Brisket – a Jewish  tradition!

Brisket is the boneless meat on the lower chest of beef or veal. In traditional Jewish cooking, it is most often braised as a pot roast, especially as a holiday main course. For reasons of economics and kashrut, it was historically one of the more popular cuts of beef among Ashkenazi Jews.

Brisket is also the most popular cut for corned beef, which can be further spiced and smoked to make pastrami. In the 1900s, it appeared on Jewish deli menus, particularly in Texas, where the butchers, who emigrated from Germany and Czechoslovakia, had trouble selling the slow-cooking cut and created a way to dry smoke it and preserve it.

Brisket is one of the primal cuts of beef, though the precise definition of the cut differs internationally. The brisket muscles include the superficial and deep pectorals. As cattle do not have collarbones, these muscles support about 60% of the body weight of standing or moving cattle. This requires a significant amount of connective tissue, so the resulting meat must be cooked correctly to tenderize it.

The term brisket is derived from the Middle English brusket, which comes from the earlier Old Norse brjósk, meaning cartilage. The cut overlies the sternum, ribs and connecting cartilages.

Author and food writer Stephanie Pierson wrote an homage to this cut of beef: The Brisket Book:  Love Story with Recipes was published in 2011.

CRANBERRY-ONION CHANUKAH BRISKET
(This is Justin Chapple’s recipe from Food & Wine. It makes 8-10 servings.)

photo - Justin Chapple’s Cranberry-Onion Chanukah Brisket
Justin Chapple’s Cranberry-Onion Chanukah Brisket. (photo by Justin Walker)

8 cups fresh or thawed frozen cranberries
1 1/2 cups sugar
1 1/2-inch lemon peel strip
3 tbsp fresh lemon juice
salt and pepper to taste
2 1-ounce envelopes kosher pareve onion soup mix
1 7-pound trimmed beef brisket

The day before serving:

  1. Preheat oven to 325°F. Layer two sheets foil in a large roasting pan, letting foil hang over eight inches past each end. Repeat with two additional sheets of foil to form an X. Top with a sheet of parchment paper.
  2. In a saucepan, combine cranberries, sugar, lemon peel strip and lemon juice. Cook, crushing cranberries with a wooden spoon until mixture thickens, 10-14 minutes.
  3. Remove from heat and stir in onion soup mix. Let cool for 15 minutes.
  4. Spread a quarter of cranberry sauce on parchment. Place brisket fat side up. Spread remaining cranberry sauce over it, top with parchment and wrap foil around brisket. Place in oven for three to three-and-a-half hours. Uncover. Let cool one-and-a-half hours, then cover and refrigerate for at least eight hours.

The day of serving:

  1. Preheat oven to 325°F. Uncover brisket. Discard any fat. Scrape off cranberry sauce and place in a bowl.
  2. Slice brisket on carving board. Arrange in ovenproof dish. Spoon cranberry sauce over top, cover and bake 45 minutes to one hour.

BEER-BRAISED BRISKET WITH ROOT VEGETABLES
(This recipe comes from Ian Knauer, former Gourmet Magazine editor, chef, food writer and owner of the Farm Cooking School. It makes 4-6 servings.)

photo - Ian Knauer’s Beer-Braised Brisket with Root Vegetables
Ian Knauer’s Beer-Braised Brisket with Root Vegetables. (photo by Ian Knauer)

1 2.5-to-3-pound brisket
2 tbsp olive oil
1 chopped medium onion
5 ounces sliced shiitake mushroom tops
3 finely chopped garlic cloves
3 large sliced carrots
3 sliced parsnips
1 rutabaga, peeled and cut into wedges
12 ounces beer of your choice
2 tbsp Worcestershire sauce
2 cups chicken stock
2 tbsp flour
1 tbsp dill

  1. Heat oil in a pot. Sear the brisket three to four minutes, turn, and continue searing another three to four minutes. Transfer to a plate.
  2. Stir onion, mushrooms and garlic into pot. Cook, stirring occasionally, for six minutes. Place brisket and juices back in pot.
  3. Stir in carrots, parsnips, rutabaga, beer, Worcestershire sauce and stock. Cover and simmer six hours, until meat is tender.
  4. In the meantime, stir flour and two tablespoons cold water in a bowl then whisk into the pot. Simmer until sauce thickens, about 10 minutes. Place on plate, sprinkle with dill and slice.

Sybil Kaplan is a journalist, editor of nine kosher cookbooks (working on a 10th) and a food writer living in Jerusalem. She leads English-language Shuk Walks in Machane Yehuda.

Minestrone warms the soul

(photo from flickr.com/photos/veganfeast)

Minestrone came about as early as the second century BCE, when Rome conquered Italy and new vegetables flooded the market. It was known as an Italian peasant’s dish or poor man’s soup. Originally, it contained onion, garlic, celery, tomatoes and carrots – pasta seems to have been a later addition.

MY MINESTRONE
(6-8 servings)

2 tbsp margarine
3/4 cup chopped onions
2 minced garlic cloves
1 chopped leek
1/4 cup chopped celery
1/2 cup chopped carrots
2 chopped turnips
1 1/2 cups chopped zucchini
1 1/2 cups chopped cabbage
1 cup chopped potatoes
2 tbsp beef soup bouillon
1 cup chickpeas
1 cup chopped tomatoes
8 cups water
2 tbsp tomato paste
salt and pepper to taste
2 tbsp chopped parsley
1/2 tsp basil
1/2 tsp oregano
1 chopped bay leaf
1/4 tsp marjoram
1/2 cup small pasta
Parmesan cheese (optional)

  1. In a large soup pot, heat margarine. Sauté onions, garlic and leek.
  2. Add vegetables, water and spices but not pasta. Bring to a boil, reduce heat and simmer one hour.
  3. Add pasta and cook 15 minutes. Ladle into soup bowls and add the cheese.

ROOT VEGETABLE MINESTRONE
(Adapted from a Food & Wine recipe, it makes 6 servings.)

1/4 cup olive oil
1 finely chopped onion
1 minced garlic clove
1 sprig rosemary
2 sliced carrots
2 sliced parsnips
3 broccoli stems or chopped kohlrabi
3 cups cubed peeled, cut butternut squash
6 cups pareve chicken bouillon
salt and pepper to taste
1/2 cup angel hair pasta broken into 1-inch pieces
1/2 cup grated cheese

  1. In a soup pot, heat two tablespoons olive oil. Add onion, garlic and rosemary and cook until onion is soft.
  2. Add carrots, parsnips, broccoli or kohlrabi and squash and cook for one minute. Add bouillon, salt and pepper and cook about 15 minutes.
  3. In a frying pan, heat the remaining two tablespoons olive oil. Add pasta and cook, stirring frequently, about four minutes.
  4. Add pasta to soup. Cook until tender, five to six minutes. Discard rosemary. Stir cheese into soup and serve.

Sybil Kaplan is a journalist, editor of nine kosher cookbooks (working on a 10th) and a food writer living in Jerusalem. She leads English-language Shuk Walks in Machane Yehuda.

Pumpkin, but not pies

Pumpkin spice snickerdoodles (photo by Greg Dupree, food styling Torie Cox, prop styling Christine Keel / Food & Wine)

November arrives and I think pumpkin. Here in Israel, the d’la’at is amazing. Whole, they are huge in size and weight, cream in colour, with stripes all around.

Pumpkins are a variety of winter squash that belongs to the Cucurbitaceae (or cucurbits) family. Melon, watermelon and cucumber also fall into this category. Technically, pumpkins are fruit but, since they are often eaten in savoury dishes, many people refer to them as vegetables. Just about every part of the pumpkin is edible, including the seeds, their shell, leaves and flowers. Pumpkins are a superfood and are high in iron, packed with vitamins and minerals, and considered natural antioxidants.

But, enough about that and on to some recipes. Forget pie, though, and try these treats for your holiday guests.

The first dessert is pumpkin spice snickerdoodles. I was unfamiliar with snickerdoodles until coming across this recipe by Kelly Fields. Probably German in origin, the name of these sugar cookies could be a corruption of the German word schneckennudel, but notice the word schnecken, popular in Jewish cooking. American cookbook author Joan Nathan tells us: “Schnecken – the word means snail in German – are made of a rich and sweet yeast dough enriched with egg, sour cream and butter. The dough is pressed out in a large rectangle shape, sprinkled with sugar, cinnamon, raisins and ground nuts, and rolled up like a jelly roll. Cut on the cross section, the roll is sliced, baked and served open-side up in small coiled rounds.” Here is my version made pareve with slight changes.

PUMPKIN SPICE SNICKERDOODLES
(Adapted from Food & Wine. Makes 20 cookies.)

1 3/4 cups sugar
2 tbsp cinnamon
1 1/2 tsp cardamom
1/2 tsp nutmeg
1/2 tsp cloves
2 3/4 cups flour
2 tsp cream of tartar
1 tsp baking soda
1 cup unsalted butter or pareve margarine
2 large eggs
1 1/2 tsp orange blossom water or 3/4 tsp orange extract
1 tsp vanilla

  1. Preheat oven to 350°F and line three baking sheets with parchment paper.
  2. In a bowl, stir together 1/4 cup sugar, cinnamon, cardamom, nutmeg and cloves.
  3. In another bowl, stir together flour, cream of tartar and baking soda.
  4. Beat margarine and 1 1/2 cups sugar until light and fluffy (four minutes). Add eggs one at a time, then orange extract and vanilla. Add flour in two additions.
  5. Shape dough into 20 balls. Roll balls in spice mixture until coated. Arrange on baking sheets. Bake for six to seven minutes, then switch pans onto different racks, and continue baking 10 minutes. Let cool.

BAKED PUMPKIN WEDGES

image - Pumpkin Happy book cover
Published in 1976, Pumpkin Happy recipes are still happy-making.

(While I found this recipe in a newspaper some 40 years ago, it comes from the 1976 cookbook Pumpkin Happy, written by Erik Knud-Hansen and illustrated by Andrea Grumbine. It makes 6 servings.)

1 4-pound pumpkin, cut into wedges, strings and seeds scraped out
1/2 to 3/4 cup pareve margarine
1/4 cup brown sugar or honey
1 tsp cinnamon

  1. Preheat oven to 350°F. Oil a glass baking dish.
  2. Make shallow cuts in each wedge.
  3. Melt margarine in a saucepan. Add sugar and cinnamon. Brush over wedges.
  4. Bake for 35 to 45 minutes, until tender.

PUMPKIN BUTTER

(This butter is great on toast with cream cheese, according to Kelsey Youngman, writing on Food & Wine’s website. This recipe makes 2 1/2 cups.)

1 3-pound pumpkin, stemmed, halved lengthwise and seeded
1 tbsp vegetable oil
1/4 cup apple cider
1/2 cup brown sugar
3 tbsp honey
1 tsp apple cider vinegar
3/4 tsp cinnamon
1/2 tsp ginger
1/4 tsp nutmeg
a pinch of cloves

  1. Preheat oven to 350°F and line a baking sheet with parchment paper.
  2. Brush cut sides of pumpkin halves with oil. Arrange cut side down and bake 50 minutes, or until tender.
  3. Scoop flesh into food processor. Discard shell. Add apple cider, process one minute. Add brown sugar, honey, apple cider vinegar, cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg and cloves. Process 20 seconds. Transfer to a saucepan.
  4. Bring to a simmer, stirring occasionally. Reduce heat and cook until mixture is reduced by one-third and turns slightly darker in colour, about 25 minutes.
  5. Remove from heat, cool and spoon into jars with lids. Store in refrigerator.

Sybil Kaplan is a journalist, editor of nine kosher cookbooks (working on a 10th) and a food writer living in Jerusalem. She leads English-language Shuk Walks in Machane Yehuda.

Making holiday doughnuts

Syrian doughnuts can be made with a hole, or not. And they are topped with lemon or another type of glaze or syrup, rather than having a jelly filling. (photo from vegankinda.wordpress.com)

One of the things I have enjoyed the most as a food writer is learning the different customs of Jews from around the world. When it comes to doughnuts, all the communities make a dough dessert fried in oil, but there are differences.

Dov Noy, who was an Israeli folklorist and ethnologist, related a Bukhharian fable, which says that the first sufganiya was a sweet given to Adam and Eve as compensation after their expulsion from the Garden of Eden. He says the word sufganiya comes from the Hebrew word sof (meaning end), gan (meaning garden) and Ya (meaning G-d). Thus, the word means, the end of G-d’s garden. According to Noy, this fable was created at the beginning of the 20th century, since sufganiya was a new Hebrew word coined by pioneers.

Some consider sufganiyot, which means sponge-like, to be reminiscent of the sweet, spongy cookies that have been popular along the Mediterranean since the time of the Maccabees. Hebrew dictionaries say the word actually comes from the Greek word sufgan, meaning puffed and fried.

A few months ago, I happened to stop at a vendor in Machane Yehuda, the Jewish market where I shop and lead weekly walks, to ask about a pastry he was selling. He told me it was shvinze. Many years ago, a neighbour had given me her mother’s receipt for shvinze and I share it with you here.

I’ve also included a recipe from another neighbour, who made a similar type of dessert that she learned from her mother, who came from Syria. And the third recipe is for traditional Israeli doughnuts that can be filled or left plain. Talia was 5-and-a-half years old when she gave me this recipe – today, she is the mother of four, a tour guide married to a photographer, and living in the scene of the Chanukah story, Modi’in.

MOROCCAN SHVINZE

1 2/3 tbsp yeast
1/4 cup lukewarm water
a pinch salt
4 cups flour
oil
honey or confectioners’ sugar

  1. Place yeast in a small bowl with water. Place flour in another bowl. After the yeast swells, add to the flour. Add salt, then knead into an elastic dough.
  2. Place oil in a deep pot. Wet hands, take a piece of dough and shape it into a circle. Punch a hole in the centre, then drop the dough into oil. Brown it on both sides. Drain on paper towels.
  3. Serve with honey or confectioners’ sugar.

SYRIAN ZINGOLE

 2 tsp yeast
a few spoons warm water
2 cups flour
1 1/2 cups water
oil

icing:
1 cup sugar
1 cup water
1 1/2 tbsp lemon juice

  1. Place yeast in a small bowl. Add a few spoons of warm water to dissolve.
  2. Place flour in another bowl. Add yeast and then more water to make a liquidy batter.
  3. Heat oil in a deep pot. Spoon batter into pan like pancakes. Fry until brown on both sides. Drain on paper towels.
  4. Combine sugar, water and lemon juice in a saucepan. Cook until sugar dissolves.
  5. Dip each pancake in sauce, then place on a serving platter.

TALIA’S SUFGANIYOT FOR JUNIOR COOKS

3 1/2 cups flour
1 1/2 cups plain yogurt
2 eggs
2 tbsp sugar
a pinch salt
1/2 tsp vanilla
oil

  1. In a mixing bowl, supervised by an adult, combine flour, yogurt, sugar and salt. Add eggs and vanilla and blend.
  2. Heat oil in a deep pot (with an adult’s help). Drop dough by tablespoon into oil. Fry until brown on both sides. Drain on paper towels.
  3. When cool to the touch, fill, using a tube or a large syringe, with your favourite jelly. Roll in confectioners’ sugar.

Sybil Kaplan is a journalist, editor of nine kosher cookbooks (working on a 10th) and a food writer living in Jerusalem. She leads English-language Shuk Walks in Machane Yehuda.

The lights of allyship

This Chanukah, kindle the light of liberation, not just for you and your loved ones, but for all people whose freedom of expression is threatened. (photo by Robert Couse-Baker / flickr.com)

In a time of identity searching, introspection and anticipation, Chanukah can be an inviting space to reflect and refract the light before us. From the Chanukah that was to the Chanukah we arrive at, the world has shifted and we are not the same. This holiday of chocolate, oil and games of dreidel beckons us into a moment of contemplation.

Chanukah expresses a language of novelty, innovation and a miraculous expansion from what we thought was possible. The ease and accessibility, the simplicity of candles, the sense that Chanukah is predictable and performative belies the very creative, radical nature of the Festival of Lights.

The annual Chanukah experience, at its core, is an opportunity to receive new insight, empowerment and opportunity to overcome the forces that oppress, debase and deny our most essential identities. Had the few Maccabees not searched to provide that light for the many, none of us would have a miracle to celebrate today. Even though we are privileged to be able to publicly observe our traditions, Chanukah reminds us that our work is not complete until everyone can safely and freely express their identities.

Visibility and proximity

One of the unique aspects of Chanukah is that it is the only festival that occurs in two different months. It is literally positioned between Kislev and Tevet to help us be aware and adapt to changing times. In the light of the candles, it is possible to see our roles anew, clarifying our commitment to ensuring that the privilege and expression of being is available to everyone.

When the Talmud explores modalities of the mitzvah of lighting the chanukiyah, it says that each and every person should have a candle. It continues to explain that an even greater beautification of the mitzvah is when everyone is able to increase the light with each additional day. When everyone has their own chanukiyah, when everyone is able to light all the candles on each night, then everyone is bringing the fullest light possible. This is the hope: with so much light, the world is relieved of darkness.

Our rabbis teach that this attribute of adding is connected to Joseph, whose story we read on Shabbat Chanukah. Joseph’s name means to increase, and his story reveals the relationship between proximity and visibility. The Talmud, Shabbat 22a, juxtaposes the narrative of Joseph being thrown into a pit with the laws detailing the proper placement of the menorah and the limits on how far off the ground it can be.

In Genesis 37:18, Joseph’s brothers “saw [Joseph] from afar … and they conspired against him.” They throw him into a pit, which Genesis 37:24 says “was empty and didn’t have water.” But the rabbis disagree, arguing that, while “empty” implies that the pit didn’t have water in it, it was not without venomous pit-dwellers. There were snakes and scorpions that the brothers didn’t know about, because they were not close enough to the pit to see.

Moreover, the distance at which the brothers first saw Joseph approaching made it easy for them to plot against him. In not one, but two cases, the brothers’ lack of proximity leads to actions that degrade and humiliate. If only they waited to see their little brother up close before acting, they might have changed their plan. If only they approached the pit to look inside, they might have seen the snakes and scorpions. The Torah is clear: proximity and visibility lead to responsibility.

It is for that reason the Talmud instructs us that we cannot place a menorah too far off of the ground – we must be close enough to see and be affected by the candles. If the menorah can’t be seen, we miss the message of the miracle, and the opportunity to take responsibility is lost.

The Hasmoneans were descendants of Aaron, who, the Mishnah tells us, was a lover of peace, pursuer of peace and lover of peoples.

Judaism is a religion of action, and we must be practitioners of our tradition’s wisdom by taking responsibility.

Today, even with technologies that keep us connected across oceans and continents, we understand the challenge and, more so, the threat of being too distant. Jews have a response to prevent the dehumanization that often comes when we are distanced from the lived experience of others – draw in close.

A great miracle happens with allyship

The Hebrew words behind the story of Chanukah and Joseph also reaffirm the holiday’s charge to increase visibility, to be an ally. The rabbis saw our world as created through speech and language and, thus, all Hebrew letters represent hidden truths. Just like the story of Joseph in the pit, the closer you look, the more that is revealed.

The mystics teach that the Hebrew letters for Greece (Yavan is spelled yud, vav, nun) are three lines that descend as the word progresses. The great and mighty culture that claimed elite thought and refinement was in fact a culture that debased and denigrated. Greek leadership prioritized the body over the spirit; what was seen on the outside was of greater value than that which was within. Thus, it could be said that Greece, by elevating the external, actually debases it, a message hidden within the descending letters: yud, vav, nun.

The Hebrew word for Joseph, Yosef, begins with the same first two letters. But the third letter is where the comparison is stark. Instead of a nun sofit (a nun at the end of a word), which is a straight line going down, we have the round letter samech, a symbol for equality. Unlike the hierarchy of the nun, the circle of the samech allows every point on its circumference to be equidistant to the centre. Joseph chooses to chaver (friend) up and stops the descent by treating others as equals.

The nun and samech form the word miracle, nes. The first letter, nun, is the only letter in Hebrew that doesn’t appear in the alphabetical acrostic of the prayer Ashrei. Our rabbis explain that this letter stands for nefela, falling, and, therefore, is omitted. The next letter in the alphabet is the samech and it starts the Ashrei verse, “samech l’chol hanoflim,” “supporting all those who have fallen.” Jews in those days, as in ours, had a choice between the “nun” and the “samech” – to align with the oppressors and feel secure or to ally with those who needed support. In choosing the latter, a great miracle (nes) happened there.

Kindling the light

As the story and words of Chanukah convey, the Jewish response to oppression is not just to be free but to dismantle the system of oppression and provide equality for others. Today, we place a menorah in the window in order to publicize our engagement in the ancient and ongoing story of this struggle. We stand up in broken places of despair and hopelessness to rededicate ourselves and our institutions to this cause. Now, when we see an injustice, when we are proximate to the dehumanization of a child of G-d, we not only see the unholy act itself but also we recognize the imperative to respond.

This Chanukah, kindle the light of liberation, not just for you and your loved ones, but for all people whose freedom of expression is threatened. Kindle a light to banish the darkness of hatred, racism, transphobia and misogyny. Kindle a light that signals to outsiders that you are a home (or an organization) committed to rededication and the recreation of holy space, particularly in the most broken of places.

Chanukah was not immediately established as a holiday. The Talmud teaches that the rabbis waited until the following year to institute a permanent commemoration. When they realized that the miracle could be replicated – that, in every generation, Jews could learn to take the little they had and turn it into something miraculous – they created the holiday. That is the holy ask of Chanukah: to be the light that can extend and expand, to be the miracle that someone else needs.

Michael Walzer writes that “wherever we go, it is eternally Egypt,” but that there is a Promised Land, and the only way to make it across the wilderness is by “joining hands, marching together.” The story of oppression and liberation is also a story of allyship. We will not survive without hands to support and guide us, to hold and elevate us. This year, on Chanukah, be the light and bring the light out of the closet and into the world.

Rabbi Mike Moskowitz is scholar-in-residence of trans and queer Jewish studies at Congregation Beit Simchat Torah in New York and Rabbi Dara Frimmer is senior rabbi at Temple Isaiah in Los Angeles. This article was originally published in the Jewish Journal and articles by other Shalom Hartman Institute scholars can be found at shalomhartman.org.

Heroes throughout the ages

Judah Maccabee purifies the Temple, etching by Julius von Carolsfeld, 1860.

Every year, we look forward to Chanukah, even though it is not even mentioned in the Torah. Its name means “Dedication” and it starts on erev the 25th of Kislev, which, this year, falls on the night of Nov. 28.

The festival celebrates the triumph of the Maccabees, led by Mattityahu and, later, by his son Judah, over the Greek Syrians, led by Antiochus. As a result, Jewish sovereignty was reestablished in Judea for a time.

But we should not forget that this ancient conflict was also a civil war between the Jewish people themselves. The Hellenists admired Greek culture, which they began to emulate; whereas the Maccabees remained steadfast in their adherence to Judaism’s ideals and beliefs. The factions disagreed on various issues, including the rite of circumcision, a fundamental and crucial Jewish ritual that the Hellenists claimed violated the perfection of the body.

In 175 BCE, Antiochus tried to wipe out the Jewish religion entirely by substituting the Greek language, gods and customs. The final blow came when the Temple was defiled and a giant statue of the Greek god Zeus was erected there, with the Jews ordered to worship it.

Some, like Hannah and her seven sons, resisted passively, choosing death rather than idol worship. Hundreds hid in caves and some suffocated to death. But there was no active resistance until the Hasmonean family of Mattityahu and his sons at Modi’in raised a banner: “Whoever is for the Lord, follow me!”

A small army was formed, with Judah Maccabee as its leader. Antiochus sent three armies to suppress the revolt, but the Maccabees triumphed. Their first priority after victory was to purify the Temple.

As the story goes, all the cruses of oil had been defiled except one. Instead of burning for just one day, it miraculously lasted for eight days, until more holy oil could be acquired. Hence, the celebration of Chanukah for eight nights and days.

Today, Chanukah still has relevance. We remember not only the heroism of the Maccabeans, but other heroic acts. Many times in Israel we have seen the victory of a tiny nation against a larger and stronger one, the few against the many.

In 1948, the young Israel Defence Forces defeated much larger Arab armies to usher in the independent state of Israel. Earlier, in the Second World War, there was widespread Jewish resistance to Hitler’s brutal policies and Jews fought in the ghettos and joined partisan units in forests outside Polish and Russian cities conquered by the Nazis.

Israel’s operation into Entebbe to rescue hostages in Uganda is another instance of modern heroism and our history abounds with examples. The revolt of the Hasmoneans is the symbol of the spirit of Zionism. Today, in Western society, no tyrant is forcing us to abandon our faith, but many Jews are in great danger of losing their Jewish identity nonetheless. Hellenism, in a different form, is alive and well.

Chanukah has broad human significance as a festival of liberty and religious freedom, not just for us, but for all people. It is a humanistic festival. The symbol of Chanukah is light and the real miracle is that, despite millennia of persecution and dispersion, the light of our people has never been extinguished.

Dvora Waysman has written 14 books, and the film The Golden Pomegranate was based on her book The Pomegranate Pendant. Her latest novel is Searching for Sarah. She can be contacted at [email protected].

Dream warms frozen flames

It was just before sunset on the last night of Chanukah, the coldest it had ever been in Chelm. (photo from pxhere.com)

It was a cold day in the village. It was so cold that when Reb Cantor, the merchant, sneezed without covering his mouth, his mucus solidified and blew a hole through the window of his shop, which his wife fixed by throwing a cup of tea at his head. He ducked, and the tea hit the windowpane and froze into place. It was that cold.

It was so cold that the flame of the eternal light in the synagogue froze solid. Instead of flickering brightly, it stood still, like red and yellow glass.

The villagers were frightened. It was just before sunset on the last night of Chanukah. Soup froze on its way from the pot to the table. Vodka oozed as it was poured into a glass. Chanukah candles snapped at the slightest touch. Reb Cantor’s matches broke into splinters. Stoves were almost useless. Warm challahs froze into rocks in seconds. Axes had to be warmed or else, when they struck the firewood, the blades shattered as if they were made of crystal. The Uherka River had frozen solid, trapping in its icy clutches a flock of geese late to leave the area.

It seemed as if the end was near. Everyone was hungry. They were afraid to go outside because the wind sucked the heat from their skin. The air itself left their lips numb. Kissing could be dangerous.

The day had been dark and cold, and the night would be darker and colder. Meals were uncooked and uneaten. Chanukah candles, set in their menorahs, were unblessed and unlit. Families stayed in their homes, huddled together in bed.

Even in the house of the wisest man in the village of fools, the menorah was dark.

Rabbi Kibbitz shivered in his bed with his wife, Channah Chaipul (she kept her maiden name, which, as you know, is another story). The two of them lay fully dressed beneath four sheets, three blankets, two quilts and seven coats – everything warm that they owned. Still, his teeth were chattering. For the first time in his life, he regretted not owning a dog or a cat.

“Channah,” the rabbi said. “We have to light the candles.”

“You do it,” she said. “I’ll watch from here.”

“My hand is too unsteady. The shammos will blow out. You are better at that sort of thing.”

“I’m almost warm,” she said. “You do it.”

“I’m nearly frozen,” he answered.

“So? You want me to get out of bed, light the candles, and come back in with icy cold feet?”

He shuddered. The last time she had put a cold foot on his ankle, his heart nearly stopped.

He sighed and closed his eyes. Maybe in a few minutes he would….

“Are you awake?” she said, elbowing him in the ribs.

“Channah!” he said, suddenly sitting up. “I had a dream!”

“Are you crazy? Lie down, you’re letting in a draft.”

“No, Channah, I’ve had a dream. Quickly! Get up! We need to gather everyone together in the synagogue.”

Mrs. Chaipul squinted at her husband. She hadn’t seen him this excited since he’d beaten Rabbi Abrahms, the schoolteacher, at canasta. “What did you dream?”

“I can’t tell you,” he answered. He slid out of bed and gasped as the frigid air slapped his neck like an icy wet towel. “Tell everyone to bring their menorahs and come to the synagogue. Quickly!”

Grumbling and shivering, Mrs. Chaipul stood, and nearly stopped right there. She wondered if it was possible for blood to freeze. Then, the rabbi went one way and his wife went the other, banging on doors and windows. They ran as fast as they could (which was remarkably briskly, considering their ages), waking villagers and telling them to gather in the synagogue.

“What? Why? Are you crazy?”

“Yes, I am,” said Mrs. Chaipul. “But the rabbi has had a dream. So you can freeze in your house or freeze in the shul. It’s up to you.”

Parents groaned. Children were wrapped in blankets. Doors were pried open. Menorahs were carried carefully, lest they crack into pieces on the short trip to the synagogue.

The small shul filled quickly.

Rabbi Kibbitz stood at the front, on the bimah, with five tallisim wrapped around his shivering old shoulders. He stood beneath the eternal light, staring at the still-frozen flame.

“Is everyone here?” he asked. Everyone looked around and nodded. No one was missing. “Then, please, somebody shut the door!”

“It’s shut,” came a shout from the back.

“Oy,” muttered the chilled rabbi.

“So, Rabbi, what is it?” said Reb Cantor. “What is so important that you asked us to risk life and limb to come to the synagogue on a night so cold my eyeballs almost froze?”

“I had a dream,” the rabbi said.

“So, I heard,” answered Reb Cantor. “You maybe want to tell us what the dream was?”

“I dreamed,” Rabbi Kibbitz sighed, “that all the villagers of Chelm gathered together in the synagogue.”

“Yes? Yes?”

“Well, in my dream, it was a cold, cold night, and the Chanukah candles weren’t yet lit.”

“Yes? Yes?” the villagers repeated.

“And everyone, all of you, came here to the synagogue.”

“Yes? Yes?”

“That’s it.” The wise rabbi shrugged. “We were all here. Then Channah nudged me, and I woke up.”

“That’s not much of a dream,” muttered Mrs. Chaipul.

The citizens of Chelm stared in disbelief at their beloved rabbi.

“You’re crazy!” shouted Reb Cantor. “You yanked us out of our moderately warm beds and dragged us here to tell us that you had a dream that we were all here? That’s it? Rabbi Kibbitz has finally lost his mind! Rabbi Abrahms, it is time for you to become the chief rabbi of Chelm.”

The villagers began to grumble and argue and stamp their feet. A wave of exasperated hot air lifted to the ceiling as their voices rose into shouts.

“Wait, wait!” Rabbi Kibbitz said. “Please, listen.”

Just then a child’s voice shouted, “Look! Look!”

It was young Doodle, the orphan, and one of the most foolish boys in the village of Chelm.

Doodle was pointing up at the eternal lamp. The pale light was thawing – flickering faintly, but growing brighter as it filled the synagogue with its glow of red, orange, yellow and gold.

Reb Cantor himself lifted Doodle up. “Careful, careful now,” he whispered, as the young boy touched his shammos to the light of the eternal flame.

That candle was passed back and forth throughout the shul, as every family lit their own shammos. Everyone held their breath, wondering whether the wind and the cold would extinguish the thin flames.

Then, at long last, the villagers of Chelm said the blessings all together. The shammosim touched the other candlewicks. Soon, for each family, one flame became eight (plus the shammosim).

Now the synagogue was full of light, and the villagers began to sing.

Reb Cantor swept the old rabbi up in a bear hug. “That was some dream!”

Everyone laughed and danced.

They stayed there all night, and the candles burned so slowly that it was well past dawn before the last one burned out.

That morning, when the doors to the synagogue were opened at last, a warm breeze left the shul and spread out over the village.

The ice on the Uherka River cracked, and the flock of trapped geese took flight. All the villagers watched and cheered as the birds sped south.

And, from the east, the sun rose higher, and its rays felt warm with promise.

Izzy Abrahmson is a pen name for author and storyteller Mark Binder, who  lives in Providence, R.I., and tours the world – virtually and in-person. Abrahmson’s Winter Blessings: Warm Stories from the Village was a National Jewish Book Awards finalist.

משמיצים את ונקובר כדי לקדם הוצאת ספר – חלק ב

עדי ברוקס שגרה בוונקובר במשך שמונה שנים הוציאה ספר קומיקס המתאר את מעלותיה הקשים בוונקובר. היא בחרה דרך מקורית לקדם את הספר: פרסום ריאיון בעיתון “לאישה”  על ונקובר, ללא תגובה של אף אחד מאלה שגרים כאן. הריאיון מלא מידע לא נכון וברוקס משליכה את בעיותיה האישיות והמקצועיות שלה ושל בעלה על ונקובר, ומאשימה בעצם את העיר במה שקרה לה.

ברוקס ממשיכה להשמיץ את קנדה והיא טוענת שאין כאן תרבות. אם היא צודקת מדוע עברה לכאן? היא יכלה לעבור למדינות “תרבויות” יותר.

היא ממשיכה בהאשמות והפעם על התייחסות קנדה לילידים ובעצם המדינה לדעתה מתעלמת לחלוטין מהנושא. בורקס צודקת שיחסה של קנדה לילידים בעבר היה מחפיר, אך אי אפשר לטעון שכיום קנדה מתעלמת מהנושא. ההיפך הוא הנכון: קנדה מנסה לשפר את רמת החיים של הילידים, לקדם פרויקטים שונים לטובתם ולא פחות חשוב להודות בדברים חמורים ביותר שנעשו להם בעבר. מי שטוען שזו התעלמות לא יודע מה הוא אומר. ועוד לטעון שהקנדים לא מדברים על כך? שקר מוחלט. ממומלץ אגב לישראלים שלא לבקר את קנדה בנושא הילידים, כי יכולים לא מעט לבקר את ישראל בנושא הפלסטינים.

ברוקס צודקת שבוונקובר אין את רמת השמש לה רגילים הישראלים בישראל. אך אין חדשimage - Adi Brooks comics cover תחת השמש וזו בעיה פרטית שלה. כלום לא ידעה ברוקס שיש כאן הרבה פחות ימי שמש מאשר בישראל? האם צריך להתאמץ כדי למצוא מידע בנושא זה? האם זה סוד שמגלים אותו רק כאשר עוברים לכאן?

ברוקס ממשיכה במסע הלכלוכים האינסופיים שלה על ונקובר או בעצם על קנדה בכלל, תוך שהיא טוענת שאין כאן חוש הומור, או סרקזם. “שום בדיחה לא עובדת כי אנשים מבינים כל דבר כמו שהוא”. היא מוסיפה כי “כולם שם (כאן) בקטע של טיולים וספורט… אבל אם לוקחים מהמקום את הטבע, לא נשאר בו כלום”. לברוקס היו כנראה מספר בעיות נפשיות קשות והיא השליכה אותם על קנדה וונקובר בפרט. מדוע היא באה לכאן בכלל? עדיף היה שלא הייתה עוזבת את ישראל. היא עשתה מעשה שלא יעשה והכל לקדם את ספר האיורים שלה.

ברוקס מודה קצת שבגלל בעיות אישיות שלה ושל בעלה היא מצאה את ונקובר כקורבן לכך: “ברור שהתפיסה שלנו את ונקובר נצבעה במאבק האישי שלנו, וברור שבתנאים היה יכול להיות לנו אחרת… אנחנו הגענו לשם (לכאן) לשם מטרה מסוימת: כדי שברק (בעלה) יפרסם מאמר מבוסס מחקר ויקבל משרה בארץ. מה שקרה לברק זה שהוא עבד על מחקר שמראש לא היה לו סיכוי להצליח”. אז מה רוצה היא מוונקובר?

ברוקס ממשיכה להמציא דברים וטוענת שבוונקובר קיימת התפיסה ששליליות ודיכאון מידבקים. אני גר כאן כשבעה עשרה שנים ומעולם לא שמעתי על דברי שטות שכאלה. בכל מקום במערב כולל ישראל מנסים למשוך אותנו לכיוון החיוביות והאופטימיות וזה טבעי לכולם, חוץ כנראה מלברוקס.

היא ממשיכה לתאר עד כמה ונקובר רעה בעברית עילגת טוענת כי “בוונקובר יש אלפי הומלסים שמגיעים מכל קנדה כי עאלק חם שם (כאן). גם שם (כאן) הם מתים בקור, ראינו במו עינינו גופות ברחוב”. האמת מרה: בוונקובר יש הרבה הומלסים שהגיעו מרחבי קנדה, כי אכן זהו המקום החם בקנדה, ואין על כך עוררים. יש לפעמים מתים ברחובות אך הסיבה לכך היא שימוש יתר בסמים ולא בגלל הקור.

A child survivor reflects

At 80, Dr. Robert Krell opens up in his new book.

Dr. Robert Krell, child survivor, psychiatrist, community leader and founding president of the Vancouver Holocaust Education Centre, is probably known to most readers. But few people, perhaps even those closest to him, know him as well as they will after reading his extraordinarily vulnerable new memoir.

Krell acknowledges that he has held much back from the public and his closest family and friends. But, at 80, he has decided to open up in a book called Sounds from Silence: Reflections of a Child Holocaust Survivor, Psychiatrist and Teacher (Amsterdam Publishers).

Krell begins by talking about the duality of his life – the hidden child who, as an adult, tried to remain hidden versus the public figure whose career and community activities have placed him at the fore of various fields; the sadness at his core versus the upbeat visage he presents to the world.

“I have allowed family members and friends to see my inherent optimism and love of life. I live with few regrets,” he writes. “Blessed with a fascinating career, lasting friendships and an incredible family, I have kept at a distance my profound sadness, chronic fears, devastating shame, incapacitating shyness, and nightmares and preoccupations shaped by my earliest experiences and forged in an atmosphere of potential annihilation.”

Krell was 2 years old when his Dutch Jewish parents placed him in hiding with the Munnik family, who he would come to view as his actual parents. He was reunited at age 5 with his birth parents, Emmy and Leo Krell – a miracle on many fronts given the small proportion of Dutch Jews to survive to 1945.

image - Sounds from Silence book cover“After liberation, life became very complicated,” he writes. He had been treated well by his rescuing family, unlike some Jewish children, “but strangely, even those ‘good’ circumstances exacted a psychological toll that never quite healed. After all, my relatively ‘benign’ circumstances were still completely off the scales of what is normal, including separation from my parents, shattering of security, and vague awareness of persecution that contributes to the feeling of shame experienced by a child as having done something wrong to cause the situation. Years later, as a child psychiatrist, I would see this phenomenon in children who, faced with parental separation, assumed responsibility.”

His parents also survived in hiding and his mother in particular never stopped mourning the complete loss of both sides of their extended families.

“I was raised by psychologically wounded parents, no less so than if they had been in the camps,” says Krell. “For three years, they lived in fear of being caught, and that fear exacted a psychological toll that one cannot underestimate.”

Trying to recreate a life, they considered making aliyah to the new state of Israel, but their business before the war had been furs and the climate in Canada was more conducive to that specialty. They came to Vancouver in 1951.

Like many survivors, the Krells found new “family” at Schara Tzedeck Synagogue. Despite many survivors bearing a “burning rage against G-d,” the shul was a second home. His father refused to open a prayer book. And yet, years later, when he was in a position to be philanthropic, he spoke with Rabbi Mordechai Feuerstein and donated $30,000 to buy prayer books for the High Holy Days so that congregants wouldn’t have to carry them to and from synagogue on those days.

“Why would a man who no longer prayed purchase prayer books?” asks Krell. “The rabbi characterized Dad as ‘a man of faithful disbelief.’”

Habonim, the labour Zionist youth movement, was a major stabilizing force for young Robbie. He would attend weekend events, summer at Camp Miriam and do normal Canadian teenage things like matinees at the Stanley Theatre on Granville.

A late-in-life baby, his brother Ronnie, was born in 1956, and his mother’s disordered parenting shifted from the first born to the younger.

“Her subsequent attention to Ronnie grew so intense that even my 16-year-old self realized that he fulfilled her need to replay the years in which I had been lost to her. That need virtually enslaved my younger brother and freed me.”

While building a career as a clinical psychiatrist, professor and academic administrator, Krell and wife Marilyn were raising three daughters.

“I can barely believe that my survival as a young boy has led to the rebirth of an entire Jewish family that now includes nine gorgeous grandchildren,” he writes. “My good fortune scares me. Our world looks so dangerous, and the future of life – Jewish life – remains so precarious. But day-to-day, we are a close family, and every day brings much joy – so far.”

Krell was a leader in Canadian Jewish Congress regionally and nationally. In Vancouver, he became immersed in Holocaust remembrance and education. Kristallnacht commemorative lectures and other Holocaust remembrance events were often begun under the auspices of CJC.

With theologian William Nicholls and English literature teacher Graham Forst, Krell launched what has become a decades-long annual symposium for high school students on the Holocaust.

He was also among the first people anywhere to begin video recording the testimonies of Holocaust survivors.

Krell was also pivotal in the organizing of a succession of world conventions: first, for Holocaust survivors and, later, for “child survivors,” a term he acknowledges was not in use until the 1980s. Hidden children were not viewed as Holocaust victims in the way that survivors of the camps or partisan fighters were. Krell is among a small number of people who helped usher in a reconsideration of the wartime experiences of these children.

In 1984, he gathered 18 survivors and children of survivors in his living room and committed to creating a Holocaust education centre in Vancouver. But some of the older attendees remembered an as-yet unfulfilled promise to create a permanent local memorial to the Shoah, so the group decided to keep that commitment first.

“The memorial was unveiled on Yom Hashoah, April 26, 1987, in the presence of 1,300 members of the community,” notes Krell. “The survivors now had a metzeivah, a ‘burial site,’ albeit symbolic, to visit and to grieve.”

In 1994, the Vancouver Holocaust Education Centre opened, with Krell as founding president.

One time, when he was on the national board of CJC, the organization considered ending their efforts to bring (by then aging) war criminals to justice.

“I argued for continuing the effort,” says Krell. “My measure of success was different. I told my colleagues that it was not only about successful prosecution but also their knowing that, one day, they might hear a knock on the door. The sleep of Nazis should be no less disturbed than that of Holocaust survivors.”

Throughout the book, Krell recalls brushes with history and the figures who make it.

On a trip to Israel as a young adult, he was able to get a seat at the Eichmann trial, thanks to an aunt who had married into the family of Gideon Hausner, the prosecutor of the case. On the same trip, Krell went to Sde Boker and ran into David Ben-Gurion.

A few years later, Krell volunteered to serve in the 1967 war as a doctor fresh out of his internship but, given the chronology of the Six Day War, by the time he got to Europe, the conflict was over.

Two years after that, on another trip to Israel, his plane was hijacked by the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine.

Krell was able to attend the ceremony when his family-in-hiding – Albert and Violette Munnik and their daughter Nora – were inducted by Yad Vashem as Righteous Among the Nations (posthumously for Albert).

Krell’s book evokes an array of emotions. The psychiatrist’s self-assessment provides a sometimes startling look inside.

“I kept my rage suppressed, not repressed,” he writes. “It was not unconscious. I knew that it was there. I felt in danger from it and feared losing control. I played, studied and worked hard, surrounded by good friends.”

Unflaggingly supportive

Lana Marks Pulver, Jewish Federation of Greater Vancouver annual campaign chair. (photo from JFGV)

The Jewish Federation of Greater Vancouver’s annual campaign is entering the homestretch with an ambitious set of goals. This year, the theme is “strengthened by where we have been, inspired by where we can go.”

“The goal for this year’s campaign is both quantitative and qualitative,” campaign chair Lana Marks Pulver told the Independent. “We aim to raise a minimum of $9.5 million, and we want to strengthen the culture of gratitude within the Federation organization, that affects all constituents, including donors, volunteers and staff.”

As has often been said in the past 21 months, these are times like no other in recent memory. The pandemic has touched us all, yet, for some, the campaign points out, it has “caused a cascading effect of challenges.”

“The goals haven’t shifted due to the pandemic, but the needs have certainly increased because of it. Therefore, we hope to raise more than our financial target to ensure all our partner agencies survive the current uncertainty in which everyone is operating and all community needs are being met,” Marks Pulver said.

“The past year-and-a-half was extremely tough on our community and our partner agencies. However, with the incredible show of support from donors and volunteers, our community proved to be resilient. Our partner agencies were able to survive the uncertainty and continue to provide their much-needed services because of the support from Jewish Federation and our donors.”

Groups within the community that were already vulnerable have faced more challenges. Among the groups Federation is helping are low-income individuals, the elderly and youth struggling with mental health concerns.

Well before COVID-19 hit, the region was one of the most expensive places in the world in which to live and it has become increasingly unaffordable; many, as a result, are left with hard choices regarding paying for rent, bills and food. Meanwhile, most seniors in the community are eager to reconnect socially and spiritually after extended separations from their families and communities.

Increasing numbers of youth, too, are contending with anxiety and depression as they encounter isolation from their peers and continued disruptions to their routines. At one local Jewish school this past year, the demand for counseling services doubled. In light of such statistics, Federation has formed a committee of local professionals and volunteers to develop a comprehensive approach to assist both youth and their families.

The basic plan involves employing a community mental health professional to offer counseling at community locations; collaborating with other mental health organizations in supplying professional development to those working directly with children and youth; and encouraging youth to take leadership roles in raising awareness among their peers about the importance of accessing appropriate support.

The pandemic has had a negative impact on youth mental health globally, including in Federation’s partnership region in Israel. The Mervo’ot HaHermon Regional Council has witnessed a rise in troubling behaviour among youth, especially those whose routines and social opportunities have been disrupted and who may not have supportive adults in their lives. Demand for services in the Israeli municipality has grown by 35%, according to Federation. Because of the need, and based on a successful pilot program in the spring of 2021, Federation is helping efforts to enhance counseling services and create new educational and social programming, in the hope that early intervention will lead the youth in this region along a healthier path.

Marks Pulver concedes that, while there are hurdles to overcome in organizing a campaign in the midst of a pandemic, the community response has been unflaggingly supportive.

“Typically, the campaign goes hand-in-hand with community gatherings,” she said. “A big part of campaign is the opportunity to connect with other community members at events. The pandemic has prevented us from having these gatherings in person and, instead, we have resorted to virtual ones. However, people are ‘Zoomed out’ and tired of the online events; therefore, making it more challenging to get people together.

“Recent experiences, however, have demonstrated the strength of our community and how we come together to help others in a time of need,” she stressed. “This show of support, both financially and with volunteerism, is beyond inspiring and I, personally, am incredibly grateful to be part of this community, that steps up and makes a difference.”

Marks Pulver, who has served as women’s philanthropy chair at Federation and was major donors chair for the past few years, sees her role as campaign chair as a natural progression and feels honoured to lead this year’s effort.

“I am proud to be serving alongside women chairs of both Federation and the Jewish Community Foundation. I believe you get out of life what you put in, and it is this belief that inspires me to volunteer. I also thoroughly enjoy working with others in the pursuit of helping others, and feel grateful for the opportunity to be able to make a difference.”

To donate to the campaign, go to jewishvancouver.com.

Sam Margolis has written for the Globe and Mail, the National Post, UPI and MSNBC.