Ani Maamin, Never Again

Tonight is Yom Hashoah, Holocaust Memorial Day, and since I have started a blog, it seems most appropriate to write on this topic.

Twenty years ago today, I was in Poland on the March of the Living. It was an incredible experience, a statement that will be upheld by every past participant. In my own life, this was a life altering experience, for in many ways it set me on the path to Orthodoxy.

Walking through the streets of Warsaw, I remember staring at every silver haired head and thinking, "Where were you? What did you do while my unknown relatives were murdered?" (Thankfully, all of my grandparents were either born in, or had arrived in, America before the Second World War.) I still remember the anger I felt at these living artifacts of nationalism gone terribly wrong. And then the organizers of the March privileged us with meeting a righteous gentile. He told us his story, how he had been taken to the concentration camps for helping Jews, and I was able to hope for the good in the elders we passed.

From that point on, I was better able to dwell on those who died rather than those who murdered them. When I thought about those who died, I began to contemplate what their deaths meant for me. These men, women and children went to their deaths because they were Jews, and they were Jews because, for hundreds of generations, their ancestors had remained faithful to our traditions. I was raised in a family that was not religious. My parents had not been taught about Judaism, but practiced Judaism as their parents before them had...observing the vestiges of a rich heritage diluted in the great "melting pot." But what had all these Jews died for other than that their should still be Jews.

When I returned home, I started eating what I would now call "kosher style." I cared. I wanted to do something to honor those victims. I wanted to thumb my nose at Hitler. And I did.

Twenty years later, I have four beautiful Jewish children who walk around the house singing Jewish songs. (Even my two year old sings Ashrei.)

My eldest child will soon be eight. He has seen, in passing, my photo album from the March of the Living. I have just called him in to ask him if he knows what the Holocaust was, and he told me only that he has heard the word and knows that it is something very bad. When he asked me why, I sent him to bed, telling him that it was, indeed, something very bad and not to be spoken of right before bed.

I try to think back to how I learned about the Holocaust, and, oddly for one who had no direct relatives who survived or perished, it feels like something that I always knew. I do, however, remember when the educational children's program "I Never Saw Another Butterfly" came to town. I remember being deeply moved by it, and understanding, without fully understanding, how tragic it truly was. I can still hear the opening and closing of the title poem, which was written in Terezin by Paval Freedman, a young man who was later killed in Auschwitz ("The last, the very last,/So richly, brightly, dazzlingly yellow./Perhaps if the sun's tears would sing/against a white stone. . . . Only I never saw another butterfly./That butterfly was the last one./Butterflies don't live in here,/in the ghetto.")

Growing up, I learned a beautiful and haunting version of Ani Maamin... "I believe, with complete faith, in the coming of the messiah." I was taught that this tune had been heart-wrenchingly sung by some Jews as they were led to the gas chamber. It is a song that has always haunted me.

My children believe with a faith far more perfect and complete than mine. When I teach them about the Holocaust, whether I do so tomorrow or in two years time, I know that they will have emuna shelaima, complete faith, that the Holocaust was part of the greater plan God has for our people - a horrible, terrible part of the plan, certainly - but part of the greater whole nevertheless. And every morning, when the 31 little girls in my daughter's class recite this same Ani Maamin (with a far happier tune), we claim our victory over Hitler.

Never again!

Lessons From My Daughter

Every baal teshuva gets asked the question, "Why did you become religious?" Depending on my audience, I have different answers (all of which are true). One of my primary answers is children. I wanted my children to have a stronger, more natural, emuna and bitachon (strength and trust in God).

Twenty years and four children later, I can honestly say that I believe I have laid the foundations. Two stories from this Pesach involving my six year old daughter confirm that I am heading in the right direction.

During the first days of the holiday, which we spent with my family, my mother took a walk with three of her grandchildren. During their walk, they played "build-a-story," a game in which each person adds a piece to the story. At the end of their creative tale, my mother asked each child for a conclusion. According to her, my six year old decided that the protagonist (my word, not hers) prayed to Hashem that his problems would be taken care of and the next day was able to solve all his problems. My mother was very impressed, not just with the answer, but with her sincerity.

The second story must be prefaced with the explanation that on Thursday of Chol Hamoed, my daughter tripped over a stump and landed on her face. Not only did she cut up her lip, but she knocked out her top front tooth, which had not yet even started to wiggle. On Friday morning, my poor princess did not want to leave the house because, as she put it, she looked like a duck. (Indeed, she was very swollen.) We convinced her that she was fine to go out in public. Later that day, after she struggled to eat properly through her bruises, my daughter quietly asked me, "If everything God does is for the good, what good was there in my losing my tooth?"

Our answer was fairly mundane...it was a serious enough incident to get the zoo to remove the stump. I was calm in my response, but inside my heart - or perhaps my soul - leaped for joy.

I have no doubt that this child often experiences profound thoughts. Sadly, I am often too busy with work, or laundry, or cooking, or her siblings, or etc., to sit down and have a chat. And the lack of that time was most poignantly pointed out to me by this very child when, her hand in mind, she held my hand (a few days before the accident) and told me that she loved long trips because we all spent time together.

When I went to sit down and write about my Pesach holiday, I thought about this last story and was going to wax poetic about the freedom I found this Passover. But I think that my daughter helped my get to the very heart of the entire freedom experience, which is allowing ourselves to have a beautiful and sincere relationship with Hashem.

The Driven Word

Why did I start a new blog? It's a question I've been asked several times now, and it's a legitimate question. After all, I spend most my day writing for my job -creating Jewish Treats, composing pieces to post on Huffington Post, etc. I even branched out recently and did a freelance piece. When people ask me what I do in my spare time, I all too often answer that I like to work. When they look at me with pity, I firmly explain that I love writing, particularly about Judaism.

To put it in its simplest form, I love words!

It's always been this way with me. I remember asking my elementary school teachers - I want to say as early as third grade - to read my stories. By the time I finished high school, I had drafted two fantasy novels. (One definitely unpublishably bad, the other might be something with a lot of editing.)

When I was twenty, I started observing Shabbat. In addition to all the other changes this brought to my life, I noticed an odd occurrences.  Each week on Shabbat I was filled with writing inspiration. All sorts of plot lines drifted through my head. If I was as religious as I one day hope to be (religious being a reference to having a deep spiritual connection), I might state that this was obviously my yetzer harah, my evil inclination, trying to lure me away from being shomer Shabbat. My more practical side might suggest that Shabbat was downtime for my brain from the everyday details of my life, although I can't imagine what was so pressing at that time in my life.

Several years after I completed university and even earned a Masters in secondary English education, I began working for the National Jewish Outreach Program. In time, my position became a dream job for me - writing about Judaism.  I spend my days immersed in words, researching and writing, and I remain the voracious reader that I always have been.  

While I no longer feel that overwhelming compulsion to write on Shabbat, I often feel it at other, shall we say, inappropriate times - like when I am suppossed to be spending time with my kids or cleaning the house.
And sometimes words, phrases, sentences...the whole writing process, seems to just perculate with in me.

Why did I start a blog? Because words keep me focused. Because being wrapped in words is the safest place for me because I know that here I can succeed. Because I am driven to write and a personal blog seems a beautiful place to unleash my unfettered voice.

My Feet Are Up, My Soul Is...

In one week it will be Passover, and, to be perfectly honest, I am uncertain what I am supposed to be "feeling" right now. All around me people are talking about cleaning and cooking, about not forgetting the meaning of the holiday amidst all that cleaning and cooking. As for me, well, let's just say that it's Friday afternoon and I am blogging. I don't clean or cook for the holiday. (A fact for which I am always grateful to my brother and sister-in-law, who have hosted the seder for over 15 years.)

The fact that I go to family for seder does not mean I have never cleaned or cooked for Pesach. Some years, in the past, I have had to be home for Chol Hamoed and the last days. However, this is the third year in a row that I have worked out a plan to be away.I can be perfectly honest and admit that visiting friends and relatives is my cover story. I don't like to clean, I never have and I never will. More than not liking to clean, I'm terrible at it. There's always something more interesting to distract me (like, say, writing this post).

Those of you making Pesach are reading this and rolling your eyes, perhaps even wondering if I am talking about cleaning just to join in the ranks of Jewish women everywhere...to be part of the holiday.

You may be right.

When people in my neighborhood ask me how my cleaning is going, I feel almost guilty mentioning that I am going away. I always quickly emphasize that we always go to my brother's and his family comes to us for Shavuot, and that it is an eight hour drive, and just how thoroughly thankful I am.

At the same time, a small part of me is regretful that I do not have that same Pesach cleaning furver going on. Every Jewish holiday has some sort of ritual that helps us to connect with the spiritual aspect of the holiday. Waving the lulav and estrog is a physical declaration of what is best express by our children as "Hashem is truly everywhere." The mitzvot of Purim remind us that it should not take the threat of annihilation to bring the Jewish people together.  One might even say that the very lack of rituals of Shavuot is rife with meaning in that it helps us connect to the fact that the foundation of it all is the gift of Torah.

I'll still have pesach, matzah and maror, the core of the Pesach seder. I'll still feast on my unleavened bread the whole week through. But the preparations for this holiday do serve as a catalyst to understand servitude and freedom (a whole other topic, of course), and, at the same time, to prepare ourselves to experience the deeper meanings of the seder.

Of course, I could just "pretend" and clean the house anyway. (I am doing one or two rooms, but not the tough ones.) That, however, is like "pretending" chocolate isn't kosher. It doesn't really work, at least not for me.

Because of the way the holiday falls out this year, on Friday night, and the way that we travel,  we might not even be able to do bedikatz chametz to its fullest extent. In fact, we might have to search the min-van as our bedikatz since we will already have sold the house and will be in hotel.

In a way, I feel awkward admitting that I feel stuck without the physical work. I shouldn't need a physical act to connect to the spiritual. But I do. That's part of who I am. It's part of why I have such challenges working out my spiritual "chametz" - my anger, my arrogance, my impatience, my need for acknowledgement (dont' forget to like this post).

For now, I can take a deep breath and tell myself, once again (so often again), that I will try harder. And I will, at least for an hour.

Defining Freedom for Jews

Originally published on Huffington Post.

 

What is freedom? Ask anyone on the streets and they might define it as the ability to do what one wants. Others might say that it is the state of having full control of one's life. In the last year, the Jewish world has been offered several fascinating discussions on what it means to be Jewish and be "free." Whether this pertains to the right to circumcise one's son or to declaring one's break from the chassidic world on national television, the conversation on freedom is ever pertinent to the Jewish people.

In a few weeks, Jews throughout the United States will sit down at their seders and recount the Exodus from Egypt, the liberation of our ancestors from slavery. Living in the "land of the free" makes it all the more difficult for 21st century Jews to fully grasp this experience (in addition to the 3,000 years of history that separate us from the event), and yet the sages (already 1,500 years distant from Egypt) who compiled the haggadah insist that we must relate to the events of the Exodus as if we ourselves had experienced them. This is the meaning of Avadim Hayinu, the beginning of Maggid, the section that begins the response to the four questions.

With this in mind, many seder leaders use the poetry of Avadim Hayinu to open up a discussion on the meaning of freedom to each of the participants, perhaps giving each person an opportunity to explain how they view freedom.

A conversation on freedom can occur on many levels. Personal freedom is ever present in American minds, and therefore almost everyone can express some way in which they experience freedom. Only three generations away from the Holocaust and one generation away from the end of the Soviet Union, even the younger generation of Jews can connect to our political freedom and feel gratitude for being able to publicly celebrate a seder.

For all this talk of personal freedom, religious freedom, political freedom, etc., it is important not to forget the significance at Passover of spiritual freedom.

In Egypt, the Israelites were trapped by more than their taskmasters. Their enslavement ran far deeper than being forced to build store-cities and make bricks out of hay. The Egyptian sojourn of Jacob and his family, the Children of Israel, caused a deviation from the spiritual journey they were meant to be on in the land of Canaan, a journey begun by Abraham and Sarah. According to the sages, by the time Moses led the Jews out of Egypt, they were spiritually bereft and were distinguishable from the Egyptians only by their names, their language and their mode of dress. They knew they were Israelites. They knew they were different. They knew that their ancestors had a special relationship with God, but their understanding of this relationship was hazy -- blurred by the idolatrous and amoral society which surrounded them. This spiritual haze explains why, on several occasions after leaving Egypt, the Israelites demanded to return back to slavery.

Some commentators explain that what the people truly feared, both at the Sea of Reeds and in the Wilderness, was not death, but freedom! Suddenly they were responsible for their own decisions and their own actions. It was easy to live the Egyptian lifestyle, even if one was a slave. Being free means accepting absolute responsibility for one's own behavior, which also made one distinctly aware of how one's own actions effect the community.

When the Israelites left Egypt, they were led to Mount Sinai. Within two months (7 weeks, actually) of leaving the land of their oppressors, they were asked to accept the Torah, a complex, detailed, and, some might say, strict, set of laws that included numerous capital offenses. The sages refer to the holiday of Passover as zman chay'roo'tay'noo, the time of our freedom. In Ethics of The Fathers (6:2), Rabbi Joshua ben Levi says: "... And it says (Exodus 32:16): 'And the tablets are the work of God, and the writing is God's writing, engraved on the tablets.' Don't read the text as 'chah'rut' (engraved) but rather as'chay'root' (liberty) -- for there is no free individual, except for one who occupies himself with the study of Torah..."

How can Torah observance be equated to freedom -- after all, don't we speak of the "yoke" of Torah and describe Torah as a "burden"?

One certainly might view the mitzvot as restrictive, unless it is understood that without structure and order in the world, without rules and boundaries, what remains is anarchy and chaos. In the 21st century, recognizing the benefits of the Torah's law is often made more difficult by the very freedom in which we live. In the quest for multi-cultural freedom, laws that have strengthened the Jewish people for thousands of years are cast aside as archaic and traditions that have enriched Jewish generations are denounced as irrelevant. Inherent in the Torah and in Jewish tradition, however, is a guideline for attaining spiritual freedom. Depending on each person, ths can be a long journey or a short one. In Judaism, the greatest importance is placed on continuing to grow and to learn.

In just a few weeks, Jews around the world will once again gather for sedarim. Some will following the path of their parents, sitting down with the same family year after year. Others will find new ways of celebrating the seder and new friends with whom to spend it. No matter where your seder is held, remember to take hold of the opportunity and discover the great freedom inherent in accepting the yoke of Torah.

Foods of Shabbat: Come for the Kugel

Originally published on Huffington Post.

What is there to love about Shabbat? It's a day to rest? It's a day to sleep? Or perhaps, like thousands of of men and women profess after their first full Shabbat experience, it's the food! Challah and fish, chicken and kugel, perhaps chocolate cake for dessert. What's not to like! Some Shabbat food is so delicious, one might even forget to check one's Blackberry!

Here's a verbal taste of a Friday night feast, and a sampling of the deeper meaning of these traditional foods.

Fish: Considered both a reminder of the creation of life (since fish were the first animals created) and of the Messianic Age (when it is said that the righteous will feast upon the Leviathan, a giant fish), fish has almost always held a special place of honor at the Shabbat table. In the Talmud (Shabbat 118b), fish is specifically mentioned as a way in which one can demonstrate delight in Shabbat, even if it is simply a bit of chopped up (gefilte) fish. Generally served as an appetizer, fish, which is never eaten together with meat, is served on separate plates and eaten with separate "fish forks" in accordance with the prescription of Maimonides.

Soup: Chicken soup's place in Jewish life is rooted in Shabbat. Ashkenazi Jews in the shtetls of Europe were often impoverished, and a chicken (or part of a chicken) boiled together with vegetables or noodles and made into soup was a special delight that could be shared with the entire family. While chicken soup does not enjoy the same status in Sephardi culture as it does in Ashkenazi homes, Sephardi cuisine also has many delicious chicken soup recipes.

Meat/Chicken: It is a mitzvah to enjoy Shabbat. The sages often relate the feeling of oneg(enjoyment and pleasure) to eating meat. Since meat was often financially prohibitive, chicken became a frequent substitute.

Rice/Kugel: In Sephardi homes, it is customary to have a dish that is made with rice. In Ashkenazi homes, one is often served kugel, traditionally lokshin (noodle) or potato. Kugel, similar to "pudding," is a dish that varies greatly in its ingredients, depending upon family preferences.

(Remember, the actual fare of Shabbat dinner varies, depending on custom and personal taste. Many people simply serve their favorite foods, while others stick to the traditional Shabbat cuisine.)

Obviously, one can enjoy a grand feast at any time. But a fascinating discussion in the Talmud points to what sets the Shabbat feast apart from any other feast:

"The Emperor [Hadrian] said to Rabbi Joshua ben Chanania: 'Why does the Shabbat dish have such a fragrant odor?' 'We have a certain seasoning,' replied he [Rabbi Joshua ben Chanania], 'called Shabbat, which we put into it, and that gives it a fragrant odor'" (Shabbat 119a).

The Talmud does not specify to which singular Shabbat dish the emperor was referring. However, it is not hard to imagine that it was similar to cholent or chamim, a stew that simmers from Friday evening until the Shabbat day meal.

Cholent could be perceived as the original "protest" food, since it was noted by 10th century Jewish scholars that the purpose of a hot stew on Shabbat day is to underscore and emphasize our belief in the Oral Tradition of the Mishna and the Talmud.

During the time of the Greeks and the Romans, there was a sect of Jews called Saduccees who denied the authority of the Oral Law. While the Saduccees, as a group, did not survive the Roman exile, their belief in the literal interpretation of the Bible, without the instruction and explanation of the Oral Law, was revived during the Gaonic period (eighth to 10th centuries) by the Karaites.

The Oral Law explains that a Jew is permitted to have a fire burning on Shabbat, it just can't be lit, transferred or enhanced on Shabbat. The literalists, such as the Saduccees and the Karaites, maintained that the prohibition of fire on Shabbat was total, i.e. that "You shall not burn fire in all your houses" (Exodus 35:3) excluded allowing even a fire lit before Shabbat to continue burning.

Whereas hot food on Friday night could remain warm from before Shabbat, having hot food at Shabbat lunch signifies the use of a fire that existed from before Shabbat. That is why Jews all over the world developed a dish which some call chamin, meaning hot, and others call cholent (which is a combination of two Old French words for hot and slow).

Partaking in the delightful delicacies of Shabbat is just one of the many ways in which Jews around the world celebrate Shabbat. This Friday night, March 2, more than 500 synagogues and Jewish organizations will be celebrating Shabbat Across America and Canada, a program of Jewish unity sponsored by the National Jewish Outreach Program (Click here to fnd a participating location near you).

NJOP also wants to know about the beautiful individual Shabbat celebrations that are also taking place across the continent. Their new My Shabbat Project is an interactive board that lets individuals "pin" their locations and share with the world their own exciting plans for Shabbat.

Hanukkah and the Greeks' Grudge

Originally published on Huffington Post.

The basic story behind the holiday of Hanukkah is fairly well-known. The Selucid (Syrian-Greek empire) oppressed the Jews. The Jews fought back under the leadership of the Maccabees (particularly Judah). The underdog Jews won and, in the process of rededicating the Temple, found only one flask of oil that miraculously lit the menorah for eight straight days. Great... enough said, let's go eat some latkes.

So what went wrong between the Greeks and the Jews. After all, in the initial conquest of Judea by the Greeks, Alexander the Great is viewed by the sages as a friend to the Jews. In fact, the Talmud (Yoma 69a) relates that when Alexander came to Judea, he refrained from attacking Jerusalem because he recognized Simeon the Just, the High Priest, from the dreams he had each night before a victorious battle (for more on this story, click here).

But the events of Hanukkah took place over a hundred years after Alexander's empire was divided into the Antigonid Empire in Greece, the Selucid Empire in Mesopotamia and Persia, the Ptolemaic Kingdom based in Egypt. By the time Antiochus IV Epiphanes, the villain of the Hanukkah story, assumed the throne of the Selucid empire in 175 BCE, Judea was under Selucid control.

The Greeks are looked upon by many historians as a unifying and civilizing force. The vast empire, even after it was divided into three, brought a shared culture to much of the "known world." Judea was not exempt from the enthrallment of its citizens with Grecian society. There was great divisiveness among the Jews over people accepting Hellenistic culture. But a core majority refused to embrace this foreign way of life. And while this probably frustrated the ruling Selucuds, it was not a cause for persecution.

Timing is everything, however. Just as Antiochus IV Epiphanes was backtracking after a bid to conquer Egypt was thwarted by threats from Rome, he learned that the Judeans had removed from office the man (Menalaus) he had appointed as High Priest (a position of political as well as religious power). According to The Second Book of Maccabees, Menelaus was from the tribe of Benjamin -- not a member of the priesthood, or even of the tribe of Levi (who were responsible for the Temple). The appointment of Menelaus was perceived as part of the Hellenizing campaign of the Selucids and those in Judea who wished to assimilate into the Hellenistic culture. From Antiochus' viewpoint, the problem with the Jewish people, the reason that they would dare to oust Menelaus from the position of High Priest, was their adherence to the Torah.

In retribution, Antiochus forbade the celebration of Rosh Chodesh (the new month), the observance of Shabbat, brit milah (circumcision), and the study of Torah. Why were these mitzvot noted in particular?

The very first commandment that the Jewish people received as a nation was "This month shall be yours as the first of months" (Exodus 12:1-2), which instructs the Jews to sanctify the beginning of each new month. In ancient times, when there was a Temple and aSanhedrin (Jewish Supreme Court), witnesses would come and declare that the new moon had been seen. The sages would then declare the month sanctified. This sanctification of the new moon was a declaration that God controls time. The Selucids felt threatened by the "revolutionary" Jewish concept of Divinely ordained time.

The Selucids were against the keeping of Shabbat, not because it sanctified time, but because it was a day of rest. "Six days shall you work and do all your labor, but the seventh day is Shabbat for the Lord your God. On it, you shall do no [creative] work" (Exodus 20:9-10). This contradicted to the creative essence of the Hellenistic culture. Through their creativity, the Selucids proclaimed their might over the world. The Jewish idea of taking one day off to demonstrate belief in God's control of the world, negated the Selucid belief in the ultimate power of the individual.

Of all the Jewish laws, however, the Selucids found circumcision to be the most abhorrent. Remember, the Selucids idealized the beauty of the physical form, particularly the male body. The idea that the Jews would willingly mar their bodies was outrageous to them. On a deeper level, however, circumcision represents the human being's ability to have control over one's physical self. The Selucids believed in fulfilling all of their passions, and found Judaism's devotion to self-discipline unacceptable.

Torah study was prohibited by the Selucids because it promoted all of these commandments and more. The Torah teaches humankind to strive to be God-like. In contrast, the Greeks created gods who acted with less dignity than many humans. Thus, Torah in-and-of-itself was a threat to their culture and philosophy.

Each of these outlawed mitzvot are actually represented by the festival of Hanukkah: Hanukkah lasts for eight days, the same number of days before a brit milah. Similarly, one cannot celebrate Hanukkah without observing at least one Shabbat (if not two). Additionally, since the holiday begins on the 25th of Kislev and lasts for eight days, the holiday always enters into the month of Tevet -- necessitating the celebration of the new month (Rosh Chodesh).

The fourth mitzvah, Torah study, is actually at the heart of Hanukkah's attraction for children. The word Hanukkah shares the same root as the Hebrew word chinuch, which means education. From the game of dreidel to the giving of gifts, many Hanukkah customs stem from the legacy of the educational zeal of the Jews.

Even after the Selucids banned the study of Torah, many Jews continued to practice their Judaism, even under threat of death. According to tradition, students would gather together in a cave to study Torah, leaving one man on guard standing by the entrance. When the lookout signaled that soldiers were coming, the books were quickly hidden and the students took out spinning tops, making it appear as if they were gambling (which was perfectly acceptable to the Selucids). We commemorate their ingenuity and willingness to risk their lives with the game of dreidel!

What about the gifts? The Talmud, in Shabbat 23b, teaches that one who is diligent in lighting Hanukkah candles will have children who are scholars. In fact, the desire for children to grow into scholars was one of the motivations for the custom of giving Hanukkah gelt (which, under modern influence, has been turned into Hanukkah presents). It became a custom to give a little money (gelt) to children as a reward for studying. Children who showed mastery of the laws and customs of the holiday, or who were diligent in their studies, were rewarded with a shiny coin. Over time, the simple giving of gelt (coins or presents) itself, became a Hanukkah custom.

While gifts and games appear to be offshoots of the holiday, they actually represent the essential spirit of Hanukkah. What is it that we are teaching our children on Hanukkah? What was the purpose of the battle of the Maccabees? That their children and their children's children would be able to be knowledgeable about their Jewish heritage and live a Jewish life.