Yael [not her real name] grew up next door to my husband, both in Morocco and in Eretz Yisrael. Several years older than him, she remembered things from Morocco that he couldn’t as a baby.

We spent Shabbat in her villa with her family in a pastoral area of Eretz Yisrael and she’s full of joy and vitality. She and her husband celebrate Saturday night Melaveh Malka with singing, tambourines, and bongo drums.

She described the good relations Jews enjoyed with their Muslim neighbors.
But when the Jews chased out the antisemitic British and established a country of their own, the Arab propaganda machine started up against all Jews everywhere.

Like other Moroccan Jews I've met, Yael emphasized that crimes against Moroccan Jews were committed by Muslim strangers, and not by the Muslims they knew and lived with (unlike in Europe, where pogroms and Nazi collaboration were carried out by non-Jewish "friends" and  neighbors). And she also stressed Moroccan Jewry's unwavering belief that Morocco's royal family opposed the antisemitic outbreaks, but couldn't always stop the riled-up masses.

Here, I’ll tell the story in Yael’s own words as best I remember:

And that’s where she ended it. It was clear from her face and the hand she clutched over her heart as she spoke that even fifty years later, the trauma was still raw.

(I know, I know…it makes you want to storm over to Morocco and shout: GIVE THAT LITTLE JEWISH GIRL HER COAT BACK!)

No one died, no one was even bruised or even cursed, but there’s something about these very human stories that tear at your heart.

The happy postscript is that Yael remained frum after arriving to the poor, dysfunctional immigrant neighborhood in Eretz Yisrael (a lucky fact she attributes to her father's beautiful singing and the general music in the home, plus her brother’s ability to bring some of the yeshivah atmosphere and enthusiasm home from the yeshivah which he later attended). She earned a college degree and married a cheerful man who also likes music.

But the beginning of the marriage saw no children. After 4 years of infertility, the Lubavitcher Rebbe came to Yael’s husband in a dream and promised them a son within a year.

And so it was. Within a year, their first son was born followed by a daughter three years later, and then no more.

Interestingly, neither Yael nor her husband shared any connection with Lubavitcher Chassidus or the Lubavitcher Rebbe other than the general esteem in which Yael and her husband held all tzaddikim. The Lubavitcher Rebbe's appearance occurred completely out of the blue.

When the dream’s message was fulfilled, Yael and her husband became Chabadnikim.

May all Jews everywhere merit to embrace all our chagim in peace.

Several years ago, my two oldest boys—who are close in age and grew up like twins—used to hang out with other adventurous friends and their brothers. This was nice for them because upon befriending one boy, their social circle automatically increased 2- or 3-fold when brothers came into the picture, making one big happy gang.

Of course, this means a certain amount of chaos for the mother (i.e. me), including  dealing with the consequences of normal boy adventures, like tending the bloody head wounds of someone else’s child.
 
Anyway, one evening after I thought everyone had scattered off to their different homes, I proceeded to dole out dinner, tidy up, then put everyone to bed. I was looking forward to some nice, quiet, private down-time after their bedtime.

But my two oldest boys wouldn’t settle down.
 
I kept coming to their room upon hearing them whispering excitedly and moving around. Each time, they leaped back into bed, smothering giggles.
 
Finally, with my nerves shot around 11PM, I opened the door to see one of their friends (age 12) hiding in their closest. I totally freaked out and I chased him out of the house, yelling all the way. Then I came back and yelled out my own kids (I am nothing if not fair) and then sat there with my nerves totally fried, feeling like I just can’t get a break.
Or privacy.
 
Now, as the kid raced over the stairs out of our building, I vaguely noticed that the expression on his face wasn't been the usual “Wheeeeee!” expression boys wear as they flee trouble. On the contrary, he looked frightened. But I put it out of mind because he was one of the livelier happy-go-lucky kids in the crowd and those types usually forget minor negative experiences a few seconds after they happen.
 
Two years later, my boys came home after running into that same boy. While chatting about it, they said, “He asked if you were still mad at him.”
 
“Why on earth would I be mad at him?” I said, having forgotten about the incident. “He’s so good-natured and was always so kind to your younger siblings.”
 
“He thinks you don’t like him.”

“Why?” I said, mystified.

Then they reminded me of what had happened that late night two years ago.

“That why he stopped coming around. He’s afraid that you’ll yell at him again.”

Uh-oh.

I got that sinking feeling you get when something you considered minor was actually not so minor after all.
 
If he was still recalling it—and especially if he thought I was angry at him and is afraid of me—then that means that my yelling at him affecting him a LOT more than I’d imagined.
 
“I’m not mad at him at all,” I said. “I really like him. And I wouldn’t just stam start yelling at him or anybody else—I mean, as long as I don’t find him haunting my home at 11 o’clock at night, why would I yell at him?”
 
But my sons were excited by the fact that their mother was the type of person considered tough and scary by their friends, and were no longer engaged in the topic.
 
Later, I told them to tell him that I do like him, and that I was more surprised than mad at the time, and that he needn’t be afraid.
 
And I thought that would be the end of it.

He went away to yeshivah, but my boys again reported that his brother mentioned to them something like, “Your mom really doesn’t like him, right?”
 
Not true! I actually like him a lot!
 
But I got that sinking “Uh-oh….” feeling again, and realized that I really needed to speak to the boy myself and apologize.
 
I kept wracking my brains to think of how I could contact him. A letter? A phone call? But either one meant going through the yeshiva, and I assumed the yeshiva would let the parents know (it was that kind of yeshiva) that this strange lady was contacting their son. Now, most people would be fine with that if you explain why you’re contacting their son. And the boy’s father is a bit strange and I wasn’t sure how he would respond to it, even after explaining why.
 
Around then, I heard a shiur about this very issue. The rabbi said that if you can’t find a way to contact a person to apologize, you should ask Hashem to help you. So I started davening to Hashem to help me rectify this issue.
 
Then I heard that the boy had come back home. Great! But then I realized that calling him would only work if he answered the phone, not his parents or his siblings. Ditto with sending him a letter or showing up at his home.
 
And it made me uncomfortable just imagining how his father would respond to any of it.
 
So I kept davening.
 
Then the first night of Rosh Hashanah arrived. My husband and most of our sons had gone off to shul when I heard a knock on the door.
 
I opened it to see the boy standing right in front of me!
 
I couldn’t believe it—Hashem had provided a great opportunity!
 
The boy towered over me (he’d grown a lot since he was 12) while standing in this tough-guy posture, and asked if my oldest sons were around.
 
(One was, actually.)
 
But before I went to get my son, I took the opportunity to apologize for the time I’d chased him out of the house, yelling at him.
 
He tossed his head. “Eh,” he grunted. “It’s okay." He paused as he shifted his eyes and tossed his head, before looking me right in the eye in a challenging manner and said, "I deserved it.”
 
“No, you didn’t!” I said. “You were a really good boy. I could’ve just explained to you nicely not to do that kind of thing. I didn't need to yell at you. You're not the kind of kid who needed to be yelled at. I just freaked out and I wasn’t thinking. And I’m really sorry.”
 
He looked me right in the eye again, as if sizing me up. Then he shrugged his shoulders and made a non-committal sound. I realized he was waiting for the conversation to end and for my son to appear. (Yes, this kind of scenario is very uncomfortable for 16-year-old boys.)
 
But there was one more thing I needed to do.
 
“Do you forgive me?” I said. “I am really sorry and I won’t do it again. Do you forgive me?”
 
He looked me in the eye again for a moment, looking all tough and adorable again, and grunted, “Yeah.”
 
“Thank you,” I said, very relieved, and went to get my son.
 
I learned from this that if you really want to make up with someone, but can’t find a way to do it, then Hashem really does help you—even going so far as to bring the person right to your doorstep, if necessary.

Growing up under the strong Ashkenazi influence of Jewish America, I always thought that chicken soup, gefilte fish, matzah balls, kugels, etc, were THE traditional Jewish foods.
 

But Sephardim have a whole other tradition of foods associated with Shabbat and the chagim [Jewish holidays]. And to my happy surprise, the food is generally more colorful, healthier (except for chicken soup, of course), and more delicious than its Ashkenazi counterpart (although I still love gefilte fish and a really good carrot kugel).
 
Anyway, a Moroccan staple for the major chagim is basar v'shizifim -- meat and prunes.
 
Yeah, I thought that sounded really unappetizing the first time, but the first taste changed everything and now I make it every Pesach and Shavuot and Sukkot.
 
And it's also a Rosh Hashanah classic.
 
Usually, Moroccan food isn't sweet, unless it's a dessert. But this is a delicious exception.

I'm giving you the recipe, along with its variations, but please note that even though it's pretty easy, I learned it by watching my mother-in-law and neither of us use exact measurements. So this is a Cook-on-a-Wing-and-a-Prayer recipe.
 
Basar V'Shizifim (photo at the very bottom of the post)
Ingredients:

• Meat (whatever part you like, preferably one that gets really soft while cooking)
• Prunes (however many you all like and preferably without pits)
• Oil (a nut oil is particularly nice in this recipe)
• Onions
• Turmeric (or saffron)
• Peeled almonds (a handful or more, depending....my mother-in-law insists that the almonds don't taste good unless we peel them ourselves by soaking them in hot water and then popping them out of their skins, but I think buying whole or slivered skinned almonds works out just fine)
• Cinnamon

 
Directions:
(I'm going to explain the authentic Moroccan way, but feel free to cook the meat the way you're used to, if that's easier.)

• Place the meat in a pot of water and bring to a boil, then just let it simmer for hours (being careful that it doesn't burn) or until whenever it seems soft enough.
• After it's cooked enough, put the meat in the freezer (wrapping it in a plastic bag or something like that) until it is kind of frozen, but not rock-hard because you'll need to cut it.

In the meantime, slice or chop the onions and saute them in oil until they smell and look really good.

• Wash the prunes in soapy water (to avoid bugs)
• Toss them in with the onions.
• Add however much water, like maybe just enough to cover the prunes. (Be careful that the oil doesn't snap the water back up at you.)
• Add honey, turmeric, salt, white pepper, and cinnamon in whatever amounts you find most delectable. (If you're not used to using turmeric, its smell and taste are strong and I personally don't it them pleasant, but you can't beat the color and the health benefits turmeric provides. You can start off with a teaspoon and see how that you like it.)

Let that all simmer while you deal with the meat.

• Take out your not-too-frozen meat and slice it up, being careful not to slice thin slices because you want the slices to hold their shape. (I didn't know this at first, but the whole point of freezing the meat is to facilitate nice and neat slicing.)
• Place the meat slices on the prune and onion mixture.
• Add more water, maybe just to cover.
• Let all that simmer until it looks and smells fabulous, being careful to add more water if necessary. (Maybe at least half-an-hour? I usually make it longer because I like my cooked fruits and veggies VERY soft and mushy.)
• Toast the skinless almonds either in the oven or in a frying pan, probably with a little oil. Watch and stir them well so they don't burn. (This part is only a minute or two.)
• Just before serving, sprinkle the meat-prune mixture with the toasted almonds. (If you do it long before, the almonds get mushy.)

You can serve the meat and prunes side-by-side, or in a mixture over rice or whatever.
 
Variations:

• Moroccans also use veal or lamb or chicken in place of the meat. When using chicken, you don't need to freeze it, so you can skip that whole step.
• Moroccans sometimes add dried apricots to the prunes. This makes for a pretty dish.
• Moroccans also sometimes add dried figs. (Just make sure you open them up and check them for bugs or worms first.)
• You can add wine with the meat when it's first cooking or later, with the prunes.
• If you don't mind cutting up uncooked meat, you can just do that at that beginning and skip the freezer step.
• You can leave the prunes (or dried apricots or dried figs) whole or cut them up.
• You can change the order written here and place the meat slices on the onions and THEN add the prunes and spices and water.
• You can leave out the salt and pepper and turmeric, if you wish.
• You can substitute the honey for sugar, brown sugar, or molasses -- or just leave out the sweet stuff.
• You can substitute the almonds for any other kind of nut -- or just leave them out.
• You can substitute the cinnamon for nutmeg or any other spice you like -- or just leave it out.

Feel free to play around with this dish and fine-tune it to the tastes of yours and your family's.

Chag Sameach & Shanah Tovah!

Needless to say, it's always good to sweeten dinim.
 
Often translated as "judgements," dinim are actually the natural spiritual consequences of one's deeds and thoughts. Of course, these spiritual consequences are often experienced physically, i.e. illness, financial loss, etc.  
 
With Tisha B'Av upon us and then dealing with the rest of Av and its Lion mazal, and then sliding into Elul, this is a particularly important time to sweeten any harsh stuff hanging overhead, whether on a personal level or the national level—or both.
 
I am still not Breslov, but I've been going through Sefer Hamiddot (you can download a free PDF of it here) and found the chapter on Sweetening Judgement/Hamtakat Hadinim particularly helpful:
 

1. Recite Tikkun Chatzot.
2. "When you stay awake the whole night, by this you are saved from dinim." (This is something comforting for parents of wakeful children to keep in mind.)
3. Learning mishnayot of Zeraim sweetens dinim.
4. Tzedakah transforms dinim into chessed (loving-kindness).
5. Reciting Tehillim 39 and 77 sweetens dinim.
6. To battle the decrees of the nations against the Jewish people, recite Tehillim 62.
7. "Through bitachon [trust in Hashem], the din is sweetened and chessed is drawn forth."
8. Crying [not in accusation or self-pity against Hashem] sweetens dinim.
9. Being depressed draws forth bad mazal and via bad mazal, the attribute of harsh din dominates. [So try to fight depression by expressing gratitude for whatever you can.]
10. "One who wants to sweeten dinim should not drink any wine the entire day."
11. When you hear someone making accusations against the Jewish people, you should toil to find a meritorious reason behind the criticized actions.
12. Immersing in a mikveh annuls suffering and brings salvation.
13. One who accepts suffering with love is as if he (or she!) brought a sacrifice. [Bringing a sacrifice to the Beit Hamikdash sweetened dinim. The Kli Yakar in Parshat Tzav explains how that works.]
14. When a person sees that dinim rest upon him, he should tell of those who hate him and justify them. ["Tell" implies telling Hashem and not other people, as that would be lashon hara.]

 
Now, that last one is interesting. Contrary to certain stereotypes, we know that Judaism does not encourage masochism or codependency. Justifying those who hate you should not lead to: "I deserve to be punished and abused because deep down inside, I am innately very bad and icky." And contrary to what you sometimes hear in some classes, halachically forbidden behavior (i.e. hating you unless you are completely and intentionally evil) is never "okay" or acceptable or excusable.
 
Just for knowing, the Hebrew word translated here as "justify" is יצדיק, the root meaning "right" or "just."

If I understand it correctly, it's very similar to thanking Hashem for suffering. Even if you can't emotionally appreciate your suffering, it's possible to intellectually accept that it is somehow for your benefit in a way that only Hashem understands.
 
Basically, you are just seeing the other person's point of view.
 
For example, did you once do something that gave someone else the totally wrong impression of you and they just can't let go of it? Even if they're wrong and should really give you the benefit of the doubt, can you at least understand intellectually and objectively why they feel the way they do?
 
Or maybe you really did do something wrong and the other person just can't forgive you--even though you sincerely apologized and tried to make it up to them. While they're wrong not to forgive, can you understand why they can't? Given their background, their experiences, their blind spots and stumbling blocks, and their personality, can you somehow "justify" their feelings about you?
 
Or you might discover that you actually did do something wrong, and this grants you the opportunity to make amends for and rectify it.

Doing all this should not lead to depression or self-hatred.
 
Remember the paradox of us having free choice while Hashem is still deciding every last little detail of our lives and actions.
 
Whether you did something to create a hater or if someone hates you for no reason (or for the wrong reason), that's also from Hashem. It seems that this exercise is not about the other person, per se, but about Hashem.
 
I think it's hard and uncomfortable to do at first, but difficult and uncomfortable acts are usually the most powerful. I do not know how the following will sound to you, but the first time I tried this, a young cat suddenly entered my little yard just as I finished.

In Perek Shira, the song of the cat is:
“I have pursued my enemies and overtaken them, and I did not return until they were destroyed.” (Tehillim 18:38)
 
That sounds pretty sweet to me!
 
I felt sure this was a sign that justifying my haters had worked.
 
Then the seat of my chair collapsed and I fell through and got stuck.
 
Fortunately, my 13-year-old was around and he held out his arm to let me grab hold of him while using a pear tree for leverage as the chair's legs collapsed, too. I'm sure you'll be relieved to hear that I made it out okay. Thank God for bar mitzvah boys! Anyway, perhaps harsh dinim were transferred to my chair and it was all a kaparah (atonement).

(For more information on dealing with Av's Lion mazal, please see the Kli Yakar on Parshat Devarim)
 
May Hashem greatly sweeten ALL our dinim, both our individual dinim and our National dinim.