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Reflecting on life of creativity

Earlier this year, Claire B. Cohen published a book of her 30-plus years as an artist. She made it for family and friends, as a record of her artistic legacy.

“Art is a powerful and a creative force of self-expression. To create art is to develop an ability to communicate visually what cannot be expressed in words.

“By creating the process of art, we change the way we see the world,” Claire B. Cohen told the Independent. “In understanding ourselves, we find areas where we feel limited. In understanding ourselves, we stand up for ourselves and can present ourselves authentically to others. An artist’s creation is unique and original to their work.”

Earlier this year, Cohen published a slim volume, mainly with images that burst from the pages, outlining her 30-plus years creating art. We glimpse the range of her work – landscapes, portraits, semi-abstracts, flowers, multimedia collages and a compartmental series, in which colourful abstract canvases were “connected sequentially in a zigzag for using piano hinges.” Flow and fun describe this series, her portraits – both colour and black and white – capture the personalities of her subjects, her landscapes and collages are bold and full of movement but also balance. The book touches on her work as an art therapist.

Originally from Israel, Cohen came to Canada in 1964. She studied fine arts at York University in Toronto and the University of Ottawa, and later earned her master’s in art therapy and counseling from U of O in 1987. She had many solo exhibits and group shows in Ottawa, and elsewhere, over the years. The book takes readers to 2006, with an exhibit list to 2009. She moved to Vancouver in 2012.

“I continued to paint after moving to Ottawa, but my move to Vancouver changed my focus, since joining my family had taken much of my time, being richly involved with newborn grandchildren,” said Cohen. “However, I still continued painting and showing new work in Vancouver galleries, as well as donating paintings to different organizations in Vancouver, such as hospitals, Louis Brier [Home and Hospital], friends, and creating more collages and multimedia-based work. I participated in group art shows and sold some to the public.”

Cohen said her reason for producing the book “was to create a place to keep all of my art as a legacy to leave to my family in remembrance of my story. COVID times were affecting my spirit, my mood was down and … the idea came about to focus on creating the book for my family and friends.”

During the pandemic, Cohen said she started to lose her connection to creativity.

“Friends cut off from each other, as much as children and family,” she said. “I slowly lost my energy and interest, as well as the need I once had to be close to my easel. The paints, the brushes, the colours all lost their meaning and the need I had to paint slowly deteriorated.”

She began to look back at her past, which, she said, “led me to wake up from my dormancy and questions such as ‘what is my meaning of life?’ I discovered my paintings in storage and wanted to create a book.

“I reflected further on my body of work and questioned: why did I dedicate my years to painting? Was there any purpose to it? The answer eventually arrived – yes. There are many purposes to be alive, and work as an artist, investing my life in art. In my case, most of it was to leave a memory to my next generation.”

Cohen’s most recent exhibit and sale was at Britannia Community Centre in 2021. Art can be cathartic, whether one is making it or experiencing it.

“The process of creating art has a great intensity and full force of emotions that lead to a freedom and release when the piece is complete,” she explained. “Looking at these pieces that I created many years ago leads to a sense of nostalgia and a softening of that intensity. These pieces have followed me through many moves and lives, and have a story of their own that has evolved with the emotions that once created them. The language of art cannot be explained in words, the language of these emotions is form, line, colour and brush strokes.”

This language can help heal, as Cohen well knows from her art therapy practice.

“The more we know about ourselves, the more we learn to grow and develop our abilities to stand our ground,” she said.

Describing art as “a powerful and unique way to explore our creative forces,” she explained that people who participate in art therapy use the “materials to express the self and communicate visually,” composing stories. In a group setting, they “collaborate and share with others … connect and integrate parts of his/her inner self, gain confidence and reduce stress in a supportive environment, with the aid of the instructor.”

It was both a dream and a need for Cohen to do art therapy and counseling.

“I realized that art is not just for selling and decorating homes, rather it was a way to find myself, to grow and see who I am, and to help others with their healing.”

To see Cohen’s body of work, go to clairebcohen.wixsite.com/portfolio/home.

Counting our blessings

It’s that time of year again. Which I face with trepidation on occasion, because my family celebrates Hanukkah – and that’s it. Some years, I manage to float by in a haze of patience, busy with my family’s celebrations and entertaining, oblivious to everything around me. Other years, I’ve had to interact with the majority culture around me in ways, big and small, that feel difficult. I could go into all the examples of what makes me feel uncomfortable, but that’s not really necessary. Why? Too many readers know what I mean, and those who don’t will suggest that I’m just being overly sensitive, whatever example I raise.

Hanukkah (however you spell it in English) is not a major Jewish holiday, though it has some themes that require adult maturity to unpack. It’s a story of guerilla warfare, a holiday of religious freedom, a tale about light and miracles, and of a small group of locals winning the fight against a big assimilationist majority. It’s not the easiest set of ideas to explain to kids, which is probably why we teach them the blessings and focus on dreidels, fried food, candles and presents.

Hanukkah shares a lot of ground with other winter solstice holidays, of course. It’s really dark at this time of year and all we want to do is bask in a little bit more light, eat lots of calories and find something to enjoy together indoors. Winnipeg, where I live, is a good place to remember this – with the change to standard time, the sun goes down very early, with just about eight hours of daylight.

After all this pondering, I kept coming back to what recipe I could find to make this year one of the “good ones,” where I don’t dwell too much on the frustrations of the season for minorities. It came to me, while driving back and forth to the elementary school. When my kids are on duty as safety patrols, they need to arrive early and leave later, so they can’t take the school bus. Even though they are learning to be responsible in Grade 6, the people who learn the most about responsibility in this scenario are parents. We drive them to school early and wait patiently in the car for 15 minutes after school is done so we can drive them home again.

A person (ahem, me) can get grouchy about this, especially because there’s a lot of traffic at this time of day. However, my special reminder happens when I cross a bridge, under which a river flows. We are lucky to be situated at the forks of two rivers in Winnipeg, so we cross bridges a lot. At a Jewish summer travel camp, long ago, my kids learned to recite a chant reminding us that the Ba’al Shem Tov says water is a siman brachah, a sign of blessing – a good sign.

The Ba’al Shem Tov was the founder of Chassidic Judaism, a teacher and a mystic and the stories of the Ba’al Shem Tov maintain resonance for us today. Remembering that water is a sign of blessing made me think about how very lucky my family and I are. We have clean water, unlike many Indigenous Canadians, and unlike many others in the world. In general, most of us in Canada have a place to live, heat and food. We are not suffering in winter as much of Ukraine is, without electricity or heat. While inflation is rising, we’re not faced with the staggering heat bills hitting the United Kingdom and Europe.

Once I remember to be grateful, I find myself pushing farther – to consciously force myself, when perhaps I am grouchy, hungry or cold, to be more patient and kind. For me, that crankiness is temporary. For people who are struggling, unhoused and don’t have enough to eat, it’s a much longer ordeal.

The Ba’al Shem Tov was a very good teacher and had patience and love for his students, who were small children. I’m also returning to the elementary school now, as I’ve started volunteering one afternoon a week. This, too, has been a gift. Helping kids in Grade 1 with the alef bet (Hebrew alphabet) is another wonderful opportunity to celebrate. If volunteering is giving, I receive the enthusiasm, affection and wonder that these eager learners share. It’s worth the traffic jam struggles of crossing the bridge repeatedly in traffic.

When Hanukkah arrives, we’ll have our night of tzedakah (charity) as well as our nights with sufganyiot (jelly doughnuts) and other small treats. We’ll light our candles and push away darkness as we can. However, the Ba’al Shem Tov’s reminder, that water is a blessing and a good sign, is a year-round gift, just as it is to work with kids. We can choose to use these teachings as a reminder to take that deep breath, find the bandwidth and be kind because we’re grateful and fortunate.

I can’t guarantee I’ll always be patient this time of year. I’m not always up for the parties that are for the “holidays,” but are called wassails, or the repeated Merry Christmas greetings. Luckily, I have lots of chances to look out at the water as I cross the bridge and to look at the joy of kids eager to learn, and to remember to be grateful for these blessings. Have a great Hanukkah!

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.

Talking about addiction with L

Jewish Addiction Community Services (JACS) estimates that one in six members of the Jewish community in Metro Vancouver – or more than 4,000 people – are in need of support for dealing with substance use disorder. And yet, it is a topic that many of us find hard to talk openly about.

“I grew up around alcoholism in the home. There was shame in the family that dad had a drinking problem, and it affected my childhood, there is no doubt,” said L, who had the courage to speak with the Independent about their experience with alcoholism. “My dad was an angry drunk and he’d be embarrassing in public. He didn’t show up for commitments and didn’t turn out to be a very good father. I got to the point where I didn’t count on him because I couldn’t, and I resolved that with myself at a young age.

“Yet, there was a part of his life that was enticing and rather exciting for me,” added L, now a sober member of Alcoholics Anonymous (AA) and a participant in JACS Vancouver. “When my father would pick me up on a Friday night, we would head to the bar. I thought it was something fun, better than my boring life at home.

“I would be excited to play the bar games and drink Shirley Temples, but I was way too young to be in that environment, way too young to have my views shaped by those experiences.”

Although these tavern trips took place when L was in junior high school, they considered it normal. “I didn’t realize there were no other kids in the bar. It seems weird to me now that no one objected,” L reflected.

L grew up in an environment where Judaism was not talked about much, either. “There was already a stigma within a stigma. There was a great shame about being Jewish. Being Jewish was rarely discussed, the same way Dad’s drinking was rarely discussed. Both topics became elephants in the room.

“I think what I draw from that experience is that I really believe the disease of alcoholism is genetic; it seems to run in families,” L said. “All I needed was that environment to stir up that excitement. My dad had a full wet bar at home, and I just loved it. I was drawn to it like a magnet because I associated it with fun Friday nights when Dad took us to the bar.”

L’s father’s drinking led to L’s mother divorcing him when L was 5. There remained trauma within the home – matters that were not openly discussed – and alcohol presented a means “to take the edge off.”

L established their own relationship with alcohol and began drinking and using drugs as much as possible.

“I was the perfect rebellious child,” L said. “I found ways to drink – whether stealing it from my parents’ liquor cabinet or sneaking out at night to hang out with older kids to drink. I used to hide it in my room. I kept a mason jar of whiskey in my closet.”

As L’s dependence increased so, too, did their obsession to drown out reality. “In high school, I would sneak out to drink and do drugs. I would put a trashcan beside my bed so I would have a place to throw up when returning home. This way, I wouldn’t risk waking my parents, because my bathroom was right next to their bedroom. I was pretty far gone by high school. The more I drank, the less I was interested in life around me. I dropped out of school and then left the house at 16.”

The reliance on alcohol remained for another 10 years. Family members disassociated themselves and L eventually sought help. By the time L “hit bottom,” a phrase used in AA to describe the lowest moment in an alcoholic’s drinking experience, they were “unemployed, suicidal and physically dependent on alcohol to function on a daily basis.”

“I didn’t fashion myself to be that bad, yet I didn’t have any friends left,” said L. “No social network, I was very isolated. I didn’t leave my house anymore. I didn’t check the mail. I couldn’t even go to the grocery store without being drunk or high. I ended up going to a counselor, who thought I should go to an AA meeting. I thought that sounded horrible; I was only 26. AA sounded like it was for a bunch of old men and winos who lived under a bridge. However, my counselor said, ‘It has to be better than the way you’re living now.’”

Though there were struggles initially in attending AA meetings, L picked up a desire chip (sobriety coin) in August 1997 and has not had a drink or drug since, recently celebrating 25 years of continuous sobriety. L remains active in AA, and sponsors others who are looking for relief from their alcoholism.

AA, though it often holds meetings in churches, is a non-denominational program. “I am very steeped in Alcoholics Anonymous and that’s my central connection with sobriety,” L said. “It wasn’t until a Jewish friend in AA told me about JACS that I was able to reconcile my long-standing concern with the Christian side of AA.”

After attending some JACS meetings, L felt relieved that they could talk openly about their Judaism, which had been a sticking point for L in AA. Through JACS, L was introduced to the book Twelve Jewish Steps to Recovery, by Rabbi Kerry M. Olitzky and Dr. Stuart A. Copans.

“Just reading the foreword to that book helped me better understand that AA’s founder, Bill W., was only using the God of his understanding, which happened to be based in Christianity, to write the outline for sobriety in the AA literature.”

This realization was a profound moment for L, since they always “railed against [the Christian] part of the AA program,” saying “that never felt right.”

“All of a sudden,” L said, “I realized that AA wasn’t Christian at all, only Bill’s concept of his higher power was. AA allows me to choose the concept of my own higher power, which is based in Judaism.”

Becoming more involved with JACS has opened a whole new perspective for L, which was not found in AA meetings alone. “I couldn’t be more grateful for finding this missing piece of the puzzle at JACS and for the continued support of Shelley Karrel, who runs the Vancouver chapter,” said L, who attributes this shift to becoming more involved in the Jewish community and reconnecting with their lost Judaism.

“I would not have had this spiritual awakening without being more connected to my community and being introduced to JACS,” L said. “Being able to finally connect my sobriety with Judaism feels like coming home for me.

“When I think about my father’s demise – a sad and lonely alcoholic death – I know that could have been my fate as well. There isn’t a day that goes by without being reminded of where I came from and how grateful I am that I survived. I did not have to die by suicide, or alone with a bottle hidden away in my closet. I was given a new life. A sober life.

“Thinking about drinking is the furthest thing from my mind today,” said L. “It used to be the only thing I thought about 25 years ago. The obsession has been removed. I am completely safe and sound when it comes to alcohol now, as long as I stay active in AA and keep on the path of spiritual growth.”

For more information on available resources and support – within and beyond the Jewish community – visit jacsvancouver.com.

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

Love through good and bad

Gloria Levi’s recently published creative memoir The Hotelkeeper’s Daughter is a tribute to her family. And not just the family from whom she comes – the people who inhabit the main part of this story – but also the family she has made herself, the family members in the book with whom she shares her memories and those outside of it, who will read the story.

The memoir is “creative” because memory, almost by definition, is unreliable, and, with this book, the 90-plus-year-old Levi is going back to her childhood. The character Gilda, her avatar of sorts, is trying to make sense of her past:

“They are all gone … Jerry, Macey, Sadie … and Ida and Leo … Bubbie … I, Gilda, at the age of 90, am the only one left of my family of origin. I am the Omega generation, the last letter of the Greek alphabet. I remember so vividly the sweetness of family togetherness, extended family visits, our tight-knit community. How I loved them and felt loved by them: their vitality, their enduring values, their struggles, losses and successes, their remarkable resilience. They are a deep part of me. They are the heroes of a bygone era.”

Speaking to her son and great-grandson, Gilda takes us to Powell Street, in Brooklyn, N.Y., 1938. She is 7 years old. She vividly describes her community, the neighbourhood of Brownsville. Her parents, grandmother and three siblings live downstairs in a duplex shared with her uncle and aunt and their family, who live upstairs. Money is sparse.

“During their usual pinochle card game one Saturday evening in March,” writes Levi, “my father turned to his cousin, Big Eliezer, and said, ‘Eli, I really need to make a change. I don’t want to go on like this. I know I can do better than my chicken store. What do you think, if you, Sammy and I were to rent a summer hotel? My brother Benny runs a hotel with partners. He’s doing just fine. You know, with your catering experience, Eli, and the younger energy and determination of Sammy and me, I think we could make a go of it. What do you think?’ Sammy nodded in agreement. Uncle Shimon closed his hand of cards and stared.”

And the rest, as they say, is history – and the meat of this memoir. Life isn’t easy as the daughter of hotelkeepers. Gilda had been happy on Powell Street, had many friends and her favourite activities. She was very close to her grandmother, who didn’t initially go with the family, and her parents were absorbed in the business. Gilda was lonely and often felt invisible. She has a challenging relationship with her mother, Ida.

Through Gilda’s story, we see how families like hers – an Eastern European Jewish family who immigrated to the United States – struggled and succeeded in their new homeland, through the Great Depression and the Second World War. We also see how Gilda grows into herself and begins to find her own way. The memoir ends in 1948, as Gilda starts university.

As 90-year-old Gilda looks back at this foundational decade of her life, relating her story to her son Daniel and great-grandson Lenny, she ultimately reflects not only on what has passed, but what is yet to come.

“To the Lennys of today and the Idas of yesterday, I want to affirm their vision, their energy, and their inspiring dedication to build a fairer, more just and loving society.”

Many Switzers attend reunion

Almost 80 people attended the Switzer family reunion Aug. 21. (photo by Will Verchere-Gopaulsingh)

A reunion at Beth Israel synagogue recently brought together branches of one of Canada’s largest Jewish family trees.

The story of this Canadian family began in 1848 with the birth of Wolf Baer Switzer, in Radom, Poland. He fathered 11 children, one of whom was a daughter named Bella.

Bella (Switzer) Singer passed away in 1994, at the age of 104, although the exact date of her birth is not certain. Bella and her husband Abraham Singer came to Canada first in 1905, then Bella and her son Hymie returned to Poland in 1907, while Abraham headed west to farmstead, with the family reuniting in 1910 in Calgary.

In the following decades, Bella and Abraham nurtured a vast Canadian family, including their own four children.

photo - Bella (née Switzer) and Abraham Singer with their four children: Hymie Singer, Diane Aceman, Jack Singer and Rosalie Franks. Calgary, 1919 — Bella (née Switzer) and Abraham Singer with their four children: Hymie Singer, Diane Aceman, Jack Singer and Rosalie Franks. Calgary, 1919. *(photo from Switzer family)*

Sensing an ominous future for Jews in Poland, Bella settled in Calgary and then paid for other relatives to follow, with the understanding that once they arrived in Canada, they would be put to work, make enough money and send for another relative. It is estimated that as many as 300 family members were brought to Canada through Bella’s single-minded determination. Given later events in Poland, the number of lives saved is incalculable.

For her efforts, Bella was known as Mema (“Auntie”) Singer to all the family, regardless of actual relationship.

Turning necessity into invention, Bella built a small real estate empire, beginning with a rooming house to accommodate arriving relatives and expanding into apartments and hotels. She lived almost all her remaining life as a philanthropist and pillar of Calgary’s community, coming to Vancouver in her final years to live with her daughter’s family.

Bella had 10 grandchildren, of whom three live in Vancouver: Lola Pawer, her sister Shelley Ail and their cousin Leslie Diamond.

There are “way over 100” of Bella’s descendants living in Vancouver, says Pawer.

photo - Lola Pawer and William Switzer at the local Switzer family reunion, which took place at Congregation Beth Israel — Lola Pawer and William Switzer at the local Switzer family reunion, which took place at Congregation Beth Israel. *(photo by Will Verchere-Gopaulsingh)*

The Aug. 21 reunion was for the West Coast members of the family, with guests traveling in from around British Columbia, as well as from California and Hawaii, with a few coming from Alberta. There were almost 80 guests in total, “which is nothing for our family,” said Pawer’s daughter (and Bella’s great-granddaughter) Lisa Boroditsky, who estimates there are about 2,000 descendants of Bella. The first reunion of the extended family, about 20 years ago, took place at one of the Olympic venues in Calgary and attracted about 1,000 people. The last one, in 2016, drew 485 attendees.

Billy Switzer, Bella’s nephew and oldest descendant in Vancouver at 96 (the oldest descendant is Suchar Cyngiser, 98, in Calgary), recalled his family’s arrival in Canada, thanks to his aunt. At the chaos of the port in Montreal, his sister Lily was crying and the parents were speaking in Yiddish. A man approached, asking where they were headed and warned them that Calgary was a multiday journey further. The family assured the stranger that they had saved some carrots and other food for the trip but the man reached into his pocket and handed them $10.

“My father took out a notebook and asked the man to write his name and address,” so he could repay him, Billy Switzer recalled. “The man said, my name is when a Jew needs help, help him.… My father said, what a way to arrive in a new country.”

Reflecting on a century-plus after Bella’s arrival, he concluded: “When you look at our family tree, you will be amazed at what they have accomplished and this all happened because Bella Switzer made it happen by starting and inspiring everyone to get involved. It’s wonderful that grandchildren in Vancouver have made an effort for this family reunion today.”

Billy Switzer’s daughter, Renee Switzer, and another cousin, Jordana Corenblum, along with Pawer, Boroditsky and Cheryl Milner, were the core team that organized the reunion.

Renee Switzer blew up and colour-coded a graphic of the family tree. Name tags correlated to the family branch. There was a family Bingo game and Switzer trivia, as well as plenty of shmoozing.

Boroditsky has plenty of memories of the matriarch.

“She was living with my grandmother,” Boroditsky said. “I grew up with Bella, too…. She was so involved in her great-grandchildren’s lives.”

“She was a woman’s woman before it was even dreamt about,” added Pawer. “She ran a business. She knew dollars and how much things cost. She never learned to read. She was an Orthodox Jew and a magnificent woman. She drove until she was in her 90s.”

The lesson Pawer took from her grandmother is this: “Being a woman doesn’t mean a thing. Just do what you want to do, achieve what you want to do. She always gave us that advice.”

Reflecting on Bella (Switzer) Singer and the Canadian family she created, Pawer said: “It’s an honour to be [descended] from her and to learn all the things that she did. She was very philanthropic. How strong this family really is and will continue to be – that’s what she gave us.”

ביורוקרטיה קשה נוסח ישראל

במדינת ישראל הבירוקרטיה חוגגת ומקשה על החיים. לאחר מותי אמי, אחי ואני נדרשנו לטפל בצוואתה ובצוואה של אבא, ולוודא שהיא בוצעה כהלכה. אחי וחמשת ילדיו ואני יורשים את דירת ההורים בתל אביב, ואילו הכסף שהיה מונח בחשבון הבנק של ההורים יחולק בין אחי וביני. כביכול צוואה פשוטה אך לאור הבירוקרטיה הישראלית הכל הפך למסובך

להלן מספר דוגמאות שיבהירו את הבעיות שבדרך

בנק הפועלים ששם להורי יש את החשבון קיבל את כל החתימות של הילדים של אחי, של אחי ושלי. כיוון שאני גר מחוץ לישראל, עדיין לא ידוע לנו האם אם בנק הפועלים יבקש ממני גם אישור מהקונסוליה הישראלית, בנוסף לזה שהבאתי עורך דין ונוטריון בוונקובר. כיוון הליך הבדיקה של הבנק עלול להימשך שבועות ארוכים, החלטתי לטוס לסן פרנסיסקו כדי להשיג אישור של הקונסוליה הישראלית שם של חתימתי. אם הבנק אכן יבקש אישור זה בעוד מספר שבועות המסמכים יהיו כבר אז בידי אחי (לאחר שאשלח אותם אליו בדואר אקספרס)

חשבון נאמנות עורכי הדין של שני הצדדים בנוגע למכירת הדירה בתל אביב, אמור להיפתח בבנק לאומי. אחי קיבל מידע כי גם בנק לאומי יעלה דרישות כמו בנק הפועלים בנוגע לחתימות שלי. בנק לאומי בשלב מוקדם זה עדיין לא ביקש דבר ואחי לא מעוניין לעורר את המתים. צריך לקוות שעד מועד נסיעתי בתוך מספר ימים, נדע היכן אנו עומדים מול בנק זה. אם גם הם יבקשו אישור על חתימתי אוכל להביא אותו מהקונסוליה בסן פרנסיסקו, בדומה לאישור המיועד לבנק הפועלים. אם בנק לאומי לא יעדכן אותנו עד יום נסיעתי תהיה לנו בעייה קשה

עורכי הדין של רוכשי הדירה דורשים כמו שני הבנקים, שכל שבעת היורשים ימלאו טפסים ויחתמו עליהם במסגרת העברת מסמכים לטאבו. אני אמור לקבל מסמך כזה מאחי עד ערב הנסיעה, ואז אקח גם אותו לקונסוליה הישראלית בסן פרנסיסקו לקבל את האישור שלהם

עבור אלה שגרים בקנדה, השגת חתימות על מסמכים משפטיים שיוכרו במדינות אחרות מאוד מסובכת. זאת כיוון שקנדה לא חתומה על אמנת האג משנת אלף תשע מאות שישים ואחת. לכן בידי עומדות שתי אפשרויות. הראשונה – להחתים עורך דין ונוטריון מקומי על הטפסים. לאחר מכן לשלוח את הטפסים שלו לאישור ממשלת בריטיש קולומביה שנמצאי בעיר ויקטוריה. ולאחר מכן עלי לקבל גם את האישור של הקונסוליה הישראלית בטורונטו

לחילופין אני יכול לגשת ישירות לקונסוליה הישראלית בקנדה. תחילה חשבתי שעדיף לי לטוס שוב לישראל, להגיע לבנקים ומשרדי עורכי הדין השונים, לחתום על כל המסמכים הנדרשים ולגמור הכל מול הפקידים הקטנים, בתוך חמש דקות. אך כיוון שזה יקר בטירוף ואין לי יותר כוח לטוס כל כך הרבה שעות, מדובר בפעם השלישית השנה, חשבתי תחילה לטוס לקונסוליה הישראלית בטורונטו. בגלל מגפת הקוביד, הקונסוליה בטורונטו לא מספקת בימים אלה שירותים לישראלים בונקובר. בסוף מצאתי רעיון טוב וזול יותר – הקונסוליה הישראלית בסן פרנסיסקו. הקונסוליה בסן פרנסיסקו, גם היא בגלל מגפתי הקוביד, לא מספקת בימים אלה שירותים לישראלים בסיאטל הסמוכה לוונקובר. לכן אני טס לסן פרנסיסקו. קבעתי כבר פגישה בקונסוליה הישראלית שם, ויש לי גם הזדמנות הזדמנות ראשונה לבקר לראשונה בעיר היפה הזו. מי היה מאמין שצוואה כה פשוטה אשר כוללת דירה אחת וחשבון בנק אחד תהפוך למסע בירוקרטי בלתי סביר, בלתי הגיוני ואף לא אנושי. חבל שבישראל זה קורה

Celebrate good moments

We experienced a remarkably sunny and beautiful spring day this week. It was an unusual day as our twins had a “well-child” physical at the pediatrician’s, something we hadn’t done in several years because of the pandemic. We took the morning off school and work. The appointment was remarkably smooth and quick. There was a park with swings near the medical building, deemed perfect by the kids. The bakery was open on the way home so we got a piece of rich chocolate cake and croissants for a snack.

As I drove my kids to school after lunch, so they could catch the second half of the school day, we all remarked on the amazing weather. There was a tendency then in our discussion to wish away the intense flooding, mud and big snowstorms we’d had in Winnipeg. Flooding and snow have been a huge problem in Manitoba this year, too much of a good thing after three years of drought. We agreed that there was nothing wrong with a good snowstorm, but that the muck we’d lately endured was a drag.

I tried to stop the negative thoughts popping up and ask my kids to please help me just cherish the sunny, warm, new bright green grass moment we’d had. We arrived at school. I walked them across a busy intersection, and drove home.

In the past, our pediatrician trips sometimes might take three hours. It was a combination of complicated medical issues, a wait to be seen, and negotiating the hospital corridors, tests and crowded, expensive parking lots. We used to joke that after returning home with the twins after vaccinations, they got baby Tylenol and we deserved a stiff drink. If you’ve had a history of health challenges, even a “regular” appointment can be stressful and I was exhausted after our relatively smooth experience that morning.

I’ve learned from reading a page of Talmud a day and doing Daf Yomi that my tendency to focus on the details and worry about every eventuality is nothing new. It’s not at all special. The rabbis of the Babylonian Talmud explored every detail when they figured out what the laws and issues could be around Jewish life, law and observance. When the text seemed brief, commentators filled in the blanks. We have thousands of years of recorded details and “what ifs” in our tradition. Thinking about every detail and overthinking every eventuality is a Jewish tradition! It’s no wonder that we may have anxiety over getting everything right and wondering about how things will go in advance – it’s literally part of our oral Torah and identity.

Sometimes these details can mean life and death. While it seems dark to drag this thought into such beautiful spring weather, I was struck by how many generations of anti-Jewish hatred have forced us to be on our guard. Many Jewish families carry two passports or have escape plans ready because they remember that their families have had to do it before: to escape the Holocaust, the Farhud, pogroms, banishments, the Inquisition, and beyond. Heck, after the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem, Jews were the definition of the original diaspora, as many were sold into slavery throughout the Roman Empire. Historically, we have good reason to be on edge.

Back at home, after the medical appointment, I was tasked with organizing the first birthday party for our twins in years. Counting up RSVPs resulted again in focusing on the details while reminding myself of the huge gains we’d made. Recovering from what was a traumatic birth experience, with one twin in neo-natal intensive care, is always tough for me to celebrate each year. Despite the big fuss some people make over birthdays, it can be a rotten series of flashbacks for me to manage. I remember the obstetrician’s surprise when he asked how I saw the outcome of my twin pregnancy, which was a struggle. I explained that my goal was to live through it, as that was what Jewish law valued most, the life of the mother. If I came out with one or two healthy infants at the end, well, that would truly be an amazing miracle.

Now, I have two healthy and active almost-11-year-olds. Things change and we must focus on the joyful moment, the present, and enjoy the sunny days we’ve got.

All of these mundane family events happened on May 24, when many elementary school children were gunned down with their teachers in Uvalde, Tex. While my kids spent their afternoon at school in Winnipeg, the news spread that there had been another mass shooting in the United States. While the details aren’t all clear yet, the pattern is too familiar. Many families are being torn apart by horrible, unnecessary loss. Still others will face endless numbers of very difficult medical appointments ahead, for which I feel so much empathy and pain. Everyone should be able to go to school, the grocery store or their place of worship in safety. Every life taken by this awful violence is too many.

Our tradition tells us to cherish every single life, to do everything possible to save a person. Every moment and detail counts when something so precious is at stake. Still, we also have to find ways to pause and savour the details that make meaning. We need to find the moments that give us joy. We’ve got blessings to say, like the all-purpose Shehecheyanu, to embrace those grateful, new experiences and we’ve got specific ones for seeing rainbows, eating delicious snacks, and more. It’s a crucial part of our Jewish identities to use ritual tools to balance joyous, celebratory details in the moment with the real and dark feelings that come from tragedy.

May we all have chances this summer to celebrate, embrace the sunshine, and grow things – and pleasure. May we gather only for good moments.

שבע עשרה שנים בוונקובר בצל מותה של אמי

בדרך כלל אני זוכר היטב את היום בו נחתי בקנדה לאחר שעזבתי את ישראל, אך השנה לאור מות אמי, התאריך הזה לא בדיוק עבר בראשי. אני נחתתי בוונקובר בחמישה עשר בפברואר אלפיים וחמש ומאז אני כאן. מדובר כבר בלמעלה משבע עשרה שנים

כאמור לא “חגגתי” השנה בשבעה עשר בפברואר את יום השנה של בואי לונקובר, כיוון שאמי נפטרה בשישה בפברואר. הגעתי בטיסת חירום לישראל כדי להיות עימה בבית החולים, ולמחרת הגעתי היא נפטרה. כאילו חיכתה רק לבואי

לאחר השבעה בה הגיעו עשרות חברים, מכרים של אחי אמיר ושלי, וכמובן בני משפחה וכן חברות רבות של אמא ושכנות שלה, נזקקתי ליום מנוחה לעקל את כל מה שעבר עלי. ואז בשבוע השני והאחרון שלי בתל אביב, התחלתי לארגן את דירת אמי לקראת הפינוי. עברתי על אין סוף מסמכים, ספרים, חפצי אמנות ובגדים, כדי לבדוק מה חשוב ומה לא. מה להמשיך ולשמור ומה לתרום. לפיכך לא היה לי זמן ומקום לחשוב על השבעה עשר בפברואר – שכאמור הוא “יום השנה” שלי כאן בוונקובר

השנתיים וחצי האחרונות בוונקובר ובכלל היום קשות מנשוא ומאוד מאוד מסובכות. הקוביד שיבש לנו את החיים והפכנו כמעט לאסירים בבתים ובאזור. בראשית שנה שעברה איבדתי את אבי שמת בגיל תעשים וארבעה חודשים, מסובכים של קוביד. אבא היה חולה מאוד וידענו שהסוף מגיע. לא יכולתי להגיע להלוויתו בגלל מגבלות הקוביד, ולפיכך ראיתי אותה באמצעות זום

אחי ואני חשבנו אמא תוכל לחיות עמנו עוד שנים רבות לאור כך שמצב בריאותה היה מצויין, לאשה בגיל תעשים ושתיים. היא הצליחה להתאושש ממותו של אבא וזה דבר לא פשוט לאחר שבעים ואחת שנות נישואים. אמא חזרה לשגרת החיים שלה שכללה מפגשים עם הרבה מחברותיה, עם בני המשפחה, ספורט כמעט כל יום וקריאת ספרים

באחד הימים (בשני לפברואר) היא ירדה מדירתה לאכול סלט, נחנקה בפתאומיות מתפוח שהיה בו והסיפור שלה נגמר מהר מאוד. היא הועברה לבית החולים איכילוב ולאחר ארבעה ימים נקבע מותה

ועתה כשאני משחזר את מה שעבר עלי בשנים האחרונות ובעיקר בשנה האחרונה, בה נפרדתי תחילה מאבא ולאחר מכן מאמא, קשה לי לחזור לשגרת החיים הרגילה, ולחשוב על שבעה עשרה השנים שלי כאן – בונקובר

כל צורת החיים שלי השתנה עת עברתי מתל אביב לוונקובר. קודם כל בישראל עבדתי במשרה מלאה כעיתונאי בתחום התקשורת, וכיום כאן זה תחביב בלבד. בשמונה השנים האחרונות אני עובד בחברה שמספקת הלוואות למי שלא יכול לקבל אותן מהבנק, ותפקידי הוא המבקר

בארץ הייתי מוקף בני משפחה חברים וכמובן היו לי בנות זוג לתקופות ארוכות בחיי. השהגעתי לוונקובר היכרתי כאן רק חבר אחד שעזב את תל אביב מספר שנים לפני. לאט לאט הצלחתי להכיר אנשים וכיום יש לי גם כן (כמו בתל אביב) מספר חברים טובים, בהם ישראלים, יהודים קנדים ומקומיים

ומהיבט האישי: מזה ארבע שנים ושמונה חודשים, יש לי בת זוג קבועה שהגיעה לוונקובר מסין. וואנווי גרה כאן כשמונה שנים ובשנתיים האחרונות היא עובדת בממשלה הפדרלית. יש לנו חיי אהבה ושותפות טובה, קירבה גדולה והרבה עניין משותף – בעיקר בתחומי האמנות והתרבות. החיים שלנו ביחד טובים מאוד ואנו רק מצפים להמשך של עוד ועוד

לסיכום: אין לי על מה להתלונן בשבע עשרה השנים שאני גר בבית בוונקובר

Praying for family in Ukraine

Left to right: Lucien, Grisha, Carole, Leanne and Svetlana at the airport in Kyiv, Ukraine, in 2019. (photo from Carole Lieberman)

My husband Lucien and I have been following the horrific invasion of Ukraine by Russia with particular interest. In 2019, we had the wonderful opportunity of traveling to Kyiv to meet Lucien’s first cousin, Grisha Lieberman, and his family.

Grisha’s father Sam had immigrated to Canada in 1923 and, after spending several years on the family farm in Rumsey, Alta., and later in Calgary, unfortunately Sam returned to Russia in 1928 to escort his parents, who were unhappy in Canada.

Sam had planned to return to Canada, but, after the war, ended up in the Gulag for close to 10 years. At age 57, truly a broken man, Sam met and married Rosa, a Jewish woman, and their son Grisha was born in 1958. We searched for the family for many years and finally contacted them in 2018.

Following our weeklong stay with Grisha and his wife Svetlana in May 2019, we formed a close bond. We are in touch with them often and enjoy regular Zoom visits despite language differences. Our daughter Leanne traveled with us on our 2019 visit, and we were all welcomed warmly.

Svetlana and Grisha have one son, Stanislaus, who is a lawyer in Kyiv. Their daughter, Tina Karol, a famous singer, performs at large concerts in Ukraine and travels the world to perform. Her tour to several U.S. cities, scheduled for this month, was recently canceled.

We follow details of the attack by the Russians on Ukraine closely and value every message that we receive from our cousins. Svetlana messages us regularly and writes that they are in the city of Ivano-Frankivsk, in western Ukraine, where they are staying in an apartment and have access to limited items. They did not want to leave Kyiv and did so only at the last minute by evacuation train. They categorically refuse to leave their cherished land of Ukraine.

She writes: “Fascist Russia wants to destroy our state, just as Hitler tried to destroy other countries in 1941. But Ukraine gives a worthy rebuff to the aggressor…. We believe that Ukraine will win back its freedom and that we will welcome you back to beautiful Kyiv.” She writes that they are getting used to the air raid strikes that occur two or three times each day. Their son Stanislaus is with them in western Ukraine, now in possession of a gun that was provided to him by the government to aid in Ukraine’s defence.

Their daughter Tina left Kyiv before the Russian aggression. When we were there, we clearly remember Tina telling us that she kept a suitcase packed in case of an urgent situation. She is currently in Warsaw; her 16-year-old son goes to school in England.

Last week, we watched with tears as Tina was interviewed on CNN. And, at a recent charity concert in Lodz, Poland, called Together with Ukraine, Tina was one of the performers. It was touching to see her sing with 7-year-old Amelia, who had previously sung “Let it Go” while hiding in a Ukrainian bomb shelter, before making it safely to Poland. Tina performed at a No War telethon attended by the leaders of European countries, the United States and Canada. And, on March 28, she performed in Israel at a charity concert, with funds being raised for medical needs.

We continue to pray for our family and for all Ukrainians, and for a peaceful resolution and a free Ukraine.

Carole Lieberman, a longtime Vancouver resident, is originally from Montreal. She is a mother of three, grandmother of four, and has enjoyed selling Vancouver real estate for 32 years. You can read her article about her family’s 2019 visit to Ukraine at jewishindependent.ca/meaningful-family-trip-to-kyiv.

Dutch family’s secrets

“Twins run in the family, you know,” Stella ter Hart’s mother, Sophia, said to her nonchalantly when Stella was pregnant with her first child. That this was news to Stella is a first sign that there was a great deal about her family she did not know. In fact, she wasn’t aware she had much family at all.

Thus begins Stella ter Hart’s book Discovering Twins: A Journey into Lives.

As a high school graduation gift, Stella and her mother made the trip from Estevan, Sask., to Holland. There, she meets an endless web of confusingly related kin – almost all on her father’s side. A visit to the home of family on her mother’s side raises questions in the teenager’s mind.

“‘Oom Jacob and Tante Becca are Jewish,’ I stated rather than questioned, ‘no one other than Jewish people are named Jacob and Rebecca.’

“And, in a style completely out of character for her, almost resignedly, my mother replied, ‘Yes, they are.’

“There was no further clarification of her answer, no offering up of a tidbit of a childhood memory, as might be expected when revealing so vast a thing as religiously specific relatives for the first time.

“‘So, if Oom Jacob is your first cousin, and he has the same last name as your mother’s maiden name, then he is the son of your mother’s brother,’ my new skill of dissecting family relationships now sharply honed, I added, ‘so your mother must have been Jewish, too.’

“In a split second, she came back at me, her voice strident with an unexpected, insistent, and lashing response, ‘NO! My mother was NOT Jewish. According to the Germans, she was Italian because she married an Italian.’”

Whether that logic ever truly convinced her mother, Sophia, it did not sit well with ter Hart. After her mother’s death, ter Hart began a genealogical quest. Slowly and excruciatingly, she pieces together the tragic fates of almost the entire maternal line.

“Our extended circle of family, formerly numbering over 1,200, was reduced to the less than 20 who returned, or were known to have survived, creating a psychological tsunami shock-wave impacting existing and future generations,” writes ter Hart.

The book recreates ter Hart’s prewar extended family, flashing back from postwar comfort in Canada. She captures what must have been a dawning realization among Dutch Jews in the earliest months of what became the Holocaust, as relatives who were relocated to the east inexplicably never wrote back.

“How many ‘workers’ did this totalitarian German regime require for its slave labour force? Where was the food to feed them all going to come from and the rooms to house them all? Supplies were already hitting dangerous lows in the cities, and rationing was strictly enforced.

“The unsettling sentiment echoing throughout the community for months raised its voice again. What in heaven’s name would the Germans do with grandparents and babies? This didn’t seem like a necessary part of war. This was something else.”

As ter Hart’s research expands, numbers and dates leap off the page.

“The ages and dates are, each time, an emotional shock. The eye at first does not even see, let alone accept, the horrific truths the numbers expose. Mothers with all their young children around them all killed at the same time, or an elderly couple, obviously arrested and deported together, also murdered together. The gruesomeness and cruelty of it all is staggering and overwhelming,” she writes.

On Sept. 30, 1942, 103 family members were murdered at Auschwitz, the youngest 15 years old, the oldest 54. On June 11, 1943, 64 family members were gassed at Sobibor, aged 2 to 68.

The author seeks to build suspense, but her discoveries are, generally, no surprise to those with knowledge of the history. The emphasis on twins – across generations, the family seems to have an occurrence of twins about twice the average – gives the reader an anxious sense that, at some point, some family members are going to fall into the hands of the monstrous Dr. Josef Mengele.

“Not wanting to know, but needing to know, I researched the lists of Mengele Twins, now publicly available. None of our family were on that list, as most had been deported and killed before Mengele began his murderous experimentations. Small comfort,” she writes.

The narrative at the beginning of the book devolves near the end into something of a genealogist’s notebook, with records, short biographies and charts. Generally, the book hangs together, though an editor’s hand could have been firmer, to avoid easily avoidable clangers like misspelling Anne Frank’s name.