Judaism – Page 58

Unique rabbinical road

Sandra Lawson is studying at Reconstructionist Rabbinical College. (photo from Sandra Lawson)

Sandra Lawson, an African-American lesbian who converted to Judaism after being raised in a secular home, is now studying to be a rabbi at Reconstructionist Rabbinical College, in Wyncote, Penn.

Born in St. Louis, Mo., Lawson’s dad was in the military, so the family moved around a lot, though mainly stayed in the Midwest. Her dad was a military recruiter and career counselor.

“My dad was raised a Christian, but I really had no religious upbringing when I was a child,” Lawson told the Independent. “I knew about Jesus, and we would occasionally get invited to church, but there really was no religion in our house.

“On my mom’s side, we had a back story of an ancestor who was Jewish. Like folklore, it really meant very little to me until I started on this Jewish path myself.”

This path began when Lawson was an undergraduate student and needed another class to graduate. The only course available at the time was one on the Hebrew Bible, which Christians refer to as the Old Testament. The teacher was a Christian academic from Kenya.

“When I got to the class, the teacher told everyone they needed to get a Bible for the class,” said Lawson. “But, he said to not get a King James version, as, he said, it’s a bad translation.

“This class opened my mind a little bit to the Bible as a piece of literature. He made the Bible acceptable for me. It wasn’t a book to be feared. Years later, I have a Jewish girlfriend and her sister invites me for Shabbat dinner. I thought, I like this. It’s really cool. I shared with my girlfriend at the time that an early ancestor was Jewish, but that I know nothing about Judaism.”

From that first Shabbat dinner, Lawson went to her girlfriend’s family home every Friday night.

“They weren’t Orthodox,” said Lawson. “They were just a modern family that would stop everything for Shabbat. It was really cool. I loved the ritual. I loved how open the family was. I loved how they accepted and treated me.”

Around this time, Lawson met Rabbi Joshua Lesser of the Reconstructionist Congregation Bet Haverim in Atlanta. Lesser hired Lawson as his personal trainer and, over the course of the two or three years she worked in that capacity, their friendship evolved and he invited her to his shul.

“I was hesitant,” admitted Lawson. “I shared with him the story of my great-grandfather. Eventually, I did go and I fell in love with the community – not necessarily Judaism, at the time – but I loved the community. That’s how I got interested.

“I started going to services regularly. The community has straight people, gay people and kids but, mostly, it is a space where I felt like I could be myself – something I’d never experienced before in a religious community.”

Lawson went on to learn more about Judaism and, in 2003, she told Lesser she was thinking about converting. In the conversion classes she took, the teacher helped her see a broader view of Judaism.

“I loved the class,” said Lawson. “I loved learning about the Jewish calendar and reading the Bible again, as a piece of literature. I loved learning about Jewish history.”

After about a year of studies, the class was over. And, on Oct. 13, 2006 – the day before her 35th birthday – she converted to Judaism.

Lesser asked Lawson to be a congregational representative on the board for the gay members of the synagogue. A year later, when gay marriage was a hot topic in the presidential election debate, Lawson took her stance a bit further.

“It was sort of funny, because I didn’t know anyone in my gay life who was even thinking about trying to change marriage laws,” she said. “We were all just happy that we could be legally gay. Josh [Lesser] asked if I wanted to join the gay and lesbian task force, as they were coming to Atlanta to do some training. I was like, sure. And he’s like, the good thing about it is, they need more diversity. They need more black and brown voices on these issues.”

Lawson later joined a clergy-based group working on the issue. This group, according to Lawson, was all over the map as far as sexual orientation and most everything. But, what they did agree on was that the state had no business legislating what you did behind your own closed doors.

“The more I started to do volunteer work, the more I realized I wanted to have a more powerful effect, more ability to effect change … that I would need the title of rabbi … and here we are today, as I work on becoming one,” said Lawson.

“Obviously, I’m different. There aren’t a lot of rabbis that look like me. I think being on the edge of the fringes of Judaism allows me to be more flexible or more creative in the things I do.”

One of the required classes that Lawson took last year was on entrepreneurship and thinking outside of the box. During that time, she was approached by the Jewish owner of a local vegan café she went to often, asking if she would be willing to lead services at the café on Friday evenings.

“I went back to class and told my teacher about it,” said Lawson. “I wrote it up as a grant … so I had the grant to lead services at this Lansdale café (outside Philadelphia).”

They have been running services at the café for months now. Every Friday, Lawson shows up with two vegan challot and grape juice. Arnold (the café owner) sets up the place and invites friends and customers to stay for the service.

“Every time, we’ve had at least a minyan,” said Lawson. “It’s been a lot of fun. People can show up as they are, with their sandals, their shorts. We sing. We do a little Torah and welcome the Shabbat.

“People come because they want to see what’s happening in the café … I think it was last week, Arnold had a flautist there, and people came to hear this guy play the flute. Also, I think, in May, there was a couple there who were not Jewish, but they had been taking a Christian class on Judaism. The class was finished, they saw this service and came to learn more about Judaism.”

Next on Lawson’s mind is leading services outside. “I don’t know how I’m going to pull it off yet,” she said. “Right now, I’m in this stage of trying to get a lot of buzz around different ways that people can do Shabbat.

“My dream, I don’t know when it will happen, is to have a Shabbat morning service in the future, in a park. I’m someone who, I see God in nature a lot. To be running in the woods, when the sun is coming up, is the best way for me to pray in the morning. I know a lot of people could connect their Judaism to nature. I haven’t quite figured it out yet, but I hope to.”

Lawson is set to graduate rabbinical school in 2018.

Rebeca Kuropatwa is a Winnipeg freelance writer.

Feeling at home in Ecuador

The Jewish Community Centre of Quito is a magnificent building containing two synagogues, its architecture reminiscent of Old Jerusalem. (photo by Lauren Kramer)

It was Friday night in Quito, Ecuador, and, as dusk fell, my husband and I approached the Jewish Community Centre, a magnificent one-hectare complex whose light stone walls and graceful architectural arches are reminiscent of Jerusalem. We joined the community for Kabbalat Shabbat, singing the same Ashkenazi tunes we knew so well from Vancouver as an impassioned, young Brazilian rabbi led the service. With us was Pedro Steiner, a member of the Ecuadorian Jewish community who’d graciously offered to pick us up from our hotel and drive us to and from the synagogue that night.

I admit, it had felt odd sending out an email requesting hospitality over Shabbat a few weeks prior. But, as the melody of L’Cha Dodi washed over the large synagogue, its domed roof meticulously hand-painted and inscribed with the words of the Shema, I figured it was well worth it. We were 4,000 miles from home, but we felt very much closer in the warm embrace of Quito’s Jewish centre.

Our host was a first-generation Ecuadorian whose Czech and Austrian parents had arrived in the country just before the Second World War. They were among 4,000 European Jews who found refuge from the Holocaust in Ecuador, granted entry permits on the proviso that they work in agriculture. Most of those Jews had been merchants, industrialists and businessmen and, while they were grateful to escape the war, most had no interest in pursuing an agrarian lifestyle. After the rich culture they knew in Europe, Ecuador seemed small and culturally impoverished. Perhaps that’s why at least half of those new immigrants left by 1950 for lives in Israel, America, Argentina and Chile.

Steiner’s parents opted to stay. “My dad bought a book on agronomy and read it while on the ship to Ecuador,” he recalled. “After arriving, he found work on a farm south of the city and, by 1955, he’d established a small dairy factory in Quito.” Years later, he sent his son to college in the United States and Pedro spent a decade there with his wife before the two returned to Quito to raise their children.

There are some 600 Jewish families remaining in the city. “I realized that, in coming back to Quito in the 1970s, we were delaying the decision to move for another generation,” Steiner reflected.

Until the early 1970s, most Jews in Quito sent their children to American School, a liberal institution created by Galo Plaza Lasso, one of the country’s past presidents. Then a student at the school won a prize for his review of Mein Kampf and the Jewish community, insulted this could happen, determined it was time to establish a new school. In 1973, Collegio Alberto Einstein was founded with “an atmosphere of Jewishness.” The K-12 school, ranked among the top educational institutions in Ecuador, offers classes in Jewish studies but “it’s not a religious school,” Steiner emphasized. Of the 700 students at Alberto Einstein, only 10% are Jewish.

That’s where Steiner’s kids were educated. And, firmly committed to building Jewish life in Quito, Steiner helped obtain the funding and donations necessary to build the Jewish Community Centre in 2000. He proudly toured us around the impressive site. With a ballroom, conference rooms, two synagogues, a kosher kitchen, a swimming pool, large sports grounds and rooms for Jewish youth movements and Hebrew classes, the JCC is an enviable facility. “But it’s underutilized,” Steiner said, his voice tinged with regret.

Days before Steiner picked us up from our Quito hotel, we had spent time in the Ecuadorian highlands two hours north, at Hacienda Zuleta, the family home of the late Lasso. Built in the 1600s, the expansive property is set in a bucolic valley surrounded by the Andes Mountains. Cows bellowed gently outside our bedroom window, a fireplace lit the 17th-century paintings on the ancient stone walls at night and hot soups with traditional Ecuadorian dishes warmed our bellies at meal times.

photo - Fernando Polanco, grandson of the late Ecuadorian president Galo Plaza Lasso, holds a Tanach given to his grandfather on a diplomatic visit to Israel in the 1970s — Fernando Polanco, grandson of the late Ecuadorian president Galo Plaza Lasso, holds a Tanach given to his grandfather on a diplomatic visit to Israel in the 1970s. *(photo by Lauren Kramer)*

The Lasso family library contains more than 1,000 books but, minutes after arriving, we’d extracted the only one of Jewish significance: a Tanach inscribed and given to Galo by a chief rabbi when he visited Israel in the 1970s. In another book documenting his political legacy, we found a photograph of Golda Meir welcoming him to the country. “My grandfather was loved by the Jewish community of Ecuador because he helped Jews relocate to Latin America,” said Fernando Polanco, Galo’s grandson, who now runs the Lasso family home.

Hacienda Zuleta hosts visitors for overnight stays, horseback rides into the mountains and bike excursions on its cobbled roads. During our stay, we explored the organic vegetable garden, toured the cheese factory, cycled past the dairy farm with its herd of 500 cows and marveled at the size of caged condors at a rehabilitation project to help protect this critically endangered bird. Most of these are initiatives Galo put into place.

In the ornate Lasso hacienda, we perused portraits of a family that helped shape Ecuador, marveling at Galo’s generosity of spirit. This was a man who helped shape the policies that welcomed Jews to the country, and who divided up his own 50,000-acre fertile estate, giving parcels to the Zuleta locals who lived and worked there.

“My grandfather’s clear vision, environmental responsibility and social consciousness back in the 1940s made him one of Ecuador’s best presidents,” said Fernando, beaming with pride. “Zuleta was his trial and error, his conscience.”

If you go: Adventure Life, a company specializing in travel in Ecuador, coordinates itineraries throughout the country, including Quito city tours, highland hacienda adventures, Galapagos island cruises and visits to the jungle (adventure-life.com or 1-800-344-6118).

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

Determination key to continuity

“The power above is set in motion by the impulse from below, even as vapor ascends to form the cloud. If the community of Israel did not first give the impulse, the One above would not move to meet her, for yearning below makes completion above.” – Zohar, Genesis 35a

I have always believed the secret of Jewish survival is exemplified in the life of my grandmother, of blessed memory, who I never met. She died when my mother – the second youngest of 11 children – was only 7 years old. Young as she was, my mother, Sarah Rebecca Opas, never forgot her mother, or the spirit of Yiddishkeit she left behind.

My grandmother’s name was Mila and she was betrothed to my grandfather David from the age of 3, when her parents in Plotsk, Poland, called her in from playing to tell her that, when she grew up, she was to marry the little boy next door. This was back in the early 1800s when betrothals were arranged by parents as a matter of course.

It was the time of pogroms in Europe and, when he reached the age of 17, David informed his parents he was leaving for the New World and had secured a job on a ship. “What about Mila?” he was asked. “I will send for her when I get settled,” he assured them. “No you won’t, you’ll take her with you.” So, Mila, then 16, and David were married by the rabbi before sailing to the New World, which David believed to be America, but was in fact Australia.

The ship took six months to reach Port Adelaide in Australia. David was hired to be a handy man on the vessel, and his first job was to look after the food. As there was no refrigeration then, the whole supply of meat was lowered on cables into the ocean, where the salt water would preserve it. However, he failed to secure it properly, and it all sank to the bottom of the sea – no meat for the crew for the entire trip. His next job on board was to sew any sails that had been torn in the strong winds. He had no idea how to sew, so his young wife did it for him, as well as keeping the captain and crew’s clothing repaired.

Before they reached Australian shores, Mila was already expecting her first child.

Both having come from Orthodox homes, it was a terrible shock to them when they landed. No synagogues, no kosher butchers, no established Jewish communities. They settled in a little country town, Bombala, near the border between Victoria and New South Wales. David opened a store to provide fodder and dry goods to the farmers in the surrounding districts and, gradually, as they learned English, the business prospered enough to give the family a comfortable lifestyle.

But Mila’s heart was always sad, because she did not know how to keep her family Jewish, as there were no other Jews for them to meet and marry. So, she made a plan.

Mila had heard that there was a small Jewish community in the city of Sydney. As each of her older children turned 18, she would travel to Sydney and stay there until she found a Jewish boy or girl willing to go back with her to Bombala and marry one of her children, sight unseen. Her love of her Jewish heritage was such that achieving this became the most important part of her life, and she was amazingly successful. Of the 11 children, only one of them married a non-Jew; there were no divorces. Sadly, Mila died of scarlet fever still relatively young, before the penicillin was invented that would have saved her life.

My mother and her little brother were raised by their older sisters, who by then were all married. They never let her forget her mother and the importance of remaining Jewish even in near-impossible situations where Jewish rituals are almost nonexistent.

In retelling my grandmother’s story to me so many years later, my mother always stressed that the Jewish soul is unquenchable. No matter how far one strays from observance, the spark remains and it is something precious that must be cherished and passed on from generation to generation. By making my home in Israel, becoming an observant Jewish woman, and being blessed with 18 Israeli grandchildren and 16 great-grandchildren here, I hope my mother and grandmother can be at rest.

Dvora Waysman is a Jerusalem-based author. She can be contacted at [email protected] or through her blog dvorawaysman.com.

Soul-opening retreat experience

Let me start by saying that I grew up a secular Jew. As I’ve gotten older, my desire for more Yiddishkeit has increased tenfold. Long story short, I went from being a “High Holidays-only Jew” to someone who lights candles every Friday night, attends shul every Shabbos and goes to Torah classes regularly.

My latest quest to embrace Judaism took the form of the 2016 National Jewish Retreat. Sponsored by the Rohr Jewish Learning Institute and Chabad, this six-day retreat took place in Palm Desert, Calif. More than 1,400 Jews from all over North America settled in to the enormously lavish JW Marriott for Jewish learning and fun.

I’m stopping here because I know that when I got to Chabad, many of you shut down and/or entertained a plethora of preconceived notions and stereotypes: black hats, long coats, lots of rocking and davening, strict Shabbos rules. Think again.

Even I was skeptical, wondering whether I’d be judged for my “immodest” clothing, my limited Jewish observance and my lack of Torah knowledge. But, no sooner did I get there, than a variety of religious and not-so-religious folks introduced themselves and welcomed me warmly. From that point on, I was hooked.

The programs comprised 150 lectures and 75 speakers. Keep in mind the retreat was only six days long, so I had to choose my topics wisely. All told, I attended 29 lectures. And I even had time to go the washroom once or twice. From 9 a.m. till late into the night, I had the honor of learning from world-renowned speakers, listening to radio talk-show host Dennis Prager, attending a Dudu Fisher concert, viewing the stunning art of Barbara Hines, and enjoying Jewish comedian Robert Cait.

The main event, the retreat sessions, covered a wide spectrum of topics including practical lessons from the Tanya; discovering purpose and mission in life; Jewish medical ethics; the pursuit of happiness and gratitude; the relevance of G-d in 2016; handling personal struggles, pain and suffering; a challah bake; a talk about why bad things happen to good people; Jewish law; living with faith; the legacy of the Lubavitcher Rebbe; Israel’s inclusive army; the miracle at Entebbe; wine tasting; the historical relationship between Jews and Muslims; antisemitism; how to pray with passion and purpose; the future of Israel and Zionism; Jewish history and mystical prophesies; the feminist challenge of 2017; a farbrengen for women; and leadership. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg.

Focusing on the personal more than the political, historical or global, the sessions I attended were nothing short of awe-inspiring. Never having experienced intense spiritual Jewish learning like this, I was a human sponge. It sparked something visceral in me and my emotions ran wild. (Read: I’m emotionally incontinent and my tears overflowed early and often.)

My favorite sessions included a class on the Tanya, which is an early work of Chassidic philosophy and a “one size fits all” life manual. It’s basically the “GPS for life” and encourages us all to live with purpose and meaning.

I also attended a couple of sessions on the Rebbe and the secret of Chabad. While some people consider Chabad a radical sect of Judaism, it has actually become the mainstream, because of the Rebbe’s focus on outreach to Jews around the world. He considered outreach the key to continuing Yiddishkeit. The Rebbe was without doubt the most influential rabbi in modern history. A revolutionary figure and an inspiration, he created an “army” of shluchim (emissaries), who set up Chabad houses around the world to inspire Jews in Jewish traditions and education. As a result, Chabad is considered a “vanguard of change” and leaders in the community.

A session called The Pursuit of Happiness reinforced the idea that happiness and blessings are directly correlated. And, since happiness is a choice, we should direct our emotions towards positive things. In essence, we’re really products of our choices, not our circumstances.

Pain and Suffering was a session about transforming pain into growth. The speaker made a poignant observation about grief having “energy.” He posited that, when a person can harness that energy, they can change the world. He also pointed out, from studies, that people with faith have more resilience and strength. In his words: “You don’t know the power of faith until you have nothing left but faith.”

There were lots of social events at the retreat, too. I got particularly emotional during the challah bake, while lighting Shabbat candles with 600 other women, and singing and dancing after Havdalah with more than 1,400 Jews from my new Jewish “family.”

And then there was the gourmet kosher food. When I heard about the 24/7 tea room, I expected a small room with maybe some Danish and coffee, then I saw the football-field-length foyer with fruit, candy, chips, cookies, sandwiches and various beverages. That was during the weekdays. On Saturday night, at around 11 p.m., I experienced my first melaveh malkah meal: a lavish buffet that symbolically escorts the departing Shabbat queen. Imagine vegetarian burger sliders, innumerable cheesecakes, pastries, a crepe station, a pasta station, lox and bagels, an ice cream station, and more. At midnight, I thought to myself, “Do I keep eating or do I sleep?”

I came back bubbling with enthusiasm, anxious to tell my husband Harvey all about it. When the descriptions and tears of joy were done, he said: “So, I guess you drank the chicken soup.” You bet I did. And boy was I thirsty!

A huge thank you goes to Rabbi Yechiel Baitelman of Chabad of Richmond for encouraging me to attend the retreat. I could never have imagined how it would alter how I think and feel about being Jewish. Truly, it was a soul-opening experience.

Every single day was a blessing of inspiration and spiritual holiness for me. Sharing my stories from the National Jewish Retreat is my way of sharing the blessings. I only hope that you get to experience it for yourself one day.

Shelley Civkin recently retired as librarian and communications officer at Richmond Public Library. 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. She’s also busy exploring her Yiddishkeit.

Finding joy

From the solemnity of Yom Kippur, we move into the season of rejoicing, Sukkot. As with many of our traditions, this one has multiple layers. The shelters for which the holiday is named represent temporary dwelling places, the transitory generations on the way from bondage in Egypt to the Promised Land and, by extension, the impermanence or fragility of Jewish security.

It would be an understatement to say that the creation of the state of Israel 68 years ago changed Jewish perceptions of ourselves and our place in the world. The existence of a Jewish state presented an alternative for Jewish people living in places of repression and danger. For Jews living in free countries, like Canada, Israel is a source of pride but also the source of a deeply complicated and often challenging reconfiguring of our identities. Diaspora Jews, prior to the success of Zionism, were subject to the changing winds and whims of local populations and leaders. For a few years after the War of Independence, Israel was widely admired around the world as a model of what a new country can be. This was also a time in history when antisemitism may have been at its lowest ebb, or at least at its least visible. For emerging postcolonial states in 1950s and ’60s Asia and Africa, Israel’s head start provided a template for independence and progress.

After the 1967 war, though, the perception of Israel morphed from a model for post-colonialism to one of neo-colonialism, and Palestinians replaced Jews as a cause for progressive peoples. In the time since, Diaspora Jews have often been placed in the position of defending (or not defending) things that Israel does. Yet it remains a haven for Jews who are threatened in their homelands, including, incredibly, in parts of Europe. For those Jews who feel safe in our countries, Israel is also a beacon – of Jewish diversity, knowledge and technological innovation.

The Promised Land, as our historical narrative tells us, was not a place of permanent joy. Twice the Temple would be destroyed and the people dispersed. The impermanence of Jewish sovereignty, even after the ancient return of the exiles, would carry on another two millennia until 1948. The sukkah is a symbol, too, of that impermanence.

And yet, it also represents a joyfulness based on our people’s adaptability and willingness to find a unity and presence even in places and times of disunity and impermanence. And, at the end, we observe Simchat Torah, a celebration of the written word that many believe is the very reason a homeless people were able to maintain cohesion and continuity through generations of dispersion.

Families key for shul

Michael Sachs, left, and Rabbi Levi Varnai of the Bayit. (photo from Michael Sachs)

The Bayit, a small shul in Richmond, is seeing a resurgence. The increase in attendance and birth of new programming seems to be due to the growth of young Jewish families. Rabbi Levi Varnai, who took his post at the Bayit in July of this year, said their Shabbat morning services are busy and full, and a recent dinner welcomed 80 people to the shul, which only has 42 chairs.

Though Varnai is himself a Chabad rabbi, the shul is not affiliated with any denomination and stresses its inclusivity.

“There is a huge movement of young families into Richmond,” Varnai told the Independent. “We are not here to compete with the existing shuls, which are doing a great job. We are here to make a place for young families who haven’t yet found their place in the Richmond Jewish community.”

Varnai was born in Vancouver, but his family made aliyah in 2000. After yeshivah, he was drafted into the Israel Defence Forces and became an army chaplain, since he had semichah (ordination). In 2011, he married his wife Rivky, the daughter of Rabbi Shaul and Chaya Brocha Leiter, who run Ascent, a hostel in Tzfat known for its classes on Jewish mysticism. The couple moved to Vancouver in 2013 and have three children: Mendel, Shmuli and Chaya.

Children are a very important part of their vision for the synagogue. They have Shabbat programs for kids and are planning an afterschool program which will be a club featuring a number of fun, hands-on activities, like baking and arts and crafts, imbued with Jewish culture. The shul is currently preparing for Rosh Hashanah and, on Sept. 18, gathered to decorate family honey jars. “We aim to make this place a dynamic centre for young families and, so far, there is a lot of energy and interest,” said Varnai.

According to its website, the Bayit has the only kosher mikvah in Richmond.

Michael Sachs is the current president of the synagogue. He and his family moved to Richmond in January 2015, priced out of the Vancouver market, and has since been instrumental in the Bayit’s rebirth.

“My favorite thing is probably our Carlebach-style Friday night services,” said Sachs. “One thing that I really love is the difference we are making in people’s lives, either with help finding housing or support during hard times … we are there, with our local Jewish partners, for the Richmond community.”

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.

Shul etiquette “commandments”

There’s no use in pretending it doesn’t bother me. The woman has invaded my sacrosanct space and time! But what can I do about it?

Let me explain.

I have a precious and brief time that I dedicate to enhancing my well-being each week. I attend a yoga class on my doctor’s order to become mindful of my time and space. I have come to cherish this opportunity to shut out the constant and disparate white noise that my brain exudes during the rest of my week. It’s the noise that reminds me to pay a bill, check my calendar for meetings, and note the items I have to remember to add to the shopping list. Not to mention all the family obligations that must be juggled. I’m anxious just writing these items, worried that my life is spinning out of my control, hence my doctor’s suggestion-cum-order.

In the first few minutes of each class, I focus my energy, breathing in and exhaling slowly. Recently, just as I was reaching the plateau that allows me to connect mind and body, the door to the quiet room opened with a woman who was not quite finished a phone conversation.

“Yeah, I know just what you mean, Sally. I had the same issue with her. I’ll have to tell you about it after my yoga class. I’m just getting in to it now.” Sally’s friend looks around, finds a spot, dumps her bag and continues to talk. “Oh, you do? Which one do you take?” She tucks the phone between her ear and shoulder, then unrolls her mat. “Really? Uh huh. Oh, and how much is it? Wow, that’s a lot less than I’m spending.” She upends her bag, looking for her water bottle. The instructor looks at her and smiles, suggesting she is ready to begin. “Listen sweetie, I gotta go, this class makes the British rail schedule look slack! Yeah, let’s do that, I’ll check my schedule for next week. No problem, I’m always here for you.”

As the instructor takes us through the first movement, Sally’s friend declares that this first stretch is feeling good, especially after such a stressful day. I am regaining my initial plateau, reminding myself that I need to judge others favorably. But with each position shift Sally’s friend has a comment. I’m finding these verbal utterances very intrusive.

Sally’s friend is not content with oohing and aahing. Now she is complimenting other classmates on their yoga attire. My desired state of mind is now wishful thinking. The only thing I am mindful of is how aggravated I am getting. Doesn’t Sally’s friend realize that this space and time is sacrosanct to me and to the others? Surely she must realize that there is a time and place for everything, and that this is neither the time, nor the place for her behavior. How can she be so oblivious to her poor yoga etiquette? Can she not see the distress she is causing?

This is related to my other dilemma. I don’t go to yoga to enhance my well-being and connect with my soul and my soul-maker; for that, I go to shul and pray with my community. And Sally’s friend’s behaviors reflect behaviors that regularly occur each Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur and on any given Shabbos, from people both religiously observant and not. So, I humbly submit for consideration and hopeful implementation “10 commandments of etiquette for shul attendance.”

Remember in whose house you are a guest. The sanctuary is G-d’s domain, not yours. People often comment they don’t find shul a “spiritual experience,” but a little preparation can help. Just as you ready yourself for a day of work, ensuring you have briefed yourself for an upcoming meeting, for example, so you should ready yourself for prayer. Avail yourself of the many sources of Jewish inspirational writings for the appropriate holy day. It’s up to all of us to bring our own spiritual thoughts and emotions to the sanctuary.
No cellphones. Just as theatres request that you refrain from talking, texting or photographing, shul is not a place for cellphone use during Shabbos or Yom Tov. If G-d needs you, He’s got a better way of getting your attention. And, if you can’t separate yourself from your communicator for the length of services, you’ve probably got an addiction and may need some professional help – perhaps even a yoga class.
Stop the chatter. Shul is not a baseball diamond, and you are not in the outfield yelling, “batter, batter, batter, swing batter.” The rabbi, chazzan and Torah reader do not require a cheering section and you are not there to provide color commentary. They do require your respectful attention.
Socialize outside the sanctuary. Any conversation longer than the prerequisite greeting of “Good Shabbos or good Yom Tov” should be held outside of the sanctuary. Nobody else wants to hear about your bad back and why you can’t golf or play tennis anymore.
No market reports, please. Whether it’s Bloomberg, BNN, the Wall Street Journal or the costs of buying kosher meat and poultry, if it is important enough to discuss at length, see Commandment #4.
Wear comfortable shoes. Women, you are not walking the catwalk in a Jimmy Choo or Louboutin fashion show. There are lengthy periods of the services that require standing in front of the open ark. Sitting down while the ark is open is disrespectful unless you’re over 70 or have a serious medical condition or impairment. If you regularly suffer from foot fatigue, pinched toes or aching bunions, bring a pair of flats.
No beach, cocktail or lingerie wear. It should be obvious but if your outfit suggests you need to apply sunscreen, then don’t wear it to shul, as it’s unlikely that there will be a tanning bed provided. Likewise, men, jeans – no matter if they are considered “dress wear” – are not appropriate unless you are under the age of 6, and even then it’s questionable. As well, unless your shul sports a disco ball from the ceiling over the bimah, leave the booty-shaking togs at home.
Don’t show off your offspring. Bubbies and zaidies, your grandchildren are not fashion accessories. They are small human beings, worthy of your respect. If you insist on traipsing them through the sanctuary to have your shul mates ooh and aah over them, you are doing yourself and your grandchildren a disservice, and creating a distraction for all around you.
Bribing children into the sanctuary. From a small child’s point of view, the sanctuary is crowded and there are a bunch of strangers wanting to pinch their cheeks or kiss them. Offering bribes in the form of candy, juice, cookies or an iPad or other tech gadget often results in major negotiations that would impress even the most accomplished CEO. Save yourself the grief and sign the kids up for shul programs for their age group, or leave them at home with Mary Poppins.
No electronic gadgets. This is for shul attendees of all ages. Just as police are cracking down on distracted driving, there should be a penalty for distracted davening. Do not engage your smartphone or Star Trek communicator during “slow parts” of the service. Answering your email, checking Facebook or sharing your latest photos are not earning you any extra credit with G-d.

We all have a lot to be grateful for and Rosh Hashanah is the time to express our gratitude to our creator on the anniversary of the creation of the world. At a time when we ask for emotional, physical and spiritual help on behalf of ourselves and others, we should be mindful that we are being judged by the king of all judges regarding our behavior, our attitudes, our compassion and our consideration for our fellow human beings.

Ellen Freedman is a native Vancouverite. She is a longtime reader and first-time writer.

Mystery photo … Sept. 30/16

[Chant Torah?] at Beth Israel Synagogue, 1979. (photo from JWB fonds, JMABC L.09865)

If you know someone in this photo, please help the JI fill the gaps of its predecessor’s (the Jewish Western Bulletin’s) collection at the Jewish Museum and Archives of B.C. by contacting [email protected] or 604-257-5199. To find out who has been identified in the photos, visit jewishmuseum.ca/blog.

Dialogue heads east

Belle Jarniewski (fifth from the left) is one of the co-founders, with Sumera Sahar (fourth from the left), Perry Kimelman and Dr. Rory Dickson of the Muslim-Jewish Dialogue Group of Winnipeg. (photo from Belle Jarniewski)

Started in Winnipeg last year after a visit from Rabbi Shaul Osadchey of Calgary’s Beth Tzedec, Belle Jarniewski and Perry Kimelman believe that a local dialogue group with Muslims and Jews will do a lot of good for both communities.

Jarniewski is chair of the Freeman Family Foundation Holocaust Education Centre, a position she has held since 2008. And, just recently, she began a two-year term as president of the Manitoba Multifaith Council, the first woman and the first Jewish person to hold that position.

“The Manitoba Multifaith Council had brought in Rabbi Shaul Osadchey of Calgary for its Multifaith Leadership Breakfast in 2015 and I was intrigued to hear how successful he had been in his own interfaith dialogue work and to hear how well he had reached out to the Muslim community there,” she told the Independent.

Jarniewski approached her synagogue with the idea of seeing if she could work with them to hold the kinds of events with which Osadchey had seen success, but received little interest. So, she decided to start a group independently of an institution.

Belle Jarniewski (photo from Belle Jarniewski)

“Perry and I are also members of the Arab-Jewish Dialogue Group, which discusses (primarily) the Arab-Israeli conflict, but seems to eschew any real discussion of religion,” she explained. “Both of us have been active in interfaith work for quite some time and have many connections to wonderful people. We felt that was something that was missing. Once we realized that both of us had long been interested in starting just such a group, we put our heads together to see what would be the best way forward.”

Of course, to get the idea off the ground, they needed a Muslim partner or two. They found a perfect match in Sumera Sahar, a member of the Canadian Council of Muslim Women (CCMW). The second Muslim co-convener they found was Dr. Rory Dickson of the University of Winnipeg’s department of religion and culture. And, with that, the four set out to build membership, which is now a balanced mix of almost 40 Jews and Muslims (by invitation only). Members have been proposed by other members, as well as by the conveners.

“It is important that those who join are interested in dialogue with each other, are interested in religion and culture – our own and each other’s – and accept the very few rules we have imposed upon ourselves,” said Jarniewski.

These rules, she said, include “no discussion of politics – there is already another group established for that very reason – and, as well, both groups decided early on that we preferred not to involve clergy. If someone wishes to join, they must be referred through a member.

“We also have a closed group discussion through our private Facebook page, which seems to work very well. The ages of our members are from university through … well, I don’t ask … I would say in the 60s.

“The diversity of religion streams and origins of both Jewish and Muslim members contributes to some wonderfully rich discussions,” she continued. “The group is all about learning about each other’s religion and culture and each other, and getting to know one another. For far too long, Muslims and Jews have had, at best, a polite relationship with each other, but haven’t really gotten to know one another and learned just how much our two religions have in common.”

The group has held a number of evening get-togethers, learning about Sharia and halachah side by side. “The word Sharia evokes, for most Westerners, the most extreme form of Islamic law,” said Jarniewski, “but we learned that Sharia is far more complex than this simplistic interpretation.

“One night, we had Dr. Ruth Ashrafi talk about the role of women in Jewish law and Drs. Rory Dickson and Ahmet Seyhun lecturing on family law in Islam. On another night, we had a great discussion about halal and kashrut.

“At our very first meeting, one of our Jewish members, who hails from Iran, recited a Muslim prayer in flawless Arabic. What an icebreaker that was!”

Sahar told the Independent this group “is an important initiative and much needed, given the popular and often-unchallenged notion that somehow Jews and Muslims are historical and natural adversaries.”

Sahar is an executive member of CCMW’s Winnipeg chapter, the co-coordinator of a community food bank serving Arabic-speaking refugees and has recently been invited to sit on the board of the Manitoba Multifaith Council.

The core objective of the Muslim-Jewish dialogue group is that Muslims and Jews get to know one another directly without the filter of religious or political organizations. Sahar contends that most, if not all, group members believe that the group is a crucial step toward countering antisemitism and Islamophobia and, most importantly, to bridging communities.

Like Jarniewski, Sahar has made good friends and formed a much better understanding of the similarities both religions share, not just religiously, but also as minority religious communities.

“Being a minority community has its challenges, and both Jews and Muslims share similar anxieties and concerns,” said Sahar. “We share the struggle of gaining acceptance and inclusion without losing our religious values and identity. We are also subject to the question of representation – who speaks for us?

“Both communities are pluralistic and diverse but, as is the case with most minority groups, we are often represented in the media and popular discourse as a single voice. I was struck to learn that this issue is as much a source of frustration for the Jewish members of the group as it is for the Muslim members.”

The dialogue group has provided a platform to discuss such issues and suggest some strategies to overcome them. The convenors are pleased to see the sincerity with which group members have engaged with one another and are hopeful in their potential to build understanding.

“I feel that it is more important than ever to speak up when unfortunate statements are made in these rather difficult times that attack Muslims and Islam,” said Jarniewski. “These statements are generally mired in stereotypes and ignorance. It is important that our community realize they are received in the Muslim community in the very same way that the Jewish community is hurt by antisemitic comments.”

Jarniewski is well aware that, across Canada, there are Jewish-Muslim groups such as the one in Winnipeg who are coming together to engage in dialogue. “Little by little, groups such as ours will have a very positive effect,” she said.

Jarniewski quoted Catholic priest and Swiss theologian Hans Küng: “No peace among the nations without peace among the religions. No peace among the religions without dialogue between the religions. No dialogue between the religions without investigation of the foundation of the religions.”

Rebeca Kuropatwa is a Winnipeg freelance writer.

Should God be put second?

For Donniel Hartman, putting God second is a way of maintaining a religious life and faith in God, but without God undermining our responsibility to our fellow human beings. (photo from Donniel Hartman)

Donniel Hartman, an Orthodox rabbi and president of Jerusalem’s Shalom Hartman Institute, an educational powerhouse dedicated to invigorating Judaism, has recently published his second book. It is called Putting God Second: How to Save Religion from Itself (Beacon Press, 2016).

“Religious people very often argue that religion is fine and that the only problem is that religious people are flawed and are distorting our religious life,” Hartman told the Independent. “Yet, the people who harm, maim and hurt in the name of religion come armed with chapter and verse. They seem to be quite accurate about their religious life. And atheists make similar arguments. The only problem with atheists is they seem to get something wrong as well; they argue that there’s nothing valuable in religion.”

Hartman thinks there is something missing in this discourse, which he explores in this book: queries like, what about religion can be powerful, profound and constructive, and might the issue simply be that people are getting it wrong?

“The idea that I was testing for 10 years – that was researched, taught about and thought about – was that religion suffers from an internal autoimmune disease wherein it attacks its own goals,” said Hartman.

“Religion has noble goals,” he contends, and is not only a source for evil, as some atheists say. “I think religion is, in fact, trying to produce kind individuals. There’s something inherent within the system, which can cause it to underachieve and fail to meet its aspiration. In short, the cause of that autoimmune disease is God – in particular, when God is put first.

“The idea is that monotheism creates a being of such transcendence and scope that when God enters the room, it shifts the human consciousness away from their moral responsibility for other people.”

For Hartman, putting God second is a way of maintaining a religious life and faith in God, but without God undermining our responsibility to our fellow human beings.

“This one transcendent God is something that I feel human beings have great difficulty assimilating into their system, into their lives, and that God has a potential to warp our consciousness,” said Hartman. “I call it ‘God intoxication,’ wherein everything else becomes unimportant.

“It’s the encounter with God that can create this distortion. Who is more important, a human being or God? Human beings will again distort that message because, when it gets instilled into their minds, what can possibly be more important?

“We see religious people, in the name of faith, harming, judging and insulting people, showing a lack of tolerance, pluralism – the same people who could, in their everyday lives, act decently, kindly. The minute religion is in the equation, there’s potential for it to get distorted,” he said.

“God intoxication is not a flaw within religion, it’s embedded in the idea of monotheism. Some people argue we should get rid of God. My book tries to reestablish a life of faith. It doesn’t say to get rid of God or to put God 14th or 15th. At the end of the book is when you put God second, but you put God’s will first toward developing a religious life with God that immunizes us from this autoimmune disease.

“One of the essential concepts in the book,” he continued, “is how you treat other human beings – this being the core of how we assess the value of our lives. I think there is a very profound spreading of faithlessness precisely because of the consequences of what God seems to bring to humankind. My goal in putting God second is to help more people establish a deeper relationship with God, one with a God they can respect…. If God needs to be first, people feel it’s a God they don’t want to believe in. I believe that the language of putting God second is what will enable a language of faith to be far more pervasive within our modern community and the modern world.”

Hartman hopes that Putting God Second will reach a diverse readership. “The target audience,” he said, “is thoughtful people searching for a decent world and a meaningful religious life, and I hope this book will be conducive to moving us in the right direction. Most importantly, I like to help people and, if this book is too upsetting for you, just put this book second, it’s not meant for you…. I hope there’s a broad range of people that, through this book and this religious language, can try connecting with it, both with God and with their tradition.”

Hartman, who was born in the United States and spent 11 years in Montreal, is currently working on a Hebrew translation of the book.

Rebeca Kuropatwa is a Winnipeg freelance writer.