Chris Korn 🎗 🇮🇱🇧🇷🇮🇱

Sometimes something good happens, and our first thought is: “How long before something goes wrong?” After enough disappointments, even happiness can feel unfamiliar. We hesitate before celebrating. We soften good news with a warning. We begin preparing for the loss before we have allowed ourselves to enjoy the gift. Kohelet offers a few words worth sitting with: “On a day of good fortune, enjoy.” — Kohelet 7:14 The same verse acknowledges adversity and the limits of what we can know about the future. Its invitation to enjoy goodness belongs within that uncertainty. I find something deeply comforting in that. We can receive a happy moment without demanding that it guarantee a happy tomorrow. A meal with someone we love. An opportunity after months of trying. A conversation that leaves us smiling long after it ends. Let the good news finish arriving before you begin imagining its departure. Say the blessing. Make the call. Tell someone you are happy. Give this moment your attention while it is here. There will always be things we cannot foresee. Today’s gratitude can still be sincere, even with tomorrow unanswered. May HaShem grant us good days—and help us recognize them while we are living them. Shavua Tov. שבוע טוב ✡️

On the day Menachem Begin passed away, the nation was stunned to discover that, contrary to all expectations, he had requested to be buried on the Mount of Olives, beside the graves of two Jewish underground fighters who had faced the British gallows: Meir Feinstein and Moshe Barazani. To understand Begin’s final wish, we must travel back 79 years, to the night of the 2nd of Iyar, 5707, in 1947. It was late at night in the death row cell of Jerusalem’s Russian Compound prison. Two young men, barely twenty years old, sat inside. One was Meir Feinstein, an Ashkenazi Jew from Jerusalem. The other was Moshe Barazani, a Jew of Iraqi descent from Baghdad. Both had been sentenced to death by the British. The following morning, they were supposed to be led to the gallows. But they had other plans. They had concealed a hand grenade inside an orange. Their plan was simple: when the guards arrived the next morning to take them to their execution, they would detonate the grenade, taking their executioners with them. They had decided that if they were going to die, they would not be led like sheep to the slaughter. They would die as fighters. In the spirit of Samson’s final words: “Let me die with the Philistines.” But the day before their scheduled execution, they learned that Rabbi Yaakov Goldman intended to come the following morning to pray with them and accompany them on their final journey. They realized their plan could put the rabbi’s life in danger. So they asked him to come earlier, that very night. They handed him a Bible containing their final messages to their families and asked him to leave the cell and pray in the corridor. He stepped outside. And they began singing: “Adon Olam, Who reigned before any creature was created…” Barazani held the grenade in his left hand. Feinstein pressed himself against him. Chest to chest. The grenade rested between their hearts. And there, locked in each other’s embrace, they detonated it before the hangman could reach them. The explosion shook the entire building. When the British guards burst into the cell, they found two bodies still joined together. They could not separate them. Their embrace had been too strong. Menachem Begin carried this story in his heart for the rest of his life. And in 1981, when television entertainer Dudu Topaz mocked the nationalist camp and insulted Jews of Middle Eastern descent, calling them “chachchachim” and lowly gate guards, Begin responded with a speech that would become engraved in Israel’s national memory: “Our Jews of Middle Eastern descent were heroic fighters! Feinstein was of European origin, an Ashkenazi. Moshe Barazani was a Sephardi Jew from Iraq. On the night before their execution, when the rabbi insisted on accompanying them to the gallows, they refused to endanger him. They held a hand grenade between their hearts. And pressed! Ashkenazi? Iraqi? JEWS! BROTHERS! FIGHTERS!” This was not merely a political speech. It was a cry from the depths of his soul. And when Begin passed away eleven years later, his final wishes included these words: “My dear Yehiel, when the day comes, I ask to be buried on the Mount of Olives, beside Meir Feinstein and Moshe Barazani.” Not among the nation’s greatest leaders. Not in the section reserved for Israel’s founding fathers and national heroes. But beside two young men, barely twenty years old. Why? Because in Begin’s eyes, they represented the very essence of Jewish unity. An Ashkenazi Jew and an Iraqi Jew who fought together for the freedom of Israel. And when their final moment arrived, they embraced each other so tightly that even death could not separate them. Today, 79 years after that night, how many Israelis know who Meir Feinstein was? How many have heard of Moshe Barazani? How many have visited their graves on the Mount of Olives? It is our responsibility, our duty, to ensure that the next generation knows who Feinstein and Barazani were. To ensure they understand why Menachem Begin insisted on being buried beside them. Because when we forget Feinstein and Barazani, we also forget what we are supposed to be. Jews. Brothers. Fighters. The Ashkenazi and the Iraqi. Feinstein and Barazani. Together. May their memories be a blessing, forever cherished in our hearts. 🕯️ Amichai Eliyahu

They were in prison. Sadness hardly needed an explanation. Yet when Yosef saw Pharaoh’s two officials one morning, he asked: “Why are your faces sad today?” — Bereshit 40:7 That question stays with me. Yosef had his own suffering to carry. His freedom was gone, his family far away, his future uncertain. Still, he noticed their faces and made room for an answer. It is easy to grow accustomed to someone’s hardship. We know they are grieving, struggling, or living through a difficult season. Eventually, we stop asking. Their sadness becomes something we expect. But a familiar struggle can hold a new sorrow. Today may be harder than yesterday. Something may have happened that they have told no one. Yosef’s question reminds me how much there is to learn about someone we see every day. Think of the person who has become quieter lately. The friend whose messages have grown shorter. The family member we keep meaning to call. We can ask gently, without demanding an explanation. We can give them time to answer, and listen without preparing a speech. “You’ve been on my mind. How are you today?” May HaShem help us remain attentive to one another, even while carrying burdens of our own. Someone we love may have much more to say than “I’m fine.” Let us leave room to hear it. ✡️

The struggle - against the apathy and doubletalk of governments - to get the @Sbarro bomber extradited out of Jordan where she is disgustingly safeguarded and into a Washington court-house to face 2013 terrorism charges, depends on getting the support of media, politicians, communal leaders, ordinary people. And let’s be clear: Being passive or silent means you stand with the savage.

Trump didn’t lose because he went to war. He lost because he didn’t finish it. America isn’t 'debating' its way off a cliff, it’s electing the people who want to push it. New Yorkers sent Aber Kawas to the State Senate — the same woman filmed years ago waving a Hamas headband at a rally while speakers chanted for intifada. In Michigan, voters are flirting with Abdul El-Sayed, a candidate who still refuses to clearly condemn the Muslim Brotherhood and whose father-in-law (Tayeb Jukaku) has long sat on the boards of groups federal prosecutors once named as unindicted co-conspirators in a major Hamas financing case. And in New York City, Mayor Zohran Mamdani’s wife, Rama Duwaji, liked Instagram posts that openly celebrated the October 7 massacre. This isn’t 'diversity'. It’s the electorate enthusiastically installing people whose public record includes open sympathy for the groups that just murdered, raped, and kidnapped American allies and American citizens. The precipice isn’t coming. It’s already on the ballot.