Arab-Israeli Conflict

I surf between CNN, Fox, and the Jerusalem Post scanning photos of our soldiers: rough beards, weary postures. Some raise their fingers in a "V" while supporting wounded comrades. I squint, searching for Akiva's face among them...

I wanted my father to cocoon me, like he did when I was ten years old. Isn’t that what fathers are supposed to do? Shield their little girls and keep them away from fear?

With each long stretch of uninhabited, barren land we passed, interrupted only by an occasional primitive Bedouin village or a lone, wandering donkey or sheep, I was feeling that in every sense of the phrase, I had gone too far...

This young woman, with her dark, black shiny hair, had a spirit and effervescence I could only admire. I thought to myself: she has no idea of the pain I am living with, the weight of what I carry...

Just as the sun had sighed its last rays, the king and his guards sighted a small bright cottage, whose light bravely defied the dusk of an already darkened valley...

Editor's note: In light of the recent tragedy which struck the Chabad-Lubavitch community, we find the following account, penned more than fifty years ago, particularly poignant--and most relevant

I will never forget that night, five years ago, when my husband and I almost died. It was an event of pure terror coupled with the deepest faith in G-d. Even now, so many years later, tears come to my eyes when I speak about it.

I don't know how I will put aside my pain for the coming Shabbat. The pain is too raw, too overwhelming, yet in a strange way, I need it. I want it. It is my connection with my dead son...

At the conclusion of the voyage, the doctor asked the rebbe to forgive him for having been the cause of his illness. “You, the cause of my illness?” asked the rebbe in amazement.

A brief overview of the relationship of Ariel Sharon with the Rebbe