Joanne Seiff – Page 18

A need for order in our lives

I’ve never seen my sister-in-law’s house look cluttered. Every piece of curated furniture and even the magazines are placed just so. I just couldn’t understand it, even though my mother told me that she was raised this way because her mother was an interior designer. My brother joked that, if he bought something new for their small townhouse, he had to give something up. Even as they moved and their family and lives grew complex, I always left their house feeling like mine had about three times as much stuff in it as theirs did.

During family emergencies where I helped out, I saw that this approach to home decorating wasn’t designed to make me feel badly about myself. So why was the house so carefully manicured? It was a chance to control something and make order where there isn’t any. When one is a methodical soul and life feels chaotic, it’s only natural to want to control something and make it do what you want. We can’t control politics or natural disasters. Even our family members are all independent. We struggle with their health and they do what they want whether or not it’s a problem for us.

This isn’t a Marie Kondo “spark joy” by cleaning article, although it may seem that way. No, it’s about Exodus, at the beginning of Chapter 38, where Bezalel comes on the scene. Bezalel helps create the Tabernacle of the Tent of Meeting, and the instructions, which were “drawn up by Moses’ bidding” (Exodus 28:21), spell out exactly how it’s to look.

I’ve heard sermons and discussions about this portion of the text where people say, “Why does the Torah spend so much time on these tiny details of design and style?” Yes, design and artistry are pleasing, and perhaps a chiddur mitzvah, beautifying the way we fulfil a commandment, but, for many, this seems to be extraneous and unnecessary.

Ever since getting to know my sister-in-law, who I love very much, by the way, I see this differently. Although I love aspects of design, I lack the gene that would enable me to keep my living space so tidy. It isn’t in me – and it’s certainly not in my spouse, who is more disorderly than I am. (He insists that every pile of paper is deeply meaningful and I shouldn’t touch his filing system.)

When we read about how the Tabernacle is created, it’s filled with precision and detail. It’s something that the Israelites contribute to, own and control, while in the midst of a wilderness, while wandering around and wondering when they will actually get to their new home. Perhaps it gives them a sense of security and purpose to create this during a time of nomadism and uncertainty. Unlike the golden calf episode, it’s a scene that’s calm and controlled.

Even while reading the specifics, there are surprises. Historically, women and children did nearly all hand-spinning of yarn. There were no factories for it. Every single yarn and thread for any garment was spun by hand, on a spindle. We might assume that all of the carefully hand-dyed linen yarn was provided by the Israelite women, yet it’s Oholiab, mentioned in Exodus 38:23, who is the man named as the carver, designer and embroiderer of “blue, purple and crimson yarns and in fine linen.”

There it is again. We think we are certain about all sorts of things in our environment and culture, like which gender does embroidery. We’re wrong. Many of the assumptions we make about gender roles, for instance, come from other times. For example, Victorian notions of a woman’s “higher spiritual nature” have seeped into Judaism. Our assumptions about what we wear or who does what kind of handiwork changes according to time period and culture.

So why be specific and detailed about the building of the Tabernacle or, for that matter, keeping your living room impeccably organized?

Some say that, since the Shechinah (G-d’s divine spirit) dwells in the Tabernacle, it must be perfect and beautiful. Others argue that our homes should also resemble the Tabernacle, because we each have bits of the holy spark, the divine, within. These are all wonderful aspirational and elevated ideas.

I’d argue something different. Our surprising world is busy and chaotic. Every time we shovel snow, the plow comes by and moves it, or it snows all over again. Maybe that flowerbed we planted last year didn’t bloom the way we’d expected it to. Our daily lives are out of our control in many ways, and this doesn’t account for disease, disaster, death or violence.

So, we manipulate what we can. My sister-in-law’s house is always going to be tidier than mine. It’s a way she can bring order to things despite the entropy around her. My house may be untidy, but I’m cooking, designing and knitting textiles in an endless attempt to keep people fed, warm and help them feel loved.

While writing this, my computer blinked. I lost a whole document. This week, a friend’s child is struggling and self-harming. Another far-away friend concludes radiation and chemo treatments, and I don’t know how she’s doing. My car might not start, my kids get sick at school – unpredictability and difficulties abound. However, there’s comfort in routine and minutiae. When we read the Torah portion or do the same Jewish prayers or rituals, we can offer ourselves that order and precision. We can’t control much, but we can control something. Goldsmithing, embroidery, carving, metal work or clothing, each of us can choose to create something precise and beautiful, in acknowledgement of a higher order.

Joanne Seiff has written regularly for CBC Manitoba 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. See more about her at joanneseiff.blogspot.com.

Making home a sanctuary

My kids love a song called “Make me a sanctuary.” The Hebrew comes directly from Exodus 25:8. It’s based on a Shaker hymn (much of the Jewish musical liturgy comes from outside sources) and it’s in Hebrew and English. The English lyrics say: “Lord, prepare me, to be a sanctuary, pure and holy, tried and true, with thanksgiving, I’ll be a living sanctuary for you.” In Hebrew transliteration: “V’asu li mikdash, v’shochanti b’tocham,va’anachnu n’varech yah, me-ata v’ad olam.” Translation: “Make me a sanctuary, that I may dwell among them, and we will bless Hashem, now and forever.”

This comes from the Torah portion Terumah, and describes how the people will make an exquisite ark so that they can worship together. I’m a “maker” and love creating things. I spin, knit, weave and sew. I write knitting patterns. I love to build and create. Today, I just finished making some cloth napkins. However, a home (or a congregation) can’t be an inspirational sanctuary without the basics. In Canada, that includes heat.

Recently, I noticed our house seemed cool. I perched on the stairs to check the thermostat. Someone installed it decades ago in a way that makes it hard for shorter adults, like me, to see. (My partner, whose ancestors spent time in Eastern Europe, didn’t seem cold.)

The next morning, the boiler wasn’t working. After checking the thermostat battery and shrugging, my partner went to work. As the work-from-home adult, I called repair places. Although it was warm outside for winter, the forecast predicted plummeting temperatures. I worried.

The busy repair places offered an appointment for the next day. We have two gas fireplaces, which pumped out heat valiantly while I called Manitoba Hydro. Hydro scheduled someone to come out to check our boiler’s pilot light. As the temperatures dropped, the boiler kept cycling, but no heat came up, so I shut it off.

At lunchtime, a chirping alarm went off in the basement. Something else was wrong, but I couldn’t even tell what was beeping. We have an old house. Its antiquated systems can be confusing. (Smart house upgrades circa 1918, 1952, etc.) I was also tired when this started from a busy weekend. I was so befuddled by what was going on with the boiler that I wondered if I was confused due to some kind of gas leak.

Once I shut it off the boiler, I was no longer confused but so tired from the cold that I wanted to take a nap. I was wearing a toque, a heavy Icelandic wool sweater and a shawl, but part of me was like, “Don’t take a nap! People die this way! How will the Hydro guys get in if you fall asleep?!”

Here’s the stupid coincidence. The beeping was an older fire alarm with a failing battery, which had nothing to do with the boiler. Installed in 2004, it was guaranteed to last 10 years. It gave up the ghost 15 years later, on the same day as the boiler troubles. We’ve had new, hardwired fire, carbon and radon alarms installed, but missed removing this one. I was freaking out over nothing. I’d call it irrational stupidity, possibly caused by a tired “freeze” brain.

The Hydro guys came, cheerfully disconnected the old fire alarm, relit the pilot light and told me to get the boiler fully serviced. When the tradesperson serviced the boiler, it was black, dirty and not burning cleanly. It needed attention. I also got the boiler chimney cleaned. It took awhile for the house to heat up, but there was good news. We were warm again! Bad news? I lost the better part of a work week to this drama, and I was cold.

Once I was warm, I thought beyond the basics – but many people can’t. If you’re stuck with challenges like staying warm, you can’t think clearly. In the midst of a Canadian winter, we’re so lucky to have heat. Taking a moment to remember this, and recognize that there are many who are cold this winter, and how it affects us, is very important.

I was incredibly grateful to hear the boiler cycling as everything became toasty. It made me very aware of how hard it is for those among us who cannot afford to keep their houses warm or who are homeless. I was so anxious that I woke up the next morning at 5:30 a.m., panicked that the boiler might stop working again as temperatures plummeted to -30 outside.

For those of us who find something’s wrong, there are ways to fix it. This is a kind of “adulting.” Grown-ups should keep up with home maintenance, whether it’s the fire alarms or getting their boilers serviced and chimneys cleaned regularly. I couldn’t remember the last time this was done at our house.

When I had twins, life got busy. We did the best we could, but forgot a lot of important details. We all need heat during the winter. Aside from being grateful, do something that I didn’t do – be proactive. Getting your heat in order before the cold temperatures and cold freeze brain hit is wise. I wish I’d known better, but you can still get it serviced in the wintertime.

Here’s wishing you a well-maintained warm, cozy home, with up-to-date fire alarms, during all the cold snaps. It’s much better to be safe and warm than sorry.

Complexity and perspective

I recently heard some difficult news. A good friend of mine from university has been diagnosed with a serious form of cancer. Over time, we’d moved, had children and fallen out of touch, but I was able to reach her quickly. She is well enough for emailing, and we’ve fallen right back into the dear friendship we had 20-some years ago. Some of her more recent pathology reports are slightly more hopeful. Even so, it’s a very serious diagnosis and she’s in her mid-forties with kids in elementary school.

During university, this friend and I were part of a trio of busy young women. Often the only time we could spend together was breakfast. We’d have bagels and coffee at a sunny warm spot, the Ithaca Bakery. The snow was piled high outside and the windows were steamed with humidity as we laughed and complained together. It was the third friend who told me about the brain cancer. She and I each, within moments, had come up with medical resources for our dear friend. We felt lucky to be able to say, “I know something about this,” or “I know someone if you need medical information or another opinion.” We wanted to support her from far away.

I was reminded of this when looking at the Torah portion Yitro (Exodus 18:1-20:23), which starts out with a story about Jethro, Zipporah’s father, and Moses. Jethro is Moses’ father-in-law. When Moses tells him how the Israelites have escaped Egypt and what has happened, Jethro responds in Exodus 18:9: “And Jethro rejoiced over all the kindness that the Lord had shown Israel when He delivered them from the Egyptians.”

Rashi responds to this by saying that Jethro rejoicing is the literal meaning, but that Sanhedrin 94A (a talmudic midrash) suggests that Jethro’s skin prickled, or crept with horror. He felt upset about Egypt’s destruction. Rashi explains further that “people say” that one should not speak negatively about non-Jews in front of someone who has converted to Judaism, even if the family converted 10 generations ago.

Jethro is called a Midianite priest, and is considered a “non-Hebrew.” The Druze consider Jethro an important prophet and ancestor. No matter – Moses was close with him, and married his daughter. This text and the commentary is laden with meaning. Just on its surface: Jethro celebrates and is grateful that his daughter and son-in-law and the Israelites have come through a terrible experience. Yet further still, the midrash explains that Jethro knew the ramifications of the experience. Egyptians suffered and were destroyed to bring about this event. Finally, there are valued connections between people. It doesn’t matter where you come from – we shouldn’t cause distress to those we love, if at all possible, even if they aren’t part of our “in-group.” Things in life are complex. We should celebrate and be grateful, but not cause further harm, either. Jethro intertwines these concepts.

Jethro goes on to help Moses learn to delegate and do “leadership development.” He encourages Moses to rely on the Israelites to lead and take care of one another, as well.

What does this have to do with hearing of my friend’s terrible illness?

It was a wake-up call and a reminder to be thankful, as Jethro was, and celebrate what we have – we can’t take our health for granted.

The good news is I am back in touch with someone I care about. It’s also an opportunity to look at how a third friend told me this news, and that my friend with cancer has a rich community to lean on. She can delegate, too, regarding communication, help with her family, and maybe even finding medical advice and explanations.

It’s also a reminder that we’re all connected, regardless of religion. As Rashi shows us, treating people with care extends beyond the team with which you daven (pray).

Finally, smart people realize that real-life situations are complicated. It’s simplistic to have a one-size-fits-all approach to nationalism, for example. Moses supported and shepherded the Israelites, but he also cared deeply about people who were not, strictly speaking, part of his crowd. Yes, we’re Jewish, but we often love people who aren’t, and that is part of our tradition, too.

We’re lucky to have a tradition that values complication. As Jews, we face a lot of complex concepts in the world, whether it’s our own personal observances or how we apply those values to the world at large. We could choose a simplistic response, such as a tirade or blanket objection to a view different than our own. Many people do this – face it, it’s easier. Or, we could acknowledge the complexity of our choices instead.

Jethro wasn’t Jewish, and he wasn’t a one-issue guy. He could celebrate and express gratitude while wrestling with other feelings: concern, loss, sadness and worry. I hope to be like Jethro and do the same.

Seek peace and truth in 2019

My family recently traveled to northern Virginia for a bar mitzvah. We did it in a long weekend. We left Thursday afternoon and returned on Tuesday. It was the farthest we’ve ever gone in a weekend with kids. Afterward, I felt bleary and fuzzy around the edges. However, wandering through three airports in each direction and attending five or six big family events and meals exposes you to things you might not have noticed before.

My nephew became a bar mitzvah at my childhood congregation. Each weekend, they print a bulletin or program with information about services and upcoming activities. When services ended, my husband tucked his program into his tallis bag as a memento. I also took one for safekeeping, but I saw it as primary source material. Proof that, indeed, all these activities could happen at a healthy congregation.

Awhile back, I wrote a column describing a slate of weekend Jewish events, for every age group, at North American congregations. As one template, I used Temple Rodef Shalom, in Falls Church, Va. I’ll never forget some of the feedback I got. The loudest responses were from older men. One told me I must be making this up. Why would any congregation cater to special interests (children, teenagers, those with disabilities, women, Jews of colour, the needy, Jews by choice, and others) the way these ones did? This man stopped just shy of telling me I was writing fake news.

I don’t consider myself a journalist. I wasn’t trained as one. I usually write clearly marked opinion pieces, how-to articles and features. I don’t go to war zones, report on famine or natural disasters, but, apparently, that didn’t matter either. In a reply, I linked to two congregations’ calendars, including ones that had served as my template. The somewhat virulent response from this man targeted Reform Judaism, liberals and … no need to go on, you get the picture. No amount of valid information would likely sway him.

While going through the Winnipeg, Minneapolis and Washington National airports, I glimpsed newsstand magazine covers. Time magazine’s Person of the Year was not Trump. No, the 2018 people of the year were journalists killed or imprisoned for doing their job.

Journalists and, more generally, writers, have a job that requires them to observe, hear and listen to what’s going on around them. In a fast-moving world, a well-written piece can help readers absorb information or perceive a different point of view – ideally to help us understand a bigger worldview than we can find on our own.

I thought about this “fake news” response while I read the synagogue bulletin from the bar mitzvah. The congregation’s name, chosen in the 1960s – Rodef Shalom, Pursuer of Peace, referencing Psalm 34:15 – was carefully selected: “Depart from evil and do good. Seek peace and pursue it.” And, indeed, the congregation was doing many good activities in December. They examined issues concerning gun violence, Torah, politics and the life of the synagogue. On Dec. 25, they had a Mitzvah Day scheduled, working on creating “care kits” for the homeless, cooking and delivering hot meals and sandwiches to homeless shelters, and collecting, sorting and distributing winter clothing for those who needed it.

There are many Jewish angles to being a good journalist, writer or observer. Jews are People of the Book. We’re also primed, in the Sh’ma, to “hear these words, to speak them, to write them and to teach and listen to them.” In our efforts to understand who we are as Jews, we also must learn to hear, listen and communicate with others. We should know what it means to be a witness to events, whether we are journalists or not.

If one wants to, you can really shelter yourself these days into consuming (watching, hearing and reading) just the “feed” that caters to your sensibilities. That is, you can believe there is a border wall already being built between the United States and Mexico to keep out dangerous criminals instead of refugees. You can provide yourself a fake news narrative that somehow allows you to think that the white person who shot at synagogue-goers in Pittsburgh, or the one who killed so many in Las Vegas, is not as threatening as Al Sharpton or American Muslims.

I choose a different approach. In the airport, we smiled at others – no matter their skin colour or religious beliefs. We chatted with a young woman who attends Howard University (an historic and respected African-American institution) and I told her how great the campus was when I once took a teacher licensing exam there. One of my kids pulled a book out of a backpack for me to read them while we waited: a Scholastic book on Viola Desmond (who’s on Canada’s new $10 bill, by the way).

Time said they chose these journalists “for taking great risks in pursuit of greater truths, for the imperfect but essential quest for facts, for speaking up and for speaking out.”

Part of being Jewish is taking the time to hear and listen to what is around us, and to take risks to pursue truth and peace. We’re known as people who speak out for those who need compassion (Joseph helped the Jews in Egypt in time of famine) and justice (Moses spoke out against slavery). In that tradition, we have had modern leaders like Abraham Joshua Heschel, who spoke out on civil rights.

I take this one step further when I write it down and it gets sent to you in the newspaper. We’re lucky – as we start 2019, we have the power to choose to read, listen, learn and treat each other with love and an open heart and discern what is real. I have an actual printed bulletin to prove that synagogues can and do provide programming for many constituencies. I do fear hatred, lies, violence and fake news, but I don’t spread a blanket of fear where it doesn’t belong – not on top of people of colour (Jews or non-Jews) or others with predominantly moderate religious traditions like Islam.

Christians may talk about witnessing but, every day, Jews recite in the Sh’ma an obligation to hear and to listen, to read and communicate our values. When we truly pursue peace, we don’t accuse each other of making up the news. Instead, we make news for doing good things and being upright and honest with one another.

Let’s lift a glass to tolerance and good communication, too. Here’s to a loving, peaceful, civil and truthful 2019. L’chaim.

Some things better in person

Union for Reform Judaism will be closing down their summer camp for teen leadership development: Kutz Camp, in Warwick, N.Y. (photo from onehappycampernj.org)

It’s that time of year again – when it’s too cold in Winnipeg sometimes to go to synagogue. For many folks, this never happens! For others, they never intended to go in the first place. Others would like to attend, but aren’t well enough to leave home when it’s frigid.

Once, my twins, age 2, wanted to go to a Shabbat family service when the temperature was ridiculously cold. With wind chill, it was below -40. We bundled them up, got outside (we don’t have a garage), seat belted them in and, though the cars were plugged in, car #1 wouldn’t start.

Our hands were stiff with cold as we took off our mitts, got the twins out of their car seats and into the other car, and then? Car #2 wouldn’t start either. Dang.

We grabbed the kids, rushed back indoors, and they screamed. No services. What would we do? We streamed a service from my parents’ Virginia congregation online. The screaming stopped. The kids were transfixed.

Sometimes, streaming services at home is the only answer. However, it’s not the same as being there. No one knows whether you stand up and sit down. And if you sing along? You’re all alone doing it. If the streaming has a hiccup, well, I’ve been known to give up. (I’d only “give up” in person if my kids disrupted things.)

So, it’s fair to say that technology offers amazing benefits, but it’s not being there in the flesh. There are rabbinic discussions on why streaming doesn’t fulfil certain mitzvot and, of course, it certainly doesn’t abide by the traditional things you can “do” on Shabbat.

Why bring this up? I recently learned that the Union for Reform Judaism will be closing down their summer camp for teen leadership development: Kutz Camp, in Warwick, N.Y. In the press release announcing its reluctant close, the Reform movement noted that, in its 54 years, the camp has been a living laboratory. Some of the best and most innovative Reform Jewish experiences happen there. However, today’s teens seek experiences closer to home, and at different times during the year.

As a camper for two years and a staff member for one, Kutz offered me the opportunity both to learn a marketable skill and to wrestle deeply with Jewish music, texts and tradition. The marketable skill, song leading, allowed me to earn money teaching music at summer camps, at religious schools and in adult education classes for years. It helped cover expenses during my undergraduate and graduate degrees. It offered me a great deal of joy and spiritual meaning. I helped create kid communities who sang their way right through services together.

I also joined a program called Torah Corps, which allowed me to study and learn Torah and commentary every camp day with other similarly motivated teenagers. It was a meaningful endeavour, and it gave me an opportunity to feel less alone about my passion for both Jewish text and prayer.

The people who attended Kutz Camp over the years went on to be real leaders, not just in their congregations, but also in the larger Jewish community and beyond. Every so often, I hear a name pop up and I remember someone from summer camp. These are people who make change in the world far beyond a single summer experience. For instance, Debbie Friedman (z”l), the famous song leader and Jewish musician, got her start at Kutz Camp.

Dr. Andy Rehfeld, the newly appointed president for the Reform movement’s seminary and graduate school, HUC-JIR, was an admired mentor and song leader of mine at Kutz Camp. For years, I toted around cassette tapes that recorded the entire NFTY Chordster, an encyclopedic “real book” for Reform Jewish song leaders. I used a Walkman, boom box and car stereo. I learned every single melody that Andy sang into that recording.

When I Googled Andy’s name, three or four other names from camp popped up – all are now rabbis, cantors, educators or other leaders. Kutz Camp was an incubator. It attracted teenagers from all over the United States, Canada, England, Israel and elsewhere. Through Kutz Camp, I had contacts all over the continent (and beyond) for quite awhile. When I went far away from home to attend Cornell University in upstate New York, I wasn’t alone! I went with several dear friends from camp.

I’m sad that Kutz Camp will close. It’s sited in a beautiful place, though the buildings were falling down even when I was there, around 30 years ago. However, just as online streaming has changed our options when it comes to attending services or Jewish learning online, it has also taken away the need for some families to send their kids away to camp.

But those face-to-face leadership incubators – Jewish summer camps – are priceless. I met people from all over the world at Kutz, just as I knew teenagers who did the same at USY, Habonim Dror and other camps.

We give up some things when we stay home. Maybe it’s the casual exchanges at shul that we miss. Or that we can’t hear everyone singing harmonies around us in the Kutz Camp congregation. Or perhaps it’s missing a lifelong friendship or even a spouse you might have met at camp. Sometimes, it’s just better to be there in person. (Assuming your car will start!)

Joanne Seiff has written for CBC Manitoba 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. See more about her at joanneseiff.blogspot.com.

Love the stranger, the “other”

Chanukah came early this year, and I hope you had a fun one. Now that it’s almost over, it can be a long dark vacation for those of us who do not observe anything on Dec. 25.

I say this because, although my family is clearly in the “Chanukah only” category, I know other families handle this differently. Some families are multifaith and observe several winter holidays. There are even (this was a surprise to me) Modern Orthodox Jewish families who have used Dec. 25 to create an entirely kosher Christmas dinner – because everyone had the same day off of work. Some Jewish people choose to observe aspects of Christian or pagan holidays, and, well, that’s up to them. It’s not the custom in my home, but we’re all lucky to be in a place where we are free to choose our own traditions.

A strange thing happened to me this fall. A friend of a friend put together a “women-owned businesses” shopping guide. It had a hashtag of #ShopWithHer. My work includes writing and editing, which can be hard to advertise. The other part is that I write downloadable knitting patterns. That means knitters, or those who love them, can go online and download a pattern I wrote for the price of a big cup of coffee. It’s not a huge earner, but I have a “woman-owned” business, so I asked to be included.

The emphasis of the guide’s creator was to highlight women and minorities. It was the week after the Pittsburgh massacre, so when I got to that question, I said something like, “I’m Jewish and an immigrant and now a dual-citizen. I moved from the U.S. to Canada.”

Why did I mention being Jewish? Jews are a minority in North America. While it has been popular in recent years to downplay any issues of our minority status, the truth is that there are still challenges to being Jewish here. For instance, violence like in Pittsburgh – and the assumption that, if we want to pray in peace, we should be hiring armed security.

If we just go back in history a little ways, we should think about quotas at universities, country clubs and other organizations that didn’t admit Jews at all. There were countless other places with no formal policy, but where folks made sure that we knew we didn’t belong.

For those who think that’s all in the past, I can say sarcastically, sure it is – my father’s university (Duke) had quotas when he attended it. The Women’s Junior League in Virginia did not accept “our kind” when I was a kid. The issue of “anti-Jewish” or antisemitic discrimination is not new, nor is it going away. The recent rise of hate crimes is well-documented in the news. Some American universities and colleges are canceling study-abroad programs to Israel, or their faculty members refuse to write letters of recommendation to Israeli study-abroad programs. I get e-newsletters from JTA and other Jewish organizations – and the news is clear.

When the #ShopWithHer guide came out, I was excited – and then shocked – to see my entry. Where other minorities were labeled “WOC” for “Woman of Colour” or “LGBT” or “Disabled,” mine read “Immigrant, Other.”

I’m proud of being Jewish and it’s not a part of my identity that I hide. I shouldn’t need to feel ashamed of it. I’m also well aware of our minority status, particularly when we’re surrounded by a holiday that celebrates the birth of another religion’s messiah. However, I didn’t include my business in this guide so I could be made “other” all over again. Why was I labeled “other”? Was it an attempt to protect me from hate? Or do I belong to a category that the guide’s creator didn’t feel was valid?

“Othering” isn’t my invention – if you’ve taken social science, religious or cultural studies, philosophy, history or other humanities classes at a university, you’ve likely heard of it. There are academic conferences and teacher in-services on the topic. A simple definition? It’s the action of deciding someone else is different or alien to you, “not one of us.” It’s a very primitive tribalism that helps people survive in adverse conditions. Some theorists think it references early human civilization, and others think it comes from times of war, famine and other natural disasters.

You can read about the “in group” of the Israelites and “others” in the Torah. There’s a lot of tribalism at work in some of our most common stories of identity. At the same time, we’re reminded, “You should love the stranger,” for “We were strangers in the land of Egypt.”

That’s right, Jewish tradition teaches us to love the “other.” In the face of increased hate crimes, discrimination and erasure, it can be hard work to keep reaching out and loving others. Perhaps it is ignorance that allows our identities to be ignored or disregarded; I’d like to think that, because the alternatives aren’t nearly as harmless.

It feels awful to have one’s own religious tradition erased. This time of year, it happens a lot. We’re faced with holiday greetings, music, customs, lights and foods that aren’t ours. When Chanukah is long over, it also feels ridiculous to wish someone or thank someone for a “Happy Chanukah,” even though it’s well-intentioned.

I’m still struggling with what to say to this shopping guide’s organizers. Saying nothing is an option, as is trying to engage in a dialogue. Maybe it’s enough to send along a copy of this column. There are so many ways to divide and diminish others, rather than celebrating and boosting our identities and differences. Chanukah is a holiday that, unmistakably and militantly, celebrates religious freedom. Perhaps it’s time for us to be our own modern version of Judah Maccabee, strong in the face of dangerous discrimination, but also trying to embrace the Jewish notion of loving the stranger rather than “othering” her.

Joanne Seiff writes regularly for CBC Manitoba 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. See more about her at joanneseiff.blogspot.com.

Sorting out playground fights

If you’ve got grade school-aged children, chances are they come home recounting fights on the playground and in their classrooms. Sometimes, it involves them, and other times, they are bystanders. There are kids who are hitting, name calling, mimicking and punching each other. The chasing and hurting seems to come out of the blue, or sometimes it has been expected and dreaded for way too long. People can be cruel to one another.

It might not come as a surprise that moms talk to each other about their children but, in the last couple of weeks, I’ve probably talked to four parents who have mentioned their worry or concerns. While it’s possible for some to pile on stereotypes about Jewish mothers, if you ignore all the nonsense, the underlying theme is simple for all parents. We’re trying to raise good, kind people and that’s why we devote so much effort and concern to it. We want healthy, happy children, and wonder how to keep them from killing each other.

Unfortunately, turning to traditional texts doesn’t always offer us solace. We’re not reading about happy families all the time when we read the weekly Torah portion – and, often, the rabbis’ commentary doesn’t soften the harsh responses in Genesis. For instance, when you read the stories about Joseph and his brothers, well, they were brutal to one another.

Joseph is his father’s favourite, and it’s no secret. Joseph doesn’t help matters – he tattles on his older brothers (Genesis 27:2). His dad makes him fancy clothing, too, so it is obvious he is getting preferential treatment.

Joseph’s brothers strip him of his clothes and throw him in a pit and, if that’s not bad enough, they sell him as a slave. Even Reuben, who hopes to fix things, cannot stop his brothers when they are dead-set on doing harm.

Of course, many commentators rush to point out how forgiving Joseph is and that, later, as a powerful man in Egypt, he saves his whole family in a time of famine. Yet Joseph misleads his brothers about who he is; he kidnaps his brothers. Well, the summary is that this is a complex story with difficult characters. It can be hard to figure out who is in the right here, and if anyone behaves well, after all.

Zooming back to the playground, there are some startling comparisons. When the kids race up and start telling the parents that this kid hit that one, this kid is bad, etc., it can be hard to untangle the story. Often, too, the kid who throws the first punch didn’t do it out of the blue. If you provoke someone enough, particularly a kid who hasn’t quite mastered self-control, someone’s probably going to fight back.

There are a few conclusions I can make in comparing this important biblical narrative with a parent’s everyday one. First, it’s complicated. It is way too simplistic to think that one child is a perfect blameless angel and the other the nasty bad person. This isn’t how relationships and people work.

Second, untangling the story can take awhile. It’s important to learn everybody’s point of view before deciding what actually happened. Sometimes, it’s crucial not to just trust those in authority to be omnipotent and sort things out. An example? I got an official report home one day that one of my kids punched another kid. (We were really upset with him.) Days later, I found out from another child that the reason why mine acted out was because other kids were copying my kid, making fun of him and pretending to be him in an unkind way, behind his back. While I might not condone punching somebody in the nose, I sometimes can understand how it might happen if I hear the details of what exactly transpired.

Third, making peace is a multi-step process. The wronged party may need to work through a few things before the situation can be resolved. This takes time and fair judgments like Solomon’s. It can feel beyond a parent’s capabilities!

Finally, when following the story of Joseph and his brothers, we learn that they worked it out. Joseph helps feed his family and saves them – but it’s not a narrative of instant forgiveness and affection. Jealousy, unequal treatment and violence? It’s all in there.

Sometimes the complicated family dramas of Genesis demonstrate that even tangled and dangerous altercations can be resolved. It’s a reminder that everyone – kids, too – can get over their intrigue, fights and disagreements and forgive one another. Forgiveness doesn’t mean we forget everything about the complicated characters who are our friends, relatives and classmates. It might mean that, while we can’t change the past, we can get beyond it to build better future experiences together.

While I mulled this over, my husband pointed out something further. When we must rely on our families or our (smaller) Jewish communities, we must work together on many crucial issues of survival. We can’t change the past interactions or bad behaviours that may have taken place in a family or congregation. We can’t go back in time to repair or undo those wrongs, but we can drop the rancour to work together towards shared future goals. Joseph – and those playground reconciliations – show us that history is just history, not destiny.

A heartening message to hear

“I’m writing this while the victims are still being buried at the Tree of Life congregation in Pittsburgh. This period, just after any death, is a hard time, and lot of meaningful things have been said in the media already. The worst part about this rise in hatred and violence is that it was entirely predictable. In fact, I wrote about it in November 2016, in an opinion piece for the CBC in a piece called “Keep your passports up to date.”

On the day of the Pittsburgh shooting, I walked to synagogue in Winnipeg, where I live, with one of my twins to go to services. The other kid had the “I’m grouchy” sniffles and stayed home with his dad. We had a marvelous Shabbat “date” together. It was only when I got home and we were eating lunch together that my husband said, “Don’t turn on the radio or TV news.” That’s how I knew something really bad had happened.

By Sunday morning, we all needed to blow off some steam. I took my kids to the brand new accessible playground at Winnipeg’s Grant Park. It’s right near the Pan Am Pool building. After 45 minutes of bone-chilling playground duty, I grabbed both boys by the hand and steered them towards the car. That’s when I saw the graffiti on a door to a mechanical room for the pool. It was a big Jewish star – and inside it was a swastika.

I went to the pool front desk at 11:15, both kids in tow, and reported it. Then, I went home and reported it, with the help of a friend, to 311, to B’nai Brith, to the editor of the Jewish Post and News and to the police. This wasn’t an active emergency, so I called the non-emergency phone number. It took more than 30 minutes to get through to the police. When I did, they said, “Well, it’s on the Pan Am’s property, they have to report it.” I got nowhere, and it was time to take my kids to their piano lesson.

I’ve learned since having kids that you can’t just put them on pause and ask them to wait around. I had to keep going with life. I also didn’t want my whole day to be about somebody’s hate graffiti. I briefly mentioned my concerns about the exchange with the police to my non-Jewish friend, Kirsten, in Brandon, Man. She apparently posted it on Facebook. Within a short time, seven Winnipeg friends of hers reported the graffiti and, get this, two American friends called long-distance. They both live in Pennsylvania: one in Philadelphia, and one in Pittsburgh.

By the time piano lessons were over at 2:15, Ran Ukashi was following up on behalf of B’nai Brith. The graffiti had been painted over.

At the end of the weekend, I felt exhausted with emotions, as I’m sure many did. My parents, who live in Virginia, send video clips to my kids, as a way of keeping up with them from afar. Their video for Monday morning was heartening. They showed “just a regular” Sunday evening at their congregation. Multiple meetings and events were scheduled, and Jewish life went on as usual – aside from the evening service, which included an impromptu memorial service.

Then I was contacted via an online forum by an online acquaintance from Quebec, a (non-Jewish) Canadian named Esther. She moved here from Germany. She felt worried. She told me she wanted to be an ally, to support and reach out, and then she gave me her full name, address and phone number. “Just in case … for an emergency,” she said.

At our community’s memorial service, the sanctuary was so full that I stood for half of it. There were hundreds of people who could not get inside, it was too crowded. There were probably more than a thousand people there, including every kind of Winnipegger. Sikhs, Muslims, Christians, women in hijabs, priests in their clerical collars – everyone. Also there were the mayor, the police chief and many other “important” political people. All there to support the Jewish community.

The service was like a Jewish funeral, but, instead of one person, we were mentioning Tree of Life congregation in Pittsburgh and doing a prayer or two for healing, peace and hope. It was a good moment to be a Canadian.

This morning, we got a video from my folks about their official memorial service, also held on Tuesday, Oct. 30. Like ours, it was completely packed to overflowing with good people who came together, from all religions, from all over the area, to support the northern Virginia Jewish community.

I wondered what to write about, and mentioned it to Kirsten. She was visiting with her dad, Bruce McFarlane, a retired professor of sociology, who is in a care home there. He recalled, with pleasure, spending time with Chassidic families at their celebrations in Montreal. His response?

“What can one write after this week? Honestly, I thought this world would have been better by the time I got this old!” Later, he said, “I’m tired of the violence. Why is it still happening?” And, finally, he wished me peace. He wished peace to me and my family.

This has been a hard time, and I can’t do any better than what Prof. McFarlane said. Jewish tradition has many prayers for peace, hope and healing, and there’s no better way to commemorate the lives lost in Pittsburgh than to find yourself a place (at a shul or wherever you worship) to say those prayers. It’s a good moment to stand tall, surround yourself with community and be counted and comforted.

I’ve been heartened by the ad hoc support the Jewish community has been offered from everyone around us during this difficult time. If someone offers you support, please say thank you. I know I sure appreciate it. I have felt so grateful to hear others tell me, out of the blue, “I have your back.”

Torah ’n’ This Old House

(thisoldhouse.com)

My kids have developed a fascination with the PBS TV show This Old House. They love watching how old houses are fixed, restored and cared for by these talented workmen. I have always liked this show, too, and, as it goes, this is a pretty safe way to share “adult” TV programming with 7-year-olds.

Over Thanksgiving, one of my boys decided that we should all sit on the couch. Mommy would help one boy with his knitting and the other with his crochet and we would watch this show. Well? It would be a great weekend. (This kid also suggested we eat potatoes, noodles and rice for dinner, thus creating the ultimate “couch potato” scenario!)

While this may just be a funny episode in our family life, it’s a good reminder that we’re all quirky folk. My family might be different but, in reading the weekly Torah portions from Simchat Torah onwards in Genesis, we learn that, historically, the Jewish people originate from interesting stock. So, if we look to our ancestors (way, way back) to inform our understanding of ourselves, that might be a good thing.

There’s plenty of negativity in Genesis (Bereishit) in terms of how people behave towards one another. It’s a reminder, without giving a list of every kind of licentious or bad behaviour, that we have the capacity to do each other great harm. There are murders and sexual assaults. There are also people held up as role models, despite their flaws.

There are Abraham and Sarah, who welcome in guests, make them bread and offer them hospitality, and then Sarah demonstrates that having a sense of humour goes a long way. When told she would give birth to Isaac as an old woman, she laughs. This was a great response in many ways – she has a healthy sense of both humour and skepticism about the world.

There’s Rebecca, who offers (more) hospitality to Abraham’s servant. Isaac is so respectful of his father that he follows him up Mount Moriah to do a sacrifice – even when it seems clear that he will be killed.

Genesis offers one story after another. Each one deserves examination. However, when doing a quick reading through several of these episodes, I saw how different the characters are from one another. Some individuals struggle with what they learn from G-d, and some are believers. Others, like the people of Sodom and Gomorrah, are deemed irretrievably flawed, but Lot’s wife, who is initially saved, is too curious or doubtful, and turns to salt anyway.

I pondered some of this as we watched the guys from This Old House go to Texas to help after Hurricane Harvey hit Houston. We described the terrible flooding from hurricanes and boat rescues to our kids in ways they would understand, so we talked about Noah and the ark. On another episode, we learned that one of the young apprentices on the show had passed away in his sleep, from a longtime medical condition. He was age 18. So we paused the TV show. We talked about how he worked hard and did a good job, and his family and the people he worked with – all loved him. That his death was a shock and very sad, but that we believe, as Jewish people, that when a person’s body is buried, his soul goes up to be with G-d.

There is no perfect way to talk about life-threatening storms or untimely death. Though we try to shield our kids from the hardest things in the news, truth be told, the gentle teaching of the craftsmen and parents on This Old House was just right for my kids to understand. Between very basic Torah stories and real-life events, we had a lot of help in talking about these hard issues.

Even as an adult, sorting through the stories in Genesis seems daunting, just as coping with the news has been. My husband and I have both lived in places where we’ve experienced tornadoes and hurricanes. I wish I could spare others the experience of waiting in the cellar until the storm passes. However, I’ve been struck by the commonalities I’ve seen between our weekly Torah portions and these challenges.

It’s important, when facing adversity, to offer generous hospitality and kindness to those around you.
It’s good to give respect to your elders and those who might be able to lead you through hard experiences.
Being a resourceful “maker,” someone who builds or creates what he or she needs during an emergency, can save a life or bring forth life.
A sense of humour can help us through really difficult challenges.

People who suffer through losing everything during life-threatening situations like hurricanes and tornadoes are just like everyone else. They’re individuals, who may be quirky or kind, who do good and bad things. It can be hard to relate to their situation and remember that beyond all our differences and preferences, they are just like you and me.

We read Genesis every year at synagogue. We revisit these ancestors and remember how they persevered through difficult experiences. It’s a chance to imagine yourself not just as Abraham or Isaac, but as Hagar, abandoned with an infant, or Keturah, a second wife. We can be Noah’s family in the flood, just as many hurricane survivors might have felt.

Religious traditions interpret these biblical stories in different ways, but in watching This Old House, we see people rebuild homes after a hurricane, and how they offer each other food, water, tools and other necessities. This reminds me that some lessons are the same for everybody. Hospitality, kindness, respect, resourcefulness and a good sense of humour – whether you learn them from Genesis or from fix-it shows on TV, they help bring us together in positive ways.

We must care for the earth

Some Jewish communities see making eco-friendly choices as the Jewish and socially conscious thing to do. I’ve also participated in Jewish meals and events in which environmental choices were the farthest thing from anyone’s mind. In fact, as they cheerfully dump hundreds of disposable paper products and plastic tablecloths into the garbage, I’ve heard people say that this “social action nonsense” is all some liberal craziness that doesn’t have much to do with Jewish practice.

Sometimes, as families grow more comfortable financially, the notions of reuse and salvage seem less attractive. However, for many of us, junk yards and scrap peddling are an important part of our immigrant past. All this came up in conversation recently with my husband.

As we walked past a neighbour’s renovation, there was a 100-year-old wooden door in a rain-sodden trash heap. We’ve been to architectural salvage places in the past, looking for these doors because they match everything else in our old house. They’re well-made and last a long time. Even second-hand, they aren’t cheap. My husband commented that too many folks feel that, “if I can’t use it, it isn’t useful.”

We contrasted this with a famous family story. As a kid, my husband’s family travelled to Toronto to see their Lubavitcher relatives. On the way home to upstate New York, they carried an unusual gift across the border. They strapped a steel security door on top of their car – a gift from a cousin’s scrap yard. In our families, old-school values still ring true. If you need a door and you can get a perfectly good used one, why not?

While Jewish families often cross borders and levels of Jewish practice and observance, how often do we think about the cause and effect of our actions when it comes to the environment?

I began thinking about this more particularly when my kids learned brachot (blessings) at preschool. Each time we thanked G-d for something that grew from a tree, a vine or the ground, we were acknowledging the power and importance of the earth for our well-being.

When attending services, we pray all winter, from Shemini Atzeret through to Passover, for wind to blow and rain to fall. But what if the rain is polluted? What if our lakes, rivers and oceans are filled with microplastics waste?

We need to focus on how we can reduce our consumption and increase our reuse of what we’ve got. If we thank the Almighty and appreciate the earth’s healthy produce, how do we reconcile that, for instance, with the mounds of plastic we create with packaging, disposable cups and bottles, and more? Most of our recycling products travel to China to be processed. Lately, China has gotten stricter in what it will accept. This means that more of our low-quality waste ends up in a landfill here at home. Current research shows it ends up in our water and bodies, too.

The next logical step of our concern is how we vote. If we vote for candidates who support environmental initiatives (the use, for instance, of compostable bags or a plastic bag ban), we vote our values at the polls. Of course, most of us don’t make voting decisions merely on one issue, but what’s the point of voting for someone whose views contradict what we pray about?

These are big issues, and not easily covered in one column. Still, I see reasons to be optimistic. I’ve noticed that some congregations have shifted their usage of plastic. Maybe Kiddush is being served in glass shot glasses instead of plastic cups, or folks are offered ceramic coffee mugs rather than Styrofoam at events. Some Jewish groups do tikkun olam (fixing the world) activities, cleaning up parks or waterfront areas. Others offer digital bulletins or newsletters rather than printing hardcopies and mailing them.

Some say that individuals can’t make any difference; it’s big polluters that we need to stop. Yes, we need to address big pollution as well as practising small-scale change. When you make an effort to reuse, recycle and responsibly discard your waste, it matters. It’s obvious when walking up a back lane that much of this happens one water bottle or overflowing trash can at a time.

We certainly have a lot of business opportunity in Canada, too. We’ve got lots of Hydro “clean” electricity for processing. I wonder what the next stage of the long Jewish tradition of reuse (scrap yards and junk peddling) might be. In the meantime, start with your next big holiday meal. Could you skip the paper plates or Styrofoam coffee cups and wash some dishes instead?

There is no sense in teaching our kids to say thank you for what they eat and how it grows, or how to be grateful for rain, if we don’t make an effort to keep the world alive and healthy for future generations. Is this a Jewish value or a human one? If we are truly “a light unto the nations” as Jews, we must do this work, and show others how to do it. We can innovate on these earth-saving issues here, educate others elsewhere and pass this knowledge on. We may find ourselves buried under a mountain of plastics and garbage if we don’t.