Stories

He dressed in worn-out clothes, packed a loaf of bread and a few books into a beggar's sack, took a walking stick in hand, and quietly left Ostroh.

After two weeks, the memoir arrived. I was in awe. It was a 70-page typed document with very intricate details, including the story of how Jacob met my father in Dachau.

Terrified that robbers might attack, the Bedouin guide slunk away from the group and hid among the rocks. From there, he watched Rabbi Yosef Chaim and his companions.

“To say we were broken would be an understatement, it felt as though the whole world was against us.”

“I’m Muslim,” he said. “I’m from Afghanistan. You’re Jewish. We help each other.”

This week, for the first time in American history, a sitting president has invited everyone into that same conversation.

In 1964, the Rebbe sent my wife’s grandfather, Rabbi Shmuel Lew, to Thule Air Base (now called Pituffik Space Base) in Greenland to provide services to the Jews stationed there over Yom Kippur. As a US Air Force chaplain myself, every now and then, prompt...

In the days leading up to the game, I felt backed into a corner, forced to choose between keeping Shabbat and being there for my team during the first away game of the season.

The tefillin he once put on in hiding, he now checked and treasured for a new generation of committed young men.

The tour moved on but I trailed behind the group, dwelling on the way the guide hadn’t realized that Jewish people are not museum exhibits.