Signing Off

Dear Friends,

It has been a while since I wrote in this column and it has not been easy to be away, but for sheer necessity and lack of time.  I am saddened to now write this column for the last time.

I have enjoyed sharing my life and thoughts with you these past four or so years and in doing so, “Normal is Overrated” has become a part of my life, as you have become my friends, even though, many of you I have not yet met.

This column began as a mailer to around fifty people and has grown to a (usual) weekly audience of some 11,000 in almost every corner of the globe.

I have learned from you as I hope that you have learned from me.  I have also learned from myself; the hardest lesson of all.  At age fifty, I found that I and I alone own the responsibility for my lack of loving relationships with my children; that what they needed more than my presents, was my presence, and in my lifelong quest to give them “presents”, I forgot about the “presence”; my presence.

Even fulfilling my lifelong dream of serving G-d and the Community as a Rabbi took me away from them, if not physically (which it did), but certainly spiritually and emotionally.
 

I put my vocation (JOB) ahead of my own son’s achievements by refusing to attend a concert that he conducted (on a Friday night); his last as a High School student.  I argued with them about the necessity of keeping Kosher, and tried to dictate their lives from a (more observant) Jewish perspective, not even recognizing what wonderful people they had become just the way that they were raised.  “Living Jewishly”, it turns out, requires one to simply be a good person and to love G-d.  And, by being a good person; a loving and caring person; a person who treats others with respect and dignity, is in and of itself, living “Jewishly”.  I was so removed, that I never really saw what everyone else continues to see:  My kids are great; just the way that they are.  Of course, I have always loved them, but never gave them the proper due respect.  And, in doing so, or as the case is, NOT doing so, I was not living so “Jewishly”.

When my wonderful daughter, now 33, graduated from High School, I stood on our driveway and cried.  Where did the time go, I asked myself.  I had missed her growing up.  I promised myself that would not happen with my boys, but again, it did; because I allowed it to happen again.  Now, I find myself giving all of my time to work, and none where truly important; to family.  I have learned my lesson.

Now comes the hard part.  These past few months, and certainly the past few weeks have shown me something that I never wanted to admit, nor did I wish to even address; I cannot be everything to everybody.  I cannot give my full attention to both my family and the patient who I am called to see at 3am;   I cannot give my “presence” to others and hope that my family will, in its stead, accept my “presents”.  Nor can I be any good to anyone, if I am not good to myself.  It simply doesn’t work.

My friends, I need to live “Jewishly”.

A cherished friend recently reminded me that in order for us as a people to arrive at the Promised Land, we had to wander the desert for forty years.  My youngest son two Passovers ago reminded us at the Seder Table that each of us lives in our own personal “Egypt”.  I agreed then, and I agree now.  The time for me to wander in my own desert and to try to exit from my own personal Egypt, is now.  Therefore, I have made a decision to take leave from the Rabbinate for an unspecified time.

I leave you with three last thoughts:

1.       Never say anything to anyone that you will not own.  In other words, saying something about someone else, and swearing that person to secrecy is simply cowardly and wrong.  If you have something to say to someone, say it to their face.  Lashon haRa, is NEVER a good thing, and someone will ALWAYS get hurt; even by listening.

2.       Do not EVER leave someone you love without telling them; even from a phone conversation.  One never knows if the opportunity will arise again.  Likewise, always say thank you.  They are, but two little words, but they play large; and lastly,

3.       Love each other.  If you don’t now, learn to.  For there is G-d in all of us, and it feels good.

From the Left Coast, and for the last time, I wish you Ahavah u’Vrachot, Love and Blessings…

--Rabbi Alan Abrams

Is George Clooney Gay?

Reading this morning's headlines made me think; maybe more than usual. The headline on MSN-NOW read: GEORGE CLOONEY DOESN'T CARE IF YOU THINK HE'S GAY. And guess what... Neither do I.

On Monday, the headlines wrote about an actresses boob being shown during the Oscars; on Tuesday, our crazy world was concerned with, not the anti-Semitic goings on around our University campuses, rather, the talk of the day was speculation regarding a Jewish ballplayer's steroid test results (deemed to have been mishandled); and, which Hollywood star filed for divorce on Monday.

If we as a society are so concerned with the private lives of actors, ballplayers, politicians and others who have lives just like we do, then why do we not see headlines that tell us what good these people do to help repair the world?

Why do we not see the headline: GEORGE CLOONEY HAS FOUNDED "NOT ON OUR WATCH, a charity that helps wipe out hunger? Why do we seemingly not care that he supports numerous worthy causes?? Is this of no interest to us???

Please understand that I am not picking on Mr. Clooney. In fact, I applaud him when his reply to the speculative question of his sexual orientation is "I don't give a sh*t"; and neither should we.

If an actress has an addiction problem, why are we critical of her, instead of offering her support; and if a basketball player who is little known is given a chance and shines on the court, why are we so quick to need to know whom he is dating?

The truth is, that all of this talk; all of our ridiculous speculation and discussion and "caring", falls under the label of "Lashon haRa"; Bad Tongue; Gossip. In the Torah, we are commanded

"Lo telech rachil b'ameicha," - Do not go about as a talebearer among your people (Leviticus 19:15). This is the basic prohibition against speaking Lashon Hara. If that isn't enough of a prohibition, how about a few sentences later, in Leviticus 19:18, "V'ahavta l'rei'echa kamocha" - Love your neighbor as yourself. This is the source of the "do unto others" rule, that we should treat others the way we would want to be treated.

What if headlines told the world about your financial troubles; or addictions; or love life or sexual orientation? Is it really any of anyone's business, but yours??

I am often reminded of a man with whom I had worked while he was a patient in a Nursing Facility. A sweet, gentle man of only 57 years of age, who had a small, but relatively successful retail business that fell victim to the economy. When the money stopped coming in, his long time girlfriend left him. When the credit card people started calling him (he had around $15,000 in debts), he tried to reason with them, to no avail; and when he was evicted from his apartment, and his neighbors saw his belongings on the sidewalk, and the Sheriff escort him from the building, they looked away and walked past him.

A heart condition sent him to the hospital, and then to the Nursing Facility where we met.

I spoke with him about his faith. I brought him Tefillin, the Phylacteries worn by Observant Jews while praying, so that he would have a pair, as his pair had been discarded onto the sidewalk with the rest of his belongings in such a way that he could not even identify where they were in the huge pile of "stuff"; I spoke with him about his life and time and again, he referred to the passage above, "V'ahavta l'rei'echa kamocha" - Love your neighbor as yourself. And when no neighbor did, he stopped caring; and when he stopped caring, he stopped eating. And when he stopped eating, he started dying, and when he was so weak that his organs failed, he died. Alone. When he was buried, there was nobody there for me to deliver a eulogy; there were no Mourners to say Kaddish; there was no Shiva. I doubt that anyone even knew that he had passed; or maybe, they were all too busy reading headlines about actors who are or who are not gay.

I wish that I could tell you that this is an isolated incident, but sadly, it is not. I wish that I could write that I will never again see such a patient, but sadly, I cannot.

Today, hundreds, if not thousands of people are in Nursing Facilities, Assisted Living Facilities, Hospice Facilities and hospitals. Alone. With no connection to the faith that they so cherished while growing up; with no Clergy to consult or comfort them; with no neighbor loving them as they do themselves. Where are we?

The George Clooneys of the world are doing their part. They are supporting organizations that provide assistance to these people, and others afflicted by the wrongs of the world.

If we are so concerned with the lives of these stars, then maybe we should take a hint and follow Mr. Clooney's example: He works hard at his job and is very good at it; he gives to others and could care less what people think of his personal life. It IS his life, after all.

The poet Linda Ellis wrote it best in her poem "The Dash", which represents the dash on one's grave marker between the dates of the decedent's birth and death. Linda so beautifully wrote:

For it matters not how much we own;

The cars the house the cash
What matters is how we live and love
And how we spend our dash.

New Years Resolutions can be made all year long, of course. Let us resolve to ourselves to remember these words; to love our neighbor as we do ourselves; and if we continue to feel the need to be in such awe of celebrities, let us walk behind their lead and give more and take less.

From the left coast, in sunny, but chilly Southern California, I wish you Ahavah u'Vrachot, Love and Blessings and of course, Shabbat Shalom.

--Rabbi Alan Abrams

Rabbi Abrams is the founder of Mobile Rabbinical Chaplaincy Services which provides visitation to elderly and infirm Jewish patients and residents in the Greater Los Angeles area. MRCS is a recognized 501(c)3 organization and is supported solely by the generosity of others. Please visit www.mrcsonline.org for information.

Is it time to finally listen to the Sages of Old?

In the time of the beginning of the Modern Era, The Great Sage, Rabbi Hillel said “If I am not for myself, who will be for me? If I am not for others, what am I? And if not now, when? Rabbi Akiva said "Love your neighbor as you love yourself"; and Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, in the 20th Century said " "All it takes is one person… and another… and another… and another… to start a movement".

We ask, what is this movement? Could it be that the movement should be to care for others as we do ourselves?

In Deuteronomy 6:5-9 and again in Deuteronomy 11:13-21, we are commanded by G-d to love Him with all of our heart, might and soul. This was commanded on all of mankind.

Do these rules not still apply? Do the words of Hillel and Akiva from 2100 years ago not still apply?? How about the words of Heschel, spoken just a few decades ago??? How about if I throw in, just for good measure, the words of The Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King who was quoted as saying "Life's most persistent and urgent question is, 'What are you doing for others'?"

According to the Sages above, should we not Love G-d with all our hearts, souls and might? Should we not love each other as we do ourselves? Should we not take it upon ourselves do protect our own (human race)? And finally, should we not do for others???

One thing I can say with veritable certainty is that if WE were the "Others", we would absolutely hope and pray that mankind would help US.

The problem today, friends, is that we don't. We are too concerned with our own luxury car payments and huge mortgages; with paying our credit card bills that we ran up buying things that we could not afford; and most of all, we are too concerned with "others". Not with helping them, but with "equalling them". Keeping up with the Jones's, or the Berkowitz's, or the Al-Masri's.

In about two months, we will remember the Passover; the Exodus from Egypt when we were liberated from Pharaoh's slavery. We sit around our Seder tables and sing "Dayyenu", it was enough to be liberated; it was enough to receive Torah; Dayyenu, it was enough. But was it?

Are we not still slaves? Are we not slaves to our jobs; our large mortgages, our BMW payments?

What if we were to do an experiment, just for this weekend: From the beginning of Shabbat, at sundown this evening, let us think not about ourselves, but about others. Whether we are on our way to Synagogue, or the golf course; the mall or ball field; the Superbowl party or Bat Mitzvah, let's take a split second to smile at an entirely random fellow person. Let's take a brief moment to think about what THEIR life might be about; what problems might THEY have; and just maybe, we will be able to see the meaning in the words of our Sages from long and not do long ago.

From the sunny Left Coast, I wish you Ahava u'Vrachot, Love and Blessings.

Shabbat Shalom.

--Rabbi Alan Abrams

The First Fifty - A chronicle of hope and gratitude

It is said that the first of anything is the hardest to attain. The first million; the first big league home run; first NHL goal, and so forth...

What about the first fifty? As in fifty years??

Four thousand years ago, some of our ancestors lived to be 900 years old. Moses, as we know lived to see 120; others even longer. 200 years ago, attaining the age of fifty was at times difficult, and even today, in some cultures, ravaged by poverty and famine, even the age of twenty seems to prove at best, a dream.

For us, though, living in our technologically incredible world, fifty is considered young. Most of the people with whom I work are well into their eighties or nineties, and some have even surpassed the Century mark of 100 years of age. Medical technology has made it so.

For me, attaining the age of fifty this coming Sunday wasn't so easy, and it was my fault. Years of abusing my body caused a sudden interruption in the life continuum four years ago, and to all concerned, reaching 50 for me was, but a dream. In fact, reaching forty-six was in short, a miracle. Nevertheless, I did make it this far, and for being here, I say Shecheyanu, the Hebrew prayer of gratitude for arriving at this place, at this time.

Often, I ask the elderly with whom I work to tell me what they feel to be the greatest change that they have witnessed in their ninety or so years of life. Their reply, almost to a person has nothing to do with technology, transportation or media, as we would expect. Their answer is stated simply and quietly with one word: Respect. "People no longer have respect", they tell me and continue to relate that this lack of respect appears to them as a general concept. People no longer respect people; we no longer respect the rules of society; we no longer respect our cities or communities; we no longer respect our own accomplishments, such as our jobs; and we no longer respect ourselves.

Teenage boys wear pants that are three sizes too big and have no desire to cover their backsides; twelve and thirteen year old girls dress as if they are headed to a nightclub for under-dressed adults, and this dress is not the exception, but the norm, and not just when they dress for school, or to hang out with their friends, but to Synagogue as well. Let's forget for a moment that this is G-d's house (because isn't G-d really everywhere?), but what about having enough self respect to cover one's self?

This doesn't necessarily rest solely with kids today, rather, with parents as well. I have actually seen one father bring his daughters to Synagogue wearing a lumberjack shirt, jeans, tennis shoes and suspenders; his girls are usually wearing some version of pajamas, and they don't even arrive in time to respect the sanctity of the Sabbath, or the tradition of Shabbat Prayer, rather, they seem to show up every week solely for the Shabbat lunch provided to Congregants, usually sponsored by the family of the Bar or Bat Mitzvah. I am not here to judge, really I am not, rather, I am demonstrating yet another example of how lack of respect has taken over society. Our society.

Do you remember hearing... "When I was your age, I walked a mile and a half to school uphill in the snow with an old pair of beaten up shoes, and..."? It sounds a little funny now, but I have found myself telling my kids that when I was their age, men wore ties and hats to ballgames, and our mothers would never even consider going to the grocery store without a full face of make-up, and newly pressed dress!

"Those were the days, my friend, (credit to Gene Raskin ca~1958), we thought they'd never end..." But, they did end. The question; my question, is, how do we get them back? How do we return, nit to the days of wearing Fedoras to ballgames, necessarily, but how do we regain the self respect that we once had, and in turn, have respect for others?

In a word, we need to look back, forward and sideways, and be more like my friend Jeff from Jeff's Gourmet and be "Smeichim b'Chelkeinu" (happy with our lots). We need to be grateful for every one of G-d's blessings, however small. We need to fill ourselves with gratitude that we awoke this morning,and with the hope that we will awake tomorrow to enjoy yet another wonderful day is this incredible place that G-d created for us.

We need to be head over heels in love. With life.

As the unknown poet during the Revolutionary War wrote: Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars, you have a right to be here; and whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt, the universe is unfolding exactly as it should. Therefore, be at peace with G-d, whatever you conceive Him to be, and whatever your labours and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace with your soul. With all its shams, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.

My first fifty has taught me two things that I will now share with you.

As soon as you think these words, say them:

I love you and Thank you. For you will never know if you will have another opportunity.

With gratitude for my first fifty, and hope for my next fifty, I wish you Ahavah u'Vrachot; Love and Blessings from the Left Coast...

--Rabbi Alan Abrams

"Holding a grudge is like letting someone live Rent-Free in your head!"

I wish I could take credit for the above quote, but it appeared on my Facebook and as we are at the end of the Jewish month of Elul, the month when we forgive and beg forgiveness before the end of our year, I knew that I just had to use the quote.

It is true, you know, holding a grudge IS like letting someone live in your head rent-free. The more we hold onto the negatives in life, the more we worry about them, and the more we worry, the more we are pre-occupied. With the negative.

Last week, I mentioned to a friend of mine who happens to own the absolutely best Kosher burger and hot dog place on earth (Jeff's Gourmet Sausage Factory) that I thought that he should open a second location; one closer to where I live. That discussion lasted about three seconds, when the manager of the store said to me, "you know, that is one man (Jeff) who really is "Sameach b'Chelko" (happy with his lot). Not only is he a great guy, but he is one lucky man.

Would it not be wonderful if we were all Smeichim b'Chelkeinu, happy with our lots? Would it not be truly wonderful to wake up every day and thank G-d for what we have, and never ask for more? I try, but it isn't always easy. We are trained in this Country to "keep up with the Jones's"; to strive for wealth and possessions; to work as little as we have to for the greatest reward. What we seem to forget, though, is that the greatest reward is just being here, enjoying this wonderful world that G-d has given us.

During the Yom Kippur service, ten times we recite a prayer that is the confessional. Al chet sheh chatanu, for these sins we have sinned. Even for those sins which we have committed unknowingly.

As all of us, often I find myself hurting those for whom I care. For this, I ask each of you whom I have hurt during this past year or in years past to forgive me; I ask you to pardon me and I ask you to atone for me.

I received today a greeting from my good friend Juan Bravo in Huanaco, Peru. It is with great pleasure that I share his thoughts, as they mirror mine. Juan writes: I wish you a Happy New Year; that G-d always grants you wisdom and many successes.

This year, the Jewish people begin the year 5772.

We have survived despite having been slaves for 400 years in Egypt and forty more wandering the wilderness of Sinai; despite the cruelty of the Roman armies who destroyed our Temple; despite the efforts of the soldiers of the Crusades and Inquisitions, Spanish and Portuguese; despite the efforts of Hitler and Stalin and Arafat; despite wars of Arab aggression that continue to seek our extermination and UN Resolutions that are full of hatred. Despite Abbas and Ahmadinijad's missiles that land daily in the playgrounds of Sderot that target our children, we have survived and will continue to survive and thrive.

This week when we go into our Synagogues to welcome the New Year, we pray that we all may enjoy peace and good. We pray that the year 5772 is a good and sweet year.

My family and I wish you a year full of good health, joy, laughter, personal success; sympathy and kindness; a year which is a year of peace for all of us; and for each of us, the opportunity to live and to thrive.

From Sunny Southern California, on the Left Coast, we wish you a Shana Tovah u'Metukah; Ahavah u'Vrachot, Love and Blessings.

--Rabbi Alan Abrams

How do we love G-d with all our heart, soul and might?

Have you ever noticed that it seems that situations close together in chronology appear to compliment each other, even though they do not seem at all related?

A few weeks ago, I was talking baseball with my son, (which often we do), and I was trying to recall the name of a certain pitcher from the eighty's, and simply could not remember his name. Immediately, I remembered a patient whom I had visited in the hospital a few months ago and thought of his incredible knowledge of baseball history, and how he enjoyed talking baseball during our many visits. Right then, I wanted to call him, but got busy and after a few hours, the name of this pitcher became trivial and inconsequential; and its importance forgotten.

This past week, while leaving the hospital, I was approached by this wonderful man's wife in the parking lot, and she told me that his disease had progressed and that he was back in the hospital. On Monday night, he passed into Olam haBa, ending his pain and his suffering before we ever had the chance to talk baseball again. This saddens me.

These past two Shabbatot, we read from the Book of Deuteronomy, and the Parashot of V'Ethchanan and Ekev. In these weekly portions of Torah, we are told that it is our duty and obligation to love G-d with all our hearts, all of our souls and all of our might.

My dear friend and colleague, Rabbi Stewart Vogel led a tremendous discussion about love. The love of a parent; the love of a spouse; the love of G-d. Rabbi Vogel taught us to not just define love, but to look into ourselves to find our own definition.

In this way, I came about realizing that to love G-d, is to love ourselves, as we do our neighbors; as we love strangers. As we are all made in G-d's image, how could we not?

Without even being conscious of it, our work with seniors and the infirmed defines exactly how we can love G-d with all our hearts, souls and might. By merely visiting and providing them with the Judaic connection that many of them have lost so many years ago, we are able to allow our Neshamot, our souls connect with theirs and in doing so, we are loving G-d in a way that many of us have long forgotten.

With this in mind, I would like to tell you about Mobile Rabbinical Chaplaincy Services.

Providing Rabbinic visits to Jewish patients and residents of Skilled Nursing, Assisted Living, Board and Care and Hospice Facilities, our goal is to help bring Judaica to Seniors who, otherwise would not have a connection. In addition, we provide On-Call Chaplaincy services for emergency situations such as hospitalizations and End-of-Life events. We specialize in End-of-Life Chaplaincy and Palliative Care for patients with terminal illness, as well as providing grief counseling services for families in need.

As we never charge the patients or residents, our services are supported solely by the generosity of others and as a Religious Organization, our supporters are able to enjoy tax deductions as with any 501(c)3 recognized group.

Our goal is to recognize and serve as many seniors as we are able, and eventually to bring other Rabbis in many locations into the fold to help more people. In so doing, hopefully, we will all be able to love G-d in one more caring way.

Our Facebook page may be found at http://www.facebook.com/pages/Mobile-Rabbinical-Chaplaincy-Service/129786313782038, and our website is currently under construction, but will soon be available at http://www.mrcsonline.org.

Would it not be wonderful if we knew that our parents and grandparents had a Rabbi visiting them a few times a week, and available to them twenty-four hours a day in emergent situations?

When next we read the Shema and ve'Ahavta/ve'Haya im (Deuteronomy 6:4-9 and 11:13-21) let us all think of our seniors and what we all can do to show our love for G-d; with all our hearts; with all our souls and with all our might.

From Sunny Southern California, I wish you Ahavah u'Vrachot. Love and Blessings.

--Rabbi Alan Abrams

Isn't Every Day Father's Day?

Last night, after a crazy evening of Karaoke, I sat with my son, visiting from College and watched a wonderful movie called "Jews and Baseball: A Love Story". It is a chronicle of baseball from a Jewish prospective, and a history of many Jewish ballplayers that played in the Major Leagues, and how they changed the game.

I found this to be the perfect movie to watch with Zac as the hour passed into Sunday, which, of course, is "Father's Day", as dubbed by Hallmark.

According to Encyclopedia Britannica, Credit for originating the holiday is generally given to Sonora Smart Dodd of Spokane, Washington, whose father, a Civil War veteran, raised her and her five siblings after their mother died in childbirth. She is said to have had the idea in 1909 while listening to a sermon on Mother's Day, which at the time was becoming established as a holiday. Local religious leaders supported the idea, and the first Father's Day was celebrated on June 19, 1910, the month of the birthday of Dodd's father.

For many of us, it is a time to spend with our families. Bringing dad breakfast in bed, playing a round of golf, davening together, or in my case, remembering my father and the times that we spent together, every day, not just on Father's Day.

As many of you may remember, my father and I had a bond unmatched and unbreakable. Of course, it included many days and nights at the ballpark, where, together, we had our own love story with Baseball.

Just as my father and I did, my son and I will spend the day today with what else? Baseball.

As with everyday, though, the day will be bittersweet. Today is the 1,257th father's day without my dad, and the fourth "official" one. It is also my first commercial father's day without Papi. Without the love of both of these great men, my life would have been not close to as rich.

My thoughts and prayers go out to everyone of you who today remember your fathers. To my friend Karla who said goodbye to her dad just a few weeks ago, I send love and support; to David I send open arms and a shoulder, and of course to Tom, my brother in life, I send both laughter and tears for past days and future years to raise our sons the way that our dads raised us.

To the mother of my wonderful children, I thank you for making me a father; it truly is the greatest job on earth.

And lastly, to Ben, whom I never had the chance to meet in life, I thank you for sending me the most precious of all gifts, your daughter. I promise to cherish her as did you.

See you at the Ballpark!

Ahavah u'Vrachot... Love and Blessings...

--Rabbi Alan Abrams

For Papi: My Other Dad

A wise person once said "If you have nothing nice to say, say nothing at all".

Advice like this came from not only my own dad, but from our "Papi", the father of one of my closest and dearest friends, and a man whom I loved as much as anyone could love a second father. I dedicate my return to the keyboard to Papi, who was called home to haShem last week after a courageous battle with cancer. Through it all, though, when asked of his health, the reply was always: Never better. He always was.

During my own family struggles these past several months, (which kept me from writing), Papi was always the man of reason. He was always there for me with a joke and a smile, and every Friday night, he stood in proxy for my own dad and gave me the Parental Blessing. I will miss him.

And so I return now to this column after several difficult months, wherein I refrained from writing for fear that any negativity that I may have been feeling would seep out into this Column; and as such, I kept my pain (as well as my joy) to myself and kept my relatively big mouth shut; until now.

A year ago, I wrote that I find this time of year the "most wonderful" of all the seasons. Spring flowers are in full bloom; the grass on fairways is green and the sound of wooden bats cracking baseballs 400 plus feet over outfield walls has again made its way back into our lives.

The most wonderful sound, though, is the voice of the youngest at the table asking "Why is this night different from all other nights?", and our response that we were once slaves to Pharaoh in Egypt. Add to this, the magic of being surrounded by loved ones; friends and family and friends of family and the sum of this equation is simply this: It is the most wonderful time of the year.

This is a time to reflect on the past. A past of some 3,200 years ago when G-d took us from bondage and slavery with a strong hand and an outstretched arm and gave us Torah fifty days later. It is a time to celebrate our freedom from our slavery in Egypt and a time to rejoice in our independence.

I would agree with everything that I have just written with the exception of the existence of one minor question: Are we free from bondage?

A year ago at our Seder, my first in the presence of only my boys, my youngest son, who is now 15 years old noted that we each live in our own Mitzrayim; our own "personal Egypt". Whether we be slaves to our school work, our jobs, our rent or mortgage; car payment or simply slaves to our society or the expectations that society places on us, our freedom can and will come from one source and only from one source: Faith.

Faith that the sun will rise in the morning; faith that the moon will show its wonder after dark; faith that I will awake with the sun, breathe and again be able to enjoy another day in this mixed up, yet wonderful world. Above all, faith that one more person today, just one more person, will also begin to have this faith, for until many more of us do, our woes as a world of human beings will continue.

It is said and believed that each of us has reason to be here; that we each have a purpose in this life, and whether or not we know what that purpose is, is irrelevant. The mere fact that we are here says something.

The wonderful poetess Linda Ellis, in her poem "The Dash", wrote of the dash between the dates of birth and death on our tombstones:

For it matters not how much we own;
The cars the house the cash
What matters is how we live and love
And how we spend our dash.

Papi lived this way. His dash bright and knowing; full of life and living; caring and loving; and most of all, in awe of the wonders of G-d and of Torah.

May we too, this Passover season, find our own personal Egypt and from it, find our own peace, independence and salvation from affliction, slavery and bondage. By listening to the Papi in all of us, maybe the beautiful words of Linda Ellis will help us to realize what life is really about, and if it is still difficult, just look outside and wonder in the amazing world that G-d created for all of us to enjoy.

From the Left Coast in Sunny Southern California, I wish you a very happy and healthy Passover, Shabbat Shalom and as always, Ahava u'Vrachot. Love and Blessings...

--Rabbi Alan Abrams

The Shortest Day of the Year

You may recall that several months ago I wrote a column called "Who Will Say Kaddish for Us" (April 10, 2010), and in it, I asked that we take a look at ourselves and ask ourselves what it means to truly be happy with who we are and with what we have.

After a long summer, filled with many changes, and an even longer autumn, replete with much tragedy and loss, I find myself again asking that we take yet another look at ourselves. This time, however, I ask: Who will say Kaddish for them.

Having spent many an hour in and out of Skilled Nursing facilities and Hospice facilities as a visiting Rabbi, (the key word being "in and out"), (except for an extended period as a patient), I had only done so in my professional role and until this past July, when faced with my grandmother's admittance to a like facility. Sadly, I had never felt that I had a reason for spending more than the requisite half hour or so with the specific patient whom I had intended on visiting, nor did I believe that I had the time to visit others; and even then, I had never allowed myself to become involved with them beyond a quick hello, or to offer a brief Mishaberach (healing) prayer on my way to my next stop in a busy day.

This of course changed in late June when my grandmother was sent to a Skilled Nursing facility following a terrible automobile accident, and my days this past summer were spent almost in their entirety at the facility. There, I visited not only her, but her neighbors and new friends; patients both in and out of consciousness; their families and friends, and of course, deeply rooted new friendships formed with both residents and with the dedicated staff of medical professionals and administrators.

And then, one day in late August, my grandmother died.

Would her neighbors and friends be now again forgotten? What about others in other homes? Who will visit them??

Most of these folks have no family, or what family they do have, rarely visit. Which, then leads me to ask: Who will say Kaddish for them?

The famous sage Hillel was known to have said "If I am not for myself, then who will be for me; and if not now, when?"

Are our friends in these homes and facilities not us? Are they not our grandparents, our uncles and aunts?? Our brothers and sisters??? And, if they are us, as I believe them to be, we owe it to them to visit them while they are still with us; and, we owe it to them to say Kaddish for them once they have passed on to Olam haBa.

For these reasons, I have begun a program of Bikurei Holim; visitation to the sick that encompasses many of the Skilled Nursing facilities in the Los Angeles area. My goal is to reach out to our brothers and sisters in these facilities by providing Chaplaincy services while visiting each patient three times weekly, and Palliative Care Chaplaincy when necessary, even if it means being on-call daily and nightly.

Our program, Mobile Rabbinic Chaplaincy Services will kick off officially on January 1, 2011. Should you be interested in helping us achieve these goals, please visit our website.

At this time each year, the time of the secular holiday season, I find myself often wondering where the "holiday spirit" that seems to be present this month goes almost immediately after New Years Day. I find that even trips down major boulevards bring visions of decorations and light displays them themselves call for us to be kind and gentle to each other, yet, at the same time, this time of year almost always makes me wonder why these feelings of "good tidings" are only present during the period between Thanksgiving and New Years.

Wouldn't it be nice if everyone were just as nice the rest of the year? What might we be able to do to make it so?

Last week, while driving to Los Angeles along the 101 Freeway, sitting in heavy traffic, as is normal for any time of day, I looked to the sky. It was dark; grey; cloudy; cold. It appeared to be ready to open up and rain. In an instant, though, this all became irrelevant, as a large flock of birds flew in a southerly direction in perfect formation. At that very moment I was reminded of the perfection that continues to remain in the world. It occurred to me that no matter the weather; no matter the grim outlook of ongoing war and economic strife and sickness that is all around us, the world is, in fact, unfolding exactly as it should, and that the smile brought to my face by the flying birds can be brought to everyone, by us, by just thinking of those birds, and passing the smile along to the driver next to us on the freeway, or the person crossing the street, or whomever you happen to meet next.

Maybe if we remember those birds and remember to smile a little more, we can keep the feeling of December all year long. It is worth a try, at least, isn't it?

From rainy damp and chilly Southern California, where the sun always shines (in our hearts, if no place else), I wish you Ahavah, uVrachot, Love and Blessings for a wonderful week and Shabbat Shalom.

--Rabbi Alan Abrams

When push comes to shove, blood is not thicker than water; Money is.

My father, whom you have read about on numerous occasions; and whom I adored and loved more than any person, save for my wonderful children, taught me many things in our short forty-six years together.

All of which, so far, have turned out to be quite correct, with the exception of one glaring item, which, truth be told, is the one thing that should absolutely be correct, but sadly, these past few weeks I have learned otherwise.

"Blood is thicker than water", he would say. Relating of course to family bonds, loyalty and love; meaning that no matter what, in the end, blood, family loyalty and respect for that loyalty will triumph over anything and anyone who tries to break that bond of blood over water.

On Rosh haShana, of all days, I learned that this is not true, when the Mezzuzah that adorned the doorpost of my grandmother's home, in which I live, was stolen, and in it's place, a note was left by the thief, not only identifying himself by name, but admitting that he was the thief! Later in the day, he reached my by telephone (I initially answered as I saw the number and thought that the call was due to my mother being hospitalized) and told me to go get the note that he had left for me where the "F***ing 'Jew Thing' used to be on the door". He subsequently left me four voice mail messages threatening my life, using highly anti-Semitic rants if I did not leave my grandmother's house and move back to Arizona. He then showed up at my residence a few days later and pointed his fingers at me like a gun and reminded me through the window that he owns guns and knows how to use them.

The following day, I did what any normal person would do, and filed for protection with the Superior Court. I was granted a Temporary Restraining Order against this maniac, but lo-and-behold, he was somehow able to evade process of service.

What you may ask does this anti-Jewish piece of dirt have to do with blood being thicker than water? It so happens that he is married to my blood, and she, amazingly enough, condones his behaviour, and even smirked when played his voice mail messages, that, among other rants included his opinion that "Rabbis are just like Catholic Priests; they love to mutilate little boys by cutting off pieces of their penises." And that Rabbis have a "fake f***ing religion."

You see, it is all about the almighty dollar. And that makes me sad. This relative of mine once told me (following a thirteen year gap where the despicable husband interfered previously) that never again would she allow anyone or anything to come between us; that life was too short and that indeed, blood is thicker than water. If only that were true. The truth is, that her goal and that of her insane (born Jewish) Nazi husband is to sell the house in which I live, even though they have no right to it, legal or otherwise.

Her basis is to continue to accuse me of mistakes that I made thirty years ago. Who has not erred?

It is true that each of makes mistakes in our life. The goal is to remedy them, ask forgiveness from those whom we have hurt, atone for them to G-d and move on to better things and a better life. This is the basis for our wonderful faith. Absent this faith, what do we really have?

We would have a life absent joy. Absent the pure simcha of seeing our children go up to the Torah and read; absent the blessing of walking our children to the Chuppah (Wedding Canopy); absent the knowledge that our children have ascended in their lives and Jewish education and have become Jewish adults, we would have a life that is empty and void of happiness.

Should she continue on this path, my relative will never know this joy. For this, I am not angry. I am disappointed and I feel compassion and I feel pity. For the Joy of Torah is absent in her life, and the only G-d that she knows is green, with numbers on its corners and pictures of dead presidents on the front center panel. It is sad indeed.

May she awake someday soon and thank G-d for the day that she has been given; may she open her eyes to Torah and to the knowledge that all she was taught as a young girl is true and is good. May she walk away from the evil that surrounds her and encompasses her life. May she realize that blood is thicker than water. May she come home.

From Sunny Southern California and the Emek in the Maarav, I bid you Ahavah u'Vrachot; Love and Blessings...

--Rabbi Alan Abrams

Ashamnu. I have sinned.

During the month of Elul, and in fact, no less than one week ago, I committed the biggest sin that any one of us can commit.

I have done exactly the opposite of what we are supposed to do during Elul, and not only have I not failed to approach each of you whom I have hurt over the past year and ask forgiveness, I have also done the unconscionable by committing the act of Lashon haRa, publicly and hurting more than one person with one misplaced stone.

Last Shabbat, I misused the pulpit of one of my dearest friends; one of my most respected Colleagues, and in doing so, not only hurt him, but tarred the reputations of a few very respected Rabbis in our community.

This was not done with intentional malice, however, it was done nonetheless, and for these transgressions I must request Slicha; I must request forgiveness from not only them, but from all who were present when I mis-spoke, and from all who read my latest Column.

The matter at hand was the cessation of the Falafel Grill in Agoura Hills to remain a Kosher restaurant. Without verifying with every person involved, I took the word of one person, and due to incidents at another Kosher restaurant last month, allowed myself to become enraged at a situation absent of the complete facts.

The fact is that yes, Falafel Grill is no longer a Kosher establishment; and yes, it is no longer a Kosher establishment due to an increase in the cost of Kosher meat; and yes, the supervising authority was Chabad of Conejo.

The larger fact, however, is that Chabad of Conejo did not increase these costs; they did not force the restaurant to abandon Kashrut, and in fact, during the several years that they held Hashgacha and supervision, never once did they charge Falafel Grill for their supervision, nor did they force Falafel Grill to use one vendor over another. They simply dictated which Shchita was acceptable to their standard. This is not only their right, but their responsibility. Unfortunately, the costs of meeting this standard were too high for this restaurant and they were unable to sustain their business.

That said, I ask forgiveness from each of the Rabbis affiliated with Chabad of Conejo, and hope that you will hear my request for Slicha.

To my dear friend, whose Bima I desecrated with my words of Lashon haRa, I ask your forgiveness, though I may not deserve it. We have known each other over forty years, and in the last two and a half years, as we have become closer, I look to you as a mentor, a guide, a teacher and a Rav. To my dear friend, I beg Slicha.

To those of you that were present last week, and to those of you who read this Column, I ask of you Slicha. I mis-spoke and I mis-wrote. I am sorry and pray that you will all forgive me.

On a similar note and grander scale, on this last Shabbat of the year, I pray that each of you that I have hurt during the past year please forgive me and grant me atonement.

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Last Thursday morning, at 7:15, my grandmother lost her battle against injuries sustained in an automobile accident that is the reason I find myself in Los Angeles.

Over the course of the last two and a half months, I learned many things about her life that were very surprising to me. I learned that many of the facts about her childhood, were not as I had been told previously. I am not sure how I feel about this.

What I do know, though, is that I will miss my Nana as long as I live, and hope to wake up every day to see roses in her garden.

The following I delivered at her Funeral this past Sunday:

ברוך דין האמת. יהוה נתן ויהוה לקח. יהי שם יהוה מבורך.
G-d has given and G-d has taken away.

Over the past three months, I have had more than occasion to think about what I would say today; How I would eulogize my grandmother; How I could possibly put into words what her life meant to me; what, she meant to me.

Over the past three months, day after day, I would sit at her bedside and in the beginning, during the first days and weeks after the terrible accident that would eventually take her life, I would talk with her; hearing stories about which doctor she taught to bake peach cobbler, or how she would constantly have to sweep and clean the first home in which she and my grandfather and mother lived upon arriving in California in 1946.

During the last four or five weeks, the conversation was much less; and most days, not even existent. Most days, if I was able to even give her a small bag of popcorn it was an accomplishment for her to know that I was there.

And even so, even though I have had all this time; even though I easily write and deliver eulogy after eulogy, in this and in other similar chapels, today I am without words. Today, I draw a blank. For there are no words that I know to write; no words that I know to deliver that could even begin to describe my grandmother to you.

As history will tell, on Friday, September 19, 1919, just one week before Rosh haShana, 5680, G-d provided a gift to Raechel and Nathan Weizer of 1800 East 105th Street, Cleveland, Ohio, in the form of a baby girl, Claire.

She took on the role of big sister with love and devotion, caring first for Alfred, and then for baby sister, Gladys, throughout her teen years and up until the time that she met the love of her life, the brother of her best friend Rhea; rough and tough, Herman. The troublemaker; the motorcyclist; the fighter, who snuck around and boxed under the assumed Goyishe name, H. Anthony Shea. Jews – don’t fight.

My grandparents ran away sometime during 1938 and married. It was just before wartime, and eloping seemed the best idea. From what I was told, the family didn’t really buy the whole secretive life, and shortly thereafter, they were married under a Chuppah, and set out to find and live the American dream.

During the Summer of 1939, Maryl was born, and seven years later, the three Shapiros made their move west, to Los Angeles.

Work did not come easily in Los Angeles for a twenty-six year old named Shapiro, so, one day, after passing by the store in Santa Monica, my grandfather listed his name on a job application as “Sears”, and was immediately hired. The official name change was finalized not long after.

Times were especially tough financially and some of the best memories that my mother has, involved skipping along the Venice Boardwalk with her mother on their way to a rare movie, with only an apple for refreshment. Motherhood was difficult also in those days, made even more so by the presence of post war hardships.

At the ripe young age of 42, Claire became a “Nana”, and it was then that she took flight.
I believe that her life’s mission was to be a mother, grandmother, and great grandmother. Even, a Matriarch. Our own version of a real life Alexis Carrington.

Thanksgiving after Thanksgiving; dinner party after dinner party; family birthday celebration, or other reason to get together became her time to shine, and shine she did.
The China was always perfect, as were the Silver and Crystal; the meals were well planned out and delicious. These were her calling cards.

My Nana was not a “Bubbie”. Never. Rather, she was the stereotype of elegance. It shined, as did she.

I only know how to properly set a table, because she taught me.

But this, dear friends, this does not scratch even the surface of who she was.
As wonderful as a grandmother as she was, I cannot even begin to describe her as a Great Grandmother. She carried with her a wonderful and genuine interest in others; especially her family.

My sons, Zac and Dylan, were unable to be here today, as they just started school this past week in Arizona, but Zac sent the following for me to share with you today:
I sincerely apologize for my absence. To all who are here, especially my Grandma, I send only my deepest love.

What is a Matriarch? The first definition on Dictionary.com reads: "The female head of a family or tribal line". If there was an entry for my Nana, that is exactly what it would say. Nana was the oldest member of our wonderfully dysfunctional family, and she held that position with pride for many, many years.

I met Nana 18 years ago, when I was just a baby. Truth be told, my fondest memories of my early childhood consist of visits with her, as well as my grandparents. I always felt that Nana and I shared a very special bond, and over these 18 years, that bond grew. I had so many wonderful conversations with her; I feel like we would talk for days on end whenever she called. The best thing about her is that she practically made excuses just to call me.

A great example of this was just recently, back in May, when she called me to tell me she was watching baseball and that it made her think of me. Truth is that I know for a fact that sports were the absolute least of her interests, but as far as she was concerned, if it made me happy, it made her happy.

I'll never forget last summer when I was in California and she engaged with me an entire discussion about the NBA Finals. And I was even stunned to find out that she actually knew who some of the players were! Anytime I spent time in her home, she always had some sort of article or magazine clipping that she had saved specifically for me. I actually still have every single article in a footlocker at home.

I think everyone can agree that she always had wonderful stories. And my favorite stories were the chivalrous and insanely romantic tales of Papa, the love of her life and one of my all-time heroes. And I'd like to end on a high note with a wonderful story of my favorite Nana being defended by her man:

Papa and Nana were driving on a city street. Well, Papa being the fearless driver that he was, totally and completely cut off a guy who was trying to make a lane change. Well, the red light came and the man had somehow gotten next to the car that Papa was driving. He enticed Papa to roll down the window, and the man immediately began swearing like a sailor.

Language that should NOT be used in front of a woman. Well, Papa couldn't stand for this. So what did he do? He got out of the car. Papa, standing (insert height here; I can't remember how tall he was) and the Pottymouth Motorist, standing well over 6 feet tall, faced off. And with one punch from the muscular former boxer that was Papa, the opponent was knocked to the ground. Papa immediately demanded an apology to Nana, in which the man did very fearfully.

Nana, I know that you and Papa are finally back together. May you spent the rest of eternity reminiscing about great memories like this and making up for all the lost time. I know that you must be thrilled, and I know that it's gonna be one hell of a reunion when I find myself up there with you in 102 years.

Take care of yourself up there. I love you and always will hold a special place in my heart for my favorite matriarch.

I think that Zac said it best, I know that it's gonna be one hell of a reunion when I find myself up there with you when my time comes.

We began the service earlier with the words, יהוה נתן ויהוה לקח.
G-d has given and He has taken away, but let us not believe, even for one moment that He took her away from us. No. Let us know in our heart of hearts that He took the disease from her; that he took her to my grandfather, the love of her life, and that He took her to the Grace and perpetual paradise of Olam haBa, of the next world, after leaving her with us for just a week short of ninety-one years, according to the Hebrew Calendar.

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May G-d grant each of Peace in the coming year. May He inscribe and seal us all in the Book of Life and may he continue show us that only His Torah is and remains our light and redemption.

With Ahavah u'Vrachot, Love and Blessings, I wish you Shabbat Shalom and Shana Tovah.

--Rabbi Alan Abrams

Taking off the gloves; Playing with fire... for the sake of Elul...

In the last edition of this Column, you may recall that we spoke of a "Community" Kashrut company, who, while calling themselves "Orthodox" or "Frum", or whatever term they wish to use to describe their sacred and extreme high level of observance, was caught with their proverbial hand in the cookie jar, when in my presence, they were seen and heard extorting money from a small restaurant owner in the San Fernando Valley, before the Community (a code word for their real name) would let them reopen.

Incensed, I wrote about the incident in this Column and was almost immediately besieged by e-mails from readers; almost all of them positive in that it was about time that someone supported the "little guy"; some offering help in "getting the big guys"; and one e-mail, from a dear friend and Colleague warning me against "playing with fire", and one, from a reader in Chicago that accused me, angrily, of sticking my nose into other people's business.

Playing with fire? Are we not talking about Rabbis? With long black coats, disheveled beards, big hats and Tzitit hanging from their pants? They would hurt someone physically?? RIGHT BEFORE THE MONTH OF ELUL???

Friends: Is it not our job as Rabbis, Cantors, Educators and administrators to teach, inspire and try, however we must, to make living a Jewish life easier for those who seek to rejoin our Communities? Is it not the job of all of us to remember that Talmud teaches us that Kol Yisrael Arevim Zeh be Zeh? That ALL Jews are responsible each of us for one another? It is our job; it is our duty; it is our lot; period. Failing to believe this; failing to act accordingly and failing to take this responsibility seriously is simply, not very Jewish.

This week, Chaverai, on Rosh Chodesh Elul, on the day that we are supposed to be beginning our Slichot, our asking of others to forgive our behaviour from the past year; I learned that the Kashrut authority in Agoura Hills has caused the Falafel Grill on Kanan Road to abandon their distinction as a Glatt Kosher restaurant. Due to an almost three fold increase in the cost of Kosher meat from the only supplier that the Conejo Chabad will accept as Kosher, as well as significant increases in the costs of their supplies across the board, we, as a community, have lost another Kosher business.

Is it maybe not time to take off the gloves? Is it not time to maybe play with a little fire? Is it not time, my friends, to take off the gloves and fight for what is right? Is it not time for US to take control and follow the most simplest of all Mitzvot - veAhavta et Reecha kaMocha - and you shall love your neighbor as you do yourself. And, is it not time for us to take control and protect our brothers and sisters who are being wronged, not just in our own community, but by our own PEOPLE?

I suggest that we take back our playground. I suggest this by visiting Kosher restaurants and supporting them, at the same time making it clearly known to the restaurant owner(s) that you support them for providing a place for us to dine, but that you are not in support of the Mafia-Like thugs who pressure them.

I suggest that you forward this week's edition of Normal is Overrated to your e-mail contact list; I suggest that you leave a comment here for all to see pledging your support of our community; and I suggest that we all contact Kehilla Kosher in Los Angeles and voice our opinions on their business practices. And, when doing so, I suggest that we let them know that we forgive their sins and their transgressions in how they treat their clients, in that it is the month of Elul, after all. Just because they act with complete disregard for Yiddishkeit, does not mean that we will.

Kol Yisrael Arevim Zeh be Zeh. It is our job; It is our responsibility and it is our duty.

Shavuah Tov, Wishing you a great week from Sunny Southern California. As always, I send Ahavah u'Vrachot, Love and Blessings...

--Rabbi Alan Abrams

When a "Community" hurts "THE" Community

Dear Friends:

Over the course of the many months that I have written this Column, I have had occasion to write about happy and sad times; I have had opportunities to introduce you to new artists and community events; and even have taken you into parts of my life and shared them with you.

None of these, however, even begins to compare with the sadness and shock of an event that I witnessed this past week, when a Jewish company took such advantage of another Jew, that the ugliness of their practices bodes us to not only pay attention, but to take action, before it is too late.

This "Community" company, (whom I may not name directly, under threat of reprisal from them), labels itself as amongst the most Observant of the most Observant; a company that in fact places itself at the highest level of Holiness by judging who is Kosher and who is not; and providing Hashgacha, on site inspectors who supervise a restaurant's activities.

Rather than opine at the moment, please permit me to simply tell you what happened this past week, and how it transpired before my very eyes and ears:

I went into a known Kosher restaurant in the Los Angeles area around 2:30pm one day this past week. I approached the counter, looked at the menu on the wall and ordered the "Lunch Special" which consisted of a hamburger, fries and a fountain drink. I was told by the counter girl that she could not prepare that for me as the "Rabbi was blessing the place". She looked over to three men sitting at a table and I approached, introduced myself and made it known that I have eaten there before; that I know it to be Kosher; and that I was accepting of the fact that a "Re-Hechshering" was in progress, but that I trusted the owner to not sell me non Kosher food, and asked that they please prepare the hamburger for me.

When I exited the restroom, I was again told that they could not prepare this order, but that I could have some Shawarma from earlier in the day, before the procedure had begun. Not wishing to find a different restaurant, I ordered the Shawarma and sat down to eat.

While seated, I heard the three men talking. The restaurant owner was pleading with the other two men, one American and one Israeli, to allow him to open and sell food. The two men say there and listened, but offered no solution. Two or three minutes later, the American said "I understand that you are upset. Let's do this, if you agree to buy the pans now, you could be open in no time. In fact, you could be open right now if you would just buy the pans."

My friends, I thought that Tony Soprano was sitting at that table. I felt as if I was in a scene from a Coppola movie, or that Ray Liotta was going to jump out of the back with a sawed-off and save the day. Did I hear right? Was the owner of this small Falafel stand being extorted?? And, if so, could this possibly be done in the name of Torah??? NO WAY, I told myself, and then, I felt compelled to ask these guys, and ask I did.

"Why are you keeping this man's restaurant closed?" "Because he is not yet Kosher", I was told. "Why is he not yet Kosher?", I asked, "He has been Glatt Kosher for YEARS", I continued. Their answer blew me away. According to this man, Larry Somebody, the restaurant was not Kosher enough, and the pans in question (drip pans used UNDER the Shawarma Rotisseries, NOT for food that would be eaten) might have come in contact with something bad, I was told, and therefore, the restaurant was not Kosher until he said that it was Kosher.

Welcome to Extortion 101.

I returned the following day and the owner thanked me for trying to help him. The Israeli man was back and sitting at the same table, while playing with his iPhone and getting up occasionally to make a plate of food (which, no he did not pay for). This "on site inspector", by the way, earns $15 per hour, paid by the restaurant, which is in addition to the $675 per quarter that the restaurant pays the "Community" for their super supervision.

I asked the owner what had transpired. Why did he feel compelled to change Kashrut companies and was told by him that he had been approached and advised that were he to not change to this "Community", "The Ashkenazim would not patronize his store", thus, causing him financial loss.

Those are the facts. That is what I saw and what I heard. I called this "Larry" person on Wednesday morning, and informed him that I was going to write about this incident in my Column, and was warned that should I publish this piece, I could be hurting my new friend the restaurant owner. Now that this has published, let's see what happens.

My friends, we all know that we live in a time when we cannot afford to fight each other. We are constantly and consistently being threatened by both Arab States and renewed World Anti-Semitism. We are facing possible passing of a maniacal new law in Israel that could affect the legal conversions of thousands of Jews, and we are living in an ages where the Presidential Administration, for the first time in history, is clearly Anti-Israel and Pro-Palestinian (read: Terrorist).

We are facing the largest number of Jews who are non-affiliated in history, and every day, we hear of yet another Shul closing its doors.

These are the times that we must be united. This is not the time that we can sit back and watch the world go by. This is the time that we must stand strong, together, and take action to prevent these situations. I ask and urge you to speak with the restaurants owner(s) the next time that you dine in a Kosher restaurant. I urge you to ask who supervises them, and I implore you to ask them if they have been treated in such a way and to pay attention to their answers. I urge you to speak with your friends and neighbors; your Rabbis and teachers. I ask that you please forward this Column to everyone that you know and that you make this serious issue known throughout your Community. Maybe it can be a start to ending this corrupt and horrible behaviour.

As a footnote, I can tell you that in looking at the Community's website this evening, I noticed that several pages (listing which restaurants which they supervise, for instance), have been removed, and that in the past few days, much of their website is no longer functional. Maybe this is a good thing.

I thank you for listening. I thank you for reading and above all, I thank you for helping us all bond together to prevent this crime from continuing to plague our brethren.

With Ahavah u'Vrachot, Love and Blessings from the Left Coast and Sunny Southern California, I bid you Shavuah Tov; a good week. May magical good wishes find you as always.

--Rabbi Alan Abrams