Op-Ed – Page 39

The bond between Israelis

This photograph by Ziv Koren is from My Jerusalem: The Eternal City, a collection of reflections on the city by notable Israeli and Diaspora (mainly American) Jews edited by Ilan Greenfield and published by Gefen Publishing House last year.

I read a lovely quotation recently: “I met a hundred people going to Delhi. And every one of them was my brother.” I often feel that way in Israel. In the 40 years I have lived here, I have met saints and sinners, business tycoons and homemakers, and many, many others. But, by the very fact of them pulling up their roots, leaving behind their birthplaces and culture, here they become ordinary people leading extraordinary lives. I once had a friend, sadly passed on, who used to say that he stood on the corner and watched all the poems walk by.

Israel makes demands on us. We don’t just drift along acquiring more and more material possessions – a bigger home, a more luxurious car, a wardrobe of designer clothing. No matter how rich or poor we may be, when our children turn 18, they are expected to serve their country, either in the Israel Defence Forces or national service (Sherut Leumi). Almost everyone I know is a mother, father, grandparent, sister, brother, wife or daughter of a soldier, and there is always the fear for their safety, or of terrorist attacks that can occur anywhere, changing lives forever. And the six-day work week doesn’t leave much time for leisure, or keeping up with friends and family scattered around the country. Yet there is a resilience here. On the whole, we are optimists. It is almost a cliché that, if you live in Israel and don’t believe in miracles, then you are not a realist. We live on miracles and expect them – the Entebbe rescue and the Six Day War victory are just two examples.

Stand on the corner of any Jerusalem street and, in the space of 10 minutes, you can hear several languages. There might be a monk in a long habit; a soldier whose face is etched in weariness; a teenager with earrings and tattoos; tourists with cameras slung around their necks; a housewife trundling a shopping cart; a Charedi Jew with peyot; and everywhere people talking on their mobile phones. A gregarious lot contributing to the rich mosaic of our society. Each one unique.

They may be strangers, but Israelis won’t hesitate to speak to you … on a bus, waiting in a queue, sitting at your doctor’s office. They may ask you where you bought your shoes, where you work, how much you earn, and why haven’t you dressed your child warmly enough. One big family. It’s not just idle curiosity – they are really interested.

This is what’s so endearing about living in Israel. We all express our identity differently, in the way we dress and the words we speak, but, in the end, it’s a similar identity. We are bonded by birth, by choice or by belief and it creates a link – invisible perhaps but, when needed, we will help each other. It’s an unspoken commitment. How lucky we are!

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.

Our past prepares us for now

“Grow old along with me! The best is yet to be, the last for which the first was made …” begins the poem “Rabbi Ben Ezra” by Robert Browning. Meanwhile, his wife, Elizabeth, immortalized their relationship in her poem, “How Do I Love Thee?” which is an exquisite expression of love, and how it can change a life.

The couple met when Elizabeth was 38 and Robert was 34. After a courtship carried on primarily through letters, they married secretly in 1846, and Elizabeth ran away with Robert to live with him in Italy. Her tyrannical father disowned her – the family was fabulously wealthy from Jamaican rum and slaveholdings, and he thought Robert was a gold digger. The Brownings had a son in 1848.

Elizabeth died in 1861 after a brilliant literary career that, for a time, eclipsed her husband’s – she was considered for the post of England’s poet laureate after the death of William Wordsworth. Robert died in 1889.

“Rabbi Ben Ezra” was published in the collection of poems Dramatis Personae in 1864. Very briefly, it says that, whatever has come before in our lives is but a prelude to what our lives are, and will be.

How many of us have had some event in our histories that we can point to as a crossroad, such as that the Brownings experienced? For most of us, it is hard to think of our past as merely leading us to something even more important. And yet, there is a germ of truth here, whatever our experiences.

For me, I have reason to find some contentment in what I assess are my accomplishments after a life spanning eight decades. And yet, and yet … I know that the things I cherish as worthwhile are known best only by me. There are no plaques or monuments, no citations, few remembrances of my name. The physical evidence of my passage lies in the offspring I contributed to bringing into being. They, every one of them, are self-made, the products of the sum total of their individual efforts to which I can make only a small claim.

Truly, for most of us still around to gaze at life’s battlefield, all we have is what we can make of the day that lies ahead. We can take pleasure in the comfort of a leisurely day in the sun. We can intervene in the life of someone near and dear, or even a stranger, and try to help. We can become active on an issue of public import that we have in the past supported in our minds alone. Given our life experience at any moment in time, we have appreciations and understandings we never could have had before that time, even though our past is what led us to where and who we are.

Like Robert Browning, I do have a momentous event in my life to announce from the rooftops. And I take full credit for being an important party to the life-changing event. Truly, for me, it was “the last for which the first was made.”

For most of us, the lives we arrange do not turn out as we hoped. For example, we all seek relationships in which we can love and be loved in return. Regardless of the positive outcomes that come from pursuing these relationships in good faith, our aspirations are not always fully met.

I was entranced by a creature of the opposite sex in my teenage years, but a lack of self-confidence and courage prevented me from advancing my offering. We both passed on to other partners, and I did not seriously develop a plan of action until I reached widowerhood at the age of 70, some 55 years later. Knowing my intended was also unattached, after planning my approach, almost a year later, I strongly pressed my case. It was my good fortune that I was accepted as a marriage partner.

One does not make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear without a good deal of re-engineering. We have now been together for more than 12 years, a period of learning by both parties.

What’s happening at your house?

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.

Purpose is to help others

“It’s not for me.” “I’m too busy.” “I’ll volunteer when I’m retired.” All of these responses (excuses?) are familiar to me. Because, at one time or another, I hid behind each one of them.

I never felt I was good at time management, so how could I possibly take on volunteering when I was working full-time? Sure, I could multitask at work, because I had to. But did I enjoy working that way? Not even a little.

To me, time management meant working eight hours a day, worrying about work for the next eight hours, sleeping and dreaming about work for the following six hours, spending the next two hours showering, eating breakfast and reading the newspaper, then repeating the process. For decades, I functioned – notice I didn’t say lived – this way. I had tunnel vision of the worst variety.

Then I retired.

The novelty of not having to rise at a particular hour is intoxicating. Not that I indulge myself very often. After all, I had 34 years of 6 a.m. alarm clock reminders that had trained my body to get up with the sun. I confess that now, after two years of retirement, I occasionally sleep till 8:30 or even 9 a.m. But then, of course, I feel guilty. I’m Jewish after all.

Not long after I retired, I got an email from Rabbi Yechiel Baitelman of Chabad Richmond notifying me about an upcoming six-week Jewish Learning Institute course. I think it was called The Jewish Course of Why. Since I’m an inveterate question-asker and perpetually curious, I took the bait. And I was hooked.

Somewhere between the questions and the answers, the good rabbi saw an opportunity to recruit me for some volunteering. I may have casually mentioned that I’d just taught myself to bake challah using YouTube. Next thing I know, I get a call from Grace Jampolsky (“the Challah Whisperer,” as I call her), asking if I’d like to help bake challah for the bi-weekly Light of Shabbat meals that Chabad Richmond delivers to the elderly in Richmond. Sounded like a good thing to do. And who doesn’t love the smell of freshly baked bread?

From there, I volunteered to help pack the Light of Shabbat boxes and occasionally deliver them. This gave me the opportunity to visit and shmooze with some seniors, some of whom I already knew through my parents. We talked about family and books, everything and anything. It was a blessing for both of us.

About six months into retirement, I realized I still had way too much free time on my hands, and needed to do something useful. Something outside myself. So, I contacted B.C. Children’s Hospital, hoping to volunteer as a “baby cuddler,” not realizing that there’s a long waitlist to do that. But, as soon as the hospital’s volunteer coordinator saw my resumé, she offered me a volunteer position in the Family Support and Resource Centre. After all, what else would a librarian want to do in retirement, but jump right back into working in a library! Naively, I didn’t think to mention in my interview that I’d like anything but a library position. Nevertheless, I gave them the year’s commitment that they asked for and then resigned. Being an infrequently used part of the hospital, the centre didn’t provide the stimulation I was hoping for. I wanted to make more of an impact in my volunteering.

Soon after, Rabbi Baitelman asked if I’d be interested in volunteering with Chabad Richmond’s Israel Connect program, in which local retirees tutor Israeli high school students in English once a week, via Skype. It sounded like fun, so naturally I said yes. If memory serves me correctly, it was about two-and-a-half minutes later that he asked me if I would consider coordinating the Israel Connect program in Richmond. He had me at “Would you be interested….”

The rabbi knows that I have a background in writing and editing, so it wasn’t long before he asked for my help writing press releases and marketing pieces for Chabad Richmond. Writing is my happy place, so I was delighted to pitch in. It has only snowballed since then, and I’m thrilled to report that I love my volunteer activities, and I’m always open to considering new ones.

All of this is to say that there is life after retirement – volunteering has been enormously rewarding.

At its essence, volunteering is about saying yes to what you want to do, and saying no to the rest. And the yes, well, it’s just so darn sweet! Knowing that Jewish seniors are enjoying the challah I bake, and that the short visits we have might be the only human interaction they encounter in a week – that’s why my heart is drawn to do these things. Believe me, as a volunteer, working with people, you get way more than you give.

And Israel Connect? It’s the best spent 30 to 45 minutes of my week. Helping an Israeli teen improve their English so they can get into university or pursue a career that requires English proficiency – that makes my heart sing. And, we have fun. With each different student (all girls, so far), I’ve managed to make a connection and form a bond. After each week’s official tutoring is finished, we talk: about their hobbies, plans for the future, our families, travel, everything. From week to week, I notice not only improvements in their English, but a relaxation that comes from forming a real intergenerational friendship. I hope to visit my students when we travel to Israel soon.

I’d be remiss if I didn’t include the bits and pieces of volunteering I did while I was still working full-time as a librarian and communications officer at Richmond Public Library. I did manage to squeeze in some fundraising and communications work to help promote the Crohn’s and Colitis Foundation of Canada’s annual Gutsy Walk fundraiser.

In a much more humbling capacity, I was also part of a program about eight years ago, called Feed the Hungry, in which a bunch of volunteers from Ahavat Olam made and served lunch to Downtown Eastside (DTES) residents on a regular basis. And, for several years, I volunteered, along with my husband, brother-in-law and/or friends, serving Christmas lunch at the Salvation Army Harbour Light Mission in the DTES.

For a couple of years, I was a volunteer board member with the Isaac Waldman Jewish Public Library, as well as being the B.C. Library Association representative for the West Coast Book Award Prize Society. All of them together were growing and learning experiences of the highest order.

We guard our free time so rabidly, we forget that part of why we’re put on this earth is to help others. The satisfaction and joy that comes from doing something outside ourselves, something for a higher purpose, is indescribable. Believing is seeing. But don’t just take my word for it.

Shelley Civkin is a happily retired librarian and communications officer. For 17 years, she wrote a weekly book review column for the Richmond Review, and currently writes a bi-weekly column about retirement for the Richmond News.

A need for ethical guidelines

This time of year, we read Torah portions in the Book of Leviticus. It’s full of information about how to do sacrifices at the Temple in Jerusalem. It’s a good reminder – things have changed in the Jewish world, haven’t they? Perhaps we don’t need details for how to do a sin offering, an offering of well-being or for first fruits? Then again, maybe we do.

Huh? No, I don’t mean we need to learn to kill animals to sacrifice them. However, the rituals described in Leviticus have become guidelines for other things we do. For instance, it’s common to make a donation to a synagogue in honour of someone, or to express gratitude for a return to good health, a success at work or a family celebration. There are modern interpretations for some of these rituals, including the need to do something to repair things when feeling guilt or after committing a sin.

Parts of Leviticus offer us good metaphors … reminders that we can apply to other things in Jewish life.

I receive an email newsletter from the Jewish news organization JTA. One of the articles that popped up was about fundraising: “Women in Jewish fundraising say harassment is pervasive.” I followed the link. It turns out that fundraisers for Jewish organizations and in the nonprofit world are mostly women.

Donors? You guessed it, are predominantly men. Just like in other parts of the #MeToo professional world, many Jewish fundraisers have tolerated widespread harassment in order to do their jobs. If you don’t bring in the money, it’s hard to keep your fundraising job. These fundraisers have told hair-raising tales of stalking, requests for dates or sexual favours and dangling professional opportunities “if only” the woman professional would “cooperate.”

Most of us don’t want to imagine that one’s body has to be part of a professional encounter in the fundraising arena, unless perhaps your wife, daughter, mother or sister is a sex worker (and Jewish tradition has plenty of those. Read the Bible for more on that). Imagine if your daughter, recently graduated from university, went to lunch for her job at a Jewish nonprofit. A grey-haired man sat next to her, put his chequebook down, stuck his hand up her thigh under the table, and let her know that there would be more money to come if she just went out with him.

Disgusting? Yes. These days, there are laws that say both men and women deserve the same fair pay for their work and freedom from harassment on the job.

Oh, come on, some say – this doesn’t happen in the Jewish world. Well, it does. Jews can be alcoholics, drug addicts, adulterers, criminals and more. We are people. People aren’t perfect. We commit sin, and feel guilty. (Remember those Temple sacrifices?)

The sad part is that, in many ways, we groom children to be cooperative, to respect adults in their community, to listen and obey us even if they don’t know everyone’s name. This grooming, particularly for girls, starts young. This sometimes results in bad things happening. Young women tolerate a lot before they realize something bad happened and they should complain.

As someone who used to teach full-time (and a mom), I see things that make me scared in this regard. Imagine free-range preschoolers and elementary schoolers, left to roam in a Jewish community building without adequate parental supervision. Adults offer them candy or encourage them to find their parents, but no one leads them directly to the children’s activity or to their parents. Never mind the potential for accidents or getting into mischief … worse happens.

This situation is ripe for a predator to step in with candy and lure a child away. This is how horrible, life-altering, illegal things happen to children. When I mentioned this concern aloud, the response was: “Oh, kids roam around. It’s always been this way.” Really? Thank goodness that, in Jewish tradition, we evolve and change. Even the most traditional among us don’t do sacrifices anymore. We no longer sweep childhood sexual abuse under the rug. We no longer think it is OK for women to earn less, or that they must tolerate sexual harassment on the job. We no longer think it is OK for male donors to expect they can get away with this, if only they write a big cheque.

The key to changing a culture that allows sexual predation is in Leviticus, too. The instructions for sacrifice are well laid out and clear to follow. There’s a set of steps and a ritual to each one. In the JTA article written by Debra Nussbaum Cohen, she outlines some of the new efforts to make organizational and structural change to these interactions between funders and donors. This includes laying out ethical guidelines when it comes to sexual harassment and abuse, specifically addressing the power imbalance between fundraisers, who solicit donations to keep their jobs, and funders, who hold the purse strings.

Judaism has plenty to offer when it comes to respecting someone’s body, modesty and personal space. If we know the rules to appropriate behaviour, we recognize that we can do a lot to make modern environments safer and more ethical. We also must be aware that harassing fundraisers (who happen to be women), paying our Jewish professionals (who are often women) inadequately, or failing to provide our children Jewish “safe” spaces are not acceptable ways to behave as Jews.

If Jewish tradition alone doesn’t matter to some? Many of these behaviours are also illegal. We may mourn the loss of the Temple and pray for its return. However, I vote to exchange Leviticus’s ritual steps for bloody sacrifice with those ethical behavioural guidelines for donations that emerged from the rabbinic age. We can ritualize good behaviour around tzedakah (charity) instead.

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.

Stressing action over just being

Rabbi Deborah Waxman, PhD, president of Reconstructionist Judaism, recently released a statement about rebranding. Instead of calling the rabbinical college and umbrella congregational movement the Reconstructionist Rabbinical College and Jewish Reconstructionist Communities, the header now is “Reconstructing Judaism.” The tag line below it reads, “Deeply rooted. Boldly relevant.”

Why do this? Well, in Rabbi Waxman’s statement, this sentence jumped out: “A critical path forward is shifting from a focus on ‘being’ Jewish – important but insufficient for providing substance and structure – to a focus on ‘doing’ Jewish.”

This is of central importance as we reshape 21st-century Jewish life. If you’re modifying Jewish by saying Reconstructionist, or Reform, Orthodox, Conservative, etc., you define your Jewish identity as a state of being. That is, “this is who I am.” It is akin to saying “I have brown eyes” or “I have freckles.”

However, in an era when people aren’t participating in group or congregational activities as often, it’s useful to go back to our tradition itself. We practise Judaism. Judaism doesn’t rely on a theological belief system as do some evangelical Christians. Or, as my husband jokes, when somebody needs a 10th body for a minyan, no one asks what you believe. There’s no extended questioning or exam. In that moment, we’re defined by what we do – the person showed up when needed, ready to “do Jewish” in a Jewish space.

If you’re wondering why anyone should care about this, it’s because Rabbi Mordecai Kaplan, the founding thinker of Reconstructionism, significantly affected North American Judaism as a whole. His concept of Jewish peoplehood affected every form of 20th- and 21st-century Judaism. Kaplan, while raised Orthodox, was a professor at the Jewish Theological Seminary (Conservative movement) until he retired. His son-in-law founded the Reconstructionist Rabbinical College. So, even if you don’t consider yourself a Reconstructionist, many aspects of how North American Jews understand their belonging to the Jewish people stem from Kaplan’s mid-20th century work, which was conceived of as “radical” at the time.

Around the same time that I read about rebranding Judaism, I had a strange “blast” from the past. I was contacted by someone who had once been a dear close friend. How close? I’d lived with her for a year on a kibbutz in Israel. I ate dinner with her the night I got engaged. She stood up for me under the chuppah at my wedding – we were friends for 15 years. We often saw each other on a weekly basis, if not more often. This person was an essential part of my life.

As an aside, I’ll stop to say it’s just not in my nature to ditch a longtime friend or, as some say, ghosting. I wouldn’t disappear or ignore someone on purpose. I take to heart the part of Pirkei Avot (Sayings of Our Fathers) 1:6 – “Find yourself a mentor, acquire for yourself a friend.” While learning opportunities are a lifelong interest, I also understood the rabbis’ interpretation of “acquiring” a friend. You have to invest and work on friendship. It takes time and effort. You have to show interest and concern about friends, and try to “pay them” that attention so that they will like you back.

What happened with my dear friend? In 2003, she was going through some life changes, as was I. We had a disagreement. Instead of discussing it and resolving things, or even fighting, she just dumped me. She wouldn’t respond to me at all. For many years, it tore me apart. I missed her terribly, but, what’s more, I felt as though if I’d just done something differently or been a better friend, this wouldn’t have happened.

I sought her forgiveness several times. I tried to contact her on holidays and wish her well. I even emailed her brother to make sure she was healthy and OK, because the absolute silence and rejection seemed so unlike the previous 15 years of our friendship. In short, I tried hard to be her friend, to invest in repairing any wrongs, long after she’d left the partnership.

This was a painful life lesson. I eventually learned that no matter how hard I tried to fix things, friendships take two people. I couldn’t do it on my own.

At first, I was thrilled to hear from this person again. I showed my husband the note I’d received, and I responded eagerly. My husband was more dispassionate and worried about me. He showed me something I’d overlooked. While clearly she’d laboured over the note’s wording, it didn’t look like it was personally sent to me. It might have been sent to multiple people she’d wronged over the years. While a group teshuvah (apology) is sometimes necessary, it’s not the personal reconnection and friendship I’d craved.

My old friend is professionally affiliated with Jewish Reconstructionism. The rebranding of Reconstructing Judaism pushed me to reflect. One of her online statements says she embraces rachamim (compassion), gemilut hasadim (acts of lovingkindness) and ethical living – but there’s sometimes a distance between what we “believe in” and what we do. I’m impressed that Reconstructing Judaism has taken a strong, active step. They’re doing Jewish in an era when North America Judaism needs this leadership.

Corporations rebrand all the time. It boosts sales and changes their public images. It might be time that Judaism does the same. As for me, I’ve had an internal emotional rollercoaster – the loss of a long friendship perhaps made me a more cautious, distant person when it came to building new connections. I don’t throw myself into friendships with the joie de vivre that I did as a teenager. In my rush to respond, my note to this old friend was still wary, with clichés. “Life is long. It’s good to have friends.”

Relearning this Jewish notion of acquiring friendship helped me put this episode in perspective. I wish I’d included it in my note. Could we learn together, invest in each other, do right by people, and create a rooted and relevant future? If that’s what she’s up for, I hope she writes back.

On access to palliative care

The way a society treats its most vulnerable speaks volumes about its principles. There are few more vulnerable than those reaching the end of life. The physical, emotional, interpersonal and spiritual challenges confronted at life’s end are immense. Just as we expect our healthcare system to be there for us throughout our lives, so too must it support each of us – and our families – as we enter life’s final chapter.

Palliative care is a policy issue that has the potential to touch every family across the country. According to the Canadian Hospice Palliative Care Association, only 15% to 30% of patients approaching the end of life have access to palliative care. With Canada’s population continuing to age, existing shortfalls in the system will only grow in the coming years.

While the federal government has taken the vital step of announcing additional federal funds for home care and palliative care, more can be done to ensure that no patient seeking palliative care is denied. This is why the Centre for Israel and Jewish Affairs (CIJA) has taken a lead role in mobilizing an interfaith coalition to urge Ottawa to take action on this issue.

Working with Catholic, Evangelical and Muslim allies, CIJA’s efforts achieved a key milestone in late 2017, when Parliament passed Bill C-277. This bill, which received strong support from MPs across party lines, called for the establishment of a national palliative care strategy. Our next step is to ensure that the national strategy that flows from Bill C-277 strengthens end-of-life care for all Canadians.

For this reason, in partnership with others, CIJA is organizing an expert working group to provide us with advice regarding Canada’s national palliative care strategy. An essential portion of these suggestions will be based on the patient and family experience, which is why I invite every reader to consider whether they have personal insights they can share with us.

Can you attest to the importance of high-quality palliative care, perhaps having had a loved one who received excellent end-of-life care? Or, do you have a family member who, despite seeking it, was unable to access appropriate hospice or palliative care? We want to hear your stories – and government policymakers need to hear how these policies affect real lives. Email [email protected] to share your experiences with palliative care.

It is an extraordinary act of chesed to care for a person in their final days of life. Our healthcare system, in which Canadians rightly take pride as evidence of our nation’s innate sense of kindness, must do better to ensure that those who need palliative care are never denied this essential service.

Steve McDonald is director, policy and strategic communications, at the Centre for Israel and Jewish Affairs (CIJA).

In spirit of Jewish law

The other night, I sat on the couch with my husband in an attempt at togetherness. We watched an episode of Madam Secretary. It was our second attempt. On the first try, worn out, I was about to fall asleep when my spouse suggested that we save it for another time so I could go to bed. It was, he pointed out, supposed to be fun. Sticking to the initial “date time” wasn’t working. Thank goodness for the PVR.

The show we watched was full of allusions to knitting and design, which are parts of my freelance work. I cringed inwardly, preparing for derogatory comments about “women’s work.” To my surprise, the textile theme was respectful. A man with PTSD takes up knitting as part of his therapy – it helps him focus his mind. A first-year university student struggles with a design assignment – she comes away with a couture dress, but not before we hear the sounds of her sewing machine at work in the background. Best yet, when her sister begins to panic at modeling the dress, the student gives her a pep talk, saying, “Pull yourself together, be strong. Do this, I need you.” What started as a frivolous thing – “help me out at this fashion show” – became more. It became a chance to succeed academically, and to use inner strength to prevail over a trying situation. The episode showed strong women and struggling men seeking to be their best selves.

All this came to mind later, in the context of a Talmud class. I signed up for a Jewish Theological Seminary online course. With the wonders of technology, I can hear lectures by Rabbi Dr. Judith Hauptman, who is a gifted teacher and intellect. Her course has an interesting premise – looking at situations when “law meets life.”

She began with basic information, and got started studying talmudic text. Whenever I study Talmud (or any older text), I have to remember the inherent inequalities. Women were seen as subservient, with less agency than we think is appropriate today. Through careful reading, we saw lists of tasks wives are obligated to perform for their husbands (Bavli Ketubot 61a) and a discussion about how one might “wash” – sprinkle water on – a floor on Shabbat (Bavli Shabbat 95a). (This last reference was not cleaning so much as providing a form of air conditioning and reducing dust on an extremely hot Shabbat in Babylonia.)

Hauptman showed us how women’s interpretations allowed them both to obey the spirit of Jewish law, and to accomplish what needed to be done. In more than one place in these readings, the rabbis (all male) allude to the fact that women were smart and had power or agency. Even if the language of the Talmud relegates women to being “property of a man’s house,” the women in these stories shine through as being shrewd and savvy.

We think sometimes that our lives are infinitely more complicated, sophisticated and detailed than those in the nostalgic past. Yet, these talmudic texts reminded me that, more than 1,500 years ago, smart people focused on the details that make our households and lives function. We may have a way to record entertainment now (and a TV!) or access to machine-produced clothing, but our fundamental concerns are similar. How are we to balance the spirit of our commitments with the laws’ requirements? What is the intention of our roles? How do men and women balance and subvert traditional roles in order to cope? How do our household tasks make life comfortable and/or meaningful?

The first text we studied refers to tasks that wives perform for their husbands: grinding grain, baking bread, doing the laundry, cooking, nursing his babies, making his bed, and working with wool. When she has wealth and servants, she can avoid some of these household obligations. As we studied this text together, I was knitting a wool sweater I’d promised to finish for one of my kids. I thought the webcam was trained up, only on my face. No, as it turned out – a friend, also taking the class, in New York, said she could see my knitting.

That’s OK. In the end, the more things change, the more they stay the same. Regardless of your level of observance, we still wrestle with these issues. Women often interpret Jewish law and tradition when it comes to household details. If one doesn’t have enough servants or financial resources, or even enjoys knitting and finds it focuses the mind, one might still be working with wool.

A recent study indicated that, in Reform Jewish congregations, rabbis who are women are paid less than their male counterparts. Women have fewer positions “at the top” as senior or sole congregational rabbis. We continue, even in the most progressive Jewish movements, to struggle with pay equity and gender roles.

The Talmud is an essential part of Jewish oral law, but it’s also literature, with narratives that shed light on daily life. A current TV show portrays a woman as U.S. Secretary of State, and shows that interaction with fibre arts is still an important, useful and viable thing to devote time to creating, no matter your gender.

In both the show’s legal negotiations and this talmudic text, we’re taught that, sometimes, the spirit of the law, the intention, is more important than the letter of the law. Through all the big decisions, it’s sometimes the small household details that make people’s lives rich. I’ll keep knitting handmade sweaters for my kids – and studying Talmud. Even in these times, there’s a place for both.

Continually coping with our deficits

If you see me in the grocery store and I don’t recognize you, I’m sorry. I sometimes have a hard time remembering names and faces. Why? Well, it turns out that sleep deprivation can affect this kind of memory. Even though my kids sleep better now, for four-and-a-half years, they didn’t get through the night. Parents who have gone through this may know what I’m talking about. It’s embarrassing and depressing to feel like I’m losing my mind, but it’s lack of sleep! It’s not anything serious; just part of many families’ lives with young kids.

While I’m bemoaning this – I used to keep track of hundreds of students when I taught full-time – I can let you in on a little secret. Newsflash: we’re not perfect. Yup! Shocking, I know. We all have faults, challenges, difficulties and struggles. It’s normal. However, the secular New Year often comes with New Year’s resolutions and, right about now, they are testing people’s commitment everywhere. Only a few weeks ago, all around us, in the media and on the gym treadmills, many of us were committing to “fixing” our faults and making a big change(s). Some of us are, no doubt, already having trouble sticking to them. Don’t get me wrong, change, exercise, new promises – it’s all good.

When we look at the Torah portion for the beginning of the year (Jan. 6, Shemot/Exodus 1:1-6:1), we can enjoy both a good storyline and some thoughts about challenges. This is a portion that covers a lot of ground. The Reform Judaism Torah portion page summarizes it this way:

“The new king of Egypt makes slaves of the Hebrews and orders their male children to be drowned in the Nile River. (1:1-22)

“A Levite woman places her son, Moses, in a basket on the Nile, where he is found by the daughter of Pharaoh and raised in Pharaoh’s house. (2:1-10)

“Moses flees to Midian after killing an Egyptian. (2:11-15)

“Moses marries the priest of Midian’s daughter, Zipporah. They have a son named Gershom. (2:16-22)

“G-d calls Moses from a burning bush and commissions him to free the Israelites from Egypt. (3:1-4:17)

“Moses and Aaron request permission from Pharaoh for the Israelites to celebrate a festival in the wilderness. Pharaoh refuses and makes life even harder for the Israelites. (5:1-23)”

Here we are, looking at a portion about our leader, Moses. He’s likely confused about his identity, since he was nursed by his Jewish mother, but raised as an Egyptian in Pharaoh’s house.

Moses is a person who kills someone else in anger and then runs away. He also – according to Rashi’s commentary – has a speech impediment and stutters, so he needs his brother to help him communicate. There’s much here. The short version is that we have a model of a leader with serious faults and challenges – and that’s OK.

Why? Well, the Jewish take on this is that we have to continually work on ourselves. We don’t get to stop learning, seeking forgiveness, or trying to do better. We have to keep on keeping on. So, while a new year (any new year, go ahead and pick one!) might help remind us of this, it’s meant to be a daily exercise. It’s not supposed to be easy, either. The Torah offers us multiple narratives about struggle, challenge, defeat and renewal. It’s up to us to read it and draw conclusions.

In the popular media, there’s a whole self-help genre. This stuff is sometimes helpful and, on occasion, you see that the website, book, podcast or article was a waste of time. Reading it can also make us feel worse and fuel our anxieties. However, the Torah, the rabbis and centuries of Jewish liturgy are part of this self-help tradition – of how to make ourselves into better people. The difference, in my opinion, is the emphasis on perfection. If you get sucked into it, you’ll have yourself believing that your house should be as perfect as the staged ones on HGTV, or that if you just exercised, dieted, exfoliated or botoxed enough, you, too, would look like the “ideal” you.

Judaism may offer an alternate reality. There is no such thing as perfect. We may have struggles or challenges, disabilities or personality flaws. Our Jewish goal, in this context, is to try hard to be better people. We may not be perfect in our work lives. Our bodies may not look like airbrushed super models – and that’s OK. We’re offered a text that includes powerful, important leaders who are just people. People, like Moses, with identity issues, anger management problems, physical challenges and a lack of confidence. There are people who struggle with defiance, disobedience and authority, and all kinds of other folks, too.

I think it’s fair to say that all of us struggle sometimes, and give in to the bad feelings. It’s knowing we’re not where we want to be – personally, professionally, physically or socially. I feel embarrassed every single time that I bump into someone who knows me and I don’t know them or cannot remember their name. Instead of beating myself up about it, I try to smile, say hello and embrace the (sleepless) situation I’ve got, and that might be the key to a good resolution. We can keep working on it, no matter where we are. In this way, Dec. 31 is no different than Jan. 31.

Or, as one of my kids (in Grade 1) says, “I will keep learning more science. I will learn more addition! I will use new, bigger, better tools for art.” In this way, we aren’t committing to feeling badly about where we are. We’re just trying for more, with no start or end date in mind.

Pondering a hospitable Zion

Jerusalem (photo by Andrew Shiva via Wikipedia)

Hospitality is culture itself and not simply one ethic amongst others. (Jacques Derrida, On Cosmopolitanism)

One of the late French-Jewish philosopher Jacques Derrida’s most famous short works is his On Cosmopolitanism, in which he discusses the problem of refugees. Cosmopolitanism is a word first coined in ancient Greece by wandering, homeless philosophers and popularized by the Stoics. It refers to the idea that the whole world (cosmos) is my city, or community (polis). It is the idea of an international or, better, transnational humanity and citizenship. Cosmopolitanism became popular again during the European enlightenment and slowly had a growing influence on international law and modern ethical sensibilities, including the sense that countries have a duty of hospitality, of offering refuge even to peoples of other nationalities.

This same ethical idea occurs in Derrida’s own Jewish tradition, where “love the stranger” is a commandment uttered many more times than “love your neighbour” and where Isaiah the prophet urged Israeli kings to give shelter to refugees of war.

In On Cosmopolitanism, which was based on a speech Derrida gave to the International Parliament of Writers on the subject of refugees, Derrida discusses the nature of hospitality and the contradiction at its heart. Hospitality involves welcoming guests into your home, in sharing resources and shelter, yet, to do so, it must remain “a home.” Should all boundaries of the home dissolve in unconditional welcome then the possibility of hospitality itself will also be obliterated. Derrida’s insight mitigates against a naive or utopian call for the obliteration of borders or the indiscriminate welcome of refugees.

In this thought of Derrida we see a tragic conflict at the heart of modern Zionism. Do we want a hospitable Zionism? Is the house the Jews built in Israel for Jews alone? Yet if the doors are flung wide, what will happen to “our Jewish home”?

There is much anxiety to protect our “home,” of that we can be sure. An extensive security wall, checkpoints, and airport border guards who are masters of interrogation. When we press Israel to become more hospitable – to African asylum seekers, to displaced Palestinians – we hear a chorus of voices arise: if we let them in, if we include them, the demographics will dissolve our home!

And we so badly want a home. Wandering for 2,000 years, we were homeless, exiled, a tolerated or cursed minority. Finally, we returned to our ancient home and, amid controversy with others who had come to live there and also claim it as home, built walls to protect it. We now again had a home, and we have chanted this word to ourselves over and over again, “home, home,” for the last 70 years.

Yet what good is a home that does not extend hospitality? Sure, we airlifted Ethiopians, we opened our arms to Russians, and so on and so forth. Yet they were us, our family. True hospitality, though, as it says in our own foundational text, is given to the stranger. The other.

Unconditional welcome is not the only way to destroy a home. What good is a home that offers no hospitality? Is a home that offers no hospitality even a home at all?

Israel is in the process of deporting the 60,000 African refugees who arrived before the building of a barrier wall with the Sinai to prevent more entering. As Russel Neiss wrote in the Forward, “For years, in actions held to be illegal multiple times by Israel’s Supreme Court, the Israeli government has arrested and placed these refugees in a detention centre in the Negev and forcefully deported them to other African nations in exchange for money or favourable terms for weapons contracts and military training.”

Twenty thousand refugees, most from Sudan and Eritrea, have already been deported or left of their own accord, and the government has ordered the rest to leave, with a small financial gift and plane tickets paid, or be jailed.

According to Derrida, hospitality is both a duty and a defining feature of a real home. The feeling that an inhospitable Israel is not really a home, I fear, is growing and will continue to grow among Israelis and Jews. Maintaining the feeling that Israel is a Jewish home only will require an unremitting focus on perceived and real threats to Jews in Israel and abroad. It will reinforce the unhealthy sense of home as a shelter from others, rather than fostering the healthy sense of home, one that is open to sheltering others.

The result may be that we have a very well guarded home. But, for those of us who perceive the lack of hospitality on offer, it begins to feel like no home at all. The opposite of Derrida’s formula – “in order for there to be hospitality, there must be a home” (a formula that is surely true and needs due respect) – is “in order for their to be a home, there must be hospitality.”

Jews, being a transnational people for so many years, became, in two senses, a “cosmopolitan people.” One was that fact of transnationality; the other stemmed from the involvement of Jews in socialist political movements, which problematized nationalism, as well as our involvement in activism aimed at the liberalization of immigration laws. It was all of this, seemingly, which coalesced to give birth to the use of “cosmopolitan” as an antisemitic code word for “Jew.”

I don’t think “cosmopolitan” is an insult, but rather a very high compliment. When an antisemite calls Jews “cosmopolitan,” I hear it as a calling, not a calling out. Israel will not truly be our Jewish home until it embodies the highest cosmopolitanism of the Jewish spirit, which can be read in the Torah’s call – millennia ago – to love the stranger and refugee.

Matthew Gindin is a freelance journalist, writer and lecturer. He writes regularly for the Forward and All That Is Interesting, and has been published in Religion Dispatches, Situate Magazine, Tikkun and elsewhere. He can be found on Medium and Twitter.

We should be more civilized

When we read Exodus, some people imagine what Egypt was like as an ancient civilization. If you’re a synagogue regular, you’re hearing the story unfold each week as the Torah is read. If you’re more likely at a Pesach seder at a relative’s dinner table, you’ve heard the same narrative. We imagine Joseph’s dreams and his esteemed position advising Pharaoh. There are the complicated family dynamics, the rise of a new ruler, the enslavement of the Jewish people, Moses’ ascension as a leader, and the plagues. We’re captivated in part because it’s compelling. There’s lots of tension, and that makes for good drama.

There are laws listed and proper ways to behave. There are also irrational and upsetting actions and behaviour that are completely out of bounds. Sure, one can approach a ruler and ask for something – or there’s darkness, frogs, lice and death. There’s a rational, law-abiding approach, and the emotional, gut-wrenching knee-jerk response. These are both fundamentally human reactions. When the plagues happened, I imagine that it must have felt like the end of the Egyptians’ world. The labour vacuum caused by the loss of slaves might have led to a collapse of functional Egyptian society.

I juxtaposed this familiar story with others that have crossed my mind. Over winter break, my kids (like most) and I were housebound for quite awhile. Due to a virus or two and the extreme cold, we weren’t going out. Mostly, the time passed without incident, but keeping siblings busy and out of trouble is no joke. When we weren’t one step ahead with the next round of button hockey or “Swedish scooting” (indoor games we made up as we went along), we’d turn our backs and a kid would be assaulting his brother.

As I pulled one kid off another, I imagined what the European settlers on the Prairies endured when they spent an entire winter in a one-room sod house with their children. I wondered how many kids killed one another. Many families also died of disease, starvation, or froze to death.

Meanwhile, my U.S. family sent my kids a homemade video of a gathering with friends. Everyone on the video joked about the dog’s squeaky toy, which resembled the current U.S. president. I struggled with this. In terms of behaving in a civilized way, it seemed too close to the bone of the matter. If we’re meant to respect the position but we can’t conscience the current president, how do we communicate this notion to our kids?

What’s our duty as upstanding people and as Jews? As a child growing up near Washington, D.C., I went to school with all sorts, including the children of politicians, diplomats, lawyers and civil servants. Back then, I remember how everyone worked hard to be civil to one another. Strom Thurmond, Jr.’s mother was a great volunteer in our classroom. Marilyn Quayle was a dependable carpool mom for my brother’s soccer team. Our political leanings were the polar opposite of Thurmond’s Dixiecrats or Dan Quayle’s, but, as elementary school parents, our respective parents could agree to disagree. Our parents modeled civility to one another, and that meant we too (mostly) treated one another with respect.

We teeter back and forth on a seesaw when it comes to behaving in an upstanding way. These days, anybody in D.C. would tell you that old-fashioned civility and common-sense manners are long gone. The current world political scene feels more like that period of plagues. Nobody knows what will strike us next.

Even so, we have choices when it comes to how we behave towards others. We can aim to be rational, thoughtful people who think through our actions and try to behave responsibly, as Hillel suggested. When someone who wanted to learn about Judaism asked Hillel to sum it up while standing on one foot, Hillel responded, “That which is hateful to you do not do to another; that is the whole Torah. The rest is its interpretation. Go study.” (Talmud: Tractate Shabbat 31A)

We may also behave impetuously, with emotional, irrational responses that seem more like sporadic and scary plagues. Jewish tradition would suggest we aim for Hillel’s behavioural model, though one can legitimate the name-calling and lack of civility, too. There are plenty of examples of non-rational biblical outbursts from which to choose.

It’s too easy to throw stones at each other based on our religious observance or our political views about Israel, Canada or world affairs. It’s much harder to behave with civility and agree to disagree. As I pull my twins apart and demand compromise, or suggest (again) to use please, thank you and you’re welcome, I spend a lot of time thinking about civilization and civilized behaviour.

When I student-taught high school in a rough D.C. neighbourhood, people often yelled on the street. Some yelled hello and smiled. Others sometimes yelled antisemitic, misogynist threats. A Grade 9 student nicknamed “Punkin” took to walking me to the train station. When the threats started, she’d pull herself up tall and holler right across the road, “Was you drug up in a barn?! Act civilized!”

Indeed, we weren’t brought up in barns. Punkin was from a good home, and the threats stopped when she broke the tension that way and called grown men out on their bad behaviour. I’m working hard to provide the same civilized model for my kids. We can treat each other better than that. We can agree to disagree without doing hateful things. I learned a lot from Punkin – and Rav Hillel, too.

Joanne Seiff writes regularly for CBC Manitoba and is a regular columnist for Winnipeg’s Jewish Post and News. She is the author of the book 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.