Wonderful Shabbat

I haven't posted for a couple of days- first, because I spent so much time setting up my photo album on Facebook, and then because it was Shabbat. I kept Shabbat here, and it was beautiful. For those who don't know, we abstain from creating (it may also be thought of as "work" but it's easier for me to remember this way, since as someone said, 'We can move around every piece of furniture in our home, but we can't strike a match, and which one is more work?') on Shabbat to remember that there is a Creator, and as Rabbi Marcus taught us today, to "thin the mask" between us and Him. This is a great concept. For six days G-d created the world, which serves as a mask between us and Him. He does that so that we have the free will to choose to have a relationship with Him. If He didn't, if he revealed Himself to us, then we'd be so overwhelmed with the pleasure of His company, we'd try to attach ourselves to Him and never let go-- but that's not free will. So for six days G-d created, and the seventh day, G-d rested. Rested from creating the mask, so on Shabbat, the mask thins. Every thing we do to keep Shabbat thins the mask and allows us to connect to Him. Every thing we do that doesn't keep Shabbat thickens the mask and makes that connection more difficult. Awesome class.

I was blessed to spend Shabbat in the Old City of Jerusalem. When you're not carrying anything you can almost imagine yourself living there, just running around the corner to your neighbor's house- and I've walked the same streets enough times to almost know my way! I just think for Shabbat it's the most magical place on earth. I guess it's not magical, because magic isn't real.... it's just very, very special. Holy. Praying at the Kotel, seeing every style of Jew come to welcome the Sabbath- even a group of secular Israeli teens shared their song book with T and I and we sang songs with them for a while. We don't speak Hebrew, they didn't speak English, but we were all Jews and that was the only language needed.

I hope I merit to spend another Shabbat in the Old City someday soon. We could all use a little more holiness in our lives.

BD

Happiness, the Old City, and the Kotel Tunnel Tours

We started off the morning with a class on Happiness Principles. Rabbi Zelig Pliskin is an amazing and successful author and teacher who has written MANY books on the topics of gratitude and happiness, and the moment you lay eyes on him, you can see why. The man radiates. His face was made to smile. So full of joy. You can't help but feel happy in his presence and feel like his principles make sense, since they so obviously work for him. I will do my best to blog at another time about this class in more detail (after I return, I mean), because I think it deserves more attention.

I then took a participant to the Terem, the stand-alone emergency room I wrote about last year. Once again, I was privileged to see the fruits of the labor of Dr. David Applebaum of blessed memory (go ahead and Google his name, since I'm guessing few outside of Israel know who he is and his stunning story). I'm beginning to think- "What's a trip to Israel without bringing someone to the ER?" I was sad to miss handing out the siddurim (prayer books) to the women on the trip- I remember receiving mine last year, and was really looking forward to giving them.

I did get back in time to rush a group of women to Mea Sha'arim and back in a couple of hours. It was a bit like herding cats, but only slightly less difficult. My instructions were as thus: "This is not a browsing trip, ladies, this is a power shopping trip. Decisiveness is key. If the item doesn't sing heavenly songs to you as you pass, keep going! Dawdle and you WILL be left behind!" With G-d's help, we made it back with two minutes to spare. I could not believe it. However, I must say, it was a delightful time.

Last stop of the night was the Old City and Kotel tunnel tour. The only downside was that our tour began so close to sunset that we missed a lot of beautiful sights of the Old City. Our tour guide, David Sussman, was amazing. I am hoping to book him for a half day tour of the Old City when Patrick comes to join me. His command of history and how the different civilizations interweaved was so interesting-- too many facts to really file away, they were coming so fast. I think Patrick would really enjoy it.

The Kotel tunnel tour was perhaps the coolest part of the night. There is a part of the Western Wall they have excavated that is directly across from the place where the Holy of Holies (the ark, where G-d's Divine Presence dwelled when the Temple was standing) was located. I put my hand on it to pray and immediately burst into tears. Not completely sure why, and a little freaked out, I just went with it. It was great. The Talmud says the gates of tears are always open in Heaven. I certainly hope so.

We were so exhausted when we finished, we stumbled back to the Mamilla Mall and had a really excellent meal at Herzl (meat restaurant). If you ever get to Jerusalem, I'd recommend it. After that, I'm falling into bed, but it's still after midnight. Up at 6 am for Masada and camel rides tomorrow!! I wish at home I could get by on this little sleep.

Photo Blog for Day 2 in Israel

It is past midnight, so tonight I'm mostly doing some photos. Tsfat was great, but we visited the same amazing spots as last year so I am not going to write about them again. We arrived in Jerusalem at 8 pm, and Joy, Ellen and I walked to Mamilla Mall and had a light dinner and a wonderful chat at Cafe Cafe.

Glorious view of Lake Kinneret from our window at the King Solomon Hotel in Tiberias.

The fabulous Esti Herskovitz, our tour guide in Tsfat and the Kinneret, speaking to us outside the Ari Ashkenazi synagogue

Stained glass window in the Ari Ashkenazi synagogue

Singers after lunch at the Red Khan (the Red Mosque)

JWRP women dancing at the Red Khan

Tomorrow, we tour the new Aish Building! Last I saw it, it was covered in tarps and concrete dust. I can't wait!!

BD

Welcome back!

Such overwhelming feelings being back in Israel, even more so because it was a very eventful trip. Easy flight to New York, lulling me into a false sense of security. Then it went haywire. First, the ticket agent gave my passport away. I had to redistribute some contents between my bags because of the weight limit, and while I was doing that he checked in the woman behind me. When I was done, I asked for my passport back, and he replied that he already gave it to me. I said he didn't, he said he did. This went on for a disturbing length of time, all while I was going through both bags looking for it. Finally, I thought about the woman he checked in- thank G-d (really!) that she was a member of my group. She was a bit confused, but checked in her purse and "lo and behold"- there it was! Clearly the careless check-in agent was not Israeli El-Al, because they NEVER would have given away my passport.

Now the most eventful part of the trip. I loaned my phone to someone so she could take care of some business with her phone, and ........ She lost it in New York.

I didn't find out about this until I was on the plane- I went to get my phone from her so I could turn off the data roaming and the data push and ..... she looked at me helplessly and with tears said she didn't have it. Didn't know what happened to it. Didn't know where it was.

I really don't have words for what went through my mind. I know I should not be too attached to a thing, but my first thoughts went to all that I had on the phone. Final pictures of my beloved pet Lilah, photos of my travels with the Cheese Guy, food shots. Email. Google Maps. Bejeweled Blitz!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Oy.

I went to the Lost and Found at Ben-Gurion, and waited for a very long time while, in classic Israeli fashion, the people behind the desk sat there looking everywhere but at me. Finally one guy helped me- mostly in disbelief that someone somehow lost my phone instead of giving it back to me. He kept asking me, "Why didn't she just give it back to you?" I wanted to tell him, "That's what happens when someone loses something!" He took my info, but I need to call back with a contact number so they can get in touch with me. The flight attendants sent a couple of messages back to the gate in NY, but I really hold out no hope of ever seeing Gus again. This way, if I do, it will be pure jubilation. And yes, I did name my iPhone Gus, but that shouldn't surprise anyone who knows me- our cars are named Zelda and Martha, and my first computer was named Chester. I'm a namer. Get over it.

So, now. I'm in Israel, with a (thank G-d!) working computer and modem that has me connected. I've seen my Uncle Ilan, who came and met me at the airport, just so he could give me a hug and a kiss and shlep my luggage cart to the bus. It's 7:25 pm, a little after noon at home. My poor devoted Cheese Guy is left with the task of cancelling my iPhone (I so wish I had the iPhone tracker app right about now) and I get to go back to the amazing JWRP experience. Our bus is on the way to Tiberias, where we will dine at Decks, this phenomenal open-air grill restaurant, and then get to the hotel, where our luggage will be waiting for us. Delicious food, dancing, and a wonderful view of Lake Kinneret (in the dark, as it gets dark at around 5 pm these days) awaits. Love to you all.

BD

And so it begins.... again!

Finalizing the packing details and keeping myriad lists helps occupy my mind-- it's a good thing, because otherwise the reality of what I'm getting ready for would set in and I might not be able to finish what I need to do! I am not going to be sleeping in my own bed for almost three weeks, and I could not be more excited about it. Never before have I been to Israel twice so close together. It is simply the best feeling to be going back to a place that I "know"-- it's like traveling back to a place you used to live. I find myself remembering what the streets look like, where certain shops are, how it feels to approach the Kotel (the Western Wall). What a huge blessing to be able to share this with a new group of women! I think some will be on my flight to New York, but we'll all meet up in JFK before the flight to Ben Gurion.

Looking forward to sharing my journey with you--

BD

Israel, Round 2

Getting ready to leave for Israel on October 31st, another trip with the Jewish Women's Renaissance Project. This time I am traveling as a madricha (leader, teacher, guide). We will be helpng this new group of women get the most out of their experience. I can't wait, but am a little nervous. Do I have what it takes to inspire them? Hopefully, with Hashem's guidance, I will. I will try to blog this time like I did last, both about my JWRP trip and about my travels with The Cheese Guy when he joins me at the end of the mission. We'll be in Israel and around for another week and a half. Should be grand-- stay tuned!

BD

Call to Action- VERY LONG POST

This is a partial reprint of the sermon Rabbi Shalom Lewis gave to his congregation Etz Chaim in Marietta, GA on Rosh Hashanah of this year. It is not uplifting, but it is definitely inspiring, and I agree with it. My deepest gratitude to Rabbi Lewis for allowing me to reprint it, "as long as it retains its message." I hope everyone who reads this, Jew and non-Jew alike, finds the message.

BD

Many years ago a Chasid used to travel from shtetl to shtetl selling holy books. On one occasion he came to a wealthy land owner and asked if he would like to purchase a book of Torah teachings. The banker agreed and not only purchased the book, but paid for it with a hundred ruble note. He then began to chat with the Chassid and offered him a cigar, taking one also for himself. The Chassid noticed that the banker proceeded to rip a page from the holy book he had just bought and holding it to the open flame on the stove, used the page to light his cigar. The Chassid said not a word but simply drew out from his pocket the 100 ruble note he had just received from the banker, held it over the stove as well and used it to light his cigar.

This simple, little tale reflects a profound divergence of values. Our sympathy clearly and instinctively is not with the banker but with the pious Chassid. None of us would come to the defense of the banker. None of us would claim moral supremacy for the banker. None of us would justify his boorish deed. As the sages of the Talmud would say – “Pshita – It is so obvious.” Sadly though our planet is immersed in perversity where morality is not so manifest – where the book burner is a hero and the pious one, a villain.

I thought long and I thought hard on whether to deliver the sermon I am about to share. We all wish to bounce happily out of shul on the High Holidays, filled with warm fuzzies, ready to gobble up our brisket, our honey cakes and our kugel. We want to be shaken and stirred – but not too much. We want to be guilt-schlepped – but not too much. We want to be provoked but not too much. We want to be transformed but not too much.

I get it, but as a rabbi I have a compelling obligation, a responsibility to articulate what is in my heart and what I passionately believe must be said and must be heard. And so, I am guided not by what is easy to say but by what is painful to express. I am guided not by the frivolous but by the serious. I am guided not by delicacy but by urgency.

We are at war. We are at war with an enemy as savage, as voracious, as heartless as the Nazis but one wouldn’t know it from our behavior. During WWII we didn’t refer to storm troopers as freedom fighters. We didn’t call the Gestapo, militants. We didn’t see the attacks on our Merchant Marine as acts by rogue sailors. We did not justify the Nazis rise to power as our fault. We did not grovel before the Nazis, thumping our hearts and confessing to abusing and mistreating and humiliating the German people. We did not apologize for Dresden, nor for The Battle of the Bulge, nor for El Alamein, nor for D-Day.

Not all Germans were Nazis – most were decent, most were revolted by the Third Reich, most were good citizens hoisting a beer, earning a living and tucking in their children at night. But, too many looked away, too many cried out in lame defense – I didn’t know.” Too many were silent. Guilt absolutely falls upon those who committed the atrocities, but responsibility and guilt falls upon those who did nothing as well. Fault was not just with the goose steppers but with those who pulled the curtains shut, said and did nothing.

We are at war… yet too many stubbornly and foolishly don’t put the pieces together and refuse to identify the evil doers. We are circumspect and disgracefully politically correct.

Let me mince no words in saying that from Fort Hood to Bali, from Times Square to London, from Madrid to Mumbai, from 9/11 to Gaza, the murderers, the barbarians are radical Islamists.

To camouflage their identity is sedition. To excuse their deeds is contemptible. To mask their intentions is unconscionable.

A few years ago I visited Lithuania on a Jewish genealogical tour. It was a stunning journey and a very personal, spiritual pilgrimage. When we visited Kovno we davened Maariv at the only remaining shul in the city. Before the war there were thirty-seven shuls for 38,000 Jews. Now only one, a shrinking, gray congregation. We made minyon for the handful of aged worshippers in the Choral Synagogue, a once majestic, jewel in Kovno.

After my return home I visited Cherry Hill for Shabbos. At the oneg an elderly family friend, Joe Magun, came over to me.

“Shalom,” he said. “Your abba told me you just came back from Lithuania.” “Yes,” I replied. “It was quite a powerful experience.” “Did you visit the Choral Synagogue in Kovno? The one with the big arch in the courtyard?” “Yes, I did. In fact, we helped them make minyon.” His eyes opened wide in joy at our shared memory. For a moment he gazed into the distance and then, he returned. “Shalom, I grew up only a few feet away from the arch. The Choral Synagogue was where I davened as a child.”

He paused for a moment and once again was lost in the past. His smile faded. Pain filled his wrinkled face. “I remember one Shabbos in 1938 when Vladimir Jabotinsky came to the shul” (Jabotinsky was Menachim Begin’s mentor – he was a fiery orator, an unflinching Zionist radical, whose politics were to the far right.) Joe continued “When Jabotinsky came, he delivered the drash on Shabbos morning and I can still hear his words burning in my ears. He climbed up to the shtender, stared at us from the bima, glared at us with eyes full of fire and cried out. ‘EHR KUMT. YIDN FARLAWST AYER SHTETL – He’s coming. Jews abandon your city.’ ”

We thought we were safe in Lithuania from the Nazis, from Hitler. We had lived there, thrived for a thousand years but Jabotinsky was right -- his warning prophetic. We got out but most did not.”

We are not in Lithuania. It is not the 1930s. There is no Luftwaffe overhead. No Panzer divisions on our borders. But make no mistake; we are under attack – our values, our tolerance, our freedom, our virtue, our land.

Now before some folks roll their eyes and glance at their watches let me state emphatically, unmistakably – I have no pathology of hate, nor am I a manic Paul Revere, galloping through the countryside. I am a lover of humanity, all humanity. Whether they worship in a synagogue, a church, a mosque, a temple or don’t worship at all. I have no bone of bigotry in my body, but what I do have is hatred for those who hate, intolerance for those who are intolerant, and a guiltless, unstoppable obsession to see evil eradicated.

Today the enemy is radical Islam but it must be said sadly and reluctantly that there are unwitting, co-conspirators who strengthen the hands of the evil doers. Let me state that the overwhelming number of Muslims are good Muslims, fine human beings who want nothing more than a Jeep Cherokee in their driveway, a flat screen TV on their wall and a good education for their children, but these good Muslims have an obligation to destiny, to decency that thus far for the most part they have avoided. The Kulturkampf is not only external but internal as well. The good Muslims must sponsor rallies in Times Square, in Trafalgar Square, in the UN Plaza, on the Champs Elysee, in Mecca condemning terrorism, denouncing unequivocally the slaughter of the innocent. Thus far, they have not. The good Muslims must place ads in the NY Times. They must buy time on network TV, on cable stations, in the Jerusalem Post, in Le Monde, in Al Watan, on Al Jazeena condemning terrorism, denouncing unequivocally the slaughter of the innocent – thus far, they have not. Their silence allows the vicious to tarnish Islam and define it.
Brutal acts of commission and yawning acts of omission both strengthen the hand of the devil.

The mystifying litany of our foolishness continues. Should there be a shul in Hebron on the site where Baruch Goldstein gunned down twenty-seven Arabs at noonday prayers? Should there be a museum praising the U.S. Calvary on the site of Wounded Knee? Should there be a German cultural center in Auschwitz? Should a church be built in the Syrian town of Ma’arra where Crusaders slaughtered over 100,000 Muslims? Should there be a thirteen story mosque and Islamic Center only a few steps from Ground Zero?

Despite all the rhetoric, the essence of the matter can be distilled quite easily. The Muslim community has the absolute, constitutional right to build their building wherever they wish. I don’t buy the argument – “When we can build a church or a synagogue in Mecca they can build a mosque here.” America is greater than Saudi Arabia. And New York is greater than Mecca. Democracy and freedom must prevail.

Can they build? Certainly. May they build? Certainly. But should they build at that site? No -- but that decision must come from them, not from us. Sensitivity and compassion cannot be measured in feet or yards or in blocks. One either feels the pain of others and cares, or does not. If those behind this project are good, peace-loving, sincere, tolerant Muslims, as they claim, then they should know better, rip up the zoning permits and build elsewhere.

Let us understand that the radical Islamist assaults all over the globe are but skirmishes, fire fights, and vicious decoys. Christ and the anti-Christ. The Sons of Light and the Sons of Darkness; the bloody collision between civilization and depravity is on the border between Lebanon and Israel. It is on the sandy beaches of Tel Aviv and on the cobblestoned mall of Ben Yehuda Street. It is in the underground schools of Sderot and on the bullet-proofed inner-city buses. It is in every school yard, hospital, nursery, classroom, park, theater – in every place of innocence and purity.

Israel is the laboratory – the test market. Every death, every explosion, every grisly encounter is not a random, bloody orgy. It is a calculated, strategic probe into the heart, guts and soul of the West.

As Israel, imperfect as she is, resists the onslaught, many in the Western World have lost their way displaying not admiration, not sympathy, not understanding, for Israel’s galling plight, but downright hostility and contempt. Without moral clarity, we are doomed because Israel’s galling plight ultimately will be ours. Hanna Arendt in her classic Origins of Totalitarianism accurately portrays the first target of tyranny as the Jew. We are the trial balloon. The canary in the coal mine. If the Jew/Israel is permitted to bleed with nary a protest from “good guys” then tyranny snickers and pushes forward with its agenda.

Moral confusion is a deadly weakness and it has reached epic proportions in the West; from the Oval Office to the UN, from the BBC to Reuters to MSNBC, from the New York Times to Le Monde, from university campuses to British teachers' unions, from the International Red Cross to Amnesty International, from Goldstone to Elvis Costello, from the Presbyterian Church to the Archbishop of Canterbury.

There is a message sent and consequences when our president visits Turkey and Egypt and Saudi Arabia, and not Israel.

There is a message sent and consequences when free speech on campus is only for those championing Palestinian rights.

There is a message sent and consequences when the media deliberately doctors and edits film clips to demonize Israel.

There is a message sent and consequences when the UN blasts Israel relentlessly, effectively ignoring Iran, Sudan, Venezuela, North Korea, China and other noxious states.

There is a message sent and consequences when murderers and terrorists are defended by the obscenely transparent “one man’s terrorist is another man’s freedom fighter.”

A few days after the Gaza blockade incident in the spring, a congregant happened past my office, glanced in and asked in a friendly tone –

“Rabbi. How’re y’ doing?”

I looked up, sort of smiled and replied – “I’ve had better days.”

“What’s the matter? Is there anything I can do to cheer you up?” he inquired.

“Thank you for the offer but I’m just bummed out today and I showed him a newspaper article I was reading.

“Madrid gay pride parade bans Israeli group over Gaza Ship Raid.” I explained to my visitor – “The Israeli gay pride contingent from Tel Aviv was not allowed to participate in the Spanish gay pride parade because the mayor of Tel Aviv did not apologize for the raid by the Israeli military.”

The only country in the entire Middle East where gay rights exist, is Israel. The only country in the entire Middle East where there is a gay pride parade, is Israel. The only country in the Middle East that has gay neighborhoods and gay bars, is Israel.

Gays in the Gaza would be strung up, executed by Hamas if they came out and yet Israel is vilified and ostracized. Disinvited to the parade.

It is exhausting and dispiriting. We live in an age that is redefining righteousness where those with moral clarity are an endangered, beleaguered specie.

How do we convince the world and many of our own, that this is not just anti-Semitism, that this is not just anti-Zionism but a full throttled attack by unholy, radical Islamists on everything that is morally precious to us?

How do we convince the world and many of our own that conciliation is not an option, that compromise is not a choice?

The threat is so unbelievably clear and the enemy so unbelievably ruthless how anyone in their right mind doesn’t get it is baffling. Let’s try an analogy. If someone contracted a life-threatening infection and we not only scolded them for using antibiotics but insisted that the bacteria had a right to infect their body and that perhaps, if we gave the invading infection an arm and a few toes, the bacteria would be satisfied and stop spreading

Anyone buy that medical advice? Well, folks, that’s our approach to the radical Islamist bacteria. It is amoral, has no conscience and will spread unless it is eradicated. – There is no negotiating. Appeasement is death.

I was no great fan of George Bush – didn’t vote for him. (By the way, I’m still a registered Democrat.) I disagreed with many of his policies but one thing he had right. His moral clarity was flawless when it came to the War on Terror, the War on Radical Islamist Terror. There was no middle ground – either you were friend or foe. There was no place in Bush’s world for a Switzerland. He knew that this competition was not Toyota against G.M., not the Iphone against the Droid, not the Braves against the Phillies, but a deadly serious war, winner take all. Blink and you lose. Underestimate, and you get crushed.

Enough rhetoric – how about a little “show and tell?” A few weeks ago on the cover of Time magazine was a horrific picture with a horrific story. The photo was of an eighteen year old Afghani woman, Bibi Aisha, who fled her abusive husband and his abusive family. Days later the Taliban found her and dragged her to a mountain clearing where she was found guilty of violating Sharia Law. Her punishment was immediate. She was pinned to the ground by four men while her husband sliced off her ears, and then he cut off her nose.

That is the enemy (show enlarged copy of magazine cover.)

If nothing else stirs us. If nothing else convinces us, let Bibi Aisha’s mutilated face be the face of Islamic radicalism. Let her face shake up even the most complacent and naïve among us. In the holy crusade against this ultimate evil, pictures of Bibi Aisha’s disfigurement should be displayed on billboards, along every highway from Route 66 to the Autobahn, to the Transarabian Highway. Her picture should be posted on every lobby wall from Tokyo to Stockholm to Rio. On every network, at every commercial break, Bibi Aisha’s face should appear with the caption – “Radical Islamic savages did this.” And underneath – “This ad was approved by Hamas, by Hezbollah, by Taliban, by the Iranian Revolutionary Guard, by Islamic Jihad, by Fatah al Islam, by Magar Nodal Hassan, by Richard Reid, by Ahmanijad, by Sheik Omar Abdel Rahman, by Osama bin Laden, by Edward Said, by The Muslim Brotherhood, by Al Queda, by CAIR.”

“The moral sentiment is the drop that balances the sea” said Ralph Waldo Emerson. Today, my friends, the sea is woefully out of balance and we could easily drown in our moral myopia and worship of political correctness.

Our parents and grandparents saw the swastika and recoiled, understood the threat and destroyed the Nazis. We see the banner of Radical Islam and can do no less.

A rabbi was once asked by his students….
“Rebbi. Why are your sermons so stern?” Replied the rabbi, “If a house is on fire and we chose not to wake up our children, for fear of disturbing their sleep, would that be love? Kinderlach, ‘di hoyz brent.’ Children our house is on fire and I must arouse you from your slumber.”

During WWII and the Holocaust was it business as usual for priests, ministers, rabbis? Did they deliver benign homilies and lovely sermons as Europe fell, as the Pacific fell, as North Africa fell, as the Mideast and South America tottered, as England bled? Did they ignore the demonic juggernaut and the foul breath of evil? They did not. There was clarity, courage, vision, determination, sacrifice, and we were victorious. Today it must be our finest hour as well. We dare not retreat into the banality of our routines, glance at headlines and presume that the good guys will prevail.

Democracies don’t always win.
Tyrannies don’t always lose.

My friends – the world is on fire and we must awake from our slumber. “EHR KUMT.”

Jewish in a Non-Jewish World

Today is one of the middle days of a Jewish holiday called Sukkot. Traditionally during these days families do fun activities together. Torah Academy here in town got a special price at Nickelodeon Universe, the amusement park at the Mall of America (Mall of the Universe is what it's called in my family- and I try to stay away as much as possible), so invited all their students and families to get discounted wristbands and enjoy the all-you-can-ride fun!

Not having kids of my own (yet), I took advantage of a free day and scooped up my friend T's kids and took them to the Mall of Consumption. We met three other families and rode for hours- myself, 6 times on the Pepsi Orange Squeak with the smaller kids (who need chaperones if they're between 42" and 47" tall). Did great until the last one, where I felt a bit nauseated.... but I guess that's what made it the last one.

Setting aside how much fun I had running around with the kids, you want to know what the best part was? The entire park was almost empty except for all the Jews roaming and riding around. I mean there were hundreds of us. Tzitzis (the prayer fringes you can see hanging out under the men's shirts), and sheitels (wigs) as far as the eye could see. Little clusters of girls in identical outfits, teen girls in their long black skirts and cute tops over long-sleeved shirts, yeshiva bochers (students) in their kippot and matching white shirts and black pants, we were a swarm, a force to be reckoned with. Not growing up in a frum community (or really in a community where there were any frum people at all), I've never seen this many observant Jews together outside of Brooklyn or Israel. Not to mention the fact that when I have seen them, it's always been either in a religious setting (I mean, no one is surprised to see a huge gathering of observant Jews in Israel, right?) or in an insulated environment- never "out in my world like me." Score another point for Jewish pride and unity.

BD

The Power of Gratitude

My good friend's wife killed herself this week. Unbelievable suffering has been created by a woman who dedicated a large portion of her life to alleviating suffering. She was a school nurse, a hospice nurse, owned a coffee house where a community of people found comfort and respite. We will all miss her terribly, my friend most of all.

What can you do with the anger at such a tragedy? I know it's normal, but I really don't like feeling so... icky. The Torah actually teaches us not to be angry. The Gemara says, "There is nothing left for the angry person except his anger " (Kiddushin 40b-41a) There is profound sadness at what she did, but there is also anger at what she left behind. How could a woman who was so kind, compassionate, giving, and loving do something so selfish? That is the true tragedy of a mental illness. Her ability to see her effect on the world and how much others loved her was distorted and warped until all she had was doubt and pain.

One blessing in this situation is that while I am close enough to understand and support, I am distant enough to keep my ability to function. The suffering of her family and friends has been difficult for me to bear this past week. My anger was building, until two nights ago. I was having dinner with her family and her niece said, with a choke in her voice, "She suffered from this for forty-two years. Thank you, Aunt Jean, for sticking it out that long." And in that moment I was transformed.

To find gratitude in your lowest moments gives you a light at the end of the tunnel. It gives you something to cling to when it seems as if the difficulties of life will swallow you up. It is one of the only things that can shift our thinking from something dark and destructive to something uplifting and life-affirming. When we're grateful for everything we have, the magnitude of our recognized blessings takes up all the space in our heart, leaving none for things like anger, envy, and selfishness.

When the first plague was brought about in Egypt, G-d told Aaron to strike the Nile with Moses' staff. Why not Moses? G-d didn't allow Moses to strike the river because it shielded and protected him as an infant, and this was his way of showing it gratitude for saving him. I love that story- it shows us how deep and wide our gratitude can reach.

I'm clinging to that gratitude right now, and I can feel the anger knocking. I don't want to let it in. I keep thinking about it over and over, and this tape runs in my head: Thank you, Jean, for sticking it out as long as you could- long enough for us to meet and for you and your family to become a part of my life. I will be grateful for the time we had together.

BD

Jewnion Label

This is the coolest line of hipster Jewish clothes I've seen in a long time!! I definitely want the Challah Makers t-shirt.

Jewnion Label

BD