Judaism – Page 34

NFB offers 4,000 titles

The National Film Board of Canada (nfb.ca) offers a selection of some 4,000 short and feature-length films, whether you’re looking for animation, documentary or fiction. Explore the Cartoons for Kids section for the latest releases.

The Jewish Independent has reviewed several NFB films over the years, which have been made by Jewish community members, such as Ryan Sidhoo’s docuseries (now feature film) True North, which looks at the youth basketball scene in Toronto, and David Fine and Alison Snowden’s animated short Animal Therapy, which explores some of the pros and cons of following our natural instincts versus doing what is socially acceptable. There are also films on Jewish people or subjects, such as the documentary Ladies and Gentlemen … Mr. Leonard Cohen and the animated short My Yiddish Papi by Éléonore Goldberg.

Enjoy searching the many choices available from the NFB, Jewish-related or not. Recently added titles include Where the Land Ends, a documentary feature by Loïc Darses, about the places that created Quebec, exploring the historical narrative, as a group of young people who were not old enough to vote in the 1995 referendum express their views; Ice Breakers, a documentary short by Sandi Rankaduwa on the Black athletes who helped pioneer modern hockey, through the story of Josh Crooks, an African-Canadian player; and The Great List of Everything, an animated webseries by comic book artists Cathon and Iris Boudreau, as well as Francis Papillon.

New films are being added to nfb.ca all the time, and they’re always free to view.

Importance of this tradition thing

Passover traditions like the seder connect family and friends, and remind us who we are. (photo from flickr.com)

“I know I read an article somewhere that the greatest number of suicides happen on holidays,” Naomi said to her mother.

Rebecca ignored her. “Just keep lining the shelves.”

“But it makes sense, truly it does. Why are we taking this perfectly clean kitchen apart and practically rebuilding it? Does it say anywhere in the Bible that you go straight to hell if you don’t drop with exhaustion the week before Pesach?”

“This is the way my mother did it, and her mother did it, and one day you’ll do it for your kids, too.”

“You’re kidding yourself. If you think I’d ever inflict all this work on my daughter, you’re crazy. And why doesn’t Joe have to help?”

“He will. He’ll kosher the stove and the sinks.”

“And that’s another thing. Two minutes with a blowtorch and then he’ll pour a kettle of water. Big deal. And Dad doesn’t even do that.”

“He conducts the seder.”

“Another big deal. We take the place apart, vacuum chairs and wash curtains and change over dishes, not to mention 40 kilos of kneidl and all that stuff that gives you indigestion. What am I saying, indigestion? All those eggs – you’re probably giving us a gift of coronary heart disease. Jesus!”

“Naomi, stop it.”

“I’m sick of it. I want to escape like Faye.”

Rebecca’s lips tightened. “Fagie’s coming to the seder, too.”

But Naomi was not to be sidetracked. “Fagie, what a name! No wonder she rebelled. Naomi and Joseph, they’re bad enough. But Fagie, what were you thinking of?”

“It’s a good Jewish name. I was thinking of my grandmother. If you and your sister could have known her, you’d understand. The least I could do was keep her name alive.”

The spotless refrigerator was being polished within an inch of its life. Naomi sat down and watched her mother.

“I thought Passover celebrated freedom from slavery. But every year, you become a slave and you make me one, too. If you think you’re giving me wonderful memories, forget it. As soon as I can leave home, I will. Faye told me the best thing about marriage was being able to run her house like the 20th century. Now we’re in the 21st, for chrissake.”

“I hate it when you talk like that.”

“Like what?”

“So tough. All those profanities. What happened to femininity?” she asked her daughter sadly.

“Feminism came along, only you’ve never heard of it. Dad and Joe get out of everything ’cos they’re men. You’re the biggest chauvinist ever, because you not only condone this status quo, you actually perpetuate it.”

Rebecca sighed. “You don’t understand. Neither does Fagie.”

“You bet we don’t. Here, I’ve lined the last bloody shelf. I’m going out.”

“Where?”

“Out, as in O-U-T.”

“When will you be back?”

“If I had my way, it’d be around May or June – after Pesach.” She slammed the door. Rebecca heard the car start up. Her eyes filled with tears. She was exhausted. “This is gratitude,” she thought bitterly. “Here’s Naomi, barely 18, with her own car. We were married six years before we had one.”

Fagie started her marriage with all the things that she and Sam still don’t have after 27 years. And look how she is bringing up Brendan. Brendan! What sort of name is that? No wonder Fagie and Joel hadn’t wanted to give him a brit. If she and Sam hadn’t insisted, their grandson wouldn’t even have had that. They’d treated his Hebrew name, Baruch, as some sort of joke. Well, maybe in their circles it sounded strange. But at least among the family…. Everything with Fagie was a war. If she bought the child a kippah, Fagie would get upset. If she wouldn’t eat in her daughter’s treif house, it meant another argument. What did you have children for?

She heard loud music from upstairs. The Grateful Dead. No wonder they were grateful – they can’t hear the cacophony, she surmised.

When the key turned in the lock, she didn’t have the strength even to go and say hello to Sam. He wandered into the kitchen. “It looks beautiful,” he said, patting her shoulder and taking in the sparkling clean room.

“To us, maybe.”

“What’s wrong? Fagie been getting to you?”

“Not just her. Naomi’s just as bad now.”

Sam sat down heavily. “I don’t understand it. We sent them to day school – forked out in a year more than our education cost in a lifetime. And what do they give back? Where’s Joe?”

“Can’t you hear? He’s studying. That’s his usual accompaniment.”

“Even so, he’s a good student. He’ll make us proud one day. He’s talking about medicine or law, maybe architecture….”

“We’re kidding ourselves, Sam. Even if we’re proud of him, he’ll be ashamed of us.”

“No, not Joe. Why do you say that?”

“Because we’re fighting a losing battle. The things that are important to us are hateful to them.”

Sam’s shoulders sagged. “Joe’s turning his back on our traditions, too?”

“Not yet. He’s only 14. But he will – give him a few years.”

Wearily, Rebecca made dinner. The three of them ate in near silence. Joe had a book next to his plate and didn’t seem to notice. He had already left for school next morning when Rebecca, Sam and Naomi sat down for breakfast. Naomi avoided her mother’s eyes. “I’m sorry about yesterday.”

“No, you’re not,” Rebecca answered, “you meant it.”

“I just wanted you to understand….”

“Oh, I understand. Your father and I made a decision last night. You tell her Sam.”

He cleared his throat. “Naomi, since Pesach is so distasteful to you, you can go and stay with your sister. Your mother and I are taking Joe and going away for the week. That kosher guest house in the mountains –”

“You mean no seder?”

“What for? For Fagie’s family, who barely tolerate it. For you, who finds it such a chore? You know what it says in the Zohar? It says a little hurt from kin is worse than a big hurt from a stranger. Who needs it?” He pushed his chair back abruptly and, a minute later, they heard the front door close.

Naomi pushed the food around on her plate. “I think you’re overreacting. We always have a seder.”

“We always used to have a seder. We’re not going to do it any more. I didn’t care about the work, the exhaustion, because I thought it meant something. If it doesn’t, there’s no point.”

“It meant something to you and Dad.”

“So, we’ll sit at someone else’s seder. Naomi, go to university. You’ll be late for class.”

An hour later, the telephone rang. “Mum, it’s Fagie.”

“Oh, it’s Fagie today. What happened to Faye?”

“Don’t be sarcastic Mum – it doesn’t suit you. Listen, are you home? Can I come round?”

“What for?”

“I need to talk to you.”

“I’m not babysitting if that’s what you want.”

“Brendan’s at play group. I just want to talk to you.”

“I don’t think there’s anything to talk about. But come if you want.”

Thirty minutes later, Fagie’s car drew up. Rebecca poured her a coffee and pushed it towards her.

“So?”

“It’s about the seder.”

“Naomi didn’t waste much time. What’s wrong? You don’t want your sister’s company for a week?”

“Please listen. It’s not right what you’re doing.”

“Not right? For whom?”

“For anyone. Dad will hate not conducting the seder.”

“He’ll survive.”

Fagie’s voice trembled. “Maybe we won’t.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know how to say this. It’s just….”

Rebecca remained silent, not attempting to help.

“It did mean something to us – me and Naomi – even Joel.”

“What did it mean?”

“It meant we were a family. It kind of bound us together. We need it. Brendan needs it. That once a year at least – to remind us who we are.”

“Who are you exactly? You can go and celebrate Easter. It’s all the same to you.”

Fagie’s voice trembled. “You’re making it hard for me. Mum, it’s true we don’t keep all the things you and Dad do. Most people don’t anymore.”

“And that makes it right?”

“Yes – no – I don’t know. It’s hard for us, to be different from our friends. But we need something. We need to know it’s there for us.”

“Not good enough. What happens when we go?”

“Maybe we’ll take it on then. When there’s no one else.”

“Why would you want to do that, if it’s not meaningful now?”

“For our children. I can’t explain. We can only give up these – traditions – because we know you still keep them. That they’re there for us to come back to. Sure, we ridicule them, but it’s like a family. We insult one another all the time because it’s easier than saying, ‘I love you and I need you.’ Do you understand me?”

Fagie was crying openly now. Rebecca didn’t trust herself to speak.

Three nights later, the candles were lit in the candelabra in Rebecca’s dining room, the flames casting shadows on the snowy white tablecloth. Sam sat at the head of the table and inspected the seder plate with its three matzot, the parsley, saltwater, horseradish, charoset, shank bone and roasted egg. He planned where to hide the afikoman, so that it would not be too hard for Brendan to find. Joe was filling the wine glasses, with the extra big one for the prophet Elijah, while Naomi handed out Haggadot. His grandson sat between Fagie and Joel, his face flushed with excitement. Sam’s eyes met his wife’s, which were moist with unshed tears, as were his.

“Baruch atah,” he began. “Blessed art Thou, O Lord our God, King of the Universe, who created the fruit of the vine.”

Dvora Waysman is a Jerusalem-based author. She has written 14 books, including The Pomegranate Pendant, which was made into a movie, and her latest novella, Searching for Sarah. She can be contacted at [email protected] or through her blog dvorawaysman.com.

Pesach: a tale of two stories

“The Crossing of the Red Sea” by Nicolas Poussin, 1634. (photo from wikimedia)

We are a people with many memories, many stories, and who we are has been shaped by the stories we remember and tell.

More than any other holiday, Pesach is about remembering and passing that memory down to the next generation. Every Jew is commanded to see themselves as if they came out of Egypt, and to tell their Egypt story to their children. The telling of this story is not mediated by teachers or rabbis, nor is it told in a communal framework. The setting of the seder is one of family and immediate friends, and the responsibility is upon every one of us to decide how we convey the story.

What makes this particularly challenging is that, beyond the complicated family dynamics, a Haggadah that is deeply problematic and different sensibilities with regard to what needs to be done, we have inherited two different stories. The challenge is not merely how to tell the story, but which story to tell.

One story, which dominates much of the Haggadah, not to speak of the story as told in the Torah, focuses on Pesach as a story of exodus, of the Jewish people being freed by God from the slavery of Egypt. “I am the Lord. I will free you from the labours of the Egyptians and deliver you from their bondage. I will redeem you with an outstretched arm and through extraordinary chastisements. And I will take you to be my people, and I will be your God.” (Exodus 6:6-7)

More than freedom and salvation, Pesach is a story of the election of the Jewish people, as God pours down God’s wrath on those who enslave the chosen ones and redeems us out of the hands of Egypt to be God’s chosen people. Each plague, told and magnified, is an expression of love, a gift of betrothal of God to us, an offering that bonds us to one another. “I the Lord am your God who brought you out of the land of Egypt, the house of bondage: you shall have no other gods besides me.” (Exodus 20:2-3)

One of the core consequences of this election narrative under Jewish law is the sanctioned discrimination between Jew and non-Jew, between the Children of Israel and the nations of the world. Because God saved us, all of us, from the slavery of Egypt, Jews are all equal, and no Jew can take another Jew as a slave. However, those who are not the recipients of the gift of exodus, the non-Jews, can become our slaves (Leviticus 25). When we go to war, even wars of aggression, the God who took us out of Egypt will always fight on our side, because the moment of election creates an us-them dichotomy in which God is always with us (Deuteronomy 20). Idolatry is neither false nor futile. It is the worship allotted by God to the non-elected. We, the chosen people, are alone commanded to worship God. The God who saved us in Egypt is our God alone (Deuteronomy 4).

This tale of the story of Egypt finds its culmination in our traditional Haggadah, in which one of its concluding prayers is a petition to God to “Pour out your wrath on the nations that do not know you…. Pursue them with anger and destroy them from beneath the heavens of the Lord.”

There is a second story of Pesach, a story in which neither the exodus nor its accompanying plagues takes central stage, but rather the hundreds of years of our subjugation in Egypt. It is to this memory that the core symbols of the holiday – matzah, the poor person’s bread, charoset, the paste that resembles mortar, and maror, the bitter herb, which cause us to relive the experience of pain – all direct us.

It is this memory that shapes the most-repeated commandment in the Torah: “The stranger who resides with you shall be to you as one of your citizens: you shall love him as yourself, for you were strangers in the Land of Egypt.” (Leviticus 19) The story of Egypt is not one of us-them, but of us being them, of us being members of the community of the downtrodden, and the subsequent obligation to treat all who are in need, Jew and non-Jew alike, as equal members of our society.

In an interesting twist on this story, the Ten Commandments obligate us to rest on the Sabbath, “so that your male and female slave may rest as you do. Remember that you were a slave in the Land of Egypt, and the Lord your God freed you from there with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm: therefore, the Lord your God has commanded you to observe the Sabbath day.” (Deuteronomy 5)

It is not merely that because we once were slaves we are bonded to all those in need. The redemption from Egypt is no longer exclusively the moment of election of us, but rather an expression of God’s care and compassion for all who are enslaved. Both our slavery and our salvation unite us with God, in a common mission to bring freedom and equality to our world.

It is with this idea that we begin to tell the story of Egypt in the traditional Haggadah. “This is the bread of affliction that our forefathers ate in the Land of Egypt. All who are hungry let them come and eat.” All, and not merely fellow Jews.

Pesach is a tale of two stories. Each has shaped who we are. As we tell our stories and pass them down to the next generation, it is our obligation to take responsibility for what will define us in the future and what will determine our religious and national identity. The choice is ours. As you tell the stories this year, choose wisely. Our future and the future of Israel depend on it.

Rabbi Dr. Donniel Hartman is president of the Shalom Hartman Institute and author of the 2016 book Putting God Second: How to Save Religion from Itself. Articles by Hartman and other institute scholars can be found at shalomhartman.org.

Jewish Stockholm visit

Stockholm’s neighbourhoods are pristinely preserved. This photo was taken last summer. (photo by Ella Kaplun)

Summer days in Stockholm seem never ending. The sun refuses to set until around 10 p.m., leaving a romantic glow upon the city for the evening hours. It is a city made up of a string of 14 islands, most interconnected by bridges; the blue of the water and the green of the land fit together like irregular shaped pieces of a giant jigsaw puzzle.

Stockholm has a unique landscape, with barely any high-rise buildings, except for church spires that pierce the otherwise almost-unobstructed skyline. Since Sweden was neutral during the Second World War, Stockholm was not touched by the war and its old neighbourhoods are pristinely preserved, and feature low buildings in different shades of pastel, inspired by many varied styles of architecture, especially in the Old Town, Gamla Stan.

To get around the city conveniently, a Stockholm Pass, which can be purchased in advance (stockhompass.com), enabled us to hop on and off buses, visit museums and take the always enjoyable ferry rides. But, besides touring, my granddaughter and I also explored Stockholm’s Jewish life here, with its deep-rooted history. Although Sweden has the largest population of Jews in the Scandinavian countries – an estimated 20,000 thousand, 4,500 of whom live in Stockholm – they have a minuscule number compared to other European countries.

To learn more about Stockholm’s Jewish past, we took a three-hour walking tour with knowledgeable guide David Kay from Milk and Honey Tours. We started at our hotel, the Diplomat, a turn-of-the-20th-century Art Nouveau building overlooking Nybroviken Bay. We walked along the waterfront toward the Gamla Stan, where Jews were first officially allowed to settle in Sweden. Ferryboats lined the docks and, last summer, in the many bars and restaurants, including many vegetarian ones, people were relaxing after work, meeting friends and taking in the summer sun.

We crossed a bridge to Gamla Stan, a harbour town built on a hill, with the Royal Palace on top. As we were winding our way up narrow, cobbled streets, passing eye-catching storefronts, our guide told us the story of David Isaac. In 1774, the wealthy gem merchant and seal engraver was invited to settle in Stockholm by Gustav III, to help finance his military expeditions. Unlike Jews who came to Sweden before him and accepted conversion for the privilege of staying, Isaac made it a condition for coming that he be allowed to practise as a Jew. He also insisted that he bring with him other Jewish families so a congregation could be formed.

Our guide then pointed out the middle storey of a three-storey apartment house where the first synagogue in Sweden had been housed. This building, just off the island’s main square, where the Nobel Museum is located, was recently purchased by the Jewish community to be converted into a Jewish museum.

Our tour ended by crossing to another island to see the Great Synagogue. Built in 1870 in a Moorish style, it is a testimony to the wealth and privilege Jews attained by that time and the tolerant attitude of their adopted country. It is now a Conservative synagogue with a female rabbi.

photo - There are many ways of getting around Stockholm — There are many ways of getting around Stockholm. *(photo by Ella Kaplun)*

Jews have contributed, of course, to the cultural and economic life of Sweden. An elegant department store in the centre of Stockholm was established by the Saks family, who also owned Saks Fifth Avenue in New York. The renowned publishing house Bonnier, founded in 1804, is still important in the literary life of Sweden. The Stockholm Concert Hall was built by the textile merchant Isaac Hirsch and the City Hall was largely ﬁnanced by Jewish donors. Even though many of these older families are no longer Jewish, because of intermarriage and assimilation, they continue to support Jewish causes.

However, the climate for Jews has changed and Sweden is no exception to the rise of antisemitic incidents in Europe and in North America. There have been news reports of harassment, intimidation and attacks on Jews in Malmo, Gothenburg and other towns. In Sweden, antisemitism has found oxygen both among white supremacists on the far right and Israel-bashers on the far left.

Nevertheless, Jewish life goes on, albeit on a reduced scale. We spoke with a local high school senior, Eliot, who was involved in the Jewish youth organization in Sweden. He told us that, for him, as for many of his peers, Glamsta, the only overnight Jewish summer camp, was his most important experience in maintaining his Jewish identity. Located in Stockholm’s picturesque archipelago, this small camp attracts children from all over the country. “This was the ﬁrst time I was involved with Shabbat rituals,” Eliot said, “and it made me proud to be Jewish. In this camp you also become part of a close-knit community of young Jews.”

Another important institution that helps to keep the community together is the Bajit (House), a Jewish cultural community centre, built in 2016. It houses the Hillel school, the only Jewish day school in Sweden, with 360 students in classes from kindergarten to sixth grade, and it also sponsors many cultural events. Like all schools in Sweden, including universities, this one is also tuition free.

Although most Swedish Jews hesitate to show any identiﬁable sign of their religion, the Chabad rabbi of Stockholm walks around with a kippah. Chabad is located on the island of Sodermalm, formerly a working-class neighbourhood that has been gentriﬁed into a kind of Soho, with vintage and antique shops, art galleries and ethnic restaurants. Chabad holds an Orthodox minyan, hosts Shabbat and holiday meals, houses a kindergarten and is a gathering place for youngsters. Chabad also offers bar/bat mitzvah lessons and Jewish studies, and caters to tourists by delivering kosher meals to their hotels.

Stockholm’s Great Synagogue is not only an historical landmark, like in many other places in Europe, but also a functioning one. One Shabbat morning during our stay we witnessed a double bat mitzvah. One of the celebrants was a local girl, the other from New York, who chose to celebrate this important occasion in Stockholm because she and her family are active in Paideia, a Sweden-based organization dedicated to the revival of Jewish culture in Europe. Both girls read from the Torah, their young voices ringing out in this soaring historical interior, which can easily seat 900 people. On that Shabbat, fewer than 100 attended, but these young voices were the hope for the continuation of Swedish Jewish life.

Erika Leviant has written travel pieces for newspapers and magazines in the United States and Canada. Her granddaughter, Ella Kaplun, is an English major at New York University.

A virtual community

With COVID-19, we now must connect online.

As the world continues to grapple with the coronavirus (COVID-19) pandemic, Jewish organizations across Metro Vancouver are finding new ways to connect with the public.

Last week, schools and most businesses and places of worship closed their doors to support the provincial government’s directives for new social-distancing policies. For everyone, this change has required the adoption of different ways to address daily needs, like shopping, study and religious practice. It has put increased demand on organizations and businesses to think out of the box when it comes to staying in touch with and supporting their membership, clients and connections. Here’s some of what the community is doing.

New lesson plans

Schools have shifted their classes to online attendance and are creating lesson plans that allow students to study virtually and independently. Some schools, like Richmond Jewish Day School, have sent out private communications to parents, outlining class schedules and continued services. Others are using their websites or other online services to keep families apprised and facilitate the learning curve that students, parents and teachers will inevitably face using the technology.

Students at Vancouver Talmud Torah will have independent study periods and be able to use social media to connect with their teachers and peers. The school is using Google Classroom for study plans and assignments and its website notes that students who are experiencing problems, need to discuss study plans or want to connect with other class members will be able to do so during the teacher’s virtual office hour each day. For families that don’t have a computer available, the school says students will be able to sign out a laptop to use at home (one laptop per family, as inventory is limited).

King David High School’s new multimedia program launched a week ago, and it uses Zoom video services, Moodle and Google Classroom to connect with at-home students. According to KDHS’s website, the school is doing its best to keep schedules and study periods the same as they were prior to the shutdown. It is using classes prior to Passover break (April 3) to test and refine the online structure.

Shalhevet Girls High School is also working hard to keep schedules standardized and reflective of the lesson plans it offers, and students can still connect with one another during the “lunch and shmooze” hour.

Take-out and online

On March 21, the City of Vancouver ordered all in-house restaurant service to cease. Restaurants that provide take-out and delivery services have been permitted to remain open.

Many of Vancouver’s kosher restaurants already provide take-out or delivery services to the public. Omnitsky Kosher, Nava Creative Kosher Cuisine and Maple Grill have enhanced their takeaway and catering services. Some provide service through the DoorDash online app or Uber. Most are urging customers to order with sufficient advance notice.

A staff person at Maple Grill said that ordering ahead is necessary for very large orders, “but we always have take-out between 4 and 8 p.m. for smaller orders.” Patrons should keep in mind that seating – even while waiting for orders – will be closed in all restaurants during this time.

Nava, which has a take-out restaurant at the Jewish Community Centre of Greater, has requested 24-to-48-hour notice on all orders. According to Susie Siegel, although the JCCGV is currently closed, customers can pick up orders by calling or emailing their order ahead of time. Sabra Kosher Bakery also will be open for take-out and larger Passover orders.

Other restaurants that have relied largely on their in-house service have found it challenging to meet the requirements of the city’s precautionary ban. Café FortyOne has announced that it has “made the difficult decision to temporarily close to protect the health and safety of customers and staff.”

Restaurants – including non-kosher establishments like Market Meats – are also accepting orders for Passover and most have cut-off dates for orders. While many kosher restaurants are scheduled to close on April 8 for the week of Passover, customers may wish to call ahead to confirm deadlines for orders and take-out during the current shutdown.

Meanwhile, stores are also struggling. Buchan’s Kerrisdale Stationery on West 41st Avenue, which has a selection of Judaica, among many other items, is now offering delivery service. And Olive and Wild, on Main Street, which offers a variety of Judaica, Passover items, art and home décor items, is transitioning its services to better serve customers who aren’t able to shop in-person.

Simon Zaidel, who co-owns Olive and Wild with his wife Bella, admitted that the COVID-19 alert hasn’t been easy. The owners have added an online store to their website and Zaidel said patrons can either pick up their orders, have them delivered or, for those outside the Lower Mainland, request delivery by Canada Post. He added that the store is currently providing a discount to offset any delivery costs.

Safeguarding the vulnerable

Jewish Family Services, like many organizations, is shifting its services to meet increased at-home demands. Kassidy Taylor, JFS marketing and communications manager, said the organization realizes that the current health concerns are financially and logistically difficult for people of all ages. Its Emergency Care Campaign allows families and individuals to reach out for help with food, deliveries and other social support.

“It is for anyone who needs a meal or grocery delivery, counseling, emotional support or just a friendly phone visit,” Taylor said. “We are trying to support as many people as possible.”

Taylor added that, for many seniors and other individuals, having to stay at home has cut them off from food banks and various resources that don’t deliver. “We are just trying to fill in the gaps as we can,” she said of JFS’s focus.

Individuals needing assistance can contact JFS through its website or by calling the agency’s hotline, 604-558-5719. As well, the emergency care program is in need of volunteers, and those wishing to donate are welcome to contact JFS as well. “There is a lot of need right now,” Taylor said.

On another front, healthcare facilities have been taking successive steps to address the impacts of the COVID-19 outbreak. On March 17, Vancouver Coastal Health announced the closure of all adult day centres, such as the L’Chaim Adult Care Centre at the JCCGV, in an effort to protect seniors and healthcare workers from the virus. Care workers are monitoring participants by phone to ensure that medications, food and support are coordinated as necessary through VCH case managers. More information is available by logging onto the Lower Mainland Adult Care Centre Association’s website and clicking on the appropriate care centre’s link.

As of March 17, Vancouver Coastal Health also restricted visitors to Louis Brier Home and Hospital, Weinberg Residence and other care homes to “compassionate visits” that meet specific limited guidelines for continued care and end-of-life support. VCH stresses the rules are a precautionary measure to keep patients and staff protected.

Most of the community’s organizations have instituted changes to address social distancing and other limitations brought about by the outbreak. Links to each one and an overview of temporary changes are accessible through the Jewish Federation of Greater Vancouver’s website.

Virtual davening

Few Jewish organizations have been as impacted by the call for social distancing than Vancouver’s religious institutions, which have been faced with myriad challenges. Restrictions on attendance (at press time, it was limited to 50 people) and other issues have forced synagogues to rethink how best to both continue regular religious services and provide social and educational support to their members, many of whom are seniors and required to stay at home. It’s also forced organizations across Metro Vancouver to change programs and services for Passover. Most religious institutions have already canceled or transitioned upcoming holiday celebrations to Zoom online services.

On March 21, rabbis from Vancouver Lower Mainland institutions issued a joint statement to congregants outlining the synagogues’ new guidelines for attendance. Many of the congregations have transitioned to online religious services via Zoom video to ensure that their members can stay connected, supported and engaged in religious life.

Congregations Schara Tzedeck, Beth Israel, Temple Sholom and others are providing daily and/or weekly minyanim online, along with classes and “meetings” throughout the day.

Most congregations are also working to fill the gap when it comes to much-needed social interactions for teens and younger members. Synagogues have found ways to both address concerns about halachah and ensure that members struggling with the impact of isolation are supported.

Both Schara Tzedeck and Beth Israel issued new cemetery guidelines earlier this week, calling on members and guests to adhere to practices that help safeguard both the participants and others who may be at risk from exposure to the virus. Cemetery facilities are closed to the general public. Burials are, in most cases, limited to family members, with some allowances to ensure that there will be enough attendees for a minyan so mourners can say Kaddish, and unveilings have been canceled to April 30 at least. Congregants and those interested should contact the synagogues in charge for more information on the revised guidelines.

Helping those in need

Many Jewish organizations are also finding ways to help those most vulnerable get financial aid if needed. The Hebrew Free Loan Association has announced that it will lend up to $2,000 to individuals or families impacted by loss of a job or other economic problems stemming from the coronavirus outbreak. Organizations, like Or Shalom, for example, are accepting donations within its congregation to help those struggling from illness or loss of income.

***

For the most comprehensive list of community resources and organizations, visit jewishvancouver.com/covid-19-updates.

Jan Lee’s articles and blog posts have been published in B’nai B’rith Magazine, Voices of Conservative and Masorti Judaism, Times of Israel, as well as a number of business, environmental and travel publications. Her blog can be found at multiculturaljew.polestarpassages.com.

Voice thoughts, feelings

Yesterday, I cried in my car. You shouldn’t worry – I was parked at the time. I share this not for sympathy or even empathy. I share this because these are harrowing times, we all feel the tremendous weight of worry:

For ourselves, if we are relatively young, we know the vast majority of cases are mild to moderate, but some aren’t.

For our aged parents, if we still have them.

If we are older, we worry, as the danger increases with age, though, interesting to me, I have found among many of our elders a rationalism and calm that, if I wasn’t freaking out so much worrying about them, I would take comfort in.

For some, the worry is compounded, as they are beyond our reach in other cities or countries.

For our children, as normalcy evaporates. I told my children the other night, as we canceled plans for our son’s birthday party at the movies, that they will tell their own children how they survived the pandemic of 2020. And they will. The vast, vast majority of all of us, even the aged, will survive this. But we will be forever changed by it – I hope for the better.

For our city and country, as it attempts to “flatten the curve.” I long for the days when that phrase was most often rendered in my head as I looked in the mirror at my belly or hips.

I’d say that I worry for our world, as this pandemic is truly global, but the sweep of this virus is so vast that I can’t wrap my head around the whole world experiencing this crisis all at once.

If ever we needed a reminder that there are no true borders, that what happens here effects people over there and vice versa, this is an example.

Refugee crises. Climate change. Economic disparity. And, now, a pandemic. We are all connected.

There are no Chinese COVID-19 victims, or Italian or Israeli or Iranian or American or Canadian – there are just people living in different parts of the world all with the same fears, uncertainty, worries and prayers for healing. Just people, just human beings – there is nothing so different about any of us – except perhaps age, which is only a matter of time – that protects any of us more than the rest of us.

That’s why I cried in my car, and I share it with you because I learned from that cathartic cry that it is OK to be scared, it’s OK to cry. Not because I did it, and I don’t want to be the only one crying in my car, where the kids can’t see me, but because I felt a lot better after – and you might, too.

There was a cartoon that was being passed around on the internet, I guess we call that a meme. It was of a couple looking at their computer and the caption was, as the man turned to his wife over his shoulder, “That’s odd: My Facebook friends who were constitutional scholars just a month ago are now infectious disease experts….”

I thought it was funny.

I know very little about the science of all of this, though I am trying to keep up. British Columbia’s Dr. Bonnie Henry and Dr. Patty Daly and their teams are incredible in their competence and expertise, but I know almost nothing about science that is helpful here. But I do know a little bit about prayer.

What I would like to offer, what I think might be of help, is the power of prayer. Not to change God, not to change the course of this virus. Though this is a natural evil, I do not think it is punishment from God or within God’s control. My faith doesn’t work like that.

I want to suggest and teach for a moment the power of prayer not to change God, but to change each of us.

Sarah Hurwitz writes in her book Here All Along about the power of prayer. She describes a form of Chassid prayer called hitbodedut. The word, which sounds a bit like the last name of one of the former Democratic presidential candidates, refers to a practice of self-secluded Jewish meditation popularized by Rebbe Nachman of Breslov (1772-1810).

The practice, as he taught, is an unstructured, spontaneous and individualized form of prayer and meditation through which each individual establishes a close, personal relationship with God through a free-flowing monologue. Where some people go out into the woods and make a primal scream, Jews, at least Jews who are students of this practice, go out into the woods and kvetch.

Not only kvetch, but thank and question and plead and wonder and acknowledge. You unload your thoughts and angst without stopping to think or formulate them. You just talk to God. It’s a stream-of-consciousness practice that takes some practise, but, like the cry in my car, it can be incredibly cathartic and remarkably revealing of your inner thoughts and feelings.

It’s not unlike the famous Jewish folk story of the young uneducated shepherd who comes to the synagogue to pray. Not knowing the prayers of the established liturgy, he sits in the back row and sings the alphabet over and over again. (Maybe he was also washing his hands?) The men of the synagogue confront him: “Why do you disturb our prayers with your gibberish?”

The boy explains, “I don’t know the prayer. But I wish to thank God for my sheep and the stream, for the warmth of the sun and the silver moon that keeps me company when I sleep. I am singing the alphabet and surely God can put the letters in the correct order to make the prayers.”

In this worrying and frightening time, give voice, actual voice, to your thoughts and feelings, your fears and your anxieties. Not to change God, not to stop the virus, but to change yourself. To give you insight and courage, and patience and perspective, and confidence and hope, and calm and gratitude. In doing so, you might just find your prayers, not those in the siddur (prayerbook) but the prayers that are deep in your soul. Go out into the woods – they tell us the virus is not as communicable outside – and talk to God.

Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel taught: “Those who honestly search, those who yearn and fail, we did not presume to judge. Let them pray to be able to pray and, if they do not succeed, if they have no tears to shed, let them yearn for tears, let them try to discover their heart and let them take strength from the certainty that this, too, is a high form of prayer.”

Talk to God, cry to God, be silent with God, it’s all prayer, and it all helps. I know it is helping me; I pray that it will help you.

Rabbi Dan Moskovitz is senior rabbi at Temple Sholom and author of The Men’s Seder (MRJ Publishing). He is also chair of the Reform Rabbis of Canada. His writing and perspective on Judaism appear in major print and digital media internationally.

A tribute to my father

Was it really 17 years ago that my sweet, beloved father, Sidney Civkin, passed away? The long row of empty Yahrzeit candles in my closet confirms it. The date was March 13, 2003. Dad was 86 years old. It was indisputably the saddest day of my life.

If you have a good one, you’ll know that there is something unique about a father-daughter relationship. There are secrets and bonds that no mother-daughter relationship can come close to. Don’t ask me why, I just know it’s true.

It’s no secret that my sister Linda and I spent more time with our father in the last three years of his life than we had up until that point – and he was always a very present, involved father. He’d been suffering with end-stage renal failure and was on dialysis for those last few years. And we were his primary caregivers, since our mother was not well by that point.

Our dad often said that, ironically, those were the best years of his life – precisely because he got to spend so much time with Linda and me. He loved to just hang out with us. Whether we were sharing a meal, having a coffee at Granville Island, or sitting in the den shmoozing, he was all in. Flattering to think that he loved our company above everything else.

There was no one who didn’t have an opinion about our father. Some knew him as argumentative, loud and assertive. Others remember him as compassionate, caring and erudite. I knew him as all of those things, and loved him more for it. He was my secret-keeper, my biggest fan, my adoring, supportive father. If anyone has ever loved me unconditionally, it was him.

Dad adored his work (he was an ear, nose and throat surgeon); devoured books; loved to golf; loved to cook; and took great enjoyment in playing bridge with his buddies. But, most of all, he loved his family. And he had a quirky, magnificent sense of humour. He was playful, outspoken and hardworking. And he adored off-colour jokes.

Dad was born in Winnipeg (“the Old Country”) in 1916, served in the Canadian Army as a medical officer, then moved to Vancouver in 1949, determined to escape the brutal prairie winters. He set up his medical practice in New Westminster and, even though we lived in Vancouver, he continued to make the commute for the next 37-odd years. He loved the small-town feel of New Westminster, his working-class patients and his colleagues. He’d found his place as a well-respected doctor who spent his life helping others.

I’ll never forget the night Dad passed on. My life shattered, not just momentarily, but for a few years. I was 47 years old, single, and I’d just lost my best friend. I know that sounds odd, but our relationship was everything to me. I grieved as though I’d invented the concept. I felt like no one’s heart could be broken quite like mine. It wasn’t just an emotional pain. It was intensely physical for me. In the blink of an eye (it wasn’t really, because he had been sick for three years, but death never seems inevitable, even in the very second before it happens), my world splintered into a billion pieces. I was inconsolable.

My grief consumed me, at home and at work. The mere thought of my father set me to tears. It was like a floodgate had not merely opened, but exploded. Seventeen years later, I still think of my father regularly, but the tears are no longer a daily occurrence. Yet, I still can’t believe he’s no longer here with us, physically. He certainly is in spirit. They say that, when the soul leaves the body, it can still connect with loved ones, except it’s in a spiritual way. And we have lots of that. Naturally, I miss the physicality of giving my dad a hug and kiss. I miss looking at his smiling face. But we still connect mightily and often. I can feel his presence in my dreams and, when I see or hear particular things, I just know it’s my dad sending me a message. I know he’s always checking in on me, looking out for how I’m doing.

Grief is a funny thing. It ebbs and flows. It intrudes at the most inopportune times, and announces its presence with a deafening blast. It creeps into your consciousness when you least expect it, and always takes its sweet time getting comfortable. Grief never gets an invitation – it always just crashes the party. Grief never gets easier; it just gets different. The edges blur, the points soften, but the tangible sense of loss never goes away. Seventeen years later, at age 64, I still feel like an orphan.

There is much truth to the adage by Maya Angelou: “People will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.” My father always made me feel loved and supported. His pride in me was a source of great comfort. Naturally, there were times when he said or did things that angered or upset me, but they never eclipsed his unconditional love for me. I have always been sure of that.

If I had to distil my dad’s legacy into a nutshell, it would be this: be kind to people and help them when you can. Give graciously of your heart, and always try to do the right thing. It’s a tall order. But I’m up for the challenge. Thank you, Dad, for everything.

Shelley Civkin is a happily retired librarian and communications officer. For 17 years, she wrote a weekly book review column for the Richmond Review. She’s currently a freelance writer and volunteer, including with Chabad Richmond.

Be sure to wash your hands

Before bed each night, our kids practise their reading, both in Hebrew and in English. We have a routine where I knit and sit next to a kid, listening to him reading his Hebrew Grade 3 stories, and their dad does English with the other kid. Then we switch. Recently, I’ve heard two separate easy-reader versions of the story about Hillel and the mitzvah of cleanliness.

For those of you who might not be up on Grade 3 curriculum, Hillel was a great teacher of Torah. One day, he is rushing off and his students ask him, “Where are you going?” He answers, “To do a mitzvah!” And they say, “What is the mitzvah?” And he says, “Cleaning is a mitzvah!” as he heads to the bathhouse.

In one story, it points out that Hillel was also trying to show that, in general, keeping clean is important. We should clean our fruits and vegetables before eating, clean our bodies, clean our houses, etc. This is obviously a useful lesson for kids. It’s good to know that Hillel taught us to keep clean. (I’ll need to mention this next time I’m asking everyone to tidy up their toys and things!)

Even in the Torah, there are multiple reminders to wash. While this isn’t news for Jews, frequent washing isn’t every culture’s practice. During outbreaks of the Black Death in Europe, Jewish communities were often spared because of their insistence on cleanliness, while those around them were dirty and, therefore, more prone to catching this illness. This meant most Jews avoided the plague (Black Death), which was transmitted by rats and fleas. Unfortunately, this also led to situations in which the Jewish community was blamed for the illness, because why weren’t the Jews getting sick, when everyone else was? Through the lens of history, we know why – they washed and, therefore, had fewer fleas and rats around.

In the Torah portion Ki Tisa (Exodus 30:11-34:35), G-d tells Moses to construct a fancy washstand for Aaron and his sons in the Tent of Meeting. Essentially, being clean is part of doing holy work.

The weird thing about all this isn’t that our tradition spends a lot of time on how to properly wash and keep clean and, therefore, be ready for holy work. The weird thing is how often we forget to wash despite this information.

The outbreak of COVID-19 (the coronavirus) is a firm reminder of what we can do, every day, to stay well. We can wash our hands, with soap, with some frequency. You can recite the alphabet or the aleph-bet to be sure you’ve washed long enough. Washing well is not some mystical religious ritual. It’s essential to our health and well-being.

We can also practise social distancing, another tradition straight out of the Torah. Lepers had to stay outside the camp for several days, for example. This is not new information, folks! It was old news by the time the rabbis were creating our oral tradition, what became the Talmud.

The advice around a virus outbreak changes every day, so I cannot predict what officials will know or say when this article is published. However, disease outbreaks aren’t new. We’ve been wrestling with how to deal with them for as long as the Jewish people has been around. Considering things like skin diseases and leprosy as part of this, then, as mentioned, there’s information about how to deal with that going to the Torah.

One parallel that I can’t skip is – remember the golden calf? When Moses was getting the Ten Commandments, there was a mad rush to collect valuables and build the golden calf as a way to reassure the scared and frustrated Israelites. But it didn’t turn out so well. Acquiring wealth or idols didn’t help us avoid scary or frustrating things. We can’t know the future and alas, no amount of gold – or toilet paper – can keep us healthy.

The gold calf story reminds me of the reports of preppers, who are madly hoarding hand sanitizer, toilet paper, masks and other essentials. They are afraid, of course, but this illogical amount of acquisition causes shortages. It also gouges others by trying to resell these items at high prices. Of course, medical professionals haven’t advised anyone to do this hoarding – and Moses didn’t tell anyone to build a golden calf either.

We have to rely on the best medical advice we can get and do practical, everyday things to stay safe, like washing and social distancing.

I hope everybody stays healthy, but it would be wrong of me not to do my part in encouraging that. So? In the words of another famous character in our household, Ernie from Sesame Street, “Now everybody wash! Everybody – wash your hands!”

Some things just don’t change.

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.

A focus on the environment

Transportation and sustainability consultant Tanya Paz, centre, participates in Tu b’Shevat Circle: Teachings from the Earth, an event spearheaded by Or Shalom Synagogue in partnership with Jewish Family Services, JQT Vancouver and UNIT/PITT Society for Art and Critical Awareness. Or Shalom’s Rabbi Hannah Dresner is seated on the stool to Paz’s right. (photo by Matt Hanns Schroeter)

More than two dozen individuals whose work involves food security and climate change issues met on Feb. 9 for Tu b’Shevat Circle: Teachings from the Earth, an event spearheaded by Or Shalom Synagogue in partnership with Jewish Family Services, JQT Vancouver and UNIT/PITT Society for Art and Critical Awareness.

Those who gathered work or devote time to such organizations as Grandview Woodland Food Connection, Sustainabiliteens, Coquitlam Farmers Market and Extinction Rebellion. They came together to explore various topics, including how their Jewishness intersects with their work in secular organizations, envisioning a sustainable world and the Jewish community’s role in social justice.

“I noticed that so many of these organizations are spearheaded by young Jews and felt it important to create an opportunity for them to see one another and recognize this aspect of kinship in their work … and whether this commonality enhances the work, draws them into kinship or stimulates any collaboration,” said Or Shalom’s Rabbi Hannah Dresner.

Or Shalom brought on Carmel Tanaka to organize a gathering. Through meetings with young adults and stakeholder groups, Tanaka met a number of people whose careers relate to food security and social justice, but most weren’t working for Jewish organizations nor were they connected to one another within a Jewish context. She and Dresner agreed it was worth bringing them together to see what conversations would blossom.

Tanja Demajo, chief executive officer of Jewish Family Services, said JFS provided funding for the event because they believed in the value of the project.

“There are a lot of Jewish and young Jewish people who are interested in food security and questions of accessibility, which is very interesting from a perspective of … whether this work is modulated by [Jewish] values and how this translates to day-to-day practice,” she said. “At the end of the day, it didn’t really matter if the different participants were working in a Jewish or non-Jewish community.”

Some attendees revealed that, for them, being Jewish is secondary to their focus on environmental issues.

“The room was full of people who identify in varying degrees with their Jewishness and, for some, it’s an important aspect of their identity and, for others, it isn’t integral,” Tanaka said.

Dresner spoke to the indelible connection between environmental action and Judaism. “In my understanding of Judaism, saving our world is at the heart of what it means to have a Jewish spiritual life,” she said. “Creative energy, or the vitality of spirit, is always flowing toward us. It’s what I’d call the ‘world that’s always coming,’ or the ongoing nature of creation. We can encourage and aid this vitality, helping to direct it where most needed, or we can impede the flow. When we are selfish and impede creative flow, the result is a deprivation of generative spirit, spirit denied to corners of creation, and we see results like species blinking into extinction.”

The rabbi wants to spend more time with young Jews working in social justice. “The Judaism I believe in mandates their work as the highest mitzvah of our moment,” she said. “It’s a misconception born of the compartmentalized Judaism in which many of us were raised not to understand that attention to the environment is a Jewish priority.”

Aaron Robinson, chair of Grow Local Society Tri-Cities, a food security group that runs the Coquitlam Farmers Market, said his work for the organization won’t ever have a Jewish mandate, but his Judaism is tied into what he does. “Personally, I can never underestimate the role that Jewish values play in the way I see the world, especially when it comes to tikkun olam,” he said, adding, “I guess it’s become engrained in me, but it was nice to bring it back to the surface to see, wow, there is this Jewish connection to all this work that we’re doing.”

Robinson appreciated the opportunity to connect with other Jews working in similar fields and hopes the conversations will continue.

Some people discussed not feeling supported by the Jewish community to undertake the work they do within a Jewish context. Tanaka said she believes the Vancouver Jewish community hasn’t focused attention on these issues until recently, citing the 2019 climate march and protests as a galvanizing factor, and said it’s time for the local community “to support young Jewish adults who are doing this kind of work … because these are Jewish issues at the end of the day.”

Some at the event suggested funding for environmental advocacy was needed. Dresner said there was also a desire for bridge building. “They seem to be asking for an arm of organized Jewish community to create some occasional containers for their gathering, just to share within the hybrid of their niche or to explore potential collaborations,” she said. “Or Shalom will be looking at finding funding to continue holding this group and its outgrowth in a loose, nurturing embrace.”

Demajo said the JFS food security program has already benefited from the event. “Being exposed to more city-wide programs and initiatives and being exposed to all different voices gives a different perspective to JFS,” she said, “because it opens up new ideas.”

Shelley Stein-Wotten is a freelance journalist and comedy writer. She has won awards for her creative non-fiction and screenwriting and enjoys writing about the arts and environmental issues. She is based on Vancouver Island.

For Nanaimo-area kids

The first Camp Gan Israel in Nanaimo was last summer at the Shemtovs’ home, which doubles as the Chabad Nanaimo centre. (photos from Blumie Shemtov)

For the first time last summer, Blumie Shemtov offered a Jewish day camp for kids 5- to 10-years-old from her home in suburban Nanaimo, where she and her husband, Rabbi Bentzi Shemtov, operate Chabad Nanaimo and Central Vancouver Island. With no dedicated Jewish infrastructure in the city, families in the small and relatively disparate Jewish community are enthusiastic about the day camp.

A few years after Chabad Nanaimo started up, Blumie Shemtov met several families interested in having their young kids experience Jewish camp. She offered the five-day Camp Gan Israel in July 2019. Shemtov was struck by the sense of belonging that developed among the 10 children who attended, most of whom are the only Jews in their schools, she said.

“The idea was a week where children could be around other Jewish children and gain that sense of pride … and know that they are not the only ones” in the community who are Jewish, she told the Independent.

Jewish prayer, songs, culture and history were taught against a backdrop of recreational activities. Much of the day was spent in the Shemtovs’ backyard and large downstairs recreation room, but, to expand the activities, Shemtov and her counselors took campers on day trips to the beach, forested trails and even a trampoline gym.

She said, while some families attend holiday events throughout the year, the camp was the first immersive Jewish experience for many of the children.

“There’s something that’s holding everyone together,” she said. “The Jewish aspect that they don’t get regularly, I think, is an extra plus that makes people feel automatically closer together. Some people don’t feel the need [to be in Jewish community] until they have it.”

Research in recent years about the value of Jewish day camps has suggested they create long-term personal investment in Jewish community, much like overnight camp experiences, but have a lower barrier to entry financially and may have the ability to reach more children and families.

A 2018 report by Judith Samuels for the Foundation for Jewish Camp noted that day camps engage parents in the experience as well and allow “for a greater partnership between the camp and the camper’s parents surrounding the growth and skill-building that takes place at summer camp…. Unlike in overnight camp, day campers return home to their families each evening to share stories, songs and new learnings from their day.”

A companion report authored by Ramie Arian suggests why day camps might work so well in regions with no formal Jewish community space. It concludes, “Day camps can operate with much greater flexibility in the size and shape of their facility” than overnight camps.

Basha Bishop wanted her two daughters to attend the Nanaimo camp so that they would have more exposure to Jewish culture and history and “learn more about their heritage.” Both girls have grown up in Nanaimo and attend some events at Chabad throughout the year. While Bishop believes her daughters already had a strong sense of being Jewish, the camp was “important for them to have the exposure” to Judaism. At home, they talk about Jewish values and discuss Jewish-related topics, but, mainly, Bishop wants to teach her kids that “they have options available as their faith.”

“They’ve always adopted this idea of everything is kind of fluid – there’s no one way of doing anything,” she explained. “They can take what they need and feel like a part of community.” She said they will attend the camp again this summer.

Shemtov thinks the effort people made to have their kids attend is a testament to their dedication to community-building and Jewish learning.

“The beautiful thing I see here is, in other places, people send their kids to camp to get them out of the way, to give them something to do,” Shemtov said. “Over here, some parents are almost sacrificing their family time and vacations because they feel this camp is more important … and the experience [their kids] are going to gain is important.”

If more families come forward, Shemtov will consider extending the camp to two weeks this July. For more information, visit jewishnanaimo.com.