Judaism – Page 8

Gifts, property and curses

We recently had some work done on our garage. In 2021, when we purchased our new home, which was built in 1913, the inspector marveled at the garage, which was an early, purpose-built building meant for cars as compared to the converted carriage houses nearby.

There are still outbuildings in the neighbourhood, now used for cars or workshops, which contain horse stalls, but our garage, the inspector said, was special. That said, it’s narrow and the floor’s broken. It had the remains of both an old knob and tube electric panel and a chimney. Once, we imagined, a chauffeur warmed the space with the woodstove every winter to keep the car running.

When the contractors who fixed our house so we could live in it came back to work on the garage, things became complicated quickly. It turned out it was not just a couple rotten boards. Long ago, someone had cut important structural supports to put on larger heavier garage doors, likely when cars themselves became larger. A little stabilization project became a multi-week event, complete with new concrete footings all the way around the building and new structural supports. The garage no longer sits at a dangerous tilt. Our kids can go inside without danger.

This expensive project doesn’t mean that we’re suddenly using the garage in Winnipeg this winter. The concrete floor is still broken, the doors are narrow and the whole thing needs a coat of paint. All of those renovations will have to wait, because winter’s here. I’ve just cleaned snow off the car, parking on the street again this morning. This experience was one of those reminders that, in life, unexpected things happen, and that we make the best decisions we can in the moment, and roll with it.

This brought me to what I’ve been studying in Bava Batra, the talmudic tractate I’ve been studying as part of Daf Yomi (a page of Talmud a day). Lately, what I’ve been learning has to do with death-bed gifts and inheritance. There’s an understanding that, if someone is on their death bed, they can give their property as a gift without the legal formalities that would normally be required. Also, the rabbis rule that, if a person miraculously does not die, their promises and gifts can be retracted. In other words, if you gift everything to your brother on your death bed, but then you don’t die, you can keep your home and fields.

On page 153, there’s a woman who gives away her property as a gift as she’s dying, but, by some miracle, she recovers. She goes to Rava, a wealthy rabbi who headed a school in Babylonia, and asks for her property to be returned. After all, she is still alive and needs her belongings back. But Rava says that the “gift” cannot be returned. His ruling doesn’t align with the rest of the rabbis or the law.

Obviously, this unnamed woman is upset and protests. Rava then has his scribe, Rav Pappa, create a ruling that, on the surface, looks like it’s in this woman’s favour, but references a text that indicates that this woman should just leave, without her property. Rava assumes this woman won’t notice his trickery, but this (unnamed) woman is smart, and angrier than ever.

Left with no other options, the woman in question resorts to a curse. Given the time, roughly 1,670 years ago, curses, amulets and magic were all used, and, in this case, the curse works. The woman curses Rava, says his ship will sink. Rava, somehow trying to trick the curse, soaks all his clothes in water to avoid it. Readers: the curse works, and not the tricks. Rava’s ship goes down. Rava drowns.

Later, medieval commentators wonder why the curse worked. The woman felt angry for good reasons. Rava had robbed her of her property. Rava’s ruling also had shamed her, and it was meant to trick her into leaving. This woman was clearly wronged. Sometimes, when a curse punishes the correct target – the later rabbis conclude a curse has strong power.

Long ago, someone really wronged our property, this garage, when they cut the structural supports. Given how unstable it was, it could have killed someone. Thankfully, no one was on their death bed here and apparently there were no curses. I did wonder whether we were expecting a miracle to fix this historical structure, or whether an expensive demolition was in order. It’s sometimes hard to undo a bad decision, but we were able to afford to repair a bad situation, which was created by someone else’s bad judgment.

People often seek the easiest way out – through tricks or pulling a fast one. Finding the best way forward sometimes means enduring jackhammering, structural work and funding a costly repair. Maybe if we hadn’t asked “our guys” to check out the garage, we wouldn’t have known the danger. Once we did, though, we couldn’t ignore it. Once the garage project started, even though this huge expense wasn’t in the budget, we had to deal with it.

Hanukkah is coming up. Although our kids will still get treats and gifts, my husband and I will celebrate getting our garage back. Unlike this powerful, smart, unnamed woman who was wronged in Bava Batra, we didn’t lose all our property. We rolled with the unexpected, and now have a safe space, instead of a precarious risk. All this worked out better for us than for that unnamed woman long ago – and we didn’t even have to curse anybody.

Joanne Seiff has written regularly for the Winnipeg Free Press and various Jewish publications. She is the author of three books, including From the Outside In: Jewish Post Columns 2015-2016, a collection of essays available for digital download or as a paperback from Amazon. Check her out on Instagram @yrnspinner or at joanneseiff.blogspot.com.

Hanukkah as a messy middle

Hanukkah reminds us that miracles are possible and that seemingly unwinnable wars can be won. But it also holds lessons about partial victories, imperfect heroes and incomplete belonging.

We tell the story of Hanukkah, in our liturgy and in our songs and in the rituals we use to celebrate the holiday, as the decisive end of a frightening conflict: the good guys win, the bad guys lose, and the Temple is rededicated with Divine imprimatur.

But that is not the full picture of how Hanukkah was experienced in its day: alongside the joy and triumph, there was loss, uncertainty and ongoing strife. This reality of Hanukkah as the messy middle holds lessons of perseverance for us today as we celebrate the holiday while the state of Israel fights a war that could last a long time, and whose outcome is unknown.

Leading up to the victory of Hanukkah, Jews fought one another, heroes died and families mourned, and, as the martyrdom narrative of Hannah and her seven sons describes, civilians made profound sacrifices. It is easy to envision the experiences of people waiting for loved ones to return, of everyday acts of survival and kindness, of the fear experienced by individuals, families and communities. Even the victory of Hanukkah must have been tinged with deep loss.

What’s more, the Hanukkah victory did not end the war between the Seleucid-Greeks and the Maccabees: military campaigns continued for years thereafter. Statecraft was employed as alliances were made and broken; communities dedicated monuments to their fallen heroes, and even the great Judah the Maccabee died in battle. In short, Hanukkah did not decisively conclude the saga. Rather, it marked a crucial milestone amid continued sacrifice and uncertainty about the future. And yet, the Jewish leadership established the holiday to hail a crucial milestone.

image - “The Story of Hanukkah,” by Ori Sherman, 1985 — “The Story of Hanukkah,” by Ori Sherman, 1985. *(from thecollector.com)*

The Book of Maccabees describes a Jewish civil war in relation to Hanukkah. But that does not fully characterize the story of the Judean state that emerged after the war. True, that state (164 – 63 BCE) was rife with intra-Jewish bickering and general divisiveness, whether political, social or religious. However, the majority of Jews in the second and first century BCE did not belong to any sect.

Moreover, Jews who lived in vibrant communities outside of the land of Israel still viewed themselves as the close kin of Jews who lived in the land of Israel: identifying themselves as Jewish by observing Shabbat and the holidays, circumcising their baby boys, keeping dietary laws, and gathering regularly in synagogues to read and interpret their scriptural traditions. What bound all these Jews together was more powerful than what divided them.

The character of Hanukkah as we observe it was most explicitly shaped by a rabbinic establishment living hundreds of years after the Hasmonean period. And though the original Hasmoneans (the Maccabees) were the heroes of Hanukkah, these later rabbis viewed them as flawed. After all, the priestly Hasmoneans took over the throne, combining the priestly and monarchic functions in a way that denied the Davidic dynasty and compromised the separation of religious and political powers. Nonetheless, the courage of the Maccabees continues to inspire the collective Jewish imagination. This conveys the complicated truth that there are no perfect heroes. The people who stand up, and who are willing to take risks and make sacrifices, become the instruments of salvation – regardless of whether the people in their time, or the later sages, agree with all that they stand for.

These three lessons of the Hanukkah story should inform our celebration this year, at the same time as the realities of the war in Israel.

First, let’s appreciate partial redemptions. This includes the reunions that have happened of hostages with their families and the progress made by the Israel Defence Forces in eradicating Hamas. Acknowledging partial victories becomes a source of gratitude, and it equips us with resilience as we forge ahead, despite uncertainty and difficulty.

Second, let’s take seriously the gains we have made in our commitment to Jewish peoplehood. Oct. 7 has drawn the majority of Jews together, despite significant differences among us. We must try to sustain this sense of Jewish peoplehood without imagining that our disagreements will disappear.

And third, let’s accept the current need and ability to work even with flawed leadership. Many who spent the year before Oct. 7 protesting Israel’s current administration have chosen to prioritize the war effort, to focus on defeating Hamas and bringing our hostages home.

As we continue to navigate the messy middle of today’s conflict, may the more complex aspects of Hanukkah and its aftermath inspire within us the hope and faith we need to persevere as a people.

Dr. Elana Stein Hain is rosh beit midrash and a senior research fellow at the Shalom Hartman Institute of North America. To read more from institute scholars, visit hartman.org.il.

A voice that’s missed

Four years have passed since the loss of Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks (1948-2020), and more than one year since the outbreak of the Iron Swords conflict. In these turbulent times, we can only imagine the wisdom that Sacks – who was a global religious leader, philosopher, award-winning author and respected moral voice – might have shared, the guidance he would have offered. His voice is profoundly missed, especially now, when his words could have offered clarity and hope. This longing to “hear” his perspective propelled me on a journey.

To Be a Jew is a booklet that was born from a deep desire to find meaning in the current historic moment. Distributed freely across the globe, with more than a quarter of a million copies printed in Hebrew and English – and soon to be available in additional languages – it shares the timeless lessons of Rabbi Sacks with all who seek them. Below is a small selection of his enduring wisdom. For the full booklet, available as a free download, visit sivanrahavmeir.com/to-be-a-Jew.

Growth from crisis

Every tragedy in Jewish history was followed by a new wave of creativity. The destruction of the First Temple led to the renewal of the Torah in the life of the nation, exemplified by the work of Ezra and Nehemiah. The destruction of the Second Temple led to the great works of the oral tradition, Midrash, Mishnah and the two Talmuds. The massacres of Jewish communities in northern Europe during the First Crusade led to the emergence of Hassidei Ashkenaz, the German-Jewish pietists.

The medieval encounter with Christianity led to a renewal of Bible commentary. The meeting with Islam inspired a renaissance of Jewish philosophy. The Spanish Expulsion was followed by the mystical revival in Safed in the 16th century. The greatest catastrophe of all led to the greatest rebirth: a mere three years after standing eyeball to eyeball with the angel of death at Auschwitz, Bergen-Belsen and Treblinka, the Jewish people responded by their greatest collective affirmation of life in 2,000 years, with the proclamation of the state of Israel.… Jews [do not] give way to defeat or despair. They are the people of hope.

The Chinese ideogram for “crisis” also means “opportunity.” Perhaps that is why Chinese civilization has survived for so long. Hebrew, however, is more hopeful still. The word for crisis, mashber, also means a “childbirth chair.” The Jewish reflex is to see difficult times as birth pangs. Something new is being born.

(Sacks, Future Tense, pp. 54-55)

Response to terrorism

The first prime minister of Israel, David Ben-Gurion, said, “In Israel, to be a realist you have to believe in miracles.” For Jews, faith is as necessary as life itself. Without it, the Jewish people would simply not have survived.

In 2001, after the Oslo peace process had broken down and the suicide bombings had begun, I told the then-Israeli ambassador: “In the past, Israel’s enemies have tried to put it in a military crisis and failed. Then they tried to put it in a political crisis and failed. Now they are about to put it in a spiritual crisis, and they may succeed.”

That, ultimately, is what 21st-century terror is about, and Israel has been its most consistent target. The suicide bombings brought war from the battlefront to the buses of Haifa, the shops of Tel Aviv and the restaurants of Jerusalem. There were times when Jewish parents sent their children on the school bus not knowing whether they would see them alive again. The missiles of Hezbollah and Hamas placed two-thirds of Israel – the north and south – within their range. As I write, there are 7-year-old children in Sderot who have only known safety in a bomb shelter. The delegitimization of Israel among some media, academic and NGO circles has left its people feeling abandoned and alone. The aim is to intimidate and create despair, and it needs immense resources of faith and courage not to be affected. That is the spiritual crisis.

(Sacks, Future Tense, pp. 18-19)

Where is man?

When I first stood at Auschwitz-Birkenau, the question that haunted me was not, “Where was God?” God was in the command, “You shall not murder.” God was in the words, “You shall not oppress the stranger.” God was saying to humanity, “Your brother’s blood is crying to Me from the ground.” God did not stop the first humans eating forbidden fruit. He did not stop Cain committing murder. He did not stop the Egyptians enslaving the Israelites. God does not save us from ourselves. That, according to the Talmud, is why creating man was such a risk that the angels advised against it. The question that haunts me after the Holocaust, as it does today in this new age of chaos, is “Where is man?”

(Sacks, Judaism’s Life-Changing Ideas, p. 7)

Everything has purpose

Life is meaningful. We are not mere accidents of matter, generated by a universe that came into being for no reason and will one day, for no reason, cease to be. We are here because a loving God brought the universe, and life, and us, into existence – a God who knows our fears, hears our prayers, believes in us more than we believe in ourselves, who forgives us when we fail, lifts us when we fall and gives us the strength to overcome despair. The historian Paul Johnson once wrote: “No people has ever insisted more firmly than the Jews that history has a purpose and humanity a destiny.”

(Sacks, Ceremony & Celebration, p. 22)

Everyone has a mission

God enters our lives as a call from the future. It is as if we hear him beckoning to us from the far horizon of time, urging us to take a journey and undertake a task that, in ways we cannot fully understand, we were created for. That is the meaning of the word vocation, literally “a calling,” a mission, a task to which we are summoned.

We are not here by accident. We are here because God wanted us to be, and because there is a task we were meant to fulfil. Discovering what that is, is not easy, and often takes many years and false starts.

(Sacks, Studies in Spirituality, p. 24)

Sivan Rahav-Meir is a primetime news anchor who lives in Jerusalem. She has a weekly podcast on Tablet, called Sivan Says, and has published several books in English. Her “Daily Thought” on social media has hundreds of thousands of followers and is translated into 17 languages.

Join Pacific Theatre in Shire

Peter Carlone, left, and Tim Carlson in Pacific Theatre’s production of The Hobbit (photo by Chelsey Stuyt)

Need a break from reality? On now at Pacific Theatre is The Hobbit, based on JRR Tolkien’s book, with all its adventure, wizardry, fantastical creatures, and more. The tale is brought to life by two actors “and a dragon’s hoard of theatre magic.”

A world premiere, Pacific Theatre’s The Hobbit was adapted by Kim Selody, with additional dialogue by Tim Carlson and Peter Carlone, the two actors who play multiple characters in the production. The Jewish Independent spoke with stage manager Julia Lank before the show opened on Nov. 15.

“We’re less than a week into rehearsal and already our performers, Tim and Peter, have made me tear up laughing with their creative solutions,” said Lank when asked what her most fun problem-solving moment had been so far. “Telling a story designed for dozens of characters with just two actors poses obvious challenges, and the entire team – including our designers – have jumped in with both feet,” she said. “The room is incredibly playful (this morning we were testing out rolling beer can ‘barrels’ down the aisles of the theatre) and our director, Laura [McLean] is also keeping the magic and wonder of Middle Earth at the forefront. The show is going to be full of surprises, and it feels great to be a part of creating something new together.”

Julia Lank, stage manager of The Hobbit. (photo from Pacific Theatre)

Lank is a self-taught stage manager, though she does have a degree in film production and worked as a first assistant director for several years, which, she said, is the film world’s equivalent of a stage manager.

“Stage management is one of those niche jobs that won’t be on a high school career counselor’s radar, but it’s perfect for me – a mix of technical theatre magic, caretaking, and lots of spreadsheets,” she said. “If you’re interested in how the theatrical sausage gets made and you’re unflappable, stage management might be for you.”

Lank’s recent credits include other Pacific Theatre (PT) productions (Gramma and The Cake), as well as Tuck Everlasting (Arts Umbrella), On Behalf (Fringe), L’Elisir d’Amore (Burnaby Lyric Opera), Jasper in Deadland (Awkward Stage) and City of Angels (the PIT Collective), among others.

“I worked as PT’s marketing assistant and later marketing director from 2017 to 2023,” she said. “I left last June to pursue stage management full-time, but I consider Pacific a theatre home and love the work and people there dearly. I’m also a self-taught marketer, but it’s easy to advocate for an artistic space when you genuinely believe in the work they’re doing. Many of my favourite theatre experiences, both behind the scenes and as an audience member, have been at PT.”

How she prepares for a new project differs, but, in general, she said, “I like to familiarize myself with the script and score well before a show begins so I can anticipate areas that may need extra support or take more time to come together. The director will be doing this work, too, and you want to be in the best possible position to help them execute their vision. And you definitely don’t want to be in a position where you didn’t realize there was going to be a live goat onstage until the first read.”

A good follow-up question would have been whether Lank was referring to The Hobbit when talking about an acting goat, but the JI missed that opportunity. Instead, we asked about how The Hobbit fits into Pacific Theatre’s aspiration “to delight, provoke and stimulate dialogue by producing theatre that rigorously explores the spiritual aspects of human existence.”

“Tolkien was famously opposed to religious allegorical readings of his work, but the Pacific Theatre community has a fondness for his work that stems from his personal religious background,” explained Lank. “Regardless, if you’re a person of faith or not, I think the values of compassion, the rejection of greed and needless violence in favour of communal care and quiet contentment and imagination in this interpretation of the story make Hobbit a perfect PT show.”

As for Lank, she was raised in the local Jewish community and attends Or Shalom.

“Judaism honours my curiosity and taught me that questioning a system can only improve it,” she said. “My Jewish identity calls me to care for the vulnerable, stand up for communities whose voices have been suppressed, and honour the natural world. It’s very important to me.”

Turning back to less serious matters, Lank said of The Hobbit: “It’s going to be a marvelous, silly, scary adventure – you’ll be very welcome to join us in the Shire.”

The Hobbit runs to Dec. 21 at Pacific Theatre. Performance times are Wednesday-Thursday, 7:30 p.m.; Friday-Saturday, 8 p.m.; and Saturday-Sunday, 2 p.m. For tickets, which start at $20, visit pacifictheatre.org or call 604-731-5518.

Reflections on being a rabbi

Rabbi Hannah Dresner recently retired as Or Shalom’s spiritual leader. (photo from Or Shalom)

On Nov. 30, the Or Shalom community comes together to celebrate Rabbi Hannah Dresner’s nine years of service to the shul. Dresner retired as Or Shalom’s spiritual leader on Oct. 31.

Daniel Siegel, one of Or Shalom’s founding rabbis and one of Dresner’s ordaining rabbis, calls her “a gift to the Jewish Renewal movement, Or Shalom and the greater Jewish community.”

The Jewish Independent interviewed Dresner earlier this month.

JI: What were your childhood influences that eventually led you to becoming a spiritual leader?

HD: I grew up in a spiritually oriented home, with my father a close friend and student of Abraham Joshua Heschel and, in his own right, a scholar of Hasidism. I was always attracted to the perspectives of the Hasidic masters, as they were presented to me – centring on holiness to be found in all people, places and things….

My maternal grandfather, a product of German Modern Orthodoxy, although not at all of the Hasidic or Neo-Hasidic milieu, helped to concretize this idea of a sacred physical world by teaching me and my sisters blessings to be recited in all situations – most memorable, the blessings he taught us in his garden as we watched morning glories unfold or picked first raspberries or encountered snails under the soil.

But I did not take this sensibility in a religious direction, rather I became an artist, mining what you might say is a secular devotion to the nexus between matter and spirit.

JI: Was there a turning point where you knew that you wanted to become a rabbi?

HD: When I had children of my own, I began to recognize the importance of Jewish community and worked to found a lay-led chavurah in which to raise them, creating a spiritual laboratory that allowed for experimentation with modes of prayer and expressions of Jewish ritual. I did not think of this as leading to a professional shift, but, looking back, I was developing the very tools that have allowed me to succeed as a community rabbi. It was over 20 years later that I began to move toward the rabbinate.

There was no turning point, rather, a gravitation toward more and more serious study of the Hasidic masters and toward strengthening and broadening my capacity in areas of meditation, prayer, song practice, and writing on matters of Torah. Next thing I knew, I had morphed my ad hoc studies into matriculation in a rabbinical program that would lead to ordination.

JI: What are some of your happiest memories at Or Shalom?

HD: I will carry with me so many happy memories of Or Shalom, from my delight in teaching students first encountering Judaism, to the inception of our Zusia Bet Midrash, 90 community members studying Talmud led by the head of Svara: The Queer Yeshiva, to decorating our sukkah with plastic recyclables alongside our little ones, experiencing the community’s joy in mastering and singing the wordless melodies of the Hasidim, our Shabbat Soul evenings, to the ovation that followed my sermon for Rosh Hashanah of 5784 – in which I challenged the community to broaden our definition of who is a Jew to accept anyone born to one Jewish parent, regardless of gender.

What made these memories particularly happy was the collaborations of which they were born, collaborations with so very many Or Shalom members. It has absolutely taken a village.

JI: What were some of your greatest achievements?

HD: Although it was certainly not what I anticipated dedicating myself to, one of our great achievements during my tenure was our handling of the challenges of creating virtual community during COVID. Perhaps it is because of my background in theatre direction and production that this challenge, though certainly daunting and exhausting, was an adversity I was suited to mastering – in collaboration with very talented lay leaders and a score of dedicated volunteers.

Together, we produced state-of-the-art Zoom services and hybrid High Holiday experiences, in addition to beautifully conceived adult education programming. Some of our most intimate classroom experiences have been virtual and we upped the ante on arts-based programs – from writing workshops and singing circles to studio arts experiences, laptop lids tilted down so that we could see one another’s hands at work.

Arts programming, in general, solidified as a part of the Or Shalom ethos, with art historically-based classes and visual art as response to textual learning, to our Koreh program of readings by Or Shalom writers, to season upon season of our Lights in Winter concert series. The journal e-Jewish Philanthropy has written about our arts focus and Or Shalom.

The revamping of our Gemilut Chesed committee and delivery of care for Or Shalom members needing assistance has been a highlight, including our Nechama program, which offers a listener to a mourner for the 11 months of grieving.

Of course, an achievement is our ratification of all-gender Jewish descent, a step beyond patrilineal descent.

And, as an outgrowth of this achievement, is the inception of our new chevra kadisha, to offer Jewish burial rites to anyone our communal chevra cannot serve. Details of the Or Shalom chevra kadisha will unfold even as I retire.

Perhaps overarching and underlaying all of this has been the success of our Or Shalom Dialogue Project, which, over time, revealed important needs in the community, particularly longings for inclusion, and which has allowed us to converse about difficult subjects, including the variety of our thoughts and feelings regarding Israel and Palestine.

JI: What were some of the challenges?

HD: COVID was a challenge. The war in the Middle East continues to be a deep and terrible challenge. To some degree, fear of change has been a challenge, although I well understand that resistance to change is an expression of loss – sometimes loss of something precious.

Finances have been a challenge. And space has been a challenge. Now, with our renovation project, Or Shalom will expand to provide offices for all our employees and our first classrooms. It is hard to believe our child, youth and adults programs have been so vital and vibrant without a single dedicated classroom in our building.

JI: What do you see as your lasting influence over the Or Shalom community?

HD: I hope it can be said that I have both deepened and broadened Or Shalom, cultivating brave space for profound experiences and repeatedly looking to our margins to see who else must be embraced, companioned and brought to the centre of community.

JI: What, in life, brings you the most joy?

HD: Song and silence among spiritual friends, making art, knowing people for a long, long time, growing flowers, cooking from the garden, walking in the city and in the forest and in the meadows and on the shore.

JI: Do you have some advice for the Jewish people about getting along in this difficult time?

HD: My advice for the trying time we live in is to cultivate lack of certainty, to be both curious and courteous, never to let go of joy, folding our sorrows into our joys, and to believe in our powers of restoration and renewal.

JI: Is there anything else you would like to add?

HD: Have the holy audacity to pull your chair up to the table! If you don’t, decisions that affect you will be made by others.

You can read some of Rabbi Hannah Dresner’s writings at myjewishlearning.com.

Cassandra Freeman is a journalist and improviser who lives in East Vancouver.

Vibrant start to new year

Visiting Rabbi Cantor Russell Jayne (of Beth Tzedec Congregation, Calgary) was in Kelowna for a September Shabbaton. (photo from the OJC)

The Okanagan Jewish Community may be small, but it’s got a strong, involved congregation that makes an impact on the region.

On Sept. 14, the OJC hosted the first Okanagan multifaith community event, organized by the Kelowna General Hospital Spiritual Care Committee. Numerous faith-based organizations throughout the valley are part of this supportive, open-minded learning collective. The goal of the new group is to discover what unites us and what distinguishes us as citizens, and to promote peace and understanding across religious and cultural lines.

* * *

The OJC enjoyed another Shabbat with Rabbi Cantor Russell Jayne from Calgary, Sept. 20-21. This was the start of the community’s visiting rabbi series for the new year and Jayne shared his historical knowledge, philosophical insights and voice from the bimah, and delighted community members with beautiful melodies at the Kaffehaus event on the Saturday evening.

* * *

On Oct. 6, Harley Kushmier and Maureen Mansoor organized an Oct. 7 commemorative film and discussion evening, which was solemn, moving and enlightening.

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photo - The Okanagan Jewish Community’s break fast meal Oct. 12 — The Okanagan Jewish Community’s break fast meal Oct. 12. *(photo from the OJC)*

The OJC’s High Holidays were very much community-driven again this year.

Evan Orloff led the services and the community is grateful that he has the heart and knowledge to serve as a lay leader.

OJC president Laura McPheeters lent her musical talents to the services and Adam Tizel sounded the shofar. The Torah was read by Josh Golden and Steven Finkleman. The community break fast meal was organized by Josh Golden and Abbey Westbury.

* * *

The OJC Sisterhood hosted a luncheon on Oct. 23 with guest speaker Taylor Backman of the RCMP. His presentation about security during this period of heightened antisemitism was timely. Backman has offered to come speak to the community again in the spring.

The next Sisterhood luncheon is scheduled for Dec. 12, and there will be a reprise of last year’s popular Hanukkah gift exchange.

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photo - Kelowna musician Patricia Dalgleish joined the OJC earlier this month for the Parisian-themed Café au J — Kelowna musician Patricia Dalgleish joined the OJC earlier this month for the Parisian-themed Café au J. *(photo from the OJC)*

The first weekend in November brought Rabbi Jeremy Parnes from Regina. As ever, he graced the bimah with thoughtfulness, charm, and a strong focus on community and healing. That Saturday evening, OJC members took a virtual field trip to the Seine with the Parisian-themed Café au J! Amid the croissants and crêpes, Kelowna songstress Patricia Dalgleish took to the stage with French ditties and crowd favourites that had everyone singing along.

* * *

Looking ahead, the OJC is excited to welcome Rabbi Matthew Leibl from Winnipeg for its December Shabbaton weekend. Social events will take place on those nights, as well. The community’s annual Hanukkah party, the Sisterhood’s Christmas Eve Chinese food dinner, themed Kaffehaus nights, and many other get-togethers are planned in the coming months.

– Courtesy Okanagan Jewish Community

When new is also ancient

It turns out that a war and a worldwide increase in antisemitism may cause more Jewish people to return to Jewish spaces. Some Jewish atheists try out fasting for Yom Kippur. New faces appear at synagogue. Lectures and events that were sparsely attended in the past seem to have more takers. If you’re a regular in a Jewish community, you may have seen this already. There are many reasons, including a need to find community and avoid antisemitism, or to return to religious practice after dealing with so much death. For those who were already attending or even occasionally attending Jewish services or events, things have also changed.

My twins had their b’nai mitzvah in June. I’d long thought of how cool it would be if they could help fill out a minyan more often (a group of 10 needed for communal prayer). However, there have been obstacles. Our congregation’s building was under renovation. The temporary spot, while lovely and hospitable, required a car ride.

This fall, the congregation moved back to its building and we live in easy walking distance. My kids attend public school and didn’t have Sukkot off. Yet, when one kid asked to attend minyan on Hoshanah Rabbah, the last day of Sukkot, I immediately said yes. He would have “an appointment” that morning, according to the attendance sheet, and arrive a little late. We figured, no need to claim a religious holiday (antisemitism concerns, again), but that’s what it was, of course.

Hoshanah Rabbah was a new experience for us, though it’s an ancient ritual. It involves circling the pulpit (a stand-in for the Temple altar) seven times, with lulav and etrog in hand. Marking the end of the fall holidays, it’s a last chance to ask for forgiveness and a better year.

Traditions differ about what is said during this ritual, but our congregation read piyyut, which are traditional poems, a part of Jewish liturgy that often includes acrostics (poems that use the alphabet). Some of the piyyut are very old. I found myself praying that my fruit trees don’t get fungus or that my fields wouldn’t be cursed. It might seem funny to ask for some of these things, but my city backyard has young apple, apricot, plum and cherry trees. I don’t want fungus!

It was especially poignant to pray – in the “Foundation Stone (“Even Shetiyah”) poem – about “the goodness of Lebanon, beautiful place, joy of the world.” This came straight out of the Siddur Ashkenaz (the Ashkenazi prayerbook), with specific quotes from Isaiah, Psalms and Lamentations. Our historic relationship with Lebanon is a rich one. Many of us, Israelis and diaspora Jews, would love to visit Beirut, the “Paris of the Middle East.” Some of us have ancestors who lived there, and we would like to see where they grew up or spent time. This urge isn’t new; our desire to have a good connection to Lebanon as a neighbour is ancient.

Then, we all were handed bundles of willows. We beat these on the lectern with force while saying, “Save your people and bless your heritage, care for them and carry them forever.” It was primal, cathartic, and very messy. There were willow leaves everywhere.

My kid was only a little late to first period art class. I went home in wonder. Later, I joked with one of my professors from graduate school, Jack Sasson, who I respect deeply, about how, for me, this previously unknown Jewish ritual felt stirring and exotic. He suggested that paganism still has something to teach us. The beating of the willows is ancient indeed. It’s a namburbi ritual from Mesopotamia, he said. When I remarked that I could get into this paganism thing, his reply left me laughing. “Ishtar will welcome you.”

I was still reflecting on all this when watching some new friends with young kids dancing on the evening of Simchat Torah. To help everyone through the first yahrzeit of Oct. 7/Simchat Torah, our rabbi dedicated each hakkafah (circuit around the room with the Torahs) to a different group: first responders, those who had died in the past year, the unity of the People of Israel, etc. The next afternoon, the kids came over for snacks and to play. One of the parents asked me why there was so much reference to Israel stuff. I realized that here, too, was a confluence of old customs and new experience.

I explained that some of these prayers, for instance, the prayer for the hostages, weren’t new. The Talmud, codified in 500 CE, discusses the topic of hostages at length. The first instance of the prayer for the redemption of hostages that we use today was documented in the Mahzor Vitry, named for Simhah b. Samuel of Vitry, a French talmudist who died in 1105 CE.

I reminded them that many present at the synagogue were in mourning for people who had died. While celebrating old holidays, we need to acknowledge the current situation. These days, services usually include prayers for the state of Israel and the Israeli army, too. None of these are newly written prayers.

Of course, Sukkot itself, a harvest festival that required Israelites to go to the Temple in Jerusalem – last destroyed in 70 CE – is also all about Israel.

I drew a few conclusions from these social encounters. First, for those who may feel jaded and aware of Jewish yearly events, there’s always something new to learn. For me, it was the primal connection to Mesopotamia, namburbi ritual and, yes, Ishtar, the goddess herself. For those who hadn’t been at synagogue for some time, there were many questions, new encounters and experiences, too. What unites it all is a realization that, while our individual learning curve might be new to us, the rituals, the prayers, and the historic connections to Israel are ancient.

For all of us, in a time when political rhetoric seeks to disconnect diaspora Jews from the land of Israel, Sukkot and Simchat Torah were a powerful – and timely – reminder of our past and our future, together.

Joanne Seiff has written regularly for the Winnipeg Free Press and various Jewish publications. She is the author of three books, including From the Outside In: Jewish Post Columns 2015-2016, a collection of essays available for digital download or as a paperback from Amazon. Check her out on Instagram @yrnspinner or at joanneseiff.blogspot.com.

The search for a new home

A crane lifts a tunnel boring machine part out of the excavated Arbutus Station. With all the changes the Broadway Subway Project is bringing, the Accidental Balabusta and her husband are looking for a new condo – going from renters to owners. (photo from broadwaysubway.ca)

Growing up in the 1960s and ’70s in the then-Jewish neighbourhood of Oakridge, I was certain my future would include a beautiful house and a large yard. And, of course, a husband. Only part of that dream came to fruition, in 2009, when I got married at age 53. Before Harvey came along, I was a single woman making a decent but not extravagant living, and a house was way out of reach for me. So, I rented apartments. For decades. Welcome to my bad-news, good-news story.

As I got older, the importance of attaching myself to the Jewish community became stronger and, as luck would have it, I ended up renting a place a mere seven-minute walk from a shul. And I stayed put for 37 years. Now, faced with expulsion from our apartment because of the Broadway Subway Project, I am struck not by anger or nostalgia, but by gratitude. And maybe a touch of anxiety about having to move at this stage of my life. At 68 years old, I have never owned anything in my life, except a car.

Having a deep-seated faith, I try, I really try to remember that everything that comes from G-d is good. I try, also, to take the mindset of “I don’t understand why this is happening to me, but I know in my bones that it’s good for me in some way.” This imposes a much-needed positive outlook. One that will propel me forward, rather than keep me stuck in a negative “Why me?” loop.

As renters in this situation, we are entitled to compensation by law. However, it’s cold comfort when confronted with the stark reality of having to find a new home. Politicians talk blithely about “affordable, below-market rental housing,” but, in reality, no such thing exists for those who are retired and on a fixed income. In short, living in Vancouver has become an absurd luxury.

As luck would have it, I am a thrifty kind of gal and, over the decades, I have saved a respectable amount of money. So, along with my husband, we have finally decided to buy a condo – in Vancouver. One of the most expensive cities to live in.

Having spent the past while looking for a condo to purchase, I am bombarded by conflicting emotions:

excitement, fear and trepidation. But mostly gratitude. Waking up at 3 a.m. for a full week while battling insomnia, I got to the point where, instead of trying to think of five foods starting with each letter of the alphabet (a trick to induce boredom and sleep), I started to think of everything I am thankful for. I’m happy to report that the list is very long. This is just a sampling.

I am grateful that I can choose between carpeting and hardwood.

I am grateful that I will finally have in-suite laundry.

I am grateful that I will have a bigger kitchen, where I can bake challah regularly and cook luscious Shabbat meals in a space that is larger than a Smart Car.

I am grateful that I can, within reason, afford a condo in Vancouver.

I am grateful that I have friends who are guiding me through this process.

I am grateful that I have the energy to run around looking at prospective homes.

In short, I am grateful that I have choices. Plenty of choices.

It’s common knowledge that Jewish family values begin at home, and that’s what I’d like to continue nourishing and cultivating. From a real home. My home. For now, I am focusing on having faith and trust that Harvey and I will find a comfortable forever home. I have accepted that we may or may not still be a seven-minute walk from a shul. Thankfully, faith isn’t tied to geography. We can practise our Judaism anywhere.

As for the nuts and bolts, the experience of condo-hunting is an eye-opener for me. Little by little, condo by condo, I’m readjusting my priorities, figuring out what I can and can’t live without. Our realtor, thank goodness, has the patience of a saint and the temperament of a golden retriever.

Pragmatists that we are, we’ve started the search for a new home early, long before we are forced to move out of our rental apartment. But, as I’m learning, our property owner seems loathe to put money into a building that will be torn down within two years. So, we are living with stained hallway carpets, communal washers and dryers that rarely work, and balconies that haven’t been power-washed since before COVID. Am I enjoying this? Not even a scintilla. But still, I practise gratitude.

My constant refrain these days is: “It’s not the Vancouver I grew up in!” There are cranes everywhere on the horizon and there’s no telling what will be torn down next. It’s very unsettling. But at least we are fortunate enough to have options.

My periodic anger (which I am trying valiantly to contain) stems from the fact that I’ve lived and worked in Vancouver nearly my entire life and, while I was single until 15 years ago, I could never afford to buy a home. Thank G-d, my situation has changed, circumstances have opened up choices that never existed before, and the planets have aligned, allowing us to finally buy a home.

Now, we just have to find one that meets my simple needs: in-suite laundry, hardwood floors, a good-sized kitchen and not south-facing. I say “my needs” because we can all agree on the universal truth: “happy wife, happy life.” It’s a buyer’s market at the moment, so yippee for us. This whole roller-coaster journey offers a new chapter in our lives; one filled with hopefulness, possibilities and joy. I look forward with gratitude to a beautiful mezuzah on a new door to bless our new home. All I can say is l’chaim!

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

Our family sukkah traditions

I look at all the fancy sukkah kits people use when I cruise Instagram. I wonder how fast the structures go up, and whether they stand up to strong winds, but we’ve never spent the money on one to find out. Our sukkah is different. It takes a lot of work to put up and take down, but it’s sturdy and has a history.

Our sukkah was created by my dad in the 1960s for my parents’ congregation at the time, in Ann Arbor, Mich. My dad, an engineer, drew up his blueprint, signing it the “Dexter Sukkah Company” because they lived in Dexter, Mich., at the time. While my parents helped build sukkot at our congregation in Virginia where I grew up, and I helped decorate them, we never had one at home. I only learned about the “Dexter Portable Sukkah” as an adult.

As newlyweds, we told my parents that we might build our own sukkah. We lived several hours away from them, in North Carolina. My dad brought us copies of his plan. I think he may even have brought down some scrap lumber for us to assemble our own. That first year, we did it. My brand-new spouse and I harvested bamboo from an overgrown lot across the street for the schach (greenery put on top) and got started building. My beloved then dropped a piece of lumber on my head. The next day, my grad school advisor suggested I visit the student healthcare centre. A doctor concluded that I probably got a concussion. Although I am handy with a drill, that was the first and last year I built the sukkah with my husband!

Over time, we’ve moved for our academic lives and careers. The lumber got left behind in North Carolina. The year we lived in Buffalo, NY, while my husband did a postdoc, I taught at a community college, and we didn’t build a sukkah.

At the next stop, in Kentucky, we put the sukkah up in a grassy side yard our first year. My husband was a new assistant professor. We invited all his work colleagues to a big party. It took time for us to “get wise” to the antisemitism issues of our college town. We kept putting up our sukkah each year, but moved it to the fenced and gated backyard, where it was private. The schach in Kentucky mostly smelled stinky, as we cut back endless tree-of-heaven saplings from our overgrown backyard.

Fall evenings in Kentucky were warm, so we would have dinner parties in the sukkah, complete with bug spray. Friends and colleagues would comment about the runner beans and flowers we’d planted in the yard, while our bird dogs wrestled and chased crickets. Sukkot became a favourite holiday to be outside, sharing harvest food and hanging out with friends. We stayed in Kentucky six years. By the end, my husband’s enthusiastic use of deck screws meant that our sukkah lumber was splintered. We abandoned it when we moved to Winnipeg.

Building a sukkah in Winnipeg, 15 years ago, we started from scratch, using the Dexter Sukkah Company’s blueprint, and bought new lumber, too. That piece of paper with the sukkah plans took up residence in our cordless drill case. No matter what we fix, we see my dad’s plans. A friend from synagogue biked over to help that first year, with his drill gun tucked into the small of his back the way some people carry firearms. This time, my husband used an IKEA-type interlocking fastener approach to frame the walls, where it takes longer to assemble and disassemble the pieces, but the wood remains in better shape. He used mostly oak, elm and crabapple branches as schach at our first Winnipeg house. That year, we continued with the dinner parties, including wine and cheese, with new professor friends. The small crabapple fruits added some additional colour overhead, and some additional excitement when one landed in a wineglass.

As time passed, our sukkah became decorated with preschool fruit stuffies and paper chains, filled with twins who squeaked with enthusiasm from high chairs. Eventually, they were grade-school kids who set the table and cleared afterwards, in hopes of getting dessert faster.

In our new home (still in Winnipeg), this is the second year we’ve managed to build a sukkah. The schach comes from Virginia creeper vines and Manitoba maple shoots. The kids are big enough to hold up the sides while my husband screws it together. I worry about whether somebody will get hit on the head again. For the holiday, I bake lots of food in advance to feed hungry teens – fresh air seems to make them eat even more! We sometimes invite over other families. Sometimes, we just celebrate on our own. We hope it won’t rain too hard or snow – because we’re not diehards. If it’s a cold rain, we’re celebrating indoors at the dining room table instead!

We reuse our decorations, including the stuffies and the plastic wine goblets, every year. This is a holiday that is not expensive for us. We’ve never upgraded to a fancier kit sukkah, fairy lights or pricey ushipizin (guest) artwork, and that’s OK. This year, in a holiday season when, to be honest, everything has felt pretty hard to get through, I was heartened to see the sukkah rise again in our backyard, from 2×4 lumber, cut long ago.

Some years, my holidays are enriched by study. Yes, I loved studying the talmudic tractate describing the rules around building a sukkah, which can seem ridiculous. You can use the side of an elephant as part of your sukkah! That’s legal, according to the rabbis, but also entirely unnecessary. It’s also fine to build your sukkah out of scrap lumber and paper chains.

This year, my husband spent a full day of a long weekend erecting our old-fashioned sukkah. Looking exhausted, his face red from wind, he smiled when he remarked that we’d been doing this now for 26 years. He continued with “every year’s sukkah is a little different, but every year’s design is the same, too.” There’s nothing wrong with that! In a time with so much upheaval, family traditions like these – even if they are clunky, heavy and time-consuming – are well-worth keeping.

Joanne Seiff has written regularly for the Winnipeg Free Press and various Jewish publications. She is the author of three books, including From the Outside In: Jewish Post Columns 2015-2016, a collection of essays available for digital download or as a paperback from Amazon. Check her out on Instagram @yrnspinner or at joanneseiff.blogspot.com.

A lesson learned anew

In the late 1990s, the collective Jewish community organizations in North America acknowledged a crisis. What had been increasingly evident anecdotally was being confirmed by statistics, research, published works and commentary. Affiliation with Jewish communities and agencies was declining precipitously – to the extent that the very future of the Jewish community, by some estimates, was in doubt.

Assimilation, intermarriage and declining religious observance were seen as factors in this decline. Counterintuitively, the almost complete disappearance of systemic antisemitism and the sidelining of social antisemitism meant that this opposition force no longer had the pull it once did to enforce cohesion among North American Jews.

This realization, and the debate it launched, were among the reasons that Jewish federations, synagogues, Hillels and other agencies engaged in a redoubling of efforts to reach Jews where they are. For example, to destigmatize intermarriage and welcome mixed families, and to entice largely assimilated Jews into Jewish community centres and synagogues and Jewish spaces on campuses, through the development of innovative programs.

But the core “problem” facing Jews in this narrative – a decline in the defensive, if unifying, force of antisemitism in Western societies – took care of itself just three years later.

Conflict in the Middle East always results in a conflict over the conflict around the world. The launch of the Second Intifada, in September 2000, saw an upsurge in anti-Israel and antisemitic (not exactly the same; not unrelated) activities on campuses and elsewhere around the world.

By various measures, the first two decades of the 21st century saw some successes in terms of sustained engagement and growth in aspects of the community. This was a result of a confluence of events – the debate that began in earnest in the 1990s; the investment in outreach undertaken across the Jewish community; and, not at all incidentally, the rise in global antisemitism that coincided with the growing conflict in the Middle East.

Then came Oct. 7, 2023.

In response, early indications suggest, some Jews have prudently covered up Magen David necklaces, put caps over their kippot and otherwise reduced their visibility in public. This is a superficial response, but it is based on reasonable principles of safety.

Here is what Jews overwhelmingly have not done: abandoned Judaism and the broader Jewish identity that draws the hostility of haters.

On the contrary. Synagogues, Jewish advocacy organizations, Hillels and other Jewish groups are seeing spikes in engagement unknown in recent memory.

Many Jews whose lives have been comfortably lived with only tangential connections to the broader Jewish peoplehood found themselves suddenly and profoundly isolated in their various communities after Oct. 7. Some Jews who had concluded that they did not need the benefits of collective engagement found, perhaps to their dismay, that they do.

This fact (or its observation) should not be seen as an “I told you so.” It is merely a recognition that antisemitism exists and, throughout history, it has been a cyclical phenomenon that rises and falls in waves.

Let us not pretend that there are silver linings in the horrors we have experienced collectively in the past year. No one would choose this trade-off. What we are suggesting is that, in the face of this new reality, Jews are doing what Jews have always done: returned to the teachings, core values and simple togetherness that have sustained our people and traditions for millennia, realizing, as generations before have done, that these ancient assets are no less valuable today than in eras past.

We cannot foresee the future. Things may get worse before they get better. But when this cycle finally recedes, we hope we will be a stronger people. Those who had dismissed their own parents’ warnings around cyclical bigotry are conveying to their own kids the lessons they had disdained. There are reports of record synagogue attendance at High Holiday services this year, established and new ad hoc advocacy programs and organizations have been enriched by an influx of people and talent. Innovative organizations have popped up to support many non-affiliated or disaffected Jews in spiritual exploration, with racialized identities, or those who want to advocate for peace and dialogue outside of established communal structures. On campuses, Jewish students are learning advocacy and skills that will empower our community for decades to come.

This is not, to be clear, an instance of Jewishness being defined by negatives, driven by its opposites. It is a constructive, positive, heartening phenomenon in which people who did not even know that they needed community reach out, find one and, in the process, empower both themselves and the larger people.

Again, this is not a silver lining in a terrible time. This is simply an ancient lesson learned anew.