Judaism – Page 60

Books for people with dementia

Eliezer Sobel created L’Chaim: Pictures to Evoke Memories of Jewish Life with his parents in mind. (photo from Shutterstock)

Eliezer Sobel’s new book, L’Chaim: Pictures to Evoke Memories of Jewish Life, was born from personal experience.

Sobel is an artist at heart and has spent his life finding ways to interact with people – through writing, facilitating workshops and running retreats over the past three decades. Three years ago, on his parents’ 67th anniversary, things took a turn for the worse.

“My mother is in her 17th year of Alzheimer’s and is 93,” Sobel told the Independent. “My dad was fine and taking care of her at home until he was 90. On their 67th wedding anniversary, he fell down the stairs. He fell on his head and almost died. Overnight, there were two dementia patients in the house.

“Prior to that, he was driving, cooking and shopping, as well as hiring and handling the payroll for a team of seven aides. He was amazing with it. Suddenly, overnight, I had a brain-damaged dad at 90 years old.”

Sobel and his wife lived in Virginia at the time, which is seven to eight hours away from New Jersey, where his parents lived. After the accident, however, they moved into his parents’ home.

photo - Writer Eliezer Sobel’s parents, Manya and Max, in 2016. They were the inspiration for Sobel’s series of picture books for readers with dementia — Writer Eliezer Sobel’s parents, Manya and Max, in 2016. They were the inspiration for Sobel’s series of picture books for readers with dementia. *(photo by Eliezer Sobel)*

“We stayed in the house for 10 months, taking care of my parents and trying to get the right kind of help in the house that would enable us to eventually move out,” explained Sobel. “But we stayed nearby so we could monitor and manage the scene.”

His dad recovered a substantial amount of his cognitive and physical ability, but passed away this past November.

The work on the book goes back to 2011. “She didn’t speak English words anymore,” said Sobel of his mother at the time. “She would sometimes make up her own language and sounds. She stopped reading, as far as we knew.

“One day, I came upon her accidentally…. She was flipping through a magazine and I overheard her reading the big print headlines out loud, in English, correctly. I was totally floored. Mom can still read, even if it’s just a three-word phrase.”

Sobel wanted to run out and buy his mom a picture book, one designed for Alzheimer’s and dementia sufferers, but he couldn’t find one anywhere. His next thought was to use a children’s picture book, but he was unsure whether his mother could negotiate a book with a storyline. He wanted each page to stand on its own, so it would not require the reader to recall what had happened on a previous page.

“I called up the national Alzheimer’s association and spoke with their chief librarian for the whole U.S. and her response to me was to say that there were 20,000 books for caregivers of those with memory loss,” said Sobel. “I said, ‘I am not looking for [a book for] the caregiver, I’m looking for my mother, the patient. There was dead silence on the other end of the line. She couldn’t think of any such book. Eventually, she did mention one other author who has since become an acquaintance of mine who had a few books, but they weren’t really what I wanted, so I realized I had to do this myself.

“I first did a book that wasn’t just for Jews. It was for anyone with memory loss. It was called Blue Sky, White Clouds, and came out in 2012.”

Sobel – who has also written a novel and a memoir – received such a positive response to this first picture book that he decided to make it into a series.

“My mother got to enjoy the first book a lot,” said Sobel. “Her aides would use it with her almost daily. We would observe that she would zero in on particular photos, ignore certain pages, find a photo – particularly one of a married elderly couple – and contemplate it for 20 minutes and caress the faces.

“These books are for a particular stage of dementia,” he said. “They’re appropriate for someone who’s got enough memory loss and dementia that they won’t be offended or have awareness that this is kind of a simplistic picture book, they’ll just be interested. But they can’t be too far gone, like my mother now, who can’t even look at my face, let alone my book.”

Caregivers often struggle with how to engage people with Alzheimer’s.

photo - A page from L’Chaim: Pictures to Evoke Memories of Jewish Life — A page from L’Chaim: Pictures to Evoke Memories of Jewish Life. (photo by Olaf Herfurth)

“It’s very hard to find activities to do with someone in that condition,” said Sobel. “So, what I was trying to accomplish was to give caregivers something they could share with the patient … or give patients something they could use on their own…. It was an opportunity for sharing to occur, an activity of quality time. For certain pages, in the earlier stages [of dementia], it stimulates memories, conversations, reminiscences or free association.

“I’m from the creative right brain of things, so I could find things to do with my mother, like empty a box of coins on the table and we’d spend an hour playing with them – pennies over here, stacking the quarters, making a picture of a house with the dimes. Then, I’d say to my dad, ‘See, Dad! There are lots of things you can do with Mom. You could put these coins away and do the same thing tomorrow. She won’t remember.’

“He would call me the next day, and say, ‘Ah, it didn’t work. She didn’t know the difference between a penny and a nickel.’ That was the point. He’s a mathematician and very linear … [he] could not break into the play mode. If you’re someone who’s good with little kids, you can do that with someone like my mom.”

In some ways, Sobel often finds himself feeling grateful to Alzheimer’s, because it made it possible for him and his mother to grow closer – at least for the first 10 years of her disease.

At the beginning, Sobel saw her become more available. As a Holocaust refugee, she had always been very insulated, private and afraid of others. Sobel said he went to a psychic early on in her disease, worried that his mother was losing her memories, and the psychic thought she’d be happier without them.

“It was true,” Sobel reflected. “She transformed from that scared refugee into an open, childlike, loving, laughing angel. People would feel blessed to be around her. She was delightful – greeting strangers and striking up conversations that made no sense. She and I laughed about who knows what. She and my father would dance to music. A lot of things were happy about her Alzheimer’s experience.

“I’m not saying there weren’t nightmarish times. We had our share of those as well,” he added. “She went through a violent period where she was chasing people with steak knives. We had to put her into a psych ward for 10 days.”

That was the exception, though, and Sobel said, “I had an opportunity to finally heal my relationship with her.”

Rebeca Kuropatwa is a Winnipeg freelance writer.

Jerusalem, the Eternal City

Today I arose early and took a few minutes to look at the pearly dawn through my bedroom window. A bit later, I walked to the nearest grocery store and bought fresh bread for breakfast before I began my work day. All trivial, mundane things? Yes, but there is a difference, for I was doing them in Jerusalem.

No matter what ordinary events shape my day, the fact that they are happening here, in the Eternal City, somehow endows them with an extra dimension.

Jerusalem got its name because it has been the city of the Jewish people since the days of King David and his son Solomon, who built the First Temple here. Generation after generation continues to pray: “If I forget thee, O Jerusalem, may my right hand lose its cunning.” Devout Jews the world over turn towards Jerusalem three times a day in prayer, as the focus of their longing.

Five thousand years ago, a group of settlers chose to make their homes on the steep ridge called the Ophel, south of today’s Old City. Two thousand years later, David captured it from the Jebusites and, by bringing the Holy Ark here, he established forever its sanctity for Jews.

Jerusalem’s history spans 4,000 years. In 2000 BCE, Abraham offered his son Isaac for a sacrifice on Mount Moriah – ready to carry out the ultimate renunciation until the angel stayed his hand. A thousand years later, David captured the city and, from 961 BCE to 922 BCE, Solomon constructed the First Temple. In 537 BCE, Jews returned from Babylon, where they had been exiled by Nebuchadnezzar and, in 517 BCE, the Second Temple was completed. After that, Alexander the Great took the city and then Antiochus ruled it, until the Maccabees liberated it. In 63 BCE, Pompey captured Jerusalem and, over a period of 33 years, Herod reconstructed the Second Temple.

Jerusalem’s history continued to be a story of conquest and destruction by a chain of occupiers lusting for this precious jewel: the Romans, the Greeks, the Crusaders, the Mamelukes, the Ottoman Empire, the British Mandate, the Jordanians … a succession of nations who wanted to rule this battle-worn city that possesses no material riches – no gold, no precious metals, no minerals, no oil, nothing to enrich their coffers. So what does it possess?

I don’t know the answer but, in 1907, Hermann Cohen, in his Religiose Postulate, put forward the idea that they had no choice: “All nations, without exception, must go up with the Jews towards Jerusalem.”

Prior to that, in 1882, Peretz Smolenskin wrote, in Nekam Brith, a prophecy about its conquerors: “This shall be our revenge; we shall quicken what they shall kill and raise what they shall fell…. This is the banner of vengeance which we shall set up, and its name is – Jerusalem.”

Jews and non-Jews alike have always felt a magnetic pull towards the Holy City. It is written in Midrash Tehillim 91:7: “Praying in Jerusalem is like praying before the Throne of Glory, for the gate of heaven is there.” Every Jew who prays at the Western Wall feels an unusual closeness to G-d. Judah Stampfer, in his book Jerusalem has Many Faces (1950), expressed it poetically: “I have seen a city chiseled out of moonlight / Its buildings beautiful as silver foothills / While universes shimmered in its corners.”

There are many enchanting cities in the world, and I have visited many – Venice, Avignon, Bruges, Hong Kong, Paris, all have a magic that transforms the senses. Yet there is something extra in Jerusalem that I simply can’t define. It is a beautiful city, but there are many that exceed it. It is dignified, ancient, historic – all adjectives that can be applied to other cities, like London and Rome. Jerusalem, however, is an emotion, a state of mind even more than a place. It arouses dormant passions. It nurtures the soul. It is spiritual and inspiring.

To call Jerusalem home for the past 46 years is, for me, an enormous privilege. I am always aware of the history under my feet. I never forget the nameless heroes who fought to retain it for the Jewish people. And so, let us pay homage to the Maccabees, to those who withstood the Crusaders and Saladin and the Ottomans. And, in our own time, our Jewish soldiers who reunited Jerusalem in the Six Day War in 1967, 50 years ago. So many heroes, who made the ultimate sacrifice so that those of us in Jerusalem today could live out our lives in the Eternal City.

Dvora Waysman is the Australian-born author of 14 books. She came with her family to live in Jerusalem in 1971. She can be contacted at dwaysman@gmail.com or through her blog dvorawaysman.com.

Resolution on full inclusion

The Reconstructionist Rabbinical Association, during its annual meeting, on March 28, overwhelmingly approved an expansive resolution affirming the full inclusion, equality and welcoming of all transgender, non-binary and gender non-conforming individuals.

The resolution commits the RRA to work for “full inclusion, acceptance, appreciation, celebration and welcome of people of all gender identities in Jewish life and in society at large.” The document also “strongly advocates for the full equality of transgender, non-binary and gender non-confirming people and for equal protections for people of all gender identities under the law, at all levels of government, in North America and Israel.”

In keeping with the ethos of Reconstructionist Judaism, the resolution’s passage followed a democratic and deliberative process. Over the past year, representatives from Reconstructionist congregations, as well as the board of governors of the Reconstructionist Rabbinical College, approved similar resolutions. All of the central organizational bodies representing Reconstructionists have now raised their collective moral voice.

The RRA vote comes about a year and a half after the Union for Reform Judaism passed its Resolution on the Rights of Transgender and Gender Non-Conforming People. The RRA is pleased to join the ranks of a growing number of Jewish religious and cultural institutions formally affirming transgender inclusion and establishing new policy guidelines.

The resolution aims to be a blueprint for action. Already, the Reconstructionist Rabbinical College has graduated rabbis who identify as transgender, non-binary or gender non-conforming. Individually, congregations have been taking steps toward the full inclusion of people of all gender identities. Congregation Bet Haverim in Atlanta, for example, is in the process of creating a fully inclusive chevra kadisha (burial society) that will ensure that Jews of all genders will have access to respectful and traditional rites throughout their entire lifecycle. Other congregations have been experimenting with methods of calling people up to Torah using non-binary and gender-neutral language.

Under the March resolution, efforts will be made to aggregate and share these innovations among the approximately 100 congregations and 350 rabbis of the Reconstructionist movement. In addition, the movement’s website for ritual resources, ritualwell.org, will be expanding its existing resources giving expression to all-gender-inclusive values.

The full resolution can be found at jewishrecon.org.

Levi’s first haircut

Levi Mochkin celebrated his third birthday and his first haircut last month. (photo by Shula Klinger)

On March 26, Mendy and Miki Mochkin of Chabad North Shore celebrated their son Levi’s upshernish (or “cutting”). This occasion marked both Levi’s third birthday and his first haircut.

In the Orthodox tradition, a boy’s hair is not cut until his third birthday. This is because the Torah compares the little boy to a tree – the tree does not bear fruit until it has grown for three years. The upshernish is a community affair; all of the guests are invited to cut off a section of the child’s hair.

With the start of his formal education, the 3-year-old can begin to share his unique gifts with his family and community. And, just like the tree, a child must be nurtured consistently if he is to flourish in later life.

This is the time when the son receives his kippah and tzitzit. He also begins his Jewish studies in earnest. Along with learning the aleph-bet, he is taught to recite blessings and say the Shema.

At Levi’s upshernish, a booklet shared Torah passages from Deuteronomy and Genesis. These were a selection from the 12 verses that the Lubavitcher Rebbe taught children to recite each day. According to Rabbi Mochkin, “they contain many of Judaism’s foundational beliefs and principles.”

The Mochkins hosted the upshernish at their West Vancouver home, with members of their extended family from New York. Members of the Chabad community from Vancouver, East Vancouver and the University of British Columbia were also present, along with many local families.

Shula Klinger is an author, illustrator and journalist living in North Vancouver. Find out more at niftyscissors.com.

Obligation to be hospitable

Imagine, for a minute, that you’re throwing an open house for a children’s sports team. You’ve invited a lot of people. You don’t know them all. Yet, you’re the host. It’s a beautiful, sunny, warm day. You’ve set up your yard for a party. The lemonade and cookies are out, the welcome banner is flapping in the breeze.

As people drift up your sidewalk, you see they’re nervous or ill at ease. “Welcome!” you say, and your family smiles at them. “Come on in. Join us.” You offer them food and drink. Then, you ask guests gentle, kind questions. “How long has your kid been playing soccer with our team?” or “Where does your kid go to school?” “Have you met our dog?” and so on.

Before long, you’ve learned new things about these strangers. You’ve made a few connections. As other people join the party, you lead a parent, Gabriel, over to talk to Morley, who shares Gabriel’s interests in dog training or hockey. You help all these people to relate to one another. Then, they can begin friendships. Soon, they will be hosting the next encounter – for their new friends and acquaintances.

Many people are rusty at this kind of face-to-face socializing. In the social media age, we “friend” people online long before we meet in person. We’re more likely to chat online than we are to approach strangers in person. It’s a cultural shift that can make people feel more awkward and self-conscious when they actually get together in person.

If you’ve never moved from one community to another, you’ve got family and friends built in – people who likely knew you in kindergarten or as a teenager with acne. These are longtime friends. You don’t have to do any work to know them. Why bother meeting new people?

Because we’re obligated as Jews to be hospitable. It’s our obligation to make new connections with others! (Both Jews and non-Jews.)

I recently heard a great story about a Passover seder. A young Jewish woman from Indiana was studying and working in London, and alone for the holiday. She followed the Twitter feed of London-based CNN reporter James Masters. He tweeted and asked if anyone needed a seder to attend. Samantha Gross, an intern with the Evening Standard, responded. She thought he was offering to find her a spot somewhere at a community event. Instead, he and his wife picked her up and brought her home to a Pesach table with grandparents and the kind of family love and embrace that really moved her. (To tears, although she claimed it was the horseradish!)

A Winnipeg congregation, Shaarey Zedek, is sponsoring a special speaker next week named Dr. Ron Wolfson. I could claim that I’d read everything he’s written (not true). I could boast that my mom has taken classes with him (true) and that he’s spoken at my parents’ Virginia congregation (true). I could mention that he’s collaborated with Rabbi Larry Hoffman (true) who came to speak at Winnipeg’s Temple Shalom recently (true), and whose daughter went to summer camp with me long ago (true). However, none of that background or Jewish geography matters.

What matters is that Dr. Wolfson is coming to Canada to speak – and it’s well worth reading his books or finding a way to hear him in person. Why?

What he teaches is a profoundly Jewish message. It’s about building relationships and connections that might be new, and take work. For many Jews, going to shul is like going home – most of the people there are your family and friends, you’ve known them forever. It takes no work to relate to them. However, our society is transient. There are a lot of newcomers at every congregation. We need to do both the right thing and the Jewish thing, and practise “audacious hospitality.”

What’s that? Well, in Genesis 18:1-18, there’s a story that is uniquely ours. Abraham and Sarah are in their tent when three strangers walk by. Abraham rushes out to them, welcomes them in and, with Sarah, he helps them wash and offers them food and hospitality. Abraham knows what it is to be a traveler and to be hot, tired and hungry. He knows that he should reach out, it’s the right thing to do.

The strangers (angels) bring messages to them. One is that even though they’re old, Sarah will have a child and Abraham will become the patriarch to a great and populous nation.

The message is clear. It’s incumbent upon us to be like Abraham and Sarah, and like Masters’ family, too. We need to welcome others, build real relationships with them, and offer them our (Jewish) hospitality. This may make all the difference. Will we be Abraham’s “great … nation” or lose Judaism to assimilation?

Ten years ago, I was invited to participate in an interfaith “green” religious service. The interim Anglican priest who ran the service bumped into me at the farmers market a few days later. I thanked her for the opportunity, and invited her to my Shabbat table. That was her very first dinner invitation in Bowling Green, Ky., and the start of many more happy hours at my table and hers. We are still good friends. She told me that it figured a Jewish person would be first to “invite her in,” as Abraham and Sarah did.

This pastor (and friend) both reminded me and taught me more about my obligation to be hospitable as a Jew. Abraham knew how to do this. It’s high time we did, too.

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 now available for digital download, or as a paperback from Amazon. See more about her on joanneseiff.blogspot.com.

Value in mentorship

T-Jex after-school supplementary program is a partnership between Schara Tzedeck Synagogue and Shalhevet Girls High School, where the older students mentor the younger. (photo from Shalhevet)

When friends approached Gila Ross several years ago to start a new Hebrew school in Vancouver, Ross turned for inspiration to a program she had previously run in Calgary for college students, refitting it for children.

The program, T-Jex – the Jewish Experience – is built around mentorship and is based out of Schara Tzedeck Synagogue. Vancouver’s Orthodox Shalhevet Girls High School (grades 8 to 12) sends carefully selected mentor volunteers to T-Jex to work one-on-one with students or in groups of two or three. The mentors work predominantly on building Hebrew-language skills with the children. Children also learn as a class with Ross, who is the main teacher and program director, and takes the lead teaching Jewish values, holidays and Torah study.

T-Jex, now in its fifth year, involves about 10 students a year. “It is an amazing opportunity,” Rivka Abramchik, principal of Shalhevet, told the Jewish Independent. “A big part of the Shalhevet curriculum, and the goals we set for our students during the five years they are with us, is to stand up and take leadership. This is an opportunity to take responsibility, to learn the concept of giving back to the community.”

She added, “The girls get to really see how one person can make a meaningful impact. T-Jex so beautifully intertwines with the desire the girls have to be part of Jewish continuity and gives them a chance to give in a way which also gives to the girls themselves. It’s a big commitment – to give up 90 to 130 minutes on a Tuesday afternoon is give up a lot of time for these girls. You would think teenagers would be reluctant but, actually, the idea of teaching a child, students get more inspired than you might think. We have repeats every year.”

Ross gives a presentation at Shalhevet annually to introduce the program to the school’s new students. The importance of committing for a whole year is stressed, as is the importance of engagement, motivation and responsibility.

“I really enjoy working with the kids at T-Jex,” said Grade 11 student Hadassa Estrin. “The gratifying feeling you get when you see them learning about their heritage is so special … like nothing else I’ve ever experienced.”

“Most of our students have been coming from word of mouth, from all over Vancouver and from across the Jewish spectrum,” said Ross. “They have heard from others that kids enjoy coming.”

Ross started a Facebook group for Jewish moms a year or so ago, which has become a virtual community. The group has also helped spread word about the Hebrew school.

Ross, who has six kids of her own, is the youth director at Schara Tzedeck, where she has spearheaded the synagogue’s Families That Give social action projects. She also teaches at Torah High, an after-school program, and works with her husband, Rabbi Samuel Ross, the director of Vancouver National Conference of Synagogue Youth.

“The most wonderful thing to see,” said Ross, “is the students wanting to be here and having fun. To see them take joy in learning and Jewish activities is what it’s all about.”

For more information, visit scharatzedeck.com/education-learning/t-jex-2.

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.

“Tough kid” still shines

Chaim Kornfeld (photo by Shula Klinger)

In February, the Louis Brier Jewish Aged Foundation and Louis Brier Home and Hospital honoured Chaim Kornfeld. And they did so in the place he has especially dedicated his time over the last four decades: the Louis Brier synagogue.

Chaim was born in Hungary in 1926. His upbringing and education were Orthodox and, for the first part of the Second World War, his family were untouched. From the start of his education at Yiddish cheder, at age 3, he was a good student. Community life continued much as it had for centuries.

Outside the home, Chaim’s memories describe a tense separation between Jew and non-Jew. “My father always used to say, ‘When you see a Shaygetz, cross the street. Go on the other side.’”

Needless to say, young Chaim did not always do as he was told. “I took the beating instead – but I fought back, too.” He adds, “Especially at Easter time, they’d call you dirty Jew.”

It’s not hard to imagine a young Chaim’s spirited response. Even at 90, he is energetic and expressive in conversation. “I was a tough kid,” he says. His daughter Tova adds with pride, “He gave as good as he got!”

In 1944, Chaim was preparing to go to Franz Josef National Rabbinical Seminary of Hungary in Budapest. Then, not long before his 17th birthday, his family was moved to a ghetto with the other Jews of their town. Then came the trains.

Chaim, his parents and one of his sisters were sent to Auschwitz. On the journey, Chaim was permitted to fill a bucket of water for the passengers to have occasional drinks. He also took the dead out of the car.

On arriving at the concentration camp, Chaim jumped out. Greeted with ordinary scenes – “children playing, laundry drying” – Chaim’s mother figured she could work in the camp laundry.

Chaim relates how “an old man came up and asked, ‘Do you speak Yiddish?’ I said, ‘Yes, of course.’” The man pointed to a German official. “He’s going to ask you two questions. When he asks how old you are, you say you’re 18. When he asks you what you do, say you’re a farmer.”

Young Chaim approached the man with his usual confidence. Josef Mengele asked him his age and profession. Chaim answered as he’d been told. Mengele told him to go to the right. His parents were sent to the left. Before they were separated, Chaim’s father made a final request: “Bleib a Yid.” (“Remain a Jew.”) Afterwards, Chaim heard others say, “You see that smoke? That’s your parents.”

At Auschwitz, the Nazis stripped the prisoners of their belongings and identity, shaving off Chaim’s hair. He smiles ruefully. “I had lovely peyis, nice and curly.” Having only spent two weeks in Auschwitz before being transferred to Mauthausen in Austria, Chaim wasn’t at the camp long enough to get a number tattooed on his arm. He has not forgotten his number, though, and barks out “67655!” at an impressive volume, but not in English, or even Yiddish. It’s in Polish, as he heard it at Auschwitz.

Asked how he managed to maintain his sanity while facing death every day, he quotes Robert Frost: “I had promises to keep and many miles to go before I sleep.” But there’s more to it. Chaim describes how he kept his promise to his father, in spite of malnutrition and brutal treatment. “I always said, I’ll get out of here.”

He speaks with gritted teeth. “I never gave up. Even when I worked in a tunnel underground, I was mumbling a prayer. I prayed all the time to make time go faster. I knew the prayers by heart from a very young age. All kinds.”

Chaim describes a life of hard labour, misery and oppression. There were about 600 steps up the quarry. We “carried rocks on our shoulders, every day. There were dogs barking, soldiers pointing guns at us.” There was a pond at the bottom. If a prisoner fell down, he says, they would be pushed in.

Chaim found that he was the only one who remembered long tracts of the Torah. He led Kol Nidre in the camp, “all the others stood around me. I knew it by heart. I got a good education.” To lead a service in such appalling circumstances takes more than just education, however. It speaks to a capacity for leadership and clarity in a situation that is baffling in its cruelty.

When the prisoners were forced on a death march, Chaim was recuperating from an abscessed ankle. Although barely able to stand, he followed the advice of a fellow prisoner, who told him that if he didn’t leave the camp upright, he’d never leave at all. Limping in extreme pain, Chaim made it out but collapsed afterwards. When an SS officer raised his gun to shoot him, Chaim spoke up with his characteristic blend of optimism and boldness. Having been reminded of what a good worker this young Jew was, the officer permitted Chaim to hitch a ride on a passing wagon.

Until this year, Chaim was active in Holocaust education. In spite of the many letters from kids, thanking him for his work, these letters can be “painful,” he says. “The reminder is not always pleasant.” One might think that even a “tough kid” could tire of telling this harrowing story again and again, but Chaim isn’t flagging. “As long as there’s someone to listen, I’ll tell.”

After liberation, Chaim lived at the “internat” (boarding school) maintained by the rabbinical college in Budapest. Completing two years of high school in one under the instruction of one Dr. Kolben, Chaim still speaks admiringly of his teacher. “She was quite a lady. Very smart,” he says.

Kolben also taught them about the culture of Budapest. It gave the boys a chance to revive their appreciation of the arts, to leave them with images of beauty, after the horrors of the war. These included trips to the theatre in Budapest, to see Shakespeare’s plays. Their influence lives on today in Chaim’s memory. “To be or not to be, that is the question, whether it is nobler.…” He pauses to let me finish the quote. After staring, dazed, for an instant, I am relieved to find “the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune” bubble up in my mind.

photo - Chaim Kornfeld in his younger days — Chaim Kornfeld in his younger days. *(photo by Shula Klinger)*

Chaim ended up in a displaced persons camp, in Bari, Italy. The hungry residents were frustrated to find that the food stores were locked away. “He led an uprising and they opened the locker,” Tova says. “He gave an impassioned speech.”

After the DP camp came aliyah. “Someone came from the JDC [Joint Distribution Committee] to take people to Palestine.” Chaim arrived in 1949, right after independence, and joined the air force immediately. “I was in charge of a platoon of women. That was fun,” he laughs. “I told them, during the day, I am in charge. In the evening, you are in charge!”

Asked about his career, he describes being “a lawyer for 55 years; prosecuting, judging, the lot!” Indeed, Chaim was appointed to the bench. Having developed a habit of quoting the Talmud in his judgments, he earned the nickname “The Bible Judge.” He would make “off the bench decisions,” which were popular with the courts, Tova recalls.

Chaim had originally planned to go to engineering school but his English was not fluent enough. “It was so hard, so technical,” he says. At the end of his first year, his essay about George Bernard Shaw’s Candida got him a C-. “People who were born and raised in Canada failed that exam!” he says proudly of his grade.

His optimistic attitude was evident in his approach to work as well. As a lawyer, he was known for handing out treats at the courthouse. Known as “Candy Man,” he would move up lines of people waiting for their paperwork, greeted by out-stretched hands.

At the Feb. 25 Louis Brier tribute, Chaim was honoured with a special Shabbat service in his name. With more than 150 people in attendance, Chaim read Haftorah. As Tova, says, “like a bar mitzvah boy, beautiful.” Thanked by many for his work, he was given a Torah cover for one of Louis Brier’s volumes. Says Tova, “It was really lovely.”

Reflecting back on his survival, Chaim credits his Judaism for keeping him afloat. This is living proof of Viktor Frankl’s assertion that, to survive, one needed to seek a meaning to one’s existence, even in the camps. “I didn’t feel that G-d abandoned me,” says Chaim. “I never lost my faith.”

Indeed, he has kept a kosher home for all of his adult life. But survival takes resilience and a good deal of ingenuity, as well as faith. “We took empty burlap bags and stuffed them into our pyjamas, to stay warm,” he says. When he was starving, he ate coal. “I was my own doctor,” he says.

One might think these experiences would define him, but, when presented with the term “survivor,” he shrugs and grimaces. “Rachmanut saneiti,” he adds. “I hate pity.”

One cannot help but see the sense in Chaim’s attitude. Simply referring to this man as a Holocaust survivor would be reductive. He recently celebrated six decades of marriage to his wife, Aliza, and their four adult children all have successful careers. Still active at 90, he has built a reputation as a mensch: generous, respectful, with a buoyant spirit and a talent for relationship-building. And, even now, one sees the tough kid – the keeper of promises, the kid who took a beating rather than tolerate bigotry. And, the same kid who jumped off the train in 1944, ready to meet the eye of the man who held – and toyed with, tortured and destroyed – the lives of his contemporaries.

Chaim has only just retired. He still reads the Tanach in his office and attends shul on Saturdays and Sundays. He talks of keeping up with his hobbies: “Swimming at the JCC every day. Making my wife happy.”

Shula Klinger is an author, illustrator and journalist living in North Vancouver. Find out more at niftyscissors.com.

Using film school as therapy

From Ma’aleh School of Television, Film and Art, standing, from left to right, are Asher Lemann, David Cohen, Chanan Ariel, Ofir Shaer, Yosef Baruch Kalangel and Nachum Lemkus. Sitting, from the left, are Keren Hakak, Menachem Assaraf and Shalom Sarel. (photo from Ma’aleh)

When a major donor came to Neta Ariel, director of Ma’aleh School of Television, Film and Art, with an offer to provide scholarships as long as the students give back to the community, Ariel accepted the challenge.

“Ma’aleh is located in the centre of Jerusalem and, unfortunately, there are a lot of social issues,” Ariel told the Jewish Independent. “For example, lots of high school-age teens walk the streets or, during the night, use drugs and live on the streets. So, my students tried to help them – we knew a few of them, and we invited them to come to the school once a week for two hours in the afternoon to learn about film.”

The students at Ma’aleh became mentors, encouraging the teens to bring their own stories to life through the materials. Another group – comprised of immigrants from Ethiopia – also works with the students.

“Tell your story,” said Ariel of the most important aspect of the program.

“At the end of the year,” she said, “when we screened the movie for the group, teacher, friends … it was an amazing thing. They [had] left high school, or the family didn’t want them; they felt like they’re losers and didn’t have self-confidence. When we had the screening and their family or friends came, they really appreciated them. And the film gave them hope. We thought, the making of the film was not only fun, it was a teaching tool to uplift them and our students.”

Through learning how to film, from making personal connections and from telling their stories – which often included trauma or conflict, from rape, violence and negative treatment to gender or sexual orientation issues – they began to heal.

For most participants, it was their first encounter with therapy.

“Most of the time, at the end of the day, after the project was done, they shared with us that this is the first time they’d dealt with this,” said Ariel. “This was their way to tell the society, family or friends that this is their story and what I suffer from.”

From these beginnings, the school developed a curriculum for the program and, with each passing year, it has grown. Now, the school offers two such programs, focusing on how to use film as therapy and how to work together.

“You have a group of social workers and filmmakers,” explained Ariel. “Every week, they meet and work on the exercises we give them, and they work together to find a balance. It works well, the partnership. It’s amazing how the psychologist becomes a filmmaker and the filmmaker comes to understand psychology.”

Months after Operation Protective Edge, the school decided to host a group of bereaved mothers from the conflict, to determine if there was a way they could help.

They found ways of incorporating filmmaking into the process of mourning. At each meeting, they studied and focused on one aspect of filmmaking – lighting, filming, music, and so on. Once taught, participants were given an exercise to practise the skill. Then, they were given a camera and asked to practise filming.

“They didn’t tell them to make a movie about something specific,” said Ariel. “They gave them a task about something emotional. Most chose an aspect connected to the son they lost a few months ago.

“Then, we teach them how to write the script, how to do voiceovers, how to incorporate music. Automatically, most would think about their son or themselves and their fears. So, part of the meeting was talking about what we go through, and a lot of it was about creating things.

“At the end of the year, everyone together made a film called Saba. The main character in the movie is the grandfather, as all of them had mentioned their grandfathers, from time to time.”

Last year, the school opened a bereaved fathers group and found that, while they seemed to barely communicate in the classroom, they collaborated well outside of class. They put together what Ariel described as an “amazing movie” about their surviving kids.

“This is something the fathers said – that the kids at home blamed the parents, saying that, at home, they give a lot of time, attention and energy to something dedicated to the dead son … and [are] not taking care of them,” said Ariel. “Regardless of the age of the kids, in every house, they found it was the same situation. And, it was just amazing.

“Now, we are trying to open a group for grandparents … but, most of them, they can’t come, too hard for them, very far. So, I hope that … we’ll open another group for bereaved mothers … those who couldn’t come last time.”

While the main objective of Ma’aleh stems from a Jewish perspective, Ariel travels the world to introduce filmmaking and therapy to schools.

“Most of our students come from a Jewish Orthodox background … not all, but a lot of them,” said Ariel. “And, a lot of the subjects we touch on are connected to Jewish identity and our roots.”

At the time of her interview with the Independent, Ariel had just returned from the United States, where one of her stops was at a Christian school, where she spoke about how to best relay religious differences through film.

Apart from teaching, Ariel uses these trips to fundraise for the school and to keep in touch with filmmakers, mostly in Los Angeles.

“When they come to Israel, they help us, come to give a workshop at our school,” said Ariel. “We do projects together. Most importantly, we’re sharing our graduate movies with the world. A lot of institutions in Israel and America use them as education tools, cultural tools, and even, from time to time, to promote Israel.

“My goal is that this tool will be used for all kinds of populations. Many different kinds of groups can take care of themselves using this process.”

For more information, visit maale.co.il. The bereaved fathers’ short film can be seen at youtube.com/watch?v=uoNiQVSqhOw&feature=youtu.be.

Rebeca Kuropatwa is a Winnipeg freelance writer.

The work is not solely ours

Music is an amazing tool for learning. When I was a kid, I learned a lot of Jewish music. It wasn’t choir music, or strictly for prayer. No, I learned “everything” Jewish through music. I sang parts of Pirkei Avot (Sayings of our Fathers), Israeli pioneering songs from kibbutz life, Torah verses, Israeli pop songs and commercials, and even, yes, a lot of liturgy.

It happened on autopilot. I wasn’t forced into anything. There was no strong emphasis on performance. It was “Naaseh v’nishmah,” “We will do and we will hear.” (Exodus 24:7) When you participate and enjoy singing, sometimes the words sink in. I remember my mom putting on records (of Jewish music) and I’d roll around the living room rug, listening and singing.

When Christian classmates were busy memorizing Bible verses to earn rewards at church, they’d ask me how many I could recite. I had no idea what to say. “Oh,” I’d say, “We don’t do that.” We did do that, I realize now, but it was so intuitive, so much a part of our daily experience, that I never even noticed what was happening. I knew the words, in Hebrew and English. I understood them, but I never thought of it as reciting religious text. It was part of a summer camp song session, or a regular Sunday at religious school, or in the prayers we sang at services.

Years later, I still have that musical memory bank. It comes in handy. Recently, exhausted and stressed, I was able to sing along without thinking when someone introduced a new tune at services. It might have been new to others, but I’d heard it before. I also used this treasure trove to dig up something I needed to think about – work/life balance.

Rabbi Tarfon said the day is short and there’s a lot of work, and the workers are lazy and the reward is great and the master of the house is pressing – it’s not your responsibility to finish the work, but neither are you free to desist from it. (Pirkei Avot 2:15)

I remembered the whole quote by hearing a bit of the tune in my head. Suddenly, I was singing to myself on the street as I walked to an errand. I went home to look it up on sefaria.org, an online nonprofit that offers open-source access to Jewish texts.

The bigger issue that I wrestled with was that of work and community involvement. How much is enough? How can we decide where to invest our time and why?

I don’t think of myself as a big volunteer, but lately I’ve become overwhelmed. I had to reduce my volunteer load. Managing my work, household, kids, community commitments and health felt like too much. Only one thing might need more time – an extra freelance job, a couple kids sick with viruses or a volunteer gig – and the whole tower of cards will tumble.

As a relative newcomer to Canada, I cannot call up a family member in the neighbourhood or a longtime friend to bail me out. Our extended families are far away. Although some friends might be able to help, they, too, are caring for kids, juggling jobs, etc. It’s my observation that many newcomers feel this way. The process that recruited them to Canada felt very positive, but after that? It can be a daily struggle. It’s hard to find a place in a community where long-established families have strong roots.

So, what does Rabbi Tarfon have to do with this? Well, this song helped me realize that, while I felt deep responsibilities towards my commitments, I couldn’t “finish them” on my own. I could work, volunteer and try to help, but our effort has to be a communal one. It’s not all my personal responsibility – and if my health or family’s well-being is at stake, that has to come first.

Bringing a good attitude to the work we do is important. We can’t all be like the curmudgeons on the Muppets. Those grouchy men are the ones who sit in the balcony, scowls on their faces, as they criticize all the other Muppets who put on the show. Instead, we need to each do our share, because the grouchy puppets in the corner aren’t contributing.

We have to stop ourselves when our efforts to contribute become too much, too taxing and risk our well-being. When we start criticizing everyone else? It’s time for a break – because we aren’t finishing all that work by ourselves, in any case.

What we are doing is contributing to a whole, healthy (Jewish) community. And, if you keep reading, Rabbi Tarfon says, “If you have learned much Torah, your reward will be much.” This is an interesting circular argument. The rabbi suggests we work hard, and we do our share. Then we’re rewarded for our learning. Guess what? My reward for stepping back from volunteering was more time to study Rabbi Tarfon’s wisdom. I learned it again – and now offer it to you. That’s a sign of a healthier work cycle.

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 now available for digital download, or as a paperback from Amazon. See more about her on joanneseiff.blogspot.com.

The truest act of kindness

Howard Jampolsky tells the story of how community members came together to support a family after the death of their husband, father. (photo from Schara Tzedeck Cemetery Board)

Taking care of the deceased is known as a chesed shel emet, or “the truest act of kindness.” The Schara Tzedeck Cemetery Board and Chevra Kadisha practise this every day.

We take care of our community’s deceased, and help their families from the time of death through the funeral service. Of course, because we have financial obligations like any other organization, we charge for our services. However, every family is charged the same price for burial plots and funeral services, and we only offer a traditional burial with all the proper rites. We treat every deceased person and their families equitably.

This practice varies only if a family is not in a financial position to pay the full costs. Sometimes, families simply need an extended period to pay for the funeral – for example, when funds are only available from the estate. Sometimes, families cannot pay the full amount, as this would cause a significant hardship. And then, there are times when a family is simply not able to pay anything at all. In all of these cases, we provide the same services as we provide everybody: it is our core belief and mission to provide a full and proper Jewish funeral according to all the customs and laws.

We carry out about 125 funerals each year and, while each is unique, there are some that truly stand out. This chronicles one such story.

On a cold and rainy day in October, I received a call from Rabbi Hillel Brody, who serves as the religious leader of the Louis Brier Home and Hospital. He told me there was a resident who was dying and his wife, who we will call “Margaret” (names have been changed in this story to protect privacy), was worried for a variety of reasons. Margaret and her husband “Shmuel” had moved to Vancouver about 10 years earlier and, because of Shmuel’s failing health, much of their time was spent visiting doctors and caring for him. They tried to connect with the community, but were unable and, earlier that year, Shmuel was moved into the Louis Brier. Margaret began to find some connection to people just by being in the more active setting of the home, but, still, her focus was almost entirely on caring for Shmuel. This devotion to her husband was admirable, but it came with a price – they did not have any close friends.

Margaret had no idea where to begin when it came to planning for Shmuel’s burial. To make matters worse, Margaret and Shmuel did not have the money to pay for a funeral or a burial plot. Rabbi Brody assured Margaret that the Schara Tzedeck Cemetery Board and Chevra Kadisha would take care of things. He told me that the only family was a daughter, who lived in Toronto, and he told me that she had decided to visit a few weeks earlier to see her father and say her goodbyes while he was still alive. As she could only make one trip, she had made this difficult choice, and was not going to be able to come for the funeral.

When Shmuel passed away, I called Margaret and arranged to meet her at her apartment to go over the details and get all the necessary paperwork signed. Margaret and Shmuel had been together for almost 50 years, and life had always been hard. They were both Holocaust survivors, both were born in Hungary. Shmuel had been held by the Nazis as a very young boy of less than 10 years old and, because of the conditions that he and other Jews were under, he became very ill from malnutrition and as a result of Nazi torture. He was fortunate to not have been murdered by the Nazis, as so many were, but though he survived and was rescued, he never truly recovered.

Margaret and I completed the paperwork required for registering Shmuel’s death, and talked about the funeral. She was shocked and humbled when I told her that we would provide Shmuel with a full and proper Jewish funeral and she would not have to pay anything. Her tears flowed again, but this time from relief.

Margaret told me she did not even know how she would be able to get to the cemetery. She had sold her car some years earlier, and would take the bus every day to be with Shmuel at Louis Brier. I told her that Rabbi Brody had offered to drive her to the cemetery. Again, she was surprised and grateful.

At this point, the funeral would be one of the smallest I had ever attended. It was looking like Margaret, Rabbi Brody and I would be the only people there. I knew that Margaret needed more help. The thought of her being dropped off at her small apartment to be alone after burying her husband was upsetting. She needed more support, and I asked Margaret if it would be OK if we purchased an airline ticket for her daughter, “Monica,” to come to Vancouver to be here for a few days, including for the funeral.

Margaret was at first confused by the question. I’m not sure she even comprehended what I was saying. But Monica accepted our offer and, later that day, an airline ticket was purchased for her.

With Monica in town, Margaret would be able to get to the cemetery, as Monica’s good friend, “Bill,” had agreed to drive them. Two more people would be there to help bury Shmuel.

I went home that evening feeling both exhausted and energized. I had worked hard that day to make sure everything would work for Margaret, but the weight of the day was offset by the buoyancy of the good deeds that were also done. Margaret was going to get through this a little easier now, and it felt good.

On arrival the next morning at shul, I saw Rabbi Brody. He told me he was inspired by what we had offered Margaret, and mentioned that he had advised Congregation Schara Tzedeck’s Rabbi Andrew Rosenblatt that the funeral was taking place the following morning. He said he had asked Rabbi Rosenblatt to announce the funeral to his congregation and, if anyone could attend, they should contact me.

I approached a congregant who is a wills and estates lawyer, and he offered to provide Margaret with legal help in dealing with her husband’s affairs, for no charge.

At the end of the service, another congregant approached me and asked me to contact Omnitsky Kosher and order food for the family to be sent over following the funeral, with the bill directed to her.

Neither of these people had ever heard of Margaret, or Shmuel, or Monica. They just were part of a community that was beginning to rally around a fellow community member to give her the support we would all need in such a situation.

The weather was forecast to be very windy and wet for the Sunday funeral, but we were lucky that it was still dry. Monica had told me she let a few people know about the funeral, and that they may come, so I was not surprised when I saw two people walking into the small cemetery. As they approached, I asked them if they were friends of Monica. They told me they did not know anyone by the name of Monica, but had heard there was funeral this morning for a Holocaust survivor, and that there would be only a few people here, and they wanted to come to support the family.

A few moments later, another car drove up – a man with his two sons arrived for “a funeral they had heard about.” Car after car arrived. More and more people gathered, some who had driven almost an hour to lend support to a total stranger and to participate in the mitzvah of laying Shmuel to rest.

When the funeral started at 11 a.m., there were close to 30 people there – none of whom had ever met Shmuel, Margaret or Monica.

The beauty of a chesed shel emet is that everyone gains. I know that everyone at the funeral, and everyone who helped in some way or another, benefited from this experience. But, most of all, Margaret benefited and will continue to benefit from a community that supported her in her darkest hour, and will continue to help her.

Margaret will mourn and grieve. She does not know how she will be able to live on without Shmuel, and cannot imagine ever recovering from this physical and emotional blow.

But she will.

Howard Jampolsky is executive director of Schara Tzedeck Cemetery Board.