Judaism – Page 16

Hope as commitment

Rabbi Suzanne Singer of Temple Beth El in Riverside, Calif., ended the 2022-23 Hineini lecture series in April on a distinctly positive note. Her Zoom talk, hosted by the Victoria congregation Kolot Mayim, focused on “finding hope in a world of unending problems.”

photo - Rabbi Suzanne Singer — Rabbi Suzanne Singer (photo from endoflifechoicesca.org)

Singer began with the story of the golden calf. When Moses is delayed on Mount Sinai, the people, fearing he won’t return, make an idol to worship – a terrible sin. However, said Singer, God was prepared for this transgression and offered a means to repentance: instructions for the tabernacle.

“The Mishkan was built as a place for God to dwell and to bring God’s presence back among the people,” she said. “By offering the Israelites the opportunity to use their gold for a higher purpose, God is giving them the opportunity to redeem themselves and to resume their intimate relationship to God.”

Yet, she pointed out, the instructions for the tabernacle were given before the calf appears. Among the possible explanations for the inverted order is the notion of hope.

“It’s almost a 100% certainty that, at some point, every human being is going to commit a transgression,” said Singer. “But God is prescient enough to understand this, so, underlying God’s instructions for the Mishkan is the reality of sin. God knows that people are going to sin, but God wants to guarantee that there’s always a possibility of redemption, that there’s always a tabernacle available for every golden calf.”

According to Singer, this knowledge can allow us to live our lives understanding we have the ability to make amends. With all the problems in the world – climate change, wars, economic disruption, gun violence – people need to remember that the tools are there to repair the world (and the soul).

“God is telling us that we can transform our idolatry, our egoism, our greed, our thirst for power into something sacred,” said Singer.

Singer defines hope as a commitment that allows us to picture the future and provides us the energy to build it. Hope requires action and a stubborn determination to produce a positive outcome.

She cited several examples in which hope persevered against extraordinary odds, from the pear tree outside the World Trade Centre that survived the Sept. 11, 2001, terror attacks to the Ethiopian Jews who trekked through dangerous terrain to reach the airlifts to Israel.

“Resilience is linked to the belief that we can make a difference in our lives and the lives of others. Hope really gives us the will to not only heal ourselves, but to make the world a better place,” she said.

The rabbis of our tradition, said Singer, tell us that, when we arrive in heaven, we will be asked seven questions: the most important one is, did you live with hope?

Using the words of Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, Singer noted that Judaism is the only civilization whose golden age is in the future. “If we don’t like what we see in our society or in our world, we have the capacity to make things better,” Singer said. “The Exodus story tells us that our circumstances do not define us, and that we can change those circumstances for a better future.”

Quoting Sacks again, she added, “To be a Jew is to be an agent of hope. In a world serially threatened by despair, every ritual, every mitzvah, every syllable of the Jewish story is a protest against escapism, resignation or the blind acceptance of fate.”

Even in the polarized political climate of our age there is hope, Singer said, offering Derek Black as an example. A decade ago, Black was a rising figure in the white supremacist movement. After engaging with and getting to know an ethnically diverse group of students during Shabbat dinners at a Florida university, he renounced his racist worldview.

Acknowledging that many serious problems exist, Singer noted that war is rarer now, genocides are fewer, life expectancy is higher and hunger has diminished.

“No one knows the wars that don’t happen, the family members who aren’t claimed by disease, the children who don’t die in infancy,” she said.

“Hope is a strategy, not a feeling, and it’s within our power to call it forth,” she concluded. “One needs to believe in and build a future, even if we may not be there to experience it.”

Singer, who was a student rabbi at Kolot Mayim in the early 2000s, is active on many fronts. She serves as a member of the Reform movement’s Commission on Social Action and as president of Pacific Area Reform Rabbis.

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

Grandfather’s prayers

The author’s family Machzor, which was printed in Warsaw in 1913, was most likely owned by her grandfather. (photo by Shula Klinger)

Growing up, I was never taken to shul. I never saw my parents pray, read religious texts or attend any Jewish community events. I saw my maternal grandfather’s tallit case once or twice; I don’t know if he attended shul regularly. These ritual items were simply family artifacts, not elements of our daily lives.

At school, I went to Shabbat with a school friend and muddled through, not knowing the customs. I went to Jewish assembly twice a week and learned the Shema – sort of – from the other girls. With an Israeli father who spoke fluent Hebrew, I didn’t know where I fitted in. Religious Jews weren’t “our people.” My father’s religion was Zionism, not Judaism. I was English, but, at the same time, I wasn’t.

My mother passed away in 2020. As I went through her belongings, I was startled to find a Machzor (prayer book for the High Holidays) that had belonged to – I presume – her father, Dr. Bernard (Boris) Stein. It was coming apart and not just from age; it had clearly been well-used.

This was a deeply moving discovery for me. It told me that my family had once kept the High Holidays, that my ancestors did attend services and were indeed part of a spiritual community.

The prayer book’s worn, shabby velvet has been repaired more than once. Once bound in a rich purple velvet, glue marks are all that is left of the cover ornament. The buckle is mostly intact but the spine is roughly stitched together with cotton thread. This is not the work of a professional artisan; maybe it’s the handiwork of my grandfather himself. He was used to handling a needle and thread, though as a surgeon.

From the Cyrillic text in the front, I learned that the book was published by Levin-Epstein in Warsaw. Why would my grandfather, who was born in Lithuania and raised in South Africa, have owned a Polish Machzor?

According to Nathan Cohen in Warsaw: The Jewish Metropolis, Warsaw did not rise to prominence in Eastern European Jewish life until the second half of the 19th century. This was a result of the czar’s 1836 decree that closed down Jewish printing houses in the Russian empire. Only select printers in Vilna and Zhitomir were allowed to print in Hebrew characters. Warsaw, however, was outside the boundaries of this region, so the Jewish printing industry moved there instead. My family prayer book was published in 1913.

photo - Once bound in a rich purple velvet, glue marks are all that is left of the cover ornament — Once bound in a rich purple velvet, glue marks are all that is left of the cover ornament. *(photo by Shula Klinger)*

And what of our Machzor’s future? I don’t want to pack it up and hide it away. I want it to be a family heirloom for generations to come, and for my children to see it as they grow up. They are proud of their heritage and will also want to see that the book is well cared for.

I sought the advice of a professional. Having worked with local bookbinder Richard Smart on a Jewish Independent story about Anne Frank in late 2017, I returned with the book and a new set of questions.

Could the book be repaired? Smart said no, because “any new suede isn’t going to blend in nicely with the old … it’s very fragile.” However, he came up with another option for conserving it: building a custom box. This way, he said, “it’ll stay in one piece, but it also keeps its history of having been handled and used.” I like this approach because it prevents the book from coming to further harm, but it also preserves it as evidence of my ancestors’ religious lives.

While the book will not be in circulation, I am heartened by the knowledge that it will, at least, be safe. Even if it doesn’t form a part of my own religious practice, it won’t be discarded or tucked away like a souvenir. This Machzor will be treated in a manner that befits an ancient treasure: laid carefully in a box that is made by hand. I’m proud to be its guardian until it passes to the next generation of our family.

To see a video of Smart reaching his decision about the Machzor, visit @oldenglishbindery on Instagram.

Shula Klinger is an author and journalist living in North Vancouver.

Multiple membership models

Years ago, I briefly served on a synagogue board and did some research into membership dues. Some congregations had flat rates. Others had scales according to income or age. Others had no set dues, members gave according to what they felt they could give, with the congregation merely offering suggested amounts. There are plenty of articles on this topic, and even a book by rabbis Kerry Olitzky and Ari Olitzky. Synagogues cost money to run: salaries, buildings and activities are expensive. If we want Jewish life to continue, we need to consider this because synagogues offer us education, community, lifecycle events and more. However, there is no one size fits all when it comes to membership models.

Just as there are many models for dues, there are different ideas about new members. Some congregations post their membership application forms online and indicate where to submit the finished paperwork. Others offer membership information via email or post when it’s requested. Still others insist that the potential congregant meet with the executive director to gain access to the paperwork or the requirements for membership.

My husband and I have moved a lot in nearly 25 years of marriage. That has included “shul hopping” within communities sometimes. We’ve formally belonged to seven congregations, and attended services at many other places. Our experience hasn’t been limited to one North American movement. Due to our families’ diverse affiliations, geographic limitations and shifting needs, we’ve been members at Reform, Conservative, Modern Orthodox and unaffiliated congregations. We joke, when asked, that “we get around.”

All this resurfaced while I read about Toronto Congregation Beth Tzedec’s recent experiment with membership. This congregation saw that members under age 40 paid only 5% of their total operating income. By waiving dues for members under 40, Beth Tzedec gained 900 members in eight months, according to a recent JTA article. This remarkable leap in membership shows just how much of an obstacle membership dues are for many younger Jewish people in Canada.

For years, when I joined a congregation in a new place, I was asked to join committees, lead services, teach, volunteer or provide other services. Only very rarely did any of these congregations ask first, “What can we do to meet your needs?” or “What are you hoping to gain from this experience?” While it sounds crass to see this as a solely “transactional” experience, it can be painful to spend a lot of money to support a place that sees no obligation to create a relationship or a meaningful experience with its new and/or younger members.

Few congregations have new members start by meeting with a rabbi or cantor or other engagement professional. The first interaction is almost always with an executive director who is essentially asking, “How much can you pay us?” While congregations almost always state that they don’t turn down anyone due to lack of funds for membership, in practice, many people are turned away. They’re turned away or turned off because they don’t even make the embarrassing first appointment where they must admit they cannot afford the full costs of membership.

We just signed on the dotted line at a big, established congregation because our twins are nearing b’nai mitzvah age. We’ve been regular synagogue attendees for years. We had asked about membership when I was pregnant and, at the meeting with the executive director, we felt as though we were being interviewed to join a country club. As older first-time parents, we saw the membership cost was delineated by age and we fell into a more expensive category. Our roof was leaking, we were expecting twins. Our decision was easy – we fixed the roof. Synagogue membership could wait.

Over the years, we briefly joined two other congregations to access their educational opportunities or community events. In the end, though, we faced the same process over a decade later, with a different executive director. He told us that no one was turned away. However, the paperwork indicated that, unless we paid the building fee plus membership dues plus b’nai mitzvah charge, we couldn’t have a lifecycle event at the congregation. That upfront cost was about 4% of our gross annual income, which is a large chunk of change. That’s before paying for a Kiddush luncheon or family celebration.

There’s no one answer to this challenge. Here are some ideas based on our anecdotal experience.

Make synagogue membership paperwork and financial information easily available on a website or via email. It shouldn’t be a secret, offered only in a face-to-face meeting with the executive director. This isn’t a good first impression. Potential members might also want to meet with a rabbi, cantor or other professional rather than the executive director.

Second, consider a membership model that provides multiple options based on income rather than age or a flat fee. There will always be older members who earn less income and younger people who can afford more.

Third, create an environment where members will not begrudge further donations. If the membership fee is a suggestion, and is affordable enough so that people can manage it, then a happy member may want to donate more money in the future. A supportive congregation and positive community experience is worth a lot! Members who sense that level of support are willing to pay for it.

Finally, recognize that many “middle-class” incomes don’t cover the cost of living the way they used to. Due to inflation, a professional who, for instance, works as a teacher or at a nonprofit may not have much expendable income. Find ways in which professionals might volunteer hours in lieu of part of their membership fees. Despite education and experience, these professionals have often been asked to volunteer for work in a Jewish context that one would have paid for elsewhere. They pay for membership that they perhaps couldn’t afford – for the privilege of also volunteering expertise.

We need each other for many reasons. Membership dues are not just for a minyan but also for the building where the minyan meets. Our tradition teaches us that every person is valuable, that embarrassment should be avoided at all cost, and that Jewish communities are essential. Synagogue membership models should reflect those teachings, too.

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.

Designing the 12 tribes

Artist Anna Marszalkowska stands in front of “Levi,” which is part of her Tribes series, which is on exhibit at the Zack Gallery until May 4. (photo from Anna Marszalkowska)

The challenge of visually depicting the tribes of Israel has attracted many famous artists over the centuries. For example, on the 25th anniversary of the state of Israel, Salvador Dali, inspired by descriptions in the Torah, created a series of watercolours, “The Twelve Tribes of Israel.” Before that, in 1962, Marc Chagall made his famous stained-glass windows, “The Twelve Tribes,” for a synagogue in Jerusalem. Anna Marszalkowska, a local Vancouver artist of Polish origins, fits easily into this august company. Her solo show, The Tribes, opened at the Zack Gallery on March 29.

Marszalkowska grew up in Poland, but studied graphic design and worked as a graphic designer in London, England. “Diversity is what made my design path exciting,” she said in an interview with the Independent. “I started my career as a freelance web and graphic designer and then moved to video design and editing, as well as motion graphics and animation.”

Five years ago, she and her husband moved to Canada, but they lived and worked in the eastern part of the country. They relocated to Vancouver two years ago.

“We came here during the pandemic,” she said. “We wanted to try something different. For an outdoor person like myself, this is a great place. The nature is beautiful, and everyone is very friendly.”

She also changed the direction of her professional life. “I work with artists in the movie industry, but not as an artist myself,” she said. “I understand artists because of my past as a graphic designer, but I wanted less time at the computer screen. I wanted to free my creativity for more personal projects, which was hard to do while working as a graphic designer. Then, my creativity was fully engaged in my professional activity, but, on the other hand, I was limited by clients’ requirements. After a full day of work … I was often tired, I wanted to relax. Now, my creativity is freed. I have more time for my artistic experiments. I started abstract painting and I love it. Just me and a painting – it calms me.”

But even while working full time as a graphic designer, she still found energy to search for her individual style and themes. One of them was her Tribes series. “In 2010, I completed a print production course, and this series was the result.”

The series consists of 12 large digital prints, each one corresponding to one of the tribes of Israel. Although Marszalkowska’s version is an entirely modern take, it involves ancient symbolism, which originated in the Hebrew Bible. The artist conducted deep research for this project, and the end results are simultaneously stunningly simple and visually compelling.

“I had a blog before and, when I put the images online, many people expressed their interest. They wanted to buy one or several or all of the images.”

For the artist, this body of work has meaning beyond its commercial success. “It was a personal journey. I was searching for my Jewish ancestry. My grandmother grew up in a town in Poland where most citizens were Jewish before the war. She might have been part Jewish herself, but after the Holocaust, I had no one to ask.”

Instead, she studied the Bible and tried to interpret the narratives within a cultural context. “The symbols of the tribes are by no means fixed,” she explained. “Every artist could have their own interpretation, as the biblical texts describe the sons of Jacob allegorically.”

In her interpretation, the traditional symbols are given a contemporary, stylized appearance. “I explored the relationship between geometric shapes and lines,” she said. “I used repetition and symmetry to keep balance in each individual design and all 12 together.”

She also leaned towards a minimalistic approach, where a symbol of the tribe is centred on a one-colour background, with no other embellishments to attract a viewer’s attention. “In the original design, I had an ornamental frame around each image, but I got rid of them. I think less is more,” she said. “COVID made me realize that my focus should be the meaning, not the decorations.”

In most images, the background colour palette reflects that of the tribe, except for Benjamin, the youngest. “His symbol is a wolf,” Marszalkowska said. “He represents all colours of all tribes. To reflect that, I placed a ‘rainbow’ above the wolf. I think it is his spirit or maybe his song, Or his breath. It would depend on your own interpretation.”

In some of the designs, she incorporated photography for texture. “I used Adobe Illustrator to combine my photographs with my digital illustrations,” she said. For Simeon, her symbol is a tower, and she put her photos of bricks to good use in her pictorial tower construction. For Zebulun, whose symbol is a ship, she employed photos of water. “Issachar’s symbol is a donkey with a burden,” she said. “I used my photos of wood for the donkey’s load.”

When different sources offered different visual symbolisms for a tribe, the artist’s scholarly touch led her towards her own esthetic. For example, in the case of Levi, some documents don’t count him as a tribe and don’t offer any symbols for him. Historically, the Tribe of Levi wasn’t given any land, but its men served as religious leaders and teachers. Maszalkowska decided that Levi’s description as God’s Chosen Tribe warranted its own image: a breastplate of a high priest. The breastplate is embedded with 12 gemstones, each inscribed with the name of one of the tribes in Hebrew.

“Overall, the series is an invitation for everyone to embark on their own journey, to reflect on their own purpose and fulfilment,” said Maszalkowska. “Ultimately, I hope that my art will connect with the viewers and inspire them.”

Tribes runs until May 4.

Olga Livshin is a Vancouver freelance writer. She can be reached at [email protected].

Burying sacred books

On March 9, community members gathered to bury sacred Jewish texts at Beth Israel Cemetery. (photo by Cynthia Ramsay)

According to Jewish law, no sacred texts and objects are allowed to be thrown out. This includes anything with God’s name printed on it. These texts and objects must be buried in a respectful way,” explained Rabbi Jonathan Infeld of Congregation Beth Israel in an email to the Jewish Independent about the March 9 Genizah Project ceremony at the synagogue’s cemetery. “Since a burial spot is not always convenient, people store their sacred material in a special place called a genizah until they can be buried.”

A few months ago, Infeld received a phone call from Eugene Barsky, a librarian at the University of British Columbia. Barsky was looking for a place to bury a considerable number of sacred books that were beyond repair. Infeld “immediately said yes.”

“But I wanted to do much more than just bury the materials,” the rabbi said. “I asked if he would be interested in a community-wide program, and Eugene also agreed. After that, we sought other interested parties including UBC Jewish studies, Hillel BC, King David High School, Peretz Centre and the Waldman Library.”

Representatives of these organizations were present on March 9, including students from KDHS and UBC. Infeld spoke about how sacred objects and texts not only give Jews a connection to our spiritual existence, but a social connection as well.

“And, no matter what differences we may have as a people, we are brought together within a rubric of study, of prayer, all connected to the written word,” he said. “For us, as a Jewish people, the book is sacred. For us, as a Jewish people, study is a sacred task, a sacred opportunity. And so, it only makes sense that, when we have studied, have brought a book to its conclusion, that’s literally falling apart, we don’t just throw it away, but the book, or the sacred object, has become our friend and become part of us. And so, according to Jewish tradition, we bury it.”

Barsky highlighted one of the many books being buried: a Pentateuch (the Five Books of Moses) published in Furth, Germany, in 1805. “I wish we could preserve these books, but some of them are molding,” he said. “We have a preservation lab at UBC but they reviewed them and some of them just could not be preserved.”

Barsky asked two members of the Vancouver Jewish Folk Choir – Stephen Aberle and Aurel Matte – to sing a couple of songs. The pair led “Hinei Ma Tov,” about how pleasant it is when sisters, brothers, all of us, gather together; and “Al Sh’loshah Devarim,” about the three things on which the world stands (Torah, divine service, acts of love) and by which the world endures (truth, justice, peace).

For UBC student Ellie Sherman, the burial ceremony was particularly meaningful, “as someone who spends every day reading more and more information, paying close attention to authors and narrators, and focusing on crafting assignments with correct references, to give credit where credit is due.”

She said, “The need for the genizah recognizes that the significance of words is beyond two-dimensional figures on a page, that the lessons we learn and the knowledge we gain from our books can be infinite, just as the meaning behind the words.”

Gregg Gardner, associate professor and Diamond Chair in Jewish Law and Ethics at UBC, shared how the name genizah came about. “The ancient rabbis of the first centuries tell a story about a king,” he said. “The king’s name is Munbaz. This king travels to Jerusalem, where there is drought and a famine. To provide relief, Munbaz gives away his fortune to the needy. Munbaz bizbez, Munbaz spends. His brothers confront him and demand an explanation as to why he’s giving away the family fortune…. Munbaz says that he does not bizbez the fortune … but rather he ganaz the fortune, he stores it, he saves it…. Munbaz explains that, by giving your money to charity here on earth, you do not waste your money … you save it in the world to come, in the afterlife.

“The word genizah literally means ‘storing’ and, in doing so, it can denote hiding from view,” he said. “Ancient Jewish traditions going back to the first centuries, the Second Temple period, talk about hiding many things, even the holy vessels from the Jerusalem Temple, and there are traditions in which the word ganaz is associated with storing valuables.”

Gardner said, “We are here at a cemetery, essentially taking these books out of use, laying them to rest, and yet, at the same time, going back thousands of years, the genizah has been a story not only about death, but about Jewish life.”

Richard Menkis, associate professor of medieval and modern Jewish history at UBC, picked up on this last aspect. During the planning for the burial, he said, there was a feeling towards solemnity, even mourning. But, he said, “there was a whole other sensibility that we could be bringing to it.”

He spoke of the Jews of Algeria, who would place items wherever they could around the synagogue and “several weeks later, they would carry them, the books, the other objects, in sacks. They’d escort them to the cemetery and bury them and, on that day, there would be a feast and special hymns for the occasion. There were similar customs in the community in Morocco of Meknes.

“The Sephardic Jews of Jerusalem had a custom of placing sacred objects and texts in the walls of the synagogue and, every three to seven years, would … joyously take them from the synagogues to a special section in one of the cemeteries in Jerusalem.”

The joy would come, said Menkis, from knowing that “the respect and honour that they were giving to these items would bring down upon them a variety of divine segulot, a variety of blessings. For some, it might be, we can call down rain. For others, it might be to prevent a plague.”

Menkis said, “I embrace the Genizah Project as the moral opposite of a horrible feature of modern life – the book burning. While the book burning denigrates ideas and discussion, the genizah shows reverence for ideals and aspirations.”

Those gathered were reminded of this reverence by Rabbi Kylynn Cohen, senior Jewish educator of Hillel at UBC, who led the service by the gravesite. As in the burial of a human body, she said, it is up to us to do the carrying when a person – or, in this case, the books – cannot go forth themselves.

Everyone helped transport the books from the chapel to the gravesite. Maiya Letourneau, head librarian of the Waldman Library, held up a book with gold embossing, another with lace embroidery. She said, “When we’re thinking about the memories that books create and the importance that they have in our lives, as a librarian, it can be really, really hard to take a book out of the collection, but it’s part of maintaining a healthy library, it’s part of making sure the library is useful for years to come, and it’s just an important part of what we do.”

After those gathered recited the Kaddish d’Rabbanan, the prayer that is said whenever a minyan of Jews finishes studying, Rabbi Stephen Berger, head of Judaic studies at KDHS, spoke about the class he brought to the ceremony, which has been studying Malachi, the Book of Kings. “It’s not just that we study to know,” he said. “The studying itself, opening the book and learning the book is a religious act in Judaism. And that’s why we treat it so carefully and so succinctly and sanctify it…. All these acts [serve to remind us] this is who we are, and we should live up to the title of the People of the Book.”

BI Rabbi Adam Stein concluded the ceremony with Eitz Chayim Hi, which most congregations sing when putting the Torah scrolls back in the ark at the end of a Torah service. It describes the Torah as a tree of life.

B’nai mitzvah tutoring

Sasha Kaye (photo from B’nai Mitz-Van)

Sasha Kaye recently launched B’nai Mitz-Van, a tutoring service that prepares b’nai mitzvah students for their Torah and Haftarah readings. She also offers basic voice training, performance anxiety management and d’var Torah writing support.

Kaye completed a double major in voice performance and psychology for her bachelor’s degree from the University of British Columbia, and she has a master’s degree in performance science from the Royal College of Music in London, England. In her master’s thesis, Kaye examined the experiences of musicians with moderate-to-severe performance anxiety in simulated performance environments.

“I came back to Vancouver in January 2023,” Kaye told the Independent. “Most of my time so far has been spent unpacking and readjusting to life in Vancouver!”

Kaye grew up attending Congregation Har El, where she is a member. She has led services as a lay cantor. “I performed at various holiday and milestone community events, and participated in extracurricular, Jewish-led activism with peers from King David High School,” she said about her younger years.

Kaye has performed with the University Singers choral ensemble, UBC Opera, the Vancouver Orchestra Club and Postmodern Camerata, among other groups. She performs as a solo recitalist and has almost 10 years of teaching experience.

“I came up with the idea for B’nai Mitz-Van while I was still in London, and the idea was partially inspired by my master’s thesis,” she said of her latest venture. “In addition to struggling with an anxiety disorder, I had particularly vivid performance anxiety as a musician. The two collided pretty spectacularly for my own bat mitzvah. Despite being well-prepared for it, I was constantly ruminating on potential mishaps and catastrophizing the consequences. What if I got so anxious that I forgot the trope for my Torah reading? What if I forgot the words? What if my voice cracked? What if I dropped the Torah? I would let my family down. These cognitive distortions are evident to my adult self, but the distress was very real to 12-year-old Sasha. When I told people I was anxious, they told me I had nothing to be anxious about. While I’m sure they were trying to reassure me, this ultimately dismissed my feelings and made me feel much worse. I had zero tools to cope with or manage my anxiety.”

Kaye said she has little recollection of the bat mitzvah itself. “I was so anxious, I essentially blacked out,” she said. “Based on second-hand information, I did well enough on the day, but I was unable to enjoy the simchah – and that’s ultimately what the day should have been about. B’nai mitzvot should be joyous occasions for everyone, including the b’nai mitzvah themselves.

“As someone who knows how to chant Torah and Haftarah, and knowing what I know now about performance anxiety, my hope is that B’nai Mitz-Van can both teach young adults what they need to know for their special day, and also give them the tools to manage feelings of nervousness or anxiety that they may have.”

Kaye has experience teaching b’nai mitzvah-age kids from when she used to teach singing lessons, which she did for about three years, and she has five more years of experience teaching older students.

“Performance anxiety is extremely common,” said Kaye. “While it may or may not necessarily impact the quality of your performance, that doesn’t make it any less uncomfortable to deal with.

“The experience can manifest cognitively, meaning through the kinds of thoughts you have, like fixating on the possibility of making mistakes in performances and overestimating the consequences; physiologically, meaning through bodily sensations like racing heart, dry mouth, shaking or feeling restless; emotionally, like feelings of nervousness, dread or irritability; or behaviourally, like avoiding practising.

“How to manage performance anxiety is the million-dollar question!” she said. “There are a number of techniques and methods that have been researched, and different things may work for different people. Some things that can help pretty reliably, if they are practised, are feeling prepared in your material; breathing exercises, like box breathing; grounding exercises that focus your senses on the here and now; and examining your self-talk, that is, how you talk to yourself in your own mind.

“Retraining self-talk can take a long time and it can be very challenging,” she acknowledged, “but it helps to start by noticing how you talk to yourself. Would you speak that way to a friend who was going through the same thing? If not, chances are your self-talk needs some adjusting from the harsh and self-defeating to the encouraging and self-supporting.”

About working with b’nai mitzvah-aged kids, Kaye said they “are at a really fascinating stage in life. They’re starting to come into their own sense of self, and they’re able to start thinking critically about the world around them without the cynicism that can follow us as adults. There’s an enthusiasm and idealism for tikkun olam that’s really refreshing.”

And, given her years of experience as a tutor of academic writing, Kaye can help students organize their enthusiasm and their ideas into a clear and concise d’var Torah. “More importantly,” she said, “I help them find their own way of relating to their parsha, so they can find the lesson they want to share with the congregation.”

Kaye offers both in-person and online lessons. She can be reached at [email protected] or 236-515-9469.

Fashion with a long history

“Consecration of Aaron and His Sons,” an illustration from the 1890 Holman Bible, 1890. Aaron’s high priest attire is elaborately described in the Hebrew Bible. (photo from Wikipedia)

Fashion in the Bible? What does that mean? The biblical text actually offers us an idea of what people wore in those times – and even why.

For the majority of us, the most familiar example of biblical fashion is found in Genesis 37:3 in the description of young Joseph’s problematic coat of many colours. This coat, which was gifted by Joseph’s father Jacob, served to anger and increase the jealousy Joseph’s brothers towards him. Consequently, they throw him in a pit to be left to his fate: to die of thirst, to be killed by a wild animal or to be picked up by traveling merchants.

From a chronological point of view, however, the first real example of Old Testament fashion comes at the very beginning of Genesis. In this instance, G-d has decided to exile Adam and Eve from the Garden of Eden. As we all know, G-d was angered by Adam and Eve’s disobedience in eating from the Tree of Knowledge. While He is upset with them, He obviously still cares enough to provide them with warm coverings, more than the fig leaves they chose for themselves: “the Lord G-d made garments of skin for Adam and his wife and clothed them.” (Genesis 3:21)

Moving on in the Book of Genesis, we read that, when Abraham’s servant Eliezer escorts Rebecca (who will become the second Matriarch) back from Aram-Naharaim, she sees Isaac (who will become the second Patriarch) for the first time. She asks Eliezer about Isaac’s identity. After he tells her, she modestly conceals her face: “‘It is my master.’ And she took her veil, and covered herself.” (Genesis 24:65)

Veils are used for a different purpose in the story of the widow Tamar and her widowed father-in-law Judah. In this story, Judah does not fulfil his promise to make his youngest son her husband in accord with the practice of levirate marriage. (Judah thinks that Tamar has basically brought about the death of his first two sons when, in fact, it was G-d’s doing.) Judah also subjects Tamar to widowhood when she should have been free to remarry.

In response, Tamar takes drastic action. She hides her true identity behind a veil. She sits at the side of the road, where, presumably, she could be taken for a harlot or public woman: she “put off … the garments of her widowhood and covered herself with her veil and wrapped herself.” (Genesis 38:14) Without Judah being any the wiser, she allows him to have intercourse with her and, when a pregnant Tamar presents Judah with his staff and seal, he realizes what he has done and acknowledges his wrongdoing. The Bible tells us that she secures her place in the family by having twin sons from this union. The biblical reader doesn’t know more about Tamar, but one knows that Perez, one of her twins, will provide the lineage for King David.

One might think that, after hundreds of years of slavery, the Hebrews would want no reminders of their life in Egypt. But, according to the biblical text, the Hebrews took clothes from the Egyptians: “And the children of Israel did according to the word of Moses; and they borrowed from the Egyptians … clothing.” (Exodus 12:35) Significantly, before the Hebrews hear G-d declare the 10 Commandments, Moses instructs them to prepare themselves by laundering their clothes: “And Moses went down from the mount unto the people and sanctified the people; and they washed their garments.”(Exodus 19:14)

According to Rabbi Simeon – a scholar who was active between 135 CE and 170 CE – at the time of the Exodus from Egypt, the Hebrew weavers did not take their looms. Yet the Hebrews’ clothes never wore out in the 40 years of desert wandering. In Deuteronomy 8:4, it states: “Thy raiment waxed not old upon thee.”

We read that, in keeping with her status as part of the royal family, King David’s daughter Tamar (like Joseph before her) wore a vibrant robe: she “had a garment of many colours upon her; for with such robes were the king’s daughters that were virgins appareled.” (2 Samuel, 13:18) Not befitting royalty, King David’s firstborn son Amnon rapes Tamar, his half-sister, then throws her out.

Both violated and rejected, Tamar tears her robe, going into mourning: “And Tamar put ashes on her head and rent her garment of many colours that was on her; and she laid her hand on her head and went her way, crying aloud as she went.” (2 Samuel, 13:19) Absalom, her full brother, has her stay in his household for the rest of her life. Two years later, Absalom takes revenge by having Amnon killed.

When Queen Esther had to talk with her husband, King Ahasuerus, she put on her royal apparel (Scroll of Esther 5:1). Had Esther been made wary by the fate of her predecessor, Queen Vashti? As we recall, King Ahasuerus ordered Queen Vashti to appear “wearing her royal crown.” (Scroll of Esther 1:11) One rabbinical tradition interprets this to mean that the king’s instructions were to wear only her royal crown; in other words, to appear naked (Babylonian Talmud, Megillah 12b). According to that tradition, Queen Vashti refused because she did not want to be put on display before a bunch of guys who had been drinking for a week straight. Vashti’s refusal apparently resulted in her banishment. Admittedly, she paid a heavy price, but it would appear as if both these queens admirably set the terms for how they would respond to their husband.

Of all the given examples, the most elaborate description is given to the clothes Aaron (Moses’s brother) wore as the high priest. The description is more or less repeated in a few places, but here is the narrative of Moses dressing Aaron: “And he put upon him the tunic, and girded him with the girdle, and clothed him with the robe, and put the ephod upon him, and he girded him with the skilfully woven band of the ephod, and bound it unto him therewith. And he placed the breastplate upon him…. And he set the mitre upon his head; and upon the mitre, in front, did he set the golden plate, the holy crown.” (Leviticus 8:7-9) The clothing, like the text itself, is meant to impress.

The Hebrew Bible has been around a long time; in its present form, most likely since the second century CE. The clothing it describes may truly be termed sustainable fashion.

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

A unique bat mitzvah

Chaya Mushka Hecht gives her bat mitzvah speech. (photo from Chabad Okanagan)

More than 50 women and girls gathered recently to celebrate a Jewish community milestone in Kelowna. It was the bat mitzvah of Chaya Mushka Hecht, the eldest daughter of Rabbi Shmuly and Fraidy Hecht, who have been serving together as co-directors of Chabad Okanagan for the last 12 years.

Raising their family while serving the Kelowna and outlying communities, the rabbi and his family have made it a priority to try and infuse their next generation with the gift of passion for a life of service and dedication to community, and making the world better for all.

In her bat mitzvah speech, Mushka spoke about her namesake, Chaya Mushka Schneerson, the Lubavitcher Rebbe’s wife, of blessed memory (obm). She shared a story about the rebbetzin helping prevent a family – who she did not know – from being evicted from their home. (For the full story, see jewishpress.com/judaism/parsha/a-beautiful-story-about-the-rebbetzin/2021/02/11.)

“I learn from this story to help someone else whenever I can, even when I know I will not get anything in return,” said Mushka. “I also learn from this story to help others just for the mitzvah and not to show off to others how great you are that you helped someone.”

For her part, Mushka has initiated several programs, including arranging a Monday night class for women that ran for almost a year. The class was about trusting in G-d and the healing it can bring to people. The book they learned from, Gate of Trust, was originally written in Arabic by 11th-century Spanish Torah scholar Rabbeinu Bachya Ibn Pekudah, and they started the last chapter just before Mushka’s bat mitzvah.

Mushka also carries with her Shabbat candle sets, which include candles, matches, blessings and a prayer, to give to any Jewish women that she meets while she’s out. She does this to encourage Jewish women to appreciate the gift of Shabbat and to celebrate their power in bringing Divine light to the world.

As well, she has stood with her brother on a street corner in downtown Kelowna distributing free cookies that she baked. Many passersby – none of whom were Jewish – expressed their surprise and appreciation.

After seeing Mushka around over the last couple years, and knowing the rabbi and his family and the work they do, Member of Parliament Tracy Gray (Kelowna-Lake Country) said she was “honoured to bestow upon Chaya Mushka a special parliamentary award for young leadership in honour of her bat mitzvah.”

The certificate offered congratulations to Mushka on her bat mitzvah and best wishes for her life journey. It read, in part: “This certificate recognizes your life dedicated to the service of others, even at such a young age, and your initiation into the prominent leadership role as a proud Chabad woman.”

photo - MP Tracy Gray reads the certificate she presented to Chaya Mushka Hecht on the occasion of Mushka’s bat mitzvah — MP Tracy Gray reads the certificate she presented to Chaya Mushka Hecht on the occasion of Mushka’s bat mitzvah. *(photo from Chabad Okanagan)*

“At the event, the women celebrated the honourable feminine power of leadership,” said Rabbi Hecht. “My role model and beloved life teacher was the Lubavitcher Rebbe, obm, who was passionate about establishing women in leadership groups and conventions as early as the ’50s.”

Fraidy Hecht spoke about the infinite and unconditional value of every human soul, and how precious children ought to be to their parents, first and foremost, for simply being a child of G-d here on earth in their care, and how blessed they are to be their child’s Divinely chosen custodian.

Everyone in attendance at the bat mitzvah received a book of Psalms, a mini-biography of Chaya Mushka Schneerson, and a copy of the novelette that Mushka wrote and published in honour of her bat mitzvah. The message of the novelette was how girls her age are being called upon to be a light and positive influence in the world.

Attendees participated in various activities, including beading, singing and dancing, and had dinner together.

Mona Steinberg, a member of the Chabad Okanagan community, shared her reflections of the event.

“Mushka’s bas mitzvah was just so wonderful, Mushka’s speech was so intelligent and mature,” she said. “I can tell she has worked hard to become an important and dedicated future leader and inspiration for Jewish women. [They] should be very proud.”

“The world has become a better place,” remarked Olya Krasavina, from Yumster Life Photography in Kelowna.

– Courtesy Chabad Okanagan

Promises can be motivating

Most of us have to work for a living. Even if we enjoy most of what we do, it’s rare to find someone who feels every moment of their job is a joy. After all, if they’re paying you to do it, my brother and husband would joke with me, “there’s a reason they call it work.”

However, sometimes things happen at work that just aren’t OK or comfortable. Long ago, I worked at an hourly job at a university doing educational administration. It was a mind-boggling number of obligations, managing hundreds of short courses, from instructor attendance lists and access codes to editing course descriptions, proofreading course catalogues and scheduling classrooms. I even set up chairs and tables myself for some courses. It was not my favourite job.

When Passover came along, I had to request time off to clean and cook at home, as I was expecting family to visit. It was not a standard holiday at this university and, although I was asking for time off without pay, the dean questioned me in detail about why it was necessary to grant this to me.

I needed the job. I’d finished my graduate degree but my husband hadn’t finished his yet. We needed the income. I tried to politely field the questions. I knew she was just curious and likely hadn’t ever had the opportunity to ask a Jewish person these kinds of things before. She took pride in wishing me happy holidays – by name – even when she got the Jewish holidays wrong or shared the greetings at the wrong times of year. Even so, she was in a position of power as my boss and I had no option but to answer her if I wanted to keep my job.

The weird part about this encounter is that it doesn’t only happen to religious minorities working for a majority culture boss. I’ve experienced similar questioning as a freelancer working for Jewish organizations, too – everyone wants to know what your observance level is, whether they know your family, if you have a plan for the holidays. Perhaps it’s meant to be friendly and supportive but it can also feel uncomfortable or intrusive. If one answers truthfully, sometimes the outcome doesn’t align with whatever the boss’s preferences would be.

If you work in a large organization with a human resources department, maybe there’s help there, but, most of the time, bringing it up elsewhere can result in more trouble than it’s worth. If diversity and inclusion at your organization don’t recognize “Jewish” as one of the categories, you may have singled yourself out for even more difficulties later on.

The commitments we make Jewishly vary, and everyone chooses their own boundaries. However, these promises we make, to ourselves and our families, are in some ways vows that we must honour and reconcile with our work lives.

This made me think about the talmudic tractate of Nedarim (Vows), which I just finished studying. Much of the tractate is spent trying to help people understand why rabbis think vows of any kind are just a bad idea. Culturally, too, this tractate seems to recognize a time when someone could announce that “all vegetables are forbidden to me” and suddenly this very poorly thought out vow becomes real and must be observed. Hence, the rabbis spent a lot of time suggesting that people just avoid taking vows altogether: better to skip making serious promises you can’t keep. That said, eventually, the Kol Nidre prayer was developed for erev Yom Kippur – it is a blanket prayer releasing us from all the vows we could not keep over the past year.

Rabbi Elliot Goldberg taught an interesting perspective in an online siyyum (celebration at the end of the tractate) on My Jewish Learning. Goldberg points out an example from Nedarim 8a that, even if one is committed to doing mitzvot (commandments), making a vow to do more is motivating: “Rather, it teaches us this: it is permitted for a man to motivate himself to fulfil the mitzvot in this manner, although the oath is not technically valid.” For example, if someone decides that, this year, it would be good to attend services or to donate more to charity, these are not technically vows, but more like New Year’s resolutions. We’re already supposed to do these things, but if we voice a commitment to doing them, it is motivating.

What does this have to do with our uncomfortable moments at work? Sometimes, even knowing that a situation will be awkward, we decide to do it anyway. It would have been easier for me to work right through Passover instead of going through the question-and-answer situation with the university dean. Instead though, this hard encounter motivated me even more to take the time off to clean, cook and spend time with visiting relatives.

Sometimes, finding a way to cope with a difficult situation at work can result in a deeper personal commitment to one’s own beliefs and values. In my case, even though I was very happy to leave that job, I believe that my year working in the Short Course program made a difference. When I left, colleagues told me that they’d learned from me and respected what I’d offered the department.

Our household finances often dictate our work lives – we all have to pay the bills and eat. Yet, sometimes Jewish law, provincial or federal law also affect our finances and ability to make our way in the wider world. We shouldn’t make vows, but promising ourselves to try harder next time to do what’s right just might be motivating in situations that don’t make those choices easy.

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.