Celebrating the Holidays – Page 2

Connect gifts to holiday

Gifts can range from superhero socks to a journal to time with family and friends.

“When you consider the meaning of Chanukah, it’s about the Jewish struggle to maintain observance within a non-Jewish world,” writes Deena Yellin in the article “To gift or not to gift” on chabad.org. “The Maccabees’ victory was not just a military triumph but a win over assimilation as they succeeded in preserving the Jewish tradition. Chanukah presents a wonderful opportunity to convey the message of maintaining a strong identity despite outside pressures.”

In Yellin’s household, they “get out the Chanukah box filled with homemade decorations featuring menorahs and Maccabees that the children made in previous years…. We hang them up in our windows and around the candlelighting area. After all, publicizing the miracle is a big part of celebrating Chanukah.”

As well, every child lights their own chanukiyah, often one they’ve made themselves, and they invite people over. “One of the best ways to show children the beauty of the holiday is by sharing it with friends and relatives.”

Of course, food – latkes, sufganiyot and other deep-fried treats – is part of the celebration, as are games and crafts. Even gift-giving games. “One of my friends,” writes Yellin, “holds a ‘Mystery Maccabee’ project in which everyone picks the name of a family member from a hat so that they only need to buy a gift for that person. At their annual Chanukah party, everyone has fun guessing who got whose gift.”

Finally, many people use “Chanukah as an opportunity to teach their children to think of others who are less fortunate. One way to do this is by encouraging them to donate one of their gifts or some of their gelt to sick or needy children. Other philanthropic options are donating non-perishable items to a local food pantry or volunteering in a soup kitchen.”

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Sarah Zadok, also in an article published on chabad.org (“Is giving Chanukah presents a non-Jewish custom?”), notes, “The word Chanukah shares a root with the word l’chanech or chinuch, which means ‘to mold’ or ‘to educate.’ Education, especially the education of children, is the foundation of what we celebrate on Chanukah.”

She allows that it is possible to educate and “to highlight the meaning of Chanukah through gift-giving. For example, giving your kids books or tapes or videos about the story of Chanukah…. Or, by drawing attention to the concept of the triumph of light over darkness – another powerful theme of the Chanukah story – you could invite your kids to bring ‘light’ where it is dark. You could, for example, make a project and bring it to a retirement home and brighten up someone’s day, or hand out cookies or latkes or winter coats to homeless people, or teach another Jew about our Chanukah traditions and invite them in to make a blessing over the candles with you.”

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In the forward.com article “8 days of meaningful Hanukkah giving,” Shanee Markovitz writes, “it’s not about what we give as much as why we are giving it.” She offers night-by-night suggestions based on different themes.

Night 1 (Jewish values and roots): gifts like Chanukah Mad Libs for kids or a gift card to a Judaica store for adults.

Night 2 (self-care): for kids, tablets that change the colour of bath water; for adults, essential oils for the bath or a massage.

Night 3 (dream big): for all ages, a journal or a pillow and/or pillowcase.

Night 4 (family and friends): again, for all ages, a picture frame for photos of/with family and friends.

Night 5 (hope): for kids, a night-night projector; for adults, scented candles.

Night 6 (gratitude): write someone “a letter of why you are grateful for them and leave them an empty card for them to write a letter and pass on the favour to someone else.”

Night 7 (surround yourself with warmth): for kids and adults, a sweater.

Night 8 (resilience): superhero socks for the kids and, for the adults, a goal planner or household tool kit (Maccabees means “Hammer,” after all).

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Rabbi Rona Shapiro writes on ritualwell.org, in the article called “Chanukah gifts,” about using theme nights in an effort to practise moderation. Her family has had Big Gift Night (when each child gets one big gift from their parents); Grandparent Night (gifts from the grandparents); Book Night; Music Night (a night of songs); Cooking Night (make latkes and enjoy them with friends); Tzedakah Night (wrap presents to deliver to a children’s hospital or other charity); and Homemade Gift Night (such as a family photo album or scrapbook).

Shapiro suggests incorporating some new rituals into your celebration. For example, “Chag Habanot, the seventh night of Chanukah, is traditionally a women’s holiday (it falls out on Rosh Chodesh) when it was customary for women to give gifts and tell the stories of valiant Jewish women.”

For adults, she suggests presents ranging from personal blessings to wine, food and candles.

A gift of holiday reads

Many authors of children’s Chanukah books still perpetuate two mistakes. One is that a chanukiyah is the same as a menorah, whereas the latter is actually the seven-branched Temple lamp looted by the Romans when the Temple was destroyed. The second is the rabbinic legend of the miracle of the oil, which is not actually part of the story of the Maccabean revolt and the Maccabees’ fight for the right to worship as Jews. The books reviewed here are sweet, but part of the time reading these books might be spent discussing these issues.

While Light the Menorah (Kar-Ben Publishing) by Jacqueline Jules, with illustrations by Kristina Swarner, calls the chanukiyah a menorah throughout and highlights the miracle of oil, this “manual for the contemporary Jewish family” contains sweet reflections for each night of the holiday, a form of history, games, songs, recipes, crafts and blessings geared for a family with 4-to-10-year-olds.

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Dreidel Day (Kar-Ben Publishing), written and illustrated by Amalia Hoffman, is a cute board book for babies, infants and toddlers. It teaches readers numbers one through eight and some words related to Chanukah.

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How It’s Made: Hanukkah Menorah (Apples and Honey Press) is by Allison Ofanansky and photographer Eliyahu Alpern. These two creative people have once again combined their talents to produce a new book in their “How It’s Made” series. Sadly, the authors only refer to the chanukiyah as a menorah. Nonetheless, this is an educational and fun book, which explains the materials needed to make a candelabra, shows examples of them and provides instructions on how to make one, as well as how to make candles and olive oil. The book ends with songs, a recipe for potato latkes, instructions for playing dreidel, a matching game and the blessings. The text is child-friendly and good for all ages, especially 4 to 8.

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Hanukkah Cookies with Sprinkles (Apples and Honey Press) by David A. Adler and illustrator Jeffrey Ebbeler was published a few years ago, but it was new to me, and I hope it’s new to others, as well.

Sara is a little girl who is very observant about things she sees from her apartment window. One day, she sees an old man pick up a piece of bruised fruit from a box next to the market. She then decides to leave things for him. Soon, she discovers he is the man who helps set up the chairs and collects books at the synagogue. She learns more about him as she practises the true meaning of tzedakah and spreads the idea to her family and classmates.

The book’s Note for Families provides context for the story and traditions of Chanukah, as well as the meaning of tzedakah, and challenges readers to think about ways they can give tzedakah, too.

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Hanukkah Delight! (Kar-Ben Publishing) by Leslea Newman and illustrator Amy Husband is a board book. In it, all of the customs of Chanukah are rhymed with delight as a darling family of bunnies practises each one. The artwork is colourful and the details are really well done. The male bunnies and other male animals wear yarmulkes and the drawings of dreidels, children playing with the dreidels, latkes and presents are quite appealing. For any 1-to-4-year-old, this is a sweet way to introduce the holiday of Chanukah.

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Potatoes at Turtle Rock (Kar-Ben Publishing) is written by Rabbi Susan Schnur and her daughter, Anna Schnur-Fishman, who are also the authors of Tashlich at Turtle Rock. It is illustrated by Alex Steele-Morgan, who also did the artwork for the Schnurs’ earlier companion book.

Potatoes at Turtle Rock is the story of a family – mom, dad, teenage son (Lincoln) and daughter (Annie) – who have, as pets, a chicken (Richie) and a goat (Ubi).

They also have their own Jewish holiday traditions. For Chanukah, the family goes to the woods, with Dad carrying a lantern, Mom carrying the chicken, Annie leading the goat and Richie pulling a sled. They make stops along the way, where Annie provides riddles.

Although a little off-beat, this book for ages 5 to 9 shows children that every family can be original and creative and create their own traditions for Jewish holidays.

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A Hanukkah with Mazel (Kar-Ben Publishing) by Joel Stein and artist Elisa Vavouri is about Misha, a poor artist living outside Grodno, a city in western Belarus, in the late 19th or early 20th century. One cold winter night, he discovers a little cat. He takes her into the barn, where his cow lives, and then into his house. He names her Mazel, meaning luck.

Chanukah is about to arrive and he begins a painting of a chanukiyah, since he has no money to buy oil for his chanukiyah. The story evolves when a peddler stops and discovers Mazel is his Goldie.

With the themes of hope and luck, this is a very charming story for 3-to-8-year-olds.

Sybil Kaplan is a journalist, lecturer, book reviewer and food writer in Jerusalem. She created and leads the weekly English-language Shuk Walks in Machane Yehuda, she has compiled and edited nine kosher cookbooks, and is the author of Witness to History: Ten Years as a Woman Journalist in Israel.

Attempting to keep Shabbos

(photo by Olaf Herfurth)

In anticipation of the annual Shabbos Project – this year on Oct. 26-27 – where Jews from around the world, and from every level of observance, celebrate and experience Shabbos together, I decided I needed to get prepared.

On the continuum that is my journey to Yiddishkeit, I’m probably less than a third of the way there. I’ve chosen to take it one step at a time.

A few weeks ago, after a particularly inspiring Torah class, I broached the subject of Shabbos with my husband, Harvey. I asked him if he’d be on board with trying to observe it the following weekend. He tentatively agreed, knowing that, if he said no, I’d make his life a living hell. A smart man knows when to say yes.

A few days went by before I started planning in earnest for our Shabbos-ready tech shutdown. I confirmed with Harvey that we’d be powering off all our devices, taping the refrigerator and other light switches, using electric tealights to light the requisite rooms, and just generally relaxing for 24 hours. He agreed. All systems go. Or so I thought.

Shabbos candles – check. Tealights – check. Crock-Pot in which to make cholent – check. Beef, carrots, potatoes, etc., to cook the cholent – check. Challah – check. Wine – check. In my naiveté and enthusiasm to be shomer Shabbos, I hadn’t really considered everything that goes into preparing to do so. Not even close. And, of course, my lack of preparation came back to bite me in the proverbial tuchus.

Very early Friday morning, a note was slipped under our door, informing us that the water would be shut off from 9:30 a.m. to 1:30 p.m. that day. I was thrown headlong in a haze of cholent-making confusion. Instead of starting my cholent at 3 p.m. to be ready for lunch the next day, I panicked and started assembling it at 7:30 a.m. So, we had cholent for dinner Friday night, for lunch on Saturday and, yes, again for dinner Saturday night. You can see where this is headed: cholent overload.

A real Shabbos queen would have made an array of cold salads, had a back-up chicken for Friday night dinner and another main dish for Saturday dinner. I could find a thousand excuses for why I hadn’t thought this through, but none of it matters now. Luckily, I have a very easygoing husband, when it comes to food. Put it in his bowl or on his plate, he’ll eat it. Don’t get me wrong, Harvey is a real connoisseur when it comes to good food and wine. But he also knows when not to complain. So, he ate cholent three meals in a row. And it didn’t kill him. As for me, I was slightly embarrassed that I hadn’t planned more thoroughly for a beautifully scrumptious Shabbos experience. Food’s a big part of all this, right?

The lack of variety in food was accompanied by several, how shall I call them, Shabbos slips. Halfway through lighting the candles, I remembered that I hadn’t changed the Crock-Pot timer to 10 hours, so I did it. “Broke” Shabbos. But I carried on, certain that G-d would forgive my little error. And confident that there is more likelihood of us trying to keep Shabbos again if we don’t approach it with an all-or-nothing attitude. Baby steps will keep us on the right path, whereas a “let’s call the whole off” right now because I messed up with the Crock-Pot will turn us off forever. There were a few other Shabbos boo-boos, like writing something down on a piece of paper. And carrying my purse to shul. Oh, and that pesky little detail of not keeping kosher.

I’ve actually studied a bit about how to keep Shabbos. I just haven’t put it all into practice quite yet. Not even close. But the intention and desire is there. I have to admit, I have a small obsession with understanding new things fully before embracing them. Reading before doing. I guess that’s a residual habit from spending 34 years as a librarian. In case you weren’t aware, librarians can’t rest until they have all (or most) of the answers. So, the journey continues.

The best part of Shabbos for me, besides lighting the candles and eating the delicious challah I made, was having my husband’s undivided attention, and he, mine. The time we spent talking on that one Friday night is probably equal to the time we usually spend talking all week. After nearly 13 years together, I learned new things about Harvey that Shabbos. In an atmosphere of love and relaxation, with no distractions of any kind, we eased back into each other’s lives calmly and sweetly. It was wonderful.

On Saturday, in the late afternoon before Shabbos ended, I walked into the living room and sat down. Harvey looked at me with a touch of fear in his eyes and asked: “Does this mean we have to talk again?” I guess the feeling about the beauty of it all was slightly inequitable. But I’ll keep trying. There’s always next Shabbos.

Shelley Civkin is a happily retired librarian and communications officer. For 17 years, she wrote a weekly book review column for the Richmond Review, and currently writes a bi-weekly column about retirement for the Richmond News.

Sukkot in Jerusalem

A Canadian delegation was among some 6,000 participants in the International Christian Embassy’s annual Sukkot march through the centre of Jerusalem last week. (photo from Ashernet)

Change can’t happen in a day

Judaism is an aspirational religion that, while accepting the reality of failure, believes in the human capacity to transcend and achieve levels of excellence in our everyday lives.

“You shall be holy, for I the Lord God am holy.” (Leviticus 19:2) “You shall be to me a kingdom of priests and a holy nation.” (Exodus 19:6) These are but two of the more potent examples of the aspirational quality of our tradition and its immense respect for the capacity inherent within the human being. As beings created in the image of God, there is nothing that we cannot do, a factor which created a tradition defined by commandment and expectation.

A significant manifestation of this future is the commandment of teshuvah. We expect people to honestly assess the content and the quality of their lives, regret and admit their failures, and commit to embarking on a new direction. This expectation is brought to a climax during Yom Kippur, where the Vidui (Confession), which lies at the nucleus of the Yom Kippur liturgy, places before us the realities of our sins and challenges us to honestly confront what we have done with our lives.

It is, therefore, deeply troubling to recognize the profound failure of Yom Kippur as a force for change. The passion, seriousness and devotion that accompany many of us throughout Yom Kippur peters out into a form of amnesia during the break-fast meal, as we return to our behaviour of yesterday.

Yom Kippur is a synagogue success story. More people show up than on any other day, pounding their hearts with great devotion as they cry out, “Ashamnu.” (“We have sinned.”) However, Yom Kippur’s impact on Jewish life seems to be marginal.

This is not a new phenomenon. It may be the meaning behind Isaiah’s critique of the Jewish people and their fast days: the people indeed fast, “starve their bodies” and “lie in sackcloth and ashes,” however, this is not the fast day that God desires, but rather a day in which we “unlock fetters of wickedness and untie the cords of the yoke and let the oppressed go free.” (Chapter 58) To paraphrase Isaiah, the quality of repentance is not judged by what one does on Yom Kippur, but by what one does afterwards.

The problem with Yom Kippur in the synagogue is that it is too complete and comprehensive. It creates the myth of putting all of one’s life and behaviour up for judgment, where we confront every one of our failings and repent for them all. The list of sins in the Vidui is too extensive to have any impact on the life of a real person. For a prayer, and within the isolated environment of the synagogue, it is fine. As a force for facilitating change in real life, the comprehensive nature of our service makes it impossible to be a significant factor in everyday life.

Change, growth and improvement are rarely radical epiphanies, but are rather slow and gradual processes. As Maimonides in his Guide for the Perplexed teaches us, radical transformation away from that to which one is accustomed is impossible. (3:32) According to Maimonides, God and the Jewish tradition had immense patience with the idolatrous, slave mentality of the people who came out of Egypt and did not require them to accept or adopt either beliefs or practices that were radically different from that to which they had grown accustomed. We must do the same both with ourselves and with others.

If Yom Kippur is to be the force our tradition aspires it to be, it must cease to be the culmination of the process, and instead serve as its beginning. The purpose of the all-inclusive lists cannot be to ask an individual to review all of his life, but to create a menu from within which every individual can find one dimension, one quality that they can commit to working on.

Yom Kippur must cease to be a forum for New Year’s declarations and instead become a catalyst for a new culture among the Jewish community, a culture that fosters individual responsibility, reflection and a commitment to being a teshuvah person. As a teshuvah person, one commits to the ongoing and difficult path of constantly aspiring more from oneself. As a teshuvah person, one neither views oneself as an ideal, nor fools oneself into believing in overnight conversions.

Our tradition teaches us, “It is not for you to complete the task, neither are you free to desist from it.” Nowhere is this saying from The Ethics of the Fathers more relevant than in the task of building a life of value. This year, let us take teshuvah out of the synagogue, disconnect Yom Kippur from its myriad rituals and place it at the foundation of our everyday lives.

Rabbi Dr. Donniel Hartman is president of the Shalom Hartman Institute and author of the 2016 book Putting God Second: How to Save Religion from Itself. Articles by Hartman and other institute scholars can be found at shalomhartman.org.

About the Rosh Hashanah 2018 cover art

The print edition’s cover photo of the salmon run on Adams River by Leah Ramsay was taken in 2010 at Tsútswecw Provincial Park, near Kamloops, B.C. Formerly named after conservationist and author Roderick Haig-Brown, the park was renamed Tsútswecw this past June.

Tsútswecw (pronounced choo-chwek) translates to “many rivers” and the park, established in 1977, encompasses the spawning beds of the sockeye, chinook, coho and pink salmon. Every fourth year is a “dominant” run, with millions of salmon returning – 2010, when this photo was taken, was a dominant year, as is 2018. In honour of the occasion, there is a festival held at the park, called Salute to the Sockeye, which runs this year from Sept. 28 to Oct. 21.

One of the symbols of Rosh Hashanah is the fish head – “we should be the head and not the tail.” There are the themes of creation, rebirth and renewal, as well. In the run, the salmon return from the ocean to their natal stream to spawn, after which most die, their bodies providing nutrients to the vegetation and animals, and the lifecycle begins anew. This all happens in British Columbia from September through November.

“Seeing one of the peak years of the Adams River sockeye run had been a desire for many years and it didn’t disappoint,” said Ramsay. “Even non-hardcore nature nerds are impressed – it is such a huge mass of life all moving to the same goal.”

Shana tova on West Boulevard

photo - The Spectacle Shoppe’s display window, side view — *(photo by Cynthia Ramsay)*

The Spectacle Shoppe’s display window. (photo by Cynthia Ramsay)

Once again, Leo Franken has made the Spectacle Shoppe’s display window on West Boulevard in Vancouver eye-catching for the holidays. Passersby on Sunday afternoon, when these photos were taken, voiced their appreciation of his efforts and the Rosh Hashanah message – “Happy New Year!”

Relish the New Year’s apples

(photo by Jonathunde)

Although summer is still in full swing, apples come into the markets here in Israel before Rosh Hashanah. I love apples; they are probably my most favourite fruit, especially in fall and winter. Here are some apple recipes for your holiday table.

BAKED APPLE RELISH
I found this recipe in a women’s magazine 40 years ago but it still makes a good accompaniment for chicken or meat.

6 small baking apples, core removed, scooped out insides leaving a shell, setting the scooped out insides in a bowl
2 tbsp butter or margarine
1 cup chopped onions
1 cup chopped tomatoes
1/4 cup raisins
1 tbsp chopped fresh ginger or 1/2 tsp ground ginger
1/4 tsp dry mustard
4 tbsp red fruit preserves
4 tbsp cider vinegar
1/4 tsp crushed red pepper (optional)

1. Preheat oven to 400°F.

2. Melt butter or margarine in a large frying pan. Add onion and sauté five minutes.

3. Add chopped apples, tomato, raisins, ginger, mustard, one tablespoon preserves, one tablespoon vinegar, and red pepper, if using. Cook five minutes or until mixture starts to thicken.

4. Spoon into hollowed out apples. Arrange apples in a shallow baking pan.

5. Add remaining preserves and vinegar to frying pan and heat a few minutes. Pour over apples.

6. Bake for 30-45 minutes.

HONEY AND APPLE CAKE
I found this recipe of an Israeli chef from a Bnei Brak bakery in a local newspaper. It makes two loaves.

4 eggs
3/4 cup sugar
3/4 cup oil
1 cup honey
2 1/2 cups flour
1 tsp baking powder
1 tsp baking soda
1 cup strong fruit tea
1 tsp cinnamon
1 tsp ground ginger
1/4 tsp ground cloves
2 to 3 green apples, cut into small cubes

1. Preheat the oven to 350°F. Oil two loaf pans.

2. In a mixing bowl, beat eggs and sugar for two minutes in a mixer at medium speed. Add oil then honey and mix.

3. In another bowl, mix flour, baking powder, baking soda, cinnamon, ginger and cloves.

4. Add to egg-sugar-oil-honey mixture. Mix until smooth.

5. Add tea and apples and mix.

6. Pour batter into two loaf pans. Bake for 40 minutes.

MY FAVOURITE MICROWAVE APPLE CHUTNEY
I make this chutney for our favourite fish curry, but it can be used with other dishes as well. Makes two cups.

1/3 cup chopped lemon
1 chopped garlic clove
1 2/3 cups chopped apples
3/4 cup brown sugar
1/2 cup raisins
1 tbsp ground ginger
dash chili powder
2/3 cup cider vinegar

1. Place all ingredients in a microwavable dish. Microwave four minutes.

The mitzvah of challah

On Rosh Hashanah, the challah is round and sweet, symbolizing our collective wish for a good, sweet year. (photo by Przemyslaw Wierzbowski)

It was two years ago that I fell in love with challah. I attended a challah baking workshop at a Jewish retreat and, at that point, the extent of my challah knowledge was that it’s sold in delis, comes in a plastic bag with a twist tie and makes great French toast. I was a challah virgin. This was around the same time that I was test-driving a more observant Jewish life, and figured it behooved me to learn more about our people’s famous braided egg bread. Little did I know how profoundly the workshop would affect me.

There we were, 40 or so Jewish women, up to our elbows in yeast dough, patiently following the instructor’s directions. She explained what each ingredient symbolizes, and how making challah each week is an auspicious time for Jewish women to pray for what they want and need. I was hooked. When it came time to make the blessing over the challah, that’s when I lost it, and became emotional. Something about a sisterhood of Jewish women gathered around tables doing something their mothers and grandmothers had been doing for generations struck a chord deep within me.

As I said the blessing, with my eyes closed and my hands atop the soft dough – “Baruch atah Adonai, Eloheinu, melech ha’olam asher kidshanu b’mitzvotav v’tzivanu, l’hafrish challah” – tears poured down my cheeks like they would never stop. The woman sitting next to me (almost a complete stranger) heard my sniffling and put her arm around me. I’m sure she was puzzled by my tearful response and, truth to tell, I was embarrassed, but I was overcome and just couldn’t help myself. Somehow, the mitzvah of making challah, and all that it symbolizes in our collective identity as Jewish women, hit me.

It mattered, in a deep-seated way, that I was part of something much bigger than myself – something inextricably tied to my Jewish roots, something to which I had paid scant attention over the years. I knew this activity would become a meaningful part of my life from that moment on. Challah is far more than just a food to sustain my family and me physically. It fills us spiritually as well. And that’s the most beautiful taste in the world.

Long story short, I now bake challah on a regular basis, for others and myself. It reminds me of who I am at my core. It draws me closer to my community of Jewish friends and acquaintances, and places me smack in the middle of what is real and true – my Yiddishkeit. Who knew that combining a few essential ingredients could produce such an inexplicable gift in my life?

It’s no secret that every Jewish custom is significant on a spiritual level. With Rosh Hashanah approaching, I set out to learn how to make one of the many unique symbols of the Jewish New Year – the round challah. The rest of the year, we make braided challot and dip them in salt, but, on Rosh Hashanah, the challah is round and sweet, symbolizing our collective wish for a good, sweet year. Its circular shape, which represents the cycle of life, has no beginning and no end, thereby symbolizing the continuity of the Jewish people. You could also say it’s a metaphor for the endless blessings that God sends us. Another interpretation is that the round challah resembles a crown, symbolizing the supreme power and authority of God.

As Rosh Hashanah nears, it’s a time for personal introspection and the beginning of our individual and collective teshuvah (return or repentance). We get ready to reflect, repent and ask for forgiveness. It’s a time to elevate ourselves and direct our thoughts and deeds toward a higher, more purposeful end. At precisely this time, when our thoughts turn to repentance and resolutions for improvement, the round challah reminds us that the opportunity for teshuvah is never-ending. This Rosh Hashanah, may we all be successful in elevating ourselves from our current reality into a higher, more spiritual state of being, on both an individual and collective level.

For those of you who want to learn more about the significance of baking challah, there’s a fascinating book called The Mitzvah of Challah by Esther Rivka Toledano (ArtScroll Mesorah Publications, 2018). The author dives deep into what is undeniably a mitzvah granted especially to women. She shares the history, the halachic (Jewish legal) guidelines, several recipes and lots more. The book goes far beyond the basics for those who really want to understand and embrace the mitzvah of challah.

May we all have a sweet, happy, healthy and prosperous New Year. L’shana tova u’metuka!

A High Holidays stew

A sudden powerful gust of wind whipping through an open window slammed the door shut…. (photo from wikiHow)

It was one of those hot and humid fall days in Montreal and my sister-in-law “Sadie” decided to make a stew. After all of her baking and cooking for the upcoming High Holidays, she put a pot of simple stew for today’s dinner on the stove to simmer while my brother, “Seymour,” and I made ourselves comfortable in the den. Sadie promptly joined us to watch Coronation Street, as she and Seymour did every day. As a visitor from Winnipeg, I was quite content to go along with their routine. Engrossed in the program, we didn’t notice a change in the weather until a sudden powerful gust of wind whipping through an open window slammed the door shut between the den and the kitchen aaaand … waaaait for it … the doorknob hit the hardwood floor with an earsplitting bang!

We stared in stunned silence at the door and the floor – then at each other in disbelief. Seymour’s expression looked more steamed than the stew in the pot. His face fumed frustration, turning a range of shades from pink to red to purple.

“That doorknob has been giving us trouble for weeks!” he shouted. “I’ve told the concierge of our apartment building umpteen times but he still hasn’t gotten around to repairing it.” Anger spewed forth like an explosion of fireworks.

Well, Sadie saw no problem.

“Just pick it up and screw it in,” she told him in a matter-of-fact manner.

Though he didn’t say anything, his eyes shot daggers in her direction. Then he turned his attention to the doorknob. Over and over, he tried. He twisted and turned it every which way, trying to thread one half with the other. But it wouldn’t work.

“What’s the big deal?” she asked.

“The big deal,” he oozed with sarcasm, “is there’s nothing for it to grab onto. It won’t screw in.”

Now I began to stew a little. We searched for something that could be used as a tool and the best we could find was a coloured pencil but it proved to be uncooperative. After numerous failed attempts, we had to face facts. We were locked in! And there was no phone in the den.

Worry grew to panic. A quick glance between Sadie and me communicated silently with the realization that, not only would the stew continue to simmer on the stove unattended, but Seymour was diabetic and would need to take his insulin shot soon. He was too focused on the doorknob to consider the ramifications of the situation and no one was going to tell him. He would become hotter than the combined temperature of the room and the stew in the pot.

Never mind that he was wearing nothing more than a pair of Fruit of the Loom boxer shorts, which had to be held up manually. The elastic waistband had stretched beyond usefulness. Seymour began to pace around the tiny room, circumventing the furniture, one hand on his shorts, with the two of us following behind like caged animals. The vision of a sitcom popped into my head, and it would have been laughable had the situation not been a reality at the time.

More than an hour passed and we were orbiting the room once again, hoping for a solution. The suffocating humidity was unbearable and Seymour was sweating profusely. This triggered the panic button for Sadie and me and we did what any trapped humans would do. We banged and kicked furiously on the wall of the adjacent apartment and screamed at the top of our lungs.

“Why is it that neighbours complain about the sound of footsteps in slippers but are deaf to purposeful, raucous noise?” I wondered out loud. I could see beads of sweat begin to gather on Sadie’s brow and I knew it was more than just the temperature.

More time slipped by. We turned our attention to the only alternative – the window. The apartment was two storeys up at the rear of the building, which offered an emergency exit on the main floor. Pedestrian traffic was rare.

“I can jump out the window,” offered 68-year-old osteoporotic Sadie in desperation. “There’s a soft cushion of grass below. I may break a few bones but it won’t kill me.”

“Are you crazy?” we shouted.

For a brief moment, I considered flinging my own osteoporotic self out the two-storey window but a quick reality check from my cohorts reminded me my situation was no different.

“Maybe our little group should start the Day of Atonement today because this is ‘the day’ we really need it?” offered Sadie.

Suddenly, from our window view, we saw a man appear at the emergency door. A frantic Seymour leaned out the window and shouted, “Help! Help!” That was our cue to raise the volume and we chimed in chorus to increase the decibels – to no avail.

“Maybe he doesn’t understand English,” suggested Sadie (as if our frantic cries needed interpretation).

“Well, what language would you like to try?” quipped Seymour.

“I don’t know. Try French.”

So, the three of us bellowed like bulls, “Aider! Aider!”

The man looked up. Great! We had his attention. Then, just as suddenly, he disappeared through the emergency door without any acknowledgement to us. Now we were all in a stew. We were doomed.

Fifteen long, tortuous minutes passed before the sound of a key jiggling in the apartment door jolted our attention. Then the wife of the concierge removed the den’s door hinges, releasing us from our prison. With joy and relief, Seymour, still holding up his shorts with one hand, body soaking sweat as if he had just come out of the shower, embraced her with a one-armed hug and planted the wettest kiss on this angel of mercy.

In the calm aftermath, Seymour took his insulin and we all sat down to relish our evening meal. We never did find out who the stranger at the emergency exit was that day so we could thank him. A visitor, we were told, just passing through.

And the stew? Well, it was just right – tender and moist. Bon appetit! And shana tova.

Libby Simon, MSW, worked in child welfare services prior to joining the Child Guidance Clinic in Winnipeg as a school social worker and parent educator for 20 years. Also a freelance writer, her writing has appeared in Canada, the United States, and internationally, in such outlets as Canadian Living, CBC, Winnipeg Free Press, PsychCentral and Cardus, a Canadian research and educational public policy think tank.