Joanne Seiff

Add Jewish joy to the mix

In Grade 9, the English teacher rotates table placements monthly because sitting with different students helps expose everyone to new worldviews. In general, this makes sense; discussions about literature require us to hear lots of opinions. This was also where, last week, my kid got exposed to a view that our household could have done without.

I didn’t know about the rotating seating until one night at dinner, when my kid asked if I knew of a short video that I could recommend. He needed to explain to a classmate that “all Jews are rich” was an antisemitic stereotype. Both parents stalled for a moment as we sought more information.

It turns out that other tablemates shut down this classmate immediately. They told her to be quiet and do her schoolwork. Let’s call the student Anna. These other female classmates’ backgrounds were Filipina and African Muslim. While grateful, my kid can’t wait until the seat assignments will be changed. He believed that Anna got her information about the Gaza war and Jews from TikTok and that maybe fighting this misinformation with facts, using shortform videos, would help.

When pressed, we learned my kid didn’t have a social media connection with Anna for forwarding information, nor did we think she would watch the video. After all, Anna’s grandmother was Palestinian and liked Jews, saying we were cousins. We parents concluded that someone in Anna’s life or online introduced hateful stereotypes to her. That’s what she believed – not her grandmother.

My husband retold the story of when his family was forced to couch surf. They were homeless for a year. My father-in-law, a young architect without financial backing, sold their family home to fund future work, including their new, half-built house. When the bank lost the deposited cheque from the house sale, they had nowhere to go. My husband, a kindergartener, his toddler brother and his mother spent the year at his grandparents’ New York Lower East Side apartment. My father-in-law had to stay with his parents in New Jersey. When the awful lost cheque episode resolved, they finally moved into their half-built house. They washed their dishes at the only faucet – in the bathtub. My husband could have gone on: his grandfather, raised in Mezrich, Poland, lived in a home that they shared with their cow for winter warmth and financial security. His great-grandmother had 13 children. This included three sets of twins, but none of the twins survived.

Our son said he didn’t want to share any family information. Our truths didn’t matter to Anna, he thought. He didn’t want this kid spouting hate to think he cared or even discussed this with his family. He wanted her to think her prejudice hadn’t affected him. He felt, aside from showing a video to counteract it, he’d get nowhere in explaining how she’d upset him.

This reaction correlates to a JTA article by Ilana Horwitz, a Tulane University professor. Noting that her Jewish studies students didn’t choose topics concerning antisemitism or Israel, she asked why. Her students are constantly facing antisemitism outside her classroom online and in person. Their anxiety about “saying the wrong thing” when it comes to Israel means that they don’t want any more discussions or pressure than they already face. Exhausted, they come to her class to find ways to deepen and strengthen their Jewish knowledge and history and find “Jewish joy.” They want “to remember what we’re fighting for.”

My child’s experiences echo some of the code-switching I did as a teenager in Virginia more than 35 years ago. As an adult, I realized that my Jewish identity, practice and ideals were carefully separated and toned down when we were a small minority amid Christian Southerners who were perhaps ignorant at best when it came to treating Jews as equals. Not much has changed, although, in Winnipeg, the majority culture is coded as secular Christian rather than religious, and there are many more Muslims, Hindus, Sikhs and other religious traditions around.

I recently attended a Jewish-Christian interfaith event on the 60th anniversary of Nostra Aetate, when the Pope decreed that the Catholic Church should guard against antisemitism and that Jews hadn’t killed Jesus. The event’s planners had great intentions. The speakers were good. Rabbi Lisa Grushcow (PhD) and Dr. Murray Watson, a Catholic theologian, brought thoughtful, intellectual views on the subject. They didn’t shy away from much-needed dialogue as a bulwark against rising hate. Unfortunately, the event moderation left something to be desired. The well-intentioned Catholic senior citizens, who rose during the Q&A to speak, didn’t have critical questions. Instead, they wanted to “testify” about the “great Jewish boss” they’d had or seek reassurance that it was OK to disagree with the nice “quite Orthodox Jewish couple” in their senior living facility when it came to the West Bank/Judea and Samaria. I couldn’t help myself. Leaning over to a Jewish friend, I whispered that it’s good there are these amazing Jewish examples mentioned, because of what it suggested about the rest of us “no-goodniks”!

After several awkward moments, I felt relieved when the event ended. As a small minority in Canada, we need allies and connections. We cannot afford to give up on building bridges with others. First, we might make deep friendships and gain positive community, but also, with rising hate, it’s important to have allies (like those school tablemates) who stand up and tell haters to stop when they spout prejudice.

That said, this work to counter antisemitism isn’t solely our problem. Perhaps my teen and those students at Tulane are right. We should devote more energy to our Jewish joy, culture and history. Let’s embrace all the good, rich parts of our identities and re-invest in our learning and celebration. My kid, and most of his tablemates, didn’t want to give hateful stereotypes any airtime. In this instance, he was probably right. Lots has changed since I dealt with this in high school. I was often forced to give all the explanations and information about Jews, since I was the only Jew there. Then, afterwards, there was Jew-hate spewed towards me anyway.

What’s changed is our understanding of what causes criminal behaviour. We now recognize that a short skirt doesn’t cause sexual assault. Nothing we do specifically, as Jewish individuals, brings on this hate. Nothing the modern state of Israel or individual Jews do created this ancient hatred. It’s not our behaviour or fault. We don’t have to own this or fight this alone. Antisemitism is an old symptom of a much more invasive disease of ignorance and hate.

The solutions are complicated. Meanwhile, let’s consider shutting down these biases when they pop up, just as they did in my kid’s Grade 9 class. Let’s offer some Jewish joy to the mix – and let’s also remind one another that it’s not all on us. What causes antisemitism? Antisemites.

Joanne Seiff has written regularly for the Winnipeg Free Press and various Jewish publications. She is the author of three books, including From the Outside In: Jewish Post Columns 2015-2016, a collection of essays available for digital download or as a paperback from Amazon. Check her out on Instagram @yrnspinner or at joanneseiff.blogspot.com.

Cheshvan a great month, too

The Hebrew month of Cheshvan, or “Mar Cheshvan,” is the second month on the calendar after Tishrei. It comes right after all the fall holidays end. The rabbis called it “mar,” or bitter, because it doesn’t have any holidays or special mitzvot (commandments). This mom has an entirely different take. I’m very tired … and relieved.

This doesn’t take away from any of the meaning, pomp or special parts of the fall Jewish holidays, which are all fantastic. I’m still holding one moment as dear: sitting in my sukkah, I could see the clear sky, with a few clouds floating past, see and hear the migrating birds, smell and see the fall leaves, and embrace the chill in the air. It was a fabulous family meal moment, only topped by the solitary lunch I ate on the back porch, in the sukkah sunshine. I had the newspaper, along with a big plate of food. I was warm. There were no wasps. A true triumph, considering it often rains or snows in Winnipeg during this harvest holiday.

Yet, I’m also worn out, and not just from two years of worry about the war. If you live outside big Jewish population centres and you want celebratory holiday meals, the options are limited. In Winnipeg, if you want kosher food, there’s only catering from two or three places. If you’re OK with kosher-style food, there are more options, but, for instance, a beautiful big challah is not always easy to procure at the last moment. Even if you’re not strictly traditional, purchasing and putting together a holiday meal can be expensive and time consuming, even if you don’t cook it.

Challah is a good example. If you want a buy a single challah, it costs somewhere between $6 and $12 in Winnipeg. I like to cook and bake. From what we’ve observed, my recipe is richer and has a higher food cost than these commercially produced challahs. In the past, I used to make one batch (about three pounds) using my bread machine and produce three loaves. One would go into the freezer for a future Shabbat or holiday. Two would go out on the table and last the weekend. I now have twin teenage boys. All three challahs might last through Sunday lunch. Doubling the recipe and doing it all by hand results in more loaves to freeze for another day, but I receive grumbling from the peanut gallery because it doesn’t taste the same.

The person in charge of food prep in your household is well-aware of the grocery planning and food preparation time needed. They’ll even know the time it takes to set a holiday table and get everything out onto it before a holiday starts. Yes, it’s sometimes easier if others help, but sometimes it results in bellyaching and goes slower than if the most efficient person does it all by themselves.

In recent years, this effort has been given a few names: mental load is one. I’ve carefully tried not to gender this task. However, just as women’s pay rates in Canada still don’t equal men’s, it’s also true that women tend to shoulder much of this unpaid burden. Yes, there are exceptions, absolutely. There are women who’ve never left the workforce to have children, haven’t married or compromised in any way for a man’s career, and never been a caretaker. These women might make an equal wage for their work, and that’s great. It’s also true that there are men who shoulder most household tasks. Just like the example of Golda Meir as Israel’s prime minister, simply because an exceptional woman has achieved equity or high office doesn’t mean we’re “there” yet in terms of equality and equity for everybody.

I recently pitched a class for Limmud (an international program offering Jewish learning, where everyone pays to attend and shares the cost) about positive tips for raising Jewish kids. Many of the tips I thought of relate to this situation: special foods or cooking together, holiday celebrations, Jewish stories, activities or events, and Jewish learning and home life. Again, many of these tasks often fall to women, even though there’s no essentialist reason why they should. If a mom wants to do some quiet quitting and pull back to regain some time for herself, her work life or other pursuits, it doesn’t always follow that the other partner will jump into action to fill the void.

While mainstream Jewish organizations bemoan the cost of Jewish life, it’s rare that the supports exist to make this kind of unpaid labour easier. One exceptional example is when Jewish preschools provide parents with a way to order challah for Shabbat. Every Friday or holiday when school was in session, we were able to bring home challah affordably. It made a huge difference.

This isn’t, of course, a new phenomenon. I recently read about the requirements of the priests’ clothing in the Babylonian talmudic tractate Zevachim. Essentially, in the days of the Temple in Jerusalem, if the priests’ clothing wasn’t appropriate, it could make a person’s animal sacrifice invalid. To do a sacrifice, a person incurred a lot of costs: raising or purchasing an animal, getting to Jerusalem, and more. An invalid sacrifice could result in a horrible outcome for the person and their family, the priest and the community. Yet, no one discussed in this section how the priests got the clothing in the first place. Other information indicates that predominantly women spun all this yarn (on spindles, by hand) and wove the fabric and likely sewed it all together for the priestly garb. This effort was thousands of hours of unpaid work behind the scenes.

I’m looking forward to a hopefully peaceful and easier Cheshvan ahead. It’s a time that some may find bitter, but, like a bitter coffee served with dessert, sometimes a little less hoopla might be a nice, restful contrast. It also might give families time to reflect on who provides all that planning and labour to make your home celebrations special and your holidays a reality – there are many ways to alleviate that burden. Further, we should stop using examples of truly exceptional cases – that woman with nine kids who works full time and makes all the meals – to shame everyone else. A better outcome would be more equitable distribution of these Jewish tasks – to increase holiday or Shabbat joy in every household.

Joanne Seiff has written regularly for the Winnipeg Free Press and various Jewish publications. She is the author of three books, including From the Outside In: Jewish Post Columns 2015-2016, a collection of essays available for digital download or as a paperback from Amazon. Check her out on Instagram @yrnspinner or at joanneseiff.blogspot.com.

Grammar insight on holidays

This year, I volunteered to help during High Holidays at my congregation. As a result, I became one of the “ticket ladies” on Rosh Hashanah. I used a cellphone that scanned bar codes on service tickets. When I first saw this being done on a holiday, I was surprised because of the technology use at a Conservative congregation on a day when some might not carry a phone. My family chose to print out our tickets, but times change. Even though everyone in my family had a printed ticket, we carried our cellphones anyway as we volunteered. It seemed safer to have our phones while walking to synagogue and while we were there. After all, that’s what the tickets are for, too. They indicate that the person belongs or has a spot and that the person is “safe.”

The police and private security guards asked where they should position themselves. More than once, they indicated that being indoors in the lobby might be a good spot. Instead, they were asked to stand outside, in autumn’s sunny weather, guarding the doors and/or directing traffic. I heard only one incident of loud, angry shouts on the street, near the police officer there. That was enough for me. I was relieved police were there, and that there were master lists of everyone who might be in the building that day, just in case.

While outsiders might think that this security is new, this is just the usual necessity at Jewish gatherings, though admittedly now more than ever. At odd moments between ticket scans, I thought of a dear family friend named Marge, who passed away in her 90s. Marge was a venerable and respected volunteer at the temple where I grew up. She was famous for her High Holiday ticket lady efforts. Marge was all business at the front door, a big smile for those she knew as they flashed their tickets. Yet, even if Marge knew you for 50 years, if you forgot your ticket, that grin vanished. A stern reprimand ensued. Marge kept us safe, and she wasn’t playing. She took that job seriously.

The congregation where I grew up, Temple Rodef Shalom in Falls Church, Va., is right near Washington, DC. Rodef Shalom started out small in the 1960s, when my paternal grandparents were founding members. It grew rapidly, along with the Washington area. My mom started its preschool, ran the entire education program, and ended her career there as the administrator/executive director. As a Jewish professional’s kid, I knew where the emergency alarm buttons were and that synagogues near DC were frequent targets of hate. Congregation members who worked for the FBI or CIA formed part of the volunteer security patrol for the High Holidays, too. Everyone smiled as they said that “no-nonsense” Marge ran a tight ship. She was their best line of defence.

Nobody knew this history in Winnipeg when I was given the ticket lady designation. I’d emailed with Marge right up until her passing. I tried to see her at every family visit. She loved to tell me about her Canadian grandfather, a fur trader whose family came from Sault Ste. Marie. The whole holiday, in between wishing everyone gut yontif, shana tova or sweet new year, I longed to tell Marge all about how I was a ticket lady now. I knew she’d love it. When I mentioned this to my mother, we both smiled over the phone. I’d never be as good at it as Marge was, but my mom also said, “Don’t worry, I’m sure Marge knows. She’s proud of you.”

Being a ticket lady was an education. I’ve been in Winnipeg 16 years, so I recognized many names on the tickets, but definitely not all the faces. As people rolled in, I also recognized how diverse we are as a people. Some of us are early, others right on time – and then, there are the rest.

This experience let me greet new people and hold on to lifelong connections. It made me think about a grammar term that’s fallen out of use. I wondered at how, as individuals, we are also dependent clauses. For years, we have seen news, books and other sources where the editing allows a sentence to start with “and” or “but” in a way that’s clearly dependent on the prior sentence. When I see this, I want to chastise, just as Marge might have. To me, that editorial choice still grates, but the volunteer experience made me see how the Jewish community works together. At the best of times, we are an enormous team, dependent on one another to function at our best.

Volunteering is an important part of Canadian identity. It was a required topic to study for my Canadian citizenship test, and I wondered why more congregants hadn’t volunteered. It was a vital part of my holiday this year. It reminded me how reliant we are on one another, as well as on our allies, our laws and law enforcement. Dependent clauses aren’t full sentences on their own. We, too, must remain connected to maintain meaning as Jews in Canada.

In the Babylonian Talmud’s tractate of Zevachim, which I’m now studying, there’s a lot of time spent on what happens when a Temple (animal) sacrifice goes wrong. If the priests in the Temple had the wrong intention or person in mind when performing a sacrifice, it could mean the person’s sacrifice wasn’t valid. We don’t sacrifice at the Temple in Jerusalem anymore, but our intentions, towards ourselves, the community and the world, still matter. Volunteering wasn’t a sacrifice for me. It felt like I was fulfilling my role with the best intentions while I depended on others to keep me safe at that open door. Instead of any kind of sacrifice, it was a High Holy Day bonus.

Be more solution-oriented

Leaders are simply people, of course. And all people have strengths and weaknesses. Just like the traditional approach to weaving Persian rugs with an intentional mistake, we must remember that only the Almighty is perfect.

But some leaders become lionized and celebrated, their human failings swept under the rug (sorry). However, we’re in a political moment where some leaders’ mistakes are all too obvious. No need to name anybody. Many fit this description. It’s upsetting and confusing to realize that even those chosen as “the best” or “brightest” fail sometimes. It’s a useful learning experience, too.

Awhile back, I was discussing politics online with other Canadians. I came upon something that stopped me cold. A poster criticized a political leader. I asked what she saw as solutions. The questions I asked were how, if she were in charge, she’d do things differently.

Her response surprised me. She said the only thing she could do was vote and complain. That, essentially, it was her right to find fault, but not her obligation to offer solutions. Her opinion was that she wasn’t passive because, well, she voted consistently and complained vociferously.

From a Jewish perspective, we have plenty of examples of whiners. Remember the Israelites, wandering in the desert, who wanted to go back to Egypt because they didn’t have meat, fish, onions, garlic, leeks or cantaloupes? (Numbers 11:4-5) It’s a normal response to crave foods when you’re unable to get them. As a high schooler studying abroad, I craved M&Ms so much that my mother brought them when she visited. They were superfluous, but I wanted them.

The opportunity to complain is always available, but it’s unattractive, especially if there’s something you can do to fix the problem yourself. Since that high school moment, I’ve lived many places where I’ve craved food but couldn’t buy it locally. As a result, I’ve become a more creative cook. When traveling, it’s good to “load up” on cravings if they’re available. Not to hoard, but just as an extra pleasure.

Worldwide political upheaval made me study the Babylonian Talmudic tractate of Horayot with more interest. It’s a small part of the Talmud but it’s about how people in charge (kings, high priests, judges, teachers, etc.) can make amends or do the right sacrifices or actions to atone for their mistakes. This text assumes that there will always be errors in judgment. People in certain important positions have societal roles to play, and that means their atonements to seek forgiveness for errors must be bigger sometimes than if they were private citizens.

This may sound irrelevant but consider the role of a teacher. Teachers make mistakes. The best resolution to this would be a public acknowledgement of the error and a demonstration of how to fix it. We might shrug and get on with things after a private math mistake. Yet, if a math teacher makes this error in front of the class, the best lesson is having a student find and correct the error. Then, the teacher can perform the act of learning from their error, thank the student, and acknowledge that no one is perfect.

In our lives, even if we are not teachers, parents, supervisors, or in any authority roles, it’s a great idea to try to practise this approach: to remember that no one is perfect and that it’s all our jobs to find solutions. As Rabbi Tarfon teaches, “that it’s not upon us to complete the work, but neither are we free to stop doing it.” (Pirkei Avot 2:16)

This sounds simple. But, in the tractate of Horayot, there’s a very powerful ending about how our pride and ego can get in the way. It’s about three rabbis and their leadership roles: Rabban Shimon ben Gamliel (Rashbag) was the leader of the Jewish community in the Galilee during the late second century, after the Bar Kochba Revolt; the head of the court was Rabbi Natan; and a great scholar at the time was Rabbi Meir.

Rashbag is upset with a lack of protocol in the Torah academy. He wants everyone to stand when he comes in until they’re told to be seated. Rashbag suggests that, for Rabbi Natan and Rabbi Meir, who he perceives as less important, those studying should rise when they enter, but students can sit down again right afterwards. Rabbis Meir and Natan try to put Rashbag to an intellectual test to prove that he isn’t above them, but Rashbag finds out in advance and bests them.

Rabbis Meir and Natan are expelled from the Torah academy and forced to study outside. However, the academy couldn’t continue without their expertise, so there was the ancient equivalent of paper airplane communication happening. The expelled rabbis would throw questions into the academy, students would try to answer. If the students couldn’t, they’d ask for more help.

Obviously, this was a bad way to learn. Rashbag was forced to readmit the scholars, but only with the proviso that their rulings couldn’t be under their own names. Essentially, the glory of Torah was more important than the glory of Torah scholars. This remained true for all except for Rashbag and his descendants, who insisted on maintaining their grudge and hereditary leadership and denying these two learned men their due.

Where does that lead us? Leaders are fallible. Each of us has the potential to uplift, lead and find solutions. When necessary, we need to stop being passive and lead more. Sometimes, that means trying to avoid big egos or coming up with creative responses to difficult problems. It can feel uncomfortable to raise our voices and act, if we’re used to letting others do the hard work. Also, we need allies to help make change. This means building connections with others, particularly outside the Jewish community.

The pressing example for the Canadian Jewish community is our political leaders’ refrain after antisemitic incidents: “This isn’t who we are as Canadians.” Well, in fact, it is who we are, as evidenced by the dramatic rise in hate crimes. We have leaders who aren’t acting to solve this problem. It’s getting worse. In response, we must step up and ask our allies to do so, too. Nobody’s perfect. People make mistakes. That said, we must hold leaders – and all those passive followers – to account if we expect to remain safe in Canada. It’s time to find solutions. Complaints alone don’t cut it.

Joanne Seiff has written regularly for the Winnipeg Free Press and various Jewish publications. She is the author of three books, including From the Outside In: Jewish Post Columns 2015-2016, a collection of essays available for digital download or as a paperback from Amazon. Check her out on Instagram @yrnspinner or at joanneseiff.blogspot.com.

The bodycheck’s a wake-up call

Our family caught a big summer cold this August. We went to two crowded pavilions at Folklorama, Winnipeg’s international festival, earlier in August and I got sick. For all kinds of reasons, moms “can’t” get sick. I was cooking and doing carpool and canning pickles and chutney while feeling worse every day. Fatigued, with a stuffed nose and goopy cough to boot. It wasn’t COVID and I soldiered on. My husband helped when he could.

Of course, after me, one twin got sick, then my husband and, finally, twin #2 began to get sick. This cold might last for weeks in our household. Families know how this story goes. We spent Labour Day weekend in the usual way: I lined up an appointment at a walk-in clinic for a twin who might now have an ear infection. Our only long weekend outings were to walk the dog around the neighbourhood. At least we’re not dealing with the “broken bone on three-day weekend” story yet.

This situation has more in common with Rosh Hashanah than one might think. In the lead-up to Rosh Hashanah, during Elul, we’re supposed to reflect and repent for what’s happened over the last year. We need to be accountable for what we’ve done.

“The King is in the field” – this phrase is supposed to mean that G-d is nearby to help. Maybe we’re able to engage with this divine project more easily outdoors. For those of us who can get out into nature, even to an urban park or residential neighbourhood, we’re surrounded with gardens, produce, flowers and leaves in their last grand hurrah at this time of year. In Winnipeg, due to our dry smoky summer, we’re already beginning to see dead leaves. Time is short, we need to take advantage of this rich harvest season.

This accounting every year for Rosh Hashanah has us debating how we’ve wronged others, failed in our relationships to our families, our communities and with the Creator. However, if we circle back again to the story of the sniffling mom, we can ask ourselves something else. How have we wronged or failed ourselves? What can we do to improve our closest relationships, to ourselves and to our families?

During this summer season, I’ve had ample time to examine things because, in the end, my family didn’t travel anywhere. We weren’t even outside that much. I feel a little like we’ve been robbed. We had Winnipeg’s smokiest summer ever. I have asthma, so I had to be indoors more than I would have liked. My husband, a professor and associate department chair, had a heavy burden of administration, as well as research students in his lab, which resulted in him going into work while theoretically on vacation. Somehow, I signed kids up for a patchwork of camps. They enjoyed themselves but I spent a lot of time dropping off and picking up kids and didn’t get much of a break when they were home either. Of course, the ongoing war in Gaza, the Canadian response to it and the rise in antisemitism offers an underlying current of stress, too. Plus, we had some challenges about where the twins would end up for high school this fall.

Long story short, catching a cold? It’s a wonder we made it this far, to be honest.

All around me, I see others struggling in the 24/7 bad news feed. Meanwhile, I was grasping for positive conclusions, hopeful signs and a change for the better. My sign came suddenly – and in a way I didn’t expect.

My son and I were out on a dog walk in the neighbourhood. Our historic area has a kilometre loop that’s a frequent track for runners, bikers and families but, this year, it’s under construction so it’s less busy. (Oh yeah, did I mention the torn-up roads, dust, noise and diggers?)

We meandered on the narrow sidewalk, chatting, as the dog sniffed and read the “pee mail.” Out of the blue, we heard someone run up behind us and say an abrupt, “Excuse me!” My kid jumped into the grass. I pulled our large dog close and scooted to the right.

Nonetheless, a large male runner bodychecked me as he ran by. I stood, stunned. The man could have detoured on the grass. He could have chosen the empty street. Instead, he barreled into me, because we didn’t get out of his way fast enough. There are so many issues here: right of way, safety, courtesy, male power plays and respect for others. For me, though, maybe it took this incident to remind me that before I can repent for anything big, I need to focus on repairing my relationship with myself.

I shouldn’t have to get bodychecked on the sidewalk near my house. I deserve better than that. And, maybe, I – and my household – also need more vacation, breaks from stress and better self-care.

Examining how we got to where we are is the first step towards making better plans. I have learned a few things. When we leave the fun vacation trip planning to the last minute, the trip never happens. When the smoke or the stress is bad, I’m more prone to sickness. When it looks like something bad is barrelling towards us, I need to do a better job of getting myself out of the way.

Don’t get me wrong, I think the runner was wrong. He shouldn’t have done what he did. He should have apologized at the least. He should do his own repentance. But, as I jokingly remind my kids, “G-d helps those who help themselves.” Maybe if I’m hoping 5786 will be a better year, I need to make changes and apologize to myself, too.

Self-reflection and teshuvah (repentance) is hard work, but sometimes the outcome might be surprising. Perhaps the reflection will also mean taking better care of ourselves.

Wishing you a healthy, happy, meaningful new year, full of safe sidewalks, peace and good things!

Preparing for High Holidays

We have a new rabbi at Shaarey Zedek, our Winnipeg congregation. This is exciting as well as reassuring for many people. Why? Well, Rabbi Carnie Rose is the son of a rabbi and professor who lived in Winnipeg for many years, Dr. Neal Rose. His brother, Kliel, is a rabbi at Congregation Etz Chayim, another nearby congregation in Winnipeg. So, while Rabbi Carnie is new as a rabbi in Winnipeg, he is also a deeply familiar entity. He became a bar mitzvah at Shaarey Zedek. He went to kindergarten with the synagogue’s current executive director.

This addition to our congregation is welcome, as Rabbi Anibal Mass and our chazzan, Leslie Emery, carry a heavy workload. They are still working hard, don’t get me wrong, but sometimes a new hire can offer support and everybody gets more breaks. I’m only observing this as a congregant and as the child of a Jewish professional. Sure, I serve on a committee, I show up to services, but I can tell there’s been a lot of work lately.

On a practical level, moving from the United States to Winnipeg is a big change. My family wanted to be supportive – after all, we too moved from the United States, in 2009 – so we’ve been helping Rabbi Carnie get his library in order. He’s got, as you might imagine, lots of books. These all got miserably jumbled in the move. While this has got to be stressful, he’s handling it all with good humour. We’ve taken pleasure at getting to look at and learn about all sorts of resources in Hebrew and English that we hadn’t seen before. Some books are like old friends, as I studied them as an undergraduate or in graduate school, but, to be honest, my books aren’t in nearly such good condition.

This experience mirrors many Jewish volunteer activities I did as a kid. As the child of a Jewish education director, who then went on to be the administrator (executive director) of my childhood congregation, Temple Rodef Shalom in Falls Church, Va., I spent many afterschool hours folding the weekly paper bulletin handed out on Shabbat, moving books or setting up chairs. While attending services or religious school were important activities, for me, the relationships I made with the rabbi and the staff and other congregants as we did these small jobs were the most meaningful ones. Along the way, I met many important guests, though it’s all a bit blurry now. For instance, I sat next to Elie Wiesel once after he spoke at our congregation. What I remember particularly is how formal and dressed up we were. Also, the dessert was good! I was allowed to stay up way past my bedtime.

Now, I’m proud that my kids are finding their way towards making their own community connections. One of my twins has gone to morning minyan many times this summer. He’s the only teen there and gets a lot of positive attention this way, including exchanging ideas with a retired provincial court judge. This judge also happens to be the father of my son’s elementary school principal, so we’re always on good behaviour with him!

My other twin isn’t getting to morning minyan much, but instead he volunteered for full weeks at a summer camp and daycare, helping little kids. He also helps on the synagogue tech team, doing accessible subtitles for prayers that are projected on screens as part of our service. This job is an important one, as it enables people to keep up with the service even if they are having a hard time hearing what’s going on or cannot read Hebrew. He’s been asked to help during the High Holidays. It’s a big honour and responsibility for a 14-year-old.

These commitments are important because they embody both the Canadian emphasis on volunteering and the Jewish one. When I was a teen, I lived for a year on a kibbutz. Volunteering was considered deeply valuable and important. Being the first to volunteer was a moral virtue. Yet, when I hear Winnipeg kids discuss accruing volunteer hours for school credits, it’s seen as an onerous requirement. Perhaps, for some, this requirement doesn’t have great value. On the contrary, in our household, we see these experiences as offering so many learning and growth opportunities.

While we moved books, searched for lost volumes and organized sets of Talmud and commentaries, we also saw the bustle behind the scenes as the congregation gets ready for Rosh Hashanah. There’s so much pageantry to the High Holidays. It’s a big deal. Some members jockey for important honours or specific seats and we listened with interest. We just wanted seats near the back, near where our kid would be in the tech booth. When I mentioned this to the new rabbi, I suggested that maybe different things matter to us. After all, I joked, I didn’t need to show off a new hat. (My mom always said this was an important part of High Holiday services when she was a kid in the 1950s!)

As for honours, we love a quiet summer Shabbat, when sometimes our kids get asked to read or are called up for an aliyah because no one reserved them in advance. These spur-of-the-moment experiences, where we might help out and take part in services, feel like the right spot for us. It may take months of practice to chant one part of the Torah portion, but we try to aim for a week when not much is happening.

A strong community is one where we can all contribute and help. Yes, big donors and fancy new hats are often part of the High Holidays. Big monetary donations keep the heat on, and status matters to many. However, a synagogue, and the Jewish community, must function throughout the year.

There’s a lot to think about when it comes to evaluating how we’ve behaved in the past year, and how we’ll make amends. To me, the most important reflections aren’t about where we are or how we behave specifically on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. In every regular weekday morning minyan, we also say “ashamu” – we are guilty. We work on ourselves all the time. Perhaps, while it’s important to have good intentions when it comes to the High Holidays, it’s also key to think about each day beforehand, and afterwards, too. Elul’s a whole month of reflection. Valuing one another and our community means making every day count.

What to do with all our stuff

Recently, I was in the car with one of my twins and we were discussing how easy it is to accumulate too much stuff. We’d just had a conversation with a neighbour who mentioned that his sibling had moved into their parents’ house as an adult. It was a large, old home, now sadly so full of stacks of papers and other belongings that one had to turn sideways to navigate some of it.

I commiserated with my neighbour, misunderstanding the level of hoarding. I imagined how hard it must be to move, as an adult with a household, into a home already full of one’s parents’ belongings. Alas, our neighbour said, it was a mental health issue. It’s sometimes referred to as a hoarding disorder or Diogenes syndrome. It was serious.

In the car with my kid, we found ourselves understanding how people get to this point. He said, quite astutely, that our society pushes “more, more, more.” We both agreed that it is hard to resist the siren song of acquisition that we’re constantly hearing. Choosing to stop, clean, tidy and cull things and acknowledge what we don’t need is even harder than resisting new acquisitions.

I was faced with my own “hoarding” scenario. My personal, free email account is more than 20 years old. Suddenly, I got a warning about a month ago that the storage on these accounts would be slashed dramatically. I could choose to pay a fee every month or delete a lot of messages. My husband got a similar warning, but his account was not as old or big as mine. Even so, we commiserated, because deleting some of these saved emails felt painful. Save the baby photo elsewhere and then delete the message? One by one, it didn’t seem to make a dent. Eventually, I figured out how to move older messages to a folder on my computer and I didn’t have to delete messages from people I’d loved who have now died; I didn’t have to cull every family photo.

Still, this exercise made us look around. My kids, about to start high school, decided that they didn’t need about 75 books on their shelves, acquired over the years from Scholastic book fairs, PJ Library and elsewhere. They are making plans to sell or donate the books.

Each kid, getting ready for a new school year, worked to empty out enormous middle school binders. They recycled tons of paper. They acknowledged that we no longer needed a Grade 5 workbook leftover from those pandemic days of learning at home. Both kids realized we needed to make space in their backpacks: for new intellectual growth and a new school year.

As my kids grow physically this summer, I’m knitting as fast as I can to make them new sweaters for winter but I’m knitting a sweater now out of “stash” yarns that I acquired when they were infants. Both kids are now bigger than me. The sweaters I make from now on will likely be too big for me when they outgrow them.

This is a balancing act, of course. It’s normal in our household to get some new things for a new school year, even if we reuse the old stuff, too. This celebration of something new even has a word for it in Modern Hebrew. We might say “Tithadash!” or “May it renew you!” when you see someone with new belongings.

At the same time, I’ve been studying the Babylonian tractate of Avodah Zarah. It explores how Jews are to interact with non-Jews or those who might worship idols. One of the concepts it covers is whether one can reuse anything that might have been used by someone who engaged in idol worship. This is a complicated topic. It involves both “decommissioned” idols and whatever was used to sacrifice to the idol. One also must consider whether any of these items might be ever “reused” in Jewish worship or sacrifice, in the days when the Temple still stood in Jerusalem. It goes even farther, examining what one does about an idol created by Jews in the first place, like the Golden Calf. The tractate is sometimes confusing because it’s in so much detail.

That said, I returned to something else the text seemed to be telling us. In some cases, these items can be reused. The underlying message explores what we waste or throw away, versus how we can give things “new lives” even if their first use wasn’t ideal.

Nobody is worshipping idols at our house, but we’re discussing reuse, as well as the acquisition of new things for the upcoming school year. I see 14-year-olds evaluating their lunch bags and considering making themselves new ones. There was a pile of shirts in the give-away pile after we cleaned up today. I even saw a completely tidy sock drawer. This may never happen again!

I’m not sure how to always resist or even push back against our consumerist culture. However, the talmudic debate over physical leftovers from idol worship and what might be used again and/or refurbished made me realize that this struggle isn’t new. Just as we hope our kids are off to learn more with each school year, we also hope they’ll hold onto the good, sweet things that they embodied at younger ages, too. New, shiny ideas and things are tempting, but there’s something powerful and potentially meaningful about reuse, too.

Love learning, stay curious

My household’s really into learning. It doesn’t stop during the summer, when there’s no school. Even on vacations, we’re always trying to nurture our kids’ curiosity and feed our own.

When our kids were in preschool, and just toilet-trained, we took a long trip to a friend’s northern Minnesota cottage. I say “long” because Google Maps told us it would just be a few hours across the US border. Eight hours later, we’d been slowed by the border crossing, construction and stops at every unnamed exit along a dirt road off the North Dakota highway so the kids could go to the bathroom. It was an excruciating trip. Three days later, it was just as long on the way home to Winnipeg.

Yet, we remember parts of the trip fondly. This historic family cottage contained a mostly functional pump organ, books filled with spidery copperplate handwriting and an empty fish tank. In between long play sessions in the sand by the lake, our friend created new wonders for us to explore. Using a net and years of experience, he gathered a selection of lake life into the fish tank. Once indoors, with the tank now full, the friend and my husband, two adult biology professors, casually called over the kids to investigate.

Neither adult studied lake aquatics professionally. Instead, four heads poured over fish and fauna guides from years past, discussing what they thought was in the tank. The kids made observations, and the adults’ heads bobbed as they looked and agreed. Once the science mysteries were solved, the tank got dumped back into the lake. The next day, it all happened again.

We also visited the remains of an old gristmill, complete with a playground nearby. We then had a kite-flying break. Years later, my kids still wonder when we might ever get invited back to that magical cottage. The truth is, for the adults, it was a lot of effort: to open and clean the cottage, get and cook enough food for several days, and pack and travel there and home. This doesn’t include the many loads of laundry (toilet training!), or the lost items left in the dryer by mistake, which had to be mailed home internationally.

The “vacation” exhausted me. Still, when I put a photo background on my iPad, the obvious choice is an image of my small twins, in swim gear and floppy sun hats, playing on the rocks near the lake’s blue water.

These summer experiences weren’t fancy or expensive. They laid the groundwork for other adventures over time. One weekend in July, we went raspberry picking at a farm about 45 minutes away from home. Now, my kids, 14, are at a day camp learning to fence, do archery and play racquetball. They came home tired but also stretched by exotic activities that they’d not considered before. To my surprise, one of them stopped multiple times to thank me for arranging these outings. Now that he’s older, he texts constantly with school friends. He sees that our experiential learning isn’t the same as others. (And I hear about this all, too, because I wouldn’t take him to the folk festival during a 10+ wildfire air quality warning, or to the shopping mall!)

We try hard to hold onto this love for learning and intellectual curiosity even if the education system can cause one to lose enthusiasm. As our family hits the milestone of high school entry, we’re in limbo. The closest public high school, where their cohorts and friends will attend, is out of catchment for our children. We’re hoping to get our sons into that nearby school, but so far have not gained access through the provincial “school of choice” legislation. Another private high school looks to be a challenging, interesting academic option, but it’s pricey. It also means giving up on the small dream of attending the closest public school with beloved classmates.

Of course, as the parent facing the school division board of trustees, I looked to Jewish text to find strength, solace and direction. In the Babylonian Talmud tractate of Avodah Zarah, Daf 19a, there’s an examination of learning Torah with many nuggets of wisdom. Rava, who lived in the 4th century CE, says, “in accordance with the statement of Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi: A person should always learn Torah from a place in the Torah that his heart desires, as it is stated: ‘But his delight is in the Torah of the Lord.’” This advice, to study what you love, feels timeless.

Rava encourages learners to gain a broad understanding of the text before returning to analyze it. Further, for those of us who study and fail to understand, Rava encourages review and repetition as helpful techniques to gain access to basic understanding.

The next tidbit is one that I hold dear. Rava quotes earlier rabbis, such as Rav Sehora and Rav Huna (3rd-century CE), who suggest learning a little bit each day, studying and reviewing, to retain more Torah and more knowledge. Rav Nahman bar Yitzhak, a contemporary of Rava’s, responds in the next paragraph (and possibly in person), saying: “I did this, as I studied little by little and regularly reviewed what I had learned, and my learning has in fact endured.”

Experience and learn it and then decipher it; work away at it, a little every day; review it to retain more knowledge. These are still basic study skills. This guidance is the same that educators use today. These are ancient and Jewish ideas – Ben Bag Bag (Pirkei Avot, Sayings of our Fathers, 5:22) says, when referring to Torah: “Turn it and turn it, for everything’s in it.”

The rabbis took an expansive view, feeling that we could gain information about just about anything in the world if we studied enough Jewish texts. This even includes the funny tale of Rav Kahana – the student who hid beneath Rav, his teacher’s bed, to “learn” from him and his wife about marital relations – which is in the talmudic tractate Berachot on page 62a. While we would see this as Peeping Tom behaviour, the student says, “Rabbi, this is Torah!”

I’m not recommending my kids hide under anybody’s bed. I am, however, hoping they can maintain their wonder and enthusiasm about learning, wherever it takes them, a little bit each day, even when the going is difficult or there are obstacles in the way.

Summer’s the time, no matter our ages, to explore new skills informally, from lake water studies at a cottage to fencing. Little by little, I hope we can all find joy in learning more – about the world, Judaism and one another.

Our Jewish-Canadian identity

Before Passover, a relative of ours in New Jersey asked if we would have problems getting Manischewitz wine. I told her all would be fine. Even though US alcohol had been taken off Manitoba’s shelves, we would just buy other brands of kosher wine instead, I said.

I felt confident about this possibility until I marched to the kosher section of the wine shop and saw the notification. The store encouraged us to buy whatever was available “right now” because all kosher wine, no matter where it is made, is imported through the United States. We were fine for Passover and, to be honest, my family is more flexible about wine the rest of the year, so the situation didn’t worry me too much.

A Manischewitz joke from my mom, visiting from the States, made me wonder about how much kosher wine is available now in Manitoba, and I did some googling. Between the provincially run Liquor Marts and the private wine shop that caters to those who keep kosher, I saw about six wine varieties available.

Then, my husband told a story he’d heard from someone attending minyan. Their family kept kosher. To get the kosher wine they wanted during Manitoba’s ban on US alcohol, they placed a special order with Happy Harry’s liquor store in Grand Forks, ND. The dad drove from Winnipeg, crossed the border, picked up two cases of wine, paid the duty at the border and drove home again. It was a 470-kilometre round trip, more or less, to resolve the issue.

You don’t think a lot about this when supply chains function between countries, but, in the absence of kosher wine imports, you have whatever odds and ends are left – and Kedem grape juice, which is still available.

Plenty of Jewish Canadians may be asking what they will drink on the holidays. This made me think about the Babylonian talmudic tractate I’ve just started studying, Avodah Zara. This tractate, compiled by about 500 CE, concerns how one lives alongside idol worship. It considers issues like whether Jews should do business with non-Jews before their festivals, because the money they earn might go towards ritual sacrifice to idols.

It gets more specific though. Jews lived in diverse places, with many different cultures around them. The rabbis wondered, what if there were a water fountain and the water spurted out of a Greek god or an idol? Jews may not drink “from Zeus’s lips.”

The rabbis then suggest a more concerning health issue about these fountains with pipes. There was danger, they posit, because these pipes brought water from ponds or rivers. You might swallow a leech. Medical suggestions about what to do if you swallow a leech (or, heaven forbid, a hornet) follow. Apparently, one is allowed to boil water on Shabbat to deal with this problem, or swallowing vinegar might help.

This discussion on Avodah Zarah, page 12, examines how to deal with many issues in communities where we Jews interact with others, working and living together, specifically mentioning Gaza and Bet She’an. Yes, those two locations have been in the news … funny how little changes.

This tractate page describes how to cope with another even more difficult dilemma. During this period – the Mishnah was compiled by about 200 CE, and the Gemara was added by 500 CE – some people believed that Shavrirei, a water demon, came out at night. If you got thirsty at night, you must wake up someone else to accompany you, as the demon would only be a problem if you were alone. However, if you were alone and thirsty, there was another solution. One knocked on the jug lid and recited an incantation: “shavrirei verirei rirei yirei rei.” Maybe reducing the name of the demon at each repeat results in causing the demon to disappear, too?

To most modern thinkers, this whole approach will seem bizarre. An entire tractate is devoted to avoiding idol worship, since Jews believe in only one G-d. Yet, at that time, Jews also seemed to believe that dangerous demons existed, swallowing leeches could be resolved by consuming hot water, and a person would die from swallowing a hornet but might delay their demise by drinking vinegar. Worldviews are complicated, and full of contradictions.

These days, Jews, both in Israel and the diaspora, live in community with non-Jews. We must cooperate and get along even when our traditions don’t jibe. Further, we must consider when our actions are meaningful and when they’re tokenism. Some examples of avoiding idol worship suggest that Jews should avoid even the appearance of worshipping idols. For instance, if you get a thorn in your foot near an idol statue, don’t bow down there to pull out the splinter! It looks bad.

From the outside, sure, Jews in Canada can stand behind our country’s counter-tariffs and the choices made by our country and provinces to deal with trade issues. It’s within the rights of provinces to pull US alcohol from our shelves. That said, how then do Jewish families who require kosher wine to say Kiddush, celebrate Shabbat or weddings or holidays? According to at least one household, it requires crossing the border, paying the duty and getting on with things.

It’s not clear whether the counter-tariffs, lack of US alcohol sales or decreased Canadian tourism to the United States will make any difference in the Canada-US trade relationship. Like the incantation to get rid of the demon Shavrirei, perhaps reducing the names of those who bother us makes them disappear. Maybe it’s just a ritual that makes us feel better. We can’t tell from here.

Over time, our priorities differ. Sometimes, we’re scared of a water demon. Other times, we’re feeling thrashed about by trade talks with an “orange” ruler of a different sort. In both cases, we might respond with token acts or incantations, which mostly don’t change things. Yet, the rabbis point out, water is essential to life. We must drink, so we come up with hopefully safe solutions to quench our thirst. Wine is a little less necessary, but we bless it multiple times a year, so does the kosher wine shortage matter more now? The issue creates discord between our Canadian and Jewish identities, as we live in the diaspora.

Perhaps all will be resolved when Canada’s internal trade between provinces improves. Maybe we’ll think less about this when the weather cools and we’re not quite so “thirsty.” Here we are, almost 2,000 years after these issues were first discussed, still wondering the best ways to live in diverse societies, meet our needs and get along with our neighbours.

Joanne Seiff has written regularly for the Winnipeg Free Press and various Jewish publications. She is the author of three books, including From the Outside In: Jewish Post Columns 2015-2016, a collection of essays available for digital download or as a paperback from Amazon. Check her out on Instagram @yrnspinner or at joanneseiff.blogspot.com.

Seeing the divine in others

I recently participated in a conference panel on hope in a time of divisive politics. A friend in the Jewish community couldn’t do it, so she asked me to help instead. I won’t lie, I felt nervous.

I worried that I wouldn’t measure up to some of the speakers, who had big job titles, awards and experience. This was compounded by a few missteps that left me feeling embarrassed and humbled. First, my friend’s name was left on the conference program and mine wasn’t listed, even though organizers had ample time to update the panelists’ names. Second, social media amplified the panel on Facebook and Instagram, but listed my name with incorrect, made-up undergraduate degrees. I’d provided my graduate degrees in religious studies and education because I felt they were relevant. Somehow, five years of education went away due to clerical errors.

The weird part was that my brief talk, and my presence at the panel, was to elevate Jewish experience and Jewish hope in an approachable way. Two academics spoke, using big concepts and bigger words, while minimizing their personal approach to the issues. Then, an amazing African Canadian legal professional spoke of her family’s journey and deep roots in Canada – it was personal, compelling and important. I was up next.

I’d prepared my notes in advance. I spoke from them, but, first, I changed gears. The night before the panel, held at Winnipeg’s Canadian Museum for Human Rights, I encountered members of the Persian community, holding up their lion flags to represent the Iranian people and their opposition to the Islamic Republic. I stopped to tell a young woman holding the flag that our hearts were with her, and we were thinking of her, and hoping the people of Iran were safe. She seemed shocked. Surprised that I saw her, knew what she represented, and embraced this message against extremism and violence of the Islamic Republic of Iran. She asked where I was from, I smiled and only said, “Winnipeg.”

The day of the panel, I struggled with a parking meter. Then I crossed a street, sharing a warm smile with an Indigenous man on a bicycle who passed by. My heart thumped hard. Though I’ve done plenty of public events and teaching, I felt on edge. Maybe it was because I was one of the only representatives of the Jewish community in that multi-faith gathering. Maybe it was because I’d been checking on where the Iranian missiles were landing in Israel right before I came. I worried about repercussions following me into the Canadian Museum for Human Rights.

Pretending to check if the microphone was on, I said, “Welcome. Thank you for coming …” and, looking at the crowd, I greeted everyone with a “Hello y’all!” After that informal start, I made sure to mention the Jewish concept of the world as a broken pot, in which the vessel’s shards, our souls, are in each of us. I talked about tikkun olam, repairing the world, and putting those shards back together, as an act of hope that we work towards, as an act of ongoing creation – a human and divine partnership. Throughout the morning, I took time to look at people, greet them and try to see G-d in each of them. I decided that the way to confront my feelings of embarrassment, and the erasure of my name and credentials, was to fully see others the way I would want to be treated.

At this conference, there were many references to reconciliation. An Anglican bishop who is also a residential school survivor spoke during our panel question period. When I recounted all this later to my family, we recognized an important theme.

As a professor, my husband often attends events with a land acknowledgement. Working with a group of Indigenous students last year, he asked them how they feel about the “workshopped” statement the university uses. They said it was often done by rote and perhaps lost its meaning as a result. They didn’t feel seen by it.

Almost immediately, I recalled that our congregation had changed its Prayer for Canada. The new one feels genuine to me. It includes aspects of a land acknowledgement by mentioning by name the first inhabitants of the land. It also includes the current Canadian political infrastructure. It’s a prayer to maintain our diversity, so that never again will Canada say, “None is too many,” in reference to the antisemitic exclusion of Jewish refugees fleeing Europe during the Second World War.

My husband will meet again this summer with a new group of Indigenous students. He’s considering a different discussion. What does it mean when society suggests that some people’s innate connection to the land must be acknowledged, but others don’t deserve a similar acknowledgement of their homeland? This issue isn’t “just” about Israel, either. What about the Kurds? What about the Druze? The dispossessed list is a long one.

When we moved to Winnipeg 16 years ago, celebrations for Canada Day included enormous festivals and bombastic firework displays. Over time, due to the pandemic and to a change in how we perceive the day, this has changed. Many Indigenous Canadians don’t celebrate Canada Day.

Having my name left out and hard-earned credentials jumbled was difficult, but it reminded me of how acknowledgement works. We can choose, as Canadians, to look up from our phones and really see one another. We all deserve to take up space and be here, recognized for our special contributions, in this land of plenty. We may not be able to control the huge geopolitical events around us, but we can see one another and pray for our loved ones and our neighbours, too, both here and elsewhere. Recognizing the divine, individual spark in each person is crucial.

I’m hoping for a family cookout at home this Canada Day. We might talk about how we connect to Canada, and how we fit in the Jewish diaspora and homeland. It’s a complicated equation, worth talking about during a war. We should also choose to see, greet and value all those we walk with on this land and in the world. Let’s recognize everyone’s names, identities – and souls – as meaningful, too.

Joanne Seiff has written regularly for the Winnipeg Free Press and various Jewish publications. She is the author of three books, including From the Outside In: Jewish Post Columns 2015-2016, a collection of essays available for digital download or as a paperback from Amazon. Check her out on Instagram @yrnspinner or at joanneseiff.blogspot.com.