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Chabad rabbis gather in N.Y.

The “class photo” at the recent Kinus Hashluchim. (photo from Chabad Lubavitch)

Twelve Chabad Lubavitch emissaries to British Columbia joined 5,600 rabbis and communal leaders from all 50 U.S. states and 100 countries, hailing from as far away as Laos and Angola, Ghana and Uzbekistan, at the International Conference of Chabad Lubavitch Emissaries (Kinus Hashluchim), which took place Nov. 16-20 in Brooklyn, N.Y.

photo - Rabbi Falik Schtroks at the “class photo”
Rabbi Falik Schtroks at the “class photo.” (photo from Chabad Lubavitch)

The annual event, the largest Jewish gathering in North America, is aimed at reviving Jewish awareness and practice around the world. The rabbis – each embracing multiple roles and responsibilities – explored relevant issues, and learned from professionals and colleagues with years of experience. The topics covered ran the gamut of their concerns: combating antisemitism, stemming the tide of assimilation, understanding troubled relationships, inclusion, and a conference within the conference for rabbis who serve students on college campuses, ensuring a lasting impact on the next generation of communal leaders.

This year’s conference brought added significance as the world marks 50 years since the Rebbe – Rabbi Menachem M. Schneerson, of righteous memory, considered the most influential rabbi in modern history – initiated the Mitzvah Campaigns, an historic undertaking that took Judaism beyond the institutional walls, impacting millions of Jews with no or minimal Jewish engagement. The conference included a visit to the Rebbe’s gravesite in the New York City borough of Queens.

Additional highlights were the “class photo,” where thousands of rabbis posed for a group picture in front of Chabad Lubavitch world headquarters in Brooklyn. There was also a gala banquet, where the rabbis were joined by admirers, supporters and layleaders from their respective communities for a sit-down dinner, which set a record for being the largest in New York.

The conference serves to connect Chabad Lubavitch emissaries with one another. This gives the participants, especially those going back to far and isolated outposts, an exhilarating send-off, coupled with the sense that they are not alone.

Representing British Columbia were rabbis Yitzchak Wineberg, Yechiel Baitelman, Binyomin Bitton, Avraham Feigelstock, Mendy Feigelstock, Shmuly Hecht, Meir Kaplan, Mendy Mochkin, Dovid Rosenfeld, Falik Schtroks, Levi Varnai and Schneur Wineberg.

The incredible power of soup

Soup is not just food. It’s an experience, a sustenance, a simple yet magnificent meal, if done right, which is generally easy. Probably every culture on earth has a signature variation and, in the Jewish tradition, there is nothing more iconic than chicken soup.

When Sharon Hapton, a Jewish woman in Calgary, had the idea eight years ago to make a great vat of soup and carry it to a shelter for women escaping domestic abuse, she defaulted to that dependable chicken soup recipe. As reported in the Independent in 2014 (jewishindependent.ca/soup-ladled-with-love), that act elicited a deeply moving reaction. The chef at the shelter broke into tears when she saw the offering. There were Jewish women in the shelter and the chef knew the emotional significance and comfort the simple soup would bring.

The nonprofit social enterprise – a movement, really – that emerged from that first gesture is called Soup Sisters and it is a network of more than 40,000 people who have created one million servings of soup since the program began in March 2009. Each month, more than 10,000 servings are delivered to women, children and youth in shelters across Canada and in a couple of nascent cities in the United States. Hapton has been recognized by Chatelaine, CityTV and the YWCA for her vision.

In the interest of gender equality, there is also now Broth Brothers. And, a new iteration of the program, called Souper Kids, encourages young people from age 8 to 17 to participate in helping families and individuals who need it most.

book cover - Soup Sisters Family Cookbook

The Soup Sisters Family Cookbook is the third in a series of publications the group has compiled, and it is aimed directly at this next generation. Edited by Hampton, with Gwendolyn Richards, and subtitled “More than 100 Family-friendly Recipes to Make and Share with Kids of All Ages,” it is a great addition to the shelf. Most recipes have only a few ingredients and are ideal for young people first venturing into the kitchen (with supervision from an adult of even limited cooking capabilities).

The volume includes contributions from celebrities, including Ruth Reichl, David Hawksworth, Nigella Lawson, Michael Smith and Elizabeth Baird, as well as from children from across Canada.

In addition to several variations on chicken soup (the B.C.-based singer and songwriter Jann Arden offers up a Kitchen Sink Chicken Soup), there are classics like Grandma’s Russian Borscht and Easy Creamy Tomato Soup. Kid-invented recipes include Every Bunny Loves Carrot Soup, Posh-tasting Red Pepper and Coconut Soup and Attack of the Killer Tomatoes. Dragon Soup was contributed by a Grade 2 Class in West Kelowna, B.C. Many or most recipes can be made kosher, Cheeseburger Soup notwithstanding.

Jerusalem/London food superstar Yotam Ottolenghi offers Chickpea, Tomato and Bread Soup. Vancouver chef and cookbook author Vikram Vij contributed Indian Comfort Food Soup, sometimes called “Indian Mac-and-cheese,” not because it contains macaroni or cheese, the introduction explains, “but because it’s value-for-money comfort food, and a favourite with kids.” Earls Restaurants contributed their Tortilla Soup recipe.

I made to the Roman “Egg Drop” Soup with ingredients around the house on a cold, rainy autumn afternoon. There is almost nothing to it, but it turns out surprisingly revitalizing and a little bit fancy. It’s really nothing but eight cups of chicken stock (kosher cooks could substitute vegetable stock), four cups of packed spinach leaves (I didn’t want to leave the house, so I used frozen – it would benefit from fresh), 1 1/4 teaspoons of salt, four eggs, and one third of a cup freshly grated Padano cheese (I used the Parmesan I had on hand and it added more salt than ideal).

Once the broth is simmering and the spinach is added, the eggs, cheese and quarter of a teaspoon of the salt are whisked together in a bowl, then slowly whisked into the soup in a traditional egg drop motion more commonly associated with Chinese cooking.

The book includes a preface about making your own stock, as well as basics on slicing, chopping, peeling and prepping – good for kitchen newbies as well as a refresher for oldsters who still slash ourselves too frequently in the kitchen.

The Soup Sisters Family Cookbook is meant for families to come together and cook as a group, which is, of course, what Soup Sisters (and Broth Brothers) is all about. Founded on the simple belief in the power of soup “as a nurturing and nourishing gesture that could make a tangible difference,” Soup Sisters holds year-round programs where participants, who have paid a registration fee, join a soup-making event in a professional kitchen under the guidance of a chef. The social process produces 150 to 200 servings of soup that are then delivered to local shelters.

“Events are social evenings with lively conversation, chopping, laughter and warm kitchen camaraderie that culminate in a simple, sit-down supper of soup, salad, bread and wine for all participants,” says the website.

Vancouver has two Soup Sisters chapters. One is in partnership with the Pacific Institute of Culinary Arts and supports Kate Booth House, a Salvation Army-associated agency that has provided a safe refuge for more than 4,000 women and children from 83 nationalities fleeing domestic abuse. It offers up to 30 days of housing in a supportive atmosphere that includes support services. This chapter also supports Imouto Housing for Young Women, which provides supportive housing in the Downtown Eastside for girls and young women who are homeless or in unsafe housing and who face risks including violence and abuse, exploitation, substance use, racism and other dangers.

Another chapter is in partnership with the Northwest Culinary Academy of Vancouver and supports Sereenas House for Women, a residential support program in the Downtown Eastside that allows women to live independently of violence, abuse and substance use and to access services and become involved in their community.

There are also Soup Sisters chapters in Burnaby, Surrey, the Tri-Cities, Victoria, Penticton and two in Kelowna, among other locations in Canada and the United States.

This recipe will become a cold-weather regular in my kitchen:

WHITE BEAN, CABBAGE AND SAUSAGE SOUP
Contributed to The Soup Sisters Family Cookbook by Laura Keogh and Ceri Marsh, cookbook authors and bloggers at sweetpotatochronicles.com.

2 tbsp olive oil
3 Italian sausages, cut into bite-size pieces
one onion, finely chopped
3 cloves garlic, minced
half a Savoy or green cabbage, cored and thinly shredded (4 to 5 cups)
4 cups chicken stock
one can (15 ounces) cannellini beans, drained and rinsed
1 tbsp fresh thyme leaves
2 bay leaves
salt and pepper to taste
1/2 cup fresh grated Parmesan cheese [easily omitted in kosher kitchens]

1. In a large pot, heat the oil over medium heat. Add the sausages and allow them to brown, pushing them around so they get colour all over. Remove the sausages from the pot and set aside on a clean plate.

2. Add the onion and garlic to the pot and cook, stirring often, until the onion starts to soften, around four minutes. Add the cabbage and stir it around for a couple of minutes.

3. Add the stock, beans, thyme and bay leaves. Return the sausages to the pot and allow everything to come to a simmer over medium heat. Reduce the heat to medium-low and simmer, uncovered, until the vegetables are tender, about 20 minutes. Fish out and discard the bay leaves. Season with salt and pepper to taste.

4. Ladle the soup into warm bowls and serve with a generous sprinkling of Parmesan cheese. [Or not.]

The power, beauty of music

On classical favourite is Beethoven. (image from Schirmer’s Library of Musical Classics)

Music, my love! Where can one start with this subject? For many, it is a highly emotional issue. Watching young people at a rave or rock concert, we can see how totally they are consumed by the sounds, the words and the experience. Though it may leave profound traces in what they become, in the person they are, other priorities will ultimately dictate their behaviour. Nevertheless, don’t so many of us retain some place in our being where the music of our youth, once recalled, takes us back to those times with immediacy, carrying with it all its emotional weight? All the good and all the bad!

Carried away by a political consciousness early in my growing up years, I missed all that. Busy, busy, busy. My attitude was coloured somewhat by having had music thrust down my throat by a mother who felt that no education was complete without a person having the capacity to play a musical instrument. To my distress, the violin was her instrument of choice – weren’t there all those famous virtuosos Jewish? But, my output was in continuous dissonance with the beautiful music I heard in my head, no matter how hard I practised. I struggled with it for a number of years, while my sister achieved some facility, until my teacher suggested I could more productively focus my efforts on attaining celebrity in basketball, where I, as a short person, also had unreasonable expectations. I did, however, gain an appreciation of how beautiful music could be when offered by those with talent.

It was the folk music of the ’60s, the music of protest and rebellion, that most marked my consciousness in those early years. I trafficked in other forms, but it was the emotional appeal of that particular material that captured me. Some of it can still bring me to tears. Over time, though, a few favourite classical works were accumulated as top of mind: Beethoven, Tchaikovsky, Ravel, Dvorak, mainly their stuff stirred my emotions. Gershwin, some Joni Mitchell and Dylan, Joplin and Leonard Cohen round out the picture of less formal music. Do we begin to see a pattern?

I am not an addict. I can go for long periods of time without insisting on being surrounded by melodious strains. But, when the occasion arises, and the stars are aligned, I am totally captured by the music that is available – preferably one of my favourites, but no matter. I become enraptured by the immersion. I know I am an inconstant lover, but a lover I am, nevertheless.

The right sort of music can transport me to places where I feel I could remain forever, a nirvana that wipes away all the stuff that is usually filling my head. There is so much in there, catalogues and timetables, agendas and orders of priority; for the time that I am in a place of music, these things do not exist. In some ways, music becomes for me a refuge. I do not want to imagine life without it. The need for that escape accumulates within me over time until, unconsciously, I am forced to find the occasion for relief.

I know I do music an injustice. Those involved in music-making in all its forms devote the essence of their lives to it; it is their lives. I can only imagine the sacrifices that are made, the years that are spent, by those who have had music take them by throat and totally seize their souls, so driven are they. How insulting that it should descend to being merely a palliative to one like myself!

Many of the things we need in life have their devotees. Fortunately for us, what musicians/composers are offering to us is central to their lives, so they lead a life of service to others, in many ways, without their necessary volition. For us, their raison d’etre may be only incidental, but insofar as they are consumed in making music, in all its various forms, we are blessed by their commitment to finding their joy in their métier.

As a failed musician who knows how much devotion and hard work meaningful music-making takes, I can only express my gratitude. Some of the best moments of my life – and, undoubtedly, for many others – have come from their creativity.

Can we fully express our love for another person without turning at some point to music? Can we fully express our love of country without music? Would we be willing to surrender all that music brings to our lives?

Music came into being because humanity needed this medium to express those feelings that cannot be put into words. The oldest known instrument ever found – thought to be 3,500 years old – is a five-hole flute made from a vulture’s wing bone. Anthropologists estimate, according to Wikipedia, that music is 55,000 years old and originated in Africa. It has been said that humankind fundamentally changed its nature about that long ago. Maybe music played a crucial part in that.

Regardless, I have a love affair with music. I truly believe that music was invented all those eons ago so that I could get to dance with my Bride. Care to join me on the dance floor?

Max Roytenberg is a Vancouver-based poet, writer and blogger. His book Hero in My Own Eyes: Tripping a Life Fantastic is available from Amazon and other online booksellers.

To leave a community

A still from One Of Us. (photo from lokifilms.com/one-of-us)

The riveting Netflix documentary One of Us follows three New Yorkers in various stages of the painful process of leaving their Chassidic community. The lone woman among them is far and away the film’s most memorable character, in part because she has the most harrowing journey.

“Etty was in the middle of a case and under massive personal duress from the beginning,” co-director Rachel Grady recalled. “She was apprehensive at first [about being in the movie] because she’s somebody that does not seek attention and would never under normal circumstances want to be filmed or photographed for her ego.”

Etty had filed for divorce after 12 years, claiming physical abuse, and she was fighting an uphill battle for custody of her seven children. At the same time, her family and friends abandoned her.

“We had agreed we wouldn’t show her face,” said co-director Heidi Ewing. “She had very good reasons for not wanting her identity to be shown to the world. What happens in the film is what happened to us in life, which is, about halfway through the project, she said, ‘I’ve got nothing to lose anymore. I’m not going to hide.’”

“She was very much alone and isolated and this insane, unexpected reaction from the community was happening to her,” said Grady. “She couldn’t believe it herself. I think she needed some documentation that this was real.”

One of Us debuted on Netflix in mid-October, but the New York-based filmmakers were recently on the West Coast for screenings and Q&As with Academy members who will vote on Oscar nominations.

Grady and Ewing, whose films include last year’s Norman Lear: Just Another Version of You and Jesus Camp, took steps to include the Chassidic community’s perspective, including a portion of a rabbi’s speech at an assembly at New York’s Citi Field that laments the threat – assimilation on steroids – that the modern world poses to Chassidism.

“Anything we had to show the warmth among the people in the community is in the movie,” said Ewing. “If you’re in the community, if you’re standing by all the rules and doing the right thing, there’s a lot to be gained. People will know about you and care about you. It’s when you deviate a little bit to the left or right, there’s going to be consequences.”

While most of the duo’s films focus on a religious community, Grady noted that they are interested in the belief systems that create community rather than matters of doctrine.

“It’s really about the community, how you identify yourself, how you identify yourself compared to others, your worldview based on your community,” Grady explained. “It’s something we could explore over and over and over, and religion is just a great way to do it. You could do the same thing on the zealots at my food co-op.”

Grady, who was raised Jewish in Washington, D.C., confided that she had never thought more about being a Jew than in the three years that she and Ewing were making One of Us.

“This idea that Jews always talk about, is it an ethnic group, is it culture, is it religion? It’s all of those things, and it weighs heavily one way or another depending how you were raised. In this case, there’s a group of people who are my neighbours in Brooklyn that I see every day and I know that I have a deep connection with them.

“I’m always thinking, ‘Did my great-grandfather do that? Would I have done that?’ It was kind of like an exercise every day when I was working on this film.”

While those questions will come up for some viewers as well, they are more likely to be moved by Etty’s struggle to leave the only society she’s known and forge a life in the wider world.

One of Us is now streaming on Netflix (unrated, in English and Yiddish, 95 minutes).

Michael Fox is a writer and film critic living in San Francisco.

Immersed in Judaism

Abigail Pogrebin, author of My Jewish Year: 18 Holidays, One Wondering Jew. (photo from Abigail Pogrebin)

A few years ago, author Abigail Pogrebin spent an immersive year studying the Jewish calendar and attempting to observe it. She chronicled her experience in a column in the Forward and, subsequently, in the book My Jewish Year: 18 Holidays, One Wondering Jew (Fig Tree Books, 2017). On Nov. 19, she was in Winnipeg for the city’s Tarbut Festival.

“I did not approach this as a gimmick,” she told the Independent. “It was really a sincere stab at an understanding I never had, which is the origins for all of these chaggim [holidays] … and also, not just the origins, but the underpinnings, because these are obviously … human-created milestones that have endured for thousands of years. I wanted to understand both how and why they were conceived – what they’re supposed to mean for us today, not just to our ancestors. I definitely had a hunch that, for something to have endured for as long as it has, it has to resonate wherever you are in your life – at least for a large swath of people who live by this calendar.”

Pogrebin recognizes that there is a segment of the population that adheres to it simply because they inherited it, without questioning. Yet, for many people, Jewish observance, particularly of holidays, is a deliberate choice.

Pogrebin grew up in New York City. Her mother, writer and activist Letty Cottin Pogrebin, was instrumental in promoting women’s rights in the 1970s, and her writing includes analyses of what it means to be Jewish and female.

“I was not someone who celebrated nothing before this,” said Abigail Pogrebin. “I had sort of the five or six tent poles of Jewish holidays in my life…. I grew up with Shabbat…. It wasn’t enforced, but it was observed when we were together as a family. I went to synagogue on the High Holidays. We had always lit the menorah for eight nights, and I went to two seders back-to-back. Then, also, the feminine seder, which was a tradition that was started in mid-1970s by a group of women, including my mother.

“So, those were the basics that I’d grown up with. But, obviously, I was missing the majority of the signposts of the Jewish year. It bothered me that I didn’t know [them]. I also wanted to experience them in a way that might lead me to more meaning in my life.”

book cover - My Jewish Year: 18 HolidaysAs examples of what she learned on her journey, Pogrebin said she had never understood before that the process of atonement and introspection needs to start far in advance of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.

“During the month of Elul, we’re supposed to do what is called, in Hebrew, cheshbon hanefesh (accounting of the soul). And, when I asked various rabbis how I might go about that, because there’s not a clear blueprint for observance, quite a few suggested taking the middot (characteristics) and breaking them down, exploring one a day. So, I chose to do that for 40 days leading up to Yom Kippur.

“I did this with a friend, a study partner, essentially. So, my friend, Catherine, and I took these 40 middot that a rabbi had posted online. One day, you’d do anger, another you’d do courage, another envy, another humility.”

As the women went through the days, they aimed to look at themselves as deeply and honestly as they were able and to write their reflections on each characteristic at the end of each day.

“By the time I got to synagogue on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, I felt like I was in a very different zone for reflection,” said Pogrebin. “On Yom Kippur, I went to a mikvah [ritual bath] for the first time, and that was extremely meaningful.”

Pogrebin spent Sukkot in Los Angeles, interviewing four rabbis in two days, with each one discussing a different aspect of Sukkot that she never had understood before.

“One emphasized the fragility, the impermanence of our structure, and our shelters in our lives,” she explained. “How resonant that is today, with natural disasters and poverty, and all kinds of things that should shake our foundations, both literally and metaphorically.

“Another talked about the fertility, the imagery that is in Sukkot – the shaking of the lulav and etrog, which was much racier than I ever understood. Another talked about agriculture, and the land and connecting – reconnecting with the earth in ways we don’t do in other times of the year.

“Another rabbi talked about wandering, the importance of being lost and being comfortable with being lost; embracing the idea of the most important lessons and reckonings when we don’t know where we are going.”

Pogrebin also mentioned Yom Hashoah, which commemorates victims of the Holocaust. According to her, not many people know when it takes place. “I think it’s just not in the fabric of how many of us were raised, but it seems to me to be a crucial holiday, even though it could never be adequate to mark such a vast and devastating history and persecution,” she said.

“I went to B’nai Jeshurun, which is a Conservative synagogue on the Upper West Side that, in partnership with the JCC in Manhattan, does something called the naming of the names, where they have this book from Yad Vashem … devastating lists of families who perished. Starting at 10 p.m. and going all night into the next day, people tak[e] turns reading those names,” said Pogrebin.

About how the yearlong experience has changed her and her family, Pogrebin said, “In a way, it’s changed completely and, in a way, it hasn’t changed radically. I’d say it’s changed completely in the sense that I don’t look at time, relationships, obligations, the same way anymore. I think, if the holidays do anything, they are constantly reminding us to ask ourselves who we are in the world and whether we are doing what we could be doing to alleviate someone else’s suffering or pain.”

Pogrebin is always looking for ways to bring the lessons of her journey into her day-to-day life, to make them come alive in a way they didn’t for her when she was a child.

About the book, she said, “If one wants to understand the arc of the year, you will. It’s not that there are not people who might disagree with this or that, but it was researched and tested with people who live this and teach this at a very high level. So, it’s not just Abby saying it to be true. It’s me putting on my journalist hat and making sure when I explain something that it’s definitely rooted in scholarship. I hope … it’s an enjoyable and entertaining book.

“The people who read it are coming along with me and my experience with the holiday for the first time. They are also getting, I think, a fairly thorough template of what a Jewish year involves and demands. I think that, whether you’re Jewish or an interfaith family that wants to explain or introduce … some of these holidays in your own home and you’ve never done them before, it’s absolutely a door into learning how.

“There is something magical,” she said, “about not just living by someone else’s clock, but by an ancient roadmap…. I think there’s something very powerful about embracing … whether it’s Judaism or any religion, what it imposes on you, in terms of [laying out] what you should be thinking about besides your own needs and wishes – to me, that’s an important takeaway that I think other people should explore.”

Rebeca Kuropatwa is a Winnipeg freelance writer.

Reflecting on New York

Raised by American parents in Montreal, Adam Gopnik moved, with his Canadian wife Martha, to New York City in the 1980s. There, he began a career as an art critic, editor and writer for such publications as GQ and The New Yorker, and with Knopf publishers. At the Stranger’s Gate: Arrivals in New York (Knopf, 2017) is his chatty memoir of those years.

There are many figures from the art and publishing worlds in this book, appearing in harmlessly gossipy anecdote after name-dropping anecdote. Gopnik is an amusing artist of the character sketch, as shown in his depiction of his wife.

“Someone once called her in print the most innately polite person she had ever met, and the truth is that in each of us natural sociability had been overlaid with Canadian politeness, and hers with a further code of Icelandic courtesy, producing a veneer of politeness so extreme that many took it for disingenuousness – which of course, in another way, it was.”

He can also neatly capture entire generations through their relationships to something inanimate.

“My grandparents had belonged to a check-cashing generation, proud to be engaged in it,” he writes. “To have an institution as large as an American bank in effect endorse their signature on a little bit of paper as equivalent to money meant to be taken seriously as a citizen. My parents, in turn, were credit card cultists – they loved having them, signing them, showing them, using them. For those who came of age in the boom times after the Second World War, the whole notion of credit, of sharing in a limitless improving future – of being trusted to buy now and pay later, since later would be so much richer than now – had some of the same significance that the notion of being trusted with checks had for my grandparents.

“We, in turn, generationally, had regressed, I realized,” he continues, “back into a cash economy – we used checks just to pay the utilities. The [bank] machines were one more instrument of that infantilization; we went to the machines for something that felt, at least, like our allowance.”

book cover - At the Stranger’s GateAs much as the individual characters who inhabit the pages, the protagonists are often the miniscule homes the Gopniks inhabited – and the insects and rodents with whom they cohabited. He credits their first tiny apartment, at least in part, for their marital contentment.

“One reason we didn’t fight was that the studio was so small, so small that you could never get sufficient perspective for the fighting to happen. In order to really have a quarrel, you have to sort of step back three steps and eye the other person darkly. There was just no room for that. We were on top of each other, not in that that sense – well, in that sense, too, at times – but we were also colliding with each other all the time. I don’t have any mental image of Martha from those years, except as a kind of Cubist painting, noses and eyes and ears.”

A later loft apartment seemed too sweet to be true in a New York of radically rising rents, a suspicion that appeared fulfilled when thick, dark liquid began dripping from the ceiling.

“For the next two weeks, the ceiling kept hemorrhaging,” Gopnik writes. “Sometimes, we would wake up and find it dripping slowly, slowly. At other times, it would really be coming down, as though a whole new vein had been opened, or else as though – and this thought struck us both about the same time – a new corpse had just been stowed away under the floorboards upstairs.”

“That’s not blood,” a neighbour told them, “it’s just molasses.”

The building had been a candy factory at the turn-of-the-century and for inexplicable reasons it would sometimes ooze ingredients. Gopnik decided to find this charming: “It was thrilling, like the moment when they opened up the Dead Sea Scrolls and found them pristine. Sugar syrup from a century ago, bubbling out of the walls, and still so sweet.… I felt happy; I was living on the big Rock Candy Mountain.”

The couple were less charmed by another discovery. A pest control officer announces: “You got them, all right. You got the big boys. You got the super-rats.”

“What do you mean, the super-rats?” Gopnik asks.

“‘Well, let’s put it like this,’ He thought for a moment. ‘These rats, if you see one, they look at you like you the problem.”

Leaving the apartment, Gopnik homes in on two of the phenomena of the 1980s that impacted his life in the Big Apple.

“The two great technological gifts of the ’80s were the Walkman and the hyper-developed sneaker, which, together, turned walking into an all-encompassing emotional activity,” he writes. “For a long time in the 1980s, I seemed to do nothing but walk around Manhattan. The modern sneaker, rising from Nike and Adidas, constructed with more architecture inside than most apartments, now allowed even the flat-footed to stride, Hermes-like, on what felt like cushioned air.… And then the Walkman made every block your own movie.”

Eventually, like rats in a too-small apartment, the couple became overwhelmed by the city and they left to raise a family where there are lawns and gardens.

This is a highly sentimental book, which is not a bad thing, especially for a New York-o-phile. Some shortcomings are too-frequent hackneyed phrases (“dense as a hockey puck,” “impossibly beautiful women”), the oddly repetitive use of some esoteric words and a style that sometimes evokes Lake Wobegon, Minn., more than New York, N.Y. In other words, it’s a cute book, which may sound like faint praise, but, given current events, that can be a refreshing break.

Isaac shaped Vatican II

Jewish Conscience of the Church: Jules Isaac and the Second Vatican Council by Norman C. Tobias (Palgrave Macmillan, 2017) is an extraordinary book about the volte face that the Catholic Church executed at Vatican II in 1963 when, as a result principally of the intellectual exertions of Jules Isaac, former inspector general of education in France, the Church radically altered its negative teachings about Jews and Judaism and repudiated its malignant doctrine of Jewish responsibility for deicide.

There are many anomalies highlighted in this meticulously researched and comprehensive survey of one of the most important developments in the 20th century. Tobias is, by profession, a skilled tax lawyer, who taught at Queen’s University in Kingston, Ont., and who latterly earned a PhD in religious studies at the University of Toronto.

The focus of his doctoral dissertation, Isaac, was a man of many talents. Isaac’s textbooks on French and general history were staples of the high school curriculum in France, and regarded as authoritative sources for those subjects. That he would become the driving force after the Second World War towards the re-direction of Catholic doctrines vis-à-vis Jews is not something one would have expected from the high position he had occupied, quite comfortably, in France.

That comfort disappeared during the Nazi invasion of the country, and the occupation that followed. Almost 70,000 Jews were deported by the Nazis, most of whom perished in the concentration camps. Isaac himself narrowly escaped capture and survived only through the goodwill of friends, who hid him from both French collaborators and German troops. His wife and daughter, however, succumbed to the Nazi dragnet and he never saw them again.

book cover - Jewish Conscience of the ChurchAnother element that makes it even more startling that Isaac authored a number of treatises on the image of Jews in official Catholic doctrine is that Isaac had really little sympathy for Judaism. In fact, as Tobias reveals, Isaac once indicated that he much preferred paganism as a religious code. His indifference to the sancta of Judaism, a secularism that was quite common among many French Jews in the 1920s and 1930s, may explain why his son converted to Christianity.

It was during the Nazi occupation of France that Isaac, who had been a close associate of Charles Peguy, an early 20th-century sensitive Catholic poet, essayist and editor, began to analyze the sources that had contributed to the hatred that targeted his wife and daughter. He came to the not illogical conclusion that certain theological constructions in Catholicism were responsible for the teaching of contempt for Jews and Judaism.

Isaac, of course, as a gifted historian, knew that antisemitism existed before Christianity (as his Catholic interlocutors pointed out to him in later years) but he instinctively knew that pagan distaste for Jews was incidental, and recorded in minor chords, compared to the 2,000-year-old assault on Jews and Judaism first enshrined in Christian scripture and repeated century after century by the fathers of the Church and thereafter from Church pulpits especially in Europe. Isaac also knew that economic, political and social prejudices were sometimes hidden in the religious vernacular but his purpose was to show that it might be possible to alter the religious narrative through patient argument and persuasion.

The late Gregory Baum, a Catholic theologian of high repute, who wrote a warm introduction to the Tobias volume, originally responded to Isaac’s powerful Jesus and Israel (1948) by saying, in the early 1960s, that the New Testament was not antisemitic; it was an interpretation problem. Later, in the 1970s, Baum re-read Isaac’s work and reported that racial antisemitism was indeed present in parts of the New Testament.

For his carefully calibrated work, Isaac consulted with knowledgeable people and, during the decade from the end of the war, he organized his thinking in order to hone his criticism of the Christian texts with antisemitic tonalities and to suggest changes that would improve the image of Jews and Judaism. Isaac, in typical French style, created formats listing points to be analyzed like an explication de texte, that wonderful exegetical instrument.

It is not possible in a review to go through all of the points that Isaac deployed in his polemic but the major ones deal with the New Testament’s cruel caricature of Judaism as a corrupt and decadent civilization, its cavalier indictment of all Jews as being responsible for the crucifixion when most Jews actually lived in the Diaspora, and its horrendous “blood libel,” in which Jewish participants in the deicide legitimize their own punishment in perpetuity.

In the various encounters he had in print with respondents and in conversations with Catholic representatives in the 1940s and 1950s at various conferences in Europe – the descriptions of which Tobias offers with generous details, including a footnote apparatus I think should in some places have been inserted into the text – Isaac was always firm in his advocacy. His reputation as a sober, informed and flexible partisan of change in Church doctrines preceded him.

One of the most intriguing parts of the Tobias chronicle pivots on the road to Vatican II and the response to Isaac’s Jesus and Israel, just one of several of Isaac’s impressive works. Tobias has ferreted out the major reviews of the book that appeared in prestigious French journals. Not all were favourable, as might have been expected. One of the most acerbic criticisms focused on Isaac’s alleged memory lapse in not questioning Jewish unbelief after the crucifixion – as if this had anything to do with Isaac’s indictment of the New Testament’s “pogromist” attitude to Jews.

The Vatican II deliberations on Jews and other religions in 1963 incorporated, as far as Jews and Judaism were concerned, Isaac’s plangent plea for changes in statements about both. Isaac unfortunately passed away before it became official Church teaching but it was a wonderful posthumous reward.

On a personal note, in 1964, this reviewer heard Father Gregory Baum deliver a lecture at the University of Waterloo, in Ontario. I asked Father Baum how long it would take for Vatican II’s message to seep down to the parish level. He replied, “300 years.”

Arnold Ages is Distinguished Professor Emeritus, University of Waterloo.

Why we head home

(photo from oliveandwild.com/collections/judaic)

It is the season for gatherings and celebrations, and many travelers are urgently trying to make their way home for the holidays. An innate urge seems to drive them back to their roots. And, I wonder, What is it that draws people home for the holidays?

This existential question arose one year as I was lighting the menorah on the first night of Chanukah. Friends and family were gathered at our home to celebrate the holiday season once again. The loving faces, which crossed generations, reminded me that, for some, it is Christmas, a time to spread peace and joy throughout the world. For others, it is Chanukah, with its message of rebuilding, rededication and freedom from oppression.

Suddenly, I had a surreal experience in which the immediate sounds, sights and smells faded into the background. I am both participant and observer in this scenario and am filled with an overwhelming realization that I am looking at the history of the years, the culture and religion of past centuries, sitting at my table eating symbolic foods like potato latkes, gefilte fish and sufganiyot. It gave me pause to reflect on one of our most basic human needs – a sense of belonging.

The rituals that accompany such special occasions, regardless of whether it is Christmas, Chanukah or a powwow, serve to strengthen communal and family ties. There may or may not even be a religious focus but their significance should not be underestimated, as they have a deep and long-lasting impact. It is our cultural and social heritage that carries us from the cradle to the grave, and we learn these social ceremonies within the safety and security of the family.

The emotional attachments that are developed in the course of such activities are powerful, especially for a developing child. If you ask many adults who celebrate Christmas, for example, they will recall the occasion with fond memories. The nostalgia of the colourful lights, the smell of turkey roasting, the sounds of fun and laughter with family and friends and the excitement of exchanging gifts are hard to erase from one’s psyche. Special foods like Christmas cake, latkes or bannock, which are interwoven with the particular celebration, help form a powerful emotional bond that ties us to one another, its strength consolidated with annual repetition.

And, when we are adults, we are bound to repeat them, not only for ourselves, but to give to our children and grandchildren. We want to provide them with the beautiful memories of childhood we enjoyed. Rituals link the past with the future. Those who have never had these experiences, or have lost them, suffer a sense of painful loneliness at these times, leading to a widespread myth that suicide rates increase over the winter holiday season.

Numerous studies indicate the opposite. For example, an analysis by the Annenberg Public Policy Centre, which has been tracking media reports since 2000 in the United States, found that half of the articles written during 2009-2010 perpetuated this myth. However, reported incidents of suicide are the lowest in December and this has not changed in recent years, according to the U.S. Centres for Disease Control and Prevention. A Canadian article, Holiday Depression by Michael Kerr, which can be found at healthline.com, also dispels the myth of higher suicide rates during the holiday season. However, it may trigger other issues, such as substance abuse or depression, which do increase.

Sadly, people may become aware that, with the passing years, family and friends are no longer always available. Children move away, people pass away and these celebrations can emphasize solitary feelings that are glaring in their stark contrast to the happy family images portrayed all around. But there are remedies for loneliness. Volunteer at a homeless shelter or see what your local synagogue has on offer. Create a new tradition and invite over new friends and neighbours. Stay active. It can offer much to alleviate feelings of isolation.

While these philosophical meanderings ramble through my mind, an explosion of laughter jolts me back from my reverie. I contemplate the people around me with warmth and appreciation. The people sitting at my table are not so different from those sitting at yours. Social formalities are found in all societies, religions and cultures, and are strikingly similar. Though the focus of holidays varies, they cement communities and families together. As Barbra Streisand sings, “People who need people are the luckiest people in the world.”

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 for Cardus, a Canadian research and educational public policy think tank.

The beauty of the light

(photo from flickr.com/photos/scazon)

The sky turns shades of orange and mauve as I glance outside my dining room window and notice the sun slipping behind the trees. The havoc and chatter in the house has peaked. I call my daughter to come and light the Shabbat candles with me. It’s time. Eighteen minutes before sunset.

We light the candles, nine for me, representing each of our family members, and one for her. We cover our eyes and circle the flames three times with our hands as we say the blessing that ushers in the holy Shabbat. “Baruch ata Adonai Eloheinu Melech HaOlam, asher kidshanu b’mitzvotav, v’tzeevanu l’hadlik ner shel Shabbat kodesh.” (“Blessed are you, G-d, our Master of the Universe, who has sanctified us with His mitzvah, and commanded us to light the candle of the holy Shabbat.”) Instantly, the chaos subsides and peace and serenity reign. It’s visceral, and a mystery to me how it occurs every Friday evening.

The Shabbat candles warm the atmosphere of the Shabbat table. Their soft glow draws us in. All week, we run from home to work and school, activities and errands that fill our days. Many of us do not share meals or spend time together at all!

Only on Shabbat do we have the opportunity to have precious moments with family and share meals, discuss our week’s events, share Torah thoughts and stories of the parashah, to enjoy each other’s presence as well as that of our Shabbat guests.

Shabbat, the seventh day of the week, is the gift that G-d has given us in order to reconnect with family and friends, and teach us, by His example, to rest as He did after creating our beautiful world for us in only six days. We reconnect with our G-dly souls and recharge our batteries for the busy week ahead. We pray at home and in a synagogue and get a special spiritual feeling as we connect to G-d and our community.

We also have Chanukah, an eight-day festival of lights, falling yearly on the 25th day in the winter month of Kislev. Chanukah recalls the Jews’ victory, with a small army, over the huge Greek army in the second century BCE. It also commemorates the miracle of the tiny bit of light, enough to burn for one day, which lasted for eight days, until the rededication of the Temple was possible after the struggle.

The Shabbat candles are placed inside our homes, while the Chanukah candles are placed so they can be seen from outside our homes. Why the difference?

On Shabbat, we are supposed to enjoy and benefit from the holy glow of the Shabbat candles as they shine over the beautifully set Shabbat table, with its white tablecloth and lavish settings. It is the main attraction for those fortunate to have a place around the table.

On Chanukah, we are forbidden to use the light of the menorah for any practical purpose. As the Chanukah candles melt, we are not supposed to do any housework at all. Only after they’ve melted, can we celebrate the miracle of the oil with food and games.

From this, we can extrapolate an essential difference between Shabbat and Chanukah. Shabbat is for us, the Jewish people; it nourishes and reinforces us weekly. Chanukah reaches beyond the warmth of the home to light up the darkness of the outside world. It reminds us not to be afraid, even in the harshest times. And Chanukah candles teach us to stand up and speak out for those who do not possess this strength. This feeds a pride that transcends ego. This is our proud Jewish heritage and our gift to the world.

As I polish my Shabbat candelabra, candlesticks and our family’s chanukiyah, I smile as memories of past Shabbatot and Chanukah celebrations mingle with anticipation. This year, Chanukah begins on the evening of Dec. 12 and continues until the 20th. Wishing you a very happy and festive Chanukah.

Esther Tauby is a local educator, writer and counselor.