The High Holidays of My Youth
In that tiny shul, the prayers of survivors hung heavy in the air.
In that tiny shul, the prayers of survivors hung heavy in the air.
I marveled at the timelessness of our mesorah. Here I was, employing twenty-first-century technology to preserve nineteenth-century tefillin—the same ones my great-grandfather had wrapped around his arm each morning.
The parking lot layers issue a challenge to us: “You say you are Shabbos observant? Know, like we did, that there is more to Shabbos than how you observe it.”
What began years earlier as a hobby with tools and piles of wood has evolved into a sacred calling to help others in our Jewish community.