Bayis magazine issue 7

History of... Pasta | Shabbos Halacha: Writing on Food

“

Great new Pasta Dishes

Table of Contents

29

” 24

In The Kitchen

Kitchen Gadgets

4 Inspiration

Don't Forget to Say...

6 Parenting

Influence versus Control

8 Teaching 101

The Challenge of Inclusion - Part II

18 History of...

Pasta

29 Tips for Healthy Living

Peanut Butter in Moderation

32 Eye on Health

Move Over Gluten

34 Serial

Finding Chava: Chapter 7

14 Mother-in-law vs.

Daughter-in-law

40 The Broken Crown

Part 3

48 Shabbos Halacha

Writing on Food

50 Humor A Bucket Full of Gold

51 Comic 52 On the Bright Side The 18 Year Wait

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Are you Doing a Good Job?

Artist Spotlight: Elisheva Rudolph

proudly presents a

Editor-in-Chief Rabbi Noach Tuchinsky Managing Editor Rena Tuchinsky Proofreader Estee Tannenbaum Creative Director Brachi Rosenes Contributing Writers Chaya Steinman, Shira Katz, Hadassah Glanz, Rabbi Zechariah Steinman, Rabbi Dr. Yoseif (Jeffrey) Glanz, Yaakov Grossman, Dr. David Tuchinsky, Naomi Lerman, Lily Rosenberg Illustrator Yoshi Weiss yoshiweiss1@gmail.com Advertising Manager Adam Tuchinsky advertise@bayismagazine.com Bayis Magazine – www.bayismagazine.com Editor@bayismagazine.com Contactus@bayismagazine.com We Look forward to hearing from you!

To subscribe via email: subscriptions@bayismagazine.com Bayis Magazine. Published by Bayis Magazine 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. Bayis Magazine assumes no responsibility for the content of the articles or advertisements in the publication, nor for the contents of the books that are referred to or excerpted herein.

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Readers Speak (Issue 5-6 The Broken Crown) Dear Editor, I cant take the tension with your new story Broken Crown, can you please make it longer so we can reach the end more quickly, or alternatively, just tell me the happy end, so I can sleep at night. I love Ava, but I can cope with the wait between chapters. But not this new story...

Ruthie K. (Issue 2) I made the honey breaded chicken and it was a huge hit.

I did it using shnitzel.

Ita Ambinder

(Issue 2) Today's my daughter's birthday. What did she request for her birthday dinner?

Bay is's Breaded Honey Chicken!! Thanks for our new family favorite.

E. Shemesh (Issue 5 Turkey Barley Soup) I made this tonight, it was delicious! And best of all my kids also loved it!

Nurit R.

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Inspiration

Rabbi Noach Tuchinsky

Don't Forget to Say...

T

hank you.

Two of the most powerful words a person can utter.

This is not referring to the thank you said by rote to everyone and everything in our society. Rather the thank you of a sincere recognition that someone did something for you. How important are these two words? All we have to do is look at the first statement a person is supposed to say in the morning; modeh ani. Thanking Hashem, recognizing the amazing gift of life Hashem has given us, is how we begin our day.

The Alei Shor explains that thanking someone awakens and strengthens love between people. So much so that the

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foundation of love is to thank.

Meaning, if someone has love, but does not recognize the kindness and actions others do for him, this love cannot last. So, by thanking Hashem first thing in the morning we are jump-starting Hashem’s love towards us.

Now we understand how giving thanks is such a powerful tool. It is the “weapon” of love. You want to increase love in this world, don’t go buying peace signs and hanging flowers all over the place. Instead thank people! (This must be done in a sincere way and not by just saying the words thank you.)

Do you want to add more love between you and your spouse, children, parents or friends?

Thank them! Your wife made you a meal, thank her. Your husband helped clean the house (even if it is not up to your standards), thank him.

Your children cleaned their rooms or behaved for once, thank them! The amount of love that can be cultivated from these small words is immeasurable.

I want to end by explaining that you should recognize when someone did something good for you even when they were obligated to do that good. For example, you paid a taxi to take you somewhere, even though you paid him he is still deserving of a sincere recognition that he did something good for you. This is especially true in the case of a spouse where we sometimes lose perspective and assume that our spouse has always done this or needs to do it, so a thank you is out of place or even understood.

Even then, thank them. May we increase the love Hashem has for us and klal Israel.

Thank you.

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Parenting

Influence Versus Control

A

few years ago, my then 7-yearold daughter asked if she could have some crackers. It was before supper, so I said, “No”.

She went ahead and took some anyway. Well, this was the perfect opportunity to practice what I had learned that week.

Being a parent is not dependent on whether your children listen to you or not. Your words and rules do not only have legitimacy if they are met with compliance. Your confidence in what you are saying and the fact that you are unfazed by disobedience strengthen the weight of your rules and instructions, causing the child to listen to you in the future of his own accord.

The point is NOT that the child doesn’t have to listen to you.

He should listen to you. The point is getting them to listen

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without being a policeman or a wagon driver with a stick.

This is the difference between control, or force, and discipline, or influence. We want our children to have self-discipline, self-control, and to take responsibility for themselves. That is what parenting is about. Control creates a situation where the child listens as long as I am standing over him or his fear of me is strong. When I am not there, and most importantly, when he grows up and is not afraid of me, whatever I have forced him to do in the past no longer has power over him. He is free to do as he pleases. In Mishlei it states, “Teach a child according to his way, so that even when he is old he will not part from it.” This is our goal as parents, that our children should take what we teach them and make it their own.

Apart from this, the reality, as many of us know, is that

in today’s generation there is something called Attitude.

The sefer Chovas Hatalmidim, written even before World War II, says that it used to be that if an authority would rebuke a child, the child would accept it.

But now, anyone that comes to tell a child what to do is seen by the child as the enemy.

To combat this, it continues, today’s parents need to show the child that they are on their side. That what they are telling them to do is for their own benefit. If the child sees that the parent is on the same team, that he is out for the child’s best interests, then the child has no reason to fight, no reason not to listen, even if he doesn’t like it.

Besides, with control parenting, even if the child does listen to you, where is the relationship? Like we said above, this type of parent runs the risk of being perceived as the enemy. In some cases, the

Hadassah Glanz

Q

My 6-year-old daughter has a very hard time falling asleep because she’s scared of robbers and other such things.

What can I do?

A

While it’s true that your daughter might be scared, what’s keeping her from falling asleep is probably your negative feelings about her being scared. This is a form of negative attention, which is any reaction to a child’s behavior that is based on a negative feeling. People usually think of reactions to negative attention as being anger, annoyance, frustration, etc., but in fact feelings such as worry, pity, anxiety, guilt, and other such emotions are negative feelings and reactions as well. When you react with these, the child enjoys the attention they get and will continue to behave in a way that causes this reaction from their parents.

This is not to say that your daughter isn’t really scared. She might indeed be afraid. But when you react from a weak place such as worry, aside from giving the behavior attention, this reaction also tells her that she is right to be afraid and that there really is something to be afraid of. Think of a child who is anxious on the first day of school.

If the parent feeds into that anxiety by being worried and feeling bad for the child, instead of helping the child, she is making it worse, making the child even more anxious, plus causing the child to play up the negative attention of clinging and crying. This doesn’t mean she doesn’t empathize and acknowledge her child’s emotions, only that she doesn’t add her own to the mix.

If you show your daughter that you are not fazed that she is scared, then she will not have a cause to keep up the behavior. In addition, your confidence that she will be fine will give her confidence as well.

So when she says she’s scared, give her a kiss, tell her “I love you”, and that you are sure she’ll be fine. And then go about your business.

If she keeps saying it, just keep repeating that she’s doing great.

results are not obvious to the public eye. These are the cases of the many grown children that harbor deep resentment towards their parents. There are many that won’t confide in their parents and won’t

share with their parents, even if on the surface they smile, call, and visit. A parent may have several children that were totally fine with this method. But what of the one child that just couldn’t bear

it? We cannot ignore the reality of those that got pushed away by their overbearing, controlling parents.

So, back to my story. I tried this new idea I had just learned. My daughter took the crackers and I just kept quiet and went on as if nothing had happened. I let her “get away with it”! I let her “do whatever she wants”! And the results? I think it was about a year and a half before she took something again without my permission. In general she listens and does what I say as a matter of course. Does that mean she always listen to me, no matter what? No. She’s a child, a person, with inclinations like anyone else that she occasionally, very occasionally, acts on. But it doesn’t worry me one bit. Because I know that her ears and her heart are open to what I want to teach her. Plus, most of the time, getting her to listen is as easy as just saying the words.

Hadassah Glanz trained under Rabbi Brezak, a worldrenowned expert in parenting and author of the book "Chinuch in Turbulent Times". Most stories told were heard from Rabbi Brezak.

Want to get your question answered? Send us your parenting question to parenting@bayismagazine.com Bayis |

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Teaching 101

THE CHALLENGE OF INCLUSION - Part II

A

llow me to provide some practical suggestions for making inclusion

work for you: 1. Make sure that students have not simply been “dumped” into your classroom without special services and supports provided by the administration or special education team in your school. Seek advice from your vice principal, mentor, or a colleague.

2. Make each child in your class feel special by acknowledging the good work they all do and ensuring that, for instance, you post work up on classroom or hall bulletin boards from all students.

3. Focus on what children can do rather than always on what they cannot. For

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example, let each student demonstrate on an occasion a special talent he or she may have (e.g., karate, art, singing, juggling).

4. Encourage and implement activities that promote the development of friendships and relationships between students with and without disabilities. For example, use cooperative learning strategies (more on this strategy in a future column).

5. Teach all your students every day to understand and accept individual differences.

Here is a true story that happened to someone very close to me. ”It’s unfortunate, but we simply can’t accommodate your child’s ‘peculiar’ learning style.”

Sara spoke at a relatively young age. Born to professional educators, Sara was

continually exposed to a rich and varied literate environment. Despite her seemingly precocious development, Sara experienced difficulty in her early grades, 1 through 3, keeping up with her classmates. In grade 5, she had problems with retention of information and could not learn as many scientific facts as other students. Sara came home each evening with much homework. The work was frustrating her and she would inevitably cry.

A s t he s c ho ol yea r progressed, the workload also increased as did her frustration levels. Sara asked her parents to send her to another school. “I hate my school; the kids tease me and they call me ‘dummy.’”

Despite extra help at home with a special tutor, Sara’s educational and social woes

By Rabbi Dr. Yoseif (Jeffrey) Glanz

continued. At a parent-teacher conference, her parents were told that Sara “tries hard but just can’t keep up.” A meeting with the principal proved memorable. After praising Sara’s sweet demeanor and fine character traits, the principal suggested that perhaps finding another school would be in Sara’s best interests. “It’s unfortunate, but we simply can’t accommodate your child’s ‘peculiar’ learning style.” Shocked by the principal’s naivety, if not ignorance of current pedagogic and learning theories, the parents reluctantly registered their precious Sara into a private school that provided resource room assistance as well as inclusion class options.

Many schools neither recognize nor appreciate that all children learn differently, or if they do, they take little

or no action to match pedagogical strategies to varied learning styles. The one-sizefits-all approach to pedagogy and curriculum is ingrained in the minds and actions of many educators. Teachers, until recently, have not been prepared to teach a diverse group of students with varied learning styles. Research consistently demonstrates that most classrooms, especially at the middle and high school levels, “use traditional instructional methods such as lecture, assigned readings, drill, and independent practice.” Though many students do thrive in traditional classroom settings, many more do not. Extensive research has been conducted that demonstrates that poor academic achievement is often a consequence of a teacher’s inability to match

instructional strategies to a child’s learning styles preferences. Students whose learning styles do not match the teacher’s instructional approaches are often excluded from classroom discourse.

Reflection What’s your reaction to the scenario above with Sara?

How would you accommodate her in your classroom?

Rabbi Dr. Glanz earned his Ed.D. degree in education from Teachers College, Columbia University. He taught for 15 years in elementary and middle school classrooms, served as a school administrator for five years, and has taught at the college/university levels for the past thirty years. Currently, he lives in Eretz Yisroel and serves as the Program Head for MichlalahJerusalem College's master’s degree in educational administration. He also teaches online for Yeshiva University’s Azrieli Gradaute School of Jewish Education and Administration. He hopes to stimulate dialogue and welcomes your comments.

You can contact him at Teaching@bayismagazine. com For the author's latest book that was just published, see http://www.yourlivewebdemo.com/ landingpages/ENGAGE/index.html

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ARTIST SPOTLIGHT Elisheva Rudolph

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By Naomi Lerman

li7Creations offers beautifully handcrafted Judaica. Their custom-designed challah covers, tallis bags and wall hangings are truly works of art. Eli7Creations, is run by the talented Elisheva Rudolph.

Growing up in St. Louis, Elisheva Rudolph took part in art classes every summer. These classes were an artistic outlet that Elisheva looked forward to each year. Eventually, she became interested in jewelry design and metalsmithing. But when she and her family moved to New York right before ninth grade, she looked for classes to learn more about this medium and the closest class was a 40 minute drive. Thankfully, her parent’s agreed to the course and happily drove the 40 minutes. She would end up attending this class once a week for two to three years.

So how did you make the move from jewelry design to quilting?

I remember the summer before twelfth grade, a day or two before the jewelry class was supposed to start, they canceled it because there wasn’t enough enrollment. I was so disappointed because that was my creative outlet in the summer. My mother was talking to one of her close friends and she told her about a quilting teacher in the neighborhood.

She was a religious woman who was a quilter and taught quilting classes one-on-one.

I never finished my first quilt because, by then, I had already started veering off towards Judaica and wall hangings. Two of my friends got engaged and I wanted to make them each a wall hanging. For one I made a wall hanging with a monogram that had both their names in it. I created and designed the monogram and they have it hanging in their house. I then made a totally different, more of a whimsical, wall hanging for my other friend.

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After those two projects, what was the next memorable piece you made?

When I was engaged to my husband, I made his tallis bag and then after that anybody who saw it complimented it and said I have to start something with it. When we were married for about two years we came to Gruss Kollel, and at that time housing and utilities were covered and we got some food as well, so I viewed it as an opportunity to start working on things. I worked on my website and then I started growing my business slowly at that point.

How do people choose the design for their piece?

If people do not have a design concept in mind, I direct them to look at my website or we work on developing a custom design.

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What’s your favorite part about your business?

I love the creative process and being able to create something beautiful for people’s homes that can beautify how people perform mitzvos. I also really like hearing people’s reactions. I think it was two years ago, someone ordered a wall hanging for her parent’s anniversary.

It was an involved design so there was a lot of back and forth and the design process took some time. When they saw it they flipped! Not only did she thank me for it, but her parents did as well!

With seven children at home I’m sure things get busy!

How do you find time for your business?

Usually in the mornings when the kids are out or napping and sometimes in the evenings or in the middle of the night depending on how

my deadlines are. In terms of focusing I work it around my own schedule. Things have evolved. At times I’ve had assistants help me with the process, but now, I accept orders that I can handle on my own that work into my busy life as a mother. That’s something that I really like about the work. It’s an outlet for me and I really enjoy it. Its also great as it allows me to be home with my kids.

Are your kids interested in art?

You definitely see it in the kids.

My oldest son is very artistic and he is taking art classes.

A few of my other children are also interested in art and crafts. They also love looking at the different pieces that I have created!

To see Elisheva’s art and to inquire about ordering, check out her website: http://www. eli7creations.com/

Email editor@BayisMagzine.com for more information Bayis |

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As Told to Ruchie Shapiro

MOTHER-IN-LAW VS. DAUGHTER-IN-LAW

LADY WHO TOOK HER SON AWAY

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S

hiffy* says she didn’t see any of the signs. Her soon to be mother-in-law was sweet, giving, funny, and thoughtful. Shiffy couldn’t wait to marry Jonathan and be a part of his family. Oh, how she regretted that last part. Of course she was glad to be married to him, he was everything she wanted and needed. That was far from the truth with his family, or more specifically,

his mother.

Almost immediately after the wedding, things turned sour.

Shiffy’s mother in law would butt into every conversation the new couple was having, to the point where they needed to hide just to speak to each other. This made sheva brachos with his side of the family very stressful. They assumed things would calm down once they were long forgotten as the newlyweds, but it was just the opposite.

Though they lived an hour away from Jonathan’s old neighborhood, his mother had no issue showing up at their apartment unannounced. Shiffy would not have minded it so much, as Jonathan was out most of the day and she was bored. But she came to mind it very much. Her mother-in-law

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Not Quite Funny Things – Said by Mothers-in-Law: Just tell me you’re expecting already —it’s obvious! (nope, she wasn’t!)

Those dots on your face are ugly.

(But they’re my freckles!)

She is 8 months already, time to potty train!

You should try MY meatball recipe, then the kids would eat dinner.

My children never had tantrums.

Here sweetie, I got you a present, it’s a gym membership — you need it…

I loved Devorah, she was so great, what a shame. (Devorah WAS engaged to my husband) At a wedding: Wow makeup really helps!

Something looks different in the house, oh it’s clean!

He is so adorable and well behaved, definitely from our side of the family.

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They didn’t know what to do; Jonathan himself was shocked, he had no idea his mother would act this way. criticized everything she did.

Why did she choose THOSE color pillows for the couch, why was the painting not put on the other wall, and even worse — why was she making THAT for dinner?!

Shiffy always answered as nicely as she could, listening, yet ignoring her mother-inlaw at the same time, but it started to eat away at her.

With every move she took she needed to think how her mother-in-law would react.

Every day when Jonathan came home, their conversation would be about his mother and how she acted.

It was all they could talk about. They didn’t know what to do; Jonathan himself was shocked, he had no idea his mother would act this way.

As time went on they tried to disconnect themselves from her. Shiffy would leave the house just so she wouldn’t have to entertain her. Eventually they decided

it was time to move farther away. At this point Shiffy was expecting, and no longer wanted to hear advice from Jonathan’s mother on how to birth the baby.

Though they moved over four hours away, that did not stop Jonathan’s mother. She would call, text, and email Jonathan every day to check in on him.

You can only imagine what happened once the new baby arrived. His mother would call Shiffy telling her that it was supposed to be chilly that day and she should layer the baby’s clothing, to keep warm.

And then came the tip of the iceberg, where Shiffy said enough is enough. They were visiting Jonathan’s family when finally, after hours and hours of Shiffy repeating the word to little Avi, Avi finally did it. He finally said “Mama.” But just as soon as he said it, Shiffy’s motherin-law exclaimed “He said it! He said Oma!” Shiffy and Jonathan tried to explain that in fact he was saying “Mama”, but “Oma” wouldn’t hear of it.

Her grandson’s first word was Oma and she let everyone and anyone know it.

And so Shiffy and Jonathan decided it was time to tell “Oma” how they felt. A few days later, Jonathan spoke with his mother explaining how it hurts him to see her treat Shiffy this way. His mother became very defensive

Here are some tips to attempt to make the relationship better, from both sides.

FOR DAUGHTERS-IN-LAW:

FOR MOTHERS-IN-LAW:

Include your mother-in-law more in your life.

Compliment your daughter-in-law.

Ask her advice (on things you don’t mind getting advice on).

Be there for her whenever you can.

Call her up asking for a recipe of hers (this is always a winner).

Be honest (in a nice way!). If something upset you, tell her nicely how you felt. It could be she had no idea that what she said hurt you.

If you don’t like it, look away. This is the way your son and his wife are running their household; better to stay quiet about it than to cause conflict.

When trying to offer advice, do it in the nicest way possible, even in a passing comment as opposed to in confrontation.

Be thankful for ANY help you get.

Love her like you would YOUR OWN mother (unconditionally).

and they ended up arguing.

Jonathan and Shiffy went back home, saddened by the uncomfortable ending of their trip. And then it was quiet.

His mother did not call, she did not text, and she did not email. Shiffy was confused.

Finally her mother-in-law left them alone, but why did it make her feel so bad?

A week passed, and Shiffy found herself text messaging her mother-in-law asking how she was, to no response.

And so Shiffy wrote, and wrote, and wrote. She wrote to her about how she was so excited to be close to her, but the degrading comments made it impossible. She found

Love her like you would YOUR OWN daughter (unconditionally).

herself writing too much, and then it was done. She couldn’t turn back now. The response came…

“I understand,” it said. “He’s my baby,” it said. “I will try”.

And that was it.

Slowly but surely things went back to (almost) normal. Every now and then Jonathan’s mother would say her usual remarks, but Shiffy knew it was not intentional. Her mother-in-law just wanted to be a part of their life, yes, maybe too much, but she couldn’t let go of her son, and Shiffy understood. Looking at her own son, she couldn’t imagine how it would feel to entrust him to someone else.

Though their relationship is not perfect, over time Shiffy and her mother-in-law have found some common ground.

They talk about the kids, discuss sales and the price of fish, and when “Oma” makes her hur tful comments, Shiffy decides to look away and not let the small things bother her.

While this, as you may have noticed, is a very extreme case, it highlights many problems faced in the relationship between mothers and daughters-in-law. Unfortunately, many women can relate. *Names have been changed Bayis |

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History of...

PASTA

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Pasta became a world staple in the 14th and 15th Century. Durum wheat was the key to pasta’s success since when dried it had a very long shelf life. Pasta was able to be stored on ships for their long journeys and this resilience caused it to spread across the globe in the age of discovery.

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The History of pasta goes way back. As early as 2000 years ago Galen, a Greek physician, wrote of itrion, a food made from flour and water. The Talmud Yerushalmi, likewise describes a food called etrium which was a boiled dough! (In modern Hebrew etriot are noodles.)

The word pasta has its root in Latin where pasta means dough. The Latin comes from the Greek pasta meaning barley porridge.

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The Italians love their pasta. Italy is not only the largest exporter of pasta, but also has the largest consumption of pasta per capita, with an astonishing 26 kilo of pasta consumed per person. To give us a perspective, the next country with the largest consumption was Venezuela with a meager 12 kilo, less than half of the consumption of Italians.

There are over 300 forms of pasta that are called by over 1300 different names.

Thomas Jefferson was believed to be a main driving force behind the spread and popularity of pasta in the New World. Jefferson, on a visit to Paris, fell in love with macaroni and brought two cases back with him.

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By Liba Lurie

ARE YOU A GOOD MOTHER?

How to know if you’re doing a good job

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If you’re reading this, then being a good mom is important to you.

Maybe you wonder if you’re getting it right. And maybe you worry that you’re not. In either case, if you’re a mom who thinks about her relationship with her kids, and looks for ways to improve her self-understanding and her communication with them, then you can rest assured; you’re already ahead of the game.

Because, believe it or not, not every parent is conscious about his or her parenting.

Not every parent thinks about how their interactions with their kids are shaping who they become in the future, or thinking about how they can optimize their relationship with their kids’ so they will grow up to be happy, self-assured and resilient adults.

But let’s say you’re not one of those parents. Let’s say you’ve reached this point in the article and you’re feeling anxious and insecure; wondering if you’re totally failing as a parent because, well, those words just did not reflect your approach to parenting.

If that’s the case, you can rest assured. Because whether or not you consciously contemplate your relationship with your kids, if you’re reading this, and you’ve come this far, then you can count yourself in the group of good moms who are committed to doing their best.

But what about all those times when you’re almost certain that you’re blowing it?

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Like you’re inflicting irreparable wounds on your child’s sense of self?

When you feel inadequate, hopeless, like a huge failure?

Because I know that I’m not alone in those moments.

I know, and am comforted by the fact, that there are moms out there, just like me, who feel overwhelmed and disconnected at times, and who lose it on their kids as a result.

So if you’re like me, here’s a little secret to help you overcome your self-doubt and insecurities when you can’t help but wonder if you’re getting it right: Are you ready for this one?

There’s no such thing as a perfect parent!

I know, you’ve heard that before.

It makes perfect sense.

I tell myself that all the time.

But even though it makes sense intellectually, you don’t always feel like it’s true.

There are times when you think you’re the exception and you’re doing a botch job! So, allow me to introduce you to a phrase coined by physician and psychoanalyst Donal Winnicott, that has changed the way I see myself as a mother and has empowered me in my relationship with my kids. It’s called The Good Enough Mother.

You like that?

It’s not about getting it right all the time. It’s about

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It’s not about getting it right all the time. It’s about getting it right most of the time.

getting it right most of the time. And knowing what to do when you miss it.

In my experience as a mother, and a psychologist, I’ve come to recognize that good enough parenting is, well, good enough.

What that means is that all of us are going to miss our children’s needs, not just sometimes, but time and again.

Welcome to the club.

But if you meet your children’s needs enough of the time, the results will b e h appier, hea lt h ier, more secure children, and parents too.

If you try. If you think about your relationship with your kids and how you can improve your understanding and communication with them, then I can confidently say, you are a good enough mom and you can rest assured that your children will not be perfect (because who is!? and who needs to be anyways?!) but they will grow up knowing that they are valuable, because they have a parent who values them enough to try to recognize and meet their needs.

Even if you only get it right most of the time.

Liba Lurie is a licensed psychologist in private practice and creator of www. motherhoodinthemaking.com, a project that offers guidance and support to parents who feel overwhelmed and out of balance regain their sense of calm, control and connection to themselves and their kids so that they can enjoy raising kids who thrive. Liba can be reached at www.libalurie.com

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in the

Recipes and Photos By Rena Tuchinsky

Kitchen

Perfect Pastas Along with the cold weather come big plates of warm comfort foods. Pasta is a definite winner, but you may get tired of the same baked ziti, vodka sauce, alfredo etc. Here, I’m sharing some great new pasta dishes that are simple to put together and will keep you full and comforted!

PUMPKIN BAKED ZITI This is a nice twist on the classic baked ziti. Move over marinara sauce! This creamy pumpkin pasta is sure to please. lb penne pasta, boiled till al 1 dente and drained

1 15oz can pumpkin puree ½ teaspoon garlic powder ½ teaspoon ground nutmeg ½ teaspoon salt 1 teaspoon oregano ¼ teaspoon black pepper ½ cup milk 1 cup cottage cheese 1 cup shredded cheese, plus more for topping

1. P reheat the oven to 350oF and grease a 9x13 baking dish.

2. M ix together the pumpkin, spices, milk, cottage cheese, and shredded cheese.

3. A dd in the cooked pasta and mix to combine.

4. T op with more cheese and bake uncovered till golden brown, about 20 minutes.

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GARLIC BASIL PASTA When I was younger, my parents used to bring me to this great café, and every single time we went I’d get the same exact thing! I always told myself that one day I’d recreate the dish at home, and now I finally did. The flavorful garlic and basil mixed with the saltiness of the sundried tomatoes and feta cheese makes the perfect combination. No need to go out

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to eat this anymore — and I’m not complaining.

1 lb bow tie pasta, boiled and drained ¼ cup olive oil 8 cloves garlic, finely minced ¼ cup packed thinly sliced basil ½ cup packed thinly sliced and halved sundried tomatoes ¼ cup pine nuts ¼ teaspoon black pepper ¼ teaspoon salt Feta cheese, crumbled

1. Heat the olive oil in a large pot, on medium heat.

2. A dd in the garlic and sauté until golden, being careful not to burn it. Then add in the sliced basil, sundried tomatoes, and pine nuts.

3. W hen fragrant and the pine nuts have toasted a bit, add in the cooked pasta, salt and pepper. Stir till fully combined.

4. S prinkle on the feta cheese before serving.

CREAMY FETTUCCINE WITH ROASTED SWEET POTATOES Yet another dish I had at a restaurant! This sauce is unlike anything I’ve ever had. Slightly sweet, yet earthy with a hint of spice. Add in the sweet potatoes and you are in pasta heaven!

1 lb fettuccine noodles, boiled and drained 1 large sweet potato, peeled and cubed 1 tablespoon oil 2 tablespoons butter ¾ teaspoon nutmeg ¾ teaspoon allspice 1 cup sweet white wine 2 cups heavy cream 2 cups light cream or half and half

½ teaspoon salt, or more to taste Shake of black pepper

1. P reheat oven to 375oF. Place the cubed sweet potato on a baking sheet and toss with the oil. Bake for 30-35 minutes, until lightly browned. Mix once during that time for even baking. Once removed, sprinkle on some salt and set aside.

2. Heat the butter on medium heat till melted. Then add in the nutmeg and allspice. Allow to become fragrant and cook for about 1 minute.

3. Add in the white wine and let simmer for about 3 minutes.

Then add in the cream, salt and pepper.

4. L ower the heat and cook for 5 minutes. Watch that it does not boil.

5. T oss the pasta with the sauce and sweet potatoes before serving.

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720-987-1538

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LRWILEN4@GMAIL.COM

Must-Have Kitchen

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Tips for

Healthy Living

Peanut Butter in Moderation Let’s face it, there is just something about digging your spoon into a jar of peanut butter and going to town. If you are a fan of peanut butter (or any nut butter), you definitely understand the struggle. Here are some tips to help you enjoy it, but without going overboard.

1

MEASURE IT — Step away from the jar! Just take a tablespoon or so and put the jar away.

2

MIX IT — A mixture of some greek yogurt, a bit of peanut butter, and a little honey is great for dipping apples. Enjoy the flavor but with even more protein and less fat.

3

MELT IT — A little goes a longer way when you melt it. Just drizzle over some fruit and enjoy! You’ll end up cutting the amount you’d normally have in half!

Remember — Follow the 3 M’s!

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Eye on Health

Move over Gluten

T

urns out gluten isn’t the only culprit when it comes to an immune reaction to wheat. New research suggests non-gluten proteins are also a source of those immune reactions to wheat.

The new suspects are a family of proteins called amylase-trypsin inhibitors, or ATIs. While they make up only four percent of the proteins in wheat, ATIs can trigger powerful immune reactions that can spread from the gut to other tissues in the body, such as the lymph nodes, kidneys, spleen, and even the brain. ATIs are also shown to inflame pre-existing chronic conditions. And, ultimately, ATIs contribute to the development of gluten sensitivity.

At this time, it’s not entirely clear how much of a role ATI proteins play compared to gluten. We know from previous research that people with symptoms of gluten sensitivity have been shown to react to several different types of gluten, as well as lectins and agglutinin.

The evolution of understanding wheat sensitivity It used to be celiac disease was the only recognized immune reaction to wheat. Celiac disease is an autoimmune condition that affects a small percent of the population and requires medically invasive diagnostic criteria. Only recently has mainstream medicine begun to accept non-celiac gluten sensitivity.

For decades, patients who tested negative for celiac disease or even gluten sensitivity (standard testing is severely limited) have been told “It’s all in your head.” Today, the scientific legitimacy of an immune reaction to wheat is growing.

Research continues and in the future, your doctor may recommend an “ATI-free” diet instead of a gluten-free diet. Either way, if you react to gluten, avoiding it is the best choice for your longterm health.

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SYMPTOMS OF GLUTEN SENSITIVITY Symptoms of gluten sensitivity can include digestive issues such as abdominal pain and symptoms similar to irritable bowel syndrome (IBS).

Common symptoms not related to the gut include: Headaches, joint pain, eczema, brain fog, and a number of dysfunctions related to the brain and nervous system.

“IN ORDER TO BE REALIST, YOU MUST BELIEVE IN MIRACLES”

H O L I STI C H EALTH AN D WELLNE SS C O A C H

LAURELLEDERMAN.WEEBLY.COM

Chapter 7 Chava joins Shoshana for Shabbos and is exposed to a lifestyle she has never seen before. At the Shabbos table Chava's phone beings to ring.

C

hava pushed her chair away from the table and stood up, retrieving her phone from her pocket.

“So sorry,” she said as the eyes of each member of Shoshana’s family followed her.

“I’ll just be a minute.”

Chava skipped out of the room to the back of the kitchen, where she accepted the call and lifted it to her ear with a great sense of relief.

“Evie,” she said. “You have no idea what I’ve been going through.”

Evie laughed. “I’m glad I could save you,” she said. “You’ve been there for a few hours already, so I thought I would call.”

“Evie,” Chava said. “Evie, Evie, you have no idea. I’m so glad you called.”

“Is it really that bad?”

“It’s just—” Chava fell into one of the kitchen table chairs and leaned her head against her hand. “I don’t know what I thought I would get out of this. I don’t know why I thought this was the way to do it. I need answers about my family, not religious craziness.”

“You thought learning about Judaism would lead you to your family.”

“I know,” Chava said. “But it just doesn’t seem like it.” Chava

finding chava By: Shira Katz

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| Bayis

sighed. “What do I do now?

Where do I go from here?”

“I would stick out the night.”

“Really?”

Evie laughed again. “Did you want me to tell you to leave?”

Chava drew a pattern on the top of the wooden table.

“Maybe,” she said, chuckling.

For the second time that night, Chava’s birth certificate rose to mind.

She had been born in Parkland, as far as she knew— “I think you should stay.

Learn as much as you can.

Be aggressive and ask lots of questions. Then you can come home, and you never have to do it again.”

Chava nodded to herself. “I wish you were here,” she said.

“Maybe next time,” Evie said.

They hung up, and Chava put her phone back in her pocket, stood up, and stretched her arms above her head. She knew she needed to go back into that room. She knew these people were trying their best to be hospitable to her, even if it wasn’t exactly working.

She needed to try to make the

Rabbi Dr. Yoseif Rabbi (Jeffrey) Daniel Glanz Glanz best of this. Chava smoothed her hands down the front of her skirt, and then marched back into the dining room. It was silent, all members of the family clinking their spoons against the sides of their soup bowls, which Chava guessed had been served while she was gone. There was a bowl on her plate too, with a giant yellow ball floating in the middle of the soup.

Shoshana looked up at her as she sat down.

“We don’t use cell phones on Shabbos—” “I know,” Chava said. She began to eat her soup, and Shoshana seemed to shrink back from her. “What is this?”

Chava asked, poking her spoon at the yellow ball.

“That’s a matza ball,” Shoshana’s mother said.

“What’s that?”

“It’s a traditional Jewish food.

We make it with eggs and spices and matza meal, which is made from a special type of unleavened bread called matza that we use on a holiday called Passover.”

Chava nodded, satisfied with what she felt was the first full answer she had gotten from anyone today, and dipped her spoon into the matza ball. “It’s good,” she said.

Shoshana’s mother nodded and smiled at her. Chava smiled back, feeling that the only person willing to go the extra mile at the table tonight was Shoshana’s mother. She decided to direct her questions to her.

“So you know other people

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35

with my name?” Chava asked.

“Of course,” Shoshana’s mother said. “It’s very common.”

“I never knew how to pronounce it,” Chava said. “My parents call me Ava.” “Were you adopted?”

Shoshana’s father asked.

Chava blinked rapidly. “What?

No—no. No, I’m not.” She quickly searched through her memory and confirmed that she had seen her birth certificate in person when she had gotten her driver’s license. Her heart rate began to decrease.

There was a short break in the conversation while Shoshana and her mother collected the soup bowls and then proceeded to serve the main courses.

Everything looked and smelled delicious, from beautiful salads to what looked like potato casserole, from roasted chicken and sweet-smelling brisket to green beans and slivered almonds.

Chava helped pass the food around the table, impressed at how gorgeous the display was and how amazing the food tasted.

Shoshana’s brothers began a conversation among themselves, and Shoshana’s mother scooted her chair closer to Chava.

“So tell me more about how you ended up at my Shabbos table.”

“I wanted to learn more about Judaism,” Chava said, “because I discovered that there was a time in my parents’ lives when they were more involved in Judaism

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than they are now. I came here looking to learn a little bit, and I met Shoshana in the bookstore.”

Shoshana hadn’t spoken since the cell phone incident, but was nodding as Chava spoke.

“You’re from near here?”

Shoshana asked.

“No,” Chava said. “A few towns over. About two hours.

Parkland.”

Shoshana’s mother’s fork slipped against her plate and made a loud, high-pitched squeal that reverberated across the room.

“I’m sorry,” she said. She quietly moved some potato casserole onto her plate, and Shoshana slid her eyes away from her mother, who was pushing food around her plate, and back towards Chava.

“I can’t imagine finding out something like that about my family,” Shoshana said. “It must be a crazy journey for you.”

“It is,” Chava said. “It brought me here.”

Shoshana blinked and hesitated, looking at Chava from under her eyelashes, and then Chava broke into a smile, and both girls laughed.

“Have you lived in—Parkland all your life?” Shoshana’s mother asked.

“Yeah, born and raised. I just graduated from Parkland North High School.”

“You were born there?”

Shoshana’s mother asked. She lifted her eyes from her plate

and looked into Chava’s eyes.

For the second time that night, Chava’s birth certificate rose to mind. She had been born in Parkland, as far as she knew— everyone in her circle of friends had been. The town was on the smaller side, and most families didn’t stray very far from the city limits, raising generations of children there. She had always assumed that she had been born at Parkshore Hospital, as had all of her friends. But now that she thought of it, her birthplace had been the one thing on her birth certificate that hadn’t fit. She had never asked her parents about it, because they never answered questions, and she had forgotten about it until right now.

She looked at Shoshana’s mother, who was staring back at her, and the incredibly uneasy feeling that the woman knew what Chava was thinking crept up her back.

“I guess—” Chava swallowed. “I guess you’re right, I technically wasn’t born there. I was born in a hospital closer to the city.”

“Where all of my children were born,” Shoshana’s mother said.

“It’s a big hospital, I guess,” Chava said.

Shoshana’s mother said nothing more on the subject, and while they ate dessert, Shoshana explained to Chava what would happen next, including a grace after meals. In the morning, she said, they usually went to

Rabbi Daniel Glanz

the synagogue that was a few minutes’ walking distance from their house.

“Won’t I look weird?”

Chava said.

“You can borrow something from me,” Shoshana said. Chava nodded. The family around her began singing. Shoshana gave her a little booklet with Hebrew printed on one side and English on the other, which she opened to a page somewhere in the middle. Chava pretended to follow along, but really she just traced the outline of the unfamiliar blocky letters with her finger, wondering which of those letters might spell out her name. They sang for longer than she had expected, and then they all dissolved into weird, quiet whispers. Chava drummed her fingers on the table, stared around at all the art on the walls, and studied the curls in Shoshana’s mother’s hair and the reflections of the candlelight against the wall. After what seemed like a long time, Shoshana finally put down her little pamphlet and took Chava’s arm.

“We can clear the table later,” she said. She took Chava to her room, where the lights were all off, and Chava remembered that they didn’t use any electricity and would have to keep the lights off if they wanted to sleep. Shoshana rotated a small wooden pillar sitting atop her desk until she revealed a

lightbulb that was already on, which gently illuminated parts of the room.

“Let’s find you something to wear!”

••• Later that night, after having returned with Shoshana to the kitchen for some latenight brownies and then being handed a pile of skirts and shirts to take back with her, Chava lay in her room staring up at the ceiling, the clothes piled on the dresser. Not so long ago, on the day after her high school graduation, she had also lain on a bed and stared at the ceiling. But that had been back home, in her own room, not in some strange Orthodox Jewish person’s house.

So much had changed. Chava flipped onto her stomach and idly scrolled through pages on her phone. She thought about calling Evie, but didn’t know what else to say. Her experience after the phone incident hadn’t been quite as bad. Shoshana had gotten better, and Shoshana’s mother was certainly nice.

Chava rolled over again.

Shoshana’s mother. There was something weird about the way she had looked at Chava, the way she had spoken to her. Chava didn’t know what it was, but it felt like somehow Shoshana’s mother knew her.

Chava shuddered. She hopped out of bed, turned off the lights, and then climbed under the covers. In the dark, she

wondered again about her birth certificate and why she had never asked about the hospital.

••• In the morning, Chava was woken up by a knock on her door. It was much later than she had expected, and she tried to dress quickly, throwing on one of Shoshana’s skirts and shirts at random. As she was leaving her room to meet Shoshana, she caught sight of herself in the mirror. She paused briefly at the door, swishing the calflength skirt against her leg and touching the high-necked collar with her fingertips. She shook her head as she descended the staircase. What kind of crazy show was she putting on? The material of the collar felt stiff against her skin, and she was acutely aware of how frumpy she looked in a skirt this long.

She wished she had put on her own clothing, because no matter how much of an outsider she would have felt in her sheersleeved shirt, she felt even more of an outsider in Shoshana’s clothing. Now she was both an outsider and a pretender.

The walk to synagogue with Shoshana and her mother was quiet. It was a sunny and breezy morning, and they crossed paths with several other women who were walking towards the same small square building, its flat roof topped with a dome.

They entered the main doors of the synagogue and then

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37

Table of Contents

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| Bayis

R E G UL ATE

this community, with so many said. She squeezed Chava’s strange rules and customs, hand, and then moved away. existed only two hours away Chava cradled that hand in the from where she grew up, with crook of her elbow, feeling chills what she had always believed down her back. She looked at was normal and universal?

Shoshana’s mother out of the “Good Shabbos.” corner of her eye and could Chava turned. A woman with feel that she was still staring red hair was smiling at her. back at her.

“Hello,” Chava said.

“Esther?”

“Welcome,” the woman said.

Chava was staring straight “You’re visiting?” ahead, trying to assess “Yes,” Chava said. She waved Shoshana’s mother with her her hand towards Shoshana peripheral vision without and her group of friends. “I’m letting her know she was lookvisiting with Shoshana.” ing. She didn’t realize that the Our expertise includes: “Very nice. And—” woman was speaking to her » Diabetes Education and Self-Management “Miriam.” Shoshana’s mother until she was standing directly had approached them fromInsulin in front of her. » Advanced Pump Therapy; Fine-tunin behind Chava’s shoulder. Chava “Esther Borden? I never » CGM Analysis shifted to make room for her. thought I’d see you again.”

“This is Chava.»

She’s visiting us Chavaplanning immediately refocused Individualized meal and weight ma for Shabbos. Shoshana invited her eyes, and for a brief second » Extensive knowledge of diabetes medication her. Chava is from Parkland.” she saw a short, stout woman » Collaborating with yourhair physician reach y Miriam blinked.

There was with black who wasto frana split-second » pause, so quick and tically searching her(gestation face, Fingerstick injection training that Chava almost thought she before strong arms grasped imagined it, where the two her own forearms and forcibly over 50 pounds my r lost how Iher ple ask mepulled peoother.

Whe women stared atneach away. erences t food pref ks with my hie worShoshana’s e: Roc the sam “So—so nice,” Miriam said. mother was dragmy A weight, losingfrom still away I am “So nice.” plan that I can keep to. ging Chava the ie K., Age 3 ? who was stillDebb I like the food I mention “Isn’t it nice?”

Shoshana’s woman, standing mother said. there, calling for Esther.

TYPE 1 / TYPE 2 / Shoshana’s GESTATIO Chava looked between the two “We’re going home,” women, who were both starmother said. ing back at her. She swallowed, “Borden is my last name,” unsure of what was happening.

Chava said. She said it much “Thank you for showing me all more to herself than to anyone of this,” Chava said. else. She let herself be dragged Miriam reached out and out of the reception room. She took her hand. She looked into was completely shaken. Who Chava’s eyes. “We’re very glad was Esther Borden? to have you, Chava,” Miriam to be continued...

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continued up a side flight of stairs to a balcony, where Chava could see the men on the floor below through a thin, white veil. She had not read anything in her book about men and women being separated, and she immediately felt awkward.

Shoshana gave her a book, again with Hebrew on one side and English on the other, and again pointed out the page. Chava zoned out. She leaned forward and pushed the veil aside so she could examine what the men were doing, but she wasn’t able to see them. Their heads were all covered with white shawls.

Chava leaned back and shook her head. Were they all crazy?

After sitting, bored out of her mind, for multiple hours, including at least half an hour of a rabbi’s speech that she barely understood, all of the women filed downstairs to what Chava assumed was some sort of reception. A ring of girls Shoshana’s age filed in around her, and Chava stood off to the side, watching the scene. Shoshana and her friends, covered in elegant but very conservative clothing, stood about six feet away from a group of young men who looked about the same age and who all wore formal black suits and black hats. The two groups seemed totally unaware of each other. Chava shook her head. Evie wouldn’t believe her eyes. How was it possible that

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onse is always sp re y m ds un po 50 er ov st lo I e how te a winning ea cr to s When people ask mor ce en er ef pr od fo y m with n, and did w do is 1c A the same: Rochie w toks y m t, gh ei w ng si lo still iously Type 2! plan that I can keepfood. I?»am ev Pr , 39 ge A ., K e bi eb D I mention I like the TYPE 1 / TYPE 2 / GESTATIONAL DIABETES / PREDIABETES / DIABETES PREVENTION / PCOS Bayis |

39

The Broken Part 3

D

evorah could not rid herself of the idea that Asher was dating someone else. Every time she looked at Suri, she imagined him taking Suri’s sister to the same places he had taken her. She imagined him asking, in the same sweet way he had asked her, with a single rose and a soft voice, if she wanted to become his wife. For so long she had tried not to think about him, now she couldn’t stop.

Every man on the street had the potential to be him. Devorah started frequenting the Kotel. She davened longer and harder than she ever had before. She wanted this madness to stop. She began to miss chessed days with Mrs. Potash, because she would sit in front of the Kotel and say Tehillim until her throat hurt from whispering. She hadn’t spoken to Elisheva in several days. She had left her several messages indicating that she needed to talk to her. After she saw Asher in Geula, she had gone straight home and called Elisheva. She had decided it was time to tell someone what had happened. But Elisheva had never gotten back to her.

Seeing him again had unlocked a slew of painful feelings that had not gone away since. She felt like she was walking around with a rock in her chest, a constant and painful dull ache that exhausted her, made her want to close her eyes and sleep. On the day before Erev Sukkos, Devorah marched up to Elisheva’s sister’s door and banged until her husband opened it, looking confused. Ruchie was in the kitchen, hammering chicken for schnitzel. Elisheva was standing

CROWN

By Lily Rosenberg

over a pot of soup, stirring.

“We’re going out,” Devorah said. Elisheva, Ruchie, and Ruchie’s young daughter Esti all looked at her.

“We’re going out,” Devorah said again. “Shevy, let’s go.”

Elisheva put down the spoon and wiped her hands on the front of her skirt. “I’m coming,” she said. Devorah stood at the door, her chest heaving. She tried to take deep breaths. She had never been this aggressive towards anyone.

But she felt like she was running very fast up a hill, and she knew something was going to hit her, hard.

When Elisheva met her at the door, she asked where they were going, and Devorah made a vague gesture towards town. Elisheva stuffed her hands into the pockets of her skirt.

“I got your message,” Elisheva said. “I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you.”

“I don’t think that’s a great excuse.”

“I was meeting with the Rav who is finalizing the get.”

Devorah opened her mouth and then closed it.

What was she supposed to say to that?

“You can still call me,” Devorah said after a minute. “I’m still around,” she said.

“Where are we going?” Elisheva asked after they had been walking for a bit.

Devorah shrugged. “Sam’s Bagels,” she said. “Geula.”

Elisheva followed her quietly onto a bus.

Devorah looked at her profile as Elisheva stared out the window. She looked beautiful in her sheitel, the one they had shopped for together

with Elisheva’s mother. Devorah sighed. She put a hand on Elisheva’s shoulder and squeezed.

Elisheva looked at her briefly.

“It’s been a tough month,” Elisheva said.

Devorah nodded in agreement, and it occurred to her that nobody, not even Elisheva knew how difficult this month had been for her.

They got off the bus and walked down the street towards Sam’s Bagels.

“We used to come here all the time,” Elisheva said.

Devorah nodded, and watched a couple of chassidim approach the counter at a take-out place across the street.

“I need to talk to you,” Devorah said.

Elisheva nodded. “I know,” she said. The waiter came and took their orders. Devorah shifted in her seat.

“It’s just been really hard for me,” Devorah said when he left.

“I know,” Elisheva said. “I knew this was coming. It came with my parents too.”

“What?”

“My parents also had this conversation with me. And Ruchie too. How hard it is to have a divorced person in the family.”

“What—no—this isn’t about you.”

“Oh, I know,” Elisheva said. “It isn’t about me. It’s never about me. It’s just hard to accept divorce, nothing personal. That’s what they all said to me.”

“What—Shevy—” “You know what, it’s fine. I don’t care that you’re all being like this. It’s fine. I didn’t need anyone to be there for me.”

“Be there for you? What else have I done this entire month?”

The waiter came with their food and drinks, and there was silence at the table. Devorah pushed her food away from her. She wasn’t hungry at all.

“This is what you think?” She asked. “You think I wasn’t there for you?”

Elishva shrugged. “Nobody understands what I’m going through. Nobody.”

“This isn’t about you!” Devorah stood. She hugged her arms around her body and willed herself not to cry. “This isn’t about you, Shevy.

Not everything is about you.”

“Well I’m sorry for thinking my divorce mattered.”

Devorah threw up her hands. “I’m sorry for thinking my life mattered to you,” she said.

“Oh really, and what has gone so wrong in your life? Other than your best friend getting divorced?”

“You know what, it is because of you! It is because of your divorce!”

“Well I’m glad you finally worked up the courage to say it.”

People around them were staring. Devorah looked around, and everyone’s eyes quickly darted back to their plates. Devorah sighed, sat back down, and put her face in her hands.

“You’re the reason I’m not engaged now,” she said, staring at the table.

“What?”

“You’re the reason I broke my engagement,” Devorah said. She looked up.

“What engagement?”

“You didn’t even know,” Devorah said. “I was going to tell you, and then all of this happened, and I never even got a chance.”

“I’m so sorry my divorce was inconvenient to you.”

“I tried to be there for you, Shevy! I called you every day. I waited for you. And all you did was ignore me, do things behind my back with other people, push me away—” “What does this have to do with you getting engaged?”

“You didn’t appreciate anything I did,” Devorah said.

“I never told you not to get engaged.”

“I couldn’t! I was trying to take care of you!”

Elisheva swiped her bangs away from her face.

“Devorah—” “You needed me,” Devorah said. “And I was there for you. And all I wanted was a little time for you to listen to me. And you couldn’t even give me that.”

Elisheva opened her mouth and then closed it.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

Devorah shook her head. She stood, and this time took her bag with her. “I lost that relationship,” she said. “Because of you.” She began to walk away.

“I never asked you to give up anything,” Bayis |

41

Elisheva said behind her. Devorah refused to look back at her. She knew her words were harsh, but she couldn’t bring herself to regret them. “I’m not the reason you didn’t get engaged,” Elisheva called after her.

Devorah kept walking.

She walked straight up to Yafo, all the way until Shlomo HaMelech, and down the steps towards Sha’ar Yafo. She breezed past the Armenian Quarter and through the Rova, until she reached the steps towards the Kotel. She barged through security, bypassing Birthright groups and tourists, as she made a beeline for an open spot of wall near the mechitzah. She walked straight up to the old stones, laid her arm across one, pressed her face into her elbow, and began to cry.

The tears came without stop for a long time. Arms crowded around her, pushed notes into the wall besides her, came and left, all while she stood, head pressed against the cool stone, and cried. She wiped the sides of her eyes into her sleeve. Where would she go from here?

What was she supposed to do now?

Devorah lifted her face to the warmth of the sun and looked up the entire length of the wall. “I don’t know why this happened,” she said.

She pressed her face into the wall, blocking either side with the palms of her hands, so all she could see was the shadows in the depressions in the stone. “I don’t know why this happened,” she whispered into the stone. “But please help me,” she said. “Please—just—” She dissolved into tears again. She began reciting Tehillim by heart. “I don’t know what to do anymore,” she said.

Time passed. Devorah’s tears quieted and she remained standing, listening to the sounds of people moving around her, people crying, people moving chairs and shtenders. A cool breeze of wind blew past her cheek. Devorah eventually lifted her face from the wall.

“Kol b’dei Shamayim,” she said. She couldn’t change what had already happened. She couldn’t even bear to think about what had already happened. How it might have been different. As she walked away from the Kotel, it became painfully, abundantly clear to her what she had done. For the first time since she had walked away from Asher in the very spot she was passing right now on her way back to the Rova, she understand what she had done, and why. She couldn’t believe how stupid she had been, how much emuna she had lacked, how much she had thrown away in her fear and shock at Elisheva’s divorce. She wiped a tear from her eye as she passed the menorah on her way up. She had lost Asher, and now she had lost Elisheva too.

What else would she lose?

••• Devorah sat in a sukkah of a family friend who was hosting a shiur.

She had walked over from her house in the afternoon after she had overheard two girls in shul saying what a great speaker the Rav was. She didn’t want to sit at home, and she certainly didn’t want another second of her mother asking her about shidduchim. As she

Here’s what’s important!

Hashem didn’t make Himself distant—we made ourselves distant. We took off our crowns!

had walked there, she had thought about the phone calls she had ignored and not returned from Elisheva since the holiday started. She had decided to stay in Ramat Beit Shemesh for chol hamoed. She had also ignored a call from Mrs. Silver. She knew it wasn’t the right thing to do, but she couldn’t bring herself to speak to either of them. She wasn’t ready to talk to Elisheva, and she wasn’t ready to see another guy. She just wished she could go back to that night she had gone out with Asher. She wished she could have ignored the fear in her heart. She wished she could have made a different decision.

Devorah adjusted the hem of her skirt over her knees and crossed her legs beneath her.

“Devorah? You’re Devorah Adler, right?”

Devorah looked up at a girl in a pink cardigan who was standing beside her.

“I’m Penina Klausman. I’m Suri’s sister.”

Devorah blinked a few times before remembering to smile. She couldn’t stop her eyes from falling to Penina’s hands to check for a bracelet or a ring.

“So nice to meet you,” Devorah said.

Penina sat down next to her. “My sister talks about you all the time, it’s so nice to meet you.”

“Suri was just talking about you,” Devorah said, without thinking.

Penina smiled. “Are you in Ramat Beit Shemesh for the whole chag?”

“My family lives here,” Devorah said. “I decided to stay for chol hamoed too.” Devorah adjusted her skirt again and scanned the crowd for anyone else she knew.

“So nice,” Penina said. “I’m staying with one of my married friends from high school until the end of the chag—” “Are you dating?” Devorah wanted to stop herself from talking. She wanted to be embarrassed by how brazen she was being.

She couldn’t.

Penina stuttered. “Am I—dating?”

“I’m sorry,” Devorah said. “I just remember Suri mentioning something about you having a good date.”

Penina nodded.

“It’s nice,” Devorah said, “to have a good date.

I was just—excited for you.”

“Oh,” Penina blushed. “Well thank you. He

actually lives here, in Ramat Beit Shemesh.”

Devorah’s eyes shot up to hers.

“He lives here?” she said. Asher was from America. He did not have any family in Israel besides for a married sister.

“Yeah, his family moved here when he was a teenager.”

Devorah blinked. “The guy your sister was talking about was from America.”

Penina shook her head. “I haven’t dated anyone from America. But Suri also confuses things a lot. She kept calling me about someone named Asher for a week and I had no idea who she meant. Then I realized she thought I said Asher when I had actually said Schneur.”

Devorah opened her mouth, but Penina quickly got up and began to move away.

“I see my friend, I’m going to go sit with her.

Enjoy the shiur, nice to meet you!”

Devorah hardly had time to process what she had heard before the shiur began. She was trying her hardest to focus on what the Rav was saying, trying her hardest to not be distracted by the sounds of children playing outside, but her mind was working too quickly, and in its wake, her chest began to ache. Was everything a lie? Had everything she thought and everything she felt in the last weeks been completely unfounded? She had broken up a great relationship because she couldn’t process her own friend’s divorce. And she had been angry with Asher because she thought he was dating someone he wasn’t even seeing.

“And what do we learn from this?” The Rav asked.

Devorah closed her eyes momentarily and tried to remember the prayers she had offered at the kotel. Kol b’dei Shamayim, she said to herself. Everything is in Hashem's hands.

“It says that Klal Yisroel removed their crowns after the chet haegel, and then Hashem was angry. Why did Hashem care about the crowns? Was the chet haegel not enough to be angry about?”

Devorah tried to focus her eyes on the Rav. Her gaze wandered over to Penina, who was watching him intently. She yearned for a time when her life had been so simple, that she could just sit somewhere and be in the moment, with no Bayis |

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thoughts to plague her.

“It’s because Klal Yisroel stopped believing in their relationship with Hashem. What were these crowns? These crowns represented our closeness to Hashem. They were a divine gift, a show of Hashem’s love, and of our relationship with Him. After the chet haegel, Hashem wanted to forgive us! What made Him really upset? When we showed that we didn’t believe in the relationship anymore.”

Devorah snapped her eyes back towards the Rav. “Hashem still wanted that relationship! Here’s what’s important! Hashem didn’t make Himself distant—we made ourselves distant. We took off our crowns! We said ‘we don’t think this relationship is worthy anymore’ and that’s what made Hashem really upset. Hashem is always ready to forgive. We just have to believe in that relationship.”

Devorah didn’t need to hear him say it again. She stood up in the middle of the shiur and walked towards her house. She packed quietly, and then called her mother from the bus stop. She wasn’t going to waste another second. Kol b’dei Shamayim, and she was pretty sure Hashem had just given her a loud and clear message.

••• “Mrs. Silver, this is Devorah Adler.”

Devorah was sitting on the porch of her apartment early Friday morning. She had gotten back from Ramat Beit Shemesh last night. It had only taken her about an hour to work up the courage to call Mrs. Silver.

“It took you a long time to get back to me!”

Devorah smiled. “I’m sorry about that. I wanted to ask—” “I have a few guys in mind, like I told you last time. One of them is busy now because you took so long to get back to me, but I still have a few—” “I’m really not—” “I can send you his resume, I really think he’ll be good—” “I’m not looking for anyone’s resume,” Devorah said.

“Then why are you calling me?”

Devorah took a deep breath. She closed her

eyes and counted to five. She drummed her fingers against her knee. “I want to contact Asher Rabinowitz,” she said.

“You want to do what?”

“I made a mistake,” Devorah said. A terrible, awful mistake. “I want to see if he would be willing to go out with me again.”

“Devorah—” Mrs. Silver paused. “I’m afraid I can’t do that. After how you ended things, I really can’t imagine he’d be interested.”

“I’d like to try.”

“I really don’t think so,” Mrs. Silver said. “I’m not going to ask him. If you want to talk to him, you’ll have to do it on your own. I don’t think it’s a great idea.”

“I—” “I really do have some great guys for you. I’d like to send you some resumes.”

“Do you know if he’s busy right now?”

“Who?” Devorah sighed. “Asher Rabinowitz.” Every time she said his name, it hurt a little more.

“I don’t think so, but that doesn’t mean you should contact him.”

“I’ll be in touch,” Devorah said. “Thank you, Mrs. Silver.”

They hung up, and Devorah leaned her head back against the wall. She had known that this might happen. It wasn’t every day that someone tried to get back into a relationship that hadn’t ended well. But she needed to try. That’s all she knew. Devorah pulled up Asher’s phone number in her contacts lists, and just the sight of his number made her heart jump. Could she really do this?

Devorah stood and wrung out her hands.

She emptied the washing machine of all of its contents and hung everything on the drying racks. She brushed her hair. She made her bed.

By noon she was tired, hungry, and she still had not called Asher.

Devorah took a bunch of grapes from the fridge and made a cup of tea. She took it out on the balcony, opened her phone, and pressed call.

She sucked in a huge breath to keep her stomach from flipping. The phone rang once. Twice.

Three times. Each space between the ringing

made her grip the edges of her chair. The call went to voicemail, and Devorah hung up. What could she possibly say in a voicemail?

She called a second time, and the waiting began again. Each ring was an insult in her ear. She closed her eyes. Ring. Ring. Ring.

“Hello?”

Devorah clenched her teeth so hard on her cheek she tasted blood. There he was—there was his voice. Did he know it was her? Had he deleted her number? Now that he had picked up, all the rehearsed lines in her head flew out the window. She opened her eyes and looked out across Jerusalem.

“This is Devorah Adler. Do you have minute to talk?”

He was silent.

“Just a minute,” Devorah said.

“Why—what—why are you calling?”

Devorah couldn’t even begin to list the reasons.

“I want to know if you would be willing—” Devorah let out a breath. “If you would be willing to meet with me.”

There was another pause. She knew she was crazy. She knew this was insane, that this wasn’t done. But she would never forgive herself for not trying.

“For what reason?”

“To talk,” Devorah said.

“What do we have to talk about?”

Devorah shook her head. This wasn’t going as planned, not at all. But what had she expected? “I just wanted to ask if you would be willing.”

He didn’t reply.

“At the very least,” she said, “I want to apologize.”

“You could write me a letter,” he said.

“Please,” Devorah said.

“Fine. Saturday night. I’ll find you at the Ramada an hour after Shabbos. I don’t have much time, I have a vort to get to.”

“Thank you,” Devorah said. “Thank you.”

She closed her phone, and returned her cold tea and uneaten grapes to the kitchen. She turned off her phone and tossed it into a drawer in her room.

She washed all the dishes and began cooking. By the time her roommates came home, Devorah already had two kugels in the oven and Simcha Leiner blasting in the apartment.

“We’re doing Shabbos here,” Devorah announced.

A few of her roommates shrugged in agreement.

She took challah dough out of the freezer to defrost, and got started on the chicken. While she waited for the chicken to brine, she began sweeping the dining room, singing along quietly.

“Devorah, is your phone off?”

“Why?” Devorah stopped dead in the middle of the chorus, the broom hanging inches off the floor. Her heart began to pound. Had he changed his mind? How did he get one of her roommates’ numbers? Did he really hate her this much?

“Elisheva Braun called me a few times. Said she’s trying to get in touch with you.” Shaindy held out her phone. “She’s on right now, if you can talk.”

Devorah took the phone. “Shevy?” She said.

“Hey,” Elisheva said. She sounded nervous.

“Hey,” Devorah said. She turned down the music, and began braiding her defrosted dough. They were both quiet for a few minutes. They had never had a fight like this before.

“I tried to reach you earlier today.”

“I turned my phone off,” Devorah said. “To get ready for Shabbos.”

“Oh.” Devorah flipped the dough onto a pan and cracked an egg into a glass. “How was Sukkos?”

She asked. She brushed her challahs with egg, sprinkled them with sesame seeds, and then tossed them into the oven.

“Fine,” Elisheva said. “I spent it with Ruchie.”

“How is Ruchie doing?”

“Still waiting for me to leave,” Elisheva said.

Devorah sighed. They weren’t getting anywhere.

“Why don’t you come to my apartment for Shabbos?”

“That would be great.”

Devorah continued cooking, her heart now stirring from the anticipation of seeing Elisheva, and the terror of confronting Asher. She handed the phone back to Shaindy, and went to make up the guest bed for Elisheva. By the time she had showered and set the table, Elisheva had arrived.

Devorah took her bags and led her to the guest bed.

“I’m glad you came,” She said, and she was sincere. She gave her a quick hug and hurried to get dressed.

When they all came to the Shabbos table, Devorah Bayis |

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was able to finally breathe. Elisheva was here, by her side, and she knew that they would be able to forgive each other. They always had. And no matter what happened tomorrow night, she knew she had done everything she could.

••• While the wicks of the havdala candle were still smoking, Devorah rushed to her room to start getting dressed. Elisheva was two steps behind her, sifting through her closet.

“Tell me what to grab,” she said. “You want makeup too?”

“Give me that skirt,” Devorah said. “Throw me some shirt that matches.”

Devorah slipped on the skirt over her stockings, and Elisheva pulled out a shell and a sleeveless blouse that complimented the skirt.

Elisheva crouched to the bottom of her closet while Devorah fixed her hair in the mirror.

“These shoes are good,” Elisheva said. She stood behind Devorah in the mirror.

“You look beautiful,” she said.

Devorah half-laughed to keep herself from crying. Her stomach felt like it was flipped inside out.

“Perfume?” She asked.

Elisheva shook her head.

“You’re right,” Devorah said. She placed the container back on the counter and threw her arms around Elisheva.

“I’m terrified,” she said.

“It’s going to go great,” Elisheva said. “I just know it.” She kissed Devorah on the cheek. They held each other briefly.

“Go,” Elisheva said. Devorah grabbed her purse and skipped out of the room. She hailed a cab.

No walking tonight, no waiting for busses. She wasn’t going to take any risks.

Devorah held her phone in her lap, and with every vibration of the car she feared it was him calling to cancel. But her phone was quiet.

Devorah tapped her foot against the carpeted floor of the taxi. She sent up a silent prayer that Asher would be willing to listen to her.

When the taxi pulled up to the hotel, Devorah exited the car and stood on the curb, looking up the staircase. She made herself wait there for a full minute. She made herself breathe. Then she began to take steps carefully towards the door,

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one by one. She began to count them under her breath. It didn’t make it any easier.

Most dates she went on, she had a hard time finding the guy when she first walked into the hotel. Usually it took a minute or two of looking to realize both people were looking for each other. Tonight, she spotted him immediately. He was leaning against the opposite wall, watching the door. He had seen her, too. Devorah had to physically stop herself from turning around and running back down the steps to the street by grasping the nearest ledge. He had pushed himself away from the wall and began to walk towards her. Her heart was beating out of her chest.

She steeled herself for whatever was coming.

“Thank you for meeting me,” She said. She hated how breathless she sounded.

He nodded. She couldn’t read his expression.

He turned. “Should we sit?”

Devorah followed him in shamed silence.

She didn’t know if she ever would have been able to do what he was doing right now. And if she didn’t know if she could even stand to meet someone who had hurt her like that, what made her think that he’d be willing to actually forgive her?

When they sat, Devorah looked up at him, and tried not to remember their first date.

“It’s been a few weeks,” she said. Stupid. Stupid.

What was she thinking? What was she saying?

Asher nodded again. He checked his watch. She remembered that he had a time limit.

“I’m an idiot,” she said.

Asher looked up at her.

“I’m an idiot,” she said again.

His eyes had widened. He didn’t nod. He didn’t check his watch.

“I did something terrible to you,” she said.

She furiously blinked back tears. Now was a stupid time to cry, she told herself. Not now.

Please, not now.

“I was not expecting it,” Asher said.

“It was stupid,” Devorah said. “It was terrible, and stupid, and I—” She covered her mouth and tried to breathe deeply.

“You don’t have to do this,” Asher said. “People break engagements all the time.”

Devorah shook her head. “I made a mistake,”

she whispered. She refused to look at him. She didn’t want to see the expression on his face.

“I don’t—” Asher stopped, and Devorah continued to stare at the floor. “I don’t understand why you made me come here tonight.”

At that, she looked up at him. “I just said—I just wanted to tell you—” “You called me after four weeks to tell me that you made a mistake?”

Devorah swallowed the lump in her throat. She knew it had been crazy, to try this.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s true.”

Asher shook his head. “You called me to tell me that? You couldn’t tell me—why you did it? What possessed you to end everything the way you did?

Why you—why you—” “I made a terrible mistake,” Devorah said. She couldn’t stop her tears. She just flicked them away.

Asher looked away from her. He stood and turned towards the door. Devorah wiped both of her eyes and waited for him to leave. When he didn’t after a minute, she looked up.

“Well?” he said. “Are you coming?”

Devorah jumped out of her seat. She followed him out the door and down the stairs. He began walking up a street seemingly at random. She struggled to keep up with his pace.

“For four weeks I’ve been wondering,” Asher said.

The moon was half-bright in the sky above them.

“For four weeks I’ve been thinking of every conversation we’ve had. I’ve asked rebbeim, I’ve talked to shadchanim. Nobody understood what happened.

And then I saw you one day, almost run over by a bike in Geula—” “I thought you were dating someone else,” Devorah said.

He stopped. “And I’m not allowed to?” He asked.

“You are,” Devorah said. “I just hoped you weren’t.”

“I don’t understand you,” Asher said.

“I’ll make it simple,” Devorah said. She sucked in a breath. “Something happened to me that made me terrified of getting engaged. I had no time to think about it, no time to process how I was feeling, nobody to listen to me and tell me I was being crazy. I made a rash decision and threw away this relationship. And it didn’t take long for me to realize that it was the worst decision I had ever made.”

Asher opened his mouth, but Devorah continued.

“You were the best person I had ever known.

And every minute I spent with you made me— so happy. It’s not that you’re not allowed to date, Asher, it’s that I hoped you weren’t. Because I hoped that maybe, maybe you could find a way to forgive me.”

“And—what?” He cleared his throat. “And what—get engaged?”

Devorah closed her eyes and then opened them again. “I can’t tell you what’s going to happen next,” she said. “That’s up to you.”

Asher leaned against a pole that was beside him, crossed his arms, and stared at the floor.

Devorah found herself looking at the crown of his hat.

“This is a lot,” Asher said.

“I know,” Devorah said. She hitched her purse higher on her shoulder. “It’s okay,” she said.

“Why don’t I leave now, and you can have some time to think about what I said. I know what I did was horrible. I’m sincerely sorry, and I understand if you choose to leave things here.”

Devorah turned on her heel, not quite sure where she was going, but sure she would either find a bus stop or a cab. She was a few paces away before he spoke again.

“Wait,” he said. Devorah stopped, unwilling to turn around. Her heart began pounding again.

“The last thing I want,” Asher said, “is to watch you walk away from me again.”

••• Spring in Jerusalem was cool but sunny that March. Anyone walking through the Old City that morning could see a kallah holding a bouquet of yellow flowers, posing for pictures near the sun-bleached stone walls. A few friends trailed behind her, fixing her hair, arranging her veil. The kallah herself held her bouquet closer to her face as directed by the photographer. The sunlight twinkled over her hair.

When she was dragged over to the men’s side to sit beside her chosson and watch the guests dance, the small, sparkling crown she had chosen to clip on above her veil began to slide off her head. She took both hands and steadied the crown, pushing the pins deep into her hair.

She turned her head and smiled at her chosson.

He was already smiling at her.

The End Bayis |

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Shabbos Halacha

The Halachos of Writing on Food (Kotev/ Mochek)

Can I write out words or make a design on top of a cake with frosting or with whipped cream?

No, that is forbidden due to writing.

If so, it must also be forbidden to cut into a cake that has letters or a picture on it.

That is not completely correct.

Although it is true that it’s preferable to cut between the letters in such an instance so as not come under any question of erasing. If it is unavoidable, some poskim say that you may cut through the letters, especially if that which was written would have dissolved on its own in any case. Ask your Rav if you may be lenient in this.

There are foods that have words inscribed on them by

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the manufacturer, like crackers or biscuits. Is it a problem to break them in half if I will be destroying the word in the process?

There is no problem doing this. The writing must be a separate entity. Here the cracker itself has the writing on it.

I just went to a Kiddush and they had adorable cookies in the shape of a bassinet with the words Mazel Tov written on top of them with frosting. There were also delicious looking cupcakes which also had writing on them. Was I right not to eat them because it would be erasing?

It is permit ted to eat anything in which the erasing is happening while you are eating.

Rabbi Zecharia Steinman

The Melachos of Writing/Erasing.

In this issue, we introduce two interconnected melachos; Koseiv and Mocheik (Writing/Erasing).

The melacha of koseiv is defined as making any type of mark or image that has significance. It makes no difference what you write with, how you write it, or what you write it on; creating any meaningful symbol falls under the category of koseiv. .

For example, it is very common for people passing by a dusty car to write “clean me” out of the dust. That would be a problem on Shabbos. So would doing a puzzle on Shabbos; it creates a picture and is therefore forbidden because of the melacha of writing. Koseiv can even be accomplished by erasing; if you would erase something to create something new out of what was erased, like erasing part of a w to create a v. Koseiv has many implications .We will go through some examples.

The rule of thumb is that anything that would have been a problem to create due to koseiv, is forbidden to erase because of mocheik. Meaning, just like you need to make a significant word or image to transgress the melacah of writing on Shabbos, you need to erase a significant word or image to transgress the melacha of erasing. (With a few exceptions…of course)

May I slice a cake if it has writing on it?

Sure. You can either take off the words (if possible), or you can cut between the letters. As long as you try to be careful, even if you do accidentally cut a little bit of one of the letters, it is absolutely fine.

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Yaakov Grossman

Bucket Full of Gold

I

had originally prepared another article for this week’s edition, but I just finished reading the news, and had to scrap my original and write this instead. Apparently a man has made off with one-and-a-half million dollars worth of gold.

Is he some unbelievable villain, the likes of which we’ve never seen? No. An armored truck delivering gold was parked on the street unloading its goods. The incredibly-trained security officer realized he didn’t have his cell phone on him and went to the front of the truck to retrieve it.

(At least he didn’t leave his gun!)

In the meantime, a man passed by and grabbed a bucket off the truck and made a run for it. The bucket was full of golden flakes, and weighed eighty-six pounds!

Now, being a seasoned criminal, I’m sure he had his getaway car right nearby to make off with his prize right? No. He

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ran for over an hour… and what should have taken ten minutes to run took him that long because of the weight of the gold. In that entire hour he was not caught and proceeded to get into his van (great choice for a getaway car, super fast) and drive off.

I just wanna know what the guy who was guarding the truck thought when he came back from getting his phone. It probably didn’t take very long to get it—did he see the guy running off? He probably did but decided he’d gotten into enough trouble leaving the gold unattended the first time, so he’d better not do it again. I assume he called the cops at least.

“Hello, 911, this is Brinks calling. A man is slowly making off with a bucket of gold on Edison Street, please send back up.” I guess the operator thought it was a joke, otherwise the cops really should stop eating so many donuts if they couldn’t manage to chase this guy down.

(Or maybe there was another guy going for a run with a huge bucket, and they caught the wrong guy.)

Either way, the guy made off with the money. I think his villain name should be “The Turtle.”

The police are assuming the thief had no idea what was in the bucket. Boy, is he in for a surprise. “Flakes?! What am I gonna do with two million flakes?” He’s not really gonna be able to go into his nearby gold-pawning shop with two million flakes and not arouse suspicion. Maybe he’ll try to buy his groceries with the gold. “OK, I’ll give you five golden flakes for a box of cornflakes.”

Really, I think he did know what was in the bucket, and I think I even know his motive.

He probably forgot his wife’s birthday and didn’t get her anything, and obviously had to make amends for his mistake.

At this point he did what any logical man would do; rob the Brinks truck. It’s a win-win situation. If he makes off with the gold he’s got enough of it to make his wife happy forever, and if he gets caught and goes to jail — well, that’s way safer for him then being at home with his wife right now.

In the meantime our mastermind is still on the loose, so if you see a very tired man lugging a bucket, or a very happy wife with a lot of jewelry — please contact the local authorities.

Yoshi Weiss: e-mail- yoshiweiss1@gmail.com

phone- +972-50-417-3957

e h t On t side h g i Br inman e t S a hay By: C

The 18 Year Wait

T

o say that it was the bris of the decade would be an understatement. It was the bris of nearly two decades, 18 years of yearning, crying, davening and finally, finally, a baby. And it wasn’t 18 years of thumb-twiddling and bitterness. This unique couple devoted themselves to Torah and Klal Yisroel in a way that only people without the demands of children could.

When I shared the good news with my family, I was visibly emotional, “Can you believe it?!,” I gushed. “Such special people!

And they’ve waited so long!

Can you imagine how it feels to wait so long for a child and then to hold your own baby in your arms?”

“So what?” asked my six-yearold son, clearly not impressed.

“What’s the big deal? You also have a baby. You should be this

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happy about your own baby.”

I wanted to tell him that he missed the point. That when you wait for something for so long it becomes more special. That when Hashem grants a yeshuah after a seemingly endless amount of tears and tefilos it is inspiring and uplifting. But none of these retorts came out of my mouth. I didn’t say anything in response. I realized he was right.

Is a baby born after 18 years more of a miracle than one born in shana rishona? Due to our limited perspective, we applaud the happy ending that comes after a long road of suspense, the drama of a hopeless situation giving way to ultimate joy.

There is something so human about appreciating only that which was struggled for; when something comes easy, we take it for granted.

After 18 years of aching for a child, I can’t imagine that these parents will bicker about whose

turn it is to change the next diaper. The mother won’t sigh when yet another blouse is spit up on. No one will mind waking up in the middle of the night to soothe and feed a baby. How can they complain about all of those little annoyances when they’ve been davening to be “bothered” by a baby for 18 years?

The only difference between their baby and mine—born less than two years after her older brother—is that their 18 year wait has gifted them with clarity. The gratitude that we should feel for the brachah of a child gets clouded by the clamor of our busy lives. But when you’ve spent 18 years focused on one goal—expending physical, mental, emotional, and financial energy for that objective—how could you undervalue it once it’s achieved?

With the simple clarity that children possess, my son reminded me about the inherent preciousness of every baby and the unbounded happiness I should feel for being blessed with children. True, a baby after a 18 year wait is cause for celebration. It reminds us that Someone up there is listening, and we just need to keep knocking on His heavenly door until we’re answered. But my son taught me that we should be just as happy if He answers on the first knock.

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