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Posted by Rabbi Michoel Green
In a previous blog, I mentioned the biggest delight for my Grandma growing up in Russia. It was a little slice of an orange her Dad would bring home on extremely rare occasions.
The other day, I related this memory to my kids. “Yuck!” commented my five year old.
My eight year old daughter (with a notorious sweet tooth) had this to say: “Well, if it was only once a year, couldn’t he have at least brought home a clementine instead?”
That was it, I thought to myself. I’m going to teach my kids that even in today’s modern age of designer junk food, they could still enjoy the simple fruit my Grandma enjoyed when she was their age ninety years ago! So I went out to the supermarket and bought the most delicious-looking navel oranges (sorry Mom, they weren’t organic).
So we started snacking on oranges.
Now, the kids started calling them “Grandma Toby treats.” When ever anyone is hungry for an orange, they ask for a “Grandma Toby treat.” (Everyone, that is, except my five year old. He still calls it “Yuck!”)
* * *
On a serious note, I would like to mention one of my Grandma’s oft-repeated sayings.
It was quote from the Prophet Isaiah. She’d say it every so often, when ever she complained that we weren’t calling or visiting enough.
“Bonim romamti v’gidalti, v’haym poshu bee.”
The prophet echoed G-d’s complaint about His People. “Children I have raised and exalted, yet they have rebelled against Me.”
We always read that verse in the Haftorah of Shabbat Chazon, the Shabbos preceding Tisha b’Av, the day we mourn the destruction of the Holy Temple (and look forward to its rebuilding with the coming of Moshiach).
My Grandma’s quote implied a bit of a departure from the literal meaning. “Poshu” (rebelled) in Mishnaic Hebrew can also mean “neglected.”
So basically, Grandma was complaining that her kids were neglecting her.
How ironic that my Grandma would cite that verse. In recent years, as Grandma aged, her children were so responsible in caring for her. Especially her son, my uncle Randy, who cared for her with love and devotion until her final hours, and even after her passing.
But come to think of it, she never said it with bitterness. Maybe she meant it in jest. Maybe it was just a nudge to get us to visit more often. Or maybe she really felt neglected. Who knows?
Anyway, what I found cool in all of this is the fact that she chose a verse from TaNaCh to express her dissatisfaction.
She probably learned to do that from her father. It’s a typical scholarly thing to do in the Yeshiva world, i.e. to quote an appropriate verse or word from Scriptures to express a sentiment or to relate to a situation, especially when there’s a non-literal twist to it.
Sometimes she was a bit over the top. Like the time she insisted that “Pierre” comes from the Hebrew word of “L’hit-paer,” or that “cholent” is from “Chalons,” France (hey, maybe she was right about that one).
Reflecting about it years later, it seemed pretty cool to me that my Grandma had such a good knowledge of Hebrew and TaNaCh.
And that’s one thing sorely lacking today – Jewish literacy.
OK, enough blogging. Time for some Torah study (and an orange). |
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Posted by Rabbi Michoel Green
Some more melodious memories about my Grandma, Chaya Toiba bas Reuven haLevi, a”h (peace be upon her)
Speaking of unique versions of songs I heard from my Grandma, I’d like to share one more.
Grandma loved to sing me her repertoire of Yiddish lullabies. “Rozhinkes mit mandlen” (“Raisins and Almonds”) was one of her favorites. It symbolically refers to the study of Torah as “the best merchandise” one can possibly obtain in one’s life. Indeed, Grandma, would tell me, Torah study is the most precious commodity, even more than raisins and almonds. Presumably, that was a delicious and exquisite delicacy in those times. (How ironic that for today’s kids, raisins and almonds are just considered “yucky health food” ;-) But in my Grandma’s times, it was really the greatest thing there was. No, in fact, there was one thing even better.
Grandma told me that in her early childhood in Russia, the absolutely greatest and most coveted treat was a simple piece of orange! Her papa (Zaida Marcus) would bring home an orange on extremely rare occasions, maybe even less than once a year. The slices would be carefully rationed out, piece by piece, to household members and guests. Grandma said she considered herself lucky to get one single slice! (Funny, my kids won’t even touch an orange unless it’s seedless. Go figure)
But then Grandma would conclude that Torah study is even better than that!
I recall the part of the song she emphasized the most was “Vos vet zain zain baruf?”
The song was telling of a little white goat behind the little boy’s crib, that would some day go out to make a living. “Un vos vet zain zain baruf?” “What will be its calling?”
Grandma would always pause at “baruf” – calling – and explain to me what a life’s calling is, and that the most important calling of all is to study Torah.
Anyway, that was just parenthetical.
The song I’d really like to mention is her version of “Oifen Pripechuk.”
The song goes like this:
Oyfn pripetshik brent a fayerl, un in shtub iz heys.
Un der rebe lernt kleyne kinderlekh dem alef-beyz.
Refrain:
Zet zhe, kinderlekh, gedenkt zhe, tayere, vos ir lernt do,
Zogt zhe nokh a mol un takke nokh a mol: Komets-alef: o!
Lernt, kinder, mit groys kheyshek, azoy zog ikh aykh on,
Ver s’vet gekher fun aykh kenen ivre, er bakumt a fon. (Refrain)
Hert zhe kinder, az ir vet elter vern, vet ir aleyn farshteyn,
Vifl in di oysyes lign trern, vifil geveyn. (Refrain)
Az ir vet, kinder, dem goles shlepn, oysgemutshet zayn,
Zolt ir fun di oysyes koyekh shepn, kukt in zey arayn! (Refrain)
Here is an English translation:
On the hearth a little fire is burning, and it is warm inside,
And the rebbe is teaching the little children, the Aleph Beis.
Refrain:
Listen, children, remember dear ones, what you learned here;
repeat it again and again, “Kometz Aleph ‘oh’”
Study, children, with great desire, that is what I tell you;
The one who'll know Hebrew first will get a banner (for a prize). (Refrain)
Listen, children, when you get older, you will understand on your own
how in these letters lie so many tears, so much weeping. (Refrain)
When you grow weary, children, and burdened with exile,
you should draw strength from these very letters, so look into them! (Refrain)
Grandma loved to sing that song.
I could never understand the final line of stanza three.
Why are there “so many tears” and “so much weeping” lying in these letters? Whose tears are they, anyway? And why so much sadness? I just couldn’t relate.
In recent years, I even felt somewhat compelled to change the words to “viff’l simcha” and “viff’l frayd” (much joy, much laughter), instead of “tears and weeping.”
Something about this always bothered me. And it never made sense to me, that is, until recently, in the few days after my Grandma’s passing as I began to reflect on her life.
But first, I’d like to point out that my Grandma sang this line a bit differently than the commonly sung way. Here’s her version:
“Viff’l treren in di oisyes liggun, viffil gevain”
It doesn’t really make a difference or change the meaning, but it’s subtly different. Instead of “…how in these letters lie tears,” Grandma sang it: “…how many tears in these letters lie.” (emphasis on last word)
The first time I sang this lullaby to my own daughter a number of years ago, my wife pointed it out to me. She commented that the line ends with “treren” (tears) drawn out, as that is where the emphasis should be placed, in contrast to the way my Grandma sang it, in which “treren is sung more quickly and the word “liggen” (are lying) is drawn out.
Since that time, I researched all the variations of this song, but have never found anyone who sang this song Grandma’s way.
Time is short, so I’ll try to finish this thought later. |
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Posted by Rabbi Michoel Green
In continuation from my previous blog:
But you know, it couldn’t have been easy growing up as the only daughter of a fugitive Rabbi on the run from war-torn Communist Russia, or as an immigrant daughter of the first Orthodox Rabbi of Los Angeles, or as a housewife in the Valley of the forties and fifties trying to raise her kids Jewish, losing her house to misfortune, and especially losing her husband and two young grandchildren so tragically.
No, my Grandma did not have an easy life.
Many of you may know the most tragic part of my Grandma’s childhood, the loss of her birth parents due to a murderous pogrom targeting Jews at which she, my Grandma at age three, was present; her blind Grandmother’s inability to take care of her, and her ultimate adoption by the Marcus family, and subsequent flight from the Soviet Union.
My friends, my Grandma’s tragic story is not new or unique to the Jewish people. We have been singled out for slaughter and persecution for millennia.
Just one year ago, a young colleague of mine, Rabbi Gavriel Noach and his wife Rebbetzin Rivky Holtzberg, were cruelly murdered by Muslim terrorists, along with four of their helpless guests. Why? Simply because they were Jews who publicly celebrated their Jewishness.
But the miracle, perhaps the only consolation, is that their two year old, Moishele, survived the destruction. She was miraculously and heroically saved by his nanny, Sandra.
Moishele has become somewhat of a cause celebre in Israel today. The whole country is watching him grow up in the home of his loving grandparents, Rivkie’s mom and dad.. He just celebrated his third birthday. Every media outlet in Israel covered the event, which was attended by thousands of wellwishers.
What is so captivating to the Israeli public about little Moishele?
It is because he is an אוד מוצל מאש, a firebrand plucked from the fire, the young survivor who survived the slaughter and will live to continue his parents’ legacy.
My friends, Grandma Toby is a Moishele, but ninety years later.
After having recently celebrated her ninety-third birthday, we now mourn her passing. But at the same time, we celebrate her life, her accomplishments, the lessons she has taught us, all that she accomplished in the ninety years since the time she survived the pogrom at the age of three.
And just like Moishele had his nanny to save him and his grandparents to raise him as their own, so too our Taibeleh had the Marcuses, who lovingly cared for her and raised her as their own. And I’d also like to gratefully acknowledge the loving care and devotion with which her loving son, my dear uncle Randy (Reuven Halevi), took care of her for the last number of years, during the difficult period in which she needed to be cared for, just like she did when she was three.
* * *
My grandma’s name is Chaya Toiba. Toiba means a “dove,” “Yonah” in Hebrew.
Why did Noah send a dove to find out if the world had survived the devastating flood?
Our sages tell us that the dove is the symbol of the Jewish people. The dove is one of the only species in the animal kingdom that stays loyal to its mate for its entire life.
So too, the Jews have stayed loyal to G-d since our humble beginnings, over 3800 years ago.
Noah sent the dove because he was symbolically showing that the world could never recover from the devastation of the flood until the Yonah found peace, a peaceful resting place to call its own.
The Yonah is the Jewish people. The Land of Israel is the spiritual baramoter of the cosmos. The world will not and cannot be at peace until Israel is at peace, until a Jewish child can walk freely and safely in our Promised Land.
Until that time, the world will be in chaos, beset by a deluge of hate and violence.
When the Yonah finds peace, the whole world will be at peace.
But sadly, at first, the dove did not find peace. Instead, she returned with an olive branch snatched in her mouth.
Most people erroneously believe that the olive branch is a symbol of peace. However, in Jewish tradition, it is just the opposite. The olive is the most bitter fruit. The only way to make use of it (short of pickling it) is by crushing it to get oil.
Said the Yonah to Noach (and by the way, my grandma has one great grandson named Yonah and one named Noach ;-)
No, the world is not ready for peace. Instead, my lot will be that of a wanderer, bitter and crushed in the long exile. I will not find solace, not even a resting place for my weary feet.
This is the story of the Jew in exile.
But the bright part of the story is, ironically, in that same olive branch.
Yes, we experienced the bitterness of exile, the crushing horrors of the Holocaust, pogroms, terrorist attacks, Inquisition, etc. etc.
But what happens as a result of all this crushing? What do you have? Pure olive oil that can be kindled to make a beautiful light, to illuminate the darkness of the world around us. This represents the sacrifice made by Jews throughout the ages to persevere, and even to flourish, even in the face of the greatest persecution and darkness.
Yes, it is the wandering Yonah, the dove who tasted the crushing bitterness of exile, who ultimately survives, flourishes, and ushers in the coming of our long awaited Moshiach.
My Grandma is the Toiba, the dove, the ultimate survivor.
Ninety years later. The White Russians are gone. The Soviet communists who tried to destroy Judaism, are no more, but rather a relic of the past.
But our Yonah has flown for ninety years, weathered the turmoil and storm of life, raised her Jewish kinderlach, produced three generations, has propelled Judaism into the 21st Century.
And now, the Yonah has flown away to her eternal home to be with her parents, Sarah and Reuven Levita, may Hashem avenge their blood, and with her beloved foster parents, Zaida Binyomin and Bubbe Ettel Marcus, and most of all, to be with Hashem.
Yes, our dove, our Taibeleh has finally found peace.
But the world still has not.
This will be accomplished by us, each of us in his or her own way, increasing in acts of goodness and kindness, Torah and Mitzvos, to bear aloft the banner of our people Israel (that was for you, Grandma) with pride and conviction. It’s time to throw the foolish Marku out of the marketplace once and for all, and rise above all our hindrances that are holding us back from doing Mitzvot and letting our true Jewish pride shine forth. And most of all, to get ready to greet Moshiach,
It’s time to find peace in our daily lives by increasing in Torat Shalom and Torat Emmet, “…and all its ways are peace.” Study Chassidic philosophy, the inner wisdom of the Torah, that makes peace between spirituality and physicality, between Heaven and Earth, between the storm struggles of our daily life with the inner light of our soul, which is a veritable part of G-d from above...
It’s time to bring Moshiach NOW.
More to follow... |
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Posted by Rabbi Michoel Green
I have shared my thoughts at many shivas, but this is the first one for me that is so close to home and so dear to my heart.
Especially for me personally, as I have regrettably not seen my Grandma for a number of years. My memories of her are of the vibrant & energetic grandma playing tennis with Grandpa Mo in the park, or of her as a feisty seventy-five-year-old going to work as a public school teacher, or of her leading the seder and telling us how bad of a man the evil Pharaoh was.
But I also have other memories of Grandma that I doubt many others have had.
I feel that I have always had a special relationship with my Grandma Toby, ע"ה.
You see, I am named after her father Rabbi Binyomin Mendel Marcus, which Grandma reminded me of almost every time she said my name. I am also the first rabbi in the family afterhim.
In my early days at Yeshiva, most of my family members could sadly not relate to my Yeshiva experience or what I was learning. In fact, some of my family members were even a little adverse to the idea.
But not Grandma.
I vividly remember spending Shabbos with my Grandma after I had begun attending Yeshiva. She asked me what I was studying. “Talmud,” I replied, not thinking that my seventy-year old grandma would even have a clue what that was.
“Oh, you’re learning Gemara?” she asked. “Which tractate?” She proceeded to review a difficult passage of Talmud, from the tractate “Bava Metzia,” word for word, by heart.
I was floored.
Of course, Grandma had studied Talmud with her father.
But it was not till years later that I discovered that her father, Zaida Marcus, had actually been raised as a Chabad Chassid in the Kherson region of the Ukraine.
This made a lot of sense to me, since in those days, most Orthodox Jews sadly did not think it was important for girls to study the deep wisdom of Jewish thought entombed in the Talmud. It was only Chassidim who believed girls should study just like boys, and that women should be learned just like men..
It was this Torah study from her youth that my grandma kept with her throughout her entire life.
I would like to share with you one other memory.
My grandma used to sing me Yiddish and Hebrew songs. “Hashomer Shabbat” was her favorite. But one time she taught me a melody with Ukranian words:
Ech di duren marku. Tshto ti yedish no yarmarku. Nye kuplayish, nye pradayish, tolko rubish s’varku.
Rough translation:
“You foolish Mark. Why do you come to the marketplace? You do not buy. You do not sell. All you do is cause trouble.”
Explanation:
Life is a yerid, a marketplace. The merchandise we need to obtain is Torah and Mitzvot. We have a relatively short time to be here at the fare, and we need to maximize our time here to accomplish what we need to accomplish. The foolish Mark is the evil inclination which besets each individual from the day he’s born to the day he dies. In the song we tell the foolish Mark: “Stop bothering me. You are here to neither buy nor sell. So get lost and let me serve Hashem without your interference.”
(By the way, nothing wrong with the name “Mark.” In Ukraine, that was a common name among Ukrainian peasants, kind of like “John Doe” for Americans.)
At the time, I did not understand the significance of this song, or even give it much thought.
Some time later, in my Yeshiva, I learned of an almost identical song, but with a Hebrew introduction I did not hear from my Grandma. It goes: “Tzama l’cha nafshi, kama l’cha bsori…” “My soul thirsts for You, my flesh longs for You, in a parched and arid land. So my soul envisionsYou in the Holy Temple, to gaze at Your might and glory.” Then it is followed bythe Ukrainan words I learned from my Grandma.
However, this was no ordinary Chassidic melody. It was taught by the Lubavitcher Rebbe to his Chassidim at some point in the fifties, as the Chassidim in America at the time did not know it. The Rebbe was from the Nikolaiev region in Ukraine. The local Chassidim were known for their musical talent, and their unique Chassidic melodies. On a Simchat Torah night, the Rebbe taught the song to his crowd of followers, explained the deep significance of it, and translated the Ukrainian part. Ever since then, it has become a trademark melody sung by Chabad Chassidim at Chassidic gatherings all over the world. (You can hear it by clicking here)
How amazing it was to me that the Chabad Chassidim in Crown Heights did not know the melody, but my Grandma knew it, and knew what it meant too.
Obviously, it was because Zaida Marcus, who had had a Chabad upbringing in southern Ukraine (not far from Nikolaiev, where the Rebbe was born), learned this melody in his childhood and passed it on to my Grandma. Thanks to him, she possessed a vast knowledge relating to everything Jewish. But even greater than her knowledge was her passionate sense of identity and Jewish pride.
Every letter, every card she ever wrote me, always ended off, “May you merit to carry the banner of our people Israel.”
Indeed, Grandma didn’t just carry the banner. She lived it, and breathed it, in every waking moment. I can’t remember ever visiting her and not hearing her say (or observing) how much she loved the land of Israel, the Jewish people, the Torah, Shabbos, the Hebrew Language, etc.
And she passed this on to her kids, my aunts, uncle,and my mom. And that’s how I got it. And that’s why I am who I am today. And that’s why my kids, nieces, nephews and cousins, Grandma’s great-grandchildren, are growing up the way they are, all twenty (soon to be twenty-two) of them, בלע"ה, as proud Jews, proudly “carrying the banner” of our people and our Torah.
More thoughts about my Grandma to follow...
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Posted by Rabbi Michoel Green
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Posted by Rabbi Michoel Green
After solemnly holding tight onto a pitchfork for over seven decades, the dour-faced Depression era couple is almost breaking into a “Happy Chanukah!” smile.
Indeed, the picture has changed as the stern stick-in-the-mud style has branched out right and left with warm and welcoming outreach to one and all. Lo and behold, the cold sharp iron implement has gracefully metamorphosed into a warm and bright Menorah.
When Grant Woods painted the austere rural American Gothic in 1930, he could never have imagined a Menorah standing in the center of his masterpiece. Neither could most of us envision that Chanukah would one day light up the contemporary American scene.
The festival of Chanukah has finally arrived, even here, deep in the heartland. Although once low profile and almost in hiding, the shy and bashful Chanukah is now embraced and celebrated, in homes, halls and malls across the country. Rather than restricted to a tiny notice tucked away in back of the religion section, Chanukah has now blossomed into a full color front page story.
It’s not that our smiling couple just discovered Chanukah out on the street. Note that they’ve already kindled their personal household Menorah in the window, and have come out front to publicly and proudly display a Menorah for all to see. The cherished Constitutional Freedom of Religion that we enjoy in this country is surely a good reason for us all to smile along.
These adorable folks may also be smiling at how times have changed since they starred in the original Gothic. Long past its heyday, the pitchfork has fallen into disuse, an archaic relic that rusts in the barnyard or is confined to museums. By contrast, the Menorah of twenty five centuries ago is full of energy, meaning and purpose. The vital and vibrant Menorah reflects the past and burns with a fiery passion for the future, shining forth as strong as ever.
The painting’s original expression of the precious values of Thrift, Endurance and Faith are depicted beautifully in the new rendition. But rather than standing stoically and tight lipped, Chanukah poignantly delivers a three pronged message that emanates warmth.
Thrift: The little cruse of oil that illuminated the Holy Temple in Jerusalem for eight days and nights demonstrates the victory of Quality over Quantity and the triumph of the few over the many.
Endurance: The Menorah highlights the brave and courageous Maccabees who struggled to overcome great challenges and obstacles.
Faith: Standing tall and proud, the Menorah encourages our faith in G-d and strengthens our confidence in Jewish destiny and future.
The Menorah inspires today, just as it inspired the Jewish people when they were liberated from Greek-Syrian oppression and influence. We preface the Menorah lighting by reciting the blessing for the miracles “in those days, in our time.” The Menorah’s bright rays help dispel the surrounding darkness and confusion and fear of war and terrorism in our time.
Retire, the old trusty pitchfork, must, but first with final respects to its association with the rich symbolism of Messianic universal peace. That is when “nations will beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning shears.” (Isaiah 2:4)
By Rabbi Israel Rubin, Albany, NY
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Posted by Rabbi Michoel Green |
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Posted by Rabbi Michoel Green
Q: How does Judaism view Thanksgiving?
A: Thanksgiving is an original Jewish idea! Much like most of the values and morals which shaped (and continue to perserve) our society, the concept of giving thanks – and devoting a day to giving thanks – can be easily traced back to its origin in the Jewish Bible. The "Todah," the Thanksgiving Offering, Sukkot, the ingathering of the harvest festival, the First Fruits, are but a few of many examples.
In fact, giving thanks is so central to Judaism that the very first word a Jew utters upon regaining consciousness in the morning is “Modeh Ani…” – “I offer thanks before You, living and eternal King, for You have restored my soul within me with compassion. Great is Your trustworthiness.”
(Parenthetically “In G-d we trust” is another Jewish contribution so ingrained in the American way of life that it is etched on our most basic unit of commerce, the ubiquitous dollar bill).
Moreover, the Lubavitcher Rebbe often pointed out that in the Modeh Ani, the verb “Modeh” (give thanks) precedes the subject “Ani” (“I”), thereby demonstrating that my first moment of awareness upon rising is automatically preoccupied with a feeling of gratitude to Above, even before I feel the “I” of my human existence!
Another fascinating oddity of the “Modeh Ani” declaration is that it doesn’t mention G-d by name (but rather as “you” and “king”), unlike all other daily blessings. This is due to the fact that Jewish Law requires clean hands for evoking G-d’s name, and after sleeping one’s hands are considered unclean. But Judaism places such emphasis on expressing thanks the first moment of one's day that we do not wait until after washing our hands, but immediately and instinctively express our thanks to our Creator, even if we cannot yet refer to Him by name. Indeed, no impurity in the world can inhibit or obscure the “Modeh Ani” of a Jew.
Herein lies a powerful lesson about the inner nature of a Jewish soul. Notwithstanding one’s current spiritual state, the essential nature of the soul is ever-present, and ever-grateful.
The first word of the morning service is… you guessed it – “Hodu” – “Give thanks.”
The very notion of giving thanks implies humility and submission to a higher Being, eschewing the notion of self-centered entitlement.
In last week’s Torah portion, Matriarch Leah gave birth to her fourth son and named him Judah. She named him so because (sic) “…this time, I shall give thanks to G-d,” and the etymological root of “Yehuda” is “he shall give thanks.” Leah prophetically knew that Jacob would have twelve sons from four wives. Using simple arithmetic, she had expected to bear Jacob only three sons. She saw the fourth one as a completely undeserved blessing from above, hence the giving of thanks.
Judaism comes from the word Judah, as most Jews today descend from the Tribe of Judah. Consequently, “Judaism” by very definition means giving thanks.
So if you are a Jew (“Yehudi”/“Judahite” – “one who gives thanks”), your very name reflects the inner grateful nature of your soul.
Now that’s something to be thankful for!
Happy Thanksgiving!
Rabbi Green
PS: An additional point: the word “Judah” has all four letters of G-d’s ineffable Name (Yud and Hay, followed by Vov and Hay) with a Daled in the middle. Kabalistically, Daled represents the poor man humbly receiving from a beneficient giver. (“Dalet” means poor or deficient)
Perhaps this sheds deeper insight into the inexorable gratitude of a Jewish soul. Chassidut teaches that the soul is quite literally a part of G-d from above. Hence G-d’s name in encoded in “Judah.” When we express our inner “Daled” and show gratitude, we reveal the G-dly essence of our soul. This essence expresses itself from one’s very first moment of awareness. It doesn’t matter if G-d’s name can’t be mentioned explicitly. The Jew's giving of thanks itself is the most quintessential expression of G-d, an essence that transcends name. |
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Posted by Mrs. Dvora Green
Religious Pride
It's no secret that I am Jewish; I sport my religion with great pride. When I read about other people who take public pride in their religion it gives me great joy. Here are two stories which I trust will be as inspiring to you as they were to me.
First there's the article titled "Pilot On Mission To South Pole Takes Religious Articles With Him."
Though there are only 2,000 other human beings living in minus-20-degree temperatures of the South Pole a small flame of Judaism will flicker in Antarctica over the next six months.
David Wakil, a 39-year-old Australian pilot from Sydney, will leave for the South Pole this week, leaving behind all he holds dear - but not his religion.
Mr. Wakil will take all his religious articles along with him and use them with great pride. He will carry a Siddur/Jewish Prayer Book, Tefillin/ phylacteries, a Mezuzah, a Menorah
and a charity box with him as he flies scientists studying global warming around the South Pole.
The other news article - titled, "Have prayers and Packers, too!" - spoke of Rabbi Shais Taubof the Chabad Lubavitch of Wisconsin. He led a group of 10 Orthodox Jews on a pilgrimage from Milwaukee to Green Bay, Wisconsin. They tailgated across the street from Lambeau Stadium - where the Packers were playing - in a grass-covered parking lot.
And they prayed and ate Kosher.
According to news reports, "... they showed that people can find or express their faith at a house of worship or a house of sports."
When interviewed, and asked what the point of the trip was Rabbi Taub answered, "Number one, Judaism is not relegated to the synagogue or the study hall. When you're a Jew, you're a Jew everywhere. If a group of Jews want to go to a Packer game, we do it like Jews."
"Number two, Jewish pride," he added. "Some Jews should see this and say, 'You know what, there is nothing to hide.' I can be openly and boldly Jewish and do that anywhere on earth and go where I want to go."
Very few people who surrounded the group of religious Jews noticed that among the group was former Packers offensive lineman Alan Veingrad, who is now known as Shlomo Veingrad. Veingrad still stands 6 feet 5, but now has a bushy, gray beard and wears a Yarmulke beneath a Packers cap.
"I think it's important to be proud of being Jewish," said Veingrad, who played for the Packers in the late 1980s and won a Super Bowl ring with the Dallas Cowboys in the 1990s.
"It's a beautiful thing that you can express your religion," he said.
And that's what the tailgate was all about - food and fun within the guidelines of their religion .
These people who keep their religion with pride made the news. There are ordinary people everywhere, every day, of every religion that keep their religion with pleasure and joy - yet they don't make the news. They are every day heroes.
Every once in a while news stories of people like David Wakil and Rabbi Shais Taub remind us that you can be who you are everywhere and anywhere.
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Posted by Mrs. Dvora Green
Breaking News
World's oldest Jew turns 107
The man believed to be the world's oldest living Jew celebrated his 107th birthday in Moscow.
Boris Efimov, born Boris Fridland, worked as a political caricaturist until the early 1980s. He won two Soviet State Prizes and was named People's Painter of the USSR in 1967.
Efimov had no Jewish education growing up. He began studying Judaism at the age of 100 at Moscow's Chabad-run Marina Roscha Center, where his birthday celebration was held this week.
From JTA News Website
http://www.jta.org/cgi-bin/iowa/breaking/104875.html
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Posted by Mrs. Dvora Green
Hi all,
Thank you for visiting my new blog!
I hope you are enjoying the new website.
Please use this space as an open forum to voice your questions, comments or concerns, about Hebrew School or about anything concerning Judaism, Jewish Education or Jewish life.
I will post interesting articles or food for thought from time to time.
Sincerely,
Dvora |
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Looking for older posts? See the sidebar for the Archive.
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