Challa making

https://www.facebook.com/ChabadOrg/videos/10154106094855883/

Good one

Lol

Lol

Good question

Red Wine

Red Wine Forever

The accident happened in the early morning of Tisha B'Av, 1982. As I (Dr. Leonard Lovitch) opened my closet door to get ready to go to synagogue, I noticed an old stepladder and a carpet sweeper stashed there temporarily. We were in the midst of construction, and the plumber was running new pipes through my closet up to the attic. I stepped on the rickety ladder to take a look, and I slipped. The handle of the carpet sweeper went straight into my right eye. I screamed in excruciating pain. My wife, Sharon, came running. We realized the severity of the injury: I might, G-d forbid, have lost the vision in my eye.

We called our friend, Dr. Goldstein, an ophthalmologist in Long Beach, and fortunately we caught him before he left his house. "Meet me in my office at 8 o'clock, and I'll have a look."

Sharon drove us over, and after he examined me, Dr. Goldstein said, "Well, I've got good news - it seems like your globe, the eyeball, is intact, but it's up in your head, and you injured the lower part of your eye muscle which controls the movement of your eyeball. I have to get you to an expert right away. A world renowned expert in eye muscles, Dr. Steven Feldon, happens to be at USC here in Los Angeles. We'll get him to examine you."

On the spot, Dr. Goldstein called Dr. Feldon at the Doheny Eye Institute. It normally takes months to get an appointment, and we heard him say, "No, no, no, this is an emergency. Dr. Feldon has to examine Dr. Lovitch today!"

Finally they said, "Okay, okay, send him down."

Dr. Feldon examined me, and after they took some tests, he said: "You have a major injury, and there's nothing I can do for you right now. I want you to wear a patch over your eye, and come back in a month. We'll check you again and see if there's any improvement. We'll see then what we have to do."

Well, you can imagine how upset I was. Here I was, a young surgeon, just beginning my career, and I had only one good eye. It's impossible to operate with one eye; you need stereoscopic vision in order to operate. I had to close my practice since I couldn't schedule any surgeries.

We went home, and Rabbi Newman came to our house. He said, "I heard about your injury, and I have already called theLubavitcher Rebbe's office on your behalf."

A month later we went back to Dr. Feldon. He examined my eye, and said, "No improvement. I think we've given it enough time. I need to operate on your eye and see if there is anything I can fix."

I called Rabbi Leibel Groner, the Rebbe's secretary, and I got the Rebbe's blessing. The operation was scheduled for the following week.

After the operation, Dr. Feldon told us, "I have good news and bad news."

"Tell us the good news," we said.

"The good news is that the eye muscle is intact. It was severely injured, but did not become detached from your eyeball. The bad news is that I couldn't do anything to fix it. It's not fixable. Come to my office and we'll get you special glasses called prism glasses which divert the direction of the light and will enable you to see with the one healthy eye.

I was devastated. I had spent years studying to be a surgeon; I was just embarking on my career. What would become of me now?

I called Rabbi Groner, and I told him, "I just don't understand. We learned in Torah classes that everything that happens is for our good. Tell me, where is the good? I don't see it!"

Rabbi Groner spoke to me for a long time, trying to comfort me. Then he said, 'I'm going to speak with the Rebbe, and I'll get back to you."

The following Sunday we attended a celebration in the community. When we got home the phone was ringing. Rabbi Groner was on the phone. "Where have you been -I've been trying to reach you all afternoon! I spoke to the Rebbe, and the Rebbe has a question for you: Do you make kiddush and havdalah on red wine?"

I answered, "Sometimes, not always. Sometimes on white wine, sometimes on grape juice; whatever we have in the house."

"Aha," he said. "The Rebbe told me to instruct you to always make kiddush and havdalah on red wine."

"Okay," I said. "I'll do that. Is that it?"

At the time, I didn't understand that the Rebbe's entire response to my predicament could be contained in such a short instruction.

By that Shabbos, the whole community had heard what the Rebbe had said. There was a bottle of red wine in shul for me, and I made kiddush for the entire congregation. Parenthetically, that from that day on, whatever the event is, there is always a bottle of red wine waiting for me at the synagogue . One week went by, and I made kiddush and havdalah on red wine, and then two more. A total of six weeks had gone by since my injury. I woke up that Sunday morning and I felt a clicking in my eyeball, as if it was moving.

"Sharon", I said to my wife, "something is going on here. This hasn't happened before. Something is different!" It happened again and again all week, and I felt that there was definitely movement. Kiddush and havdalah that Shabbos, and one more Shabbos after that - and then suddenly the eyeball was back in its place, as if nothing had happened! I could see perfectly, without the prism glasses, just as before.

I called Dr. Feldon, and I said to him, "I have something to tell you. My eye is better. I can see."

"That's impossible! Come down here and we'll examine you."

When I got there, the whole crew at USC that had been involved in my surgery was waiting for me.

After they examined me, Dr. Feldon said, "You're right, your eye is fine! It's unheard of - it's miraculous! Tell me, whom do you know that can make such a miracle happen?"

I told him, "The Lubavitcher Rebbe, in Brooklyn, New York."

"Well, it's definitely miraculous," he said.

I was very impressed that this doctor acknowledged that the spiritual realm can affect an outcome beyond the world's natural order. I have carried that lesson with me for my entire life, and in my career as well.

I went back to my practice, and I was able to do what I was trained to do, and more. My career has been very profitable, and it has enabled me to give tzedaka , charity, not only locally, but to causes all over the world.

Baggage

Love

Last Ride

Story to warm your hearts

Last Ride    

  I  arrived at the address and honked the horn. After waiting a few minutes I honked again. Since this was going to be my last ride of my shift, I thought about just driving away, but instead I put the car in park and walked up to the door and knocked.

Just a minute', answered a frail, elderly voice.

I could hear something being dragged across the floor. 

After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 90's stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940's movie.

By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets.

There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.

Would you carry my bag out to the car?' she asked.

I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman. She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb.

She kept thanking me for my kindness. 'It's nothing', I told her.. 'I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother to be treated.'

'Oh, you're such a good boy, she said. When we got in the cab, she gave me an address and then asked, 'Could you drive through downtown?'

'It's not the shortest way,' I answered quickly.

'Oh, I don't mind,' she said. 'I'm in no hurry. I'm on my way to a hospice.

I looked in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were glistening.

'I don't have any family left,' she continued in a soft voice. 'The doctor says I don't have very long.' I quietly reached over and shut off the meter.

What route would you like me to take?' I asked.

For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator.

We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds. She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl.

Sometimes she'd ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and she would sit, staring into the darkness, saying nothing.

As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, 'I'm tired. Let's go now'.

We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico.

Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her. I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.

'How much do I owe you?' She asked, reaching into her purse.

'Nothing,' I said.

'You have to make a living,' she answered.

There are other passengers,' I responded.

Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held onto me tightly.

'You gave an old woman a little moment of joy,' she said. 'Thank you.'

I squeezed her hand, and then walked into the dim morning light.. Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life.

I didn't pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly, lost in thought. For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk.

What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away?

On a quick review, I don't think that I have done anything more important in my life.

We are conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments.

But great moments often catch us unaware-beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.

PEOPLE MAY NOT REMEMBER EXACTLY WHAT YOU DID, OR WHAT YOU SAID ~BUT~THEY WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER HOW YOU MADE THEM FEEL.

At the bottom of this great story was a request to forward this - I deleted that request because if you have read to this point, you won't have to be asked to pass it along, you just will...

Thank you, my friend...

Life may not be the party we hoped for, but while we are here we might as well dance. J.L.

Great story of survival

Story of the day

In 1943, Avraham Shapiro, 22, was a recent yeshiva graduate living with his parents in Poland's Cracow ghetto. 

Knowing that the Nazis would soon liquidate the ghetto and kill every Jew inside, young Avraham concocted a clever multi-step plan to ensure his family's survival. He built and stocked an underground bunker; he obtained counterfeit papers for his parents and himself; and he found a map of the sewer system through which they would escape. They planned to reach Hungary, at the time considered a safe place.

As the day approached, Avraham heard a knock on the door. It was his teenage neighbor, Chaya Rivka, holding a baby. 

The boy was her nephew Chaim, who was 20 months old but could neither stand nor sit up by himself. Chaim's parents had just been deported to Treblinka and his aunt begged Avraham to take the baby. Like everybody in the Cracow ghetto, Chaya Rivka knew that Avraham Shapiro had the best chance of making it out alive.

Accepting the baby in all likelihood meant sacrificing his own family's chance of survival. 

How could he keep a baby in a bunker, or carry him through a sewer? In that moment, Avraham's instinct of lovingkindness overwhelmed rational thought. He took the baby. 

When his parents came home, they were horrified. Now they were all at much greater risk! Avraham calmly explained that Chaim was now his, and would live or die with the Shapiro family. 

Two days later, the Nazis liquidated the Cracow ghetto. It was impossible for the Shapiros to reach the bunker Avraham had created because it was now on the other side of a barbed wire fence. Avraham found an empty building with a cellar where he brought his parents and the baby. 

He could hear the Germans outside searching, but a miracle happened. The building had sewage problems - not uncommon in the squalor of the ghetto - and the residents had been disposing of their excrement in a large barrel. 

With strength he didn't know he had, Avraham overturned the barrel, pouring its vile contents all over the stairs leading down to the cellar. He thought the Nazis would not want to dirty their boots looking for Jews, and he was right.

The Shapiros spent several days in the cellar, pre-chewing stale bread to make it soft enough for Chaim to eat. Late one night, Avraham Shapiro, his parents and baby Chaim snuck out of the building and through streets covered with Jewish corpses. 

They made the perilous journey and finally arrived in Budapest. A Jewish aid worker heard about the Shapiros and approached Avraham, suggesting that he give Chaim to the Schonbruns, a wealthy religious couple in Budapest who couldn't have children of their own.

Again Avraham had a tough decision to make. He loved the baby as his own, but as a homeless fugitive, he knew he could not provide the nurturing home that Chaim, still in very poor health, desperately needed. Over his mother's strong objections, Avraham gave Chaim to the Schonbruns.

In March 1944, the Nazis invaded Hungary, and the Shapiros were deported to Auschwitz. 

Avraham was able to enlarge a hole in the boxcar with a pocketknife and jump out. He spent the rest of the war in Slovakia, then returned to Budapest in 1945. 

Avraham was overjoyed when one day he saw little Chaim on the street, looking happy and healthy. Chaim and the Schonbruns had survived the war.

Over the years, Avraham kept tabs on Chaim from afar. He knew that the Schonbruns had moved to Belgium, then to Montreal, where Chaim grew up. 

Avraham got married and moved to Israel. Chaim was told once that a Jew in Israel had carried him from Poland to Hungary and saved his life, but he didn't know the man's name.

Avraham did not contact Chaim until 1980. Chaim was in Israel for his son's Bar Mitzvah and he received a message that the man who saved his life was finally ready to meet. Avraham and Chaim met in Haifa the next day. In an emotional reunion, the two men sobbed and hugged for hours. 

Chaim asked Avraham why he'd waited 35 years to contact him. Avraham responded by handing Chaim a box. Inside the box were hundreds of gold coins. Avraham explained that before Chaim's mother was shipped to Treblinka, she'd given this box of gold to her sister, who gave it to Avraham when he agreed to take the baby. 

Having lost all their money and possessions when they fled the ghetto, the Shapiro family had little choice but to use the gold on their journey to Hungary, but Avraham always felt bad about it. 

As soon as he got a job, Avraham started putting aside money from his paycheck to buy gold. Finally, after 35 years, he'd saved exactly the amount of money that had been in the box Chaya Rivka gave him in 1943. He didn't want to see Chaim until he could return the box of gold which rightfully belonged to him. 

Avraham told Chaim, "I had done the mitzvah of saving a life, and I didn't want to sell this mitzvah for any amount of gold."

Chaim refused to accept the money, instead donating it to multiple charities in Israel. 

Over the next few decades, Avraham and Chaim became extremely close. Avraham has attended the weddings of all of Chaim's children, and Chaim has attended the weddings of all of Avraham's grandchildren. Chaim now has well over a dozen grandchildren, all of whom owe their lives to Avraham Shapiro.

"Whoever saves a life, it is as if he saved an entire world." (Sanhedrin 37a, B. Talmud)

For his courage in saving the life of a young child, even at great risk to his own, we honor Avraham Shapiro as this week's Thursday Hero at Accidental Talmudist.

Note: Avraham Shapiro is a pseudonym. He is too modest to allow his real name to be used in coverage of this story. 

with thanks to Sara Yoheved Rigler

Image: "Avraham Shapiro" and Chaim Schonbrun in Israel.