By Simha Health

In the modern world, a teenager’s smartphone is a portable printing press for their permanent record. For today’s teens, the digital world feels temporary, like a conversation in a hallway. However, every click, comment, and private message creates a digital anchor. This is a record that is easy to set but can keep a person stuck in the past for years.

Parents do not need to be tech experts to protect their children. By focusing on three critical areas, you can give your teen the mindset they need to navigate the digital age with integrity.

Digital Permanence and the Billboard Test

Teens often view their online posts as temporary thoughts that can be crumpled up and thrown away. They believe that hitting delete or using disappearing message features solves the problem. We must help them understand that the internet is actually an anchor. Even if a post is deleted, it lives on in server backups, data logs, and screenshots.

In ten years, when your teen is applying for their dream job, recruiters will use software to scan every old account and edgy joke ever linked to your child’s name. To help them process this, teach your teen a mental filter called the Billboard Test. Before they hit send, ask them to imagine that message or photo printed on a 20 foot billboard in the center of town. If they wouldn’t be proud to have their grandparents, their coach, and their future boss see it there, it has no business being on their phone. This turns a distant consequence into a concrete and immediate visual.

The Myth of the Mask and the Front Door Rule

Many teens fall into the trap of Keyboard Courage. They believe that using a fake username or hiding their caller ID makes them invisible. This sense of anonymity often leads to trolling or sending messages they would never say to someone’s face. The reality is that no one is truly anonymous online. Every digital action leaves breadcrumbs. Every call and message sends data packets that include location and device information.

What a teen sees as a thirty second joke can be traced by authorities in seconds. If a prank makes someone feel unsafe, it can quickly escalate into a legal report for harassment tied directly to your family’s phone bill. A powerful way to ground this is the Front Door Rule. Instruct them to never type anything to someone that they would not be willing to walk up to their front door and say to their face while their parents are watching. No Caller ID is just a thin mask. The network always knows who is speaking.

The Psychology of the New Group Chat

Social life for today’s teens revolves almost entirely around group chats. While these are great for connection, they are frequently used for passive bullying through exclusion. A common scenario involves a group of friends starting a new chat specifically to leave one person out. This is often done so they can talk about that person or plan events without them. Research shows that being excluded in this way triggers the same part of the human brain as physical pain.

Teens often go along with this because they are afraid of being the next person left out. You can empower your teen to change this dynamic by mastering the Admin Leadership Move. Encourage them to be the person with the confidence to say, “Hey, why isn’t this person in here? Let’s add them.” Being an includer is a high status leadership move. It changes the vibe of the group from a gossip circle back into a friendship and protects your teen from being part of a record that could look like bullying later on.

Cultivating a Digital Legacy By focusing on these areas, you are coaching your teen to think about their character in a world where every action is recorded. Helping them realize that their future at twenty five is too important to risk on a single click is the best protection you can provide.

Rabbinical Message

The Chafetz Chaim tells us that modern technology is here to teach us lessons in emunah. This concept of realizing nothing gets lost in cyberspace can be applied to our deeds in general. Nothing we say or do is lost, as the Mishnah says: “Kol Ma’asecha Basefer Nichtavin” (All your deeds are written in a book). Just as a digital footprint records every keystroke, our spiritual footprint records every action, reminding us that our words and choices have lasting weight.

By Rabbi Hayim Asher Arking and Rabbi Ezra Ghodsi

Many have the custom to eat dairy on Shavuot. If one wants to make dairy bread, one should be cognizant of the halachot involved. The Gemara (Pesahim 30b) teaches that one is not allowed to make bread that was kneaded with milk. This prohibition was instituted by the Rabbis out of concern that one will forget or will not realize the bread is dairy and will eat it together with meat. Baking dairy bread is only permitted in certain instances.

What are the conditions to allow one to bake dairy bread?

One may bake dairy bread if one of the following conditions is met:

1) Only a small amount is baked.

2) The bread is baked in a shape that is recognized as specifically dairy or meat. If there is an identifying – not just a different – shape, that will remind people that it is meat or dairy one may bake even a large amount.

What is considered “a small amount”?

According to some opinions, it’s the amount that will be eaten in the coming meal. Some are more lenient and allow an amount that will be eaten within the next day. When baking such a small amount for the family there is no concern that it will be accidentally eaten with the other type.

What shape should I bake the bread in?

A shape only helps if those eating the bread would recognize the bread is dairy because of the shape. If the same shape is used for both dairy and pareve bread it will not help, as one may inadvertently assume that the bread  is pareve. Another option would be to sprinkle cheese on top of the dough, as this way it would be easily recognizable as dairy and it wouldn’t be eaten with meat accidentally.

What if I already baked a large amount without a distinctive shape?

If one forgot, or even if one was unaware of the halacha, and baked a large amount of dairy bread, all of the bread is forbidden to eat, even by itself, and must be discarded. Once the dairy bread is baked, it does not help to give it out to family and friends, even if each person is receiving a small amount and it will be eaten right away.

What about crackers and pastries?

Although one of the above conditions is necessary for both bread and crackers alike, those conditions are not required for sweet pastries or cakes. One is allowed to bake a large number of sweet dairy pastries or cakes even without an identifying shape. Since sweet pastries are not eaten together with meat we are not concerned that a mistake will happen. Although one who ate meat has to wait six hours before eating anything dairy, we do not go so far as to prohibit making something that might be eaten during that time, and only prohibit what might be eaten together with meat.

What about items that are filled, like sambousak?

In regards to sambousak or bourekas, there are varying customs. Some are careful to make them in an identifying shape. For example, cheese bourekas are triangles, while the meat ones are made into a square. The meat ones also have some of the meat showing to differentiate between meat and pareve bourekas. For sambousak, the meat and cheese ones are made in two different shapes to identify which one is which. Others are of the opinion that the prohibition only applies to bread that was kneaded with milk, as one who is eating it has no way to know that it is not regular bread. However, something filled does not need an identifying shape, as it is clearly noticeable that there is filling and one will find out what is inside before eating. Experience has shown that it is prudent to make bourekas or sambousak noticeably different, as people have mistakenly used the dairy ones for a meat meal or baked dairy and meat ones simultaneously.

What if a small amount of pareve bread came in contact with dairy?

If only a small amount of pareve bread came in contact with dairy, it is permissible to eat, however, one must be careful not to eat it with meat. In fact, the halacha goes further and requires that any bread eaten with a dairy meal may not be eaten at a meat meal, or vice versa, out of concern that the bread may have come in contact with meat or dairy. This halacha applies to any food that was on the table and potentially came in contact with dairy or meat. They should not be served at the opposite meal.

What about the bread that was in the middle of the table and didn’t get touched at all?

Generally, what was used for serving in the middle of the table may be used in both a meat and dairy meal, as it wouldn’t come in contact with the other food on the table. One should be mindful if there are children at the table, as it may be problematic to re-serve the food since it is more likely that the food would have come in contact  with their hands, which may have had food residue on them.

Custom to Eat Dairy It is interesting to note that while there are many reasons given for the custom to eat dairy on Shavuot. The Rema (Shulhan Aruch 594:3) explains the custom based on the previous halacha. It appears the custom in his time was to start the meal with dairy and then in the middle clear off all the dairy and switch to a meat meal. The Rema explains that based on the above halacha, they would need to bring new bread to the table. The requirement to have two separate breads would then serve as a remembrance of the Sh’tei Ha’lehem – the two-bread offering brought in the Bet Hamikdash on Shavuot.          

Gilad Shmueli

The days leading up to the holiday of Shavuot are days of special preparation, spiritual elevation, and purification. The spiritual energy that descended into the world at the time of the giving of the Torah returns every year on the same date. It is therefore vital to prepare ourselves, so that we become fitting vessels for receiving the holy Torah.

In the book Chemdat Yamim (Shavuot, Chapter 1), it is written about these special pre-Shavuot days: “During these days, one should not allow their mind to drift from the scene at Mount Sinai. One should imagine how the people of Israel stood in purity and separation as they faced the mountain – standing before Gd in awe, fear, and trembling – because Hashem descended upon it with tens of thousands of angels.”

“Remembering this can awaken reverence in the heart, prompting one to sanctify themselves even in that which is permitted, to act as though they themselves are standing at that very event. One should not veer left or right into worldly distractions, and should make Torah study a fixed priority and other matters temporary from Rosh Chodesh Sivan until the sixth of the month, even if they don’t usually live this way. Then they will merit Divine assistance to cast off the impurities of the “serpent” and receive added holiness, just as our holy ancestors did at this time. Fortunate is the person who acts in holiness and purity during these six days – such a person will receive an added spiritual light, deepening their awe of the Almighty.”

Rabbi Shlomo Wolbe once hung a note in his yeshiva, sharing a spiritual segulah (practice for merit) that he had received from his teacher, Rabbi Shmuel Charkover. It said that the three days before Shavuot – the Three Days of Separation (Shloshet Yemei Hagbalah) – are days of tremendous spiritual potential.

Rabbi Wolbe wrote: “I received from my teacher and mentor, Rabbi Shmuel Charkover that the three days before Shavuot are auspicious days. One who learns Torah during them with great diligence, without wasting even a moment, will merit success in Torah learning for the entire year. He told me this is written in the holy books.”

A  Day of Spiritual Judgement

On Shavuot – the day the Torah was given – we receive the spiritual light of that momentous event at Mount Sinai. Each person has the opportunity to receive their personal portion of Torah.

The Sfat Emet writes: “On Shavuot, each person is judged according to the connection they maintained with Torah throughout the year…On this day, the Jewish people receive a renewed portion of Torah for the coming year, and that renewal depends entirely on each individual’s preparation.”

Shavuot is a sort of “day of judgment” for our spiritual lives. Each person receives their own Divine light and unique portion in the Torah based on how they’ve prepared. The custom to stay up all night learning Torah on Shavuot serves as a declaration of our desire to receive our share and to merit a deeper bond with the Torah.

A Day for Prayer and Request

Shavuot is also the Yahrtzeit (day of birth and passing) of David Hamelech, which is why it is customary to read and study Tehillim on this day. Since this is a day of spiritual judgment, it’s also an opportune time to pray for spiritual matters, both for yourself and for others.

Take advantage of this day to pray for: personal spiritual growth, complete repentance, closeness to Hashem, becoming a better and more refined Jew, doing Gd’s will with joy, and success in Torah,  mitzvot, and good deeds. Above all, pray for the Final Redemption, and that we all merit the rebuilding of our glorious Temple in Jerusalem, speedily in our days. Amen.

QUESTION: 

Dear Rabbi Ali,

I have been putting in a lot of work in my marriage and things are getting better. I spent years in therapy and have done so much work on myself. The problem is that my husband refuses to address his past traumas, which I believe are hurting him and, in turn, our relationship. Is there anything I can do about this situation?

R’ Ali’s Response: 

It’s great that you have been putting in a lot of work and effort into bettering your marriage. You should continue to have the strength to work on your marriage. I do not mean to belittle any of the work that you have done, but I rarely come across a couple where both spouses aren’t working on their relationship.

The reason why I mention this is that people get burnt out from working so hard and not seeing their spouse work hard as well. Most of the time this is not true. In your case, it is most likely that your husband is working on the relationship. The reason why you may feel he isn’t may be for one or two reasons. He is working on what he feels is necessary to better the relationship, and second, he isn’t working on what you feel is necessary to better the relationship.  

Now, although he may not be working on what you feel needs work, you should know that he is not neglecting the relationship. Most likely, if I spoke to your husband, he would say that he’s trying really hard to make things work and it’s just not happening. When I tell this to people they are shocked and sort of relieved. This information won’t make the situation better. However, it does give some peace of mind knowing that he cares and wants things to get better. 

Unfortunately, I have encountered (very few) people who say, “My situation is a lost cause,” or “I’m too old for that stuff (working to improve my relationship).”  This is sad and a big mistake. I truly believe there is a way to improve almost every relationship.

Getting back to your question. This is something very common and it is important for people to understand this point. You mention that your husband has traumas and refuses to seek help. Was this assessed by a professional or was it self-diagnosed? This is an important question.

Most people tell me that “they know” he/ she needs therapy. Maybe you’re right. But I believe it is wrong to self-diagnose someone and then coerce them into going for therapy. Besides the fact that therapy rarely, if ever, helps someone who isn’t willing to go, I believe it is the professional’s job to decide who has trauma and who doesn’t. 

I know this sounds a bit harsh, but it is the source of much tension in marriage. One person is trying to get their spouse to seek professional help based on their own evaluation. 

Now, there are cases where a person is dysfunctional and clearly suffers from a real diagnosis such as OCD, bipolar disorder, schizophrenia, etc. These are serious disorders and need the guidance of a professional and should be dealt with.

However, your situation sounds fairly common and your husband’s situation is a far cry from a full-blown mental health disorder.  In closing, I would say to continue to work on your relationship, as it seems to be working. Don’t press your husband to seek help (unless otherwise advised by a professional). Acknowledge every little bit of improvement on his end and give positive reinforcement. And, of course, pray to Hashem for assistance from Above. 

As everyone knows, the holiday of Shavuot is described in our holiday prayer service as “zeman matan Toratenu – the day of the giving of our Torah.” Meaning, Shavuot is the day when we received the Torah, and this is what we celebrate on this special day.

There’s only one problem with this – we didn’t actually receive the Torah on Shavuot.

You read that correctly – it emerges from our sources that the Revelation at Sinai did not occur on this day.

This point was made centuries ago by one of the great commentaries to the Shulchan Aruch – the Magen Avraham (Rav Avraham Gombiner, d. 1682). The Magen Avraham notes two widely-accepted traditions that lead us to the conclusion that the Torah was given not on Shavuot – the day following the 49^th and final day of the omer period – but rather the day after that. 

First, the sages teach that in the year of the Exodus, the 15^th of Nissan – the day our ancestors left Egypt – fell on Thursday (the way it did this year, 5786/2026). This means that the first day of the omer period was the next day – Friday – such that the final day of the omer was Thursday.  If Shavuot – the day following the culmination of the omer counting – marked the day of Matan Torah, then this would mean that the Torah was given on a Friday. However, the Gemara (Shabbat 86b) establishes that the Torah was given on Shabbat. Necessarily, then, the Torah was given not on Shavuot, but on the day after Shavuot.

My point here is not to call for postponing Shavuot for a day. Rather, it is to sharpen our understanding of what “zeman matan Toratenu” means, and how this enhances our celebration of this Yom Tov and, more generally, the way we see ourselves and our identity as Jews.

Challenging King David’s Legitimacy

To introduce the answer to this question, let us briefly explore one of the cherished customs of Shavuot – the reading of Megilat Rut.

Several different theories have been proposed to explain this time-honored practice. Some explain that at the time of Matan Torah, we all underwent a “conversion” of sorts, like Rut, a Moavite woman who made the decision to join the Jewish Nation, as we – like Rut – committed ourselves to the Torah’s commands. Another explanation is that Megilat Rut tells a story of beautiful hesed (kindness), of how Rut joined a foreign nation in order to stay with and help her aged, destitute mother-in-law, and of how Boaz, a wealthy man, took care of Rut and ultimately married her. We read this story to remember the crucial role that hesed plays in the life of a Torah Jew.

But there is also another reason, one which goes to the heart of the purpose for which this story was written in the first place.

The sages tell us that the book of Rut was written by the prophet Shemuel, the leader who crowned David as king over Israel, thereby establishing the eternal Davidic dynasty. He recorded the story of Rut in response to the controversy that erupted when David was appointed king. Some scholars challenged not only David’s right to the throne – but the very legitimacy of his membership in the Jewish Nation. The Torah (Devarim 23:4) explicitly forbids marrying a convert from the nation of Moav – seemingly invalidating Boaz’s marriage to Rut. Hence, their son, Oved – who became the grandfather of King David – is the product of an illegitimate union, and thus David himself was, at first glance, similarly illegitimate and unfit to marry a Jewish girl, let alone to serve as king over Israel.

This challenge was rejected based on an interpretive tradition taught by Shemuel himself. This tradition explains that the term Moavi used by the Torah in reference to the prohibition against marrying Moavite converts refers specifically to male converts. The Torah does not forbid marrying a female convert from Moav – and so Boaz’s marriage to Rut was perfectly legitimate.

Shemuel wrote the story of Rut for this very purpose – to affirm the validity of this marriage. Boaz married Rut with the consent and approval of the community of Bet-Lehem, including the rabbinic leadership.  In order to put to rest any questions about David’s family background, Shemuel recorded the story of Rut which confirms the halachic validity of her marriage to Boaz.

This book that Shemuel wrote – known to us as Megilat Rut – contains 85 verses. This number marks the gematria (numerical value) of the word peh (“mouth”) – an allusion to the Torah she’be’al peh, the oral halachic tradition.  Rut’s status vis-à-vis marriage constitutes one of the starkest examples of the power of the Torah she’be’al peh, how the Sages are empowered to interpret and apply the text of the Torah. If all we had was the written text of the Humash, it would have been assumed that all Moavite converts – both male and female – are forbidden for marriage.  It was the Torah she’be’al peh, the system of scholarly analysis, debate and discourse – that allowed Rut to marry Boaz, and thus that allowed King David to emerge.

When we stood at Mount Sinai, Gd did not give us simply a text to follow. He also presented us with a system whereby the great scholars in every generation study and carefully scrutinize this text and the conclusions of their predecessors for the purpose of applying the Torah’s laws for their generation. Strikingly, Gd authorized the sages to reach and act upon conclusions even against the plain meaning of the text, if this is how they understand the words based on the principles of the system of Torah she’be’al peh. And perhaps nowhere was this authority showcased more dramatically than in the story of Rut, a woman from Moav who married a Jewish man with the scholars’ approval.

Moshe’s Extra Day

We can now understand why we celebrate the day before the Torah was given, rather than the day when it was given.

The Gemara relates that on Wednesday, two days before what was to be the day of Matan Torah, Gd instructed Moshe to prepare the people “today and tomorrow” (Shemot 19:10). Moshe interpreted Gd words to mean that the people should prepare for two days starting the next day, such that the Torah would be given not two days later, but three days later.

Astonishingly, Gd accepted Moshe’s interpretation of His words.

Gd had decided to give the Torah on Friday – but Moshe decided, based on his understanding, to delay the event until Shabbat – and Gd consented. He abided, as it were, by Moshe’s interpretation of His command, and gave the people an extra day to prepare.

The Bet Halevi (Rav Yosef Dov Soloveitchik of Brisk, Lithuania, 1820-1892) explains that Friday – the day nothing happened – is indeed the significant day which is worthy of celebration. This day, when Gd decided not to give the written Torah, marked the giving of the Torah she’be’al peh. It established the authority invested in the sages of Israel – beginning with Moshe Rabbenu – to interpret and apply the Torah, and Gd’s “submission” to their interpretation. Shavuot – the day when nothing happened! – is truly “zeman matan Toratenu” – the day the Torah was given to us as a matanah – a gift.  When a person gives a gift, he relinquishes control over the object. On the day when Gd deferred to Moshe by not giving the Torah, He relinquished control over it, to an extent. He made it clear that He was not merely presenting us a series of laws to follow – but inviting us to become His partners in clarifying and applying the laws.

We might call Shavuot the most eventful non-event in human history. The fact that nothing eventful happened is what made this day so momentous, as it marked the ultimate Matan Torah – the authorization granted to the sages to interpret and apply the Torah’s laws.

Feeling Gd’s Love

This profound truth – that the Almighty willingly deferred to Moshe’s interpretation and granted the sages of every generation the authority to interpret and apply His Torah – reveals the depth of Hashem’s love for His people.

Gd did not want a nation of mere compliant servants who would robotically follow a fixed set of instructions. He desired partners. By “submitting,” as it were, to the understanding of finite human beings, the Creator invited every generation of Jews into an active, living relationship with the Torah. The day nothing “happened” at Sinai is therefore the day everything truly happened: the Torah became ours – not as a distant, unchangeable document, but as a dynamic covenant that breathes through the ongoing partnership between Gd and the Jewish people.

While the power of interpretation is, of course, reserved for great scholars, there is a broader message here for each and every one of us. When we open a page of Gemara, when we ask a halachic question to our rabbi, when we watch the sages throughout history grapple with new realities while remaining faithful to the Torah’s principles – we are witnessing Hashem’s extraordinary love. He trusts us enough to let us participate in the unfolding of His will. He values our sincere effort, our intellectual honesty, and our moral sensitivity. Even when we are not scholars, our commitment to learning, our respect for Torah authority, and our willingness to live by the Torah as understood by the rabbis declare: “Hashem, I accept Your invitation to be Your partner.”

On Shavuot, as we stay up all night learning, as we read and celebrate “zeman matan Toratenu,” let us internalize this beautiful reality. The Torah was not only forced upon us from above; it was lovingly entrusted to us. May we merit to feel this divine love every day of our lives, and may we respond by drawing ever closer to Him through the study and observance of His Torah – written and oral – as true partners in the eternal covenant.

Tammy Sassoon

When we raise a child who struggles with anxiety, our instinct is to help them feel better as quickly as possible. We see their distress, and we want to soothe it, remove it, or protect them from whatever is causing it. That instinct comes from a loving place.  But there’s an important distinction that can make a huge difference in how our children learn to handle anxiety: the difference between compassion and pity.

At first glance, they can look similar. Both involve caring and responding to your child’s struggle. But the message underneath each one is very different and kids pick up on that message quickly (there is a microphone on our heart, so they pick up on our thoughts and feelings even if we don’t say a word).

Respond with Compassion

Compassion sends a message that, “I see that this is hard for you, and I believe you can handle it.”

Pity sends a message that, “This is too hard for you, and you can’t handle it.”

That shift changes everything.

When we respond with compassion, acknowledge our child’s feelings without getting pulled into those feelings. We’re grounded. We communicate safety not by removing the challenge, but by showing confidence in our child’s ability to face that challenge. For example, if a child is anxious about going to camp, compassion might sound like: “I know this feels uncomfortable. New or fast-paced environments can feel like a lot. I’m right here, and I know you can do this.” You’re not dismissing the anxiety, but you’re also not reinforcing the idea that it’s too much to handle or is dangerous.

Cancel the Pity

Pity, on the other hand, often sounds softer but actually feeds the anxiety. It might sound like: “Aww, this is so hard, you’ll tell me after camp if you were okay.” While it feels kind in the moment, the underlying message is that your child isn’t capable of handling discomfort. Over time, this builds dependence on avoidance rather than resilience. (Of course, we are only talking about situations that you know are safe for your child.)

Anxious children are constantly scanning us for cues about whether they are safe and can cope. If a parent responds with even a tinge of worry, urgency, or over-accommodation, the child’s brain interprets that as confirmation: “This really is scary. Even my parent thinks so.” But when a parent stays calm and compassionate, the message becomes: “This feels hard, but it’s not dangerous. I can get through it.”

Stay Emotionally Attuned

This doesn’t mean being cold or dismissive. Compassion is not about saying, “You’re fine, just go.” That kind of response can feel invalidating and disconnecting. True compassion means you’re emotionally attuned, you name your child’s struggle, and you stay present with them through it. The difference is that you don’t lower expectations because of the anxiety.

Compassion walks alongside your child, while pity carries them. And while being carried might feel good in the short term, it prevents them from building the muscles they need to walk on their own.

Handling Discomfort

Another key difference is how each approach handles discomfort. Compassion makes room for it. It says, “It’s okay to feel anxious, and you can still move forward.” Pity tries to eliminate discomfort altogether. But anxiety doesn’t shrink when we avoid it. It actually grows. Every time a child escapes a situation because of anxiety, their brain learns that avoidance is the solution. Compassion gently interrupts that cycle by supporting the child in facing the discomfort in manageable ways.

Your tone is also very important. You can say all the “right” things, but if your energy is anxious or uncertain, your child will feel that. Compassionate parenting requires you to regulate yourself first. When you stay calm, you lend your child your calm. When you believe they can handle it, they start to believe it, too. After all, it’s Hashem, our loving Father, who uniquely designs each hardship for our very best.

It’s also okay if your child still struggles, even when you respond with compassion. The goal isn’t to eliminate anxiety, but rather to change your child’s relationship with it. You’re helping them learn, over time, “I can feel uncomfortable and still be okay.” In the end, compassion empowers your child, while pity unintentionally keeps them stuck. One builds confidence; the other reinforces fear. And while it’s not always easy to remember that line, (especially when your child is upset), it’s one of the greatest ways to help them!

DAVE GORDON

In early April, a federal appeals court in New York reinstated a $655.5 million judgment against the PLO and Palestinian Authority, bringing a small group of American terror victims to the brink of the justice they have pursued for over two decades.

The case was brought by American citizens harmed in a wave of attacks in Jerusalem in the early 2000s. The decision revives one of the largest such awards ever awarded by a U.S. court over violence in Israel.

Supreme Court Reopens the Door

It comes on the heels of a June 2025 U.S. Supreme Court ruling that reopened the door for such lawsuits against the Palestinian groups.

The lawsuit was filed in 2004 on behalf of ten American families whose loved ones were murdered or maimed in bombings and shootings in Jerusalem, during the Second Intifada. In 2015, a federal jury found the PLO and the Palestinian Authority responsible under the U.S. Anti‑Terrorism Act, and ordered them to pay $655.5 million in damages.

That verdict was later thrown out by the 2nd U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals, which held that the Palestinian defendants were beyond the reach of U.S. courts. Everything changed after the Supreme Court upheld the Promoting Security and Justice for Victims of Terrorism Act, a 2019 statute crafted to allow Americans injured in overseas terror attacks to bring claims against the PLO and Palestinian Authority under defined circumstances.

Pay for Slay

A central question in the case involved the Palestinian Authority’s controversial “pay for slay” program – monthly stipends and benefits paid to imprisoned terrorists and the families of those killed while carrying out attacks, including assaults that targeted American citizens.

Judges found that these payments, and other activities tied to U.S. interests, could help establish the jurisdictional connection needed for American courts to hear the case. After the Supreme Court’s decision, the appeals court concluded that the original 2015 judgment should stand. Rather than sending the parties back for another trial, the panel reversed its prior dismissal, and ordered that the earlier jury award be restored, saying this outcome aligned with the “plain import” of the high court’s decision.

The Plaintiffs

The families behind the case include relatives of those killed in the 2002 bombing at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem cafeteria; the family of a passenger who died in the 2003 bombing of Jerusalem’s bus No. 19; and several Americans wounded in attacks on Jaffa Road. Violence from the Second Intifada period claimed 33 lives and injured hundreds more. The lawsuit evolved into a test of how far Congress and the courts are willing to go in extending U.S. civil jurisdiction over international terrorism.

After the initial verdict was set aside, the plaintiffs – led by attorneys Nitsana Darshan‑Leitner (Director of Israel Law Center/Shurat HaDin) and Kent Yalowitz (partner at Arnold & Porter) – spent years pressing appeals and lobbying for legislation to allow their case to survive.

Shurat HaDin

Shurat HaDin–Israel Law Center is an Israeli nonprofit that uses civil litigation to pursue terror groups, state sponsors, and financial institutions accused of funding attacks. It has helped win significant judgments on behalf of terror victims’ families in courts worldwide.

Darshan-Leitner said the ruling marked a historic turning point in the fight against global terrorism.

“For more than 22 years, the victims and families in Sokolow v. PLO walked a long and unforgiving road, refusing to let time erode their demand for justice and closure. This ruling and reinstated verdict stands as proof that the pursuit of accountability for terror is not measured in months or even years—but in resolve,” Darshan-Leitner told Community Magazine.

“The Palestinian defendants waged a ‘war of attrition,’ filing delaying motion after motion, appeal after appeal. Yet the families’ perseverance and determination carried this case across decades, through setbacks and appeals, because they never surrendered their right to closure. In the end, justice endured, the truth endured, because the victims endured.”

Long Road to Justice

One plaintiff, Dr. Alan Bauer, an American biologist seriously wounded in a 2002 Jerusalem attack, told Ynet he “never imagined that the road to justice would be so long and winding. But we refused to give up.

“We promised ourselves we would see this case through to the very end. We were determined to hold accountable those who carried out acts of terror against us and to finally make them answer for their guilt and their crimes.”

Part I: Life Under Restriction in Syria (1948–1992)

Linda Sadacka

This is the first in a three-part series exploring the experiences of Syrian Jews who remained in Syria through the latter half of the 20^th century. It focuses on the decades between the establishment of the State of Israel in 1948 and the early 1990s, when leaving the country was tightly restricted and, for most, not a realistic option.

The Jewish presence in Syria extends back centuries, with established and deeply rooted communities in Damascus and Aleppo, two cities that served not only as geographic centers but as anchors of religious, commercial, and communal life. These were not marginal communities. They were communities of stature, shaped by generations of scholarship, leadership, and rich Jewish life.

Aleppo, known historically as Aram Tzova, was home to one of the most prominent Jewish communities in the region. It was closely associated with the legacy of Rabbeinu Moshe ben Maimon, the Rambam, whose halachic influence shaped Jewish life across the world, and whose teachings were deeply embedded in the traditions followed by the community. The Aleppo Codex – regarded by the Rambam and others as the most authentic written text of the Tanach –  was long preserved there, and stood as a symbol of textual precision and communal responsibility.

Damascus, one of the oldest continuously inhabited cities in the world, was similarly home to a longstanding and respected Jewish presence. Among its most distinguished figures was Rabbi Chaim Vital, the primary disciple of the Arizal, whose teachings in Kabbalah became foundational in the development of Jewish thought. His connection to Damascus reinforced the city’s place not only as a center of daily life, but as a link in the transmission of a deep spiritual tradition.

By the middle of the 20^th century, these communities, though their numbers reduced, remained structured and intact. Families lived in close proximity, traditions were maintained with consistency, and communal institutions continued to function with continuity.

An Atmosphere of Suspicion

The turning point came in 1948.

Following the establishment of the State of Israel, the status of Jews across the Arab world shifted, and Syria was no exception. Restrictions were introduced that affected movement, property, and participation in broader society. Jewish-owned assets were subject to oversight. Travel became limited. Economic opportunities narrowed. These measures were not isolated; they formed part of a broader recalibration of how Jews were positioned within the state.

After the Six Day War in 1967, these conditions intensified. Suspicion toward the Jewish community deepened, and restrictions that had once been administrative evolved into systemic persecution. By the time Hafez al-Assad came to power in 1970, these measures were no longer temporary responses to regional conflict. They had become embedded policy within a centralized and controlled system of governance.

Assad’s Syria functioned through strong state authority and a far-reaching intelligence network. For the Jewish community, this created a reality in which daily life could continue, but always within defined and understood limits. Synagogues remained open, religious observance continued, families maintained tradition and routine – but within a tense atmosphere of suspicion and hostility.

By the 1970s and 1980s, the Jewish population had become increasingly concentrated in Damascus, with a smaller and declining presence in Aleppo. Jewish neighborhoods in Damascus functioned with internal cohesion. Families lived near one another. Stores, schools, and synagogues operated within a relatively contained environment.

In the home, life maintained continuity. Shabbat preparations began well before sunset on Friday afternoon, with the kitchen becoming the center of activity. Kibbeh was shaped carefully by hand, filled and sealed with practiced precision. Lahma b’gine was layered and set to cook slowly. Hamud simmered, its flavor familiar and expected. These were not occasional dishes. They were constants, repeated week after week, unchanged across time.

A child moved through the room, asking a question, receiving an answer. Another set the table. The home moved with quiet coordination, each action part of a sequence that required no instruction.

Life functioned normally – but with palpable tension in the air.

Life Under Surveillance

When the phone rang, there was a pause before it was answered – not out of immediate fear, but out of awareness. Conversations were not assumed to be private. Even routine exchanges could be overheard, repeated, or interpreted beyond their intent.

The Mukhabarat, Syria’s intelligence service, maintained oversight of the Jewish community. Individuals were known. Movement was tracked. Contact with outsiders was monitored. This presence did not need to be visible at all times. It was understood.

So people adjusted accordingly. They did not assume privacy. They operated within an awareness of boundaries.

When someone finally picked up the phone, the voice on the other end remained measured. Responses were controlled and brief. Certain topics were avoided, and certain details were not shared.

Children learned this without being told. They observed tone. They recognized when a sentence ended too early. They understood when a subject shifted without explanation. Eventually, this awareness became instinctive. Surveillance was part of daily life.

Education in Syria was available, though within certain limits. Advancement in certain fields required approvals that were not easily obtained. Professional paths were shaped by what the system allowed.

Economic activity, too, was subjected to a controlled framework. Business decisions required caution. Movement tied to commerce required awareness.

Religious life continued, as well, but with distinction between private and public space. In the synagogue, practice was maintained, and religious identity could be fully expressed inside the home, but outside, discretion was needed. Visible signs of religious identity were not always worn openly. Behavior was adjusted based on surroundings. What was natural within the community was not always expressed beyond it.

This was not framed as a contradiction, or as hypocrisy. It was understood as an unfortunate necessity.

If conflict arose, there was no expectation that it would be resolved through an impartial system. Legal structures did not operate independently of the broader political framework. And so the Jews needed to carefully consider at all times where they went and what they said. People learned these boundaries without formal instruction, through observation – a conversation that ended too soon, a subject that was not continued, a presence that changed after a visit. Sometimes this understanding came through partial accounts of individuals who had been questioned, detained, or prevented from moving forward. The details were not always shared. But the pattern was clear.

There was family. There was routine. There was continuity. But these elements existed within strict boundaries that were consistently enforced and widely understood.

Trapped Inside the Borders

Beyond Syria’s borders lay another reality. To the south was Israel, to the west, Lebanon, and to the north, Turkey. Each border represented proximity without access. For most Syrian Jews, these were not routes – they were inviolable boundaries. The idea of leaving existed in theory, but not in practice. Geography suggested possibility, but policy defined reality. Over time, the awareness of how close those borders were, and how inaccessible they remained, became part of the quiet understanding that shaped daily life.

Movement beyond Syria was the most tightly controlled element of life. Travel required official authorization which was rarely granted. Requests for travel documents went unanswered, applications were submitted and remained pending indefinitely, and meetings with officials resulted in delays without resolution. And when authorization was given, it often came with conditions designed to ensure return, such as a requirement to leave close family members behind. This made departure more than a personal decision – it became a calculation that involved others: parents, siblings, children.

Border crossings were monitored, and all movement near exit points drew attention.

Attempts to leave without permission carried serious consequences. Individuals who attempted to bypass restrictions could be detained. In some cases, the repercussions were more severe. The details of these repercussions were not openly discussed, because they did not need to be. The outcomes were understood.

In April 1992, the policy shifted – the Syrian government announced that Jews would be permitted to travel abroad. Many chose to leave.

In the next installment, this series turns outward – from life within Syria to the paths beyond it, through the account of Mr. Harun Shamosh Imir, whose efforts helped facilitate the departure of more than 3,000 Syrian Jews through Turkey, navigating a system where movement was controlled, borders were closed, and leaving required careful coordination, hard-to-obtain access, and the ability to move through routes that led far off the beaten track.Linda Sadacka is a writer, political strategist, and influential community voice focused on Jewish affairs and public policy.

Pnina Souid

All of the Mitzvah Man volunteers are committed to doing hesed. One volunteer in particular is especially  involved with helping needy families. Often, she will send the Mitzvah Man a text when she thinks he can be of help. Working together, they have helped many needy families.

Sarah’s Laundry Woes

Recently, this volunteer texted about  a needy woman, we’ll call Sarah, in desperate need of a dryer. With three active children at home there was a lot of laundry! Sarah usually walked with all three kids in tow to the laundromat three times a week. This was, of course, both exhausting and time consuming. It became especially difficult in the winter, when the weather was literally  freezing.

Sarah was told that she could get a small dryer for her apartment that the landlord would approve of. However, she could not afford this. She turned her troubles to Hashem, and began to pray that He would help her to get a small dryer. She was told specifically about an appliance called a gas top load dryer. [This is a high-efficiency clothes dryer that uses natural gas or propane to generate heat for drying, typically paired with a top load washer. Together they could fit into her apartment.] Might the Mitzvah Man Organization be able to please provide one for Sarah?

The Mitzvah Man had never heard of such an appliance, and did not know where to find one. He apologized to the volunteer, saying that this was beyond his expertise. Still, his heart went out to Sarah. He did want to help her, but had no idea where to look, and he was busy, as always, with other cases as well..

Twenty-four hours after receiving the text from the volunteer, he received the following email:

To the Rescue!

Hi Michael, I own an appliance store on Coney Island Avenue and am going out of business. There is only one item that I can’t seem to get rid of. It is a gas top load dryer. Do you know anyone who can use it? We will install it for them.

What an amazing example of hashgacha pratit! This man was offering exactly what Sarah needed!  The Mitzvah Man immediately texted the volunteer to tell her about the email and that the gas top load dryer would be delivered and installed free of charge..

Later that evening the Mitzvah Man stopped at a store to buy nuts. While waiting online, he received a text from the volunteer.

Woman already received the gas top load dryer. After it was installed, she dried her first load of laundry and she is crying tears of gratefulness and happiness. She is so thankful for all the help and for Hashem answering her prayers.

The Mitzvah Man felt happy and grateful, too! He felt his heart overflowing with excitement and wanted to share the beautiful story. When he got to the counter, he told the story to the woman who rang up his peanuts, and he showed her the text.

He explained that the organization he runs helped this woman get a top load gas dryer for her small apartment. She is emotional from happiness.

The woman at the counter asked what the name was of the organization.  He told her that she probably had never heard of it. When pressed, he answered that  it is the Mitzvah Man Organization. Her eyes opened wide. She responded, “You made my daughter’s wedding two years ago!”

The Mitzvah Man looked up to the Heavens with a word of thanks. How wonderous it was that Hashem  connected the volunteer with Sarah, connected Sarah with the Mitzvah Man, connected the appliance man with the Mitzvah Man, and then connected him with the woman whose daughter’s wedding the Mitzvah Man Organization helped to make two years ago. The Mitzvah Man thought, “What a beautiful display of Divine Providence!”