When And Then

WHEN AND THEN

By unknown author 

When I lose twenty pounds, then I’ll be happy.   When I firm my up my abs, then I’ll plan that beach vacation When the holidays are over, then I’ll go back to the gym.   When I can get back to my goal weight, then I’ll get involved in that group.   Do you ever have thoughts like these? I sure do. Sometimes it feels overwhelming—the list of things I could or should do for my body to make my life “better” never ends. . . I should eat kale, not leftover candy.  I could exercise more.  I should switch to all organic cosmetic products . . .  The list is never satisfied.  So, I retreat to a world all my own. It’s a magical place that only exists in my head. I call it When-Then Land. Oh so much better than a Disney Park, When-Then Land is where my dreams come true. Within its borders, I’m a “better” version of myself—which somehow makes everything else in life instantly better, too. Plus, this idyllic future’s existence only depends on one person: Me. When I can just accomplish this thing, then my life will improve. Of course, this thinking doesn’t restrict itself to my body image. Other life issues can send me to When-Then Land too. For example: When my kids can potty themselves, then life will be easier.  When I get a new job, then I’ll feel better about myself. When I can be a better wife, then I’ll have a great marriage. There’s nothing wrong with having goals, right? Yet, while When-Then Land appears to be a safe place, it’s filled with robbers—vandals that steal without us even realizing it.  Allow me to explain. I stopped by When-Then Land earlier today. It was such a quick trip; I didn’t even have to pack snacks. The journey proceeded as follows: Thought: It’s time for us to get a new family photo taken. Second thought: “When I can lose a few pounds, then I will schedule the pictures.” Express train to When-Then Land now arriving on platform three.  Should I choose to stay in When-Then Land, I’ll never schedule those family pictures. The resident thieves convince me that I’ll look better in the future—I’ll be happier then and like the pictures more. In doing so, they rob me of the chance to capture the memory of the way my family looks now, today. And that’s the biggest downside to living in When-Then Land. We miss out on the Here-Now. Our mental visits to When-Then Land keep us from living life to the full. In fact, the very existence of When-Then Landmakes enjoying the Here-Now even more difficult because of the pressure we put ourselves under to accomplish the goals that will take us to this ideal place. The burden of this is too big to carry. Trying to lose that weight, tone that body, be our “best” or just be “good enough” every day in a vain attempt to make the future “better” rates as difficult as carrying an overstuffed diaper bag while running a marathon.  So how do we escape the temptation to dwell in When-Then Land?  How do we take the pressure off and dwell in the Here-Now? Here are two places to start.   • We often live in When-Then Land because we believe a lie. That is: life would be better, happier, more joyful, easier, or freer if we had that thing we want–be it a better body, a better hmarriage, or even more self-sufficient. The expectation that we’ll love our lives When-Then we reach those goals is looking for true salvation in a place we’ll never find it.   • Be Thankful. Try to savor the Here-Now.The easiest way to do that is through practicing gratefulness. No, not every day here on earth will be awesome. Struggle and pain are real. But, having an attitude of thankfulness can change our perspective on the Here-Now and keep us from mentally drifting into believing a future here on earth will be anyway more magical.  Write down what you are thankful for. Practice thanking Hashem for His great blessings when you pray. If you still feel yourself constantly drifting into that fantasyland, watch your media consumption—watching or reading a lot of fantasy or low-quality fiction can keep us trapped in When-Then Land, too.

So Well Said..... I Want A Boy Who Is Learning...(author unknown)

Subject: I want a boy who is LEARNING..........

I want a boy who is LEARNING....

Learning from his mistakes....

Learning from the mistakes of others....

Learning how to give without expecting anything in return....

Learning how to forgive others for their shortcomings....

Learning how to find true emes in a world brimming with sheker....

Learning how to take no for an answer....

Learning how to accept the will of Hashem when life gets stormy....

Learning how to utilize the tools Hashem gave him to become a better eved Hashem....

Learning how to find good in the frustrating nuances that happen throughout his day....

Learning how to grow and become A BETTER HIM.

I want a boy who is WORKING....

Working towards a greater goal....

Working on his middos a little bit more each day....

Working on strengthening his relationships with his rebbeim....

Working on improving his relationships with his family and friends....

Working on deepening his connection to Hakadosh Baruch Hu daily....

Working on giving life all he's got....

Working on thanking Hashem for all the little things in life....

Working on finding hashgachat Hashem in everything that happens to him throughout his day....

Working to overcome his natural negative tendencies....

Working on bringing Mashiach a little bit closer every day....

Working on growing and becoming A BETTER HIM.THIS is the person I want to marry.

Just learning? Only working?! Forget that idea! I want BOTH.

Wow! Oh Baby! What A Story!

Oh baby!

http://blogs.timesofisrael.com/oh-baby/

The Nobel Prize. Its Origin And Profound Lesson!

The Nobel Prize came to be by chance – a twist of fate. 

When Alfred Nobel's brother died, a newspaper mistakenly ran an obituary of Alfred himself, believing it was he who had died. Nobel was given a rare opportunity: to read his own obituary while alive. What he read horrified him. The newspaper described him as a man who had made it possible to kill more people more quickly than anyone else in history.

Upon reading it, Alfred Nobel realized two things, that this was how he was to be remembered, and that this was not how he wanted to be remembered. Shortly thereafter, he established the Nobel awards. 

All too often we spend our time “sweating the small stuff,” and neglecting the things that really matter: the good we do, the love we give, the mitzvot we perform, the difference we make to other people’s lives. None of us knows how long we will live. Life is too short to waste. Every day is a gift from G-d and we should use it to the fullest: to celebrate life and be a blessing to others.

What do you want to be remembered for?

It's Not What We Always Think

A young couple moves into a new neighborhood. The next morning while they are eating breakfast, the young woman sees her neighbor hanging the wash outside. "That laundry is not very clean; she doesn't know how to wash correctly. Perhaps she needs better laundry soap." Her husband looks on, remaining silent. Every time her neighbor hangs her wash to dry, the young woman makes the same comments. A month later, the woman is surprised to see a nice clean wash on the line and says to her husband: "Look, she's finally learned how to wash correctly. I wonder who taught her this? " The husband replies, "I got up early this morning and cleaned our windows." And so it is with life... What we see when watching others depends on the clarity of the window through which we look

Judiasm 101%

In Crown Heights, there was a Jew, Yankel, who owned a bakery. He survived the camps. He once said, “You know why it is that I’m alive today? I was a kid, just a teenager at the time. We were on the train, in a boxcar, being taken to Auschwitz. Night came and it was freezing, deathly cold, in that boxcar. The Germans would leave the cars on the side of the tracks overnight, sometimes for days on end without any food, and of course, no blankets to keep us warm,” he said. “Sitting next to me was an older Jew – this beloved elderly Jew - from my hometown I recognized, but I had never seen him like this. He was shivering from head to toe, and looked terrible. So I wrapped my arms around him and began rubbing him, to warm him up. I rubbed his arms, his legs, his face, his neck. I begged him to hang on. All night long; I kept the man warm this way. I was tired, I was freezing cold myself, my fingers were numb, but I didn’t stop rubbing the heat on to this man’s body. Hours and hours went by this way. Finally, night passed, morning came, and the sun began to shine. There was some warmth in the cabin, and then I looked around the car to see some of the other Jews in the car. To my horror, all I could see were frozen bodies, and all I could hear was a deathly silence.

Nobody else in that cabin made it through the night – they died from the frost. Only two people survived: the old man and me… The old man survived because somebody kept him
warm; I survived because I was warming somebody else…”

Let me tell you the secret of Judaism. When you warm other people’s hearts, you remain warm yourself. When you seek to support, encourage and inspire others; then you discover support, encouragement and inspiration in your own life as well. That, my friends, is “Judaism 101”.

Follow Your Heart

Chayenu Miracle!

 I would like to share an inspiring story which happened this week @Chayenu, along the lines of large donations coming from unexpected sources, way more than the Keli we make and also powerful on other levels:
Yossi Pels, the Exec. Director got an email a few weeks ago saying something like "Please unsubscribe me. I love Chayenu, its a wonderful publication but I simply don't have the time for it...".

Wisely, rather than just follow their instructions he countered.
But not before researching who this past-subscriber was, googling them etc.
Turns out to be a wealthy family.
So he writes back: it seems that while you may not have the time, you do have the resources. Well, we have many Jewish inmates who have plenty time to study Chayenu but no resources. So he suggested a trade. Or partnership.
They were inspired by the approach he took and expressed interest. He told them we have 190 inmates yet to be sponsored.
They pledged to send a check.
This past Sunday, a check arrived, covering the Chayenu subscription costs of ALL 190 JEWISH INMATES!!
Approximately $18K !

All this, from an "unsubscribe " email turned into a major donor
😃
Definitely miraculous and Rebbe koichois, but also a lesson in how to turn a No into a Big Yes.Love such stories!!

Labor Of Love

My mother gave me some sage advice when I got married, which I'm sure you've all heard before, but she said it in a way that I had never heard it before. She said that marriage is called a 'labor of love' not because it is laborious to love the other, but because all of the labor that we do for one another must be done with love...over and over again. It is in the little things. "Like the way you give him tea," she said. "Don't just plop it down in front of him...set it down lovingly and say, 'Hey sweetie - here is your tea.'"
I see praying to G-d in a similar light. I must labor to beg him with the utmost sincerity and love over and over again for the same thing - which, as in a marriage, can become mundane. The 'labor' is in making it fresh and real and meaningful.
Every. Single. Time.
Jodi Sugar quoting Rivka Pesha. (Jodi's website is http://www.ajewishcalendar.com)

I Talked ToG-d Story Of A Mom Of 17

❤ Wow What A Story!❤
I talked to God; I said I didn’t know who my mother and father were, but that now the Holy One would have to be both my mother and my father."
Tikkun, the Hebrew word for repair, is often used in the expression tikkun olam, the value of repairing the world. But tikkun can be intensely personal, and become the framework of a meaningful life.Rarely have I seen this displayed so clearly as in the story of Jerusalemite Ruth Zvi.



She’s the mother of 17 children.         That’s right, 17.
She and three sisters were given away by parents who felt they had too many children.

They kept their sons.

I meet Ruth, now 60, at Hadassah University Medical Center, where she’s a volunteer for Ezer Mizion. Ruth is one of those pleasant religious women who pass out sandwiches to the families of hospital patients. What would you like, tuna or cheese? She’s never in a hurry.

Five – or, as she says, “only five” of her children are still living at home. And she does attend all the birthday parties and end-of-year celebrations for her 31 grandchildren thus far, but still has time to schmooze.

We meet at the kiosk where I buy my daily gelato in the hospital mall. Her son Israel (No. 7) co-owns the Aldo concession, and tops my frozen yogurt with a dollop of mint chocolate chip.

“I don’t remember myself before moving to Jerusalem,” reveals Ruth, who has brown embracing eyes and an easy smile.

She would learn later in life that she was born in Tel Aviv’s Hatikva quarter. She ate scraps that fell from the table, a toddler Cinderella. At age three, when she was adopted, she couldn’t yet walk or talk.

Adoption was less regulated back then. A woman, representing an NGO that wanted to rescue underprivileged children, had heard about Ruth’s family. She became the daughter of Rabbi and Rebbetzin C., an older childless couple from Poland who’d lost their large families in the Shoah. They longed for children, and were willing to take this neglected, backwards little girl.

They lived in the Geula neighborhood of Jerusalem. Ruth’s new mother washed, clothed and fed her, and took her to get the required inoculations she hadn’t received as a baby. A middle name was added. She would henceforth be Ruth Miriam, for her adoptive mother’s murdered mom.

“My mother was very strict, what you’d call a ‘Polish mother,’” recalls Ruth. “My father was warmer, although he never once kissed or hugged me. Somehow, he was able to express his parental affection without touching.”

It didn’t occur to Ruth that her father’s never touching her had to do with religious restrictions on adopted children.

She didn’t know she was adopted.

Looking back, there were hints about her being adopted, but she didn’t pursue them. “My upbringing was such that questioning my mother would have been unthinkable.”

Ruth learned to play the accordion, and was often the center of class parties.

Her mother was somber. Ruth was darkskinned, with a Sephardi complexion; her mother was fair-skinned and looked typically Ashkenazi. “When people mentioned it, my mother said I looked like one of her sisters murdered in Poland. That was a conversation-stopper. I suppose all my neighbors and classmates knew I was adopted, but no one said anything.”

Ruth was a teen when her best friend asked if she could tell her a secret. The friend made her promise she wouldn’t be angry. “And then she said it: ‘You’re adopted.’” Ruth informed her friend she had to leave. “She kept apologizing, but I explained that I wasn’t mad, I just needed to be alone.”

Ruth walked and walked, her heart beating fast, her mind unable to fathom her new reality. She found herself at the Western Wall.

“I talked to God; I said I didn’t know who my mother and father were, but that now the Holy One would have to be both my mother and my father. I went home and didn’t say a word to my parents.”

Her mother guessed. “She worried that I wouldn’t mind her anymore. I assured her that nothing had changed.”

When matchmaking began, among the men she met was a light-skinned, Sephardi yeshiva student named Elijah Zvi. “He was very short, but he seemed taller each time I met him. Like all the girls of my religious ilk, I was impressed that he wanted to study Torah. “ At the engagement, the groom’s father asked which ethnic group Ruth really belonged to. Rabbi C. shook his head: “We never speak of it,” he responded, and the subject was closed.

The wedding took place in the Bais Yaakov Teachers’ Seminary where Ruth studied. Their married life began on Malchei Yisrael Street, near Mea She’arim.

Elijah earned a small stipend as a yeshiva student and Ruth taught music in kindergartens.

They soon had four daughters.

One day, an item in a community newspaper mentioning the upcoming nuptials of a couple named Nachum and Tova caught her eye. “I can’t explain it,” she remembers.

“I had a feeling they had something to do with me.”

Elijah knew Nachum and spotted him at prayer services in a neighborhood synagogue.

“A girl was waiting for him outside and she looked a little like you,” he observed. He suggested inviting them to their home. Ruth recognized her strong resemblance to Tova, but didn’t say anything.

Eventually, the two women joyfully acknowledged their sisterhood. Tova’s parents had told her from the beginning that she was adopted. “She’d opened the file and was in touch with our biological parents. She kept urging me to meet them, too.”

Ruth and Elijah finally went to see the man and woman who had given Ruth and her sisters away. “I went for the first and last time,” recounts Ruth. “My biological mother hardly acknowledged me; she was like a fossil. My father tried to pretend he always wanted to get be back. I had four daughters by then and the thought of my parents giving away four daughters was more than I could cope with.”

She was clear on one subject: No matter how many children she and Elijah had, they would bring them up with love.

Ruth gave birth 18 times (one stillborn child) in 24 years.

Her widowed adoptive mother, the sole survivor of her family – who couldn’t have biological children and took a chance on this abandoned, backward child – was always by her side, helping her with the children.

Rebbetzin C. got to help bring up the first 11 children before she died.

“My adoptive parents had their own ideas of child-rearing – today they might not be recommended – but they gave me enormous strength, confidence and self-reliance,” she asserts. “There were plenty of difficult periods, never extra money or enough personal space for the children. But today I have eight sons and nine daughters, and they’re all terrific.

Twelve are married; they’re all educated and hold down good jobs.”

Her son Israel recalls how tough times sometimes were, but that they were never hungry – even if they slept on mattresses in the living room. They’re still close today, often camping out to be together in their parents’ home.

When her youngest child, “the best of all,” started first grade, Ruth went back to work as a house mother in a home for senior citizens. Today, at 60, she enthuses that she’s “at a great stage of life, fully enjoying myself.” She attends a variety of classes at the community center.

Advice for childrearing? “Respect every child. Look beyond what he or she is wearing.

Think of how my parents saved me.

Compliment everything good they do, but don’t let a lie go undetected. I never did homework; that’s the child’s responsibility, not yours.”

Life advice? “Don’t waste energy on over-thinking. Get on with what you want to do, and think of the positive.”

Regrets? “As you might imagine, I didn’t hug and kiss my children enough – but I’m learning to do that with my grandchildren.That’s my personal tikkun... a lot of hugs and kisses