Dovid Margolin

1 month ago | tjvnews.com | Dovid Margolin

The famed cardiologist and the ‘food of faith and healing’There are many reasons for the late cardiologist Dr. Bernard Lown’s fame, any one of which could have been a life’s achievement. Born Baruch Latz in Lithuania in 1921, he immigrated to the United States with his family as a teenager, later going into medicine. Lown’s early research uncovered the link between potassium levels and the safe usage of the centuries-old heart failure drug, digitalis.

1 month ago | chabad.org | Dovid Margolin

There are many reasons for the late cardiologist Dr. Bernard Lown’s fame, any one of which could have been a life’s achievement. Born Baruch Latz in Lithuania in 1921, he immigrated to the United States with his family as a teenager, later going into medicine. Lown’s early research uncovered the link between potassium levels and the safe usage of the centuries-old heart failure drug, digitalis.

1 month ago | chabad.org | Dovid Margolin

Second in a two-part series about about the dramatic growth in the use of handmade shmurah matzah in the last 60 years. The first article in the series, “How a New World of Consumers Discovered Handmade Matzo,” is here. It’s safe to say that when the pious-looking Rabbi Shmuel Dovid Raichik came to Los Angeles in 1948, there weren’t many people there who looked like him. The Polish-born rabbi had made it out of Europe alive following an unusual path of escape.

1 month ago | chabad.org | Dovid Margolin

First in a two-part series about the dramatic growth in the use of handmade shmurah matzo in the last 60 years. The second part, “Bonanza in a Box: How a Passover Tradition Became a Hollywood Hit,” is here. There’s nothing more pleasant on a cold New York winter’s day than the smell of freshly baking matzo wafting up the street. Outside the Lubavitch Matzah Bakery’s metal doors in Brooklyn’s Crown Heights neighborhood sits the world as it is, cold and blustery; inside, it is Passover.

2 months ago | chabad.org | Dovid Margolin

Growing up in the Soviet Jewish underground in the 1960s, Baruch Lepkivker would often hear his father, Yaakov, sing a single refrain from a particular Chassidic melody. It was just a movement, what’s referred to as a tenuah, a piece of a much longer niggun the elder Lepkivker had once heard years earlier but could no longer recall in its entirety. But those few, powerful bars clearly meant something to him. As for what, Baruch and his siblings could only wonder.