One time when I was hosting Shabbat dinner, I had everyone go around the table and name something they’ve stolen (yeah, I have fun ice breakers). Someone said parking meter spots. Another person said wine glasses from fancy restaurants (okay, that was me). Somebody even said clothes from TJ Maxx. Everyone has stolen something, whether they want to admit it or not. If you’re feeling brave, comment on this post with something you’ve stolen!

This week’s Drop is kind of a follow-up to last week’s, when I mentioned I lived out some Jewish values in April, like praying, learning, and giving tzedakah more.

What I didn’t mention in that piece was my attempt to also observe negative commandments, like refraining from lashon hara (gossip) or murder. I’m happy to report I survived April without murdering anyone.

Out of the 613 commandments in the Torah, there are 248 positive commandments ("do's") and 365 negative commandments ("don'ts").1 Rabbinic tradition teaches that there are 248 “do’s” for each of your limbs and organs. This is because mitzvot engage your whole being. There are 365 “don’ts” just like there are 365 days in a year, since avoiding wrongdoing is a daily practice. These prohibitions provide restraint and encourage a moral life.

One big “don’t” in Judaism — so big that it’s one of the Ten Commandments — is stealing. I don’t steal often, only wine glasses, and before you judge me, judging is another prohibition! Plus, I used to know someone who stole cutlery from The Cheesecake Factory, sooo… but who am I to judge?

During my month of Jewish values, I technically stole something. I was heading uptown from the Upper West Side for a Shabbat service, and I hopped on the back of a bus without swiping my OMNY card to pay the $3 fare.

Our mayor says the buses will be free, but until they officially are, I usually pay. I just chose not to pay this time, and was judged for it by two older men sitting in the back.

“That little girl snuck onto the back of the bus,” one of them said to the other while looking right at me. The other one stared at me and mumbled something inaudible.

Little girl! I was so enraged. First of all, I’m a woman, not a little girl. (I actually wasn’t mad at this comment; it’s good to know my Korean skincare keeps me looking youthful.) I was more annoyed about his judgment. Some people can’t afford to pay for the bus. In less affluent neighborhoods, fare evasion is all too common. While I could afford the fare, he doesn’t know that about me or my financial situation.

I then looked down and remembered I was wearing my new Shabbat Drop t-shirt. It says Shabbat Shalom (hey!) on it, referencing the campy Shabbat song I sing on my Instagram stories every Friday to spark joy.

I was suddenly full of shame. Here I was, hitching a free ride (technically stealing) that wasn’t mine to take, with my Judaism on full display. I may as well have worn a shirt that said, “Here’s a Jew stealing.” (On the back: “And she’s late to shul.”) Busha!

It made me think of chillul Hashem, or desecrating G-d’s name, which was what I was doing by publicly committing a sin. Actions like stealing, embarrassing someone, or delaying a worker’s wages, for instance, make Jews look bad. And making Jews look bad makes G-d look bad. As representatives of G-d’s moral code, Jews should instead sanctify G-d’s name (kiddush Hashem) to bring honor and respect to the Jewish people, and therefore G-d.

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At first, it sounds ridiculous. We should refrain from doing bad things simply because they’re bad, and do good deeds simply because they’re good. We shouldn’t care what people think about us. But maybe by living a life based on values, we can inspire others to live a more ethical life. We can set a good example.

Perhaps by telling you my story, it will encourage you to lead by example. May we all sanctify G-d’s name when we’re out and about in this world!

Want to hear something chilling?

That night, I was flipping through the latest issue of Hadassah Magazine. I always enjoy learning from Joseph Lowin’s “About Hebrew” column on the last page, which explores a different Hebrew root and its related words, usually connected by a theme. This issue’s theme was about, well, stealing. 👀

Good Shabbos. Off to catch a bus,

✨ Jewish Joy of the Week

My colleague made Bamba Rice Krispies Treats from Adeena Sussman’s new cookbook, Zariz, full of quick and easy Israeli recipes. They were dangerously delicious!

Throughout April, I did an experiment on myself. Let me explain.

In the months leading up to this experiment, I have been wondering if I really live my life Jewishly.

I obviously live a Jewish life: I am a Jewish professional, I write a Jewish blog, and I attend Jewish classes and Shabbat dinners weekly.

But do I live Jewish values? Do I not only talk the talk (well, yes, I’m learning Hebrew חחח), but do I walk the walk? And I don’t mean to shul on Shabbos!

So, I chose an upcoming month (which was April, though I now realize should have been a Hebrew month; I’ve failed already!), and selected Jewish values by which to live. There are many more values I could have chosen, but I selected my list based on what felt most important to me as a Jew and on the areas I’m most interested in. I was also was curious to see if this “experiment” would make me any happier/more fulfilled, or more connected to my Judaism. You have to read through to the end to find out!

We’re in the process of counting the Omer, the days leading up to Shavuot and the moment when the Jews received the Torah. This is a period of personal reflection and character development. Any time is an ideal time for growth, but the Omer period feels especially intentional, as we move toward receiving the Torah and trying to become more aligned with its teachings. I hope my experiment of sorts inspires you to tap into one or more Jewish values!

🎁Before we dive in, mazel tov to the winner of the latest giveaway, a signed copy of Out of the Sky by Matti Friedman, Yael from Atlanta!

Prayer

Before experiment: Ever since my transformative stay in Israel during the 12-Day War, I started reading some morning prayers, but I don’t recite them every day. I typically only pray on Shabbat in synagogue. I also have occasional off-the-cuff chats with G-d.

During experiment: During April, I tried to stay consistent in reciting the morning prayers. On days I didn’t have enough time, I recited Modeh Ani, the gratitude prayer. I also got bored reciting the same prayers over and over. I don’t know how people who pray every day don’t get bored! At times, it was challenging to connect to the repetitive theme of how G-d is all powerful. I wanted to recite something that felt more personal.

So, midway through the month, I switched from my traditional ArtScroll siddur to one that my cousin, Jay, got me called the Siddur Eitz Ratzon. This siddur describes itself as “a traditional prayerbook designed for those who seek spirituality and meaning beyond what they have found in conventional prayerbooks.”

And it really feels that way! For example, instead of the traditionally different lines recited by men (“Blessed are you… for not having made me a woman”) and women (“Blessed are you… for having made me according to His will”), the Siddur Eitz Ratzon reads, “Blessed are you… You have made me a Jew with an enriching heritage.”). I also like the line a few verses later, “You guide my steps, helping me walk on my intended path.” Poetry! What a way to begin your morning!

This experiment also introduced me to the bedtime prayers, which I never read until now. They brought me comfort, especially one particular night when I was upset about something and mentally spiraling.

I was listening to the new episode of my now former favorite podcast. The guest speaker being interviewed was an economist, but within the first ten minutes, it sounded like he was using this platform to spew antizionist and antisemitic hate and misinformation to millions of listeners without receiving pushback from the host.

As I paced around my room huffing and puffing, and sending minutes-long voice notes to my friends to complain, my eyes fell on my ArtScroll siddur (back to traditiooon!). I read the first few verses of the bedtime Shema in it and immediately felt calmer:

“Master of the Universe,
I hereby forgive anyone who angered or antagonized me
or who sinned against me —
whether against my body, my property,
my honor or against anything of mine;
whether he did so accidentally, willfully,
carelessly, or purposely;
whether through speech, deed,
thought, or notion…”

The Bedtime Shema offers an emotional and spiritual reset before shuteye. While I never finished reciting the whole prayer, I knew I could sleep easy, not thinking about an economist pretending to be a war expert. I guess I forgive him… for now.

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Kashrut (Kosher law)

Before experiment: I’ve never been one interested in a kosher lifestyle, but I finally understand its purpose: to infuse Judaism and holiness into the mundane, even while eating. And ever since last year’s Israel trip (I told you it was transformative!), I stopped eating non-kosher animals for the most part. I try to keep kosher style on Shabbat to mark the day differently. To me, this means eating kosher meat and not mixing meat and dairy.

During experiment: One day in April, I took myself out for a burger. I was craving cheese, so I ordered a plant-based burger with cheese and all the fixin’s. When I took my first bite, I heavily regretted it. It was awful! I decided if I had to choose, I’d go meat patty sans cheese. The plant patty was just not worth it.

On a different night, I made spaghetti and meatballs (made of real beef). It was a rare time for me having spaghetti and meatballs without parmesan. I learned I didn’t miss the parm. I even posted about it on Instagram and received many messages of support and suggestions, which I will save for a later Drop on kashrut!

As I reflect on the month, I just realized I took a few bites out of my friend’s chicken melt the other night without thinking. I was hungry, okay?

Tzedakah (Justice)

Before experiment: I donate once or twice a year.

During experiment: Living in NYC, I come across several people a week begging for money. If I have a spare dollar on me, I sometimes give, but I rarely carry cash. In the Mishne Torah, Maimonides lays out the rules for giving charity. He says that you are not required to give beyond your means, and you are not required to give to everyone who asks. But you should always respond to an ask with compassion or an effort to help if you can, treating every beggar with dignity. While I didn’t give to everyone who asked, I was more aware of it and treated each interaction with compassion. Instead, I gave to a friend who just happened to ask me at the right time! He was raising money for his NYC marathon campaign to support Blue Card, an organization that financially supports Holocaust survivors in need.

Chesed (Loving-kindess)

Before experiment: Not to talk myself up, but acts of kindness come naturally to me. I was always taught to just be nice to people! But it’s hard to go above and beyond, especially when you don’t want to. Chesed reminds us that we are obligated to perform acts of deeds that benefit others. Many Jews do this through volunteering, which I have done only once this year. 🫣

During experiment: … until this week, when I volunteered with Met Council, America’s largest Jewish nonprofit that serves New Yorkers in need (which includes non-Jews). Together, we packed thousands of toiletry kits for families in the Bronx. I met new people and had fun!

Learning

Before experiment: If you know me, you know I love learning. Let’s just say this value was easier keep than the kosher one!

During experiment: I attended two Torah classes: one on lashon hara (evil speech) by Rabbi Arielle Stein at Central Synagogue, and one on bikur cholim (visiting the sick) by Rabbi Ben Varon (yes, our favorite chaplain!) at AltShul. No notes on the experiment here - I just want to share with you a taste of what I learned:

Reflection

I obviously live a pretty, pretty, prettaaayy Jewish life already. But carving out time to focus on core values has made me think about them more: why they matter so much in our tradition, how to incorporate them into my life, and what other values I can practice with intention.

Now that April is over, do I feel happier? More fulfilled? While I don’t feel all that different, I can say with resounding confidence that I had fun along the way. Sure, I struggled through plant-based burgers on my kashrut journey. I felt stingy when I only gave tzedakah once, and it wasn’t even that much. But I made friends while doing something meaningful for my community. I enjoyed pausing to pray in my busy mornings or evenings, even if not every day and even if I stopped midway and gave up. I learned to give myself grace, and I am all the better for it.

Now that it’s May, it’s time to return to my shrimp-and-gossip-filled life. Just kidding ;)

✨ Jewish Joy of the Week

In another edition of Jewish geography, my work recently hosted a third-generation Holocaust survivor to share her grandparents’ experiences in Hungarian concentration camps. She recounted their journeys of survival, which included moving to a Philadelphia suburb and her grandfather becoming a Hebrew school teacher. While sitting in the audience and hearing this story, my colleague made the connection that this speaker’s grandfather was her very own bat mitzvah tutor many years ago! With tears, they embraced. It was a beautiful moment of Jewish connection.

Shabbat Shalom!

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This was a heavy week, as we first observed Yom HaZikaron, Israel’s Memorial Day, before transitioning to the celebratory Yom Ha’atzmaut, Israel’s independence.

Israelis began marking Yom HaZikaron in 1951 to honor their fallen soldiers. For the first two year’s of Israel’s independence, the commemoration was held on the same day as Independence Day, but a decision was made to designate a national day of mourning. The day was enacted into law in 1963. In 1980, the day expanded to include pre-state fallen soldiers and security force members. More Jews in the diaspora began observing the holiday as well.

In the early 2000s during the Second Intifada, the holiday again widened its scope to include victims of terror, changing its name to Yom HaZikaron l’Chalalei Ma’arachot Yisrael u’LeNifga’ei Pe’ulot HaEiva (Remembrance Day for the Fallen Soldiers of the Wars of Israel and Victims of Actions of Terrorism).

Then in 2023, the scope expanded again to include non-Israeli Jewish victims of antisemitic terror attacks outside of Israel, per Israel’s Ministry of Diaspora Affairs and Combating Antisemitism. Don’t worry - this addition didn’t get tacked onto the holiday’s name this time. This decision to include victims of terror and antisemitism on a day memorializing soldiers reminds us that victims of hate are also soldiers; they are victims of the same fight. Plus, how many more sad days can we tack onto the Jewish calendar?

Something similar happened with Yom HaShoah, Israel’s Holocaust Remembrance Day, which we observed last week. In 1959, the Knesset, Israel’s Parliament, changed its name to Yom HaZikaron laShoah ve-laG'vurah, or Holocaust and Heroism Remembrance Day to institute an annual "commemoration of the disaster which the Nazis and their collaborators brought upon the Jewish people and the acts of heroism and revolt performed."

This nominal addition dispels a misconception of the Holocaust, that every Jew went like lambs to the slaughter toward their death. It honors the Jewish heroes of the Holocaust: those who hid in the freezing forest, who blew up Nazi train cars, who protected sacred Jewish texts, who successfully and unsuccessfully rescued Jews.

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These name changes are a powerful reminder that our history contains chapters of both heroism and tragedy, of suffering and courage. They teach us that the Jewish story continues to have hardship, but it contains acts of heroism and resilience as well.

Which brings me to one of the best Jewish books I’ve read this year so far! Out of the Sky by journalist and author Matti Friedman explores real heroism during the Holocaust through the lives of four parachutists. Their mission was to return to Nazi-occupied Europe after having already escaped to Palestine to rescue as many Jews and allies as they could, and kill Nazis along the way.

I loved this book because it asks the question: What makes a hero? The parachutists’ mission failed. Only one returned to Palestine alive. Yet, they each became legends in their own way for their courageous attempt to restore justice. They posthumously had streets, schools, and ships carrying immigrants to Palestine named after them. The most famous parachutist, Hannah Senesh, wrote the poem “Eli, Eli” which became a song every Israeli child grows up learning. Just last week, I heard it sung by a children’s choir at a Yom HaShoah event.

Through letters, firsthand accounts, and private reports, we get a glimpse into the hearts and minds of Hannah, Enzo Sereni, Haviva Reik, and Haim Hermesh. My favorite character was Slovakian-born Haviva, the brains of the operation once they were on the ground, but dismissed for being a young woman. She also slept around, sometimes with other women’s husbands on her kibbutz. I have a soft spot for imperfect heroes, what can I say? It’s why I love the Torah so much!

None of the story’s main characters were perfect. Even some resistance fighters thought Hannah Senesh too brash, a young woman too headstrong for her own good.

But they all had one thing in common: a Zionist yearning to help their fellow brethren and bring them to safety, no matter the cost. And they didn’t see this as a heroic act, but what was needed to be done. In fact, they didn’t want to be remembered as heroes. Oops.

Out of the Sky is proof that storytelling and memory matter almost as much as wartime success, even more so. These four parachutists may not have literally saved Jewish lives, but they gave living Jews strength. They became symbols of what a new nation needed to carry on.

As I mentioned earlier, Yom HaZikaron fades into Yom Ha’atzmaut in a single sunset. In 24 hours, we go from mourning the dead to celebrating independence, however that feels for you this year.

One lingering question I had after I finished the book was if these parachutists were so devoted to Zionism, wouldn’t it have been a more redemptive ending to the war to just stay in Palestine and live as free Jews? Perhaps survivor’s guilt led them to pursue their lofty goal, the fact that they fled while their families remained stuck in Europe. But then they never would have become the notable figures they are today, and we wouldn’t have this thought-provoking book.

Today, we thankfully have the choice to carry out their dream of living freely as Jews. We can be activists, like Enzo in his youth movement. We can tell our story, like Haim did when he returned from the war. We can study Hebrew like Hannah, or sleep with other women’s husbands like Haviva. Just kidding about that last part. She did so much more than that!

As Matti Friedman writes: the Zionist response is action. If Yom HaShoah reminds us what happens when there’s no Jewish state, and Yom HaZikaron reminds us that having a Jewish state comes with a price, Yom Ha’atzmaut reminds us of the power of having a Jewish state and of the responsibility that comes with it to take action. What that action looks like, I leave that for you to decide.

🎁 GIVEAWAY

Thanks for making it this far! I’m giving away a signed copy of Out of the Sky to one lucky winner!

To enter, all you have to do is like and share this post or any past post somewhere, either by restacking on Substack, sharing on social media, or in that WhatsApp group chat you usually mute (send screenshot pls!). The eligible winner must live in the U.S. and must subscribe to The Shabbat Drop. I’ll post the winner next week.

✨ Jewish Joy of the Week

I went on a friend’s Polish food tour in Greenpoint. The pastries were delicious and the company was great. My favorite part, though, was when I found out my friend’s brother-in-law is someone I used to work with, one of the three Melbourne Jews I know. Small Jewish world!

Shabbat Shalom,

💦 If you care about Jewish resistance, check out this Drop:

This Drop is for anyone spiritual, struggling with spirituality, or into yoga and/or poetry! Or if you’re like me, struggling with all of the above.

I’ve been trying to pray more. For months, I’ve been reciting the Modeh Ani (okay, more like I mumble it to myself) as soon as I wake up. Lately, I’ve been reciting more morning prayers and have been studying Shabbat service prayers with my chevruta, or learning partner.

However, it’s hard to pray when you don’t know the purpose or origin of the prayer, you don’t have time, or the words just aren’t speaking to you. Sometimes I start off strong with my morning prayers, energized and focused, and then cut it short because I have to get started with my day, like today. Or I breeze through a prayer because I can’t connect to it when I don’t understand why Jews recite it.

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I could write a whole Drop on this, but wanted to share, because I connected with another Jewish Substacker who wrote a creative poem on this topic.

Corie Feiner is a Jewish yogi and poet, who is on a mission to write 108 poems, each corresponding to a different yoga pose! She’s at 107 now, so clearly she doesn’t struggle. Or does she? Her poem, “High Lunge Prayer Twist,” (below) depicts prayer as a messy endeavor, an experience of resistance between your body and heart.

I am continuously inspired by the myriad ways people connect to their Jewish practice, and I hope Corie’s poems and journey touch your soul in some way.

The following is from Corie:

I started writing my yoga poems during a profoundly moving yoga practice where at the end I sat up, picked up my journal, and wrote my first poem for Hero Pose.

What does it mean to be a hero?

To kneel on any piece of floor
you can find, your knees pressed together,
your feet apart, your big toes reaching
towards each other in stillness and longing?

A few days later, I wrote a poem for Warrior I.

…I raise my arms above my head
as if I were reaching to grab swords
from the sky like a mythic hero born
of my wild hair hoping

that if I killed everything around me
I would no longer feel any pain.

After the third and fourth poems came, I realized that each pose was inspiring me to write poems the way that dance inspired Degas to paint. Each movement is rich with Hindu tradition and mythology, yogic philosophy, physical challenges, spiritual potential, and the somatic release of old stories held in my body. Yoga also has Jewish connections, like the many stories we carry, honoring our bodies, and the breath.

Although I was new to yoga as a practice, I was not new to writing. I had been writing poems since I was nine years old when my then best friend gave me a velvety black writing journal for my birthday. This small gesture led to me writing regularly and served as a safe space for a very sensitive soul navigating the rawness of 1980s New York. I spent my lunch breaks writing with my high school’s poetry group, Poets House, reading, writing, and feeling at peace between the shelves of hundreds of poetry books.

I decided to dedicate myself to somehow making poetry my life and my living. After I studied poetry at the University of Pittsburgh and pursued my MFA at NYU, I spent many years as a full-time poet-in-the-schools, workshop facilitator, performer, and adjunct college professor. As a lover of spoken word poetry, I was part of the vibrant NYC slam scene and started a bunch of poetry reading series. I was also active in the thriving Jewish arts scene and was a cast member of Storahtelling as well as an artist in residence at the 92nd Street Y/MAKOR, back when it was a thing.

After I got married to my soulmate, we moved to a small historic town by the Delaware River in Pennsylvania, where I became the Poet Laureate of Bucks County, but mostly dedicated my time to becoming a home birthing, homeschooling, cook-from-scratch sort of mom to my two boys.

My current project, A Poem for Every Pose, integrates my love of yoga with poetry.

Currently, I have 107 yoga poems out of 108 and will soon be ready to publish this collection. My vision for these poems is for them to be read before, during, or after yoga practices to help us align our minds, bodies, and souls and bring us to a place of self-love, presence, and healing.

You know how Miriam played the tambourine in the desert as we fled Egypt? That is the purpose of these poems—to be the songs that keep us going as we move through these tumultuous and possibly transformative times.

The two poems I am sharing with you here are “Reverse Tabletop,” and “High Lunge Prayer Twist.” Each one, in its own way, has its own deeply Jewish DNA with subtle and not-so-subtle references to prayer.

Wherever you are at in your Jewish or spiritual journeys, I hope these poems serve you well and help you feel something deeper. And if you are called to subscribe to my Substack, I would love to have you as part of my community where we talk about yoga, poetry, and the body in a down-to-earth sort of way. We’ve also been doing Rosh Chodesh yoga for the new moon on Substack live!

“Reverse Tabletop”

This poem was inspired by the Shehechiyanu prayer, which is what we say when we experience something for the first time, to realize the miracle of the present moment.

To the lift, to the knees, to the back
to the throat, to the head, to the neck,
to the hard wood, to the clang of glass,
to the knock of knives, to the water,
to the wine and strength it takes
to hold all my weight like this.

To the hips, to the core, to the nicks,
to the scrapes, to the stretch, to the aches,
to the meals, to the grace, to the long spine,
to the answered prayers, to the shoulder’s shake,
to lifting the goblet of my heart into the air
and to toasting that I have made it
to this very moment, this very breath,
this very day.

Sanskrit Name: Ardha Purvottanasana

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“High Lunge Prayer Twist”

To know high lunge twist is to know
that sometimes a prayer can look like this,
your whole body quivering quietly,

your gaze not quite towards heaven,
but sideways, backwards towards the ache
of your past and the small triumph

of just being here, right now. Sometimes
your palms will not be able to rest against
your beating heart, but that does not mean

that your prayers will not be heard,
the soles of your feet holding themselves
in place, your hips hugging the bowl

of your belly filled with breath, your elbows
like the edges of pointed stars telling you
what it is like to hold so many wishes,

to create your own light and to know
that you will never truly fall.

Sanskrit Name: Parivrtta Ashta Chandrasana

Shabbat Shalom and happy writing, praying, or posing (or all three!),

💦 Like prayer or poetry? Check out these Drops:

Interestingly, walnut in Hebrew is egoz melech, or the king’s nut, due to royal connotations (the Greeks called the walnut "basilicon", meaning "royal nut.”)

Just before Pesach, I was lucky enough to attend Jewish Book Council’s 75th National Jewish Book Awards, held at Temple Emanu-El. Surrounded by brilliant writers, scholars, translators, and publishers, I couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of gratitude celebrating those who contribute to the greater Jewish story.

Jewish Book Council (JBC) is a nonprofit dedicated to educating, enriching, and strengthening the community through Jewish literature. This year was packed with award winners from 21 categories, ranging from Sephardic Culture (Golden Threads by Ariel­la Aïsha Azoulay, illustrated by Haitham Haddad and Hagar Ophir) to Children’s Picture Book (The Remembering Candle by Alison Goldberg, illustrated by Selina Alko). The highest honor, Jewish Book of the Year, was awarded to Eli Sharabi for Hostage, his memoir detailing his 491-day captivity in Gaza.

If you think this year’s most celebrated Jewish books sound depressing (the children’s picture book is about lighting a yahrzeit can­dle and talking to kids about the death of a loved one), you’re in good company. The evening emcee, entertainer and podcaster Jonah Platt, kicked off the evening with a song he wrote called “Tragedy Tonight” to highlight this point:

🎵 “Something familiar,
Something peculiar,
Something that Jews enjoy
It’s tragedy tonight

Something distressing,
Something depressing,
What keeps the Jews employed
But tragedy tonight

Nothing with jokes or lively discussions
Only the Nazis, Gaza, and Russians
…
You want to smile, get a new hobby
Make sure you don’t read Eli Sharabi” 🎵

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Platt’s song set the tone for the evening: a celebration of these works and a window into who we are, what we dream up, what we’ve survived, and what we refuse to forget. Something distressing, indeed, but something essential.

I was surprised to learn that only a few of the 21 winners were on my radar/shelves. Of course, I had read Hostage and Sarah Hurwitz’s As a Jew. Hurwitz’s second book, , which won the award for Contemporary Jewish Life and Practice, explores sources of internalized Jewish shame, stemming from antisemitism and anti-Zionism, and how she overcomes them and evolves into the proud, outspoken Jew she is today.

I also heard of Book Club Award winner Dog (Yishay Ishi Ron), a novella of Israeli wartime trauma, and American Jewish Studies winner Antisemitism, An American Tradition by Pamela S. Nadell, that dispels the notion that the U.S. has always been a safe haven for Jews, something we are questioning today. Her book traces ugly history, from Gen­er­al Grant’s Order #11 dur­ing the Civ­il War and the lynching of Leo Frank, to more recent examples like the 2019 Poway shooting.

All the other award-winning books were new to me - clearly, have much reading to do! Some standouts to add to my TBR list:

📚 People Without History Are Dust: Queer Desire in the Holocaust by Anna Hájková - winner of Holocaust literature - grapples with the complex dynamics of sexuality in the camps.

📚 The Anatomy of Exile by Zeeva Bukai - winner of Debut Fiction - follows an Israeli family fractured by grief, displacement, and a forbidden love between a Mizrahi Jewish woman and a Palestinian man. In this book, history repeats itself within the family, and the characters learn that empathy trumps all.

📚 Fagin the Thief by Allison Epstein - winner of Fiction - is a twist on Oliver Twist that reimagines Dickens’s notorious villain, giving Fagin a rich backstory and humanity. Please, sir, I want some more!

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The variety and depth of the winning book topics presented on stage were striking. There are so many ways to connect to Jewish identity, from Soviet Jewry to Moroccan ancestry, and books are just one path of exploration.

Something else that stood out to me throughout the evening was how prevalent Zionism was across genres. At a moment when some voices are trying to separate Israel from Judaism, it was clear Zionism had a seat at the table on the night of the Oscars of Jewish literature. Whether grappling with the war in Gaza through poetry like in Aharon Shabtai’s Requiem, exposing how cruel Hamas captors can be, pushing back on anti-Zionist arguments while remaining critical of the Israeli government, or exploring Israeli-Palestinian relationships through fiction, these works reflected just how deeply Israel remains embedded in the contemporary Jewish story. Nuance had a seat at the table, too! We were in good company.

“At a time when thoughtful storytelling and visibility matter more than ever, Jewish books have the power to strengthen community, spark meaningful dialogue, and affirm who we are,” said Naomi Firestone-Teeter, CEO of Jewish Book Council.

As guests left the gala, we helped ourselves to the table centerpieces: piles of books by Jewish authors. I picked up a timely book called The Persian, by former CIA analyst David McCloskey, about Mossad espionage in Tehran. It says it’s a novel… or is it?

Depressing topics aside, the night proved there’s still so many stories to tell, and we’re still here sharing them. As Jonah Platt’s song ends, “The People of the Book will be all right! Tragedy tomorrow, let’s celebrate tonight.” Amen.

See the full list of winners here.

I asked attendees what Jewish book they’re excited about right now. Here’s what they said! Let me know what you’re reading or excited about in the comments.

“My friend’s book, Honoria (Janice Shapiro), which is a winner tonight. It’s about young girls and their friendship in 1920s Paris, but really any age can read it.”

“People Without History are Dust (Anna Hájková), which won the Holocaust book award. My husband was a Holocaust survivor and our family funds this award.”

“Sharon Brous’s book, The Amen Effect, even though it made me feel sad and powerless. It made me ask myself, ‘What can I bring to the world right now?’”

“Porcupines (Fran Fabriczki).”

“I just picked up 10/7:100 Human Stories (Lee Yaron), but I’m going to give it to a non-Jew to read.”

“The Talmud.”

“Rabbi Angela Buchdahl’s book, Heart of a Stranger. We just read it in my book club.”

“Honoria. I’m into graphic novels.”

“Chutzpah Girls (Julie Silverstein & Tami Schlossberg Pruwer). It’s about strong Israeli women.”

“Amos Oz’s A Tale of Love and Darkness. It’s the greatest post-war Jewish book ever written.”

“Eli Sharabi’s Hostage. I love what he said from Man’s Search for Meaning, that if you have a why, you can get through any how. He kept living even though his ‘why’ was gone.”

“I’m completely fascinated by Nicholas Lemann’s Returning. Out of the Sky by Matti Friedman is an incredible read. And adored Porcupines by Fran Fabriczki.”

“Obsessed with Laurie Frankel’s upcoming book Enormous Wings!!”

“When the Angels Left the Old Country by Sacha Lamb!”

Shabbat Shalom! Happy reading,

💦 If you like Jewish books, check out these Drops:

This might be the first time in three years of The Shabbat Drop history that I’m sending an email on a day other than Friday. Surprise! The three-day Yom Tov was stressing me out, but not for the usual reasons it stresses Jews out.

To email on Friday, or not to email on Friday? Leda’ati, the sooner I get Pesach content out, the better. ;)

Thank you to all of you who contributed to last week’s Passover ask, which was: send in something that relates to any theme of Passover, from freedom to frogs. And you delivered!

With constant rocket fire over our family in Israel, a war with no clear end in sight, daily settler violence, and Mamdani attending a Passover Seder, there’s a lot of precariousness in the world right now. Some submissions reflected that. Some were uplifting, too!

I’ll start with my entry. Several Drops ago, I shared music by Iranian Jews. One of them was an artist named Liraz Charhi (stage name: Liraz), a contemporary Israeli Iranian singer/songwriter and actress. Her Iranian parents immigrated to Israel in the ‘70s, and she now lives in the LA Persian neighborhood known as Tehrangeles. She starred in the hit TV show Tehran and wrote songs for the recent movie adaption of Reading Lolita in Tehran.

Her international singing career took a hit just days after October 7th, when her UK tour was cancelled, and her London-based record label asked her to take a pro-Palestine political stance on social media. She declined (five of her in-laws were murdered on October 7th) and moved to another label. She actively speaks out against the Iranian regime.

One of her songs, titled "Zan Bezan" (Women, Sing), is a rallying cry for freedom sung in Farsi. The 2020 song is more relevant than ever, with lyrics like:

“Women, sing it
You’re allowed to dance
You’re allowed to sing
You’re allowed to rejoice
…
Together we’ll make a revolution.”

The song reminds me of Miriam leading the women in song and dance, the dance of liberation. Perhaps all Iranian women can one day sing in freedom together.

Here are the rest of the submissions! Enjoy.

Frogs in the House of Your Officials

“I chose this piece of art for a few reasons: my husband saw this online, and even though I do not read Hebrew - neither does he - the description said it was the story of Exodus written in Hebrew. The frog was created by a Jewish artist, who was inspired by people dressed as frogs across to cities resisting ICE.” -Andrea, NYC

What “Firstborn” Really Means

“One of the interesting ideas I learned from Mark Gerson's book, The Telling: How Judaism’s Essential Book Reveals the Meaning of Life, is that the plague of the firstborn is not really about the literal firstborn of Egypt. The biblical concept of ‘firstborn’ is more akin to the ‘culture-bearer’ -- the one who represents and transmits a society or civilization's values. The killing of Egypt's firstborn means destroying those who stand for an idolatrous, slave-holding society. This has been a particularly transformative reading for me, a firstborn of a triplet. It indicates multiple ways one might adopt the role of firstborn and ironically, not be born into it.” -Phil, NYC

Worried and Down (Even Though My Wife Tells me to Be More Upbeat)

“This Passover I am not very happy. I see the U.S. and Israel venturing into a wider and wider war in the Middle East, with Israel moving into Lebanon and Iran sending missiles and drones into American allied bases. I also worry about what I see happening in Israel under Bibi’s rule. What's the point of escaping slavery and oppressive rule only to live in a land of constant war? I worry about such things.

I am also upset about the IDF soldier who got killed recently fighting for Israel; he was from New Haven, my hometown. I worry about the increase in antisemitism that I see worldwide. It is exacerbated by the conflict in the Middle East and often gets blamed on Israel, thus Zionism, and there is a constant widening gap between groups of American Jews as it relates to what is going on in Israel.

I am upset, which you gather by now, so as we seek the land the milk and honey and seek peacefulness, and seek to end antisemitism, we must keep our spirits up (which is difficult for me, but my wife insists). We must stand firm in our beliefs, Judaism has existed long before all other major religions and has retained its strength from those who love it, believe in it, and practice it. We must keep our resolve and stand strong for what we believe in. But I do worry.” -Fred, Connecticut

We are Passover

We celebrate freedom
While mourning loss

We share the story
That binds us whole

We recite and sing
As notes rise like tiny doves

We dance to outpace
The rhythm of sorrow

We move forward
Fueled by our history

We never walk alone

- Maddy, Connecticut (note: both of my parents did this while they were sick and also put up with my critical feedback - I love them both SO much!!)

A Modern Exodus

“Everything I do is in light of my hero son, Shay Michaeli, who fell in action defending our country during the war. You can read more about him here.” -Yoram, Israel

From the Red Sea to Rio

“I was reading about Miriam’s role in Passover and her leading the women in song and dance, and for some reason I pictured the scene in the movie Black Orpheus, which is set in Brazil, where Eurydice is dancing with everyone during Carnaval.

Something about the themes of freedom from slavery and dance, and powerful women with a central role. And the layers too if you compare/contrast the two stories, pulling from African diaspora culture and spirituality, Greek mythology, Mardi Gras (Christian/Roman Catholic), and Judaism.” -Heidi, Iowa

Freedom is a Process

“Booker T. Washington made a life of teaching former slaves the skills and habits for success as free people. The transition did not happen overnight. There is arguably a similar reason Gd had the Jews wander in the desert for 40 years. There is also a reason American slaves looked to Exodus for inspiration. There is much to learn in our own story from his autobiography.” -Joel, Virginia

I love the variety of answers! Clearly we need to dance more. 💃

Whether you’re spending this Pesach in a bomb shelter, laughing with family, or worrying about the state of the world, there’s no right or wrong way to move through this theme-heavy holiday. As long as you’re reflecting (and maybe cutting down on chametz to embody those themes), you’re doing just fine.

I promised a prize to my favorite answer and will contact the winner after Passover!

Chag sameach,

💦If you like Passover, check out these Drops:

This year, I’m not inviting you to my Seder (sorry), but I’m inviting you to contribute! Send your “exodus object” to miranda.lapides@gmail.com before Passover, and I’ll share my favorites in the next Drop. I will give a prize to my favorite response!

For inspiration, read this old Drop or this one.

A few weeks ago, I gave a d’var Torah for Parashat Tetzaveh, which describes the dress of the kohen gadol, or the High Priest. The High Priest’s robes of fine linen and a breastplate adorned with 12 stones representing each of the tribes distinguishes him from the regular priests of the Mishkan. As I posed here, does this mean his garments were a symbol of superiority, or of responsibility?

As you ponder that question, allow me to introduce Shlomo Bar-Ayal, a Freemason and an Orthodox Jew! I incorporated him into my d’var when I spoke about how we dress for the important roles we play, which you can read at the bottom of this post. I never published it because the war with Iran broke out, so I thought this week’s parsha would be perfect to bring it back! Especially since the priests are mentioned again (the priests that keep on giving… sacrifices).

Before we hear from Shlomo, what are the Freemasons? No, they’re not a secret society hiding treasure maps on the back of the Declaration of Independence.

Created in 16th-17th century London, Freemasonry is a predominantly fraternal organization that focuses on moral development, mutual support, and shared ethical values. Originally consisting of stonemasons, its teachings often use symbols from the trade, like a compass and a square (to remind members to act ‘squarely’ and with self-restraint), and the eye in the pyramid on the one-dollar bill (a reminder that G-d is always watching).

The members, known as brothers, gather in local lodges, with hundreds of thousands of lodges around the world. Some chapters accept women. There are about six million active members today. You could throw a stone anywhere and you’d likely hit a Freemason.

Shlomo is the 32nd Degree Master Mason of the Grand Lodge of the State of New York (which is a beautiful building!). But more relevantly, he’s an Orthodox Jew, which doesn’t conflict with his Masonic affiliation. In fact, his cultural and religious tradition enhances it.

He writes a blog (here’s a great Passover post about the Four Questions) and has a podcast called The Jewish Freemason, where he explores the connection between Jewish thought and Freemasonry. Here’s Shlomo, our local treasure!

What made you want to become a Freemason?

My favorite uncle was a Freemason so it was something that I knew about and he was one of the best men that I knew growing up. The fact that he was accepted even though he was openly Jewish in Saginaw, Michigan said a lot about it. I also had the chance to meet other Masons along the way and was impressed by their dedication to the moral principles of the fraternity.

Freemasonry emphasizes moral development, brotherhood, and service. How do these values resonate with Jewish teachings and reinforce each other in your daily life?

Freemasonry is very close to Judaism vis a vis moral development, brotherhood, and service. When we read the Torah it is no accident that these are emphasized. Right now, for instance, we are reading the Book of Vayikra. In the middle of it we suddenly come across Parashat Kidoshim, which is concerned with our moral behavior. It says, in essence, that if you truly want to be holy then you have to follow these moral principles.

The concept of caring for your neighbor is emphasized throughout the Torah. There are a lot of laws concerning how we should live together.

Masons are required to believe in God, but we do not ask them how they do so. Like in Freemasonry, Judaism focuses more on morals and ethics. Abraham, for example, questions God’s judgment in the classic case of Sodom and Gomorrah. Abraham debates with God about destroying the city, because there might be 10 righteous people there. God takes on the debate, because God was not looking for somebody who was a believer, but somebody who was morally righteous. This tells us it’s the action that matters. What you do is more important than what you believe. This is a very Jewish and Masonic concept.

The Torah does not seem to command us to believe in God. The Ten Commandments start out with God making the statement “I am the Lord, your God who took you out of Egypt.” Note that this is a statement of fact, not a commandment per se. This fits in well with the concept in Freemasonry that all Masons are required to believe in God, but how they do so is left to the individual.

How do your fellow brothers see or perceive you as a Jew (if at all)?

Everyone knows that I am a religious Jew, and I have been accepted by the Brethren as such. I proudly wear my kippah and have taken to wearing my tzitzit out. They have given me the utmost respect in religious issues. When it comes to eating, kosher meals are always supplied to those who keep kosher.

We have traveled the world and have met Masons in many countries. They have all greeted my as a brother and treated both me and my wife with utmost respect. They also assigned brothers to be our guides in these countries.

What’s the biggest misconception you’d like to clear up?

The biggest misconception is that we are involved in politics. We stay away from politics as much as possible. I know quite a few active political men who are Masons. While in lodge they do not speak about any politics. I should point out that no lodge will endorse a political campaign. We do say the Pledge of Allegiance when opening the lodge in the US. In other countries they have similar customs.

That said, we do take moral stands. The Grand Lodge of New York has sent support to the Grand Lodge of Israel during the Gaza war. Not for political reasons, but for moral reasons.

The biggest misconception is that we are trying to take over the world. If you look up conspiracy theories, you will find that there are as many about Freemasons as there are about Jews.

👉Here’s some history published by Yad Vashem on antisemitism against the Freemasons for accepting Jews.

We are not a religion nor a substitute for a religion. There are many Jews who are afraid that Freemasonry is a form of idolatry. We are not. My wife and I were on a tour of Freemason’s Hall in London. Someone noticed that there were pictures representing different religious ideas but there was not a picture of Jesus. The guide pointed out that that would be violation of Masonic principles. We do our best to stay away of a particular religion.

Any comment on National Treasure?

I loved National Treasure. Totally untrue but a lot of fun.

Lastly, what are your Shabbat and Pesach plans?

This Shabbat we are going to our shul, Congregation Ohab Zedek, on the Upper West Side for a Shabbat Hagadol for a Friday night seudah.

Then on Sunday we will be flying to Rome to spend Pesach on the Amalfi coast in a Pesach program. I will be speaking about the effect of the Bayit HaRishon on Western Civilization. Then I will give another lecture on the effects of Jews on the US Constitution and the effect of the US Constitution on the Jews.

Here’s Shlomo’s gracious contribution to my d’var from a few weeks ago on Parashat Tetzaveh:

“In Freemasonry it is usually required to be in a suit and tie at all meetings. When we have a special event then we are to be in tuxedos. When Grand Line officers attend a very special event then they will be in morning coats.

The reason for this is simple: Our goal is to make good men better. Men behave better when they are dressed better. Also, it makes a statement to us and the world that we are not just a bunch of guys getting together.

Now how does this fit into the parsha?

Let’s realize that there are certain fundamental reasons for the Kohanim to be dressed as the Torah mentions. First, they have to approach their duties with respect. They have to display that respect to the people since in a certain sense they are representing the common, i.e., non kohen, Jew to God. They are also representing God to the common Jew. In Masonry we are to be considered leaders of our communities. Thus we need to dress appropriately.

Another reason is that this ‘uniform’ takes individuality out of the equation. One cannot show off with a special garment. All are equal in service to God. In Masonry we wear aprons. This is a throw back to the days when we were actual stonemasons. While many of us have special aprons depending on our status within Masonry, the most important apron that we have is the plain white apron that we each received upon our initiation. That is the apron that we will be placed on our casket when we leave this world. It underlines a basic fact. We might rise to a higher station with the Craft but in the final analysis we are still equal.”

Good Shabbos and Chag Pesach sameach,

I am a big fan of the Oscars! Not so much the pomp and glam of it all, nor the performative display of politics, but for the genuine love and appreciation of film. Okay, and maaaybe to beat my mom in our annual contest for predicting the most winners for each category (I won this year, in case you were wondering).

This is not a Drop about the Jewishness of the 98th ceremony, like which Jewish celebrity wore what, nor about the Jewishness of Marty Supreme (for an article on that, read this!). It’s also not about the nominated short documentary Children No More: Were and Are Gone, which follows anti-war Israelis raising awareness of children killed in Gaza (haven’t seen it but my thoughts: right message, wrong place; surprised it didn’t win; I’m expecting a nominated doc about how the world turned a blind eye to the Bibas boys and all other children murdered on October 7th).

This is also not about how adorable my parents are. I mean, just look at their costumes!

This Drop is about Butterfly, a 15-minute animated short film directed by Florence Miailhe, a French-Jewish animator. The film tells the true story of Alfred Nakache, a Jewish Olympic swimmer who survived Auschwitz.

Not to snub the actual winner that I didn’t even see, The Girl Who Cried Pearl, but there are several reasons to applaud Butterfly. First, its visuals are stunning. The production used 65,000 paintings on glass and canvas, over 4,000 liters of oil paint, and 125 artists to create its fluid motion. The bold strokes of turquoise and splashes of the Algerian coast are mesmerizing and relaxing to watch.

The story, though, is not a relaxing one.

We follow Nakache as he grows up in French Algiers, and is afraid to dive into the water at first. After overcoming his fear of water, he trains as a professional swimmer, moves to France, falls in love and has a child, and eventually competes in the 1936 Berlin Olympics, where he receives taunts of “Dirty Jew!” Only, in this scene there are multiple swimmers of different skin tones in the frame. You don’t know who’s the Jew. And that’s the whole point.

I had never heard of Nakache, whose family came to Algeria from Iraq in the 19th century. After the film, I looked him up and was surprised to see his skin tone was seemingly fair in black and white photos, and olive in colored photos. Butterfly intentionally depicts him with a darker complexion.

The reason Miailhe took creative license and chose to paint Nakache, one of the hundreds of Mizrachi Jews (of Middle Eastern descent) in France persecuted by the Nazis, with darker skin than he really had was to depict Jewish diversity.

At a time when Jewish identity is often misunderstood and you have 15 minutes to educate somebody (if you’re lucky), Miailhe took the liberty of painting Nakache as a Black Jew from North Africa. Although I consider myself knowledgeable about Jewish diversity, I wasn’t sure who was being called a dirty Jew in the Olympics scene (I went into this film not knowing anything about it). Though I knew who our protagonist was, I admittedly thought the victim was the white swimmer.

I found it jarring to see Nakache marching in a sea of light-skinned prisoners in the camp. It wasn’t an image from my Holocaust education. It left me with more questions than answers. It made me curious, like any good film should.

Miailhe, whose father knew Alfred and who learned to swim with his brother growing up, said in an interview: “I hope people will be moved by Alfred Nakache’s story and rediscover it, because it’s not well known in France. Also, we are living in some very troubled times in a world where racism and antisemitism are back.”

Was Miailhe right in exaggerating a historical figure’s skin tone to make a point? I’ll leave that for you to decide.

We watch, through vivid brushstrokes and bubbles, as Nakache falls in love and has a child, only for the three of them to be taken to Auschwitz and separated. There, the Nazis make “the swimmer of Auschwitz” dive into a freezing basin as punishment and humiliation.

He eventually is liberated in 1945, but his wife and child do not survive. Throughout his life, Nakache never stops swimming. He’s one of the first swimmers to perform the butterfly stroke, and returns to France to continue swimming, teaching children and reflecting on his life and lost family.

Nakache is the only competing Olympian before and after surviving the Holocaust (he competed in the London Olympics in ‘46), and one of the few athletes to compete in the Olympics after surviving the Holocaust (others include Polish weightlifter Ben Helfgott and Hungarian gymnast Ágnes Keleti).

Butterfly is a heartbreaking and inspiring work of art that portrays a lesser-known part of Holocaust history. It depicts diversity, a lifetime of courage, loss, and resilience in just 15 minutes, making it a short film you absolutely must see.

In keeping with the symbolism, I’m sharing the famous Holocaust poem “The Butterfly” by Pavel Friedmann, which he wrote at the Theresienstadt concentration camp in 1942. In 1944, he was deported to Auschwitz where he was murdered.

✨ Jewish Joy of the Week

This Facebook memory from the beginning of Covid, six years ago:

Shabbat Shalom! Here’s to in-person Shabbat meals,

💧If you’re interested in film, check out this Drop:

This week’s word is metoraf / מטורף (fem. metorefet מטורפת), which means “crazy” to describe something unbelievable. I saw some Israelis write it on social media this week to describe the damage inflicted on buildings by Iranian missiles and hadn’t recognized the word. Now I will, and you will too!

This week was International Women’s Day! Lately, we’ve been inspired by strong women, from brave Iranians risking their lives to protest the regime in the streets and the 30 female Israeli pilots partaking in the strikes on regime sites, to Queen Esther’s leadership which we celebrated on Purim.

These women understood the assignment, as Gen Z would say. Specifically, in Jewish history, there’s women who have accomplished amazing things while fully and proudly embracing their Judaism, unlike women in history who are amazing and just happen to be Jewish. Good for them, but they’re not the focus of this Drop.

I learned about dozens of these women in a new-ish book: Bedtime Stories for Strong Jewish Girls: Tales of 50 Jewish Heroines Who Changed the World by Melanie Goldberg Silver, illustrated by Jess Goldsmith.

This collection contains 50 snapshots of trailblazing women throughout history, each paired with a colorful illustrated portrait. The featured women range from ice skaters and chess players to Talmud scholars and resistance fighters.

And this beautiful hardcover book is not just for children! Out of the 50 women, I was surprised to find I had only heard of three: prophetess Devorah, Hadassah founder and pioneer Henrietta Szold, and singer Ofra Haza. I enjoy flipping through this book and choosing a leading lady to learn about in under five minutes, someone who was brave, or smart, or dedicated enough to live forever in these pages. It’s really the perfect gift for a special gal in your life (my dear niece, I’m thinking of you even though you can’t read this yet!).

Here’s a word from the author, Melanie:

“I wrote this book when I had my first daughter and couldn’t find a book to inspire her about the legacy of strong Jewish women she was joining. I then realized that I too knew less about this history than I would’ve liked. So I started researching and got to work.

The most fun part about the book was narrowing down the list. If I only had time to write about 50 women, who would I want to inspire my children? I decided that the 50 I would choose had to meet the following parameters: (1) they had to be of diverse cultures and eras (Sephardic and Ashkenazi, biblical to the 20th century), (2) their stories had to be complete (meaning they had to be deceased), (3) they had to have a diversity of professions (from race car driver to physician, queen to Olympian), (4) their Judaism needed to be central to their lives and not a mere anecdote, and (5) they had to be more than their profession: a doting mother, a caring wife, a central part of their local community to build something greater than themselves.

These would be the women to inspire the youngest of readers. And, instead of reading like magazine interviews or Wikipedia pages (which similar books that popped up during the five years it took to complete my book did), I would make sure to write their stories to read like those of the imaginary princesses girls seemed to love so much.”

So, to share some of these legacies with you, here are three stories from the book - click to enlarge each photo!

Glückel of Hameln, Memoirist Matriarch (1645-1724)

Eta Wrobel, Partisan Hero (1916-2008)

Éva Székely, Unapologetically Jewish Fish (1927-2020)

Get Bedtime Stories for Strong Jewish Girls for all the girls in your life here!

✨ Jewish Joy of the Week (yes, another new section!)
I dined at Motek, the Miami-based Israeli restaurant. Not only were the dishes like the crispy schnitzel sandwich on challah and juicy beef-and-lamb arayes delicious, but it was joyful to see servers walking around the crowded restaurant with Hebrew letters on their shirts and bags of Bamba lining the bar.

Tell me your Jewish joy of the week in the comments!

Shabbat Shalom,

💧If you’re interested in strong Jewish women, check out this Drop:

I hope you had a joyous and fun Purim. To my friends in Israel, I hope you stayed safe and continue to have a safe and quiet Shabbat.

Personally, my Purim was nice, but I wanted more relevance to what’s happening today, like a simple acknowledgement of the parallels. We’re living through history right now, one that hopefully has a good ending. That’s why this Purim, a holiday about Jews overcoming a tyrant in ancient Persia, felt chillingly relevant and surreal as Israel and the U.S. killed a modern-day tyrant who wanted to wipe Jews off the map. Let’s party to that!

Instead, at the Purim celebration I attended, there was no mention of today’s Haman. We rushed through the megillah and handed out feathered masks because people couldn’t bother to dress up. The food was good though.

Meanwhile in Israel this week, people dressed up and partied despite being in bomb shelters. Some couples got married while in shelter. The ingenious people of the Start-up Nation even made a website to show the best times to shower so you don’t get caught running to safety in a towel, for crying out loud!! Or should I say for drying out loud? (lol sorry)

My thoughts are with Israelis and Iranians this week. Every week, really, until the Islamic regime is taken down. Because this isn’t just about a safer Israel or Middle East. This is about a safer world. And no, that doesn’t make me “pro-Trump” or “pro-war.”

My thoughts are especially with my Jewish Iranian friends who hold both identities and are members of both communities. This must be an incredibly difficult time for them, as both countries they feel deeply connected to are at war, and some still have family in Iran.

That’s why I’ll stop rambling, and let them speak for themselves. Thank you to those who shared their honest and personal thoughts.

“When my family left everything behind in Iran 47 years ago to escape this evil regime of terror and dictatorship, they never thought they would see a day in their lifetime when they might have an opportunity to visit the streets where they grew up and made so many memories. We pray for the freedom of all the innocent Iranians who have been pleading for almost 50 years to other nations of the world to come to their rescue. We thank the United States of America and Israel for standing up and coming to face to face with the root of all evil. While it is terrible that there will be much loss of life and destruction to achieve the goal of liberating the Iranian people, we are confident that the hour of freedom for our people is near. Perhaps someday I can walk the streets of the places where my parents and grandparents lived and I can visit the graves of my great-grandparents who have not been visited since the Revolution of 1979.” -Nabila (read her Drop here!)

“Haman being killed was a major healing for our hearts. We are so grateful to Israel and Israelis. May we continue to hear good news ‘til Iran is free.” -anonymous

“The people of Iran have waited for this moment for almost 50 years. Listen to anti-regime Iranians and uplift their voices, or don’t bother speaking at all.” -Michael Valdes (@hotjewishenergy)

“There’s a mix of immense joy and hope, and a lot of worry and sadness. The joy/hope is that intervention finally happened and an awful being is no longer here. The hope is that America and Israel will follow through and topple the regime, its leaders, and especially the IRGC, and provide the people the opportunity to takeover control of the country. A transitional government toward democracy (whatever form that may be—republic or constitutional monarchy) is the goal.

The sadness is seeing coworkers and non-Iranian friends suddenly care about the Islamic Republic and take on the anti-war mantle. It’s like watching the pro-Palestine crew reassemble, only I receive messages stating how sorry they are of this tragedy befalling Iran. They are always shocked when I tell them we feel the opposite. It’s usually a mixture of ignorance and semi-legitimate worry based on past interventionism.

Those who are ignorant (or just didn’t pay attention in history class) and have dabbled in the pro-Pali movement post Oct. 7 get a kind of look on their face, like they’ve smelled the piles of garbage Mamdani hasn’t picked up, when I tell them 2,500 years ago, King Cyrus the Great of Persia liberated the Jews from Babylon and permitted them to return to Jerusalem. My family decided it was better to stay in Persia. Today, 2,500 years later, the nation of Israel (Bani Isra’il) is returning the favor and liberating the Persian nation—we are two people intertwined and have given so much to humanity.

The other type is worried this is another Iraq. Most times they think Iran is Iraq. I literally have to tell them we gave Iraq its name, and we are not Arab. The mentality is different. The way of protesting is different—have they noticed we don’t vandalize or destroy property during our protests?

Nevertheless, I stress how thankful we are for our American service men and women, and we appreciate the sacrifice. I then find myself needing to tell them how it is that my family ended up fleeing the Islamic Republic, losing everything. My father was accused of being a spy (guess for who) and overnight they had to disappear. He went from being a person with wealth to having nothing. The regime took all his assets as punishment, and all of my grandfather’s as well, and prohibited him from leaving Iran unless he converted, which he did in 1998 just to get out and pass away a year or two later.

So, joy and hope still motivate us and we hope that liberation comes soon!” -Daniel

Thank you, friends. Let us pray for peace. If prayer isn’t your thing, here’s some music:

Shabbat Shalom! Next year in Tehran,

💧If you’re interested in Iran, check out this Drop:

It never seems like the Jewish calendar lines up right with the secular year. During the happiest, most care-free time (August), we’re supposed to be sad (the Three Weeks and Tisha B’Av). During the coldest, dreariest time of year (now, depending on where you live), we’re supposed to be joyful. Which brings us to Adar.

Purim starts Monday evening. For a refresher, read this ol’ Drop.

Purim is during the Hebrew month of Adar, the most auspicious time in the Jewish calendar. Haman tried to have us killed, but our fate was reversed. Now, everything is upside down (but not in a creepy Stranger Things way), we’re drunk as skunks, eating delicious hamantaschen, and we’re giving gifts! Yay!

Only… I don’t feel this way. I don’t know about you, but this time of year is not my favorite. We’re getting blizzards here in NYC, where the fresh white snow lasts for a couple of hours until the plows mix it into a blackened, sooty slush. And personally, I have a lot going on. A lot of questions that need answers, things I’m working on, and attempts to plan a vacation in a warm place. Spring can’t come soon enough!

I’ve been seeing social media posts about Adar, of superficial ways to increase joy, like by treating yourself and adding more whimsy to your life.

I completely support these ideas, but they don’t seem substantial enough for my Jewish soul. So, I’ve been chasing the highs of Jewish joy, choosing joyous opportunities - some intentional, and some just because that’s how I live my life. Here are some of the ways I’ve been doing that. Got any? Drop ‘em in the comments.

1. Making Time for Torah Study

One of my Jewish communities here in NYC has a regular parsha study on Zoom every Tuesday at noon. However, I can’t usually make it because my team at work typically has our weekly meeting during this time. I never get the chance to study Torah with my community.

However, this week’s blizzard kept me working from home on Tuesday, and my team meeting happened to be canceled. I jumped on the chance to join, especially since I started reading the book the class reads: It Takes Two to Torah by Abigail Pogrebin and Dov Linzer.

45 minutes of Torah study in lieu of a lunch break was time well spent! We studied Parashat Tetzaveh, and learned about the distinctive “uniform” of the High Priest versus the plain clothing of all the regular ol’ priests. We discussed whether or not the High Priest’s requirements of fine linen and the stone-studded breastplate were a symbol of superiority, or responsibility (my vote is the latter).

We also discussed what it means to carry our inheritance visibly, be it your grandmother’s Star of David necklace or your father’s kippah. We agreed that it expresses outward Jewish pride, while also symbolizing the responsibility you take on as the wearer in representing the Jewish people to the world. Meaning, don’t go around “hitting grandmas” while wearing a kippah, as the teacher said. You should take off your kippah before hitting grandmas! Just kidding, don’t do that either. A more practical example would be to not litter while being outwardly Jewish. You shouldn’t litter anyway, but wearing Judaica gives you more responsibility to not do so, since caring about the land is a Jewish value.

2. Choosing Positivity Over Negativity

Maybe it’s because of what Bret Stephens said at the State of World Jewry address about living 10% Jewier, but I’m trying to redirect my Jewish life toward more positive experiences rather than focusing on antisemitism or antizionism. I feel bad writing this because there are some great and important events out there (like my friend’s necessary talk he hosted with Adam Louis Klein of the Movement Against Antizionism), and I don’t mean to snub them in any way. This is just the journey I’m on right now.

On Tuesday night, I had to make a choice: join my Zionist book club, or attend UJA’s event of Jewish celebrities reading letters written about Israel across centuries at Carnegie Hall. I actually was torn, because I liked this month’s book, As a Jew by Sarah Hurwitz. And we all know how much I love her! But I also enjoy an Israel celebration, especially when Amy Schumer is involved, and especially when the tickets are free.

As I wrote in this bookish Drop, As a Jew focuses on how antisemitism has shaped the author’s “apologetic” Jewish identity. I loved the second half of the book that tears into antizionism, and it does take a more positive turn when she reclaims her sense of identity and Zionism, but the book’s tone feels negative throughout. As it should; it’s a response to something negative.

Which is fine, just not what I’m in the mood for right now. I’m desperate for joy and knowledge!! Focusing on antisemitism isn’t going to scratch that itch. Though being in community does, and I look forward to the next Jewish book club meeting (love you, ladies!).

Also… the event I attended was the best Jewish event I’ve ever been to, and I’ve been to many Jewish events. It was truly a love letter to Israel, in words read from the 1st century BCE to October 7th. No politics, just love, and a reminder of why the Jewish people need a homeland. Our homeland.

Just watch this video of a packed Carnegie Hall singing Hatikvah together:

3. Listening to Jewish or Israeli music

A couple of weeks ago, I attended a showcase of six Israeli musicians. Yes, now I’m just bragging about all the cool Jewish events there are in NYC.

Of course, this event wasn’t advertised as Israeli, but as “international.” Fortunately, my friend’s friend organized the night, so I knew the truth!

Here’s electronic soul from Masok (which means helicopter in Hebrew). The singer was funky, bouncing around the stage, clutching her pregnant belly in an oversized jacket and pleated miniskirt that showed off her heavily tattooed legs, while her fiancé tapped away at his synth.

The star of the show (or hofa’a in Hebrew for show/performance as I learned this week) was Gal de Paz, singer/songwriter, pianist, and the lead singer of two bands, The Paz Band and Lucille Crew. She completely captured the room’s attention as she sat at a piano in fuzzy knee-high heeled boots and belted out heartfelt lyrics. Her voice has gentle huskiness to it, like a subtle rawness. You’d guess she was from the American south, like Alabama, instead of Israel. Her band, Lucille Crew, later joined her on stage. They were more hip hop and funk. If you do anything today, please check out this song:

4. Hosting a Shabbat Meal

I love hosting, and I haven’t done it in a year. My tiny apartment isn’t going to deter me from doing what I love!

Tonight, I’m hosting a Jewish friend and his wife, both of whom I introduced to Shabbat about a year ago. That was a special dinner: they hosted and cooked, invited a bunch of Jews and non-Jews, and I led the group in the traditions. I should make a side business out of this! If anyone is looking for this kind of service, email me! ;) One requirement: you must be a good cook, like my friends.

I told them that Shabbos at my home will basically be the same, but with less space. And matbucha pasta!

5. Scheduling Jewish Coffee Dates

Now that I’m over the flu and it’s more than 9 degrees outside, I’ve been making time to have conversations with people about Judaism: what we’re looking for in community, what we want to learn, and what projects we’re working on. I’ve been reconnecting with people from earlier in my life, and with fellow creators on Instagram.

They’re the kind of deep and uplifting conversations I craved in my 20s as part of the Great Jewish Journey. Keep ‘em comin’!

🥳 Shab Shalom and Purim sameach. Keep choosing joy,

💦 If you like Jewish joy, check out this Drop:

Please excuse last week’s silence - flu season got the best of me!

A few weeks ago, I invited readers to write in. Here were some of your burning questions, and some of my abridged but hopefully helpful answers.

💌 “I know 18 is an important number in Judaism, I believe it means life. I recently learned that 26 is also an important number, and the secular year being 2026 made me wonder what significance does 26 represent. Is it because 13 x 2 =26 and 13 seems like an important one as well. So I guess this is really two questions: what is the significance of the numbers 26 and 13? Which leads to a third question: what is the magic behind numbers in Hebrew and how they relate to letters?” -Maddy

Ah, that’s a neat system called gematria, which assigns a numerical value to each letter of the Hebrew alphabet. When you add up the letters of a word, you give that word (and its total) special meaning. It’s a spiritual tool used to draw connections between words and numbers, and it’s the closest I ever willingly get to doing math.

Here’s a chart showing each letter and their numerical value:

If it sounds Kabbalistic and mystical, it is, but it actually predates classic Kabbalah. This method of Hebrew numerology was likely inspired by the Greeks, who had their own numerology system.

The term “gematria” likely comes from the Greek word “geometria,” which means “geometry.” This connection means that math is all around and we can’t escape it, no matter how hard we try.

Yes, the Hebrew word for life (חי) totals 18! 8+10=18, so 18 means life.

26 is the total (10+5+6+5) of the special letters that make up the four-letter Tetragrammaton, the most sacred name for G-d: י–ה–ו–ה

Jews don’t care about secular years (we have our own calendar!), so 2026 is just a coincidence… or is it? 👀

13 is significant in Judaism because that’s when a child becomes a b-mitzvah. In gematria, two words that add up to 13 is the Hebrew word for love (אהבה) (1+5+2+5) and the word for one (אחד) (1+8+4). Mysticism points out that love and oneness share the same numerical value, interpreted to mean that love creates unity, or one being. Awww.

A modern example that gives me chills about the last hostage, Ran Gvili, whose body was just returned to Israel last month:

I recommend the book Letters of Light by Rabbi Aaron L. Raskin to learn about each letter and what they represent!

💌 “I would love an edition to focus on what it was like being a Jew during the Middle Ages.” -Nick

This is a dense topic (Many years! Many places!) and I would be happy to write a separate Drop on this someday, but in brief:

• After the destruction of the Second Temple in Israel in 70 CE, Jews were even more scattered all over the Middle East, North Africa, and Europe.

• Under Muslim Rule: Since the 7th century, Jews in lands under Islamic rule lived under the Pact of Umar, which treated Jews (and Christians) as second class citizens called dhimmis. Jews were allowed to practice Judaism but were seen as inferior, often forced to walk on the opposite side of the street as Muslims, pay a special tax, wear embarrassing outfits including tall, conical caps and a yellow band around their waist, and were not permitted to build synagogues. There were different rules in different areas. This status lasted about 1,200 years.

• The Golden Age of Spain: It wasn’t all bad! The 10th-12th centuries saw a cultural flourishing in Jewish communities, particularly in Spain. Still under dhimmi status, some Jews prospered as craftsmen and traders, while great thinkers like Moses Maimonides and Judah Halevi contributed to philosophy, poetry, Torah, and more.

• The Rishonim: More Jewish intellectual life flourishing! For the biggest stars and their contributions, check out this link.

• The Crusades: It was bad again. Starting in the 11th century, Christian mobs attacked Jews and Muslims, from Germany to the Holy Land, in an effort to capture Jerusalem from the Muslims. Each crusade involved forced conversion or death for the Jews (the first few months saw 12,000 Jews killed). This ended in the late 13th century, and destroyed three centers of Ashkenazi Jewry: Cologne, Mainz, and Worms.

• Christian Antisemitism: Jews under Christian rule generally had it worse than living under Muslim rule. Seen as Christ killers or nonbelievers, they were often confined to ghettos, forced to convert, killed, or expelled. This period of history gave us the first documented case of blood libel. Jews were blamed for the torture and murder of 12-year-old William of Norwich, whose real murderer was never found. Soon, it was common to accuse Jews of ritual murder of children in Europe, which often led to persecution and the murder of Jews in their local communities. The 14th century brought scapegoating during the Black Death, when Jews were blamed for spreading the illness that would end up killing 1/3 of Europe. In Strasbourg alone, 1,000 Jews were burned to death after mass hysteria spread that Jews had poisoned the wells. In Mainz, Germany, 6,000 Jews were also killed in one day for the same reason. A rumor spread that Jews were able to survive the Plague because of their cleanliness and hand washing habits, a theory later debunked when it became known that the Plague was spread by fleas hitching free rides on rats (those flealoaders!). Also, Jews died from the Plague as well. It wasn’t as though Jews were magically immune.

• Expulsion from Spain: In the 15th century, King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella of Spain enforced mass conversion to Catholicism. During this period called the Inquisition, their favorite pastime was torturing and killing thousands of conversos they suspected of secretly practicing Judaism. In 1492, all Jews were expelled from Spain, forcing many to flee to North Africa, the Ottoman Empire, and other parts of Europe.

So there you have it: Jewish Middle Ages in a nutshell. It includes some sad and ugly history, and some rich history that has forever changed how we interpret our sacred texts and deal with erectile dysfunction.

💌 “According to the Book of Genesis, Abraham and Hagar have a son, Ishmael. Abraham also has a son with Sarah, Isaac. Ishmael (Arabs/Muslims) and Isaac (Israelites/Jews) are brothers. Half brothers sure, but half brothers are brothers. They are blood.

Here’s my question: Why don’t more Jews and Muslims feel shame about how they treat, talk about, view their fellow brothers? It is incredibly sad that far too many people, on both sides, have killed their fellow brothers and continue to do so. Curious to hear your thoughts.” -Jordan

Oof, I think if I had the answer to this I could solve world peace! But let me try.

Some Muslims are antisemitic. Some Jews are Islamophobic. I can only speak for Jews, and I’m not defending this belief, but I think it comes from a sense of fear and survival. When Jews cherry pick examples of unfavorable depictions of Jews in the Quran and the Sahih Muslim hadith and say, “See? They want to kill us!” they’re putting up a psychological shield that makes it easier to justify hostility toward the other side. That’s not to say there aren’t real threats in the world, but it’s possible to acknowledge them without speaking out against Muslims. (That linked hadith is pretty violent though; it’s included in the 1988 Hamas charter. Still, it’s important to remember that it’s only used by extremists.)

My dad has three favorite words for explaining human behavior: “People are tribal.” Evolutionarily, we survived by protecting our group and confronting perceived threats. That protection can include harmful words if not literal violence.

So to answer your question, they feel like they’re doing the right thing and protecting their own.

The good news is there are efforts to combat this energy. JAMAAT, Jews and Muslims and Allies Acting Together, is a DC-based grassroots organization that promotes social action, advocacy, and interfaith dialogue. It’s Jews and Muslims focused on a “third thing,” like fighting climate change and ICE. All they need is better marketing!

During the war, there were dialogue groups like Standing Together that invited Jews and Arabs to share their trauma and pain. They could use less marketing (kidding, kidding, I just didn’t agree with their messaging during the war).

Our relationship with our Muslim siblings starts with us. It starts with dialogue and maybe even a little breaking bread together. Hey, maybe I’ll start an organization called Breaking Bread Together. Or Breaking Bad Together, where Jews and Muslims sit around and watch Breaking Bad. Everyone loves that show!

If you’ve learned anything, please consider donating here, or sharing this page! I will do this again sometime - I had fun and learned a thing or two, and I hope you did as well.

1078 (gematria for “Shabbat Shalom”),

I almost didn’t listen. Every year, I think, “I already know the state of world Jewry. Antisemitism. Israel. Polarity.”

But I regularly read Bret Stephens’ journal, SAPIR, to stay up to date with Jewish ideas, and to see if their managing editor misses any typos (so far, none). So I figured, why not? Now that the war is over, maybe there’s perspectives out there I’m not aware of.

And I’m so glad I did! For the first time in a while, I felt energized about the Jewish future. Yes, it helps that all the hostages are home and “it’s finally October 8th.” But some of the points Bret (switching to a first-name basis here) made validated my sense of Jewish peoplehood, inspired me to continue my learning, and made me excited and curious for what’s to come in Jewish communal life.

Here are some takeaways and my reactions:

1. Antisemitism = resentment marinated in envy

You know the joke where anti-Israel protestors chant a short, catchy rhyme, and the pro-Israel protestors say, “Well actually, in 1948…”? If only it were a joke! And if only we reframed our approach to antisemitism.

Bret, in Monday night’s address, framed antisemitism not as a result of inaccurate information or lack of knowledge, but as a response to Jewish distinctiveness. He reminded the audience that Judaism is a countercultural nation, believing in one G-d (in a world of many gods); valuing life and freedom (when some cultures value martyrdom and control); believing the Messiah has not yet come (when the majority of the world believes it has); and insisting questions are just as important as answers (in a world that loves certainty).

Therefore, it enrages people when we reject others’ beliefs and remain steadfast to our own, even when people want to kill or convert us for having them.

And when we’re successful (often because of these values), it makes them envious. So maybe it’s not a good idea to remind people who say we shouldn’t have a homeland that we have 20% of Nobel Peace Prizes, or we invented the polio vaccine, that the Jewish country is the only democracy in the Middle East where people can live openly as gay, or Israel has offered the Palestinians peace, only to be rejected many, many times.

How we think antisemites will react: “Wow, you’re right. Thank you so much for everything! Let me know when you’re hosting your next Shabbos meal, I’d love to come over and experience Jewish culture with you! I’ll bring a bottle of Israeli wine!””

How they actually react: “ASDHFKJIL!!! Genocide!”

Bret said, “They do not hate us because of our faults and failures. They hate us because of our virtues and successes.” He continued: Antisemitism doesn’t come from ignorance; antisemitism is a neurosis (for which he was heckled and handled it spectacularly).

Because of this, he thinks that…

2. Fighting antisemitism is a wasted effort.

Since October 7th, Jewish organizations have spent tens of millions of dollars a year fighting antisemitism. These efforts include monitoring online hate, ensuring Holocaust education is part of every private school curriculum, and creating Superbowl ads.

This is well intentioned, but no matter how much people learn about Jews, they still think we killed Christ or caused a genocide or the recent snow storm. Bret cited that 1 in 5 millennials and Gen Zs believe Jews caused the Holocaust. He even went so far as to say that if he were head of the ADL, he would dismantle it.

In addition to money, Bret said we’re wasting our energy as well. We only have so much of it; should we spend it on fighting our enemies, or on uplifting ourselves, particularly in a Jewish way?

My two cents: I half agree with Bret on this point. While some forms of fighting antisemitism are fruitless endeavors (did I mention Superbowl ads?), I think some, like monitoring antisemitic incidents and providing non-Jews with the tools to better understand the Jewish people, are important.

I think education is a powerful combatant against antisemitism. Unlike Bret, I do believe some people are antisemitic or antizionist because they are completely ignorant, either of our history, Israeli history, basic definitions, or all of the above.

And I believe there’s a non-extremist majority that just doesn’t know enough, whose mindset can shift through education. I’ve seen it! Whether it’s explaining Mayor Mamdani’s (and his wife’s) public support for individuals aligned with Hamas, or clarifying why Birthright isn’t a white supremacist program, I’ve received responses like, “Wow, I had no idea. Thank you for letting me know.”

Another example: Just last week, someone I know explained the concept of Jewish peoplehood to his self-proclaimed antizionist friends, and pointed out demographic shifts in the Middle East since 1948. And guess what? The conversation was productive! It’s amazing what people don’t know, or don’t stop to consider.

Now, these people didn’t start wearing “Hummus not Hamas” t-shirts right away, or request to go to shul with me like these lovely friends. But sometimes, all it takes is planting one seed to grow into a tree of knowledge. (This was my one Tu BiShvat reference).

In my work at The Jewish Education Project, I’ve seen a powerful example of an educator spending most of the school year teaching Judaism to their non-Jewish students. The results were striking: the majority of students claimed to gain a more nuanced understanding of Jewish culture and clearer awareness of antisemitism as a real and pressing societal issue.

So, I don’t think indifference and disengagement is the path forward, especially if someone approaches you with a genuine curiosity to learn. And in terms of money, I don’t want to abandon the fight altogether. I’m more concerned with how the money used in the fight is allocated. For a good read on this topic, check out this article.

I do agree with Bret on his final point: where our focus should be. Instead of throwing our bills into trash cans fighting antisemitism, he recommended we…

3. Lean into our Jewishness.

Redirect funding toward opening more affordable Jewish day schools and other Jewish institutions that strengthen our Jewish identity! Direct our dollars toward positive Jewish life!

In a Whatsapp chat in response to this speech, my friend Zachary Thacher of The Thacher Report said, “Many secular or Reform Jews go regularly to Chabad houses because they’re free and welcoming. Now imagine if they could send their kids to good quality cheap Jewish schools. It would change American Jewry in 20 years. Hebrew literacy alone would be a game changer.”

Yes, I’ve never understood why so many Jewish philanthropists worry about the Jewish future when day school tuition remains a burden for many families. You have the resources. Now put them to work. Here’s another great piece on this - you can tell I loved the latest issue of SAPIR!

Bret went on to say that when he coined the term “Oct. 8th Jew” in a NY Times op-ed a month after 10/7, he was wrong in that an Oct. 8th Jew is not just realizing who your enemies really are; it’s wondering who YOU are.

And it’s so true! I always say antizionist Jews base their identity around what they are not. Why should it be the same for Jews in general, who would rather respond to an antisemitic comment than learn from our sacred text?

Bret then referenced a book I like, Dan Harris’s memoir, 10% Happier, about a news anchor who has a panic attack on national television and then develops a meditation practice. Dan Harris posits than meditating regularly can make you 10% happier.

Every year, Bret suggested, we should become 10% Jewier. Investing our time in gaining more knowledge, therefore gaining a deeper sense of identity: that’s how we fight antisemitism.

He said that we didn’t come to America to become victims. In fact, most of us aren’t victims, and we shouldn’t want to compete for the oppression Olympics. Israel also wasn’t created to be seen as a victim.

So let’s stop reading the comments section (though I can’t wait to read this one and see what you all think!), crack open a Jewish book, get coffee with a Jew and discuss Jewish ideas, and go to a Shabbat meal.

Yalla! Shabbat Shalom,

💦 If you’re interested in fighting antisemitism, check out this Drop:

But if you missed it, it’s not too late (it never is). My man, Phil, recently returned from a heritage trip to Poland. Since he went on an organized Jewish trip, his experience was very different from mine. He was willing to be interviewed about his personal experience, and I thank him for his honesty, vulnerability, and reflections.

Friends: This is one of the most profound Drops I’ve ever published, and I’m not just saying that. Phil’s insights on history and Judaism will surely make you stop and think about our past, as well as our future. It’s difficult to read at times due to its content, but if you care about the Jewish story, and our collective safety, this is a must read. Thank you.

Tell us about the kind of trip you went on, and why you went.

It was a trip run by Pardes, an institution with which I have no affiliation but the rabbi of my synagogue does, and invited people from the shul to join. Frankly, I’ve wanted to go to Poland for a long time. My family is from there, and I’ve always felt connected to that. Ever since I learned about how my great-grandfather came to the United States from Poland growing up, I’ve always wanted to go.

Beyond the family connection, I always felt it was important to see the history of Jewish life there, and to see the camps, to bear witness to what was at one time home to several of the main centers of Jewish life on earth, and where a lot of the version of Judaism that I have received in practice was solidified.

Could you explain further about that, your form of Judaism?

Well, I grew up in a very Ashkenazi environment and the yeshivas I attended were modeled off of the ones that had been formed in Poland and Lithuania. Many of the modern rabbinic figures whose work I studied either came from Poland or Lithuania, or the method that they employed was of Polish or Lithuanian origin.

For instance, we went to the remarkable Jewish cemetery in Warsaw, which I think houses something like 250,000 graves. Two of the graves that are side by side are that of R’ Chaim Volozhiner, who was the founder of the Volozhin Yeshiva, and R’ Chaim Soloveitchik, who taught in that yeshiva and whose work I studied a lot. I didn’t even know that I was going to see their graves, so it was a powerful and meaningful surprise.

Did you learn anything about Polish Jewish life before the Holocaust?

So much. First of all, it’s so varied and grand that it would be difficult to really cover it all. Suffice it to say, Jews lived in Poland for 1,000 years before the Holocaust. There was a rich, vibrant, diverse, and complex history—within the Jewish community, including differences in how various Jewish groups related to one another, and in how Jews interacted with other communities in Poland, including non-Jewish and Christian communities, as well as with the nobility and the peasantry.

The history really illuminates a lot about the role that Jews played in the structure of Polish society at different times, which transformed my perception of Jewish life in America. I grew up with the view of American Jewish life being exceptional, which, in a certain way it is, and always has been. But I suspect a lot of Jews living in Poland at various times probably thought of their lives very much the same way. If they had any sense of history and other parts of the Jewish world, they would have regarded their situation as distinctive if not unique. It makes the story of their end all the more mind-boggling.

The debates we see playing out in the American Jewish community—between religious and secular, liberal and Orthodox, socialists and nationalists, Zionists and assimilationists—were just as active in prewar Poland as they are today. There’s nothing new under the sun.

Where did you learn about this?

We had an excellent tour guide named David Bernstein, a real fountain of knowledge who’s been traveling to Poland since the fall of communism. We packed a lot of notable sites into the short itinerary, staying in Warsaw, Lublin, Lancut, and Krakow, and there was so much to learn everywhere we went it was really just scratching the surface.

I also spent a lot of time at the POLIN Museum in Warsaw, which I have to say is one of the most historically sophisticated museums I’ve ever been to, not just in terms of Jewish museums, but probably of all the museums I’ve ever been to. I highly recommend blocking off a lot of time to spend there. I went three times and still couldn’t get through everything.

I agree. I spent four hours there and needed more time! Let’s shift gears, because I know you visited some camps as well. Can you tell us the ones you went to and describe what that was like?

We went to Majdanek and Auschwitz. Majdanek had been set up primarily as a concentration camp and was later turned into a death camp. It’s in a residential area. There are homes and it’s along a highway, so it really is not in any kind of secluded place. You can see people walking by, and the highway was the same road that German troops used when they invaded Russia in Operation Barbarossa.

Originally conceived as a camp for Russian prisoners of war, there was something strategic about its placement. When Germany invaded Poland, there was a certain antipathy some Poles had for Germans, but certainly for Russians as well. So there was something strategic about the fact that they put a camp for Russian prisoners of war in a neighborhood on the road back from Russia, because it was less likely that any Russian who escaped would find a friendly house to hide in, and it was a way of ensuring that the camp would be secure. The Germans were very clever in a lot of ways, and this is just one example.

We also went to the gas chambers there, and read a story by a woman who was a little girl at the time she was taken to Majdanek. She and her mother were taken into different barracks. It was so crazy seeing how close the gas chambers were to the drop-off points. They could not have been alive for long after they arrived there. So in the story, the girl is looking for her mother. She looks up and sees her older sister-in-law alone. She asks where her mother is, and her sister-in-law says, “She’s not here. I’m your mother now. Do you understand?” It’s impossible to understand the gravity of that sentence.

When we were going into the camps, our tour guide was talking about how the Germans kept the death camps and the gas chambers a secret from everyone. But first and foremost, they wanted to keep the secret from the Jews so that they wouldn’t resist. It’s kind of amazing how capably they engineered that deception even while they were deporting them. Jews were told they were going to be resettled in the east, and they must’ve believed it on some level, or wanted to.

The day we went to Auschwitz it was very foggy, wintry, with snow on the ground. All the stories I had heard about it growing up from survivors were coursing through my mind, particularly the first story I had ever heard about it from my elementary school librarian Mrs. Bodenheim. Right after the tour, I went into the bookstore with the rabbi and bought Rudolf Höess’ autobiography, the camp Commandant, and several other books. It was as though I didn’t know what else to do than buy these books. And the second we walked out of the store I just broke down crying with an abandon I have rarely ever felt. You learn so much about this place, and being there has this indescribable realistic surrealness. It’s here, I’m here, they were all here.

I read some of the autobiography, which he had been forced to write during his imprisonment after the war, when I got home. There are parts where he acknowledges the graveness of what he was involved in. I know a number of people dislike Hannah Arendt for observing what she called “the banality of evil” at the Eichmann trial, but there was something very functionary about some of the people who created and committed the genocide of European Jewry. And reading Höess’ words, you can really see it. He recalls a day when some of the high-ranking Nazis came to see what he was doing, and said that they didn’t envy the brutality of his job. He phrases it as though he was forced to stomach it, as though he experienced it as some kind of burden, as though he didn’t want to do it but had to as a matter of civic duty. But the fact is nobody had to do any of this. It makes you wonder what really made these men different from anyone else, or maybe not so different at all. Terrifying to imagine that any of us, any person, can get caught up in something so depraved if they think it’s justified. I’m not sure there was anything special or different about the Germans or their accomplices across Europe than anyone else in that sense, to be honest. There were people who went along with it, and there were people who didn’t. I think it would be the same everywhere.

And what was also interesting was that I’m quite sure that in the entirety of the trip, Hitler’s name was not mentioned once. It just goes to show how the whole murder machine was operated by so many people. We identify Hitler with the Holocaust but the fact of the matter is, the Holocaust could have happened without him. In a way, it kind of did, because there still is no signed document by Hitler ordering the murder of European Jewry, although we are all quite certain he did order it but avoided a paper trail.

Do you worry about the time when it won’t feel real because it will become distant history?

Oh yeah, I think it’s going to be very difficult to maintain the sense of reality around the Holocaust. It was denied while it was happening and ever since. There has never been a time in history since the Holocaust began that it was not denied by a significant number of people. And that number will probably increase the further away we get from it.

How did being in Poland change the way you think about your own Jewish identity and Jewish life in general today?

As I mentioned before, it sobered my view of American Jewish exceptionalism, and even Israeli Jewish exceptionalism. I love both of those countries tremendously, but these are all experiments in maintaining and transmitting this phenomenon we call Judaism.

And as far as I know, in every physical location where that transmission has occurred, the people doing the transmitting have been violently attacked at some point, meaning Judaism and Jewishness attracts the violent ire of people wherever it is.

Eventually, the people who live around Jews at some point decide that they’ve had enough of them and blame them for their problems. And neither America or Israel are exceptions to that rule. I think it’s important to see that in perspective, that these are really all just experiments in the safe transmission of the national religious and cultural identity that began in an obscure pair of kingdoms at the southwestern edge of the Fertile Crescent.

So do you think the Holocaust could happen in the U.S. today?

Oh 100%. Anything is possible, and the speed at which classic antisemitism has returned to the public discourse is an indication that it’s never hidden for long. I don’t think it would look exactly the same and I don’t know what it would look like, but I think it’s entirely possible. A catastrophic destruction of Jewish life can and has occurred in most places where Jews have lived. Up until a few years ago, Israel was the only place where Jews were regularly killed on the streets, and now it’s become more common throughout the world. Jewish safety and Jewish freedom are not necessarily the same things. But I think just like any people, Jews have a right to both.

And, by the way, Poles murdered Jews before, during, and after the Holocaust as well. But there are signs of light: there were Poles who saved Jews at tremendous risk to themselves and their families. Some of them were murdered along with the Jews they hid. Some are still alive and I think that the Jewish community should do everything they can for them. Their courage and moral clarity in the face of threat should be a lesson to every single person alive. It’s overwhelming to imagine. There’s an organization devoted to them called the Jewish Foundation for the Righteous that readers can check out.

There are good people everywhere and at every time, including Poles today who are deeply committed to recovering Jewish Polish history. We met this one guy in Lublin at the NN Theatre which is doing incredible work documenting the history of Jewish life in Lublin. The guy who runs it is not Jewish and is around my age. He has learned Hebrew and devotes his professional life to restoring and securing the memory of Lublin’s Jewish community. I’m deeply grateful to him and his colleagues.

After having been where the Holocaust actually happened, how do you feel when people invoke Holocaust comparisons to make contemporary political arguments?

I think that the potential for bigotry is something that exists in all of us. That’s a universal lesson from history, not just the Holocaust. But these attempts to equate what’s happening now with the Holocaust are grotesquely and offensively off base, to say the least, and whatever similarities there are reveal the profundity of the difference between them. One can be against the ICE raids, for example, and at the same time recognize how perverse it is to equate them with the mass deportation and murder of European Jewry. What I think is very disturbing is that people who invoke the Holocaust at this moment seem to think they’re learning the lessons of history by imposing the past onto the present. But what they’re doing is the opposite: they are imposing the present onto the past. And that’s like a double act of intellectual violence. I have to believe that when people do it they don’t quite know enough about either situation. It’s an offense born of ignorance, I hope.

Were you able to find anything about your family while you were there?

A little bit. I took a photo of the page of victims who share my last name, some who share my great-grandfather’s exact name. I’d rather not say too much about it.

Is there anything else you’d like to share?

I’m very grateful to Pardes, to my tour guide, David Bernstein, and to Rabbi Jonathan Leener who organized the trip for the shul, for the privilege and the honor to learn, and to go on a safe, well-organized trip to the land of my ancestors.

Shabbat plans?

Going to shul with my sweetheart!

Phil Getz is the Managing Editor of SAPIR Journal, which explores the future of the American Jewish community and its intersection with cultural, social, and political issues. You can sign up to receive a free print subscription here.

Miranda again. I want to end this powerful conversation by acknowledging that this Shabbat is the first Shabbat in 120 weeks we don’t have to pray for the return of our hostages.

May we enjoy a sweet and peaceful Shabbat,

💦Related Drops

A small group of us at Base UWS had the privilege of hearing from Susannah Heschel, daughter of the late, great Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel.

For those who don’t know, Heschel was a beacon in the Civil Rights movement, famously having marched with Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. (yes, this is a belated MLK Day post), and really practicing what he preached. He emphasized that action was just as important as prayer, and that fighting injustice was a religious duty. He wrote at least a dozen successful and influential books, like The Sabbath and God in Search of Man. Heschel represented a kind of Judaism that was intellectual, spiritual, and deeply engaged with activism in the pursuit of justice.

His daughter, Susannah, who was about 9 at the time of the aforementioned famous march, is a scholar and professor of Jewish studies at Dartmouth College. You can read a nice interview with her here about her father.

Susannah started off the evening by sharing her father’s history. Only having read one of his books (The Sabbath, obvy), I didn’t know too much about him other than he was a prominent scholar and theologian in the 20th century. I had no idea he was born in Warsaw in 1907, and only escaped Nazi Germany because he was one of five Jewish scholars selected for emergency American visas in 1939. He left for America just six weeks before the Nazis invaded Poland. His mother and sisters were murdered, despite him desperately trying to get them visas.

Susannah shared personal and heartwarming stories, shedding some light on who he was as a father and not just as a renowned rabbi. She also shared how it felt to be reintroduced by him to Dr. King as a little girl, and having Dr. King remember her.

In a round of questions from the audience, someone asked Susannah who she thought was a modern day Abraham Joshua Heschel within the Jewish world, fighting for justice and inspiring others to do the same just like he did.

She answered that while she could think of a few people, she encouraged all of us to see ourselves like her dad. We all have the capacity to embody those values he held so dear. One easy way is by showing up with kindness. She shared a story of how a few years ago, a man walking ahead of her dropped something. When she caught up with him to return the item he dropped, he thanked her with the biggest, warmest smile. It was so genuine, she hasn’t forgotten it years later. It’s so easy to treat people with warmth and dignity. We have this choice every single day.

And now, a word of Torah

Speaking of choice, there’s three parshiot when G-d hardens Pharaoh’s heart: last week’s parsha (Va’eira), this week’s parsha (Bo, a parsha that holds a special place in my heart, so to speak), and next week’s parsha (Beshalach). At first, G-d doesn’t do this to Pharaoh. In the first few plagues, it’s Pharaoh who hardens his own heart.

I always thought this meant he closed himself off to any pity he might feel for the Israelites, preventing him from freeing them. But then why would G-d later harden Pharaoh’s heart for him? Isn’t G-d just contributing to the problem of G-d’s own people not being free? Like those who complain about their problems, yet don’t do anything about them. We know the ones.

It’s not until the plague of boils that G-d hardens Pharaoh’s heart (Exodus 9:12), and continues this way for the rest of the plagues. With some research, I learned hardening a heart could mean Pharaoh made up his mind with his own free will at first. In plagues 1-5, Pharaoh chooses stubbornness, to not give in to G-d’s demand of freeing the slaves. So after the death of livestock (5th plague), G-d takes away Pharaoh’s ability to repent, teaching him that his choices have consequences. Except he’s so steeped in injustice, he’s not even teachable at this point. The great biblical scholar, Maimonides, agrees.

In Torah fashion, that’s just one interpretation!

Susannah taught us a different interpretation, from the Hasidic master Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev. In his book of teachings, the Kedushat Levi, the Rabbi points out that the Hebrew root for heavy/hardened (כָּבֵד kaved) has the same root as the word for honor/dignity/glory (כָּבוֹד kavod).

Instead of G-d taking away Pharaoh’s will, G-d gives Pharaoh dignity and honor to make his own choices, however bad they may be. This reframing allows us to show compassion for our enemies, a very Hasidic thought.

At first, I liked this interpretation when I heard it from Susannah. But after reading Maimonides’s interpretation, I found it to be a little fluffy. It also didn’t sound very Jewish to me. After all, we tend to really not like our enemies. But that’s the beauty of Judaism: it’s a whole range of thought, ideas, and debates. Plus, I’m never one to doubt the persuasive power of similar Hebrew roots!

Neat side note: In my research, I found another interpretation that outweighs (pun intended) all the rest! You know how each plague corresponds to an Egyptian god (darkness defeats their sun god, Ra, etc.)? Apparently in Egyptian mythology, it was believed that the soul resided in the heart, and if your heart weighed less than a feather, your soul would live on in Aaru, the Field of Reeds. But if your heart weighed more than a feather, it would be devoured by the goddess Ammit (part lion, hippopotamus, and crocodile), and you would be condemned to live in Duat, the underworld. As we learned just above, G-d doesn’t just harden Pharaoh’s heart; he makes it heavy, condemning him to an eternity of hell. Which makes me react like this (G-d is the kid in the glasses):

Well, my friends, I was going to write about how after Susannah’s talk, I had a discussion with some friends about what dignity means to us. But my mind is kind of blown from the Torah and I need a minute (or 25 hours!) to recoup. In the words of Rabbi Heschel, “The higher goal of spiritual living is not to amass a wealth of information, but to face sacred moments,” (The Sabbath). It’s almost time to face our sacred moment.

Shabbat Shalom. Or as we say in Egyptian hell:

It don't mean a thing, if it ain't got that swing,
Duat, Duat, Duat, Duat, Duat, Duat, Duat, Duat,

💦Related Drop

This week’s Drop was inspired by a fellow Jew recently asking me, “Why do so many Jews like basketball?”

I had never heard of this before! Baseball, sure, because of our famed players like Sandy Koufax and Moe Berg, and apparently the Mets being today’s “Jewish team” (🤷‍♀️ don’t shoot the messenger). But basketball? I only know two Jews who are obsessed with the sport.

Not knowing anything about the history (or much about sports for that matter), I answered incorrectly that it’s probably because Jews look up to (pun intended) such tall athletes?? But I had to dig further to find a real answer and share it with you all!

Some of you may already be familiar with this history, but it was all new to me! Let me know if you also learned anything new. 🏀 But before we begin…

NEW 🔥 SHABBAT NOTES: Do you have a burning question, either something you’ve always wondered about Judaism, or just a question about my own Jewish journey/The Shabbat Drop? Or a question for Fred (I’ve been getting requests for more of my dad!)? Reply to this email or comment below, and I may answer them. No promises.

Philosopher-novelist Rebecca Goldstein writes in Jewish Jocks: An Unorthodox Hall of Fame about a period in American sports history (1910s-1930s) “when Jews ruled basketball — and lest you think those last three words are a misprint, let me repeat: Jews ruled basketball.”

Jews have been a part of the NBA since, well, the very beginning. It was Ossie Schectman, a player on the NY Knicks, who scored the first points in league history (back then called the Basketball Association of America) against the Toronto Huskies in 1946. He was 6’1; so much for my stereotyping!

But let’s backpedal (yes, I Googled basketball terms). The late 19th and early 20th centuries saw Eastern European Jewish immigration to America en masse. Popular sports at the time, like baseball, football, and tennis, were seen as elite, and were played at predominantly Protestant institutions like country clubs and Ivy League schools. Institutions that often banned Jews. Sounds like a foul to me!

Basketball, which was invented by Dr. James Naismith in 1891, was cheap and didn’t require much, just a basket and a ball. The accessible game was played by Jewish immigrants who wanted to assimilate and prove themselves athletically, in spaces like public gyms, settlement houses, and school basements. Looks like baby Moses wasn’t the only one who loved a good basket!

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"It was absolutely a way out of the ghetto," said Dave Dabrow, a player from the Philadelphia SPHAs (named for the South Philadelphia Hebrew Association that initially funded the Jewish team). "It was where the young Jewish boy would never have been able to go to college if it wasn't for the amount of basketball playing and for the scholarship."

And they had an edge! They understood that they didn’t need to be the tallest or strongest to win. Like good Jewish boys, they used their brains. It was all about strategy: using speed, collaboration, and plays to score.

Pretty soon, players were forming teams at YMHAs, synagogues, and community centers. At a time when antisemitism banned Jews from many elite fields and spaces, they found opportunities in fields like comic books, cinema, and comedy in the Catskills. It sounds like basketball was no different.

Despite making it to the big leagues, the American Basketball League to be precise, Jewish players often faced antisemitism. Moe Goldman, a player for the Philadelphia SPHAs, recalls in Douglas Stark’s book, When Basketball was Jewish:

“There was antisemitic feeling among the fans in other towns. We went to Prospect Hall in Brooklyn to play the Visitations, and the first row of spectators when we went by would poke us with cigarettes. They’d call us ‘Jew bastard’ or something like that. Maybe it was a little intensified for the SPHAS, but I think they did it for every team. Most of the teams in the ABL had Jewish players.”

But it wasn’t always like this; many Jews looked up to these talented players. After all, the athletes were proudly, visibly Jewish. Teams like the New York Hakoahs (Hebrew for “strength”) wore Stars of David on their uniforms. And they dominated the courts while doing it!

The golden era of Jewish basketball waned by the ‘50s, when more Jews moved to the suburbs. In that sense, basketball mirrors a broader immigrant story, as Jews pivoted from crowded city blocks to new forms of integration and identity. ;)

Notable Players

Barney “Tiny” Sedran

Born Bernard Sedransky on the Lower East Side of New York, Barney was the shortest player ever inducted into the Basketball Hall of Fame, in 1962. At 5’4” and 115 lbs., he was known for his passing, speed, and agility. Barney was one half of the “Heavenly Twins,” with teammate Marty Friedman, of the New York Whirlwinds in the 1920s. Read more about him here.

Marty Friedman

Known as one of the best defensive guards of his era, Marty Friedman promoted basketball internationally during World War I, organizing a 600-team tournament in France that led to the Inter-Allied Games. He played for the Whirlwinds and coached the Cleveland Rosenblums (we need more team names like this today!). Read more about him here.

Amar’e Stoudemire

This American-Israeli bball star played for the Phoenix Suns, NY Knicks, Dallas Mavericks, and Miami Heat before retiring in 2016. In 2018, he converted to Judaism with the name Yahoshafat Ben Avraham. He was inducted into the International Jewish Sports Hall of Fame last year. He’s 6’10 (maybe size does matter). I actually met him on the streets of Jerusalem a few years ago, and just like when I met Robert Kraft, I had no idea who he was. So it goes. Read about Amar’e getting blessed by a rabbi three days ago here.

Deni “Turbo” Avdija

The only Israeli player in the NBA today, Deni began his professional career with the Washington Wizards and now plays for the Portland Trail Blazers. And, in case you’re wondering, he’s 6’8. Read more about him here.

Senda Berenson

Many Jewish women have played and continue to play a major role in the sport, too. Some from the very beginning! Have you heard of the “Mother of Women’s Basketball?” Born Senda Valvrojenski in Lithuania, she popularized basketball for women. Just one year after basketball was invented, as director of PE of Smith College, she formed the very first women’s college basketball team and wrote the first rulebook for it. Learn more about Senda here.

Naama Shafir

Naama was the first Orthodox Jewish woman to play on a Division I college team, competing from 2012–2016. The former MVP at University of Toledo would walk two miles on Shabbat to play games. She grew up religious in Israel, and received special rabbinic approval to play on Shabbat. Her rabbi told The Forward, “Although the Halacha says that it’s forbidden to jump and run on Shabbat, someone who derives pleasure from it can do it. But exercise is forbidden. Practice is in the category of ‘exercise’ and therefore forbidden, but the game itself is fun for the player.” In 2020, after marrying and having a daughter, she signed to play for Elitzur Ramla in the Israeli Female Basketball Premier League. Read more about her here.

Shabbat Shalom! Nothin’ but net,

Further Reading

The Jewish history of basketball: How Ashkenazi immigrants turned the ‘Jewish game’ into the American dream

Basketball and the Jews

Book: When Basketball Was Jewish by Douglas Stark

Book: Ellis Island to Ebbets Field: Sports and the American Jewish Experience by Peter Levine

To quote Larry David, it’s a little late for the Happy New Year, but I’m going to wish you one anyway!

There are a few things buzzing around my mind, some not Jewish (like how not getting the flu shot out of pure laziness was my biggest regret of 2025), and some Jewish. This week’s Drop is pretty political, but hey, there’s a lot going on in the world right now. If you want something more upbeat, scroll to the end. Yalla!

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1. The Protests in Iran

It’s been inspiring to see the nationwide protests from the past week: young women with their hair flowing in the wind (at least, I assume there’s wind, it sounds more poetic that way), people tearing down gates to government buildings, and flags and banners of the Islamic Republic burning in the streets.

Why is this Jewish? The Iranian regime has been funding proxy networks like Hamas and Hezbollah throughout the Middle East, causing terror, war, and economic hardships for its citizens. I haven’t been much of an optimist when it comes to the end of the 46-year-regime in Iran, but with what seems like a constantly changing Middle East, you never know what could happen. The end of the regime could be the start of a new Middle East.

→ For a personal history on Iran’s Mashhadi Jews, check out my friend’s Drop!

2. Holocaust Comparisons

I wrote the following before this week’s horrific shooting of Renee Nicole Good. My anger about that outweighs my anger about what I’m about to share with you, but I kept it in this week’s post due to its Jewish relevance.

Earlier this week, I was listening to one of my (now former) favorite podcasts, when out of the blue, the host compared the Holocaust to today’s ICE raids. I respectfully commented that while ICE raids are a serious issue, the Holocaust was a separate moment in history and shouldn’t be used to compare. I also noted the rising antisemitism worldwide, including the recent massacre in Sydney, because it seemed weird to talk about learning from the Holocaust without mentioning today’s antisemitism. And, much to Larry David’s dismay, I ended the comment with a “happy new year,” to be polite.

Surprisingly, the host responded, and I thought her comment was inappropriate, defensive, and frankly a little antisemitic as she made the following points:

• Her Jewish friend made the Holocaust comparison (tokenizing)

• People in her neighborhood have been abducted for protesting against the genocide in Gaza (still not a Holocaust and uses libel that’s just wrong)

• These are not separate issues (I mean… just objectively, factually wrong)

• Ending in “Free Palestine” (shutting down the conversation even though I said nothing about Israel)

You’d never guess it, but this podcaster recently posted an episode on critical thinking. Also, who talks to their fans this way?! After I responded and educated, she removed all comments from her Spotify, so I’m guessing she realized the error of her ways.

It made me think of how there’s an increasing and alarming lack of knowledge among young Americans when it comes to the Holocaust. And now we can’t even let the Holocaust be a Jewish event in history. Or speak up about it without getting “Free Palestine” thrown in our faces to shut us down. I know it was one instance, but I could see this happening to many of us, especially when interacting with Gen Z.

FYI: Jews generally really don’t like Holocaust inversion or comparison. As I told this podcast host in my comment, we can hold mental space for both of these issues. At least I can.

3. Not Caring as Much About Being “Politically Homeless”

Like many liberal-minded Jews, I felt betrayed by the Left after 10/7.

A group that so often speaks out against oppression, sexual assault, and violence either ignored, celebrated, or denied the atrocities that happened to not just Israelis, but to Arabs, Americans, Thais, and others.

I’d go through periods of anger and confusion amidst the grief. It wasn’t until I came across the video below by this influencer with nice nails that I realized I stopped caring.

In this video she made in response to the U.S. attack on Venezuela this week (wow a lot happened this week - I hope you’re taking care of yourselves!), she talks about her political homelessness, how she stopped caring, and is instead actively choosing to think through an issue before jumping to conclusions. Also… it’s nice to know we’re the majority!

4. Mayor Mamdani Protecting Jewish New Yorkers

Sike! Made you look. Okay, I’m not trying to let this guy take up too much brain space, but I wanted to point out an example of misinformation that spread this week. It occurred on Mamdani’s first day as mayor, when the news claimed he explicitly rolled back the IHRA definition of antisemitism.

Zionist social media reacted with alarmist, angry posts (mine included), claiming he’s intentionally making New York less safe for Jews. They failed to mention, though, that Mamdani revoked Mayor Adams’s executive orders, one of which included IHRA (which, by the way, totally says that criticizing the Israeli government is not antisemitic).

This does not negate the fact that much of his ideology is antizionist and I do believe his policies will make the city less safe for Jews (still waiting for his response to yesterday’s pro-Hamas chants outside a synagogue in Queens). But to support point #3, let’s make fully exploring the details before reacting our 2026 New Year’s resolution! And let’s hope Mamdani decides to practice what he preaches by restoring the IHRA definition of antisemitism, if he really supports Jews.

5. My Impromptu D’var Torah from Last Week

Upbeat time! This Simchat Torah, I made a goal to learn parsha every week, and shofar so good! I learn in different settings: weekly classes at work, at synagogue, and from my buddy’s amazing Substack, Torah Goes Hollywood, your perfect blend of Torah and cinema.

Last week, while visiting my brother and his family, I felt like enhancing our Shabbos meal with some unsolicited Torah. Luckily, I had just read this old TGH ‘stack, comparing Parsha Vayechi to the 2008 Joaquin Phoenix film “Two Lovers.”

I’m not going to talk about a film I’ve never seen; you can read TGH for that! But the post taught me about a moment in last week’s parsha I’ve never heard of before: When Jacob is on his death bed and blesses Joseph’s sons, Ephraim and Menashe, he crosses his hands so the younger Ephraim gets the right hand, the better blessing.

We’ve seen this theme before in Genesis, of the younger brother stealing the blessing. Jacob did the very same thing to Esau, and here he is now, bestowing the blessing to Ephraim.

I explained this to my older brother, a proud smile plastered on my face (or maybe it was all the wine I was guzzling before the oncoming Dry January). I concluded that clearly, the younger sibling, the superior sibling, wins every time. L’chaim. 🍷

In actuality, this theme teaches us that chosenness doesn’t always equal status, and is frequently bestowed upon the vulnerable, the underdog, or someone who needs to go through a struggle to develop character (me, I guess?).

After my d’var, I bet my brother was about to sell me to Midianite traders! I share this cheeky story and slight brag with you because I feel my Torah literacy growing each week, and it tickles my Jewish soul. And now we’ve just entered Exodus. I’m so pumped!

What’s on your Jewish mind this week? LMK.

Shabbos,

This year, I hit a personal reading record (43 books, but who’s counting), and when I wasn’t lost in romantasy (helloooo Sarah J. Maas fans!) my list was prettyyy, prettyyyy Jewish. Here are my favorite Jewish books I read this year.

Let me know in the comments if you’ve read any of these, and what Jewish books you’re reading or would like to read in 2026. :)

Shabbat Shalom & Happy New Year!
See you in two weeks,

Mrs. Lilienblum’s Cloud Factory by Iddo Gefen

Hands down the quirkiest and most entertaining novel I read this year! Following an eccentric family in the Negev whose matriarch invents a machine that turns sand into rainclouds, this satirical novel contrasts the scrappy, small business mentality of the desert with the high-powered, fast-paced Tel Aviv start-up world. The characters are rich and soulful, and the surrealist story weaves Jewish themes throughout, from witty tales of Chelm to Kabbalah. But nothing carries the plot like the Negev itself, as if it were one of the main characters. Can’t recommend this one enough!

The Source by James Michener

I fell in love with James Micheners’ novels when I read Alaska to prepare for my trip to Alaska last year. Like another favorite author of mine, Edward Rutherfurd, Michener captivatingly teaches about the history of a particular place through thorough research and vivid detail. So when I learned he had a book on the history of Israel and the Jewish people, I jumped at the chance to read it.

The book hops back and forth between past and “present,” starting in 20,000 BCE following a prehistoric man named Ur, to the site of a fictional archaeological dig in the ‘60s based on Tel Megiddo. Once you get past the cheesy beginning on the tel, you span millennia of rich Jewish history, including both exiles from the Land of Israel, the Seleucid Empire, Jesus, the formation of the Talmud, the Crusades, the Inquisition, and the War of Independence.

Wow this book is dense, but that goes to show how much history we have! The Source is also an engaging way to learn about what makes us Jews tick. For example, characters debate each other on matters of the Jewish soul, like if we should follow what the rabbis say in the Talmud, and whether or not Israel should be a completely religious state. Do we need laws to ensure our survival? What kind of country do we want to be? The main character on the 1960s tel is not Jewish, so it’s also fun following the journey from his perspective as he learns about and explores these issues. If you have the time, read it.

The Torah in the Tarot by Stav Appel

My favorite non-fiction I picked up this year is one scholar’s argument that a particular Tarot deck from 17^th-century France may have been used as a means for secret, illegal Jewish education. It’s so interesting and compelling, I wrote a whole separate Drop on it. Bonus: it comes with a copy of said Tarot deck!

A Passion for Israel: Adventures of a Sar-El Volunteer by Mark Werner

If you followed my Israel adventures this summer, you’d know I volunteered on an IDF base with Sar-El just before the 12-Day War with Iran. I met amazing people on this one base in the Negev (can you tell I love the Negev?), other like-minded volunteers from Canada to France. One volunteer, who had done this work with Sar-El over 25 times, had written not one but two books about his experiences. He was kind enough to give me his first book which I devoured.

In his first installment, Mark Werner documents his volunteer stints from 2006-2019. Each chapter describes his experience on a different base around the country, and opens up with history of what’s going on in Israel and in the region at the time. But where there’s a lot of detailed history, Mark also infuses heart into the narrative, with entertaining and sometimes funny stories of the friends and balagan (“chaos”) he meets along the way.

Personally, reading Mark’s book was therapeutic after having left Israel while being there during two wars at the same time. It was also eye opening (and depressing) to read about both Hamas and the weaponization of Iran’s nuclear program gaining ground in the early 2000s, and comparing that history to today. Depressing more in terms of Hamas, and not so much with the Iranian regime, considering we whooped the latter’s tuchus in June.

As a Jew: Reclaiming Our Story from Those Who Blame, Shame, and Try to Erase Us by Sarah Hurwitz

We all know and love Sarah Hurwitz’s Here All Along. So much, in fact, that I deemed it my favorite Jewish book of all time.

So you bet I was excited when she came out with her second book, As a Jew, a clever and snarky title referencing those “good Jews” who love to tokenize themselves by putting distance between them and the Jewish homeland.

I have to admit, it was hard for me to get through the first half. If her first book was rah-rah yay Judaism!, her second feels like a response to external forces (like Christian antisemitism, and assimilation during the Enlightenment) that have played a part in shaping negative views of her own identity. Which is the point, but I found it to be a negative premise. Or maybe, with my rah-rah spirit, I had trouble relating to it. But I scheduled to lead a book club discussion on it, so I had to follow through!

… and I’m glad I kept going! Because the second half tears into antizionist beliefs and why they’re antithetical to Judaism and just plain hypocritical. I don’t think enough books address the current cultural crisis of antizionism we are in, so Sarah’s book is both timely and therapeutic (can you tell books are my therapy?), even though she wrote it before 10/7.

The only problem? I don’t think people who need to read this book are the ones picking it up. But it definitely belongs on the shelf of any Jewish advocate who wants to be well informed. Sarah’s unabashed and honest exploration of her identity will inspire you to stand up for Jewish beliefs and exhibit Jewish pride. I’m not just saying that because she follows this Substack ;) (omg!)

Hostage by Eli Sharabi

Not my favorite book I read this year, but undoubtedly the most important. The first published memoir of a hostage’s experience while held captive in Gaza, Eli Sharabi’s detailed account of what happened on 10/7 and after is a must-read to pay tribute to what he and others endured under the hands of Hamas and Gazan civilians.

He brings insight and nuance, shedding light on conversations he has with both civilians and militants who hold him hostage. The bonds he forms with other hostages, like Hersh Goldberg-Polin and Alon Ohel, and the role he plays as their comforting and stoic father figure, makes you wonder how you would act in their shoes (even though they didn’t wear any).

A reminder there is still one more hostage in Gaza, Sgt. Ran Gvili. I just shared a powerful menorah lighting with his younger sister, Shira, and heard how he saved over a hundred people at Nova and killed 15 terrorists, only to risk his life. He must be brought home.

💦 If you like books, check out these Drops:

Something’s not sitting right with me this Chanukah. Aside from the horrible, sad start to the holiday, that is.

After the news broke out of Sunday’s terrorist attack at Bondi Beach that left many dead and wounded, my Jewish friends texted with concern over worldwide antisemitism. Some friends cried. My one Jewish connection in Sydney, who lives in Bondi Beach just five minutes from the attack, said the community anticipated something like this happening, just not so soon. My social media feeds were bombarded with messages like, “Praying for Sydney” and “This is what happens when the world spreads blood libel against the Jewish state.”

Sunday felt like a day that’s becoming all too normal in the Jewish world: the deadly images/footage, the tears, the frustration at our friends’ silence and condemnation. I didn’t come across anything out of the ordinary that day. Until I did. Twice.

First, a Facebook friend, rather than mourn, immediately took to criticizing his fellow Jews for calling out antizionism in the wake of the attack. His post insinuated that since the shooters had a “Muslim-ish sounding name,” we shouldn’t jump to conclusions about his motive. This was hours after news broke out of witnesses hearing them say Allahu Akbar before shooting, and hours before IS flags were found in one of the shooter’s homes. As I also pointed out to him, someone else with a Muslim name, Ahmed al-Ahmed, a Syrian immigrant and fruit shop owner, risked his life to disarm the shooter. It’s as if reality is more complex than the narratives we try to impose.

OP was right in that we should call out Islamophobia whenever we see it, instead of jumping to conclusions and stereotyping. But I was enraged by his choice in priorities especially when the facts were out there, rushing to defend a narrative before acknowledging Jewish suffering and loss of innocent life, and throwing his fellow Jews under the bus in the process (the latter of which I know I’m doing right now, but stick with me).

Fast forward to that evening at a small menorah lighting, when a group of us were discussing the events of the day and the desire for more worldwide solidarity.

Someone there, who only found out about Bondi a couple of hours before sundown, said, “That’s why it’s important to engage in cross solidarity. I just came from a solidarity group for those affected by ICE.”

While ICE raids are a serious issue in this country, I found her statement to be performative, useless, and a bold choice to redirect Jewish pain elsewhere instead of comforting other Jews, on a holiday no less. I couldn’t help but respond: “That’s nice, but some of those groups tend to not be so welcoming toward Jews.”

Her response? “Hmm, it’s so unfortunate we’re all hurting and in pain.”

I couldn’t understand these few Jews choosing to set aside their own people’s suffering for the sake of others, just as much as I didn’t understand her meaningless response to me.

I’m a liberal at heart. I believe in helping those who are oppressed, and I think it’s hypocritical for Jews not to. But why do we have to cast our Jewishness aside in the process? Is it seen as “too much” to care about Jewish safety? Is it more important to fit in with other groups?

These instances from Sunday - both online and in real life - reminded me of the Hellenistic Jews of the Chanukah story, the ones who abandoned their traditional practices to blend in with Greek society. The ones who said “no thanks” to Shabbat observance and instead chose to wrestle naked at the gymnasium (okay, that does sound kind of fun though).

Like one of my favorite Jewish Substacks said this week, the holiday is about “celebrating the right to be different.” Even when it’s looked down upon. Even when it’s dangerous. Today, when we’re facing an ideological war, that choice is worth celebrating.

I don’t understand why it has to be so hard to both confront hatred you see online and publicly mourn dead Jews. To stand up for something you believe in without discarding your identity at the door.

After a few days of carrying heavy emotions, I realized my anger outweighed my sorrow, and that this has become a usual pattern for me after any tragedy. Maybe this is how I process grief? Maybe it’s easier to be angry than sad.

Which reminded me how complex humans are, and maybe this is how some Jews process their grief, by channeling their social justice? Or maybe I’m giving them too much credit.

Maybe it’s not my business at all what other Jews do.

But I can still be angry. I’m a Jewish woman in 2025; I have every right to be.

Still, there’s only so much anger I can hold before it consumes me, which isn’t productive at all. In times of helplessness, I like to focus on what I can control. Luckily, we’re in the season of darkness. I say “luckily” because we can control how much light we put out into the world. Also, we’re now in what I call Scotch season!

Here’s some Chanukah light. Thank you for reading.

A Yemenite Chanukah Song

“Hannukah Hankini” is a traditional song that Yemenite Jews sang for centuries during the Festival of Lights. The song consists of Yemenite dialect and Hebrew words. Here’s a version on Instagram with translated lyrics.

A Cute Reframing on How to Talk to Kids about Chanukah

Now here’s a Facebook post that made me smile! A friend posted this interaction between his wife and kids:

This reframing, talking about what Jews have rather than what we don’t have, is key to raising kids with Jewish joy. But what do I know about raising kids?!

My New Chanukah Sweater Dress!

Shabbat Shalom and Chanukah Sameach,

💦 If you love Chanukah, check out these Drops:

You may have noticed there was no Drop last week (if not, I’m not offended). That’s because I’ve been pouring all my Jewish (and marketing) energy into an event my work hosted with Rachel Goldberg-Polin and Jon Polin, the parents of Hersh Goldberg-Polin, who was kidnapped and murdered by Hamas last year.

I’m so proud to have worked on hosting these two forces of hope with The Jewish Education Project at Temple Emanu-El’s Streicker Center. Hearing personal stories about Hersh reminded me to stay true to my values, and to continue learning Torah and striving to make the world a better place. If that’s Hersh’s legacy, what a legacy that is.

One of the ways I am continuing to learn is by attending Jewish classes, and I finally fulfilled my Jewish dream of learning at Lehrhaus! This Jewish house of learning and kosher restaurant (named one of the best new restaurants in the U.S. in 2023) is Somerville, MA’s hottest Jewish tavern of learning.

Lehrhaus was inspired by the 20th century Freies Jüdisches Lehrhaus (Free Jewish House of Learning) in Frankfurt, which served as an adult Jewish learning center for assimilated Jews.

Co-founded by the philosopher Franz Rosenzweig, the original Lehrhaus’s learning style was based on “a learning that no longer starts from the Torah and leads into life, but the other way round: from life, from a world that knows nothing of the Law, or pretends to know nothing, back to the Torah. That is the sign of the time.”

It certainly is a sign of the time that the Boston Jewish community was itching for a 21st century Lehrhaus!

I’ve been wanting to go ever since we interviewed the founder, Rabbi Charlie Schwartz, on The Jewish Education Project’s podcast, Adapting: The Future of Jewish Education (this is a Drop bragging about my work, I guess). Listening to a young, energized rabbi describe a place where Jews of all backgrounds can schmooze, grab a book off the shelf, attend a class, and enjoy a drink or a meal, had me hooked on his every word! For the first time in my life, I thought, “I must go to Boston.”

Two years after its opening, I finally went, attended two very different classes, and had a meal. Here’s this week’s Drop. It’s related to Chanukah, I promise :)

First, the ambience was exactly what I expected: cozy, buzzing with conversation, unpretentious, and intellectually curious. You’re greeted by shelves upon shelves of books, with comedically specific genre descriptions.

Being there made it feel like being Jewish is… cool. Which made me realize it doesn’t always feel that way. Let’s face it: Our faces are always in books. We celebrate our enemies not destroying us. We usually have stomach problems (there’s actually a Lactaid gumball machine, see below). Some of our rabbis and educators are desperate for us to connect to our identities, a little too much sometimes. And some of us are just plain weird.

But a vast and kickass Jewish book collection, scholarly deep cuts, a cutout of Hannah Arendt in the bathroom, various Jewish heroes depicted on the walls from Emma Lazarus to the guy who cleans the notes out of the Kotel, and a cocktail with pistachio arak in it (I’m getting ahead of myself)… it made me feel cool. Energized. Proud to be Jewish.

Class 1: Early Days of the Diaspora

My first class of the evening was called, “Who Invented the Diaspora?” and was taught by scholar Dr. Malka Simkovich. To be honest, it took me a good 20 minutes to settle into the class mentally, as my mind was buzzing because I was finally at Lehrhaus and I wanted to explore every nook and cranny!

But here’s my takeaway: The word diaspora first appears in the ancient Greek translation of the Bible (called the Septuagint, from 250–150 BCE). The word was used to describe the dispersion of the Jewish people, but get this: it was used to replace the word “horror” in Devarim 28:15-68:

The Lord will cause you to be defeated before your enemies; you shall go out against them one way and flee before them seven ways. You shall become an object of horror to all the kingdoms of the earth.

The Septuagint replaced “object of horror” with “be in dispersion,” a made-up Greek word for horror. This proves that the word diaspora was never intended to be a neutral word.

I found this insight particularly interesting, because there has been a pro-diaspora movement in the last couple of years to try to disconnect Jews from the land of Israel and to paint the diaspora as puppies and rainbows. While I think aspects of the diaspora are interesting and beautiful, like how Jews ended up in India of all places, we were never supposed to end up here in the first place. The heart of Jewish peoplehood is centered in Israel. We pray for a return to Zion and celebrate holidays rooted in the land. We only left because we were exiled. Also, it’s privileged to think the diaspora is safe for all Jews. That’s not to say Israel is puppies and rainbows (it’s more like dirty cats and intense heat). We could get into a debate on this, but that’s a whole other Drop!

To continue this tangent, I recently attended a lecture where the speaker argued that because old Jewish manuscripts reflect symbols of their societies (like a 17th-century ketubah from Italy decorated with naked women in the Italian style of the period), the Jews of that time must have lived rich and fulfilling lives. However, it was later revealed that it wasn’t the Jews who created their own manuscripts. Why, you ask? Because they weren’t allowed to. Some rich communities they were a part of!

🕎 Here’s where the class ties into Chanukah!

In this class, we also read excerpts from 2 Maccabees, containing possible letters from 124 BCE written by Jews in Jerusalem to Jews in Alexandria, Egypt. In them, the Jerusalem Jews implored the Alexandria Jews to celebrate what would later become known as Chanukah, only they call it “the festival of booths in the month of Chislev,” since Chanukah was originally a late celebration of Sukkot (that’s why we get eight days of jelly doughnuts!).

Keep in mind, these writings took place just 40 years after the Maccabean defeat of the Seleucids and the rededication of the Temple. Still, the text sounded so urgent and desperate to have Jews outside the land honor the “Purification of the Temple” out of fear of Jews becoming obsolete. Those Alexandria Jews probably thought that the defeat of the Seleucids didn’t affect them, so why should they care? If only they knew the delicious fried foods their descendants would one day enjoy!

For a holiday that’s now one of the best known to non-Jews thanks to its proximity to Christmas, and one that’s celebrated by Jews all over the world, from Gaza to Hong Kong, it was interesting to read about a fear of it becoming forgotten so soon after the events took place.

Class 2: Dream Circle

If the first class was scholarly and historical, the following class was mystical and Freudian. Deliciously different, in a good way!

Ariel Hendelman led “Up Above & Down Below: Dreaming in the Jewish Tradition.” Using a framework for interpreting dreams from Jill Hammer’s book, Undertorah: An Earth-Based Kabbalah of Dreams, Ariel led us in a session to interpret our recent dreams together! Here’s how the framework goes:

1. The dreamer shares their dream in the present tense, as if they are living it in the moment. They describe as many details as possible without trying to interpret it themselves.

2. After they’re done sharing their dream, members of the circle ask clarifying questions about the dream, so they have as many details as possible.

3. Then the circle is open to interpretation. Each person starts with, “As a dreamer of this dream…” as if the dream is their own, and they share their perspective or any insights.

Here’s an example:

A man shared his dream of being in the backseat of a car while his dad, who is no longer living in real life, is driving. His mother, who is also no longer living, is in the passenger seat. The dreamer realizes they are running low on gas and his father doesn’t notice, but his mother does and sees a gas station.

We asked questions like, “What kind of car is your father driving?” “Where in the backseat are you sitting?” “Are you younger, or are you your age today in the dream?” The dreamer tried to answer our questions as best as he could.

Then people gave their interpretations: As a dreamer of this dream… “I feel protected by my parents, knowing they’re taking care of me.” “I feel like I’m the parent for noticing the gas running low, and my father is the child.” Someone even related the dream to that week’s parsha, comparing his father to blind Isaac and his mother to Rebecca who swoops in and takes care of business.

It was honestly therapeutic and eye opening, as some people shared interpretations that the dreamer may not have thought of before. One woman said she was grateful for an insight I shared about her dream.

Food, and the Diaspora Again (No Tangent This Time!)

Lehrhaus’s cocktails, which are displayed on a menu designed to be a page of Talmud, are creatively themed and crafted. I already teased my delicious Saz-Arak. I would go back just for the drinks!

For dinner, we ordered the pickle plate to start, the famous beet Reuben, and fish and chips. The food menu is also designed as a page of Talmud, and gives fun facts like where the Reuben sandwich was first documented (the Cornhusker Hotel in Lincoln, Nebraska), and tidbits about the Brazilian Jewish community.

This menu circles back to the diaspora discussion, a reminder that Jewish food is made up of the many journeys of diasporic Jews. We wouldn’t have this eclectic menu, which includes fish and chips (from Sephardic Jews fleeing Spain), and pletzl (Ashkenazi flatbread from Paris, meaning “little square”) otherwise.

I got a kick out of (quite literally) the amba vinaigrette and the spicy s’chug aioli that came with the fish and chips. Aside from that, I didn’t think the food was as good as the learning, but I don’t go to Boston for the food ;)

My much-anticipated Lehrhaus visit lived up to the dream. And just like Joseph in this week’s parsha, you never know where your dreams will take you. They just might take you to Boston… or DC! Which is where Lehrhaus is looking to open next. As someone who was once very active in the Jewish DC scene, it will be a great addition there.

Shabbat Shalom / Happy Festival of Booths in the Month of Chislev!

May your Jewish dreams come true,

Shabbat Prompt ✍️

What ARE your Jewish dreams? To have a b-mitzvah later in life? Finish studying a tractate of Talmud? Memorize a specific prayer? Raise a Jewish family? Host a Seder? Finally go on that Jewish trip to India? Feel free to share in the comments!