Judaism

Women deserve to be seen

As a mom of twin toddlers about 10 years ago, I was desperate for childcare. Call it preschool, nursery school, daycare or old-fashioned babysitting, it was impossible to come by when we were looking. Every place had long waitlists. I was told by more than one place that I should have put our family on the list for childcare before I gave birth. (An absolute no-go from my position, due to Jewish traditions.) Then I heard about the possibility of spots at a local Chabad preschool.

I am a feminist and, while really invested in Jewish life, I’m on the liberal, egalitarian part of our tradition. I hadn’t even looked at Chabad as an option. I am still amazed by how we were welcomed there and how much help the preschool teachers and other families gave us. Older kids from other families even helped walk my 2-year-olds up and down the stairs to the school when I couldn’t manage. It was a gift when I truly needed a break.

At first, my twins could only manage preschool in the mornings, so I couldn’t get back to work. It allowed me three hours at a time on my own and I used it get long overdue medical support for myself or for one twin at a time. I accomplished basic household needs like grocery shopping or changing bedding. Sometimes, I got to rest. My twins didn’t sleep through the night until they were four-and-a-half years old. Eventually, the kids stayed longer hours at preschool and I worked a little, but it was a challenging time.

While in this sleepless, liminal state, I met Jewish women I’d never encountered before. Moms with more than 10 kids, for instance – a situation I’d scarcely considered before my kids went to this preschool. While some of my extended family made negative comments about my encounters with this pocket of traditional Jewish observance, I marveled, realizing that some parents raised big families with skill and love. Other families struggled with only a child or two. Large families were not inherently “bad” nor small families “good.” I learned many things from these experienced parents. They did not judge us. They helped whenever they could. Their kindnesses were a blessing.

Winnipeg, our city, is crisscrossed by train tracks. It wasn’t uncommon to be stuck at a train crossing going to preschool. I joked about this with a mom who was very involved in the Lubavitch community and had a big family. My twins loved trains, so we unrolled the car windows to hear the horn and the bells and trains rattling on the tracks and enjoyed the moment. She smiled and said she too enjoyed the unexpected wait at train crossings. She used the time to pray. She had a pocket-sized book of tehillim (psalms) and another siddur (prayer book) that she kept in the minivan specifically for occasions like this.

I was flummoxed, impressed by her piety but surprised. This woman, who was so incredibly busy, also invited my family to her kids’ huge birthday parties. She found time at train crossings to pray? Wow.

Afterwards, if her older kids sought me out at a Shabbat dinner or community event, I made room at the table, tried to treat them like I would treat my kids. Her mentorship and thoughtfulness made a deep impression.

I’ve been reminded of this because, lately, Haredi and Modern Orthodox women have been in my social media feed. In recent years, some Haredi publications have stopped using women’s faces or bodies in their photos and advertisements. I follow Chochmat Nashim, an organization that fights to keep images of observant women’s and girls’ images in traditional Jewish publications, so that Jewish women can see themselves in the world around them.

I also read about agunot (chained women), whose husbands will not grant them a get (a Jewish divorce) so that they can remarry. In some cases, these women wait years, are forced to pay large sums of money, or give up custody rights to their children so they can be granted a divorce. Since they observe Jewish law, a secular or civil divorce isn’t enough, and they can’t remarry in their communities without a get. One of the only ways they get “seen” is through loud protests held by other Orthodox women, who stand as allies, trying to bring attention to the situation. Sometimes, this public shaming is the only chance they have to receive a get. Imagine what this allyship means if it is one’s only recourse to escape domestic violence or to be free to remarry.

Another example: a concert was held in London, a special Orthodox women’s-only concert, designed so that Jewish women could sing and other women could attend. (In these parts of the Jewish community, it’s considered alluring and inappropriate for men to hear women sing. This is a way for talented women to perform and other women to enjoy their amazing gifts.) Despite all their precautions, there were rabbis who said that attending this women-only event would be forbidden. Guess what? Women went anyway. The event was sold out.

For me, “seeing” the strong moms of big families as mentors and friends was an eye-opener. They taught me so much, both about their everyday lives and how they viewed Judaism, orthodoxy and Hasidism. Despite a truly overwhelming load of parenting, work, religious and household obligation, they modeled for me how to find time for things that are important. Whether it is helping a kid with learning disabilities or praying at train crossings, they make time for what matters to them.

To some extent, these are all the same women. The ones whose images are banned from publications, who might suffer because they are denied a Jewish divorce, or who might be kept from attending even a women-only concert of religiously acceptable music – they are also perhaps the same mentors who model good parenting, find room for prayer and care for others’ children as their own.

Regardless of our level of religious observance, Jewish women deserve to be seen, loved and treated with respect. This may seem obvious, but it still isn’t happening.

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.

Reluctant kids loved camp

Generations of kids have “the best summer of their lives” at camp. (photo from Camp Miriam)

“There’s no way we are going to a Jewish camp,” my kids declared with absolute resolve. Wait. What? Why??? They explained that they knew “enough” Jewish people and plenty of culturally Jewish things, so camp was not necessary. OK, I thought, that’s completely, totally and utterly crazy.

While we’ve been involved at Temple Sholom for years, speak Hebrew at home and celebrate the holidays, my kids are the only Jewish kids in their classes at public school. They are often told they don’t look Jewish, let alone Sephardi. Whatever that means – there’s a huge span between Barbra Streisand and Ofra Haza. They weren’t excited about their identity, but begrudgingly went along with being Jewish. It was the equivalent of cultural, ethnic and faith feet dragging.

My disappointment couldn’t be missed because I literally said, “I’m so disappointed to hear you say that.” I thought guilt might move them – a powerful tool of every Jewish mother. They apologized. Yes. I was moving the needle. And then, they immediately asked me if they could go to a Christian horse camp. Nope. I failed, while concurrently being mortified. To be clear, I wasn’t horrified of considering a different faith camp, but because they are wildly allergic to horses. Who wants to be the parent that gets a phone call that their kids can’t handle equines? Not me. Too embarrassing.

Moreover, it was a complete reversal of my experience. I begged my parents to send me to a Jewish camp. I started going from the age of 10, eventually visiting Israel and managing to get a coveted staff position. My camp time was the most incredible and defining experience of my youth. I wished, hoped and prayed for my kids to have the same experience. They had shut down the idea, but before I wrote them off as blasphemers, I decided to let it sit and cook in their minds like a delicious shakshuka.

photo - kids in the pool at Camp Miriam — *(photo from Camp Miriam)*

For a couple of months, they pondered a tough year of COVID-19 shutting down so much of life – and the idea of being away for several weeks with a lot of independence became very appealing. They finally agreed to “let me send them” to Camp Miriam, which was very similar to the camp I went to back east. They diligently packed, were welcomed by friends at registration, got on the bus and did not look back. I got two postcards. The first informed me that they hadn’t been eaten by wild island dogs, and the second told me they were having the best summer of their lives.

The kids came back transformed both physically and figuratively. They both grew half a foot, and something in their psyche profoundly shifted. They loved, I do mean loved, all things Jewish because of Camp Miriam. They had a magical summer that every parent wishes their kid to have. A tight group of friends, a deep respect for their beloved staff and a passion for the programming. Frankly, they wouldn’t zip it about how much they adored Camp Miriam.

They bragged about doing avodah (work), one choosing garbage duty and the other cleaning the sherutim (bathrooms). Umm … what happened? I couldn’t get them to make their beds at home, and they were doing legitimate work at camp? It struck me. Camp Miriam had instilled a profound sense of pride. For weeks, and I do mean weeks, they would prompt a conversation with, “At Camp Miriam….” Some of their most profound moments were having Shabbat at the Point, feeling a deep connection of chevra (community) and telling me they felt understood for the first time. They didn’t have to explain themselves, and that was mind-blowing.

photo - two people playing guitars at Camp Miriam — *(photo from Camp Miriam)*

Going to Camp Miriam coalesced for my kids a sense of identity; they felt seen and heard, so could go deep into what this meant. We were able to have a shared generational experience, which was pretty awesome, considering my kids think electricity was barely invented when I was a kid. I corrected them and explained that the cutting-edge technology of faxing existed when I was a child.

Last week, I overheard them at Sunday Temple Sholom school bragging that Camp Miriam was the best camp ever. And there it is. My kids not only needed Jewish camp, but they also desperately wanted to be there. I feel utterly indebted to Camp Miriam for giving my kids such a brilliant and rich Jewish experience and, although I couldn’t say it to their faces, I was satisfied thinking, “Yes! In your faces. You suck. I was soooooo right about everything, and you were so unequivocally wrong.” Also, now I can breathe easy, knowing they can’t wait to go back to Camp Miriam and build a lifetime of memories and friendships.

– Courtesy Camp Miriam

An open letter to Camp BB

Photos from camp captured kids’ joy and excitement while appeasing the anxious parents at home. (photo from Camp BB Riback)

Let me start by saying how grateful I am my son has returned from his first three-week camp experience clean, smiling and with a head full of exciting stories!! Thank you Stacy Shaikin, Jordyn Wright and the staff for making this first year back memorable.

Today, in the joyful chatter of the reunions with our kids, we feel it in our hearts and bones: Camp BB Riback must continue to survive and thrive in Alberta.

As my son unpacks his duffle bag, he unpacks his memories not yet knowing they will remain with him for a lifetime. It is a very special role Camp BB plays in our children’s lives, providing a summer full of social, physical and cultural experiences unique to the Jewish community.

Camp BB’s influence and lifelong impact on our kids individually and collectively informs the future of Jewish communities in our cities, province and beyond. I am grateful to have strong leadership in Stacy and a supportive board of directors from both Edmonton and Calgary, some of whom have given years of service.

I give props to the photographer who captured absolute joy and excitement while appeasing the anxious parents at home. I often found myself playing “Where’s Waldo?” – happily, searching for my kid in the background because he was busy living his best camp life … completely neglecting his duty to send a thumbs up or other such emoji so mom and dad could be OK! His actions in the background spoke louder than his hand signals ever could.

A highlight of the photo gallery was seeing the action in and around the newly refurbished pool. Stacy and the board worked tirelessly to fund that project during COVID. The dedication and generosity of everyone involved is translated onto the faces of every happy camper that leapt, dove, flipped, slipped and eased their way into that pool this summer and for every summer hereafter.

photo - kids at the pool at Camp BB Riback — *(photo from Camp BB Riback)*

We wouldn’t be enjoying the gallery photos or stories shared by our kids tonight if it weren’t for the extraordinary outpouring of generosity that kept Camp BB Riback’s doors open during the unprecedented two-year shut down. I had the privilege of serving on the board and stewardship committee during that time, working and witnessing the unity of our community as we championed to save Camp BB Riback – it was and continues to be an exhausting amount of work.

So, today, I hope we (camp parents and families) will find it in our hearts and budgets to donate right now to support the continued revitalization of old and outdated structures and fund new projects at camp.

photo - kids dancing at Camp BB Riback — *(photo from Camp BB Riback)*

My family’s favourite way to donate is through the monthly auto-donation subscription plan and the Skip the Depot program. It is a small amount each month for us that, over time, builds to a lasting impact at camp.

More importantly, I know, in my heart and bones, that through our regular support of camp we are building a legacy of philanthropy in our family so that, one day, when our kids are grown, they will support camp in their own way … and the cycle of nourishing our community, the Jewish community, continues.

Today please consider the gift of memories and lifelongfriendships (see what I did there?!) for future generations.

Thank you Camp BB Riback and everyone you have touched. Until next summer.

– Courtesy Camp BB Riback

Strong connection to Israel

Counselors last summer learning the words and moves to Israeli pop music so they can teach the campers. (photo from Camp Hatikvah)

As Israel prepares to celebrate its 75th birthday, Camp Hatikvah looks back fondly at its long and meaningful connection to the Jewish state.

Established by members of the Young Judaea youth organization, Camp Hatikvah was Western Canada’s first Zionist summer camp. Developed in the aftermath of the Holocaust, Hatikvah was created to “produce proud, happy Jewish youth who were earnest and sincere in their beliefs” and committed to the rebuilding of the Jewish people and homeland. Activities offered included arts and crafts, drama, music, athletics, singing and dancing, but the basis of the program was designed around providing campers with a strong background and knowledge of Jewish and Zionist affairs.

One of the original goals of the camp was to promote aliyah and many of the camp’s participants have indeed gone on to join a kibbutz, study in Israel, serve in the Israel Defence Forces or raise their families in Israel. However, the camp leadership eventually realized that mass immigration was unlikely and began focusing on another important task – ensuring that Canadian Jewish youth truly understood the importance of the Jewish state and their role in nurturing and protecting it.

For campers of the 1950s, ’60s and ’70s, programming was focused around concepts of pioneering and perseverance. Israel was still so young and so vulnerable and participants united in their shared passion not only for its success but its survival. The counselors were impassioned leaders who created meaningful opportunities for learning. Education was key and advocacy was a responsibility.

photo - Israeli dancing in the early 1960s at camp — Israeli dancing in the early 1960s at camp. *(photo from Camp Hatikvah)*

By the 1980s, things were changing. The campers of that era were used to the idea of a strong Israel and much of the Jewish state’s impressive accomplishments felt like distant “history” to many of the young campers. This created a challenge for the camp but one to which they rose. Rather than sitting the campers down and lecturing them, Hatikvah used the uniqueness of the camp setting to provide active education. Field games were used to teach about geography, history and conflict, with campers learning a great deal without even knowing it (that’s the best kind of education).

The early 1990s were a time of great hope. With the Oslo Accords having been signed, it was an exciting time for Israel and for Hatikvah but, unfortunately, it was short-lived.

In the late 1990s and early 2000s, Israel was shaken by one horrendous terrorist attack after another. While our community stood in solidarity with our mishpachah (family) in Israel, many Hatikvah families were not comfortable sending their children on Biluim Israel, a sister program that runs an Israel experience for Hatikvah’s campers the summer before they become counselors. The result was that, for several years in a row, Hatikvah had very few counselors on staff who had ever been to Israel. This reality created a radical shift in the camp’s Israel education strategy.

Joanna Wasel, current board president, was the program director at Hatikvah at the time. She recalled, “since our participants were no longer going to Israel, we knew we had to bring Israel to them.”

The focus of Hatikvah’s Israel education shifted from the past to the present. While campers still learned about important historical figures and events, most of the programming began to focus on culture.

“It was important to us that our campers saw beyond what was in the news,” said Wasel. “We didn’t want them to think of Israel only in terms of conflict. We wanted them to see the beauty and uniqueness of this truly special and resilient country.”

photo - Campers in the early 1960s learning the Hebrew words for their activities — Campers in the early 1960s learning the Hebrew words for their activities. *(photo from Camp Hatikvah)*

Thankfully, the situation in Israel eventually stabilized and campers once again returned to Israel, bringing back their knowledge and passion when they became counselors the following year. But the affinity towards more modern Israel programming stuck, and the focus at the camp remains based on building bridges between Canadian and Israeli cultures.

“Friday nights at camp are amazing,” shared Liza Rozen-Delman, camp director. “After prayers and a traditional Shabbat dinner, our campers spend the evening dancing to Israeli pop music. It is incredible to see. They know all the words – which are in Hebrew – and the fun dances their peers in Israel are doing. It’s so natural and so beautiful.”

These programs are facilitated by young Israeli shlichim (emissaries), who continue to be an important part of Hatikvah’s program. “With the exception of 2022, when COVID restrictions were in place, Hatikvah has always had Israeli shlichim,” said Rozen-Delman. “The experience is so meaningful both for them and for us.

“Hatikvah was founded to promote the dream of an independent Jewish state and so it is really special for us, some 75 years later, not only to celebrate how far Israel has come but to also recognize how important our partnership was both then and now,” she concluded. “As we say at Camp Hatikvah, may they – and we – continue with chazak ve’ematz (strength and courage).”

– Courtesy Camp Hatikvah

Why we need summer camp

Summer camp helps foster grit, creating space for kids to develop independence and author their own stories. (photo from URJ Camp Kalsman)

As a parent of three, I know how hard it is to balance the overwhelming desire to make sure my kids “have it all” – diverse extracurricular activities, best schools, quality family time, etc. – and, at the same time, to know when to let go (and actually do it!) so they can experience the power of paving their own way. Skinned knees, bruised egos, broken hearts and all.

As a summer camp director, I also know that parents like me are not alone. In fact, there is a whole army of incredibly kind and passionate young adult role models, often dressed up in silly costumes, ready to be my partner in this “gritty journey” of adolescence and the teenage years.

Ask anyone who grew up at overnight summer camp – Jewish or otherwise – and most will tell you it felt like their second home. At Camp Kalsman, where my children and I have spent the past six years, we welcome campers and staff members “home” each summer. But what does this really mean and why is this important for fostering grit in our kids and teens?

I’d argue that home, a place of true belonging, is prime real estate for failure, learning and growth – home is where grit is born. Often, when we think of home we think of being safe and protected, perhaps shielded from the real world. I would argue that home is more of a safety net, giving a child the reassurance that not only is failure OK but that, when they do ultimately fail at something, we’ll be there to catch them and help them bounce back, stronger and more resilient.

What are the top three reasons why you, as a parent, guardian or loving adult, need summer camp, too?

1. Creating space to deepen connection. I’m going to say something that might make some people uncomfortable – your kids need a break from you just as much as you need one from them. Camp gives you the chance to create that space, knowing that you have a trusted partner to create that same safety net for your child. Absence makes the heart grow fonder is a cliché and it’s also a deeply true statement. By creating (physical) space for a finite period of time, your child has the chance to broaden their perspective, test everything you’ve taught them, try something on their own and learn from other trusted adults. When a camper has a temporary moment of sadness at camp (sometimes referred to as homesickness), that feeling is validated – “how wonderful is it that you have such great folks at home who love you, believe you can do this and know you will be safe and cared for at camp?” Camp simultaneously builds a sense of self separate from the family unit and strengthens the roots of that family tree from afar.

photo - kid kayaking at Camp Kalsman — *(photo from Camp Kalsman)*

2. Declaration of independence. How often do you wish your kid would make their own lunch for school, make their bed without you asking, pick up those socks that have been next to the couch for what seems like days? At camp, where “nagging” parents are replaced with super-cool counselors who are the perfect combination of Julie Andrews and Dick Van Dyke from Mary Poppins, kids learn a sense of communal responsibility, pride in keeping their space clean, and come to understand how their action (or inaction) can have ripple effects on those around them. At the beginning of the summer, they will have contributed to creating a cabin covenant (at Camp Kalsman, we use the Hebrew term brit kehillah), a shared understanding, co-created by their bunkmates and counselors, about how they will live and play together for the camp session. Campers have to navigate social situations without adult or teacher intervention (those cool counselors are also trained in conflict-resolution and will help out, of course). The ownership children and teens feel about their time at camp helps foster confidence and self-awareness and helps calibrate their inner moral compass for when they return home and to school.

3. Sharing the stories. It may happen in the car-ride home, over that first “real-world” meal after so many days of camp food, or a few days after they get home and have had time to process, but your child might just freely and willingly tell you stories about the summer. It won’t be like their one-word answer when you ask about school. With their new-found independence and confidence (see #2!), they might tell you about the friends they made, the new food they tried, the counselor they loved, maybe even the silly dance they made up. And, after you’ve listened intently, controlling your need to ask 1,000 follow-up questions, and instead basking in their joy and nostalgia, you’ll say, “Wow, that sounds like one incredible summer!” You will have given your child the gift of summer camp, and they will have given you the gift of sharing in their joy and confidence and gratitude.

While there are many, many more reasons that we all need summers at camp (a second home), the combination of creating space, developing independence and authoring their own stories is, at its core, the secret sauce of raising a gritty and resilient generation of children, teens and parents!

Rabbi Ilana Mills is camp director, URJ Camp Kalsman. If you are interested in learning more about the camp, visit campkalsman.org or contact Rabbi Ilana at [email protected]

Opportunities for growth

Moving into an old house that needs fixing is a challenge many people aren’t prepared to consider. I’ve heard this repeatedly from people who are both impressed and stunned by our choice.

We’ve just moved into our fifth old house as a married couple. We can see the big yard, friendly quiet neighbourhood, the structure’s amazing character features from 1913, and feel this was a good choice, if an expensive one. We’ve been married almost 25 years, too. We’ve become smart enough, as partners, to hire contractors to help us cope with the things that are far beyond what we can manage to do ourselves. So far, we’ve had fewer arguments this time around.

However, there are moments when I doubt my choices. This house has a lot of broken window panes. In some cases, someone just enclosed the window in a wall, so it sat there for perhaps 50 years, broken or not. When our contractors opened up one of the walls, well, all became clear. It was no wonder that plumbing pipes froze there in a Winnipeg winter – in a dark space with a broken window. Never mind triple-paned argon-filled glass, just closing some of the windows with regular, unbroken glass would have made a world of difference.

My husband took the first few windows to be repaired at a local hardware shop. When these came back, fixed properly and affordably, he carefully fitted them back in where they belonged. Then he watched a This Old House YouTube video to figure out how to get out still more of these broken beauties. Then, he described how he’d need my help to slide out the next large storm window.

I got anxious. This involved broken glass, fragile window frames, standing on a mudroom ledge (while he stood on a ladder outside) and December weather. Also, it involved cooperating with one’s spouse, which can sometimes be stressful, too! Luckily, the Winnipeg December weather was mild, right around freezing. I eased myself onto the ledge, over some stairs, and held onto the window exactly as instructed. I had some serious nerves.

To my surprise, the broken storm window, which had been partially concealed behind drywall for many years, slid right out. There was barely time to admire the buttery paint of the inside window, although we took a second to notice the old-fashioned curtain rod. Someone took the time to drywall in this entire window but left the curtain rod hooks still completely intact. Go figure.

When I climbed down, I was oddly proud. I hadn’t fallen off the ledge, we’d removed the window, and I’d gotten up close and personal with a really old part of my house that was still in good working order. Then I remembered to go wash my hands right away. I’d just been grasping with sweaty hands onto peeling lead paint on the window frames … but I digress.

We all need growth opportunities. Lots of people take on new extreme sports or complicated hobbies. Others learn new languages, develop new relationships or take journeys to new places. Perhaps because of the pandemic, or having younger kids, I have had small expectations of myself. I’m not taking any solo international vacations or racing fancy cars. Even so, I’ve had growth opportunities. Life offers them free of charge, when you least expect it, whether it’s house renovations, new professional or Jewish learning experiences or just wintertime in Manitoba.

I’m also several years into some Jewish learning, doing Daf Yomi, a page of Talmud a day, which takes more than seven years to complete. I’ll be the first to admit that, some days, I breathe a sigh of relief when I find that it is a very short page. (Nedarim-Vows, the current tractate, has a few of these!)

And, I’m experiencing this house renovation, complete with having a major plumbing overhaul done last weekend. This included not having a stack at all for a long afternoon. (The stack lets waste water leave your home. Without a working one, well, nobody flushes the toilet or runs a faucet. It was quite a wait.)

We currently have a completely gutted kitchen and might not have a finished kitchen again for quite awhile. Slow cooker meals and the kitchenette in the first floor powder room require forethought and improvisation. Again, maybe, seen optimistically, these, too, are chances for growth and learning.

Most of my experiences aren’t extreme. I’m not climbing Kilimanjaro, yet it was quite the adrenaline rush just standing on the ledge above the stairs, dealing with the broken window. It’s these moments that help keep us stimulated, challenged, changing and growing as people.

As a kid, I remember how hard it felt leaving for a Jewish summer sleep-away camp. It was exciting and terrifying, all at once. Big milestones in life – major birthdays or, say, hitting 25 years of marriage – can also be seen as colossal events. However, my daily life seems to be full of those moments that some see as inconsequential, until they become teaching moments.

I’m reminded of one squishy deep-snow spring day. I got my car stuck in our back lane parking spot. It was a goopy mess. If my four-wheel-drive SUV got stuck, well, anyone’s could. Alone with my twins, I had to manage to fix it. With their help, I got us out, using all the tricks my dad had taught me long ago, including my floor mats for traction, rocking the car back and forth, and more. My kids and I cheered, sweaty and covered in disgusting slush and completely late for whatever we’d set out to do, but we’d gotten the car out together.

We didn’t climb the highest peak. Far from it. We got ourselves out of a rutted, snowy prairie back lane in springtime. Judaism offers us a whole list of blessings to memorize and recite, and many of them are for small moments. When we eat bread, bless our kids on Shabbat, pray for rain, see a rainbow or just get up in the morning, we have a chance for a blessing. Yet, the moment we pause to reflect on what happened, maybe we realize that those growth moments – going to summer camp, buying and renovating an old house, one window at a time, or teaching kids important winter driving skills – weren’t quite so small after all.

Here’s to growth moments.… May yours in 2023 be meaningful and not too painful!

Counting our blessings

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Neville sworn in with shofar

Anita Neville’s swearing-in ceremony on Oct. 24 included the blasts of a shofar blown by her rabbi, Anibal Mass. (screenshot)

Anita Neville says she “feels the responsibility” of being the first Jewish person to be appointed as the lieutenant governor of Manitoba – an office she was sworn into on Oct. 24, using a Hebrew Bible.

For the next five years, the vice-regal residence in Winnipeg will be where Neville calls home. And she was quick to start carrying out official duties like laying the first wreath during the province’s Remembrance Day ceremony, and reading the government’s Speech from the Throne to open a new Manitoba Legislature session on Nov. 15.

“The whole thing is new. The protocol is new. I’m fortunate that there are very knowledgeable, experienced people around me, so that makes it easier,” Neville told The CJN Daily in an interview from Government House, acknowledging that she has a steep learning curve for her new role.

Which is why, shortly after her swearing-in, Neville flew off to attend a round of orientation meetings. She also learned that she will be going to Buckingham Palace, at some point, to present her credentials to King Charles III.

“There are three others who have not presented their credentials to the monarch, so there are four of us in line,” said Neville. “I don’t know where I am in the order, but I look forward to it very much.”

Couldn’t lose face with grandson

Neville was at her cottage with her grandchildren in July when Prime Minister Justin Trudeau called to offer the position. She took time to think about whether she wanted this very public role. After all, she already had a fulfilling career in community service, including as chair of the city’s public school board, and then 11 years as the Liberal member of Parliament for Winnipeg South Centre, from 2000 to 2011. She’s also deeply involved in Jewish community matters, with her synagogue Shaarey Zedek, and the Jewish Heritage Centre of Western Canada.

At first, some members of Neville’s family were worried the new position might be too much for their 80-year-old mother and grandmother.

“I’ve got a very bad back,” she said. Neville walks with the assistance of a cane.

But her decision was made after she thought about her grandparents and her roots, having been born in the traditional Jewish immigrant neighbourhood in the North End of the city, then growing up after the Second World War, when barriers to advancement still existed for Jews.

What clinched it was when a grandson scolded her and said, “How could you not take the job? How many people get this opportunity?” Neville felt that she didn’t “want to lose face with Aaron.”

Considering saying no was “beyond his comprehension,” she said.

Jewish and Indigenous touches

The 26th lieutenant governor in Manitoba’s history made sure to put her own stamp on the official swearing-in. The formal ceremony was full of Jewish symbolism.

It not only involved her choice of Bible to swear the oath, but it also had the piercing blasts of a shofar blown by her rabbi, Anibal Mass – who delivered blessings and then led the audience with a loud “Mazel tov!”

The opportunity is something the daughter of Russian Jewish immigrants in Winnipeg’s North End never dreamed would be possible for somebody with such origins.

In her speech, Neville told the audience that her grandparents fled Bessarabia and Odessa a century ago, to escape a climate of murderous antisemitism, and to find freedom and opportunity in Canada.

“I wanted … the larger community of Manitoba to be aware of who I am and where I came from,” she said. “I did it thoughtfully. I don’t think I was over the top.”

It wasn’t only having Jewish rituals that marked a departure from previous swearing-in ceremonies. Neville pushed to include Indigenous people in the program, which she claims is the first time this has happened. It stems from her own decades of work on their behalf, and it will likely be a key part of her mandate.

An Indigenous elder, Myra Laramee of the Fisher River Cree Nation, delivered an invocation during the ceremony, and even called her longtime Jewish friend by the title of “Auntie.”

A positive signal: Neville

Neville’s swearing-in also came just three days before the Manitoba government adopted the International Holocaust Remembrance Alliance definition of antisemitism, becoming the fifth Canadian province to do so. (Canada adopted it nationally in 2019.)

While she did not have anything to do with the timing, and did not work behind the scenes on that file, Neville agrees both things are good for Jews.

“I think, for the Jewish community, it is a signal of positive acceptance, integration,” Neville said. “Not that it wasn’t there before, but it’s a kind of stamp. It’s like getting a check mark.”

Neville isn’t the first Jewish person to hold a similar appointment in Canada: that milestone was pioneered by Myra Freedman, who served as Nova Scotia’s lieutenant governor from 2000 to 2006. (Freedman held Shabbat dinners at the official residence and kept kosher.)

For her part, Neville plans to install a mezuzah at the entrance to her private quarters when she moves into the century-old Government House. And she won’t serve pork or shellfish.

When she was initially appointed, a friend immediately called

her, half-jokingly anticipating an invitation for the fast-breaking meal at the end of Yom Kippur. All Neville can say to that for now is, “We’ll see.”

Centre-left stance on Israel

Neville is a long-standing supporter of Israel, and her appointment comes amid rising antisemitism, including a torrent of hate for Israel and Zionism.

B’nai Brith Canada’s annual audit reported 223 anti-Jewish incidents in Manitoba last year, up from 92 in 2020, and 83 the year before that, according to Janna Minikovich, a spokesperson for the group.

Does Neville fear becoming a target for anti-Jewish sentiment in her new role? During her days in Parliament, she remembers receiving some hate mail, but she declined to comment further on her current opinions on Israel, besides describing those views as “centre left.”

Neville co-chaired the Liberal Parliamentarians for Israel caucus when she was an MP. Moreover, in the House of Commons, she raised the plight of the 800,000 Jewish refugees expelled from Arab lands, saying people needed to pay attention to this historic injustice.

But she also criticized Stephen Harper’s Conservative government for cutting federal funding to KAIROS Canada, an aid agency supported by several churches. The group supports the boycott, divestment and sanctions movement against Israel as a method of combating what it considers oppression of Palestinians. (Neville said at the time that, without clear explanations of the change in funding, it appeared Canada was stifling criticism of Israel.)

Operation Ezra volunteer

Neville has long been an advocate for social justice causes. One that is dear to her heart involves her work with a Jewish-led rescue organization in Winnipeg, Operation Ezra. The group has worked with other faith communities since 2015, to help bring 65 Yazidi refugees to Canada. (The federal government has brought in hundreds more under a federal sponsorship program starting in 2017.)

In between rehearsals for the Speech from the Throne and planning her move-in date to her new quarters, Neville made sure to turn up at the Winnipeg airport to greet the latest new arrival.

Ayad Alhussein, now 13, was captured by ISIS forces in 2014 – along with his entire family – when the Islamic extremists took over much of Iraq and Syria and set up a caliphate. Yazidis are not Muslims, and they were ordered to convert, or be killed. Ayad was just 5 years old at the time, and was kept prisoner for five years, until he escaped. He had been living in a displaced persons camp in Iraq, while two of his surviving sisters made it to Canada.

According to Michel Aziza, co-chair of Operation Ezra, it took constant pressure by the committee on local MPs and on immigration officials to get Ayad’s paperwork processed. “The world moved on, from Yazidis, to Afghans, to Ukrainians,” said a frustrated Aziza after Neville welcomed the slightly overwhelmed teenager.

Scenes like this underline why Neville’s swearing-in speech referred to her core values of “tikkun olam and tzedakah,” referring to herself as a descendent of refugees.

“I know that the Jewish community … because of what [feedback] I’ve received, has been very happy and very pleased with my appointment. And I feel the responsibility of it, let me tell you.”

To listen to Ellin Bessner’s podcast with Anita Neville, visit thecjn.ca/news/anita-neville-profile. The swearing-in ceremony can be viewed at youtube.com/watch?v=d0i3C2lce-g.

Talking about addiction with L

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The music of Shabbat

Az Yashir is an original Jewish music album of songs for Shabbat from singer and composer Yair Rosenberg. As a journalist, Rosenberg has interviewed White House officials, profiled Israeli prime ministers, covered Jews in baseball, and even chronicled the translation of Harry Potter into Yiddish. But, for the last seven years, he has been working on something different.

Az Yashir takes listeners through the experience of the Jewish Sabbath, combining centuries-old lyrics with contemporary musical influences ranging from Irish folk to EDM. With this debut album, Rosenberg follows in the footsteps of his grandfather, Rabbi Israel David Rosenberg, a Chassidic composer who escaped the Holocaust through Shanghai and whose songs from that time are still sung to this day.

Az Yashir features eight original compositions and two new adaptations, performed by Rosenberg, backed by 20 different musicians and produced by Charles Newman of Mother West.

Visit yairrosenberg.com.

– Courtesy Worldisc