Shula Klinger – Page 5

Investing in Israel’s people

English class at Shaked School in Raanana. The school participates in the Arab Teacher Integration in Jewish Schools program. The teacher’s name is Fatam and she is from the Arab town of Tayibe. (photo from Merchavim)

In a country of eight million, one-fifth of Israel’s population are Arabs. According to research published last year in the Jerusalem Post, 35% of Jewish teenagers have never spoken to an Arab peer and 27% of Arab Israelis reported never having spoken with a Jewish youth.

In a conflict-ridden political climate, there is no shortage of angry rhetoric. Reading this rhetoric, it is tempting to imagine that Israeli society is simply a dysfunctional collection of intergroup battles. Nonetheless, there are organizations that remain focused on Israel’s immense social capital, its long history of social innovation and the initiative and dedication of its educators. Guided by words like tolerance, fairness and mutual understanding, these organizations value diversity rather than emphasize differences, and continue to work to build a more egalitarian society.

photo - Esti Halperin, Merchavim Institute chief executive officer, is the woman on the right — Esti Halperin, Merchavim Institute chief executive officer, is the woman on the right. (photo from Merchavim)

Merchavim Institute is one such organization. Founded in 1998 and based in Lod, Merchavim promotes shared citizenship in several ways. It places Arab teachers in Jewish schools, to teach spoken Arabic. It offers a wealth of classroom materials to teachers and supports 500 schools and kindergartens in the Jewish-secular, Jewish-religious and Arab-Israeli school streams.

In a separate collaboration with the Ministry of Education, Merchavim also places Arab teachers of English, science and mathematics in Jewish schools. These teachers cover material on Arab culture and society.

Merchavim’s chief operating officer, Roi Maor, explained that “dialogue, shared culture, education and improved communication” are essential if one wants to stem the flood of anger and resentment on both sides. Rather than getting stuck on debates about the country’s flag, for example, he argued, “Israel’s best chance for growth and self-improvement is through programs that focus on enrichment.”

The Arabic Teacher Integration (ATI) program does just that, by giving Arab teachers an opportunity to work in and become part of a Jewish community. But, quite apart from meeting their curricular goals, these teachers – all of whom are women – are excellent role models, said Maor. He described them as resilient and “charismatic, with exceptional leadership skills.”

Nonetheless, he acknowledged, “There is a degree of concern or tension when an Arab teacher enters a Jewish school; half of these teachers wear headscarves. Often, the teacher herself has her own concerns and worries, concerns about how she will be integrated.” Since more than one teacher has been stopped by school security and refused entry, these concerns seem valid.

Fortunately for the teachers, Merchavim’s idealism is tempered with the clear-sighted pragmatism of lived experience. Encounters between Arab teachers and their Jewish students and colleagues follow a framework, leaving little to chance. Maor wants the ATI program to be “the gold standard” and explained how encounters must be continuous. “They have to happen in the context of a larger project and be a powerful, meaningful experience,” he said.

Maor also respects the students’ “legitimate desire to maintain and preserve [their] cultural identity.” He believes that one’s identity is a tool to meet the other, rather than a hindrance or a threat. “It allows you to understand and connect to your own identity better,” he said.

Of course, change does not happen overnight. Tamara Klinger-Levi, Merchavim’s director of resource development, reflected that, even with a wonderful start to the school year, acts of violence create a “public sentiment of hatred or prejudice,” which can be a tremendous setback for Merchavim staff and partners.

Rana Younis has been teaching at Gvanim Junior High School, Kadima-Zoran, for nine years. She related an incident in her school, where she had overheard a student speaking ill of Arabs. There had been a violent incident and emotions were running high. Having turned and seen her, the student apologized instantly. “I am sorry,” he said. “It’s not you.” Younis told him, “I understand, it’s not you and it’s not me, and he hugged me. It was so touching. I tell them: there are bad people and good people in Arab society, just like any society.”

Merchavim staff are well aware of this dynamic and their staff make regular visits to Gvanim. Younis is unequivocal in her praise of the support they offer. “They help me all the time. They are like my family,” she said.

A highlight of the program comes in the form of tours for overseas visitors. This is an example of the kind of “powerful, meaningful experience” described by Maor. “Children don’t have a strongly formulated notion of [Arabs]. All kinds of negative ideas flourish in isolation but [with Merchavim teachers] all that evaporates. They learn to regard each person as an individual. We are building a generation that doesn’t generalize.”

Younis’ observations confirm this. “Reality is not what you read,” she said. “Putting the idea of Arabs and Jews aside, I am just there to teach. I love my work as a teacher. I love my students.”

Younis’ voice conveys energy, dedication and love. She spoke of an upcoming collaboration between Israeli and Arab students, called

Living Together, for which only a limited number of places was available. “When some of the students didn’t get in, they cried, they were so disappointed,” she said.

About what her own family thought of her work, Younis laughed as she related her mother’s frequent questions. “Are you OK, are you happy? I tell her, I am happy! I have no problems.”

photo - The annual Arabic Teacher Integration conference, held jointly with IDC Herzliya, is when all the players (government officials, school administrators, teachers, researchers, funders et al) meet to discuss issues and learn about new research — The annual Arabic Teacher Integration conference, held jointly with IDC Herzliya, is when all the players (government officials, school administrators, teachers, researchers, funders et al) meet to discuss issues and learn about new research. *(photo from Merchavim)*

Merchavim’s contribution to Israeli education and society at large have gained recognition at home and abroad. The new language initiative of Israel’s education ministry, led by Naftali Bennett (Jewish Home), dovetails nicely with Merchavim’s vision. In this program, Arab students will learn Hebrew starting in kindergarten and continue right through high school. As Likud MK Oren Hazan said last year (Israel National News), “When the Jewish population understands Arabic the way the Arab public understands Hebrew, we will see better days.”

Thanks to the investments of Merchavim and other organizations, these ways of thinking could become the norm for a whole generation of children. These children will finish school and assume leadership positions in society. When they do, they will have communication skills, as well as the empathy and cultural capital needed to reinvest in a fair future for all Israelis.

Speaking of the wider Arab population, Maor said Merchavim’s program “sends a message to people back in the communities that they can be successful in Jewish society.” And, while Arab women meet the urgent need for more teachers in the Jewish system and find empowerment through work, their presence enriches the entire school site.

The Arab Teacher Integration program enjoys financial support from numerous philanthropic groups in Israel, all of which support civil rights, social justice and democracy in the country. These include the Moriah Fund, the Beracha Foundation and the Jacob and Hilda Blaustein Foundation. Overseas funders include the Jewish Federations of North America and the Hadassah Foundation, which also works in Israel.

Nonetheless, even with this and the Ministry of Education support for Merchavim’s work, funding remains a challenge. Discretionary budgets for enrichment are small and programs like music are typically prioritized above Arabic electives. Maor, who finds it “outrageous” that Arabic is not a mandatory subject in Israeli schools, described this as a “missed opportunity for cross-cultural learning and huge advancement for the cause of shared society in Israel.”

However, Maor is optimistic about the future because “animosity and fear comes from ignorance.” With long-term, committed professional relationships between Arab and Jewish educators, and between Arab teachers and their Jewish students, Israeli society can change. “Citizenship is not just a piece of paper,” said Maor. “It’s about being part of a collective enterprise, in which we share a joint destiny.”

That destiny relies on every individual having the right to prosperity under egalitarian social and economic conditions. Once the majority of Israelis understand this, he said, they will also see that “the success of Israeli Arabs is not a separate phenomenon but a boon to all sectors of the population.”

To learn more about Merchavim, visit machon-merchavim.org.il/?lang=en.

Shula Klinger is an author, illustrator and journalist living in North Vancouver

Discovering my 99% family

The author’s one photograph of her great-grandmother, Betty Brotman, “stiff-necked and corseted, with her dark hair combed tightly across her head.” (photo from Shula Klinger)

I have been researching my family history for many years, on and off. Much of my research has been online, using resources like JewishGen, the internet database of Jewish genealogical records. I have also found a home at Czernowitz-L, an email group hosted by Cornell University for people whose families come from what is now the Ukrainian city of Chernivtsi. Once known as “Jerusalem on the Prut,” Czernowitz – as it is still called by those who recall its Habsburg past – was once home to 50,000 Jews. Less than a third of this number survived the war.

Like many third-generation Czernowitzers, I write messages to Czernowitz-L in the hope that someone, somewhere, will remember hearing my family name and be able to point me in the direction of a lost relative. Very often, we hear nothing, but once in a blue moon, we strike gold.

That’s what happened when I sent out an email asking list members if they knew of the family name Brotman. I had just received an image of my grandmother’s birth certificate from Czernowitz in 1902, which showed that Regina Picker’s mother, Betty, had been born a Brotman.

Shortly after I shared this information, I received an email from a lady in Portland, letting me know that she had married into the Brotman family in Oregon. She asked me if I would be interested in contacting one of her in-laws, whose mother had been a Brotman. He was very well-informed, she said. A conversation with him might yield some results. Not knowing that I lived here in Vancouver, she told me that Cyril Leonoff here. Naturally, I was thrilled and eager to talk to him as soon as I could.

Having corresponded with Cyril’s daughter, Anita, for awhile, we set a date and I drove over to meet them both. My children were very excited to find out if this man was a relative. I fielded the same question from them over and over again: “Are we 100% for sure, for sure related to him, Mommy? Or just 99%, do you think?”

On arriving at the Leonoff home, I was greeted by Anita. She showed us into the house, where a beautiful table had been set with fresh fruit and homemade poppy seed cake. Anita showed the children where to find some toy ships and I brought out my family photograph: my one photograph of my great-grandmother, Betty Brotman, stiff-necked and corseted, with her dark hair combed tightly across her head. Betty Brotman, who passed away at a young age, leaving her husband and children behind to survive the fall of the Habsburg Empire and the devastation of two world wars. But, back to the present.

Cyril asked me about the photo. I was eager to ask him a host of questions. Was I about to discover something extraordinary? Would I learn, after almost 20 years in Canada, that I had been living a few miles away from a relative, all this time? And after growing up in England, completely isolated from my extended family, was this man one of my elders? What did he know? What could he tell me? What did he remember of his people and their original home in Europe?

I watched his face as he calmly – and silently – looked at my photo. I tried to guess at what he was thinking. He suggested that we sit for tea before looking at his records upstairs. I accepted, glad of the tea, but thinking that this was a wonderful opportunity to practise mindfulness. Peace. Serenity in the face of burning curiosity and decades of longing for grandparents that I could talk to, family members who were able to tell me about their journeys, their struggles, their triumphs.

We sat quietly and poured tea while I tried not to boil over myself. We drank our tea and talked about the delicious poppy seed cake, which Anita’s daughter had made. And then Cyril asked me, “What are you looking for? What brings you here?”

His gaze was direct, his voice was polite. I told him the truth: I have no story, and I need one. My family was fractured, over and over, between Czernowitz, Cairo, Haifa and London. What little I do know of our history was told to me by an unreliable witness. A witness who had not wanted me, or anyone else, to find other, more reliable witnesses. A man who went to great lengths to separate his children from their story, or anyone that might refute his own accounts. A man who may have survived the war – and wars – physically, but who continued to fight their battles every day of his life, until he died. And, when he did die and I was finally able to say, rest in peace, it was truly the only peace he had ever had. He was traumatized, barely existing, unable to communicate or listen, to tell the whole truth or make any kind of authentic connection with another human being. My father, who I spent a lifetime trying to love, but who would never let me.

Cyril is 10 years older than my father was when he died. His intelligent gaze was steady and he listened quietly when I answered his questions. Difficult questions whose answers may well have been a lot longer than he had anticipated.

He didn’t respond directly, but we finished our tea slowly and he asked me up to his library. He said he had a book to show me. We climbed the stairs and entered a room with a high ceiling, filled with books. It reminded me of the shelves of my own family home, now gone. My father’s books.

Cyril walked over to a shelf by the window and removed a small volume of poetry. He opened it on a table and said, “I think you’ll want to see this.”

“This” was the inside cover of an old book inscribed in sepia copperplate. “Betty Brotman.”

“May I take a photograph of it?” I asked, after a few seconds, feeling a little superficial but not knowing where to put my happiness or my hands, other than on a camera.

“Yes,” said Cyril, so I did.

When the emotion had subsided and reason returned, I considered the facts: Cyril’s Betty may not be my great-grandmother, but still: there have been not one but three women named Betty in my family and the first was Betty Brotman. It isn’t impossible that his Brotmans were cousins to mine. It’s tenuous but, still, it’s a trace. A faint trace that proves we exist. That we left our mark on the world somewhere. That I am still connected to my people, even with my father’s concerted efforts to keep us all apart.

Cyril brought me to another room, where he kept his family records. He laid out a map showing where his family had come from. Indeed, our families were from nearby cities, again suggesting a possible link. He showed me his work on the history of Jewish farmers in Canada, where his branch of the Brotman family had homesteaded in 1889, and gave me some of his books to read. I thought about taking notes but was too moved to multitask. Simply sitting down with a man who might be a member of my family, who cared so deeply about his roots and was so proud of his family’s achievements, was overwhelming. He had done his own research and he had written it down – he had not hidden from it, or excised the story from memory. He is devoted to talking about and preserving it, just as I am.

And not only that, he wanted to talk to me, and he wanted to listen. To find out what I knew that might prove to be an irrefutable link between our families. He was curious; wanted names, dates, places.

“How old are you?” he asked me.

“Forty-four,” I replied, and cringed, feeling self-conscious. There was a pause.

“That old, eh?” he said, sounding shocked. Then he smiled – with his bright blue, 90-year-old eyes.

We looked around the room at framed photos and other artifacts of his family’s past. His record was abundant, both in photographs and documents. He pointed out a carved wooden picture frame that had been made by one of his relatives. I told him that my great-grandfather and my uncle were both carvers, that our family had worked in the lumber industry in Czernowitz. That our family had worked with trees for generations, in one way or another – whether as lumber, through sculpture or carpentry, or tree-planting in Israel in the 1940s. Another connection. Maybe.

image - The author’s grandmother’s birth certificate from Czernowitz in 1902, which shows that Regina Picker’s mother, Betty (“Betti”), had been born a Brotman (“Brutmann”). It also shows that Regina’s father, Betty’s husband, Simon Picker, was a carpenter — The author’s grandmother’s birth certificate from Czernowitz in 1902, which shows that Regina Picker’s mother, Betty (“Betti”), had been born a Brotman (“Brutmann”). It also shows that Regina’s father, Betty’s husband, Simon Picker, was a carpenter. *(image from Shula Klinger)*

When it was time to go, my older son asked me again. “Is he a relation? Is he ours?” I told him, “Very possibly.” And, again, he wanted to know the percentage probability. “Ninety-nine percent, then,” Benjamin decided.

It was hard to leave. After so many years, I wanted to stay until I dealt with that niggling one percent of doubt. I wanted to be sure. I had to know.

I don’t know how much of Cyril’s story is really my story, which he has taken such pains to write down. I don’t know if his Betty knew my Betty, if they were cousins, second cousins, or even more remotely related than that – or not at all. And I may never find out.

But, then again, even if we are just an appendix to his main narrative, I had a chance to read between the lines. To meet the Leonoffs, to eat with them and to ask questions about our fractured family stories. Because what matters is that we tried to knit those fractures together, to heal the tremendous wounds created by the past and the efforts made by those who refused – or were unable – to heal them on their own.

Months later, my children still talk about “our 99% relative.” They are proud to have an elder in Vancouver and they mention Cyril regularly. I love to hear them talk about him with affection and respect.

When it comes to family, I have discovered that 8- and 4-year-olds aren’t too worried about evidence. They really don’t care about that missing one percent. And now, as my children are also my teachers, neither do I.

Shula Klinger is an author, illustrator and journalist living in North Vancouver. This article is written with grateful thanks to Anita and Cyril Leonoff.

Creating, choosing kids’ art

A son’s fascination with diggers has led to many other farm-related and animal designs. (photo by Shula Klinger)

When our son, Joel, started to talk, most of what he said was, digger, referring to the large machines that dig earth, so I started drawing them for him. Soon, he became passionate about tractors, so I started drawing those, too – because, like you, I would bend over backwards to meet my child’s needs.

Our Joel has always known his mind. And he has always known that his mother will turn herself into a pretzel when it comes to his education. I also learned how to draw forklifts, dump trucks and specialized mining equipment: road headers, skid steers and face shovels. Essential knowledge for every pretzel-shaped mother.

After several months and hundreds of diggers later, I had a box full of cut-out vehicles. I bought colored card stock and cut out what I hoped were the last 12 diggers. I framed them in an old IKEA frame and put it in Joel’s room, intending to hang it later.

Joel had his own plans, of course. It turns out that 2-year-olds aren’t particularly worried about hanging pictures at the proper height. Instead, his picture sat on the floor where he could poke the glass, name the vehicles and chatter at length to his pictures.

Having thought of his picture as something colorful to fill a spot on his wall, I soon learned that it was a bunch of other things: a teaching aid, a prompt for language development and a favorite companion. It was a comfort, a reflection of his passions and his developing identity. And, sure, it was in his bedroom sometimes, but mainly it traveled to whichever room he was playing in. I never did hang it up.

The diggers were followed by new designs for other families, and countless hours of conversation with them about art. I learned that very young children have strong opinions about shape, color and which medium is best for their project. I learned how art appreciation plays a role in family relationships that is just as significant as the time we spend on outings or reading together. It’s spiritual time, like meditating together, or contemplating abstract ideas, from the biggest ideas to why spiders are able to climb on ceilings without falling off.

The photos I received of toddlers teaching infant siblings about their art showed me that images can be a catalyst for extraordinary reactions in even the youngest kids. I also had my mind changed about what kinds of art children wanted. When a mother asked me if I offered custom versions of my posters, I hesitated. When I realized that she wanted a copy of diggers, “but in girl colors,” I got to work.

When choosing art for our children, there is much more to the decision than meets the eye. Of course, we want the content and color scheme to appeal to our young connoisseurs. We hope that it will complement the design of the room that surrounds it. But, as we see and hear how children respond to this art, it reminds us, as parents, that our own eyes need to open as wide as theirs.

Art appreciation is a kind of literacy and it can lead to explorations of identity, of self-expression, of relationship to and with others. It can elicit feelings of pride in ownership, feelings of attachment and a sense of agency. As she looks at an image, a child’s gaze can be curious, critical, contented, peaceful, excited, inspired. A child may be solving problems, learning about the world or checking his understanding of an issue. Indeed, they have the same types of reactions as adults. Art can engage, stimulate and challenge young minds, which is why we need to take care when choosing pieces for children’s spaces.

Megan Zeni and Kelly Johnson are dedicated to creating fun, educational spaces for children. Both former teachers, their company, Room to Play, helps families make the most of their homes, to create spaces that are stimulating without being cluttered or overwhelming. “Art sets the tone in room; colors, patterns and textures can have a calming or energizing impact,” explained Zeni.

These are all elements to consider, especially as we remember that the art we’re choosing may be the last thing a child looks at as his eyes close at night. Here are some things to think about when choosing or making art for young children:

Children have favorite colors from a very early age.
What do they care about?
Does the art fill a wall and strike a chord?
Does it inspire the child to touch it, talk to it?
Does it spark a conversation between your child and you or a sibling?

Questions to think about and ask your child, to encourage a sense of attachment and ownership of the art, include:

What do you see? What do I see?
Which colors do you see?
How many…?
Which element is the biggest? Which is the smallest?
Should we frame it?
Where should we hang it? Should we bother?

Shula Klinger is an author, illustrator and journalist living in North Vancouver.

Baking from the soul

Marat Dreyshner in action. (photos from Ella Dreyshner)

I can tell it’s going to be delicious even before I’ve taken a bite. I’m sitting in the Richmond home of Marat and Ella Dreyshner, owners of iKosherbake. I’m holding a slice of their chocolate chip banana bread. This golden cake is dense and moist; the semi-sweet chocolate is the perfect complement to the fruity sweetness of the bananas.

It all started with bagels. “We love bread in this house,” said Ella. It’s hard to find a good, kosher bagel, but iKosherbake has crafted its own variety. “It all comes down to time,” said Marat. “How long you boil the dough…. It’s a science!”

Over the last year, iKosherbake has gone from making bagels to cakes, to granola and catering birthday parties and personalized cakes.

photo - Ella Dreyshner with bags of iKosherbake buns. — Ella Dreyshner

It’s not always easy for a husband and wife to share a kitchen, but the Dreyshners have found their groove. Marat’s specialty is their line of savory products, while Ella leads with desserts. While Marat has trained professionally, Ella’s talents have flourished at home.

Marat explained, “She’s gotten to a level that would make a professional chef happy to work with her.”

It’s hard to find a kosher fondant, so Ella makes her own – “I like to paint on the actual fondant.” She has even molded a unicorn by hand. Her other specialties include kosher ice cream sandwiches: chocolate chip cookies filled with pineapple ice cream.

Their granola tells a story of its own. While working with students at Vancouver Talmud Torah, they were challenged to create a dish that included the seven flavors of Israel. The result was a granola bar containing ingredients like honey, olive oil, pomegranate juice and raisins. It was such a hit that they took the recipe home and developed a bagged granola.

The Dreyshners describe the flavor as “the perfect ratio of sweet and salty,” which is borne out when I opened the package at home. Slightly tangy, with a smoky hint of cocoa, the texture is a satisfying blend of chewy fruit and crunchy seeds. And that salty tang really does make the taste buds tingle!

Now that their product line is growing, the Dreyshners are serving the North Shore market, as well. Queensdale Market and City Market on Lonsdale have both snapped up bagels from iKosherbake.

Organic markets are a good fit. iKosherbake uses no additives or preservatives in their cooking and, whenever possible, they purchase ingredients from local, organic growers.

For the Dreyshners, kosher cooking isn’t just about finding ingredients with the right labels. The process of making food is a spiritual experience.

photo - A unicorn custom cake. iKosherbake also makes varieties of bagels, now carried at Queensdale Market and City Market on the North Shore — A unicorn custom cake. iKosherbake also makes varieties of bagels, now carried at Queensdale Market and City Market on the North Shore.

“Cooking is an art form that wakens your soul. It’s more than just filling your stomach – it’s digested on a spiritual level, as well,” Marat suggested. He added, “There’s a pleasure in the Torah aspect of the food, but also in the traditional aspect, as well – when you have the opportunity and the good luck to share with friends, family and community, the food becomes something real.”

Ella agreed. For her, kosher baking “symbolizes peace and unity,” by following a strict, methodical process with every recipe. Separating eggs, checking flour, keeping the wet and dry ingredients apart until the right moment: “These steps create a sense of calm and unity, when you finally combine all of these things together.”

For a sneak peek into the Dreyshners’ kitchen, you can watch Marat at work on YouTube with Rabbi Yisrael Shurack in their series of witty videos. In The Rabbi and the Chef, Marat talks about how the food is made, and the rabbi picks up on the symbolic, spiritual significance of dishes. These are lessons in Judaism served at high speed with delicious menus and a side dish of kooky humor.

Shula Klinger is an author, illustrator and journalist living in North Vancouver.

A legacy of stewardship

The author in 1974 at a tree planting event organized by her father in England. (photo from Shula Klinger)

It all began with my great-grandfather, Simon Picker. In the early 20th century, the timber industry in Bukowina was booming. Before the First World War and the collapse of the Habsburg Empire, my great-grandfather supported his family by working as a carpenter. According to his gravestone, he was “an honest man who enjoyed only the fruit of his toil.”

My father was always passionate about trees. He referred to Japanese maples by the Latin name acer palmatum, and took great delight in planting trees in our backyard. Acacia, eucalyptus, willow. He loved to visit Kew Gardens and told me how he’d planted trees in Israel, in the early days of independence. When my grandfather died at our home in 1969, my father planted a magnolia tree on the spot where he fell and, although the house has gone, the tree is still there today.

When my father came to England, one of his first businesses was in public relations. For a time, he held a contract for the Forestry Commission, which was when he also started a charity called Trees for People (TFP). TFP provided trees and equipment to schools, so that children could get their hands dirty and learn what it meant to be guardians of the environment.

After he died, I realized that I did not know what had become of TFP. My father had talked about passing on the fund to a group in England, but I wasn’t sure how that had panned out.

Then, when I was clearing out his personal effects just a few weeks ago, I learned what happened. In 2005, he donated all of the remaining TFP funds to the Woodland Trust in the United Kingdom. The trust’s goal is to recreate native woodland with the help of local schools and communities. It aims to protect surviving woodland, restore areas that are damaged and advocate for those that are currently under threat.

The trust put the TFP legacy to work immediately, using it to develop a new project in southeastern England, the Fordham Hall Estate. According to Liz McLelland, woodland creation project officer for the Woodland Trust, this is “an amazing 505-acre piece of land near Colchester in Essex. It is now a beautiful landscape of woods, meadows and riverside habitat.”

As well as transforming the environment, the fund has supported the development of a new outdoor curriculum for local children, providing hundreds of children with opportunities to plant trees and be inspired by nature, McLelland said. Furthermore, it has promoted their understanding of their role, as stewards of the environment. “This type of event is now a core part of our activity whenever we buy land on which to create native woodland.”

Needless to say, I am also a tree lover. I live with my family on the North Shore, close to the forests of Lynn Canyon, where our back yard is overshadowed by giant evergreens. Last year, my husband built me a vegetable box. Our children and I planted seeds in it and waited eagerly to see what we could harvest, but before the seedlings were more than a few inches tall, I got the call.

My father died on July 2, 2014, in Cambridge, England. We traveled there for his funeral and came back at the end of the month to an overgrown tangle of leaves the size of tea trays. Benjamin, 7, took on the job of harvester, leaping into the hip-high plants to pull out a foot-long zucchini.

And now it is spring again. Last week, I cut open an apple and found that one of the seeds had already germinated inside the fruit. The children were overjoyed to see the tiny sprout, and insisted that we plant it. We check on it every day, and Joel, 4, loves to water it with his “squirty bottle.” Today, we’re going to plant Canterbury Bells, peas, pumpkins, tomatoes and carrots. And then we will walk in the forest, appreciating the giant, protective limbs of the trees and the aromatic, warm earth, as it nurtures the growth of a another new generation of plants.

Shula Klinger is a freelance writer living in North Vancouver.

Living in world with chesed

Vancouver Talmud Torah Grade 7 students and some of their family members participate in this year’s Random Acts of Chesed Race on Sept. 28. (photo from VTT RAC Race Facebook page)

“The world will be built with chesed.” – Psalms 89:3

In 2012, the Vancouver Foundation surveyed almost 4,000 people from across Metro Vancouver. The survey asked people what kinds of relationships they had, how deeply they engaged in community life, how committed they were to maintaining ties with the world around them. One out of every four respondents said they did not feel connected to others, nor to their community. In short, they felt lonely. When Vancouver Talmud Torah students heard about this, they decided to do something about it.

On Sept. 28 this year, as part of that continuing effort, VTT’s Grade 7 students took part in a RAC (Random Acts of Chesed) Race, designed to lift the spirits of people across the city. While Random Acts of Kindness is a worldwide organization, the chesed element began at King David High School here following the death of Gabrielle Isserow, a much-loved student who was known for her extraordinary kindness. It seemed only fitting that her passing be honored with a movement that inspires kindness to others.

At this year’s RAC event, 40 students were divided into 10 teams; more than 100 family members also took part. Their challenge: to help build a sense of community and connection by performing mitzvot, actions that could happen every day but, by and large, don’t. They included carrying someone’s groceries, cleaning up garbage off the street, giving a child a stuffed animal, giving up a seat on the bus to someone who looks tired; the offer of a hug, an invitation to dance; students freely offered friendly smiles, chocolates and compliments.

As VTT teacher and director of Jewish life Shoshana Burton explained, “In this RAC Race, we wanted to restore a sense of community, enhance a sense of connection to one another with humor and generosity.”

photo - Zevi Kline with a “You’ve been RAC’d!” balloon — Zevi Kline with a “You’ve been RAC’d!” balloon. *(photo from VTT RAC Race Facebook page)*

Each team was given specific directions about where to go and how to get there. The teams covered Richmond Centre, Yaletown, Kerrisdale and Mount Pleasant, among other areas. Backpacks were provided containing supplies for the day, including stuffed animals, Starbucks cards and cards that read, “You’ve been RAC’d!” Instructions were given about respecting others’ personal space and, from there, the students improvised with gusto. Challenged to drop their reserve, take initiative and show a little chutzpah, they rose to the occasion.

While some RAC recipients struggled with the notion that these acts of kindness were free, others danced, hugged, smiled and made bunny ears behind the kids’ heads in photographs.

“Take what you need” posters were also stuck on lampposts. Set up like a “for sale” notice, these posters had tabs for people to rip off but, instead of information about dog-walking, babysitting or items for sale, these slips offered passersby things like peace, freedom, encouragement, love and healing.

Parent Lisa Boroditsky was thrilled with the outcome. “It was so wonderful to see the kids connecting to strangers, interacting with community and spreading kindness. After all the laughs, hugs and smiles our group received, we feel like we made a few people happier today!”

Since the RAC Race, Burton said, the students just “keep coming.” Sometimes in groups as large as 20, they want to talk about our next project, she said, describing this student group as “unstoppable.”

When asked how the RAC program fits within the VTT curriculum, Burton explained, “Chesed is not a subject we study; it is the life we live.” Moreover, RAC is not bound to the classroom, she added. “RAC Race’s lessons were taught with real-world experiences. Students were encouraged to notice genuine needs that they might have not noticed before and to be compassionate in respectful ways.”

As an example, during the Sept. 28 event, student Joshua Switzer’s team came across a homeless man in Kerrisdale who looked “really depressed,” so they gave him a Starbucks gift card.

Said student Alisa Bressler, “When I’m walking around Kerrisdale, I am usually thinking just of myself. This time was different because we were there to help other people.”

An anonymous letter to Burton read, “You’ve opened a door in our hearts welcoming kindness. You make us eager to spread kindness, and also you teach us to be good people. How can we thank you more?”

“Kids continuously seek meaning and connections,” said Burton. “When they are provided with the opportunity to search for and recognize meaningful connections, they are empowered. They ask for more. They never cease to surprise me and always exceed my expectations.”

Concluded Burton, “I love how our school is tuned into the needs of the community now. Because of technology, schools’ roles are changing. It’s not only where we go for knowledge – it’s also a place to make connections and start building a caring community outside the walls of the school. These children will go out into the world with this in mind.”

Shula Klinger is a freelance writer living in North Vancouver.

Taking the classroom to the world

Left to right are Shoshana Burton, Fred Miller and Jessie Claudio. (photo by Shula Klinger)

School curriculum can seem abstract, separate from the “real” world for which it is intended to prepare our children. What can a teacher do to bring the world into her classroom? She can take the classroom into the world.

This is what teacher Shoshana Burton, now of Richmond Jewish Day School, has been doing for many years. Random Acts of Kindness, or RAC (Random Acts of Chesed), week began at King David High School after the sudden death in 2010 of alumna Gabrielle Isserow z’l. Known for her tremendous kindness, it was an apt way to ease the students’ grief. Explained Burton, “RAC week transformed the students’ overwhelming sense of loss into a creative expression of chesed. It revealed a yearning for a network of support and action.”

The project gained momentum and the weeklong celebration of kindness has become “a yearlong process that grows every year, involving students, families and the wider Jewish community.”

photo - Random Acts of Chesed T-shirt — Random Acts of Chesed was inspired by the life of Gabrielle Isserow z’l. *(photo by Shula Klinger)*

Working at RJDS for the 2013-14 academic year, Burton wanted to add a new dimension to the project. She approached Richmond’s nearby Az-Zahraa Islamic Academy. It was a perfect match, as their principal explains on the school’s website, “Education goes well beyond the classroom door.”

Az-Zahraa teacher Jessie Claudio came on board with no hesitation and, over the last few months, the students have formed some powerful new connections. According to Burton, “We had to pull RJDS and AZIA students away from each other when it was time to go back to school!”

The new program was named Abraham’s Tent because the prophet Abraham – revered in both Islam and Judaism – was known for his generous hospitality.

In February of this year, Burton and Claudio took their students on an unusual field trip: to the centre of the Downtown Eastside, to Main and Hastings. There, they spent five days delivering sandwiches they had made, with food donated by Save-On-Foods at Ironwood, Richmond. They also handed out warm clothes.

According to RJDS parent Kathy Rabinovitch-Marliss, this trip challenged the students to leave their comfort zone and set aside any apprehensions or thoughts of judgment. She counseled her daughter, Hannah, to remember that every homeless man is “someone’s father, or someone’s son.”

Among the recipients of the group’s kindness was Fred Miller, 58, caught by a CBC camera as he observed, “If Muslim and Jewish kids can live together, why can’t the rest of the world live together?”

These words inspired the RAC students to find out more. With the help of CBC, they managed to find Miller downtown. They invited him to speak at RJDS, which ended with a massive group hug. On the RJDS blog, principal Abba Brodt describes Miller’s “unflinching” honesty as he answered the students’ questions with stories from his life. Having struggled with addiction for many years, Miller’s experiences made a change from the usual Grade 7 fare, such as The Outsiders. Brodt said the discussion covered, “spiritual strength, faith, addiction, poverty, broken family bonds and deep loneliness.” The students were “spellbound,” he added.

Abraham’s Tent gained recognition with a $3,000 award in a worldwide competition hosted by Random Acts, a nonprofit whose goal is to inspire acts of kindness. But it’s not just about the prize, of course. Claudio and Burton agree that the learning outcomes here go far beyond the regular curriculum. Said Claudio, it has been an excellent opportunity to “bring the textbook to life.” The best way to learn something, she said, is through the emotions.

And, when the students start to form their own opinions about the Jewish-Muslim conflict, Burton hopes that these friendships will remind them to be “tolerant and open-minded.”

Rather than keeping the $3,000 award for their own schools, the RJDS and Az-Zahraa students chose to give the money to Covenant House in Vancouver, a shelter for at-risk youth.

Mohamed A. Dewji, vice-president of the Az-Zahraa Islamic Centre, challenged British Columbia’s Shia Muslim community to match the $3,000 award – and they came through. Dewji hopes to spur other communities into action. “We’re challenging every church, every mosque, every temple to join us,” he said.

photo - Holding the cheques are Mohamed Dewji, vice-president of the Az-Zahraa Islamic Centre, and Jessica Harman, development officer at Covenant House — Holding the cheques are Mohamed Dewji, vice-president of the Az-Zahraa Islamic Centre, and Jessica Harman, development officer at Covenant House. *(photo by Shula Klinger)*

On Friday, June 7, the student group delivered both $3,000 cheques to Covenant House. They also brought boxes of shoes for the residents. George Clarke, manager of Save-On-Foods at Ironwood, Richmond, brought a gift basket packed with necessities for Miller. The atmosphere was jubilant. Jessica Harman, development officer at Covenant House, described her contact with the RAC students as “marvelous.” She added that their donations “are providing love and support to one youth in the crisis shelter for the entire month of June.”

A soft-spoken and articulate man, Miller told the Independent, “It doesn’t end here. I want to work with youth now.” Having already published a set of his stories, he is honing his craft in a journalism class.

Ruby Ravvin, a Grade 7 RJDS student, described Miller as “awesome!” He then ruffled her hair.

The students have created a binder full of cards to help brighten Miller’s day when he feels lonely. In a letter, Breanne Miller (RJDS, Grade 7, no relation to Fred Miller) speaks of inspiration, wisdom and not taking the good things in life for granted. “You have opened my eyes,” she wrote. “You inspired all of us.”

Prior to her involvement in RAC, student Hannah Marliss had never had a conversation with a homeless person, nor did she have any close Muslim friends. Now, she said, “We’re hoping to invite the Az-Zahraa students to our grad. We’ve started something together!”

She described the change she has experienced in her own life. “Life’s not about technology, iPads and iPhones. They’re just things,” she said. “It’s about family, people you have connections with.”

On a scale of one to 10, the RAC experience was “definitely a 10,” said Hannah. Her mother agreed: “This was the highlight of Hannah’s elementary school life. It has changed all of our lives,” said Rabinovitch-Marliss.

Omid Gha, a counselor at Az-Zahraa, summed up the experience with a quote from Aristotle: “Educating the mind without educating the heart is no education at all.”

Shula Klinger is a freelance writer living in North Vancouver.

Anne Frank exhibit at VHEC till July 31

The Frank family on the Merwedeplein, May 1941. (photo from AFF BASEL, CH / AFS AMSTERDAM, NL)

Since her diary was first published in 1947, Anne Frank’s story has reached many millions of readers. Her precocious wisdom, her courage and her unswerving faith in the goodness of humanity are humbling. Many young readers encounter Anne’s work at school, as an introduction to their study of the Holocaust. Readers find a focus for their curiosity, grief and raw outrage in the fate of Anne and her family. But how do we ensure that this history truly is for “today”? And how do we help them make sense of a troubled world that has descended into horrifying chaos? These harsh lessons are currently being explored through Anne Frank – A History for Today, currently housed at the Vancouver Holocaust Education Centre.

According to Nina Krieger, VHEC’s executive director, this exhibit has seen “unprecedented numbers” of visitors – of all ages and ethnic backgrounds – at the centre’s Sunday openings. There are visitors during the week, of course, as well as school groups who tour the exhibit under the guidance of the centre’s docents. In addition to the training docents receive from VHEC education director Adara Goldberg, this exhibit has been guided by the exhibit’s Amsterdam staff, who traveled to Vancouver to offer their support.

On May 29, the JI accompanied Grade 6 and 7 students from King’s School in Langley as they toured the exhibit with docent Lise Kirchner. Described by their teacher Peter Langbroek as “cogent, clear and informative,” Kirchner moved swiftly between the display boards. Pausing frequently to ask questions, she encouraged the students at every step, reinforcing and building on their answers. What are these children wearing? asked Kirchner, referring to an image of Hitler Youth in uniform. Why did the children have to join this organization? One student replied astutely, “Because they are the next generation.”

The class group also included school parents, who were clearly invested in the day’s lessons. The presence of parents is extremely important, Langbroek explained, because students often need to talk through their reactions later on, not just in class or during the ride home. “It helps to have a facilitator at the dinner table,” he said. This was evident in the comments heard around the display cases, as mothers discussed their own questions. “Would you put your own family at risk?” one mom asked.

In line with the policy of Holocaust education centres worldwide, VHEC recommends their exhibits for children of 10 and up. According to Krieger, “Grade 5 is standard practice for Yad Vashem and the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Centre; our community bases its offerings on best pedagogical practice and current research.”

photo - The movable bookcase entrance to the secret annex — The movable bookcase entrance to the secret annex. *(photo from Photos Anne Frank House, 2010. Copyright Anne Frank House, photographer Cris Toala Olivares)*

When asked about his reasons for bringing his students to the exhibition, Langbroek explained that this is his 27th year in the classroom, and his reasons for doing so were spiritual – his is a Christian school – and personal, as well as professional.

“There are so many life lessons taught in this history,” he said. “By informing youth of this history and showing how bullying is a small-scale version of state-sponsored brutality, we can help train them in God’s righteousness.”

Raised by Dutch parents, Langbroek’s mother saw Jews being arrested and taken away in trucks; two of his uncles took Jews into their homes. An avid reader of Chaim Potok’s work, Langbroek has long been fascinated by “the pockmarked history of pogroms, exiles and forced conversions that took place in the Christian era.” He said he struggles with the atrocities committed in the name of a savior who set himself “the highest moral standard.” He added, “To me, it would only be natural for a Christian to risk his life to hide Jews.”

As well as the photographs and information on the boards, the exhibition room at the VHEC includes a 3-D model of the building and annex where the Franks were hidden. The students were clearly interested in the model and there was much crowding around, leaning in and craning of necks. Here, Kirchner honed in on the Franks’ living conditions, supported by a few trusted friends with shared food rations and occasional treats, like magazines. How do you occupy yourself when you are stuck inside for two years? she asked the students to consider. What about during the Allied bombing raids? Everyone else was hiding underground, in shelters, while Anne was in an attic at the top of a tall building. She couldn’t go down and risk being caught, noted Kirchner, but there were bombs landing all around them.

The exhibition also includes five glass cases housing original artifacts, saved by local Holocaust survivors. These items are particularly valuable, said Krieger. “A document is an eyewitness to the time.”

In a recent article for VHEC’s newsletter, Zachor, Kirchner talks about these donations from local survivors. She says that they help students to develop a personal relationship with Holocaust history. For example, in one case, students are able to see the yellow star worn by Inge Manes before she was hidden in a convent and confirmed as a Catholic. In another case, there is a medal showing that her rescuer was honored by Yad Vashem for bravery. The personal connections formed during these visits are an education that lasts a lifetime. Krieger refers to this as an “ongoing resonance.”

The King’s School students clearly appreciated the artifacts. They were given copies of an identity document belonging to Regina Bulvik. Asked to interpret the information it carried, they learned that she was the sole survivor of the Holocaust in her family, and had traveled to Canada alone, with no papers. At that time, she was still a teenager and was required to have a Jewish sponsor family here before being allowed to immigrate. The students pored over this document, scrutinizing it carefully as they responded to Kirchner’s questions.

photo - nne’s room. After the Frank family took up residence in the secret annex, Anne pasted all sorts of magazine clippings and postcards on the walls of her room — Anne’s room. After the Frank family took up residence in the secret annex, Anne pasted all sorts of magazine clippings and postcards on the walls of her room. *(photo from Photos Anne Frank House, 2010. Copyright Anne Frank House, photographer Cris Toala Olivares)*

On returning to school, the students’ comments about the exhibit were telling. They spoke about justice, love and kindness. They showed gratitude for their freedoms and their desire to live well with God.

Vanessa contemplated the inner life of the Franks, who “probably felt guilty because their Jewish friends and family were sent to concentration camps while they were hiding and getting help.”

Added Hannah, “I would always wonder, Are my Jewish friends in a labor camp right now or even dead? And what would it be like if I was not a Jew and just a regular German?”

Caleb imagined being in the annex, being afraid to “step on a creaky floor board.” Megan said she’d miss “feeling the sunlight on my back.”

For these students, the exhibition is about prejudice and intolerance. It’s about standing up for – rather than judging or bullying – those we perceive to be different than ourselves. It’s about suffering through harsh lessons and still making dignified, compassionate choices.

Anne Frank – A History for Today is at the Vancouver Holocaust Education Centre, 50-950 West 41st Ave., until July 31, Mon-Thurs, 9 a.m.-5 p.m., and Fri, 9 a.m.-4 p.m.

Shula Klinger is a freelance writer living in North Vancouver.

Researching family history is deeply rewarding

The author’s grandfather, Solomon/Zalman (later, Bernard), is at top right.

I have been researching my family history for some years now. Usually, over the winter break, when life slows down to a dull roar and I can spend time at the computer. I pore over JewishGen for hours, entering names of people and places into search engines. The same searches over and over, hoping that databases will have been updated; that something in my mind will click; that I will finally reach the right person; that the right person will still be alive – that someone will be able to tell me what happened to the women in that photo. The photo from Vienna. The photo of the family that could have been. That should have been. These four brothers and two sisters. The brothers who escaped. The women who did not, and perished. Where? How? The women whose stories have never been told. Or maybe they were told to someone in the United States, Argentina, Scotland or Mexico – but not to me.

In recent months, I have started to ask new questions. These new questions are concerned, as ever, with the people in the photo. But they are also about my own motivation. Why do I feel compelled to keep searching? Why do some people live by the adage that it’s all water under the bridge, while others steadfastly paddle upstream? Would it not be easier to drift with the currents of time, away from our family’s past and just meander, uncomplaining, toward the future?

People used to tell me that true self-knowledge only comes to us when we have children of our own and are challenged daily, hourly, to face ourselves. We find out if we have truly stuck to the resolutions of childhood. You know, the resolution that we’d do things differently, be more engaged, more sensitive, empathic, less busy, more patient – that we’d truly remember what it was like to be a child.

Sure enough, since my first searches brought me in touch with my many cousins, I have had children of my own. I watch our older child leaving behind his early childhood, becoming more and more aware of our small family unit. I hear his wistful questions during each year’s big festivals and explain that our family is scattered across the world. I set up Skype for him to speak to relatives on other continents. His curiosity, persistence and intellect are bound to lead to more searching questions, questions about who we are and where we came from. And since he is already attached to his Jewish roots in our household of mixed traditions, I know that I’ll need to get my story straight soon enough. I know this because it is already beginning. Perhaps this is why I search, I wonder? So I can look him in the eye and know that I don’t have to fudge it?

But then I realize that my motivation comes from a more complex place than one where i’s are dotted and t’s are crossed. It’s not just about information; it’s about education.

There is certainly no education quite like motherhood. Children are such dogged teachers. Their curriculum may seem haphazard at times, their lesson planning a little sketchy, but when I take a step back – a really big step back – I find that what they are teaching me has as much to do with my ancestors as the two little chaps asking me to help them finish a puzzle, reassemble a broken toy or read a particularly difficult word.

Researching one’s family history is a gesture as deeply spiritually maternal as the act of raising one’s own children. Yes, there is a visceral desire shared by all humans to know where we come from and who we are, but there is an added layer of compassion, of love, of nurturing that comes when the people we love are gone.

Researching one’s family history is a gesture as deeply spiritually maternal as the act of raising one’s own children. Yes, there is a visceral desire shared by all humans to know where we come from and who we are, but there is an added layer of compassion, of love, of nurturing that comes when the people we love are gone. And not only are they gone, they left us too soon and in a manner so horrific that time and again, the adjective I hear from survivors’ children and grandchildren is “secretive.” So often, people simply don’t want to talk. They don’t want to share their stories because that would mean choosing to relive the horror, to tell tales that are replayed in dreams over and over again. The ones that wake them up at night and destroy the possibility of sleep for hours to come.

Those of us who grew up in the safety of this part of the world, we who are too young to have been witnesses to these crimes against humanity, we are aware of our good fortune. We know how lucky we are to have grown up in peacetime and, yet, we can feel somehow diminished by our lack of suffering. At the same time, and as we become parents ourselves, we dream of extending our parental love back through time to embrace and soothe the wounds inflicted on our forebears. We recall those who died in infancy or childhood. Having expanded our capacity for love, our fluency in that subtle language, we want to communicate absolute safety to that vulnerable child, the terrified adult unable to keep her children safe. We are challenged by the desire to reach out to our tormented and murdered ancestors, adults and children alike, to lift them out far beyond the atrocities and into the warmth of our own homes, our present, a safe and comfortable existence that they never knew.

And yet, unable to do so, we do what we can. We learn their names and we express our empathy and our sorrow by inscribing them and their stories in Word documents late at night while our children sleep, so that tomorrow, when they wake up, their parents can let them know, as they do every single day, that they are loved, that their world is safe and that, as small as it is, the human heart embraces the whole wide world.

Shula Klinger is an author-illustrator in North Vancouver, B.C. Her young adult novel, The Kingdom of Strange, was published in 2008 by Marshall Cavendish.