What Lies Beneath The Water

What Lies Beneath the Water Last week was my wedding anniversary and I was fortunate enough to celebrate yet another year of marriage to my dear wife Miriam! To celebrate, we went for a quick getaway, and on the way we stopped at a small pond where there were many ducks swimming around as people stood on the banks and threw in food to them. As the ducks swam, I noticed a group of 5 small ducklings with their mother swimming alongside them wherever they went. (At least I assume it was their mother, although I suppose it may well have been their nanny. It was, after all, an upscale neighborhood). I love nature and animals and I was fascinated as I watched these ducks. I was mesmerized by how beautifully all of the ducks just sailed across the face of the water so smoothly and effortlessly. Their bodies were upright and non-moving as they glided all along the pond. And as the little ducklings scurried from place to place to feed off the generous humans standing outside the water, there was the mother following close by at all times. In my reverie, I suddenly noticed the webbed feet of the ducks beneath the water as they swam. In contrast to the smooth movements of the ducks’ bodies, their feet were in constant motion as they propelled themselves along the water. I was struck by the realization that, while what is observed by our eyes seems so smooth, the true catalyst for what is seen externally is all the action that is going on unobserved beneath the surface, obscured from view. Truth be told, the lesson from the ducks is an appropriate metaphor for many things in life. At this moment, the Olympics are taking place in Tokyo. I have always enjoyed tuning in to the Olympics and feel a sense of pride when I see an American standing on the podium after winning a gold medal. Invariably, there are numerous people who, when seeing gold medal winners basking in the glory of a win and gaining the adulation and admiration of their countrymen, feel a certain sense of jealousy. They too would love to be a celebrity and ink large deals endorsing products earning them fortunes of money. What they fail to ponder and internalize, however, is all of the work that went into getting them to that moment. All of the years spent waking up at the wee hours of the morning to go to practices and competitions. All of the thousands of hours spent practicing, over and over again. All of the failures and disappointments along the way. All of the relinquishing of self-interests and carefree times such as social events and late night parties. So much toil and effort was expended in order for that gold medal winner to arrive at that shining moment on the podium. Much like the duck who so gracefully sails across the silvery lake, beyond what is in view of everyone is all of the effort taking place out of sight beneath the surface to allow the duck to achieve that beautiful swim. In fact, this is axiomatic regarding practically everything in life. Whether in material matters, and most certainly in spiritual ones, there lies so much work behind the scenes which leads to the success stories which everyone sees with their eyes. I recall numerous times when my wife, upon seeing a very holy person, would remark, “I am so envious of that person’s spiritual stature!” And each time I would reply, “There is nothing to be envious of — you too can become like that. It just requires investing the same sacrifices and work that person did!” In truth, with regards to material pursuits, one can put in tremendous effort and still not be blessed with a successful outcome, but with regards to spiritual success, we are taught differently. The Talmud says, “If someone tells you they toiled but were not successful (in regards to spiritual growth and Torah learning), do not believe them.” Meaning, if one puts in effort into developing their relationship with G-d, it is an automatic that they will find the success they are seeking. And if they tell you they have not, “don’t believe them.” It means they did not put in enough toil towards that goal. You too can smoothly glide along in your spiritual growth – but not without the toil being put in beneath the surface. I will close by expressing my intense gratitude in honor of my anniversary to my wife Miriam, the “mother duck” of our family (and in fact to all of those heroic Jewish women) who is the backbone in producing and ensuring the survival of the next generation of our proud nation! Without you we would truly be lost and for that I say, from the bottom of my heart, thank you! Shabbat Shalom, Rabbi Yosef Koval

Welcome Home JFX!

Welcome Home JFX! Our friend Moe Mernick tells of the time that he was flown in to be a guest speaker at a Shabbaton for a congregation in Calgary, Canada. His topic was how everything happens for a reason, and that even setbacks are in reality part of G-d’s master plan. He chose a sweet story to share with the audience about his family doctor from Toronto who was initially rejected from medical school, and how that turned out to be the best thing for him in the end. Unbeknownst to Moe, his doctor's wife had grown up in that very synagogue in Calgary! And as he was telling the story, in this synagogue, the doctor’s father-in-law was there in the audience! He took tremendous pleasure in hearing this personal story about his very own son-in-law. During our JFX Tisha B'av services on Sunday, I mentioned the story of the Jewish king Yehoash whose father, Amon, was a wicked, idolatrous king who allowed the Holy Temple in Jerusalem to fall into disrepair. Amon, was assassinated by his own palace guards, leaving Yehoash, the child, to inherit his father's throne. Eventually Yehoash began a campaign to refurbish the Holy Temple, and he made an incredible discovery: He found an ancient Torah scroll that was bookmarked at the portion of G-d's rebuke and admonition for trespassing the ways of the Torah. The young king intuitively felt that this was no coincidence, and that G-d was sending him a message to repent. Thus he began a remarkable spiritual renaissance campaign, nearly preventing the destruction of the Holy Temple. What is incredible about this story is that the young Yehoash saw the message of the scroll, and didn't dismiss it as a fluke, which would have made his life a whole lot easier. Instead he recognized the divine Hand of G-d, and courageously acted upon the message. Enter our new JFX building. The Talmud teaches us that the concept of beshert, "meant to be," applies not only to one's spouse, but even other things like one's house. They are also part of G-d's predetermined divine providence. G-d orchestrates and determines where and with whom we will spend our future lives well before the actual connections are made. I could literally write a small book with stories of how our new JFX building came to be a reality for us. With each step of the process, it felt like this was meant to be. From the people who didn't listen to the naysayers, and stepped in to support the purchase, to the people who assisted us with all of the details, our gratitude is huge and the divine presence was truly remarkable, from A-Z. Two weeks ago I spoke to Dave, the facilities manager from John Carroll University. He told me something incredible: When the college originally purchased the building in 2008, they planned on bulldozing the building and turning the entire 5.7 acres into one huge parking lot. Every time he wanted to make an update to the building, he was shot down by the administration and told that it doesn't pay to put money into the building because within 6 months they will bulldoze the building. For some reason, he has no idea why, every time they were going to bulldoze, it never went through for some reason or another. Then Covid came, and the college lost a lot of money due to decreased enrollment and they needed to sell the building quickly. At just the opportune time a developer put a bid on the building and we were given 4 days to match their offer or be left out in the dark. The urgency of this situation mobilized us to take action and pushed us to make the leap and put in a counter bid. We literally did not have the luxury to rationally think about it. Had we done that, I don't think we really would have made this decision, which we now see and feel in retrospect was definitely the right move for us and for our community. I now believe that when the building was purchased and the cornerstone was installed, well before most of us were born, God was already paving the way for us and preparing the building as the future home for Torah, prayer and personal growth for our community. Our mystical tradition teaches us that all synagogues operate as divine embassies of the Holy Land, and in the future, when the Messiah comes, they will all be transported to the land of Israel as part of the redemption process. This has clearly been in the works for a while! Next year in Jerusalem in our new JFX home! Shabbat Shalom, Rabbi Koval

Making Sense of The Senseless

Making Sense of the Senseless The Surfside tragedy has been on my mind, and now Tisha b’Av is coming up on Sunday, July 18. Tisha b’av, the 9th day of the Hebrew month of Av, is a day historically marked by Jewish tragedy. As a nation, we mourn and "sit shiva" for the loss of our holy Temple in Jerusalem. It’s also the anniversary of an astonishing collection of national calamities. 3333 years ago on this day, the Jews cried after the spies reported that Israel was a hostile, impenetrable Land. 2607 years ago on this day, the First Holy Temple was destroyed by the Babylonians. 1951 years ago on this day, the Second Holy Temple was destroyed by the Romans. 925 years ago on this day, the First Crusade was declared, which wiped out 10,000 Jews. 731 years ago on this day, the Jews were expelled from England. 529 year ago on this day, the Jews were expelled from the Iberian Peninsula. 107 years ago, Germany declared war on Russia, sparking the First, and eventually leading to the Second World War. 79 years ago on this day, deportations from the Warsaw Ghetto to Treblinka began. 16 years ago today, the borders of Gush Katif, Israel were sealed as Jews were forced to evacuate Jews from their homes in Israel for the first time in history. This chilling list reminds us that it's a national and historical day of tragedy and mourning. Many follow the guidelines of shiva. We sit on low chairs, do not make small talk, and focus on the loss. We also fast, refraining from both food and drink until nightfall. We sing special hymns and poems that lament the loss and destruction (join us at JFX - see flyer above). We pray that our Temple may be rebuilt soon, in our holy city, Jerusalem, that our nation unite in peace and brotherhood, and that we may know no more sorrow. Although the tragedy did not take place on Tisha b’av, Surfside feels like it’s in the spirit of the season. The collapse of the Champlain Towers condo complex was the third in a bizarre series of accidents that severely impacted the Jewish community: first, the Meron tragedy this past May, where Jews who had gathered to celebrate the holiday of Lag ba-Omer were crushed by the crowds, and where 45 people died, with many more injured and traumatized. Second, the collapse of a bleachers in the Chassidic community of Karlin-Stolin in Israel shortly thereafter, killing two people and injuring dozens. And now, the collapse of the Surfside, Florida building, where the number of dead has not yet been confirmed because so many are still unaccounted for, making it impossible for many to even mourn their loved ones properly. Some have tried to make sense of the tragedies, noting the macabre common denominator of people being crushed to death. I opt for another angle: I cannot make sense of it at all. It is scary, it is seemingly senseless, it is frightening for the very reason that it could have happened to anyone. I’ve been in large scary crowds. I considered going to Meron many times, although I never actually made it. I even vacationed in Surfside this past February, in a condo complex one block away from Champlain Towers. No, it does not make any sense. Not to my feeble human brain. See, in order to go about our lives, we rely on the law of probability. The probability is that I won’t get into a car accident today. The probability is that even if I get Covid, I won’t die. The probability is that my plane will arrive at its destination and I will be safe. And then strange, grotesque things happen that shake up our sense of security and stability. We start to ask, “Why is this happening?” and “Could it happen again?” and “Could it have been prevented?” Our brains want desperately to make sense of tragedy, to reclaim the control of probabilities. But the truth is, no matter how many boxes we tick off of “things we could have done,” we can’t manage every eventuality. Only God runs the world. That reality is perhaps the most frightening of all. Tisha b’av reminds us that tragedy has been part of the fabric of Jewish history. On it, and every single day of the year, we pray for better times. For peace, for stability, for health, for happiness. Amen, may it be so. Shabbat Shalom, Ruchi

A Real Champion

A Real Champion I would like to take this opportunity to wish a warm and hearty mazel tov to one Joey Chestnut for his prestigious accomplishment! If you do not know who Mr. Chestnut is, he is a “competitive eater” (yes, that is a real title) who was once again the winner of the annual July 4th Nathan’s hot dog eating contest. This year Joey heroically managed to wolf down 76 hot dogs with buns in a mere 10 minutes to defend his crown and beat his record of 75 hot dogs which he set last year. (My personal opinion is a person should eat dairy for a full year after eating that many hot dogs as opposed to only 6 hours like me!) Truly amazing! My stomach hurts just writing these words! In a world devoid of enough heroes, we are blessed to have Joey Chestnut as a beacon of greatness and a symbol of American pride. As a kid, the quintessential things that made up America were baseball, Chevrolet, and apple pie. Items such as those symbolized “America” in a nutshell. Now, I find myself increasingly musing each year that “competitive eating” and the Nathan’s hot dog eating contest on July 4th are the present day examples of what symbolizes our modern-day America. Sadly, over the past several decades the country has tragically descended further and further into moral decay and an emphasis on decadence. A contest such as this one is the paragon of what is, in the current milieu, revered and cheered and seems, in my eyes at least, to be a perfect way of summing up our once proud country in the present day. Seeing the news of Mr. Chestnut’s “achievement” I remarked to my brother that I wonder if his parents have “nachas” from his feats. In fairness, I suppose the same feelings can be said about athletes who are revered as heroes simply because they play a child’s game better than anyone else but, perhaps because I have been a sports fan all my life, I have a predisposed prejudice towards looking at those people’s accomplishments in a slightly more favorable light. Anyway, my brother told me of a story he once heard from Rabbi Frand, a well-known rabbi in Baltimore, about a fellow who – like Joey – won competitive eating contests. Upon being interviewed after one of his “victories,” this fellow said that his only regret was that his father was no longer alive because he would have been so proud of him had he been around to witness the victory. He told of a difficult relationship he had with his father growing up and how his father would call him a “loser” and that he would never amount to anything. Now, more than ever, this champ pined to show his father that he did in fact amount to something and that he was indeed successful and not at all a “loser.” Putting aside the sympathy I have for someone who was clearly damaged by his father as a child, I could not help but be amused by the thought that this person wished his father could be alive to see him win a competitive eating contest, and furthermore that such a victory would validate his self worth and elevate him from the ranks of a “loser” to that of a “champion.” I can only imagine my own parents' reaction had I called them to share the news. “Mom! Dad! You’ll never believe it! I just won a trophy for eating dozens of hot dogs in just a few minutes! Aren’t you so proud? Hello? Mom? Dad? Are you there? Helllooo?” *dialtone* In contrast to the aforementioned people, this past Tuesday my son, Tzvi, became a bar mitzvah. On that morning I took him to synagogue for his first time as an “adult” and he put on his new tefillin. We then had a celebratory breakfast for him with friends and family at the local bagel store. At the meal I spoke to him about my hopes and aspirations for him as he makes the transition into becoming a full-fledged, card-carrying member of the Chosen People. Not surprisingly, not one of those hopes expressed a desire for him to ever become a competitive eating champ. Instead we spoke about what the purpose of life is and what our role in this world is, particularly as it pertains to being a Jew. I mentioned that this week’s Torah portion discusses the various encampments the Jewish people stayed at in the 40 years they spent in the desert. Our Sages teach us that each of these travels were in fact moments of growth for our nation in the spiritual realm. Some of that growth came as lessons learned the hard way through misfortune due to sins that we committed in those places, while others were steps taken through positive experiences we accomplished while encamped in a particular place. Furthermore, our Sages teach that each and every individual has a journey they embark upon called ”life” which contains many different stops. Some of these “stops” are age-related milestones such as a bar mitzvah, while others are events that occur like a wedding or birth of a child. Sometimes the journey takes us through hardships, like the loss of a job or a loved one, while others are moments of pure joy, but all of these experiences are there to assist in shaping us into who we hope to be. The main thing to prioritize as we begin our journey (or continue it for those of us who are already older) is to understand what exactly our mission is. Why were we put into this world and how can we best progress to fulfill that purpose? Once we have that in focus then we can begin to tackle how to attain that goal. Thus, my blessing to Tzvi as he embarks on a new leg in his own special journey was that he should come to a clear understanding of what G-d wants from him - why He placed him in this world, and how he can set out to achieve that purpose and to use this new “stop” as a time for growth. As Jews we learn that our purpose in this world is to achieve a connection to G-d through the study of the Torah and observance of His commandments. This blessing was for Tzvi but is aptly applicable to all of us as well. So while my Tzvi, or any of my children for that matter, will hopefully never call me to tell me they have won a competitive eating contest, I know they will become great nonetheless, each in their own way. I will try my best as a parent to point them in the right direction and I hope and pray they will use their G-d given talents to fulfill their individual potentials. Because if Tzvi, or any of us, works towards achieving the goal of our journey, then we can proudly hold up our heads high at the end of our respective journey and carry the title of “Champion.” Now, I must go watch the Competitive Watching Paint Dry Contest in which people compete to see who can watch paint dry for the longest amount of time. I just need to grill up a hot dog or two (or 76) so I have something to eat while I am doing that! Shabbat Shalom, Rabbi Yosef Koval

My Walking Partner

My Walking Partner MAZEL TOV! JFX finally has its own permanent home. Thank G-d, we were able to purchase the John Carroll Green Rd. Annex building as our new space! This week on Monday, I flew to Cincinnati for a bris. It was a wonderful trip. The flight was out of Burke Lakefront Airport on a small, comfortable jet, without any security line. We left first thing in the morning, and everything was enjoyable and convenient. There was a rental car waiting for me at the airport, and I had plenty of time before the bris for a study session at the Cincinnati community Kollel. The bris itself went well. The crowd was Jewish but largely unaffiliated, and I felt like I was in my element, doing my best to make the ceremony meaningful. I really enjoyed meeting and connecting with the people there. I spent the next few hours answering emails and attending an important zoom meeting before heading back to the private Cincinnati airport. It was a very productive day, and I felt good about myself. As instructed by the airline, I arrived at the airport at 4:30, as the gates to the plane were scheduled to close at 4:50, followed by takeoff. So, I pulled my rental car up to the Enterprise office, went to the front door, and found it locked with a sign directing customers to drop their keys into the nearby dropbox, which I promptly did. Only then did I realize that I was at the wrong location, still a mile away from the Ultimate Air terminal. (Apparently this was the old Enterprise location.) The problem was that my keys were locked in the box, no one was around, and I had no phone number to call for help. So in the 92° heat, wearing my formal attire and schlepping multiple bags and boxes, I started marching down what seemed like the never ending yellow brick road, all the way to the airline terminal, racing against the clock, wondering what I would do if the plane left without me. Thank G-d, the plane left a few minutes late, and I made the flight. The entire 20-minute experience should have been a very distressing one for me, and normally such a story would have put me into panic mode. But strangely, I actually felt a calming, almost divine feeling throughout the ordeal. I felt like Hashem was guiding me throughout the process, and all would be well. Strangely, I actually even enjoyed the entire experience. Looking back, I felt that G-d was teaching me a message: to appreciate the fact that He has my back, not to become arrogant about my successful day, but to stay grateful and humble for His divine blessings throughout my day, wherever I may roam. I also felt that the entire day was a metaphor for the past 10 months, as it relates to our purchase of the John Carroll annex building.Throughout the entire process, it felt like there was sort of an invisible Hand guiding us, especially the past few months. From the moment that we were told on a Thursday in March that someone else put a bid on the building and we had until Monday to either match their bid, or find a new place to rent by the end of the month, until yesterday when we finally were able to close on the property, everything in between felt almost surreal. We never planned or budgeted to purchase our own building, but clearly Hashem had other plans for us. At first we felt overwhelmed with the notion of raising millions of dollars, and the initial meetings were met with a sense of defeatism. Then, one of our members called me and said we need a “can-do” attitude. He offered a generous pledge and challenged a friend to match him. That’s how the campaign began. Thank G-d, we have already raised over $2 million in pledges and are hopeful and optimistic that we will raise all the needed funds to create the perfect space for our JFX community. We are excited to fill the building with vibrant Jewish learning, with Mussar and Mini Mussar classes, Tot Shabbats, Young Professionals events, and Jews of all ages loving and living Torah lessons and values. We are grateful to Hashem and to all those who believed in us and are helping us with us new endeavor and are excited for this historic opportunity for our community. See, every long road has an end, whether in Cincinnati, Cleveland or anywhere. God is always walking beside you, lighting your path, even if it's hard to see in the moment! Shabbat Shalom, Rabbi Koval

The Castle Hill Effect

The Castle Hill Effect “Castle Hill'' were the magical words of my childhood. For years, my family and I rented a small bungalow in what we called a “bungalow colony” in the Catskill Mountains in New York State—one colony of many populated by Jews living in “the city” (Brooklyn and Queens) and seeking to escape to, literally, greener pastures. All winter long I dreamed of Castle Hill. There, we swam every day in the freezing cold pool, chattering and shivering as the sun began to set. There, we barbecued every Sunday, when all the dads, who joined us for Shabbat and headed back to city life for the workweek, could grill us their famous hot dogs and burgers, along with cold fizzy drinks and drippy watermelon, cut into huge chunks. There, we learned to ride bikes, along with the cuts and scrapes that accompanied the rite of passage called “time-to-take-off-the-training-wheels!” There, my uncles played endless games of backgammon and played guitar while my aunts and mother chatted and needlepointed, while us kids ran around with abandon. Castle Hill had a castle. I have no idea what this castle was for. Google is keeping its secrets. As kids, we made up story after story of princes and princesses, of haunted places and scary spirits. The colony used the castle as its sort-of main house, where the counselors of our day camp slept (I guess they weren’t spooked) and where you could buy ice cream and treats in a little snack bar. At some point the castle was condemned by the Board of Health, or some such agency, its windows boarded up and its stairways roped off. Every now and then, the trucks would roll up. There was “Mom’s Kosher Knishes From Woodbourne!” as the driver would holler over his megaphone, over and over on repeat. There was Murray’s “sock truck,” which would appear selling socks, toys, and all kinds of novelty items. Also: yarmulkes, challah covers, nose plugs, and long skirts. But mostly, we lived a pretty simple life at Castle Hill. Dinners without the dads were kid-friendly affairs taken outdoors, with lots of grilled cheese sandwiches, which we were only too thrilled to enjoy. But Shabbat at Castle Hill was special. On Friday, we’d clean up real nice. Everyone came out of their bungalows on Friday afternoon all sparkly with damp hair and shiny eyes. The daddies were home. Our tiny bungalows were transformed into ballrooms for Shabbat. We’d have our aunts, uncles and cousins over for Shabbat meals, dining like kings in the simple spaces. Since Shabbat was late, and I was young, I’d be sent off to bed which was literally one room over from the dining room, drifting off to dreamland to the comforting sounds of Shabbat chatter so close by. And then, the September when I was six years old, my father died. We had just gotten back from Castle Hill a short while before. Little did I know it would be the last summer of Castle Hill with my father. And the next summer, my mother was preparing for her second marriage to my stepfather, a man from Cincinnati who had come to Cleveland to learn at Telshe Yeshiva and later attended medical school here. We would be moving to Cleveland. There would be no more Castle Hill. I tried to get back to this near-mythical land of my childhood many times. My aunts, uncles and cousins still went, and I used any opportunity to be there, to drink in those halcyon, uncomplicated days. But the older I got the less entrancing it seemed, the smaller the bungalows, the more run down it all appeared. Can we ever go back in time? Every year as summer approaches I think of the days of Castle Hill. I’ve always wanted to give my children the summers I had as a kid, and in a way, raising them here in Cleveland, in suburban, safe, green spaces, is doing just that. But as nostalgia would have it, it’s not the same. The older we get, the less halcyon life seems. It’s hard to think that today’s bumps and scrapes will be tomorrow’s nostalgia, but I already know this to be true. Today, as summer approaches, I am consumed with the trauma of Covid, of Meron, of the unrest in Israel. I am sad, scared, and helpless. Can today’s complex moments really be tomorrow’s fond memories? I can’t even look at photos of people in masks without feeling that familiar pit in my stomach and welling of tears in my eyes. The year we’ve been through has been hellish on a number of levels. Never in my life have I experienced the fear of the unknown as I have in the past 14 months. It’s very possible that 24-hour access to digital information exacerbates that—I’ll own it—but it’s objectively been an unprecedented ride for those of us who have not lived through wartime. One memory: I am in my bedroom, talking on the phone with my sister-in-law, as she describes to me her real, raw fear that my brother-in-law will not survive the day. And yet. I am nostalgic, already, about the beginning of Covid, when my family prayed together every Shabbat morning because synagogues were universally closed, bar none. We reminisce, this soon, about the delight of going out to pick up a prescription, because you were “going somewhere,” not to mention the joy of being selected to take out the trash. And, concomitantly, I think we all have post-traumatic stress from the low times. The fear, the tears, the losses, the dread. Summer is coming again, and the Castle Hill of my youth is forty years in the past. It’s mixed up with the death of my father and my abbreviated time in that burnished bubble. The Year From Hell is barely a year old. The good memories and the bad, they’re all mixed up together. I wonder if my mother remembers Castle Hill the way I do. And I wonder how my children will remember Covid. No one knows. Time has a way of shaping perceptions into something that takes on a life of its own. But one thing is for sure: perspective, my friends. Gam zeh ya‘avor. This too, shall pass. It always does; it always will. And maybe, just maybe, it will even take on a certain halcyon sheen one day. Shabbat Shalom, Ruchi

Spinout on the 80!

Spinout on the 80! We had been cruising along for 4 hours on the I-80 last week from Cleveland to NY, when all of a sudden the skies overhead burst open, and a torrential rain began to descend. I’m talking about the kind in which the windshield wipers can’t keep up with the rain, even on the highest setting. I began to hit the brakes in order to slow down in the heavy downpour, and as I did, the car began to hydroplane and started skidding from the left lane that we were in towards the right lane. Frantically, I tried to control the wheel, but it was like driving on ice. The car continued its spin through the right lane and hit the guardrail on the side of the highway at 70 mph. The car continued its revolution and we began driving backwards down the highway (as I described it later, we were traveling eastbound on the 80 but we were facing westbound!). Still trying to regain control of the car, we crossed back through the right lane and then through the left lane, colliding with the guardrail on the left side. After what seemed like an eternity, but was in reality only several seconds, we came to a rest on the shoulder. Why I was on the highway in the first place? Allow me to elaborate. When I was growing up, my amazing parents opened their home to numerous guests who were in need of a place to stay. Some visitors were there for a day or two, others for a weekend, some for a holiday and others that stayed long-term and came back repeatedly. My parents truly embodied the spirit and lessons of Abraham and Sarah in opening their doors and extending hospitality to all who needed. In addition to the more transient guests, there were also some who, for all intents and purposes, became full-fledged members of our family. While not undergoing any formal process, they were essentially foster children for a number of years and we considered (and consider them even to this day) as our siblings. One “brother" of mine – Dovid - came from Iran at the tender age of 10, and remained with us until he married and started his own home. (A cute story with Dovid occurred at a family bar mitzvah, when my Great Aunt Pearl – who was never one to hold her tongue – saw my brothers and me together with Dovid. Dovid, with his dark middle-eastern complexion, looked every bit like an Iranian native. Aunt Pearl remarked loudly as she pointed to each of us, “Well this one looks like Murray (my father) and this one looks like Beverly (my mother) but who does this one look like? He doesn’t look like anyone!” (Cringe!) Another foster brother of mine was Gabor, an impish redhead who came from Hungary at the age of 16 to experience a Passover in America at an Orthodox home, and ended up staying with us until he too got married and settled in Montreal. Well, a few weeks ago Gabor was marrying off his daughter to a fellow from England and, due to Covid, elected to make the wedding in New York. My brother and I decided that we would travel in for the wedding, knowing how meaningful to Gabor and his wife and daughter. Even though we had both done a significant amount of traveling recently, and would have preferred to just stay home, we decided it was too important and was worth the effort and expense entailed. So, with the blessings of our wives, we left Cleveland in my car hoping to arrive at the wedding in time for the smorgasbord reception before the chuppah. The trip was pleasant and uneventful... until the aforementioned crash occurred. Extremely shaken, but, miraculously, physically unharmed, my brother and I looked at each other and each of us asked if the other one was OK (that’s just the type of guys we are). We also simultaneously and wryly remarked that our getting to the wedding in time for the smorgasbord just suffered a major setback (that’s also the type of guys we are!) After a quick scan of our respective bodies we saw that we both were completely fine, without as much as a single scratch, bump or even bruise. Other than our yarmulkes flying off our heads during the hellish spinout, and his cup of coffee splattering on his shirt, we were 100% fine. Despite the fact that there were plenty of cars and trucks on the road at the time, during those few seconds that we were zigzagging across the highway twice like an out-of-control bumper car, there were none coming up behind us at that time. Had there been, I probably would not be sitting here writing this article. We got out of the car to examine the damage and saw that it was smashed up pretty badly, but it did look like it could be driven, at least for a short distance. One major concern we had was that the front bumper was smashed up and hanging. Considering we were in the middle of Pennsylvania, and nowhere near an exit, we hoping to try and drive it to a shop. Concerned the bumper may fall off en route, we looked in my trunk to see if there was anything I could use to attach it. Fortunately I had kept some elastic bands in my trunk from when I was doing therapy on my injured shoulder and we did our best MacGyver impression as we jerry rigged the bumper with a bright neon green band to keep it from falling off. Cautiously, I started the car and eased it back onto the highway. I had no power steering and the wheel was pulling towards the left but I was able to drive it. We drove about 20 miles until I saw an exit and got off. By an act of Divine Providence there was a truck service station right off the exit and they directed me to a car repair shop a mere mile down the road. I drove to the shop where I explained what happened. The mechanic took a look at the car and told me it was not safe to drive. Being 3 hours from NY and 4 hours from Cleveland, I called Enterprise and requested a rental. Considering it was just before Memorial Day, they were all out of cars – except for one! The rental agency was 30 minutes away, but instead of having to wait that long for someone to get us, the lady told us they had a driver dropping off a customer in our vicinity (which, mind you, was in the middle of nowhere) and that he would be there sooner to pick us up. I called insurance to file a claim, and before I was even done with the call, the driver picked us up and we headed to the agency to get a rental. We arrived at Enterprise just ahead of 5 different customers who walked in after us, so we were taken care of immediately. Sure enough, the agent took care of our paperwork and brought us out to the one car they had. Somehow, from the time we crashed until we were settled in the rental car, only an hour and a quarter had passed. I marveled at the amount of “hashgacha” – Divine Providence – we had experienced at every turn. It was now 5 o’clock and we realized that we could still make it to the wedding for the majority of the affair. My brother asked me if we should just turn back and head home, as it had been a pretty harrowing experience, and Gabor was sure to understand if we didn’t come considering what we had been through. But I felt that we should forge on and go to the wedding, provided my brother was on board to do so. The Torah teaches that people involved in the performance of a mitzvah will not suffer harm. Looking back and realizing that, aside from the damage to my car, we had both witnessed such incredible Divine protection and assistance, I was convinced it was only due to the fact that we were on our way to perform a mitzvah. As such, I felt it appropriate to continue on that mission. We indeed drove on and walked into the wedding just as the chuppah was beginning. We were one of only a handful of close friends that Gabor had and we danced up a storm and joined in him with his joyous occasion. He was overflowing with gratitude to us for coming and could not stop thanking us. It was so gratifying for us to hear that and validated our decisions we made, both initially as well as post-crash. At midnight we got into the car and headed back home through the night. Fortunately the ride home was fast and uneventful and, other than the fact that I am still in a rental and need to find a replacement car (a daunting task I am finding out in this current used car market!), the saga of that day has passed and life returned to normal. My purpose in writing about this is twofold. One, to publicly thank G-d for the miracle He performed for us in protecting us from any form of injury or worse. Two, to show the power of performing G-d’s commandments and the assurances of the Torah. When we are promised with an extra layer of protection during mitzvah performance it is an insurance well worth “buying” and we should keep it in mind when confronted with the opportunity to do a mitzvah. Aside from the fact that is the correct thing to do, it may very well save our own lives! In the meantime, if you know of any good deals on a car, I am all ears (preferably one that doesn’t have a neon green rubber band on the bumper)! Shabbat Shalom, Rabbi Yosef Koval

Enjoy The Moment

Enjoy The Moment A good friend of mine, Rabbi Yisrael Tzvi Serebrowski, is a rabbi in Cherry Hill, New Jersey. He recently shared is simple but profound message with me. He told me that his Covid take away was to hit the pause button of life. To slow down, really pay attention and listen to people. Stop doing things by rote, instead be more deliberate and focused when it comes to mitzvahs, relationships and experiences. This message really resonated with me, and in light of its importance, I share with you the following ramble: It’s June, and for our family it means wedding season this year. We celebrate three weddings on the east coast this season: two nephews and a niece! Most recently this past weekend, my brother’s oldest son tied the knot with his bashert. We made the old East Coast road trip, leaving Cleveland Sunday morning and arriving in New Jersey in time for the celebration, then turning around the next morning and doing it all over again, this time traveling from east to west. With most of our family members living in the New York/New Jersey area, we have made this road trip too many times to count. We have come to recognize all of the rest areas and small towns dotting the I-80 and the Pennsylvania Turnpike. Places like Clarion, Bellafonte and Snowshoe, and others with more biblical names like Ephrata, and their respective mile markers and rest stop areas, have all become familiar to us over the years. These trips are long and can be quite arduous (those of you who have made the trip with smaller children know exactly what I’m talking about) but in light of my friend Rabbi Serebrowski’s Covid resolution, I share with you several personal highlights of our most recent trip. Number one is the trip itself. Driving through Pennsylvania can be quite monotonous, but it is also an opportunity to enjoy Hashem's scenic Appalachian mountain range. Behind one particular rest stop, there was a stream and a nature trail. I walked down to the stream and surrounded by this picturesque landscape, I recited the "Asher Yatzer" prayer for health and healing. It was one of the most meaningful prayers that I have recited. I enjoyed the people watching as well. From the motorcycle gang members with their cigarettes and inappropriate tattoos, to the people that I exchanged small talk with while waiting together on line at the Starbucks rest area, they are all part of the tapestry of human beings created in Hashem’s image. My family knows that I get really excited on these trips when we meet fellow Jewish travelers. My J-dar (Jewish radar) is always engaged and my Jewish spidey-sense really tingles when I meet fellow members of the tribe. This time we met a young family heading to South Bend, Indiana. We only exchanged about 50 words, but it was a really enjoyable interaction for us. Number two is the wedding itself. The highlight of the wedding for me was dancing with my close family members. I am hardly a graceful dancer, but seeing my parents sitting down on the edge of the dance floor, and holding hands with my siblings as we danced in front of them, was an extremely emotional experience for me. Watching my parents enjoy the nachas of their grandson‘s wedding, and feeling the love of my siblings as we embraced on the dance floor, was something special. Words cannot adequately describe these special feelings. I saw a wonderful quote: Live in the moment and enjoy the present. I resolve to try and do more of that. I’ll have plenty of practice to do that, because next weekend will be our niece’s wedding in New Jersey. It might not even pay to unpack! Shabbat Shalom, Rabbi Koval

Planting Carobs

Planting Carobs Choni Hame’agel, a Talmudic figure, once met an old man planting a carob tree. “How long will it take to grow?” he asked. “Seventy years,” the man answered. “Do you know that you will live another 70 years?” Choni inquired. “Just as my ancestors planted for me,” replied the man, “so too I plant for my children.” This week my daughter graduated from high school. Not just any high school, but Yavne High School, the same high school I graduated from 29 years ago. True, the building is new. We were at the older South Taylor building in Cleveland Heights, whereas my daughter and her friends are at the newer Green Road building in Beachwood. True, we had royal blue plaid uniforms (same at St. Anne’s, except ours had to cover our knees) and today’s Yavne grads have smart looking gray pleated skirts. True, they have “phone carts” to stash their phones. We had a good old payphone (call collect, don’t accept). But there’s so much in common. We have had many of the same teachers. My class picture of Yavne ‘92 hangs in her hall. The mood, the feel, the spirit of Yavne is the same for her and for me. The passage of time plays tricks on our minds. Did that event happen last year? Or five years ago? How long has it been since my neighbor got married? Two years? Or seven? When I tell my kids that I remember the day my parents bought our first microwave, they are shocked. Even its digital clock was novel. My brother used to sit in front of the metal box and wait for it to read fun patterns, like 12:34 or 11:11. I think that it’s been 20 years since, but actually when I do the math, it’s more like 40. We were going through an old album that my sister-in-law made for my husband and me when we were engaged. In addition to pictures of the two of us growing up, she included mementos, like my high school graduation program and my acceptance letter to seminary in Israel. We lifted the plastic to read the letter and my daughter gasped: tuition for the year in 1992 was $5,700. Even adjusting for inflation, that’s less than half what it costs today. But then I think: my parents planted for me. And I will plant for my children. Is Jewish school expensive? Yeah, that’s an understatement. Is kosher food expensive? Yup. Is a year in Israel out of most of our budgets? Yes and yes. All these high-ticket items are investments into our Jewish identity, into our survival as a people. And as my daughter graduates, after 15 years of Jewish education, and kosher food, and weekly Shabbats, and prepares for her year in Israel, I am overwhelmed with the strains of “Sunrise, Sunset”: Is this the little girl I carried Is this the little boy at play I don’t remember growing older When did they? So I will plant, and I will invest, and I will keep making financial sacrifices to give my kids what my parents gave me. Because those dividends will grow and grow--beyond what I can see and what I can understand. And one day, God willing, they will plant for theirs. Shabbat Shalom, Ruchi

Hidden Messages

Hidden Messages The other day I was having a conversation with a friend of mine and the topic turned to "charity collectors." These are people who are down on their luck and have to resort to leaving their homes (in our communities these folks are more often than not coming from Israel) and suffering the indignity of traveling around to various Jewish communities, going door-to-door, and asking for a handout. My friend was telling me about an aunt of his who graciously opens her home in NY to all sorts of Jews who need a place to stay while in town raising funds. One particular guest approached her, explained his story, and asked if he could stay for a period of time. Turns out he was not as honest as he portrayed himself to be, and the woman of the house wanted to ask him to leave. She approached him and confronted him with her complaints and, to her utter shock and disbelief, he just ignored her. Instead of even having the decency to engage in conversation or even to deny her claim he simply turned around and started walking away from her and around the house. She followed after him and continued talking to his back, but he just went about his business. She followed him into the kitchen (her kitchen, mind you) where he calmly opened up the cabinets and began taking out a frying pan and spatula and a carton of eggs from the fridge. While she tried to get his attention he silently went about making himself an omelet, cracking open the eggs, putting them in the pan, turning on the flame and frying his egg. Talk about good old fashioned chutzpah! This woman, who was so kind and generous to him (and so many others) by opening her home to perfect strangers simply could not believe how brazen this impudent fellow was. I am not sure how the story ended (I would hope she eventually got him to leave the house, although I highly doubt he cleaned the frying pan or put away the eggs before he did) but a thought occurred to me while listening to this bizarre tale. We human beings, and particularly in our role as G-d’s Chosen People, are also strangers in a foreign place. We are born into this world and inhabit it for the decades that we are blessed to live for. During this time we are really “guests” in a home that belongs to G-d. As Creator of the world, G-d is the de facto owner of the world as well. In fact, in our Amidah prayer we refer to G-d as the Owner of everything by virtue of the fact that He created it all. We are put into this world with specific roles, leadership and missions as well as directives (the mitzvot) which serve as the “house rules” by which to live. Too often we are derelict in our duties, don't follow the “rules,” and G-d wishes to talk to us about it. True, we may not have the benefit of direct communication from G-d, but He “speaks” to us through other channels. Torah literature teaches us that when calamities befall a person, or the world at large, they are to be understood as messages from G-d that He wants us to improve our behavior and our loyalty to Him. Since the end of the first Temple era, G-d removed the gift of prophecy from our world, and there are no longer people who can receive direct communication from Him. In the absence of such a phenomenon we can never truly point to a specific message or ideal that G-d wants us to improve upon. But one thing we can know for certain. He wants something. He wants us to take the events that we see happening around us and use it as inspiration to make some sort of improvement in our spiritual lives. It may be one thing for one person, another thing for some else and yet a third thing for the next fellow. The common denominator is that everyone should take some step towards self improvement. So when events happen, be they Covid, catastrophes in Meron, rocket attacks in Israel, hate crimes rooted in anti-Semitism or any other troubling event, let us all remember that these are G-d’s way of getting our attention as guests in His House. Let us put down the frying pan, put the eggs on hold and stop for a minute to have the respect of a conversation with our gracious Homeowner. In that merit may we be blessed with a very long stay as guests in this home of ours, complete with eggs and everything else to enjoy! Shabbat Shalom, Rabbi Yosef Koval

Words Matter

Words Matter Those of us who write this ramble, or anything really, know that every word counts. The words you choose evoke all kinds of emotions, whether positive or negative, and that is deliberate. Writers seek to evoke emotions in their readers. The recent war in Israel, and by extension, viciously anti-semitic riots that are popping up all over the world, is a stark reminder of this. So when I read a recent New York Times article, co-written by Fares Akram and Josef Federman, I was upset but not surprised to notice some of these word choices: First, the headline: “Israel steps up Gaza offensive, kills senior Hamas figures.” I have so many questions. Why is “Israel” the first word in this headline? This makes it seem as though Israel made the first move. They did not. The reason Israel “steps up” is as a self-defense measure, responding to the hundreds of rockets targeted at their civilians. Moving on. “Offensive”? This makes it sound like Israel is the aggressor. Israel would like nothing more than to live in peace with its neighbors. Oh, but Sheikh Jarrah, you may ask? Yes, there is a valid controversy over who owns the land. Before 1948, Jews bought it legally from Arab owners and lived there, but after 1948, the Jordanian government claimed the property. So Jewish settlers have now gone to Israeli court to have the land returned to Jews. Complicated? Yes. Cause for terrorist rockets on civilians designed to intimidate and frighten? No. So who is on the offensive, and who is on the defensive? Which cultures celebrate death, and which celebrate peace? Next. “Kills senior Hamas figures.” Can we call “senior Hamas figures” terrorists? Because that’s what they are. Because Hamas has been recognized by the European Union, Israel, Japan, and the United States as a terrorist organization, so if my math is right, the “senior figures” therein are terrorists. Right? So killing a terrorist is something I would call, oh, “justice.” Would you call Osama bin Laden a “senior militant figure”? No, you would call him a murderer. Would you call his killers (American Navy SEALs) “aggressors” or on the “offensive”? I certainly hope not. I call them heroes. In fact, nowhere in the entire article do the journalists use the word “terror” or “terrorist,” except for this quote from a Gazan, about how he feels when bombs pounded his building in Gaza City: “That terror is impossible to describe.” Also this quote from an Israeli, as if merely opinion: “If you are attacked by a terrorist group, you defend yourself.” But the article uses the word “militants” instead of “terrorists” throughout. To be clear: I do believe that Gazans feel terror, and I feel enormous compassion for them that they are ruled by a terrorist organization that rules corruptly and unjustly, and regularly puts the lives of its citizens in jeopardy. I myself feel apprehensive writing these words now, knowing how such views garner anti-semitic hate speech and even threats online. No one should ever be a victim of terror. When Jews lynch an Arab I’m the first to denounce the violence. That is never the Jewish way. But why is the word “terror” used only to describe Gazan fear? Doesn’t our terror count? Have you seen the videos of little Jewish boys and girls in bomb shelters, singing for peace? So please, friends. Educate yourselves on the facts. We have enemies who want to see us gone--all of us, whether religious or unaffiliated, in Israel or right here in Cleveland. We don't want to see anyone gone (except terrorists). So share the truth. Judaism is a religion of peace. If words matter, consider that the two most famous Hebrew words are probably “shalom,” peace, and “chai,” life. We don’t seek to “colonize” (another trigger word) any land to which we’re not indigenous. In fact, that's an oxymoron. If you’re indiginous, you’re not the colonizer. We prefer to be left alone, in the land of our ancestors, and anywhere we live, to pray, study, work, love, laugh, and live. That’s all. And you can quote me on those words. Because words really do matter. Shabbat Shalom, Ruchi

Soul Purpose

Soul Purpose My grandmother's father, lovingly known as “Pa Fink,” was on his deathbed in Scranton, PA. It was June of 1965, and his daughter, my grandmother ("Grandma") was in NY. She had gotten the call to come to Scranton right away. The doctors did not think he would hang in there, but he did. The nurses said that he was waiting for his youngest daughter to arrive and say her final goodbye. When Grandma arrived, he opened his eyes for the last time, smiled, took Grandma’s hand, and then passed away. Less than two weeks prior to that, Pa's wife, Yitta (Ida) passed away in the same hospital. Amazingly, when she passed away, her husband, laying in his hospital bed, sensed and remarked on the passing of his dear wife. Ma and Pa Fink had lived in a small shtetl in Poland and came to the USA in 1922, moving to Taylor, PA, a small mining town near Scranton. They were one of only two Shomer Shabbos (Shabbat observant) families in their town, and remained that way as they raised their five children. Our daughter Yitty is named after Ma Fink, and for a long time she has wanted to make the trip to Scranton to visit the gravesite of her namesake. She finally got her opportunity. Last weekend our family planned to drive to New York to celebrate my nephew's Bar Mitzvah. Our original plan was to leave Cleveland early Friday morning and arrive in NY in time for Shabbat. Then our daughter Yitty informed us that Friday would be the yahrtzeit of her namesake, and that she would love to make a stop in Scranton to visit the Jewish cemetery there to say a prayer at Ma Fink's gravesite. I called my cousins in Scranton and explained that Friday would be Ma Fink's yahrtzeit, and would they be interested in helping us organize a minyan, so that we could recite kaddish there? It's considered a tremendous merit for the soul of a deceased relative to have kaddish recited on their behalf at their final resting place, especially on the day of their yahrtzeit. So, we all drove into Scranton Thursday evening, arrived at our cousin's home past midnight, and met at the cemetery at 10:30 the next morning. Between my 14-year-old son and me, my father and brother who drove in from Monsey, NY, two cousins, and four friends from Scranton, we had our minyan. We recited kaddish, along with some psalms that corresponded to each letter of the full Hebrew name of my great-grandmother, and heard a few brief reflections and memories from friends and relatives. I spent a few extra minutes in heartfelt, emotional prayer and solitude at the final resting place of my great-grandparents, great-aunts, -uncles and cousins. I don't know if we will ever have the opportunity to return to this hallowed ground, and my cousin confirmed that this was the only time that a minyan had gathered at Ma and Pa Fink's gravesite on a yahrtzeit to recite kaddish on their behalf, since their passing in 1965! (See the attached photo of their headstone. Notice that they passed less than two weeks apart, and the family had one double stone commissioned for their final resting place together.) It was a moving experience, and really got me thinking not just about the human journey in this world, but also about the role of the eternal soul. The prayers that we recite and the mitzvahs that we perform, even decades or centuries later, bring peace to the soul, and it feels the elevation as those mitzvahs and prayers help it ascend higher in the spiritual world of eternity. The past year has been an extremely difficult one for everyone, especially for our extended "family" living in Israel. After a year of Covid, then the tragedy on Mt. Meron, and now the terrible acts of terrorism, rocket attacks and rioting, G-d is definitely trying hard to get our attention, and our thoughts and prayers are with our brothers and sisters in the holy land. Next week will be the holiday of Shavuot. It is customary to recite a special "yizkor" memorial prayer on this holiday. In this prayer we ask G-d to "grant rest and shelter to the lofty, holy and pure souls who are resting in paradise, in the shelter of His wings for eternity, in the bond of eternal life..." It is so hard to make sense of the death and destruction going on in the world, especially in the land of Israel, G-d's divine palace, but we can take a bit of solace and comfort from the message of this prayer as we reaffirm our historical tradition that at least we know and believe that the souls of our departed ones are in a better place. PS Please join us at JFX this upcoming holiday on Tuesday, 5/18 for our yizkor memorial services at 11:00 AM. We will dedicate a special prayer in memory of the recent victims in Israel. Shabbat Shalom and happy Shavuot, Rabbi Koval

20 Minutes

20 Minutes My friend’s son is getting married. Mazel tov! She asked me if I’d help her create “evites” for the wedding. I think it’s great that electronic email invitations are gaining popularity, but you have to be somewhat techy to make them happen, and I happen to be [insert modest blush] pretty techy. In fact, she told me once that I’m the most techy female she knows, a badge I wear with pride. We made a plan to meet at her home at 8:45 am on Monday (yes, we’re both vaccinated). My kid was running late for school--another topic for another day--so I ended up dropping him off at around 8:20. As I pulled out of the driveway at Oakwood, I wondered what to do with my approximately 20 free minutes. I’m not usually out and about at that hour. Should I go back home? Nah, opposite direction. Should I just head to Cleveland Heights, where my friend lives, and pop in and say hi to my in-laws? As I was deliberating, I got a phone call from my sister, who also lives in Cleveland Heights. My sister rarely calls me at 8:20 am, which is when we’re both usually trying to get our respective kids off to school, so I answered right away. Then she said this, I kid you not, word for word: “Ruchi,” she said, “by any chance are you hanging around Cleveland Heights for like, the next 20 minutes?” “Crazily…. yes!! I’m just leaving Oakwood, and I need to be in Cleveland Heights at 8:45, and I was wondering what to do.” I told her. “Why??” She told me that my 3-year-old niece had a bad cold and was up a lot at night. Now she had fallen asleep, and my sister didn’t want to wake her, but she had to drive my nephew to school. Could I come to her house and just hang out there for the next 20 minutes or so while she drove him? I was astounded. Really, could this be a coincidence? What were the chances?? I drove over to her house and took over my (very easy) babysitting duties. Bonus: I had not yet had a chance to say my morning prayers, and now I had a quiet, private place to do just that. When my sister came home she was so grateful for my favor, and I was so blown away by the turn of events that had enabled me to help her, and myself, perfectly. Later I was talking to my brother, and I told him the whole chain of events. He told me that he thinks I must be the kind of person who doesn’t waste a minute (this is not true, for the record), and therefore, God enabled me to use every minute of that time doing an act of kindness for another person, while also using the time for prayer and meditation, which is how I like to start my day. Yes, I have awesome siblings. The evites are done, my niece is feeling better, life goes on and we often forget these little things that fill us with faith and wonder. But it’s important to stop and notice, to stop and give thanks, to stop and allow our awe in the synchronicity of the Universe to remind us that the world is a fascinating and beautiful place, with a Plan that sometimes just blows us away. Shabbat Shalom, Ruchi

Eye Vey!

Eye Vey! A few weeks ago, my young son, Chaim, received an injury in the form of a blow to the eye. How he suffered that injury will be left off the record, but suffice it to say it involved the foot of one of his siblings that somehow met his eye with some significant force (accidentally, of course). The incident happened shortly before I was to take my children to school, and Chaim complained to me that he couldn’t go to school because his eye was in pain. I saw there was a bruise on his eyelid, and we had given him ice to apply to it, so I figured he would just go to school and let his body heal itself. My children don’t usually need much of an excuse to ask to stay home from school, so while I was comforting and sympathetic to a degree, I certainly wasn’t overly pampering nor did I intend to leave him home. Getting done what I need to during the day is challenging enough WITH my kids in school, but when they're home it's nearly impossible! So, I walked him to the car and, au revior, off to school he went. My productive workday was truncated when we received a call from the school at 2 o’clock to pick up Chaim because he was in considerable pain the entire day, so Miriam got him from school and brought him to the ER. He was eventually seen by a doctor who diagnosed a scratched cornea and told us that such an injury is extremely painful, to the extent that it feels like having glass in your eye! Now I felt like a real idiot for not showing him enough sympathy and for forcing him to go to school! The doctor prescribed eye drops for Chaim to take for the next 5 days and to follow up with an ophthalmologist in a week. Today (Friday) is a day known on the Jewish calendar as “Lag Ba’omer,” literally translated as “the 33rd day of the Omer.” This day is a day of celebration for a couple of reasons. One reason is because the great Rabbi Akiva had 24,000 students who tragically passed away in a short period of time between Pesach and Shavuot and it was on this day that they stopped dying. The Talmud tells us the reason they died was a punishment for “not having proper respect for one another.” Obviously, people of great stature such as they were, this did not mean they were mean spirited or even worse, physically harmed each other (like, oh, kicking someone else in the eye). It means that on the level of piety which they were on, they lacked a certain sense of compassion, empathy and respect for their colleagues. The greater the spiritual level a person is on, the greater expectation and standard G-d holds him to. As a consequence of their failing, they unfortunately paid a heavy price. Coming as it did specifically during this time of the year, I felt remorseful after hearing what the doctor said for not giving Chaim the proper level of sympathy and TLC that I should have as a parent. I felt a sense of failing to live up to the standards that are taught by the lesson of the episode of Rabbi Akiva’s students. I made a silent resolution to try and be more understanding and empathetic towards people, and certainly my own family, even when to me the situation seems to be less significant than they are portraying it to be. OK, now I just need to break up a new elbow-to-the-nose-off-the record-accidental-situation between two of my children before I start putting my newfound compassion and sympathy into practice! Shabbat Shalom, Rabbi Yosef Koval

Baseball Fever

Baseball Fever Growing up in Cleveland, April (when not snowing:) always meant Tribe Season. The sight and smells of blooming flowers triggers baseball memories and jingles like "Indian fever, be a believer." Attending games in the old Municipal Stadium and "The Jake" are an integral part of my childhood spring and summer recollections. Another important baseball fixture of my childhood was our backyard family pickup games. Growing up surrounded with 5 brothers and 3 male first cousins who lived across the street, we basically had our own built-in baseball team, and we played a lot of outdoor sports. Tackle football was our go-to in the winter and running bases in the summer. The one constant rule of these games was my insistence that "Get's a lickin', keeps on tickin,'" borrowed from the old Timex commercials. That meant that unless there was blood, and lot of it, you stayed in the game. Getting injured was for sissies. My dear cousin Rabbi Yosef likes to remind me of the time that he fell and hurt his arm and wanted to sit out for the rest of the game. I, as the oldest cousin there, invoked the old "Get's a lickin'" rule and insisted that he stay in the game. When he got home, his mother, my dear Aunt Beverly, of blessed memory, noticed that something just wasn't right with the shape of his arm and took him in for X-rays. Lo and behold, it was broken in no less than 3 places. We still share a good chuckle reminiscing that story. But back to the Major Leagues: other than the great American vs. National League Designated Hitter controversy, almost everything else about baseball seemed to be unflappable, like a reliable comfort food. But, alas, winds of change are blowing over Progressive Field. This is the last year that I will be rooting for the "Cleveland Indians." The franchise will be undergoing a name change. In an effort to boost attendance (interest) and increase revenue (someone has to come up with $341 Million to pay Francisco Lindor) some change-up pitches will be making their way over the MLB baseball plate. Some of the classic rules will be adjusted. Double-headers will be trimmed down to 7 innings each, and extra innings will begin with a runner on second base. How do these changes make you feel? Personally, I have mixed feelings. Since I always find myself viewing things through the lens of Judaism, and my belief in the importance of immutable traditions, I feel that rules are extremely important. Once you start to pull out threads from the fabric of anything institutional, it no longer remains the same original system. Hypothetically, if the MLB organization would vote to shorten the game to 7 players and 5 bases, would it still be "baseball," or would that make it something else entirely? I realize that I'm probably overthinking this. After all, this is just some man-made pastime from Hoboken, New Jersey, not a divinely transmitted establishment from Mt. Sinai. But it did get me thinking about how much our society has gotten used to the idea of human involvement in changing rules to fit the times. As sensitivities change with the times, people can amend old rules, or propose new ones, and have them voted into law in order to accommodate cultural and societal norms. Contrast that to Jewish law where the exact opposite is true. Instead of changing the law to fit into our modern definition of right and wrong, our cultural norms are shaped and often defined through the Torah's perspective of right and wrong. Ancient law is applied to modern scenarios, instead of the reverse. This might not always be politically correct or socially on trend, but it does help guarantee Jewish continuity, which is a worthwhile tradeoff, in my humble opinion. As I like to say, the letter of the law preserves the spirit of the law. So while the changing of the rules, and the changing of the times, always makes me a little uneasy, I know one thing won't change: as soon as the snow melts, get out there and play ball! Shabbat Shalom, Rabbi Koval

Hightailing with Hadid

Hightailing with Hadid Mazel tov! My niece got engaged. Impulsively, we decided that I would surprise my sister and fly in to New Jersey for the engagement party. I spent a lovely day with my relatives, especially hanging out with my nieces, then attended the engagement party in the evening. It was a real treat to see so many relatives I haven’t seen in so long, especially my 92-year-old vaccinated grandmother. My flight back didn’t leave until 1:30 pm the next day, so I leisurely slept in, grabbed breakfast with my sister, and summoned the Uber back to Newark Airport, planning to arrive at noon, 1 ½ hours before my fight. On the way, my daughter Yitty, who was picking me up, asked me for the flight details. Which is when it hit me. That my flight was not leaving from Newark. It was leaving from La Guardia Airport. Which was 45 minutes further away. My first reaction was to cover my mouth and say, “Oh no!!!” Hadid, my Uber driver, looked over at me in his rearview mirror, concerned. “My flight isn’t leaving from Newark!” I told him, panicky. “Where is it leaving from??” he asked. “La Guardia!” Hadid smiled serenely. “Okay, we will go to La Guardia! I’ve never been to La Guardia.” I frantically opened the app to change my destination. Cha-ching! The price magically changed from $65 to $95, and the ETA magically changed from noon to 12:39. My stomach dropped and my breathing intensified. What to do? What to do? I have TSA pre-check, so my security line is shorter, but who knows how long everything would take? I quickly checked in online on my phone, and screenshotted my boarding pass. My gate was D10. What did this mean? Is gate D far? Is gate D10 very far? How much walking would this involve? Should I tell my husband that I might miss my flight? (Answer: no.) There was nothing left to do, of course, but pray. I took out my prayer book and got started, mindfully slowing my breathing and relaxing my stomach muscles. I reminded myself of the truths I know: God runs the world. He’s the Boss. Nothing happens without His willing it. This was an opportunity to exercise humility: I’m not in charge. Although I pride myself on having it together and being organized and responsible, I mess up and make mistakes. This is good. This is a growth moment, or, as we call them, a mussar moment. I obsessively checked my ETA on the Uber app and finally put my phone away to focus on my prayers. Thank you, Hashem, for this amazing trip. If it’s meant to be for me to miss my flight, so be it. I’m not in charge. I’m not infallible. This too is for the best. Hadid, who was speeding for me (5 stars and a 25% tip for him), needed my help as we got closer, because he really had never been to La Guardia before, and together we navigated the signs. At 12:40 he dropped me off and I hopped out and ran through security. For some reason, it took forever for my luggage to come off the security belt, and I recited Psalm 100, the thanksgiving prayer, over and over, having in mind how grateful I was for (thinking positive here) making my flight. Then I speed-walked through the airport (yes, D10 is far), and got to the gate 5 minutes before boarding began. And then I sat down and breathed. I had made it. But when I thought about it later, I was so happy this stressful experience happened to me. It was, actually, a very spiritual day. How often do we get the opportunity to be acutely cognizant that God runs the world, that we put our futures in His hands every moment of every day? And, of course, I made a mental note to always, always, check and double-check my airports before making arrangements. But I still know: mistakes are inevitable. And maybe even… preferable. Shabbat Shalom, Ruchi

Maintenance Matters

Maintenance Matters The older I get, the more I appreciate the beauty of the Jewish holidays. Indeed, the Torah commands us to observe the 3 festivals (Passover, Shavuot and Sukkot) as a way of getting a spiritual burst -- a booster shot of spirituality -- and a means by which to connect with G-d in an enjoyable, beautiful and meaningful way. Sitting around the table and sharing numerous meals with my family and other guests while leaving behind the technology and daily grind for a week is an immersion in sanctity and inner bliss. This Passover, though, was special. Shortly before Pesach, we received a phone call from my sister-in-law in Montreal that she and my brother-in-law decided to rent a large mansion in Monsey, NY for the holiday and to host my wife’s entire family for the whole week. Considering the size of my wife’s family, this was a tremendous undertaking both in terms of energy and expense, and I can only say that my brother-in-law and sister-in-law are saints of the highest caliber! My kids were thrilled at the prospect of spending the holiday with so many cousins whom they don’t get to see very often and of course, at the thought of staying in a “mansion”! We arrived on Thursday night, and as we pulled into the large circular driveway, we realized that the mansion was indeed a sight to behold. Ornate pillars decorated the front steps and beautiful mahogany doors with stained glass windows greeted us. The kids were giddy with excitement, until we walked inside and headed to our rooms. To say the interior needed refurbishing is like saying the Grand Canyon is a hole in the ground. While it was evident from its construction that the house was magnificent and exquisite when it was first built in the 1980’s, little had been done to maintain its beauty over the past few decades. Paint was peeling everywhere, some walls had holes in them, cabinet doors were falling off and the ceiling had cracks all over. In one bathroom the sink only gave out boiling hot water (it was like brushing your teeth with hot tea). Additionally, the shower came out in a trickle that was slower than my garden hose at home, and the sliding doors to the bathtub were no longer “sliding” and were barely even “doors.” The basement had beds set up like a dormitory, and many light fixtures around the house didn’t work. In reality, this “mansion” was not even on the level of a “man-cave.” Nonetheless, despite the dilapidation, the house was spacious and comfortable enough for our needs. Most importantly, it was large enough for all of our families to be together under one roof enjoying each other’s company. Both adults and children all had an incredible time and it was easily one of our happiest and most enjoyable holidays ever. With the holiday now in the rearview mirror, I had a chance to reflect upon my last week. I thought about the “mansion” that we stayed in. Clearly the house was built as top-of-the-line and state-of-the-art. There was still much evidence left of its glory days from its majestic, tall ceilings with intricate designs to the columned portico overlooking the backyard, and from the many mahogany doors to the large chandeliers that were still present. It made me sad to see what had become of a once magnificent edifice that was now reduced to a shell of its former glory. Upon deeper contemplation, I think the house is a metaphor for life in general, and for this time of the year in particular. We all have moments of growth, times that we were inspired to become better people and that we acted upon that inspiration. Maybe it was because we heard an inspirational speech or were moved by a life event. Maybe it was a book we read or a celebration we were part of. In any event, we took that inspiration and used it as a springboard for spiritual growth. And that growth is indeed a thing of beauty! We have, in essence, built for our eternal souls a gorgeous “mansion” in the World to Come. Sadly, however, we human beings by nature have a hard time maintaining our growth. As my former teachers in yeshiva used to preach to us, “Life is like trying to go up on an escalator that is moving downwards. In order to even remain at the same level a person needs to be moving upwards at a steady pace. And in order to get to the top he has to put in tremendous effort. Without the necessary effort a person will by nature be brought down.” As we climb through the mountain of life we must continue to not only look for further growth but to expend effort just on maintaining the levels we have already attained. The same holds true for the gains we realized through celebrating a holiday. If observed properly, a Jewish holiday is an incredible opportunity to achieve spiritual heights. But how do we lock in that growth? (And I don’t mean the excess weight we inevitably put on – that certainly has no problem staying with us!) How do we not only keep that high level but take it to even greater heights? Fortunately, at least as far as Passover is concerned, there is a mechanism that the Torah has built in. You see, 50 days after the beginning of Passover the Torah commands us to observe the holiday of Shavuot. During those 7 weeks that are between Passover and Shavuot, a time period colloquially called the “Omer period,” we are bidden by the Torah to build upon the growth of Passover and continue to climb spiritual heights. To slowly, yet steadily, ascend the mountain of spirituality until on day 50 we are ready to commemorate and re-live the giving of the Torah upon Mt. Sinai. While there are many ways for a person to go about doing so, the main point is for everyone to choose an area of growth and in small ways to try and improve their spiritual standing during these 7 weeks. Such “maintenance” of our spiritual “mansion” is an absolute necessity and prevents it from decaying. As we move from Passover and head on a 7-week journey to Shavuot, I encourage you to give a thought to something you may have been inspired to work on and build upon it. It should not be too lofty of a goal but something manageable. Maybe it’s choosing to make a blessing on your cup of coffee. Or devoting 5 minutes a day to prayer. Or giving a daily amount of charity. Or lighting candles on Friday night. There are literally hundreds of things you can choose that will keep your mansion looking gleaming and beautiful. In the meantime I think I’ll go make myself a tea from the bathroom sink. Shabbat Shalom, Rabbi Yosef Koval

Freedom To....?

Freedom To....? Passover is a week away and I honestly don't have time to write a ramble, but there you go. Life marches on, and we fit our seasonal responsibilities around it, right? But Passover specifically feels like the Big Daddy of all holidays. So much to clean, prepare, buy, cook, and clean. It's like life as we know it has to pause. I was listening to a lecture about Passover and gratitude, and the speaker, Esther Baila Schwartz, was contrasting her experience last Passover with this one. She and her husband were terribly ill with Covid last year, to the extent that her husband was in the hospital and she had absolutely no energy to do anything other than cook a pot of eggs. Her children had to swoop in and rescue the situation. The stores in her neighborhood in Monsey, NY, were empty. The parking lots, normally terribly congested, especially this time of year, empty. The fear was palpable. No one knew what was ahead. No one knew who would live and who would die. A year later, the contrast is enormous. Of course the virus is still here, but we can see the light at the end of the tunnel. We know what to do. We know where we're going and how to get there. Here in Ohio, everyone over 16 will be eligible for the vaccine on March 29th - which is the second day of Passover. We are slowly being liberated from our jail cells. Slowly experiencing freedom from fear, freedom from immobility, freedom from masks soon, God willing! Philosopher Isaiah Berlin discusses the difference between "freedom from" things like oppression, imprisonment, abuse. That's called, he says, "negative liberty." But there's also something called "freedom to" -- which is called "positive liberty." When we are liberated from things that shackle us, it opens up a space. A vacuum. Now we have the ability to do other things -- but what will we do with that freedom? What does that freedom now enable you to do? Now that the light at the end of the tunnel beckons, now that the freedom of Passover is calling our name, what will we do with it? What have we learned? Whom shall we become, that we couldn't have become before? What is your freedom allowing YOU to do? Shabbat Shalom, Ruchi

Be Divine Not Bovine

Be Divine Not Bovine Not long ago I was driving along a stretch of rural country road and passed a cattle ranch that stretched on for acres and acres and contained hundreds of cows. I was mesmerized at the sheer number of cows, most of them with their heads buried in the grass as they grazed, and the rest lying on the ground either resting or sleeping. As I continued to pass stretches of cows I contemplated how fortunate I felt that I was not born as a cow! Now, that might not seem like the most profound thought in the world but I was dead serious. I thought to myself, “What kind of existence would it be if my whole life all I did was stand around with my head buried in the grass eating all day, with the only deviation being when I lie down to rest? Day after day, month after month and year after year....” I whispered a heartfelt thanks to G-d for creating me as a homo sapien! Shortly thereafter I saw a video clip that a friend of mine sent to me. In this clip there was a zoom conference between a judge and a lawyer, together with the client he was representing. In the box on the screen that had the lawyer, a cat appeared. The lawyer’s voice was talking, but there was a cat on the screen instead of a person. The judge told the lawyer that there was apparently a filter on the phone that was changing the image from him to that of a cat, and the poor lawyer was trying unsuccessfully to change it back. Unfortunately for him he was about as tech savvy as a real cat, and was unable to remove the filter. You could hear the frustration in his voice as he apologized for his inability to change it back. One can only imagine how his client must have felt! It can’t instill a tremendous vote of confidence in one’s lawyer when they can’t even figure out how to show up in court (virtually) without looking like a cat! After futilely trying to remove the filter, the lawyer finally blurted out to the judge, “Your honor, I can assure you I am not a cat!” Fortunately for the lawyer, the judge seemed to take it in stride, and was even amused by the bizarre situation. I got a good chuckle watching the video clip and then my mind took me back to my earlier thoughts regarding the cows. Remember I said I was so happy to be born a human being as opposed to coming to this world as a cow? I would imagine anyone reading this article would feel the exact same way. The question is, “Why, indeed?” Why is it better to be born as a person as opposed to a cow? The cows certainly look content! None of them worry about how they will earn a living, how to raise kids, Coronavirus or any of the myriad of life’s vicissitudes and anxieties. Am I indeed better off as a person? What advantage do I have? To answer this question we need to first address an underlying second question that many people don't think about enough. That question is, “Why was I put in this world? What is my purpose in being placed here for the decades that I, G-d willing, will spend here?” The Torah provides the answer to this second question: we were placed on earth to develop our souls through spiritual nourishment by studying Torah and becoming better people thereby. Considering that is our purpose, it is clear why it is better to be born a human, with this noble and higher calling, than a cow who has nothing more to its existence than to eat and sleep. The Torah further tells us that after our years spent in this world we will one day pass on. Hopefully, it is in the distant future but we instinctively know that it will happen to every one of us. No one in history has beaten the system! When that day comes we will all be brought to stand trial for our lives. Only in this case, the judge is none other than G-d Himself. Sadly, for those who lived their lives driven by animalistic instincts, as opposed to trying to live up to a higher calling, they will come up to the stand, and instead of shining with the radiance of a developed and rarified soul, they will appear as far less. It will be like a zoom screen with a filter on it, only instead of a cat, they will look like a cow. At that point, they will feel embarrassed and confused. “How can this be happening?” they will wonder in astonishment. The Judge will tell him that people appear in this courtroom in the manner that they spent their years on earth. It is a special filter that is applied. If one’s life was full of material pursuit, devoid of spirituality and purpose, the filter will make them appear as the existence which they personified. “But your honor! I can assure you I am NOT a cow! I am a person!” But at that point it will be futile, as once we leave this world we can no longer remove the filter. Embarrassment and shame will set in deeply but there will be nothing to do to change it. Fortunately there is a way to remove the filter before having to appear in court. While we are still breathing we have the ability to rectify the situation. How? Well, when one doesn’t have the technical knowledge to deal with computers, he calls a technician who does. Similarly, if you want to know how to start living with purpose, you call a technician who can teach you. Only in this case it is not a computer geek, but a spiritual mentor, who can properly guide you on how to maximize your life. Unlike a cat, we don’t get nine lives – we only get one. So let’s make it count! Oh, and if you need a lawyer I know of one that’s purrrfect! (Sorry, couldn’t resist!) Shabbat Shalom, Rabbi Yosef

Fighting Anti Semitism

Fighting Anti Semitism "Oh the Protestants hate the Catholics And the Catholics hate the Protestants And the Hindus hate the Muslims And everybody hates the Jews" (Tom Lehrer) I've been reading up and thinking alot about anti-Semitism lately. Two spectacular books that I recommend are "Why The Jews: The Reason for Anti-Semitism" by Dennis Prager and Joseph Telushkin, and "How To Fight Anti-Semitism" by Bari Weiss. Prager and Telushkin discuss Christian anti-Semitism throughout the ages, and why and how historically the Church instituted hatred of the Jew in order to justify our rejection of Christianity. Beginning in the fourth century, when the Roman Empire substituted Christianity for paganism, the church Fathers felt compelled to institutionalize anti-Semitism. They reasoned that since Jesus and his apostles were observant Jews, and the Jewish Bible the basis for his messianic claims, then merely by our continuing to be Jews we threaten the very validity of the Church. By the eleventh century, the Church had successfully converted virtually all of the inhabitants of Europe. Except for the Jews. This led to the vicious campaigns of the first and second Crusades against Jewish infidels. Claims of ritual blood libels, Desecration of the Host, incarnations of the Devil, plots to poison Christians, the Spanish Inquision, Martin Luther's virulent antisemitic writings, etc., all contributed to dehumanization of the Jew that eventually enabled the Holocaust. Bari Weiss, a seasoned New York Times editor, strikingly documents the antisemitism of the extreme right and the extreme left, and concludes her book with a chapter entitled, "How To Fight Anti Semitism." Prager and Telushkin similarly conclude their book with a chapter entitled, "What Is to Be Done?". Remarkably, both books reach a similar conclusion about what we can do to combat anti semitism. Although neither Weiss or Prager are observant Jews, they both conclude that the best and most effective way to fight it is by strengthening our own Jewish identity, commitment and pride. Weiss quotes the late Rabbi Jonathan Saks, "Non-Jews respect Jews who respect Judaism, and they are embarrassed by Jews who are embarrassed by Judaism." While this solution to fight antisemitism is counterintuitive (often we think that the more we try and "fit in", the more they will like us), it is supported by ancient Talmudic commentaries and Midrashic traditions. Remarkably, two thousand years ago, the Midrash predicted that in the final phase of the long Jewish journey throughout our exile in the Diaspora, the pendulum will swing from Christian-led anti-Semitism ("the descendants of Esau") to Muslim-led anti-Semitism ("the descendants of Ishmael"). We see this prophecy playing itself out in the frightening rise of Muslim anti-Semitism, and also in the way that some of Israel's greatest friends and supporters are from the Christian community. Regardless of what their motives might or might not be, the reality is that they are often Israel's allies. I saw this trend myself in my own personal life. Very recently I received an email from a Christian family asking if I would travel to their home in central Ohio and perform a circumcision for their newborn son. It was fascinating to connect with them, and I was blown away by their love and deep respect for the Jewish people, our traditions and our homeland. Here is a direct quote from their email, "We deeply honor the Jewish people & the way you keep His commands. In almost all of my experiences with Jewish people, I have never found a more blessed and kind person with such gifts to share with the world! You are truly G-D’s chosen people!" I arrived at their home to find an elaborate mezuzah hung correctly on their front door. They are practicing Christians, so when I asked them about the origin of their mezuzah, they explained that they have traveled to Israel 25 times since 2002, and each time they go, they only stay at Bed and Breakfast inns, because this way they get a chance to "meet, connect with and get know the people of Israel in a more intimate way." The mezuzah was a gift from a scribe in Be'er Sheba that they befriended during one of their stays there. For me, hearing someone refer to me and my people as being "blessed and kind with special gifts to share with the world as G-d's Chosen people" was extremely uplifting and inspiring. I felt motivated and also pressured to want to live up to their expectations of me. If it is true, as these great authors contend, that Jewish pride is an antidote to anti-Semitism, the more we can do to strengthen our pride in being Jewish and living Jewishly, the more we contribute to the fight against anti-Semitism. My experience at this Christian home inspired and enabled me to be part of this important cause as well as to inspire others along in their Jewish journey! Will you join with me in being a part of that solution? Shabbat Shalom, Rabbi Koval