Opinion – Page 63

Do you know your priorities?

During the months of Elul and Tishri, when we’re in the midst of the High Holiday season, things are busy. Kids are in (and out) of school and activities, parents are facing the fall rush of activities in their own work lives. Things are rushed. However, if you’re going to synagogue and have even a moment to reflect, you’re being asked to examine yourself. What have you done right this year? What’s gone wrong? What could you do better?

Some years, I’m thinking about my failings, or I get mesmerized by the long list of things that one could do wrong when we list the confession of sins. Other years, I’m so concerned by holiday meals or my kids’ behaviour that I sing along, but my focus is not really on the most important holiday tasks at hand.

Recently though, I got to thinking about this a different way. Instead of focusing exclusively on how we’ve gone wrong, or how we could do better, I wondered, of all the things in the world to fix, what are my top priorities? How could I focus on a few things that are most important?

When we wish people happy new year, we often wish them a happy and healthy year. It’s hard to work towards happiness – and, to be honest, I’m not sure I’d know when I got there. Working on health seems like a given to some people, and is completely ignored by others. What does it mean? Well, for some it means taking medicines, or being able to afford their medicines. For others, it might mean exercise or better food choices, or even being able to purchase healthy foods.

We also mention, in Jewish tradition, an effort to strengthen our commitment to Judaism. Maybe that means going to services more, doing more mitzvot (commandments) or doing more to help others. It might mean offering your kids tools so that they can learn about their faith. For some, it means helping others get to Jewish events – offering a ride, for instance, if the person is unable to drive or walk – or making them feel included and valued when they get there.

People also may have big holiday meals with family and friends. This can be wonderful, and trying. I’ll be the first to admit that sometimes family gatherings force us to confront things that we’d rather not deal with. (Maybe it’s an uncle’s politics or a child’s misbehaviour, or the aging of a beloved parent.) Do you prioritize family? Do you commit to supporting and caring for your family, both those related by blood and those who you choose? Are you willing to travel long distances to see relatives? What about your family friends, those to whom you choose to feel related?

Awhile ago, I was chatting with someone about all my uncles and aunts. She expressed wonder at how many relatives I had. It took me a bit to realize what she meant. Where I grew up, in Virginia, just outside of Washington, D.C., many families had moved to work in the U.S. capital. It meant that they weren’t near their families, so we created extended families. All those aunts and uncles were close friends with my parents. I played with kids at those folks’ houses, ate dinner at their holiday tables and learned from them about what it was to be part of a loving family. Our Jewish customs varied, our DNA was different, but our effort included everyone.

The person I spoke with seemed alarmed and uncomfortable with the fact that I called all these people who weren’t blood relatives aunt or uncle. Yet, it was a time and place when many people didn’t live near family.

Some families had been decimated by the Holocaust, so it seemed entirely logical to us. In our circle, there were people who didn’t have grandparents – they had died in Europe. Some had no cousins, either. This was true among people I knew as a kid, and continues to be true. In my husband’s family, for example, I know people who lost many relatives and whose family structures, even in 2018, continue to resonate with that trauma.

This extended family friend concept is also related to our priorities. For me, personally, it’s key, and I choose to continue this practice. Why reinforce alienation for those who lack supportive extended family? My kids have a “tante” who made quilts for their beds and sends them gorgeous handmade gifts. She’s not my blood relative, but we’re part of her family. And we serve as honourary aunt and uncle for a 2-year-old in Montreal, as well.

Recently, I received an email that pointed out the Winnipeg Jewish Federation’s priority action areas for fall 2018, and I loved it. This action document lists many of our community’s Jewish concerns and priorities – many of which, no doubt, are similar to the Vancouver Jewish community’s concerns and priorities.

The Winnipeg Federation document is a good start. While some may think that the points are ambitious, other aspects are simply part of how a community – an extended family – should act. We should care about others, full stop. We should try to include everyone in Jewish life regardless of what they can afford. While it may seem like an enormous goal to “mitigate poverty,” it’s easy to pick an apple tree in the neighbourhood and donate the fruit to the food bank. Nor is it a big deal to bring your kids to visit an older person to help reduce their isolation.

Instead of focusing on the enormity of the individual points, we can instead point to our priorities for the new year. For instance: it improves our health to attend gatherings, socialize and engage in learning in multi-age settings.

I don’t know about expecting happiness, but we can adjust our priorities to include health, well-being and Jewish supports for one another. This is possible – and, to borrow Theodor Herzl’s phrase: “If we will it, it is no dream,” so make your priorities and dream bigger. It’s well worth considering. Happy 5779, everybody!

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.

What does power mean?

Necessity is the mother of invention. Throughout Jewish history, whenever economic or social restrictions have been applied against Jewish populations, those same targeted Jews have responded by finding means to succeed despite the hurdles placed in their way.

In notable instances, the “invention” itself has become problematic. By excluding Jews from a range of guilds and thereby denying them the right to participate in the broader economic life of the community, medieval Europe pushed Jews into marginal occupations. One such occupation was moneylending, which created a dangerous dynamic that helped define European Jewish existence for hundreds of years. Existing in a bleak place between the power of the aristocrats and dukes, on the one hand, and the rage of the peasant mobs, on the other, Jews were forced from one place to another in part because of the economic role they were forced to play in society.

More cheerfully, our ancestors understood that learning was an intangible asset that no ducal dictator or antisemitic horde could take away. Continuing the tradition of study practised by for generations, the Haskalah, the Jewish enlightenment, saw Jews turn their minds to secular studies like sciences and the humanities. In a modernizing world, this proved a tremendous advantage. Much of the success enjoyed by Jews today is founded on the collective dedication to learning that began in ancient study halls and continues this very week as Jewish kids return to classrooms all over the world.

Zionism is a natural descendant of the theory of necessity and invention. For hundreds of generations, Jews prayed for a return to Zion and Jerusalem. But when, after the Middle Ages gave way to Enlightenment and emancipation, the place of Jews in Europe still proved precarious, as Theodor Herzl concluded during the Dreyfus Affair, the idea of Jewish self-determination as a national political movement took flight. Necessity increased in the first decades of the 20th century and Zionism went from a somewhat obscure idea to one almost universally accepted by Jews, though its realization would be too slow to save six million lives.

Attacked by its neighbours at the moment of its birth, Israel was forced to pull together a military defence. The alternative was unthinkable, and the generation faced with that reality during the War of Independence had learned just a few years earlier the danger of complacency and unpreparedness.

Facing existential threat once more in 1967 with the Six Day War, Israel again triumphed. The Eichmann trial, still fresh in the collective Jewish memory from earlier in the decade, created a stark awareness in Israeli and Diaspora minds about the precariousness of Jewish existence and the determination of those who would seek to destroy us.

Since 1967, there has been no doubt that Israel is a regional military powerhouse. This truth is axiomatic. If Israel were not a regional powerhouse, it’s likely Israel would not exist. This is what makes uncategorical criticism of Israel for its militarism so infuriating, as it fails to even acknowledge that the “invention” was made necessary by the world’s unquenchable antisemitism.

And so, it seemed, this was among the messages Israeli Prime Minister Binyamin Netanyahu was trying to convey in a speech last week adjacent to Israel’s nuclear research centre, home of the country’s unacknowledged nuclear weapons program. He made some stark statements about the dangers of weakness.

“The weak crumble, are slaughtered and are erased from history while the strong, for good or for ill, survive,” he said. “The strong are respected, and alliances are made with the strong, and, in the end, peace is made with the strong.”

Some have made the case that Netanyahu’s bluster and warnings to enemies are un-Jewish, that acknowledging power, and reveling in the benefits it presents, is antithetical to Jewishness. Perhaps.

Yet, we should also realize that we are in a time of changing paradigms. In the vast scope of Jewish history, the decades since the establishment of the state of Israel are the blink of an eye. We are still recalibrating what it means to be Jewish in an age of Zionism. As Jews in the Diaspora and as Jews in the Jewish homeland, we are redefining our identities and connections in a time of incredible flux. What does Jewish mean now? How do we accommodate and respond to power? What measures must we take to redefine our relationships with non-Jews, including the leaders of other countries, in a time when we have the power to defend ourselves and no longer rely on the ephemeral kindness of strangers?

As Rabbi Irwin Kula (who will speak in Vancouver this month; see page 5) says, we who are alive in this time of extraordinary transition can be a part of “one of the great adventures in the human drama right now.”

Given an option, we may have chosen to live in duller times. But we are here now – and that necessitates us inventing ways to thrive in the world we have inherited.

The draft: a dad reflects

February 2015

Collected the mail this morning. A few flyers and bills. And my son’s draft notice. A quick double take. A flashback to my son playing with plastic dinosaurs. Then I texted my wife, “It’s here.”

A few hours later, my son came home. “How was school? There’s a letter for you on the table.” Opening it, and with a surprising degree of nonchalance, he said, “My call-up.” As if going into the army was an ordinary occurrence. “Ah, yeah. It’s here.”

A few days later, I asked D if I could post a picture of his call-up on Facebook. “Dad, you can’t post this stuff. It’s, like, confidential.” Duh. Of course.

May 2015

Picked my son up from Jerusalem. He was there for a series of pre-army tests. He couldn’t stop talking about the cute chayelet (army girls). Teenagers!

October 2015-January 2016

D interviewed for various roles in different divisions. None of interest. He wants something air force-specific. My wife and I helped him with a letter to the IAF manpower division. Emphasized

his aircraft knowledge. His love of plane simulators. (How many times did we catch him “flying” instead of doing his homework?) His flying lesson (a 17th birthday gift).

February-March 2016

Silence.

April 2016

The air force came knocking. Another interview. Another psychometric test. D felt he aced this one (pun intended).

May 2016

Text message from the Israeli Air Force. Accepted. Not the specific role he wanted but within his window of satisfaction. Excitement. Trepidation. The air force is the darling of the military. Best conditions. High-tech environment. Much to my son’s amusement, I don’t really understand what he’ll be doing.

July 2016

D called me at the office. Draft date pulled in. “Dad, we need to change our holiday plans – three weeks and I’m in.” New York will have to wait. Improvising, we quickly made other travel arrangements. A week later, we were in northern Italy. My son a reluctant traveler. He’d rather be home with his friends sharing the excitement of the draft.

August 2016

Took D for a buzz cut. His beautiful golden locks. Gone. I also had a buzz cut. My less beautiful grey locks. Gone. Solidarity.

We threw a draft bash. Lots of friends and family. I toasted: “We are celebrating your draft … into the world’s best air force…. I can’t tell you how proud we are…. You obtained a role – and I still don’t get it – that is meaningful and challenging, with great responsibility and opportunity. Embrace it. Be safe and strong. Keep us safe and strong. D, sweet child of mine. May God make you like Ephraim and Menashe … and establish peace for you.”

Draft day, 2016

We traveled in two cars. My wife. Our daughter. My mother-in-law. D’s friends. His girlfriend. And, of course, the cadet. We arrived at the induction centre at 0800 hours. Despite living in Israel for more than 22 years, I’m still amazed by the informality. Sometimes disguised as chaos. My Canadian self still says lines. Order. Please. Excuse me. The security appeared to be in disarray. Then I remembered I’m on an army base. Umm … can’t get more secure than that.

Hundreds of young recruits. Balagan. Israeli flags waving overhead. Old ladies passing out amulets with the prayer for the Israeli army. Sephardi grandmothers spraying water into the crowd to wash away the evil eye.

Much too quickly my son’s name was called. Won’t forget the apprehensive “I guess it’s my turn” look on his face. Nor the tears flowing from my wife’s almond-shaped eyes. Nor the tears flowing from my daughter’s green eyes. Nor my mother-in-law’s “shouldn’t there be peace by now?” hunched and saddened look. I took D aside. Covered his head with my hand. Recited the blessing for a son. Then, like at a beach party, his friends hoisted him on their shoulders. Carried him forward. Innocence. Bravado. Another generation coming of age in Israel.

He walked the final distance alone. Oversized backpack. Buzz cut. Excitement. Trepidation. Then disappeared into the military transport and his next three years. Actually, two years and eight months, but who’s counting.

Bruce Brown has been living in Israel for a long time and is the proud father of two Sabras, one currently a sergeant in the Israeli Air Force.

Israel’s assets versus liabilities

Israel’s beauty is a definite asset. (photo by Cynthia Ramsay)

During the month of Elul, as we approach Rosh Hashanah, which this year falls on Sept. 9, Jews traditionally practise a kind of spiritual stocktaking. These are days when we look inward – assessing what happened to last year’s dreams, asking pardon for the wrongs we have committed and hoping, by repentance, charity and prayers, to be written into the Book of Life for the coming year.

I doubt if you would find many people in Israel who would say that 5778 was a particularly good year. The facts speak for themselves – no progress in the peace process, international isolation and antisemitism. These are the liabilities, and they are not figments of the imagination – they are real, and have led to a fall in the general morale.

But what is there to put in the assets column? There must surely be something to balance the account. Otherwise, why are there olim (immigrants) who stay on year after year, new ones motivated to come, and Israelis who go on trying to find solutions for seemingly insoluble problems, both on the personal and the national planes?

There were times during the last year when I was tempted to despair. But, even as I said the words, I knew I wasn’t fooling anyone, least of all myself. Because the positive things I have found in Israel I know cannot be duplicated anywhere else in the world.

First, I have found a family – the whole house of Israel. How wonderful to walk the streets and know that everyone is your brother or sister. Of course, just like in a real family, there are times that this same sibling is rude or aggressive and you react with bitterness towards their manners, opinions, behaviour. But, while you feel free to criticize them, let a stranger do it and you jump to their defence.

You argue that they live under continual tension, are wearied from fighting five wars and from the ongoing hostilities; that they have lost many dear ones and must always be prepared to cope with terrorist attacks. And, while you are explaining them and defending them – just like in a real family – you know even more that you love them.

With this realization comes another. You know that, if you are ever sick or in need, you are among people who care about you. There is nowhere else in the world where people take so much responsibility for one another, who care so much, become involved so much.

Nor is there any other country in the world where the youth are so magnificent. At an age when teenagers elsewhere may be sowing their wild oats and are their parents’ despair, our boys and girls are putting on uniforms and quietly devoting the fun years of their lives to serving their country. There is no fanfare or extraordinary praise. They do it as a duty, conscientiously, modestly. They are Israel’s riches that no inflation can ever devalue; they are our hopes and our future.

Israel is a unique ethnic mosaic. It has taken in Jews of every background, language and social level; it has provided a home for the homeless; a refuge for the persecuted. It doesn’t ask an immigrant, “What are you bringing to us – what skills, what capital?” Those who bring little or nothing are no less welcome. Israel, as a whole, really cares.

And it is a beautiful country, no matter where you travel. Haifa, seen at night from Mt. Carmel, is diamonds scattered on black velvet. The Galilee – terraced rows of grey-green olive trees and lush vegetation of date-palms. Cosmopolitan sidewalk cafés in Tel Aviv. Scarlet sunsets over the Dead Sea and deep indigo twilight over Eilat. And Jerusalem – our eternal city – the special, spiritual, abiding jewel in our crown.

Yet, that is not all. There are so many more things you could add. Really, there is no end to them. It is a country of enormous achievement – in agriculture, in science, in high-tech, in the arts. It is a country where every festival – religious or secular – is celebrated, to a greater or lesser degree, by the whole population. With all their troubles, Israelis are a spontaneous people who don’t need expensive entertainment. They can have a wonderful time singing around a campfire, having a backyard barbecue or dancing in the streets.

Thinking it over, you realize that the assets column far outweighs the liabilities column. And then you ponder the fact that, even if the opposite were true, Israel, with and without the blemishes, is yours.

Happy New Year to us all.

Dvora Waysman is the author of four books, one of which, The Pomegranate Pendant, has been made into the movie The Golden Pomegranate. Her latest novel is Searching for Sarah. Australian-born, she has lived in Jerusalem for 47 years.

The miracle that is our body

What do we really know about the marvelous vessel we are fortunate enough to inhabit? Don’t we mostly just take it for granted? We were popped into the world without our say so, but, in return, we inherited millions of years of human evolution in the bodies we have been bequeathed.

You will be enlightened to learn that our bodies are so filled with energy that we emit light, although our eyes are too weak to detect it. Information speeds along our nerves at 400,000 miles per hour, our brains hosting 100,000 chemical reactions per second. Blood corpuscles run through our bodies, covering 20,000 kilometres daily. We breathe 20,000 times a day to provide them with the oxygen our bodies need to function.

Our noses can differentiate three trillion different scents, and our eyes millions of different colours. Our skin has 100 pain sensors per square centimetre. Our stomachs are producing more new cells faster than those that are being destroyed by the acids of digestion. We produce one litre of saliva a day to keep things juicy. Operating all this is the work of our brains, which are actually more active when we are asleep than when we are awake.

Did we luck out or what? The most amazing thing is that, most of the time, the apparatus keeps on working for a lifetime with few or no problems. Our hearts beat away three billion times during our lives, we consume 35 tons of food on average and shed two to four kilograms of skin every year.

Women will be interested to know that their tongues are blessed with more taste buds than their male counterparts. They may be less happy to learn that we have 67 different types of bacteria in our bellybuttons and more bacteria in our mouths than the number of people on this planet.

With all of this going on in our bodies automatically, what are we in charge of? Where do we come in? Where does individual will come from? What is it that makes us the particular person we are? When do we get to be the person we think we are?

That may be where DNA comes in. That is the stuff our parents gave us, half the package from each of them. Out of the incredible hodge-podge that each of them got from their parents – millions, maybe billions, of different potentialities – chance determined the particular combination of traits we received from them. What we got influenced not just our physical heritage, but our mental and emotional elements are inherited, as well. After that, given some reasonable nurturing (something a lot of kids don’t get), each of us is on our own to make what we can of what we got.

We have five main chemicals in the brain, most of them variations of the feel-good type. We tend to pursue activities and things that make us feel good and that stimulate the flow of those chemicals in our brains.

We work because we enjoy the work, or because we enjoy having the money we will earn from that work. We pursue the company and attentions of those who make us feel good, sometimes becoming addicted (falling in love?) and desiring a permanent attachment. We strive because achieving the object of our effort will give us pleasure, be it knowledge, respect, money, power, fame, or all of them.

The vigour with which we pursue these things may arise from our DNA or from the kind of nurturing we experienced in our growing up, or both. Studies have shown that, in identical twins separated at birth, genetics accounted for 50% to 70% of outcomes and behaviours. There is little doubt that DNA programming is important, but behavioural differences between individuals can lead to different outcomes.

For some of us, all this may have relevance only to the degree it illuminates the course our own life is taking or has taken. Do we feel we got a fair shake in the lottery that landed us in the birth basket we arrived in? Did the environment we arrived in, the legacy our DNA bestowed on us, give us a fair chance to grab the golden ring(s) that satisfied our aspirations or desires? Did our grit and determination permit us to overcome the obstacles we faced in life so that we are more satisfied with where we are compared to where we started from? Are we happy?

Our lives are the body of proof.

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. The term “body of proof,” used in this article, is taken from the name of a television drama about a medical examiner that ran on ABC from 2011 to 2013.

Opening Pandora’s box

Maxime Bernier quit the Conservative party last week, at the precise moment that Conservatives from across the country were gathering in Halifax for their national convention, preparing for the federal election that is 13 months away.

Canadian political history would suggest that the former cabinet minister’s departure and his promise to form a new federal political party will be little more than a footnote in the history books when all is written.

The ostensible point of division between Bernier, who came a very close second to Andrew Scheer in last year’s Conservative leadership contest, is supply management. Supply management is an agricultural policy that limits supply in an attempt to stabilize prices so that Canadian farmers can make a decent living. It’s the reason we pay what we do for cheese, milk and poultry and it is prefaced on the understanding that the few extra dollars we pay weekly keeps the agricultural sector viable.

Bernier, who lambasted his former party over the issue, is correct. Support for such meddling in the economy is antithetical to conservative economic values. But it is an oddly Canadian consensus by which parties across the spectrum essentially accede to the status quo for political, if not policy, reasons. Opponents of Bernier in last year’s leadership race expressed fears that his opposition to supply management would undermine the Conservatives precisely where they are most popular: in rural Canada.

If less interventionist economic policies become the basis for Bernier’s new political party, it is hard to imagine how it will catch fire among Canadian voters. From a political standpoint, such a platform seems like a loser from the gate.

But there is a potential wild card in this scenario. Though he skirted the subject during his news conference last week, Bernier’s recent social media statements play to xenophobic, anti-immigrant sentiments. This, far more than economics, has the potential to get the attention of Canadian voters.

The Liberal government under Prime Minister Justin Trudeau likes to be associated with openness and a welcoming diversity, which contrasts nicely with developments to the south. But a recent poll suggests Canadians may not be as settled on this approach as some of us would like to believe.

The poll asked whether Canadians believed that there are too few, too many or the right number of immigrants to Canada. Overall, 18% of Canadians said there are too few immigrants coming to Canada, while 38% said there were too many and another 38% said the numbers were about right. The poll’s breakdown by party label indicates just how divisive this discussion could become. Only 12% of self-declared Liberals said that Canada has too many immigrants, while 73% of Conservatives hold that position.

Canadians, to an extent, have avoided opening a Pandora’s box in the form of a national discussion about immigration, perhaps happy in our complacency and self-image as a welcoming place. If Bernier’s new party – or, indeed, if the Conservatives – see an opening, we may be about to lift the lid somewhat on this issue.

If Bernier decides that he has nothing to lose and something to gain from upsetting accepted wisdom, it won’t necessarily prove a winning formula for his new party. However, if, by raising these topics, he forces other parties to articulate more specifically the generalized approach to multiculturalism and diversity that we take for granted, we may be headed for a reckoning on immigration, diversity and openness.

The election of Doug Ford as premier of Ontario suggests that populist messages are not anathema to Canadian voters. The Quebec provincial election, now underway, may very well provide a test case for some of these ideas that challenge our cherished notions of diversity.

When voter turnout hovers around the 50% mark, mobilizing one’s political base can be as crucial as convincing the undecided. If suspicion of outsiders appears likely to excite an identifiable core of the electorate, ambitious politicians will certainly consider how they might benefit by exploiting it.

Confronted by a heckler in Quebec last week, the prime minister shut her down by dismissing her as racist. It turns out, she may well be. But she also may not be the voice in the wilderness that some, including the prime minister, would like to believe. These people, too, will demand to be represented in Parliament and in the national discussion.

The rest of us, then, will need to have more than happy axioms and comforting self-satisfaction if we are to successfully defend diversity, inclusiveness and the social and economic value of new Canadians.

The benefits from repetition

Repetition is good for us. (I may have said this before!) If you exercise, you’re in touch with “reps” or, if you walk your dog, you’ve been down this block with someone sniffing at the end of the leash before. If you’re rolling your eyes in boredom as you stand in a line, way too much of life seems to be about waiting patiently and repetition.

Jewish tradition has lots of “rinse and repeat” kinds of moments in it. If you read the Torah portion regularly, phrases like, “And Moses said,” pop out frequently. If you’re already preparing meals or family gatherings for upcoming holidays, you may reflect on how often you’ve done this before. It would be wrong to ignore the feeling of drudgery that sometimes accompanies all this. There are definitely times, as I try to figure out how to fit in all the prep, when I wonder if it’s so meaningful to do it again. And again.

Two recent experiences reminded me that we get something out of this repetition thing.

The first was one of those ubiquitous parenting articles that mention the value of self-care and meditation. Sometimes it’s easier to dismiss such suggestions. Yes, I’ve thought, but who will watch the kids, make dinner and earn the money while we’re doing all this trendy stuff?

However, I happened to hear a tidbit at services recently about Rosh Chodesh. Bill Weissman was leading a Sunday minyan at the start of the month of Elul. He reminded everyone about the association of women with the beginning of the month, mentioning that, aside from tending small babies, women were supposed to have a day off. In some Jewish communities, women don’t do certain kinds of work on the holiday, perhaps avoiding laundry or other tedious jobs. In fact, Jewish tradition teaches us that we need breaks. Scheduled activities, like a learning group, a meditation circle or even a standing coffee date, enable us to take better care of ourselves, whether it’s scheduled for Rosh Chodesh or every Tuesday.

The second experience that brought this all together occurred on the same weekend but the day before. One of my twins was feeling sick and was on antibiotics, so he stayed home with Daddy. I took the other twin on a Shabbat date. We went to family services together. Usually, while this kid dances and participates, he doesn’t read or engage with every prayer. My other twin sings along to everything, but makes up his own words. That’s fine. I figure they both enjoy themselves and get something out of being there. (For me, attending services is all part of that repetitive self-care thing, but it’s hard to get the most out of it with twins along for the ride.)

To my surprise, this Shabbat, a switch flipped in my kid’s 7-year-old brain. He sang and davened every prayer. He engaged completely. He wanted to be involved and responded to everything at the service – he even heard something interesting during the announcements. During the month of Elul, we blow the shofar during morning minyan.

Later, when I said how proud I was to hear him sing and say all the prayers, I asked what had happened. He explained that he likes to be quiet until he knows something perfectly. He decided he knew things well enough, so now he can say them all. It was as if buzzers were going off in my “educator” brain. Bing! This kid is an introvert. This is how introverts often process and learn new material. It’s about quiet introspection and repetition.

The next morning, I still had one sick twin and one healthy one. The healthy introvert announced that he wanted to attend that morning’s minyan. He cheerfully got through the hour-long service on Rosh Chodesh. He joked with many of the minyan regulars, participated, and he heard the shofar. It was a meaningful experience for him. I am still feeling celebratory about it many days later!

How did we get to this point? It wasn’t a one-time experience. I didn’t create a high-pressure event where I brought my children to one service, asked them to tell me if they enjoyed it and expected them to make a decision about their religious observance as a result. When we learn at school or while doing a sport, there are a lot of drills involved. It can be boring or reflective, but maybe it doesn’t matter.

We need to keep repeating things – Jewish content, CPR training, swimming lessons, whatever – until it sticks. You can’t give yourself a chance to make or eat a good holiday meal or have a meaningful religious experience if you haven’t practised. Recipes, prayers, exercise and meditation, among other things, don’t generally come out right the first time. Is it sometimes boring to do one’s exercise, cooking or other life tasks? Oh, you bet. However, nobody ever said that taking care of yourself, your household, relationships and work would be easy.

Some things aren’t fascinating. Even so, all that repetition can be good for us. Repetition teaches life skills. Learning the discipline needed to stick to something and practise it? That’s well worth taking time to learn. Repetition offers our bodies and minds a lot of healthy habits. Jewish communities and activities offer these skills. Just keep going. (It’s about showing up.)

Impacts of nation-state

Canada’s identity has evolved dramatically since the Second World War. First, the country’s self-image changed from an Anglo orientation as a member of the British Empire-cum-Commonwealth to a concept of “two founding nations,” which included the recognition of bilingualism and biculturalism as pillars of our identity. No sooner had that change been digested than we broadened the definition of Canadianness to incorporate multiculturalism and then, very belatedly, we have recently come to recognize the important place of indigenous Canadians and to attempt to reconcile our peoples with the history of injustice and cultural genocide perpetrated against First Nations.

Not all countries are given to this sort of evolving self-identity. Israel, in very different ways but over the same period, has struggled to define itself in a manner that reflects both its founding premise and its demographic and cultural realities. For several decades, the country has debated the question “who is a Jew?”; a riddle that goes to the heart of the nation’s identity in part due to the Law of Return, which grants citizenship to any Jew. But the place of non-Jewish citizens – both in the state of Israel and, more problematically, in the territories occupied in 1967 – has confounded the country as it struggles to be both a democratic country and one particularly founded as the homeland of the Jewish people.

This matter was brought to a head (again) recently by a law passed by the Knesset dealing with the country’s Jewish identity.

In practical terms, the “nation-state law” has little impact. If an Israeli didn’t follow the news, they would probably not notice any change in their daily life. The law is mostly symbolic. It enshrines the Jewish calendar as official, declares Jerusalem the country’s capital, codifies what was already the practical reality in terms of Jewish iconography in Israeli national symbols, such as the Star of David on the flag and the menorah on the national shield. But, it also explicitly downgrades the Arabic language, mother tongue of 22% of the country’s population, from official language to one with a “special status.” That doesn’t mean that Arabic (or English) will be erased from street signs or other official places, but it is a calculated poke in the eye to the country’s largest minority population – people who have struggled for decades to adapt themselves to their status as non-Jewish citizens of the Jewish state.

Critics, particularly on the left, have condemned the law as the triumph of Jewishness over democracy in the continuing struggle over the country’s identity as a Jewish and democratic state. Some claim that the accusation of “apartheid” has now been proven and codified. Competing New York Times op-eds by Ronald Lauder, head of World Jewish Congress, and Naftali Bennett, Israel’s minister of Diaspora affairs, took diametrically opposing positions on the law.

The law’s enemies perhaps did themselves no favours during a mass rally in Tel Aviv nearly two weeks ago, when Palestinian flags were prevalent and some participants seemed to be promoting a one-state resolution.

The controversy is the culmination of several years of debate over the law, or variations on the theme. Prime Minister Binyamin Netanyahu defended the final bill, which passed the Knesset overwhelmingly.

“We enshrined in law the basic principle of our existence,” he said. “Israel is the nation state of the Jewish people, that respects the individual rights of all its citizens. This is our state – the Jewish state. In recent years, there have been some who have attempted to put this in doubt, to undercut the core of our being. Today we made it law: this is our nation, language and flag.”

The prime minister’s words are accurate enough. He acknowledges the fundamental and perhaps irreconcilable tug between “the nation state of the Jewish people” and one that “respects the individual rights of all its citizens.” And he is correct that the law enshrines what was already the de facto reality.

He is also not far off the mark in stating that some have tried to put in doubt Israel’s identity as a Jewish state – there are calls in the Middle East and elsewhere for a unitary state between the Mediterranean and the Jordan River, a concept that would effectively eliminate Jewish national self-determination. Yet, this is perhaps the most specious of Netanyahu’s arguments. Yes, there are those would see the Jewish state destroyed. But these voices are no more mainstream nor prevalent than they have been in recent years.

The law is red meat for Netanyahu’s core supporters and those to their right. It is a provocation – and an unnecessary one – that even the prime minister claims has no real, practical impact.

However, it does have an impact – and one that is perhaps not unintended. The law makes non-Jewish citizens of Israel feel isolated and demoralized and it strengthens the case of those inside and outside Israel who condemn the country for inequality and favouritism.

It hurts and it ain’t at all fair

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

BDS’s lacrosse to bear

Before a soccer match with Maccabi Tel Aviv last week, the Hungarian football team Ferencváros Torna Club paid tribute to István Tóth in what is being heralded as a meaningful move against a creeping antisemitism that has permeated the European sporting world among other spheres.

Tóth was a Ferencváros Torna player and coach in the 1940s before joining the anti-Nazi resistance and saving hundreds of lives, including Jews who he helped escape detention and probable death. Tóth was captured and executed in 1945.

Last week’s game in Budapest was dedicated to Tóth’s memory.

North Americans who were swept up (or bemused) by global soccer mania at the height of the World Cup last weekend can almost appreciate the depths of feeling the sport evokes in much of the world. National feelings – and other high emotions – understandably permeate fan expressions. What is more baffling from afar is the manner in which antisemitism has seeped into the culture of European sport. Among other manifestations, fans from some teams will ridicule or intimidate those of opponents by implying the players or their supporters are Jews. In one instance, fans plastered a town with images of Anne Frank in the opposing team’s uniform. Elsewhere, fans suggested the opponents lacked foreskins. It’s difficult to wrap one’s mind around: that accusations of Jewishness have been used as a tool of intimidation on a playing field. The closest analogy, perhaps, might be the example more common in North American sports, in which opponents are accused of homosexuality. But, with Europe’s history of antisemitism, and the alarming growth of extremist politics across the continent, this hints at a deeper problem. This is why the Budapest event, which was coordinated with the assistance of World Jewish Congress, was as significant as it was. It was an official statement against antisemitism in sport and a testament to a hero of the Holocaust era.

Meanwhile, in a sports competition some distance away, a variant form of political activism, not unrelated to antisemitism, was playing out.

The BDS movement has been trying to isolate Israel in social, economic and cultural spheres. Athletes from Iran and countries with other Israel-hating governments have thrown matches rather than legitimize the Zionist entity, or athletes have refused to shake hands with Israeli competitors. There are even groups urging a boycott of the next Eurovision song contest because, as Israel’s Netta Barzilai was the 2018 victor, Israel will be the host country for next year’s round.

The latest attempt at a boycott, though, comes with a happy ending – and a Canadian twist.

The Iroquois Nationals lacrosse team recently arrived in Israel to participate in the World Men’s Lacrosse Championships. Soccer may be “the world’s game” and hockey may be where many Canadians’ invest our emotional energies, but lacrosse is, officially, our national game. (In a bow to popular demand, Parliament some time ago declared hockey our national “winter” sport and lacrosse our national “summer” sport, but details.) While many Canadians have an almost religious devotion to hockey, the Iroquois refer to lacrosse as “the Creator’s Game.”

The Iroquois team arrived at Ben-Gurion airport with indigenous passports. A few years ago, the team was forced to forfeit their games when the host country, the United Kingdom, refused to accept their travel documents. Israel, on the other hand, welcomed the Iroquois passports after interventions from the Government of Canada and the Canadian embassy in Israel.

While diplomats and respected figures like Irwin Cotler intervened to help, the BDS movement tried to prevent the team from attending. It was a particularly nasty effort, since the Iroquois invented the game. It may have been in this very fact that the BDSers smelled a potential symbolic victory, no matter how offensive the impact would have been on the individual players and the tournament more broadly had the First Nations team – one of the sport’s powerhouses – been excluded. And, as is often the case with the BDS movement, their success would have hurt Arabs as much as anyone. The Iroquois Nationals will lead a coexistence lacrosse clinic for Arab and Jewish young people.

There is a history of friendship, however unlikely, between the Iroquois and Israelis, both indigenous in their homelands. Earlier this year, the Seneca Nation, one of six groups that comprise the Iroquois Confederacy, celebrated Yom Ha’atzmaut, Israel’s Independence Day, issuing a proclamation stating that “the Seneca Nation and the state of Israel share in common a passion for freedom and a willingness to fight for and defend our sovereignty and our shared right to be a free and independent people.”

The lacrosse tournament, which brings together 46 teams in the largest-ever such event, culminates this weekend. It may not elicit the rapturous fandom we saw last weekend in the World Cup. But we certainly have our sentimental favourites.