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On Tuesday morning, a few hours after the most fearsome hurricane in New York history delivered a knockout punch here, Yanky Meyer spent an hour in a southern Brooklyn neighborhood that had briefly turned into one of the city’s most dangerous.

Meyer, director of the Misaskim emergency crisis organization, went to Sea Gate, a gated community that borders on Gravesend Bay, to help shepherd some holdouts to safety.

Standing at the doors of a pair of school buses donated for the day by Brooklyn yeshivot, he coordinated the volunteers from his organization and from the Hatzalah volunteer ambulance corps who were leading several dozen members of the Jewish community, who had remained in their Sea Gate homes despite pleas from city officials to evacuate as Sandy approached, from the synagogue where they had gathered that morning.

“It was a war zone. There was debris everywhere,” Meyer told The Jewish Week later that day. The people, of “all ages,” including many aging Holocaust survivors, came almost empty-handed, some gripping paper shopping bags filled with “emergency” items.

The buses took the displaced Sea Gate residences to relatives and synagogues in Borough Park that had offered shelter until it’s safe to return to their homes.

Misaskim and Hatzalah were major participants in the city-wide initiative in the last week to educate the Jewish community about the impending storm, and to assist area Jews who needed aid after Sandy struck.

Though the buildings of Jewish institutions and homes of members of the Jewish community suffered extensive damage when the hurricane blew into New York City Monday afternoon – including the Shorefront Y, which may be out of commission for an indefinite period, and a Kings Bay Y site for senior and kids programs that was to open Monday night, destroyed at a cost of $40,000-$50,000 – no casualties or deaths in the community were reported as of Jewish Week press time. “That’s the most important thing,” said David Pollock, associate executive director of the Jewish Community Relations Council of New York.

It is too early to estimate the financial cost of the damage suffered this week by the Jewish community, Pollock said.

Unlike the stubborn Sea Gate residents helped by Misaskim, many had earlier left there for safer, dryer locations, and hundreds of elderly Jews elsewhere in the region were part of a coordinated evacuation effort.

“I think we’re better prepared” this time, Pollock said. “People take it seriously

Hundreds of members of the Jewish community in areas at risk of flooding took part in evacuations on Sunday, some by themselves, some with the help of community organizations, Pollock said. That included five sheltered residences for senior citizens under the auspices of JASA – two in Far Rockaway, Queens, and three in southern Brooklyn – and a growing community of émigrés from the former Soviet Union who live in southern and eastern Staten Island.

“We were prepared” for the hurricane, said Rabbi Joseph Potasnik, executive vice president of the New York Board of Rabbis. He said the growing prominence of emails, texting and social media enabled participants in the community’s rescue effort to easily communicate with each other, especially when land lines and cell phones were not working.

Before Hurricane Sandy struck the New York City area,, the Jewish community took steps to protect its members and property. As the winds and rain approached the tri-state area, moving up the Easter Seaboard, several lectures, dinner and other programs were cancelled.

Before the effects of the storm began to subside by late Tuesday and Wednesday, the day-to-day functions of most Jewish organizations shut down, while the concentration shifted to keeping employees, residents of Jewish-run residence buildings, and property safe. Among the closed institutions in Manhattan on the early days of Sandy were the major rabbinical schools, yeshivas and day schools, Jewish community centers, synagogues and headquarters of national Jewish organizations.

Evacuations were ordered in Brooklyn’s heavily Jewish Brighton Beach and Coney Island neighborhoods, and in lower Manhattan’s Battery Park City, all located near bodies of water.

Masbia, the kosher food pantry and network of free soup kitchens in Brooklyn and Queens, was closed on Monday but distributed extra food to its indigent recipients on Sunday, as did food programs under the auspices of the Metropolitan Council on Jewish Poverty.

Misaskim, the Orthodox, Borough Park-based organization whose volunteers offer a variety of assistance to people during their mourning period, activated its Emergency Operations Center to help coordinate the Jewish community’s dealings with emergency and law enforcement agencies, and distributed a limited number of generators to people with medical conditions, and a wedding hall in Monsey where a wedding took place Monday night.

While El Al passengers will be able to change the dates of their cancelled flights without a financial penalty, thousands of Israeli airline passengers whose flights to the US were cancelled because of the hurricane will not be entitled to monetary compensation, because the storm is considered an act of God, Haaretz reported. Those passengers, however, will receive their money back or be eligible to an alternate flight on the cancelled route.

The ynetnews.com website reported that, in addition to “several Israelis … stuck in New York,” a “young Jerusalem resident” who was to get married on Thursday in the US to his New York fiancée faced the prospect that the widespread cancellation of flights was likely to keep his family members in Israel from attending. “The situation is made even more taxing,” ynet reported, “by the fact that the ultra-Orthodox couple cannot communicate [during the week] before the wedding, so all the arrangements must be mediated by the parents.”

Few members of the Jewish community on the Lower East Side, located on the East River, apparently moved out this week on the eve of the storm, said William Rapfogel, executive director of Met Council and a lifelong resident of the neighborhood. Younger neighbors made an orchestrated effort to help older residents, he said, and local rabbis organized daily prayer minyans in many of the major apartment buildings that have sizable Jewish populations, to prevent residents from missing a worship service.

“I see people on the street,” he said on Monday. The morning minyan at the Bialystoker Synagogue was “pretty busy.”

As the threat of the cutoff of electricity and cell phone service loomed, a website that serves the Orthodox community, theyeshivaworld.com, posted a notice on “How To Stay Connected During Hurricane Sandy.” Send text messages instead of using phones for making calls, the website advised, “because text messages use much less network capacity. They also don’t use much battery power.”

Staffers of Jewish Home Lifecare, which provides health care services and assistance for the elderly and their caregivers on campuses in the Bronx, Manhattan and Westchester, and also serves clients in their homes, reached out this week to clients in their homes “to check on their safety and make sure they have necessary support,” an update issued by the agency stated. “Community Services staff have worked to get support to the clients” in their homes, “including delivery of food and other necessities.

“Community Services Nurses are visiting clients with critical medical needs in their homes to administer necessary treatments,” according to the update.

Seniors from JASA residences were taken, sometimes accompanied by JASA staff members, to local senior facilities not in danger of flooding, or emergency shelters.

The areas from which residents were ordered to evacuate were those designated as Zone A by New York City, mostly low-lying areas along the bodies of water that surround or border most of the Greater New York area. Among these areas are Far Rockaway, Sea Gate, Coney Island, Manhattan Beach, the perimeter of Staten Island, and southern Manhattan.

The Shorefront Y in Brighton Beach boarded up its windows on Sunday, using pieces of plywood it keeps in storage on the roof, Pollock said, The Y was among several local Jewish institutions that had bought the supplies using funds that UJA-Federation had earmarked since 9-11 for “emergency planning.”

During the last week, he said, JCRC has served as a clearinghouse for storm-related information, working with city agencies and the Red Cross. Its security blog (securityblog.jcrcny.org). posted regular updates, including weather reports, advising for dealing with the hurricane, and other useful information.

Rabbi Potasnik said many long-planned events like weddings and bar-bat mitzvah parties has to be called off or postponed on Sunday and Monday, and Jewish families who suffered a loss then were unable to arrange an immediate burial. “We can’t find any cemeteries that are open,” Rabbi Potasnik said.

Among the cancelled events this week was a screening of the movie “Defiance,” about World War II Jewish partisans, at Symphony Space in Manhattan. The event, sponsored by the School News Nationwide organization, was to feature speeches by a Holocaust survivor, and a son of one of the Bielski brothers who had led the resistance group.

For some Jewish organizations, a priority was protecting its valuables.

“Our Torah has been lovingly sealed in plastic” and stored in a safe location,” Rabbi Darren Levine of Tamid NYC – The Downtown Synagogue, a congregation in lower Manhattan, informed congregants in an email message. “We’re mobilizing a volunteer team to work with other agencies to be ready for the clean up effort in Lower Manhattan alter this week.”

At the Kings Bay Y in Brooklyn, which remained closed on Monday and Tuesday, two non-Jewish members of the maintenance staff volunteered to stay overnight at the building, to monitor if any damage happened during the height of the storm, said Leonard Petlakh, executive director. They told him, in jest, that “any hurricane is better than staying with our wives at home,” Petlakh said.

Ken Soloway, assistant executive director of the Kings Bay Y, said he was inundated this week with messages of support from Y members and members of the wider Jewish community, many offering assistance.

“This is bringing us together,” Soloway said of the hurricane. He said he is considering some sort of follow-up program to sustain that camaraderie. “Something good has to come out of this.”

“There has been a nice amount of reaching out within the community to make sure people are safe and comfortable,” said Rabbi Ora Horn Prouser, executive vice president of the Jewish Academy for Religion in Yonkers. “I also know that many alumni and students have taken steps in their own communities to make sure that especially those who are alone or in need of assistance are cared for.

“Whenever you are in a community of clergy and spiritual thinkers many have taken this opportunity to think and share what this all means in terms of community, our relationship with nature, the human divine relationship and much more,” Rabbi Prouser said.

The Riverdale Y, which was closed on Monday and Tuesday, opened its bathrooms and showers on Tuesday to members of the community, who had lost electric power, to use the Y facilities and recharge their sell phones.

“I know that last night [Monday] during the height of the storm three were 40 people praying in a minyan in Borough Park, enabling mourners to say Kaddish,” Rabbi Potasnik says.

The homepage of the Union for Reform Judaism this week included a link to “Prayers and readings in response to natural disasters.”

Rabbi Anchelle Perl, director of Chabad-Lubavitch of Mineola, said he spent much of his time this week offering spiritual encouragement via emails and phone calls.

“Reaching out spiritually, especially in times of worry and fear like this, is very important,” he told chabad.org. “People need to keep their spirits up.” On Monday he delivered kosher food to a teenager at a nearby detention center whose arraignment was postponed by the storm.

In the Bronx, the Hebrew Institute of Riverdale issued an email notice on Monday that a member of the congregation, who was sitting shiva this week, needed a quorum of worshippers for that day’s afternoon mincha prayer service. The synagogue probably feared that a minyan would not turn out for the member’s 1:30 p.m. mincha, which would be in addition to HIR’s regular mincha later that day, said a member of the congregation who drove to the member’s home.

About 40 other Jews from Riverdale showed up too, said the HIR member, who asked not to be identified. Members from several Riverdale congregations came. “Everyone figured that no one else would show up. I think most people drove.”

The weather that afternoon was not pleasant. “It wasn’t pouring,” the HIR member said. “It was blowing like crazy. There were limbs falling down.”

While nearly all Jewish organizations and educational institutions were closed on Monday, and many on Tuesday, in Manhattan – which was cut off from the outer boroughs for several days when subway service was suspended and most bridges and tunnels were closed – where the bulk of the organized Jewish community is based, many offices in the outer boroughs, especially in heavily Orthodox neighborhoods remained open.

A 12-member crew spent most of Sunday afternoon moving and protecting several vulnerable artifacts at the Museum of Jewish Heritage – A living Memorial to the Holocaust, said Betsy Aldredge, public relations manager. After the hurricane’s height on Monday, maintenance workers reported water in the basement and in the switch room, Aldredge said.

The removed items included a Czech Torah that survived the Holocaust, a wedding display that included a full-sized chupah, an early 20^th-Century sukkah from Hungary, and a Sephardic oud musical instrument, all of which were displayed on the first floor; all were moved to a third-floor office.

The museum is located in Battery Park City on the shore of the New York harbor, overlooking Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty. The entrances to the building were sandbagged on Sunday, Aldredge said; the museum was closed on Monday.

A Fazioli piano in the museum’s theater was wrapped in plastic, to protect it against possible water damage, artifacts from the current Hava Nagila exhibit, in a gallery underneath a skylight, were moved to a less vulnerable place in the building, and boxes in the gift shop were moved “out of harm’s way,” Aldredge said. “We did everything we could do.”

The museum took similar steps on the eve of Hurricane Irene’s arrival a year ago, she said. “That was our test run.

“We were lucky,” Aldredge said. The 2011 storm “was not as bad as expected.”

The museum closed a few hours early on Sunday. “A lot of tourists came in” to see its core and special exhibits, she said. About a dozen showed up for an Israeli dance class. “We wish more would have come … but the people who came were glad to be dancing here.”

The Jewish Center, a Modern Orthodox congregation on the Upper West Side, sent an email notice to members informing them that “all activities … other than daily Minyanim” would be postponed on Monday, and urging congregants to

“1. Ask elderly or homebound neighbors if you can assist them in any way.

“2. Check with your neighbors if you can assist them in any way.

“3. Check in on neighbors throughout the next several days.”

Representatives of several local congregations said their synagogues sent similar reminders to their members.

“A crisis brings out best in people who think about welfare of others even when they are hurting,” Rabbi Potasnik said. “I just received call from former Gov. [David] Paterson asking if I am OK.”

Rapfogel said some home attendants hired by Met Council stayed during the height of the storm at the homes of people who required medical attention, and others walked from their homes to clients’ homes.

The Jewish Community Project, a Jewish community organization that offers a variety of programs in Manhattan’s Tribeca area, sent the “general community” links to “key government and weather services,” and an email “hotline” for people needing assistance.

Rabbi Shimon Kramer of the Chabad Center for Jewish Life in Merrick, L.I., sent out a notice to supporters. “If there is something we can help you with, such as flashlights, food, water, or the like, please contact us,” the rabbi stated.

The Chabad-Lubavitch Chasidic movement’s network of shluchim (emissaries) offered relief to members of their surrounding Jewish communities, and offered housing to fellow shluchim who were forced to vacate their homes.

I’ve gotten calls from the four closest shluchim and they offered to take in my family and anyone else that needs a place to go,” said Rabbi Avrohom Rappoport, director of the Chabad House that serves New Jersey’s Atlantic and Cape May counties. “There’s really been a sense of community and concern from our extended family.”

Volunteers moved the Chabad House’s Torah scrolls to higher ground and put plast

Rabbi Eli and Beila Goodman, who live in Long Beach, L.I., and run the Chabad of the Beaches, spent Sunday sandbagging the ground floor of their apartment and synagogue, and helping other people do the same, before joining the evacuation of the water-side area.

Rabbi Yaakov Saacks of the Lubavitch Chai Center in Dix Hills, L.I., said he fielded many calls from people asking for D batteries. “Any ones I have,” I’ve give out,” he told the callers.

In Livingston, N.J., Rabbi Zalman Grossbaum held a walkathon Sunday morning on behalf of the local Friendship Circle, a Chabad program that pairs teenage volunteers with special needs children. Some 2,000 people showed up for the event.

Last year’s walkathon was postponed because of an imminent snowstorm.

Sunday’s event took place just in time. “It was a beautiful event, and everyone was happy to come out and catch some happiness before the craziness we might go through,” Rabbi Grossbaum said.

Rabbi Menachem Kaminker, director of the Israel Chabad Center in Cherry Hill, N.J., offered his Monday evening Torah study class on the phone this week, instead of in person, when it became evident that few, if any, students would venture outside. This week, instead of discussing the Torah portion of the week, he concentrated on “the hurricane, the blessing for it, etc.,” he told The Jewish Week.

“Baruch Hashem, it went great, although because power went out in some portions of our area,” Rabbi Kaminker said. A half-dozen people participated. “The power kept flickering, but we made it.”

At J. Levine Books & Judaica, which stayed open Sunday and Monday at its midtown location but closed early, owner Danny Levine says customers came in, in smaller numbers than usual, and asked for one particular item. Yahrzeit candles. “The 24-hour ones.”

The customers didn’t say whether they wanted the candles for memorial or lighting purposes, but suspects it was a little of each. For the former, members of the Jewish community don’t want to find themselves without the candles that are lit on the anniversary of a loved one’s death, Levine says. For the latter, a yahrzeit candle in a small glass a safe source of light. “Maybe [customers] are thinking it’s as good as a flashlight,” he says.

The customers’ demand for yahrzeit candles didn’t threaten to exhaust the store’s supply, Levine says. “We have plenty.”

The inconvenience of cancelled classes in the middle of the academic year did not seem to bother students at Yeshiva University’s Stern College for Women. “So far, most of what I’ve seen is study, study, study,” one Stern student told the Jewish Week. “The hurricane conveniently hit right before midterms.”

The hurricane is likely to be the stuff of sermons in the coming days, says Rabbi Potasnik of the Board of Rabbis. “Whenever major event happens,” he says, “we as rabbis immediately ask ‘Is there a sermon here?’

The Satmar chasidim are the Boo Radleys of our town. Like that character in “To Kill A Mockingbird,” they scare the neighbors and frighten the horses. They hide but don’t seek. They’re quaint but not cute. In a narcissistic city, they refuse to flatter. Jewish families visit Williamsburg, Va., but not Williamsburg, Brooklyn. They don’t want visitors and don’t have gift shops.

Yet once when I was in the hospital, a Satmar woman came every morning with hot soup, freshly cooked chicken, homemade applesauce and marble cake. She was shy and of indeterminate age. She didn’t know who I was, just that there was a Jew on the eighth floor.

I didn’t need her food but didn’t say so because I liked seeing her in the mornings. She was from the Ladies Bikur Cholim D’Satmar, a group of women who cook and deliver food to some 70 patients daily in more than two dozen hospitals from Staten Island to Washington Heights. Almost none of the patients served are Satmar.

About 15 “ladies” leave Williamsburg every morning in a van that takes them and their bags full of meals to the hospitals. More often than not they return to Williamsburg by subway, and a long ride it is from most hospitals. The Ladies Bikur Cholim visits six days a week in rain, heat or sleet. The day after 9-11, they crossed the closed bridges by hitching rides in Jewish ambulances.

“This started with the Satmar rebbetzin [the late Feige Teitelbaum],” said one Satmar lady who wouldn’t tell me her name. “She started this after the war, from her own little kitchen. She herself took the soup on the subway. Then she took on a helper, and more helpers.

“It was after the war. Almost everybody [in Williamsburg] was a Holocaust survivor. No one had families. She was like a mother. She heard someone was sick, she made soup. Do you know Satmar?”

I didn’t want to say that I knew Satmar all too well from their battles with other Jewish groups. After all, she was coming to me in gentleness, and I wanted to be gentle in return.

I told her my grandparents had a bungalow on the banks of a Catskills lake. The lake was surrounded by tall pines that reflected in the water. On the far side of the lake was a Satmar colony. At dusk we could see the lights in the windows and hear voices muffled across the water. That summer I often though that as different as the Satmars were, we enjoyed the same godly beauty. They must have loved the lake as I did.

“We shared a lake,” I said.

“In the summer we go to the country,” she said.

That was as personal as the conversations got.. The Satmar women avoided personal questions. “We just try to make the patients feel happy,” she said.

In emergency rooms, everything earthly – your keys, shoes, wallet, the computer disk in your shirt pocket – is put into a bag called “Patient’s Belongings.” In the John Lennon exhibit in the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, the final item was Lennon’s “Patient’s Belongings” bag from Roosevelt Hospital, for in the end, no matter who you are, that’s what it comes down to.

To the Satmar ladies, all the feuds and misunderstandings of this world go into that bag, that bag that no patient needs. So why talk of earthly things, of old fights or affiliations?

She said, “a Yiddishe neshoma is a Yiddishe neshoma,” a Jewish soul is a Jewish soul. If a patient was happy to get Satmar’s kosher home-cooked food, then they could be Reform, gay, Republican, Democrat, Zionist, intermarried. It didn’t matter, these ladies would deliver.

After getting out of the hospital, like a Hansel or a Gretel, I followed the crumbs back to 132 Ross St. in Williamsburg, a cellar several steps down from street level where the Ladies Bikur Cholim D’Satmar have their office and kitchen.

Throughout the day, Satmar women from the neighborhood would bring in a big sheet of sponge cake, or a large tub of homemade applesauce made in their private kitchens.

In the Ross Street kitchen, Mrs. W. answered the phones and penciled in the information from individuals who alerted her to a Jewish patient somewhere in a hospital. She had no computer to help her keep track of the many patients. She kept the names of her many volunteers in raggedy cloth-covered loose-leaf.

“We’re here from 8 in the morning to 6 at night,” she said. “Not me, maybe” – she has 12 children, after all – “but someone is here. Other than Shabbos [Sabbath] and yontif [the holy festivals] there’s no such thing as a day off. On a short Friday, do you know what it means to deliver to hospitals and be back to make Shabbos? And these are women with large families.”

Mrs. W. explained, matter of factly, “this is what we do. The whole Satmar community is based on chesed [mercy]. We help people and Hashem [G-d] should help us.”

I said, “I’m sorry I never brought soup to you, if you or someone in Satmar was sick.”

“No one should be sick,” said Mrs. W. “G-d forbid. We should always be able to help each another.”

None of the Satmar women would allow me to know their names or to take their picture, yet we were strangely intimate, these women and I. After all, we Jews are more sweetly intimate than we suppose. There are people in our community whom we barely know, but we can walk into each other’s shivas [houses of mourning] without explanation. If one of us dies, we volunteer to wash each other’s bodies. If sick, we bring soup to Jews we never met before.

We may never speak again, these Satmar women and I, but it was as if we shared the same lake, a piece of G-d’s beauty, the water rippling flowing from one side to the other.

courtesy of http://www.JewishWorldReview.com 

There’s a trend that is gaining momentum of disenchanted Jewish bloggers sharing their bitterness all over the internet.

Now what’s a blog for, if not honesty? I don’t want candy coated writing. It’s nauseous. And I don’t want superficial, I want fresh and I want real.

Not only that but people love that kind of writing. The comments are not just ten or twenty. There are hundreds of readers who want to chime and in and say “yeah, me too…..”

I have friends too, who have suffered and they feel a measure of comfort seeing their pain be validated.

But even with all that; Even with the ever pressing need to talk about issues; to not stuff them in the closet and to demand that true spiritual values be lived, I think we can do better.

Here’s how I see it. A person needs to decide for themselves how they identify.

Are you American or are you Jewish?

America values freedom. It places your rights above everything.

Judaism values responsibility. Your responsibility comes before everything.

Rav Dessler in his famous work “Strive for Truth” looks at the difference between the two. A system based on rights is a system based on taking; How much do I deserve to get.

The secret American dream is that one day I’ll be able to sue a big corporation for some injustice and I’ll get 10 million dollars. [after all, I have a right to!]

Although the idea of every human being having rights sounds beautiful, it misses the mark. It places responsibility on everyone but yourself. And the society it breeds may value equality and expression, but it also breeds a selfish, immature self-portrait.

Judaism also values equality and expression. And like Democracy, which is based on Jewish teachings, justice and fair treatment of every human being is paramount.

How we get there though is where we diverge. In a rights based system, each one is looking out for themselves. In a responsibility based system, each is looking out for others.

When a person is the victim of unkindness or injustice or some other sort of perversion in the Jewish community, its nothing less than horrible. Not only are we as a people mandated to live a life on a higher standard, but together we are a family! A family! When your family hurts you its devastating! And when you see corruption in the mission you’ve sacrificed for its a knife in the heart.

And that’s what you see in these blogs. People are bleeding. Much of what they write about is not even that awful but in the context of being let down by family, by a system you’ve trusted, it’s brutal.

The question is, are you more worried about your right to free expression or about your responsibility to stand up for values and spread light.

These blogs and maybe even the bloggers may feel like they’re righting injustice, but in fact they’re inciting hate against the very thing they hold dear. Their “free expression” has a very heavy price.

You have bloggers who write, “I keep Shabbos, I keep Kosher etc….” as if to say “I AM a Jew who cares about Torah” and then proceed to shame it by mocking and branding those who have let them down/they disagree with.

Is there room for expression in Judaism? Yes.

But things are beautiful when they’re in their place and they’re ugly when they’re not

EX. Two people working it out with Judge Judy. Not nice. They look petty and juvenile bringing their little issues to a public court in front of millions.

Working it out with a mediator, mutual friend, parent etc… Beautiful. That becomes an example of the greatness of people to find peace and compromise.

EX. The President in a bathing suit. I just don’t want to see it. My 5-year-old at the beach in her bathing suit. Beautiful.

EX A daughter who has a care taking role with her parents and can’t live her own life because she’s so wrapped up in making them happy. Not pretty. Parents who devote their lives to their kids. Beautiful.

Blasting your feelings against your family and bringing down the value of Torah on the internet is not the place. Its not beautiful.

It has its place. But where is it?

The answer is two fold, but the principle is the same. We need to aim to build, not to destroy.

If you have an issue, work it out where it counts,. vent, work out solutions, speak to people who care.Bring it to the attention of people who can do something about it. Finda support group of people who understand you. Be constructive.

On the other side is the public forum. The power of the pen is great and needs to be utilized. Each of us is a leader and we have a chance to make a difference.

So blog. Blog the night away, but be a builder. Bring solutions. The world is hungry for meaning. It really doesn’t need another voice saying, “here’s where I didn’t find meaning.”

One little flame can bring light to a whole room. Be that light. Share your thoughts. Let’s make improvements, don’t add to the darkness.

And be honest.

The worst part about these things is the dishonest journalism. And both sides are guilty of that. Both the white washing and the deprecating.

Think of your family. Think of anyone’s family. I can easily paint a dysfunctional picture for you simply by focusing my lens on what isn’t working.

With one eye closed I see divorce, co-dependance, lack of self-esteem, role reversal, debt, shame, jealousy, and favoritism. And that’s in a functional family! Imagine if your parent is a gambler or your brother’s in jail or you have depression or mental disorders.

If I want to, I can make you look so bad, no one would come near you with a ten foot pole. But that’s not the whole story.

If I look with the other eye I’ll see kindness and selflessness, I ll see caring, I ‘ll see honest struggle. I’ll see triumph, I’ll see laughter. I’ll see traditions and I’ll see friends.

I’ll see all the things that keep you going beyond the hardship and all the things that make me want to be with you.

If I look with both eyes, you know what I’ll see? I’ll see you. with all your strengths and weaknesses. And with all that makes you uniquely human and uniquely you.

And we’ll work out the rough patches and we’ll stick together, because there’s that much love between us.

If you really care about a better world, start with honesty. Don’t report with one eye closed.

Write about the problems and write about the beauty. Be respectful of your readers and don’t just give them a sensationalistic piece. Give them something to live for.

Don’t leave out the millions of dollars given to charity,

the kindness done for a person in a new community,

the endless hours that Rabbi’s give to their congregants,

the education that focuses on character development,

the values of not gossiping, not lying, not taking honor that belongs to another person,

the reaching out to teens on the street,

the referrals and accommodations for community members who are sick,

the blood drives, the bone marrow drives,

the volunteer work on behalf of families with disabilities,

the Shabbos tables that are filled with guests

the open homes for virtual strangers

the programs for battered women

the modesty of young girls

and the self control that’s taught to young men that makes them into true men.

Don’t leave out the free loan funds,

the private packages left at the doors of people who can’t afford food

the sacrifice of Jewish teachers to make learning Torah warm and fun, going above and beyond

the sacrifice of families who live in far away places simply to reach out to Jews who may be looking for a little more

The integrity of businessmen who close on Shabbos, no matter what

and the integrity of businesswomen who conduct themselves modestly even whenjoining in would gain them more acceptance

And that’s just a tiny little drop in the bucket of what goes on. Come to any Orthodox Jewish community and your eyeballs will pop out of your head at the level of kindness. I challenge you.

To writers everywhere, I tell you what I tell my children, we have to identify by who we are, not by who we’re not. That’s a cool person.

And for all of us; if we want to take a stand, lets let it be for our people, not against it. We are family. At the end of the day all we have is each other.

For more practical loving wisdom, go to www.RivkaMalka.com

September 9, 2010 • By Tom Jacobs
Giving money to the poor is a doctrine of pretty much every religion, but a new study suggests some faiths are better than others at inspiring their followers to actually open their wallets.
Specifically, Jewish families in the U.S. are more likely than their Christian counterparts to contribute to charities focusing on providing basic necessities.
That’s the conclusion of a study by economist Mark Ottoni-Wilhelm, just published in the Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion. After controlling for various factors that influence giving, such as income, education and family size, he found support for organizations focusing on food and shelter “does not vary across Christian denominations and nonaffiliated families in any notable way.”
“However, Jewish families are both more likely to give, and, when they do give, give larger amounts,” adds Ottoni-Wilhelm, who is in the economics department of Indiana University-Purdue University Indianapolis.
Ottoni-Wilhelm’s findings are based on data from the 2001, 2003 and 2005 waves of the Center on Philanthropy Panel Study, part of the Panel Study on Income Dynamics. Among the questions it posed to participants: “Did you, or anyone in your family, make any donation (in the previous year) to organizations that help people in need of food, shelter or other basic necessities?” A follow-up question asked: If so, how much?
He found 29 percent of American families donate to such organizations in a given year, with an average gift of $490. “This 29 percent is made up of three groups,” he notes. “Thirty percent are occasional givers who gave in only one of the three years observed; 37 percent are families who gave in two of the years; and 33 percent are regular givers who gave in all three years.”
So how does this break down in terms of religion? “Although simple descriptions of giving to basic necessity organizations reveal differences across Christian denominational identities,” he writes, “these differences disappear when other differences in income, wealth, ethnicity, etc. are controlled.”
Once those factors were taken out of the equation, Ottoni-Wilhelm found “[n]o differences between Protestant families and Catholic families. No differences between mainline Protestant families and evangelical Protestant families.”
The only exception was Jewish families, who were, on average, significantly more generous than those of other faiths. Ottoni-Wilhelm argues the reason for this most likely lies in the means of persuasion favored by different religious cultures.
For most Christian denominations, arguments for aiding the needy are generally framed in terms of “stewardship, duty and reciprocity,” he writes, adding there is no evidence that any of those approaches are effective. The appeals to duty provided by pastors “are especially weak, because they do not frame that duty as a part of the member’s religious identity,” he argues.
In contrast, “Jewish philanthropy uses appeals to be generous that align well” with social-science research on how to effectively frame a request for help. He notes that Jewish appeals often connect “the needs of people who are poor to the Jewish history of enslavement in Egypt,” effectively forming an empathetic connection between the person giving money and the person receiving it.
Furthermore, “The literature on Jewish philanthropy emphasizes that giving to help people with basic needs is an essential part of Jewish identity,” he notes. “(It also) emphasizes a strong community norm behind giving.”
The apparent effectiveness of these appeals, alone or in combination, “might suggest ideas that can be transferred to other religious identities” looking for ways to encourage charitable giving, Ottani-Wilhelm concludes. Given the level of need in these tough economic times, such experimentation can’t come quickly enough.

Imagine losing your wallet at a large public event. What do you estimate the chances of ever seeing that wallet again? Especially if the wallet contained $350 in cash, plus credit cards, gift cards and more.
Ethan Youssefzadeh, an 18-year-old in Los Angeles, was at a high-school track meet last week when he found a wallet lying in the grass. Looking at the driver’s license, Ethan was able to identify the owner’s address. So he immediately did the right thing: He got into his car and drove 45 minutes out of his way to the owner’s house.
The owner had been getting ready to cancel his credit cards, never expecting to have the wallet returned. When Ethan came to the door, the wallet-owner was in disbelief.
They got to talking. The owner asked Ethan about his school and his Jewish observance. The owner was so inspired by the young man’s sincerity and honesty, that he offered Ethan reward money.
“No thank you,” Ethan replied. “I was just fulfilling what the Torah teaches – it’s a mitzvah to return any lost article you find.”
That night, the wallet-owner, who is Jewish, wrote to the administration of Ethan’s school, YULA Boys High School, saying, “The truth is, I am not sure if my children, or even I, would have ever returned something with such great value.”
Then the man added: “If this is what Jews do, then I want my kids to be like your students.”
In today’s world, when Torah observance is so widely misunderstood and under attack from various socio-political camps, acts of kindness such as Ethan’s carry enormous value.
“People think that Jewish observance is so far-fetched,” Ethan told Aish.com. “But my Torah studies teach that caring for others and respecting their property is normal. I always try to think: How would I want someone to treat me if I were in the same situation?”
The morning after returning the wallet, Ethan’s story became the focus of a special school assembly. From there, word has spread, demonstrating how, in Ethan’s words, “small things can have a big impact.”
“There was never a moment where I thought to keep the money,” says Ethan. “A few hundred dollars comes and goes, but this story will stay with me for a lifetime.”
But that’s not the end of the story. When the wallet-owner found out that Ethan is president of his school’s student council, he offered to donate the $350.
“Okay,” said Ethan. “For the benefit of the Student Council, I will gladly accept.”
Lost Connection
The great Jewish philosopher Maimonides writes that a Jew’s purpose in this world is to create Kiddush Hashem – positive PR for God and His Torah. The litmus test of fulfilling this lofty directive is when people look upon a Jew’s actions and say: “If this is the effect that Torah has on a person, then I want it, too.”
Ethan and the wallet-owner have since kept in touch. The man says that he never before appreciated the importance of being Jewish, but this deed has now sparked a renewed interest in his heritage.
Which brings the story full circle. The Torah imperative of “returning lost objects” goes beyond just ”wallets lying in the grass.” Another aspect is that if someone has lost their connection to Judaism, we must do what we can to help restore that connection. This, Ethan has unwittingly accomplished as well.

Mythological tales are told of saintly Jews abounding in humility, knowledge and wisdom, wondrous people just as close to God as to humanity.

I found one. And he’s no myth.

I can be forgiven for having harbored cynical doubts after hearing about Rabbi Mordechai Machlis, and before meeting him. Here in Rabbiland, there are many with many fine attributes, a few with none, and perhaps fewer who are so lofty that — in Jerusalem’s religion industry — they are failures.

Rabbi Machlis — “Please,” he would say, “Call me Mordechai” — is a failure because he does not play the game. He is not loud enough about how quiet he is, he shuns the politics of power, prestige and influence, he doesn’t understand the fashionability of false modesty, of cult of personality, of mystic stature-building. Doesn’t hobnob or hustle, publicize or promote.

All he does, for heaven’s sake, is do good. (And he’d really prefer I didn’t write about it, but I declined to ask his permission.)

As Shabbat approaches, his household is busy preparing. It’s a large family, so there’s a lot to do, but they like having guests, so there’s always a bit of extra work and added expense.

Not three or four guests.

A hundred. Maybe 150.

That’s how it is every week in the Machlis household in Ma’alot Dafna, that’s how it’s always been — for the past 18 years.

Why? Well, his wife is a great cook, and Shabbat is a beautiful experience, and they love people, so why not?

On second thought, the greater mitzva-macher is his wife, Henny. A semitrailer-load of splendid food goes through her small kitchen — for Friday dinner AND Shabbat lunch. And they don’t just serve a spoonful of this, a shtikl that: from the 18 chickens she cooks, to the three different kugels and array of salads, to the choice of four desserts (not to mention the gefilte fish, chicken soup, cholent, and even vegetarian alternatives), you can fress, take seconds, and go home heartily content.

Never mind that the family is (so I’m told) deeply in debt, that they pay for everything themselves, that they wouldn’t think of scrounging for donations or institutional funding. Never mind that they are not salting away a nest-egg for their 12 children. They have this crazy notion that bounty should be shared, never mind if you can afford it.

Mordechai and Henny feed the thronging masses not just food, but morsels of learning, servings of hospitality, and great vatfuls of love of Judaism. They’re not agenda-driven missionaries ramming religion down your throat — because they’re not collecting souls, they’re nourishing them.

You eat, you listen to what Mordechai — and Henny — have to say about Torah wisdom and morality, and perhaps you’ll stand up and contribute your thoughts, as many do. You sing or just listen; utter the prayers, or not; eat and leave, or stay and talk: even after the family has gone to bed, the door swings open and more people come in — as late as midnight — to nosh or shmooze. (Why they bother to have a door I don’t know.)

It’s one of the most enthralling Jewish experiences I’ve ever had in this city, where Judaism can be warped into such ugliness.

BEYOND THE food, and the food for thought, this is a remarkable encounter with people.

It can get unruly, vehement, or emotional to the point of tears. When the ingathering gets a chance to be heard, they don’t always heed the rabbi’s plea for sensitive, respectful political correctness. Hot, roiling debate might take hold.

But just as likely, someone might describe how they discovered their Jewish roots, beg forgiveness for anti-Semitism, or recall with reverence how the Machlis family changed their lives, and everyone will be quietly sobbing.

What startled me most was that close to half the assembled were gentiles seeking an intense Jewish experience. Mordechai and Henny are Americans in their mid-40s, and the proceedings are in English, but the Judaism is neither watered down for the most ignorant guest, nor pedantic and enigmatic for the most knowledgeable.

Indeed, there were a number of haredim and modern Orthodox present, mixed in with an amazing assortment of newly-religious, newly-Jewish or soon-to-be, elderly Sephardim, families and singles, neighbors, self-styled disciples of the rabbi, a few oddballs and kooks, the poor, the lonely, people under one influence or another. And of course, the Machlis children, a dozen beautiful youngsters aged one to 19.

Having grown up in such a pulsating environment, they are like the flower children of a ’60s commune. “We don’t need MTV,” one of them chirped, “We have Shabbes.”

There was a young man from Slovakia who had arrived on aliya five days earlier. A leggy, underdressed beauty from California, here with her husband on their honeymoon. A group of young South African Christians, one of whom had to go out for air because he was overcome by emotional tumult. A Christian Australian family, a day after arriving on their first visit. A middle-aged Florida tourist who spoke earnestly of Jesus, challenging Mordechai to respond wisely. And four young men who looked very much like soccer louts, German Christians profoundly self-conscious to be there, but — encouraged by Mordechai’s effusive warmth and sincere respect — courageous enough to stand and state their feelings.

One of the Germans, Manfred, almost apologetic for his presence, needed us to understand that his name means “man of peace.” Another of them asked me, wide-eyed and whispering, if this is how all Jewish homes are. I could barely answer for the lump in my throat.

People speak, awed, of the Machlis sense of charity and kindness. Stories are told…

When Mordechai walks home from the Kotel, he greets Arab shopkeepers with a friendly “Shabbat Shalom.”

A homeless man sleeps in their van, and they never know who they might find on their couch in the morning.

The poor and hungry know they can walk in anytime and fill their pockets from the Machlis pantry.

A sorry old drunk was invited to the eldest Machlis daughter’s wedding, and was honored by getting to dance with the bride’s father.

Does it ever get to be a bit much? Doesn’t this family sometimes crave a quiet, intimate Shabbat without intruders, just the 14 of them?

“Sure,” said one of the girls, a 16-year-old identical twin. “We go away once every few months, just the family.”

I was relieved to hear that.

“But,” she added quickly, “We worry that some people won’t have a Shabbat meal, so we leave food outside.”