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Of Making Many Books

And further, by these, my son, be admonished: of making many books there is no end (Ecclesiastes 12:12) A pdf version of this essay  can be downloaded here [*] Years in brackets refer to an individual’s or book author’s year of birth Thought experiment for the day: Anyone born 1945 would be pushing towards 80 and mostly past their prime. So name any Charedi sefer written by someone born post war that has or is likely to enter the canon, be it haloche, lomdus, al hatorah or mussar. Single one will do for now — IfYouTickleUs (@ifyoutickleus) July 27, 2022 A tweet in the summer which gained some traction asked for a book by an author born from 1945 onwards that has entered the Torah and rabbinic canon or is heading in that direction. I didn't exactly phrase it this way and some quibbled about 'canonisation'. The word does indeed have a precise meaning though in its popular use it has no narrow definition. Canonisation, or ‘entering the canon’ is generally understood to

Of Making Many Books

And further, by these, my son, be admonished: of making many books there is no end (Ecclesiastes 12:12) A pdf version of this essay  can be downloaded here [*] Years in brackets refer to an individual’s or book author’s year of birth Thought experiment for the day: Anyone born 1945 would be pushing towards 80 and mostly past their prime. So name any Charedi sefer written by someone born post war that has or is likely to enter the canon, be it haloche, lomdus, al hatorah or mussar. Single one will do for now — IfYouTickleUs (@ifyoutickleus) July 27, 2022 A tweet in the summer which gained some traction asked for a book by an author born from 1945 onwards that has entered the Torah and rabbinic canon or is heading in that direction. I didn't exactly phrase it this way and some quibbled about 'canonisation'. The word does indeed have a precise meaning though in its popular use it has no narrow definition. Canonisation, or ‘entering the canon’ is generally understood to

Chaim'keh Oy Chaim'keh

A trip down memory land with this little Chanukah song of unknown provenance. First published 10 years ago it has, due to recent events, still retained its relevance. It now almost needs Rashi with some of the references obscured by the passage of time, though the added stanza (in red) should bring it up to date. חיימ'קע אוי חיימ'קע א רעבעלע א שיינער א האריגע א בייכעלע נישט דא נאך אזיינער אלע נעכט מיט פייגעלעך שפילן מיר זיסע הייסע מיידעלעך טאפן מיר אן א שיעור געשווינדער, צינדט קינדער חיימ'קע'ס ליכטעלע אן דערציילט זיינע נסים גלייבט אין די שטותים און לאמיר ווארפען עפלעך אין קאן דערציילט זיינע נסים... דער קול קורא האט געשריגן אז חיים איז א נואף די רבנים האבן געשוויגן ווייל פרויען זענען טינוף דאס שטעטעלע פון לאנדאן האט ווידער אויפגעלעבט און צו א נייער בית דין האט יעדערער געשטרעבט געשווינדער, קוקט קינדער ווי חיים דער צדיק'ל פרעסט כאפט זיין שריים ראנגלט די יָדַיִם און שמייסט אים מיט האנטעכער פעסט כאפט זיין שריים... ר' חנה האט געשריגן  מען וועט ברענען אין גיהנום דער שו

UOHC Writes to Reb Tickle

For those increasingly concerned that Reb Tickle may gradually be joining the Arsekonim class we have some disappointing news: Reb Tickle is corresponding directly with that august body known as UOHC. The only thing I can say in my defence is that they started it by writing to me first and myself being deferential to authority and submissive to Daas Torah had no option but to reply, about 10 lines for each line of theirs. The missive was in response to Reb Tickle's recent droshe. The sender must I'm afraid remain without a name - no UOHC officer with the right hashkofeh would be seen here even in their finest Purim mask - and the cc list, which reads like an A-class shiduchim list, must also remain classified. But due to UOHC's deeply held conviction on the public's right to know permission for republication was graciously granted and hope is being expressed in certain quarters of awarding Reb Tickle in due course a serving of the recently stewed Keddasia alphabet soup.

The Sixth of Nissan

"44 years", they marvelled, just as they did last year and just as they will keep doing year after year with incremented numbers while measuring their own life by her death. But 44 years it is and still it feels like this. Still it hurts and still the ground is cold. This morning AL, now with a white beard, recalled how as a kid on his bike at the corner in Clapton Common he heard the news. BS namechecked her and wanted to know if it was only that one name. PF stroked his unfurled almost navel length beard, fresh and untangled after the mikveh, as he told of the photo he has of my mum with myself and my siblings. Forty four years. Others commented on the freshness of the croissant sandwiches while the shy boy stood quietly at the side eyeing the food but too timid to approach the adult table where death was being served up with Scotch. Less shy were the drinkers sipping Lechaim from sample-size cups. In some shuls they wish you a long life but here they're more conc