Judaism – Page 27

Symbolisms of the afikoman

Ask any young child, and even some of the older ones, what is the best part of the seder, and the answer will probably be – looking for the afikoman.

The afikoman is the name of the middle of the three portions of matzah that accompany the seder plate. As part of the seder, the leader breaks the middle matzah into two pieces, and the larger portion becomes the afikoman.

Several interpretations of this word have developed over the years. One is that it is of Greek origin, possibly from the word epikomas or epikomios, which could mean after-meal songs and entertainment or dessert. This meaning would then be the basis for the custom that one is prohibited from eating or drinking after tasting the afikoman – to prevent emulation of the Greek custom of going to parties after plentiful meals. Afiko means remove and mane means dishes. In other words, we have finished, so let’s go to another place and continue celebrating.

Abraham Chill, in his book The Minhagim (customs), writes that, in ancient times, after concluding a meal, people would call out “afikoman,” a combination of the words afiko, take out, and man, meaning sweets. Since the afikoman matzah symbolized the paschal lamb, this referred to the idea that, by eating the afikoman, it would be the last taste in our mouths after the seder, and one would continue to think and talk about the Exodus.

The Mishnah says, “One may not add afikoman after paschal meal.” Chill relates that the lamb was the last portion of food eaten at the seder. Since the destruction of the Temple, the afikoman became the symbol of the paschal sacrifice, which took place in Temple times on Passover night.

Before the end of the seder, it is customary for the leader to hide the afikoman. After the meal, the children try to find it and ransom it back for money or presents. Tradition also says the idea was a gimmick to encourage children to stay awake during the seder.

Jews of Iran, Afghanistan, Greece, Kurdistan and Bukharia keep a piece of the afikoman matzah to protect against the “evil eye,” and for good luck.

Among some Jewish groups, pregnant women carry a piece of the afikoman with salt and coral to hold during delivery.

In Iraq and other Middle Eastern countries, during the seder, children wrap the afikoman in a piece of material and tie it to their backs. They leave the room and pretend to be travelers. When they return, the seder leader asks: where are you coming from? They reply, “Egypt.” The leader then asks, “And where are you going?” And they respond, “Jerusalem.”

Some Sephardi groups and others do not follow the custom of “stealing” the afikoman for ransom from the children. Yemenites also do not participate in this custom. They say the Hebrew letters in the word afikoman – aleph, peh, yud, kaf, vav, mem, nun – stand for the following words: aleph for egozim (nuts); peh for payrote (fruit); yud for yayin (wine); kaf for keliyot (granules of grain); vav for u’vasar (and meat); mem for mayim (water); and nun sofit for nehrd (spices).

Whatever your customary rituals for the holiday, may you have a happy one.

Sybil Kaplan is a journalist, lecturer, book reviewer and food writer in Jerusalem. She created and leads the weekly English-language Shuk Walks in Machane Yehuda, she has compiled and edited nine kosher cookbooks, and is the author of Witness to History: Ten Years as a Woman Journalist in Israel.

When we unmask matzah

(photo from pngkey.com)

Imagine that you are sitting at your kitchen table, sewing masks for your family so that you can go outside. There are no more masks left in stock in any store near you so you are left to make them on your own. Suddenly, as you attach a button to the fabric, you hear loud shouting outside. You run to your door and cautiously peek out to see what has caused all the uproar.

You are confronted by an extraordinary sight: people are filling the streets, singing, dancing and embracing. You put on your unfinished mask and venture a little closer, but still six feet away, and ask one of the revelers what happened. She replies: “They found a cure for coronavirus. It is going to be available immediately. Everyone who is sick will immediately recover, and a vaccine will protect the rest of us.”

You stuff your half-finished mask into your pocket and join the revelry, rejoicing that the coronavirus nightmare has come to an end.

When you come back into your home the next day, you carefully place your mask on the mantel. In later years, when visitors ask why you have a piece of fabric with one button and a rubber band featured prominently in your living room, you tell them your story of how you found out that you were saved from the coronavirus pandemic, and how the fear and anxiety completely dissolved. Every time you look at that piece of fabric, you remember that your situation can change in an instant, that fear and loss can be replaced by comfort and hope.

This story may seem like wishful thinking, but it is the story we tell at our seder every Passover. Our ancestors were slaves, oppressed and fearful. They suffered and thought their suffering would never end. And then everything changed.

We recite at the seder: “This matzah – why do we eat it? To remind ourselves that, even before the dough of our ancestors in Egypt had time to rise and become leavened, the King of Kings, the Holy One Blessed be He, was revealed and redeemed them.” In less than the time it would take to bake a loaf of bread, our ancestors’ lives were totally transformed. The mightiest empire in the world was defeated by the slaves’ G-d. They became free people, about to leave their land of oppression for their own land. The bread that they had started baking in captivity became the bread that they would always associate with their liberation.

We can relate to this experience of life-altering moments in our personal lives. Think of a moment when you received a phone call or met someone and your life immediately changed. Sometimes, yes, the phone call or encounter brought sorrow or pain. But, sometimes, it brought new opportunities for joy or freedom that you never expected, and your life was never the same. Maybe, the day after despairing you would ever find a soulmate, you met the person with whom you would spend the rest of your life. Or perhaps you were at a professional crossroads and an opportunity came your way out of the blue.

Of course, the mask sitting on your mantel is not a simple thing to contemplate. It invites much more than joy. Your thoughts are so complex when you look at it. On one hand, it symbolizes recovery and deliverance and, sometimes, when asked about it, you tell about the magical moment when you learned that a cure had been found. But, other times, you recall the dark days of the virus, the many people we lost, the overwhelmed emergency rooms, our crumbled illusions that our technological competence could protect us from epidemic.

The matzah, too, is complex. The Talmud, in Pesachim, suggests that matzah is called lechem oni because it is bread that invites much discussion: “lechem she’onim alav devarim harbeh,” “bread about which we answer many things.” There is so much to say about it because it brings up so many conflicting thoughts and emotions. It reminds us of our slavery in Egypt, when we had no control over what happened to us or to the people we loved. And it also reminds us that our lives can turn around in an instant, in less than the space of time that it takes for dough to rise. It is at once both liberating and deeply unsettling. It gives us hope and it frightens us. It forces us to acknowledge that we have but an illusion of control.

At our Pesach seder, we model to the next generation how to respond to a world that is beyond our control. We try to create structure and order (seder). We acknowledge our vulnerability (“ha lachma anya” – “this is the bread of our affliction”). We help others in need, feeding them and including them at our table (“kol difchin yetei veyechol” – “all who are in need, come eat with us”).

We fight against oppression (the episode of the five rabbis in Bnei Brak). We express gratitude for all the good we have in our lives (“Dayenu”). We delve deeply into these questions and reaffirm the possibility of redemption (“and, even if we are all wise, it is still incumbent upon us to tell the story”) and share our wisdom with our children (“vehigadeta l’vincha” – “and you shall tell your children”).

We commit ourselves to building a redeemed world (“l’shana haba’ah beyerushalayim” – “next year in Jerusalem”). And, as we eat our matzah, we acknowledge with faith and humility, that we never know what will come next.

Aliza Sperling teaches Talmud at the Yeshivat Maharat/Yeshiva Chovevei Torah Beit Midrash Program and directs Svivah’s HerTorah, an inclusive and open women’s learning community. She serves as a Shalom Hartman Institute research fellow and a Wexner faculty member, and articles by Sperling and other institute scholars can be found at shalomhartman.org. This article was originally published on blogs.timesofisrael.com.

More bless same-sex unions

Rabbi Steven Wernick (photo from cjnews.com)

Toronto’s Beth Tzedec Congregation, one of the largest Conservative synagogues in Canada, announced last month that its rabbis will officiate at same-sex marriages.

While Beth Tzedec is not the first Conservative synagogue in Canada to sanctify same-sex weddings – Beth David and Beth Tikvah, also in Toronto, have already done so – the development has generated a surprising amount of interest, said synagogue president Debbie Rothstein.

Reaction from synagogue members has been “overwhelmingly positive,” she told The CJN soon after the announcement was made. “I’ve received a couple of concerns; we know change is hard. It’s not even been 24 hours, but (reactions) have been unbelievably positive and supportive.”

In fact, Rothstein said she had heard from members who were surprised this was not already a policy at the synagogue. “People were ready for this change to be made,” she said.

The decision is the culmination of decades of study by the Conservative movement and the synagogue, said Beth Tzedec’s senior rabbi, Steven Wernick.

In 2006, the Conservative movement passed a number of resolutions welcoming LGBTQ Jews into the community, and lifted a ban on ordaining gays and lesbians, based on the principle of kavod habriut, honouring all God’s creations, Wernick said. “Halachah is a living, evolving process of living a meaningful Jewish life. In 2021, to be fully welcoming of the LGBTQ community, to be willing to welcome and officiate at same-sex weddings, is a moral imperative,” he said in an interview.

In 2012, the Conservative movement’s committee on Jewish law and standards approved two model wedding ceremonies, as well as guidelines for a same-sex divorce. Rabbis can adapt the marriage ceremonies for the couples.

In 2017, as part of its strategic planning process, Beth Tzedec formed a task force for LGBTQ inclusion. It has participated in Pride Shabbat, Pride Month and other programs.

Beth Tzedec now has gender-neutral bathrooms, and has worked with Keshet, an international organization that advocates for LGBTQ equality in Jewish life, to examine its policies and the language it uses.

Officiating at same-sex weddings is the culmination of the task force’s work, Wernick said. “One of the things that we heard loud and clear is that you can’t claim to be fully welcoming until you’re doing same-sex weddings,” he said.

The same-sex weddings will differ slightly, and will be called brit ahavim – a covenant of love – rather than the traditional term, kiddushin (betrothal).

Even in a double-ring ceremony, kiddushin is not an egalitarian framework, and so the Conservative movement has developed other “covenantal ceremonies” that are more appropriate to same-sex weddings, Wernick said.

But there will still be all the trappings of a traditional wedding: a chuppah (canopy), a ketubah (marriage contract), wine, blessings and the breaking of a glass. “It’s going to be a holy and wholly Jewish ceremony, in both senses of the word,” he said.

Same-sex weddings will only be offered to couples who are both Jewish, Wernick said, pointing out this was not a decision about interfaith marriages.

Since the recent announcement was made, the rabbi said he has received several emails from families who are personally affected. Some shared that they were not able to get married in the synagogue, as they might have wished. The parent of a transgender child expressed to the rabbi how “meaningful it was that his child now had a place at Beth Tzedec where he can be validated and loved as a child of God.”

While Beth Tzedec is not, as mentioned, the first Conservative synagogue to bless same-sex marriages, Wernick said he expects it will also not be the last. “Beth Tzedec has traditionally been considered one of the leading congregations both in Canada and around the world. I would imagine we will be influencing other congregations to do the same.”

In early 2012, Congegation Shaarey Zedek in Winnipeg became what was believed to be the first Conservative shul in Canada to host a same-sex marriage.

For years at Toronto’s Beth Sholom Synagogue, “our stated position, once egalitarianism was adopted, is to do weddings without concern for gender,” said the congregation’s Rabbi Aaron Flanzraich, adding – likely echoing the policy at other Conservative synagogues – “provided both persons were Jewish.”

The Ontario region of the Rabbinical Assembly, the international association of Conservative rabbis, which Flanzraich chairs, is populated by autonomous congregations, and “each makes their policies in accordance with the wishes and traditions of their respective communities.”

Justine Apple, who was executive director of Kulanu Toronto, a now-defunct group for LGBTQ Jews, called Beth Tzedec’s decision “a very important step.”

“The Conservative movement is finally stepping up and opening its doors to the legitimacy of same-sex marriage,” said Apple. “Something many of our LGBTQ members and their families have been waiting for, for a long time.”

This article originally was published on facebook.com/TheCJN, and includes reporting by Ron Csillag. For local perspectives on this topic, in the context of transgender rights, see jewishindependent.ca/affirming-transgender-rights.

Passover’s second chances

Passover is coming! I’m actually looking forward to this second chance at the pandemic seder. Sounds crazy, perhaps, but the rabbis in talmudic times believed in second chances, and this is one of them – an opportunity to make a smaller holiday experience meaningful.

The second-chance concept has a long history. Have you ever noticed Pesach Sheini on the Jewish calendar and wondered? Well, a month after Passover started, there was a second opportunity. Those who’d been impure (interacted with a corpse, for instance) or been on a distant journey, could still potentially sacrifice the Paschal lamb at the Temple on this second Passover date.

This second Passover was not a huge, inclusive repeat opportunity. The Jewish community was required to plan ahead. It wasn’t acceptable to say, “Oops, I missed #1, so now I have a free do-over.” The only opportunities to do Pesach Sheini were spelled out very clearly. Most of those who messed up the first time weren’t eligible for the second round.

Planning ahead for the Passover sacrifice was spelled out in the Talmud. It struck me as interesting because, even now, like many big Jewish holidays, Passover requires a ton of planning. Even when the Temple was standing, one had to “register” to sacrifice a lamb. For Passover, everyone needed to do it, so imagine that version of old-fashioned registration, long before curbside pickup, cellphones, computers or online platforms came on the scene!

We all know many people who are more “in the moment” and aren’t good at the planning-ahead parts of life. Whether it’s a holiday, a big winter storm or a pandemic, some people are just better able to prepare in advance. This isn’t a modern issue, it’s a human one. It’s something akin to Aesop’s poem about the ant and the cricket. While the cricket sings and dances away the summer, the ant prepares for winter.

In some ways, my household was oddly ready for a pandemic. To clarify, no one is really ready for emergencies like this. However, our household had an odd assortment of skills that allowed us to make the best of a difficult situation. I’m not making light of the situation, not at all – having lost a relative during this time, we know the virus means business. Even with such a serious challenge, however, it’s possible to see things that worked out.

For one thing, I’m married to a biology professor. Although he scared the pants off me in early 2020, I can’t say I wasn’t warned about what might happen as the coronavirus spread. It gave me an early warning system that worked, although it was hard to manage my anxiety at the beginning, too, since no one else seemed as alarmed.

We might have been practically prepared in some ways. We have always tried to eat carefully, with homemade local foods. We had full freezers. Our canning closet was stocked with homemade jams, pickles, and more. We had homebody skills, too. I’ve been making bread (and not just challah!) for years. We were fine in the food department.

The transition to learning and staying at home involved screaming, upset twin 8-year-olds at first. Again, though, we felt oddly lucky. I used to be a teacher and, while that never involved grade school students for anything other than religious school, we got into the swing of things. “Once a teacher, always a teacher” is apparently true. I wasn’t swayed by the screaming – I taught high school and community college in urban U.S. environments, where occasional weapons (and screams) weren’t unusual. I’ve figured it out. We’re still voluntarily remote schooling. It has worked for us.

We’re also mostly introverted. As creative folk, our stash of things to do has kept us sustained. There’s been lots of reading, as well as sewing, knitting, weaving and spinning, as well as coin collecting and building with Lego, and we’ve made good use of the kids’ art supplies. We’ve felt well-occupied.

Yet, the story of “second Passover” and planning ahead struck hard these past few weeks. We had a serious issue with our car. Then our boiler needed repairs during a frigid part of Winnipeg’s winter. And our hot water heater needed replacing.

When the weather began to warm up, we glibly thought we’d solved all the hard stuff. Whew. Never think that! On a Sunday evening, my husband went to the basement to get the dog food. He heard a trickling sound. In short order, he was dismantling part of the basement. We had a radiator pipe that froze and then burst as things warmed up. This cued yet another round of emergency plumbers’ visits during a pandemic, with the kind of repairs for which you just can’t plan ahead.

All this led me to thinking about our second, upcoming pandemic Passover. Passover is always a home-based holiday. We can make plans. We can save up and attempt to make everything work. Yet, some things are like the Yiddish saying, “Man plans. G-d laughs.” Even so, we keep trying. My parents in Virginia have already told us that they plan to join us (via Zoom) for the first seder. Our twins seem surprisingly motivated to clean up a mountain of toys, as we tidy the house before the holiday. We’re getting ready.

These days, Jews mostly don’t observe Pesach Sheini, but I’m really hopeful about enjoying another “first” Passover while apart. For months to come, a continuation of the Purim “everything’s upside down” spirit will be normal. We’re not done with this pandemic yet, so we must both plan ahead – and be grateful for flexibility and all these second chances.

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.

Inclusion matters – always

I was talking to my mother on the phone when she told me about one of her committee projects. At her congregation in Virginia, there’s an outdoor space, in the woods. It’s used as a learning environment and sanctuary, with play space, too.

While it may be a charming and rustic foray into nature, it’s also something else. It’s inaccessible to those with disabilities. My mom described how a group home brought some of its residents to an outdoor service, only to discover that, in fact, the residents couldn’t attend, because they use wheelchairs. The trails, filled with rocks and tree roots, are too difficult for those wheelchairs to navigate.

My mom is on the “inclusion committee” at her synagogue. In part, she joined because she cares about everybody at her congregation. She wants to practise “audacious hospitality” and “radical inclusion.” The other part is more personal. My nephew uses a wheelchair. Of course, she wants to help him have a full and meaningful Jewish experience.

These bumpy trails are a physical barrier to inclusion. Our Jewish communities are full of physical barriers. These can be things like having only one staircase as an access point into a building – and no ramp. It can mean having no accessible bathroom, or no place for a mom to breastfeed. It could be lacking a way to invite a person in a wheelchair onto the pulpit, because there’s no ramp, or even no handrail for those who might not be stable on their feet.

Physical barriers aren’t just stairs, of course. What about large-print prayer books or documents that work with text-to-speech software for those who have visual impairments? What about an amplification system, sign-language interpreter or closed captioning for those with an audio disability?

Even beyond this, there are those whose differing abilities aren’t visible. Is there a quiet room available and unlocked for those who have sensory challenges? Many might need a break from loud music at a bar mitzvah or during a raucous Simchat Torah celebration. Is there a way that those who have mental health challenges or intellectual disabilities can be offered support if they need it while at a synagogue event?

February is Jewish Disability Awareness and Inclusion Month, or JDAIM. If this were a committee meeting, this is when, inevitably, someone would speak out. “Whoa,” this person might say. “We’re just a small congregation with limited funds. We simply can’t do all this. We can’t be all things for all people.”

This is the second barrier to break down. It’s an attitudinal barrier. When someone’s attitude gets in the way of helping practise radical inclusion, it stops us from meeting every Jewish person’s needs in the community. This attitude adjustment is necessary when, for example:

a baby starts to fuss and a parent works to quiet the baby and feed him,
a nonverbal person makes noises during services,
a person needs to stand or sit during services because of pain or disability when everyone else is doing the opposite,
a person who cannot hear turns to her spouse to ask, “What page are we on?” in that loud voice.

The list could be a mile long. I’ve seen somebody cast a fish-eye at every one of these people. Given how many of us struggle with disabilities, well, let’s just say it’s high time for a change in attitude.

To the person who says, “We’re a small congregation, we can’t do all this,” be ready to stand up and say, “Did you ever wonder why it’s such a small shul? This is why. This attitude. This inability to try and include everybody and to work to meet their needs.”

It doesn’t cost a lot to build a portable ramp for the bima (pulpit). Sometimes, funds can be raised in creative ways to fix physical barriers. What’s harder? Working to change our conscious and unconscious attitudes about disability and inclusion.

Disability will affect all of us or our loved ones at some point in our lives. Please, don’t wait until you break your leg to acknowledge this. It’s really important to bring JDAIM up, but it shouldn’t be a once-a-year discussion.

In the portion Yitro, which we read in synagogues at the beginning of February this year, G-d speaks to Moses and to all the people at once. They all hear the Ten Commandments together in Exodus 20:1-14. Rabbi Ana Bonnheim’s commentary on this portion uses the phrase “radical inclusion.” Moses prepares the people to hear from the Almighty, and they all receive this revelation together – each in his or her own way. Rabbi Bonnheim reminds us that inclusivity, this frequent repetition of “ha-am”, “the people,” is essential to Jewish tradition.

On Shavuot, when we gather again to hear the Ten Commandments, everyone is supposed to be there. If we want a Jewish gathering where everyone physically can be there, it’s time to start an inclusion committee, if your community doesn’t have one. If you already have that committee, remember the public relations campaign that must accompany any initiatives, so that attitudinal barriers change as well as physical ones. The truth is that, even if everyone can physically be present, if your community projects a bad attitude, those with disabilities won’t want to be there.

As for me, I received a “save the date” card for my nephew’s bar mitzvah recently. I cannot wait to see him, using his assistive speaking device, leading the service. Of course, there’s a closed border and a pandemic in the way, too, but their congregation works so hard to include everyone that I know that, in the worst-case scenario, I’ll be there virtually, through livestreaming. Jewish celebrations, like every other kind of Jewish gathering, are for all of us. That’s why inclusion matters.

The “choosing people”

Angelica Poversky (photo from Angelica Poversky)

Temple Sholom Sisterhood’s social action committee invited members of the community to broaden their understanding of who is Jewish and consider how expansive the community could be in the first of its Tikkun Atzmi Series: Healing Ourselves to Heal the World. The Feb. 4 Zoom event featured panelists Carmel Tanaka, a community engagement professional, and poet Angelica Poversky.

Tikkun atzmi, to repair oneself, is considered the first step on the path towards tikkun olam, repair of the world. Along the way, there are also tikkun bayit, strengthening the family, and tikkun kahal, healing the community.

Tikkun atzmi implies looking inwards and reflecting on what should be taking place within the Jewish community, particularly as it pertains to marginalized groups, such as people of colour, LGBTQ+ individuals and others who consider themselves distanced from the tribe. The past year, the organizers said, has highlighted “so many of the inequities that persist in our world.”

“Not only am I deeply invested in making our Judaism grounded in social justice any opportunity I get, I know and love many Jews who feel as though they didn’t have a home in the community and I am invested in changing that,” moderator Dalya Israel began.

Tanaka spoke about coming to terms with the descriptions that derive from being the child of a multi-racial marriage. Often, she would refer to herself as half-Jewish and half-Japanese. “It wasn’t until years later that I realized I am not half of anything – I am fully Jewish and fully Japanese-Canadian. I can be all of these things and celebrate all of these things,” she told the Zoom audience.

Carmel Tanaka (photo by Manoa1)

Tanaka recalled experiences of her time as director of the University of Victoria Hillel, where she encountered several students who felt alienated from the community because they were not halachically Jewish. Realizing that it can be traumatic for someone to be told they don’t belong in a group, she endeavoured to create a safe space at UVic for anyone who may be Jewish, Jew-ish or Jew-curious.

Poversky referenced the exclusion that some Jews within the LGBTQ+ community have endured. “It is horrible that people are not fully accepted,” they said. “What is our goal if not to uplift everyone? Why create barriers? Those feelings of persecution can be very painful, so why place them on others?”

The discussion touched on the causes for the limited presence of younger and/or marginalized people in synagogues and other areas of Jewish life. Tanaka recounted a story about her mother who, years ago, was told by a synagogue that she was welcome to come to services but was asked to leave her husband at home.

While attitudes may have improved since then, there is still much more room available for inclusion and diversity, said Tanaka. “I feel, in order for the term Jewish to be more expansive, it needs to expand far enough to be a safe space for anyone who wants to identify as Jewish,” she said.

Israel, citing Sarah Hurwitz’s 2019 book Here All Along: Finding Meaning, Spirituality and a Deeper Connection to Life – in Judaism (After Finally Choosing to Look There), put forward the notion that, instead of thinking of themselves as the “Chosen People,” Jews could be the “choosing people.”

“Every day, we wake and choose to be Jews, and the way we live our life,” Israel said.

“Community happens when we complete ourselves,” Poversky added. They spoke about moving away from “action-based” assumptions about Judaism or sexual identity and attaching more importance to the declaration of one’s identity. That is, one can say they are Jewish without the acts of celebrating Chanukah or reading Torah. Implicit in Poversky’s statement was the “restrictive construct” within institutions that defines or even “polices” the identity of another individual because that person belongs to a marginalized group.

Tanaka shared experiences of visiting synagogues and being asked about her name, her lineage and her proficiency in Hebrew. This line of questioning to Jews of colour and others, she believes, is what has caused people to distance themselves from the Jewish community.

“It is the dance of having to prove who you are through actions,” Tanaka explained. “It is what we call microaggressions. When you have this happen over and over again, it can be emotionally exhausting.”

Tanaka, a queer Jewpanese woman of colour, is founder of JQT Vancouver (pronounced “J-Cutie”), Vancouver’s Jewish queer trans nonprofit. She also leads a monthly Zoom call for Jewpanese and their families from all over the world.

Poversky is a queer non-binary Russian-Jewish poet who has more than seven years of facilitation experience. They’ve taught poetry workshops in schools, in libraries, with youth groups, in community centres, and at dozens of festivals across North America. Much of their activism has been devoted to queer and trans celebration.

The Sisterhood’s three Tikkun Atzmi panels are designed to fuel the action committee’s dedication to social justice. Future panels will invite participants to elucidate on ways of bringing awareness to systemic inequity and its impacts on the Jewish community. They will also delve into their Judaism and explore sacred teachings for guidance in caring for and making space for one another.

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

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To watch the entire Tikkun Atzmi panel discussion, click here (the passcode for the video is !*n?RC1s).

Mussar & tikkun olam

Dr. Rachael Turkienicz (photo from Kolot Mayim)

At a Jan. 3 Zoom lecture organized by Kolot Mayim Reform Temple in Victoria, Dr. Rachael Turkienicz spoke about mussar (Jewish ethics), tikkun olam (repairing the world) and whether there is a commandment to build bridges.

Turkienicz, founder and director of the Toronto-based Rachael’s Centre of Torah, Mussar and Ethics, began at the beginning, explaining why the Torah starts with creation and not with the patriarchs and matriarchs or the first commandment in Exodus.

“We start with Genesis because it is the ‘common’ that all human beings will have, and so Judaism will begin with what we all have in common,” she said. “No person can ever say to another person, ‘My father is greater than your father.’ And Father in this instance can be capitalized. One person creates the great equalizer. We should never fight with one another over this.”

She then showed how tikkun olam follows from creation, and raised the questions, When did the world break and how did it break? As man is finite and God is infinite, cracks will occur in the process of creation, and it is up to humanity to repair them, according to Turkienicz.

How do we repair? Through free will, she explained. “Free will is the most powerful thing next to God. It is so powerful that I can use my free will to deny God.”

The problem, however, is that “nowhere do we have a program that teaches us what free will is and how to use it,” she said.

In the course of daily routines, free will can take a less prominent role in our thinking, as many of us coast along “on automatic,” i.e., we function without making choices. As a result, nothing is being repaired and the world is continuing as it always does, she explained.

One example of being on automatic is when someone poses the question to an acquaintance passing by: “How are you?” The response is frequently: “I’m OK.” Neither the person asking nor the respondent delves deeply into the subject before moving on.

Being able to use free will is further compounded by the number of choices we have in an open society. Citing academic studies, Turkienicz contended that having a vast array of options available can actually hinder our ability to make use of the power of free will.

Enter mussar, a spiritual practice founded on offering a solid framework on living an ethical life. Mussar differs from kabbalah (Jewish mysticism). Whereas kabbalah is knowledge one receives, mussar moves from a person into the world, said Turkienicz.

Mussar stems from the concept that it is all well and good to know the commandments and recite Torah. However, such knowledge in itself does not make someone a mensch. “Mussar is learning to use my free will to repair the world. The commandments are the utensils, the goal is tikkun olam,” Turkienicz explained.

While mussar has been around for more than a millennium, it expanded in the 19th century to communities throughout Eastern Europe. Before the war, it was studied at the top continental yeshivot, but nearly all the leading exponents of mussar were murdered in the Holocaust. Recently, though, there has been a resurgence of the practice in both Orthodox and more liberal branches of Judaism.

Turkienicz compared mussar with other ethical philosophies, using the scenario of a person seated on a bus when an elderly person boards. Most of us are taught that we should give up our seat in such a situation. But what if the elderly person declines the offer? Ethics would say to sit back down, whereas mussar suggests that one should stay standing, because the issue is not about the elderly person but rather one’s own free will.

“Inside of me something said it is not appropriate for me to sit while an older person remains standing. Whether the elderly person sits down or not changes nothing,” she argued.

According to mussar, we are in control of the personal ingredients that comprise us, be they spirituality or patience. We all have the same ingredients, only the measurements are different, said Turkienicz. A person who does not see himself as spiritual still has a degree of spirituality. Likewise, someone who deems herself impatient has an allocation of patience within her. Our free will distributes the measurements.

“My free will chooses what is my perspective and where will I focus,” Turkienicz said.

As to whether there is a commandment to build bridges, she quoted Israel Salanter, a 19th-century rabbi and founder of the modern mussar movement, who said, “A good Jew is not one who worries about his fellow man’s soul and his own stomach, but about his fellow man’s stomach and his own soul.”

Turkienicz concluded that, while there is no commandment to build bridges, “everything else shows us we should do so, because, if we choose not to, we have lived where that leads us, and we don’t want to go there.”

To view the presentation in full, go to kolotmayimreformtemple.com and search “lectures.” Turkienicz’s talk was part of the synagogue’s Building Bridges series, the next instalment of which takes place March 7, featuring University of Calgary art professor Jennifer Eiserman on Canadian Jewish art. Click here for more information.

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

Kirman Library spans the arts

The Kirman English and Yiddish Library at the Peretz Centre for Secular Jewish Culture is available for anyone in the community to access. (photo from Peretz Centre)

“Books are humanity in print” – Barbara Tuchman

The Kirman English and Yiddish Library at the Peretz Centre for Secular Jewish Culture was set up in 1976 by Paula and Shaya Kirman, members of the Peretz Institute – as it was then known – and dedicated Yiddishists. The two main purposes in establishing the library were, first, to collect and preserve the books that were scattered in different places in the community, and, second, to make these books available to the whole community in a lending library.

Paula Kirman, who worked as a cataloguer at the University of British Columbia library, volunteered many hours to set up a card catalogue and shelve the Peretz library in an organized way. Eventually, she resigned from her volunteer position because of a perceived lack of support from the Peretz Institute’s board of directors.

In 1999, in preparation for the construction of the Peretz Centre’s present building (in the same location the institute had been since the 1960s), the library books and card catalogue had to be boxed and removed. With the completion of the new building in 2000-2001, the organization was renamed the Peretz Centre for Secular Jewish Culture and the words of I.L. Peretz, considered by many as the “father” of modern Jewish culture, were prominently displayed above the entrance foyer: “A people’s memory is history; without a history, a people can grow neither wiser nor better.”

Sporadic attempts to restore the library were made, but, when Al Stein returned to Vancouver and joined the centre’s board of directors in 2001, much of the library was still in boxes and Kirman’s card catalogue was in disarray. Stein volunteered to lead the effort to restore the library, if the board would support it in two ways: vote for funding for new shelving and support Stein’s effort to obtain a grant from the Jewish Community Foundation of Greater Vancouver to hire a library technician and digitize the entire library, including the Yiddish books.

The grant proposal was successful. A newly graduated library technician, unfamiliar with Yiddish, was contracted and many hundreds of hours were spent properly transliterating each Yiddish book and journal title, digitizing the entire collection in accordance with the latest electronic library standards, relabeling each book, arranging for electronic hosting of the library catalogue, supervising the installation of new shelving and then, finally, shelving the books and journals in an organized fashion.

Thanks to large and small donations of both English and Yiddish books from individuals, from the Winnipeg Jewish Library and from the Isaac Waldman Jewish Public Library at the Jewish Community Centre of Greater Vancouver, as well as a small number of purchases, the Kirman Library of the Peretz Centre now contains nearly 4,000 books and journals and is almost at capacity. The collection includes titles by kabbalists, rabbis, atheists, historians, politicians, musicians, artists, humourists, and those who wrote fiction, plays and poetry – in other words, the entire spectrum of Jewish creativity, encompassing all the arts.

Most of the collection is now in English and is a unique treasure trove of information and pleasure for the casual reader and the scholar. Two collections are of note. The late Dr. Gersh Winrob donated his English-language collection of Holocaust literature, memoirs, history and analyses, certainly one of the largest in the community. And the late poet Miriam Waddington donated part of her library, mostly English-language literature and essays, with a bit of Yiddish poetry.

The Peretz Centre is a proud member of the Yiddish Book Centre, now the largest Jewish cultural organization in the United States.

The Peretz’s library catalogue may be searched from any computer via the Peretz Centre website, peretz-centre.org: click the Kirman Library tab and then the Catalog link. The library ID is Kirman Library. No password is needed.

Books and periodicals can be borrowed for a $10/year fee. Four items may be borrowed at a time, for a period of four weeks, which may be renewed if no hold has been placed on the item. And the library may be used whenever the Peretz office is open, so call ahead before coming down, or for more information about library policy in general, such as its overdue or lost items policy, or to obtain a library card: 604-325-1812, ext. 1, or [email protected].

If you have any specific questions or comments about the library, or wish to make a donation to it, Stein can be reached at 604 731-1193 or [email protected].

BI hosts Zoom scholar series

On Feb. 16, Congregation Beth Israel welcomed the first of four renowned Jewish scholars in a made-for-Zoom series, The BI Scholars. Canadian-born Dr. Henry Abramson, dean of Touro College in New York and a specialist in Jewish thought and history, kicked off the series with a talk entitled Becoming the People of the Byte: The Internet, Talmud and the Future of the Jewish People.

photo - Dr. Henry Abramson launched The BI Scholars series on Feb. 16 — Dr. Henry Abramson launched The BI Scholars series on Feb. 16. *(photo from Beth Israel)*

His discourse looked at how Jews, over time, and to this day, use and relate to new information technology, and how it changes our modes of learning and disseminating texts. Abramson explained that Jews are generally early adopters of technology, beginning in the second century CE when, under the guidance of Judah Ha-Nasi, we moved from an oral tradition to the documentation of the Mishna in manuscript form, a big change that encountered significant resistance along the way. This was followed by the era of the printing press and, now, digital technology.

These communications technologies allow for significant democratization, and Abramson pointed out the value of the internet in that learning is available to all, whereas “treasured texts were previously not accessible to 50% of the Jewish community – namely, women.”

However, technology also presents dangers in terms of knowing the authenticity and authority of texts. It is our job, said Abramson, “to discover what we can trust and what we can discard.”

One of the female scholars about whom Abramson speaks is Ilana Kurshan, who has completed a remarkable feat of Talmud study – finishing the whole Talmud in seven-and-half years, Daf Yomi, a page a day. Kurshan will speak at the March 9 instalment of the Zoom series about her award-winning memoir If All the Seas Were Ink, which takes readers on a guided tour of the Talmud, while detailing her personal stories of love, loss, marriage and motherhood.

It is, indeed, one of the most unique Talmud commentaries ever written, as she explains: “The memoir is secondary. The way I happened to write this commentary on the Talmud is through my life.”

During her years studying the Talmud, Kurshan, a rabbi’s daughter from Long Island, N.Y., came to discover the terminology to understand her own daily experiences. “Talmud speaks to the human dimension of experience and, in many ways, that does not change,” she said. According to Kurshan, you cannot divorce the human experience from one’s own experience. “Just as the Talmud is a commentary on life, my life became a commentary on Talmud.”

On April 20, Dr. Benjamin Gampel, the Dina and Eli Field Family Chair in Jewish History at the Jewish Theological Seminary, will speak on the topic Riots, Inquisitions and Expulsions, and the Emergence of the Sephardic Diaspora. Gempel is a specialist in medieval and early modern Jewish history.

The series ends with Yuri Vedenyapin from McGill University, whose topic is The Adventures of a Yiddish Teacher. An actor and a singer-songwriter, his areas of academic interest include Yiddish language and culture.

All BI Scholars Zooms start at 7:30 p.m. To register, visit bethisraelvan.ca/happenings/adult-programs/bischolars.

Canadian Jewish art?

Does Canada have Jewish art? What defines Jewish art? University of Calgary art professor Jennifer Eiserman will address those questions on March 7, at 11am. The Zoom event is the fifth in Kolot Mayim Reform Temple’s 2020-21 Building Bridges lecture series.

photo - Prof. Jennifer Eiserman — Prof. Jennifer Eiserman *(photo from art.ucalgary.ca)*

With a wealth of visual support, Eiserman will introduce the rich esthetic traditions that inform contemporary Jewish art in Canada. The artists to be discussed include Sorel Etrog and his contribution to Canadian Modernism, the figurative work of printmaker Betty Goodwin, and the Jewish fantastical creatures of sculptor David Altmedj, who represented Canada at the Venice Biennale in 2007. Sylvia Safdie’s video installations of flowing water, sand, light and sound advance the traditional concerns of Canadian art with landscape and nature more commonly associated with the Group of Seven.

Growing up in Montreal, Eiserman experienced firsthand the national influence that the Saidye Bronfman Centre had in disseminating Canadian Jewish art. She spent her childhood in Montreal and her adolescence in Alberta’s Cypress Hills. She did her bachelor’s (art history) and master’s (education through the arts) at McGill University in Montreal, and a bachelor of fine arts (visual art) at the University of Regina. Her PhD, one of the first ever to use studio art as its method of inquiry, is from the University of Calgary, where she is now associate professor in the department of art. Her current research is in North American contemporary Jewish art and community-based Jewish art.

Eiserman is also a successful practising artist. She uses mixed media, crochet, watercolour painting, installation and public art projects to explore issues related to Jewish theology, philosophy and identity. Eiserman explains that her work is “what I call ‘visual midrash,’ my artistic response to sacred Jewish texts.”

For more information on and to register for Eiserman’s talk, visit kolotmayimreformtemple.com. For coverage of the Jan. 3 lecture of the Building Bridges series, click here.