Joanne Seiff – Page 20

Lifelong Jewish relationships

Awhile back, I was talking on the phone to my mom in Virginia. Oh, she said, your dad is busy. He’s out at the cemetery. It turned out that he had taken one of my brothers with him. The two of them used their fix-it skills to mend a broken gravestone. The next time I visited the Jewish cemetery in Alexandria, Va., my dad pointed out the neatly mended marker. The person had died 100 years before. Despite good records, they couldn’t find any surviving family to maintain the gravestone. So, my dad and brother stepped up to the job.

Reading the Torah portion for this Shabbat, Chayei Sarah (Sarah’s Life), Genesis 21:1-25:18, makes me think about this cemetery story. This week’s portion is full of family lifecycle events. Here’s a quick summary from the ReformJudaism.org website:

Abraham purchases the cave of Machpelah in order to bury his wife Sarah. (23:1-20)
Abraham sends his servant to find a bride for Isaac. (24:1-9)
Rebekah shows her kindness by offering to draw water for the servant’s camels at the well. (24:15-20)
The servant meets Rebekah’s family and then takes Rebekah to Isaac, who marries her. (24:23-67)
Abraham takes another wife, named Keturah. At the age of 175, Abraham dies, and Isaac and Ishmael bury him in the cave of Machpelah. (25:1-11)

There is so much in this portion that it’s lucky we reread it every year. The first thing I noticed is how the Hittites, who owned the land around Machpelah, honoured Abraham. They valued him so much that they tried to give him the burial land for free – but Abraham honoured them back, and made an effort to pay for it. This exchange reminded me of how careful we need to be in managing Jewish burial sites. My mom has often had the opportunity to help families who need a cemetery plot and don’t have one. “Real estate” in Jewish cemeteries can be expensive. Sometimes it’s hard to get a spot when there’s an unexpected family death. The bottom line? Nobody comes out of this alive, so let’s help each other when dealing with death.

Next issue: finding the right life partner. Abraham works hard to find Isaac the right wife. Although love matches are usual these days, your family’s opinion is often pretty useful in making such a big choice. Rebekah makes a good impression.

Abraham then remarries. Rashi indicates that Keturah is actually Hagar, although other commentators disagree. In any case, this brings up another issue. Some people vilify Hagar, but here it seems that some believe she and Abraham are actually a likely couple. They go on to have several more children. How does that work? When one marries again and has more children, does parenting differ? Do religious differences work themselves out? How is it that some people outlaw intermarriage, and refuse to incorporate kids from intermarried families, when it was clearly prevalent in the Bible?

When Abraham dies, Ishmael helps Isaac bury him. However, Isaac’s name is mentioned first. Why? Some rabbis indicate this is because Ishmael repented and acknowledged Isaac’s superiority, even though Ishmael is older. Others indicate that, since Sarah was Abraham’s wife, her son should go first, before Hagar’s. While this sort of discussion about whose name is first seems out of date, we need only look at the succession of the British (Commonwealth) monarchy to acknowledge that we still look at birth order with some importance. How has our view of this changed over time?

Also, if Ishmael is the father of Islam, was this an interfaith funeral? Or just two brothers who loved their father?

This week’s portion also relates to Remembrance Day. How do we dal with profound issues of life and death? How do we confront mortality, embrace issues of loyalty and honour, while embracing our family responsibilities to the living? What are our priorities? Why?

As my family walked through that old cemetery in Virginia, we passed familiar names on gravestones. My dad told stories about the different family friends he knew during their lives. My uncle, visiting from Boston, chimed in. The conversation continued. We also celebrated another important milestone in life with my uncle. He and his high school friend Don were celebrating 50 years of friendship this year, too.

Someone recently said that my newspaper columns are about relationships. I’d suggest that the primary relationship I explore here is with Judaism. Many of us associate our religion with other people, in a sort of club or tribe mentality. However, what if we saw it as a tool? Imagine Judaism as a tool that helps us navigate life’s events and how to behave with others.

If so, we can often use a Torah portion as a guide – just as we might do with other kinds of literature or non-fiction – on how to respectfully bury our dead, and maintain meaningful relationships with family members and also in the wider Jewish and non-Jewish communities. We can offer support, as the Hittites did, in a time of grief. We can build new or rekindle relationships, as Abraham did with Keturah.

Sometimes, doing the right thing might mean repairing a gravestone for someone who is long gone. Maintaining long relationships with friends or with communities takes a different kind of work – emotional as well as physical upkeep. Do we put the same amount of effort into our relationship with understanding Judaism as well?

Joanne Seiff writes regularly for CBC Manitoba and is a regular columnist for Winnipeg’s Jewish Post and News. She is the author of the book 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.

Need for interfaith learning

Have you heard about the sacred text in which the Almighty says, “Stand back from this community so that I may annihilate them in an instant?”

What about the king who gives permission to a people “to destroy, kill and annihilate the powers of any people or province that oppressed them, [even] young children and women, and to take their spoils.”

How do you feel about stoning a rebellious child?

That isn’t our religion! That’s not Judaism. It must be from some other religion’s holy book, right? Wrong. Actually, these come directly from the Tanach. Respectively: Numbers 16:21, Esther 8:11 and Deuteronomy 21:18.

Religious literature – heck, all literature – has concepts that might shock or offend. What about ideas that one doesn’t understand? Many educated people don’t read these sections as the literal truth. Thousands of years of commentators, in all religions, help us understand ideas that perhaps don’t make sense to modern sensibilities. These uncomfortable statements are sometimes proving a point by hyperbole, or creating metaphorical relationships to prove a point.

Many of us don’t take literature or anything we read – never mind the Torah – literally. We also know that, when something seems dubious, we should look it up. Use a dictionary, an online encyclopedia or even … a book.

Awhile back, an acquaintance sitting at a Shabbat table said something that seemed outrageous about Islam. His language and vehemence made me wish that there weren’t kids playing nearby. The man insisted he quoted the Koran correctly – nonetheless I felt concerned. Was he taking it out of context or distorting the point? When I got home, I looked it up. How? Easy, I have a copy of the Koran on my bookshelf. I took a whole course on the Koran as an undergraduate at Cornell.

Much of the time, we are too gullible. We believe what we read or hear from others or what we see reported in the news. We take it as true without thinking about it critically. We’re not always thinking about the words used in media reports … was the killer in Las Vegas a “lone wolf” or a “terrorist”? Does religion or race matter when it comes to how the media portrayed him? It does matter. A white man with Christian origins often doesn’t get called a terrorist or an extremist.

In that vein, many – including politicians and media commentators – feel free to make comments about Islam without actually reading the Koran. That sometimes results in a pretty skewed understanding of that faith tradition. Why am I talking about Islam? We live in a multicultural society. It’s important to know about our traditions and those of our neighbours.

Recently, Dr. Ruth Ashrafi gave a series of lectures to Catholics in Winnipeg about Judaism and the New Testament. She did it in connection with the Manitoba Interfaith Council, an important community organization. The president of the Interfaith Council is Belle Jarniewski, another member of the Jewish community.

These types of outreach efforts benefit everyone. Both Christianity and Islam have Jewish roots. Many Christians and Muslims want to learn more about Judaism. Further, Jews could learn a thing or two about others’ beliefs. Mutual understanding and education go a long way towards bridging differences and building on our common values. Ignorance breeds hate. We could all do with less of that, so let’s work on education.

It is easy to get whipped into a fervour when dealing with media reports or reading the newest bestselling polemical book about another people’s faith traditions. Yet, we aren’t experts in those traditions – unless we start from the beginning, read their holy texts, understand their customs, holidays and values before reading the newest polemic. Most of us aren’t even experts in our own traditions. When I was required to read the Hebrew Bible from beginning to end in graduate school, there were definitely upsetting things I read that I hadn’t known before. I had to read commentaries (both Jewish and non-Jewish ones) in order to get a better grip on what it contained.

I’m reminded, when seeing hot media rhetoric, of how my twins tell me about one of their fights. I hear the dramatic narrative from one side, and an entirely different tale from the other. The truth – or my understanding of their fight – lies somewhere in between all the different versions of their stories.

A friend of mine reads the news in multiple languages. If he has particular interest in one issue, he might use one piece of paper to take notes from all the international news sources. When he’s finished, he has created something like a Venn diagram. The news everyone seems to agree on, no matter the language or political agenda of the news source, is somewhere in the middle.

It’s only through study, asking questions and gaining knowledge that we become educated enough to understand difficult conflicts, religious disputes and political issues. We’d benefit from the programming of organizations such as the Manitoba Interfaith Council. As well, we can take time to read our sacred texts and others’ holy books in order to understand ourselves and our neighbours better.

Living an upright life as a Jew includes seriously taking responsibility for engaging with our foundational texts. Then, maybe, we’ll be living out our mandate as the People of the Book.

The next time you read a polemic against someone else’s religion (or your own) or hear a skewed media report and believe it without further research, remember that Venn diagram as a way towards better understanding.

We’re People of the Book. Maybe it’s time to crack some open? We can always learn more.

Jewish routines help us cope

At 7 a.m., I came downstairs on a school morning and discovered that one of my 6-year-old twins was busy. He’d filled up a container with water so he could watch his expandable water toys grow – again. After the toys grow enormously in the water, we dump out the water. We let them dry and shrink and put them away for a month. This is a frequently repeated ritual in our house. Any good science experiment is one worth repeating, right?

Good teaching requires frequent repetition. Life, it seems, is also probably the best teacher. I’ve been thinking about how to cope with and learn from the repetition of the Jewish calendar as it applies to life’s ups and downs.

One of our dogs, Harry, has been very ill with lymphosarcoma. By the time you read this column, Harry, aged 13 and a half, may no longer be with us. For people who have animals, you know how hard this transition can be. Yes, there are all sorts of veterinary interventions for pets now, but this cycle of life and death can’t be avoided. Although, historically, some Jews have lived in cities, away from animals, Jews have also lived, worked and loved animals on farms, in villages, towns and cities. The Talmud teaches us that we must feed our animals before we eat. More generally, Jewish tradition teaches that we must treat animals humanely, and cannot allow an animal to suffer unnecessarily. (This applies even in kashrut, to animals we eat.)

Harry’s illness requires our kids to be careful. Our dog is very sore, and cries out sometimes at night, which wakes up the little boys. We’ve been slowly introducing the topic of dying at odd moments, when we sense our kids need to talk. Jewish tradition has supportive rituals for illness, death and burial. While these aren’t necessarily applicable to our bird dog, it’s a useful way of remembering that our tradition gives us help during times of illness, death, and in mourning.

The timing of all this has also hit my husband and me. When we pray to be inscribed in the Book of Life, both of us recall relatives who passed away around the time of the High Holidays in years past. If you keep track of the Jewish calendar (as well as the secular one), you may connect Jewish holidays with your personal history, such as associating, as I do, Kol Nidre with the death of a great-uncle, who was walking home from shul when it happened.

Tying our lives to the Jewish calendar and to these mourning rituals helps us connect to generations of Jews who came before us, who mourned people (and animals) and who made an effort to live with joy as best they could.

Recently, my husband and I became Canadian citizens. We juggled our citizenship ceremony with three trips to the vet in one day. At the ceremony, the official suggested we would always remember the date. Instead, I wondered if I could forget Harry’s medical needs while we were at the ceremony.

When we got home, we chose to celebrate becoming Canadian. Friends came over. They’d planned to meet our kids after school if we were late getting back from the ceremony, but we all gathered together instead. My husband got us a cake from Eva’s Gelato, and Marcello, one of the (Jewish Argentine) owners, insisted on a big cake – because our citizenship was a big thing! (Thank you, Eva’s!)

As Sukkot and Thanksgiving occur, we have this opportunity to reflect, with gratitude, on the amazing things we have. We can be thankful for plentiful harvests and food, for the opportunity to celebrate outside with our families and friends before winter hits, and for our good times, together.

Watching those silly toys expand in the water generated memories of other holidays and happy occasions. When we lived in Kentucky, we were fairly isolated and did not have many Jewish friends nearby. However, we mail-ordered a lulav and etrog, and we built our sukkah on a brick patio in our backyard.

Over the years, we had some big Sukkot dinner parties there. We lit candles, as it was dark in the sukkah, and we would eat a fancy meal with some (non-Jewish) friends to celebrate. Meanwhile, in the yard, just beyond the sukkah, the fancy table setting outside and the lights, I saw that our bird dogs, Harry (the setter mix) and Sally (the pointer mix), were doing every kind of rambunctious (and embarrassing) and loud dog play. Our guests were biology professors, like my husband. They laughed, making jokes about how to observe and understand dog behaviour, before returning to enjoying their meal and time outdoors. Harry the dog stopped roughhousing so he could chase crickets as they hopped about on the bricks.

We use ritual and holidays to mark time passing, and to observe our traditions in many ways. The Jewish calendar can help us embrace both the hard times and the sweet and memorable happy ones.

Harry the dog has been a laidback, playful, loving and opinionated part of our household, much like his movie namesake in When Harry Met Sally. I’m hoping to hold onto the dancing lights, those fall sukkot and the young, cricket-chasing dog. I’m remembering the frolicking while doing my utmost to ease the last days of an elderly, sick dog.

Chag Sukkot sameach.

Joanne Seiff writes regularly for CBC Manitoba and is a regular columnist for Winnipeg’s Jewish Post and News. She the author of the book, 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 on joanneseiff.blogspot.com.

Trying to be gracious of spirit

My family recently came back from a trip to Alberta. My husband (a professor) helped run a conference at the University of Calgary. We took our twins and went on vacation, too. I won’t lie. I felt intimidated about managing a strange city on my own with two active 6-year-olds, but I planned like crazy. Due to some lucky breaks, it went well.

More than once, I was reassured by a comforting sense of community. The first day, we took the fancy mini-van (an unexpected rental car upgrade) and it began to ding. A tire was low. I worried. I warned my kids that we might have to stop – if I could find a gas station – and check the air on the tire. Before I’d managed that, we’d arrived at Heritage Park.

We were surprised to find the Montefiore Institute (original 1916 prairie synagogue) had been moved there. The living-history interpreter sang Yiddish folk songs to us. She’d been raised in Winnipeg, where I now live. However, the most comforting thing? The man next to me as we watched our children on the kiddy rides. He said the new car sensors were overly sensitive and that if I checked the tires, I might find nothing wrong. (We did. He was right.)

On the way out, I mistakenly turned down an (empty) one-way street. A woman yelled, “Wrong way! Wrong way!” and frightened us terribly. I apologized to her. I figured out the problem and turned around. She, too, was looking out for me.

Next day, we were at the zoo – enjoying the eclipse and how it made crescent-shaped shadows on the pavement – with my friend and her baby. We commiserated about how scary it is to be raising kids. We want to help them be strong in what is suddenly a more threatening environment for minorities. She also waited, smiling, while my kids and I recited a brachah (blessing) I’d found online over the wonder of seeing the eclipse. My friend is Muslim. Her parents were born in Jerusalem.

In Drumheller, at the Royal Tyrrell Museum, my kids had a blast until exhaustion hit. It was very hot. We dragged them out in mid-tantrum. In the parking lot, my husband handed the expensive tickets to another family to use. We ended up at a restaurant. Everything was better after eating in air conditioning. On the way out, I apologized to the senior citizens near us if we had disrupted their meal. They smiled graciously. One mentioned that everyone had been a kid once.

On our day trip to Banff, we wandered into a theatre. We were the only people attending a magnificent children’s show, filled with dancing animals and an amazing set done by artist Jason Carter. The performers said, “Be our guest!” It turned out we saw an $80 show for free.

Why am I telling you this? In recent issues of the Jewish Post & News, some have commented on a child who happened to go up on the bimah (pulpit) of a congregation during services. Some bemoaned how children are poorly behaved in “adult” restaurants and theatres, as well.

While I would be the first to ask children to try to behave and to suggest that synagogues develop good Jewish programming options for them, the thing is, a synagogue isn’t a theatre or a restaurant. A shul is a house of learning, community and prayer. Who should learn to pray in a loving community? Kids.

During my trip, I encountered embarrassing learning moments (“Wrong way!”) and moments of gracious compassion. (“We were all kids.”) I also consistently had my kids in public, in theatres and restaurants, where I worked awfully hard to make sure they behaved – and those around me were big enough to understand the challenges of the task.

I wasn’t sure what to write for this column. Late last night, I lay awake, near an open window. Noise kept me up. Adults were laughing and shouting on a nearby patio of an upscale restaurant as they drank. In warm weather, this happens several times a week. I was tempted to march out in my pajamas to tell them to be quiet so I could sleep but, instead, I tried to be more understanding. I didn’t call the cops.

To those who would say that this child disrupted them during services, I suggest to perhaps be a little more generous of spirit. Synagogue is about community. That means it’s not just about “me” and what I should get out of the experience. It’s about what we can offer each other – as we learn, pray and support each other. Sometimes, it’s challenging, embarrassing, hard or sad and, you know, that’s life. It’s not a fancy dinner with cocktails, or an expensive concert.

Rosh Hashanah is upon us. It’s time to evaluate how we can aim higher and do better next year. There are plenty of things for which I can atone, things I haven’t done well and want to do better. Meanwhile, I just heard from old friends (who went to Cornell University as undergrads with me) who live in Houston. They are OK. Their house is OK. But, in their brief email, they relayed such horrible stories about flooding and drowning all around them. They mentioned that they were trying to help those nearby who were less fortunate.

We’re so very lucky, I thought. That random community of helpers is so important, whether in Houston or Calgary or Winnipeg. It helped me through a big first vacation on my own in an unfamiliar city with kids. Those people lifted me up and helped me do it, despite the challenges. My friends survived a major hurricane, and they were going to help gut a friend’s flooded house. Upon reflection, I’d say, we can all be that “better person” and help out.

Next time a kid acts out? Smile. Meet the family. Ask if you can chase her down the aisle to give the parents a five-minute break. Heaven knows they need it.

Wishing you a sweet, happy, productive, meaningful 5778.

Joanne Seiff, a regular columnist for Winnipeg’s Jewish Post and News, is the author of a new book, From the Outside In: Jewish Post Columns 2015-2016. This collection of essays is available for digital download, or as a paperback from Amazon. See more about her on joanneseiff.blogspot.com.

Teach it to your children

You’re reading the weekly congregational email. Something radical seems to have happened. Within a week, everything has changed. Well, maybe the format seems the same, ready to lull you into “services this week, events, make a donation …” but then it hits you. It’s like a revolution happened. Instead of the regular schedule, where the adult service is happening at 8 p.m. Friday night, and davening starts at 9:30 Saturday morning, it’s all changed. Imagine this:

Come for our weekly great Kabbalat Shabbat service at 4:45! Join us for prayers, story time, snack, dancing and singing. The service ends by 5:45, followed by an Oneg Shabbat with fruit, veggies, cheese cubes, challah and grape juice.

Want to stay up later? Join us in the sanctuary for a summer camp-style sing-along of Shabbat music and study the Torah portion with the rabbi and your friends.

On Saturday morning, daven with us! Services begin at 8:45, with morning prayers, movement activities, another great story (with a picture book!) and three dances to help us learn new psalms. We’ll learn the Torah portion of the week, act out some of it, and end with a rousing Adon Olam. Let’s march around and pretend we’re playing in a band.

Services end by 10:30. We’ll provide a healthy Kiddush snack, including whole grain crackers, juice and water, lots of fruits and veggies, and more. (It’s a nut-free environment, but feel free to bring along dairy or pareve snacks to share.)

If the weather’s good, after snack, let’s play outside at the shul playground. If not, we’ll run in the shul gym so you can get tired before going home to have a big Shabbat lunch and nap.

In the evening, join us for Havdalah at the shul at 5! We’ll be serving pizza and salad, with cookies for dessert. (Click here for costs, to register and for the Jewish movie of the week.) After dinner, we’ll be showing a G or PG movie in the gym for families who want to stay out late.

Also there’s a Saturday evening study session. This week: Jewish advice for managing our busy modern family life, at 6:30 in the library. (Free.)

Note: If doing the rabbi’s Saturday evening study session, please be sure one parent or friend is in the gym to supervise your offspring and enjoy the movie together.

Reminders: On Sunday morning, the shul opens bright and early as usual for religious school, yoga for parents, coffee klatch and the usual lecture series after the morning minyan.

Our congregational soup kitchen, visit to the local Jewish seniors centre, nursing facilities and once-a-month cemetery clean-up all meet on Sunday afternoons. (Cemetery group, next week is our hike at the lake, so bring your boots and bathing suit and we’ll see you on the bus – we might let others attend if there is room! Click here to register.)

See you then!

* * *

OK, as you read this, you’re thinking, this is all well and good for those few young families out there. I mean, maybe my children or grandchildren might go sometimes? But, for me, well, I feel left out. This doesn’t seem like what I’m used to.

But consider the model some congregations still use: Join us for a family Shabbat dinner! (It happens only once or twice a year.) Services start by 5:30. Food is offered, one course at a time, starting after 7. There’s no finger food or even challah on the table. The kids’ food comes after the salad course. Parents who don’t want to create a scene take their children home long before dessert is served to avoid a train wreck…. And nobody wants to come back.

Should Jewish life be all about young families? Well, no. We shouldn’t give up traditional services or customs, but the V’ahavta says “we should teach it [Judaism] to our children.” How do you do that better, so there will be Jews a generation from now? Should your congregation include positive experiences for younger people? Does that create a plan for the future?

Based on a random sampling of kids’ events in my Jewish community (Winnipeg) over the last six years, here’s a generic sampling of what I’ve seen.

If a shul schedules a Tot Shabbat irregularly – although kids thrive on routine – it happens during kid dinnertime or even at bedtime. If your preschooler eats dinner at 5:30 and is in bed at 7:30, how does that service at 6:15 work for you? Hear any angry screaming in that sanctuary?

How about the big kid events scheduled for 1-3 p.m.? Many kids are grouchy creatures around then. We love naps. If we’re skipping them, well, the activity had better be fabulous … and tolerant of crying, hitting and screaming.

Many congregations do a great job of integrating families into their activities and planning. Instead of having kids’ events as an afterthought once a year, most events are designed with whole families in mind … and preschool activities meet the needs of families with babies and small kids.

Teenagers and adults have relevant events. People of all ages have good family programming, too. Sometimes, this is all the same service. Can kids have roles in the service, like saying the Shema or leading a song? Can kids’ restless behaviour be tolerated at the same level as we tolerate adults’ conversation and restless behaviour?

How about making registration accessible and online? Include active learning as part of all events, so Judaism remains relevant?

The kicker – somebody always says: It can’t be done. This isn’t the way we do it here. It’ll be expensive. It’s not possible.

I say: dream bigger.

Remembering gratitude

My family sat outside a museum, sharing snacks with some family friends. Their family’s preschooler offered us freeze-dried mangoes. My boys, great fans of fruit and veggies, had a mixed reaction to this novelty. As my twins ate their apples, I asked where they got these freeze-dried things.

“Oh,” our friend rolled her eyes. “I couldn’t live without Trader Joe’s.”

We had just returned from a trip to visit family in northern Virginia, near Washington, D.C. This is where I grew up, but it has changed enormously. It’s much more crowded, busy and wealthy than it was when I was a kid. It’s true that if you brave the traffic, you can buy nearly anything in its stores. Sometimes, I’m dazzled by the huge number of choices there. It’s a wide array of fresh, prepared (and sometimes even healthy) food. It’s sometimes expensive, but choice isn’t limited.

We have plenty of choice in Winnipeg, and I’m especially happy in the summer here. Whenever I can make them, I eat salads every day (a habit courtesy of spending a year on kibbutz in Israel) and we eat lots of fresh, local foods. Even so, the choices available in a very big, affluent metropolitan area can be overwhelming. When I expressed my amazement to one of my brothers, he said that, of course, I could get anything if I just ordered it from Amazon.

I didn’t get into the details of Amazon’s smaller selection in Canada, the huge distances and smaller population in our country, or the expense of doing this. I just nodded and indicated that, if we needed mango, I’d just get a fresh one.

Why is this issue in a Jewish newspaper? Our liturgy, the prayers and blessings we say at services, include multiple ways to be grateful. We’re grateful for food, for being able to get up in the morning, for not being sick, for being who we are, for peace … the list is a long one. To be honest, most people seem to say these things by rote. However, if you do go through the prayers and think about them, it’s a series of pretty meaningful things.

Teaching kids to be grateful has offered me a chance to remember to be grateful, too. When my husband and I model a “thank you, Mommy or Daddy, for this nice meal you made,” my kids learn to say thank you, too.

There are the more rare prayers – for rainbows and seeing the queen – but there’s also often a chance to say the Shehechiyanu, which is for joyous occasions and new foods. One of my boys nearly crowed the Shehechiyanu on this trip as he sat at the dinner table with all his grandparents with him at once. Then, without prompting, both boys thanked their New York City relatives for driving to see them, too.

It’s remarkable how easy it is to forget to be grateful. We often take things for granted. For instance, isn’t it amazing to have accessible fresh food that one can afford? We don’t have to go far to find Canadians who are hungry, or who live in remote places and don’t have this option.

What about clean water? Electricity? Internet? Affordable housing? The list could go on. It is a Jewish thing to acknowledge gratitude for what we have. It’s also a Jewish thing to do our best to give to those less fortunate and who need help.

It’s said that travel is broadening – and it sure is, I ate a lot on our trip! It also helps us see our daily experiences and lives better. My parents’ neighbourhood in Virginia is full of “tear downs” – perfectly decent, smaller houses that are purchased, demolished and a new “custom” home built in its place. Sure, the 1950s-era home might be dated, but the constant building, improving and affluence of the area means that old farmland becomes subdivided and all the farm stands disappear. The newly built urban homes, within a short walk of where I grew up, start selling at more than $1 million US.

So, some might say, “What’s wrong with having more? How about spending money if you have it? Doesn’t everybody need a bigger house?” (Or freeze-dried mangoes?) Practising the traditional art of reciting these prayers, the ones that encourage gratitude, help us be better at thanking G-d, our families and our communities for what we have. Reciting a prayer might remind us that being able to buy a fresh mango is a pretty good thing on its own. Even further, being grateful for what we have received might encourage us to help others with less.

It’s true that some people have more money and, therefore, can afford to spend it – but how many bedrooms and bathrooms does your family really need? Wouldn’t it be better to spend some of it on helping others have one meal a day? Housing? Clean water? Educational opportunities?

Sometimes thinking “small” – about square footage or fancy foods, for instance – really means thinking big, and helping taking care of many more in the world who have a lot less.

It takes work to be your better self

Ever had one of those days? Or weeks? When things just fall to pieces around you? Sometimes it’s just stuff – a plumbing disaster or a flat tire. Sometimes it’s an interaction with another person that is so miserable that it ruins your day. For me, at least, those emotions of anger, hate, shame and embarrassment can completely knock me down into a bad place. It’s only natural, but it takes a lot of inner work to get myself on the right track.

I think of this as an inner struggle, which I am sure many of us have. It’s so hard not to take out your negative feelings on someone else. That’s why I think the Torah portion for last week, Balak (Numbers 22:2-25:9), is interesting. It’s not an easy text to study. There’s a lot in it, which is quickly summarized by the reformjudaism.org Torah study website as follows:

“Balak, the king of Moab, persuades the prophet Balaam to curse the Israelites so that he can defeat them and drive them out of the region. However, Balaam blesses the Children of Israel instead and prophesies that Israel’s enemies will be defeated. (22:2-24:25)

“G-d punishes the Israelites with a plague for consorting with the Moabite women and their god. The plague is stayed after Pinchas kills an Israelite man and his Midianite woman. (25:1-9)”

This summary contains some detail, but skips the part where G-d stops Balaam in his tracks and keeps him from cursing Israel. It involves a talking donkey. (This is definitely a portion that you should re-read if you have forgotten it.) The donkey refuses to budge because an angel, sent by G-d, blocks its way. Balaam, a prophet, ends up blessing the Israelites, instead of cursing them, because he can speak only what the angel says he will put in his mouth. G-d tells Balaam what to say.

Is Balaam really a changed man when his curses become blessings? Is someone so filled with hate and curses able to turn things around for good? Or is this amazing blessing that he offers only happening because the Almighty intervenes?

I have a hard time believing in a personal form of the Divinity that pops down and fills our mouths with blessings. Some people do have that kind of faith, and believe that the right thing will arrive, heaven-sent, to save the day. For me, this portion is perhaps about something else.

Balak and Balaam are filled with hate and prejudice when they see the Israelites, who are in some sense, refugees. They are the “other” – strangers who are passing through, and many people find reasons to fear or hate the “other” in their midst.

Yet, just like those days when we have inner struggles, we need to have our better selves win out over feelings of negativity. Sometimes we can rise above our fear, anger or other feelings. When we do, sometimes we can observe the beauty of someone or something that is different and special. We can learn from that new experience.

I’m always knocked out by the beauty of Balaam’s blessing. Whenever I sing “Ma Tovu” – “How beautiful are your tents, Oh Jacob, Your dwelling places, Israel” – which comes directly from this Torah portion, I feel the awe and wonder in the words. Rashi points out that the tents were placed so that their door flaps faced outwards. Even though in the encampment everyone was close together, they were able to maintain a sort of tidy privacy, and a space for separate families by placing their entrances away from one another.

I’ve felt overwhelmed by the hate speech, terrorism, starvation and war that are happening around us. Yet, sometimes, we see a little hope in the media reports. There are amazing people of all faiths who rise up to help. There are even people who capture a terrorist or criminal but conquer their own yetzer hara, or evil inclination, manage to find their best selves and keep that person from harm until the police arrive.

Why does this portion begin with a curse that turns to a blessing, and end with a plague and punishment? I have a hard time with this sort of literal punishment, but it seems like a powerful metaphor. Perhaps it is a way of reminding us that even when we are tempted, and struggle with curses and acts of violence, we must find our best selves and behave morally. We must offer blessings to others. We have to open ourselves up to the “other.” We can learn from and admire their ingenuity. We also need to stick to our beliefs, and guard against being led astray. We can avoid that part inside ourselves that seeks to do harm, and try to help others control that urge to harm, too.

In a practical, positive sense, most Canadian Jews are lucky, our communities are diverse, full of newcomers and people who have been here generations – we are from all over the world. We can open ourselves up to enjoying a diversity of Jewish customs, practices and ideas that enrich our institutions and celebrations. Further, we can enjoy the diversity of the wider community, which is also intensely rich.

We can be different than those who seek tit-for-tat vengeance. Tempted to fight back during a negative exchange, or to cut someone off in a fit of road-rage? Step back.

Think about that talking donkey. Imagine if your car did that to you! Smile. Be the better person. You have that yetzer hatov, the good inclination, right there. Let it out. Be a blessing.

Good relationships matter

My parents, married 52 years, have a long-standing joke. Sometimes, they would go out and everything would be a disaster. We’d be in the neighbourhood pizza joint and someone would throw up. Or, one kid would spill something sticky all over somebody else. There would be a fly in the soup. We’d have a fight. The car would break down. We’d have an encounter with a terribly nasty person. Then, my mom would turn to my dad, poke him, and say, “Listen, Seiff, if this were a first date, I’d never go out with you again!”

Sometimes we’d all laugh but, often, we’d turn away with a wry smile, because that was all we could manage. Later, we knew it would be funny, because we didn’t base everything on that one outing … but sometimes people do! How often does one bad (Jewish) encounter ruin a first date, a first visit to a new synagogue, a networking opportunity? How can we salvage these awful experiences?

In the Torah portion B’midbar (Numbers 1:1-4:20), which we read last month, there’s a lot of census-taking and numbers. This isn’t counting every person, but those who can fight when assembling a military. There’s order in this parashah, so we understand that a strong army, or even a strong society, needs to be well-organized and administered. We need leaders, as mentioned in Numbers 1:16. Rashi points out that the elected ones, the chieftains of their tribes – “These were those called of the congregation; those who were called upon for every matter of importance that happened in the congregation.” We read edah as a tribe, but it can also mean a social or ethnic group (Yemenite Israelis, for instance) or a congregation.

Numbers matter, and good administration matters – but it isn’t all that matters. When Dr. Ron Wolfson came to visit Winnipeg in April as the Shaarey Zedek Synagogue scholar-in-residence, he asked a group of lay leaders and Jewish professionals, “How many Jewish people live here?” Immediately, there was an undercurrent of talk. Indeed, how many of us are in Winnipeg? My next thought was – does it matter?

In the same Torah portion of B’midmar, Nadav and Abihu are mentioned, in Numbers 3:4. However, because they offered “alien fire” (an unacceptable sacrifice) in the Sinai, they were struck down. Others were counted in their place. Nadav and Abihu made one bad mistake. They had one bad encounter (one bad date?) with the Almighty. That’s all it took for them to be killed and knocked out of Judaism forever.

It takes many positive encounters to reinforce a relationship. So, a Jewish person needs repeated positive experiences in a Jewish community to keep coming back. Some shake off a bad experience or two with a smile, joke or laugh. However, it depends on the person, and what happened. It can take “one bad date” to be turned off forever.

Wolfson described how small things make a huge difference in how we relate to one another. Greeting someone with a smile, offering them a warm participatory musical experience, some honey cake or a hug can make all the difference. These things aren’t expensive. They aren’t hard to do – but for some reason, many congregations still resist any change at all, even if it’s an entirely positive community-building shift that costs little or nothing to implement.

A joke followed. What does it say above the ark, the aron hakodesh, at your congregation? At Shaarey Zedek, it says, “Know before whom you stand.” Wolfson said that all shuls probably should have a different tag line – “But we’ve always done it this way.”

If you are entirely satisfied with how things go in your Jewish community, by all means, don’t change a thing. Keep doing what you’re doing. However, if you’re not satisfied? If your children don’t want to join, or the membership is declining, or people aren’t volunteering or contributing to your organization in the way you’d like, you need to stop and ask if the way you’re doing things is really working. Is your approach still relevant? Is it inclusive? Does it create positive encounters that matter?

B’midbar teaches us that numbers and administration matter – but only if you have committed members or people to count. Negative experiences can strike us down (like Nadav and Abihu) or just be a bump in the road, if you have a healthy long-term relationship. I was struck, at the end of a whole weekend of this Jewish learning and enrichment, by how energized some participants were with many good ideas for the future.

At the same time, I encountered those who said, “Thank you, but …” and wanted to say how they disagreed, what was wrong and what wouldn’t work here. Have you ever found that kvetching – without offering solutions – makes positive change?

Ever read the children’s book Stone Soup? A motivated, positive community can feed many people with a stone, some old vegetables, and maybe a stewing hen. Throw in some donations of flour and yeast and you have bread. It’s not expensive. It’s not hard to do. Yet, one must consistently ignore the naysayers while doing it. Are we willing to step up and make suggestions for building good, long-term Jewish community relationships?

Good. Bring your old carrots and dried up root veggies. Our skills and Jewish congregations can make something delicious together. Inexpensive solutions, kindness, smiles and constructive suggestions welcome. Let’s build our numbers by welcoming folks to the table with what we’ve got. Even a humble soup tastes better, or a song sounds richer, when we make it and sing it ourselves.

Obligation to be hospitable

Imagine, for a minute, that you’re throwing an open house for a children’s sports team. You’ve invited a lot of people. You don’t know them all. Yet, you’re the host. It’s a beautiful, sunny, warm day. You’ve set up your yard for a party. The lemonade and cookies are out, the welcome banner is flapping in the breeze.

As people drift up your sidewalk, you see they’re nervous or ill at ease. “Welcome!” you say, and your family smiles at them. “Come on in. Join us.” You offer them food and drink. Then, you ask guests gentle, kind questions. “How long has your kid been playing soccer with our team?” or “Where does your kid go to school?” “Have you met our dog?” and so on.

Before long, you’ve learned new things about these strangers. You’ve made a few connections. As other people join the party, you lead a parent, Gabriel, over to talk to Morley, who shares Gabriel’s interests in dog training or hockey. You help all these people to relate to one another. Then, they can begin friendships. Soon, they will be hosting the next encounter – for their new friends and acquaintances.

Many people are rusty at this kind of face-to-face socializing. In the social media age, we “friend” people online long before we meet in person. We’re more likely to chat online than we are to approach strangers in person. It’s a cultural shift that can make people feel more awkward and self-conscious when they actually get together in person.

If you’ve never moved from one community to another, you’ve got family and friends built in – people who likely knew you in kindergarten or as a teenager with acne. These are longtime friends. You don’t have to do any work to know them. Why bother meeting new people?

Because we’re obligated as Jews to be hospitable. It’s our obligation to make new connections with others! (Both Jews and non-Jews.)

I recently heard a great story about a Passover seder. A young Jewish woman from Indiana was studying and working in London, and alone for the holiday. She followed the Twitter feed of London-based CNN reporter James Masters. He tweeted and asked if anyone needed a seder to attend. Samantha Gross, an intern with the Evening Standard, responded. She thought he was offering to find her a spot somewhere at a community event. Instead, he and his wife picked her up and brought her home to a Pesach table with grandparents and the kind of family love and embrace that really moved her. (To tears, although she claimed it was the horseradish!)

A Winnipeg congregation, Shaarey Zedek, is sponsoring a special speaker next week named Dr. Ron Wolfson. I could claim that I’d read everything he’s written (not true). I could boast that my mom has taken classes with him (true) and that he’s spoken at my parents’ Virginia congregation (true). I could mention that he’s collaborated with Rabbi Larry Hoffman (true) who came to speak at Winnipeg’s Temple Shalom recently (true), and whose daughter went to summer camp with me long ago (true). However, none of that background or Jewish geography matters.

What matters is that Dr. Wolfson is coming to Canada to speak – and it’s well worth reading his books or finding a way to hear him in person. Why?

What he teaches is a profoundly Jewish message. It’s about building relationships and connections that might be new, and take work. For many Jews, going to shul is like going home – most of the people there are your family and friends, you’ve known them forever. It takes no work to relate to them. However, our society is transient. There are a lot of newcomers at every congregation. We need to do both the right thing and the Jewish thing, and practise “audacious hospitality.”

What’s that? Well, in Genesis 18:1-18, there’s a story that is uniquely ours. Abraham and Sarah are in their tent when three strangers walk by. Abraham rushes out to them, welcomes them in and, with Sarah, he helps them wash and offers them food and hospitality. Abraham knows what it is to be a traveler and to be hot, tired and hungry. He knows that he should reach out, it’s the right thing to do.

The strangers (angels) bring messages to them. One is that even though they’re old, Sarah will have a child and Abraham will become the patriarch to a great and populous nation.

The message is clear. It’s incumbent upon us to be like Abraham and Sarah, and like Masters’ family, too. We need to welcome others, build real relationships with them, and offer them our (Jewish) hospitality. This may make all the difference. Will we be Abraham’s “great … nation” or lose Judaism to assimilation?

Ten years ago, I was invited to participate in an interfaith “green” religious service. The interim Anglican priest who ran the service bumped into me at the farmers market a few days later. I thanked her for the opportunity, and invited her to my Shabbat table. That was her very first dinner invitation in Bowling Green, Ky., and the start of many more happy hours at my table and hers. We are still good friends. She told me that it figured a Jewish person would be first to “invite her in,” as Abraham and Sarah did.

This pastor (and friend) both reminded me and taught me more about my obligation to be hospitable as a Jew. Abraham knew how to do this. It’s high time we did, too.

Joanne Seiff, a regular columnist for Winnipeg’s Jewish Post and News, is the author of a new book, From the Outside In: Jewish Post Columns 2015-2016. This collection of essays is now available for digital download, or as a paperback from Amazon. See more about her on joanneseiff.blogspot.com.

The work is not solely ours

Music is an amazing tool for learning. When I was a kid, I learned a lot of Jewish music. It wasn’t choir music, or strictly for prayer. No, I learned “everything” Jewish through music. I sang parts of Pirkei Avot (Sayings of our Fathers), Israeli pioneering songs from kibbutz life, Torah verses, Israeli pop songs and commercials, and even, yes, a lot of liturgy.

It happened on autopilot. I wasn’t forced into anything. There was no strong emphasis on performance. It was “Naaseh v’nishmah,” “We will do and we will hear.” (Exodus 24:7) When you participate and enjoy singing, sometimes the words sink in. I remember my mom putting on records (of Jewish music) and I’d roll around the living room rug, listening and singing.

When Christian classmates were busy memorizing Bible verses to earn rewards at church, they’d ask me how many I could recite. I had no idea what to say. “Oh,” I’d say, “We don’t do that.” We did do that, I realize now, but it was so intuitive, so much a part of our daily experience, that I never even noticed what was happening. I knew the words, in Hebrew and English. I understood them, but I never thought of it as reciting religious text. It was part of a summer camp song session, or a regular Sunday at religious school, or in the prayers we sang at services.

Years later, I still have that musical memory bank. It comes in handy. Recently, exhausted and stressed, I was able to sing along without thinking when someone introduced a new tune at services. It might have been new to others, but I’d heard it before. I also used this treasure trove to dig up something I needed to think about – work/life balance.

Rabbi Tarfon said the day is short and there’s a lot of work, and the workers are lazy and the reward is great and the master of the house is pressing – it’s not your responsibility to finish the work, but neither are you free to desist from it. (Pirkei Avot 2:15)

I remembered the whole quote by hearing a bit of the tune in my head. Suddenly, I was singing to myself on the street as I walked to an errand. I went home to look it up on sefaria.org, an online nonprofit that offers open-source access to Jewish texts.

The bigger issue that I wrestled with was that of work and community involvement. How much is enough? How can we decide where to invest our time and why?

I don’t think of myself as a big volunteer, but lately I’ve become overwhelmed. I had to reduce my volunteer load. Managing my work, household, kids, community commitments and health felt like too much. Only one thing might need more time – an extra freelance job, a couple kids sick with viruses or a volunteer gig – and the whole tower of cards will tumble.

As a relative newcomer to Canada, I cannot call up a family member in the neighbourhood or a longtime friend to bail me out. Our extended families are far away. Although some friends might be able to help, they, too, are caring for kids, juggling jobs, etc. It’s my observation that many newcomers feel this way. The process that recruited them to Canada felt very positive, but after that? It can be a daily struggle. It’s hard to find a place in a community where long-established families have strong roots.

So, what does Rabbi Tarfon have to do with this? Well, this song helped me realize that, while I felt deep responsibilities towards my commitments, I couldn’t “finish them” on my own. I could work, volunteer and try to help, but our effort has to be a communal one. It’s not all my personal responsibility – and if my health or family’s well-being is at stake, that has to come first.

Bringing a good attitude to the work we do is important. We can’t all be like the curmudgeons on the Muppets. Those grouchy men are the ones who sit in the balcony, scowls on their faces, as they criticize all the other Muppets who put on the show. Instead, we need to each do our share, because the grouchy puppets in the corner aren’t contributing.

We have to stop ourselves when our efforts to contribute become too much, too taxing and risk our well-being. When we start criticizing everyone else? It’s time for a break – because we aren’t finishing all that work by ourselves, in any case.

What we are doing is contributing to a whole, healthy (Jewish) community. And, if you keep reading, Rabbi Tarfon says, “If you have learned much Torah, your reward will be much.” This is an interesting circular argument. The rabbi suggests we work hard, and we do our share. Then we’re rewarded for our learning. Guess what? My reward for stepping back from volunteering was more time to study Rabbi Tarfon’s wisdom. I learned it again – and now offer it to you. That’s a sign of a healthier work cycle.

Joanne Seiff, a regular columnist for Winnipeg’s Jewish Post and News, is the author of a new book, From the Outside In: Jewish Post Columns 2015-2016. This collection of essays is now available for digital download, or as a paperback from Amazon. See more about her on joanneseiff.blogspot.com.