john the new guy

The manager of a large office noticed one of his department heads had hired a new man, so the boss called him into his office for a little orientation speech. "What is your name?" he asked.
"John," the new guy replied. The manager scowled, "Look, I don't know what kind of place you worked at before, but I don't call anyone by their first name. It breeds familiarity and that leads to a breakdown in authority. I refer to my employees by their last names only - Smith, Jones, Baker - that's all. I am to be referred to only as Mr. Robertson. Now that we got that straight, what is your last name?" The new guy sighed and said, "Darling. John Darling." "Okay, John, the next thing I want to tell you is..."

the kid

A man scolded his son for being so unruly and the child rebelled against his father. He got some of his clothes, his teddy bear and his piggy bank and proudly announced, 'I'm running away from home!'. The father calmly decided to look at the matter logically. 'What if you get hungry?', he said. 'Then I'll come home and eat!', bravely declared the child. ' And what if you run out of money?'. 'I will come home and get some!', readily replied the child. The man then made a final attempt, 'What if your clothes get dirty?'. 'Then I'll come home and let mommy wash them.', was the reply. The man shook his head and exclaimed, 'This kid is not running away from home, he's going off to college!!'.

the old lady

This might be a little lengthy, certainly something you've heard before, but DEFINITELY worthy of another read.Twenty years ago, I drove a cab for a living.When I arrived at 2:30 a.m., the building was dark except for a singlelight in a ground floor window.. Under these circumstances, manydrivers would just honk once or twice, wait a minute, then drive away.But, I had seen too many impoverished people who depended on taxis astheir only means of transportation. Unless a situation smelled ofdanger, I always went to the door. This passenger might be someone who
This might be a little lengthy, certainly something you've heard before, but DEFINITELY worthy of another read.Twenty years ago, I drove a cab for a living.When I arrived at 2:30 a.m., the building was dark except for a singlelight in a ground floor window.. Under these circumstances, manydrivers would just honk once or twice, wait a minute, then drive away.But, I had seen too many impoverished people who depended on taxis astheir only means of transportation. Unless a situation smelled ofdanger, I always went to the door. This passenger might be someone whoneeds my assistance, I reasoned to myself.So I walked to the door and knocked. "Just a minute", answered afrail, elderly ! voice.I could hear something being dragged across the floor.After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 80's stoodbefore me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veilpinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940s movie.By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if noone had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered withsheets.
There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on thecounters.In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.>"Would you carry my bag out to the car?" she said. I took the suitcaseto the cab, then returned to assist the woman.She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb.She kept thanking me for my kindness."It's nothing", I told her. "I just try to treat my passengers the wayI would want my mother treated"."Oh, you're such a good boy", she said.When we got in the cab, she gave me an address, then asked, "Could you drive through downtown?""It's not the shortest way," I answered quickly."Oh, I don't mind," she said. "I'm in no hurry. I'm on my way to a hospice".I looked in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were glistening."I don't have any family left," she continued. "The doctor says I
don't have very long."I quietly reached over and shut off the meter. "What route would youlike me to take?" I asked.For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator.We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had livedwhen they were newlyweds. She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl. Sometimes she'd ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing. As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said,"I'm tired. Let's go now." We drove in silence to the address she had given me.It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico. Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up.They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her.I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door.The woman was already seated in a wheelchair."How much do I owe you?" she asked, reaching into her purse."Nothing," I said."You have to make a living," she answered."There are other passengers," I responded.Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held! on to me tightly."You gave an old woman a little moment of joy ," she said."Thank you."I squeezed her hand, then walked into the dim morning light. Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life.I didn't pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly lost in thought. For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk.What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away? On a quick review, I don't think that I have done anything more important in my life.
We're conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments. But great moments often catch us unaware-beautifully wrapped in wha tothers may consider a small one.

PEOPLE MAY NOT REMEMBER EXACTLY WHAT YOU DID, OR WHAT YOU SAID, BUT THEY WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER HOW YOU MADE THEM FEEL.
Every morning when I open my eyes, I tell myself thatit is special. Every day, every minute, every breath truly is a giftfrom God."If I leave here tomorrow, will you still remember me?"I will remember all of you always.

An Addict in Our Home

My 22-year-old son David is tall, handsome, bright and charming. He is also an alcoholic and a drug addict.David was brought up in our Orthodox Jewish home in Queens, where he was active in Jewish causes. He discovered an interest in drinking, as my wife and I learned recently, when he was ten years old. Over the next few years, he developed a growing affinity for alcohol and added marijuana and other drugs during his last two years of yeshivah high school. When he stayed overnight with friends -- ostensibly, to study -- he was actually engaging in drugging and drinking. David was eventually kicked out of two yeshivos.
During his adolescence, we thought he suffered from personality disorders, and sent him to a succession of psychologists. David was able to fool them as well as he fooled us. Unfortunately, no school guidance counselor, teacher or psychologist ever suggested to us the potential source of the problem. There is no more adept liar, we learned, than an alcoholic or drug addict; and yeshivah administrators and school psychologists often are not familiar with substance abuse or its occurrence in the Orthodox community.The relationship between my wife and myself was often strained due to David, with each of us accusing the other of being responsible for his behavior. The anguish was sometimes unbearable. We tried to hide David's problems from our other children and from our extended family, without much success.After high school, David went to Israel to study in a yeshivah that dealt with troubled boys. David didn't last past Sukkos. Upon returning from the holiday recess, he was kicked out for reportedly smoking hashish. After reviewing the situation with my wife, I quickly took a flight to Israel. Upon my arrival, David told me that he had only tried hashish once and was being thrown out as an example. I had no success in convincing the yeshivah administrators to accept him back. At the time, we were angry with them. Today, we have come to understand that they were not the address for helping boys like David.We were given guidance by a Jerusalem rabbi, Moshe Prager (real name), an unusual, personable, and dedicated Karliner Chassid from America who devotes his life to helping boys like David. On his advice, David applied and was accepted to a well-known baal teshuvah yeshivah and I returned to the United States. After one month, David was asked to leave because the school was not equipped to deal with people from religious backgrounds, even though David had behaved reasonably during his stay.
David spent the next few months wandering around Jerusalem, sleeping in school dormitories, friends' houses and youth hostels. Eventually, he volunteered to work in a non-religious kibbutz near Tiberius. He told us drugs were forbidden there. (He informed us later that he and some other volunteers bypassed this restriction by going to Tiberius a few nights a week to buy hashish.) We were very disappointed that David was now totally non-observant. We did hope, however, that the hard physical work in the banana fields would turn him around.When David returned to America three years ago, we had to confront almost the worst nightmare a parent can face. David was in hell already; we were about to join him there.My friend Robert was the first to make us fully aware of the true scope of David's problems. He is a well-respected religious therapist, some of whose patients suffer from alcoholism. His support and sage advice helped us through many difficult nights.David asked to meet with him to discuss his problems. Robert notified us that David had a raging drug problem and recommended that we speak to Barry Wilansky (real name), executive director of the Tempo Group in Woodmere, New York. Tempo provides outpatient services to alcoholics and drug addicts and also runs support groups for family members.David agreed to attend weekly group meetings at Tempo, while we were encouraged to join a family support group. In a recent letter to his younger sister, David described his feelings at that stage: When I used to meet people, I would try and see if they were like me, a drug addict. If people weren't, I mostly attempted to see what I could get from them, whether it was their money or their pity. The alcoholism almost killed me.Physically, there were many times when I should have died of alcohol poisoning or an overdose of drugs. Spiritually, I was bankrupt. It felt like there was nothing for me in life and that the only way to get through another miserable period of time was to get drunk enough or high enough till it would go away. This became harder and harder as time went on.
Alcoholism is truly a family disease. David's sickness was mirrored in our family: He was in a state of denial and we were in denial; he was suffering and we were suffering. Our nerves were raw and many a night we cried ourselves to sleep. We went through all the emotions of terror, shame, humiliation and disbelief. But we never gave up, even at the worst moments. We were dogged; we remembered the sweet child David had been, and we were determined that somehow or other things would turn out all right.At this point, David was supposedly attending a local college and living with friends near the school. He lived in a pigsty of an apartment with other similar boys. He was completely non-observant, confrontational and irritable. He never disclosed to us how he spent his time and constantly badgered us for money. Eventually, we found out he was supporting himself and his habit by gambling on sports with bookies at the college.David intermittently attended group meetings at Tempo and was tested for drug use. I remember vividly one parent support group meeting when the group leader, a social worker, asked us how David was doing. I replied that he seemed to be behaving a little better. She then told the group that David had recently tested positive for cocaine. I started screaming at her.How dare she announce that in front of the entire group? I was totally agitated. After all, how could a young boy from a religious, successful, respected family become an alcoholic and a drug addict?With the help of the dedicated professionals at Tempo, we started to learn about the "disease" of addiction. If 10 teenagers were to experiment with marijuana, nine of them might enjoy it but would not develop an incessant craving for it. The tenth, however, might be genetically predisposed to develop a chemical dependency. We learned that this disease is viewed like diabetes -- you can learn to live with it, but there is no cure.
We learned of the ability of human beings to develop addictions to a wide-ranging group of mood-changing substances. Some of them are socially acceptable, like alcohol, Valium, pain killers and sleeping pills. Keep in mind that substances like alcohol can take years to build up to a level affecting daily functioning.Other substances, such as crack, may take only a few months.What could we parents do? We learned at the group how to deal with a member of the family who is an addict. The addict continues to need the family, because eventually, no one else will assist him or her. Parents normally try to help and support their children; addicts require the opposite treatment. We learned about acting in ways that we previously thought would be hurtful, but were now actually acts of love and kindness. The natural tendency to "enable" them financially and otherwise must be totally ended. For example, we could not allow ourselves to assist David with money to rent an apartment, because the money would go for drugs. Only when the addict hits rock-bottom is there a chance he will take stock of himself.Unfortunately, no one can define that bottom. One can only hope and pray they reach it before the disease kills them. We did learn, however, to seek out leverage to raise the bottom before tragedy struck.Six months after becoming involved with Tempo, we were advised that outpatient treatment was not working for David. I will never forget the afternoon of October 3, 1995. At a family meeting with David and Barry Wilanksy, we told David that he had two choices -- either immediately go to an alcohol and drug rehabilitation center, or leave the room and never see us again!
We were tense and emotionally drained because we didn't know what answer to expect.It had taken us six months to reach this point. We weren't bluffing: we meant every word and David knew it. We couldn't enable him to continue his senseless existence and we had to make the hardest decision for a parent -- before he killed himself.David agreed to go. The Tempo staff arranged for him to join an excellent program at a rehab center in the Midwest. Within two days he was on the plane. We concealed his journey from our friends and family with various concocted stories. His Bubby was especially agitated by his behavior and it was difficult to hide the situation from her.David later told us it took him six weeks at the rehab center to admit to himself that he was truly addicted. He stayed in the center for four months full-time, one month in a volunteer work program and one month in a halfway house. He then decided to remain in the town, attending outpatient meetings and AA (Alcoholics Anonymous) groups. Many of the doctors in the center, which had been founded expressly for the treatment of health-care professionals, were themselves recovering alcoholics and/or addicts. Substance abuse cuts across all ethnic, religious and socioeconomic boundaries.During a family visit to the rehab center, David related his history of substance abuse in its entirety at a group meeting.The patients in the room included doctors, lawyers, housewives, nurses, factory workers and our son. When I asked the social worker why each visiting family had been provided with a box of tissues, she told us they would be necessary. She was right.The tears flowed, first in choked sobs, then more freely, as each patient related in detail -- to their family members and the group -- his or her history of substance abuse.This was all part of the recovery process. We learned that some alcoholics began at the age of ten, others at the age of 55. One alcoholic explained that he started each day with a 12-pack of beer. Others spoke of taking enormous quantities of every imaginable pill. (We had never heard of most of them.) All described the trauma they had caused to themselves and their families. Other patients who had heard the stories in prior group meetings were assigned to interrupt if the patient prevaricated.As we sat among the group, David described his entire odyssey to us for the first time. We were requested not to interrupt until he finished. We learned that the fact that we had not realized that he had an alcohol and drug problem until years after it began was typical of most families of substance abusers. By the end of the session, the tissue boxes were empty.David came back for his first visit home a few months later. In a remarkable move, he visited all of our family and close friends and informed them of his addiction. To our wonderment and gratitude, most of our friends and family were understanding and supportive. David's openness about his affliction removed an enormous burden from our shoulders. We didn't have to be secretive and furtive about his whereabouts and behavior anymore. We could start to recover with David. We finally were able to explain the situation to his Bubby, and though she found it difficult to comprehend, she was supportive.In some ways, David is mature beyond his years; he has learned to take one day at a time. In other ways, he gropes to understand the world around him. Coming out of his drug-induced stupor, he has had to rediscover himself; and that includes his religion, his family and his community. Thank God, he has passed these self-examinations successfully.Two years later, David's recovery continues. He attends college and was recently offered a position as a clinical assistant at the treatment center he had attended. His estrangement from Jewish observance has lessened. In fact, he was asked by the local community to teach Bar Mitzvah lessons and he instructs a group of five people in the intricacies of laining the weekly Torah portion. Rabbi Prager of Jerusalem recently visited him and informed us that he was amazed at his progress.David's story is not his alone. A 55-year-old man from a large Orthodox community recently enrolled in the treatment center. His alcoholism and crack addiction had been exacerbated by drinking at a weekly "Kiddush Club" during the Shabbos services.When I read the first draft of this article to another couple -- close friends of ours -- they abruptly stopped me in the middle to call in their "yeshivish" son. They suddenly realized that his intense interest in drinking at Purim and Pesach might mask a deeper problem. In the discussion, he admitted that he drank up to half a bottle of whiskey at holidays or when he felt tense, a total of perhaps 15 times. Having gone the course and having no illusions about addiction's tenacity, I probed the young man, with his parents' permission. His drinking problem turned out to be serious and he had already started taking drugs to satisfy his cravings.Our community must realize that the curse of addiction can occur in any family -- even an Orthodox one -- and in any yeshivah. It happened in ours. I believe the road to recovery lies in recognizing the symptoms and dealing with them honestly, no matter the pain. Help is available.People tend to believe that addicts can beat the disease if they are disciplined enough. The otherwise successful professionals we met during the family visit to the rehab center belie this seemingly logical point. As a general rule, if you can beat the craving yourself, you're not truly addicted.
The 12-step program of Alcoholics Anonymous and Narcotics Anonymous directs the addict to the path of spiritual growth necessary to counter-balance the addictive craving.The 12-step program stresses belief in a Higher Power and turning to God for help. Working within a group of peers, this approach guides the sufferer out of the wasteland of addiction towards a plateau of spiritual serenity.
When the alcoholic and addict work with the program assiduously, they are on the road to recovery.For the rest of his life, David will drink grape juice in place of wine for Kiddush. For the rest of his life, he will be wary of any medicine containing a mood-changing ingredient.David continues to attend AA meetings on a regular basis; his sponsor and mentor is also a yeshivah graduate. We thank God every day for David's grappling with the disease of addiction and his accomplishments, though the time lost has left its scars.For the rest of his life, we wish David the blessings of spiritual growth and continuing recovery. The author wishes to remain anonymous. Names and places mentioned in this article are fictitious, except where noted. All else is true. "David" reviewed the article and gave his permission for its publication.

"Never argue with an IDIOT, they will bring you down to their level and beat you at it with experience!"

a young man learns whats important

A young man learns what's most important in life from the guy next door. It had been some time since Jack had seen the old man. College, girls, career, and life itself got in the way. In fact, Jack moved clear across the country in pursuit of his dreams. There, in the rush of his busy life, Jack had little time to think about the past and often no time to spend with his wife and son. He was working on his future, and nothing could stop him. Over the phone, his mother told him, "Mr. Belser died last night. The funeral is Wednesday." Memories flashed through his mind like an old newsreel as he sat quietly remembering his childhood days. "Jack, did you hear me?" "Oh, sorry, Mom. Yes, I heard you. It's been so long since I thought of him. I'm sorry, but I honestly thought he died years ago," Jack said. "Well, he didn't forget you. Every time I saw him he'd ask how you were doing. He'd reminisce about the many days you spent over 'his side of the fence' as he put it," Mom told him. "I loved that old house he lived in," Jack said. "You know, Jack, after your father died, Mr Belser stepped in to make sure you had a man's influence in your life," she said "He's the one who taught me carpentry," he said. "I wouldn't be in this business if it weren't for him. He spent a lot of time teaching me things he thought were important...Mom, I'll be there for the funeral," Jack said. As busy as he was, he kept his word. Jack caught the next flight to his hometown. Mr. Belser's funeral was small and uneventful. He had no children of his own, and most of his relatives had passed away. The night before he had to return home, Jack and his Mom stopped by to see the old house next door one more time. Standing in the doorway, Jack paused for a moment. It was like crossing over into another dimension, a leap through space and time The house was exactly as he remembered. Every step held memories. Every picture, every piece of furniture....Jack stopped suddenly. "What's wrong, Jack?" his Mom asked. "The box is gone," he said "What box?" Mom asked. "There was a small gold box that he kept locked on top of his desk. I must have asked him a thousand times what was inside. All he'd ever tell me was 'the thing I value most,'" Jack said. It was gone. Everything about the house was exactly how Jack remembered it, except for the box. He figured someone from the Belser family had taken it. "Now I'll never know what was so valuable to him," Jack said. "I better get some sleep. I have an early flight home, Mom." It had been about two weeks since Mr. Belser died Returning home from work one day Jack discovered a note in his mailbox. "Signature required on a package. No one at home. Please stop by the main post office within the next three days," the note read. Early the next day Jack retrieved the package. The small box was old and looked like it had been mailed a hundred years ago. The handwriting was difficult to read, but the return address caught his attention. "Mr. Harold Belser" it read. Jack took the box out to his car and ripped open the package. There inside was the gold box and an envelope. Jack's hands shook as he read the note inside. "Upon my death, please forward this box and its contents to Jack Bennett. It's the thing I valued most in my life." A small key was taped to the letter. His heart racing, as tears filling his eyes, Jack carefully unlocked the box. There inside he found a beautiful gold pocket watch. Running his fingers slowly over the finely etched casing, he unlatched the cover. Inside he found these words engraved: "Jack, Thanks for your time! -Harold Belser." "The thing he valued most was...my time" Jack held the watch for a few minutes, then called his office and cleared his appointments for the next two days. "Why?" Janet, his assistant asked. "I need some time to spend with my son," he said. "Oh, by the way, Janet, thanks for your time!" "Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take but by the moments that take our breath away," Think about this. You may not realize it, but it's 100% true. 1. At least 2 people in this world love you so much they would die for you. 2. At least 15 people in this world love you in some way. 3. A smile from you can bring happiness to anyone, even if they don't like you. 4. Every night, SOMEONE thinks about you before they go to sleep. 5. You mean the world to someone. 6. If not for you, someone may not be living. 7. You are special and unique. 8. When you think you have no chance of getting what you want, you probably won't get it, but if you trust God to do what's best, and wait on His time, sooner or later, you will get it or something better. 9. When you make the biggest mistake ever, something good can still come from it. 10. When you think the world has turned its back on you, take a look: you most likely turned your back on the world. 11. Someone that you don't even know exists loves you. 12. Always remember the compliments you received. Forget about the rude remarks. 13. Always tell someone how you feel about them; you will feel much better when they know and you'll both be happy. 14. If you have a great friend, take the time to let them know that they are great. Send this letter to all the people you care about, if you do so, you will certainly brighten someone's day and might change their perspective on life...for the better. To everyone I sent this to"Thanks for your time"

moshiach jokes

A Jew comes home from synagogue and tells his wife: “They say the Messiah is coming any day, and will take us all to Israel.”
The wife becomes hysterical. “Oh no! It would be terrible. It took years till we could finally move into this neighborhood and buy the house we wanted. Now we’ve spent a fortune fixing it up. I don’t want the Messiah to take us away.”
“Okay, okay, don’t worry,” the husband says. “We survived Pharaoh, we survived Haman. With G-d’s help, we’ll survive the Messiah too!”


Two people waiting at a bus stop, and the bus is taking a long time to come. One person turns to the other and says “We have been waiting so long for this bus! It is like waiting for the Moshiach!”
The other responds, “Not at all! The Messiah will definitely come eventually; as for the bus...”


A man visits a zoo and is taken to the lion’s cage. He witnesses there the literal fulfillment of 1saiah prophecy — a lion and a calf in a cage together.
Amazed, he calls over an attendant. “How long have you had a lion an a calf in a cage together?” “Over a year already.”
“How do you do it?”
“It’s easy. Every morning we put in a new calf.”


According to one medieval folktale, two men arrived in a Yemenite town and told the inhabitants that the Messiah was arriving that night and would transport them all to Israel. The people were instructed to remain on their roofs the entire night, but Moshiach did not come. In the morning, when they went down from the roofs, the strangers were gone -- as well as the townspeople's possessions.


A Rabbi once told his congregants:
When Moshiach comes there will be a long line, with everybody rushing to greet him”.
I, however will not rush. To the contrary, I’ll try to be last on line. “When my turn comes Moshiach will ask me: “R. Mendel! Where were you until now?!” I will reply: “Moshiach, Where were you until now?!

new york protest

I'll be happy when...

We convince ourselves that life will be better after we get married, have a baby, then another. Then we are frustrated that the kids aren't old enough and we'll be more content when they are. After that, we're frustrated that we have teenagers to deal with. We will certainly be happy when they are out of that stage. We tell ourselves that our life will be complete when our spouse gets his or her act together, when we get a nicer car, when we are able to go on a nice vacation or when we retire. The truth is there's no better time to be happy than right now. If not now, when?
Your life will always be filled with challenges.
It's best to admit this to yourself and decide to be happy anyway.
Happiness is the way. So, treasure every moment that you have and treasure it more because you shared it with someone special, special enough to spend your time with ...
and remember that time waits for no one.
So, stop waiting .
Until your car or home is paid off.
Until you get a new car or home.
Until your kids leave the house.
Until you go back to school.
Until you finish school.
Until you lose 10 lbs.
Until you gain 10 lbs.
Until you get married.
Until you get a divorce.
Until you have kids.
Until you retire.
Until summer..
Until spring.
Until winter.
Until fall.
Until you die.

There is no better time than right now to be happy.
Happiness is a journey, not a destination. So work like you don't need money, love like you've never been hurt, and, dance like no one's watching.