lifestyle – Page 11

Help in facing antisemitism

Canada recently made several important commitments to the Jewish community, with plans to target hate and fund initiatives to educate and fight antisemitism. While good news, for some of us, these also feel like vague promises. Many of us have felt vulnerable because of our Jewish identities. It has gotten worse recently, with a sharp rise in both physical violence and hate online.

This fall, I signed up for a virtual program run by the Jewish Federation of Winnipeg, featuring Rabbi Matt Liebl in conversation with Centre for Israel and Jewish Affairs (CIJA) chief executive officer Shimon Koffler Fogel. The event was called Antisemitism in Canada: Pushing Back against Hate. The conversation was intellectual and insightful but, when it ended, I was unsatisfied. The overall message was that perhaps 80% of the antisemitic events in Canada were due to ignorance. To fix this, we must educate people. So, I asked a question during the Q&A period. It was something like, “What resources are available to us, as we go forth to educate, both online and in the Canadian context?”

The answer didn’t meet my needs, although it wasn’t wrong, either. Koffler Fogel responded by first saying that the internet (Facebook, etc.) had no borders, so we needed better Canadian policy and international law around hate online. Second, he suggested that “we” older folks had no real power to stop this antisemitic stuff on social media, but that, if it was possible to enlist some 17-year-old influencers, they could help.

Right, I’m just a middle-aged nobody. I’m no big name social media influencer. However, as a Gen Xer, I’ve lived with email since its infancy. I’ve been on the web for more than half my life. I’ve also been the target of hate online, as well as through the (far more retro) postal service and telephone. Some might say this is because I write on Jewish topics, but I’m just not that famous. Right after I moved to Canada, my Winnipeg house was egged on Chanukah when somebody saw the menorah in the window. I wasn’t even writing Jewish articles here yet, and I doubt the people who egged my house had read any of the ones published in the United States.

I could produce a list of bad experiences that occurred before moving to Canada, and these had nothing to do with being “public” about my Jewish identity. Yet, too much has happened since moving here in 2009. Recent attacks on social media this spring and summer, including being harassed and banned by a Canadian knitwear designer who strongly supported Palestinian issues, weren’t my first Canadian antisemitic experiences. I’ve mostly kept this to myself, even though the harassment was scary and painful. These attacks were directed towards me because I’m Jewish and spoke up for Israel’s right to exist. I was harassed even though I don’t vote in Israel and don’t always agree with Israel’s policies. Being Jewish and speaking out was enough.

The October anniversary of the Pittsburgh Tree of Life shootings reminded me of what greeted my family that awful Sunday morning in 2018. My kids and I went to a playground near where a lot of Jewish families live. It was easy to see an enormous swastika and other hate graffiti on the side of the nearby swimming pool building. The senior citizens, many of them Jewish, living across the street in apartment buildings, could see those hate symbols, too.

When my twins were done playing, I walked them, one holding each hand, indoors to the pool front desk to report the swastika graffiti. I then drove home and spent way too long trying to report what was obviously a hate crime to the police, the B’nai Brith and one of my editors at the time. The worst part was hearing, “Well, did you take photos?” The answer was no. I didn’t have a third hand to let go of my kids and take photos, which would have signaled to them how very distressed I was. It was another chance to feel isolated, vulnerable and angry. Not only did I experience the hate but, apparently, I should have documented it (to prove it existed) and take on the task of reporting it multiple times. The graffiti was cleaned up but, for me, the hateful message lingered.

After the virtual CIJA/Jewish Federation event, there was a follow-up note with a couple of links. One offered an entire page of antisemitism resources to read. Another link was “Report an antisemitic incident.” While I deeply appreciated the form online as being easier than what I’ve gone through previously when trying to report hate, the form didn’t say where the submitted information went. It didn’t suggest what supports were available. It didn’t say who would read submissions or when. I contacted the Winnipeg Jewish Federation to ask that this be added to the site but haven’t received a reply.

For me, the worst part of dealing with hateful messages, graffiti, assault or social media attacks is feeling alone and unsafe. Maybe most antisemitism comes from ignorance. That doesn’t make it any less hurtful or intimidating.

So, what are solutions? Yes, we need to educate others and invest in better laws and in security for Jewish institutions. We also need to invest in ourselves. Advocacy organizations and community institutions should be part of the solution. Give everybody useful tools and information for how to combat hate – because we never know who will need it next.

Also, let’s follow up and support those in our community who have faced hateful incidents. We may never erase all the hate in our midst, but our communities can offer better security, kindness, counseling or, heck, a (COVID-safe!) hug to those who experience antisemitism.

We need non-Jewish allies, too. Intellectually, I know that these incidents – graffiti, the egg on my window and even reporting a threatening email to the police – were not a big deal. These incidents can shake us up anyway. If those affected by hate crimes feel afraid, isolated and vulnerable, we can help by showing up for one another more consistently. There’s safety in numbers. Next time somebody submits one of these antisemitic incident forms, here’s hoping a friend in the community follows up, too. We can deal with the after-effects when we’re not alone. We can do that for one another. It’s time to try.

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

A time for diversity training

We’re in the month of Heshvan on the Jewish calendar. Some people call it Mar-Heshvan or Marcheshvan. (Since this is transliteration, it can be spelled either “ch” or “h.”) It’s called mar, or bitter, because, aside from Shabbat, there are no Jewish holidays during this month.

Of course, as Canadians, we had Thanksgiving in there. However, after a long stretch of Jewish holidays, many Jewish people, myself included, quite like the idea of a month off from them. Finally, I have time to start another big project. A relatively quiet Jewish month leaves more time to do “regular” work, learning and making changes.

As a kid, I was very active in my Reform congregation. I learned to lead services and read Torah and Haftarah, and did it without hesitation after becoming a bat mitzvah. Unfortunately, though, at that time, we didn’t chant in my parents’ congregation, so I never learned how to do it. I married into a family with slightly more traditional practice among some of its members and, therefore, have been attending services with chanting now for more than 20 years.

Yet, learning to chant is a tricky business as an adult. On one occasion, I asked a rabbi if I might learn and he said of course, the congregation ran a special group class for adult b’not mitzvah. (Mostly it was women who never were able to participate in a bat mitzvah service as a child.) I said no, I’d been there and done that – complete with leading the service, a reception with custom-made omelettes, and a special dress. I just wanted to learn to chant. He had no space in his imagination for someone who just wanted to learn this skill without the lifecycle event.

I also learned that there are different kinds of trope. Chanting comes along with symbols in the text of the Torah, Haftarah, Eicha and Megillat Esther. The symbols were introduced by the rabbis as a way to mark and understand the text better. It’s like punctuation. However, as an oral tradition, chanting melodies differ according to where one lives and one’s background. There are actually many different styles of chanting trope, including smaller regional differences, as well.

The trope I’ve begun learning is an Ashkenazi one, which is perhaps appropriate to my family background. (I haven’t done a DNA test, though, so I’m going by family lore.) However, parts of my family are Western European and others have been in the United States for a long time. It’s even possible that I’m learning the “wrong” trope for my background. I’ve found that several Sephardi and Mizrahi chanting styles sound clearer and make more sense to me, perhaps because I’ve learned Modern Hebrew and I lived in Israel as a teenager. It’s actually not as simple as “Learn trope!” “Chant Torah!” although it seems this way if you’ve only lived in one specific Jewish ethnic community with unified customs and traditions.

The more you know, the more complicated things seem. The best metaphor I’ve come up with springs from an odd social media interaction I had. Someone I know only online described her harvest supper menu as including “Jewish-style brisket.” I jokingly responded, “WHAT?! There’s only one kind? What about the many varieties I’ve had over the years? Could it be that I’ve never eaten the only ‘official’ Jewish brisket recipe?”

I said maybe this was an Eastern European/Ashkenazi recipe, or her family recipe. After all, brisket is a relatively cheap cut of meat, cooked low and slow, which is perfect to make on Shabbat, when some families do not adjust oven temperatures or turn the oven on or off.

The person insisted that this was indeed the Jewish-style brisket her family made, mostly, and that, if you Google it, this exact recipe pops up. (Hint, lots of things pop up online that don’t hold up under scrutiny.) Eventually, I suggested that perhaps this was best called a family recipe or a specific geographic recipe, and wished her bon appétit.

Geography matters in cooking meat – for instance, in a Southern barbeque recipe. That is, brisket in Texas doesn’t taste like brisket made in eastern Carolina. Nothing could be more different! The same is true for Jewish trope or chanting. They don’t sound the same because, although Jews originated, long ago, in what is now called Israel, we’re now a diverse people, from all over the world. Just as Jews don’t all look the same, we all don’t eat the same foods on holidays, or sing the same melodies for Lecha Dodi, Adon Olam or myriad other prayers.

So, I begin, with baby steps, to learn one chanting/trope tradition while acknowledging there are many others out there. Like the many brisket recipes and holiday traditions out there, knowing about diversity and traveling deepens our appreciation for what we know and enjoy, and for learning more.

In the meanwhile, I joked with a non-Jewish friend I know in “real life” that, if there is really only one Jewish-style brisket recipe, we might be in trouble. “Oh no!” she replied. “I have to figure out ‘the’ Christian brisket recipe! How have I missed it after all this time?!” We snorted together with laughter. Next, I might call a Muslim friend to ask if there just one Muslim meatball – after all, the kibbe and kofte I’ve shared over many years might not be the official kind?

The best learning for Heshvan? There might not be a single “official” version of anything. That, in itself, is a lesson in diversity that might be worth learning like trope … over and over.

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

Sharing her inspiration

On Oct. 8, nonagenarian Gloria Levi was the featured speaker at the JSA Snider Foundation Virtual Empowerment Series session co-sponsored by Jewish Seniors Alliance and the Peretz Centre for Secular Jewish Culture. The topic was What Inspires Me at 90.

Gyda Chud, co-president of JSA and president of the Peretz Centre, welcomed the approximately 70 attendees and shared the background of JSA’s Empowerment series.

Fran Goldberg introduced Levi as a feminist, an activist, a COVID survivor, a gerontologist, a therapist, a social worker and a woman of tremendous confidence, who finds joy in even the darkest of moments.

From her talk, it seems that Levi does indeed find inspiration in everything around her, from rustling breezes and glistening sunsets to soulful self-discovery. She finds meaning in both everyday happenings and the larger matters of the heart and social justice. If we were to sum up Levi’s nuanced and profound wisdom in a word, it would be wholeness. She elevates the whole person with all their perfect imperfections.

To Levi, self-discovery and self-knowledge are paramount values. She illustrated the importance of being true to oneself with the charming story of Rabbi Zusia, who lamented to God, bemoaning his not being like Moses and Abraham. God advised him to be exactly who he is – Zusia. The goal in life is not to strive for perfection but to be authentically oneself.

Through Levi’s lens of wholeness, even a global disaster like COVID-19 has vital lessons. A COVID-19 survivor, Levi refers to the virus as the 11th plague, but also is passionate about the important issues that the pandemic has brought to light. For example, it revealed the discrepancy between the haves and the have nots: the ones who support our daily life – the grocery store clerks, hospital employees, delivery drivers and food workers, among others – in stark contrast with the wealthy. The pandemic has yielded an awakening, a heightened awareness that things need to change on numerous levels, both environmentally and socially, said Levi.

Along with her commitment to social justice, Levi draws connections and inspiration from Jewish sources; for example, she refers to Leviticus, in which God tells Moses to instruct the Israelites to give the land a rest. During the sabbath year, the land is to lie fallow and to be “released” from cultivation, she explained. Weaving rest and restoration into our physical and spiritual worlds is a much-needed change, she said.

In conclusion, Levi quoted Ecclesiastes and reminded us that “vanity of vanities; all is vanity.” Her advice: embrace life, enjoy meaningful relationships and small kindnesses – and find inspiration all around us.

Tamara Frankel is a member of the board of Jewish Seniors Alliance and of the editorial committee of Senior Line magazine. She is also a board member of the Jewish Community Centre of Greater Vancouver.

Sometimes we need a break

It’s been about a month since Labour Day and the start of school. For many people with school-age children, this is the first time the kids are back in school, in person, in awhile. It’s also been a year where we’ve remarked about how “early” the Jewish holidays are, in relation to the secular calendar. So, while some vaccinated people are thrilled to be attending their first hockey game or concert in almost two years, reveling in joining the crowds, many others are meeting this moment with caution and exhaustion.

This balance of great enthusiasm at rejoining society and reticent caution is part of our identities. North Americans feel a great push to get out there, make money, join the in-crowd party and show off our productivity. Society often defines us by what we do and who we’re with.

The other side, the hesitancy, might be better understood by our Jewish ethnic and religious identities. That is, the people who want to follow the rules (ie. halachah, Jewish law). We also find our way with caution perhaps because we suffered from thousands of years of refugee status and/or trauma as we wandered.

As a person who bore lots of childcare responsibilities, as well as losing some of my work life, this last month has been somewhat stressful and puzzling. From the moment my Grade 5 children left the house, I’ve waited for the other shoe to drop. Will they get sent home sick? Will I land a new job or gig? If I do, how will I juggle it with what will happen next in our unpredictable pandemic world? In the short term, how can I cook ahead or prepare to meet the needs of the next Jewish holiday, day off school or Shabbat coming up?

There’s also a strong Puritan work ethic in my head, even though that’s not my specific religious or ethnic background. It’s something like: “People who work hard are close to the Almighty. People who are close to the Almighty gain money, stature and professional accomplishments. Therefore, people who don’t gain money, stature or accomplishments are neither close to the Almighty, nor working hard.”

Of course, many of us hear that if we didn’t score the best job or earn the most, it’s our own fault.

On Tashlich, we thought about throwing away our metaphorical sins and aimed to do better in the new year. I reflected on how often negative and anxious thoughts race through my mind, and how I could try to reduce that. It’s perhaps a first step to making space for more positivity and calm. It seemed like a good place to start.

Yet, a month later, I catch myself thinking, “Hey, you’ve had a month! Where’s your newest freelance gig? What’s the new work opportunity you’ve landed?” Of course, if the last month was spent on school readiness and putting challah and holiday meals on the table, this could just be anxious, negative self-talk. There’s only so much a working parent can do.

When we consider big concepts like our finances or how the law works, we’re maybe not applying it to what’s going on personally. For instance, the recent federal campaign promise of $10 a day childcare seemed like a dream come true for many – but, in reality, it’s exactly like a dream that is out of reach the moment we wake up. For most people with children who need childcare, this plan, if it comes to fruition, won’t be realized before our families age out of needing that care.

All this was swirling in my head when I read my page of Talmud before bed. I’m currently learning Beitzah in my Daf Yomi (page of Talmud a day). Yes, this is a tractate entitled “Egg.” It’s all about what can and cannot be done on Jewish festivals (Pesach, Sukkot and Shavuot) as compared to a regular working day or on Shabbat. Its first issue is, “May we eat an egg laid on a festival day? Why or why not?”

Let’s be honest, as a person who isn’t strict about these rules, studying Beitzah is sometimes an intellectual exercise. It allows me to reflect on what these concerns mean in a broader context. It’s more about how we make meaning out of holidays, the passage of time, and our struggles.

Enter page 21 of Beitzah, where Rav Avya the Elder asks Rav Huna a complicated question. “If a Jewish person owns an animal with a non-Jew, what’s the halachah with regard to slaughtering it on a festival?” This is an issue because one can designate an animal to be killed to celebrate and eat on a holiday. The trouble is how to administer it with a non-Jewish partner, how to decide what rules to follow.

Rav Huna responds, but Rav Avya asks him for clarification. Rav Huna says, no kidding, “Look, a raven flies in the sky.” HUH? Say what?

Later talmudic commentators try to explain his response. Was Rav Huna trying to change the subject? Was he offering a critique or dismissing this question?

Rav Huna’s son is taken aback, according Rabbi Elliot Goldberg, who wrote an introduction to this page online at My Jewish Learning. Rav Huna’s son pushes for an explanation. Rav Huna answers, “What should I have done for him? Today I am in a state best described by the verse: ‘Let me lean against the stout trunks, let me couch among the apple trees.’ (Song of Songs 2:5) And he asked me about something that requires reasoning.”

Rav Huna basically says, “Hey, I’m worn out and just need to hang out in the shade today, leave me alone!” Even the best talmudic minds, who normally love to wrestle with complicated questions, need downtime, to recuperate. We can learn from Rav Huna that, sometimes, we should give ourselves a break – even when it seems unproductive or rude.

The Gemara goes on to answer the question, it doesn’t leave us hanging. Yet, Rav Huna offers a reminder for those of us who beat ourselves up over being uber productive. It’s OK to cut ourselves some slack. Yes, we must balance our lives, abiding by laws, making a living, but also? We need to take a break at times.

It turns out that sitting outside in nature isn’t new-age, woo-woo self-care after all. We don’t have to be “on” all the time. If Rav Huna did it, approximately 1,750 years ago, we can, too. We can allow ourselves that moment to sit under a tree and recuperate. Here’s to wishing you time in the orchard when you need it!

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

We share same fate

Do you realize that everyone you know will die? Of course you do. All of us know that. But, most of the time, we don’t think about it. We forget about it insofar as it motivates our actions, our interactions with the people in our lives, and the people we meet. If we were wholly cognizant that some of these people were to be gone tomorrow, or next week, wouldn’t it result in some of our behaviours being modified?

We usually have no inkling of when our time will come, or that of our friends or neighbours. When tragedy strikes and we get the bad news, we often react in a drastic way. If we have hates on, we usually stifle them. If we care, we redouble our efforts to connect in ways that might be more useful to the object of our emotion. Even if we don’t have a real link to the person who has died, we may go out of our way to exhibit some form of kindness. We instinctively feel, there, but for the grace of God, go I. Imagining how we would feel in the same situation, we have the urge to do something, anything, to alleviate the pain, the fear, the horror, of the unknown forthcoming.

When the end comes unheralded, suddenly, without warning, it is a shock to the system. Somehow, that person’s passing puts us, ourselves, right in the target zone. The immediacy of something that could happen to anyone, the result of biology or chance, reminds us we are not ready to go. We are chastened by the event.

Attitudes to our final exit vary widely, and certainly evolve over time. When we see some of the reckless behaviour of young people, we have to believe they feel they are immortal. Many out there have the belief that this current “vale of tears” is but a temporary phenomenon, with the best of existence yet to come. My Jewish background and belief system offers no such panacea. We are enjoined to do all we can to get the most out of our current existence.

In my late 80s, I must, of course, accept that I am much closer to the exit scenario than many of the people on this planet. Acceptance is the closest emotion I can discern, having enjoyed a larger slice of life than most.

The people I know have very mixed feelings about the transition we all face. Many are apprehensive. Most of us are happy to do what we can to put off the “evil” day, worried about the experience, and more than reluctant to give up whatever shred of living that we may have in the now, all of our fleshly and mental pleasures, regardless of our pains, potential and real.

What exercises me much more than some of the above is the greediness I feel about engaging with the spirits of all those still around me. Knowing that the time we share is limited by circumstance, more than anything I want to reach out to those souls whose existence I value.

Many of the people I care about have not shared a word with me for decades. My fault, their fault, who knows what were the forces that caused us to drift apart. How strange might they feel about my making an uninvited approach, out of the blue?

If I were to write them a blog like this as a general invitation to reach out and make a contact, some might respond. We all share a common fate. Maybe we also share a sense of the value of our past contacts. Maybe some of you out there are thinking of doing the same thing, reaching out before it is too late? Every week there are some of my contacts that I must erase from my mailing list. So, here I go: how are things for you today? What’s the story? Will we make contact today before the unknown tomorrow comes?

Max Roytenberg is a Vancouver-based poet, writer and blogger. His book Hero in My Own Eyes: Tripping a Life Fantastic is available from Amazon and other online booksellers.

Sukkot a time for happiness

As a kid, Sukkot wasn’t a holiday we observed at home. Our congregation was where I decorated and visited a sukkah, but it wasn’t a big festival for us. The temple did feel like an extension of my house since my mom worked full time there – but it wasn’t my house.

By contrast, as a married adult, we’ve really embraced Sukkot at home. We’ve built a sukkah in the backyard of each home we’ve lived in. We’ve more than 20 years now of experience in inviting guests for big sukkah dinner parties and having quiet family meals together, too. We enjoy buying a lulav and etrog so we can “shake it in the sukkah!” on our own.

It’s brought us lots of pleasure, which is apt because Sukkot is the only festival that is labeled “z’man simchateinu” or “our time of happiness.” It’s literally our time to party. In Tractate Sukkah, it describes the special “in the place of the drawing of water” celebrations at the Temple on Sukkot as the party to end all parties. In Tractate Sukkah 51a, it says this twice, in both the Mishnah and Gemara, “One who did not see the celebration … never saw celebration in his days.” The Gemara goes further to explain: “One who did not see Jerusalem in its glory, never saw a beautiful city. One who did not see the Temple in its constructed state, never saw a magnificent structure.”

Like any spare, ancient text, we can read this several ways. My first tendency is to recall overhearing university acquaintances laughing. When they saw me, as they laughed, they explained that their fraternity bash was “the party to end all parties” and “they were so blasted” and “it’s a shame you weren’t there!” Then I’d feel some shame. I hadn’t been invited, feeling left out and uncomfortable. Then, as an introvert, I’d privately admit relief! I didn’t have to deal with the noise, drunks, drugs and cigarettes, either.

Yet this is not at all the negative, emotional reading that I think the rabbis intended. The talmudic sages were describing a truly joyous, amazing, mind-blowingly big celebration. It’s hard during the pandemic to wrap my brain around this huge way of celebrating. The Temple in Jerusalem and its way of observing the festivities are also long past, but there are still big sukkahs out there in the world, full of party-goers, no matter the year.

Many of us struggle at times to find the joy in our lives – the world news, natural disaster and ongoing pandemic waves can leave us reeling and wondering when things will get better. When we can gather, many people are flooded with joy at a crowded wedding or a big festive event. However, modern-day Sukkot can bring us joy even without the enormous shindig or party to end all parties at the Temple in Jerusalem.

For me, being outside, at any time of year, helps me find that inner calm, contentment and grounding. I’ve also recently observed moments when I start feeling anxious or sucked into negativity. At those times, I’m consciously trying to step away from the news and the social media feed. I’m giving myself time every day to read a book, cook, study Talmud, knit, and watch my kids and dog play. I need to make space for finding that joy.

This summer, we’ve had a lot of wasps outside in Winnipeg, along with heat, drought and wildfire smoke. It was so bad that our difficult-to-assemble patio table never made it out onto the deck. We used the matching chairs, but gave up on eating outside. I recently tested the waters with my husband, asking if he felt it would be worth it to assemble everything for Sukkot anyway. After all, three out of four family members have gotten wasp stings in the yard so far. It hasn’t been auspicious.

He responded positively, as only a biology professor who studies insects might, noting that wasps weren’t active at night, that cooler temperatures and winds helped, and that we should set things up as usual. He was right. By planning to build a sukkah despite everything, we could optimize our chances at “our time of rejoicing.” Studying Tractate Sukkah this summer made me anticipate the holiday so much that I couldn’t wait for this joyful holiday this time around.

Towards the end of August, the weather started to turn. Our lawns have finally gotten enough rain to turn green again and, as the temperatures drop, the wasps are less active. Winnipeg isn’t a place where many people consider sleeping in the sukkah, or even insist on eating every meal there. It’s often just too cold, but that also kills wasps! Once or twice since we moved here, it’s even snowed during Sukkot.

In Tractate Sukkah 26a, the talmudic rabbi Rava suggests leniency in terms of dwelling in the sukkah. Sick people are exempt from this commandment, but Rava suggests that, if you’re suffering, you too are exempt. His examples include biting flies or a foul-smelling sukkah floor but, when comparing the weather in Israel or Babylonia to Winnipeg, Rava would likely suffer here. Our freezing fall temperatures are sufficiently uncomfortable that many seek only a brief moment in the sukkah rather than a camp out.

I’m still drawn to crisp, clear fall evenings outside in the dark, however. We’ll be wearing our coats and smelling the leaves turning. It’s not the right year to invite lots of guests for parties. We’ve got kids too young to be vaccinated yet. We’re being very cautious.

Still, Sukkot gifts us with excuses to stay up late and enjoy the outdoors each autumn just a little bit longer. The chance to celebrate, this time of our happiness, is upon us. Give yourself that chance to let go of the negativity, worries and anxieties. Have a completely legitimate, Jewishly commanded break outdoors. It’s that time of year to get out into nature and party! Sukkot is here. Enjoy.

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

Delving into roots of memory

I have more years behind me than most of you. I remember what seems to me all the big events. While prominent in my mind, I do try to pay more attention to the daily round. Today, for example, I bought some plants to fill spaces in my garden in the sky, seeking yellows and oranges to harmonize with the bountiful presence of the red geraniums, fully in their flowering. We ate breaded chicken for breakfast, a gift of our Jimmy, Cookie’s son, while watching the Tokyo Olympics results – Canada is doing great! I spent Saturday morning at the community centre, playing with clay, creating fantastical faces I would not hope to meet on my street.

I think it’s important that we pay lots of attention to the minutiae of daily life, glorying in the simple things that fill our present, appreciating how they add to the pleasure of living. But I also worry about losing the detail about my life in the past, the bits and pieces that brought elements of that life into the now. It takes some work to ferret things out. I’m rummaging about in the closets of memory, poking into the corners to see what I can find.

Can I remember what it was like when I was a kid? I was the only boy, being raised with sisters. Didn’t I get the feeling that I was favoured as the male, as my older sister was called upon to help my mother with the housekeeping? My youngest sister was nevertheless the spoiled one, being considered the most vulnerable to mistreatment. I recall how I tried to keep my room neat and tidy, so that was where we had our family meetings. All this might be a figment of my egomaniac’s self-image, and the facts would have to be checked with living witnesses.

Can I remember what it was like to be the only Jewish kid in the neighbourhood when the family moved to Jarvis Avenue in Winnipeg? The kids next door tried to make our lives miserable by throwing stones at our windows, and parading in front of our house with catcalls deriding my mother’s Jewish names for us. How many times did I fight with Mikey, down and dirty in the mud? And Tony and Danny, from three houses over, scrapping in the schoolyard? And Eddie, who knocked me unconscious in front of a crowd, in Grade 7? I survived the blemish on my brain, and Eddie, too. Didn’t my tiny sister protect me when Big Harry on Dufferin was going to beat me up on our way to school? What did it smell like outside our house, with the coal yard in front and the junkyard at the back?

And yet, it felt like we, my family, lived a totally peaceful, private life inside our home there. Dad had his job shoveling coal at the Cold Storage Co. down the street. (He would end up a graduate engineer after years of home study.) We ate our three squares a day in our rented home, and went the four blocks to Aberdeen school each day. We celebrated the Sabbath every Friday with a special bread and the best meal of the week. I frequented the library every chance I could – maybe escaping the then-current world – and often spent the night reading by flashlight under my covers. We went to the neighbourhood synagogue for the High Holidays. I remember eating chicken in the back lobby on fast days. And, there, I had my bar mitzvah, wearing a suit and with a fedora on my head.

Somehow, I don’t remember much about greenery, though Winnipeg had a reputation for trees. I do remember holding my arms round the trunk of one when we played Buck, Buck, How Many Fingers Up? I remember sucking the honeysuckles I gathered off the hedges for their sweetness, and holding dandelions, which were so plentiful, under our chins to see the yellow there. I remember we liked blowing the dandelions’ heads off when they were ripe. And collecting bulrushes from the ditches, where they grew in the gathered water. Winnipeg had some of the deepest ditches. Winnipeg was famous for its lilac bushes, I remember their heavenly scent.

In the summer, gangs of kids used to gather on the street corner, I think it was Powers Street, and play road games far into the night. Sometimes, we’d end the night raiding summer vegetable gardens and have fights with the tomatoes we stole. And, yes, I do remember the mosquitoes.

Winnipeg was a city with a diverse population. There seemed to be large communities of people from a dozen different origins, from Iceland to the Ukraine, from France and, of course, England; Russia, Germany, the Middle East and Asia were all represented. While city government was initially in “English” hands, it changed over time to represent other ethnic communities.

What I remember above all was how active the Jewish community was, and how every political viewpoint and every internal community need was represented by some Jewish organization. I got the feeling that, although I lived in Canada, I could in some way be living within a totally Jewish environment if I so desired. It dispelled the feeling of isolation that I felt in my younger years. And, when I launched myself into the wider world, when I left Winnipeg, I felt totally at home in my Canadian persona. I really only appreciate that now in retrospect.

Digging into the roots of memory and coming up golden!

Max Roytenberg is a Vancouver-based poet, writer and blogger. His book Hero in My Own Eyes: Tripping a Life Fantastic is available from Amazon and other online booksellers.

Choose kindness in 5782

A friend of mine is an essential grocery store worker. Her colleagues are a mix of international newcomers, along with a sampling of Canadian-born workers. This Canadian friend’s favourite colleagues are often the immigrants from elsewhere, who are trying hard to be kind and helpful to one another. The most difficult ones, often those born in Canada, she describes as the “mean girls.” It’s the kind of exclusionary, popular crowd many of us faced in middle or high school … not a fun work environment.

I tried to be comforting about the upcoming shift with the mean girls, but I have faced some of this myself. I’d pushed it to the back of my mind but now I wondered, was I also battling the sad adolescent feelings of being excluded or harassed by the in-crowd?

Like most of us during the pandemic, I’ve felt moments of isolation and loneliness and, as a parent, being overwhelmed. One warm morning, while walking the dog and twins (because, while I may feel lonely, as a mom these days, I’m rarely alone!), we saw that a neighbour had left out items to be picked up by a charity. On the walkway was a Singer treadle sewing machine. I just about swooned – as did my kids. They saw a summer sewing rehab project. We returned home and went out on the familiar route with our red wagon so the kids could play. We rang the doorbell to ask about the sewing machine, but got no answer. We wondered if the neighbours were home, so we walked around to the back lane. We faced only a big garage.

Next to this house was another friendly, older neighbour’s home with an apple tree. We often pick up the fallen apples, and pick the tree, making apple chips and sauce. We give the neighbour homemade applesauce and donate the rest to the foodbank. We paused, examining the tree (few apples this year due to frost and drought) and discussing it.

Suddenly, an expensive car came out of the garage behind us. We asked about the sewing machine. The woman told us disdainfully that she was already late for an appointment. She told me it would cost me $200 cash (but she was giving it away to charity?) when I offered the $60 in my pocket. She drove off in a pique. I felt shame – but my kids, while disappointed, raced up the sidewalk with the wagon. We played instead, while I hatched a plan.

In the meantime, I saw a social media announcement. Invitations had been sent to a new private Jewish women’s professional networking group to which I’d applied. “Hurray!” The announcement touted, “You were all accepted, check your email!” Except, when I checked – and re-checked – my email, I hadn’t gotten any acceptance email. Maybe there was a snafu? Nope. I wasn’t invited. Another thing where I wasn’t actually eligible for the cool club.

What’s the Jewish lesson in all this?

On one hand, we’re all part of a big family, starting with Avraham Avinu, or Abraham, our father, as my kids learn in school. We’re meant to look out for one another, supporting, networking and treating one another with love.

On the other hand, there’s this situation I just read in Tractate Sukkah, on page 38a, where the rabbis question what it means if a Jewish man cannot read and a Canaanite slave, a woman, or a minor was reciting Hallel (prayers of thanksgiving done on festivals) on his behalf. The man must repeat every word to make it valid. Then the Mishnah says, “And may a curse come to him” (for being so ignorant) and the Gemara clarifies, explaining that a son can recite for his father, a slave can recite for his master and a woman may recite a blessing on behalf of her husband, but “the sages said: ‘May a curse come to a man who, due to his ignorance, requires his wife and children to recite a blessing on his behalf.’”

Here we are again! There’s a message of belonging and obligation, as well as an opportunity to shame, curse or embarrass someone who might have less knowledge or power. Is this the Jewish way to behave?

I returned again to this because, well, I’m still wandering the neighbourhood with my kids. It’s still lonely, but, today, we had a triumph.

I remembered which charity picked up the Singer sewing machine. Winnipeg isn’t such a big place. I sent them an email, describing where and when it was picked up. Lo and behold, they tracked down the neighbour’s discarded sewing machine, which they tested. It worked perfectly. We went to the downtown nonprofit’s shop. It took me several tries to find the person I’d been emailing, but, when I did, she rolled out the truly fine antique sewing machine in its wooden cabinet. She showed it off to me.

I happily paid $150 to support the charity’s work to claim it. The loading dock workers joked to my husband. They found these all the time! If I wanted more, they’d love to help!

This journey took the sewing machine back home, just a block away from where it used to live. But I can’t rewind time to fix that uncomfortable interaction with the neighbour. I can’t erase the mean girl experiences in my friend’s work life or magically get accepted into the “very best” Jewish networking circles. However, I can turn these experiences upside down.

The sewing machine incident offered an opportunity to use my research skills and donate to a good cause. My friend found solace, during her cashier shift, in the other employees, who acknowledged what was happening and cheered her on. She got a chance to hug a cancer-survivor friend during the shift. Last but not least, another butcher colleague alerted her that some steak was going on sale so she could afford to buy it to feed her teenagers.

It’s true that our rabbinic tradition acknowledges curses as commonplace and shaming as acceptable. Yet, when we make amends this year and pray for a good 5782, we can try to turn that message on its head. We’re all children of Abraham. Let’s, as my friend suggested, “lay on the love,” kindness and inclusivity, even when there are prime insider opportunities to ostracize others.

Make a donation, network with newcomers or outsiders, and choose to treat others as beloved family.

Wishing you blessings and not curses! Wishing you a happy, healthy and meaningful new year, from my house to yours.

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

Change the conversation

It’s high time we changed the conversation. I know unequivocally that the whole world is sick of every conversation starting with: “The case numbers today.…” Or “Two people died today of COVID.” Or “I can’t believe how many idiots wear their masks around their chin!” Or “I’m so tired of COVID!”

Boo-Hoo. Enough ready!

Full disclosure: I am 100% guilty of some or maybe even all of these statements. And tons more that I’m too embarrassed to admit. It’s been so long. Oops, there’s another one. In my defence, I’m trying to change the conversation. For instance, I’ve caught myself saying, “I’m feeling hopeful today” several times this week. I’ve even been inspired to say “Thank you” instead of “Why me?”

We are all human barometers. Our mercury rises and falls in direct relation to the medical experts’ latest pronouncements. We hold our collective breath each time they opine. We hang on every word. And because their world rotates around COVID, ours does, too. But does it need to? The answer is a hard no.

It’s long past due to think thanks. In the past 18 months I can honestly say I’m thankful for participating in Zoom classes every day; walking more; connecting with cousins I barely knew; and meeting new people on the virtual committees I attend.

Thank you G-d for my community, my Torah learning and for endless opportunities to make life better. Thank you for allowing me to survive the pandemic. On second thought, just make that, thank you G-d.

I acknowledge my gratitude. Also, my vulnerability and dependence on G-d. An avowed believer, I’m not embarrassed to admit this. Even among avowed atheists and agnostics.

What I want to say is this: it’s time to celebrate. Not go-out-and-get-drunk celebrate. But, rather, celebrate the small victories. There are zillions of them. Or so I’m told. I’m guilty of seeing the defeats first, but I truly am working on it. Acknowledging this, here, now, I’m humbled to realize that there are infinite lessons I need to learn.

At a women’s Torah study class I attended a few months ago (via Zoom, of course), the instructor posed some simple, yet profound, ideas. Juxtaposing anxiety and positive thinking, and how they relate to emunah (faith in G-d) and bitachon (trust in G-d), she suggested we look at struggles with a different mindset: “What’s the opportunity here?” If you are a Torah-believing Jew, you know that there’s a purpose in whatever G-d throws at us, as individuals and as a collective.

On a personal level, we just have to figure out what that purpose is. Sounds simple, right? Not. Even. A. Little. As the instructor suggested, if we turn our habitual thinking around, we might just be able to parse the purpose. In other words, whatever happens to me, it was G-d’s idea, so what do I do with it? How can I maximize my potential? What’s being asked of me? While the world and its vagaries seem random, they’re far from it.

Life will actually become easier if I stop fearing unknown and challenging situations, and accept that there is always a purpose there. Of course, that’s easy to do when things are going well, but the minute I feel threatened or scared, my anxiety and fear goes from zero to 100 in seconds.

Faced with terrible tragedy, it seems impossible to believe that G-d takes care of us all the time. If He did, why would people be faced with horrific situations that rob them of loved ones, threaten their health and jeopardize their livelihoods, etc.? At times like this, our emunah and bitachon face their biggest hurdles.

How many times have I heard the phrase tracht gut vet zein gut (think good and it will be good)? On the face of it, brilliant. In reality, next to impossible. Notice I didn’t say downright impossible. It’s impossible-adjacent. I try it on occasion, but have difficulty with the carry-through. I assume it’s more of a fake-it-till-you-make-it kind of thing that needs to be hauled out of the closet more than once a month. I must start wearing my rubber bracelet with the saying stamped on it.

There are always more questions than answers. What is this ____ (fill in the blank) meant to teach me? What does G-d want from me? How can I stretch myself spiritually, emotionally and intellectually? How can I turn this situation around to find something positive here?

In my 65 years, if I’ve learned one thing, it’s that life is a series of journeys, rather than a destination. Or, to use an analogy my father, z’l, favoured: life is like swimming in the ocean. You swim and struggle and get tired. Then, you reach a little island where you can rest and gather your strength. But the water starts rising and you have to start swimming again. So, you begin the process all over.

I guess the message here is to enjoy the short stints on the little islands of calm. Appreciate them, embrace them, then prepare for more challenges. I guess the trick is to look for more islands and steer ourselves in that direction. How hard can it be?

Hmm…. I’ll let you know once I dry off.

I have few, if any, answers. However, it’s probably more important to ponder the questions than pontificate about things. Humility trumps arrogance, after all. Like the saying goes, the more we learn, the more we realize how little we know. We can remedy that somewhat with some good old inquisitiveness, a dash of openness, an attitude of show-me and, well, you might just find one of those islands. Or, at the very least, float for awhile, while you enjoy the sun on your face.

Just remember to always wear sunscreen.

Shelley Civkin 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.

Returning to our holiday tables

Planning ahead can help minimize touch points and help keep a small gathering safe. (photo by Michelle Dodek)

We all remember the days when we gathered family, friends and maybe some strangers together at our holiday table to celebrate Rosh Hashanah. For me, it feels like a distant memory but I know I loved preparing loads of food for all of us to enjoy together. And I’m looking forward to doing it again this year, albeit outside, under cover of a tent my brother luckily bought before his eldest daughter’s bat mitzvah (and has subsequently used for the bat mitzvah parties of his two younger daughters and other gatherings, particularly since COVID hit).

Dinner in my family has always a “family style” affair, where dishes are passed from one to the next and then left on the table for anyone to help themselves to seconds or thirds. Lunch on the first day of Rosh Hashanah, which is the main event in my home (aka “the Big Lunch”), has been, for the more than 20 years I’ve hosted it, a giant buffet.

For some people, reverting back to the way things were may be an easy mental step. For others, in an environment with unvaccinated children, immunocompromised loved ones and a newfound awareness about germ transmission, things will not go back to the way they were pre-pandemic. Not yet, given the latest mask mandate, and maybe not ever.

What to serve and how to serve it has always been a challenge in my family. How do we make sure everyone is comfortable with the food choices and the way they are presented? We have a few parameters since we are kosher and have those with nut allergies, dairy sensitivities, oral allergy syndrome, a few vegetarians and others who are just plain particular. Inviting upwards of 40 people, usually closer to 75, always presents some logistical fun, especially with environmental concerns ruling out disposables. All of these challenges have created an environment where thinking creatively about food is a necessity. My formal training as a chef has helped with this process.

The two parts to making sure your guests are at ease this holiday season are choosing a delicious menu (as usual) and presenting the food in a way that features as few touch points as possible. Menus can go one of two ways: traditional or modern. For traditional foods, I will defer to your family’s minhag (tradition). Some families and cooks take great pleasure in their annual interaction with time-honoured recipes. I treasure my baba’s potato knish recipe and relish the prospect of circling my challah and topping it with another small, braided crown the way my mom showed me when I was a little girl.

As a vegetarian, however, I have never presented a full array of traditional Ashkenazi foods to celebrate any holiday. Pickled tongue? Not a chance. In fact, I felt like a bit of a bad Jewish mother when my daughter was 5 years old and leaned over to me at my mother’s yontif table as the soup was served and whispered, “Chicken in soup! Weird!” My soups are seasonal, bright vegetable soups like butternut squash or carrot ginger.

photo - Composed salads are colourful and tasty — Composed salads are colourful and tasty. *(photo by Michelle Dodek)*

The farmers market produce that looks most appealing is what guides my menu. I feel strongly that bringing the bounty of our local harvest to my celebration of a spiritual new year is integral to our connection with where we are and how we live. That topic, however, is for another article.

Let me suggest, if you wish to bring your offerings into 2021 and still have your food choices reflect the symbolism of our tradition, try a couple of approaches.

First, look to Israeli cuisine. The mash-up of all Jewish traditions from Austria to Addis Ababa give many tasty options that will become new staples at your family gatherings.

Second, many Sephardi foods focus on beautiful vegetables and fruits that were not available to people living in Eastern Europe. However, living as we do today, we have access to almost every possible kind of produce. Invest in a few good cookbooks, like those of Adina Sussman, Jana Gur, Einat Admony or Yotam Ottolenghi for ideas on how to up your game with some vegetable forward, delicious, holiday-worthy food.

As far as ways to serve your food, here are some options to consider in order to be considerate of your guests in this special year of our emergence from pandemic holiday isolation.

Option 1: “Modified Family Style aka Downton Abbey,” using family members as the serving staff. For this option, the cook enlists the help of a few willing family members, (in my case, my teenaged children, my sisters and my brother). Each helper is given the responsibility to serve a dish, going from guest to guest, giving a description of the delicacy and spooning out an appropriate amount. While efficient, this does lend itself to the possibility of green bean almandine on Bubbie’s shoulder or salad in Grandpa’s lap.

Option 2: “Plated Dinner aka Eat What’s On Your Plate aka Sweat Away, Host.” This is the restaurant-style plate that hasn’t been so common at home since the Starbucks revolution in dining, where everyone has to have everything their way. In this model, everyone gets the same thing, in approximately the same amounts. Similar to a restaurant but without choosing your order. This results in more food waste, because, although it hasn’t been dropped on Grandpa’s lap, some of dinner will no doubt be pushed to the perimeter of the plate and left for the compost. It also requires, as suggested in the third version of the name, for someone to toil in the kitchen to make every plate and be on call if someone wants seconds of quinoa pilaf and doesn’t have the good fortune of sitting next to a toddler who has pushed all of that mixed grain thing to the edge of her plate. One can enlist the help of volunteers to assist with the plating to speed things up and, most certainly, some people will be needed to take the finished plates to the table, but the onus of refills will almost certainly fall to the person in charge of the kitchen.

Option 3: “Staffed Buffet” is probably the easiest, depending on the set up of your house. In this iteration of food service, a couple of people serve the buffet of food to the guests as they walk by with their plates. This eliminates having everyone touch the serving utensils. It requires fewer helpers than Option 1 and is more customized than Option 2. The catch is that your house needs to be set up to accommodate a group of hungry Jews traipsing along – and staying patient long enough with their family members who are acting as servers – to get all of their food. One major recommendation is, to avoid a stampede or major butting in line, do not serve any version of smoked salmon. For some reason, the sight of thinly sliced orange fish causes many Jewish people to act like Americans at Walmart on Black Friday.

Good luck with your holiday entertaining. Keeping things small this year to ease back into the intimacy of entertaining is also probably a great idea. Remember to say a hearty Shehechiyanu with your assembled guests for, if the pandemic has taught us one lesson, it is never to take being with our loved ones for granted. Shana tova.

Michelle Dodek is a longtime contributor to the Jewish Independent and a balabusta. She shares her love of cooking and entertaining through culinary classes, both in person and on Zoom.