ב"ה
Articles by Yaakov Paley
Who placed the intimate secret of the cosmos on a plush toy dangling above my little boy's head?
And this little boy? When he awakens, what will he see? Undoubtedly he will marvel at neat rows of colored squiggles and wonder what they are doing in his crib. He is far too young to realize what he is looking at...
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Is Nature a sleek bus that makes random stops? Or is the itinerary determined by our input and effort? Perhaps the bus driver ignores individuals but looks for a convenient crowd to smile upon?
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It's not too often that an angel drops by for a cup of tea and a chat, or that one discovers a heavenly being hovering impatiently in the waiting room...
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They seem just as human as the others. They bleed when cut, and the blood is always red. A gentile could eat cholent and a Jew could own a baseball team. Are they one species or two?
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As they disappear beneath the waves, we wonder whether our efforts are futile. Ten bags, twenty bags, thirty bags... It hasn't worked so far, so what's the point of continuing?
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The cause is the mountain itself: it simply and stubbornly gets in the way. The wind hits it with force, and must force its way around or over. As it does so, it carries little pieces of the mountain with it
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"Taking a human life is an absolute no-no. How could Abraham have been willing to kill his own son in cold blood? So what if G-d commanded him--that's no excuse!"
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It contains no oil or honey, nuts or fruit, not even a coating of egg and poppy seeds . . . How did this “bread of poverty” wangle center stage in the festival celebrating our acquisition of the greatest of wealths—our freedom?
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For what is man/ But a frame/ Of living wood/ With a bark of flesh/ Whose spent years/ Are carefully recorded/ In the rings of his soul/ To be counted and measured/ When his tree is felled--?
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To touch some of heaven’s radiance, then curve gracefully back towards the earth in a glorious ray of colors that are manmade reflections of G‑d’s truth and hope for mankind . . .
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What you consider monotony, a burden, an obligation, may truly be your soul’s pot of gold...
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