Much has been written about Moses as a leader – a Google search for “Moses leader” yields more than 16 million results. However, in Religion and Contemporary Management: Moses as a Model for Effective Leadership, local community member Dr. Arthur Wolak not only explores what contemporary leaders (at least in title if not in fact) could learn from the man who led the Israelites out of slavery, but also examines how Moses’ traits and actions fit into different theories of leadership. Readers will learn as much about leadership in general as they will about Moses and, of course, will take away some pointers on how to improve their skills in this area.
It may or may not come as a surprise, but being a good leader is an awfully hard task, requiring a wide-ranging multitude of abilities. Add to that the importance of a person’s character, and it seems nigh impossible. There are no guarantees. Even if you master the top attributes of a good leader, you may not become one. Sure, you might be innovative, original, empathetic, humble, tenacious, attentive, ethical, patient and have a clear vision – that doesn’t mean people will necessarily follow you.
But there is hope to be found in reluctant, flawed Moses, even if he didn’t really exist. Whether or not one believes there was ever such a person in the world, Wolak notes, “there is still no denying Moses’ influence on Jewish identity, group leadership and Western civilization as a whole.” In addition to being the greatest prophet in Jewish tradition, Moses is a respected figure in Christianity and Islam, Wolak points out.
In the first few chapters of Religion and Contemporary Management, Wolak discusses the different types of leadership, how leadership and management differ, and the benefits and drawbacks of charisma. The next chapters focus on Moses and the ways in which he displayed empathy, possessed humility and was a visionary leader. He also knew his limitations and how to delegate. For example, explains Wolak, when Moses first objects to God choosing him to lead the Israelites, Moses says it’s because he is “slow of speech,” but God brings him round, assuring him that his brother, Aaron, speaks well and can be Moses’ spokesman.
Wolak puts some fun – and educational – twists on things, such as proposing that the Ten Commandments were God’s mission statement to the Jewish people and that Moses “assumed the role of biblical CEO, of sorts, because he became a leader entrusted with transforming God’s mission statement into a viable entity….” Wolak is also very clear that, despite his use of Moses as the model leader and the patriarchal aspects of the Torah and Judaism (and all religion, pretty much), excelling at leadership “is not gender based but built on good character and leadership abilities,” and that “there have been effective female leaders since biblical times.” He gives several examples of such women from the Tanakh and the modern era.
Another part of Wolak’s book that will particularly interest today’s readers is a nine-page section called “Modesty and Holiness,” which mainly contrasts real estate developer rivals Paul Reichmann and Donald Trump, who was not yet president when Wolak was writing his book.
While academic in style, Religion and Contemporary Management is accessible to lay readers. It is well researched and the analysis is well supported with evidence from religious texts, academics, theoreticians and a range of other voices, from Maimonides to Sigmund Freud and Winston Churchill. Published by Anthem Press (2016), the hardcover has an academic text price, at more than $100, but the Kindle version is only $30.50.
As Wolak concludes, “anyone who wishes to learn how to lead, and to learn what characteristics are beneficial for effective leadership, would do well to study the example of Moses.” Then all you need to find is the energy and wherewithal.
Two things will immediately strike readers of From the Outside In: Jewish Post & News Columns, 2015-2016 by Joanne Seiff – Seiff’s knowledge of Judaism and her empathy. She really knows her Jewish texts, as well as a thing or two about human nature. Yet, she doesn’t criticize from on high. She’s right in there in the muck, so to speak, not just making suggestions for others to carry out, but trying to play a positive role herself in whatever transformations she thinks might engage more Jews in Judaism and in community. Her heart is in the right place, and it shows.
Readers of the Jewish Independent were introduced to Seiff’s writing earlier this year, thanks to the JPN’s Bernie Bellan, who thought her work might be a good fit for the JI as well. He was correct. Her columns mix Torah lessons, everyday life moments and community-building ideas seamlessly, in an uplifting manner that invites contemplation rather than merely prescribing answers. She is not dogmatic, but rather is struggling herself to see what works in her and her community’s life.
While Seiff writes about the Winnipeg Jewish community, pretty much every issue she brings up – from involving younger congregants in synagogue life to getting more out of the weekly Torah portion to countering antisemitism to making communal activities more inclusive – can be found in our community. No doubt other communities will also see themselves in Seiff’s writing. And each of us will see a bit of ourselves, how we define our identity and how we move in the world.
And though you might not know it from her casual writing style and humble approach, Seiff has the education to back up her commentary. She has a master’s degree in religious studies from the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill and a master’s in education from the George Washington University; she earned her bachelor’s cum laude in Near Eastern studies and comparative literature from Cornell University. Even so, she doesn’t have all the answers, and she doesn’t pretend to. She calls on many sources, from Jewish traditions and writings, to rabbis who have visited her community with advice, to lessons she has learned from family (her parents and as a mother of twins), community members and others. She brings in her own experiences of living in places where there weren’t many Jews – Kentucky, for example – and that of being a relatively recent immigrant to Winnipeg. She and her husband moved to the city in 2009 and the title of her collection reflects this perspective. As she writes in the introduction, “As a newcomer to Canada, I often see things differently than someone who was born and raised in Winnipeg.”
There is a lightness and energy to Seiff’s writing, which makes the book easy to read, even though she’s tackling some heavy topics and, often, the lethargy of a well- and long-established communal structure. It takes a delicate touch to be constructively critical and not disrespectful to those who either helped set up or maintain the way things “always” have been done. Her solutions-oriented outlook and can-do attitude will inspire anyone who would like to see change but thinks that anything that’s well-established – from our identity, to our Jewish community, to our larger world – is immutable. We may not have a huge amount of control over most things in life, but there are ways in which we can make things better. For ideas of where to start, From the Outside In can be purchased online. To read more of her writing, visit joanneseiff.blogspot.ca.
It takes a brave, confident person to lay themselves bare before others, to openly analyze their choices in life and share what makes them happy, sad and concerned. In the essay collection Hero in My Own Eyes: Tripping a Life Fantastic, local writer Max Roytenberg – with whom Jewish Independent readers should be familiar – is at turns funny, wistful, belligerent, humble, egotistical and sentimental. He’s everything we all are. In reading his stories, we learn about ourselves, as well.
The collection is divided into three parts – “Looking Back,” “Living the Life” and “Looking Forward.” In the first section, Roytenberg recounts stories from his childhood in Winnipeg, outlines the various jobs he had during his career and the cities in which he lived, and touches upon his first two marriages and some of their challenges. It ends with “The Kiss,” about how he – a widower in his early 70s by that time – finally managed to connect with the woman he had loved since his youth; she had long been an widow, too, and was about the same age. The second section is focused on their life together, and it is obvious from his writing that he is smitten and he is happy. While still upbeat and energetic in the third section, the pressure of time is ever-present, as he is now an octogenarian, and he is contemplating who he has become, what impact he has made in the world and how he should spend the rest of his life.
Roytenberg seems to be quite a character. He often refers to himself in the third person, as Maxie, and calls his wife Cookie, my Bride, rather than by her name. There are times when you want to pat him on the back – such as when he manages to push through a regulation change that was being held up by an official who may have been corrupt – and times when you want to shake him, such as when he is basically dismissive of a 28-year-long marriage. But then you want to hug him, because he stayed with and supported his second wife, Ruth, during her eight-year fight with cancer, and you want to jump for joy when he does make the move on his lifelong love, Cookie, and she says yes. By the third section, when he’s so honestly discussing whether he lived up to his own expectations, about winding down (though he also talks about the benefits of not having the time to dilly dally anymore), his children and grandchildren, his gratitude and what he might do tomorrow, it’s quite moving. He touches universal chords in many of his musings and, by the end of the book, you may or may not consider him a hero, but you’ll thank him for sharing a bit of himself with you. And maybe that bit will help you to see the hero in you.
On Aug. 31, the video for the song “Same Girl” premièred. From the Jessica Stuart Few’s latest CD, The Passage, the song features a “girls’ chorus” that includes some of Jessica Stuart’s teenage guitar students joining her on the melody. The two-minute, 36-second video was filmed in and around Toronto, in its alleyways.
“The directing duo KAJART and I started shooting the video in late April, and shot almost every weekend until early August – over 120 hours of shooting over 1,000 locations in Toronto!” said Stuart. The stop-motion music video is her third collaboration with KAJART, “and we love each other and work incredibly well together!” she said, noting that the other two videos are for the songs “Twice” and for “Passage.”
The recent video premièred on blogTO and had more than 54,000 views and 244 shares at press time. On Sept. 1, it was released on YouTube, and has more than 1,200 views so far. On the YouTube post, watchers are invited to help tag the artists of the more than 400 urban art pieces featured in the video.
Noting that school has just started, Stuart told the Independent that the song is “pretty topical.” Its first lyrics, she said, are “Started off we were going to school – half is classes, half life lessons. I don’t care if we’re learning the rules, I’m always the same, always the same girl.”
The song itself (music, lyrics) was composed and performed by Stuart, who sings and plays the koto (a 13-stringed Japanese harp). She is joined by Charles James (double bass), Jon Foster (drums), Tony Nesbitt-Larking (backing koto), Michael Davidson (vibraphone) and the chorus of Jocelyn Barth, Michelle Willis, Alex Rozenberg, Astrid Granville-Martin, Keira Brody and Bernice Chan.
To view the video and download/order the album on which it appears, visit jessicastuartmusic.com.
At first listen for a non-aficionado, Beyond the Pale’s Ruckus may sound like a klezmer CD. An excellently executed and enjoyable one, with maybe a little more swing than you’ve heard before, but klezmer – Southeastern European Jewish music, the accordion, violin and clarinet prominent. On second play, however, is that a reggae beat? Did that piece sound like a French folk song in parts? Is that a mandolin?
Beyond the Pale is known for their fusion of klezmer with jazz, bluegrass, reggae and even classical music. Ruckus is the Toronto-based group’s fourth CD. They debuted with Routes in 2001. Their live recording, Consensus (2004), won three awards and Postcards (2009) also won a bunch of awards. While too early to predict, as Ruckus was just released in June, it would not be surprising if more awards were on the way.
Ruckus isn’t a wedding dance soundtrack. Though it has upbeat pieces that make you want to whirl around your kitchen as you cook dinner – “Ispravnost Licne Vizue” and “Batuta,” for example – it evokes a range of emotions. “Moldavsky” has a stately feel, like one of those ballroom waltzes Jane Austen writes about, while “Ruckus in Ralia” has a driving beat and a sense of urgency. “Andale” slows things down and has a contemplative feel, while listening to “Shutka” will take your imagination to the patio of a Parisian café, with its mournful clarinet and accordion, delicately plucked and wavering mandolin strings, and rich violin tones – a tune resembling “My Funny Valentine” seems to make its way into this eclectic composition.
“Oltenilor” sounds like it’d be at home at a hoedown and “Batuta” has a swinging jazz feel to it for the most part, but sounds like a Chassidic niggun at times and morphs into a kind of fast-paced square dance. Both of these songs feature some wicked plucking of the mandolin.
In Eric Stein’s hands, it’s hard to believe that the mandolin is not a traditional klezmer instrument. His original contribution composition-wise on Ruckus is “The Whole Thing,” the idea for which, he told the CJN, he came up with while playing with whole-tone scales. “It’s got tonality that reflects klezmer and Eastern European folk influences, but it’s also got a funky kind of groove.” And it is definitely based on whole-tone scales.
Six of the 12 songs on Ruckus are originals, while the others are arrangements of traditional melodies. All of the musicians – Bret Higgins (bass), Milos Popovic (accordion), Martin van de Ven (clarinet) and Aleksandar Gajic (violin) – either composed an original piece or participated in the arranging. They are a tight ensemble who play around with tempo and style with such ease that the complexity of what they’ve created isn’t what you’ll first notice. And that’s what makes their music so good.
Red Shoes for Rachel: Three Novellas, and its author, Boris Sandler. (photo from Syracuse University Press)
When I read and valued the unique style and flavour of Boris Sandler’s story “Studies in Solfege,” in Ezra Glinter’s anthology of short stories, Have I Got a Story for You, gathered from the Yiddish Forward, I wondered if there were any other fictions available in English by this talented, inventive writer. It was heartening and encouraging to see that, in the parentheses where age is given, there was no other number besides his year of birth. To my delight, I soon learned that Syracuse University Press was planning to issue Red Shoes for Rachel.
In talking about Yiddish writers, we usually are dealing with those long gone, like Sholem Aleichem, I.L. Peretz, Avraham Reisen or Chaim Grade – it is a distinct pleasure to review a book by a living Yiddish writer.
In Red Shoes for Rachel, we meet Sandler’s fellow Jews from Bessarabia. During the Second World War, the Jews there suffered under the Germans and the pro-German Romanian fascists. But then, soon after being liberated by the Red Army, they fell under the rule of rigorous Soviet dictatorship. In these three novellas, we meet perceptively drawn men, women and children as they live their bumpy lives and dream their hopes in the Soviet Union, in Israel and in the goldeneh medineh (golden land), Brooklyn, more specifically, Brighton Beach.
Sandler’s style, unlike that of most other writers in the Yiddish literary canon – almost all of whom write in the late 19th-, early-20th-century realistic style – hovers between realism and magic realism (think of writers like Jorge Luis Borges, Italo Calvino and Mario Vargas Llosa) with surprising effect. Time zones elide. Scenes shift, via recall, from years past to the present. Arching over this are believable, vibrant human beings who are vivified through description, dialogue and interior monologue.
From the first line of “Karolina-Bugaz” – “Bella woke from sleep as if she had been driven out of it” – one sees at once a writer who uses his tools – words – with verve and imagination. On the 30th anniversary of her marriage, Bella goes to a bakery to pick up a special cake she has ordered. But she comes home to find a note that her husband, Mark, has left her. He is now on a cruise, alone, and, on an island near where the ship has docked, he meets a young woman who has the same name as his wife.
In realism, a reader knows where he is, and which character is breathing in his presence. In magic realism, the borders between true and make believe are blurred and the reader is never really sure. Reality in such fiction is a slippery slope.
In the beginning of “Halfway Down the Road Back to You,” we see an 80-year-old woman in Israel preparing dozens of slices of dried white bread, which are scattered all over her apartment – she considers this an obligatory present when visiting.
The woman had spent 73 of her years in Beltsy, Bessarabia. For the past seven, she has lived in her small apartment in Nazareth, where there is a windowless security room stored with food, “just in case.” Both her children are abroad; there is no indication she has any friends, except for a twice-a-week aide. Via memories, we relive her days in the Romanian ghetto during the Second World War, where she risked being shot by slipping out once in awhile to beg for food for her family. It is only toward the end of the tale that we suspect she might be bringing all those crusts she has prepared into that security room, though we can’t be sure.
Red Shoes for Rachel contains one of the most beautiful and moving stories of middle-aged love I’ve ever read. Rachel, the only American-born protagonist in the collection, lives near the Coney Island boardwalk and selflessly tends to her wheelchair-bound mother. One day, when she bumps into Yasha, a divorced immigrant from Moldavia, her life turns around and achieves a spark. In separate chapters, we learn of Yasha’s Holocaust experiences and also those of Rachel’s parents. With delicacy and warmth, the relationship develops. By the end, the two lonely souls have formed a bond.
Occasionally, in translations of Yiddish literature, there is a wide gap between knowledge of Yiddish and knowledge of Yiddishkeit (Judaism), with errors regarding some obvious points in the latter. One story depicts “a Sabbath lunch with songs and putting on of phylacteries” (tefillin), which is done during morning prayers on weekdays and certainly not during lunch. Another has a mistranslation of the Hebrew/Yiddish exclamation, “Borukh Hashem,” which does not mean, “blessed be His name,” but “blessed be God” or, actually, “thank God.” Elsewhere, a woman “blesses the Sabbath candles.” Jewish women do not bless objects and, in this case, would recite a blessing to God over the candles. These comments aside, Barnet Zumoff’s translation is splendid, natural and effortless. It meets the gold standard of translation – reading this book one assumes the stories in it were written in English.
Read Red Shoes for Rachel and you will discover a superb storyteller, a modern master of prose.
Curt Leviant’s most recent books are the critically acclaimed novels King of Yiddish and Kafka’s Son.
Cardiologist Gil Bolotin checks patient Robert MacLachlan, the first in the world to receive the CORolla implant, at Rambam hospital. (photo by Pioter Fliter/RHCC)
A 72-year-old Canadian man has become the world’s first recipient of an Israeli-developed implant to treat diastolic heart failure, a fairly common condition for which there is no effective long-term treatment.
The minimally invasive surgery was performed on July 26 at Rambam Health Care Campus, a medical centre in Haifa, by a multidisciplinary team led by cardiologists Gil Bolotin, director of cardiac surgery, and Arthur Kerner, senior physician in the interventional cardiology unit.
The implant, called CORolla, was developed by Israeli startup CorAssist Cardiovascular of Haifa. The elastic device is implanted inside the left ventricle of the heart and can improve cardiac diastolic function by applying direct expansion force on the ventricle wall to help the heart fill with blood. The CorAssist technology was invented by Dr. Yair Feld, a Rambam cardiologist, with doctors Yotam Reisner and Shay Dubi.
The patient, Robert MacLachlan, explained that he had run out of treatment options in Canada for his diastolic heart failure. His wife had read about the CORolla implant on the internet and contacted Dr. Karen Bitton Worms, head of research in the department of cardiac surgery at Rambam. MacLachlan’s cardiologist encouraged him to apply to have the experimental procedure in Israel.
Bolotin said that, while many potential applicants were interested in the procedure, no one wanted to be first until MacLachlan came along.
“I am proud that Rambam offers treatments to patients not available anywhere else in the world,” said Dr. Rafi Beyar, director and chief executive officer of Rambam.
The hospital did not comment on the condition of the patient, but, in a video released a month after the procedure, MacLachlan said he already feels better and has noticed that his skin colour looks healthy for the first time in a long time.
The Israel Ministry of Health has authorized up to 10 clinical trials at Rambam to test the efficacy of cardiac catheterization for placement of the CORolla implant. The potential market for the device is large. It is estimated that more than 23 million people worldwide suffer from heart failure, a condition in which the heart fails to pump sufficient oxygenated blood to meet the body’s needs. Approximately half of heart failure patients suffer from diastolic heart failure, in which the left ventricle fails to relax and adequately refill with blood, resulting in a high filling pressure, congestion and shortness of breath. This is the condition for which the CORolla device was invented.
Israel21c is a nonprofit educational foundation with a mission to focus media and public attention on the 21st-century Israel that exists beyond the conflict. For more, or to donate, visit israel21c.org.
The black dial phone in the Jerusalem residence of former prime minister Levi Eshkol. (photo by Sharon Altshul)
Around Rosh Hashanah, some of us do this back-and-forth dance, reflecting on things past while looking ahead. As I live in Israel, I am going “to dance” to what I believe is the most pervasive part of our daily existence – our (some would say obsessive) phone use.
In the days prior to Israel’s becoming a “start-up nation,” telephone service was in pretty sad shape. For many years, most Israelis did not have phones in their homes. So, in the evening, you would wash up, dress up and go outside to use a public telephone. To make your call, you would load your pockets with asimonim, round, grooved, metal tokens. If you were calling someone outside your area code, you would hope that the weight of all the necessary asimonim would not tear your pockets.
In the old days, Israelis would need to gather up their asimonim and head to the public payphone to make a call. (photo by Hidro for Creative Commons)
Talking on payphones was fraught with problems. For starters, how would the person at the other end know you wanted to chat? Answer: the call had to be carefully arranged in advance, with both sides knowing the time, location and telephone numbers of the public telephones that were to be used.
It was an event requiring lots of patience. You had to stand in line with your neighbours, who also wanted to use the phone. You had to ignore the pressure from those behind you, telling you to hurry up and let someone else have a turn. Loud “discussions” occasionally broke out. People claimed they had a dahuf (urgent) call to make or receive. (In Israel, the term dahuf is thrown around a lot.) Thus, the beginning of the Israeli telecommunication era is essentially a study in how people function in groups.
Moreover, Israeli payphones seemed to have a mind of their own. You would be talking when, suddenly, in one big gulp, the telephone cruelly swallowed all your tokens. No amount of whacking the sides of the phone box or banging the receiver in its cradle would return the tokens. You were simply finished for the night. Talking on a payphone was such a tricky business, people would resort to sending postcards, as it was an easier way to relay a message.
By and large, Israeli households did not have telephones until the 1960s – as late as 1964, 55,800 Israeli homes were waiting for phones. If someone had acquired a telephone before the sixties, the person was either suspected of, or envied for, his or her protectzia, the fact that s/he “knew” somebody.
After a long wait – possibly for years – the phone company gave a household a black stationary phone with a short cord. Meaning that, to talk, you had to stay in one place. If you were lucky, nobody’s line would cross yours. If it did, you were stuck listening to their private affairs. People didn’t hang up right away because they didn’t know how long it would take to reconnect with friends. And, while on the subject of talking on the phone, to counter the high cost of doing so, employers with chatty employees or families with talkative children (or adult family members) went to the extreme of putting a lock on their dial phone.
After the implementation of the black telephones, changes came faster. Although the colour choice remained limited, Israelis could choose something other than a phone. They could also order a long phone cord or a press-button phone. Likewise, people could have phones in more than one room. Some advances have gone smoother than others. For example, fax installation and transmission continues to gravely challenge Bezek (the Israeli telephone company, established in 1984) and Bezek users.
In the international sphere, things also changed, albeit unevenly. In the late 1950s, Israel got hooked up to five continents. To place or receive an overseas call, you had to go to the central post office. You sat in a special glassed-in wooden booth while a special operator made the connection.
After a period of time, there were telecartim, or insertable phone cards for public phones. These cards became quite popular and many Israelis became phone card collectors and traders. I remember attending a telecart exhibit in Tel Aviv.
There are a few remaining payphones in Israel. (photo by Deborah Rubin Fields)
What feels like light years later, Israelis started equipping themselves with cellphones and, not long after that, with ear sets. Suddenly, it seemed that many people were experiencing severe mental health problems. In public, flaying arms and shouting at invisible people became rampant. I remember the first time I spotted a person exhibiting this behaviour. Only when he drew near did I see a thin black wire around his jaw and ear. I sighed, “another cellphone casualty.”
Israelis are apparently now making up for lost time by being glued to their mobile phones. They converse everywhere (on dates, in toilets, on trains and buses) about everything.
Some of the usage issues are (pretty close to being) unique to Israel. If you were under the impression that kashrut (kosher) is a food-related concept, think again. In Israel, as well as in a few Western countries, there are kosher cellphones. While they are not edible, they have been a boon to Israel’s ultra-Orthodox community. According to Cellular Israel, “a kosher phone is any phone that is approved and certified by vaad harabonim” (the rabbinic committee for matters of communications).
A kosher phone can only make and receive voice calls. Text messaging and emails will not work on a kosher phone. Moreover, for health, security, public services, water and electricity personnel, there is even a kosher phone designed to avoid breaking the laws of Shabbat. Technically, this mobile device may be dialed without connecting. There is even a kosher de-smarted (meaning that it has no web-browsing capability) smartphone.
Not all the changes appear to be positive. While more studies need to be done, Israeli researchers are beginning to think there is a real downside to cellphone use – it might even interfere with the biblical injunction to “be fruitful and multiply.”
As reported in Reproductive BioMedicine Online, there appears to be an association between higher rates of abnormal semen concentration and talking on cellphones for an hour or more a day, and talking on the devices as they are being charged. Among men who reported holding their phones within 50 centimetres of their groin, a higher rate of abnormal sperm concentration was found. Semen concentration was abnormal among 47% of those who stored their phone in their pants pockets, while it was abnormal in only 11% of the general male population. In brief, Israeli men might need to curb their cellphone use.
There might be another advantage to having an alternative to cellphones. Several years ago, when there was a wave of terrorism, having old-fashioned payphones around turned out to be beneficial. When an attack occurred, Jerusalemites whipped out their cellphones “to report in” with their families. With so many people simultaneously calling, the system crashed. It was the city’s remaining public phones that allowed people to reassure worried loved ones.
Admittedly, many of the above changes likewise happened elsewhere in the Western world; the telecommunication revolution has been a global revolution, after all. But, for many in Israel, each change or step of the way was met with a kind of curiosity or wonder that may have been singular to Israel. Today, that innocence has disappeared. For better or for worse, I’m not sure.
Deborah Rubin Fieldsis an Israel-based features writer. She is also the author of Take a Peek Inside: A Child’s Guide to Radiology Exams, published in English, Hebrew and Arabic.
Biofeed’s Nimrod Israely, top centre, with mango growers in Karnataka, India. (photo from Biofeed via Israel21c)
Shortly before Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s visit to Israel in early July, Indian diplomats in Israel heard about a revolutionary no-spray, environmentally friendly solution against the Oriental fruit fly (Bactrocera dorsalis) made by Biofeed, a 10-employee ag-tech company. They invited Biofeed to be one of six innovative Israeli companies meeting with Modi and Israeli Prime Minister Binyamin Netanyahu.
The company’s founder and chief executive officer, Nimrod Israely, who has a PhD in fruit-fly ecology, told the two leaders that Biofeed’s product can protect Indian farmers against fruit flies like the Iron Dome system protects the people of Israel against missiles. The Oriental fruit fly has been decimating 300 fruit species in India and in 65 other countries in Asia, Africa and the Americas and is considered to be the most destructive, invasive and widespread of all fruit flies.
Biofeed’s lures, hung on trees, contain an organic customized mix of food, feeding stimulants and control or therapeutic agents delivered by a patented gravity-controlled fluid release platform. Attracted by the odour, the fly takes a sip and soon dies – without any chemicals reaching the fruit, air or soil.
The launch of Biofeed’s first-in-class attractant for female Oriental fruit flies results from 15 years of development of the core platform and more than a year of development and testing in Israel and Karnataka, India. Mango farmers on four Indian orchards saw an overall decrease of fruit-fly infestation from 95% to less than five percent.
“We were hoping to bring a solution that will replace spraying and increase productivity by 50%,” Israely told Israel21c. “I am excited by the results, demonstrating the future potential for some farmers to bring about 900 times more marketable produce to market.”
A fruit fly feeding in a Biofeed lure. (photo from Biofeed via Israel21c)
One farmer in the Biofeed pilot explained that previously he had used a trap that attracted only male fruit flies, with limited success. “If you cut 25 fruits, we were getting only one good fruit; 24 were infected,” he said.
K. Srinivas Gowda, president of the 70,000-farmer Karnataka Mango Growers Association, wrote in a letter presented to Modi and Netanyahu that he “would like to have this [Biofeed] technology implemented to all the mango farmers through the government of India. This technology can be used to develop pest-free zones in the mango-growing belts in India.”
The pilot project started after Biofeed won a Grand Challenges Israel grant last year from the Israel Innovation Authority and the Foreign Ministry’s international development agency, Mashav.
“We don’t have the Oriental fruit fly in Israel. However, until now there was no solution for this problem. So, we took the challenge and chose to focus on India,” Israely said. The company worked with Kempmann Bioorganics in Bangalore to carry out the trial.
Biofeed’s products are used in many Israeli fruit orchards against the Mediterranean fruit fly and other common pests, including the olive fruit fly and the peach fruit fly (Bactrocera zonata).
“Bactrocera zonata is the number two pest in India. There are three main pests in India, so now we’ve given, within two years, a solution for the two most devastating fruit flies in India and in other parts of the world,” said Israely.
“We are the only company in the world with a solution for those two pests and both solutions are harmless to the environment,” he added. “We estimate the annual market potential of these two pest segments to be well over $1 billion.”
The Biofeed platform is effective with as few as 10 units per hectare and for a period of nearly a year before the dispenser needs replacing.
Biofeed, founded in 2005, also has a formula targeting mosquitoes that bear viruses such as Zika.
“Evolution has given insects an elaborate sense of smell, which they utilize to find mates, food, egg-laying sites and more,” Israely told Israel21c last year. “The company has developed a liquid formula that ‘knows’ how to tie different kinds of smells to other materials, as the need arises. The result is a special ‘decoy’ that draws the target insect through smell. The decoy is slow-released from a device over the course of a year. The insect is drawn to the decoy, feeds off it and dies shortly after.”
Headquartered in Kfar Truman, Biofeed sees the future of agriculture in developing countries such as India and China.
“We want to bring something that is extremely easy to use: you don’t need tractors, you don’t need to remember to spray once a week, you don’t need to put yourself in danger with sprays, there’s no safety equipment. This is something that can make a dramatic change in agriculture and human health,” said Israely.
Israel21cis a nonprofit educational foundation with a mission to focus media and public attention on the 21st-century Israel that exists beyond the conflict. For more, or to donate, visit israel21c.org.
When it comes to Rosh Hashanah, I’m a big fan. It’s hard not to love a Jewish holiday that’s all about spiritual renewal, deep reflection and heartfelt promises to work harder to present our “better selves” to those around us. But, as I move into my mid-40s, I’m realizing there’s more than that to the Jewish New Year – more than those deep brown challahs filled with sweet raisins, more than the novelty of dipping apples in golden honey and dripping them all over the tablecloth before a great meal. Rosh Hashanah is also a profound vessel of memory and, as I defrost my brisket, hunt for the best-yet new quinoa recipe and knead and shape my challahs, I’ll be thinking of the past.
I don’t realize, until Rosh Hashanah rolls around, how vividly that past is available. I yank those memories from the recesses of my mind and daydream my way back to a 14-year-old self growing up in Cape Town, South Africa. Back then, Rosh Hashanah meant receiving a batch of my grandmother’s taiglach, a recipe I’m still determined to tackle and one that will take me, in spirit, immediately and joyfully, into her tiny kitchen. It meant hours in synagogue, listening to the deep baritone voices of the Rondebosch shul choir, and the wonderful melodies of the cantor, who we imported from Israel for that time of year.
It meant family discussions on who to invite to our Rosh Hashanah table, and long debates about whether we could tolerate, for another year, the uncle who arrived in his farm-stained overalls and fell asleep on the sofa before the meal was over. Or the aunt who was always asking for recipes (and never using them) and used fingers, rather than salad servers, to select the leafy greens she wanted on her plate.
There were wild cousins whose antics my parents weren’t certain they wanted unleashed in the house. And friends whose children my sister and I wanted nothing to do with and campaigned loudly for their removal from the guest list.
With hours before the festival’s arrival, as my mother’s culinary activities sent rich aromas wafting over the house, we kids were in charge of setting the table and removing from the dusty cabinet the exquisite glasses my parents had bought while on a Venice honeymoon 15 years earlier. We’d craft name tags and carefully position them around the table, ensuring we occupied the best seats in the house. And we’d decant the wine an elderly relative had made, pouring it carefully into the crystal decanter only used on such occasions.
At the time, I rolled my eyes at the list of chores, grateful for the reprieve from school but unappreciative, as only a teenager with little worldly experience can be, of the treasures at that table. The family members we’d lose as age and cancer robbed them of more time with us. The recipes I’d never have the foresight to record and the hugs and kisses I never cherished long enough.
What I did bring with me over the decades, that would follow me into married life with children, was an unbridled love for Rosh Hashanah and a determination to make it as memory-laden, meaningful and delicious as possible in my home. It’s why, this year and in the years ahead, I’ll spend hours on dishes I’d never normally prepare: sodium-filled chicken soup with kneidlach, tender brisket that will tempt even the avowed vegetarians among my kids and wafer-thin kichel biscuits, perfect with chopped herring. Maybe I’ll even summon the courage to attempt baking sweet, sticky taiglach, a recipe that requires copious amounts of syrup and hours of careful babysitting.
I’ll do all this and more in the name of memory, because it will conjure my own past, a continent and lifetime away, so vividly. And I’ll hug my kids extra-tight, subdued in the knowledge that, one day, they, too, will celebrate this holiday with their own families after I’m six feet under, hopefully cherishing the food and love-laden Rosh Hashanah memories of their own long-gone childhoods.
Lauren Kramer, an award-winning writer and editor, lives in Richmond. To read her work online, visit laurenkramer.net.
In the first few chapters of Religion and Contemporary Management, Wolak discusses the different types of leadership, how leadership and management differ, and the benefits and drawbacks of charisma. The next chapters focus on Moses and the ways in which he displayed empathy, possessed humility and was a visionary leader. He also knew his limitations and how to delegate. For example, explains Wolak, when Moses first objects to God choosing him to lead the Israelites, Moses says it’s because he is “slow of speech,” but God brings him round, assuring him that his brother, Aaron, speaks well and can be Moses’ spokesman.
