Op-Ed – Page 38

It hurts and it ain’t at all fair

Families sometimes just have a bad run when it comes to health in the household. From December onwards, it seems like somebody has been sick at our house … but, in between, there were brief periods when most of us functioned OK. It’s been challenging.

Like many folks, I’m also signed up for an exercise class, but I have had to miss it a lot because of all these illnesses. I’m usually game for a long walk with the dog, but not a big fan of exercise – I do it because I should. We need regular exercise to strengthen and care for the body. However, when a kid is home sick, or I am, I have to skip that class, too. Exercising is, in the long run, good for me, but, in the short term, there are days when I just have to sit on the couch.

Figuring out how to care for our bodies is a balancing act. On the one hand, sometimes things hurt, but, on the other, there’s no one else inside each of our bodies, telling us what to do about it.

Some people have a high pain tolerance and, more, we’ve been taught to “walk it off,” “suck it up” or cope with what comes without complaining. Is this choice, to learn to cope with discomfort without complaint, a Jewish thing?

Some might say it is the opposite. If you read the Torah portions about the Exodus from Egypt, you get multiple examples of when the Israelites complained. They wanted meat. They wanted water. They wanted better food. In Numbers 20:5, it says, “Why did you make us leave Egypt to bring us to this wretched place, a place with no grain or figs or vines or pomegranates? There is not even water to drink!”

On more than one occasion, G-d does provide for the Israelites, but there’s also punishment. People get sick, or are bitten by serpents. Complaining isn’t rewarded. It might be natural for some to complain of their lot – even the most strong among us need to let out our frustrations after awhile. However, some of us were taught that complaining too much isn’t OK; that, unless you’re dying, you need to get on with things, and save the cries of pain and complaints for when something actually really matters.

Unfortunately, if you hold the pain in and don’t act like you’re dying, sometimes you don’t get taken care of promptly. In some cases, the squeaky wheel gets the grease. Also, if you’re not a big complainer, people may forget that there might be anything wrong, though being stoic, understated and self-controlled can make life less complicated, too.

I’d like to say that folks remembered that some in our family weren’t 100% healthy, but that wasn’t always the case. Sometimes I felt a lot of pressure for us to be joiners and attempt something that I knew just wouldn’t work out – as I recovered from pneumonia, for instance. I’d have to say things like, “Well, we’re really not up to that, but thanks for inviting us.” I feel like maybe we’ve missed out, but good health is really important. It has to come first.

Jewish tradition teaches us that the body is a temple. We have to take care of it. We wish people “refuah shlemah,” or “complete healing.” We say “la bruit” (“to your health”) when someone sneezes. Midrash teaches us that we wish health to someone when they sneeze because, in the past, some saw sneezing as dangerous and deadly – the soul could leave through the nostrils. It’s a mitzvah (commandment) to do bikur cholim (visiting the sick), and many congregations have committees in place to make food and visit those who are unwell.

We have contradictions here. In our oldest stories, there are complainers and punishments for complaining. In our ritual traditions, we wish people health, help them get well, and have an obligation to take care of others and visit them. We’re also not to abandon those who are sick – when Miriam got sick, the Israelites waited for her to get well before traveling on. Yet, we’re also part of a 24/7, on-the-go culture. It’s hard to reconcile the need for good, old-fashioned rest with our modern lives, but both are necessary. When it hurts, it’s OK to say so, within reason, and to expect others to care and wish you better health.

Here’s a funny story of “it hurts.” While I was in labour with my twins, another expectant mother came in. She came with two people (family members? friends?) and made a lot of noise. It turned out that, when the people with her had to leave the room, she stopped making noise. It felt like we were listening to a performance! This lady felt that part of delivering the baby required making noise about it – and we all heard it, on cue.

It’s traditional to be supportive of someone in their time of discomfort – to support and help – but perhaps Hashem would prefer it if we saved the hysterical screaming for when it really hurts rather than just for when someone can hear us. Complaining for its own sake, it would seem, warrants punishment but, when it really hurts, we’re commanded to visit, bring food and help.

Sickness happens to the best of us, and it sure isn’t fair. But, there’s no point in making it worse for everyone by screaming louder than anyone else.

Joanne Seiff writes 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. See more about her at joanneseiff.blogspot.com.

Talmudic advice on life, work

If you listen to lifestyle advice, finding one’s work-life balance has never been harder. Indeed, work obsesses many of us 24/7. We’re always struggling to find time for family, household and leisure activities. Like every generation, we think we’ve invented a new problem.

It only takes a little while studying Jewish texts to respond to this with a “Don’t be ridiculous!” Yes, our technology makes our work lives faster and more omnipresent, but, in Jewish tradition, we’ve been discussing and debating how to balance these issues for thousands of years.

When I started thinking about this, I remembered how many detailed tips are available to us by studying Midrash and Talmud. There are discussions about how much sleep we need. Depending on their profession, there are views about how many times a week men are obligated to be intimate with their wives. There is advice on how to raise your (Jewish) children and how to take care of your livestock.

By the way, in case you raise livestock (for work or fun) or have pets, you should always feed them first, before you eat. Is that irrelevant? Not in my household, where we conscientiously feed our dogs first every morning and evening, before breakfast and dinner. (It cuts down on begging at the table, too.)

A few weeks ago, a new start-up that works on networking and advice for people in university alumni communities asked me to participate in a career path interview. It was done entirely online. I was happy to do it, because it struck me as a useful exercise. New university graduates might be able to learn from older peers, and gain useful information and connections. I responded to the questions without hesitation.

Although I listed plenty of professional qualifications, I focused on how important it was to be flexible, evolving and intellectually curious as your life changes. In my experience, things like getting married, having health issues or kids, or moving affect your career path enormously. I figured this was not news to anyone, but that it was advice worth offering to 20-somethings or career changers.

To my surprise, someone at the start-up contacted me and asked if they could feature me in a “career journeys” email. At first, I thought, “Sure, why not?” I even wondered if it might bring in more writing or editing jobs. Then I read their draft.

Their draft email sandwiched my photo and quote in between two male professionals, a medical physician/specialist and a virtual reality DJ. The quote they chose for me highlighted that moving for my husband’s academic career forced me reinvent myself to find paying work and to stay competitive.

I was the only woman featured, and the only professional whose married status was mentioned first. I felt angry. Why were my peers’ work credentials front and centre but, for me, it was about marital status and career sacrifice for a partner?

I asked them to cut me from their interview or significantly revise what they posted. I pointed out why. They responded quickly, apologized, and let me revise the text so that it featured what I brought, as a professional, to the conversation rather than my gender or family status. In the end, my quote read: “You do not need to know ‘what you want to be when you grow up’ when you are 18 or 21. We need to be flexible, evolving and intellectually curious.”

So far, at least, I have heard nothing as a result of the e-newsletter’s publication but, at least, I’m not embarrassed by it.

Twenty years ago, this past June, our wedding program featured a quote from Bava Metsia 59a. It came from what Rav Papa said to Abaye: “If your wife is short, bend down and listen to your wife, and whisper in her ear.” If you’ve ever met me (and my partner) in person, you know that I am certainly short … and the key to keeping a healthy balance is in these discussions, too. If we want to maintain good work lives and, more importantly, healthy, happy overall lives, we need to listen to one another, and value what we each bring to the table.

Sometimes, it’s hard work to maintain a marriage, raise kids, or even feed the dogs promptly before we eat. The technology aspect of the work-life balance makes us think that it’s all new, but something was always the newest thing in every generation. Rather, look at it another way. We aren’t alone. Network backwards. We’re lucky to be bolstered by thousands of years of good Jewish advice. Just like our ancestors, we’re free to sift through it and take what works best for us.

Do you have a gratitude list?

Ever had coffee with a friend and complained the whole time? As the gripe session takes a downward spiral, I often feel worse than I did beforehand. I’ve taken time off to see a friend … and we may be smiling, but we’re dumping negativity on each other.

True, we need to get those feelings out, but repeating bad thoughts without finding upbeat solutions doesn’t do us any good. The mind creates an “alternate reality” in which we only see the negatives. Plus, by doing this with someone else, we compound the bad experience. How do we change our inner narrative?

Recent neuroscience and psychology research indicates that consciously creating a daily gratitude list may help us feel better. This rewires the brain, helping us get rid of toxic feelings in order to embrace the good ones. If you’re Jewish and traditionally religious, this may not be news. The world’s major religions feature “gratitude lists” in daily prayers. If you already pray – and you pay attention to those thanksgiving prayers we do each day – you may provide yourself with a more positive outlook, even if those prayers aren’t necessarily personalized ones.

It’s great to have a gratitude list “built in,” but, if you don’t do formal prayer, for whatever reason, you can still create an informal gratitude list. Here are some tips to get started.

1) Food. Most Canadians are lucky, we have enough food. Choose things that taste good – and be grateful. Think about it. While you’re at it, consider what it’s like to be hungry. If you can afford to donate to the food bank or provide food for others, that’s a great way to show your gratitude.

Most of us know the Hamotzi, the blessing over bread, or the Kiddush, over wine or grape juice. You could push yourself just a bit farther and think about learning the blessings for other foods. Even if you aren’t saying a blessing each time you eat, even a moment of gratitude for food is worth it.

2) Sleep. There’s a reason that sleep deprivation is used as a form of torture. If you’ve gone without sleep for extended periods – parents, this means you! – you know that having uninterrupted, deep sleep is something to appreciate. I am grateful every day that I get more than six hours of resting horizontally. In that hazy space after waking up and before getting out of bed, relish that feeling of rest. Anyone with a small child knows you can’t be sure when you’ll next get enough sleep, so enjoy it whenever you can.

We’ve got prayers for this, too, of course. We say Modeh Ani when we get up, expressing thanks for “returning our soul” after waking up from sleep. Another prayer thanks G-d for giving the tired strength. I often look around at a service when this is said and think about how we all keep on keepin’ on, getting things done even when we feel exhausted.

3) Housing. Did you sleep in a safe place? Are you able to eat your meals indoors when it’s cold out? Not everyone has this opportunity. Stable access to affordable housing is a Canadian problem. There are days when we all worry that we cannot afford to keep up with housing maintenance. However, there is nothing better than a cozy, warm space indoors during a rainstorm. If you feel thankful to have a safe, comfortable home, consider those who don’t. Homelessness is a Canadian problem. Together, we can think of positive solutions beyond a gratitude list, but we work together better by taking care of ourselves first.

The prayer for this? Birkat Habayit. Different versions include verses from the Torah. The summary? Let this be a peaceful, joyful house, without discord, fear or conflict. Let there be knowledge, wisdom and learning in this home. Let it be filled with holiness, G-d’s presence and beauty.

4) The weather and our natural world. Canadians love to moan about weather. It’s a popular hobby. Yet, we have access to four amazing seasons. Jewish prayers include mention of rain, the growth of crops and animals, sunshine, and even the arrangement of the stars in the firmament. That’s pretty great stuff in there. I’m pretty inspired by nature, growing things and the earth when I read the liturgy carefully.

5) Our bodies. Did you know that many faith traditions have specific ways to appreciate how our bodies are made? It can be amazing to acknowledge how cleverly our bodies work. When you exercise next, even if it is walking to the corner, consider how well things function. Even moderate amounts of exercise keep us healthy and make us feel good. The next time you play a musical instrument, sing, talk, laugh, smell a scent or breathe? Remember to be grateful it’s all working mostly as it should.

Our liturgy includes Asher Yatzar, a prayer that acknowledges how amazing it is that our bodily functions (like going to the bathroom regularly) work so well. Without this functionality, we couldn’t use our bodies to their greatest potential.

6) Our clothing. Are you dry and comfortable? Warm or cool according to the season? Humans used to spin, weave, knit, crochet and sew everything they wore by hand. We’re lucky that our “modern” clothes are easy to come by, but disposable clothing doesn’t show gratitude towards the earth or those who made the clothes. Another aspect of thankfulness is to make things last – to take care of our clothes, mend them, wash them and pass them along when they’re no longer needed. If we value well-made, long-lasting clothes, we also help others stay warm and clothed by using less.

We recite the Malbish Arumim, thanking G-d for clothing the naked. It’s a chance to remember how lucky we are to have the right clothing for the season, occasion and our needs.

Focusing on gratitude doesn’t mean ignoring bad stuff. We can’t (and shouldn’t) screen out the world news, suffering, or upsetting things that happen every day. However, being thankful for small, everyday things can make us better able to cope. Research indicates that it can ease depression, make us more patient, better at taking care of ourselves and our relationships, and help keep us on an even keel, where we might do things in moderation: sleep well, eat less and maintain a sustainable feeling of contentment.

These are many reasons to figure out why we’re thankful – every day. If you voice your thanks to others, you’ll be using good manners. All could benefit from an increase in honest, well-intentioned civility! Pay it forward. Pass along these good feelings of gratitude about what we have. I’ll start. Thank you for reading this – and thinking about gratitude.

The miracle that is the mind

So, what’s going on inside your head? Pretty important stuff, actually, because that’s where all of us are happening.

The facts are almost unbelievable, 100 billion neurons, each connected to 10,000 other neurons, processing one trillion bits per second. There are 100 trillion synaptic connections. A synapse is just that, a connection. For comparative purposes, a home computer with a 4 GHz processor does only four billion clock cycles per second. Remember that a trillion is a million times a million.

We have almost unlimited storage space, but our short-term memory is much more limited, capable of holding only five to nine pieces of information at any one instant. We continue to learn, reshaping parts of our brains with new pathways, benefiting from the body’s redundancies. What we know is that practice does make (almost) perfect, and that our body parts can take on a life of their own. Those pathways fade if we don’t use them.

Fortunately for us, our brains have some ability to repair themselves, completely up to the age of 5 and, to a degree, during our lives, through the growth of new neurons that can take over some of the functions of damaged parts. As babies, we have the same number of neurons we do as adults, but the size of our brains triples in our first year. Brain development continues until about the age of 25.

Most of us don’t realize that our brains, making up about two percent of our weight, use 20% of our energy and are 73% water. Dehydration can affect function. Sweating for 60 minutes shrinks the brain as much as one year of aging, so be sure to drink up!

Our brains are where we find the human capacity for self-awareness (located in the prefrontal cortex), what it is that differentiates us from other animals. While chimps and dolphins also show signs of self-awareness, their brains are entirely different.

What about our feelings? There are all sorts of chemicals sloshing around inside our heads. From here on in, it gets incredibly complicated, and, so, this lecture is over. What’s really on my mind is what happens as a consequence: our exquisite sensitivity to colour, taste, smell, facial expression, emotion, music, beauty, and so much more. What is in our brains, what is on our minds, is the essence of being human.

For example, imagine what is going on in a composer’s head when writing a symphony, the harmonies to be worked out between 10, 12 or more different instruments. Can you imagine how the mind of a musician is working when their fingers are flying so fast you can hardly see them? How about the conductor, who has the whole score in their consciousness as the orchestra players are led through a piece?

Each of us has a brain box where incredible things are happening during the ordinary course of lives. Just running the machine we call our body is the product of eons of evolution and development. All of what we are is centred in our minds. We are only beginning to understand parts of it, but we have a long way to go. The explosive expansion of computing power we are witnessing is helping us roll back the mysteries behind our functioning. But the mind and its workings, repairing things when they go wrong, remain among our greatest challenges. What is marvelous is how many things go right most of the time.

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.

Send more than love by mail

Have you ever seen a grandfather advertising for work? “Experienced grandfather seeks skilled or semi-skilled position, any shift that doesn’t interfere with afternoon nap.” Nope, haven’t seen any ads. And I know why: we are already busy as a bee in the clover patch serving as the family anchor.

Most of us are convinced that our grown children are still too young and far too immature to be real parents and thus must need our help. My advice is to concentrate on the smaller dependents; they’re still malleable. And the younger the better: the little ones are far more impressed by a grandparent’s ministrations than, say, a 13-year-old.

My grandkids live out of town, so I take advantage of every form of communications I can get my hands on. Even in this age of email, that quaint invention, the telephone, still works – except with the littlest ones, who haven’t mastered the art of holding onto the receiver without dropping it.

I’ve written about this before, but it’s worth saying again – the United States Post Office gets my vote because, for 49 cents, you can send a large number of words and, for not much more, you can include other accessories and get them all delivered by a uniformed employee of the U.S. government (kids love uniforms). You can’t send a stick of gum attached to an email. A wise grandfather, besides sage counsel and family gossip, will include a baseball card, a newspaper clipping, bubblegum, or even a candy bar. I don’t think of it as a bribe, rather as a way to lure the young mind into the civilized joy of correspondence.

Legend tells us that Socrates kept a big jar of black olives on his desk to reward precocious students. So, I too use wiles of all kinds to encourage younger kin to rip open envelopes from me with frantic enthusiasm. The result I’m looking for is, “Wonder what he sent this time? Maybe if I write back today, he’ll send another Hershey bar.”

On second thought, while chocolate bars are nice and flat for mailing, they have their disadvantages in summer, so unless you’re mailing from Nome to Anchorage, you might want to skip that idea. But I do try to always include something that is amusing, edible or ethically fortifying. My grandkids usually award the family Pulitzer Prize to the clippings I call “Pet Heroes” – the collie who pulled little Jimmy out of the river, the cocker spaniel whose barking woke up a family in time to escape their burning home, the rescue dog who finds the missing child. If it’s true that the gabbling geese saved Rome, then I bet there was a grandfather’s letter reporting it to the kids in Venice.

Today’s kids are fascinated by this old-world form of communication. It doesn’t interrupt their TV dependency, and often yields candy or money. And it doesn’t take a great writer to be a fabulous correspondent; in fact, the letter can be pretty drab, like, “Dear Malcolm, How are you? I am fine. Grandma says hello too. The End.” (Kids seem to like formal endings.)

How to outwit the smart kid who just goes straight for the cartoon or the baseball card? I include coupons. Here’s a sample post-epistle phone conversation: “Malcolm, did you like the candy?” “Yes, I like candy.” “Great. You know, I had another one here, but you didn’t send me back the coupon and a letter, so I had to feed it to the cat.” (Whispered aside: “Mom, where’s the coupon?”)

I once had a 4-year-old granddaughter – well, I still have her, but she’s 8 now. She loved insects. You wouldn’t believe how well crickets, grasshoppers and locusts travel in the mail. My best letter, she told me later, was accompanied by a thin, flat frog mashed into two dimensions by a truck. He shipped well.

Ted Roberts is a freelance writer and humorist living in Huntsville, Ala. His website is wonderwordworks.com.

JFS integral to our “village”

In mid-April, I attended the Jewish Family Services (JFS) donor appreciation event. My husband and I have always supported JFS and I have always thought very highly of the organization. But, recently, I became more involved and, this year, I joined the board.

At my first board meeting, I was blown away by the information I received about what just one facet of the organization does for its clients – the family and adult resources program, which includes helping with food vouchers, medical support, housing, etc.

At the next meeting, another group of employees came to discuss their services to seniors, which range from individual home support and care to outreach programs reaching hundreds of vulnerable seniors.

Then followed the employees who took care of assisting clients with employment, and settling new immigrants. The list went on … clinical counseling, the Jewish Food Bank, mental health outreach, emergency and transitional housing support, to name a few. About six months in, I am truly amazed by the breadth of services JFS offers and the number of clients they reach, but that’s not even the story.

I went to the volunteer appreciation evening event with my husband, as a board member and supporter, the first one we have attended. Some of our friends were there, many of my parents’ friends, some employees and some volunteers of the organization, as well as my dad. A JFS recipient spoke about his experiences with the agency and how much they helped him. He spoke about receiving counseling for depression after the failure of a business, support he was given to find work and on how to prepare his resumé after not having done so for decades. He then described the help he was given to prepare for job interviews and on how to present himself. He also praised other JFS services, such as the food bank, help with finding new housing and counseling after his divorce, and said he felt supported through these difficult years. All of a sudden, it hit me!

I looked at my dad, who was standing behind me, hand on my shoulder, and I said to him, “Oh, my G-d! You are my JFS!”

It was true. My mom and dad, throughout my entire life, have been my Jewish Family Services. From putting a roof over my head, feeding me, helping me through school, assisting me in all my university applications, editing my resumés, introducing me to potential employers and coaching me for interviews, to counseling me through difficult times, and the list goes on and on. Not to mention the help they provided other family members. All the services required to care for my four grandparents at various times in their lives closely resemble the ones offered through JFS. My parents drove them to appointments, helped get groceries, provided in-house care when necessary, brought them meals, managed their medications and advocated for them. They drove them to and from our Shabbat dinners and all the events in the community, ensuring they could attend shul, family celebrations, holidays and fundraisers.

We are always reminded that it takes a village to raise a child. When I reflect on my childhood or on my children’s lives thus far, it couldn’t be truer. The people in our lives that we rely on – friends, family members, professionals – all have played such an important role in getting us to where we are today. If we take a minute to reflect on how dramatically different our lives would be without this support system, I think we would be amazed.

So many of us are so blessed to have this network, this “village.” However, many people in our community are not so lucky. Thankfully and fortunately, they can access the village that is Jewish Family Services. If your story resembles mine in any way, I believe it is our good fortune that finds us in a life of comfort and security. I feel privileged to be part of this amazing organization and to be able to donate time and money to help those who aren’t as fortunate, so they can have affordable access to JFS and all the wonderful services they provide.

Unique, unconditional love

(photo from discogs.com)

“Oh, I know that I owe what I am today to that dear little lady so old and grey, to that wonderful Yiddishe momme of mine.”

The beautiful song “My Yiddishe Momme” was written by Lew Pollack and Jack Yellen in the 1920s. Sophie Tucker sang it (among many others), making it a hit in 1925. It has become a classic in acknowledging the culture of that era, when the stereotypical mother was the very essence of love, warmth and selfless devotion and sacrifice. (See the 2006 article “Jewish Mothers” by Philologos in the Forward.)

This Sunday, May 13, many people will pay homage to their mothers. No matter the distance, flowers will be sent and phones will be ringing as sons and daughters take a few moments to honour the woman who nurtured and cared for them, who was the source and sustenance of life, and to acknowledge her sacrifices. On this day, once a year, we recognize the value of a mother. But, there is, perhaps, a contradiction that belies our actions. While we rightly honour our mothers on Mother’s Day, we devalue their role on other days. For example, the recognition and awareness of the crucial role of mothering in a child’s healthy development and, consequently, to future generations, is often seen as a secondary role in the scheme of our busy lives.

Psychologist and author Penelope Leach says in her book Child Care Today: Getting It Right for Everyone (Alfred A. Knopf, 2009), “unlike all other mammals, most of the growth of the human brain is postnatal, and continues for several years.” Social and economic pressures continue to present conflicts for all mothers in terms of child care, as attachment theory emphasizes the importance of mothering in the early years.

But mothers don’t have to be perfect. Like her children, she has her own needs and cares. Yet, she performs a multitude of tasks in ensuring her child’s needs are met, and that is a greater challenge and more important than any other undertaking. We can attempt to delineate her role in three areas: providing the basic physical, emotional and psychological needs; protecting her children from harm, along with safety, security and stability; as well as being a role model who offers guidance as her children make their way in the world. In what way can we define her worth? Do we put a monetary value on it? That is impossible because it is priceless.

To this point, I have only described the practical responsibilities that mothers do. What cannot be seen, but only felt, is the unconditional love that permeates her actions, which envelops her child like a warm blanket. We’re much like Linus, a character in the Charles Schulz’s Peanuts comic strip, who clings to that security blanket like a lifeline.

Perhaps the importance of my Yiddishe momme can best be expressed in the words of the child in each of us:

She gives me a hug when I am sad
And holds me close when I am mad
She cools my brow when I am sick
And puts my art work on the fridge
She makes me wear mittens, and a toque, and a scarf, and boots when it’s cold outside, even if I don’t want to
She holds me when I have bad dreams, when I am afraid of the dark, or when lightning and thunder scare me
She kisses me for no reason
She loves me just because I’m me.

These needs are not just for children. They remain with us all our lives. We learn how to satisfy them better as we “mature,” but, when life overwhelms us, or we feel sad or lonely or frightened, we all hunger for a mother’s touch, for a mother’s hug, for a mother’s love. As Barbra Streisand sings in the song, “People,” “we are … letting our grown-up pride hide all the need inside.”

This is why the most fundamental loss of a mother – due to an untimely death, or her being present physically but absent emotionally or psychologically through mental illness or other debilitating disorder – is the loss of love. A child may recognize who they have lost but not what they have lost. Only in her absence does the impact of the loss become clearer. Only in her absence does her value become perceptible. Only when it disappears is the value of a mother deeply felt. And it is irreplaceable.

Doris Lessing, who was a Nobel Prize-winning author and lecturer at the CBC Massey Lectures, shared a deep insight in the 1986 essay “Prisons We Choose to Live Inside,” when she said, “… what we have we take for granted. What we are used to, we cease to value.”

To those who are fortunate to still have your Yiddishe momme in your lives, be thankful, and let her know how much she is cherished. For those who don’t, treasure the memories, which are precious. And, for those who are themselves mothers, you have undertaken one of the most difficult but important tasks of life with all its pleasures and perils. To all mothers and to those who “mother,” we honour you, today and every day.

Libby Simon, MSW, worked in child welfare services prior to joining the Child Guidance Clinic in Winnipeg as a school social worker and parent educator for 20 years. Also a freelance writer, her writing has appeared in Canada, the United States and internationally, in such outlets as Canadian Living, CBC, Winnipeg Free Press, PsychCentral and Cardus, a Canadian research and educational public policy think tank.

Reflecting on Jerusalem Day

The Kotel in Jerusalem. (photo by Marek69)

Jerusalem has been reunited now for 50 years. For five decades, we have had the privilege of praying at the Kotel, the Western Wall. On Jerusalem Day, 28 Iyar, which falls this year on May 13, thousands of worshippers will flock to the city, many before sunrise.

Nothing has ever come easily to the Jewish people. For 19 years, from 1948 to 1967, Jerusalem was cut in half and, at the Mandelbaum Gate, outside the Old City, there were signs: “Danger. Frontier ahead. Snipers nearby … stay out of the middle of the street!” Neighbourhoods and streets were split down the middle. Jews were evicted from their homes and synagogues in the Old City, and the Western Wall was out of bounds. Across the dividing line, Jordanian troops stood with rifles at the ready.

Jerusalem’s story covers thousands of years, but this segment began in 1948. Before the ceasefire was signed on Nov. 30 that year, Moshe Dayan, the commander of Israel’s forces in Jerusalem, met with his Jordanian counterpart, Abdullah El-Tel. In a deserted house in Musrara, they marked out their respective positions. These rough, indistinct marks expanded from the heat and blurred over time, yet they were accepted as the borders between Jordan and Israel in Jerusalem. The map was locked up at Government House and referred to in all disputes.

On June 5, 1967, while Israel was still warning King Hussein of Jordan to stay out of the impending war, a foreign radio station announced the conquest of Mount Scopus by Jordanian troops. It was a mistake, but it confirmed Israel’s suspicions of Jordan’s intentions, and that Mount Scopus, with its Hebrew University and Hadassah Hospital, was in danger. The Jordanians believed that Israeli troops would come from east to west, but instead the Jerusalem Brigade attacked from the opposite direction, taking Armon HaNetziv, three Jordanian positions, the Arab village of Sur Baher and Mutzav HaPaamon, before several Arab troops came out of hiding and killed six Israeli soldiers.

Below, on the road to Bethlehem, stands Kibbutz Ramat Rachel. Jordanians and Egyptians fought Israelis on the southernmost part of the dividing line and the kibbutz changed hands three times. However, the Israelis eventually held it, which helped stop the Arab invasion of southern Jerusalem.

Soldiers of the Jordanian legion conquered the British High Commissioner’s residence, but were driven back by the Israeli Defence Forces, who moved towards the City of David. At dawn on Tuesday, 27 Iyar, a unit of paratroopers advanced, taking the police school, the district of Sheikh Jarrah, the American Colony and the area of the Rockefeller Museum. After a bloody battle at Ammunition Hill, the paratroopers reached Mount Scopus.

Jerusalem’s great day was 28 Iyar. With a daring thrust, Israeli soldiers scaled Mount of Olives, advancing beyond the village of Al-Azariya. Armoured vehicles burst through the Lions’ Gate towards the Temple Mount. At 10 a.m. came the announcement: “The Temple Mount is ours. It is in our hands!” Soldiers, even secular ones, ran towards the Western Wall, caressing its stones, their eyes full of tears and with a prayer on their lips, even if they didn’t know the words. A few minutes later, Rabbi Shlomo Goren, then IDF chaplain, blew the shofar at the holy site. David Rubinger, a military photographer, took the now-famous photo that has been reproduced around the world, of a soldier named Yitzhak Yifat (who is now a gynecologist living in Rishon lesion), removing his helmet and looking up at the wall in awe.

One of the first to reach the Kotel was a former Australian, Mordecai (Mark) Rechtschafner, from my hometown of Melbourne. He told me that, although he was overwhelmed by the sense of history at that moment, he was far from euphoric. Heavy losses had been sustained and he had lost many comrades. “I was exhausted, filled with sadness at the unbearable death of so many of my friends,” he said. “The Six Day War ended swiftly, but we paid a heavy price.” Every year, on Jerusalem Day, he comes to the city from Kibbutz Ein Zurim, where he lives, for the memorial service, to pay tribute to the many friends he lost in the battle.

Until the First Intifada and its ongoing aftermath, the hope of peaceful coexistence between Jews and Arabs seemed a possibility and some believe it still is. Thousands of Arabs used to pour into Western Jerusalem each morning to work. On weekends, the narrow lanes of the Old City’s Arab shuk (market) would be packed with Israeli shoppers, but, today, it is mostly tourists who fill the market. The future is a question mark, as ongoing violence brings renewed tears to families throughout the land.

But the city of Jerusalem remains unforgettable and heartbreakingly beautiful. To me, it is a poem. One night, as darkness descended, I was moved to write these lines:

Black velvet spangled with stars
Is night in Jerusalem.
Splashes of silver,
The sob of the wind,
An ancient perfume,
A taste of nectar.
Skyline of turrets and domes
Is night in Jerusalem.
Pine trees are sighing.
Through a tracery of leaves
Golden lights dot
A midnight canvas.
Landscape of enchantment
Is night in Jerusalem.

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.

Civil dissent: a Jewish value

Last week, I participated in a survey on Canadian Jews done by the Environics Institute for Survey Research, in partnership with Prof. Robert Brym of the University of Toronto and Prof. Rhonda Lenton of York University. It’s considered a “landmark national survey of Jews in Canada in 2018.”

The phone call came at 5 p.m. This time coincides with making dinner, school lunches for my kids, feeding our dogs, and keeping the twins and dogs from roughhousing too much in the meanwhile. (Did I mention my biologist husband was away, doing field work?)

However, I knew this was important. This was a situation where my opinions and experiences mattered. I needed to contribute despite being the only adult present to address the chaos at my house.

Often, we think of politics, religion and money as things to avoid. They’re too emotionally laden to make good dinner conversation. Still, we need to talk and think about this to figure out where we stand. If one looks only at the Torah portion of the week, you might see it as black and white pronouncements about how one should behave or observe the commandments. Yet Oral Law is also part of Judaism. We care what the rabbis thought and discussed. Over thousands of years, our ideas developed, changed and grew. Those talmudic discussions include majority and minority opinions, as well as stories and sayings.

In our tradition, subtle differences matter. Opinions matter. According to the joke, if you ask two Jews, you’ll get three opinions.

That’s why I was stunned by the reaction to actress Natalie Portman’s choice to decline the Genesis Prize. In her statement, she lovingly celebrated her Israeli identity, her friends and family and her citizenship. She also explained that she felt uncomfortable with the current government, specifically, Prime Minister Binyamin Netanyahu’s choices, and its “violence, corruption, inequality and abuse of power.”

A torrent of media and political reaction followed, some of it hysterical in tone. The president of the Zionist Organization of America, Mort Klein, was downright misogynistic. He called the Harvard-educated actor and director “beautiful, but not too bright.”

Portman carries two passports as a dual American-Israeli citizen. Some called for her to be stripped of her Israeli citizenship. Since when is it OK to tell someone they can no longer be a citizen of a democratic country because she spoke out on political issues that concern her?

I’m a dual American-Canadian citizen. If I speak out on a political issue, I am within my rights as a citizen of (either) democratic society. I hear comments on Prime Minister Justin Trudeau’s government or U.S. President Donald Trump’s latest tweets wherever I go. All that said, some of those survey questions made me realize – I no longer feel comfortable publicly writing about or speaking either in support of Israel or criticizing Israel’s policies. Why?

All subtlety has dropped out of the conversation.

Old guard, right-wing Zionists who say “I stand with Israel” bristle whenever anyone says something critical of the current Israeli government’s policies. Meanwhile, anyone with liberal or left-wing politics feels uncomfortable with the notion that Israel would deport asylum-seekers, never mind the current violence with Palestinians or the reactions to their using the word “occupied.”

Many have given up even trying to discuss the issues. They don’t want to be attacked. Getting vitriolic responses from friends, acquaintances and family members, or a stream of emails about those “antisemites,” or worse, seems par for the course now.

A New York magazine article online, “Natalie Portman and the crisis of liberal Zionism,” helps explain the dilemma. Many younger North American Jews embrace liberal North American politics about equality and human rights, and feel disconnected from Israel. The old notion of a liberal Zionist or progressive supporter is no longer courted by Israel, either. The support of Christian evangelicals and a growing block of Orthodox, conservative voters might mean that some in Israel believe they no longer need the support of those liberal Zionists of old.

You may wonder why my columns don’t discuss Israel much. I’d respond with what Israelis told me as a teenager, living on an Israeli kibbutz. “If you want to weigh in on Israeli politics? Move to Israel and vote. Otherwise? We’ve heard enough from you North Americans.”

I tend my garden, as Voltaire says – I write about Judaism, religion, family and about where we stand as Canadian Jews. Our religion teaches us to learn, analyze and form opinions, like the rabbis do. As a citizen of both the United States and Canada, I defend wholeheartedly Portman’s right to speak out on politics and human rights issues that matter to her. It’s an essential part of free speech and the democratic ideal. One has to wonder whether the virulent reaction to her statement says more about Portman, or about the people who have responded so negatively.

In a democracy, we should be able to express well-considered opinions and disagree about things in a civil way, without fear of threats. Why would anyone consider it acceptable (Jewish) behaviour to threaten, embarrass or demean someone else? Many rabbis taught us: threats, embarrassment or denigrating others are just not Jewish things to do.

Rituals can help us with loss

My nephew L’s public elementary school principal just died unexpectedly. She wasn’t old, and it was very sudden. The school closed for an afternoon so everyone could go to a memorial service. He’s upset … as any 9-year-old kid would be. His family lives near my parents, in Virginia, so, when my brother called for grandparent backup, they went right over. They needed to help my nephew start learning and talking about death.

This is so hard, but, in some ways, we are lucky. Judaism has rituals, information and thousands of years of coping with this topic. We can joke about it, sure, but nobody comes out of this thing called life alive. Better to have some things in place ahead of time, so you’re ready for it.

There are those who try to protect kids from sad or upsetting events, and keep them home and shelter them from funerals. This is a disservice to kids, who need to learn how these things work. I experienced several deaths and attended funerals as a little kid, as close family and friends died. Watching my family members mourn, going through shivah and attending services with them to say Kaddish helped me get a grip on the losses of people I loved, even though I wasn’t old enough to do much of this myself.

By comparison, my husband didn’t lose close family members until he was a young adult in his twenties. He didn’t have a deep understanding of traditional Jewish practices, about what would happen and how. In a short span of time, he lost all his grandparents and his mother. Going through the rituals, attending services to say Kaddish and to mourn his mother, was very hard. It was a long year, and we were in grad school, far away from family. However, we used those rituals as a crutch, and it helped us get through it together.

Although my mom is retired, she worked as a Jewish educator and administrator for many years. She still helps manage arrangements for the sale of Jewish burial plots for her Virginia congregation. My mom often helps people as they deal with a sudden death, a long illness or another difficult situation. She was recently invited to talk to the Grade 6 religious school class as they studied Jewish mourning and death.

It turned out that L’s older brother, age 12, was in that class. Although he recognized many of the pictures in my mom’s presentation, he said he learned some new things, too. He recognized the 140-year-old cemetery in Alexandria, where he visits and helps out sometimes. My mom covered basic traditions, but she also talked about how we can comfort friends who lose grandparents – the real details that help us cope with loss. Most poignant for me, though, was the new story my mother told me that she’d mentioned in the class. It was a way to help kids learn to support friends with their losses.

When my mom was 12, there was a phone call in the middle of the night. She heard her dad crying, which she’d never heard before. His father, her grandfather “Poppa,” had died. Her friends at school came up to her. They were sorry to hear about his death. Poppa used to carry around big packets of Juicy Fruit gum in his pockets. He’d hand out sticks of gum to all the kids at the end of High Holiday services. Those friends helped her remember her grandfather in a loving, wonderful way.

In Leviticus, which we read each week at synagogue at this time of year, there are long lists of “shoulds” and “should nots” and instructions for how we should do things. Some of these rules seem rigid. Many aren’t really applicable in a world without ritual sacrifices in the Temple in Jerusalem. However, we have both rabbinic teachings and the Tanakh sacrifice experience. We’re offered tools for how to mourn and how to manage through hard times. That history can propel us forward.

My family and community “practised” with kids so they were ready. True, it may be bending someone’s rules to recite Kaddish in the backyard over a beloved pet who has died. It may not be exactly correct to light a yahrzeit candle and recite Kaddish over a beloved (non-Jewish) elementary school principal who has died, but this “practising” doesn’t matter to most. The Jewish rituals and traditions that exist around death aren’t really about the person who died. It’s about how the rest of us will move forward.

Death is a part of life. It’s dang hard. However, hard things don’t go away because we decide not to talk about them or face them. Instead, brave people conquer difficult challenges through facing them head on. My nephew L is one of those brave people. He uses a wheelchair, signs and uses an iPad communication device to talk – and shows such compassion. He told my mother, “Now I know how you felt when your mom died.”

This week, my nephew heard that we are about to adopt a new dog. He hadn’t realized that one of our dogs died last fall, right before Yom Kippur. He was reassured that our dog Harry was old, and very sick … and that is how most of us die. However, it’s through talking about this that we can move on towards celebrating a new “family member,” too.

Talking about death isn’t easy, but we need to do it – in calm, peaceful ways – long before something sudden happens to us or our families. Talking about death in a Jewish context and acknowledging the value of the rituals that help us cope with it may be one of the deepest ways we can celebrate life.