History of Jews in Morocco

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I asked a Moroccan Jewish friend to describe Moroccan Jews. He told me the following:

“The essence of Moroccan Jews are their warm hearts, welcoming nature, and their passion for tradition and keeping those traditions that were passed down from their parents, grandparents and those before them alive. These traditions are kept alive mainly during special and memorable events with family, friends and loved ones.

Some of those traditions can be seen on the Shabbat table, when you see the typical tangy and spicy red colored fish dish, Chraime for dinner on Friday, or the Adafina (also called Hamin in some places) on Saturday. You will see some to these traditions staying alive when you join a Moroccan family for Passover, and during the traditional Bibhilu, where the head of the household takes the Seder plate and blesses each one of the people around the table by passing over them with the plate…and bouncing the plate on their heads! Then once Passover is over, the “Mimouna,” where Moroccan Jews will share dishes and desserts with family and friends, in some cases going from house to house and enjoying everybody’s delicious recipes in their houses.

My parents always shared stories about how they would go out in Mimouna and not come back until after midnight or so, after going with friends from house to house around their Jewish neighborhood in Tetouan. And even where there is no food, like on Yom Kippur, you can recognize a Moroccan Jew by looking at those going to a synagogue wearing a white suit or white/bright colors; also by seeing the last ones coming out of the service in Yom Kippur. For some reason we always finish after the Ashkenazis. We can’t forget the traditional party for a Moroccan Bride before the wedding – the Henna. The big feast for the bride, family and friends, where she will wear the typical black and gold dress; in some case worn decades before them by their mother and her mother before her. Again, at the end, I think it is all about keeping tradition alive, enjoying those traditions with friends and family and making those special and memorable. Then passing those to your children and hoping those will continue to go down to their children’s children as it has for thousands of years.”

 In honor of Moroccan Jewish Tradition, Breaking Matzo features a number of Moroccan culinary examples such as Moroccan Chraime and Moroccan Charoset.

***

Jews in Morocco date back to the earliest reaches of Morocco’s history. Jews in the Roman Empire pre-dated Christ, and those Jews most likely migrated along the Mediterranean into what is now Morocco. They created communities and converted natives to Judaism. In the eighth century, Arab armies built up an empire that included both Morocco and Spain. Towards the end of the eighth century, Idriss I created the first Muslim state in the central and western areas of Morocco. With Idriss I fighting and forcing conversions, Jews and Christians fled to Moroccan regions not under his domain. In the early ninth century, Idriss I’s son, Idriss II, founded Fez. He invited the Jews to live alongside the Arabs in Fez. Although the Jewish community remained considerably restricted, Fez did offer opportunities for prosperity. Jews remained there peacefully for the ninth and tenth centuries.

In the eleventh and twelfth centuries, the Almoravides, a Berber tribe, created an Islamic empire that contained Morocco. They founded Marrakesh, the capital, near a Jewish settlement called Aghmat. Jews were not allowed to enter Marrakesh during the daytime, but nonetheless found relative freedom in this empire. Many Jewish scholars migrated to the empire and found it an ideal space to produce religious writings. However, in the twelfth century the empire was overtaken by the Almohads, who adopted a fundamentalist Islamic agenda. They persecuted Jews all over Morocco; Maimonides, who lived in Morocco from 1159-1165, advised all Jews to leave the country. Jewish communities were decimated, and, in some cases, completely eradicated.

The tides turned in the thirteenth century, when the Almohads were overthrown by the Merenids. The Merenids actually gave the Jews preferential treatment. When Fez was threatened with pogroms, the Merenids established New Fez so the sultan could ensure Jewish safety. In 1438, as the Merenids lost control of Morocco, they forced the Jews to live in a fortified area adjacent to the royal palace. This was the first Jewish quarter in Morocco; it was built on a salt mine and called mellah, the Arabic word for salt. All subsequent Jewish quarters were also called mellahs. The Merenids were overthrown by the Wattasids in 1472. The Wattasids neither challenged Portuguese expansion nor took a stance on refugees ousted by Queen Isabella, remaining relatively neutral. Many of these refugees passed through Morocco, with 20,000 opting to stay.

In the 16th and 17th centuries, the Saadian dynasty took over. While placing heavy taxes on Jewish citizens to finance the military, they also ensured Jews were financially stable by giving them a monopoly over sugar. This made Jews an integral part of the caravan trade. In the 1660s, the current ruling family, the Alaouties, came to power. Their first ruler, Moulay Rachid, captured caravan routes to ensure that Jews would help finance his new empire. He protected the Jews throughout his reign, although he continued the tradition of taxing them heavily. Moulay Ishamel, Rachid’s successor, stabilized Morocco and made Jews construct the Meknes mellah. This prosperous mellah attracted Jewish immigrants from all over Morocco, and Jewish traders grew rich.

After Ishamel’s death and a period of 30-year tumult, Moulay Mohammed came to power, establishing the port of Mogador. Mohammed required all trade to go through Mogador, and encouraged wealthy Jews to send their family members to Mogador as traders. Mohammed’s son, Moulay Yazid, hated the Jews, and from 1790-1792 waged pogroms on them, specifically targeting Fez and Meknes. However, sultans after him allowed Jews to rebuild in the mellahs, although these sultans had increasingly less control of the country. In February 1864, Sultan Sidi Mohammed issued a royal decree proclaiming that Jews would be treated as equals under the law. However, in the following years European countries were suspicious that Morocco continued to oppress its Jews. This seemed to be untrue, and in 1906 U.S. representatives praised the government for its treatment of Jews.

After the killings of a few Europeans in Casablanca and Marrakesh in 1907, the French found an excuse for an invasion of Morocco, occupying Casablanca and pillaging the mellah. The French and Spanish governments both took significant sections of Morocco from 1907-1912, making Tangier an international zone. By 1941, the Vichy government of France imposed oppressive laws upon Moroccan Jews, setting quotas on doctors, lawyers, and students, and forcing many Jews into mellahs. In 1942, with the arrival of American troops, the French closed off a few mellahs and eventually repealed the oppressive laws. The Sultan, Mohammed V, announced his opposition to the oppressive laws and asked Muslims not to hurt the Jews, saying they were loyal subjects. However, with the emigration to Israel and tumult from the Israeli-Arab conflict, two pogroms occurred in June 1948. These pogroms targeted two eastern towns, Oujda and Djerrada. Muslim leaders were deeply upset and personally met with victims’ families. After these attacks, from 1948-1956, 90% of Moroccan Jews left the country. The poorer went to Israel, while richer Jews immigrated to Canada and France. Today there are fewer than 7,000 Jews in the country.

Even though the Moroccan Jews remain relatively scattered, their heritage remains strong.

Worldwide, there are over a million Moroccan Jews.

Sources:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/History_of_the_Jews_in_Morocco

https://en.qantara.de/content/interview-with-mhammad-bennaboud-the-muslims-and-jews-of-tetouan

http://referenceworks.brillonline.com/entries/encyclopedia-of-jews-in-the-islamic-world/bengualid-ben-walid-isaac-SIM_0003890

*I would like to thank David Benaim and his family from Tetouan, Morocco for sharing their Jewish family traditions as well as their recipes for Chraime and other Moroccan dishes.

Peak Population of Jews in Morocco: 250,000 in 1940

Population of Jews in Morocco Today: 2,200 in 2016

Population of Moroccan Jews in Israel: 486,000 in 2011

Further Reading:

Justice for Jews from Arab Countries is an organization dedicated to representing Jews from Arab countries and preserving the legacy of those Jewish communities. They collect and house personal testimonies and historical accounts of Jews from Arab countries. Justice for Jews from Arab Countries provides education programs and resources so the public can learn about the history of the Jewish people in Arab countries. You can read their account of the history of the Jews in Morocco here.

Is It Possible to Run out of Tears?

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During times of sadness, is it possible to run out of tears? How can you hold space for others?

During periods of sadness, I have wondered, “Is it possible to run out of tears?”

I explored the Torah for an answer.

The person who cried the most in the Torah was Joseph. He cried 8 times in the book of Genesis. We can learn a lot about Joseph and his evolving relationships with his brothers in these moments of tears. His first cry was when his brothers first met him in his new role as the powerful leader in Egypt after selling him as a slave many years before. “Joseph turned away from his brothers and wept. Then he returned and spoke to them, and he took Shimon from them and had him tied up before their eyes” (Gen. 42:24). Joseph refused to cry in public. He had to be alone to fully express his emotion. The second time he cried was even more dramatic in showing his resolve not to cry in public and hide his inner heart. This was when he first saw his beloved brother Benjamin. “Joseph hurried out, for he was overcome with feeling for his brother, and had to cry. And he went into a room and wept there. Then he washed his face and took control of himself, and said, serve the bread” (Gen. 43:30-31).

It is possible that Joseph wanted to allow his brothers to repent for their selling of him into slavery. If he had cried in front of them, they would have known who he was. Joseph withheld his true identity in order to really observe his brother’s emotional evolution. This  enabled Joseph to hold space for his brothers and allow them their own emotional experience. Holding space means lending your courage and strength, and suspending your judgment. It means creating a safe environment for someone you care for to exorcise the hurt within them. Allowing his brothers to witness their authentic experience and reacting with love and acceptance was a powerful way of supporting them.

Joseph’s third cry was when he finally opened his heart and soul. This is the great climax of the Joseph story, the moment when he is confronted by his brother Judah, who tells him of his father’s years of grief and mourning. Joseph was so moved to hear that his father was still Alive, he dropped his shield of pretense and allowed a cathartic release of emotion. And Joseph could not control himself. To all those standing in attendance, he cried out, “‘Take every man away from me!’ So, there was no one else standing there when Joseph made himself known to his brothers. And his sobs were so loud that all of Egypt could hear, and they were even heard in the House of Pharaoh” (Gen. 45:1-2). He experienced a range of emotions. He held space for his brothers to repent and Grow. He then experienced new soul cries in the passage and released a flood of emotion.

Joseph cries and cries and cries and cries. And he no longer turns away and hides his face, no longer washes away his tears. He cries openly and without restraint.

Joseph experienced a range of emotions during Genesis and his crying reflected his emotional variability. His early tears were alone. His final tears were released in a flood of emotion. He had a variety of tears.

Not all crying is the same. I wondered about the nature of tears. Interestingly there are three types of tears. Basal tears flow continuously in order to keep the eyelids from sticking on the eye. Reflex tears respond when something gets in your eyes and the reflex tears help wash it away. The third type of tears are called emotional tears. They really come from the heart. Interestingly, unlike continuous and reflex tears which are entirely comprised of water, emotional tears contain stress hormones like cortisol and thus help carry our stress away. This discharge of stress hormones helps stimulate production of endorphins which helps relax the body and mind after a “good” crying bit. Many of us actually feel more relaxed and soothed after emotional crying.

In one of my guided meditations, I have learned that tears of sadness can help water the seeds of our future happiness. And that You will never run out of tears. May your unending tears freely flow and enable your personal garden to blossom.

“Only eyes washed by tears can see clearly.”
Rabbi Louis L. Mann

Other Resources:

Genesis 45-46.

http://parshanut.com/post/134927500711/an-ocean-of-tears-parshat-mikeitz

https://www.google.com/amp/upliftconnect.com/hold-space/amp/

Esther and Moses: Finding Your True Self in the Palace

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Purim and Passover share an important connection. In the Purim story, Queen Esther saved the Jews from certain destruction from the threat of Haman. In the Passover story, Moses rescued the Hebrews from slavery in Egypt and led them to the Promised Land.

What do Queen Esther and Moses have in common? They were both royalty living at a distance—physically and spiritually removed from their people—in the unnatural comfort of the Royal Palace.

Courtesy of Gener8Xion Entertainment.

Courtesy of Gener8Xion Entertainment.

Questions for us:

  • What is our true identity?
  • What are we hiding from?
  • What will be the catalyst to truly and fully live our own lives?

Queen Esther hid her Jewish identity from King Ahasuerus for 9 years. Only after Mordechai warned her “you will not be safe…” did she reveal her true identity and act to save the Jews from devastation.

Similarly, Moses was a prince in Egypt and lived in the Pharaoh’s palace. It is unclear what he knew of his Hebrew identity. However, after witnessing the degradation of the Hebrew slaves, he begins an extended journey that eventually leads him back to the Egyptian palace, but now as the liberator of the enslaved Hebrews.

In both cases, Queen Esther and Prince Moses initially felt “safe and secure” in their royal palaces. In both cases, when they realized that there was a grave threat to their people, they then chose to openly identify with them. They were only able to help save their communities when they truly became themselves.

Over the Top

Queen Esther was confronted by her Uncle Mordechai to stand up for the Jews and help defeat the threat of Haman to destroy the Jews. Queen Esther felt that she was safe in her castle and did not need to stand up to protect herself or the Jews. Mordechai said to her, “Do not imagine that you, of all the Jews, will escape with your life by being in the King’s Palace. On the contrary, if you keep silent in this crisis, relief and deliverance will come to the Jews from another quarter, while you and your father’s house will perish. And who knows, perhaps you have attained to royal position for just such a crisis.” Esther immediately understood her destiny and responsibility. She replied to Mordechai, “Go, assemble all the Jews who live in Shushan and fast on my behalf… I shall go to the King, though it is contrary to the law, and if I am to perish, I shall perish” (Esther 4:12-17).

Moses’ aha moment was slower to develop than Esther’s. Similar to Esther, Moses was member of the royal family (a prince) and felt safe and secure in the royal palace (in fairness, we know almost nothing about Moses’ life between his birth and adulthood). Moses left the palace and saw an Egyptian taskmaster viciously beating a Hebrew slave. In a moment of rage, Moses killed the Egyptian. Pharaoh discovered this royal breach and sought to kill Moses. Moses fled and wandered in the desert. There, while tending the flock of his father-in-law’s sheep, he came across the Burning Bush. When God saw that Moses had “turned aside,” He called to Moses from the Bush. Moses replied with one simple, but profound Hebrew word, Hineni, “Here I am.” This phrase is used in various biblical stories to articulate a person’s readiness for a calling. In response, God gave Moses his charge to “free the Israelites from Egypt” (Exodus 3:1-15). Still feeling uncertain about his capacity to lead his people, Moses asked “Who am I?” God reassured the new prophet that “I will be with you” and helped him gain confidence of his mission to free the Israelites. And with that, Moses went forth, embracing his destiny as God’s messenger of liberation.

One of my mom’s favorite songs was “I Am What I Am” from the Broadway show, La Cage Aux Folles. In reading about the evolution of the biblical figures of Esther and Moses I heard the words of this song echoing in my ears.

The Journey of Passover Can Help Us Land a Person on Mars!

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It all began when my daughter successfully graduated from Space Camp.

After a weekend at NASA’s Space Camp learning about outer space and how to get there, I started to ponder space exploration and boundaries. Seeing the photo above, I found myself reminded of the story of Passover and how it applies to today’s outer space discoveries.

During Passover, we refer to Egypt as “Mitzraim” in Hebrew. Mitzraim literally means, “narrow place.”

For Egypt, “narrow” has metaphorical and physical meaning. It can refer to the mindset regarding slavery in Egypt. In many cases, contemporary slavery can be the result of an encumbered mind – a narrow viewpoint that prevents us from seeing a broader or expanded perspective.

In contemporary life, the symbolism of the Exodus story resonates deeply. The process of escaping from slavery in “Egypt,” upheld by a narrow and encumbered mind, to wandering in the wilderness, and finally reaching freedom in the Promised Land (Eretz Yisrael/Israel), is still intensely relevant.

The physical meaning of Egypt’s “narrow place” is found in the heavily populated area surrounding the Nile.  Although Egypt is a very large country, the vast majority of its population lives along the banks of the Nile. This leaves the rest of the country in relative darkness.

One time, I took my daughter, Caroline, to Space Camp, which is part of NASA and the U.S. Space and Rocket Center in Hunstville, Alabama. While viewing the NASA space exhibits, I was struck by this photo of Egypt and Israel at night taken from outer space. The lights in Egypt are all along the Nile, literally giving Egypt a narrow physical appearance. The rest of the country is completely dark (see photo).
realmap
As we successfully graduated from Space Camp and thought of our astronauts who have flown to outer space and landed on the moon, I was struck by the power of the unencumbered mind. Space travel is only possible when people leave the gravitational pull of earth and reach for the unknown possibilities in the stars. Astronauts fly into the darkness, not knowing the impact their light and journey will have. Similarly, the Israelites set out into the dark desert with a hope of freedom and light.

As we say at each Seder: “Next year in Jerusalem!” We continually hope and strive towards breaking past the darkness that may surround us.

Similarly, we have followed President Kennedy’s exhortation for our country to be the first to land a man on the moon, flying off into the great unknown. Now, we strive to be the first country to land a person on Mars.

In the next two decades, thanks to leaving behind a narrow and constrained mind and attitude, we will land a person on Mars! Our nation of dreamers is ready to further explore outer space, unencumbered by the obstacles that may arise.

Soon, our minds and dreams wide, we may be able to say, “Next year in Mars!”

 

Caroline Space Camp

Further reading:

Read about Jessica Meir, an Israeli-American Astronaut who participated in the historic first all-female space walk and who celebrated Hanukkah in space.

Here is an article about Jewish astronauts throughout the history of space exploration.

This article about how two Russian cosmonauts commemorated International Holocaust Remembrance Day in space.

You Can’t Quench Your Thirst If You Are Too Thirsty

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How self love is the most important love you can have.

Each Yom Kippur, I diligently and reflectively fast for 24 hours. Yom Kippur is a day set apart by the Torah for us to “practice self-denial” (Leviticus 23:27). This self-denial is typically expressed through fasting. I have traditionally broken the fast with a close family friend. He is an accomplished oenophile. He always serves the most extraordinary bottles of Italian wine, my favorite, for our break fast toast. Although I absolutely love Italian wine, our first glass of wine never really tastes that good. I have always wondered why. I recently learned the reason.

When I normally drink my favorite Italian red wine, it transports me. I love the flavors. I love the memories. Each sip truly tastes so good. However, at the break the fast, the first sip doesn’t react with my taste buds in the same way. I recently realized that I am too thirsty. Because my throat is so parched from the 24-hour fast, I really can’t taste the wine. I am literally too thirsty to drink. When I am normally sated and not fasting, I can truly taste each tannin of the wine. It magically transforms my taste buds to transport my wining experience.

I learned this distinction this year when I discovered the importance of self love. If you are so deprived of love, you can never truly receive the blessing of someone else’s life. You experience such a deprivation of love. If you have love for yourself, then you can more readily receive the blessing of someone else’s love. You are not so parched and thirsty.

Self love truly enables your proverbial wine cup to “runneth over” and to truly enjoy the blessings of friendship and love.

La Chaim! To life and self love!

Gam Zeh Ya’avor “This Too Shall Pass”

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Heartfelt thanks to Rabbi Daniel Gropper for sharing this poignant Rosh Hashanah sermon about difficulties we all face from time-to-time.

On the coffee table in my study is a cardboard box containing baseball cards of every Jewish Major Leaguer who played the game between 1871 and 2003. These cards are often the fascination of many a Bar Mitzvah boy and their fathers. All jokes aside, it is not an empty box. There are many more cards there than just Shawn Green, Hank Greenberg and Moe Berg.  One such card is of Bob Tufts. Bob was a Massachusetts native who, during the 1980s pitched in 27 major league games. According to the records from the American Jewish Historical Society, he is one of only six major league ball players who converted to Judaism. At the ceremony marking his conversion, Bob was asked if he would like to choose a Jewish name. His response: “Yes…. Sandy Koufax.”

Whether or not he knew it, even through his humorous response, Tufts was actually doing a very Jewish thing. According to our tradition, the act of naming someone – even oneself – is an effort to say something hopeful about the future of the one being named. When a baby, for example, is named after a loved one – it is done, not only to honor the memory of the person who passed, but also to express a heartfelt hope that the values that made that person special will somehow live on in this new life.

In a larger sense, we too, at this time of year, do our own kind of naming. During the Holy Days, it is traditional as we meet and talk with one another, to give names of hope to the year ahead: “Shanah Tovah – “A good year” — “Shana Metukah” – “A Sweet Year” “Shanah Shel Bri’ut” – “A Healthy Year.” These names, these thoughtful greetings to the season are our way of praying that these qualities: goodness, sweetness and good health will somehow find their way into this new year.

And yet… what if we know… what if we already know as we enter this year that, for us, the coming months really won’t be defined by goodness… or sweetness.. or by good health? What if I already know – that, either in my own life or in the life of someone I love – the coming year is going to be really hard? How am I to enter this new year? What blessing is there for me?

Some of us enter this year battling cancer and other diseases that turn our world asunder. Some are navigating a new life as a single parent, as divorce has upset the equilibrium of our lives. Others are waiting for the puzzle pieces of their family to realign after the death of a parent, a spouse, a sibling, a child.

Perhaps the following story might help, or at least lend some perspective….

One day the wise King Solomon decided to humble Benaiah ben Yehoyada, his most trusted minister. He said to him, “Benaiah, there is a certain ring that I want you to bring to me. I wish to wear it for Sukkot which gives you six months to find it.”

“If it exists anywhere on earth, your majesty,” replied Benaiah, “I will find it and bring it to you, but what makes the ring so special?”

“It has magic powers,” answered the king. “It can make a happy man sad and a sad man happy.” Solomon knew that no such ring existed in the world, but he wished to give his minister a little taste of humility.

Spring passed and then summer and still Benaiah had no idea where he could find the ring. On the night before Sukkot, he decided to take a walk in one of the poorest quarters of Jerusalem. He passed by a merchant who had begun to set out the day’s wares on a shabby carpet. There were rings and earrings and bracelets. “Have you by any chance heard of a magic ring that makes a happy man sad and a sad man happy?”

The merchant had heard of no such ring. But then, as if by magic, the merchant’s father appeared. With an old gnarled finger he beckoned to Benaiah. As he watched, the grandfather took a plain gold ring from the carpet and engraved something on it. When Benaiah read the words on the ring, his face broke out in a wide smile.

That night the entire city welcomed in the holiday of Sukkot with great festivity. “Well, my friend,” said Solomon, “have you found what I sent you after?” All the ministers laughed and Solomon himself smiled.

To everyone’s surprise, Benaiah held up a small gold ring and declared, “Here it is, your majesty!” As soon as Solomon read the inscription, the smile vanished from his face. The jeweler had written three Hebrew letters on the gold band: _gimel, zayin, yud_, which began the words “_Gam zeh ya’avor_” — “This too shall pass.”

Rainbows Only Come after Rain

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Recently, facing uncertainty and feeling sad, a friend told me “rainbows come only after rain”. This really struck me. I was feeling sad, but encouraged I would someday see a rainbow. Although I wasn’t certain when the rainbow would appear, my sadness lessened knowing it ultimately would. I looked to the Torah for the meaning of the rainbow.

In Genesis 9, the story of Noah’s Ark unfolds. Basically, God instructs Noah to build an Ark in order to save his family and a pair of all animal species, because God was going to flood the earth and destroy all remaining inhabitants who were not aboard the ark. God wanted a reset and Noah to begin life anew. After the flood, God presented a Rainbow to Noah, signifying his promise to never to destroy all life on earth again.

“When I send clouds over the earth, and a rainbow appear in the sky, I will remember my promise to you and to all other living creatures. Never again will I let floodwaters destroy all life. When I see the rainbow in the sky, I will always remember the promise that I have made to every living creature. The rainbow will be the sign of that solemn promise” (Gen.9:14-17). Please remember that we all have the blessing of God’s rainbow covenant to recover from any storm.

“Somewhere over the rainbow way up high blue birds fly….”

Please enjoy this video of “Somewhere over the Rainbow” as sung by Israel Kamakawiwo’ole.

What My Mom Taught Me About Life After She Died

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After my mom died (November 2015), she taught me so much about life, including both how to mourn and how to rejoice. It is my hope that by sharing my journey of grief and renewal over the past year that it may bring comfort to you when you lose a loved one.

Among the most significant lessons I learned was the value of living the rhythms of both the Jewish life cycle and the annual calendar cycle. Together, they provided me with a meaningful ritual framework in which to mourn, reflect, and celebrate again. Although the holidays seemed like they would contain a major void with the loss of my mother, observing them with family and friends actually helped me process my loss. I learned that a broken heart allows light in.

andy_momWhen my mom died I felt a tremendous sense of loss and I was overwhelmed with grief. I was so much at a loss that I completely immersed myself in the Jewish mourning traditions. The first step was to plan the funeral. This involved three activities: the funeral logistics, writing a eulogy, and assembling photos of my mom and of my family for a photo montage.

Each of these activities engaged a different facet of myself: the funeral logistics occupied my mind, reviewing and assembling photos occupied my heart, and writing my eulogy occupied my soul.

Our family was fortunate to have unity among the three brothers in planning and participating in my mom’s funeral. We actually had two services, one in Allentown, PA where she lived most of her life, and a second, more formal service and burial in the Berkshires in Massachusetts. The Berkshires is the heart of our family and the site of so many family gatherings. It stood out to me as the perfect location for my mom’s final resting place. She would have loved the view from the top of her hill.

After the funeral, we followed several of the Jewish traditions of Shiva. This is a seven-day mourning period during which family and friends visit your home, bring food and drink, and comfort you. During this first period of mourning I did not do any work, cooking, or exercise. Although I had no idea what to expect or say when the first people came to pay their respects, I quickly found the days of Shiva to be very helpful. Our rabbi would come each evening and lead us in prayer, including the recitation of the Mourner’s Kaddish, which I, as the mourner, said publicly in the presence of my family and friends. Since it is a longstanding tradition to say the Kaddish with a minyan (10 Jewish adults), my friends’ presence became an important gift to me and a way of honoring my mom. On the final morning of Shiva, I took a meditative walk around the block with family and friends to signify re-entry into “semi-normal life.” When the rabbi first mentioned this tradition, I didn’t think much of it, but it felt very moving to take these next steps in the mourning process in a focused and concrete way.

The next period of Jewish mourning is known as the Shloshim. This is the 23 days following Shiva; the first 7 days of Shiva plus the 23 days equals 30, which is what Shloshim means in Hebrew. During this period, I returned to work and slowly readapted to “normal” life. During the Shloshim period, I attended a minyan every afternoon to recite the Mourners Kaddish. I was fortunate to find a service near my office. Although I understand only bits and pieces of the Hebrew prayers, I found comfort and support in community. Saying the Kaddish also helped me feel connected to my mom. On Friday nights, we attended services at our temple, where my mom’s name was read aloud just before the Mourners Kaddish. This gesture helps others know who is in mourning and may need extra support. I found the Shabbat services poignant because they inevitably involved different lifecycle moments: a baby naming, a bar or bat mitzvah, an engagement, a birthday or anniversary, and a death. It was an important reminder of the fullness of life.

In our case, Thanksgiving fell directly within the Shloshim period. I really did not want to celebrate Thanksgiving. I did not want to cook and remember all of the wonderful times that we prepared and celebrated Thanksgiving with my mom in the Berkshires. It just didn’t seem right. Nevertheless, I followed the path. I put one foot in front of the other and tried to live into the seasons. My brothers and I decided we would have a festive Thanksgiving to honor the spirit of our mother. We cooked our usual feast, with one exception: my younger brother, Alex took our mother’s place as the pastry chef and made her famous apple and pecan pies. In the midst of our tears, we found comfort gathering as a family. We planted a tree in mom’s honor and replanted a few gnomes from her garden, which we had brought to their new home in the Berkshires.

As fate would have it, our Shloshim period ended the day before Hanukkah. As was the case with Thanksgiving, I had mixed feelings about the arrival of Hanukkah. However, this year, Hanukkah took on even more significance than usual because we launched Breaking Matzo: Hanukkah Edition just two days before my mom died. Knowing the end was near, I envisioned this project as a tribute to my mom. I was so moved to show her the new edition to the website while she was in the hospital. Mom was so happy and smiled as she listened to our theme song and watched the fun-filled videos of my kids making menorahs, dreidels, and latkes. As a result, our Hanukkah celebration took on extra meaning as we basked in the light of the menorah and felt my mom’s spirit with us.

I continued to stumble through the year. Each holiday brought with it a new first: the first New Year’s Eve not to call her to say “Happy New Year,” the first Valentine’s Day not to send her a card, and of course, the first Mother’s Day not to thank her for all she had done for us. Step by step, with the love and support of my family and friends, I learned to move forward.

After Passover, I had a wonderful trip to Israel where I felt my mom’s presence and discovered new connections with her. I felt a renewed sense of life’s possibilities, and a desire to engage in life more fully. In my own way, I felt like my mom was communicating with me. It brought me unexpected joy.

As I approached the end of my year of mourning, I realized that the final Jewish holiday I would celebrate during this period of remembrance was Succot. Succot is the festival of booths and a holiday dedicated to rejoicing. We are commanded to “dwell” in our succot for 7 days and to eat, drink, and be joyous with our family, friends, and community. In my mom’s case, her last visit to our house came just after Succot. I left our succah up an extra two weeks so that my mom could participate in some way in our family celebration. Interestingly, when I was going through boxes from her house, I found an article she had written about Succot in the 1980’s. In the article, she spoke of leaving up her succah for two weeks so that an elderly neighbor who was away during the holiday could enjoy seeing the next generation celebrate the festival. My mom truly loved Succot. We had so many wonderful memories together in our succah.

It seemed to me an amazing coincidence that Succot would begin and end my year of mourning. In thinking about the origins of this ancient holiday, I turn to two primary images of the succah: the first is the humble tents that the Israelites dwelled in after escaping from slavery in Egypt. At this stage of their development, the Children of Israel had nothing, except for their faith in God, who provided for them in the wilderness. The second image of the succah is one of abundance, as the Israelites settled in the land of Israel and created temporary booths to collect the annual fall harvest. As I celebrated Succot this year, I was reminded of my own two succahs: the sadness of my mom’s passing, and the blessings of her memory. As my daughter Lucy said in her eulogy for my mom, “I don’t remember everything that Nana taught me, but I will always remember how she made me feel.” Mom, you have always been there for me and made me feel full of love. Thank you.

There is nothing more difficult than saying goodbye to a loved one but having a year-long period to mourn, remember and celebrate a family member who has passed is a very meaningful experience that helps mitigate the loss, focus on their life, and how we want to live our lives.

Related Reading:
A Brief Guide to Jewish Mourning: Honoring Our Loved Ones & Life

What is Your Family Legacy?

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Mayer Yellin and his son Normie (Andy’s grandfather and great grandfather) in front of Mayer’s bar in Hartford, CT circa 1913.

I think that leaving a legacy creates meaning for each of us. Legacy can help create a sense of belonging and may mitigate any feelings of loneliness.

How can we find meaning in our lives? Can we look to our family traditions for guide and inspiration?

What legacy has your family left to you? What is your legacy that you will leave to your family?

My greatest physical family legacy is my Passover handwasher (pictured below) that has been in my family since the late 1800s. I wrote about how this ordinary object has been transformed into one of my most extra ordinary possessions. (From my breakingmatzo blog: One example of something ordinary to extraordinary in my life is my family’s antique brass hand washer. I received it as a gift from my grandmother, Helen Fish Goldfarb. Her father, my great grandfather Max Fish received it from his father (my children’s great great great grandfather Moshe Fish). It is from the late 1800’s in Dynow Poland and has been in my family for over 100 years.)


Does your family has an artifact or heirloom that has been handed down over the generations?

I wrote about the incredible life of Max Fish and how he saved over 42 relatives from the Holocaust. Some of my fondest Passover highlights as a child were celebrating Passover Seders in Pikesville, MD, with Eugene Fish’s family, one of Max Fish’s sons.

The Passover handwasher (pictured above) truly connects my children to over 150 years of our family heritage because it is a physical connection to our family background. This physical object can transport my children and their children through a portal to connect with our family history. https://breakingmatzo.com/philosophy/food-for-thought-seder-discussion-topics/

My mom (of blessed memory) gave me her lasting legacy of the love for Passover and celebrating the Jewish Home Holidays. My mom’s spirit is what has motivated me to create Breaking Matzo. Over the past two years, I have been so humbled by the beautiful comments that our community has shared about how you also share and celebrate the Jewish home holidays with your family and friends. All of your traditions and thoughts have been so inspirational.

When I thought about my physical connection to my great grandfather and my mom, I wondered about where I came from?

After some research, I discovered that both of my great grandmothers were born in the same year in the same town – both in 1882 in Vilna, Lithuania. My great grandparents all came to the United States around 1900. I also discovered that both sets of my great grandparents were married in the same year -1907, over 110 years ago.

When I thought about the legacies that I have received from my family, I realized that my maternal grandfather, Normie Yellin, also taught me lessons that I have tried to pass along to my children. My family legacy from Normie was not physical, but emotional. Normie imbued me with the feeling of unconditional love and support. He wrote me weekly letters when I was at boarding school. His letters always included $20 for pizza with my friends. In the midst of the stress of boarding school life, Normie’s weekly handwritten letters always boosted my spirits, filled my stomach with food, and heart with love. I will never forget his favorite expression that he always told me when I was a little down or frustrated. Normie would say “don’t let anyone rain on your parade!” Then he would repeat it with emphasis “DON’T LET ANYONE RAIN ON YOUR PARADE!” It has really become one of my life mantras. My children know the expression instinctively. We have repeated it so often. A favorite saying that my Mom always told me, “The early bird gets the early worm; the late bird gets the late worm; there is always a worm.”

My final family legacy that I want to share is the oldest family photograph that I have. This photograph shows Max Fish and his father Moshe Fish (my children’s great great great grandfather) and other relatives celebrating Passover in 1930 in Dinov, Poland. Sadly, a number of his relatives were murdered in the Holocaust. Fortunately, Max came to the United States and enabled me to be here today.

This is the oldest family photo that our family has.

I think that this is part of what makes Breaking Matzo so special. It is a chance for all of us to share and celebrate legacy and traditions from our parents and grandparents and then to pass the same (and sometimes new) traditions to our children and grandchildren.

I believe that tradition is repetitive action imbued with meaning. You never know when the first will occur. We all have the opportunity to leave a mark on our world and leave a lasting legacy for future generations.

I would love to hear your thoughts:

  • What is the oldest legacy physical object in your family?
  • What is the family lesson that you have learned from your relatives and will pass to your family?
  • What is your oldest family photo?

Appendix:

I would like to share my family history with photos.

The oldest relatives that I remember meeting as a child are my paternal great grandparents, Max & Jenny Fish and my maternal great grandparents, Norman & Sophie Yellin.

Max Fish was born in 1881 in Dynov, Poland. Jenny Karnick Fish was born in 1882 in Vilna, Lithuania. They both came to the United States around 1900. Here is a photo of Andy with Max & Jenny Fish in 1968.

Andy with his Mom

Andy with his mom and paternal great grandparents Jenny & Max Fish and his brother Laurence.

March 24th, 2017 is my paternal great grandparents Max and Jenny Fish’s 110th anniversary (they got married on March 24th, 1907). Below is a photo of a locket which Jenny’s closest friends gave her to commemorate their 50th wedding anniversary in 1957.

Charm bracelet

Charm bracelet given to Jenny Fish by her friends to commemorate Jenny & Max’s 50th wedding anniversary.

My maternal great grandfather Mayer Yellin was born in Russia in 1884. Mayer Yellin and Bessie Cohen Yellin got married on February 17th, 1907, 110 years ago.

Mayer Yellin c. 1910

Portrait of Mayer Yellin c. 1910

Bessie Yellin c. 1910

Portrait of Bessie Yellin c. 1910

Andy with brother Laurence & Grandparents

Andy and his brother, Laurence, with his maternal grandparents, Norman & Sophie Yellin.

Unfortunately I never met them. However, I was very close with my maternal grandparents, Norman (Mayer Yellin’s son) and Sophie Rosen Yellin. Above is a photo of Andy and Laurence (my brother) with our maternal Grandparents (Normie and Sophie Yellin) in 1968.