Opinion – Page 31

Puddle splashing and balance

If you’ve ever slogged through a spring melt in a place, like, say, Winnipeg, you know about the odd balance … the one where it’s best if the snow melts slowly, even painfully, with a freeze at night. Why? Too fast a melt and everything is flooded.

On the prairies – or, frankly, any place without good drainage – basements, wellies and everything else can be in trouble if a big pile of snow hits a too-warm sunny spring. In these places, and I’ve lived in three, now that I think of it: Buffalo and Ithaca, New York, and also Winnipeg … spring is both desperately, sorely anticipated and, well, sometimes gross. It’s full of dirty snow, big puddles and treacherous ice.

Yet we continue, every winter, to long for spring and better weather to come. It’s like we have amnesia and forget this long dirty shoulder season. Years ago, I told myself that, obviously, the snowbirds had it wrong. The best time to travel, if it could ever be managed, would be during the puddle period.

I was thinking about the puddles, Passover and, also, the talmudic tractate I am currently studying as part of Daf Yomi, a page of Talmud a day. From now until the summer, that tractate is Yevamot – the tractate that deals with the notion of levirate marriage. What’s that, you say? It’s the ancient obligation for a childless widow to either marry her husband’s brother to produce a child after her husband’s death, or perform a ceremony called halitzah, in which she is freed from this obligation.

This is probably the first time in more than two years of doing this Daf Yomi study when I seriously just wanted to quit. Yes, studying an ancient text, no matter how holy or intellectually stimulating, can sometimes feel irrelevant. Yevamot goes way beyond “slightly boring” or irrelevant. It wanders into the gross, mucky puddles for me. It’s right up there in the news articles that come with trigger warnings because of issues containing abuse. For a modern person, particularly a woman, some of these rabbis’ discussions in Yevamot really wear me down – because rape, child marriage and other issues really unacceptable to the modern reader arise frequently.

I was proceeding, reading late at night out of duty, and using an approach I perfected in graduate school. This involves skimming the thing as fast as possible so that, if one day I am ever asked about this in a weekly seminar, I can nod somewhat knowingly and bring up the one or two points I can remember. This worked when the professor assigned three academic tomes a week and expected us all to discuss them. (Later, I learned he did this in hopes we would drop the course due to the workload. He felt guilty when we all took it anyway and bought us coffees while we soldiered onwards.)

Of course, I’m learning for the sake of learning now, not because I expect to be tested or, heaven forbid, asked to lead the seminar at a moment’s notice.

This is one of those few times when I was saved by social media. I was on Twitter and, because I follow others who are also learning this way, I started seeing their comments. Several of them summed up, in 280 characters or less (or a TikTok), that they too were struggling. Eye-rolling and other more disgusting noises may have come out of their mouths at some of this. I had a huge sense of relief. I wasn’t alone. Others felt exactly the way I felt. We were part of some internet club I’d forgotten I’d joined. Whew.

There’s a reason why, traditionally, Talmud is studied in a hevruta, a pair or group setting. Some of the topics are hard to understand, for all sorts of reasons. I don’t have a physical study group. Heck, that’s OK, I’ve done nearly this entire thing during a pandemic. I’m a busy mom who stays up too late to read this stuff. I’m lucky to have access to it at all, as a woman, and also for free, online at Sefaria. There’s a lot of support online now that got me to this point, since this kind of study was traditionally dominated by men.

However, I know that feeling a sense of camaraderie and the insights that come from studying with others are important. They certainly helped spur me to continue when I thought the subject matter of Yevamot wasn’t for me and I wanted to quit.

To bring this back to those dirty spring puddles, well, this time of year, while it can be a slog, is also prime time to prep for Passover. This, too, can feel like a struggle. However much preparation you take on for this holiday, it can feel too hard. Cleaning up and scrubbing and eating down your chametz (bread products) can get to be too much.

For many, there’s pressure from those more traditional. Have you cleaned between the sofa cushions thoroughly? How about the stroller?

Those who are secular or less involved pressure me in another way, asking why I make myself “crazy” with any of this.

Passover preparations can feel like one long walk through Winnipeg’s springtime: navigating endless icy puddles, black ice and snow mold.

What helps me continue? It’s that whiff of spring air, or maybe the matzah ball soup, cooked in advance of the holiday. It’s the photo or long ago trip to a warmer climate, where the flowers were already in bloom. Also, it’s taking myself back to the Babylonian Talmud, in Yevamot 13. That’s the page with the reminder that the rabbis teach us not to divide ourselves into factions. That is, we are to value our diversity, our various customs, rather than let our disagreements divide us.

Some people love Passover. Some people love splashing in puddles. Life is a balancing act, and we’re lucky that we’re all unique and different. There’s sometimes a huge sense of shame that rises up when we admit that, actually, no, this text/season/holiday might not be the best thing since, say, sliced bread. Finding out, via a study partner, a friend or even a stranger online that we’re not alone can be so reassuring.

We’re not all the same, but the rabbis encouraged us not to create factions or separate ourselves unnecessarily, either. This is useful wisdom because, after Passover, Shavuot’s not far behind. Pesach’s cold in Winnipeg, and even Lag b’Omer picnics can be snowed or rained out. But Shavuot? That’s a holiday I love. It takes all kinds, as we teeter totter our way through the Jewish year, balancing between seasons. That balance is what makes our holiday observances, and even the talmudic tractates I struggle through, rich indeed.

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

Know Hatzaad Harishon?

Journalist and author Sybil Kaplan, who is a regular contributor to the Jewish Independent’s special holiday issues, was, in her younger years, the first leader of Hatzaad Harishon, a Jewish youth group that was formed in the 1960s in New York. She led the group for five years. At some stage in the 1970s, the organization ceased to exist.

Kaplan has written a book about Hatzaad Harishon but would like to augment it with the memories of more of its former members. She is hoping that they would share some of their recollections. If you or someone you know is familiar with Hatzaad Harishon or you were a member and would like to connect with Kaplan, she can be reached at sybilkaplan1938@aol.com.

Canada’s new direction?

Jewish Canadians were instrumental in building the Canadian labour movement and, by extension, the Cooperative Commonwealth Federation, which would go on to become the New Democratic Party.

Political scientists and others have observed that, as immigrant communities integrate into their new societies and become more economically secure, their voting patterns and ideological outlooks tend to move across the spectrum. While Canada has seen a small but steady growth of Jewish immigration in recent decades – with spikes during significant events like the end of the Soviet empire – the community, as a whole, is now firmly established.

Canadian Jews, like other groups that have deep roots in our relatively new country, have experienced economic and social success. Individual Jewish households, of course, face every range of economic and social challenge, issues that are addressed by a network of social service agencies guided by the principle Kol Yisrael arevim zeh bazeh, all Israel is responsible for one another. While there is a sacred instruction for Jews to care for our own, Jewish values have also played a role in the actions of Jewish Canadians in relation to the broader Canadian society. Through individual and collective activism, from individuals like David Lewis in the last century to groups like the Centre for Israel and Jewish Affairs today, Canadian Jews have influenced public policy and made the country better and more welcoming for all.

Despite whatever economic advances Canadian Jews have made as a group, it is often noted that, as a community, Jews tend to remain politically progressive. In a practical sense, this has been complicated by positions taken by some on the left, including trade unions, the New Democrats and the Green party. Jewish Canadians are overwhelmingly Zionist and, over the past 50 years, picking up steam in the past two decades, the left has become less and less supportive of Israel and Jewish self-determination. The debate about where anti-Zionism ends and where antisemitism begins is for another day. Stated simply, many Canadian Jews are progressive voters who, due to foreign policy issues, find themselves politically homeless. (The pro-Israel stands of the Stephen Harper government also shook many Jews away from their traditional political allegiances.)

With this context in mind, the surprise announcement Tuesday that the federal Liberal government has signed a supply and confidence agreement with the New Democrats may allow some progressive Zionist voters to have their cake and eat it too.

Under this deal – the same kind of agreement that the NDP and Greens in British Columbia signed to topple the B.C. Liberals in 2017 – the parties have agreed to advance things that have long been on the NDP agenda, such as a national dental care program and national pharmacare. It will apparently enhance ongoing reconciliation work through investments in Indigenous housing and continuing to confront the tragedy of missing and murdered Indigenous women and girls. Changes to the tax system and reducing barriers to participation in elections are also among the points released Tuesday.

The thorny issue of affordable housing will also be part of the mix – although what any government can successfully and substantively do on this issue remains a big question mark.

The provision of affordable universal child care – a promise made repeatedly by the Liberals and still not realized – is another marquis issue, as is addressing climate change and supporting workers.

The deal hearkens back to a similar one between then-prime minister Paul Martin, a Liberal, and the New Democrats, under Jack Layton, which buoyed a minority Liberal government in exchange for a $4.6 billion injection of federal funds into social programs.

For Canadian Jews who remain committed to progressive political values, the rather sudden announcement this week could be very welcome. Canada will (presumably) get a raft of new legislation on issues from environmental protections to economic justice, without subjecting Canadian foreign policy to the whims of a party that has signaled disregard to Jewish Canadians’ familial, historical and emotional ties to the state of Israel.

For those Canadian Jews who do not subscribe to this agenda, well, there is an opportunity for shaping an alternative. The federal Conservative party is in the early stages of what will be, it appears, a fight for the ideological soul of the party. The response to the Liberal-NDP deal by interim Conservative leader Candice Bergen was predictably skeptical. She called it a “power grab” by Trudeau, though time will tell whether a three-year reprieve from a snap election will allow the new Tory leader to cement their role before facing voters.

In any event, the battle lines for the next several years are being drawn. A Liberal-NDP agenda on one side and a possible new approach at the head of the Conservative party on the other.

We hope that Canada avoids the level of polarized partisanship we see in the United States and some other countries. It is, in fact, Canada’s history of moderation and compromise that has made it a welcoming place for Jews and other minority communities. However, it is always healthy in a democracy to have clear, definable choices.

The NDP and Liberals will be laying out their apparently ambitious agenda for the coming years. Those vying for the Conservative party leadership will now have a plethora of fresh policy initiatives to sink their teeth into to define themselves in contrast with this unexpected new informal coalition.

Experiences shape identity

I recently studied the Pardes story in Tractate Chagigah of the Babylonian Talmud. This story is a complicated, mystical journey. The Mishnah starts by asking what extremely sensitive topics are difficult and, therefore, should only be taught in small groups. The presence of G-d is one of those topics. In the Pardes (literally “Orchard”) narrative, four rabbis go in search of G-d’s presence. It’s a life-changing event. Only Rabbi Akiva comes out alive and intact. Ben Azzai dies. Ben Zoma “was harmed” – this is interpreted to mean that he lost his mind. Elisha Ben Abuya becomes acher, or other, a heretic who is forever changed by his experience.

This narrative stuck with me, particularly the stories about Elisha Ben Abuya, who, although still respectful and learned, remains forever “othered” by his experience. He’s unable to be included, or to properly reconnect or embrace communal Jewish life again.

When I was 14, I decided I wanted to become a rabbi. For years, this was my goal. I was actively involved in my congregation. My mom, a Jewish professional, started a Jewish nursery school, and then went on to become a director of education and, finally, a temple administrator/executive director. That building and community were like my house. I knew it inside and out. The rabbi’s family was extended family to me. We had picnics and cookouts, I played with their kids. I knew that Jewish professionals were people I loved. It made becoming a rabbi seem attainable.

I lived in Israel for a year in high school. I went to and worked at Jewish camps, studied Hebrew and Near Eastern studies in university, taught religious school and Jewish music and served on a religious school committee. I helped lead services. Then, in my last year of university, I interviewed at not one, but two rabbinical schools. I started with the Reform Movement’s Hebrew Union College (HUC). I later interviewed at the Reconstructionist Rabbinical College (RRC).

I wasn’t accepted. Looking back, with a lot more interview experience, I can easily see that the interview process was flawed. The committee asked illegal, uncomfortable questions. The process didn’t judge me on my academic skills, Jewish involvement or merits. I was told, after the “try again next year” rejection, that I needed counseling. (Not career counseling, but just vague “counseling.”) Since my family was closely tied to the Reform movement, I heard later that, in that cohort, the competition for women to be accepted was much harder than it was for men. Many more women applied than men did, and there were reportedly quotas. At the time, women hadn’t reached parity in the field. The seminary didn’t want to accept more than 50% women.

Later, I watched several people, including a guy I had dated in university, get into rabbinical school and become a successful rabbi. He had lower academic grades and less Hebrew proficiency than I did.

RRC’s interview was much more respectful. I appreciated it, but they suggested that they weren’t sure I was Reconstructionist. They also rejected my application, again with an invitation to resubmit later, when I was “sure.”

Losing the life goal of becoming a rabbi was a difficult identity shift. I focused on what I had wanted out of the rabbinate: Jewish learning, chances to teach and lead services, build community and write about Jewish topics. I pursued a master’s in education and started teaching. I moved, got a dog, and got engaged … all serious commitments. It meant I wouldn’t suddenly be reapplying to rabbinical school and flying off to spend a year in Israel. I didn’t want to put off my life any longer to face rejection again.

On social media, I recently watched a long-time teacher transition out of the classroom to another kind of consultancy work. It was a flashback moment. More than 20 years ago, I was a high school teacher. I also taught religious school and tutored kids for b’nai mitzvah. Teaching was a huge part of who I was as a person. However, I wasn’t sure that my position was ideal. I still wanted to study more. I decided to go back to graduate school. This coincided with getting married. When I returned to get a religious studies degree, it felt like I’d lost any sense of authority, despite having a master’s degree and teaching experience.

In the graduate program, I earned a tiny stipend as a teaching assistant. Nobody cared that I already knew how to teach. While I did learn a lot, mostly on my own, I had the bad luck to enter a program that was splintering. A lot of faculty left, including my advisor. Without an advisor, I finished with only a second master’s degree, and went back into an educational administration job. I continued moving for my husband’s academic career, becoming a shape-changer in terms of my freelance work life.

I’m now in mid-career and, while I’m not a rabbi, I achieved some of my goals. I study more, have taught some, and I write about Judaism. That said, reading about Elisha Ben Abuya’s “othering” as a result of his experiences really struck home. Many of us have had these life-altering shifts of identity. Sometimes, it is individual, like a teacher’s career change or a divorce or the death of a loved one. Sometimes, like the millions fleeing war in Ukraine, Syria or Afghanistan, it’s a complete departure from life as they knew it. It can be soul-crushing. Some die, like Ben Azzai. Some are unable to maintain their sanity, like Ben Zoma.

One’s career or life can change gently, but often it’s sudden, like in war or with a swift rejection. Sometimes, it is a sapling or “shoot,” a hope for new direction, cut down, as Ben Abuya’s experience relates. Our lives shift. We change identities and directions. However, through all this, Jewish traditions can offer us a story or a metaphor from which we can learn or with which to identify.

Elisha Ben Abuya’s story is a tough and sad one. It also offers solace. I suspect more of us have had this gut-wrenching experience than we want to admit. Acher/Ben Abuya was public about his angst and struggle – and his community did try to help. Perhaps there’s a lot to be gained through processing and acknowledging our hardest experiences, even if, in Acher’s situation, his relief and resolution came only long after he died.

Hoping sanctions work

The world’s economies have never been more integrated or interdependent. This is most immediately evident in the fact that a war halfway around the world sends gasoline prices skyrocketing in Metro Vancouver.

But that interdependence has also permitted the most dramatic, swift and merciless sanctions ever seen – as a response to that very war. Within days of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, a jaw-dropping catalogue of economic penalties was slammed against the Russian regime. Not only that, but the sanctions have taken aim at individual millionaires and billionaires who exist in a symbiotic, mafia-like relationship with the Russian dictator, Vladimir Putin. Every day, the news is filled with one company after another cutting ties with Russian businesses, stopping trade with Russian producers and withdrawing their products and services from Russian consumers.

Cultural boycotts have also been swift. The Vancouver Recital Society canceled a scheduled event with the Russian piano wunderkind Alexander Malofeev and scores or hundreds of similar cancellations have taken place in the classical music arena and other cultural sectors. International sporting competitions have barred Russian participation.

The combined effects of these thousands of individual actions are intended to put pressure on Russian citizens who will then, the plan goes, turn on their leader who will then, perhaps, alter his murderous invasion and withdraw or, better still, be ousted in favour of a return to the nascent democracy Russia was nurturing before Putin put his boot heel on its neck.

If these sanctions work, it could be a turning point in human history – nonviolent economic retribution outmanoeuvring brute force. (In addition to economic sanctions, Western countries have also supplied Ukraine with military equipment and other supports, while stopping short of meeting the entreaties of Ukraine’s President Volodymyr Zelensky that the West get more directly involved, including by implementing a no-fly zone over his country, which would equate to a direct military conflict between Russia and the West.)

Events are unfolding by the minute, with more than two million refugees flooding neighbouring countries in the course of just 10 days and horrific images of destruction and death flowing out to the world. Amid all this, a few observations stand out.

Israel’s Prime Minister Naftali Bennett traveled to Moscow after Zelensky implored him to act as an intermediary. Israel has fraught, complex and deep historical and contemporary connections with both countries, including a massive chunk of Israel’s population that came from Russia and Ukraine in the past 30 years and another large proportion with older roots in the region. Bennett and Zelensky are, it has been noted, the only two Jewish heads of government in the world. Zelensky’s steadfastness during these weeks of war has inspired the world, perhaps especially Jews worldwide, who now see him as a David defending both his homeland and democracy itself from the Goliath of Putin’s military. It would be remarkable if the prime minister of Israel were able to play a part in brokering the end to war and restoring national integrity to Ukraine.

In this space, we have been critical of cultural boycotts that target Israeli performers, athletes and others. Cultural interactions between citizens of diverse countries are the lifeblood of global civilization. In the case of real or proposed sanctions against Israel, the end-goal is ambiguous. Depending on the proponent, movements to boycott Israel aim to variously sanction particular policies, end the occupation or end Israel (as the term “anti-Zionist” implies). They are, for all intents, a punishment without end, given that the end-goal is vague. In the case of Russia, the hope is that the short, sharp shock of sanctions will lead to a satisfactory resolution and then we will ideally again soon welcome Russian performers and athletes, to say nothing of a return to trade with one of the world’s largest economies. The clarity of the call – leave Ukraine alone! – is critical to success. Unlike the undefined or obscured goals of BDS, the campaign against Russia is clear. If Russia retreats, sanctions will be peeled back.

There is another issue worth considering. It is notable that countries guilty of egregious crimes, such as the Chinese government’s imprisonment of hundreds of thousands of its Uyghur Muslim citizens and others, have not brought down the near-unanimous wrath of the West. Perhaps this is proof of the dictum that white lives elicit greater global concern than lives of people of colour. It may also be that the world understands that the invasion of Ukraine might be a precursor to greater territorial ambitions. It is also unavoidable that, for the Western collective memory, war in Europe evokes the gravest ghosts of the 20th century.

We will soon know whether the most comprehensive sanctions ever imposed (undergirded by materiel support) can end this conflict without the worst case scenario – direct conflagration between nuclear powers, Russia and the West – coming to pass. If they are successful, it would signal a new age in which concerted economic influence, rather than boots on the ground, can turn the tide of history.

Positive Jewish leaders online

It’s hard not to doom scroll lately, but I’ve been heartened by watching Jewish leaders take centre stage via social media. These are bright spots in a difficult time. Here are a few to Google and follow. I’ve learned a lot online this way. Perhaps you might, too.

In the world of social media and Talmud study (yes, that’s a thing!), the short social media videos of Miriam Anzovin have gotten a lot of attention. She offers TikTok, YouTube and Instagram posts and links via Twitter. These are on the Daf Yomi, the 7.5-year cycle where one studies a page of Talmud a day. Anzovin’s amazing effort offers a brief summary and analysis of some of the big rabbinic issues. It’s also a breath of fresh air in a field historically dominated by men. Anzovin is a writer and visual artist. She describes her videos as “Daf Yomi reaction videos.” These takes often include slang, curse words, and perhaps difficult interpretations for the usual Jewish text study audience.

Some Orthodox men have voiced criticism to this approach to Talmud study. I would argue that this is a defensive, unhelpful reaction. More Talmud study is good. Talmud study of any kind, is, quite simply – more. It brings more attention to Jewish text and ideas, which is a good thing both for Judaism and for intellectual analysis. Sometimes, the reaction stems from being forced to admit that there are other perspectives and ways of reading religious text. Anzovin centres women’s voices, issues and opinions, critical thinking, liberal and modern views of very old texts. Social media offers her a perfect platform and her work has taken off. It’s long past due. I’m thrilled to see her show up in my feed.

Rabbi Sandra Lawson has been one to follow for awhile. She’s a leader – an activist, a musician and a teacher. Her social media presence allows me to learn a lot. I’ve learned Torah, said Kaddish, and more. Through her anecdotes, she’s encouraged hard examination of ways in which racism is a problem in Jewish life. She’s taken on a lot of firsts in both her former role as the associate chaplain for Jewish life at Elon University and is now the first director of racial diversity, equity and inclusion at Reconstructing Judaism. She was the first African American and first openly gay African American accepted by the Reconstructionist Rabbinical College. Her open, strong online presence embodies many things Judaism needs to see: her identity as a veteran, vegan, personal trainer, musician and wise educator pushes the boundaries of what some people think Jews or rabbis look like. For younger Jews on the web, seeing her laughing with her wife Susan, featuring her little dogs as she makes music – these are models of joyful, modern Jewish life that we need now more than ever.

What does informal Jewish education look like on Instagram? Well, many people source Jewish news specifically from A Wider Frame (@awiderframe).

Debbie, the jewelry designer behind @rootsmetals, posts deep dives into very specific historic, geographic and cultural Jewish topics. It comes complete with bibliographies. Prepare for her snarky responses to trolls (ever present online) who try to threaten her well-being.

Ashager Araro, @blackjewishmagic, is a liberal, feminist, Black Israeli. She does incredible work as an educator in person in Israel. She’s also on Instagram and Twitter, and travels to speak at Hillels and Jewish student centres in the United States. Her focus on Ethiopian Israeli history and modern Jewish life is illuminating, particularly for those who view race only through a parochial North American lens.

Some social media education targets a specific group. For example, Shoshanna Keats-Jaskoll speaks out for others who aren’t able to in the Orthodox world. She tackles the issue of agunot. Agunot are women who cannot obtain a Jewish divorce from their husbands and are unable to remarry according to Jewish law. Keats-Jaskoll also works to provide modest images of women through an internationally sourced photo bank. This works to combat the erasure of women’s faces and bodies and imagery in Orthodox photos, publications and Israeli billboards. Chochmat-Nashim (Women’s Wisdom), her organization, advocates for Orthodox women, including both modern Orthodox and Haredi groups in Israel and the diaspora.

This is just a taste of what’s out there. It’s a start to diversifying your feed. You may have noticed that I started by writing about leaders I admire and, guess what? They’re all women. It’s not that I don’t admire some male leaders. There are plenty of them and some of them are fine human beings – but too many “leader lists” leave women out entirely. March 8 is International Women’s Day. It’s one thing to say we advocate for equality, and to celebrate women’s achievements on a specific day. It’s another to raise up, embrace and educate on a daily basis.

Our tradition offers us moments to celebrate women’s roles, such as the recitation of Woman of Valour (Eishet Chayil) in some homes on Shabbat. However, that’s not a standard practice in every household. Plus, it’s only one moment of one day of a week, when Jewish women are contributing 24/7.

Many of our paid leaders, rabbis and cantors, and even volunteers, such as synagogue board members, are men. It’s been “traditional” to embrace a male leadership model in some communities. However, in an era when more of our lives are both online and more egalitarian, it’s OK to stop the doom scrolling and open up one’s mind – and feed – to some new leaders. In this case, they also just happen to identify as Jewish women.

Happy Purim 5782 / 2022!

Ukraine in the balance

At our press time, the people of Ukraine were waiting, as they have for weeks, to see what fate has in store for them. Vladimir Putin, the Russian despot, has been threatening to invade the country – again. Under Putin, Russia has already illegally occupied the Crimean peninsula and two enclaves in eastern Ukraine. Pro-Russian extremists are also in control in Transnistria, a breakaway entity to the west of Ukraine that the world community recognizes as part of Moldova. In the Russian countryside surrounding the parts of Ukraine that Russia has not already occupied, an estimated 190,000 Russian troops are poised to attack.

Putin’s designs on Ukraine are ostensibly about his concerns over Ukraine potentially joining NATO, which some Russians view as a step too far in the incremental loss of Russian dominance over what was once the Soviet Union and, before that, the Russian Empire. He is also motivated by his own desire for power and expanding his influence. Along with other Russian nationalists, Putin views Ukraine as more than a neighbouring country but rather an integral part of a sacred Eurasian (Russian-dominated, of course) land.

Western powers have warned and cajoled Putin, who seems to revel in tormenting his adversaries. He is almost certainly aware that no one (save, perhaps, himself) wants war. The United States, having just catastrophically escaped a military debacle in Afghanistan, has no interest in continuing their role as the world’s policeman. The leaders of France, the United Kingdom, Germany and other Western powers have warned of serious consequences if Putin follows through on what appear to be unconcealed ambitions to invade, but none of those countries will risk the lives of their young people to defend Ukrainian sovereignty. It was precisely occasions like this for which the United Nations was envisioned, but the ideals of its founders have run aground on the rocks of realpolitik.

Genuine threats of reprisals are limited to economic sanctions. Here, too, Putin knows that embargoes and other economic penalties would be devastating not only for his country but for the economies of the West. Western Europe depends on Russian oil and anything – military instability or international sanctions – could send fuel and heating costs, which are already at record highs in many places, further through the ceiling. At a certain point, that could threaten the stability of some Western governments. More worrying is the fact that Ukraine has always been, and remains, the “breadbasket” of the region. Military or economic disruptions that harm Ukraine’s ability to get products to market could lead to food shortages. The possibilities are bleak.

Canada is home to one of the Ukrainian diaspora’s largest populations. More than 1.3 million Canadians are from, or descended from, the place. A significant proportion of North America’s Jewish population, too, is from that area and an even larger proportion departed to the new world through Ukraine’s Black Sea ports.

Ukraine has somewhere between 43,000 and 200,000 Jews. Definitions of “who is a Jew” are complicated by nearly a century of enforced atheism and centuries more of rampant antisemitism. The 200,000 estimate is the number who would qualify for Israeli citizenship under the Law of Return.

According to the New York Times, synagogues have hired Israeli security guards and hired buses for rapid evacuations. The Jewish Agency is said to have evacuation plans at the ready.

For all Ukrainians, the past 100 years have been a series of tumults. Jewish Ukrainians have been especially vulnerable during these times of upheaval – and the older Jews today, and those with any sense of history, may rightly understand they have more to fear than other potential victims of a Russian invasion.

Israeli government officials have been remarkably tight-lipped on the subject, other than to urge the 12,000 Israelis in Ukraine to come home as soon as possible – reportedly only 4,000 have so far done so.

It is easy, understandable even, to suggest the time has come for Jews in Ukraine and other places where life is especially difficult, to leave for Israel or elsewhere. Certainly, we are thankful that Jews with nowhere else to go have a Jewish state ready to take them in.

But Ukraine is their home. There are hundreds of Jewish organizations and institutions in Ukraine, a place where Jewish civilization goes back 1,200 years and where a vast amount of Jewish culture emerged in the past several centuries, including important streams of Hasidism and many noted authors and artists.

As the world waits on Putin, the latest in far too long a line of Russian tyrants, we watch with a sense of helplessness, knowing that people are afraid and suffering. And we hope that those in power pull back from the brink.

We all have our limitations

This month, Jewish communities across North America take time to recognize and celebrate one of the world’s largest and often overlooked minorities: persons with disabilities. Jewish Disability Awareness and Inclusion Month (JDAIM) was launched by a Jewish educational consortium in February 2009. It’s no surprise that its call to action resonates loudly with Canadians – Canada is believed to be the only country in the world that has disability rights enshrined in its constitution.

As someone with disabilities, I can see why a cold and often blustery month was chosen to mark the need for better inclusion. February weather often comes with its own navigational challenges. For the more than 6.2 million Canadians who live with disabilities, icy streets, cold, rain, snow and dismal skies can be even greater impediments to independence.

As I discovered one winter, however, an inclusive community can also play a significant role in easing those challenges. In 2015, my husband and I were in Idaho caring for his mother when I received word that my mom was in the hospital. I needed to come back to Vancouver.

Returning home wasn’t an issue for me. I had traveled to Vancouver many times to visit and care for family members. Attending Shabbat services at my local synagogue had become a ritual each trip that helped provide balance and focus. The Isaac Waldman Jewish Public Library, which afforded me a place to write, had been my other essential refuge.

But this time there was a problem: I couldn’t make the trip alone. As is true with many people diagnosed with an autoimmune disease, my symptoms were multi-factorial and differed according to the time of year. In this case, my biggest adversary was the ups and downs of winter weather and their impact on my circulatory system. This year, the flares were worse. I knew Happy, my trained service dog, would be needed in order to make the trip. Weighing 50 kilograms and hip-high, my King shepherd was strong enough not only to provide support when I walked, but help me up when I fell.

Judaism has never been terribly comfortable with the idea of an animal stepping inside a synagogue, even a professionally trained service dog. In my grandparents’ time, such considerations would have been unheard of. The prospect of a guide dog inspired lengthy debates by 20th-century rabbis who held wildly differing views about the appropriate accommodation for community members with disabilities. As I picked up the phone to call the synagogue, I readied myself for the possibility that I wouldn’t be attending Shabbat services that trip.

There was an understandable pause on the other end of the line when I asked if I could bring my mobility service dog to services. I was told to hold on; she would ask the rabbi. The answer came almost instantaneously: the congregation would be pleased to welcome us to shul.

If there is anything that these last two years of COVID precautions have underscored, it’s the irreplaceable value of community. Sitting in synagogue and having access to the community resources I cherished during my times in Vancouver helped provide a sense of normalcy while I dealt with my mother’s illness. Happy’s stoic, quiet strength not only gave physical support when I needed it, but a heightened sense to unfamiliar territory. Research has found that service dogs can detect changes in heart rate with a range of medical challenges, including heart conditions and diabetes. More than once, Happy guided me back to a point of safety when he sensed my legs weren’t able to navigate the cold.

To educate the library’s many young visitors about its unusual working visitor, the head librarian at the time, Helen Pinsky, informed patrons of Happy’s visit. The Jewish Community Centre of Greater Vancouver did its part to make us feel welcome as well. Most surprising were the parents’ reactions. Many saw our presence as an opportunity to teach children about respecting the role of a service dog and the person at his side. One mother confided that her little boy, who struggled with his own physical disability, was uplifted when he met Happy.

This issue’s article on disability explores the many ways that Vancouver Jewish institutions are working to increase disability awareness and inclusion. (Click here to read.) The examples are paired against research that suggests that while U.S., Canadian and Israeli Jewish communities continue to make remarkable strides in this area, there’s more that can be done. Building a disability-inclusive community is most successful, the research found, when leadership reflects the society it leads. We spoke with one rabbi who is using his own medical challenges to uplift and inspire those with differing abilities in his community.

I have come to realize over the years that a truly inclusive community is one that sees no limitations in how it defines capacity. We all have our limitations, and our unique gifts. We all have our dis-abilities. By bolstering diversity and inclusion in the society in which we live, we not only lift up those beside us, we lift those who will follow after us.

Jan Lee is an award-winning editorial writer whose articles and op-eds have been published in B’nai B’rith Magazine, Voices of Conservative and Masorti Judaism and Baltimore Jewish Times, as well as a number of business, environmental and travel publications. Her blog can be found at multiculturaljew.polestarpassages.com.

New lessons in everything

All over social media, we’re reminded to “Learn something new each day!” Even before the internet, I remember similar aphorisms – and then “Heck, if you’re lucky, learn two!” Attached to these reminders was the message that each experience and, yes, especially the awful ones, offered us learning opportunities.

While encountering this social media push for self-improvement, I happened to study, from the Babylonian Talmud, Chagigah 3a&b. This page of Talmud points out something that never occurred to me before. This message about lifelong learning is both a Jewish and ancient one. In the second century CE, in Peki’in, Rabbi Yohanan ben Beroka and Rabbi Elazar ben Hisma went to greet Rabbi Yohoshua. Rabbi Yehoshua asked them what new thing they’d learned that day in the study hall. They suggested they were his students and learned directly from him – how could they present him with something new?

Rabbi Yehoshua responded there couldn’t be a study hall without “novelty.” He went on to ask them who had lectured that week. Upon learning that Rabbi Elazar ben Azarya had taught them, he coaxed them for information. Then, he learned something new from the students.

This sounded just like when we greet our kids as they get off the school bus, or ask students (of any age) what they are learning from other teachers. Inevitably, there is something to learn. This bit of wisdom goes further. The Gemara (later commentators) add that the Torah is like a goad. It pushes us on to learn more. Like a sharp nail or cattle prod, it forces us to keep moving onward and learning from new and different circumstances. Torah, the rabbis conclude, doesn’t just have a single, immovable or simple answer for us.

OK then, I thought, what are some of the lessons we’re able to draw from the pandemic and the political upheaval around us? Many feel as though the pandemic is over, just because we’re tired of it but, practically, this virus will “be over” only when it’s ready to be. In an effort to get past this world-weary reaction, I thought about some of what we’ve learned so far.

1) Since Omicron’s arrival, we’ve realized, more than ever, that we must do our own cautious self-management of health. For awhile, in our North American culture, we expected a doctor to diagnose every illness; our workplaces required a doctor’s note. However, when the level of sickness around us is overwhelming, we’re required to examine and diagnose ourselves. This actually returns us to the world of the rabbis in some sense, where bloodletting, herbs and other cures were advised. Much like Ivermectin, some of these did more harm than good.

2) We should stay home when sick. We’ve all felt forced by the culture around us to work through illness even when it would be best to stay home. Yet, highly contagious illnesses mean we need to protect others to keep sickness from spreading. Again, we’ve lived in a “modern” bubble here for awhile. We’ve had fewer contagions and better vaccines and medical care that allowed us to circulate even when we were probably sick. For centuries, people have fought terrible illness by isolating. A quick example would be that of leprosy – we learn from the Torah and the Talmud that those afflicted must stay outside “the camp” and away from others. Self-isolating is the modern equivalent.

3) With the requirement to stay home came widespread acknowledgement of inequity. Many low-income people can’t afford to stay home. Their jobs don’t allow for it. Without paid sick leave, people can’t rest at home. Jewish tradition suggests we should visit or bring food for the sick. We should care for those less fortunate in our communities, such as widows and orphans. While our political advocacy may involve supporting food banks or homeless shelters, does our contemporary Jewish community focus on fixing inequity? We no longer have a Shmita year that forgives debt and evens the playing field. Is the Canadian answer something like universal basic income or the $10-a-day childcare plan?

4) Change isn’t always bad. Career changes, whether forced or chosen, can be positive. Our educational systems shifted enormously to deliver remote learning and accommodate COVID protocols. Our elder-care facilities are in dire need of improvement. Our hospitals need more capacity and redundancy, in both staff and space, so that even pandemics can be managed.

5) Scientists predicted that with climate change, pandemics may become more frequent. Planning to alleviate some of the effects of climate change has been a rocky path. So many governments get swept up in politics and make no policy adjustments. Our current COVID situation is a reminder that climate change, long predicted, is now here. Leaders must arm themselves with science rather than politics to save lives. Saving lives and caring for the earth are Jewish imperatives. This pandemic has been a frightening wake up call.

We can learn from every situation. The rabbis in the talmudic tractate of Chagigah at first assumed their mentors and leaders knew everything. This offered me a lesson too. Good leaders pursue lifelong learning because they are humble enough to know they will never know it all. Facing challenging experiences and learning from them can goad us so that we grow to be better people. The huge number of deaths, chronic illness and hospitalizations from COVID is devastating. If we try hard, we can find lessons here for a better future.