Op-Ed – Jewish Independent

Need to value what we have

Every fall, we go apple picking. For my husband and me, it was one of our first dates, apple picking together in upstate New York. Over time, it has become a family outing, with each kid eating lots of fresh apples with the promise of applesauce and pie on the horizon. The timing is often perfect for the fall holidays, too.

This year, though, the pandemic has drastically increased unemployment. Many people are hungry. All around our (relatively well-off) neighbourhood, there are apple trees heavy with fruit. Here in Manitoba, frost is on the horizon. I have felt a huge pressure to put up food to share, and to pick more apples. This could be a long winter.

The first apple tree we helped pick was that of an elderly neighbour. She just lost her adult son, who was disabled. She was in mourning, terribly sad and frail looking, but also isolated by the pandemic. We all masked up immediately as she came out to greet us. Her smile was meaningful. Watching my kids cleaning up the fallen apples was important. She told us a visiting relative had made her pie. I got the sense she enjoyed that, as she is overwhelmed by the quantity of apples on the tree and the effort required to make anything from them for herself, these days.

A couple days later, I dropped off four 125-millilitre (four-ounce) canning jars of applesauce and a takeout container with two generous slices of apple pie. We canned pints of applesauce, made pie and apple chips for lunches. We still had way too many apples. We took a trip to the food bank and my husband donated 100 pounds (45 kilograms) of apples, more or less, at the self-serve donation bin. He also saw squash and other large amounts of produce from Winnipeg’s gardeners and I was relieved. It sounds like our mayor’s encouragement to citizens to grow more vegetables might have worked.

A couple weeks passed. We didn’t think we had more apple tree picking on our schedule as school approached. I continued studying Talmud as I had time. In Eruvin 29, there is a section that discusses what kinds of food should be given to the poor. The list is specific, including nuts, peaches, pomegranates and a citron. It stipulates that support for the poor should offer them dignity. In essence, poor people should have access to the same kinds of good foods as everyone else. Also, the food should be luxurious enough so that, if they were to sell it, it might be equivalent to two meals of something else. The food support should be dignified. It should offer poor people the same autonomy to choose, as anyone else might.

We received an email from another neighbour. Her apple tree had grown a lot of fruit this year. She still had a lot of apples left. Did we want to come?

We began to pick what looked like an untouched, heavily laden tree. It had so many low-hanging apples that my 9-year-old twins and I easily reached up to pick many with our hands. Again, we picked far more than we could use. The apples were so ripe though, that we had a lot of “drops.” These are the apples that fall when you jostle a branch even slightly – you just can’t catch them all.

We make the drops into applesauce or apple chips, but bruised apples have to be processed quickly. You don’t want to donate them to the food bank. I remembered this part of Eruvin, which reminds us that the best produce, not the bruised ones, should go to the hungry. Meanwhile, I tired of pleading with my boys to be careful, that they were wasting food. To them, it was just a bruised apple.

I tried to help them see it differently – to imagine it as the apple in a kid’s lunch. You’d be hungry without it. Days later, we are still processing bruised apples, but donated at least 100 more pounds of nice apples to the food bank. The tree’s owner asked us to come back again if we could manage it before the first frost.

At the end of Eruvin 29 and the beginning of the next page, Eruvin 30, there’s a reminder that we can’t allow the customary practices of the wealthy to be the ruling for everyone, including the poor. The way it’s explained is through the roasted meat that Persians eat (the wealthy are extravagant) and the fact that even a small scrap of fabric is valuable to the poor, so it matters if it should become impure or soiled.

During the pandemic, we’re all now wearing masks – small amounts of fabric that were previously considered waste. I made many kids’ masks from cotton shirting fabric I’d bought long ago, sold in small rectangles as discount samples. This experience is a reminder that is reinforced at this time of year – although we often live in a “land of plenty,” Yom Kippur helps us remember what it is to be hungry. Sukkot reminds us to value harvest. Scraps of fabric and apples make a difference. We can pick the apples before they fall, and offer others the same gorgeous produce that we take for granted.

In some ways, the Talmud seems ancient, but, thousands of years later, issues around disease, hunger and waste are still relevant. It’s great to have “roasted meat,” but even fabric scraps and bruised apples are important. It’s a Jewish thing to try to be grateful and value small things, even though we might have been tempted to waste them. We can use every fabric scrap and apple – and we should, because, as Rav Abaye notes, not everyone can afford lush roasted meat meals.

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

Community stronger

Rosh Hashanah is a time of new beginnings, a time to reflect on a year gone by and on the new year ahead. As is often the case with new beginnings, it is also a time of uncertainty. Last Rosh Hashanah, we wished one another a sweet year, unsure of the future but hopeful of things to come.

As we herald the arrival of this new year, we do so understanding that we control far less than we had thought. Normally, the uncertainty that comes with a new start is imbued with hope for the possibilities ahead. This year, however, it is uncertainty itself that dominates. As 5780 draws to a close, we have learned that we must seek what we can rely on: the strength of our community and our resolve to face these unprecedented challenges together.

In 5780, the challenges were many, and our community met them with an empowering, inspiring and united response.

When urgent help was needed, social service agencies and not-for-profits mobilized, delivering food, providing services remotely and offering support to those who needed it most. Jewish federations shifted their focus to emergency fundraising campaigns to meet the immediate needs of agencies on the frontlines, ensuring that the changing needs of our most vulnerable were met.

When COVID-19 hit, Jewish Federation of Greater Vancouver immediately released $505,000 in emergency funds to meet these urgent needs and continues working with donors to generate additional funds for community recovery. CIJA advocated for the inclusion of not-for-profits in government support programs, such as the Canada Emergency Wage Subsidy, and helped ensure that Jewish schools were eligible. Volunteers mobilized by the thousands, responding to calls for assistance, helping the many seriously impacted by COVID-19.

Our community was tested in other ways, as antisemitism, the crafty shapeshifter that is always on the move, found new outlets during the pandemic. With Statistics Canada reporting a rise in antisemitic incidents through 5780, our community from coast to coast continued to unite, offering support where it was needed most. Indeed, this was the year we learned the many ways we could help and, for far too many, how to reach out to ask for help ourselves.

As we renew our talk of new beginnings at the conclusion of a year defined by uncertainty, many wonder: how can we plan for the year ahead?

For 5781, we must change our approach and, instead of planning according to dates on a calendar, look at our character for the coming year. As Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz z”l, wrote, “This does not mean, however, that, on Rosh Hashanah, one should make plans for the whole year. That would be impossible…. What one should do on this day is form a general picture of what ought to be the character and direction of this year.”

For 5781, we can accept the uncertainty of what is to come and focus on the knowledge that we can rely on the tested strength of our community. And that continued strength is up to us. We can commit to volunteering our time and, if we can, donating our money. We can commit to finding creative ways to give back and offering support to those experiencing hardship. Instead of planning large events or travel, we can plan to lean on our community when in need and support it every way we can. We can plan to check in on those who are vulnerable, to be more understanding of ourselves and others, and to be more present when given the gift of company among our loved ones.

As we reframe what planning looks like for 5781, it can be difficult to determine how best to dedicate our efforts. There are many good causes that need our help. Instead of being overwhelmed, be reassured that, for whatever assistance you can offer, there is a worthy cause, organization or initiative looking for someone just like you. Federations are great starting places. Check out your local campaign and learn what their various service agencies and not-for-profits are doing.

Though much of the past year has been uncertain, Rosh Hashanah presents us with a chance to start anew. We can still hope for and work toward a better tomorrow. The coming year will be defined not by our individual wishes and schedules but by our collective character and commitment to our community. Planning for uncertainty may seem counter-intuitive, but history has shown that we have the capacity to come together and overcome even the darkest of times. As we look ahead to 5781, amid all the unknowns, one thing remains certain: our community will continue from strength to strength.

Judy Zelikovitz is vice-president, university and local partner services, at the Centre for Israel and Jewish Affairs.

More positives than expected

We often use the High Holidays for self-reflection. Consider, we’re urged, the year that has passed and the future. For me, the pandemic and its uncertainty has made me less focused on the year to come. Instead, I’ve been taking a positive accounting of things I’ve experienced this year – and it’s actually quite a lot.

First, there’s been more time for our family to do Jewish learning and “attend” synagogue at home. It’s been easy to turn on Saturday morning services or a special lecture or a concert and expose the family to more Jewish content. The internet has made us feel welcome everywhere. This a huge leap ahead of what we often got out of “business as usual,” pre-pandemic.

Learning in general has changed. As someone who used to teach, I was wary of homeschooling. To be fair, I’ve met some very bright kids who’ve been homeschooled. I’ve also met some odd folks, so focused on their (often evangelical) religious views that it got in the way of making other connections. As but one example, once, I drove with my husband to visit a local farm that advertised sheep fleeces for sale. I’m a hand spinner, and we thought the drive would be fun. I met a large family living in a series of rundown buildings and trailers, wearing an interesting assortment of “traditional” clothing. These isolated, homeschooled evangelical kids led me into a trailer full of both wool and wasps, all eagerly telling me about their visions of the end-times. I left with some wool, but only because my husband and I couldn’t find any other way to politely extricate ourselves.

I’d been scared that, if I ever homeschooled my kids, it would become claustrophobic, bad for the kids and hard for me to catch a break. This was the case when remote schooling started in March. Getting the kids onto the online school meetings and keeping things afloat with a poor internet connection and somewhat spotty assignments from teachers was awful.

When school ended, we were relieved. I kept doing some learning with them each morning, though. Reading, math, cursive, Duolingo (online language learning for Hebrew), art, architecture and design, music and science/STEM learning have kept us busy, along with long walks, playing outside, swimming and more. Sure, I don’t have much alone time. Time for work (or even work to do!) has been limited, but that’s OK, in the circumstances.

Our kids are supposed to go back to school in person this fall, and we’ll see how long that lasts. I don’t dread homeschooling as much now. Setting our own agenda resulted in kids who may be more socially isolated, but they’ve learned a lot. They read better now in two languages, and their math has improved.

Disconnecting from the school-extracurricular activities-synagogue cycle hasn’t been bad either. Those demands came with a lot of pressure. The need to keep up, fit in, afford it and get there on time is stressful. It is easier to practise piano, play soccer in the yard or turn on the services via Zoom than to get to everything in person. Further, there’s no weird social interaction with other families about what we’re wearing, or just how hip we are. (We’re so not hip.)

Making things ourselves has been a mostly good, too – lots of cooking and other activities. Last fall, I started using my sewing machine, after years off. I took sewing lessons as a kid but never gained confidence. Pre-pandemic, I’d sewn myself a few things and remembered how to do this. Returning to it has been a great gift. I’ve figured out making masks, fixing and making clothing. Better still, because of the pandemic, I’ve been able to shop for supplies online and support small businesses selling sustainable or deadstock fabrics. I didn’t have time to go shopping for this stuff in person before the pandemic. Now, most everything is online. I can make plans for kid pajama pants, and dresses and pants for myself, in the future.

We’ve enjoyed some amazing concerts, held outdoors on our block. A talented musician/producer neighbour with a big front porch invites guests to come set up chairs and blankets, social distance and enjoy. Musicians perform for donations, and we all benefit. We’ve heard baroque, classical, flamenco, jazz, old-time and folk. If we sometimes can’t get outside as a family to hear it, the music floats up into our second-storey windows when the wind blows the right way.

Art has blossomed, not only in our family’s projects, but at the “little free art box,” which is run by an artist in the area. Much like a Little Free Library, one can open the box, take art or put art inside for others. We’ve shared kid watercolours and my handspun yarn, and received gorgeous charcoal sketches, pen and ink, and other delights. We’ve traded and celebrated the skills of others nearby. Our diverse community is rich with talent.

None of these small positive things can compensate for the many deaths and illnesses of COVID-19, nor the economic devastation to so many businesses and workers. The downsides this year have been huge. However, last night, I watched as my kids created a caravan on the blanket spread on the grass. We were listening to live music, as my mind leapt to the text I’d been learning from Daf Yomi (a page of Talmud a day). The rabbis are trying to explain how to make a temporary boundary around a caravan as one traveled and camped on Shabbat. They mentioned using saddles and camels, and debated how much space each person might need.

The blanket caravan consisted of several toy trains and hard plastic rhinos and elephants, lined up nose to tail in a circle. The tractate Eruvin is about boundaries – what boundaries make it safe to carry on Shabbat? In the time of coronavirus, I was transported to a different kind of caravan and boundary. Our families have “circled the wagons.” We’ve been forced to stay put and look inwards – but also to be outdoors. What value can be found in these new enforced boundaries? What positive things can come from those necessary restrictions? In our house, we can say that art, music, handmade creations and learning can be celebrated as we finish 5780 and begin 5781. It’s been a valuable time, even as illness, hardship, fear and sadness danced at the edges of every day’s newscast.

From my (socially distanced) house to yours – may we all have a happy and sweet new year, full of creation, positivity and, most importantly, good health.

Depression insidious

The author with her dog, Kesem. (photo from Dolores Luber)

It was mid-March. All I had been hearing and seeing on the news were the words and images related to contagion, epidemic, China’s wet markets, people enjoying the delicacy of cooked bats, pandemic and COVID-19. It was getting louder and closer, somehow it traveled from China across the Pacific to Vancouver. We were now dealing with the pandemic in Vancouver, we were in lockdown, even if the government never called it that.

In a flash, my household emptied out. My housemate, a University of British Columbia student, went back home; all her courses were now online. My boarder, a psychiatric nurse, scared of catching the virus and infecting me and her immune-compromised partner, took a six-month leave of absence from her work and joined him on a sailboat off the coast of Vancouver Island. I cleaned and organized and then it hit me – I was alone in the house with my Standard Poodle puppy Kesem. His name means “magic” in Hebrew and he truly is a wonderful companion, but….

Lockdown, what was that? We all had to create our own version. I maintained my Hebrew classes by means of Zoom, I continued working out with two personal trainers in my home gym. We did not touch each other. I went to the off-leash dog park every afternoon. We practised social distancing.

Then, a classmate of mine became hospitalized with the virus – I had not seen her for 10 days. I isolated myself for an additional week, not one of our group became ill. She is the only one I know who has contracted the virus. I was feeling proud of myself, I was managing well. As the editor-in-chief, I had produced the July edition of Senior Line magazine for Jewish Seniors Alliance on schedule. It was a labour of love, responding to the pandemic and the issues of the times. Everything was under control.

July 22 is my birthday. At the beginning of July, I began to feel very lonely. I had not seen any of my four sons, daughters-in-law or nine grandchildren for a long time. The planned family reunion in Oakville, Ont., was an event I had been looking forward to. My children had grown up in Beaconsfield, Que., and my youngest son had organized a fabulous get-together of all his friends who lived in the neighbourhood during his childhood. Photographs were collected, videos created, all plans had been made before the lockdown.

We gradually began to understand that the situation was not going to end soon; we were in it for the long haul. The reunion was canceled. I always see my children on my birthday, but, this time, I received FaceTime calls, beautiful cards, splendid flowers, but no hugs, no kisses, no warmth, no human touches. My thoughts were becoming very negative and gloomy; worst-case scenarios played in my head. I thought of moving back to Ontario to be with my youngest son; I researched buying a house in Oakville. I was experiencing symptoms of depression.

As a retired psychotherapist, I recognized the symptoms – among them, exaggerated feelings of sadness and loneliness. I made an effort to study more and read more Hebrew. I pushed harder in my workouts with my trainers. I developed and implemented a plan for the fall Senior Line magazine. By the end of July, I was thinking in a more balanced fashion. I had gotten through the rough spot and was well again.

Depression can be insidious, it can creep up on you. It is important to do a reality check with friends or family members from time to time. Isolation warps the processes of the brain. The chemicals in our brains can become unbalanced. Usually increased physical activity and enhanced social interaction can counteract the symptoms of mild depression. Beware!

Dolores Luber, a retired psychotherapist and psychology teacher, is editor of Jewish Seniors Alliance’s Senior Line magazine and website (jsalliance.org). She blogs for yossilinks.com and writes movie reviews for the Isaac Waldman Jewish Public Library website.

No Silence on Race: an update

It’s been almost two months since we launched our open letter on June 30 and so much has happened since then!

We have received hundreds of signatures of support from the Jewish community across Canada and several Canadian organizations, congregations and initiatives have written public statements outlining their commitment to our pillars. We have published these statements on our website and you can view them at nosilenceonrace.ca/statements. We’ve also received some coverage in Jewish publications across the country. We have made them available on our website as well. Although our set date of July 29 has passed, we are still accepting signatures and statements.

We have had conversations with leaders in our community and we know that many organizations are committed to action and to change. The work of creating inclusive, anti-racist and equitable Jewish spaces is a daily pursuit and we are encouraged to see the way our community has embraced our letter and the need for action and accountability.

Many of you have expressed interest in learning more about our pillars. Our team has launched a resource page (nosilenceonrace.ca/resources) on our website dedicated to furthering the conversation on each of our pillars and on how our community can collectively enact meaningful systematic change. We have also included equity consultants on this page that organizations can connect with directly to begin and continue this work.

Thank you to all of you who have reached out to us directly expressing your support and desire to get involved with our team and our work. We will be reaching out to you all soon. If you are reading this and would like to get involved with us, we’d love to hear from you! Please fill out our Get Involved page (nosilenceonrace.ca/get-involved) on our website to join us as we continue our work and create opportunities to connect with the community, grow our platform and take action.

We look forward to a time where we can create an in-person event and come together as a community. Until then, we encourage everyone to keep the conversation alive with your family, friends, communities and workplaces.

– Sara Yacobi-Harris, Akilah Allen-Silverstein and
Daisy Moriyama, co-founders, No Silence on Race

New measures for milestones

This summer, we passed signs along the Trans-Canada Highway. These are the ones that mark 10 kilometres, one kilometre at a time, allowing drivers to see if their vehicle’s odometer is properly calibrated. My kids haven’t done much in the way of long-distance car trips, and this was a novelty for them, like seeing horses, cows and fields of canola and flax flowers.

I was driving my kids out of town to social distance and pick berries at a farm on the prairies. In the middle of the day, we took a dip in Lake Manitoba at Delta Beach before driving home. The water was shallow and tepid, the sand dark-looking and the humidex 40. I sat huddled under a towel, trying to keep from roasting in the sun. My kids had a blast. I think this kind of outing will be something they’ll remember for a long time, even as I think of nicer beaches we should have tried, perhaps on a cooler or breezier day.

I was considering this afterwards, “in the rear-view mirror,” as I continued to read my page of Talmud each day. Part of doing Daf Yomi, for me, is seeing how the rabbis compare and discuss things. For instance, one rabbi might indicate the custom or halachah (Jewish law) in his town, while another says, no, that’s not how it’s done … someplace else. Even when the rabbis are living right in the same place, their perception differs in terms of how things go and what is acceptable. It’s all relative. Their efforts to define and shape Jewish law in a new age, after the loss of the Temple, required all kinds of careful legal arguments, and much of it is illustrated with anecdotes and backed up by quotes from Torah.

However, in Eruvin 6b, it’s made clear that one can’t just decide to follow “all the stringent rules” or all the lenient ones. Instead, we must choose one or the other, and demonstrate internal consistency and intellectual integrity. You can’t just follow parts of Beit Hillel or parts of Beit Shammai. A person who just does the strict things laid out by both Hillel and Shammai, who is he? “The fool walks in darkness.” (Ecclesiastes 2:14) The person who always chooses the easy, most lenient path is flat-out “a wicked person.”

Much of daily life revolves around these comparisons and measurements we make. As a parent, I’m often striving for internal consistency, while knowing all the time that much of what is going on in the world doesn’t make sense to me. It certainly isn’t consistent! How do we find helpful rules and guidelines as everything changes around us?

For one thing, we can look back through literature (Talmud) and (Jewish) history to find comparisons and role models, and this helps me at times. I know that, while this particular virus, COVID-19, may be new, many of the challenges we’re facing aren’t. Just as the rabbis used their experiences to compare and measure and create talmudic Jewish guidelines, we must rely on our education and experiences to navigate this time.

When I thought about it, I realized how many of my usual kilometre markers had changed. A “normal” summer for me as a kid involved summer camp and a family vacation, neither of which happened this year for my kids. A “normal” school year, beginning in September, might revolve around school bus rides, tests, grades, holiday gatherings and aiming towards things like bar mitzvah or graduation or other life events.

However, thinking critically doesn’t always mean that we must compare something to a fixed standard, or the way things ought to be or used to be. It might mean that we’re able to take the available evidence, compare things, and make meaning about what’s happening, instead. It may mean drawing conclusions from the available evidence.

Our evidence? This summer, my household has had far more family time. There’s been time for free play and day trips, spontaneous water play in the yard, long dog walks, ice creams, gardening, and even time for reading in the cool basement on very hot days. Despite some car repairs and the loss of much of my freelance work, our finances have actually been OK – because we have nowhere to go! (We haven’t spent money on a big trip to visit our relatives in the United States, for one thing.)

Like nearly everybody else, we’ve skipped big gatherings for school, holidays and birthdays. We’ve charted a different course. And, when I thought back to the markers on our day trip, I realized something. My car, purchased in the United States, measures distance in miles, so I can’t check my odometer on the Trans-Canada! Comparing kilometre markers in a car odometer that works in miles? That’s an apples to oranges comparison. It doesn’t work.

So, the introverts in our house didn’t have camp or anything “normal,” but also didn’t really mind missing the annual big events – no weddings, bar mitzvahs or graduation parties this year. Instead, my kids grew big cucumbers, learned to swim better, dug sandcastles, read many mystery stories out loud during our family “reading group” and practised cursive. Small markers, but still important ones.

Like the rabbis, we parsed out what made the experience meaningful during a difficult time. In the end, miles or kilometres, we made the same trip. Comparisons bring us understanding, order and sometimes even enjoyment, no matter how far we drive or how we measure it. If you’re sad about missing major milestones, it might be time to change the measurements you’re using. No matter what markers you use, you’ll find you still traveled a long ways this summer, metaphorically or literally. It’s all in how you use and view the comparisons.

We always find ways to learn

All over the world, students will be continuing a different school experience, one that began soon after the pandemic. Some face a new academic year with entirely virtual learning. Others are going back into classrooms with many adjustments to allow (theoretically) for safer, virus-free learning. Still others face a hybrid approach, with small amounts of time at school but more time with parents, in daycare or even without any supervision at all as their parents work.

It’s a precarious time. Most of us haven’t experienced anything like this. Yet, there have been moments throughout history when the school rules changed. Imagine the European parents of the 1930s, faced with the Nazi rules, where their kids weren’t permitted to learn in the regular schools. There were families who left everything they knew to escape and start new lives anywhere they could go. There were parents who sent their children away to English boarding schools or on the Kindertransport, knowing that they themselves might not ever be able to leave Germany, Austria, Poland, Czechoslovakia or Danzig.

Those who say children must go back to school because “school is better for them than the alternatives” make arguments like, “We don’t know what the effects of this absence from school will be.” When I hear this, I immediately think of the settler children, perhaps 150 years ago, on the prairies, who spent long winters in sod houses or log cabins. Jewish immigrant families arrived in the 1880s in Manitoba and many spent time in immigration sheds or shacks by the river – it’s unlikely those kids had formal schooling. Many immigrants taught their kids as they could. Schooling was intermittent at best.

Don’t get me wrong, for kids who are hungry, neglected or abused, school is a refuge. For refugees with traumatic pasts, interrupting school learning is not a good thing. However, many kids with stable, financially secure families are doing just fine while staying at home. It’s the safest choice.

Were all these people who lived in sod houses or who had lapses in their formal schooling permanently marred as adults? I don’t think so. I pondered all this recently as I celebrated finishing the Talmudic Tractate Shabbat – by myself. I started Daf Yomi in January of this year, and I’ve read my page online every day, often late at night. Aside from a few online exchanges, it’s all alone. I know this study is better done with a partner or chevruta (small group). This would be preferable. However, during the pandemic, at home with my family, I was lucky to squeeze in a solitary 20 minutes to study before bed. It’s been hard to listen to podcasts or chat online in a forum, and I certainly wasn’t regularly meeting with anyone in person.

I didn’t have any formal training in studying Jewish texts until I was a teenager in a summer camp program. I didn’t learn Talmud in an organized way until I was in graduate school. Yet, here I am, actively learning as an adult. Does interrupted or unconventional schooling mean less learning? I don’t think so.

In an informal survey of the online Jewish world, we’re finding learning opportunities all over the place. Whether it’s religious schools, congregational adult education, Jewish institutions for higher education, publications or more, we’re offered countless ways to listen, watch and discuss in online classrooms. My kids, age 9, were deluged with online Jewish opportunities, even outside of their bilingual Hebrew/English public school curriculum. My parents report that they are doing something interactive and learning with their congregation nearly every day.

Learning is happening in many traditional and hands-on ways. Often, it’s just having time for reading or making food from scratch. In some ways, the pandemic has motivated people of all ages to try new things. For many in the Jewish community, the pandemic has allowed us to jump into Jewish learning or to attend synagogue (virtually) more often. The need for stimulation while staying home has wakened many people’s intellectual curiosity.

For me, at least, and for my kids, school wasn’t usually the place to satisfy that curiosity. Sure, yes, we learn essential things at school. But the exploring of the outdoors and science, the building and construction with Lego, the art and design we see and draw and the music we listen to – our appetite for all this was never fully sated at school. Or, at least, not as of yet.

I have one twin who is desperate to get back to school to see his friends. He cannot wait. The other twin is not at all sure he wants to return to school ever. Given the situation we find ourselves in, each kid may get some of what he wants. A little school, and a little time at home.

I felt I didn’t need a fancy siyum (event to celebrate finishing the study of a talmudic tractate) or a seudah (celebratory meal). However, at the last moment, I signed up for a Zoom event hosted by My Jewish Learning online. Three distinguished teachers spoke, one taught the last few lines of the text, and another recited the Hadran, the special short prayer one says at the end. It says, “we will return.” We pray not to forget the tractate we’ve just studied.

I was moved by the Zoom siyum. More than 450 people attended! Although I listened while I answered kids’ questions and made salad for lunch, I still learned a lot.

I also realized that, as long as we’ve been studying Talmud, we’ve been hoping for a return, a review and a chance to learn in the future. We may sit in virtual classrooms, all alone, or in a real classroom, socially distanced, but we will return to learning – no matter what our age.

The pandemic is possibly the biggest event in our lives for some of us. To paraphrase what we say in the Hadran, we must remember that we’ll return to learning and that learning will return to us; that we will not forget you, learning, and the learning will not forget us, “not in this world, and not in the world to come.”

Wishing you a healthy and positive back-to-school learning experience – however differently we might experience it this year.

Don’t wait to tell story

The other day, I went looking for a friend I met during my university days, one I had lost touch with after years of companionship. I looked him up on the internet and discovered to my dismay that he had passed away some 11 years ago. I was too late to hear his story from his own lips. I was too late to tell him my story from my own lips to his conscious mind. I felt robbed of something I felt I was entitled to. Up until the moment I learned of his fate, he was very much alive for me.

Recently, an acquaintance of my Bride’s, someone I had gotten to know through her, a person we had been visiting because of an illness, died in hospital. She unexpectedly took a turn for the worse and, in the space of seven days, had changed from someone we had been conversing with, to a mere body. I am not a stranger to this phenomenon, having lost a spouse similarly to a lingering disease, but I was shocked at this sudden transition.

I am long since retired from being an active presence in an enterprise. I recently gave up being an active manager of my own financial affairs. What I have evolved into during the last decade or so is being a teller of stories. I am still very busy at that. One of my greatest pleasures is to hear from one of my correspondents that I have expressed for them their very thoughts, if only they had put a pen to them.

All of us have stories we want to tell. We all have lots to say, lots we wish to say. Often, we do not go to the trouble of communicating our thoughts and experiences. Too often, our stories die with us. I think that is a pity. I am trying my best to ensure I am not guilty of that.

It has been a long time since my thoughts have been shared with millions of listeners. It has been many years since mine was a household name. Little matter! Though my stories, as of late, have been shared with only a few, my pleasure is gained in the telling. And in the rare responses of some of my fellows. And in the continuing hope that I leave some residues of thought here and there. That is my immortality. (Not true, of course, as I have been blessed with progeny, but you know what I mean.)

These days, death stalks us with every breath we take. The “us” I speak of are those among us who often have more stories to tell than our younger companions, by virtue of our having been around longer. We seem to be more vulnerable to the rampant virus seeking a place for replication in the air we breathe, and this vulnerability is a reminder of how important it is to take the trouble to share some of the riches many of us have dearly accumulated. The stories we have not yet told die with us.

I am highlighting this part of our mission in life. We have held a job and hopefully it contributed something. It gave us a livelihood, which may have allowed us to raise a family and accumulate something material to pass on. We may have shared things and thoughts with others, publicly and privately. We may have enriched our own lives and the lives of others. We have stories to tell. Wouldn’t it be a pity not to share them with others? Surely there are valuable secrets in that treasure chest! Even the things you may not be proud of may have paid off in valuable lessons that you made good use of.

There is a reason for us to survive the dangers around us a little longer. So, please, more masks, more handwashing, more social distancing! We need to hear your stories before you go. You owe it to your public. You owe it to yourself.

Max Roytenberg is a Vancouver-based poet, writer and blogger. His book Hero in My Own Eyes: Tripping a Life Fantastic is available from Amazon and other online booksellers.

Let’s restore ancient holiday

It is time for Jews to restore and transform the ancient and largely forgotten Jewish holiday of Rosh Hashanah l’Ma’aser b’Heimot (the New Year for Tithing Animals) into a day devoted to considering how to improve our relationships with animals. The holiday occurred on the first day of the month of Elul (Aug. 21 this year) and was initially devoted to counting domesticated animals intended for sacrificial offerings (Mishnah, Seder Moed, Tractate Rosh Hashanah 1:1).

There is a precedent for such a transformation. Rosh Hashanah l’Ilanot (New Year for Trees), a day intended for tithing fruit trees for Temple offerings, was reclaimed in the 17th century by mystics as a day – Tu b’Shevat – for appreciating nature and its beauty and bounty.

It is important that Rosh Hashanah la’b’Heimot (the New Year for Animals) becomes a day devoted to increasing awareness of Judaism’s powerful teachings on the proper treatment of animals and to a tikkun (healing) for the horrible ways that animals are treated today on factory farms and in other settings.

Currently, with regard to animals, Jewish religious services, Torah readings and education are primarily focused on the biblical sacrifices, animals that are kosher for eating, and laws about animal slaughter. This emphasis on animals that are to be killed should be balanced with a greater emphasis on Judaism’s more sympathetic teachings; for example, “God’s compassion is over all his works [including animals]” (Psalms 145:9) and “the righteous person considers the lives of his or her animals” (Proverbs 12:10). Another example is that farmers are not to yoke a strong and a weak animal together, nor to muzzle an animal while the animal is threshing in the field. As well, the Ten Commandments indicates that animals, as well as people, are to rest on the Sabbath day and there are many parts in the Torah mandating that Jews are to avoid tsa’ar ba’alei chaim, causing any unnecessary “sorrow to animals.” Moses and King David were deemed suitable to be leaders because of their compassionate care of sheep when they were shepherds.

Despite these and additional teachings, most Jews ignore the widespread abuses of animals. For example, egg-laying hens are kept in cages so small that they can’t raise even one wing, and they are debeaked – without the use of anesthetics – to prevent them from harming other birds by pecking them, due to their natural instincts being thwarted. More than 150 million male chicks are killed annually, shortly after birth, at egg-laying hatcheries because they can’t lay eggs and haven’t been genetically programmed to have much flesh. Dairy cows are artificially inseminated annually so that they will be able to continually produce milk, and then their babies are taken away almost immediately after birth, often to be raised for veal, under very cruel conditions.

Renewing and transforming the ancient holiday is especially important today because a shift away from animal-based diets, in addition to lessening the mistreatment of animals, would reduce the number of diet-related diseases that are afflicting Jewish and other communities. A shift would also reduce environmental and climate change threats to humanity that are greatly increased by the massive exploitation of animals for food. And it would encourage Jews to consider plant-based diets that are more consistent with Jewish mandates to preserve human health, treat animals with compassion, protect the environment, conserve natural resources, help hungry people, and pursue peace and justice.

Transforming the holiday would show that Judaism is applying its eternal teachings to today’s important issues, and improve the image of Judaism in the eyes of people concerned about animals, vegetarianism, the environment and related issues, by reinforcing a compassionate side of Judaism. The holiday might even bring back some Jews who are currently alienated to some extent from Judaism, especially those who are concerned about animal welfare, and strengthen the commitment of vegetarian and vegan Jews who are already involved in Jewish life, but feeling somewhat outside the Jewish mainstream, as they are often among a small minority in their congregations.

The first day of the Hebrew month of Elul is an appropriate time for this renewed holiday because this date is the beginning of the month-long period of introspection during which Jews are to examine their deeds before the High Holidays of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. Starting on that date and for the entire month of Elul (except on Shabbat), the shofar (ram’s horn) is blown in synagogues during morning services to awaken people to their responsibilities, and that is an appropriate time to consider how we can improve conditions for animals. It is significant that, for chiddur mitzvah, to enhance mitzvot (commandments), the shofar and other ritual objects should ideally come from animals that have been raised without cruelty and have died natural deaths.

A coalition of Jewish groups is leading a campaign to make this renewed holiday an important part of Jewish life today and I was part of recent Zoom events in the United States, United Kingdom and Israel, at which rabbis, Jewish vegetarian and vegan activists, and environmentalists discussed many issues related to the renewal initiative and answered questions about it. The group is also compiling lists of Jewish organizations, rabbis and other influential Jews who support the initiative. And it is planning to use the next year to create sample holiday haggadot, outlines of sample holiday seders, and other materials that can help expand holiday activities in the coming years.

Working to renew an ancient Jewish holiday that most Jews are completely unaware of may seem audacious, but it is essential, in my opinion, to helping revitalize Judaism, improving the health of Jews, sharply reducing the massive mistreatment of animals, and shifting our precious but imperiled planet onto a sustainable path.

Richard H. Schwartz, PhD, is professor emeritus, College of Staten Island, president emeritus of Jewish Veg and president of Society of Ethical and Religious Vegetarians. He is the author of several books, including Judaism and Vegetarianism and Who Stole My Religion? Revitalizing Judaism and Applying Jewish Values to Help Heal Our Imperiled Planet, and more than 250 articles at jewishveg.org/schwartz. He was associate producer of the documentary A Sacred Duty: Applying Jewish Values to Help Heal the World.

Stay home for the High Holidays

At its best, the Jewish community does amazing things in the spirit of pikuach nefesh, to save a life. At services, if someone faints, there’s silent networking. Within seconds, multiple medical professionals surge forward silently to attend those medical emergencies. I heard that one crack team included a gynecologist, a neurologist and a dermatologist – and a nurse who managed better than all the specialists together. In these situations, the Jewish priority is clear. It’s taking care of health and well-being first.

I was recently studying a page of Talmud, Shabbat 129a. It examines healthcare issues through a Jewish lens of 1,500-plus years ago. The rabbinic commentaries throughout the ages update medical practice as time passes.

There’s a section discussing when a woman in childbirth needs Shabbat to be desecrated. When a baby is born, it’s a potentially life-threatening situation. Therefore, halachah (Jewish law) is lenient. The people near a woman giving birth must do what she needs, even if it breaks the Sabbath. Depending on which rabbi you consult, this leniency can last awhile: from three to 30 days.

On the same page, the rabbis discuss bloodletting. We recognize today that this ancient medical treatment is almost never advisable. Bloodletting was seen then, though, as being both medically necessary and very dangerous. There’s acknowledgement in the Talmud that this is a difficult experience. Different scholars recommend how to recover best with food, wine, rest or being in the sun. It sounds awful. Over time, different commentators reflected their views on limiting this scary treatment. Maimonides advised against it in Mishneh Torah, aside from “when there is an extraordinary need for it.”

I thought about this as I read an online forum about High Holidays this year. It won’t be surprising to hear that, in many congregations, there will be services streamed online; brief, outdoor services; or some kind of limited, small group get-together. In the COVID-19 era, we know that social distancing, wearing masks and avoiding large gatherings are all important ways to avoid getting sick.

Jewish tradition emphasizes our need to gather as a community. For many, this is why we attend services. However, as I heard on this forum, congregations sought input from their communities, and some of the questions struck me as absurd.

What would you miss about High Holiday services? The list was long: hearing speeches from the synagogue board, receiving aliyot, seeing friends, saying Yizkor with the community, hearing the rabbi’s sermon, breaking fast together, doing Tashlich, and more. There were awkward questions: If only a small, socially distanced group (of 10, 25, 50, etc.) can gather, will you be upset if you aren’t included?

The questions, asked in various ways, were, “What will make this holiday meaningful for you? How can the congregation provide that?”

Everyone thinks something different is meaningful. If only one thing were meaningful, we could all do it and be done with services in 10 minutes. (Or whatever ritual event we’re considering.) For me? I would say “meaningful” is when your congregation doesn’t become a contagious hotspot for coronavirus.

For those who feel slighted about not being in synagogue, consider if only a small congregation is allowed. Think about what is more meaningful: experiencing the High Holidays differently, streaming services at home and knowing your congregation hasn’t endangered a single person’s health, or being there in person and risking everyone’s health by spreading the virus through the congregation?

To me, the most important thing we – as individuals and as a congregation – could do is to help everyone have a healthy, happy, meaningful year. If that means avoiding groups, we should pay for our customary tickets or synagogue dues and stay home.

If streaming doesn’t work because of your observance level or because you’re “Zoomed out,” you have options. Perhaps bake some honey cake, call up friends and family to catch up before the holiday, ask forgiveness, and wish them happy New Year. Then, pray alone or with your immediate family. Find some relevant books to read, take a hike in nature, etc. There are other ways to observe these holidays.

As a new mother, I explored this issue previously, when I had my twins and had no child care. Babies need what they need. They don’t care what day it is. I streamed some very good services and sermons while juggling twins through infancy, toddlerhood and preschool.

We’ve already observed a long series of holidays – many Shabbats, Passover and Shavuot – at home by now. Pre-pandemic, I found meaning in different ways: a summer Shabbat service, Shavuot ice cream, Simchat Torah dancing or sitting in my backyard sukkah.

Sometimes, just sitting still is the point. My twins are 9 now. They will “attend” services with us in our living room this year, just as we do on most Shabbats these days.

Watching my kids sing along at home as they set up Lego minyanim in preparation also has meaning. They debate where all their animals and robots should sit in their made-up congregation, directly in front of the iPad streaming services.

No one scenario has the market cornered on “meaning.” However, that Talmud page, Shabbat 129a, offers a window through which we can study how medical care changes and evolves. We no longer think bloodletting is a necessary procedure, but rather just a dangerous one. The underlying message about childbirth and health care is that the rabbis teach us to be lenient about any life-threatening situation.

We’ll learn more about this coronavirus as time passes. Meanwhile, while we need to acknowledge our feelings, we can’t let our personal upset be what’s important – that’s just selfish. I, too, miss being in the physical congregation space, but not enough to endanger a single immune-compromised or elderly person who might attend. Choosing a lenient position about how to fulfil our religious obligations in this dangerous time is key.

For some, it’s early to be dwelling on the fall holidays, but it’s not too soon to buy your “virtual services” ticket. Invest in your community’s future financial health and make a plan for how to make your observance special. Knowing we’ve prioritized pikuach nefesh first? That’s priceless.