Judaism – Page 25

Discussing Jewishness

Maxine Lee Ewaschuk, in a still from the documentary Periphery, which premièred last month at the Prosserman Jewish Community Centre in North York, and is available to view online.

On Oct. 28, the Prosserman Jewish Community Centre in North York hosted a hybrid launch for Periphery, a newly produced documentary film and photo exhibit that explores the lives of multiracial and multiethnic Jews within the Greater Toronto Area.

The 27-minute film features interviews with several individuals who might be considered as existing on the fringes of a homogenous, stereotypical notion of the Jewish world – a world that, in reality, is multifaceted and ever-evolving.

“What Periphery does for us is bring together a diverse view of our community,” said Andrew Levy, one of the event’s organizers.

From the outset, the film asks, “What makes a Jew? What do you have to know to be a Jew?” Implicit in those questions is another question, how can the Jewish community extend its tent to include those who might feel left out of the broader mishpachah, family? Notably, those whose parents are not both Jewish.

“There becomes a question of, can I say I am Jewish? When can I say I am Jewish? Is it ever OK for me to say I am Jewish before I complete my conversion, even if I am functioning very Jewishly in my day-to-day life. Sometimes, I say I am a Jew-in-progress,” shared dancer Maxine Lee Ewaschuk.

“Maybe I don’t know everything about what it is to be Jewish, but I am fiercely, proudly Jewish. It’s my experience and my experience is valid,” said actor Nobu Adilman, whose heritage is Jewish and Japanese.

“I knew my Indian grandparents super well, but I never knew where my Jewish grandparents came from,” said author Devyani Saltzman, who recounted a trip to Russia with her father to look into the roots of the paternal side of her family.

Saltzman also remembered an observation she had as a child of looking at other classmates who came from solely Hindu or Jewish families and thinking, non-judgmentally, “that must be really nice to know one’s place and space so clearly.”

In the cases of both Adilman and Saltzman, their parents married out of a love that transcended religious, cultural and geographic barriers.

“My father put a lot of his energy into my mother’s culture. He didn’t talk a lot about his upbringing. He was proudly Jewish, but he didn’t want to impose it on us,” Adilman said.

Adilman, too, related a kinship he has with other Jewish people who have gone through the same sorts of questioning that he has.

Ariella Daniels, Daniel Sourani and Sarah Aklilu each spoke of connections to places far removed from the GTA.

Daniels, who descends from Bene Israel Jews of India, explained that, for her, being a Jew represents several layers of identity – cultural, religious and national – and that the perspective she has of the world comes through being Jewish.

Sourani, who identifies as a gay, Iraqi Jew, focused on the importance of family – and the gatherings around Shabbat, holidays and lifecycle events – to his Jewish experience.

Aklilu, meanwhile, sees herself as Jewish, Ethiopian and Canadian. She told of the many times her Jewish identity has been called into question and, as a result, she has questioned who she is. Ultimately, she asserted, “I know I am Jewish and I feel that I don’t need to explain to people that I am.”

Tema Smith, a Jewish community professional and daughter of a Black father and Jewish mother, outlined the odd experiences she has had because people often assume she has two European Jewish parents.

“People say things that they would never say if a Black person were in the room. I feel completely unseen in those moments,” Smith said. “I feel trapped in these weird moments of having to swallow what just happened.”

For Asha, a Black and Jewish woman, her connection to Judaism is one that she described as developing and expanding. “I think, if you look Black, like I do, then you go through life as a Black person,” she said. “I don’t know if you have to choose internally, but it is chosen for you in the wider world. So, people don’t look at me and think I am Jewish. I don’t think that’s ever going to happen. If it did, it would be weird.”

While the experiences in Jewish spaces of those interviewed were frequently frustrating and alienating, it was also pointed out in the documentary that there are positive aspects to having a multiracial background. There is richness and happiness in belonging to different cultures and this, in itself, can be invigorating.

The screening was followed by a conversation with director Sara Yacobi-Harris, cinematographer Marcus Armstrong and film participants. Periphery was produced by No Silence on Race, an organization that seeks to establish racial equity and inclusivity within Jewish spaces in Canada, in partnership with the Ontario Jewish Archives. To view the film, visit virtualjcc.com/watch/periphery.

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

The lights of allyship

This Chanukah, kindle the light of liberation, not just for you and your loved ones, but for all people whose freedom of expression is threatened. (photo by Robert Couse-Baker / flickr.com)

In a time of identity searching, introspection and anticipation, Chanukah can be an inviting space to reflect and refract the light before us. From the Chanukah that was to the Chanukah we arrive at, the world has shifted and we are not the same. This holiday of chocolate, oil and games of dreidel beckons us into a moment of contemplation.

Chanukah expresses a language of novelty, innovation and a miraculous expansion from what we thought was possible. The ease and accessibility, the simplicity of candles, the sense that Chanukah is predictable and performative belies the very creative, radical nature of the Festival of Lights.

The annual Chanukah experience, at its core, is an opportunity to receive new insight, empowerment and opportunity to overcome the forces that oppress, debase and deny our most essential identities. Had the few Maccabees not searched to provide that light for the many, none of us would have a miracle to celebrate today. Even though we are privileged to be able to publicly observe our traditions, Chanukah reminds us that our work is not complete until everyone can safely and freely express their identities.

Visibility and proximity

One of the unique aspects of Chanukah is that it is the only festival that occurs in two different months. It is literally positioned between Kislev and Tevet to help us be aware and adapt to changing times. In the light of the candles, it is possible to see our roles anew, clarifying our commitment to ensuring that the privilege and expression of being is available to everyone.

When the Talmud explores modalities of the mitzvah of lighting the chanukiyah, it says that each and every person should have a candle. It continues to explain that an even greater beautification of the mitzvah is when everyone is able to increase the light with each additional day. When everyone has their own chanukiyah, when everyone is able to light all the candles on each night, then everyone is bringing the fullest light possible. This is the hope: with so much light, the world is relieved of darkness.

Our rabbis teach that this attribute of adding is connected to Joseph, whose story we read on Shabbat Chanukah. Joseph’s name means to increase, and his story reveals the relationship between proximity and visibility. The Talmud, Shabbat 22a, juxtaposes the narrative of Joseph being thrown into a pit with the laws detailing the proper placement of the menorah and the limits on how far off the ground it can be.

In Genesis 37:18, Joseph’s brothers “saw [Joseph] from afar … and they conspired against him.” They throw him into a pit, which Genesis 37:24 says “was empty and didn’t have water.” But the rabbis disagree, arguing that, while “empty” implies that the pit didn’t have water in it, it was not without venomous pit-dwellers. There were snakes and scorpions that the brothers didn’t know about, because they were not close enough to the pit to see.

Moreover, the distance at which the brothers first saw Joseph approaching made it easy for them to plot against him. In not one, but two cases, the brothers’ lack of proximity leads to actions that degrade and humiliate. If only they waited to see their little brother up close before acting, they might have changed their plan. If only they approached the pit to look inside, they might have seen the snakes and scorpions. The Torah is clear: proximity and visibility lead to responsibility.

It is for that reason the Talmud instructs us that we cannot place a menorah too far off of the ground – we must be close enough to see and be affected by the candles. If the menorah can’t be seen, we miss the message of the miracle, and the opportunity to take responsibility is lost.

The Hasmoneans were descendants of Aaron, who, the Mishnah tells us, was a lover of peace, pursuer of peace and lover of peoples.

Judaism is a religion of action, and we must be practitioners of our tradition’s wisdom by taking responsibility.

Today, even with technologies that keep us connected across oceans and continents, we understand the challenge and, more so, the threat of being too distant. Jews have a response to prevent the dehumanization that often comes when we are distanced from the lived experience of others – draw in close.

A great miracle happens with allyship

The Hebrew words behind the story of Chanukah and Joseph also reaffirm the holiday’s charge to increase visibility, to be an ally. The rabbis saw our world as created through speech and language and, thus, all Hebrew letters represent hidden truths. Just like the story of Joseph in the pit, the closer you look, the more that is revealed.

The mystics teach that the Hebrew letters for Greece (Yavan is spelled yud, vav, nun) are three lines that descend as the word progresses. The great and mighty culture that claimed elite thought and refinement was in fact a culture that debased and denigrated. Greek leadership prioritized the body over the spirit; what was seen on the outside was of greater value than that which was within. Thus, it could be said that Greece, by elevating the external, actually debases it, a message hidden within the descending letters: yud, vav, nun.

The Hebrew word for Joseph, Yosef, begins with the same first two letters. But the third letter is where the comparison is stark. Instead of a nun sofit (a nun at the end of a word), which is a straight line going down, we have the round letter samech, a symbol for equality. Unlike the hierarchy of the nun, the circle of the samech allows every point on its circumference to be equidistant to the centre. Joseph chooses to chaver (friend) up and stops the descent by treating others as equals.

The nun and samech form the word miracle, nes. The first letter, nun, is the only letter in Hebrew that doesn’t appear in the alphabetical acrostic of the prayer Ashrei. Our rabbis explain that this letter stands for nefela, falling, and, therefore, is omitted. The next letter in the alphabet is the samech and it starts the Ashrei verse, “samech l’chol hanoflim,” “supporting all those who have fallen.” Jews in those days, as in ours, had a choice between the “nun” and the “samech” – to align with the oppressors and feel secure or to ally with those who needed support. In choosing the latter, a great miracle (nes) happened there.

Kindling the light

As the story and words of Chanukah convey, the Jewish response to oppression is not just to be free but to dismantle the system of oppression and provide equality for others. Today, we place a menorah in the window in order to publicize our engagement in the ancient and ongoing story of this struggle. We stand up in broken places of despair and hopelessness to rededicate ourselves and our institutions to this cause. Now, when we see an injustice, when we are proximate to the dehumanization of a child of G-d, we not only see the unholy act itself but also we recognize the imperative to respond.

This Chanukah, kindle the light of liberation, not just for you and your loved ones, but for all people whose freedom of expression is threatened. Kindle a light to banish the darkness of hatred, racism, transphobia and misogyny. Kindle a light that signals to outsiders that you are a home (or an organization) committed to rededication and the recreation of holy space, particularly in the most broken of places.

Chanukah was not immediately established as a holiday. The Talmud teaches that the rabbis waited until the following year to institute a permanent commemoration. When they realized that the miracle could be replicated – that, in every generation, Jews could learn to take the little they had and turn it into something miraculous – they created the holiday. That is the holy ask of Chanukah: to be the light that can extend and expand, to be the miracle that someone else needs.

Michael Walzer writes that “wherever we go, it is eternally Egypt,” but that there is a Promised Land, and the only way to make it across the wilderness is by “joining hands, marching together.” The story of oppression and liberation is also a story of allyship. We will not survive without hands to support and guide us, to hold and elevate us. This year, on Chanukah, be the light and bring the light out of the closet and into the world.

Rabbi Mike Moskowitz is scholar-in-residence of trans and queer Jewish studies at Congregation Beit Simchat Torah in New York and Rabbi Dara Frimmer is senior rabbi at Temple Isaiah in Los Angeles. This article was originally published in the Jewish Journal and articles by other Shalom Hartman Institute scholars can be found at shalomhartman.org.

Diverse learning series

Rabbi Gila Caine (photo from Kolot Mayim)

Kolot Mayim Reform Temple in Victoria welcomes back Rabbi Gila Caine, spiritual leader of Temple Beth Ora in Edmonton, to speak on the topic Toratah/Her Torah: Women Rabbis Revealing the Goddess in Torah.

The Nov. 7, 11 a.m., lecture on Zoom kicks off a six-part series of talks called Building Bridges: Celebrating Diversity in Jewish Life. The community is invited to listen and learn from Indigenous, Black, Asian, feminist and differently-gendered and differently-abled advocates who are working to make our world a better place.

As a people who have experienced the devastating impact of antisemitism and hatred, Judaism commits us to the responsibility of tikkun olam (repairing our world). In that spirit, Kolot Mayim’s series of speakers will lead attendees on a journey to deepen their understanding of these contemporary issues and how they can support those who do not feel included.

Kolot Mayim’s Rabbi Lynn Greenough describes the series as “an opportunity to build bridges – bridges that enable us to link to what is and what can be, to step beyond our own particular experiences.” The Hebrew word for bridge is gesher, she explained, pointing to the song, “Kol Ha’Olam Kulo,” “the whole world is a very narrow bridge; the important thing is not to be afraid.”

In the series opener, Caine will explore how, throughout the millennia, rabbinic tradition, and especially written tradition, was composed from within a man-focused and -experienced perspective. Now, after around half a century of ordaining women, there is a growing corpus of documented writing flowing from within woman’s experiences and interpretations of Torah and life. In her talk, Caine will read a few Torah commentaries written by (women) rabbis from North America and Israel, as examples of weaving together rabbinic and women’s experience into something new.

Born and raised in Jerusalem, Caine graduated Hebrew University with a master’s in contemporary Judaism and received her rabbinic ordination at the Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion’s Israeli program in 2011. Her rabbinic thesis explored liturgical, spiritual and ceremonial aspects of birth in Jewish tradition and contemporary practice.

Stemming from that, as well as her years as a volunteer at a rape crisis centre, Caine is one of the founders of the Israeli rabbinic women’s group B’not Dinah, creating a female and feminist rabbinic tradition of healing after sexual trauma. She now serves as rabbi at Temple Beth Ora and her Building Bridges talk is co-sponsored with her shul.

Other speakers in the 2021/22 series are:

Carmel Tanaka, founder and executive director of JQT Vancouver (Jewish Queer and Trans Vancouver) on A Day in the Life of a Queer, Neurodivergent, Jewpanese Millennial (Dec. 5);
Rivka Campbell, executive director of Jews of Colour Canada, on Harmony in a Divided Identity: A Minority Within a Minority (Jan. 9);
Joy Ladin, poet, author and first openly transgender professor at a Jewish institution, on Jonah, God and Other Strangers: Reading the Torah from a Trans Perspective (Feb. 6);
Reverend Hazan Daniel Benlolo, director of the Shira Choir, Spanish & Portuguese Synagogue, Montreal, on The Power of Music: In Honour of Jewish Disability Awareness and Inclusion Month (Feb. 13); and
Patricia June Vickers, Indigenous artist and independent consultant, and Rabbi Adam Cutler, senior rabbi of Adath Israel Congregation in Toronto, on An Indigenous and Jewish Dialogue on Truth and Reconciliation (March 20).

Kolot Mayim has been active for 20 years and this is the fourth year that the synagogue is offering this speaker series. Talks are free and held on the scheduled Sundays from 11 a.m. to 12:15 p.m. PST. To register, visit kolotmayimreformtemple.com.

– Courtesy Kolot Mayim

Zoom into the future?

We have now finished our second consecutive cycle of High Holidays under the cloud of the COVID-19 pandemic. This year, unlike last, plenty of grandparents were able to hug their grandkids, thanks to vaccines. In-person gatherings were possible in different forms, including synagogue services.

The overarching crisis represented by the pandemic coincidentally occurs at a time when Jewish communal leaders are expressing growing concerns about declining levels of affiliation, especially among younger Jews. Polls (criticized by some for their methods) suggest a steep drop-off in support for Israel among American Jews. And there are worries, expressed by Israel’s President Isaac Herzog, among others, of increasing estrangement between Israeli and Diaspora Jews.

Yet, there is almost not a single person involved in Jewish life who will not acknowledge some silver linings in this terrible time. It is human nature to almost instantly take for granted what we have. The sudden omnipresence of platforms like Zoom would have been a sci-fi dream 25 years ago. Educators, rabbis and Jewish organizations made an almost instantaneous shift to virtual events at the start of the pandemic. This, it turned out, served not only existing “audiences” (students, congregants, members) but entirely new faces. People who, due to geography, had no access to Hebrew classes

are studying virtually. British Columbians are scanning options and joining lectures, recitals, panel discussions and standup comedy routines, and more, streaming from New York, London, Cape Town and Tel Aviv. Services and programs generally offered to the Vancouver community are welcoming new attendees, unlimited by geography.

Early on, behavioural scientists predicted a phenomenon of being “Zoomed out.” But a Canadian opinion poll suggested just the opposite. We love Zoom. It allows us to attend a one-hour lecture without the 40-minute commute, the parking and the umbrella-shaking. Of course, it is not the same. We miss the kibitzing and other niceties of an in-person event, but it is pretty darn fantastic under the circumstances.

Jews produce a vast amount of what is now dryly called “content” … the written word, visual and performing arts, music, science, intellectual pursuits. And it is available in almost every language on the planet – to anyone with a device and access to the internet. The potential this holds to bring together Jews (or, of course, any people) in ways that were not previously imaginable opens entire new worlds of connection.

As we return incrementally to a life more like the before times, we should not cast off the necessities that became welcome additions. Rather than revert to in-person-only gatherings, many groups and events are already adopting hybrid approaches. Those who enjoy the in-person form can participate, but so can those far away or who are strapped for time.

If we now have moments to reflect on the lessons of the past year-and-a-half, we should consider the power of the technologies that have become so common. How can the unifying power of these tools be mobilized to address the problems of division we face as a community? Can a concerted effort to bring together Israelis and Diaspora Jews in remote dialogue help build bridges? Could a centralized schedule of Jewish educational and cultural offerings from around the world expose Jews everywhere to a wider range of opportunities to engage in ways that are meaningful to them? Could a renaissance of Jewish ideas and discussion spring forth thanks to the technology we have become used to during this troubled time?

Can Zoom save the Jews? Well, there are many challenges facing our communities in Israel, Canada and around the world. A simple fix is never going to resolve all the concerns about falling engagement, estrangement between parts of Am Yisrael or the host of issues that our communal leaders have been focused on for decades. But neither should we underestimate the powerful force for good that a simple tool like Zoom has to bring together people who might never otherwise meet.

As a tradition, Judaism has thrived by adapting, while holding fast to customs and ritual. Zoom is now a part of this mix. While it is not perfect – it is not suitable for all denominations to stream on Shabbat or holidays, for example – it holds the potential to continue to connect us even when we are no longer constrained by health restrictions from getting together in person.

A time for diversity training

We’re in the month of Heshvan on the Jewish calendar. Some people call it Mar-Heshvan or Marcheshvan. (Since this is transliteration, it can be spelled either “ch” or “h.”) It’s called mar, or bitter, because, aside from Shabbat, there are no Jewish holidays during this month.

Of course, as Canadians, we had Thanksgiving in there. However, after a long stretch of Jewish holidays, many Jewish people, myself included, quite like the idea of a month off from them. Finally, I have time to start another big project. A relatively quiet Jewish month leaves more time to do “regular” work, learning and making changes.

As a kid, I was very active in my Reform congregation. I learned to lead services and read Torah and Haftarah, and did it without hesitation after becoming a bat mitzvah. Unfortunately, though, at that time, we didn’t chant in my parents’ congregation, so I never learned how to do it. I married into a family with slightly more traditional practice among some of its members and, therefore, have been attending services with chanting now for more than 20 years.

Yet, learning to chant is a tricky business as an adult. On one occasion, I asked a rabbi if I might learn and he said of course, the congregation ran a special group class for adult b’not mitzvah. (Mostly it was women who never were able to participate in a bat mitzvah service as a child.) I said no, I’d been there and done that – complete with leading the service, a reception with custom-made omelettes, and a special dress. I just wanted to learn to chant. He had no space in his imagination for someone who just wanted to learn this skill without the lifecycle event.

I also learned that there are different kinds of trope. Chanting comes along with symbols in the text of the Torah, Haftarah, Eicha and Megillat Esther. The symbols were introduced by the rabbis as a way to mark and understand the text better. It’s like punctuation. However, as an oral tradition, chanting melodies differ according to where one lives and one’s background. There are actually many different styles of chanting trope, including smaller regional differences, as well.

The trope I’ve begun learning is an Ashkenazi one, which is perhaps appropriate to my family background. (I haven’t done a DNA test, though, so I’m going by family lore.) However, parts of my family are Western European and others have been in the United States for a long time. It’s even possible that I’m learning the “wrong” trope for my background. I’ve found that several Sephardi and Mizrahi chanting styles sound clearer and make more sense to me, perhaps because I’ve learned Modern Hebrew and I lived in Israel as a teenager. It’s actually not as simple as “Learn trope!” “Chant Torah!” although it seems this way if you’ve only lived in one specific Jewish ethnic community with unified customs and traditions.

The more you know, the more complicated things seem. The best metaphor I’ve come up with springs from an odd social media interaction I had. Someone I know only online described her harvest supper menu as including “Jewish-style brisket.” I jokingly responded, “WHAT?! There’s only one kind? What about the many varieties I’ve had over the years? Could it be that I’ve never eaten the only ‘official’ Jewish brisket recipe?”

I said maybe this was an Eastern European/Ashkenazi recipe, or her family recipe. After all, brisket is a relatively cheap cut of meat, cooked low and slow, which is perfect to make on Shabbat, when some families do not adjust oven temperatures or turn the oven on or off.

The person insisted that this was indeed the Jewish-style brisket her family made, mostly, and that, if you Google it, this exact recipe pops up. (Hint, lots of things pop up online that don’t hold up under scrutiny.) Eventually, I suggested that perhaps this was best called a family recipe or a specific geographic recipe, and wished her bon appétit.

Geography matters in cooking meat – for instance, in a Southern barbeque recipe. That is, brisket in Texas doesn’t taste like brisket made in eastern Carolina. Nothing could be more different! The same is true for Jewish trope or chanting. They don’t sound the same because, although Jews originated, long ago, in what is now called Israel, we’re now a diverse people, from all over the world. Just as Jews don’t all look the same, we all don’t eat the same foods on holidays, or sing the same melodies for Lecha Dodi, Adon Olam or myriad other prayers.

So, I begin, with baby steps, to learn one chanting/trope tradition while acknowledging there are many others out there. Like the many brisket recipes and holiday traditions out there, knowing about diversity and traveling deepens our appreciation for what we know and enjoy, and for learning more.

In the meanwhile, I joked with a non-Jewish friend I know in “real life” that, if there is really only one Jewish-style brisket recipe, we might be in trouble. “Oh no!” she replied. “I have to figure out ‘the’ Christian brisket recipe! How have I missed it after all this time?!” We snorted together with laughter. Next, I might call a Muslim friend to ask if there just one Muslim meatball – after all, the kibbe and kofte I’ve shared over many years might not be the official kind?

The best learning for Heshvan? There might not be a single “official” version of anything. That, in itself, is a lesson in diversity that might be worth learning like trope … over and over.

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.

Sharing her inspiration

On Oct. 8, nonagenarian Gloria Levi was the featured speaker at the JSA Snider Foundation Virtual Empowerment Series session co-sponsored by Jewish Seniors Alliance and the Peretz Centre for Secular Jewish Culture. The topic was What Inspires Me at 90.

Gyda Chud, co-president of JSA and president of the Peretz Centre, welcomed the approximately 70 attendees and shared the background of JSA’s Empowerment series.

Fran Goldberg introduced Levi as a feminist, an activist, a COVID survivor, a gerontologist, a therapist, a social worker and a woman of tremendous confidence, who finds joy in even the darkest of moments.

From her talk, it seems that Levi does indeed find inspiration in everything around her, from rustling breezes and glistening sunsets to soulful self-discovery. She finds meaning in both everyday happenings and the larger matters of the heart and social justice. If we were to sum up Levi’s nuanced and profound wisdom in a word, it would be wholeness. She elevates the whole person with all their perfect imperfections.

To Levi, self-discovery and self-knowledge are paramount values. She illustrated the importance of being true to oneself with the charming story of Rabbi Zusia, who lamented to God, bemoaning his not being like Moses and Abraham. God advised him to be exactly who he is – Zusia. The goal in life is not to strive for perfection but to be authentically oneself.

Through Levi’s lens of wholeness, even a global disaster like COVID-19 has vital lessons. A COVID-19 survivor, Levi refers to the virus as the 11th plague, but also is passionate about the important issues that the pandemic has brought to light. For example, it revealed the discrepancy between the haves and the have nots: the ones who support our daily life – the grocery store clerks, hospital employees, delivery drivers and food workers, among others – in stark contrast with the wealthy. The pandemic has yielded an awakening, a heightened awareness that things need to change on numerous levels, both environmentally and socially, said Levi.

Along with her commitment to social justice, Levi draws connections and inspiration from Jewish sources; for example, she refers to Leviticus, in which God tells Moses to instruct the Israelites to give the land a rest. During the sabbath year, the land is to lie fallow and to be “released” from cultivation, she explained. Weaving rest and restoration into our physical and spiritual worlds is a much-needed change, she said.

In conclusion, Levi quoted Ecclesiastes and reminded us that “vanity of vanities; all is vanity.” Her advice: embrace life, enjoy meaningful relationships and small kindnesses – and find inspiration all around us.

Tamara Frankel is a member of the board of Jewish Seniors Alliance and of the editorial committee of Senior Line magazine. She is also a board member of the Jewish Community Centre of Greater Vancouver.

Confront challenges

Everyone could use some insight on how to confront life’s challenges. That’s why Chabad Richmond is offering a three-part online Zoom program called Inlook Outlook: Guidance from the Rebbe for Confronting Life’s Challenges on Wednesdays, Oct.13, 20 and 27, 7:30-8:30 p.m.

“This program focuses on the timely and relevant reflections and sage advice written by the Lubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson, throughout his lifetime, to those seeking his counsel,” said Rabbi Yechiel Baitelman, director of Chabad Richmond. “What’s fascinating is that the Rebbe’s insights and perspectives are still applicable today. The Rebbe drew from his profound grasp of Torah wisdom, and combined it with a nuanced sensitivity to each individual’s unique circumstances.”

The three-part program is “a shared dialogue around navigating change and managing stress, while defining and staying true to one’s purpose,” said Baitelman. “The Rebbe reminds us that whatever life challenges we face, we are always given the inner spiritual resources to overcome them.”

The Rebbe believed that how you think about any situation determines how you feel about it.

“By reflecting on practical advice penned to individuals during critical life-junctures, this program provides perspectives on life that begin from the inside out, starting from the soul and one’s destiny on earth. The Rebbe helped people find opportunity where others saw adversity,” added Baitelman.

Sign-in information for the program will be provided at the time of registration. Cost is $54 per person. To register, call 604-277-6427 or visit chabadrichmond.com/inlookoutlook.

– Courtesy Chabad Richmond

Learning from Noah

This week, Jewish Addiction Community Services of Vancouver (JACS) is speaking across the community at various synagogues to help spread the word of how we can help those struggling with a substance use disorder. The talk centres around the weekly Torah portion, Noah, and what we can learn from it.

Who doesn’t know the story of Noah and the ark? Animals two by two, Noah saves the world.

The parashah (Torah portion) opens with: “Noah was a righteous man. He was perfect in his generation. Noah walked with God.” No wonder, then, that when God saw all the evil and sin and decided to “reboot” the system, He chose Noah as his agent on the ground.

But, there is a darker side to Noah’s personal story. The man we find at the end of the parashah is not the “perfect” man introduced to us at the outset.

The parashah tells us that, after the waters recede, the very first thing Noah does upon leaving the ark is plant a vineyard. And immediately thereafter: “He drank the wine and became drunk, and he uncovered himself in his tent.”

A casual read might lend itself to a wisecrack: after being cooped up with animals and no shower for so long, who wouldn’t crave a drink? We might chalk it up to a one-time overindulgence. But the rabbis tell us otherwise, that this digression from the central plot line is no accident. The parashah is drawing our attention to Noah’s misplaced priorities: instead of turning his energy to rebuilding and repopulating the world, his first priority was getting drunk. Thus, the rabbis consider Noah one of the first Jewish alcoholics.

And the story gets more distressing. Ham, Noah’s son, discovers his father passed out, and brings his two brothers into the mix as well, to cover their father’s naked body. The brothers are embarrassed, if not ashamed, to find their father in such a state. And, when Noah wakes up from his drunken stupor and pieces it all together, he is mortified. But instead of engaging in a moment of self-reflection, Noah channels his feelings into a rage and curses Ham and his descendants. In short, family chaos reigns, and shalom bayit (peace of the home) couldn’t be further from the truth.

This, then, is one of the earliest stories that gives rise to the saying that “addiction is a family disease” – it wreaks havoc on everyone. Through this lens, we might be tempted to judge Noah harshly for this significant failing. “How could he do such a thing?” “Did he not think of the consequences?” And, perhaps worst of all, “instead of taking responsibility for his actions he lashes out at his family? This is not OK!” At the extreme, in today’s world of uber political correctness, where cancel culture reigns, some might even be tempted to write off Noah altogether.

That said, yielding to the temptation to judge Noah would be missing the central point of the story. To be sure, Noah does not deserve a “free pass” on his behaviour, but questioning “how did this happen?” or “to what extent should we hold Noah accountable?” is of secondary importance. Far more important than “why did he do it” is “why are we surprised that he did?”

Noah was tasked by God with the responsibility for saving all species during the flood, and then repopulating the world thereafter. Is it any wonder he felt intense pressure? Let alone the significant possibility that, mixed with immense relief at being alive, Noah may have also suffered from a significant dose of survivor’s guilt.

We know that different people handle stress differently, and some end up resorting to coping mechanisms that are hugely self-destructive. Noah was in that camp. To be sure, he made some choices that ultimately led to his alcohol dependency, but, unfortunate as that may be, he was probably not the first to do so, and most certainly not the last.

At a Friday night service at Temple Sholom, Rabbi Dan Moskovitz, as part of his sermon, asked for a show of hands: how many in the sanctuary have been touched (self or a loved one) by substance abuse? The majority of hands went up. In short, our Jewish community is no different from any other subset of our world: far too many are afflicted by a substance use disorder.

This fact led to the formation a few years ago of JACS Vancouver. JACS’s mission is twofold.

First and foremost, JACS’s professional team helps individuals and their loved ones find a path to sustained recovery from substance abuse. If you or a loved one is struggling with substance abuse, JACS is here for you – no judgment, just support and a helping hand to navigate the system and get the resources you need to get better.

Second, JACS is dedicated to community awareness and education, striving to reframe the conversation around substance abuse disorders from judgment to compassion and support. To be clear, substance abuse disorder is a disease, not a choice: nobody sets out with intention to become drug- or alcohol-dependent. Yes, the individual’s path to acquiring a substance use disorder probably included some bad personal choices along the way, but how is that any different from a heart attack victim whose daily commute included hitting the Tim Hortons drive-through? Why do we judge the former, but organize meals and visits for the latter? And, of course, fear of being judged is a huge deterrent to reaching out for help.

Returning to Noah, the parashah is providing fair warning that none of us, not even the “a righteous man who walked with God” is guaranteed a smooth sailing through life (pun intended).

The Talmud teaches that “whoever saves one life saves the world entire.” What the parashah tells us is that Noah saved the world. What it teaches us is that it is our job by reaching out with compassion and understanding to help people save themselves.

For more information, visit jacsvancouver.com.

– Courtesy JACS Vancouver

Sometimes we need a break

It’s been about a month since Labour Day and the start of school. For many people with school-age children, this is the first time the kids are back in school, in person, in awhile. It’s also been a year where we’ve remarked about how “early” the Jewish holidays are, in relation to the secular calendar. So, while some vaccinated people are thrilled to be attending their first hockey game or concert in almost two years, reveling in joining the crowds, many others are meeting this moment with caution and exhaustion.

This balance of great enthusiasm at rejoining society and reticent caution is part of our identities. North Americans feel a great push to get out there, make money, join the in-crowd party and show off our productivity. Society often defines us by what we do and who we’re with.

The other side, the hesitancy, might be better understood by our Jewish ethnic and religious identities. That is, the people who want to follow the rules (ie. halachah, Jewish law). We also find our way with caution perhaps because we suffered from thousands of years of refugee status and/or trauma as we wandered.

As a person who bore lots of childcare responsibilities, as well as losing some of my work life, this last month has been somewhat stressful and puzzling. From the moment my Grade 5 children left the house, I’ve waited for the other shoe to drop. Will they get sent home sick? Will I land a new job or gig? If I do, how will I juggle it with what will happen next in our unpredictable pandemic world? In the short term, how can I cook ahead or prepare to meet the needs of the next Jewish holiday, day off school or Shabbat coming up?

There’s also a strong Puritan work ethic in my head, even though that’s not my specific religious or ethnic background. It’s something like: “People who work hard are close to the Almighty. People who are close to the Almighty gain money, stature and professional accomplishments. Therefore, people who don’t gain money, stature or accomplishments are neither close to the Almighty, nor working hard.”

Of course, many of us hear that if we didn’t score the best job or earn the most, it’s our own fault.

On Tashlich, we thought about throwing away our metaphorical sins and aimed to do better in the new year. I reflected on how often negative and anxious thoughts race through my mind, and how I could try to reduce that. It’s perhaps a first step to making space for more positivity and calm. It seemed like a good place to start.

Yet, a month later, I catch myself thinking, “Hey, you’ve had a month! Where’s your newest freelance gig? What’s the new work opportunity you’ve landed?” Of course, if the last month was spent on school readiness and putting challah and holiday meals on the table, this could just be anxious, negative self-talk. There’s only so much a working parent can do.

When we consider big concepts like our finances or how the law works, we’re maybe not applying it to what’s going on personally. For instance, the recent federal campaign promise of $10 a day childcare seemed like a dream come true for many – but, in reality, it’s exactly like a dream that is out of reach the moment we wake up. For most people with children who need childcare, this plan, if it comes to fruition, won’t be realized before our families age out of needing that care.

All this was swirling in my head when I read my page of Talmud before bed. I’m currently learning Beitzah in my Daf Yomi (page of Talmud a day). Yes, this is a tractate entitled “Egg.” It’s all about what can and cannot be done on Jewish festivals (Pesach, Sukkot and Shavuot) as compared to a regular working day or on Shabbat. Its first issue is, “May we eat an egg laid on a festival day? Why or why not?”

Let’s be honest, as a person who isn’t strict about these rules, studying Beitzah is sometimes an intellectual exercise. It allows me to reflect on what these concerns mean in a broader context. It’s more about how we make meaning out of holidays, the passage of time, and our struggles.

Enter page 21 of Beitzah, where Rav Avya the Elder asks Rav Huna a complicated question. “If a Jewish person owns an animal with a non-Jew, what’s the halachah with regard to slaughtering it on a festival?” This is an issue because one can designate an animal to be killed to celebrate and eat on a holiday. The trouble is how to administer it with a non-Jewish partner, how to decide what rules to follow.

Rav Huna responds, but Rav Avya asks him for clarification. Rav Huna says, no kidding, “Look, a raven flies in the sky.” HUH? Say what?

Later talmudic commentators try to explain his response. Was Rav Huna trying to change the subject? Was he offering a critique or dismissing this question?

Rav Huna’s son is taken aback, according Rabbi Elliot Goldberg, who wrote an introduction to this page online at My Jewish Learning. Rav Huna’s son pushes for an explanation. Rav Huna answers, “What should I have done for him? Today I am in a state best described by the verse: ‘Let me lean against the stout trunks, let me couch among the apple trees.’ (Song of Songs 2:5) And he asked me about something that requires reasoning.”

Rav Huna basically says, “Hey, I’m worn out and just need to hang out in the shade today, leave me alone!” Even the best talmudic minds, who normally love to wrestle with complicated questions, need downtime, to recuperate. We can learn from Rav Huna that, sometimes, we should give ourselves a break – even when it seems unproductive or rude.

The Gemara goes on to answer the question, it doesn’t leave us hanging. Yet, Rav Huna offers a reminder for those of us who beat ourselves up over being uber productive. It’s OK to cut ourselves some slack. Yes, we must balance our lives, abiding by laws, making a living, but also? We need to take a break at times.

It turns out that sitting outside in nature isn’t new-age, woo-woo self-care after all. We don’t have to be “on” all the time. If Rav Huna did it, approximately 1,750 years ago, we can, too. We can allow ourselves that moment to sit under a tree and recuperate. Here’s to wishing you time in the orchard when you need it!

Sukkot a time for happiness

As a kid, Sukkot wasn’t a holiday we observed at home. Our congregation was where I decorated and visited a sukkah, but it wasn’t a big festival for us. The temple did feel like an extension of my house since my mom worked full time there – but it wasn’t my house.

By contrast, as a married adult, we’ve really embraced Sukkot at home. We’ve built a sukkah in the backyard of each home we’ve lived in. We’ve more than 20 years now of experience in inviting guests for big sukkah dinner parties and having quiet family meals together, too. We enjoy buying a lulav and etrog so we can “shake it in the sukkah!” on our own.

It’s brought us lots of pleasure, which is apt because Sukkot is the only festival that is labeled “z’man simchateinu” or “our time of happiness.” It’s literally our time to party. In Tractate Sukkah, it describes the special “in the place of the drawing of water” celebrations at the Temple on Sukkot as the party to end all parties. In Tractate Sukkah 51a, it says this twice, in both the Mishnah and Gemara, “One who did not see the celebration … never saw celebration in his days.” The Gemara goes further to explain: “One who did not see Jerusalem in its glory, never saw a beautiful city. One who did not see the Temple in its constructed state, never saw a magnificent structure.”

Like any spare, ancient text, we can read this several ways. My first tendency is to recall overhearing university acquaintances laughing. When they saw me, as they laughed, they explained that their fraternity bash was “the party to end all parties” and “they were so blasted” and “it’s a shame you weren’t there!” Then I’d feel some shame. I hadn’t been invited, feeling left out and uncomfortable. Then, as an introvert, I’d privately admit relief! I didn’t have to deal with the noise, drunks, drugs and cigarettes, either.

Yet this is not at all the negative, emotional reading that I think the rabbis intended. The talmudic sages were describing a truly joyous, amazing, mind-blowingly big celebration. It’s hard during the pandemic to wrap my brain around this huge way of celebrating. The Temple in Jerusalem and its way of observing the festivities are also long past, but there are still big sukkahs out there in the world, full of party-goers, no matter the year.

Many of us struggle at times to find the joy in our lives – the world news, natural disaster and ongoing pandemic waves can leave us reeling and wondering when things will get better. When we can gather, many people are flooded with joy at a crowded wedding or a big festive event. However, modern-day Sukkot can bring us joy even without the enormous shindig or party to end all parties at the Temple in Jerusalem.

For me, being outside, at any time of year, helps me find that inner calm, contentment and grounding. I’ve also recently observed moments when I start feeling anxious or sucked into negativity. At those times, I’m consciously trying to step away from the news and the social media feed. I’m giving myself time every day to read a book, cook, study Talmud, knit, and watch my kids and dog play. I need to make space for finding that joy.

This summer, we’ve had a lot of wasps outside in Winnipeg, along with heat, drought and wildfire smoke. It was so bad that our difficult-to-assemble patio table never made it out onto the deck. We used the matching chairs, but gave up on eating outside. I recently tested the waters with my husband, asking if he felt it would be worth it to assemble everything for Sukkot anyway. After all, three out of four family members have gotten wasp stings in the yard so far. It hasn’t been auspicious.

He responded positively, as only a biology professor who studies insects might, noting that wasps weren’t active at night, that cooler temperatures and winds helped, and that we should set things up as usual. He was right. By planning to build a sukkah despite everything, we could optimize our chances at “our time of rejoicing.” Studying Tractate Sukkah this summer made me anticipate the holiday so much that I couldn’t wait for this joyful holiday this time around.

Towards the end of August, the weather started to turn. Our lawns have finally gotten enough rain to turn green again and, as the temperatures drop, the wasps are less active. Winnipeg isn’t a place where many people consider sleeping in the sukkah, or even insist on eating every meal there. It’s often just too cold, but that also kills wasps! Once or twice since we moved here, it’s even snowed during Sukkot.

In Tractate Sukkah 26a, the talmudic rabbi Rava suggests leniency in terms of dwelling in the sukkah. Sick people are exempt from this commandment, but Rava suggests that, if you’re suffering, you too are exempt. His examples include biting flies or a foul-smelling sukkah floor but, when comparing the weather in Israel or Babylonia to Winnipeg, Rava would likely suffer here. Our freezing fall temperatures are sufficiently uncomfortable that many seek only a brief moment in the sukkah rather than a camp out.

I’m still drawn to crisp, clear fall evenings outside in the dark, however. We’ll be wearing our coats and smelling the leaves turning. It’s not the right year to invite lots of guests for parties. We’ve got kids too young to be vaccinated yet. We’re being very cautious.

Still, Sukkot gifts us with excuses to stay up late and enjoy the outdoors each autumn just a little bit longer. The chance to celebrate, this time of our happiness, is upon us. Give yourself that chance to let go of the negativity, worries and anxieties. Have a completely legitimate, Jewishly commanded break outdoors. It’s that time of year to get out into nature and party! Sukkot is here. Enjoy.