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Yizkor: We Should Remember the Best Version of Our Loved Ones
In the Ashkenazi tradition, the Yizkor service stands out as an emotional highlight of each festival. On specially designated days, those who have lost parents, spouses, siblings, or children remain in the synagogue to recite memorial prayers, while those whose parents are still alive respectfully leave the sanctuary. The Hebrew word “Yizkor,” meaning “will remember,” initiates each prayer, emphasizing the enduring memory of those who have passed away and ensuring their remembrance even in their absence.
In the introduction to my latest book, Hearts & Minds on Jewish Festivals, I explore how deeply personal memories integrate into the observance of festivals. Reflecting on memories of shared experiences with my family throughout the Jewish calendar year over many years, I highlight the profound impact these memories have each time these festivals roll around again. Each treasured moment recalled enriches and profoundly enhances our celebrations:
These memories and so many more turn each festival and each significant Jewish date into a rich blend of history, tradition, Jewish laws and customs, memories, nostalgia, and new experiences. Every wine stain on the pages of the Haggadah we use, every forgotten High Holidays schedule tucked into the pages of the maḥzor, the special yomtov-connected drawings our kids made in preschool that reappear at the relevant time each year, the smell of yomtov food cooking in the kitchen—all these elements form a vivid mosaic of our Jewish experience, adding color, context, and depth to the practical aspects of the festivals and notable Jewish dates that punctuate our lives.
These reflections invite us to consider the dual nature of memory — with its inevitable mix of accuracy and embellishment — and the significant roles our remembered versions of events and experiences play in shaping our lives.
Psychology researcher and science communicator Dr. Julia Shaw, known for her exploration of memory and particularly false memories, addresses these themes in her book The Memory Illusion. She investigates how memories can be distorted, fabricated, and influenced by various factors.
Dr. Shaw explores the phenomenon of people recalling events that never happened, discussing the implications for fields like criminal law and our understanding of personal history. Interestingly, she suggests that these alterations in memory are not always detrimental; often, they serve to highlight the most favorable aspects of our loved ones and our past.
In eulogies, we often commemorate our loved ones in the most favorable light possible. The memories we recall are inherently selective and somewhat distorted, as they portray an idealized version of our departed loved ones — a version we all hope to be remembered by one day, when it is our turn to be eulogized.
When someone highlights less flattering aspects of a deceased person during a eulogy, it can shock the audience. I recall a funeral years ago for a university professor of mine, a celebrated scholar of history. His grandson’s eulogy began by acknowledging his grandfather’s reputation as a brilliant intellect and a fount of knowledge — then it shifted to a more personal note: “But there was more to him than that,” he added. “I will always remember him as the old man with dandruff on his jacket, who could be quite irritable and impatient. That was my grandpa.”
As he spoke, I couldn’t help but think, along with everyone else, “Is this really the memory to share at his funeral?”
The podcast Where There’s a Will, There’s a Wake, hosted by English actress Kathy Burke, is premised on a novel concept: “If you could plan your perfect death, what would you do?”
Each episode features celebrities who are asked to imagine their own untimely demise, take charge of their hypothetical funeral arrangements, choose their preferred way to go, create playlists, and even listen to eulogies prepared in advance by their friends.
While intriguing, this concept starkly contrasts with reality — where the memory of who we are is shaped by others, typically our family members, who preserve and interpret our legacies. Nevertheless, these curated memories, richly assembled from diverse perspectives, still do not capture the complete truth. Despite varied viewpoints, no two people will ever remember someone in exactly the same way.
During our festive gatherings over Yom Tov, we often find ourselves immersed in family stories, both old and new. As we enjoy each other’s company and celebrate together, these time-honed tales are shared and reshaped with each retelling. Over the years, details are embellished, and characters grow larger than life, creating increasingly engaging narratives.
This process not only entertains but also strengthens family bonds, imparts values, and fosters a sense of continuity and belonging. Enriched memories become an important part of our collective family heritage, celebrated during these special occasions.
The Yizkor service utilizes the power of memory to connect us with those who have passed on. We engage deeply with our memories, idealizing and appreciating the positive aspects while overlooking the flaws. This idealization is not without merit, as highlighted by a remarkable passage from the Talmud.
The Talmud (Sanhedrin 92b) unpacks Ezekiel’s seminal “dry bones” prophecy. According to the biblical narrative (Ez. 37:1-14), Ezekiel is brought to a valley filled with dry, lifeless bones and asked by God if these bones can live again. He responds that only God knows, prompting God to command Ezekiel to prophesy over the bones. Miraculously, as Ezekiel prophesies, the bones reassemble, grow flesh, and are infused with life, becoming a vast army.
This vision is interpreted in the Talmud as symbolizing the Israelites from the tribe of Ephraim who, driven by impatience, had tried to conquer the land of Israel prematurely at the dawn of Jewish history. Their failure and demise are represented by the dry bones, which are then miraculously revived by Ezekiel.
The question is: Did this event actually happen, or is Ezekiel’s vision merely symbolic? Rabbi Yehuda and Rabbi Nehemiah view the entire episode as a metaphor, suggesting it never actually occurred. Then, unexpectedly, Rabbi Eleazar, son of Rabbi Yosi HaGelili, asserts that the narrative is true, and that the revived bones went on to marry and have children.
This claim is further complicated by Rabbi Yehuda ben Beteira, who claims to be descended from those supposedly metaphorical figures, and adds that “these are the tefillin that my grandfather bequeathed to me from them.”
The thirteenth-century rabbinic luminary, Rabbi Shlomo ben Aderet (Rashba), clarifies this debate by suggesting that some aggadic passages are significant not necessarily because they occurred, but because they represent events that could have transpired. This idea means these stories transcend mere metaphor. They are potential narratives that impart lessons and carry deep messages, regardless of their historical authenticity.
In the specific case of Rabbi Yehuda ben Beteira claiming to have inherited tefillin from descendants of those revived by Ezekiel, the Rashba seemingly interprets this not as a literal historical claim but as a narrative device intended to convey deeper truths or lessons about faith, continuity, and the transmission of tradition. The focus is on the value and impact of the story rather than its factual accuracy.
This approach to memory and narrative is crucial, especially in prayers like the Yizkor service, where we remember our deceased loved ones in the best possible light. It’s not about facts, or about history — but about values and heritage.
By remembering our loved ones as the best versions of themselves — whether these memories are entirely accurate or somewhat enhanced — we not only honor their legacy but also inspire ourselves to aspire to these ideals. This process elevates the souls of the departed and enriches our own lives, demonstrating the power of memory to shape not only our perception of the past, but also our actions in the present and our aspirations for the future.
The author is a rabbi in Beverly Hills, California.
The post Yizkor: We Should Remember the Best Version of Our Loved Ones first appeared on Algemeiner.com.
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The Dreaded Moment Is Finally Here
A drone view shows Palestinians and terrorists gathering around Red Cross vehicles on the day Hamas hands over the bodies of deceased Israeli hostages Oded Lifschitz, Shiri Bibas, and her two children Kfir and Ariel Bibas, seized during the deadly Oct. 7, 2023, attack, as part of a ceasefire and hostages-prisoners swap deal between Hamas and Israel, in Khan Younis in the southern Gaza Strip, Feb. 20, 2025. Photo: REUTERS/Stringer
JNS.org – The moment we had all been dreading came to pass on Feb. 20, as four coffins draped with Israeli flags traveled from the Gaza Strip to Israel in a convoy led by the Israel Defense Forces. Two of the caskets were markedly smaller, in a heartbreaking confirmation that Ariel and Kfir Bibas, the two little boys abducted to Gaza with their mother, Shiri Bibas, during the Hamas-led pogrom on Oct. 7, 2013, did not survive their ordeal.
As I was writing these words, I received a video from my youngest son, who is studying in Israel, of two rainbows etched high in the sky above Tel Aviv’s Florentin district. As I choked back tears, I wanted to believe that this spectacle—God’s tribute to these two complete innocents—was a sign of hope for the rest of us.
But then I remembered that once again, Jews are on the defensive even as we grieve for these children, whose smiling faces became emblematic of the plight of the Israeli and foreign hostages seized on that terrible day. For it is impossible to grieve peacefully without remembering the sight of posters bearing the photos of Ariel and Kfir, as well as Shiri and their father, Yarden Bibas, being violently ripped from walls and lampposts by the antisemitic Hamas cheerleaders who have poisoned our lives. It is impossible to grieve peacefully without recalling the cruel barbs about the “weaponization” of the hostages issued by insidious pundits like Mehdi Hasan, the British-born Islamist antisemite who, shockingly and inexplicably, was granted US citizenship in 2020.
Most of all, it is impossible to grieve peacefully with the memory of the grotesque ceremony staged by Hamas before the coffins carrying the four bodies set off still fresh in our minds. Jaunty Arabic music blared through loudspeakers, and children posed with the guns carried by Hamas terrorists as their parents grinned and leered for the cameras.
Many hours later, an even more shocking development was reported. Ariel and Kfir were not killed in an airstrike, as falsely claimed by Hamas, but were brutally murdered in November 2023, as was the fourth hostage, 84-year-old Oded Lifshitz, according to the autopsies on the bodies undertaken in Israel. Forensic analysis also revealed that Hamas lied about Shiri being returned since the body in the coffin was not hers. The agony persists, and we continue to cry out, “Where is Shiri Bibas?”
The giant screen at the ceremony mocked Shiri and her children even in death—their images dwarfed by a vile, crude caricature of Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu as a vampire, his fangs dripping with blood. Don’t be fooled by the apologists who will tell you that this representation of Netanyahu is merely trenchant criticism of Israel’s war in Gaza—a war that only erupted because of the monstrous atrocities of Oct. 7. It is better understood as a symbol of the sickness enveloping Palestinian society, which regards Jews as subhuman, and which liberally borrows from 2,000 years of anti-Jewish iconography to make that point.
The depiction of Netanyahu as a vampire is no accident, just as images of him dressed in a Nazi uniform are no accident. The Palestinians and their admirers are expert at selecting images that recycle the worst canards about Jews: that they have eagerly adopted the methods and ideology of their worst persecutors and that their collective goal is to suck out the lifeblood of non-Jews without mercy—to the point of sacrificing their own people should that turn out to be necessary, with the Bibas family on display as Exhibit “A.”
The association of Jews with blood dates back at least to the Roman era, spawning anti-Jewish “Blood Libel” riots from Norwich in England (one of the earliest examples) to Damascus in Syria (one of the more recent.) It has been embraced by both Christian and Islamic theologians, as well as by the more secular antisemites who asserted their hatred of Jews in the language of science rather than religion. In the literature and journals of the 19th and 20th centuries, the fictitious figure of the vampire emerged with unmistakable Jewish associations.
“It’s impossible to have this discussion without bringing up the blood libel, the unsubstantiated claim that Jews murdered gentile children to use their blood in rituals,” wrote Isabella Reish in a recent essay on the 1922 film Nosferatu. “Thus, European vampires of old are intrinsically linked to Jewishness.” In my view, that linkage is as true of Hamas now as it is of a Berlin salon in the dark years that ushered in Adolf Hitler’s rise to power.
We cannot live with this hatred, which has seeped from the Palestinians into the wider world, especially among Muslim communities in North America, Europe and Australia—nor should we be expected to. Combating it effectively means that we must be honest about the sources of the problem.
The main source is the Palestinians themselves. All the current discussions about the reconstruction of Gaza and the possible relocation of its civilian population miss the bigger issue. If Palestinians are to live successful, productive lives, then their society must be thoroughly deradicalized, foremost by challenging the antisemitic hatred that has consumed them. The United States, in particular, must prioritize the complete transformation of the Palestinian school system, installing and supervising a curriculum that will educate Palestinian children about Jewish history and religion, about the abiding, uninterrupted Jewish connection to the Land of Israel, and about the cynical manner their own plight has been exploited by Arab leaders happy to project internal unrest onto an external, “colonialist” enemy.
The second source is harder to pin down and cannot be dealt with in a school environment. I’m talking about the fans of the Scottish soccer club Glasgow Celtic, who waved banners urging “Show Zionism the Red Card” at a match in, of all places, the German city of Munich; about the Muslim and far-left vigilantes who last week descended on one of America’s most Jewish neighborhood, Borough Park in Brooklyn, N.Y., where they were gratifyingly confronted by local resistance; about the cowardly arsonists burning down synagogues and Jewish day-care centers in Canada and Australia. Law enforcement and intelligence agencies need to do more than just respond to each outrage. What’s required is a comprehensive global strategy aimed at rooting out these organizations, their communications networks and their propaganda outlets. No measures, including deportation and loss of naturalized citizenship, should be off the table, and no country—looking at you two, Qatar and Iran—should escape scrutiny for fueling these fires.
For decades, our elected leaders have cynically used Holocaust commemoration and education as evidence of their commitment to fighting post-Hitler antisemitism. That hasn’t worked very well, and as the black-and-white images of the Holocaust fade into history’s depths, replaced by decontextualized social-media video bursts of Gazans fleeing Israeli bombing, it’ll work even less so. If the soul-crushing pictures of the coffins bearing the Bibas children don’t result in a fundamental strategic pivot, then perhaps nothing will.
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Is Religion Rational?
Moses Breaking the Tables of the Law (1659), by Rembrandt. Photo: Wikimedia Commons.
JNS.org – When it comes to religion, how much is belief, and how much is rational? Is Judaism a rational religion? Does being religious require a leap of faith?
Perhaps other faiths do. I mean, I respect everyone’s right to choose the religion they subscribe to and want to practice, but some religions do require extraordinary leaps of faith from their followers.
Judaism, on the other hand, is based not on any incredulous leaps of faith, but on the shared firsthand experience of an entire nation.
With other faiths, the starting point is a supposed revelation reported to have been experienced by the founder of that faith. You either believe it or you don’t believe it. Your choice.
But Judaism was founded at Mount Sinai where millions of Israelites, fresh out of Egypt, experienced the Revelation at Sinai. Each and every Israelite, personally, heard the Ten Commandments from the voice of God, not Moses! And it wasn’t virtual, it was personal. They were all there, and it was an in-body experience.
That’s not faith. That is fact. Not only Moses and his disciples but the entire nation of men, women and children—a few million in all—were eyewitnesses to that revelation. And this was handed down by father to son, mother to daughter, throughout the generations wherever Jews lived. European Jews and Yemenite Jews have the very same tradition, the very same Torah. Yes, there are differences in custom and variations on a theme, but the basic traditions are identical.
How? Because they all came from the very same source—Almighty God at Mount Sinai!
This week, we read Mishpatim, a Torah portion that deals with civil and social laws that are very logical. Everyone understands and accepts that society needs a code of law and justice to be able to function.
So, if your ox gores your friend’s ox, you will be liable for damages. If you’re making a barbecue and your negligence causes the fire to spread to your neighbor’s property and it burns down his house, you will be liable. And if you’re going on vacation and deposit your pet poodle at the Lords & Ladies Poodle Parlor for safe keeping and when you come back, they tell you they lost your poodle, then they will be responsible for paying you for your poodle. And so on.
But even the logical mitzvot have much more to them than meets the eye. There are layers and layers of depth, meaning, symbolism and profound spirituality behind every single mitzvah, rational or not.
There are only a handful of chukim, statutory decrees that we were not given an explanation of and for which we must take on faith, like kashrut or shatnez, the law of not mixing wool and linen garments together.
But the truth is that every mitzvah needs faith.
Why? Because without faith, we do something only humans are capable of. Do you know what that is? Rationalization.
Everyone understands that you’re not supposed to steal. And yet, studies have shown that no less than 59% of hotel guests steal from their hotel rooms. Now, I don’t think the hotel really minds if you take the shampoo. I imagine if you asked them, they would say it’s fine.
But no hotel will let you take the towels or the robes. And no hotel will let you take the TV. I was shocked to read that some guests even took home a mattress! (Apparently, in the middle of the night, they snuck it into the elevator, went down to the basement garage and stuffed it into the trunk of their car.)
If you ask these people, they will likely give you all kinds of reasons why their actions are justified. The hotel overcharged me. It calculates shrinkage into their price, so I actually paid for it. If I wear the hotel’s towel on the beach, I am advertising for them, so they should pay me.
This is classic rationalization.
So we do need faith after all, even for logical commandments like not stealing. Otherwise, we fail. Badly.
Interestingly, the very same Torah reading of Mishpatim, with its logical, civil laws also has the famous phrase, Na’aseh V’Nishma. These were the words of the Jewish people when asked if they would accept God’s Torah. They replied Na’aseh, “we will do” and only thereafter Nishmah, “we will listen” and understand. It is the core of simple, pure, absolute faith, beyond any logic or understanding.
And this explains why the Ten Commandments, which we read last week, begin with Anochi, “I am God,” the lofty, abstract mitzvah to believe in God. To have faith.
And then the other commandments go on to tell us the most basic laws that every low life knows he should keep. Not to murder, commit adultery, steal, lie or be jealous.
How did we get from the highest, metaphysical commandment of belief to the grossest of the gross in a few short sentences?
Because without faith, a human being is capable of justifying anything.
The accursed Nazis justified the Holocaust. REAL genocide, not make-believe South African genocide. How did they justify it? By saying Jews are scum, sub-human. We are doing the world a service by eliminating them. The world will be a better place for it. Rationalization.
Without the first commandment of faith in God, there can be no adherence to any of the other commandments.
Logic gets you pretty far but not far enough. As logical as Judaism may be, we still need the foundation of faith to do what we must do and avoid that which is tempting but wrong.
May we all embrace Judaism with knowledge and reason and by understanding its philosophy, without losing that pure and simple faith that every one of us possesses.
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Israeli Security Control of Gaza Is an Existential Necessity
Orthodox Jewish men stand near a tank, ahead of a ceasefire between Israel and Hamas, as seen from the Israeli side of the border with Gaza, Jan. 16, 2025. Photo: REUTERS/Amir Cohen
JNS.org – Thursday was a national day of mourning, as the bodies of hostage Shiri Bibas’s children Ariel and Kfir, along with that of Oded Lipshitz, returned to Israel. Hamas also handed over a fourth coffin, falsely saying it held Shiri Bibas‘s remains, but it was subsequently determined that it contained the corpse of an unidentified non-Israeli woman.
Their dire fate, along with that of some 1,200 Israelis on Oct. 7, 2023, stand as an unbearable reminder of the consequences of allowing a genocidal, jihadist army to entrench itself on Israel’s border.
The sorrow that grips all Israelis, reinforced by months of war, adds up to a clear national imperative: Israel can never again allow Gaza to be a staging ground for an Iranian-backed terrorist army. Once Israel has exhausted all efforts to secure the release of its hostages, Hamas must be eliminated from the face of the Earth as a terror army. No one on Israel’s borders can be allowed to build an ability to send death squads and invasion brigades over the border in an organized manner.
Ensuring Israeli security control over Gaza is the only way to achieve this. This work cannot be outsourced to anyone; the idea that a foreign force or paid mercenaries would have the ability to deal with Hamas is absurd. Israeli security control of Gaza is not just a military necessity to prevent future Hamas barbarity, it is an existential imperative.
The ongoing professional inquiries by the IDF into the events of Oct. 7 aim to provide answers to the public, the bereaved families and affected communities about the multiple system failures of that darkest of days.
But these investigations are not just about accountability—they are about learning from history in real time. As one IDF official put it this week, Israel must “carry out the lessons learned during the war, not afterward, and prepare for future conflicts.”
The scope of the IDF’s inquiries is broad, covering four main areas: Israel’s long-term strategy regarding Gaza, intelligence failures leading up to the war, the decision-making process between Oct. 6 and 7, and the first 72 hours of defensive operations.
But even before their conclusions are published, likely in the coming days, it is possible to draw some key conclusions.
Not deterred, not a rational actor, not seeking prosperity
Before the attack, every day that Israel did not act to prevent Hamas from building its capabilities, and every day that Israel gave up on the idea of achieving security control over Gaza, was an opportunity for Hamas to develop further its murderous plans and prepare for the massacre.
The Western-oriented idea that Israel could afford to refrain from continuous security operations in Gaza, and that the IDF could stay back behind the border, was fueled by deluded concepts of Hamas being deterred, that it was a rational actor, and that it sought economic prosperity.
These delusions stem from a catastrophic inability to grasp the jihadist mindset of a fundamentalist Islamic death cult, and from the tendency that was rampant in the defense establishment and the political echelon before Oct. 7 to project Western thinking onto our enemies. This allowed Hamas the space and the time to prepare its attack. Those who wish to indefinitely delay Israeli operations to prevent Hamas from rebuilding these capabilities have returned to the pre-Oct. 7 misconceptions. The “day after” is today.
During the Oct. 7 attacks, Hamas behaved like an army intent on genocide. It seized land, executing civilians in the most brutal manner imaginable, and taking hostages to act as insurance policies for the survival of its leadership. It was only able to do these things because it controlled its own territory, giving it the ability to develop an arms industry, smuggle in weapons and develop its intentions with minimal interference.
Meanwhile, the chief of the IDF General Staff, Lt. Gen. Herzi Halevi, who is due to step down on March 6, has spent recent days in the United States discussing strategic and operational issues with top American military officials.
Halevi visited the Pentagon to meet with Gen. Charles Q. Brown, the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, along with staff officers, and with Gen. Michael Erik Kurilla, the commander of CENTCOM (responsible for the Middle East), to discuss Lebanon and Iran, and ways to strengthen U.S.-Israeli cooperation.
But Gaza trumped the other arenas. Halevi expedited his return to Israel due to the agreement to return the bodies of the hostages.
No international diplomacy or security guarantees can obviate the necessity of full Israeli freedom of operation in Gaza for the foreseeable future. Failure to recognize this would invite, once again, catastrophe, and Israel cannot afford to repeat its mistakes.
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