Dear Friends,
Follows is a very moving story, which just happened in Israel.
As announced, actions of Torah and Mitzvot here, affect our soldiers, men and women, fighting for their own loved ones in The Holy Land and in reality, for Jews everywhere.
In this crises stricken time, as Israel takes fatalities and casualties which we can not and never should bear witness, we must do something "on the ground" in the realm of protection of our heroes who are on the front lines and have placed their lives in dangers way for ours, Judaism's ultimate victorious survival.
In the spirit of the story below, Chabad of Boynton is now offering a free mezuzah to any Jewish person who takes upon themselves this special protectionary commandment, the last verse in the our Shema; "and you shall write them upon your doorposts and your gates."
The three letter name of G‑d, which is traditionally kissed by all who enter, exit, and have a connection to the Jewish home and to this mezuzah, is an acronym for G‑ds three letter name, S'homer D'alsos Y'isroel. The Protector and Guardian of the Homes of Israel.
Should you have a scroll (not its case, the inner scroll inside the case is the Mezuzah), which has not been checked for its calligraphic integrity, as ink on the parchment as it was borne, for a time period of more than three years, it/they should be taken down and brought to the Rabbi for his checking its Kashrut status. Kosher Mezuzot are not paper, not copy machine produced, bur rather authentic parchment and ink written by a G‑d fearing scribe. With time this ink fades and sometimes dissappears rendering the Mezuzah unfit.
Chabad of Greater Boynton will gift to any Jewish home which does not have a Kosher scroll on its front doorway a Kosher scroll to affix, with the express intent of protecting those who are connected with this Jewish home and with the express intent of protecting all those who are fighting for all Jews everywhere in the battlefields of the Middle East.
Please contact the shul office at 561-732-4633, if you or anyone you know, would be interested in this timely but critical offer.
In addition, our congregation is sending hindreds of High Holiday prayer books for both Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur together with tiny, pocket sized psalms to each Jewish soldier who is fighting the utter evil of Terrorism in the battlefields of Afghanistan and Iraq. They too need, amongst all of our fighting men and women, our acts of protection and prayers for their safety. These materials are being shipped to The West Point Military Academy and under their auspices are being sent to the Jewish soldiers on the battlefield in time for the upcoming High Holidays.
Should you want to partner with us in this costly, yet critical, endeavor please make your checks to Chabad of Boynton, POB 740934, Boynton, Florida 33474 and note that it should be earmarked to "Project Eradicate Terrorism, 5766."
May you, all your loved ones, the entire house of Israel and all good people everywhere, be blessed with an upcoming New Year of tangible good and only sweetness and Joy.
One Soldier's Miracle
Nechama Frank, Ph.D.
A few weeks ago, a friend of mine traveled to visit family in Israel. He had brought with him from the US a Mezuzah in a beautiful silver cover as a gift for his relatives.
Upon arrival, he rented a car and began his journey from the airport to the Har Nof neighborhood in Jerusalem where his relatives lived. Not far outside the airport he saw a group of Israeli soldiers walking. Feeling sorry for them in the 105 degree heat, he pulled over and asked if any were going in the direction of Har Nof and if they would they like a ride. Not able to speak fluent Hebrew, it took a moment as they struggled with the meaning, and then one young man stepped forward and said he was on his way to Har Nof and would greatly appreciate a ride. He got into the car, and introduced himself as Menachem.
As they journeyed they spoke in halting Hebrew and got to know each other a bit. The soldier shared with my friend the purpose of his visit to Har Nof. Our sergeant informed us that tonight we are all to go home and spend time with family. Tomorrow we will become part of the ground offensive, our unit being the one that will enter deepest into Lebanon and we will not know how long it will be before we see them again or even if in fact we ever will. So I go home not just to spend time off with family but to take leave of them and say Good Bye. Just in case...
By this point they had successfully reached Har Nof and the soldier gave my friend directions to his home. As it turned out, Menachem's family lived just down the road from my friends relatives.
Stopping beside his house, the soldier began to bid my friend farewell, but my friend said, Wait! I have something for you.
Carefully drawing the beautiful Mezuzah encased in silver from his carry on luggage, he unwrapped it and gave it to the boy, whose eyes opened in wonder. I want you to have it. Do you know what it is?, my friend asked earnestly.
The boy responded, That's a Mezuzah! At the home where we first lived in Tel Aviv we had them on every door of the house. It was my brother who was in the army at the time and we lost him during an ill fated raid on a suspected terrorist stronghold. He was the only one killed. Shortly after, my parents decided to move us from Tel Aviv to Har Nof, not able to live with the ghost of my brother in every room. They left all the Mezuzahs behind, saying, that is what you do when a Jew buys your home. After we had moved I waited for them to purchase new Mezuzahs to place around our new home as it had none, but days turned into weeks and I finally asked why they hadn't put any up yet. My father said in a voice I'd never heard him use before, that G-D had forsaken us.
Seeing my confusion and fear, my mother pulled on his arm, telling him that was enough. But he continued, No Ettela, the boy should know the way of the world. Turning to me he said, It is true. We were G‑d fearing Jews our entire lives — your mother and I. And what did we get in return? G‑d took our first born son and some day you too will be forced to go into the army and who knows what will be??
I remember being terrified thinking that if G‑d had truly forsaken us how would we continue to go on? These are still questions I ask and now the time for me to serve in the army has come.
My friend handed him the Mezuzah and said, I want you to take this and place it in your shirt pocket. The Torah teaches that a Mezuzah [discussed in this week[s Torah portion, Eikev), has the power to protect the home and those living in the home. And it is said anyone on their way to perform a mitzvah will be provided with special protection. Do not go into battle without it. When you return from the war you and I will put this up on your home together.
The soldier thanked him for the gift, saying, I am named Menachem, which means comfort, yet it is you who has brought me comfort. They embraced and the boy turned one last time to wave before entering his home. My friend continued on to his relatives home where he recounted the story of the soldier named Menachem whom he had been blessed to meet on the way from Tel Aviv.
As the days passed, my friend became more and more concerned with the fate of the boy he had encountered on the way from the airport. For some reason, their journey together made him feel deeply connected to this young man. He listened avidly to the radio for updates, hearing of the Israeli soldiers killed during the ongoing war against the Hezbollah in Lebanon. Then came the day he had so dreaded. His relatives returned from the shuk (the market place), to find him seated at the table, tears streaming down his face, his arm draped over the radio still clutching the off knob. They knew at once what must have happened and rushed to console him.
For days he was unable to leave the house but realized he must visit the home of the boy to pay his respects while they sat shiva for a second son, their last child. As he walked down the road leading to the boys home, it were as if his feet were made of lead, and with each step his heart beat faster and seemed to need to work harder in order to carry him the short distance to his destination.
As he neared the house, he thought he heard laughter and singing. Believing he had the wrong home he backtracked and approached again from the other side, following the direction he had been traveling the night he came from the airport.
Again he found himself at the same house and now distinctly heard the laughter and singing coming from the windows which stood open.
Hesitantly, as is the custom during Shiva, he entered the house without knocking. He was amazed by what he saw. Everywhere people were laughing and hugging. Several children were singing songs he recognized, songs of thanksgiving. Everywhere he looked food was heaped on platters, and banners were gently swaying in the breeze coming through the opened windows. No one sat on footstools, and all the mirrors remained uncovered, not a normal sight in a house of mourning.
Confused, he looked for a couple who might be the boy's family. Perhaps in another room, he thought and began to make his way through the house. A middle aged man came up to him, introduced himself as the father of the boy and asked if he was a friend of Menachem's.
Taken aback by all he had witnessed, he could barely stutter a Yes. Before he could get out the traditional words offered to mourners, the man broke into a huge smile, slapped him on the back and said something he surely couldnt have understood right. It sounded like You must come and see him then?.
But Jews don't display the dead,? he thought, greatly disturbed by the possibility. But then again, this father had appeared quite mad, smiling with the death of his last child. He dutifully followed the man down a hallway. At the end of the hall was a doorway, standing slightly ajar. The man pushed it open fully, and gestured my friend inside. Reticently, he entered, finally turning his head to see what was in the room. To his great shock and utter bewilderment, there lay the boy. Alive.
His leg was in a cast but he looked otherwise unharmed and healthy.
What is this? he cried. But, but I heard your name read with the rest of the names of the dead on the radio just three days ago.?
I am sorry I was responsible for causing you such anguish, the boy began. There was a mistake, as I had been unconscious and originally they took me for dead, notifying my family and announcing my name before realizing the mistake. You can imagine the astonishment of my parents when I was transported home later that evening. But there is more to the story than that my friend, and it is a tale you must hear, for you play the major role within it.
We entered Lebanon as scheduled at nightfall, taking up our positions by midnight. When the word was given, we began to attack but soon came to realize we had been given faulty information and there were far more Hezbollah than we had been lead to believe. We had fallen into an ambush. I was out in front. Suddenly, screams sounding like banshee warriors broke the silence and bullets were everywhere. The rest had to be told to me as this is all I remember. We miraculously won the battle, turning back the Hezbollah fighters though they must have outnumbered us 3 to 1.
It was my Menachem who was the miracle, said his father proudly. The way they tell it, Menachem, as a function of being out in front, drew all the initial gunfire. His fellow soldiers saw him fall but the distraction let them take down many of the Hezbollah fighters and the remainder, when they saw the turning of their luck, withdrew, leaving the rest of the unit entirely untouched.
When they first told my wife and I that our son had died, it was like reliving what happened with his older brother. I railed against G‑d for taking our second son exactly the same way as he had taken our first.
As it turns out I had been shot in the leg and through the heart, Menachem continued.
The bullet missed then? my friend asked.
No, the boy replied, It was dead on.
So what happened? he asked.
Silently, Menachem took something out from his shirt pocket. As he opened his hand, my friend saw the silver Mezuzah he had given him only days before. Embedded in it was a single bullet.
Do you remember your promise? Menachem asked.
Yes, of course.
Hobbling to the front of the house Menachem opened the door. Watched by those celebrating within as well as by neighbors arriving from without, Menachem held the Mezuzah in place, as my friend hammered the nails to affix it to the doorpost.
Taking his hand away when they were done he kissed it reverently as tears coursed down not only his cheeks but those of his fathers, who stood beside him. The bullet from the terrorists gun, meant for Menachem's heart, remains a part of this special Mezuzah that helped save one heros life, to this day.
~~~~~~~
*) The author, Nechama Frank, Ph.D. serves as the Head Psychologist at Greenhaven Home for Boys, and is an adjunct professor of psychology at Central Connecticut State University and Western Connecticut State University.
Follows is a very moving story, which just happened in Israel.
As announced, actions of Torah and Mitzvot here, affect our soldiers, men and women, fighting for their own loved ones in The Holy Land and in reality, for Jews everywhere.
In this crises stricken time, as Israel takes fatalities and casualties which we can not and never should bear witness, we must do something "on the ground" in the realm of protection of our heroes who are on the front lines and have placed their lives in dangers way for ours, Judaism's ultimate victorious survival.
In the spirit of the story below, Chabad of Boynton is now offering a free mezuzah to any Jewish person who takes upon themselves this special protectionary commandment, the last verse in the our Shema; "and you shall write them upon your doorposts and your gates."
The three letter name of G‑d, which is traditionally kissed by all who enter, exit, and have a connection to the Jewish home and to this mezuzah, is an acronym for G‑ds three letter name, S'homer D'alsos Y'isroel. The Protector and Guardian of the Homes of Israel.
Should you have a scroll (not its case, the inner scroll inside the case is the Mezuzah), which has not been checked for its calligraphic integrity, as ink on the parchment as it was borne, for a time period of more than three years, it/they should be taken down and brought to the Rabbi for his checking its Kashrut status. Kosher Mezuzot are not paper, not copy machine produced, bur rather authentic parchment and ink written by a G‑d fearing scribe. With time this ink fades and sometimes dissappears rendering the Mezuzah unfit.
Chabad of Greater Boynton will gift to any Jewish home which does not have a Kosher scroll on its front doorway a Kosher scroll to affix, with the express intent of protecting those who are connected with this Jewish home and with the express intent of protecting all those who are fighting for all Jews everywhere in the battlefields of the Middle East.
Please contact the shul office at 561-732-4633, if you or anyone you know, would be interested in this timely but critical offer.
In addition, our congregation is sending hindreds of High Holiday prayer books for both Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur together with tiny, pocket sized psalms to each Jewish soldier who is fighting the utter evil of Terrorism in the battlefields of Afghanistan and Iraq. They too need, amongst all of our fighting men and women, our acts of protection and prayers for their safety. These materials are being shipped to The West Point Military Academy and under their auspices are being sent to the Jewish soldiers on the battlefield in time for the upcoming High Holidays.
Should you want to partner with us in this costly, yet critical, endeavor please make your checks to Chabad of Boynton, POB 740934, Boynton, Florida 33474 and note that it should be earmarked to "Project Eradicate Terrorism, 5766."
May you, all your loved ones, the entire house of Israel and all good people everywhere, be blessed with an upcoming New Year of tangible good and only sweetness and Joy.
One Soldier's Miracle
Nechama Frank, Ph.D.
A few weeks ago, a friend of mine traveled to visit family in Israel. He had brought with him from the US a Mezuzah in a beautiful silver cover as a gift for his relatives.
Upon arrival, he rented a car and began his journey from the airport to the Har Nof neighborhood in Jerusalem where his relatives lived. Not far outside the airport he saw a group of Israeli soldiers walking. Feeling sorry for them in the 105 degree heat, he pulled over and asked if any were going in the direction of Har Nof and if they would they like a ride. Not able to speak fluent Hebrew, it took a moment as they struggled with the meaning, and then one young man stepped forward and said he was on his way to Har Nof and would greatly appreciate a ride. He got into the car, and introduced himself as Menachem.
As they journeyed they spoke in halting Hebrew and got to know each other a bit. The soldier shared with my friend the purpose of his visit to Har Nof. Our sergeant informed us that tonight we are all to go home and spend time with family. Tomorrow we will become part of the ground offensive, our unit being the one that will enter deepest into Lebanon and we will not know how long it will be before we see them again or even if in fact we ever will. So I go home not just to spend time off with family but to take leave of them and say Good Bye. Just in case...
By this point they had successfully reached Har Nof and the soldier gave my friend directions to his home. As it turned out, Menachem's family lived just down the road from my friends relatives.
Stopping beside his house, the soldier began to bid my friend farewell, but my friend said, Wait! I have something for you.
Carefully drawing the beautiful Mezuzah encased in silver from his carry on luggage, he unwrapped it and gave it to the boy, whose eyes opened in wonder. I want you to have it. Do you know what it is?, my friend asked earnestly.
The boy responded, That's a Mezuzah! At the home where we first lived in Tel Aviv we had them on every door of the house. It was my brother who was in the army at the time and we lost him during an ill fated raid on a suspected terrorist stronghold. He was the only one killed. Shortly after, my parents decided to move us from Tel Aviv to Har Nof, not able to live with the ghost of my brother in every room. They left all the Mezuzahs behind, saying, that is what you do when a Jew buys your home. After we had moved I waited for them to purchase new Mezuzahs to place around our new home as it had none, but days turned into weeks and I finally asked why they hadn't put any up yet. My father said in a voice I'd never heard him use before, that G-D had forsaken us.
Seeing my confusion and fear, my mother pulled on his arm, telling him that was enough. But he continued, No Ettela, the boy should know the way of the world. Turning to me he said, It is true. We were G‑d fearing Jews our entire lives — your mother and I. And what did we get in return? G‑d took our first born son and some day you too will be forced to go into the army and who knows what will be??
I remember being terrified thinking that if G‑d had truly forsaken us how would we continue to go on? These are still questions I ask and now the time for me to serve in the army has come.
My friend handed him the Mezuzah and said, I want you to take this and place it in your shirt pocket. The Torah teaches that a Mezuzah [discussed in this week[s Torah portion, Eikev), has the power to protect the home and those living in the home. And it is said anyone on their way to perform a mitzvah will be provided with special protection. Do not go into battle without it. When you return from the war you and I will put this up on your home together.
The soldier thanked him for the gift, saying, I am named Menachem, which means comfort, yet it is you who has brought me comfort. They embraced and the boy turned one last time to wave before entering his home. My friend continued on to his relatives home where he recounted the story of the soldier named Menachem whom he had been blessed to meet on the way from Tel Aviv.
As the days passed, my friend became more and more concerned with the fate of the boy he had encountered on the way from the airport. For some reason, their journey together made him feel deeply connected to this young man. He listened avidly to the radio for updates, hearing of the Israeli soldiers killed during the ongoing war against the Hezbollah in Lebanon. Then came the day he had so dreaded. His relatives returned from the shuk (the market place), to find him seated at the table, tears streaming down his face, his arm draped over the radio still clutching the off knob. They knew at once what must have happened and rushed to console him.
For days he was unable to leave the house but realized he must visit the home of the boy to pay his respects while they sat shiva for a second son, their last child. As he walked down the road leading to the boys home, it were as if his feet were made of lead, and with each step his heart beat faster and seemed to need to work harder in order to carry him the short distance to his destination.
As he neared the house, he thought he heard laughter and singing. Believing he had the wrong home he backtracked and approached again from the other side, following the direction he had been traveling the night he came from the airport.
Again he found himself at the same house and now distinctly heard the laughter and singing coming from the windows which stood open.
Hesitantly, as is the custom during Shiva, he entered the house without knocking. He was amazed by what he saw. Everywhere people were laughing and hugging. Several children were singing songs he recognized, songs of thanksgiving. Everywhere he looked food was heaped on platters, and banners were gently swaying in the breeze coming through the opened windows. No one sat on footstools, and all the mirrors remained uncovered, not a normal sight in a house of mourning.
Confused, he looked for a couple who might be the boy's family. Perhaps in another room, he thought and began to make his way through the house. A middle aged man came up to him, introduced himself as the father of the boy and asked if he was a friend of Menachem's.
Taken aback by all he had witnessed, he could barely stutter a Yes. Before he could get out the traditional words offered to mourners, the man broke into a huge smile, slapped him on the back and said something he surely couldnt have understood right. It sounded like You must come and see him then?.
But Jews don't display the dead,? he thought, greatly disturbed by the possibility. But then again, this father had appeared quite mad, smiling with the death of his last child. He dutifully followed the man down a hallway. At the end of the hall was a doorway, standing slightly ajar. The man pushed it open fully, and gestured my friend inside. Reticently, he entered, finally turning his head to see what was in the room. To his great shock and utter bewilderment, there lay the boy. Alive.
His leg was in a cast but he looked otherwise unharmed and healthy.
What is this? he cried. But, but I heard your name read with the rest of the names of the dead on the radio just three days ago.?
I am sorry I was responsible for causing you such anguish, the boy began. There was a mistake, as I had been unconscious and originally they took me for dead, notifying my family and announcing my name before realizing the mistake. You can imagine the astonishment of my parents when I was transported home later that evening. But there is more to the story than that my friend, and it is a tale you must hear, for you play the major role within it.
We entered Lebanon as scheduled at nightfall, taking up our positions by midnight. When the word was given, we began to attack but soon came to realize we had been given faulty information and there were far more Hezbollah than we had been lead to believe. We had fallen into an ambush. I was out in front. Suddenly, screams sounding like banshee warriors broke the silence and bullets were everywhere. The rest had to be told to me as this is all I remember. We miraculously won the battle, turning back the Hezbollah fighters though they must have outnumbered us 3 to 1.
It was my Menachem who was the miracle, said his father proudly. The way they tell it, Menachem, as a function of being out in front, drew all the initial gunfire. His fellow soldiers saw him fall but the distraction let them take down many of the Hezbollah fighters and the remainder, when they saw the turning of their luck, withdrew, leaving the rest of the unit entirely untouched.
When they first told my wife and I that our son had died, it was like reliving what happened with his older brother. I railed against G‑d for taking our second son exactly the same way as he had taken our first.
As it turns out I had been shot in the leg and through the heart, Menachem continued.
The bullet missed then? my friend asked.
No, the boy replied, It was dead on.
So what happened? he asked.
Silently, Menachem took something out from his shirt pocket. As he opened his hand, my friend saw the silver Mezuzah he had given him only days before. Embedded in it was a single bullet.
Do you remember your promise? Menachem asked.
Yes, of course.
Hobbling to the front of the house Menachem opened the door. Watched by those celebrating within as well as by neighbors arriving from without, Menachem held the Mezuzah in place, as my friend hammered the nails to affix it to the doorpost.
Taking his hand away when they were done he kissed it reverently as tears coursed down not only his cheeks but those of his fathers, who stood beside him. The bullet from the terrorists gun, meant for Menachem's heart, remains a part of this special Mezuzah that helped save one heros life, to this day.
~~~~~~~
*) The author, Nechama Frank, Ph.D. serves as the Head Psychologist at Greenhaven Home for Boys, and is an adjunct professor of psychology at Central Connecticut State University and Western Connecticut State University.