Driving south along Oak Street on a recent sunny spring morning, it was hard not to feel the hope of renewal. Paralleling Vancouver Talmud Torah is a majestic line of cherry blossoms in full flourish. A few metres on, outside Congregation Beth Israel, waves of daffodils tell the cyclical story of nature and regeneration.
If hope itself were temporal, springtime would be its incarnation. Sometimes, though, recognizing and feeling hope can take effort.
For many of us, the just-ended celebration of Jewish redemption and rebirth held special resonance, as it has since 2023. The ageless stories, relived at the seder, remain so relevant. We are living through a period that feels, at once, ancient and immediate, because hatred has resurfaced so ferociously and wears familiar disguises.
The redemption of the last hostages from Gaza and the end of that war gave little reprieve before a new war began in a cycle with which Israelis are all too familiar. Jewish history, though, teaches that darkness is never the whole story.
Seeking peace is a central obligation in the Jewish tradition. But Jewish law, halachah,also acknowledges the role of force when necessary. Jewish survival has never been passive; it has never been the result of favourable conditions. It has been an act of will – a refusal to accept that the present moment, however dark, is permanent. From the destruction of the Temples to the expulsions of Europe and the Levant, from the crusades and pogroms of the Middle Ages to the ashes of the 20th century, Jewish history has been punctuated by chapters that seemed like endings. And yet, they were not.
Jewish hopeis not blind. It is strategic – necessary and unavoidable. Consider what has happened in just the past century – an epoch that, in the annals of Jewish time, is the blink of an eye. A people nearly annihilated rebuilt not only our lives, but our language, our culture and our sovereignty. The rebirth of Jewish life in our ancestral homeland was not inevitable. It was improbable.
War is tragedy. There are no easy moral lessons in suffering, no easy narrative that redeems loss. But history demonstrates that moments of profound rupture can create the conditions for transformation. As David Ben-Gurion said, “In Israel, in order to be a realist, you must believe in miracles.”
The peace between Israel and Egypt followed a devastating war. The Abraham Accords emerged from a recognition that endless conflict was untenable. It is not naïve to hope that, from the current devastation, a new framework might eventually emerge – one that prioritizes stability, dignity and coexistence over perpetual violence.
The same is true of the surge in antisemitism globally. It is alarming, yes. But it is also exposing something that has long simmered beneath the surface. Ideas that were once coded are now explicit. Relationships that were once assumed are now being tested. Perhaps, in these challenges lies opportunity.
There is a growing recognition that Jew-hatred and Israel-hatred are not isolated prejudices, but warning signs. Individuals and communities are standing ground and pushing back. Young Jews and “Oct. 8 Jews” – whose connections to Jewishness were limited until the shock of renewed hatreds motivated new inquiries into their identities – are rising to the moment.
Non-Jewish allies are speaking out, showing their support in their actions and presence. Take, for example, those daffodils at Beth Israel – planted in memory of those people murdered in the Hamas terror attack on Israel on Oct. 7, 2023, the garden was inspired by a non-Jewish ally. (See jewishindependent.ca/flowers-for-those-murdered.)
The story of Passover does not promise that the journey will be easy. It does not deny the existence of hardship or doubt. It does insist that liberation is possible. And this idea is not just tradition. It is necessary and an obligation.
Israeli Minster of National Security Itamar Ben G’vir holds up a champagne bottle in the Knesset on March 30, toasting the passage of Israel’s new death penalty law. (screenshot)
On March 30, two days before erev Passover, Israeli Minister of National Security Itamar Ben-Gvir celebrated the passing of his racist, dangerous, vengeful and unjust death penalty law by raising a champagne bottle and drinking to victory. The customary toast in Jewish tradition, of course, is to exclaim “L’chaim!” (“To life!”) Partly for this reason, the name chosen for the Jewish anti-death penalty group I co-founded, which now includes thousands of members in Israel and abroad, is “L’chaim! Jews Against the Death Penalty.” Those members of the Knesset who support this law have upended the phrase meant to evoke Judaism’s core life-affirming principles.
While Ben-Gvir claims to be a pious and observant Jew, his actions once again reveal his blatant disregard for Jewish values, and an essential mockery of Jewish ritual symbolism. He might as well have screamed “Lamavet” (“To death”) for his celebratory toast. Make no mistake: the passage of this death penalty law will certainly bring death for both convicted terrorists and innocent Israelis and Jews across the world. It is an abomination that will prove disastrous for multiple reasons.
Wine at Passover
One of the most well-known facts about the Passover seder, which both Jews and many non-Jews are keenly aware of, is that it traditionally involves drinking four cups of wine or grape juice. These four cups are a mandatory rabbinic commandment, representing the four expressions of redemption God used in Exodus 6:6-7 to promise freedom to the Israelites. Consumed at specific intervals in the seder, they symbolize freedom, joy, and key stages of liberation, from slavery to becoming a nation.
Perhaps one of the most widely understood reasons for drinking wine on Passover, as on Purim and on any Jewish holiday, is its symbolism of life, joy, sanctification, and transformation used to elevate holy moments like Shabbat, holidays and weddings. It signifies “cheering the heart,” redemption (specifically the four cups at Passover) and divine blessing, while also serving as a reminder of the need for temperance and balance. By lifting a glass for death just ahead of Passover, Ben-Gvir has effectively desecrated this sacred tradition with inverted, grotesque symbolism.
Another tradition of the Passover seder highlights the extent of the sacrilege of Ben-Gvir’s celebration. It is customary for seder-goers to remove 10 drops of wine, one for each of the plagues they chant, symbolizing how the suffering that each affliction produced for our people’s enemies diminishes our joy. This list culminates in the 10th plague of the death of the firstborn of Egypt at the hands of Malakh Hamavet, the Angel of Death. Instead of honouring this Passover ritual, Ben-Gvir profaned it by using wine to glorify killing.
The 10 Plagues
It is most fitting, with Passover only recently having ended, for L’chaim to use the 10 Plagues – with which God cursed the Egyptians in response to Pharaoh’s “hardened heart” – as symbols of the many reasons to oppose the death penalty. We align these biblical maladies with 10 damning strikes against the death penalty to highlight that capital punishment itself is a plague on any society that enacts it. Capital punishment condemns any government that wields it, including Israel now, infinitely more so than any of the individuals it condemns to death.
Dam (Blood): Israel’s death penalty law could increase terrorism, making it more enticing to would-be martyrs (shahids).
Tzifatdeiya (Frogs): It will undoubtedly endanger Jews worldwide.
Kinim (Lice): From Adolf Hitler to Donald Trump, Machiavellian politicians wield the death penalty as a political tool, particularly for election campaigns, and that is the case with this law. Consider the recent examples in Israel of Ben-Gvir’s noose-shaped lapel pin and his video promoting the death penalty law, illicitly filmed at a gallows museum in Jerusalem, as well as Limor Son Har-Melech’s Nazi-inspired Purim costume featuring an injection syringe.
Arov (Wild Animals): Jewish tradition makes the death penalty virtually impossible to carry out. Passage of this law has betrayed the life-affirming core of that tradition.
Dever (Pestilence): Terms like “deterrence,” which is a fallacious delusion when applied to the death penalty, and “retributive” or “proportional” justice, are veils for vengeance. Unequivocally, revenge does not bring closure for murder victims’ loved ones.
Sh’chin (Boils): The death penalty is racist, and this law in particular is viciously discriminatory.
Barad (Hail): The death penalty inherently violates the human right to life. Relatedly, it often results in physical torture, and always is psychological torture, for individuals counting down to their execution day. There is no humane way to execute human beings against their will.
Arbeh (Locusts): Many execution methods are direct Nazi legacies, including firing squad, gassing and lethal injection.
Choshech (Darkness): Capital punishment will traumatize the executioners within the Israel Prison Service. This law also risks placing anyone involved in contravention of human rights treaties.
Makat Bechorot (Death of the Firstborn):The death penalty inevitably risks executing the innocent.
Onward toward repeal
On March 30, the same day that the Knesset passed this barbaric law, a vast coalition of Jewish organizations across Israel and the world immediately petitioned the Israeli Supreme Court to repeal it. The next day, the Supreme Court ordered that the state must respond to the petition and the request for an interim injunction by May 24. The members of L’chaim, together with Jews of good conscience and all of civilized humanity, will continue to do all we can to support this vital, sacred effort.
None other than death penalty abolitionist Elie Wiesel (1928-2016) aptly referred to capital punishment as the “Angel of Death.” It is high time to banish this medieval plague from Israel once and for all. The final uplifting song of the Passover seder is “L’shanah haba’ah b’Yerushalayim” (“Next year in Jerusalem”). It is our consummate hope and intention that next Passover, Jerusalem will see the repeal of this monstrous legislation.
Cantor Michael Zoosmanis a certified spiritual care practitioner and received his cantorial ordination from the Jewish Theological Seminary of America. He sits as an advisory committee member at Death Penalty Action and is co-founder of L’chaim! Jews Against the Death Penalty. Zoosman is a former Jewish prison chaplain and psychiatric hospital chaplain. He lives with his family in Vancouver.
Kindergarten children preparing matzah, 1925.(photo by Joseph Schweigh, KKL-JNF Photo Archive)
In uncertain times like these, as the war with Iran continues, attention often turns to the traditions and customs that have carried generations through both hardship and renewal. Against this backdrop, Keren Kayemeth LeIsrael–Jewish National Fund (KKL-JNF) has shared some rare images from its photo archive documenting Passover across the years. The images, dating from before the declaration of the state of Israel, reflect enduring elements of Jewish life, including tradition, education and communal practice.
A festive parade of Jewish soldiers during Passover in Jerusalem, 1948. (photo by Rudolf Jonas, KKL-JNF Photo Archive, KKL-JNF Photo Archive)
Among them are a photograph from the 1920s showing kindergarten children preparing matzah dough; documentation from a festive Passover parade for Israeli soldiers in 1948, the year of Israel’s independence; and families in Jerusalem’s Mea She’arim neighbourhood participating in the burning of chametz in 1983, a year marked by the effects of the Lebanon War. Though decades apart, the scenes show how holiday practices supported community connection and hope during periods of instability.
A wall newspaper produced in the 1950s and 1960s by Keren Kayemeth LeIsrael–Jewish National Fund’s education department, which was displayed in Jewish schools in England. (photo from KKL-JNF Banner collection displayed in the Central Zionist Archives in Jerusalem)
The archival materials also include a wall newspaper produced in the 1950s and 1960s by KKL-JNF’s education department, which was displayed in Jewish schools in England. The poster places the Exodus from Egypt alongside images of agricultural work, tree planting and communal life in the land of Israel, illustrating how Passover was given renewed meaning in the Zionist era as a bridge between a biblical narrative and a modern vision of national renewal.
The burning of chametz in the Mea She’arim neighbourhood in Jerusalem, 1983. (photo from KKL-JNF Photo Archive)
“These photographs show how people held onto tradition, community and hope during uncertain periods,” noted Efrat Sinai, director of archives at KKL-JNF. “Viewed today, they highlight both historical experience and the sources of resilience that continue to shape Jewish life. Passover appears here as a living educational framework, a connection between Jewish communities in Israel and abroad, and a reflection of the strength of these communities across generations.”
KKL-JNF’s photo archive, which contains tens of thousands of historical photographs, serves as a living chronicle of life in the land of Israel and beyond. Together, these materials are a reminder that the story of Israel has never been defined by hardship alone, but also by its ability to hold onto hope, tradition and the promise of brighter days ahead.
– Courtesy Keren Kayemeth LeIsrael-Jewish National Fund
The notes are carefully removed. (photo from Gil Zohar)
The Kotel – the last remaining part of Herod the Great’s vast Second Temple complex – got a spruce up ahead of Passover. As is tradition, volunteers took to the Western Wall in Jerusalem’s Old City to remove hundreds of thousands of the small prayer notes to God tucked into the cracks of Judaism’s holiest site. The papers are ceremonially buried at the ancient Mount of Olives cemetery.
The cleaning tradition is repeated at Rosh Hashanah, to keep the Kotel from becoming too cluttered. The notes are carefully removed using sticks that have been dipped in a mikvah (ritual bath), the whole process overseen by the Wall’s official rabbi, Rabbi Shmuel Rabinovitch. This year, there were no worshippers or visitors at the Kotel due to restrictions on gathering in large groups amid the US-Israeli war with Iran.
Gil Zohar is a journalist and tour guide who lives in Jerusalem.
Liberation. Freedom. Renewal. Recalling our history, our stories. Passover’s themes are many, and the challenge every year is for us to interpret them in a meaningful way for our time.
This year’s cover of the JI’s Passover issue.
In making this special issue’s cover, I started with the idea that I would use artificial intelligence – one of the most contemporary tools – to create it. Would AI free me from the hours that art creation takes? Short answer: no.
I started with the directive to design a collage centred on the Jewish fight for freedom throughout history, and got lots of great feedback on how to arrange images to tell a powerful story. I could place “key representative figures or symbols at the forefront,” “use overlapping images to create dimension and a sense of ‘flow’” and incorporate “symbolism of ‘tikkun olam.’”
AI had recommendations for typography, what media I could use, what colour palette. It suggested historical struggles I might want to include in a spiral-shaped design: the Exodus and the Maccabees in the outer ring; Conversos and Partisans in the next ring; early kibbutzim and the Iron Dome in yet another ring; and the yellow ribbon for the Oct. 7 hostages or “street-art style seen in Tel Aviv or New York” in the centre.
I eventually figured out how to create an image in AI, but everything I tried looked horrible, so I decided to make my collage the old-fashioned way – with my own hands, using only paper, inspired by artist Deborah Shapiro (deborahshapiroart.com), whose art I’d used on the JI’s 2021 Rosh Hashanah cover.
After what felt like forever, I figured out what my focus would be. I came across the verse in Exodus (19:4): “You have seen what I did to the Egyptians, how I bore you on eagles’ wings and brought you to Me.”
An article on aish.com by Rabbi Warren Goldstein, chief rabbi of South Africa, helped me think through the symbolism, from both a spiritual and secular perspective.
“Each year, we are told to relive the experience of leaving Egypt – and I imagine being lifted from slavery and oppression ‘on the wings of eagles,’” he writes. “What better way could there be to express our transition from the earthly bonds that constrain us to the spiritual transcendence that God gave us than through the exhilarating, soaring rush of the eagle’s flight.”
I tried two different backgrounds for the griffon vulture collage on this issue’s cover, before I decided to make my own. This one is an AI-generated image based on colour suggestions, going from darkness to light.
Goldstein goes on to talk about Rashi’s interpretation that “the eagle’s wings represent the nature of God’s protection over us.” The rabbi notes the miracle that Jews are still here, despite a long history of various peoples trying to kill us. And he compares the “rush of the eagle’s flight” to “the speed with which God liberated us from Egypt” – so fast, of course, that our bread didn’t have time to rise, hence, the matzah we eat on seder night as a symbol of our “supernatural” redemption.
“This divine dynamism – depicted by the image of a soaring eagle – becomes a call to action: ‘Be light as an eagle,’ says the mishna in Pirkei Avot. Too often we get bogged down by life,” writes Goldstein. “We become consumed with angst, submerged in introspection and inertia. The mishna urges us to live life energetically and enthusiastically – like an eagle – with a sense of urgency for the task at hand, which is uplifting ourselves and our world through our mitzvot.”
I like this idea of living with a sense of energetic purpose, whether the motivation to improve ourselves and the world is inspired by Torah or other moral codes and teachings. Freedom and responsibility are inextricably intertwined in my view, but it is easy to get overwhelmed, and the thought of being carried sometimes, of soaring above the earth and gaining new perspective, appeals to me.
I decided I would “paint” an eagle.
I also asked AI to design a collage of the Jewish fight for freedom, from the Exodus to modern days.
As I searched online for what types of eagles would be at home in Egypt or Israel, I came across a few articles about the mistranslation of “nesherim” in Exodus 19:4. Apparently, we were most likely carried out of slavery on the wings of vultures, not eagles, and probably on the wings of griffon vultures specifically.
“Both the biblical nesher and ornithological griffon are known for their ‘bald’ head, enormous wingspan, effortless flight, cliff nesting, devoted nurturing, rapid descent and group feasting on carrion,” writes Dr. Fred Cannon, a professor emeritus at Pennsylvania State University, in Journal for the Study of the Old Testament. “From biblical times until the industrial age, griffons have been ubiquitous in the Middle East but absent in northern Europe or the Americas. However, eagles commonly resided in northern Europe but are uncommon residents or pass-through migrants in the Middle East. Through millennia, when northern Europeans sought translations for biblical plant and animal names, they sometimes replaced Middle Eastern meanings with recognizable northern European ones. So, the nesher became known as the eagle to many northern Europeans and North Americans. However, recent Hebrew-speaking ornithologists concur that the nesher is the griffon. This distinction becomes important when gleaning nuances from biblical metaphors, clarifying kosher dietary regulations and discerning genealogical connections among raptors.”
Natan Slifkin, director of the Biblical Museum of Natural History, in Israel, notes that another part of the verse – “va’esa etchem,” “I bore you,” or “I carried you” – can be translated as “I elevated you.”
“The explanation,” he writes about the symbolism, “is that the nesher is the highest-flying bird, and God raised the Jewish people to spiritual heights above anything in the natural world with His miraculous redemption. The highest-flying birds are griffon vultures.”
As well, he explains, “While people today view the vulture in a negative light, the Torah presents it as an example of a loving and caring parent. This also relates to the vulture’s entire parenting process. Female griffon vultures usually lay one egg, which both parents incubate for an unusually long period of around seven weeks until it hatches. The young are slow to develop and do not leave the nest until three or four months of age. The long devotion of the vulture to its young symbolizes God’s deep dedication to the Jewish people.”
Sadly, it’s more than time for us to dedicate ourselves to the griffon vulture. Only around 230 of them remain today, according to a brochure of the Society for the Protection of Nature in Israel (SPNI), which suggests helping save the griffon vulture as a b’nai mitzvah project.
The word “nether” comes “from a Hebrew root that means ‘to shed’ or ‘to fall off,’” explains the brochure. “That’s because, as baby vultures grow up, they shed the feathers on their heads – an adaption that actually helps them stay clean! A bald head makes it easier for vultures to stick their heads into carcasses when they eat, without getting messy.”
The brochure notes that griffon vultures live in the Golan Heights, Negev Desert and Carmel Mountains. They have a wingspan of up to 2.65 metres and spend two to three hours a day combing their feathers. They can spot food from seven kilometres away, eating dead animals before the bodies rot, which helps prevent the spread of diseases.
Poisoning, electrolution, land loss, illegal hunting, and that griffon vultures only lay one egg a year, are all threats to their future. To help counter these pressures, SPNI has a breeding program, it is working with electric companies to insulate power poles, lobbying for stronger laws against poisons, and teaching farmers and others about more eco-friendly pest control.
That the griffon vulture is endangered made it, to me, an even more appropriate image for the JI’s Passover cover, underscoring the connection between freedom and responsibility. The words I chose for the cover’s background – cut and ripped from the last few issues of the JI – are my attempt to depict Goldstein’s commentary. While the eagle/vulture is protecting us as much as possible from that which bogs humanity down, giving us some respite and renewed strength, we must continue to try and uplift ourselves and the world around us, grateful for the blessings we have, and working to bring more of them into being.
The Jewish Food Society’s website has many Passover options: salads, mains and desserts. For people who prefer cookbooks, the society has published The Jewish Holiday Table, which can be purchased online.
The Jewish Food Society was established in 2017. The nonprofit’s main purpose is “to build the largest archive of Jewish family recipes and stories attached to them in the world.” One can get lost for hours on its website, it’s so extensive. With Passover coming, several holiday stories are highlighted, along with some matzah recipes. It’s well worth a visit: jewishfoodsociety.org.
The society was founded by Naama Shefi, who was born and raised in Israel, on Kibbutz Givat Hashlosha, near Petah Tikva. She went to high school in Tel Aviv and did her army service before moving to New York in 2005.
“My kibbutz life made me really understand the power of community. Because we are nothing without community,” she told Tablet Magazine in a 2024 interview.
It also made her crave a wider variety of foods and spices. In a 2021 interview with the Forward, she noted that the bland diet she and other former kibbutzniks grew up with led many of them to develop an interest in food. She was speaking to the Forward because another nonprofit she founded was about to launch – Asif: Culinary Institute of Israel, in Tel Aviv, whose “aim is to explore local food culture and provide a home for research, dialogue and a wide range of culinary experiences. Through a library with 1500+ culinary books, revolving exhibitions, cooking workshops, a rooftop farm, and pop-ups hosted by local and international chefs, Asif will help document and articulate the evolving Israeli kitchen.” You can also lose yourself on its website, perusing the online exhibit, going through its library, reading stories from its journal and, of course, trying out some of the many recipes. If you’re heading to Israel, definitely look at asif.org/en, heading to its “The Flavour Mosaic” section, which features a collection of food establishments “handpicked by culinary experts from across the country.”
For people who prefer a tangible hold-in-your-hand cookbook, the Jewish Food Society has published The Jewish Holiday Table: A World of Recipes, Traditions & Stories to Celebrate All Year Long, by Shefi and the JFS, with Devra Ferst. It comprises 135 recipes, as well as stories from Jewish families. It’s organized by season and highlights the major Jewish holidays, including Shabbat.
In that 2024 interview with Tablet, Shefi talked about the cookbook and what makes it unique.
“The concept of the book is really a celebration of Jewish holiday traditions from all around the world, from places as far apart as Ethiopia and Paris and Buenos Aires to here in Brooklyn,” she said. “So, it was very important for us to showcase the diversity of the Jewish experience. Also, the book follows the Jewish agricultural calendar, so it’s extremely seasonal, which I think is unique. And, for each holiday, we showcase four to five family tables and their menu alongside very personal essays with their history and journey.”
The diversity of Jewish experience is a focus of the cookbook.
“There is no one family with one single origin, so it really serves as evidence about our people,” Shefi told Tablet. “It shows how so many families were forced to flee one place and make a life in another place. And, sometimes, there were a few generations that were successful in the new environment and, then again, challenging circumstances forced them to keep going on their journey. That also affected the cuisine in a very substantial way.”
You can buy The Jewish Holiday Table at amazon.ca and other online bookstores – if you order today, it might even arrive before Passover ends. In the meantime, here are a couple of the approximately 10 recipes for charoset at jewishfoodsociety.org. The website has many options for the holiday: salads, mains and desserts.
CARROT CHAROSET (This recipe was shared by chef Michael Solomonov. It takes about 15 minutes to make.)
4 carrots, peeled and grated 1/2 apple, peeled and grated 1/2 cup walnuts, chopped 1 cup fresh cilantro, chopped 2 tbsp fresh horseradish, grated 2 tbsp raisins 1 tbsp white vinegar 3/4 tsp kosher salt
Combine the carrots, apples, walnuts, cilantro, horseradish, raisins, vinegar and salt in a medium bowl. Toss to combine.
Set aside for at least 15 minutes to allow the flavours to combine. Serve.
APPLE AND ASIAN PEAR CHAROSET (This recipe was shared by pastry chef Fany Gerson. It takes an hour and 15 minutes to make.)
1 cup honey 1 shallot, minced 3 celery stalks, minced 2 Honeycrisp apples, peeled and diced 1 Asian pear, diced 2 tsp fresh oregano, chopped (about 2 sprigs) 1/2 cup red wine vinegar 1 cup fresh squeezed orange juice, separated (about 3 medium oranges) 1 tbsp + 1 tsp fresh horseradish, grated
In a medium saucepan over low heat, gently warm the honey until it begins to bubble, about five minutes.
Add shallots and celery, stirring for one minute until well incorporated. Add vinegar and stir to combine.
Add apples and pears and reduce heat to very low stirring constantly and making sure the mixture does not get too hot. During this time, the fruit will release water. Continue to stir until the water is completely reduced/evaporated, 45 to 60 minutes. It is important to watch closely and stir often to keep the sugar from burning.
When the water has completely disappeared and the mixture is dark and caramelized, add 3/4 cup of orange juice and reduce again, mixing and smashing the fruit, about 10 minutes.
Remove from heat and stir in remaining 1/4 cup orange juice, chopped oregano and one tablespoon of fresh horseradish.
Transfer to small serving bowl. Garnish with one teaspoon fresh horseradish. Serve immediately.
Before Passover, a relative of ours in New Jersey asked if we would have problems getting Manischewitz wine. I told her all would be fine. Even though US alcohol had been taken off Manitoba’s shelves, we would just buy other brands of kosher wine instead, I said.
I felt confident about this possibility until I marched to the kosher section of the wine shop and saw the notification. The store encouraged us to buy whatever was available “right now” because all kosher wine, no matter where it is made, is imported through the United States. We were fine for Passover and, to be honest, my family is more flexible about wine the rest of the year, so the situation didn’t worry me too much.
A Manischewitz joke from my mom, visiting from the States, made me wonder about how much kosher wine is available now in Manitoba, and I did some googling. Between the provincially run Liquor Marts and the private wine shop that caters to those who keep kosher, I saw about six wine varieties available.
Then, my husband told a story he’d heard from someone attending minyan. Their family kept kosher. To get the kosher wine they wanted during Manitoba’s ban on US alcohol, they placed a special order with Happy Harry’s liquor store in Grand Forks, ND. The dad drove from Winnipeg, crossed the border, picked up two cases of wine, paid the duty at the border and drove home again. It was a 470-kilometre round trip, more or less, to resolve the issue.
You don’t think a lot about this when supply chains function between countries, but, in the absence of kosher wine imports, you have whatever odds and ends are left – and Kedem grape juice, which is still available.
Plenty of Jewish Canadians may be asking what they will drink on the holidays. This made me think about the Babylonian talmudic tractate I’ve just started studying, Avodah Zara. This tractate, compiled by about 500 CE, concerns how one lives alongside idol worship. It considers issues like whether Jews should do business with non-Jews before their festivals, because the money they earn might go towards ritual sacrifice to idols.
It gets more specific though. Jews lived in diverse places, with many different cultures around them. The rabbis wondered, what if there were a water fountain and the water spurted out of a Greek god or an idol? Jews may not drink “from Zeus’s lips.”
The rabbis then suggest a more concerning health issue about these fountains with pipes. There was danger, they posit, because these pipes brought water from ponds or rivers. You might swallow a leech. Medical suggestions about what to do if you swallow a leech (or, heaven forbid, a hornet) follow. Apparently, one is allowed to boil water on Shabbat to deal with this problem, or swallowing vinegar might help.
This discussion on Avodah Zarah, page 12, examines how to deal with many issues in communities where we Jews interact with others, working and living together, specifically mentioning Gaza and Bet She’an. Yes, those two locations have been in the news … funny how little changes.
This tractate page describes how to cope with another even more difficult dilemma. During this period – the Mishnah was compiled by about 200 CE, and the Gemara was added by 500 CE – some people believed that Shavrirei, a water demon, came out at night. If you got thirsty at night, you must wake up someone else to accompany you, as the demon would only be a problem if you were alone. However, if you were alone and thirsty, there was another solution. One knocked on the jug lid and recited an incantation: “shavrirei verirei rirei yirei rei.” Maybe reducing the name of the demon at each repeat results in causing the demon to disappear, too?
To most modern thinkers, this whole approach will seem bizarre. An entire tractate is devoted to avoiding idol worship, since Jews believe in only one G-d. Yet, at that time, Jews also seemed to believe that dangerous demons existed, swallowing leeches could be resolved by consuming hot water, and a person would die from swallowing a hornet but might delay their demise by drinking vinegar. Worldviews are complicated, and full of contradictions.
These days, Jews, both in Israel and the diaspora, live in community with non-Jews. We must cooperate and get along even when our traditions don’t jibe. Further, we must consider when our actions are meaningful and when they’re tokenism. Some examples of avoiding idol worship suggest that Jews should avoid even the appearance of worshipping idols. For instance, if you get a thorn in your foot near an idol statue, don’t bow down there to pull out the splinter! It looks bad.
From the outside, sure, Jews in Canada can stand behind our country’s counter-tariffs and the choices made by our country and provinces to deal with trade issues. It’s within the rights of provinces to pull US alcohol from our shelves. That said, how then do Jewish families who require kosher wine to say Kiddush, celebrate Shabbat or weddings or holidays? According to at least one household, it requires crossing the border, paying the duty and getting on with things.
It’s not clear whether the counter-tariffs, lack of US alcohol sales or decreased Canadian tourism to the United States will make any difference in the Canada-US trade relationship. Like the incantation to get rid of the demon Shavrirei, perhaps reducing the names of those who bother us makes them disappear. Maybe it’s just a ritual that makes us feel better. We can’t tell from here.
Over time, our priorities differ. Sometimes, we’re scared of a water demon. Other times, we’re feeling thrashed about by trade talks with an “orange” ruler of a different sort. In both cases, we might respond with token acts or incantations, which mostly don’t change things. Yet, the rabbis point out, water is essential to life. We must drink, so we come up with hopefully safe solutions to quench our thirst. Wine is a little less necessary, but we bless it multiple times a year, so does the kosher wine shortage matter more now? The issue creates discord between our Canadian and Jewish identities, as we live in the diaspora.
Perhaps all will be resolved when Canada’s internal trade between provinces improves. Maybe we’ll think less about this when the weather cools and we’re not quite so “thirsty.” Here we are, almost 2,000 years after these issues were first discussed, still wondering the best ways to live in diverse societies, meet our needs and get along with our neighbours.
Joanne Seiff has written regularly for the Winnipeg Free Press and various Jewish publications. She is the author of three books, including From the Outside In: Jewish Post Columns 2015-2016, a collection of essays available for digital download or as a paperback from Amazon. Check her out on Instagram @yrnspinner or at joanneseiff.blogspot.com.
Held on April 15, the Third Seder: Understanding Addiction and the Path to Freedom focused on the slavery of addiction. (photo from JFS Vancouver)
There was matzah, grape juice, charoset and horseradish on the table. Guests read from the Haggadah and enjoyed a meal of matzah ball soup, brisket and roasted vegetables. At first glance, you might think this was just another seder – but it truly was different from all other seder nights.
The Third Seder: Understanding Addiction and the Path to Freedom was held April 15, with Rabbi Joshua Corber, director of Jewish Addiction Community Services (JACS) Vancouver, at the helm. All the guests had something in common: they were people with or recovering from addiction, or family members of loved ones who have experienced or are still struggling with addiction.
“No situation is more similar to slavery than one’s addiction. Someone who has experienced addiction truly understands what it means to be a slave,” said Corber as he introduced guests to From Bondage to Freedom: A Haggadah with a Commentary Illuminating the Liberation of the Spirit, written by Rabbi Dr. Abraham Twerski (1930-2021).
“Rabbi Twerski, z”l, is an absolute giant,” Corber explained. “Steeped in Torah learning and Chassidus, he was a psychiatrist who specialized in addiction and, with this background, his ability to leverage Torah as a recovery tool is unparalleled. This is reflected in his Haggadah, but he also led the way for other Torah scholars.”
At all other seders, guests drink wine or grape juice, but at the Third Seder, only grape juice was on the table. Guests recited sections from the Haggadah that wrestled with concepts like liberation from addiction, and how family members could deliver “tough love” by setting boundaries. They expressed their pain and shared their stories with candour.
“Slaves to addiction tend to think recovery isn’t possible,” said one guest, who introduced himself as a recovered alcoholic.
Corber agreed. “I thought addiction was my life, and that I needed to tolerate it,” he confessed. “I was held down by inertia because addiction was the only life I could imagine. In some ways, it was like I was already dead.”
The guests at the seder, which was held at Reuben’s Deli by Omnitsky, ranged in age from 22 to 80. Some were still wrestling with active addiction, while others had been in recovery for lengthy periods. Together, they formed a community of support that was inclusive and devoid of judgment.
“Addiction is a family disease and having a community for recovery is amazing,” one guest declared.
Corber echoed those sentiments. “A goal of JACS is to get the whole community behind the cause of supporting Jews entering recovery or coming out of addiction and, so far, that’s been missing,” he said.
There remains a stigma surrounding addiction, particularly in the Jewish community, Corber said. “There seems to be a reluctance to discuss the matter openly in the community and we have to break this stigma. Addiction is not a choice, it’s a disease. And, while most of us acknowledge this, it has not fundamentally changed our attitudes. Jews who are struggling need to feel supported and accepted by their Jewish community.”
Corber said the Third Seder will become an annual event, and more programming is being planned for Shavuot and other Jewish holidays. For more information, visit jacsvancouver.com.
Lauren Kramer, an award-winning writer and editor, lives in Richmond.
Last week, the Jewish Federation of Greater Vancouver, in conjunction with the Centre for Israel and Jewish Affairs, released the results of a community survey on antisemitism. There were, perhaps, few surprises.
Of those surveyed, 85% said that antisemitism has “increased a lot” since Oct. 7, 2023. More than 60% of respondents said they avoid displaying items that would identify them publicly as Jewish and almost two in three said they avoid particular places and events out of concern for their safety.
A public opinion poll released around the same time indicated that the often-discussed “silent majority” is on our side – most British Columbians are concerned about antisemitism. More than three-quarters of respondents to a Research Co. poll said they are concerned about “aggressive behaviour by pro-Palestinian protesters,” “protesters targeting Jewish neighbourhoods and Jewish-owned businesses” and “rising prejudice against Jewish Canadians.”
While we would appreciate if the solidarity expressed in this survey were articulated more vocally and visually, it is reassuring to know that the targeting of our community is not unnoticed or uncontested. The survey is, in any event, a rare encouraging sign.
It may seem delusional to seek rays of light amid reports of unabating antisemitism. But is one narrative of Passover not precisely to remind us that we have met and overcome suffering and subjugation in the past? When we celebrate the holiday, we are reanimating our collective experience of resistance to tyranny and oppression, the birth pangs of our peoplehood, and the victory over apathy and forgetting. An unequivocal through-line across Jewish history is resilience.
We retell the story of Exodus every year during the seder not as history but as a living, spiritual framework for Jewish identity and values.
While this is a very difficult time, it also has the capacity to bring out tenacity, determination and unity among the Jewish people.
Difficulty can also create cracks in unity. This is the night when, more than other nights, we reflect on liberation from literal or figurative slavery – in today’s situation, perhaps, freedom from violence and discrimination – and the imperative of Jews to protect and advocate for liberation. So, as we witness growing fissures in the Jewish world, let us rededicate ourselves to the project of liberation and peoplehood based on fundamental values of freedom, love, unity and community.
On Passover, we are reminded that there are pharaohs in every generation who seek to destroy and oppress. We utter the words “You shall tell your children,” because a vivid memory of the past is central to facing our present and creating our future. Every generation faces its own “Egypt.” The work of liberation is not yet finished.
May those who are held captive in Gaza, those who are fighting to defend Israel, those experiencing violence and discrimination, or seeking freedom in any form, be redeemed.
