Judaism – Page 57

Recipes for a tradition

(photo by Noa Fisher via PikiWiki-Israel)

Pomegranates are referred to in the Bible in many various ways. In the sensual poetry of Song of Songs, we read, “I went down into the garden of nuts … to see whether the vine budded and the pomegranates were in flower.” In another passage, the poet writes, “I would cause thee to drink of spiced wine, of the juice of my pomegranate.” Song of Songs has four additional mentions of pomegranates, and there are also references in Joel, Haggai and I Kings.

For many Jews, pomegranates are traditional for Rosh Hashanah. Some believe the dull and leathery skinned, crimson fruit may have really been the tapuach, apple, of the Garden of Eden. According to Forward “Food Maven” Matthew Goodman, the pomegranate originated in Persia and is one of the world’s oldest cultivated fruits, having been domesticated around 4000 BCE. The Egyptians imported pomegranates from the Holy Land in 1150 BCE and natural pomegranate juice, made into spiced wine, was a favourite of Hebrews living in Egypt. Pomegranate wood could also be carved into skewers on which to roast the lamb for Passover.

The word pomegranate means “grained apple.” In Hebrew, it is called rimon, which is also the word for hand grenade! In fact, the English term “hand grenade” is said to come from this and that both the town of Granada in Spain and the stone garnet come from the name and colour of the pomegranate. The juice can also be made into grenadine.

The Hebrews yearned for the pomegranates they left behind in Egypt while wandering in the desert – “And wherefore have ye made us to come up out of Egypt, to bring us in unto this evil place? It is no place of seed, or of figs, or of vines, or of pomegranates.” (Numbers 20:5) And the spies reported their findings in Canaan to Moses: “And they came unto the valley Eshkol and cut down from thence a branch with one cluster of grapes, and they bore it upon a pole between two; they took also of the pomegranates and of the figs.” (Numbers 13:23)

Pomegranates were also used on the faces of the shekel in the second century BCE. King Solomon had an orchard of pomegranates, and pomegranates of brass were part of the pillars of his great Temple in Jerusalem. Throughout the Bible, pomegranates are referred to as a symbol of fertility. As well, in the Jewish mystical tradition of kabbalah, it is said there are 613 seeds in each pomegranate, equaling the number of mitzvot commanded by God.

On the second night of Rosh Hashanah, when it is customary to eat a “new” fruit, one that celebrants have not eaten during the year, many Sephardi Jews choose the pomegranate. They recite the prayer “ken yehi ratzon, may it be thy will, O Creator, that our year be rich and replete with blessings, as the pomegranate is rich and replete with seeds.”

In modern days, a study at the Technion in Haifa a few years ago showed the power of the fruit. The cholesterol oxidation process, which creates lesions that narrow arteries and result in heart disease, was slowed by as much as 40% when subjects drank two to three ounces of pomegranate juice a day for two weeks. The juice reduced the retention of LDL, the “bad” cholesterol that aggregates and forms lesions. When subjects stopped drinking the juice, the beneficial effects lasted about a month. Other studies have shown that pomegranates fight inflammation and cancer, and slow cellular aging. Pomegranates are a good source of potassium, low in calories and low in sodium.

When choosing a pomegranate, look for one that is large, brightly coloured and has a shiny skin. You should store a pomegranate in a plastic bag in the refrigerator, and it can keep up to 10 weeks. To open a pomegranate, score the outside skin into four pieces, then break the fruit apart with your hands following the divisions of the membranes. Pull off the membranes then scrape the seeds into your mouth or lift them out with a spoon. Here are some recipes for those seeds.

POMEGRANATE SYRUP

6 pomegranates
1/3 cup white sugar
1/3 cup brown sugar
1 cinnamon stick
1/8 tsp nutmeg
1/8 tsp allspice

Puree seeds from pomegranates in blender or food processor and strain. Place in saucepan.
Add white sugar, brown sugar and cinnamon stick. Bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer about 10 minutes. Add nutmeg and allspice and cook one minute.
Remove from heat, discard cinnamon stick and strain.

BAKED APPLES IN POMEGRANATE SYRUP
6-8 servings

4 slightly tart apples
1 halved pomegranate
apple juice
1/3 cup preserves of your choice
1/2 tsp cinnamon

Cut each apple into four wedges. Place in microwavable dish.
Squeeze juice from half the pomegranate into a measuring cup. Add enough apple juice to make half a cup. Add preserves and cinnamon and mix well. Pour over apples to coat them.
Cover with plastic wrap and microwave for two minutes. Stir and microwave two more minutes. Place apple wedges in serving dishes.
Remove seeds from other half of pomegranate and garnish apples.

POMEGRANATE FRUIT SOUFFLE

3 eggs
1 cup + 3 tbsp confectioners’ sugar
1 tbsp unflavoured gelatin
1/2 cup hot water
1/2 cup cold water
7 tbsp orange juice
2 1/2 tbsp lemon juice
pulp and seeds of 6 pomegranates

Place yolks and sugar in a saucepan over a second saucepan filled with water (double boiler-style). Cook, stirring, until thick and creamy.
Dissolve gelatin in a bowl of hot water. Then stir in cold water.
Add orange juice, lemon juice, pomegranate pulp and seeds and mix.
Add juice mixture to egg yolk mixture.
Beat egg whites until stiff. Fold into pomegranate mixture. Pour into a soufflé dish or casserole with height built up of three to four inches with a double thickness of wax paper or aluminum foil, stapled or held in place with a paper clip.
Chill in refrigerator until set. Remove band of paper. Decorate with whipped cream.

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

Apples and honey – so good

(photo by Markus Hagenlocher)

One of the most well-known customs of Rosh Hashanah is the dipping of apple pieces in honey but what is its origin?

In the time of King David, we know he had a “cake made in a pan and a sweet cake” (II Samuel 6: 15, 19) given to everyone. Hosea 3:1 identifies the “sweet cake” as a raisin cake.

The Torah also describes Israel as eretz zvat chalav u’dvash, the land flowing with milk and honey, although the honey was more than likely date honey, a custom retained by many Sephardi Jews to this day.

While honey may have been used in King David’s cake, the honey of ancient Eretz Yisrael was made from dates, grapes, figs or raisins because there were no domestic bees in the land. At that time, only the Syrian bees were there and, to extract honey from their combs, it had to be smoked. Still, honey was of importance in biblical times, as there was no sugar then.

During the Roman period, Italian bees were introduced to the Middle East, and bee honey became more common. Today, Israel has roughly 500 beekeepers who have some 90,000 beehives, which produce more than 3,500 tons of honey annually. Kibbutz Yad Mordechai is the largest producer of honey – 10,000 bottles a day.

Among Ashkenazi Jews, challah is dipped in honey on Rosh Hashanah, instead of having the usual salt sprinkled on it. The blessing over the apple is, “May it be Your will to renew for us a good and sweet year,” before it is dipped in honey.

Dipping the apple in honey on Rosh Hashanah is said to symbolize the desire for a sweet new year. Why an apple? In Bereishit, Isaac compares the fragrance of his son, Jacob (who he thinks is his son Esau), to a field, and Rashi says it is sadeh shel tapuchim, a field of apple trees.

Scholars tell us that mystical powers were ascribed to the apple, and people believed it provided good health and personal well-being.

Some attribute the using of an apple at Rosh Hashanah to the translation of the story of Adam and Eve and the forbidden fruit, which caused the expulsion from paradise. The Garden of Eden is also called Chakal Tapuchim, “Garden (or field) of Apple Trees.”

According to Gil Marks (z”l) in Encyclopedia of Jewish Food, “the first recorded association of apples with Rosh Hashanah was in Machzor Vitry, a siddur compiled around 1100, which included this explanation: ‘The residents of France have the custom to eat on Rosh Hashanah red apples….’ Future generations of Ashkenazim adopted the French custom … leading to the most popular and widespread Ashkenazi Rosh Hashanah tradition.”

Rabbi Jacob ben Asher, born around 1269, who fled with his family to Spain in 1303, was the first to mention the custom of apples dipped in honey in his legal compendium Arbah Turim, circa 1310, citing it as a German tradition.

Rabbi Alexander Susslein of Frankfurt, Germany, a 14th-century rabbinic authority, revealed it had become a widespread practice in Germany.

A few years ago, an article revealed that the average Israeli eats 125 apples and 750 grams of honey a year, mostly around the High Holy Days. Israel is very self-sufficient with regard to apples, with around 9,900 acres cultivated yearly, grown in the north, the Galilee hills and the Golan Heights. The most popular types of apples grown are Golden Delicious, Starking, Granny Smith, Jonathan, Gala and Pink Lady.

Honey in Hebrew, dvash, has the same numerical value as the words Av Harachamim, Father of Mercy. We hope that G-d will be merciful on Rosh Hashanah as He judges us for our year’s deeds.

Moroccans dip apples in honey and serve cooked quince, which is an apple-like fruit, symbolizing a sweet future. Other Moroccans dip dates in sesame and anise seeds and powdered sugar in addition to dipping apples in honey. Among some Jews from Egypt, a sweet jelly made of gourds or coconut is used to ensure a sweet year and apples are dipped in sugar water instead of in honey.

Honey is also used by Jews around the world not only for dipping apples but in desserts. Some believe in the phrase, “go your way, eat the fat, drink the sweet,” the sweet referring to apples and honey. Here are some recipes using honey for your Rosh Hashanah eating.

TISHPISHTI: MIDDLE EASTERN HONEY-NUT CAKE

Honey syrup:
1 1/2 cups honey
2/3 cup water
1/3 cup sugar
1/4 cup lemon juice

Cake:
2 cups finely ground almonds, hazelnuts, pistachios or walnuts
1 cup cake meal
2 tsp orange juice
1 tsp ground cinnamon
1/2 tsp allspice or ground cloves
6 eggs
1 cup sugar
1/2 cup vegetable oil
1 tbsp grated orange or lemon zest

Stir honey, water, sugar and lemon juice in a saucepan over low heat until the sugar dissolves, about five minutes. Increase heat to medium, bring to a boil and boil for one minute. Let cool.
Preheat oven to 350°F. Grease a 13-by-nine-inch baking pan.
Combine nuts, cake meal, cinnamon and cloves in a mixing bowl.
In another bowl, beat egg yolks with sugar. Add to nut mixture with orange juice. Add oil and orange or lemon zest.
In a third bowl, beat egg whites until stiff but not dry. Fold into batter. Pour batter into baking pan and bake for 45 minutes. Cool.
Cut cake into one- to two-inch squares or diamonds. Drizzle cooled syrup over the warm cake. Serve at warm or room temperature.

MY GRANDMA SADE’S TEIGLACH
Though my grandmother was born in New Jersey, her mother came to the United States as a young girl from Russia, so she probably learned this dish from her mother. Teiglach means “little dough pieces,” and it was originally for family celebrations and various holidays. Today, it is made primarily for Rosh Hashanah as a symbol for a sweet new year. According to my favourite reference book for any food, Marks’ Encyclopedia of Jewish Food, Teiglach was brought to the United States by Eastern Europeans in the early 1900s, and nuts were not part of the recipe in the old country.

2 1/2 cups flour
1 tsp baking powder
4 tbsp oil
4 eggs
1/8 tsp salt
3/4 cup brown sugar
1 1/3 cups honey
1 tsp ground ginger
1/2 tsp ground nutmeg
1 cup finely chopped pecans

In a mixing bowl, combine flour, baking powder, oil, eggs and salt. Stir until dough is formed.
In a saucepan, boil sugar, honey, ginger and nutmeg for 15 minutes.
Wet a board with cold water.
Pinch pieces of dough and drop them into the boiling honey mixture. Cook until very thick. Add nuts and stir. Pour honeyed pieces onto the wet board and cool slightly.
With wet hands, shape dough into two-inch balls or squares. Let cool. Store in an airtight container.

A rabbi’s dream come true

New York Rabbi Aaron Laine first arrived at Beth El, an Ashkenazi congregation in the Panama subdivision of Paitilla, 23 years ago. (photo by Lauren Kramer)

Imagine being a rabbi at the helm of a community where Judaism is actively embraced. A city where Jews enthusiastically attend synagogue and classes, keep Shabbat, send their kids to Jewish day school and honour the laws of kashrut. A rabbi’s dream, right? Then Panama City is that dream come true.

photo - Congregation Beth El — Congregation Beth El *(photo by Lauren Kramer)*

New York Rabbi Aaron Laine first arrived at Beth El, an Ashkenazi congregation in the Panama subdivision of Paitilla, 23 years ago. “Ninety-five percent of the community keeps kosher,” said the rabbi with pride. “On Sukkot, there used to be 10 sukkot built in the whole city but today everyone has a sukkah. And, where we once brought just 185 sets of lulav and etrog, we now bring in 1,700!”

Panama City’s 15,000 Jews can choose from six synagogues, three Jewish day schools, two large kosher grocers and 25 kosher restaurants. Laine’s congregation of 400 families boasts two sanctuaries, a massive social hall, two mikvahs, classrooms and a football court on the roof. On Shabbat in Paitilla, Jews are so conspicuous you have to look hard to find anyone non-Jewish.

I attended services in July with my family, watching from the women’s section as male congregants embraced their rabbi, joining hands as they sang and danced their way around the bimah in a spontaneous, joyful celebration of Shabbat. Accustomed to a very different tradition in Vancouver, I asked Laine how the community had become so religious.

“It’s a predominantly Sephardi community here and there’s much less assimilation than there is in North America,” he reflected. “Adults are engaged in Jewish learning and their kids are raised in a very traditional environment in Panama. Almost all go to Jewish day schools, where they get a traditional outlook on life that automatically brings less intermarriage. And the community also uses the old system of pressure to make sure kids marry Jewish.”

In a country of 4.1 million, Jews are very influential in Panama. The past 60 years have seen two Jewish presidents: Max Delvalle, who served for just under a month in 1968, and, later, from 1985 to 1988, his nephew, Eric Arturo Delvalle. Jews play a heavy role in tourism, retail and construction, and have financed many of the gleaming high-rise buildings and condominium towers in Paitilla.

“We feel greater in number than 15,000,” noted Allan Schachtel, whose family-owned companies include a major tourism firm, the cruise ship port and the ferry boats that deliver tours of the Panama Canal. Laine summed it up succinctly. “Take away the Jewish investment in construction in Panama and the country would still look like a shtetl,” he observed.

photo - The Plaza de Francia in Panama City recalls the 22,000 French workers lost to malaria and yellow fever in the 1880s — The Plaza de Francia in Panama City recalls the 22,000 French workers lost to malaria and yellow fever in the 1880s. *(photo by Lauren Kramer)*

In some places, it does. There’s a stark transition between the new, well-heeled Panama, with its tall, contemporary hotels, casinos and expansive malls, and the old. In Casco Viejo, the old city, we peeked inside Iglesia de San Jose to marvel at a massive altar flaked with gold that stretches 25 feet high. It’s the only thing that was saved in 1671 when the English pirate Henry Morgan ransacked and destroyed the city, burning it to the ground and making off with the loot. Local legend has it that a Jesuit priest painted the altar black to disguise it, and then told Morgan the original altar had been stolen by a different pirate. Today, supplicants still pray at the altar, four centuries after it was built.

Casco Viejo is full of charming passageways and ancient buildings that have only recently been gentrified. These days, they’re being transformed to house boutiques, gelato shops, galleries and restaurants, and the area buzzes with youthful energy and a vibrant night life. But there’s sadness here, too.

Iglesia de San Jose in Casco Viejo was the only thing saved when, in 1671, the English pirate Henry Morgan ransacked and destroyed the city, burning it to the ground. *(photo by Lauren Kramer)*

At the southern point of the quarter, the Plaza de Francia pays tribute to the French role in the construction of the Panama Canal. The French were the first to try and build the 80-kilometre canal in 1881, but their efforts were confounded by engineering troubles, bad planning and mosquito-born illness. Malaria and yellow fever felled 22,000 before the French gave up on the job. The Panama Canal Museum tells more of this story in a beautifully restored old-quarter building once home to the French Canal Company.

Back in Paitilla, life is good for the Jews of Panama City. Laine’s Spanish has grown fluent as he’s watched the community grow – not just in observance, but also in number. It’s swelled by Jews immigrating from Venezuela, Argentina, Uruguay and Peru. At a Chabad Friday night table, we met Israelis and Canadians who have chosen the city as their home and love its Jewish opportunity and spiritual warmth. This is a sweet life for a rabbi, Laine affirmed. “The Jews in Panama are good Yiddishe Neshamas,” he said, “they’re warm, traditional and deeply committed to family life.”

Lauren Kramer, an award-winning writer and editor, lives in Richmond. To read her work online, visit laurenkramer.net. This article was originally published by CJN.

City overflowing with history

The early 20th-century Casa Bianca is today one of the locations of the Municipal Art Gallery of Thessaloniki (Salonika). (photo by Pappasadrian)

When you think Salonika, don’t think old, think ancient. Because of its geographic location on the Via Egnatia trade route, this northern Greek city traces its beginnings to 316 BCE. Even back then, who you knew was key. Thus, the town was named Thessalonike, after Alexander the Great’s sister, the wife of Cassandrus. Over the years, it has been called Thessaloniki, Saloniki or Salonika. (Note: sometimes the “k” is switched to a “c.”)

Jewish Salonika is a small community of about 1,000. But it was not always this way. Trade drew lots of different people to Thessaloniki, including Jews.

The original Jewish residents were Romaniot Jews – they spoke Greek and maintained a Hellenistic culture. In the beginning, Romaniot Jews and non-Jews held the same occupations and language. As a strategic town in the Byzantine Empire, both groups faced invasions. But, by the 1000s, the empire reached a level of stability that permitted flourishing Jewish scholarship. During this early phase of the Middle Ages, Jews from other areas, such as Anatolia, Germany and Hungary, settled in Salonika. In the late 1300s, more Jews arrived, this time from Provence, Northern Italy, Sicily and Catalonia.

What followed will sound familiar. Religious affiliation defined the Jewish Salonikan way of life: the Romaniotes had their synagogue, the Ashkenazim had theirs and the Jews from Italy and France had theirs. The situation intensified when Salonika received the many Jews that Spain and Portugal expelled. Back then, there was no worry about space and growth, as the Ottoman takeover had depleted the city’s population, but the influx of Sephardim was so great that, by the end of the 16th century, Romanite ritual was no longer practised. Ladino or Judeo-Español became the Jewish community’s language of choice.

For more than four centuries, half of Salonika’s population was Jewish, pinning it with the title, “Mother of Israel,” or “Madre d’Israel.” With so many Jews, it was not uncommon for the non-Jews of Salonika to be conversant in Ladino.

Not only that, but, as the Renaissance had influenced many of the Sephardi arrivals, Jewish Salonika received a significant secular and religious boost. The city became famous for its Jewish silk producers, weavers and wool dyers. Libraries, an influential talmudic academy, a printing press and a conservatory for Jewish religious singing all started during this golden period.

By the 1600s, the corrupt and inept Ottomans had started milking the merchant class. When, in 1636, Judah Kovo, the chief of the Salonika delegates, came to Murad IV to pay the annual “clothes tax,” the sultan capriciously ordered his execution. No Jew was well enough “connected” to stay the order. Unfortunately, at the same time, key foreign markets dried up. Having the means to escape, many wealthy Jewish merchants left. Other Salonikan Jews tried to escape troubles by following in the footsteps of a false messiah, Shabbetai Zvi.

photo - The 15th-century White Tower is one of the most-recognized monuments in Salonika — The 15th-century White Tower is one of the most-recognized monuments in Salonika. *(photo by MaurusNR)*

The Ottoman Empire was in decline by the 17th century. Nonetheless, in the late 1800s and early 1900s, Salonika’s well-to-do Jewish residents managed to open flour mills, brick factories, breweries, soap-works and silkworm nurseries, carpet and shoe-making factories and several large tobacco workshops. Most of the Jewish population, however, remained poor. Considerable philanthropy within the community eased some of the daily hardships and provided education for many of the male children.

During this period, Jewish economic, social and political pursuits varied: on the one hand, some influential Jews continued in commerce and banking; on the other hand, some Jews became heavily involved in socialism. (The Workers’ Union, for example, was started in 1909 by a group of Salonika Jews. It became the most important socialist organization in the Ottoman Empire.) The railroad and port were important factors. Amazingly enough, until 1923, the city’s port closed on Shabbat and Jewish holidays.

The social balance started to shift in the intervening years of the First and Second World Wars. The national government passed laws aimed at hellenizing the city. Slowly, the Jews – numbering 61,439 in a 1912 Greek census – became segregated (the horrendous 1917 fire probably abetted this process) and reduced many to second-class citizens by virtue of their not speaking the Greek language. Some antisemitic activities occurred, leading to a pogrom that drove many Jews to leave. (See the 2015 essay “Mother of Israel” by Dr. Lena Molho at greece-is.com/mother-of-israel.)

When the Nazis arrived, they herded Jews into a ghetto, then to Auschwitz. While the courageous actions of Archbishop Damaskinos Papandreou (and the Athens police chief) saved thousands of Greek Jews, the Nazis killed 96% of Salonika’s Jews.

The killing was not enough for the Nazis, however. They also destroyed Salonika’s 2,000-year-old Jewish cemetery. Headstones ended up as pavement, urinals, driveways and even a dance floor. More damage – both physical and emotional – was sanctioned by the Greeks themselves. The university was built right on top of the cemetery. Even today, there is still no campus memorial to the massacred Jews.

Interestingly, individual Jewish Salonikans might well tell you their families came from Spain – as if this migration happened only recently. (See Bea Lefkowicz’s PhD thesis, published in 1999 by the London School of Economics.) At least among the older generation, this seems to be part of their personal narrative.

Today’s Jewish community is tightly run. A council provides numerous services to its members. Rabbi Eliyahu Shitrit, an Israeli with Moroccan roots, has been the community’s spiritual leader for several years now.

Central Salonika has the feel of a port town like Haifa, but with its own unique history. Some of its Jewish-related buildings from the 19th and 20th centuries still stand. Even if you don’t believe in ghosts, there is something eerie about today’s Jewish Salonika. But visitors will also see how grand and vital this place once was. Walk around and you will see sites specifically related to the Nazi occupation of the city, but also the Baron de Hirsch Hospital, the Villa Allatini and Allatini Flour Mill, Villa Bianca, Villa Modiano, Villa Mordoh, the White Tower, the market synagogue, Yad l’Zikaron and the Museum of Jewish Presence in Thessaloniki.

Deborah Rubin Fields is an Israel-based features writer. She is also the author of Take a Peek Inside: A Child’s Guide to Radiology Exams, published in English, Hebrew and Arabic.

Charleston’s southern charm

The Orthodox synagogue Brith Sholom Beth Israel. (photo from jsilverman.weebly.com/synagogues-in-charleston.html)

Charleston, S.C., is one of the most popular travel destinations in the United States. With its perfectly preserved old mansions, Charleston has charm and grace, in addition to genuine human warmth. Just walk along any of its streets and the first person you meet will surely give you a friendly hello.

Jews have resided in Charleston since 1695, attracted by economic opportunities and its proclamation of religious liberty for all. In 1749, there were enough Jewish pioneers in town to organize a congregation, Beth Elohim, the second-oldest synagogue in the country (now Reform) and the oldest in continuous use. Its imposing colonnaded neo-classical structure on Hasell Street was designated a National Historic Landmark in 1980.

The congregation’s small museum features the historic 1790 letter that George Washington wrote in response to the synagogue’s good wishes upon his becoming president: “May the same temporal and eternal blessing which you implore for me rest upon your congregation.”

This letter is emblematic of the spirit of friendship between the gentile establishment and Jews – and the acceptance, even early on, of Jews into the American mainstream, especially in the South. (More than 20 Jews from Charleston fought in the American Revolution and one, Francis Salvador, was a delegate to several Provisional Congresses. This may explain the friendly link between George Washington and the Charleston Jewish community. And, besides, Washington was known as a decent and courtly man.)

During the first decade of the 1800s, Charleston, with its 500 Jews, almost all of them Sephardi, was considered the largest, most cultured and wealthiest Jewish community in America. But, because of the destruction of the city during the Civil War, the city and its Jews became impoverished, and the waves of Jewish immigration in the 19th and 20th centuries passed it by. However, after the Second World War, the city prospered, as did its Jews. Today, the nearly 2,000 Jews in the city are in the professions, trade and business, teaching, politics and the arts. In the 1920s through the early 1950s, the city’s main street, King Street, was virtually shut down on Saturday. Walk along King Street today and you will still see many Jewish names on the shops.

photo - Congregation Kahal Kadosh Beth Elohim (now Reform) — Congregation Kahal Kadosh Beth Elohim (now Reform). *(photo from charlestonsmuseummile.org)*

In addition to three synagogues, one each from the major branches of American Jewry, there are a number of Jewish philanthropic and communal organizations, a Jewish community centre and a well-established day school.

The College of Charleston, the oldest municipal college in the United States, also has a broad-ranging and ever-growing Jewish studies program under the devoted and imaginative direction of Prof. Martin Perlmutter – now with its own building, thanks to the generosity of Henry and Sylvia Yaschik. The 800 Jewish students make up a significant minority of the college population. In addition to an active Hillel, the array of courses includes Hebrew language, Jewish culture and history and Israel- and Holocaust-related courses.

What makes Charleston especially attractive is its visible Jewish history, coupled with the world-class arts festival Spoleto USA, which runs for about two-and-a-half weeks every year, from the end of May to early June. The festival is an all-encompassing cultural experience: opera, dance, theatre, jazz and classical music, popular music, even acrobatics. The twice-daily chamber concerts, at 11 a.m. and 1 p.m., hosted with humour and panache by first violinist of the St. Lawrence Quartet, Geoff Nuttall, are considered the musical anchor of the festival.

But there is more. The Piccolo Spoleto Festival, sponsored by the City of Charleston, which runs during the same two-and-a-half weeks, offers a dizzying array of classical music, plays, cabaret and comedy acts, jazz cruises and much, much more. The College of Charleston’s Jewish studies unit also sponsors several events during the festival, including A World of Jewish Culture.

This year, the Orthodox synagogue Brith Sholom Beth Israel, on Rutledge Avenue, hosted four evenings of chamber music, featuring Jewish composers like Kurt Weill, George Gershwin, Paul Ben-Haim, Ernest Bloch and Eric Korngold, and non-Jewish composers who wrote Jewish music, like Ravel’s “Kaddish” and Max Bruch’s “Kol Nidrei.”

In Charleston, too, lived the people who inspired Porgy and Bess, by George and Ira Gershwin. The Gershwins resided temporarily on James Island, just outside the city, while writing their opera. They purposely came to Charleston to get a feel of the city, its ambience and its people. One of the great tunes in Porgy, of course, is “Summertime,” with its Yiddish-sounding melody in a minor key.

Charleston also has a Conservative congregation, and the three Charleston congregations – Reform, Conservative and Orthodox – are unique in that their rabbis cooperate for the greater good of the community and even meet once a month for lunch and a study session. Another fascinating crossover is that many Jews in the community belong to more than one shul – a kind of anti to the old joke about the Jew on the desert island who builds two shuls. When asked why, he responds, “That one, I daven in; the other, I wouldn’t be seen dead in.”

One longtime Jewish resident, a spry and active octogenarian agnostic proudly and only half-facetiously remarked, “I belong to all three shuls, thank God, but you won’t catch me praying in any of them.” And when he was indeed caught one Sabbath morning davening in the Orthodox shul, one of his pals came up to him and joked, “What are you doing here? Today’s not Yom Kippur.” In response, the 80-year-old quipped in his slight Carolina drawl, “Well, then I hope God forgives me for coming today.”

At the College of Charleston during the academic year, there is a kosher dairy cafeteria, Marty’s Place. And Chabad has pre-packaged prepared meat meals that are available at the famous Hyman’s Fish Market on King Street. For delicious vegetarian meals at reasonable prices, go to Jon York’s Gnome Cafe, at 109 President St.

Be sure to also take a horse-and-buggy ride in the historic district. The knowledgeable guides will take you through the residential part of town, focusing on the homes and the history of their occupants. Then stroll along the quiet streets, in the famous covered market, and tour the nearby plantations.

Two useful telephone numbers are those of the Charleston Visitors Bureau, 1-800-774-0006, and Spoleto’s, 1-843-579-3100 or spoletousa.org.

Curt Leviant’s most recent books are the critically acclaimed novels King of Yiddish and Kafka’s Son.

Trying to be gracious of spirit

My family recently came back from a trip to Alberta. My husband (a professor) helped run a conference at the University of Calgary. We took our twins and went on vacation, too. I won’t lie. I felt intimidated about managing a strange city on my own with two active 6-year-olds, but I planned like crazy. Due to some lucky breaks, it went well.

More than once, I was reassured by a comforting sense of community. The first day, we took the fancy mini-van (an unexpected rental car upgrade) and it began to ding. A tire was low. I worried. I warned my kids that we might have to stop – if I could find a gas station – and check the air on the tire. Before I’d managed that, we’d arrived at Heritage Park.

We were surprised to find the Montefiore Institute (original 1916 prairie synagogue) had been moved there. The living-history interpreter sang Yiddish folk songs to us. She’d been raised in Winnipeg, where I now live. However, the most comforting thing? The man next to me as we watched our children on the kiddy rides. He said the new car sensors were overly sensitive and that if I checked the tires, I might find nothing wrong. (We did. He was right.)

On the way out, I mistakenly turned down an (empty) one-way street. A woman yelled, “Wrong way! Wrong way!” and frightened us terribly. I apologized to her. I figured out the problem and turned around. She, too, was looking out for me.

Next day, we were at the zoo – enjoying the eclipse and how it made crescent-shaped shadows on the pavement – with my friend and her baby. We commiserated about how scary it is to be raising kids. We want to help them be strong in what is suddenly a more threatening environment for minorities. She also waited, smiling, while my kids and I recited a brachah (blessing) I’d found online over the wonder of seeing the eclipse. My friend is Muslim. Her parents were born in Jerusalem.

In Drumheller, at the Royal Tyrrell Museum, my kids had a blast until exhaustion hit. It was very hot. We dragged them out in mid-tantrum. In the parking lot, my husband handed the expensive tickets to another family to use. We ended up at a restaurant. Everything was better after eating in air conditioning. On the way out, I apologized to the senior citizens near us if we had disrupted their meal. They smiled graciously. One mentioned that everyone had been a kid once.

On our day trip to Banff, we wandered into a theatre. We were the only people attending a magnificent children’s show, filled with dancing animals and an amazing set done by artist Jason Carter. The performers said, “Be our guest!” It turned out we saw an $80 show for free.

Why am I telling you this? In recent issues of the Jewish Post & News, some have commented on a child who happened to go up on the bimah (pulpit) of a congregation during services. Some bemoaned how children are poorly behaved in “adult” restaurants and theatres, as well.

While I would be the first to ask children to try to behave and to suggest that synagogues develop good Jewish programming options for them, the thing is, a synagogue isn’t a theatre or a restaurant. A shul is a house of learning, community and prayer. Who should learn to pray in a loving community? Kids.

During my trip, I encountered embarrassing learning moments (“Wrong way!”) and moments of gracious compassion. (“We were all kids.”) I also consistently had my kids in public, in theatres and restaurants, where I worked awfully hard to make sure they behaved – and those around me were big enough to understand the challenges of the task.

I wasn’t sure what to write for this column. Late last night, I lay awake, near an open window. Noise kept me up. Adults were laughing and shouting on a nearby patio of an upscale restaurant as they drank. In warm weather, this happens several times a week. I was tempted to march out in my pajamas to tell them to be quiet so I could sleep but, instead, I tried to be more understanding. I didn’t call the cops.

To those who would say that this child disrupted them during services, I suggest to perhaps be a little more generous of spirit. Synagogue is about community. That means it’s not just about “me” and what I should get out of the experience. It’s about what we can offer each other – as we learn, pray and support each other. Sometimes, it’s challenging, embarrassing, hard or sad and, you know, that’s life. It’s not a fancy dinner with cocktails, or an expensive concert.

Rosh Hashanah is upon us. It’s time to evaluate how we can aim higher and do better next year. There are plenty of things for which I can atone, things I haven’t done well and want to do better. Meanwhile, I just heard from old friends (who went to Cornell University as undergrads with me) who live in Houston. They are OK. Their house is OK. But, in their brief email, they relayed such horrible stories about flooding and drowning all around them. They mentioned that they were trying to help those nearby who were less fortunate.

We’re so very lucky, I thought. That random community of helpers is so important, whether in Houston or Calgary or Winnipeg. It helped me through a big first vacation on my own in an unfamiliar city with kids. Those people lifted me up and helped me do it, despite the challenges. My friends survived a major hurricane, and they were going to help gut a friend’s flooded house. Upon reflection, I’d say, we can all be that “better person” and help out.

Next time a kid acts out? Smile. Meet the family. Ask if you can chase her down the aisle to give the parents a five-minute break. Heaven knows they need it.

Wishing you a sweet, happy, productive, meaningful 5778.

Joanne Seiff, a regular columnist for Winnipeg’s Jewish Post and News, is the author of a new book, From the Outside In: Jewish Post Columns 2015-2016. This collection of essays is available for digital download, or as a paperback from Amazon. See more about her on joanneseiff.blogspot.com.

Atheism has a long history

The title of a book review in Biblical Archaeology Review caught my eye, “Ancient atheism.” I read, “A common assumption is that atheism – a lack of belief in gods and the supernatural – is a recent phenomenon, brought on by the advent of science during the Enlightenment.” I ordered the book immediately: Battling the Gods: Atheism in the Ancient World by Tim Whitmarsh (Alfred A. Knopf, 2015).

Bumbling, staggering, veering and lurching: these are the words that come to mind when I think of my path towards a Jewish identity. As the product of a secular household, my only contact with Judaism was my brother’s bar mitzvah and a yearly Passover seder at a family friend’s home. I was born in 1939, the beginning of the Second World War, yet the word “Holocaust” was never mentioned during my childhood or adolescence. The topic of God was not broached. The exception to the rule was that my brother and I were sent for seven summers to a Jewish camp in the Adirondacks, in New York state. There, we became familiar with Friday night services, which included singing Jewish songs and a few prayers in Hebrew.

Fast forward to 1970, after 12 years of marriage, the birth of four sons and a sincere attempt at keeping a kosher home (it lasted three years), creating Passover seders and Chanukah parties and the decision to prepare our sons for bar mitzvahs, my husband and I divorced.

I enrolled immediately in courses at Concordia University. English and French literature introduced me to the Hebrew Bible and the New Testament. This led to a bachelor’s in French literature, which was followed by many courses in a master’s program called The History and Philosophy of Religion.

My search was on. I was determined to find out what religiosity and devotion to God entailed. I studied Judaism (modern and medieval), Jewish mysticism, Christianity, Buddhism and Hinduism. I wrote scholarly papers on these subjects. Later, I would take up the study of Modern Hebrew at McGill University. Upon moving to Vancouver, I studied Biblical Hebrew for three years and enrolled in the Judaic studies program at the University of British Columbia. Jewish law, Jewish ethics, Proto-Hebrew, I loved it all; but I was no closer to feeling comfortable during the High Holiday services at any synagogue.

I tried Conservative, Reform, Reconstructionist and Jewish Renewal congregations. I could not make that leap of faith required to pray to God. The secular humanist group had replaced Hebrew with Yiddish. I wanted my Hebrew! The result is that, every year, during Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, I felt uneasy, out-of-step and different.

I continued studying Modern Hebrew. I became editor of Jewish Seniors Alliance’s magazine, Senior Line. Studying, writing, volunteering and participating in the Jewish community were rewarding and gratifying activities, yet I felt like a second-class Jew. Was there something wrong with me?

Then along came Battling the Gods: Atheism in the Ancient World. As the May/June 2017 Biblical Archaeology Review notes, “In clear prose, Whitmarsh explores the history of atheism from its beginnings in ancient Greece in the eighth century BCE through the fourth century CE, when Christianity was adopted as the state religion of the Roman Empire. Whitmarsh says up-front that he is not interested in proselytizing atheism – but rather in studying its first thousand years. He argues that the history of atheism is an issue of human rights because denying the history of a tradition helps to delegitimize it and paint it as ‘faddish.’”

In reading this book, I came to understand, as Stephen Greenblatt is quoted on the back cover as saying, that “atheism is as old as belief. Skepticism did not slowly emerge from a fog of piety and credulity. It was there, fully formed and spoiling for a fight, in the bracing, combative air of ancient Athens.” And I agree with Susan Jacoby’s comments – also cited on the back cover – that it “is a pure delight to be introduced to people who questioned the supernatural long before modern science provided physical evidence to support the greatest insights of human reason.”

I devoured Battling the Gods, relishing the research and the historical insights. Homer’s epic poems of human striving, journeying and passion were ancient Greece’s only “sacred texts,” but no ancient Greek thought twice about questioning or mocking his stories of the gods. Whitmarsh states that “this book thus represents a kind of archaeology of religious skepticism.…This loss of consciousness of that classical heritage [the long history of atheism] is what has allowed the ‘modernist mythology’ to take root. It is only through profound ignorance of classical tradition that anyone ever believed that 18th-century Europeans were the first to battle the gods.”

Whitmarsh writes, “The Christianization of the Roman Empire put an end to serious philosophical atheism for over a millennium. The word itself, indeed, acquired an additional meaning, which was wholly negative: rather than the rational critique of theism as a whole, it came to mean simply the absence of belief in the Christian god.”

With Whitmarsh’s sentence, “The conclusion seems inevitable that the violent ‘othering’ as atheists of those who hold different religious views was overwhelmingly a Judeo-Christian creation,” my self-respect was restored. I now understand that I come from a longstanding tradition of atheists. My beliefs have history and credulity behind them. I will continue to study Hebrew, write, volunteer and participate in the Jewish community. In accepting my skepticism, I join the minds and hearts of the ancient Greek and Roman skeptics and atheists who came before me.

Dolores Luber, a retired psychotherapist and psychology teacher, is editor of Jewish Seniors Alliance’s Senior Line magazine and website (jsalliance.org). She blogs for yossilinks.com and writes movie reviews for the Isaac Waldman Jewish Public Library website.

Thrilled by community

Rabbi Philip Gibbs is the new spiritual leader of Congregation Har El. (photo from Rabbi Philip Gibbs)

Rabbi Philip Gibbs, who took up the pulpit at Congregation Har El / North Shore Jewish Community Centre in July, had an unusually straight path to Judaism in many ways, at least for someone living outside the Orthodox world.

“Judaism was always part of my life,” Gibbs told the Independent.

Growing up in Marietta, Ga., he attended a Reform synagogue, went to Hebrew school and lived in a home life structured by Judaism. He found Judaism both comforting and intellectually engaging. He loved the thorny moral questions of Jewish tradition and studying Torah stories for guidance about how to live in the world. By the time he finished high school, he was on the regional board of the Reform Jewish Youth Movement (NFTY).

Being a leader in NFTY helped Gibbs see what it meant to bring others to and through the experience of Judaism – and the seed of a rabbinic calling was planted.

Gibbs went to college at Washington University in St. Louis, Mo., and graduated in 2012 with a double major in Hebrew and the humanities. He also attended summer programs for intensive Talmud study and, as he settled into “that place of serious learning about Judaism,” he felt at home. He was enamoured by how the Jewish community supported each other in times of crisis and celebration, giving a wider sense of meaning to even happy moments.

Gibbs attended the Jewish Theological Seminary (JTS), attracted “by its academic emphasis and its acknowledgment of the evolution of Judaism.” It also fit his personal level of observance.

He focused on Talmud and halachah (Jewish law) at the seminary and became the secretary of the committee on Jewish law and standards. He became passionate in his interest in halachah, both theoretically and as a “road to values.” He enjoyed taking ritual practice and explaining “the goal and meaning of it from a place of depth.”

Gibbs graduated with a master of arts in Talmud and received his rabbinic ordination earlier this year.

As a rabbinical student, he was engaged with global social justice and human rights issues, and became a member of Rabbis Without Borders. In his second year, after touring Hebron with T’ruah, a rabbinic human rights organization, he was featured in an article in the Forward about younger rabbis willing to grapple fully with the moral complexity of life in Israel.

Gibbs connected to Congregation Har El, which has been without a permanent spiritual leader for just over a year, through the JTS matching process for new rabbis. He had been to Vancouver before and looked forward to flying out for the interview.

“B.C.’s wilderness and outdoors activities are a big draw for me,” said Gibbs, who led the Jewish Outdoor Leadership Institute camp Ramah in the Rockies and is looking forward to the hiking and skiing opportunities available in the Vancouver area. “I grew up doing a lot of hiking in the southeast and led backpacking trips with Conservative movement summer camps. When I got here, I was also thrilled to find a community of very nice and caring people, a place that wanted depth in what they were doing.”

Gibbs said his main priority right now is getting to know the community before he begins putting together any new ideas. He is also getting to know Vancouver.

“It’s great,” he said. “One of the first things I did was get a bike – it’s a city very easy to get around in. My first view was before the forest fire smoke came in, and it was absolutely beautiful.”

Matthew Gindin is a freelance journalist, writer and lecturer. He writes regularly for the Forward and All That Is Interesting, and has been published in Religion Dispatches, Situate Magazine, Tikkun and elsewhere. He can be found on Medium and Twitter.

Tzedakah not charity

Rabbi Joseph Telushkin will be in Vancouver for FEDtalks on Sept. 13. (photo from HarperCollins)

A group of elderly retired men routinely gather in a Tel Aviv coffee shop and talk about current events. Given the world situation, their chats tend to be very downbeat. One day, one of the men in the group declares, “I am an optimist.”

His friends look at him in puzzlement and one of them asks, “You’re an optimist? So why do you look so worried?” And the man replies, “You think it’s easy to be an optimist?”

This is a joke Rabbi Joseph Telushkin tells when he speaks about Jewish humour – a topic on which he literally wrote the book. It also sums up his response to a question posed by the Jewish Independent in a recent telephone interview.

Telushkin is the author of more than a dozen books, including the two-volume A Code of Jewish Ethics, Jewish Literacy: The Most Important Things to Know About the Jewish Religion, Its People and Its History and The Book of Jewish Values: A Day-by-Day Guide to Ethical Living. He is routinely cited as one of North America’s most engaging thinkers and writers on Jewish topics and he has devoted his life to Jewish education.

“I am by nature an optimist,” he said, explaining that his study of Jewish history inspires pessimism, but Judaism’s promise of messianic redemption makes him an optimist. “Hence, I end up as an optimist with a worried look on my face,” he said.

Telushkin is one of five leading thinkers – originally there were four scheduled – who will speak at FEDtalks, the kickoff of the Jewish Federation of Greater Vancouver’s annual campaign next month.

Telushkin’s lifetime devoted to Jewish education was motivated in part by his concern that Jewish religious devotion tended to emphasize ritual observances “as if ethics were necessary, but sort of an extracurricular activity.”

Judaism, he said, has important and uplifting rituals, such as Shabbat and the observance of the holidays. “But there are these incredible insights in Judaism that apply to us in every day of our lives.” That is why he wrote The Book of Jewish Values, which is an exploration of ideas and lessons that can be applied day after day.

Exploring these ideas, he said, can ameliorate some of the challenges facing the Jewish people, such as assimilation and intermarriage.

“If two percent of Jews were intermarrying, you could make a big fight and just do everything in your power to stop intermarriage,” said the rabbi. “Once you’re dealing with intermarriage rates approaching 50%, you can either write off the future of the Jewish people … or you can say, guess what, Judaism has things to teach Jews and non-Jews. If Judaism has something to offer people, it can offer it to non-Jews as well. That’s the role that Jewish education can play. We can model values that people can look at and feel enriched by.”

If Jewishness plays a central role in one’s life, Telushkin said, a person should want to share that with a spouse and model Judaism “in a way that would also make them want to share in Judaism.”

With Dennis Prager, Telushkin wrote the book Why the Jews?: The Reason for Antisemitism. The provocative thesis suggests that something particular about Jews inspires Jew-hatred; that Jews bring it upon themselves.

“Antisemitism, we argue, is ultimately a reaction to Judaism and its values,” Telushkin said, “to the Jewish concept of God, which denied the gods of the others, to the Jewish concept of law.”

The centrality of education in the Jewish tradition has led to personal and collective successes that, in turn, have inspired jealousy, he continued. This jealousy leads to antisemitism and it is indeed, Telushkin said, something inherent in Judaism that provokes this response.

“The reason Jews have succeeded, often much more than their neighbours, is because Judaism entered the world with a demand that no other religion had made: that everyone has to be educated – and you shall teach it to your children – and that focus on education led to greater success.”

Antisemitism, he added, is also inspired by the unique theological relationship between God and the Jewish people.

“There is no other religion that fuses religion and peoplehood the same way,” he said. “When Ruth converts to Judaism in the Bible, she says, amech ami, your people shall be my people, Elohayich Elohai, your God shall be my God.”

This connection between religion and peoplehood also defined antisemitism and the way it morphed during the Age of Nationalism. Until around 1800, when the world in which Jews lived was primarily a religious one, antisemitism focused on the God of the Jews and the rejections of the prophets of Christianity and Islam.

“When nationalism emerged, antisemitism was increasingly focused on the people who were Jews,” Telushkin said. Conversion to another religion would no longer erase Jewish national identity, and membership in a peoplehood, a nation, became the focus of antisemitism. “Hence, the greatest antisemitism in the world today is anti-Zionism.”

The most catastrophic forms of tyranny in recent history, Telushkin added, were direct refutations of Jewish values.

“What was Nazism if not a rejection of all the values that Judaism was trying to bring into the world? What was Soviet communism if not a rejection of all the values the Jews bring into the world?” he said. “Nazism and communism were both radical repudiations of the Jewish notion of God. They held that the state had the highest value. That’s why Soviet dissidents used to chant the song ‘I Fear No One Except God,’ because, in a totalitarian society, people who fear God think that there is something higher than the government, higher than the party. Today, of course, there is the danger of Islamists, people who claim to believe in God but who certainly don’t believe in a God whose primary demand of humans is ethical behaviour.”

At FEDtalks, Telushkin will speak on the topic, Tzedakah is Not Charity. The word charity, he said, suggests something done voluntarily, out of love. “While the word tzedakah derives from the word justice, which suggests that it’s not only a voluntary thing to give tzedakah, it’s an act of justice, which means not doing so becomes an act of injustice,” he explained. “What I want to emphasize is that Judaism is rooted in the notion of not just volunteerism but also obligation.”

By example, he suggested comparing two types of diets. People go on diets, he said, usually for one of two reasons – to be physically more attractive or healthier – but few are able to maintain a strict diet for a month or longer without breaking it.

“Because, in the final analysis, it’s voluntary,” he said. “Everyone knows people who keep kosher, who can go for years without eating foods that are forbidden because they feel commanded … when we do something out of a sense of commandment, we do so with a greater sense of consistency.”

Charities often suffer during tough economic times, he added, because people see charity as voluntary. But, even during tough economic times, people pay their taxes because they are afraid of the consequences of not doing so.

“So the notion of mitzvah in

Judaism is a notion of commandment, something is obligatory,” he said. “I emphasize that point because people consider mitzvah a good deed, but it’s really a commandment.”

FEDtalks takes place at the Chan Centre on Sept. 13. For tickets and more information, visit jewishvancouver.com/fedtalks2017. The Independent has invited all of the speakers to be featured in advance of the event. Last week: Ruth Wasserman Lande. Next week: Rabbi Jay Henry Moses.

Beth Tikvah’s rabbi

Rabbi Adam Rubin, wife Judith and their children. (photo from Rabbi Adam Rubin)

When Rabbi Adam Rubin and his family visited Congregation Beth Tikvah in February of this year, they fell in love. “They seemed to like us, too, I guess, because I got the job,” the rabbi told the Jewish Independent.

Rubin was born in Santa Monica, Calif., and grew up in Tustin, a small community outside of Los Angeles. He went to a public high school, which had only a few Jews, and first found a connection to Jewish community when he went to Jewish summer camp in northern California.

Rubin worked as a counselor in his college years, then furthered his journey into Jewish culture with a trip to Israel. He had a remarkable experience there, staying with a working-class Israeli family and wandering around Jerusalem for hours every day, fascinated. After a friend handed him a brochure for Pardes Institute of Jewish Studies, he was intrigued and made plans to study there.

After graduating from University of California, Berkeley, with a degree in American and European history, Rubin spent two years at Pardes. Despite the traditional yeshivah curriculum, there is no expectation of Orthodox observance. Free to experiment and find his own relationship with Judaism, Rubin became observant.

He studied Israeli politics and history and went on to do his doctorate at University of California, Los Angeles, in Jewish history, focusing on the Hebrew culture of the Yishuv in the 1920s and 1930s, in the era of Hayim Nahman Bialik. He was interested in people who came to Palestine to refashion Jewish life, as Ahad Ha-am (Asher Ginsberg) and the followers of cultural Zionism did. Cultural Zionism was more focused on the renewal of Jewish culture than the political renewal of a Zionist state.

Rubin settled into an academic life in Los Angeles, teaching rabbinical students at Hebrew Union College (HUC) as well as students at University of Southern California (across the street). After several years in academia, though, he was less than happy.

“The core thing in an academic life is research and writing,” he said. “I can do that, but I’m a people person, very social. I love to be with people, and my favourite part of the job was the faculty connection to the broader community, which HUC required of its teachers.” Also, over time, “the love of history faded and was replaced with the love of Torah.”

By that time, Rubin had become “egalitarian observant,” was involved in an independent minyan and had enjoyed a study chavruta (group, literally friendship) for years. He was “living a meaningful, wonderful Jewish life,” he said, “and didn’t feel like I needed to be a rabbi to do that.”

As he increasingly wanted to serve the Jewish community more directly and to be with people, he turned to the rabbinical path. After his ordination at Ziegler School of Rabbinic Studies, he became assistant rabbi at Beth Shalom, a Conservative synagogue in Seattle.

“I wouldn’t have been able to make this major transition without the support of my wife Judith,” said Rubin, noting that he needed to take a significant loss of income and become a student again to become a rabbi. His wife, an experienced elementary school teacher, will be teaching secular studies at Richmond Jewish Day School.

Although Rubin had a “great experience” at Beth Shalom, he wanted his own pulpit. “I used to joke that I was the oldest assistant rabbi in the U.S.,” he said.

The Rubins have two children: Elior, 7, who will be going to RJDS, and Na’amah, 3, who will be going to a francophone preschool.

The rabbi is looking forward to taking up the spiritual helm at Beth Tikvah.

“I love that Beth Tikvah congregation has a do-it-yourself spirit – a great deal of the religious life of the shul is done by the congregants themselves. I love how deeply committed our members are to the flourishing of the community, and how much they love and support one another.”

When asked what he hoped to bring to Beth Tikvah, Rubin replied, “My passion for exploring the spiritual riches of the Jewish tradition and sharing the sacred experience of living a life of mitzvot, combined with a commitment to the intellectual rigour and seriousness of deep Torah study.”