gratitude – Jewish Independent

Need to value what we have

Every fall, we go apple picking. For my husband and me, it was one of our first dates, apple picking together in upstate New York. Over time, it has become a family outing, with each kid eating lots of fresh apples with the promise of applesauce and pie on the horizon. The timing is often perfect for the fall holidays, too.

This year, though, the pandemic has drastically increased unemployment. Many people are hungry. All around our (relatively well-off) neighbourhood, there are apple trees heavy with fruit. Here in Manitoba, frost is on the horizon. I have felt a huge pressure to put up food to share, and to pick more apples. This could be a long winter.

The first apple tree we helped pick was that of an elderly neighbour. She just lost her adult son, who was disabled. She was in mourning, terribly sad and frail looking, but also isolated by the pandemic. We all masked up immediately as she came out to greet us. Her smile was meaningful. Watching my kids cleaning up the fallen apples was important. She told us a visiting relative had made her pie. I got the sense she enjoyed that, as she is overwhelmed by the quantity of apples on the tree and the effort required to make anything from them for herself, these days.

A couple days later, I dropped off four 125-millilitre (four-ounce) canning jars of applesauce and a takeout container with two generous slices of apple pie. We canned pints of applesauce, made pie and apple chips for lunches. We still had way too many apples. We took a trip to the food bank and my husband donated 100 pounds (45 kilograms) of apples, more or less, at the self-serve donation bin. He also saw squash and other large amounts of produce from Winnipeg’s gardeners and I was relieved. It sounds like our mayor’s encouragement to citizens to grow more vegetables might have worked.

A couple weeks passed. We didn’t think we had more apple tree picking on our schedule as school approached. I continued studying Talmud as I had time. In Eruvin 29, there is a section that discusses what kinds of food should be given to the poor. The list is specific, including nuts, peaches, pomegranates and a citron. It stipulates that support for the poor should offer them dignity. In essence, poor people should have access to the same kinds of good foods as everyone else. Also, the food should be luxurious enough so that, if they were to sell it, it might be equivalent to two meals of something else. The food support should be dignified. It should offer poor people the same autonomy to choose, as anyone else might.

We received an email from another neighbour. Her apple tree had grown a lot of fruit this year. She still had a lot of apples left. Did we want to come?

We began to pick what looked like an untouched, heavily laden tree. It had so many low-hanging apples that my 9-year-old twins and I easily reached up to pick many with our hands. Again, we picked far more than we could use. The apples were so ripe though, that we had a lot of “drops.” These are the apples that fall when you jostle a branch even slightly – you just can’t catch them all.

We make the drops into applesauce or apple chips, but bruised apples have to be processed quickly. You don’t want to donate them to the food bank. I remembered this part of Eruvin, which reminds us that the best produce, not the bruised ones, should go to the hungry. Meanwhile, I tired of pleading with my boys to be careful, that they were wasting food. To them, it was just a bruised apple.

I tried to help them see it differently – to imagine it as the apple in a kid’s lunch. You’d be hungry without it. Days later, we are still processing bruised apples, but donated at least 100 more pounds of nice apples to the food bank. The tree’s owner asked us to come back again if we could manage it before the first frost.

At the end of Eruvin 29 and the beginning of the next page, Eruvin 30, there’s a reminder that we can’t allow the customary practices of the wealthy to be the ruling for everyone, including the poor. The way it’s explained is through the roasted meat that Persians eat (the wealthy are extravagant) and the fact that even a small scrap of fabric is valuable to the poor, so it matters if it should become impure or soiled.

During the pandemic, we’re all now wearing masks – small amounts of fabric that were previously considered waste. I made many kids’ masks from cotton shirting fabric I’d bought long ago, sold in small rectangles as discount samples. This experience is a reminder that is reinforced at this time of year – although we often live in a “land of plenty,” Yom Kippur helps us remember what it is to be hungry. Sukkot reminds us to value harvest. Scraps of fabric and apples make a difference. We can pick the apples before they fall, and offer others the same gorgeous produce that we take for granted.

In some ways, the Talmud seems ancient, but, thousands of years later, issues around disease, hunger and waste are still relevant. It’s great to have “roasted meat,” but even fabric scraps and bruised apples are important. It’s a Jewish thing to try to be grateful and value small things, even though we might have been tempted to waste them. We can use every fabric scrap and apple – and we should, because, as Rav Abaye notes, not everyone can afford lush roasted meat meals.

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.

More positives than expected

We often use the High Holidays for self-reflection. Consider, we’re urged, the year that has passed and the future. For me, the pandemic and its uncertainty has made me less focused on the year to come. Instead, I’ve been taking a positive accounting of things I’ve experienced this year – and it’s actually quite a lot.

First, there’s been more time for our family to do Jewish learning and “attend” synagogue at home. It’s been easy to turn on Saturday morning services or a special lecture or a concert and expose the family to more Jewish content. The internet has made us feel welcome everywhere. This a huge leap ahead of what we often got out of “business as usual,” pre-pandemic.

Learning in general has changed. As someone who used to teach, I was wary of homeschooling. To be fair, I’ve met some very bright kids who’ve been homeschooled. I’ve also met some odd folks, so focused on their (often evangelical) religious views that it got in the way of making other connections. As but one example, once, I drove with my husband to visit a local farm that advertised sheep fleeces for sale. I’m a hand spinner, and we thought the drive would be fun. I met a large family living in a series of rundown buildings and trailers, wearing an interesting assortment of “traditional” clothing. These isolated, homeschooled evangelical kids led me into a trailer full of both wool and wasps, all eagerly telling me about their visions of the end-times. I left with some wool, but only because my husband and I couldn’t find any other way to politely extricate ourselves.

I’d been scared that, if I ever homeschooled my kids, it would become claustrophobic, bad for the kids and hard for me to catch a break. This was the case when remote schooling started in March. Getting the kids onto the online school meetings and keeping things afloat with a poor internet connection and somewhat spotty assignments from teachers was awful.

When school ended, we were relieved. I kept doing some learning with them each morning, though. Reading, math, cursive, Duolingo (online language learning for Hebrew), art, architecture and design, music and science/STEM learning have kept us busy, along with long walks, playing outside, swimming and more. Sure, I don’t have much alone time. Time for work (or even work to do!) has been limited, but that’s OK, in the circumstances.

Our kids are supposed to go back to school in person this fall, and we’ll see how long that lasts. I don’t dread homeschooling as much now. Setting our own agenda resulted in kids who may be more socially isolated, but they’ve learned a lot. They read better now in two languages, and their math has improved.

Disconnecting from the school-extracurricular activities-synagogue cycle hasn’t been bad either. Those demands came with a lot of pressure. The need to keep up, fit in, afford it and get there on time is stressful. It is easier to practise piano, play soccer in the yard or turn on the services via Zoom than to get to everything in person. Further, there’s no weird social interaction with other families about what we’re wearing, or just how hip we are. (We’re so not hip.)

Making things ourselves has been a mostly good, too – lots of cooking and other activities. Last fall, I started using my sewing machine, after years off. I took sewing lessons as a kid but never gained confidence. Pre-pandemic, I’d sewn myself a few things and remembered how to do this. Returning to it has been a great gift. I’ve figured out making masks, fixing and making clothing. Better still, because of the pandemic, I’ve been able to shop for supplies online and support small businesses selling sustainable or deadstock fabrics. I didn’t have time to go shopping for this stuff in person before the pandemic. Now, most everything is online. I can make plans for kid pajama pants, and dresses and pants for myself, in the future.

We’ve enjoyed some amazing concerts, held outdoors on our block. A talented musician/producer neighbour with a big front porch invites guests to come set up chairs and blankets, social distance and enjoy. Musicians perform for donations, and we all benefit. We’ve heard baroque, classical, flamenco, jazz, old-time and folk. If we sometimes can’t get outside as a family to hear it, the music floats up into our second-storey windows when the wind blows the right way.

Art has blossomed, not only in our family’s projects, but at the “little free art box,” which is run by an artist in the area. Much like a Little Free Library, one can open the box, take art or put art inside for others. We’ve shared kid watercolours and my handspun yarn, and received gorgeous charcoal sketches, pen and ink, and other delights. We’ve traded and celebrated the skills of others nearby. Our diverse community is rich with talent.

None of these small positive things can compensate for the many deaths and illnesses of COVID-19, nor the economic devastation to so many businesses and workers. The downsides this year have been huge. However, last night, I watched as my kids created a caravan on the blanket spread on the grass. We were listening to live music, as my mind leapt to the text I’d been learning from Daf Yomi (a page of Talmud a day). The rabbis are trying to explain how to make a temporary boundary around a caravan as one traveled and camped on Shabbat. They mentioned using saddles and camels, and debated how much space each person might need.

The blanket caravan consisted of several toy trains and hard plastic rhinos and elephants, lined up nose to tail in a circle. The tractate Eruvin is about boundaries – what boundaries make it safe to carry on Shabbat? In the time of coronavirus, I was transported to a different kind of caravan and boundary. Our families have “circled the wagons.” We’ve been forced to stay put and look inwards – but also to be outdoors. What value can be found in these new enforced boundaries? What positive things can come from those necessary restrictions? In our house, we can say that art, music, handmade creations and learning can be celebrated as we finish 5780 and begin 5781. It’s been a valuable time, even as illness, hardship, fear and sadness danced at the edges of every day’s newscast.

From my (socially distanced) house to yours – may we all have a happy and sweet new year, full of creation, positivity and, most importantly, good health.

Blessings in bad times

While it may not be divine intervention that brought us technologies like the communications platform Zoom, it is undeniable that 21st-century tech has made this bizarre, scary and tragic time a little less isolating.

Much has been written and said about the tragedy of this pandemic. The loss of life worldwide is devastating and heart-rending. Families and friends have been kept apart at the best of times. At the worst of times, however, when hugs and human touch are needed most, this is especially cruel. Saying final goodbyes by telephone or on a little screen is unbearably painful.

In the meantime, though, something has happened that probably few of us anticipated when this pandemic hit us full force in mid-March. We have seen people at their best, coming together to help those who need it, checking in on neighbours and family who are isolated, taking steps that are uncomfortable for us in the short-term because it is in our collective best interests in the long-term. What could have been a time exemplified by fear and anxiety, selfishness, isolation and retrenchment has been, in so many cases, including in our synagogues and so many other community organizations, a time of unparalleled flexibility, creativity and devotion to what really matters.

We cannot overestimate the power of a comparatively simple technology like Zoom. Presumably intended as a business tool, it has exploded into our pandemic world as perhaps the new century’s version of what old long-distance advertisements promised – it’s the next best thing to being there.

Nothing can replace a hug or even just the proximity of our loved ones. But imagine the alternative of going through these past few months without small miracles like technology that lets us see the faces of our friends. Human nature tends to take for granted whatever we receive almost as soon as we’ve got it in hand. But the future we marveled at in the 1960s while watching fanciful cartoons like The Jetsons is reality today. Not the flying cars (yet) but the wall-mounted video phones are better: we hold them in our hands or sit them on our laps.

The medium is the message, said the great Canadian theorist Marshall McLuhan. In future, people will look back and ponder how the technologies that united us in this time of isolation changed us and the way we communicate. In the meantime, we can already see that technology has led to even more engagement with learning, socializing and spiritual exploration than happened in-person before we had heard of COVID. And, while so many warn that we are on the verge of being “Zoomed out,” a recent poll contradicts this idea, finding that Canadians overwhelmingly love the freedom to connect to everywhere from anywhere. For Vancouverites, especially younger ones who are forced to move some distance from their parents due to housing prices, Zoom and similar tools can permit virtual visits without hours of time-wasting (and environmentally deleterious) travel. An hour-long business meeting that might have required 45 minutes of commuting and parking time starts and ends at the dining room table, freeing up hours per week for children, partners, housework, leisure, hobbies or sleep.

As we now prepare to celebrate the High Holidays in ways that our ancestors could never have imagined, we will depend on these technologies to deliver an approximation of normalcy. It won’t be normal, of course. But it’s normal for now. And that is a blessing.

Rabbinic planting advice

My family plants a garden every summer. We live in a city and don’t have lots of room. Since our house is more than 100 years old, we created small raised beds, filled with compost and soil, to avoid growing veggies in what is potentially contaminated soil.

Although my husband and I have gardened together for years, when our twins were younger, we developed a haphazard technique. Before twins, we might have studied companion plants, figuring out what would grow best and where, but all that disappeared after two babies came on scene. Since then, every year, right around their birthday on June 1, we’d throw a planting party with some friends. First, we had the birthday ice cream cake and, then, we’d dig together. Within an hour, the entire garden was planted.

Sometimes, a retired history professor was in charge of bean planting. Our actor friend, who also worked as a mother’s helper for us when the kids were small, was in charge of squash. It was sometimes a surprise to see what the garden produced. We left it all to chance – what grows and what fails would be a surprise.

This year, no parties, of course. With two kids home from elementary school in mid-March, we started seeding. We planted lettuce, radish and spinach outdoors. We followed the advice of Winnipeg’s mayor, who suggested people “plant an extra row” for the food bank, as so many are out of work. We planted sprouting potato peelings as one of our home-school science projects, and filled every extra pot with potato plants.

In the Babylonian Talmud, in Tractate Shabbat, starting page 84b, the rabbis discuss how to plant a garden. What is an acceptable plan for a garden bed, which avoids the prohibition of sowing diverse kinds of seeds together, they ask? The rabbis engage in a level of landscaping planning that my gardens have never seen. In the Vilna edition, there are even illustrations and sketches provided.

This year in our garden, for the first time in awhile, we know where everything is and who planted what. I don’t have to call any of our friends to find out which variety of squash seeds they used and if they will be close enough to the others to pollinate properly!

What struck me though was that, unlike past years, we had time to spread out and enjoy the gardening experience. Yes, we’ve had virtual meetings for school and work, but the summer unfurls before us with practically nothing on the calendar – no traveling, no festivals, no big obligations. We’re still waiting to hear, but suspect there will be no summer camp or swim lessons at the lake either. Staying home is where it’s at.

Long, unplanned stretches of weekend time and summer evenings spool out ahead. We can stream services or watch a Jewish music concert from home, play on the porch or water the garden. True, we may not be able to travel to see grandparents or have big Shabbat dinners. We do miss our friends and family. However, we’ll have leisurely morning dog walks to explore new places and greet neighbours, long afternoons to help our kids learn to bike, fly kites, or just scooter up and down the block.

This scary coronavirus is stressful, don’t get me wrong. We’ve already felt its serious effects on relatives in New York and New Jersey. It continues to affect us in many ways and, even if summer’s a reprieve, the danger hasn’t passed. Yet, in the virus’s shadow, we’ve been offered a moment to adjust and experience an entirely different pace, and it’s a surprising gift on its own.

Yes, our garden is more orderly this year than it has been in at least 10 years, but it’s nothing as tidy or thoughtful as the rabbis’ landscaping guides. I suspect, if the rabbis were to see our garden beds, they would be upset. We squish way too many varieties of tomatoes, beans, peas, lettuces, cucumbers, herbs and more into these small spaces.

At the same time, our pandemic-enforced break may offer us the chance for longer conversations, more time off to enjoy family and Shabbat, and more learning, too. I can’t pretend the rabbis’ advice made us plant more tidy rows of beans, carrots or nasturtiums, but the pandemic likely gave me the time and space to read their advice, and actually think about it.

We’ve eaten two salads full of microgreens and herbs, straight from the garden, and I got to share with you what I’ve learned about 1,500-year-old planting advice. That’s not a bad start to the season. It’s also a reminder: get out in the sunshine! (With sunscreen and social distancing, of course.) Summer lies ahead – with newfound time to enjoy it.

Blessings during COVID-19

It’s far too easy to think of all the hardships and sacrifices that have come with COVID-19. They’re ubiquitous and abundant. They’re in our face the second we step outside our front door, turn on the TV or go online. A barrage of bad news. A surfeit of sadness. A plethora of pathogens. A deluge of disease. Stop me anytime.

It’s getting to be too much. But that’s beside the point. As Prime Minister Justin Trudeau keeps telling us, “moistly,” and with practised gravitas, “We are all in this together.” Sadly, that is no consolation. There is one thing that does help though: making a habit of feeling grateful. While some of you will shut me down right now as being a cliché, that’s where I’m coming from.

Every day or two, when I go for a short walk in my neighbourhood, I look around and wonder when spring happened. How is it that I missed seeing the nascent buds on the magnolia trees, which are now strutting their huge pink flowers like botanical catcher’s mitts? When did the hydrangeas arrive at the party? And when did everyone start walking around the local park in facemasks and latex gloves?

Nothing I have experienced in my 64 years comes close to this COVID-19 pandemic. Same goes for most of us, I’m sure. There is nothing to compare it to, thank G-d. I am at a loss for synonyms. Only antonyms hit the mark: normal, regular, run-of-the-mill. We will likely never return to what we knew as normal ever again. At least not the same variety. But that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Perhaps we will come to redefine normal in an even better light. I know one thing: most people have become kinder, more thoughtful, more aware. This is huge.

In the face of the overwhelming upheaval, illness and sadness we’ve been witness to, I choose to feel grateful. Because there are always gems among the dross, moments of pure beauty and holiness. I assure you, I’m not some Pollyanna who views life through rose-coloured glasses all the time. However, challenged by what’s going on around us, I need to believe that there is still much to be thankful for in this COVID-19 world. For my part, that includes my health, my husband, my family. As well as these sunny days. The last remnants of snow on our pristine mountains. Less traffic. Clear skies. A shocking dearth of commerce. My pension. Food in the freezer and enough pasta to last until I’m 90. I feel luckier than most.

I can’t begin to comprehend the suffering that’s going on around me. Not only the illness and death that’s affecting families and communities all over the world, but the sheer panic and anxiety from loss of jobs, loss of homes, not enough to eat, wondering what’s next. But I’m shored up knowing that there are still people out there who are putting themselves at risk to help others, by delivering food, picking up medications and, of course, all those frontline workers who turn up every day.

For now, I take comfort in the little things, which, I’m realizing have become the big things. Like a walk in fresh air, and hearing good news of any sort. It doesn’t take much. The drugstore has facemasks and latex gloves in stock – woo hoo! I can finally buy Lysol wipes again – victory! Oh, how perception has shifted. If I’ve learned one thing, it’s that this pandemic has taught us to reevaluate our priorities.

Time and a sense of accomplishment are a whole other story. At the beginning of the pandemic, the pattern of my days rotated around things instead of ideas and concepts. Back then, I thought a productive day was accomplishing this:

Buying a box of disposable facemasks at Canadian Tire.
Spending two hours and successfully finding a store that sells alcohol swabs.
Making fried matzah with cinnamon and honey bananas for my husband.
Ironing our laundry.
Dusting (two rooms).
Successfully (or not?) diagnosing myself with eczema from constant and somewhat obsessive handwashing.

Not much, but at least I did things instead of sitting around binge-watching Netflix all day. As the weeks passed, I began to tip the scales by attending online seminars throughout the day; some from the Rohr Jewish Learning Institute, some from Chabad, and others.

Between running around doing, and sitting and learning, I struggle to distinguish between wasted time and purpose. It seems almost counterintuitive, even ridiculous, to call anything purposeful right now. I mean, how much purpose can we have during a pandemic? Who can we influence for the good? What kind of mitzvot can we do?

Believe me – or don’t – but the answers to those questions are: lots, many, and endless. It takes scant energy to say hello to a stranger on your daily walk and ask how they’re doing. People just need to experience or see one good deed to carry it forward. There are countless ways to do a mitzvah – phone an elderly relative or friend; buy a few extra groceries and give them to someone in need; make a meal for your neighbour and deliver it to their doorstep. Simple. Simple. And simple. Just get outside yourself.

The world, and we humans, are not that complicated. It doesn’t take Herculean effort or huge sums of money to pull someone out of an emotional hole. It simply takes an open heart. We spend countless hours building our bodies so they can withstand the weight of the world. Now it’s time to build our hearts. In fact, there is no better time than right now. So go forth and be your best self – for yourself, and for others.

Shelley Civkin is a happily retired librarian and communications officer. For 17 years, she wrote a weekly book review column for the Richmond Review. She’s currently a freelance writer and volunteer.

Thank you to frontline

There are many new routines in this unusual time. Social media feeds suggest baking has become the comforting go-to for many of us. Binge-watching shows and finally getting to the books we’ve been meaning to read is another. Cleaning those closets that were filled with mismatched sheets sets and nearly empty rolls of birthday wrapping paper was a long-overdue task.

But, at 7 p.m. each night now for a couple of weeks, another, less solitary routine has emerged. Metro Vancouverites – and people further afield – take a step outside, onto their balconies or into their driveways, and make like it’s New Year’s Eve. Clanging pots and pans, applauding, shouting cheers and generally making as much noise as possible for a minute, the behaviour is not merely burning off steam by a people holed up and stir crazy. It is a heartfelt act of solidarity and gratitude for the frontline healthcare workers, first responders and others whose responsibilities to protect the public require them to remain at their posts. It is also a way for us to say hello to our neighbours, and to receive reassurance that, while the streets and stores may be almost empty, humanity has not been wiped out, just relegated to our homes.

The nightly event was given steam by Rory Richards, a member of the Jewish community who understands the meaning of the power of one. Several years ago, at the height of the refugee crisis in the Mediterranean, she traveled to Greece and helped welcome those fleeing their homelands, while mobilizing support for the effort back home via social media. In this time of need, she saw what others were doing in the world to express themselves, while staying in quarantine, and brought the practice to her West End neighbourhood. And it has resonated with many – so many that the Vancouver Park Board has decided to change the firing time of Stanley Park’s Nine O’Clock Gun to 7 p.m. until the end of April.

The noisemaking trend is still relatively new, but already we hear of the emotional impact it is having on exhausted and anxious frontline workers. As is the solidarity at 7 p.m. nightly of their fellow emergency workers – fire trucks, police cars and ambulances driving the streets around their local hospitals, flashing their lights and sounding their sirens.

Mostly unsung are other frontline workers, those whose jobs, until this crisis, were not considered dangerous or irreplaceable: grocery store workers, cashiers, fruit and vegetable store operators, bakers, letter carriers, parcel delivery personnel, bank tellers, people maintaining the internet, bus drivers, garbage and recycling collectors, city workers who are making sure the traffic lights and other essential services remain operational, employment insurance office staff and other bureaucrats who are rushing to put aid programs into place. The list goes on. These people are continuing their work of keeping the world functioning at the level it must, without the luxury of sheltering in place.

In the Jewish community, agencies and individuals are stepping up. Jewish Family Services continues to deliver its vital programs, knowing that the physical, emotional and economic toll this crisis is taking is not yet at its peak. Jewish Federation of Greater Vancouver has launched a fund to help the community address the crisis, with specific emphasis on food security, housing support and subsidies to ensure that the economic impacts of the pandemic do not prevent individuals and families from participating to the greatest extent possible in Jewish communal activities. The Centre for Israel and Jewish Affairs has mobilized, creating a COVID-19 resource guide that is a clearinghouse for related information nationally and in each province. And organizations such as the Canadian Council for Reform Judaism and Reform Rabbis – which sent a letter to the federal government last week – are working to ensure that relief efforts centre on the most vulnerable, “including those who are homeless or housing insecure, migrants or refugees, living in underserved indigenous communities, being held in detention facilities or at risk of domestic violence.”

Locally and internationally, synagogues, day schools and community organizations have turned on a dime to use online platforms as an alternative meeting space for virtual services and gatherings. Some senior Sephardi rabbis in Israel are releasing opinions that would allow observant Jews to leave Zoom running for Passover seders, so that separated families can join together to celebrate our Festival of Freedom.

How many of us, three weeks ago, had heard of Zoom? An old long-distance telephone ad declared, “It’s the next best thing to being there,” which is true of this new technology, but we can’t deny that the shmoozing before and after (and during) services and events isn’t quite the same. Humans are likely to take for granted anything we receive almost as soon as we have it, so it is worth taking a moment to consider the incredible good fortune that allows us to have technology that we could barely dream about 30 years ago to keep us virtually together when we are, most of us, actually apart.

There’s no question that the emotional toll of our separateness will be keenly felt next week as the seders that, for our entire lifetimes, have meant the coming together of extended families and close friends, will be massively different than in the past. There will be a seat at the table for Eliyahu, but many others also will be there only virtually, and they will be missed.

When we participate in the 7 p.m. clangfest, or even if we just watch it from our homes, let’s consider the clapping, hollering and pan-banging as a testament to our admiration for medical and other frontline personnel, including the people who never imagined that they would be so crucial a part of maintaining our society’s functioning but who are, irreplaceably, ensuring that many of us are able to shelter in place in relative privilege and comfort.

A dose of humility, gratitude

Between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, there were lots of opportunities for reflection and self-examination. I had a helpful reminder when I recently taught a workshop on recycling and reuse in fibre arts.

I worked as an English, writing and adult education teacher when I was in my 20s, and I’ve taught off and on ever since. Lately, I’ve mostly taught fibre arts, but I enjoy teaching in general. Often, as we moved for my husband’s academic life, I’d give up my teaching job, uproot myself and try again in the next place we lived. It was a challenging situation. A couple of moves ago, I switched over to writing, editing and design, and only occasional teaching. Now it all has to fit in around my kids’ needs as well, so I’ve taught a lot less in recent years.

My wake-up call came when I checked in at a teaching venue. About six years ago, I helped create the festival that hosted my workshop. First, the volunteer asked who I was and what I needed. I pointed to the class list and said I was teaching. The volunteers started chatting with me, “Oh,” they asked, “Do you knit?”

“Well yes,” I replied. “I write knitting patterns.”

It went from there. They had no idea who I was at all. I explained that I had been a teacher at the festival more than once. It came up that I’d written books on the subject and, if they couldn’t take my class, as they were volunteering, they could download my designs online and learn that way.

It continued when they rushed into my classroom five minutes into the workshop to hand out name tags. (They’d forgotten them.) I smiled and said we already had them. “Oh,” they responded, “someone else gave them to her!” I had to smile back and say, “I brought them myself – something I’d learned from helping to start this festival.”

We live in an age of constant social media bombardment and self-marketing. If we aren’t always in our profession’s limelight somehow, it’s possible that no one will know us; that anything we’ve accomplished is irrelevant if we’re not at the top of somebody’s Instagram or social media feed.

This encounter reminded me that, even if I’m teaching, being paid and my bio is up on the website, well, I’m a nobody like everybody else. We all put on our pants one leg at a time. We may think a lot of ourselves, and that’s well and good, but is there any reason to think that? (In my case, not really!)

From Selichot up to Yom Kippur is when we’re supposed to focus on self-examination and make apologies. We make space and time to think about when we missed the mark and how we can do more. We have to reflect on whether we have run away from our responsibilities or failed in our lives. How can we do better at keeping our promises, and go beyond?

On Yom Kippur, we read the Haftorah portion of the story of Jonah (Jonah 1:1-4:11). This is a hard story to hear and I always find myself with conflicting emotions. I mean, who thinks they can get a direct order from the Almighty and then take a boat ride in the opposite direction? Is it normal to get thrown overboard and swallowed by a whale? Not so much. (It’s a whale of a tale!)

Once Jonah gets to Nineveh, he does what he is asked to do – and the people respond. They atone. This doesn’t please Jonah either. Jonah wishes that they were punished rather than forgiven for their previous bad behaviour. He wants retribution rather than compassion.

Jonah is human, like all of us. He learns what it means, eventually, to lose everything. He is abased and despondent. It’s miserable, but he learns a lot.

After my class, which went very well, by the way, and was a lot of fun, I realized that I was pitying myself, like Jonah. I spent time thinking, I’ve lost everything, nobody’s heard of me anymore.

Avoiding the great big pity party, I resolved that I should be grateful. I’d had fun and earned money in my classroom. When others recognized me later that day, I felt grateful and tried to celebrate the connections I had made in previous years.

For me, having twins and some health challenges has meant that I’ve had to adjust my worldview. Like Jonah, I’ve had to learn that I’m just not in control. Instead of running away from Nineveh, I gave up some volunteer activities, work commitments and other things when I discovered that I couldn’t manage it. Like Jonah, I can’t blame others who flourished in the meanwhile. Jonah had to sweat it out in the heat, alone, to learn this, but here it is: we’re not in control.

Instead of feeling angry that we’re not recognized or that Nineveh wasn’t punished appropriately for its mistakes, let’s turn the story around. It’s great that there’s a divine power at work who saves Nineveh and Jonah, and teaches him (and me) important lessons about compassion. I hope I didn’t embarrass those volunteers.

A little navel-gazing helped me realize what I needed for 5780: an increased dose of humility and gratitude.

Making home a sanctuary

My kids love a song called “Make me a sanctuary.” The Hebrew comes directly from Exodus 25:8. It’s based on a Shaker hymn (much of the Jewish musical liturgy comes from outside sources) and it’s in Hebrew and English. The English lyrics say: “Lord, prepare me, to be a sanctuary, pure and holy, tried and true, with thanksgiving, I’ll be a living sanctuary for you.” In Hebrew transliteration: “V’asu li mikdash, v’shochanti b’tocham,va’anachnu n’varech yah, me-ata v’ad olam.” Translation: “Make me a sanctuary, that I may dwell among them, and we will bless Hashem, now and forever.”

This comes from the Torah portion Terumah, and describes how the people will make an exquisite ark so that they can worship together. I’m a “maker” and love creating things. I spin, knit, weave and sew. I write knitting patterns. I love to build and create. Today, I just finished making some cloth napkins. However, a home (or a congregation) can’t be an inspirational sanctuary without the basics. In Canada, that includes heat.

Recently, I noticed our house seemed cool. I perched on the stairs to check the thermostat. Someone installed it decades ago in a way that makes it hard for shorter adults, like me, to see. (My partner, whose ancestors spent time in Eastern Europe, didn’t seem cold.)

The next morning, the boiler wasn’t working. After checking the thermostat battery and shrugging, my partner went to work. As the work-from-home adult, I called repair places. Although it was warm outside for winter, the forecast predicted plummeting temperatures. I worried.

The busy repair places offered an appointment for the next day. We have two gas fireplaces, which pumped out heat valiantly while I called Manitoba Hydro. Hydro scheduled someone to come out to check our boiler’s pilot light. As the temperatures dropped, the boiler kept cycling, but no heat came up, so I shut it off.

At lunchtime, a chirping alarm went off in the basement. Something else was wrong, but I couldn’t even tell what was beeping. We have an old house. Its antiquated systems can be confusing. (Smart house upgrades circa 1918, 1952, etc.) I was also tired when this started from a busy weekend. I was so befuddled by what was going on with the boiler that I wondered if I was confused due to some kind of gas leak.

Once I shut it off the boiler, I was no longer confused but so tired from the cold that I wanted to take a nap. I was wearing a toque, a heavy Icelandic wool sweater and a shawl, but part of me was like, “Don’t take a nap! People die this way! How will the Hydro guys get in if you fall asleep?!”

Here’s the stupid coincidence. The beeping was an older fire alarm with a failing battery, which had nothing to do with the boiler. Installed in 2004, it was guaranteed to last 10 years. It gave up the ghost 15 years later, on the same day as the boiler troubles. We’ve had new, hardwired fire, carbon and radon alarms installed, but missed removing this one. I was freaking out over nothing. I’d call it irrational stupidity, possibly caused by a tired “freeze” brain.

The Hydro guys came, cheerfully disconnected the old fire alarm, relit the pilot light and told me to get the boiler fully serviced. When the tradesperson serviced the boiler, it was black, dirty and not burning cleanly. It needed attention. I also got the boiler chimney cleaned. It took awhile for the house to heat up, but there was good news. We were warm again! Bad news? I lost the better part of a work week to this drama, and I was cold.

Once I was warm, I thought beyond the basics – but many people can’t. If you’re stuck with challenges like staying warm, you can’t think clearly. In the midst of a Canadian winter, we’re so lucky to have heat. Taking a moment to remember this, and recognize that there are many who are cold this winter, and how it affects us, is very important.

I was incredibly grateful to hear the boiler cycling as everything became toasty. It made me very aware of how hard it is for those among us who cannot afford to keep their houses warm or who are homeless. I was so anxious that I woke up the next morning at 5:30 a.m., panicked that the boiler might stop working again as temperatures plummeted to -30 outside.

For those of us who find something’s wrong, there are ways to fix it. This is a kind of “adulting.” Grown-ups should keep up with home maintenance, whether it’s the fire alarms or getting their boilers serviced and chimneys cleaned regularly. I couldn’t remember the last time this was done at our house.

When I had twins, life got busy. We did the best we could, but forgot a lot of important details. We all need heat during the winter. Aside from being grateful, do something that I didn’t do – be proactive. Getting your heat in order before the cold temperatures and cold freeze brain hit is wise. I wish I’d known better, but you can still get it serviced in the wintertime.

Here’s wishing you a well-maintained warm, cozy home, with up-to-date fire alarms, during all the cold snaps. It’s much better to be safe and warm than sorry.

Learning throughout our life

Isn’t life wonderful? It has such potential to deliver joy, beauty, poetry and music for every one of us. More’s the pity that so many of us get only a small fraction of that potential for our portion. Still, gratitude must be the order of the day because things could always be worse.

If we take the time to examine the simple pleasures that most of us benefit from, we should be able to swallow some of the less digestible bits with a little more grace. Nature is nearly everyone’s inheritance – sun, moon, sky and stars, the green around, with maybe a spot of colour. We breathe in and out, taste the sweet along with the sour, and sometimes hear a birdsong. And perhaps, from time to time, if we are fortunate, our lot allows us a warm embrace.

We start out as strangers in a world we know absolutely nothing about. We start out with only sensations: warmth, cold, discomfort, pain, or their absence, and hunger pangs. Our first lesson is the instinct to cry out in reaction to what we find uncomfortable. We soon learn whether our instinctive appeals for help are likely to be answered quickly or with an incomprehensible delay. Scientists tell us that this knowledge might play an important part in determining what sort of creature we will become in later life. (See, for example, “The Role of Parents in Early Childhood Learning” by Susan H. Landry, Children’s Learning Institute, University of Texas Health Science Centre, which was published online in 2008.)

Totally dependent on others, humans, like other mammals and many species, begin their lives in a precarious situation. We all know from our own learning that survival rates have markedly improved with living standards and advancing technology. An exploding world population provides solid evidence for that. So has the chance that the psyches present in adulthood will be healthier. By no means can it yet be said that such is a foregone conclusion.

We accept that our early years on this planet are the period when we consciously concentrate on amassing the information and knowledge that we need to negotiate our passage through life. In earlier times, that formal period of education, now increasingly financed in one way or another by the state, was much shorter than it has now become.

In the end, we often learn much more on the job, after formal education has ended, about what we must know to do our work. Life has become increasingly complicated though and even this learning will not suffice always, as the very nature of work is altered daily. Jobs disappear, never to return, and new skills become imperative.

I was born during the Great Depression. For a good number of years, my father never had a job. I don’t believe he ever had a formal education, arriving in Canada as a young man. Yet, hired as a labourer to feed coal into a boiler furnace, through self-study, he rose to be an engineer solely responsible for a vast industrial complex. He had some book-learning to get his papers, but mostly he learned his stuff from doing his work.

My degrees were in agriculture, but the only planting I ever did was in my home flower garden. I had four jobs in my career, but only one, the first, had any direct relationship with agriculture. Essentially, I became a manager and I never learned anything about doing that kind of work at school. If I learned anything at all during those years, it was certainly by doing things I had to do on the job.

So what is management? It has to do with trying to get thing done through other people. I know there are courses that try to give a head start on learning that, but I never had the good fortune to take any of them. I can’t say I was a good manager, but I certainly learned a lot about what not to do. And I am content that I learned enough to get all my work done well.

The truth is that learning on the job applies to almost everything we challenge ourselves to try and accomplish in life. This applies to parenting and partnering like everything else. This is not news to any of you out there.

What makes our current situation so much more challenging is the rapid rate of change we face in our lives. How can we give advice to our young when they know more about what is happening in our current reality than we can possibly keep up with?

Parenting may be one the most perplexing learning-on-the-job challenges we will face in our lives. And I don’t envy this generation of parents, who find their children more adept at the latest devices in every home than they ever will be. They will have to concentrate on the management skills they will have to pick up to deal with children who know more about important things in the world than they do.

From working to getting along with our partners to parenting and more, it fascinates me how much we have to learn on a continuing basis, throughout our lives.

Max Roytenberg is a Vancouver-based poet, writer and blogger. His book Hero in My Own Eyes: Tripping a Life Fantastic is available from Amazon and other online booksellers.

Do you have a gratitude list?

Ever had coffee with a friend and complained the whole time? As the gripe session takes a downward spiral, I often feel worse than I did beforehand. I’ve taken time off to see a friend … and we may be smiling, but we’re dumping negativity on each other.

True, we need to get those feelings out, but repeating bad thoughts without finding upbeat solutions doesn’t do us any good. The mind creates an “alternate reality” in which we only see the negatives. Plus, by doing this with someone else, we compound the bad experience. How do we change our inner narrative?

Recent neuroscience and psychology research indicates that consciously creating a daily gratitude list may help us feel better. This rewires the brain, helping us get rid of toxic feelings in order to embrace the good ones. If you’re Jewish and traditionally religious, this may not be news. The world’s major religions feature “gratitude lists” in daily prayers. If you already pray – and you pay attention to those thanksgiving prayers we do each day – you may provide yourself with a more positive outlook, even if those prayers aren’t necessarily personalized ones.

It’s great to have a gratitude list “built in,” but, if you don’t do formal prayer, for whatever reason, you can still create an informal gratitude list. Here are some tips to get started.

1) Food. Most Canadians are lucky, we have enough food. Choose things that taste good – and be grateful. Think about it. While you’re at it, consider what it’s like to be hungry. If you can afford to donate to the food bank or provide food for others, that’s a great way to show your gratitude.

Most of us know the Hamotzi, the blessing over bread, or the Kiddush, over wine or grape juice. You could push yourself just a bit farther and think about learning the blessings for other foods. Even if you aren’t saying a blessing each time you eat, even a moment of gratitude for food is worth it.

2) Sleep. There’s a reason that sleep deprivation is used as a form of torture. If you’ve gone without sleep for extended periods – parents, this means you! – you know that having uninterrupted, deep sleep is something to appreciate. I am grateful every day that I get more than six hours of resting horizontally. In that hazy space after waking up and before getting out of bed, relish that feeling of rest. Anyone with a small child knows you can’t be sure when you’ll next get enough sleep, so enjoy it whenever you can.

We’ve got prayers for this, too, of course. We say Modeh Ani when we get up, expressing thanks for “returning our soul” after waking up from sleep. Another prayer thanks G-d for giving the tired strength. I often look around at a service when this is said and think about how we all keep on keepin’ on, getting things done even when we feel exhausted.

3) Housing. Did you sleep in a safe place? Are you able to eat your meals indoors when it’s cold out? Not everyone has this opportunity. Stable access to affordable housing is a Canadian problem. There are days when we all worry that we cannot afford to keep up with housing maintenance. However, there is nothing better than a cozy, warm space indoors during a rainstorm. If you feel thankful to have a safe, comfortable home, consider those who don’t. Homelessness is a Canadian problem. Together, we can think of positive solutions beyond a gratitude list, but we work together better by taking care of ourselves first.

The prayer for this? Birkat Habayit. Different versions include verses from the Torah. The summary? Let this be a peaceful, joyful house, without discord, fear or conflict. Let there be knowledge, wisdom and learning in this home. Let it be filled with holiness, G-d’s presence and beauty.

4) The weather and our natural world. Canadians love to moan about weather. It’s a popular hobby. Yet, we have access to four amazing seasons. Jewish prayers include mention of rain, the growth of crops and animals, sunshine, and even the arrangement of the stars in the firmament. That’s pretty great stuff in there. I’m pretty inspired by nature, growing things and the earth when I read the liturgy carefully.

5) Our bodies. Did you know that many faith traditions have specific ways to appreciate how our bodies are made? It can be amazing to acknowledge how cleverly our bodies work. When you exercise next, even if it is walking to the corner, consider how well things function. Even moderate amounts of exercise keep us healthy and make us feel good. The next time you play a musical instrument, sing, talk, laugh, smell a scent or breathe? Remember to be grateful it’s all working mostly as it should.

Our liturgy includes Asher Yatzar, a prayer that acknowledges how amazing it is that our bodily functions (like going to the bathroom regularly) work so well. Without this functionality, we couldn’t use our bodies to their greatest potential.

6) Our clothing. Are you dry and comfortable? Warm or cool according to the season? Humans used to spin, weave, knit, crochet and sew everything they wore by hand. We’re lucky that our “modern” clothes are easy to come by, but disposable clothing doesn’t show gratitude towards the earth or those who made the clothes. Another aspect of thankfulness is to make things last – to take care of our clothes, mend them, wash them and pass them along when they’re no longer needed. If we value well-made, long-lasting clothes, we also help others stay warm and clothed by using less.

We recite the Malbish Arumim, thanking G-d for clothing the naked. It’s a chance to remember how lucky we are to have the right clothing for the season, occasion and our needs.

Focusing on gratitude doesn’t mean ignoring bad stuff. We can’t (and shouldn’t) screen out the world news, suffering, or upsetting things that happen every day. However, being thankful for small, everyday things can make us better able to cope. Research indicates that it can ease depression, make us more patient, better at taking care of ourselves and our relationships, and help keep us on an even keel, where we might do things in moderation: sleep well, eat less and maintain a sustainable feeling of contentment.

These are many reasons to figure out why we’re thankful – every day. If you voice your thanks to others, you’ll be using good manners. All could benefit from an increase in honest, well-intentioned civility! Pay it forward. Pass along these good feelings of gratitude about what we have. I’ll start. Thank you for reading this – and thinking about gratitude.

Joanne Seiff writes regularly for CBC Manitoba and various Jewish publications. She is the author of three books, including From the Outside In: Jewish Post Columns 2015-2016, a collection of essays available for digital download or as a paperback from Amazon. See more about her at joanneseiff.blogspot.com.