Op-Ed – Page 29

An unfair funeral

This article was posted on medium.com on May 20 with the title “Bouncing from a COVID funeral,” and is reprinted with permission.

I had a loss in my family this weekend. It was not related to COVID. Nonetheless, it has been an exceptionally challenging time to lose a loved one. There are no mourning rituals, or figurative closures or moments to console the ones who are hurting the most. There are no hugs or shmoozing or recounting memories or poring over old picture albums around a coffee cake and a cup of tea (you get the idea: insert any of your traditions or rituals here).

Loss and death are concepts I struggle with, like most people. I always feel like I cannot say the right thing and feel awkward in the presence of those hurting the most. I am not “good” at funerals or mourning phases. I generally show up, pay my respects, and bounce.

What makes losing life during this unique time in history so hard is that we are mandated to be socially distant. However, when death hits the one we know and love, it is so heartbreaking, I want to so badly be socially closer, more than ever before. I would not have bounced. I would have stayed and been present.

Today, at 2 p.m., I will sit on a Zoom call to pay my respects. I will send a meal to the homes of the mourners. My father will be one of 10 that is allowed at the graveside service. He will wear his masks and gloves and stand six feet apart from his sister and nieces.

This seems grossly unfair, for a person whose funeral would have attracted people counting in the hundreds.

I cannot show up at this funeral even if I wanted to. I can sit in my house and watch it all go down on a live stream. It feels so cheap and lame and gross. Not the tribute that this person deserves.

The learning for me – as we sit together, alone, living a socially dis-social lifestyle for the foreseeable future, what small acts of kindness, generosity, pay it forward, TLC and tenderness can I express to just one other person to enrich their lives?

When I close my eyes and I imagine the eulogy recited at the end of my time on this earth, I wonder, what will I be remembered for?

I challenge you: what will you be remembered for?

Are you proud of the life you have lived?

How would you want to go down in the books?

What is your legacy, big or small?

It’s a morbid thought – not a place I often go but feel compelled to address, given the nature of the planet and the nature of my family’s pain.

My heart aches for anyone who has lost anyone during this truly f*cked up moment in time.

May your memory be a blessing.

Alana Kayfetz Kantor is founder and chief executive officer at MomsTO and MOMFEST, and co-host of Moms That Say F*ck the Podcast.

Keeping busy in lockdown

When someone suggested this as the title of an article I should write, I roared with laughter. Me, who has been climbing the walls, thinking of taking to drink, or killing myself or others. But, after all, I pride myself on being creative, so I decided to have a stab at it.

I am very communal-minded, so I thought I should entertain the neighbours. I don’t play any instrument, but I know hundreds of songs dating back to the 1940s. In my imagination, I saw all my Jerusalem neighbours coming out to join in, sending their children to the street below to dance, keeping their social distance, of course. Well, that’s not exactly what happened. After I began singing – I chose my favourite aria from Madame Butterfly, “One Fine Day” – what I heard was doors being closed with great force and windows being slammed down. But, I persevered, until all the birds in the trees outside my balcony decided to migrate early this year and flew off to Australia or Siberia (whichever was the furthest), and even the cats that hang around our building also disappeared.

I next decided I could keep busy by tidying up my office. I know I have a very nice writing desk. I haven’t actually seen it for a few years because my printer sits on it, plus a pile of ideas for articles and stories that I intend to use one day. I decided to be ruthless and get rid of them, but then I thought I should read them first, after which I decided maybe to keep them for happier times. At least, this activity kept me busy for a couple of hours.

By then, it was lunch time, and I decided to use my creativity to prepare a gourmet meal for my husband from the ingredients I could find, after not having gone shopping for about five weeks. I put things on the kitchen counter and looked at them: one sad-looking turnip, some potatoes, three packets of desiccated coconut (where did they come from?), a tin of chickpeas and a packet of potato flour left over from Pesach. This assortment really taxed my imagination, especially as my husband, these last few days, has been giving me looks that say, “You don’t really expect me to eat this!” I haven’t done violence to him yet, which is a tribute to my self-restraint. Oh, I’ve thought about it, and I think a good lawyer could get me acquitted if I did – I’m sure there’s something called “justifiable homicide.”

I did the laundry, and then made the mistake of looking in the mirror. My hair hasn’t had the tender ministrations of a hairdresser for more than a month. I’m reminded of the song “The Surrey with the Fringe on Top” from the musical Oklahoma. I now have a fringe – or “bangs,” as I think North Americans say – and a strange triangle of hair that sticks out on the side. It is very depressing, but, if I put on my facemask and use the elastic to push it away, it doesn’t look too bad. In fact, when I wear the facemask, I look quite good.

So, I guess I am keeping busy under lockdown after all. I would like to say that I keep a balanced diet – a block of dark chocolate in one hand and a block of milk chocolate in the other – but I don’t actually have any chocolate. I like the story of a doctor who told his elderly patient that it would be a good idea if she put a bar in her shower, and she did – with bottles of whiskey, brandy, wine and vodka. I can’t do it though, because my soap holder won’t support even a bottle of wine.

Nonetheless, I hope I’ve given readers some ideas of how to keep busy under the restrictions that COVID-19 requires. It’s just a matter of initiative and creativity, and the time will pass constructively. I wish everyone good health until this traumatic time comes to an end.

Dvora Waysman is a Jerusalem-based author. She has written 14 books, including The Pomegranate Pendant, which was made into a movie, and her latest novella, Searching for Sarah. She can be contacted at [email protected] or through her blog dvorawaysman.com.

Uniting in significant times

For some, this pandemic has been lonely. For families with children, like mine, it’s a lot of togetherness and work. The offer to listen to deep thinkers from three religious traditions by myself for an hour was a rare chance. I’m busy – homeschooling, working, cooking and constantly being “in community” with my twin 8-year-olds. We’re missing our relatives, school and social gatherings, but I’m working constantly. During this pandemic, I’m almost never physically alone.

For an introvert like me, this has been hard. So, I jumped at the chance to cover a webinar with religious insights on the pandemic.

While we’re physically isolated, we’re also more connected by technology than ever before. This is how moderator Dr. Reinhard Krauss began a Zoom webinar, hosted by the American Jewish University, called “Muslims, Jews and Christians: Coming Together in Extraordinary Times.”

The three panelists were all distinguished educators who do interfaith dialogue. Each also offered their personal take on their religious traditions. Rabbi Dr. Elliot Dorff shared Jewish insights, Sister Deborah Lorentz, a member of Sisters of Social Justice, offered a Catholic perspective and Jihad Turk, the president and founder of Bayan Claremont Islamic Graduate School, spoke about Islam.

Much of the webinar highlighted our faith communities’ shared values, including strong support of science and medicine as a way forward. All three panelists, speaking from their faith traditions, pointed out the risky behaviour of extremists who have chosen to ignore medical advice around social distancing. Whether it’s ultra-Orthodox Charedim gathering illegally in Brooklyn or churches choosing to meet on Easter, the consensus was that these choices to disregard social distancing science were crazy. They were, according to Dorff, against Jewish law in terms of saving a life. Jewish teachings regarding social distancing, illness and separation go all the way back to Leviticus.

The need to stay put and social distance is in Islamic teachings, too. Turk quoted a 1,400-year-old hadith (saying of the prophet Mohammed) that said: “Usama b. Zaid said the Prophet said: ‘If you hear of a plague in a land do not enter it; and if it breaks out in the land where you stay, do not leave.’”

All three faith communities talked about the history of community and our traditional strengths in gathering together. Sister Deborah mentioned St. Benedict’s teachings about living in community together. This, she said, is a longstanding support system that we all need.

However, when we can’t gather, we must find other solutions. Catholics must look inward and find “the Jesus Christ within” to gain strength, she said.

Dorff talked about how, when we as Jews are isolated, we miss the most routine things, like going to a movie theatre or grocery store – and then we must innovate. He used a personal anecdote to explain a Jewish historic pattern, mentioning how, for the first time, he and his wife were using technology to chat virtually with all four of their adult children and their families at once. They’d replaced their usual Sunday afternoon movie outing with a virtual family gathering. This had never occurred to them before the pandemic. In isolation, they missed their routine and, therefore, innovated.

The most painful loss for many of us was not being able to gather physically for big holidays – Passover, Easter and, now, Ramadan. Ramadan is an intensely communal holiday, in which families join every evening for iftar to break their fast. Many Muslims also gather at mosques to break their daily fast, and to pray together. Yet, none of that can happen this year. Yes, there are virtual events, but it’s not the same as being together.

So, people must change their routines and pray at home. Turk spoke of “challenging people to work at home. Develop and refine the art of supplication, reaching out from your heart to G-d to what you are most in need of. Strengthen that muscle.”

All three panelists said almost in unison that things should not “return to normal” when it comes to our great societal inequities. Feeding, clothing and housing those in need were recurrent themes. Sister Deborah spoke about how, despite all the struggles that this experience might cause, it also might offer us great gifts. It’s up to us to do the work and find the gifts we’re being taught.

These reflections provided me with food for thought. I was struck by the notion that during this Ramadan, Muslims must work hard to pray at home and “strengthen that muscle when it comes to opening yourself up to G-d.” Often, when I pray in Jewish communities, we’re reciting the prayers but not doing that introspective work.

Sister Deborah’s notion that we must find the gifts in a challenging time was also a perspective that I struggled to find on my own. She encouraged everyone to use this to make change in the future – to envision the way we can take responsibility to right wrongs and inequities we all see in society.

The webinar ended with encouragements to show our love to our families, our friends and the world. We must return to society with, in Dorff’s words, “a greater appreciation for people who do service for us. Farmers, truckers, medical professionals, teachers – we need each other.”

The hour I spent alone listening to this panel discussion was precious. It’s rare indeed for parents to be alone at all during this pandemic! As a bonus, I also heard ideas common to all three faiths: science, work, social responsibility, community connection, and the need to love one another. All these are rooted in Jewish tradition. It’s well worth considering these common and important ideas as we face our lives in a new, post-pandemic landscape.

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.

Blessings during COVID-19

It’s far too easy to think of all the hardships and sacrifices that have come with COVID-19. They’re ubiquitous and abundant. They’re in our face the second we step outside our front door, turn on the TV or go online. A barrage of bad news. A surfeit of sadness. A plethora of pathogens. A deluge of disease. Stop me anytime.

It’s getting to be too much. But that’s beside the point. As Prime Minister Justin Trudeau keeps telling us, “moistly,” and with practised gravitas, “We are all in this together.” Sadly, that is no consolation. There is one thing that does help though: making a habit of feeling grateful. While some of you will shut me down right now as being a cliché, that’s where I’m coming from.

Every day or two, when I go for a short walk in my neighbourhood, I look around and wonder when spring happened. How is it that I missed seeing the nascent buds on the magnolia trees, which are now strutting their huge pink flowers like botanical catcher’s mitts? When did the hydrangeas arrive at the party? And when did everyone start walking around the local park in facemasks and latex gloves?

Nothing I have experienced in my 64 years comes close to this COVID-19 pandemic. Same goes for most of us, I’m sure. There is nothing to compare it to, thank G-d. I am at a loss for synonyms. Only antonyms hit the mark: normal, regular, run-of-the-mill. We will likely never return to what we knew as normal ever again. At least not the same variety. But that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Perhaps we will come to redefine normal in an even better light. I know one thing: most people have become kinder, more thoughtful, more aware. This is huge.

In the face of the overwhelming upheaval, illness and sadness we’ve been witness to, I choose to feel grateful. Because there are always gems among the dross, moments of pure beauty and holiness. I assure you, I’m not some Pollyanna who views life through rose-coloured glasses all the time. However, challenged by what’s going on around us, I need to believe that there is still much to be thankful for in this COVID-19 world. For my part, that includes my health, my husband, my family. As well as these sunny days. The last remnants of snow on our pristine mountains. Less traffic. Clear skies. A shocking dearth of commerce. My pension. Food in the freezer and enough pasta to last until I’m 90. I feel luckier than most.

I can’t begin to comprehend the suffering that’s going on around me. Not only the illness and death that’s affecting families and communities all over the world, but the sheer panic and anxiety from loss of jobs, loss of homes, not enough to eat, wondering what’s next. But I’m shored up knowing that there are still people out there who are putting themselves at risk to help others, by delivering food, picking up medications and, of course, all those frontline workers who turn up every day.

For now, I take comfort in the little things, which, I’m realizing have become the big things. Like a walk in fresh air, and hearing good news of any sort. It doesn’t take much. The drugstore has facemasks and latex gloves in stock – woo hoo! I can finally buy Lysol wipes again – victory! Oh, how perception has shifted. If I’ve learned one thing, it’s that this pandemic has taught us to reevaluate our priorities.

Time and a sense of accomplishment are a whole other story. At the beginning of the pandemic, the pattern of my days rotated around things instead of ideas and concepts. Back then, I thought a productive day was accomplishing this:

Buying a box of disposable facemasks at Canadian Tire.
Spending two hours and successfully finding a store that sells alcohol swabs.
Making fried matzah with cinnamon and honey bananas for my husband.
Ironing our laundry.
Dusting (two rooms).
Successfully (or not?) diagnosing myself with eczema from constant and somewhat obsessive handwashing.

Not much, but at least I did things instead of sitting around binge-watching Netflix all day. As the weeks passed, I began to tip the scales by attending online seminars throughout the day; some from the Rohr Jewish Learning Institute, some from Chabad, and others.

Between running around doing, and sitting and learning, I struggle to distinguish between wasted time and purpose. It seems almost counterintuitive, even ridiculous, to call anything purposeful right now. I mean, how much purpose can we have during a pandemic? Who can we influence for the good? What kind of mitzvot can we do?

Believe me – or don’t – but the answers to those questions are: lots, many, and endless. It takes scant energy to say hello to a stranger on your daily walk and ask how they’re doing. People just need to experience or see one good deed to carry it forward. There are countless ways to do a mitzvah – phone an elderly relative or friend; buy a few extra groceries and give them to someone in need; make a meal for your neighbour and deliver it to their doorstep. Simple. Simple. And simple. Just get outside yourself.

The world, and we humans, are not that complicated. It doesn’t take Herculean effort or huge sums of money to pull someone out of an emotional hole. It simply takes an open heart. We spend countless hours building our bodies so they can withstand the weight of the world. Now it’s time to build our hearts. In fact, there is no better time than right now. So go forth and be your best self – for yourself, and for others.

Shelley Civkin 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.

Clearing the decks

In every grouping of humans, there is a leadership structure. That’s the way it works for humans. That’s the way it works for animals, too, when they organize in groups.

Generally, for animals, it’s a combination of smarts and strength that wins the day, with physical strength often being an important part of the equation. The same must have been true for humans in our primitive days, and still is to an extent. In some periods of human history, there were those who were able to establish dynasties, where successive generations achieved leadership by right of birth, sometimes sanctioned by what was called “divine right.” The deity was called in to account for the continuing rule by a family in tribal or national context.

In more recent times, leadership has often been gifted to those who exhibited merit, rather than pure might. Those who were successful at their life tasks were called upon to serve in leadership roles to the benefit of those for whom they took responsibility. Therefore, many in leadership positions are more advanced in age, except in the most competitive arenas.

Well, guess what? There is suddenly a new selector in town! Coronavirus!

Some people are forecasting that we will see as much as three-quarters of the world’s population infected by COVID-19. Try as we might, and even as we may be successful in flattening the curve, most of us will eventually have to face the test of living through an infection by the virus. If we can find a vaccine, that will alleviate the losses. But, for the next year-and-a-half, at least, many of us will have to face the test. If our healthcare systems can sustain themselves under the onslaught, again, the losses will be fewer. If not, the choices will favour the younger and those more likely to survive. What this all means is that those who are older, those who are more likely to be among those in leadership, will be more likely to be among the fallen. Fate has taken a hand in our succession planning.

I am among the somewhat longer in the tooth, facing my 86th birthday. It is apparent that, in the current environment, this epistle may turn out to be my eulogy. Not many in my situation have the opportunity to deliver this kind of message ahead of time.

I have had meaningful work and the satisfaction of making, in my own mind, a worthwhile contribution to the lives of others, of my fellows. I feel my parents would have been proud of me. I had the joy of fathering children who have turned out to be good human beings. I have had the joy of finding and living with the love of my life. Flawed as I am, I am content. I am among the fortunate in this world. I am not abandoning the race but I am prepared for whatever the future holds. I wish the same for all my fellows.

This event we are living through is a feature of any life on any planet in our cosmos. A meteor struck our globe millennia ago, causing a global winter, which doomed the dinosaurs and permitted a mammalian ascendancy. Homo sapiens has prospered. We have survived plagues and influenzas. We have conquered many communicable diseases. We have managed to increase our food production capabilities so we did not starve when our numbers on this planet increased so much that our wise men believed we were doomed. We have continued to consume that arable land for our structures at a rapid pace and yet survive.

We are facing a crisis in the way we pollute our air and our waters, one we have yet to come to terms with. Rising temperatures on our globe may yet reach a point of no return. The pandemic we are facing, as other life forms on our planet seek their place in the sun, may turn out to be the least of the problems we will have to cope with.

In the meantime, this pandemic is clearing the decks of those in the age range I share. I don’t know about you, but it has captured my full attention – I can feel the target on my back. Keep your physical distance, please!

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.

Choose to be and to do good

As Jews, we’re acutely aware of our core Jewish values: help others, perform mitzvot, respect human dignity and life, love your neighbour as yourself, act morally, save lives, repair the world. But do we actually do those things? As we’ve heard before, it’s the duty of every single person to leave the world better than he or she found it.

During this unprecedented time, when the world is reeling from the COVID-19 pandemic, now, more than ever we need to remind ourselves of Jewish morals and ethics. And be better Jews.

Exceptional times typically bring out both the worst and the best in people. I’m choosing to focus on the best, though. For instance, folks around the world going outside at a set time every day to make noise and show their gratitude for frontline workers – and not just the doctors, nurses and caregivers, but also grocery store cashiers, letter carriers, pharmacists, delivery people, tradespeople, chefs and taxi drivers. Anyone and everyone who puts themselves in harm’s way each day, to keep us safe, fed and healthy.

If we don’t, as a society, learn the value of showing gratitude and generosity in desperate times, we become a society without a soul. If we think only of ourselves, we become lacking in conscience and void of morality.

What I know for certain is this: if a Jew needs something, another Jew should always step up and help out. It’s what we are supposed do. It’s what we’ve always done, most of the time. It might even be embedded in our DNA. In fact, we’re commanded to do it. Here are some tips for being a better Jew during COVID-19 (and always):

Take care of yourself so that you can take care of others. This may sound trite and over-used, but it’s true: your health is everything. I have suffered a long and serious illness and it’s shown me that nothing is more important than having your health. Unless it’s faith.
Be an active participant in life – this is not just a long lunch break. There is more to life than Netflix and reading (says the retired librarian). There are meaningful things you can be doing with all your spare time now. Think about where you can be of service, and whom you can help.
Practise random acts of kindness, compassion and loving care for your fellow human being – remember the Golden Rule. It can be something as simple as thanking a healthcare worker or letter carrier you see walking on the street. It doesn’t take much to show someone that they’re needed and appreciated.
Practise generosity – share, don’t hoard. Surprise a family member or friend with a meal or small gift that might just make their day. It can be something as simple as an extra few rolls of toilet paper or a container of disinfectant wipes (COVID-19 gold). Something that lets them know you’re willing and happy to share. Just remember physical distancing! A friend of mine recently brought me some extra face masks she had on hand (again, coronavirus gold).
Offer to do errands (grocery shopping, picking up a prescription, walking a dog, etc.) for family, friends or acquaintances in need. Be someone’s hero. People won’t always be comfortable asking for help, so be proactive and offer, if you can.
Cultivate faith (emunah) and trust (bitachon) in G-d, that everything will be OK. Life is easier when you have a higher power on your side and understand that there are many things you can’t control.
Check in regularly with single friends and seniors, in particular. Isolation can be devastating, especially when it’s ongoing. Even if you can just wave to a friend or family member through a window, that might just be their only human connection all day (or all week). It costs nothing and it’s priceless. Small gestures can have big impacts. Help people feel part of their community.
Show gratitude every day, because there is always something for which to be grateful. Whether it’s big (your good health) or small (cherry blossoms on the trees), appreciate the abundance in your life. It’s everywhere you look. Just keep your eyes open. And get out there at 7 p.m. every day and clap your hands or bang your pots and pans, to show your thanks to all the frontline workers who turn up for us every single day to make our lives easier. We are one big family – show the love!
Keep in mind the social and economic impacts the COVID-19 pandemic is having on everyone. Be sensitive to the situations of those less fortunate than yours. If you can, offer financial help, food or any other kind of assistance when you see the need.
Volunteer your time delivering food or supplies to others if you’re healthy and able. Contact and get involved with your local synagogue, Jewish Family Services, the Kehila Society or any other organization, Jewish or non-Jewish, working to alleviate the many needs right now.
Stay positive – for yourself and others. Positivity is the best medicine during this stressful time.
Be your best self. Let your innate goodness shine through. Remember we each have a tiny piece of divine soul within us.
Do mitzvot – tip the scales for good.
Give tzedakah. You don’t have to be a millionaire to make a difference in someone’s life. Every little bit helps.
Study a bit of Torah or other spiritual texts, if you’re so inclined.
Recite Psalms, if you’re so inclined. (I have a copy that includes English commentary, and this makes it so much more meaningful when I read them. It started out slowly for me, but now I find huge comfort in reading Psalms. Why not give it a try?)
Participate in some online classes or listen to speakers via Zoom video presentations. There’s a lot of inspiration and new perspectives to be gleaned, and goodness knows we could all use some of that right now.
Keep busy by finding purpose in your life. This is so important, especially right now, when there is so little to distract us from the devastation of COVID-19. Try to look for the good in every situation – it will serve you well. I’ve been on both sides of that wall and believe me when I say that staying positive will make your life much easier.

Here are some simple rules to live by (unknown source): help others without being asked; help people who cannot help you; help without the expectation of return; help many people; do the right thing the right way.

Remember that, every second of every day, we make choices. Choose to be good and do good. You can’t go wrong with that.

We are shaped by history

A few weeks ago, my husband got an email out of the blue from a distant relative in Israel. This Israeli was working on some family genealogy. He was stunned to discover that he had many U.S. relatives he never knew about. Together, my husband and this distant relative took on a big extended family project, even as COVID-19 shut down borders and isolated us in our homes.

Suddenly, my husband in Winnipeg and his dad, aunts, uncles and cousins in New Jersey were emailing, sending photos and stories to one another. They tried to iron out all the stories they’d heard and fit the puzzle pieces together. My husband’s paternal grandparents (z”l) were from Mezritch, Poland. They spent the Second World War on the run. They were in a Siberian Gulag work camp. Then, they lived in a shantytown near Tashkent, Uzbekistan. After the war, they stayed in a series of displaced persons camps in Germany before U.S. relatives found them. They arrived in the United States, with their three children, in 1950.

Discovering what may have happened to each relative 75 years ago, and documenting it, has taken on an urgency for both my husband and this “new” Israeli relative. In part, it’s because his oldest aunt, who was 9 when she came to the United States, remembered it all and discussed it with her mother in detail, over and over, as those who’ve gone through huge upheaval sometimes do. For my husband’s aunt, this childhood experience defines much of her worldview. Now, though, her mother, my husband’s grandmother, has died. His aunt is still alive, but unwell. She’s unable to recount the stories or identify the people in photos anymore. The family is racing to record as much of their family history as they can before even more of the pieces are lost forever.

In the midst of this nightly family email exchange, I read a book called Gateway to the Moon by Mary Morris. This novel makes connections between the Sephardi Jews who fled Spain after the Inquisition, the crypto-Jews of New Mexico and the history behind the family connections and modern-day Jewish practice. The author explained that the idea for the book came to her when she met someone long ago. This New Mexican seemed convinced that his family had been Jewish. Indeed, now we know through DNA analysis that many Spanish-speaking people throughout the world have Sephardi Jewish roots.

Gateway to the Moon was graphic, full of historically correct violence, and direct. It took me a long time to get through. It was powerful, but also hard to grasp the scope of the suffering faced during the Inquisition. This religious violence chased Jewish families for hundreds of years through Spain, Portugal, Mexico and beyond.

Morris does a good job of connecting people throughout history in her narrative. This was particularly powerful when a character tastes a lamb dish in Morocco, on vacation, and is instantly transported to her grandmother’s table in New Mexico. Even as their identity was hidden or forgotten, familiar recipes remained. Just the taste of that lamb stew connected the character to the family’s lost past and their Sephardi Jewish identity.

The ramifications of these huge experiences – violence, trauma, colonization, wars, genocides, terrorist attacks and pandemics – will shape us and future generations. We, as Jews, and as people, are forever shaped by these things. We’re about to celebrate Passover. It recounts a huge event in our people’s story – slavery, freedom and migration. This experience shapes us, though it happened (if it happened) long ago. As we say at the seder, Avadim hayinu: Once we were slaves in Egypt, and now we are free. We’re commanded to remember this as though we personally left Egypt.

As I write this, we’re suffering a pandemic, another huge, worldwide and scary experience. My husband and I are Gen Xers. We’ve been shaped by the Holocaust experiences of our families and friends. We were raised hearing their stories and traumas, and it was part of who they, and we, are.

Now, I pray that we, and all our families, and everyone in our community, live to think about what the ramifications of this next event will be. It will impact us all.

My family and I wish you everything good – a chag sameach, zissen Pesach – a happy holiday. Most importantly, may you enjoy it in good health.

Voice thoughts, feelings

Yesterday, I cried in my car. You shouldn’t worry – I was parked at the time. I share this not for sympathy or even empathy. I share this because these are harrowing times, we all feel the tremendous weight of worry:

For ourselves, if we are relatively young, we know the vast majority of cases are mild to moderate, but some aren’t.

For our aged parents, if we still have them.

If we are older, we worry, as the danger increases with age, though, interesting to me, I have found among many of our elders a rationalism and calm that, if I wasn’t freaking out so much worrying about them, I would take comfort in.

For some, the worry is compounded, as they are beyond our reach in other cities or countries.

For our children, as normalcy evaporates. I told my children the other night, as we canceled plans for our son’s birthday party at the movies, that they will tell their own children how they survived the pandemic of 2020. And they will. The vast, vast majority of all of us, even the aged, will survive this. But we will be forever changed by it – I hope for the better.

For our city and country, as it attempts to “flatten the curve.” I long for the days when that phrase was most often rendered in my head as I looked in the mirror at my belly or hips.

I’d say that I worry for our world, as this pandemic is truly global, but the sweep of this virus is so vast that I can’t wrap my head around the whole world experiencing this crisis all at once.

If ever we needed a reminder that there are no true borders, that what happens here effects people over there and vice versa, this is an example.

Refugee crises. Climate change. Economic disparity. And, now, a pandemic. We are all connected.

There are no Chinese COVID-19 victims, or Italian or Israeli or Iranian or American or Canadian – there are just people living in different parts of the world all with the same fears, uncertainty, worries and prayers for healing. Just people, just human beings – there is nothing so different about any of us – except perhaps age, which is only a matter of time – that protects any of us more than the rest of us.

That’s why I cried in my car, and I share it with you because I learned from that cathartic cry that it is OK to be scared, it’s OK to cry. Not because I did it, and I don’t want to be the only one crying in my car, where the kids can’t see me, but because I felt a lot better after – and you might, too.

There was a cartoon that was being passed around on the internet, I guess we call that a meme. It was of a couple looking at their computer and the caption was, as the man turned to his wife over his shoulder, “That’s odd: My Facebook friends who were constitutional scholars just a month ago are now infectious disease experts….”

I thought it was funny.

I know very little about the science of all of this, though I am trying to keep up. British Columbia’s Dr. Bonnie Henry and Dr. Patty Daly and their teams are incredible in their competence and expertise, but I know almost nothing about science that is helpful here. But I do know a little bit about prayer.

What I would like to offer, what I think might be of help, is the power of prayer. Not to change God, not to change the course of this virus. Though this is a natural evil, I do not think it is punishment from God or within God’s control. My faith doesn’t work like that.

I want to suggest and teach for a moment the power of prayer not to change God, but to change each of us.

Sarah Hurwitz writes in her book Here All Along about the power of prayer. She describes a form of Chassid prayer called hitbodedut. The word, which sounds a bit like the last name of one of the former Democratic presidential candidates, refers to a practice of self-secluded Jewish meditation popularized by Rebbe Nachman of Breslov (1772-1810).

The practice, as he taught, is an unstructured, spontaneous and individualized form of prayer and meditation through which each individual establishes a close, personal relationship with God through a free-flowing monologue. Where some people go out into the woods and make a primal scream, Jews, at least Jews who are students of this practice, go out into the woods and kvetch.

Not only kvetch, but thank and question and plead and wonder and acknowledge. You unload your thoughts and angst without stopping to think or formulate them. You just talk to God. It’s a stream-of-consciousness practice that takes some practise, but, like the cry in my car, it can be incredibly cathartic and remarkably revealing of your inner thoughts and feelings.

It’s not unlike the famous Jewish folk story of the young uneducated shepherd who comes to the synagogue to pray. Not knowing the prayers of the established liturgy, he sits in the back row and sings the alphabet over and over again. (Maybe he was also washing his hands?) The men of the synagogue confront him: “Why do you disturb our prayers with your gibberish?”

The boy explains, “I don’t know the prayer. But I wish to thank God for my sheep and the stream, for the warmth of the sun and the silver moon that keeps me company when I sleep. I am singing the alphabet and surely God can put the letters in the correct order to make the prayers.”

In this worrying and frightening time, give voice, actual voice, to your thoughts and feelings, your fears and your anxieties. Not to change God, not to stop the virus, but to change yourself. To give you insight and courage, and patience and perspective, and confidence and hope, and calm and gratitude. In doing so, you might just find your prayers, not those in the siddur (prayerbook) but the prayers that are deep in your soul. Go out into the woods – they tell us the virus is not as communicable outside – and talk to God.

Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel taught: “Those who honestly search, those who yearn and fail, we did not presume to judge. Let them pray to be able to pray and, if they do not succeed, if they have no tears to shed, let them yearn for tears, let them try to discover their heart and let them take strength from the certainty that this, too, is a high form of prayer.”

Talk to God, cry to God, be silent with God, it’s all prayer, and it all helps. I know it is helping me; I pray that it will help you.

Rabbi Dan Moskovitz is senior rabbi at Temple Sholom and author of The Men’s Seder (MRJ Publishing). He is also chair of the Reform Rabbis of Canada. His writing and perspective on Judaism appear in major print and digital media internationally.

Jewish microbe hunters

During the Nazi regime, all references to the great physician-chemist Paul Ehrlich were suppressed. In the 1990s, he was featured on the German 200-mark bill. (photo from the internet)

In the 17th century, the Netherlands was a country of great tolerance, having welcomed the Jews driven out of Spain and Portugal, including renowned physicians. Not coincidentally, this was the Dutch Golden Age, a time of breathtaking advances in the arts and sciences. It was there that the first microscopes were invented. To the eyes of Antoni van Leeuwenhoek in the town of Delft in the 1670s were revealed a veritable zoo of subvisible microorganisms previously inconceivable to even the most fevered imagination.

Throughout the 18th century and well into the 19th, there was speculation among medical men about the possible relation of microorganisms to disease. Certain varieties of these tiny beings seemed to appear in the organs or blood of patients with certain diseases. But there were endless questions: Could these creatures, so primitive, come into being by themselves (“spontaneous generation”)? Were they the cause of disease or were they the product of the diseased body? Could a pathogenic microbe of one disease transform into that of another disease? In diseases known to be infectious, were microorganisms the culprits, transmitted from a diseased body to a healthy one, there to germinate?

A breakthrough heralding the Heroic Age of the “microbe hunters” came in 1840 with the publication of Pathological Researches by the Bavarian medical doctor Jacob Henle, a descendant of rabbis. Using technologically advanced microscopes and deductive analysis of case histories, Henle declared to the medical world: “Contagion is matter endowed with individual life which reproduces itself in the manner of animals and plants, which can multiply by assimilating organic material and can exist parasitically on the sick body.”

A year later, the Polish-German Jew Dr. Robert Remak published the first of his observations that cells – of any living organism, including microbes – can arise only by division of parent cells. Thus, Remak helped put to rest the concept of “spontaneous generation.”

photo - Microbe hunter Ferdinand Cohn in the front piece of one of his books — Microbe hunter Ferdinand Cohn in the front piece of one of his books. *(photo from the internet)*

Humankind’s war against transmittable diseases accelerated dramatically in the second half of the 19th century. In the German city of Breslau (today Wroclaw, Poland) the botanist-microscopist Dr. Ferdinand Cohn published his Bacteria, the Smallest Living Organisms in 1872. As the undisputed master of the classification of subvisible life, Cohn elucidated that, while a microorganism of one disease may undergo various transformations, it remained the microorganism of that specific disease and not of another.

Robert Koch, a student of Henle and a protégé of Cohn, of Protestant background, discovered the tuberculosis bacterium and elucidated the mysterious life cycle of the anthrax bacillus.

Such dramatic advances led to the discovery of links in the chain by which the various pathogenic microorganisms are transmitted, and then to measures to break those links: cholera by drinking water contaminated by sewage, sleeping sickness by the tsetse fly, childbed fever by the contaminated hands of doctors and midwives, malaria (literally “bad air” in Italian) by mosquitoes.

To such defensive measures were added an arsenal of aggressive weapons. In Berlin in the 1890s, the Jewish doctor Paul Ehrlich was instrumental in developing serums. The watery part of the blood (after coagulation) of an animal that has fought off a toxin-producing disease such as diphtheria contains powerful antitoxins that can be injected into a diphtheria patient. A brilliant and imaginative chemist, Ehrlich pioneered techniques for selectively staining specific microorganisms to distinguish them under the microscope. This principle inspired him to develop the world’s first chemotherapeutic agent – the arsenical compound Salvarsan, known popularly as the “magic bullet,” which homed in on and destroyed the spirochetes of syphilis. (Ehrlich’s coreligionist Albert Wassermann developed the blood test for the disease.)

A general optimism prevailed as the new century dawned that humankind would soon be free of all serious infectious disease. But there was a missing piece in the puzzle.

It had been known since ancient times that people who survived a given disease were wholly or partially immune from an attack by the same disease. In 1798, the English physician Edward Jenner showed that deliberate inoculation with the pustules of relatively benign cowpox (vaccination, from the Latin vacca, cow) protected the person from attack from the far more virulent and deadly smallpox.

Among the great triumphs in the war against transmissible disease was the development of a new kind of vaccination by the French chemist Louis Pasteur, a devout Catholic. Pasteur showed how inoculating a patient with killed or attenuated (weakened by drying or other techniques) pathogens such as rabies activated the natural immune system against a subsequent all-out attack by the fully virulent disease.

But here was the rub. Unlike the microorganisms of tuberculosis, cholera, diphtheria, syphilis and so many other diseases, no one had ever seen the agents of smallpox and rabies. Pasteur speculated that they were microorganisms beyond the range of the most powerful microscopes.

Around the turn of the 20th century, the Dutch microbiologist Martinus Beijerinck showed how the fluid of an infected plant, after being strained through the finest filter, was able to infect healthy plants. This was an important breakthrough, but Beijerinck erred in assuming the culprit wasn’t composed of solid matter. He called it virus, Latin for poison.

That no one had seen a virus made the fight more difficult. Between 1918 and 1920, as the Spanish flu claimed more lives than all the battlefields of the Great War in the preceding four years, the medical profession mistakenly attributed it to an opportunistic bacterium, visible under the microscope.

The limit of what could be seen was dramatically pushed back with the invention of the electron microscope in the early 1930s, by which viruses, hundreds of times smaller than bacteria, were exposed to the light of day. It appeared that Pasteur was right after all in postulating that the agent of rabies was a microorganism.

image - One of several U.S. postage stamps commemorating the polio vaccines of Jonas Salk and Albert Sabin — One of several U.S. postage stamps commemorating the polio vaccines of Jonas Salk and Albert Sabin. *(image from the internet)*

But not quite. Research later in the century showed that viruses – unlike living entities (organisms) – can’t multiply or reproduce on their own. Viruses turned out to be packets of genetic material – DNA or RNA – that penetrate, commandeer and destroy living cells in order to multiply.

Poliomyelitis, the dread crippler caused by an enterovirus, was checked in the 1950s (and is now virtually eradicated worldwide) thanks to two vaccines developed independently by the American Jewish medical doctors Jonas Salk and Albert Sabin. (The virus was cultured using the foreskins of circumcised babies.)

AIDS, hepatitis, SARS, Ebola and now corona – new virulent viruses keep emerging. And the weapons to fight them – vaccines, tests, serums, pharmacological “magic bullets” – are in the enduring spirit of the great Jewish microbe hunters.

Dr. Frank Heynick is the author of Jews and Medicine: An Epic Saga (KTAV Publishing House, 2002, still in print). There are some 500 publications of his in the United States and Europe, ranging from academic to popular-scientific, many on the history of medicine and allied fields, including the crucial Jewish role. He lives in New York and has taught the history of medicine at New York University.

A tribute to my father

Was it really 17 years ago that my sweet, beloved father, Sidney Civkin, passed away? The long row of empty Yahrzeit candles in my closet confirms it. The date was March 13, 2003. Dad was 86 years old. It was indisputably the saddest day of my life.

If you have a good one, you’ll know that there is something unique about a father-daughter relationship. There are secrets and bonds that no mother-daughter relationship can come close to. Don’t ask me why, I just know it’s true.

It’s no secret that my sister Linda and I spent more time with our father in the last three years of his life than we had up until that point – and he was always a very present, involved father. He’d been suffering with end-stage renal failure and was on dialysis for those last few years. And we were his primary caregivers, since our mother was not well by that point.

Our dad often said that, ironically, those were the best years of his life – precisely because he got to spend so much time with Linda and me. He loved to just hang out with us. Whether we were sharing a meal, having a coffee at Granville Island, or sitting in the den shmoozing, he was all in. Flattering to think that he loved our company above everything else.

There was no one who didn’t have an opinion about our father. Some knew him as argumentative, loud and assertive. Others remember him as compassionate, caring and erudite. I knew him as all of those things, and loved him more for it. He was my secret-keeper, my biggest fan, my adoring, supportive father. If anyone has ever loved me unconditionally, it was him.

Dad adored his work (he was an ear, nose and throat surgeon); devoured books; loved to golf; loved to cook; and took great enjoyment in playing bridge with his buddies. But, most of all, he loved his family. And he had a quirky, magnificent sense of humour. He was playful, outspoken and hardworking. And he adored off-colour jokes.

Dad was born in Winnipeg (“the Old Country”) in 1916, served in the Canadian Army as a medical officer, then moved to Vancouver in 1949, determined to escape the brutal prairie winters. He set up his medical practice in New Westminster and, even though we lived in Vancouver, he continued to make the commute for the next 37-odd years. He loved the small-town feel of New Westminster, his working-class patients and his colleagues. He’d found his place as a well-respected doctor who spent his life helping others.

I’ll never forget the night Dad passed on. My life shattered, not just momentarily, but for a few years. I was 47 years old, single, and I’d just lost my best friend. I know that sounds odd, but our relationship was everything to me. I grieved as though I’d invented the concept. I felt like no one’s heart could be broken quite like mine. It wasn’t just an emotional pain. It was intensely physical for me. In the blink of an eye (it wasn’t really, because he had been sick for three years, but death never seems inevitable, even in the very second before it happens), my world splintered into a billion pieces. I was inconsolable.

My grief consumed me, at home and at work. The mere thought of my father set me to tears. It was like a floodgate had not merely opened, but exploded. Seventeen years later, I still think of my father regularly, but the tears are no longer a daily occurrence. Yet, I still can’t believe he’s no longer here with us, physically. He certainly is in spirit. They say that, when the soul leaves the body, it can still connect with loved ones, except it’s in a spiritual way. And we have lots of that. Naturally, I miss the physicality of giving my dad a hug and kiss. I miss looking at his smiling face. But we still connect mightily and often. I can feel his presence in my dreams and, when I see or hear particular things, I just know it’s my dad sending me a message. I know he’s always checking in on me, looking out for how I’m doing.

Grief is a funny thing. It ebbs and flows. It intrudes at the most inopportune times, and announces its presence with a deafening blast. It creeps into your consciousness when you least expect it, and always takes its sweet time getting comfortable. Grief never gets an invitation – it always just crashes the party. Grief never gets easier; it just gets different. The edges blur, the points soften, but the tangible sense of loss never goes away. Seventeen years later, at age 64, I still feel like an orphan.

There is much truth to the adage by Maya Angelou: “People will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.” My father always made me feel loved and supported. His pride in me was a source of great comfort. Naturally, there were times when he said or did things that angered or upset me, but they never eclipsed his unconditional love for me. I have always been sure of that.

If I had to distil my dad’s legacy into a nutshell, it would be this: be kind to people and help them when you can. Give graciously of your heart, and always try to do the right thing. It’s a tall order. But I’m up for the challenge. Thank you, Dad, for everything.