Flatbush Buzz #119 Jan 7 2018

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Volume 5, Issue 119 January 7th 2018

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Dedicated in loving memory of Rabbi and Mrs. Zev and Chashie Weiss ‫ע”ה‬ ‫זאב זעליג בן ר' יונה זצ"ל ורעיתו חשא ע”ה בת ר’ צבי זצ”ל‬

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The Shmuz on the Parsha

Rabbi Ben Tzion Shafier

The Measure of the Man Parshas Vaerah “This was the Aaron and Moshe to whom HASHEM said, “Take the Children of Israel out of Egypt according to their legions.” — Shemos 6:26 After HASHEM commanded Moshe and Aaron to be the emissaries to free the Jewish people, the Torah lays out their lineage. At the conclusion, the Torah repeats the names of Aaron and Moshe, this time in reverse order, with Aaron mentioned before Moshe.

Rashi seems to be bothered by both the repetition of the names and the reversal of their order. He says this comes to teach us that Moshe and Aaron were equal. Even though from this point forward, Moshe would be the leader of the Jewish nation, don’t make any mistake. Aaron was just as great.

The difficulty with this Rashi is that according to all measures, Moshe Rabbeinu was far greater than Aharon.

Moshe was the leader of the Jewish nation. He brought the makkos on Mitzrayim. He led the Jewish people out of slavery. He split the Yam Suf. He went up to receive the Torah on Har Sinai. But

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even more telling, he was the greatest Navi who ever lived.

Prophecy is a manifestation of a person’s spiritual level The Rambam defines prophecy as a manifestation of spiritual perfection.

HASHEM fills every particle of existence, but we have difficulty experiencing His presence because we are covered by layers and layers of physicality.

A Navi is a person of great spiritual accomplishments who spends years further purifying himself until the heavy cloak of physicality no longer blocks his vision. He is then able to experience HASHEM’s presence. The more holy the Navi is, the more clearly he sees HASHEM. The only human who reached the level of seeing HASHEM with total clarity was Moshe. There never was, nor will there ever be, a person who will reach that level.

So how can Rashi tell us that Moshe and Aaron were equals when clearly Moshe Rabbeinu was on a higher madreigah?

Two systems for measuring the greatness of a person The answer to this question seems to be that there are two systems for judging a person’s greatness, one is absolute and the other is subjective. When measuring a man based on the absolute standard of

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greatness in Torah and perfection, Moshe was far greater than Aaron. He towered over any other human ever created.

However, there is another system for measuring a person’s success. Based on his capacity, and his potential, how much did he accomplish?

Before each person is born, he is predestined to certain abilities and talents, a particular level of intelligence, and an exact disposition and temperament. At the end of his days, he will be compared to what he could have become. How far did he grow? How much did he accomplish with the tools given to him? This system is subjective.

How much of his potential did he fulfill?

Moshe may well have reached 99% of his potential, but so did Aaron. So even though in the absolute sense Moshe was far greater, and others had to treat him as the greatest human being ever, in the subjective sense of reaching one’s capacity, Aaron was his equal, and as such was just as great. That is what the Torah is teaching by exchanging the order of their names.

The Gra – The most painful moment in my existence The Vilna Gaon describes the most painful moment in a person life. It comes after I leave this earth when I stand before the Bais Din shel Ma’alah and they hold up a picture for me to look at: a picture of a truly exceptional individual, a person

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of sterling character traits and Torah knowledge, who shows intelligence, kindliness, and humility, someone of true greatness who changed the very world he lived in with his outstanding goodness. They will ask me, “Why didn’t you do what he did?”

“Me?! Little me? What do you want from me? Was I some kind of gaon? Was I some kind of powerful leader of men? How could I have accomplished those types of things?”

They will answer with one telling and most troubling line: “That picture is you. Not you as you stand here now. Not you as you have lived your life. But that is you, had you become what you were destined to be. That is you, had you accomplished what you were put on this earth for. That is you, had you followed the path for which you were born.”

That moment, the Gra tells us, is the most painful in a person’s life. At that moment, the truth comes crashing through.

I’ll understand what I was able to achieve. I’ll clearly see the purpose of life and recognize what I could have attained in my stay on the planet. And at that one flash point of recognition, I’ll truly understand the greatness of me and what I was capable of.

I won’t be compared to you The point is that when I finish my job on this planet, I will be judged. But I will not be measured in absolute terms of how much Torah I mastered or how much chessed I did. That is far too inequitable.

I won’t even be compared to others in my generation. I won’t be compared to you, or to him, or to her, or to anyone else. I will be measured by a far more just and exacting standard – me. How

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much of me did I become? 50%? 60%? 80%? And that is who I am for eternity.

When we leave this earth – the system is subjective In this world, we can’t measure a person’s capacity, so we give honor and respect based only on the absolute measure of the person. If this person is functioning on the level of a great person, we are obligated to respect him and treat him with honor.

However, when we leave this temporary existence, everything will become clear. I will understand exactly what it is that I was destined to be. And I will also know your capacity and what you could have been. There are no head starts, no advantages or disadvantages, just percentages of realized potential.

At that point in our existence, there will be individuals who appeared to us as great while we were occupants of the physical world who then will shrink dramatically, having only reached 20% of their potential. They’ll be pygmies. And there will be many others who we once cast into the category of the insignificant, but who are actually towering giants, having reached 85% of their potential. Just as with Moshe and Aharon, it wasn’t the rank or position that they held that is the final determinant, but rather their subjective greatness in regards to who they should have been.

Who I am for eternity This concept has great relevance to us – both positive and negative. It seems to be a natural tendency to compare ourselves to others. “I am smarter than he is. Better than she is. Not as talented as he is. . .”

If my disposition is to favor myself – being kindly to me and tough on you – I become inflated, over-confident, and full of myself. If my prejudice is to be harsh on myself, then I will constantly find others superior, and my sense of self will suffer.

The reality is that all of it is irrelevant. It just doesn’t matter.

It is true that at the end of my days I will be compared – not to you, but to me. The only question they’ll ask and the only criteria that will count is how far I took my G-d-given talents and situation. How much of me did I become? And that will be the rank and station that I will occupy for eternity.

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Wladyslaw Kowalski:

The Polish Officer who Saved 49 Jews

by Menucha Chana Levin

W

ladyslaw Kowalski was an unusual Polish officer: he had a positive attitude toward Jewish people. During World War II, saving Jewish lives eventually became his mission.

Kowalski was born in Kiev, Ukraine in 1896. He obtained an engineering degree but enlisted in the Polish brigade to fight the Russians for Poland’s autonomy before seeking a job in his chosen profession. In 1917 his parents, also supporters of Polish independence, were killed by the Russian Bolsheviks.

After World War I, Kowalski joined the Polish army. He served until 1935, retiring with the rank of colonel. He worked for Philips, a Dutch electronics firm in Warsaw, which later proved to be highly beneficial to himself and others.

When Nazi Germany invaded Poland on September 1, 1939, Kowalski headed the brigade that defended Warsaw.

12

Though his commander ordered him to surrender, he insisted on fighting for another two weeks. He was then arrested by the SS and taken to a prison camp with thousands of other Polish officers.

Thanks to his work for the Dutch-owned Philips company in which Nazi Germany had an interest, he was released.

In the summer of 1940, Kowalski met a sick and hungry 17-year-old boy wandering the streets of Warsaw outside the ghetto. The boy, Bruno Boral, said to him, “I am a Jewish boy who’s being persecuted. I haven’t eaten for three days.

Could you please buy me something to eat?”

Kowalski took Bruno home, looked after him and obtained a forged Polish passport for him. Then he found him a place to live and a job at the Philips plant.

Thanks to Kowalski’s assistance, Bruno survived the war and later moved to Belgium.

That was the start of Kowalski’s

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efforts to save Jewish lives.

One August day in 1941, while walking past a ruined Warsaw building, he heard someone moaning inside. He discovered a Jewish man, Phillip Rubin, starved and petrified. He begged Kowalski to help him and his brother and sister who were also hiding inside the building. Kowalski immediately took all three of them to his home.

There is no further information mentioned about these three but Kowalski probably found other hiding places for them in Warsaw as he did later with others.

His job at the Philips company had another plus: the freedom to travel around in all parts of Warsaw. He had a pass even to enter the closed-off Jewish ghetto which he used to save several Jews and smuggle in medicine and weapons.

In 1943 he helped a widow, Leah Bucholtz, whose husband had been killed by the Nazis, to leave the ghetto with her

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Risking his life, Kowalski’s house in Warsaw became a shelter for Jewish refugees.

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son. He found them a safe place to stay in the home of a Polish woman.

He brought other Jews out of the ghetto and found hiding places for them too.

His house in Warsaw soon became a shelter for Jewish refugees.

He also found hiding places for others with his relatives and friends.

Despite the danger, he provided the refugees with food and took care of them.

Although Kowalski was interrogated several times by the Gestapo on suspicion of helping Jews, he refused to divulge any information.

The Warsaw Uprising lasted from August to October, 1944 when all the inhabitants were evicted from the city.

Yet Kowalski refused to abandon the 49 Jewish refugees he was protecting.

He found a bunker in the rubble and remained with them for four difficult months.

Their daily ration consisted of three cups of water, a tiny amount of sugar, and vitamin pills. They stayed hidden for 105 days and by the time they were liberated by the Russians in January 1945, they had been reduced to eating fuel.

After the war ended, Kowalski married Leah Bucholtz, the woman he had saved four years earlier. They eventually immigrated to Israel together with her son from her first marriage. Most of the refugees saved by Kowalski also settled in Israel after the war.

“I admit I saved only 49 Jews,” said Kowalski in 1961, when he addressed a conference of immigrants from Poland in Tel Aviv.

Like many other Righteous Gentiles, he denied his heroism by insisting, “I did

His house in Warsaw soon became a shelter for Jewish refugees.

He also found hiding places for others with his relatives and friends. not do anything special for the Jews and I do not consider myself a hero. I only did my duty as a human being toward people who were persecuted and tortured. I did not do this only because they are Jewish, but rather I helped every persecuted person without regard to race and origin.”

In 1963 Kowalski was awarded the title Righteous Among the Nations by Yad Vashem. One of the testimonies submitted to Yad Vashem stated: “Mr. Kowalski saved many people through supreme personal sacrifice, of course without any monetary or other recompense. He worked and he devoted his salary to feeding or clothing the Jews he hid in his home. As the director of a firm in Warsaw, during the whole course of the war he did not allow himself to buy new clothes, he walked in torn shoes and he preferred to devote his income to saving people.”

Though regarded as a hero in Israel, Kowalski, by then aged 61, had difficulty adjusting to his new life. He and his wife Leah had a daughter, Miriam, but the marriage ended a few years later.

He worked at a neighborhood grocery store in a town near Haifa and later held a part-time job in the documentation department at Yad Vashem. He spent the last years of his life at a convalescent home near Tel Aviv.

He died in February, 1971 at the age of 76 and was buried at Kibbutz Yad Mordechai. Engraved on Kowalski’s tombstone is the image of the medal from Yad Vashem when awarded the title of Righteous Among the Nations. Beneath it is inscribed: “He risked his life to save Jews during the period of the Holocaust.”

A spokesman for the kibbutz said, “His wonderful character and his great deeds will serve us and our children as a symbol of the good and the pure in the human race and will reinforce in us the belief and hope that brotherhood of nations will ultimately overcome racial hatred and brutal nationalism.”

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THIS BOY’S LEARNING IMPROVED OVERNIGHT.

HERE’S HOW

“It just doesn’t make any sense!”

Rabbi Cohen* could feel his blood pressure rise. Yakov’s latest Chumash test faced him accusingly, crumpled and covered in red marks. Yakov, of course, was nowhere to be found, having escaped to his room the second he heard his father walk through the front door.

It was just another horrifying mark from a boy who was bright, quick - and until this year - brought home only Alephs.

What was going on? Rabbi Cohen was shocked and at a complete loss. Was his kid skipping homework? Being bullied? “Going through a phase”?

Lucky for Rabbi Cohen, he expressed his frustration to his friend in Shul the next morning. And that friend suggested he stop by The Optical Lab. The rest, as they say, is history.

had no idea why their visions were getting blurry. They innocently assumed it was time for new prescriptions, and so they booked quick check-ups.

Chasdei Hashem! Dr. Sadeghi caught the underlying problem immediately. Not only that, he scheduled them for easy, simple cataract surgery – right there on the spot.

He then performed the painless procedure right here in our Boro Park office. Within a few days, these patients were seeing better than new!

Dr. Sadeghi is no newbie. He’s conducted over 15,000 eye procedures in his lifetime – over 20 this week alone.

From quick checkups to comprehensive care, you can take advantage of his expertise - call us in the morning, and you’ll see him that very afternoon. No wait times, no hassles, no stress.

We accept all insurances, and Dr. Sadeghi sees patients of all ages, from 3 to 103.

We met Yakov that very afternoon. Our on-call ophthalmologist caught the problem immediately.

We’ve brought him on board because, at The Optical Lab, we care.

1 pair of stylish, corrective lenses later, and Yakov was back to acing tests.

It’s why we keep our equipment state-of-the-art – so that you benefit from the latest and greatest lens innovations and technology.

This story is true, and it’s just one of many we hear daily.

It’s why Rabbi Cohen’s friend recommended The Optical Lab. Because, first and foremost, we’re a LAB. We know our stuff.

We’re not staffed by salesman and technicians trying to push pricey frames. We’re staffed entirely by licensed eye care professionals. Everyone you meet, from the person answering the phones, to the guy behind the counter is - at minimum - a NY State Licensed Optician.

Not only that, but we have our very own Ophthalmologist, the renowned Dr. Mehyar Sadeghi, seeing patients in our office.

Dr. Sadeghi is NOT an optometrist Nu, what’s the difference? Well, our ophthalmologist not only writes prescriptions, he catches and cures larger issues. In fact, just this past month, Dr. Sadeghi has already caught cataracts in two of our patients’ eyes. These men

It’s also why we’ve recently upgraded our facilities, providing FREE digital and high tech coatings to all our customers.

That’s right, you read the above correctly – every time you buy a pair of glasses, we upgrade your lenses with a super hydrophobic coating 100% FREE. These lenses are the latest breakthrough in lens technology, helping you see better, clearer and farther.

It’s very easy fix symptoms, but noticing and curing an underlying issue takes immense skill and years of experience. At the Optical Lab, we have both.

It’s how we were able to spot Yakov Cohen’s issue immediately, and it’s how we’re able to serve you with the highest level of care.

So the next time you or one of your children needs a checkup, or a new pair of lenses, come check out what all the fuss is about. We’ll be happy to ‘see’ you!

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Buried Treasure

by Rochelle Krich

They like us in Poland, now that we’re dead.

In late June, before my brother and I and our spouses left for central Europe, I phoned my “Aunt” Regina. Regina’s friendship with my mother began in a slave labor camp in Poland. After the war my parents, of blessed memory, and I shared a house with Regina and her husband and son in Germany, and later in New Jersey.

“How do you say ‘please’ in Polish?” I asked Regina.

Our first stop would be Krakow. I know a few words from the Polish my parents spoke: tak (“yes”); dobry (“good”); dziekuja (“thank you”). I couldn’t remember how to say “please.”

“Don’t be so nice to them,” Regina said with her droll humor, and we both laughed, though she wasn’t joking. Most Poles were happy to turn in their Jewish neighbors to the invading Nazis, to steal their property, to make Poland Juden rein -- free of Jews. “’Please’ is prosze,” Regina told me.

Krakow is the next Prague --

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charmingly renovated, with a variety of cultural activities and sites of Jewish interest. Our visit coincided with the 17th annual Krakow Jewish Cultural Festival, which drew between 10,000 and 13,000 visitors, most of them non-Jewish Poles and around 100 Jews. But for my brother and me, Krakow’s attraction lay in its proximity to the towns where our parents grew up: our father, in Trzebinia; our mother, in Oswiecim (Auschwitz).

During our four days in Poland, with Regina’s words in my head, I did say prosze and dziekuja. I said it to the staff at our lovely boutique hotel which overlooks the newly chic Szeroka Square in the Kazimierz, the Jewish quarter. I said it at the Eden, where we ate Shabbat meals with 50 or so Orthodox Jews who were in Krakow for the festival. I said prosze and dziekuja to Andre, the keeper of the key to the Trzebinia Jewish cemetery, where we walked between overgrown shrubs and weeds and searched in vain for family names among the tombstones,

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many of them felled by the Nazis. In Oswiecim I said prosze and dziekuja to the curator of a small Jewish museum in the Mishnayos shul down the block from the apartment where my mother had lived -- the synagogue where my grandfather and uncles prayed daily before they were deported and later exterminated.

At the museum I bought Lucyna Filip’s Juden in Oswiecim: 1918-1941, in German, a language I can’t read. But it contains photos and a list of Oswiecim’s Jews, with details for each entry: first name and family name, date of birth, first address in the Sosnowitz ghetto, second address. I found my family name. I found entries for my uncle who lives in Israel, for uncles and aunts who were killed. I found my mother’s name. Sprinca. And a middle name -- “Sara.”

My mother had no middle name. “It’s not Mommy,” I told my brother, stifling my disappointment.

The curator explained that the Nazis gave all Jewish women the name Sara; all

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21

Jewish males were named Israel.

“Dziekuja bardzo,” I said to the expressionless clerk as I handed him 60 zloty and clutched the book as though it were a priceless treasure. Thank you very much It’s hard to know what they are thinking, this generation of Poles burdened with a history of collaboration with the Nazis, a history they strive to deny.

What am I to make of Andre, who kissed my hand and said he’s writing a book about Trzebinia’s Jews? Can I trust the smile of the curator, who is eager for family photos for the museum’s exhibit?

What did the Eden staff think when they saw our yarmulkes and the Chasidic garb of our fellow guests, when they heard our Shabbat songs? Even our tour guide, a non-Jew whose Jewish wife told us her husband is emotionally spent whenever he takes groups to Auschwitz-Birkenau, a guide who speaks with loathing of the Nazis and deplores

22

the commercialization of the Holocaust and the sound bites it provides visiting politicians --even he took pains to tell us, several times, that Auschwitz I, which the Nazis easily converted from a Polish military base to a prison, was initially used to intern Polish gentiles -- doctors, educators, priests, anyone who could offer

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resistance to the Nazis.

In Trzebinia we encountered a Polish woman whose face revealed what she thought of us. We had finally located our father’s three-story house on Ulica Novoskaya, a house that has loomed large in my imagination. Standing in the back yard where my grandfather had built a beis medrash (house of learning) for the Bobover Rebbe and his entourage, I pictured my father behind one of the white lace-curtained thirdstory windows, playing his violin, perhaps committing to memory a melody the Rebbe had composed at the Friday night’s tish. Rain started falling, and a blustery wind inverted our umbrellas. We left and took shelter under a doorway across the street. That’s when we saw the old woman. She was coming toward us from the yard where we had stood moments

ago. She was glowering at us, her eyes filled with suspicion, the malevolence in her mien and in her plodding footsteps taking on a menacing quality as she came closer.

Several years ago a friend of my parents returned to Poland with her two daughters. She found the house where she had lived and assured the person who opened the door that she hadn’t come to press a property claim -she only wanted to show her daughters the home where she had grown up.

The door was slammed in her face.

Before she left, my parents’ friend said, in a voice loud enough so that those inside would hear, “It’s a shame you didn’t let us in. I would have shown you where we buried the treasure.”

Later she heard that within 24 hours, the occupants of her family’s home had ripped up all the floor boards searching for that buried treasure -- treasure that had never existed.

My brother and I didn’t travel to Trzebinia to reclaim our father’s house, now a government owned apartment building with an optical shop and hair salons on the ground floor.

Over the years the Polish government has stonewalled our attempts. Now they are relaxing their criteria and are allegedly more amenable to making restitution, but I am doubtful. And this policy shift has given rise to (or uncovered?) anti-Semitism, articulated by Tadeusz Rydzy, the voice of Radio Marvia “You know what this is about: Poland giving $65 billion to Jews?” Rydzy is quoted as saying. “They will come to you and say, ‘Give me your coat! Take off your trousers! Give me your shoes!’”

Rydzy’s venomous bigotry is clear. It is open and honest. So is the enmity (and fear?) of the woman who lives in what was my grandfather’s house. Less clear are the sentiments and motivations of the thousands of non-Jewish Poles -- men, women, and children -- who gathered late Saturday afternoon in Szeroka Square for the festival’s finale, an open-air concert that would air the following evening on local TV. There were no seats. People stood for over six hours until well past

midnight, their umbrellas mushrooming sporadically in a riot of color against scattered showers that didn’t dampen the

crowd’s enthusiasm. From my secondfloor hotel room I watched. They cheered after Theodore Bikel sang Yiddish, Hebrew, and Russian tunes. They swayed and danced as bands played klezmer and rap. They listened when Poland’s chief rabbi recited the havdala after the festival director explained the significance and particulars of the ceremony.

The festival director didn’t know what a Jew was 17 years ago, didn’t know that Krakow was home to 64,000 of us before the Nazis made the city Juden rein. He initiated the festival in the hopes of reviving Jewish culture, of forming a bridge between Jews and Poles. Of healing.

And the crowd? Why are they here?

I wondered. What do they think about To advertise, call 718-513-9885

Jews? Are we a curiosity? We are certainly a tourist attraction, I saw from a “Cracow Tours” pamphlet in our hotel lobby: “Visit the historical centre for Poland’s Jews on a tour of Kazimierz, the district where Schindler’s List was filmed.” “Discover the taste of Jewish cuisine and the charm of klezmer music.” “See for yourself where the atrocities of the Nazi’s ‘Final Solution’ were carried out with a tour to the Auschwitz-Birkenau concentration camp.”

You might say this is positive attention, a way to enlighten, to build bridges between Poles and non-Jewish tourists and Jews. But what Jews? When we asked our guide whether there were Jews in Tzrebinia or Oswiecim, or in Sosnowitz or Bendzin or Chrzanow or Lublin, or other cities where, before the war, the Jewish population was often the majority, his answer was always the same: “Two: Yoshka and his mother.”

Yoshka and Mary.

Except for Warsaw and Krakow, Poland is Juden rein.

Hitler accomplished his goal -- most successfully in Poland, but also in Austria and the Czech Republic and Hungary, where the Jewish populations may be larger, but Judaism is dying, and it isn’t safe to walk around wearing a yarmulke.

Still, they like us in Europe. They have erected Holocaust memorials and speak fondly of “our Jews” while they remind us of our kinship -- they, too, were victims of the Nazis. In Vienna our pretty, jaunty guide pointed with pride to sidewalk plaques commemorating Jewish families who lived there before the war -- a Hollywoodlike Walk of Fame -- and accused the media of reporting anti-Semitism where none exists. Prague has a statue of the Maharal, the 17th century Talmudic scholar who created the Golem to save the city’s Jews (you can buy Golem souvenirs in shops or in kiosks along the St. Charles Bridge); and on a renovated building in what was the Jewish ghetto you can see an artist’s rendering of a Jew -- a lovely tribute, if you ignore the stereotypical long nose

23

and pointy chin. In Budapest the statue of Raoul Wallenberg, the Swedish diplomat who saved thousands of Hungarian Jews (Hungary handed its Jews to the Nazis with ferocious rapidity) and was probably killed by the Russians, was recovered after being missing for years. You’ll admire the statue -- if you can find it.

They like us in Europe. They welcome us with entrance fees that allow us to view the empty splendor of our synagogues. They welcome the money we spend on books and postcards that tell the history of these synagogues and their Jews (“There wasn’t a ghetto,” our Viennese guide said, “just an area where Jews preferred to live”), and on Judaica stolen from murdered Jews and displayed next to Limoge and Rosenthal china and figurines -- a menorah, a kiddush cup, a yad, an esrog box.

They welcome us to AuschwitzBirkenau, where stretches of barbed wire and concrete posts are new, and where you know that, with every step, you are probably treading on human ashes or bones. (When we were there, the day was

obscenely beautiful.)

They welcome us to Auschwitz I, where you can enjoy lunch or a latte in the restaurant adjoining the museum after you have had your fill of viewing mindnumbing mountains of items stripped from Jews brought there to be worked to death and then killed: eyeglasses, plaits of hair, sewing kits, jewelry, suitcases, dresses, hats, shoes, prosthetics.

They welcome us to our cemeteries, where we pay to enter so that we can recite Psalms and a “Kel Moleh Rachamim” at the gravesites of the Ramah and the Maharal and so many others of our sages.

Our buried treasure. And what of our unburied treasure, the millions whose bodies were never recovered?

They like us in Europe now that we are historical relics on display in breathtakingly magnificent synagogues that were used by the Nazis as storehouses or stables and have been turned into museums and memorials; synagogues where, until the tourists come, almost no one prays and the vaulted ceilings echo the silence. They like us now that we are

dead.

Still...

Krakow is busy planning its 18th annual Jewish cultural festival, and several Jewish performers we spoke to intend to be there. I wonder what they hope to accomplish, whether they felt as disconnected with reality as I did when I was there. I wonder what their reception will be now that the Pope has reintroduced the Tridentine mass in Latin and has made optional the old call for the conversion of the Jews.

I don’t plan to return to central Europe any time soon. If I do go, I’ll say prosze and dziekuja, and bitte and danke, and prosím, and koszonom. I’ll do so because my parents raised me to be polite, because there is something to be said for civility, even if it is a façade. I’ll do so because I did like our Viennese guide and our Hungarian waitress and the Polish and Czech curators, because I want to believe in their smiles and the kiss on my hand.

Because I need to believe in hope and the goodness of the individual, though it is quite probable that I, too, am in denial.

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‫בס"ד‬ MEYER

PRESENTS

chaim dovid berson t e n

l a n u

c h a i m

experience life n o w

i n

s t o r e s

Why Resolutions Fail

by Charlie Harary

Real change requires strategic use of selfdiscipline.

E

very New Year’s Eve, nearly 60% of Americans make resolutions. These resolutions range greatly but usually center around key life areas like relationships, health, spirituality and career.

Why do we make them? Because New Years brings a moment of renewal, which gives us a feeling of inspiration.

Inspiration tends to lead to clarity and in an instant, we can articulate what we always knew: We need to make a change.

But a study done by the University of Scranton showed that only eight percent of those resolution-makers stick with them for any significant period of time.

Eight percent! Not 80. Eight!

These are promises that we make to ourselves to better our own lives. Why are such a dismally low percentage of people able to actually follow through?

Our Lack of Self-Discipline Professor

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Roy

Baumeister

from

Florida State University conducted groundbreaking research which provides some direction. His research over two decades ago has spurred hundreds of follow-up studies that changed our view of self-discipline.

Baumeister invited students to his lab to try to solve a series of impossible geometry puzzles. He wasn’t expecting the students to solve them. That wasn’t the point. What he wanted was to see how long they would last before they gave up.

Unbeknownst to the students, his research on them began before they looked at the first puzzle. Before the test, they were kept in a waiting room that had a tray full of fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies. One group of students was allowed to eat those cookies, but the other was told to restrain themselves from even touching them. Instead, they could snack on some freshly cut radishes. Radishes!

That latter test group stared at those cookies longingly, having to physically hold themselves back from diving for the To advertise, call 718-513-9885

tray.

When it came time to take the test, the first group – the group that was allowed to indulge – as well as a control group that wasn’t subjected to any food temptations at all, lasted a good 20 minutes on the impossible test before giving up.

But the last group? Those who had to use all sorts of self-discipline while being tempted by the sights and smells of those cookies? That group gave up on the test after just eight minutes.

What the experiment showed is that self-discipline is a finite resource, and when it’s expended in one area, it is weakened and depleted in other completely unrelated areas where selfdiscipline might be needed as well. By using their self-discipline to not indulge in the cookies, the students in the latter group didn’t have as much self-discipline left over to use to apply to the test.

The Mental Muscle Think of self-discipline (or willpower,

Unbeknownst to the students, his research on them began before they looked at the first puzzle. grit, determination, hustle, whatever you want to call it) like a mental muscle. Just like any other muscle in our body, which can be exercised for only so long before it gives out, so too self-discipline can only be expended for a finite period before it weakens.

That’s why when you come home after a long day of work, it’s so much harder to resist the bag of potato chips, control your temper or stop endlessly watching YouTube videos: you’ve used up your

reservoir of self-control during your day and have very little left at night.

Baumeister and his team call this state of depleted willpower “ego depletion” (“ego” in the Freudian sense of self, not arrogance).

The fact that we have a limited pool of self-discipline means that we can’t just point ourselves in a new direction in a moment of inspiration and expect our mind and body to follow through to the end. That’s why resolutions mostly fail. After the initial novelty wears off after the first few hours or days, our mental muscle weakens.

Our minds may be unlimited. But our self-discipline is limited. There’s a finite amount within each of us.

Everything we do that requires our effort needs self-discipline.

Even activities we love can stretch those mental muscles. Change requires doing things that are new, uncomfortable and strenuous, which deplete our willpower, and that’s in addition to the other areas of life that continuously tax our minds.

To make a lasting change, we need to use our self-discipline with discretion. We need to allocate it strategically, so we don’t use it all up and then fail.

Where Taste Meets Elegance

Actions, not Outcomes Resolutions are destined to fail because they are centered on an outcome. They articulate a destination, but don’t give us a map showing how to get there. They don’t give us a plan of action; they only express the desired effect.

With only the end goal in mind, you are not honing in on the specific action or belief that needs to be changed. You can’t start to prune out those negative neuro-connections that hold you back, nor do you have a clear course of action to achieve the goal.

Change is a process, not an outcome.

Resolutions are outcome focused.

Habits, on the other hand, are process focused.

Change happens not when you make new resolutions. Change happens when you make new habits. So how do we create new habits?

Through rituals.

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Rituals are designated actions, designed by us to bring change in a particular area of our life.

Rituals, when repeated regularly, target specific neurological conditioning, and effectively create new neuro connections, which lead us to new habits.

The goal of a ritual is to identify an action and repeat it consistently. By leveraging the power of neuroplasticity, over time that will reduce the mental effort and self-discipline required to undertake that specific action. The brain forms and then strengthens the neuro-connections regarding that activity so that over time it feels more automatic and effortless.

The key is to allocate self-discipline when launching a new ritual and then to structure it so that it requires less and less self-discipline to maintain.

By creating rituals aimed at getting you to your resolution, you won’t just reach a resolution, you will live it. You will become it. It could take just two minutes a day, but if your rituals are consistent, then your brain will create new connections and over time, those connections will become so strong that the rituals will become habits, which will become natural.

As William James, the famous psychologist, once said, “Habits and schedules are important because they free our minds to advance to really interesting fields of action.”

To subscribe to Charlie’s newsletter, please email charlie@ charlieharary.com

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Warm& Delicious

by Sharon Matten

Hearty dishes that drive the chill away and warm you inside and out. ill away ty dishes that drive the ch ar he me so nt wa we us on es that I often With the colder days up of my favorite family dish me so e ar e es Th t. ou d busy an and warm you inside tra to freeze for another ex ke ma en ev n ca u Yo . nners prepare for weeknight di winter night. o!

E (Gluten Free Eater) to

e great for the GF Note: All these recipes ar

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Sweet Potato Soup with Candied Pecans (GFE) Sweet Potato Soup with Candied PecansSweet potatoes are listed as one of Food Network’s top ten “Super Foods”! According to the article: One medium sweet potato contains more than 400 percent of your daily dose of beta-carotene and the antioxidant lycopene. It’s also a good source of vitamin C, fiber and heart-healthy potassium. All that in one little potato! This thick and satisfying soup has lots of healthy sweet potatoes, is super easy to make and good for you too! Topped with Candied Pecans it’s a real treat for your family.

Note: If you don’t want to add the whipping cream, you can substitute one additional cup of soy milk.

7 medium sweet potatoes, around 6 pounds 4 cups vegetable stock (I use Manishewitz) 4 cups vanilla soy milk 1 cup heavy whipping cream (pareve) 1 tablespoon cinnamon ½ teaspoon nutmeg In a large stock pot with a lid cover sweet potatoes with water. Bring to a boil, cover, reduce heat to low, then simmer for 45 minutes until sweet potatoes are fork tender. Drain water and let potatoes cool slightly, around 10 minutes. Peel potatoes and return to the pot.

Add the vegetable stock, soy milk, and cream to the pot. Using an immersion blender or food processor, blend the potatoes and liquid until smooth. Add the cinnamon and nutmeg and blend until spices are evenly distributed. If the soup seems too thick add additional soy milk as desired. Serve hot topped with additional cinnamon and Candied Pecans.

Candied Pecans 1 cup whole pecans ¼ cup sugar 2 tablespoons corn syrup Line a cookie sheet with parchment paper or a silicone mat.

Set aside. Combine sugar and corn syrup in a medium skillet.

Add pecans and stir until pecans are coated. Cook over medium heat, continuously stirring with a wooden spoon or heat

resistant (silicone) spatula until sugar coating begins to brown slightly, being careful not to burn the sugar. Immediately turn pecans onto prepared baking sheet, spreading and separating with the wooden spoon or heat resistant spatula. When the pecans are completely cooled break apart any large clumps of pecans. These can be used to top the Sweet Potato Soup or your favorite salads.

Roasted Indian Eggplant (GFE) Roasted Indian EggplantOur local mega produce store often carries cute little Indian eggplants. Smaller than baby eggplant, the Indian eggplants are around 2-3 inches long and when roasted are sweet and delicious! This recipe is based upon one of my favorite recipes from our day school’s awesome cookbook - “Arie Crown Hebrew Day School’s Crowning Elegance”.

The long slow roasting brings out the incredible flavor of the combination of roasted tomatoes, sweet Vidalia onions, basil and eggplant.

12-16 small Indian eggplant 1 tablespoon canola oil 1 large Vidalia onion, thinly slice (or more if desired) 3 medium tomatoes, diced (or more if desired) ¼ cup fresh parsley, chopped 1/3 cup fresh basil, chopped 3 tablespoons lemon juice ½ teaspoon sea salt

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½ teaspoon white pepper ½ teaspoon sugar non-stick vegetable spray Line a large cookie sheet with aluminum foil. Spray with nonstick vegetable spray. Set aside. Preheat oven to 400° F. Heat the canola oil in a large skillet or wok. Add onions and sauté until soft, around 10 minutes. Add tomatoes, parsley, basil, lemon juice, and salt. Stir to combine and cook for another minute until heated through.

Cut the eggplants in half, leaving the stem on, and place cut side up on prepared baking sheet. Evenly spoon onion and tomato mixture over the eggplant, then sprinkle with white pepper and sugar. Tightly cover with foil and bake for 45 minutes. After 45 minutes, remove from oven, uncover and bake for an additional 45 minutes. Serve at room temperature.

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Spicy Peanut Chicken (GFE) Spicy Peanut ChickenI’m always buying too many tomatoes.

They look so pretty and enticing in the store - it’s as if they calling out to me to buy them! I always seem to buy too many and I can never seem to use them fast enough. This is the perfect recipe for all your heart healthy (and possibly soft) tomatoes!

It’s got great flavor because of the unique combination of peanut butter, tomatoes, curry, and crushed red peppers (we love it spicy!), and you can serve it on a bed of wholesome multi-grain rice or fragrant Safron Rice. Based upon a recipe from Cooking Light Magazine (August 2008), this recipe is perfect for a large family’s weeknight dinner or makes enough for you to freeze for another busy night.

1 tablespoon peanut oil 1 large onion, diced 4 cloves garlic, minced (or 4 frozen cubes) 2 ½ pounds boneless, skinless chicken breasts, cubed 1/3 cup chunky peanut butter 1 ½ teaspoons curry powder

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1 teaspoon salt (optional) 1 teaspoon crushed red pepper (or more to taste) ½ teaspoon black pepper 2 6 ounce cans tomato paste 6 ripe plum tomatoes or 4 large regular tomatoes, diced – around 3 cups (or more if desired) 14 ounces chicken stock/broth additional dry roasted peanuts, chopped (optional) Heat oil in a large wok or dutch oven over medium heat. Add onion and garlic to the pan, then cook stirring frequently until tender around 5 minutes. Add chicken to the pan and sauté until chicken is cooked through. Stir in peanut butter, curry, salt, crushed red pepper, black pepper, and tomato pastes. Cook for an additional minute. Add tomato and broth to the pan, then bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer for around 30 minutes until slightly thickened. Serve over brown or multi-grain rice, or Golden Safron Rice.

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Golden Safron Rice (GFE) Golden Safron RiceThis is one of the best smelling, prettiest, and easiest rice dishes I make. Sauté a diced medium onion in some margarine, add the rice, some vegetable stock, a few saffron threads, cover and cook. SO simple! The result is beautiful, golden rice that is a great accompaniment to any dish you make. For more information about this recipe go to www. koshereveryday.com 1 medium onion, finely diced (around ¾ cup) 1 ½ tablespoons margarine 2 cups basmati rice 3 ½ cups vegetable stock (I use Manishewitz) ½ teaspoon saffron threads, crushed ½ teaspoon salt (optional)

40

Rinse rice until water runs clear. Melt margarine in a large stock pot. Add onions and sauté until soft and clear. Add vegetable stock to the pot and bring to a boil. Add saffron and stir to blend. Add rice and stir to combine. Return stock to a boil.

Reduce heat to low, cover and cook for 15-20 minutes until water is absorbed. Fluff with a fork. Serve warm.

NOTES: If you don’t have vegetable stock handy, you can use water and 1-2 tablespoons of consommé mix instead. Omit the salt.

This recipe is gluten-free! Great for the GFE (Gluten Free Eater) and everyone else too!

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41

More Scary Tales from the Grocery Store The cashier didn’t acknowledge my existence and here’s why it matters.

Unlike my last experience at the grocery store, this time there were no irate customers or angry cashiers. There was something worse – complete and utter indifference.

The woman checking me out didn’t bother to acknowledge my existence. It wasn’t because she was on the phone with a friend or chatting with a fellow cashier across the aisles.

It seemed she just really didn’t care.

She didn’t say hello. She didn’t offer the token, “Did you find everything you need?” She just silently rang me up, not

42

even bothering to glance up and actually look at me.

I bagged my own groceries and she made no effort to help. And I walked away a little sad.

A world of indifference is a very alienating one. It is the opposite of the Torah vision of a world of kindness, a world built on giving.

I’m not looking for friendship. I’m not looking for personal questions (the opposite problem!). Just decency. Just what we used to call “common courtesy”.

Because without it the world is a cold and lonely place.

You may think I’m exaggerating. It was just grocery shopping for heaven’s sake! But when our days are made up of small interaction after small interaction and there actually is no “inter”, it takes a toll.

I think we all contribute to the depersonalization of our world. When I go to the nail salon, I am one of the few customers not on my phone. Because there’s a person sitting right in front of me and even if I’m not treating her as my therapist, I don’t want to treat her like a

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piece of furniture either.

Not everyone is insensitive. Not everyone is self-centered. At another supermarket (I spend far too much time at grocery stores!) I heard a customer apologize for being on the phone and explain the necessity. Sometimes it can’t be helped. But at least she treated the store’s employee as a real human being.

Another cashier at this same location was overheard wishing customers a “blessed day”. Kindness leads to more kindness.

Those were heartwarming response.

Those were the symbols of hope. We’re not ready to give up yet. We haven’t quite sunk as low as the generation of the flood.

But when I experience that apathy, when I am treated like an object instead of a person, when the human being sitting or standing in front of me can’t be bothered to get off her phone, I am reminded of Randy Newman’s song that was popular in the seventies, “I think it’s going to rain today.”

I could just order my groceries online and save myself from a lot of aggravation.

But that would signal total retreat and defeat.

REPRINTED WITH PERMISSION FROM AISH.COM

by Emuna Braverman

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