Judaism

Opportunity to be healthier

There’s been much discussion about mental health, physical health and well-being as it relates to the pandemic. This can only be a good thing. It shines a light on something we should all think more about. For example, asking: “How are you doing? How are your family members and friends doing? Do they need support? Are they sad, isolated, lonely or not feeling well?” and actually hearing the responses.

Yet, once we start raising these questions about well-being, we have to acknowledge that we just don’t have the bandwidth or the social and medical infrastructure to deal with the outcomes. Many times, no one has cared, asked or listened when someone has spoken up and said things weren’t OK. It might be new for some to acknowledge that we’re not always “fine” and that there’s often not much professional help available either. (Just look at wait times to get mental health or addictions support.)

Our household had a great weekend recently. The weather was outstanding, warm and sunny, with highs of 20 to 23°C. We had outdoor experiences, with low-risk social experiences. We participated in a friendly neighbourhood cleanup and a big picnic with soccer and badminton. My kids gave me handmade art for Mother’s Day, with notes they wrote themselves. There was time for lots of good food, walks, playing and even some household cleaning. All four of us commented on Sunday night that we’d done so much, eaten well, and had so much fun.

I had so many feelings about this. I, too, loved the sunshine and the weekend’s events. I also felt physically well and energetic, capable of celebrating it all. That said, being absolutely prepared ahead of time, with lists of what we needed for each outing, a schedule, and carefully pre-organized and prepared meals was a lot of emotional labour. Like moms everywhere through the pandemic, I’ve shouldered much of this. When I woke up Monday morning, I was really tired.

The kids went to school. My partner settled down to his online meeting. I threw together food in two slow cookers for dinner and went to my desk – to work and to process my intense feelings. I knew I’d been starved for company. Seeing people outdoors, even strangers, with smiles and an intention to socialize and get to know us, was gratifying. Also, breaking out of our normal cold weather weekend pandemic routine was both fabulous and more work. Choosing to go out and chat with strangers – it was all good but also alien. That strange mix of feelings led me to think harder.

Working, I opened a fascinating listserv email about an informal comparison between Modern Hebrew, Yemenite Hebrew and Samaritan Hebrew. A Canadian engineer named Bahador Alast hosts YouTube interviews for a wide variety of languages in which he explores language, linguistics and culture. In this video, an Israeli speaker of Modern Hebrew, a Samaritan Israeli and a Yemenite Israeli all take apart informal sentences, a sentence of poetry, a sentence from the Torah (and liturgy) and another from the Mishnah (part of the Talmud). They easily code switch between their dialects of origin (Samaritan/Yemenite), Modern Hebrew, English and Arabic. They discuss the origins of their community’s pronunciations and conversational styles, their relationship to other Semitic languages and Modern Hebrew. With focus, they do all this in less than 20 minutes. It’s also done in such a friendly, open way that the moderator, Alast, who does this with many different cultures and languages, mostly sits and listens to the magic unfold.

This content stretched me intellectually, especially my auditory capacity, since I hadn’t heard these differences explained and formalized before. I loved this rare learning moment and the very specific linguistic context and comparison.

My personal realization about the weekend’s events and warmth and my Monday morning exhaustion was that context matters. The reason why it was all so fun was that we came into the weekend prepared. Also, all felt well rested and ready for lots of activity. Since the pandemic started, there has been acknowledgement of women’s household burdens with the cancellation of “regular” activities, but context matters. I had mostly the same burdens pre-pandemic and the normal run of activities made life overwhelmingly busy. The break in obligations allowed me to see the emotional labour in getting everything ready. I now sometimes can get my spouse to take on some of the load. Sometimes, we restructure things or do less.

The pandemic forced us to hit pause in many ways. Hopefully, it’s also opened up moments to make positive changes. People have always asked each other how we were, but did everyone listen to the responses? No. Many of us didn’t even have the time to listen to ourselves. Our own health and well-being can sometimes be hard to figure out. We need that quiet space to contextualize our experience. “Does this hip hurt more than it used to?” a physio might ask. However, if we don’t stop to think about what hurts or to discuss our feelings, experiences and needs, we cannot possibly contextualize them, either.

Judaism teaches us that we’re obligated to one another, in families, communities and society. Yet, if we aren’t listening to one another, we can’t help one another. Whether it’s speaking a common language with dialects or providing one another with mental health and other supports, we cannot lift one another up if we’re not listening or trying. We need to be self-aware to listen to our own bodies, minds and feelings. Then we can listen to and help others, too.

We may have a lot of health issues ahead, from long-COVID, health concerns left undiagnosed and mental health struggles. We have an obligation to recognize that we don’t have the social and medical infrastructure we need to manage it all. It’s up to us to start bridging the gaps. Listening to one another, offering context and support, is a first step. It’s an important opportunity to make things better.

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.

Bat mitzvah’s 100th birthday

(photo from myjewishlearning.com)

March 18, 2022, marked the 100th anniversary of the first bat mitzvah ceremony in the United States.

Judith Kaplan, daughter of Rabbi Mordechai Kaplan, became the first woman to publicly celebrate the traditional Jewish coming-of-age ceremony. Becoming a bat mitzvah, or “daughter of the commandments,” signifies that a young woman has attained legal adulthood under Jewish law.

A bat mitzvah is based on the centuries-old ritual of bar mitzvah, or “son of the commandments,” the ceremony for 13-year-old boys. Today, it typically involves months or years of study, chanting Torah in front of the congregation and giving a reflection on the week’s Torah reading.

Since that day in 1922, coming-of-age ceremonies for Jewish girls have gradually become more popular, especially in more liberal branches of Judaism.

As someone who studies how legal and social changes intersect to advance the rights of women in religious communities, I see bat mitzvah as having a transformative impact on the rights of women in Jewish life, one that continues to reverberate in important ways today.

Growing equality

For many years, the significance of becoming a bat or bar mitzvah was very different. For boys, it marked the moment when they took on all the privileges accorded to adult men in the tradition, including the right to be counted in a minyan, the minimum number of people required for community prayers; to be honoured by being called up to give blessings over the Torah reading; and to read from the Torah itself. For girls, meanwhile, it often marked a celebration of maturity, but did not necessarily bring along the rights to full and equal participation in synagogue rituals.

It is only in recent decades that the rituals enacted and the rights bestowed for boys and girls have become substantially equivalent, and only in more liberal movements.

Indeed, because of controversies over whether women should be permitted to read aloud from the Torah, Judith Kaplan was not given the honour of being called up to read from a Torah scroll – part of the ordinary routine for bar mitzvah boys. Rather, she spoke after the service had formally concluded, reciting prayers and reading selections from the biblical passages out of a book.

Even today, bat mitzvah girls in some communities read passages from sacred texts after services on Friday night or Saturday morning, instead of during the standard Saturday morning service. But the bat mitzvah ritual, in varying forms, has become widespread in all movements within Judaism. It is widely practised in Reform, Conservative and Reconstructionist – a branch of progressive Judaism later founded by Kaplan’s father – communities and is increasingly popular in the Orthodox world.

The introduction of bat mitzvah was a steppingstone to expanding roles for women in every part of the Jewish world. In the Conservative movement, for example, women’s inclusion in bat mitzvah created tensions with their exclusion from other aspects of ritual life and leadership. Girls and women who were educated alongside boys and celebrated their bat mitzvah in similar ways later found themselves excluded from adult roles.

Jewish studies scholar Anne Lapidus Lerner summed it up this way: “The bar mitzvah ceremony marks a young man’s entrance into adult Jewish responsibility and privilege – the first, it is hoped, of many such occasions. But a bat mitzvah would mark a young woman’s exit from participation. It would be the only time she was permitted to go up to read the Haftarah,” selections from the biblical books of the prophets, read after the Torah portion each Sabbath.

The push to resolve this inconsistency led to an expansion of women’s roles within Conservative Judaism, including the ordination of women as rabbis.

Orthodox women continue to push boundaries around bat mitzvah. Many Orthodox synagogues have special programs devoted to girls coming of age and host celebrations marked by lighting Sabbath candles and sharing their learning about sacred texts in a speech to the community. Some Orthodox communities host women-only prayer groups where girls read from the Torah, while families in other communities host ceremonies in their homes.

New directions

As the ritual of bat mitzvah became more widely accepted, adult women who had been denied opportunities to study for it as children have sought out bat mitzvah as well. They may choose adult bat mitzvah because they seek to become more involved in ritual leadership in their synagogue community, or to enhance their skills so that they can guide their children when it becomes time for them to begin training for their own bar or bat mitzvah. Becoming an adult bat mitzvah may also provide a public forum to mark important transformations in one’s Jewish identity.

Project Kesher, an American nongovernmental organization that fosters Jewish women’s leadership in the former Soviet Union, supports programs for adult bat mitzvah. These initiatives allow women who were forbidden to receive a Jewish education by antisemitic state policies to reclaim their identities.

Sometimes, the ritual of adult bat mitzvah celebrates a more personal journey. In a recent episode of And Just Like That, the sequel to Sex and the City, the character Charlotte faces a crisis when her child does not want to participate in their Jewish coming-of-age ceremony. Charlotte saves the day by using the occasion to have her own bat mitzvah, to celebrate her own Jewish identity as a “Jew by choice,” after converting to Judaism years ago.

The TV episode also highlights another emerging innovation around the ritual of bat mitzvah: the adoption of more gender-neutral terms “b’nai mitzvah” or “b-mitzvah.” In many contexts, the rituals of bar and bat mitzvah have become identical, but the names of the ritual are still sexually differentiated: “bar mitzvah” for boys and “bat mitzvah” for girls. Some congregations, like Charlotte’s, have moved to using the term “b’nai” – children of the commandments (though b’nai literally means “sons,” it is also used to describe gender-mixed groups) – or simply “b-mitzvah” as a term that embraces all children, including those who identify as non-binary. (The Peretz Centre for Secular Jewish Culture uses the term p’nei [faces of] mitzvah.)

So, when North American Jews celebrate the 100th anniversary of bat mitzvah, they not only celebrate a momentous occasion in the life of one young girl, but an innovation that has paved the way for wider inclusion of generations of women, children and those previously excluded from a central ritual of Jewish life.

Lisa Fishbayn Joffe is director of the Hadassah-Brandeis Institute and director of the Project on Gender, Culture, Religion and the Law, which explores the tension between women’s equality claims and religious laws. Her research focuses on gender and multiculturalism in family law and on the intersection between secular and religious law. She is a co-founder of the Boston Agunah Task Force, devoted to research, education and advocacy for women under Jewish family law. This article is republished from The Conversation, and the original can be found at brandeis.edu/jewish-experience.

Celebrating 25 years

Chabad Richmond honours Rebbetzin Chanie and Rabbi Yechiel Baitelman at June 19 gala. (photo from Chabad Richmond)

“The goal of the Freilach25 gala goes beyond just a thank you to me and Chanie,” said Rabbi Yechiel Baitelman, who is being honoured with his wife Chanie next month.

“It’s about promoting the Rebbe’s mission,” he said. “And, if Chanie and I can help do that, OK. We’re dedicated to doing the Rebbe’s work, to bringing the warmth of Yiddishkeit and the warmth of Torah and Chassidus (Chassidic philosophy) to as many people as we can, in whatever ways we can.”

Freilach25, which marks Chabad Richmond’s 25th anniversary and celebrates the Baitelmans’ many contributions to the community, will take place on June 19 at Schara Tzedeck Synagogue. The keynote speaker at the event will be human rights advocate Natan Sharansky, who will talk on the importance of dialogue and cooperation between Jews from both sides of the Iron Curtain in the struggle for the release of Soviet Jewry, as well as the urgency of building and strengthening Judaism in our community.

In a recent interview with the Baitelmans, they spoke about their 25-year journey with Chabad Richmond, which began in October 1993.

Lubavitch BC’s Rabbi Yitzchak Wineberg brought the young couple out to Vancouver to be shluchim(emissaries) of the Rebbe, Menachem Mendel Schneerson (1902-1994). Rabbi Yitzchak and Henia Wineberg were, and still are, their “supervisors,” but, in 2000, the Baitelmans went out on their own, when people asked for a Chabad centre in Richmond. Nonetheless, for the first 10 years, they maintained some of their duties and responsibilities for Lubavitch BC in Vancouver – programs, summer day camp, etc.

“Our kick-off event in Richmond was during Hanukkah,” said Rabbi Baitelman. “We put the word out and had parties at our home over a couple of nights. In fact, we held a lot of programs in our home – Sunday morning Minyaneers Club, classes, and other programs. We weren’t holding services yet, but we began expanding our programs.”

Chabad has had a presence in Vancouver for a long time. Not so for Richmond. “One of the biggest struggles we have in Richmond is getting the word out that we exist, what we do, and the welcoming atmosphere we have,” said the rabbi.

The Richmond Jewish community has evolved over the years and, he said, “There are different ways of measuring the changes. There are certain areas where we see incredible success and growth, in terms of the number of people participating and supporting Chabad. And financial support is an important measure of how much the community appreciates us, and the value they put on the work that we do. Thank G-d, our budget has grown every year, and we’ve been able to offer more programs and activities. When we first moved to Richmond, we were still getting a salary from Vancouver, we were just raising money for our programs. Today, all our funds come from what we raise. The financial ties with Vancouver are long over.”

Asked what it’s been like for their family being on shlichus here, Rebbetzin Baitelman said, “Our kids are very proud of us. It’s nice to hear that from your own children. It was hard because we didn’t have a lot of family here. So, our kids didn’t get to grow up with cousins and aunts and uncles and grandparents. But they learned a lot and got ‘voluntold’ to do lots of different jobs – cooking and set-ups and welcoming – so they’re like my assistants.”

Rabbi Baitelman spoke warmly of growing up in the Rebbe’s neighbourhood, being at his farbrengens (Chassidic gatherings) and seeing the energy, the love of every Jew, and the Rebbe’s commitment to the spiritual well-being of each Jew.

“It was an amazing inspiration, seeing the selflessness of the Rebbe,” he said. “My grandparents also had a big impact on me. My maternal grandparents were shluchim of the previous rebbe. All my aunts and uncles (my mother’s siblings, the Gordons) are all on shlichus. My parents were on shlichus until I was 2 or 3 years old. They considered themselves the unofficial embassy of Gordon shluchim around the world. Anyone inspired by the Gordon family would come to our home for Shabbos or after Sunday Dollars [every Sunday outside his office, the Rebbe would hand out a dollar bill to people who came to receive his blessing].

“And, of course, Rabbi Wineberg inspired us by giving us the opportunity to come out here – he guides us a lot. Rabbi Lipa Dubrawsky was also a significant role model for how to inspire and engage people. And, of course, my uncle Rabbi Josh Gordon impacted my life tremendously. He was a shaliach in California who accomplished great things. He turned out to be a very influential, dedicated powerhouse of a man, in terms of leadership.”

As to how they ended up in Metro Vancouver, Rabbi Baitelman said, “When Chanie and I met, we discussed shlichus and we knew this was something we wanted to do, to make it the focus of our life. We knew what being shluchim would entail, although I must say that being young and a little bit naïve helped. Being shluchim in North America fits with our talents and abilities.”

Chanie Baitelman had confessed to her husband that she had only one hesitancy. She said she asked him: “Wherever we go … could they please speak English, because I’m terrible at languages? Yechiel has a love for everything Russian, and he spent a couple of stints in Russia, and I was petrified we were going to end up there.

“Living here,” she said, “Henia Wineberg has been beyond inspirational. She took me under her wing and taught me how to navigate everything, even how to cook. When I got married, I knew how to cook three things, and one of them was cream of wheat, and only for a crowd. I was 21 years old when we came here and Henia would introduce me as ‘the new rebbetzin’ and I almost went through the floor.

“When I was younger,” she continued, “my goal was to go to seminary in Australia, which I did. My parents were always very involved in our community, so we followed along and worked with them. Our grandparents and aunts and uncles were on shlichus, and extremely devoted to the Rebbe, so it was almost by osmosis that we took it on. It was something we aspired to. We lived in a little suburb of Detroit, Mich., and we grew up very wholesome. Family was our primary example to follow.”

While her parents were not on shlichus when she was growing up, she said, “My father was a teacher in a Jewish (non-Chabad) day school and we were active in the Chabad community. My mother was also an educator. But now my parents are shluchim. They’ve been shluchim for 21 years, so they went out on shlichus after us.”

Both of the Baitelmans expressed gratitude when asked what message they’d like to impart to the community.

Chanie Baitelman said: “Thankfulness and gratefulness for allowing us to be part of your community and supporting and befriending us all these years. I’ve learned something from everyone I’ve met here.”

Her husband contemplated for a moment before answering. “First thing, gratitude is very important – gratitude to the Rebbe and all the people who inspired us to be shluchim, and who mentor us. I’m so grateful to those people who opened their doors to us when we were an unknown commodity, a young couple new to the community. I try to always remember to say thank you to them for their belief in us, for their friendship and their support.

“I believe there’s still so much to do, both in terms of our personal growth, and in terms of communal growth,” he added. “Our best days are ahead of us. We have challenges, but they bring out the best in us. I invite everybody who wants to be part of this to bring their talents, experience and energy forward to join us. We’re honoured and privileged to be on the journey with this community and, together, we should bring the Rebbe a lot of naches, and fulfil his dream and vision of the times of Moshiach, of a perfect world, when everybody will have what they need, and everyone will be happy and healthy and strong. And the beauty inherent in Hashem’s world will be visible and obvious to everybody.”

The Baitelmans are the conduits through which many in the community connect with the Rebbe and his mission.

“We’re just the channel,” Chanie Baitelman stressed. “It’s not the easiest job, you have to work hard, but we’re doing something meaningful. Really, it’s a privilege. That someone would pay us to do meaningful work, is just beyond. Like our kids say: ‘So, basically, Mom, you got your dream job. You’re living your dream.’”

The Rebbe often used the metaphor of light – the power of light is that you can ignite an infinite number of flames from one light.

“In a sense, we are all shluchim, we’re all doing the Rebbe’s work in one way or another,” said Yechiel Baitelman. “Some do it as their career, some do it through volunteering or financial support, but having so many people involved in this army of goodness and kindness, all inspired by the Rebbe, that’s so rewarding. I never really understood why people wanted to volunteer with Chabad, then I realized it’s because others inspire them to get involved.”

The Baitelmans aren’t people who seek out honours. However, said the rabbi, “If, by telling our story and being part of the Freilach25 gala, we can advance the Rebbe’s mission for the betterment of the community, then do whatever you need to do. It’s not really about us, but we’re very grateful. Just please remember that there’s a bigger goal beyond the thank you and acknowledgement. Something has to come from this, whether it’s supporting Chabad or getting more involved, whatever it might be. Over the next 25 years, there’s a lot more we need to accomplish, so please have that in mind.”

Tickets for the gala are limited. They can be reserved at chabadrichmond.com/freilach25.

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.

The kill fee – and its fallout

I was honoured with the opportunity to chant the first aliyah for the Torah portion Aharei Mot. I’m still new to chanting Torah, so I practise every day. I can read and translate Torah but, for some reason, I didn’t reflect on what I was reading at first. I was chanting that very sensitive set of instructions given from G-d to Moses to pass along to his brother Aaron.

A few weeks ago, we read in Leviticus 10:1-7 that Aaron’s sons Nadav and Abihu offered “strange” or “alien” fire. Their sacrifice was overeager and unusual. They drew “too close” – in some readings of Leviticus 16:1 – to G-d and were struck down. They were killed.

After the death of Aaron’s sons, the instructions Moses passes along to Aaron are crucial. He isn’t to go into the Holy of Holies, behind the curtain, because G-d dwells in a cloud above the cover. Aaron’s sacrifices and his approach to the holiest spaces are scripted, careful and correct. When reading rabbis’ commentaries on this, their thoughts are all over the place, from quoting Sting’s lyrics “Don’t Stand so Close to Me” to talking about vulnerability and the divine. This is a text that has a lot to unpack.

As a freelancer, I do writing and editing jobs with various deadlines. Sometimes, I write a piece months in advance, submit, and hear nothing back until the publication arrives in the mail with payment. With other jobs, I get to revise and review copy edits, the editor says exactly when the piece will run and I’m paid early without prompting. Others require me to submit an invoice or I don’t get paid at all. Every gig is different. I’ve even worked for publications that have gone bankrupt before my article was to appear. So, I did all the work but, in the end, received nothing, not even a publication credit.

In other situations, I write or edit something with a short deadline. These can be very satisfying jobs that happen quickly. Sometimes, it’s a political analysis piece that runs in the newspaper. Other times, it’s a healthcare editing job that might improve the lives of breastfeeding moms. There’s a thrill to a tight deadline where I manage to get it done, and perhaps make a difference.

Before Passover, I submitted some queries (ideas) to a publication with which I’d worked before. I got a very fast response. The editor said she’d been about to write on one of these topics. Would I cover it instead? I said sure, asking for her outline and any other details she wanted included. Instead, she suggested I write it on my own, without her outline. I did this as fast as I could, as I also faced the hard deadline of cleaning and cooking for the holiday. I asked for quick feedback, since my time was limited, but I didn’t receive any.

Almost a week later, the editor asked me for revisions, asking why I didn’t include several items, which were on her mental checklist, unbeknown to me. I didn’t feel prepared to do it, but I researched and did one more rewrite before Pesach.

During the middle of the Passover, the copy edits arrived. I’d never seen so many before! Much of it seemed to ask me to prove mundane things with academic sources. Many copy editors have provided me with corrections and solutions over the years, and it’s usually just an “approve” track changes or a comment or two to move ahead. Responding to these comments took nearly three hours. I felt as though perhaps I’d written something wrong, although I’d been researching, writing and teaching on the topic for years.

The next day, I received a note from the editor. It would take too long for us to come to agreement over the edits. I was sent a “kill fee.” A kill fee is usually a quarter to a third of the amount agreed to for the whole project, if the project cannot go forward. This was a bit of a relief. I had more time for the holiday. I could be done with a hassle that already had earned me less than minimum wage.

Moments after I accepted the kill fee, the editor was on social media, writing glib jokes about the article topic and how she had to write the article herself. So, not only had I lost the gig, but there was some shame now, too. This was public “punishment.” Somehow, I’d been incapable of writing on this supposedly easy topic. With the holiday’s end and Shabbat approaching, I had ample time to reflect on the crummy experience.

For context … in the book Little Women, published more than 150 years ago, the character of Jo March is offered a $100 US prize payment for a story she wrote. I was offered $150 Cdn to write this story and paid a kill fee $50 Cdn.

When I thought back on Aaron’s painful loss of Nadav and Abihu, and how they’d been warned not to do things the wrong way, I wondered what lessons I could find there. I don’t make sacrifices at an altar. I never want to lose my children in such an awful way. However, on a much smaller scale, I pushed myself too hard to meet an elusive last-minute work goal. It cut me close when I failed, and then to be shamed via social media for it. I had my work “killed” – perhaps because my writing failed to come close enough to the editor’s ideas, or maybe because it was a little too detailed or uncomfortable and they questioned it. Who knows? Just as we will never know what Nadav and Abihu were thinking, I couldn’t be inside this editor’s thoughts either.

Unlike Aaron, I don’t have to work with this editor/client again. Aaron serves G-d, and cannot make the same mistakes his sons did. He is in a painful place where he must learn to do better. I, too, am in a place where I need to reconsider how I work and what I will work towards.

Luckily, I didn’t lose anything so precious as did Aaron. I can still explore how to make things better – it’s important to find a work/life balance that works, because that article was not worth the hassle. As the TV advertisement goes, some (important) things, like our family and holiday celebrations, are priceless.

Revitalizing community

Torah West wants to make Metro Vancouver a destination for more Orthodox newcomers. (photo by Cynthia Ramsay)

A new initiative, called Torah West, aims to grow Metro Vancouver’s Jewish population and make it more attractive to Orthodox newcomers – a goal that proponents say will strengthen every component of the community.

Torah West is focused on three Rs: retain, recruit and revitalize. It seeks to stanch the departure of Orthodox families from the region, recruit newcomers and, in the process, revitalize not only the institutions that serve specifically Orthodox families but increase demand and support for services that enhance life for all Jewish British Columbians.

“The more people who come, the more services we’re going to need to be able to sustain those people,” said Dr. Jonathon Leipsic, who co-chairs Torah West with Hodie Kahn. “More kosher restaurants, more people availing themselves of kosher food, more camps, more campers, more kids in Jewish day schools, more synagogue memberships, more Jewish community members, more people taking leadership roles in the community, more people investing in the community and on and on and on.”

Among many other community roles, Leipsic is president of Congregation Schara Tzedeck and Kahn is a past president. Together, they saw a growing challenge in the community and decided to act. They credit the Diamond Foundation for funding a 2020 study of the challenges facing the Orthodox community here, and the Jewish Federation of Greater Vancouver, especially vice-president Shelley Rivkin, for taking Torah West under their umbrella. The initiative will not see brick-and-mortar projects, but rather seeks to close gaps that make observing an Orthodox life in the city challenging.

Facilitating relocation to British Columbia might mean something as simple and comparatively affordable as helping a family with first and last months’ rent. If families want to live in Vancouver but send their kids to yeshivah in Las Vegas or Denver or elsewhere, Torah West can help fund flights home for the holidays, for example, if that tips the scales for the family’s place-of-residence decision. Other angles might include deferred membership fees to synagogues, the Jewish Community Centre of Greater Vancouver or other institutions. The community has systems in place to make Jewish summer camps accessible for all families and, if helping fund travel to the East or to the United States to access another form of camp would encourage families to relocate here, Torah West would support that.

Torah West will work with the Provincial Nominee Program, in which the federal government invites provinces to designate streams of immigrants that fill regional needs. Guiding newcomers through the immigration process, helping them get their credentials assessed and assisting in finding employment will ease some of the logistical challenges of relocation.

The initiative is loosely based on GROWWINNIPEG, a project of Manitoba’s Jewish community that has helped facilitate as many as 1,800 Jewish families migrating there, although there are distinct differences – cost of living, notably – that require unique responses.

Part of the motivation for Torah West was the loss of the Pacific Torah Institute yeshivah and limited Orthodox educational options in the city. But that is merely part of a longer trajectory. In her lifetime, Kahn said, she has witnessed waves in the community, in which there were more or fewer Orthodox families and, in turn, educators and infrastructure to serve them. The end of PTI was just part of a trend, she said, but it was a big blow.

“As they say, every crisis is an opportunity,” she said. “This crisis is that opportunity. Torah West is the response to that opportunity.”

Kahn said a notable aspect of Torah West is the buy-in from every single Orthodox group in the region.

“What’s innovative and fresh about the initiative is that it was developed collaboratively with all the Orthodox institutions and the Chabad centres across the Lower Mainland,” she said. “It’s very groundbreaking in that sense.”

That sort of collegiality is symptomatic not only of the Orthodox community but of the entire Vancouver Jewish community, Kahn said, something she sees as remarkable.

“Granted, we all have our little tiny silos of religious observance, which is reflected in the religious institutions that we choose to align ourselves with,” said Kahn. “But when it comes to the community, Orthodox rabbis play with Reform rabbis … Conservative rabbis play with Chabad. It’s a very unique kind of cultural experience that we have here and it’s reflected in the individuals who share the community and build the community. In a lot of other communities, those silos are very wide and very deep and they do not cross-pollinate or necessarily engage with one another to the extent that we do here.”

Both Kahn and Leipsic stress that a larger Orthodox community means a strengthening of every aspect of the community, to the benefit of all.

“We need to look at undergirding the Orthodox community because, at the end of the day, they provide the Jewish educators for our community, they provide the consumers for Jewish infrastructure like kosher restaurants or other services that are not just Orthodox-centric, they are Jewish-centric,” Kahn said. “That is what our vision is, to make sure that we have the proper foundation that will accrue to the benefit of the entire community at large.”

Similarly, while Torah West aims to draw new Orthodox families, the services the program provides will be available to anyone across the spectrum.

“We welcome everybody,” said Kahn. “There’s nobody who is going to, as they say, measure the length of your tzitzit. But we do have a hope and a dream and maybe some expectation that, if you become part of the Torah West initiative, you will, in turn, become part of the initiative in every respect. That means becoming a member of a synagogue, becoming a consumer of the kosher restaurant, or start another kosher restaurant, ensuring that the kosher butcher can stay in business.… We have a dream that we can create in Vancouver a nexus that combines the gloriousness of life in Vancouver with the ability to sustain a Torah lifestyle and the infrastructure that makes that possible.”

Nobody can talk about migrating to Vancouver without addressing the economic elephant in the room.

“The cost of living in Vancouver obviously has an impact,” said Leipsic, adding that the community is addressing macroeconomic issues and will continue to do so. “As far as people we want to recruit, we think that there are a number of people with capacity, who seek freedom and the opportunity to live a Torah-observant life or a traditional life in a nonjudgmental, diverse community with a lot of richness in it.”

Economic, political and social challenges in South America make that a target market of Torah West. In these cases, migration may be less an economic decision than one based on a desire for political stability.

Not coincidentally, the manager and community liaison of Torah West, Amanda Aron Chimanovitch, is herself a Brazilian-Canadian who came here via the Winnipeg project.

“Our goal is to make sure that there are economic and social and other supports for families who do want to come here,” said Kahn. “Ideally, families that are self-sustaining is a fantastic thing; it’s fantastic for all of us. But we’re not about to turn ourselves blind to the idea that, if you’re a Jewish educator, as an example, Vancouver is a very challenging place to be able to live independently without some support. I think we’re looking to help bridge that gap a little bit.”

Torah West is a three-year pilot project that Kahn and Leipsic are hopeful will prove permanent. Just putting Vancouver on the map as a possible home will be a success.

“When people are thinking about relocating, Vancouver is not even in their consciousness,” Kahn said of many Orthodox families. “Our goal is to create Vancouver as an option for them – whether it becomes the ultimate choice, we can’t control that. But we at least want to put Vancouver on the map.… You need a little bit of pioneer spirit to come here. If you’re looking for a place that’s already got all the amenities and got all the infrastructure, Vancouver is probably not your place. If you’re looking for a place of insurmountable geographical beauty and a real special feeling in the community and the landscape upon which you can plant your own trees and nurture them and make them part of the forest, this is the place for you.”

Rivkin, vice-president of planning, allocations and community affairs at the Jewish Federation, credits the Winnipeg project as a model but acknowledged differences. While Winnipeg was experiencing a declining Jewish population, that is not the case in Vancouver. This is one of North America’s fastest-growing Jewish communities.

“We don’t actually have a diminishing Jewish community, we have a diminishing community of people who are traditional or Orthodox,” said Rivkin. The reasons are straightforward. “We don’t have a yeshivah anymore, we don’t have summer camps that meet the needs of the Orthodox community, we don’t have a nice [kosher] restaurant here anymore.”

Rivkin said studies indicate that new Canadians tend to earn lower salaries than other Canadians in a similar role for up to 10 years after arrival. Helping people through the first challenging years is part of Torah West’s mission.

Kahn summed it up simply.

“There’s something very beautiful about a small community, something especially beautiful about the Vancouver Jewish community,” she said. “What we would love to see is just more opportunity for people who are seeking a halachic Torah lifestyle to be able to do that in Vancouver.”

A new story every year

Each year, we revisit the same Torah portions but, while the words remain the same, our understandings change based on what is happening in our world or in our lives. The exodus story, the story of Passover, remains as relevant as ever, as people in many parts of the world are being oppressed, are stateless or are living amid war.

As Russia’s attack on Ukraine continues, citizens of that besieged country are seeking refuge in neighbouring states. It does not appear, at present, that Jewish Ukrainians are suffering any more or less than any other citizens of that state. However, history has shown that whenever and wherever upheaval occurs, it almost inevitably affects Jewish people in some particular way.

The age-old question, “What does it mean for the Jews?” is an acknowledgement that events that ostensibly appear unrelated to Jewish people specifically will have unique consequences for Jews.

As Russia’s invasion has faced an unexpected reply from the Ukrainian military and people, the risk of Vladimir Putin being backed into a corner opens the door to worrying potentials. He has already made threatening noises about chemical weapons and, even more worryingly, nuclear weapons – the very suggestions being an untenable line to cross for any nuclear-capable world leader.

It should be remembered, but it has been too infrequently mentioned during this crisis, that Ukraine once had the third-largest nuclear arsenal in the world, a legacy of the dismantling of the Soviet Union. In 1994, Ukraine was persuaded to transfer its entire arsenal to Russia to be decommissioned with the promise from the Western world that we would ensure that country’s security in return. As Ukraine’s President Volodymyr Zelensky continues his virtual global tour, prevailing upon the West to provide more military aid, we should remember that he is asking for the Western world to fulfil the promise it made to his country less than three decades ago.

We should also not need reminding that the existence of a Jewish state is a modern miracle that provides a place of refuge, mere decades after the absence of a homeland led to Jewish history’s worst cataclysm. There are some 200,000 Ukrainians who would qualify for Israeli citizenship under the Law of Return, and planeloads of Jewish Ukrainians are making their way to Israel, fleeing a modern-day pharaoh.

Of course, the land of milk and honey is, in reality, a real-world country facing an enormous range of problems. Recent terror attacks have some people fearing a third intifada or, at least, a season of upheaval like we saw last year when violence erupted. In turn, that hostility spread worldwide, with spikes in antisemitic incidents around the world, including in Canada. While Jews are securely ensconced in the Promised Land, Israelis still seek liberation from the figurative enslavement by terrorists and their supporters. And, at the same time, Palestinians also do not have the freedom they desire and deserve. This latest violence does not serve either people’s dreams of peace or justice; it further enslaves us to cycles of justifications of more violence and pain.

Meanwhile, Jewish families in North America are excited to return to comparatively normal seders and celebrations after two years of pandemic. This is itself a form of liberation. As we reenact the ancient exodus at our seder tables, we will hope for and commit ourselves to a world where all who are oppressed find freedom. This is not a rote rereading and it is not a theoretical wish. In a world with so many challenges and dangers, the story of escape from bondage remains as relevant and urgent as ever.

Synagogue’s milestone

Montreal’s Congregation Shaar Hashomayim has been at its Kensington Avenue home for 100 years. (photo by Lainie Berger / unsplash.com)

Montreal’s Congregation Shaar Hashomayim is 176 years old – and it has been in its current building for 100 years now. Among those who have attended the shul over its long history are Rav Abraham Isaac Kook (who was chief rabbi of British Mandate Palestine), former prime minister Pierre Elliott Trudeau and current Prime Minister Justin Trudeau, legendary musician Leonard Cohen and various members of the Bronfman family. Recently, the historic congregation made history, when it hired Rabba Rachel Kohl Finegold, the first Orthodox woman in Canada to become ordained.

“It remains a traditional synagogue that follows traditional Jewish law,” Finegold told the Independent. “Me being the first female member of the clergy may have been significant, but it only did so in complete consistency with halachah (Jewish law).”

Finegold was among the first group of female students to graduate from Yeshivat Maharat, which is located in the Bronx, N.Y., in 2013. She has chosen as her title the term rabba, although female rabbis exist in other streams of Judaism.

“I walk up to the bimah [pulpit] like my male colleagues, but I go back and sit in the female section, because our building is 100 years old and the bimah resides in the central/men’s part of the sanctuary,” she said. “That is just what the architecture allows.”

Shaar Hashomayim split off from Congregation Shearith Israel (also known as the Spanish and Portuguese Synagogue of Montreal) in 1846. Ashkenazi members – English, German and Polish Jews – wanted to practise rituals and observances more akin to what they were familiar with, rather than what was traditional for the Sephardim. In September 1922, Congregation Shaar Hashomayim moved to 450 Kensington Ave. in Westmount, where it resides to this day. After the Second World War, a school was added to accommodate the new families who had joined the congregation. Further expansion happened in 1967.

“This is among the most grand of Montreal’s synagogues. Their choir is simply like no other and the sound permeates the walls throughout during services,” said Lucy Verebes Shapiro, who, while not a member of Shaar Hashomayim, has visited the shul many times. “There is a notion of great importance about all that transpires within,” she said.

The synagogue cemetery also gets visitors, Jewish and non-Jewish, who are attracted by its denizens.

“I’m a Leonard Cohen fan and visit the cemetery every year on the anniversary of his death,” said Marta Etynkowski. “I’ve never met him, but his poetry and music have helped me through many deep, private, emotional moments throughout my life and it’s one of my biggest regrets that I never saw him while alive. It has become a bit of an annual tradition for many of his fans to pay their respects – some people leave mementos, some play his music there, others just have a private moment in front of his grave. It’s quite beautiful.”

Shaar Hashomayim has a long and rich music tradition. The services are centred around a cantor, who is accompanied by an all-male choir, the origin of which dates back to 1887.

Its museum – the Edward Bronfman Museum – holds much Judaica, including a shofar from Yemen and a few books that are centuries old. It features rotating exhibits and is open to the public.

“In the wake of the COVID pandemic, people often ask, are synagogues still relevant? I think that is because there is a misconception that synagogues are just a place of prayer alone,” said Finegold. “However, many synagogues, and ours in particular, offer a connection to community – that’s something people want. After being isolated and at home for so long, to know that there is a place that has so many doorways to access, is something that will keep the relevance and people coming in for years to come.”

Avi Kumar is an historian and freelance writer. He has lived in six countries and speaks 10 languages. His work has been published in many countries, from his native Sri Lanka to Israel and Ireland, and he has written on a variety of topics, including history, wildlife and linguistics.

Puddle splashing and balance

If you’ve ever slogged through a spring melt in a place, like, say, Winnipeg, you know about the odd balance … the one where it’s best if the snow melts slowly, even painfully, with a freeze at night. Why? Too fast a melt and everything is flooded.

On the prairies – or, frankly, any place without good drainage – basements, wellies and everything else can be in trouble if a big pile of snow hits a too-warm sunny spring. In these places, and I’ve lived in three, now that I think of it: Buffalo and Ithaca, New York, and also Winnipeg … spring is both desperately, sorely anticipated and, well, sometimes gross. It’s full of dirty snow, big puddles and treacherous ice.

Yet we continue, every winter, to long for spring and better weather to come. It’s like we have amnesia and forget this long dirty shoulder season. Years ago, I told myself that, obviously, the snowbirds had it wrong. The best time to travel, if it could ever be managed, would be during the puddle period.

I was thinking about the puddles, Passover and, also, the talmudic tractate I am currently studying as part of Daf Yomi, a page of Talmud a day. From now until the summer, that tractate is Yevamot – the tractate that deals with the notion of levirate marriage. What’s that, you say? It’s the ancient obligation for a childless widow to either marry her husband’s brother to produce a child after her husband’s death, or perform a ceremony called halitzah, in which she is freed from this obligation.

This is probably the first time in more than two years of doing this Daf Yomi study when I seriously just wanted to quit. Yes, studying an ancient text, no matter how holy or intellectually stimulating, can sometimes feel irrelevant. Yevamot goes way beyond “slightly boring” or irrelevant. It wanders into the gross, mucky puddles for me. It’s right up there in the news articles that come with trigger warnings because of issues containing abuse. For a modern person, particularly a woman, some of these rabbis’ discussions in Yevamot really wear me down – because rape, child marriage and other issues really unacceptable to the modern reader arise frequently.

I was proceeding, reading late at night out of duty, and using an approach I perfected in graduate school. This involves skimming the thing as fast as possible so that, if one day I am ever asked about this in a weekly seminar, I can nod somewhat knowingly and bring up the one or two points I can remember. This worked when the professor assigned three academic tomes a week and expected us all to discuss them. (Later, I learned he did this in hopes we would drop the course due to the workload. He felt guilty when we all took it anyway and bought us coffees while we soldiered onwards.)

Of course, I’m learning for the sake of learning now, not because I expect to be tested or, heaven forbid, asked to lead the seminar at a moment’s notice.

This is one of those few times when I was saved by social media. I was on Twitter and, because I follow others who are also learning this way, I started seeing their comments. Several of them summed up, in 280 characters or less (or a TikTok), that they too were struggling. Eye-rolling and other more disgusting noises may have come out of their mouths at some of this. I had a huge sense of relief. I wasn’t alone. Others felt exactly the way I felt. We were part of some internet club I’d forgotten I’d joined. Whew.

There’s a reason why, traditionally, Talmud is studied in a hevruta, a pair or group setting. Some of the topics are hard to understand, for all sorts of reasons. I don’t have a physical study group. Heck, that’s OK, I’ve done nearly this entire thing during a pandemic. I’m a busy mom who stays up too late to read this stuff. I’m lucky to have access to it at all, as a woman, and also for free, online at Sefaria. There’s a lot of support online now that got me to this point, since this kind of study was traditionally dominated by men.

However, I know that feeling a sense of camaraderie and the insights that come from studying with others are important. They certainly helped spur me to continue when I thought the subject matter of Yevamot wasn’t for me and I wanted to quit.

To bring this back to those dirty spring puddles, well, this time of year, while it can be a slog, is also prime time to prep for Passover. This, too, can feel like a struggle. However much preparation you take on for this holiday, it can feel too hard. Cleaning up and scrubbing and eating down your chametz (bread products) can get to be too much.

For many, there’s pressure from those more traditional. Have you cleaned between the sofa cushions thoroughly? How about the stroller?

Those who are secular or less involved pressure me in another way, asking why I make myself “crazy” with any of this.

Passover preparations can feel like one long walk through Winnipeg’s springtime: navigating endless icy puddles, black ice and snow mold.

What helps me continue? It’s that whiff of spring air, or maybe the matzah ball soup, cooked in advance of the holiday. It’s the photo or long ago trip to a warmer climate, where the flowers were already in bloom. Also, it’s taking myself back to the Babylonian Talmud, in Yevamot 13. That’s the page with the reminder that the rabbis teach us not to divide ourselves into factions. That is, we are to value our diversity, our various customs, rather than let our disagreements divide us.

Some people love Passover. Some people love splashing in puddles. Life is a balancing act, and we’re lucky that we’re all unique and different. There’s sometimes a huge sense of shame that rises up when we admit that, actually, no, this text/season/holiday might not be the best thing since, say, sliced bread. Finding out, via a study partner, a friend or even a stranger online that we’re not alone can be so reassuring.

We’re not all the same, but the rabbis encouraged us not to create factions or separate ourselves unnecessarily, either. This is useful wisdom because, after Passover, Shavuot’s not far behind. Pesach’s cold in Winnipeg, and even Lag b’Omer picnics can be snowed or rained out. But Shavuot? That’s a holiday I love. It takes all kinds, as we teeter totter our way through the Jewish year, balancing between seasons. That balance is what makes our holiday observances, and even the talmudic tractates I struggle through, rich indeed.

BI scholar-in-residence

Rabbi Eliezer Diamond (photo from jtsa.edu)

“I am particularly interested in the way that Torah can help us look inward. Each of the topics is about religious character formation, various ways in which we create a more godly character and personality,” said Rabbi Eliezer Diamond in a Zoom conversation with the Jewish Independent ahead of his visit to Vancouver next month.

Congregation Beth Israel will be hosting Diamond as its scholar-in-residence for three in-person talks under the collective title Making a Life of Meaning. A professor of Talmud and rabbinics at the Jewish Theological Seminary of America, in New York, Diamond will speak on Addiction and Judaism (April 28, 7:30 p.m.), the Power of Gratitude (April 29, 6 p.m., with a dinner to follow) and Seeking and Granting Forgiveness (April 30, 9:30 a.m.).

In regard to addiction, the rabbi compares the 12-step process of Alcoholics Anonymous with the laws of repentance by Maimonides and notes the parallel paths taken towards sobriety and repentance: acknowledgement, regret and acceptance.

“Not drinking and being sober are not the same thing. To recover from alcoholism, one has to change one’s way of living and thinking,” said Diamond, who discusses addiction from both a personal and professional perspective.

“I am a recovering alcoholic and I know about addiction from the inside,” he said. “Even though I am not a therapist or addiction counselor, what I can do is help people to be honest with themselves and say ‘I have a problem,’ which is an acknowledgement of the sin and a step towards repentance. It is important to help people see where they are at so that they can begin to make changes.”

It is also helpful, he added, for his rabbinical students to know that their teacher is a recovering alcoholic because there is frequently a shame involved in addiction and a sense that one is a diminished person as a result.

“I am there to say to them, those may be the cards one has been dealt. You can still be a productive human being and, if you take the steps you need to take to deal with addiction, there is no reason for shame. On the contrary, there is a reason for pride. You have been faced with a challenge and you have addressed it,” he said.

Diamond pointed out that, in a broad sense, there has been an acknowledgement in the past couple of decades within the Jewish community that Jews, like everyone else, have problems with addiction.

“We are not immune to addiction, as people think or would like to think,” he said. “In my own lifetime, the community has become more open. The founding of Jewish Addiction Community Services [JACS] is an example of that.”

In addition to Congregation Beth Israel, Diamond’s talks in Vancouver are being sponsored by JACS Vancouver, Jewish Family Services Vancouver and Jewish Federation of Greater Vancouver.

Diamond’s discussion on gratitude is tied to the teachings of Rabbi Eliyahu Eliezer Dessler, an early 20th-century leader in the mussar (Jewish ethics or values) movement, who saw giving as being at the heart of the religious personality. In Dessler’s teachings, God, by providing life, is the ultimate giver. Therefore, to follow in God’s path, we must be givers ourselves. There are times, however, when we must also be receivers, and the best way to receive is through gratitude, Diamond explained.

Expanding on the theme of gratitude, Diamond added, “Ultimately, whether or not we experience ourselves as wealthy or poor is intimately connected to finding happiness and satisfaction with what we have. If we focus on what we have and the happiness that it can bring us, then we can feel wealthy. This is a choice that all of us, especially in a first-world situation, have.”

On forgiveness, the rabbi cited Christian theologian C.S. Lewis, who spoke of the human desire to seek forgiveness yet the difficulty humans have in granting it.

“Forgiving is a hard thing to do,” said Diamond. “What does it actually mean to forgive someone? Because, unless we lobotomize ourselves, we are not going to forget what happened. The essence of what I will be talking about is the relationship between forgiveness and recognizing the essential humanity of every human being, including those who have wronged us.”

What often stands in the way of forgiveness, he said, is the inability to view another person as anything other than evil, and not as a flawed individual who has stumbled, as we all stumble. The path towards forgiveness, according to Diamond, is to make that distinction.

Amid social and political divisiveness, which causes rifts in families and communities, Diamond further emphasized the importance of being able to listen to and appreciate the inherent humanity and sincerity in belief of those with whom we may strongly disagree.

“Rabbi Diamond is one of most well-respected scholars in the Conservative movement today,” said Beth Israel’s Rabbi Jonathan Infeld. “He is exceedingly bright, knowledgeable and eloquent. He is also passionate about the human value of gratitude and the importance of recovery. Considering the fact that drug and alcohol addictions and overdoses have been less spoken about during the pandemic, we knew that Rabbi Diamond should be our first in-person scholar-in-residence since the beginning of COVID-19. We are so happy that other community agencies are joining us. We look forward to welcoming Rabbi Diamond to Vancouver and learning from this incredible rabbi.”

To register for the April 29 dinner, visit bethisrael.ca.

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

Experiences shape identity

I recently studied the Pardes story in Tractate Chagigah of the Babylonian Talmud. This story is a complicated, mystical journey. The Mishnah starts by asking what extremely sensitive topics are difficult and, therefore, should only be taught in small groups. The presence of G-d is one of those topics. In the Pardes (literally “Orchard”) narrative, four rabbis go in search of G-d’s presence. It’s a life-changing event. Only Rabbi Akiva comes out alive and intact. Ben Azzai dies. Ben Zoma “was harmed” – this is interpreted to mean that he lost his mind. Elisha Ben Abuya becomes acher, or other, a heretic who is forever changed by his experience.

This narrative stuck with me, particularly the stories about Elisha Ben Abuya, who, although still respectful and learned, remains forever “othered” by his experience. He’s unable to be included, or to properly reconnect or embrace communal Jewish life again.

When I was 14, I decided I wanted to become a rabbi. For years, this was my goal. I was actively involved in my congregation. My mom, a Jewish professional, started a Jewish nursery school, and then went on to become a director of education and, finally, a temple administrator/executive director. That building and community were like my house. I knew it inside and out. The rabbi’s family was extended family to me. We had picnics and cookouts, I played with their kids. I knew that Jewish professionals were people I loved. It made becoming a rabbi seem attainable.

I lived in Israel for a year in high school. I went to and worked at Jewish camps, studied Hebrew and Near Eastern studies in university, taught religious school and Jewish music and served on a religious school committee. I helped lead services. Then, in my last year of university, I interviewed at not one, but two rabbinical schools. I started with the Reform Movement’s Hebrew Union College (HUC). I later interviewed at the Reconstructionist Rabbinical College (RRC).

I wasn’t accepted. Looking back, with a lot more interview experience, I can easily see that the interview process was flawed. The committee asked illegal, uncomfortable questions. The process didn’t judge me on my academic skills, Jewish involvement or merits. I was told, after the “try again next year” rejection, that I needed counseling. (Not career counseling, but just vague “counseling.”) Since my family was closely tied to the Reform movement, I heard later that, in that cohort, the competition for women to be accepted was much harder than it was for men. Many more women applied than men did, and there were reportedly quotas. At the time, women hadn’t reached parity in the field. The seminary didn’t want to accept more than 50% women.

Later, I watched several people, including a guy I had dated in university, get into rabbinical school and become a successful rabbi. He had lower academic grades and less Hebrew proficiency than I did.

RRC’s interview was much more respectful. I appreciated it, but they suggested that they weren’t sure I was Reconstructionist. They also rejected my application, again with an invitation to resubmit later, when I was “sure.”

Losing the life goal of becoming a rabbi was a difficult identity shift. I focused on what I had wanted out of the rabbinate: Jewish learning, chances to teach and lead services, build community and write about Jewish topics. I pursued a master’s in education and started teaching. I moved, got a dog, and got engaged … all serious commitments. It meant I wouldn’t suddenly be reapplying to rabbinical school and flying off to spend a year in Israel. I didn’t want to put off my life any longer to face rejection again.

On social media, I recently watched a long-time teacher transition out of the classroom to another kind of consultancy work. It was a flashback moment. More than 20 years ago, I was a high school teacher. I also taught religious school and tutored kids for b’nai mitzvah. Teaching was a huge part of who I was as a person. However, I wasn’t sure that my position was ideal. I still wanted to study more. I decided to go back to graduate school. This coincided with getting married. When I returned to get a religious studies degree, it felt like I’d lost any sense of authority, despite having a master’s degree and teaching experience.

In the graduate program, I earned a tiny stipend as a teaching assistant. Nobody cared that I already knew how to teach. While I did learn a lot, mostly on my own, I had the bad luck to enter a program that was splintering. A lot of faculty left, including my advisor. Without an advisor, I finished with only a second master’s degree, and went back into an educational administration job. I continued moving for my husband’s academic career, becoming a shape-changer in terms of my freelance work life.

I’m now in mid-career and, while I’m not a rabbi, I achieved some of my goals. I study more, have taught some, and I write about Judaism. That said, reading about Elisha Ben Abuya’s “othering” as a result of his experiences really struck home. Many of us have had these life-altering shifts of identity. Sometimes, it is individual, like a teacher’s career change or a divorce or the death of a loved one. Sometimes, like the millions fleeing war in Ukraine, Syria or Afghanistan, it’s a complete departure from life as they knew it. It can be soul-crushing. Some die, like Ben Azzai. Some are unable to maintain their sanity, like Ben Zoma.

One’s career or life can change gently, but often it’s sudden, like in war or with a swift rejection. Sometimes, it is a sapling or “shoot,” a hope for new direction, cut down, as Ben Abuya’s experience relates. Our lives shift. We change identities and directions. However, through all this, Jewish traditions can offer us a story or a metaphor from which we can learn or with which to identify.

Elisha Ben Abuya’s story is a tough and sad one. It also offers solace. I suspect more of us have had this gut-wrenching experience than we want to admit. Acher/Ben Abuya was public about his angst and struggle – and his community did try to help. Perhaps there’s a lot to be gained through processing and acknowledging our hardest experiences, even if, in Acher’s situation, his relief and resolution came only long after he died.