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"The Basketball Game" is a graphic novel adaptation of the award-winning National Film Board of Canada animated short of the same name – intended for audiences aged 12 years and up. It's a poignant tale of the power of community as a means to rise above hatred and bigotry. In the end, as is recognized by the kids playing the basketball game, we're all in this together.

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Tag: hospitality

Hospitality & social distancing

Last weekend, one of my kids and I decided to make bourekas. Made with filo dough, ours were stuffed with two fillings: spinach and cheese, and mushroom and cheese. They were such a success that the family ate all of them in a couple days.

We marveled at how hard it was to make the filo dough into the perfect triangles we remembered, as my sister-in-law’s family holiday events often feature these. Her family is part Turkish and no Jewish holiday would be complete without some of her specialities.

We won’t be eating Aunt Jenn’s bourekas any time soon, however. She lives (with the rest of our families) in the United States and the border’s closed. Even if it were open, it’s not a safe time to travel, due to the pandemic. But, my son and I really miss her and, in our recent cooking foray, we realized that she has a lot of filo dough skills!

If you’re like us, you may be reminiscing about birthday parties or neighbourhood block parties, a backyard barbeque with friends, or even a big family get together at a picnic shelter. It seems like a really crucial part of our Jewish identities is wrapped up in food and feeding others and making them feel welcome. It’s modeled first in Abraham and Sarah’s tent, as they welcome strangers, wash their feet and feed them, but most of us have friends and family who continue to show us how to do the mitzvah of hachnasat orchim, welcoming guests.

Back in March, when our family realized that we would be home schooling for some time to come, we moved around the dining room furniture. We fit in two side tables as desks for the kids. We shifted the dining room table so that the four of us have ample room. It was the first time in my married life (22 years) that we didn’t have extra chairs at the table, “just in case” we had guests.

This definite lack of company sometimes feels sad and lonely. I’m not the only person struggling with this. However, some of the COVID-19 research seems to indicate that the virus isn’t spread via socially distanced street protests (with masks) but rather, at parties. That’s it – when we gather to eat and drink, when we forget to social distance or when we mingle with others for extended periods, we have a greater risk of getting sick.

Where does this leave us? A much less commonly known part of Jewish tradition is that of “giving people space.” Whether it’s the time that married couples spend apart each month, among those who observe the family purity laws, or the notions around tzinut (modesty) or treating your body with respect (as a temple, in fact), these aren’t the most commonly observed Jewish mitzvot these days. The notion of “space” as part of Jewish time is not very popular. However, this is precisely what I thought about as I took a long walk with my twins and one of our dogs.

It was hot. My kids know to hold hands when crossing a street and to stick close to me, but, on summer days in Winnipeg, we may stretch out a bit on the sidewalk. There’s one kid trying to catch a bug on the grassy boulevard, while another one wanders along beside me, chatting about dinosaurs. Our Gordon Setter mix, attached by a sturdy leash, doesn’t let that stop her when she sees a squirrel or bunny, and my arm shoots out across the walkway. You can imagine it – we take up room.

Our streets are wide. Most Winnipeggers aren’t wearing masks to take a walk because it’s rarely necessary to be anywhere near others unless they are relatives. When I see someone coming, I call everyone together. We gather closer to social distance from whomever is passing.

On this morning, the first adults who passed us, strangers who went by one at a time, made no effort to social distance, they didn’t greet or acknowledge us. I herded all four of us to the side, quickly. It is somehow always my job each time to create social distance. (I’ll note here that these adults were in the 60-and-up category. None of them was a young adult, the age group blamed in the media for being lax when it comes to taking care during a pandemic.)

By the time a third person came by, I was wary, already organizing kids and dog to swerve into someone’s front walk way. To my surprise, this person saw what I was doing. She smiled and walked in an arc onto the grass to give us room. I thanked her, we chatted briefly. We all smiled. I was so grateful.

Then something struck me. True hospitality is anticipating someone’s needs and graciously trying to meet those needs. Hospitality doesn’t have to be about feeding others or welcoming them in. Yes, we need to feed those who are less fortunate but, probably, we don’t need to insist on cooking for other gatherings personally in order to provide everybody food and drink.

Also, welcoming and greeting others, treating them graciously, doesn’t require bringing anyone into our houses (or, in Abraham’s case, a tent). It might mean ceding the sidewalk, smiling and saying hello to others as you pass – at a distance. It might include trimming your hedge so that there’s room on that sidewalk for a wheelchair or stroller to pass.

These are Jewish concepts: in protecting a life, treating bodies respectfully and giving others the right amount of space, we practise a kind of hospitality. This means caring about others and anticipating their needs.

So, please, when you see that mom with several kids, a person using a wheelchair, someone carrying a heavy load or someone pushing a double stroller on the sidewalk, give way and step aside. It’s the right – and the kind, hospitable – thing to do.

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.

 

Posted on July 10, 2020July 9, 2020Author Joanne SeiffCategories Op-EdTags coronavirus, COVID-19, hospitality, Judaism, lifestyle

Obligation to be hospitable

Imagine, for a minute, that you’re throwing an open house for a children’s sports team. You’ve invited a lot of people. You don’t know them all. Yet, you’re the host. It’s a beautiful, sunny, warm day. You’ve set up your yard for a party. The lemonade and cookies are out, the welcome banner is flapping in the breeze.

As people drift up your sidewalk, you see they’re nervous or ill at ease. “Welcome!” you say, and your family smiles at them. “Come on in. Join us.” You offer them food and drink. Then, you ask guests gentle, kind questions. “How long has your kid been playing soccer with our team?” or “Where does your kid go to school?” “Have you met our dog?” and so on.

Before long, you’ve learned new things about these strangers. You’ve made a few connections. As other people join the party, you lead a parent, Gabriel, over to talk to Morley, who shares Gabriel’s interests in dog training or hockey. You help all these people to relate to one another. Then, they can begin friendships. Soon, they will be hosting the next encounter – for their new friends and acquaintances.

Many people are rusty at this kind of face-to-face socializing. In the social media age, we “friend” people online long before we meet in person. We’re more likely to chat online than we are to approach strangers in person. It’s a cultural shift that can make people feel more awkward and self-conscious when they actually get together in person.

If you’ve never moved from one community to another, you’ve got family and friends built in – people who likely knew you in kindergarten or as a teenager with acne. These are longtime friends. You don’t have to do any work to know them. Why bother meeting new people?

Because we’re obligated as Jews to be hospitable. It’s our obligation to make new connections with others! (Both Jews and non-Jews.)

I recently heard a great story about a Passover seder. A young Jewish woman from Indiana was studying and working in London, and alone for the holiday. She followed the Twitter feed of London-based CNN reporter James Masters. He tweeted and asked if anyone needed a seder to attend. Samantha Gross, an intern with the Evening Standard, responded. She thought he was offering to find her a spot somewhere at a community event. Instead, he and his wife picked her up and brought her home to a Pesach table with grandparents and the kind of family love and embrace that really moved her. (To tears, although she claimed it was the horseradish!)

A Winnipeg congregation, Shaarey Zedek, is sponsoring a special speaker next week named Dr. Ron Wolfson. I could claim that I’d read everything he’s written (not true). I could boast that my mom has taken classes with him (true) and that he’s spoken at my parents’ Virginia congregation (true). I could mention that he’s collaborated with Rabbi Larry Hoffman (true) who came to speak at Winnipeg’s Temple Shalom recently (true), and whose daughter went to summer camp with me long ago (true). However, none of that background or Jewish geography matters.

What matters is that Dr. Wolfson is coming to Canada to speak – and it’s well worth reading his books or finding a way to hear him in person. Why?

What he teaches is a profoundly Jewish message. It’s about building relationships and connections that might be new, and take work. For many Jews, going to shul is like going home – most of the people there are your family and friends, you’ve known them forever. It takes no work to relate to them. However, our society is transient. There are a lot of newcomers at every congregation. We need to do both the right thing and the Jewish thing, and practise “audacious hospitality.”

What’s that? Well, in Genesis 18:1-18, there’s a story that is uniquely ours. Abraham and Sarah are in their tent when three strangers walk by. Abraham rushes out to them, welcomes them in and, with Sarah, he helps them wash and offers them food and hospitality. Abraham knows what it is to be a traveler and to be hot, tired and hungry. He knows that he should reach out, it’s the right thing to do.

The strangers (angels) bring messages to them. One is that even though they’re old, Sarah will have a child and Abraham will become the patriarch to a great and populous nation.

The message is clear. It’s incumbent upon us to be like Abraham and Sarah, and like Masters’ family, too. We need to welcome others, build real relationships with them, and offer them our (Jewish) hospitality. This may make all the difference. Will we be Abraham’s “great … nation” or lose Judaism to assimilation?

Ten years ago, I was invited to participate in an interfaith “green” religious service. The interim Anglican priest who ran the service bumped into me at the farmers market a few days later. I thanked her for the opportunity, and invited her to my Shabbat table. That was her very first dinner invitation in Bowling Green, Ky., and the start of many more happy hours at my table and hers. We are still good friends. She told me that it figured a Jewish person would be first to “invite her in,” as Abraham and Sarah did.

This pastor (and friend) both reminded me and taught me more about my obligation to be hospitable as a Jew. Abraham knew how to do this. It’s high time we did, too.

Joanne Seiff, a regular columnist for Winnipeg’s Jewish Post and News, is the author of a new book, From the Outside In: Jewish Post Columns 2015-2016. This collection of essays is now available for digital download, or as a paperback from Amazon. See more about her on joanneseiff.blogspot.com.

Posted on April 21, 2017April 20, 2017Author Joanne SeiffCategories Op-EdTags hospitality, Judaism, Ron Wolfson, Torah
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