Judaism – Page 46

New principal at RJDS

Richmond Jewish Day School principal Ronit Amihude with the award-winning children’s book What Do You Do With An Idea? by writer Kobi Yamada and illustrator Mae Besom. (photo by Coleen Lou)

Ronit Amihude is a leader with a vision. The new principal at Richmond Jewish Day School (RJDS) has been working in Jewish education since high school and in day school settings for more than two decades. She brings with her a passion for relevant, pluralistic Jewish education, and training in forward-looking pedagogical theory and practice.

Amihude was born in Winnipeg and moved to Toronto in the early 1990s to work at the Heschel School, at the time a small progressive Jewish school with a dream of crafting creative education that involved children in a way that was individualized and relational. Amihude did a little bit of everything in her 18 years there and was able, she told the Jewish Independent, “to see how you can take a small beautiful seed and turn it into a gorgeous garden.”

Amihude got a master’s in education while at Heschel and went through the Jewish Theological Seminary’s Day School Leadership Training Institute, a 15-month program which, according to their website, “prepares new and aspiring heads of school for their work in Jewish day schools by providing engaging experiential learning opportunities, cutting-edge leadership development, ongoing mentoring, and the chance to collaboratively problem-solve with cohort peers.”

While at Heschel, Amihude took on multiple leadership roles. After her tenure there, she was recruited to Atlanta, where she became the principal of learning, teaching and innovation at the Epstein School.

Richmond Jewish Day School began looking for a new principal after Abba Brodt, a beloved educator and administrator who had been with the school since 2010, left in 2017. Amihude had heard about RJDS over the years and felt it had “the same heimish [homey] feeling as Heschel” and was “a beautiful little school community” that believes all Jewish kids deserve a Jewish education and could be helped to get one.

“The feeling I got was that RJDS is a wonderful place where kids are supported and appreciated, where it is not just STEM that is taught, but kindness, perseverance and acceptance,” she said.

Amihude applied for the job last December and, after multiple Skype calls and phone chats, she flew out in February of this year and contracts were signed around Pesach.

When Amihude spoke with the Independent, it was her fifth day on the job and she generously made time in her hectic schedule to talk. Her first impressions of life at RJDS were resoundingly positive.

“It is a really diverse population where that is celebrated,” she said. “It’s a place where children of all levels of observance and non-observance from all over the world – Israel, Russia, Colombia and elsewhere – learn together. Kids who think everybody eats matzah balls on Yom Tov learn there are lots of ways to be Jewish.”

Amihude said a balance between tradition and pluralism is important for her, and the school community is open to different styles of being Jewish. This approach is showcased, in part, by their pluralistic approach to tefillah (prayer), which embraces Orthodox and progressive rituals. “If kids are given a hard line, telling them that only one way is authentic,” said Amihude, “then what message does that give them if that’s not the way of themselves or their family – that they’re not Jewish?”

This fall at RJDS, students took part in the international Kindness Rocks movement, where kids decorate rocks with messages of encouragement and kindness and place them out in the community. The school put a unique spin on this practice by integrating it into the days of teshuvah (repentance/return) between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.

Amihude said an essential part of her mission at RJDS is giving kids the tools to find their own Jewish selves outside of school and to help their families figure out who they are and what they want to be doing. She wants to see a collaborative space where kids can work together to create, to learn perseverance and problem solve.

“Can the kids build a model sukkah? Can they create a double-decker chanukiyah for parents and kids to light together? There is so much we can be doing with 21st-century skills, while celebrating the Jews that we are and the people that we want to be.”

Matthew Gindin is a freelance journalist, writer and lecturer. He is Pacific correspondent for the CJN, writes regularly for the Forward, Tricycle and the Wisdom Daily, and has been published in Sojourners, Religion Dispatches and elsewhere. He can be found on Medium and Twitter.

We’ve got a lot of work to do

(photo from Tracy Le Blanc from Pexels)

I am not normally someone who is especially active on social media. I am not normally someone who curates current events, even though I consume them like undergrads do coffee – habitually, obsessively, out of necessity.

For a long time, my political associations and the extent to which I follow world news have been largely separate from the image I have cultivated for public view. As far as Facebook is concerned, I am represented through dog videos, feel-good intercommunity displays of solidarity, recipes and the occasional satire poking fun at the absurd and horrifying climate we’re living in – but there has been a shift. A shift toward police brutality, transphobia, racism. A shift toward synagogue shootings.

I do not share news stories on such topics because I enjoy doing so. I don’t enjoy reading about things that make my heart heavy, nor offering vulnerabilities to people who do not see me as a person, but rather the embodiment of an idea they disagree with. I do not take pleasure in sharing pain. It is my very nature to shield myself and others from it. Although part of love is letting others learn, and that involves experiencing pain and hurt.

It is easier to stick one’s head in the sand, but it doesn’t make it right. It is important to denounce insidiousness and nefariousness when you see it, especially if it does not directly affect you. It is important to hold space for those who are impacted by the injustices of the world, to hold them up and offer your strength. In doing so, we hope others do the same for us, and perhaps that is the only way we can get through these dark times with any semblance of sanity, of humanity.

I used to make a point of sharing light-hearted, feel-good posts, cognizant of the “bad news,” which is in no short supply. I believe my intention to provide some degree of respite from the political apocalypse we’re currently observing was a good one, but I would wager also misguided. To curate news is one thing, to disengage from it is another.

It became clear to me that, just because I am kept abreast of political happenings, and that I see them all over social media, does not mean others do; a classic cognitive bias that I should have spotted much earlier. This is true of what is happening in Trump’s America, to people of colour, LGBTQ folks, indigenous peoples, immigrants and refugees, Muslim communities. This is true of issues and current events related to antisemitism – I am now startlingly aware just how little people know about it. Not only the frequency of antisemitic incidents in North America and Europe, but, at a much more basic level, what antisemitism is and how to spot it.

For many of my friends, especially those who I’ve met in London, I am the only Jewish person they know. While it shouldn’t significantly impact the way I conduct myself, the weight my actions carry is not lost on me when I am the entire schematic representation of “Jew” for many of the people I come across. There is a pressure to behave in a way that is contrary to the many persistent stereotypes that precede my traditions and my culture. I must be generous to a fault lest I be stingy. I must laugh off antisemitism and micro-aggressions lest I be perceived as a paranoid, uppity Seinfeld type. I must be soft and kind and open, I must not have strong opinions lest I be the overbearing, naggy Jewish woman. I must downplay my love of bagels (they’re so damn good).

I also must be a political chameleon, dodging demonization from the left and right for equal and opposite accusations: we are the puppet masters, yet the infiltrators. We are the root of capitalism, yet the root of communism. We are somehow the one percent who controls the world’s wealth, yet we also fund the movement that rallies against it. We are insular elitists, yet permeating globalists. Those of us who look like me have assimilated to whiteness and reap the benefits, yet we will never be “white enough” to those who would see us dead.

Over time, the belief sticks: “I must not behave in any way, shape or form, in any manner that would give credence to the ideas that this is how Jews are, as I represent them to so many.” Yet it’s as exhausting for me to keep up as it is to keep this narrative straight.

I thought that, perhaps if I wanted to be a socially engaged citizen of the world, I could avoid these pitfalls by sharing information about the world as neutrally as I could. I could be the “impartial reporter,” make the news palatable, make it sterile. I could be taken more seriously, sanitized of emotional attachment that would otherwise be paint me as “irrational,” which is the ultimate insult in political and academic discourse. (Undoubtedly rooted in sexism and undoubtedly seen as weak, as it is perceived as feminine.)

But to do this serves no one well. It is inherently more harmful to the people who are affected by the issues being reported. To be “unbiased” in the wake of something that should not be polarizing, yet somehow is, ultimately reflects complicity. It is contrary to my values as a person. It is contrary to my values as a Jew.

This confuses many people, who know I am largely secular and open in my agnosticism. How can I profess myself to be as Jewish as I do, while maintaining such a wide berth from religiosity and theism? By that definition, I’m not “that Jewish.”

I may not believe in a God, but I do believe in my people, and in the traditions that shaped me to be who I am. I am Jewish insofar as my birth and upbringing, in my values and my conduct, in my pursuit of tikkun olam, repairing the world. I am “Jewish enough” to lead services despite my relationship with my faith. I am “Jewish enough” to abstain from pork but not “Jewish enough” to abstain from shellfish or cheeseburgers. I may not be “so Jewish” as to observe Shabbat to the letter, but I am Jewish enough to be gunned down in a synagogue.

My tradition is one of orthopraxy, of deed over creed. We are meant to “pray with our feet” as well as with our words. The Talmud teaches us not to be overwhelmed by the enormity of the world’s grief, but rather to do justly now, love mercy now, walk humbly now; that we are not obligated to complete the work of repairing the fractures and chasms in our world, but neither are we free to abandon it.

There is the story in the Talmud of a man who came to the great rabbis of the day and told them to teach him Torah while he stood on one foot. He did this to mock them. He first went to Rabbi Shammai, who refused to engage when he recognized the man’s intentions. The man went next to Rabbi Hillel and made the same challenge: teach me your Torah while I stand on one foot. Rabbi Hillel knew this man’s intention as well, but he was patient. He simply said, “What is hateful to you, do not do to others; all the rest is commentary. Go and study this.”

It should be that simple. If only it were that simple. I don’t know if the reason it isn’t is because of psycho-schematic representations in our minds, or nationalism, or capitalism, or groupthink, or whataboutisms, or strawmen, or ego, or that we forget that, when we bleed, we all bleed the same. I don’t know if it’s because we’ve forgotten how to be empathetic, or we’ve stopped doing it because it hurts, or that we feel powerless and that feels worse.

A friend told me recently that they don’t engage with this stuff because they’ve become numb to the horrors of the world. I can understand that, truly. Although I think it is precisely because of the commonplace, routinized nature of these injustices that we must engage because, when we don’t, they become routine, and they become a part of the fabric of our society that we will forget shouldn’t be there in the first place.

We have a saying in Judaism, “tzedek, tzedek, tirdof,” “justice, justice, you shall pursue.” But our understanding of tzedek is different to that of mishpat or din, other Hebrew words referring to justice or law in a strictly legal sense. Tzedek is tempered by compassion, of doing not necessarily what is lawful, but what is the right thing to do. And there is an emphasis on the action, on the doing. This may very well be rooted in some of the many names Jews use to refer to God, and the concept that people are made in God’s image.

In our tradition, there are many different names for God to reflect different aspects of God’s characteristics. Elohim is common, derived from the ancient word for judge. Certainly, people who are unfamiliar with the Torah often criticize the “Old Testament” for barbarism, for a wrathful, vengeful God that falls uncompromisingly into this depiction of an impartial, removed judge who delivers reward or punishment in accordance with the word that was given. I’m not about to unpack that, that’s a whole other essay in itself.

Unquestionably, the most sacred name we have for God is one we don’t even know how to pronounce, and are not supposed to pronounce, that is often anglicized as YHVH. It is derived from the Hebrew word for “to be,” and it is sometimes understood to translate roughly as “the Essence of Being.” This name is said to reflect an intimacy, a mercy, a love that perhaps we don’t even know how to name.

These different names may suggest a God of multiple beings, or even multiple gods, but Judaism is quite strict in its monotheism, and these names are used in scripture deliberately in ways that are context-dependent: Elohim deals justice, YHVH deals in mercy.

“Genesis tells two creation stories,” writes Rabbi Mark Glickman, “in the first, Elohim is the Creator, in the second, the creator is YHVH Elohim. To reconcile the accounts, ancient rabbis argued that God first tried to create the world using only justice, and it didn’t work.”

I’m very much a Darwinist by trade, but the message of this rings true to me. To exact change, to make something sustainable, we must do so with justice that is tempered by compassion.

Now, compassion does not mean, “try to understand neo-Nazis and justify their actions.” What compassion does mean, at least in part, is to show kindness and solidarity to other groups who are being hurt, even when we ourselves are licking our wounds and trying to find our feet. It means to support one another, even when we ourselves have trouble standing. It means speaking up for those whose voices are hoarse and raw from screaming. It means using our visibility to shed light on stories that are sequestered to shadows. It means form a patchwork quilt of community, which, when stitched together and reinforced, is warm, strong and unbreakable.

These are dark times. I say this not with the intent to be dramatic or prosaic, but simply factual. But that doesn’t mean we can’t kick at it until it bleeds something more hopeful. That being said, if we want any chance of making it out alive, we’ve got to get to work.

Sasha Kaye is currently studying in London, England. An alumnus of King David High School and the University of British Columbia, she enrolled at the Royal College of Music in London in performance science after her studies in classical voice performance and psychology at UBC. She was recently awarded a master’s of science with distinction for her research on the use of simulation technology as part of an intervention strategy to manage performance-anxiety symptoms. Now a doctoral student at RCM, Kaye is working to identify areas where elite musicians may require additional support to thrive in life, rather than simply survive.

We must focus on justice

(photo by Alan Katowitz)

Hundreds of Vancouverites came together Sunday night, driven by the need for community after the news that 11 congregants were murdered during services at a Pittsburgh synagogue a day earlier.

The attack – the deadliest terror act against a Jewish community in North American history – devastated the Pennsylvania Jewish community and elicited grief, alarm and solidarity among Jews across the continent and beyond. As some commentators have said, shock may not have been a foremost response. The very fact that we in Vancouver and Jews almost everywhere else pass by security personnel and infrastructure every time we enter a Jewish facility conditions us to expect that something like this might happen.

The assembly at the Jewish Community Centre of Greater Vancouver, convened by the Rabbinical Association of Vancouver, drew hundreds of people, mostly Jews but also members and clergy of other faith communities, as well as elected officials and other individuals. The words from the speakers – mostly rabbis – were powerful and thoughtful, though perhaps the words were less significant than the simple sense of commonality of emotion among those assembled.

In the hours and days since the incident, so many of us have tried to somehow assimilate the meaning and implications of the violence.

Extremism has been growing worldwide. Antisemitism, racial supremacism, nativism and other dangerous tendencies have infiltrated societies throughout the Western world. We have seen political successes for once-fringe parties in Europe and, most recently, in South America. In the online and general discourses in North America, extremist commentary has become so commonplace that it approaches the mainstream, if that is not an oxymoron. Words have consequences. All actions, good and evil, begin as ideas, move into language and ultimately manifest in behaviours.

This raises the matter of free expression. While some seek to smother the expression of hateful and other repugnant ideas, the events of last weekend present an argument for more, not less, discussion. Open dialogue of all ideas, including appalling ones, is not just a theoretical value. It allows us to monitor antisocial ideas, rather than pushing them under rocks. The perpetrator’s long record of deranged rants about Jews did not prevent this tragedy. But knowledge of such ideas and those who hold them represent our best chance for preventing repetition of such terror acts. (This sort of knowledge is critical to intelligence-gathering services. In Israel, recent reports indicate, 10 potential attacks are thwarted for every one that is successfully executed.)

Americans’ access to guns is also raised as an issue when things like this happen. We have little optimism of seeing this matter resolved in our lifetimes. It is notable, though, that, in what should be a moment of national mourning, the U.S. president has aimed to score political points by advancing the idea that the synagogue should have been, essentially, an armed defensive encampment. This idea is not a solution. It is a capitulation to a dystopic reality. A better president would have had words of national unity and consolation.

While we seek healing as a community, welcome condolences from so many allies, and wish blessings on the murdered and comfort for the survivors, we also now enter unfamiliar realms. In many mass murder incidents, the perpetrator does not survive the attack. In this case, he has. We will watch as the victims’ families confront this terrible act through the justice system, hoping for something approaching closure. Some people are already calling for vengeance, and the death penalty is a possible punishment for the perpetrator, which raises additional quandaries for those among us for whom state-sanctioned killing is an evil unto itself.

The larger issue facing us in the coming weeks is that true justice, in a practical sense, must convey to all people that this is a society that rejects and condemns not only the act that took place Saturday, but the ideas that inspired it and other heinous hate crimes. The mantra of Simon Wiesenthal’s life, which was devoted to as proper a response as possible to the greatest crime perpetrated against the Jewish people, was “justice, not vengeance.” This was in keeping with the ancient obligation of Judaism – justice, justice, you shall pursue.

We grieve, we mourn, we console. But, through these processes and after, we continue what our tradition has demanded for millennia, the ultimate bulwark to this and every other wrong: we seek justice.

Mezuzah at legislature

Selina Robinson, B.C. minister of municipal affairs and housing, admires the new mezuzah on her office door, while Rabbi Yechiel Baitelman looks on. (photo from Chabad Richmond)

Born and raised in Montreal before moving to British Columbia, Selina Robinson first lived in Richmond, then relocated to Coquitlam. She was elected as the member of the Legislative Assembly of British Columbia for Coquitlam-Maillardville in 2013 and again in 2017. Robinson is a member of the B.C. NDP.

When I learned that Rabbi Yechiel Baitelman of Chabad Richmond recently helped Robinson affix a mezuzah to her office door at the legislature, I was surprised. I called to ask her how she came to invite Baitelman to help her. “I didn’t,” she replied. “He just showed up with it!”

As it happens, Baitelman was in Victoria to fix a Torah scroll. While there, he reached out to Robinson, a longtime family friend, to see if they could meet briefly. She invited him to her office, where they talked about her portfolio and how they could work together to improve housing in Richmond. Never one to miss an opportunity, Baitelman asked Robinson whether she would like to put up a mezuzah. She loved the idea, but told the rabbi she didn’t have a hammer. Without skipping a beat, he said, “That’s OK, you don’t need one. This mezuzah has adhesive on the back.”

I guess that falls into the category of “I just happen to have a mezuzah on me.” I mean, don’t all rabbis carry them around?

Robinson has known the Baitelman family for decades, through her mother’s work at Chabad Lubavitch in Vancouver years ago. She told me that the Baitelman kids used to call her mother “Bubbe Rhoda.”

While she was a university student in the 1980s, Robinson helped run Camp Gan Israel of British Columbia day camp for two years. Later on, when she was living in Coquitlam, she helped build the Burquest Jewish Community Association. She also used to work at Jewish Family Services.

Robinson’s commitment to the ideals of Jewish life and culture is resolute, and she proudly refers to herself as a “Habonimer.” Yet, her affinity for Chabad is strong, especially their dedication to helping Jews at all levels of observance.

Robinson regularly shows her new mezuzah to colleagues, and takes the time to explain what it means.

Shelley Civkin is a happily retired librarian and communications officer. For 17 years, she wrote a weekly book review column for the Richmond Review, and currently writes a bi-weekly column about retirement for the Richmond News.

Torah ’n’ This Old House

(thisoldhouse.com)

My kids have developed a fascination with the PBS TV show This Old House. They love watching how old houses are fixed, restored and cared for by these talented workmen. I have always liked this show, too, and, as it goes, this is a pretty safe way to share “adult” TV programming with 7-year-olds.

Over Thanksgiving, one of my boys decided that we should all sit on the couch. Mommy would help one boy with his knitting and the other with his crochet and we would watch this show. Well? It would be a great weekend. (This kid also suggested we eat potatoes, noodles and rice for dinner, thus creating the ultimate “couch potato” scenario!)

While this may just be a funny episode in our family life, it’s a good reminder that we’re all quirky folk. My family might be different but, in reading the weekly Torah portions from Simchat Torah onwards in Genesis, we learn that, historically, the Jewish people originate from interesting stock. So, if we look to our ancestors (way, way back) to inform our understanding of ourselves, that might be a good thing.

There’s plenty of negativity in Genesis (Bereishit) in terms of how people behave towards one another. It’s a reminder, without giving a list of every kind of licentious or bad behaviour, that we have the capacity to do each other great harm. There are murders and sexual assaults. There are also people held up as role models, despite their flaws.

There are Abraham and Sarah, who welcome in guests, make them bread and offer them hospitality, and then Sarah demonstrates that having a sense of humour goes a long way. When told she would give birth to Isaac as an old woman, she laughs. This was a great response in many ways – she has a healthy sense of both humour and skepticism about the world.

There’s Rebecca, who offers (more) hospitality to Abraham’s servant. Isaac is so respectful of his father that he follows him up Mount Moriah to do a sacrifice – even when it seems clear that he will be killed.

Genesis offers one story after another. Each one deserves examination. However, when doing a quick reading through several of these episodes, I saw how different the characters are from one another. Some individuals struggle with what they learn from G-d, and some are believers. Others, like the people of Sodom and Gomorrah, are deemed irretrievably flawed, but Lot’s wife, who is initially saved, is too curious or doubtful, and turns to salt anyway.

I pondered some of this as we watched the guys from This Old House go to Texas to help after Hurricane Harvey hit Houston. We described the terrible flooding from hurricanes and boat rescues to our kids in ways they would understand, so we talked about Noah and the ark. On another episode, we learned that one of the young apprentices on the show had passed away in his sleep, from a longtime medical condition. He was age 18. So we paused the TV show. We talked about how he worked hard and did a good job, and his family and the people he worked with – all loved him. That his death was a shock and very sad, but that we believe, as Jewish people, that when a person’s body is buried, his soul goes up to be with G-d.

There is no perfect way to talk about life-threatening storms or untimely death. Though we try to shield our kids from the hardest things in the news, truth be told, the gentle teaching of the craftsmen and parents on This Old House was just right for my kids to understand. Between very basic Torah stories and real-life events, we had a lot of help in talking about these hard issues.

Even as an adult, sorting through the stories in Genesis seems daunting, just as coping with the news has been. My husband and I have both lived in places where we’ve experienced tornadoes and hurricanes. I wish I could spare others the experience of waiting in the cellar until the storm passes. However, I’ve been struck by the commonalities I’ve seen between our weekly Torah portions and these challenges.

It’s important, when facing adversity, to offer generous hospitality and kindness to those around you.
It’s good to give respect to your elders and those who might be able to lead you through hard experiences.
Being a resourceful “maker,” someone who builds or creates what he or she needs during an emergency, can save a life or bring forth life.
A sense of humour can help us through really difficult challenges.

People who suffer through losing everything during life-threatening situations like hurricanes and tornadoes are just like everyone else. They’re individuals, who may be quirky or kind, who do good and bad things. It can be hard to relate to their situation and remember that beyond all our differences and preferences, they are just like you and me.

We read Genesis every year at synagogue. We revisit these ancestors and remember how they persevered through difficult experiences. It’s a chance to imagine yourself not just as Abraham or Isaac, but as Hagar, abandoned with an infant, or Keturah, a second wife. We can be Noah’s family in the flood, just as many hurricane survivors might have felt.

Religious traditions interpret these biblical stories in different ways, but in watching This Old House, we see people rebuild homes after a hurricane, and how they offer each other food, water, tools and other necessities. This reminds me that some lessons are the same for everybody. Hospitality, kindness, respect, resourcefulness and a good sense of humour – whether you learn them from Genesis or from fix-it shows on TV, they help bring us together in positive ways.

Joanne Seiff writes 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. See more about her at joanneseiff.blogspot.com.

We must care for the earth

Some Jewish communities see making eco-friendly choices as the Jewish and socially conscious thing to do. I’ve also participated in Jewish meals and events in which environmental choices were the farthest thing from anyone’s mind. In fact, as they cheerfully dump hundreds of disposable paper products and plastic tablecloths into the garbage, I’ve heard people say that this “social action nonsense” is all some liberal craziness that doesn’t have much to do with Jewish practice.

Sometimes, as families grow more comfortable financially, the notions of reuse and salvage seem less attractive. However, for many of us, junk yards and scrap peddling are an important part of our immigrant past. All this came up in conversation recently with my husband.

As we walked past a neighbour’s renovation, there was a 100-year-old wooden door in a rain-sodden trash heap. We’ve been to architectural salvage places in the past, looking for these doors because they match everything else in our old house. They’re well-made and last a long time. Even second-hand, they aren’t cheap. My husband commented that too many folks feel that, “if I can’t use it, it isn’t useful.”

We contrasted this with a famous family story. As a kid, my husband’s family travelled to Toronto to see their Lubavitcher relatives. On the way home to upstate New York, they carried an unusual gift across the border. They strapped a steel security door on top of their car – a gift from a cousin’s scrap yard. In our families, old-school values still ring true. If you need a door and you can get a perfectly good used one, why not?

While Jewish families often cross borders and levels of Jewish practice and observance, how often do we think about the cause and effect of our actions when it comes to the environment?

I began thinking about this more particularly when my kids learned brachot (blessings) at preschool. Each time we thanked G-d for something that grew from a tree, a vine or the ground, we were acknowledging the power and importance of the earth for our well-being.

When attending services, we pray all winter, from Shemini Atzeret through to Passover, for wind to blow and rain to fall. But what if the rain is polluted? What if our lakes, rivers and oceans are filled with microplastics waste?

We need to focus on how we can reduce our consumption and increase our reuse of what we’ve got. If we thank the Almighty and appreciate the earth’s healthy produce, how do we reconcile that, for instance, with the mounds of plastic we create with packaging, disposable cups and bottles, and more? Most of our recycling products travel to China to be processed. Lately, China has gotten stricter in what it will accept. This means that more of our low-quality waste ends up in a landfill here at home. Current research shows it ends up in our water and bodies, too.

The next logical step of our concern is how we vote. If we vote for candidates who support environmental initiatives (the use, for instance, of compostable bags or a plastic bag ban), we vote our values at the polls. Of course, most of us don’t make voting decisions merely on one issue, but what’s the point of voting for someone whose views contradict what we pray about?

These are big issues, and not easily covered in one column. Still, I see reasons to be optimistic. I’ve noticed that some congregations have shifted their usage of plastic. Maybe Kiddush is being served in glass shot glasses instead of plastic cups, or folks are offered ceramic coffee mugs rather than Styrofoam at events. Some Jewish groups do tikkun olam (fixing the world) activities, cleaning up parks or waterfront areas. Others offer digital bulletins or newsletters rather than printing hardcopies and mailing them.

Some say that individuals can’t make any difference; it’s big polluters that we need to stop. Yes, we need to address big pollution as well as practising small-scale change. When you make an effort to reuse, recycle and responsibly discard your waste, it matters. It’s obvious when walking up a back lane that much of this happens one water bottle or overflowing trash can at a time.

We certainly have a lot of business opportunity in Canada, too. We’ve got lots of Hydro “clean” electricity for processing. I wonder what the next stage of the long Jewish tradition of reuse (scrap yards and junk peddling) might be. In the meantime, start with your next big holiday meal. Could you skip the paper plates or Styrofoam coffee cups and wash some dishes instead?

There is no sense in teaching our kids to say thank you for what they eat and how it grows, or how to be grateful for rain, if we don’t make an effort to keep the world alive and healthy for future generations. Is this a Jewish value or a human one? If we are truly “a light unto the nations” as Jews, we must do this work, and show others how to do it. We can innovate on these earth-saving issues here, educate others elsewhere and pass this knowledge on. We may find ourselves buried under a mountain of plastics and garbage if we don’t.

Attempting to keep Shabbos

(photo by Olaf Herfurth)

In anticipation of the annual Shabbos Project – this year on Oct. 26-27 – where Jews from around the world, and from every level of observance, celebrate and experience Shabbos together, I decided I needed to get prepared.

On the continuum that is my journey to Yiddishkeit, I’m probably less than a third of the way there. I’ve chosen to take it one step at a time.

A few weeks ago, after a particularly inspiring Torah class, I broached the subject of Shabbos with my husband, Harvey. I asked him if he’d be on board with trying to observe it the following weekend. He tentatively agreed, knowing that, if he said no, I’d make his life a living hell. A smart man knows when to say yes.

A few days went by before I started planning in earnest for our Shabbos-ready tech shutdown. I confirmed with Harvey that we’d be powering off all our devices, taping the refrigerator and other light switches, using electric tealights to light the requisite rooms, and just generally relaxing for 24 hours. He agreed. All systems go. Or so I thought.

Shabbos candles – check. Tealights – check. Crock-Pot in which to make cholent – check. Beef, carrots, potatoes, etc., to cook the cholent – check. Challah – check. Wine – check. In my naiveté and enthusiasm to be shomer Shabbos, I hadn’t really considered everything that goes into preparing to do so. Not even close. And, of course, my lack of preparation came back to bite me in the proverbial tuchus.

Very early Friday morning, a note was slipped under our door, informing us that the water would be shut off from 9:30 a.m. to 1:30 p.m. that day. I was thrown headlong in a haze of cholent-making confusion. Instead of starting my cholent at 3 p.m. to be ready for lunch the next day, I panicked and started assembling it at 7:30 a.m. So, we had cholent for dinner Friday night, for lunch on Saturday and, yes, again for dinner Saturday night. You can see where this is headed: cholent overload.

A real Shabbos queen would have made an array of cold salads, had a back-up chicken for Friday night dinner and another main dish for Saturday dinner. I could find a thousand excuses for why I hadn’t thought this through, but none of it matters now. Luckily, I have a very easygoing husband, when it comes to food. Put it in his bowl or on his plate, he’ll eat it. Don’t get me wrong, Harvey is a real connoisseur when it comes to good food and wine. But he also knows when not to complain. So, he ate cholent three meals in a row. And it didn’t kill him. As for me, I was slightly embarrassed that I hadn’t planned more thoroughly for a beautifully scrumptious Shabbos experience. Food’s a big part of all this, right?

The lack of variety in food was accompanied by several, how shall I call them, Shabbos slips. Halfway through lighting the candles, I remembered that I hadn’t changed the Crock-Pot timer to 10 hours, so I did it. “Broke” Shabbos. But I carried on, certain that G-d would forgive my little error. And confident that there is more likelihood of us trying to keep Shabbos again if we don’t approach it with an all-or-nothing attitude. Baby steps will keep us on the right path, whereas a “let’s call the whole off” right now because I messed up with the Crock-Pot will turn us off forever. There were a few other Shabbos boo-boos, like writing something down on a piece of paper. And carrying my purse to shul. Oh, and that pesky little detail of not keeping kosher.

I’ve actually studied a bit about how to keep Shabbos. I just haven’t put it all into practice quite yet. Not even close. But the intention and desire is there. I have to admit, I have a small obsession with understanding new things fully before embracing them. Reading before doing. I guess that’s a residual habit from spending 34 years as a librarian. In case you weren’t aware, librarians can’t rest until they have all (or most) of the answers. So, the journey continues.

The best part of Shabbos for me, besides lighting the candles and eating the delicious challah I made, was having my husband’s undivided attention, and he, mine. The time we spent talking on that one Friday night is probably equal to the time we usually spend talking all week. After nearly 13 years together, I learned new things about Harvey that Shabbos. In an atmosphere of love and relaxation, with no distractions of any kind, we eased back into each other’s lives calmly and sweetly. It was wonderful.

On Saturday, in the late afternoon before Shabbos ended, I walked into the living room and sat down. Harvey looked at me with a touch of fear in his eyes and asked: “Does this mean we have to talk again?” I guess the feeling about the beauty of it all was slightly inequitable. But I’ll keep trying. There’s always next Shabbos.

Shelley Civkin is a happily retired librarian and communications officer. For 17 years, she wrote a weekly book review column for the Richmond Review, and currently writes a bi-weekly column about retirement for the Richmond News.

Talks on animals, ethics

Jeffrey Cohan of Jewish Veg speaks at a few local venues next week. (photo from Or Shalom)

There is no disputing the notion that God intended for us to eat a vegetarian diet, though eating meat out of necessity is permitted, according to Jeffrey Cohan, executive director of Jewish Veg, who will be in Vancouver next week for three presentations on animals and ethics.

Cohan’s father passed away at the age of 52 from a heart attack, when Cohan was 12 years old. “That’s always been in the back of my mind – what I can do to avoid the same fate,” Cohan told the Independent. “But, for the first 40 years of my life, I was a passionate meat eater and, although I was in good shape, I knew I needed a dietary change, as my cholesterol was up to 100 and I was approaching the age where my dad experienced heart disease.”

Cohan recalled a Simchat Torah when he was in his early 40s. The Torah reader came to a verse wherein God says to eat only plants and, for the first time, the possibility of being a vegetarian resonated with Cohan, and he and his wife immediately changed their diet. That was about 11 years ago.

“Then, I started researching intensively what the rest of the Torah and other Jewish texts said about this issue,” said Cohan. “I found out about an organization called Jewish Vegetarians of North America (JVNA). I was very excited. It was getting word out that this is what the Torah and our tradition actually says. At the time, I was working at the Jewish Federation of Greater Pittsburgh.”

Looking further into JVNA, Cohan learned, to his dismay, that it was run by only two volunteers, had an outdated website and no real relationships with the institutional Jewish community. This spurred him to go to New York to meet with these volunteers and a few others who were involved. He gave a presentation about what they could do to build up the organization. They asked him to become JVNA’s executive director – and Cohan said yes.

Since then, JVNA, which is now called Jewish Veg, has gone on to form relationships with some of the biggest Jewish organizations, said Cohan, including “those that deal with the demographic group most receptive to our message – young adults – partnering with Hillel.

“We created the first-ever vegan Birthright trips,” he added. “It’s been very gratifying. We are heading to Vancouver next, which is pretty exciting, being the first time we’ll give presentations in Canada…. Judaism, even when we were living in ghettos in Europe, does not exist in isolation. It is affected by external society to a great extent. Especially in America and especially in the 20th and 21st centuries in America and Canada, it’s been a two-way relationship.

“If you look at every social justice movement that has achieved success in the U.S. in the last 120 years – women’s rights, organized labour, the civil right movement, the LBGTQ movement – every one of these movements has had Jews involved in the leadership,” he said. “And this movement cannot be the exception. It goes back to the very raison d’être (reason for being) in Judaism, which is that we weren’t just given the Seven Laws [of Noah]. We were given a much higher bar to live up to. And, therefore, it is incumbent on the Jewish community, on this movement, to be at the forefront as we have been in other social justice movements. That’s exactly why Jewish Veg’s work is so important, because we’re mobilizing the Jewish community.”

According to Cohan, the work Jewish Veg is doing is inspiring the Christian community to follow suit. As an example, he said he was told by a longtime member of the Unity Church that they are creating a movement within their faith called Unity Veg.

Israel has become one of the most the most vegan-friendly countries in the world, said Cohan. “We actually … point towards Israel as an example for Canadian and American Jews to follow,” he said. “Jews speak on college campuses here [in the United States] about what’s going on in Israel and why they should be following its lead.”

While Cohan’s trip to Vancouver is the first for Jewish Veg in Canada, he is planning to soon speak in Toronto, Montreal, Winnipeg, Calgary and Edmonton.

Cohan hopes all people will become vegetarian one day, but his current aim is to meet people where they are. “We have something called our Veg Pledge program, which you can see on our website, which helps people transition to plant-based diets,” he said. “We don’t just come in, love them and leave them. We give them an opportunity to use our free resources to transition to plant-based diets at the pace that works for them.

“The way it’s structured,” he explained, “is that you start with a pledge, which can either be sticking your toe in the water or diving in head first, based on your comfort level. We really believe that helping people with the how is just as important as the why.”

During his visit here, Cohan will make three presentations: one hosted by the Vancouver Humane Society on Oct. 16, 7 p.m., in the Alma Vandusen and Peter Kaye rooms at Library Square Conference Centre; one at Or Shalom Synagogue on Oct. 18, 7:30 p.m.; and one at the University of British Columbia on Oct. 19, 1:30 p.m., hosted by Hillel BC at a Schmooze & Schmear gathering.

“I think a question you’ll hear many Jewish people ask is, ‘How does the Torah apply to our modern lives?’” said Shelley Stein-Wotten, program coordinator at Or Shalom. “We found it fascinating that Jeffrey’s own path to going vegan stemmed from his study of Torah and we wanted to provide an opportunity for him to share his story and create a space to have an open dialogue around if, as individuals and as a community, we can establish a Jewish framework to address climate change and make healthful food choices, which have inherent connections.”

Rebeca Kuropatwa is a Winnipeg freelance writer.

Ends and beginnings

As we come to the end of the High Holy Days, we set ourselves on paths of new beginnings. On Simchat Torah, we mark both a beginning and an end. The cycle of Torah reading ends and then immediately begins again. It is said that we read the same passages of the Torah every week, every year, but the meanings change because we are different people year after year, experiencing life and the world with different eyes and, hopefully, with increased wisdom.

The Days of Awe are a time of critical introspection. This period of teshuvah invites us to recognize our shortcomings and commit to improvement. This mission is both individual and collective. As a people, we are obligated to repair the world, and this year calls on us with no shortage of issues to collectively confront: inequality and suffering, environmental degradation, inhumane treatment of animals, the pursuit of justice.

On the latter front, our cousins in the United States are absorbed in a drama around the appointment of the next justice of the Supreme Court and things that he may have done many years ago. The senators considering his nomination heard two irreconcilable narratives last week from the accuser and the accused. The testimony from Dr. Christine Blasey Ford echoes the testimonies of so many people, mostly women but also men, who have felt empowered, motivated or obligated to share their most personal experiences in what has become known as the “#MeToo era.”

Yet the senators’ motivations hinge on more than determining who is telling the truth. Political considerations – advancing President Donald Trump’s second Supreme Court nominee to the bench before the November midterm elections – seem to be the factor front of mind for some elected officials, regardless of Blasey Ford’s testimony. It seems clear that politics may trump justice in this case.

Politics in Canada is not as brash as that in the United States, but populist and exclusionary ideas may be finding a voice here that they did not have before. A new federal political party seems prepared to amplify views that, until recently, were more limited to online discussions and whispered conversations. Meanwhile, the party that won Monday’s provincial election in Québec mooted during the election campaign the idea of throwing out newcomers who do not gain an adequate grasp of the French language within three years of arrival. Unconstitutional as such a policy may be, even voicing such ideas brings us to a new chapter in Canadian public life.

Immigration and refugees are a perennial issue, with the nature of a society at the heart of the discussion. The groups of people at the centre of the discussion – immigrants and refugees – change generation by generation. In this era, Jewish Canadians have an opportunity to bring hard-learned wisdoms to the debate. The federal government is set to formally apologize next month for a most egregious historical example of exclusion: the rejection of the passengers on the MS St. Louis. Indeed, this memory should inform our reaction to the current discussion and the realities for the millions of displaced people and refugees fleeing conflict around the world.

Personal experiences inform our political ideologies. And, through our personal actions, we can affect political affairs. This can be in obvious ways – like showing up to vote in the municipal elections on Oct. 20 or in advance polls – or in more subtle but profound ways, like educating the next generation, modeling the values we hope to advance and creating ripples of goodness across our circles of influence.

In matters of public policy and in the more private ways we behave in our lives, the holy days remind us to take stock of our own role in advancing justice and a better world.

We may feel insignificant in the grand scheme. How can we affect the powers in the White House or in Ottawa or around the world? But Jewish tradition is clear. “It is not your responsibility to finish the work [of perfecting the world], but you are not free to desist from it either,” said the Mishnaic sage Rabbi Tarfon.

Inward reflection is the first and easiest step we can take as individuals to address faults in our world. Based on this reflection, we may choose to move to action. Where it will end, we cannot always tell at the beginning. But it is our job to get the ball rolling.

Looking for new Jewish ideas

By the time you read this, our big run of fall Jewish High Holidays will be over. However, I’m still gathering up bits and pieces about it. What did I experience? What worked out and what didn’t? This isn’t a yes or no question, it’s complex. It takes time to process the intensity of what I learned.

Like many parents with kids, I don’t attend a full complement of adult religious services. Even if I didn’t have younger children, we’d still have to find dress clothes for everyone and make sure holiday meals are ready, never mind actually working for a living. Every fall is a juggling act. Will it work out smoothly? Sometimes it is good planning. Sometimes, it’s luck.

This year, I managed to access several sermons, done by various rabbis I know and respect. Some were published to the internet on the day after the holiday. Others were live-streamed.

Via the internet, I read the Rosh Hashanah sermons of a Long Island rabbi with whom I have studied and become friendly over the past year or two. Rabbi Susan Elkodsi shared several of her sermons as blog posts after the holiday. One sermon covered the confluence of 9/11 with the High Holidays. The other talked about how we connect with our ancestors over the New Year period, and how the “who will live and who will die” metaphor becomes alive for many.

For me, both of these topics struck home. My family in New York City and in D.C. lived through 9/11. Also, every time I sing the holiday Kiddush, it is as though I hear my grandfather, z”l, singing it. He sang it at my family’s holiday table, and he taught me to do it as a young adult. On erev Rosh Hashanah this year, I could hear his voice in my ear, although he died long ago. Thanks to those sermons, I have some Jewish historic context for two strong emotional memories.

Elkodsi’s next blog post covered a “water-optional” version of Tashlich, when people gather to throw their sins or breadcrumbs into the water. She described how Tashlich might be the time to clean up or discard the things that are holding us back or for which we can no longer find a use. In a sense, it’s a “KonMari” cleaning method for our lives. This, too, found resonance with me. I used it as unconscious encouragement – my kids and I cleaned up their art shelf, play room and living room toys before Yom Kippur. This mess weighed me down. Together, we cast it off to have a better start to 5779.

This year, even though we didn’t travel there, we heard Kol Nidre, sung in Virginia, and saw my father, as a past president, holding a Torah on the pulpit of my family’s congregation. How did we pull that off?

On erev Yom Kippur, my kids got into their pajamas. We read stories and got ready for bed. At exactly 7:30 p.m. CT, we started live-streaming the Temple Rodef Shalom Kol Nidre late service. My kids worried that the Torah was too heavy for their grandfather. (I did, too.) Later, my mom told me that past presidents on either side of my dad were spotting for him, and that my dad also recognized that this would probably be the last year he could do this. Torahs are heavy. Nobody wants to drop one. We felt the power of connecting with family, seeing my father do a mitzvah, and something difficult, at a big holiday service.

My kids made it until about 8:15, staying up through the Kol Nidre prayer and the first part of the service before they fell asleep. Using headphones, I listened to the rest of the service until, for some reason, I couldn’t access the live-streaming anymore. By then, I’d heard about how we should see teshuvah (repentance) through the eyes of a failing U.S. criminal justice system. It’s hard to balance the needs of victims, cope with crime and also give people who’ve made mistakes a second chance. Rabbi Jeffrey Saxe, a victim of violent crime, gave the sermon. He explained his social action efforts to advocate for reform with an interfaith clergy group that meets with Virginia’s governor.

I’m mentioning the positive things I can fit in one column. Sometimes accessing diverse voices, from every movement, with different Jewish experiences, enriches our observance. There’s no way my body could have been in synagogue in Manitoba, New York and Virginia. The traveling would have been torture, never mind the cost! However, my mind traveled. This helped me think about new things for 5779.

Some say that the High Holidays are the most important days of the Jewish year, but I’d argue that they are the most intense. Shabbat every week is important. All the other holidays have value, too. The thing about rituals, traditions and observance is that they don’t have an on/off switch. If we shift ourselves just a little, attend a different Jewish service, listen to a new sermon or approach things differently, we can have a startlingly new experience.

Most people attend one congregation all the time, hear one or two rabbis’ sermons and rarely see something new. It’s a lot of effort to break routines. Change is hard. However, every day is an opportunity to look up and find new things in our Jewish landscape. Sometimes, a slight shift in how we see our rituals (dog walks, meditations, synagogue services) can change the way we see the whole world. It’s going to take me time to sort through what I learned and what changed. I hope you, too, can take that time to gain something new, to learn something about the Jewish world, through this kind of exploration.