philosophy – Jewish Independent

O My God at Emanu-El

Bema Productions presents the Canadian première of the comedy O My God at Congregation Emanu-El Synagogue in Victoria, Jan. 16-26. In O My God by Israeli playwright Anat Gov, God walks into a therapist’s office suffering from depression. The therapist asks, “How long have you felt this way?” God says, “Two thousand, five hundred years. Give or take.” “You’ve been depressed for 2,000 years and only now you’ve come to therapy? What were you waiting for?” asks the therapist. And God says, “I thought time would heal.”

Gov, who died of cancer at 58, was born in 1953, and was a graduate of Thelma Yellin High School of the Arts. She was briefly a student in Tel Aviv University’s theatre department – she dropped out to become a successful playwright and television writer. She also married and was a mother of three and grandmother of two.

The Bema Productions staging of O My God is directed by Zelda Dean and performed by Christine Upright (the therapist), Rosemary Jeffery (God) and Jesse Wilson, who is on the autism spectrum himself, plays the autistic son of the therapist.

Tickets ($23) can be purchased online at ticketrocket.co or at the door.

The knowledge that we die

Shabbat, Oct. 26
B’reishit, Genesis 1:1-6:8
Haftarah, Isaiah 42:5-43:10

One Yom Kippur, a rabbi was warning his congregation about the fragility of life.

“One day, everyone in this congregation is going to die,” he thundered from the bimah.

Seated in the front row was an elderly woman who laughed out loud when she heard this.

Irritated, the rabbi said, “What’s so funny?”

“Well!” she said, “I’m not a member of this congregation.”

Membership and affiliation aside, the most important lesson we learn in life is that one day it will end: one day we are going to die.

This is the great lesson and gift of the parashah B’reishit, with its iconic tale of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden.

Amid all the lush greenery, flowing rivers and natural beauty of the garden, at its centre stood two trees. All of the trees and their fruits were permitted to human beings as food, except for the Tree of All Knowledge and the Tree of Life. We read: “God Eternal then commanded the man, saying, ‘You may eat all you like of every tree in the garden – but of the Tree of All Knowledge you may not eat, for the moment you eat of it you shall be doomed to die.’” (Genesis 2:16-17)

When they eat from the Tree of All Knowledge, the knowledge they get is that, one day, they are going to die. Before the forbidden fruit, they didn’t even know death was part of the equation. Now they know and it scares them – to death. They like the garden: life there is beautiful, they don’t want it to end and, standing right next to the Tree of All Knowledge, is the answer to their anxiety – the Tree of Life. One bite from that fruit and they will live forever. This terrifies God. We read: “God Eternal then said, ‘Look, the humans are like us, knowing all things. Now they may even reach out to take fruit from the Tree of Life and eat, and live forever!’ So the Eternal God drove them out of the Garden of Eden to work the soil from which they had been taken.” (Genesis 3:22-23)

God kicks them out of the garden – not as punishment, but as a blessing. If they think they will never die, then how will they truly live? If you have eternity, then there is no urgency for anything; with unlimited tomorrows, everything can wait.

The German existentialist Martin Heidegger, in his masterwork Being and Time, taught this: he said that, in order to truly live authentically, we have to confront death head-on. In other words, knowing that I am going to die is what allows me to truly live. Heidegger wrote: “If I take death into my life, acknowledge it and face it squarely, I will free myself from the anxiety of death and the pettiness of life – and only then will I be free to become myself.”

But, as Ernest Becker wrote in his Pulitzer Prize-winning masterwork The Denial of Death, even though we objectively know that we are all going to die, we don’t actually believe what we know to be true.

Becker’s work is important because of his astute observation that our obsession with not dying actually gets in the way of our fully living.

We are so focused on outwitting, outlasting and outplaying death, staying in our own Garden of Eden, that we make amazingly selfish choices in life. We set up what Becker calls “immortality systems” – non-rational belief structures that give way to the belief that we are immortal.

For example, we try to buy immortality by accumulating possessions and wealth, as if our things will somehow protect us when death comes knocking. We take on heroic roles in our business or our household: we think that, if we make ourselves indispensable, death can’t touch us. “I can’t die this week; I have a sales meeting on Thursday.”

Judaism suggests a different approach to death and to life. Rather than deny death, Jewish tradition instructs us to embrace it. Judaism teaches that we should live each day as if it is our last because we don’t know, it very well may be (Babylonian Talmud, Shabbat 153a).

Imagine, as God does in this parashah, if human beings directed all the energy they focus on not dying toward the more sacred goal of truly living. How would you fill each moment of every day if you truly knew and understood that you will never get that moment back once it has passed; that it is gone forever?

The psalmist declares: “The span of our life is 70 years or, given the strength, 80 years … and they pass by speedily and we are in darkness; teach us to count our days rightly, that we may attain a wise heart.” (Psalm 90:10, 12)

The wise person, our rabbis teach, counts each day and makes each day count. Knowing that our days are numbered helps us clarify our priorities and our purpose. Our most precious possession is not money or things: you can always get more of those. No, our most precious and finite possession is time.

Henry David Thoreau wrote: “I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately…. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to put to rout all that was not life, and not, when I had come to die, discover that I had not lived.” (Walden, reissue edition, Princeton University Press, 2016)

When Adam and Eve are kicked out of the garden, the Torah records the very first thing they do. “And Adam knew his wife Eve and she bore him a son.” (Genesis 4:1) They have a child: the very realization of “I’m not going to live forever” is answered with our best attempt at immortality – progeny.

And so, a final question remains. Where is the true paradise? Is it in the Garden of Eden where no one ever dies and time is limitless? Or is it East of Eden, outside the garden, where every moment is precious, every decision is life-changing and the fruit, sometimes bitter, compels us to appreciate the sweet?

Rabbi Dan Moskovitz is senior rabbi at Temple Sholom and author of The Men’s Seder (MRJ Publishing). He is also chair of the Reform Rabbis of Canada. His writing and perspective on Judaism appear in major print and digital media internationally. This article originally appeared on reformjudaism.org.

Laying out Israel’s case

Yossi Klein Halevi’s Letters to My Palestinian Neighbour is recently out in paperback. (photo by Ilir Bajraktari / The Tower)

Yossi Klein Halevi grew up in the right-wing Zionist youth movement Betar, the ideological stream of Ze’ev Jabotinsky and Menachem Begin. As a youth, he wore a silver outline of the land of Israel “as we understood it” that included not only the West Bank but also the area that became the kingdom of Jordan, which the British had severed from historic Palestine. As he’s aged, he’s emphatically mellowed.

His book Letters to My Palestinian Neighbour, recently out in paperback, is, he writes, “an attempt to explain the Jewish story and the significance of Israel in Jewish identity to Palestinians who are my next-door neighbours.”

He lives in the French Hill neighbourhood of Jerusalem and repeatedly throughout the book reflects on how he is face-to-face with the division between their places.

Each chapter – essay, really – begins with “Dear neighbour.”

“From my apartment, I can just barely see the checkpoint you must cross – if you have a permit at all – to enter Jerusalem.” He talks about when, “before the wall was built, before so much else that went wrong, I tried to get to know you.”

In 1998, he set out on a pilgrimage into Islam and Christianity, a religious Jew “seeking not so much to understand your theology as to experience something of your devotional life. I wanted to learn how you pray, how you encounter God in your most intimate moments.”

During those comparatively placid times, he recalls, Israelis made little effort to accommodate their neighbours.

“For many years we in Israel ignored you, treated you as invisible, transparent. Just as the Arab world denied the right of the Jews to define themselves as a people deserving national sovereignty, so we denied the Palestinians the right to define themselves as a distinct people within the Arab nation, and likewise deserving national sovereignty. To solve our conflict, we must recognize not only each other’s right to self-determination but also each side’s right to self-definition.”

Klein Halevi made aliyah from the United States in 1982. Now a senior fellow of the Shalom Hartman Institute – “Israel’s preeminent centre for pluralistic Jewish research and education” – he co-directs the institute’s Muslim Leadership Initiative, is the author of numerous books and is a prolific commentator and former contributing editor of the New Republic. He has made the book’s Arabic translation available to download for free.

He argues that each side must be allowed to define themselves.

“So who are the Jews? A religion? A people? An ethnicity? A race?… That question impacts directly on our conflict. It goes to the heart of the Arab world’s rejection of Israel’s legitimacy as the nation-state of the Jewish people,” Klein Halevi writes. “Even Palestinian moderates I’ve known who want to end the bloodshed tend to deny that the Jews are an authentic nation. So long as Palestinian leaders insist on defining the Jews as a religion rather than allowing us to define ourselves as we have since ancient times – as a people with a particular faith – then Israel will continue to be seen as illegitimate, its existence an open question.”

He acknowledges that the problem occurs on both sides.

“Some Jews continue to try to ‘prove’ that Palestinian national identity is a fiction, that you are a contrived people. Of course you are – and so are we. All national identities are, by definition, contrived: at a certain point, groups of people determine that they share more in common than apart and invent themselves as a nation, with a common language, memory and evolving story. The emergence of a nation is an inherently subjective process.”

But he attempts to disabuse Palestinians and Arabic readers of the idea that Israel can be overcome.

“I’ve often heard from Palestinians that, just as the Ottoman Turks came here and left, and the British came here and left, so, too, will the Zionists one day leave. That analogy ignores Zionism’s singular achievement. None of those invaders founded a thriving society, let alone a sovereign state. They eventually went back to their own homelands. More than anything else, I need you to understand this: the Jews succeeded where the Crusaders and the Ottomans and the British failed because we didn’t merely come here. We returned.”

This sense of destiny is evocatively expressed when Klein Halevi writes about the War of Independence.

“Our side began the war with three tanks and four combat planes. And we were alone. That, as it turned out, was a crucial advantage, because desperation forced us to mobilize our entire society for a war of survival. If your side had prevailed, few if any Jews would have been left here. As a result, the Jews fought with such determination that only a handful of our communities fell. There was nowhere left to run; we’d reached the final shore of Jewish history.”

But the author makes an effort to acknowledge some of the harsh realities of that victory and the subsequent Israeli control of Palestinian areas and its effect on people. He recalls a moment during a call-up during his reserve service.

“A chubby teenage Palestinian boy, accused of stone throwing, was brought, blindfolded, into our tent camp. A group of soldiers from the border police unit gathered around. One said to him in Arabic: ‘Repeat after me: one order of hummus, one order of fava beans, I love the border police.’ The young man dutifully repeated the rhymed Arabic ditty. There was laughter.… That last story haunts me most of all. It is, seemingly, insignificant. The prisoner wasn’t physically abused; his captors, young soldiers under enormous strain, shared a joke. But that incident embodies for me the corruption of occupation. When my son was about to be drafted into the army I told him: there are times when as a soldier you may have to kill. But you are never permitted, under any circumstances, to humiliate another human being. That is a core Jewish principle.”

He acknowledges his pain over an eventual partition that would, for example, see the Jewish holy city of Hebron as part of an independent Palestine. But, he says: “The only solution worse than dividing this land into two states is creating one state that would devour itself. No two peoples who fought a 100-year existential war can share the intimate workings of government. The current conflict between us would pale beside the rage that would erupt when competing for the same means of power. The most likely model is the disintegration of Yugoslavia into warring ethnic and religious factions – perhaps even worse. A one-state solution would condemn us to a nightmare entwinement – and deprive us both of that which justice requires: self-determination, to be free peoples in our own sovereign homelands.… If Jaffa belongs to you and Hebron belongs to me, then we have two options. We can continue fighting for another 100 years, in the hope that one side or the other will prevail. Or we can accept the solution that has been on the table almost since the conflict began, and divide the land between us. In accepting partition we are not betraying our histories, neighbour; we are conceding that history has given us no real choice.”

Near the end, Klein Halevi reflects that some simple human goodness could have made a massive historic difference.

“Israel is a restless society of uprooted and re-rooted refugees and children of refugees, and the dark side of our vitality is a frankness that can easily become rudeness, the antithesis of Arab decorousness. Israelis often don’t know how to treat each other with respect, let alone those we are occupying. We are a people in a hurry to compensate for our lost centuries of nationhood, a people that doesn’t pay attention to niceties. Sometimes I think that, if only we’d known how to show your people simple respect, so much could have been different here.”

The new paperback edition includes an epilogue of “letters” in response to his neighbourly missives. Some, the author admits, are predictably harsh, dismissive and threatening. But many are long, thoughtful and inspiring. Klein Halevi has started a conversation. It is invigorating and heartily recommended to be a part of it as a reader.

Looking forward, back

Kierkegaard Kierkegaard Kierkegaard Kierkegaard Søren Kierkegaard once observed that we begin life by only looking forward, and end by looking back to understand it. The existentialists leave me cold with their nihilism and I find their approaches hard to digest, but I consider Kierkegaard’s comment very much an accurate description of life’s dynamic.

I can remember how my early thoughts were very much about what my future was going to look like. In my mind, all my presents were events that I would have to get through to get to the really important stuff. I knew we had to put up with living with the people we found ourselves tied to by the happenstance of birth. We had to follow the rules we learned from those around us to traverse this period, but our secret focus was on the future, on that time when we would be able to organize our world in a way it would better serve us.

Yes, we had to do what we were told. Yes, we sometimes formed attachments because it was expected, and even convenient. Yes, there were programmed behaviours that had to be followed faithfully. But we knew, didn’t we, that the real stuff would begin when we were in a position to be fully in charge. It sounds bloody-minded now, but those were really my thoughts. All I was living through at the time was just the price of admission, wasn’t it?

And the school years. Were we really going to need all this knowledge we were cramming? Everybody knew that this material was ancient history and that the real world was going to make it all irrelevant. Were any of the teachers people we could respect? I was cleaning out the shelves of the library with the books I was reading. That’s where my education came from, from the stories of real lives that people were leading, that people had led. I was finding my heroes there, and imagining the wonders I would realize when I finally broke free. Until then, I knew to play the game, do the work, pass the exams, collect the admission cards I was going to need. There was the brightly shining future ahead of me. I would accomplish wonders!

Then, there I was. Off on my own. Now I would remake the world. But I was a father, supporting a family. And the “membership cards” I had earned were the only things I had that were going to help pay the bills. I could see then that the stories I told myself and that I read in the library were just fairy tales – the parent who slogged away at work for many years to support us was the model I was going to have to follow. And the parent who took care of my creature comforts was the one who taught me I was valuable and that I could accomplish whatever I set my mind to. And the family members I took for granted were the only ones in the world who took me at face value, no questions asked.

Could I measure up to the hero I believed I was? Could I leave a mark, or marks, that would have the kind of impact I had always assumed I would realize in my life’s work? I am now looking back and trying to understand. I am looking back to appreciate what I have come to believe are the things that have value, and which may have escaped me when I was so focused on looking forward into the glare of a bright future.

I am evaluating what I offered, what I left for the generation I helped usher into the world. When they were able to free themselves from the burden of my stewardship, did they come away with anything that proved useful to them for their lives? I hope so. It was something I didn’t appreciate enough in my growing up.

I am evaluating what I offered, what I left to others, as I was serving to glorify my own image to myself. Am I satisfied that, while I was seeking to realize the potential I believed I had, some of the things I accomplished also helped others? I hope so. That was at the heart of the fairy tales I dreamed for myself when I fantasized about the future all those years ago.

What I now appreciate is how radically the looking-forward person I was has been altered by the living experience. The inexplicable arrogance and self-indulgence of the creature who was cast forward into the world is revealed and, looking back, he has learned to eat and relish humble pie.

Hopefully, we learn how much of what we earn for ourselves in life flows from the generosity of others, in the form of love, attention, time and materials. Hopefully, we learn that, if we are to be happy, we in turn have to be willing to share what we have to offer. Hopefully, we become eager to share, if only to taste the psychic rewards such actions yield.

Nowadays, I spend my time looking back, trying to understand my life more fully. Am I that much different from you?

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

How we can live after death

It is the instinct of all living things to try to stay alive, humans among them. Most religious doctrines pay a great deal of attention to this issue. And many people, whether part of an organized religion or not, believe that a spirit leaves the body after death. Where viewpoints vary mainly is what happens then.

In many belief systems, we stay alive in some form or another even after death. Hindus, like Buddhists, believe that a departing spirit is reincarnated into some other life form. Buddhists believe there is no guarantee that the life form will be human; they believe that liberation from the cycle of life is the only desirable objective, a state they call nirvana.

The monotheistic religions all have some concept of an afterlife, with outcomes based on our behaviour during our life on earth. Indeed, both Christianity and Islam see the afterlife as the most desirable state, at least for the righteous, compared with our life on earth, the current one being a “a vale of tears.” Judaism also sees a reward for the righteous, with a resurrection when the Messiah arrives to usher in the “End of Days” and heaven on earth. But Jews, in contrast, are urged to live the fullest possible life while alive, every life being precious.

Without entering into discussions on this issue as to the merits of one position or another, I have drawn some conclusions as to their relevance on the question of staying alive. Empirical evidence from religious enthusiasts is meagre, relying on faith rather than hard facts, or reports of a life, or lives, after death from thousands of years ago. These form the basis for the promise underlying the religious thesis.

The realization of a positive outcome in the religious sphere depends on an unblemished life experience. I cannot count on being among those judged as sufficiently righteous and deserving. That leaves me with the task of doing the best I can to extend the life I know about, the one I am living now. Having past the four-score mark is evidence that I have done some things right, having already survived many of “the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.” I must have good DNA.

Chance has favoured me in my encounters with accident, disease and body-systems breakdowns. I have survived my encounter with “the big C” up to this time. I have diabetes under apparent control, but one never knows, as it works its damage asymptomatically.

I take pills in abundance to ward off the evils of sugar, high blood pressure and stroke. I quit smoking in my early forties and drink alcohol sparingly. My food habits are not outrageous, without denying myself the favourites that make life worth living. I exercise religiously when not on holiday. I have given up driving on the promise it will increase my life expectancy. Best of all, I pass my life with the woman of my dreams. Life is grand.

The other night, I spent some time with family. We found ourselves talking about our experiences with forbearers who had gone before us. For a short while, it appeared to me almost as if those ancestors were there with us, alive and sharing our good times. Like a lightning bolt, it struck me that that was truly another way of staying alive. The people in our lives who are important to us, those who have marked us in our life experience, they continue to be alive for us as long as they remain in our memories. They never disappear for us as long as we live; they go on being a part of our lives.

So, that’s the secret. We must continue to be important in the lives of the people who surround us. As long as we do that, we will stay alive even after we are physically gone. We have to cherish those we care for while we have them, in part so they will continue to cherish us.

But this does not apply to family only. It is true for all the people in our lives to whom we reach out, to all those we touch and those who touch us. If we want to stay alive, we have to do the reaching out.

Moses and Jeremiah and Isaiah and Jesus can thus be alive for us as well, if they have touched us and touched our lives. Shakespeare and da Vinci are alive for me. Spinoza is alive for me. Danny Kaye and Sid Caesar are alive for me, as is Beethoven.

They are all alive for me because they are a part of who I am. All the people who have made me what I am are alive for me every day of my life. I am surrounded by a crowd. Sometimes, they speak through me. You can’t spend much time with me without getting to meet some of them.

If I write something and it touches another soul, then I may still be alive for them whether I am physically there or not. Even for the people who no longer remember my name, I may still be alive for them in some cranny of their consciousness. That’s not so bad. If we can believe in that, in our own minds we have a future beyond our temporal experience of life.

So, now you know the secret. Go out there and talk to the people around you. Phone them. Write an email. Hug or kiss them if you can get away with it. You may get to live forever if they tell their children about you. If you know what you have done, if you have faith in it, as I do, regardless of your other beliefs, this can be your “promised land.”

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

Dig more deeply into identity

The Torah portions at this time of year, in Leviticus, are sometimes described as a hard sell. Leviticus’s detailed narrative about what is pure and safe, what’s diseased or leprous, and how priests can tell the difference isn’t light reading. It can be hard to interact with this kind of text.

At the same time, these details saved us as a people on numerous occasions. Keeping things clean, considering what was healthy, diseased or spoiled – historically, these things may have protected us from scourges like the Black Death. Analyzing the details of something difficult and complicated helps us find greater truths or safety, which are not always obvious from the outside, just as we continue to wrestle with diseases or challenges we don’t understand today. Whether it’s something described in Leviticus or a new kind of virus, smart people have to work to figure these things out.

In order to keep myself “working” and intellectually active, I do lots of reading and thinking about things I encounter. However, I don’t have much time to do this while juggling my household, kids, dogs and work responsibilities. I listen to audiobooks while I do household tasks. This gives me a chance to think about something bigger than, for instance, chopping salad or changing bedding. We all have a lot of boring waiting, obligations and chores to get through. Engaging my brain and listening to a book makes me feel a lot better about this grunt work.

I used to think I had to finish everything I started, but if it’s too violent or scary, I now shut it off. I recently found a new category of book to “shut off.” It doesn’t have an easy label, like “mystery” or “non-fiction.” Maybe it should be called “superficial.” Here’s what I mean.

I was listening to a memoir that contained recipes. In itself, this was a quirky choice for an audiobook, but I like food and cooking. Beyond that, the premise was larger. The author had been editor of a publication that had gone out of business. The memoir was supposed to describe how she found new direction through her cooking. I don’t write mean book reviews, even when I’ve been asked to review something, but I just can’t recommend this book.

I got very nearly to the end when I had to give up. Why? The primary reason was that the author is described, in her biography, as a Jewish person. However, her book rhapsodized about the food she made for Christmas and Easter and, even further, about the true glory of pork and shellfish. OK, I figured, maybe her husband isn’t Jewish. But I did more research. He was.

I could live with the idea that this writer didn’t keep kosher. Heck, lots of Jews don’t. I could even live with the idea that she’d decided, for whatever reason, to celebrate Christian holidays, if only there had been some explanation of why. She rhapsodized about matzah brei (but why?!) and yet she didn’t tell her readers why she ate it in the springtime. After awhile, I even started to feel cranky about how she used way too much butter in every recipe. Time to shut it off!

At its heart, I told myself that, while using the majority culture’s touchstones, like Christmas and Easter, might make a book more saleable, it seemed like a betrayal far worse than cooking with non-kosher foods. When I thought about it longer, I concluded that the whole thing was vacuous. She’d never actually explained how the cooking had helped her heal or get over such a big professional loss. At that point, it didn’t matter how the book ended. I was done.

Awhile back, I had a writing gig on a national platform. My proud husband boasted about it to our Montreal friends. The articles paid less than what I published locally and were poorly edited, but my earnest “voice” came through. That seemed OK. Then the editor told me that she would only get in touch again after she assessed how my previous posts had done. (The ones that, while earnest, had been poorly edited.) I never heard back. I guess they weren’t successful in her eyes. Instead, I saw parenting posts on that platform that celebrated Jewish writers who extolled how they proudly chose to be secular or why they weren’t comfortable investing in their religious or cultural identities.

All around us, hate crimes are rising. Minorities – like Jews – are being harassed. Just because it hasn’t happened to you yet doesn’t mean it won’t. So, why not ask Jewish writers to dig deeper and figure out what that identity actually means? When the Gestapo killed Jews during the Second World War, they didn’t ask, “Are you assimilated? Secular? Do you celebrate Christmas?” No. Why not embrace or at least learn about your real background?

I felt angry. My time is so limited that I hate wasting these spare moments on reading something so intellectually lazy. In between raising kids and walking dogs, figuring out our taxes (in two countries) and the rest of life’s details, well, I might as well get more sleep instead. If an entire memoir, written by a well-known figure, sounds so tone deaf, it bothers me that she makes a living selling these books.

Worse, my articles might have been seen as too earnest, too religious and too detail-oriented, and were tossed in favour of someone who was happy to express his apathy and ignorance about his Judaism. It’s like the (non-Jewish) editor said, “Well, gee, we want the Jewish perspective, but only if it isn’t too Jewish.”

Leviticus is a hard slog. Yet, every year, we go through all of the five books of Moses and we try to dig deeper to find something new. There are many commentaries on Leviticus. Some explain it, and others try to give modern examples for how to relate to its narrative. These are all worthy intellectual exercises, much like choosing to listen to books while doing mind-numbing chores.

What’s not worth it? Let’s not waste time on empty-headed accounts from people who determinedly embrace their ignorance. If you want to stay committed to your identity – Jewish, political or other – keep learning and growing so you can express it with pride.

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. See more about her at joanneseiff.blogspot.com.

Some thoughts on happiness

How are you feeling today? Any aches and pains you wish would go away? Maybe a good night’s sleep will do the job because your health is basically in good shape. Or not. Are you and your partner getting along? Maybe you wish you had a partner or are sad about the one you lost? Is there love and affection in your life?

Are your efforts allowing you to make ends meet and to set a generous table in a place you are happy to be in? Do you have interesting things to do in your life that are making you feel fulfilled? And the kids, if you have any, are they well, and turning out how you had hoped? Are there things happening in the world that are so distressing they are making you unhappy? Is there anything you can do about it?

I am not looking for raging joy and ecstasy. We might look for moments like that sometimes in our lives. But that is unsustainable and we would burn out. It’s not the drug high we are looking for, it’s the quiet sense of satisfaction and accomplishment. It’s a feeling of well-being and comfort in your own skin and “all’s well with my world.”

There are so many things in life that can go wrong; it’s a miracle we ever have a happy moment. Something like the bodies we inhabit, we inhabit such a complex environment. There is the great potential for one of many of the things we face to go wrong. Or, for things to come out very differently from the way we might like things to work out. Fortunately, so many of the important things about our bodies are on automatic and are mostly made to last a lifetime. The lives we get to live are not like that. A lot of it depends on chance but a lot of it also depends on what we make of it.

I am well into my 80s, alive and in relatively good health. Retired, I have time to think about these things while many of you are out there sweating the 9-to-5. Without getting into too much detail, in my life I have worked hard and accomplished satisfying things that have benefited others as well as myself. I can conclude that life has treated me kindly. I have washed up on a friendly beach, and now the living is easy. Because I know I have earned my way, I don’t have to feel guilty about my good fortune, and I am grateful for what help I received along the way. I hope those of you out there at my age and stage feel the same way.

I can contrast that with the life my father lived. His father left the family when he was a child, coming to Canada to make his fortune. (My grandfather made his living in Canada with a horse and cart, collecting junk that he could sell to dealers.) My father’s mother died of typhoid, in Russia, and my father and his brother were shuttled around to relatives. His father, already in Canada, finally sent money for him and his younger brother to join him. My father never received any formal education.

When he arrived from Danzig to England, they found that my father had pink eye and the authorities took him off the boat. They were going to send him back to where he came from. Somehow, though, he evaded them (still a teenager) and he spent two years hiding out in London before he was able to come to Canada. I don’t know what he did when he arrived in this country, but, in the years I was growing up (I was born in 1934), he never seemed to have a steady job.

His big break came when the Second World War started and all the young men were called up as soldiers. My dad was hired to shovel coal into a furnace, the heat being used for drying eggs to be shipped to England. Because the engineers were drafted too, soon he was asked to study for papers that would allow him to replace the engineers. How did they know he could do it?

All my school years, my father was studying his books at the kitchen table. When I tried reading his stuff, it made my head spin. He became a full-fledged stationary engineer by the time the war was over. All three of us kids in my family got secondary educations. My father died at 67, still on that job. He was a happy man, I think. Compared to him, I had it easy.

So, what does it take to be happy? Isn’t it about having the right answers to some of the questions I asked when we got started? It sure helps if your health is good. It sure helps if the kids you had turn out healthy and self-sufficient. It sure helps if you have had someone in your life to love, and if someone has loved you. It sure helps if you have, or have had, fulfilling work. It sure helps if you know that you have done things that have benefited others as well as yourself. It sure helps if you have earned the means to meet your needs.

You don’t have to have them all. Just having some of these things, and the proper attitude, and you get to catch the brass ring. Having a sense of gratitude for the things you do have helps a lot, too. Be happy.

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

The miracle that is our body

What do we really know about the marvelous vessel we are fortunate enough to inhabit? Don’t we mostly just take it for granted? We were popped into the world without our say so, but, in return, we inherited millions of years of human evolution in the bodies we have been bequeathed.

You will be enlightened to learn that our bodies are so filled with energy that we emit light, although our eyes are too weak to detect it. Information speeds along our nerves at 400,000 miles per hour, our brains hosting 100,000 chemical reactions per second. Blood corpuscles run through our bodies, covering 20,000 kilometres daily. We breathe 20,000 times a day to provide them with the oxygen our bodies need to function.

Our noses can differentiate three trillion different scents, and our eyes millions of different colours. Our skin has 100 pain sensors per square centimetre. Our stomachs are producing more new cells faster than those that are being destroyed by the acids of digestion. We produce one litre of saliva a day to keep things juicy. Operating all this is the work of our brains, which are actually more active when we are asleep than when we are awake.

Did we luck out or what? The most amazing thing is that, most of the time, the apparatus keeps on working for a lifetime with few or no problems. Our hearts beat away three billion times during our lives, we consume 35 tons of food on average and shed two to four kilograms of skin every year.

Women will be interested to know that their tongues are blessed with more taste buds than their male counterparts. They may be less happy to learn that we have 67 different types of bacteria in our bellybuttons and more bacteria in our mouths than the number of people on this planet.

With all of this going on in our bodies automatically, what are we in charge of? Where do we come in? Where does individual will come from? What is it that makes us the particular person we are? When do we get to be the person we think we are?

That may be where DNA comes in. That is the stuff our parents gave us, half the package from each of them. Out of the incredible hodge-podge that each of them got from their parents – millions, maybe billions, of different potentialities – chance determined the particular combination of traits we received from them. What we got influenced not just our physical heritage, but our mental and emotional elements are inherited, as well. After that, given some reasonable nurturing (something a lot of kids don’t get), each of us is on our own to make what we can of what we got.

We have five main chemicals in the brain, most of them variations of the feel-good type. We tend to pursue activities and things that make us feel good and that stimulate the flow of those chemicals in our brains.

We work because we enjoy the work, or because we enjoy having the money we will earn from that work. We pursue the company and attentions of those who make us feel good, sometimes becoming addicted (falling in love?) and desiring a permanent attachment. We strive because achieving the object of our effort will give us pleasure, be it knowledge, respect, money, power, fame, or all of them.

The vigour with which we pursue these things may arise from our DNA or from the kind of nurturing we experienced in our growing up, or both. Studies have shown that, in identical twins separated at birth, genetics accounted for 50% to 70% of outcomes and behaviours. There is little doubt that DNA programming is important, but behavioural differences between individuals can lead to different outcomes.

For some of us, all this may have relevance only to the degree it illuminates the course our own life is taking or has taken. Do we feel we got a fair shake in the lottery that landed us in the birth basket we arrived in? Did the environment we arrived in, the legacy our DNA bestowed on us, give us a fair chance to grab the golden ring(s) that satisfied our aspirations or desires? Did our grit and determination permit us to overcome the obstacles we faced in life so that we are more satisfied with where we are compared to where we started from? Are we happy?

Our lives are the body of proof.

Max Roytenberg is a Vancouver-based poet, writer and blogger. His book Hero in My Own Eyes: Tripping a Life Fantastic is available from Amazon and other online booksellers. The term “body of proof,” used in this article, is taken from the name of a television drama about a medical examiner that ran on ABC from 2011 to 2013.

Talmudic advice on life, work

If you listen to lifestyle advice, finding one’s work-life balance has never been harder. Indeed, work obsesses many of us 24/7. We’re always struggling to find time for family, household and leisure activities. Like every generation, we think we’ve invented a new problem.

It only takes a little while studying Jewish texts to respond to this with a “Don’t be ridiculous!” Yes, our technology makes our work lives faster and more omnipresent, but, in Jewish tradition, we’ve been discussing and debating how to balance these issues for thousands of years.

When I started thinking about this, I remembered how many detailed tips are available to us by studying Midrash and Talmud. There are discussions about how much sleep we need. Depending on their profession, there are views about how many times a week men are obligated to be intimate with their wives. There is advice on how to raise your (Jewish) children and how to take care of your livestock.

By the way, in case you raise livestock (for work or fun) or have pets, you should always feed them first, before you eat. Is that irrelevant? Not in my household, where we conscientiously feed our dogs first every morning and evening, before breakfast and dinner. (It cuts down on begging at the table, too.)

A few weeks ago, a new start-up that works on networking and advice for people in university alumni communities asked me to participate in a career path interview. It was done entirely online. I was happy to do it, because it struck me as a useful exercise. New university graduates might be able to learn from older peers, and gain useful information and connections. I responded to the questions without hesitation.

Although I listed plenty of professional qualifications, I focused on how important it was to be flexible, evolving and intellectually curious as your life changes. In my experience, things like getting married, having health issues or kids, or moving affect your career path enormously. I figured this was not news to anyone, but that it was advice worth offering to 20-somethings or career changers.

To my surprise, someone at the start-up contacted me and asked if they could feature me in a “career journeys” email. At first, I thought, “Sure, why not?” I even wondered if it might bring in more writing or editing jobs. Then I read their draft.

Their draft email sandwiched my photo and quote in between two male professionals, a medical physician/specialist and a virtual reality DJ. The quote they chose for me highlighted that moving for my husband’s academic career forced me reinvent myself to find paying work and to stay competitive.

I was the only woman featured, and the only professional whose married status was mentioned first. I felt angry. Why were my peers’ work credentials front and centre but, for me, it was about marital status and career sacrifice for a partner?

I asked them to cut me from their interview or significantly revise what they posted. I pointed out why. They responded quickly, apologized, and let me revise the text so that it featured what I brought, as a professional, to the conversation rather than my gender or family status. In the end, my quote read: “You do not need to know ‘what you want to be when you grow up’ when you are 18 or 21. We need to be flexible, evolving and intellectually curious.”

So far, at least, I have heard nothing as a result of the e-newsletter’s publication but, at least, I’m not embarrassed by it.

Twenty years ago, this past June, our wedding program featured a quote from Bava Metsia 59a. It came from what Rav Papa said to Abaye: “If your wife is short, bend down and listen to your wife, and whisper in her ear.” If you’ve ever met me (and my partner) in person, you know that I am certainly short … and the key to keeping a healthy balance is in these discussions, too. If we want to maintain good work lives and, more importantly, healthy, happy overall lives, we need to listen to one another, and value what we each bring to the table.

Sometimes, it’s hard work to maintain a marriage, raise kids, or even feed the dogs promptly before we eat. The technology aspect of the work-life balance makes us think that it’s all new, but something was always the newest thing in every generation. Rather, look at it another way. We aren’t alone. Network backwards. We’re lucky to be bolstered by thousands of years of good Jewish advice. Just like our ancestors, we’re free to sift through it and take what works best for us.

Joanne Seiff writes 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. See more about her at joanneseiff.blogspot.com.

Do you have a gratitude list?

Ever had coffee with a friend and complained the whole time? As the gripe session takes a downward spiral, I often feel worse than I did beforehand. I’ve taken time off to see a friend … and we may be smiling, but we’re dumping negativity on each other.

True, we need to get those feelings out, but repeating bad thoughts without finding upbeat solutions doesn’t do us any good. The mind creates an “alternate reality” in which we only see the negatives. Plus, by doing this with someone else, we compound the bad experience. How do we change our inner narrative?

Recent neuroscience and psychology research indicates that consciously creating a daily gratitude list may help us feel better. This rewires the brain, helping us get rid of toxic feelings in order to embrace the good ones. If you’re Jewish and traditionally religious, this may not be news. The world’s major religions feature “gratitude lists” in daily prayers. If you already pray – and you pay attention to those thanksgiving prayers we do each day – you may provide yourself with a more positive outlook, even if those prayers aren’t necessarily personalized ones.

It’s great to have a gratitude list “built in,” but, if you don’t do formal prayer, for whatever reason, you can still create an informal gratitude list. Here are some tips to get started.

1) Food. Most Canadians are lucky, we have enough food. Choose things that taste good – and be grateful. Think about it. While you’re at it, consider what it’s like to be hungry. If you can afford to donate to the food bank or provide food for others, that’s a great way to show your gratitude.

Most of us know the Hamotzi, the blessing over bread, or the Kiddush, over wine or grape juice. You could push yourself just a bit farther and think about learning the blessings for other foods. Even if you aren’t saying a blessing each time you eat, even a moment of gratitude for food is worth it.

2) Sleep. There’s a reason that sleep deprivation is used as a form of torture. If you’ve gone without sleep for extended periods – parents, this means you! – you know that having uninterrupted, deep sleep is something to appreciate. I am grateful every day that I get more than six hours of resting horizontally. In that hazy space after waking up and before getting out of bed, relish that feeling of rest. Anyone with a small child knows you can’t be sure when you’ll next get enough sleep, so enjoy it whenever you can.

We’ve got prayers for this, too, of course. We say Modeh Ani when we get up, expressing thanks for “returning our soul” after waking up from sleep. Another prayer thanks G-d for giving the tired strength. I often look around at a service when this is said and think about how we all keep on keepin’ on, getting things done even when we feel exhausted.

3) Housing. Did you sleep in a safe place? Are you able to eat your meals indoors when it’s cold out? Not everyone has this opportunity. Stable access to affordable housing is a Canadian problem. There are days when we all worry that we cannot afford to keep up with housing maintenance. However, there is nothing better than a cozy, warm space indoors during a rainstorm. If you feel thankful to have a safe, comfortable home, consider those who don’t. Homelessness is a Canadian problem. Together, we can think of positive solutions beyond a gratitude list, but we work together better by taking care of ourselves first.

The prayer for this? Birkat Habayit. Different versions include verses from the Torah. The summary? Let this be a peaceful, joyful house, without discord, fear or conflict. Let there be knowledge, wisdom and learning in this home. Let it be filled with holiness, G-d’s presence and beauty.

4) The weather and our natural world. Canadians love to moan about weather. It’s a popular hobby. Yet, we have access to four amazing seasons. Jewish prayers include mention of rain, the growth of crops and animals, sunshine, and even the arrangement of the stars in the firmament. That’s pretty great stuff in there. I’m pretty inspired by nature, growing things and the earth when I read the liturgy carefully.

5) Our bodies. Did you know that many faith traditions have specific ways to appreciate how our bodies are made? It can be amazing to acknowledge how cleverly our bodies work. When you exercise next, even if it is walking to the corner, consider how well things function. Even moderate amounts of exercise keep us healthy and make us feel good. The next time you play a musical instrument, sing, talk, laugh, smell a scent or breathe? Remember to be grateful it’s all working mostly as it should.

Our liturgy includes Asher Yatzar, a prayer that acknowledges how amazing it is that our bodily functions (like going to the bathroom regularly) work so well. Without this functionality, we couldn’t use our bodies to their greatest potential.

6) Our clothing. Are you dry and comfortable? Warm or cool according to the season? Humans used to spin, weave, knit, crochet and sew everything they wore by hand. We’re lucky that our “modern” clothes are easy to come by, but disposable clothing doesn’t show gratitude towards the earth or those who made the clothes. Another aspect of thankfulness is to make things last – to take care of our clothes, mend them, wash them and pass them along when they’re no longer needed. If we value well-made, long-lasting clothes, we also help others stay warm and clothed by using less.

We recite the Malbish Arumim, thanking G-d for clothing the naked. It’s a chance to remember how lucky we are to have the right clothing for the season, occasion and our needs.

Focusing on gratitude doesn’t mean ignoring bad stuff. We can’t (and shouldn’t) screen out the world news, suffering, or upsetting things that happen every day. However, being thankful for small, everyday things can make us better able to cope. Research indicates that it can ease depression, make us more patient, better at taking care of ourselves and our relationships, and help keep us on an even keel, where we might do things in moderation: sleep well, eat less and maintain a sustainable feeling of contentment.

These are many reasons to figure out why we’re thankful – every day. If you voice your thanks to others, you’ll be using good manners. All could benefit from an increase in honest, well-intentioned civility! Pay it forward. Pass along these good feelings of gratitude about what we have. I’ll start. Thank you for reading this – and thinking about gratitude.