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History does not whisper in our lifetime — it thunders. Nations are tested, alliances are strained, and the moral weight of leadership settles on those called to stand in the storm. In such moments, diplomacy is no longer ceremony. It is strategy. It is conviction. It is the voice of a nation carried across oceans. Today, we are honored to sit at one of the most consequential crossroads of our era with Michael 'Yechiel' Leiter, Israel's Ambassador to the United States. His appointment in January 2025 is not the result of a single moment, but the culmination of a life shaped by intellect, policy, and public service. He has served in senior advisory roles to Israel's leadership, including as chief of staff to Benjamin Netanyahu during his tenure as finance minister, and in key positions across government ministries and national institutions — from national education policy to strategic infrastructure oversight. In every arena, his work has required one essential quality: the ability to translate vision into reality. Yet Ambassador Leiter is not only a practitioner of statecraft — he is a scholar of it. Holding a Ph.D. in political philosophy from the University of Haifa, with advanced training in international relations and law, he has written and lectured extensively on democracy, governance, and the moral foundations of power. His book, John Locke's Political Philosophy and the Hebrew Bible, argues that modern democratic ideals are not merely products of secular Enlightenment thought, but are deeply rooted in biblical covenantal ideas — that authority is conditional, morally bound, and entrusted rather than absolute. Few diplomats arrive with both the academic depth to interpret history and the practical experience to help shape it. Born in Scranton, Pennsylvania, and forged in Israel's public life, Ambassador Leiter stands as a bridge between worlds — scholarship and strategy, conviction and diplomacy, heritage and unfolding history. His earlier advocacy work on behalf of the Jewish community of Hebron positioned him as a key voice explaining one of Judaism's oldest cities — home to the Tomb of the Patriarchs — to international audiences, framing its story not only through conflict, but through history, faith, and continuity. And he carries something more — something deeply personal. His firstborn son, Lt. Col. Moshe Yedidya Leiter, an elite Israeli combat officer, was killed in action in Gaza following the war that erupted after October 7. That loss is inseparable from his public voice. When he speaks about Israel's security, democracy, and moral responsibility, he does so not only as a diplomat, but as a father who has borne the cost of national defense. Michael Leiter brings together three rare callings: senior government practitioner, trained political philosopher, and diplomatic representative. His career bridges theory and policy, scholarship and statecraft, faith and democracy. This is not merely an interview. It is a conversation at the fault line of our times. Ambassador Michael Leiter — welcome to the program. ——
History does not whisper in our lifetime — it thunders. Nations are tested, alliances are strained, and the moral weight of leadership settles on those called to stand in the storm. In such moments, diplomacy is no longer ceremony. It is strategy. It is conviction. It is the voice of a nation carried across oceans. Today, we are honored to sit at one of the most consequential crossroads of our era with Michael 'Yechiel' Leiter, Israel's Ambassador to the United States. His appointment in January 2025 is not the result of a single moment, but the culmination of a life shaped by intellect, policy, and public service. He has served in senior advisory roles to Israel's leadership, including as chief of staff to Benjamin Netanyahu during his tenure as finance minister, and in key positions across government ministries and national institutions — from national education policy to strategic infrastructure oversight. In every arena, his work has required one essential quality: the ability to translate vision into reality. Yet Ambassador Leiter is not only a practitioner of statecraft — he is a scholar of it. Holding a Ph.D. in political philosophy from the University of Haifa, with advanced training in international relations and law, he has written and lectured extensively on democracy, governance, and the moral foundations of power. His book, John Locke's Political Philosophy and the Hebrew Bible, argues that modern democratic ideals are not merely products of secular Enlightenment thought, but are deeply rooted in biblical covenantal ideas — that authority is conditional, morally bound, and entrusted rather than absolute. Few diplomats arrive with both the academic depth to interpret history and the practical experience to help shape it. Born in Scranton, Pennsylvania, and forged in Israel's public life, Ambassador Leiter stands as a bridge between worlds — scholarship and strategy, conviction and diplomacy, heritage and unfolding history. His earlier advocacy work on behalf of the Jewish community of Hebron positioned him as a key voice explaining one of Judaism's oldest cities — home to the Tomb of the Patriarchs — to international audiences, framing its story not only through conflict, but through history, faith, and continuity. And he carries something more — something deeply personal. His firstborn son, Lt. Col. Moshe Yedidya Leiter, an elite Israeli combat officer, was killed in action in Gaza following the war that erupted after October 7. That loss is inseparable from his public voice. When he speaks about Israel's security, democracy, and moral responsibility, he does so not only as a diplomat, but as a father who has borne the cost of national defense. Michael Leiter brings together three rare callings: senior government practitioner, trained political philosopher, and diplomatic representative. His career bridges theory and policy, scholarship and statecraft, faith and democracy. This is not merely an interview. It is a conversation at the fault line of our times. Ambassador Michael Leiter — welcome to the program. ——
In every community, there are people who volunteer. And then there are people who quietly become part of the community's infrastructure — the ones who notice what's missing, gather others, and build what's needed. In this podcast, we'll meet one of those people: Shayna Rehberg-Paquin of Tzfat. Shayna is a mother of seven — including children with special needs — and she somehow holds the many moving pieces of family life, leadership, and volunteerism with a rare blend of strength, sensitivity, and organizational mastery. Her days are a tapestry: caring for her children, mentoring, guiding projects, responding to urgent needs, and still carrying a spirit of creativity and optimism. Whether she's leading a foraging hike, running a support circle for mothers, or helping women through moments of crisis, Shayna shows up with purpose — grounded in service. Her path to Tzfat has been as multifaceted as her work. She's lived in four countries, visited fifteen, and moved twenty-eight times — and for the past eleven years, she's been proud to call Tzfat home. Professionally, she began in real estate, then shifted into nonprofit leadership — working with the Jewish Federation and Livnot U'Lehibanot, later becoming a grant writer and development strategist who helped secure support for organizations like the Safed English Library and the HUB, now Klika. She co-founded Sparks to Life, served as Project Director in Tzfat's Immigration Absorption Department, and has hosted Nefesh B'Nefesh pilot-trip participants since 2010. And in a city with deep history and spiritual resonance — one of Judaism's four holy cities, and today the poorest Jewish city in Israel — Shayna is helping shape a stronger future: from a five-year strategic aliyah plan, to transforming bomb shelters into therapeutic spaces for children, to founding a clothing gemach that restores dignity to families in need. Some people build programs. Others build communities. Shayna is doing both — with vision, compassion, and an uncommon capacity for action. This is a conversation about leadership that isn't about titles — it's about responsibility, love, and what it means to keep building, even when life is full. Welcome to the show. ——
In every community, there are people who volunteer. And then there are people who quietly become part of the community's infrastructure — the ones who notice what's missing, gather others, and build what's needed. In this podcast, we'll meet one of those people: Shayna Rehberg-Paquin of Tzfat. Shayna is a mother of seven — including children with special needs — and she somehow holds the many moving pieces of family life, leadership, and volunteerism with a rare blend of strength, sensitivity, and organizational mastery. Her days are a tapestry: caring for her children, mentoring, guiding projects, responding to urgent needs, and still carrying a spirit of creativity and optimism. Whether she's leading a foraging hike, running a support circle for mothers, or helping women through moments of crisis, Shayna shows up with purpose — grounded in service. Her path to Tzfat has been as multifaceted as her work. She's lived in four countries, visited fifteen, and moved twenty-eight times — and for the past eleven years, she's been proud to call Tzfat home. Professionally, she began in real estate, then shifted into nonprofit leadership — working with the Jewish Federation and Livnot U'Lehibanot, later becoming a grant writer and development strategist who helped secure support for organizations like the Safed English Library and the HUB, now Klika. She co-founded Sparks to Life, served as Project Director in Tzfat's Immigration Absorption Department, and has hosted Nefesh B'Nefesh pilot-trip participants since 2010. And in a city with deep history and spiritual resonance — one of Judaism's four holy cities, and today the poorest Jewish city in Israel — Shayna is helping shape a stronger future: from a five-year strategic aliyah plan, to transforming bomb shelters into therapeutic spaces for children, to founding a clothing gemach that restores dignity to families in need. Some people build programs. Others build communities. Shayna is doing both — with vision, compassion, and an uncommon capacity for action. This is a conversation about leadership that isn't about titles — it's about responsibility, love, and what it means to keep building, even when life is full. Welcome to the show. ——
Welcome to the show. Some performances don't just tell a story — they open a doorway into a world. A glance, a pause, a quiet exchange can carry generations of memory, longing, humor, and faith. Today we step into that world with Sarel Piterman — an actor born in Haifa whose work reveals the poetry hidden inside ordinary moments, known to audiences around the globe for his portrayal of Zvi Aryeh Shtisel in the acclaimed series Shtisel. That series invited viewers into an intimate universe where family bonds, tradition, and personal struggle unfold with tenderness and depth — and Sarel's presence reflects the essence of that world: authenticity, restraint, and emotional truth. But his artistic journey stretches far beyond a single frame. Across his career, Sarel has pursued roles that demand vulnerability, discipline, and a fearless curiosity about human nature. His performances carry a quiet intensity — an understanding that the most powerful storytelling often lives in what is felt rather than spoken. In this conversation, we explore the path of an Israeli actor devoted to craft: the risks and revelations behind the scenes, the cultural textures that shape storytelling, and the enduring search for meaning through art. We talk about identity, imagination, and the responsibility of bringing complex lives to the screen and stage. This episode is an invitation — to listen closely, to feel deeply, and to witness the artistry that transforms moments into memory. I first came to appreciate Sarel through a remarkable one-man play he wrote and directed, Without An Evil Eye — an innovative comedy recounting the inspiring true-life story of Asaf Ben Shimon, whose gradual descent into blindness becomes a profound affirmation of life itself. It is thoughtful, courageous, and truly groundbreaking. Beyond Shtisel, Sarel's creative footprint spans a wide range of film and television projects — from intimate dramas and dark comedies to thrillers and socially grounded stories — each reflecting his versatility and commitment to emotionally honest storytelling. Ladies and gentlemen, it is my pleasure to bring you Sarel Piterman. ——
Welcome to the show. Some performances don't just tell a story — they open a doorway into a world. A glance, a pause, a quiet exchange can carry generations of memory, longing, humor, and faith. Today we step into that world with Sarel Piterman — an actor born in Haifa whose work reveals the poetry hidden inside ordinary moments, known to audiences around the globe for his portrayal of Zvi Aryeh Shtisel in the acclaimed series Shtisel. That series invited viewers into an intimate universe where family bonds, tradition, and personal struggle unfold with tenderness and depth — and Sarel's presence reflects the essence of that world: authenticity, restraint, and emotional truth. But his artistic journey stretches far beyond a single frame. Across his career, Sarel has pursued roles that demand vulnerability, discipline, and a fearless curiosity about human nature. His performances carry a quiet intensity — an understanding that the most powerful storytelling often lives in what is felt rather than spoken. In this conversation, we explore the path of an Israeli actor devoted to craft: the risks and revelations behind the scenes, the cultural textures that shape storytelling, and the enduring search for meaning through art. We talk about identity, imagination, and the responsibility of bringing complex lives to the screen and stage. This episode is an invitation — to listen closely, to feel deeply, and to witness the artistry that transforms moments into memory. I first came to appreciate Sarel through a remarkable one-man play he wrote and directed, Without An Evil Eye — an innovative comedy recounting the inspiring true-life story of Asaf Ben Shimon, whose gradual descent into blindness becomes a profound affirmation of life itself. It is thoughtful, courageous, and truly groundbreaking. Beyond Shtisel, Sarel's creative footprint spans a wide range of film and television projects — from intimate dramas and dark comedies to thrillers and socially grounded stories — each reflecting his versatility and commitment to emotionally honest storytelling. Ladies and gentlemen, it is my pleasure to bring you Sarel Piterman. ——
Welcome to the show. We are joined by Howard Langer — award-winning writer, attorney, and author of 'The Last Dekrepitzer', a novel that has already earned the National Jewish Book Award and marks his first work of fiction in fifty years. Howard is the founder of a leading antitrust law firm in Philadelphia, an adjunct professor at the University of Pennsylvania Law School, and a teacher whose work has taken him from Oxford to Tokyo. Yet in this conversation, we meet him foremost as a storyteller — one deeply concerned with memory, justice, and the fragile persistence of the human spirit. The Last Dekrepitzer opens in a New York subway station in 1965, where a lone fiddler braids Hasidic melodies with blues and gospel. He is the Dekrepitzer Rebbe — the final survivor of a vanished Chasidic sect destroyed in the Holocaust. From a lost Polish shtetl to the docks of Naples, from the American South to Manhattan streets alive with music and tension, his journey becomes an odyssey of survival, displacement, faith, and identity. Through encounters that cross cultures and histories, the novel asks a difficult question: how does a person live — spiritually, morally, musically — after everything has been torn away? Howard studied under literary giants Yehuda Amichai and Aharon Appelfeld, and his writing carries that lineage of moral seriousness and poetic depth. Critics have praised the novel for introducing one of the most singular figures in contemporary Jewish fiction — a character haunted by memory, sustained by music, and forever wrestling with God. Today's conversation is about faith and fracture, about music as a vessel for memory, and about what we continue to carry long after the world tells us to move on. It is a discussion of survival not as an ending, but as a lifelong reckoning — personal, communal, and spiritual. I'm glad you're here. ——
Welcome to the show. We are joined by Howard Langer — award-winning writer, attorney, and author of 'The Last Dekrepitzer', a novel that has already earned the National Jewish Book Award and marks his first work of fiction in fifty years. Howard is the founder of a leading antitrust law firm in Philadelphia, an adjunct professor at the University of Pennsylvania Law School, and a teacher whose work has taken him from Oxford to Tokyo. Yet in this conversation, we meet him foremost as a storyteller — one deeply concerned with memory, justice, and the fragile persistence of the human spirit. The Last Dekrepitzer opens in a New York subway station in 1965, where a lone fiddler braids Hasidic melodies with blues and gospel. He is the Dekrepitzer Rebbe — the final survivor of a vanished Chasidic sect destroyed in the Holocaust. From a lost Polish shtetl to the docks of Naples, from the American South to Manhattan streets alive with music and tension, his journey becomes an odyssey of survival, displacement, faith, and identity. Through encounters that cross cultures and histories, the novel asks a difficult question: how does a person live — spiritually, morally, musically — after everything has been torn away? Howard studied under literary giants Yehuda Amichai and Aharon Appelfeld, and his writing carries that lineage of moral seriousness and poetic depth. Critics have praised the novel for introducing one of the most singular figures in contemporary Jewish fiction — a character haunted by memory, sustained by music, and forever wrestling with God. Today's conversation is about faith and fracture, about music as a vessel for memory, and about what we continue to carry long after the world tells us to move on. It is a discussion of survival not as an ending, but as a lifelong reckoning — personal, communal, and spiritual. I'm glad you're here. ——
Welcome to a very special—and deeply personal—episode. Today's conversation is not about theory. It's not about abstract belief. It's about belonging, courage, and the quiet, stubborn pull of a soul toward truth. Today, we're sitting with three people who each chose Judaism—not because it was easy, fashionable, or convenient, but because it felt unavoidable. Because something inside them recognized home. Conversion is not simply a change of religion. It is a change of identity. A re-rooting of the soul. It means choosing a people, a history, a destiny—and in today's world, it often means choosing a path marked by misunderstanding, loss, and real social cost. And yet—here they are. Chris Wood's journey began not in a synagogue, but in a hair salon in Toronto. Raised without Jewish community, he encountered Judaism first through people—through Shabbat tables, family warmth, humor, ritual, and a deep sense of togetherness he had been missing his entire life. What began as cultural connection slowly became something far deeper: a spiritual awakening. A realization that Judaism was not simply something he admired—it was something his soul had been waiting for. For Chris, October 7th and the surge of antisemitism that followed did not push him away. It clarified everything. When someone he loved turned on the Jewish people—and on him—he saw, in real time, how ancient hatred still operates. Instead of retreating, he stepped forward. He chose to wear his Magen David. He chose public solidarity. Bezalel Schraeder's path emerged through trauma, caregiving, and the spiritual exhaustion that comes from witnessing suffering and death. As a nurse, Bezalel watched bodies break and souls unravel—and in that pain, meaning itself began to collapse. Christianity no longer held the answers. Torah did not come to Bezalel as an escape. It came as a rebuilding. Through deep study, honest conversations with rabbis, and unfiltered spiritual struggle, Judaism restored something essential—not only faith in God, but faith in humanity, and in himself. Judaism became a way to stand inside suffering without surrendering to it. And Shifra's journey carries the weight of history, memory, and a soul that always seemed to know where it belonged—long before her mind did. Raised in evangelical Christianity, she reached a breaking point when she could no longer accept a theology that condemned good people for belief alone. When hell stopped making sense, Jesus stopped being the center—but God did not disappear. What followed was not a rejection of faith, but a return to something older, deeper, and more honest. From a lifelong pull toward Holocaust history to a visceral moment at the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum—where she felt, without explanation, “my people”—Judaism had been calling long before she had words for it. Three different lives. Three different paths. One shared truth: Judaism was not something they found. Judaism is something that found them. In a time when it is easier than ever to walk away from the Jewish people, these three chose to walk toward us. In a moment of rising antisemitism, they chose visibility. This is not a conversation about conversion. This is a conversation about what it means to choose a people—and to be chosen in return. Let's begin. ——
Welcome to a very special—and deeply personal—episode. Today's conversation is not about theory. It's not about abstract belief. It's about belonging, courage, and the quiet, stubborn pull of a soul toward truth. Today, we're sitting with three people who each chose Judaism—not because it was easy, fashionable, or convenient, but because it felt unavoidable. Because something inside them recognized home. Conversion is not simply a change of religion. It is a change of identity. A re-rooting of the soul. It means choosing a people, a history, a destiny—and in today's world, it often means choosing a path marked by misunderstanding, loss, and real social cost. And yet—here they are. Chris Wood's journey began not in a synagogue, but in a hair salon in Toronto. Raised without Jewish community, he encountered Judaism first through people—through Shabbat tables, family warmth, humor, ritual, and a deep sense of togetherness he had been missing his entire life. What began as cultural connection slowly became something far deeper: a spiritual awakening. A realization that Judaism was not simply something he admired—it was something his soul had been waiting for. For Chris, October 7th and the surge of antisemitism that followed did not push him away. It clarified everything. When someone he loved turned on the Jewish people—and on him—he saw, in real time, how ancient hatred still operates. Instead of retreating, he stepped forward. He chose to wear his Magen David. He chose public solidarity. Bezalel Schraeder's path emerged through trauma, caregiving, and the spiritual exhaustion that comes from witnessing suffering and death. As a nurse, Bezalel watched bodies break and souls unravel—and in that pain, meaning itself began to collapse. Christianity no longer held the answers. Torah did not come to Bezalel as an escape. It came as a rebuilding. Through deep study, honest conversations with rabbis, and unfiltered spiritual struggle, Judaism restored something essential—not only faith in God, but faith in humanity, and in himself. Judaism became a way to stand inside suffering without surrendering to it. And Shifra's journey carries the weight of history, memory, and a soul that always seemed to know where it belonged—long before her mind did. Raised in evangelical Christianity, she reached a breaking point when she could no longer accept a theology that condemned good people for belief alone. When hell stopped making sense, Jesus stopped being the center—but God did not disappear. What followed was not a rejection of faith, but a return to something older, deeper, and more honest. From a lifelong pull toward Holocaust history to a visceral moment at the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum—where she felt, without explanation, “my people”—Judaism had been calling long before she had words for it. Three different lives. Three different paths. One shared truth: Judaism was not something they found. Judaism is something that found them. In a time when it is easier than ever to walk away from the Jewish people, these three chose to walk toward us. In a moment of rising antisemitism, they chose visibility. This is not a conversation about conversion. This is a conversation about what it means to choose a people—and to be chosen in return. Let's begin. ——
Welcome to Torah in Real Time with Rabbi Shlomo Gemara. Parashat Beshalach is remembered for thunder and miracle— for a sea split open, for walls of water, for a people finally breaking free from centuries of slavery. It is remembered for Shirat HaYam, the Song of the Sea— for faith erupting into poetry, for a nation finding its voice. But before any of that— before the water parts, before the singing begins— the Torah tells us something quieter, heavier, and more demanding: “And Moses took the bones of Joseph with him.” The people do not leave Egypt empty-handed. They do not rush forward in triumph alone. They carry their dead. They carry a promise made generations earlier. They carry the weight of unfinished redemption. Beshalach teaches us that freedom is not only about escape. It is about responsibility. It is about refusing to build a future that forgets those who were lost along the way. The Exodus is not only a story of running. It is a story of carrying. Only then do they reach the sea. Only then does Pharaoh chase. Only then does terror rise and faith is tested. The people cry out. They feel trapped—with water in front of them and an army behind them. This is not yet the song. This is the moment before the miracle, when courage is demanded without guarantees. And it is precisely there—at the edge of fear— that redemption takes its most honest shape. This week, Beshalach is no longer only a Torah portion. It is a living reality. As Israel receives the final hostage, Master Sergeant Ran Gvili, z”l, Beshalach is unfolding in real time. Ran Gvili was a police special forces officer who ran toward danger on October 7th to defend Israeli civilians. He was killed in battle and taken into Gaza. After 843 days, his remains were finally brought home for burial—closing a chapter of captivity for the Jewish people. Like Joseph's bones, Ran Gvili's return reminds us of a hard truth: A people cannot truly cross forward while someone is still missing. A nation cannot fully sing while one soul is left behind. Only after the sea splits does the Torah say: “Then Moses and the children of Israel sang this song to the Lord.” The Song of the Sea is not just a song of victory. It is a song that comes after responsibility. After memory. After carrying the weight of covenant. The Torah describes the sea parting “by the breath of God's nostrils.” In the Torah, nostrils—af, apayim—are the gateway of breath and life, but also of power, anger, and divine force. The same breath that gives life is the breath that reshapes the world. And only then do the words rise: “I will sing to the Lord, for He has triumphed gloriously… The Lord is my strength and my song, and He has become my salvation.” Beshalach teaches us that redemption is not measured only by miracles. It is measured by memory. By dignity. By who we insist on bringing with us. Today, as Israel brings home Master Sergeant Ran Gvili, z”l, we are living Joseph's bones in real time. We are being reminded that true freedom is not only about who walks out— but about who is carried out. This is not ancient history. This is Beshalach. This is the sea in front of us. This is the weight we carry. This is now. ——
Welcome to Torah in Real Time with Rabbi Shlomo Gemara. Parashat Beshalach is remembered for thunder and miracle— for a sea split open, for walls of water, for a people finally breaking free from centuries of slavery. It is remembered for Shirat HaYam, the Song of the Sea— for faith erupting into poetry, for a nation finding its voice. But before any of that— before the water parts, before the singing begins— the Torah tells us something quieter, heavier, and more demanding: “And Moses took the bones of Joseph with him.” The people do not leave Egypt empty-handed. They do not rush forward in triumph alone. They carry their dead. They carry a promise made generations earlier. They carry the weight of unfinished redemption. Beshalach teaches us that freedom is not only about escape. It is about responsibility. It is about refusing to build a future that forgets those who were lost along the way. The Exodus is not only a story of running. It is a story of carrying. Only then do they reach the sea. Only then does Pharaoh chase. Only then does terror rise and faith is tested. The people cry out. They feel trapped—with water in front of them and an army behind them. This is not yet the song. This is the moment before the miracle, when courage is demanded without guarantees. And it is precisely there—at the edge of fear— that redemption takes its most honest shape. This week, Beshalach is no longer only a Torah portion. It is a living reality. As Israel receives the final hostage, Master Sergeant Ran Gvili, z”l, Beshalach is unfolding in real time. Ran Gvili was a police special forces officer who ran toward danger on October 7th to defend Israeli civilians. He was killed in battle and taken into Gaza. After 843 days, his remains were finally brought home for burial—closing a chapter of captivity for the Jewish people. Like Joseph's bones, Ran Gvili's return reminds us of a hard truth: A people cannot truly cross forward while someone is still missing. A nation cannot fully sing while one soul is left behind. Only after the sea splits does the Torah say: “Then Moses and the children of Israel sang this song to the Lord.” The Song of the Sea is not just a song of victory. It is a song that comes after responsibility. After memory. After carrying the weight of covenant. The Torah describes the sea parting “by the breath of God's nostrils.” In the Torah, nostrils—af, apayim—are the gateway of breath and life, but also of power, anger, and divine force. The same breath that gives life is the breath that reshapes the world. And only then do the words rise: “I will sing to the Lord, for He has triumphed gloriously… The Lord is my strength and my song, and He has become my salvation.” Beshalach teaches us that redemption is not measured only by miracles. It is measured by memory. By dignity. By who we insist on bringing with us. Today, as Israel brings home Master Sergeant Ran Gvili, z”l, we are living Joseph's bones in real time. We are being reminded that true freedom is not only about who walks out— but about who is carried out. This is not ancient history. This is Beshalach. This is the sea in front of us. This is the weight we carry. This is now. ——
Today on the podcast, I'm deeply honored to welcome Rabbi Dr. Minna Bromberg — the founder and president of Fat Torah, a groundbreaking initiative working at the intersection of Jewish life, sacred text, and body liberation. Fat Torah's mission is both urgent and expansive: to confront and end weight stigma in Jewish communal spaces, to train leaders and educators to recognize and uproot fatphobia wherever it appears — including within ourselves — and to cultivate spiritual practices rooted in dignity, wholeness, and liberation for people of every body size. Rabbi Bromberg brings more than three decades of fat activism into deep conversation with Judaism, theology, and lived experience. She holds a PhD in sociology from Northwestern University, was ordained at Hebrew College, has led a 250-family Conservative congregation, released multiple albums of original music, made aliyah, and directed the Year-in-Israel program for Hebrew College rabbinical students. She is also a voice teacher who helps people reclaim their voices in prayer — work that beautifully echoes Fat Torah's insistence that every body and every voice truly belongs. Minna lives in Jerusalem with her husband, Rabbi Alan Abrams, and their two children. Her forthcoming book, Every Body Beloved: A Call for Fat Liberation in Jewish Life, challenges us to rethink holiness, tradition, and belonging from the inside out. This is a conversation about Torah, justice, embodiment, and what it really means to create Jewish communities where no one has to shrink themselves — physically, spiritually, or emotionally — in order to belong. ——
Today on the podcast, I'm deeply honored to welcome Rabbi Dr. Minna Bromberg — the founder and president of Fat Torah, a groundbreaking initiative working at the intersection of Jewish life, sacred text, and body liberation. Fat Torah's mission is both urgent and expansive: to confront and end weight stigma in Jewish communal spaces, to train leaders and educators to recognize and uproot fatphobia wherever it appears — including within ourselves — and to cultivate spiritual practices rooted in dignity, wholeness, and liberation for people of every body size. Rabbi Bromberg brings more than three decades of fat activism into deep conversation with Judaism, theology, and lived experience. She holds a PhD in sociology from Northwestern University, was ordained at Hebrew College, has led a 250-family Conservative congregation, released multiple albums of original music, made aliyah, and directed the Year-in-Israel program for Hebrew College rabbinical students. She is also a voice teacher who helps people reclaim their voices in prayer — work that beautifully echoes Fat Torah's insistence that every body and every voice truly belongs. Minna lives in Jerusalem with her husband, Rabbi Alan Abrams, and their two children. Her forthcoming book, Every Body Beloved: A Call for Fat Liberation in Jewish Life, challenges us to rethink holiness, tradition, and belonging from the inside out. This is a conversation about Torah, justice, embodiment, and what it really means to create Jewish communities where no one has to shrink themselves — physically, spiritually, or emotionally — in order to belong. ——
Welcome to Torah in Real Time with Avrum Rosensweig and Rabbi Shlomo Gemara! This week we enter Parashat Bo—the moment in the Exodus when power finally collapses under the weight of its own cruelty. Egypt is no longer warned. It is undone. Darkness presses in. The future is struck down first. And still, Pharaoh refuses to let go—not because he doesn't know he's wrong, but because surrendering power would mean admitting moral failure. What's most radical in Bo isn't what happens to Egypt—it's what happens to the enslaved Israelites. Before they are free, they begin acting free. They mark their doors. They slaughter the Egyptian god in public. They reclaim time itself. While still trapped inside an empire, they stop thinking like slaves. And that's why Bo feels painfully current. Because today, in Iran, we are watching the same pattern unfold. A rigid regime clings to control while its people pay the price—through repression, economic collapse, darkness, and death. And beneath that regime, something irreversible is happening. Women remove hijabs. Protesters speak openly. Families mourn in public. People act free before they are free. Parashat Bo teaches that tyrannies don't fall because they're persuaded—but because their moral emptiness is exposed, and because the people beneath them stop pretending. Freedom doesn't begin at the border. It begins the moment fear stops dictating behavior. In every generation, Bo asks the same question: Who is still clinging to power at the cost of human life—and who is already preparing to walk out? Let's learn. Let's listen. And let's see what freedom looks like in real time. ——
Welcome to Torah in Real Time with Avrum Rosensweig and Rabbi Shlomo Gemara! This week we enter Parashat Bo—the moment in the Exodus when power finally collapses under the weight of its own cruelty. Egypt is no longer warned. It is undone. Darkness presses in. The future is struck down first. And still, Pharaoh refuses to let go—not because he doesn't know he's wrong, but because surrendering power would mean admitting moral failure. What's most radical in Bo isn't what happens to Egypt—it's what happens to the enslaved Israelites. Before they are free, they begin acting free. They mark their doors. They slaughter the Egyptian god in public. They reclaim time itself. While still trapped inside an empire, they stop thinking like slaves. And that's why Bo feels painfully current. Because today, in Iran, we are watching the same pattern unfold. A rigid regime clings to control while its people pay the price—through repression, economic collapse, darkness, and death. And beneath that regime, something irreversible is happening. Women remove hijabs. Protesters speak openly. Families mourn in public. People act free before they are free. Parashat Bo teaches that tyrannies don't fall because they're persuaded—but because their moral emptiness is exposed, and because the people beneath them stop pretending. Freedom doesn't begin at the border. It begins the moment fear stops dictating behavior. In every generation, Bo asks the same question: Who is still clinging to power at the cost of human life—and who is already preparing to walk out? Let's learn. Let's listen. And let's see what freedom looks like in real time. ——
Relationship dynamics are always complex, but especially between men and women.Whether you feel like you know the man in your life inside and out or what's going on in his head feels like a total mystery, this episode will be enlightening.Psychologist and author Dr. Avrum Weiss joins me to share what women often don't realize about men and the hidden dynamics that shape their closest relationships.Dr. Weiss is a psychologist with over forty years of experience practicing and teaching psychotherapy. He is the award-winning author of four books, including the Amazon best-selling “Hidden in Plain Sight: How Men's Fears of Women Shape Their Intimate Relationships.” Dr. Weiss lives with his wife and dog on an island in mid-coast Maine and offers consultation online. Dr. Avrum's website: avrumweissphd.com (join his mailing list at the bottom for a free ebook about strengthening relationships)Buy his newest book Hidden in Plain Sight: How Men's Fears of Women Shape Their Intimate Relationships : https://a.co/d/4EjYFkR Tune in each week for practical, relatable advice that helps you feel your best and unlock your full potential. If you're ready to prioritize your health and level up every area of your life, you'll find the tools, insights, and inspiration right here. Check out Esther's website for more about her speaking, coaching, book, and more: http://estheravant.com/Buy Esther's Book: To Your Health: https://a.co/d/iDG68qUEsther's Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/esther.avantEsther's LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/estheravant/Learn more about 1:1 health & weight loss coaching: https://madebymecoaching.com/coaching
Welcome to Torah in Real Time. This week we turn to Parashat Va'era, the second portion in the Book of Exodus—a moment when history, faith, and power collide. In Va'era, God reveals Himself to Moses and launches a direct confrontation with Pharaoh, the most powerful ruler of his time. What follows are the first seven plagues—acts meant not only to punish Egypt, but to expose the moral bankruptcy of a system built on oppression. Again and again, Pharaoh hardens his heart. Again and again, the call for freedom is ignored. Va'era is not just a story of miracles; it is a story about resistance to change, the cost of stubborn power, and the long, painful road to liberation. And that is why Va'era speaks so loudly right now. Today, in Iran, millions of people across dozens of cities are rising up amid economic collapse, soaring prices, and deep frustration with an entrenched ruling system. What began as protests has become a nationwide challenge to authority—met with violent crackdowns, arrests, blackouts, and a mounting human toll. The details are modern, the context is different—but the themes feel hauntingly familiar. In both Va'era and Iran today, we see: Leaders clinging to power despite overwhelming suffering; Ordinary people demanding dignity, not just survival; Systems that respond to moral challenge with force rather than reflection. The Torah teaches that liberation does not come easily—and that hardened hearts often require escalating consequences before change becomes possible. At the same time, real-world struggles remind us that freedom carries real risk, real pain, and real human cost. Tonight, we will explore these parallels carefully and responsibly. We will also acknowledge the deep and ancient Jewish presence in Iran, one of the oldest Jewish communities in the world—still living, worshipping, and navigating a fragile existence inside a hostile political reality. Parashat Va'era is not ancient history locked in parchment. It is a living text—asking us urgent questions about power, conscience, courage, and what happens when rulers refuse to listen. That's where our learning begins. ——
Welcome to Torah in Real Time. This week we turn to Parashat Va'era, the second portion in the Book of Exodus—a moment when history, faith, and power collide. In Va'era, God reveals Himself to Moses and launches a direct confrontation with Pharaoh, the most powerful ruler of his time. What follows are the first seven plagues—acts meant not only to punish Egypt, but to expose the moral bankruptcy of a system built on oppression. Again and again, Pharaoh hardens his heart. Again and again, the call for freedom is ignored. Va'era is not just a story of miracles; it is a story about resistance to change, the cost of stubborn power, and the long, painful road to liberation. And that is why Va'era speaks so loudly right now. Today, in Iran, millions of people across dozens of cities are rising up amid economic collapse, soaring prices, and deep frustration with an entrenched ruling system. What began as protests has become a nationwide challenge to authority—met with violent crackdowns, arrests, blackouts, and a mounting human toll. The details are modern, the context is different—but the themes feel hauntingly familiar. In both Va'era and Iran today, we see: Leaders clinging to power despite overwhelming suffering; Ordinary people demanding dignity, not just survival; Systems that respond to moral challenge with force rather than reflection. The Torah teaches that liberation does not come easily—and that hardened hearts often require escalating consequences before change becomes possible. At the same time, real-world struggles remind us that freedom carries real risk, real pain, and real human cost. Tonight, we will explore these parallels carefully and responsibly. We will also acknowledge the deep and ancient Jewish presence in Iran, one of the oldest Jewish communities in the world—still living, worshipping, and navigating a fragile existence inside a hostile political reality. Parashat Va'era is not ancient history locked in parchment. It is a living text—asking us urgent questions about power, conscience, courage, and what happens when rulers refuse to listen. That's where our learning begins. ——
On this podcast, I'm honored to welcome Dr. Marci Reiss. Marci's story begins where so many hopeful stories begin—with a future wide open. In her mid-twenties, newly married, on her way to medical school, life felt full of promise. And then, over a single Valentine's Day weekend, everything changed. What began as a headache and a walk along the beach became a medical crisis. A frightening diagnosis. A sentence that would quietly govern the next fourteen years of her life. “You have Crohn's disease,” a doctor said—and walked out of the room. With those words, Marci entered a world of hospitals, procedures, chronic pain, and relentless uncertainty. She was hospitalized 162 times. She survived sepsis twice. She watched every corner of her life—marriage, motherhood, work, identity—bend under the weight of being chronically ill. But this is not only a story about suffering. It's a story about resilience. About misdiagnosis. And about the staggering consequences of human certainty when it goes unchallenged. Fourteen years later, a world-renowned physician discovered the truth: Marci never had Crohn's disease at all. Her illness had been caused by medications prescribed for a disease she didn't have. When those medications stopped, her health returned. So what does someone do with fourteen years lost to an illness that wasn't real—but whose pain absolutely was? Marci chose to turn loss into purpose. She devoted her life to helping others still living inside that prison—people whose bodies hurt, whose voices are doubted, whose identities have been reduced to diagnoses. Her wisdom isn't born from textbooks alone, but from lived experience: helping people find clarity in chaos, reclaim identity beyond illness, and remember who they are beneath medical labels. She has helped build integrated models of care at major institutions including the Mayo Clinic, Vanderbilt University, and the University of California San Diego—bringing mental and emotional health into spaces that once focused only on the body. This is a conversation about grief and healing. About the fragility of certainty. And about reclaiming a life after everything you thought you knew falls apart. I'm deeply grateful to share it with you. ——
On this podcast, I'm honored to welcome Dr. Marci Reiss. Marci's story begins where so many hopeful stories begin—with a future wide open. In her mid-twenties, newly married, on her way to medical school, life felt full of promise. And then, over a single Valentine's Day weekend, everything changed. What began as a headache and a walk along the beach became a medical crisis. A frightening diagnosis. A sentence that would quietly govern the next fourteen years of her life. “You have Crohn's disease,” a doctor said—and walked out of the room. With those words, Marci entered a world of hospitals, procedures, chronic pain, and relentless uncertainty. She was hospitalized 162 times. She survived sepsis twice. She watched every corner of her life—marriage, motherhood, work, identity—bend under the weight of being chronically ill. But this is not only a story about suffering. It's a story about resilience. About misdiagnosis. And about the staggering consequences of human certainty when it goes unchallenged. Fourteen years later, a world-renowned physician discovered the truth: Marci never had Crohn's disease at all. Her illness had been caused by medications prescribed for a disease she didn't have. When those medications stopped, her health returned. So what does someone do with fourteen years lost to an illness that wasn't real—but whose pain absolutely was? Marci chose to turn loss into purpose. She devoted her life to helping others still living inside that prison—people whose bodies hurt, whose voices are doubted, whose identities have been reduced to diagnoses. Her wisdom isn't born from textbooks alone, but from lived experience: helping people find clarity in chaos, reclaim identity beyond illness, and remember who they are beneath medical labels. She has helped build integrated models of care at major institutions including the Mayo Clinic, Vanderbilt University, and the University of California San Diego—bringing mental and emotional health into spaces that once focused only on the body. This is a conversation about grief and healing. About the fragility of certainty. And about reclaiming a life after everything you thought you knew falls apart. I'm deeply grateful to share it with you. ——
Welcome to Torah in Real Time. Today, Rabbi Shlomo Gemara and I step into Parashat Vayechi—a Torah portion that speaks softly, yet carries immense weight. Vayechi opens at a bedside. Jacob's life is drawing to a close, and a family shaped by betrayal, exile, fear, and longing gathers for final words. These are not blessings meant only to comfort. They are words meant to repair. What was fractured is named. What was lost is remembered. What must endure is entrusted forward. It is an ending filled not with finality, but with responsibility. Read against the backdrop of our own moment, Vayechi feels uncannily present. In early 2025, a fragile ceasefire in Gaza brought the first returns of Israeli hostages—some alive, some not—after months of anguish. Families waited. A nation held its breath. And the missing were finally brought home. Vayechi, too, is a parashah of return: Joseph reconciles with his brothers, and Jacob insists that his body not remain in exile, but be carried back to the ancestral land. The Torah reminds us that being brought home—whether in life or in death—matters deeply, spiritually and morally. The parashah also confronts us with kavod hamet, honoring the dead. Jacob's burial is described in striking detail, attended not only by family but by an entire society. Grief is public. Loss is acknowledged. Dignity in death, Vayechi teaches, is not a private concern—it is a collective responsibility. And yet, there is no easy closure. Just as families and citizens today wrestle publicly with painful questions of accountability, negotiation, and moral urgency, Jacob's final blessings are marked by tension. He speaks hard truths. He names past violence. He struggles—one last time—to shape unity from a divided family. Vayechi insists that reconciliation is not sentimental. Love does not erase conflict; it faces it honestly. This is the end of the Book of Genesis—but not an ending without direction. Vayechi asks enduring questions: How do we bring the missing home? How do we honor the dead without abandoning the living? How do families—and nations—hold together after trauma? Jacob's final charge is not despair, but continuity. Even in exile. Even after loss. Even when the future feels uncertain. Vayechi—“and he lived.” Let's explore what that means, right now, with Rabbi Shlomo Gemara. ——
Welcome to Torah in Real Time. Today, Rabbi Shlomo Gemara and I step into Parashat Vayechi—a Torah portion that speaks softly, yet carries immense weight. Vayechi opens at a bedside. Jacob's life is drawing to a close, and a family shaped by betrayal, exile, fear, and longing gathers for final words. These are not blessings meant only to comfort. They are words meant to repair. What was fractured is named. What was lost is remembered. What must endure is entrusted forward. It is an ending filled not with finality, but with responsibility. Read against the backdrop of our own moment, Vayechi feels uncannily present. In early 2025, a fragile ceasefire in Gaza brought the first returns of Israeli hostages—some alive, some not—after months of anguish. Families waited. A nation held its breath. And the missing were finally brought home. Vayechi, too, is a parashah of return: Joseph reconciles with his brothers, and Jacob insists that his body not remain in exile, but be carried back to the ancestral land. The Torah reminds us that being brought home—whether in life or in death—matters deeply, spiritually and morally. The parashah also confronts us with kavod hamet, honoring the dead. Jacob's burial is described in striking detail, attended not only by family but by an entire society. Grief is public. Loss is acknowledged. Dignity in death, Vayechi teaches, is not a private concern—it is a collective responsibility. And yet, there is no easy closure. Just as families and citizens today wrestle publicly with painful questions of accountability, negotiation, and moral urgency, Jacob's final blessings are marked by tension. He speaks hard truths. He names past violence. He struggles—one last time—to shape unity from a divided family. Vayechi insists that reconciliation is not sentimental. Love does not erase conflict; it faces it honestly. This is the end of the Book of Genesis—but not an ending without direction. Vayechi asks enduring questions: How do we bring the missing home? How do we honor the dead without abandoning the living? How do families—and nations—hold together after trauma? Jacob's final charge is not despair, but continuity. Even in exile. Even after loss. Even when the future feels uncertain. Vayechi—“and he lived.” Let's explore what that means, right now, with Rabbi Shlomo Gemara. ——
Today on the podcast, I'm honored to welcome Mustapha Ezzarghani — an Arab, a Moroccan, and a Muslim whose life and work unfold at one of the most charged intersections of our time. Mustapha is a political analyst, peace activist, and community organizer originally from Marrakech, Morocco. He is the co-founder and president of the Moroccan-Israel Friendship Association, an American organization dedicated to strengthening ties between the Kingdom of Morocco and the State of Israel through diplomacy, cultural exchange, and grassroots initiatives. Since MIFA's founding in 2020, Mustapha has led efforts to build economic and educational bridges between two peoples whose shared history is often forgotten and whose future is too often framed only through conflict. But Mustapha is more than a title or an organization. He is someone who lives at the intersection of experience and reflection — a thinker shaped not only by ideas, but by lived reality. His journey opens windows onto questions many of us wrestle with but rarely slow down enough to examine: identity and belonging, faith and doubt, tradition and change, responsibility and freedom. What makes this conversation especially powerful is Mustapha's willingness to speak honestly — without slogans, without simplifications — about Israel, the Jewish people, Morocco, and the wider Muslim world. He does not offer easy answers. He offers presence, insight, and the courage to sit with complexity. Raised with deeply ingrained assumptions about Jews and Israel, Mustapha describes how his worldview was transformed through personal encounters — including a moment that shook him to his core, when a Jewish Moroccan doctor from Israel helped save the life of a young girl from a poor Berber family in the Atlas Mountains. That experience sparked a reckoning, leading Mustapha to study Jewish history in Morocco, the Israel-Palestine conflict, and the narratives he had once accepted without question. Influenced by Sufi education and Islamic scholarship — particularly the teaching that one should enter debate wanting to be convinced — Mustapha reminds us that dialogue was once a sacred act, not a political weapon. In a world addicted to certainty and outrage, he calls us back to listening, humility, and moral seriousness. 6: 19 - "We learn about the Jewish people from our textbooks, and at one time I decided to challenge everything I have learned," 12:30 - "If all our stories about the Jews of Morocco were positive, how come when they left to Israel, they became the devil." 27:10 - "When you bring an Arab to Israel for open-heart surgery and they go back home with hatred in their heart....it's because they couldn't find another identity." 39:44: "The hundreds of thousands of Jews we kicked out...turned them to land owners to refugees..is more then enough for us to support your new state, called Israel." 49:56: "Our wars against them (Israel), strengthened them, and it weakened us (the Arab world)" ——
Today on the podcast, I'm honored to welcome Mustapha Ezzarghani — an Arab, a Moroccan, and a Muslim whose life and work unfold at one of the most charged intersections of our time. Mustapha is a political analyst, peace activist, and community organizer originally from Marrakech, Morocco. He is the co-founder and president of the Moroccan-Israel Friendship Association, an American organization dedicated to strengthening ties between the Kingdom of Morocco and the State of Israel through diplomacy, cultural exchange, and grassroots initiatives. Since MIFA's founding in 2020, Mustapha has led efforts to build economic and educational bridges between two peoples whose shared history is often forgotten and whose future is too often framed only through conflict. But Mustapha is more than a title or an organization. He is someone who lives at the intersection of experience and reflection — a thinker shaped not only by ideas, but by lived reality. His journey opens windows onto questions many of us wrestle with but rarely slow down enough to examine: identity and belonging, faith and doubt, tradition and change, responsibility and freedom. What makes this conversation especially powerful is Mustapha's willingness to speak honestly — without slogans, without simplifications — about Israel, the Jewish people, Morocco, and the wider Muslim world. He does not offer easy answers. He offers presence, insight, and the courage to sit with complexity. Raised with deeply ingrained assumptions about Jews and Israel, Mustapha describes how his worldview was transformed through personal encounters — including a moment that shook him to his core, when a Jewish Moroccan doctor from Israel helped save the life of a young girl from a poor Berber family in the Atlas Mountains. That experience sparked a reckoning, leading Mustapha to study Jewish history in Morocco, the Israel-Palestine conflict, and the narratives he had once accepted without question. Influenced by Sufi education and Islamic scholarship — particularly the teaching that one should enter debate wanting to be convinced — Mustapha reminds us that dialogue was once a sacred act, not a political weapon. In a world addicted to certainty and outrage, he calls us back to listening, humility, and moral seriousness. 6: 19 - "We learn about the Jewish people from our textbooks, and at one time I decided to challenge everything I have learned," 12:30 - "If all our stories about the Jews of Morocco were positive, how come when they left to Israel, they became the devil." 27:10 - "When you bring an Arab to Israel for open-heart surgery and they go back home with hatred in their heart....it's because they couldn't find another identity." 39:44: "The hundreds of thousands of Jews we kicked out...turned them to land owners to refugees..is more then enough for us to support your new state, called Israel." 49:56: "Our wars against them (Israel), strengthened them, and it weakened us (the Arab world)" ——
Torah in Real Time — Parashat Vayigash Parashat Vayigash opens with one of the Torah's most charged moments: “Vayigash elav Yehudah”—Judah steps forward. He steps toward Joseph, the most powerful man in Egypt, carrying the weight of a broken family and a famine that has stripped away all illusions of safety. This is not a scene of theology or ritual. It is a scene of human crisis. Hunger has driven Jacob's family across borders. They have come to Egypt not to thrive, but to survive. Before the Torah ever speaks about refugees as a category, it tells us their story. Jacob's family are climate refugees—forced from their land by famine. They arrive vulnerable, dependent, and at the mercy of a foreign power. Their future hinges on whether someone in authority will see them as a threat, a burden, or as human beings. Judah's act of stepping forward is more than family loyalty; it is moral courage in a refugee moment. He refuses to let the weakest—Benjamin—become collateral damage. He teaches us that responsibility does not belong only to systems or governments, but to individuals who choose not to look away. When Joseph reveals himself, the Torah shows us something radical: compassion can transform power. Egypt, the superpower of its time, becomes a place of refuge—because one person remembers who he is and where he came from. Vayigash speaks directly to our world, where millions are displaced by war, hunger, and climate crisis. The Torah does not ask us first what refugees will contribute. It asks who we will become in how we respond to them. This week on Torah in Real Time, Rabbi Gemara explores Vayigash as a living text about displacement, responsibility, and the courage to draw near rather than retreat. Because the test of a society is not how it treats the strong—but whether, in moments of fear and scarcity, it still makes room for the stranger. ——
Torah in Real Time — Parashat Vayigash Parashat Vayigash opens with one of the Torah's most charged moments: “Vayigash elav Yehudah”—Judah steps forward. He steps toward Joseph, the most powerful man in Egypt, carrying the weight of a broken family and a famine that has stripped away all illusions of safety. This is not a scene of theology or ritual. It is a scene of human crisis. Hunger has driven Jacob's family across borders. They have come to Egypt not to thrive, but to survive. Before the Torah ever speaks about refugees as a category, it tells us their story. Jacob's family are climate refugees—forced from their land by famine. They arrive vulnerable, dependent, and at the mercy of a foreign power. Their future hinges on whether someone in authority will see them as a threat, a burden, or as human beings. Judah's act of stepping forward is more than family loyalty; it is moral courage in a refugee moment. He refuses to let the weakest—Benjamin—become collateral damage. He teaches us that responsibility does not belong only to systems or governments, but to individuals who choose not to look away. When Joseph reveals himself, the Torah shows us something radical: compassion can transform power. Egypt, the superpower of its time, becomes a place of refuge—because one person remembers who he is and where he came from. Vayigash speaks directly to our world, where millions are displaced by war, hunger, and climate crisis. The Torah does not ask us first what refugees will contribute. It asks who we will become in how we respond to them. This week on Torah in Real Time, Rabbi Gemara explores Vayigash as a living text about displacement, responsibility, and the courage to draw near rather than retreat. Because the test of a society is not how it treats the strong—but whether, in moments of fear and scarcity, it still makes room for the stranger. ——
Video version here:https://youtu.be/1j7yKcjT4K8Follow Avrum's wonderful podcast here:https://www.youtube.com/@avrumrosensweigshowFollow Frieda on Youtube here:https://www.youtube.com/friedavizelbrooklynBecome a supporter of this podcast: https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/the-frieda-vizel-podcast--5824414/support.
Frieda was born and raised in the Satmar Hasidic world — a tightly knit, deeply traditional community in Williamsburg and Kiryas Joel. In her early twenties, already married and a young mother, she made the courageous and complicated decision to leave that world and forge a new life beyond its boundaries. What followed was not a clean break, but something far more human: a life lived in tension between past and present, loyalty and independence, memory and possibility. Today, Frieda is a writer, speaker, YouTuber, and one of the most thoughtful public interpreters of Hasidic life — both from the inside and from the outside. Through her writing, videos, and acclaimed walking tours of Williamsburg, she opens windows into a world often misunderstood, resisting caricature and refusing easy judgments. What makes Frieda's voice so compelling is her intellectual honesty and moral restraint. She speaks openly about faith and doubt, autonomy and obligation, belonging and rupture — all while maintaining deep respect for the people and traditions that shaped her. In an age of shouting, Frieda practices listening. In a culture addicted to certainty, she models curiosity. This conversation is not about escape or rebellion. It's about identity, courage, and the lifelong work of making meaning out of inherited stories — even when those stories no longer fully contain us. I'm very pleased to welcome Frieda Vizel. ——
Frieda was born and raised in the Satmar Hasidic world — a tightly knit, deeply traditional community in Williamsburg and Kiryas Joel. In her early twenties, already married and a young mother, she made the courageous and complicated decision to leave that world and forge a new life beyond its boundaries. What followed was not a clean break, but something far more human: a life lived in tension between past and present, loyalty and independence, memory and possibility. Today, Frieda is a writer, speaker, YouTuber, and one of the most thoughtful public interpreters of Hasidic life — both from the inside and from the outside. Through her writing, videos, and acclaimed walking tours of Williamsburg, she opens windows into a world often misunderstood, resisting caricature and refusing easy judgments. What makes Frieda's voice so compelling is her intellectual honesty and moral restraint. She speaks openly about faith and doubt, autonomy and obligation, belonging and rupture — all while maintaining deep respect for the people and traditions that shaped her. In an age of shouting, Frieda practices listening. In a culture addicted to certainty, she models curiosity. This conversation is not about escape or rebellion. It's about identity, courage, and the lifelong work of making meaning out of inherited stories — even when those stories no longer fully contain us. I'm very pleased to welcome Frieda Vizel. ——
Let's Think About "Men's Fear of Women" With Special Guest Dr. Avrum Weiss Avrum shares his thoughts on men's fear of women, reminding people that fear can be a motivator for both good and bad. While learning about Avrum, we discussed his book and the common misconception of men's reasons for lashing out at women. This episode aims to prompt thought. To stay in touch, please visit Avrum's website at https://www.avrumweissphd.com/ to learn more about him.
Picture this: you're fifteen years old, excited about your future, dreaming of becoming a doctor or engineer. Then overnight, armed men tell you your dreams don't matter because you're a girl. This is the reality for millions of Afghan girls since August 2021, when the Taliban regained control of Afghanistan. While the world watched in horror as girls were banned from schools, one woman refused to accept this fate. Her name is Khadija Haidary, and what she did will restore your faith in human courage. When the Taliban took power, they systematically dismantled an entire generation's future. Over three million girls were suddenly told they couldn't learn. Universities became ghost towns. Women professors lost their jobs overnight. While others fell silent, Khadija chose to fight back in the most powerful way possible. Khadija, an Afghan educator, activist and writer understood that knowledge couldn't be destroyed by decrees. It could only be hidden, protected, and passed on in secret. What she did next was both dangerous and brilliant. Instead of accepting defeat, Khadija became part of an underground network of educators who refused to let Afghan girls lose their right to learn. These brave women created secret schools, hidden classrooms, and clandestine education networks that operated under the Taliban's nose. While international headlines focus on politics and military situations, there's an entire shadow education system operating in Afghanistan. Women like Haidary have created mobile schools that move locations constantly to avoid detection. They teach in basements, private homes, and hidden corners of buildings. They use coded language and secret signals to communicate with students and parents. The methods are ingenious and heartbreaking at the same time. Teachers disguise themselves as housekeepers or relatives visiting homes. They carry books hidden under traditional clothing. Students attend classes pretending to be at social gatherings. These educators have turned resistance into an art form. Khadija's work represents something bigger than just education. It's about preserving hope in the darkest of times. People like her remind us that resistance takes many forms and that change doesn't always come from governments or international organizations. Sometimes it comes from ordinary people, other times from teachers and sometimes it comes from students who refuse to stop learning, no matter what obstacles they face. Every day, brave women like Haidary are writing new chapters of resistance and hope. They're proving that while you can close schools, you can't close minds. While you can ban books, you can't ban the human spirit's desire to grow and learn. That's the real story of Afghanistan's education crisis, and that's why Khadija Haidary's courage matters more than any political headline you'll ever read. Watch this interview and hear about Khadija's decision to walk from Afghanistan to Pakistan so she could write freely, and fight for girls education back home. Here Khadija speak about her love of the Jewish people, and similarities between her and Anne Frank. Khadija is so incredibly impressive. Be inspired Pay homage to humankind through her. Well done, Khadija. Well done!!! ——
Picture this: you're fifteen years old, excited about your future, dreaming of becoming a doctor or engineer. Then overnight, armed men tell you your dreams don't matter because you're a girl. This is the reality for millions of Afghan girls since August 2021, when the Taliban regained control of Afghanistan. While the world watched in horror as girls were banned from schools, one woman refused to accept this fate. Her name is Khadija Haidary, and what she did will restore your faith in human courage. When the Taliban took power, they systematically dismantled an entire generation's future. Over three million girls were suddenly told they couldn't learn. Universities became ghost towns. Women professors lost their jobs overnight. While others fell silent, Khadija chose to fight back in the most powerful way possible. Khadija, an Afghan educator, activist and writer understood that knowledge couldn't be destroyed by decrees. It could only be hidden, protected, and passed on in secret. What she did next was both dangerous and brilliant. Instead of accepting defeat, Khadija became part of an underground network of educators who refused to let Afghan girls lose their right to learn. These brave women created secret schools, hidden classrooms, and clandestine education networks that operated under the Taliban's nose. While international headlines focus on politics and military situations, there's an entire shadow education system operating in Afghanistan. Women like Haidary have created mobile schools that move locations constantly to avoid detection. They teach in basements, private homes, and hidden corners of buildings. They use coded language and secret signals to communicate with students and parents. The methods are ingenious and heartbreaking at the same time. Teachers disguise themselves as housekeepers or relatives visiting homes. They carry books hidden under traditional clothing. Students attend classes pretending to be at social gatherings. These educators have turned resistance into an art form. Khadija's work represents something bigger than just education. It's about preserving hope in the darkest of times. People like her remind us that resistance takes many forms and that change doesn't always come from governments or international organizations. Sometimes it comes from ordinary people, other times from teachers and sometimes it comes from students who refuse to stop learning, no matter what obstacles they face. Every day, brave women like Haidary are writing new chapters of resistance and hope. They're proving that while you can close schools, you can't close minds. While you can ban books, you can't ban the human spirit's desire to grow and learn. That's the real story of Afghanistan's education crisis, and that's why Khadija Haidary's courage matters more than any political headline you'll ever read. Watch this interview and hear about Khadija's decision to walk from Afghanistan to Pakistan so she could write freely, and fight for girls education back home. Here Khadija speak about her love of the Jewish people, and similarities between her and Anne Frank. Khadija is so incredibly impressive. Be inspired Pay homage to humankind through her. Well done, Khadija. Well done!!! ——
Welcome to Torah in Real Time, the podcast with Rabbi Shlomo Gemara and where ancient text meets the urgent moral questions of the present moment. This week's Torah portion, Parashat Miketz, opens with one of the most cinematic scenes in Genesis: Pharaoh's unsettling dreams, Joseph's sudden rise from prison to power, and the appointment of an outsider as steward of an empire on the brink of famine. At first glance, Miketz reads like political drama — visions, strategy, power, and survival. But our tradition insists this story is far more than history. It is a meditation on leadership, responsibility, and how human beings respond when crisis looms. Joseph does more than interpret dreams. He plans. He prepares. He understands that insight without action is empty. The Torah highlights not only survival, but the ethical organization of society — storing abundance in years of plenty so that when scarcity arrives, the vulnerable are not abandoned. Miketz teaches that foresight is a moral act, and that leadership is measured by who is protected when times grow dark. Learning Miketz this year, it is impossible not to feel its resonance with our own world. Just days ago, a horrific anti-Semitic terror attack struck a Jewish community gathering near Bondi Beach in Sydney, shattering lives during what should have been a time of light and celebration. At the same time, global hunger is deepening at an alarming rate, with hundreds of millions facing crisis-level food insecurity due to conflict, climate shocks, and failing systems of care. In Miketz, famine is not just a backdrop — it is the catalyst for transformation. Joseph's story challenges us to ask the hardest questions of our moment: How do we respond to hatred and violence against our communities? How do we mobilize compassion and resources when the most basic human needs are at stake? And what kind of moral vision do we offer — in times of abundance and in times of fear? Today's episode explores Parashat Miketz through the lens of classical commentators and contemporary reality, asking how an ancient story of dreams, power, and hunger still speaks — urgently — to the world we are living in now. ——
Welcome to Torah in Real Time, the podcast with Rabbi Shlomo Gemara and where ancient text meets the urgent moral questions of the present moment. This week's Torah portion, Parashat Miketz, opens with one of the most cinematic scenes in Genesis: Pharaoh's unsettling dreams, Joseph's sudden rise from prison to power, and the appointment of an outsider as steward of an empire on the brink of famine. At first glance, Miketz reads like political drama — visions, strategy, power, and survival. But our tradition insists this story is far more than history. It is a meditation on leadership, responsibility, and how human beings respond when crisis looms. Joseph does more than interpret dreams. He plans. He prepares. He understands that insight without action is empty. The Torah highlights not only survival, but the ethical organization of society — storing abundance in years of plenty so that when scarcity arrives, the vulnerable are not abandoned. Miketz teaches that foresight is a moral act, and that leadership is measured by who is protected when times grow dark. Learning Miketz this year, it is impossible not to feel its resonance with our own world. Just days ago, a horrific anti-Semitic terror attack struck a Jewish community gathering near Bondi Beach in Sydney, shattering lives during what should have been a time of light and celebration. At the same time, global hunger is deepening at an alarming rate, with hundreds of millions facing crisis-level food insecurity due to conflict, climate shocks, and failing systems of care. In Miketz, famine is not just a backdrop — it is the catalyst for transformation. Joseph's story challenges us to ask the hardest questions of our moment: How do we respond to hatred and violence against our communities? How do we mobilize compassion and resources when the most basic human needs are at stake? And what kind of moral vision do we offer — in times of abundance and in times of fear? Today's episode explores Parashat Miketz through the lens of classical commentators and contemporary reality, asking how an ancient story of dreams, power, and hunger still speaks — urgently — to the world we are living in now. ——
Today on the podcast, we step into a place where healing begins not in words, but in soil. Rimon Farms is an association operating agricultural, educational-therapeutic farms across the Negev — places designed for people carrying heavy, often invisible burdens. Here, teenagers at risk of dropping out of the education system, soldiers and civilians living with post-trauma, and entire communities shaken by the events of October 7th are met with something rare: time, purpose, and a supportive community rooted in the land itself. At Rimon, agriculture is not a metaphor — it is the method. Through meaningful, productive farm work, professional therapeutic care, and human connection, individuals rebuild trust in themselves and in the world around them. Each farm serves a distinct population, offering holistic programs that integrate education, treatment, life skills, vocational training, and family involvement — all guided by dedicated, highly skilled staff who model resilience and responsibility. At the heart of this vision stands Nir Amitay, the founding CEO of Rimon Farms, born on Kibbutz Lahav. Nir's leadership came not from theory, but from lived experience — from an intimate understanding of trauma, loss, and the long road back to functioning. He saw that healing does not always happen in clinics or classrooms, but often through steady work, relationship, and reconnection to the rhythms of life. Under his guidance, Rimon Farms has grown into a network of healing spaces — from Lahav and Shekef to Beer Sheva, and soon near Kibbutz Or HaNer and Kibbutz Reim — strengthening both individuals and the wider communities of the Western Negev. Today, we hear the story behind that vision: how land becomes therapy, how community restores dignity, and how, with patience and care, even the most fractured lives can take root again. Nir is joined by Julia Jacobson, an olah living in the Negev, and responsible for building and nurturing partnerships with North America. See www.rimon-farm.org.il/en . For more information, or to donate or volunteer, call Julia at 972 52 336 2005. ——
Today on the podcast, we step into a place where healing begins not in words, but in soil. Rimon Farms is an association operating agricultural, educational-therapeutic farms across the Negev — places designed for people carrying heavy, often invisible burdens. Here, teenagers at risk of dropping out of the education system, soldiers and civilians living with post-trauma, and entire communities shaken by the events of October 7th are met with something rare: time, purpose, and a supportive community rooted in the land itself. At Rimon, agriculture is not a metaphor — it is the method. Through meaningful, productive farm work, professional therapeutic care, and human connection, individuals rebuild trust in themselves and in the world around them. Each farm serves a distinct population, offering holistic programs that integrate education, treatment, life skills, vocational training, and family involvement — all guided by dedicated, highly skilled staff who model resilience and responsibility. At the heart of this vision stands Nir Amitay, the founding CEO of Rimon Farms, born on Kibbutz Lahav. Nir's leadership came not from theory, but from lived experience — from an intimate understanding of trauma, loss, and the long road back to functioning. He saw that healing does not always happen in clinics or classrooms, but often through steady work, relationship, and reconnection to the rhythms of life. Under his guidance, Rimon Farms has grown into a network of healing spaces — from Lahav and Shekef to Beer Sheva, and soon near Kibbutz Or HaNer and Kibbutz Reim — strengthening both individuals and the wider communities of the Western Negev. Today, we hear the story behind that vision: how land becomes therapy, how community restores dignity, and how, with patience and care, even the most fractured lives can take root again. Nir is joined by Julia Jacobson, an olah living in the Negev, and responsible for building and nurturing partnerships with North America. See www.rimon-farm.org.il/en . For more information, or to donate or volunteer, call Julia at 972 52 336 2005. ——
Welcome back to Torah in Real Time, where we bring the Torah into conversation with the world we're living in right now. This week, we enter Vayeshev, a portion that opens with a word that sounds so gentle — vayeshev, “and he settled.” But the calm barely lasts a verse. Almost immediately, the Torah pulls us into a family tearing at the seams, a teenager cast out of his home, and a world where innocence offers no protection. Joseph begins this parsha as a gifted, dreamy, maybe naïve young man — but still very much a child. And yet, like far too many young people today, he finds himself suddenly homeless through no fault of his own. His brothers strip him, betray him, and sell him away. Joseph becomes the biblical face of a tragedy we still witness in our own cities: youth pushed into the streets because of conflict, jealousy, misunderstanding, or because they simply don't “fit” the system around them. Vayeshev asks us a piercing question: What becomes of a young soul when the very people meant to protect them send them into the wilderness? But Joseph's fall doesn't end there. He is wrongfully accused, imprisoned, and silenced — another victim of a broken justice system. And as we read his story, we can't help but see reflections of the millions today who sit behind bars for crimes they didn't commit, casualties of bias, error, or circumstance. People whose brilliance, creativity, and promise remain locked away behind someone else's mistake. And yet — and this is where Vayeshev shines — the Torah insists that resilience can rise from the rubble. Even in confinement, Joseph becomes a leader. Even without a home, he builds community. Even when forgotten, he interprets dreams — his own and those of others — reminding us that purpose can survive even in the darkest places. So as we study Vayeshev this week, we look at Joseph not as a distant biblical figure, but as a mirror held up to our world. Whom have we cast out? Whom have we overlooked? Whom have we locked away? And perhaps most urgently — who among them carries a spark the world desperately needs? Vayeshev calls us to recognize the Josephs of today: the homeless youth sleeping in shelters and doorways, the wrongfully convicted waiting for justice, the dreamers whose hope flickers but has not gone out. May this portion remind us that greatness often begins with someone the world tried to discard — and that our work, in real time, is to bring them back into the circle of dignity, safety, and hope. ——
Welcome back to Torah in Real Time, where we bring the Torah into conversation with the world we're living in right now. This week, we enter Vayeshev, a portion that opens with a word that sounds so gentle — vayeshev, “and he settled.” But the calm barely lasts a verse. Almost immediately, the Torah pulls us into a family tearing at the seams, a teenager cast out of his home, and a world where innocence offers no protection. Joseph begins this parsha as a gifted, dreamy, maybe naïve young man — but still very much a child. And yet, like far too many young people today, he finds himself suddenly homeless through no fault of his own. His brothers strip him, betray him, and sell him away. Joseph becomes the biblical face of a tragedy we still witness in our own cities: youth pushed into the streets because of conflict, jealousy, misunderstanding, or because they simply don't “fit” the system around them. Vayeshev asks us a piercing question: What becomes of a young soul when the very people meant to protect them send them into the wilderness? But Joseph's fall doesn't end there. He is wrongfully accused, imprisoned, and silenced — another victim of a broken justice system. And as we read his story, we can't help but see reflections of the millions today who sit behind bars for crimes they didn't commit, casualties of bias, error, or circumstance. People whose brilliance, creativity, and promise remain locked away behind someone else's mistake. And yet — and this is where Vayeshev shines — the Torah insists that resilience can rise from the rubble. Even in confinement, Joseph becomes a leader. Even without a home, he builds community. Even when forgotten, he interprets dreams — his own and those of others — reminding us that purpose can survive even in the darkest places. So as we study Vayeshev this week, we look at Joseph not as a distant biblical figure, but as a mirror held up to our world. Whom have we cast out? Whom have we overlooked? Whom have we locked away? And perhaps most urgently — who among them carries a spark the world desperately needs? Vayeshev calls us to recognize the Josephs of today: the homeless youth sleeping in shelters and doorways, the wrongfully convicted waiting for justice, the dreamers whose hope flickers but has not gone out. May this portion remind us that greatness often begins with someone the world tried to discard — and that our work, in real time, is to bring them back into the circle of dignity, safety, and hope. ——
I'm honored to welcome a remarkable educator, communal builder, and gifted storyteller: Solly Kaplinski. Solly's journey stretches across continents, communities, and generations. He began his career as Headmaster of Herzlia High School in Cape Town, later leading Jewish day schools in Toronto and Vancouver — shaping thousands of students and leaving a lasting imprint on Jewish education. More than 25 years ago, he made Aliyah, where his professional path formed an extraordinary arc, touched by two institutions that sit at the very heart of the Jewish story. At Yad Vashem, working in the International Relations Department, Solly helped carry the weight of memory and meaning on behalf of Jewish communities around the world. And at the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee (JDC), he spent 17 years as Executive Director of Overseas Joint Ventures — building partnerships, strengthening Jewish life across continents, and nurturing connections that continue to echo today. Solly is also a writer. His novella A World of Pains: A Redemptive Parable? and his two moving volumes on donors and fundraisers — all available as free downloads at journeysintothegentleheart.com — reveal yet another dimension of his commitment to Jewish story, memory, and heart. Solly lives in Jerusalem with his wife, Arleen. Their three daughters — along with their spouses and what he lovingly calls an “egalitarian minyan” of grandchildren — all make their homes in Israel. It is truly a privilege to sit with someone whose life has been dedicated to education, service, remembrance, and the quiet, powerful work of building community. Solly Kaplinski — welcome to the show. ——
I'm honored to welcome a remarkable educator, communal builder, and gifted storyteller: Solly Kaplinski. Solly's journey stretches across continents, communities, and generations. He began his career as Headmaster of Herzlia High School in Cape Town, later leading Jewish day schools in Toronto and Vancouver — shaping thousands of students and leaving a lasting imprint on Jewish education. More than 25 years ago, he made Aliyah, where his professional path formed an extraordinary arc, touched by two institutions that sit at the very heart of the Jewish story. At Yad Vashem, working in the International Relations Department, Solly helped carry the weight of memory and meaning on behalf of Jewish communities around the world. And at the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee (JDC), he spent 17 years as Executive Director of Overseas Joint Ventures — building partnerships, strengthening Jewish life across continents, and nurturing connections that continue to echo today. Solly is also a writer. His novella A World of Pains: A Redemptive Parable? and his two moving volumes on donors and fundraisers — all available as free downloads at journeysintothegentleheart.com — reveal yet another dimension of his commitment to Jewish story, memory, and heart. Solly lives in Jerusalem with his wife, Arleen. Their three daughters — along with their spouses and what he lovingly calls an “egalitarian minyan” of grandchildren — all make their homes in Israel. It is truly a privilege to sit with someone whose life has been dedicated to education, service, remembrance, and the quiet, powerful work of building community. Solly Kaplinski — welcome to the show. ——
This week on the podcast, TORAH IN REAL TIME WITH RABBI SHLOMO GEMARA, we step into PARSHAT VAYISHLACH — a portion alive with tension, courage, and the pounding heart of a man walking straight into his destiny. Jacob is no longer the young fugitive who once fled his brother's fury. He is a husband, a father, a shepherd, a survivor. But there is one thing he has avoided for twenty long years: facing Esau. And now, he must. The portion opens with a chilling message: Esau is approaching. With four hundred men. The desert itself seems to hold its breath. Jacob divides his camp, sends gifts, whispers desperate prayers. The past he ran from is no longer behind him — it's charging toward him. And then comes the night. Jacob, alone by the riverbank, is seized by a mysterious figure — part man, part angel, part reflection of his own soul. They wrestle until dawn in a battle of flesh and faith. When the sun rises, Jacob limps… but he is transformed. He receives a new name: Israel — the one who wrestles and does not let go. By morning, the long-awaited encounter arrives. Yet instead of violence, Jacob meets an unexpected miracle: a brother's embrace. But Vayishlach doesn't end there. We witness the tragedy of Dinah, the fall of Shechem, the death of Rachel on the road, and Isaac's final breath. These are moments that scar families and shape the future of a nation. Vayishlach is raw drama — a story about the wounds we carry, the fears we finally face, and the moments that rename us. It asks each of us: What from our past still follows us? What must we confront to move forward? And when we struggle — truly struggle — who do we become? ——
This week on the podcast, TORAH IN REAL TIME WITH RABBI SHLOMO GEMARA, we step into PARSHAT VAYISHLACH — a portion alive with tension, courage, and the pounding heart of a man walking straight into his destiny. Jacob is no longer the young fugitive who once fled his brother's fury. He is a husband, a father, a shepherd, a survivor. But there is one thing he has avoided for twenty long years: facing Esau. And now, he must. The portion opens with a chilling message: Esau is approaching. With four hundred men. The desert itself seems to hold its breath. Jacob divides his camp, sends gifts, whispers desperate prayers. The past he ran from is no longer behind him — it's charging toward him. And then comes the night. Jacob, alone by the riverbank, is seized by a mysterious figure — part man, part angel, part reflection of his own soul. They wrestle until dawn in a battle of flesh and faith. When the sun rises, Jacob limps… but he is transformed. He receives a new name: Israel — the one who wrestles and does not let go. By morning, the long-awaited encounter arrives. Yet instead of violence, Jacob meets an unexpected miracle: a brother's embrace. But Vayishlach doesn't end there. We witness the tragedy of Dinah, the fall of Shechem, the death of Rachel on the road, and Isaac's final breath. These are moments that scar families and shape the future of a nation. Vayishlach is raw drama — a story about the wounds we carry, the fears we finally face, and the moments that rename us. It asks each of us: What from our past still follows us? What must we confront to move forward? And when we struggle — truly struggle — who do we become? ——
I'm honoured to welcome a man whose life has been defined by service, mentorship, and an extraordinary commitment to Canadian boxing: Peter Wylie. Peter was born in Toronto in 1946 and went on to serve nearly two decades as a Toronto police officer, later working as a sheriff's officer and small-business owner. But his story — and his impact — extend far beyond any single career path. In 1972, Peter founded the Cabbagetown Youth Centre (CYC), a place that would become a second home for thousands of young people. He led the Centre for a decade and remained closely tied to it for generations, eventually being named Honourable Patron in 2022. But Peter's greatest legacy lives inside the ring. For 50 years, he served as the head boxing coach at the CYC, shaping a program that produced athletes, leaders, and countless stories of perseverance. His coaching career spanned the globe — from the 1980 Olympic boycott year, to the 1984 Los Angeles Games, to the Commonwealth Games, World Championships, and later his leadership of Canada's women's national boxing team from 2003 to 2007. In 1982, Peter was named Canada's Amateur Coach of the Year, and over the decades he stepped into nearly every role the sport could offer: referee, judge, trainer, manager, promoter — and even an actor in boxing-related film and television productions. Married since 1968, with three children and five grandchildren, Peter is officially “retired,” but the truth is his influence is still everywhere — in the gyms he built, the athletes he shaped, and the communities he helped uplift. Today, we talk about boxing, community, and the lessons learned over a lifetime in and around the ring. Peter also speaks so beautifully about the Jewish people, the respect he has for them and his sadness in the current spread of anti-Semitism throughout the world. Enjoy. Please comment and subscribe. ——
I'm honoured to welcome a man whose life has been defined by service, mentorship, and an extraordinary commitment to Canadian boxing: Peter Wylie. Peter was born in Toronto in 1946 and went on to serve nearly two decades as a Toronto police officer, later working as a sheriff's officer and small-business owner. But his story — and his impact — extend far beyond any single career path. In 1972, Peter founded the Cabbagetown Youth Centre (CYC), a place that would become a second home for thousands of young people. He led the Centre for a decade and remained closely tied to it for generations, eventually being named Honourable Patron in 2022. But Peter's greatest legacy lives inside the ring. For 50 years, he served as the head boxing coach at the CYC, shaping a program that produced athletes, leaders, and countless stories of perseverance. His coaching career spanned the globe — from the 1980 Olympic boycott year, to the 1984 Los Angeles Games, to the Commonwealth Games, World Championships, and later his leadership of Canada's women's national boxing team from 2003 to 2007. In 1982, Peter was named Canada's Amateur Coach of the Year, and over the decades he stepped into nearly every role the sport could offer: referee, judge, trainer, manager, promoter — and even an actor in boxing-related film and television productions. Married since 1968, with three children and five grandchildren, Peter is officially “retired,” but the truth is his influence is still everywhere — in the gyms he built, the athletes he shaped, and the communities he helped uplift. Today, we talk about boxing, community, and the lessons learned over a lifetime in and around the ring. Peter also speaks so beautifully about the Jewish people, the respect he has for them and his sadness in the current spread of anti-Semitism throughout the world. Enjoy. Please comment and subscribe. ——
This week, we step into Vayetze—the seventh parsha of the Torah, a portion overflowing with movement, vulnerability, and deep human transformation. Vayetze begins with Jacob on the run—leaving his home, his parents, and the brother he has deceived. He is alone, exhausted, frightened, and unsure of what comes next. And it's precisely in that emptiness, in that wilderness, that something extraordinary happens: heaven opens. Jacob dreams of a ladder reaching from earth to the heavens, angels ascending and descending, a vision that will shape not only his destiny, but the destiny of our entire people. From that moment, Vayetze becomes a story of journeys—outer and inner. Jacob travels to Haran, where he meets Rachel, Leah, and the complex family through whom the tribes of Israel will be born. But he also travels inward: toward responsibility, toward love, toward struggle, toward blessing. He works for years out of devotion, endures deception from Laban, builds a family, and slowly transforms from a solitary young fugitive into a leader with purpose and depth. The God who appeared to him in that nighttime vision remains a quiet, steady companion along the way. At its heart, Vayetze teaches us something timeless: that transformation often begins the moment we step into the unknown; that holiness can appear in the most unexpected places—on the road, by a well, in a field, or in moments of heartbreak and fatigue; and that our journeys, even the ones we never asked for, are shaping us in ways we cannot always see. So join me as we explore Vayetze—a parsha that reminds us that we are guided, even when we feel alone, and that growth sometimes arrives through the very experiences that challenge us most. ——
This week, we step into Vayetze—the seventh parsha of the Torah, a portion overflowing with movement, vulnerability, and deep human transformation. Vayetze begins with Jacob on the run—leaving his home, his parents, and the brother he has deceived. He is alone, exhausted, frightened, and unsure of what comes next. And it's precisely in that emptiness, in that wilderness, that something extraordinary happens: heaven opens. Jacob dreams of a ladder reaching from earth to the heavens, angels ascending and descending, a vision that will shape not only his destiny, but the destiny of our entire people. From that moment, Vayetze becomes a story of journeys—outer and inner. Jacob travels to Haran, where he meets Rachel, Leah, and the complex family through whom the tribes of Israel will be born. But he also travels inward: toward responsibility, toward love, toward struggle, toward blessing. He works for years out of devotion, endures deception from Laban, builds a family, and slowly transforms from a solitary young fugitive into a leader with purpose and depth. The God who appeared to him in that nighttime vision remains a quiet, steady companion along the way. At its heart, Vayetze teaches us something timeless: that transformation often begins the moment we step into the unknown; that holiness can appear in the most unexpected places—on the road, by a well, in a field, or in moments of heartbreak and fatigue; and that our journeys, even the ones we never asked for, are shaping us in ways we cannot always see. So join me as we explore Vayetze—a parsha that reminds us that we are guided, even when we feel alone, and that growth sometimes arrives through the very experiences that challenge us most. ——
I'm truly thrilled and honored—to be speaking with someone whose presence on screen has shaped decades of storytelling: the timeless and deeply talented Andie MacDowell. For more than forty years, Andie has been captivating audiences with her unmistakable grace, authenticity, and that quiet Southern strength that seems to live at the center of everything she does. Many of us first met Andie as Jane Porter in 'Greystoke: The Legend of Tarzan' back in 1984. Since then, she's become part of cinematic history—shining in films like 'Sex, Lies, and Videotape', 'Green Card', 'Groundhog Day', and 'Four Weddings and a Funeral'. These aren't just movies; they're cultural touchstones, and Andie is woven into each one. Her versatility has always been her signature—whether she's bringing heart to a romantic comedy or grounding a dramatic role with sincerity and depth. And today, Andie continues to redefine herself in the award-winning Hallmark series 'The Way Home', where she plays Del Landry, an unshakeable matriarch navigating the complexities of family, memory, love, and yes—time travel. It's a role that feels almost tailor-made for her: warm, wise, layered, and fiercely human. Off-screen, Andie is devoted to the role she holds most dearly: mother of three—Justin, Rainey, and Margaret Qualley—and now a proud grandmother. As one biographer beautifully put it, “Andie MacDowell stands out as a shining example of individuality and tenacity in a world where success often overshadows sincerity.” And today, we get to explore that sincerity up close. Please join me in welcoming the extraordinary Andie MacDowell. ——
I'm truly thrilled and honored—to be speaking with someone whose presence on screen has shaped decades of storytelling: the timeless and deeply talented Andie MacDowell. For more than forty years, Andie has been captivating audiences with her unmistakable grace, authenticity, and that quiet Southern strength that seems to live at the center of everything she does. Many of us first met Andie as Jane Porter in 'Greystoke: The Legend of Tarzan' back in 1984. Since then, she's become part of cinematic history—shining in films like 'Sex, Lies, and Videotape', 'Green Card', 'Groundhog Day', and 'Four Weddings and a Funeral'. These aren't just movies; they're cultural touchstones, and Andie is woven into each one. Her versatility has always been her signature—whether she's bringing heart to a romantic comedy or grounding a dramatic role with sincerity and depth. And today, Andie continues to redefine herself in the award-winning Hallmark series 'The Way Home', where she plays Del Landry, an unshakeable matriarch navigating the complexities of family, memory, love, and yes—time travel. It's a role that feels almost tailor-made for her: warm, wise, layered, and fiercely human. Off-screen, Andie is devoted to the role she holds most dearly: mother of three—Justin, Rainey, and Margaret Qualley—and now a proud grandmother. As one biographer beautifully put it, “Andie MacDowell stands out as a shining example of individuality and tenacity in a world where success often overshadows sincerity.” And today, we get to explore that sincerity up close. Please join me in welcoming the extraordinary Andie MacDowell. ——
Shalom aleichem and welcome to Torah in Real Time, the podcast where ancient words meet today's headlines, and where the struggles of our ancestors illuminate the challenges of our lives. I'm Rabbi Shlomo Gemara, and I'm so glad you're here with me. This week, the Torah pulls us into Parashat Toledot, a portion whose very name means “generations.” Yet instead of a tidy family portrait, we're handed a story crackling with tension, rivalry, longing, and love that sometimes hurts more than it heals. We meet Isaac and Rebecca: the only monogamous couple in the entire Torah, desperately praying for children after twenty years of barrenness. When the twins finally arrive, they come out fighting. One is red and restless, a hunter born with the dust of the wild on him; the other clings to his brother's heel, quiet, calculating, already reaching for something bigger. From the womb they wrestle, and the struggle never really ends. In Toledot, a family gropes toward its future. Isaac digs wells and searches for blessing. Rebecca carries the burden of prophecy and will do anything to see it fulfilled. Esau roars in from the field, starving, and trades eternity for a bowl of lentil stew. Jacob puts on skins and a borrowed voice to claim what he believes is his destiny. Nothing is simple. Everything is unforgettable. And somehow, three thousand years later, it still feels like the evening news. Because this portion refuses to let us look away from the messy, sacred work of transmission: How do we pass on faith when siblings see the world so differently? How do parents love children who are nothing alike? What happens when prophecy and politics collide in the same household? And how do we shape the next generation when the ground beneath us keeps shifting? This week on Torah in Real Time, we'll dive deep into Toledot and ask what it has to say about the headlines screaming at us right now: the raising of the Palestinian flag in public squares across Toronto and Canada, the imminent sale of F-35 fighter jets to Saudi Arabia, the fault lines running through families, communities, and nations when identity, loyalty, and survival are all on the table. Because if Jacob and Esau teach us anything, it's that the future is never guaranteed. It's wrestled for, one difficult blessing at a time. So settle in, open your Chumash (or just open your heart), and let's learn Toledot together, in real time, in this time. Welcome to the conversation. ——
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