Queens Jewish Link
Connecting the Queens Jewish Community Every Purim morning, after hearing the Megillah, we walk to our neighbor’s home where they set up...
Lots going on. Work. Wedding plans. Pesach prep. Gaza. Lebanon. Iran. If not for my running between the office, supermarket, and bridal salon, I could fill my time worrying. But there’s no time for that now. Anxiety does seep in from time to time, but we move forward and trust in Hashem.
Nobody tells me what I must write about. The editors give me a free hand and allow me to write about any topic I choose. But honestly, I’ve had enough of the articles I’ve been writing. I’ve written a column about the war every week since October 7. As I sit down to write my 26th column, I ask myself: How long can this go on? Who would have expected that we would still be fighting this war nearly six months later? If only I could write a different kind of article.
Mazal tov! Our daughter is engaged! Baruch Hashem! Everyone appreciates a simchah, especially now. The light of a simchah shines bright during these trying times. We feel very blessed. But making a simchah these days is far from simple.
Every Purim morning, after hearing the Megillah, we walk to our neighbor’s home where they set up their annual Mishloach Manos street café. Below the sign bearing the name of their “café,” while wearing their personalized aprons, they serve us (and all who pass by) a piece of cake and a hot cup of coffee made to order. Café “customers” can relax on the comfortable chairs the neighbors have placed on the street, as they socialize with their friends. This is how we start our Purim every year. We begin early, when things are quiet and serene, working our way up to the Mishloach Manos frenzy until it’s time to eat the s’udah.
Our friends Leah and Gabi Spitz were in the car with their children on their way to volunteer in the fields in the South when they received a life-altering phone call telling them that their oldest son, Ari, had been severely wounded in Zeitoun in Gaza.
Standing outside, as I approached the events hall in the Ahavat Tzion shul in Ramat Beit Shemesh this past Motza’ei Shabbos, I felt myself being pulled in by the women’s soulful singing. An evening of achdus had been arranged for the many English-speaking shuls of Ramat Beit Shemesh to unite us and strengthen us during this seemingly unending difficult time. With musical accompaniment, Abby Yudin, the wife of a reservist currently serving in the war, set the tone for the evening with her expressive and stirring voice. The hall could barely contain the steady stream of women who continued to enter the venue.
