9 January 2011

I do not know if the following is true but it is still a good read:

Just read this. You will be glad you did.

The brand new Rabbi and his wife, newly assigned to their first Congregation, to reopen a shul in suburban Brooklyn , arrived in early February excited about their opportunities. When they saw their Shul, it was very run down and needed much work. They set a goal to have everything done in time to have their first service on  Erev Purim.

They worked hard, repairing aged pews, plastering walls,painting, etc., and on 8th of the Adar (February 17th) they were ahead of schedule and just about finished.

On February 19 a terrible tempest – a snowstorm hit the area and lasted for two days.

On the 21st, the Rabbi went over to the Shul. His heart sank when he saw that the roof had leaked, causing a large area of plaster about 20 feet by 8 feet to fall off the front wall of the sanctuary just behind the pulpit, beginning about head high.

The Rabbi cleaned up the mess on the floor, and not knowing what else to do but postpone the Erev Purim  service, headed home. On the way he noticed that a local business was having a flea market type sale for charity, so he stopped in. One of the items was a beautiful, handmade, ivory colored, crocheted tablecloth with exquisite work, fine colors and a Mogen David embroidered right in the center. It was just the right size to cover the hole in the front wall. He bought it and headed back to the Shul.

By this time it had started to snow. An older woman running from the opposite direction was trying to catch the bus. She missed it. The Rabbi invited her to wait in the warm Shul for the next bus 45 minutes later.

She sat in a pew and paid no attention to the Rabbi while he got a ladder, hangers, etc., to put up the tablecloth as a wall tapestry. The Rabbi could hardly believe how beautiful it looked and it covered up the entire problem area. Then he noticed the woman walking down the center aisle. Her face was like a sheet. “Rabbi, “she asked, “where did you get that tablecloth?” The Rabbi explained. The woman asked him to check the lower right corner to see if the initials, EBG were crocheted into it there. They were. These were the initials of the woman, and she had made this tablecloth 35 years before, in Poland. The woman could hardly believe it as the Rabbi told how he had just gotten “The Tablecloth”.

 

The woman explained that before the war she and her husband were well-to-do people in Poland.When the Nazis came, she was forced to leave. Her husband was going to follow her the next week. He was captured, sent to a camp and never saw her husband or her home again.

The Rabbi wanted to give her the tablecloth; but she made the Rabbi keep it for the Shul. The Rabbi insisted on driving her home. That was the least he could do. She lived on the other side of Staten Island and was only in Brooklyn  for the day for a house cleaning job.

What a wonderful service they had on Erev Purim. The Shul was almost full. The Service was great. At the end of the service, the Rabbi and his wife greeted everyone at the door and many said that they would return.

One older man, whom the Rabbi recognized from the neighborhood continued to sit in one of the pews and stare, and the Rabbi wondered why he wasn’t leaving. The man asked him where he got the tablecloth on the front wall because it was identical to one that his wife had made years ago when they lived in Poland before the war and how could there be two tablecloths so much alike? He told the Rabbi how the Nazis came, how he forced his wife to flee for her safety and he was supposed to follow her, but he was arrested and put in a camp.  He never saw his wife or his home again all the 35 years between.

The Rabbi asked him if he would allow him to take him for a little ride. They drove to Staten Island and to the same house where the Rabbi had taken the woman three days earlier. He helped the man climb the three flights of stairs to the woman’s apartment, knocked on  the door and he saw the greatest Erev Purim reunion he could ever imagine.

Based on a true Story

 

Heblish Another letter we pronounce Iron I-ron

 

When the Weavers recorded the popular Israeli folk song ‘Tzena Tzena’ in 1950, they did more than legitimize a strain of musical culture; they introduced Israel to a generation of young Americans

BY ARI Y. KELMAN

In 1951, American Jews heard something they never heard before and have not heard since: a Hebrew song at No. 2 on the Billboard charts. The song, Issachar Miron’s “Tzena Tzena,” had been recorded the year before by the Weavers, a politically leftist folk singing group from Greenwich Village with hyperactive accents and closer ties to Woody Guthrie than to Golda Meir. Adopted by Pete Seeger as a folk song, the Weavers’ version of “Tzena Tzena” fed American Jews’ sense of what Israel was—a land brimming with tanned and muscular kibbutznik-soldiers singing, dancing the hora, and making the desert bloom. More

 

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