Judaism – Page 28

IHRA definition a vital tool

Synagogues damaged. Community centres defaced. Children bullied. Threats of violence online. Hate targeting Jewish Canadians is growing. When it comes to hate crime, the Jewish community is the most frequently targeted group. According to Statistics Canada, an anti-Jewish hate crime occurs, on average, once every 24 hours.

We in British Columbia are not immune. The Vancouver Police Department reports that, in 2018, there were 141 hate crimes, of which Jews were the most targeted.

This rising threat is either unseen or misunderstood by most Canadians, which is why the International Holocaust Remembrance Alliance (IHRA) definition of antisemitism is so important. It can empower our political leaders, judges, educators, and others to recognize and address rising antisemitism. After all, if you cannot identify the problem, you will not solve it.

Grounded in decades of research by experts in Holocaust remembrance, antisemitism and Holocaust denial, IHRA, an international group comprising 34 member countries, including Canada, adopted – by consensus – a working definition of antisemitism.

The definition includes 11 illustrative examples that help Canadians understand the evolving nature of antisemitism. In all, the IHRA definition is a vital, non-legally binding instrument to combat antisemitism, one that provides flexibility, consistency and understanding of its many manifestations.

Since its publication in 2016, the IHRA definition has become the most widely supported definition of antisemitism for organizations and governments at home and abroad. It is an important instrument in the coordinated, consistent response to a grave international threat.

In Canada, support for the IHRA definition is widespread – backed by almost every Canadian Jewish organization, including the Canadian Rabbinic Caucus and rabbis and lay leaders of the Canadian Reform movement. The definition is a foundational part of the federal government’s national anti-racism strategy and is supported by the Canadian Human Rights Commission, the Canadian Race Relations Foundation, the Province of Ontario, and many municipalities.

Internationally, the definition has received extensive backing. From the European Union, to the United Nations Secretary General, to the Special Rapporteur on Freedom of Religion or Belief, to governments throughout the world, the IHRA definition of antisemitism is supported by leaders of every political stripe.

Notwithstanding the IHRA definition’s widespread recognition, there is a small but vocal cadre of detractors, unrepresentative of the Canadian Jewish community, who reject the IHRA definition, claiming it is a conspiracy to stifle criticism of the state of Israel. This contention is false.

The IHRA definition states explicitly that, “criticism of Israel similar to that leveled against any other country cannot be regarded as antisemitic.”

Here, the IHRA definition distinguishes between political expression on Israeli policies and hate targeting Israel as a Jewish collectivity. The IHRA definition describes manifestations of antisemitism, such as denying Jewish self-determination and characterizing Israel or Israelis with classic antisemitic images or symbols.

For nearly all Jewish Canadians, a connection with Israel is central to their Jewish identity. For 86% of Jewish Canadians, caring about Israel is an essential or important part of being Jewish, according to the 2018 Study of Jews in Canada. This link cannot be ignored or denied, nor can the link between anti-Zionism and antisemitism. Those denying the Jewish right to self-determination are, in essence, rejecting the heart of Jewish identity: peoplehood – a right to control our own destiny.

This tiny group of detractors also criticizes the IHRA definition as too vague. The IHRA definition is not a checklist. Context is critical. The real world is rarely black and white. When read together with the 11 examples, the IHRA definition provides a nuanced understanding that allows the specifics of a situation to be duly considered.

This unrepresentative faction goes on to assert that “real” antisemitism is rooted exclusively in white supremacy. This one-sided, dangerously narrow view erases Jewish experience, history and identity. While antisemitism is undoubtedly a prominent feature of white supremacy, antisemitism is not confined to any single position on the political spectrum. There is as much antisemitism on the extreme left as on the extreme right.

Antisemitism is not limited to a place, a time, or a specific political ideology. That is precisely one of the reasons that the IHRA definition is important. It is a tool to identify antisemitism wherever it may root, breaking through the subterfuge and identifying antisemitism in a thoughtful and context-specific manner, so that we can stand together as a society against antisemitism, building a better tomorrow.

Visit cija.ca/ihra to learn more about the IHRA definition of antisemitism and how you can get involved.

Geoffrey Druker chairs the Centre for Israel and Jewish Affairs (CIJA) Pacific Region Local Partnership Council. CIJA is the advocacy agent of the Jewish Federations of Canada, including the Jewish Federation of Greater Vancouver. CIJA is a national, non-partisan, nonprofit organization dedicated to protecting Jewish life in Canada through advocacy. It represents hundreds of thousands of Jewish Canadians affiliated with Jewish federations across Canada.

Can we learn from COVID?

Spring and the holiday of Passover are all about renewal and hope. This year, as our elders begin receiving the coronavirus vaccines and our economy appears to be recovering from the most critical disruption in living memory, things seem promising. We anticipate fleeing our bondage of social isolation and being transported to a land, if not of milk and honey, at least to a place of mixing and hugging.

We have (hopefully) learned a great deal. There have been many opportunities to benefit from the disruption in our lives. At the individual level, we may have learned new skills or crafts – like cross stitch or baking sourdough! – or used the time to study new fields or languages. On the collective level, we have learned that the entire world, regardless of governance, religion, language and every other difference, could mobilize (albeit not equally well) to respond to a crisis.

We also learned that, when necessary, many governments and societies could rise to the occasion (again, with different levels of competence) to save lives. Billions of dollars were “found” to save potentially devastated economies and support businesses and households. Scientists and medical professionals cooperated across boundaries to search for vaccines and to care for the ill. Ordinary people – not just first responders and others in the direct line of care but grocery clerks and those who provide services previously taken for granted – became heroes of the moment.

As the months dragged on, divisions emerged. People and their governments sometimes differed on the best responses, or any response at all. A cohort emerged questioning everything, from the best ways to stop the spread of the virus to the very existence of the virus that has infected more than 100 million and killed more than 2.5 million.

As we hopefully approach the beginning of the end of this extraordinary era, let us remember its beginning – not the fear of the unknown that engulfed us, but the unity the world seemed to exhibit in coming together to confront a danger that knows no borders.

Imagine the challenges we might be able to face and resolve if we could mobilize the world the way we did in those earliest moments of the pandemic. Can we come together to finally confront the climate emergency, which could be every bit as fatal as an unchecked virus if not addressed? Can we unite to overcome racial divisions and inequality? Can we even marginally close the chasm between richest and poorest in Canada and across the planet?

The incredible hurdle that was thrown across our civilization’s path a year ago showed our capacity for coming together when the stakes were high enough.

There are a lot of areas where the stakes are high. Can we take the lessons we’ve learned over the past 12 months and apply them there?

Judaism and addiction

When we think of Pesach, the theme that emerges is: “We were slaves of Pharaoh in Egypt, but the Lord brought us out of Egypt with a mighty hand.” As slaves, we endured years of torture and hardship, with no choice but to obey the edicts of the Pharaoh. In essence, we were powerless. Those addicted to either drugs, alcohol or a behaviour (think gaming, gambling) are slaves as well. They are chained to a disease that has control over their lives – their brain has been kidnapped into thinking “this is what I need to live, to survive.” They no longer have freedom. Often, the notion that they can break free is beyond what they can envision.

When the Jews left Egypt, their days in the desert were a struggle. Some wondered why they left what they knew for the unknown. Yet, here they were. With manna for food, a cloud for protection, they wandered for 40 years: a long, hard journey to learn how to live with their new-found freedom.

When someone initially breaks the chains of addiction, the struggles they face are no less daunting. There is fear, a sense of loss; a feeling of, will this work? Can I be successful? Will I be better off? In essence, they can feel like they are in a desert.

To assist individuals in the precarious time of new-found freedom, JACS Vancouver has launched the Sustaining Recovery program: a wrap-around service that supports clients with individual counseling, assessment and program planning.

Working with our client, we together build and implement a personalized set of supports and tools that focus on where they are in their journey, and what specific supports they need. When the opportunity arises, we help them focus on identifying the forces, triggers and/or messages that are beneath the surface of their addiction. They learn how to make different choices, where to go for help and how to recognize that life is better, health is possible.

The path to freedom, as our ancestors found out, was not easy – nor is it for those wanting to sustain recovery from addiction. With personal willingness and commitment, and solid and constant support, success and a purposeful life is within reach.

Shelley Karrel is a registered clinical counselor, and is manager of counseling and community education at JACS Vancouver. For more information about JACS, contact shelley@jacsvancouver.com.

Change can be a good thing

One of my twins is always looking for something new to learn online. For awhile, he was fascinated by a Massachusetts service dog project, where Great Danes are trained to provide support to those with balance and mobility impediments. He found this amazing service dog program through the website explore.org. It has live cams of animals all over the world. While we’re not traveling anywhere, my kid is bird watching, seeing service dogs, polar bears, and more. When we least expect it, he rushes up with his iPad and demands that I admire a nesting owl, or that his biologist dad identify an animal he’s never seen before.

This kind of intellectual curiosity is something I’m excited to see. Open-ended questioning about the world and how it works is a special kind of Jewish exploration. This intensity and enthusiasm is how we delve into studying Torah and Talmud, or how we engage with the world in general.

Passover is an obvious time to think about questions and how we approach and answer them. Our families have been telling the Exodus and “Once we were slaves and now we are free” story for thousands of years! Still, our questioning can’t just stick to the Four Questions and be done. Sometimes, even with good intentions, we get hung up on the rote narrative of the seder. We know we have to get through it. We start at the beginning and head to the end. It’s a yearly ritual routine, punctuated by matzah, lots of other foods, wine, and, in normal times, family and guests.

When we were first married, I once attended a smaller seder with some of my husband’s family. I was excited and nervous to engage over the Haggadah’s ideas – but it didn’t turn out as I expected. The family was committed to getting through the ritual traditionally and to the food part. They looked uncomfortable when I tried to talk about ideas or ask questions. In retrospect, I realized I knocked them off their game. There was a seder routine – and I wasn’t following theirs.

My other twin is also learning. He’s not into the animal live cams. Instead, he comes up with questions about school projects. He brainstorms and makes suggestions, even when they’re not welcome. The remote learning teacher suggested he limit his research on one social studies project to their “class time” online rather than do more research later.

Of course, the minute he logs off, I help him look up his questions and learn – whenever he wants. His teacher maybe wants to slow down the group learning, or avoid making more social studies lesson plans, but feeding intense curiosity with knowledge helps enthusiastic learners blossom. In my experience, putting somebody off when they want to learn more feels negative and does the opposite.

For many people, the pandemic has knocked them off their game. Losing regular routines may have felt negative. As people anticipate getting vaccinated, they talk more about which things they miss the most and long to do when things return to “normal.” For another view, I recently read a CBC news article that quoted David Eagleman, a neuroscientist.

Eagleman suggested that, in fact, the pandemic might be good for people’s brains, because the huge lifestyle changes we’ve experienced have forced us off our “path of least resistance.” We’ve been forced to be more flexible and innovate. This can be positive for our brain health. In some cases, forcing our brains to adapt may result in positive growth and changes in our work or home lives.

In a Jewish context though, when we consider our ritual routines, we must balance the comfort of what’s familiar with the opportunity to learn. Questioning and continuing to grow intellectually are valuable, particularly during Passover.

In the talmudic tractate of Pesachim, on page 105a, there’s a discussion about when to say certain blessings such as the Kiddush. Should we interrupt a meal in the middle to do Kiddush? Rav Hamnuna the Elder says, “You don’t need to do this, because Shabbat establishes itself.” In other words, our holidays, like Shabbat or Pesach, will happen whether we are ready or not. We must automatically rise to the obligations associated with them. So, yes, we do a lot of things by rote and habit.

Even so, the next page, Pesachim 106, teaches that there are times where leaders must do things extemporaneously, or work to learn more to figure out what to do. A good leader both continues with the routines and remains able to ask questions, be flexible and learn.

It’s too early for me to conclude whether our freeform research online this year has helped my twins become lifelong learners. (I hope so!) I don’t know if observing animals via live cam will result in a career like field biologist or even a hobby like bird-watching. Whatever they choose, creating a routine-based learning environment that encourages and cultivates questioning, improvisational thinking and flexibility may go a long way towards helping them succeed later on.

It’s true, as Rav Hamnuna the Elder explains, that holidays happen whether or not we’re ready for them. As Rabbi Sari Laufer explains on My Jewish Learning’s explanation of Pesachim 105, “Kiddush doesn’t make Shabbat begin, we make Kiddush because Shabbat has begun.” Yet, once our holidays begin, it’s our obligation to engage with them, to learn and to question.

“Due to the pandemic” is a phrase we’ve heard too often, usually in relation to cancelations or programs offered exclusively online. Perhaps we might add a positive “due to the pandemic” twist. We’re forced to be more flexible thinkers in our ritual routines, too. We can question why we always did them this way. In the end, we might be all the better for that brain jostling and chance for intellectual inquiry.

My family and I wish you a wonderful, thoughtful, questioning Passover, full of joy this year, however different it may be from your usual routines. Chag sameach.

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.

Spreading joy on Purim

In the kitchen, left to right, are Stacey Kettleman, Leah Reghatti, Francie Steen, Deborah and David Freedman, Shelley Ail and Linda Rothberg. (photo from Beth Tikvah)

This Purim, Beth Tikvah Congregation packaged more than 240 holiday bundles, delivering one to every member household – spreading not only joy, but raising funds for the synagogue’s preschool and Hebrew school.

“As we enter the month of Adar, our tradition teaches, we must increase joy,” explained Rabbi Susie Tendler, the congregation’s spiritual leader. “The talmudic statement (Ta’anit 29a) is not specific about whose joy we are increasing, rather that it is incumbent upon us to spread joy and cheer, brightening these dark days. Communities around the globe have certainly been wrestling with how to deepen connections and spread joy this past year. Beth Tikvah decided to take the wisdom of our tradition and do so through festive and colourful mishloach manot, Purim packages, that went to every member family living in British Columbia.”

photo - More than 1,000 hamantashen were baked and more than 240 mishloach manot delivered — More than 1,000 hamantashen were baked and more than 240 mishloach manot delivered. *(photo from Beth Tikvah)*

The effort was multigenerational. There were the volunteers in the kitchen, who made more than 1,000 hamantashen. B’nai mitzvah families and the congregation’s youth groups (USY and Kadima) helped assemble the packages. There were the volunteers who counted, sorted and put the finishing touches on the packages, and those who picked up and delivered the packages all over Richmond and Vancouver. And, of course, the whole endeavour would not have been possible without those who funded it.

photo - More than 240 mishloach manot were delivered — The finished packages. *(photo from Beth Tikvah)*

In addition to all the congregants who ordered the mishloach manot and volunteered in various ways, Isha L’Isha was a sponsor of the initiative, Leanne Hazon supported the program “relentlessly during all hours of the day,” Alon Sabi designed the ordering system, and BT program manager Yvette Sabi created the boxes.

“For me,” said Tendler, “particularly during COVID, the opportunity to hang a bundle from someone’s door, ring the bell, and then step back three metres or so, and wish someone a happy holiday personally was splendid. However, the joy did not stop there. We received an outpouring of communications from people testifying to the joy and surprise felt from these packages which, in turn, deepened the joy felt by all of the volunteers. It is true, sometimes the little things bring the biggest smiles, and one smile significantly sparks another smile.

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.

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.