The human tongue prefers salty, sweet, and fatty flavors to the more subtle tastes of whole grains, vegetables, and other healthy foods. Fatty, deep-fried foods, such as hot dogs and French fries, are simply much tastier than bland foods, so we develop a liking for them easily. Also, the body craves salt, because it needs it to survive (salt helps tissues stay hydrated, and serves other vital functions). And sweets, fatty meats, and other high-calorie foods pack a lot of energy, so our bodies crave them, too.  

Another reason why we like fatty foods is because they cause the brain to release oxytocin, a powerful hormone that has a calming and relaxing influence, into the bloodstream. That’s actually why they are called “comfort foods.”

Food manufacturers that make breakfast cereals, potato chips, candy bars, and other junk food are well aware of our cravings, and they tailor the tastes of their foods to trigger our addiction to sweets, salts, and fats. They also present and display their products in brightly colored packaging, which attracts buyers’ attention – and especially that of children.

Buyer, Beware!

Many food manufacturers include color additives in their foods, as bright, vibrant colors look more appealing to consumers. Additionally, additives make foods taste better and last longer on the shelves.

However, research has shown that many of these additives are unhealthy. Although some additives have been shown to be safe, many have not been tested. An increasing number of studies suggests that some food additives can interfere with a child’s hormones, growth, and development, and are responsible in part for a rise in child obesity and ADHD (Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder).

Feed Me More!

Fats from junk food trigger the brain to want more food. This effect can last for several days!

Designer Packaging

Rabbi Avigdor Miller, zt”l, was famous for constantly finding examples of the kindness of Hashem. One example he often gave was how Hashem created fruits in such attractive colors.

A key to survival in the olden times was the ability to recognize foods that contained usable energy or nutrition. Many such foods appear in bright colors, such as apples, oranges, bananas, carrots, grapes, and berries. Back then, color was a reliable indicator of a healthy food, and indeed, it still is today. That is why, when apples, bananas, or berries spoil, they lose their bright colors.

Food manufacturers picked up on this fact and, as mentioned before, they use brightly colored packaging as a marketing tool to attract customers. Incredibly, they are exploiting the well-based notion that colorful foods are healthy foods!

Fact or Fiction??

Sugar makes kids hyper.

Believe it or not, this is false! In every study that’s been done, no link has been found between sugar consumption and behavior. So where does this myth come from? Sugar intake increases at birthday parties and other happy occasions, but it is the excitement associated with the event that causes the wild behavior, not the sugar. 

How Does My Tongue Taste Food?

The tongue is a muscular organ that helps you speak, chew, swallow, and taste. It is also the main sensory organ of the sense of taste.

The upper surface of the tongue is coated with hundreds of tiny lumps and bumps, called papillae (puh-PILL-ee). There are up to 10,000 taste buds on top of these papillae. Although you can look in the mirror and see the papillae on your tongue, taste buds can only be seen under a microscope. More than four-fifths of the taste buds lie on the tongue’s upper surface, sides, and tips. The rest are scattered on the inner lips, inside the cheeks, on the roof of the mouth, and in the throat.

Taste buds are made up of taste receptor cells, which contain tiny hairs called microvilli. When something touches the hairs, the taste receptor cells are able to detect the chemicals in the food that give it a certain taste. They then send a message to the brain that tells it whether the taste is sweet, salty, bitter, sour, or a savory taste called umami (examples of umami foods are broths and meat). Everything you eat is a mixture of these five tastes.

You use your sense of smell to taste food, too. Your brain receives messages about the food from your tongue and your nose — and usually your eyes, as well!

Senior Citizen Discount?

The number of taste buds decreases as one ages. Also, each remaining taste bud begins to shrink, and sensitivity to the five tastes often declines after age sixty. In addition, aging causes the mouth to produce less saliva, which causes a condition known as dry mouth. This also can affect one’s sense of taste.

Just Joking

Q: What do tongues call their friends with whom they go out to eat?

A: Taste Buds!

Tongue Twister

The tongue is the most flexible muscular organ in the body! It also contains eight muscles. Four of them aren’t attached to bones. These muscles let you change the shape of your tongue. The other four muscles are attached to bones; they allow you to change your tongue’s position.

Ellen Geller Kamaras            

“My proudest accomplishments? Raising children with good values according to who they each are individually.   Creating a home where ideas become real and everyone’s voice matters.   Professionally, crafting environments where kids can build and think creatively. Teaching STEM, robotics, engineering, and 3D printing while giving students a space to invent, problem-solve, and see themselves as capable creators.” –  Betti Missry                                                          

Please meet Betti Missry, a respected community member and teacher. She teaches robotics at Hillel Yeshiva from fourth grade through high school, and also teaches at Bet Yaakov of the Jersey Shore. There she mentors their science teachers and teaching lab staff and she teaches engineering and robotics to elementary and middle school students. Betti tutors all high school science subjects and gives private lessons in STEM (Science, Technology, Engineering, and Mathematics) and 3D printing. Betti operates a Summer STEM Academy program for kids after camp and is a private nutrition consultant. Additionally, she has taught crocheting to a great many young students. 

Betti exudes positive and vibrant energy.  Her warmth, vitality, drive, resourcefulness, and kindness are hallmarks of her character.               

Let’s follow Betti’s journey from childhood to the woman she is today and discover the experiences that shaped her.                            

Roots                                                

Betti, born to Laurie and Leon Beda, is their second child. She has two brothers and a sister. Her parents are both Sephardic and are American born.       

Betti attended Yeshivah of Flatbush from kindergarten through 12th grade. She was an outgoing child and had a fun group of friends.  “I always loved people and socializing.”  In high school Betti chatted during classes and received detention for being late and for missing classes. To pay for her detention fines at $20 each, she resourcefully found a job on Sundays.         

Betti enjoyed  extracurricular activities. She sang in the school choir and participated in plays.                                     

After high school, Betti enrolled in Brooklyn College.  Her parents had said no to the gap year in Israel.  But Betti was intent on pursuing her dream of learning in Israel and tackled every obstacle.  She contacted her high school Israel advisor and secured the one spot available at Machon Gold Seminary for January.  How would she pay?  Betti was told the tuition would be billed later. Next, she needed airfare.  Her solution was to register for Birthright.  Finally, she found a cell phone with deferred billing.       

Betti packed her bags. She had to confess to her parents that she was staying in Israel until June, beyond the Birthright trip. After three hours of arguing, her father agreed to let her go. He said to Betti’s mother, “She’s so determined and worked hard to make it happen. She deserves to go.” Betti learned that if you work hard, you can achieve anything.   This growth mindset continues to inspire Betti throughout her life and career.                                 

Returning from six months in Israel, Betti buckled down in college and began to thrive academically.  “I couldn’t get enough of the lectures and wrote down every single word that the professors said. My favorite class was Medical Nutrition Therapy.”        

Betti received a B.S. in Health and Nutrition from Brooklyn College and interned at various New York Presbyterian hospitals for one year. Graduating at the top of her class, Betti was offered a full-time management position. She declined due to the 12-hour shifts, Sunday stints, and the long commute. Betti holds Registered Dietitian (RD) and Certified Dietician Nutritionist (CDN) credentials. 

A Pivot to Teaching                                    

Betti’s teaching career began when she was a camp counselor. When she crocheted during downtime, her campers would surround her, wanting to learn. Betti started with a class of six students and within a year she was teaching 100 kids weekly. She received phone calls from parents whose daughters were bullied or excluded in school. Betti secretly and creatively helped these girls create friendships and boosted their self-confidence.                      .    

Betti prepared handouts on healthy eating for her students and distributed different fruits and vegetables, exposing the students to healthy foods.                   

Her official teaching career was launched when her college professor, Penina Karp, asked her to take over an eleventh-grade nutrition class at Shulamith High School.  Her initial response was, “I don’t know how to teach!” but Mrs. Karp convinced her she could.

Betti’s teaching philosophy centers on making learning fun and engaging while building student confidence.

After four years at Shulamith, Betti moved to Magen David Yeshiva High School.  She taught Nutritional Science, Biology, Health Science, and STEM.   Her friend and assistant principal, Audrey Abade, talked Betti into teaching STEM, affirming that she had the personality and science background for it. 

Betti didn’t know what STEM stood for!  She brought the textbook and supplies home and practiced for hours to prepare for a lesson, becoming an expert. “If a 14-year-old kid could learn this in high school, I can.”  Betti learned about lights, LEDs, circuits, motors, sensors, and various electronic components through self-study and hands-on experimentation.

 “Working at MDY changed my life. We were one big happy family. Their professional development really shaped me and left me wanting more.”

CIJE, the Center for Initiatives in Jewish Education, plays an integral role in Betti’s professional goals.  Its mission is to unlock the potential within every U.S. Jewish student.  It brings hands-on STEM learning to more than 200 Jewish day schools and yeshivot.    

Betti also worked at YDE Girls High School and taught human anatomy, nutrition, elective courses, and applied engineering and principles.

 A Match Is Made                                                   

Three different people tried to arrange a match between Betti and Alex E. Missry.  Such hashgahat pratit!  Alex’s grandfather, Eli Dweck, had been a matchmaker and one of the shadchanits who proposed the match had been set up with her husband by Eli. She wanted to repay the mitzvah.

When Alex and Betti finally met they immediately clicked.  “We are very much alike and have that ‘doers’ personality.,” Betti stated. The couple has children aged three to thirteen. They encourage non-tech activities and cultivate independence in their children from a young age     .

Betti proudly shared that Alex is a giver. He works in the wholesale sector and is the President of Ilan High School. Alex took over for his father, Eddie Missry, a”h, in fundraising for both Ilan High School and for a widows and orphans hesed fund.  Alex also started a youth program in the Lawrence Avenue Shul.

The family moved to Deal from Brooklyn during the pandemic, looking for more space and a backyard.  They were still in lockdown when Alex returned to his office.  Betti was zooming with her children for their classes and for her MDY and YDE students.     

“I was on Zoom, cooking all the time, nursing a newborn, and we were grieving my father-in-law’s passing after Pesach. To keep my kids stimulated, I arranged fun and educational activities. They included an art room with supplies, a garden and seeds for planting, and art and gymnastics online classes.  The kids played sports outside, too.”

Betti’s Essence and Influencers

Betti describes herself as fun, high energy, loyal, creative, growth-oriented, and resilient. She also generates warmth, caring, and vivacity.  Her commitment to her family and her students is unsurpassed.                                                              

Grandma Norma and Grandma Betty were strong educational role models. Norma Shrem returned to college in her late 50s and earned a master’s degree in social work. Grandma Betty (for whom Betti was named), was born in England and deeply valued education. She had a lifelong love of learning, She remained curious and eager to expand her knowledge even in her later years.  

Betti gets her high energy and fun-loving nature from her mother.  Betti has wonderful memories of family trips and strives to provide the same types of experiences and happy memories for her children. 

Betti’s cousin and best friend, Mariel Hidary, a”h, inspired her to teach crocheting.  Before she died, Mariel was studying dance therapy with the goal of improving girls’ self-esteem and confidence through dance.  “I hope I am carrying on her mission through a different method.”   

Rewards and Challenges

Betti loves seeing kids light up about learning.  Engaging children came naturally to her, and she treats her students like her own kids.  “Watching my students’ growth in self-esteem from September to June and [from] year to year is incredible. I thrive on building children and shaping confidence and curiosity.”

Robotics competitions are intense, yet Betti’s students remain calm and composed, even amid tournament-day chaos.  Betti credits the classroom culture she has built, where mistakes are looked at as learning opportunities and challenges are met with determination. Students gain confidence and learn to treat setbacks as problems to solve. When difficulties arise, they don’t panic, they get to work.

Betti’s oldest son, Ezra, won first place in a nationwide robotics competition, competing against 140 robots. Betti’s teams have consistently won first place for several consecutive years, demonstrating the effectiveness of her teaching methods and program development.

Her challenges? Time is number one.  Organization is central to Betti’s ability to manage her busy life. She creates detailed color-coded schedules for each child and coordinates carpools for all activities. For her personal and work commitments, Betti maintains a separate handwritten planner.

What’s Next

Betti has two book ideas for hands-on guides for nutrition and STEM.                                         

Connect with Betti at Bbmissry@gmail.com.  Ellen Geller Kamaras, CPA/MBA, is an International Coach Federation (ICF) Associate Certified Coach. Her coaching specialties include life, career, and dating coaching. She can be contacted at ellen@lifecoachellen.com.

Rabbi Hayim Asher Arking & Rabbi Ezra Ghodsi

The gradual entry into the most reflective day in our history starts with the Fast of the 17^th of Tammuz and continues for the following three weeks. During this time period, we slowly add to our mourning and refrain from more and more pleasures until we reach Tisha B’Av itself.

On the eve of Tisha B’Av we intensify our seriousness as we enter into the actual day of mourning. The Se’udat Hamafseket is the point where we segue into the Fast as we are still eating, however sitting on the floor and creating the mood of Tisha B’Av.

What do we eat for the Se’udah Hamafseket?

The Se’udat Hamafseket is the last meal prior to the fast. It should consist of the bare minimum, essentially just bread and water. The custom is to also eat something round, either an egg or lentils, as these are things eaten by mourners since they represent the circle/cycle of life. It is important not to eat a big meal too late in the day so that one will be at least a little hungry for the Se’udat Hamafseket, and it can actually be considered a meal.

Are rice and lentils considered one or two foods?

It is forbidden to eat more than one cooked food at the Se’udat Hamafseket, so as to demonstrate our mourning by restricting what we eat. Even one type of food that is prepared in two different ways is not allowed (e.g. a hard-boiled egg and a soft-boiled egg). However, if the two foods are normally cooked together in one pot and eaten together as one dish (such as rice and lentils), then it can be served at the Se’udat Hamafseket as it is considered one food.

How do we sit at the Se’udah Hamafseket?

The custom is to sit on the floor. Everyone should sit separate from each other with a solemn attitude, mourning the Bet Hamikdash. If three adult men are present, they should sit in separate corners of the room, to avoid the requirement to do zimun.

How high may my chair be?

At the Se’udat Hamafseket, one should sit on the floor (or anything less than a tefah high – 3 to 3.2 inches). An elderly person or a pregnant woman who finds this too difficult may sit on a cushion or stool that is lower than 3 tefahim high (9 to 9.6 inches). In regards to Tisha B’Avitself, it is permitted for everyone to sit on a low cushion or pillow, and many also permit a stool of lower than three tefahim.

When sitting on the floor, one should still stand for a parent, rabbi, or elderly person.

May I drink tea or coffee at the Se’udat Hamafseket?

Tea and coffee are not considered “cooked foods,” and are therefore halachically permitted. However, it is praiseworthy to be stringent and refrain from extra enjoyment at the time that we start mourning the Bet Hamikdash.

May I still eat after Birkat Hamazon before the fast starts?

According to some, it is preferable to have in mind to not accept the fast before reciting Birkat Hamazon. If one did not, he may still eat or drink, even if he planned on accepting the fast. However, if one verbalized his acceptance of the fast, then he may not eat or drink and all the other restrictions of the fast apply at that time.

After slowly increasing our mourning over the past three weeks, we finally reach the pinnacle on Tisha B’Av. On this day, there is: 1) no eating or drinking; 2) no washing; 3) no applying creams or oils to one’s skin; 4) no leather shoes; 5) no marital relations. We also sit on the floor, not on regular chairs, similar to mourners.

When does the fast start?

The fast begins at sunset (approximately 8:19pm in the NY/NJ area). At this point all the laws of Tisha B’Av take effect, including sitting on the floor. One should stop eating a few minutes before sunset and make sure no food particles are left in his mouth.

May I clean the house?

One should not sweep, wash the floors, wash dishes, or engage in any extended clean-up on Tisha B’Av until after midday, hatsot, on Thursday (approximately 1:03pm in the NY/NJ area). Dirty dishes, however, may be placed in the dishwasher and it may be turned on. If leaving dirty dishes in the sink will cause the house to smell or will attract flies, one may wash them even by hand (and it is not necessary to wear gloves).

May I brush my teeth?

Tisha B’Av is more stringent than regular fasts, and it is not permitted to rinse out one’s mouth or brush one’s teeth. If one is very uncomfortable or has bad breath, he can use mouthwash (without rinsing with water afterward), but he should tilt his head downward to avoid swallowing it.

May I take medicine for a headache?

If one has a headache, he may swallow a pill without water, provided that it does not have a flavored coating. Other medications are also permitted; however, vitamins and health items should not be taken. If one is unable to swallow the pill without water, a rabbi should be consulted.

How do I wash my hands?

In the morning, one should wash his fingers up to the third knuckle three times. One who has the custom during the year to wash their hands three times after entering a restroom may do so, but only up to the knuckles.

One who is sick and washing for bread should wash his hands like he does throughout the year – up to the wrist. Similarly, the Kohanim should also wash up to the wrist, but they should only wash each hand one time. When a Levi washes his hands prior to washing the Kohanim’s hands, he may only wash up to the knuckles.

My hands got dirty, may I wash them?

Any washing for cleanliness (such as for unclean hands or even to remove gunk around the eyes in the morning) is permitted. However, only the dirty area may be washed, and not the rest of the hand. If one touches his shoe, only the part of the hand that touched the shoe should be washed. An exception is when someone touches a covered part of their body, requiring washing before reciting a beracha or praying. In this case, the hand should be washed up to the knuckles.

Is it permitted to wash my hands with soap?

Applying creams, oils, etc., is only prohibited if done for pleasure or enjoyment. However, when done for cleanliness, such as if one’s hands are dirty and they need soap to clean them, it is permitted. It is also permitted to use Purell to disinfect, if necessary.

May I use deodorant?

Deodorant (even with a good smell) may be used, as it is for cleanliness and not for pleasure.

What if only part of the shoe is leather?

Shoes with even a leather sole or leather top may not be worn. However, if there is a small strip of leather intended for decorative purposes only, the shoes may be worn. Similarly, a pair of flip-flops that has only a thin strap to hold the foot in place and does not protect the foot is also permitted.

What if I don’t have any non-leather shoes?

If one is worried that he will get hurt or dirty, then he may wear leather footwear outside if he has no other option. For example, if it is pouring rain or muddy, one may wear appropriate shoes or boots outdoors to remain dry and clean. However, they should be removed immediately when entering the house, shul, or car.

May children wear leather shoes?

Being that young children generally have a non-leather option, they should not wear leather shoes.

May I read Tehillim?

On Tisha B’Av, the regular study of Torah is not permitted, as Torah brings a person joy. However, one should study the Gemarot and Midrashim that discuss the destruction of the Bet Hamikdash. One may also study the laws of Tisha B’Av or the laws of avelut. It is also permitted to study sefarim that encourage a person to reflect on his sins and do teshuva.

Reading Tehillim is also like studying Torah, and should not be done unless one is praying for something specific, such as for a sick person. Therefore, one who is unable to study the parts of Torah permitted on Tisha B’Av and wants to read his set amount of Tehillim should read the Tehillim as prayer for a sick person or for another need.

May I wish someone good morning?

Due to the somber mood of the day, one should not greet their friend with common greetings such as, “hello,” “good morning,” “how are you?” and the like. If one was greeted by somebody who is unaware of this halacha, he should respond in a soft and serious tone.

What type of work is prohibited on Tisha B’Av?

One may not conduct any form of business, or buy/sell anything, including online purchases. (If there is potential for a loss, or if it is a rare opportunity, a rabbi should be consulted). Even before hatsot, it is permitted to buy food that will be needed for after the fast.

May one smell besamim?

One should not smell besamim on Tisha B’Av. In order to recite the required 100 berachot, one should listen to the berachot on keriat HaTorah and have in mind to fulfill his obligation with that.

What else should we do or not do?

One should not engage in fun activities or socialize, as the mood of the day should be one of mourning and solitude, to enable us to reflect on how we can rebuild the Bet Hamikdash. One should even refrain from sitting with a child on his lap for no reason, so he won’t end up playing with them. However, it is permitted to do so for a specific purpose, such as to calm the child.

What may be done after hatsot?

After hatsot (approximately 1:03pm in the NY/NJ area), one may sit on a regular chair. At that point, it is also permitted to start preparing food, cleaning up the house, or washing the dishes. All other restrictions are still in place until the fast is over.

What activities are permitted after the fast is over?

After the fast, it is permitted to shower, shave, or wear freshly laundered clothes. Many have the custom not to eat meat or drink wine until the end of the 10^th of Av. This is because, although the Bet Hamikdash was set on fire on Tisha B’Av, most of the burning occurred on the 10^th. For this reason, the beracha shehehianu should not be recited on this day either.

May we merit to see the building of the Bet Hamikdash speedily in our days! Amen.

Connect with Ohr Halacha

To read the full Tisha B’av FAQs, including the laws of the three weeks and nine days, or to see the footnotes for this article, please visit the website of Ohr Halacha: ohroftheshore.com. For further questions on this topic, or for other halacha questions, you can call/text/WhatsApp the Ohr Halacha Hotline: (732) 359-3080.

How a little-known mission to Damascus carried a message of hope months

before Syrian Jews were finally allowed to leave.

Linda Argalgi Sadacka 

This is the final installment of our three-part series. In the first two parts, we explored life for Syrian Jews under decades of restriction and the extraordinary efforts that ultimately led to our community’s freedom. Yet one important chapter remained untold.

When I began researching this subject, I did not set out to write a three-part series. I started with a single story – one that had stayed with me for years and one that, the more I thought about it, the less I could understand how it had remained largely unknown for so long.

Over the years, countless accounts have been written about Syrian Jewry: stories of perseverance, faith, persecution, resilience, and ultimately redemption. Many of those stories have rightly become part of our communal memory. They are told and retold because they help to explain who we are and where we came from.

A Different Story

This story was different.

Until recently, I was not aware of a single published account documenting what I had heard.

The story first came to me years ago through my husband. Like many stories that circulate within close-knit communities, it seemed to exist in a strange space between memory and history. The people who had lived through it remembered it. The people connected to it spoke about it. Yet somehow it never appeared to have fully entered the historical record.

What intrigued me was not whether the story was true. I never doubted that. What intrigued me was its absence.

Because if the events occurred as they were remembered, this was not the sort of story that should simply disappear. This was not a private family anecdote or a forgotten footnote tucked away in some obscure archive. It was a story that connected Syrian Jewry, Crown Heights, the Lubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson, zt”l, and a dramatic chapter in modern Jewish history. It was the kind of story one assumes everybody already knows.

Yet, the more people I spoke with, the more I realized that they did not.

The Story Expands

There was also something almost unbelievable about the story itself. It involved a group of Jewish emissaries traveling through the Middle East, arriving in Damascus dressed as Saudi Arabs, entering one of the most tightly controlled countries in the region, locating the Jewish community, and delivering a message of hope to Jews living under watchful eyes. It sounded less like a communal memory and more like something from a political thriller. Yet, the deeper I investigated, the more I discovered that the story was not only true. It was larger, more layered, and more historically significant than I had originally understood.

Eventually, curiosity turned into research. What began as a decades-old memory led to conversations with eyewitnesses, community members, and individuals connected to the events themselves. Piece by piece, details began to emerge. Some accounts overlapped. Others introduced new questions. Far from simplifying the story, each conversation seemed to make the story larger.

One of the people I spoke with was Rebbetzin Chaya Lipsker of The Shul in Bal Harbour, Florida. Although she had never heard this particular account before, her reaction was telling. Given everything she knew about the Lubavitcher Rebbe and his concern for Jews wherever they lived, she did not find the story implausible. Quite the opposite. We were scheduled to continue the conversation the following day and, hopefully, identify additional sources that might shed light on the events.

Before that could happen, life took an unexpected turn. My father, Shlomo ben Linda, a”h, passed away on the 10th of Sivan. Research was suddenly replaced by funeral arrangements, travel, and shiva. Like so many projects interrupted by life’s more important obligations, the story was placed aside while our family focused on mourning and remembrance.

The Crown Heights Connection

During shiva in Montreal, I spent time with Rebbetzin Raskin, a longtime family friend whose family is widely respected throughout the Chabad-Lubavitch world. We spoke about family, community, and life. The story itself never came up. Only after shiva had ended and I had returned home did I reach out to her regarding my research. Her response surprised me. As it happened, she was in Crown Heights, Brooklyn, at that very moment. Within a remarkably short period of time, she was able to connect me with individuals who had access to archival material relating to the events I had been investigating.

For me, the archives were never about proving the story had happened. I had heard the account years earlier from my husband and from others who remembered the events. I had no reason to doubt them. The archives served a different purpose. They allowed the story to move beyond memory and into the historical record. They gave structure, context, and corroboration to something that had lived for decades in the recollections of those who experienced it.

What happened next felt almost providential. After carrying the story for years, after months of research, and after setting it aside during one of the most difficult periods of my life, documentation suddenly appeared. Within a short time of reaching out to Rebbetzin Raskin, archival material from Crown Heights was in my hands. As I began reading through it, I realized something else. The story was bigger than I had originally believed – much bigger.

Damascus, 1992

To understand why, we must return to Damascus in 1992. At the time, Syrian Jews still lived under intense government scrutiny. The Mukhabarat, Syria’s feared intelligence service, maintained a constant presence, and Jewish life was conducted with a level of caution that is difficult for many of us to fully appreciate today. It was within that environment that an extraordinary scene unfolded.

One day, several unfamiliar men appeared in the Jewish Quarter asking for directions to the synagogue. They were dressed in traditional Saudi Arabian attire, and according to those who remembered the encounter, the men had recently been in Saudi Arabia. Nothing about them seemed familiar, and their presence immediately attracted attention. To understand the reaction they received, one must understand the reality of Jewish life in Syria at the time. For decades, Syrian Jews had learned that vigilance was not optional. The wrong conversation, the wrong visitor, or the wrong question could attract unwanted attention. This was not paranoia; it was self-preservation.

Visitors in Disguise

The appearance of several unfamiliar men dressed as Saudi Arabs and asking questions about the synagogue naturally raised concerns. Who were they? Why were they there? What did they want? Were they genuine visitors, government informants, or something else entirely? In a community that had learned through experience to be careful, suspicion was the natural response. Eventually, the men found what they were looking for and entered the synagogue.

What happened next would be remembered for decades. Once inside, they removed their Saudi-style head coverings. Their peyot and kippot became visible. The strangers standing before them were, by all appearances, Jews. More than that, they immediately joined the prayers and demonstrated complete familiarity with the service. They carried religious books, greetings, and messages from thousands of miles away. They had come from Brooklyn, New York, on a mission connected to the Lubavitcher Rebbe.

The reaction inside the synagogue was immediate. Suspicion quickly gave way to astonishment, and astonishment to emotion. For Syrian Jews living under isolation and restriction, the moment was almost unimaginable. Here were Jews from the outside world who had somehow crossed continents, entered Syria, located their community, and arrived carrying a message from a Jewish leader who had not forgotten them.

An Ongoing Relationship

At first, I believed I was investigating a single event: a remarkable story about emissaries who entered Syria in disguise and appeared unexpectedly in a Damascus synagogue. Yet, the deeper I immersed myself in the material from Crown Heights, the more I realized that the visit itself was only one chapter of a much larger story. What emerged from the documents, testimonies, and recollections was not the record of an isolated mission. It was the record of an ongoing relationship.

Again and again, the same names surfaced throughout the material. Rabbi Avraham Hamra, zt”l, the longtime Chief Rabbi of Syria, appeared repeatedly, as did individuals who worked alongside him to sustain Jewish life under extraordinarily difficult circumstances. Messages moved between Damascus and Crown Heights. Visitors traveled back and forth. Religious books and materials were delivered. Reports regarding the condition of Syrian Jewry found their way to New York. The deeper I read, the harder it became to maintain my original assumption that I was researching a single dramatic episode. The visit to Damascus was not the beginning of the story. It was evidence of a story already in progress.

One of the valuable voices preserved in the historical record belongs to Saleh Luz, an eyewitness whose recollections help bring the story to life. Through his memories, the account becomes something more than dates and events. He remembered the visitors. He remembered the atmosphere within the community. He remembered the excitement, the surprise, and the emotional impact these encounters had on people who often felt distant from the larger Jewish world. Reading those accounts, one begins to understand why the arrival of the emissaries generated such a powerful reaction. Perhaps what mattered most was the realization that someone cared and had come looking for them.

A Message of Hope

The message itself was not new to me. I had heard it years earlier from my husband, who lived through those events and remembered the purpose behind the visit. According to his recollection, the emissaries did not come merely to distribute religious books or to deliver greetings from abroad. They came carrying something far more powerful: hope. The Lubavitcher Rebbe had communicated that Syrian Jews would soon experience their own redemption – not at some distant point in the future, but soon, by Passover.

To appreciate how astonishing that message sounded, one must place oneself in Damascus in 1992. Generations of Syrian Jews had lived under restrictions that many believed would never fully disappear. Families had learned to live with uncertainty. Hope existed, but it was tempered by experience. Nothing in the political climate suggested that dramatic change was imminent. Nothing suggested that a centuries-old chapter of Jewish history was approaching its conclusion. Nothing suggested that families who had spent years wondering whether they would ever leave would soon be packing their belongings and boarding airplanes. Yet the message was delivered, and the people hearing those words could not possibly have known how close they were to witnessing history.

For nearly 2,500 years, Jews had lived in Syria. Empires rose and fell around them. Kingdoms disappeared. Governments changed. Borders shifted. Yet, the Jews remained. Generation after generation, century after century, they maintained a continuous presence that stretched back to antiquity. Few could have imagined that they were living through the final chapter of that extraordinary story. Yet, history was already beginning to move. Within months, events began unfolding with astonishing speed. The gates that had remained closed for so long began to open, and families who had spent years wondering whether they would ever be allowed to leave suddenly found themselves confronting a reality they had scarcely dared to imagine.

A Surgeon’s Story

For me, the significance of that message was never merely historical. Long before I saw a single archival document, I had a personal connection to the story, as my husband’s life was intertwined with this chapter of history.

Before coming to the United States, my husband was a surgeon in Syria. As discussions surrounding the future of Syrian Jewry intensified and the possibility of emigration slowly began to emerge, he was repeatedly told that whatever freedoms might eventually be granted to others would not apply to him. The explanation was always the same. The Syrian government had invested in his education. He had benefited from the state’s universities. A person in his position, he was told, owed a debt that could never truly be repaid. Others might leave, but not him.

His family refused to accept that answer. His mother, like so many determined Syrian Jewish mothers before her, persisted relentlessly. Day after day she returned to government offices. Requests were submitted. Appeals were made. Hope rose and fell. Promises appeared and disappeared. Like countless other Syrian Jewish families, they lived in a state of uncertainty, never knowing whether the next conversation would bring disappointment or opportunity. Then, unexpectedly, everything changed. The permission arrived. After years of being told that the door would remain closed, it suddenly opened.

The disbelief was so profound that my husband refused to take any chances. He boarded the very first flight permitted to leave Syria, departing before other members of his family and leaving behind everything familiar because no one knew whether the opportunity would ever come again. Years later, when he told me the story, what struck me most was the sense that even the people living through those events could scarcely comprehend what was happening. For years they had spoken about leaving; now they were packing. For years they had imagined freedom; now they were boarding airplanes. For years the future had seemed sealed shut; now possibilities were opening before them.

Redemption Repeated

For my husband, redemption was not an abstract concept discussed around a table. It was the first flight out of Syria. In America, his life would take a new direction. The surgeon from Syria would eventually become the pediatrician so many families know today. But that future began with a moment no one in his family could take for granted: permission granted, a seat on the first plane, and the understanding that history had shifted beneath their feet.

Looking back now, it is difficult not to think about the timing. Months earlier, emissaries had entered Damascus carrying a message that seemed almost impossible to believe. Now, events were unfolding with a speed that few could have imagined. For thousands of years, Jews have gathered around the seder table and retold the story of a people who believed they might never leave Egypt, a people trapped by circumstances they did not control and unable to see the future awaiting them. Then history changed. In 1992, Syrian Jews experienced something that must have felt strikingly familiar. For generations they had lived with restrictions, wondered whether things would ever be different, and adapted to realities they did not choose. Then, almost suddenly, the gates opened.

Today, little remains of the Jewish Damascus that existed in 1992 beyond its buildings and memories. The community that once filled it has dispersed across the globe. Its descendants live in Brooklyn, Deal, Miami, Montreal, Panama, Israel, and countless other places. They are no longer a hidden community living behind barriers. They are woven into the fabric of Jewish life. They are our rabbis, our teachers, our doctors, our business leaders, our philanthropists, our neighbors, and our friends.

The Pieces Come Together

For years, I found myself asking the same question. How could a story of this magnitude have remained largely untold? How could a story connecting Damascus and Crown Heights, Syrian Jewry and the Lubavitcher Rebbe, disappear almost entirely from public memory? Perhaps the answer is that history does not always announce itself. Sometimes it unfolds quietly. Sometimes it survives only in the memories of those who witnessed it. And sometimes it waits decades for the missing pieces to come together.

That, ultimately, is what makes this story so remarkable. Not only that emissaries entered Syria. Not only that they carried a message of hope. But that more than thirty years later, eyewitness testimony, family memories, and archival records all point to the same conclusion: the Jews of Syria were never forgotten. And when redemption finally came in 1992, many remembered a message that had arrived months earlier in a Damascus synagogue. Redemption was coming. By Passover. Against all expectations, it did.

DAVE GORDON

Support for Israel has become a litmus test in New York politics, but on Fifth Avenue this year, the city’s Jews discovered the gap between what their leaders say and how safe – or abandoned – they actually feel. The Israel Day Parade still drew 100,000 people, a sea of blue-and-white and bipartisan dignitaries. Yet, the first-ever absence of a sitting mayor since the parade’s inception in 1964 – and the rise of a City Hall openly aligned with anti-Zionist activists – left many wondering whether political power is drifting away from those who march, and toward those who are against them. “It’s almost like not to be an anti-Semite or not to be anti-Israel, you’re in the minority today,” says veteran activist and former New York State Assemblyman Dov Hikind. “That is a fact.”

In the shadow of that new reality, the three Jews who were interviewed for Community Magazine say that they are working with others across the city to form their own responses – from quiet coalition-building, to grassroots digital advocacy, to calls for a Jewish defense force that will meet hostile demonstrators in the streets of Brooklyn. The parade has become more than a festive annual ritual. It is a stress test of New York’s political soul, exposing the widening distance between a community that still turns out in huge numbers for Israel and a political class increasingly split, hedging, or openly hostile.

Who Came and Who Did Not

Last month’s Israel Day Parade should have been a straightforward display of solidarity. The route up Fifth Avenue was lined with Israeli flags and school banners, and the roster of dignitaries suggested business as usual: Senate Majority Leader Chuck Schumer, Representatives Jerry Nadler and Dan Goldman, Governor Kathy Hochul, Attorney General Letitia James, City Comptroller Brad Lander, and others were in attendance. NYPD Commissioner Jessica Tisch marched. Former mayors Michael Bloomberg and Eric Adams appeared, reinforcing a message that at least some of the city’s establishment still wanted to be seen on the pro-Israel side of the ledger.

But the absence of Mayor Zohran Mamdani was impossible to ignore. For the first time in 61 years, no sitting mayor walked in the parade, a decision Mamdani’s critics view not as scheduling trivia, but as a declaration of values. For a Jewish community watching anti-Israel activists grow more organized and more brazen, the no-show crystallized a fear that the center of gravity in city politics has shifted – and that the people who most loudly oppose Israel now have a friend in City Hall.

Jews with Views

Against that backdrop, three very different Jewish New Yorkers – an old-school Brooklyn power broker, a young Black Orthodox litigation assistant, and a former communal insider turned independent consultant – offer a composite portrait of a community trying to understand what changed, and how to respond.

For decades, Dov Hikind has been the archetype of the Brooklyn Jewish machine politician: a former State Assemblyman, founder of Americans Against Anti-Semitism, and a fixture in any discussion of New York’s Jewish power structure. Speaking from Israel, he sounds less like a retired lawmaker, and more like a man warning of an emergency that the usual institutions no longer know how to handle.

Dov Hikind – Shifting Tides

“In all the years, we’ve always had anti-Semitism,” Hikind says. “We’ve always had issues with particular people. But to the level that we have it now, it’s [anti-Semitism has] become more mainstream than ever before.” Hikind describes a political climate where hostility to Israel is no longer confined to fringe activists but increasingly shapes campaigns for the State Assembly, City Council, and Congress. In his telling, Democrats are especially susceptible, but he notes with alarm that among Republicans, more and more so the polling is turning, as well.

The mayor, in Hikind’s view, is not a disappointment so much as the logical outcome of this shift. Hikind blasts Jewish leaders who continue to attend receptions at Gracie Mansion – “laughing with this anti-Semite mayor,” as he puts it – as if nothing fundamental has changed. “You have to deal with the mayor – he’s the mayor,” he concedes. “But you don’t have to socialize with him. Really? Where’s your faith in Gd? Where’s your pride?”

Communal Strategy

Hikind reserves particular scorn for recall talk and hashtag campaigns, which he dismisses as childish. The hard question, he insists, is not who to blame but what the communal strategy should be. “We have a very serious problem,” he says, pointing to soaring anti-Semitism statistics that he believes undercount reality. “What’s the plan? Does the ADL have a plan? Does the American Jewish this or that have a plan? What is the plan to deal with the phenomena that exists now?”

His own emerging answer is blunt. Hikind, now 75, is working with others to create what he calls a Jewish defense force – a group of trained Jews committed, devoted to the Jewish community, professionally led. These are not vigilantes, but are individuals prepared to physically stand between hostile demonstrators and Jewish neighborhoods. “If they’re coming into Midwood, if they’re coming to Crown Heights or to Williamsburg or to whatever, we need to have people who are going to stand up and be proud and confront those who are terrorizing the Jewish community,” Hikind says.

The parade itself passed peacefully, but Hikind’s mind is on the footage that circulated the day after, a Jewish nurse assaulted on the subway, marches snaking through Brooklyn with demonstrators chanting in support of Hamas, intimidation outside synagogues and schools. For Hikind, these are not isolated incidents but are the visible symptoms of a mainstream culture that has grown comfortable treating Jews and Israel as legitimate targets.

DeVante Montgomery 

If Hikind embodies a past era of Jewish clout, DeVante Montgomery represents a newer, less conventional face of Orthodox activism. Open about his conversion to Judaism, the 29‑year‑old litigation assistant in Manhattan is also a writer and online creator. He is shomer-Shabbat, and unabashedly online. Montgomery describes himself as “just an average, normal guy” who stumbled into prominence when his social media posts pushed back against anti-Israel agitators targeting Jewish neighborhoods.

At the parade, Montgomery felt something close to relief. “It was a very awesome and very uplifting experience,” he says. “It really felt like a weight lifted. It felt like we were in peace within nirvana, within our own little bubble within the perimeter of that parade.” Montgomery has attended three times – first with Park Avenue Synagogue and most recently as part of an organized group. He speaks with wonder about the diversity of the crowd – people of every age, some flying in from abroad, all there to say that Israel still matters.

Social Media’s Influence

Yet, the euphoric atmosphere exists alongside a growing sense of isolation. Montgomery notes that Jews scrolling Instagram and TikTok are bombarded with videos portraying Zionism as a crime and Israelis as oppressors, narratives he calls disgusting and deeply detached from historical fact. In his analysis, the election of Mamdani was partly a product of that information ecosystem. “Everyday New Yorkers were seeing the images come out of the Middle East,” he says. “They, again, are being fed a certain algorithm.” That feedback loop, he argues, helped normalize support for protesters who now march past Jewish schools and into Brooklyn’s heavily Jewish neighborhoods.

Montgomery is not nostalgic for the last administration. He is precise about its limits. Under Eric Adams, Montgomery says, the city witnessed a lot of anti-Semitic instances, particularly after October 7, even as the mayor spoke in defense of the Jewish community. But Montgomery describes a boomerang, ricochet type effect as Adams sided with Jews, anti-Israel voters became more energized, helping pave the way for a successor who is actively vocal in his support of the pro-Palestinian protesters.

Begin with Conversation

Where Hikind reaches for confrontation, Montgomery begins with conversation. He argues that big organizations and individual Jews alike need to meet people at where they are instead of speaking at them. That starts, Montgomery says, with listening to what critics actually believe – including the many who think that somehow, in some way, that Jews originate from Europe and disregard their own biblical history, let alone factual history. Often, he notes, protesters chanting, “from the river to the sea” cannot even name the river in question.

Still, even the outreach advocate has limits. Montgomery worries that interactions between Jews and anti-Israel protesters have grown very violent and very insulting, citing two instances of anti-Semitic confrontation. One was an incident on May 15^th when dozens of Muslim men gathered in Brooklyn to pray directly outside Bnos Leah Prospect Park Yeshiva High School for girls. Secondly, he cited marches through Brooklyn that feel more like intimidation than political speech. These are very old tactics, he says, familiar from Jewish history. His hope, perhaps more fragile than he lets on, is that New Yorkers can agree to disagree yet maintain a level of respect – not because they will resolve the wars in Gaza or Lebanon, but because they still share a city.

Noam Gilboord

If Hikind and Montgomery speak from the street, Noam Gilboord speaks from the world of organized Jewish life – and from just outside it. The former senior official at the Jewish Community Relations Council of New York left the organization in December and now works independently. He spent years helping shape the very parade he attended this year as a rank‑and‑file parent.

A Parade with No Problems

Gilboord’s account of the day is almost defiantly normal. “I saw nothing. No problems. No problems whatsoever,” he says. “It looked like a normal parade to me.” Security was extensive and familiar, with metal detectors, blocked streets, sand trucks, fencing along the Central Park side, and the presence of NYC Police Commissioner Jessica Tisch herself. From Gilboor’s vantage point, marching with his kids’ school, it was the same careful choreography he had helped arrange in previous years.

Yet, he is acutely aware of the anxiety that preceded the parade. In his view, the community’s nervousness was less about credible intelligence than about the new mayor’s posture. “Because of the mayor and his antagonism towards Israel and his hatred of Israel, I sensed that the community itself was much more nervous in the lead-up to the parade,” he says. The worry was that a City Hall aligned with anti-Israel activists might quietly downgrade security. When that did not happen, he concluded that much of the fear had been, in hindsight, for no reason.

What Has Changed?

On the question of whether Israel has become more central to city politics, Gilboord offers a long view. “It’s been an issue in city politics for a very long time,” he says, pushing back on the idea that this is entirely new. What has changed, he argues, is the organizational muscle of the anti-Zionist left – especially the Democratic Socialists of America, whose campaigns against trips to Israel and pro-Israel legislation have dragged debates that once lived in internal party meetings into the full glare of public attention.

If Hikind sees institutional Jewish life as adrift and Montgomery sees it as too often reactive, Gilboord’s comments hint at a third layer – a community that still knows how to work the levers of power, is still capable of coordinating with police and keeping a massive parade safe, but is increasingly unable to reassure its own members that those levers will continue to work under a mayor who pointedly stays away.

The Real Story

Taken together, the three voices suggest that the real story of this year’s Israel Day Parade is not simply that it was more political – it always has been – but that politics has migrated from the reviewing stand into the streets, the algorithm, and the Jewish psyche itself.

Hikind calls for a literal line of defense in Brooklyn. Montgomery preaches hard conversations and mutual respect. Gilboord quietly measures whether the machinery he once ran can still be trusted. The flags still flew on Fifth Avenue, the bands still played, the children still marched. What has changed is that for many of New York’s Jews, the parade no longer feels like an endpoint of communal confidence, but a starting point for a much more fraught fight over how – and whether – their city will stand with them when the march is over.

Jack Gindi

Human beings have always disagreed.

Families disagree. Married couples disagree. Friends disagree. Business partners disagree. Communities disagree. That part of life is not new, and honestly, it probably never will be.

What worries me sometimes is not disagreement itself. What worries me is how quickly people can lose sight of the bigger thing sitting in the room.

I’ve seen it happen in business meetings where emotions ran high and everyone became more focused on proving their point than solving the problem. I’ve seen it happen inside families, where people stopped listening because they became so committed to defending their position. I’ve caught myself doing it, too.

Over the years, I’ve learned something important: most lasting damage does not come from disagreement. It comes from forgetting what we were trying to protect together in the first place.

The marriage. The family. The friendship. The business partnership. The mission. The relationship itself.

Once that gets forgotten, conversations begin to change. Listening disappears. Curiosity disappears. The focus quietly shifts from understanding to winning. And when winning becomes more important than understanding, trust begins to erode.

Healthy Disagreement vs. Division

The truth is, healthy disagreement can strengthen relationships. Some of the people who helped me grow the most in life challenged me. They questioned my thinking. They pushed me to see situations differently. In business, some of my best decisions came from people willing to disagree honestly instead of simply telling me what I wanted to hear.

The problem begins when disagreement turns into division.

Division happens when people stop seeing one another as part of the same shared purpose.

I think many of us must be feeling that today. Conversations feel shorter. Patience feels thinner. People seem quicker to assume the worst about one another. It sometimes feels as though we are being trained to see one another as opponents first and human beings second. Politics, media, and social platforms often reward outrage more than understanding. The louder the conflict becomes, the harder it is to remember that most of us are still trying to build meaningful lives, care for our families, and find our place in a complicated world.

But underneath all of it, most people still want many of the same basic things. We want our children to be okay. We want meaning, opportunity, safety, connection, and hope for the future. We want to feel respected. We want to know we matter.

That common ground still exists, even when we forget to look for it.

My wife and I have not always agreed over fifty years of marriage. My children and I have certainly seen things differently at times. In business, I’ve sat across from partners, brokers, tenants, and investors with completely different opinions about what should happen next.

Building Things That Last

But lasting things are rarely built by people who agree on everything.

They are built by people willing to stay at the table long enough to keep listening, adjusting, and working toward something larger than themselves.

That takes maturity. It takes humility. And it takes emotional discipline, especially during moments when emotions are strongest.

I’ve also learned that certainty itself is not the problem. Certainty gave me the courage to walk into a real estate office years ago believing I could become successful long before I knew how. Conviction and belief are often what move people forward in life.

But certainty becomes dangerous when it leaves no room for listening or growth.

The moment we believe we fully understand another person, growth usually stops. Relationships begin to harden. Conversations become performances instead of opportunities to learn something new.

Sometimes the most powerful thing we can say is: “Help me understand how you see it.”

Not because we will always agree. But because understanding preserves connection, and connection is what allows people to continue building together.

Strong families are built that way. Strong friendships are built that way. Strong businesses and communities are built that way too. Not through constant agreement, but through a shared commitment to something bigger than individual pride.

Maybe that is one of the most important reminders life keeps teaching us. Not every disagreement needs to become division.

Sometimes growth happens when people stay in the conversation long enough to rediscover what they were trying to protect together all along.

And maybe, now more than ever, that matters.

Jack Gindi is a mentor, writer, and family coach. He helps people tackle life’s challenges with his Believe Become Be You platform. Drawing from 50 years of entrepreneurship and personal growth, he guides individuals and families in building strong, resilient lives. Reach him at papajack@believebecomebeyou.com.