Life

Recovery from surgery

Don’t let anybody tell you that recovery from knee replacement surgery is a walk in the park. It’s more like a hobble through hell. A very slow, frustrating, hobble with plenty of hurdles, pain and frustration. But, also, gradual victories and milestones.

My journey started off a bit rocky. One week before my knee surgery, I was diagnosed with severe sleep apnea and had to get a CPAP machine. Getting used to that is like getting used to having someone hold a pillow over your face while you sleep. And the apparatus itself – think Hannibal Lecter. Three weeks after my knee surgery, I had a bowel obstruction and landed back in the hospital for a couple of days.

As for the actual knee surgery, I had a spinal anesthetic and a nerve block. They also gave me conscious sedation, which, quite frankly, was my new best friend. Until I felt the surgeon cut into my leg, heard the electric saw they use to cut the thigh and shin bones, and felt the hammering. An unnerving experience, to say the least, and not one I’d care to repeat.

After surgery, in the recovery room, a young woman with black-and-green hair came over and announced that she was going to take an X-ray of my knee. As she leaned over me, the lanyard around her neck swung near my face. The strap on the lanyard said “Vancouver City Morgue.” I looked around, paused for a second, and said: “So, is this what hell looks like?” She corrected the misunderstanding and said the lanyard was a joke. I suggested she might want to remove it, lest she scare the next unsuspecting patient.

As for the process of recovery – I realize that each person’s journey is different and the most important piece of advice I can give someone going into knee surgery is this: do not, I repeat do not, compare your progress to others. While some well-meaning physiotherapists and other medical professionals suggested I might want to join a Facebook support group for people who’ve had knee replacement surgery, I strongly advise against this. There are people who will boast that they achieved a 90-degree bend in their knee two days after surgery, while others will bemoan the fact that it’s been 12 weeks and they still don’t have a 90-degree bend. Everyone heals differently and comparing yourself to others will only make you feel crummy. I speak from experience. Don’t do it.

Full recovery from a knee replacement is slow – they tell you it takes anywhere from six months to a year. If you’re an impatient patient like I am, it can be hard. Take the wins where you can, be thankful for every small step forward, celebrate the successes along the way.

Part of every knee replacement is the post-surgery physiotherapy. If I had to compare it to something, it would be like having a 350-pound bodybuilder sit on your newly operated knee, while bench pressing a Ford F-150 full of cement. It is the polar opposite of a pleasant experience. My physiotherapist happens to be a tiny but extremely muscular and strong woman. She’s only doing what she’s been trained to do but, from my perspective, it’s pure torture. Her goal is to get you mobile, bending your knee and active as quickly as possible. Even if that means making you cry and scream during your half-hour sessions. I always thought I had a fairly high pain threshold, but she blew that theory out of the water right at the get-go.

To be clear, I am the most compliant patient anyone could ask for. If my physiotherapist tells me to exercise two to four times a day at home, I do it. Sometimes, it pays off, sometimes it doesn’t. That’s where the frustration comes in. But then you get to a certain point where you wake up one morning and you think, “Hey, I can do the stairs more easily now. How did that happen?” To be sure, there are countless ups and downs during the recovery. The trick is to keep your eye on the prize and know that, at the end of it all, you’ll have a knee that no longer locks or gives out on you.

Recovery would have been much harder had I not had an incredibly devoted husband who did nothing but take care of my every need for more than two months. From helping me shower to doing all the grocery shopping, cooking, cleaning, laundry, driving me to physio and doctor appointments, running errands, and taking care of many other things, Harvey was my rock. He never complained but, not surprisingly, he was exhausted. He’s 74 years old and has some medical issues of his own. More than once I suggested we get a cleaning lady, or do more food takeout, but he wouldn’t hear of it. He recently relented on the food takeout, I’m happy to report.

Here are a few things I’ve learned from this whole experience:

Give people what they need and want; not what you think they need and want.
Always express your gratitude for kind gestures, large and small.
Pay the kindness forward wherever and whenever you can.
Use whatever resources are available to keep calm, distracted and positive during the recovery process.
You don’t need to fight every fight. Choose your battles and conserve energy.
Help others as you would want to be helped.
Struggle is optional.

At age 67, I feel like the past few years, with their accompanying health challenges, have been one long audition for old age. Turns out there’s good news and bad news. The good news is that the audition is over. The bad news is that I got the starring role.

Shelley Civkin, aka the Accidental Balabusta, is a happily retired librarian and communications officer. For 17 years, she wrote a weekly book review column for the Richmond Review. She’s currently a freelance writer and volunteer.

Rockower win leads to NOLA

Israeli artist Ya’acov Agam’s Holocaust memorial is located in Woldenberg Park. (photo by Adina Horwich)

On Friday, June 2, about 20 minutes before Shabbat candlelighting, I checked my email. I saw one from Cynthia Ramsay, editor of the Jewish Independent. We’ve been in touch for more than two years. The subject line read, “Congratulations, you are an AJPA Rockower Award Winner!”

It reminded me of the messages we all receive at one time or another, telling us we have won a million dollars, give or take. I opened it gingerly and my eyes widened in disbelief. “Adina, I have great news. You have won a Rockower award.” Several lines down, I read there is to be an American Jewish Press Association conference and awards banquet in July, in New Orleans. I immediately shot back, “Cynthia, are you serious?!” I decided right then, I am going to this. I am to be honoured for an article I submitted in March 2022, recounting my aliyah story – I live in Jerusalem – and paralleling it with that of an Israeli couple’s similar, and different, experiences with immigration to Vancouver.

The event was in four weeks’ time: July, high season, crowds, lines. I pushed past every sane reason not to go and spent the next two weeks organizing an itinerary. I registered for the banquet and reserved my room, throwing in a long weekend to Toronto before the conference to see my elderly parents and a few relatives.

As I lit Shabbat candles, I broke down in tears. Of elation and joy. It had been a long while since I cried. This meant so much to me. I was going on an ego trip! My very own!

After a 20-plus-hour ordeal getting to New Orleans from Toronto, I saw the light of day dawning on NOLA, as the city is affectionately called, combining the abbreviation for New Orleans with that of its home state, Louisiana. I was in my hotel room shortly after 9 a.m., then went downstairs to find the AJPA conference. I was warmly welcomed by Taylor and Jessica, head office personnel, who handed me a gift bag and offered me breakfast, for which I was very grateful.

I entered the assembly room and listened to a session in progress, then took a walk to get acquainted with my immediate surroundings. I later rested and prepared for the moment I’d come all this way for: the Rockower Awards Ceremony and Banquet Night. Around 5:30 p.m., I descended to the lobby, decked out in my finest, high heels and all (last time I wore those shoes was eight years ago, at my son’s wedding) and traipsed (hobbled) across the street to the Louisiana Pavilion of the National WWII Museum.

In the entrance hall, tables and chairs had been set up. Jazz musicians played a selection of local repertoire. Cocktails and hors d’oeuvres were plentiful. We were encouraged to have a look around the museum. Eventually, we took our places at the tables for dinner, during which, Alan Smason, AJPA president, read off the names of the winners. I could barely touch my food as I waited to hear my name. In the end he just said, “The Vancouver Jewish Independent” and Taylor came over to hand me my honourable mention certificate. I relaxed and finished dinner, the best part being the dessert: a thick slice of bread pudding, doused in a super-sweet, rum-flavoured glaze. The evening wound up with several participants heading to a bar somewhere, while others, including me, went up to Rosie’s on the Roof, right in our hotel. There, we chatted together with other journalists, from St. Louis, Dallas, Houston, Albuquerque and more.

photo - Docent Diane Cohen in front of the aron kodesh (left) of Touro Synagogue on St. Charles Avenue — Docent Diane Cohen in front of the aron kodesh (left) of Touro Synagogue on St. Charles Avenue. *(photo by Adina Horwich)*

The next day, I took the tram to a meeting I’d arranged with docent Diane Cohen, a lifelong New Orleanian, at the Touro Synagogue on St. Charles Avenue. Cohen and I sat in the front row of the sanctuary, elegant and in pristine condition, as was the entire building, which was built in 1908 – the congregation’s history goes back to 1828! She shared with me some of that history and the community’s origins and growth. Later, she showed me around the lobby, chapel and office. We had a good discussion and I felt so touched to have spent about two hours in this remarkable venue, which continues to thrive, housing an active, vibrant, welcoming community. (See tourosynagogue.com.)

photo - The aron kodesh of Touro Synagogue — The aron kodesh of Touro Synagogue. (photo by Adina Horwich)

From there, Cohen drove me to a Walgreens where I bought a bus pass. Then I bussed down Canal Street towards Bourbon. As it was midday, things were not quite hopping, but it was enough to give me an idea of the many shops, restaurants, tourist sights and traps. I could conjure up an image of what night life and Mardi Gras celebrations must be like.

The bus driver let me off, suggesting I head down to the Riverfront, where I could hop on the ferry that crosses to the other side of town. After walking about 10 minutes to the wharf, the heavens burst open with a huge shower of warm rain. I boarded the next ferry. The ride was all of five minutes, but it afforded me a skyline view of the city and, hey, I can say I sailed down the Mississippi River.

I stayed on for the return ride, then meandered along the Woldenberg Park boardwalk, happening upon a colourful panel structure created by Israeli artist Ya’acov Agam, who designed it as a Holocaust memorial, a gift to New Orleans. From any which way one views it, light glistens through the menorah and Star of David symbols, panels ever shining, even in rain, honouring the victims.

Further along, I was treated to the sight of a characteristic of the region, a paddlewheeler riverboat. Staying on course, I found my way to the French Quarter. Having lived my adolescence in Montreal, it was warming to see French street names and other remnants of the French period there. I saw a woman in a candy store washing Granny Smith apples, preparing them for dipping in a variety of sugary coatings, reminding me of the taffy apples of my childhood. The fleur-de-lis emblem was everywhere, including on the bathroom floor tiles at my hotel and the chairs in the lobby.

I returned to the St. Charles Avenue tram line, getting off a stop before my hotel to visit the Museum of the Southern Jewish Experience (msje.org). Well, what an experience, indeed. After showing my AJPA participant’s badge, Abbey allowed me in, and Jim showed me around the small but charming and interesting museum. Visitors see the historic beginnings of Jewish settlement in the Southern states, how communities formed, often with just a handful of individuals. Meetings and gatherings were held in homes, rented rooms, sometimes even at churches. Land for cemeteries was purchased. Hebrew schools instructed children. Sisterhoods held functions, raised money to support these efforts. From peddlers to grocers, small dry goods shops opened, which later flourished into department stores.

photo - Visitors to the Museum of the Southern Jewish Experience learn about the historic beginnings of Jewish settlement in the Southern states — Visitors to the Museum of the Southern Jewish Experience learn about the historic beginnings of Jewish settlement in the Southern states. *(photo by Adina Horwich)*

Jews were involved in cotton and other agricultural production. Trade ties were woven between the various populations, be they French, Spanish, British or Indigenous. The slow, but steady influx of Jews led to the formal establishment of synagogues and community facilities and institutions. Jewish presence figured prominently and was largely welcomed. Both Sephardi and Ashkenazi Jews gravitated to this region. Various levels of observance and traditions added to the fabric, and tension. It took time to determine a way to blend customs and decide how prayers would be led. Most congregations became affiliated with Reform Judaism – as many could not afford a full-time rabbi, either visiting clergy would come once every few weeks or lay members would lead services. Many a personal story is told. Families were close.

As I moved from room to room, I imagined the hardships, resourcefulness and sheer tenacity of these early pioneers, who had fled their native lands, to reach these shores or inland, remote, rural regions, to build new lives and opportunities. Today, there is so much going on in the South: a number of Jewish newspapers, initiatives, shared enterprises. Jews hold key roles and responsibilities in their cities. Community members are well-connected to one another, both in person and digitally, meeting individual needs, celebrating and sharing lifecycle events, holidays, prayers and cuisine. I was moved and impressed by the overall sense of purpose and furthering of a common goal: to maintain and strengthen Jewish identity. This goal has been unwavering over decades, through education and diverse joint programs and activities. Also, by fostering positive and supportive relations and cooperation with fellow residents of all backgrounds.

Towards the end of the exhibit, many well-known celebrities’ photos were displayed, all of whom hail from Southern Jewish communities. I was especially enchanted by the link to a directory where one can click on any given town or city where a community existed (or still does) and read about their specific story. I have completed Alabama’s list and hope to read through every single state. Check it out at isjl.org/encyclopedia-of-southern-jewish-communities.html.

Reluctantly, I left New Orleans. Upon returning home and unloading all the papers and paraphernalia I brought back with me, I unpacked from my carry-on several beaded necklaces that had been used as table centrepieces at the banquet. As the staff was cleaning up at the end of the evening, I asked if it would be all right to take a handful. Each colour represents a value or virtue: purple for justice, green for faith and gold for power. I could use a bit of all three!

Adina Horwich was born in Israel to Canadian parents. In 1960, the family returned to Canada, first living in Halifax, then in a Montreal suburb. In 1975, at age 17, Horwich made aliyah, and has lived mostly in the Jerusalem area. Her award-winning article can be read at jewishindependent.ca/immigration-challenges-2.

About the Rosh Hashanah cover art

I spent hours online trying to find a suitable piece of art for this year’s Rosh Hashanah cover, then even more hours for what I might do myself. I really wanted to include a shofar in whatever I did, as a call to hope and action, for myself as much as anyone else.

I stumbled on artist Yitzchok Moully’s Elul Shofar Art Challenge (moullyart.com). Moully’s work is bright, colourful, full of life. As I mulled it over, I received an email from local artist Merle Linde, who generously created art for the JI ’s Passover cover this year and for last’s year Rosh Hashanah issue. She sent me an emotionally charged piece lamenting the countless trees that have been destroyed by wildfires. The base painting was an acrylic pour, and I spent several fun hours learning about and practising the technique, deciding it wasn’t quite what I wanted for my shofar blast.

I eventually came across creativejewishmom.com, the site that inspired my 2020 Passover cover depicting the Israelites (made of corks) crossing the Red Sea, who made a second appearance for Passover 2021, participating in Zoom seders. This time, it was a Tashlich picture made with yarn, coloured paper and felt marker that caught my eye on creativejewishmom.com. Inspired, I made the JI masthead out of yarn and ink, and created the shofar and the hand holding it – I wanted there to be a human presence, as we are critical to any change, for better or worse.

The middle section of the page eluded me for days, and I tried various things that just didn’t feel or look right. Thankfully, a middle-of-the-night couple of hours resulted in the finished cover, albeit with some tweaking in Photoshop. It ended up being more cheerful than I was intending. I am happily surprised at my latent optimism, and hope that readers also find it uplifting.

New recipes for a new year

A family performs the kapparot ritual with two hens and a rooster, circa 1901. (photo from Library of Congress via brandeis.edu)

Whether or not the custom of eating chicken for a High Holiday meal arose from a desire to replace the ritual of kapparot, roast chicken is often served at the holiday table. Here are a few chicken recipes you might like to try this new year, as well as sweet potato sides and desserts made with pomegranates – another food with holiday symbolism. A coffee cake is always good to have on hand for visitors, or to help break the Yom Kippur fast.

ROAST HERBED CHICKEN

1 3-pound chicken
4 garlic cloves
2 bay leaves
3 tbsp melted unsalted pareve margarine
salt and pepper to taste
1/4 tsp thyme
1/4 tsp sage
1/4 tsp oregano
1/4 tsp marjoram
1/4 tsp basil

Preheat oven to 425ºF. Grease a baking pan.
Rinse and dry chicken. Rub skin with 1 cut garlic clove, then place it inside chicken with other cloves and bay leaves.
In a bowl, mix margarine with salt, pepper, thyme, sage, oregano, marjoram and basil. Place 1 tablespoon inside chicken, tie legs together and place, breast side down, in baking pan. Brush the rest of the spiced mixture over the outside of the chicken. Bake 45 minutes. Turn it over and bake 40-45 minutes longer.

SIMPLEST ROAST CHICKEN

1 5-pound chicken
1 lemon cut in half
4 garlic cloves
4 tbsp unsalted pareve margarine
salt and pepper to taste
1 cup chicken soup, water or wine

Preheat oven to 500ºF. Grease a roasting pan.
Remove excess fat, neck, gizzards and liver. Combine lemon, garlic, margarine, salt and pepper in a bowl and stuff inside chicken.
Place chicken breast side up in a baking pan with legs facing the back of the oven. Roast 10 minutes then move with a wooden spoon to keep it from sticking. Continue roasting 40-50 minutes.
Tilt chicken to get juices into roasting pan. Remove chicken. Put juices in a pan, add soup, water or wine and bring to a boil. Reduce liquid by half. Serve sauce in a bowl or pour over chicken.

CHICKEN WITH DRESSING
(this was a favourite of my mother, z”l)

1 5-pound chicken
salt to taste
3/4 tsp ginger
1 sliced onion
1/2 cup celery
your favourite stuffing
3/4 cup boiling water
4-6 sliced potatoes

Preheat oven to 400ºF. Grease a roasting pan.
Sprinkle chicken cavity with salt and ginger. Place in roasting pan. Stuff with your favourite stuffing. Add onion and celery. Roast 20 minutes.
Reduce temperature to 350ºF and bake 20 minutes more. Add boiling water and potatoes and continue baking 1 1/2 hours more.

MY MOM’S (Z”L) CANDIED SWEET POTATOES

8 sweet potatoes
1/4 cup brown sugar
1 tsp cinnamon
1/2 cup crushed nuts (optional)
2 tbsp margarine
2 tbsp non-dairy creamer
2 tbsp orange juice

Preheat oven to 350ºF. Grease a casserole dish.
Boil sweet potatoes in water until soft. Remove, cool and peel. Place in a bowl and mash.
Add brown sugar, cinnamon, nuts, margarine, non-dairy creamer and orange juice. Spoon into greased casserole and bake 30-45 minutes.

MY SABRA SWEET POTATOES

6 oranges
1/4 cup Sabra liqueur
6 tbsp margarine
2 tbsp brown sugar
1/4 tsp nutmeg
4 cooked, peeled, smashed sweet potatoes

Preheat oven to 350ºF. Grease a casserole dish.
Cut oranges in half and scoop out pulp.
Place mashed sweet potatoes in a mixing bowl.
In a saucepan, combine Sabra, margarine, brown sugar and nutmeg. Simmer for three minutes. Pour over sweet potatoes.
Spoon potatoes and sauce into orange halves. Bake 30 minutes.

APPLE-POMEGRANATE COBBLER
(This recipe is adapted from a Food & Wine recipe)

2 cups pomegranate juice
6 peeled, halved, cored, sliced 1/2-inch thick apples
1 cup sugar
2 1/4 cups flour
kosher salt
2 tsp baking powder
1 stick cold unsalted butter, cut into small pieces, or 1/2 cup unsalted pareve margarine
1 cup cold heavy cream or pareve cream
pomegranate seeds
pareve vanilla ice cream

Preheat oven to 375ºF. Place an eight-by-eight glass baking dish on a foil-lined rimmed baking sheet.
In a small saucepan, bring pomegranate juice to a boil over high heat, reduce to 1/3 cup (approximately 15 minutes). Pour into a bowl. Fold in apple slices, 3/4 cup sugar, 1/4 cup flour and 1/2 tsp salt. Put into baking dish.
In a bowl, whisk 2 cups flour, 1/4 cup sugar, baking powder and 1/2 tsp salt. Add butter or margarine and cut until mixture resembles coarse crumbs. Stir in 1 cup cream.
Gather topping and scatter over apple filling. Brush top with cream, sprinkle with sugar. Bake 60-70 minutes or until filling is bubbling and topping is golden. If crust is browning, tent with foil.
Let cool for 20 minutes. Sprinkle with pomegranate seeds. Top with vanilla ice cream.

POMEGRANATE ICE
(makes 5 cups)

8-10 seeded pomegranates
3-4 tbsp lemon juice
1 1/2 tsp grated lemon peel
3/4 cup sugar

Whirl pomegranate seeds in blender. Strain and save liquid for 4 cups.
Add lemon juice, lemon peel and sugar. Pour into a metal pan and cover with foil. Freeze 8 hours. Remove and break into chunks. Blend into slush. Refreeze until firm.

SOUR CREAM COFFEE CAKE

3 cups flour
1 1/2 cups sugar
1 1/2 tsp baking soda
1 1/2 tsp baking powder
salt to taste
3/4 cup butter or margarine, melted
1 1/2 cups sour cream
3 eggs
1 1/2 tsp vanilla
1/2 cup chopped nuts
2 tbsp sugar
1 tbsp cinnamon
1/4 cup chopped nuts

Preheat over to 350ºF. Grease a baking pan.
In a mixing bowl, mix flour, sugar, baking soda, baking powder and salt.
Add butter or margarine, sour cream, eggs and vanilla and mix.
Add nuts and blend well. Pour half into baking pan.
In a bowl, mix sugar, cinnamon and nuts. Pour over batter. Add rest of batter. Bake 1 hour.

QUICK CRUMB COFFEE CAKE

2 1/4 cups flour
3 tsp baking powder
salt to taste
1 cup sugar
6 tbsp unsalted margarine, melted
1 egg
3/4 cup milk
1 1/2 tsp vanilla
1/2 cup brown sugar
2 tbsp flour
2 tsp cinnamon
2 tbsp crumbled margarine
1/2 cup chopped nuts

Preheat oven to 350ºF. Grease a baking pan.
In a mixing bowl, blend flour, baking powder and salt. Add sugar, margarine, egg, milk and vanilla and blend well.
Spread batter on bottom of greased baking pan.
In a small bowl, combine brown sugar, flour, cinnamon, margarine and chopped nuts. Sprinkle on top of batter. Bake 30 minutes or until a toothpick inserted in the centre comes out clean.

Sybil Kaplan is a Jerusalem-based journalist and author. She has edited/compiled nine kosher cookbooks and is a food writer for North American Jewish publications. She leads walks of the Jewish food market, Machaneh Yehudah, in English.

The Yom Kippur break fast

Teshuvah: a guide to repentance

Twelfth-century Jewish thinker Moses Maimonides described the sound of the shofar at Rosh Hashanah as a wake-up call for the soul. (photo from flickr.com/photos/gsankary)

The sound of the shofar at Rosh Hashanah, the great 12th-century Jewish thinker Moses Maimonides wrote, is a wake-up call for the soul. Its message: “Arise from your slumber! Search your ways and return in teshuvah and remember your Creator!”

Teshuvah is the central theme of the time between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, known collectively as the Ten Days of Teshuvah. Typically, teshuvah is translated from the Hebrew as repentance, but it literally means return, as if turning back to something you’ve strayed or looked away from. But that begs the question: return to what? Depending on the time and place, there have been different answers – God, a state of moral purity, the Jewish people and Israel.

The Jewish Experience at Brandeis University asked Near Eastern and Judaic studies professor Yehudah Mirsky about the history of teshuvah. Mirsky, who is also a faculty member of the Schusterman Centre for Israel Studies, is the author of Rav Kook: Mystic in a Time of Revolution (Yale University Press).

Ancient Teshuvah

The Hebrew Bible sees teshuvah as principally a return to God. “Come, let us return to the Lord,” the prophet Hoshea (14:2) tells the people of Israel.

In Psalm 51, King David seeks teshuvah for committing adultery with Bathsheba. Importantly, David’s confession is addressed to God because, as he says, “Against You alone have I sinned.”

Traditional rabbinical commentators have interpreted this to mean that teshuvah requires confessing your sins to God. Part of achieving intimacy with Him involves His knowing your sins. And only in that way can you return to Him.

Talmudic teshuvah

For centuries after the destruction by Rome in 70 CE of Jerusalem’s ancient temple, where Jews would say confession and offer sacrifices for atonement, the rabbis reworked biblical ideas and practices of teshuvah into a roadmap for spiritual and moral growth.

In the Mishnah and the Talmud, the vast collections of law, theology, interpretation, folklore and more compiled roughly between 200 and 500 CE, they called for introspection, changing one’s ways, and asking others for forgiveness.

This line of thinking reached its apotheosis in Maimonides’ Hilkhot Teshuvah (The Laws of Return). He placed confession and regret at the centre of repentance so that teshuvah, according to Mirsky, became a process of “moral and spiritual self-cultivation and self-education.”

Teshuvah was no mechanical act. It had to involve genuine contrition and the individual becoming a better person. In addition to being a scholar, philosopher, jurist and communal leader, Maimonides was also a physician.

“One senses his medical sensibility was at work here, too,” said Mirsky. “Transgression sickened the soul and teshuvah is the cure, a return to full spiritual and moral health.”

Cosmic teshuvah

Already during the talmudic period, rabbis had begun talking about teshuvah as a spiritual energy flowing through the universe that was created by God when He made the earth.

The medieval mystics who wrote the great texts of the kabbalah took this even further. They said teshuvah comes not only from inside the individual but is also a dynamic force all around us. To repent, you tap into it. As Mirsky put it, “You catch the wave.”

In the 13th-century Zohar, the foundational work of Jewish mysticism, teshuvah became a way of repairing a rupture or tear in the spiritual fabric of the universe. When the varying energies at work in the world – justice and mercy, male and female, tradition and change – go out of whack, teshuvah helps to rebalance them. In other mystical texts, return is seen as a kind of rebirth and the achievement of the soul’s deepest freedom.

Some 300 years later, Rabbi Isaac Luria, the great mystic of Safed in northern Israel, famously connected teshuvah with tikkun olam (healing the world). Through teshuvah, Jews perfect God’s work, helping usher in the Messianic Age.

For Luria, this largely meant a kind of spiritual healing. But, over time, and especially in the last century, Jews have begun to connect this to ideas of social justice, adding another layer of interpretation to Jewish messianic ideals.

Teshuvah and Israel

In Mirsky’s view, the Zionist movement secularized and redefined teshuvah.

Political passivity, which the rabbis thought was anathema to the survival of the Jewish people, was now considered a sin. Repenting involved identifying with the nationalist yearnings of the Jewish people for a homeland. In this way, teshuvah returned Jews in the diaspora to Israel, and the Jews as a whole to a more vital sense of group identity.

Kook’s teshuvah

Past and present interpretations of teshuvah came together in the work of Abraham Isaac Kook, the first Ashkenazi chief rabbi of modern Palestine and the leading thinker of religious Zionism. To him, all existence is rooted in God and seeks to return to God. That return takes the form of religious practice, social and ethical commitment, art and culture – everything we consciously do to make the world better for the Jewish people and ultimately all of humanity. And, all of these elements – the ritual and ethical, material and intellectual, the Jewish and universal – all need one another to do God’s work in the world. (For more on Kook, see Mirsky’s book.)

American teshuvah

Teshuvah in the United States reflects the inescapable individualism of American life. The great American Jewish thinker Abraham Joshua Heschel linked teshuvah to the nation’s ethos of spiritual growth and renewal. He wrote:

“The sense of inadequacy ought to be at the very centre of the day [Yom Kippur].… To put contrition another way, develop a sense of embarrassment.… We have no answer to ultimate problems. We really don’t know. In this not knowing, in this sense of embarrassment, lies the key to opening the wells of creativity.

One belief all Jewish thinkers share about teshuvah – the process only begins during the High Holidays. It’s afterward when the real work begins.

For more on teshuvah during the Middle Ages, see Mirsky’s article, “How a lover of wisdom returns” in Sources Journal (sourcesjournal.org/articles/how-a-lover-of-wisdom-returns).

– from the Jewish Experience / Brandeis University

Shattering complacency

The existential themes of the High Holidays are meant to create a sensitivity and appreciation of the precious significance of everyday existence. (Jordan Gillard Photography)

The themes of death and the “thinness” of human existence recur in the liturgy of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur and during the entire period, beginning with the month of Elul. This is not because of a morbid desire to undermine human confidence and autonomy or to shock us into fearing God out of a sense of helplessness and sin. The existential themes of the High Holidays are meant to create a sensitivity and appreciation of the precious significance of everyday existence.

Existentialists spoke about confronting one’s mortality as a necessary condition for achieving human authenticity. Although a preoccupation with death can create nihilism and a paralyzing sense of the futility of human initiative, nevertheless, the Jewish tradition believed that the themes of human mortality and finitude could be integrated into a constructive and life-affirming vision of life.

The language of the Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur prayers, such as the explicit enumeration of the different ways that a human life can be destroyed, is not meant to terrorize us into self-negating submission. The stark, evocative imagery of the liturgy is aimed primarily at shattering complacency. The impact of this experience can be life-affirming insofar as it serves as a catalyst in a process of self-creation and moral renewal.

Focusing on human mortality and the contingencies that wreak havoc upon human lives heightens our sensitivity to the deadening effects of habit and routine. People often deceive themselves into believing that they can successfully defer living the kind of lives they consider worthwhile until some future time. While not questioning the importance of reflecting on the meaning of one’s life, they believe they can postpone dealing with this issue.

“Why become confused and troubled by the meaning of my life now? I can deal with it later, when I retire, when economic realities are more favourable, when I will be free of parental responsibilities.…” This attitude is naïve and self-deceptive because it ignores the real consequences of present patterns of behaviour and learning that can weaken and that ultimately extinguishes one’s natural capacity to live life deeply and seriously.

Another theme of Yom Kippur, teshuvah, is expressed in the call to return, to renew, to re-create one’s self, and in the appeal for divine forgiveness and atonement, in the recitation of “for the sin we have sinned …” and other confessional sections of the liturgy. The essence of teshuvah – the crucial principle without which this concept would be empty of meaning – is the belief that the past need not define the future. A person can break the causal chain of habit and defy the seeming necessity of repetition that suffocates spontaneity and the joy of life.

The call to teshuvah, therefore, is expressed not only in the plea to God for forgiveness and in the affirmation of God’s gracious love and reluctance to mete out punishment and retribution, but also, and most poignantly, in the repeated attempts at convincing the individual to believe in the possibility of change. The personal significance of Yom Kippur ultimately turns on the individual’s ability to believe that his or her life can be different. The major obstacle to teshuvah is not whether God will forgive us but whether we can forgive ourselves – whether we can believe in our own ability to change the direction of our lives, even minimally.

Teshuvah is grounded in the idea of an open future, in the belief that the possibilities for human change have not been exhausted, that the final chapters of our personal narratives have not yet been written. The sense of empowerment felt on Yom Kippur reflects an underlying faith in the power of the human will to break the fixed cycles of the past and to chart new possibilities for the future.

Many scholars who take issue with translating God’s name, ehyeh asher ehyeh, which was revealed to Moses at the burning bush as “I am that I am,” insist on emphasizing the future orientation of the verb ehyeh, “I will be.” For many, the Jewish concept of God must convey the idea of newness – of new spiritual possibilities in the future, of new ways of understanding and of relating to God. To sense the presence of God in one’s life is to believe in the possibility of radical surprise and of genuine human change.

Communal forms of worship must not be allowed to degenerate into automated, mind-numbing exercises in herd conformity. Our rabbis taught that, although Jews stood as a people at Mt. Sinai, each individual personally appropriated the word of God. We must not be intimidated by the High Holiday prayer book. Although we share a common liturgy, we must be capable of appropriating its significance in terms of our individual lives and concerns. Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur challenge us to discover the meaning of personal authenticity and self-renewal within the context of community.

Rabbi Prof. David Hartman (1931-2013) was founder of the Shalom Hartman Institute. This article was first published in September 2009. Articles by Hartman, z”l, and other institute scholars can be found at shalomhartman.org.

Rosh Hashanah table talk

In his diaries, Franz Kafka reflected that our not knowing “the real highway” we’re on means that “we drift in doubt. But, also in an unbelievable, beautiful diversity. Thus, the accomplishment of hopes remains an always unexpected miracle.” (photo from Piotr Malecki)

The Chassidic Rebbe Haim of Tzanz told this parable: A person had been wandering about in the forest for several days, unable to find a way out. Finally, in the distance, he saw another person approaching him, and his heart filled with joy. He thought to himself: “Now, surely, I shall find a way out of the forest.” When they neared each other, he asked the other person, “Brother, will you please tell me the way out of the forest?”

The other replied: “Brother, I also do not know the way out, for I, too, have been wandering about here for many days. But, this much I can tell you. Do not go the way I have gone, for I know that is not the way. Now come, let us search for the way out together.” (Adapted from S.Y. Agnon, The Days of Awe)

Perhaps this is a story to read at your Rosh Hashanah table, to start a discussion about your – and your guests’ – hopes for new direction in life. Think about a new path you would like to explore this coming year, or let others know about an old path you have tried that they might best avoid.

In his diaries, Franz Kafka, the 20th-century Czech Jewish writer, reflected on the difficulty of finding our way and yet our eternal hope:

“If we knew we were on the right road, having to leave it would mean endless despair. But we are on a road that only leads to a second one and then to a third one and so forth. And the real highway will not be sighted for a long, long time, perhaps never. So, we drift in doubt. But, also in an unbelievable, beautiful diversity. Thus, the accomplishment of hopes remains an always unexpected miracle. But, in compensation, the miracle remains forever possible.”

The poet and Bible scholar Joel Rosenberg speaks of Rosh Hashanah as a homecoming, rather than as journeying:

“The Hebrew word for year – shana – means change. But its sense is two-fold: on the one hand, change of cycle, repetition (Hebrew, l’shanot, reiterate, from sh’naim, two), but, on the other hand, it means difference (as in the [the Pesach seder when we ask] mah nishtana? How is this night different?) We are the same, we are different. We repeat, we learn, we recapitulate. We encounter something new. ‘Shana tova!’ means, ‘Have a good change!’”

And yet, how familiar is this time! The chant, the faces, the dressed-up mood, the calling on the same God, the words, the blessings, the bread, the apples, the honey, the wine – all are the same, and yet completely new. We meet ourselves again and for the first time.

A year that begins anew is also the fruit of the year that preceded. Good or bad, it has made us wiser. It will not constrain us. We choose from it what we want and need like gifts we brought from journeys. Rosh Hashanah is always like coming home – just as Pesach was always going on a journey.

“How do we find our Divine Parent who is in Heaven? How do we find our Parent who is in Heaven? By good deeds and the study of Torah.

“How does the Blessed Holy One find us – through love, through brotherhood, through respect, through companionship, through truth, through peace, through bending the knee, through humility, through more study, through less commerce, through the personal service to our teachers, through discussion among the students, through a good heart, through decency, through No that is really No, and through Yes that is really Yes.” (Midrash Seder Eliyahu Rabbah 23)

Noam Zion is a senior fellow emeritus of the Kogod Research Centre at the Shalom Hartman Institute. He has developed study guides on Bible, holidays and rabbinic ethics. His publications and worldwide lectures have focused on “homemade Judaism” – empowering families to create their own pluralistic Judaism. This article was originally published in 2014; it is adapted from his Rosh Hashanah seder. Articles by Zion and other Hartman Institute scholars can be found at shalomhartman.org.

May you leave with laughter

Ahrida Synagogue is one of the two still-functioning synagogues in the Balat neighbourhood of Istanbul. (photo by Deborah Rubin Fields)

On my first trip to Israel just after graduating high school, I met a similar-aged Turkish Jew. He was also visiting Israel. He spoke no Hebrew or English, so I tried my then-proficient Spanish. Surprisingly, he responded, although not all the words he used were familiar to me. I didn’t know then that he was speaking Ladino, or Judeo-Spanish. Slow forward several years to May 2023, when I finally visited Istanbul for the first time.

While I only recently “made it” to Turkey, Jews have been there for a very long time. If you take a biblical approach, you know that, when the flood ended, Noah’s ark rested on Mt. Ararat, near Anatolia, Turkey. If you take an historic approach, Jews have lived in what is now Turkey since Roman times.

While most members of the Jewish community in Istanbul today trace themselves back to the Jews who were forced out of Spain and Portugal in the late 1400s and early 1500s, there have also been communities of Karaites, Jews who do not accept rabbinic law, but rely solely on what is written in the Hebrew Bible. As of 2014, they numbered less than 100 in Istanbul.

Sultan Beyazid II welcomed the Jews from Spanish-speaking countries – when Spain expelled its Jews and Muslims in 1492, Beyazid sent his navy to evacuate them to Ottoman lands.

Among the Jews in Turkey in the 1500s was widowed businesswoman Doña Gracia (1510-1569). Originally from Portugal, which ordered Jews to convert to Catholicism a handful of years after Spain’s decree, she moved to Istanbul so she could openly practise her Judaism. Having been a “conversa” (forced convert), she was keen to help others in the same situation. She established yeshivot and synagogues in Istanbul. She also was the first woman printer and publisher in the Ottoman Empire. She lived in the European quarter of Galata.

Doña Gracia was not the only Jew to do well in Turkey. A number of Jews had successful businesses. Many dealt with precious metals and stones; others were money changers or lenders. In the 1500s, Hekim Jacob served as Sultan Mehmed II’s personal physician – by 1800, Jews would make up 27% of all licensed physicians in Istanbul. Even today, Balat’s 120-bed Jewish Hospital or Yahudi Hastanesi is still functioning, although the patients aren’t usually Jews.

In 1666, the false messiah Shabbtai Tzvi made an appearance in Istanbul. He had visited other countries when there was the breakdown of the social order or the economy was on the decline. The opinion of Jews in Istanbul (then called Constantinople and the capital of Turkey) was divided, but the majority feared his appearance would be the cause for actions against Jews in general. When those who were attracted by his messianic enthusiasm went out to meet him and pay him homage, opponents informed the grand vizier and he ordered Shabbtai Tzvi’s arrest. After Shabbtai Tzvi’s conversion, the communal leadership decided on a course of damage control, downplaying the false messiah incident, including by attempting to prevent discussion on the subject.

At the beginning of the 20th century, the Jewish population in Istanbul was 100,000. Today, there are fewer than 20,000 Jews in all of Turkey and a new wave of emigration has started. Contributing factors are President Recep Tayyip Erdogan’s tumultuous 20-year rule, with its up-and-down relationship with Israel, rising antisemitism, perceived threats to the personal security of Jews and rising anti-Jewish discrimination from Turkish society, as well as the country’s unabated inflation. Altogether, since Israel became a state, some 100,000 to 150,000 Jews have left Turkey for Israel.

In Istanbul’s Balat neighbourhood, for example, where, at one point, more than half the population was Jewish, the Turkish bath or cavus Hammami (el bano de Balat in Ladino) that was frequented by Jews in the neighbourhood is apparently still running but most synagogues have closed. In Balat, only two are still functional: Ahrida Synagogue, with its unusual bima in the shape of the prow of a boat, and Yanbol Synagogue.

Today, most of Istanbul’s Jews are Sephardi, with only about 600 individuals who identify as Ashkenazi. Yet, Etz HaHaim Synagogue, also known as Ortakoy Synagogue (for the neighbourhood in which it is situated) holds combined services for both Sephardim and Ashkenazim.

photo - Istanbul’s Ortakoy Synagogue, also known as Etz HaHaim, holds combined services for both Sephardim and Ashkenazim — Istanbul’s Ortakoy Synagogue, also known as Etz HaHaim, holds combined services for both Sephardim and Ashkenazim. (photo by Deborah Rubin Fields)

Istanbul’s Neve Shalom Synagogue (and mikvah) has been the site of two major terrorist attacks. In September 1986, Arab terrorists staged an attack with guns and grenades on worshippers in the synagogue, killing 23. In November 2003, a car bomb exploded outside the synagogue during a bar mitzvah service. Hundreds of people – mostly Turkish Muslims who lived or worked in the area – were wounded and over a dozen were killed. For security, there is now a guard post in front of the synagogue and the adjacent Jewish museum and those interested in visiting must show proper identification.

As far as eating in Turkey, aubergines (eggplants) are plentiful in the summer, so most meals include either fried, baked or stuffed aubergines. Empanadas, as they are called in Spain, are usually referred to as börekas or börekitas in the Sephardi cuisine in Turkey, using the word börek for the same type of Turkish pastries. A tapada is prepared in a pie fashion, baked in a tray with a variety of fillings – best, of course, with aubergines.

Food expert Claudia Roden whose grandmother came from Istanbul, offers a recipe for prasifouchi, a creamy leek pâté that was traditionally served as a dairy evening meal in Turkey during Pesach. It is made with leeks, potatoes, eggs, kashkaval cheese, nutmeg, salt and pepper and sunflower oil. (See The Book of Jewish Food: An Odyssey from Samarkand to New York, page 527.)

There are at best two kosher restaurants in Istanbul. While not at all fancy, there is also a centrally located vegan café.

If you visit Turkey, güle güle gidin, may you leave with lots of laughter, ie. with a smile on your face, having had a good time.

Deborah Rubin Fields is an Israel-based features writer. She is also the author of Take a Peek Inside: A Child’s Guide to Radiology Exams, published in English, Hebrew and Arabic.

Homemade fun food & toys

Healthy food can make for a fun snack. The website hello, Yummy has lots of ideas about cooking for and with kids. This banana car with strawberry wheels and a graham cracker bear driver is but one option. (photo from helloyummy.co)

If I had a dollar for every time I heard a parent tell their kid to stop playing with their food, I’d be a very rich woman. I might even be able to afford a kosher prime rib roast. That being said, I’m here to tell you that sometimes it’s perfectly acceptable to play with your food. Like when there’s a banana strawberry car involved. Or maybe some peanut butter.

Anticipating the visit of my grand-nephew and grand-niece got me thinking about how we could have some fun together in the kitchen – without sending anyone to hospital or having to move afterwards. The 3-year-old, Raphael, loves to help his mom cook and bake, so I figured this would be the perfect way to bond with him. His 1-year-old sister, Ariel, might not be adept enough for the culinary process, but I’m sure she’ll eagerly participate in the finished product.

I think we can all agree that food is more fun when you can play with it. It brings out the inner kid in us, the one who’s just dying to squish mashed potatoes through our teeth. Unseemly behaviour for an adult? Sure. Have we all done it? You betcha. And who among us hasn’t rolled Wonderbread into soft little balls? The fact that edible toys are, for the most part, healthy, is a win-win. You just need to make good food choices.

For the super-fun banana car snack I found online (helloyummy.co) all you need is a banana, a couple of strawberries, some peanut butter to attach the “wheels” to the body of the banana car and a graham cracker “driver” (an animal cracker hippo or elephant works perfectly well, too). As for the strawberry “wheels” you could replace them with thick slices of kiwi, mango or even grapes. If you really want to get decadent, you could dip the banana wheels into melted chocolate, add a red licorice tailpipe, or tuck some raisins or blueberries into the “wheels” to simulate hubcaps. The possibilities are truly endless.

While the original recipe calls for using toothpicks to attach the wheels to the body of the car, I’m hesitant to do that, considering there’s a 3-year-old and a 1-year-old involved. It’s a foregone recipe for disaster.

Instead, I’m sticking with peanut butter as the adhesive (a glob of cream cheese could also work in a pinch). And, yes, I checked with their mom first to make sure neither of them is allergic to peanuts. Given that both kids were practically weaned on Bamba (the peanut-flavoured melt-in-your-mouth Israeli snack food), I figured I was safe on that count, but it’s always good to check with the parents.

Since I’m not sure of the practical play factor of these banana car snacks, there won’t be any makeshift racetracks as part of this edible experiment. (Will the wheels even turn? I doubt it.) Although I did see lots of great ideas on Google and Instagram.

Lucky for me that little Raphael and Ariel are the opposite of picky eaters. In fact, they’ll pretty much devour anything in sight. It doesn’t matter how esoteric, spicy, slimy, crunchy or smelly it is, they’re game to try it. And, if you transform the food into some kind of insect, animal or character they recognize, even better. All it takes is a bit of ingenuity and some basic foodstuffs. The look of sheer wonder on a kid’s face when they see an insect made out of celery, apples and pretzels, and then you tell them they can eat it – well, nothing beats that.

So, go ahead and play with your food, make mealtime and snack time fun, and let your imagination soar. It’s unquestionably a healthier choice than plopping kids down in front of a screen, plus it encourages innovation, resourcefulness and artistic expression.

Aside from fun food snacks, I’m a bit addicted to Instagram for all the cool DIY toys you can make for toddlers and preschoolers using nothing more than leftover paper towel rolls, ping pong balls, a plastic straw, a bit of tape and some kids scissors. As a former children’s librarian, I have all sorts of craft tricks up my sleeve, and I love the uniqueness of homemade toys. But I definitely need a craft refresh now and again.

I’m always a little disheartened by the number of adults whose go-to gifts involve ordering overpriced toys online. I know that not everyone has the time or inclination to make a gift, but I sometimes think our culture has just gotten lazy. And how many times have you seen a well-intentioned adult (with a lot of disposable income) buy a 2-year-old a $75 toy only to have the kid show more interest in the box or the bubble wrap? Expensive does not always equate to fabulous toys. Put some time and thoughtfulness into it, and I guarantee your DIY gift will be memorable.

The second summer of the pandemic, I made a bunch of felt animals for then-2-year-old Raphael and, according to his parents, he loved them. He’d stick them on any surface within reach, and they were a great way to learn animal names and have fun doing it. I’m not saying they were newsworthy, but they were all handmade with love.

And making them was not as onerous as you might think. Just find some free templates on Google, print them out, buy some felt and glue at the dollar store, do some tracing, and boom – you’ve got yourself some mighty fine felt board animals. Aside from putting them on surfaces throughout the house, you can cover a poster-size piece of corrugated plastic with felt (again, dollar store material) and use the animals to make up stories on the board.

It’s my belief that, if you make it, they will come. If you buy it, they may just play with the box instead. See you at the grocery or dollar store.

Shelley Civkin, aka the Accidental Balabusta, is a happily retired librarian and communications officer. For 17 years, she wrote a weekly book review column for the Richmond Review. She’s currently a freelance writer and volunteer.