parenting

Help with the holiday

In Every Generation: A PJ Library Family Haggadah can be downloaded from pjlibrary.org/passover. (photo from PJ Library)

Passover is the ultimate Jewish story – a tale of freedom, hope and food – which makes it the perfect holiday to share with the entire family. Passover is time for gathering, reflecting, telling stories and working towards a world with freedom for all. But planning to cover all that with kids may feel lofty – especially if you’re a little hazy on the details yourself. The free Jewish book program PJ Library has you covered as a go-to destination for making Passover special.

Visit PJ Library’s Passover Hub at pjlibrary.org/passover to find everything you need to plan your Passover seder, set your table and answer your kids’ questions. There, you’ll find PJ Library’s free downloadable Passover Guide, a family-oriented primer that lays out how to prepare for the seders and the foods you need for your table, as well as offering up meaningful activities to make the most out of all eight days. The guide covers three main sections: how to get ready, what you need to get through the seder, and what comes after the festive meals have come to a close.

Also available for digital download from the hub is In Every Generation: A PJ Library Family Haggadah. It follows the arc of a traditional Haggadah and features all the major songs, prayers and moments, but also incorporates helpful framing and stories for kids so they can get the most out of this experiential meal. It also has new question prompts to help you reinvigorate your seder. The online version can be downloaded for free, while the PJ Library Haggadah is available for purchase in paperback from Amazon.ca.

Beyond the guide and the Haggadah, the Passover Hub features downloadable activities to keep little ones entertained during the seder, book lists, a step-by-step video playlist to help kids learn (or brush up on) the Four Questions, and recipes. There are fun and easy recipes like Charoset Breakfast Balls, a perfect grab-and-go breakfast that’s healthy and packed with protein, Chicken Skewers with Avocado Dip, or cholent, a classic hearty Jewish dish made in the slow cooker.

About PJ Library

PJ Library’s goal is to inspire joyful Jewish experiences by sending free storybooks and activities to families with children ages 0-12 and offering ways to connect with community. The program was founded in 2005 by the Harold Grinspoon Foundation and, with the support of donors and partners, now distributes books in seven languages to more than 650,000 children in more than 40 countries every month. The PJ Library family experience is built around the monthly storybooks and also includes family-focused holiday guides and other free gifts. Anyone who visits PJ Library’s website can hear original storytelling podcasts and explore a vast collection of Jewish parenting resources. The program welcomes families across the diversity of Jewish life. Learn more or sign up for monthly children’s books at pjlibrary.org.

– Courtesy PJ Library

Costumed counting fun

Ten Purim Bears: A Counting Book for Purim introduces kids to Purim, numbers 1-10.

Fans of Once a Bear: A Counting Book by Ron Atlas (words) and Zach Horvath (illustrations) will be happy to find that their bear friends have returned – this time, in Ten Purim Bears: A Counting Book for Purim. Both 24-page board books are published by the Collective Book Studio, which has produced several well-written and -designed books reviewed by the Independent.

Ten Purim Bears features all the same adorable bear characters as the first book, and follows the same format. Each scene spreads over two pages, with the numbers one through 10 written out on top and appearing numerically on the bottom, as borders. In the middle are 10 chairs, the first scene with mostly empty chairs, except for the one on the far left, where sits a baseball-costumed bear wondering, “Where is everyone?” As we progress through the story, we get more bear bums on seats, each dressed in a different costume. As each new bear enters, the new number of bears is highlighted in white on both the top and bottom borders.

image - Adi, bear #6, takes her seat in Ten Purim Bears: A Counting Book for Purim by Ron Atlas (words) and Zach Horvath (illustrations), published by the Collective Book Studio — Adi, bear #6, takes her seat in Ten Purim Bears: A Counting Book for Purim by Ron Atlas (words) and Zach Horvath (illustrations), published by the Collective Book Studio.

Directed to readers up to 6 years old, their reader-helpers will enjoy a laugh or two, as well. For example, Flor, “who lives next door,” sits down and says, “I’m saving a seat for my friend.” Turning the page, Pete, “from down the street,” has sat next to Flor, saying: “I’m the friend.” I hear him doing it in a deadpan voice and it makes me chuckle every time.

There are two short narratives for each scene – one introducing the next bear and the bears talking among themselves. It’s a nice touch, kind of like having a parent narrator and then the kids’ views on things. As we are told by the narrator that Adi’s sister, Mandy, “brought some sweets – lots and lots of Purim treats,” we see Mandy handing them out: “There’s some for everyone,” she says. “Thank you,” says her sister. The hamantaschen that Amari Bear baked to share with his friends are his favourite, he says, while Adi agrees, “Yum!”

Kids learns not only how to count, but a bit about Purim and its traditions. Sharing, politeness and a sense of community are encouraged. As is a sense of fun, with the various costumes. And the arts! The bears have all gathered to watch a Purim spiel, of course. And we get to see a scene of the play, with quadruple-threat performers – acting, dancing, singing and playing instruments – looking like they are having a good time. The 10-bear audience certainly is.

Ten Purim Bears and Once a Bear can be purchased at thecollectivebook.studio. Check out the publisher’s website further when you’re there, as there will no doubt be another book or two you’ll want to add to your collection.

A call for toughness

Rabbi Dr. Michael Berenbaum spoke at Congregation Schara Tzedeck on Nov. 5. He said: “We can’t raise a generation that is scared of being Jewish.” (photo from kolotmanagement.com)

The mood at Congregation Schara Tzedeck was solemn Sunday night, Nov. 5, when parents, grandparents and students from the Jewish community gathered to listen to Rabbi Dr. Michael Berenbaum, an American professor who is considered one of the world’s preeminent Holocaust scholars. Berenbaum came to discuss the importance of campus conversations, and specifically how to handle the critics of Israel who are voicing their support of Palestinians vociferously on college campuses throughout Canada and the United States.

Until the Oct. 7 terror attacks, Berenbaum said, our children had never known serious difficulty as Jews. “They’ve had the privilege of living in the greatest time to be Jewish, maybe in the history of the Jewish people,” he said. “Now, we’re asking our kids to toughen up, because they’re now going to face difficulty, pain, anguish and danger – physical or intellectual – for being Jews. This is our test of the hour, and it comes with the shattering of easily held assumptions about Jewish life.”

The Oct. 7 pogrom, he said, was worse than the 1906 Kishinev pogrom and worse than Kristallnacht in 1938 in terms of the number of Jews killed and the vehemence with which they were killed. “We believed Israel was founded to protect its people from these pogroms, and yet we were not safe.”

Berenbaum said it is crucial for Jewish students to be armed with accurate knowledge so they can counter the anti-Israel rhetoric they hear on campus. That means refuting claims that Israel is committing genocide. “Understand that this is war, and it has both direct and collateral consequences,” he said. “You cannot deal with war at this point without significant civilian casualties. While Israel is taking significant steps to avoid that, it’s unavoidable.” He noted that, since March 2011, the conflict in Syria has claimed the lives of 500,000 people – “and the rest of the world has heard nothing about this.”

On the claim that Israel is “occupying Gaza,” he clarified that Israel left Gaza in 2005, displacing 8,000 settlers so that Gazans would take control of their lives. “Israel is the only country in the world who has sacrificed land for normalization. We gave up Sinai for normalization with Egypt, and the reason the invasion happened now was because it appeared Saudi Arabia would establish a certain kind of peace with Israel,” he said. “Normalization represented a danger to the lateral forces in the region and that’s why this broke out now.”

On the claim that “Jews are colonizers,” he noted that Jews have never forsaken their connection to the land of Israel, and that there have been five cities with a permanent Jewish settlement in Israel. “When they came to Israel, they settled and worked the land, which is the opposite of colonization,” he said. “They didn’t take its resources and export it elsewhere.”

He noted that Palestinians were offered a state in 2000 and again in 2006, and they turned both opportunities down. “The Palestinians have never lost an opportunity to lose an opportunity, because their leadership is weak and corrupt,” he said.

There are a few things we can do now to ensure we are strong, he continued. One is to educate ourselves on the history of the state of Israel and Zionism. Another is to ensure we have solidarity by reaching out to one another.

“These are not easy times and we need Jewish toughness and resilience,” said Berenbaum. “We can’t raise a generation that is scared of being Jewish. I want our Jewish students to be proud, tough and confident enough to accept the animus that will come their way, but to have the human capacity to respond to it.”

He ended his talk by calling Jews the “canary in the coalmine. You want to know if a society is healthy? See how it treats its Jews. We’re living in a world that’s fundamentally unhealthy, but it’s important to remember that we have many friends, we are not alone. We have to cultivate and respect those friendships, and not take them for granted.”

The events of Oct. 7 precipitated an earthquake, he added, “and the ground won’t settle for awhile. But earthquakes give the opportunity to build in a different way. We are in for a tough and difficult time, which will demand the best of us. But I fundamentally believe we have it in us to rise to the occasion.”

Lauren Kramer, an award-winning writer and editor, lives in Richmond.

Navigating the rough times

There are no words. I’m doom-scrolling, praying and worrying, reaching out to family and friends, but nothing prepares us for seeing more than a thousand Israelis murdered and hundreds kidnapped. The images are so graphic, so many bodies desecrated. On my social media feed, the images haven’t stopped coming.

Yet, in the first days of the war, there was a silence. I realized that others weren’t seeing what I was seeing in my Instagram feed. The North American media felt sanitized, distant from the reality that was depicted on Israeli TV and media. The first day or two back at school after the Simchat Torah/Thanksgiving weekend, my kids were stunned when others asked them why they were sombre. Until this year, they attended a Hebrew/English bilingual public elementary school. With their transition to junior high, they didn’t have nearly the same number of classmates who understood the situation.

At their International Baccalaureate middle school, there are curriculum additions, such as a special lunchtime club that meets to make a difference in the world. The resource teacher advises the club. She was sensitive to the needs of the kids affected by the war in Israel and Gaza, and mine came home with fundraising brainstorms. I wrote to thank the teacher for showing support during this hard time.

Then, she asked – do you have ideas for what else we can do? It took me awhile to make a list. I thought about what mattered most for me, far from the war but also very affected by it. The hardest parts of the list are long-term things that teachers should do: teach about misinformation, and definitions of things like terrorism, “rules of engagement” and more. The easiest parts, perhaps the most meaningful ones? Conducting a kindness campaign. Asking how others are doing and listening to their responses. Active listening would help everyone, Israelis, Canadians who are Jewish or Palestinian, and concerned bystanders. So many innocent lives have been lost. We need to talk about it.

I suggested to the teacher that another way of reaching out positively would be to do cards of support. The next day, my son joined other kids from the middle school who walked to the bilingual elementary school to deliver the cards. It was on Friday, Oct. 13, the day that Hamas suggested be a global day of harm for Jews. On a positive note, my son got to share his elementary school and his Hebrew skills by translating for a non-Jewish friend. He was proud. On the other hand, most of the kids in the bilingual program were absent due to the threat. Those who did come to school, from grades 1 through 6, filled just one classroom, according to my kid. He visited with beloved grade school teachers and ate challah at the Shabbat party – but the threat was real.

Outside the school, my kid saw both an unmarked police car and a marked cruiser. My heart flooded with gratitude when I heard this, but the school is in a huge field, accessible from multiple directions. One police car? Two? I felt the fear all over again. How many police would be “safe enough”?

Meanwhile, I heard that Jewish homes in one Winnipeg neighbourhood were egged, and the police were called. A potentially violent rally in support of Palestine, using words like “genocide,” was scheduled within easy walking distance of my home.

Even though we’re far from the fighting, it’s hard to gain traction on work while feeling so emotionally undone. Massive numbers of Palestinians were asked to move and large swaths of Israelis evacuated from both the north and south regions of the country, while so many have been called up to reserve army service. For those Canadians who have lost a family member, the pain is constant. For those who have kidnapped loved ones, like Vivian Silver’s family in Winnipeg and Israel, the families work to publicize their losses and wait in dread to hear what has happened.

Twice, I felt able to rise above this emotional turmoil and felt joy. Both times, it was because of a bar mitzvah.

The first instance that stunned me took place last week, when the cantor who tutors my twins asked them to chant together for their lesson. Their lesson was short, as there was an Israel solidarity rally that she was leaving to attend. I lurked in the next room. Usually, my kids jostle for position but, during that lesson, their voices rang out together, making the rote practice of Torah and Haftorah blessings become so powerful. “Wow,” I heard the cantor say, continuing with something like, “I’m glad I didn’t cancel your lesson. Thank you for gifting me with those brachot.” An almost holy silence hung in the air afterwards.

A few days later, we attended a Chabad bar mitzvah for a kid my twins knew in preschool. Even behind a mechitzah (the barrier between the mens’ and women’s sections), the bar mitzvah boy’s voice rang out sure and strong as he absolutely shone. It was something to see: his big personality, confidence and knowledge. I was achingly proud of our Judaism, in all its diversity and strength.

Writing to deadline, I imagine what might be relevant in a few days, but the things that have helped me will still help later. I am following my own advice. Each day, I am taking time to write emails or texts to friends and reach out. How are they? Are their families safe? Do they need anything? I try to take time to pause, hear what everyone says, and listen for the moments of Jewish joy that we can create – in synagogue or at our homes, when we’re alone or together.

Many ask, “How are you doing?” I pause and say, “Well, it’s been a rough time.” I’m also trying to maintain hope for the future. One hears it – through the generational continuity of every child becoming b’nai mitzvah, through Hatikvah and one other phrase – Am Yisrael chai, the Jewish people lives. It will be my prayer as we get through the days ahead. Amen.

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.

The first step is the to-do list

Yesterday, I shared my to-do list with a friend via email. She responded with “Ahh! I’m tired just reading this!” What I didn’t mention is that I had to do all this plus other chores, thrown in, which I had either forgotten to write down or were such household habits that I didn’t list them. For many caregivers who work and manage households, this sounds familiar. It’s the list that is the first step. Write it down. Name the obligation. Then release yourself from trying to remember it all. Finally, cross it off the list later.

This isn’t a new phenomenon. Studies have shown how much of this organizational and emotional labour falls to women. For example, a recent National Public Radio piece from the United States covered research by economists, which showed that women (mothers) were almost always contacted by schools first, no matter which parent was designated as the “first contact” on the emergency form. The social media chatter that followed remarked on how female medical residents or surgeons, working hours away from their children’s schools, were still called first even though the primary caretaker was the father. In the study itself, one economist described the mental load of planning ahead for “if the school called” and how women’s workload could be managed in such situations. She noted that, even though her husband was the vice-president of the Parent Teacher Association, the school always called her first.

In economic terms, women then self-select for lower paying, more flexible work simply to manage these challenges, resulting in lower income and fewer opportunities for career growth. Societal obligations placed mostly on women create a lifelong effect on earning power and household income.

This morning, as I bake bread, make chicken broth in two slow cookers, write this article and air out the house with fans because of an unexpected drop in temperatures due to a rainstorm, I time everything to fit into the hours between when I drop kids off at 9 a.m. and pick them up at noon for their half day of camp. This is, of course, not a specifically Jewish problem, but aspects of it are in our house.

We have twin 12-year-olds, with both kids doing b’nai mitzvah lessons at the same time. These kids come with different challenges. Like all learners, they may need different supports to master chanting trope. Amid the meltdown tears last night, it became clear that what was necessary was for each kid to have 15 minutes to practise separately every day with me. As the crying continued – and I include myself in the crying – my partner tried to help.

This is when you might wonder why all this falls to me, and you’d be right to ask. My partner told us that the year before his bar mitzvah involved a lot of crying. He was so overwhelmed that he quit playing drums at school, because he couldn’t manage both things. His mother had been given no Jewish education. She couldn’t read Hebrew and didn’t know the prayers. His father worked late every day, coming home at 11 p.m. My twins’ dad was truly on his own, with a cassette tape. He never learned the trope and struggled with short-term memory issues. Mastering his bar mitzvah portion took him a long time. As an adult, he never gained some of these prayer skills. A demanding job means now is not the time for him to catch up. The obligation’s all mine.

We’ve now been married for 25 years and I just learned last night about this tough path my husband took towards bar mitzvah. By comparison, I had supportive parents with some Jewish literacy, plus we attended services regularly. I was self-directed as a learner. Mastering everything for my bat mitzvah was interesting and challenging but not a struggle. I continued learning through university and graduate school and beyond, as I continue to study Talmud when I can. We chose a bilingual Hebrew/English elementary school for our kids partially because it would make bar mitzvah study easier for them.

Few people see what my lists of work and household obligations look like. I tell even fewer people about fitting in 20 minutes of Daf Yomi, a page of Talmud every day. When I mention the Talmud study, I’ve been asked why I bother. The minutiae of discussions of Jewish law that rabbis conducted so long ago is of no interest to most. Sometimes, if the person wants to know why, I explain that I learn things about Jewish tradition, history and daily life from these debates.

I also admit to myself that I find some reassurance in these pages. Although the specifics might have been different, life’s minutiae is pretty much the same. The rabbis struggled over multiple daily tasks, relationships and household concerns in many of the ways I do. They sweated the details, even if they didn’t do them all personally.

If everything works out, in June 2024, my kids will step up to the bimah (pulpit) and become bar mitzvah boys, which is a huge lifecycle event. Between now and then, practising with them will be another part of my to-do list. Good study habits mean you do a little every day until, suddenly, you learn something new. Just like my lists, nothing is insurmountable if you name it, take it step by step, and cross it off the list when the task is complete.

Like many women, I get bogged down by the minutiae. I wish I could share more of the household labour and emotional load. Even men who try to assume more of these tasks have to struggle against the societal expectations our culture wields. Step by step, we make change in our lives, our lists and our expectations for one another. It’s not a sprint. You can’t cram the night before to pass this exam. Life is a series of chores, moments, obligations and, well, joys.

Early this morning, I leashed up the dog while I sang the first Haftorah blessing aloud. I try to put the melody into the twins’ heads while donning my shoes and raincoat as I head out. Each step makes a difference to hopefully hit one very big milestone ahead.

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.

Recipes for special moments

As my kid peered over the counter, straining to see into the mixer bowl, I had a moment that I hope I will always remember. “Egg chemistry is amazing!” I commented, as he asked what cream of tartar did and we read the label together. Then, as the mixer churned faster than I could ever do by hand, we saw soft peaks and medium peaks pass into stiff peaks. We were ready to drop globs of this air-filled sugar mixture onto the baking sheets, ready to turn egg whites into crunchy meringues.

It’s after Shavuot. There’s Winnipeg’s glorious spring all around us, as well as the remains of a delicious lemon custard pie (like key lime pie, if you’re wondering, but with lemons) in the refrigerator. Since some of the Shavuot dairy desserts use egg yolks, we were left with the practical gift of the whites and the magical meringues that followed.

I live with a science professor and twins who won their school science fair this year, but I wouldn’t call myself good at science. However, moments like these, whipping egg whites with one of my kids, make me think back to my high school chemistry teacher, Tuvia. Tuvia grew up in New York and settled on a religious kibbutz in Israel. He had an impressive beard and was probably in his 40s when he taught our Grade 11 class of North Americans, living on secular Kibbutz Beit HaShita in 1989-90. He had limited access to supplies or facilities when it came to doing experiments. I got the sense that teaching our class took time out of his regular work schedule. Even so, he captured the joy and neat magic of how basic chemistry worked.

Due to a sickness that caused a lengthy absence, I was behind in his class. I got to visit his family at their kibbutz with another classmate or two. From what I remember, I sat at his kitchen table to do make-up work. His wife offered us snacks. Kids played outside, running through the sprinklers on the well-tended paths, surrounded by flowers.

Tuvia offered us a good grounding in chemistry but also a window into what an Israeli religious kibbutz settlement looked like, simply by inviting us home to help us catch up on our schoolwork. This was something our year abroad program wasn’t offering. More than 30 years later, that memory is a valuable one. Tuvia, if you’re out there in our “connected by Jewish geography” world – thank you for being such a good teacher.

On social media at this time of year, it’s common to see lots of weddings and other celebrations. Family picnics, parties and graduations fill up many people’s schedules. My household’s not immune: this month, we’ve got a big school play, three birthdays, an end-of-year elementary school event, a milestone wedding anniversary and more. I joked with a friend that it’s like somebody pushed a “GO” button. Everybody’s running around like crazy.

Many people (likely extroverts) get a lot of joy from the big occasions. Turns out that I’m one of those people who can do without the big events. The pandemic reminded me that, if I had to avoid gathering in large groups forever, I probably wouldn’t mind. There’s a lot of pressure to “return to normal” right now, even though COVID still exists. But, even if it didn’t, I am one of those who didn’t really find “normal” large social events all that easy before.

The gift that I’ve received instead is this amazing joy in the small things every day. In sitting outside in the shade, watching one kid construct mysterious imaginary fairy worlds while the other one doggedly coaxes along things he has built, like his solar rover. I loved starting our garden, where we all dug in the earth together, tucking in our seedlings and seeds, and feeling such hopeful enthusiasm for what will grow and for the growing season’s potential.

We have lots of specific, prescribed blessings in Jewish tradition to help us find that everyday gratitude and joy. There’s the brachah (blessing) for seeing a rainbow, for a thunderstorm, or even for seeing a king. I don’t always remember the blessings at the right moment, but, in the end, I’m not sure it matters. The prompt to recognize these things, express gratitude and sense the wonder of the world is still there.

Along with making meringue magic and planting in the sunshine this past weekend, I heard some hard news, too. One friend from university, a single mom who lives far away, age 49, is facing a new diagnosis of lung cancer. Another faraway friend, dear to my heart, is soon to enter palliative care and hospice. This bad news just about derailed me. There were moments to cry. Yet, I grasped hold of the sunshine, the airy bits of sugar and egg, the time weeding and digging in the earth, and, instead of tears, two kid drawings and a note filled with love went out in the mail today to my friend entering hospice.

Very few things are as tidy as basic math or chemistry problems. Food chemistry, like making meringues, is just about the most predictable experiment I know. Those recipes are like the ritual prayers for seeing moments of wonder. To me, recipes, like their religious ritual equivalent, perhaps express a purely rote way to acknowledge wonder in the everyday. I am holding onto that recipe for wonder with both hands as I head forth through this warm season of celebration. Sometimes, a “recipe” for complete healing after surgery removes cancer or a prayer for a peaceful send off to Olam HaBa (the next world, the place some believe we go after death) is all we can do. In the meanwhile, it’s a good time to eat those crunches of sugar and air – but only after we clean the dirt from our fingernails and race through the sprinklers to another summer day.

Making room for compassion

I’ve been under stress lately. It’s the usual: money, household, family and work concerns. Some of it is my own doing: in our enthusiasm for extracurricular activities, I somehow managed to sign our twins up for three different weekly ones during January and February. Yet, even though rushed dinners and drives through snowstorms and -30°C windchills aren’t my favourite activities, I found a silver lining. As my kids learned to use sewing machines at the studio, I got to knit and read quietly in the renovated waiting area overlooking river skating trails and watching the sunset. During chess club at the local Chabad, I saw friends briefly, then I hid, reading alone.

Thinking about the two sides of these activity nights made me reflect further. Having the time and energy and, yes, money to manage these extra enrichments is a gift, even if schlepping kids around can be hard and tiring for parents. The few moments of relative quiet, while the kids are happy, occupied and learning, usually enable me to regain my composure.

Once I have had those moments, I find room to be more patient, kind and compassionate. I’m not big on spas or manicures or tropical vacations. For me, something as simple as a few moments alone in a warm, quiet place with a good book or a good view can give me that reprieve.

I thought of this while speaking with my mom recently. She mentioned that, while on neighbourhood forums, sometimes she feels that all people do is complain. Worse, she feels that, in a Jewish forum, there is always someone who reads everything that happens to her as antisemitic. There was a pause in the conversation as I sensed her frustration. I was able to reach back into one of those warm, calm moments and suggest, in response, that perhaps in an era of rising antisemitism, the person concerned about antisemitism had actually experienced trauma. That, maybe, her fearful responses and anxiety were a response to a real incident.

Similarly, I wondered about those who were “always complaining” online. Perhaps those people also had bad experiences, but had no one offline to comfort or hear them. No one “saw” them. As a result, they were seeking that attention and reassurance online instead.

There is no shortage of distressing stuff happening, particularly if you’re reading about the ongoing earthquakes and displacements in Turkey and Syria, the deaths and violence between Israelis and Palestinians, or the increased crime or fatal drug overdoses at home in Canada. There is plenty of “awful” to go around.

The big challenge is in finding that space in which to compose ourselves and respond to others with compassion and patience. It can be as simple as a cheerful conversation or joke, and as difficult as listening to someone’s painful cries for help, on repeat.

As someone who grew up in the United States, I dreaded what I would hear after the Shabbat recently described as a “Day of Hate” proposed by neo-Nazis. All day, I remained tense, worried. What happened? Thank goodness, nothing much. My brother’s family attended a lovely bat mitzvah at our family’s long-time congregation … like many in the States, they went to synagogue and nothing happened. Yet, the overall increased antisemitic activity afoot made it hard for me to just relax and hope for the best. Even if nothing happened on that day, the amount of hate going around has increased. Almost worse though is the response that Jews who are anxious about this are simply “crybabies” or “crying wolf” or worried about nothing. The bad feeling comes from fear. Some of it, due to intergenerational trauma, is internalized.

My husband’s father was born in a displaced persons camp in Germany after the Second World War. Although my husband’s grandparents lived, they lost most of their families. They managed to survive the war, with harrowing stories. My husband’s bubbe, may she rest in peace, talked about her experiences over and over. I often sat next to her, holding space for her stories, as she repeated her trauma in different ways. She’d effortlessly shift languages, speaking whatever language – among them, Hebrew, Yiddish and English – to whomever also had that room to hear her, see her and listen.

By contrast, my husband’s zayde, z”l, spoke less about the war, but, in his final years, when he lived in a nursing home, he replayed a scary story over and over. At every door of the care home, the healthcare workers posted photos of him, because he’d try to escape. Mimicking what must have happened during the war, he’d trick someone or sneak past or do something that allowed him to leave the home. They were the enemy, trapping him, and he needed to get out. Zayde often succeeded, showing up on the doorstep or sitting in his car in the driveway. He scared the heck out of Bubbe when she found him. He, too, was replaying his traumatic past.

We’re lucky to have new kinds of therapies and medications that help some people cope with trauma, but many of us still are working through issues. Even with access to basics like housing, food, medication and, hopefully, love, we all struggle to be seen and heard, to find enough compassion and love to make it through. We need to each find that quiet, well-lit space to regain our composure, so we can then reach out and help others.

As Hillel says in Pirkei Avot: “In a place where there are no men, strive to be a man.” It could also mean: “In a place where no one is acting like a good person, strive to be one.” Nowadays, some of our places for listening are online. Our social encounters are different than before, and finding that patience or inner strength can require more effort.

Love, and its close cousin, compassion, are not limited commodities. A heart full of kindness can find more space to help. As my crazy wintertime parenting and worry load lightens, I realize that I wish everyone could have that gift of an hour of solitude, watching the sun set over a river, seeing a rabbit’s tracks or a biker commuting home. We can’t singlehandedly fix or stop the world’s trauma, but we can gift each other our time and patience to help others feel seen and to heal from it.

Women deserve to be seen

As a mom of twin toddlers about 10 years ago, I was desperate for childcare. Call it preschool, nursery school, daycare or old-fashioned babysitting, it was impossible to come by when we were looking. Every place had long waitlists. I was told by more than one place that I should have put our family on the list for childcare before I gave birth. (An absolute no-go from my position, due to Jewish traditions.) Then I heard about the possibility of spots at a local Chabad preschool.

I am a feminist and, while really invested in Jewish life, I’m on the liberal, egalitarian part of our tradition. I hadn’t even looked at Chabad as an option. I am still amazed by how we were welcomed there and how much help the preschool teachers and other families gave us. Older kids from other families even helped walk my 2-year-olds up and down the stairs to the school when I couldn’t manage. It was a gift when I truly needed a break.

At first, my twins could only manage preschool in the mornings, so I couldn’t get back to work. It allowed me three hours at a time on my own and I used it get long overdue medical support for myself or for one twin at a time. I accomplished basic household needs like grocery shopping or changing bedding. Sometimes, I got to rest. My twins didn’t sleep through the night until they were four-and-a-half years old. Eventually, the kids stayed longer hours at preschool and I worked a little, but it was a challenging time.

While in this sleepless, liminal state, I met Jewish women I’d never encountered before. Moms with more than 10 kids, for instance – a situation I’d scarcely considered before my kids went to this preschool. While some of my extended family made negative comments about my encounters with this pocket of traditional Jewish observance, I marveled, realizing that some parents raised big families with skill and love. Other families struggled with only a child or two. Large families were not inherently “bad” nor small families “good.” I learned many things from these experienced parents. They did not judge us. They helped whenever they could. Their kindnesses were a blessing.

Winnipeg, our city, is crisscrossed by train tracks. It wasn’t uncommon to be stuck at a train crossing going to preschool. I joked about this with a mom who was very involved in the Lubavitch community and had a big family. My twins loved trains, so we unrolled the car windows to hear the horn and the bells and trains rattling on the tracks and enjoyed the moment. She smiled and said she too enjoyed the unexpected wait at train crossings. She used the time to pray. She had a pocket-sized book of tehillim (psalms) and another siddur (prayer book) that she kept in the minivan specifically for occasions like this.

I was flummoxed, impressed by her piety but surprised. This woman, who was so incredibly busy, also invited my family to her kids’ huge birthday parties. She found time at train crossings to pray? Wow.

Afterwards, if her older kids sought me out at a Shabbat dinner or community event, I made room at the table, tried to treat them like I would treat my kids. Her mentorship and thoughtfulness made a deep impression.

I’ve been reminded of this because, lately, Haredi and Modern Orthodox women have been in my social media feed. In recent years, some Haredi publications have stopped using women’s faces or bodies in their photos and advertisements. I follow Chochmat Nashim, an organization that fights to keep images of observant women’s and girls’ images in traditional Jewish publications, so that Jewish women can see themselves in the world around them.

I also read about agunot (chained women), whose husbands will not grant them a get (a Jewish divorce) so that they can remarry. In some cases, these women wait years, are forced to pay large sums of money, or give up custody rights to their children so they can be granted a divorce. Since they observe Jewish law, a secular or civil divorce isn’t enough, and they can’t remarry in their communities without a get. One of the only ways they get “seen” is through loud protests held by other Orthodox women, who stand as allies, trying to bring attention to the situation. Sometimes, this public shaming is the only chance they have to receive a get. Imagine what this allyship means if it is one’s only recourse to escape domestic violence or to be free to remarry.

Another example: a concert was held in London, a special Orthodox women’s-only concert, designed so that Jewish women could sing and other women could attend. (In these parts of the Jewish community, it’s considered alluring and inappropriate for men to hear women sing. This is a way for talented women to perform and other women to enjoy their amazing gifts.) Despite all their precautions, there were rabbis who said that attending this women-only event would be forbidden. Guess what? Women went anyway. The event was sold out.

For me, “seeing” the strong moms of big families as mentors and friends was an eye-opener. They taught me so much, both about their everyday lives and how they viewed Judaism, orthodoxy and Hasidism. Despite a truly overwhelming load of parenting, work, religious and household obligation, they modeled for me how to find time for things that are important. Whether it is helping a kid with learning disabilities or praying at train crossings, they make time for what matters to them.

To some extent, these are all the same women. The ones whose images are banned from publications, who might suffer because they are denied a Jewish divorce, or who might be kept from attending even a women-only concert of religiously acceptable music – they are also perhaps the same mentors who model good parenting, find room for prayer and care for others’ children as their own.

Regardless of our level of religious observance, Jewish women deserve to be seen, loved and treated with respect. This may seem obvious, but it still isn’t happening.

Why we need summer camp

Summer camp helps foster grit, creating space for kids to develop independence and author their own stories. (photo from URJ Camp Kalsman)

As a parent of three, I know how hard it is to balance the overwhelming desire to make sure my kids “have it all” – diverse extracurricular activities, best schools, quality family time, etc. – and, at the same time, to know when to let go (and actually do it!) so they can experience the power of paving their own way. Skinned knees, bruised egos, broken hearts and all.

As a summer camp director, I also know that parents like me are not alone. In fact, there is a whole army of incredibly kind and passionate young adult role models, often dressed up in silly costumes, ready to be my partner in this “gritty journey” of adolescence and the teenage years.

Ask anyone who grew up at overnight summer camp – Jewish or otherwise – and most will tell you it felt like their second home. At Camp Kalsman, where my children and I have spent the past six years, we welcome campers and staff members “home” each summer. But what does this really mean and why is this important for fostering grit in our kids and teens?

I’d argue that home, a place of true belonging, is prime real estate for failure, learning and growth – home is where grit is born. Often, when we think of home we think of being safe and protected, perhaps shielded from the real world. I would argue that home is more of a safety net, giving a child the reassurance that not only is failure OK but that, when they do ultimately fail at something, we’ll be there to catch them and help them bounce back, stronger and more resilient.

What are the top three reasons why you, as a parent, guardian or loving adult, need summer camp, too?

1. Creating space to deepen connection. I’m going to say something that might make some people uncomfortable – your kids need a break from you just as much as you need one from them. Camp gives you the chance to create that space, knowing that you have a trusted partner to create that same safety net for your child. Absence makes the heart grow fonder is a cliché and it’s also a deeply true statement. By creating (physical) space for a finite period of time, your child has the chance to broaden their perspective, test everything you’ve taught them, try something on their own and learn from other trusted adults. When a camper has a temporary moment of sadness at camp (sometimes referred to as homesickness), that feeling is validated – “how wonderful is it that you have such great folks at home who love you, believe you can do this and know you will be safe and cared for at camp?” Camp simultaneously builds a sense of self separate from the family unit and strengthens the roots of that family tree from afar.

photo - kid kayaking at Camp Kalsman — *(photo from Camp Kalsman)*

2. Declaration of independence. How often do you wish your kid would make their own lunch for school, make their bed without you asking, pick up those socks that have been next to the couch for what seems like days? At camp, where “nagging” parents are replaced with super-cool counselors who are the perfect combination of Julie Andrews and Dick Van Dyke from Mary Poppins, kids learn a sense of communal responsibility, pride in keeping their space clean, and come to understand how their action (or inaction) can have ripple effects on those around them. At the beginning of the summer, they will have contributed to creating a cabin covenant (at Camp Kalsman, we use the Hebrew term brit kehillah), a shared understanding, co-created by their bunkmates and counselors, about how they will live and play together for the camp session. Campers have to navigate social situations without adult or teacher intervention (those cool counselors are also trained in conflict-resolution and will help out, of course). The ownership children and teens feel about their time at camp helps foster confidence and self-awareness and helps calibrate their inner moral compass for when they return home and to school.

3. Sharing the stories. It may happen in the car-ride home, over that first “real-world” meal after so many days of camp food, or a few days after they get home and have had time to process, but your child might just freely and willingly tell you stories about the summer. It won’t be like their one-word answer when you ask about school. With their new-found independence and confidence (see #2!), they might tell you about the friends they made, the new food they tried, the counselor they loved, maybe even the silly dance they made up. And, after you’ve listened intently, controlling your need to ask 1,000 follow-up questions, and instead basking in their joy and nostalgia, you’ll say, “Wow, that sounds like one incredible summer!” You will have given your child the gift of summer camp, and they will have given you the gift of sharing in their joy and confidence and gratitude.

While there are many, many more reasons that we all need summers at camp (a second home), the combination of creating space, developing independence and authoring their own stories is, at its core, the secret sauce of raising a gritty and resilient generation of children, teens and parents!

Rabbi Ilana Mills is camp director, URJ Camp Kalsman. If you are interested in learning more about the camp, visit campkalsman.org or contact Rabbi Ilana at [email protected].

Invest the time to prepare

One of the ways to prepare a child for a vacation is to start small. For example, take them to a local aquarium or other nearby attraction to get them used to the idea of touring. (photo from Dawn M. Barclay)

Planning a successful vacation when you have a child with ASD, ADHD, bipolar disorder and similar issues takes time, patience and practise but, in the end, you can build good memories that will last a lifetime. More great news: these tips can work for neurotypical families as well.

Here are the basics:

Understand the challenge. All children crave routine and predictability; it’s their comfort zone. Travel draws them out of their zone and into the realm of the unfamiliar, leaving even neurotypical children anxious and inflexible. Your goal is to help the child preview aspects of the vacation long before the vacation begins, in order to establish expectations of a new routine with elements now made familiar.

Start small. Introduce the concept of travel by reading children picture books featuring their favourite characters in travel situations. (Your local librarian can recommend some.) Role-play various travel scenarios, such as going through airport security or hotel check-in. Programs like Wings for Autism can provide a dress rehearsal before the main event. Watch videos on YouTube or those provided by the travel supplier that show each aspect of the vacation, including the hotel. Consider creating a social story about each aspect of the trip and review it with the child regularly. And try “mini experiences” like an overnight stay at a relative’s house before a hotel stay, or “tours” to local zoos, aquariums or even a flea market – now relabeled as a scavenger hunt.

Get buy-in. Another way to create predictability is to give the child some say in aspects of the trip. Discuss potential autism-friendly or autism-certified hotels, resorts, theme parks and other venues with a professional who has done the research for you, such as a certified autism travel professional. Then present a few parent-approved vacation options to the child and ask them to choose. You can do the same for daily activities as you prepare your itinerary (either written or in picture form). That gives you a new “routine” the child can anticipate, one where they have a personal stake in its success. Also allow the child to choose some of the clothing they’ll bring and let them help you pack. Make them active participants in their own holiday.

Make it child-centric. Traveling with youngsters, be they neurotypical or neurodiverse, can never match the pace you set when traveling before they arrived. It’s no holiday for you if you’re lugging an exhausted child on your back through a theme park. Instead of trying to cram four or five stops into your itinerary each day, plan for one or two. Try to make some of those stops extra-special by feeding into the child’s unique interests. There are specialized museums around the country for lovers of trains, insects, dinosaurs, or whatever their passion. Then set aside the afternoon to decompress at the pool or in front of the television.

Weed out potentially upsetting stimuli. Many children on the autism spectrum have sensory issues. Try to anticipate potential overload and introduce some of the unique sensory experiences in advance. For example, if you live in warmer climes and you’re heading somewhere like Alaska, practise wearing heavier and layered clothing. Or, if your child hasn’t experienced a beach, buy some sand at a crafts store, lay out a tarp and let the child feel the sensation of walking on sand before leaving on your trip.

Pack a “go-to bag.” Pack a customized bag containing the child’s favourite toys, snacks, a change of clothes and a trash bag (for any soiled ones), anti-nausea medication, noise-canceling headphones, surprises in gift bags (think Silly Putty, pens, an Etch-a-Sketch), and a preloaded iPad with kid-friendly shows and games. Keep your bag accessible and dole out the surprises to provide distractions if overwhelm sets in or plans go awry.

Remember, kids are kids. Any child can grow bored, weary and have a meltdown. Parents who think ahead, prepare their child for the new experience and are equipped to alleviate any anxiety, will be able to smooth the way while traveling.

Dawn M. Barclay is an award-winning author who has spent a career working in various aspects of the travel industry. She started as an agent with her parents’ firms, Barclay Travel Ltd. and Barclay International Group Short-Term Apartment Rentals, and then branched out into travel trade reporting with senior or contributing editor positions at Travel Agent Magazine, Travel Life, Travel Market Report and, most recently, Insider Travel Report. Her new book is Traveling Different: Vacation Strategies for Parents of the Anxious, the Inflexible and the Neurodiverse (Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, 2022). Learn more at travelingdifferent.com.