away and both died Al Kiddush Hashem, sanctifying the name of God.

I think of my grandmother’s sleepless nights, her many tears, her longing for her son and I think of you. You now join a long line of courageous women who brought precious life into this world only to be asked to return that life to the heavens above in sanctity. I think of your pain. I contemplate your suffering. I know that you are the Channah’s of today. You have given the greatest sacrifice. You have touched us all.

Is there any comfort we can offer you?

Never Alone

Please know, holy women, that we will never forget your sons. Their sweet faces are etched into our memories. When I close my eyes, I see their photos side by side. Young, shining stars, whose lights were snuffed out too soon. Their smiles do not leave me. I know that I am not alone when I say that we have all been transformed. We have tried to take this time of suffering and use it to rededicate ourselves. Many of us are trying to be better human beings and better Jews. Though time will pass, we will not leave the memories of your sons behind. We dare not.

You do not stand on this earth alone. Passover night we sing ‘Who Knows One?” The song continues as we ask “Who knows four? Four are the mothers,” we reply. Dear three mothers of Israel, remember always that there is one more mother who stands beside you. She has stood through exile, pogroms, inquisition, and Holocaust. She is Mother Rachel who to this day weeps for her children. Together you make four.

As the Jews were taken into the Babylonian exile and our Temple was in flames, it was the prayers of Mother Rachel that finally gave us hope and consolation. God responded to her tears.

“Thus said Hashem: A voice is heard on high, wailing, bitter weeping. Rachel weeps for her children; she refuses to be consoled for her children are gone. Thus said Hashem: Cease your weeping, wipe your tears, for there is reward for your accomplishment. Your children will come home. (Jeremiah 31, 14)

Bat-Galim, Iris and Racheli we say to you that your tears are not in vain. Mother Rachel joins you and weeps for your sons. We all do.

I pray that God answers our prayers quickly. It is time for our children to come home.

“May God wipe away your tears.”

Slovie Jungreis Wolff

 

Getting to the Meeting on Time

In the early afternoon hours I was calmly walking to the station for the intercity bus. I noticed a man running with all his might to catch a bus that was standing in the station. When he reached the bus, the doors were closed and the bus had started rolling into the street. All his attempts to get the bus driver to open the doors were for naught. His pounding and shouting did not help, the driver simply decided to block him out and continue on his way. When I reached the bus stop I found him angry and frustrated beyond words and he was burning up as if he was literally on fire. His friend – an older man who arrived at the bus stop within a few minutes found him cursing and swearing; cursing the bus driver and the bus company and everyone else he could think of. 

After the older gentleman heard what had happened, he said "I heard that you are angrily cursing because you were late for the bus and because you will be late for an important meeting. Tell me the truth – in the fifty times that you arrived and boarded the bus on time did you ever raise your head to Heaven and say ‘Thank You’?”

A sweet silence filled the air when the question reached his ears with the sharp rebuke. After a few minutes, he calmed down and he said “You are right! But I am angry not only because I will be late to the meeting but because the driver could have opened the doors but he chose not to.” 

To this the older gentleman replied “Everything is supervised from Above and you have to give thanks for the bad just as you would for the good!”

The man, who had cooled off from his anger agreed with these words of wisdom. Just then a car stopped in the station and asked for directions exactly to the place the man had to go to. The driver gladly took him along.

The whole time I stood on the side pretending to be reading a book. I got on the arriving bus with and as we were traveling, I noticed the earlier bus standing on the side of the road because something had happened to it. Some of the passengers were getting on the bus in which I was sitting. 

It became clear how everything is for the best for had then man gotten on the previous bus he surely would have been late for his meeting. Since he did not get on the bus but took the ride in the car he was able to get to his meeting on time!

Paid in Full

One of the best doctors in America, a wealthy, respected Jew who cared for his people was coming close to retirement. His friends and acquaintances arranged a magnificent, special ‘retirement party’ for him as was befitting his stature.

The important doctor – the guest of honor – was very emotional, and in his farewell speech told an amazing story that happened to him when he was made head of the department in one of the large hospitals in the United States.

* * *

‘Really’ – the doctor started his story – ‘everything began many years ago when I was a young boy. This was the start of Jewish immigration to America after the liberation of the camps. My father was not a religious man, who barely survived the terrible death camps and without the potent medications that we have today and without the doctors that we have today he died young and I was a very young boy. He left behind a widow and orphans without having anything. There were no rabbinical committees or charity funds at that time and there was also no one to worry about us or our needs and we were left simply hungry for bread.

‘One morning before I left for school, my mother had nothing to give me for breakfast, my stomach was growling from hunger and there was nothing in the house at all!

‘“Go to school now” - my mother said – “perhaps when you return I will find something.” I cried a lot because I was embarrassed to go to school without anything “and what would I do when all the children in the class would take out their treats and bread and only I would sit there with closed eyes and nothing in my hand?” I argued, and I would not go to school without anything.

‘In the end my mother found a ‘sugar packet’ hidden in one of the corners, she placed it in my hand so that I would have ‘something’ with me and not leave the house without something to eat.

‘At recess I suffered heartache seeing the children satisfy their appetites, I could not take the hunger pains any longer so I decided to go for a walk and see if I could find some food to quiet my hunger.

‘I left the class to go into the big city, a small child alone, and I started to knock on the doors of the holy Jews who are always giving. For a long time I went from door to door but to my disappointment no one opened up for me, it seemed that at that time no one was home as it was typical for Americans to be at work.

‘It happened as I was nearing a house I heard voices and noise, apparently they had not yet left the house… I hesitantly approached and lightly knocked on the door and it was opened by a young girl who asked me: “Who are you? What do you want?” I was very embarrassed but I gathered the courage and stated: “I am studying at a nearby school, I am a ten-year-old orphan and since my mother is a widow she is unable to provide for me, I come seeking a little water”…

‘”By us” – responded the girl with a wise smile – “we do not drink water in the morning!”

‘”Then what?”

‘”In our house, the beverage we drink in the morning is ‘iced coffee’! Along with some cookies!”

‘”That would be fine” – I happily responded.

‘She must have seen my condition and sensed my great hunger, and with a broad heart brought me a tasty drink and some delicious cookies which literally revived me at that time.

‘As I was drinking the coffee, she told me that usually no one is home at time of day either… and aside from the fact that she never opens the door to strangers as she was trained in her house, but today she did not feel well and she was a little late and she opened the door thinking that it was her father. “See how everything was destined for you from Heaven so that you could find something to quiet your hunger!” – the bright young girl rightly noted.

‘”What is your name?” – I asked in my embarrassment.

‘“Chana Rachel Rose” – she answered.

‘I thanked her from the bottom of my heart and I told her that she literally saved my life and I continued to thank her very much. I immediately returned to my seat in the classroom.

* * *

More than fifty years after that the story, the boy had grown up to be a specialist, head of a department in a very large hospital in the United States. From his nicely appointed office he would lead the department with a strong hand. Under him were tens of doctors and hundreds of nurses.

The protocol in that hospital was that the venerable head of the department did not go himself to the patient rooms on a daily basis. This was done by the residents and interns on daily rounds who would record in the patients’ charts their diagnoses and the various treatments prescribed for the patients’ specific needs. Afterwards the charts would go to the head of the department for review and to confirm the treatments.

One day as the specialist was reviewing the patient charts and their details he stumbled upon the name of an older woman “Chana Rachel” and next to her married name was entered her maiden name: “Rose”. The name Chana Rachel Rose” rang a bell in his head and he should have recognized it. He tried to remember where he knew the name and after some hard thinking he remembered the story that happened more than fifty years ago!

He immediately got up from his place, left his office and went to the patients ward. Everyone moved out of his out of respect for him and they wondered why the chief doctor himself was coming to the patient rooms.

The doctor went directly to the room number listed in the chart, entered the room and asked, “Who is Chana Rachel Rose?” – When she was pointed out to him he did a thorough examination and ordered the nurses to give her exceptional care and that he was overseeing her case and was in charge of her recovery.

The members of the department were all confounded, why was this woman so important and why did the head of the department take on the care of this woman?

The doctor kept his word and came every day to track her recovery and after following the special treatment and dedicated management and with great effort she began to overcome her severe illness. Her medical condition stabilized and she began to recover and get stronger until with the help of Heaven she was able to stand on her feet and she made a complete recovery from her illness.

* * *

The day came when she was to be discharged from the hospital and she approached the nurses’ station in order to receive her ‘discharge papers’ which is customary. The head nurse told her that since she received special treatment from the head of the department she would have to pay for the special treatment in addition to the cost of the expensive medication that was prescribed for her.

When she tried to clarify the exact amount owed, the nurse told her that the doctor determines the exact amount, but because of the extensive treatment it would be in the tens of thousands of dollars! Because she was treated by the head of the department himself, his services cost a large fortune!

“But I did not ask for his services at all!” – Chana Rachel exclaimed – “For some reason he decided to come to my bed and offer to treat me, of course, I am very grateful and I appreciate his kindness but I did not think that I would have to pay so much! How can you treat a patient with such expensive treatments without letting them know in advance?” – wondered the patient who did not know how she would come up with large amount of money.

“Wait here a moment” – said the nurse – “I will go to the doctor’s office and I will clarify the matter. This does sound strange, as the doctor offered his services on his own without being asked.”

After several minutes the nurse came out with the ‘statement’ issued by the doctor’s personal secretary. The total on the statement was $53,000. However, at the bottom of the statement was a handwritten note from the doctor: “Paid in full more than fifty years ago!”

Now Chana Rachel was totally confused. She did not know what was happening. “What is going on here? How did I get such a large bill? What is the meaning of “paid in full”? How was it paid? By whom?” She did not understand anything at all. She begged the nurses to see if it was possible to arrange a meeting immediately with the doctor in order to understand what is happening here.

The sympathetic nurse who was also curious to solve the mystery arranged a meeting with the head of the department in his office.

Immediately, when she entered the doctor turned to her and asked, “Are you Chana Rachel Rose?”

She wondered why the doctor called her that - now and the first time he entered her room – by her maiden name, but she thought that was the only name he remembered.

“Yes!” she answered concealing her suspicion.

 ‘Tell me, do you perhaps remember a boy of ten-years-old that came to your house and you gave him ‘iced coffee’ and cookies?’

‘No! Really, no!’ – answered Chana Rachel as her astonishment grew stronger and she did not understand anything that was happening with her today.

‘Please sit down” the doctor requested politely.

She was very nervous, but the doctor calmed her and told her that she had nothing to worry about and the bill had already been paid in full. He started to remind her of the story until she remembered the entire incident that she did indeed open the door for a boy who wanted something to drink.

“I am that orphaned little boy!” the doctor stated, “the cup of coffee and the biscuits that you gave me more than fifty years ago saved my life! They were surely payment in full for the entire bill!!!”

The elderly Chana Rachel was overcome with joy and emotions.....

* * *
The wisest of all men has already testified to us: “Send your bread upon the waters, for after many days you will find it.” (Koheles 11:1)

Heart Attach

Everything changed for me on December 22, 2013. 

We were in the middle of a power outage due to a severe ice storm in Toronto. I had not slept because the house was very cold. In the early morning I went out to the front door to see my husband attempting to get a layer of ice off the windshield of his car. It was strange to see him try to pull out the driveway since there was a tree atop both of our cars. 

The neighborhood looked like a beautiful but eerie place in the dark. Seeing everything covered in ice made the world look like a giant ice sculpture.

After my husband managed to leave, I realized that I would need my car
the next day to go to work. So I decided not to wait for my husband. I
found a saw and started to cut the tree into pieces. My neighbor came out with a large pair of pruning shears. So I began cutting and sawing away.

Soon after, I started feeling pressure in the center of my chest. I
tried to ignore it, thinking it was probably from the cold or
exertion. After another 30 minutes I decided to go inside and lie down

I am a registered nurse so I was looking at this from a position of a
healer, not a patient. Medics are known for their tendency to dish out
advice to others but not use it on themselves. Doctors and nurses are
notoriously "bad" patients.

After a few hours, I started feeling shortness of breath, light
headiness and tightness in both sides of my throat. My family was very
concerned. After a while, I finally relented and we called the EMT
service. As they arrived I started feeling a sharper pain on the left
side of my chest.

The first blood work in the emergency room, after being transported
via ambulance, came back normal. I felt bad that I had made a big deal
out of nothing. Yet, my second blood enzymes came back slightly
elevated small MI (myocardial infarct or heart attack.) The third
enzymes came back with a definite diagnosis of HEART ATTACK!

My head was spinning. This did not seem right, I'm not ready for
this...I'm not old enough ...this can't be.. I have things to do...
work to go to ... I do not have time to stay here!!!

Yet, hospital is exactly where I stayed for almost a week. My family
was not used to me being away from home and wanted to stay close to me
in the hospital instead of being home without me. Seeing the sad,
tired, weary, concerned look on my husband's face all week made it
clear that he was not ready for this either.

It was then that I realized that this had to be a new beginning....
not the beginning of the end...but the REAL beginning.

I decided to change the course of my thinking from a potential feeling
of depression to a new opportunity of a fresh start. Since I was not
allowed to do many of my routine activities, I had lots of time to
think and 'listen' to myself. I also had time to spend with friends
and family who came to see me. We sat down, without being rushed and
had long heart to heart conversations. Of course, my old self would
be running around doing things in the kitchen and then lament about
missing the most important conversations.

People that came to talk to me were affected as well. It made everyone
stop and think about not taking their lives for granted.

This heart attack MADE me stop, reflect and listen to my own thoughts.
I started feeling positive, thankful, philosophical and spiritual. It
was empowering to realize that we are not always in control of
situations but are only responsible for our response to them.

I decided to write some of the lessons down. I hope you will find them
useful to trigger your own thoughts about more meaningful life. Some
of the ideas are very specific to me. While I write from the
perspective of a religious Jewish woman, I think these ideas can be
applied to anyone with their own ideas of spirituality. 

The title of these ideas is "A Wake Up Call"

· I don't have to do everything.

· Its okay just being myself.

· I am valuable just as I am.

· I don't have to be perfect.

· My to do list does not define me.

· My worth is not measured by how much I accomplish in a day.

· I need to learn to understand myself in order to take care of myself.

· I must take the time to stop and listen to my own thoughts.

· I need to find joy and satisfaction in everything I do.

· I need to live in the present not ruminate about the past and not worry about the future.

· I need to know that GOD has my back and if I stop fighting HIS guidance I will find the right solution.

· Sabbath is for reminder that BEING is just as good or better than DOING.

· I need to slow down, stop and listen to what people around me have to say.

· I need to hear what people around me truly want and not assume that I know what's best.

· I can open doors but can't force anyone to enter.

· I can sometimes help others more by just letting them figure it out themselves.

· If I help others too much I will render them helpless since doing less for them sometimes helps them more.

· Remember the story of the butterfly, if you help it break out of its cocoon, its wings will not get strong from the struggle and it will not be able to fly.

· I need to make choices based on more accurate information, by learning more about myself - not by being guided by guilt or unrealistic expectations that I have of myself or perceive others have about me.

· I need to take care of my health, exercise on a regular basis; 3 times per week for 30 minutes consistently.

· I need to monitor my stress levels and realize that being stressed will not change anything except increase anxieties and blood pressure.

· Learn to recognize what I can and cannot control.

· I need to forgive myself and let it go of pain.

· Live in the moment without regretting the past or thinking about what has not happened yet.

· The past, present and future are a progression of life. We can only stand on the stepping stone of the present.

At my next appointment my doctor noticed that I was having an unusual reaction to having a heart attack. He was surprised that unlike most people who feel depressed after such a health failure, I was experiencing very positive emotions.

Of course, to keep the positive changes in our lives is a constant
life-long project but NOW is the time to start.

 

 

 

Full story coming soon on hearttoheartwithsharon.com blog For comments email sharon@hearttoheartwithsharon.com

 

 

 

 

A Chilling And Awe-Inspiring Malaysia Air Flight 370 Story

The whole world’s eyes are on the far east, wondering how a Boeing 777 can just disappear without a trace.  Malaysia Air Flight 370 took off from Kuala Lumpur at 12:43am this past Saturday morning and has yet to be located.  Flying is the safest mode of transportation that exists today, so the disappearance of an airplane like this is really sobering.

 

I heard the following story firsthand from the travel agent involved.  He is an avid DansDeals follower that I’m friends with.  He sent me the unedited exchange that follows and I made the necessary edits to protect the privacy of the parties involved.

The saying goes, “More than the Jews have kept the Shabbos (Sabbath), the Shabbos has kept the Jews.”  When I think of that saying, I picture my life if I were constantly wired 7 days a week.  As it is, I feel like a slave to my digital devices, but the knowledge that Shabbos is right around the corner keeps me going. From sundown Friday evening until when the stars come out on Saturday night it’s 25 hours spent completely offline and it’s blissful.  It’s 25 hours spent praying to G-d and consuming obscene amounts of calories eating scrumptious meals with family and friends.  It’s perfect.  Sure anyone can always disconnect, but there’s something awesome about the forced routine that can’t be properly explained to one who hasn’t experienced it.

But the saying goes much deeper than that in this story.

 

Click on any of the emails to enlarge them.

On 01/13/14 Andy emailed his travel agent his desired itinerary:

 

 

The travel agent, an Orthodox Jew, proposed the following business class itinerary, slightly altering the Kuala Lumpur-Beijing flight from Saturday to Friday.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Andy loved the price, but again requested the Saturday morning flight from Kuala Lumpur to Beijing:

 

 

The travel agent responded that he would not be able to book travel for him over the Sabbath, but that he was free to book that flight by himself:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Andy agreed with that and planned to book the flight by himself:

 

And the travel agent noted that if he changed his mind to just let him know:

 

 

 

 

 

 

Shortly afterward Andy did just that:

 

And the travel agent recommended a place to get a nice kosher meal and booked him the originally proposed itinerary, flying from Kuala Lumpur to Beijing on Friday early morning instead of Saturday.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Fast forward to 2 days ago.  The travel agent is in Israel and reads this email once Shabbos is over.  The email was sent after shabbos, at 7:15pm Beijing time/1:15pm Israel time:

 

 

And the travel agent wrote back, equally in shock at the realization of Shabbos saving his client’s life:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

—————————————————————————

Indeed, due to the travel agent worrying about the religious observance of a fellow Jew, Andy was persuaded into flying on Malaysia Air 370 exactly one day prior to the ill-fated flight he wanted to take.

It’s not often we hear a story like this.  It’s been 103 years since Rose was saved from the devastation of the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire thanks to observing Shabbos.  And now it was Andy’s turn.

Prayers go out to the families of those still missing.