After two years of living in Eretz Yisrael, a man came back to his Rebbe, who asked him about his experience living there. The man started by describing how beautiful and amazing it was, and then continued by saying how there was only one thing: the Arabs and how horrible they are, how they torture the Jews. The Rebbe stopped the chasid and announced that he didn’t want to hear any more. The Rebbe described how this was the very speech of the meraglim (Spies); they also came back to Am Yisrael and reported how the land was great...but the people were terrible. “Don’t criticize Eretz Yisrael at all, ever!” said the Rebbe.

On a bright Tuesday morning, not too long ago, I heard this story repeated in a shiur in the Rova (the Jewish Quarter in the Old City of Jerusalem) from Rebbetzin Malka Twerski Friedman, the Hornisteipol Rebbetzin. A surprising story, many of us in the audience thought. Isn’t that too extreme? How can one not speak out against the Arab terrorists in Eretz Yisrael?! Rebbetzin Friedman went on to explain that if the conversation fits under constructive speech: as a warning to someone, for instance, or to relieve an emotional burden, or to update others of the news so they can daven for the safety of Jews living in Israel, then it’s permissible. However, simply to chatter negatively about any facet of Eretz Yisrael is forbidden. “Eretz Yisrael has such kedusha (holiness),” Rebbetzin Friedman explained, “it has such a direct line to Hashem. He has such a special Eye on this Land. It’s not like chutz la’aretz (outside of Israel), where there are all kinds of mediaries that come between Hashem and the shefa (bounty) of the land. This is ‘Einei Hashem Elokecha Ba,’ the Eyes of Hashem are focused on it...total concentration, on Eretz Yisrael.”

So often, we read the latest news about Eretz Yisrael – whether political, social, or religious – or perhaps we are listening to someone share about a trip in Israel, and of course there are wonderful things to say. But then the conversation begins to shift and negative episodes surface, said either jokingly or critically, even when describing the weather. We are so used to freely speaking and sharing our experiences that we have to muster the ability to pause and swing into full gear when speaking about Eretz Yisrael, and remember to mention only its beauty. And that’s what I call, the real deal about Eretz Yisrael.”

My mom, Olga Grilli, a”h, gave us 90 years, but for me it was not enough. Facing debilitating renal failure, Mom didn’t want to continue treatment. But I insisted. You see, besides being a heroine to me and my sisters, Mom was part of a little-known episode in the history of the Holocaust. At age 11, she was given the gift of life, at a time when so many other Czech Jewish children never had a chance. Didn’t she owe it to them to continue to live at all costs? Or maybe I was deluding myself – I just didn’t want to let her go.

Mom fought until the end only to have her body fail her on July 4, 2018. Less than a year later, my wife Susan and I traveled to England, to the small town of Croston. We were there to dedicate a plaque honoring a couple from that town who had taken Mom in to save her from the Nazis.

Now that you know the end of the story, let me start from the beginning. Holocaust tales are never ending, and this is ours.

Phantom rings and vibrations are new symptoms currently affecting many people. These happen when a person is walking or sitting and suddenly hears a beep or feels a vibration, checks the phone in his pocket, yet finds no message or notification. People report this phenomenon occurring even on Shabbos, when there is no phone in their pocket at all!* Technology is now not only in our pockets but on our wrists and in our homes. We must be aware of how intrusive these devices can be. This is especially true for our children, who are more vulnerable. As we enter the summer months and our children generally have much more free time on their hands, we must stay aware of how they are keeping themselves busy.

Never heard of a charcuterie board? Well, the trend hit Europe, Australia, and Canada by storm years ago, and the boards are just now starting to become popular here. Okay, Bracha, you say. I still don’t know what they are! A charcuterie board is a super-fun first course for a special Friday night or an absolutely amazing showstopper of a Shabbos day meal, especially in the summer.

Anyway, charcuterie boards are gaining a lot of traction. Basically, you put a variety of delicious tidbits on a board. (A wooden board is cool.) Just as everyone has his or her favorite recipe for cholent, the board can comprise many different ingredients and still qualify for the name. We fill ours with meats; pickled, roasted, and fresh vegetables; and fruits. (I really like the combination of mango and candied meat.)

Nisht ah hin, nisht ah hare. You could interpret this Yiddish saying as “not a chicken and not a rabbit,” which is its interpretation, but it is not the meaning of this saying. It is meant to be metaphorical and refers to something that is “neither here nor there.” But such a translation still does not convey the subtle nuances of the phrase. The following maises (stories) convey the true meaning of nisht ah hin, nisht ah hare:

Story #1

Yussel Goldfarber, a clothing salesman, was encouraging a customer, Lazer Yapanchik, to purchase a suit that was azoy und azoy (top quality). Lazer rubbed the cloth of the suit between his fingers, as was the custom of suit buyers a few years ago.

“Oy gevald,” said Yussel to Lazer, “do you realize the bargain that you are getting for such a fine suit?” In kurtzen (in short), Lazer purchased the ahntzig (suit) and planned to wear it at the bar mitzva of his einikel (grandson) Shmulikeh.

I read between the lines of Becky’s seemingly innocent WhatsApp chat sent shortly after I arrived at the Crowne Plaza Hotel in Stamford, Connecticut. It was the first time my fairly recently widowed former grad school roommate was attending the annual Samchainu and Nagilla international Shabbaton for almanos (widows). Knowing her hesitancy (I twisted her arm to attend!), I knew that, “U here yet? I’m in room 4058. You?” was a cry for help.

My suspicion was confirmed when I picked Becky up from her room to go downstairs for the buffet lunch. She confided that she was so overwhelmed by the sadness of seeing so many almanos together that all she wanted to do was stay in her room and read all Shabbos. I took my longtime friend under my wing and was thrilled when she admitted, before parting ways on Sunday, that she was uplifted by the experience and happy she came.

Summer beckons. The good news? School is out: no more shiny metal desks, and there’s plenty of time to run and jump under the dancing rays of the sun. The bad news? Spring fever has magically morphed into summer fever, and boredom has crept in. Cabin fever now refers to your own backyard, with its shiny new swings and overgrown dandelions. Little feet itch to explore the world; they want to go somewhere!

So where do the kids want to go? Are they longing to travel the world, to explore the stunning volcanoes of Hawaii, to marvel at the gigantic Eiffel Tower? Or will that bore them too? Then the bickering, which never quite ended, will pick up speed with the dizzying force of an erupting volcano.

We asked the kids and listened to their opinions. What do they remember 10 years down the road? What do they still laugh at? What was most conducive for family bonding time?

The expression, “What am I, chopped liver?” or, in Yiddish, Voss bin ich, gehakteh leber? is used by Yiddelach when they feel ignored. So why chopped liver? you may ask. After all, the inquiry could be, “What am I, a string bean?”

I recently attended a wonderful lecture, where as an aside, the Rabbi mentioned how difficult it is when we realize we are aging and can no longer do everything for ourselves. Before he went on to add some truly encouraging and inspiring words, someone behind me mumbled under her breath, “Tell me about it.” This got me thinking.

We’ve all heard the saying “age is relative.” Anyone who’s ever been a kid or been related to a kid knows just how true this is. You see, children have a very limited vision of age. In their eyes, you’re either a kid (this includes babies) or you’re not (this includes bubbies). If you’re not a kid, then you have two options: You can either be married or you can be a morah (teacher). If you’re a morah, you live at school, and if you’re married, you live with your family. It is an uncomplicated web they weave – that is, until they see their morah at Seven Mile Market. A child’s reaction to seeing their morah falls into two categories: “fright or flight.” If the child is young, then, with a little prompting from their mothers, they shyly peek out from behind her skirt and whisper a barely audible hello. If the child is a little older, the conversation goes something like this: “Look,” they say to their mother, “there’s Morah Sarah.” Just as you turn your cart and glance over your shoulder, your daughter yells, “Run!” Children’s shock of seeing their morah outside of school has shattered their carefully constructed understanding of the world.

A child’s misunderstanding of age comes to light in many ways. Once, when my daughter was learning about presidents, she turned to me and asked if I was alive when George Washington was president. After a negative and slightly huffy response on my part, she then piped up, “Well, what about when Abraham Lincoln was president?” Needless to say, that history lesson ended quickly. On another occasion, my nephew, who was all of six years old, wanted to play Connect Four. It turns out that he is a whiz at the game, and he not only beat me but also beat his grandfather. As we complimented him on his wins, he proudly added, “I beat a second-grader at school.” I said, “That’s great, but you also beat me and grandpa.” To this he scoffed and said, “Yeah, but you’re old.”

The phrase “nursing home” conjures up several images. One might be that of a caring environment where a level of healing can take place. Alternatively, one’s thoughts can go to media depictions of places where people are left towards the end of life with minimal – and sometimes adverse – treatment.

Nursing homes have their purpose. When hope of rehabilitation is gone, and close kin do not have the time, energy, or knowledge to meet their loved one’s daily needs – and hospice is not an immediate possibility – long-term facilities can provide a space for end-of-life care. The questions become: How long a period might “end-of-life” be, and what will be the quality of care? We live in an age where medications can keep us alive yet barely functioning. Is this providing quality care? Who gets to determine the criteria for quality care and then assess whether or not it is occurring?

Like everything else in our health care system, there are myriad regulations in long-term care provision. Nursing home administrators will tell you they do their best to comply with state, federal, and insurance codes. They claim that the care required is enormous and their profit margin is low. They say that families thrust their guilt and anxieties on staff and demand the impossible in caring for their relative. They assert that most of us are in such denial about our loved one’s inevitable demise that our inability to accept what is happening only makes their jobs harder and more frustrating. We want answers; we want cures; we want better outcomes. And the staff lumbers along putting in time and energy with little improvement to show for it.

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