Tag: family

Love is… being together

There is something somewhat intimate about being woken up in the middle of the night by rocket sirens. Feet and arms lightly intertwined with my wife’s, feeling a slight tug of the cover to her side in the never-ending battle-of-the-blankets, I am startled by the sound. I am slow to make sense of the sirens, which are coming both from outside and my cellphone, the latter also providing a strobe-light effect. I look to my wife, nudge her and say in a most loving but rushed tone, “Let’s go! Missiles!”

Remember those Love is… comic strips of the 1970s by New Zealand cartoonist and love culturalist Kim Casall? Well, how about Love Is… waking up snuggled together to a missile alert? Not the free love and innocence of the hippie generation, but for sure love!

And what about Love is… ensuring your wife enters the safe room first. How’s that for being a gentleman? As the sirens go off and we rush to our safe room, my wife goes in first, then I rush in after her, slamming shut the heavy iron door behind us. Actually, if our kids are home or we have guests, I will make sure everyone is inside – including our dog – before entering. Just seems like the right thing to do, danger be damned. How’s that for bravado?

***

Speaking of love. Returned from Tel Aviv with my wife the other day. Incoming missiles and a known routine. Pull over. Exit car. Move away from the vehicle. Crouch down on roadside. Cover your head with your hands (though I don’t know how that helps if a missile strikes you). So, there was my wife, huddled next to me, while the Iron Dome chased and intercepted its overhead target. In a chivalrous act of protection, I hovered over my wife, giving her a second layer of armour. I hugged her. Amazing how adrenalin works. Love is… shielding your wife from incoming missiles.

In a similar spirit. Love is… being alone with your wife in the safe room during missile alerts. It’s not for no reason that births spike during wartime.

***

Then there’s our morning routine. Prewar, it was pillow talk about the chores ahead. Now, the first thing we cross-check is Code Red missile alerts received on our cellphones overnight. Where were the sirens? Where did the missiles land? Or almost land? Other carnage or near-carnage? Other military developments? Not the most romantic of topics but that’s where our minds are these days – from the moment we wake up until we fall asleep. Love is… lying in bed together comparing missile alerts and military actions.

***

The other week, during Iran’s second cruise missile attack on Israel, where more than 180 missiles were fired at our little shtetl with the intent to exact maximum, indiscriminate death and destruction, there was significant news chatter about the attack. Under the fog of war, not fully clear what to expect. 

My wife, who works in Tel Aviv, just completed her shift and was taking a bus home. She called to advise me that her bus was late and that her cellphone battery was running low, so I shouldn’t worry if she’s delayed and doesn’t answer. Shortly after our conversation came the news flash about a mega-casualty terrorist attack in nearby Jaffa and another attempted attack in Tel Aviv. I tried calling my wife back. No answer. Wishfully and optimistically, I attributed it to no battery.

Then the news flash that Iran had fired several hundred cruise missiles at Israel. Expected to arrive in our airspace within the next … 12 minutes. Not 10 minutes, not 15, but 12. This was for real! Where was my wife?! There was no way to call her, to learn of her whereabouts.

If she were on the bus during a missile barrage, what would happen? Would the driver follow Homefront commands? Would the bus pull over? Would the passengers get off the bus? Would they crouch down away from the bus with their hands covering their heads? Would someone hover over my wife … protect her?

Time is ticking – three minutes from the expected cruise missile impact. Anxiously pacing the living room, I keep looking to the news for some insight about something. Then, I hear the elevator. I run into the hallway, watching the red digits slowing climbing to my floor. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. The door opens. There she is. In all her beauty. Somewhat frazzled-looking. I give her a giant, protective bear hug. Immediately, sirens go off throughout the city and our cellphones buzz and flash with missile alerts. My wife arrived literally in the nick of time. 

We quickly make our way to the safe room. My wife enters first. I slam the door shut behind us. With her tension unravelling, my wife begins to cry – from exhaustion, from stress, from survival. Again, we embrace.

Love is… holding your wife near in the safety of your safe room during a missile attack.

***

Please continue donating to the Israeli war and revival efforts, or buy Israel Bonds. Twelve months after the Oct. 7, 2023, Hamas terror attacks, the war is still raging, and on several active fronts. Sderot and Metula – and even Tel Aviv and Haifa – are Israel’s front lines. And Israel is the diaspora’s front line. 

Bring them home now. 

Bruce Brown, a Canadian-Israeli, made aliyah more than 25 years ago. He works in high-tech and is happily married, with two kids. He is the winner of a 2019 American Jewish Press Association Simon Rockower Award for excellence in Jewish writing.

Haiku signs in the bathroom

This summer, our main event was a road trip. My husband had a conference at Cornell University in Ithaca, NY. Since we met at Cornell as undergrads 30 years ago, we thought it might be worthwhile to make this a family trip. We hadn’t been back in 20 years. 

When you go back to old haunts, they might not be what you expect. There were so many new campus buildings. I took our twins on a campus tour where a 19-year-old guide talked about economics (her major), business and start-ups. When she asked the alumni in the group about their majors, I told her I was a double major: comparative literature and Near Eastern studies. She said, “So interesting!” in a tone that made it clear she thought I was ancient and bizarre.

I didn’t feel at home in Ithaca, which I used to feel was “my place.” My kids found holes in Cornell’s sustainability mantras that I used to deeply respect. While trying to dry clothing by draping it in the back of the car, for example, they pointed out there were no clothes lines in the dorms where we stayed or outdoors. When we went to buy the obligatory university sweatshirts, they couldn’t believe the campus store stocked tons of branded items made entirely of synthetics – manufactured from petroleum and likely made in poor working conditions. 

When we visited a renovated cafeteria, where I had eaten with my husband when we first met, we had to go to the washroom. Each stall had a short message posted. It explained what not to throw down the toilet. It also explained what had happened to require the message to be posted. It was the soul of brevity, a haiku of sorts, but it answered every question that a smart-mouthed adolescent student might ask.

With a smirk, I commented that this was still my kind of place – it offers the full explanation. As an adult, I’ve lived in places without the full explanation. Here’s an example: when an event is announced in Winnipeg, there is a start time, usually with a vague location, and the announcement just assumes everyone knows where it is. There’s also an assumption that you’ll know that, if food will be served, what kind of food, and what else is likely to happen. If there is a contact number at the end, it’s a postscript that reads, “If you are dumb enough to not understand this, call this person – but, guess what, they won’t know either.” Admittedly, I’m paraphrasing a little here, but, inevitably, if I call that number, the person is completely stymied by my questions. They wonder about why anyone would need to know what I am asking. They aren’t used to newcomers who might not know what to expect or who need all the details.

Maybe I’m just that annoying person who likes to know what I’m getting into, but when I hang out with relatives from bigger cities, their event schedule is full of the pertinent details. When I look at my sister-in-law’s fridge, in the DC suburbs, every single school event flyer or invitation has all the information. Maybe it’s a Type A thing? Even if they’re uptight, those are my people.

Recently, we had a visit with a local teacher here in Winnipeg and she mentioned a place run by two nice Jewish guys, called Friend Bakery and Pizzeria, which has delicious cinnamon buns. The bakery’s not near our usual activities. Out on an errand, we stopped in. We were greeted by the owners. They were welcoming, and open to our family deliberations. While we eyed the big $11 challahs, I said it was too bad that we’d already started ours in the bread machine – because it’s summer and I’m so not turning on the oven. The man nodded with understanding. We wished each other Shabbat Shalom. I got a little teary driving home. I had found more of my people.

Finding one’s “people” isn’t easy or without contention. Wandering around Ithaca on our trip, I encountered a Gaza war propaganda sticker with real venom to it. I was upset. For the first time ever, I unpeeled that sticker and threw it away. They might be free to spread misinformation, but I was just as free to see its harmful hate and throw it out.

Summer is for rest, reflection and productivity. I felt physically rested after spending many days in the car. Yet summer is also a time for growing things, embracing learning out of school and in the world. My kids saw lakes, gorges and waterfalls, ate lots of ice cream and watched Ferris Bueller’s Day Off for the first time. (The movie is still funny.) The grandeur of steep craggy landscapes and huge lakes is still awe-inspiring. 

My world has narrowed some since Oct. 7. I actively avoid encounters where I suspect my household might face hate or harassment. A friend and ally suggested that it must be even more upsetting when it happens in a place where I’m relaxed and least suspect it. The places where I used to feel safe are painful to be in.

Even so, I’ve felt love, support and outreach from unexpected places. Two close non-Jewish mom friends, who consistently wish me Shabbat Shalom, encourage me to vent and they listen with love. A few of my husband’s colleagues and friends’ parents just contacted us out of the blue to say they care and are thinking of us.

I don’t know “where we go from here” in the middle of a war, and the hate it’s stirred up. I think about the bathroom sign haiku with a weird fondness. It said everything that needed saying. I wish bigger, scarier times allowed for that kind of precise explanation and brevity, but I know it isn’t possible. Smart people disagree, struggle and work to find meaning. This is what Torah and Jewish rabbinic tradition models for us. The key is to keep it up, not lose hope, and to avoid the paralysis that comes with irrational fear.

When we find “our people,” they don’t always agree with us, and things are always changing. A long road trip can remind us that we’ve been stuck in ruts. But, sometimes, the GPS directions are wrong. We need our brains, a hard copy map and common sense to get out of tricky situations; autopilot doesn’t always suffice. However, our personal and historic experiences offer a roadmap of what has gone before and what might lie ahead. With that context, we can go forward: towards a new school year, a new Jewish year, new learning and better times. 

Joanne Seiff has written regularly for the Winnipeg Free Press 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.

A picture is worth a thousand words

In the first few years of 1900, my paternal grandparents – who had been married since 1886 – came to a decision. Economic life in Pinsk was too challenging and a drastic lifestyle change was required. So, in 1905, my grandfather, Yehiel Rubachka, age 34, journeyed alone from Pinsk (then under control of czarist Russia) to find work in Toronto. He knew Yiddish and a bit of Russian, having served in the Russian army for three years. He left behind my 27-year-old grandmother, Liba, and their four young children, Bessie (born in 1899), David (1902), Minnie (1903) and Herschel (1905), in Pinsk Karlin. Today, Karlin might be called a suburb of Pinsk.

On the one hand, Pinsk, with its sizeable and well-organized Jewish population (according to Yad Vashem, 21,819 or 77.3% of the city’s population, in 1896) offered the comfort of the familiar. On the other hand, living conditions were not good. By the time my grandfather left Pinsk, he and my grandmother had buried five children. There were also political and social issues, such as the fact that, in czarist Russia, Jews by and large lived under restrictions: forbidden to settle or acquire land outside the cities and towns, legally limited in attendance at secondary school and higher schools, virtually barred from legal professions, denied the right to vote for municipal councilors, and excluded from serving in the navy or the guards. Not to mention the repercussions of the failed 1905 Russian revolution, and the deaths and damage done by periodic Cossack attacks.

It is not clear what my grandfather’s relocation ultimately meant. For all intents and purposes, entering Canada was fairly easy; he did not need a passport or a visa to enter the country. But did he go to Toronto to test the waters so to speak – perhaps Canada would turn out to be no better than eastern Europe? Or was his plan, from the start, to make enough money to bring over the rest of the family? Or was it all left open-ended? On the birth certificate of one of my aunts, his occupation in Canada was listed as a (humble) rag collector. 

In any case, around 1906, my grandparents decided a family portrait was needed. (Since my Uncle Herschel still looks like an infant, this photo was probably produced earlier than the 1910 date my father held to.) The problem, of course, was that the family was based in two distant locations, Toronto and Pinsk. So how was such a picture taken? 

photo - Deborah Rubin Fields' grandfather and family
A family living on separate continents in the early 1900s has a photo with everyone in it. (photo from Deborah Rubin Fields)

According to Rita Margolin, a Yad Vashem historian, glass plate negatives were in use from the 1850s through the 1920s. They were popular with both amateur and professional photographers. In these years before courier and other delivery services, it would have been tricky to safely send glass negatives, they might have shattered in mailing. This suggests that some other method was used for putting together the two photos that became the family portrait.

Margolin further elaborated that a Pinsk photographer named Rendall might have made the composite image, as he was active in Pinsk in 1910. She pointed out, however, that photographers generally displayed their name on the photos they took, and my family’s photo is lacking a signature both on the front and the back side. (It is probably not a good idea with my unskilled hands to search for a signature by separating this very old photo from the cardboard to which it is pasted.) The lack of signature might mean that the photo I have is a copy and not the original.

Early 20th-century photo studios preferred photomontage – the production of images by physically cutting and joining combined photos – to create, for instance, tall-tale postcards. Tall-tale postcards are also known as “exaggerations.” Examples of these kinds of postcards include hilarious old farming photos in which farmers are seen pushing a wheelbarrow or a wagon containing giant harvested onions or enormous potatoes. 

According to my father, the late Sidney (also known by his Yiddish name, Sheya) Rubin, z’l, my grandfather was added to the picture. One photographer with whom I consulted agreed that this is a likely scenario, as normally the head of the family would be prominently featured in the front, rather than the back, row of a photo. 

In my family’s photograph, my grandmother is standing, facing the camera, straight on and straight-faced. My Aunt Bessie is sitting on a wooden chair while my Aunt Minnie is sitting on what might be a tree stump. My Uncle Dave is sitting on a suitcase. The baby, my Uncle Herschel, dressed in some sort of baby’s gown, sits atop a stack of cases. My grandfather, with a somewhat wistful look on his face, is cleverly placed behind a trunk, with only his upper torso visible.

My grandfather’s family left Pinsk and joined him in Canada in 1911. Sadly, all the relatives who remained in Pinsk were killed in the Shoah. My father’s family settled at Toronto’s 13 Leonard Ave. Between 1880 and 1928, 70,000 Jews left Russian-held territory for Canada.

Four more children were born in Toronto. These included two more aunts, one uncle and my father. Rachel or Rae was born in 1911, Birdie (often called by her Yiddish name Faigel) was born in 1913, Harvey (often called Mo) was born in 1915 and my father was born in 1917. My father’s family, however, did not remain in Toronto. In 1920, they moved to the United States, settling in Chicago. Along the way, the family name was changed to Rubin. My grandfather’s first name was anglicized to Joseph and my grandmother’s first name was anglicized to Elizabeth (or Lizzie). My grandfather became a naturalized American citizen in 1953. By that time, he had been living in the United States for more than 30 years but, still, he signed his naturalization papers in Yiddish.  

As a child, I remember visiting the street where my father had lived as a young child. Perhaps surprisingly, the missionaries still had a close-by storefront. According to reports, missionaries had been “working” in the area since the time my grandfather was living in Toronto. Although they apparently succeeded in converting very few Jews, it did not stop them from trying for years on end.

Photoshop and other digital photo editing tools are a great help to today’s photographers. In the early 1900s, of course, computers and such programs did not exist. Yet, in the early 1900s, photographers on two continents managed to make a composite image nonetheless. 

Deborah Rubin Fields is an Israel-based features writer. She is also the author of Take a Peek Inside: A Child’s Guide to Radiology Exams, published in English, Hebrew and Arabic.

Keeping Jewish history alive

Janice Masur and her daughter, Liora Freedman, on March 3, after unveiling the memorial plaque in Nagoya village near Mbale, Uganda. (photo from Janice Masur)

I have just come back from Uganda, where my family used to live, in the Jewish community that existed from 1949 to 1961. My daughter, Liora, had returned 10 days earlier, as planned. I had to stay longer because my passport had been stolen two weeks previously, off my lap while sitting in a slow-moving car. Thankfully, after Liora involved my local member of Parliament, my temporary Canadian passport, processed in Nairobi, Kenya, finally arrived in Kampala, and I was able to leave. 

Although still essentially an agricultural economy, Uganda is touted to visitors as the most entrepreneurial country in Africa. Most people in the countryside have a small plot to grow their own food and sell the surplus. Large-scale plantations of sugar cane, tea, coffee and bananas are grown for export. The Pearl of Africa is rich in mineral deposits and China is beginning to drill for oil on the edge of Murchison Falls National Park.

I could not find my way around Kampala anymore. It used to be a self-contained town situated over seven hills. Now it sprawls and spreads in all directions with Ugandan street names I can barely pronounce. My old house has a high fence and a guard at the gate, with a gun slung across his shoulder, who wouldn’t let us enter. I was charmed to find the same small five-petaled purple flowers floating down like tiny propellers, strewn on the driveway just as they had done in my childhood. Across the rutted road, there was a new modern hotel instead of modest houses.

We drove up Kibuli Hill to see Kibuli Mosque. In my day, the mosque was a friendly looking place of worship. I was shocked to see how fortress-like it had become, painted grey instead of white, with the words “None shall be worshipped but Allah. Muhammad is his prophet.”

I tried to find my bearings on Tank Hill – named for the three extremely large round water tanks in the neighbourhood – where we had once lived but couldn’t. Instead of being given help, I was told not to take photos, or I might be thought to be spying on an army unit. Important ministers travel in cars with armed guards seated outside of the cars facing sideways, guns at the ready.

photo - Kasubi Tombs on the Hoima Road, Kampala, Uganda
Kasubi Tombs on the Hoima Road, Kampala, Uganda. (photo from Janice Masur)

I visited the Kasubi Tombs, where the kabakas, or kings, have been buried since pre-Christian times. I had never known about this sacred UNESCO site when I lived in Uganda. A steep thatched roof, reaching almost to the ground covered intricate woven designs in the inner ceiling of one of the tombs. It was my absolute luck to have Prince Joseph as my tour guide. When I showed him a photograph, he told me proudly that he was the grandson of Edward, the brother of the kabaka, Mutesa II or Freddy, who was one of the two Ugandan men in the picture.

My purpose for traveling to Uganda was to unveil two memorial plaques for my Jewish community, which had been there from 1949 to 1961. None of the community infrastructure exists today, not even the cemetery, now submerged under real estate. 

We placed a plaque in the Nagoya village near Mbale, where the Abayudaya, who converted to Judaism in 1921, live. Conservative Rabbi Gershom Sizomu and his wife, Tziporah, and others in the community were so welcoming and warm, helpful and supportive. We had a wonderful Shabbat evening, with lots of music and drumming, and Shabbat lunch under two large mango trees, with stunning views of Mount Elgon.

On Sunday, the whole community was invited to the unveiling of the plaque. We ambled down to a lower flat piece of land after morning minyan in the synagogue. There were speeches by Rabbi Sizomu and by Rabbi Netanel Kaszovitz, a young Orthodox rabbi visiting from Nairobi, who is responsible for administering to all the Orthodox Jewish communities in East and West Africa. The plaque glowed in the dappled sunlight. Two newly planted mango trees and two benches were nearby, offering enough room for a minyan, at Rabbi Sizomu’s request. The white lettering on the black granite looked impressive; beautifully supervised by Ariel Okiror Eyal.

photo - Rabbi Gershom Sizumo and Janice Masur with the Kampala plaque that will be held in storage
Rabbi Gershom Sizumo and Janice Masur with the Kampala plaque that will be held in storage. (photo from Janice Masur)

I experienced all sorts of conflicting emotions, as you might imagine. At long last a plaque to commemorate the help that my Uganda Jewish community had given the Abayudaya last century was installed. Nothing had marked the presence of the once-vibrant, secular, 23-family Jewish community, which functioned without a rabbi, a Torah or a synagogue. Who would have guessed that, in 2024, a Conservative and three Orthodox Black Jewish communities would exist, interspersed with Muslim villages?

As for the other plaque I hoped to place, it was for the Jews who were buried more than 60 years ago in the Jewish cemetery just off the Kampala-Jinja Expressway, abutting the Christian cemetery. It is not common knowledge that the Jewish cemetery here had been destroyed and Speke Apartments, built by Dr. Sudhir Ruparelia, lies on top of where it had been. After many months of trying to contact Ruparelia I finally succeeded while in Kampala. In reply to my request to place a plaque somewhere in the vicinity of the apartments, in a discreet corner or on a less important wall, he said “No! None.”

photo - Speke Apartments in Kampala, which is built alongside an unkempt Christian cemetery and on top of the Jewish cemetery
Speke Apartments in Kampala, which is built alongside an unkempt Christian cemetery and on top of the Jewish cemetery. (photo from Janice Masur)

Perhaps I could mount the plaque at the edge of the unkempt Christian cemetery? It requires a Ugandan minister’s permission to approve a location near the 1972 Entebbe Raid plaque at the difficult-to-access old Entebbe Airport. Maybe at the Uganda Museum? The garden of the Chabad compound was also considered. Unfortunately, none of these placements have materialized.

I traveled to Uganda to place two memorial plaques, but my mission was not fully accomplished, and the second plaque lies in storage with Rabbi Sizomu. The Chabad Rabbi in Kampala, Moshe Raskin, said he would try to place it somewhere, perhaps in the future grounds of the new plot of land they will buy for Chabad, because Rabbi Moshe says Chabad is in Kampala to stay.

That I couldn’t find a place to mount the second plaque greatly saddened me. In many parts of the world, history is important and physical spaces or buildings are repurposed and feature plaques to show that a mikvah is buried here or a synagogue was once there. Today, few Ugandans know their local history, including that former governor (1952-1957) Sir Andrew Cohen was a British Jew. He was the first governor not to plunder Uganda’s wealth and he encouraged education and self-rule.

Now it is my task to contact my East African friends and perhaps schools and associations because Albert Kasozi, executive director of Buganda Heritage and Tourism – to whom Prince Joseph introduced me while we drank African tea at my hotel – would like as much 19th-century Bugandan history collected as possible for a new museum that has just been built in Kampala and will be formally opened soon. The banner exhibit I created, Shalom Uganda, will find a home in this new museum and I am very happy about the prospect. And the Kampala memorial plaque? To be determined…. 

Janice Masur is a Vancouver author and speaker. Her book, Shalom Uganda: A Jewish Community on the Equator, tells her story of growing up in the bygone Ashkenazi Jewish community of Kampala from 1949 to 1961.

The making of a milestone

By the time you read this, I’ll be working on the last days of preparation before my twins’ b’nai mitzvah. This, as many have said, is a big simcha (happy party), a once-in-a-lifetime event, a milestone and an achievement in our lives. It won’t surprise those who know me that this also puts a lot of pressure on us! Don’t get me wrong, my household is excited. We’re also nervous, apprehensive and stressed by all the details.

It helps to put this into context. We’re a family who has been going to services on Saturdays regularly since long before these children appeared on the scene. My kids are familiar with what’s expected of them and want to do a good job. We’re from a family with diverse approaches to Jewish life, so we’ve gone to all sorts of services, as well as different kinds of Shabbat dinners, family outings on Saturdays, and more. Our kids have experienced many more different ways of observing holidays and Jewish life than I did growing up. This was one of my goals for raising well-informed Jewish kids. For a small ethno-religion, we have so many varied traditions.

This came to mind when I chatted with some of my husband’s young cousins long ago. They told something to the effect that there was only one way to sing a particular part of the Shabbat service. When I explained that there were many melodies and ways to recite the same Shabbat prayers, they looked at me with disbelief. Their experiences with only one congregation in a specific ethnic group and religious movement meant they hadn’t been exposed to multiple melodies or the rich musical traditions of other Jewish communities.

Exploring these choices has made my kids’ lessons and preparations more difficult. If they only knew one tune, well, that’s the one they would sing. However, offering learners many choices means it can be harder to narrow down and practise one melody to make it shine.

Staying true to our family’s particular needs and choices when it comes to the celebration itself has been its own adventure. If one is used to a specific type of bar/bat mitzvah party, with loud music, dancing, catered “rubber chicken,” a photo slide show or a candlelighting ceremony, anything different can seem peculiar. At age 12, I attended one classmate’s bat mitzvah party that was (gasp) held at the family’s home rather than at the synagogue or at a party venue. Rather than graciously modeling that people are different, I thought this was weird. No one reprimanded me for saying this. In retrospect, it was a lovely, heimisch (homey) party held by a family who celebrated the way that they felt most comfortable. I wish I’d had the maturity to see that then.

Holding a Jewish event on a June Shabbat in Winnipeg means that it will be light until late at night, so we’re having a seudah shlishit (a third Shabbat meal or supper). Our congregation’s building is under renovation so the meal will be at home, without the loud music or DJ, to align with those who observe more traditionally. We’ve made numerous choices that my tween self would call “weird.” As an adult, I see it as providing the celebration that fits our family the best.

We’re mostly introverts. Three of the four of us don’t usually like noisy, crowded events. An entire weekend of socialization will be a lot of people time for us. Since many of our relatives are coming from far away, it may be more like a week of company. One of us jokingly said he would announce, “Hey! The party’s over! Please leave!” so he could go back to reading quietly in a corner. We’ve encouraged him not to voice this aloud to any of our relatives or guests.

Although some people hire event planners to manage this, for many households, the burden falls on the mom to arrange everything. This seems to be yet another gendered responsibility. I’ve been told that 50-some years ago, women in the community cooked all the food as well, and there was no catering on offer. I’ve had kind supportive offers from older women friends who remember those days. However, even if one wants to hire serving staff, it can be hard to do in these post-COVID days. There’s just nobody out there who seems to want to do it.

Making so many decisions, from catering to dishes to compost bins and yard games for kids, feels overwhelming. In some moments, I find myself excited about when it will be over and I can stop worrying. Yet, I know that, for many people, this event is a lifelong memory. I just want to make it a meaningful one for all of us. With twins, we only get one chance at it, too, so … no pressure?

Often, I have Jewish texts to lean on to help me understand and guide me. Although it’s not my family’s tradition to recite Eishet Chayil (Proverbs 31:10-31), the tribute to a “woman of valour,” it strikes me that the woman in this important narrative knew how to throw a perfect Jewish family event. I hope I can do something that is half as acceptable, where everyone feels welcome, comfortable and full of good food at the end.

In my head, I’m hearing phrases offered by the older people in my husband’s family at the end of every family party: “May we only meet at happy occasions,” for example. After such a difficult and sad time, I cannot forget those messages. While I worry over the details, please take the opportunity, when it is offered to you, to celebrate at these once-in-a-lifetime happenings. Bring your joy and light to make them special for everyone. “May we only meet at weddings (and not funerals). May we only meet at happy occasions,” these aunts would say as they hugged us. It’s about time to find space for some happy moments, too. 

Joanne Seiff has written regularly for the Winnipeg Free Press 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.

The joys of making matzah

Left to right: Joanne Belzberg, Henia Wineberg, Rabbi Yitzchok Wineberg, Arnold Silber, Tammi Kerzner and Syd Belzberg. (photo by Yaletown Photography)

For more than three decades, the Model Matzah Bakery, organized by Chabad Lubavitch in British Columbia, has offered a unique and interactive Passover experience for thousands of participants. What started in the early 1990s has blossomed into an event anticipated by children, high school students, adults and seniors alike.

The hands-on program immerses participants in the ancient tradition of making matzah, a significant element of the Jewish holiday of Passover. From separating wheat kernels to baking the final product, attendees go through each step of the process, gaining a deeper understanding of the cultural, spiritual and historical significance behind this unleavened bread.

One of the highlights of the Model Matzah Bakery is its emphasis on participation. Everyone is invited to roll up their sleeves and get involved in every aspect of the process. We begin by separating wheat kernels from the chaff, a task that connects us with the agricultural roots of this ancient practice. Next, we grind the kernels into flour, followed by meticulous sifting to ensure the purity of the ingredients. As the flour mixes with water, laughter and excitement transform the process into a joyful communal experience. With expert guidance from volunteers, participants roll out the dough, making sure to create holes to prevent leavening. And all of this must be completed within a strict time limit of 18 minutes, after which the dough may begin rising, which will create chametz, leaven, which is not permitted during Passover.

This year, the Matzah Bakery got an upgrade as it partnered with Stable Harvest Farms. Not only did participants get to make matzah for Passover using locally grown, organic wheat, Stable Harvest Farms is also offering the chance for children to experience the process from farm to seder table – literally. Two family days will be hosted at the farm, where families will plant and then harvest their own wheat, which they will then use to create matzah for next Passover. Save the dates: May 12, a special Mother’s Day celebration, where the wheat will be planted, and Sept. 8, a pre-Rosh Hashanah experience, including harvesting the wheat and setting aside for Passover 2025/5785.

“Chabad is known for their innovative approach to Jewish education,” said one educator from a local Jewish day school. “This kind of hands-on, start-to-finish project will guarantee that the children remember the joy and excitement of the holiday for years to come.”

While initially designed for children, the Model Matzah Bakery has evolved to welcome participants of all ages. High school students and educators find themselves drawn to the program as an engaging way to learn about Jewish traditions, while adults and seniors appreciate the opportunity to celebrate their cultural heritage. This year, for the first time, children with special needs had their own opportunity to visit the bakery.

“It’s not just about making matzah; it’s about connecting with our heritage in a tangible way,” said Rachel Cohen, a long-time attendee of the Model Matzah Bakery. “The experience of being part of something so ancient yet so relevant to our lives today was truly special.”

Rabbi Dovid Rosenfeld, director of Lubavitch BC, which organizes this project, emphasized the importance of preserving and passing on these traditions to future generations. “Our goal isn’t just to teach about matzah making, but to create lasting memories and connections to our shared history through positive Jewish experiences,” he explained. “When participants left here, they took with them not just matzah, but a sense of belonging and pride in their heritage.” 

– Courtesy Chabad Lubavitch BC

Pinsky pens family memoir

In his ambiguously titled book Ordinary, Extraordinary: My Father’s Life, Vancouver lawyer and community leader Bernard Pinsky shares the biography of Rubin Pinsky. As the pages turn, the reader realizes that ordinariness and extraordinariness really do describe the tale of a life that veers from historically monumental to surprisingly, and gratefully, commonplace. 

image - Ordinary, Extraordinary book coverAt 1 p.m., Jan. 28, Pinsky will officially launch the book, in honour of International Holocaust Remembrance Day, at a prologue event to the Cherie Smith JCC Jewish Book Festival. He will present in conversation with Marsha Lederman.

Pinsky’s book is based on videotaped testimonies that his father, Rubin, gave in 1983 and 1990 to the Vancouver Holocaust Education Centre (which is co-presenting the Jan. 28 event), as well as family memories and what is clearly intensive research.

Rubin was born (probably) in 1924, about 100 kilometres north of Pinsk in what is now Belarus but was then Poland. Pinsky sets the stage beautifully, evoking shtetl life, where the smallest of the children slept atop the bakery oven in the tiny home after his father, Baruch, had baked challah and cakes during the day to eke out a meagre living.

After the German occupation, the Nazis quickly identified the men in the Jewish community who had leadership qualities and said they were needed for an important mission in a nearby area. They were marched just out of earshot and mass murdered. In a later selection, Baruch, his wife Henya and 10-year-old Rachel were marched off and never seen again.

Rubin and his sister Chasia were deemed useful for forced labour and spared the executions. Older brother Herzl had earlier been conscripted into the Red Army.

Every survivor narrative includes a series of unimaginable interventions, coincidences and happenstances, often made possible by acts of incredible daring by the survivor. Through a series of audacious escapades – they weighed off what appeared to be likelihood of certain death with the faint hope of survival – Rubin, Chasia and a few others escaped a selection process and fled to the forest. They lived off berries, roots, tree bark and what small game they could capture. In one instance, Rubin slew a timber wolf in a competition for the same rabbit. 

The group connected with a diffuse but apparently well-organized network of Jewish and other partisan fighters. Despite the challenges of mere survival, Rubin and Chasia participated in anti-Nazi actions that included cutting telephone lines, destroying railway tracks and undermining the establishment of Nazi garrisons.

Typhus swept through the Jews in the forest. In the winter of 1943/44, Rubin was delirious with fever and expected to die. In one of the terrible choices people were forced to make in such situations, the partisan cadre decided to leave him behind to save the group. Chasia refused to go. The two siblings hid in a ditch and, to the best of her ability, she nursed him back to comparative health.

Each of these unlikely survival stories makes one wonder how many similar stories did not have the relatively happy ending Rubin’s did, how many survivor testimonies or second generation narratives were never written because the fever did not break, or the hero did not take a risk on a faint hope, or any of a million chance escapes or saving miracles did not occur in time.

In July 1944, the forest in which Rubin and Chasia had hid, fought and barely survived was liberated by the Soviet army. Concentration and death camps were repurposed into displaced persons camps after the war and Rubin and Chasia were in Bergen-Belsen. Chasia left and searched for three weeks, eventually finding Herzl and bringing him with her to Bergen-Belsen, where the three surviving members of the family were reunited.

Zionists tried to recruit them to go to Palestine, but Rubin knew that would be a continuation of the conflict, uncertainty and fighting he wanted to put behind him. 

“Rubin therefore made up his mind,” writes Pinsky. “He needed a skill or trade in demand in America. He and Herzl made a pact. They would study together, each in a different trade, and go together to the New World. They would help each other and never be separated again.”

The story of how Rubin and Herzl (in the New World, he would be known as Harry) were able to migrate to Canada is another example of chutzpah – an hilarious drama of subterfuge – that has to be read to be believed. Chasia, whose marriage in the DP camp did not last, joined them soon after.

Rubin married Jenny Moser in 1951 and they would have three children: the author, Bernard, his older sister Helen and younger brother Max – all now mainstays of the Vancouver Jewish community. Rubin’s life in Canada was that of a hardscrabble entrepreneur – and not without its seemingly miraculous near-misses and fortunate endings.

As an appendix, Pinsky shares writings from a 2012 family roots trip back to Gzetl, where a dedicated teacher is keeping alive the memory of Gzetl’s Jews.

Pinsky’s memoir is indeed a story both extraordinary and ordinary, of what human resilience can summon in a world turned upside-down – and how the strength developed in unimaginable adversity can carry a survivor through challenges when life becomes, in comparison, ordinary. 

Register for the event at jccgv.com/jewish-book-festival/events.

Between generations – Building Bridges speaker series opens Nov. 5

Kolot Mayim Reform Temple welcomes Dr. Joshua Grayson to speak on In Search of Lost Roots: How One Researcher Traced His Family Across Three-and-a-Half Centuries. The lecture will be presented on Zoom Nov. 5, 11 a.m., launching a new season of the Building Bridges speaker series on the theme of “L’dor V’dor: From Generation to Generation.”

Grayson has always been fascinated by family history and, thanks to research skills honed in a doctoral degree at the University of Southern California, as well as fluency in five foreign languages, he was able to trace one branch of his family history back to approximately 1660, and many other branches to the early 1700s. Through his research, he learned about the many contributions his family made in fields as diverse as science, art, medicine, feminism and Zionism. His efforts also led him to reconnecting with living relatives he never knew he had.

Grayson founded Lost Roots Family History, which is a website (lostrootsfamilyhistory.com), virtual museum and research service devoted to helping other Jewish families reconnect with their roots, discover their past, engage with the present and preserve their heritage for the future. On the theme of From Generation to Generation, he observed, “No matter how much things may change, something of the achievements of those who came before us – some piece of what they have built – will live on forever to inspire and educate future generations.”

Kolot Mayim’s Rabbi Lynn Greenhough added, “Many of us participate in what we call ‘Jewish geography,’ trying to establish long-lost connections with each other through familial ties. Some of us who have chosen Judaism can sometimes feel outside these geographical memories, but the information we receive from all our collective ancestors can inspire all of us to treasure what we hold today.”

Grayson’s online lecture will offer insights into the resources available for Jewish genealogical research, including archival records, immigration documents, letters, oral histories and digital databases. As well, he will provide guidance on how to navigate these resources, overcome obstacles and piece together the intricate stories of Jewish ancestry.

L’dor v’dor generally emphasizes the passing on of knowledge and experience from older to younger generations. This year’s Building Bridges series will expand the concept of l’dor v’dor as a reciprocal relationship, where learning can also be passed from younger generations to elders. Speakers will highlight the Jewish experience of resilience, survival and renewal across generations.

For the full list of speakers and to register for any of the talks, visit kolotmayimreformtemple.com.

– Courtesy Kolot Mayim Reform Temple

Chance to create

Esther Rausenberg, artistic and executive director of the Eastside Arts Society. (photo by Wendy D)

Eastside Arts Society (EAS) presents the return of its two-day summer art-making event, CREATE! Arts Festival, taking place at Strathcona Park on July 22 and at various Eastside Arts District studios on July 23.

A community initiative designed to welcome guests to explore, learn and create art together with local artists, CREATE! features a variety of accessible visual and performing arts workshops for adults and youth, including watercolour painting, needle felting, indigo dying, pottery, glass fusing, photography, ukulele, Salish singing and storytelling.

“In addition to a variety of art workshops, demonstrations and public participation art installations, we are also incredibly proud to introduce our brand new festival art shop, featuring a curated selection of arts and crafts all handmade by local artists,” said EAS artistic and executive director Esther Rausenberg, who is a member of the Jewish community.

On July 22, there will be a series of outdoor art-making workshops taught by more than 15 artists who live and/or work in the Eastside Arts District, many of whom will be participating in CREATE! Arts Festival for the first time. Adult and youth workshops will be hosted by Taaye Wong, Tanna Po, Suzan Marczak, Nima Nasiri, Naomi Yamamoto, Niki Holmes, Ross den Otter, Daphne Roubini, Russell Wallace, Jewish community member Naomi Steinberg, Nicole Caspillo, Nathaniel Marchand, Eri Ishii and Chantal Cardinal (FELT à la main with LOVE). A children and youth workshop will be hosted by Amberlie Perkin and an all-abilities workshop by Alternative Creations Studio.

Saturday festivities will also include a general admission CREATE! Art Zone. Art demonstrations include painting, pottery and glass beading from Francis Tiffany, Julia Chirka (summer skool) and members of Terminal City Glass Co-op. Public participation art projects include a life-size colouring mural with Serena Chu of Chu Chu, squeegee art with Joanne Probyn, and the building and performing of two giant crow puppets – in honour of EAS’s unofficial mascot – with Jacquie Rolston. Opus Art Supplies will have a hands-on block carving and printing activation: carve and pull a mini-block print, and contribute to a collaborative printmaking collage.

A selection of local handmade artworks and goods, curated by OH Studio Project, will be available at the festival shop. There will be a fully licensed beer garden, serving beer, cider and wine from Strange Fellows Brewing, as well as an assortment of food from a collection of food trucks, including Earnest Ice Cream, Wak Wak Burger, Mahshiko and Camion Café.

On July 22, the 8th Annual Art! Bike! Beer! Crawl Brewery Tour & Fundraiser will, for the first time, end at the festival grounds.

Activities will move indoors on July 23, connecting participants with art production spaces in neighbouring Eastside studios, with additional art workshops hosted by members of the Terminal City Glass Co-op, Richard Tetrault, Sonya Iwasiuk, Grace Lee (eikcam ceramics) and Naomi Yamamoto.

Workshops are $35 (plus GST) for youth/adults, with the exception of Perkin’s workshop for children/youth at $20 (plus GST); children under the age of 12 must be supervised by an adult. The general public can access festival activities at Strathcona Park for a $5 general admission fee (children under age 12 are free). For full festival details and workshop registration, visit createartsfestival.ca.

– Courtesy Eastside Arts Society

Beautiful life despite illness

Rachel Goldman and her husband, Geoff McLennan. (photo by Avi Dhillon)

Rachel Goldman is this year’s Courage to Come Back Award winner in the medical category. She couldn’t be there in person at the Vancouver Convention Centre June 9, but she did accept the honour virtually.

After introducing herself, Goldman said, “Forty months. Forty months! That’s 1,216 days or 29,200 hours. That’s the total amount of time I have spent secluded from the world, due to COVID. Can you even imagine? So, here I am, speaking before 1,700 of you, sharing my story. It’s a surreal and humbling experience, but one that I am striving to embrace with courage and gratitude.”

Goldman explained what it has been like to have been born with CVID, common variable immune deficiency.

“For 40 years, I have caught and recovered from thousands of illnesses – lived through years of isolation and endured the roller coaster that is chronic illness,” she said.

“A common cold is never just a cold. It’s a sinus infection that leads to intravenous antibiotics. It’s a kidney infection that leads to weeks or months in an isolated hospital room. It’s my body triggering anaphylaxis to the antibodies being infused into me. Challenging? Absolutely.

“Not being able to be with you tonight to receive this amazing award in person is just one more of these challenges. I have my incredible father [Paul Goldman] there to accept this award on my behalf. Now, due to his attendance in my place, we will have to stay apart for at least 72 hours in hopes of minimizing my infection risk.

“Life altering? Most definitely,” she said.

“What it hasn’t done is stopped me from doing the best I can to live my life within the realm of what I can make possible, not what seems impossible.”

Goldman and her husband, Geoff McLennan, live in New Westminster and have two young children. A typical day for her starts at 6 a.m. to get their kids ready to go to Vancouver Talmud Torah.

“Once they leave, I am pretty exhausted, so I have to go back to bed and lie down for a couple hours,” she told the Independent. “I try to get outside every day and go for walks around our neighbourhood. With the weather becoming nicer, sometimes I will see a friend very distanced outside on our patio. I get my kids’ stuff ready for the next day for school … try to exercise and rest. I often write and usually have lots of doctors’ appointments, for the most part, over the phone or via Zoom. Then I get ready for my kids to come home. We try to have a normal evening of homework, dinner, bedtime and then time with my husband. Then rest again.”

That’s if she’s feeling OK. “If I am unwell,” she said, “then antibiotics and the meds I have to take to ensure I don’t have an allergic reaction to the meds keeps me mostly in bed. The meds make me feel very ill.

“If the infection is severe, then the antibiotics will require hospitalization, either inpatient or day treatment, to be delivered intravenously through a PICC [peripherally inserted central catheter] line.

“In terms of treatment,” she said, “I give myself weekly subcutaneous intravenous immunoglobulin infusions, which I infuse into my stomach through four needles.”

Because of her health, Goldman, a sports radio and television producer, had to stop working in 2017. She also has had to adapt how she volunteers at VTT, something she loved doing in-person. Unable to go into the school anymore, she said, “I have spent a lot of time volunteering virtually and helping out at home. I think I have become a master at cutting out projects for the school.

“Our Jewish community has been integral to our family,” she said. “Our children’s school has been the one constant in their life when everything else has been very chaotic. We travel 45 minutes each direction every day to bring our kids into Vancouver to attend VTT. We are eternally grateful for the love, support and kindness that the Vancouver Jewish community and Vancouver Talmud Torah has shown our family. They have lifted us up when things couldn’t have been more difficult. In turn, my kids could not feel safer, more well-loved and more connected with the Vancouver Jewish community.”

Goldman is a lifetime member of CHW, formerly known as Canadian Hadassah-WIZO, and has been a supporter of Jewish Federation of Greater Vancouver’s Choices event. In her younger days, she attended VTT and went through the entire Young Judaea summer camp system.

Her parents, Paul and Claudia Goldman, are also involved in the local and national Jewish communities. Her mother has been a volunteer with CHW for four decades, in many capacities, including becoming a national president and its lead representative internationally. Her father has served on synagogue boards and as a member of the Federation task force that led to the establishment of the Richmond Jewish Day School; as well, he has been involved with the Centre for Israel and Jewish Affairs and its predecessor, the Canada-Israel Committee, including as a member of CIJA’s national board.

During the pandemic, said Rachel Goldman, “The only way I could maintain close contact with my parents and my extended family was for them to limit their own activities in compliance with my specialist’s immunological protocols in order to protect me from potential infection. Those precautions are only now being partially loosened by my specialists.

“I had to home-school my two kids for 22 months during the pandemic as per my medical team’s instructions,” she said. “The kids only returned to full in-person schooling in March of 2022.

“If anyone goes into a high-risk environment or is exposed to anyone with COVID, then there is an isolation period of at least 72 hours, as has happened since the gala.

“I am still not able to attend anything at my kids’ school, their birthday parties, dance recitals, etc., any situation that occurs indoors,” she said. “Also, I am not able to travel via commercial airlines currently, which is very difficult since my sister [Naomi] and her family made aliyah eight years ago.”

Goldman wears a mask anytime she leaves her home, which is rarely, unless she is outside with her kids.

“If anyone in the house is sick, masks go on and I am double-masked,” she said. “If anyone is COVID positive, as happened in the last week, I have to leave the house for an extended period of time and we will have to isolate. I have not been inside in public since the beginning of the pandemic outside of medical appointments. I am just starting to have very distanced visits with a few friends now that the weather is getting better. Outside is the best and safest place for me.”

Her immediate family only recently started to take their masks off and, if they go into crowded places, they continue to mask.

Goldman has been to Israel twice for treatment, most recently in January 2020, after two years of constant hospitalizations for infections that stemmed from a sinus surgery she had in the hope of reducing infections. She said her medical team concluded “that the complexity of my condition required highly specialized expertise to determine a plan for continuing treatment, but none was available in Canada…. I conducted an intensive investigation for the relevant expertise, both in the U.S. and internationally, and determined that my best choice was Jerusalem’s Hadassah Hospital. I chose Hadassah because of its reputation as one of the world’s best research hospitals and, in particular, its multidisciplinary approach to diagnosis and treatment.”

Unfortunately, the medical tests – including many not typically available in Canada, as well as a complete set of genome sequencing and genetic testing – were interrupted by COVID. Goldman was urged to return home immediately. “At the time, they did not divulge why but, as time progressed, it became clear that the reason was due to the start of the COVID-19 pandemic,” she said.

Next steps for Goldman would involve establishing a new baseline. Because her current treatment includes the introduction of immunoglobulins extracted from the blood cells of others to boost her immune system, she said many of the tests that look at antibodies give false readings, as they aren’t interpreting her own system. “As a result,” she said, “it will be necessary to take me off all medications in a closely monitored hospital setting to be able to zero in on precisely what is going on with my immune system, in order to determine the best course of treatment going forward.”

The risk of doing this during COVID – and an increase in other respiratory diseases being treated in hospitals – has been too high and Goldman’s medical team is not comfortable with her flying on a commercial flight.

“I am now in the process of working towards re-setting a timetable with Hadassah to continue the process that was interrupted in 2020,” she said. “The logistics are complicated, but I am hopeful that I’ll have some clarity on that very soon so I can restart this process in the hopes of regaining some of my life and freedom back.”

It had been five years that Goldman’s aunt had been wanting to nominate Goldman for a Courage to Come Back Award.

“Finally, while hospitalized over the winter holidays, I agreed,” said Goldman. “I got the call from [chair] Lorne Segal and the Courage to Come Back Awards about winning a few months later … right before my kids’ spring break. I was shocked at first because this was the first time I had ever shared anything about my illness publicly. Even people closest to me didn’t really know the details and extent of my health condition.

“I didn’t realize that the way in which I have dealt with my health condition was something to be celebrated. Once I started thinking about it some more, I was truly humbled and very grateful to be recognized. I realized that this process, for me, was really about giving me a voice and the ability to hopefully help and inspire others with complex chronic medical conditions who are suffering in silence.

“By getting my voice back, it has allowed me to do more than just survive,” she said. “I decided that courage is absolutely something to be celebrated. I want to show my kids that, despite all of the obstacles being thrown at me and our family, we can rise above it all and have a beautiful life.”