Issue 143

LET THE CHANUKAH FESTIVITIES BEGIN. ELKY’S WHOLESOME CHANUKAH MENU.

NOVEMBER 13, 2013 / 10 KISLEV 5774 ISSUE 143

>>> REBBETZIN TWERSKI FORGETTING GOES A LONG WAY

FOOD CURRENTS: A FESTIVE WAY TO DRESS UP QUINOA

>>> TRUTH OR CONSEQUENCES MY FRIEND DIDN’T WANT THE

ISSUE 143 NOVEMBER 13, 2013 10 KISLEV 5774

TRUTH ABOUT MY EX-SON-IN-LAW >>> BYTES NIFTY USES FOR RUBBER BANDS >>> CLEAN BILL A PLASTIC REVEALS THE

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A P OT H EC A R I E .C O M

CONTENTS

10 Kislev 5774 November 13, 2013

Features 22 Truth or Consequences

Is it my place to tell the world the truth about my ex-son-in-law?

As told to Sarah Massry

26 The Clean Bill

Coming to Our Senses: What was really standing between my son and the Mishnayos in his hands?

As told to Bayla Gross

33 Marriage

26

Shalom bayis by number: Take the test to learn more about your marriage.

By Batya Cohen

Departments 6

Editorial

By Rechy Frankfurter

8

Letters

FOOD CURRENTS: A FESTIVE WAY TO DRESS UP QUINOA

10 The Rebbetzin Speaks

By Rebbetzin Feige Twerski

ISSUE 143 NOVEMBER 13, 2013 10 KISLEV 5774

12 Parshah

By Rabbi Y. Y. Rubinstein

14 Golden Nuggets

4

By Basha Majerczyk

in Whisk

16 Bytes

By Miriam Glick

4 Wholesome Who needs the calories?

Chanukah can be deliciously light.

By Elky Friedman

40 Shidduch Saga

By Chana Rose

44 The Narrow Bridge

By Peri Berger

12 Food Currents

46 Daddy’s Girl

By Racheli Sofer

By Dina Neuman

48 Our Days

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The rhythm of our lives |

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By Victoria Dwek

By Liora Stein

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Elky’s Wholesom e Chanukah

2 Hello Cooks

20 Debt Diary

Inside Whisk

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14 2 Girls on a Diet Challenge

By Basya Fruchter and Devoiry Fine

11/7/13 6:44 PM

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Dear Readers, I was intrigued when I learned that it’s all the rage these days for

married couples to take personality tests as a way of gauging their compatibility. Somehow, I always associated these things with teenagers. I remember how it was a popular sport during those self-absorbed, angstfilled years when we were busy analyzing ourselves.

Editor in Chief Rabbi Yitzchok Frankfurter

Editorial

Actually, the first personality tests were developed in the 1920s to help the process of personnel selection for the Armed Forces. Today, personality testing is a $400-million-a-year industry in wide use for all types of relationships, vocational and career planning, employee vetting and the like.

Senior Editor Rechy Frankfurter Managing Editors Victoria Dwek Yossi Krausz Feature Editor Yitta Halberstam Mandelbaum

A friend of mine and her husband were facing a dilemma. A young man who sounded terrific had been suggested for their daughter. He had all the maalos one looks for in a shidduch as well as a charismatic personality.

Their daughter, however, although a very lovely girl, was terribly shy and in all honesty was rather bland and introverted. They wondered if it was possible for a boy and girl with such different personalities to be compatible. Because the shidduch was so appealing to them and the boy’s side had expressed interest, they consulted with a baal eitzah as to whether such a shidduch had potential. This wise man told them as follows: “Definitely yes. While every couple must have chemistry, it’s hard to predict which particular couple will have it, regardless of similarities or differences.” They went ahead with the shidduch and despite everyone’s surprise when they got engaged (“This shidduch makes no sense! What a mismatch!), the couple is very happily married and raising a large, beautiful family.

Coordinating Editor Toby Worch Copy Editors Basha Majerczyk Dina Schreiber Rabbi Yisroel Benedek

Art

Art Directors Alex Katalkin David Kniazuk

Food

Food Editors Victoria Dwek Leah Schapira

The secret to a happy marriage is as sought after as the fountain of youth.

Advertising

Executive Account Manager Zack Blumenfeld

I recently came across a very interesting article, all the more so because it was written by a non-traditional person. In the piece, a young man described what happened when he went to his father for advice because his marriage was on the rocks. To his utter shock, instead of receiving advice on how to improve his marriage, his father told him bluntly, “Son, marriage isn’t for you.” He then went on to explain: “Let me make this really simple: Marriage isn’t for you. You’re just too selfish. You don’t get married to make yourself happy; you marry to make someone else happy.

More than that, you don’t get married for yourself; you marry for a family, for your future children. Whom do you want to help you raise them? Whom do you want to have an influence on them? Marriage isn’t for you. It’s not about you. Marriage is about the person you married.”

Executive Sales Directors Surie Katz Esther Friedman Europe Advertising 44 7891 297 866 Advertising Coordinator Malky Friedman Markowitz Distribution 917-202-3973 646-247-0262

Ami Magazine

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

While I’m not sure how all the couples out there with really great marriages would score on a personality test, I do know that there’s always a common denominator: being selfless and kind, and having true yiras shamayim. If you’re fortunate enough to have that, you’ll never need a personality test to make your marriage work.

Ami Magazine. Published by Mezoogmag 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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Rechy Frankfurter

rechy@amimagazine.org

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10 KISLEV 5774

LETTERS

There’s Always an Opportunity for Second Chances

My Mother’s MS

Count your blessings

In reference to “The Clean Bill,” Issue 138

Warning women about going off their medications

In reference to “Our Days,” Issue 140

Dear Editor:

Dear Editor:

Regarding the worried mother’s feelings of concern (“The Second Time Around,” Issue 140), I would like to bring another perspective to her attention.

Amongst my family and friends I have seen relationships end at all stages: from a very promising shidduch bio that never manifests in a first date, to an amazing first date where the other side says “no” to a second; from dating ten times and the other side unexpectedly calls things off, to a broken engagement (which she so eloquently and despairingly described); from a marriage that is ended soon after it starts and before any children are born, to a marriage with children that ends in divorce. And any or all of us can tell you that if the relationship is not meant to be, the sooner it is ended the better for all involved.

So she can mourn her daughter’s first engagement if she must. But she should also be grateful, thanking Hashem for the fact that engagements are easier to “get over” than marriages, and that there are no children to be hurt in the process. Baruch Hashem, at each stage there is the opportunity for second chances, and the worried mother can be grateful that her daughter is getting hers. Then she should follow her daughter’s lead: Let go of the past and enjoy the present, and daven for her future.

After reading the article, “Can Pregnancy Cure Disease?” in Issue 138, about the woman who had multiple sclerosis and continued to have children, I felt compelled to write a letter to the editor, which is something I don’t usually do.

My mother has MS. She has had it for the past 33 years. My mother continued to have two more children after being diagnosed, and since I’m one of them, I can truly say that I lost out on having the mother my three older siblings had.

To the mother with MS in the article: While I feel for your pain and the fact that you will never run after your children, I would also like to point out that I think that you neglected something very important in this article.

You should be warning women who do have MS about the terrible life-altering effects pregnancy has on the body of a woman with MS. While no woman ever wants to be told that she can no longer have children, no woman wants to do something that could ultimately jeopardize their children’s mother either. While you went on to have three more children and, yes, you said that you are paralyzed today, you almost make it sound like a badge of honor.

Please take this opportunity to warn women with MS to stay on their meds, because of the clearly devastating effects that MS has on their ability, after the baby is born, to then mother the child.

Enjoying my second chance

AMI MAGAZINE 1575 50th St., Brooklyn, NY 11219 Phone: (718) 534-8800 Fax: (718) 484-7731 letters@amimagazine.org

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LETTERS

Strong Enough To Let Go

Hashem’s child and ours to share In reference to “Truth or Consequences,” Issue 137

Dear “Just Perfect” Mother: When I was a young teenager, my mother gave birth to our baby: a beautiful girl with Down syndrome. My mother was not aware that there were any problems until a few hours after the birth. My mother, like you, was unable to bring the child home. She did not feel that she would be able to give the child her all, to help her fulfill her potential. She had a hard time bringing herself to love this child. After much discussion and rabbinical guidance, they decided to give her up for foster care. Baruch Hashem, my sister is getting the best care possible, and is flourishing beautifully. We visit her from time to time, and we keep in touch with her foster parents. My parents have never regretted their decision. They realized that giving up doesn’t always mean you’re weak; sometimes it means you’re strong enough to let go. Do not feel guilty about what you did. For you and your family it was the right choice at the time. I quote, “He’s Hashem’s child, and ours to share.” Much hatzlachah, and may Hashem give you the necessary strength.

Anonymous

H U G E S H I P M E N T O F N E W A R R I VA L S

Helicopter Happy The happiest mommy on the block

The children of overprotective “helicopter parents,” described in Issue 58, might grumble about their parents’ involvement in their lives, but at least someone is truly happy with the arrangement—the helicopter parents themselves. Although the phenomenon of helicopter parenting has been shown in various studies to be detrimental to children, a new study published in Social Psychological and Personality Science concluded that parents who are “child-centric,” putting their child’s needs before their own—which includes helicopter parents who are genuinely invested in the well-being of their children as a top priority—are happier and more fulfilled. So, giving makes you a happier person. Where have we heard that before?!

In the Know

Should we involve our children?

In reference to “Shidduch Saga”

Dear Editor: Your column by Mimmi Kirsch has been the topic of many (heated) discussions amongst my family and friends. As a mother of a shidduchage child, the question of to when and to what extent to involve our child is always debated. I applaud Mimmi for allowing her son to be part of the decisions. However, some family members argue that it’s the parents who know best, and shidduchim should be decided by them.

Sometimes I doubt my own approach. I’m wondering whether in there are more “Mimmis” out there thanI’m aware of, or are we the minority?

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REBBETZIN REMEMBERING AND FORGETTING

SPEAKS

A LITTLE BIT OF FORGETFULNESS GOES A LONG WAY

By Rebbetzin Feige Twerski

D

avid and Lisa had a reasonably good marriage. There was, however, a point of contention that drove a wedge between them.

David claimed that when they argued, Lisa did not stay on point. She would dredge up past grievances all the way from “sheishes yemei bereishis,” from the beginning of their 20-year marriage. She had perfect recall of everything he had ever said or done to her that was hurtful or inappropriate. If, he lamented, her memory was so foolproof, why couldn’t she remember the good things as well?

This is an all-too-common scenario.

We tend to hold on to gripes and resentments well beyond what should be their expiration date. Someone once aptly observed that holding on to resentment is like drinking poison and hoping the other person will die. The fact is that it is the one who cannot let go who is ultimately the victim.

Bella was a case in point. She had spent the better part of the 50 years of her life harboring bad feelings toward those in her past who, in her estimation, had wronged her. Finally, one day she had an epiphany. She realized that her negative, obsessive thinking was draining her life of the joy that could be hers. She decided that just for a few days she would refuse to think about her past; she would let it go. The reprieve of that short period of time brought her a huge insight. She gained new perspectives and realized that whatever people had done to her in

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speech or deed was a product of their and not her limitations. It was they who had inadequate resources, and at the end of the day, it was probably the best they could do, given their emotional constrictions. Bella felt liberated. It was a great relief not to be a prisoner of so much negativity.

Along these lines, it is amazing how over and over again timeless Torah informs and instructs our day-to-day living.

Consider Rachel Imeinu. Aside from all the things we usually associate with her greatness, there are more subtle achievements that do not receive as much attention. We know that she revealed the codes to her sister Leah when she was at risk of being humiliated under the chuppah. Indeed, it was this deed that earned her the role of being the great advocate for klal Yisrael. It was she who, when importuning Hashem for her people, extracted a promise from Him for the ultimate redemption of her descendants. Kever Rachel has served as a shrine for broken hearts and yearning souls throughout the ages.

Another mind-boggling achievement from the pages of Rachel Imeinu’s short life is gleaned from the episode of the “duda’im,” the mandrakes. Reuven, Leah’s son, brings his mother some mandrakes that grow ownerless in the fields. Rachel, still childless at the time, asks Leah for the mandrakes. Leah lashes out at Rachel and says, “Isn’t it enough that you have taken away my husband, must you also have the duda’im of my son?” Rachel’s response was to give up her turn for the company of Yaakov Avinu in exchange for the duda’im. Of course, the entire incident bears further inquiry and explanation, but for our purposes there is one relevant 10 KISLEV 5774

question, the proverbial “elephant in the room” that cannot be ignored: Why didn’t Rachel just respond by telling her sister, “What do you mean, I have taken your husband? If I hadn’t transferred the codes to you, Yaakov would never have been your husband. It wasn’t you he was looking to marry.” Instead, Rachel says nothing; she just negotiates a deal with her sister.

The commentaries point out that several verses later we read, “And Hashem remembered Rachel…and she conceived.”

They explain that the two incidents are deliberately juxtaposed. Because Rachel chose not to remember what she had done for Leah, because she chose to forget the amazing thing she had done for her, Hashem (ki’veyachol) chose to remember her plight. There is an inverse relationship between our forgetting and Hashem remembering. In fact, the sefarim tell us that when we remember our wrongdoings in order to correct them, Hashem forgets them. If we forget them, then Hashem remembers.

It is quite a sobering thought. If we, the Lisas and the Bellas, choose to “let go” and “forget” in our interactions with others, there is reason to expect that Hashem will “remember” and bless us with peace, tranquility and good fortune.  Rebbetzin Feige Twerski is the mother of 11 children and many grandchildren, whose number she refuses to divulge. 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 and, more recently, of Rebbetzin Feige Responds.

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PARSHAS VAYISHLACH // By Rabbi Y.Y. Rubinstein

IMPOSSIBLY, INCREDIBLY, MIRACULOUSLY

P

icture 400 soldiers riding toward one frightened Jewish family.

They could be Crusaders or Cossacks or SS. What hope could those Jews possibly have?

Last Shabbos, my wife managed to achieve one of her dearest ambitions since we moved to Flatbush. A couple, with whom she used to stay when she was single, became close friends of hers. After we were married, they became close friends of ours. Perhaps it is because I am out of town so often speaking at Shabbatonim, but we just never managed to find a time when they could join us as our Shabbos guests.

Until last Shabbos, that is.

There were other guests too, some we didn’t know. We always play a game as an “ice breaker” so that people can get acquainted. We move around the table inviting people to say their name, where they are from and a few other facts about themselves.

One of our guests came from Washington Heights, another one from Holland. They each shared their backgrounds, favorite ice cream and other facts. When it came to our friends’ turn, the husband explained that he grew up in Detroit.

My wife asked, “Is that where you were born?”

“No, I was born in Germany,” Reb Shmuel answered.

My wife’s eyes widened. If Detroit was a surprise (she thought he was a Brooklynite), then Germany was astonishing. “Where in Germany were you born?” she asked innocently.

“Bergen-Belsen,” he replied simply.

Now it was everyone’s turn to be astonished.

His parents had been married briefly before the war in Czechoslovakia.

Somehow—impossibly, incredibly, miraculously—they met again when

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Bergen-Belsen had become a displacedpersons camp. His father simply went through the camp calling out his wife’s name and there she was. They had both survived the worst that Eisav’s true heirs could inflict, and a miracle ensued. They found each other and, since their kesubah was lost, married a second time.

The 400 soldiers riding toward that first Jewish family in this week’s sidrah had come to stamp out the possibility of there being a people who would still hope when hope was impossible and incredible.

It’s what the Haggadah points to when it recalls that there are always soldiers—400, sometimes 4,000 or four million or more—trying to march on Yaakov’s children and stamp them out.

“Shelo echad bilvad!”

The only hope against hopelessness is a miracle, and Yaakov knew to Whom to turn to beg for one.

“V’Hakadosh Baruch Hu matzileinu miyadam!”

Like Yaakov Avinu, we know precisely Who guarantees the continuation of klal Yisrael.

The press is now reporting that the US and the West seem to be listening to honeyed voices from Iran, and are considering unlocking millions of

10 KISLEV 5774

dollars, frozen in bank accounts. This is money that could allow Iran to complete its ambition to stamp out Yaakov and his children.

On the Sunday night after that Shabbos tish, I gave a shiur in Washington Heights. I was introduced by a great-grandson of Rav Shimshon Rafael Hirsch, zt”l. I spoke to a kehillah, also born in Germany, that somehow— impossibly, incredibly, miraculously— survived and carried on.

We survive for one reason: We know and recognize that when there is no hope left, there are only miracles. Like Yaakov Avinu, we know Whom to beg to supply them.

Jews have seen miracles followed by more miracles, even when Crusaders or Cossacks or even the SS bore down on us.

We will see miracles again with Iran; after all, we know Whom to beg to supply them. Jews are used to miracles.

We even see them when we invite a guest we thought we knew well to join us at our Shabbos table. n Rabbi Y.Y. Rubinstein is an author of eight books, and an international speaker and Gateways lecturer. He teaches at Machon Basya Rochel, in Lawrence, NY.

GOLDEN NUGGETS // By Basha Majerczyk

THE BURGOMEISTER

R

eb Aryeh—a chasid of Rabbi Shneur Zalman of Liadi, the Alter Rebbe—was appointed by the local authorities as “burgomeister” of his town. As the official record keeper for the government, he was responsible for keeping track of all marriages, births and deaths in the Jewish community.

It happened once that a local gentile converted to Judaism—a grave offense in those times and in that place. Anyone even remotely suspected of having helped in the conversion process was subject to stiff penalties. Accordingly, Reb Aryeh was asked to conveniently “forget” to record the name of a certain Jew who had just died. The convert, who was approximately the same age as the deceased, would be given the dead man’s papers and assume his identity.

It was a clever plan, and it might have worked if not for an informer who brought the plot to light. The burgomeister was caught and a trial date was set. With his life in grave danger, Reb Aryeh went to the Alter Rebbe and explained his predicament. The Rebbe advised him to postpone the trial, and it was rescheduled for a later date. When the second trial date rolled around, the Rebbe again advised him to defer it. This happened several times, until Reb Aryeh was unable to push it off any longer. At long last, the burgomeister would finally be tried for his crime. The chasid begged the Alter Rebbe to save him.

Oddly, however, the Alter Rebbe responded by inviting him to his grandchild’s wedding, which was about to take place in Zlabin. It was a union between two rabbinical dynasties: the Alter Rebbe’s grandchild was marrying the grandchild of Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev. “Why don’t you go and present your problem to the Berditchever?” the Alter Rebbe

“You mean to say that a Jew is in charge of the whole town?” the Berditchever asked, duly impressed. suggested. “I’m sure he can help you.”

Reb Aryeh traveled to Zlabin, but getting in to see the Berditchever was another matter entirely, as thousands of others had arrived with the same idea.

He decided to come back in the middle of the night and stand outside the tzaddik’s door so he would be first in line the following morning.

That night, Reb Aryeh positioned himself outside the Berditchever’s room and peeked inside. What a strange sight met his eyes! On one side of the tzaddik’s bed stood a gabbai with a volume of Mishnayos; on the other side stood a second gabbai with the holy Zohar.

Both were reading aloud at the same time while the Berditchever appeared to be sleeping. Yet when one gabbai mispronounced a word, the tzaddik turned and protested, “Nu! Nu!” This continued for some two hours, after which he arose from his “nap” and Reb Aryeh was allowed to enter.

The first thing the Berditchever asked him was who had sent him.

“My Rebbe,” he replied.

“And who might that be?”

“The Alter Rebbe,” Reb Aryeh answered.

“Ah, him!” the Berditchever exclaimed.

“My mechutan is your Rebbe? Such a tzaddik and gaon, a holy man of G-d!”

He continued in this vein for some time before asking what he could do for him.

Reb Aryeh explained that he was burgomeister of his town. “A burgomeister?” the tzaddik repeated.

“What does that mean?”

The chasid described his various duties and responsibilities.

“You mean to say that a Jew is in charge of the whole town?” the Berditchever asked, duly impressed.

“To tell you the truth,” Reb Aryeh explained, “I only took the job because the Alter Rebbe urged me to do so.”

“Ho!” the tzaddik then declared emphatically. “In that case you have nothing to worry about. G-d will surely help and guard you from all harm.”

Indeed, on the day before the trial was due to begin a fire broke out in the courthouse. All the important documents in the building were completely incinerated—including the official indictment against Reb Aryeh.

With no other record the case was dropped, and that was the end of the accusation. n

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BYTES

// Morsels of Wisdom, Wit and Popular Advice By Chaya Silber

PRE-PTA S.O.S. Tips on building a great partnership with your child’s teacher HELLO. MY NAME IS MRS. _______ Shortly after the school year begins, reach out to your child’s teacher (preferably by phone) to formally introduce yourself and let her know that you are ready, willing and able to work together. (Some star teachers will be proactive and make that phone call first.) Establish a relationship of mutual respect, and the rest of the year will follow smoothly.

GREASE THE WHEELS No, we are not advocating bribes or other underhanded techniques—just simple gratitude.

Every so often, pen a few lines, letting your kid’s teacher know she’s doing a great job. Be specific, but not gushing. Sound real.

P.S. Checks are expected protocol for Chanukah and Purim.

YOUR BEST FOOT FORWARD Do you really care about your child’s success in school? Show it with quality time. Set aside ten minutes a day (at least) to help your child with homework or just listen to her blow off steam.

THE BENEFIT OF THE DOUBT Your kid came home crying because the teacher sent her out of class? Relax. Take a deep breath. Now count to ten. Before you rush to blame the teacher, remember: Don’t rush to conclusions before you hear the other side of the story. Which leads to our next tip…

TAKE A “CHILL PILL” Sometimes your kid and her teacher are just “not a shidduch.” Unless your child is

clearly not thriving and despondent, try to roll with the punches. Chances are, things will improve in January.

Warning: Changing classes in the middle of the year is a last-ditch, desperate measure that is liable to backfire. Teach your child tolerance instead.

HONEST MONDAYS, CHEATING THURSDAYS DO YOUR MORALS VARY BY THE DAY OF THE WEEK?

Many employees tend to reply most honestly on Mondays, says a new study published by Ben-Gurion University of the Negev (BGU).

The research involved 427 Israeli soldiers, who were each asked to roll a six-sided die in private, then report the outcome to the unit’s commander. For every point reported, the soldier received an additional half-hour early release from the army base on Thursday.

No one other than the soldier knew which number was rolled. However, there was an interesting discrepancy: A larger percentage of lower numbers were reported early in the week, while higher numbers were reported at the end of the week. If the soldiers would have been honest in their reporting, there would have been an equal distribution of high and low numbers.

What gives? According to Prof. Bradley Ruffle of BGU’s Department of Economics, “the most plausible interpretation of diminished honesty on Wednesdays and Thursdays is that the weekend’s closeness in time enhances its prominence; one can almost ‘taste’ the weekend and the associated freedom.”

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PUTTER

AROUND

the

HOUSE

WATER, WATER, EVERYWHERE BUT IS IT FIT TO DRINK?

You’re driving on the highway, the nearest exit 15 miles ahead.

You’re incredibly thirsty, so you scrounge, and find an old water bottle in the trunk. It must have been hiding there for months.

You unscrew the cap and....Stop.

Don’t drink it.

That expired plastic water bottle could be filled with dangerous chemicals that can affect your health, and your fertility.

Scientists at the annual conference of the American Society of Reproductive Medicine in Boston are linking various chemical compounds to fertility issues. In several studies, researchers tested women of childbearing age for BPA and phthalates.

FYI: BPA stands for Bisphenol A, a chemical used to make certain plastics used in containers. Phthalates are a group of chemicals used to make plastics more flexible. They are used in products such as detergents, beauty products, water bottles, and children’s toys.

Previous studies—primarily in rodents—have linked BPA exposure to serious health issues, including cancer.

A total 114 women were asked to give blood samples several weeks into their pregnancies. Sixty-eight of the pregnancies ended in miscarriages. After comparing the results, researchers concluded that women who had high levels of BPA in their blood were at “significantly increased risk of miscarriage compared to women with the lowest levels.”

“We expected BPA exposure to be associated with an increased risk of aneuploidy (genetic defects in) miscarriages...” said study author Dr. Ruth Bunker Lathi. “Yet we found BPA was higher in both chromosomally normal and abnormal miscarriages.”

P.S. Experts advise against leaving plastic water bottles in the car, microwaving plastic containers, eating canned foods, and touching paper receipts that contain BPA. The FDA also warns against placing hot liquid in plastic containers made with BPA, because the chemical levels can rise dangerously high.

MORE THAN HOLDING IT TOGETHER NIFTY USES FOR RUBBER BANDS

LOST YOUR ERASER? A roll of balled up rubber bands will do the trick.

CONTACT SPORTS: Playing squash?

Cut a rubber band in half and attach to each ‘arm’ of your glasses. It will help hold them in place and prevent frequent visits to the optometrist.

SUKKAH DECORATION STORAGE: Roll up those posters nice and slim, and stick a rubber band over them to keep them in place. Warning: Don’t make them too tight, or you’ll leave a mark.

GIVING ABBA TIME TO BOND

BABIES ARE CHERISHED HERE, BY ALL SIDES OF THE POLITICAL SPECTRUM

GRIP THE HANDLE: To create a comfortable grip, wrap several wide rubber bands around the end of a pole or stick. Great for use on a broomstick, vacuum cleaner hose or walking stick.

A Knesset committee has approved a bill that will grant new fathers in Israel eight days of paternity leave.

The bill, submitted by MK Tamar Zandberg, enjoys support from across the political spectrum.

It will now go to the full Knesset for a reading.

The bill gives new fathers three days of paid leave and five days of paid sick leave, to be paid by the employer.

“This bill will let fathers be partners and help begin their connection with their child. The model of equal parenthood is encouraged throughout the Western world, and this bill could be a first step in this direction,” Zandberg explained.

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A HUMBLE REMINDER: Just put a small rubber band over your little finger (not too tight) to act as a reminder for something important.

PERFECT DIVERSION: Want to break up the monotony? Divert attention from a trick you’re planning? Simply snap a rubber band and watch heads turn.

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17

As told to Dini Perlmutter

Didi

Chapter Two

A

fter Didi was diagnosed we spent nine days in the hospital waiting for the doctors to choose a course of action.

The new year, Rosh Hashanah, found me in the children’s ward. I resigned myself to the fact that this year my Yom Tov would not be spent in the ideal way. I gave up on hearing the shofar, the intense davening and the joy of re-dipping Didi’s apple in the honey.

The closest shul was far away, I couldn’t leave Didi alone. “You have to adapt. This is the situation now and this is what it calls for.” I was talking to myself.

As these thoughts went through my mind, the rabbi from a shul walked in with a shofar in hand and asked if I wanted to hear. Of course I did. And another Jewish doctor heard too.

As our journey progressed, a gentle pattern emerged, only there for those who want to see it. It was Hashem saying it seems impossible, but I’ll make it possible.

Nine long years for Didi.

One and half years of blissful reality.

Leukemia.

Nine long days.

A new reality.

It was right after Rosh Hashanah, an

New Reality

ironic time to begin our new way of life.

Our new reality.

Once a week we packed a bag with food, hope and diapers, with prayers, toys and fear. I would fasten Didi in her car seat; we clicked the seat belts on ourselves and followed the blue “H” signs to an exhausting day of treatment.

The day always began with a height and weight check. Then the ‘huggie’ – a kid friendly blood pressure cuff was strapped around her wrist and a thermometer stuck underneath her arm to measure her temperature. I was glad for the consistency.

From there we walked to the procedure suite. Decorated like a jungle it was dubbed the jungle room. Didi learned very quickly to hate this room, despite its camouflage.

When the doctors outlined her course for treatment, they operated on Didi to insert a port under her skin. Also known as a central IV, the port allowed for easy and painless access to blood vessels. Unlike what people think, chemotherapy is simply a medication which is inserted through an IV. It’s the side effects which are far from simple.

Every week, Didi would get a dosage of chemo through the ‘tubies’ of her port.

Every other week, chemotherapy was followed by a spinal tap. Didi was given some medication to make her numb and

drowsy. The nurses would roll her up in a ball so her spine would protrude. All I wanted then was to roll up under my cover and shut the world out. But Chaya and I would hold Didi’s hands and soothe her so that she knows that we’re with her. A needle was inserted to remove some fluid for testing and to administer medication into her spine. If Didi squirmed, the process would be drawn out. I would hold my breath until the needle was out. It was an eternity.

I wondered how the walls still seemed jolly after witnessing so much pain.

And then I wondered whether it’s harder to be in pain or to watch your child in pain.

Then I would remind myself that this is our new reality; I learned to stop fighting the situation and to accept our routine, the pain and the hospital smell.

Chaya dropped her job to be with Didi.

Until now our insurance was covered through her employer. But even after she gave it up we continued to pay our premiums-out of our pocket- so that Didi can get the best medical care.

The beginning of our new reality.

Coming next week: Didi and family

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Diary

Recap: Liora stocked up on winter items and clothes for school with some of the refinance money, while she and Tzvi wait for advice that feels relevant for a frum lifestyle. Nevertheless, they’re changing their habits.

Part 13: Reset

I climb out of my cave office to go find Tzvi. He’s resting on the couch with the lights off. He smiles when I approach.

“Let’s go over the spreadsheet,” I tell him. “I just checked our accounts online, and it looks like we didn’t overspend this month.”

I used to claim that numbers stressed me out. But I’ve been checking our accounts every day, tracking our spending in the colorful pie chart on our bank’s website.

When I click on “groceries” the green slice of the pie pops out with a list of all of my purchases. Food shopping accounted for 16 percent of our overall spending according to the chart. Tuition was down to 10 percent of total outflows. I exhaled when I saw the total on the screen. Either way, I own up to Tzvi: no more secrets.

“Look at how much we’ve still got in our account,” I say, pointing proudly to the number in our primary checking account.

“That’s because we haven’t paid the November mortgage yet,” Tzvi replies. “I’ve gotta’ do that tomorrow.”

“Are we late?” I ask, fearing that our good fortune will turn sour from late fees.

“I hope not,” Tzvi admits, getting up from the couch

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to look at the computer with me. Glancing over my shoulder he sees the numbers betraying the liberties I took last month with coffees and clothing.

“No more coffee from the bagel store this month,” I say, defending myself before Tzvi can say a word.

Restaurants rolled in at 4 percent. He rolls his eyes slightly towards me, intimating that my all or nothing approach is not sustainable.

“Your coffee’s not bankrupting us, Liora,” says Tzvi, with a grin.

The biggest concern is ATM/Cash Withdrawals at 25 percent. I know some of the ATM withdrawals (most of them, I hope) are for the babysitter, the tutor and the therapist. Yet the high number leaps out at me.

I had to add more babysitting since I’ve been doing more graphic design work, and the kids didn’t enjoy coming home to the cleaning lady—even though I arrive just 15 minutes after their bus delivers them back home.

“I want to take out a home equity loan and roll over our highest interest rate card balances to save interest

“Your coffee’s not bankrupting us, Liora,” says Tzvi, with a grin.

BUDGET SPREADSH EET CURRENT EXPENSES

MONTHLY

ACTIONS WE WILL TAKE

WE CAN SAVE

OUR PLAN

WHAT WE REALLY SPENT

HOME-RELATED Mortgage $2,8OO Refina nce completed.

Property Tax $4OO $2,8OO $2OO $2,8OO Second Mortgage $3OO $2OO Fam ily loan —ca nno t Utilities refi. $O $3OO $675 $3OO Turn off lights.

Cleaning and Babysit $75 ting $72O $6O O $885 Ne ed mor Estimated bill. e, since Liora’s $12O

$6OO $76O working more.

CREDIT CARDS Payments $7OO Finance Charges $O $7OO $5OO $7OO Refinance/ home equ EDUCATION ity $3OO $2OO $5OO Tuition $3,6OO Tutoring $1,2OO $2,6OO $24OO $48O This is a must.

Negotiation complet Maaser e. $O $48 O $12O $24O Ask a Rav.

$O $12O $36O Earning more/ Special situation WEEKLY

FOOD Groceries $1,9OO Water filter and

$4OO $1,5OO $1,9OO meet with expert.

Put in filter, but Restaurants $4OO Elim inat groceries still high. e this.

CAR AND COMMUTI $4OO NG $O $4OO Ordered more takeou Gas t. $18O Car Insurance $O

$18 O $189 $8O MetroCards/Parking $O

$189 $1OO $189 HEALTH $O $1OO $16O Tzvi got a parking tic Doctor Co-pays ket! $6O Couples’ Therapy $O

$6O $48O $45 Remove this until we can.

OTHER $48O $O $36O

We need to figure out Parenting emergenc Clothing what’s going on and y! make a plan to fix it.

Miscellaneous $5OO Liora’s work clothes ATM Withdrawals , $1OO winter coats, mitten s $6OO TOTAL EXPENSES $13,4O4 NET INCOME $3,375 $1O,429 $13,255 $8,5O5 Liora got two jobs.

$1,8OO $1O,3O5 $1O,3O5 MONTHLY SHORTFA LL ($3,O99) Refinancing keeping Refinance Cash Pay us out $79OO ($124) ($2,95O ) in the black, for

now. $79OO In savings account until Monthly Credit Card we consult an expert Debt Growth - $O (re . fina nce cus hion Current Credit Car meant we didn’t cha d Debt - $53,OOO, Mo rge) ; nthly Savings Reduc Current Savings Re tion - $O (refinance maining - $9,5OO (inc cushion meant we didn ludes refinance cas ’t dip), h payout); 4O1k - $25 ,OOO

payments,” Tzvi says, hovering the mouse over the $1400 category of our monthly credit card payment commitments. “That would bring the interest rate on about $30,000 of the debt down to 6 percent.”

“Smart,” I say, nodding in approval. I like it when Tzvi has a plan. “But my main concern is ATM withdrawals. They’re out of control.”

He’s still wrapped up in lowering the credit card debt. I notice his quick fingers, and the way he strokes his beard in between updating spreadsheet categories.

I’m not sure he even heard me. I’m not upset—that’s Tzvi: good-hearted, focused, caring and responsible. I

decide not to push the conversation forward as he’s concentrating on his credit score. I can fargin him this time; kvetching about the expenses will stress him out.

I dial my good friend and neighbor to gripe about our high babysitting costs. I’m pacing the dining room, spilling complaints.

“She’s come late a few times. She’s a little hard on my youngest,” I say, twisting a napkin into a knot.

“I have an idea, Liora,” says Perel. “Maybe we could barter.” n

To be continued...

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21

TRUTH OR CONSEQUENCES

A Time to A Time to When my daughter got divorced, I assumed that people would read between the lines

As told to Sarah Massry 22

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T

here are certain painful episodes in life we would prefer to forget, to block them from our memories and move on as though they had never occurred.

My daughter’s divorce was one of these. I still shudder at the thought of her ex-husband, Dovi Marcus.* Even the mere mention of his name causes a knot to form in my stomach. After their fairytale wedding, it did not take long for the painful truth to be revealed, that Dovi was not the person we thought he was—far from it. Despite coming from a seemingly wonderful, prominent family, my ex-son-in-law had severe psychological problems that quickly manifested themselves during their brief marriage. My daughter was young and idealistic, full of dreams of building a beautiful home together with her husband. But nothing she would have done could have rectified the situation. Dovi was abusive, controlling and severely lacking in yiras shamayim. These issues were concealed until after

the wedding.

One of the most painful aspects of my daughter’s divorce was the fact that this information was concealed from us. Why hadn’t anyone told us about his temper or erratic behavior? Why hadn’t anyone mentioned that he was only frum on the outside? I had done my research diligently, yet all I’d heard were glowing reports.

By the time we learned the truth it was unfortunately too late.

Then, of course, people started to come out of the woodwork, eager to tell us about his issues. But why did they wait until after the divorce to speak up?

We cannot understand the ways of the Ribbono Shel Olam, and I will never know why this had to happen to my daughter. Looking back, I am grateful that she got out of the marriage in time, before she was left with permanent scars. I am also grateful that I was able to pick up on the warning signs early. That way, I was able to serve as her emotional support system when she needed me.

Baruch Hashem, my daughter has moved on and the episode is history. She is rebuilding her life and has grown from the experience. As I’ve told her, “It’s on to bigger and better things.”

Of course, it isn’t easy to forget what happened, but she tries to live her life to the fullest with happy and meaningful days. No one wants to harp on the past, and I certainly have no desire to think about Dovi Marcus. But sometimes I don’t have a choice. As the mother of his ex-wife, I’ve been approached several times with questions.

“What really happened?” I’ve been asked. “He comes from such a great family and went to the best yeshivos.”

Some people are genuinely curious. How could such a “wonderful” shidduch come to such a tragic end? Quite frankly, it’s none of their business.

At the same time, though, I wish everyone knew the unvarnished truth, how totally innocent my daughter was in the whole debacle. But something always keeps me back. I don’t have the stomach to rehash the horrible way he treated my daughter, or the nightmare we faced with the Marcus family when we tried to obtain her get. I’m not trying to spread lashon hara and I’m not looking for revenge. But what am I supposed to do when someone asks me about Dovi as a prospective match for a family member? Don’t I have a responsibility to prevent someone else from becoming his next victim?

After the dust cleared, Dovi somehow managed to maintain his façade. He went back to a yeshivah in Eretz Yisrael to learn.

(That’s what he was officially doing, although G-d knows what he was really up to.) I’m not sure about whether his rebbeim realized what kind of person they were dealing with.

Undoubtedly, Dovi’s father—an askan, baal tzedakah and influential member of the community—was instrumental in cleaning up after his son, although some people who actually dug beneath the surface were able to uncover bits and pieces of the truth. But it’s always difficult to learn the truth about a failed marriage. Most of the time it turns into a confusing puzzle of “he said, she said,” which is another reason why revealing too many details isn’t a good idea.

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23

TRUTH OR CONSEQUENCES Then one afternoon I got a phone call from a neighbor, a casual acquaintance. “I have something important to discuss with you,” she said cryptically.

“What is it?” I asked. There was something ominous about her tone; I had a feeling I knew where the conversation was heading.

“I want to ask you about Dovi Marcus,” she continued.

“Someone suggested him for my daughter Blimy.*” “For Blimy?” I gasped, shocked. My mind began to race. What an awful idea! “Who redt the shidduch?” I asked quickly.

“Oh, that’s not important,” she replied. “Actually, it was a new shadchan my daughter met recently who suggested it.”

“Does she know the boy?” I asked.

“She must,” replied my neighbor. “I mean, otherwise she wouldn’t have suggested it, right?”

I was quiet, unsure of how to proceed. Blimy, a lovely, ehrliche girl, was definitely not a suitable match for Dovi. I had a sudden urge to blurt everything out but then caught myself. What if it got back to the Marcus family? I also couldn’t understand how people can be so obtuse. I obviously don’t have too great an opinion of him. If he were so wonderful, wouldn’t my daughter still be married to him?

I felt like I was walking a tightrope; every word that came out of my mouth would have to be carefully weighed. I took a deep breath.

“I don’t think he’s for your daughter,” I said. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea. Trust me.”

If I were you, I’d run away as fast as I could, I beamed to her telepathically. But what should I actually tell her?

“Are you still there?” my neighbor asked, interrupting my thoughts.

“Yes,” I replied. Technically I was there, but my mind was miles away.

“It’s very frustrating,” she said. “I can’t get a straight word out of anyone these days. Whenever I try looking into young men who are divorced, for my daughter, I hit a stone wall. It’s virtually impossible to hear the real story. All I’m left with is unanswered questions. You can imagine how reluctant I was to approach you, but I felt I didn’t have a choice. Everyone else just gives me a bunch of platitudes. I really hate to ask you, but I have to know: What happened?”

In the aftermath of the divorce, I was scared to talk too much.

I didn’t want anyone to think that I was spreading “stories,” and I certainly didn’t want anyone trashing my daughter’s reputation.

I had to take the moral high ground. And whom am I kidding?

The Marcuses are a very powerful family; I was afraid they might retaliate.

In this case, though, it was important for this woman to know the truth. However, I didn’t think that truth should come from me; I wasn’t the right person to tell her. Instead, I gave her the phone number of the rav who was involved in my daughter’s get.

He knew enough; surely he would convince her to stay away.

When I hung up the phone I was emotionally wrung out. The conversation had caused me to return to a chapter in our lives I’d rather forget. Yet I was comforted by the thought that I had done

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I GAVE HER THE PHONE NUMBER OF THE RAV WHO WAS INVOLVED IN MY DAUGHTER’S GET. the right thing. I would leave it all to the rav, I thought. There was no way I could go wrong.

Or was there?

A few weeks passed. I had all but forgotten about the phone call when my neighbor called me back one evening.

“I’m shaking,” she began.

“What happened?” I asked her.

“My daughter just came home from a date with Dovi Marcus.”

“What?” I almost yelled into the phone. “I thought I told you…” My voice trailed off.

“You really didn’t tell me much,” she replied tersely.

“Yes, but I gave you the number of the rav to speak to. He knows everything.”

There was silence.

“Did you speak to him?” I finally asked her.

“No, he was too hard to reach,” she confessed. “I did speak to a few others, and no one said anything negative. And the Marcuses are supposed to be lovely people, so we went ahead with the shidduch.”

She did not mention how many times they had met and I did not ask her.

“And?” I prompted her. “What happened?” My heart was thumping so loudly I was sure she could hear it on the other end of the line.

“It was a disaster,” she concluded. “I don’t want to talk about it. I guess I should feel lucky that it ended so quickly. But still, I wish my daughter had never met him. Why didn’t anyone tell me the truth?”

After I hung up, I thought about what she had said. She was right. Why didn’t anyone tell her the truth? There’s a time and place for a person to watch his words—and this was not it.

Didn’t anyone realize that an innocent girl’s life was at stake? In my case, I was too afraid. As the ex-wife’s mother, I didn’t feel it was my place to reveal negative information. But what about the other people who do know him? Why couldn’t they tell her?

My daughter had been hurt so badly. Did it have to happen to another girl? Thankfully, my neighbor was able to learn the truth.

Looking ahead, I feel an obligation to prevent history from repeating itself. But in sensitive situations like this, people have to read between the lines.  *Names changed to protect privacy

Neurolinks is licensed by the LTI. LTI has been solving learning problems for over twenty years. *Independently owned in separate states.

THE CLEAN BILL // Real People on the Quest for Health

AS TOLD TO BAYLA GROSS

COMING TO OUR SENSES SOLVING THE MYSTERY OF OUR SON’S BEHAVIOR

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27

THE CLEAN BILL // Real People on the Quest for Health

"I HATE learning with Tatty! I hate it, hate it, HATE IT!” Chezky slammed the Mishnayos shut and stomped off to his room, slamming the door behind him.

I looked at Aharon Shalom and sighed. My husband massaged his neck with his left hand. “Honestly, Tovie,” he said, “I have no clue what triggered it this time. I just told him to follow along with his finger and he went ballistic.”

With a resigned groan, he stood up and stretched, abandoning the two volumes of Mishnayos on the dining room table.

At ten, Chezky was a mystery. He was a bright child with much depth and insight. He asked pointed questions and was genuinely interested in the answers. But the smallest things would set him off. In fact, as far as my husband, his rebbeim, his teachers and I were concerned, anything could set him off.

For the past five years, we had tried helping him in every way we could: Private kriah lessons? Check. Evaluation for ADHD (negative)? Check. Social-skills specialist? Check. Sometimes, he did wonderfully; other times, he was as explosive as a firecracker.

We religiously followed all the advice we could get to help our

son succeed academically and socially, but we, along with the other authority figures in Chezky’s life, could not put our finger on what exactly he was suffering from.

And suffering he was—along with everyone else around him.

We had no inkling in his early years of the troubles that would lie ahead. He was a delightful, easy infant: ate, slept, gurgled, laughed and easily charmed all those around him. As a young preschooler, his creative streak was already apparent. He had tons of energy and was a leader of sorts, devising creative games for all of the kids on the block (LEGO would not do for this kid!).

He organized themed play for his friends, who delighted in his enthusiasm and spunk. “Want to play school?” he would ask, to a rollicking chorus of yeses. Boxes were overturned to make desks, notebooks were brought out, moros and rebbeim were appointed.

If the group played travel, Chezky would designate rooms as the airport and demand that the small wheelies be pulled out of storage, transforming our home into a beehive of busy, delightful “travelers.”

But by the time Chezky entered grade school, his issues were

WHAT IS SENSORY PROCESSING DISORDER? Commonly referred to in the past as Sensory Integration Disorder or Sensory Integration Dysfunction, SPD was originally described by occupational therapist and psychologist A. Jean Ayres in 1972. The disorder is thought to be a condition in which the brain has trouble receiving and responding to information that is obtained through the five senses. In some individuals, multiple senses are affected, while in others only one—such as hearing, touch or taste—is involved.

Sensory Processing Disorder manifests itself either as over- or undersensitivity to stimuli in the environment. For example, an oversensitive individual might find common sounds like a leaf blower painful or overwhelming; the light touch of a shirt or the feel of sand might irritate the skin unbearably; or the textures of certain foods

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might cause revulsion.

Individuals who are under-responsive may seem as though they are insensitive, failing to react to extreme heat, cold or pain. Sensory Processing Disorder can also manifest as the need for constant motion, seeking touch, or being overly aggressive.

Other symptoms that can clue practitioners into a diagnosis of SPD include incoordination, the inability to determine where the limbs are in space, or difficulty engaging in conversation or play. Behavioral problems, anxiety, depression, social isolation and school failure are all closely linked with Sensory Processing Disorder.

While Sensory Processing Disorder is usually found in children, it can also affect adults and is commonly seen in developmental disorders such as autism.

A diagnosis is considered when symp-

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toms interfere with daily living, for example, a child who refuses to wear certain articles of clothing. But it can be difficult to obtain a diagnosis because, as of yet, Sensory Processing Disorder isn’t a recognized condition in the medical community.

Nonetheless, occupational therapists commonly recognize SPD and treat those who present with these symptoms. Treatment depends on the individual’s needs, but in general it involves helping sufferers get used to whatever they find intolerable.

Some are treated by stimulating and challenging the senses, being offered treats or rewards to attempt activities and touch or taste textures they would normally avoid.

Others are often treated by exposure to strong sensations and a range of materials that stimulate the senses, such as Play-Doh or finger painting.

I OBSERVED HIM INTENTLY, CLUELESS TO THE LARGER-THAN-LIFE DRAMA UNFOLDING IN MY KITCHEN. becoming painfully apparent. Despite strenuous effort at kriah, he never did become a smooth reader. And although not an explosive child all the time, there was never any knowing what would set him off, and when.

Later that evening, after the failed Mishnayos session with my husband, when the house was relatively quiet, I invited Chezky to the kitchen for a chat over a cup of hot cocoa. By that time, his explosion had already blown over—that was Chezky: quick to anger, quick to forget—and he rummaged happily in the pantry for cookies to bring to the table. We sat opposite each other, crunching and sipping in peaceful silence.

On the corner of the kitchen table, near Chezky’s seat, a pile of electric bills was nestled in a plastic paper protector. With a thoughtful expression, Chezky absently fingered the plastic between his thumb and forefinger. His bright blue eyes were looking forward, not at me, but beyond me.

“Penny for your thoughts,” I said pleasantly. Chezky jumped slightly, adjusting the yarmulke on his dirty-blonde hair. He seemed to have forgotten that I was there.

“I was thinking….” He let his voice trail off, but didn’t relax his grasp on the plastic.

“Hmmm…?” I replied, trying not to pressure him.

“I was thinking, you know, that if you would get me some of these plastic page protectors, that would be great!” He finished with a flourish of his hand, sending cheerful cocoa spray across the kitchen.

I ignored the spill and asked him, “Sure, I’d be happy to… but why?”

Chezky focused and looked at me earnestly, wiping cookie crumbs from his lips with his hand. Not the time to mention manners, I said to myself.

“Because I can slip them onto any sefer I’m learning from,” he said, running to grab the forlorn Mishnayos from the dining room table. Then he unceremoniously emptied the plastic sheet of its contents, leaving my painstakingly organized bills in an ungraceful heap on top of his renegade cookie crumbs.

Biting his bottom lip, Chezky gently opened the plastic sheet and slipped it over an open page of Mishnayos. He experimentally ran his finger over a line or two, humming the age-old words cheerfully. I observed him intently, clueless to the larger-than-life drama unfolding in my kitchen.

“Don’t you get it, Ma? I hate the way the paper feels against my fingers. With this plastic, I can follow and point along.” He poked emphatically at the plastic-covered

THE CLEAN BILL // Real People on the Quest for Health

Lasers on My Mind CAN WE ZAP AWAY ALZHEIMER’S, PARKINSON’S?

page.

At that moment, something clicked. Without knowing it, Chezky had diagnosed himself. I had been vaguely aware of sensory issues, with which my neighbor’s son had been diagnosed, but I had never considered that Chezky was dealing with the same thing. Suddenly, it all made perfect sense.

“Sensory,” I whispered to myself, answering a question we’d been asking for five years. I gleefully finished my cocoa with Chezky and sent him up to bed, hardly able to wait until Aharon Shalom returned from Maariv so I could tell him the good news.

Was it smooth sailing from then on? Hardly.

Life is rarely ever that simple. But, as we educated ourselves on sensory issues through reading and consulting with specialists, we were slowly able to find ways to help Chezky navigate through everyday life and overcome obstacles that had, until then, held him back (and yes, the plastic sheet protectors were a big help!). Now he has a language to help us understand everything he’s feeling, and we have ways to help him process, focus, reorganize and move forward.

Still, despite the progress, we are nowhere near anything like perfection. We just do the best we can, day by day, with the resources we have. With Hashem’s help, we will see continued success with Chezky—in every “sense” of the word. n To submit your story for this column or to have your story featured here, please contact us at submissions@ amimagazine.org.

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medica minutel Latest H and Reseealth News Around tharch from e World

A Swedish-Polish team has found a method of locating protein buildups in the brains of Alzheimer’s, Parkinson’s, and Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease patients, which may lead to treatments that are less dangerous to the patients.

At present, the misfolded proteins that are associated with these diseases are located and removed using toxic chemicals. But the research team found that multiphoton lasers could be used to locate the proteins without the use of chemicals.

Removing the proteins might also work through light, using a technique known as photoacoustic therapy, which precisely heats a targeted area.

There are still some skeptics, however. One problem is that no one knows for certain whether the misfolded proteins are a cause of these diseases or a symptom. Another problem is that photoacoustic therapy might not be as safe in the brain as the proponents are claiming.

Despite these quibbles, this research is still promising, as the harbinger of a new approach to treating debilitating brain diseases.

LOCATING THE LOST LIGAMENT Doctors exploring the knee

In case you thought that scientists had already discovered everything there is to know about human anatomy, think again. A pair of Belgian surgeons has found a new ligament on the front of the human knee that may play a crucial role in treating certain types of injuries.

The idea that there might be an additional ligament in the human knee was actually first proposed by a French doctor in 1879. But until now, the scientific establishment hadn’t taken the idea seriously.

For the past four years, the two Belgian doctors have been studying the recovery of patients who have surgery to repair tears in the anterior cruciate ligament, or ACL. Even when the surgeries go well, some patients experience what is called “pivot shift,” in which their knees give way when they are active.

By careful dissection, these surgeons found first that this postulated ligament, which they named the anterolateral ligament (ALL), exists in 97 percent of human knees.

Then they found that pivot shift occurs in those patients who, aside from the tear in their ACL, have also suffered a tear in the ALL. ACL tears and the subsequent surgeries to treat them happen most often in those engaged in vigorous sports. Now that doctors know the true structure of the knee, they’ll be able to fix those injuries far more successfully than before.

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MARRIAGE

BY BATYA COHEN

Marriage

by Number

Is the popular “Enneagram personality test” a tool for improving one’s marriage?

IF

I had ever wondered what it is about my personality that compels me to investigate every new craze or strange phenomenon to come down the pike, I was about to find out.

When my friend Shaina told me that she had taken something called an “Enneagram personality test,” I was immediately intrigued.

I had vaguely heard about this latest rage, but wasn’t quite sure what it was.

She explained that it’s a diagnostic tool for husbands and wives to learn more about themselves as a means for improving their marriages. Her sisters and their friends were taking these tests too, she added.

Of course, I just had to try it—and subject my long-suffering husband Yaakov as well. (Compared to some of the things he’s endured for the sake of journalistic integrity, this would surely be nothing.)

And so, I set out to discover what makes me tick. I also hoped to learn what it is about his personality that makes him amenable to accompanying me on some of my madcap adventures. How many husbands would agree to sit down in front of a computer and answer a comprehensive questionnaire about their emotional makeup and temperament just to appease their wives? (Yes, he’s a trooper—for which I am very grateful.)

I was very curious. What could an Enneagram personality comparison teach us about each other that we didn’t already know after more than a decade of marriage? Would we learn something new about ourselves? Could the results of this test help us work on our relationship in any way?

Thirty minutes later, I surrendered my seat in front of the computer to a somewhat reluctant but resigned hubby, who spent the next half hour answering the same free online Enneagram test I had just completed.

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MARRIAGE

When the results were in, I learned that I am a Type Six, and my husband Yaakov is a Type Five.

Luckily, most of you don’t know us personally, so I can publicly disclose that he is, according to our test results, “healthy” and— no surprise to us—I am the crazy one. Hmm. But what does all of this really mean? And more importantly, what does it say about the dynamics of our marriage?

Here’s what we learned about ourselves:

TYPE SIX:

WHAT THEY LOOK FOR IN A RELATIONSHIP: Commitment,

dependability, shared values, solidity.

WHAT THEY BRING TO A RELATIONSHIP: Strongly-held values and ideas that can cloud their objectivity, although they are more passionate than Fives. Their emotional reactivity, anxiety and fear give Sixes a sympathetic, human quality. Sixes are more openly unsure of themselves and often look to authorities of some kind (including the Fives they trust) for guidance and advice.

WHAT GETS IN THE WAY: Self-doubt, reactivity, and vacillating between the need for closeness and the need for distance. Sixes manipulate others by complaining and testing their commitment to them.

TYPE FIVE:

WHAT THEY LOOK FOR IN A RELATIONSHIP: Curiosity, intensity,

involvement, nonintrusiveness.

WHAT THEY BRING TO A RELATIONSHIP: Emotional calm, detached objectivity, observational skills, an unusual and penetrating curiosity and an unwillingness to settle for easy answers. Fives also tend to be more skeptical and rejecting of authority. Fives are accepting of Sixes’ changing needs for independence and patient with their vacillations. Fives tend to be surer of their ability to think for themselves and to entertain new ideas.

WHAT GETS IN THE WAY: Insisting on personal space and noninterference. Fives manipulate by being preoccupied with ideas and projects and by detaching emotionally from others.

Here is the free online analysis we received of our relationship—an Enneagram Type Six married to an Enneagram Type Five: COMMONALITIES: Both Enneagram Fives and Sixes are mental types, and respect the intellectual acumen, expertise and technical mastery of the other. Both types value detail, factual objectivity and accuracy, craftsmanship, and the ability to analyze situations without inserting personal opinions or biases.

STRENGTHS: As a pair, Fives and Sixes can be highly effective in dealing with crises, as both are attuned to danger and using their expertise to solve problems. The devotion and caring of Sixes can also break through the Fives’ tendency to isolate. Fives and Sixes thus tend to have a symbiotic intellectual relationship of doubt and decision, questions and answers, problems solved

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and problems discovered that can be endlessly stimulating.

WHAT OUR RELATIONSHIP NEEDS: For a marriage between these two opposite types to work, there has to be unshakable trust.

They may often come to different conclusions, but at least they know their hearts and minds are in the right place.

Well, now I was even more curious about these results, and decided to do a little more research. My investigation led me to Dr. Miriam Adahan, an Israel-based psychologist who has been implementing the Enneagram personality system for 35 years.

Two of her books, Awareness and Appreciating People, are about the Enneagram system and how it works. Even though Dr. Adahan has a PhD in psychology, she told me over the phone that she is “considered an outcast” in the professional community because she believes so strongly in the value of Enneagrams.

“Has any scientific research been done on the Enneagram personality tests?” I asked her.

“No. They’re not accepted by the medical community and are generally ridiculed by psychologists,” she responded truthfully.

“But you’ve seen results?”

“I wouldn’t be doing this if I hadn’t,” she replied emphatically.

I wanted Dr. Adahan to explain in practical terms how she uses the tests to improve her patients’ marriages. “When couples come to me for counseling, sometimes they’re unrealistic. They insist on pushing their spouses to change. I help them become realistic about themselves and each other. The first thing you need to know is who you are in order to be able to give unconditional love, which is a requirement of a good marriage.”

Does she ever find that a couple is incompatible? I was surprised when she said that it is in fact a possibility. “Yes. You can live together, but the more different you are, the lonelier you will be.” She was quick to add, though, that each couple has to be evaluated on a case-by-case basis. “But in general, a Type Seven and a Type One don’t go together.” When I pressed her for more examples of incompatibility, Dr. Adahan said that she thinks “a Type Three and Type Nine don’t usually go together either.”

“So what makes for the happiest marriages?” I wanted to know.

“Is it because both spouses are compatible types, or is it more the result of hard work?”

“Well, something’s wrong if you have to work too hard!” she said. “If people are kind and aren’t critical, then any combination can work. You might have a degree of loneliness but if there’s kindness on both sides, you can bear the loneliness and still be happy. I can’t say whose marriages are the happiest. I know a couple where both are Type Six and they argue all the time. And I know a Type Four married to a Type Eight who is very happy, even though I wouldn’t have thought it could work so well. It definitely has more to do with middos. Other than that, there are no hard and fast rules,” she explained.

Once I had her on the phone, I had to ask her for some marital advice. After all, every relationship can always be improved upon.

Counseling me as a prototypical Type Six she said, “Talk to your

husband about decisions you’ve made on your own, and don’t question all of his decisions. Don’t torture him by calling him 20 times a day to ask for advice! Plan, act and don’t look back.”

Okay, so I have to be a little more decisive. She also suggested that I ask my Type Five husband to “be very honest with me” and tell him that “I won’t take whatever you say personally. Your answers will help me to grow.”

Yaakov, if you are reading this, Dr. Adahan said that a Type Five married to a Type Six should “be honest and not worry about hurting his spouse’s feelings. But he should also work on himself to avoid being overly critical.”

Next I asked her, “How accurate is the Enneagram test, considering that it’s so subjective? Can someone get an inaccurate result simply because he’s lacking in self-awareness?”

Dr. Adahan told me that she herself had to take the test a number of times because the initial results were more of a reflection of who she wanted to be rather than who she actually was. “For example,” she said, “I’d really like to be more of an extrovert than I am. I wanted to be a Type Two, but I’m really a Type Four. Once I accepted that, I even asked the phone company to give me a phone number ending in 4444!

“People want to be what society says they should be. Some people know right away which type they are, while others aren’t so self-aware; there’s actually a part of the brain, known

as the insula, that controls self-awareness. So it’s true that an Enneagram test isn’t meaningful if you aren’t self-aware. It is like talking about food if you don’t like to cook, or fashion, if you hate to shop.”

I wondered, then, if an Enneagram test could be dangerous in the wrong hands. “Yes,” she replied, “for someone who isn’t mentally sound.” So does she recommend that it only be utilized under the guidance of a professional? “There are very few therapists who use the Enneagram. If you are self-aware, you can certainly take the test on your own. I would also advise that you ask people who know you to see if your results make sense.”

I might not be proud of being a Type Six, considering the negative traits that come along with it, but at least, I concluded, both Yaakov and I are self-aware. So, while an Enneagram personality test might not be scientifically proven or accepted by the medical community, I must admit that it was surprisingly insightful.

At least one other person wasn’t surprised to find out that I am a Type Six. “All reporters and journalists are Type Six,” Dr. Adahan told me. “They’re persistent in going after their stories.”

I had spent quite some time tracking Dr. Adahan down and securing an interview with her.

Bottom line? While I’m still not sure why Yaakov is so nice to me, both of us now understand what he has to put up with.

MARRIAGE

THE TEST The online test that Yaakov and I took was a lengthy, 60-question version that was instantly scored and the results provided us with our Enneagram Types. The shortened test that we present you with here will give you an idea of what the longer version looks like. You can score it yourself, and so long as you answer the questions—and yourself!— honestly, you’ll learn which of the nine Enneagram Types best describes you.

Quick Enneagram Sorting Test GROUP I

A. I have tended to be fairly independent and assertive: I’ve felt that life works best when you meet it head-on. I set my own goals, get involved, WEIGHT: and want to make things happen. I don’t like sitting around—I want to achieve something big and have an impact. I don’t necessarily seek confrontations, but I don’t let people push me around, either. Most of the __________ time, I know what I want, and I go for it. I tend to work hard and to play hard.

B. I have tended to be quiet and am used to being on my own. I usually don’t draw much attention to myself socially, and it’s generally unusual WEIGHT: for me to assert myself all that forcefully. I don’t feel comfortable taking the lead or being as competitive as others. Many would probably say that I’m something of a dreamer—a lot of my excitement goes on in my __________ imagination. I can be quite content without feeling I have to be active all the time.

C. I have tended to be extremely responsible and dedicated. I feel terrible if I don’t keep my commitments and do what’s expected of me. I want WEIGHT: people to know that I’m there for them and that I’ll do what I believe is best for them. I’ve often made great personal sacrifices for the sake of others, whether they know it or not. I often don’t take adequate care of __________ myself—I do the work that needs to be done and relax (and do what I want) if there’s time left.

GROUP II

X. I am a person who usually maintains a positive outlook and feels that things will work out for the best. I can usually find something to be WEIGHT: enthusiastic about and different ways to occupy myself. I like being around people and helping others be happy—I enjoy sharing my own well-being with them. (I don’t always feel great, but I generally try not __________ to show it!) However, keeping a positive frame of mind has sometimes meant that I’ve put off dealing with my own problems for too long.

Y. I am a person who has strong feelings about things—most people can tell when I’m upset about something. I can be guarded with people, but I’m WEIGHT: more sensitive than I let on. I want to know where I stand with others and who and what I can count on—it’s pretty clear to most people where they stand with me. When I’m upset about something, I want others to respond __________ and to get as worked up as I am. I know the rules, but I don’t want people telling me what to do. I want to decide for myself.

Z. I am a person who is self-controlled and logical—I don’t like revealing my feelings or getting bogged down in them. I am efficient—even WEIGHT: perfectionistic—about my work, and prefer working on my own. If there are problems or personal conflicts, I try not to let my feelings influence my actions. Some say I’m too cool and detached, but I don’t want my __________ private reactions to distract me from what’s really important. I’m glad that I usually don’t show my reactions when others “get to me.”

INSTRUCTIONS:

Weight the paragraphs in each Group from 3 to 1, with “3” being the one that best describes your actual behavior.

Then match the letters on the table, at right, and add your weights to find what the three most probable candidates for your personality type are. For example, one type will be most probable with the highest score of “6” for most agreement in both Groups. Two types will have “5” scores—these are the next most probable candidates for your type. These three scores are the top most probable candidates for your primary personality type.

This test does not indicate your wing or the relative importance of the other types in your personality.

Name _______________________________ 2-Digit Code

Add Weights

Type

AX 7

AY 8

AZ 3

BX 9

BY 4

BZ 5

CX 2

CY 6

CZ 1

Which Type Best Describes You? While the Enneagram can be viewed as a set of nine distinct personality types, it’s common to find a little bit of yourself in each category. Nonetheless, one of them should stand out as being closest to you. This is your basic personality type.

Every person is born with a dominant type, with inborn temperament and prenatal factors being the main determinants. In general, people don’t change from one basic type to another. The descriptions are universal, and apply equally to men and women.

However, not everything will apply at all times throughout a person’s life, as people tend to fluctuate between traits. No type is inherently better or worse than any other.

The goal is to become your best self, not to imitate the assets of another type.

1

THE REFORMER. The principled, idealistic type. Ones are conscientious and ethical, with a strong sense of right and wrong. They are teachers, crusaders, and advocates for change: always striving to improve things, but afraid of making a mistake. Well-organized, orderly, and fastidious, they try to maintain high standards, but can slip into being critical and perfectionistic. They typically have problems with resentment and impatience.

AT THEIR BEST: wise, discerning, realistic, and noble. Can be morally heroic.

2

THE HELPER. The caring, interpersonal type. Twos are empathetic, sincere,

and warm-hearted. They are friendly, generous, and self-sacrificing, but can also be sentimental, flattering, and people-pleasing. They are well-meaning and driven to be close to others, but can slip into doing things for others in order to be needed.

They typically have problems with possessiveness and with acknowledging their own needs.

AT THEIR BEST: Unselfish and altruistic, they have unconditional love for others.

3

THE ACHIEVER. The adaptable, success-oriented type. Threes are self-assured, attractive, and charming.

Ambitious, competent, and energetic,

MARRIAGE tached, yet high-strung and intense. They typically have problems with eccentricity, nihilism, and isolation.

AT THEIR BEST: visionary pioneers, often ahead of their time, and able to see the world in an entirely new way.

they can also be status-conscious and highly driven for advancement. They are diplomatic and poised, but can also be overly concerned with their image and what others think of them. They typically have problems with workaholism and competitiveness.

AT THEIR BEST: self-accepting, authentic, everything they seem to be—role models who inspire others.

6

4

THE INDIVIDUALIST. The introspective, romantic type. Fours are selfaware, sensitive, and reserved. They are emotionally honest, creative, and personal, but can also be moody and selfconscious. Withholding themselves from others due to feeling vulnerable and defective, they can also feel disdainful and exempt from ordinary ways of living. They typically have problems with melancholy, self-indulgence, and self-pity.

AT THEIR BEST: Inspired and highly creative, they are able to renew themselves and transform their experiences.

5

THE INVESTIGATOR. The perceptive, cerebral type. Fives are alert, insightful, and curious. They are able to concentrate and focus on developing complex ideas and skills. Independent, innovative, and inventive, they can also become preoccupied with their thoughts and imaginary constructs. They become de-

THE LOYALIST. The committed, securityoriented type. Sixes are reliable, hardworking, responsible, and trustworthy.

Excellent “troubleshooters,” they foresee problems and foster cooperation, but can also become defensive, evasive, and anxious—running on stress while complaining about it. They can be cautious and indecisive, but also reactive, defiant and rebellious. They typically have problems with self-doubt and suspicion.

AT THEIR BEST: internally stable and self-reliant, courageously championing themselves and others.

7

THE ENTHUSIAST. The busy, productive type. Sevens are extroverted, optimistic, versatile, and spontaneous.

Playful, high-spirited, and practical, they can also misapply their many talents, becoming over-extended, scattered, and undisciplined. They constantly seek new and exciting experiences, but can become distracted and exhausted by staying on the go. They typically have problems with impatience and impulsiveness.

AT THEIR BEST: They focus their talents

on worthwhile goals, becoming appreciative, joyous, and satisfied.

8

THE CHALLENGER. The powerful, aggressive type. Eights are self-confident, strong, and assertive. They are protective, resourceful, straight-talking, and decisive, but can also be egocentric and domineering. Eights feel they must control their environment, especially people, sometimes becoming confrontational and intimidating. Eights typically have problems with their tempers and with allowing themselves to be vulnerable.

AT THEIR BEST: Self-mastering, they use their strength to improve others’ lives, becoming heroic, magnanimous, and inspiring.

9

THE PEACEMAKER. The easy-going, self-effacing type. Nines are accepting, trusting, and stable. They are usually grounded, supportive, and often creative, but can also be too willing to go along with others to keep the peace. They want everything to go smoothly and be without conflict, but they can also tend to be complacent and emotionally distant, simplifying problems and ignoring anything upsetting. They typically have problems with inertia and stubbornness.

AT THEIR BEST: Indomitable and allembracing, they are able to bring people together and heal conflicts.

A Word with Katy Taylor,

Practitioner of the Enneagram Personality Tests My next step was to track down Don Riso, who Dr. Adahan told me trains practitioners of these personality tests. I found out that Riso had founded the Enneagram Institute in New York together with Russ Hudson in 1995, to “further the research and development of this remarkably insightful and useful approach to understanding human nature.” Unfortunately, however, when I contacted the Institute I learned that Don Riso passed away last year.

Looking for another expert to speak to, they

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directed me to Katy Taylor, who is based in Minnesota.

Katy told me that aside from the training she received at the Institute, she has no formal training in psychology. For the past five years, Katy and her husband have been using the Enneagram to work with couples—the result of having tried it themselves a few years ago. “We found it to be immensely helpful as a map for understanding ourselves, and decided to help others.”

10 KISLEV 5774

“What does training at the Enneagram Institute entail?”

“I attended three six-day-long training sessions and a weekend workshop. And I had to take an exam,” Katy said.

“Why do you think the Enneagram is a valuable tool?”

“The Enneagram can help you understand where you and your spouse are stuck. It gives you a deeper sense of understanding, from the inside out, of why you both behave the way you do. This leads

to greater compassion.”

Katy claims to have helped a lot of couples, who were having issues, become success stories. One particular couple who came to them before tying the knot “recently got married and told me and my husband that their marriage was only made possible because of the workshop.”

When I challenged her about the validity of the test results because they depend on a person’s self-awareness, she was ready with a response: “Most people do have a basic self-awareness, so their type shows up in the top three scores.”

Katy did acknowledge, however, that there are many people who are mistyped. “Certain Types, such as Nine, Three and Six score more evenly. Many women mistype as Type 2. It can take years for someone to figure out that he’s been mistyped; it’s a journey of self-awareness.”

So where do Katy and her husband

come in? What goes on in an Enneagram marriage workshop?

“We make sure that each couple is correctly typed. We do this by talking to each spouse and providing him with more reading material on the subject. I don’t tell anyone what type he is; I can only provide guidance.

“Then we talk more in-depth about the specific types, so they can see the strengths and potentials in each other.

The types are on a range of healthy to unhealthy, so we help couples learn what to work on when they aren’t at the best place on the spectrum. When they’re stressed or if there’s conflict, we explain it through the prism of each type, and help both sides take responsibility for their behavior and learn how to communicate and be more gracious.”

Katy added that she and her husband also provide exercises to help couples learn how to deal with their spouses, based on his or her type. n

History of the Enneagram The Enneagram, the name of which is derived from ennea, the Greek word for “nine,” and grammos, meaning “something drawn or written,” is a personality typing system whose roots are believed to be ancient. But it was Oscar Ichazo, a selftaught philosopher born in Bolivia in 1931, who reintroduced this idea to the modern era. Incorporating modern psychology with ancient wisdom, he developed a system that defines nine personality types and their interrelationships, as represented in the points of a two-dimensional geometric figure called an enneagram.

Ichazo started teaching his ideas to select students during the 1950s, in the Arica Institute that he established in Chile. One student, Claudio Naranjo, went on to develop his own understanding of Ichazo’s system and introduced it in the United States in the early 1970s, where its popularity grew.

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Follow Chana Rose, a Brooklyn-based shadchante with 26 years of experience, as she takes a shidduch from idea to engagement. It isn’t as easy as it looks to get a couple to the chuppah, but for Chana it’s all in a day’s work...

By Chana Rose

LAST WEEK: SHOSHANA KLEIN IS ADVISED TO END THE SHIDDUCH BECAUSE OF AVRUMI STEINBERG’S HEIGHT. AVRUMI IS DEVASTATED, BUT REDTS A SHIDDUCH HIMSELF: HIS GOOD FRIEND NAFTALI WEISSMAN AND SHOSHANA, HE BELIEVES, ARE THE PERFECT MATCH. INDEED, NAFTALI AND SHOSHANA SEEM TO BE HEADING IN THE RIGHT DIRECTION, UNTIL MRS. WEISSMAN CALLS CHANA TO INQUIRE ABOUT SHOSHANA’S HEIGHT.

shidduch saga A “Short” Story

Making this shidduch is turning out to be quite a “tall order”

PART III I wasn’t about to let the shidduch fizzle out just because Mrs. Weissman was suddenly worried that Shoshana was too short. Why, hadn’t she told me mere moments ago how super-excited her son was about the shidduch? If it didn’t bother Naftali that Shoshana was “vertically challenged,” why should her height stand in the way?

Mrs. Weissman seemed worried by my hesitation and repeated her question.

“Mrs. Rose, please tell me. Just how tall is this girl?”

“I didn’t exactly check with a tape measure,” I answered, trying my best to be evasive. But Mrs. Weissman wasn’t about to let me get away with it.

“But what kind of impression did she make? Is she on the short side?” she pressed on.

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“I’d say that Shoshana is of average height...” I responded with as much confidence as I could muster, “for a Jewish girl,” I quickly added.

Mrs. Weissman seemed satisfied by my vague response—for now. I gulped and

I wore flats for the occasion.

Not everyone needed to tower over Shoshana.

10 KISLEV 5774

quickly changed the topic to the details of the impending second date, and got off the phone as quickly as possible.

Shoshana and Naftali’s second date went even better than the first. I set up a third one that went just as smoothly as the previous two; this definitely had potential! Another date followed several days later, and both parties were eager to keep going. After speaking to both families, I concluded that Shoshana sounded very excited about the shidduch, but her enthusiasm paled in comparison to Naftali’s.

“Naftali says he really thinks this is the one. I’m so hopeful about this shidduch!”

Mrs. Weissman had gushed. “My husband and I really think it would be beneficial for me to meet Shoshana and her mother at this point,” she went on. “Nothing too formal—just a quick hello.”

WAREHOUSE

CLEARANCE

It wasn’t as though Mrs. Weissman’s request was so out of the ordinary. I’ve facilitated many such meetings over the course of my “career” as a shadchan. It isn’t hard to understand why a boy’s mother would want a peek at her son’s date at this stage of the game, to satisfy her curiosity. After all, the girl’s parents have usually spoken to the prospective chasan on more than one occasion by the time a shidduch starts getting serious.

Nonetheless, I wasn’t terribly excited about this particular rendezvous. It wasn’t that I was worried Shoshana would make anything less than a terrific first impression on Mrs. Weissman. Shoshana is a beautiful girl, and charming too. She’s poised, classy, and dresses well. But even I couldn’t make Shoshana grow five inches overnight. She’s just “short” of five feet—on a good day.

But I didn’t have a choice. I set up a meeting between Mrs. Weissman, Mrs. Klein and Shoshana, casually suggesting that Shoshana wear heels. “You know, to put your best foot forward,” I hastily mentioned before hanging up the phone.

I reassured both sides that I’d be tagging along to make the introductions: Someone had to point out the right mother-daughter pair to Mrs. Weissman and wave Mrs. Klein and Shoshana in the direction of the prospective machatenisteh/ shvigger. I chose Eichler’s on Thirteenth Avenue as the meeting place—as usual. I find that the informal atmosphere of this busy storefront lends itself perfectly to inconspicuous meetings like these.

I wore flats for the occasion. Not everyone needed to tower over Shoshana, I mused. I drove my car toward Thirteenth Avenue and waited for what I hoped would be the first acquaintance of a future mother- and daughter-in-law.

Shoshana looked terrific, and her bubbly personality won Mrs. Weissman over instantly; I could tell by the smile that crept up on Mrs. Weissman’s face and stayed put even as she bid the Kleins goodbye and watched them walk away.

I was halfway to my car when I felt a tap on my shoulder. Mrs. Weissman was standing right behind me, positively beaming. “Mrs. Rose!” she enthused.

“Shoshana seems to be everything I ever wanted in a daughter-in-law…” Then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, I watched her smile fade, replaced by a look of concern. “Mrs. Rose, I didn’t get a chance to notice. How tall is she?”

There was no way I was going to validate what Mrs. Weissman really knew but couldn’t admit—certainly not then. Hadn’t she just laid eyes on the same girl as I had? She’d seen Shoshana for herself; let her draw her own conclusions.

“She seemed average to me,” I replied.

Mrs. Weissman walked away with an expression that I couldn’t read.

I held my breath for the next few days, but the shidduch continued to move along—facilitated by the Mezaveig of all zivugim. As this story so poignantly illustrates, it was obviously Hashem Who brought this couple together, as He does all couples.

To make a long story “short”: It wasn’t long before the vort took place. I was greeted by the glowing kallah, who looked even more radiant than ever. She “stood tall” next to her chasan of five foot eleven—the almost one-foot discrepancy in height between them an obvious non-issue. n The End * All names changed to protect privacy

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shidduchresources

COMPILED BY ESTHER GARTENHAUS

The sheer volume of emails, letters, phone calls and faxes we receive, regarding the shidduch crisis, is eyeopening. This column is our contribution to help address this crisis.

A more complete list appears on our website: www.amimagazine.org. This is a joint communal effort, so we need to hear from you! Shadchanim and activists: Contact Esther Gartenhaus at matchmaker@amimagazine.org to list your appropriate services, shidduch meetings and pertinent activities!

General Shidduchim

Mrs. Ethel Halpert 718.853.4083 / Motzaei Shabbos Mrs. Rayzel Harrar 718.376.8547 Mrs. Hadassah Hoffner 718.309.5700 Mrs. Chana Rivka Jacobs 718.256.7525 at Binyan Adei Ad The Kesher Connection of Boro Park 718.576.1094 support@kesherconnection.com.

Mrs. Pearl Klepfish 718.338.8106 Rebbetzin Elisheva Koenig718.258.8475 / 718.377.2631 / elishevakoenig@gmail.com Mrs. Dina Lapp 917.470.4840 / diny613@gmail.com lchaimshidduch.com Mrs. Tova Liebb 732.367.7252 / tliebb@yahoo.com Mrs. Libby Lieberman Mazal.brocha@gmail.com Mrs. Devorah Meyer 718.213.0761 / M, T, W 8–10:30 p.m.

Mrs. Shaindy Mitnick 347.322.0001 / afternoons and evenings / shaindymitnick@gmail.com Mrs. Chava Most Fax: 732.377.5484 / sensitiveshidduchim@gmail.com / specializes in shidduchim for individuals with physical, medical, fertility and genetic conditions Rabbi Ahron Mueller 848.299.2598 National Council of Young Israel Shidduch Program Department 212.929.1525, ext. 150 / jsteinig@youngisrael.org Mr. Motti Neuhaus mottineuhaus@yahoo.com Mrs. Gabriella Nirenberg 917.344.9839 / gabrielladavidson5@gmail.com Mrs. Simchas Olam rivkalittman@yahoo.com Mrs. Adina Reich adinareich@gmail.com Résumé Center ifoundashidduch@gmail.com Mrs. Chana Rose chanarose36@verizon.net Mrs. Rochel Rubanowitz 212.543.2723 Mrs. Joy Scher proudbubby1@aol.com Mrs. Sara Schwarcz 718.854.8722 / 917.446.3213 Mrs. Baila Sebrow 516.239.0564 / bsebrow@aol.com Mrs. Chaya Segal 718.854.6315 / evenings / specializes in older singles Mrs. Blimmie Stamm 732.363.1554 Mrs. Malka Sussman 416.787.5147

Israel

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Mental Health/Emotional Issues Shoshana Goldman 718.983.9187 Temima Gross 410.358.7017 / temiragross@gmail.com

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10 KISLEV 5774

Ohel’s Simcha Program / Sarah Kahan 718.686.3262 sarah_kahan@ohelfamily.org fcbrecher@gmail.com

Public Announcements Thanks to those women who have called in to volunteer assistance with shidduch calls!

More are needed! If you are articulate and capable, please call in: 347.482.8429.

Plenty of shadchanim…yet never enough! Join as a volunteer shadchan. Call Kesher Connection at 718.576.1094.

Resource for previously married men and women. Also, singles willing to marry previously married men and women ages 20-40, please contact Mrs. B. Stein: belle960@gmail.com Seeking girls for quality, frum, working (non-degreed) chasidishe boys! 845.425.7520 Shadchanus Services—Hire by the hour. Hire your own private shadchan to network for you!

Shadchanim and interested parties, please contact Ruchie at 718.438.2834 for more details.

Shidduch meetings in Kens-

Mrs. Yehudis Abir 02.586.3310 / evening hours / judyabir@gmail.com Mrs. Shulamit Goldberger 02.561.1019 V’hareinu B’vinunei (Yiddish-speaking organization) Shidduch for zivug sheini 011.972.54.849.9440

FOR COMP THE LETE L IST, GO TO amim agazin e.org

ington. For details, call Mrs. Edie Jaffe at 718.853.8691.

Looking for single girls/women and single men of all ages, with controlled medical issues (i.e., on meds). Many special compatible men available! Confidential!

Please call Mrs. R. Schwartz: 718.419.7855.

Shidduchim Workshops in Brooklyn, Lakewood or your town! Premarital/shidduch hadrachah workshops with Mrs. Esther Gartenhaus for post highschool girls/young women! Call to schedule your workshop and for private appointments: 347.482.8429 On-the-ball single girls are needed to volunteer time navigating/matching resumes.

Please call 347.482.8429.

Looking for computer-savvy girls/women for assessment and categorization of shidduch resumes. Email ifoundashidduch@gmail.com

We welcome your letters, comments and shidduch questions, as well as helpful ideas, advice and tips on...shidduchim! Contact us at matchmaker@amimagazine.org or via phone (718.534.8800) or fax (718.484.7731).

Besuros Tovos-Bashert.net

Shidduchim: Open Your Heart Please Q and A with Rabbi Daniel Schneierson, Founder Besuros Tovos

W

hat inspired you to start this amazing organization?

My Dream was always to be involved in Tzarchei Tzibbur. I realized several years ago that Klal Yisroel needed significant help with Shidduchim and decided to leave a Wall St. Career to dedicate myself to the Tzibbur. I was inspired by what I saw live for many years from Zev Wolfson Z”L.

What is the main goal of your organization?

What has been done by your organization to make an impact?

A Great deal of Mesiras Nefesh (time and money) has gone into advancing our Shidduch- Shadchan based Organization/ platform to where it is today. I am a former BMG Talmid and have been working with Dr. Dovid Lieberman, for almost 2 years now. We have recently hired Star Shadchan Ahuva Cherns to be the Executive Shadchan of our organization.

Our main goal is to make as many happy marriages in Klal Yisroel as soon as possible.

To that end, B’ezras Ha-shem we have put together a Top Quality Shidduch Team to really get things moving.

Do you think the current Shidduch Situation can improve greatly?

Absolutely!! I assure everyone single or parent of a single that we are moving at lightning speed to turn the Shidduch Matzav around. We provide Dr. Lieberman’s unique personality test which has demonstrated its ability to match up ideal marriage candidates.

Do you work full time for Besuros Tovos?

I have been full time President or CoCEO of various Shidduch Organizations for approximately 2 years, including Besuros Tovos a Non-Profit Corp based in NJ since its inception in May 2013.

We service Frum Jews throughout the world Offline and online via pre-filtered www.bashert.net.

Besuros Tovos Inc., 86 Park Ave., Passaic, NJ 07055

CONTACT BESUROS TOVOS: Phone: 1-866-759-0000 Fax: 973-860-1106 Email: info@btov.org Website: www.bashert.net

What is your message to Ami Readers?

We need to take action. The time is now!

We as Klal Yisroel must unite just like Bnei Yisroel were K’ish Echad B’leiv Echad right before Kabalas Ha’torah.

Who will be the Shidduch Leaders/ Heroes of our generation? We need many!

I hope a lot of people reading this article are raising their hands now and saying. “Me, Me, Me” “I am going to seize the moment”.

Practically after running Shidduch Organizations full time for approximately 2 years, I came to the conclusion that we as a Tzibbur can make a massive positive impact by working together and providing sufficient funding to advance Shidduchim which will lead to lasting happy marriages.

Our view as a Tzibbur needs to be “This is the moment for action”. We cab vastly improve everything this month, this

year with proper Hishtadlus. I am urging everyone to get involved in accordance with their means. The Tzibbur really needs $10million-$100million as soon as possible just dedicated for shidduchim. Logically Al Pi Derech Hateva those funds should make a huge impact and very likely add 1000’s of Happy shidduchim annually above the previous 10 year average.

What is your message for our Female Readers?

Ladies, Bishveil Nashim Tzidaniyos Nigalu Avoseinu Mimitzraim. The Briskeh Rabbonim such as the Bais Halevi felt that Geulas Mitzraim was just a pre-cursor to the future Geulah which will be the ultimate Geulah I urge you to speak to your husbands etc. and encourage them to heavily support this unique organization and each one of you should think or say “I am not going to pass on this golden Mitzvah opportunity which could have ramifications for 100’s of thousands of Neshamos”. The Tzibbur needs the involvement of every Yid who has a heart to help with the Avodas Hakodesh of Shidduchim NOW. What Can the Tzibbur do immediately to help your organization and all of Klal Yisroel?

Ideally anybody who can will give of their time each month to help in shidduchim. Or it would be extremely helpful if many people can donate to Besuros Tovos so we can hire even more quality people. Ideally we want to get funding soon to hire 50-500 people to really ignite Major shidduch and marriage success in Klal Yisroel this year.

For further information: please email info@bashert.net or call 1-866-759-0000.

You can donate instantly at www.bashert. net on the bottom left of the homepage just please click “DONATE”. All money donated will go to non-profit Besuros Tovos Inc. We are Pending 501c3 Status Approval.

Or please mail your donations made payable to Besuros Tovos (Inc.)

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CHAPTER SEVENTY LAST WEEK: SHRAGA PROPOSES TO SHULI.

Decision

W

hen Shraga asked me to marry him again, my heart began to sing.

Finally, this horrific chapter in my life would be over. I couldn’t believe my good fortune—I was so happy that he’d finally come around to my way of seeing things. If he was really telling me the truth, that it would be like a brand-new marriage and not a retread, then I could count on him to be a real husband this time, not just an appendage like he was before. A woman needs to feel like she’s being taken care of. I guess the accident and everything he’s been through has caused him to understand what’s really important.

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I’m still a little miffed, though, by the fact that he’s offering to reconcile for the sake of the children. I obviously want what’s best for them too, and I do believe that having two parents at home is the ideal. But I really wish his motivation to get married again had more to do with me, as a person.

And now that I think about it, I’m not so happy with all the rules and regulations he wants to impose on me. I don’t really want to give up the Internet.

It fills the lonely and empty hours.

Even if Shraga comes back home, it’s not as if he’ll be giving me so much attention that I’ll never need anything else. He’ll be busy with working and learning and whatever else he does.

And where will that leave me? The kids |

10 KISLEV 5774

might be better off, but will I be too?

The answer is probably no. I don’t think so—and don’t I count for something around here? It’s downright insulting that I’m not even part of the equation. And I don’t even believe that he can really change. In fact, it would probably be worse the second time around because he’d be watching my every move like a hawk. The last thing I need is a watchdog on my tail. He’d probably install all kinds of filters and change all the passwords and not even tell me.

And couples therapy? No thanks.

While I think my individual sessions with Dr. Reichman are productive, I was always less impressed by the ones Shraga and I had together. I didn’t

think it was helpful; all it did was bring up a lot of issues I didn’t want to deal with. Some things belong swept under the rug. Not everything has to be analyzed and discussed to death. I even hate the word “issues,” as in: We have “issues” to work out. I prefer to just get on with the business of living. Most of the time “issues” resolve themselves, as new ones take their place. That’s just the way life is, and as far as I’m concerned, that’s fine.

Shraga sounds so optimistic. “Marry me,” he said. “Be my wife again.” How long I’ve been waiting to hear those words! He never really asked me the first time; we just kind of awkwardly assumed it was going to happen and muddled our way to the l’chayim. I like the fact that he’s being direct this time.

Every part of me longs to say yes, even with all of my hesitations.

But I can’t. It would never work.

Things would go right back to the way they were, despite Shraga’s protestations to the contrary. He’ll never accept me as I am now. Maybe he’s changed but I really haven’t, and I’m not sure I want to. Maybe I’ll meet someone else who will make me happier. And how good would it be for the children if Shraga and I don’t have a real relationship? It would just be a sham, and kids can smell sheker from a mile away. I’m sure they’d catch on.

So what I am supposed to tell him?

Yes? No? He’s waiting for an answer.

“I can’t do it,” I finally said. “Under other circumstances, I’d remarry you in a minute. But I don’t agree to your conditions. I don’t want to be limited

them in other ways.”

“But we can be a real family again!”

“I’m sorry, Shraga,” I said calmly. “I don’t think it’s going to work out.”

HOW LONG I’VE BEEN WAITING TO HEAR THOSE WORDS! HE NEVER REALLY ASKED ME THE FIRST TIME; WE JUST KIND OF AWKWARDLY ASSUMED IT WAS GOING TO HAPPEN and watched and judged. If we’re going to get married again, it can’t be on only your terms. I’ve got terms too.”

“Like what?” said Shraga. “What kind of conditions?”

“I want my freedom, whether it’s to use the Internet or to shop or to just be myself. I don’t want to be a different person. I’m not the one who had the accident, looked into the abyss and changed my perspective so drastically.

If you’re not coming back for me, then I don’t want you.”

“But Shuli!” he exclaimed. “What about the kids? What about our family?”

“Both of us will always be their parents. We’ll have to make it up to

“Shuli,” he said, crying real tears now.

“Won’t you at least think about it? I can wait.”

“Don’t bother. The answer will still be no. You should have held on to me while you had the chance. It’s too late for us.”

I could see the rav was really shocked, and it looked like he was about to get involved. I didn’t want to hear it.

“Thank you very much for your time,” I said, trying to head him off.

“Shraga, I’m sorry. My decision is final.

I won’t be thinking about it, and please don’t wait. It’s over.” 

To be continued...

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Chapter Thirty-Two

“T

his is really unprecedented— with all due respect, your honor—” Marvin Cohen said.

“If I may be permitted—I saved the best for last, of course, and I have proof that the lawyer who drafted the will is hard of hearing, and therefore—” “We have more witnesses and facts to our advantage as well, of course,” Richard Thomas interrupted. “For example, Tova has her own thriving business, a café that she owns outright, and while my client’s husband did get the business from Mr. Reich, my client herself—” “I will have order,” the Honorable Judge Walkin said. “You will both close your mouths.”

Both lawyers closed their mouths.

Judge Walkin rubbed irritably at his forehead. “Now. I have a lot to say and all of it will be said by me, in my own voice.

Not in the voice of anyone who sounds suspiciously like anyone else here in this room. Clear?”

“Yes, your honor,” they all chorused.

Tova fought back a bubble of hysterical laughter that was rising in her throat by studying her nails, a technique that she had learned from her one—and only— time acting in a play. After that minor disaster, she had left the acting to Lakey and stuck with what she did best: heading props and terrifying all of the prop girls into submission. Well, all the girls except Elana, of course. Elana did not terrify.

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Elana instead tried to explain to her that taking it all on her own shoulders was missing the whole point of the play, and the whole point of having prop girls to begin with. Elana had tried to tell her something similar more recently, hadn’t she?

The judge was talking. This was it, then.

It was over. They had given it all that they could, and now here it was: the moment of truth, as they say. Or the closest that they’ll ever come to the truth, anyway.

Tova breathed past a familiar wave of nausea, and listened.

“So. Look at the two of you,” the judge said, shaking his head. “It’s just the two of you. A couple of husbands, too. Where is the rest of your family? Cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents? Not a close knitfamily, then.”

It was true. On their mother’s side, there had been some sort of disagreement decades past, long forgotten before she had died. After she was gone, it was almost as if they did not exist. Their father’s side was scattered around the globe. Contact was made through once-ayear birthday cards from uncles and aunts known only from old pictures and a few awkward and aborted Skype attempts. All of the grandparents were already gone.

Theirs was a small family. Tova thought about Shmuel’s speech, about how he said that Daddy had a hard time letting go. If that was true, was it partly because Lakey and Tova were all that he had?

10 KISLEV 5774

The judge went on. “So who is the Reich family?” When his question was met with silence, he added, “Hmm? I’m waiting.”

“I thought you didn’t want us to talk—”Lakey started.

“I do when I ask you a question.”

“Uh.” Lakey looked around the room for help. When none was forthcoming, she bit the bullet. “The Reich family is… us?”

“Us. Well done. Correct. I take my hat off to you. The family is now standing in front of me. The family is the two of you.”

The judge spread his hands and lowered his brow like a very irate Shakespearean actor. “Lakey and Tova,” he said. “Two sisters. You are all the other has got.”

“Yeah, great,” Lakey mumbled.

“Did I ask a question?” the judge asked.

“I did not. If I did not, you be silent.” He glared for a while before continuing. “And what do you both do the second your father dies? You are both intent on tearing to pieces the little family that is left.”

This is all wrong, Tova suddenly realized.

He doesn’t get it. No one will ever get it. No one.

But just as suddenly, she wasn’t sure what “it” was, anymore.

“I can’t make the two of you see sense.

I can yell until I’m blue in the face and I still won’t be able to force you both to stop being stupid. So what do we have to work with? We have the will. We have to divide up the will. Oh, the two of you, with your

RECAP: SHMUEL PAINTS A PICTURE FOR THE COURT OF HOW MR. REICH’S PERSONALITY CREATED A SITUATION IN WHICH LETTING GO OF THOSE THAT HE LOVES AND NEEDS WAS VERY HARD FOR HIM—ESPECIALLY TOVA. TOVA DECIDES SHE’S HAD ENOUGH, AND WANTS TO BRING THE COURT CASE TO AN END. BUT THE JUDGE SAYS IT’S ALL OVER, ANYWAY. IT’S TIME FOR HIS VERDICT.

most excellent lawyers, can go on and on for days, maybe even weeks, trying to prove that Daddy loved you more.” He pointed to Lakey before swerving to Tova.

“Or did he love you more?”

“It’s not about—” Lakey started.

“And that was not a question to be answered. That was rhetorical. So you be quiet. And yes, of course that’s what it’s about; don’t be daft. Sometimes I feel like

much of the two of you, he figured you could divide everything up yourselves.

This will was poorly drafted because it’s not a will at all. In a sense, it is no more than a list of all of the assets owned by Mr. Reich. Where he mentioned you by name, the item is yours, of course. For example,” the judge fumbled with a pair of glasses and then peered at a paper before him. “Although it is vague, if you follow

For some unfathomable reason, your father assumed that you would not fight about it the only thinking human being in this courtroom!”

The judge looked around the room and smiled thinly in the stillness, in the rapt attention of the people around him, who were waiting, waiting, waiting...for the words that could spell victory—or disaster.

“So. The will.” He paused. “The will was drafted so poorly that my grandson could have done better with a crayon and some coloring paper. Besides that, there is the hearing loss in the lawyer’s left ear.

Between those two things, I think that it is safe to say that whenever the will referred to ‘daughter,’ your father meant ‘daughters.’”

Tova cast a startled glance in Lakey’s direction. Could it be? Was the answer so simple?

“I can only assume that he thought so

the name Tova in this paragraph, you will see that a certain painting seems to be yours.”

Tova thought about that painting, that painting that had started them all on this road that they were on right now.

And she had an unexpected urge to find the painting and drive a knife straight through it.

“As for the rest of it, your father simply wanted you to know what there was, so that nothing would revert back to the state. For some unfathomable reason, your father assumed that you would not fight about it; that instead, you would divide it all up lovingly and peacefully.” Judge Walkin spat the last two words out as if they tasted foul.

“But there is no way that I will let you both walk out of my courtroom and 10 KISLEV 5774

decide that now, on your own. I think that you’ve both proven, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that you are both incapable of sharing your toys nicely, like good little girls. So you will find someone to arbitrate. You are both religious Jews, correct?”

Lakey nodded.

Tova nodded.

“There are religious courts, then, that will settle this with you. You will go to them. They will decide for you.”

Tova felt Shmuel tense beside her as if holding back on saying something, and she avoided his gaze. She knew that he had wanted her to go to beis din to begin with. It was halachah, he had explained.

You can’t just take another Jew to secular courts. She had of course begun looking into it, but then when they started fighting she had gone on with her original plans.

And now here was a secular judge telling her that she had to go to beis din.

She stared down at her fingernails again, although this time she had no urge to laugh. None at all.

The judge was wrapping things up.

“Then bring their decision back to this court, where it will be honored. Your lawyers will get their cut. You girls will get slices of the pie. I can get some fresh air and work on my golf swing. And everyone will be happy.”

As the judge swept out of the room, he turned again to the girls and added, “...everyone, that is, besides your father.

Your father—my dear sad remnants of the family Reich—your father is rolling over in his grave.” n

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To be continued…

NOVEMBER 13, 2013

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47

days Mamma Mia Memoirs Of A Transplanted Yankee

By Susie Netzer

T

he year was 1971. I had just relocated big time from New York to Milan, Italy.

As a blushing bride, I was whisked off by my knight in shining armor—make that chasan—on his white horse, which was actually a shiny Delta jet. Till then, I had never ventured further afield from the West Side of Manhattan than New Jersey. I remember when I was 16 years old, opening up my big mouth and grilling an older shul friend who had gotten married and moved to Mexico and was now chatting with her new husband in Spanish! I was so envious.

Well, from my lips to G-d’s ear. Before I knew it, I was in a strange land grappling with a foreign tongue. I had, of course, taken precautions before the move. At a certain point in our dating period, my future husband told me his parents were coming to the States to meet me, i.e., check me out. I hurriedly registered for a crash course in German at Berlitz. Every moron knows that all Europeans speak Yiddish, so German was the closest I could get. It turned out that his mother had been brought up in Italy and her knowledge of Yiddish was minimal.

So much for the $123 I wasted. (I still remember the fee, although for the life of me I can’t remember a word of German!)

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The fateful meeting was to take place in front of an upscale kosher restaurant.

After the fancy meal, I walked alone for a bit with his father, who asked me what I thought of the height difference between me and his son (I’m 5”2 in heels and he’s a strapping six-footer). I responded that I didn’t think such things could be measured by a meter stick. (Yiddish may have eluded me, but the metric system was a no-brainer.)

Little did I know then I would have years ahead of me sailing through uncharted waters. I’ve learned that one of the most important things in life is a person’s mindset, parlaying the emunah in Hashem we mouth allegiance to in our daily prayers into actual practice. Finding humor in the bleakest of situations became my modus vivendi. The more outrageous the situation the better the story, and when that didn’t work I’d look for some deeper insight. I eventually came to realize that successfully ducking the hard shots definitely starts with a positive attitude.

Talking about attitude, fast-forward a couple of years: We were now, baruch Hashem, the parents of a baby boy, and I was learning Italian from my maid (no more crash courses for me). In those days it was de rigueur to use a pick-up diaper 10 KISLEV 5774

service and cloth diapers. Ugh! What was with this Italian prejudice against Pampers? You couldn’t find one in the whole Italian Peninsula so I had to schlep home suitcases full of them every time I visited America. Remember, in those days we were technologically in the Stone Age. When our baby said his first word I had to write home about it, and the Italian postal service being what it is, they found

out when he was practically practicing his upsheren pshetel. Okay, we did speak on the phone sometimes, but our conversations were definitely hindered by the ticking of a certain gizmo my husband installed in the headset to “help me keep track of the minutes” of those expensive calls.

I could not have made the smooth transition to my new life without my

special in–laws. Suffice it to say that if I ever had a bad day, I’d just think about how Hashem had loved me enough to pick me, lil’ ol’ Susie, to be this giant of a woman’s daughter-in-law. Words cannot do justice to the person everyone knew as Giuditta. My mother-in-law was the CEO of the family’s watch factory, but outside the office she was soft-spoken and kind, always thinking about what she 10 KISLEV 5774

could do for others. Throughout our years in Milan we always ate by my in-laws, with my father-in-law at the head of the table. Observing and absorbing their wisdom made life ever so much easier. I conquered my fear of flying, for example, by traveling with my mother-in-law and seeing how she focused on the things she had to do once reaching her destination rather than on the rigors or perils of the |

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days trip itself.

My father-in-law, Shloime, a”h, was a man who embodied and lived by the Torah’s tenets. He was a major bulwark of spiritual sustenance for me during those crucial years of child-rearing. Nothing made him happier then welcoming tzedakah collectors into his home or office, making innumerable phone calls of introduction and then personally accompanying them to the Jewish businesses in the center of town. “Nonno” (“grandfather” in Italian) would drop by every afternoon to study Mishnayos with our young sons. One day I heard Nonno’s greeting of “Shalom Aleichem” being met with silence. I went to investigate and lo and behold, the boys’ backs were still turned to him, mesmerized as they were in front of the TV watching a “Mazinger Robot” cartoon. Well, the television was chucked out within the hour. When my husband came home from work that evening and saw the void left by the black box in our breakfront he said, “Dear, you’ll let me know if we’re moving, won’t you?”

When we chose our first apartment in Milan, I naïvely subscribed to the theory of having to move far away from the in-laws. It was a silly decision, as most of my time was spent picking up the delicacies my dear mother-in-law cooked for us. When we did move into an apartment on the same block, I remember my father-in-law showing off our new “modern building” to my father, who was in Italy for a visit. It was so modern, in fact, that it featured a contraption called an “elevator”—an open, miniscule cage suspended in a narrow shaft by groaning

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pulley ropes. Just looking at it was enough to induce a panic attack. You want me to get into this? And when you opened the door—whoa! Before entering you had to decide: it’s either me or my pocketbook!

And my baby carriage? I would prop it in diagonally with my baby hanging on for dear life.

On that same visit my father-in-law showed off our new, state-of-the-art kitchen that featured the latest appliances.

When I was growing up in New York, the oven and stove had a pilot light that was always on. All my mother had to do was turn a knob and voilà, a flame would appear. In Italy, the process was vice versa.

First you turned a knob and gas would whoosh out of the hob. Then you had to pull a trigger on a gun-like device that emitted sparks and hope your aim was good. If you weren’t the quickest draw in the West and you missed, you risked bringing down the whole palazzo!

Life for a balabusta in Milan was anything but bella! This lesson was brought home one day when I noticed a baseball bat in the corner of my motherin-law’s laundry room. “Who plays baseball around here?” I asked. “No one,” she replied. It turned out that the bat was the murder weapon used to finish off the live carp that were delivered to her door on Fridays, only to await their demise flip-flopping in the kitchen sink. I was witness to many a battle between my mother-in-law and her ill-fated succession of carp. Gefilte fish, anyone? Then we had an itinerant shochet who sold whole chickens from his car trunk. Till today, no one can match my expertise when it 10 KISLEV 5774

comes to carving up a whole chicken into anything from cutlets to gribenes. Beef was only available intermittently, so whenever you could get some you gratefully ordered a cut-up quarter of an entire beast, never knowing which cut you were defrosting the night before since every piece was an indistinguishable block of ice. I often ended up making goulash out of liver and soup out of steaks.

I was so busy trying to blend in with my new friends in Italy, using their dressmakers and milliners, that I didn’t realize I was fighting a losing sartorial battle. My sister can attest to one of my many fashion disasters, an Italian-made tall pillbox hat that I wore to her eldest son’s bar mitzvah in Boro Park. It had a gigantic tassel at the top that continuously swung from left to right across my face throughout the entire simchah. I looked like an extra from the film “Road to Morocco” who had lost her way. No matter how much care my dressmaker Guerrina put into stitching an original creation inspired by Dior or Givenchy, my mother would sentence the outfit to oblivion after perusing it with her trained eye: “How come it looks homemade?”

Most buildings in Italy have a something called a “portinaia,” the equivalent of your American doorman.

She, usually a woman, is a ubiquitous fixture in her tenants’ lives. She is also the personification of a yenta. One time she suggested a friend of hers to be my maid.

Eggs, detergent, stockings, tablecloth— basically, anything that fit into her Mary Poppins-sized satchel would disappear from my house. When I finally disinvited

ONE DAY I NOTICED A BASEBALL BAT. IT TURNED OUT TO BE THE MURDER WEAPON USED TO FINISH OFF THE LIVE CARP.

her and terminated her employment, I hadn’t anticipated the daily haranguing I would get from the portinaia insisting I had made the mistake of my life by sending her away. And if she didn’t like the looks of a guest, such as the friend who came to visit us on a stopover from South Africa, she’d simply tell them we were away on vacation.

I have lovely memories of accompanying my husband on business trips, selling his watches to retail stores across the length and breadth of beautiful Italy. When our family began to grow and I couldn’t accompany him anymore, I

discovered I had an untapped wellspring of decision-making capabilities to deal with our bustling houseful of kids, ka”h.

Whenever I found it difficult, I would remind myself of my poor husband schlepping heavy merchandise around to customers all day long and being far from home. Who was I to complain?

When my mother was battling her terminal illness, she never once complained about the card that had been dealt to her after all she had gone through during the war. In fact, soon after major surgery she went out and got herself a new swimsuit and joined her friends in

Miami, never confiding in them that she had just undergone a serious operation.

And my father was a master of the pithy one-liner that could sum up tragicomic situations more efficiently than a thousand words. As we age, we generally note characteristics of our parents emerging in our personalities. I think traits from both of them must have rubbed off on me.

Summers in Italy were long. Really long. Every year we would pack up and move out for two months to a place called Bibione, near Venice. (Fresh off the boat, I pronounced it “Bye-bye-one instead of Bi-bioh-nee.) The Belgians all went to Forte dei Marmi, while the English would vacation in Viareggio.

One year, my father-in-law was traveling with my husband for business and happened to meet someone who dabbled in construction. The next thing I knew my men had bought themselves a little summer villa in Bibione. I must say our kids have great memories of those family summers when cousins and friends would join us. We even had a regular shul in the station of the Carabinieri (police). I was known as the Bibione Rebbetzin because of my weekly cholent. I developed a

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days BEEF WAS ONLY AVAILABLE INTERMITTENTLY, SO WE WOULD ORDER AN ENTIRE CUT-UP QUARTER. YOU NEVER KNEW WHICH CUT YOU WERE DEFROSTING, SINCE EVERY PIECE WAS AN INDISTINGUISHABLE BLOCK OF ICE. brilliant ploy to cut my way to the front of the line at the fish market on Erev Shabbos. I’d wear a black tichel, and without fail the fishmonger would announce, “Everyone aside! Make way for the nun!”

At a certain point I realized I’d have to face the music and learn how to drive a stick shift in order to obtain a modicum of independence. This involves more choreography than a ballet. While playing footsy with the three (yes, three) pedals, you have to simultaneously push the “joystick” down and shove it forward and left to engage the first gear; lower left for second gear; and upper right for third gear. Fourth gear is lower right, and reverse is much lower right. Are you getting the picture? Now you understand why it took a small fortune and 50 driving lessons until I was ready to take the road test. The driving school handed me a very thick manual on theory to memorize, and let me know there would be a panel of five experts fahering me on it. The manual included the name of every nut and bolt

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in a combustion engine. It seemed like they were more interested in prepping me for a job in a Lamborghini factory than allowing me to get behind the wheel legally. Fortunately, I claimed I didn’t have a command of the language, so I got away with a multiple choice test and got my license. Before long I was driving the kids, our trusty maid Piera and our luggage to Bibione. One time I heard a siren and saw flashing strobe lights in my rearview mirror. A police car pulled me over to the side of the road. With much gesticulation and shouting they conveyed the message that by going 10 Km an hour I was holding up traffic. Would I mind pressing down on the accelerator?!

A side note about the aforementioned Piera, a devout Catholic who was with us for for 30 years: Piera would periodically come and complain to me that one of the boys “wasn’t davening with kavanah!”

What do Milan and San Francisco have in common? Trolleys! They crisscross the city in the most unsuspecting locations.

On one occasion, little did I suspect that I 10 KISLEV 5774

had parked on the tram tracks and created a traffic jam until someone ran into the store where I was shopping to tell me that the fists waving out of the trolley windows were directed at me.

A word to the many other geographically-challenged women out there: Is the location you’re in good for your spouse (financially, spiritually), good for your kids or both? Are the sacrifices required of you so-o-o totally out of your league? Usually, when you go with the flow you’ll pleasantly surprise and empower yourself, and you might even discover some wonderful things Hashem has in store for you. Baruch Hashem, I’ve broadened my horizons immeasurably.

Perhaps one of the most important lessons I’ve learned is the unity of all Jews. While we might be spread all over the globe, we’re all far-flung sparks of the same neshamah. There’s a common denominator regardless of the language we speak. There are soul mates to be found wherever there’s a Yid. After attending the Chabad Merkaz elementary school, my children successfully continued their educations between Israel and the US. Before we knew it we were facing the parshah of shidduchim. One of our sons said, “This is going to be a tough one. Goodness knows where the girl is going to come from!”

Well, as life would have it, Hashem sent us a wonderful, special wife for one of our sons from Gibraltar. That leads nicely into our second relocation to Gibraltar, but that’s another story 

days The Day I Lost My Mother My father’s marriage is a turning point

By Meira Schneider

M

y father is getting married tonight. It’s been just over a year since my mother died.

The last thing I want to do is get all dressed up and watch a room full of people celebrating my father’s marriage to a stranger. It’s not a celebration to me.

I know my father. He’s a scientist, very methodical, almost heartlessly logical. I know he’s not getting married for love, in every way that he could be: He’s still married to my mother, the great love of his life, and he will be until the day he’s buried next to her. This woman he’s marrying, the one he’s known for about five minutes, has a tidy, uncomplicated life that won’t force him to make too many changes. I know he looked at what she had to offer, weighed the pros and cons, and thought to himself, “Three regalim have passed. It’s time to get married again.” And then he bought her a diamond the size of Rhode Island.

It’s not her. Really. She’s a nice enough person, I guess, from the two times I met her. She was a little uppity for my taste, a little too done-up. But I’m not the type to hold that against anyone. The problem is that she doesn’t seem to realize that my mother is coming back.

I’m not crazy. I know my mother died.

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I saw her eyes drain of color, then life, her mouth hung open and her hands gnarled, like she was trying desperately to hold onto something. I saw the men from the funeral home come and fold her body into a bag and wheel her out of the house on a stretcher while my father sat, keening, on the front steps. As they shut the doors and drove off, I thought to myself, This is the last time I will ever see her.

But I didn’t believe it. How can you 10 KISLEV 5774

believe that the most powerful presence in your life—the reason you have life—could just vanish? It’s like those amputees who reach down to scratch an itch on a limb they no longer have. The mind knows it’s gone, but at the same time it rejects what it knows because it’s impossible to comprehend living without a piece of yourself.

So I’ll go to this wedding. I’ll put on a pretty dress and a face full of makeup, and

HOW CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT THE MOST POWERFUL PRESENCE IN YOUR LIFE—THE REASON YOU HAVE LIFE— COULD JUST VANISH? act as if I’m happy to be there. My father deserves that—after all he’s done for me. It will be like acting in a play, an elaborate (and expensive) game of “Let’s Pretend,” with 400 other people.

Because, any minute, my mother could sweep through the door and blow the cover off of the whole thing.

We get stuck in traffic on the Verrazano and arrive late; the wedding has already started. I hitch my baby up onto my hip and walk briskly through the lobby, high heels cutting into my feet. A gloved concierge pulls open a heavy mahogany door and there I see it: the room full of people; the bride’s family dabbing at their eyes; my sister and my aunt doing the same, for other reasons; the elaborate chuppah; the band with instruments at the ready; and the line of rabbis awaiting their kibbudim. All the actors are in their places. The play has begun.

Except, I realize with a lurch in my stomach, this isn’t a play.

No one is pretending. This is real. The man under the chuppah, wearing the Borsalino bought for him by his first wife, is my father. And there’s that woman, circling him in a cloud of white.

I look to the doors with the last ember of hope that I will see my mother standing there. But I don’t.

As I watch my father place the ring on his kallah’s finger, I think of the day we buried my mother, and how my father cried through the hesped. I think of how we sat shivah on beach chairs in the living room, knowing I was supposed to be in mourning but feeling mostly like old friends just happened by for a visit.

How everyone, for some reason, brought babka—so much of it that we had to beg the local firemen to take a boxful. How I crash-landed the day after the shivah ended, feeling the rest of my life loom before me like an abyss. A reel of the past year’s highlights run through my head—a birthday party, a move, a baby: a series of events from which my mother had been missing, but during which I never believed that she was really gone.

Until now.

The band strikes up amid shouts of “Mazal Tov!” and my father alights from the chuppah with his new wife.

Fourteen months ago, my mother died. But it wasn’t until tonight, at my father’s wedding, that I lost her.  To submit your story for this column or to have your story featured here, please contact us at submissions@amimagazine. org.

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