Jewish Action Spring 2024

Vol.

54

COVER STORY

Hope Amid Crisis— A Symposium

How we can maintain a sense of hope and optimism in a time of tragedy

By Michal

Horowitz; Rebbetzin Dina Schoonmaker, as told to Barbara Bensoussan; Rabbi Larry Rothwachs; Rabbi Dr. David Fox; and Rabbi Dov Foxbrunner

Responding to Crisis: A Historical Approach

By

Dr. Henry Abramson

Celebrating Life in the Face of Pain: One Son Married, One Son Missing

By Toby Klein Greenwald

Of Faith and Fortitude:

How Devorah Paley Energized a Nation

By Yocheved Lavon

A Laughing Matter

In the aftermath of October 7, Orthodox Jewish comics have been finding ways to keep spirits high and make us laugh.

By Carol Green Ungar

THE JEWISH WORLD Voices from Campus

By Gideon Askowitz, Rebecca Massel, Adin Moskowitz, Eitan Fischer and Isaac Ohrenstein

Chizuk on Campus

By Steve Lipman

How Students Are Responding to Antisemitism

In the wake of rising antisemitism on college campuses and in public high schools, a growing number of students are responding to antisemitism in a novel way—by embracing their Judaism.

By Tova Cohen

DEPARTMENTS

02 06

LETTERS

PRESIDENT’S MESSAGE

My Yarmulke

By Mitchel R.

Aeder

FROM THE DESK OF RABBI MOSHE HAUER

In Praise of Israeli Emunah

MENTSCH MANAGEMENT

How Do We Partner?

The Benefits of Shared Leadership

By Rabbi Dr. Josh Joseph

ON MY MIND

Yefashpesh B’ma’asav: PostTragedy Introspection

By Moishe Bane

IN FOCUS

Torah United

By Rabbi Moshe Schwed

LEGAL-EASE

What’s the Truth About . . . Rashi Script?

By Rabbi Dr. Ari Z. Zivotofsky

KOSHERKOPY

A No-Grainer: The Laws of Yoshon Simplified

By Rabbi David Gorelik

72

THE CHEF’S TABLE Pesach’s Forgotten Meal

By Naomi Ross

NEW FROM OU PRESS BOOKS

Kohelet: A Map to Eden—An Intertextual Journey

By David Curwin

Reviewed by Rabbi Reuven

Chaim Klein

REVIEWS IN BRIEF

By Rabbi Gil Student

LASTING IMPRESSIONS

Until When

By Nomi Gutenmacher

Cover:

Design: Bacio Design & Marketing

Cover photos:

Top center: Akiva Sheinberger for Chabad of Israel

Top right: Allison Bailey/NurPhoto via AP

Bottom left: Sipa USA via AP

Bottom right: Spencer Platt/Getty Images

THE MAGAZINE OF THE ORTHODOX UNION jewishaction.com

THE MAGAZINE OF THE ORTHODOX UNION

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Editor in Chief Nechama Carmel carmeln@ou.org

A NOTE OF GRATITUDE

LETTERS

This is a long overdue hakaras hatov letter to Jewish Action for being the impetus for the creation of a program that has changed hundreds of lives—particularly my and my daughter’s lives.

Associate Editors

Sara Goldberg • Batsheva Moskowitz

Editor in Chief Nechama Carmel carmeln@ou.org

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Rabbi Yitzchak Breitowitz

Assistant Editor Sara Olson

Book Editor

Rabbi Gil Student

Literary Editor Emeritus

Matis Greenblatt

Contributing Editors

Rabbi Yitzchok Adlerstein • Moishe Bane • Dr. Judith Bleich

Book Editor Rabbi Gil Student

Rabbi Emanuel Feldman • Rabbi Dr. Hillel Goldberg

Rabbi Sol Roth • Rabbi Jacob J. Schacter

Rabbi Berel Wein

Contributing Editors

Rabbi Yitzchok Adlerstein • Dr. Judith Bleich

Editorial Committee

Rabbi Emanuel Feldman • Rabbi Hillel Goldberg

Moishe Bane • Rabbi Dovid Bashevkin • Deborah Chames Cohen

Rabbi Sol Roth • Rabbi Jacob J. Schacter

Rabbi Berel Wein

Rabbi Binyamin Ehrenkranz • Rabbi Yaakov Glasser

Rabbi Avrohom Gordimer • David Olivestone

Gerald M. Schreck • Dr. Rosalyn Sherman

Editorial Committee

Rabbi Dovid Bashevkin • Rabbi Binyamin Ehrenkranz

Rebbetzin Dr. Adina Shmidman • Rabbi Gil Student

Rabbi Dr. Tzvi Hersh Weinreb

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ORTHODOX UNION

ORTHODOX UNION

President Mark (Moishe) Bane

President

Mitchel R. Aeder

Chairman of the Board

Chairman of the Board

Howard Tzvi Friedman

Yehuda Neuberger

Vice Chairman of the Board

Vice Chairman of the Board

Mordecai D. Katz

Barbara Lehmann Siegel

Chairman, Board of Governors

Chairman, Board of Governors

Henry I. Rothman

Avi Katz

Vice Chairman, Board of Governors

Vice Chairman, Board of Governors

Gerald M. Schreck

Emanuel Adler

Executive Vice President

Executive Vice President/Chief Professional Officer Allen I. Fagin

Rabbi Moshe Hauer

Back in 2014, my daughter Dina Sheva attended a Yachad Shabbaton in Hollywood, Florida. Shortly after, Bayla Sheva Brenner, a former writer in the OU Marketing and Communications Department and Jewish Action contributor, called me and requested an interview with Dina Sheva for a Jewish Action article about Yachad, the OU’s organization for Jewish individuals with special needs. During the interview, I mentioned that Dina Sheva had no social life in South Florida other than Yachad events, and that she didn’t have anyone with whom to learn Torah. She had been learning parashah every week with various high school girls, but when the latest one went to Israel for gap year, I was unable to find a new parashah partner for her. Bayla Sheva enthusiastically said, “I’ll do it!”

At that point, I had been learning with my chavrusa Miriam from Partners in Torah for a few years. When Miriam’s daughter Zahava heard that Bayla Sheva and Dina Sheva were learning My First Parsha Reader over Skype, she decided that expanding this kind of learning program would be a great project for Partners in Torah. Together Bayla Sheva, Zahava and Rabbi Eli Gewirtz, national director, Partners in Torah, established a chavrusa program for Jewish individuals with special needs called Lev L’Lev.

What brings me to finally express my appreciation? I have been learning with Chany, my Lev L’Lev partner with special needs, for eight years now. She just informed me that she will be coming to visit me in Florida! Thank you, Jewish Action, for being the catalyst for the special learning relationships that I, Dina Sheva, and so many others have enjoyed over the past few years.

Judy Waldman

Chief Institutional Advancement Officer

Executive Vice President & Chief Operating Officer

Arnold Gerson

Rabbi Josh Joseph, Ed.D.

Chief of Staff

Hollywood, Florida

Senior Managing Director Rabbi Steven Weil

Yoni Cohen

Managing Director, Communal Engagement

Executive Vice President, Emeritus

Rabbi Yaakov Glasser

Rabbi Dr. Tzvi Hersh Weinreb

Chief Human Resources Officer

AN APPRECIATIVE READER

Josh Gottesman

Chief Financial Officer/Chief Administrative Officer Shlomo Schwartz

Chief Information Officer

Miriam Greenman

Chief Human Resources Officer Rabbi Lenny Bessler

Managing Director, Public Affairs

Maury Litwack

Chief Information Officer Samuel Davidovics

Chief Financial Officer/Chief Administrative Officer

Shlomo Schwartz

Chief Innovation Officer Rabbi Dave Felsenthal

General Counsel

Rachel Sims, Esq.

Director of Marketing and Communications

Gary Magder

Executive Vice President, Emeritus

Rabbi Dr. Tzvi Hersh Weinreb

Jewish Action Committee

In general I’m an easygoing person, but I’ll admit that I’m a snob when it comes to a few areas in life: fonts (I can’t read anything written in Comic Sans), ice cream companies (nothing beats Häagen Dazs), and . . . Jewish magazines.

Jewish Action Committee

Gerald M. Schreck, Chairman

Dr. Rosalyn Sherman, Chair

Joel M. Schreiber, Chairman Emeritus

Gerald M. Schreck, Co-Chair

Joel M. Schreiber, Chairman Emeritus

©Copyright 2018 by the Orthodox Union

And yet I find each edition of Jewish Action to be professionally compiled, thought-provoking, and interesting to read. The writing is of high caliber, and there is always a great selection of authors and topics. I read the articles cover to cover, and they always leave me feeling proud of my Judaism and determined to step up my Jewish practice and commitment. No exaggeration.

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Thank you for what you bring to the community. I’m already checking my mailbox for the next edition.

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That Jewish Moment | @thatjewishmoment

RAV MOSHE: A LITTLE-KNOWN STORY

Editor’s Note: In Rabbi Yirmiyohu Kaganoff’s excellent brief biography of Rabbi Tzvi Pesach Frank (“Medinat Yisrael: Through a Torah Lens” [summer 2023]), he mentioned that upon Rabbi Frank’s passing, Rabbi Moshe Feinstein was offered the position of chief rabbi of Yerushalayim and considered it, but after consulting with “extended family members,” he did not accept the offer. We asked Rabbi Kaganoff to elaborate on this, which he did in the letter below.

It is fortuitous that I know the details of this story from its primary source. I once asked Rabbi Ephraim Greenblatt, a renowned talmid of Rav Moshe, if he knew any details about why Rav Moshe declined the position of chief rabbi. Rav Ephraim told me the following story:

After Rabbi Frank’s passing, Rav Ephraim, then still a student of Rav Moshe’s in Mesivtha Tifereth Jerusalem, was planning a trip to visit his parents in Yerushalayim for yom tov. (Rav Ephraim had been born in Yerushalayim’s Old Yishuv). Rav Moshe asked him to take care of a mission on his behalf, which he was not to divulge to anyone: to visit Rabbi Michel Feinstein, Rav Moshe’s nephew and a son-inlaw of the Brisker Rav, and ask him whether accepting the chief rabbinate position would provide Rav Moshe with practical authority over the rabbinate in Yerushalayim, and whether his authority would be accepted both by rabbanim of both the New Yishuv and the Old Yishuv.

Rav Ephraim sought out Rav Michel, who was living in Bnei Brak. Rav Michel responded that Rav Moshe’s authority would be more respected and adhered to if he remained in New York than if he moved to Eretz Yisrael to accept the chief rabbinate position.

Although Rav Ephraim told me that he had been sworn to secrecy over his mission, he felt that decades after Rav Moshe’s passing, this condition was no longer in effect and that for the sake of historical record it is worthy that people know.

GLUTEN-FREE DAIRY BREAD

I recently bought gluten-free bread marked OU-D, made with corn, potato and rice starches. However, the article entitled “The Kashrut of Bread: All You Knead to Know” in Jewish Action’s recent issue (winter 2023) states that bread should not be milchig or fleishig. The article makes it clear that there are some acceptable exceptions, like pizza crust, crackers or English muffins. I am confused since the gluten-free bread is marked OU-D. Can you advise?

Barbara Bolshon

White Plains, New York

RABBI ELI GERSTEN RESPONDS

Halachically, bread is only considered lechem if it is made from one of the five grains (wheat, barley, spelt, rye and oats), necessitating the berachah of Hamotzi. Gluten-free bread, while shaped to look like bread, is not halachically considered lechem as it is not made from one of the five grains, and therefore its berachah is Shehakol. Since it is not authentic bread, the halachot of dairy bread do not apply.

Rabbi Eli Gersten serves as an OU Kosher rabbinic coordinator and recorder of OU policy.

VOLUNTEERING FOR ISRAEL

I read “From Toothbrushes to Tourniquets” (winter 2023), and I loved Shelley and Ariel Serber’s activism in packaging and sending supplies for the IDF, as well as their ability to encourage others to help. My husband and I are traveling again to Pri Gan in southern Israel to do another round of picking tomatoes. We’ve harvested with families from Canada, Mexico, the US, South Africa and, of course, Israel. Not everyone can go to Israel to participate in the volunteering efforts. But like Shelley and her family, those in the Diaspora can find many ways to help. B’yachad nenatzeiach.

Donna Levin

Elkins Park, Pennsylvania

Transliterations in the magazine are based on Sephardic pronunciation, unless an author is known to use Ashkenazic pronunciation. Thus, the inconsistencies in transliterations throughout the magazine are due to authors’ preferences.

This magazine contains divrei Torah and should therefore be disposed of respectfully by either double-wrapping prior to disposal or placing in a recycling bin.

WE WANT TO HEAR FROM YOU!

To send a letter to Jewish Action, e-mail ja@ou.org.

Letters may be edited for clarity.

PRESIDENT’S MESSAGE

MY YARMULKE

By Mitchel R. Aeder

This is an article about clothing. Office fashion, to be precise.1

When I was a kid, we used to love to visit my father, a”h, at his accounting firm in downtown Manhattan. One time, he brought me to the office on a Sunday to pick up some documents. (This was pre-Google Docs, email, WFH, FedEx. . . .) On the way, he mentioned that Sunday is yeshivah day at the office. I soon understood his meaning, as nearly all the men in the office were wearing yarmulkes. Orthodox employees worked on Sundays to make up for time missed on Erev Shabbos. In those days, it was unheard of for men to wear yarmulkes in a professional setting. But on Sundays, it was acceptable for men to let their hair down (or put a lid on it), so to speak.

Fast forward to the mid-1980s. It was becoming increasingly common for Orthodox people to land jobs at New York law and accounting firms that once did not welcome Jews, but yarmulkes were still rare. Still, change

was in the air, whether for political, sociological or other reasons. As I began my search for a law firm job, I resolved to alternate interviews with and without a yarmulke—until I received a job offer “with”2 one. I was among the first cohort at my law firm to wear a yarmulke to the office and, ten years later, among the first at the giant accounting firm to which I switched. Then the floodgates opened. By the time I retired, our firm had literally dozens of employees who wore yarmulkes in the office, and it was no longer uncommon to see men sporting peyos or untucked tzitzis

Despite this, some Orthodox men (and not only “old timers”) continued to go bareheaded in the office.3 Some felt that they may be denied advancement opportunities with a yarmulke, others worried that a yarmulke might prejudice their clients (e.g., in a courtroom), and still others did not want a yarmulke to restrict their ability to socialize with clients. Some wore their yarmulkes in the office only during meals, and some mastered the trick of removing/donning their yarmulkes in the revolving door as they entered/exited the building.

Thankfully, this was not my experience. I was blessed that my yarmulke did not adversely affect my career. On the contrary, it helped me avoid potentially uncomfortable situations especially in restaurants and other social situations. I had the sense that my colleagues respected that I was living according to a set of principles— which went beyond eating kosher and leaving early on Fridays to include honesty, business ethics and careful speech. Of course, that created added pressure, or incentive, for me to strive to live up to those principles, which undoubtedly is the point.

The word “yarmulke” is said to derive from the Aramaic “yarei malkah,” or fear of Heaven.4 The yarmulke is a constant reminder that we are standing before Hashem and should behave

Wearing a

yarmulke

or a Magen David suddenly became fraught in many American cities.

accordingly. This is especially important in a secular environment such as a university or office, where influences can be religiously toxic. In this regard, the yarmulke plays a similar (but not identical) role for men that dressing in accordance with halachic standards does for women. Rabbi Anthony Manning explains that a goal of tzenius is to develop a “life-changing awareness of being lifnei Hashem [which] applies equally to men and women.”5 Query whether a baseball cap has the same effect on its wearer as a yarmulke, even if it may satisfy halachic requirements.6 At the OU, I am now doubly blessed to be in an office environment where yarmulkes or hats are standard. Married women in the OU office wear a wide array of hair coverings as well. This gives the office something of the feel of a beis medrash and enhances the sense of standing and working lifnei Hashem I am surrounded by professionals who are passionate about serving the Jewish people. The sense of shared mission and service makes the office a special— almost holy—place, and office attire such as the yarmulke enhances this sense of holiness. Our environments affect our religious growth. As does our attire. We are all accustomed to considering the religious environment when choosing a community or a college; do we do the same when choosing a profession or a job?

Of course, public displays of yarmulkes and other Jewish outerwear and accessories have historically made Jews (especially Orthodox Jews) more easily identifiable targets of antisemites.

Mitchel R. Aeder is president of the Orthodox Union.

In the recent history of the United States, this ugly phenomenon was mostly limited to the Chareidi community, primarily in Brooklyn. That changed on Shemini Atzeres of 5784. Wearing a yarmulke or a Magen David suddenly became fraught in many American cities.

There have been two conflicting reactions in the Jewish community. Some have chosen to lay low and try to hide their Jewishness in public. Administrators at a Jewish day school in California recently instructed first graders (six year olds!) not to wear their kippot on a field trip, out of fear. Yes, we have to take reasonable precautions and employ security. But what message will children (and adults) internalize when their yarmulkes become a threat instead of a source of pride and inspiration?

Sometimes this attitude is taken to an extreme. In People Love Dead Jews, Dara Horn describes the unfathomable attempt in 2018 by the Anne Frank House in Amsterdam to prohibit an employee from wearing his kippah. Apparently, a Holocaust museum has no place for living, committed Jews. Never again?

But there has been another reaction to the antisemitism that has exploded since Shemini Atzeres. I recently met Ethan Hamid, an impressive junior at the University of Southern California (USC) who co-founded Kippahs on Campus in October. The grassroots organization has inspired dozens of students to proudly wear yarmulkes on campus for the first time. The OU’s Jewish Learning Initiative on Campus (JLIC) educators on other university campuses similarly report a noticeable increase in the number of students wearing a yarmulke or Magen David, and sometimes tzitzis! (Some are also walking around campus draped in an Israeli flag, as if to dare antisemites to start up with them.) Our NCSY/JSU staff have seen a similar phenomenon in public high schools: kids wanting to connect to their Jewishness and to other Jews by displaying yarmulkes and Jewish/Israeli shirts and jewelry. This is inspiring. Yarei malkah. We fear Heaven. [See “How Students Are Responding to Antisemitism” in this issue.]

David Efune beautifully gave voice to this reaction in the Wall Street Journal: “Publicly expressing one’s faith can be a life-threatening decision. For my part, I will wear the most prominent yarmulke I can find. The best way to honor the memory of those slain for being Jewish is not to sacrifice a scintilla of our Jewish identity but to express it in the extreme.”7

Our yarmulkes are more important than ever. May Hashem allow us to continue to stand before Him in all places with our heads proudly covered in awe and reverence and safety.

Notes

1. For the first thirty years of my professional career, my mother, a”h, did not trust me to buy a single item of work attire on my own. Except for my yarmulkes. Which makes me something of an expert, I suppose.

2. A law student a year ahead of me interviewed at sixteen firms. He wore his yarmulke to eight of the interviews, and received job offers only from the other eight.

3. This is in no way intended to be judgmental. See Iggeros Moshe, OC 4:2, CM 1:93. I am aware that Manhattan professional firms do not reflect society at large. There continue to be many industries and locations where one would not be comfortable wearing a yarmulke to work.

4. Growing up, we pronounced it “yahmaka.” I recall being shocked when I first saw it spelled. I chose to use yarmulke rather than kippah in this article, because it’s a much cooler word.

5. Reclaiming Dignity: A Guide to Tzniut for Men and Women (Beit Shemesh, 2023), 503. See more generally, part 2, chap. 2.

6. To the outside world, a baseball cap often announces “Orthodox” as much as a yarmulke does, especially when worn by men who are (1) over forty (2) wearing a sport jacket or suit or (3) have a beard and a belly.

7. “Give Me The Biggest Kippah You Can Find,” October 19, 2023. This headline was a reminder that the size of my own yarmulke has grown over the years. Some ascribe it to my hairline, others to my ego.

TAKES YOU TOURO THERE

TOURO IS HERE TO NURTURE YOUR ACADEMIC EXPERIENCE AND FUTURE CAREER. From our president, to your professors and peers, you'll find unwavering support in the classroom, on campus and beyond. With shared values and a commitment to your success, TOURO TAKES YOU THERE. touro.edu/poweryourpath

FROM THE DESK OF RABBI MOSHE HAUER

IN PRAISE OF ISRAELI EMUNAH

By Rabbi Moshe Hauer

When Israeli soldier Ori Megidish was rescued by the IDF after having been held hostage in Gaza for twenty-three days, footage released by her friends and family showed mitzvot they had performed in the hope of securing her safe return home. In one video that has been widely viewed, her mother can be seen with a group of women emotionally praying for her daughter’s return while performing the mitzvah of hafrashat challah. 1

Among the twenty-one soldiers who died in the building collapse in central Gaza in January was Master Sergeant (res.) Rabbi Elkana Vizel, thirty-five, a resident of Bnei Dekalim in southern Israel. Rabbi Vizel, a father of four and a teacher, had prepared a letter ahead of time in the event he would be killed in action. In the letter, he wrote: “When a soldier falls in battle, it is sad. But I ask you to be happy. Don’t be sad when

you part from me. Sing a lot, hold each other’s hands, and strengthen one another. We have so much to be excited and happy about. . . . We are writing the most meaningful moments in the history of our people and the whole world, so please be optimistic. Keep choosing life all the time, a life of love, hope, purity and optimism.”

Emunah, faith, is essential to how we as individuals and as a nation confront or embrace the challenges before us. It is the critical ingredient in inspiring stories like these, two of the many hundreds of moving accounts shared since Simchat Torah. And we, especially those of us not yet living in Israel, need to learn how to access it.

The events of October 7 and their aftermath have inflicted enormous upheaval on the Jewish people and on huge numbers of individual Jews. The range of those affected is vast, including the families and circles of the hostages and victims of terror, as well as of the fallen, wounded, and active-duty soldiers; additionally, there are the displaced, the economically impacted, and those around the world grappling with the tsunami of antisemitism. Klal Yisrael’s resilience is being tested as it experiences significant individual and collective trauma. Ground Zero of those traumas is in Israel, and it is there that stories and images coming across our information streams demonstrate the power of emunah in building our resilience.

It is in Israel that we regularly encounter among the masses— halachically observant or not— emunah peshutah, a pure and simple faith in a loving G-d Whose supportive presence ensures that we are not facing our challenges alone, “lo ira ra ki Atah imadi—I will fear no evil for

You are with me.”2 This is apparent in the bareheaded young soldiers wearing tzitzit, the songs of faith that have become alternate national anthems, and the embrace of mitzvot like the hafrashat challah of Ori’s mother. And it is in Israel that we also find many whose devotion and connection to G-d is not simple, but profound; individuals like Rabbi Vizel whose deep faith creates within them a determined, emunah-based sense of mission and purpose that fortifies them to experience and infuse every challenge with meaning. Emunah thus provides both support and meaning in confronting challenges, significantly impacting our resilience.

More fundamentally, emunah is the heart and soul of Judaism, the single principle that—according to the prophet Chavakuk—all 613 commandments can be drilled down to.3 It can hardly be considered a mitzvah hateluyah ba’Aretz, a mitzvah that can only be fulfilled in the Land of Israel, yet it seems to flourish there in ways that bear out the Talmudic statement that one who lives outside of Israel is like one who has no G-d.4 For the sake of our own continued strength and to build the place of emunah in our own lives, we need therefore to explore how to enhance both the emunah peshutah that defines our understanding of G-d and His supportive presence in our lives, as well as the dimensions of emunah that will inform the purpose and meaning we see in our own role in G-d’s world.

I. Man’s Faith in G-d: Elokei Ha’Aretz

“It [Eretz Yisrael] is the land that Hashem, your G-d, concerns Himself with; the eyes of Hashem are constantly upon it from the beginning of the year until the end of the year.”5 The holiness of the Land of Israel is predicated on its inherent connection to G-d, Who, as the Ramban often notes, retains an elevated degree of involvement there.6 While this is part of the inherent kedushat ha’Aretz, there is an aspect of Hashem’s presence in the land that is predicated on human behavior, which we must strive to replicate wherever we

Rabbi Moshe Hauer is executive vice president of the Orthodox Union.

The New Look of

are. Experientially, we feel Him more readily in Israel because G-d-speak is everywhere, Shem Shamayim shagur b’fihem 7 This G-d-speak makes a real difference—Rashi teaches that the way Avraham transformed G-d from an abstract concept, Elokei haShamayim, into a tangible presence on earth, Elokei haShamayim veElokei ha’aretz, was by making people familiar with G-d to the point that they mentioned Him regularly.8 That is the reality we encounter in Medinat Yisrael, and anyone who visits there can provide numerous illustrations of this.

A personal example. Several years ago, a group I was with visited one of the communities on the Gaza border. Our local guide took pains to note several times during the visit that this was not a religious community; yet, when showing us the concretereinforced children’s nursery, she explained how during rocket attacks the teachers bring all the kids into the safe space and for the ten or so minutes they must stay inside, they sing together the Israeli pop song “Mi shemaamin lo mefached—He who Believes.” The song, by Israeli singer Eyal Golan, includes this in its “secular” lyrics: “He who believes is not afraid of losing faith for we have the King of the Universe, and He protects us from them all.”

This is “secular” Israel: Shem Shamayim shagur b’fihem. It would be hard to replicate among strictly observant Jews in America the rich sense of faith and connection experienced at a Sephardic Selichot prayer with masses of traditional Israeli Jews. And do the observant Jews of America have anything that resembles the life of religious Israeli Jews, where a night out may consist of going to a holy place like the Kotel or Kever Rachel to daven? This past year, I had the privilege to visit the Kotel on the last night of Chanukah. It was astounding to see the thousands who streamed there to offer special prayers on Zot Chanukah, a virtuous practice noted in many mystical and Chassidic sources that goes relatively unnoticed among American Jewry. Shem Shamayim shagur b’fihem

Toward this end, we should consider how all of us everywhere can become more comfortable with G-d-speak, mentioning Him more regularly and building up our individual and communal emunah peshutah, simple faith and greater awareness of His presence in our lives. There has been meaningful progress in this area before and especially since October 7, with multiple platforms engaging people in ongoing prayer efforts, in spreading daily inspirational doses of emunah, and, of course, in saying “Thank You Hashem!” While these are not experiences of deep and profound theological or philosophical study, they bring G-d into our lives, which is always a good thing, but especially so in these times of challenge when the sense of His supportive presence ensures that we are not facing our challenges alone—lo ira ra ki Atah imadi

II. G-d’s Faith in Man: Chovato B’olamo

One of the most impactful educational innovations in the modern State of Israel is the Mechina pre-military academy. After seeing significant abandonment of observance among religious soldiers in the military framework, Rabbi Eli Sadan created the Bnei David Mechina Program in Eli, where students spend a year preparing for their army experience. A significant part of their daily schedule is dedicated to the study of emunah, but rather than address the theological questions of G-d’s existence or even the core principles of our belief in the Divinity of Torah and the afterlife, the curriculum focuses instead on the questions of “why”: why did G-d create the world and for what mission and purpose did He choose man?

Studying the thoughtful Torah works of Rabbi Yehudah Halevi, the Maharal, Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch and Rabbi Avraham Yitzchak HaKohen Kook, the students are given an emunah framework focused less on G-d’s role in the world and more on answering the existential questions of chovato b’olamo—what G-d seeks from us as the Jewish people and from the

It is in Israel that we regularly encounter among the masses—halachically observant or not—emunah peshutah, a pure and simple faith in a loving G-d Whose supportive presence ensures that we are not facing our challenges alone.

individual Jew here and now in Israel in the twenty-first century, as “we are writing the most meaningful moments in the history of our people and the whole world.” The result is a program that has consistently churned out students driven by a sense of mission to serve G-d and the Jewish people by assuming responsibility to protect and build the modern State of Israel in the vision of the prophets. Motivated to excel in serving their people, an inordinate number of graduates of Bnei David and its sister institutions are senior officers in the IDF and serve in combat units, while many have gone on to other realms of public service. They and their work are invariably defined by the deep faith that provides them with a sense of mission and purpose. This is the strand of emunah taught in one of the classic works of Jewish thought, the Derech Hashem (The Way of G-d) of Rabbi Moshe Chaim Luzzato (the Ramchal). While the title of the book gives the impression that its subject will be an understanding of G-d and His ways, the book’s real focus is on clarifying the mission and purpose of man. The book’s name is thus appropriately derived from a verse that speaks of Avraham “teaching his children and household to keep the derech Hashem, the way of G-d, by doing that which is right and just.”9 In this context, the way of G-d serves as the template for how man, created in G-d’s image,

should conduct himself. More broadly, the book provides a brilliant and beautiful superstructure for G-d’s goals in Creation and in His ongoing providence. It is a work of emunah whose ultimate and most empowering lesson is on the role of man in G-d’s world, and those who absorb that lesson are transformed by it.

This sense of mission, as well, is more accessible in Israel, the center stage of Jewish life and the place where our history is being written. It is there that we encounter clear-eyed men and women living lives of emunah with the confidence of those who know exactly who they are and what they are here for. Yet all of us everywhere must work to strengthen and clarify our own sense of mission, building our emunah by considering, identifying, and ultimately being driven by chovato b’olamo, our purpose in the world, the “why” of our existence as individuals and as a nation.

III. Conclusion

The challenges the Jewish people are now facing are deep and profound, and we must confront and embrace them. We would do well to draw from the inspiring and instructive example of the great people of Eretz Yisrael, where emunah is the currency that carries a power and impact much richer than the faith we experience here. We must follow people like Ori’s mother to draw strength from beyond ourselves, from the G-d of our emunah peshutah, Whom we trust is with us, Who instructs His angels to accompany us wherever life takes us, and Whose eyes are constantly on us. And we must follow the inspiring example of Rabbi Elkana Vizel, identifying with G-d’s faith in us and finding the strength that must come from within ourselves and our emunah-driven clarity of the purpose for which He has granted us life on this earth, to write the next and

more glorious pages of Klal Yisrael’s history, of its return in peace to Tzion v’Yerushalayim.

Notes

1. See https://www.jpost.com/arab-israeliconflict/gaza-news/article-772496; https://www.instagram.com/aish.com/ reel/CzCIim_rZBM/.

2. Tehillim 23:4.

3. Chavakuk 2:4, Makkot 24a.

4. Ketubot 110b.

5. Devarim 11:12.

6. See, for example, Ramban to Vayikra 18:25.

7. See Bereishit 39:3, where Rashi explains that the Torah’s description of Hashem being with Yosef was based on Yosef constantly invoking His Name.

8. Rashi to Bereishit 24:7, based on Bereishit Rabbah 59:8.

9. Bereishit 18:19.

HOW DO WE PARTNER?

THE BENEFITS OF SHARED LEADERSHIP

By Rabbi Dr. Josh Joseph

As I prepared to write this next installment of Mentsch Management (thank you, readers, for your continued positive feedback), I suffered loss in a way I had never experienced before. I found out that Sergeant First Class (res.) Yakir Hexter, a fighter in the 8219 Engineering Battalion, fell in battle in the southern Gaza Strip.

On the day Yakir was to be born, I drove his parents to the hospital. His mother, Chaya, encouraged me to slow down so that we could survive the foggy, dark roads from the Gush to the hospital. His father, Josh, was my chavruta at Yeshivat Har Etzion. He was not just my partner, but my teacher too. He still is— including the day he spoke at the funeral of his twenty-six-year-old son, Hy”d Yakir had a special chavruta, Sergeant First Class (res.) David Schwartz, Hy”d, who was also taken from us in battle in Gaza, at the same moment as his learning partner. They were study partners in the very same yeshivah where Josh and I had studied.

What is it about partnership—whether in study, at home or at the office—that makes it work?

At the funeral, Josh described Yakir as “a mentsch, a young man of integrity, honor and kindness.” Yakir was many

things: smart, talented, funny, a runner, truly a golden boy; he was studying to be an architect. And what made him a great man was his mentschlich approach to everything he did. And that’s what it takes to be a partner.

This essay is dedicated in memory of Yakir Yamin ben Rav Yehoshua Hexter, Hy”d

Leadership teams have long included members who play complementary roles. Homer’s history of the Trojan War not only highlights the strength of King Agamemnon but also the warrior heroics of Achilles, Odysseus’s strategic approach, and Nestor’s diplomacy and management of the team. Each of them played a role and played it well, which led to victory.1

And yet many a team has also failed at the art of partnership, especially at senior levels. Our question, then, is: How do we partner with others?

Rabbi Naftali Tzvi Yehudah Berlin (the Netziv) notes that in Shemot 6:26–27, the names of Moshe and Aharon— leaders, brothers, partners—are presented in different orders:

Verse 26: “Hu Aharon uMoshe asher amar Hashem lahem hotzi’u et Bnei Yisrael me’eretz Mitzrayim al tzivotam—It is the same Aharon and Moshe to whom Hashem said, ‘Bring forth the Children of Israel from the land of Egypt, troop by troop.’”

Verse 27: “Hem hamidaberim el Pharaoh melech Mitzrayim lehotzi et Bnei Yisrael miMitzrayim hu Moshe v’Aharon—It was they who spoke to Pharaoh, king of Egypt, to bring the Children of Israel out of Egypt; these are the same Moshe and Aharon.”

Why is Aharon before Moshe in the first verse, and then Moshe before Aharon in the second? Rashi explains that this implies that they were of equivalent stature. The Netziv disagrees, for as great as Aharon was, Moshe

has a special place in our history. He suggests that the order depends on whose perspective is being represented. Verse 26 presents the perspective of Bnei Yisrael (i.e., “taking Bnei Yisrael out of the land of Egypt”). They knew Aharon as he had stayed in Egypt. Perhaps they didn’t yet fully appreciate Moshe’s value, because he had grown up in the palace and then fled to Midyan.

Verse 27, on the other hand, is presented from the perspective of the palace of Pharaoh, as it says “Hem hamidaberim el Pharaoh.” In Pharaoh’s eyes, Moshe was greater. He already knew Moshe’s name and his wisdom, but he didn’t know Aharon. This may be because Pharaoh knew Moshe since he had grown up in the palace. Or it may indicate the lack of Israelite leadership while Moshe was away, and thus the need for a new voice, one that was at one time rooted in the local leadership but also familiar with the palace.

Furthering his analysis, the Netziv points to the phrase “al tzivotam” in verse 26. Based on Iyov 7:1, “Halo tzava le’enosh alei aretz v’chiymei sachir yamav—Is not man on Earth for a limited time, his days are like those of a hireling,” he translates “tzava” not just as a limited time but as a specific purpose. Thus, al tzivotam implies that each leader had a specific purpose.

In verse 27, in the war of words with Pharaoh (“Hem hamidaberim”), Moshe was greater than Aharon. What was Moshe’s purpose, his lane, his superpower, his strength and identity? He represented the paradigm of Torah, the metaphorical sword protecting Bnei Yisrael. The fight with Pharaoh had to come from Moshe, so he is listed first in the verse that reflects Pharaoh’s perspective.

Aharon, on the other hand, represented the sustaining power of tefillah. The work of Aharon and his

Rabbi Dr. Josh Joseph is executive vice president/chief operating officer of the OU.

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descendants—korbanot, the Mishkan, and ultimately the Beit Hamikdash—is what brought about sustenance for the Jewish people. Even before the Jews went out of Egypt, when they would daven for sustenance, Aharon was the leader. The people trusted him and turned to him. Targum Yonatan on Parashat Chukat (20:29) states that when Aharon died, Moshe called him “Amud tzelos’hon d’Yisrael—the pillar of Yisrael’s prayers.” And this is what made Aharon special. Bnei Yisrael’s sustenance was dependent on Aharon, and therefore Aharon is listed before Moshe in verse 26, reflecting the perspective of the Children of Israel.

Moshe and Aharon serve as a paradigm of a balanced partnership. Their respective strengths of protection and sustenance were both needed to effectively lead Bnei Yisrael.

How do we partner with others? In “Is It Time to Consider Co-CEOs?” (Harvard Business Review, July-August 2022), authors Marc A. Feigen, Michael Jenkins and Anton Warendh studied 2,200 companies listed in the S&P 1200 and the Russell 1000 from 1996 to 2020. They found only eighty-seven companies that were led by co-chief executives: . . . [D]uring that period, especially in times of stress, some of those jointly led companies performed notably poorly. . . . Many observers don’t find this surprising. Installing two decisionmakers at the top, the theory goes, almost invariably leads to trouble, in the form of conflicts, confusion, inconsistency, irresolution, and delays.

Marvin Bower, who built McKinsey, famously warned Goldman Sachs not to have co-CEOs. “Power sharing,” he said, “never works.” Except that it often does.

Feigen, Jenkins and Warendh found that the co-led companies performed well—they had an annual shareholder return of 9.5 percent, 3 percent better than their competitors—and that co-leadership didn’t negatively affect longevity for the leaders themselves.

The key, they found, was to set the right factors for successful partnership— something that resonates in my own partnership with Rabbi Moshe Hauer, my OU chavruta. Though they listed nine factors in total,2 including conditions like willing participation, board support,

shared values and an exit strategy, of note is their inclusion of “complementary skill sets,” which can then yield clear responsibilities. Similarly, Stephen A. Miles and Michael D. Watkins, in “The Leadership Team: Complementary Strengths or Conflicting Agendas?”

(Harvard Business Review, April 2007),3 highlight four ways in which complementary leadership manifests, including complementarity in tasks, expertise, cognition and roles. Underlying each of them is a clarity of responsibilities, lanes, capabilities and styles. When leaders divide responsibilities into clear lanes, such as one managing the external relationships and the other concentrating on the internal ecosystem, the inherent risks in shared leadership can be managed through trust, communication and coordination.

Moshe and Aharon each had their complementary strengths. What emerged from their relationship, through the lens of the Netziv, are three possible steps that might help others when thinking about how to share leadership:

1. We must know ourselves. What are our strengths? What do we bring to the equation? What is our sense of where we can really add the most value?

2. We must appreciate, know and have an understanding of our partner’s

strengths. What do we need him to be great at?

3. We have to understand when and how to stay in our own lanes at the appropriate times. When is one person the focus, and when is the other person the responsible party?

Moshe and Aharon both brought remarkable strengths to each other and to the leadership of the Jewish nation, teaching us important lessons on how we partner with each other. As we approach Pesach, may we utilize these pointers on being a mentsch in the management of all sorts of complementary partnerships— whether in our personal lives with spouses or family members or at work: to understand what we bring to the table, what others bring, and how to appreciate when the other is primary, ultimately yielding optimal results for us and all of Klal Yisrael.

Notes

1. See the opening of Stephen A. Miles and Michael D. Watkins, “The Leadership Team: Complementary Strengths or Conflicting Agendas?” Harvard Business Review, April 2007, https://hbr.org/2007/04/the-leadership-team-complementary-strengths-or-conflicting-agendas.

2. See the full list at https://hbr.org/2022/07/is-ittime-to-consider-co-ceos.

3. https://hbr.org/2007/04/the-leadership-team-complementary-strengths-or-conflicting-agendas.

Sergeant First Class (res.) Yakir Hexter, twenty-six, from Jerusalem (left), and Sergeant First Class (res.) David Schwartz, twenty-six, from Elazar were killed in action in Gaza in January on the same day. This painting by artist Tanya Zbili Katz, entitled “Chavrusas in Shomayim,” depicts Hexter and Schwartz, H”yd, learning bechavruta at Yeshivat Har Etzion, based on a 2019 photo taken by the young men’s mutual friend Yehuda Moskowitz. Explore more of Tanya Zbili Katz’s work on Instagram @Tanyazbiliart and on her website www.Tanyazbiliart.com.

Could You Really Extend Your Life?

REVISED&EXPANDED

Interview with Author

Michael Kaufman

Am I My Body’s Keeper?

The Way of Torah and Science

Be Healthy & Fit • Lose Weight • Live Years Longer

Why did you write “Am I My Body’s Keeper?”?

To inform people that they could live longer — years longer, and healthier. That they could increase their health span and their lifespan just by changing their lifestyle.

How many years longer?

On average, as much as 12 years (men), 14 years (women).

That’s incredible! What do we need to do to live a dozen years longer?

To start, just 5 easy behaviors: Don’t smoke, eat healthily, exercise 30 minutes a day, drink alcohol only moderately, and maintain a proper weight. A long-term Harvard study of 123,000 people found that those who kept these 5 healthy habits were 82% less likely to die from heart disease and 65% less from cancer — the two most frequent causes of death.

But isn’t our lifetime determined on High?

It is. But Torah and Chazal cite many ways that you can extend your life. The Torah directs hishtadlus — take good care of yourself. If you don’t, or you cross the street against a red light, you could cut your life short.

Which of the 5 life-prolonging behaviors is most important?

Exercise. It’s the best medicine on the planet. An amazing — and free! — drug provided by Hashem. Eating healthily is essential. Food is the body’s fuel. However, as the Rambam says, nothing can substitute for exercise to keep you strong, healthy, and fit. Science agrees. If exercise was a drug it would be a miracle cure. Sitting, you write, is the new smoking. But smoking kills. How can just sitting kill us?

An American Cancer Society study found that those who sit 6 hours or more a day have a 20% to 40% higher death rate than those who

sit 3 or fewer hours. Scientists agree that sitting causes more ill health than smoking. Humans are built to move. The 100 trillion cells in our body must move. Once they stop, we’re dead. But we must sit. What should we do? Stand up every 30 minutes. And move. Use a shtender when you daven. And when you learn. Place a computer on it when you work. Walk

“A masterpiece that can change people’s lives forever!”

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when you can. Avoid the elevator, use the stairs. Get Up! Why Your Chair Is Killing You by Dr. James Levine, and Sitting Kills, Moving Heals by Dr. Joan Vernikos are good books on the subject.

You advise not exercising on a treadmill or bike. Why? Aren’t they effective?

They are indeed — for exercising your legs. On the treadmill and bicycle — and exercycle — your

legs move, but only your legs. When you’re finished you’ll need to then exercise the rest of your body. Elliptical trainers and rowing machines work out the entire body. So does energetic walking while swinging your arms. As does swimming — a terrific exercise.

Is it too late for a long-time “too busy” person to change to a healthy lifestyle?

It’s never too late to start living a healthier lifestyle. Like ceasing to smoke, the moment you stop, the body starts to improve.

Why do you caution in your book not to wish anyone to live to 120?

Because the brocha is restricting. The astounding success of science in discovering the means Hashem provided to conquer disease after disease has almost doubled life expectancy since 1900. Not surprisingly, Rav Chaim Soloveitchik, Rav Yaakov Kamenetsky, and other gedolim maintained that a brocha to live to 120 is a request to curtail a person’s lifetime. How about wishing people instead to live chaim aruchim, chaim tovim, ve’chaim shel beracha — a good, long, and blessed life?

To help you attain that good, long, and blessed life, I wrote Am I My Body’s Keeper?

Michael Kaufman is the author of ten books. He lives in Israel where he does research on the latest scientific studies on health and fitness while standing at his shtender desk. In his 90s, he maintains an active, energetic schedule which includes daily fitness workouts, and brisk walks around Jerusalem.

How we can maintain a sense of hope and optimism in a time of tragedy

As we write these lines in February, the war in Gaza is still raging and more than 100 hostages still remain in the hands of Hamas. It is our fervent hope and prayer that by the time you read this, the hostages will be home and peace and security will be restored to Am Yisrael and Eretz Yisrael.

The TENACITY of Our Nation

Since Shemini Atzeres 5784— what has become known as the infamous day of “October 7”—our beautiful nation, our Holy Land, our beloved Medinat Yisrael have been in the throes of a catastrophe on a scale not seen since the cursed days of the Shoah.

The magnitude of the damage, the terrible and staggering loss of life and the existential threat to our State are well known. As Prime Minister Netanyahu said in one of his first addresses to the nation, “We are fighting our second War of Independence.”

How can we, as individuals, as communities and as a nation, maintain hope and optimism in the face of catastrophe?

Michal Horowitz teaches Judaic studies classes to adults of all ages, nationally and internationally. Her weekly parashah shiur, “Contemporary Parshanim,” is posted on the OU's AllParsha app, and she delivers many shiurim for the OU Women’s Initiative.

I remind myself often of the words we sing at the Pesach Seder: “And it is this that has stood for our forefathers and us, that not one alone has risen up to destroy us, but in every generation they arise to destroy us, and Hashem saves us from their hands.” The truth of this declaration rings loud and clear. From Eisav to Amalek, from Pharaoh to Haman, from the Crusades to the Inquisition, from Tach V’Tat to the blood libels of Europe, from pogroms to the death camps.

Astoundingly, miraculously, beyond all natural explanations and reasonable possibilities, Toras Yisrael, Am Yisrael and Eretz Yisrael are alive, well and thriving. This alone is the greatest chizuk and hope for challenging times.

My grandparents were all Holocaust survivors, and three of them had been married with families. Between them, they lost five young daughters in the flames of the Shoah. In his memoir entitled In Seven Camps in Three Years (published in the Yizkor book of his hometown Krasnik, Poland) my maternal grandfather Yitzchak Kaftan, z”l, wrote:

By Michal Horowitz

I still remember several names of those killed: Reb Yehoshua Asher Weinberg, Reb Peretz Feder. I remember my uncle, Moishe Markovitches, a boy of about thirteen years. Handsome as a tree in bloom—he was also among those who were shot, may G-d avenge his blood. Reb Peretz Feder and I slept on one pallet and talked continually about the murderers, that they were sent by G-d and that their end is near. “We suffer now so that Mashiach will come. Whoever will survive this hell will see a Jewish state.”

The faith of my grandfather astounds and encourages me and lifts me up in difficult times. As he lay on that pallet in hell, he professed the purest faith in G-d, His Redemption and a Jewish state, which for that generation was only a fantastic dream. A former student of Yeshivas Chachmei Lublin, my grandfather wrote with emunah in Hashem and faith in the eternity of our nation.

A number of years ago, I attended a talk by the well-known Israeli educator and public speaker Miriam Peretz, whose two sons were killed while serving in the IDF. She spoke about the

Miraculously, beyond all natural explanations and reasonable possibilities, Toras Yisrael, Am Yisrael and Eretz Yisrael are alive, well and thriving. This alone is the greatest chizuk and hope for challenging times.

losses of her two sons, Uriel and Eliraz, Hy”d, the loss of her husband from a broken heart and her unwavering faith in Hashem and His nation. Miriam related that since the fall of her firstborn, Uriel, her personal statement is: “For your brokenness is as vast as the sea, who can heal you?” (Eichah 2:13).

Though Miriam lives with the unfathomable reality of two sons buried just a few meters apart from each other on Har Herzl, she is a woman of great strength and tremendous courage. She draws inspiration from our sifrei kodesh, which teach her how to continue on with tenacity and an unbreakable spirit during the hardest times in life. Miriam said that the portion of Tanach that

speaks to her the most is from Shmuel II 12:16-23:

[When King David’s son was sick] he fasted and lay on the ground all night. Though the elders of the household tried to raise him from the earth, David would not rise, nor would he eat. And on the seventh day, the child died. And the servants feared to tell David. But David understood . . . and he said to his servants, “Has the child died?” “He has died,” was the reply. Vayakam David mei’ha’aretz—and David arose from the earth! And he washed, and anointed himself, and changed his clothing; and he came to the house of Hashem, and worshipped; then he came to his own house; and they set bread before him, and he ate.

Bitachon During Crisis

During these times of crisis, we need to strengthen our emunah and bitachon more than ever. The benefits of doing so extend well beyond the usual sense of feeling secure in the knowledge that Hashem is running the world for our benefit.

We read in Tehillim (32:10), “Haboteach BaHashem, chesed yesovevenu—One who trusts in Hashem will be surrounded by kindness.”

Rabbeinu Bachya interprets this to mean that one of the benefits of bitachon is that a person who possesses it will be surrounded by chesed, because his deep faith naturally attracts it. The Chafetz Chaim, however, sees this pasuk as a

And his servants asked him: “What is this matter you have done? When the child was alive, you fasted and cried and now that the child has died, you have arisen and you eat?” And David replied: “When the child was still alive, I fasted and cried, for I said, perhaps G-d will be gracious and the child will live. But now that he has died, for what purpose shall I fast? Can I bring him back? I shall go to him, but he will not return to me.” With her unshakeable faith, Miriam said: “After the death of his son, King David arose—he got up! I, too, go to my sons Uriel and Eliraz; I go to them on Har Herzl. I, too, rose up then, and continue to rise up every day since their deaths.”

This is the tenacity of our nation, the hope of our people, the victory within our souls and the courage of a Jew. Even after all we have endured, through the millennia of galus and the horrors of October 7 and its aftermath, we continue to rise, with emunah, courage, fortitude, simchah and hope. We continue to build. We continue to do good. And we continue to wait each and every day for the coming of the Mashiach and though he may tarry, nevertheless we will wait for him with each passing day.

By Rebbetzin Dina Schoonmaker

As told to Barbara Bensoussan

directive: If you want to strengthen your bitachon, you have to surround yourself with kindness, meaning that you have to actively look for Hashem’s chasadim around you in this world even when things are hard. While we’re going through difficult times, we have to bear in mind that Hashem has something good in store at the end of the process and that our suffering has a purpose.

Rebbetzin Dina Schoonmaker has been teaching in Michlalah Jerusalem College for over thirty years. She founded the women’s vaad workshop for personal development for women in Israel and worldwide.

Barbara Bensoussan is a frequent contributor to Jewish Action

The Chafetz Chaim offers the analogy of a sick person who needs medicine or surgery. Surgery is painful, and medicine is often literally a bitter pill to swallow, but we endure it because we know the suffering is in the service of a good outcome. When you focus your mind on Hashem’s chasadim in the midst of pain, the Chafetz Chaim says, it’s as if you take the bitter pill and turn it into a capsule, coating the medication and protecting you from its bitterness.

Some of my students are mothers with sons serving in Gaza and the North, which is emotionally very trying. But they work on being ba’alei bitachon and keeping in mind that Hashem has something good in store at the end. Together we try to look at Hashem’s chasadim, the good things we have in our lives despite the challenges: the amazing stories of hashgachah pratis, the beautiful achdus that has been generated, a breathtaking sunset— anything that brings perspective and balances out the pain.

To stay positive, I’m careful about the sources I look at for news. I try to look only at psychologically clean news, through outlets that have a good perspective. There are apps reviewed by professionals to ensure they aren’t overwhelming or pessimistic and don’t include sensationalism or graphic detail. Many of my students signed up for “good news only” chats.

We all want to be nosei be'ol, to share in the suffering of our fellow Jews. But the way we go about it has to work for each person individually. Some people will look at war pictures because they want to share the pain other Jews are feeling. They’re like Moshe Rabbeinu, who used his eyes to see and his heart

to feel the suffering of Klal Yisrael. He would lift bricks with them, and eventually killed an overseer who abused a Jew.

For other people, seeing pictures of the war’s brutality is so overwhelming that their emotional health suffers and they feel like they can’t get out of bed. These people may do better sharing the suffering through some type of physical expression or tangible reminder, like not shopping for luxury items; aveilus often manifests by refraining from certain activities, like during the Three Weeks and the Nine Days.

You always have to balance nosei be'ol with emotional resilience. Since this is an ongoing situation, you have to keep taking your psychological temperature to make sure whatever approach you’re taking allows you to remain emotionally intact.

Nosei be'ol can also be proactive. While some people may stop eating out in restaurants as a sign of solidarity, others will look around at displaced people who need food and will organize a meal train. This is a win-win. It raises spirits, releases endorphins and gives them a way to contribute to the war effort. At the same time, their fellow Jews receive material help and chizuk This is part of the chesed yesovevenu, the chesed surrounding the ba’al bitachon, that Tehillim 32:10 refers to. When you see material and spiritual help coming to Israel from both inside the country and all over the world, the bitter pill takes on a coating that makes it easier to swallow.

Not everybody is built to be an organizer, an ish tzibbur. But there are also many people doing quiet private acts within the reach of their abilities and talents: the student who learns extra hours in the beis midrash with the protection of a soldier in mind, or the young adult who recites an extra chapter of Tehillim. On the home front, it’s important for all of us to be soldiers by doing our utmost to create and maintain shalom within our families, even when it takes an extra measure of selflessness or courage. According to the Netziv, there’s a difference

between being in a difficult situation because of a natural disaster—like an earthquake or hurricane—and being in a difficult situation because of a human tormentor. When the source of the trouble is a human tormentor, he says, we need to invest extra effort in improving our behavior bein adam lachaveiro.

Our enemy is waging a psychological war as well as a physical war. For every person who is killed, they hope to kill the spirit of his loved ones and his nation. That gives them a second victory. We have to show them we are a strong nation, as we read in Tehillim (20:9), “They dropped to their knees and fell, but we arose and encouraged each other.” Look at the way our chayalim encourage each other, the way they sing and bond. We must stay strong! We must hug our loved ones, create new relationships and remember to keep the atmosphere in our homes positive. I find it helpful to have a mantra that I repeat daily to anchor me. Mine is “Haboteach BaHashem, chesed yesovevenu.” Each person has to find the right path to support his fellow Jews and share their pain, while retaining the awareness that Hashem has a good plan in mind for us. Keep your eye on His chasadim, and pay them forward as best you can.

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How to Build Hope

By Rabbi Larry Rothwachs

In the face of tragedy, we often find ourselves suddenly grappling, in desperate search of hope, optimism, faith and resilience. During the relatively tranquil course of day-to-day life, these features of inner strength typically receive little attention or cultivation. It is only when faced with life’s inexplicable and most challenging moments that we urgently seek understanding and engage in a search for faith. This reactive approach leaves us scrambling to develop the emotional and spiritual resources we have until then neglected. While it is never too late to foster a more hopeful, optimistic and faith-based outlook, it is crucial to recognize the importance of nurturing these qualities during our better days. Doing so not only enriches our everyday experiences but also fills a reservoir of inner strength that we may then draw from in times

Rabbi Larry Rothwachs serves as senior rabbi of Congregation Beth Aaron in Teaneck, New Jersey, and director of professional rabbinics at the Rabbi Isaac Elchanan Theological Seminary. In January 2023, Rabbi Rothwachs was appointed as the founding rabbi of Meromei Shemesh, a new community currently under construction in Ramat Beit Shemesh.

of adversity. A proactive approach to personal growth ensures that we are better prepared not just when tragedy strikes but throughout life’s journey.

This insight offers a deeper understanding of the pasuk in Yirmiyahu (17:7): “Baruch hagever asher yivtach baHashem v’hayah Hashem mivtacho—Blessed is the one who trusts in Hashem, whose confidence is in Him.” At first glance, this pasuk appears to be repetitive: it states that those who have faith in Hashem are blessed, and then mentions confidence in Him. However, this seeming redundancy holds a deeper meaning. The Sefas Emes interprets this pasuk as a charge, encouraging us to develop a deep faith and trust in Hashem, particularly during life’s more tranquil moments. At times during which the challenges we face seem manageable and the blessings in our life more apparent, we should seize the opportunity to focus, deliberately and intentionally, on Hashem’s abundant kindness and compassion. By doing so, we will hopefully succeed in building a strong foundation of faith upon which to stand during life’s tumultuous and challenging times. This proactive approach fills us with a healthy reserve, ensuring that we have a robust spiritual support system to draw from when we need it most. It enables us to

enter a “fortress of faith” built during calmer times, rather than frantically seeking shelter during a storm.

The reality, however, is that life often presents moments for which we find ourselves unprepared. Despite our best intentions, we frequently find ourselves caught off guard, struggling to maintain our equilibrium. In times of unforeseen adversity, how can we anchor ourselves to Hashem and fortify our spiritual resilience, especially when our prior preparations to build a foundation of emunah may have been less than ideal?

Our daily recitation of Shema constitutes a profound method for cultivating faith, particularly during challenging times. The ritual practice of covering one’s eyes is well-known. The common understanding is that this act aids in concentrating our focus, shielding us from distractions as we affirm our devotion to Hashem. Yet one could ask: why is this gesture not applied to mitigate distractions during other prayers? To answer this, we need to explore the meaning behind this practice within the broader context of prayer and faith.

Through our experience of this world, we often encounter apparent injustices: we see good people suffering and wicked people prospering. As devout Jews, we understand that surface appearances can be deceptive.

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We hold a deep-seated belief that Hashem’s actions, though often incomprehensible to us, serve a higher purpose and are ultimately for the greater good, aligning in ways beyond our understanding. We understand that while we cannot always decipher the justice in events unfolding before us, there is a cosmic equation where “the numbers all add up.”

Our physical senses, especially our sight, frequently confront us with images that have the potential to undermine our faith. While our vision appears to offer a clear, unfiltered view of the world, it exposes us to harsh realities that can be overwhelming.

These visual experiences often narrate a story that clouds our capacity to perceive and believe in the underlying purpose of the events unfolding around us. The dichotomy between what we see and what we believe tests our ability to maintain faith amidst the complexities of the physical world. We cover our eyes during the moment of kabbalas ol malchus Shamayim, which is what the first paragraph of Shema is all about, to create a symbolic severance from our physical senses, a deliberate choice to forgo our reliance on our natural windows to the world. By obscuring our physical vision, we open ourselves to a higher level of perception,

The Psychology of

Hope

In our homeland and throughout the world, the Jewish nation is in grave distress. We are under attack, and we are at war. Throughout this long exile, we have suffered through the Crusades, the Inquisition, pogroms and the Holocaust . . . and now, we are targeted and threatened in every corner. Can we remain hopeful? Does hope help us cope with terror and tragedy? Are there any psychological tools that can enable us to transition from a sense of helplessness and hopelessness to optimism and hope?

Let’s understand hope by studying a bit of brain science. Human beings have elaborate brains, in

which thoughts, emotions, physical sensations and behavioral activity operate concurrently. During moments of intense pain or fear, the consciousness is engulfed in anguish, despair and anxiety, and the overwhelmed brain can descend into a helpless, hopeless state. The constant barrage of horrible news, atrocious images and existential threats we are currently experiencing has resulted in a feeling of hopelessness for many people. Our brains are in a state of shock and cannot think or feel much else.

How do we get past hopelessness? Consider what we generally do when we are frightened or in despair. We might daven that our suffering stop. We might exercise our bitachon,

acknowledging that there exists a reality far greater than what our eyes can see. This gesture is especially significant during times of crisis or tragedy, when the perceivable world offers little hope. It serves as a powerful reminder of our enduring belief, an affirmation that despite the darkest times, the sun will rise again. Covering our eyes reinforces our understanding that true insight and hope lie beyond the scope of our five senses, in the realm of unwavering faith in Hashem.

By Rabbi Dr. Dovid Fox

reminding ourselves that Hashem is the true source of salvation. Praying for a positive outcome and having faith that it will materialize are religious practices. But these actions are not hope. So what is hope and what does it accomplish in a person who is overwhelmed with distress? Is hope nothing more than denial gift-wrapped? Is it merely a deferral of despair? Is it donning a Pollyanna-like optimism to avoid crashing in pessimistic resignation to the horrid reality?

Psychologically healthy individuals are able to be hopeful, but not because they deny or suppress their feelings of anxiety or stress. In fact, it’s quite the opposite: achieving hope is a process that begins with self-awareness—i.e.,

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Rabbi Dr. Dovid Fox is a forensic and clinical psychologist, graduate school professor, author and director of Chai Lifeline Crisis and Trauma Services. He is rav of the Hashkama Minyan of Young Israel Hancock Park, Los Angeles and serves as a dayan on the batei din of Jerusalem and other communities. Among his rabbinic scholarly works are the Conversion Readiness Assessment, the Mikvah Checklist for Managing OCD, and teshuvos on the four chalakim of the Shulchan Aruch, including publications in Otzar HaPoskim. He is frequently consulted by rabbinic leaders and organizations on mental health halachah.

recognizing the anxiety and the stress. Research shows that when you are feeling a sense of hopelessness, you must look it in the eye, acknowledge your distress, and identify the ways in which that distress is affecting you.

How do you come to this selfawareness? Breathe slowly and deeply. Ground yourself, which means taking a few moments to find a quiet, comfortable posture that feels calming and familiar. Then observe the thoughts and ideas associated with your distress, the emotions that are present, and even your bodily sensations, such as your

breathing, tension, pain or weakness. Pay attention to how you feel as you focus inward, e.g., restless, agitated, numb. Observing and identifying your range of thoughts and emotions, your physical state, and your overall behavior allows for mindfulness and fuller consciousness of yourself and your experience. This leads to something very important: the ability to define and thereby limit your negative feelings.

You might have noticed a pain chart hanging in a doctor’s office or hospital, which consists of a series of cartoon faces with varying expressions depicting pain ranging from mild discomfort to unbearable. Doctors will often ask patients to refer to the chart to describe the level of pain they are experiencing. The purpose of the chart is to help the doctor understand how much pain you are experiencing, but it is also a way for you to rate your own discomfort. Once you define your level of pain, your mind has externalized the pain, making it an objective experience, rather than only a subjective one. The pain is this much, but not that much; for example, it is moderate, which means it is not severe. Setting a parameter for your distress, as well as naming the

experience within, helps mitigate the uncomfortable sensations. You know what it is and what it is not.

The externalization of pain can take place on an emotional level as well. Self-awareness is like the Heisenberg Effect in physics applied to psychology. The Heisenberg Effect states that in scientific research, the very act of measurement or observation directly alters the phenomenon under investigation. Similarly, in psychology: once I am mindful of what takes place within, I succeed in limiting those emotions, thoughts and sensations precisely because I have defined them. For example, you might feel a poorly defined sense of uneasiness, but once you are aware of its specific cognitive, emotional and physical components, you begin to feel in charge and have better control of that uneasiness. Simply put, the state of distress becomes more manageable when you have identified and defined it for yourself. So hope begins, phenomenologically, with self-awareness because you then know what your hopelessness consists of.

Attaining clarity about your emotional state actually frees up space within your brain to begin connecting with other internal mind-states.

We must stay strong! We must hug our loved ones, create new relationships and remember to keep the atmosphere in our homes positive.

Feelings, sensations and thoughts other than hopelessness, worry and distress are then able to rise to the surface. As the calmer brain surveys its broader range of thoughts, feelings and bodily sensations, it allows you to reflect back on better times and positive experiences. Positive, feelgood thoughts and emotions are reactivated, propelling you to move beyond hopelessness and to face the future with optimism and resilience.

To illustrate: A person worries deeply over the escalation of antisemitism that is beyond his power to stop or control. He takes the time to face the worry and peer into its psychological components. His selfaware mind can then begin reflecting on thoughts of safe places, secure feelings, encouragement, warmth and tranquility. The mind can tolerate the coexistence of contrasting feelings. Think of how the glass that is shattered zecher lechurban coexists with the joy of the wedding. Despite the presence of worry, once reflections of positive past experiences enter one’s consciousness, the dominant state of mind is no longer anguished hopelessness. The existence of positive sensations allows one to taste a trace, a flavor, of what better times will feel like, restoring a sense of hope.

This is the psycho-neural process of generating hope. There is, however, an even deeper quality to hope, a spiritual aspect. Prior to his death, Yaakov Avinu speaks to his sons, and in his blessing to Dan, he declares, “Lishuascha kivisi Hashem—how I hope, G-d, for Your deliverance” (Bereishis 49:18). Those three words are echoed in our prayers. Daily we proclaim, “ki lishuascha kivinu kol hayom.” And in other places in Tanach as well, we speak of kivui, hopefulness. In fact, the Midrash teaches that “hakol bekivui,” all important things begin with our being hopeful for them. Getting past suffering, says the Midrash, begins with ascending into hope.

Hope is one of the kochos hanefesh, the sacred energies emanating from the Jewish soul, which augment our psychological coping. Spiritual hope is transcendent. It is unfettered by the severity of the present, because it draws one toward envisioning a better future. Dovid Hamelech captures this (Tehillim 126:1) when he declares “hayinu kecholmim—we will have been like dreamers,” portraying his vision of geulah, of emerging from despair. During the oppressive exile, we look ahead to a return of better times. This anticipation keeps our spirits lifted and our minds grounded and optimistic. Notice that the phrase refers to those future times, yet it is written in the past tense. We will be like dreamers; we were like dreamers. Spiritual hope is the capacity to create a feeling in the present based on how you will feel in the future. It is a confidence that awaits better times to come, stemming from the awareness and certainty that you have felt good in the past. The spiritual hope-mechanism, kivui, is more than a mind game or a reframing of the present. It is a time-transcending experience where past, present and future are fused into a spirit of numinosity, of sublime emotional and sensory serenity in the here and now. The neuroscience and psychology of hope take you into the depths of your despair, and back to memories of better times, propelling

you into feeling that the future, too, will be better. The spirituality of hope, the power of kivui, on the other hand, evokes a transcendent belief and confidence that even during the dark present, you are safe and secure.

I have read anecdotes of Jews during the Holocaust who, as a means of easing the hunger they were experiencing, would focus on the Shabbos foods they had once savored, with visual and sensory images of future Shabbos meals. That was a means of employing hope, and it did help sustain them. They were not simply looking forward to the physical act of eating and satisfying their hunger. They were remembering the sanctity and allure of a profound spiritual experience, the Shabbos, and projecting it forward; their memories of a happier past were actualized and that positive future was experienced as the present.

Hope is the anticipation of better times to come, just as we’ve had better times in the past. Hope is our psychospiritual catalyst to coping in the present. Every Jew can activate hope and kivui that we shall emerge from this harrowing time.

We keep the faith. We pray. We keep the spirit. We hope.

n0t for naught

One of my children left us a note last week that tugged at our hearts. The following is a quote pulled from the note, written in pencil with big, uneven lettering and flowers drawn all around: “Can I do anything else for the war besides daven or take a small thing away from my day? I want this to end. And I don’t see how my davening is helping. I want to see it so I can know for shure [sic] that it is actually happening.”

I think we all feel this way to one degree or another. There is a cloud hanging over our collective heads. When people ask how I’m doing and I answer positively, I feel a silent asterisk hanging in the air. We so desperately want the war to end victoriously. But if for some reason Hashem doesn’t make that happen now, we at least want to see that our efforts bear fruit. So how can we remove that dark cloud? Or at least feel more light in our lives on such a cloudy day?

It is interesting to note that the very first miraculous sign that Hashem gave Moshe and Aharon to perform before Pharaoh is also the very first miraculous sign that Hashem gave Moshe to perform before the Jewish people. They were to take a staff and cast it down to the ground, whereupon it would turn into a snake. However, when it came to the miracle performed before the Jewish people, there was another step: Moshe grabbed the snake by its tail, and it once again became a staff. The sefer Be’er Moshe by the Ozharover Rebbe explains, based upon the Zohar, that a deep message is being conveyed here. Throughout the Torah, a staff is depicted as a source of stability and strength, whereas a snake

symbolizes evil and weakness. Pharaoh and the Jewish people are being given mirroring messages. The message to Pharaoh is this: that which you depend on, your source of strength, will turn into your source of weakness, your downfall. One of many examples of this is that Pharaoh’s own palace became the very home where the Jewish savior was raised.

The opposite message being delivered to us, the Jewish people, is this: the thing that looks like the very source of evil and weakness may seem like a hopeless encounter with a frightening snake, but in reality, that snake is the source of your staff—your strength. The slavery of Egypt must have been the darkest of clouds for us. Yet we know from several verses in the Torah and countless commentaries that it was the kur habarzel, the fiery furnace used to purify metals in a process known as smelting, in which metals are pushed past their melting point to extract the base ore of the metal. It was this process, and only this process, that allowed us to become who we were destined to be, to reach our potential as a nation. It wasn’t a cloud that just darkened the day; it was a rain cloud that brought forth untold bounty after the ground had been properly tilled.

This message was transmitted to the Jewish people not only in retrospect. Given in a time of darkness when they were still in the throes of catastrophe, it was the first step in their process of salvation. Hashem was conveying to them: Your hardship is not for naught. I know it’s hard; I know it’s pushing you to your limits—that’s the point. As you undergo this process, you will find that pushing those limits will show you the limitless nature of your potential.

There was once a G-d-fearing Jew with a pure heart who came to seek guidance from the Chozeh of Lublin, the Chassidic master known far and wide as “the Seer.” After sharing some of his weighty

By rabbi dov foxbrunner

suffering, he declared, “Despite all my challenges, I have just one request. My business exposes me to the unbridled vulgar speech of low, unmannered people. While I am at work, I can’t daven properly. I just want this terrible atmosphere removed so that I can daven!”

The Chozeh sympathized with his plight and his simple, earnest request, and he promised to see what spiritual strings he could pull. The fellow returned home, and after nothing changed, he came back a few weeks later to see if he could hope for some forthcoming salvation. The Chozeh replied, “I’m glad you returned. Hashem is not going to remove this obstacle from your path right now. He wants you to serve Him and do your best from where you are.”

There is so much we don’t know, so much we don’t understand. But one thing “we can know for shure” is that change is “actually happening.” We must not run away from the snake. Grab ahold of its tail. Let us hold on to our resolve in tefillah, hold on to our Torah, hold on to each other in ways we have rarely seen in our lifetime. And as we maintain our firm grasp, we must take pride in knowing that the transformation is that of the snake into the staff. We are being transformed into bigger people, stronger avdei Hashem, a stronger nation that will soon reap what it has sown—once the clouds have passed.

Rabbi Dov Foxbrunner is the associate rabbi at Beth Jacob Atlanta in Georgia.

RESPONDING TO CRISIS: A Historical Approach

Jewish Action Editor-in-Chief Nechama Carmel Converses with Dr. Henry Abramson

Photo: Marko Dashev

The academic dean of Touro’s Lander College of Arts and Sciences, Dr. Henry Abramson holds a PhD in history from the University of Toronto and is a specialist in Jewish history and thought.

Nechama Carmel: Historically speaking, how did Jewish communities deal with catastrophe?

Dr. Henry Abramson: Jews have always responded to trauma and catastrophe with creativity and innovation. Take, for example, a major catastrophe like the Churban in 70 CE. One of the most significant ways in which we adapted as a people is by investing in the institution of the synagogue, the beit knesset. Now the synagogue, of course, preexisted the Beit Hamikdash. Prior to the Churban, we did have local places of gathering for worship of some type.

But with the Destruction of the Temple, we lost the central locus of our worship. For centuries, everything was based around Jerusalem. The great spiritual challenge was the removal of the center of gravity from the Jewish world. Judaism was inconceivable without the Temple. How do you redefine your identity once the gravitational core is removed? It’s like taking the sun out of the solar system. We had to find some other way to orient our entire being. So the synagogue really stepped in as an institution—a place where we can gather, where we can still pray, both in the Diaspora and in Israel. It is one of the main examples of innovation that helped Judaism survive. Establishing the synagogue as our new mikdash me’at, our mini sanctuary, was a hugely creative venture that persists to this day.

Carmel: Was the innovation of the synagogue an indication of how the Jews at that time managed to hold on to hope, despite the overwhelming catastrophe?

Dr. Abramson: Historians don’t generally work with emotional values. We focus on facts: dates, rulers, wars, et cetera—that’s the kind of data we tend to work with.

Assessing hope, however, is obviously crucial to understanding how a community survives after a catastrophe. It’s hard to get into the

mind of a first- or tenth- or fifteenthcentury Jew and imagine how he or she felt about the future. The way a historian would measure hope is by analyzing new developments: new structures, such as a physical building discovered archaeologically, or new literary documents revealed—all of which attest to strategies for survival. Those are the kinds of things historians normally look at to assess the question of how communities created hope for the future.

Carmel: Can you give another example of creativity and innovation in response to catastrophe that one finds in Jewish history?

Dr. Abramson: After the Bar Kochba revolt ended, circa 135 CE, the focus on the transmission of Torah increased. Visionary leaders like Rabbi Yehudah Hanasi determined that change was necessary: to preserve the Oral Law, it needed to be recorded. This resulted in the codification of the Mishnah, which was essentially the creation of a portable beit medrash

The willingness to challenge older paradigms, in what the Talmud calls a sha’at hadechak, an emergency situation, is a creative strategy. Once the Mishnah was codified, one could take this book and read its teachings. Instead of limiting Torah learning, which the rabbis feared would be the result of

codifying the Oral Law, it actually made it more accessible and helped spread Torah learning in a remarkable fashion.

Carmel: It almost seems as if tragedy itself is the impetus for growth and renewal. In an article we featured some years back, Rabbi Dr. Ephraim Kanarfogel discussed the Jewish response to the Crusades and how some of the Jewish communities that were “Ground Zero” of the First Crusade subsequently became centers of prolific Torah learning. Dr. Kanarfogel said: “Quite remarkably, during the period in which the first few Crusades took place, while the Jewish communities in Northern France and Germany were mourning their losses and composing kinot, much of the vast literature of the Ba’alei HaTosafot was being created” (“Crusades and Crisis” [fall 2020]; https://jewishaction.com/jewish-world/ history/crusades-and-crisis/).

Dr. Abramson: Robert Chazan, a scholar of medieval Jewry, notes that we tend to have a view of Jewish history, particularly of the Middle Ages, as being a time of persecution, followed by a return to the median. In other words, we are holding at a certain level materially and spiritually and then we experience a pogrom or get expelled from a certain place, and then we ultimately return to the level we were at prior to the catastrophic event. Chazan points out

The Jewish community has been assaulted and persecuted so many times, but not only do the Jews bounce back, they actually surge further ahead.

The vast majority of peoples who have been singled out for persecution have simply disappeared from the historical record . . . . Jews have not only not been beaten, but we come back stronger. And that’s an amazing thing.

in his research that it’s not like that. The Jewish community has been assaulted and persecuted so many times, but not only do the Jews bounce back, they actually surge further ahead. Although we tend to have an overarchingly negative view of the Middle Ages, we see that the Jewish population in Europe actually increased during that time period. Moreover, it often grew at a higher rate than the surrounding non-Jewish population, especially in the Eastern part of Europe in the nineteenth century. How is that?

While I hate to quote Friedrich Nietzsche, he did say something rather true: whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. That’s what happens to the Jewish people. Another case in point: the Holocaust of the twentieth century is followed by the resumption of sovereignty in our land. It’s incomprehensible. The vast majority of peoples who have been singled out for persecution have simply disappeared from the historical record. Either they’ve been massacred out of existence, or they've simply chosen to assimilate into the surrounding populations. Jews have not only not been beaten, but we come back stronger. And that’s an amazing thing.

Carmel: So you’re basically saying the Jewish people seem to have a unique kind of resilience. Is that correct?

Dr. Abramson: The word I would use isn’t necessarily resilience, which indicates returning to stasis. We’re talking about rising beyond that. The word would probably be closer to something like creativity or innovation. Okay, we’re

struck with this unusual challenge, and that’s putting it mildly. We’ve been massacred, we’ve been attacked, and we’ve been hounded almost out of existence— how do we respond to it? Well, we find new ways to live as authentic Jews

Carmel: If you could pick one figure in Jewish history who represents hope and optimism and the ability to reinvent and start anew, who would that person be?

Dr. Abramson: I could think of many individuals but my favorite is Don Yitzchak Abarbanel, who went through tremendous tribulations. In his golden years he elects to remain with the Jews rather than convert and take a high position in the Spanish government under Ferdinand and Isabella. He is essentially exiled to the Mediterranean, living in different countries in his sixties and seventies. That’s when he decides: I’m no longer the minister of finance. I’m no longer involved in high-level politics. I guess I’ll write a massive commentary on Tanach. Which he does, and it’s brilliant. He reinvents himself. And when he has the opportunity to do so, he goes back into politics—in his seventies, he gets involved in high-level negotiations between Italy and Portugal. He is remarkable in dealing with the various challenges he experiences in his life. He never gives up on his Judaism and his Jewish identity. He is a role model to me.

Carmel: While I understand your points about creativity and innovation, I wonder why Jews didn’t just at one time or another in history succumb to despair.

Dr. Abramson: I’m not sure that my credentials as a historian equip me to answer that question, but I can try. I think about this question a lot. The easy answer is that we’re talking about a supernatural phenomenon. Hakadosh Baruch Hu gave the Jewish people a special fate and destiny—we see it right there in Sefer Bereishit, when Hashem says to Avraham, “I will make you into a great nation.” Even in the modern era, although many Jews are not necessarily connected to emunah, they still demonstrate this kind of incredible bounce-back quality that is characteristic of the Jewish people.

That’s the supernatural answer.

But there’s also an argument to be made from a historical approach: forcing the Jews to be marginalized, particularly in the European culture, compelled them to develop an ethos of constantly looking for the new. For example, let’s look at nineteenth-century Russia, where Jews suffered incessant pogroms and expulsions. If you know you could be kicked off your land in a heartbeat, you’re going to look for commercial ventures that don’t require attachment to the land. If you know you may be blocked from entering a certain profession, you’re going to look for a different profession. This ability to adapt is built into the cultural DNA of the Jewish people.

Another crucially important point is that the persecution validates our traditional self-narrative. In other words, if we view being in the Diaspora as a punishment for our many sins, then when we experience a pogrom or other catastrophe on a national scale, we recognize it to be a result of our sins. Our response is to circle the wagons, turn inward, and focus our energies in a centripetal way to ensure that we don’t sin again. Persecution actually makes us stronger.

Carmel: You stated above that “even in the modern era, although many Jews are not necessarily connected to emunah, they still demonstrate this kind of incredible bounce-back quality that is characteristic of the Jewish people.” Can you elaborate on that? Where do you see that?

Dr. Abramson: I see it primarily in the phenomenal ways they have transformed the modern economy. Through banking innovations in the eighteenth

and nineteenth centuries, through unparalleled technological innovations in the late twentieth century, through their contributions to literature, the motion picture industry, and scientific expansion across the globe.

The reality is that the nineteenth and twentieth centuries have seen innumerable Jewish contributions to the world. We constitute something like .02 percent of the world’s population, yet Jews have been the recipients of more than 20 percent of Nobel prizes. Where does that come from? It comes from being pushed to the wall and forced to find new ways to do things.

Carmel: I’d like to shift the conversation to Israel. How do you see Israel rebuilding and recovering from the enormous trauma of October 7?

Dr. Abramson: That is a good question. One of the hallmarks of our resurgence after crisis is our ability to look creatively at the way we have been doing things until that point, and to

have strong leaders who are capable of defining alternate realities.

The example I have in mind is Rabbi Akiva Eiger. In his time, circa 1830, there was a huge cholera epidemic. Death was all around. Rabbi Eiger innovated some really strict Covid-like rules, authorizing the secular police to enforce social distancing. But one of the things he did, which had a significant effect on Ashkenazic Judaism, was relaxing the rules regarding who is allowed to say Kaddish. Until then, only one person per minyan was allowed to recite Kaddish. This resulted in all kinds of friction (“It’s my Zaidy’s yahrtzeit,” “my aunt’s yahrtzeit”), which had to be resolved by determining who had kedimah, halachic priority. Since so many people died during the cholera epidemic, Rabbi Eiger ruled that all those who needed to say Kaddish could say it together. The custom continued even after the epidemic. You can’t go into an Ashkenazic shul today without hearing people reciting Kaddish simultaneously. It’s become normative practice.

Instead of excluding people who needed to say Kaddish, Rabbi Akiva Eiger found a way to remain within the bounds of halachah and yet allow a creative innovation. What’s noteworthy about his decision is that in a time of crisis he leaned toward inclusivity.

This is what’s happening in Israel right now. You see beautiful acts of unity and inclusivity. You see Chareidim serving food to chayalim. At the same time, you see chilonim who have very little attachment to Judaism literally dancing when they receive a pair of combat tzitzis. They are overjoyed and feel this is their armor. While they might have little or no connection to religion, they feel the love from their fellow religious Jews no matter how far apart they are. That inclusivity just makes us all disproportionately stronger.

We should not lose sight of the phenomenal unity we have, however briefly, achieved during this crisis. That should be front and center for us. We should not forget that we stood together: secular Jews, atheist Jews and religious Jews of all stripes. We should remember this moment as we craft the next chapter of our history.

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Celebrating Life IN THE FACE OF PAIN

One Son Married, One Son Missing

Jewish Action writer Toby Klein Greenwald spoke with Rabbi Doron Perez, executive chairman of the Mizrachi World Movement, whose remarkable story of resilience struck a chord with Jews all over the world in the weeks and months following the outbreak of war.

Yonatan Perez and his wife, Galya, married just ten days after the events of October 7.

Though the chatan’s brother Daniel was taken hostage by Hamas, the family was able to celebrate with genuine simchah

As of late February, as we prepared to go to press, Rabbi Perez’s son Daniel, a tank commander, was still missing in action following the October 7 massacre and presumed to be taken hostage. His oldest son Yonatan, who was engaged to be married ten days after the massacre and was serving as a company commander in the 101st unit of the Paratroopers Brigade, suffered a leg injury the first day of the war. With Daniel missing, Rabbi Perez and his family decided to go ahead and celebrate the wedding of Yonatan and Galya. This is their story.

Toby Klein Greenwald: These last few months have been very trying for you and your family. Can you please share with us moments of chesed or strength you experienced since October 7?

Rabbi Doron Perez: The biggest chesed from Hashem, which gave us tremendous strength, was the fact that Yonatan was not among the three hundred soldiers and eighty officers killed on October 7, nor was he among the many hundreds who were very badly wounded that day. A bullet entered and exited his leg without causing major damage. He was moderately wounded; it could have been so much worse. There are families that suffered multiple horrific losses.

In that first week, our son Daniel, an officer and tank commander, was considered missing. We knew that he and the other members of his tank crew were in the Nachal Oz army base that Shabbat. The base was overrun by terrorists. He and his crew entered a tank—when the tank was located, one soldier, Tomer Leibovitz, Hy”d, was found murdered inside; Daniel and three others were unaccounted for. Shortly afterwards, Daniel was officially classified as “presumed taken captive,” which is his status as of now [late February]. At least he was not presumed dead, G-d forbid.

A second chesed: Yonatan had planned on getting married, and the fact that we were able to make a wedding despite the pain and the difficulty . . . that we were able to somehow move on and celebrate life in the face of death, agony and uncertainty throughout the country was very lifeaffirming. For five or six days, we focused on a wedding. That was an incredible source of strength, despite the anguish.

Three weeks after October 7, when the wedding was behind us and Daniel’s classification was officially changed from “missing” to “taken hostage,” the reality of dealing with the hostage situation came to the fore.

TKG: Tell me how you and your family decided to go ahead with Yonatan and Galya’s wedding.

RP: For the first few days, we couldn’t really think about the wedding, and with Yonatan injured, we didn’t quite know what to do. But five days after the massacre, when it became clear that Yonatan would recover quickly, we started to consider going ahead with the wedding.

Around that time, Yonatan’s commander visited and told us details about the battle. We realized then what kind of miracle had occurred to our son. Soldiers all around Yonatan had been killed. There was death and destruction all around. Terrorists carrying RPGs were everywhere. Every army vehicle had

Often tragedy and joy happen simultaneously, and it requires wisdom to know which of these to give expression to and which to compartmentalize . . . .

I saw that despite the enormous pain, it is possible to have a genuinely happy celebration.

Daniel Perez is presumed to have been taken hostage by Hamas.

Born and raised in South Africa, Rabbi Doron Perez, fifty-three, made aliyah at the age of eighteen. He studied at various yeshivot and served in the IDF as part of the Hesder program. After he married, he returned to South Africa, where he and his wife Shelley were on shelichut for fifteen years. In 2014, Rabbi Perez returned to Israel with his

been destroyed. And Yonatan was only moderately injured.

At the end of the conversation, the commander said to Yonatan, “Am Yisrael needs semachot now. You should get married tonight!”

My wife Shelley was feeling adamant that Yonatan and Galya should get married, but, of course, we told the couple that it was their decision and we would support whatever they decided to do. They decided to go ahead with the wedding. We cancelled the wedding hall we had booked in Ashkelon but had the wedding on the date originally planned, October 17. Our friends in the neighborhood arranged the

wedding at the local high school, transforming it into a beautiful wedding venue in five days. It was a small wedding, with only our closest friends and family.

TKG: How were you able to manage such conflicting emotions—joy at the wedding while experiencing the agony of having a son as a hostage?

RP: Shelley and I got through it. We cried briefly under the chuppah for the lack of Daniel’s presence, but then wiped our faces and transitioned to the simchah. The chuppah was very emotional. I have never

Since October 7, our family has received tremendous strength from the outpouring of love, tefillot and acts of chesed . . . . We feel the incredible embrace of the Jewish people, not only in South Africa and in Yad Binyamin, but all around the world . . .

experienced being so happy and so sad at the same time.

Shlomo Hamelech says in Kohelet, “A season is set for everything, a time for every experience under Heaven”

[Ed note: trans. Sefaria]. One way to understand this is, there are different times for different feelings. But I think Shlomo Hamelech, the wisest of all people, is really saying—often tragedy and joy happen simultaneously, and it requires wisdom to know which of these to give expression to and which to compartmentalize. Throughout this time, two Hebrew words kept playing over in my mind: charadah and chedvah. You can have such trembling, charadah, but at the same time such happiness, chedvah. We were able to put the charadah in its place and have a simchah where chedvah was the overwhelming feeling. I saw that despite the enormous pain, it is possible to have a genuinely happy celebration.

TKG: How is the rest of your family doing?

RP: There’s a lot of evidence in [the psychological literature] that people are a lot more resilient than we would have thought; resilience is part of the human spirit. All of us [in my family] are somehow, with all the pain and difficulty, able to deal with it in one way or another.

TKG: How has the fact that you’ve always played more of a leadership role impacted your family’s current situation?

RP: I am not only a spouse and a father. I fulfill a leadership role, and part of this role is aspiring to give chizuk, putting life in a context where there’s always positivity and hope.

Shelley is a more private person. It’s also much harder for her as a mother. Over the last four years, she had two sons who were officers in the army and she was in touch with them all the time. I never worried about what my sons were wearing or what they were eating. But Shelley did and always does, so the connection is deeper, and that’s what makes this particularly hard for her. She has very close friends, some of whom have come from overseas to be with her

family so he could accept the role of executive chairman of World Mizrachi.

Photo: Hadas Parush/ FLASH90

at this time. Her friends in Yad Binyamin have been unbelievable; they don’t leave her alone for a minute. And, thank G-d, she’s very strong.

For Yonatan, it’s difficult, because many of his friends were killed; he’s been to a lot of funerals. Right now he’s still recovering from his injury, but he’s back on his base training new recruits.

Our two daughters are also coping well. Dr. Erica Brown of Yeshiva University and Rabbi Tully Harcsztark, principal of SAR High School in Riverdale, New York, heard my younger daughter, Shira, who was fifteen at the time, speak when they were here on an Israel mission, and they decided to bring her to the States to deliver [words of chizuk] to high schoolers. She spoke to teens at five or six high schools and to students at Stern College as well. She and I are able to share our feelings in a public forum, getting chizuk and giving chizuk, while my wife and my older daughter are processing it more privately with their close friends.

TKG: Tell us about the group of families whose sons were in the tank with your son. Are you still in contact with them?

RP: Yes. We have a WhatsApp group for the parents of the soldiers who were in the tank together, including the parents of Tomer, who was killed. We communicate all the time, and we’ve become like a family. We have another

WhatsApp group for parents of soldiers taken hostage; we update each other on a daily basis.

TKG: It seems that Yonatan was very intent on returning to fight on behalf of the Jewish people.

RP: Yonatan is very humble, as generally all Israeli soldiers are. [When they are fighting] they don’t tell you what’s really going on. They certainly don’t want to upset their parents and cause any additional worry.

That Shemini Atzeret, when Yonatan’s battalion commander sent out a call for all soldiers to go to Sderot, Yonatan left immediately. For six hours, he fought terrorists—he left with a handgun only— and emerged a hero. We found out that he acted with tremendous mesirut nefesh; Yonatan, like all our soldiers, is a “gibor b’Yisrael.” I felt incredible pride in the gevurah, the courage and strength, with which Yonatan fought.

When he had recuperated enough, Yonatan returned to the army. Anyone whose sibling was killed while serving in the IDF or taken hostage is exempt from any infantry role and can be assigned to non-dangerous duty. Yonatan is in the infantry. While he’s not fighting on the front line, his position on the base where he’s training recruits, is still considered a battle position. He needed a special dispensation to take on this position. He wrote to the army general who is

head of human resources and asked for an appeal of their decision so that he could return to active infantry duty. He asked us to sign the appeal because parents’ signatures are required. He said to me, “Dad, I know it’s difficult for you [to allow me to take an infantry role], but I’m just asking you to think of the following: did we learn in this house to think of our needs as individuals, or to think of the needs of Klal Yisrael?” I said, “That’s a bit harsh.” He said, “No, no, that’s what you taught us.” And I asked him, “What about your mother?” And he said he would speak with her. In the end, we both signed the appeal.

Life is a package deal. We tell our children it’s not so easy being a Jew. There’s avdut, slavery, and merirut, bitterness. But we overcome . . . the enduring taste in our mouths . . . is the taste of freedom, the taste of the korban Pesach . . . the taste of a better future.

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Ethics of our Fighters: A Jewish View on War and Morality

By Rabbi Shlomo Brody

Jewish fighters grappled with the moral dilemmas posed by the brutality of the world wars, battling “terror with terror” against the great Arab revolt, and fighting in the Warsaw Ghetto, and today as we fight Hamas and others who seek to destroy the state of Israel and her people.

From the author of award-winning A Guide to the Complex, in Ethics of Our Fighters, Rabbi Shlomo Brody tells the story of these political dilemmas and moral debates. It draws from the pivotal historical moments of the last one hundred years to weave together the most important writings of contemporary ethicists with the insights of the greatest rabbinic scholars.

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I come from a very Zionistic family. Both sets of my grandparents lived in Israel. My maternal grandfather, the founder of Jewish sports in South Africa, brought Jewish groups to compete in Israel in the Maccabiah Games, and had been part of the South African delegation to three Olympics, including the one in Munich in 1972 [where eleven Israeli athletes were murdered by Arab terrorists].

TKG: What is the most important outcome that you have personally felt from this immense catastrophe?

RP: Since October 7, our family has received tremendous strength from the outpouring of love, tefillot and acts of chesed. We are the recipients of so much care and concern from our entire community of Yad Binyamin, as well as from the Jewish community of South Africa, where our boys both grew up. There have been so many different activities there on behalf of the hostages, including thousands of kids wearing bracelets with the words “Bring them home.”

We feel the incredible embrace of the Jewish people, not only in South Africa and in Yad Binyamin, but all around the world, plus the endless tefillot on an ongoing basis by people who feel “imo anochi b’tzarah—I am with him in distress” (Tehillim 91:15).

This has supported and buoyed us. And because we’ve received strength from so many, we’ve been able to find within ourselves the ability to give strength to others.

TKG: How do you think Israeli society has changed as a result of October 7?

RP: I’m a big believer in the unity of the Jewish people. And we’ve lacked it for the last five years. We’ve had five elections in four years—that’s almost unheard of in the democratic world. Israeli society was, until now, very divisive. And this weakness was sensed by our enemy as well. What has come out of this, unfortunately, is enormous pain, but also tremendous unity, an aweinspiring togetherness. We put all the squabbles aside, and we stand together. We understand that it doesn’t make a difference to our enemies what type of Jew you are, whether you are left or right, or what religious stream you belong to. It brought us together, and our challenge is to maintain that sense of unity.

TKG: Do you have a final thought for our readers?

RP: The Hagaddah describes the four sons, one of whom is a rasha who removes himself from the klal. He is so removed that the Haggadah says, “Had he been there [in Egypt], he would not have been redeemed.” This rish’ut is not being part of Klal Yisrael, not feeling the pain of Klal Yisrael, and therefore not experiencing the geulah with Klal Yisrael. Pesach is about the formation of Am Yisrael, and Am Yisrael must have everyone together. If there are people who don’t want to be part of the klal, are not invested in the klal, and do not see themselves as part of the

destiny of the Jewish people, it leads to tremendous destruction.

Another thought: If you look at the story of the Haggadah, you’ll see that there is a lot of pain in the story. We say Avadim hayinu l’Paraoh—you haven’t fulfilled the obligation of sippur Yetziat Mitzrayim unless you tell your children that we were slaves in Egypt. We have to eat maror. Whoever does not speak of the maror has not fulfilled the obligation. The story of Pesach is not only one of matzah and freedom. It’s one of bitterness and servitude and blood and suffering, but the chiddush is that that’s not the main story. The central story is a story of freedom and redemption.

And that’s why the plot of the Haggadah is mat’chil b’gnut u’mesayem b’shevach, it begins with the derogatory and ends with praise. The plot of the Haggadah starts with Avadim hayinu That’s the beginning of the story. But it’s not the story itself. It ends with shevach, praise, geulah, redemption and yeshuah, salvation. It ends with good things. Life is a package deal. We tell our children it’s not so easy being a Jew. There’s avdut, slavery, and merirut, bitterness. There is pain. But we overcome, we get through it. The enduring taste in our mouths, the taste of Judaism, is the taste of freedom, the taste of the korban Pesach, the taste of the love of life, the taste of a better future. It’s tempered by the lechem oni, which is the bread of both freedom and affliction, and by the bitterness of the maror. And sometimes, says Hillel Hazaken, it’s all together—you eat the korban Pesach together with the matzah and the maror But the good news is that the final taste in your mouth, after which nothing else should be consumed, is the taste of korban Pesach, the taste of freedom, the taste of laughter, joie de vivre, the taste of overcoming challenge.

And I think that’s the story of the Jewish people. Ultimately, we will prevail.

Toby Klein Greenwald, a regular contributor to Jewish Action, is a journalist, playwright, poet and teacher and the artistic director of a number of theater companies. She is the recipient of the Lifetime Achievement Award from Atara—the Association for Torah and the Arts.

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Of Faith and Fortitude:

How Devorah Paley Energized a Nation

By Yocheved Lavon

With the unprecedented brutality of the October 7 massacre, the memory of previous terror attacks has receded. But few can forget Devorah Paley and the faith she exhibited in the aftermath of her sons’ murder.

Yaakov and Asher Paley, H”yd.

Following their murder, Jews from across the globe sent letters to Devorah describing how the tragedy inspired them to take on mitzvot in the boys’ names. Seeing that the tragedy was a catalyst for Klal Yisrael to come closer to G-d was an extraordinary source of comfort for Devorah and her children.

Photo: Elchanan Kotler

An unassuming Chareidi woman from the Ramot neighborhood of Jerusalem, Devorah Paley became a national icon of faith and fortitude in the days and weeks following the terror attack in February 2023 that claimed the lives of two of her sons, fiveyear-old Yaakov Yisrael and seven-yearold Asher Menachem.

Tens of thousands were moved by this mother’s ingrained faith and by her insistence that the tragedy had meaning, even if the meaning was concealed. “No one said it would be easy, but when you know Hashem is with you and there’s a plan, that gives you a lot of strength,” said Devorah. While her deep-seated emunah gave her the ability to cope with the pain on a personal level, it became obvious that the Jewish public had taken the tragedy to heart and sensed a message in it for them, too. Reporters showed up at the shivah house with cameras and microphones. Devorah’s words of emunah were broadcast worldwide. “My father said to us, ‘Hashem is gozer umekayem It doesn’t just mean Hashem fulfills His word. It also means that when He decrees a difficult ordeal on us, He’s there to be mekayem us, to sustain us.’”

Devorah’s words struck a chord, and the response from Jews all over the world was overwhelming. Asher's motto—“Don’t say ‘oof,’ just say kuf” [Don’t say ‘ugh,’ say chapter 100 in Tehillim, Mizmor Letodah, which speaks of gratitude]—is now printed on bumper stickers. In advance of the sheloshim of her sons, 10,000 women from all sectors of Israeli society registered for a Zoom to hear words of chizuk from Devorah. (The broadcast was ultimately canceled because she gave birth that morning.)

Not in Vain

The Friday of the attack, the Paleys were about to travel to a family Shabbat sheva

In advance of the sheloshim of her sons, 10,000 women from all sectors of Israeli society registered for a Zoom to hear words of chizuk from Devorah.

berachot. A terrorist from East Jerusalem drove a car at high speed straight into the crowd of people waiting at the bus stop. Yaakov Yisrael was declared dead at the scene, and Asher Menachem died of his wounds the next day. Their father, Avraham, also critically injured, was taken to a different hospital, unconscious and unaware of his children’s fate. [He miraculously recovered and was released from the hospital three months later.]

“There’d been the usual argument about who would travel by car with me, and who would go by bus with Abba,” Devorah recalls. “I remember Yaakov standing by the door just before leaving, saying ‘I don’t want to go by bus, but I’ll do what you say, Ima.’ He was a good boy. . . .

“And I felt that if he’d been asked if he was willing to be a korban for Am Yisrael, he would have said yes. I realized very quickly that [my sons’ deaths served as] a korban. But a korban has to be brought with kavanah, with intention to come closer to G-d. The word korban itself connotes closeness. Hakadosh Baruch Hu wanted to bring the boys close, and to bring the Jewish people closer to Him. If this tragedy hadn’t brought us closer, then the sacrifice would have been in vain. If it had to happen, I needed to know it wasn’t in vain.”

And indeed, it was not in vain.

Devorah shows me a bundle of papers, several inches thick. The bundle consists of letters from Jews all over the world and across the religious spectrum letting her family know that they decided to keep Shabbat or wear tzitzit as a merit for the boys’ neshamot. Some of the papers include lists of individuals and the resolutions they have taken upon themselves as a merit for her sons’ neshamot and for her husband’s recovery: to get up earlier, to be more patient with their children, to upgrade their learning and davening, and on and on.

In one of the numerous videos circulating on the internet, a few teens come to pay a shivah call, and they each tell Devorah the mitzvah they have taken

upon themselves in memory of her sons. One of the teens says that he will show greater respect to his friends, another promises to put on tefillin.

Seeing that the tragedy was a catalyst for Klal Yisrael to come closer to G-d was an extraordinary source of comfort for Devorah and her children. “Every positive act, every resolution to do good, and every meaningful initiative in their memory gives me solace,” she says in a recorded conversation with the well-known media personality Sivan Rahav-Meir.

“Someone asked my daughter, ‘Don’t you have questions?’ And she answered, ‘We never got the chance to ask questions because we saw the answers right away.’”

Tough Training

Devorah was raised and schooled in an environment that inculcated emunah. But it gets grittier than that.

“Emunah,” Devorah says, “is from the same root as imun, training. We were put through some tough training exercises. Four years ago, my brother-in-law passed away after a two-year illness. He left seven kids, some of them still very young. That was on my husband’s side. . . . And then, two years later, my brother died. He had eight children, and a newborn granddaughter. It was on Simchat Torah, after all the dancing and the divrei Torah He went to sleep that night and never woke up. . . . Both families were very badly shaken.

“But in the aftermath of those tragedies, we spent a lot of time talking about emunah, this world and the next world, and techiyat hameitim. And for me personally, it was a preparation, because many of the ideas I absorbed at that time were integrated into my outlook.”

On October 7, everyone got the memo. The internecine quarreling stopped abruptly. Beyachad became the buzzword of the year.

Since October 7, Devorah has visited many shivah houses herself. She’s consistently found that where there is emunah, the bereaved wives and parents have a wellspring of strength to draw from. But when the mourners aren’t grounded in emunah, there is anger, blame, accusations and meaningless agony: it’s the government’s fault, the army’s fault. . . why didn’t they prevent this?

“One woman asked me, ‘aren’t you angry’?” says Devorah. “I told her that when there’s meaning, there’s no anger. Along with the sacrifices, there are countless stories of hashgachah pratit. We’ve all heard them.”

Even nonobservant soldiers fighting in Gaza, and young people who were spared from the massacre at the music festival on October 7, have talked about how strongly they felt that Hashem was looking out for them. In a video that was widely shared, a bareheaded young man tells a reporter how he and his girlfriend managed to escape by car from the massacre, and then hid for six hours in a lavatory, repeating the first pasuk of Shema Yisrael nonstop. After they finally emerged unscathed, he found a ring on the ground, inscribed with those very words. Ever since then, he has worn the ring on a chain around his neck. “Nobody can tell me now that G-d doesn’t exist or that He’s not here,” the man says.

Devorah’s hashgachah pratit came in a subtler form. “Just for one example,” she relates, “at first we weren’t aware of how serious my husband’s condition was, because we were so caught up in the shock of losing the boys. And afterwards, we were too busy doing all we could for him to spend a lot of time dwelling on the loss [of the boys]. So we weren’t hit by everything at once.”

She compares this to the story of Yosef’s journey to Egypt when he was sold into slavery. The Torah mentions that the merchants who bought him were transporting fragrant spices, and Rashi famously explains that Arab traders more commonly dealt in foul-smelling

commodities like tar and fuel, but Hashem made sure that Yosef would have a pleasant fragrance to accompany him.

“Of course everyone asks: What difference does it make what Yosef smelled on the way to Egypt? Does a person who’s being sold into slavery really care what the merchandise smells like? Were the people abducted on Simchat Torah really interested in what they inhaled on the way to Gaza? But the point is that this was Hakadosh Baruch Hu’s way of letting Yosef know that He was with him. If a foul odor wasn’t part of His plan, then Yosef wasn’t going to smell a foul odor. We, too, were able to sense that Hashem was with us throughout our ordeal.”

Devorah emphasizes another source of strength, both for her in her situation and for Klal Yisrael in the present crisis—gratitude. “When you recognize all the good things in your life and focus on them, you open the way for more blessings.”

Just after the sheloshim for her two sons, Devorah gave birth to another boy. Her husband, conscious after two weeks in a coma, was able to be in a wheelchair at her side for the delivery, and in gratitude for these gifts, they named the baby Yonatan Refael.

Brotherly Love

The attack that killed Yaakov and Asher was the first incident in a rash of attacks in which pairs of siblings were murdered—Hillel and Yagal Yaniv, Maia and Rina Dee, and several others, Hy”d. During that period, the sense of brotherhood between Israelis was at an all-time low. The struggle between left and right, brought to a head by the controversy over the government’s proposed move to curtail the power of the Supreme Court, appeared to be escalating toward civil war.

“A number of people pointed out at the time that this was no coincidence,”

Devorah says. “When those young lives were taken from us, Hakadosh Baruch Hu was speaking to us. We needed to remember that we are all brothers.”

On October 7, everyone got the memo. The internecine quarreling stopped abruptly. Beyachad became the buzzword of the year. And in the wake of the war, many thousands of Jews in Israel and overseas have embraced their Judaism or tightened their hold on it.

Devorah paid a shivah call to a woman whose daughter was murdered on Simchat Torah. “We really hoped our korban would be the last,” she told the mother. “But sadly, there have been many more. . . .”

“Why?” the anguished mother asked.

“Because Hakadosh Baruch Hu lo mevater lanu—He won’t give up on us. He loves us, He knows what we’re capable of, and He wants to bring more of us closer to Him,” Devorah responded.

Devorah never meant to be a public figure, but she does her best to fulfill the role she’s been thrust into. She was surprised when one journalist dubbed her “eim shel kedoshim.” It sounded so lofty, and she’d never thought of herself in such terms.

“But when I thought about it,” she says, “I realized that we are all supposed to be kedoshim. The concept of kedushah means we are differentiated. We’re different from all the other nations, set aside for a unique purpose, to bring light to the world. And that’s all of us in Klal Yisrael. I heard a rav say it’s not true that we’re a weak generation, as we’ve often been called. Why would Hakadosh Baruch Hu subject a weak generation to such difficult trials?

“Yes, it’s painful, yes, we still have to daven for rachamim,” Devorah says. “But at the same time, we understand that it’s not random . . . there’s a plan and a purpose.

“Asher was born on Tishah B’Av, which is why we also gave him the name Menachem. He used to ask why he couldn’t have a party on his birthday. I would tell him that one day—may it be very soon—his birthday will be the happiest day of the year. We’ll be celebrating in the Beit Hamikdash, and we’ll be able to look back on everything we’ve been through and see how it was all part of the process.”

By Carol Green Ungar

In the aftermath of October 7, Orthodox Jewish comics have been finding ways to keep spirits high and make us laugh.

While many gigs were postponed or cancelled following the events of October 7, the urge to poke fun eventually returned. “People need a break,” observes Eli Lebowicz, a stand-up comic based in Teaneck, New Jersey. “Comedy is a catharsis and an outlet.” Photo: Menachem Saraf Photography

ith antisemitism reaching levels not seen in decades and Israel locked in a devastating war, what is there to laugh about?

Well, maybe nothing, and yet despite all of this, or perhaps because of it, our homegrown Orthodox Jewish comics have been finding ways to make us laugh.

“It’s the way Jews deal with stuff,” says Eli Lebowicz, a stand-up comic and co-founder of J-Sketch, a series of humorous skits posted on social media about Orthodox Jewish life. “Oppression fuels comedy,” says Lebowicz, who is based in Teaneck, New Jersey, and performs primarily for Jewish audiences.

Yet finding the funny isn’t always easy.

In those first trying weeks that followed the October 7 massacre, Lebowicz and his fellow frum comics retreated into silence.

Nor were the audiences ready to laugh. “A lot of gigs were postponed or cancelled,” says Lebowicz.

But the urge to poke fun eventually returned, and within weeks, Lebowicz and his pals created a hilarious video called “Jersey Jewish Moms When Israel’s in Crisis,” which parodied the well-meaning but

pack military supplies, a half-eaten pizza slice, and a bathrobe from the King David Hotel into duffel bags. In the final shot, we see a member of the J-Sketch team, now dressed as an IDF soldier, opening the duffel bag and staring quizzically at the bitten pizza slice.

The video became a huge hit on Jewish WhatsApp groups—people needed to laugh even in this situation. “People need a break,” observes Lebowicz. “Comedy is a catharsis and an outlet.”

The resurgence of antisemitism has also inspired our comics. “A lot of people are saying ridiculous things [about Jews],” says Lebowicz.

Of course, poking fun at our enemies is an old Jewish tradition. “Sarcasm is the Jewish people’s other Lashon Hakodesh,” observes Lebowicz. “Look at Eliyahu on Har HaCarmel,” he says, pointing to the prophet’s razor-sharp takedown of the idolatrous prophet with whom he competed for the nation’s loyalty.

Comics have also boosted the morale of Israeli soldiers on the front lines. Los Angeles–based comic Avi Liberman, who was born in Israel, brings his show to IDF soldiers, traveling to bases all over Israel together with popular Israeli comic Yohay Sponder. The host of the long-running “Comedy for Koby” tours, which has top US stand-up comedians performing in Israel to raise funds for the Koby Mandell Foundation

Jerusalem-based comic Rabbi David Kilimnick observed that “laughter is a shared achdus. When you’re hitting the truth, you have a soulful laugh not from the face but from the kishke.”

Courtesy of Rabbi Kilimnick

summer camp, Liberman has also performed for American troops in Iraq and Afghanistan and understands the vital role a good joke or set can play in wartime. “After a show in Iraq, a soldier told me I saved lives. I didn’t get it, but he said that soldiers’ reaction times are quicker when they are in a better mood.”

Yair Jacobi is a stand-up comic and cofounder of the Underdos comedy troupe, which has more than 75,000 YouTube subscribers. As his army service, he visits hospitals, rehabs and army bases alongside singer and cantor Yitzchak Meir, brother-in-law of media personality Sivan Rahav-Meir.

It isn’t easy.

“First, we listen to their stories,” says Jacobi. “Then, if it’s a fit, I do my job.” It’s not simple to find the right

words to make a wounded soldier laugh. Sadly, some soldiers are too ill and others too depressed to laugh. “You can’t just tell mother-in-law jokes. You need to understand the situation,” says Jacobi. He notes that these soldiers use their humor to cope. “I’ve heard amputees joke about losing weight. I can’t tell such jokes, but they can joke about their situations.”

In a stand-up show on army bases, Jacobi jokes about thrice-daily prayer, teasing soldiers who aren’t regular minyan goers in civilian life about the peer pressure to show up to services in the army.

Jacobi has also performed for the families of reservists. “Everyone has been super appreciative,” he says. “People need that mental break to relax.”

Israeli videographer Bazy Rubin, from Efrat, has turned

Chareidi comedy duo Efi Skakovsky (left) and Meni Wakshtock, behind the wildly popular “Bardak” video skits, created “Bardak for Kids,” which were produced pro-bono and streamed by 60,000 kids.

Photo: Elchanan Kotler

JEWISH

The Bardak team has also found humor in the grim reality of living under the threat of Hamas’s missiles. One skit takes place in a bomb shelter.

her sharp comedic wit to the experience of women left at home as their men have gone to war. While she isn’t a comedy professional, to amuse her friends and family, Rubin started posting funny videos about her life after October 7 with four kids under the age of eight and a husband in the IDF. They were shared widely on WhatsApp groups. In her first video, she appears sitting on the floor changing her son’s diaper as she pleads to the entire Jewish nation to help her because she’s not coping at home.

“I started getting message after message, call after call, thanking me for normalizing the struggles of this time. People called me a ‘ray of sunshine,’” she says. Rubin kept on going, posting once, twice, or even three times daily. “I don’t plan it. Whenever I have a fun moment, I film it,” she says.

In one popular video, she dons her husband’s uniform, threatening to follow him into the army “for the barbecues and concerts.” She also parodies the emotional eating that has become all too common in these stressful days. “I feed my kids three balanced meals a day,” she says with smug satisfaction. As for herself, Rubin shows us where she’s at by biting into a whole challah.

Also turning their attention to the home front are the Chareidi comedy duo Efi Skakovsky and Meni Wakshtock, creators of the wildly popular “Bardak” video skits who teamed up with singers Avraham Fried and Moti Weiss, as well as a psychologist, to create kids’ shows, a genre that is new to the Chareidi world.

Their ninety-minute-long shows, “Bardak for Kids,” which they posted on YouTube Live, offer kids coping strategies and jokes, with Skakovsky evoking side-splitting laughs with his caricature of Efiko,

the bumbling magician. The Bardak team produced the shows as a pro-bono effort. “We saw it as our mission to make people feel happy and encouraged,” says Wakshtock. It worked. Each show was viewed on the live stream by 60,000 kids, mostly from Chareidi and Dati Leumi homes, and many more watched the recordings. “We got more feedback on this than for anything we had ever done,” says Wakshtock.

The Bardak team also found humor in the grim reality of living under the threat of Hamas’s missiles. One skit takes place in a bomb shelter. As the residents, some in bathrobes with shampoo bubbles in their hair, scramble to the shelter, Skakovsky, playing a monomaniacal building manager, hits them up for unpaid building maintenance fees.

Our comedians, referred to by the Talmud as inashei badochei (Aramaic for jesters), will have to carry on in their holy mission of making us laugh.

“Laughter is a shared achdus. When you’re hitting the truth, you have a soulful laugh not from the face but from the kishke,” observes Jerusalem-based comic Rabbi David Kilimnick.

And that unity flows from the deep common bond that unites all Jews.

“There are so many ways people have responded in kindness and beauty to the evil,” says Kilimnick. “That is one thing we can all do. . . . Spread acts of kindness. That is what I learned from our people in Israel. I pray for the holy souls that have [passed on]. And I pray everybody who is out there [in Gaza] comes back safely so that I can start cutting people off on the highway again without feeling bad.”

THE JEWISH WORLD

What’s it really like being a Jewish college student in the US post October 7? Students from Harvard, Cornell, Columbia, Hunter and the University of Chicago share their stories.

Photo: Sipa USA/ Alamy Stock Photo

I GIDEON ASKOWITZ

am a Jew.

It’s funny how that simple phrase perfectly summarizes how many of us students have felt these past few months. As of this writing in December, we are struggling to find concrete ways to contend with the growing antisemitism on campus. Some of us think, “I am not Ben Shapiro, and so no one will hear my epic monologue. My actions have no power to sway the national conversation around antisemitism.” I believe this thought process is mistaken, and to demonstrate why, I will share my story.

Last year, I transitioned from being a full-time learner at Yeshivat Shaalvim to being a student at Macaulay Honors College at Hunter College. The transition was fraught with many challenges, the least of which were academic. The social environment of a secular university was entirely foreign to me. As time went on, I grew accustomed to standing out as a visibly Orthodox Jewish person in a non-religious environment. I went about my classes as any serious student would and did not think being religious would cause significant obstacles in my academic path. I was mistaken.

Various advisors at my school urged me to apply for a particular fellowship. This program partners primarily with City University of New York (CUNY) campuses and places a select group of fellows into three summer internships at prestigious government, non-profit and for-profit enterprises. I had reservations about applying because the fellowship included several events during the academic calendar that fell on Shabbos. Hunter College assured me that the program would accommodate me and nominated me for the fellowship.

During my interview with the fellowship team, I shared that I would not be able to attend a few events for religious reasons but would make up any missed material and be a fully contributing member. They told me it was “my choice” to be religious. The interview ended with a rather palpable silence.

A few days later, the head of Hunter College’s scholarship office informed me that members of the fellowship team had called him and expressed astonishment that Hunter would even nominate a student who could not fully participate in

all of its programming.

Outraged by the blatant discrimination, I obtained help from the Brandeis Center and the ADL, and after months of negotiations, the fellowship agreed to change its policy (there are no longer events that fall on Shabbos), and I became a sitting member on the chancellor of CUNY’s Advisory Council on Jewish life. This position allowed me to influence the school when various CUNY campuses went down the rabbit hole of antisemitism post–October 7.

After the dean of Macaulay CUNY sent out a statement about the massacre that propagated a false moral equivalency between Israel and Hamas, I sent an email to the chancellor of CUNY explaining why the equivalency was fallacious and included uncensored images of the massacre. “As a member of the Advisory Council on Jewish Life, I make nothing short of a demand that you rescind this letter and send a condemnation solely of the violence against Israel . . .” I wrote.

The chancellor responded by issuing a statement condemning Hamas’s acts of terrorism and emailing it to every CUNY student.

While I felt the statement was an improvement, the whole situation felt absurd; why had it required so much effort to get the chancellor to issue the condemnation?

The very next day in Hunter, I felt like I had stepped into an alternate reality. I knew that the Hunter Palestinian Student Alliance and other similar groups were planning a large protest that day, but it felt like it came out of nowhere. I arrived at Hunter after spending my morning uptown at Yeshiva University learning, so I was dressed like a yeshivah guy: kippah, tzitzis, button-down shirt. I could feel students’ eyes on me as I walked through the hallways. The school felt eerily calm.

After class ended, realizing something was going to happen, I offered to walk a Jewish student to her next class. Tension was thick. We stepped into the hallway and immediately noticed keffiyehs everywhere, anti-Israel signs and students clustered by the windows looking down at the swelling protest, which could be heard from inside the building.

My heart was in my throat.

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As I dropped my fellow Jewish student off at her class, I could still hear the calls to “Globalize the Intifada.”

I sat down in my next class as the professor started her lecture, but I could not pay attention. I could still hear the chants from our mostly soundproof classroom. The anger was building inside me, and suddenly, I thought of my pregnant greatgrandmother who fled Germany after a Nazi officer told her she could not sit on the park bench because the “sun should not shine on a Jew.” I thought to myself: How would I tell my grandchildren that while my classmates called for their death, I attended an econometrics lecture?

When Fox National News came to Hunter College to interview students during the October 12 pro-Palestinian protest, Gideon Askowitz spoke up. He subsequently appeared on Fox News programs to discuss the surge of antisemitism being experienced by Jewish students on university campuses.

I left the class and walked toward the mob, taking out an Israeli flag while I did so. A police officer came and said, “Sir, you cannot stand here; the pro-Israel side is over there.” Excited that I would not be alone in opposing this madness, I walked around to where he told me to go.

Only no one was there.

The New York Police Department had blocked off a large area just to the side of where hundreds of students were gathering screaming for the death of Jews, and the area was empty. So I stepped inside this pen and held the flag, facing the new Hitler youth. A TA (teaching assistant) walked past me and ripped the flag out of my hands. A police officer immediately arrested him (the TA is, of course, still working at Hunter).

After some time, a handful of Jewish students came out to show support. Many told me they were watching from inside the school and were so glad someone had stood up. They were all intimidated by the group of Hamas supporters and did not think that going out to counterprotest would make any difference. Many of them were crying. When Fox National News came down to interview students at this contentious protest, none of the Jewish students spoke up. I interviewed, schmoozed with the Fox team, and then pitched a program idea to them. Since then, I have been able to appear on many Fox programs and other media events.

We stepped into the hallway and immediately noticed keffiyehs everywhere, anti-Israel signs and students clustered by the windows looking down at the swelling protest . . .

There have been many rallies at Hunter since that first one, and yet, there are usually very few individuals

counterprotesting (some of those counter protesters are not even students). Students plaster “Zionism=Terrorism” stickers throughout the school. The school simply has a hostile environment. For a period, a friend of mine, who is not visibly Jewish, stopped attending one of his classes; another student told me that her professor forced a discussion of “Palestine” into an unrelated course. While I always wanted to be involved in media and politics, I had not anticipated that antisemitism on my campus would be its impetus or that I would be involved in politics so soon. I thought I would get involved in those areas after I had a career as a constitutional litigator; I wanted to establish myself before venturing out into the public eye. That is clearly no longer possible. My parents and I had a couple of frank discussions about what the consequences of speaking out would mean for my future. I may no longer be able to attend the best law schools or be accepted to prestigious scholarships. I may be denied an interview at a firm because of my advocacy. But when I am older, I will be able to answer my grandchildren when they ask me what I did when people in our country called for their blood.

I have no regrets.

Gideon Askowitz grew up in White Plains, New York, and attended SAR High School. He subsequently spent a year in Yeshivat Shaalvim. Currently, he is a sophomore in Macaulay Honors College at Hunter College and lives near Yeshiva University.

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S REBECCA MASSEL

ince October 7, everything I thought I knew about Columbia University has changed.

I chose Columbia for its robust Jewish community within a broad and diverse campus life. I now serve on the Student Executive Board of Columbia/Barnard Hillel (CBHillel) and am a senior writer for the Columbia Daily Spectator. Being openly Jewish on campus was never a question.

Yet since the Israel-Hamas War began, in my reporting for the Spectator, I learned that an Israeli student's phone number was leaked and she received aggressive and explicit text messages and phone calls for weeks; while walking through a protest to campus, a Jewish student’s Magen David necklace was grabbed by a protester; and a kippah-wearing student was approached in the kosher dining hall by another student, who looked at him and said, “[expletive] the Jews,” and then walked out.

October 7 attacks on Israel. Dozens of students experienced antisemitic incidents, both in person and online. Many students chose to protect themselves by hiding their identities—staying in their rooms for a number of days, avoiding speaking Hebrew when walking to class, tucking in their Magen David necklaces, covering their kippot with baseball caps. Each story was a painful reminder of how challenging it has become to navigate the Columbia campus.

Amidst all this, the entire Jewish community on campus—Orthodox, Conservative, Reform and secular— demonstrated inspiring achdut. The Jewish connection on campus has never been stronger.

Jewish students expressed fear of a professor’s article that applauded Hamas and of student speeches referencing the “creativity, determination and combined strength” of the

On October 11, I received a text message that an Israeli Jewish student was assaulted, and I broke the national news on one of the first acts of antisemitic violence on college campuses since the war began. It became clear that college campuses are not as safe as we would have liked to believe. My article was based on interviews with the New York Police Department, the Israeli student and his friend. I reviewed videos of the incident to check the veracity of the claims. The next day, the Spectator was bombarded by emails, and hundreds of posts on social media claimed that our reporting was racist and defamatory. To me, the most glaring posts were the ones that asserted that my reporting was inaccurate or had a “religious agenda” because I’m a Jew. Columbia’s Public Safety Office assessed whether any of the

Photo: Sipa USA/Alamy Stock Photo

posts or emails constituted a tangible threat against me, and I left campus for the night until I could speak to a Public Safety investigator. These experiences shook me deeply as a Jew in the broader Columbia community.

Amidst all this, the entire Jewish community on campus— Orthodox, Conservative, Reform and secular—demonstrated inspiring achdut. The Jewish connection on campus has never been stronger. Before October 7, approximately 1,200 Jewish undergraduate students were affiliated with the Jewish community on campus and, of those, 250 were part of the Orthodox community, according to Hillel’s records. Since then, close to a hundred Jewish students attended a Hillel event for the first time.

We lean on each other. We cry together. And we hold each other up. While some Jewish students are wary about showing their identity, other men who never wore a kippah daily now proudly wear one to embrace their Jewishness and to stand together with their kippah-wearing friends. As the months since October 7 have passed, women proudly display their Magen David necklaces. Columbia’s OU-JLIC (Jewish Learning Initiative on Campus) couple, Rabbi Elie and Dr. Tamar Buechler, have been supporting the Orthodox community with shiurim addressing the tragedies in Israel, communal Tehillim and chesed opportunities to help displaced families in Israel; after a rabbinic mission to Israel, Rav Elie shared his experiences with the community. Rav Elie and Tamar have both worked consistently to comfort students on a communal and personal level. In December, CBHillel hosted a Shabbat dinner for nearly 1,000 Jews from different religious backgrounds, the largest Shabbat dinner ever held at Columbia.

I have danced and sung songs of hope along with my community at a Matisyahu concert hosted by CBHillel and the Israel on Campus Coalition and an Ishay Ribo concert hosted by CBHillel and Bnei Akiva US and Canada. Instead of hiding, Jews of all kinds have come together and embraced their Jewishness.

On October 7, Simchat Torah, the Jewish community cried and sang Am Yisrael Chai in the middle of the campus after hearing the news from people on campus. It was our expression of connection. And as the war unfolded and our campus community faced unprecedented antisemitism, we repeated those same words on Chanukah. When we lit the Chabad Columbia menorah, in the middle of campus, those words meant so much more. Not only were they a prayer for our family and friends in Israel and for the hostages, they were also chizuk for our community. While life at Columbia continues to present significant challenges, the Jewish community on campus has grown in numbers, strength and pride.

Rebecca Massel is a sophomore at Columbia University. She grew up in Manhattan and graduated from Ramaz Upper School in 2021.

I ADIN MOSKOWITZ

blink through the flashing red-and-blue police lights as I join the crowd of Jewish students dancing, arms interlinked around a sefer Torah on Simchat Torah night. A police car idles on the curb to oversee the hakafot as if to shield us from the world. I am visiting my brother at the University of Maryland.

Throughout the day, we had slowly filled with dread as we heard snippets of information about the unfolding situation in Israel. I glance up and catch a glimpse of an Israeli flag jutting up from the crowd, then another and another. As I watch the headlights from the police car reflect off the flags, I feel a stab of pain in my chest, fresh from the news of infiltration into Israel. On October 7, Hamas didn’t just wage war against Israel; they threatened our pride, our home and our hearts.

Back at Cornell University, as I walk to class later that week, I hear a muffled noise cutting through the music of my earbuds. I stop and pull out an AirPod, tilting my ear toward the sound. “. . . River to the sea . . .” I hear with a sinking feeling; it grows louder and louder. A few hundred students pour through the campus streets, waving pro-Palestinian and anti-Israel signs as I duck into my class, not even noticing that my professor is speaking. I see students playing dead on the floor inside campus buildings,* thrusting anti-Israel signs into people’s faces and spray-painting hate across campus. The complete lack of basic human compassion stings, as my “peers” deny my right to a home, to my identity.

The next day I adjust an Israeli flag over my shoulders in the fading light as over 500 Jews and supporters of Israel gather to hold a vigil for those who perished in

the massacre. I look around and see tears in the eyes of the crowd of strangers, gathering in solidarity amid the darkness. Arms interlock and I feel a measure of comfort as we sing Hatikvah as one.

A few nights later, my roommate and I settle down in our room, when I hear a buzz. I turn over my phone and read the message staring back at me. Our kosher dining hall, 104 West!, the home where Jewish students unwind and reconnect with friends, has been threatened. All across a Greek-life social media platform popular among Cornell students are antisemitic messages singling out the dining hall, with horrendous and graphic death threats directed toward Jewish students. How could this happen in our time? Is this serious or some sick joke? There is no way to know. With our doors securely bolted, Jews across campus anxiously wait out the night, sheltered but trapped; officials send police to guard the dining hall and the Hillel warns students to stay away from the dining hall. During the lockdown, our OU-JLIC couple, Rav Itamar and Michal Applebaum, deliver homemade soup to our dorm rooms. A couple of days later, we learn that Patrick Dai, a junior at Cornell, was arrested for making online threats about Jewish students. But the stares, the side glances and the chanting across campus persist.

Focusing on college is challenging in the weeks following the outbreak of war in Israel. I am too preoccupied and find it difficult to pay attention to math and the physics of flying objects while hearing about my family and friends seeking refuge in shelters in Israel. But there is a point where I realize that life has to move forward. Our strongest lines of defense are to continue striving for our dreams and to stand strong in support of the Jewish people.

When I return to campus, the antisemitism is still there, but I have gained a newfound resilience, the knowledge that wherever I go, my people stand by my side.

Later that week, as I head to 104 West! I hear the beat of Jewish music from afar. As I near the building, I find a bustling crowd, and in the center, a group of Orthodox Jewish men from Monsey, New York, busy grilling, preparing tray after tray of steaming barbecued meat. For the first time in a while, Jewish students feel joy and warmth in the air. In the very place that was recently threatened, we eat, sing, and grieve our brethren in Israel together. In that moment, I gain a greater appreciation for the Jewish people, for those who dedicate their time and effort to comforting their family of strangers in distress. This is what Am Yisrael is all about, I reflect, as I watch friends smiling once again.

As soon as I think the semester might return to normal, I find myself on a bus whisking me and my friends toward Washington, DC, at 5 am. Seven hours later I stand among a sea of strangers, with whom I feel a deep connection. No one fights or shouts. It is the most peaceful protest I have ever seen. It is the Jewish people standing up for each other with dignity and pride. When I return to campus, the antisemitism is still there, but I have gained a newfound resilience, the knowledge that wherever I go, my people stand by my side.

*Students for Justice in Palestine held “die-ins” to protest the number of Palestinians killed in the conflict.

Adin Moskowitz is a first year student at Cornell University studying engineering. He grew up in West Hempstead, New York, and attended Yeshivat Orayta in Israel following Hebrew Academy of Nassau County (HANC).

Photo: Sipa USA/ Alamy Stock Photo

"U EITAN FISCHER

Chicago SJP Stands in Full Solidarity with Palestinian Liberation.”

For the first few days after the October 7 massacre, the Palestinian groups on the University of Chicago’s campus were silent. But on Friday, October 13, six days after the massacre, SJPUChicago, the university-recognized club that seeks justice in Palestine, released the above statement. They were supporting the murder of Jews. They were supporting the potential murder of my parents and siblings, who live in Ra’anana, only a thirty-minute drive from Gaza. They were supporting the same antisemitic motives that led to the Holocaust.

After reading that initial statement just as I was heading out of my dorm room for Kabbalat Shabbat, I was in a state of shock. I had never seen antisemitism in this raw form before. I didn’t know what to do.

Unfortunately, this was just the beginning. On Motzaei Shabbat, I checked SJP’s [Students for Justice in Palestine] social media again:

“URGENT CALL FOR STUDENT MOBILIZATION ON THE QUAD—EVERY DAY, 10AM–3PM, UNTIL THE GENOCIDE ENDS.”

And it continued from there. On Monday, when the mobilization started, the antisemites on campus became active and things began to get intense. I woke up to a text from a friend saying his mezuzah was on the ground outside of his dorm room. As the day went on, reports went around the Jewish community on campus that posters we had put up for the hostages in Gaza were vandalized and taken down. In my friend’s humanities class, the teacher (a grad student) expressed her support for SJP and bashed the legitimacy of Israel, referring to the land “from the river to the sea” as “occupied Palestine.”

Horrified at what was taking place, I walked over to the Quad to see SJP assembling. The sign reading “IDF TERRORISTS OFF OUR CAMPUS” hit me the hardest. On the morning of October 8, my close friend on campus received a call from his commander in the IDF telling him to fly back to Israel immediately. He had served in the IDF for four years before coming to UChicago in September. Despite not even knowing how to get to all of his classes

yet, he packed his bags without hesitation. “It’s either stay here and study but neglect my country, or fight and push off academics for a bit. . . . There is only one right answer,” he said. He showed me videos of his unit getting ready to fight, and all he kept repeating was, “My team needs me, my family needs me, my nation needs me. I need to go do my duty.”

Before he left, he asked one thing of me: “While I’m out there fighting, it’s on you to keep the support for Israel here.” He didn’t want to come back to an institution that sees him as a criminal. I assured him that wouldn’t happen and that I’d do everything I could. And I felt confident it wouldn’t be a difficult task.

The University of Chicago tends to be more conservative than the average elite university, and the majority of the student body supports Israel. Moreover, the Jewish community on campus is stronger than most. About 10 percent of the student body is Jewish (around 800 students), and around a quarter of those attend Shabbat meals at either OU-JLIC/Hillel or Chabad on a weekly basis. Jews at the University of Chicago tend to be proud to be Jewish, and our non-Jewish friends support us.

Since the war, we’ve been forced to come even closer together. The OU-JLIC rabbi who also heads the Hillel, Rabbi Yehudah Auerbach, received a call from his IDF commander after Simchat Torah and was on a flight to Israel the next morning. Having such a strong representative of our campus on the ground in Israel has only given us more reason to fight here.

On October 10, I set up a table on the main Quad of UChicago’s campus to raise money for much-needed emergency equipment in Israel. It felt great. Everyone will condemn terrorism, right? I was naïve to have ever believed that.

As of this writing in December, SJP has kept up the mobilization every day without fail. Every single day in my math class, I hear the chant “From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free.” I’m ashamed to be in the same institution as these people.

The entire Jewish community on campus is hurting.

Groups like Maroons for Israel, Kehillah, Chabad and OUJLIC/Hillel have held multiple vigils, gathered together for rallies and set up installations for the hostages on the main Quad. Despite feeling united as a Jewish community, we are pained by the antisemitism on our campus.

What makes it worse is the lack of action taken by the administration. Despite SJP breaking school rules and calling for violence, the school has done nothing to stop them. The university clearly prioritizes the upholding of freedom of speech over having an antisemitism-free campus. It’s rather unfortunate, to say the least.

Jewish students at UChicago are remaining hopeful by reminding ourselves that SJP represents only a small

I ISAAC OHRENSTEIN

n early December, I walked into one of Harvard’s libraries to study, as many students do in the run-up to finals. It was later in the evening, and I was wearing a kippah, which I prefer not to do at night. But classes were finished, and for whatever reason, I didn’t feel like changing. Most of the tables in the library were taken, but I saw two people leaving and moved toward them as they gathered their things. One was a man with braids wearing a keffiyeh and a white sweatshirt that said “Free Palestine.” I wasn’t surprised to see him dressed like this. Many students around campus wear articles of clothing in support of the Palestinian people. I was thrown, though, when he looked me in the eyes, chuckled, and said, “It looks like we’re getting displaced again.”

proportion of the student body. They are loud, they are definitely loud, but they are not nearly a majority—they have only between 100 and 200 members.

The unity among the Jewish students and our non-Jewish friends gives us the strength to continue to stand strong and united. It gives me hope that I can one day keep my friend’s promise. It gives me hope that the turbulent times we are living in will not yield to the same fate as that of my ancestors.

Eitan Fischer is a first-year at the University of Chicago studying economics and philosophy. He was born in New York, grew up in Hong Kong and spent high school in Ra’anana, Israel.

Harvard graduate students converged on the steps of Widener Library at Harvard University for a pro-Palestinian rally. Photo: Rick Friedman/Alamy Live News

Although only one of my classes is related to Israel or Jewish history, almost all of my professors said something after October 7. Most were vague and nondescript, referencing the “complicated” events in the Middle East. One said something along the lines of “violence is never the answer,” which I found to be the most sympathetic of them all. None could bring themselves to name Hamas. Evidently there is strong antiIsrael bias among the faculty. Look no further than the current director of the Center for Jewish Studies, whose research

centers around Israel as a colonial enterprise. The teaching assistant for his class took the opportunity to bash Benjamin Netanyahu after October 7, saying nothing about the murdered Israeli civilians. Other members of the faculty have made statements that I feel are deeply misleading. Teaching about the 1940s in Mandatory Palestine, a highly respected professor claimed a war “erupted” in 1948. No mention was made of the fact that Arab forces declared war on the newly established Jewish state after the Palestinians rejected the first of many partition plans.

Among the Jewish students, there are classes and lecturers we know to avoid because of anti-Jewish bias. It’s not worth the risk, because grading in humanities classes is subjective. On a personal level, I am deeply interested in Middle Eastern economies and geopolitics. Before coming to Harvard, I hoped I would take classes on Arab society and interact with classmates from the region, but I can’t bring myself to do so. I don’t want to be harassed for traveling to Israel, or targeted by my professors for taking time off for the High Holidays. It’s a shame because real opportunities to build mutual understanding are being squandered.

I would argue that on our campus, there is a mix of antisemitism and ignorance relating to Jews, Israel and the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. Some students genuinely don’t know what they’re talking about, having taken a passionate stance on one of the world’s most enduring conflicts after reading a few news articles. The vast majority of my peers have not set foot in Israel or the Palestinian territories, and they completely fail to grasp the reality on the ground. Others fundamentally believe Israel is a colonial, apartheid and white-supremacist state and all Jews are complicit in its actions. These are the people tearing down pictures of hostages in Harvard Square and chanting “From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free” in the Science Center. I don’t feel that Harvard is a particularly welcoming place for Jewish students right now. There have been many hateful posts on Sidechat, an anonymous chat platform that is only accessible to students with a Harvard login. It is disheartening to see anti-Jewish and anti-Israel posts, often drawing on antisemitic tropes, receive hundreds of likes. In the beginning of December, I posted a poll on Sidechat asking, “Do you think antisemitism is an issue on campus?” Fifty-two percent of respondents said “no,” which amounted to 165 people. One comment asked for another option, “not as much as it is portrayed,” which received 41 likes. Clearly, Harvard students do not understand or recognize that antisemitism is thriving on our campus. The administration must fundamentally consider how Jewish students can be made to feel more comfortable at Harvard. They should be reaching out to provide meaningful support

at this difficult time, especially because our community is small. It’s estimated that just over 5 percent of the student body is Jewish, down from 20 percent or 25 percent a few decades ago. Within this population, there are between twenty and thirty Orthodox students. We rely heavily on the local community for minyan and unfortunately do not have an OU-JLIC couple on campus. Some in the Hillel community are thinking of transferring to other Ivy League campuses with more Jewish infrastructure. These places undoubtedly have problems with antisemitism, but there is more support for religious students who feel marginalized.

I’m not sure what the future holds for Jewish and Orthodox life at Harvard. Much will lie in the hands of the university.

I’m not sure what the future holds for Jewish and Orthodox life at Harvard. Much will lie in the hands of the university. When the football team needs a new kicker or the orchestra a cellist, the admissions office will make space for them on campus. Maintaining a minyan at Hillel is not a priority in the same way. Every year, the university admits a handful of Orthodox Jews, just enough to keep the community alive. We desperately need more religious students in our community. A silver lining of this experience has been the level of support I’ve received from Jewish Harvard alumni. There are thousands of them who care about our experience on campus. Every few weeks, I’ll receive a text offering to speak with me about the situation, or explaining how they’re putting pressure on the administration. There wasn’t a Jewish alumni association before October 7, but now there is an official forum where they can congregate and connect with the university. The power of alumni, especially those involved in university affairs, is invaluable in this situation.

I care deeply about Orthodox life on Ivy League campuses. I believe that many of America’s best and brightest minds are educated here, including students who will be leaders in government, science, finance and academia. It is important for them to meet and build relationships with Jewish students. I’m not convinced the situation will improve much during my time on campus, but strategic players with long-term horizons must make targeted investments in Jewish life on campus. In my opinion, the future of American Jewry appears uncertain if Jewish life diminishes in the Ivy League.

Isaac Ohrenstein is a sophomore at Harvard University, with a concentration in social studies and a secondary in European history, politics and societies. In his spare time, he writes for the Harvard International Review and serves as a Lauder Fellow at the World Jewish Congress. An avid traveler, Isaac has visited over fifty countries and holds American, British and Austrian citizenship.

Chizuk on Campus

By Steve Lipman

In the days and weeks after the Hamas massacre, as the University of Pennsylvania campus became a center of strident pro-Palestinian activism, Jewish students started receiving chizuk (support) from the broader Jewish community.

Some in the form of hot dogs, hamburgers and corn on the cob. A few weeks after the wave of physical intimidation of Jewish students and other supporters of Israel began at schools across the country, Marc Fishkind, a junior at U of Penn from Rockland County, New York, got a call from someone he knew from the Monsey area: Joel Eisenreich wanted to drive down with some friends from the Orthodox community and host a barbecue for the students.

A barbecue?

With the pressure on, and the increasing psychological isolation of many Jewish students, some barbecue food, Jewish music, and the presence of concerned adults might help the students relax, explained Eisenreich, who works in the tax services field. Fishkind, a member of the campus’s Orthodox Jewish life, including being an active participant in U of Penn’s OU’s Jewish Learning Initiative on Campus (OU-JLIC), gave the go-ahead.

Two days later, on a Thursday afternoon, Eisenreich arrived at the campus, part of a convoy of about ten vans and fifteen to twenty men and women, members of the frum community of Monsey. Inside the vans: all the fixings for a barbecue, including grills, franks, burgers and vegetables, enough to feed the five dozen Jewish students who showed up at the event at the school’s Hillel building. Some of the musically inclined visitors brought guitars. For several hours, the visiting group sang and danced with students, and talked with and listened to them. “It was very well received—support from any outlet is appreciated,” Fishkind says. And it wasn’t just in Philadelphia. In the early weeks of the war in Gaza, Eisenreich was part of the group of Monsey activists, not under the auspices of any Jewish organization, who drove to three other college campuses (Cornell, Yale and SUNY Binghamton) within a three-hour radius of their homes in Rockland County to offer succor and nourishment.

“What can we do—in addition to reciting Tehillim?” says Ethan Pfeiffer who coordinated the outreach effort. He and a few friends asked each other this question as the reports of increasing antisemitism at many universities worried the off-campus Jewish community. They decided to offer some comfort food. “Someone’s got to help the students,” Pfeiffer, a tax attorney, told his friends.

They reached out to the OU-JLIC representative, or some other Jewish leader, at each school, all of whom accepted the offers of moral support. First came Cornell. Then, through word of mouth or headlines about other schools in the Northeast whose Jewish students appeared to be under attack, they began visiting the other campuses.

The volunteers, who paid for the supplies, took time from their jobs to organize and pack the barbecue supplies and to make the hours-long treks. There is no official name or website for the project, “just guys who want to get stuff done,” says Pfeiffer. He has encouraged concerned members of the Jewish community in other parts of the country to host similar on-campus events.

The reactions of students, as well as of their parents, to the barbecues were overwhelmingly positive, says Hillel Kurzmann, a lawyer from Monsey. The students, nearly all of them strangers to the visiting delegation, “were in awe that fifteen people from Monsey drove three hours” to their campuses. One student declared in a text, “This was my best night ever.” Neil Zelman, another member of the delegation, says a student was “completely taken aback that we were doing this for people we do not know.”

The Jewish students at New York State’s SUNY Binghamton were especially nervous after the war in Gaza began, says Cara Moskowitz, a junior at SUNY, because the school’s OU-JLIC representative, Rabbi Ben Menora, who had served in the Israeli army, was called back to his IDF unit. The students who took part in the barbecue were still talking about it, and the sense of “normalcy” it restored, several days afterwards, she says.

Before the strangers showed up, says Fishkind, some students at U of Penn felt “depressed, morose.” The barbecue lifted their spirits. The visitors made the students feel “they were being taken care of,” says Moskowitz. “We felt supported.”

Steve Lipman is a frequent contributor to Jewish Action.

A group of activists drove hours to SUNY Binghamton to bring chizuk to Jewish students, along with hot dogs and hamburgers. Courtesy of Ethan Pfeiffer

STUDENTS are HOW

By Tova Cohen

In the wake of rising antisemitism on college campuses and in public high schools, a growing number of students are responding to antisemitism in a novel way—by embracing their Judaism.

Photo: Spencer Platt/Getty Images

October 7 pushed teens to think: who am I? And many of them made a choice—they are choosing Judaism.”

RESPONDING to ANTISEMITISM

We have students walking around campus wrapped in Israeli flags. A lot of Jewish students are doubling down on their Jewish identity.”

Photo: Sipa USA

In the immediate aftermath of the Hamas attack on Israel, Laura Barkel was yelled at, spat on and physically assaulted by proPalestinian demonstrators. Her reports to officials at Toronto Metropolitan University, where she is a student, fell on deaf ears.

Laura is not alone. A resurgence of hatred against Jews has grown quickly and virulently on college campuses and in public high schools throughout North America. Call it a rude awakening for Jewish Gen Zers who had rarely encountered such blatant prejudice in the past. Despite exposure to tragedies like the synagogue shootings in Pittsburgh and Poway, and instances of unabashed antisemitism such as Kanye West’s Adidas controversy, the abrupt and powerful rise of antisemitism on campus and in schools in the aftermath of the Hamas attack has left many young people facing a stark and unsettling reality.

Students are now forced to become adept at maneuvering their way through the kind of hostility and tension that adults have difficulty navigating. And in this fine balance has come an awakening of a different kind: a tighter embrace by these young people of their Jewish identities and a crystallization of their core Jewish values.

“I feel like the Jewish community is my whole life now,” says twenty-one-yearold Laura, who was raised in a secular Israeli family in the largely Jewish suburb of Thornhill, Ontario. “I’ve worked with the local Chabad to involve my friends, who are feeling like they need more of a connection to the Jewish community, with shuls in their areas. And along with the rebbetzin at my synagogue, I set up a weekly challah bake for women. In addition to having fresh, delicious challah each week, it’s become a really valued tradition for all of us.”

Laura became more involved in Judaism when she discovered NCSY while attending public high school. She took on more mitzvot over time but admits that her observance slackened once she moved away from home for her first fully in-person semester at university this fall. “I was living on my own for the first time, and I think I lost that connection

amid the hustle and bustle of being in university,” Laura explains.

Then October 7 happened, and the unexpected wave of antisemitism reawakened her sense of Jewish identity. “I’m returning to the roots I found in high school that I had lost,” says Laura, “and while it’s unfortunate that such [a catastrophic event] brought me back, I’m grateful [to be reconnecting].”

DOUBLING DOWN ON JEWISH IDENTITY

Rabbi Shlomo Mandel, NCSY Canada’s COO and regional director, says Laura’s experience of drawing closer to her Judaism is indicative of a wider trend he is seeing among JSU participants.

Jewish Student Union (JSU), a project of NCSY, is a network of after-school Jewish culture clubs in public schools and non-Jewish private schools throughout North America. The clubs aim to teach teens about their Jewish heritage and help them meet other Jewish teens. “This is definitely a theme I’ve heard from JSU staff and from students I’ve spoken with,” says Rabbi Mandel.

Since October 7, both the OU’s Jewish Learning Initiative on Campus (OU-JLIC), which helps Jewish students navigate secular college campuses, and JSU have reported a groundswell of interest in Judaism among the populations they serve, with rising numbers of Jewish students seeking a stronger sense of community and deeper connection to their heritage.

“Since that first day back at York University after Thanksgiving break, which is in October in Canada, we’ve gotten a minyan for Minchah every single day I’ve been on campus,” says Rabbi Aaron Greenberg, the OU-JLIC Torah educator who is based at York University but is responsible for three college campuses

across Toronto. “Before that, we had a minyan maybe twice.

“In addition, a couple of our students who run track and field at York started davka [intentionally] wearing their Magen David necklaces visibly out,” he adds. “We recently made tzitzit for chayalim, and I couldn’t believe it but a third of the students [attending the program] were not even shomer Shabbat Dozens of Jewish students I’ve never seen before are reaching out for a Jewish class or just to talk to a rabbi for chizuk.”

Rabbi Elie Buechler, the OU-JLIC rabbi at Columbia University, one of the Ivy League colleges that came under fire for its administration’s poor response to skyrocketing antisemitism, sees a similar phenomenon on his campus. “Students who were less engaged Jewishly have gravitated toward being proud of being Jewish,” he says.

“They’ve told me, ‘I make an effort now to wear a kippah or a Magen David necklace.’ The Kraft Center for Jewish Student Life, Hillel’s building, which OU-JLIC shares at our campus, has been fuller these past two months than it has ever been before. It’s one of the only places on campus where Jews feel like they don’t have to defend who they are or what they believe in.”

“JLIC campus couples have noted that the challenges have become a catalyst for a deeper connection to Judaism,” says Rabbi Josh Ross, OU-JLIC’s executive director.

“Lots of students on campus have never felt prouder to be a Jew,” says Rabbi Buechler. And despite the ongoing tension and stress, most students are staying strong. “While hundreds of pro-Palestinian kids were protesting, one Jewish student, who is not particularly religious, donned a pair of tefillin and stood there facing them with pride,” he says. “We have students walking around campus wrapped in Israeli flags. A lot of Jewish students are doubling down on their Jewish identity.”

Tova

A LIFELINE IN THE PUBLIC SCHOOLS

Noting a similar trend among high school teens, JSU National Director Devora Simon reports that, as of this February, more than thirty new JSU clubs were created in public schools since October 7, bringing the total to 320 clubs impacting some 15,000 teens across North America. Many more are in progress.

JSU, run by NCSY staff, is brought into schools via the students who must request the club. “I’m getting requests from teens two to three times a day,” says Devora. “The JSU staff is working as hard as possible, with very quick turnaround, to support these students so they have that space in their high schools to connect with and express their Judaism without fear.”

Additionally, more students are joining existing JSU clubs. NCSY West Coast Regional Director Rabbi Derek Gormin has seen a marked increase in the number of students joining the seventy-six clubs he oversees in California, Oregon, Washington, Arizona, Nevada, Utah and Idaho. “Clubs that until now had twentyfive or thirty members now have more than 100,” he says. With clubs offering increased Israel education and advocacy, “everything is on steroids,” he says.

Kids tend to join JSU in September and October, according to Rabbi Sammy Aronson, director of Mid-Island NCSY and JSU. “Often you see a drop in November as kids get more involved in their studies and extracurricular activities, especially sports.” “Not this year,” he says. “No one dropped out yet.”

Houston JSU and NCSY Director Rabbi Nati Stern says that since the massacre, even after clubs are over, students “stick around and ask more questions; they want to stay and talk.”

In a school like Toronto’s Earl Haig Secondary School—the largest public school in the Toronto district, where JSU President Cole Fisher estimates there are some thirty Jewish teens out of a student body of around 2,500—JSU provides the only Jewish and pro-Israel education some

students ever receive. And in the wake of the war in Israel, it’s become a lifeline.

Cole, fifteen, was raised as a Reform Jew with little in the way of ritualistic observance but with a strong emphasis on cultural Judaism. A post-Covid bar mitzvah trip to Israel at age fourteen helped him forge a deep connection to Israel, and he proudly became involved with NCSY and JSU at school.

“If there was any antisemitism at my school before October 7, I didn’t notice it,” reports Cole. “Afterwards, suddenly there was a crazy influx of students posting about the war, calling Hamas terrorists ‘freedom fighters’ and throwing out words like ‘apartheid’ and ‘colonization.’ The Tuesday after the Hamas attack, students showed up at school wearing keffiyehs and ran around screaming ‘Allah Akbar’ and ‘I’m going to bomb you.’ The shift happened instantly.”

The first post-massacre JSU school club meeting was scheduled for that Friday, October 13, which also happened to be when a Hamas leader called for a global and violent day of jihad targeting Jewish businesses and individuals. Some Jewish students planned to stay home from school. But Cole’s father took a different tack, telling Cole to bring a baseball bat if it made him feel safer but to show up. “My dad had always taught me to be proud of who I am, but never was that more strongly impressed upon me than when he told me if I don’t show up at school and run the JSU club meeting, the other side wins,” said Cole. “So I went.”

Cole also attended the JSU presidents’ conference in New Jersey in late October and the Washington rally in November, where he joined some 300,000 Jews and allies of all ages to proudly and peacefully express solidarity with Israel. “If October 7 has any silver lining, I think it’s that Jews like me have become more motivated to stand together and be proud of who we are,” says Cole, who has taken it upon himself to don tefillin more often and to participate in more NCSY events. Cole also lit an extra menorah on Chanukah for the hostages.

“Being a part of NCSY and JSU has connected me to a community of people where I have the safe space to be myself,” he continues. “After the past few months, I’m more committed than ever to helping give other Jews, and even non-Jews

who want to engage in dialogue about tough issues, that safe space. It’s both a responsibility and a privilege.”

Cole was not the only JSU member who was profoundly affected by the Washington rally. It made an impression on many teens says Rabbi Stern, who flew from Houston with members of his JSU clubs. “Just being present in such a large crowd of other Jews had a deep impact,” he says. “So often, teens do not identify as Jewish in their public schools. October 7 pushed many of them to think: who am I? And many of them made a choice—they are choosing Judaism.”

Photo: Allison Bailey/NurPhoto via AP

Dozens of Jewish students I’ve never seen before are reaching out for a Jewish class or just to talk to a rabbi for chizuk.”

BECOMING A JEWISH ACTIVIST

Another JSU president, sixteen-yearold Sofie Glassman from Long Island, New York, says that well before this past October, there was already plenty of antisemitism at East Meadow High School, where she is a student: swastikas in bathroom stalls, antisemitic comments, and the like. Sofie honed

her Jewish activism chops in that kind of environment, so when October 7 happened, she was unfortunately prepared for what ensued.

“I’ve become even more outspoken and proud of my Judaism in response to the increased hate we’re seeing,” she declares. “We can’t control what other people do; we can only control what we do in response, like continuing to make a kiddush Hashem and be an example of a good person.”

Sofie makes sure the school announces her JSU club meetings every week with its full name: The Expressing Pride in

Israeli Culture Club. “It’s a small thing, but I think it’s powerful that everyone at East Meadow hears that regularly on the loudspeaker,” she says. Sofie also speaks at rallies and has a strong voice on social media, and these days she brings up her Judaism and Israel in school papers as much as possible. For a recent essay she submitted to the National Honor Society, for which the prompt was to write about beauty, Sofie wrote about the war in Israel, connecting her increased activism and encouraging others to find beauty amid tragedy.

“My parents had previously raised the topic of switching schools, but I felt strongly that I won’t be scared away, especially now,” says Sofie. “When it’s time for college, I want to go somewhere where there’s a Jewish presence, but where it’s on the smaller side, so I can really be the advocate on campus on behalf of the Jewish people and Israel. I think that’s where I shine.”

In the context of the events of the past few months, Orthodox Jewish students are also considering where to attend college. Take Zac Levy, the only Orthodox Jewish senior at High Technology High School in Monmouth County, New Jersey, one of the top STEM high schools in the nation. The accomplished student and activist was always destined for the Ivy League; by sixteen, he already published a book about homelessness and had university-level research in particle physics and quantum computing under his belt.

“After October 7, we took Harvard off my list of schools I was going to apply to,” says Zac. “Other schools moved down a few positions, and we seriously considered Dartmouth since my parents and I liked how the [university] dealt with the postwar situation.”

In the end, Zac is heading to Princeton in the fall, where he looks forward to speaking with people who might disagree with him but who are open to dialogue. He hopes to help expand their minds about what’s really happening in Israel and counteract some of the toxic effects of social media.

And even in his high school, where Zac says there is thankfully no outward antisemitism to speak of, he’s doing his part to instill college-bound students with a dose of reality. Zac reached out to a teacher of a senior elective called “Current Global Issues” to help ensure the planned curriculum was unbiased. “He was very receptive and showed me the videos he was planning to present in class, and I pointed out a few things I thought weren’t emphasized, like Israel’s efforts to come to a peace agreement, especially at Camp David,” says Zac, who previously undertook AIPAC advocacy training. “The teacher actually added it to his presentation, and I was proud I had facilitated that, so students could get a full and complete picture.”

Laura, too, is considering her options for graduate school. “I actually applied to Yeshiva University, which previously hadn’t been an option for me,” she explains. “But I don’t feel it’s compromising anything. It’s just going to be all the more fulfilling for my future.”

It’s a future that has also come into sharper focus for her since her recent experiences with antisemitism and fighting back. “I grew up always knowing that I wanted to marry someone Jewish and belong to the Jewish community,” she says, “but now I definitely feel I have stricter rules for myself about how I want to raise my kids and shape their awareness of who they are and what’s important to us as Jews.”

Not all JSU clubs have seen an attendance increase. In fact, a few clubs have seen the opposite occur, with certain families. Parents in Brooklyn’s Russian community, for example, have counseled their children to conceal their Judaism in public, due to their understandable fear of the current climate.

But Rabbi Mandel, NCSY Canada's regional director, is encouraged that more people than not, especially the teens he works with, are reacting to contemporary hatred by clinging tighter to what defines us as Jews. He points to a parent-teen Chanukah event he ran that sold out quickly. “We had the most registrations we’ve ever had for any event,” says Rabbi Mandel. “That speaks to more of a willingness by both parents and their children to engage publicly with their Judaism. There’s definitely a theme of people wanting to ignite that light inside of them outwardly.”

Rabbi Stern agrees. He recalls a Thanksgiving JSU Shabbaton, held a few weeks after the massacre, where he asked kids seated around a bonfire to share what they are grateful for. One student explained how the uptick in antisemitism had caused him to rethink his priorities: “Of all the things I’ve learned,” he said, “I learned who I belong with and who I want to surround myself with.”

If October 7 has any silver lining, I think it’s that Jews like me have become more motivated to stand together and be proud of who we are."

Many teens have reacted to contemporary hatred by clinging tighter to what defines us as Jews. Below, students from around the country participating in the JSU presidents’ conference in New Jersey in late October.

Yefashpesh B’ma’asav: Post-Tragedy Introspection

By Moishe Bane

World War II battles were still raging in February of 1945 when the leaders of the United States, Britain and the Soviet Union convened at the Yalta Conference to map out post-war plans. Similarly, wrestling over post-war governance of Gaza and angst regarding eventual internal Israeli reforms began even during the earliest stages of the postOctober 7 war.

Though our experiences are incomparable to that of Israelis, the Jewish community in America has been traumatized by October 7, by the ensuing war, and by the recent revelation of previously muted ubiquitous American and international antisemitism. We, too, must contemplate the effects of the current upheavals and what changes in communal priorities and attitudes, if any, are appropriate.

It is disconcerting, if not offensive, when individuals authoritatively attribute communal calamities to specific misdeeds. Undoubtedly tragedy, like all else, is never happenstance and every effect has a cause. But unequivocally assigning particular causes to Hashem’s decrees is the exclusive domain of prophecy, which we currently do not merit.

And yet.

While we may be incapable of identifying the precise cause of each tragedy, Chazal have explicitly prescribed how to respond to afflictions. The Talmud (Berachos 5a) teaches “Im roeh adam sheyissurim ba’im alav, yefashpesh b’ma’asav—if a person sees that sufferings has befallen him, he should examine his deeds.” Our rabbis caution that we cannot merely shrug our shoulders and disavow responsibility simply because we are unable to pinpoint the metaphysical cause of the misfortune. Introspection itself is the mandated reaction. But to what end?

A Proposed Theory of Introspection

The conventional understanding of the Gemara is that the sufferer should conduct introspection to identify misdeeds and then repent. This interpretation, however, is curious because we are always duty-bound to review our behavior and rectify improprieties, not just when calamity strikes. Moreover, as observed by the Ben Yehoyada, why did the Talmud not simply say that introspection is necessary when “a person is afflicted with suffering”? Why the formulation “when a person observes that he is being afflicted by suffering”?

Perhaps Chazal are prescribing two distinct exercises, the need to first observe and then to reflect. And perhaps the nature of the reflection suggested by Chazal differs from the ongoing obligation to examine our deeds for transgressions.

Tragedies create new realities, sometimes subtle and other times acute, sometimes visible, other times concealed. The changes are often personal, affecting the sufferer’s physical, emotional and/ or psychological condition. And the changes are often also external, altering

surrounding circumstances. For example, all of one’s meaningful interpersonal interactions may be upended upon the death or disability of one or more loved ones. The loss of one’s job or business, or the ruination of one’s reputation may not only undermine one’s financial situation but also impose barriers to communal resources and support systems. These dimensions of life, such our social, financial and communal circumstances, are often the very considerations that had earlier framed our lifestyle choices, priorities and attitudes.

In truth, change takes place continually, for every person and for every community, not merely when tragedy strikes. Inevitable changes include stages of maturation, shifts in family obligations and occupational status, and fluctuations in financial circumstances. Often the approaches and priorities in our allocation of time, resources and personal religious focus were adopted long ago, in consideration of the circumstances of that earlier time period. Many of us neglect to periodically pause to reassess whether these earlier decisions remain appropriate in the context of our most current circumstances. And communities are no different. Even as we take advantage of Elul and the Yamim Noraim to revisit our past missteps, we fail to reassess our earlier virtuous choices, overlooking the fact that they may no longer be suitable.

But changes resulting from tragedy are unique. Ordinarily, changes unfold slowly and systemically. When tragedy strikes, however, change is often sudden, jarring and magnified. Therefore, when the Talmud references a person observing affliction, perhaps it is referencing observation of the panoply of changes wrought by the suffering.

Moishe Bane, president emeritus of the OU, serves as a contributing editor of Jewish Action

And the Talmud then suggests that after acknowledging the changes, yefashpesh b’ma’asav, the sufferer must engage in introspection to assess how earlier viewpoints, choices and relationships must conform to the new realities.

Israelis certainly acknowledge that their world has been intrinsically changed post-October 7, and American Orthodoxy must do the same. We must recognize that our community has been profoundly altered and our communal psyche shaken. It may be too early to determine what those changes really are. Moreover, some changes will be lasting, while others will fade. And some changes have not yet manifested. But it is surely not too early to begin to observe and then to ponder.

Torah leaders and thinkers, as well as those who are responsible for the community’s institutions and welfare, should lead communal introspection. This essay is not such an exercise. In fact, the examples presented below are incomplete and imprecise as they reflect my personal biases and concerns. My hope, however, is that the ideas enumerated help initiate communal discussion.

Step One: Observing Changes

1. Changes in America: We continue to respect and proudly embrace our American citizenship, the country’s legal and political system and its incredible religious freedoms and economic opportunities. But the America we observe today is not the America we thought it to be just several months ago. We are startled by revelations of antisemitism and by the accompanying silence. Unexpectedly we may find ourselves surreptitiously wondering how we and our values are viewed by nonJewish friends and colleagues.

We have long been admonished by our rabbis and teachers that America is merely a way station on Jewry’s journey through the Diaspora. While few American Jews even contemplate emigration, many no longer view this warning simply as wise but rather as axiomatic. And while some of us may have declined to embrace the slogan “Never Again” because it implies that humans, rather than G-d, ultimately control the fate of history, today there

may be some who simply no longer have confidence in that assertion.

On the other hand, unlike with eruptions of antisemitism in past eras and in other regions, antisemitism in the US has not been manifest in mainstream governmental bodies and policies. In fact, political leaders and law enforcement agencies repeatedly evidence, in both word and deed, great concern for the safety and welfare of our community.

2. Citadels of secular culture: October 7 also exposed the rot beneath the exalted facade of institutions venerated by many in our community. One example is the gleaming veneer of higher secular education that has now been shattered.

Campuses, and other bastions of woke values, have zealously fostered acceptance of all lifestyles and minorities, except Jews. Orthodox youth attending such schools increasingly are experiencing extreme uneasiness, reporting that the campus environment compromises their sense of security and belonging.

On the other hand, is university culture trending away from its currently threatening disposition? If there is a forceful backlash to the antisemitism and woke values, and an end to the manipulative foreign donations made to universities, perhaps Orthodox students will begin to feel more comfortable on campus.

3. Changes in Israel: Previously many of us viewed Israel as a destination to visit, an idealized yet improbable future home, and a source of holiness and inspiration. While we continue to connect to Israel in these ways and more, many American Jews now also regard Israel as Jewry’s ultimate sanctuary.

But recent events also accentuate Israel’s vulnerabilities. The State of Israel we knew just months ago was invincible. The Start-Up Nation was being courted by the elite of American technology industrialists and the wealthiest of Arab neighbors. Though Israel today certainly remains standing strong and proud, it is perhaps with some newly discovered measure of humility.

Israel’s intense domestic disharmony has also faded, at least for the moment. Rather than witnessing a fractioned Israeli society possessed by internal

enmity, we observe an Israel galvanized by a unity that is generating revitalized strength. The achdus within Israel has stimulated within us an unprecedented sense of kinship with the entirety of the Israeli population, beyond just those with whom we are religiously or ideologically aligned. This newly ignited affinity is manifest in our deeds, prayers and tears. And even if the unity within Israel diminishes over time, it has kindled a sense of Jewish brotherhood we thought had dissipated.

Remarkably, we also observe among Israelis a surge of interest in spirituality, and for some even a yen for religious ritual, such as wearing tzitzis or lighting Shabbos candles. We are not so gullible as to believe that Israeli society is suddenly embracing a Torah-observant life. But perhaps the Kabbalists were correct in suggesting that while the secular chalutzim of yore tilled our homeland, their pounding of plowshares against the land’s holy stones may have ignited sparks of kedushah that are slowly manifesting in their progeny.

4. Secular American Jewry: Although they have yet to exhibit the spiritual awakening of their Israeli counterparts, secular Jewish Americans seem to have a renewed interest in their Jewish identity.

Socially progressive American Jews are particularly bewildered by the imbalanced criticism of Israel and the condemnation of Jews, whether explicit or implicit. Jews whose personal identity had been primarily framed by secular political and social justice movements are reminded of their connection to the family of Jewry as they observe revered intellectuals, social crusaders and cultural icons being uncharacteristically silent regarding animosity toward Israel and Jews, and even regarding calls for an international intifada.

And although Orthodox Jews may be more easily identifiable, all Jews are subject to the venom spewed by haters. And so many completely unaffiliated American Jews are beginning to feel that if they are being identified by others as a Jew, perhaps they should identify as a Jew to themselves as well.

Step Two: Yefashpesh b’ma’asav—Revisiting Prevailing Attitudes and Priorities

1. Our place in American society and higher education: Once we have clarity regarding the endurance and scope of American antisemitism, we might want to revisit various communal practices. For example, a characteristic of contemporary American Orthodoxy is the unabashed display of our religious identity, whether in our personal attire, institutional buildings or public events. In earlier eras, and in other parts of the Diaspora, Orthodox Jews tended to keep a lower profile. Should our community reconsider its current conspicuous demeanor?

And if antisemitism becomes further embedded in American institutions and in the broader culture, should our eagerness to participate in and integrate into arenas of American culture be reexamined? For example, currently about 80 percent of the graduates of Modern Orthodox high schools attend secular universities. If Orthodox students on campus continue to feel unsafe and alienated, and if the culture, values and attitudes of university administrators and professors continue to remain toxic, will Jewish high schools and parents rethink their commitment to having our youth attend a secular university? And if secular university attendance loses its allure, is the community equipped to provide such students with suitable alternatives?

2. Revisiting Orthodox attitudes toward Zionism and the Jewish State: Orthodox attitudes toward Zionism and the role of a contemporary Jewish state vary in the extreme. The range spans from Religious Zionists, some of whom view the State’s creation as Aschalta D’Geulah, the initiation of the Messianic era, to Orthodox anti-Zionists, who might view the State as a fiercely sacrilegious entity, a creation of the Sitra Achra. The majority of perspectives, of course, fall somewhere between these two stances.

Most Orthodox positions toward the Jewish State are less rooted in ideology and more the product of strategies adopted decades ago by rabbinic leaders based on their thoughtful assessments and projections. Each position reflected

a distinct mix of hopes and concerns regarding the likely impact of the Zionist movement, and subsequently of the State of Israel, on the preservation and advancement of Torah-true Judaism and the safety and security of the Jewish nation.

The requirement of yefashpesh b’ma’asav might encourage each segment of our community to examine whether the events of and reactions to October 7 and its aftermath compel revisions to the assessments and forecasts that long ago shaped their respective positions toward Zionism. For example, is the Jewish State a beacon of safety for all Jews, or the cause of hostility to and vulnerability for Jews throughout the world? Do the current reactions of both observant and non-observant Jews to Israel’s needs in its time of crisis highlight an invaluable role played by Israel as a source of national Jewish brotherhood? And should the post-October 7 surge of connection among IDF soldiers to Yiddishkeit and to the community of Klal Yisrael alter the view of those who have understood the IDF to be necessarily hostile to traditional Judaism?

In fact, perhaps the current tragedy will prompt a broader re-examination of views regarding the blessings or harm of a Jewish State that should have long been conducted periodically throughout the past decades. Considerations appropriate to such review include studying the contrast of intermarriage rates and the connection to Judaism of non-observant Jews in Israel and those living in the Diaspora. And thought must be given to whether the burgeoning degree and centrality of Torah study and mitzvah observance within Orthodoxy that has evolved over the past seventy-five years has benefitted from, or been stymied, by the existence of the Jewish State.

By necessity, these and numerous other factors were contemplated decades ago solely on the basis of conjecture. The conclusions reached back then on the basis of projections can now be reassessed on the basis of actuality.

3. Communal allocations to kiruv: American Orthodox outreach to secular and unaffiliated Jews has always been on the communal agenda, albeit pursued on a relatively modest scale. Adult outreach, in particular, has been limited to Chabad, and to a relatively small group of other impressive but significantly

underfunded efforts. This minimalistic attitude was formulated in the mid-tolate twentieth century in an era of limited Orthodox communal resources and when Orthodoxy itself was struggling with its own revitalization. As a result, for most Orthodox leaders and philanthropists, strengthening Orthodox education and community building, not outreach, were prioritized.

In addition, the most powerful and effective kiruv efforts have been oneon-one personal interactions. But because such efforts are costly, they are limited in generating the scale that might significantly affect the escalating intermarriage rates within the American Jewish community.

With new realities emerging since October 7, perhaps we need to rethink our community’s attitude toward outreach. Post-October 7, we observe a surge of interest in Jewish identity across the spectrum of American Jewry. For example, NCSY’s JSU public school clubs throughout North America have experienced an explosion of nonobservant student participants and social media is replete with unaffiliated Jews, and even intermarried Jews, expressing a desire to strengthen their Jewish knowledge and identity. Perhaps there is a rare window of opportunity to engage unaffiliated Jews and provide a path for their greater connection to Jews and Judaism.

We must also acknowledge that the financial base of our community has enjoyed significant expansion, and kiruv need not be pursued at the expense of meeting internal Orthodox needs. Moreover, social media has introduced unprecedented tools and opportunities to inspire and inculcate Jewish identity on a previously unimaginable scale.

On the other hand, if this pivot is to be seriously considered, proposals for implementation must first be designed and initial efforts implemented to evidence effectiveness.

Observing changes and incorporating their implications into our thinking and behavior is a core part of avodas Hashem. Even when we do conduct such exercises, our investment in prevailing practices and attitudes often leads us to conclude that no changes are necessary. But breaking through that complacency is the role of effective leadership. In any event, the risk of frustration does not alleviate the responsibility to try.

TORAH UNITED

By Rabbi Moshe Schwed

Ever since the horrific massacre on October 7, one word has been heard over and over: unity. Searching for some light in the midst of all this darkness, many writers, podcast hosts and Jewish media personalities have focused on the incredible achdus that has emerged from this tragedy in countless ways—Chareidim barbecuing for chayalim, left-wing peace activists using their vast social networks to help the evacuees, Dati Leumi volunteers bringing toys to displaced children from secular homes.

The obvious question is: How do we sustain this level of Jewish unity once the war is over?

Many predict that the extraordinary sense of unity in Israel will not last. In some ways, it is reminiscent of the emotions we experience as the Yamim Noraim approach. During the Aseres Yemei Teshuvah, one tends to feel an (often unwarranted) sense of despair: “I haven’t changed, so why

bother?” Similarly, some contend that the tremendous sense of unity is sure to dissipate, so what’s the point?

To be sure, when we speak of unity, what many of us really mean is that the “other” will abandon his views and adopt our clearly superior position. Now that we’ve all been shaken up by October 7, we figure our ideological opponents will clearly see what we have seen all along, and they’ll come over to our side. Unfortunately, those on the other side of the ideological spectrum are likely thinking the same thing. So the question remains—how will we ever achieve long-lasting unity?

I don’t have all the answers. I do know one thing, though. I have seen the tremendous power of the Torah to bring the Jewish people together.

As the director of the OU's All Torah platform, I have the opportunity to interact with Jews across the Orthodox spectrum—from the Chassidic community in Brooklyn to the Modern Orthodox community in Beverly Hills, California, from Sephardim in Panama City to Yeshivish guys in Lakewood.

I used to be surprised when a young man sporting peyos and learning in a Jerusalem kollel would tell me that his favorite maggid shiur is a musmach of Yeshiva University, or when a graying lawyer with a white-knitted yarmulke from Deerfield Beach, Florida, would say he’s a loyal devotee of Rabbi Sruly Bornstein’s Lakewood Daf Yomi. But since launching All Daf in 2020, I have come across these stories so frequently, they no longer surprise me.

I can’t forget the time I met “Shia,” a Chassid from Williamsburg, New York. Shia signed up to join Zichru, a unique memory program created by Rabbi Avraham Goldhar and Barry Lebovits from Passaic, New Jersey, to help Daf Yomi learners retain what they learn

each day. Drawing upon scientifically proven methods for memorization, the program, which is hosted on All Daf’s platform, uses “simanim” for each daf, that is, signs or mnemonic devices to aid in remembering the material. When the word “cheetah” was used as a siman for Daf Tzadi-Tes (99), Shia, whose command of the English language is weak, found himself Googling the word cheetah, which he was unfamiliar with. Determined to bring Zichru to his fellow Chassidim, Shia subsequently created a Yiddish version of the program and had Rabbi Goldhar visit various Chassidic communities to train them in effectively using the program.

But the notion of Torah serving as a force to unify the Jewish people isn’t new. In Parashas Yisro, when G-d gives the Torah on Mount Sinai, Rashi cites a famous teaching of Chazal that the Jewish people were “k’ish echad b’lev echad—as one man with one heart.” But this wasn’t a moment of unity that just happened on that occasion. Rather, it was absolutely necessary for the Jewish people at that time to feel as if they were “one person with one heart”—unity was a prerequisite for accepting the Torah and becoming the Chosen Nation.

Why specifically before the Giving of the Torah was it necessary for the Jewish people to be unified? Why not just as we were about to leave Egypt? Or before the Splitting of the Sea? Wouldn’t these momentous events have been easier had we all been unified, without any disagreements, sharing a goal and vision?

I once heard an explanation from Rabbi Yaakov Bender, rosh yeshivah of Yeshiva Darchei Torah in Far Rockaway, New York, who quoted Rabbi Kalman Epstein, rosh yeshivah of Shaar HaTorah in Queens. Rabbi Epstein spent one Yom Kippur in Mount Sinai Hospital in Manhattan with his wife, who was very ill at the time. Joining a minyan for

Rabbi Moshe Schwed serves as the director of the OU’s All Torah Platform.

...when the Jewish nation is in pain and suffering, there is no need for a reminder that we love and respect each other.

Neilah, he found himself in the hospital chapel, where a group of about thirty Jews from across the religious spectrum had gathered for the final and most important prayer of the day. At a time of such pain and vulnerability, everyone in the chapel felt deeply connected to one another. Right before Neilah was about to begin, a Satmar Chassid got up and asked if he could speak.

With obvious emotion, he said, "Today we are all here witnessing the suffering and the pain of our loved ones,” he said. “Eventually, we will go home and resume our regular lives. Do we need to be in a hospital chapel on Yom

Kippur to remember that we’re all part of one family, the Jewish people? Let’s remember the feeling of unity and connection we all feel so intensely at this very moment during this time of pain and crisis, and try to hold onto this incredible sense of achdus even as we go back to living our regular lives.”

Rabbi Epstein explained that when the Jewish nation is in pain and suffering, there is no need for a reminder that we love and respect each other. An inherent sense of unity is keenly felt. It’s during a time of joy and excitement, such as the Giving of the Torah, that we need the reminder.

Whether by learning with someone who doesn’t share our exact religious outlook or political view, or by sharing a Torah thought with a business colleague, let us use Torah as our unifying anchor. During wartime we can easily put aside differences and remember that we are family, but during peaceful times, when we are mystified and distressed by how other Jews view things differently and don’t share our deeply held convictions, we can connect, unite and build through our shared heritage: the Torah.

*The All Torah platform began in 2020 with the All Daf app and has expanded to include All Mishnah and All Parsha. All Torah is a collection of free Torah apps and websites created under the auspices of the Orthodox Union. Users enjoy worldclass shiurim, content, and resources in a curated, user-friendly platform.

WHAT’S THE TRUTH ABOUT. . .

RASHI SCRIPT?

By Rabbi Dr. Ari Z. Zivotofsky

MISCONCEPTION : 1 Rashi (Rabbi Shlomo Yitzchaki [1040–1105 CE]) wrote his famed commentary using “Rashi script.”

FACT : “Rashi script,” a script based on an earlier Sephardic cursive script, was used by the early printers (late fifteenth century) to distinguish Rashi’s commentary from the holier Biblical text. It has nothing to do with Rashi the person, who likely would not have been able to read it. The script subsequently gained wide popularity and was used to print many rabbinic texts.

Background: This misconception is widespread. Esteemed rabbis, too, had this misconception. For example, Rabbi Yosef Messas (d. 1974; Nachalat Avot, sec. 5, vol. 1, 297) wrote that Rashi used this script, and Rabbi Chaim Sofer (d. 1886; Machaneh Chaim [5622 ed.], 1:25) suggested that Rashi created the script to be used for writing mundane matters.

The English language has various ways to represent the same letters (uppercase vs. lowercase, block vs. cursive), and over the millennia there have been various scripts for Hebrew letters. The two most famous scripts are Ketav Ivri (“Hebrew script”), also known as Proto/PaleoHebrew, and Ketav Ashuri (“Assyrian script”). Ketav Ashuri is the square script found in most sifrei Torah and in common use today. Ketav Ivri was the standard script in use prior to the destruction of the first Beit Hamikdash in 586 BCE, and continues to be used

Rabbi Dr. Ari

by the Samaritans and in selected other contexts. Many archaeological finds, such as the Shiloach inscription and ancient coins, are written in Ketav Ivri,2 and it is found on the modern-day oneshekel coin.

One application for Ketav Ivri, which continued to be used for hundreds of years, was to differentiate texts that were more and less sacred. For example, within the treasure trove of the Dead Sea Scrolls, there are documents written in Ketav Ashuri that used Ketav Ivri, which is more ancient, for the Tetragrammaton.3

This idea of reserving a particular script for holy text is found in the Rambam and other halachic sources. When Ketav Ivri was no longer used by Jews, the Rambam (teshuvah 268 in the Blau ed., 5720, p. 513), explains that Ketav Ashuri has a level of holiness and it is not right to use it for mundane matters. He states [translation from the Arabic by Rabbi Dr. Seth Mandel, z”l, email Feb 11, 2002]:

What you must know is that this script, viz. Ketav Ashuri, since the Torah

was given in it . . . it is improper to use it for anything other than kitvei hakodesh [holy writings]. Furthermore, Jews always observed this, and so letters and compositions of the rabbis and scholars and kitvei chol shelahem [their writing regarding mundane matters] were in Ketav Ivri. Because of this, you will always find the inscriptions on shiqlei hakodesh [shekalim from the time of the Beit Hamikdash] [and] devarim shel chol [mundane matters] in Ketav Ivri. . . . And it is because of this that the Spanish [Jews] altered their script and use different forms for the letters, until it is almost like ketav acher [another script], so that [the script] could be used for divrei chol.4

This aversion to using holy script for the mundane reached the point where some suggested not to use Ketav Ashuri for any secular purpose.5

In general, block letters are more standardized and easier to read. Cursive, whose goal is to speed up writing, sometimes by connecting letters, will have more regional variation and be more difficult to read.6 Prior to the innovation of printing, there was greater variability in writing style, particularly cursive, and there were always differences between Ashkenazim and Sephardim in both block and cursive writing. The Rosh wrote, “The forms of the letters are not the same in all countries; the letters in our country [Germany] are very different from those of this country [Spain] and these differences do not invalidate. . .” (Shu”t 3:11, quoted in

Z. Zivotofsky is a professor of neuroscience at Bar-Ilan University in Israel.

Tur, YD 274). Rabbi Moshe Kunitz (d. 1837) discusses (Hametsaref 1:20) the question of whether, given a fixed sum of money, an Ashkenazi should donate two Torahs in Sephardic writing or only one in Ashkenazic because the expert sofer is Sephardi and charges double to write in Ashkenazic print. Still today, although all sifrei Torah are written using Ketav Ashuri, there is variation in the customs regarding the nuances and details of how some of the letters are written. Some of the historical scripts are quite difficult to read, especially the Sephardic cursive.7

When printing was introduced in the late fifteenth century, styles of script had to be selected in which to print the various Jewish texts.8 The very earliest Hebrew printing, around 1470, was in either block print or local cursive. The very first known dated printed Jewish work was Rashi’s commentary on the Chumash. Printed in 1475 in Southern Italy without the Chumash text, the printer created a new typeface based on an existing Sephardic semi-cursive script called Masheit or Meshkit, a script likely influenced by Arabic script, and possibly the script referred to by Rambam in the above-cited responsa when he said that Spanish Jews had altered their script.9 In 1483, when Soncino printed tractate Berachot, the printers placed the Talmud in the center of the page in block lettering. To differentiate the Talmudic text from the commentaries, Rashi and Tosafot were placed around the text in Sephardic cursive, despite Soncino’s Ashkenazic roots.10

The commentary of Rashi is the unrivaled king of Biblical and Talmudic commentaries, and was subsequently printed in this “Rashi script” numerous times alongside the Biblical and Talmudic texts, which were printed in block lettering resembling Ketav Ashuri. Everyone studied Rashi’s commentary, and the script used to print Rashi became popular, either because of the 1475 commentary on Chumash or because of the Soncino Talmud, and it became associated with Rashi.11 It eventually became so popular that it became standard in the rabbinic world that even sefarim with only one text were printed in

Rashi script.12 The irony is that Rashi likely never saw, knew or would have even been able to read “Rashi script” and thus might not have been able to study those rabbinic texts. He wrote in a script now known as Zarphatic script, which was long out of use when printing was developed. An example of how Rashi actually wrote can be seen in the HaEncyclopedia HaIvrit (entry: Rav Shlomo Yitzchaki, vol. 31:998 [1988]) in a reproduction of a Cambridge manuscript of a responsum of Rashi in his own handwriting.

Other scripts evolved from Rashi script. For example, early Yiddish was written in a script similar to Rashi script, known as Veiberteitsch (lit. “women’s interpretation”; The Modern YiddishEnglish Dictionary by Uriel Weinreich [1968, p. 625] translates it as “old Yiddish typeface”) or Tzena U’rena script.

A distinct Sephardic cursive developed and was known as Solitreo or Chatzi Kulmus. It evolved to include many ligatures, as in Arabic and English script, thus making it difficult for the uninitiated to read. It was commonly used for writing Ladino and was popular in Turkey, the Balkans and North Africa. Unfortunately, the eradication of Ladino-speaking communities during the Holocaust, coupled with the Ashkenazic script being chosen over Sephardic in Israel, caused Solitreo to almost disappear. (Notable exceptions are the works of Rabbi Meir Mazuz and some rabbis in Djerba.)

As script writing gained in popularity in the last few hundred years, texts about scribal laws have emphasized the importance of distinguishing the block Ashuri script used in ritual items (such as tefillin or mezuzah) from the more mundane Masheit script. The Tikun Tefillin (Rabbi Avraham of Sinsheim, late thirteenth century, a student of the Maharam of Rothenburg [p. 98, 1970 ed.]) describes how to write an Ashurit vav and says that his description distinguishes it from Masheit script. Rabbi Shimshon ben Rabbi Eliezer’s Baruch She’amar (an important source on scribal law; commentary to Tikun Tefillin [p. 99, 1970 ed.]) bemoans that most of those who write tefillin in his

generation do it incorrectly and write in Masheit script instead of Ketav Ashuri. Similarly, the early-fifteenth-century Rabbi Yom-Tov Lipmann Mulhausen, in Alfa Beta, cautions ritual scribes to be careful about certain elements of yud, kaf, and resh to ensure the result is Ketav Ashuri and not Masheit script (pp. 224, 229, 242 in 1970 ed.).

Over the course of history, there were many Hebrew scripts;13 today there are three principal ones: block, cursive, and Rashi, with many fonts for each. The ingathering of the exiles, coupled with mass communication, has created near uniformity in writing scripts. Through it all, just like Rashi’s commentary has endured, its eponymous script, although having nothing to do with Rashi himself, has also endured.

Notes

1. This article is written as a tribute to Rabbi Dr. Seth Mandel, z”l, a good friend and mentor, who was an inspiration to me. For almost twenty years, Rabbi Mandel served as an OU rabbinic coordinator who oversaw shechitah, and it was in that capacity that we first met. Possessing a quick wit, he was also a fount of knowledge in so many areas, and a paradigm of ethical behavior—all of which made it stimulating and fun to interact with him. Since his passing in Sivan this past year, he has been sorely missed, and researching this article acutely reminded me of that. Having earned a PhD from Harvard in Semitic and African linguistics, Rabbi Mandel would have had so much to contribute to this particular piece. (See his article,

Ketav Ivri, the standard script in use prior to the destruction of the first Beit Hamikdash, can be seen on the modern-day one-shekel coin spelling the word “shekel.”

for example, on Hebrew pronunciation: https://jewishaction.com/religion/jewishculture/language/real-story-hebrewpronunciation/.) In an email many years ago (May 27, 2001) in response to my referring to him as “erudite,” Rabbi Mandel wrote about himself: “I am but a regular Jew, albeit in a sort of strange specialty.” Many would disagree with this underestimation.

2. On the change from one script to the other, see: Sanhedrin 21b–22a; Megillah 9a; Tosefta, Sanhedrin 5:7; Y. Megillah ch. 1. See also Rabbi Reuven Margolies, Hamikra VeHamesorah, 5749, ch. 9 (Ketav Ashuri), 30–34; and Moshe Lipschitz, “Did the Script of the Torah Change?” [Hebrew], Shma’atin 128 [5757]: 106–110. Although there is debate regarding the script the ancient Jews used, there is no disagreement regarding the language—it is universally accepted that the language of the Torah was Hebrew.

Rishonim knew about Ketav Ivri, but most had never seen it. The Ramban, in an amazing letter penned after he made aliyah, writes (printed at the end of his Bible commentary, Mossad Harav Kook ed., pp. 507–8): “The L-rd has blessed me that I have merited to come to Akko and I found there in the hands of the [Jewish] elders of the Land a silver coin . . . and they showed the writing to the Kutim [Samaritans], who read it immediately, because it was the Ketav Ivri that the Kutim preserved, as mentioned in Sanhedrin” [21b].

3. Most people assume that Ketav Ivri was used for the more sacred. Cf. P.W. Shekan, “The Divine Name at Qumran, in the Masada Scroll, and in the Septuagint,” Bulletin of the International Organization for Septuagint and Cognate Studies 13 (1980): 14–44; J.P. Siegel, “The Employment of Paleo-Hebrew Characters for the Divine Names at Qumran in the Light of the Tannaitic Sources,” Hebrew

Union College Annual 42 (1971): 159–72; and Emanuel Tov, “Scribal Practices and Approaches Reflected in the Texts Found in the Judean Desert,” Leiden/ Brill (2004): 123-25. Boaz Zissu and Omri Abadi (“Paleo-Hebrew script in Jerusalem and Judea from the second century BCE through the second century CE: a reconsideration,” Journal for Semitics 23.2 (2014): 653-64) postulate the opposite: that what is written in Ketav Ivri is less holy. Either way, there were different scripts for different levels of holiness.

4. This halachah is quoted by the Beit Yosef, YD 283, which in turn is quoted by the Magen Avraham, OC 334:17. See also Rema, YD 284:2 and the commentaries there. The Beit Yosef (beginning EH 126) discusses if a get must be written in Ketav Ashuri; the Shulchan Aruch rules that indeed Ketav Ashuri is preferable. The Pitchei Teshuvah (EH 126:3) discusses the status of Rashi script for a get. Rabbi Hirsch Jakob Zimmels (Ashkenazim and Sephardim: Their Relations, Differences, and Problems as Reflected in the Rabbinical Responsa [London: Oxford, 1958], ch. 2) observes that from the time of Rabbeinu Tam, all Ashkenazi gittin were written in square characters, while among Sephardim there were five phases in the type of script that was used.

5. See Keset HaSofer 5:6 (p. 56 in 5778 ed.).

6. Because of the less professional nature of script writing, there are those who would allow such writing on Chol HaMoed (Mishnah Berurah 545:35; Biur Halachah 545: afilu). See Magen Avraham, OC 340:10 about Shabbat.

7. See, for example, the writing style of the eleventh-century Rabbi Yehudah Halevi in Ada Yardeni, HaKetav ha-Ivri: Toledot, Yesodot, Signonot, Itzuv (1991), 223.

8. Today, with the popularization of computers and other devices, there has been a proliferation of fonts, true for Hebrew as well.

The Shiloach inscription. Found in 1880, this inscription, in Ketav Ivri, was engraved on the rock wall of a tunnel known as the “Shiloach tunnel,” which brought water from the spring of Gichon into the Shiloach Pool. The inscription discusses the digging of the tunnel, an impressive engineering feat at the time.

9. Also known as “Rabbani” script. See Yardeni, p. 216, for a description and history.

10. Despite the perception that Rashi script is different, the reality is that with the exception of four letters (alef, bet, tzadi, and shin), Rashi script is quite similar to block print.

11. For example, the Chida (d. 1806; Birkei Yosef, YD 282:7) mentions otiyot Rashi (Rashi letters), as does Rabbi Yair Bacharach (d. 1702; Shu”t Chavot Yair 109) and many others. The association with Rashi can already be found in the mid-seventeenth century. See Yaakov Spiegel, Amudim B’Toldot HaSefer HaIvri, 5774, 332. For a treasure trove of information on this topic, see Spiegel, ibid., 329–61.

12. Various explanations have been suggested for this phenomenon. Today there is a trend to reprint many of these rabbinic texts in standard block font to make it easier for the modern reader. Ironically, many of the early printings of Rashi on Chumash were actually in block letters.

13. See Jewish Encyclopedia 1:449–53 and Encyclopedia Judaica 2:690–743 for a description and diagrams of a variety of scripts. Malachi Beit-Arié, Hebrew Manuscripts of East and West (1992), has many examples of various scripts. The grand three-volume set Mifal HaPaleographia HaIvrit: Asufot Ketavim Ivriyim MeYimei Habeinayim (1987) is a treasure trove of examples of medieval Hebrew manuscripts.

A No-Grainer: The Laws of Yoshon Simplified

By Rabbi David Gorelik

QWhile it’s certainly far from widespread, I notice that there’s been an uptick in kosher consumers observing yoshon, and that “made with yoshon flour” appears on more kosher products than in the past. Can you explain the term yoshon?

AThe Torah (Vayikra 23:14) states that it is forbidden to eat the new year’s grains until after the Omer sacrifice (barley offering) is brought to the Beis Hamikdash on the second day of Pesach. Today, in the absence of the Omer, we must wait until the full second day of Pesach has passed, and then we consider all grain that took root before Pesach as yoshon (old), which is permissible to be eaten. Grain that took root after the second day of Pesach is known as chodosh (new) and is not permitted until the following year’s Omer offering. This prohibition applies exclusively to five varieties of grain: wheat, barley, spelt, rye and oats.

QWhat is the meaning behind the mitzvah of Korban Omer?

A Grains serve as our primary means of sustenance. We bring an offering of grain to thank Hashem for the new crop before enjoying it ourselves. Similar to the mitzvah of bikkurim, the mitzvah of Omer (and thereby yoshon) is designed to inculcate a deep sense of gratitude on the part of the individual to Hakadosh Baruch Hu for providing him with all of his material needs.

Q Does the prohibition of chodosh apply in the Diaspora?

A Though we are no longer able to bring a Korban Omer, the prohibition of chodosh is still in effect. While it is accepted that the Torah prohibition of chodosh applies in Israel, there are different opinions as to whether the prohibition applies in other countries as well. The Shulchan Aruch (Yoreh Deah 293:2) writes unambiguously

that the laws of chodosh apply in all circumstances, both in Israel as well as outside of Israel. Indeed, many Sephardim are known to be careful to not eat chodosh in accordance with this ruling. However, there are two main dissenting opinions among the Ashkenazic posekim

• The Bach (Yoreh De’ah 293) disagrees with the Shulchan Aruch and writes that the prohibition of chodosh outside of Israel applies only to grain grown by Jewish farmers, while grain grown by non-Jewish farmers outside of Israel is permitted.

• The Magen Avraham (489:17) writes that because of the difficulty in observing this law, many rely on the opinion that the prohibition of chodosh is limited to Israel and adjacent lands.

Rabbi David Gorelik has been a rabbinic coordinator at OU Kosher since 1995 and is OU Kosher’s yoshon expert.

According to this opinion, chodosh would apply to grain from countries neighboring Israel, but would not apply in Europe or America.

The Rema (Yoreh De’ah 293:2) mentions a third consideration. Since it is uncertain when the planting occurred, one may be lenient and permit eating these grains because of a double doubt (sfeik sfeika). (The two doubts: was the grain seeded before or after Pesach and perhaps the grain is from last year’s crop.)

The Mishnah Berurah (489:45) writes that the majority of people follow the above leniency, and one should not disapprove of those who follow this approach; nonetheless, he writes, it is preferable to be stringent. If one wishes to be stringent, he should only purchase items that are labeled yoshon or obtain yoshon information from the OU. (See information further down about the OU Kosher website where consumers can obtain product information.)

QAt which point in the year do I need to start being concerned about chodosh (in the US)?

AThe laws of chodosh apply to the five grains, as mentioned above.

Wheat can be planted as either a winter crop or a spring crop. Winter wheat is planted in the fall and is always yoshon It is used, for example, in hard pretzels and matzah. Spring wheat, on the other hand, which is predominantly planted in the northern US and Canada, is planted in April and May. It should not be assumed to have taken root before Pesach. Therefore, spring wheat poses a concern for those who are stringent. It is often used for bread, pizza, soft pretzels, bagels and pasta. Spring wheat generally enters the consumer market by September. And as the year progresses, the more likely it is that the spring wheat is chodosh. However, once Pesach arrives, every product that could be chodosh automatically becomes yoshon If, for example, a box of pasta was chodosh before Pesach, after Pesach it is automatically yoshon. Chodosh becomes a concern again once the new crop is harvested in the summer.

About half of the wheat grown in the United States is used domestically.

NATIONAL ASSOCIATION OF WHEAT GROWERS

Not Your Run of the Mill QA Manager

Rabbi Mordechai Stareshefsky, rabbinic coordinator at the OU, works closely with milling expert Randy Watson who oversees quality assurance at Stafford County Flour Mills in Hudson, Kansas. Randy, a religious Christian, is proud of his expertise in yoshon, and while giving routine tours of the mill, he always makes sure to provide visitors, most of whom are Protestant, with an in-depth explanation of the intricate laws of yoshon!

stocking up on yoshon products to last through the season, take steps to ensure the products do not become infested. Bags of barley and flour, which are prone to infestation, should be refrigerated or stored in the freezer.

QWhat do I do if I neglected to purchase products mid-summer?

In the US, rye and spelt are always winter crops. This means that they are planted in the fall or winter and are not harvested until after Pesach. As such, these grains are always yoshon and do not pose any concern. (As long as the grain took root before Pesach, it is considered yoshon and may be used as soon as it is harvested.)

Barley and oats are always spring crops. This means that they are planted in the springtime (April–May). Depending on when Pesach falls, some might be planted before Pesach, but a significant amount is planted after Pesach as well. Canadian oats tend to be planted later in the season because of Canada’s northern climate. The colder the climate, the later the grain tends to be planted, since farmers are concerned about frost. Therefore, barley and oats pose a concern for those who are stringent. The new crop of oats can potentially enter the consumer market in August, and the new crop of barley by September.

QSo practically speaking, if a consumer wants to take on the practice of yoshon, what does he or she need to do?

AHere are some practical recommendations in keeping with the Mishnah Berurah’s admonition:

Firstly, you can purchase products with kosher certification that also state “yoshon” on the package. (If a package has multiple hashgachos and also states “yoshon,” one must ascertain which kashrus agency assumes responsibility for the yoshon status of the product.) It’s important to note that products from Israel bearing a reliable kosher certification are yoshon. However, products imported into Israel are not necessarily yoshon

Secondly, starting mid-summer, you can stock up on cereal, crackers or other products that could contain spring wheat flour, oats or barley as ingredients. When

ANoting the surge of interest in yoshon products by kosher consumers and food manufacturers, the OU recently added the category of “yoshon” to its vast product search website, oukosher.org/productsearch/.

The OU Kosher website, geared for consumers, has the most up-to-date list of OU-kosher certified products. Consumers can search the database to see if products are glutenfree, kosher for Passover, chalav Yisrael or made on dairy equipment or yoshon.

The OU obtains information from companies selling flour, cereal, cake mixes and other foods containing grainderived ingredients about when their mills and plants first begin to process and use the new crop of spring wheat. In this way, the OU is able determine the yoshon status of products.

Constantly striving to provide timely kashrus information to help the kosher consumer, the OU added the yoshon category to its product search as a public service to the community.

If a product’s yoshon status is not listed in our database, consumers can try calling the OU Kosher Hotline at 212-613-8241.

Wheat is the primary grain used in US grain products—approximately three-quarters of all US grain products are made from wheat flour.

NATIONAL ASSOCIATION OF WHEAT GROWERS

AQAre all OU products yoshon?

The OU certifies both chodosh and yoshon products. This is in accordance with the prevailing custom of Ashkenazi Jews, who adhere to the Bach’s ruling that the prohibition of yoshon does not apply to non-Jewish farmers in countries far from Israel.

Yoshon in America: “Yeast”-erday and Today

QWhy does there seem to be a greater emphasis on yoshon today than there was generations ago?

AAs mentioned above, the Rema (Yoreh De’ah 293:2) writes that when we are uncertain when grain was planted and harvested, the grain is permissible based on a sfeik sfeika: the wheat may have been harvested before Pesach, and even if it was harvested after Pesach, it may have taken root before Pesach. In past generations, it was impossible to know when a particular sack of wheat was harvested or in which month it was planted. In addition, until the 1970s, the US stored its surplus grain from one year to the next. Under such circumstances, the sfeik sfeika of the Rema was applicable.

However, today, the wheat supply can be tracked so efficiently that there is much less doubt as to whether the wheat is from this year’s or last year’s crop. Every shipment of wheat contains paperwork that identifies the type of wheat and the year it was harvested. Crop reports inform us when each variety of wheat is planted for every

state. Furthermore, there is little chance that the wheat is from a previous year, since the US exports its wheat surplus. Far from qualifying as a double doubt, in certain circumstances one might even know with certainty that a particular batch of flour is chodosh. In fact, the Mishnah Berurah (489:45) cautioned against purchasing Russian wheat that was known to be chodosh

Nevertheless, the opinions of the Magen Avraham and Bach (mentioned above) would still apply, for those who wish to be lenient.

Q Can you share some of the history behind the observance of yoshon in America?

AAs far back as the 1930s, domestic wheat was stored and was therefore yoshon. During the 1950s, Rav Ahron Soloveichik became the certifying rabbi of Streit’s products. Before accepting this position, he investigated the milling process and inquired about the flour sources. The latter inquiry was important to Rav Ahron since he observed the laws of yoshon. He felt, based on his investigation, that domestic wheat was not being stored and, consequently, one could no longer assume that the flour in the marketplace was yoshon. [Not every rav agreed with this position at that time.] Rav Ahron informed Streit’s that he would provide kosher supervision only if all their products would be yoshon, and the company agreed to this provision.

When Rav Ahron moved to Chicago, he convinced a bakery to become yoshon, and eventually other bakeries in

Special thanks to Rabbi Gavriel Price, OU Kosher rabbinic coordinator, for helping to prepare this article for publication. Some of the information is adapted from OU Kosher’s Halacha Yomis, a daily email containing brief halachic tidbits. To sign up to receive Halacha Yomis, visit https://oukosher.org/halacha-yomis/

Chicago did the same. Here’s how Rabbi Menachem Genack, CEO of OU Kosher, summarized the history in an article on yoshon: “Until the late 1960s, the US had a huge wheat surplus, and therefore all grain that reached the market was yoshon. During the Nixon era, there were massive grain sales to Russia and the US no longer had that kind of surplus, so the issue of chodosh emerged. Rav Ahron Soloveichik believed very strongly in the importance of keeping yoshon even outside of Israel. While the number of people who kept yoshon was small in his day, today [keeping yoshon] has become more widespread. Many others, however, continue to follow the lenient positions about chodosh in chutz la’Aretz, such as that of the Bach and others.”

Another person who is credited with the growing awareness of yoshon in America over the last few decades is Rabbi Yosef Herman, z”l, of Monsey, New York. When the issue of chodosh emerged in the 1970s, he began obtaining US Department of Agriculture crop progress reports to determine the yoshon status of various products, and he published updates each year. It is due to his diligence that more people today have access to yoshon information and it is easier to observe this mitzvah

As this is a challenging, albeit meritorious, practice, please consult your local Orthodox rabbi for further guidance.

NeW froM OU Press

My Grandmother’s Candlesticks: Judaism and Feminism – A Multigenerational Memoir

Diane Schulder Abrams’ unpredictable life story encompasses avid participation in the feminist movement of the 1960s and ‘70s, her return to traditional Jewish observance, and the realization that the two need not contradict. At the encouragement of the Lubavitcher Rebbe, she undertook to write this volume about the inspiration she received from her grandmother, how it shaped her, and how she conveyed it to her own daughters.

Hasidus Meets America: The Life and Torah of the Monastryshcher Rebbe zt”l (1860–1938)

Discover a fascinating, but almost forgotten, founding father of Hasidut in America. Professor Ora Wiskind, an expert on Hasidism, explores the life and profound Torah of R. Yehoshua Heschel Rabinowitz, who arrived from Ukraine a century ago and planted the seeds of Hasidut in the New World. This volume includes an anthology of his teachings on the Jewish holidays, accompanied by Professor Wiskind’s insightful commentary.

Books of Jewish Thought and Prayer that Educate, Inspire, Enrich and Enlighten Available at oupress.org

THE CHEF’S TABLE

Pesach's Forgotten Meal

By Naomi Ross

“I

’m so hungry—there’s nothing to eat!” is the very last thing anyone who has worked tirelessly to make Pesach wants to hear from their family. And yet, somehow during the food-filled, week-long holiday, every household member (who never seems to care that much about breakfast the rest of year), is overwhelmingly and impatiently famished come Pesach mornings. Let’s face it: Pesach breakfasts are the “forgotten meal,” or rather, the one we wish we could forget about. After weeks of preparation and cooking, even the best of us have depleted our wellspring of cooking energy. But as many holiday outing meltdowns have proven, making sure people are wellfed can make the difference between happy memories and grumpy souls. From simple to sophisticated, here are a few Pesach-friendly and brunchfriendly recipes that will be far kinder to your belly than another matzah and cheese sandwich (that’s for lunch, silly!). Excepting the French Herb Omelet, the rest of the recipes can be made in advance or yield enough to feed a family. Wishing a chag kasher v’sameach!

French Herb Omelet

Yields 1 omelet

A French omelet is a completely different texture than the spongy American version we know so well. Instead of flipping and folding, the French omelet is rolled, creating a super soft and creamy texture inside— no browning on the exterior. It cooks incredibly quickly, so give it your full attention and have a plate at the ready!

2 large eggs

Pinch kosher salt

Pinch freshly ground black pepper

1 tablespoon finely chopped chives or parsley (plus more for garnishing)

1 tablespoon unsalted butter

Combine the eggs, salt, pepper and chives in a medium bowl and mix very well with a fork or a whisk. Set aside.

Working quickly, hold the pan at a 45-degree angle to the stove and carefully roll the omelet downward onto itself, using the spatula as needed to help roll and turn it out onto serving plate. Garnish with additional chives or parsley, if desired.

Chef’s Note

Chives or parsley flavor this basic omelet, but feel free to improvise and change it up with your choice of sautéed vegetables, grated cheeses or other herbs.

Yields 4 servings

Anytime Frittata with Swiss Chard and Tomatoes

Naomi Ross is a cooking instructor and food writer based in Woodmere, New York. She teaches classes throughout the country and writes articles connecting delicious cooking and Jewish inspiration. Her first cookbook was The Giving Table

Heat butter in a small (6-inch) nonstick skillet over medium heat. Swirl to distribute the butter as it melts. When the butter is foaming (it should sizzle gently), add the eggs. Pause to let the eggs heat slightly and then stir vigorously with a small spatula to create small curds (make sure you get to the sides of the pan too for even cooking). Tilt the pan so that any loose eggs gather at the lower edge and get cooked. Stop stirring to allow eggs to set for another 30 seconds.

When eggs are set, scatter any additional desired fillings over omelet (shredded cheese, sautéed vegetables, et cetera).

Swiss chard is a colorful and tasty leafy green whose stem comes in a variety of colors, including red and yellow. Both stem and leaf are edible. Incorporating them in a frittata is a great way of getting more vegetables and nutrients in your meal.

½ bunch Swiss chard

8 large eggs

1 teaspoon kosher salt, divided Freshly ground black pepper, to taste

3 tablespoons olive oil

1 large onion, chopped

2 cloves garlic, minced

1 tomato, chopped

½ cup grated Parmesan cheese

French Herb Omelet

Photo: Baila Gluck

Anytime Frittata with Swiss Chard and Tomatoes

Photo: Baila Gluck

Prepare Swiss chard: Clean and check leaves thoroughly. Use the tip of a sharp knife to remove the long center stems from Swiss chard leaves. Chop stems; set aside. Chop leaves into 1–2-inch strips; set aside.

Beat eggs in a large bowl until well blended. Season with ½ teaspoon salt and pepper to taste; set aside.

Heat oil in a large frying pan (ovensafe) over medium-high heat until oil is hot. Add reserved chopped stems, onion and garlic. Season with remaining ½ teaspoon salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste. Sauté for about 5–7 minutes, until onions are translucent and soft. While sauteing, preheat broiler.

Add beaten eggs to vegetables, mixing to distribute evenly. Add reserved chard leaves and chopped tomato, nestling them evenly within the eggs. Allow eggs to set for about 2–3 minutes (the bottom should be firm and set). Sprinkle top evenly with parmesan cheese. Transfer pan to broiler. Finish cooking under broiler for another 3–5 minutes, or until eggs are cooked and cheese is nicely browned.

Remove from broiler. Cut into wedges and serve warm.

Matzah Brei Cups

Yields 4 servings

A cuter, lighter, baked version of the fried classic that is fillable for a lovely serving presentation. Fill with your choice of suggested toppings below— no frying required!

2 sheets matzah

Boiling water

1 tablespoon melted butter (plus more for greasing pan)

1 egg, beaten

2 tablespoons dark brown sugar

½ teaspoon kosher salt

½ teaspoon cinnamon

Preheat oven to 375oF and grease a standard-size muffin pan liberally with butter.

Place matzah sheets in a large mixing bowl and use your hands to break up

matzah into very small pieces. Pour boiling water over broken matzah and stir to soak pieces. Drain matzah in a colander or sieve; return drained matzah to mixing bowl. Add 1 tablespoon melted butter, beaten egg, brown sugar, salt and cinnamon; mix to blend.

Divide mixture amongst 10 cups (out of 12) in muffin pan. Use your fingers or the back of a small spoon to press mixture into an even layer on the bottoms and up the sides of each muffin cup. Bake for 13–14 minutes or until it appears browned and slightly crisp. Remove pan from oven to cool.

To unmold, run the tip of a knife around the rim of each cup. Carefully remove each matzah brei cup; transfer cups to a baking sheet bottom side up.

Prior to serving, place matzah brei cups in 350oF oven for 10 minutes to warm and crisp the exterior of brei cups.

Remove from oven and fill with the topping of your choice.

Chef’s Note

A few topping suggestions include sour cream and jam, Greek yogurt and roasted apples or whipped cream and fresh berries.

In a large bowl, beat eggs vigorously with a ½ teaspoon of salt and black pepper to taste, until frothy. Set aside.

Meanwhile, heat oil in a large (10inch or 12-inch) skillet over mediumhigh heat until shimmering. Add potatoes and onions; lower heat as needed to maintain a gentle simmer. Cook, stirring occasionally, until potatoes and onions are reduced by almost half and very tender, about 25 minutes. Remove pan from heat.

Drain potatoes and onions of excess oil through a fine-mesh strainer over a heatproof bowl; reserve oil.

Transfer drained potatoes and onions to the bowl with the beaten eggs. Season with remaining 1½ teaspoons salt (and optional spices), stirring well to combine.

Wipe out skillet. Add 3 tablespoons reserved frying oil back into skillet; heat over medium-high heat until oil shimmers. Pour the egg mixture into skillet and cook until the bottom begins to set, about 3 minutes. Using a heatproof spatula, gather the edges inwards towards the center to form the tortilla’s iconic puck-like shape. Lowering heat as needed to prevent burning, cook until it begins to set around edges, about 3 more minutes.

Tortilla Española

Yields 1 tortilla

A Spanish classic, this dense, potatostudded egg dish can be cut into wedges for a larger meal or cut small for an hors d’oeuvre. This can be made in advance and tastes even better at room temperature.

6 large eggs

2 teaspoons kosher salt, divided (or more to taste)

Freshly ground black pepper, to taste 1 cup extra-virgin olive oil

4 large or 5 small Yukon Gold potatoes, peeled, halved and thinly sliced crosswise

1 large or 2 small yellow onions, thinly sliced ¼–½ teaspoon smoked paprika (optional) Dash cayenne pepper (optional)

To flip tortilla, place a large flat plate on top of skillet, set hand on top tightly (use gloves or mitts), and in one very quick motion, invert tortilla onto plate. Return skillet to heat, adding another tablespoon reserved oil to the pan. Carefully slide tortilla back into skillet and continue to cook until lightly browned on second side, about 4–5 minutes, pressing in all the sides again to form a rounded puck shape.

Carefully slide tortilla out of skillet onto a clean plate and let stand at least 5 minutes before serving.

Chef’s Note

• Extra leftover oil from frying can be saved and refrigerated for use in other dishes.

• Leftover tortilla can be refrigerated up to 3 days; allow to return to room temperature before serving.

NEW FROM OU PRESS

Hasidus Meets America: The Life and Torah of the Monastryshcher Rebbe zt”l (1860–1938)

By Ora Wiskind

OU Press | Ktav Publishers

Professor Ora Wiskind, head of the graduate program in Jewish Studies at Michlalah College, Jerusalem, is a noted scholar of Chassidism whose work brings to life the resonant teachings of the great Chassidic masters. In her latest volume, Professor Wiskind performs this service for a wrongly neglected figure. Rabbi Yehoshua Heschel Rabinowitz, the Monastryshcher Rebbe, arrived in the United States one century ago from a Ukraine stained with Jewish blood. In the US, he was the leader of an organization of Chassidic rabbis at a time when Chassidism was not yet firmly established in this country. His many works boldly combine Chassidic teachings with an uncommon open-mindedness and willingness to confront the changes taking place in society. In addition to providing a biographical sketch, Professor Wiskind provides translation of and commentary on selected teachings of the Rebbe, arranged according to the Jewish holidays (including an extensive chapter on the Passover Haggadah), which accentuate the Rebbe’s uniqueness and originality. To give one small example, in his commentary on the Haggadah, Rabbi Yehoshua Heschel writes:

Witness the spectacular involvement of Jews in general culture. They turn the wheels of life in every secular field, unlock the mysteries of natural science. Jews’ active role in the development and perfection of human civilization greatly exceeds their tiny numbers. Truly, against unimaginable odds, “a wise and discerning people is this great nation!” A stunning, astonishing achievement. This indeed is the most compelling proof of G-d's existence and providence: mercifully, secretly, He guards over each individual and enables their success. Thus, Jewish survival over the centuries, despite untold suffering and exile— this most of all bears witness to G-d's greatness, an ongoing sanctification of His holy Name. . . .

As Rabbi Dr. Tzvi Hersh Weinreb writes in his Preface, “Professor Wiskind has succeeded in reviving the image of a profound Jewish thinker and teacher, one who has much to offer an audience thirsty for such inspiration.”

My Grandmother’s Candlesticks: Judaism and Feminism—A Multigenerational Memoir

By Diane Schulder Abrams OU Press | Ktav Publishers

In this memoir about the transmission of Jewish tradition through the vicissitudes of the generations, Diane Schulder Abrams tells her story as a pioneering feminist legal scholar whose journey back to Judaism was illuminated by the warm glow of her grandmother’s candlesticks. After publishing an article about her grandmother and the inspiration she derived from her, she was encouraged by the Lubavitcher Rebbe to expand it into a book. In this work, she fulfills her commitment to the Rebbe to do so.

The author’s life is full of unexpected connections with figures as disparate as Ruth Bader Ginsburg, whose course on women and the law borrowed from the author’s own, and Rabbi Levi Yitzchak Horowitz, the Bostoner Rebbe, among many others. Other themes interwoven in the book are the history of the feminist movement, the scourge of assimilation, and the resurgence of antisemitism. One remarkable anecdote about the Lubavitcher Rebbe is worth relating. At the age of forty-seven, the author and her husband went to a fertility specialist, only to be told that they had less than a 5 percent chance of conceiving. Then:

On the holiday of Hoshana Rabbah in 1985, on a Sunday in September, we drove to Chabad Headquarters at 770 Eastern Parkway. . . . [The Rebbe] looked at me and said to us, “I give you a blessing for an addition to your family within the next year!” I was stunned. We had not told the Rebbe of our desire to have another child, nor had we gone to see him with any expectation of being given a blessing of this kind. . . . About six weeks later, early one morning, I took a pregnancy kit out of the medicine cabinet and did a quick test. . . . A few days later, the phone rang. When I heard Dr. Gribetz’s voice, I held my breath. “The test results are positive.” he said. “But it must be a mistake—it cannot be correct. Please come in for another test.” I took another test and again, it was positive. How great was our joy!

The distinguished scholar Ruth Wisse aptly sums up this unique work: “Unlike those who revel in contradiction and tension, Diane Schulder Abrams describes the harmonious integration she was able to weave of feminism with traditional values, professional achievement with rich family life, religious faith with modernity, and American Judaism with commitment to Israel. Her grandmother’s candlesticks find their praiseworthy home in this memoir.”

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Kohelet: A Map to Eden—An Intertextual Journey

By David Curwin Maggid Books

Jerusalem, 2023

250 pages

Reviewed by Rabbi Reuven Chaim Klein

The Book of Kohelet is often regarded as particularly challenging to study due to its enigmatic and philosophical nature. Written in a poetic and introspective style, it grapples with profound existential questions about the meaning of life, the nature of human existence and the apparent futility of many human endeavors. Its ambiguity and paradoxical messages have led to diverse interpretations, making it a complex and

The Book of Kohelet is often regarded as particularly challenging to study due to its enigmatic and philosophical nature.

thought-provoking work for scholars and laymen alike. Every generation struggles with this book and tries to find new meaning relevant to its time.

In Kohelet: A Map to Eden—An Intertextual Journey, author David Curwin does some of the heavy lifting for us, rendering Kohelet a little more understandable for the contemporary reader. He employs a non-linear approach in his commentary, delving into select passages from different parts of Kohelet to provide the reader with a broader and deeper perspective.

One of the book’s unique features is its application of a modern midrash methodology developed by Rabbi David Fohrman of Aleph Beta, a Torah media company. This methodology focuses primarily on the literal reading of Biblical verses, drawing thematic connections between different Biblical passages through the appearance of shared keywords. Curwin highlights the appearance of keywords in two different Biblical passages to illuminate common themes related to both contexts. This is loosely similar to the hermeneutical device known in the Talmud as gezeirah shavah. While Curwin occasionally references classical rabbinic sources, medieval Jewish commentators, and modern Biblical scholarship, he mainly adheres to the literal interpretation of the verses themselves.

The book begins by setting the stage with an outline of King Shlomo’s

life and achievements, leading up to his spiritual downfall. This is fitting because the Book of Kohelet is traditionally ascribed to King Shlomo. In this opening section, Kohelet is seen through the lens of Curwin’s methodology, with different parts of the text mirroring various points in King Shlomo’s life. For example, after King Shlomo realized the folly of trusting one’s own judgment instead of hewing closely to Hashem’s Divine commands, he retrospectively admitted that a human being cannot add to or subtract from Hashem’s doings (Kohelet 3:14). The wording of that particular verse mimics the language of the Pentateuch’s prohibitions against adding or taking away from the commandments given in the Torah (Devarim 13:1). These sorts of nuanced approaches add much depth and richness to our understanding of Kohelet’s timeless messages.

The second section of the book offers a similar exploration, this time charting the story of Adam, who began his path at the pinnacle of Creation, but dramatically fell from grace after eating from the Tree of Knowledge. The author convincingly argues that Kohelet contains references to Adam’s lofty place in the Garden of Eden and his idyllic life there, his subsequent sin, and the punishments he suffered thereafter. For instance, Curwin interprets the repeated use of the word hevel (“breathiness” or “vanity”) in

Kohelet as the utterances of a mourning father lamenting the loss of his son Hevel. In these self-reflective bouts of remorse, Adam attributed the tragic murder of Hevel to his own sins, essentially making the argument that had he not eaten the forbidden fruit, Kayin would never have killed Hevel. This line of interpretation thus adds another layer of complexity to the text of Kohelet by connecting it to the Biblical narratives of Adam and Hevel.

As Curwin frames the story of the Tree of Knowledge, Adam’s sin was that he ate from the Tree of Knowledge with intention to become like Hashem—in other words, he sought to become the final arbiter of good and evil, instead of simply following the more objective metric of Hashem’s command and carrying out what Hashem had already decided. King Shlomo, too, did not just want to serve as a judge to carry out the law as it was given by Hashem; he wanted to use his own intellect to decide what is acceptable. This led him to break the law and go beyond what was permissible for a king to do. Thus, the book’s central argument revolves around the idea that both Adam and King Shlomo sought to use their own rationality to decide what is right and wrong, disregarding Hashem’s objective commandments in favor of their own judgment.

This same paradigm, the author contends, played a role in the story of the Ten Spies sent by Moshe to scout the Promised Land. Instead of conducting an objective factfinding expedition, the spies altered the scope of their mission to allow them to subjectively decide for themselves whether the land was truly “good” as Hashem had promised. The book continues to discuss how the commandments given immediately after the story of the Ten Spies—the commandment of wine libations (Bamidbar 15:1–16) and wearing tzitzit (Bamidbar 15:37–41)—were meant as correctives to offset the spies’ mistaken worldview. As mentioned earlier, these profound connections between Kohelet and other parts of the Bible are always buttressed by identifying keywords in the texts that appear in parallel Biblical passages. Finding such parallels allows the author to draw thematic comparisons that shed light on the hidden wisdom within Kohelet.

Despite the profundity of the content, the reader will find it to be a quick and engaging read, thanks to its short chapters and straightforward presentation. Much of the book simply quotes the text of Kohelet in English and Hebrew alongside the relevant parallel texts being analyzed. The footnotes are especially concise and succinct, as they are primarily used for source citations. Appendices, including a discussion on why Kohelet is traditionally read on the holiday of Sukkot, are appended to the book and provide additional insights. The end of the book contains a helpful index of the Biblical sources discussed.

Curwin’s book is a highly enjoyable and refreshingly original exploration of the Book of Kohelet and is a valuable resource for anyone seeking a deeper understanding of its insights.

Reviews in Brief

By Rabbi Gil Student

GAN SHOSHANIM, VOL. 1, 3RD ED. (HEBREW)

By Rabbi Menachem Genack 2023

202 pages

One of my teachers once said that one should learn Rambam’s Sefer HaMitzvot, including his list and brief explanation of the Torah’s 613 commandments, at least twice: once before you complete the Talmud, when Sefer HaMitzvot helps you gain an overview of the entire Torah; then again after you have completed studying the Talmud, when you can fully appreciate the Rambam’s nuanced writing and ideas.

That is how I felt rereading and relearning Gan Shoshanim, vol. 1, by Rabbi Menachem Genack, CEO of OU Kosher and rosh yeshivah at the Rabbi Isaac Elchanan Theological Seminary. He first published this collection of Torah essays in 1992, in memory of his mother who had passed away the previous year. I remember greatly enjoying the essays in the book, through which I became acquainted with many different texts, laws and concepts. Almost every essay contains an insight from Rabbi Yosef Dov Soloveitchik, of whom Rabbi Genack was an extremely close student. Through Gan Shoshanim, I learned about the different areas of the Talmud from the Rav, with Rabbi Genack as my guide.

Now, over thirty years later, and after

Rabbi Gil Student writes frequently on Jewish issues and runs Torahmusings.com. He is a member of the Jewish Action Editorial Board.

growing close to Rabbi Genack as one of his students, I study the sefer from a more mature perspective. I can discern the artistry with which Rabbi Genack structures his articles, the rhythm of his questions and answers, the effortless flow of his insights and explanations. Rabbi Genack is a master of both the Brisker method of Talmud study and its style. The Brisker method, the conceptualization and categorization of halachah, has been discussed and analyzed by many. Rabbi Genack follows that approach, asking questions on a text and then invoking the Rav’s teachings in other subjects, building on them to solve the questions at hand. That is Brisker content.

The Brisker style is an elegant form of expression that dramatically presents a text, challenges it with a powerful question and then offers an answer that changes your understanding of the subject. After a good Brisker answer, you no longer comprehend the question because your thinking has changed.

Gan Shoshanim, vol. 1, is now in its third edition, with volumes 2 and 3

The Brisker style is an elegant form of expression that dramatically presents a text, challenges it with a powerful question and then offers an answer that changes your understanding of the subject. After a good Brisker answer, you no longer comprehend the question because your thinking has changed.

published in the interim. It contains over eighty essays that primarily address prayer and the holidays, in addition to a wide variety of topics from across the Talmud, including the subjects of sacrifices (Kodshim) and purity (Taharot).

Gan Shoshanim is a brilliant example of Brisker thought and communication. It serves as both an introduction to the breadth of the Talmud through Brisker analysis, as well as a guide for mature scholars to many of the complex questions that arise in the study of Talmud and halachah.

ISAIAH AND HIS CONTEMPORARIES

By Rabbi Dr. Yaakov Jaffe Kodesh Press, 2022

440 pages

Biblical history is found primarily in the Early Prophets and in Chronicles (with a few exceptions); the other books contain the teachings and prophecies from that time period. One of my high school Gemara teachers, a rabbi, once told us about a faculty meeting in which a Tanach teacher complained how difficult it is to teach students the Later Prophets when the students never learned the history contained in the Earlier Prophets. The rabbi added that he teaches the Later Prophets without ever having learned the Earlier Prophets. Even if you do know the history, it is easy to get confused due to the multiple, complementary historical accounts and the two different kingdoms (North and South, Israel and Judea). Additionally, the larger books

in the Later Prophets do not always proceed in chronological order, making it harder to keep track of the historical context.

In Isaiah and His Contemporaries, Rabbi Dr. Yaakov Jaffe, rabbi of the Maimonides Kehillah and director of the Tanach program at the Maimonides School in Boston, places the Biblical Book of Isaiah within its historical context in three important ways. First, he rearranges Isaiah into chronological order, offering commentary on each section based on the time in which it took place. Additionally, he presents the historical context provided in the books of Kings and Chronicles, as well as in the Talmud and Midrash. Finally, he explains the prophecies of other Biblical prophets and how they fit into Isaiah’s time and place. This historical method, imbued with a Talmudist’s sensibility, is a game changer for students of Tanach, who are now able to understand the progression of events in the First Temple era to which the prophets were responding.

The Book of Isaiah contains very difficult language and imagery. Rabbi Dr. Jaffe’s commentary explains the meaning of difficult words as well as the meanings of the prophecies, making many interpretative choices along the way. He points out the important literary techniques used by the prophet; presents philosophical issues that arise in the text; and notes the use of passages in prayers and haftarah readings. Maps and timelines help the reader keep track of the historical context. A detailed table of contents and multiple indices allow for easy reference to the many important ideas discussed throughout the work.

The commentary simplifies a complex book while at the same time revealing the text’s many layers. Brilliant in concept and execution, Isaiah and His Contemporaries is an essential study guide for beginning and advanced students of Tanach.

COVENANT & CONVERSATION: FAMILY EDITION, 2 VOLS.

By Rabbi Jonathan Sacks Maggid Books,

2023 286, 389 pages

Shabbat is one of the keys to Jewish survival. With family and community gatherings, it is the time when Jewish practice and ideas flow naturally from generation to generation. Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks, zt”l, attempted to promote this transmission of Torah values through family discussion of the parashah, the weekly Torah portion. In collaboration with a team of educators, he published two cycles of a family edition of his popular Covenant & Conversation commentary on the parashah. This highly effective medium is now available in an attractive and eye-catching set of two books.

Covenant & Conversation: Family Edition builds on Rabbi Sacks’s popular insights into Jewish thought. In this series, rather than merely share his ideas, Rabbi Sacks tries to facilitate conversation around the ideas. Each parashah begins with a brief summary (“In a Nutshell”) for all ages. This is followed by two sections surrounding a basic idea that emerges from the commentaries on the Biblical text. First he explains a passage in the parashah from which an important message is derived (“The Core Idea”); this section is accessible even to middle school children. Then follows a related story (“It Once Happened”) that teaches the same message, appropriate even for younger children. Next comes an expansion of the idea (“Thinking More Deeply”), intended for older teenagers and adults. All of these sections are accompanied by discussion questions that encourage

important conversations. Each unit also contains a meaningful quote from one of Rabbi Sacks’s writings (“From the Thought of Rabbi Sacks”) and three general questions about the parashah for discussion (“Around the Shabbat Table”); a shaded area contains suggested answers to all the questions.

As an example, in the first section on Parashat Beshalach, the “Core Idea” asks whether G-d’s plan for the Jewish people leaving Egypt was to protect them from fighting a war (Shemot 13:17) or to allow them to fight (Shemot 17:8). Rabbi Sacks explains that initially the Jews were not ready to face war and therefore G-d performed open miracles on their behalf. However, after the miracle at the sea strengthened their spirits, G-d could take a step back and let them fight for themselves. The story in “It Once Happened” tells of a young woman discussing the important steps forward in her life, such as her first day of school, her first time speaking publicly at her bat mitzvah, and her gap year in Israel. At each point, her parents lovingly encouraged her to proceed. “Thinking More Deeply” contains a full-length examination of the many questions underlying the textual problem, and a more thorough answer with this pull quote: “Courage is not fearlessness. It is feeling the fear but doing it anyway.” The thought from Rabbi Sacks consists of a short excerpt about G-d lifting us up when we fall, believing in us more than we believe in ourselves. “Around the Shabbat Table” presents three questions to encourage a lively conversation on this topic.

The ideas covered in this book follow Rabbi Sacks’s rational and inspirational approach to the Torah. He is at once traditional and modern, rooted in ancient texts yet relevant to contemporary sensitivities. He discusses issues of faith and practice, family and community, particularism and universalism, and unity amid difference. Covenant & Conversation: Family Edition allows Rabbi Sacks to become part of every family’s Shabbat discussion of the most important issues of Jewish life. Parents now have a powerful partner and tool in teaching their children to incorporate sacred Torah teachings into their own lives.

UNTIL WHEN

By Nomi Gutenmacher

Until my first son was drafted, I didn’t know what it felt like to have a gun in my house; to have a gun in my bedroom, in the walk-in closet where it could be safely locked behind two doors, the clunky black rifle lying on the floor, where I stepped over it when I went in to choose a Shabbos dress before candle-lighting, the metal magazine—filled with bullets, I supposed—stuck on the shelf among my sweaters.

Until my son came back after the first weeks in the army base, I didn’t know how smelly a bag of laundry could be, the green army fatigues, pre-worn and patched, now full of my son’s sweat from long days of grueling physical exertion. My muscles ached just thinking about it.

Until my son was drafted, I didn’t quite grasp how the army is so not summer camp, that his commanding officers created distance, not camaraderie, demanded blind obedience, not participation. And I didn’t anticipate that my son, so

recently a smart-alecky teenager with a strong aversion to authority, could so quickly turn into that soldier, eager to dutifully obey and determined to excel.

Until my son was in the army, I couldn’t have guessed how happy he could be to come home and sleep in his bed, and how much pleasure it would give me to pamper him with his favorite meals. I could not have imagined how I would savor a few extra minutes with him when it meant waking up at the crack of dawn on Sunday mornings to drive him to the bus station with his large duffel bag, my freshly baked brownies tucked inside.

I hadn’t quite understood, until my son was a soldier that he was entering a world that I would barely be able to fathom, with its own rules and terminology, and that after the extensive training, he would be carrying out operations he could never share with those outside his army unit, the unit that became, for a time, his new family.

I never thought to appreciate how my son’s warmth and charm would

serve him in the army, enabling him to easily form close bonds with his fellow soldiers, bonds so essential, as these brothers would be called upon to support and protect one another, possibly with their very lives.

Until my son was drafted, I didn’t realize how proud I would feel to see him in that uniform, with that gun and the big black boots, giving over his whole being to a job nobody’s son should have to do.

When my son was a soldier, I didn’t know that more than a decade later, with all those anxious, sleepless nights so far in the past, I would once again be praying for his safety as he fights to protect Am Yisrael. But this time my worry is for his family as well—his wife and their little boys—as he does a job nobody’s father should have to do.

I never thought to appreciate how my son’s warmth and charm would serve him in the army, enabling him to easily form close bonds with his fellow soldiers, bonds so essential, as these brothers would be called upon to support and protect one another, possibly with their very lives.

Nomi (Cycowicz) Gutenmacher made aliyah from Boro Park, Brooklyn and raised her family in Jerusalem.