It’s huge, built like a predator — strong and vicious. Nellie is pretty sure that it’s got teeth sharp and mighty enough to bite off her arm in one chomp. It runs faster than any human, and it’s bound to catch up to Eli and her if they don’t speed up.

At least, that’s what Nellie had gotten from her two-second glimpse of movement in the woods. “It’s a hyena!” she pants to Eli. “I can hear it laughing!”

Her twin brother gives her a skeptical look. “Hyenas are from Africa.  At worst, you saw a coyote. Or a deer.”

“Coyote.” Nellie repeats. There’s no way she just ran away from a deer. She can still imagine its long, slavering snout and the angry look in its eyes. “Hurry! It’s going to catch up to us! And it’s nearly Shabbos,” she adds as an afterthought.

The woods behind their house stretch far and deep, surrounding the edge of their town, Lionstone, until the next town, five miles away. Only recently have they been allowed to wander it by themselves. (“I used to have such adventures in the woods,” Zaidy Zee reminisced when they’d begged Mommy and Tatty to go in deeper. “It’s good for children to have some independence. Plus, they’ll always have each other.”) But if they get home too close to Shabbos, Mommy’s never going to let them wander the woods again on a Friday afternoon.

And if they get eaten by a coyote, they’re never going into the woods again. “This way! They can’t climb trees!” Nellie says as she grabs a branch and swings herself up easily, climbing across a thick branch to the next tree.

“Yes, they can,” Eli says, squinting up at her.  “You know, if there’s a coyote at all.”

“Ugh.” Nellie wrinkles her freckled nose at him and then laughs, even past the possibly-being-eaten fear.  Sometimes it feels like Eli knows everything. He’s her personal encyclopedia, all wrapped up in a nearly identical head.

Nellie’s special skill? She can go anywhere and everywhere.

The post Tale of TreeO: Chapter 1 first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.

Chaim Berlin's short sojourn to Far Rockaway paved the way for the birth of Yeshiva Shor Yoshuv, which continues to thrive more than a half-century after its founding

Title: Far Away in Far Rockaway

Location: Far Rockaway, NY

Document: Collage

Time: 1965

The letters and numbers “P.S. 39” and “1893” are still carved into the bricks and plaster of the old building on Dinsmore Avenue. However, under the old, half-faded letters and numbers, today hangs a new, white sign with bold black lettering — “Mesivta Rabbeinu Chaim Berlin.” The old, outdated building that was abandoned by New York City is today Mesivta Rabbeinu Chaim Berlin. The crown institution of once-Jewish Brownsville was only too happy to embrace and elevate this building, in keeping with an explanation of the pasuk, “He raises the needy from the dust.”

Mesivta Rav Chaim Berlin was founded in the early ’30s by the rising star in the yeshivah world, Rav Yitzchok Hutner of Warsaw and Slabodka, as an addition to Yeshivas Chaim Berlin of Prospect Place in Brownsville, which had been founded in 1899. The changing demographics of Brownsville created a crisis for its Jewish community. Against that backdrop, the old public school building in Far Rockaway was a gift from Heaven.

Both Yeshivas Chaim Berlin and Mesivta Chaim Berlin were forced to leave Brownsville. The boarded-up shell of the yeshivah building on Prospect Place reminds every passerby of the glorious past of the old Brownsville and of the Mesivta building on Stone and Pitkin. The old Municipal Bank has also been demolished to make place for the new residents of Brownsville. The yeshivah found a home on Winthrop Street in the East Flatbush neighborhood of Brooklyn, where it recently built another building. However, the Mesivta chose to go to Far Rockaway until their newly planned home on Kings Highway would be built.

—Nison Gordon, Der Tog Morgen Zhurnal, December 9, 1965

The post Far Away in Far Rockaway first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.

Husband:

My wife is a liar. I simply can’t trust anything she says about money because I inevitably find out that what she told me isn’t true. I ask her very straightforward questions like, “How much did you pay for the sheitel?” or “What did the takeout dinner cost?” She just makes up whatever number she thinks I want to hear.

Wife:

He’s right. But that’s because I don’t want to have a big argument with him every time I make a purchase. If I tell him the true price of things, he goes on a tirade, so I make up a smaller price and hope he’ll forget about the conversation. He’s a busy guy so this works for me about half the time. He’s unreasonable. I shop wisely, but it’s never “wise” enough for him. He questions every expense, like I’m some sort of wayward child. He just doesn’t want me to spend any money at all. That’s impractical so I do what I do to minimize conflict.

What’s your opinion?

Should the wife tell her husband the truth every time even though it will enrage him? Should she cultivate honesty even if she knows it will produce stress, conflict, and heartache? (Let’s assume that the husband — a financially anxious fellow who won’t go to therapy — is not going to change his style of response.) If she were your daughter, what would you tell her?

Child:

I knew my parents wouldn’t approve of us moving out of the city. My wife and I discussed the possibility for over a year and asked a lot of people — including our rav — for advice. We decided it was the right thing for us to do at that point. Once we’d purchased the house, made the school arrangements, and had everything else in place, I told them. As expected, they blew up. It was exactly what I was dreading.

Parents:

He’s right. We did blow up. But not for the reason he’s saying. Telling us the way he did, when the decision was a done deal, was insulting and infuriating. We understand he didn’t want to hear our opinion. So what? You don’t give your parents a chance to speak? You don’t give them any warning or time to process something that will affect them so hugely? You put all your effort into avoiding a few difficult conversations just to save yourself some aggravation? What was he so terrified of anyway? If he had such great reasons for needing to move, maybe he could have convinced us and helped us to make peace with our concerns and our loss. And even if he thought we were too controlling, then why not just give us the kindness of time to slowly adjust to the new reality?

This child knows his parents well; he knows that his decision will go over very poorly (to say the least) once he shares it. He delays telling them until there is no chance of them having any input. He’s got his own life to live, and he knows the best way to “handle” his parents is to tell them only once their input will be irrelevant. This will effectively silence them, and this is what he needs most.

What’s your opinion?

Is the child doing the right thing? Is it the parents’ own fault that he feels he has to do it this way? Perhaps their domineering, highly emotional style is hard for the son to manage? Or perhaps it’s not that they’re so strong willed, but rather that the son is so sensitive to their possible rejection or so avoidant of confrontation? Or maybe he just can’t stand the idea of watching them struggle and wanted to shorten the torture by “ripping the Band-Aid off” as it were, or at least leaving town promptly so as not to have to experience it up close?

Whatever the reason for his choice, do you think he should have tolerated the unavoidable stress of telling them before everything was finalized? Or do you agree with him that this sudden “dropping a bomb” approach was the right way to go?

In Part II we’ll look at techniques for handling situations like these.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 862)

The post Can’t Tell You the Truth: Part 1 first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.

We work hard at cooking and stocking the freezer with delicious homemade foods. Preserving that just-cooked freshness and taste is paramount when reheating frozen goods, so I set out to learn if thawing food before heating would be beneficial. I used frozen potato kugel for this experiment, but it translates to any precooked frozen food.

Method 1: Thaw First, Then Heat

Thaw potato kugel overnight in the refrigerator (about 20–24 hours) or on the counter until defrosted. As a safety precaution, don’t leave it out too long (over three hours).

Heat oven to 350°F (175°C). Bake until heated through, about 20 minutes.

Method 2: Heat Straight from the Freezer

Heat oven to 350°F (175°C). Remove potato kugel from the freezer and place directly in the oven. Bake until heated through, about 50–60 minutes.

Note: When it comes to roasts that are slow-cooked in a sauce, the results would be similar. You can reheat it in the oven at 325°F (160°C) straight from the freezer until heated through, about 45–70 minutes, depending on the size. Make sure it’s covered to trap the steam and keep the meat moist.

For a medium to medium-rare roast, you don’t want to overcook it but rather heat it just enough. Cover the roast with foil and add 1–2 tablespoons of liquid (water, stock, etc.). Reheat in the oven at 300°F (150°C) straight from the freezer until heated through. This can take several hours, depending on its size.

My Verdict

Quality and flavor were identical. Both methods worked equally well, so it’s a matter of what works best for you. The oven raises the temperature of the dish and bypasses the need to thaw it, so I find that method more convenient.

(Originally featured in Family Table, Issue 862)

The post Reheating Foods first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.

MY phone pings, and I know it’s Rafi sending me a #doubletrouble meme of the day.

Yup. Sighing, I click on the image.

I have twins, therefore I need twice the caffeine.

There’s a gallon-sized coffee mug in the background.

Oh, ha ha.

I hate memes. But like, I hate them. I feel like they’re an umbrella you stand under to share dysfunction instead of actually, you know, becoming functional. Don’t send me a two-liner about how we yell at our kids and have dirty dishes but hey, that’s mom life. Don’t chuckle about not sleeping, ever. Just sleep train your child. Or you know, stop looking at memes, and go to sleep. I mean, you’ve identified the issue, now find a solution.

Rafi, on the other hand, loooves memes. He also receives around 100 a day from his close friends, casual acquaintances, shul guys, dry cleaners, and optometrist. Rafi’s friends with everyone.

Me, not so much.

Yes, we are an “opposites attract” shidduch. No, that does not make marriage easy. But hey, no one has ever accused me of looking for easy.

I type back a quick LOL to Rafi, add a smiley face emoji, and move on.

The big boys make it to the bus by the skin of their teeth. We are definitely waking up five minutes earlier tomorrow. I’ve already reset my alarm and filled my water cup.

Chaim and Tehilla are ready to go to morah, they’re practically pawing at the front door like puppies. I resist the urge to scratch them on the heads and instead buckle them into the double stroller. I’ve been losing the baby weight by opting for a walk over a drive whenever possible. Thank you, South Florida, for the year-round walking weather. No snow day excuses to get out of exercising. I love that.

The self-hate and weight-obsessed conversations in the park are almost as bad as memes. If you feel heavy and tired, take vitamins, exercise, get some natural vitamin D. Don’t just sit around and kvetch, please. And also, nobody’s ever really gained anything from park bench advice.

At least I haven’t. Rafi used to think it was strange that I don’t have girlfriends. When I told him he was the first best friend I ever had, the mixture of pity and pride on his face was comical. But now, 12 years later, he doesn’t think it’s as cute.

His refrain of, “She wants to be your friend! Call her!” is ultimately exhausting. I’m just not a friends-person. I’m a “Let’s go to shiurim and brunch and discuss drawer dividers” kinda girl.

“Come, cuties,” I say to the twins, my voice light and airy. Rebbetzin Klein always says that kids should be able to hear in your voice how much you enjoy spending time with them. I love Rebbetzin Klein; I’ve been going to her since Shmuli turned three.

The weather is gorgeous — summer on its way out and the oppressive heat has finally lifted. I stick my Stanley into the cupholder, adjust my cap, and thank Hashem that sneakers are in style. I nod at Mr. Yarkoni, smile at Mrs. Kaplan. I feel great, the babies are yummy, and Bluma Kurtzer pushed our appointment off till tomorrow, so technically, I have a day off. Although I should use the extra time to work on the Birnbaum kitchen, but hey, maybe I won’t. Even though I really do like Pori Birnbaum, she’s light and easy, like the new Scentify my last client gifted me. I take a deep breath, turn right on Oak, and that’s when I see Devora Levine.

Yuck.

I mean… no, I do mean yuck. Her Dovid has been relentlessly bullying Shmuli, and I’ve had enough of her, “Oh, Dovid doesn’t mean anything by it,” lackadaisical attitude.

Dovid definitely means something by it.

Because in all honesty, Dovid is right.

Shmuli is awkward. Shmuli is clueless. Shmuli is different.

But still, Devora. Get a grip on your kid.

The post Punchline first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.

One of the great mysteries of the Yom Tov of Succos is that the Torah never quite explains what we are celebrating. The pesukim tell us that we shall dwell in succahs to remember what happened in the Midbar.“Ki b’succos hoshavti es Bnei Yisrael — for I placed Bnei Yisrael in succahs.” The question that naturally arises is why is this something so miraculous that we commemorate it for generations?

The Gemara (Succah 11b) records a dispute between Rabi Eliezer and Rabi Akiva as to what precisely the nature of these succos were. Rabi Eliezer maintains that the term refers to the Ananei Hakavod, while Rabi Akiva maintains that it means “succos mamash — actual succahs.”

Rabi Eliezer’s opinion gives us some insight into the miraculous nature of the event we are commemorating. Still, even this pshat leaves a question: Why would we be celebrating the Ananei Hakavod in the midst of Tishrei? Weren’t they introduced to us upon our leaving Mitzrayim — in Nissan?

The Vilna Gaon famously explains that after Klal Yisrael sinned with the Eigel, the Ananei Hakavod left us. Then Moshe davened on their behalf, and on Yom Kippur they were forgiven. Four days later, the Ananei Hakavod returned. Thus, on the 15th of Tishrei, we celebrate the return of the Ananei Hakavod by observing the Yom Tov of Succos. Below are four insights into various elements of Succos that come to light based on the words of the Vilna Gaon.

1

The Meshech Chochmah points out that we are first introduced to the Yom Tov of Succos in parshas Mishpatim, where the Torah refers to it as “Chag Ha’asif — the Harvest Festival.” It isn’t until parshas Emor that we find the term Chag Hasuccos. Why is this?

The Meshech Chochmah explains that Succos serves a dual function. It is a commemoration of the return of the Ananei Hakavod, but it is also a celebration of the harvest. He explains that the pesukim in parshas Mishpatim were written prior to the Cheit Ha’eigel. Thus, at that point, the holiday was limited to being a Chag Ha’asif. Only later, after they experienced the departure — and then return — of the Ananei Hakavod, did the Yom Tov receive the name “Chag Hasuccos.”

2

There is a principle that even where women might be deemed exempt from a mitzvah, they will be obligated where “af hein hayu b’oso haneis — they, too, were in that miracle.” This principle is applied to the mitzvah of lighting Chanukah candles, reading the Megillah, and drinking four cups of wine on Pesach. In all these instances, women enjoyed the same redemption the men did and are therefore obligated in the mitzvah. Tosafos (Pesachim 108b) asks: If this is the case, why is the principle not applied to Succos? Women, like men, enjoyed the protection of either the Ananei Hakavod or “actual succahs.” That being the case, women should be obligated in the mitzvah of succah! Why are they, in fact, exempt?

The Chasam Sofer as well as Kappos Temarim explain that based on the words of the Vilna Gaon, the question is answered. On Succos, we are not merely celebrating the fact that we were enveloped in the Ananei Hakavod — we are celebrating the return of the Ananei Hakavod following the Sin of the Eigel. Since women never partook in the sin, the Ananei Hakavod never left them. Thus, the principle of af hein hayu b’oso haneis does not apply — for, in fact, the miracle wasn’t even relevant to them.

3

The Gemara tells us that three gifts were given to us in the Midbar: the Ananei Hakavod, the mahn, and the Be’er Miriam — the Well of Miriam. A commonly asked question is, why do we only commemorate the Ananei Hakavod and not the other gifts?

The answer is that we are not celebrating the actual existence of the Ananei Hakavod; rather, we are celebrating their return — i.e., the fact that we were fully forgiven for our sin — and this is unique to the Ananei Hakavod.

4

In the Yom Tov davening, we say “Atah vechartanu mikol ha’amim, ahavta osanu, v’ratzisa banu — You chose us from among all the nations, You loved us, You desired us.” The Vilna Gaon comments that these three expressions refer to the Shalosh Regalim respectively.

Atah vechartanu refers to Pesach, as it is then that we were “chosen” as Hashem’s nation. Ahavta osanu refers to Shavuos, for the giving of the Torah was an expression of Hashem’s great love for us. V’ratzisa banu refers to Succos, for it is then that Hashem’s forgiveness reached its climax and, once again, He rested His Shechinah upon us.

This insight can further explain an amazing concept found in the sefer Shem MiShmuel, as well as other seforim. The succah, they teach us, is a microcosm of the Beis Hamikdash, so endowed is it with kedushah. According to the words of the Vilna Gaon, this can be well understood. The succah commemorates “v’ratzisa banu” —  when the Shechinah once again rested upon Klal Yisrael, the very function of the Beis Hamikdash.

Thus the succah, which serves as a symbol of this union, also carries the kedushah of the Beis Hamikdash.

Rabbi Daniel Glatstein is the mara d'asra of Kehilas Tiferes Mordechai in Cedarhurst, NY, and author of numerous seforim in Lashon Hakodesh and in English for ArtScroll. He is an international lecturer and maggid shiur. His thousands of recorded shiurim are available on Torahanytime.com, podcast, his website rabbidg.com, and other venues.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 980)

The post Clouds of Embrace first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.

Coated with Kindness

Dina Schoonmaker

The expression “a bitter pill to swallow” has its roots in the literal experience of taking medicine that doesn’t taste good, but is often used idiomatically to refer to difficult experiences. If you think about IT, there’s a deep, albeit subtle message behind this metaphor. Just like medicine may be bitter but is ultimately for our benefit, whatever challenges we go through also have a healing purpose. Pill-taking, in the conventional sense, became easier with the advent of the capsule.

Surrounding the medicine with a coating allowed patients to take the medicine without the bitterness.

To continue our metaphor, while nisyonos, like medication, are inherently for our benefit, Hashem also coats them in a capsule of kindness to make challenges more palatable.

The Chofetz Chaim teaches that this is how we can understand the pasuk in Tehillim 32: “Rabim machovim larasha, v’haboteiach baHashem chesed y’sovevenu — The wicked experience many painful ailments but the one who trusts Hashem is surrounded by kindness.” Even when we endure challenges and painful times, let our mantra be, “Chesed y’sovevenu.” I am surrounded by His kindness, engulfed in His love. Even, and specifically when, I am going through something difficult.

Sometimes we struggle with a medical issue, and we meet the kindest doctors along the way. Sometimes our child is experiencing difficulty, but he/she has a loyal friend whose dedication and love is so rare and uplifting. Sometimes we are confused and seek counsel, and the person we consult with provides inspiration that makes our heart soar. And then there is the cleaning lady who showed up, the child who is being uncharacteristically helpful, the delicious dinner sent by a thoughtful friend, the community support, the cheerful volunteer. The song that moves you, the closeness to your spouse or parent as you bond as a team facing the challenge, the most wonderful shlichim who greet you as you journey on the road you never planned to travel.

Succos is a time of bitachon, which goes hand in hand with simchah. The physical embrace of the succah reminds us that we are always in His Hands. But just as we can sit in the succah and remain oblivious to its message, it’s possible to go through a nisayon and not notice the kindness that Hashem is sprinkling all around us to mitigate the bitterness.

As we sit in our succahs this year, let’s each try to feel the joy that comes from knowing that our lives are surrounded by His kindness, even and especially when we are facing a challenge.

May we be zocheh to be mindful of all the beauty in our lives and feel true simchah in the chag of emunah.

Dina Schoonmaker has been teaching in Michlalah Jerusalem College for over 30 years. She gives women’s vaadim and lectures internationally on topics of personal development.

Set Up for Success

Hadassah Eventsur

Esti can feel her pulse quicken as she glances at the calendar. There’s only one week left until Yom Tov starts, and she’ll be hosting guests for three out of four meals. She sits down with pen and paper, determined to make a shopping list, but after a few minutes, she drops the pen on the empty paper in frustration and flips through a circular instead.

If you’re neurodivergent, you can probably relate to this. You were probably labeled unmotivated or even lazy. In reality, brain scans show that the neurodivergent brain has more activity and works harder than the neurotypical brain. But oftentimes, the results do not match the efforts invested.

While motivation or lack of it is often thought of as a behavioral issue, it actually has more to do with brain chemistry. People with ADHD have lower levels of dopamine, the “feel good” neurotransmitter that affects learning, focus and motivation. If you have low dopamine levels, you may feel restless, which is actually your brain attempting to get you stimulated, which would release more dopamine. Often, the mundane tasks of life don’t provide the dopamine release that the ADHD brain craves.

If you find yourself avoiding these kind of necessary but boring chores, you can facilitate more opportunities for dopamine release during or after their completion. Consider using a timer to challenge yourself to finish a task within a certain timeframe, or giving yourself small rewards upon completing a job. You can also try listening to an interesting podcast or music as a way of spicing things up.

Bottom line: Instead of admonishing yourself for your brain chemistry, try to work with your brain to create more opportunities for success.

Hadassah Eventsur, MS, OTR/L is a licensed occupational therapist with over 20 years of experience, and a certified life coach in the Baltimore, MD area.

Islands of Competence

Zipora Schuck

After listening to many of his clients, both adults and children, experience feelings of low self-esteem and self-worth, Dr. Robert Brooks, a popular psychologist, felt that there had to be a way to counter this. His clients presented as if they were drowning in an ocean of self-perceived inadequacy, and in response, Brooks coined the term “islands of competence.” He encouraged parents and teachers to help their children identify areas that have potential to be a source of pride and accomplishment, thereby shifting the focus from weakness to strength.

Dr. Brooks also posited that adults might even need to act as explorers searching for these islands of competence and actively work to create as many opportunities as possible to showcase and strengthen these areas.

Often, he’d ask children questions like these:

What are you are you good at?

What would others describe you as good at?

He found that many children had a hard time feeling confident in an ability, expertise, or capacity they had. Often children with learning differences in school or social challenges would see themselves without any redeeming qualities at all. “I feel like I have half a brain, I’m not good at anything, There’s nothing I excel at.”

Well-defined islands of competence help children (and adults) change their negative perception about themselves. Doing something well shifts our concept of self and provides a foundation for doing other things well, too.

Islands of competence extend far beyond doing well in typical school subjects. They can include identifying and highlighting good middos, social strengths, assorted talents and hobbies, knowledge or skills, and the ability to do specific things well. Everyone is good at something.

Zipora Schuck MA. MS. is a NYS school psychologist and educational consultant for many schools in the NY/NJ area. She works with students, teachers, principals, and parents to help children be successful.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 862)

The post Coated with Kindness first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.

“Thanks so much for coming by. I’m just going to start on the meatballs for supper, you can have a seat,” Aliza said as she led Atara to the kitchen.

“You can put your stuff down here,” she added, waving vaguely at the couch that separated the kitchen from the living room area; it was piled with folded laundry.

Atara shrugged and waved her phone. “All I brought,” she said quietly.

Atara slid into the barstool. Yes, Aliza thought, it was the perfect purchase. Meir couldn’t understand it — “There’s a table right here, why would someone want eat at a counter?” — and she wasn’t going to have her kids eat cereal at the “breakfast bar” or whatever you called an awkward slab of something from an early ’90’s kitchen. But the barstool was perfect for when people came by to “help” her cook.

The ground beef was mostly defrosted. Aliza stabbed it with a fork to mash it up. It was harder than she expected.

“How’s it going?” she asked Atara lightly. She wasn’t sure why Atara had asked to come by. She’d had shaychus to Aliza in high school and kept up since, but her life was good — vanilla problems — so Aliza didn’t know her as well as she knew the students who’d reached out often over the years.

“So.” Atara paused and watched Aliza mash the beef. “So,” she tried again. “I’ve been dating this guy. We went out like five times. Everything is great — really. I like him, he likes me, he’s fun and funny, and considerate, and smart, and really everything I ever wanted.”

She paused again; Aliza knew a but was coming.

“And I know this sounds so dumb, but like he’s really into working with kids at risk, and it’s beautiful and genuine and everything. I totally respect that.”

Aliza reached for the cornflake crumbs and started pouring, still waiting.

Atara looked at her, deer-in-headlights moment. “I don’t want that.”

Aliza nodded. “Tell me more,” she prompted.

“I think it’s amazing, don’t get me wrong. But, like, I’m more of a give-money-to-an-organization type. Maybe I’ll stuff your envelopes.”

“I hear,” Aliza said — and she did. She needed Atara to say more, though, both for herself and for Aliza’s understanding. “Tell me more about what you think he wants, and how that’s different from what you want.”

Atara went long-winded with stories he shared of him saving the day, and how she wanted her privacy.

“Did he say anything about what he hoped his home would be like?” Aliza asked.

“No — but it’s expected. Like, that’s the life.”

“It’s what you’re assuming,” Aliza corrected gently. “Can you pass me the salt?” She found that giving people directions about matters other than what they were discussing often let their mind process more. Atara passed the salt, and Aliza measured half a teaspoon studiously even though she was usually an eye-baller.

“You think I should ask him what he thinks, like, for real?” Atara asked.

Aliza let her answer her own question.

“But what if he wants his wife to be everything?” Atara said. “I think that’s what he wants.”

“So you won’t ask him, because you’re scared he’ll confirm what you think?” Aliza probed. “And if he confirms that, yes, he does need a kiruv partner, then you’ll have to let go of your relationship?”

Atara went quiet, then gave a small, “Yes.”

Aliza turned to the cabinet behind her, scooped out the garlic and onion powder, and spiced the meat mixture. Atara watched. Aliza didn’t say anything. This was time for Atara to think.

“Okay,” Atara finally said. “So I have to have a real conversation with him. But what if it’s everything I think it is?”

Aliza gave her the, “there’s no right or wrong, but it’s a choice of competing priorities” bit. Then she guided Atara to run her hands underwater and form perfectly spherical meatballs, a process that a) produced pretty meatballs b) absorbed her attention, allowing her to engage and let her guard down.

The hardest part was over, and the two spent the next 30 minutes shaping the balls, making the sauce, boiling pasta, and cutting up a salad.

What would happen, Aliza didn’t know — that wasn’t her concern. Her job was to redirect and reframe, show her girls that they had the answers within them all along.

Later that night, when she sat alone with Meir watching him eat reheated meatballs, Aliza shared her day. She lingered on Atara.

“It’s such a brachah that I get to do this, I love it. Don’t get me wrong, it can be hard, I never know what will show up, but the sipuk in guiding people to what they kind of already know never gets old.”

She knew she sounded cheesy, but she meant every word.

The post Living the Dream first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.

Photos: Jeff Zorabedian

A cool Tuesday evening found me driving along the winding lanes and rolling hills of scenic Monsey, New York. For a city slicker like me, I might as well have been in Montana.

Zipping down Viola Road, I hung a right at Number 161, turning onto a spacious expanse of land surrounding a building that looks like it could pass for a countryside church. Half a year ago, it was. That’s when a big-hearted dreamer named Benjie Brecher bought it and turned it into the new home of the Lev Teen Center.

The metaphor of the converted church — turning the profane into the something so precious and holy — is an apt one for Lev Teen, which has been a vehicle of transformation for countless chassidic teens in the Monsey area. For the past seven years, the center has been a home and a haven for kids who need one. And now it, too, has a home of its own.

I spent several hours at the center that night, and here’s what I saw: No amazing miracles. Nothing.

Nothing but kids being kids. Tons of food, lots of schmoozing and chilling — mainly chilling — and a night seder, and Maariv in the mix, too.

And that’s the Lev Teen miracle. It’s a place where kids whose lives have been filled with dislocation and dysfunction can go to spend time on an island of genuine acceptance, sometimes for the first time ever.

The kid who’s been through seven elementary schools and five high schools — in tenth grade. The boy from a home broken beyond repair who’s been living in a tent in the woods — and not because he’s into camping. The top bochur in a top yeshivah who slowly slid way down and out the door of Yiddishkeit — while no one had the faintest clue why.

Every boy here has had far too much drama in his young life, often due to trauma in the family — death, divorce, jail, you name it — and needs a place where he can just be, and belong. Amid all the craziness, they’re desperate for a bit of normalcy. And Lev Teen Center is Normal City.

Here, no one bats an eyelash when a boy walks in with curled peyos and a buzz cut, along with a multicolored yarmulke — or none at all. The lingua franca for almost all of them is Yiddish, but the conversations are a far cry from what one hears on the streets of Williamsburg or Monsey.

But however a boy might dress or talk or act, he’s met with neither shock, condemnation, nor coddling, just unquestioning affirmation. He’s allowed to be who he is — and the lack of reaction is itself a great healing balm for a wounded soul. And ever so slowly, it starts the process of coming back home.

Mechy Brandwein, who helped run programs in Lakewood’s Minyan Shelanu teen program for seven years and is now doing the same at Lev Teen Center, observes, “Our basic philosophy is that every human being has a fundamental need to belong. So, give them a nonjudgmental place to belong, and which along the way promotes good values — and they’ll be happy there. There’ll be no reason to walk out.

“No one ever walked out of here because it was too frum for them. You know why? Because the frumkeit wasn’t forced on them. We’ve never shied away from being frum; in fact, we are unapologetically, proudly, very frum. But we don’t preach, we don’t coerce and we don’t insist. It’s just who we are.”

The post Heart of the Matter first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.

While many kids treasured collections of stickers or stationery, Chayala Neuhaus was a bit different — she collected melodies. Growing up in the heart of Boro Park, amidst the hum of chatter and the rhythmic footfalls on its vibrant streets, Chayala’s ever-present sidekick was her tape recorder. She used it to capture fleeting moments of inspiration as they popped into her head. “I took it with me everywhere. And then, by the piano, I would record these random melodies,” she recalls. Long before she was known for her songwriting skills, she was weaving words into intricate rhymes.

For Chayala, music wasn’t just a hobby; it was a part of her DNA. “My father was a badchan when he was young, way before I was born,” she muses, “but I have some really early memories of him being great with rhyme. My house was pretty musical, so it wasn’t foreign to me when I started composing. My mother encouraged me to pursue every musical opportunity that came my way.”

By the time she was eleven, her fingers danced effortlessly over the piano keys, as she crafted fully formed songs. Chayala knew that someday she’d end up at the piano. “That was like, a given.” As she got into her teen years, she imagined teaching others the beauty of piano, secretly hoping to reach the world with her songs.

Fast forward a few years. While Chayala became a piano teacher and taught music in schools, she simultaneously wrote and recorded her songs.  At that time, her music wasn’t for famous singers but instead tailored for camps and schools, which she recorded in her studio. “The idea of a home studio became popular when I was an older teen, and I got right into it. It was the perfect timing, because that was when camps and schools started to need recorded songs.” She immersed herself in training, learning whatever she could to keep up with the evolving field.

Selling her songs to singers came about organically, around five years ago. “Basically, I did a project for an organization, and Benny Friedman sang the song. When I wrote the song, I didn’t even know he would be singing it! The next thing I know, Mordechai Shapiro reached out, saying, ‘Hey, I heard your song and it’s great. Do you have any more?’”

She pauses, reflecting. “At the time, it didn’t feel like the beginning of a new phase of my career, just a nice side thing.” Chayala was still focused on writing and teaching, but as more singers approached her for songs, it grew into more than just a side thing. “When people ask me how to sell songs to singers, I really don’t know what to tell them because I didn’t set out to do that. One thing led to another. If I saw a good opportunity, I took it.”

Art Mirroring Life

Imagine growing up and watching your own songs evolve beside you. That’s Chayala story.  As a kid, she wrote more idealistic songs — sweet vignettes of a mother lighting Shabbos candles, or a little boy getting on the bus to go to cheder. But after experiencing some hard knocks in her own life, she turned to her piano, where her emotions transformed into moving melodies. “My favorite songs, and usually the ones I get the most feedback on, are the ones that were written as I thought something through or felt something through.”

2017 rolled in in a storm, one Chayala couldn’t have braced for. Her world was rocked when her family experienced a medical crisis. The future was very uncertain, and nothing was clear anymore.

“We are so used to being told that there’s a recipe to life,” Chayala shares. “You follow the recipe, put in all the ingredients, turn on the mixer, and voila! Your life will turn out the way it’s ‘supposed’ to. And it’s really not true. Hashem has a different plan for every single person. Following the recipe is not the reason we’re successful — we’re successful because we have Hashem’s strength and encouragement behind us. Even when we feel like we can’t make it through, either because we didn’t follow the recipe or the recipe isn’t working, we’ll still be okay because we still have Hashem.”

One day, needing a break from the whirlwind of doctor’s appointments and worry, she and her husband found themselves at the ocean. As the waves crashed, her husband shared a midrash from Iyov.

“Picture two waves racing to the shore,” her husband said. “One wave watching the other crash against the shoreline says, ‘Leave some shoreline for me. I also want the chance to destroy it.’ The first wave responds, ‘What do you mean? I couldn’t consume the shoreline even if I wanted to. Don’t you know there’s an invisible hand holding me back?’”

Ultimately, Chayala’s story has a happy ending. On the Thursday night before the seudas hoda'ah, Chayala wrote Holding Back the Tides (Miracles II). “My right hand was looking up the midrash in an Ein Yaakov and my left hand was stirring the soup,” she recalls with a laugh.

“We many, many times feel like the waves are going to overwhelm us,” Chayala muses. “But Hashem doesn’t allow it. Not on a personal level, not on a national level.” He always ensures that we don’t crash completely.

Hashem's Employee

Working in a creative field requires an enormous amount of faith. It’s not the type of job where you can show up every day and expect the same thing or expect to have the same output. “As a creative, you show up, you open your hand, and you wait for it to rain. It’s a gift from Hashem, and I’m very aware of that. So what I try to tell myself is that I work for Hashem.”

“There’s a process that I follow when I write a song. It’s not a recipe, but there is a process.” Chayala starts by going to her trusty piano and playing around. “Sometimes the melody shows up very quickly. Like last night, I did this melody for an upcoming project, and it only took me six minutes.” But it’s not always like that. There are days when she’ll work for twenty minutes and feel that it’s just not going. That’s when she knows it’s time to step back and come back to it later. And sometimes, she admits, that she’ll sit for a while…and nada.

“The bottom line is to keep writing,” Chayala shares. “A songwriter doesn’t only write amazing songs. And not every single song is going to be for the world. Some songs will be just for me, and that’s okay.”

Tunes that Touch the Neshamah

Have you ever felt a song tug at your heartstrings? Well, that’s Chayala’s specialty. It’s not just about music that can make you sing and dance. It’s all about the message and what it does to your insides. Even her upbeat songs are a means to deliver a message, sometimes not even with words. Her song Challenge (Miracles III) has a very driving beat. “There’s a point where I always tell the audience, you hear that, that pulsating drum hit? Feel it reverberating through your chest? That’s the sound of you smacking your challenge in the face!”

This deep connection between music and emotion isn’t just Chayala’s observation; it has been scientifically proven. Music can quite literally sync up with your heartbeat. Meditative tracks can calm you, while adrenaline-pumping ones? Well, let’s just say there’s a reason the principal doesn’t like it!

Chayala further explains the tangible connection between music and its listeners. “When they say music touches you, that’s physical. It’s not a figurative expression. It’s a literal expression. Think about it. If I look at you and you don’t like how I look, you can always close your eyes. But you cannot shut your ears in a natural way. Sound literally penetrates the human body. When you hear music, there is a physical sound wave that enters your ear canal, and then touches your eardrum, actually moving your eardrum. So when I sing to a crowd, I’m literally touching them.”

Stepping into the Spotlight

It’s only very recently that Chayala has found herself singing for live audiences, after being asked for years and years to perform. In the evolving landscape of the music world, Chayala was told by rabbanim that if there’s a way to inspire and connect to the neshamos of Jewish women and girls through music while maintaining beautiful proper boundaries, it’s an opportunity.

“It’s not something I was ever comfortable with. In general, when I sing for people, I’m always like, ‘Do I have to stand on the stage?’ I know that I do, because you can’t see me if I don’t, but I really don’t feel comfortable up there. However, beneath that discomfort, as a songwriter, my neshamah feels right at home sharing my songs with the audience.”

Performing for live audiences has given Chayala a firsthand view of how deeply her songs have impacted people. At her first Miracles kumzitz last September, she stood, nearly in shock, as nearly 2,500 voices swelled around her, singing every word of the songs she had written in the last decade and a half. “I couldn’t believe how many people were carrying the words around in their hearts.”

Chayala shares that she has a soft spot for girls who have a lot of talent but don’t want to pursue music as a career unless they can go all the way. She’s passionate that it doesn’t have to be all or nothing. “If you have the talent, there’s a way for you to use it. You may have to make some decisions about what you will and will not do, but don’t quit before you try.”

For Chayala, her lines are crystal clear: no recorded releases featuring her voice and a strict no-cameras rule. While she had to pass up on many shows because of this, there’s no shortage of opportunities. “I’ve been traveling all over the world the past year. I’ve been to Israel, Belgium, all over the states. For me, the joy is audiences. I’m crazy over audiences. I like to hear them get chizuk from my songs."

Each performance is heartfelt, sung out to faces she might not know, but feels deeply connected to. “I have no idea who I’m singing to, and really, I could just sing to myself. But you never know who in that room needs to hear what you’re singing, and which message is going to be received in which way.”

Unleashing your Creativity

Have you ever felt that little voice in your head, constantly second-guessing your choices? Yep, it’s called the “inner critic,” and the opposing force to your creativity. “Most of us have critics in our life. As we grow, we develop a strong voice inside that criticizes every step of our way. It’s there to help us make good choices and stay away from anything dangerous. But usually, it becomes too loud and just gets in the way.”

Just as a painter needs a blank canvas, or a writer an empty page, every creative soul needs silence. Silence from the inner critic, from the doubters, from the voices that say it’s not good enough.

Chayala’s met tons of creative people who will tell her that they sit down and really want to write music. They know it’s in them. Yet, when it comes down to it, they freeze. She’s even had people who tell her that when they hear a song, they think to themselves, “I could have written a song just as good.”

“So why didn’t you?” asks Chayala. “What’s holding you back? We need your idea. We need your paintbrush. We need your song. We need your pen. Whatever Hashem gave you to share with the world is needed. Nobody else in the world is gonna sing your shira.”

(Originally featured in Mishpacha Jr., Issue 980)

The post Sounds of the Soul first appeared on Mishpacha Magazine.