Living/Whisk Pesach Edition 2020 by Ami Magazine

MegaPesachEdition! APRIL 8, 2020 14 NISAN 5780 ISSUE 463

Child in Hiding Rebbetzin Shulamis Volpe shares how her mother’s love and parting words saved her life

Truth Is Stranger Than Fiction A stranger reveals a secret

YOU CAN’T PLEASE EVERYONE

Rebbetzin Feige Twerski and Mrs. Dina Schoonmaker on navigating in-law children UPDATES ON STORIES WE’VE DONE

AN ARTICLE RESULTS IN A REUNION A DAUGHTER’S RETURN; HEAR HER MOTHER’S STORY MIRIAM ISRAELI’S TUNES HAVE REACHED AN EVEN WIDER AUDIENCE YOSSI AND SARAH DWORCAN TURN THEIR SON’S DIAGNOSIS INTO A MISSION

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CONTENTS

14 Nisan 5780 April 8, 2020 Issue 463

Features 62 Children in Hiding

Rebbetzin Shulamis Volpe shares her incredible story of survival during the Holocaust By Rechy Frankfurter

90 Trip Around the World

A family from Bnei Brak sets off on the ad enture of a lifetime By Chananya Bleich

112 Whatever Freedom Means One family’s story of injustice, cruelty, hope and ultimately a new chance for freedom By Chasi Shochet

AmiLiving Updates 136 A Daughter’s Return, A Mother’s Story

Departments

18 A Word from the Editor

148

Former campers Elliot Fuchs and Shmelke Diamond reunite

22 L etters T he Rebbetzin Speaks

By Elliot Fuchs

By Rebbetzin Feige Twerski

148 Sweet as Maple Syrup

28 Parshah

Yossi and Sara Dworcan are keeping their mission alive

By Rabbanit Yemima Mizrachi

By Simi Horowitz

145 Still My Brother

By Rechy Frankfurter

Peri Landau Cohen’s mother tells her side of their saga

Aha! Moments

By Chaya Silber

By Rabbi Yoel Gold

154 Her Songs Burst Forth

34 Bytes

The career of Miriam Israeli

By Miriam Glick

By Victoria Dwek

36 From Frazzled to Neat Freak By Shulamis Weil

42 Navigating the Newlyweds You can’t please everybody

By Riva Pomerantz

156 Crossroads

By Chaya Gross

160 Our Days

The rhythm of our lives

178 The Back Page

160

By Dina Neuman

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Dear Readers,

Publisher, CEO Rabbi Yitzchok Frankfurter

Editorial

Senior Editor Rechy Frankfurter Managing Editors Victoria Dwek Yossi Krausz Feature Editor Yitta Halberstam Mandelbaum Coordinating Editor Rivka Wilenkin Copy Editors Basha Majerczyk Mendelovicii Rabbi Yisroel Benedek Editors/Proofreaders Dina Schreiber Yitzchok A. Preis Sholom Laine

Art

Art Director Paul Crawford

USUALLY, BY THE TIME I sit down to write this column for a Yom Tov issue, it is with a deep sense of joy and accomplishment. After weeks of hard work, we are finally almost done. This year, however, things have been very different. The magazine wasn’t produced with all our staff together in the office, against a backdrop of phones ringing, copy machines purring, writers, editors, graphic artists—even sales and office staff bouncing off ideas, sharing tips, eating lunch and sometimes supper, plus the fun diversion of visitors stopping by (our office is in the heart of Boro Park, and we tend to receive many visitors). These days, our office is silent and deserted. For the past three weeks, ever since one of our graphic artists reported symptoms of the coronavirus, our office has been closed. This entire magazine package was produced remotely, each of us in our own home but connected electronically. Everyone who participated in its production did so under a lot of pressure and strain, but with the utmost grace, generosity and loyalty.

Advertising

Executive Account Manager Zack Blumenfeld Executive Sales Directors Surie Katz Esther Friedman Europe Advertising 44 203 519 0278 Advertising Coordinator Malky Weinberger Markowitz Distribution 917-202-3973 347-675-7456

Ami Magazine

P: 718-534-8800 F: 718-484-7731 info@amimagazine.org

This year, instead of a feeling of spring in the air and excited anticipation of the upcoming Yom Tov, the atmosphere is akin to Erev Yom Kippur, a feeling that we are all facing the Yom Hadin, each of us immersed in teshuvah and tefillah as we read the daily roll call of those who are hospitalized, or lo aleinu, have passed away. So while we are grateful that in our own small way—by providing terrific reading material for you to be inspired by or relax or escape with—we are able to alleviate

Ami Magazine. Published by Mehulol Publications LLC. All rights reserved. Reproduction in whole or in part in any form without prior written permission from the publisher is prohibited. The publisher reserves the right to edit all articles for clarity, space, and editorial sensitivities. Ami Magazine assumes no responsibility for the content of advertisements in the publication, nor for the contents of books that are referred to or excerpted herein.

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APRIL 8, 2020

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Dear Readers, some of the stress caused by this crisis, we can by no means celebrate shipping it off. That will only happen when all of the sick are released from the hospital and the threat of infection has stopped, im yirtzeh Hashem. Although right now (and I hope this has changed by the time you read this) the coronavirus is all we can think of, there are no articles in this issue about the pandemic—and it’s not by design. Even though the magazine is planned in advance, there are always last-minute articles; yet each article we tried to develop that was related to the topic of the coronavirus somehow fell through. It’s as if Hashem’s hand was guiding us away from such articles. In this issue, we have an amazing feature in which Rebbetzin Shulamis Volpe shares her truly unique experiences during the Holocaust. Finding herself alone at the tender age of five, she was forced to fend for herself in the Lithuanian forests and non-Jewish homes for the next few years. The story of how she survived against all odds is both spellbinding and horrific, but it’s a story of triumph and how a person can transcend pure evil and replace it with holiness. At first I wasn’t sure whether such a story should be featured in a Yom Tov magazine, but I realized that it was appropriate for Pesach, when we are commanded to tell the story of our suffering in Mitzrayim. Pesach is also a time when we are usually together with our children, so what better time to learn about the power of a mother’s strength and love and the influence we have in shaping our children? Spending time with Rebbetzin Shulamis Volpe was an incredible experience, and while her story brought me to tears, it was told without a trace of self-pity but rather as a lesson in nitzchiyus. Even though she was separated from her mother at a very young age, she is truly her mother’s daughter in the full sense of the word. Speaking of mothers, we connected with Mrs. Chana Landau, the mother of Perri Landau Cohen, whose story was featured in our Rosh Hashanah magazine. Perri, as you may recall, is the woman who grew up in a chasidishe home but then ran off with a chiloni bus driver. After two decades, she came back with her husband and children. Perri’s mother spoke to us about what it was like from her perspective, and she shared how excited she was about the wedding of Perri’s son. Her story is also one about a mother’s love. For a good escape, turn to the feature about the Pshednovak’s family adventure. Dvori and Yisrael Pshednovak are a frum couple from Bnei Brak who are traveling around the world with their young children. Their journey is not for the faint of heart or conventional by any means, but it is certainly something to enjoy vicariously from the comfort and safety of our couch. Sometimes that’s the most important service we can offer: an enjoyable diversion, something that many of us can certainly use these days. “Stranger than Fiction,” which you will find in our “Our Days” section, is definitely an odd and mysterious story. Can some people see things that others cannot? It’s hard to wrap our brains around such things, but can we totally dismiss them? Perhaps these stories come to us so we can understand that what’s visible to the naked eye isn’t always what we think it is. Hashem’s world is mystical, and much is hidden from us and beyond our perception. The current matzav, in which something invisible is wreaking havoc in the world, is analogous. We are told that this tiny particle exists and will harm us if we don’t protect ourselves. It’s hard to believe when we cannot see it, but we certainly see the results. May this Yom Tov be one of only revealed good. May Hashem not “hide His face” anymore and restore peace in the world, and may we be zocheh to the ultimate revelation and redemption with Moshiach Tzidkeinu. A kosher and freilichen Pesach to all.

Rechy Frankfurter rechy@amimagazine.org

20 | A M I • L I V I N G |

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APRIL 8, 2020

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LETTERS

Crossroads A new perspective In reference to “Crossroads”

Dear Editor: Thanks for a great magazine and for the superb serial “Crossroads.” I am enjoying it immensely. I never understood the concept of house arrest until we were all quarantined. Although the story is fictional, kudos to Shalom for not going crazy being so cooped up. I really admire his strength of character. And although I must admit I don’t have much sympathy for Chava, I am beginning to feel sorry for her, confined to a tiny apartment and feeling miserable. I guess we should never judge other people until we stand in their shoes.

an inhaler with cortisone, for their asthma. My question is whether I should stop it now and risk the possibility that they may have an asthma attack, chas v’shalom, or continue giving it to them. Is there something I can give them instead that doesn’t have cortisone? I asked my pediatrician, and he told me to stop reading information online and continue giving my children the Seretide. I would really appreciate it if you can ask Dr. Shulman this question on my behalf, or put me in touch with someone I can ask. Malky E. I agree with your doctor that the inhaled steroids are not a problem, only the systemic steroids in more seriously ill patients.

Dr. Susan Shulman

Leah S.

Preventing Intermarriage

Kids on Cortisone

all due respect to this special endeavor, does she realize her mission will probably fail? Even if children have Jewish pride or nice Shabbosim, why would that keep them from intermarrying? (Never mind the question of how they can really have Jewish pride if they barely know what it means to be Jewish.) One of the people she taught had a daughter whose boyfriend did not mind nice family meals. That’s about a meal, not about the Torah. The Torah consists of much more than that. If these children are married to Jews, that’s great; but if they live like non-Jews, does she still think her grandmother would be proud? How much happier would her grandmother be up in the world of truth if her descendants embraced all of Hashem’s Torah? Last but not least, if the children see the parents pick and choose which mitzvos to keep, why shouldn’t they do the same and disregard the imperative to marry someone Jewish? Rivkie N. Jerusalem

...and coronavirus

It takes more than Jewish pride

In reference to “Clean Bill,” Issue 460

In reference to Feature, Issue 459

A Close Call

Dear Editor:

A mother in pain

This week you ran an interview with Dr. Susan Shulman, who said that children don’t need to be afraid about the coronavirus, except those who are on cortisone or chemotherapy. I have two children who take Seretide,

Thank you for a great magazine, filled with interesting and inspiring material every week. I would like to comment on the article about the women trying to eliminate intermarriage among their children. With

In reference to Feature, Issue 457

Dear Editor: Thank you for publishing the article “A Close Call.” I felt I had to respond, as we have also been alienated from two of our

WISHING OUR CUSTOMERS A HAPPY AND HEALTHY YOM TOV!

22 | A M I • L I V I N G |

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MARCH 25, 2020

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LETTERS

adult children for several years. Mostly they are alienated from me, their mother. I know I made mistakes. I was told to be the bigger person, to “take the high road” and apologize for my wrongdoings— some true, some perceived, and some that were blown out of proportion or were not true at all. I apologized for things I knew I did wrong. I apologized for things they claimed I did wrong but that I was not aware of. I would have been happy to be given the chance to prove otherwise, but whatever it was, they have not forgiven me for anything. I apologized just for the sake of apologizing, hoping it would help. It didn’t help. My husband and I grew up in the postHolocaust generation. We were both lucky enough to have grandparents, which was unusual then. As with many in our generation, my parents spoke to my grandparents every day, sometimes several times. We did the same thing, calling our parents usually every day, sometimes several times daily, as well. I wish my children would stop focusing on the ten percent of my “bad” parenting and perhaps focus on the 90 percent that was good. I spoke to Rav Gissinger, zt”l, about this, but now that he is unfortunately no longer here, I speak to Rebbetzin Gissinger, who cries with me about my pain and anguish. Rebbetzin Gissinger wishes she could help,

but she is powerless to do anything, so we cry together and she tries to give me chizzuk to go on. The pain is so acute that it’s nearly impossible to bear, and every day is a painful struggle to survive. P. M.

Gluten-Free ...all year long Dear Editor:

people’s Pesach products. There had to be many people with extras sitting in their pantries that would not be eaten. I knew they wouldn’t be touched because the universal rule in every frum family is that when Pesach is over, all the cakes and cookies lose their status and go from delicious to bleh. Then I heard about a woman who opened up a post-Pesach gemach so that people could get rid of their unopened packages of food, spreading happiness and relief to gluten-free families at the same time. All types of unopened foods are included—cookies, cakes, potato starch, potato chips, macaroons, frozen kugels, Pesach rolls and pizza. The idea is so simple, but it can be a great help to families who often have more than one member with celiac disease or gluten sensitivity. You can email Gemachglutenfree@gmail.com and arrange for a pick-up! One caveat— gebrochts is off limits to those on a glutenfree diet since it is 100 percent gluten. We thank you in advance, and our kids thank you, too!

When my son was diagnosed with celiac disease last winter, I was overcome with confusion and fear. I knew that celiac disease is an autoimmune condition in which the body attacks gluten, thereby damaging the gut. The only cure is a gluten-free diet that people must adhere to scrupulously. A whole new world opened up for me, and I learned how to balance my son’s needs with the needs of the rest of my family. When Pesach came, my son was thrilled at the variety of products out there. Almost everything in the store was okay for him! It was bliss for me, as well; S. M. checking labels was largely unnecessary, and except for the matzah, I didn’t have AMI MAGAZINE 1575 50th St., Brooklyn, NY 11219 to worry about cross-contamination. We Phone: 718-534-8800 Fax: 718-484-7731 were just like everybody else! letters@amimagazine.org After Pesach, I wondered about other

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BY REBBETZIN FEIGE TWERSKI

FROM BONDAGE TO FREEDOM WE ARE NEVER HELPLESS

ll human beings have idiosyncrasies and, like it or not, these idiosyncrasies contribute to making life interesting. Among the human beings who have idiosyncrasies are me and my children. Let’s start with my children. Some of them are inclined to deal with clutter in the house by summarily throwing things out. Alternatively, there are those who are loathe to part with their belongings even when they are undeniable candidates for the trash collectors. To their credit, they are all aware of their “weaknesses,” and they avail themselves of their siblings’ services when they need to overcome their natural inclinations. My own idiosyncrasy in this area is a reluctance to part with items that I have had for a very long time—a long time being defined as 20 years or more. Some of my daughters who are of the “throw-thethings-out” variety decided to dispose of my old stuff when I wasn’t looking, and I must confess that, after the fact, I enjoyed having more space and less mess. All of this came into sharp focus for me recently when my Timex watch, which has been in my possession forever, stopped working. Even prior to that occurrence, my children begged me to let them get me a new and more respectable looking watch.

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In fact, they did buy me a lovely fancy watch that occupies space in my jewelry box with other pieces meant to be worn on special occasions. My attachment to my old Timex was, in great part, due to the fact that I was able to light up the face of the watch by pressing a little button on the side. In the middle of the night it provided light for me so that I could tell what time it was and thus orient myself. Setting aside idiosyncrasies, as I laid the old timepiece to rest, I realized that there was a metaphor for life in what had happened. On a deeper level, illumination in the deep blackness of night was not only a convenience, but, symbolically, a reprieve from life’s dark seasons. We all struggle and experience the dark night of the soul at one time or another. Both external and internal forces periodically challenge our state of being. In those moments, we are at risk of losing our equilibrium, and, most significantly, losing our spiritual footing. The nature of gloom is such that it undermines our very essence. It tries to convince us that we have fallen so low that we are unredeemable—a lost cause. On a national level, over three millennia ago klal Yisrael found themselves in such a bleak season. After scores of years of

wretched subjugation and slavery, the nation slipped into a spiritual abyss. With their humanity stripped away, they lost touch with the grandeur of the Jewish soul. Total darkness prevailed. When it seemed that all was lost, Hashem pushed a button on the timepiece of Jewish existence and shone a beam of light on the indestructible neshamah of klal Yisrael Yisrael. At that moment of illumination, the Yidden were able to experience the incorruptible and eternal nature of their souls. From that time forward they knew that there was no force—no matter how mighty—that could ever claim or dull the Divine spark that defines us all. It is widely understood that chametz symbolizes unrestrained indulgence in physical pleasures and subservience to them, whereas matzah represents simplicity, moderation and responsible conduct. As Pesach approaches, each one of us is summoned to rid ourselves of our chametz. Additionally, it is our obligation to escape Mitzrayim—the tyranny of hopelessness, the constrictions and self-perceptions that limit us and discourage us from aspiring to bigger things in life. Metaphorically, yetzias Mitzrayim occurred when the Master of the Universe pushed the button on the timepiece of klal

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NEW!

When it seemed that all was lost, Hashem pushed a button on the timepiece of Jewish existence and shone a beam of light on the indestructible neshamah of klal Yisrael. Yisrael, illuminating the Egyptian night, letting them know “what time it was” and that all was not lost. Thankfully, the energy of that moment continues to be accessible to each one of us, regardless of the darkness of the night of our soul. By virtue of our privileged relationship with the Divine Redeemer and the assurance that He will unfailingly be there to “turn on the light,” learned helplessness should no longer be an option for us. Particularly during this special season of cheirus, when the energies of redemption are so close, we must recognize the unique potential we have to grow closer to Hashem’s expectations of us. I have since bought another watch to replace my former timepiece. Much to the chagrin of my children, it is just as boring as the old one. I feel entitled to at least one idiosyncrasy. I am regularly reminded by the small light button on my new boring watch that while I may be overwhelmed at times, I am not helpless. I constantly have Hashem, Who took our forefathers out of the greatest darkness, holding my hand and supporting me in my endeavors. Whether you own such a watch or not, the Yom Tov of Pesach celebrates Hashem’s availability for every one of us under all circumstances. Chag Kasheir V’samei’ach! ●

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Rebbetzin Feige Twerski is the mother of 11 children and many grandchildren, bli ayin hara. Alongside her husband, Rabbi Michel Twerski, she serves as rebbetzin to her community in Milwaukee and counsels people all over the globe. The Rebbetzin is a popular lecturer, speaking on a wide variety of topics to audiences in America and overseas. She is the author of Ask Rebbetzin Feige, Rebbetzin Feige Responds and The New Normal. L AKEWO OD / HOWELL 732.994.5607

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PARSHAH

By Rabbanit Yemima Mizrachi PESACH

Order Out of Chaos

Rabbanit Mizrachi is one of Israel’s most popular speakers, with tens of thousands of students. Her lectures are attended by hundreds of women. Her book, Yemima Mizrachi Speaks (Artscroll), is a magnificent compilation of Torah thoughts for women, facilitated by Shiffy Friedman.

ow can we sit down to a Seder when there’s no seder in this world? In this article, I would like to tell you how you can do that, and how you can make seder in your life no matter how topsy-turvy it has become. When the women in Mitzrayim watched their lives turn over before their eyes, it wasn’t easy for

them. Their husbands were out all day doing backbreaking labor, Pharaoh had ruled that all baby boys be killed, and they were demeaned by the Egyptians in every possible way. And what did they do? They knew this was the time for them to step in—all the way. They knew they had to function to the best of their ability, and they did that by remembering what was most important. They understood that if their homes were places where their husbands felt calm, where their children felt happy, where they let the sun shine in, am Yisrael would stay strong. That was a very tall order, but they did it well. And it was in their

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zechut, Chazal tell us, that the nation left Mitzrayim. Bizechut nashim tzidkaniyot nigalu avoseinu miMitzrayim, u’bizechut nashim tzidkaniyot atidin lehigael. How can we do that? How can we do our part? Oh, how desperate we are for Moshiach! But if we think we have to do something huge, we often end up doing nothing at all. Instead, the corona crisis has taught us something that is much more effective—to do something small. Look at the way this tiny little virus is turning over the world. Another person infected, and another one, and the entire world is in crisis. When there’s chaos around us and we don’t know what to do, let’s take a small mitzvah and do it all the way. Whether it’s preparing a meal for Yom Tov when we’re feeling frazzled or undertaking not to speak lashon hara or to be kinder to others, let’s do it all the way. The root of the word “mitzvah” is the same as for the word tzevet, meaning “staff.” All we have to do is take an active part in the operation; we don’t have to take over the reins to make a profound difference. When I was young, I used to think that being a stewardess was amazing! When I got older, I realized that the stewardess is really just serving food—but she’s part of a tzevet that makes the flight possible. The Kli Yakar uses the names of two people who made up the tzevet responsible for building the Mishkan—Betzalel ben Uri and Ahaliav ben Achisamach—in order to show us what we should be doing in our own homes, our own mishkan. A Jewish home, he says, has to be “betzalel,” a

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PARSHAH

PESACH

shadow for Hashem, a place where Hashem dwells and where He feels comfortable. Does your home fit the bill? Now that you’re spending more time there than ever, you can see for yourself. When you wake up in the morning and there’s no school, no work, no structure whatsoever, is Hashem still the center of your life? Just because the schools are closed doesn’t mean the siddur or sefer is closed. At the same time, when Yiddishkeit becomes a matter of rules and strictures, the home can turn into a dark place. Betzalel was known as ben Uri, from the word for light. Can we make our home a happy place?

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read as “ach samuch l’ach,” one brother next to the other. For our children to feel safe and happy at home, they not only need to feel loved by their parents; they also need to be at peace with their siblings. My son, who is home from yeshivah now, is suddenly playing with his little kitah alef brother. They weren’t together for a long time. (Don’t worry, they fight too!) Yes, we are worried. We don’t know what will happen next. We can’t ignore our concerns about our health and our parnasah. Still, despite the worry, we can try our best to follow the Kli Yakar’s sage advice to turn our homes into a mishkan, to do our part to

The home has be a tent, an ohel, for the av and the ben, the father and son—a place where parents and children spend time together and bond. Can we make Yiddishkeit fun and exciting, a joy? I understand that mothers are overwhelmed now, but we have to have a light on our faces when we see our children. That’s what they remember. That’s what penetrates their hearts. The second person in charge of building the Mishkan was Ahaliav ben Achisamach. What do we find in his name? The home has be a tent, an ohel, for the av and the ben, the father and son—a place where parents and children spend time together and bond. We have the opportunity to do this now more than ever. I have great nachat watching my husband learn Mesillat Yesharim with our little daughter. Achisamach, says the Kli Yakar, can be

bring about the geulah. In Mitzrayim, the Yidden had food. In the midbar, they suddenly had to rely on their emunah, to believe that Hashem, Who had given them food in Mitzrayim, would do so now too. And they got what they needed. When everything around you is chaotic, you have the ability to make seder in your life. You can do your best to cultivate a mishkan environment in your home, to do that seemingly small mitzvah with utmost positivity. That’s how you’ll make a Seder that is kasher v’samei’ach. In that zechut, may we merit to offer the korban Pesach in Yerushalayim! ● Facilitated by Shiffy Friedman

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Rabbi Yoel Gold, a ninth-grade rebbe at Mesivta Birkas Yitzchok, has inspired hundreds of thousands of people with his stories. To watch some of his videos or to share your story with him, please visit InspireClips.com.

MOMENTS A GREAT DEAL

abbi Shloimie Lichtenstein, a rosh kollel in Williamsburg, never expected to learn integrity from an anonymous eBay user in Nebraska. He was just trying to replace his laptop. He had bought things on eBay before, so he figured the website would serve him well once again. Usually, he made a direct offer on an item instead of waiting out the usual bidding process. This time was no different; he typed in the laptop model he wanted and scrolled through the available options, most of them priced between $600 and $700. It was his lucky day. He found a seller in Omaha, Nebraska, who was selling a laptop for just $550. It was a bargain, and Rabbi Lichtenstein jumped at it. Seeing the “make an offer” option, he typed in “$375.” This was, of course, a ridiculously low price, but he knew the seller would make a counteroffer, and they would settle on some mutually agreeable number in between. But hours went by, and there was no response. After 24 hours, Rabbi Lichtenstein realized that the seller had probably received better offers, so he bumped his bid up to $425. But still there was no response, so he offered $475. “If he doesn’t take it,” he told himself, “I’ll just buy it for $550, as he asked. It’s still a great deal.” Finally, two days after he had placed his first bid, he got an email from eBay. “The seller has accepted your offer,” it said. The price given was $375. Rabbi Lichtenstein was confused. He had increased his offer by $100 since then! Presumably the seller would soon correct the mistake. But he soon received an order summary, followed by shipping confirmation. Had the second offer gotten lost

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somewhere? He used eBay’s messaging system to send an email stating that he had bid $475. “I am aware,” the seller wrote back. “Thanks for your honesty, but I don’t feel comfortable accepting the offer of $475.” Rabbi Lichtenstein was curious. He wrote back asking why. “I was out of town for two days and wasn’t watching my eBay account,” the seller answered. “When I came back, I checked my phone and saw the offer of $375. I just wanted to get rid of the laptop, so I accepted it. “When I opened my computer that night, the screen was bigger and I was able to see all the other offers that had been made. I guess technically I could have reset the price and eBay would have been on my side, but I had already accepted the offer. Pulling out now would just be dishonest.”

“Thanks for your honesty, but I don’t feel comfortable accepting the oﬀer of $475.”

Rabbi Lichtenstein was very impressed. He recalled the story of Rav Safra cited by Rashi in Maseches Makkos. Rav Safra offered an item for sale, and a buyer approached him with an offer, but Rav Safra was in the middle of Shema and did not answer. Assuming he wanted more money, the buyer upped his bid. Rav Safra stayed silent. The pattern continued until Rav Safra finished davening. He then said to the buyer, “When I heard your first offer, I decided in my mind to accept it. I will sell it to you for that amount.” The Gemara says that he did so because the Torah teaches us, ‘V ’dover emes b’levavo—speak the truth that’s in your heart.’” The words of the eBay seller mirrored Rav Safra’s. Rabbi Lichtenstein was impressed, and also a little bit surprised. How was it, he thought, that Rav Safra’s level of honesty and integrity could be matched by some guy on the internet in Omaha, Nebraska? At kollel the next day, he presented the conundrum to his friends, but no one had an answer. When he got home that night, he went to his computer and composed another email to the eBay seller. He wrote that he was amazed by the seller’s integrity and that in the Talmud, a very similar action was ascribed to a great scholar named Rav Safra. He ended with a question. “Please share with me how in the world you were able to be so honest.” Ten minutes later, the email pinged into his inbox. The seller from Omaha was indeed willing to share the secret of his honesty. His email was very simple—just one word, followed by his signature. “Shalom. Josh Herzberg.” ●

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BYTES // Morsels of Wisdom, Wit and Popular Advice By Miriam Glick

Use chair covers to keep a uniform look when you use extra chairs around the table. For an extra touch, accessorize them with beautiful bows or lace.

DÉCOR HACKS

Use a cake stand to keep soaps and hand sanitizers near the sink.

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KEEP YOUR HOUSE SMELLING FRESH ALL PESACH LONG ● Open windows every morning. ● Spray scented essential oil on bathroom towels, on the bottom of garbage cans and under tissue boxes. ● Place a bowl of baking soda near the stove when cooking. ● Place a slice of lemon on every shelf in the fridge. ● Sprinkle baking soda on the inside bottom of garbage cans.

PLANTS FOR BEAUTY AND SMELL Not for purifying the air

A Keep your silver from tarnishing all Pesach by placing silica gel packets inside your china closet.

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critical review drawing on 30 years of research has found that it would take 680 house plants, or five per square metre, to achieve the same airflow as a few open windows. “This has been a common misconception for some time,” says environmental engineer Michael Waring at Drexel University. “Plants are great, but they don’t actually clean indoor air quickly enough to have an effect on the air quality of your home or office.” “It’s such an alluring idea,” says Elliott Gall, a Portland State University professor. “But the scientific literature shows that indoor houseplants do very little to clean the air.”

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From Frazzled toNEAT

FREAK Shulamis Fixes YOU!

WE E K 4

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YOUR MESS FIXED

—BEFORE

Name: Naomi T. Location: Monsey E —BEFOR

Dear Shulamis,

You are the very best! You took me and many of my friends out of the abyss called clutter. I am the mother of creative kids who love cutting, pasting and coloring, and I can’t get it right with this closet. Is the problem the fact that it’s in the foyer right off the playroom? Whenever you walk into the house, you bump into this enormous pile of papers, crayons and pencils on the floor near the closet. The closet is always a wreck, too, although it gets cleaned daily! Can you work your magic here? (At the risk of sounding like an Aim enthusiast) Love, your number-one fan... Naomi T.

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From Frazzled to NEAT FREAK

Shulamis:

Process

● First we decided what the kids can take out on their own and what Naomi needs to have control over. She bought an art caddy and ﬁlled it with markers and crayons. That’s kept out on a small table, along with blank paper. The kids can access it all the time. The rest of the art closet stays locked on a regular basis. Kids can have independence, but mothers sometimes need to have control over things like glitter and Play-Doh. ● When people don’t have a system, they don’t know what they have and what they don’t. Especially now that we are all morahs and homeschoolers, we need to be set up properly. I wrote up a list of supplies, and Naomi bought everything on the list. She is now stocked up for success! ● A lot of the things in the closet didn’t belong there. It was being used as a dumping ground. Instead, we designated the closet as the art closet, and whatever didn’t ﬁt in that category found a home elsewhere.

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From Frazzled to NEAT FREAK

Shulamis’ Tip

Photo Storage Keeper

● How to add to a system? You know where you got containers, and you can always get more. But once you’ve reached capacity, it’s time to swap out and decide what to keep. Closets don’t grow with the family, so you need to purge unnecessary items.

It’s meant for photos, but it’s great for storing art supplies.

—AFTER

Art Caddy

A caddy for the table to make it accessible for the children at all times.

Send your

messy photos to askshulamis

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navigating

THE

NEWLYWEDS By Riva Pomerantz PA R T 2 6

You Can’t Please Everyone

his letter arrived in response to last week’s letter about the dueling daughters-in-law whose mother-in-law showered each of them, but gave more for some than others. In addition, Rebbetzin Feige Twerski and Mrs. Dina Schoonmaker are here to add further clarity and offer practical tips to help us navigate the mother-in-law/daughter-in-law relationship. Enjoy, and a gut Yom Tov to everyone.

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Dance of Two Dozen As I read the story “Malka in the Middle,” I honestly didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. You see, I am the mother of 12 married children, baruch Hashem, six boys and six girls. Yep, do the math—that’s six daughters-in-law in the mix, which I guess makes me somewhat qualified to eigh in on the matter. I’ll be blunt here and just tell it like it is. It’s anonymous, right? First rule of thumb is that there are no rules of thumb! When I innocently ventured into our first edding, I had no idea that a storm would soon be brewing, but there it was. “Ma, it’s nice that you bought Esther a piece of jewelry for Yom Tov,” my eldest daughter remarked “jokingly” about the gift I had just given her brand-new sister-in-law. “IIIIIIIIII, on the other hand, got just a pair of shoes…” But balancing the relationship between my own daughters and their new sister-in-law was nothing compared to what happened when my next son got married and we welcomed DIL #2 into the family. Now it was DIL #1 who suddenly seemed to need more attention from me. I even got a call one night from my first mar ied son, the husband of DIL #l, who, after a lot of hemming and hawing, asked me if I could be more “sensitive to his wife’s feelings”

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because lately she had been feeling “snubbed.” “I don’t know how much more of this I can handle,” I told my husband that night. He looked at me sympathetically. “Chaya,” he said, “I hate to tell you this, but I think it’s going to get a lot worse.” Boy, was he right! Add the grandchildren into the mix, baruch Hashem, plus increasing numbers of daughters-in-law, and what began as a storm turned into a full-scale hurricane! If I kvelled about my daughter Michal’s little cutie Yehoshua, I would inevitably have my daughter-in-law Rena pouting the rest of Shabbos. If I hung Gitty’s daughter’s project on my fridge, the next time Ayala came for Shabbos she would “casually” remark about how “cute” it was that I hung Gitty’s kids’ pictures up, and “Didn’t you get the Rosh Hashanah picture I sent you of Dovie?” Oy! Presents! What a nightmare! If I knew that DIL #5 was struggling to make ends meet and she needed a pair of weekday shoes and I happened to come across the perfect pair at the perfect price, I would have to stand in the store for three hours just to try to figu e out how to diplomatically handle the gift-giving. Surely, when DIL #5 began wearing her new flats DIL#3, who lived right near her, would compliment her on her shoes, at which point an

innocent remark about Mommy buying them for her would mean immediate jealousy and resentment. Not to mention what would happen when one of my own daughters would find out that I h d spoiled her sister-in-law with an impromptu gift! It goes deeper. You don’t want certain children or childrenin-law to feel that you favor them or value your connection with them more than others, just like Malka described. You don’t want anyone to feel that they are “loved less.” Essentially, it’s exactly like what happens in a family before the kids are married, that you don’t want anyone to feel that you’re playing favorites, except that it multiplies so exponentially once it “scales out” to more people, more relationships, more factors. I also see the competition aspect loud and clear. If I’m having two couples for Shabbos, they’ll each compete with their best cake or kugel. Baruch Hashem it’s usually nothing too ugly, but there definite y is this undercurrent of, Who is the better balebusta? Whom do you enjoy having over more? Whom are you more proud of? I have to say here that I am not the critical kind of mother-in-law. I keep my mouth shut and my pocketbook open as much as I can, just so you get a feel for the type of person I am. But the competitive dynamic is almost inevitable no matter how much I wish it didn’t exist.

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AMI•LIVING

4/1/20 1:03 AM

NAVIGATING THE NEWLYWEDS

I’ll just add one more layer here: When my last son got married, I could already see that my relationship skills was going to be stretched way past what I thought were its capabilities. His wife Elisheva, a very nice girl, seemed very self-conscious in our family from the get-go. It could be because she was a bit different than the rest of my girls and daughters-in-law— she’s more off-beat more “artsy,” and she had no job or career to speak of, while the rest of my brood is much more straightlaced and successful. While we welcomed her with open arms, I had a sinking feeling that her lack of confidence ould mean trouble, and boy, was I right! She seemed to have it in for me from Day One, always finding fault with m , complaining to her husband, my poor youngest son, about how his evil mother treated her. Believe me, I bent over backwards to shower my new daughterin-law with love and attention and even slip her some extra gifts surreptitiously in order to try to win her over, but it was all to no avail. She was also very critical towards her sisters-in-law, rejecting their attempts to befriend her, and then blamed them all for making her feel “unwanted and unwelcome.” I suffered through this process for many, many years, never feeling like I was making any headway, yet never willing to give in to the animosity coming from this daughter-in-law. I could sense that it wasn’t about me, it was about her. She needed time to mature and to find herself. Baruch Hashem, she ended up really finding her st ide and got a job that built her self-confidence immense y. As she became happier with who she was, she also stopped battling me and the rest of the family, which was a huge relief. As you can see, I’ve definite y been around the block and still continue to walk that block, every day, numerous times a day. What I have adopted is an

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attitude of acceptance. Acceptance of the fact that this is just the way it is, and you have to navigate it to the best of your ability but it’s a normal part of life. Just like there’s “sibling rivalry” which has, at its root, jealousy and competition, or “Whom do you like the best?” syndrome, there’s a whole network of intrigues, emotions, and drama that happens in a large family with lots of children and children-in-law. What I do, when my kids come to me, is look straight ahead. I don’t dare look to one daughter-in-law or her kids, for fear that the other daughter or daughter-in-law will feel snubbed. I try to be as even-handed as I can be; if I buy something for one at one time, I’ll buy something else for another person another time. I make a point of going out of my way to praise my daughtersin-law to their husbands, my sons, when I talk to them on the phone so that I can convey my admiration of each and every one of them in private, without arousing unnecessary envy. I constantly try to keep my fin er on the pulse of what I’m doing and where I’m holding, but I will inevitably make a wrong move and have someone upset at me—a daughter or a daughter-in-law, and there is probably a lot of talk behind my back about all my misdemeanors and errors. You know the expression, “You can’t make everyone happy all of the time”? Well, I live by that expression! Maybe there are those out there who have more of a system and have gotten it down pat, but as for me, I can only say that this whole shvigger dance is a real, unavoidable part of life, and you just gotta keep trying. Even though you’re probably doomed to fail! Chaya, A Mother-in-Law Trying Her Best

REBBETZIN FEIGE TWERSKI’S ADVICE We asked Rebbitzen Feige Twerski, herself a mother and shvigger to many daughters and daughters-in-law, to weigh in with some perspective here for both Malka in the Middle, the distraught daughter-in-law from last week’s column, as well as Chaya, the mother-inlaw, who sums up her experience with the weary words, “there’s a shvigger dance and it’s unavoidable.” Is this, in fact, true? And what are some tips and advice for both sides to live by?

he mother-inlaw is correct: relationships are complex and they take a lot of work. Jealousy, resentment, infightin , and competition are part of the human experience. The d namics of sibling rivalry that occur within a nuclear family of parents and children can also expand to families that include children-in-law. Each member of the famly brings with them their own personality, strong points, and challenges. Someone with a

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Jealousy, resentment, in-fighting, an competition are part of the human experience... jealous streak will be jealous no matter how much he or she receives. Someone with an inferiority complex or low self-esteem will always feel that no one really loves them as much as they love everyone else, no matter how much love and attention is showered on him or her. You could have a daughter-in-law who will always find s mething to grumble about, nothing’s ever good enough for her no matter what you do—her glass is always half-empty. On the other end of the spectrum, you could have a daughter-in-law who’s overfl wing with gratitude, even if you don’t go the extra mile for her at all. So, even a mother-in-law who tries her absolute best will never succeed all of the time. It’s very hard to do right by everyone all the time. The mother-in-law who rote in this week should definite y be applauded for her extraordinary efforts here and she is clearly trying

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her best. Tha ’s all we can do—we try

our best and that’s it! In fact, most mothers-in-law, I would venture to say, are trying their best. Unless there’s really some sort of pathology present, generally speaking mothers love their children and children-in-law, barring any obvious issues, of course. If nothing else, mothers want their children to be happy so they usually try their best for that reason alone.

Play fair

Having said that, the rule of thumb is to be as even-handed as possible and to use your seichel. Showing overt favoritism is a real problem. What goes on in your heart is your business, but to express it— either by showering one child with more than another, or by making comments like, “Your sister-in-law Chanie’s house is always so neat, it’s amazing!” is very destructive. Although we cannot view it on a literal level, the mefarshim do comment on Yaakov Avinu’s special attention to Yosef by warning parents against showing favoritism to one child over another. If this applies to one’s biological child, it certainly applies to a child who joins the family at any point. The e are, of course, situations where a mother/in-law sees that a child/in-law needs something that the others don’t need. Maybe one of her sons is having a hard time financia ly and she realizes that her daughter-in-law needs extra help, whereas her other children are thriving financia ly. In such a case, she may choose to provide this daughter-in-law with extra, above and beyond what she is giving her other children, based on a special need. If possible, the mother/in-law can make it known to the rest of the kids—without making the couple in question out to be “nebach cases” or making them feel bad, and the other ones should be mature enough to appreciate that things don’t always have to be exactly equal when there are differing needs in the family.

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That’s all we can do—we try our best and that’s it! In fact, most mothers-in-law, I would venture to say, are trying their best. If the parents feel that it’s not possible to convey to the rest of the family why they are singling out one of their children/ in-law for special attention, then if they sense that another child is feeling jealous or less-than, they can speak with that child individually, explaining without giving details, “If it would be you needing that help, I would do the same thing.” In truth, in a close-knit family where the relationships are healthy and caring, siblings can sense what is going on with each other and in a case of need, another child or child-in-law might even approach the parents to ask them to help out his or her sibling/in-law, which, of course, would be ideal.

Lay the cards on the table

A mother/in-law who wants to preempt jealousy and resentment can make be open about it and make a general announcement when she and her children are all together. She can say something like, “Look, I just want to tell all of you that there will definite y be

times that you think perhaps I’m being partial to one of you or the other. I just want to tell you that I love all of you and I will certainly do my best to be fair at all times. I know that your perception, at times, will be that I didn’t succeed very well at it, but I can assure you that it’s not for a lack of caring or a lack of love for you. If there are times that you’re feeling upset at me, I would appreciate if you would talk to me about it. Let’s communicate honestly so that resentment doesn’t build up. The last thing would want is for there to be resentment towards me or towards each other. Tha would make me terribly unhappy!” If at any point, you sense there’s something amiss—you see someone’s nose is out of joint, or someone mutters a spiteful comment, the wise mother/ mother-in-law will take that child/in-law aside and say, “Is there something I did that hurt you in any way? I’m just sensing from you that you’re out of sorts. Is it something I did? Because for sure I love you so much and I don’t want to do anything to hurt you. Please let me know. Maybe I inadvertently said or did something to you? Please let me know!”

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Try to keep communication open and listen to what is being said and act supportively, not defensively. Try to address whatever it is that they need. This is a definite ecipe for shalom.

Keep it in perspective

Mothers-in-law are people, too, A word of chizzuk to mother-in-laws, and they also have differing l vels who work so hard to make everyone happy: If something comes up between of needs, including how much you and your daughter-in-law, it’s helpful to keep it in perspective. Most of the time, they need to be acknowledged, issues that come up will have nothing to do with you and everything to do with respected, and valued. this young lady who has her own personality, her own struggles, her own background and point of view. Bottom line, if she is taking care of your son and making him happy and is creating a beautiful branch of your family tree, the best thing you can do in most cases is to just let things go and not hold onto resentment, because it’s probably not about you. Of course, if the problem persists, try to address it and see how it can be resolved, but minor things that come up will usually pass quickly and uneventfully if you let them go. Now let’s talk about the dueling daughters-in-law in the story that we read last week. It was hard to read about the sniping going on about the different gifts distributed to different sisters-in-law and the obvious jealousy and resentment that characterizes this family’s relationships. I would like to put aside the issue of entitlement and a lack of gratitude for the amazing amounts of money the parents are spending on their children, and focus, instead, on the underlying issues which would theoretically take place even if there wasn’t a lot of materialism involved. What it boils down to is that if a person is okay with themselves and with their relationships then they are less likely to

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gripe the way these daughters-in-law are doing. If Baila and Breindy would feel secure in their own selves and in their relationship with their mother-in-law, then Malka wouldn’t need to be in the middle at all. Jealousy is a bad middah, simple as that, just like any other destructive middah like anger. Kinah, jealousy, really destroys people, and when Chazal tell us that it’s “motzi es ha’adam min ha’olam,” they are not only talking about ruining a person’s Olam Haba, but also their Olam Hazeh. They simply cannot be happy, ever, no matter what they have or receive, because there’s no end to the jealousy. What’s driving this jealousy? It could be some very deeply rooted issues that have absolutely nothing to do with the mother-in-law. In fact, in the mother-in-law’s letter above, she describes one of her daughters-in-laws as being petty and jealous and picking on her mother-in-law constantly, and as it turns out once this girl’s own personal issues were resolved, all the jealousy and small-mindedness faded away! Some daughters-in-law are also very vulnerable. Some girls will be in need of

more coddling and ego-stoking and others will be just fine and be as hap y as can be. It’s very individual and it’s important to be aware of everyone’s different needs. Mothers-in-law are people, too, and they also have differing levels of needs, including how much they need to be acknowledged, respected, and valued for their advice and gifting. Daughters-in-law have to take that into consideration as well—it’s a two-way street.

No second guessing

I do find m self wondering about the mother-in-law in this situation, who appears to be giving to her daughters-inlaw without any kind of rhyme or reason. However, we do have to give her the benefit of the doubt and it would behoove her daughters-in-law to take a step back and do exactly that. The e could be a million reasons why she is giving different gifts to different kallahs. Maybe her finances ha e improved over the years

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and she can afford more and more with the passage of time? Maybe she simply has forgotten what she gave to previous kallahs! Maybe she got a good deal on the watch with the diamonds that she simply couldn’t pass up. Maybe the last kallah comes from an extremely wealthy community where the standard is a diamond-studded watch and she didn’t want her to be embarrassed by getting a watch without diamonds? We have no idea what is going through the motherin-law’s mind, but it is unfair to jump to conclusions, and it’s wrong to speak about her badly behind her back, especially since she seems to be giving very generous gifts to each of her daughters-in-law.

The baby in the family

Regarding the point about the last child being given a larger house than the rest of them, it’s also important to note that in many families, the “baby” gets special treatment. It’s just a given. Whether it’s because the “baby” has shared more time alone with his or her parents when all the rest of the children have left the nest, or because the parents are maybe better off financia ly when their youngest is getting married since they don’t need to save for future weddings, the “baby” does often get more. Instead of bickering over it and resenting it, the rest of the children in the family can just make peace with this fact and focus on their own relationships with their parents who surely love them tremendously in their own way. While the “baby” will sometimes be more spoiled, the oldest may be relied on for sage advice, or the middle child can be regarded as the “anchor” of the family. Everyone plays their part and parents have an unlimited capacity for love. Also remember that love can be shown in many ways, not only through gifts. If the

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We have no idea what is going through the mother-in-law’s mind, but it is unfair to jump to conclusions and speak about her badly behind her back. “baby” got the bigger house, it could be that the parents knew that this child’s personality is such that he or she needed it, but they might shower other children with more admiration or praise. Of course, parents should keep the fin er on the pulse of how they treat all their children, “babies” notwithstanding!

The spiritual side

We need to talk for a minute about the spiritual approach to these kinds of challenges. Earlier, I suggested that a daughter-in-law who is envious is very likely envious in other areas of life that have nothing to do with her mother-inlaw’s treatment of her. If we look at jealousy from a ruchniyus standpoint, we can adopt an attitude that the Ribbono Shel Olam always challenges us in order to promote growth on our part. So in other words, if a situation were to happen, like the mother-in-law giving a more expensive kallah jewelry package to her sisterin-law and she was feeling envious, the daughter-in-law could say to herself, “You

know, this is not at all arbitrary. This i exactly what my neshamah needs and I have to do something about it. How do I mitigate this jealousy? Obviously, I don’t want to stay jealous. Chazal have some pretty awful things to say about people who are jealous! This gi l can see the envy as an invitation to herself to do a cheshbon hanefesh, to stop for a minute and think about what’s happening. While she can’t really do so much about the feelings, at least initially, because they can be quite strong and overwhelming, she can take a few breaths and talk to herself and say, “If I needed that expensive watch with the diamonds, Hashem would have given it to me. Since I didn’t get it, I guess I didn’t need it. This is a opportunity to grow.” Yes, it takes a lot to do this kind of inner work, but keep in mind that it’s no different than someone who has a tendency towards anger and they don’t feel good about themselves for exploding at people. In a situation that provokes them, they would say, “Y’know, I see what my shortcoming is here, my weak point, so let me think what I can do about this. How can I put safeguards in place so this

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kind of anger doesn’t happen?” We all have areas that we need to work on, because the Ribbono Shel Olam deliberately sends us situations that will challenge us to grow. This is a spi itual perspective for the type of problems that Malka in the Middle describes. Remember also that we all go through things in life where we hope that when we look back at ourselves in a few years and we see where we were years ago and where we’re holding now, we’ll be proud of the growth that we did. If the daughters-in-law who are jealous and resentful could adopt that kind of approach, then it would really be to everyone’s benefit In this situation, we have an opportunity—either we just lash out and talk bitterly to all the sisters-in-law about how terrible these in-laws are and how they don’t treat anyone fairly, or we say, “Wait! The e’s a lesson here for me! It doesn’t feel good, but for whatever reason—maybe it’s insecurity, or maybe it’s because I’m an envious type of person—I have an opportunity here to rise to the challenge. Even if I can just keep my mouth shut this Shabbos and not share my resentment with the other sisters-in-law, that’s already a madreigah!”

If you feel you can let it go, that’s certainly the best thing, especially if it’s a one-time occurrence.

contend with this. Of course, it has to be done with respect and gentleness: “You’re a good person and you don’t mean any harm and we don’t know if you even remember what you did for the previous kallahs, so it might be a good idea, from now on, to just keep track and be even-handed in what you do because otherwise it really doesn’t work well.” Sometimes it happens that a daughterin-law who isn’t the jealous type and normally has a good relationship with her mother-in-law, suddenly has a situation where she really feels that she was not treated fairly or that her motherin-law has slighted her. In that case, she If there is truly a situation where a could try to address it with her mothermother-in-law is creating havoc and in-law. She could say, “Ma, I know you confusion by showing outright favoritlove me and I love you too. Am I missing ism towards one daughter/in-law over something that everyone got a Chanukah others, it might be best for somebody in present except me?” Or, “Did I do the family to be designated to talk to her something wrong? I haven’t been invited and tell her how destructive the situato you for Shabbos for a long time.” Or, tion has become. She could then come “I feel that you’re not looking at me in to understand that the daughters/in-law such a favorable way. Is there something are taking things personally and they wrong? I don’t want to displease you. think that she values them less and it’s Maybe you can tell me if there’s a not only bad for them and their relaproblem so I can address it…” She could tionship with her, but it’s bad for their try to be humorous and say something husbands—her own sons!—who have to like, “Am I chopped liver, or something?”

Thoughtful discussion

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If you feel you can let it go, that’s certainly the best thing, especially if it’s a one-time occurrence. If she’s mature and middos’dik enough, the daughter-in-law could also try to zoom out of the picture and aim to see whether her mother-inlaw had to give more in this instance to other people in the family who actually needed it more than her, whether for emotional or material reasons. The daughter-in-law an also remind herself that gifts are not the only expression of love. It could be that her mother-in-law loves her just as much as the next daughter-in-law but for whatever reason, she chose to give the other one a more expensive present and it doesn’t really matter why; “I don’t need to get unraveled by this!” This is a ideal approach not only for a daughterin-law, but for anyone else in any kind of relationship situation, whenever we encounter a circumstance where we are provoked in the particular area we are deficient All of us are born with some kind of Achilles heel, some kind of challenge; no one’s born a finishe product! We have work to do. Tha ’s how Hakadosh Baruch Hu created us, and each of our deficiencies is uniqu .

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Tips to consider

In summary, I have a few succinct tips for both mothers-in-law and daughters-in-law which will hopefully be helpful to all those navigating the Ins and Outs of In-Laws:

Mothers-in-law, please… ● Be even-handed in the gifts you give your children/in-law and your grandchildren. ● Be even-handed in your invitations to visit and in your phone calls to your daughters/in-law, as well as in your praise for them, their spouses, and their children. Make sure your praise is generous and rings true—if it’s a bit of a stretch, make it at least sound true, l’ma’an hashalom! ● It’s wise to have a set “kallah package,” if possible, that is given to each incoming daughter-in-law to avoid creating a clear discrepancy and potentially arousing hard feelings. ● Never let anyone else in the family know that you’re less excited about one particular daughter-in-law or her children. Word gets out and it hurts everyone, often irrevocably. You’re not going to feel the same way towards all children or grandchildren, especially in a large family, but make every effort at least not to express it! ● Comparisons between children/ in-law or their children are out—period. It’s best not to praise one daughter/ in-law to another or the children of one daughter/in-law to another even if no overt comparison is being made. ● Keep a fin er on the pulse to watch for competition between daughters-inlaw and/or daughters. If it becomes a problem—i.e. one of them always brings ten salads for Shabbos while the other one brings nothing, see how you can neutralize the situation without being intrusive.

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Be even-handed. Make sure your praise is generous and rings true—if it’s a bit of a stretch, make it at least sound true. Daughters-in-law, please… ● Give your mother-in-law the benefit of the doubt when a questi nable situation comes up. ● Relationships thrive not on receiving, but on giving. Focus on building a close relationship with your mother-in-law by calling her, giving her little gifts, or honoring her by asking her advice. It can go a long way in cultivating a beautiful connection! ● Amongst your sisters-in-law, be careful about what you share of your relationship with your mother-in-law. If she gave you beautiful earrings after you had a baby, there’s no need to tell your sister-in-law that they are from the mother-in-law—keeping quiet can ward off a lot o unnecessary pain and strife! “Shtecht ois de oigen,” don’t make anyone’s eyes pop out! ● Remember that when there is strife in the family between daughtersin-law and their mother-in-law, the ones who suffer the most are the husbands, who get caught in the middle. For this reason alone, make an effort to rise above pettiness and strive for a higher path. It’s good for your own shalom bayis! ● Let go of keeping cheshbon of who got what and when and how. Be grateful for everything you get and live your best life, free of being chained to whether or not your mother-in-law likes you best or not! ● One last point, for both mothers/in-law and daughters/in-law: If the above suggestions don’t suffice and the oblem seems to be getting out of hand, then a professional third party should be sought. ● It might be a therapist, a wise rav or rebbetzin, or any competent, objective person you trust. B’hatzlachah!

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fter so many years of working on ourselves as parents, when our children get married, the incline on the middos treadmill gets ramped up even higher and the workout becomes more intense. But we also benefit an become spiritually stronger! Sometimes mothers-in-law might lack self-awareness about how they truly feel toward all their daughters-in-law, which may subtly convey some sort of covert favoritism that could cause jealousy, resentment, and competition. It is only natural that a person has chemistry with certain people and “clicks” less with others. Thepasuk says, “Chein v’chavod yitein Hashem”—Hashem is the One Who makes people attracted to others. It isn’t our “fault” if we don’t click, and we don’t have to feel bad about it. The e are going to be some daughters-in-law and mothers-in-law who have more of a natural click, and then there will be some relationships—sometimes even between parents and children—that feel more difficul more of an avodah. But we don’t need to beat ourselves up about it. At the same time, we have to take responsibility for it and do whatever we can to make sure that people feel good about our relationship with them. So how do we deal with a relationship where there is less of an intuitive rapport, like the daughter-in-law who is less “your type”? The Alter of Kelm s ys that the concept of “nosei b’ol” is a middah that we

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use when we do not have natural rapport with someone. This means swit hing from heart to head and using “amal ha’sechel v’hatziyur,” using your intellect and your imagination to understand the other person and his or her needs. Practically speaking, if a mother-in-law does some introspection and realizes that she doesn’t click naturally with her daughter-in-law, which is impacting their relationship in certain ways, she can change her approach. Now that she’s on the “nosei b’ol” level, she can sit down and think about this particular daughter-in-law. What does she enjoy? What excites her? What would make her feel special? She can try to see which of the fi e “love languages” would speak most deeply to this daughter-inlaw: words of affirmation, quality time, gifts, physical touch, or acts of service such as taking the kids out so she can take a nap, for example. Once she identifies he daughter-in-law’s primary love language, she can try to give to her in that way. If this is the type of girl who loves talking on the phone, the mother-in-law can try to call her more often. If she’s the type who likes gifts and there isn’t much disposable income, the mother-in-law can surprise her with little presents every so often. Now, let’s say that the daughter-in-law’s love language is one that the mother-inlaw is rather deficient in For instance, if the daughter-in-law loves spending quality time but the mother-in-law isn’t big on one-on-one, deep, meaningful conversations, she can find s me way of fulfi ling her daughter-in-law’s need that feels comfortable for both of them. Maybe

Mrs. Dina Schoonmaker is a teacher, popular lecturer, and relationship counselor, as well as a staff member o Michlalah Jerusalem College for 30 years. In addition, she started womensvaad.com and runs mussar vaadim focusing on personal development for women of all ages.

she can take her daughter-in-law on a shopping trip as a way of spending quality time with her. This is what I mean y going up an incline on the middos treadmill! You have to be smart about it and implement it in a way that feels natural and mutually enjoyable. If you’re not a big phone person but your daughter-in-law is a real schmoozer, call when you’re on the bus or cooking, or save interesting stories or good jokes to use during your conversations. As a side benefit doing this exercise takes you off the earying hamster wheel of feeling bad about the relationship and also trying to convince yourself that you really do love this daughter-in-law and that you’re treating everyone equally. Once you free yourself from the dissonance and the guilt, you will be much more open to improving the relationship. TheAlter even adds that the finished p oduct is often better when a person approaches the relationship through intellect, since when we relate with intuitive emotion, we may be led to do what we want to do, like, “I need to give you a kiss!” When, however, we go by seichel, our giving is much more fine-tuned to fulfilling the other person’s true needs, and it can save us from potential pitfalls such as unhealthy enmeshment. This is t ue not only for children-in-law but for our relationships with our children as well. In trying to figu e out each daughterin-law’s love language, we segue right into the issue of unequal giving, as the daughter-in-law writes in her diamond watch

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story. Since people have different love languages, the intuitive mother-in-law will communicate with each one differently, meaning that she will manifest her love and caring in different ways. Th daughter-in-law who feels extra special when she gets invited for Shabbos can get more frequent invitations, while the one who loves being pampered by leaving her kids with the shvigger so she can get away with her husband for Shabbos will get that need met. Yet a third daughter-inlaw whose love language is gifts will get a new sweater as a surprise when the mother-in-law finds ne on sale. Each one is receiving love, but it doesn’t have to look exactly the same for everyone. On the contrary, this method ensures that everyone feels thought about and understood. Of course, on certain occasions when everyone’s getting something material, like on Chanukah, for example, even the daughter-in-law who prefers words of affirmation as her love language should get a physical gift along with everyone else. But in keeping with understanding individual needs, it’s fine or the motherin-law to give the intellectual daughterin-law a book, the balebusta a hand mixer, and the fashionista an eye-shadow palette; it doesn’t have to be one-size-fit all! The oal is for each daughter-in-law to feel that you understand and connect with her through whatever feels right for her. This c eates a beautiful culture where each of the daughters-in-law feels appreciated and special and knows that her mother-in-law invests in her. The same oes for Shabbos invitations. The e are some couples who prefer to spend one-on-one adult time rather than coming for Shabbos together with other couples. For them, you can invite them out for a midweek coffee date or for a Tuesday-night dinner when the house is quiet and you can devote your attention solely to them. It doesn’t have to be that you take out the calendar and block off

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You don’t have to take out the calendar and block off very fourth week for each couple in order to be “fair and square.” every fourth week for each couple in order to be “fair and square.” In this way, we actually kill two birds with one stone: we take away jealousy by nurturing “nosei b’ol,” and we also remove the competition entirely simply because no one can take inventory! Everyone is getting something customized and individual. I want to address the issue of jealousy from a different angle. The e are certain people who are wired from a young age to be more jealous. It’s just their personality, their natural inclination—they’re the two-year-olds who peek into their friends’ party bags to see what they got. But sometimes you have a person who is not ordinarily jealous and suddenly she find herself in a situation where she’w activated, much like “Malka in the Middle” describes. In a case like this, it’s kedai to take a step back and evaluate the situation. What’s popping up here? Could it be that there is someone in this picture who is trying to cause some kind of drama or conflict The e are some people—mothers-in-law and daughters-in-law included—who have a deep and often subconscious need to get people activated. Is that what’s happening here? The f ct is that a troop of daughters-inlaw are sitting in their shvigger’s living room, quibbling over her unfairness after she has showered them with jewelry,

presents, and houses, and has fl wn them in to Switzerland for Yom Tov! So what—or who—is the real problem here? The fact is that when there is a dysfunctional person in the picture, whether they have a personality disorder or an inferiority complex or something else, it is not usually helpful to try to change them. Th y’re usually the ones who think they don’t have the problem, and if you give them mussar, then you become part of the problem. Instead, it’s best to change your reaction to them. How do you do this? Well, dysfunctional people need boundaries. These an be external, such as avoiding their company or walking away from them if they’re talking about something you don’t want to be roped into. In the case of the daughters-in-law, however, if Malka doesn’t want to create a scene, she can make an internal boundary for herself. She can decide, “I might have to sit here because I can’t get up and leave under the circumstances, but I have decided to be samei’ach b’chelki. I appreciate what Hashem has given me, and I’m doing whatever I can do to be a bigger person. Th y can talk about whatever they want to talk about, but it’s not affecting me.” This is essentialy what parents do with an exhausted toddler in the midst of a tantrum; they let him kick and scream but they don’t get roped into it.

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NAVIGATING THE NEWLYWEDS

Even further, Malka can simply get up off the cou h, pick up a broom and start to sweep the living room quietly and unobtrusively, modeling a totally different perspective than her griping sisters-in-law, which might even strike their conscience. When her mother-in-law comes into the room, she can make her a cup of tea, conveying that her attitude is one of gratitude. She can even call up her sisters-in-law before Yom Tov and brainstorm with them about what they can buy for their mother-in-law if they all chip in for something—not in a goodygoody type of way, just in a casual, “let’s all do something nice” tone. I must mention here the general role reversal that has taken place in our society today, which creates this narcissistic point of view. The mo e kids are supported by their parents and are given to, the more these problems come up. In earlier generations, kids didn’t get so much from their parents, and they weren’t so jealous of each other. If you go back to the basic halachos of kibbud av va’eim, what does it say? I’m supposed to take my parents in, bring them out, feed them, wine them and dine them. Yes, that’s the basic halachah of what children are supposed to do for parents! But today, it’s totally the opposite—children feel parents are here to serve them! The mo e we get stuck in a convoluted picture of entitlement, the more unhappy we become. When a daughter-in-law enters her mother-in-law’s house, she’s supposed to be feel like a nurse coming to work. When she enters the ward, she doesn’t say, “I wonder if they’re going to think my little white outfit is cut ” or “I hope someone bought me a present today!” When you’re around an older person like your parents or parents-in-law, you are that nurse—you are there to serve. The daughter-in-law an say, “But I have a baby—she doesn’t!” Yes, she had babies and raised them faithfully for many years. Now she deserves a rest.

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When a nurse enters the ward, she doesn’t say, “I hope someone bought me a present today!” This is ourmesorah! Children are there to serve parents, not the opposite. The mo e we switch roles, the angrier we get at our parents and the lower the kibbud av va’eim. And if you say, “Well, she’s not my mother; she’s his mother,” just realize that you actually stand to gain doubly here—by being mechabed your mother-in-law, you’re also mechabed your husband. Bonus reward! I want to address the issue of people with “special needs.” The e are some daughters-in-law who are more complicated and seem to have needs that have to be accommodated more than others. Th first step is to make su e that this kind of daughter-in-law is having her needs met and that the relationship is nurtured. But we cannot allow our nurturing of her to come at the cheshbon of anyone else. We have to be careful not to become terrorized by one person’s needs. For example, if you have one upscale guest room and this daughter-in-law would really like to have it every time she comes, it’s a problem and will make the other daughters-in-law resentful. To address tactfully, you can tell her, “Chaya’le, I wish I could give you the nice bedroom. I was so happy to give it to you last time, but Dassy just had a baby and she needs some extra TLC.” Speak without anger and with a positive slant, but set a boundary that

makes it clear this person cannot get preferential treatment every single time. Another wonderful tactic that creates shalom among sisters-in-law, especially where one is more needy, is to ask her help in taking care of another daughterin-law. “Chaya’le, it’s Dassy’s birthday next week. We had the party for you last time at the bagel place. Did you like it? Do you think we should do the same thing for Dassy, or should we do something different for her?” This puls jealous people in by graciously asking their advice about nurturing others. In closing, I would like to say a few words to the daughters-in-law on Malka’s account. Please be a little more mature here and try to widen your perspective on your mother-in-law. Can’t you realize that there’s a lot going on for her here? You don’t know how difficu the mechutanim are, the pressures she’s under; there are so many factors that are potentially in play. The e’s so much self-absorption, but most likely what’s going on has absolutely nothing to do with you. Focus on being grateful and enjoying each other’s company, and then you will truly be able to enjoy all the many gifts you have been given! Gut Yom Tov and hatzlachah rabbah to everyone! l

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FEATURE // The Father She Left Behind

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REBBETZIN SHULAMIS VOLPE SHARES HOW HER MOTHER’S LOVE AND PARTING WORDS SAVED HER DURING THE HOLOCAUST BY RECHY FRANKFURTER

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FEATURE // Child in Hiding

ebbetzin Volpe was a young child, barely six, when she found herself alone in the world, wandering through the forests and villages of Lithuania, trying to stay alive. She not only survived, but she later married and became the eishes chaver of Rav Yaakov Yehoshua Volpe, rosh yeshivah and rosh kollel of Yeshivas Ashkelon, and she was a prominent and influential high school principal for many years. She raised a beautiful family, four daughters and one son, all klei kodesh. Rebbetzin Volpe is a much-sought-after speaker and is invited almost weekly to share her wisdom and inspiration with women and girls. Rebbetzin Volpe is one of the three daughters of the illustrious Reb Aryeh Malkiel Friedman and his wife, Sarah Yehudis, of Memel (Klaipeda), Lithuania. (The other two daughters are Rebbetzin Rochel Sarna and Rebbetzin Rishel Kotler, a”h.) Although her father was a brilliant talmid chacham, Reb Aryeh Malkiel chose not to be a rav; instead, he became a very successful businessman and askan. Her mother, Sarah Yehudis, was a paragon of chesed who was involved in chinuch habanos throughout Lithuania. Recently I had the great zechus to meet Rebbetzin Volpe in her Bnei Brak home. She was gracious enough to share her incredible and mesmerizing story.

Rebbetzin Volpe’s story is a tale of perseverance and triumph, as well as the enduring influence of a mother’s love. “I was three years old when my mother took me along with her on a trip to Telz,” is how she begins her incredible experience during the Holocaust. “We were supposed to be there for a day or two to help a bachur get released from the Russian army. My mother spoke Russian pretty well, so they thought she could help. But while we were there, the Germans invaded Lithuania and we couldn’t get out.” Little three-year-old Shulamis and her

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mother were stuck in Telz and were driven into the ghetto along with the rest of the Jews of Telz. Although she was very young, the Rebbetzin’s memories of that time are very vivid. “A person cannot forget the kind of things I witnessed. I saw the Nazis herd the men into the shul, along with the rav, and then burn it down. They went to their deaths singing ‘Ashreinu Mah Tov Chelkeinu.’” If witnessing something like that wasn’t horrific enough, the Rebbetzin experienced

the horror herself. “We children were then taken to the woods to be murdered and tossed into pits. The Nazis didn’t want to waste bullets on ‘Jewish vermin,’ so they lined us up and tried to shoot a few at a time. Our mothers were forced to stand there and watch as their children were being killed. My mother saw that I had survived, so she pulled me out of the pit after the Nazis left.” This happened in July. By Chanukah there were rumors that the ghetto was going to be liquidated and all the women and children would be killed. On the last night

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WHEN SHULAMIS’ MOTHER SAW WHAT HAPPENED, SHE BECAME VERY FRIGHTENED. WHAT SHE DID NEXT DEFIES IMAGINATION. of Chanukah her mother arranged for the rav’s daughters, along with Shulamis and a cousin, to escape from the ghetto together. But before they left, Shulamis’ mother lit Chanukah licht in potatoes. “We ran to a youth who worked for a local priest, hoping that he would hide us. He brought us to a ruined building on the property of a monastery, but when the priest found out, he threatened to inform the Gestapo. The youth helped us escape again, but this time he took us to a mountaintop that was covered in ice and snow. We hid there for about a month and a half. There were four girls with us. One was my cousin Adina Sher, who later married Rav Dov Landau, and the other girls were sisters.” Unfortunately, the sisters froze to death. When Shulamis’ mother saw what had happened, she became very frightened. What she did next defies imagination. She cut her hand with a knife and made Shulamis drink her blood to warm her. She also made Shulamis and her cousin drink urine because it was warm. Till today, the memory of her mother’s sacrifice is seared into her consciousness. “Whenever I do something wrong bein adam lachaveiro, I always see my mother’s finger pointing down at me from shamayim with her blood on it, as if to accuse me: ‘Is this why I gave you my blood?’” While Rebbetzin Volpe’s recollections of her mother’s method of chinuch are few, they are so powerful that they made her the person she is today and influenced the way she believes that all children should be raised. “One day we were walking in the ghetto when a German suddenly jumped out of his jeep in the middle of the road. We were freezing because it was snowing and it was very cold. He was wearing good boots and gloves and walked over to a random

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FEATURE // Child in Hiding

Yid and, just like that, beat him to away. Years before, my father’s father death. I told my mother that I was had helped a priest named Dr. Venckus very scared and wanted to run away, by giving him money. My mother but she said that we had to remain decided to send me to that priest, where we were. We mustn’t let on that hoping that he would be able to send we’re afraid, she explained. When I me to a non-Jewish family that would told her again that I was frightened, be willing to hide me. To smuggle me out of the ghetto, I had to be hidden she held my hand very tightly. That gave me koach. Suddenly I was no among the people who were permitlonger afraid. Why should I be afraid ted to leave the ghetto every day to if my mother was with me? go to work. “The German calmly pulled off his “As we walked towards the ghetto gloves, got back into his vehicle and gates, my mother made me walk in drove off. My mother went over to front of her so I wouldn’t see her the body of the person who had just crying, and she then explained what been killed. I didn’t want to look, but would happen next, ‘Listen, my dear she said to me, ‘My child, may you child. From now on you will no longer always be among those who are beaten be Shulamis; your name is Maryta, rather than those who give the beatand I will not be your mother. You will be taken to another woman who ings.’ What was she trying to teach will be your mother. You must listen me? She was telling me, ‘Don’t think to her. But I want to tell you somethat it’s good to be a goy because he Rebbetzin Volpe’s mother’s leichter, found after the war has food and warmth and a home, while you have to run from place to place.’ She wanted me to know that no matter how much I would suffer, I should always know it’s better to be a Yid. These words carried me through the next few years. “These days, we shield our children from anything that’s frightening,” Rebbetzin Volpe tells me. I can see that she is very passionate about this subject. “We protect our children much too much. We don’t take them to batei kevarot or talk to them about murdered in the Ninth Fort massacres of thing you must remember your entire life: death because they won’t be able to sleep 1941, the first systematic mass killings of You are a Jewish child. “‘Listen to me carefully. Never despair. at night. That’s not chinuch, that’s spoiling, Jews during the Holocaust. which is the worst thing you can do. When Eventually Shulamis and her mother Nothing is ever completely locked. If the my mother wanted me to look at a dead made their way to the Kovno Ghetto. It door is locked, look for the window. If the person, I knew I had to look. Today, mothers was there that her mother found out that window is locked, look for another exit. don’t strengthen their children. They shield her husband had been killed. But it was Hakadosh Baruch Hu is with you. Try to find them from everything. They don’t give their also there that Shulamis and her mother an escape, and you will be saved.’ daughters the koach to be strong.” were reunited with Shulamis’ sister Rochel. “With those words I was sent on my way Shulamis and her mother continued to Rochel, however, was very sick. And as the in life, with the emunah and bitachon that run from one place to the next until they Rebbetzin relates, all of their lives were in if my mother said so, it must be true, and arrived in the Shavel [Siauliai] ghetto. Her grave danger. that nothing is ever impossible. Even when mother wanted to try to find her husband, “One day there were rumors that the things look bleak there is always something not knowing that he had already been children would be rounded up and taken you can do. Just look for a solution. If you’re

SHULAMIS’ MOTHER WANTED TO TRY TO FIND HER HUSBAND, NOT KNOWING THAT HE HAD ALREADY BEEN MURDERED.

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FEATURE // Child in Hiding

Reb Aryeh Malkiel Friedman

very big. That was the last time I saw her, looking out through the keyhole. The priest later explained that he didn’t let her in because he was afraid I would cry too much when she left. What did he think—that I wasn’t crying anyway? How I cried and cried! “The priest hid me in a house where I had to hide under the floorboards under the bed. I wasn’t allowed to go outside. Every few days the priest would send a nun to bring me some food, which she would do by sticking her hand under the floorboard.”

The Rebbetzin then describes how she kept herself sane. Even though she was very young, she understood that the only thing she had was the Ribbono Shel Olam. “I would speak to Hashem and say, ‘If You like me, send me food; and if You don’t like me, why not?’ I would ask Him what I had done wrong. I would also make believe that I was talking to my parents and sisters, pretending that each of my fingers was a different person. One finger was my father, one was my mother, there was one for each of my sisters and the rest were cousins. I would tell them stories and make believe that they answered, and we would have conversations. This is what prevented me from collapsing. I told them that I was very sad and explained how hard it was to be under the bed all day long. I was always talking, either to the Ribbono Shel Olam or my relatives.” Shulamis was so miserable that one day she ran away and made her way back to the priest, who just placed her elsewhere. When she walked into her new home, the family was sitting at the table eating dinner. The head of the household then pointed to everything on the table and around the house and boasted, “Everything we have here we took from Jews.” As the Rebbetzin says, “I was an outspoken and precocious child, so I told him, ‘I’m also a Jew.’ ‘A Jew?’ he shouted. ‘I’m going straight to the Gestapo to tell them.’ I quickly ran outside and escaped to the forest.

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caught, don’t just sit and wait for the Nazis to shoot you. Look for a way to escape.” Her mother then gave her a kiss and promised that she would come to visit her. The image of a mother giving up her child to a stranger is so heartbreaking that I wonder what was going on in the little girl’s mind. The Rebbetzin explains: “I was very young, so I didn’t fully understand what my mother was telling me. All I knew was that she was sending me away. I heard later that my mother told the priest not to dare try baptizing me. The priest was very superstitious and believed in all kinds of spirits and demons, so she told him, ‘If, G-d forbid, you ever try to baptize my daughter, I will go to the Heavenly Throne. With one hand I will hold onto it, and with the other I will grab you and drag you through the entire city of Kovno.’ My mother had this koach. She spoke with such confidence that the priest believed anything she said. “My sister Rochel brought me to the priest, and she was sometimes able to visit me. I would cry to her that I wanted to see our mother. Finally, one day the priest said, ‘You know what? I’m going to allow her to come tomorrow.’ My mother put on a big shawl so her yellow star wouldn’t be visible and came to see me, but the priest wouldn’t let her in. I was able to see what was going on because the keyholes in Lithuania were

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FEATURE // Child in Hiding

“I COULD ALWAYS HEAR MY MOTHER’S WORDS RINGING IN MY EARS: ‘YOU’RE GOING TO SURVIVE. YOU’RE GOING TO MAKE IT THROUGH THE WAR.” THAT WAS THE ONLY THING THAT GAVE ME THE KOACH TO THINK THAT I WOULD TRULY MAKE IT.” “From then on I would alternate between hiding in the forest and in the homes of different non-Jews. At night, as I lay on the cold, wet earth, I would ask the Eibershter to send down a big leaf to cover me because it was very cold. I was very hungry. At night I would sneak into people’s houses and farms to see if there was a piece of potato or at least some potato peels to eat; there was never any bread. By then I was six years old. Sometimes I would knock on doors and ask for work. I took care of pigs and cleaned chicken coops. I did anything I was asked so I could receive a piece of bread.” The Rebbetzin then shares what kept her going. “I could always hear my mother’s words ringing in my ears: ‘You’re going to survive. You’re going to make it through the war.’ That was the only thing that gave

me the koach to think that I would truly make it.” *** The Rebbetzin then relates a story that is so shocking that I wondered if it should be included. But the lesson she learned that day was so powerful that she spent the rest of her life imparting it to her children, grandchildren and students. “There was one period of time when I stayed in a barn and slept with a goat. The priest would send the owner of the farm food for me, but sometimes he forgot to bring it and I was often hungry. The goat would go outside and come back smelling of the outdoors, and I would hug it. The goat was my best friend and I drank its milk. One day, when I was especially hungry, I looked at the goat droppings and

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told myself that they looked a little bit like chocolate. So I told myself that they were chocolate my mother had sent for me. And what could be better than chocolate and milk? So that’s what I did. Whenever I was starving I ate the droppings. “I learned then that a person can decide whatever he or she wants to do about any situation. If you decide that something is chocolate, then it becomes chocolate. You have the power to determine if it’s raining or someone is spitting at you. It’s entirely up to you. I made the choice that it was chocolate. “I stayed with that farmer until I overheard a neighbor telling him that he knew that he was hiding a Jewish girl, so I had to flee again into the woods. “Eventually I met up with a partisan and begged him to take me with him to his camp. I told him that I would do any work they needed, but he wasn’t interested in having a small child underfoot. ‘I can’t take a little child,’ he said, ‘but I can teach you how to survive in the forest.’ He showed me which mushrooms were edible and which were poisonous, and he also taught me about the wild fruit that grew in the forest. “I was six years old, spending the nights under the trees. I would lie there and think to myself, Hashem, please don’t make it cold tonight. I don’t want to be cold. I’m afraid of the cold. And please give me something to eat. Hashem, do You love me? If You love me, I want to see that You love me. Give me something to eat.”

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FEATURE // Child in Hiding

Shulamis always ended up going back to the priest. He couldn’t understand why she kept running away from the homes in which he placed her. The Rebbetzin shares another one of her wartime experiences. “One of the Lithuanian women I stayed with used to hit me with a rolled-up towel. It was a nightly ritual, and she would tell me that I deserved it because my mother had killed J—. I would think to myself, Why did my mother start up with J—? Why did she kill him? I couldn’t imagine my mother doing something like that. And I’d say, ‘Are you sure? And everyone is suffering because my mother killed him?’ Afterwards, whenever I met a Jewish person, my first question was, ‘Why did my mother kill J—?’ “When the Russians started dropping bombs in our area, this woman handed me a white kerchief and tied me to a tree while she and everyone else ran into the forest to hide. She expected me to alert the pilot by waving the white flag. The Lithuanian peasants were certainly evil, but also very primitive. Imagine thinking that a pilot on a bombing run would be able to see a small child holding a white kerchief and then talk to the child long enough so she could convince him not to drop a bomb!” Things continued this way until one day Shulamis started feeling sick. She went back to the priest and promptly collapsed. The priest realized that she had typhus and had her admitted into a Catholic hospital where there were a lot of Jews hiding out as doctors and nurses. But as Shulamis relates, it was a constant battle to cheat death. “One day, someone alerted the Nazis to the fact that there were Jews hiding there. I was in a room that had a sign posted saying that no one was allowed to enter for fear of infection, but I was able to hear Yidden in the hospital screaming ‘Shema Yisrael’ as the Nazis rounded them up. It was at that moment I remembered my mother’s words telling me that I had to do

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everything I could to live. I summoned the director of the hospital, who was a very devout Catholic, and told him that I wanted to speak to my priest. The director thought that I wanted to convert just before dying. When the priest came and sat down with me, he held my hand and told me to close my eyes. When the Nazis got to my room they were afraid to come in, so they just moved on to the next one. After that, the priest took me to a convent. “One day the nuns took me to church and told me I had to pray, but I didn’t know what to ask for. I didn’t have any shoes, so I decided to ask J— for shoes. Everyone heard me say, ‘J—, give me shoes. J—, give me shoes.’ When we got back to our rooms, the other girls all said that I had mocked J—. The dorm mother locked me into a room on the third floor and said she was going to call the Gestapo, because I was clearly not a Catholic. After all, how could I make fun of J—? Again, I remembered my mother’s words to do everything I could to save myself, so I opened the window and saw a high wall surrounding the convent. But how could I get down from the third floor? Then I noticed a wide gutter, so I grabbed onto it and shimmied all the way down, after which I ran back to the priest. “The priest was very frustrated that I had

come back, so I told him the whole story. When he asked me why I had mocked J—, I explained that I hadn’t mocked him; I just wanted shoes. So he gave me a pair of shoes and then placed me in an orphanage. It was there that I met my cousin Adina. She had been there for the previous three years, pretending that she was mute because she couldn’t speak any Lithuanian. We were careful not to talk to each other when someone might see us. Eventually two other frum girls arrived along with another cousin, whose fingers had to be amputated because of frostbite.” In the summer of 1944, the Russians liberated Lithuania. Adina and the other girls wanted to leave the orphanage. But by then, says the Rebbetzin, “I really wasn’t up to it. I didn’t have the strength anymore, and I also didn’t know if there would be Jews anywhere. But we ended up going to Kovno, where we had to register our names in case any family member came looking for us. We were given an apartment by the Joint [Distribution Committee].” In those days, Lithuania was under Stalin’s rule. People weren’t allowed to travel from city to city without a permit, which no one had, so each night people would just escape. No one wanted to live under the Communists. Incredibly, among all this

WHEN THE RUSSIANS STARTED DROPPING BOMBS IN OUR AREA, THIS WOMAN HANDED ME A WHITE KERCHIEF AND TIED ME TO A TREE WHILE SHE AND EVERYONE ELSE RAN INTO THE FOREST TO HIDE

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FEATURE // Child in Hiding

chaos, the two little girls were fending for themselves. “I was seven by then and Adina was eight, and we had a four-room apartment. We got food and other items from the Joint. But we would also take the packages that were being sent to the address of Adina’s aunt, Rebbetzin Shulman, who we knew had already fled. We would then go to the marketplace to sell the goods, and in the afternoon we would buy ice cream with our profits, after which we’d sneak onto the trains and ride around without paying.” The Rebbetzin talks about these escapades with a twinkle in her eye. It is this joie de vivre that is so remarkable. Unfortunately, despite the fact that the war was now over, she and her cousin Adina were still very much in danger. “One day, we were joyriding as usual when we suddenly overheard a peasant woman telling the conductor, “Those girls are my daughters, but they don’t want to work. When I get off at my stop, please grab them by the hair and make sure they get off with me.” For Shulamis, this only underscored how truly alone in the world she was. “I can’t describe the feeling that you don’t belong to anyone, and a total stranger can come along and say you belong to her because you don’t have any documentation. I looked at Adina and said, ‘This is the end of the world. No one is ever going to come looking for us.’ “Then Adina had an idea. ‘I know a way to prove she’s lying,’ she said. ‘I have a scar on my back from a burn. I’ll ask her what it looks like.’ Well, that might have worked for Adina, but by then I hadn’t seen my body in three years; that’s how long it had been since the last time I bathed. ‘I don’t know what I look like,’ I told her. ‘What should I ask? I don’t have any identifying marks.’ “In the end we decided that our only recourse was to jump off the train, even if it meant that we would die. We just couldn’t allow ourselves to become that woman’s

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A WWII-era bunker in Memel (Klaipeda), Lithuania

slaves. So we jumped off the train and survived. We ran and ran until we realized that we weren’t being chased, so we stopped to take stock of our situation. Not having papers was a big problem, and with no one around to vouch for us, we were fair game for anyone who tried to claim us as their

own. After that, we stopped riding the trains. We were also too afraid to walk on the streets, because every time a peasant looked at us we thought we were going to be kidnapped. “One day, we noticed that two rabbanim didn’t have socks. They were walking around

I WILL NEVER FORGET HOW ADINA CONVINCED ME TO GO. SHE SAID, ‘SHULAMIS, JUST THINK ABOUT IT. THERE WILL BE SOMEONE THERE WHO WILL SAY, “A GUTTE NACHT, KINDERLACH.’”

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FEATURE // Child in Hiding

I WAS ALONE ON THE STREETS OF PARIS AT THE AGE OF NINE WITH NO KNOWLEDGE OF THE LANGUAGE, LET ALONE FAMILY OR FRIENDS. with schmattes on their feet while we were selling good American socks, so we decided to give them a present for Shabbos. On Motzaei Shabbos they came to our apartment to ask us how we’d gotten them. We tried to hide the shelves full of goods, but they saw everything and put two and two together and realized that we needed supervision. They decided to send us to a place where there was a woman who could take care of us. I didn’t want to go because I didn’t want someone telling me what to do. After all I’d been through, I didn’t need anyone to tell me when to eat and when to sleep.” The Rebbetzin then says something that crystallizes the pain of any orphan. “I will never forget how Adina convinced me to go. She said, ‘Shulamis, just think about it. There will be someone there who will say, “A gutte nacht, kinderlach.’” She didn’t say that someone would give us food and take care of us; we were already doing that for ourselves. We ended up going to the new place, and every night Adina would say, ‘She’s coming soon to cover us with a blanket and say, “A gutte nacht, kinderlach.’” We would hold each other’s hands, and Adina would say, ‘You see? It was worth it.’” From Kovno, Shulamis and Adina were taken by truck with some other Yidden to Vilna, and from there they set out for Lodz, in Poland. But someone informed on them, and they were caught by the Russians while trying to cross the border. They were ar-

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rested by the NKVD and forced to stand all night with their hands up in the air. In the middle of the night the Russians separated the children from the adults and announced that the children would be sent to White Russia while the adults would go to Siberia. Everyone was crying. In the middle of all that chaos, the Rebbetzin and her cousin decided to escape. There was a

boy with them who was familiar with Vilna and knew how to get to the home of the shammes, so they all climbed out the window. Shulamis remembers telling everyone to walk with their heads down so no one would see that they had dark eyes, which was a sure giveaway. The Jews of Vilna were terrified of the Communists. With Jews constantly being caught for trying to escape, everyone was in danger of being implicated. So when Shulamis and her little group got to the home of the shammes in the middle of the night, his daughter tried to slam the door in their faces. But Shulamis hadn’t survived this long to be deterred. The little girl put her foot in the doorway and wouldn’t let the woman close it. She describes what happened next. “When I looked inside, I saw an old Yid with a white beard sitting at the table. I

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FEATURE // Child in Hiding

FOR THE NEXT WEEK SHULAMIS WENT TO THE PORT EACH MORNING, UNTIL ONE DAY SHE NOTICED THE WHOLE FAMILY—THE MAN, HIS WIFE AND HIS DAUGHTER—ALL ON THE BOAT. SHULAMIS KNEW SHE HAD TO ACT. said, ‘Zaidele, please come here.’ When he came to the door I asked him, ‘How old are you?’ ‘Seventy,’ he replied. ‘Seventy? All of us are younger than ten. I never learned any math, but who has more to lose, we or you? He said, ‘You children.’ Within five minutes we were all split up and hidden in different places. Tragically, someone informed on him and he was sent to Siberia.” Eventually Shulamis ended up in Prague. She describes how almost every night she would hear people screaming that a pogrom was imminent. While they were there, someone showed up to claim Adina. Apparently her grandfather had sent him, but Adina refused to go anywhere without Shulamis, so he brought both of them to Paris. As the Rebbetzin tells the next part of her story, it is clear that she is still pained by it. “The person who was taking Adina didn’t tell us this, but he only had one certificate to bring a child to Israel. The night before the ship was supposed to leave, he told Adina the name she had to assume that was on her new papers. She sat up all night in bed repeating it to herself. But when I asked him what my new name would be he was evasive. ‘We’ll see,’ he said. When

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we got to the ship he boarded it with Adina and left me behind. When Adina realized what was happening, she kicked and screamed and tried to get off, but they wouldn’t let her. “This was the worst klop, when my cousin was taken to Eretz Yisrael and I wasn’t. But I persevered anyway,” says the Rebbetzin. “I was alone on the streets of Paris at the age of nine with no knowledge of the language, let alone family or friends. I had suffered terribly at the hands of goyim, but the feeling of having been abandoned by a Yid was the worst in the world. But at least I had the Eibershter. He might have taken my father away, but he was still my Tatte. “As I was standing there with no idea what to do, a teenage girl approached me and said, ‘I work for the Sochnut [ Jewish Agency]. Here are some ration cards for you to use to buy things.’ The person who had rescued Adina had arranged it. I asked her where I would sleep, but no one had thought about that. Then she had an idea. ‘In the Sochnut office there are a lot of clothes that people have donated for the refugees. Go there and make a mattress out of some of them and hang up a few more for privacy.’ So I did that every night, and every morning I’d go to the port to see if

anyone would be willing to take me to Eretz Yisrael. I begged people and told them I’d work for a pittance, but no one so much as looked at me.” Shulamis was a resilient and resourceful child who was determined to get to Eretz Yisrael. “My next idea was to go to the kosher restaurant and attract attention by yelling and threatening to jump off the roof. I figured that if people heard me, one of them might agree to take me along with them. It turned out that a very rich family from Brazil was eating in the restaurant. When they saw a little girl crying and screaming, they called me over to their table. They fed me and promised that they would take me to Eretz Yisrael. I said, ‘Do you really promise? Because other people have said the same thing and didn’t follow through.’ The man said, ‘Yes, I promise.’” For the next week Shulamis went to the port each morning, until one day she noticed the whole family—the man, his wife and his daughter—all on the ship. Shulamis knew she had to act. “I yelled up and called him a liar. You have to understand that I was a totally uncivilized street urchin fighting for my life. The man replied, ‘What can I do? I couldn’t get a certificate for you.’ But I refused to give up and kept screaming that he had given me his word. Eventually he sent down his daughter—who was very young and pretty and wore a lot of gold jewelry—to tell the guard that I was her poor cousin, and she wanted to show me what a ship looked like. The guard let me board and I went to their cabin.” The man, whose name was Mr. Cohen, explained to Shulamis that his hands were tied because the ship was a cruise ship. Everything was being done legally. All of the passengers were rich people going on a cruise to Anatolia, with a stop in Eretz Yisrael. “Mr. Cohen said, ‘Maideleh, what can we do? We don’t have a certificate for you.’ But I was horrified by the prospect

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FEATURE // Child in Hiding

of being alone again, and I would stop at nothing to make him take me along. ‘Do you care about me?’ I asked him. ‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘In that case, take the clothing out of this trunk and put me inside.’ “Mr. Cohen and his wife just looked at each other. ‘Throw the clothing into the sea,’ I dared him. I wanted to see how much he was really willing to give up for me. For so many years I had wanted to belong to someone, desperate for the feeling that I was worth something. Something remarkable then happened. Mr. Cohen removed one of his wife’s beautiful scarves and threw it out the window. He then took out the rest of the clothing, made holes in the trunk and hid me inside it. “I stayed in the trunk all day long. I was very seasick and couldn’t stop vomiting. At night Mr. Cohen would take me out, and his wife and daughter would wash me. They would allow me to sleep in a bed, but in the morning I had to go back into hiding. I spent a total of 13 days in the trunk. Mr. Cohen would sit next to it during the day, telling me stories and singing songs to entertain me. Then one day, I could hear the passengers rejoicing that we had arrived at the Port of Haifa. We had finally made it to Eretz Yisrael.” But Shulamis still faced a major hurdle; she describes what happened next. “When we arrived in Haifa, an Arab came on board to take all the luggage to the customs officials. When he picked up my trunk he realized that it was too heavy, and everyone was ordered off the ship for

Tents used as temporary housing for Jewish immigrants in Israel circa 1948

their safety. The trunk was put on a table and opened. They were all shocked when they saw a little girl all hunched up and crying. They immediately interrogated me and demanded to know who had put me there, but I told them that I couldn’t say because my mother had instructed me to never inform on anyone. They slapped me and asked me numerous times, but I refused to answer. “I remained on that ship for three long days while a lot of people tried to help me, including Rav Shneur Kotler, who was my sister Rishel’s chasan [they’d gotten engaged before the war], Rav Schapiro and Rav Moshe Tikuchinsky. They learned of my

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predicament because the police had sent a telegram to the person who had originally left me stranded in Paris, because I’d given them his name. “Every day, the police would come and try to get me to tell them who put me in the suitcase. A lot of journalists also tried to get my story, which was eventually published in the newspapers. The British wanted to send me back to France, but I told them I had no one there, and if they sent me I would jump into the ocean. After three days it was decided to incarcerate me in the Atlit detention camp, which wasn’t far from Haifa. I was there for six weeks.” As the Rebbetzin says, “What does a

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FEATURE // Child in Hiding

Street maps of pre-war Memel, with arrows pointing to the former home of the Friedmans

child like me do when she’s all alone in Atlit? I started doing crazy things, like picking up cigarette butts and making new cigarettes out of them. The way it worked was that anyone who went to the doctor was given a bread roll, so every day I would hurt myself and go to the doctor. After a few days of this, the doctor told me that I should just go to him every morning and he’d give me a roll.” Eventually, Rav Shneur came to the detention camp with his cousin, a son of Rav Meltzer who was the rav of Pardes Chanah, and Shulamis stayed with them for some time. But it was hard for her to adjust. As she puts it, “It didn’t go very well.” After that she stayed with Rav Chaim Kreiswirth in Yerushalayim. Rav Kreiswirth understood the mind of the lonely orphaned child who had survived alone in a forest. “Rav Chaim was a tzaddik just for the way he treated me. He took my hand and asked, ‘What can I do for you? What do you want?’ It was the first time that someone had ever asked me that. I was euphoric, but I didn’t know what to ask for. As we were

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walking hand in hand we passed an Arab who was polishing shoes, so I asked him if I could get my shoes polished. He didn’t laugh at my request; he just said yes. Then he took me to his house, where his wife’s two unmarried sisters, Rebbetzin Rivka Wolbe and Rebbetzin Leah Rosenberg (daughters of Rav Avraham Grodzinski), were already staying. We all slept along the width of two beds. We were in a room within a room. It wasn’t even an apartment, and he already had his own two children living there!” Rav Kreiswirth would put money into Shulamis’ purse every night. She stayed there until he found a position in America, at which point she had to find a new place. Fortunately, Shulamis had someone willing to help her. “Mr. Cohen, the person who had helped me get to Israel, offered to take care of all my financial needs. ‘I’m not frum,’ he said, ‘but I’m very wealthy, and I’ll pay for you to stay in a religious institution if that’s what you want.’ But when Rebbetzin Shulman found out she was horrified. ‘What?’ she said. ‘Her mother is going to

make a commotion in shamayim if that happens. She has to go to a proper home.’” So Shulamis went to stay with Rebbetzin Shulman, where Adina was already living. The Rebbetzin describes her state of mind at the time and what moving to another home meant to her. “I arrived at her house with a small bundle that contained all of my meager possessions. Rebbetzin Shulman pointed to a place where I could put my bundle down. I was all of ten years old, but I told her, ‘Before I put anything down we need to talk.’ ‘What do we need to talk about?’ she wanted to know. ‘First of all,’ I said, ‘I can’t call you Mommy because I have only one mother, and I can’t call you Tante because you aren’t my aunt. If that means that I can’t stay here, I’d rather know right now and I’ll leave.’ ‘No, wait!’ she said. ‘We’ll figure something out. What do you want to call me?’ ‘I want to call you by your name, Chaya Miriam,’ I told her. ‘But when I speak to your children I’ll say ‘di mama hut gezugt’ and ‘der tatte hut gezugt.’ “People often got upset when they heard me addressing her by name. ‘Is that the

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FEATURE // Child in Hiding

SHE HELD MY HAND VERY TIGHTLY; THAT GAVE ME KOACH. SUDDENLY I WAS NO LONGER AFRAID. WHY SHOULD I BE AFRAID IF MY MOTHER WAS WITH ME?” way a child speaks to her mother?’ they would admonish me.” The Rebbetzin relates an incident that reveals how fraught with emotion everything was. Her life was uncharted territory, both for her and those who were caring for her. “One day I did something silly together with Rebbetzin Shulman’s daughter. She gave her daughter a slap and wanted to slap me as well, but I told her that she wasn’t allowed to slap an orphan. She sat me down and said, ‘There are a lot of yesomim in the world and a lot of children with divorced parents. Being orphaned is a fact. That’s what the Eibershter did. Acting like a yesomah, however, is up to you. You can live your whole life as a poor orphan who needs everyone’s pity, or you can be a yesomah without anyone knowing about it.’ I sat there for a few minutes thinking it over before deciding, ‘I want to be a strong yesomah.’ After that, I never mentioned the fact that I was an orphan. The next time we did something that deserved a slap I told her I wanted one too, but she said, ‘No. I can’t slap a yesomah.’” For the Seder that first year, the Shulmans didn’t have enough room for everyone, so Rebbetzin Shulman told Shulamis that her future brother-in-law, Rav Shneur Kotler, would take her to the home of Rav Isser Zalman Meltzer—his grandfather—with whom Rav Shneur was staying. But Shulamis wasn’t happy with the arrangement.

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“I told her that I didn’t want to go with Rav Shneur. But Rav Isaac Sher, who was Adina’s grandfather and Rebbetzin Shulman’s father, said, ‘But he’s a gadol b’Yisrael!’ As I told you, I was a precocious child, so I mouthed off, ‘Big deal. Six million Jews were just killed; it’s not that hard to be a gadol b’Yisrael these days.’ ‘No,’ he clarified. ‘I meant that he would have been a gadol before the war as well.’ So I agreed to go with him, but Rav Shneur forgot that he was supposed to pick me up. “The time came, and I was sitting on a rock on Rechov Yonah. With nothing else to do, I watched all the Yerushalmi girls with their long braids, white socks and shiny patent leather shoes going to their houses for the Seder while I was sitting there crying. Finally, after what felt like a very long time but must have only been a few minutes, I saw someone running towards me; it was Rav Shneur. Right after making Kiddush he’d remembered and rushed to get me. That was my first ‘regular’ Seder.” Rebbetzin Volpe went on to attend Rav Wolf ’s school in Bnei Brak while continuing to live with the Shulmans. Rav Shulman was the rosh yeshivah of Slabodka, and he chose one of his bachurim for her to marry. As Shulamis relates, “I got married in the winter, and I remember that it was very cold. I was standing by the window, watching the rain come down, and I thought to myself, You have a roof, a home, a bed and a blanket—what could be better?”

But tragedy continued to stalk her. Not only did the Rebbetzin not have her mother or father at her chuppah, “My shvigger passed away a week before the chasunah,” she tells me. *** As the Rebbetzin finishes her incredible story, there are many thoughts going through my mind, but first and foremost I want to understand how a child who grew up totally on her own was able to overcome the challenges. Not only is she an eishes chaver to her chashuve husband, a prominent rosh yeshivah, but she also raised a family of bnei Torah and was a successful high school principal, and she remains a much sought-after inspirational speaker. The Rebbetzin tells me that for that I need to understand her parents and the home she came from. “My mother,” she explains, “was killed by the Germans not long before the end of the war. She had gone to hide with the partisans, but then someone informed on them and they were all killed except for one survivor, who wrote a letter about what happened. My mother was a very strong woman. Her chinuch was exceptional. We knew how much she loved us, and she knew that we loved her. Parents today spoil their children because they try to buy their children’s love. They aren’t secure. If my mother told us to eat dirt, we ate it, because we knew she loved us. And if she told me to look at a dead person, I looked, because I knew it was good for me. My mother is my guide to this very day. “Nowadays, parents won’t allow their children to see anything frightening because they’re afraid they’ll have nightmares. And would you believe that I’ve gotten late notes from mothers of 17-year-old girls apologizing that it was their fault their daughters were late? I once called one of these mothers and asked her what she’d done that made her daughter’s lateness her fault, and she said that they’d stayed out late the night before at a chasunah. ‘But how does that

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FEATURE // Child in Hiding

A letter from Rebbetzin Rochel (Friedman) Sarna to her sister, Rebbetzin Rishel Kotler, describing her wartime experiences and asking for help with ﬁnding their sister Shulamis

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make it your fault?’ I wanted to know. Everyone covers up for their children these days.” She then shares a story to illustrate the expectations her parents had of their daughters. “My sister Rishel once asked my mother for a new dress. Everyone in Lithuania was wearing floral dresses at the time and she wanted one too. My mother said no, but Rishel kept asking her. So eventually my mother gave in and brought a seamstress to the house and had one made. Rishel stood in front of the mirror and admired the dress, and she was very excited. Then my mother said, ‘Where exactly do you plan on wearing this dress? Next door there’s a poor person, further down is a house where they recently sat shivah, and Yidden are being beaten all the time.’ Rishel never wore that dress. She told me that later when she was in Shanghai and wanted to buy an article of clothing, she’d look at it and say, ‘Yidden are being killed in Europe and I’m going to buy a dress?’ That was the strength my mother passed on to all of us.

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“My father would bring all kinds of people home to sleep in our house. My sister Rishel was very clean, and one time she refused to give up her bed. My father told her, ‘If you don’t want to that’s fine,’ and he gave the person Rochel’s bed instead. The next day Rishel went to our father and said, ‘Please take my bed. I can’t sleep in it.’ But he refused, teaching her a powerful lesson: ‘For a mitzvah you need to have zechusim, and you lost the zechus by saying no.’ Rishel slept on the ground for the next month.” Throughout her life, the Rebbetzin has sought to emulate her parents’ values. “Before my oldest daughter got married, I met a poor woman and invited her to the wedding. She said that she would only come if I made schnitzel for her, so I told her I would. On the day of the chasunah she came to our house and asked for her schnitzel, so I asked my daughter the kallah to make it. She said, ‘Ima, I’m getting married today! How can I make schnitzel right now?’ I told her, ‘Wait a second. Your parents are accompanying you to the chuppah. I had strangers accompanying me. You’re marrying a good bachur and it’s a big simchah, and you still can’t make schnitzel for a poor woman?’ Rav Shneur happened to be in our house at the time, so I told him what happened. He then told me that when one of his daughters got married, our brother-inlaw, Rav Sarna, came to America for the chasunah. On the day of the wedding, he told Rav Shneur, ‘If I’m already here, I might as well collect money for the yeshivah, but I don’t have a driver.’ Rav Shneur told him, ‘The kallah will drive you. She needs a shomer, and you need a driver.’ She spent half a day driving him around. She protested at first, of course, but he told her that she could do everything else she needed to do after she was finished. These days, you can’t even talk to a kallah on the day of her chasunah.” I ask the Rebbetzin how long it took until she was reunited with her sisters Rebbetzin Rishel and Rebbetzin Rochel.

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FEATURE // Child in Hiding

A rooftop view of Bnei Brak

“I didn’t see Rochel again until 13 years after the war, when she came to live in Eretz Yisrael. And I didn’t see Rishel again until I was 23 years old! After I received the first reparations from Germany, I told my husband that I want to go to America to visit my sister. Our first meeting was very difficult. All of a sudden I was being shown a person, a total stranger, and told that she’s my sister. I didn’t really remember her from my childhood, and we’d had such very different lives. Yes, we had written each other letters, but I didn’t really know her. Rishel wanted to talk to me about my life, but I said, ‘You can’t just push me; it doesn’t work like that.’ I cried all night, regretting that I’d come, and I sent a letter back home saying that I wanted to go right back. But we later became very close, and I’m still quite close to all of her children. Whenever we make a simchah they come to join us. “While you’re living through such Gehinnom you don’t have a choice; you just put one foot in front of the other. But you later realize how losing your family is the worst thing that can happen in the world. I always tell my students not to look for places to go for entertainment; better they should go to their parents or grandparents, and for Yom Tov they should do everything they can to help them, because the family is our foun-

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dation. We don’t appreciate it when we have one, but when we don’t, we feel the lack very much. I always felt that whenever people did things for me I was a chesed project, and I didn’t want to be anyone’s chesed project.” The Rebbetzin then shares, “Every night I would tell the Eibershter that I wanted my mother for only half an hour. All I wanted was to put my head in her lap and cry, and then I would never cry again. “Whenever my students would complain about their mothers I’d say, ‘The Eibershter gives each child a specific mother, and He doesn’t make mistakes. If your mother punished you for doing something wrong, it must be that your actions punished her too, but in a different way. You are your mother’s daughter. Think about that for a minute.’ Then I’d add, ‘Go home and give your mother a kiss and say, “Ima, I’m so happy to be your daughter.”’” I ask the Rebbetzin when she began living a normative Torah life. Did she experience a sudden awakening for Yiddishkeit? “Adina and I knew that we were Yidden, but we didn’t really understand what it meant,” she replies. “Adina said krias Shema every night, but I didn’t. I even crossed myself. Recently, I walked into a jewelry store and saw something that looked like a tzeilem. When I pointed it out to the frum

store owner, he asked me, ‘Are you a giyoret?’ ‘No,’ I replied, ‘but it’s a tzeilem.’ ‘So why would you care?’ he wanted to know. ‘Because I was in a convent hiding from the Nazis, and I can’t tolerate seeing it.’ I’m very sensitive to these things. “After the war, when we were in the apartment by ourselves, we were living among Yidden, but no one so much as looked at us. Everyone was busy with their own problems. Can you imagine two little girls wandering the streets, selling socks on the black market, buying ice cream and running around on the trains? We would start cleaning the apartment on Sunday and finish on Friday right before Shabbos. We ate sunflower seeds all day long. We didn’t really know very much about anything.” *** I tell the Rebbetzin that her story and everything she has shared is very inspiring, but if she had to sum everything up, what message would she have for our readers? “Being a Yid is a great zechus. The Eibershter is always with us, and we have to teach our children strength and perseverance.” Meeting Rebbetzin Volpe is a zechus for which I will always be grateful, and I want to thank her niece, Rebbetzin Batsheva Krupenia, for introducing us and encouraging me not to miss the opportunity. l

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TRIP W a

FEATURE // The Father She Left Behind

A frum family embarks on

Sunset on the coast of El Nido, Philippines

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around the

WORLD the adventure of a lifetime BY CHANANYA BLEICH

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FEATURE // Around the World

wo weeks bef ore this past Rosh Hashanah, Dvori and Yisrael Pshednovak, both 31 years old and from Bnei Brak, boarded a fligh to Moscow for a connecting f light to Vietnam with their three young children: ten-year-old Ruti, fi e-year-old Yonatan and three-year-old Yael. The Pshednovaks were starting a tour around the world, a trip with no specific destinations or return date—an itinerary that was a work in progress. To date, it has certainly been fi led with interesting experiences—including giving birth far from home and family. “We wanted to do this before we had to worry about our children missing school,” Dvori says. Along with many other wandering Jews, they spent Rosh Hashanah at the Chabad House in Hoi An, Vietnam. Th y observed Yom Kippur in Cebu in the Philippines, and Sukkot found them in El Nido, located on the Philippine island of Palawan. But while the phenomenon of backpacking Israelis is nothing new, and Israelis are known for visiting some of the most remote locations in the world, what would prompt a frum family to duplicate the experience? Here’s their story.

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Before the Trip Dvori Pshednovak grew up in the Gerrer community of Bnei Brak. Her husband, Yisrael, also a Gerrer chasid, grew up in Ashdod. Th y were both 19 when they got married. Af ter living in Ashdod for six years, they moved to Bnei Brak around fi e years ago. “For the first year I learned in kollel,” Yisrael shares. “Af ter our first daughter was born and I had to make a living, I went to work at my parents’ factory in Ashdod.” Dvori worked as a professional child and family photographer. Theirfirst major trip as a couple was to

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FEATURE // Around the World

Yonatan near the Brooklyn Bridge

Before leaving on their world tour, the Pshednovaks sold their apartment in Bnei Brak. “We didn’t sell it to fund the trip,” Yisrael emphasizes. “We’d saved up enough money in advance. But it didn’t make economic sense to hold on to it, so we sold it and invested the money in a profitable venture. “When we first started making plans,” he continues, “I wanted to postpone our trip for a year or two so we could organize ourselves financia ly. But Dvori was getting antsy and I was feeling pressured at work, so we decided to go ahead and do it. You never know what the future holds anyway, and I really wanted to be able to enjoy my kids while they’re young. “We figu ed we’d need enough money f or a year, keeping our expenses to a minimum. We’re actually quite frugal. We have a predetermined amount of money we can spend, and if at some point we can’t generate additional passive income, we’ll call it quits and return to Israel.”

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THE PSHEDNOVAKS MAY STAY IN THE SAME PLACE FOR A DAY, TWO DAYS, A WEEK OR A MONTH BEFORE MOVING ON TO THE NEXT DESTINATION. Af ter several months of travel, Yisrael says, they already know their average monthly expenditure—$3,000 to $4,000— and they try very hard to keep it in that range, although it’s sometimes difficul “Our time in the Far East was very expensive because we visited several countries in a short time. Staying in New York was also expensive, but we’re doing our best to stay on budget.” Yisrael explains what he means by passive income. “We’re trying to make money through our website while we travel. [See sidebar at the end of the article.] I

hope that as it continues to get more hits, religious vacation companies will want to advertise on it. But the website still requires time and effort, even though it’s ‘passive income.’” Their itinerary remains undefined The family may stay in the same place for a day, two days, a week or a month before picking up and moving on to the next destination. “It’s only a general outline,” Yisrael says. “For example, we know that our tourist visa for the US expires in April, but we don’t know exactly where in America we’ll be visiting before we leave for Canada. Our

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FEATURE // Around the World

Ruti on the Norwegian coast

goal is to visit places of breathtaking beauty and experience other cultures. We always prefer to hike and be outdoors in nature than to visit tourist attractions that cost money. We don’t decide how long we’re going to remain in any given location until we get there. “Thechildren get very excited about each new place we stay, trying to decide if the accommodations are better or worse than the last. Th y run f rom room to room to discover what’s new and special about it. Truthfully, I’m always surprised that it still excites them. Th y love crossing borders and seeing new places, and they always want to know when we’ll be moving on to the next location. Th y also love to fl . It’s been three months since our last flight and they miss it.” Thefamily always spends Shabbos near a Jewish community. But what about the children’s schooling? “We’re home-schooling,” Dvori explains, “which is something we were looking into for a long time. The e are other people in the chareidi community who do it, too. But

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what we are doing—home-schooling while traveling—is certainly different! “We have a regular daily schedule even when we’re on the move. First we daven, after which each child has to review his or her required subjects, like reading or math, depending on age. It’s the same coursework that their f riends are covering in school. Yael, our three-year-old, is just starting to learn the alef-beis and numbers. And we do the parshat hashavua together as a family once a week. “Of course, aside f rom their studies, they’re also learning a lot f rom the trip itself. Thesekids have been to all kinds of

museums and natural attractions, and they’re learning a lot of English. Th y’re also acquiring important math skills and learning how much things cost because we’re constantly converting money f rom one currency to another. Yonatan is only fi e, but he compares dollars to the Israeli shekel and decides whether or not it’s worth it to buy a toy in America or wait until he gets home. The beauty of homeschooling is that children learn things both formally and informally, and we have great discussions.” “What about Jewish studies, like Mishnah and Gemara?” I ask.

“OUR GOAL IS TO VISIT PLACES OF BREATHTAKING BEAUTY AND EXPERIENCE OTHER CULTURES. WE PREFER TO HIKE AND BE OUTDOORS.”

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FEATURE // Around the World

Yonatan preparing for landing in the Philippines; Yael in Pennsylvania Amish country (left)

“WHEN WE FIRST STARTED OUT, I DIDN’T KNOW A SINGLE WORD OF ENGLISH. BUT I’VE COME A LONG WAY SINCE THEN.” “Yonatan is only fi e,” Yisrael replies. “If he were in cheder, he’d be learning how to read, repeating words from a page of Tehillim or the siddur. So we’re doing that, and we study them together. Then I had an idea to try to teach him words he can relate to in order to pique his interest. “Now he’s hooked. He even reads on his own. I told my wife, ‘You were right and I was wrong.’ I’d had a lot of doubts about this whole home-schooling business. But now we’re both happy, and Yonatan no longer considers reading to be a chore.” Interestingly, Dvori tells me that although Yisrael never learned English in any formal way, he is now the one who speaks it better. “If I have to tell somebody something in English, I make him do it.” Yisrael adds, “When we first started out, I didn’t know a single word of English. But

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when you’re traveling the world, you don’t have a choice if you ever want to rent a car or communicate with a clerk, so I jumped right in and did my best. In the beginning I had to use a lot of hand gestures, but I’ve come a long way since then. When one of our domestic flights was canceled in the United States, I had a 20-minute conversation with the airline agent about putting us on a different one, all in English. “I’ve learned not to be embarrassed if I make mistakes. Last week we stayed in Washington with a family that had heard we were in the area and invited us. Th wife was Israeli, but the husband hardly knew any Hebrew. Still, we went to shul together and chatted away in English the whole time. Every day I’m learning more and more.” Dvori adds, “I studied in a seminary

where English was taught, although it was more written than spoken. So I can read and spell pretty well, but Yisrael is the better speaker.”

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When Dvori and Yisrael first told their parents about the trip they’d planned, their reactions were mixed. Dvori’s parents, who were already familiar with their daughter’s wanderlust, were still taken aback by the idea but went along with it. Yisrael’s parents? Not so much. “My mother cried when I told her we’d sold the apartment and were planning an open-ended trip around the world,” Yisrael says. “My father took the news a little better. Two days before the trip I went to visit my parents. My mother was still

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FEATURE // Around the World

worried. ‘Do you have any idea where you’ll be going?’ I tried to explain that we would have to wait and see where the trip took us. I really think she’s afraid we’re going to settle in the United States and not come back. She keeps asking where we’re going next, and I have to keep telling her I don’t know.” “She wants to know our schedule months in advance,” Dvori adds, “but last night we didn’t even know where we’d be today! We left New York on Sunday morning without having arranged a place to stay that night, so we made our plans as we drove. Some people might find it hard to understand, but this system of going with the fl w works for us. We usually sleep in apartments rather than in hotels to save money. Sometimes we don’t even finali e our arrangements until half an hour before we get to our destination. “We book the apartments on Airbnb, and I write my impression of each one on my blog. Some apartments have been less

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than pleasant. One was really dirty and we had to clean it ourselves. Another one, we discovered, was in a very unsavory location. But we learn f rom each reservation how to do it better the next time. Still, we have a limited budget, so we can’t always book the nicest places. We have to compromise.” “What were your parents concerned about the most?” I inquire. “As I said,” replies Dvori, “my parents were pretty much okay with it. Yisrael and I had already gone on extended trips in the past, for three or four weeks at a stretch.

We’d gone to Europe twice and spent one Tishrei in India. I think their main concern was Yom Tov. ‘How are you going to cook everything yourself?’ they wanted to know. “Basically, I think they wanted us to stay home and spend the chagim with them. To be honest, the chagim in Israel are nice, but spending the Yomim Tovim abroad in an exotic place is a special experience. It’s exciting, an adventure.” Yisrael adds, “In the beginning we only went away for Sukkot. Then we started leaving before Rosh Hashanah and staying

“BELIEVE IT OR NOT, THIS TRIP HAS ONLY STRENGTHENED US AS A COUPLE AND AS A FAMILY... WE KNEW WE COULD DO IT.”

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Yael in a rooftop pool in Singapore (left); Villager in India (above); Kids being kids in Pushkar, India (far left)

until the end of Tishrei. My father gets really anxious and keeps tabs on us the whole time we’re away. Whenever we tell him we’re going somewhere, he does the research and tells us how long it takes to get there, what the weather will be like and which places to avoid. “The truth is that we got all kinds of reactions when we announced our plans. Some of our friends thought we were brave. Others thought we were nuts and totally not normal.” “What’s it like being with your spouse and children 24/7?” I ask. Dvori is unequivocal. “Believe it or not, this trip has only strengthened us as a couple and as a f amily. We wondered about it ahead of time, but we knew we could do it. We also looked into the experiences of other Israeli families that had done the same thing. One couple reported that the only time they quarreled was the day they returned home!” Yisrael agrees. “Bef ore we lef t, I told

my wife, ‘Listen, I’m looking forward to doing this, but I really want to get a babysitter at least once a month so we can go to a restaurant or do something without the kids.’ But we’ve been traveling f or several months, and we still haven’t felt the need to actually do it. We’re all getting along great.” “Don’t f orget that we have a regular daily schedule no matter where we are,” Dvori points out. “Af ter the kids go to bed at 7 or 8 p.m., we have quality time to ourselves, which is a lot more than we had back home. “Our journey is getting better and better all the time,” she continues. “Thekids are actually one of the reasons we decided to embark on this journey. So many parents complain that they have a hard time dealing with their children, but it’s not the kids’ fault; the reason is that we’re busy and don’t have enough time to have fun with them. And the busier we are, the more they need us. You know how kids

usually demand your attention whenever you have to make an important phone call? Well, for some reason that’s not happening on this trip. Whenever we need them to keep themselves busy, they do. We’re really having fun together, discovering the world.” “I’ll admit that I wasn’t used to spending so much time with my children before,” Yisrael tells me. “Back in Israel, the only time I could really interact with them was on Shabbat. But I was working so hard during the week that I barely had the koach to eat before falling asleep. It made me wonder what I was working for. I find that I’m much more relaxed when I’m traveling. I’ve also discovered how much patience I have for my kids because the stress level is minimal.” Still, the long drives—up to ten hours a day—can sometimes be difficult. Dvori and Yisrael try to plan ahead, stopping every few hours so the family can stretch their legs. ThePshednovaks don’t use any

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FEATURE // Around the World

Ruti with schoolchildren in an Indian village; Yonatan in the pilot’s seat (right); In the mountain village of Sapa, Vietnam (far right)

videos or electronic screens to entertain the kids while they’re on the road. Instead, they listen to music, play games or draw, and of course, ask questions about what they’re seeing along the way, which makes for many interesting conversations. We then turn to travel logistics. How do you pack f or a trip when you don’t know how long you’ll be away? What do you take along? “Because we first fl w to Asia and there were a lot of domestic f lights, the maximum we could carry without any extra charges was one small roller bag per person, plus two more fi led with f ood. Wherever we went we left things behind, until we were down to f i e roller bags weighing seven kilos each, including my computer and camera, which weigh nearly

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ten pounds combined. But we had also packed a large suitcase full of winter clothes in advance and sent it to New York before our arrival. So now that we’re here, we have our fi e little suitcases, one big one, plus some toys and utensils we recently bought.” Yisrael explains that they try to prepare their own food as much as possible to save

on costs. Th y carry a few pots and pans with them from place to place, and when necessary, they purchase prepackaged kosher products for later use when they know it will be harder to find kosher food. “We always stay in a place that has a kitchen,” says Dvori. “We buy vegetables, fruit, eggs and fresh kosher fish and if we

THEY TRY TO PREPARE THEIR OWN FOOD TO SAVE ON COSTS, CARRYING A FEW POTS AND PANS WITH THEM FROM PLACE TO PLACE.

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TRUST THE EXPERTS O N

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know in advance that a certain place won’t have kosher meat, we make sure to stock up ahead of time.” “What about your other needs as frum Jews?” I ask Yisrael. “Not every location is going to have a Jewish kehillah, a shul or even a minyan.” “I haven’t given up on my Torah learning,” Yisrael insists. “True, it’s not like at home, where I learned in a beit midrash, so sometimes I study alone. But almost every place we’ve gone has had a shul. Even in the Far East, where there aren’t any organized Jewish communities, there are Chabad Houses, kosher food and minyanim.” “You can always cook for yourself, but having a Chabad House around is extremely helpful,” Dvori adds. “Our favor-

ite one was in the city of Pushkar, India. The atmosphere was very pleasant and they made us feel at home, plus the food was truly delicious. It was also varied, despite the fact that eating meat, fish and eggs isn’t permitted in the city for religious reasons. “Last year when we went to India, we decided not to make any plans in advance. We usually like to be spontaneous, moving f rom place to place as we wish. But the trip turned out to be less successful than we had hoped. The e were certain places we wanted to visit that required domestic air travel, but because we hadn’t bought our tickets in advance, it was prohibitively expensive, so we didn’t end up going to them. “This year, having learned our lesson, we planned every single detail of the six

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4/1/20 12:57 AM

FEATURE // Around the World

On a lake in Tam CÔc, Vietnam

weeks we’d be spending in the Far East, including hotels, apartments and flights It reduced the pressure, and there was less worrying about where we would sleep at night. We were also more organized for our trip to the United States. We booked an apartment and rented a car while we were still on the plane, so everything was taken care of by the time we landed. We later decided to buy a car to use during our stay as it was more economical than renting one for so many months.

“In the weeks bef ore my due date, it was obviously a little harder to plan because we didn’t know the exact day I’d be having the baby or how long it would take me to recover,” says Dvori. “We wanted to be in New York, where we have some family members, and that’s where I gave birth to my daughter Shani. After two weeks of resting and relaxing, we resumed our trip. We didn’t want to have to interrupt it and go back to Israel, so we bought insurance that would cover

“HAVING A BABY IN THE MIDDLE OF THE TRIP MADE THINGS MORE COMPLICATED, BUT BARUCH HASHEM, EVERYTHING HAS GONE WELL.” 104 | A M I • L I V I N G |

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the medical costs here. Since the baby was born, we’ve been to Baltimore, spent a Shabbat in Washington, and now we’re in South Carolina on our way to Florida.” “Having a baby in the middle of the trip made things a little more complicated, of course, but baruch Hashem, everything has gone well. We plan on spending the next two weeks in Miami and Orlando. We usually try to spend a week in each location f or budgetary reasons. Depending on how much we like it in Orlando, we will decide how long to stay bef ore moving on to the next destination.” What it’s like to have a baby on the road? “It was great,” Yisrael tells me. “Our insurance covered everything. Dvori had the baby and no one asked us f or a penny—and our little Shani is an American citizen! We also learned the truth behind the principle ‘Kol Yisrael areivim

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Ruti helps make challah at the Chabad House in Manali, India

zeh lazeh.’ The e were people we hardly knew who offered to watch our kids while Dvori was in the hospital, including keeping them overnight while I stayed with her. The baby was born in a hospital on Staten Island, where there’s a big frum community that helped us.”

Anecdotes Along the Way

As easily identif i ble Jews, the Pshednovaks have been asked a lot of questions by people who have never encountered religious Jews before. “When Yonatan was three, we took a trip to Croatia,” Dvori recalls. “He had long, curly blond peiyos. The owner of the apartment where we were staying told me that I had three beautiful girls. ‘No,’ I corrected her, ‘it’s two girls and a boy,’ but she didn’t understand. “A few days later, Yonatan accidentally stepped on a light bulb and had to go to the hospital for stitches. The owner accompanied Yisrael and Yonatan to the hospital to help them communicate with the staff. When they arrived, she told the doctor that the little girl had hurt her foot when she stepped on some glass. Yisrael had to explain that Yonatan was actually a boy with chasidic side curls.

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FEATURE // Around the World

“As I mentioned, the first trip we took with the kids was to my brother’s wedding in America. Wanting to cram in as many excursions as we could, we planned that as soon as we landed in New York, two days before the wedding, we would immediately drive to Niagara Falls in Canada. We went over our route a thousand times and checked the maps on Google so there wouldn’t be any surprises. It was supposed to take eight hours, and since it was late, we planned to stop for a brief night’s sleep midway along the drive. “We left the airport at midnight, and at 4 a.m. we arrived at the small motel we’d booked for the night. We had two little kids and were pretty jet-lagged by then. But when we walked into the lobby, the manager told us that the place was fully booked! We were shocked and didn’t know what to do. “But being the organized people we are, we showed him the printout of our confi mation from the website we’d used to make the reservation. After examining it carefully, he pointed out that we’d made a small mistake. Instead of booking a motel in Johnson City, New York, we’d booked a motel belonging to the same chain in Johnson City, Tennessee! We couldn’t stop laughing. Even with all our preparation, we’d still messed up. “Themanager was kind enough to send us to another motel fi e miles away that serviced truck drivers. Our room smelled like an ashtray and was as cold as a morgue. We slept for two hours and then continued on our way to Canada. Th experience made us realize that we were really resilient and could deal with anything.” Yisrael adds, “In Russia, almost no one in the service industry speaks English. The only taxi driver who knew English was a Muslim f rom one of the Arab countries. He told us that he travels all over the world, but he’d be afraid to visit

The children enjoying themselves on the beach in the Philipppines, with a cow in India, and in Vietnam (above); Preparing for Sukkot in the Philippines.

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“AT THE TIME, YONATAN HAD LONG BLOND PEIYOS. THE OWNER OF THE APARTMENT TOLD ME THAT I HAD THREE BEAUTIFUL GIRLS.” Israel because his f riends had told him that they blow people up in the streets there. “During our first trip for Yom Tov, we arrived in a remote town in France with three children under seven, one of whom was a baby,” Dvori shares. “On Shabbat, the baby came down with a fever. Right

after Havdalah we called the owner of the apartment we were staying in, and she made an appointment for us with a doctor in a nearby town. We drove to the address and saw that it was a hospital— but it was closed. We walked around the building to see if there was another entrance, but we couldn’t find one. It was

cold, it was the middle of the night, and we were all alone with three little kids, including a sick baby. “Suddenly, f rom out of nowhere, a distinguished-looking gentleman appeared and took us on a 15-minute walk to the emergency room in another building that was part of the same hospital. Thedoctor examined the baby, prescribed some medication, and told us that we needed to go to the police station to pick it up. We were sure we hadn’t understood him correctly. We asked him several more times, and each time he repeated the same inf ormation. We were very conf used. Luckily, as soon as we walked outside, we bumped into the same nice man who had directed us there. When we told him what the doctor had said, he explained that this

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FEATURE // Around the World

On the waterfront at El Nido, Philippines

Yonatan in Vietnem (top); Preparing for Rosh Hashanah dinner in Dharamshala, India

was the way things were done in that part of France!” The Pshednovaks say that many other travelers who are non-observant or nonJewish have asked them how they manage on the road. Yisrael tells me proudly that many Israelis pay more attention to kashrut after meeting them, never having thought it was possible to keep kosher abroad. After meeting the Pshednovaks, some have also realized that traveling with kids is something to consider. “Have you ever encountered any antiSemitism?” I wonder. “Baruch Hashem, no,” Dvori replies. “But now that we’re in America, in light of all the anti-Semitic incidents in recent months, I am a bit fearful. The e’s also more crime in general here than there is in Israel. We usually make sure that Yisrael wears a hat over his kippah, but Yonatan goes out with a kippah and peiyos. But thank G-d,

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we haven’t had any unpleasant experiences.” What about scary ones? “In India, we went for a rickshaw ride in the market,” Yisrael tells me. “We were riding along when a drunken man came over and tried to touch our children. We warned him to go away, but he persisted. The driver was also yelling at him in his

own language. Thismade the drunken man angry, so he tried to get some bystanders involved. Before we knew it, we were surrounded by people. Then the driver got down and started hitting the man, and soon they were beating each other up. “The good news was that we ourselves weren’t in danger because the Indians on the street protected us. Th y told the driver

MANY ISRAELIS PAY MORE ATTENTION TO KASHRUT AFTER MEETING THEM, NEVER HAVING THOUGHT IT WAS POSSIBLE ABROAD.

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Gassing up the tricycle in El Nido, Philippines (top); Bridge of hands, Vietnam (above)

that they would keep us safe and led us away f rom the violence while he fought off the drunk. So it ended well, but it was pretty upsetting at the time.” I ask the Pshednovaks to tell me about some of the exotic places they’ve visited. “Thailand is beautiful,” Yisrael says. “It looks like an artist’s conception of Gan Eden. It makes you feel relaxed and caref ree. We had a wonderful time wherever we went in the Far East. But the most beautiful place we’ve been to is undoubtedly Boracay, in the Philippines. It has the clearest water and most beautiful sunsets we’ve ever seen. In America, the most beautiful sunsets were in Key West, Florida. “Norway is also unusually picturesque. Our travels have made us realize that no matter what country you are in, living in natural surroundings rather than in a city will give you a better quality of life.” “Has travel changed you at all?” I inquire.

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“Definite y,” says Dvori. “It has made us much calmer and more patient. One of the houses we stayed in in Florida had a porch that overlooked the sea. We could sit and watch dolphins jumping out of the water. In the Philippines, we once took a boat out to a deserted island. Th kids loved running in the surf, and we felt like we were the only people in the world. I don’t think we’re ever going to go back to an urban environment. “Our tourist visa for the United States is only good for six months, so eventually we’re going to have to decide where to go next. Right now we’re leaning toward Central America. My dream is to go to Cuba, but Yisrael wants to go to Africa. We’ve had these dreams since we were little, and we have yet to fulfill them all. We’ll see what the future brings. “Early last week, we realized that our plans were going to change because of

4/1/20 12:58 AM

FEATURE // Around the World

Yisrael with the children in Moscow, on the first leg of the trip to Vietnam

the coronavirus, so we decided to stop moving around for a while. Around the same time, all of the schools in Israel were canceled, and I started getting frantic messages from parents begging me for tips on how to survive with the kids at home!” “Are you planning on returning to Israel for Pesach?” “No, and we also don’t know if we’ll be

able to visit Canada as planned. Everything is still up in the air. We’re waiting to see what happens along with everyone else. Either we’ll go down to Mexico if possible, or we’ll ask for an extension to stay in the United States. Only time will tell.” ● To escape the coronavirus, the Pshednovaks will be spending Pesach in Montana.

Resources for Like-Minded Others For the past several years, Dvori has maintained a Hebrew-language blog called Hulkasher (Chutz Laaretz Kasher), as well as a Facebook page with 17,000 followers, where religious travelers consult each other and share information about appropriate travel destinations, kosher restaurants and synagogues. Dvori facilitates the group, incorporating her experiences into the discussions, and updates it with information from her current adventure. For the past two years, she has also run a similar website that provides a list of resources such as Chabad Houses, as well as information on the availability of kosher food for religious Jews on the road.

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FEATURE

THE

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SZILVIA NAHMANI FIGHTS FOR HER HUSBAND’S FREEDOM By Chasi Shochet

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FEATURE // The Reprieve

Ronen

he Nahmanis—Ronen, Szilvia and their five children—were your typical frum Israeli family living in Miami. They went to shul every Shabbos, their kids attended the local Jewish day schools, and Ronen worked while Szilvia raised the children full time. Then, five years ago, Ronen was charged with intent to distribute controlled substances. As Ronen would later find out, the accusation came from a friend who wanted to get off the hook for a crime he had committed, baiting the courts with Ronen, who the friend said had access to an even bigger catch. Ronen was indicted in the hope that he would take a plea deal and provide information about a huge distributor in Orlando. However, knowing that he was innocent, Ronen chose to go to trial—and was given a disproportionate 20-year sentence, which the prosecutors told his lawyers was because Ronen had angered the courts by not cooperating. As a result of bad friends, risky choices and some funny business by those charged with upholding the law, Ronen was sent to prison. After a widespread effort to garner political support, President Trump signed Ronen’s pardon in July 2019 and he was released. This is the Nahmani family’s story.

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The second I saw the blinking lights in our rearview mirror my stomach sank. I couldn’t afford to get pulled over. It was late and we still had hours of driving until we got to Miami, where my wife, Szilvia, was waiting up for me. “Hopefully this won’t take long,” I told my friend Barry* as I pulled the car over to the shoulder. My company, Vintage Electronic Cigarettes, sold electronic lighters, and I had recently invested in a new product with a partner in Sarasota. When the product didn’t deliver as I hoped it would, I decided to pull my investment. I knew it would be a three- or four-hour drive to pick up the cash from my partner, so I asked Barry to come along for the ride and keep me company. Barry and I had known each other for years. We were members of the same synagogue, his family often joined us for Shabbat meals, and sometimes he even came with me to pick up our kids from school. I knew he was usually up for anything. Everything was fine until we got pulled over. As the cop came closer, I rolled down my window and handed over my license and registration. After a good few minutes, I wondered why it was taking him so long to hand me back my paperwork. “Where y’all coming from?” the officer asked. I told him that Barry and I were on our way back to Miami from a business meeting in Sarasota. “We need you to get out of the car,” he then said. Suddenly, there were several police cars converging on the scene and dozens of police officers approaching our car. Where had they all come from? What was going on? “Mr. Nahmani, we have a warrant to search your vehicle.” I was stunned. I vaguely heard an officer ask if I had anything illegal in the car, while another one brought over a dog to sniff the interior. I was then asked if I had any money on me—which I did, $22,000 in cash that

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I had just picked up from my business partner. I showed them the Bank of America pouch, along with the receipts to prove that everything was legit. Then the Drug Enforcement Administration showed up. It seemed like this was going to take longer than I expected. “Can I call my wife?” I asked. Szilvia was probably worried. “Sure,” they said. “Just don’t let her know that the DEA is here.” I rummaged around the car for my phone and dialed her number.

Szilvia I glanced at the clock on the oven one more time: 11 p.m. Ronen should have been home by now. The kids had gone to sleep without saying goodnight to him, and the dinner I had prepared was long cold. “Where are you?” I texted him. The string of messages I’d sent—all unanswered—asked the same thing. “Is everything okay?” I kept calling his phone, but it rang and rang and rang. No answer. Finally at about 11:15 my phone rang. It was Ronen, calling me back. “Ronen!” I yelled before he had a chance to speak. “Where are you? Are you all right?” His voice sounded distant. “Don’t get nervous,” he said, “but we got pulled over and they’re taking us in for questioning.” “What do you mean questioning? Why?” “Don’t worry about it,” he reassured me. “I’ll be home soon.” I hung up confused, but relieved that my fear that Ronen had been in a serious accident was only my imagination running wild. At least he was safe and sound, not lying battered and broken in a ditch on the side of the road. Baruch Hashem, it was only a small misunderstanding with the cops that would surely be sorted our soon. Little did I know... Because my nerves were already taught, the pounding on the door made me jump. Who could it be at this hour? When I peeked through the slightly opened door, the officers outside greeted me with stony faces. The outlines of their weapons were visible in the moonlight. They said that they were from the DEA, but I had no idea what that stood for. “Open up!” one of them shouted. Before I could oblige, they pushed the door open and started barraging me with questions. “What does your husband do? What kind of business is he in?”

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FEATURE // The Reprieve

“Where in the house does he store his goods?” Without waiting for an answer they spread through my house, rummaging through whatever was in sight. I stood there in my robe, pleading with them to not go up the stairs. “My five children are sleeping,” I explained. “Please don’t wake them up!” I could imagine how frightened they would be if they woke up and saw men with guns standing over their beds. Even I, an adult who was wide awake when they arrived, was terrified. The officers were frustrated. They wanted to go upstairs, but they had no permit and I had just told them not to. If I didn’t give them permission they couldn’t do it. “We’ll be back,” they warned me before walking back into the night.

Ronen At six foot eight and 350 pounds, I was taller than all the officers and twice their size, but when they surround you with guns and tell you and your friend to follow them into separate cars, size doesn’t matter anymore. You do whatever you’re told. The driver of the patrol car chatted with me as we drove to the police station. When I mentioned that I was from Israel, she said that she had family there. I realized that they were Palestinians when she didn’t say

that she was Jewish. That didn’t make me any more comfortable. The police station was dark when we pulled up just before midnight. They opened a few lights, but most of the building was shadowed in darkness. Within seconds of pushing me into a chair, the questioning began. “Why did you have so much money on you?” “What does your company do?” “With whom do you do business?” “Will we find anything illegal in your storage unit?” No, no and no, I repeated again and again. My company had recently expanded to selling chemicals. It was possible to use one chemical to create synthetic marijuana, but I didn’t get involved in what my clients did with it, so my involvement was legal. One hundred percent legal. “We want you to work with us,” one officer finally told me. I was confused. Work with them how? Why? Before I could ask more questions, one of the officers interrupted the interrogation. “Wait,” he said. “I forgot your Miranda warning.” He then raced through a list of my rights. You have the right to remain silent. You have the right to a lawyer. At the end he also mentioned that since they hadn’t actually arrested me, I had the right to leave at any time.

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“Are you kidding me?” I stood up right away. “I want to go home!” What a relief ! As soon as they saw that I wouldn’t be cooperating they weren’t as friendly, and everything they did, even opening the door, was done in anger. But they had no choice; they had to let me go. Little did I know that it was only the beginning of a very long saga. I was about to be charged with conspiring to possess with intent to distribute controlled substances and controlled substance analogues. The substances I was distributing were legal at the time, [that is, they were not on the federal schedule of controlled substances and were merely analogues of listed controlled substances] but because of collusion between the prosecution and the court, I was facing 20 years in prison. The only out they gave me was a risky plea deal: If I offered information on an even bigger distributor in Orlando, they might give me a shorter prison sentence.

Szilvia Until Ronen was pulled over that fateful night we were your average, quiet family. We were active in our community shul and our kids went to a local day school. We had the everyday challenges of everyday people, struggling to pay our bills, but happy with our simple life. Now, Ronen was facing a possible indictment. If he didn’t take the plea deal he was being offered, the statutory maximum was 20 years. For the sake of our children, we pretended that nothing had changed. They woke up to a smiling Mommy and Abba who helped them get dressed, eat breakfast and head out for the day. I would hand them their backpacks, settle them in the car and drive them to school. There was no need for them to know that after dropping them off, Ronen and I spent the day meeting with lawyers and DEA officials. At night, after dinner and bedtime stories,

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we were back at the dining room table, doing research on our laptops or on conference calls with lawyers and anyone who could possibly help us. Our kids had no idea what was going on. There was no need for them to understand—especially since we believed that it would soon be over and life would return to normal. After all, Ronen hadn’t done anything illegal. The next six months were horrible. Ronen was totally stressed out, worrying about how to defend himself and trying to comply with everything the government wanted of him. We hired a lawyer, only to realize after a while that he was unable to help us. He referred us to someone who was even worse. We didn’t realize how serious the situation was, and that the run-of-the-mill lawyers just weren’t up to the task. And even the second-tier lawyers were too expensive for us to be able to afford. It was humiliating to beg for help, and stressful to know how many loans were weighing on our heads. One day, Ronen walked through the door, and when I looked at him I could see the toll it was taking. My big, strong husband looked shrunken in more ways than one. Ronen was starting to wither away. How long could we go on like this?

Ronen When Szilvia and I met with our first lawyer, he laid out the terms: either give the DEA the information on the bigger Orlando distributor—to whom I had honestly never spoken a word—or take my chances in court. The lawyer was certain that my best option was the former. All the DEA wanted was for me to “cooperate,” although we had no idea what that meant. The confidential informant had apparently built a big case against me, and it wasn’t looking good. “If you go to trial you have a 98% chance of losing,” he warned. “But I’m 100% innocent,” I told him. All

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FEATURE // The Reprieve

of my business dealings were legal, and there was no way I was pleading guilty to something I hadn’t done. Nothing made sense. We knew that they were coming down hard because they wanted me to snitch on someone, but I had no connection to the underworld and no information to give them. Why were they coming after me? Besides, my lawyer had discovered something unusual when he was reviewing the DA’s offer. In the fine print there was a line saying that they could use anything I said against me to bring new charges. Even agreeing to the plea deal wouldn’t keep me out of prison. We were going to trial. “This is America,” I reminded Szilvia whenever she doubted our choice. “A judge will see the truth.” We never imagined that the judge would hand me a sentence more harsh than was meted out to murderers. Ever since I had left Israel a week after my bar mitzvah, the United States had been my home. I considered myself American first. As I must have said a million times in the days leading up to my trial, I believed in America and in the impartiality of American law. Or at least I used to.

Szilvia

“This is America,” I reminded Szilvia whenever she doubted our choice. “A judge will see the truth.” We never imagined that the judge would hand me a sentence more harsh than was meted out to murderers. the lawyer kept reading. But I couldn’t hear anything he said. My head felt heavy and when I looked over at Ronen, his face had lost all color. Ronen’s good friend Barry was in the car with him that night, the same person who had been a guest in our home and had shared in all our simchahs. We were deeply hurt that our friend could do that to us. The pain of his betrayal was devastating. We learned that on the way back from Sarasota, Barry had been texting the DEA with updates. When Ronen was taken into custody, Barry had played along so that his secret would remain safe. Even afterwards he had continued coming to our house and joined our conversations about the mess that he himself had started. I remembered something that our cleaning help had said when Barry was over a few weeks before. In her broken English, she’d told me that something was off about him, and she warned us to stay away. But apparently it was too late.

From the very beginning, the DEA shared that a major foundation of the case was firsthand testimony from a confidential source. The informant’s identity was protected and we had no idea who it could be, although we wondered for months. Ronen and I were meeting with the defense attorney one day when every notion of friendship and trust we’d ever had came crashing down. The lawyer was going through testimony from the DEA’s office, Barry? He was my friend! His family and mentioned that the informant was in the car with Ronen when he was pulled had just been over for Shabbat. We chatted over. Not realizing what that meant to us, in shul every week, both before and after

Ronen

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I was pulled over. He hung out with my kids. We’d just gone to Starbucks! When my head finally stopped spinning, everything started to make sense. If Barry was the informant, a lot of the fuzzy details could now be clarified. When my distribution business first started taking off, Barry and I were talking one day when I told him I’d heard of someone in Orlando who was doing $4 million in business a week working with the same substances. They were completely legal, but because they could also be used to make synthetic marijuana and he was running such a large cash business, he probably knew that he was working on the edge. I didn’t know him at all, but that conversation was enough for Barry to use against me. As we learned, Barry had been involved in some shady business. When he was arrested, he offered to make a deal with the prosecutors. He had a friend—me— who knew a big distributor in Orlando. If the courts could find a reason to arrest me, they could offer me a plea deal that would involve tattling on the Orlando guy, who was much more valuable to the DEA. My friend had made up stories out of whole cloth just so he could walk away. We also later learned that Barry got 20% of whatever the courts confiscated. In my case, the DEA had seized my entire warehouse

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filled with $120,000 of electronic lighters. In addition to sending me to prison, Barry received $24,000 of my money. He and I haven’t spoken since the day I found out. I would never be able to talk to someone like him. We had known each other for six years. He had watched me struggle with our bills and finally make enough money to live comfortably. Then, with the flick of a finger, he knocked me over and walked all over our family. *** The indictment from the DEA contained four separate assertions. First, on the night I was pulled over, I had been behaving suspiciously and making “sudden

turns and U-turns.” Second, I had sent large sums of money to California. Third, I had made a delivery before getting pulled over. Fourth, the dog that sniffed my vehicle had alerted the authorities to a scent. We were able to dispute each assertion, one by one. First, the officer later changed his testimony to say that I had made one U-turn, which is not illegal. The U-turn also meant that I was going in the direction of my storage unit. If I was running away from the police, why would I lead them directly there? Second, what the court thought might have been money laundering was a simple, and legal, transaction to help out a friend. My friend had asked for help in transfer-

ring funds from a marijuana sale. Marijuana was legal in California, so a judge ruled that what we had done was legal. Third, it was true that I had met with someone on the day we were pulled over. He and I often did business—I supplied him with closeout jeans, belts and buckles—so on my way to Sarasota I had stopped to speak with him for a few minutes. When the officers testified, they admitted that they never saw any exchange of goods. It was nothing more than a conversation between acquaintances. The fourth assertion was the only one that stuck, although barely. We later learned that the dog that sniffed the chemicals wasn’t trained to detect synthetic marijuana. “The dog must have smelled something, though,” the judge

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reasoned. My wife went to the DEA to show them how the various copies of the dog’s training papers didn’t match up. Something was amiss, but all the person she spoke to said was that he would look into it. For some reason, we were never able to reach him again. Despite the obvious corruption, the charge stood. Legally, the case needed at least four legs to stand on. But even after three legs were removed, it continued to hobble along and drag our family with it.

GOING TO TRIAL

Szilvia

We started the trial with complete confidence that everything would be fine. “There’s a law and there are systems,” I reassured Ronen. “And there’s a G-d.” But his trial turned into a nightmare. We spent each day sitting on the cold benches and listening to the case being built up against him. There was nothing I could do but daven. For eight hours a

day I sat bent over my small Tehillim, begging Hashem to take care of us. The judge wasn’t impressed with my pastime. When he walked into the room and saw me holding the Tehillim in my hand, he admonished me for reading in his courtroom and failing to show the proper respect. All the tears I had been holding back spilled out. Was this insensitive person the one deciding what would happen to us? I was hurt and worried. Every person on the witness stand contradicted someone else. One officer said that he was driving the car, and then a second said that no, she was the one who was driving. Meanwhile, Ronen remembered that it was someone else entirely. The DEA also testified that the tracking device on Ronen’s car indicated that he had taken several suspicious trips. One of these “trips” took place on a Saturday morning. The only time Ronen had ever driven on Shabbat was when we drove to the hospital to give birth years before. At that point I knew we were done

The first time my kids realized that something was wrong was when the trial started. Ever since my oldest was born I’d been home with my children all day. I never wanted to leave them with a babysitter, and as a result, they never wanted to be with one 120 | A M I • L I V I N G |

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for. Given their inaccuracy and inattention to detail, there was no reason to trust that the justice system would render a fair verdict. I was shocked when they started recapping the night they invaded our home. My memories were of being horrified and fearful that my small children would wake up from the ruckus. When the officer testified, he only stressed that I wouldn’t let them conduct a search to support the notion that I was hiding something. Everything was being orchestrated in their favor. I began to realize what people meant when they said that the criminal justice system is a meat grinder, and that once you fall in, it’s impossible to get out. Most of the trial was spent sorting through 500 pages of evidence. They outlined the composition of the chemicals, the dog’s training, and testimony from the officers who worked the case. Honestly, if I hadn’t been so frightened I would have been bored. The jury clearly was—and the judge himself was leafing through magazines. It was ironic, considering that he had earlier told me off for disrespecting the courtroom by reading. “Pay attention!” I wanted to scream. I watched him turn the pages, stopping only when his head nodded to the side and he

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would shake himself awake. Instead of paying attention, the judge napped through much of the proceedings. Considering that our lives were at stake, it was terrifying and exasperating.

Ronen There were so many holes in my indictment that it should never have gone to trial. But it did, and from there everything began to fall apart. I could no longer believe that I would be exoner-

ated by the truth. After the judge fell asleep in court, I realized that it was over. He had no reason to stay awake because he’d already made up his mind. My lawyer was also a huge disappointment. He explained that while I would either be vindicated or go to prison, he “needed to work with this judge again in the future.” He was more concerned about himself than me, his client. Throughout the trial, we sat in the front of the courtroom and watched an inaccurate, dishonest story being spun. We brought in experts to prove that the testing process was faulty and the results were therefore untrustworthy, but no one cared. In one of the papers my legal team subpoenaed, the prosecutor had written, “We would like to determine the net weight [of the drugs] so that we can increase the sentence.” The trial was clearly predetermined. When it came time for the jury to deliberate, they left the courtroom. Hours passed, and then they returned with two questions. “What do we need to find the defendant guilty on?” they wanted to know, also requesting a copy of the recent McFadden case, which had just been adjudicated by the Supreme Court. In that case, they had ruled that in order for someone to be guilty, the government has to prove that the defendant knew that he was dealing with an illegal substance. Because my case was similar to McFadden—the chemicals were legal when I distributed them—my case had actually been postponed until the Supreme Court’s decision. But when the jury requested a copy, the judge mysteriously didn’t have one for them to reference, nor would he give them a clear answer on what precedent they needed to follow. I learned that it is very easy to bend the rules without actually breaking them.

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The jury also wanted to know about a specific piece of evidence. “What was in the plastic baggies?” they asked. The bags they were asking about had been empty when they were seized by the DEA, but the judge refused to clarify that. Instead, he instructed them to use their recollection of what they had heard in court. In what was perfect timing on the court’s part, they chose that moment to walk by with carts filled with white powder that was part of the evidence. I saw the jury glance at the chemicals and connect them to their question about the white baggies, leading to the conclusion that they were loaded with drugs. It was sad but not surprising when the jury found me guilty of knowingly distributing illegal substances. My life was on the line, the testimony was dishonest, and when my new lawyer—whom I’d hired the night before the trial—tried to stand up for me, he was shut down. He reminded the court that even if I were as guilty as sin, the maximum sentence for this misdemeanor was 12 months. “What makes you think I don’t know that?” the judge asked before sentencing me to 20 years. Just a short time before, someone else had gotten a year and a day for a similar, albeit much more serious, charge. We were all in shock.

My wife was bent over, sobbing hysterically. “What are we going to do?” she asked me between sobs. I had no idea. Before I even had a chance to register what happened I was handcuffed and led away. My biggest regret is having trusted the system and not taken a plea deal. I should have found some way to cooperate with the DEA and reconciled myself with a shorter sentence, even if I was innocent. My trial was a trap, designed to ensnare an innocent person. People don’t know what’s going on in America.

Szilvia When the judge said “20 years” I thought I’d pass out. I leaned over the bench in front of me and held on to keep myself from falling. This can’t be happening I thought to myself. This doesn’t make sense. I watched my husband being led away as if it were part of a film. It was agonizing to see him in so much pain, with nothing to do but stand idly by as he was being destroyed. At that moment I felt my world collapse. It was as if each time I tried to take a breath, the rubble pushed down on my chest and wouldn’t let me breathe. It was a painful

When one of the children asked when Abba would be coming home, I told them soon and started crying again. In my mind, I was being honest. This was all a big misunderstanding and surely things would be sorted out. 122 | A M I • L I V I N G |

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feeling I eventually got used to for the next four years. I didn’t take a deep breath again until Ronen came home. All of our relatives and friends were affected by happened, yet each of our experiences was different. I watched the shadows on Ronen’s face after his sentencing, and despite the fact that I too was in pain, I don’t think that I will ever fully understand his. But I didn’t have time to remain in court for another minute. There were five children waiting for me at home. They were going to have questions, and I wouldn’t have answers. The first time my kids realized that something was wrong was when the trial started. Ever since my oldest was born I’d been home with my children all day. I never wanted to leave them with a babysitter, and as a result, they never wanted to be with one. But as soon as the trial began we were out of the house for hours. Someone else had to get them ready in the morning and greet them when they came home from school. “Where are you going?” they asked us each day. Our answer—that Mommy and Abba needed to take care of some business— worked until the trial ended. But on the last day Ronen didn’t come home with me. “Where’s Abba?” they asked. I wondered the same thing. Where is Ronen right now? Would he be okay? All I could see was the word “JAIL” in big red letters flashing in front of my eyes. How should I explain it to such young children? I couldn’t look them in the eye when I answered. “Abba’s on a business trip,” I said.

Ronen For the first four months of my sentence I was held in a cold stone building that had very few windows. I got through it by taking one minute at a time and doing a lot of crying and a lot of praying. I went through

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the entire Sefer Tehillim and Tikun Haklali every day, and I wouldn’t go to sleep until I read Shir Hashirim. On the days when I couldn’t control my fears, I would say Tehillim a second time as well. I couldn’t believe what had happened or where I was. In the evening they would shepherd us into our rooms, lock the doors and leave us to spend the night in a cement room with a tiny sliver as a window. I wasn’t allowed outside even once. It was freezing and I shivered constantly, with no way to escape the cold, the sadness, or the dread. The world was continuing and I was trapped. I remember sitting on the steel bench one day and writing a letter to Szilvia. “They say that when someone dies, he gets to see the world but the world can’t see him. I must be dying because I have that feeling now, even though I’m technically alive. I’m dying in here.”

Szilvia My children had never had a Shabbat without their father. Even when he traveled for business, he would split his trip in two and fly back and forth on Friday and Sunday rather than miss spending the day with his kids. But now he was spending Shabbat in prison—in a cell without sunlight—and we were home alone. When I lit the candles and covered my eyes, my tears spilled out from between my fingers. Seeing me shaking and quivering, my children also started crying. I tried calming them down, but it was hard for them to be comforted by someone who was sobbing. My kids still had no idea what was going on but they were mirroring my emotions. It was clear that I wouldn’t be able to take care of five miserable children all on my own. “Just pretend that everything is okay!” I tried telling myself. It

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would work for a few minutes, but then I’d think about Ronen and break down all over again. I remember preparing myself a plate of food and then wondering why I’d even bothered. I couldn’t swallow any of it. When one of the children asked when Abba would be coming home, I told them soon and started crying again. In my mind, I was being honest. This was all a big misunderstanding and surely things would be sorted out. It didn’t register that the judge’s 20-year sentence was final. The first big holiday after Ronen started his sentence was Rosh Hashanah, and his sister’s family came down from New York to keep us company. When it was time to make Kiddush, we didn’t know where Ronen’s brother-in-law was. It took a few minutes until we found him in a bedroom upstairs, a grown man sitting on the bed and sobbing. “I can’t go down and see those kids sitting around the table without their Abba,” he said. Shabbatot and Yomim Tovim never got easier. Once Ronen was moved to another facility, our Sundays followed a routine. This was the day we went to visit Abba at his “business.” Thank G-d, Ronen was in a minimum-security prison and didn’t have

to wear handcuffs when we came. It prevented our children from realizing the truth. Those two hours were the anchor of our week. We would sit around a small table in a cafeteria-like room surrounded by other visiting families. The kids would update Ronen on their soccer tournaments, test scores and friends. In between their excited chatter, I would try to get in a few words as well. We were limited in what we could talk about; for over four years, I almost never had a conversation with my husband without our children listening in.

The kids started to resent me because “I wasn’t fun anymore.” They pointed out that I never laughed and didn’t want to do anything exciting. But each day when I woke up I was struck anew by the enormity of what had happened 124 | A M I • L I V I N G |

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Then it would be time to leave and the kids would start crying. “When are you coming home?” they asked him between hiccups. As the weeks passed and became months, which eventually turned into years, they weren’t as keen on our Sunday schedule anymore. Visiting Abba meant missing birthday parties, trips to the beach and afternoons in the park. They resented Ronen for being the reason they couldn’t have fun. We also never traveled or took extended trips because the weekly visits were non-negotiable. I needed to visit Ronen and see for myself that he was okay, or however okay he could be behind bars. But more than that, I couldn’t take those visits away from Ronen. He’d told me more than once that seeing the kids was what kept him going. We had only 300 minutes of phone time a month, less than ten minutes per day, and it was barely enough for Ronen to say “I love you” to each child. Even if it meant sleeping in their clothes and waking up at 4:30 so we could get there before the 6 a.m. cutoff time for visitors, I was determined to make it happen. After the two hours of trying to be a normal family, we would walk out of the building and leave Ronen behind. The knowledge that he was now headed back

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to his cell all alone would drain me completely. I would come home and collapse in bed, too tired to function or prepare for what would be another long week.

Ronen As time went on, we learned even more about the corruption that had led to my trial. A few months before I was pulled over, Barry had offered to sell me a money counting machine. I told him I didn’t need one.

“Are you sure? It’s only $400.” He knew that I was always on the lookout for a good deal. “I have no need for one right now,” I told him. He thought for a minute. “You know what? Just take it as a present.” We went outside to his BMW and he popped the trunk open. My first thought was that it was strange that it wasn’t in any packaging. My second was that I was getting an expensive piece of equipment for free. So I took it and put it straight into the garage. After I was in prison for almost two years, Szilvia was visiting with the kids when the conversation turned to the night I was pulled over. “You know what I’ve never understood?” she said. “They kept

asking me about a money counting machine. I had no idea what they were talking about.” But I knew exactly what they were referring to. I told her about the machine in the garage, and asked her to take it to a specialist who could examine it and write a report that would stand in up court. When the specialist took it apart, he found a tracking and recording device inside that wasn’t part of the original device. Of course, we brought it up with the court. “It’s irrelevant because we never used that evidence anyway,” we were told, essentially admitting that they had been spying on me without a warrant. The crazy thing is that my trial wasn’t unique. I don’t think people realize how often things like that happen every day in America.

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Szilvia After the trial ended and I returned home alone, I had no idea how to proceed. I had five young kids to raise. Ronen had always been a very hands-on parent. He ran errands, picked them up from school and gave them baths. I remember looking down at my two hands and wondering if they would be enough without him. I had $42 in my bank account that day. I needed that money to pay the babysitter, but I also needed it to buy groceries and fill up the car with gas so I could take the kids to school. The six months of turmoil had emptied our bank account. We had no cash or assets left to sell. My first fear, even before that of losing the house and having to move into a shelter, was that my kids would have to leave their day school. Ronen and I had always prioritized their Jewish education, and even though we struggled, we always made sure to pay their tuition. My chest felt tight and I had to take deep breaths whenever I thought more than a day into the future. I couldn’t bear the thought of them going to public school. Those first few days were the darkest, most frightening time. And during that harrowing period, it was the Aleph Institute that kept us alive. Before Ronen’s trial, someone had told us about an organization that could help with the legal fees. We reached out to Aleph, and they assisted us with some of the technicalities of his case. Once Ronen’s sentence was sealed, Aleph stepped in and assumed a much greater role. They helped me buy my children shoes, gave us a grocery stipend and paid our overdue bills before the utilities were cut off. Ronen also needed money in his commissary account to buy things like toilet paper, phone minutes and grape juice for Kiddush; Aleph took care of that too. I still remember my relief each time they saved us from living in the dark. I’d been in touch with several

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organizations that helped pay our bills, but Aleph was the only one I could also call at 2 a.m. to cry because I was falling apart. The team at Aleph was always available to listen and respond with compassion. I truly believe that the Aleph Institute was created when someone decided to gather all the angels they could find and get them to establish an organization. The first hurdle was getting over my shock. I never stopped believing that my husband was going to come home one day, even though my friends thought I was delusional. For a long time, my children had no idea that “business” and “prison” were synonymous. To them, prison was the place where bad people went. I couldn’t taint their image of their father by telling them that that’s where he was. Ronen had always been the best husband and father. They weren’t old enough to understand that the system sometimes failed, and that good people ended up suffering. The kids would sometimes ask why he couldn’t come to their birthday parties or other events. Ronen and I would explain that he wanted to, but he just couldn’t. It was an ongoing struggle. Each child found out the truth at a different point in time, and was given an explanation appropriate for his or her age. Afterwards, one of them asked me, “Why isn’t Hashem my friend anymore? I’m davening all the time, but He isn’t bringing Abba home.” It’s hard to respond to that, especially when you yourself are struggling. I was talking to our rabbi one day and he asked me why I thought I was so depressed. “It’s because it’s not logical,” I told him. “If you steal, you know that you committed a crime. You recognize that you’re being punished, and you count down the days until you go home.”Ronen’s situation was too surreal to wrap my head around. The kids started to resent me because “I wasn’t fun anymore.” They pointed out that I never laughed and didn’t want to do anything exciting. But each day when I woke

up I was struck anew by the enormity of what had happened. It was hard to get out of bed and pretend that everything was okay but I had to, for all involved. It was very draining, and I wasn’t always good at it. And then, just when we thought things couldn’t get any worse, I found a lump.

Szilvia I wasn’t worried at first because I’d always been healthy and active; I didn’t even have a primary care doctor. But my sister, who happened to be in town for a visit, didn’t take my discovery lightly. As soon as I mentioned it, she forced me to go get it checked out. “I am not leaving until you do,” she threatened. It was a good thing she didn’t go home, because when I heard what the doctors said I needed her there. I’ll never forget what the nurse’s face looked like after my mammogram; it’s seared into my memory. “You can’t leave!” she said in a high-pitched voice. She wasn’t officially allowed to tell me the results, but it didn’t take much to realize that they weren’t good. The doctor sent me for more testing and a biopsy—all of which confirmed stage 3 breast cancer. I have no words to explain my shock, denial and fear. “You’re mistaken,” I argued. “I’m fine!” If I hadn’t found the lump, I wouldn’t have thought that I was sick. Besides, moms don’t have permission to be sick. There’s no time for that. Just the previous Shabbat my daughter had randomly asked me who would take care of her if something happened to me while Abba was in prison. I had brushed her question off because it was too farfetched to entertain, but now we were facing that possibility. I still didn’t have an answer—but I suddenly needed to find one. What on earth would happen to my kids? Just as before, I

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refused to tell them the truth. They were already dealing with so much heartache; I couldn’t bear to pile on any more frightening news, especially when the older children would understand what a scary word “cancer” was. For close to a year I skirted around the prognosis and refused to go for treatment. If I was weak from chemo, there was no one who could take care of my children. I couldn’t do that to them. Throughout that time the Aleph Institute was on my case, refusing to accept that I wouldn’t start treatment. They were so aggressive and pushy that I eventually gave in. “Okay, okay! I’ll do it,” I finally said one day. One of the Aleph rabbis flew to Boston with me and sat through each meeting with

the specialists. Then they hired full-time help for my family as I began to prepare for the sickening cycle that is life on chemo.

Ronen When Szilvia slipped the news into our conversation, we didn’t have time to discuss it. There were only ten minutes of phone time to share with the kids, and it was important that they not hear what we were talking about. “There’s a lump that doctors want me to check out,” she said. My wife wanted me to pray for her. I told her not to worry. B’ezrat Hashem she would be okay. She agreed. “You’ll see

that when I go to the doctors, they’ll say it’s nothing.” When the call ended, I stood by the phone and leaned my head against the wall. I was frightened. Being in prison while my family was going through something like that made me feel helpless. If the kids were sick, they would at least have Szilvia. But if she were sick, whom did she have? When Szilvia gave me the update a few days later—cancer—I couldn’t stop crying. Then I picked up my Tehillim and sat in the same spot until I finished the entire thing. I spoke to Hashem and asked Him to spare her. This is the mother of my children, the woman I have married to since we were both 21. Please keep her safe! The only thing I could give Szilvia from

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behind bars was chizzuk. I had no doubt that the stress of my incarceration had made her sick and that a positive outlook would help her heal. I spoke to Hashem a lot during that time. I begged Him to give her good health, and to make sure that our kids came out okay.

Szilvia Until I began treatment, my only symptom was the easily hideable lump. Starting chemotherapy meant feeling ill, exhaustion and hospital stays. I couldn’t keep it from the kids anymore. I don’t wish for anyone to ever have that conversation with their children. Their eyes were big and their questions were tough. “What will happen?” They were frightened and I didn’t know how to calm them down. My oldest son, wise beyond his years, said that he knew exactly why I was sick. “Your heart is broken,” he pronounced. “It’s been working too hard and for too long.” I wanted to argue with him but he was probably right. The first day of chemo was scary. I walked into the hospital, stretched my arm out and invited them to fill my body with poison. With each cycle I got sicker and my body slipped out of control. There were times when I asked Hashem to let me die, but then I’d remember my kids. There’s a reason you’re doing this, I would remind myself late at night when it felt like I was only getting worse. I was literally dying so that I could live. There were days when I wasn’t capable of climbing the stairs. I would stand on the landing and whisper a tefillah for the strength to make it up. On the really bad days, my ten-year-old son would have to push me, the mother who was supposed to be the strong one. In the mornings, I would use all my energy to crawl over to his room and wake him up. Then he’d take over and go wake the rest of the kids. I was

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barely able to care for myself, let alone my children. Sometimes I couldn’t even lift a cup of water to my mouth because every joint was inflamed. It felt like I was being stabbed with a thousand knives. My community rallied around me and encouraged me to call “whenever I needed something,” but even that would have been beyond my strength. I would wake up in the middle of the night and have such a hard time breathing that I couldn’t reach the phone to call 911. “Please don’t let my kids be the ones to find me dead in the morning,” I would beg Hashem as I tried to fill my lungs with air. The scariest moment was when I needed to fill out a power of attorney form. The cancer had progressed to stage 4, and I had

to make decisions about what would happen to the kids if I died while Ronen was still in prison. My daughter’s theoretical question was no longer theoretical.

Szilvia When Professor Alan Dershowitz first heard about Ronen’s case, he told me that he was mad. “In fact,” he said, “the more I learn about it, the madder I get. He should not have been imprisoned for even a day.” After we appealed—and lost—we didn’t see a way out, but I looked my husband in the eye and promised that I would keep fighting for his release as long as I was alive. I knew that President Trump was compassionate and wanted to help people. I

When my phone rang I recognized the number. It was one of the people who had direct access to the White House. “G-d really loves you because amazing things are happening,” he said when I answered. “Stay next to your phone!”

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Phone Support Groups believed that he was a friend of the Jews, pro-Israel, and appreciated the value of family. Obtaining a presidential pardon would be a long shot, but anything was worth a try. I started writing to him on a daily basis. I told him about my treatments, sent photos of the family, and told him what my kids were up to. I encouraged them to write as well. Then one day my daughter sat down at her desk with a page torn from her school binder and wrote the letter that became famous after Ronen’s release. Dear Mr. President, I am sure you have heard of my family’s situation and how my father was treated unfairly and just thinking about it makes my eyes tear and every Sunday for those few precious hours we have with him I am miserable because I know that I will be once again going home and he will have to stay in that dreadful place. Our lives have become so sad and miserable. And now my mother being sick I am so scared of her getting worse. I can’t even imagine what would happen to us, where we would end up because without her the world would be a place where I won’t be able to exist, so I will be most am hoping that you can help my family out and if so I will be the most thankful and grateful person in the world. Sensirly, Ariella Nahmani, 11 years old As time went on, it was hard not to feel as if all our letters were falling into an abyss. The silver lining of my illness was that “wife with terminal cancer” was a bigger selling point than “our justice system is failing.” Apparently, being innocent wasn’t enough. I remember reaching my breaking point and telling Alan that it wasn’t fair: I wanted Ronen to come home because he didn’t belong in prison, not because I was sick. “Who said the law is fair?” he replied. “If you want him to come home because he’s

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innocent, he’s going to stay right where he is. If you want him home period, this is the way to do it.” I was diagnosed a month after Sholom Mordechai Rubashkin was released, and the Aleph Institute was feeling confident. They knew that they had achieved something amazing and that they had the resources to try it again. The commutation was a huge team effort, with dozens of people involved on a daily basis. I’d always been articulate and active in outreach, but now I had Aleph to help me. The majority of the credit goes to them, not only for helping with the legalities, but also for being our life support throughout the entire process. Aleph and I reached out to political and humanitarian figures, made videos and drafted countless legal documents. I worked from my chair in the chemo ward and answered calls from my sickbed. Then seven months before Ronen’s commutation, it finally began to feel as if we were getting somewhere. Aleph sent a delegation to the White House that spoke to the president and reported back that I could be “cautiously optimistic.” What did that mean? I had no way of knowing. All I could daven for was that Hashem had only good in store for us, just as I had since our nightmare began.

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Szilvia The best day of my life—better than the day we got married or the birth of our children—was the day I received word that Ronen was going to be freed. I had pictured it thousands of times in my head: getting the phone call, running to the car where I had Ronen’s regular clothes always waiting, and driving as fast as I could to pick him up. But it when it actually happened, it was nothing like that. After it became clear that my conventional medical treatment in America wasn’t helping, I’d decided to travel to Spain with

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FEATURE // The Reprieve

my friend Yehudit so I could try an alternative form of therapy. Which is why, on the day it all came together, I was walking down a cobblestone street, heading back to my room after eight hours of hypothermia treatment. When my phone rang I recognized the number. It was one of the people who had direct access to the White House. “G-d really loves you because amazing things are happening,” he said when I answered. “Stay next to your phone!” He called me back less than a minute later. “The president signed the pardon! Ronen is going home!” Chills ran down my spine and I fell into Yehudit’s arms, weeping. After that, my phone didn’t stop ringing. The dozens of people who’d made it happen were all calling to join in the simchah. As soon as I hung up it would ring again. I was a sobbing mess. It was real! Ronen was coming home. Yehudit watched with a smile as I screamed and danced. One of the passersby even offered to call an ambulance; I didn’t look anything close to normal. “No need,” Yehudit explained. “She just got the best news of her life. She’s as okay as she can be!” After an hour of trying to catch my breath, I realized that I hadn’t made the most important call of all: to my children. They happened to be at the beach with my brother-in-law, and when I told them between sobs they started crying too. “Abba is coming home!” they shouted, bouncing around on the sand. They abandoned their sand castles and jumped into the car. I might have been stuck in Spain, but they were going to pick up Abba.

After a few hours of waiting, my kids learned that I wasn’t coming home that day. They got back in the car and drove away, while I was taken away by Immigration and Customs Enforcement

right after I finished Shacharit, I went to chat with a fellow prisoner in the prison common room. We were sitting with cups of coffee and I updated him on the pardon process. “I need to be positive,” I told him, “because it could really happen at any minute.” A few minutes later I took out my Tehillim so I could get a head start on finishing it for the day. As I turned to the first page, I heard them calling “Nahmani, Ronen,” over the loudspeakers. “This could be it!” he said. “I hope it means you’re getting out of here.” A lieutenant from the Bureau of Prisons was waiting for me in the warden’s office. “Are you Nahmani?” he asked, then requested to see my ID. I started to doubt that I was about to leave because the officer was being too rough. He didn’t look like someone who was about to deliver amazing news. “What’s going on? Am I in trouble?” I asked. But before explaining, the lieutenant did a spot check and made me empty my pockets. All I had were my usual companions: a small Tehillim and Tikkun Klali. The warden explained that there were usually two reasons for a lieutenant to visit a prison: either for something very good or for something very bad. I was worried Every time we learned that another what the bad news could possibly be. Was appeal or request for pardon had been my family all right? denied, I would feel helpless all over again. Then the lieutenant gave me the update. I needed to be home for my family. “I’m here for good news. I have the honor On a summer morning in July 2019, of telling you that President Trump has

Ronen

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signed your commutation!” I was trembling so hard that I couldn’t speak. The warden noticed my blank stare. “You don’t look too excited,” he commented. I was, I assured him, but I was also feeling so many things that I didn’t know where to start. The warden sent me to my room to gather up my few belongings—and from there things went a little sideways. For many hours I stood with the bag of my possessions and waited for the call saying that I was finally free to go. Meanwhile, the men I had lived with for the past few years came to see me off. I shook a lot of hands, gave a lot of hugs and said a lot of heartfelt goodbyes. But time was passing and no one was calling. “Look,” one friend suddenly pointed out. From my vantage point on the roof of the building, I could see my parents and children in the prison parking lot. They were waiting to take me home—and I knew exactly why I still couldn’t leave. There were two reasons why Szilvia and I had been praying for a full pardon rather than a commutation. First, I wanted to go free because of my innocence and not out of pity because my wife was sick. Second, if I received a commutation, I would still be considered a criminal and there was a risk of deportation. As I watched my kids sitting on the fence, I knew that it wasn’t what we had hoped for.

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new arrivals! When I was pulled over, Szilvia and I had both been working on obtaining our green cards. At the time, there were no formal charges against me and no reason that the application should have stalled. But for some reason they kept on losing my papers—repeatedly—each time giving me a different excuse. Szilvia received her paperwork, but when I was sentenced I still had no legal status. I had no doubt that the DEA was behind it. The small technicality was huge, because it meant that I was destined for deportation upon release. I couldn’t return to my family, home or community. So while I was technically free, I was unable to get my life back. I’d lived in America for 33 years and raised my five children there, but none of that mattered. After a few hours of waiting, my kids learned that I wasn’t coming home that day. They got back in the car and drove away, while I was taken away by Immigration and Customs Enforcement. With handcuffs on both my hands and feet, I was merely schlepped from one cement room to another. People have no idea what an ICE detention center is like. The conditions are appalling, and it’s hard to believe that places like this exist in America. The guards were actually nicer than they were in prison, but the environment was exponentially worse: 60 men shared a single big room and five toilets, none of which had any privacy. For an hour a day they would allow us outside so we could walk around the barbed wireenclosed yard. At random times throughout the day they would announce that everyone needed to lie on his bed; then they would come through with scanners and run them over us. It was degrading, and most of the men there had never committed any crime. Of all the facilities in which I spent time, ICE was by far the worst. After a miserable three days, they let me know that a flight had been booked for me to Israel. I wouldn’t be leaving until the next morning, but they brought me down at 11

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p.m., and I spent the night on a cement bench in a waiting room. When morning came, a lawyer arrived with a suitcase of clothes that my family had sent for me. It was the first time I realized how much weight I’d lost because it was my first time wearing normal clothing and seeing how many sizes I had dropped. I put on a shirt and pants and said “Shehecheyanu.” The guards took me all the way to the plane before handing me an envelope of papers, after which I boarded by myself. For the first time in four years I was on my own.

Szilvia The Aleph Institute recommended that we give Ronen a little time before meeting him in Israel, but we’d been waiting for so many years that I was unwilling to push off our reunion any longer. When I came back from Europe, I handed each kid a suitcase and asked him or her to pack. “We’re going to Abba!” I announced. But the transition to our new lives was anything but simple. I had just started a new treatment, which meant that I was in pain and had no energy. The kids, their routine abruptly disrupted, missed their friends, school and toys. And Ronen, having just left prison, was depressed, suicidal and struggling with PTSD. Our reunion was nothing like the idyllic event we’d hoped for after so long. All of sudden we had to renavigate our relationships: mine and Ronen’s, Ronen’s and the kids, and mine and the kids. It didn’t help that we were stuffed into Ronen’s savta’s two-bedroom apartment along with her and an aide. For the next four months the kids were out of school and I was skipping treatments. We were all going crazy. I was physically disabled and had five kids crying that they wanted to go home. It felt as if the ground beneath us had shifted and cracked. Was this the dream I’d been holding onto for years? The stress eventually landed

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FEATURE // The Reprieve

me in the emergency room, after which the people at Aleph put their foot down. “You need help,” they said, and they set up an appointment for me with a therapist. With her guidance, I realized that Miami was the best place for our family to be. I was being irresponsible with regard to my health, and if something were to happen to me, Ronen wasn’t in a place where he could care for the kids. We all needed to heal.

Ronen For four years and 22 days, everything I did was regulated. Someone else chose when I could shower, how long I could speak on the phone and how much I could eat. I often dreamt that I was in my house, sitting on my couch and sleeping in my own bed. But none of that was restored to me. Even though I wasn’t in prison, I still wasn’t free. People judged me for not feeling at home in Israel, but I had left the country when I was 13. I knew the language and the culture, but I felt like a foreigner. ICE had dropped me off in a strange land and was leaving me to work it all out. When the kids arrived a week later, I wasn’t ready. I didn’t feel like myself, and the tension wasn’t good for any of us. Szilvia and I eventually had a tough conversation about what to do, and after a lot of crying we decided that it was best for her and the kids to return home. I moved to Mexico soon afterward so that their visits would be closer and cheaper. I found a job there selling medical products, and I am slowly beginning to feel alive again. It might not be the life I had before but it’s something, and I’m grateful. It’s been very hard for me to move on. The memories of prison become a part of you. You learn how to live with them, but you never forget. Do you know what it’s like to have to tell a toddler that she can’t sit on Abba’s lap during the few hours a week she gets to see him? Or to warn your kids that they’re not allowed to hug their

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father? The guards were very stern and unforgiving. Szilvia wore the exact same outfit for every visit, because once she found a skirt, shoes and top that met with their approval, it wasn’t worth risking being sent home. The most difficult moment every week was seeing my family get up to leave. We were so close, yet so far. During one visit, my son crawled into my lap and fell asleep. When the guard called me over for a reprimand, I gently lifted him off. Big mistake. Not only had I passed my quota for physical contact, I’d taken too long to respond to the order. “Your family needs to leave,” the guard said in an even tone. I searched his eyes for some light, but it didn’t seem as if he was capable of feeling compassion. Fifteen minutes after they pulled in, my kids had to bundle up again and head back home. My daughter was so sad that she lay down on the floor and sobbed. The guards, suddenly capable of emotion, looked at her and laughed. I was shocked that they derived pleasure from someone else’s pain. Other men had children sitting on their lap during visits, but they weren’t wearing yarmulkes. Anti-Semitism was as rampant as the vermin that plagued the facility. When I complained to a fellow Jewish inmate about it, he said it wasn’t true. “Really?” I told him. Then I asked him to walk past a sign that said “Restricted.” It elicited no comment from the guards. A minute later, I did the same thing. “Who do you think you are?” the guards immediately barked. My friend and I might have both been Jewish, but I was a more obvious target because of my yarmulke. There was only one occasion when I saw a glimmer of humanity from a guard. One day, when I was leaving the mess hall after breakfast, the guard at the door saw that I was holding a pear. “You have to throw that out,” she reminded me. “Food isn’t allowed outside the mess hall.” I’d learned by then that the only way to survive was to keep

your head down, avoid making eye contact and do what they said. So I threw the pear into the bin. Just as it landed inside, the guard regretted what she’d done. “I’m so sorry!” she said. Her shoulders fell a little. “I just realized that all you wanted to do was eat a piece of fruit and I’m not letting you. I should have let you finish it.” Her kindness was so unexpected that it swirled around for a while and kept me warm. With the exception of that one incident, my four years in prison were torturous. No one who hasn’t been there can really imagine what it’s like. Which in my opinion is a very good thing.

Szilvia As with any big adjustment, everyone in our family handled the reentry differently. The kids were very let down. They had expectations of what Abba’s return would be like, and the reality was a bitter disappointment. All of a sudden, everything they’d kept bottled up for years came pouring out. They started listing the reasons they were angry at us: no vacations, missed events, second-hand shoes. My daughter didn’t have a bat mitzvah, a choice she herself had made because she didn’t want to do it without Abba. My son didn’t have his father cheering in the audience when he earned his black belt in taekwondo. They were deprived of sharing Shabbatot, holidays, Chumash parties and school plays, and they were upset that they could never get that time back. Ronen himself was struggling. It’s impossible for such a traumatic experience not to leave its mark, and at times his PTSD was so bad that I feared for his life. I mentioned his hard adjustment to someone who had been through a similar experience years ago. “Give him some time,” he advised, adding that seven years after his own release he was just starting to feel like himself again. “Things could be worse,” he pointed out.

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FEATURE // The Reprieve

“Some people struggle with reentry so much that they pray to go back to prison.” The kids were young when Ronen left. Today they are teenagers with an attitude, and at first he had no idea how to relate to them. He’d watched them grow during our weekly visits, but those were formal affairs. He never got to see them playing or fighting with each other. A short time after his release he called me up one day in a panic. Our youngest child had splashed water in the bathroom, and he was surprised by what a mess she’d made. “She’s little,” I laughed. “Just take a paper towel and wipe it up.” It’s taking him time to learn what normal life feels like again. The same way that his incarceration made me sick, his freedom will now help me heal. Just knowing that he is allowed to make himself a cup of tea, take a shower and go to shul calms me down. It’s wonderful that the kids are back in school. Throughout their ordeal, it was the one constant in their lives. They still miss Ronen, but least they can video chat for help with their homework and he can be involved in their discipline. We also get to see each other in person. They have their Abba back in some form, and we know that he’s okay. It’s not enough, but it’s more than we had and we are grateful. We are still davening for our happy ending— Ronen in America and me fully healed— but we also know that the hardest part is

behind us, and Hashem has only good for us in store. As far as my treatments are concerned, I tell my kids that having Abba back is like when they find the charger for their iPad. I now have more energy to reboot, which will, b’ezrat Hashem, make all the difference. After Ronen was released, my prognosis took a turn for the worse. I was afraid to go back to my doctors because each visit ignited a fear that kept me up for days. In our family, though, we believe that being positive is enough to break through boundaries. For me, that means being in denial about my current prognosis. The doctors say that it’s reached my bones and that it’s incurable, but when Ronen was given a harsh sentence we refused to accept it—and look how that turned out, baruch Hashem! Our bitachon moved mountains, and I believe it will do so again. The last test I took was encouraging, simply because I didn’t get any worse. The day I called Ronen to tell him the news was also the day I saw a 360-degree turnaround in him. It gave him renewed chayut to know that I have a chance, and now my next goal is to let my kids know that I’ll be sticking around for a long, long time, with Hashem’s help. Right now I’m taking things one day at a time: picking the kids up from school, spending time on the phone with Ronen and going for palliative treatments. I count all my

blessings throughout the day: Ronen is out of prison, the kids aren’t in public school and I’m still alive. I have a loving family, and there are wonderful organization like the Aleph Institute extending their help. Even now, many months after Ronen was released and their efforts are technically over, the rabbis still reach out to us to see how we are doing. It warms my heart to know that our family wasn’t just another box to check off; we have a community standing behind us. They say that my cancer is killing me, but I say that it’s going to be okay. With Ronen there to support me, I’m fighting to wake up, live through the day and get through another night. I am waging a battle with every cell in my body—cancerous or otherwise—to one day walk my seven-year-old baby down the aisle. I know that with Ronen’s release and the fact that I’ve made it this far, our family is a miracle. Hashem had done it in the past, and He can do it again. We are waiting for the oncologist to read my next report and for his mouth to fall open. He’s going to call in other doctors to review it, and then ask the technician to run the tests again. We are waiting for him to be unable to explain my results because it will make no sense that they improved so much. It’s time for our second miracle. Please keep Szilvia—Rut bat Sarah—in your prayers for a complete and speedy recovery. ●

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UPDATES

The

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A Daughter’s Return, Her Mother’s Story By Simi Horowitz

n our Rosh Hashanah issue, we featured the story of Peri Landau Cohen, a chasidishe girl who left her home and community and married a chiloni Sefardi bus driver she had been meeting secretly for some time. She spoke of her years estranged from her family and of her return. Today, Peri and her husband and children are frum and reunited with her parents and family. In fact, Peri’s oldest son recently got married, and his chasunah was celebrated by the entire family. Peri’s story touched many readers and gave hope to many parents. I met quite a few women, mothers of children who are

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not religious anymore, who told me that Peri’s story touched them deeply. One woman said that she reads the story over and over again, and each time she reads it, it gives her great chizzuk. With Hashem’s help, their children will also return. One of the things Peri mentioned was that she and her mother spoke together for Arachim, each telling her side of the story. I wanted to meet Peri’s mother to get her story as well. I told Mrs. Chana Landau, “Our article about your daughter gave chizzuk to a lot of people who suffer similarly. A lot of parents are very confused about this situation and don’t know what

to do. What would you tell parents going through this in terms of chizzuk, and what would you tell them in terms of practicality? Perhaps only a mother who has experienced a similar heartbreak can understand the broken hearts of mothers whose children have gone off the derech.” As soon as Mrs. Landau heard the words “chizzuk for mothers,” she was on board. We met in her beautifully appointed home in Har Nof. A petite woman, Mrs. Landau exudes great warmth. It’s hard to imagine a child of hers rejecting her, but then again, this entire parshah is not something we can easily understand. Wonder-

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Har Nof

ful parents who have established the most beautiful homes have been struck by this tragedy. Mrs. Landau said, “It felt like my whole world had been destroyed. Peri is the oldest both in my family and in my husband’s family, and she was loved by the entire family in a way I can’t even describe.” We began at the beginning. How old was your daughter when she left home? She was about 18. Was it a slow descent for her or was it

sudden? It started when she was about 12 years old. After we moved to Har Nof, she fell in with a bad crowd. We didn’t know about it. As parents, we were the last to know what was happening.

very upset and surprised by it. Part of the deal was that every week she had to visit a certain teacher who was to supervise her.

How old was she when you found out what was going on? She was 14. We couldn’t get her into high school because the school knew what she was up to. Th y sent us a list of demands she would have to meet in order for them to accept her, and she was very hurt by that—not to mention that we were

Did she influence our other children? Baruch Hashem, no. She wanted to infl ence them, but she wasn’t able to. When she got married, the newspapers here in Israel had a field day with pictures of their wedding and headlines about a chareidi rabbi’s daughter marrying a chiloni bus driver splashed across the front page.

How many children do you have? Six, bli ayin hara. She’s the oldest.

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In the interviews, Peri told the reporter that she hoped the rest of her siblings would follow in her path. She said that we were difficul cold and unloving parents, and that she would open her home to her siblings so they could follow her. And that wasn’t just in the article; she told many people that as well. She did have a kosher chuppah, though. Yes. When my f ather-in-law saw a headline that read, “The Bus Driver and the Rav’s Daughter: A Love Story,” he fainted. Was her husband much older than her? He was 25, and she was 18. What were her siblings’ reactions? Th y didn’t even want to look at her. Was she still keeping Shabbos when she started high school? Of course. Externally she looked like a regular Bais Yaakov girl. We found out that f rom the age of 17 she had started walking around outside in other clothing, but until then she didn’t change visibly. As far as Shabbos goes, she always kept Shabbos even during her years away—at least in her own mind. I don’t know how careful she was with the minutiae of hilchos Shabbos, but on a broad level, as far as she was concerned, she always kept Shabbos. We believe that Shabbos is what protected her. What prompted her to leave when she was 18? She had already been wandering for some time before then, but during Sefi at HaOmer of that year—her last year in high school—the school contacted us and told us that she had to choose which learning track she wanted to take. When I told her that the mechanechet had called and said that she had to choose, she said, “Ima, I think I made my decision.” “What’s that?”

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I asked. She said, “I decided that I’m leaving you and getting married.” We had no idea that she was seeing someone, let alone that she was thinking of getting married. I was so shocked I almost swallowed my tongue. How long had she known this boy? From around the age of 15, about three years. Did he live in your neighborhood? No. He was an Egged bus driver, and she got to know him by riding his bus. Was he at all religious? No. How much did she change in regard to Yiddishkeit after that? Externally she looked completely secular; her dress was completely not tznius. However, internally, she says that she always kept the main things—Shabbat, kashrut, and taharah. What did you do?

It felt like my whole world had been destroyed. She was loved by the entire family in a way I can’t even describe. My parents and my in-laws were prominent people, and the wound for all of us was beyond description. I went into a serious state of anxiety; it was very bad. My husband had health problems as well. That ust have been very difficult or your other children as well. Hakadosh Baruch Hu helped us. During the first year after it happened, He gave us the time we needed to take care of our home and family, but after that year I had the anxiety, and my husband’s health problems began. Baruch Hashem, he recovered. How long ago was this? About 22 years ago. She was gone for 16 years. Did you have any contact with her at all during those years? During that first year we had no contact with her whatsoever.

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“I said that I’m a mother and I want to have contact with my daughter. My husband said, ‘It’s up to you... If you want to contact her, you can. But keep me out of it.’”

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right thing to do, but if you want to contact her, you can. But keep me out of it.”

Where did she live? Until her wedding she lived in Yerushalayim, and after the wedding they lived in Beit Shemesh. Th y moved to Maaleh Adumim for a few years, but af ter they became frum, they moved back to Beit Shemesh. Did you have contact with her after that first ear? After the first year she had a baby, and I realized that nothing was going to change; she wasn’t going to come back. I said that I’m a mother and I want to have contact with my daughter. My husband said, “It’s up to you. I don’t think it’s the

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Did your daughter want to have contact with you? Very much, and she did try calling earlier, but we hung up on her.

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Where did she go? She moved into his parents’ house. For the first year my husband couldn’t even tolerate hearing anything about her. A psychologist told us not to try to contact her; he said that when she needed money, she would reach out to us and would end up coming back on our terms.

So he gave you permission. Yes, but he didn’t like it. He was the smol docheh, and I was the yemin mekarevet.

It’s a big question that a lot of parents have—what they should do with regard to keeping in touch. Yes, and my suggestion is never to cut off c ntact. Even though you did it for the firs year. We simply didn’t have any experience, and we didn’t really have people who had gone through this to talk to for advice. Now, sadly, there are many people going through this. But at the time we were among the first and we had no idea what to do about it. In any case, I started to have a relationship with her after that first year. What form did it take?

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My husband told me that she couldn’t come to our house and I couldn’t go to her house, so we met in the street. I met my grandson for the first time in the middle of the street. How old was he then? Th ee or four months old. This is our oldest grandson? Yes. He’s getting married next week. He’s a top bachur in Yeshivat Yad Aharon, baruch Hashem. How many children does your daughter have now? Six boys and one girl. Th ee of the boys and the girl were born before she came back. Let’s go back to when you restarted your relationship with her. At first we would meet in the street. When she had her next few children, my husband forbade me to have any involvement in the births, and we were not at the britot of her first three sons. However, she did consult with us about which names to give her daughter—her third child—and her third son. That was kay with her husband? Yes. He agreed to whatever she wanted when it came to her relationship with us. Did you ever speak with her over the phone? I did, but my husband didn’t. Did you have regular conversations with her by phone? Yes. Ten years after she got married, on Purim, she called our house and asked to speak to my husband af ter she finishe speaking to me. I told her I was concerned that it could harm his health, but she said not to worry. My husband was in the next room learning hilchos Pesach, and I handed

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An Egged bus near Tel Aviv

him the phone without telling him who it was, and I left the room. A few minutes later he walked into the kitchen with the phone in his hand, and he was crying. I asked him what she had said. I’ve told this story many times, and I still cry each time I remember it. She said, ‘Abba, on Purim it says, ‘Kol haposheit yad notnim lo (whoever stretches out his hand is given what he requested).’ I’m stretching out my hand. Please give me what I want.” He invited her to come to our house, and they came over for the seudah. Tha was the first time he saw his grandchildren. His oldest grandson was nine years old when he saw him for the first time. From that point, their relationship slowly grew. Interestingly, my f ather lived with us during his last years, and he really loved my daughter. My parents were always mekareiv her, and they never distanced themselves from her. Where did they meet her? Th y would invite her to their home. My father said to my husband then, “I was in the Holocaust, and whoever was in the Holocaust would never cast away a child. You can do whatever you want, but I’m not going to cast away this child.” He

always kept up a relationship with her. He gave her money, and he bought candlesticks for her when she got married. My mother passed away 16 years ago; she didn’t merit to see her return. My father didn’t see her return either, but at least he got to see our relationship with her develop. Two weeks af ter my father passed away, my granddaughter came home and told her parents that she wanted to switch to a frum school, because otherwise her uncles and aunts—my other children—wouldn’t let her have a relationship with their children, her cousins. Thatwas the beginning for my daughter and her family. My granddaughter was the pioneer who pulled her family after her. Why do you think she returned? My husband and I have a slight difference of opinion on that. The fact is that the entire journey was full of nissim. But in addition to that, I believe that the love we gave her before she returned made her f eel loved and wanted by us, and that eventually led to her coming back. My husband, however, believes that she came back because she had no choice, that she did it for pragmatic reasons. But I believe that to take the drastic step of chazarah b’teshuvah with her husband and

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“I believe that the love we gave her before she returned made her feel loved and wanted by us, and that eventually led to her coming back.” children is not something she could have done for pragmatic reasons. How old was the oldest when they became frum? He was 15 and a half. And he didn’t know anything about Yiddishkeit at the time? He didn’t know anything about Gemara, but he did know some things about Yiddishkeit. He knew that his grandfather was a chasid, but he didn’t know what that meant. The first time he started learning Gemara was when he was 15. Who learned with him? In order to be accepted to Acheinu, which is a yeshivah for chozrim b’teshuvah [under the auspices of Rav Dovid Hofstedter], he had to be tested on two dapim of Gemara. Someone from Lev L’Achim volunteered to help him learn enough to pass the test, and because he’s very bright, he was able to absorb it very quickly. He was accepted into the yeshivah, and he immediately began to flou ish. What was the teshuvah process like for the children? Was it difficult or them? It wasn’t easy. First of all, these were

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children who were used to watching television, and one day the TV was thrown out of the house. That was very difficu for my daughter as well, because chilonim use the television as a babysitter, and without it her whole house suddenly changed. That was very hard for her; she didn’t know how to take care of her children without it. Who made the decision to throw it out? My daughter and her husband made the decision together. Did he know anything about Yiddishkeit? No. When they first told us about their intention to become frum, my husband accepted our son-in-law with open arms, and they started a shiur kavua together, beginning with easy topics. When the first Elul came around, he wasn’t yet dressed the way he is today, like a kollel avreich. He started off with a kippah serugah, but now he wears a kippah so big that it almost covers his entire head. He came then to our house and they started to learn, and then he asked my husband a number of questions about teshuvah. My husband went through a

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number of basics about Yom Kippur and how it can be mechapeir. Then he turned to my husband and said, “Does the rav”— that’s how he referred to my husband— “know how many aveirot I have? Who knows whether I can even do teshuvah? You have no idea what I’ve done in my life.” He was very shaken by this conversation, and that’s when he really started moving forward. In the beginning he learned all day, but it wasn’t easy for him, so he learns as much as he can, and he does some driving for parnasah as well. Did the children resent the changes? No, which is another neis. However, the oldest is very genuine, and he had a period of depression for a while because he just didn’t find learning Gemara to be interesting. Today he’s very happy, baruch Hashem. But in general Hashem really helped, and they didn’t oppose what their parents wanted. It was very hard for the children because everything they were used to was taken from them very suddenly. Did they cut off cont ct with their friends? Completely. While they were still living in Maaleh Adumim, that was something of an issue, but once they moved to Beit Shemesh, it was complete. What did your son-in-law’s family think about his becoming frum? It was very difficul for them, but today they’re happy and have a very good relationship with him and the family. Does your daughter feel her husband influenced her to lea e? Not at all. He always accepted her as she was, and he was always happy to do whatever she wanted. Today you have a regular relationship with your daughter and her family?

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“When people go through something like this, society doesn’t really know how to deal with them or relate to them, which makes it even harder for them.” Yes. I understand that you give lectures about this. I did for three years, but I can’t do it anymore. While I was doing it, I spoke almost every night and sometimes even twice a day. My daughter and I lectured together for three years, both for private events and for Arachim. We had a joint program called “Teshuvat Hamishkal: A Conversation Between a Mother and Daughter.” We did this f or the express purpose of being mechazeik people. Many people who heard us speak called me to ask what we did in practical terms that helped our daughter return. Thefirst thing I have to say is that it was simply zechut avot. We merited Hashem’s help and we had a neis. However, I tell people two things that they can do in the hope that their children will return. Thefirst is to daven constantly. The second is to keep loving them. People ask me whether they should throw such a child out of the house, and I answer that it’s a sh’eilah for a rav. Sometimes there’s no choice but to tell them to leave. However, even if parents do have to tell them to leave, I point out that even after Avraham Avinu had no choice but to tell

Yishmael to leave his home, he never broke off contact with him; he always stayed in touch. When he went to the Akeidah, he took Yishmael with him, and he went to visit him as well. Th re is no situation that would call for cutting off such a child, even though there are times when such a child might have to be sent away f rom the home because he’s ruining the other children. As I said, this is a sh’eilah for a rav. Did you have a message, or were you just telling your side of the story? She told her story, I told my story, and then I added insights to our story—the things that we learned over time as a result of what we went through—what to do, how to be mekareiv, how to relate to people who have such a problem. Thestory is very sad. When people go through something like this, society doesn’t really know how to deal with them or relate to them, which makes it even harder for them. I remember how we felt when people were staring at us wherever we went, and I can’t tell you what it felt like to go on the bus and hear people talking about us. What kind of relationship did your daughter have with her siblings during the time she wasn’t frum? While they lived at home, they didn’t have any relationship with her. But after they got married, they discussed it with their spouses, and each went according to the spouse’s wishes. The ones whose spouses agreed to a relationship with her had one, and the ones who didn’t had no contact with her until she came back. Today they all have a normal, loving relationship with her. When you say that it’s always important to keep up a relationship with a child who leaves, is that because you believe it will bring the child back or because that’s how you feel it should be? In other words, is it about a

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hashkafah or about something that comes from your heart? The truth is that it’s both. Originally, the reason I wanted a relationship with my daughter was because that’s how I felt it had to be; it was about my heart. But I came to see that the results of such an approach are amazing, and that is why I tell people not to cut off the relationship.

had bothered my husband the most about what she had done.

Your daughter spoke about how much she missed having a relationship with your husband. You had a relationship with her, but he didn’t. Do you think that missing him was a factor in her coming back? It did bother her a lot, of course, but if I hadn’t kept a connection with her, she wouldn’t have had a way to come back.

Why was it such a big story? Because the media wanted to turn it into one. Theheadlines were horrible. My husband is the rav of a shul, and they blew the story up.

And the conversations were regular conversations between a mother and a daughter. At first they were a bit more formal; they didn’t feel fully natural. But as time went on, we became more comfortable with each other. You have to understand that she spoke very harshly about us, and although I wanted to have a relationship with her, it was still hard because I was very hurt. On the one hand, you loved her very much, but on the other hand, you were very disappointed in her. Exactly. We were very disappointed and very hurt, and even worse was the chillul Hashem that she caused. Incidentally, we named our program Teshuvat Hamishkal on my husband’s suggestion, because he felt that it could bring balance to the chillul Hashem that she caused. Th t was what

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When your daughter thinks about the past, does it hurt her? It bothers her, but she doesn’t remember many of the details. She remembers the things that people did to her right before she left, but she doesn’t remember many of the things that she did or said. I’ll give you an example. Before she left, she was standing near the mirror brushing her hair. I stood right behind her and said, “What about your grandparents? You love them, and they’re going to die of pain if you do this.” “So what?” she said. “Th y lived their lives already. Now it’s my turn.” But she doesn’t remember that exchange at all. She would yell at me very loudly, but she has no recollection of that either.

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How often did you see each other before that Purim? Once every two or three weeks. We would meet for an hour and a half to two hours.

In what way was it a chillul Hashem? Her story was published in all the newspapers, and it was very nasty. We never responded to them, but we were constantly harangued by all the major newspapers in the country.

Maybe she blocked it out. Yes. But she knows that she caused a chillul Hashem, and that bothers her a lot. Looking back to the time when your daughter was 12 years old, is there anything you feel you could have done differently? Is there anything you would suggest to parents who are in a similar situation? The problem is that people think that when a child starts to fall, they can stop him by putting out their hands. But a child who starts to fall is like a rock at the top

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of a mountain that starts to roll downward. If you try to stop the rock’s progress once it builds momentum, you’re just going to fall along with it. I tell people not to try to stop them. Cry and daven a lot, so that your child will see you crying and davening. However, make sure only to cry while you’re davening. The rest of the time, make sure that your house is a place of simchah. Your child has to know that despite your pain and anguish, the house is a happy place. Th pasuk says, “Ben kesil tugat imo, a foolish son is the grief of his mother” (Mishlei 10:1). Why is the child foolish? Why does he come to a yeridah? Because the mother is sad. You have to keep the home happy, because when the home is always happy, the children will always enjoy being there. When a child sees a house that is full of depression, he will leave and look for a place where there is joy. When a child leaves, can the parents tell him or her how disappointed they are? Absolutely. You shouldn’t talk about the child’s behavior, but you can and should talk about your own feelings. If a child does whatever he’s doing, I can say, “Listen, you’re causing me an indescribable amount of pain.” Tha ’s something that he can’t argue with. However, calling the child names or yelling at him for his behavior is worthless. You can only talk about your own feelings, because if you say anything about him, he is going to feel hurt. But he can’t argue with anything you say about yourself—that’s yours. What about giving mussar? The e’s no point. When a child starts to fall, he’s completely blind. He has a complete mental block, and it’s like trying to stop a car rolling down a hill with your bare hands. All you can do is daven and cry to try to wake him up, and you can

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“A child who starts to fall is like a rock at the top of a mountain that starts to roll downward. If you try to stop it once it builds momentum, you’re going to fall along with it.” give him a number of rules. I tell mothers to say to the child, “Listen, we want you to stay in our home. We don’t want you to leave.” Thisis very important when it comes to girls in particular, because they don’t want to leave. “But there are two rules you have to keep. I can’t debate with you over the things you do. What you do outside the home is your problem, and I can’t tell you anything. But inside the house there are two things you have to keep. “First, your father should always be able to say a brachah in your presence. Thi means you have to be dressed b’tzniut. Second, I want you to help me with technology. I want you to tell your siblings that the technology you use—smartphones, internet—is not for them.” I tell people to do this, and it works. Have there been many people like your daughter who left and then returned? I don’t think so, but it’s early in the trend. When she lef t, it was still very rare. It’s only recently that it has become more common, and it hasn’t been long enough to see how things go. My daughter works with many people

and does whatever she can to help. After our program, I got a lot of feedback from people who told me that I saved them and that their children came back home because they kept or restarted their relationships with them and showed them love. Do you still have pain from what happened, or is it like the chazarah b’teshuvah—everything goes away? Well, she isn’t having the easiest time with some of her children. However, we know that every shidduch is decided before the child is born, and there must have been a reason for all of this. When I was still doing the lectures, someone asked whether we understood the depth of the neis that we experienced. I said, “Not only do we understand the neis, we are asking for another seven nissim. She has seven children, and we would like to have seven nissim.” But the fact is that every shidduch is a neis. Another thing I can tell you is that if not f or this story, I wouldn’t have the amazing sons-in-law and daughters-inlaw that I do. People didn’t want to do shidduchim with us, but because of that we merited the ones we got. But each shidduch felt like kriat Yam Suf. What gave you chizzuk? I remember that when I was having terrible anxiety, my husband told me to learn Shaar Habitachon, and that really calmed me. One last thing I’d like to say, and I feel this is very important, is that this has nothing to do with us or any kind of gadlut of ours. The e are people who tell us that we’re so great, but that isn’t the case. We simply merited siyata diShmaya. We merited a neis. We didn’t do anything. It was really a neis. We ask that Hakadosh Baruch Hu shouldn’t test anyone like this. It was very hard for us. ●

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Still My Brother As told to Shterna Karp by Elliot Fuchs Earlier this year, Ami Magazine published “Looking for My Brother,” in which Shmelke Diamond was looking for Elliot Fuchs. When the two of them were teenagers in summer camp, Elliot had offered Shmelke—then Spencer—to borrow his tefi lin because “we are all brothers.” Th brief conversation influenced the rajectory of Shmelke’s life, and now, years later, he wanted to thank Elliot. In the months since the article ran, readers have wanted to know what happened. Did Shmelke ever find Elliot and thank him i person? Have the two reconnected? This is Ellio ’s side of what happened since the article was published.

y brothers and I walked into shul that week just as the rabbi was finishing his shalosh seudos drashah. When he saw us come in, the rabbi stopped mid-sentence, looked me straight in the eyes and asked, “Nu, did you see the article?” I had no idea what he was talking about, but I’d just finished an internship at the White House and assumed a local magazine had printed a small blurb about it. Then the rabbi started reading “Looking for My Brother,” about a young boy named Elliot Fuchs who made an impact when he lent Shmelke a pair of tefilli . A f ew paragraphs in, I was ready to correct the rabbi. I had never changed anyone’s life. Surely this article was about a different

Elliot Fuchs. Also, I definitely didn’t know anyone named Shmelke. But when the rabbi reached the scene in the dining hall, when a young Elliot offered Shmelke to use his tefilli that week, my memory started to clear. I went back in time to that summer and the conversation with a guy named Spencer. I remembered seeing Spencer walk into the dining hall, clearly feeling out of place at the Shabbos meal, and I remembered knowing that I had the ability to make him more comfortable. So I went to say hello, we got to talking about tefilli , and the encounter impacted him enough that three months later he asked his parents to buy him a pair of tefillin for his birthday. I was incredibly moved to read Shmelke’s

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story. Although it was the same conversation, we had completely different experiences with it. It wasn’t a big deal at the time. I was just doing what you would hope every parent teaches their children to do—be welcoming to anyone who seems like they could use a friend. Theencounter was lifealtering for Spencer, but on my end it was one of my many conversations with one of my many friends in camp. I don’t think I thought about Spencer at all throughout the ensuing years. My brothers brought the article home af ter Shabbos, and when the rest of my family read it, they joined me in crying. I was touched that Spencer/Shmelke reached out to say thank you and share the long reach one action can have. When we googled Shmelke’s name and saw that he’d become a Satmar chasid who

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now lives in Boro Park, I started crying again. Here was a young kid who changed his life around to become an Orthodox Jew. Thattakes incredible commitment, tenacity and strength! Can you imagine the discomfort of being a 16-year-old who knows nothing about his heritage and still shows up to a Friday night meal? Can you imagine being a teenager humble enough to ask someone three years younger to teach him about Judaism? Can you imagine showing up to shul on Monday when you don’t know how a Shacharis minyan works? Shmelke did all that. He showed up, he learned, and he chose to grow. After I composed myself, I reached out to Ami for Shmelke’s email address and sat down to type him a message.

Shmelke (L) and Elliot (R) in recent photos

Shmelke:

I saw your recent article where you referenced our encounter close to ten years ago. Of course, so many thoughts rushed through my head upon seeing it. I was surprised to have come across it, and I was touched by your kind words. Insofar as the walk down Central Avenue that you mentioned, perhaps we can arrange for one where we can discuss things further. Thanks again or your gracious article, Elliot By the next morning I had a response.

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Watching his wedding reminded me about the undying potential in every Jewish soul. Every Jew has a pure spark that always yearns to connect to Hashem.

for a dance. “Thelast time I saw you I was 17,” the chasan said as we danced in time to the music. The two of us agreed that there was no better place to meet again. Shmelke’s wedding was the clear marker of how much his narrative had changed in those years. After my time with the chasan was up, I hung back to watch what was happening in the hall. If I would have met Spencer in a pizza store and he would have had a yarmulke and tzitzis, that alone would have been tremendous; this night was ten thousand times that. Not only was Shmelke wearing a yarmulke, he was also wearing a shtreimel. Not only was he getting married, his chasunah was attended by hundreds of chasidim and rabbanim. I laughed that I

didn’t know anyone else there. Technically I’d come for the chasan, but even him I barely knew. I marveled at the masses of black swirling around Shmelke the chasan, the kid I used to know as Spencer. It was amazing to think that a small conversation in a summer-camp dining hall helped bring everyone to the hall that night. Watching Shmelke’s wedding reminded me about the undying potential in every Jewish soul. Every Jew has a pure spark that always yearns to connect to Hashem, and when we embrace them, we give that spark the fuel to burn brighter. My rebbeim always said that any act of goodness or kindness can help someone change the trajectory of their lif e. I think about Shmelke and know this is a guarantee. l

Elliot:

Wow! People told me that you would find this s mehow, but I really didn’t believe it (at least not this fast). I want you to know that I meant every word of that piece, and these moments aren’t ones that can be easily forgotten. I would ask how you are and tell you lots about everything that’s happened since, but this is definite y a conversation to be had in person. I would love to meet up again. Best wishes, Shmelke

After messaging back and forth for a few weeks, Shmelke sent an invitation to his wedding. It was the perfect opportunity for us to meet again. I clearly stood out in the hall f i led with bekeshes and shtreimels. People wanted to know why I was there. Did I knew Shmelke f rom his pre-kiruv days? “I guess you can say that,” I told them with a small smile. I tried waving Shmelke down for a quick hello, but busy as he was, our first conversation was when he pulled me into his circle

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Keeping Their Mission Alive By Chaya Silber

ver four years ago, in December of 2015, we published the incredible story of Eli Dworcan, the son of Yossi and Sarah (Lipskar) Dworcan, entitled “Sweet as Maple Syrup.” At the time, Eli was an adorable eightmonth-old baby who was diagnosed with maple syrup urine disease, or MSUD, shortly after birth. Sarah explained how this rare disease was diagnosed through incredible hashgachah pratis and how she was coping with Eli’s special diet. Maple syrup urine disease is diagnosed with the newborn blood spot, or heel-prick test. It is a metabolic disorder, an inborn

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error of metabolism that prevents the body f rom digesting certain essential proteins (branch chain amino acids) and causes toxicity to the body and brain. In the ensuing years, we have often wondered about Eli, who is now almost fi e years old. The Dworcans had been very active in founding an organization whose purpose was both to educate the frum community about the importance of comprehensive genetic testing and to provide a support group for parents whose children had MSUD or other rare disorders. Was the organization still running? And most importantly, had a cure been found? Shortly before Pesach, with the world in

isolation due to COVID-19, we caught up with the Dworcans, who told us that this is old hat for them—their son has been in isolation for the past eight months. Sarah, who is originally from Johannesburg and is now living in Palm Beach, Florida, with her husband and son, brought us up to date about Eli, a beautiful child with deep, soulf ul eyes and a maturity beyond his years. Because it has been a while since the article was published, we will recap some of the details of the diagnosis he received when he was just a few days old. Sarah recalled, “Before we were engaged, my husband and I checked our Dor Ye-

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Yossi Dworcan and his son Eli

shorim numbers and were told that we weren’t carriers for genetic diseases. We didn’t dream that we could ever be affected by one. We were to learn the painful way that maple syrup disease isn’t part of the standard tests for genetic diseases. We were informed later on that we are both carriers of the Ashkenazi recessive mutation that causes MSUD. “Af ter several years of waiting, we received the great news that we would be blessed with a baby. The pregnancy was normal, and despite my persistent unease, the routine scans showed a healthy baby. In utero, our son was completely healthy since my body was filte ing his blood and breaking down the protein for him. “Our precious firs born, Eliyahu Tuvia, was born on 4 Iyar, April 23, 2015, in Jacksonville, Florida, after a relatively easy labor and delivery. He was a healthy weight, seemed alert and responsive, and was declared in excellent health. “The problems began after a day or so. The baby seemed to have a high-pitched

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cry, and his head had a strange, sweet smell. He cried around the clock and seemed hungry or in pain all day. In reality, my milk was poisoning him as his body could not break down the protein he was receiving. “As the days passed, the baby hardly slept and was eating a lot less. Every time I tried to feed him, he would flail his arms and legs in a perfect circular motion, as if he had cramps, and turn his head away. It was almost as if he were fighting me. We became more and more concerned. “On the morning before his bris, the baby turned blue, vomited blood and was rushed to the hospital. The doctors assumed he had swallowed blood from me, which nauseated him and caused him to vomit. Th y were unconcerned and sent him home. Still, we knew something was wrong. We took him to his pediatrician for a follow-up, and he was given a clean bill of health. In fact, one doctor suggested I was simply a hysterical mother who was overreacting. But deep down I knew that wasn’t the case. Eventually, our little boy just slept, with no

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energy even to open his eyes. “Thenthe hospital and the pediatrician’s offic both called, urging us to rush the baby to UF Health Shands Children’s Hospital in Gainesville. The results of the newborn screening test showed that he had maple syrup urine and was in immediate danger. He arrived at the hospital already suffering f rom encephalopathy and in a comatose state from the large amounts of undigested protein in his body. A pediatric genetics and metabolic team took over his care. Th y connected him to IV lipids and sugar and started giving him medical formula that his weak, listless body could digest.” And so their saga began. Af ter several days in the hospital, the baby emerged from his coma-like state and miraculously began responding. He had been severely dehydrated and had stopped himself from eating so as to protect himself from being poisoned by his mother’s milk. His body had started breaking down his own muscle protein, which flooded his system with the proteins that he couldn’t digest. Thedoctors explained that just one more night at home could have been fatal. The Dworcans learned that they were carriers of the Ashkenazi mutation of MSUD in an autosomal recessive pattern, which meant that it would never affect them, but every child of theirs would have a one-in-four chance of being affected. Thi condition is so rare that Eli was only the 911th child in the US to be diagnosed with it. Yossi and Sarah took their son home with strict instructions about his feeding and care. For the rest of his life, he would need to be on a highly specialized diet with a limited amount of protein. However, since protein builds a child’s body and brain, they couldn’t cut it out entirely. Th y needed to maintain a delicate balance, giving him all of the protein that he needed and at the same time protecting his brain from damage caused by excess protein. Eli would need every morsel of food

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weighed and measured, and he would have to have his blood checked weekly to adjust the amount he received. In addition, he had to be monitored around the clock to make sure his levels were okay and that he didn’t show signs of toxicity. It was a tall order, but Yossi and Sarah rose to the challenge. Th y named their son Eliyahu Tuvia— Eliyahu after Sarah’s paternal grandfather, and Tuvia because Hashem had been so good to them in giving them their miracle baby. Two and a half years later, in 2018, Sarah Dworcan visited the Ami offic to share her nachas photos and an update about Eli, who was then nearly three and scheduled to have his upsheren on Lag Ba’Omer. Eli originally attended a day-care center for children with complex medical needs. Thisgave Sarah a breather since caring for him required absolute diligence to ensure that he was drinking his prescribed one liter of formula daily and that he was not going into a metabolic crisis. At three years old, they enrolled him in a preschool in Boynton Beach, where he was accompanied by a full-time nurse to take care of his medical needs. At the time, he was nourished via a feeding tube, which provided him with the exact nutrients he needed to survive—and thrive. For Eli, there were three categories of foods: 1) Those he could not eat at all, such as meat, dairy, nuts, eggs, soy, grains, pasta and beans. 2) Thosehe had to consume in moderation, such as fruits and vegetables. 3) Thosehe could eat in unlimited amounts, such as sugar and fats. Danger could strike at any moment, without warning. The body is made up of muscle protein, which stores the amino acids that were toxic to Eli. Any stress or illness could send his body into a catabolic state and start breaking down the muscle protein, releasing these toxins into the bloodstream and brain. Sarah explained that Eli had to be monitored constantly, with weekly blood

tests to check the protein (amino acid) levels in his body, as well as constant visual tests to make sure he looked healthy and wasn’t exhibiting any sudden changes in behavior or motor skills, all of which could indicate an unhealthy protein level and could be deadly. Sarah, who works full time as the program director for the Palm Beach Synagogue, recalled a close call they had several years ago during the annual community Purim celebration. “I was busy running around, making sure things were going smoothly, while keeping an eye on Eli. I noticed that he was sitting at a table near his f riends and seemed to be having a good time. Suddenly, a friend came running over to tell me that Eli had popped a piece of chicken into his mouth. I panicked and ran over to him, but the f riend had already grabbed it out of his mouth.” Sarah was shaken for a while, realizing she had just experienced a miracle. Had Eli swallowed the piece of chicken, she might

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never have known about it until it was too late. She explained, “The e are no symptoms with MSUD as there are with an allergy, where the face blows up and the person begins to wheeze. Maple syrup disease is a silent killer; the child acts perfectly normal while the protein poisons his system. It made me realize once again how much more careful we had to be as Eli grew and became more curious about food.” Sarah said that caring f or Eli means straddling a fine line between being overprotective and not letting him breathe, and being too easygoing and ending up with a tragedy, chas v’shalom. “The e are some people who really don’t get it; they think we’re just overreacting by not allowing him even a morsel of protein. And then there are those who become hysterical when he goes near chicken or meat. MSUD isn’t a contact disease. Protein isn’t dangerous if he breathes it or stands near it. He would have to actually ingest it f or it to be harmful.” Yossi and Sarah spend most of their time

caring for Eli, in addition to their demanding jobs. In their nonexistent “spare time,” they run Jnetic, an organization they founded to educate the frum community about the importance of genetic screening for all known genetic disorders. Sarah related, “We decided to start Jnetic when Eli was a few months old. I have a background in premed, and I love genetics. Based on our personal experience, we realized that there was a gap in the frum community’s knowledge of certain genetic diseases. We had an obligation to educate the community about them. If even one family were more educated through our efforts and one child’s life saved, it would all be worth it. Jnetic has an advisory board of medical professionals. Their goal is to educate and advise people about the options for testing and to give them information and personal guidance when dealing with a genetic disease. Sarah receives numerous calls each week f rom both expectant parents and parents

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of newborns who have recently been diagnosed. She helps them navigate the maze of uncertainty, encouraging them to get their babies (and themselves) tested, and she dispels some of the myths about genetic testing and carrier status. She spends many hours providing information and support to others who are dealing with rare or undiagnosed genetic disorders. “I try to be there for them, to remove the stigma and shame they might feel, and to keep them updated about the latest advances in genetic research. Some parents are so ashamed that they don’t even want to tell us their names. I explain that there is nothing embarrassing about being proactive and realistic; in fact, it is incredibly courageous.” The e are constant advances in gene therapy, some of which may one day be used to cure MSUD, along with hundreds of other rare genetic diseases. The field is constantly evolving, and the Dworcans stay on top of signifi ant developments. Sarah says that she is currently incredibly busy keeping Eli happy and occupied during the enf orced home-schooling period, she quips that she and her husband have been home-schooling Eli and entertaining him for the past eight months, so this doesn’t feel any different. Sarah said that upon the urging of his doctors, Eli underwent a complicated liver transplant just eight months ago; they felt it was a necessary step to preserve his brain function. Sarah explained, “Although Eli was doing well and his amino acid levels were stable, they still slightly fluctuate up and down beyond our control, which has long-term effects on the brain. Because the liver controls ten percent of the function of the enzyme that Eli’s body is missing, his medical team felt that a liver transplant would give him the best chance to lead a normal life. “To be honest, this was the biggest and most difficult decision Yossi and I will probably ever have to make. We had been

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“There are no symptoms with MSUD. It is a silent killer; the child acts perfectly normal while the protein poisons his system.” hoping the doctors would come up with a cure for MSUD so that we could avoid a transplant, because once Eli was a transplant patient, he would have to take immunosuppressant medication for life. He would always be a transplant patient with the risk of organ rejection. “We began to research the transplant and its various complications, but we soon realized there was no choice given the longterm risks to his brain. We placed Eli on the transplant list and resigned ourselves to a long wait. To our surprise, the call came within a week. Thehealthy liver of a threeyear-old child was available, and it was a perfect match for Eli.” Sarah had mixed f eelings about the surgery, especially since Eli’s salvation came about as the result of a tragedy—the passing of a young child. “Thesurgery, which lasted eight hours, went better than expected because the liver was a perf ect f it Th doctors were elated with his progress. “A week after surgery, the complications set in. Eli’s body experienced a rare form of rejection, and he needed two intense immunosuppressant treatments to destroy the fighter cells and prevent his body from rejecting this beautiful new gift.” Eli was in the hospital for six and a half weeks, where he was monitored f or a number of life-threatening complications.

Since his discharge f rom the hospital, he has been isolated at home since his body is so heavily immunocompromised. The beautiful side to the transplant is that Eli can now eat regular foods. He no longer has a limited diet. He enjoys all the foods that were once his enemy. “He has quite a sophisticated palate and enjoys interesting combinations of foods, such as avocado, feta cheese, cherry tomatoes and black olives!” Best of all, Eli can now share Shabbos meals with his parents, enjoying the delicious menu, and he has learned all about kashrus and brachos, concepts that were foreign to him before the transplant. Unf ortunately, Eli will need to take anti-rejection medication for the rest of his life. However, it’s a small price to pay to enable him to lead as normal a life as possible. Yossi and Sarah are both very positive, hands-on parents who choose not to obsess over Eli’s long-term prognosis; rather, they enjoy each day. Sarah praises the support of their wonderful family, friends and closeknit community, who have rallied behind them in the most remarkable way during their journey. The risk of any child born to them having this disease is one in four, but they still hope to have healthy children with medical help, iy”H. “Eli is a delightful child who fi ls our home and our lives with pure joy. It’s so beautiful to watch him grow and develop his own personality. I just want to bottle him up to enjoy his innocence and laughter for as long as we can. “Are we afraid about the future? We try not to dwell on it. We do all we can to take care of him and to see the glass as half full. We could never have dreamed that we would be where we are, but baruch Hashem, we are so blessed. We have great emunah that Eli will continue to thrive and grow in all ways and have an extraordinary life.” ●

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Her Songs Burst Forth By Victoria Dwek

e first met Miriam on these pages back in 2015, when we learned about her career leading a choir, performing f or women, and composing songs f or seminaries and plays in the US and abroad. At that point, she had just written her firs couple of hit songs sung by Jewish male singers; it had marked a turning point in her career. Since then, she’s been rolling out hit after hit. You may even be singing along with her lyrics to a melody playing in your home right now. “Years back, when I had a choir, I received a psak of “no” when we wanted to record a CD—for women only, of course. I had been

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writing and composing since I was 14, and it was disappointing. Instead, I put out a CD of my songs featuring male singers. Ten years later, I put out another CD, and Ari Goldwag sang three songs on that album. When he needed help writing more songs, he turned to me. Th y collaborated on “Yesh Tivkah,” the hit single sung by Benny Friedman. The success of that song effected a turnaround in Miriam’s career, and she eventually became the lyricist of many hit songs. Later, Miriam collaborated on the Benny Friedman hit “Ivri Anochi.” “After that, I garnered the confidence to call Yochi Briskman. I wanted to write for

Shwekey. He said, ‘Let’s try it.’ Briskman put Miriam in touch with Yitzi Waldner, the composer of note for most Shwekey songs. He had been in the business forever, and a lot of my work since then has come through him.” Th y collaborated first on “Zeh Hakatan,” f rom the 2014 Kolot album, and then on the hit song “Maamin B’nissim,” the song we know for providing hope, faith, and chizzuk. Shwekey dedicated the song to Rabbi Shalom Rubashkin. After Rubashkin’s release, Miriam received a clip of Shwekey singing that song with Rubashkin as they danced around his dining room table together.

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Another Shwekey hit, “Aish,” has also been a source of inspiration. “It’s gratifying and humbling when one of my songs gives chizzuk and I get to be part of people’s lives,” Miriam tells me. Miriam has also written lyrics for the upbeat melodies of singer and composer Mordechai Shapiro, including the hit “Machar.” “I originally had written two songs, and I pitched them to the producer. He said, ‘I’ll take the verses of the first one and the chorus of the second one and make them into one song.” “Oh, that’s an idea,” Miriam said. Th “Machar” that you know was the result. Still, some of Miriam’s most fulfilling projects are songs that are not meant for the public. “I wrote one song for an autistic boy who was ill. He passed away, and the song was a source of comfort for the family. Another song was written on the occasion of the wedding of a bachur who was handicapped. To be part of their personal stories...that is very rewarding for me.” And then this year Miriam wrote a song that really brought her experience in the music industry full circle. She had waited f our years af ter getting married bef ore welcoming her first child, so she could relate to the empathy that Bonei Olam wanted to elicit when they approached her to write lyrics for the song that would be the backdrop for their fundraising campaign. Th y wanted her to create lyrics for a song that included “V ’zakeini” in the chorus. “I already have a song with ‘V’zakeini’ in the chorus... All the lyrics and the melody are done too,” she said. She had originally written “V’zakeini” for a play performed at Bais Yaakov D’Rav Meir. “We can adapt the lyrics for Bonei Olam.”

This year Miriam wrote a song that really brought her experience in the music industry full circle.

Th re’s a void inside my heart I long to fil Will I ever be a mother? Will that blessing come my way? Will I stand by the candles with gratitude and pray?

Th y decided to run with it. Baruch Levine wrote a new melody for the chorus, and Miriam tweaked the lyrics to fit the theme of motherhood. The chorus lyrics and lyrics of the first verse, though, are from the original 2008 version. For a mother’s tears can shatter Every gate that bars the way All the heavens that echo Those ords that mothers say… Thesong, which is sung by Benny Friedman and Baruch Levine, debuted live at the Bonei Olam auction. Themusic video was subsequently released to the public. It tells the story of two families. One family is enjoying the nachas of their children around the Shabbos table; a baby bounces on a mother’s lap, and the young boy stands on his chair to read a dvar Torah. The Shabbos table of the second family, though, is quiet and seats just two, and we hear what’s in this woman’s heart: As I stand in candlelight While my home is dark and still

The first father sings zemiros with his son; the second sings alone. The video beautifully encapsulates a mother’s pain and the stark contrast between the two families. All the while, we see only hints of the mother, but we don’t see a woman’s face. The e had been cynics who were critical of the fact that they couldn’t actually see the women’s faces in the video and claimed that it was disrespectful to women, but Miriam certainly doesn’t see it that way. “On the contrary, Bonei Olam is the greatest celebration of womanhood.” Perhaps the most timely song of Miriam’s, though, is the Uri Davidi hit “Muchanim.” Every day we pray...and ask from Heaven... that I (Moshiach) should come...you just need to believe...and open your eyes...f or I am already here...just another good deed...a prayer with an open heart….for I am coming...I am standing at the doorway. “Today I was watching the live feed of the Kotel on Aish.com. It was heartbreaking. The e are so few people...and they’re all standing far apart. Theempty chairs are also placed far apart. ‘Asarah nissim na’asu la’avoteinu b’Beit Hamikdash...omdim tzefufi ’ [Pirkei Avos 5:5]—when we stood in the courtyard of the Beit Hamikdash, we stood crowded together. “Now, when we’re forced to be apart, it’s time f or us to be together in our hearts and look f or the good in one another. Tha ’s how we can build and get through this, and hope f ully greet Moshiach.” ●

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CHAPTER

Recap: When Chava realizes that Shalom had nothing to do with the fundraising campaign she confronts Shifra, who denies it. They end up having a huge argument. Uncle Yechiel finds them an apartment. Ch va’s father calls and tells her that her plane ticket is confirmed, and Chava tells Shalom that she’s leaving. B Y

halom looked shocked. “You’re what?” he asked as his face slowly drained of color. “I don’t know. It’s sort of a misunderstanding,” Chava said, fumbling for words. “My father booked a ticket for me to come home. Actually, he didn’t book it. It’s the original return ticket that was never canceled. I couldn’t say no.” “What does that mean?” Shalom asked in a trembling voice. “Why couldn’t you say no? You’ve stood up to him bef ore. Something doesn’t add up.” “Yes. I mean no,” Chava babbled, realizing how pathetic she sounded. “I mean, he asked me to come home and I told him no, and then I told him yes.” “I don’t understand,” Shalom said.

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C H A Y A

G R O S S

“You’re leaving me?” “Of course not,” she replied quickly. “My parents want me to come home to pack up the apartment. I’m giving it up, just as you said.” “Chava, I don’t think it’s going to take a week,” Shalom replied. “I’m afraid that if you go home you’re never going to come back.” “Of course I will,” she reassured him. “It’s only for one week, while I sort out the apartment and take care of my job and see a doctor.” Shalom sighed heavily. “I sure hope so.” Chava was touched by how much Shalom wanted her to stay. “Why do you even want me to stay?” Chava asked him. “I haven’t been very helpful or supportive…” Her voice trailed off.

“What kind of question is that?” Shalom answered in surprise. “You’re my wife, and soon we’re going to be parents. Thing are tough right now, but we still have our whole future to look forward to after this ordeal is over.” Chava felt a lump in her throat. Shalom always made her feel so hopeful. “I’m coming back,” Chava said softly. “I promise.” The e was a sudden loud burst of conversation coming from the kitchen. “My parents must have come back,” Shalom said. “Let’s go say hello.” “You go,” Chava said, “but there is no way that I am f acing Shif ra. Tell your parents I’m not feeling well, which is the truth. I’m exhausted. I have to lie down.”

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“Someone asked me to take the package,” Shalom said. He was staring straight ahead, not focusing on anything in particular. “If I had known what it contained, I would never have taken it.” Chava climbed into bed and closed her eyes. When she woke up there was a plate of food next to her bed, a bottle of water and a bag of pretzels. Shalom was lying on his blow-up mattress reading a sefer. “How was your nap?” he inquired, looking up. “Okay. I guess your parents left already,” Chava replied. “A long time ago,” Shalom informed her. “You’ve been sleeping for hours. It’s almost one o’clock in the morning.” “Wow!” Chava said, sitting up in bed. “Why are you still up?” Shalom closed his sefer and got off the bed to put it away. Then he went to his suitcase and took out a f amiliar-looking box. It was the same box Chava had found when she searched his suitcase. “I wanted to give this to you,” Shalom said as he handed it to her. “Mazel tov on our two-month anniversary.” Chava opened the box and took out a pair of earrings that matched her ring. “It’s beautiful,” she stammered. “I’d planned on giving it to you in a very different setting,” Shalom said wistf ully. “I wanted to give it to you in a beautif ul restaurant, on the night bef ore we went back to America.” “Thatdoesn’t matter,” Chava said. “I love it just as much as if you did.” “Remember how we celebrated our one-month anniversary?” Shalom asked, smiling at the memory. “I think we made a toast over iced coffee,” she reminisced. “I remember wondering what our next month’s anniversary would bring.” She sighed. “Lif e certainly has surprising twists and

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turns.” “What time is your f light tomorrow?” Shalom asked. “Eight p.m.,” Chava replied. “I wish you wouldn’t go,” Shalom said. “It’s only f or a week. Really,” Chava reassured him. “I didn’t do it. I’m innocent,” Shalom said in response, looking her directly in the eye. “I need you to believe me.” “I know that,” she said, looking away. “No, you don’t,” Shalom replied. “The e’s a part of you that doesn’t believe me.” Chava looked back at him. “I do believe you. And you don’t have to worry that I’m not coming back.” “I am worried,” Shalom admitted. “I’m af raid your parents will convince you to stay. Please don’t go.” “It’s too late to change my mind,” Chava said. “My father would be very upset.” “Someone asked me to take the package,” Shalom continued. He was staring straight ahead, not f ocusing on anything in particular. “If I had known what it contained, I would never have taken it.” The e were so many questions Chava still had, but somehow they didn’t seem so urgent at the moment. And for the firs time since their ordeal began she didn’t doubt his innocence. “You don’t have to go to trial just to convince me that you’re innocent,” she said. “Maybe you should just take the plea bargain. Whatever it entails, at least we’ll know how long it will take.” “I will never admit to being guilty,” Shalom said f orcef ully. “Anyway, you should really eat something, and then we should both go to sleep. It’s the middle of

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the night, and you have a plane to catch tomorrow.” She tried not to gag as she ate the congealed supper. But as soon as she was done she ran to the bathroom and threw it all up. She couldn’t sleep. By this time tomorrow she would already be on the plane. She could hear Shalom twisting and turning as well. She should have decided to stay. She belonged here with Shalom. Th y could have moved into their new apartment the following day. Eventually she f ell asleep, and when she woke up Shalom’s bed was empty. She quickly glanced at her phone. It was almost noon. She had a plane to catch in a few hours. She saw that she had missed a f ew calls f rom her mother and there was an unheard voice message waiting for her. She clicked on it, and suddenly her mother’s voice f i led the room. Her voice was chipper. Her mother hadn’t sounded like this in a while. “Hi, Chava. Can’t wait to see you. Tatty and I will meet you at the airport. I already made a grocery order f or you, but let me know if there’s anything special you want. I also made an appointment for you with the OB/GYN. Can’t wait to see you!” “She sounds excited,” Shalom commented as he handed her a cup of coffee. Chava hadn’t noticed that he had walked in. “I guess so,” she replied, trying to keep her own excitement out of her voice. A whole week of being wined and dined and just being under her mother’s care sounded like bliss. “I called a taxi for you for 4:30,” Shalom informed her. “I also asked Yehuda to get some cash for you from the ATM machine. I made sure the taxi is a set price so you aren’t taken advantage of.” She hadn’t even thought about the technical details involved in getting to the

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airport. “Wow,” Chava struggled with words to express her appreciation. “Thatwas so nice of you.” Shalom shrugged his shoulders. “It’s the least I could do. I also asked Shifra to buy you some things f rom the grocery store. I tried to remember everything you like.” She wondered what Shifra’s reaction was to her leaving. She probably thought it was just another self ish act on her part. But there was no doubt that she was relieved to fina ly be rid of her. “I think you should have a talk with Shifra before you go,” Shalom suggested. “I am not apologizing to her,” Chava said sharply, “if that’s what you’re suggesting.” “Not to apologize, just to talk,” Shalom explained. “The e are hard feelings on both sides. It would be good to clear the air before you leave.” “Not now.” Or ever, Chava thought to herself. She had no desire to speak to Shifra ever again. “I’m going to get dressed.” She spent a f ew more minutes putting on makeup. She couldn’t decide if she was doing it for Shalom or for her mother. She put on her new earrings and marveled at how well they suited her. Shalom did have great taste. She then put on a new T-shirt and slinky skirt, tearing of f the tags. She had packed enough clothing for a monthlong vacation. Now she was gratef ul she had, because it meant that she hadn’t had to do any laundry in Shifra’s apartment. Her mother—or rather Claudia, her mother’s cleaning lady—would have to deal with her dirty laundry when she got home. She put on her ponytail wig and adjusted it on her head. “You look beauti f ul,” Shalom complimented her when she was done. “Do you want to eat anything before you go?” “I’m worried about keeping it down,” Chava replied. “I think I’ll just eat the bag

of pretzels you gave me last night.” “Is it saf e to travel?” Shalom asked awkwardly as they sat together in the small room. “You know, in your condition?” Chava laughed. “Of course. I’ll be fin .” “One less thing to worry about,” Shalom replied, looking relieved. Among so many others, Chava thought to herself. It was amazing how composed he was with all the stress he was under. Af ter eating and packing the rest of her belongings, it was fina ly time to go. “Have a safe trip,” Shalom said, his voice laden with emotion. He handed her a bag of food and a wad of cash. “I wish I could at least walk you to the taxi, but I’m only allowed to go as far as the front door.” Th y walked into the kitchen. Shifra and Yehuda were standing there. “Have a safe trip,” Shifra said stiffly. “Thank you,” Chava replied, avoiding her gaze. “And thanks for hosting me,” she added. Shalom opened the door. “Goodbye, Chava. Please call me when you arrive,” he said. “I will,” Chava promised. Th y looked at each other and Chava f elt herself tearing up. Shalom’s eyes were watering as well. The e was silence as they both stood there. “I guess it’s time to go,” Chava fina ly said. “See you in a week.” As Shalom closed the door, Chava heard Shif ra say, “I hope she never comes back.” ● To be continued... Adv. A. Amos Fried is the legal consultant for this serial. He is a licensed member of both the Israel and New York State Bar Associations and has been practicing law in Jerusalem for over 26 years. He specializes in civil litigation, criminal representation and commercial law. His private law fi m is located at 5 Ramban St. in Rehavia, Jerusalem, and he can be reached at (1-972) 544-931359, or aafried@ aafriedlaw.com.

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THE RHYTHM OF OUR LIVES

Don’t assume anything

By Roberta Chester

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any years ago, I was torn between remaining in an upper middle-class community in suburban New Jersey, where impressive synagogues (exclusively of the Conservative and Reform variety) were in abundance, and moving to a big old house on a small island of f the coast of Maine. I was materially comfortable, but I was wrestling with existential/ spiritual questions and was feeling an absence of fulfi lment when those questions were in the air in the early 1970s. However, leaving New Jersey involved taking my young children away f rom their Jewish f riends and neighbors and a cosmopolitan environment and transplanting them to a small, isolated town on an island where, in addition to all the other differences, most of the inhabitants had never met Jews. We had already spent several idyllic summers there in the same house on the ocean so it was f amiliar, but becoming f ull-time residents and not just summer people would be a complete change when at the end of the summer we would no longer pack up and go home. It was a decision that I could not, in good conscience, undertake without serious reflecti n. The town in Maine was Bar Harbor, located with other small towns on Mount Desert Island, separated f rom the mainland by an isthmus. Due to the hazardous driving conditions during the winter months, the town was isolated f rom November through April. That summer bef ore I ultimately decided we would stay, I paced the Shore Path, an incredibly scenic walk along the ocean at the end of our lawn, as I wrestled with my decision. Thechoice between the life we had known—a lifestyle that was unfulfi ling—and a totally new culture and environment where there would be virtually no Jews or, at best, just a few who would not identify as such, was a hard one. I was not observant, but I was traditional (or Conservative), f rom a f amily with a f ather who put on tefilli every morning, a very proud Jew dedicated to imparting his commitment to Jewish values to his children and who often ref erred to our lineage, which included great rabbis and Judaic scholars who were Litvaks. As a young child, he took me to the Lower East Side of New York where he was born to show me the sole tenement where the gargoyles had been removed by his father in observance of the

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commandment against graven images. However, his reverence and pride in his Judaism notwithstanding, my father was a proud and grateful American and a believer in public schools and the American dream, which in his case lif ted him and his six brothers f rom the poverty of the Lower East Side (they all slept in one bed) to the prestigious address of Central Park West in Manhattan. But as a second generation American, the ’60s and ’70s were years when my generation had the luxury of taking that ascent f rom Jewish enclaves like the Lower East Side f or granted as we explored alternative lifestyles, devoured the new-age manif estos promoting their brand of authentic spirituality, and were impressed by the gurus who preached rebellion and the distrust of authority. My f ather passed away in 1972, but I was also very much the product of his Jewish values. In retrospect I realize I was an amalgam of his example of the personif i ation of those values and my own emerging sense of empowerment as a woman, along with the in-vogue disenchantment with a materialistic way of life. Like many women of my generation, I was affected by the women’s movement and the romantic idea of going back to the land and adopting alternative lif estyles. Rejecting the beautiful palatial Reform and Conservative synagogues, I looked until I found a small, sparsely attended synagogue not f ar f rom my home in New Jersey, as opposed to those synagogues we called “temples,” which, as one rabbi expressed it, represented “the idolatry of the cathedral.” I wanted to distance myself and my children from this mentality and from the grandiose bar and bat mitzvahs my oldest child was attending (so lavish as to border on being obscene). Maine seemed sufficien y f ar away, both literally and f igu atively, from the values from which I had become

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increasingly estranged. Actually, we had already spent f our summers in the house in Maine, and our experiences with our neighbors and the folks in town had always been very pleasant. My children had friends who welcomed them when we arrived for the summer. I admired the straightforward honesty of the local residents, their simple way of life and their adherence to the best of American (Yankee) values including self -reliance and hard work, but what troubled me was the complete absence of a Jewish community. I wrote to the closest Orthodox rabbi two hours away about my concerns f or my children, and he wrote back with the terse advice, “Don’t come.” And all this in the midst of the oil crisis of the mid-1970s when the cost of oil was

Almost as soon as we settled in, and the roads were no longer a sheet of ice, I made an effo t to search for Jews.

so prohibitive that heating with wood and researching strategies f or protection against the Maine winters had to become a f ull-time occupation, if not obsession, just to survive. Thelovely ocean breeze that drifted through the windows in the summer months turned to ice inside the windows during the winter. I installed window quilts, rolled towels on each of the window sills and even stuffed paper in the cracks, with the result that it felt like we were living in a cave. Unfortunately, I had to close off th east- and south-facing rooms, so we lived without morning sun. I installed grates in the ceilings and experienced in real time (what I learned in physics) that heat rises. I nostalgically recalled the luxury of central heating in my other life as I walked out in the snow to the wood pile in the wee hours of the morning to feed the fi e. I had heard about Maine winters, but I had never actually experienced one, and by the middle of that first winter I was ready to return to New Jersey. I was reluctant to admit that I was not made of stern enough stuff to follow through on my convictions. I hated to admit I was too urban, too used to the minimal creature comforts like central heating to make it in what felt like a hostile environment. Although the house had minimal central heating, there was no way to prevent the heat from escaping through what seemed like an inf inite number of cracks and crevices, and besides, there was no way I could afford the cost. But I was (and still am) a sucker f or landscape. I could not f orget the summer days when I stood on my f ront porch, surrounded by huge pine trees and just steps away f rom the Atlantic Ocean; the view and the salt were beyond words, and I was nothing less than smitten. It did not so much matter that one end of that porch was sagging, that a growing f amily of squirrels were in residence between the

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floors and that a nor’easter coming off the ocean in the winter months would require superhuman ingenuity to keep ourselves f rom f reezing. The locals knew that living in this house in the winter—it was built as a summer cottage for the wealthy—would be, euphemistically speaking, a challenge. Not that I was warned (Mainers are known for their terse use of language and their reluctance to give any advice, solicited or otherwise.) Anyway, I doubt I would have listened. I imagine they must have laughed at this crazy woman “f rom away,” the expression the locals used to ref er to everyone whose roots did not extend there for at least three generations. In a quandary, it was suggested (and I have f orgotten by whom) that I write to the Lubavitcher Rebbe f or his advice. “Who’s he?” I responded. ThoughI was not at the time observant, I was still traditional enough to realize the risk of taking my children away f rom a place where they had a connection, if somewhat tenuous, to at least a semblance of Yiddishkeit. Now I think that f orgotten person was, f or me, like the angel Gabriel who f ound Joseph wandering in the field and pointed him in the direction of his brothers. So, I did write to the Rebbe expressing my concerns. He responded with a beautiful letter (with edited notations in his own hand) advising me in so many words to stay in Bar Harbor. In retrospect, knowing that the Rebbe had sent his shluchim to places f ar more remote than Maine, my presence in what I affectionately ref erred to “as the last outpost of the Diaspora” would result in a “sea change” in my own and my children’s lives and have an impact in the years to come on the many people who would come through our doorway. Perhaps I had to stay for the sake of only one young man, a Jewish college student whose parents were so assimilated they

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hadn’t circumcised him, but who became observant, married and had a family. Years later, he wrote to me to thank me for the Shabbat meals he attended in my home. Years later, when my home became a bed and breakf ast, I came to realize that I, too, had become a sort of shluchah. My guests came f rom distant places both in the US and overseas, many of whom had little or no contact with Jews or at best a negative stereotypical opinion. Having a pleasant experience in my home would, by extension, influence their opinion of Jews— brief though that contact would be. Often a question about the mezuzah on the door to their room would provide the occasion to speak to them about Judaism. But this would happen many years in the f uture, when our home became a kosher bed and breakf ast (and to my knowledge we were the one and only), and the little town on the Atlantic became a world-class resort. That first year, though (before becoming a B&B was even a twinkle in my eye), we were no longer “summer people” but had graduated to becoming full-time residents requiring an adjustment to a completely different culture. Fortunately, we had a giant trampoline and my children were instantly popular. Almost as soon as we settled in, and the roads were no longer a sheet of ice, I made a concerted effort to search f or Jews. I had noticed that many stores in Bar Harbor and the neighboring small towns had Jewish names like Sachsman, Friedman, Adler and Klein. I visited each of these “soft goods” stores within a radius of about 100 miles—driving for miles through totally uninhabited terrain, traveling as far north as places listed on the map in Maine as “unorganized territory,” having never been incorporated—in my search for what I hoped might be even a semblance of a Jewish community or even a Jewish family. Thesestores were modest, weather-beaten

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structures with aged woodwork and old oak display cases f eaturing staples, limited to essential items, including pajamas, slippers, rain gear and cold weather items. Nothing f ancy, just totally utilitarian—a marked contrast to the suburban counterparts of Bloomingdale’s and Saks, where I was used to shopping. After making a nominal purchase, I f elt comf ortable to engage in some conversation to establish a bit of a rapport bef ore discreetly inquiring about the name of the owners. “As a Jew and recent resident of Maine, I am curious about the fact that you have a Jewish name,” I would mention nonchalantly. Without exception I heard the same story about how their grandf athers were peddlers f rom Boston who came to this region of northeastern Maine in the late19th or early-20th century to sell their wares and in the process met their local non-Jewish grandmothers and settled here, becoming close to the families that hosted them. It might be months bef ore the weather would allow them to travel back to Boston safely. Thelonger they stayed the closer they became to their host f amilies, even attending the local congregational church, Quaker meeting house (every little town had one) or both, which had no visible religious symbols. With ingenuity and persistence, they were able to make enough of a living to survive and provide for their families in these isolated communities. If not born in the US, I speculated that these peddlers came to the US as the children of Yiddish-speaking Orthodox parents f rom Eastern Europe. The owners of these stores were the children and later the grandchildren and today the greatgrandchildren of these peddlers, already two to three generations removed and totally assimilated. It was sociologically very interesting and could make f or an

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interesting (but sad) dissertation. For me, this was a somber experience, making me aware of my obligation not only to maintain but strengthen my, and especially my children’s, connection to our heritage. Having heard the same story many times, I realized whatever Jewishness I could impart to my children would be a solitary and lonely endeavor. The years passed, and when my older children lef t f or college and I had empty rooms, a f riend and local B&B owner suggested I could do the same, considering that renting the extra rooms would help pay the taxes that in ten years had increased exponentially f rom $400 a year to several thousands, with additional increases inevitable. The porch fina ly gave way and had to be replaced bef ore someone f ell through it, and there were other numerous repairs necessary to maintain a house built in 1880 and subject to the ravages of Maine

“As a Jew and recent resident of Maine, I am curious about the fact that you have a Jewish name...”

winters. I became, much to my surprise and literally overnight, the owner of a bed and breakfast establishment, remembering f amily stories I had heard of some of my relatives who took in boarders. In the 1980s the whole process was pretty simple and not much more involved than putting out a shingle at the front of my driveway. Concurrently, Bar Harbor was becoming a favorite destination and people f rom all over the world started coming through our front door. Sharing a bathroom was out of the question and guests were demanding amenities. More and more inf requently a guest would come of f the road, as reservations, even months in advance, were becoming routine. We were hosting more and more Jewish guests, but they were invariably interested in eating Maine’s lobsters. (My eldest daughter, who had become observant and was helping me, let me know I was not to let them know where to get them.) Meanwhile, I learned not to make assumptions. People with names like Gross and Adelman might not be Jewish while people named Edwards and Johnson were. The Johnsons, three generations including the parents, their daughter and her husband and a f our-year old granddaughter were guests when I was asked by a woman from Bangor if she could use our house as a venue for a group saying Kaddish for her father. All I knew about the Johnson family was that the grandparents were f rom London and visiting their daughter f rom Chicago who had made the reservation. Our other guests would be gone for the afternoon, but the Johnsons would be in the house so their young granddaughter could nap. I thought that I should say something to the f amily to prepare them f or what would surely be a strange sight—a group of men swaying back and forth praying in

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a strange language in the living room. After breakf ast I approached the grandmother, a tiny, elegant woman who was impeccably dressed. When I finished my carefully worded explanation, the grandmother in her lovely British accent informed me that as a young child she had been sent to England on a kindertransport. Her eyes were misting over when she said that she never saw her parents or older siblings again, so I did not ask any further questions. Her daughter then told me that she was a horticulturist employed by the Chicago Botanical Gardens, which had a connection to The esienstadt by way of a tiny silver maple sapling that was rescued and tenderly shipped to the US. The story she told was that a more kindly guard gave the children incarcerated there some seeds with the result that a small tree grew, tended lovingly by the children, and it was this tree that was gingerly transplanted to the botanical garden in Chicago. A short time after we became permanent residents, I noticed two lines in the local weekly newspaper in which a writer named John Briggs asked f or inf ormation about Jacob and Joseph Lurvey, two young Jewish brothers who emigrated from Archangelsk, Russia, attracted by Maine’s huge virgin forests of white pine, the preferred building material f or the tall masts of ships. Th y settled on Mount Desert Island just prior to the Revolutionary War. I was so excited to read about this Jewish connection that I wrote back to Mr. Briggs immediately indicating that although I had no information about these brothers, as a Jew and a new resident I would be gratef ul f or any inf ormation. What transpired as a result of my response was a f ascinating correspondence over the course of several years—an exchange of my typed letters with his handwritten replies on pink

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sheets of paper. John Briggs, who was already elderly when we started writing, was a descendent of these brothers; most of his relatives, blue-blood Bostonians (he explained), were not very happy about his genealogical efforts, because they did not want to be associated with their Jewish forebears. I was amazed to learn that many of the long-time residents of Mount Desert Island were descended from these brothers, one of whom actually sailed with George Washington across the Delaware and would have been portrayed in the famous painting depicting that episode. When I looked in the telephone book I f ound many Lurveys and found out later from an old timer that all the Stanleys (occupying several columns in the phone book) were also descended f rom these two brothers, as were all the Gilleys. Charles Eliot, the president of Harvard in the 1920s and one of the f ounders of Acadia National Park, wrote a book about his ancestor John Gilley, who married Hannah Lurvey, the daughter of one of the brothers. In his small pamphlet, John Gilley of Baker’s Island, about John and Hannah, who homesteaded on that island, Eliot paid tribute to their fortitude and resourcefulness. Hannah, Eliot notes, was distinguished by the fact that she could read and write; she gave birth to six boys and six girls on her own, because she and her family were the only residents on the island. The home on Baker’s Island where they raised their children is now included among the tours offered by Acadia National Park rangers. Thehouse is still standing, and as I passed through with the guide, I remember seeing the small handmade desks f or the children, the minimal household items and cooking utensils. Miles from the mainland, John Gilley would only have the summer

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months to sail out to the mainland miles away to collect supplies. At the end of his small book, Eliot mentions rather cryptically in one sentence that towards the end of her life “Hannah returned to her own people in Massachusetts.” Fast f orward many years later, while sitting in the Orthodox shul in Bangor on Yom Kippur during the recess bef ore Ne’ilah, my f riend mentioned a recent strange experience. She and her family were at a campground in Southwest Harbor (another small town on Mount Desert Island). Th y were playing ball when it rolled into the woods. Following the ball for quite a distance, she found an enclosure, barely visible through the trees, with a few very old gravestones, the names on which indicated it was the Lurvey f amily plot. Barbara told me she was surprised to see that the largest ornately carved headstone had a Jewish star. Soon after, anxious to see this headstone f or myself , I traveled to the same campground and walked into the woods in search of the cemetery. I found it, but the headstone with the Jewish star was missing, and I saw a white wooden cross and bouquet of plastic fl wers in the hole where the headstone would have been. Someone surely removed the headstone bearing the Jewish star. I hope that someone someday pursues this offense and the guilty party is apprehended. Quite a different surprise were the middle-aged couple, dairy f armers f rom Iowa, with the name “Berger,” which I had always assumed was Jewish. Typical of my Midwestern guests, they were very “low maintenance,” and after several days I felt comfortable enough to question them about their name. The husband of the couple was quite sure he wasn’t Jewish. He had traced his genealogy back f or several generations, a f avorite hobby, and he had

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never f ound any Jewish connection. His wif e, however, whose maiden name was Smith, revealed quite a different story. Th oughout her childhood she remembers seeing her mother drawing the curtains whenever she lit candles and even moving her arms in a circular fashion over the flames This woman’s mother told her that she was following a family ritual performed by her own mother (and her own mother before that). Thiswas a family custom even though they had been churchgoing Catholics. Thenmy guest informed me that her mother, a woman in her 70s, had become increasingly interested in Judaism long after her children had married and left home. Not long ago, her mother, a widow, moved to Florida, where she had become very involved with the Jewish community

Her mother had become convinced that there were Jews in the family at some point in their distant history.

and even joined the synagogue in her neighborhood. My guest f rom Iowa who was relating this story, as I became more and more incredulous, told me that her mother had become convinced that there were Jews in the f amily at some point in their distant history and that her mother feels very much at peace with herself and her new identity. This story reminded me of something I had heard years back f rom a man f rom Vermont who arrived in Bar Harbor to run in the marathon, a much-publicized yearly event because it has been voted the most scenic running route of any marathon in the country. After noticing the mezuzah on his guestroom door, he remarked that well into middle age he had just discovered that his father, quite an eminent scientist whose work had been reported in newspapers, had blacked out in the articles any ref erence to his background that might indicate he was Jewish. My guest lamented the fact that there were no surviving paternal relatives who could provide him with any information about his background. All he knew was that his father told the children he had no religion and had agreed, in order to marry their mother, that he would raise the children in the Christian f aith. My guest shared with me his sad f eeling that he would never know the truth about his father and why he chose to be so secretive about the fact that he was a Jew. My conversation with him recalled yet another similar and sad story I heard from a woman in Maine I had known for years. She had grown up never meeting a single member of her f ather’s f amily or even knowing that her father was Jewish, a fact she didn’t discover until he had died. Th story she related to me was what she heard af ter her f ather’s death f rom his brother when she met him for the first tim . My f riend’s father was a young brilliant

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medical student with a very promising career in research at a prestigious laboratory when he was approached with what sounded like a Faustian proposition: Theeminent head of the lab promised that he would appoint him as his successor and would give him his daughter in marriage on condition that he would renounce his background, never reveal that he was Jewish and cut himself off completely from his entire f amily. Not only did he agree never to expose his children to Judaism he also agreed that he would never introduce members of his f amily to his children. It was only af ter his death many years later that his daughter, my f riend, discovered letters and f amily pictures that had been hidden and met his siblings and other relatives she had never known. My friend’s father died at a young age from the effects of the groundbreaking cancer treatment for which he was recognized by national and even international media. Just recently, I heard of another mystery of quite a different sort when one of my guests, a lovely woman from Vermont, told me about a custom in the small Italian town where her parents had been born and lived until they emigrated to the United States. For many generations in the town of Pontelandolfo, in the mountains northeast of Naples in the province of Campania, each young man who becomes engaged gives his f iancée a gif t of an elaborately decorated gold Jewish star, which she wears f or the most special occasions. My guests speculated that in the late-15th century and early-16th century when the Jews were expelled f rom Spain, they migrated to small towns in Italy. It is not altogether impossible, she f eels, that she has Jewish blood in her ancestry and could even discover that she may be halachically Jewish if it were possible f or her to trace her lineage back through the mothers of

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these many generations. More recently, I was happy to share inf ormation with a f amily f rom Virginia with which they may have been able to trace their lineage from Haym Salomon, a Jew whose money was critical to the success of the American Revolution. When I received a reservation from a woman from Virginia who was coming with her two sisters and their husbands, I noticed that her hyphenated name was Salomon. When their party of six arrived, I was impressed by the three sisters, all of whom were blond and had lovely Southern manners. Coincidentally, not long bef ore their arrival I had heard about Haym Salomon, the financier of the American Revolution to whom Washington was so indebted he asked Salomon what he could do to repay him. Salomon replied that he did not want anything for himself but only for his people and asked instead that the conf igu ation of stars on the Great Seal of the United States be arranged in the shape of the Star of David. This is a legend, but it is f act that Haym Salomon, a Sephardic Jew born in 1740 whose ancestors f led the Spanish Inquisition to Poland, raised $650,000 ($19 million in today’s dollars) at the urgent request of Robert Morris, the US Superintendent of Finance. At the most critical juncture in the war before the Battle of Yorktown when Washington’s army had no food, uniforms or supplies, Washington gave the order to Morris, “Send for Haym Salomon.” I asked the sisters whose spelling was the same whether they knew of this connection to their possible f orebear. I was told that they had heard that there was a possible connection in the family to the American Revolution, and they had wondered about their name. I showed them the Great Seal of the United States on the back of a dollar

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bill and recounted the legend I had heard. Th y were fascinated and resolved to return home and research their ancestry. My own research revealed that in 1782 Salomon made the largest individual contribution towards the construction of Congregation Mikveh Israel’s main building. In 1783, he was one of the prominent Jews involved in the successful effort to have the Pennsylvania Council of Censors remove the religious test oath required for office-holder under the state’s constitution. In 1784, Salomon answered anti-Semitic slander in the press by stating: “I am a Jew; it is my own nation; I do not despair that we shall obtain every other privilege that we aspire to enjoy along with our fellow-citizens.” However, fa ter ten years in the hospitality business, the one certainty I have achieved, and not without a f ew embarrassing mistakes, is that I can just as easily be wrong about a Jewish “look” as assuming a name is Jewish. It doesn’t matter that I may have known countless people with names ending in “sky,” all of whom were Jewish; the couple introducing themselves may not be Jewish at all. Often, guests (whose names are def inite y not Jewish) will notice the mezuzot throughout the house and my extensive library of Judaica, indicating they are not only Jewish but involved in the f ascinating process of tracing their genealogy af ter years of hearing innuendoes and clues that aroused their suspicions about their backgrounds. Regarding names, I have learned af ter f eeling embarrassed f ollowing our mutual introductions, to skip mentioning to someone I think may be Jewish that mine is a kosher bed and breakfast, telling them how happy they should be to have f ound me here at the end of the road. I’ve suddenly exposed myself to an awkward moment

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as they look at me indicating they either couldn’t care less or have no idea what “kosher” is all about; they might, in f act, be better of f turning around and f indin another place to stay. Just this past summer, a woman whose last name was Gross was used to being mistaken f or being Jewish and informed me that “believe it or not, my maiden name was Klein.” Literally close to home, an amusing incident occurred several years ago regarding my own last name, Chester, which certainly doesn’t sound Jewish. In keeping with the Maine tradition of yard sales, we had at least one each year when we disposed of outgrown clothes, old toys

Our very non-Jewish name had piqued his curiosity. Actually, it was changed a generation ago from “Chertok.”

and games, knickknacks we no longer fancied, and items we were happy to part with in the hope they might be treasures and fetch us a pretty penny. A very nautical, well-dressed young man appeared at our yard sale having salvaged one shoe f rom the pile on the lawn and inquiring about the whereabouts of the other. While the kids ran inside to find the missing shoe, he asked me about the name Chester, figu ing f rom our British sounding name that we must certainly also be members of a clan of which he appeared f rom his demeanor to also be a member. Our very non-Jewish name had apparently piqued his curiosity. Actually, it was changed a generation ago from “Chertok,” but, of course, he wouldn’t have known that as he asked me if we had a f amily crest. As a vision of my bearded f orebears pouring over Talmudic texts f lashed bef ore my eyes, I succeeded in keeping myself from laughing. Years ago when I was new to the B&B business, I used to hint to a guest with what I assumed was a non-Jewish name from some small town in the Midwest that he or she could turn on the coffee pot or perform another one of the tasks forbidden to a Jew on Shabbat. Now that I know better than to make easy assumptions about anyone based on a first and certainly a family name, I have realized it is far safer to be extra careful to remember everything before Shabbos. Shakespeare coined the phrase “What’s in a name,” adding “A rose by any name would smell as sweet,” to which I could add a f ootnote, based on my experience in the hospitality business, that each name has within it the potential f or surprises and very often a story. I have forgotten the names of my guests and would be hard put to conjure up their many faces, but the stories, often bittersweet, I remember. ●

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Truth Is Stranger Than Fiction Call it a sixth sense As told to Chaya Silber

isele showed up at our Chabad House, unannounced, early one Friday evening. She was tall and broad-shouldered, her graying hair tied on the top of her head in a bun. She was wearing jeans and a thick cable-knit sweater, a Magen David necklace around her neck. She looked like a trucker, or the resident of a trailer park. “Hello? Is this the Jewish center?” she asked hesitantly. “Yes, this is the Chabad House,” I responded. “Would you like to join us for Shabbat dinner?” Gisele smiled and said, “I would like that very much.” We invited her inside and introduced her to the other guests, several seminary students, three backpackers, and a couple

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of locals who came every week. Gisele was ref ined and polite, asking little, and absorbing everything with her slate-gray eyes. Af ter the f ish course, as we made small talk, she explained that she lived about 20 miles away. Gisele was the daughter of a Holocaust survivor who tragically abandoned her f aith and had been raised in a home devoid of religion. “Af ter my mother’s death, I decided to f ind out more about Judaism and did some research about Jewish synagogues in the area. Your community center came up, so here I am.” “I’m very glad you came,” I said. “We are always happy to welcome a new friend.” “Oh, but I am not a new friend,” Gisele replied. “We actually have already met, many years ago.”

“Really?” I was surprised. My husband and I had been running our Chabad House f or nearly 20 years, and I had no recollection of meeting Gisele during that time. “Really. We worked together as slaves in Egypt,” said Gisele, nonchalantly taking another sip of wine. “We slaved away in the fields cutting grain,” she continued, as if discussing the weather or current events. “And then, when we couldn’t take it anymore, Moses came and gave Pharaoh an ultimatum, and we were f reed. Oh, how glorious that was!” I nearly choked on my sparkling water. Gisele had seemed so normal, so grounded and in touch with reality. As the meal progressed, I realized with dismay that Gisele was only getting

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UPSHERIN EVENT started. She knew a tremendous amount about Jewish history and customs and regaled us with tales of lif e in Pharaoh’s Egypt. I could see some of our guests politely trying to control their chuckles, but some people laughed outright. A f ter the meal, Gisele thanked us, said goodbye, and that she hoped to return. We wished her well and watched as she disappeared into the night. “Well, what do you say to that?” I asked my husband, Shalom, f ully expecting him to dismiss her words as the rambling of someone who was not quite there. Instead, he said, “Well, most of the neshamos today are gilgulim f rom the neshamos that were alive during yetzias Mitzrayim.” “Wow.” I hadn’t known that. I was still skeptical; I wasn’t ready to dismiss her words as the ravings of someone who was mentally unbalanced, but I wasn’t quite ready to accept them at face value either. And then came the night when I could no longer pretend Gisele was pulling my leg or spinning tall tales to gain attention. It was on another Friday night, during which we hosted a program f or teenage girls in our close-knit community. Gisele came by unannounced, as she usually did. She explained that it was hard to commit herself ahead of time, and that she f elt comf ortable knowing she was always welcome.

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Gisele sat on the couch and observed the teens, who were in t he middle of a workshop with my sister-in-law, a shluchah in another city. The e was a spirited discussion about careers vs. raising families, and the role of women in Judaism. Gisele was mostly quiet, listening carefully and absorbing everything. As the evening wore on, I noticed she was staring at Allison, an effervescent blonde who was usually the life of the party. Theonly child of Mark and Beatie Salinger, Allison was 18 and in her final ear of high school. Mark Salinger was one of the most respected men in our community, generous and willing to sponsor many of our outreach activities. His wif e, Beatie, was an accomplished therapist who had put her career on hold to raise Allison. Gisele waited until most of the girls had gone home before approaching me. “Excuse me for asking,” she said, and I realized she was very perturbed. “Who was that blond girl who sat near your daughter?” “Her name is Allison; she lives in the community,” I replied. “Why do you ask?” Gisele shook her head, her mouth set in a grim line. “I can’t believe you invited her to the program.” “What do you mean?” I thought I’d misheard. “Of course I invited Allison. She’s an important part ofour community.” “Isn’t the event only f or Jews?” Her voice was defiant “All the girls who come to our Chabad House are Jewish,” I said, wondering if Gisele had truly gone off the deep end “Not Allison,” said Gisele. “What are you talking about? She’s as Jewish as you and me. Her parents have been pillars of the community f or years. Th y are big supporters of all our activities.” “Her parents are Jewish, but she’s not,” said Gisele flat y. It was late at night and I was tired and not in the mood of a protracted discussion that was going around in circles.

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“If you’re so convinced, prove it to me,” I challenged angrily. “Why should I believe you? Maybe you’re the one who isn’t Jewish.” “You don’t want to admit it,” said Gisele. “Just ask her and you’ll see that I’m right.” I was anxious and tense f or the rest of Shabbos. When I mentioned Gisele’s strange comment to Shalom, he didn’t dismiss it out of hand. “Perhaps you can have a conversation with Allison the next time she comes,” he said. “Maybe there’s something about her that we don’t know.” Two weeks later, we hosted a melaveh malkah f or the community. Gisele was unable to attend, but Allison and her f riends were there. We served a lavish dairy spread and hired a magician to entertain the youngsters. During the height of the show, Allison drifted off and sat down in a corner, scrolling through her phone. I took the opportunity to sit next to her and schmooze, Gisele’s warning still ringing in my ears. “So, Allison. What are your plans f or college?” I asked conversationally. “I’m not sure what I want to do,” said Allison, looking up with a distracted smile. “For now I’m taking science and pre-med.” “Tha ’s great! And what about your volunteer work at the hospital?” Allison was a f requent visitor to the pediatric ward, where she brought joy to some of the youngest patients. “I’m still volunteering, but I’m very busy,” said Allison. “I’m taking a course in Buddhist meditation.” “Excuse me?” Now all my senses were on high alert. “What did you say?” Allison chuckled. “It’s really great. You should try it someday.” “I don’t think it’s appropriate f or me,” was all I managed to say. “Why not? It’s not really about religion

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but about submission to a Higher Power. In any case, it’s not an issue for me because I’m not really Jewish.” I was stunned. Allison’s parents were pillars of the community who had become more observant over the years. How could she not be Jewish? Sensing my distress, Allison calmed me. “Please don’t take me seriously. I’m technically Jewish, because my parents are Jewish, but they are not my biological parents. I was adopted when I was three months old.” Allison divulged that her birth mother was unable to care for her and gave her up shortly af ter she was born. Her adoptive parents, the Salingers, were unable to have children f or many years and had despaired of having their own child when they learned about the opportunity to adopt a healthy newborn. “Th y gave me

I took the opportunity to sit next to her and schmooze, the warning still ringing in my ears.

everything I could dream of, love, stability and a wonderf ul f amily,” said Allison. “I am so grateful to them.” “Did you convert when you were 12 years old?” Allison seemed baffle at this. “Convert? Why would I convert? My parents are Jewish, so there was no need.” “You still need to go through a halachic conversion when you turn 12,” I said to Allison. “If you’re okay with it, I’d like to speak to your parents about this. Otherwise you might have a major issue when you decide to get married.” “I’m not ready to get married yet,” said Allison with a chuckle. “But thank you anyway, Rebbetzin. I can’t believe you didn’t know I was adopted. I don’t resemble my parents in the slightest.” The magic show ended, and soon Allison, always the lif e of the party, was surrounded by f riends. I sat, f rozen, shocked at her casual revelation. I reached out to Allison’s parents and requested an urgent meeting. Shalom and I tried our best to clarify Allison’s current status and explain how important it was f or them to arrange that she undergo geirus. Unf ortunately, the Salingers were not so eager to expend all that time and effort; they said they would take care of it “sometime.” Two days later, Gisele stopped by the Chabad House for a quick visit. “You were right all along,” I said. “Allison was adopted and is not Jewish. How did you know? Have you ever met her before?” “No, I never met her.” “Did you have any suspicions? What made you think she wasn’t Jewish?” Gisele shrugged. “I can’t really describe it. I have a sixth sense for these things.” *** Hitting Close to Home

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RFECT TIME TO NOW IS THE PE CAREER! LAUNCH YOUR

When I first heard the story f rom the additional testing, such as a sonogram of Chabad shluchah, I was very skeptical her intestines.” and wondered whether it was perhaps I took Leah to the lab, where they tried embellished. And then I remembered an drawing blood f rom her tiny veins while incident that had happened to me years she screamed until she was blue in the ago. f ace. The blood work came back normal, Around a decade and a half ago, I was aside f rom severe anemia. Since I was a young, harried mother of six little ones, exclusively nursing, I was warned to take all born in rapid succession. My youngest, a double dose of iron pills, but it didn’t then 11 months old, had been a healthy, change anything. I tried supplementing f ull-term newborn who weighed over with formula, but Leah refused to accept seven pounds, got a ten on her Apgar a bottle. She underwent a sonogram score, and appeared to do well for the firs and later a CT scan, but there were no few weeks of her life. Yet she slowly began abnormalities. regressing, crying piteously for hours at a “I’m just going to diagnose her with time, eating poorly, and taking cat-naps f ailure to thrive,” said Dr. Gorelick, of 45 minutes each bef ore waking and throwing up his hands. By now Leah beginning yet another screamfest. was seven months old and had gained a I was exhausted, drained from the effort measly pound and a half. I continued to of caring f or little Leah and her older struggle with her, holding her and trying siblings, and trying to keep the house to soothe her for hours, quitting my partf rom f alling apart. Yet I kept reasoning time job, neglecting my housework and that it was a passing phase, and that Leah regular routine. The entire household was under would soon outgrow it. It was during a routine check-up when tremendous stress during those months. she was about three months old that We had scrambled eggs f or supper, the I realized there was a problem. Leah laundry piled up, and the other children, weighed only four ounces more than she especially my two-year-old, were acting out. I was chronically tired, and I walked had at her birth three months earlier. “Your baby has not gained any weight around in a daze. Leah, who had been in the past three months,” said my a beautif ul baby, was a sorry sight; her pediatrician, Dr. Seymour Gorelick nose dripped like a f aucet, her eyes were of blessed memory, a f amously laid- bloodshot f rom non-stop crying, and her back doctor who only became alarmed ribs jutted out of her body. She was so if something was seriously wrong. He weak that she couldn’t even hold her head appeared worried now, which immediately straight, and it drooped to the side. She resembled pictures of starving children in made me anxious as well. “What do you think is wrong?” I asked. Africa. I went to several specialists who ruled “Well,” said Dr. Gorelick, as he expertly examined my baby, “it could be a number out an array of gastrointestinal and of things. She could be suffering f rom a rheumatic problems and assured me that digestive problem, or ref lux or simply Leah was perf ectly healthy. Yet what colic. Or maybe there is something wrong healthy infant cries for 20 out of 24 hours with her metabolism. The only way we and refuses to eat or be comforted? Thewinter was over, the weather turned can tell is by ordering blood work and

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glorious, but I was oblivious, caught up with the demands of my miserable infant. And then, when Leah was around nine months old, one of my neighbors suggested we go to Dr. Antonio Vincent*. “He works wonders with children who are not thriving or aren’t doing well with no discernible reason.” “What type of doctor is he?” I queried. “I’m not sure exactly. I think he does some type of chiropractic treatments.” “Well then, he’s not f or us. I don’t believe in that kind of thing.” I had some relatives who were into natural healing and went to specialists who dispensed all types of potions and scented oils, and voilà! Whatever had been bothering them was mysteriously healed. But the weeks passed and Leah was regressing. She was now over one year old, weighed just 12 pounds, and could barely sit up, let alone crawl or stand. In size and development, she resembled a fi e month old. At my wit’s end, I made an appointment with Dr. Vincent, who did not accept any insurance but guaranteed results—or your money back. In the interim, I did some research and heard more than a few strange stories. The e was the couple who came with their four year old son, who was pale and lethargic; Dr. Vincent diagnosed him with cancer, and the parents were f urious, accusing him of f ear mongering. Th y had him checked out medically, and he was given a clean bill of health. A year later, the child was diagnosed with chronic lymphocytic leukemia. At that point, it was too f ar gone f or treatments; he passed away just weeks later. The story gave me the creeps and did little to reassure me. I was a bundle of nerves as we sat in the modest waiting room of Dr. Vincent’s of f ic and waited

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to be seen. The doctor was a short, spry man who projected an aura of confidenc and control. He welcomed us warmly, asked the baby’s name, age, and what was bothering us. I explained that we had gone to various doctors, but none could figu e out why our child wasn’t thriving. Dr. Vincent asked me to sit in a specifi chair and hold Leah securely in my lap. Then he made a circular motion with the baby’s head. Leah, who had been fussing and whimpering in the waiting room, calmed down, as if by magic. She put her little head on my shoulder and looked at the doctor with her chocolate brown eyes. Af ter a f ew moments he told me to adjust her position and continued placing his hands on her head, again, in a specifi pattern. All this time my husband and I looked at each other, mystif ied We had

The doctor assured us that we would see an improvement, or we would get our money refunded.

never experienced such a weird doctor’s visit before. Af ter about 25 minutes, the session was over. Dr. Vincent assured us that we would see an improvement within hours, or we would get our money refunded. He offered little explanation f or his strange behavior, merely mentioning that he was massaging the blockages on our daughter and enabling her body to heal f rom its blockages. “Doctor, what do you think her problem is?” I pressed. Dr. Vincent was quiet f or a moment, seemingly deep in thought. A f ter about f i e minutes, he said, “The e was something in Leah’s past that affected her very deeply, an incident that happened when she was a newborn.” “With all due respect, Doctor, that’s ridiculous!” I said. “I’m her mother, and I have been with her ever since she was born. In fact, she has never had a babysitter in her lif e. I think I would know if she underwent some trauma.” “The trauma took place in a hospital,” the doctor offered. “Leah was never in a hospital,” I cried. “She isn’t doing well, but she was never hospitalized.” “Was she born at home?” said Dr. Vincent. “No, she was born in the hospital, but we were discharged right away. It was a regular birth, no trauma there.” “The e was something,” the doctor stressed. “The e was an incident involving a nurse.” Now my husband and I were both laughing. Clearly, the doctor was hallucinating. We paid him and left, not bothering to make a follow-up appointment with this quack. It was only once we were in the car, on

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EXPERIENCED our way home, that I realized something unusual. Leah was relaxed and content, quietly sitting in her car seat, her eyes wide open. She hadn’t done that in forever. As we drove, my mind wandered back to Leah’s birth, almost exactly a year earlier. She was born in January, in the middle of a snowstorm, on a Wednesday afternoon. We were discharged on Friday, a short Friday when the weather was terrible. All of a sudden, I felt hot and cold all over. “I can’t believe I’d forgotten this,” I said to my husband. “Remember the nasty nurse? The‘witch’ in the hospital who tore Leah’s undershirt off her body? All of a sudden, the details that I had blocked out of my mind came rushing back full force. It was Friday morning, one of the shortest Fridays of the year. I arranged that my husband would bring the baby’s car seat and clothes when he came to pick me up from the hospital. In the meantime, Teresa, the nurse on duty, began the discharge process, giving me a stack of documents. She was a broadshouldered woman of indeterminate age who seemed to have it in f or me f rom the start. I wasn’t a needy patient, rarely bothered her f or anything, said please and thank you, but apparently something about me rubbed Teresa the wrong way. The discharge process began at around 11 a.m. as Teresa ordered me to sign an entire sheaf of papers. I needed to promise that I’d seen the “shaken baby” video; that as a new mother I would ref rain f rom climbing stairs or lifting anything heavy for two weeks; and that, to the best of my knowledge, I was capable of caring for my 7-pound 6-ounce daughter. The e were papers detailing the process of everything f rom nutrition to bathing to toilet training, which I dutifully

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signed, though, as a mother of six, I probably could have written the manual! The nurse then brought my baby and removed the hospital security bracelet, which beeps and shuts down all doors when a baby is taken f rom the maternity ward. She had the nastiest attitudes I’ve ever seen in a nurse. She scowled as she grabbed the discharge papers and brought them back to the nurse’s station, intending to bring me a copy. I waited f or my normally punctual husband to arrive, but he was held up by unf oreseen circumstances. I looked out the window and saw the hospital grounds blanketed by snow, but I had no idea how bad the roads truly were. I sat and held my precious baby, whom we would name on Shabbos, and tried to relax. A f ew minutes later, Teresa barged into my room. “Where are the discharge papers you signed?” she barked. “What do you mean, where are they?” I was mystified “Didn’t you just take them back with you?” “I did not!” she snapped. “I was waiting for you to finish signing them. It’s late and we need you to leave.” By now I was near tears. “I promise I gave them back to you,” I pleaded. “You can check the security cameras.” It was the wrong thing to say. “Did you accuse me of lying?” she confronted me. “No, of course not. I’m so sorry. But I really gave them to you.” By now I was snif f lin sof tly. “Look. I want to leave here just as badly as you want me out. My Sabbath is in two hours and I won’t be able to travel. Please go back and look for them.” Teresa made a show of inspecting the entire room and rif f lin through my personal belongings, but there was no sign of the discharge papers. She stormed back

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to the nurse’s station, where I could hear the head nurse berating her. Uh-oh. I had a f eeling this wouldn’t end well. I called my husband, f rantic, but he was stuck on the road, traveling around two miles an hour. In the meantime, Teresa kept harassing me, reminding me that I needed to leave. Thedischarge papers were found, eventually, in the nurse’s station, but the nurse’s pride had been wounded and she was itching for a fight Finally, fina ly, my husband showed up af ter a nightmarish drive. “We need to leave right away or we might be stuck on the road for Shabbos,” he said. “Okay, let me dress the baby. Where are her clothes?” “Clothes? Which clothes?” “An undershirt, stretchie and snow suit. I prepared it on my bed before I left to the hospital.” “Oops. I’m afraid I left it at home.” He had been overwhelmed, taking care of our other children and managing the fort. “Well then, please go back and bring it. I can’t take the baby out in this weather without a snow suit.” “It’s not possible. You don’t understand what it’s like out there. By the time I make it home and get back it will be Shabbos. Trust me. You don’t want to risk it.” My husband was right. It didn’t make sense for him to brave the drive back home to bring the baby’s snow suit when time was running out. We didn’t want to be stuck on the road with a newborn on Shabbos. Desperate times call f or desperate measures. I decided to leave the baby in the hospital-issued undershirt and a double receiving blanket and wrap her in my winter jacket f or extra protection. I was wearing a velour robe and the car was heated, so I would survive the journey without a coat. I planned to ask permissing to take them on the way out, and I was

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going to send them back by mail or with my husband. It was the only practical idea, but I hadn’t counted on Teresa, the discharge nurse, who was looking f or a f ight She had ordered a wheelchair, in which I would be wheeled by an orderly, the baby ensconced in my arms. “Hey, wait a minute,” said Teresa sharply. “What is the baby wearing?” “I, uh, I don’t have her clothes and we can’t get back home, so we’re leaving her in the hospital blanket for now,” I blabbered. “You’re taking hospital property home with you?” she demanded, smoke coming from her ears. “I’m just borrowing it, because we lef t the baby’s clothes at home. I was just about to ask for permission.” “What kind of parents are you?” she demanded. “First you lose the baby’s

“Well then, please go back and bring it. I can’t take the baby out in this weather without a snow suit.”

discharge papers, and then your husband takes his merry time getting here, and now you don’t have the baby’s clothes? Are you sure you know how to take care of a newborn?” I was less than two days postpartum, going home to a handful of children in a snowstorm, and Teresa’s attitude touched a raw nerve. Now I was sobbing quietly as my husband began to plead with her to allow us to borrow a blanket and undershirt to keep the baby warm and protected. “Absolutely not!” said Teresa. “Taking hospital equipment without permission is stealing.” She reached out and grabbed the blankets of f the baby and then began to take off the undershirt. I was too stunned to do more than gape at her in shock. Was she really suggesting we leave the hospital with a naked baby, clad only in a diaper? My husband ran to the nurse’s station to see if he could find a more sympathetic nurse, but they were either on their rounds or on the phone. We were lef t alone with Attila the Hun, who smirked with satisf action as she conf is ated the illegal blankets and undershirt. Fortunately, she allowed the baby’s diaper to stay on. “Now you can take the baby home,” she purred. “Just make sure she doesn’t freeze to death bef ore you get there.” And she began to chuckle. I grabbed my jacket and wrapped it around my shivering newborn, and, still sobbing, left the hospital with my brandnew daughter, attired in nothing but a diaper and her mother’s jacket. Under normal circumstances, the ridiculous situation would have been comical. But it was an hour to Shabbos, I was a kimpeturin, and I had been on the receiving end of Teresa’s wrath f or the past f ew hours. I sobbed hysterically as I tried to strap my baby into the car seat

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while her legs were stuck in my jacket. My husband turned the heat up to high and began the slow drive back home. “If anyone stops us, they’re going to accuse us of kidnapping this baby,” my husband tried to joke, but I was inconsolable. I sobbed during the endless, slippery ride home, as the car slipped and slid through the treacherous streets, and my newborn dozed in my jacket, her tiny toes peeking out through the sleeve holes. We made it home with minutes to spare; thankfully, family members had sent over the Shabbos food, and the weather calmed down in time f or the simple, yet joyous Kiddush the next day. But it took me a while to get over the discharge nurse’s cruelty, and I wrote an emotional letter to the director of the hospital, detailing my treatment. A f ew weeks later I received a personal phone call and apology f rom the head of the nursing department, who apologized profusely and assured me the nurse had been disciplined. By the time Leah was f our weeks old, the unpleasant incident had faded to the back of my mind, to be replaced by the frenetic pre-Purim and Pesach prep. And then, shortly af ter Pesach, the trouble began. Leah ref used to nurse, refused to settle, refused to sleep for more than short bursts at a time. And so began a nightmarish year during which my entire lif e revolved around trying to f igu e out what was wrong with our baby. I immediately called the doctor’s offi to book a follow-up appointment for the next week. In the interim, I observed Leah closely. To my shock and disbelief, she f ell asleep in the car and continued sleeping for over three hours, the longest stretch she had taken since she was born! When she awoke she was starving and ate heartily. Later that night she gurgled, made eye contact, and played with my

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older children, who were thrilled that she was responding. That night she slept f or six hours, and I woke up refreshed. During the next few days I continued to nurse Leah and introduced solids as well. By the time we came to Dr. Vincent for a f ollow-up appointment, we brought a much healthier baby with us. Her cheeks were pink and rosy, and she babbled, giggled and responded to stimuli, just like a regular one-year-old. “Wow. Are you sure this is the same baby?” Dr. Vincent chuckled as he began the treatments. But I had a question f or him first “Doctor, the last time we came you mentioned a bad experience with a nurse. I thought about it, and it came back to me. Do you know the whole story?” “Of course not,” said the doctor. “I’m not a clairvoyant. I have no idea what happened with Leah in the hospital. All I know is that there was a nurse who mistreated her, and, being just a few days old, she was particularly affected. Ever since that day, Leah’s had blockages, and she was unable to thrive. I tried to remove the blockages and allow healthy energy fto low into her body and soul.” We continued seeing Dr. Vincent half a dozen times, during which Leah began to crawl, stand on her own, and her language increased by leaps and bounds. By the time she was 18 months old, I could barely remember the old Leah, the baby who cried incessantly and ref used to eat or sleep. Today Leah is a confident well-adjusted 15-year-old who is doing well in school, has lots of friends, and has been one of my easiest children to raise. It was this surreal experience that taught me that there is so much more to us than meets the eye. ● *Name has been changed.

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The World of Pesach

BY DINA NEUMAN

hen I was single digits old, I was obsessed with the idea of parallel worlds—worlds similar to ours but with small differences. What if there was a world where they never invented spoons? The e are the kinds of things I would think about. Can you eat soup with a fork? (Turns out you can, but not very well, and not without earning a reprimand from your mother.) I was thinking again about that spoonless world as we put the Pesach stuff away last year and took out the regular utensils, partly because I have not grown out of being weird, but mostly because I could not find whe e I had put the spoons. If turning the kitchen back over from Pesach to chametz was a play, tentatively entitled Turning the Kitchen Back Over from Pesach to Chametz, this is how the opening dialogue would go: Husband: Shouldn’t we label these containers before packing them away? Me: Nah, I’ll remember the round containers are fleishi . Narrator: She did not remember the round containers were fleishi . Nor did she remember that the egg slicer had snapped a few metal hairs and needed to be replaced, that they really needed new knives… Lesson learned. Thisyear, when we open up our Pesach boxes, we find the ollowing note: Dear Dina of 2020: Hello! How has the year been treating you? Oooh, you had a little chat with the president to explain how to run the country? And you won a free trip around the world, and also free dental care? Excellent, excellent. Okay. Down to business. The ound containers are fleishi . We need new knives. WE HAVE SO MUCH HEAVY FOIL. PLEASE DO NOT BUY MORE FOIL. Really, I cannot explain to you how much foil we have. Okay, I will try. We use like a half of one roll to cover the backsplash, and we always buy two rolls, and then we put them away for the next Pesach, when we again buy two rolls. We have been making Pesach for 15 years, so you do the math. Okay, I will do the math for you. Fifteen years with a roll and a half of heavy foil left over each year is enough foil to build a

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small city. Which would be cool. So maybe use all the foil you have to build a city and start over. Last year, you used ten trays of eggs, fi e bags of potato starch, six containers of ground nuts, and enough chocolate to kill off an entire breed of dog. Don’t buy more than that or you will find yourself going door to door trying to sell the surplus eggs to neighbors, which is both time-consuming and a touch humiliating and also gave you the new and unasked-for nickname of Eggy McEggface. YOUR CHILDREN DON’T EAT PESACH CEREAL. Really. They don’t. They won’t. They beg you to buy it and then you buy it and then you open it and then they taste it and then you try to sneak it into desserts in various disguises and then you make a pie crust out of it for Shavuos. Then ou throw it out. You put the spoons under the sink with the rest of the cutlery. Sincerely, Dina of 2019 After Pesach, we will place this note into my husband’s Haggadah, first updating it with any new information so that we remember all the little things that are different. Like, the Pesach oven does not cook as evenly as the regular one, and it’s better to rotate the cakes halfway through baking. TheKFP cottage cheese is a bit runnier, the frying pan cooks faster, and here’s how to wipe down heavy foil without cutting your fin ers because that’s not something you want to relearn every year through trial and error, and making Pesach under quarantine is an experience that probably deserves its own separate note, and also maybe a medal. The note is amazing. (It’s also my husband’s idea, and I am telling you this because he doesn’t have his own column in Ami Magazine, nyah nyah nyah, he deserves full credit and as his loyal wife, it’s the least I can do.) It’s like a time capsule that we find rewrite, and bury again, where it waits to be discovered again next year. We would be lost without it; it’s a road map to another world. My ten-year-old self was super-weird, but also sort of right: there are parallel worlds. Because Pesach is its own world—a parallel universe in which everything is the same and yet everything, everything, is different. And every year it’s re-boxed, rewrapped, and re-gifted to us. But in every parallel world we have traveled to thus far, we have always eaten soup with a spoon. l

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Visit our showroom 26 Steuben Street (BQE & Flushing) Brooklyn NY 11205

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rally Your Family h

Follow the crucial advice of the Gadol Hador Rav Chaim Kanievsky to work on Shmiras Haloshon, by learning a daily lesson of Shmiras Haloshon with your family.

Free Pesach booklet! Shmiras Haloshon learning for every Yom Tov meal. Download at chofetzchaimheritagefoundation.org/pesach

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COOK CREATE CONNECT

The Ami Food Magazine

14 Nisan 5780 April 8, 2020 Issue 463

ast L minute sides

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IN THIS ISSUE 14 Nisan 5780 April 8, 2020 Issue 463

Correction!

Almond Brittle Issue 462

Qitchen Halachah Qs

By Rabbi Berisch Ludmir

Hello Cooks

Chef Moshe

By Victoria Dwek

4 Super Sides For those “We need another side!” moments By Chana Stern

¼ cup sugar ¼ cup shredded coconut ½ cup chocolate chips

The chef who only uses salt By Rochelle Schreiber

The Art of Plating Three Ways to Plate Your Main By Yossi and Malky Levine

A Cut Above Meat recipes that are a grade above the rest By Ahron Posen

Publisher, CEO Rabbi Yitzchok Frankfurter • Senior Editor Rechy Frankfurter • Editor + Creative Director Malky Ludmir • Assistant Editor Gitty Kizelnik Feature Editor Victoria Dwek • Coordinating Editor Gitty Chein • Copy Editors Basha Majerczyk Mendelovicii • Chana Weiss Proofreaders Rivky Bergstein • Yitzchok A. Preis • Photographers • Yossi Einhorn • Chay Berger • Sruli Margulies Contributors • Victoria Dwek • Ahron Posen • Chana Stern • Rochelle Schreiber • Moshe Margulies • Yossi and Malky Levine • Rabbi Berisch Ludmir Art Director Natalie Kocsis Executive Account Manager Zack Blumenfeld • Executive Sales Directors Suri Katz • Esther Friedman • Europe Advertising 44 203 519 0278 Advertising Coordinator Malky Weinberger • Idy Fischbein • Ami Magazine P: 718-534-8800 • whisk@amimagazine.org

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HELLO COOKS with Victoria Dwek

Dressed and Ready more doable now to be committed to being dressed inside, like the nashim tzidkaniot at the time of yetziat Mitzrayim. *** We are the queens, not the shmattes. It’s now, when we can’t go out, that we can actually put on makeup and sheitels lishmah. *** Who do I want to be when Moshiach comes? What vision do I have for myself ? *** When I think that it’s too surreal, that it’s too good to be true if it were to happen in our time, I find comfort in the fact that Bnei Yisrael in Mitzrayim also didn’t believe Moshe when he said that Hashem was going to take them out. *** For those of you who were single for a long time, do you remember how quick it was when you finally did go on that first date with your husband and were engaged a couple weeks later? Like a snap. Reality changes very fast. *** My four-year-old daughter had a boo-boo on the side of her lip. It was first bleeding, then the scab developed. This morning, I noticed the scab was off and it was mostly healed. When I told her it looks like it’s almost better, she said, “Yes, because Moshiach’s coming, and all the sick people will be better.” Amen. *** Wishing you a chag kasher v’samei’ach, full of health and blessings, and may we all meet next week in Yerushalayim.

T he Weekly Standard

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Best always,

Victoria

victoria@amimagazine.org

For those with higher standards.

ast night, as I was making my Pesach menu, I kept scrolling lower and lower on my spreadsheet. It started from the chametz meals that I’d prepare during the 24-hour pre-kashering period when I wouldn’t be using my kitchen (panini maker dinner), to the last lunch on the last day of Yom Tov; it just seemed to look like it went on forever and ever, even though each meal on its own was simple enough. (And I get to serve rice at every meal to make the kids happy. Kal v’chomer how much more work it must be for you.) I also find the weeks ahead intimidating. So, now, I am reminding myself that every vegetable I chop and every dish that I wash isn’t just a chore, but a zechut. I’m reminding myself to do it with a smile, even when someone asks for food when I’m busy turning over the kitchen (not the time to ask for food!). I’m reminding myself to do it all with kavanah. *** Two years ago before Purim I had shared one story that had impacted me a lot. Perhaps you remember this as well. The day that Rabbi Sholom Mordechai Rubashkin was released, his son had said that he was at work when he heard. There was no time to go home and change his clothing before rushing to go greet his father. “That’s what it’s going to be like when Moshiach comes, so make sure to be wearing your good hoisin [pants].” *** When I told you the story a couple of weeks ago about the woman who is dressed in the home and changes to simpler clothing when she goes out, I had written the column on the morning of Shushan Purim, before I realized what was going to transpire over the next few days. At the time, the woman in the story seemed like a “level,” a “goal,” someone I could learn from, but definitely not someone I could copy. With the need to look good for the outside not relevant anymore, I see that it’s much

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Friends don’t leave friends bland. Pair your favorite dishes with our balanced gourmet dressings and see how much love your food gets.

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MY NUTRITIONIST

DOES

NOT BELIEVE

W E E K LY P L A N N E R WEDNESDAY, APRIL 8 Erev Yom Tov is a long day, especially with kids around! Keep them happy and satisfied with Mehadrin chocolate lebens for a lunch treat!

THURSDAY, APRIL 9 Need another delicious side dish for your meal? Try Chana Stern’s potato gratin roll. You can easily make it on Yom Tov if your oven is on.

FRIDAY, APRIL 10 Let the creative seed inside of you bloom while serving this Pesach as you follow along with the Levines’ step by step plating tutorial.

IN A

SHABBOS, APRIL 11

QUICK FIX

Enjoy Meal Mart’s already cooked chicken liver this Shabbos. It’s all done - so no extra patchka on this third day of Yom Tov.

SUNDAY, APRIL 12 Try Aron Posen’s carpaccio for an upscale Chol Hamoed family dinner! It’s light and something new after 6 full meals!

MONDAY, APRIL 13

It’s not a diet, it’s a lifestyle!

Get cooking for second days of Yom Tov using some of Chef Moshe’s naturally flavored dishes! You may want to brave them even if you would normally use more ingredients!

TUESDAY, APRIL 14 It’s Erev Yom Tov again! Skip making your food processor dirty, or grating potatoes by hand and use Unger’s KFP kugel batter for a quick, mess free, and delicious kugel.

Tanya’s Tips

Light-less Sleep!

1-844-TANYA-DIET (826-9234) info@nutritionbytanya.com www.nutritionbytanya.com

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We all know that a good night’s sleep is important to our health as well as our everyday life. Getting enough sleep is vital for your good decisionmaking around food and for your body to function optimally. However, with the artiﬁcial light from screens and lamps in our homes, we tend to confuse our body’s physiological sleep mechanism. Here are just a few ways to maximize on a healthy night of sleep: *Dim the lights about an hour before bedtime so your body automatically starts preparing for downtime. *Minimize the use of screens and hour before bed as well. The lights from those screens convey to your body that it’s still “awake” time. *Wear an eye mask to sleep. You get used to it and it’s an very effective way to get that darkness when the room is not entirely dark.

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4 SUPER BY CHANA STERN PHOTOS BY CHAY BERGER

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R SIDES FOR THOSE “WE NEED ANOTHER SIDE!” MOMENTS

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Root Vegetable Hash

Hash browns are certainly a family favorite, and on Pesach I try to make it a bit more healthy and different when I serve it as a side dish. This dish always yields rave reviews, especially from the adults! 3 tablespoons olive oil 1 small onion, diced 1 small celery knob, diced 2 potatoes, diced 1 sweet potato , diced 1 parsnip, diced Salt, to taste Black pepper, to taste 1. Heat oil in a large skillet over medium heat. Sauté onion until translucent. 2. Add diced vegetables and season with salt and pepper. Cook over low heat until vegetables are tender and caramelized, 15-20 minutes.

Potato Gratin Roll

Here’s a delicious and pretty twist on a classic potato and meat roll. Turn it into a gratin roll and fill with ground beef for an irresistible appetizer that will certainly enhance your Yom Tov meal. 6 potatoes 4½ tablespoons oil, divided 2½ teaspoons salt, divided 1 onion, diced 1 pound ground beef 1 tomato, diced 2 eggs 1. Preheat oven to 350°F. 2. Slice potatoes into very thin rounds. (The thinner the potatoes, the easier it will be to roll neatly.) 3. Arrange potatoes neatly on a parchment paperlined baking sheet, overlapping on both sides. 4. Drizzle 3 tablespoons oil over the potatoes and sprinkle with 1 teaspoon salt.

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5. Cook until potatoes are flexible and a bit crispy. 6. Heat remaining 1½ tablespoons oil in a large skillet. Sauté onion until golden. Add beef, and stir until almost cooked through. Add tomato and remaining 1½ teaspoons salt. 7. Remove from heat and let cool. Add eggs and mix. 8. Spread beef mixture evenly over potatoes. Roll into a neat log. If the potatoes are too thick, you may need the help of some toothpicks to keep the roll in place. 9. Cook for another 15 minutes.

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Carrot-Zucchini Ribbon Salad

Shaving carrots into ribbons maximizes both beauty and flavor to create a pretty and very delicious marinated salad. This salad is easy to prepare on Yom Tov and makes every dish look beautiful, whether you serve it on its own or alongside a main dish. 4 medium carrots, peeled 1 zucchini 2 tablespoons lemon juice, divided ½ teaspoon salt, divided ½ purple onion, sliced thinly 1 tablespoon olive oil 1. Use a potato peeler to shave carrots and zucchini into long ribbons. 2. Toss with 1 tablespoon lemon juice and ¼ teaspoon salt. Let sit for 10 minutes. 3. In a separate bowl, combine onion with remaining lemon juice and salt. Let sit for 10 minutes. 4. Mix vegetables and onions, then toss with olive oil.

Crunchy Eggplant Rounds

I make this delicious eggplant all year round as a dinner side using breadcrumbs, and I knew I needed to come up with a way to make this for Pesach as well. Needless to say, the Pesach version might just be better than the original one. Serve with mashed potatoes and caramelized onions for an elegant side dish. 1 eggplant 1½ cups potato starch 4 eggs, beaten 6 cups crushed potato chips Cooking spray 1. Preheat oven to 400°F. 2. Slice the eggplant into thin rounds. 3. Dip eggplant into potato starch to coat, and then into eggs. 4. Dredge in crushed potato chips until fully coated. 5. Place onto a parchment paper-lined cookie sheet and spray with cooking spray. 6. Cook for 25 minutes, or until cooked through and golden. 7. Serve with a scoop of mashed potatoes and garnish with caramelized onions.

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Three Ways to Plate Your Main

the

ART of

PLATING BY YOSSI AND MALKY LEVINE

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t’s always fun to work on a feature that’s a change-up from what we typically do. It’s amazing for us to be able to have a platform to be able share some of our best tips and tricks. Yom Tov is a great time to elevate dishes into something beautiful. Since most of you are not hosting big meals this year, it’s a great time to start practicing your plating skills and to decide on a style you like best. For those of you who love art and creativity, this may be just the kind of outlet you are looking for. If you remember, we did our first plate art feature exactly two years ago in the Whisk Pesach cookbook. At that time we focused on specific plating ideas and hacks that you can recreate at home. This time we wanted to

FOOD PLATING STARTS

with the basics of functionality and practicality. Remember that the dish must be easily assembled on a busy night. A good way to conceptualize plating is to think of yourself as an artist, the plate as your canvas, and the food as your medium. BEGIN BY CHOOSING YOUR PLATE

Choose your plate wisely by making sure it’s big enough to allow your food to stand out, but small enough that your portions don’t look too small. The color of your plate is also significant. It affects the overall presentation and even our appetite. White plates are popular because they create high contrast and make the vibrant colors of the food more visually appealing. Black plates provide an opposite contrast that can be used effectively with brightly colored foods. However, earth tones of brown, tan, warm gray, and greens can be used when paired with the right food colors. Green foods, including salads and vegetables, pair well with yellow plates. Beige foods, including pasta, chicken and potatoes, pair well with black and brown plates. Red foods, including tomatoes, beef, and red sauces, pair well on white plates, while yellow and orange foods, including eggs and corn, pair well with blue colors. In general, solid colors make for a cleaner-looking plate, although sometimes a cool design can add something special.

give you more than that: the basics of plating and the different styles, with visuals, of course, so you can use it as a guide to try and experiment with at home. This article is not to intimidate you (that’s the last thing we want!) but rather to give you knowledge and confidence so you can create beautiful dishes! Remember, everything takes practice and patience, but the rewards are amazing, both for you and the ones who consume your masterpieces. You can have fun and experiment on a simple dinner night before trying it on a more special night. The main thing is to enjoy yourself! Yossi and Malky

NOW LET’S TALK PLATING

Before we go into the plating styles, here are some general plating rules and tips that are simple but essential. Little things can make a big difference.

Use the rule of thirds to highlight your plate’s focal point(s). When applied to cooking, the rule of thirds means placing the focal point of your dish a bit to either the left or right side of the plate, rather than the center.

Vegetable cuts should be clean and uniform and sauces or dips should have a proper consistency. Mayo-based dips or creamy purées are great to work with.

Establish a focal point, and compose the plate based on a central component. Create variety in shapes, textures, colors and flavors. Use molded forms when appropriate, but avoid too many geometric and precise shapes that can make the plate look like it was stamped with a cookie cutter.

Plate moist ingredients first so you can use them to anchor dry ingredients. For example, you can angle sliced meat or vegetables against purées and mashed vegetables.

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like fluffing salad greens or overlapping slices of meat are easy ways to create height.

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Use sauces to add color accents to the dish.

Garnishes should be relevant to the dish. They should be edible and complement the other ingredients.

Serve odd amounts of food. If you’re serving small foods like bite-sized appetizers, always give guests odd quantities. Serving three crostini instead of two creates a more visual appeal.

Don’t overcrowd your plate. Keep it simple by focusing on one ingredient—usually the protein. Finding a focal point also ensures that the accompanying ingredients will play a complementary, supporting role. As a general rule, no more than two-thirds of the plate should be filled with food, while the other third of the plate is negative or empty space.

Before the plate is presented to the guest, make sure it has been cleaned of excess food and smudges. You can use water with a drop of lemon juice or vinegar and a clean, lint-free cloth to wipe the plate. |

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What You Need

SOME HELPFUL TOOLS FOR PLATING (NO, WE DID NOT USE THEM ALL!)

Honestly, we didn’t own any special tools until fairly recently and we managed quite well, if we may say so ourselves. Everything can really be done with kitchen utensils or items around your house, but then again, they are so inexpensive (most are on Amazon) and can make life easier, so why not?

• Large metal spoon • Small offset spatula • Drawing spoon • Little squeeze bottle • Ring mold • Tweezers

NOW LET’S GET TO THE ACTUAL PLATING

We used the same ingredients for the 3 plating styles so you can see the different plating concepts more clearly. MAIN: Steak with sauce SIDE #1: Mashed potatoes SIDE #2: Caramelized carrots ADDITIONAL SAUCES: Carrot purée, avocado dip, beet mayonnaise GARNISH: Greens and radish

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Style 1

CLASSIC OR TRADITIONAL PLATING The traditional plating technique uses the three basic food groups of starch, vegetable and main in a specific arrangement. A simple guide to classic plating is to think of the plate as the face of a clock. The main is placed between 3 to 9 o’clock, the starch goes between 9 to 11 o’clock, and the vegetables

between 11 to 3 o’clock. This simple presentation can be effective as long as the elements are balanced. You can try overlapping the components or gain height by leaning the protein on the starch. The sauce can be served either under or over the main item to tie your dish together nicely.

1 We placed the potatoes first (in the 9-11 o’clock position) so we can use it to anchor the meat. 2 We added the greens (in the 11-3 o’clock position). We used the greens to add some texture and height to the plate. Then we placed the meat slices (at the 3-9 o’clock position). We cut the steak in half on the diagonal. 3 Once the basic components were on the plate, we added the sautéed onions over the potatoes and the meat sauce over the meat. 4 We used a tweezer to carefully place the roasted carrots. Alternatively, you can just add a pile of roasted carrots over the greens. 5 This one is just for fun—and for a great visual, of course. We used a squirt bottle and let the sauce drip a bit randomly around the food.

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Style 2

LANDSCAPE PLATING Landscape plating is a style that takes inspiration from landscape gardens. There is usually a vision and plan for the final plate (we suggest sketching it out beforehand), then the food components are generally laid out flat and “landscaped” with each item purposefully placed. 1 We started with a little scoop of carrot purée, then placed some avocado dip over it. 2 Use a small offset spatula to create the smear. If you don’t have one you can still create this with the back of a spoon or the flat part of a knife. Placing one dip over the other allows you to get the mixed color effect when spreading. 3 We used a large Ziploc bag with the corner snipped off to pipe a row of mashed potatoes, perpendicular

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to the sauce, slightly to the right of the center. 4 We cut the meat into thin slices and fanned it downward, leaning on the potatoes a bit, then poured some meat sauce over it. Next, we placed the sautéed onions over the meat. 5 Here we played around with some greens, cucumbers peeled lengthwise and rolled up, and sliced radishes to add the finishing touches to the plate.

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tyle 3 SFREE-FORM PLATING The organized randomness of free-form plating makes it the abstract form of food presentation. There are no rules when it comes to free form, but it involves some thought and planning to plate the dish in a seemingly random but intriguing way. This style of plating works especially well for appetizer dishes where a smaller amount of food is served. Wood, slate or stone plates are

often used to lend a natural element to the presentation. When placing the food, try to create flavor bites by placing small amounts of each ingredient together. Essentially, flavor bites are forkfuls of food that combine all of the ingredients in your dish into one bite. Flavor bites please both the eye and the taste buds. It’s a win-win!

1 Using squirt bottles, we started by randomly making dots of varying size with the avocado dip and beet mayo. We tried to keep it off-centered, yet still somewhat in a vertical line. 2 Next we added three little puffs of mashed potatoes (sticking with odd numbers). 3 Here’s where we started creating flavor bites by adding a piece of meat and some sautéed onions near each potato puff. Next we added the vegetables, still having the flavor bites in mind. 4 We used another plate with a straight edge (which we happened to have, but you can use anything with a straight edge, like a paper, cardboard or rectangular plate) to cover most of the dish, except the far right. We lightly sprinkled some ground black pepper to add a finishing touch.

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The Chef Who Only Uses

Salt

Market-Fresh Pesach Recipes BY ROCHELLE SCHREIBER RECIPES BY MOSHE MARGULIES PHOTOS BY SRULI MARGULIES

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or Moshe Margulies of M&M events, a premier event and catering company in London, good food was a daily business since he was a small child.

As the son of a popular caterer, entering the food business was an obvious choice. His generous personality coupled with innovative use of fresh and natural ingredients make Moshe a sought-after name in the industry. At an M&M event, Moshe’s delicious menus are served with warmth and finesse, his passion and perfection evident in every dish. “I would describe my cooking style as traditional with a modern twist,” says Moshe, who credits his wife with influencing him to incorporate world cuisine into his dishes. He enjoys plying his guests with familiar foods and tastes, albeit with a sophisticated twist or an on-trend touch. When it comes to Pesach, however, it’s tradition all the way for this English Bobover chasid. His first hands-on Pesach was as a young bachur in the Bobov yeshivah in Bat Yam. Gracing the yeshivah were two illustrious guests: R’ Shaul Hutterer, z”l, and R’ Moshe Elias, z”l. Moshe remembers the bachurim preparing a memorable Pesach under their stringent watch, with the utmost adherence to halachah and numerous minhagim that were not yet familiar to him. “Everything was prepared from scratch,” Moshe recalls about that year in yeshivah. From freshly squeezed lemon and orange juice to schmaltz, the bachurim toiled around the clock, producing delightful meals with minimal processed ingredients. Although it was labor intensive, Moshe has only positive memories of the festive and inspiring atmosphere that year, which influenced him to continue those minhagim in his future Pesach cooking. These days, despite his year-round catering business, Moshe does not accept any Pesach job offers. Instead he prepares Pesach for his (extended) family, treating them to a Yom Tov with the highest level of gastronomy and a guarantee that every ingredient is fresh and produced in his very own kitchen. “I take pride in using absolutely no commercially produced ingredients, and no spices aside from salt. All of the seasoning I

use is market fresh—such as fresh garlic, ginger and peppers.” Far from being bland, his food is full of flavor and deliciously fresh. Creative use of fruits, vegetables and nuts provide his dishes with an array of sweet and savory tastes. Moshe enjoys experimenting with different tastes and textures, and these innovative ideas are overwhelmingly met with rave reviews. “One of my resounding successes was a sea bass with sweet chili sauce, cashews and pistachios. The sweet and salty flavors combined with the creamy texture of the fish and the crunchy nuts created a winning combination.” Of course, even the chili sauce was homemade! Moshe encourages the use of trial and error in cooking. “Pesach cooking is so easy and beautiful. You can’t really make mistakes when you use fresh ingredients and your imagination!” The use of fresh ingredients and being imaginative is something Moshe is very enthusiastic about. “Whereas baking is a science, cooking is an art,” he explains, “and if you envisage a dish, you can usually figure out the components to make it happen, even if you don’t have your usual ingredients on hand.” For example, he encourages the use of nuts like macadamias, hazelnuts and almonds to add flavor and a nutty crust for fish or poultry. Moshe compensates for his lack of sugar in many creative ways. In a meat sauce, he uses dates to add a natural and delightful sweetness. In desserts like compote he selects the apples that need no additional sweetener; for a fruit salad he’ll enhance the flavor with a fresh mango purée. Our interview is interrupted by Moshe’s daughter enthusiastically reminding him about all the oranges they squeezed together. “My children look forward to Pesach all year. They have such fantastic memories of their input into the meals and the tasty results.” Moshe agrees that creating everything from scratch can be labor intensive and time consuming, and that is where the little hands are so helpful. “Children enjoy being part of the preparation. It gives them joy and satisfaction, especially when they see the delicious products of their work!” If Moshe wants to leave readers with one message, it’s to keep things simple but be willing to experiment. “Envisage how you want the dish to taste and work with the ingredients you have to create those flavors. Put your heart into it, and remember: There are no mistakes in cooking.” From a chef whose every dish is perfectly flavored with care and flair, we are sure to take note!

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MACADAMIA BRITTLE CHICKEN WITH BEETS, SWEET POTATO AND APPLE Serves: 4

MACADAMIA BRITTLE

CHICKEN

4 skin-on, boneless chicken legs (capons) 2 teaspoons salt Macadamia brittle, crushed

Homemade brittle is most satisfying, and can be used on anything from chicken to ice cream. You will enjoy its unique flavors in this sweet but salty dish.

1. Preheat oven to 350°F. 2. Place chicken on a baking sheet, skin-side down. Lightly season with salt and top with crushed brittle. 3. Cook, uncovered, for 40 minutes, until topping is golden and crispy.

1 cup sugar 1 cup toasted macadamia nuts 1. Melt sugar in a small saucepan over medium heat until lightly golden and liquid (sugar will turn bitter if left for too long). 2. Pour melted sugar onto parchment paper, then quickly spread toasted macadamia nuts onto the sugar. Let set until solid and cool. Once hardened, break or crush brittle to use as needed. COOKING TIP: This is made with no oil. The trick is to melt the sugar slowly, over medium heat, while keeping a close eye and stirring gently. The sugar should melt into a beautiful golden liquid. When pouring it onto the parchment paper, try to spread it as thinly as possible.

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SWEET POTATO AND APPLE 2 large sweet potatoes, peeled and cubed 1 large carrot, sliced 2 cloves garlic, sliced 2 apples, grated Macadamia brittle, crushed 1. Bring a medium saucepan filled with water to a boil. Add sweet potato, carrot and garlic and cook until all vegetables are very soft (carrots may take longer). 2. Drain vegetables and mash, then season lightly with salt. 3. Preheat oven to 350°F. 4. Fill four ramekins halfway with grated apple, followed by a thin layer of brittle, then top with sweet potato mash. Cook for 20 minutes. |

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Cooking Tip

Using a variety of nuts as part of your natural ingredients adds taste and texture to your Pesach cooking. Whether you’re going to use them coarsely chopped or whole, always start by freshly roasting them first. The easiest method is to spread a single layer on a baking tray and roast in the oven. Keep a close eye on your nuts, because they can go from ready to burnt in a moment. It’s normal for nuts to feel soft and soggy when hot out of the oven; they will crisp up when cool.

BEET-STUFFED ZUCCHINI 1 sweet potato, peeled and sliced 1 teaspoon salt 2 zucchini 2 raw beets, peeled and grated 1 clove garlic, finely chopped 1. Preheat oven to 350°F. 2. Lightly salt sweet potato slices and spread on a parchment paper-lined baking sheet. Roast until soft. 3. While sweet potato is roasting, cut zucchini in half lengthwise. Scoop out the center, being careful to keep the shell thick enough to hold a little liquid when filling, and place on a baking sheet. 4. Mix roasted sweet potato, grated beets and garlic. Spoon mixture into the hollowedout zucchini and cook for 20 minutes.

SEARED TUNA WITH MANGO SALSA Serves: 4

Cooking Tip

SEARED TUNA

• You can sear the tuna without any oil in a non-stick pan.

Tuna is the least “fishy” of all kinds of fish, and can really have a meaty taste when seared right. The meaty flavor pairs perfectly with this tangy salsa. 1 lb. sushi-grade fresh tuna 2 teaspoons olive oil 1 teaspoon salt ½ teaspoon coarsely ground black pepper 1 large ripe mango, diced ½ red onion, minced 2 tomatoes, diced ¼ cucumber, diced 1 pomegranate, seeded 3 tablespoons freshly squeezed orange juice 3 tablespoons sweet red wine (or grape juice) 3 tablespoons dry red wine

MANGO SALSA 1. Mix mango, onion, tomatoes, cucumber and pomegranate seeds. 2. In a separate bowl, mix orange juice, sweet wine and dry wine. Pour over salsa and marinate for 1 hour. 3. Drain and serve over tuna or serve in a separate dish with the dressing.

1. Coat tuna with olive oil, then season lightly with salt and pepper. 2. Seal in a Ziploc bag and refrigerate for 1-4 hours. 3. Heat a frying pan over high heat, then sear tuna on each side just until lightly browned (a total of 1-2 minutes). Let cool. CHEF’S TIP: For a fully cooked version, cut tuna into thin strips. Marinate with olive oil, salt and pepper for 1 hour, then sear in batches until completely cooked (about 1-2 minutes). Serve hot out of the pan, accompanied by mango salsa. 14 NISAN 5780

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• To achieve an even sear, keep flipping the tuna often rather than leaving it on one side for a length of time.

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STEAK AND PARSNIP MASH Serves: 4

STEAK

PARSNIP MASH

Thin slices of succulent steak are served with parsnip mash for a slight twist to your usual mashed potato. 6 dates, diced 1 onion, diced 1 tomato, diced 5 cloves garlic, sliced 1 lb. rib steak, thinly sliced 3 parsnips, peeled and cubed 2 potatoes, peeled and cubed 1 onion, sliced 1 teaspoon salt, or to taste 5 shallots, peeled and sliced, optional 1. Preheat oven to 350°F. 2. Sauté dates, onion, tomato and garlic until golden brown and slightly sticky. Add steak and cook until browned. 3. Transfer to a baking dish and add ½ cup water. Cover and cook in the oven for 45 minutes.

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1. This ratio is easy to remember with a simple 3, 2, 1: 3 parsnips, 2 potatoes and 1 onion. 2. Add vegetables to a pot filled with cold water to ensure that the potatoes cook evenly. Place over medium-high heat and cook until soft. 3. Reserve some of the cooking liquid, then drain vegetables. 4. Mash vegetables while hot, adding reserved cooking liquid gradually as needed to achieve a creamy texture. Season with salt, to taste.

CARAMELIZED SHALLOTS

Sauté shallots in a small pan until soft, sticky and golden.

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Cooking Tips

To sauté shallots or other diced vegetables with water instead of oil or sugar, start with your pan on medium heat. Add onion or diced vegetables with a small amount of water. As the water evaporates and pan gets dry, keep adding small amounts of water. Keep a close eye on it to make sure it doesn’t burn. If done right, onions should be fully cooked, soft, sticky and golden. For varied color and flavor, substitute the parsnip with other vegetables of choice, such as sweet potato, zucchini or any root vegetable. To maintain moist texture when cooking meat in the oven, add a layer of parchment paper under the silver foil when covering to keep the steam in the pan.

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STEAK AND LAMB CHOPS WITH HASSELBACK POTATOES AND STEAMED CARROTS Serves: 4

STEAK 4 rib steaks 1 onion, sliced 1 red onion, sliced 6 cloves garlic, sliced 2 carrots, sliced 1 orange, segmented 5 dates, quartered 2 tomatoes, quartered 1. Preheat oven to 350°F. 2. Preheat a grill pan (or grill) over high heat. Sear steak on both sides. 3. In a small saucepan, slightly sauté onions, garlic, carrots, orange, dates and tomatoes. 4. Once slightly golden, pour into a baking dish. Lay the steak over the mixture and add 1 cup of water. Cover and cook in the oven for 1½ hours.

BABY HASSELBACK POTATOES

STEAMED CARROTS

20 baby potatoes Salt, to taste

1. Preheat oven to 350°F. 2. Place carrots on a baking sheet and cover with water. Cook for 20 minutes. NOTE: I find this method of steaming easier and more precise than cooking on the stove. CHEF’S TIP: If rainbow heritage carrots or baby heritage carrots are available, use those to add a splash of color to your plate. Steam the purple carrots separately so they don’t discolor the orange and yellow carrots.

1. Preheat oven to 350°F. 2. Slice 4-5 slits in each potato (use the height of a small knife as your guide) and place on a baking sheet. 3. Sprinkle potatoes with water and salt, then cook for 15 minutes. Sprinkle with water again and cook until soft and golden. (We have peeled the potatoes, as per our minhag, but this works as well with unpeeled baby potatoes.) CHEF’S TIP: In this recipe I use a bit of water, rather than using oil. You can also roast these potatoes with the traditional method.

2 carrots, julienned

NUT-CRUSTED LAMB CHOPS 1 ounce (about 10 whole) toasted walnuts, finely chopped 1 ounce (about 20) toasted almonds, finely chopped 1 clove garlic, finely chopped 4 lamb chops 1. Preheat oven to 350°F. 2. Mix walnuts, almonds and garlic in a shallow dish or plate. 3. In a very hot pan, sear lamb chops on both sides just until slightly golden (2-3 minutes). 4. Coat lamb chops in nut crunch and place on a baking sheet. (It’s important to do this while the lamb chops are still hot and moist, so the crunch sticks to the meat.) 5. Cook, uncovered, for 25 minutes.

Cooking Tip

Achieving criss-cross grill marks is simple and easy. Start searing steak on the griddle, and once grill marks have formed, simply change the angle (leaving the steak on the same side) until a new set of grill marks form. Repeat on the other side.

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AMI’S FOOD MAGAZINE

4/1/20 6:40 PM

KITCHEN GADGETS WORTH INVESTING IN

Pineapple Peeler/ Cutter/Slicer

Electric Dehydrator

The easiest way to peel, core and slice pineapple in one fell swoop.

Fun to use with rewarding results. Slice up any fruits, then follow unit instructions. After 6-10 hours, enjoy delicious dried fruit. Pineapple and mango are my favorites!

COST: $10 BEST FOR: Pineapple

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COST: $45-$200 (mid-range works perfectly for fruit) BEST FOR: Dried fruit

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APRIL 8, 2020

Soft Fruit Peeler

Cast Iron Griddle

If, like me, you peel everything on Pesach, this will be a huge help. Also called a serrated peeler, it’s perfect for peeling strawberries, dates and mango.

A regular griddle is okay, but it does not come close to a real cast iron griddle. These are readily available in all good cook shops or online. When fully heated on the stove top, a heavy piece of cast iron will create beautiful grill marks, perfect for vegetables or meat. Fish will usually stick, so use the special Teflon sheets, purchased separately.

COST: $5-$10 BEST FOR: All soft fruit

COST: $35-$65 BEST FOR: Searing meat

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CHRONICLES

PESACH COOKING HACKS Cooking Without Oil Aside from sautéing with water, there are many other creative ways to improvise without using oil on Pesach. You can find other forms of fat in your cooking, such as adding a ladle of chicken soup to the kugel or roasted chicken fat to your roasted potatoes.

One-Pan Meals A great way to infuse food with flavor is to create one-pan meals. For example, if you’re roasting chicken, turn it into a one-pan meal! Layer sliced potatoes and onions on the bottom of the pan, then place the chicken on top, skin-side down. Top with other vegetables, season with salt, cover and cook in the oven. The chicken skin will add fat and flavor into the potatoes, while the vegetables add flavor to the chicken. A full meal in one!

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l’Italia dei Turisti LIVE LIKE A LOCAL Ah, the dictum of authenticism! Sitting on my veranda, I watch with bemusement as hordes of tourist purists stream by, bent on securing their autentica Italiana experience. The passionate fervor and wide-eyed wonder as they point and pose and photograph. But they’ll never feel the charm. Italy is at the top of the world’s must-see list. There is so much to see and do here. Venice, La Serenissima, Galleria dell’Accademia di Venezia. The Floating City, so famous for its gondolas. The postcards! The couples riding down canals and waterways, hoping to catch the love dust shimmering down from the stars. The famous tiramisu from Gio’s Restaurant, sitting on the banks of the canal. They’ll barrel down Milan, the fashion capital of the world, where major fashion labels were born - Giorgio Armani, Gucci, Fendi. They’ll shop the boutiques at the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II, the world’s oldest shopping mall. They’ll ponder and expostulate the artistic motives of the famous David sculpture by Michelangelo in Florence, being sure to book a private tour to skip the lines.

They’ll go home. They’ll return with stories to tell; hopefully the locals were friendly. Maybe they’ll have gained a glimpse into our lives. Maybe they’ll imagine they could live here someday. But in their frenzy, they’ll miss the forest for the trees. They’ll miss Italy. If you want to experience unadulterated, autentica Italia, come in the winter. Come in February. Come in March. Come when the temperature is low and the color of the Tuscany hills turns to the breathtaking, vivid green of early spring. Come for the olive groves, come sip the wine. Come experience real Italy. A quiet, quaint village in the Tuscan countryside. The olive trees covered in white flowers in the spring. The cottage that our great-grandparents built a century ago. A place that is warm and welcoming; a place of comfort and acceptance. Real Italy is Nonna’s house, filled with the wonderful aromas of her gourmet Italian cooking. Buglione d’agnello, parmigiana, frittatine in trippa with steaming tomato sauce. Frascarelli. Lingering around the kitchen table for hours eating, talking and laughing the day away. Real Italy is home.

4/1/20 6:43 PM

Week 2 of 2 Meat recipes that are a grade above the rest BY AHRON POSEN • PHOTOS BY YOSSI EINHORN

ey, guys, so remember when I said “the only thing we won’t miss about Eretz Yisrael is making Pesach on our own”? Well, I think Hashem sent me a personal message—that no matter where in the world I am it is not I who decides where, when and with whom I spend time with; it is Hashem Who makes those decisions. (And all decisions, obviously.) We have no control over what goes on around us. The only thing Hashem gives us control over is our reactions to situations. This year we find ourselves making Pesach again. I love Yom Tov! I feel like it’s a party that Hashem invites His whole family to. Every Yom Tov we need to prepare for differently. Some people say that a three-day Yom Tov is too much for them, but I truly believe it’s like Hashem is inviting us for the after-party. Yom Tov is special and I’m excited for Pesach, even though (as I write this) I don’t know if (by some miracle) I will be spending it with my in-laws in Flatbush, with my parents in

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Edison, in Lakewood with my wife and kids, or with Moshiach in Eretz Yisrael. If we do finally get to spend this Yom Tov in Eretz Yisrael with the Beis Hamikdash, we can finally eat Hillel’s famous koreich sandwich the way he intended it to be eaten. Koreich means to wrap (like only the Sefardi matzah is capable of doing); Hillel made a shawarma. He had maror (charif), lamb (shwarma) and he had a lafa (matzah). It’s amazing how some recipes can be lost in translation. Imagine what Hillel might say if he saw us crunching down our meatless (vegan) lettuce sandwiches. (This is a joke; I hope it does not sound irreverent.) Another thing kohanim should anticipate with the coming of Moshiach is eating nearly raw meat. Kohanim often did not have time to fully cook their meat so they ate it nearly raw. Personally, I like to eat my steak blue, just like the kohanim ate it. So without further ado, I give to you chateaubriand, or filet mignon and carpaccio. APRIL 8, 2020

Filet Mignon Once upon a time there was a dragon. Every time he yawned a flame came out, so they called him flaming-yawn. He was a very wealthy dragon but did not have any friends, so one day when he was complaining to his publicist, she advised him to name a cut of meat after himself (after all, everyone likes meat). So he chose his favorite cut and paid all the butchers in his town to call that cut Flaming-Yawn. Years later the name developed into what is known today as filet mignon. Now, as you well know, the only true part of this story is in parentheses. The truth is that it’s difficult to purchase any kosher meat from the back of the animal in America. The filet mignon or chateaubriand you see at your butcher is often the center of a rib eye. It’s a lean, tender and juicy steak—a very luxurious steak and a great Yom Tov treat. It is important to note that if you like your steaks

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cooked more than medium rare I do not suggest trying this—because, as I mentioned, it’s a lean steak. I have found that this steak tastes best cooked (or uncooked) blue, which is essentially raw. It is so tender, juicy and meaty. I know the majority of people shy away from rare meat but it’s worth a try. Think about the reaction most of us had to sushi when we first heard of it (I can hear some readers mumbling, “I still think it’s gross”); now it’s become as much of a Jewish staple as Chinese food. That being said, I often advise people to add a crunchy aspect to this dish by using coarse salt and fresh coarse black pepper. This negates the

textural issues some people have with raw foods. (It’s how I developed a taste for raw sushi 12 years ago.) So now that I have successfully convinced you to eat your meat blue, let’s get “cooking”!

salt and pepper. 2. Heat a pan on high heat until almost smoking. Sear steaks for 20-30 seconds per side. 3. Remove and let rest for 5 minutes. Serve warmish.

Filet Mignon or Flaming-Yawn

If you want it medium-rare it’s best to sous vide it because it’s very thick.

So first, I give flaming-yawn name credit to a friend and chavrusa of mine, Eli Zlotowitz. (I hope this doesn’t hurt his lawyering career.) 1. Slice filet mignon roast, or chateaubriand, into 2-2½-inch-thick steaks. Pat dry with paper towels. Season generously with olive oil,

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1. Sous vide at 129°F for 1 hour. 2. Then finish with the searing method above. Alternatively, cut 1½-inch-thick steaks and sear on high heat on each side for 1-2 minutes or until internal temp is 129-134°F.

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Carpaccio I tasted carpaccio for the first time while living in Israel. It’s a delicious dish, but whenever I order it at a restaurant I feel like I’m overpaying for a few extremely thin slices of meat. If you learn how to make this dish at home you can give your friends and family a restaurant experience in the comfort of your own home. 1. Using one of the steaks that was seared blue, wrap it in parchment paper and put it in the freezer for 45-60 minutes (this will make it much easier to slice thin, even slices). 2. Remove from the freezer and slice as thinly as you can. 3. Lay each slice on a large piece of Saran Wrap, leaving about 1½ inches between each slice. Cover the top with Saran Wrap. 4. Using the flat side of a mallet, flatten out the meat gently until very thin. (This will make the meat much thinner and also tenderize it by breaking up the connective tissue.) 5. Layer it on a plate in a pretty formation. 6. Place a handful of pistachios in a Ziploc bag and crush them with a

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mallet until they are mostly broken pieces. 7. Top the meat with pistachio crumbs and dress lightly with olive oil, salt, pepper and a dash of balsamic vinegar (or any darker vinegar you use on Pesach; alternatively you can use lemon juice). Serve fresh.

This Yom Tov will look different from the “normal” Yom Tov for almost everyone in klal Yisrael, but who said normal is good? (I do not dare address those of our brothers and sisters who are facing tragedies of any kind. For them, all I can say is may you feel Hashem hugging you.) Let’s make the most of it, since this is what Hashem wants from us now. Wishing everyone a meaningful, mindful Yom Tov. May this year bring the final redemption and glory back to Hashem’s name and His people! Disclaimer: The information here is based on my experience eating raw meat and talking to restaurant owners and chefs. If you have other concerns, feel free to reach out to me and I’ll try APRIL 8, 2020

to help you. The short shpiel on meat safety is that unlike chicken or fish, bacteria mainly grows on the outer layers of meat. That being said, if your meat is fresh and you seared the exterior, it is safe to eat. Ahron approaches cooking as a form of creativity. He enjoys almost all forms of art but finds cooking to be especially satisfying. Ahron’s goal as a food author is to empower his readers with information so they can incorporate different methods, cuisines and concepts into their kitchens. He brings practical applications into many seemingly complex and unapproachable cooking ideas. Ahron, his wife Chavie and their two kids, Zusha and Peretz, recently moved from Israel where Ahron completed a three-year smichah program in the Jerusalem Kollel, led by Rabbi Yitzchak Berkovitz. Now he lives in Lakewood near his family and is a regular contributor to Whisk.

ANY QUESTIONS OR COMMENTS CAN BE SENT TO

ahronsfoodforthought@gmail.com

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H alachah

^ QitchenQs

Please send your questions to whisk@amimagazine.org.

BY RABBI BERISCH LUDMIR

Dear Rabbi,

With a three-day Yom Tov coming up, I’d really appreciate it if you could clarify the halachos of eruv tavshilin.

Thank you in advance! Shmuel M.

Dear Shmuel, I’ve divided the answer into steps for more clarity. 1. On Erev Yom Tov, take two foods, one baked and one cooked (e.g., a matzah and an egg), and designate them to be eaten on Shabbos. 2. Each of these foods must be at least a kezayis, regardless of how many people are being included in the eruv. 3. One then makes the brachah on setting an eruv tavshilin and declares that he may now perform all other forms of melachah on Yom Tov for Shabbos. 4.The food must be stored safely to be

eaten on Shabbos, because if the food of the eruv is eaten or gets lost before one cooks for Shabbos, it disqualifies the eruv. 5. One should eat the foods used for the eruv on Shabbos.

THE SOURCE

Although it is normally forbidden to prepare food on Yom Tov for after Yom Tov, when Shabbos falls immediately after Yom Tov one is allowed to prepare for Shabbos. But Chazal instituted a prerequisite that we must start preparing for Shabbos before Yom Tov begins—and only then may we “continue” preparing for Shabbos on Yom Tov itself. There is an argument between the Rishonim regarding whether the Torah allows one to cook on Yom Tov for Shabbos—and that Chazal instituted a safeguard so people understand this leniency only applies to Shabbos—or

whether the Torah does not allow one to cook on Yom Tov for Shabbos—and Chazal relied on the leniency that one can cook food on Yom Tov that is being left for after Yom Tov (i.e., Shabbos), since it could also be eaten on Yom Tov if the need arises. Therefore, even though here the purpose is clearly to cook for Shabbos, since one could eat the food on Yom Tov if he was hungry or unexpected guests arrived it is considered a Yom Tov need as well. Based on this principle, the poskim rule that the foods being cooked on Yom Tov for Shabbos have to be prepared early enough in the day that they are still somewhat edible during Yom Tov. To put raw food in the slow cooker late Yom Tov afternoon, which will only be edible on Shabbos, is assur. In cases of extreme necessity, there may be room to allow cooking even late Yom Tov afternoon; one should consult their rav.

WHAT IF? Do I have to cook the eruv food myself?

Although the eruv signifies one has set aside food for Shabbos, it is not necessary to cook the food oneself; one may use a cooked and baked item—such as a matzah or a tin of precooked fish. The cooked item should be something that can be eaten as an accompaniment to bread, such as meat, fish, eggs or cooked vegetables.

I am eating out on Shabbos and don’t intend to cook.

It is still necessary to make an eruv tavshilin because one needs to rely on it to light Shabbos candles while it is still Yom Tov. If one did not make an eruv they may only light one candle for Shabbos.

I was so busy Erev Pesach, I forgot to make an eruv.

The halachah is that the rav of the town makes an eruv to include all the people in his town. If one forgot for the first time, or their eruv got lost, he can rely on the eruv of the rav to allow him to prepare for Shabbos. In years where the second day of Yom Tov leads into Shabbos and he remembers on the first day that he forgot to make an eruv, it may still be possible to make a conditional eruv on the first day. One should ask a rav how to do so if this would arise.

Although one should take care to keep the eruv foods separate, if the matzah does get lost one can still rely on the cooked food of the eruv to allow cooking. If the opposite would happen and the cooked item would get eaten but the baked one remains, the consensus of the poskim is that it would be assur to cook.

Reviewed by Rav Dovid Steinhauer, Rosh Chaburah at The Jerusalem Kollel 14 NISAN 5780

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The matzah I used for the eruv got mixed up with the other matzos.

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