Here is an old classic email story that I keep getting.
After just a few years of marriage, filled with constant arguments, a young man and his wife decided the only way to save their marriage was to try counseling. They had been at each other's throat for some time and felt that this was their last straw. When they arrived at the counselor's office, the counselor jumped right in and opened the floor for discussion.
"What seems to be the problem?" Immediately, the husband held his long face down without anything to say. On the other hand, the wife began talking 90 miles an hour describing all the wrongs within their marriage.
After 5 - - 10 - - 15 minutes of listening to the wife, the counselor went over to her, picked her up by her shoulders, kissed her passionately for several minutes, and sat her back down. Afterwards, the wife sat there speechless.
He looked over at the husband who was staring in disbelief at what had happened. The counselor spoke to the husband, "Your wife NEEDS that at least twice a week!"
The husband scratched his head and replied, "I can have her here on Tuesdays and Thursdays."
Thursday, September 22, 2005
Wednesday, September 21, 2005
Who is the Boss in a marriage?
Another way the question is phrased and asked is, "who wears the pants?
Once upon a time, (and mostly still today,) men and/or women wore the pants. The "marriage" continued so until "death do us part".
There seems to be a significant "trend" today where if there is not a true partnership and one issues an ultimatum, the other just walks. Therefore the upward rate of divorce and the upward rate of single hood.
Man and women are not willing to be in a dictatorship relationship of marriage.
So, what is the Jewish way of marriage?
Contrary to what many who were "educated" either by the "system", parents and/or friends, Jewish marriage is a continuation of whatever was before marriage.
Before marriage, there are the Mitzvohs of loving your fellow Jew, no hating, no slandering, no loshen hora, no berating, etc. etc. . Nowhere is it mentioned that once one does the Mitzvah of marriage that all the other Mitzvahs between fellow Jews are dismissed. If anything, that is when it is most applicable. That is when it is truly is tested. That is when one sees what they are made of.
The fact that the commercial world has manifested the "ME" society has not helped either.
What is the answer?
True Torah education and/or knowledge, communication, and a "WE" society, most probably would be a good beginning.
Hashem yaazor
Tuesday, September 20, 2005
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
The Scar
The Scar By Joanna Slan
His thumb softly rubbed the twisted flesh on my cheek. The plastic surgeon, a good fifteen years my senior, was a very attractive man. His masculinity and the intensity of his gaze seemed almost overpowering.
"Hmmm," he said quietly. "Are you a model?"
Is this a joke? Is he kidding? I asked myself, and I searched his handsome face for signs of mockery. No way would anyone ever confuse me with a fashion model. I was ugly. My mother casually referred to my sister as her pretty child. Anyone could see I was homely. After all, I had the scar to prove it.
The accident happened in fourth grade, when a neighbor boy picked up a hunk of concrete and heaved the mass through the side of my face. An emergency room doctor stitched together the shreds of skin, pulling cat-gut through the tattered outside of my face and then suturing the shards of flesh inside my mouth. For the rest of the year, a huge bandage from cheekbone to jaw covered the raised angry welt.
A few weeks after the accident, an eye exam revealed I was nearsighted. Above the ungainly bandage sat a big, thick pair of glasses. Around my head, a short fuzzy glob of curls stood out like mold growing on old bread. To save money, Mom had taken me to a beauty school where a student cut my hair. The overzealous girl hacked away cheerfully. Globs of hair piled up on the floor. By the time her instructor wandered over, the damage was done. A quick conference followed, and we were given a coupon for a free styling on our next visit.
"Well," sighed my father that evening, "you'll always be pretty to me," and he hesitated, "even if you aren't to the rest of the world."
Right. Thanks. As if I couldn't hear the taunts of the other kids at school. As if I couldn't see how different I looked from the little girls whom the teachers fawned over. As if I didn't occasionally catch a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror. In a culture that values beauty, an ugly girl is an outcast. My looks caused me no end of pain. I sat in my room and sobbed every time my family watched a beauty pageant or a "talent" search show.
Eventually I decided that if I couldn't be pretty, I would at least be well-groomed. Over the course of years, I learned to style my hair, wear contact lenses and apply make-up. Watching what worked for other women, I learned to dress myself to best advantage. And now, I was engaged to be married. The scar, shrunken and faded with age, stood between me and a new life.
"Of course, I'm not a model," I replied with a small amount of indignation.
The plastic surgeon crossed his arms over his chest and looked at me appraisingly. "Then why are you concerned about this scar? If there is no professional reason to have it removed, what brought you here today?"
Suddenly he represented all the men I'd ever known. The eight boys who turned me down when I invited them to the girls-ask-boys dance. The sporadic dates I'd had in college. The parade of men who had ignored me since then. The man whose ring I wore on my left hand. My hand rose to my face. The scar confirmed it; I was ugly. The room swam before me as my eyes filled with tears.
The doctor pulled a rolling stool up next to me and sat down. His knees almost touched mine. His voice was low and soft.
"Let me tell you what I see. I see a beautiful woman. Not a perfect woman, but a beautiful woman. Lauren Hutton has a gap between her front teeth. Elizabeth Taylor has a tiny, tiny scar on her forehead," he almost whispered. Then he paused and handed me a mirror. "I think to myself how every remarkable woman has an imperfection, and I believe that imperfection makes her beauty more remarkable because it assures us she is human."
He pushed back the stool and stood up. "I won't touch it. Don't let anyone fool with your face. You are delightful just the way you are. Beauty really does come from within a woman. Believe me. It is my business to know."
Then he left.
I turned to the face in the mirror. He was right. Somehow over the years, that ugly child had become a beautiful woman. Since that day in his office, as a woman who makes her living speaking before hundreds of people, I have been told many times by people of both sexes that I am beautiful. And, I know I am.
When I changed how I saw myself, others were forced to change how they saw me. The doctor didn't remove the scar on my face; he removed the scar on my heart.
Reprinted by permission of Joanna Slan (c) 1998 from A Second Chicken Soup for the Woman's Soul by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen, Jennifer Read Hawthorne and Marci Shimoff. In order to protect the rights of the copyright holder, no portion of this publication may be reproduced without prior written consent. All rights reserved.
I have read many heart warming stories and every once in a while there is one that comes along that is a "gem" .
This doctor was a gem of a human being. I wish I could meet him one day.
This is a story of which both men and women can benefit.
Hashem bless us all with true wisdom
My hope is
His thumb softly rubbed the twisted flesh on my cheek. The plastic surgeon, a good fifteen years my senior, was a very attractive man. His masculinity and the intensity of his gaze seemed almost overpowering.
"Hmmm," he said quietly. "Are you a model?"
Is this a joke? Is he kidding? I asked myself, and I searched his handsome face for signs of mockery. No way would anyone ever confuse me with a fashion model. I was ugly. My mother casually referred to my sister as her pretty child. Anyone could see I was homely. After all, I had the scar to prove it.
The accident happened in fourth grade, when a neighbor boy picked up a hunk of concrete and heaved the mass through the side of my face. An emergency room doctor stitched together the shreds of skin, pulling cat-gut through the tattered outside of my face and then suturing the shards of flesh inside my mouth. For the rest of the year, a huge bandage from cheekbone to jaw covered the raised angry welt.
A few weeks after the accident, an eye exam revealed I was nearsighted. Above the ungainly bandage sat a big, thick pair of glasses. Around my head, a short fuzzy glob of curls stood out like mold growing on old bread. To save money, Mom had taken me to a beauty school where a student cut my hair. The overzealous girl hacked away cheerfully. Globs of hair piled up on the floor. By the time her instructor wandered over, the damage was done. A quick conference followed, and we were given a coupon for a free styling on our next visit.
"Well," sighed my father that evening, "you'll always be pretty to me," and he hesitated, "even if you aren't to the rest of the world."
Right. Thanks. As if I couldn't hear the taunts of the other kids at school. As if I couldn't see how different I looked from the little girls whom the teachers fawned over. As if I didn't occasionally catch a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror. In a culture that values beauty, an ugly girl is an outcast. My looks caused me no end of pain. I sat in my room and sobbed every time my family watched a beauty pageant or a "talent" search show.
Eventually I decided that if I couldn't be pretty, I would at least be well-groomed. Over the course of years, I learned to style my hair, wear contact lenses and apply make-up. Watching what worked for other women, I learned to dress myself to best advantage. And now, I was engaged to be married. The scar, shrunken and faded with age, stood between me and a new life.
"Of course, I'm not a model," I replied with a small amount of indignation.
The plastic surgeon crossed his arms over his chest and looked at me appraisingly. "Then why are you concerned about this scar? If there is no professional reason to have it removed, what brought you here today?"
Suddenly he represented all the men I'd ever known. The eight boys who turned me down when I invited them to the girls-ask-boys dance. The sporadic dates I'd had in college. The parade of men who had ignored me since then. The man whose ring I wore on my left hand. My hand rose to my face. The scar confirmed it; I was ugly. The room swam before me as my eyes filled with tears.
The doctor pulled a rolling stool up next to me and sat down. His knees almost touched mine. His voice was low and soft.
"Let me tell you what I see. I see a beautiful woman. Not a perfect woman, but a beautiful woman. Lauren Hutton has a gap between her front teeth. Elizabeth Taylor has a tiny, tiny scar on her forehead," he almost whispered. Then he paused and handed me a mirror. "I think to myself how every remarkable woman has an imperfection, and I believe that imperfection makes her beauty more remarkable because it assures us she is human."
He pushed back the stool and stood up. "I won't touch it. Don't let anyone fool with your face. You are delightful just the way you are. Beauty really does come from within a woman. Believe me. It is my business to know."
Then he left.
I turned to the face in the mirror. He was right. Somehow over the years, that ugly child had become a beautiful woman. Since that day in his office, as a woman who makes her living speaking before hundreds of people, I have been told many times by people of both sexes that I am beautiful. And, I know I am.
When I changed how I saw myself, others were forced to change how they saw me. The doctor didn't remove the scar on my face; he removed the scar on my heart.
Reprinted by permission of Joanna Slan (c) 1998 from A Second Chicken Soup for the Woman's Soul by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen, Jennifer Read Hawthorne and Marci Shimoff. In order to protect the rights of the copyright holder, no portion of this publication may be reproduced without prior written consent. All rights reserved.
I have read many heart warming stories and every once in a while there is one that comes along that is a "gem" .
This doctor was a gem of a human being. I wish I could meet him one day.
This is a story of which both men and women can benefit.
Hashem bless us all with true wisdom
My hope is
Monday, September 12, 2005
Don't marry a religious soldier?
The Internet site of the Arutz Sheva right-wing radio station announced a new trend Monday: Religious soldiers who participated in the evacuation are considered to have impaired their chances for a good match. A number of young women and their mothers said they would not consider marrying someone who had taken part in the operation.
Wow. I have not yet recovered from the whole situation there, but this really put a "new" twist to the tough already dating scene.
Hashem yaazor
Wow. I have not yet recovered from the whole situation there, but this really put a "new" twist to the tough already dating scene.
Hashem yaazor
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
Friday, September 02, 2005
One Flaw In Women
Got this email. I love this creativity out there.
By the time the Lord made woman, He was into his sixth day of working overtime. An angel appeared and said, "Why are you spending so much time on this one?" And the Lord answered, "Have you seen my spec sheet on her? She has to be completely washable, but not plastic, have over 200 movable parts, all replaceable and able to run on diet coke and leftovers, have a lap that can hold four children at one time, have a kiss that can cure anything from a scraped knee to a broken heart -and she will do everything with only two hands."
The angel was astounded at the requirements. "Only two hands!? No way! And that's just on the standard model? That's too much work for one day. Wait until tomorrow to finish."
"But I won't," the Lord protested. "I am so close to finishing this creation that is so close to my own heart. She already heals herself when she is sick AND can work 18 hour days."
The angel moved closer and touched the woman. "But you have made her so soft, Lord."
"She is soft," the Lord agreed, "but I have also made her tough. You have no idea what she can endure or accomplish."
"Will she be able to think?", asked the angel.
The Lord replied, "Not only will she be able to think, she will be able to reason and negotiate."
The angel then noticed something, and reaching out, touched the woman's cheek. "Oops, it looks like you have a leak in this model. I told you that you were trying to put too much into this one."
"That's not a leak," the Lord corrected, "that's a tear!" "What's the tear for?" the angel asked.
The Lord said, "The tear is her way of expressing her joy, her sorrow, her pain, her disappointment, her love, her loneliness, her grief and her pride." The angel was impressed. "You are a genius, Lord. You thought of everything! Woman is truly amazing."
And she is! Women have strengths that amaze men. They bear hardships and they carry burdens, but they hold happiness, love and joy. They smile when they want to scream. They sing when they want to cry.
They cry when they are happy and laugh when they are nervous. They fight for what they believe in. They stand up to injustice. They don't take "no" for an answer when they believe there is a better solution. They go without so their family can have.
They go to the doctor with a frightened friend. They love unconditionally.
They cry when their children excel and cheer when their friends get awards. They are happy when they hear about a birth or a wedding. Their hearts break when a friend dies. They grieve at the loss of a family member, yet they are strong when they think there is no strength left. They know that a hug and a kiss can heal a broken heart. Women come in all shapes, sizes and colors. They'll drive, fly, walk, run or e-mail you to show how much they care about you. The heart of a woman is what makes the world keep turning. They bring joy, hope and love. They have compassion and ideals. They give moral support to their family and friends. Women have vital things to say and everything to give.
HOWEVER, IF THERE IS ONE FLAW IN WOMEN, IT IS THAT THEY FORGET THEIR WORTH.
By the time the Lord made woman, He was into his sixth day of working overtime. An angel appeared and said, "Why are you spending so much time on this one?" And the Lord answered, "Have you seen my spec sheet on her? She has to be completely washable, but not plastic, have over 200 movable parts, all replaceable and able to run on diet coke and leftovers, have a lap that can hold four children at one time, have a kiss that can cure anything from a scraped knee to a broken heart -and she will do everything with only two hands."
The angel was astounded at the requirements. "Only two hands!? No way! And that's just on the standard model? That's too much work for one day. Wait until tomorrow to finish."
"But I won't," the Lord protested. "I am so close to finishing this creation that is so close to my own heart. She already heals herself when she is sick AND can work 18 hour days."
The angel moved closer and touched the woman. "But you have made her so soft, Lord."
"She is soft," the Lord agreed, "but I have also made her tough. You have no idea what she can endure or accomplish."
"Will she be able to think?", asked the angel.
The Lord replied, "Not only will she be able to think, she will be able to reason and negotiate."
The angel then noticed something, and reaching out, touched the woman's cheek. "Oops, it looks like you have a leak in this model. I told you that you were trying to put too much into this one."
"That's not a leak," the Lord corrected, "that's a tear!" "What's the tear for?" the angel asked.
The Lord said, "The tear is her way of expressing her joy, her sorrow, her pain, her disappointment, her love, her loneliness, her grief and her pride." The angel was impressed. "You are a genius, Lord. You thought of everything! Woman is truly amazing."
And she is! Women have strengths that amaze men. They bear hardships and they carry burdens, but they hold happiness, love and joy. They smile when they want to scream. They sing when they want to cry.
They cry when they are happy and laugh when they are nervous. They fight for what they believe in. They stand up to injustice. They don't take "no" for an answer when they believe there is a better solution. They go without so their family can have.
They go to the doctor with a frightened friend. They love unconditionally.
They cry when their children excel and cheer when their friends get awards. They are happy when they hear about a birth or a wedding. Their hearts break when a friend dies. They grieve at the loss of a family member, yet they are strong when they think there is no strength left. They know that a hug and a kiss can heal a broken heart. Women come in all shapes, sizes and colors. They'll drive, fly, walk, run or e-mail you to show how much they care about you. The heart of a woman is what makes the world keep turning. They bring joy, hope and love. They have compassion and ideals. They give moral support to their family and friends. Women have vital things to say and everything to give.
HOWEVER, IF THERE IS ONE FLAW IN WOMEN, IT IS THAT THEY FORGET THEIR WORTH.
Thursday, September 01, 2005
A woman's life - from a man's perspective
Got this email and it makes one wonder what are men really thinking out there?
----------------------------------------------------
What is the difference between girls/woman aged: 8, 18, 28, 38, 48, 58, 68, and 78 ?
At 8 -- You take her to bed and tell her a story.
At 18 -- You tell her a story and take her to bed.
At 28 -- You don't need to tell her a story to take her to bed.
At 38 -- She tells you a story and takes you to bed.
At 48 -- She tells you a story to avoid going to bed.
At 58 -- You stay in bed to avoid her story.
At 68 -- If you take her to bed, that'll be a story!
At 78 -- What story??? What bed??? Who are you???
---------------------------------------------
Is this one of the reasons why marriages are failing? Is this one of the reasons divorce is up? Is this one of the reasons why fewer people one to get married?
----------------------------------------------------
What is the difference between girls/woman aged: 8, 18, 28, 38, 48, 58, 68, and 78 ?
At 8 -- You take her to bed and tell her a story.
At 18 -- You tell her a story and take her to bed.
At 28 -- You don't need to tell her a story to take her to bed.
At 38 -- She tells you a story and takes you to bed.
At 48 -- She tells you a story to avoid going to bed.
At 58 -- You stay in bed to avoid her story.
At 68 -- If you take her to bed, that'll be a story!
At 78 -- What story??? What bed??? Who are you???
---------------------------------------------
Is this one of the reasons why marriages are failing? Is this one of the reasons divorce is up? Is this one of the reasons why fewer people one to get married?
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