The number on the display made it clear that it was a call from abroad, and indeed, Dad's voice came out of him, grave and full of sorrow: "Peppy and Mami (-grandparents in French, A.H.) are coming to Israel next week. I ask you to go see them, who knows how much time they have left...""
It was hard for me to hear that. Still, grandparents and the tenderness that goes with them. If it was hard for me, for my sister the message created a kind of panic that was reminiscent of the atmosphere in Paris after the attack in the theater.
She burst into tears, brought up memories of small moments we had experienced with them, and made me promise that we would go visit the deceased together at the Porosh hotel in Jerusalem.
I was 16 at the time. Mami and Pepi were about 70 years old at the time. I visited the older couple, who seemed quite well-off, and asked me about interesting trips in Jerusalem.
I left them feeling that I had fulfilled my duty as a grandchild and bid them farewell as they should have. My sister asked her grandfather to bless her, and a soft sob escaped her throat as her grandmother said goodbye.
A year later, Mimi and Pepi arrived at their cousin Raphael's wedding (-Raphael in French, A.H.), and the phone call from Dad came quickly: "I ask you to attend the wedding.".
Why? You asked innocently, and Dad replied in a harsh voice: "Mami and Pepi will come, who knows if this isn't their last visit to the country, you know they're not young anymore...""
I knew it, my sister knew it, only Mimi and Pepi themselves, apparently, were not aware of it.
From that day on, they visited Israel about ten times, stayed with their many grandchildren, distributed money and gifts as always, even though they didn't always have any, and even today - when they are over 90 years old without the evil eye and throughout their days, they come to Israel every year.
They were recently in England, and rumors are that they also celebrated in Spain.
The next time Dad calls and reminds me that these are elderly people, that 'who knows if we'll ever get to see them again,' I'll remind him that in the last twenty years I've only traveled abroad twice, and that Shammi and Pepi, rather embarrassingly, dominate the duty-free area, and know how to adjust the airplane seat much better than I do.
The wife of the arrested rabbi
News and graphic descriptions about a prominent rabbi in Jerusalem who committed serious acts flooded social media last week, sparking outrage among everyone exposed to it.
The story, it must be admitted, has not yet received any official source, but the "rumors" have raised endless questions: Why did the story "explode" twenty years later? Why was the victim silent for all those long years?
The answer, according to the indictment, is almost as disturbing as the abuse itself: the female victim lives with the feeling that she has no right to resist his demands and that she must carry out all his orders.
Why does the woman live with such a feeling? Does she herself suffer from a mental disorder, or perhaps the society she grew up in did not give her the mental tools to deal with a monster of the kind she married?
Maybe she didn't learn from the street around her that when living with a madman, even if he has the status of a senior rabbi, there is a mitzvah to quickly contact the nearest secular police?
These will be emphasized, only doubts, not yet certainties. These will be clarified later.
Meet the Children of Tarshish
One of the most beautiful nostalgic moments comes when you come across a childhood book that influenced your life, left you with a distant memory, and for decades was out of print - until the moment it reappears in front of you.
This was the case, for example, when I came across Rabbi Lehman's uncensored books (the direct source of a store that stocks his books is requested to notify and bring his salary), and this was the case when I suddenly found the book 'Ben Torah' by the writer Mordechai Shai in the library.
This week I was at a street sale offering the newly published book 'Children of Tarshish on a Lonely Island', and suddenly I was thrown back almost 30 years.
Seven religious Israeli children are rescued from a sinking ship and arrive in a lifeboat on a deserted island. The seven go through adventures and social dilemmas, until their miraculous rescue.
So far, the concept is familiar from other 'lonely islands' books.
But for the children of Tarshish (named after the island to which the prophet Jonah sailed from the port of Jaffa), their stay on the lonely island is accompanied by countless trials against the backdrop of their religious faith and their uncompromising desire to observe the commandments of Judaism, without any concessions.
This is how they deal with the question of shaking and establishing a mixture, preparing a shofar and grape juice for Kiddush, questions of faith and reading a weekly torah portion, marking the Jewish holidays, and being strict about prayers and Torah lessons.
The social controversies are also illuminated by the spotlight of Jewish law and Jewish justice, and the religious reader cannot help but identify with the children's concerns.
The simplicity with which the stories of Shmil, Dani, Tali, Gilad, Rina, Shuli, and Shalom are told is heartbreaking, and even though these are children who [apparently] belong to the Haredi community - the book is recommended for all children of the Haydarim and daughters of Beit Yaakov.
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