It was Yom Kippur, October 6th, 1973, when we first heard the news: Egypt and Syria had attacked Israel, unprovoked and without warning. Before we even broke our fast, we tuned in to the news on TV that night. We learned that Egypt had crossed the Suez Canal
It was Yom Kippur, October 6th, 1973, when we first heard the news: Egypt and Syria had attacked Israel, unprovoked and without warning. Before we even broke our fast, we tuned in to the news on TV that night. We learned that Egypt had crossed the Suez Canal on makeshift bridges and had attacked the Bar-Lev lines.
Approximately seven years ago I was approached by a group of individuals who were sincerely agonizing over the state of their commitment to Judaism. Although they had been raised in Orthodox homes and had attended fine yeshivos, they shared in common a general, painful awareness that “something inside had died;” leaving them observant and learned, but asleep. Together we undertook an experiment and embarked on what has proven to be a remarkable journey to reclaim our lost spirituality.
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Emunah [faith] which is pure gives the Jew a unique perspective on all of creation. He sees the Creator, may He be blessed, in all of existence. From the heights of Heaven to the depths of the earth he perceives the presence of the Creator in His creation. He feels the power of God in all that surrounds him. By the light of emunah he listens to the song of life which emanates from every creature.
Reb Moshe ben Chaim Peretz Weiss (1896-1973), universally known as Moshe “Gabbai” or Moshe “Batlan,” was twice a survivor. He was a physical survivor, being among a small number of Polish Jews who emerged from the First World War and the Holocaust. In a deeper sense, though, he was a spiritual survivor; one of the last of a “vanishing breed.”
Honey has always been an integral part of Judaism. First and foremost, there’s its integration into the meals of Rosh Hashanah and the rest of the High Holidays. Anyone who doesn’t dip challah in honey or overindulge in apples and honey really hasn’t gotten into the spirit of the Days of Awe. We use it to symbolize our hope for happiness and for a sweet new year.
The sense of a crisis within Religious Zionism has deepened and intensified during the recent past. Few within the Religious Zionist fold would dispute the existence of such a crisis. The manifestations of this are multifaceted, ranging from political frustration to abusive language, ad hominem attacks and even physical violence, on the one hand, and to persistent and perplexed questioning of the role of Torah shebe’al peh and the value of Torah lishmah, on the other.
Misconception: Three or more women forming a zimun (responsive introduction to Grace after Meals), especially in the presence of one or two men, is the product of late 20th century feminism and has no basis in traditional halachah. When such a zimun is formed the men present should leave.
I received a letter from a parent complaining that his child has developed a feeling of terror because he was taught that God would punish him severely for anything he did wrong. He asked whether there isn’t some way that children could be taught that yirat Shamayim does not mean this kind of fear.
In many Orthodox shuls today, talking during davening and layning, particularly on Shabbat, has become the norm. It is, in fact, a problem of epidemic proportions. Talking typically begins during Shacharit, gets worse during layning and haftorah, and rises to a crescendo during Mussaf. One of my friends recently quipped that in his shul, the baal tefillah for Mussaf could walk out during chazorat hashatz and no one would notice. Not funny.
Imagine standing on a street that the Tannaim might have walked on 1800 years ago — talk about touching our Jewish souls with our soles! Within the last ten years, the archaeologists’ spades have revealed much of the ancient city of Tzippori, one of the most important Jewish centers in the period of the Mishnah.
The great allure of Reb Nachman combined with his physical absence makes it inevitable that a variety of fringe elements should be trying to project their own ideas onto Breslov. Among the most conspicuous are followers of the late Reb Yisroel Ber Odesser, a Breslover Chassid who lived to be over 100 and who advocated the invocation of Reb Nachman’s name as a kind of mantra (“Na Nach Nachma Nachman miUman”).
The Six Day War produced a substantive change in Religious Zionism: until then it had been dominated by a realistic approach which related to the State of Israel as a place of refuge for the Jewish nation, where a Jew had the opportunity to direct his own life.
As for you, Jewish parents, do not forget that it was at the time when you yourselves were young that the decline began. Sin has made giant steps since you were young; keep guard over your children! Some already move in the direction of this sin in the tenth, ninth, eighth year. Test the schools, the playmates, the servants, the friends of the house! Know that vice enters into the circle of youth by every way.
Without question, no prayer in the whole of Jewish liturgy is as famous, and paradoxically, as unknown as the kaddish. Often referred to as the mourner’s prayer, this sanctification of God’s Name does not speak of death, mourning or redemption of souls, as many erroneously believe. These myths abound in spite of translated prayer books and numerous works analyzing the nature and chronicling the history of the kaddish.
An 8th generation Jerusalemite, Michael Ende was born in 1945 and began creating Judaica in 1970. He has become one of Israel’s leading designers of Jewish ceremonial art, winning numerous international design prizes and awards.
Poised between the aggressively anti-religious nationalism of mainstream secular Zionists and the passive Messianic faith of the bulk of believing Jews, nineteenth-century Religious Zionism was born on the horns of a dilemma. Embracing both horns, its leaders affirmed the validity of tradition and its divinely-assured Messianic Age, while arguing that human initiative, hardly distinguishable from the behavior of secular nationalists, was crucial to the Redemption of Israel.
Like most of my friends, I remember my senior year of high school as both an exciting and a stressful time. Whereas previously my biggest life decisions revolved around whether to take AP biology or physics, and what to do on weekends, now real decisions abounded, ones that I knew would affect the course of my future. Foremost among these decisions was which college to attend.
The sense of a crisis within Religious Zionism has deepened and intensified during the recent past. Few within the Religious Zionist fold would dispute the existence of such a crisis. The manifestations of this are multifaceted, ranging from political frustration to abusive language, ad hominem attacks and even physical violence, on the one hand, and to persistent and perplexed questioning of the role of Torah shebe’al peh and the value of Torah lishmah, on the other.