Jewish Fridays - (Shabbos Waits for No One)

Chava Willig Levy, with her father.My father passed away on the 29th of Sivan, June 18, 2004. “How did he die?” many visitors asked during the week of shiva. I answered, “I’ll tell you how my father died. But first, I’ll tell you how he lived.”

When I think back to the Friday afternoons of my childhood, many of my senses magically return to our home in Queens. I can smell the intoxicating aroma of my Imma’s legendary chicken soup. I can taste the scrumptious potato kugel that inevitably – and surreptitiously – would be nearly devoured by us kids before Shabbos even began. I can see the gleaming candlesticks on the credenza.

But most of all, I can hear my father’s voice booming on those not-so-rare occasions when his four children dawdled instead of showering, putting away their books and toys, tidying their room, or changing into their festive attire. Abba’s words rang through the house with an intensity belied by the simultaneous twinkle in his gray-blue eyes. And the words were always the same: “Shabbos waits for no one!”

“Shabbos waits for no one.” My Abba treated Shabbos with the reverence one would accord royalty. For him, the Sabbath Queen was not a poetic or midrashic abstraction; it was reality. And the reality is that you don’t keep a queen waiting.

Abba made sure that his children heeded his cry. But his actions spoke louder than his words. A man of uncommon modesty, he never told us about his numerous acts of devotion on behalf of Jews and Judaism, many of which we learned about during the shiva week, but one story he did tell us every now and then, not to honor himself, but to honor Shabbos. It was the story of the blizzard of 1947.

The NYC Office of Emergency Management’s web site puts it this way (at least until it is updated, thanks to the blizzard of 2006): “Dropping 26.4 inches of snow in Central Park, the blizzard of 1947 still holds rank as the biggest snowstorm in New York City history. As moisture in the Gulf Stream fed the storm’s energy, the City was paralyzed when the blizzard barreled its way through, stranding cars and buses in the streets, halting subway service, and claiming 77 lives.”

What the NYC Office of Emergency Management neglects to report is that the blizzard of 1947 struck on December 26, what should have been an uneventful… Friday. Around midday, Abba must have peered out of his midtown Manhattan office window to observe the havoc unfolding outside. Without delay, he headed for Penn Station and the Long Island Railroad. His destination was Arverne, near Far Rockaway, where he lived at the time with my mother and my older brother, then an infant.

As the train inched its way toward Long Island, it suddenly came to a stop. A tense hour passed, and the train did not move. When Abba’s watch told him that it was 4 p.m., he approached the conductor and said, “I have to get off this train.” The conductor replied, “Mister, that’s out of the question. We are in between stations. No one is allowed to get off the train.” Firmly but politely, Abba replied, “I’m sorry, but I’m getting off the train.”

I’m not sure how he did it, but Abba got off the train and found himself in the middle of nowhere. He walked amid the whirlwind of snow until he came to a pharmacy. He went inside, found the pharmacist and said, “Here’s my wallet, here’s my watch, here’s my handkerchief. I’ll be back in 25 hours.” I imagine that the pharmacist stared at my father as if he were crazy, but he took my father’s possessions — and when my father returned as promised, all his belongings were intact.
After handing over everything in his pockets, Abba did an about-face, headed into the eye of the storm and soon spotted one pedestrian. Who else would be out on a day like that except a man making his way to shul? The man took Abba under his wing for the entire Shabbos, spent in Forest Hills, then a fledgling Jewish community. I am sure that Abba never forgot that man’s kindness. And I am sure that that man never forgot Jerry Willig and his devotion to Shabbos.
If there was one thing that matched Abba’s devotion to Shabbos, it was his devotion to family. Because the phrase we traditionally use when speaking of one’s father is “Avi-Mori,” “my father, my teacher,” permit me to share with you both aspects of my father’s relationship with his children.

First, a few examples of Abba as our ever-present teacher:
Jerome Willig at his graduation from Yeshiva University, in 1938.My father taught us that all knowledge was worthwhile. The recipient of Yeshiva University’s Class of ‘38 mathematics award, he kept his kids busy with math that matched their developmental level. “How much is one plus one?” was soon replaced by “If one apple costs five cents, how much do two apples cost?” Before we knew it, we were begging for problems like “If five apples cost two dollars, how much does one apple cost?” And just to prove that Torah and secular knowledge could coexist, he would ask us, “Which parashah (Torah portion) has the lowest gematria (numeric value)?” [My kid brother Dovid got the answer instantly — Bo — not to mention the answer to the flipside question (the parashah with the highest gematria is Bereishis).]
Abba loved the Hebrew language and taught us to love it too. He didn’t merely teach us individual words in Hebrew and Aramaic. He taught us complete sentences from the Torah and the Talmud. I remember him admonishing us, particularly if we were eating too many potato chips, “Tafasta meruba, lo tafasta!” “If you have grabbed too much, you end up holding on to nothing at all.” And many a stomach ache later, we knew exactly what he meant. When his grandson, Avraham, was in nursery school, a classmate was hoarding all the building blocks. Avraham ran over to the culprit and chided him, “Joey, tafasta meruba, lo tafasta!” His teacher nearly fainted.

But Abba, our teacher, made an even greater impact by the example he set, learning Torah himself at every opportunity. He rose each morning at or near the crack of dawn to attend a 6:00 a.m. Talmud class. And every night he came home after a long day at the office and studied more Torah.

As much as my father loved teaching us, most of all he loved loving us. I was a primary beneficiary of that love, a love of which legends are made. Who could forget his miracle of February 1968 when he arranged, in one day, for me to leave the hospital where I had been confined for six months, to travel in a stretcher by ambulance to Carnegie Hall, where I attended the concert of my dreams? There’s nothing Abba wouldn’t have done for his children.
If there was one thing that matched Abba’s devotion to his family, it was his devotion to his fellow Jews. Institutions or individuals, it made no difference to Abba; if they were in need, he helped without hesitation. A few years ago at a friend’s wedding, a distinguished gentleman approached me. “Hello, my name is Rabbi Moshe Zwick. I just wanted to introduce myself and tell you that your father saved my life.” This, of course, was news to me. Rabbi Zwick explained that when he was a baby, he required an emergency blood transfusion. Then in his twenties, my father learned that he had the necessary blood type and immediately volunteered to donate all the blood required for the procedure. When I spoke to Rabbi Zwick during my week of shiva, he said, “I feel as if a part of me has died.”

Shabbos. Torah. Family. The Jewish People. These were the loves of his life.
Now that I’ve told you how my father lived, I’ll tell you how he died. In a nutshell, he died exactly as he lived: quietly, unassumingly and with the utmost respect for his beloved Shabbos. On Friday, the 29th of Sivan, June 18, 2004, one half-hour before Shabbos began, his heart simply stopped. A gentle kiss took him away. The emergency medical technicians and ER doctors tried valiantly to revive him, but gave up precisely as Shabbos started. It was as if Abba’s soul had said, “I have an important journey to make, and I mustn’t delay, for Shabbos waits for no one.”

May it be God’s will that as we wait for the ultimate Shabbos in whose light my father now basks, we strive to emulate — in ways big and small — the qualities of this extraordinary man.


Chava Willig Levy is a writer, editor and lecturer from Woodmere. Her web site (http://www.chavawilliglevy.com/) showcases her lectures, articles and editorial services; her blog, accessed via her web site’s “Talking to Myself” link, chronicles her latest adventures. Chava can be reached at chava@chavawilliglevy

Music To My Ears

הללו-יה! שירו ליהוה שיר חדש, תהלתו בקהל חסידים: ישמח ישראל בעשיו, בני-ציון יגילו במלכם: יהללו שמו במחול, בתף וכנור יזמרו-לו: כי-רוצה יהוה בעמו, יפאר ענוים בישועה: יעלזו חסידים בכבוד, ירננו על-משכבותם : רוממות אל בגוים, וחרב פיפיות בידם: לעשות נקמה בגוים, תוכחות בלאמים: לאסר מלכיחם בזקים ונכבדיהם בכבלי ברזל: לעשת בהם משפט כתוב, הדר הוא לכל-חסידיו, הללו-יה: תהלים קםט

In the last year or so I've changed a lot about my daily living and outlook. From the moment I wake up and say brachot and wash and dress (nowadays exclusively in skirts), till when and how I eat, to how I speak (although a curse word may slip out every once and a while, it's a lot more unusual than it would be - oh let's say three years ago!), how I pass my free time, until I climb into bed (but not before saying קריאת שמע על המטה ). But one thing has been much slower to change; something from my "non-relgious" life that is just not floating out of my interest as quickly as eating at Quiznos has.

That "thing" is my music collection.

A saw a comment written online (of course I forget now where - or I would definitely link it!), where a Baal Teshuvah mentioned that as you grow in your Yiddishkeit, you become to sensitive to unrefined behavior; just like as you learn classical music theory, you become "turned off" to rock/rap music. I do not agree with this mode of thinking; not that I have any hard scientific facts to back me up (in reference to personal taste, I don't think it could be done anyway), but this just does not apply to me. Since I was 8 years old I took some sort of music lessons on some sort of instrument. I still do (right now I'm working mainly on the violin). I've played with the East Winds, the South Hills Junior Orchestra and my college band. Throughout this time, my taste in music remained ecclectic. And I was not alone. I had peers who were much more accomplished and proficient on their instruments and still enjoyed Led Zeppelin, The Mighty Mighty Bosstones, Public Enemy, and even Eminem. You can't even blame it on youth, since I had a psychology professor who was mad about The Smashing Pumpkins. True I don't recall that any of these people were particularly religious. But the original analogy was drawn between musicians and those who are religious, so I'm just expounding upon that.

Now I myself was raised [technically] in a "relgious" home. The general rule was that there was "G-d's music" and "worldly music" of which some was ok (my Granmother used to play WISH 99.7 while cooking) but most which was not. But then again, there is not shortage of gospel music to fuel your musical fix. Plus it's not like gospel is so alien to whatever popular music is out there (it is the bedrock for modern R&B, and with many of the new gospel artists you don't even know it's a Xtian song until you start listening to the lyrics - same for rock 'n' roll). But by nature, X-tian culture is very guilt-ridden (some Jews may say the same about Judaism, but I disagree) and a lot of the music that was frowned upon was done so because it was often an accompaniment to "bad actions" such as making out with boys, dancing in clubs, or drinking in bars.

As a Reform Jew, I of course so no conflict between my taste in music (which I'll elaborate on in a bit) and faith in G-d. Quite contrary. I believed that if G-d didn't want us to enjoy, then why did he allow it to come into existence? Just like how letters make languages, and cloth makes clothes - the raw materials are there and it's up to us humans to work it into something our soul appreciates. Since aligning myself to Torah observant Judaism, I really don't think this opinion of mine has changed. While I do not actively enjoy music filled with cursing, graphic sexual lyrics, and overall pointlessness, I admit I do not recoil away from it like I do with pornography.

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I cannot even say that I am making an active effort to go through my 400+ CDs and start pitching things away. Although I'm sure I would not miss those 3 Eminem albums at all. Many times I'll pull something off the shelf, stick it in the stereo, and instictively forward through any tracks I don't have it in me to listen to, only to pass through the whole album, and not listen to one song! How ironic, when I was 9 years old I would do anything for Samantha Fox's single Naughty Girls Need Love, and no I own it at age 26 and I have no desire to put it on my playlist!

This half battle that I have with music just doesn't make sense to me. Why hold on to something that you no longer partake in? Saving it for the day when you go off the derech? I could argue that many of my albums could fall in a "grey zone", however if push came to shove; let's say I had children in the house, I would know in a heartbeat what I would pitch away. I mean it was not so difficult with losing my jeans (all 20+ pairs of them went off in a shipping crate to my cousin in Jamaica), and clothing is such an obvious symbol. So maybe that's it. There have been times where I've been in my car, driving in my neighborhood, and listening to The White Stripes and I see my frum neighbors walking along. Sometimes they see me, they wave, I wave back, silently sighing a sigh of relief that it was hot enough outside to have the a/c on and that my windows are up.

I'm getting there though - to expanding my collection of "kosher" music. But in comparision to the musical landscape I'm used to, the pickings are slim. Plus there is just no Jewish equivilant to Barry White. Sex (in it's proper context) is not sinful in Judaism; and Barry White is like sonic sex. Thumbs up to any Jewish husband who plays Barry for his wife!

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It's very true that many subjects for frum Jews, including sex, are private matters that don't warrant casual discussion or public accolades. That's why I am a more careful with the "Jewish" music I buy. I love Blue Fringe, Avraham Fried, and The Chevra. Makes sense that for those dedicated to a life of avodas Hashem should make such wonderful music. It is my shortcoming that I am not currently at the point where I can listen to such music full-time. But it's so difficult for me.

Take reggae for example. Much of it I don't partake in anymore due too many references to violence, sexual prowess, or Haile Selassie. However past the lyrics is that undeniable bass line and rhythm. As a little girl I heard my father playing out the riffs on his bass; I heard it at family functions, it was a constant soundtrack during my trips to Jamaica. In fact, all the genres I find an affinity with, be it punk, or ska, or soul music all have that ability to pull on my heartstrings and remind me of the good moments from my past.

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I guess the bottom line is that I can not currently draw the line between "kosher" and "assur" in respect to each and every tune I hear or own. Maybe some day, that will change, but right now I find delight in music which is a clear serenade to Hashem, a sweet melody of romantic love, a rocking anthem of polictical ideas, or even a rhythm that exposes some exotic foreign culture. For now, I'm going to go back to listening to this "Downbeat The Ruler" album from Heartbeat/Studio One and I hope that no one minds too much.

Jewish Fridays - (An Intolerant Creed)

By: Fred Reed Wednesday, February 15, 2006


I find myself wondering why the ruling classes of America are so grindingly antagonistic to religion. I understand having no interest in religion. I do not understand the animosity.
One might say, "The world’s religions are so many, so internally inconsistent and contradictory of each other, and so dependent on assertions which seem to me not to be factual, that I cannot believe any of them." The position is neither unreasonable nor rabid. One holding it might go about his affairs, leaving others to believe as they chose. He might respect the faith of others without sharing it, might regard religions as harmless and colorful folklore, might indeed regard them as socially beneficent.

In the Unites States, though, we see something very different: an aggressive hostility to religion, a desire to extirpate it and, though no one quite says this, to punish its practitioners. A curious witch-hunt continues in which people seem to look for any trace of religion so that they can root it out. I would call it vengeful, except that I do not know for what it might be revenge.
Why? The explanations given do not make sense. A store whose sign says "Merry Christmas" is a threat to nothing, just as a nativity scene can offend only one who is looking very hard for something to offend him. The stridency of the evolutionists seems overblown, since a mention of the theory of intelligent design in the high schools would hardly lead to the closing of departments of biochemistry.

The notion that the Ten Commandments on the wall of a courthouse will lead to an established religion is palpable nonsense. Constitutional piety doesn’t wash either. If nativity scenes contravene the Constitution, why was this not noticed by anyone, assuredly including the authors, until at least 1950?

A common reading is that the sciences have become a sort of secular religion, with the Big Bang replacing Genesis, and evolution as a sort of deanthropomorphized god chivying humanity onward and upward. There is a large element of this, yes. The self-righteous intolerance directed by disciples of evolution against religion assuredly resembles the intolerance of religion against heresy. Does this explain the anger of the rooters-out? Is it partly that believers in America tend to be Southern or Catholic, both of which are regarded as politically inappropriate conditions?

Why have the sciences achieved such power over the popular mind? Obvious answers are that they work spectacularly within their ambit, that they produce wondrous gadgets, that they are swathed in incomprehensible runes such as triple integrals or tensors dripping with sub- and superscripts, and have resounding incantations like "pentaerythritol tetranitrate."
I wonder whether something else is not involved. Today most of us live in profound isolation from the natural world. People in large cities can go for decades without seeing the stars. Should they drive through the countryside, it will be in a closed automobile with the air-conditioning running. On a trip to the beach, the sand will be overrun by hordes of people, half of them on whining jet skis.

We exist utterly in a manmade cocoon, as much as desert termites in their mud towers. This, I think, profoundly alters our inner landscapes. Live in the rolling hills around Austin, say, as they were before they were turned into suburbs, with the wind soughing through the empty expanse and low vegetation stretching into the distance, the stars hanging low and close in the night, and you get a sense of man’s smallness in the scheme of nature, of the transitoriness of life, a suspicion that there may perhaps be more things in heaven and earth. It makes for reflection of a sort that throughout history has turned toward the religious.

People no longer live in large wild settings, but amid malls and freeways. The ancients believed that the earth was the center of the cosmos. We believe that we are. There is little to suggest otherwise in manicured suburbs and cities where the sirens will be howling at all hours. It is an empty world that begets philosophically empty thinking.

Without the sense of being small in a large universe, and perhaps not even very important, the question arises, "Is this all there is?" and the answer appears to be "Yes." Without the awe and wonder and mystery of a larger cosmos, existence reduces to blowing smog, competitive acquisition of consumer goods, and vapid television with laugh tracks. We focus on efficiency, production, and the material because they are all we have. It is not particularly satisfying, and so we are not particularly satisfied.

I suspect that the decline of religion stems less from the advance of scientific knowledge than from the difficulty of discerning the transcendent in a parking lot. Certainly the scientific has generally replaced the religious mode of thought, even in people who believe themselves to be Christians. For example, it is amusing to hear them saying that the parting of the Red Sea refers to diminution of water by a wind in what was essentially a swamp.

That is, God is all-powerful, but only to the extent that he behaves consistently with the prevailing weather.

Yet note the decline of even non-religious contemplation of such matters as meaning and purpose, right and wrong, ultimate good, and so on. It is not that people behave worse without faith, but that they cannot explain why they do not. The use of the sciences as a substitute for belief in God or gods has produced a religion that cannot ask the questions central to religion.

Fred Reed, a keyboard mercenary with a disorganized past, has worked on staff for Army Times, The Washingtonian, Soldier of Fortune, Federal Computer Week and The Washington Times. His website is
www.fredoneverything.com

Sometimes It Takes a Child

Last Erev Shabbos, I found a voicemail message on my cell phone from one of the women in my community that I am friendly with. After apologizing for waiting until the last minute to invite me (it was 3:00 pm on Friday), she admitted that she had been meaning to call me for quite some time. My mind rewound back to a thread on Hashkafah.com about "fake Shabbos invites", but more profound is the "behind the scenes" scenario she unwittingly admitted to me.

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Back when Hurricane Wilma had just left the scene, I took the rare opportunity to invite myself over to a Shabbos lunch meal. I usually don't do this, but with the loss of power, and food, and social activity - I just really couldn't bear the idea of spending Shabbos afternoon alone. So after shul, I approached this friend (one of the few in my community I feel comfortable just going to - we'll call her "Rebbetzin R."), for lunch and she graciously said that I could join them. However, early into the meal, I could see that perhaps this wasn't the best of times. We all were in the process of restocking our kitchens and she realized they didn't have wine or grape juice for kiddush. After running to the neighbors, and getting the kids settled for the moment, she seemed especially apologetic about the simpleness of the meal. Her youngest (who is 3) was on a bit of a rambunctious side - and when he started fussing about sitting at the table, the consensus was to let him go. He promptly ran to his toy car (the type that you sit in), and crashed it full speed into the dining table! The rest of the children were lamenting that he should be put in his room, the Rabbi didn't agree, and Rebbetzin R. just sort of let them all have it.

Now even in the midst of all this, I never felt as if my Shabbos had been ruined; quite contrary. I know what it's like with young children. I also am not so naive as to think that just because you are frum, does not mean that you don't get cranky or frustrated when things don't go your way, or that there may be oversights, or that sometimes you can't afford to make a 7 course meal for yontif or Shabbos. Afterward, Rebbetzin R. apologized for the lunchtime mayhem, and I let her know it was perfectly fine. And I truly meant it.

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Fast forward 4 months later and I'm talking to Rebbetzin R. about Shabbos. She told me that she had been meaning to "make up" that meal to me, but the whole thing escaped her mind; until her 11 year old daughter admitted that she was a little embarrassed to ask a friend over for lunch. When her mother asked her why, she responded, "Because of what happened when Rishona came!" Yikes. Rebbetzin R. explains, "Yes, I admit it wasn't a good day for me, and all of us were stressed..." so her daughter says, "Well we have to invite her again so that she doesn't think we're all crazy!". Now Rebbetzin R. didn't have my number at the time. One of the other children suggested she call Mrs. B. Mrs. B., doesn't have my number but suggested they ask Mrs. L. So one of the R. children asked the L. children and that's how Rebbetzin R. got my cell phone number. And that's how I found a whole new appreciation for the R. children.

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More remarkable to me than the thoughtfulness of the Rebbetzin, was the memory and consideration of the children - although I don't why. I did not bond, or seem incredibly/especially likeable to them when I met them. I walked two of the girls to Shabbos youth group events - but that's nothing too special. Not to take any credit away from the wonderful acts of the Rebbetzin, it was the children who spoke up and sort of brought an issue that we adults saw as insignificant, and put it to the forefront. This is not really the first time I've seen this. The other day, while picking up an order in the pizza shop, the 12 year old daughter of some friends saw me, and asked if I wanted to come and sit with them at their table (which was full of other 11/12/13 year old girls and one of their mother's). I declined. I had my order to go, and even so, it would have been a bit awkward, but she didn't hesitate to ask. So also didn't get bummed out with my answer and sort of skipped off and said, "Ok, see you around!". In another instance, I was walking with 4 siblings from a family where I only knew the older two boys. The youngest girl noticed a menacing dog in someone's yard and would only pass the yard holding tightly to my hand and hiding behind my left side. Such trust from a 5 year old who met me only 15 minutes prior.

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In this way, I feel that frum Jewish kinderlach radiate all that is good about how the Torah tells us how to regard others. While it's true, you do have Jewish children who have stared me down like I had to heads or something (if it happens in shul though, I just smile back, and 9 times out of 10 they smile back, and that breaks the ice), they are the exception rather than the norm, however once the person becomes 18+, friendliness seems to be the exception rather than the norm. And that is incredibly sad.

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What happens to us when we grow up? Why does this "wisdom" that seems to come with age bring along with it the growing inability to trust and be considerate of others. I remember being a child and looking at grown-up and thinking that they were so incredibly lucky. They knew so much, they could do what they want, and they could express themselves just how they wanted. But now I look at envy towards children; they can see people for what they are so much better than adults can. Is it because they feel they have nothing to lose? I remember going over to my mother's house a couple years ago and one of my sister's friends were there. She must have been 7 or so, and I didn't even see her sitting over on the steps while I was waiting for my mother to emerge from the kitchen. All of a sudden I feel these small fingers tapping me and she says, "Who are you? You are so pretty! Your clothes look so nice! Do you live nearby?" When meeting a new Jewish family, the children are usually my outlet for "relaxed" conversation; like the one son of a family where we talked about football teams, or a young teenage girl of another family where we talked about the latest specials at Payless. Early on, I usually can't have such conversations with the adults of the family. I have to get my "interview brain" into gear and get ready to answer "the questions" like, "Why are you converting?", "What does your family think?", "What kind of work do you do", "Why do you do that kind of work and not what you went to school for?", "Have you been to Israel?", etc. I have no problem with answering these questions. However, they turn the situation into a scene where I'm a subject or curiousity and not a person. I'm not at your table to share a meal with you, but rather strategically placed for you to find out information from me. Even if this is not your intention, that what it usually feels like [for me].

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When you are a child, what does it take for someone to be your friend? Although, I realize the Orthodox Jewish world is a stark contrast from how I grew up, I would think that this line of thinking in children is universal. Usually you see that another child is playing a game that you like or you think you will like. If you are nice, and they are nice back, then "Boom!" You are friends! Most children don't ask, "Hey, where are your parents from", "Why doesn't your natural father live with you?", etc., before they'll engage in that first game with you. As you start growing closer, then you find out the answers to some of these more personal questions. As far as how children view those from other races and backgrounds; I don't think the bias is their naturally, but rather mimicked from the parents or society. That's why I think that Jewish children are so comfortable around me. While racist attitudes are present in the Jewish community, it's something that a religious Jew won't parade around. I think it's quite rare for, chas v'shalom a Jewish parent to casually refer to minorities as "niggers" or "spics", so if racist attitudes are held by the parents, it's something a Jewish child would pick up much later (but hopefully never!).

But something happens where when many frum people turn 18 (or get married I guess), they start scrutinizing all that they see around them. They are weary of trusting other non-Jews or strange-Jews ("strange" can be different depending on the individual but can range from new-age Reconstructionist Jews to chassidic Jews of a different sect {even though you are also chassidic}). The start kvetching a lot. Now this is not all frum Jews, but a few too many.

I look around shul and wonder if any of these people remember being children - what it was like? I changed schools a lot, and never did I go to school regualarly for a month and no one talked to me (like can happen in some shuls). Is it because they become parents young and choose to have "selective amnesia" in regards to their childhood? I say this because I notice that with the frum female friends I have who are between the ages of 21-30, they are all unmarried with no children. The ones that I know who are in the same age range and married or with children, it switches to the "curious mode" type friend, instead of the "hey let's get to know each other" type friend.

I fully understand that when you have children, it changes you. You see all the bad stuff out there and you try to protect your little ones from it. You do you best to create an atmosphere in which they can grow without fear and confusion. But maybe we should take some lessons from these children every once and a while? Maybe we should just say, "Hey, they like to play the same game that I like, that's good enough for me right now!", except we should replace "Torah observant Judaism" in place of that game. Watching how naturally trust and caring and sharing come to these children is such potent fuel in my desires to become a mother (if Hashem wills it to be). Imagine, the inspiration that can come from living with these young humans who, in general, just don't know how to be pretentious.

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At the end of my conversation with Rebbetzin R., I commented to her that she should be proud of her daughter and the good middos she has. She paused and sighed, "Yes, bli ayin hara, she does." I could hear the embarrasment in her tone slip off into satisfaction. When Shabbos came and we sat around the table; we adults engaged in our usual banter while the children endured us; being careful to mind their manners and exchange the occasional comic relief among themselves and entire table. You may think that their presence was only cosmetic, but truth be told, that Shabbos table would look incredibly different if it wasn't for them. Who knows which dishes they suggested to make? Who knows the prodding and coaxing they gave to their parents that brought that invitation to fruitition? Who knows the inspiration these children leave on those new to frumkeit in seeding their desires to one day have a frum family of their own. You have to admit, one of the most obvious treasures that Torah observant Judaism has going for it is the stellar character of frum children. By highlighting this, you can see that the frum world is not all that far removed from it's greatest potential.

Jewish Fridays - (Miami Kosher Dining - I)

I must admit that although I've "signed up" to do Jewish Fridays 3 weeks ago, I've been remiss since erev Shabbos is such a busy time for me. So I figured I would make these posts more of a "fun" nature. Or share a good story from someone else.

But I also wanted to do some other things that are out of character with my normal blogging. A "Kosher Dining" guide is one of them. So I thought I might start today.

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It's true that South Florida has nothing on New York when it comes to Kosher eateries; but it's much better than even 15 years ago when you could count the restaurants with reliable supervision on two hands. Now Kosher Miami is on the scene, it's gotten much better. So here's my opinon, on some of the places I've been too.....

Tea For Two - Miami Beach - (KM/Milchig - Cholav Yisrael). Although it has taken me a while, I've really warmed up to sushi. Tea for Two has the best in my opinion. Not only do they have a large selection, but the rolls are the perfect size and the presentation is gorgeous. For those who have eaten the treif stuff, they say that Tea for Two's sushi is on par with the best. I haven't had anything else from Tea for Two though. Maybe sometime in the future. Pros: Atmosphere, taste, variety. Cons: Parking/location, dining area is tiny, service when busy - especially on the patio outside where they seem to just forget about you.

Shem Tov's - Miami Beach - (KM/Milchig - Cholav Yisrael). I love Shem Tov's. The pizza by the slice is excellent. I've had some of their pitas too. If Miami Beach has a kosher fast food joint, this place is it. Unfortunately, it also works against them. During Motzai Shabbos, or Thursday night, or lunctime the place is a zoo. This tries the patience of both customer and staff alike (although they've always been super nice to me - since I'm a regular and I understand that kvetching gets you nowhere). Pros: Price, great pizza, location. Cons: Swarming with tourists at times, limited seating.

Thai Treat - Miami - (KM/Fleishing). Thai Treat is one of my favorites. While the food is not as good as some as the non-kosher Thai I've had years ago, it's not bad. The have creative sushi recipes and their service is excellent. However if you go with a big group - good luck. The dining area is small and the noise level when there's a big party can be intolerable. It's a shame, it spoils the vibe. Pros: Service, food is decent. Cons: Location (out of the way), dining area.

Dougie's - Miami Beach - (KM/Fleishing). People have been waiting for Dougie's to come to Miami forever. I've been to two Dougies - the one in Queens and the one in Teaneck - and I dunno, the one here doesn't feel as haimish (maybe it's the "loft" syle decor). While the food is off the hook (especially the portobello mushroom burger) the price is like Whoa! I little too pricey for a regular eatery for me. Pros: Best tasting kosher burgers by far, convienant location. Cons: Price, the place has only been open a month so the staff is all teenagers.

Fu Xing - North Miami Beach - (KM/Fleishing). Typical kosher Chinese joint; open late, nice prices, delivery, nice selection (although I always order the same stuff). Nothing of note either - just the same run of the mill stuff. Although my Father says it's good; and I do agree that it is good in comparison with Chinese food available in Miami, but pales in comparison to some of the Chinese food I've had in the Northeast. Pros: Hours, location, delivery, price. Cons: It's nothing special, you feel like a true bachelor/college student/stepchild while eating it in front of the tube.

Pita Loca - South Beach - (ORD/Fleishing). I think Pita Loca has the perfect kubbe. They also seem to be open 24-7 (they are not officially, but I think those guys are just always there for the fun of it), they deliver, and they have those wild Shabbat parties (so I hear). Ironically, I ordered a chicken schwarma and didn't like it to much because it was just an overkill on the onion and garlic. Just my taste though. Pros: Hours of operation, very Israeli vibe, speed and delivery. Cons: Very Israeli vibe, good luck finding parking if you drive there.

Jerusalem Pizza - North Miami Beach - (KM/Milchig - Cholav Yisrael). Although I like the taste of Shem Tov's better, Jerusalem Pizza is in my neighborhood and is far from bad. Great service, although it would be nice if they stayed open past 6pm. Pros: Staff, service is uasually quick. Cons: Operation hours, no delivery.

JP Bistro - Hollywood - (?/Milchig). They used to be Jerusalem Pizza, but they remodeled and are now "JP Bistro". They changed their menu to fancier dishes along with fancier prices. In my opinion (and that of others I've talked to) is that they shouldn't have tried to fix something that wasn't broken. I've gone there a few times, but the food didn't impress as much as it should have given the relative depletion of funds in my wallet. Pros: I hear they cater. Cons: The price, the same family runs the place and you keep stifling the urge to blurt out, "What were you thinking?"

Bon Ami - Hollywood - (ORB/Milchig - Cholav Yisrael). They have the best burekas I've had! Plus they serve their food up right, with the salads and hard boiled eggs and the schag on the side. The just redid the decor and it looks splended. The cappachino machine is the centerpiece of the bar, but all of their coffees and drinks are good. Pros: Taste, price, atmosphere. Cons: The staff hides away, sometimes you walk in and you wonder if the place is open.

Mangia Cafe - Miami - (KM/Milchig - Cholav Yisrael). If you blink, you'll miss this cafe because it's just a quaint little thing in the Design Destrict. Out of the way for most frum Yidden here, but right up the street from my office, so I can't gripe about location. The staff speaks English, Spanish, Hebrew and French; their prices are very reasonable, and they have a special menu just for smoothies. Pros: Price, staff, brownie points for setting up the only kosher eatery in the hot Design District of Miami, delivery. Cons: Small or no sign because I go there a lot and still drive past it (I can only imagine what it's like to got he first time), the menu doesn't have a large selection, they don't make sushi "on site" so unless you get there early, they'll be sold out.

The Gourmet Carrot - South Beach - (KM/Vegetarian - Fleishing {chicken only}. I think more health nuts eat here than frum Jews, but the food is very good nonetheless. Nestled on West Avenue - away from the beach and closer to the condos on the bay, it's a nice quiet eatery. I love the veggie burger (made with grains, not soy) and the chicken florentine - both are just scrumptous. I've gone on more than one occasion where it seems that the staff is just daydreaming though (Where's my drink yo?). Pros: Food is health-concious and fresh, away from the beach-craziness, not all that expensive for what you get. Cons: Spanish speaking staff seems a bit clueless, uncomfortable bar seats, that fugly painting of the rabbit inside the restaurant (if you can help it, sit facing away from it - it's really a disturbed-looking cartoon!).

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To be continued of course! To everyone, שבת שלום!

The Neighborhood

Mi buy wan posh house inna Beverly Hills,
So one day while dusting my window sills,

Who me see a move next door?
No de Boogooyagga dem,
Same time me stop do mi chores,

Me run to hevry room and shut down de levelors,
De nex ting me knoe, Mrs. Boogooyagga was knocking,
Asking to borrow some coors,

Coors? I remarked,
Dem mussey tink me is a loafer who love fi skylark,

Me tel har sey mi no have no beer,
But go ask Mrs. Stocious if she dare,

But see ya!

Dem tek Beverly Hills mek "poppy show",
De next ting me knoe,

She a hang out bedspread pon de porch,
Fi shade de evening glare,
While ar meat de pon de lawn a scarch,

Lawd mi feel shame till me can't explain,
Mi call me real estate Broker Mr. Blane,
Mi tell him fi cum quick ar mi ketchin de first plane,

Thank God fi de U.S. Airforce dem come instead and get rid of de Boogooyaggas,
Dem lef so quick, mi nevva get fi offer dem crackers,

Anyway, it was far de bes,
I can tell when people are planning on being a pest,

Lawd I am so happy!
I feel so sentimental and sappy.

(written by Margaret Bailey - from Jamaicans.com)

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From this thread on Hashkafah.com, the topic came up about how well do Gerim fit in. Well I gave my experience which prompted a few responses from others. One of the responders stated that "There's more said behind closed doors than you'll ever know. Somehow I don't doubt that. Although I am not preoccupied by the fact, I wonder just what may be the prevelant theme of these conversations (for curiousity's sake).

I definitely don't feel as if I am the "Boogooyagga" of NMB, but I have also heard that while people may welcome gerim and baaley teshuva, they would like to keep the ratio "respectable". On one hand, I suppose it gives the community a sense of stability. On the other hand, in my own experience, a ger/BT will have an easier time in a community/shul where there are others like them. The Rav and kehilla recognize that these individuals needs support when necessary and (in most cases) is eager to be of assistance.

I feel that in all of the Jewish neighborhoods in South Florida, mine is pretty scarce of gerim & BTs (in respect to the other ones). While I love living in the heart of a neighborhood that pulsates with kosher activities, shopping, and events - I feel that I am developing my own pet peeves (thankfully, they are minor however). So as much as I am the local oddity, I also feel that many things can be improved. I am not the only one to notice. The young daughter-in-law of a couple I have had many Shabbos and yontif meals by, voiced her surprise that although see moved to FL 3 years ago, she knows of no one except for those living in the houses right around hers. She laments that although the community is not that large, "newbies" are not really reached out to. But she has 3 little ones to worry about, so for her it's secondary. But for those of us without families, it's a bit of a different story.

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In some ways, I'm probably making it hard on myself as well. Hashkafically, I find myself on the Yeshivish/Charedi side of the spectrum. I don't deal with TV, I feel at home in my black skirts, long sleeves and tights, and (if G-d wills it) once I get married, my husband can learn at the expense of us not having a new minivan and I'll have no issue with hacking off the majority of my hair and cover it fully. On the other hand, I find myself bonding quickly with those who are "Modern Orthodox" because they have a bit more tolerance, if not geniune interest, in my past and how I got to be where I am. Then again, MO kehillim seem to have more gerim and BTs in general it seems. And since I don't daven regularly at a MO shul, that cuts significantly into my opportunities to foster more such friendships. Not that I haven't tried however. In the three MO shuls I've attended, I just couldn't get into my davening. In each case the mechitza was lower/more see-through/more open than what I was used to. Also many of the women were talking during key parts of the service (I'm sure this happens in non-MO shuls as well - just my experience). Also the pritzus present grabs my attention more often than I feel it should. Then on one Kabbalas Shabbos service I attended at a MO shul, I was practically the only woman there (with the exception of two other young girls); while I hear this is also the case in Chassidshe shuls, such a kehilla is just not for me.

I guess the bigger question is what is your community? The people who live on your block? Who goes to your shul? Who you are friends with? What?

The problem with me (and I'm sure is the same with other gerim/BTs) is that most of my involvement with the community comes from going to shul. However, unlike with the liberal movements of Jews, shul is not a social gel but a place where you daven, execute relgious ceremonies, and come to learn. All the social stuff happens in peoples homes or other sites. Even when there is a kiddush at shul, more often than not, half of the people there don't attend that shul and half of the shul members don't attend. I myself don't feel I should compromise by davening in a shul I don't feel comfortable davening in for the sake of social relationships. But it does feel lonely time and time again eating Shabbos meals alone.

Not that I haven't been invited on numerous occasions (and even have a "standing invitation" of sorts with two families to come whenever I want), but as lovely as it is to "break challah" with others, it is still "someone else's table". Ironically I feel much more at ease at the monthly Shabbos meals at Aish HaTorah and the Shabbos "camp-out" that Rabbi & Rebbetzin Glixman host in Homestead. Instead of creeping into another family's precious Shabbos time, you are surrounded by other "family-less" Jews (and non-Jews) and you're part of an instant make-shift family of sorts. Not to undercut the pleasure that frum Jews get from extending Shabbos hospitality, or my flattery of being extended an invitation. These are just my instinctive feelings. I have a hard time believing that no one else in my neighborhood is in a similar predicament. But I have no idea who they are or no way to meet them.

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I was considerably surprised by this post on Beyond BT where the poster heralded the experience of living a frum life in State College, PA. Now I had the opportunity to go to Penn State being that I was a resident, but the idea of being in the middle of nowhere for the sake of higher education just didn't appeal to me. However, this person is married; so although they are growing in their frumkeit, it's a totally different situation than mine. I mean if I were married, also could probably deal with living in Small Town, U.S.A., just as long as their were no children where their Jewish education could be compromised. Even then, if there is an option to commute a bit, why not? I have some friends where the wife is Israeli and her husband is West Indian. They have a local Chabad House where they daven, but they are among only a few observant Jews in the area. Their son goes to an Orthdox Day school and is FFB. What their exact reason were for not living in a denser Jewish neighborhood is I don't know. But they seem to be doing ok.

Isn't it ironic that the very same community I feel so dependent upon may not be so consentual towards having me among their ranks? Again I have never heard this voiced or even implied. However there is also no obvious acknowledgement and programs geared to those who are still learning. Now I do not know of every shiur and event, but I know about a good number of them. And usually, I must go elsewhere for events that are geared towards those whose Yiddishkeit is still in it's larvae stage. On the other hand, maybe I too am guilty of believing of the "false prestige" that comes from living where I live. My neighborhood is where are the schools, bookstores, and grocers are. It is also the neighborhood that many from the other communities have "graduated to" once being observant for a while. What insanity! But again I am not immune; I was thrilled to land my apartment where I did, because I was worried about the observance level in some of the other places I was looking at.

I am conviced that this is not a situation that is a pandemic; in many places you can have your cake and eat it too (for example, I think Miami Beach is one of those places, but it's just out of my price range for the most part). You also have Rabbonim such as R' Shlomo Riskin, shlita and R' Ephraim Buchwald, shlita (whose Hebrew reading course offered through his NJOP organization taught me Hebrew) who have stressed the importance of kiruv. But I suppose it's sort of like doing your taxes in February; you know the benefit and that reaching out to "family=less Jews" is better - but sometimes you just either can't be bothered, or you don't want to deal with the potential problems that can arise.

שלום