JK: Who's Phone is this?

 Man: Hello! Woman: Hi honey, it’s me. Are you at the club? Man: Yes. Woman: I’m at the shops now and found this beautiful leather coat. It’s only $2,000. Is it OK if I buy it? Man: Sure, go ahead if you like it that much. Woman: I also stopped by the Lexus dealership and saw the new models. I found one I really liked. Man: How much? Woman: $90,000. Man: OK — but for that price I want it with all the options. Woman: Great! Oh, and one more thing: remember that house I wanted last year? It’s back on the market. They’re asking $980,000. Man: Then go ahead and offer $900,000. They’ll probably take it. If not, we can go the extra $80,000 if that’s what you really want. Woman: Perfect! Thanks, honey. I love you! Man: Love you too. Bye.

The man hung up.

The other men in the locker room stared at him in shock, their mouths wide open.

He smiled and asked:

“Does anyone know whose phone this is?”

What kind of Jews do you have?

  

So, the next time Schlamazal or Schlemiel calls and asks “What kind of Jews live in ventnor , I have my answer all ready. Here it is:

We are wise Jews. Wicked Jews. We’re those I’ll be your 10^th man if you need me Jews. Those G-d is real, but I am not sure what he wants from me Jews. We’re those always questioning Jews. Those thinking Jews and let me tell you something Jews. Those old Jews. New Jews. If you need a place for Shabbos you can stay with me Jews.

Those always trying to make your life just a little better Jews. We’re those twice a year you’ll find me in shul, but I am Jewish all year long Jews. Those I would rather not, but since you asked me, OK I will wrap tefillin Jews. Those I am little scared to admit it but yes, I am a Jew, Jews. Those I just started keeping Shabbos in my college dorm and why didn’t anyone tell me about this before Jews.

We’re those I’m an Israeli so don’t tell me what to do Jews. Those yes, I am Haredi but not like the ones in the movies Jews. Those English, Turkish, Yemenite and Moroccan Jews. Those Ashkenazi blonde-and-blue-eyed but no I’m not a shiksa Jews. Those recently converted and totally loving it Jews. We are 7^th generation Charleston Jews. Soviet era born and desperately trying to catch up Jews. Not yet but working on being more shabbat conscious Jews.

Those I’m not religious but so proud of being Jewish Jews. Those we don’t know why we’re still being persecuted Jews. And I am a little afraid so I’m trying not to be too Jewish Jews. And those whenever we’re murdered you probably think we had it coming Jews. But still, not afraid to wear my Star of David Am Israel Chai Jews.

We’re those you don’t want to hear this, but I don’t care what you think Jews. Those bullied in high school because I was rocking a yarmulke Jews. Those standing up to Jew hater Jews. Those I think you got it all wrong, but I respect and love you cause you’re my brother Jews.

We’re those Iron Dome cheering where were you BBC when the missiles were raining down on Tel Aviv Jews. Those if you’re a hater you can just get off my Facebook page Jews. Those we’re sick of your double standards and that UN stands for Useless Nations to me Jews. That will fight it out if you have a problem with me Jews. And we desperately want to just live side by side in peace with you Jews.

We’re those always needing to explain that chosen doesn’t mean better Jews. Those let’s figure it out together Jew. Those there’s never, ever just one answer Jews. Those I don’t know which way to hold a siddur but I just like being in shul with other Jews, Jews. Those psychoanalytical and let me tell you something about you and your mother Jew.

We’re those look how many Nobel Prizes we won Jews. Those OMG OMG did you know that Houdini, Pink, Wonder Woman, Scarlett Johansson, Drake, Harry Potter, Indiana Jones, Jonas Salk (the polio vaccine guy) were Jewish, Jews. Those and did you know that we invented stuff that’s part of your everyday life but you don’t even know it Jews. Those I was born in the USA but my daughter wants to fly jet F-16’s for IDF. Those I don’t know the difference between Bibi and Bamba but I believe in my people to do what is right Jews.

We’re those lox and bagel noshing falafel & hummus eating couscous, schnitzel, latkes & matzah ball soup scarfing Jew. We’re those hey you BDS Israel’s the only liberal democracy in the Middle East Jew. We’re those I became a refugee when my ancestors were kicked out of Arab lands Jew.

We’re those I’m totally not religious but rush home every Thursday night to study Talmud on Zoom Jews. Those taking my tuna on matzah lunch wrapped in tin foil to public school on Passover Jews. Those I may not always eat kosher, but I won’t touch bacon Jews. Those looking for the truth forever wandering Jew. Those I just want my child married under a chuppah and give me Jewish grandchildren Jews. Those I walked out of Auschwitz and was afraid for too long until I stood at the state house and lit the menorah Jews.

We’re those I’ll bet I am more religious that you Jews. And those I’ll bet you are, but I love you anyway Jews. Those with a picture at the wall of a chossid and a soldier in arms at the wall Jews. My son’s an IDF hero Jews. Those you may kill me, but you won’t kill my dream Jews. Those I’ve never been to Israel, but I’ll get there someday because it’s my homeland Jews. Those it’s almost 4000 years and we’re still standing Jews. Those we’re finally here standing at the western wall with a tear in my eye Jews.

We’re those I won’t apologize for surviving Jews. Those fighting to make USC understand that scheduling major programs on YK isn’t cool Jews. Those never ever again Jews. Those I won’t rest until every Jewish child in Columbia has an excellent Jewish education Jews.

We’re a mother of 6 and still wish there were more of us Jews. Those creative Jew. Those dancer Jews. Painter Jews. Those grandchildren of those who suffered so we would just make it Jews. Those but I wish they would have taught me Yiddish Jews.

We’re those everything’s part of Hashem’s plan and I’ll keep looking for the answer Jews. Those we’re going to be okay because Moshiach is coming so hang in there and do another mitzvah Jews. Those I believe human dignity will prevail, and the world is made up of decent people Jews.

So to Shlomie and Schlemazal and to all the other who want to label us I say, we’re not religious, we’re not orthodox, we’re not cultural, spiritual, or secular Jews. We’re not centrist Orthodox or Modern Orthodox, Open Orthodox, Closed Orthodox, or even slightly ajar Orthodox. We are not nondenominational,” “trans denominational,” “post-denominational” we are just authentic, Jews. And we are here today because we’re Jews, no more no less. That’s all, and that’s enough.

STORY: ROOM SERVICE FEE

 Two Jewish merchants in olden day Europe were travelling home from fair. It was late on

Friday, but the roads were icy and muddy. To their dismay, they realized they were going to have

to stop for Shabbos somewhere along the way. With no other choice, they stopped at a nearby

town, and knocked on the first door they spotted with a mezuzah on it, mortified at showing up

uninvited to someone’s house. But Shabbos is Shabbos, and you must do what you must do.

When an old man came to the door, the merchants excused themselves for showing up so late

and uninvited. The host told them they were welcome to stay with him—but only for the price of

five-hundred rubles. The men looked at each other in disbelief—“That’s more expensive than the

Four Seasons!”—but with no other choice they forked over the money and got ready for the holy

day.

Returning home from shul that night, they found a beautiful table laden with delicacies.

Having paid so much money for the privilege, they figured they might as well get comfortable

and enjoy themselves. And what a feast it was. They shared words of Torah with their host, sang

niggunim, and ate and drank more heartily than they had in a long time. This repeated itself the

following morning and afternoon.

As they said goodbye after Shabbos, the host handed them back a purse with all the

money they paid. “This is yours,” he said simply. The men were baffled. “What do you mean?”

they asked “Wasn’t that the fee for our lodging here?”

The man explained: “When you arrived at my door yesterday, I could tell you were

uncomfortable. You didn’t want to bother me, and you didn’t want to spend Shabbos in a

stranger’s home. But I wanted to you to enjoy your stay and feel like you belong here—and the

only way I could think of was to have you pay for it! If you paid for it, you would no longer feel

like I was doing you a favor. As you can see, it worked—I saw how much you enjoyed

yourselves! Now that you’ve enjoyed Shabbos, you can take the money back—and I’ll take the

mitzvah.”

Two hours before Shabbos

 Two hours before Shabbos on a long summer Friday afternoon, Moshe, like thousands of

other Brooklyn Jews, is racing up to the Catskills to join his family for Shabbos. Up

ahead he spots a car stalled on the side of the road with a flat tire, and a yarmulke-clad

driver standing next to it trying to figure out what to do. “Oy,” Moshe thinks to himself,

“if I don’t help him out, he’s going to be stuck for Shabbos.” With that, Moshe brings his

car to a screeching halt and helps the poor man put on his spare.

As the two men part ways, Moshe sticks out his hand and says warmly, “have a

good Shabbos!” The other driver just stares at him blankly. Moshe tries again in

Hebrew—“Shabbat Shalom!”—and Yiddish—"Git Shabbos!”—but to no avail; the man

has no idea what Moshe’s saying. Exasperated, Moshe says, “Are you Jewish?!” The

driver answers in the negative.

“So why in the world are you wearing that yarmulke on your head,” Moshe

demands.

“Oh,” the man explains, “my mother taught me that. She was a devout Catholic,

but she once told me that if I ever get in trouble I should put on one of these little black

caps, and some Jew will come help me!”

Story: Cossack Horse

There was a famous Chassidic Jew from Russia called R Mendel Futerfas, a man
who spent ten years of his life in a Russian gulag for teaching Judaism.
One of the prisoners in Rav Mendel's camp was an old Cossack imprisoned because
of his loyalty to the Czar. He reminisced with Reb Mednel about the Cossack horse.
You see, the Cossack horse was different than all other horses, incomparably
different! A Cossack’s horse had a different heart.
Not only would it do anything for its master; jump into fire, over trees and even
houses. Anything. And it was stronger, faster, and braver than anything alive. But
most of all, it had a different heart.
I will explain," continued the Cossack, “How did they catch a Cossack horse? Do you
know? Well I will tell you, this is a story!"
"The Cossacks were experts at this. There was a special group that would wander
the mountains and fields on horseback looking for herds of wild horses.
Then, if they were lucky and found a large herd, say of a thousand, two thousand
horses. They would stampede them and get them all running in the direction of the

nearest river. Then they would start screaming and shooting their guns in the air
and force the herd into the widest, deepest part of the river. You see, most horses
can swim, and so they had to get over, through the current to the other side, or die.
Now, on the other side was waiting another group of Cossacks. The whole thing,
was planned from the beginning, and they would watch to see what the horses did.
There were always two types of horses; some horses would make it to the other
side and run away to live their lives. Then there were the young horses, that didn't
have the strength to cross over, so they just floundered in the middle of the river."
His voice became serious, and he sat a "But sometimes... Not always, but sometimes,
there was a third type; maybe only one or two at the most, that were sort of crazy
horses.
They would make it across, but instead of running away, they would turn around,
look back into the river to see if there were horses in trouble and then jump BACK
in to save them."
"They would swim to the young horses, grab them with their teeth and start
dragging them in. They just couldn't stand to see their fellow horses in danger.
The Cossacks would throw some paint on these special horses and chase them for
days until they caught them. Then it would take several months of hard work until
they trained them. But the main thing was the heart; it was a horse with a heart.

Story: The Taxis & the Minyan

I want to share with you a most amusing and heartwarming story:

A man living in Jerusalem was saying kaddish for a parent who died. Each day he would say kaddish at the daily services in the synagogue. It was his way of connecting to the soul of his loved one. Returning home one night at 3:00am from a wedding, he fell into bed exhausted. As soon as he had turned out the light, he realized that he hadn’t prayed Ma’ariv, the evening prayer. He missed the kaddish for his beloved mother. With tremendous effort, he dragged himself out of bed and started to dress.

Where to find a minyan at this time of the morning? 3 AM?

No problem. As anyone who lives in Jerusalem can tell you, day or night, you can always find a minyan at the shteibelach—the small synagogues in the Zichron Moshe neighborhood.

That night there was a miracle. Zichron Moshe was totally deserted; no one was there; nary a hobo, nada.

Taking out his cellular phone, he dialed the number of a large taxi company.

“Hello! Can you please send six taxis to the shteibelach in Zichron Moshe?”

“Adoni (my dear sir)! It’s three o’clock in the morning! You think I have six taxis? What do you think I am, a magician? …I only have five.”

“Okay. So send five!”

He dialed another number. “Hello, please send five taxis to Zichron Moshe…”

“Your crazy? Atah meshugah. I only have four!

“okay so send four.”

Within twenty minutes, there was a procession of nine taxicabs parked neatly outside the shteiblach.

“Adoni,” said one of the drivers, “Why do you need nine taxis? There’s no wedding here, no Bar Mitzvah, nothing.”

“I want you all to turn your meters on and come inside with me. We are going to pray together the evening prayer — arvit ”

“I will pay each of you just as if your giving me a lift. For every minute you are here, I will pay you.”

Dusty yarmulkes (skullcaps) emerged from the glove compartments of the taxis, some woken from a hibernation that stretched back to their owner’s own bar mitzvah.

It wasn’t easy. Despite being obviously fluent in Hebrew, the drivers had no idea how to pray: what and when to answer; when they should pray aloud and when in silence.

It took them quite a while. But the kaddish man, showd them exactly what do do. They had the most incredible, moving prayer at 3:30 AM in Jerusalem, and he said kaddish after his mother.

When they had finished, everyone went out to the taxis; the meters in the cars were pushing upwards of 90 shekels each car. The drivers turned off their meters and the man pulled out his wallet. He would dash out around 800 shekel to all the drivers to pay them for their time.

“How much do I owe you?” he said to the first taxi driver in the line.

“Adoni, what do you take me for? Do you honestly believe I would take money from you who just gave me such an opportunity to help my fellow Jew say kaddish?

He moved down the line to the second driver. Identical reaction. “Do you know how long it is since I prayed?” you want me to take money from you?

And the third and the fourth, all the way down the line to the ninth…

Not one would take a penny.

They embraced and they drove off to a new morning in the holy city of Jerusalem!

Ronal Reagan and his estranged daugter patti

here is a sad amd moving story of Ronal Regan and his estranged daugter patti. 

Reagan in his old age and in the beginning stages of Alzheimer illness writes a letter pleading with his daugter to talk to him and in the end she refuses and sell the letter to a collector... "my friends it does not need to end like this..."

(see attached image) Reagan, Ronald (1911-2004) 40th President of the United States, 1981-1989. Autograph Note Signed ("Dad"), on card engraved "Ronald Reagan," with embossed presidential seal (Los Angeles), March 2, 1991, 4¼ x 6 3/8 in. A poignant note to his daughter Patti (Davis), attempting to heal the family rift. In full: "Dear Patti / It was good to hear from you. As the song goes - 'the days dwindle down to a precious few.' In view of my recent birthday I find the song appropriate. Patti I think a talk between us is the answer to some of our differences. There are extremists on both sides of every issue. Reasonable people should look into both sides and see if every charge or countercharge is justified by the facts. Even if there are differences does this justify a family separation? We can disagree on things without abandoning our family relationship. I remember a little girl who sat on my lap and asked me to marry her. Love - Dad." The President had just turned 80 on February 6th and realized that his days were numbered, even before he was diagnosed with Alzheimer's Disease in 1994. Patti was the first of Ronald and Nancy's two children and she aired her differences with her parents publicly. Patti sold this letter a couple of days after her father sent it to her, with the proviso that it not be resold until after her father's death. It was sold again, privately, with the same proviso, on March 27, 1991, and has not been offered for sale again until now. A Liz Smith column in August 1992, here included, refers to the letter, calling Patti "the perpetually estranged daughter of Ronald and Nancy Reagan." Patti admitted to Liz that she had sold the letter because she needed money but denied that it had any special sensitivity, and said that she was trying to buy it back. Patti recalled that it had been written during the time she was protesting her father's administration's policy regarding the killing of dolphins, but in March 1991, when her father wrote the note, he had not been President for two years. Patti made her peace, at least with her mother, at some point, because she was obviously a great comfort to Nancy during her father's funeral. This is a beautiful, loving note from the late President, reaching out to his estranged daughter. It is accompanied by the transmittal envelope, addressed by Ronald Reagan, with a stamped free frank. The paperwork from the letter's March 27, 1991 sale is also enclosed. Estimated Value $10,000 - 15,000.

Arms and Legs for Others

Bob Butler lost his legs in a 1965 land mine explosion in Vietnam. He returned home a war hero. Twenty years later, he proved once again that heroism comes from the heart. Butler was working in his garage in a small town in Arizona on a hot summer day when he heard a woman's screams coming from a nearby house. He began rolling his wheelchair toward the house but the dense shrubbery wouldn't allow him access to the back door. So he got out of his chair and started to crawl through the dirt and bushes. I had to get there, he says. It didn't matter how much it hurt. When Butler arrived at the pool there was a three-year-old girl named Stephanie Hanes lying at the bottom. She had been born without arms and had fallen in the water and couldn't swim. Her mother stood over her baby screaming frantically. Butler dove to the bottom of the pool and brought little Stephanie up to the deck. Her face was blue, she had no pulse and was not breathing. Butler immediately went to work performing CPR to revive her while Stephanie's mother telephoned the fire department. She was told the paramedics were already out on a call. Helplessly, she sobbed and hugged Butler's shoulder. As Butler continued with his CPR, he calmly reassured her. Don't worry, he said. I was her arms to get out of the pool. It'll be okay. I am now her lungs. Together we can make it. Seconds later the little girl coughed, regained consciousness and began to cry. As they hugged and rejoiced together the mother asked Butler how he knew it would be okay. The truth is, I didn't know, he told her. But when my legs were blown off in the war, I was all alone in a field. No one was there to help except a little Vietnamese girl. As she struggled to drag me into her village, she whispered in broken English, It okay. You can live. I be your legs. Together we make it. Her kind words brought hope to my soul and I wanted to do the same for Stephanie. There are simply those times when we cannot stand alone. There are those times when we need someone to be our legs, our arms, our friend! 

tonight is the first time my father heard me pray.

There is a story told of in the shtetl, there was a chazzan who every week

he would chant the melodies of the services, and always in tow was his old

father who would come and be there to watch his son act as the chazzan of

the shteeble.

It was one Yom Kippur before Kol Ndrei and the congregation was  all ready,

awaiting their Chazan to step up to the podium, but as the clock was ticking

the chazzan has not yet arrived. Suddenly the Chazzan comes dashing in the

door all apologetic, grabs his Tallis and kittel, and prayed the Kol Nidrei

in the most harmonious and pleasant ever sounding tone, that all stood in

awe.

After the services the Rabbi approached the Chazzan to ask what transpired,

and the reason of his lateness that led to such an outstanding performance.

The Chazzan explained, you know, my father was deaf, and yesterday my father

passed away, and tonight is the first time my father heard me pray.

Barefoot

Barefoot

When G-d first revealed Himself to Moses from the Burning Bush, He said to him, “Remove your shoes from your feet.” With this command, G-d impressed an important point on Moses.

That point was that when you walk down the road in shoes, you stroll easily. The shoes that you wear protect you from feeling the little stones and the sharp pebbles on the road.

However, when you walk down the road barefoot, you feel every little stone and every sharp pebble that you step on.

As Moses was being appointed to lead Israel, he was commanded to remove his shoes. This hinted to the fact that he had to walk through life “barefoot”, so that he could feel and understand every little pain and every little sorrow which was the lot of his people.

The true Jewish leader cannot isolate himself from the plight of his people. He cannot put on the figurative shoes of indifference, caring for himself, at the cost of feeling the distress of his flock.

Similarly, each of us should take off the shoes of apathy, and be sensitive to the even the smallest opportunities for kindness. We never know which minor gestures on our part could make a difference in people’s lives.

In the Name of Love

It's Morty and Rivkah's 50th wedding anniversary and to celebrate, their son
Aaron invites the close family to a Golden Wedding dinner at his house.
During the evening, Aaron gets very emotional every time he hears his dad
call his mom by such endearing terms as ‘darling', ‘petal', and
‘sweetheart'. It's clear to Aaron that his parents are still very much in
love.
While Rivkah is out the room, Aaron goes over to his father, kisses him and
quietly says, "Dad, I'm so pleased for you both. I think it's fantastic that
after 50 years you're still calling mom by those loving pet names."
But Morty, looking very embarrassed, says, "Things are not always what they
seem to be, son. I must tell you the truth - I forgot your mother's name
about five years ago."

The teeth.

One night, Moshe and Sadie, both in their eighties, go to Blooms Restaurant.
Moshe orders just one plate of salt beef, latkes and new green cucumbers.
Then, when it arrives, he tucks into his favourite food. Sadie just sits
there watching him enjoy himself.
Shlomo, sitting at a table nearby, notices that Sadie hasn’t got a meal. He
then gets quite upset when, with plenty of food still left on his plate,
Moshe puts down his knife and fork, removes his napkin and puts it on the
table.
“How mean,” thought Shlomo, “the elderly lady is just sitting there without
any food. Maybe they can’t afford two meals?”
So Shlomo goes over to Sadie and says, “I hope you won’t be offended but I
see you don’t have anything to eat. Could I please treat you to a meal? It
would really make me happy if you said yes.”
Sadie replies, “That’s very kind of you but there is no need to worry about
me. My husband Moshe and I share everything 50/50 and now that he’s eaten
his half, it will soon be my turn.”
“So what are you waiting for?” asks Shlomo.

Special Needs Baseball

At a fundraising dinner for a school that serves children with learning disabilities, the father of one of the students delivered a speech that would never be forgotten by all who attended. After extolling the school and its


dedicated staff, he offered a question:



'When not interfered with by outside influences, everything nature does, is done with perfection.



Yet my son, Shay, cannot learn things as other children do. He cannot understand things as other children do.



Where is the natural order of things in my son?'



The audience was stilled by the query.



The father continued. 'I believe that when a child like Shay, who was mentally and physically disabled comes into the world, an opportunity to realize true human nature presents itself, and it comes in the way other people treat that child.'



Then he told the following story:



Shay and I had walked past a park where some boys Shay knew were playing baseball. Shay asked, 'Do you think they'll let me play?' I knew that most of the boys would not want someone like Shay on their team, but as a fatherI also understood that if my son were allowed to play, it would give him a much-needed sense of belonging and some confidence to be accepted by others in spite of his handicaps.



I approached one of the boys on the field and asked (not expecting much) if Shay could play. The boy looked around for guidance and said, 'We're losing by six runs and the game is in the eighth inning. I guess he can be on our team and we'll try to put him in to bat in the ninth inning.'



Shay struggled over to the team's bench and, with a broad smile, put on a team shirt. I watched with a small tear in my eye and warmth in my heart. The boys saw my joy at my son being accepted.



In the bottom of the eighth inning, Shay's team scored a few runs but was still behind by three.



In the top of the ninth inning, Shay put on a glove and played in the right field. Even though no hits came his way, he was obviously ecstatic just to be in the game and on the field, grinning from ear to ear as I waved to him from the stands.



In the bottom of the ninth inning, Shay's team scored again.



Now, with two outs and the bases loaded, the potential winning run was on base and Shay was scheduled to be next at bat.



At this juncture, do they let Shay bat and give away their chance to win the game?



Surprisingly, Shay was given the bat. Everyone knew that a hit was all but impossible because Shay didn't even know how to hold the bat properly, much less connect with the ball.



However, as Shay stepped up to the

plate, the pitcher, recognizing that the other team was putting winning aside for this moment in Shay's life, moved in a few steps to lob the ball in softly so Shay could at least make contact.



The first pitch came and Shay swung clumsily and missed.



The pitcher again took a few steps forward to toss the ball softly towards Shay.

As the pitch came in, Shay swung at the ball and hit a slow ground ball right back to the pitcher.



The game would now be over.

The pitcher picked up the soft grounder and could have easily thrown the ball to the first baseman.



Shay would have been out and that would have been the end of the game.



Instead, the pitcher threw the ball right over the first baseman's head, out of reach of all team mates.



Everyone from the stands and both teams started yelling, 'Shay, run to first!



Run to first!'



Never in his life had Shay ever run that far, but he made it to first base.



He scampered down the baseline, wide-eyed and startled.



Everyone yelled, 'Run to second, run to second!'



Catching his breath, Shay awkwardly ran towards second, gleaming and struggling to make it to the base.



By the time Shay rounded towards second base, the right fielder had the ball . the smallest guy on their team who now had his first chance to be the hero for his team.



He could have thrown the ball to the second-baseman for the tag, but he understood the pitcher's intentions so he, too, intentionally threw the ball high and far over the third-baseman's head.



Shay ran toward third base deliriously as the runners ahead of him circled the bases toward home.



All were screaming, 'Shay, Shay, Shay,

all the Way Shay'



Shay reached third base because the opposing shortstop ran to help him by turning him in the direction of third base, and shouted, 'Run to third!



Shay, run to third!'



As Shay rounded third, the boys from both teams, and the spectators, were on their feet screaming, 'Shay, run home! Run home!'



Shay ran to home, stepped on the plate, and was cheered as the hero who hit the grand slam and won the game for his team



'That day', said the father softly with tears now rolling down his face, 'the boys from both teams helped bring a piece of true love and humanity into this world'.



Shay didn't make it to another summer. He died that winter, having never forgotten being the hero and making me so happy, and coming home and seeing his Mother tearfully embrace her little hero of the day!

The "young" Wife JOKE

Abe is enjoying his 80th birthday party with family and friends. Even Rabbi
Landau is present. Abe is so happy that he decides now is the time to let
out his secret and to everybody’s surprise, announces his forthcoming
marriage to 50-year-old Hetty.
Everyone comes up to wish them Mazeltov - and to exchange all the old jokes
"Abe, where will you both live?"
"We’ll be looking for a house near a school.”
"Abe, did you know that lovemaking is dangerous for the elderly?"
"Yes, but I hope Hetty will survive it."
Later, Rabbi Landau takes Abe aside and says, "Don’t be offended, but I must
ask you a few questions. Do you really love Hetty?"
"To tell you the truth, Rabbi, I’m not sure," Abe replies.
"Well, is she a good cook? Is her chicken soup special?" asks Rabbi Landau.
"I’m not sure, I’ve never seen her in the kitchen, Rabbi," Abe replies.
"Is Hetty rich?" asks Rabbi Landau.
"I’m not sure about her finances, we’ve never discussed money," replies Abe.

"So, she must be ….. good in bed. Is that so?" asks Rabbi Landau, timidly.
"I’ve no idea at all Rabbi, how does one tell before marriage?" answers Abe.

"But if you don’t know whether you love her, if you’re not sure whether
she’s a good cook, if you don’t know whether she’s rich, and if you’ve never
made love to her, why on earth do you want to marry her?" asks Rabbi Landau.

"She can drive at night," replies Abe.

The Mentch from Malden Mills

The Mentch from Malden Mills
In December 1995, Boston businessman Aaron Feuerstein, a deeply observant Jew who prays at the Young Israel of Brookline, Mass. had just returned home from his seventieth birthday party, when a phone call informed him that his Malden Mills textile factory in Lawrence, Massachusetts, burned down to the ground. Thirty employees had been injured, some seriously.
Three thousand people worked at Malden Mills. When the employ­ees saw the devastation wrought by the fire, they assumed, as one worker put it, "The fire is out of control. Our jobs are gone."
The fire was indeed out of control, but Feuerstein was not.
With the mill in ruins, people who did not know Aaron Feuerstein predicted that he would take the $300,000,000 insurance money and dissolve the business, retiring quite comfortably. His announcement the day after the fire that he intended to rebuild in Lawrence and to continue paying his workers during reconstruction made news all over the country.
He kept his promises. Workers picked up their checks for months. In all, he paid out $25 million and became known as “the Mensch of Malden Mills” - a businessman who seemed to care more about his workers than about his net worth. The press loved him, and so did politicians. He received 12 honorary degrees. He became that rare duck - the businessman as national hero. His generosity brought him international attention and admiration. In January of 1996, with Feuerstein sitting in the presidential box, Bill Clinton acknowledged his actions in the State of the Union address.
Feuerstein explained that he drew on Jewish tradition when faced with the crisis: "When all is moral chaos, this is the time for you to be a mensch."
“I think it was a wise business decision, but that isn't why I did it. I did it because it was the right thing to do,” said Feuerstein a few years ago to Sixty Minutes.
“And what would I do with the 300 million? Eat more? Buy another suit? Retire and die,” asked Feuerstein. “No, that did not go into my mind.”
"I have a responsibility to the worker," he once told Parade Magazine, "both blue-collar and white-collar. I have an equal responsibility to the community. It would have been unconscionable to put 3000 people on the streets and deliver a deathblow to the cities of Lawrence and Methuen. Maybe on paper our company is worthless to Wall Street, but I can tell you it's worth more."
“I got a lot of publicity. And I don't think that speaks well for our times,” says Feuerstein, who is now 85 years old. “At the time in America of the greatest prosperity, the god of money has taken over to an extreme.”Where did he get the inspiration? “The Torah,” he told 60 minutes. "You are not permitted to oppress the working man, because he's poor and he's needy, amongst your brethren and amongst the non-Jew in your community," says Feuerstein, who spent $300 million of the insurance money and then borrowed $100 million more to build a new plant that is both environmentally friendly and worker friendly.
No, the story is not all roses. You know, the good guys don’t always come in first… Malden Mills, the company that rose from the ashes under Reb Aaron’s inspiration and leadership, became so mired in debt that it had to file for Chapter 11 bankruptcy protection. All our great Capitalists, of course, blamed Reb Aaron. “He was too generous,” they said.
Yet astonishingly it did not go under and it continues to garner lucrative profits. Malden mills Today thriving once again.
Yet even throughout the entire turmoil, Aaron Feuerstein said, “I do not regret it for a moment. I did the right thing.”
Barbara Lee Toffler is an adjunct professor at Columbia University's Graduate School of Business and an expert on corporate responsibility. When asked by The New York Times about Mr. Feuerstein's actions in the wake of the Malden Mills fire, and about the company's newly precarious economic prospects, she suggested that "it may have been that the desire to take principled action somehow blinded him to thinking long term."
She had it exactly wrong, of course. Long term was precisely what he was thinking. Long term for Professor Toffler and long term for Aaron Feuerstein mean two very different things. For Toffler, an economist, long term thinking means that in ten years you have money to go on yet another vacation. For Reb Aaron, “long term” means thinking in terms of what will allow you to fulfill your mission for which you were created.
This is what I call soul-money. His money was infused with soulfulness. His money and his conscience were linked in a perfect, blissful marriage. Work did not drain him; it invigorated him, because he was not only working as a selfish, greedy Adam 1, but as a servant of G-d, as an Adam 2. He knew that his success is a gift and that his primary role in the world is to “cultivate the garden and nurture it.”
People sometimes don’t grasp this truth: Barnie Madoff is not incarcerated only today. Ten years ago, when still on top of the world, he was also confined to a dungeon even while enjoying his home on the ocean (which you can now buy…). He was confined to a very shallow and horrible existence. His soul was dead.

“Daddy, Can I buy an hour of your time?"

A Man came home from work late again, tired and irritated, to find his 5 yr.
old son waiting for him at the door, "Daddy, may I ask you a question?"

"Yeah, sure. What is it?" replied the father. "Daddy, how much money do you
make an hour?"



"That's none of your business! What makes you ask such a thing?" The father
said angrily.



"I just wanted to know. Please tell me, how much do you make an hour?"
pleaded the little boy.



"If you must know, I make $20 an hour."



Looking up, he said, "Daddy, may I borrow $9 please?"



The father was furious. "If the only reason you wanted to know how much
money I make is just so you can borrow some to buy a silly toy or some other
nonsense, then you march yourself straight to your room and go to bed. Think
about why you're being selfish. I work long, hard hours everyday and don't
have time for such childish games."



The little boy quietly went to his room and shut the door. The father sat
down and started to get madder about his little boy's questioning. How dare
he ask such questions only to get some money? After an hour he calmed down.
He started to think he might have been a little too hard on his son. Maybe
there was something he really needed to buy with that $9. And he didn't ask
for money often.



The father went to his son's room and opened the door. "Are you asleep,
son?" he asked. "No, daddy, I'm awake," replied the boy.



"I've been thinking, maybe I was too hard on you earlier," said the father.
"It's been a long day and I took my aggravations out on you. Here's the $9
you asked for."



The little boy sat up straight, beaming. "Oh, thank you daddy!" he said.
Then reaching under his pillow, he pulled out some more crumpled bills. He
counted the money, then looked up at his father.



"Why did you want more money if you already had some?" the father asked.

"Because I didn't have enough, but now I do," the little boy replied.
“Daddy, I have $20 now. Can I buy an hour of your time?"

Talmud - Dont make a Woman Cry

'Be very careful if you make a woman cry, because G-d counts her tears. The woman came out of a man's rib. Not from his feet to be walked on. Not from his head to be superior, but from the side to be equal. under the arm to be protected, and next to the heart to be loved'
-Bava Metzia 59:A

How Can the Rebbe Love Torah-hating Jews?

It so happened that someone wrote in and complained to the Rebbe.
‘How can it be that such a respectable Torah figure as himself gives any
sort of attention, no less honor, to such Torah-hating Jews?
The Rebbe answered, ‘When a Jew wakes up in the morning on Yom
Kippur, shaves, cooks breakfast, turns on the radio and while eating (all
these things are transgressions) hears the announcer say “Today is the Jewish
Day of Atonement, thousands of Jews throughout the world are….. “
Suddenly he remembers that he bought tickets to the services. He looks
at his watch, grabs the cup of coffee runs out of the house to his car, drives
to the Synagogue, runs inside, takes his seat and opens his prayer book for
fifteen minutes.
Suddenly he slaps himself on the forehead and yells out ‘OY! I’m late
for the meeting in the stock market!’ He closes his book and runs out of
the house of prayer.
Concluded the Rebbe: You have no idea how much pleasure G‑d gets
from that fifteen minutes that that Jew sat in the Synagogue.

Almost unexplainably Jews throughout the world suddenly are moved.
It’s not because they are thinking about punishment or reward, but rather
because they feel that G‑d is the creator of the world and they want to
serve Him.
Rosh HaShanna is the date that G‑d finished creating the world and
the date that He created man. And that is what every Jew feels, at least
subconsciously.
That G‑d is the King of the Universe and we are his servants.
This is the message of the Shofar and it will only be completely manifested
with the arrival of Moshiach. Then the ‘Great Shofar’ will sound and
the entire world will declare (as we say in the prayers of these High Holy
Days) “The G‑d of Israel is King and His kingship is on all creation.” So
what we are really all praying for on Rosh HaShanna is that we all....
Have a healthy, happy, sweet New Year with Moshiach NOW!!

A Walk Through the Desert What is forgiveness?

A Walk Through the Desert What is forgiveness?

Two friends were walking through the desert. During some point of the journey they had an argument, and one friend slapped the other one in the face. The one who got slapped
was hurt, but without saying anything, wrote in the sand: TODAY MY BEST FRIEND
SLAPPED ME IN THE FACE.
They kept on walking until they found an oasis, where they decided to take a bath. The one who had been slapped got stuck in the mire and started drowning, but the friend saved him.
After he recovered from the near drowning, he wrote on a stone: TODAY MY BEST FRIEND SAVED MY LIFE.
The friend who had slapped and saved his best friend asked him, "After I hurt you, you wrote in the sand and now, you write on a stone, why?"
The other friend replied "When someone hurts us we should write it down in sand where winds of forgiveness can erase it away. But, when someone does something good for us, we must engrave it in stone where no wind can ever erase it."

LEARN TO WRITE YOUR HURTS IN THE SAND - FORGIVE AND FORGET - AND TO CARVE YOUR BENEFITS IN STONE.

Falling From a Ladder - Story

Falling From a Ladder
Rebbe Yisrael of Ger was so gentle and loving to those who had strayed from
Judaism that his hasidim were actually somewhat confounded. He once
explained by a parable: "A child climbed up a ladder and fell down. His
father slapped him and warned him never to do that again, lest he break his
leg. But if the child falls from a ladder and breaks his leg, then his
father runs to help and comfort him; he doesn't punish him. He rushes to
take him to the doctor and hospital." (Paraphrased from Pe'er Yisrael,
p.356)