diversity – Page 2

Artwork of belonging

Mike Levin’s “Waiting for the Train.”

Community Longing and Belonging is a community art show in celebration of Jewish Disability Awareness and Inclusion Month. It opened at the Zack Gallery on Feb. 14.

Curated by Leamore Cohen, inclusion services coordinator at the Jewish Community Centre of Greater Vancouver, the fourth annual exhibit once again considers the questions, How do we make meaning of the concept of community, the real and the imagined spaces we inhabit? What does community longing look like and what are the possibilities for belonging in an ever-changing world?

Many of the pieces on display were made by artists from JCC Art Hive, a free and low-barrier program for artists with diverse needs. The collection comprises the work of diverse artists, with different levels of experience, perspective, faith and social location.

One of those featured is award-winning artist and writer Sandra Yuen, who is a member of Kickstart Disability Arts and Culture. Her piece, “Exploded,” is based on the prose of Derrick Bauman, an artist and writer, and influenced by pop art, Roy Lichtenstein, and graphic design. In her artist’s statement, Yuen writes, “As a person with schizophrenia, I wanted to express the fractured mind, the cut edges, the shattering of my life experience because of mental illness. However, this rendition is more a poetic image versus the cruel reality of living in madness, paranoia, hysteria and anger. The colours are sweet, the black lines clean and sharp, creating a mythological or romanticized view of insanity. I try to whitewash my life, sanitize the pain out of it, deny the diagnosis, but the illness remains, the weakness, the flaws, the humanity.”

photo - “Exploded” by Sandra Yuen — “Exploded” by Sandra Yuen

Mike Levin’s “Waiting for the Train” is about being shrouded in darkness, yet feeling the abundance of sunshine not far away. It is a metaphor for the continued longing for COVID to end so that we can get back to normal living.

Levin’s paintings are often abstractions of nature or city life that conform to structure of composition. They are amalgamations conjured from his imagination, photos he has taken and memories of his experience of exploring.

Growing up in Calgary, Levin has practised art from a young age, and also plays clarinet and saxophone. He attended the University of Calgary’s fine arts and urban studies programs and, after moving to Vancouver, completed his bachelor’s degree in fine arts at Emily Carr University of Art + Design in 2020.

For the past 20 years, Levin has lived with schizo-affective disorder, which he controls through medication and being active in the arts and mental health communities. He has taught drawing and painting at Vancouver General Hospital, the Art Studios, Gallery Gachet and privately within the community; he also works part-time in carpentry. His art has been sold in Canada and the United States to more than 70 private collectors.

Mark Li is a Vancouver-based visual artist whose narrative-focused work creates a whimsical world filled with colour and imagination, as his untitled work in this exhibit shows. Every painting is a tale of friendship and acts of kindness: a bear might be best friends with a cat; a T-Rex smiles with shy humour and sweetness at the viewer; a lady bug and a cat might go dancing in the sunlight; a simple walk in the park with a friend and his dog is a delightful adventure – anything could happen and they could meet anyone.

photo - “Untitled” by Mark Li — “Untitled” by Mark Li

Rickie Sugars’ “Like Minded” is an example of his unique style of painting in abstract cubism expressionism, using bold colours and black outlines.

A seasoned professional artist, Sugars had his first gallery showing, and sold his first painting, at the age of 17. Since then, he has displayed and sold his art in several galleries and art shows throughout British Columbia.

Sugars is a classical animation graduate from Vancouver Film School. He started creating animated characters well before graduation, resulting in a partnership in an animation company that went on for many years. Continuing his artistic path, he began tattooing in 2004 and has his own tattoo shop. He also designs sculptures created from broken toys.

A few years ago, during an attempt to assist a woman who was being attacked, Sugars received a traumatic brain injury. He had to re-learn everything, including how to talk – however, it did not stop his artistic endeavours. Today, you will find Sugars painting on canvass (or any surface, really), crafting stickers, postcards, wall murals, sand and wood sculptures, and interior/exterior commissioned graffiti.

“My artwork is influenced by media, fads, plus social, political and cultural issues,” he writes in his artist statement. He wants viewers “to look past the obvious, to treasure and celebrate the unique, the unconventional, the familiar: and to be nonjudgmental. Respect others and support them for who they are. Find the beauty in broken toys, an old door, a broken guitar – take time to look more carefully at things around you and you’ll discover beauty in unusual places.”

Another of the artists contributing to the Community Longing and Belonging exhibit is Adrianne Fitch.

Born in Kew Gardens, Queens, N.Y., Fitch studied English and writing at Pennsylvania State University and has traveled all over the world, including living and studying in Israel. She has lived in Vancouver since 2008 and pursues a number of other art forms. She is also a writer and desktop publisher.

“Having lived with a hearing disability and also struggled with depression all my life,” she writes, “I definitely know what it means to feel isolated. As hearing loss is invisible, people frequently make assumptions about me (e.g. they think I’m stupid, stoned or purposely ignoring them). As I did not begin learning ASL until adulthood, I occupy that grey area between the hearing and deaf worlds. I miss a great deal of communication, both spoken and signed, and have often felt as though I don’t belong anywhere.

“That’s why this art show’s theme, Community Longing and Belonging, is so significant and meaningful to me. Indeed, I have always longed for community and belonging. The Jewish community, with its wonderful heritage and incredible diversity, is very precious to me. In creating these three ceramic menorahs, I have tried to express this diversity, as well as my love for the Jewish people.”

Community Longing and Belonging is at the Zack Gallery until March 17. There is a virtual meet-and-greet with the artists on March 2. Visit jccgv.com/art-and-culture/gallery or email Cohen, [email protected], for more information.

– Courtesy Jewish Community Centre of Greater Vancouver

Debbie Tabenkin set to retire

Debbie Setton Tabenkin sees travel, genealogy and fun with grandkids in her future. (photo by Jocelyne Hallé)

Debbie Setton Tabenkin, one of the most familiar faces to anyone who has frequented the Jewish Community Centre of Greater Vancouver in the past three decades, is retiring at the end of January.

Tabenkin began teaching English as a second language at the JCC in 1995. In conjunction with that role, she was instrumental in creating the drop-in child-minding program for kids of parents using the centre’s facilities or attending programs. In the succeeding quarter-century, she has served in a variety of roles and retires as director of programming and strategic initiatives, where she oversees about 10 program areas and 12 budgets.

Tabenkin’s interesting family history plays a role in her approach to her work. Her parents’ lineage is from the Syrian and Turkish Jewish communities and, in the early part of the 20th century, parts of her family migrated to Jamaica and Panama. Because there was a polio pandemic in Jamaica when her mother was pregnant, they traveled to Panama, where Tabenkin (née Setton) was born, returning to Jamaica as a babe in arms.

“I was used to what the community centre meant in Latin America,” she said of her philosophy around the work she does. “It was a social place where you came and you met people.” The “living room” of the community, she calls it. That is what she believes she has helped foster in Vancouver.

But there was a winding road before she ended up here.

The Setton home in Jamaica was the holiday destination for any Jews who happened to be on the island, whether American Peace Corps volunteers or Israelis helping the nation with agricultural infrastructure.

When she was 16, the family left Jamaica, where violence was becoming frequent, and moved back to Panama.

Her grandfather owned the kosher supermarket in Panama City, where family members – she has about 100 first cousins – still operate it. The store moved into new digs that include a kosher sushi restaurant just two weeks ago.

She was the black sheep of the family, she cheerfully admits.

“I came from a very traditional family where the girls got married,” she said. “One [sister] got married at 19 and one got married at 17 – and I knew I wanted a different lifestyle.”

She did a two-year associate’s degree at the American college in the Canal Zone and then taught Grade 2. She wanted to further her education and her parents said she could either go to New York City, where a sister had moved, or to Vancouver, where her brother, Victor Setton, had settled in 1975.

She completed her bachelor of education at the University of British Columbia, but the federal government at the time did not have a program that allowed her brother to sponsor her to remain in the country. So, she returned to Panama and taught English at the Jewish day school, Instituto Alberto Einstein.

She decided to pursue a master’s degree and, in 1980, was accepted at both Columbia and New York University. She got her MA at Columbia in the then-new field of educational technology and media.

“I lived in New York for five years and, you know, everything is for a reason,” said Tabenkin. “I’m so happy the Canadian government didn’t take me because that gave me five years in New York and those five years made me the person I am.”

She drank in the cultural offerings of the city and became very involved with the Sephardi association there.

“I became very proud of being Sephardic,” she said. “I really learned the history of the rich culture that Sephardic Jews have. I took multiple classes. I accessed everything and that’s when I learned Hebrew.”

She returned again to Panama but, then aged 30, set her sights on a new conquest.

“I really wanted to have a child and I really wanted to get married,” she said. “I decided, OK, I’m going to go to Israel. My mother was delighted when I left to Israel.”

She had taken up scuba diving in Panama and poked her head into a scuba store in Tel Aviv looking for information about opportunities to pursue the sport. She chatted with a young man named Yair Tabenkin.

A few days later, a friend invited Debbie to tag along to a Purim party and a scuba expedition in Eilat being organized by a young man. When the friend described the pal who was planning the trip, Debbie replied, “I think I met him.”

When the mutual friend told Yair who she was bringing along, he said, “Oh, is that the girl with the beautiful blue eyes?”

“He remembered my eyes – and that was it,” she said. “The rest is history. We met that Purim and we got married in August.

“On the year anniversary that I had moved to Israel, I was married and pregnant,” she said. “Let’s put it this way: I accomplished my goal.”

Before that happened, there had been some snooping. Yair Tabenkin had some family in Panama and queried about the Setton family. A similar investigation was happening in reverse.

“My mother went to the rabbi and said, look, my daughter is dating this guy named Yair Tabenkin,” she said. “And the rabbi said ‘Tabenkin? It’s like marrying a Kennedy.’”

Yair’s grandfather, Yitzhak Tabenkin, was a founder of the kibbutz movement and a leading figure in the creation of Mapai, the precursor to the modern Labour Party, along with David Ben-Gurion and Berl Katznelson, and was a member of the first Knesset.

After Debbie and Yair married, they were speaking with Debbie’s brother in Vancouver, who said he had an opportunity for the new husband. The couple moved here in 1990.

Her responsibilities at the JCC expanded quickly from that first ESL gig. She began organizing events – something she had been doing since her teenage years, when she created a Purim party in Panama.

On New Year’s Eve 2003, Tabenkin organized a multi-generational event at the JCC, where kids were entertained by camp counselors in the gym and pool while parents dined and discoed before everyone came together at midnight.

In 2004, she began Festival Ha’Rikud, a celebration of Israeli culture through music, dance, food, art, workshops, literature, family activities and marketplace. This year saw the festival’s 18th iteration.

In 2008, she spearheaded the Israel at 60 festival in Stanley Park, one of the largest and most visible public celebrations in Jewish community memory.

As director of programming and strategic initiatives, she has a finger in pretty much every pie at the centre, but a particular point of pride is the inclusion department.

“Debbie’s had a very distinct impact on many people’s lives in the community,” said JCC executive director Eldad Goldfarb. “She’s a very caring person, both to her staff and team and to the members of the community, always trying to find what she likes to call the ‘magic moment,’ basically trying to find something good out of the bad and trying to solve problems and make people happy.”

Tabenkin holds a great deal of institutional memory not only of the JCC but of the entire community, Goldfarb added.

“She’s definitely someone whose big shoes are going to be difficult to fill,” he said. “She’s someone who’s got not just the history, but the personal connection to a lot of people in the community.”

In retirement, Tabenkin may do some consulting, spend more time with her three adult children and two grandchildren and she hopes to get back to some exotic adventures. Just before COVID, she returned from Ethiopia. Before that, she visited Uzbekistan. She wants to delve deeper into genealogy and would love to spend a month in Turkey investigating that branch of her family.

She looks back with more than fondness.

“I truly love this place,” she said. “My whole family has benefited so much. I always say a membership to the JCC buys you 15 extra years of your life. You’re keeping healthy, you’re working out, you’re with people, you’re not isolated. It’s truly a place where everyone can be together, it doesn’t matter what your socioeconomic background is, it doesn’t matter your religion. It’s a place where we all get to be together. It’s our living room.”

Bringing community together

Carmel Tanaka has many diverse community projects on the go. (photo by Heather McCain)

Community engagement professional Carmel Tanaka gave a talk entitled A Day in the Life of a Queer, Neurodivergent, Jewpanese Millennial to a Zoom audience on Dec. 5. The lecture was part of Kolot Mayim Reform Temple’s 2021-22 speaker series Building Bridges: Celebrating Diversity in Jewish Life.

Tanaka, who founded and helms Vancouver’s JQT (pronounced J-Cutie), a nonprofit that advocates for the Jewish queer and trans community through dialogue and education, began her presentation by discussing her Jewish and Japanese heritage and the generational impact of both the Holocaust and the Japanese internment camps in Canada.

She introduced her family through numerous photographs going back two generations; her mother is a first-generation Ashkenazi Jewish Israeli from Haifa and her father is a third-generation Japanese Canadian.

Though she had an opportunity to meet three of her grandparents, they all passed away when she was relatively young. “I was definitely at an age when I was not nearly old enough to ask them the questions that I would desperately want to ask them now, particularly what they went through in the Holocaust, and Japanese Canadian internment,” Tanaka said. “The traumas of those two periods have greatly affected my family and informed the social justice work that I do.”

Fast-forwarding to December 2020, the screen shifted to the scene around the table during her father’s 75th birthday party. On what she described as a “completely normal to me” dining room table were doriyaki (Japanese steamed, sweet-filled pancakes), Jewish coffee cake, Japanese tea and Chanukah candles.

“Perhaps many of the tables in the local community have a similar melding of traditions as well,” she mused.

The offspring of two gifted cooks, Tanaka became a foodie in her own right. Many of her recipes – these include miso maple steelhead trout for Rosh Hashanah and matcha cheesecake for Shavuot – can be found on the internet, on such sites as My Jewish Learning.

With her recipes available online, many people of mixed Jewish and Japanese descent from around the world have reached out to Tanaka, making her realize that the global Jewpanese community is larger than she first thought it was.

Tanaka segued to the importance of names, and how her name differs depending on which group she may be addressing. For example, she uses Carmel in Jewish settings and Aya in Japanese setting because the name Carmel can be difficult to pronounce for Japanese speakers.

She then discussed JQT, which dedicates itself to creating connections and seeking space to celebrate the intersectional identities of Jews of all ages, diverse sexual orientations, as well as gender and sex identities, by “queering” Jewish space and “Jewifying” queer space.

One of the ways she queers Jewish space is through food. A pre-pandemic photo featured her selling community-donated rainbow challot glazed with apricot jam and rainbow sprinkled hamantashen at the Jewish Community Centre of Greater Vancouver.

JQT is also a partner organization of a project called Prism, a North American initiative that brings together Jewish artists of colour and is a place where, Tanaka said, she can celebrate all of her identities.

Another JQT venture is the B.C. Jewish Queer and Trans Oral Project, a collection of oral histories conducted in partnership with the Jewish Museum and Archives of British Columbia, and the first project of its kind in the province. Its objective is to make the archives more complete by providing the stories of older queer and trans members of the community. The first phase of the project was to conduct the interviews from May 2020 to July 2021. The second phase, now underway, is to use the material for a public online exhibit to give a voice to “a marginalized community within a marginalized community.”

Lastly, and fitting for the time of year, Tanaka spoke about JQT’s Hanukkah Hotties initiative, a daily set of Facebook livestreams throughout the holiday, in which a different guest lights their chanukiyah or shares another tradition. Guests chat about their life, art, activism and intersecting Jewish, queer, trans identities for the duration of the candles’ burning. This year’s lineup included, among others, Karen Newmoon, an Indigenous Jew-ish farmer; the Klezbians, “a band of unruly, chutzpah-licious musicians from the Isle of Klezbos”; and the Empress Mizrahi, a nonbinary/queer Persian Jewish Instagram content creator and activist in Los Angeles.

The pandemic has clearly not slowed Tanaka down by any means. She continues to be involved in another group she founded, Genocide Prevention BC, a cross-cultural collective of provincial representatives committed to the prevention of genocide and crimes against humanity.

She also works on her initiative, the Cross Cultural Walking Tours, a grassroots endeavour celebrating the multicultural history of Vancouver’s Downtown Eastside. These tours build awareness of the contributions of early immigrant communities and take place in May, which, in Canada, is both Asian Heritage Month and Jewish Heritage Month.

Tanaka, who once served as Hillel director at the University of Victoria, was recently named one of seven LGBTQ+ Jews of Colour You Should Know by Be’chol Lashon, a group that gives voice to cultural diversity in the Jewish community. She was also one of four local leaders featured in the article “The Push for Progress,” which was in the Fall/Winter 2021 issue of BCAA magazine.

Tanaka sees herself as well positioned to bring communities together. “As a mixed-race person, I have felt what it’s like to not be fully accepted by my own community. The art of bridging communities and bringing people together is my humble craft,” she said.

On Dec. 19, 6 p.m., Tanaka will take part in a discussion with Sara Yacobi-Harris from the Toronto-based group No Silence On Race, hosted by Victoria’s Temple Emanu-El, called Let’s Talk About Diversity, Equity and Belonging in the Victoria Jewish Community. For more information, visit congregationemanuelnews.wordpress.com/2021/11.

As for Kolot Mayim’s Building Bridges series, Rivka Campbell, co-founder of the organization Jews of Colour Canada, is the next speaker. On Jan. 9, Campbell will talk on the topic Harmony in a Divided Identity: A Minority within a Minority. To register, visit kolotmayimreformtemple.com.

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

JQT’s 2021 Hanukkah Hotties

(image from JQT)

JQT Vancouver has a sizzling lineup of Hanukkah Hotties this year. Tune in to daily livestreams on Facebook with each Hanukkah Hottie, as they light their chanukiyah or share another tradition, and chitchat with JQT about their life, craft, activism and intersecting Jewish queer trans identities for the duration of the candles’ burning.

Hosted by Carmel Tanaka, founder and executive director of JQT Vancouver, who identifies as a queer, neurodivergent, Jewpanese woman of colour, the scheduled guests are:

Candle 1 (Nov. 28, 7 p.m.): Karen Newmoon, an Indigenous Jew-ish land dyke and subsistence farmer in Johnsons Landing, B.C.

Candle 2 (Nov. 29, 7 p.m.): Jersey Noah, a Jewish (Sephardi/Ashkenazi) transgender, autistic stoner in Oakland, Calif.

Candle 3 (Nov. 30, 7 p.m.): Adam W. McKinney / LaShawnah Tovah, a gay, Black, Native Jewish artist, and co-director of DNAWORKS in Fort Worth, Tex.

Candle 4 (Dec. 1, 1 p.m.****): Aviva Chernick, a queer, Jewish artist, and voice and meditation teacher in Toronto, Ont.

Candle 5 (Dec. 2, 7 p.m.): The Empress Mizrahi, a nonbinary/queer Persian Jewish Instagram content creator and activist in Los Angeles, Calif.

Candle 6 (Dec. 3, 7 p.m.): The Klezbians, a band of unruly, chutzpah-licious musicians from the Isle of Klezbos in Victoria.

Candle 7 (Dec. 4, 7 p.m.): Saul Freedman-Lawson and S. Bear Bergman. Freedman-Lawson is a student and illustrator in Toronto and Bergman is trans writer and educator from Toronto.

Shamash candle (Dec. 5, 9 a.m.): Tikva Wolf, a cartoonist in Asheville, N.C. (Cherokee territory).

Candle 8 (Dec. 5, 7 p.m.): Ari Fremder, a nonbinary, autistic, Latinx artist/animator and JQT Dream Team member in Vancouver.

During the livestream, closed captioning will be provided by Facebook’s AI bots, and JQT volunteers aim to post edited closed captioning videos on both Facebook and YouTube two to three days after each interview.

This series is supported by Creating Accessible Neighbourhoods (canbc.org), an organization that advocates for and educates about people with disabilities and/or chronic health conditions who have multiple intersecting identities.

For more on the participating artists and JQT, visit facebook.com/jqtvan.

**** NEW TIME!

– Courtesy JQT Vancouver

Discussing Jewishness

Maxine Lee Ewaschuk, in a still from the documentary Periphery, which premièred last month at the Prosserman Jewish Community Centre in North York, and is available to view online.

On Oct. 28, the Prosserman Jewish Community Centre in North York hosted a hybrid launch for Periphery, a newly produced documentary film and photo exhibit that explores the lives of multiracial and multiethnic Jews within the Greater Toronto Area.

The 27-minute film features interviews with several individuals who might be considered as existing on the fringes of a homogenous, stereotypical notion of the Jewish world – a world that, in reality, is multifaceted and ever-evolving.

“What Periphery does for us is bring together a diverse view of our community,” said Andrew Levy, one of the event’s organizers.

From the outset, the film asks, “What makes a Jew? What do you have to know to be a Jew?” Implicit in those questions is another question, how can the Jewish community extend its tent to include those who might feel left out of the broader mishpachah, family? Notably, those whose parents are not both Jewish.

“There becomes a question of, can I say I am Jewish? When can I say I am Jewish? Is it ever OK for me to say I am Jewish before I complete my conversion, even if I am functioning very Jewishly in my day-to-day life. Sometimes, I say I am a Jew-in-progress,” shared dancer Maxine Lee Ewaschuk.

“Maybe I don’t know everything about what it is to be Jewish, but I am fiercely, proudly Jewish. It’s my experience and my experience is valid,” said actor Nobu Adilman, whose heritage is Jewish and Japanese.

“I knew my Indian grandparents super well, but I never knew where my Jewish grandparents came from,” said author Devyani Saltzman, who recounted a trip to Russia with her father to look into the roots of the paternal side of her family.

Saltzman also remembered an observation she had as a child of looking at other classmates who came from solely Hindu or Jewish families and thinking, non-judgmentally, “that must be really nice to know one’s place and space so clearly.”

In the cases of both Adilman and Saltzman, their parents married out of a love that transcended religious, cultural and geographic barriers.

“My father put a lot of his energy into my mother’s culture. He didn’t talk a lot about his upbringing. He was proudly Jewish, but he didn’t want to impose it on us,” Adilman said.

Adilman, too, related a kinship he has with other Jewish people who have gone through the same sorts of questioning that he has.

Ariella Daniels, Daniel Sourani and Sarah Aklilu each spoke of connections to places far removed from the GTA.

Daniels, who descends from Bene Israel Jews of India, explained that, for her, being a Jew represents several layers of identity – cultural, religious and national – and that the perspective she has of the world comes through being Jewish.

Sourani, who identifies as a gay, Iraqi Jew, focused on the importance of family – and the gatherings around Shabbat, holidays and lifecycle events – to his Jewish experience.

Aklilu, meanwhile, sees herself as Jewish, Ethiopian and Canadian. She told of the many times her Jewish identity has been called into question and, as a result, she has questioned who she is. Ultimately, she asserted, “I know I am Jewish and I feel that I don’t need to explain to people that I am.”

Tema Smith, a Jewish community professional and daughter of a Black father and Jewish mother, outlined the odd experiences she has had because people often assume she has two European Jewish parents.

“People say things that they would never say if a Black person were in the room. I feel completely unseen in those moments,” Smith said. “I feel trapped in these weird moments of having to swallow what just happened.”

For Asha, a Black and Jewish woman, her connection to Judaism is one that she described as developing and expanding. “I think, if you look Black, like I do, then you go through life as a Black person,” she said. “I don’t know if you have to choose internally, but it is chosen for you in the wider world. So, people don’t look at me and think I am Jewish. I don’t think that’s ever going to happen. If it did, it would be weird.”

While the experiences in Jewish spaces of those interviewed were frequently frustrating and alienating, it was also pointed out in the documentary that there are positive aspects to having a multiracial background. There is richness and happiness in belonging to different cultures and this, in itself, can be invigorating.

The screening was followed by a conversation with director Sara Yacobi-Harris, cinematographer Marcus Armstrong and film participants. Periphery was produced by No Silence on Race, an organization that seeks to establish racial equity and inclusivity within Jewish spaces in Canada, in partnership with the Ontario Jewish Archives. To view the film, visit virtualjcc.com/watch/periphery.

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

A story of Hava Nagila

Among Intergalactic Afikoman’s newest picture books is I Am Hava: A Song’s Story of Love, Hope & Joy, written by Freda Lekowicz and illustrated by Siona Benjamin. It tells the story of the song “Hava Nagila,” from its birth as a niggun (melody without words) in Ukraine, to Jerusalem, to when it received its name and lyrics (though exactly from whom is still a mystery), and its journey around the world to popularity well beyond the Jewish community.

Hava Nagila means “Come and Rejoice,” explains the book, and this story – told by the song herself, personified as a blue-skinned Indian-Jewish girl in a sari – is full of movement and colour. It boldly celebrates the diversity of the Jewish people and our culture.

“For me, Hava’s story is a story of universality and multiculturalism,” Benjamin, who grew up as a Bene Israel Jew in India, writes at the end of the book. “Universality is always born from the specifics. The specifics for me are my Jewishness, my Indianness and my Americanness.

“Many blue-skinned characters populate my paintings,” she continues. “Hava is blue because blue is the colour of the sky and the ocean. Blue is the colour of the globe. Blue is also such a Jewish colour. It’s in the tallit. It’s in the tzitzit. It’s in the Israeli flag.”

Montreal-born Lekowicz also connects personally with the story. She shares that her parents, after the Holocaust, were in a displaced persons camp in Germany. “Like other Holocaust survivors,” she writes, “they were broken and in mourning. Yet the joyful sounds of Hava Nagila sometimes echoed in the camp. ‘Let us celebrate,’ it urged. The song symbolized hope and resilience.”

This lovely and imaginative book does joyous justice to this well-known song.

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.

Diverse learning series

Rabbi Gila Caine (photo from Kolot Mayim)

Kolot Mayim Reform Temple in Victoria welcomes back Rabbi Gila Caine, spiritual leader of Temple Beth Ora in Edmonton, to speak on the topic Toratah/Her Torah: Women Rabbis Revealing the Goddess in Torah.

The Nov. 7, 11 a.m., lecture on Zoom kicks off a six-part series of talks called Building Bridges: Celebrating Diversity in Jewish Life. The community is invited to listen and learn from Indigenous, Black, Asian, feminist and differently-gendered and differently-abled advocates who are working to make our world a better place.

As a people who have experienced the devastating impact of antisemitism and hatred, Judaism commits us to the responsibility of tikkun olam (repairing our world). In that spirit, Kolot Mayim’s series of speakers will lead attendees on a journey to deepen their understanding of these contemporary issues and how they can support those who do not feel included.

Kolot Mayim’s Rabbi Lynn Greenough describes the series as “an opportunity to build bridges – bridges that enable us to link to what is and what can be, to step beyond our own particular experiences.” The Hebrew word for bridge is gesher, she explained, pointing to the song, “Kol Ha’Olam Kulo,” “the whole world is a very narrow bridge; the important thing is not to be afraid.”

In the series opener, Caine will explore how, throughout the millennia, rabbinic tradition, and especially written tradition, was composed from within a man-focused and -experienced perspective. Now, after around half a century of ordaining women, there is a growing corpus of documented writing flowing from within woman’s experiences and interpretations of Torah and life. In her talk, Caine will read a few Torah commentaries written by (women) rabbis from North America and Israel, as examples of weaving together rabbinic and women’s experience into something new.

Born and raised in Jerusalem, Caine graduated Hebrew University with a master’s in contemporary Judaism and received her rabbinic ordination at the Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion’s Israeli program in 2011. Her rabbinic thesis explored liturgical, spiritual and ceremonial aspects of birth in Jewish tradition and contemporary practice.

Stemming from that, as well as her years as a volunteer at a rape crisis centre, Caine is one of the founders of the Israeli rabbinic women’s group B’not Dinah, creating a female and feminist rabbinic tradition of healing after sexual trauma. She now serves as rabbi at Temple Beth Ora and her Building Bridges talk is co-sponsored with her shul.

Other speakers in the 2021/22 series are:

Carmel Tanaka, founder and executive director of JQT Vancouver (Jewish Queer and Trans Vancouver) on A Day in the Life of a Queer, Neurodivergent, Jewpanese Millennial (Dec. 5);
Rivka Campbell, executive director of Jews of Colour Canada, on Harmony in a Divided Identity: A Minority Within a Minority (Jan. 9);
Joy Ladin, poet, author and first openly transgender professor at a Jewish institution, on Jonah, God and Other Strangers: Reading the Torah from a Trans Perspective (Feb. 6);
Reverend Hazan Daniel Benlolo, director of the Shira Choir, Spanish & Portuguese Synagogue, Montreal, on The Power of Music: In Honour of Jewish Disability Awareness and Inclusion Month (Feb. 13); and
Patricia June Vickers, Indigenous artist and independent consultant, and Rabbi Adam Cutler, senior rabbi of Adath Israel Congregation in Toronto, on An Indigenous and Jewish Dialogue on Truth and Reconciliation (March 20).

Kolot Mayim has been active for 20 years and this is the fourth year that the synagogue is offering this speaker series. Talks are free and held on the scheduled Sundays from 11 a.m. to 12:15 p.m. PST. To register, visit kolotmayimreformtemple.com.

– Courtesy Kolot Mayim

A time for diversity training

We’re in the month of Heshvan on the Jewish calendar. Some people call it Mar-Heshvan or Marcheshvan. (Since this is transliteration, it can be spelled either “ch” or “h.”) It’s called mar, or bitter, because, aside from Shabbat, there are no Jewish holidays during this month.

Of course, as Canadians, we had Thanksgiving in there. However, after a long stretch of Jewish holidays, many Jewish people, myself included, quite like the idea of a month off from them. Finally, I have time to start another big project. A relatively quiet Jewish month leaves more time to do “regular” work, learning and making changes.

As a kid, I was very active in my Reform congregation. I learned to lead services and read Torah and Haftarah, and did it without hesitation after becoming a bat mitzvah. Unfortunately, though, at that time, we didn’t chant in my parents’ congregation, so I never learned how to do it. I married into a family with slightly more traditional practice among some of its members and, therefore, have been attending services with chanting now for more than 20 years.

Yet, learning to chant is a tricky business as an adult. On one occasion, I asked a rabbi if I might learn and he said of course, the congregation ran a special group class for adult b’not mitzvah. (Mostly it was women who never were able to participate in a bat mitzvah service as a child.) I said no, I’d been there and done that – complete with leading the service, a reception with custom-made omelettes, and a special dress. I just wanted to learn to chant. He had no space in his imagination for someone who just wanted to learn this skill without the lifecycle event.

I also learned that there are different kinds of trope. Chanting comes along with symbols in the text of the Torah, Haftarah, Eicha and Megillat Esther. The symbols were introduced by the rabbis as a way to mark and understand the text better. It’s like punctuation. However, as an oral tradition, chanting melodies differ according to where one lives and one’s background. There are actually many different styles of chanting trope, including smaller regional differences, as well.

The trope I’ve begun learning is an Ashkenazi one, which is perhaps appropriate to my family background. (I haven’t done a DNA test, though, so I’m going by family lore.) However, parts of my family are Western European and others have been in the United States for a long time. It’s even possible that I’m learning the “wrong” trope for my background. I’ve found that several Sephardi and Mizrahi chanting styles sound clearer and make more sense to me, perhaps because I’ve learned Modern Hebrew and I lived in Israel as a teenager. It’s actually not as simple as “Learn trope!” “Chant Torah!” although it seems this way if you’ve only lived in one specific Jewish ethnic community with unified customs and traditions.

The more you know, the more complicated things seem. The best metaphor I’ve come up with springs from an odd social media interaction I had. Someone I know only online described her harvest supper menu as including “Jewish-style brisket.” I jokingly responded, “WHAT?! There’s only one kind? What about the many varieties I’ve had over the years? Could it be that I’ve never eaten the only ‘official’ Jewish brisket recipe?”

I said maybe this was an Eastern European/Ashkenazi recipe, or her family recipe. After all, brisket is a relatively cheap cut of meat, cooked low and slow, which is perfect to make on Shabbat, when some families do not adjust oven temperatures or turn the oven on or off.

The person insisted that this was indeed the Jewish-style brisket her family made, mostly, and that, if you Google it, this exact recipe pops up. (Hint, lots of things pop up online that don’t hold up under scrutiny.) Eventually, I suggested that perhaps this was best called a family recipe or a specific geographic recipe, and wished her bon appétit.

Geography matters in cooking meat – for instance, in a Southern barbeque recipe. That is, brisket in Texas doesn’t taste like brisket made in eastern Carolina. Nothing could be more different! The same is true for Jewish trope or chanting. They don’t sound the same because, although Jews originated, long ago, in what is now called Israel, we’re now a diverse people, from all over the world. Just as Jews don’t all look the same, we all don’t eat the same foods on holidays, or sing the same melodies for Lecha Dodi, Adon Olam or myriad other prayers.

So, I begin, with baby steps, to learn one chanting/trope tradition while acknowledging there are many others out there. Like the many brisket recipes and holiday traditions out there, knowing about diversity and traveling deepens our appreciation for what we know and enjoy, and for learning more.

In the meanwhile, I joked with a non-Jewish friend I know in “real life” that, if there is really only one Jewish-style brisket recipe, we might be in trouble. “Oh no!” she replied. “I have to figure out ‘the’ Christian brisket recipe! How have I missed it after all this time?!” We snorted together with laughter. Next, I might call a Muslim friend to ask if there just one Muslim meatball – after all, the kibbe and kofte I’ve shared over many years might not be the official kind?

The best learning for Heshvan? There might not be a single “official” version of anything. That, in itself, is a lesson in diversity that might be worth learning like trope … over and over.

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

Navigating gender, sexuality

Marion Rom, who works with gender-diverse youth, spoke as part of a Beth Tikvah-hosted panel on the topic Navigating Gender and Sexuality in the 21st Century. (screenshot)

“Almost one-third of people who have gender dysphoria will attempt suicide and have mental health issues, and that’s why we often have such a high rate of kids with eating disorders who are transgender,” said Marion Rom, a counselor who works with gender-diverse youth in the Lower Mainland.

Rom was speaking as part of a March 11 panel on the topic Navigating Gender and Sexuality in the 21st Century. She defined gender dysphoria as when “your body doesn’t match the sense of who you are.” She also explained to the 65-plus attendees of the discussion the difference between sex and gender, some of the terminology around gender, and a few resources for those who want to learn more.

The panel, which was hosted by Beth Tikvah Congregation, also included Dean Kaplan, who joined the conversation from Washington, D.C., and the Abelson family – Kay, Bernard and their son Jason – who live here. The discussion was started by the congregation’s spiritual leader, Rabbi Susie Tendler.

“I think that we have a special mission, as the Jewish people, of finding people who have a potential to be marginalized and always elevating them, along with elevating everyone, to ensure that we are all in a sacred space,” said Tendler. She described her rabbinate as being “about opening doors” and a kehila kedosha, holy community, as one that creates pathways for everyone to be welcome in sacred spaces. She thanked the Zoom participants for their efforts in opening the door of community wider to “welcome everyone as their authentic selves because that’s the only way that, I believe, we really approach God.”

Rom was asked to speak by BT congregant Linda Steiner, who had heard Rom’s talk at a Habonim alumni meeting last year. The presentation was geared to older people, like Rom herself, who is 63.

She defined sexuality, and explained several terms, including lesbian (a female attracted to another female), heterosexual (females attracted to males and vice versa), bisexual (someone attracted to both males and females) and pansexual (someone attracted simply to the person, irrespective of gender). She broke down the acronym LGBTQ+ (lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer; with the plus including but not limited to asexual, two spirit, and allies). She also went through some of the gender terminology, such as cisgender (“either male or female”) and transgender (someone whose sense of self doesn’t match their birth gender). She spoke briefly about hormone therapy and gender reassignment surgery.

For people wanting to start learning more about gender and sexuality, Rom suggested the books Love Lives Here by Amanda Jette Knox and Transgender Children and Youth: Cultivating Pride and Joy with Families in Transition by Elijah Nealy, the Israeli documentary Family in Transition and the narrative film The Danish Girl (or the book from which it was adapted, written by David Ebershoff).

Dean Kaplan, 28, who goes by the pronouns they, them and their, came out as non-binary a couple of years ago. They spoke about how they see themselves and their relationship to how the world sees people like them. Describing themselves as Jewish, white and having grown up upper-middle-class and with privilege, Kaplan acknowledged that these factors have “contributed to me being able to live as myself comfortably.”

Despite that comfort, Kaplan first came out as queer in terms of their sexuality, at the age of 17 or 18, before identifying as gender-nonconforming.

“An important part of identifying as queer in almost any part of the world,” said Kaplan, “is not only understanding who you are, but also, in some ways, accepting this label as ‘deviant’ by society.”

In their early 20s, Kaplan began to realize “I very much enjoy connecting with parts of myself that would be considered feminine,” such as having longer hair and wearing tights.

From a young age, they said, “I’ve had this latent sense of difference in how I want to emotionally connect with people and that played a lot into my sense that I was gender-nonconforming. I think also a little bit of it is this sense that I want to live in a world and exist in space without a lot the negative aspects of masculinity that I was raised to cherish in a lot of ways. I’m still aware of the fact that almost all of my male friends are embarrassed to cry, even alone; it’s a sign of anti-masculinity. And so, being non-binary for me is very freeing in a lot of ways. I can be who I want to be and who I feel I am without the kind of embarrassment or labels that go with certain actions for certain genders.”

That said, the reactions to their coming out were mixed and some were hurtful. They get misgendered every day – “sometimes I correct, sometimes I don’t,” said Kaplan. That will depend, for example, on whether the person making the mistake is a superior at work or a peer. “Power and economics play into my ability to be myself in the spaces I happen to be in,” they said.

Jason Abelson, 24, started his transition in 2012, but his first memory of wanting to be a boy goes back to a gymnastics class when he was in preschool, so 4 or 5 years old. Initially, he attended an Orthodox elementary school in South Africa, where he was born, but his parents switched him to a public school. He used the fact that he was a swimmer to cut his hair short in Grade 4. He hated it when his parents would correct people who would mistake him for being a boy. “I just wanted to go and hide somewhere,” he said.

When his chest began to develop in puberty, he would try and hide it, but, eventually, he quit swimming. He has since picked the sport up again, and has joined an LGBTQ+ team.

When he was younger, he said, “I didn’t know what transgender was. I didn’t know that you could transition, that the feelings I had for wanting to be a boy were experienced by anyone else until an Oprah show that my mom was watching one summer’s afternoon. In that Oprah show, they had a transgender guy and his family, and shared his story.”

Seeing the possibilities for himself, Abelson thought about next steps and started the process of transitioning, one part of which is convincing a psychologist “that you are transgender.” He then saw an endocrinologist. In Grade 10 at the time, he stayed at the same school throughout. “I finished the first semester as a girl; came back five days later as a boy,” he said. “All we did was we changed the name on the class list.”

While he was given a key to the teacher’s washroom, he didn’t want to call attention to himself, so he avoided using the facilities. “Bathrooms still do give me a little bit of anxiety,” he said.

He started hormones nine years ago, at age 15. About a year after that, he had top surgery – prior to that he had used binders to keep his chest down.

With respect to going to an Orthodox shul after he started his transition, Abelson was told that he could come to services but would have to sit in the women’s section. Even now, attending a new synagogue and sitting on the men’s side, he said, “I don’t feel like I have a place in the shul. Being gay as well, I can’t get married in that shul, so that’s still a world that is being navigated.”

Kay Abelson spoke about both the emotional journey and the “very practical life journey.” She said she struggled with those early years when her son was asserting his identity – in his clothing choices and in his desire to cut his hair short, for example.

“I found it really hard, as a mother,” she acknowledged. “And it did cause some conflict in our family.” However, she noted, “For me, the time before Jason’s transition was more of a struggle than once he transitioned…. I found the earlier time hard, before we knew what we were dealing with. Bernard and I both always had a sense that there was something with Jason when he was growing up, but we just could not put our finger on it. And so, that moment of him watching the Oprah show and having that ah-ha moment was a huge turning point for all of us.”

It took time for her and her husband to understand and digest what was happening. She had fears about what people would think and say, but people were supportive and accepting, she said.

“When you start thinking about the history and the background about all those situations that Jason mentioned,” said Bernard Abelson, such as the first time he cut his hair short. “All I wanted to do was get him earrings so that he could look more feminine.” When people would refer to his son, “I was immediately defending, ‘This is my daughter.’… I thought I was

defending him. That’s the irony of all that, is that, as a parent, you think you’re doing the right thing by

defending them … but, at the end of the day, for him, as you’ve heard, it wasn’t working for him at all.”

One thing that helped the family was watching the documentary Becoming Chaz, about Chaz Bono’s transition. Watching it helped Bernard Abelson to accept, “This is real.”

“It’s been an incredible, incredible journey for all of us,” said Kate Abelson.

While some parents go through a mourning period for the son or daughter they once had, Kay Abelson said, “I never felt like I lost anything. In fact, I actually gained something through the process because, before Jason’s transition, as you heard in his story, he never felt comfortable with who he was. He was always yearning to be someone different, so he was never really happy within himself…. When he transitioned and he could actually stand loud and proud and be who he was … it was just so exciting.”

Rom reentered the conversation by stressing that the level of grieving varies among families. She then opened the question-and-answer session that included Dean Kaplan’s dad, Des Kaplan, talking about some of his challenges in understanding his child’s gender and sexuality. There was also discussion about Jewish tradition, which identifies at least six genders, and that some Jewish communities have changed the b’nai mitzvah rituals to be more gender-inclusive.

To watch the panel discussion, without the Q&A, visit btikvah.ca/inclusion-and-diversity.