relationships

Knishes and relationships

My kids came home asking about knishes. Did I know how to make them? Where do we buy them? I thought this was weird. I asked for more information.

Their school resource teacher and International Baccalaureate coordinator, Ms. T, plays an important role in their lives. She does lunch time enrichment clubs, coaches sports, and her responsibilities include supporting kids with disabilities, and the IB program. When I say that I’m not sure how she does it all, one of my kids springs up out of his seat, showing how she crouches in front of a computer in one office, typing madly. Then he dashes across the kitchen to indicate her rush to the next office, to crouch at another desk. She is, simply, everywhere.

This is when I learned that Ms. T said knishes were not, in fact, everywhere. In Winnipeg, people buy these ethnic foods from synagogues who cater, a Jewish deli or bakery. Due to a strange confluence of events, two Winnipeg synagogues are under renovation currently and without their usual catering kitchens. Other sources for knishes apparently hadn’t worked out. As a result, one of our favourite teachers was bereft of knishes.

As a kid in Virginia, I experienced knishes in two ways: one involved a street cart vendor when visiting New York with family members. The other came from a frozen packet from a far away kosher grocery store in Maryland. I’d never made one at home. I’d never considered it. It wasn’t eaten frequently in my house. Winnipeggers eat them more often. Of course, since moving here, I have, too, but I don’t miss them when they aren’t around.

I was thinking about our relationships with knishes, teachers and community recently, when I took a class from My Jewish Learning on the Hadran prayer, taught by Rabbi Elliot Goldberg. What’s that? Funny you should ask. When a person finishes studying a tractate of Talmud, they recite this prayer. I’d never heard of it until I started studying Talmud daily. When we got to the end of the first tractate, I learned that, when one finishes this kind of thing, there is a siyyum, a celebration of one’s completion of study. I’d never heard of a siyyum as a kid at a Reform congregation. When I first attended one as an undergraduate, it seemed like something that I would never be involved in. I remember an awkward party at the Jewish Living Centre with stale cookies, juice and cheers about the gawky guy with glasses who had finished studying … I’m not sure what. In a siyyum, there’s food, there’s a public teaching of something you’ve learned, and the community cheers you on.

With the start of the pandemic, my own siyyum events have been online, usually through My Jewish Learning. There’s no food on Zoom, so that aspect of the celebration is muted, as is the cheering and crowd. Nonetheless, I have grown to love these events. It’s an hour that I pull out of my day at random, whenever it’s held online, and even during remote school or summer break or whatever, it’s “Mom’s siyyum time.” I’m learning with rabbis online via an iPad, even while making peanut butter sandwiches for lunch or hiding from the whole household to concentrate. It’s cerebral. It’s a shared learning community. It’s oddly emotional.

The first time I heard the Hadran prayer read, I cried. I found myself wondering what was wrong with me, but this class spelled out why it feels meaningful. The Hadran is usually said after studying a seder (order) of Mishnah or a tractate of the Babylonian Talmud, but sometimes it is said at a rabbinical school graduation, a Jewish high school graduation. It’s an acknowledgement. It starts with, “We will return to you, Tractate X (whatever tractate you’re studying), and you will return to us; our mind is on you, Tractate X, and your mind is on us; we will not forget you, Tractate X, and you will not forget us – not in this world and not in the next world.” The prayer goes on to talk about the blessing and value of studying Torah, and the hope that our descendants will have the same opportunities. It’s well worth a read. (Look up “Hadran” on sefaria.org.)

The entire text creates emotional ties and intellectual relationships. I’m connected to the mysterious 10 rabbis from long ago and to unknown great-grandchildren in this text. I’m connected to a cycle of learning and a return to sacred study. I’m grateful for the opportunity, and mindful that it takes work to study, even if it’s a holy endeavour. It’s a prayer that acknowledges that readers have relationships with texts, which mimics what I learned in graduate school about some literary theory, too. That long-ago English professor taught that, when we read novels or newspapers, our life experience, reading skills and emotions bring half of the meaning to the words in front of us. We’re in relationship with texts, just like we’re in relationships with our teachers and communities.

We had an afterschool Reach for the Top trivia tournament to attend with Ms. T. I knew what to do. I figured it out in advance. I made potato knishes. As we hopped out of our car, my twins recognized Ms. T’s bright blue Jeep. They rushed towards her, with carry-out containers full of potato knishes.

I joked, saying, “Who makes knishes?! They come from a cart in New York City!” With a sombre smile, she said, “My baba.” Her grandmother used to make her knishes. Oh. I gave a flip response, saying, “OK! I’ll be your baba now.” She put the knishes in the car and we went off to the three-hour tournament. Ms. T rushed out later. That night, she sent me an email of thanks, saying it made a delicious snack when she headed to her next meeting.

We’re in a cycle of relationships in life, with lots of connections. A siyyum is an opportunity for us to celebrate and acknowledge hard work with a closure ritual. The Hadran tells us that “we will return” to a beloved text or, perhaps, to a beloved teacher.

The trivia tournament might not be Talmud. The knishes aren’t always round, or even necessarily knishes, but the connections between text, teachers, generations of learning, eating and love are real and they’re part of making Jewish meaning, too. A siyyum’s ritual of completion is always linked to food and a sense that we’re part of a bigger family and cycle of life. We return to you – whether it’s a knish made with love or a tractate of Talmud.

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.

Connecting from heart

Zelik Segal teaches an ongoing, free class in Nonviolent Communication. (photo from Zelik Segal)

We’ve all had an experience in which someone is short-tempered with us for no apparent reason, or doesn’t respond to us as we would like. We have a choice in that moment to react in kind or to pause, understanding that they may be having a bad day, or are dealing with chronic pain, or any number of things that have little or nothing to do with us. In situations like these, something called Nonviolent Communication (NVC) might come in handy.

In a nutshell, NVC teaches how to observe a conflict with objectivity, in place of subjective evaluations of right and wrong or appropriate and inappropriate. It also teaches how to sort out your own feelings and understand what needs of yours are in play, then how to determine what action might fulfil your needs in a conflict without taking away from the needs of the other person or people.

Want to experiment with that process? Zelik Segal teaches an ongoing, free class in NVC in Vancouver that helps people who are experiencing conflict and are ready to address it. It could be a marital problem or an ongoing argument with a friend or family member.

Segal took his first course in NVC in 2012 and has been facilitating and practising for the past six years; he is working on his certification. Segal began studying NVC after he retired from 18 years as a bus driver with Coast Mountain Bus Company. Prior to that, he worked as Lower Mainland regional coordinator for the B.C. Head Injury Program, under the ministry of health.

“When coming into a group to teach NVC, I also experience learning together and creating community that feeds my soul,” Segal told the Independent. “And having the good fortune to have discovered this jewel of living a more rewarding life, I like to share my good fortune with anyone else willing to learn.”

Segal calls himself an “empathy coach.” As such, he sometimes helps NVC students unravel difficult situations in their lives.

“Teaching NVC is the most immediate and direct way I can fulfil the talmudic statement from Rabbi Tarfon, who said, ‘You are not responsible to complete the task (of repair, tikkun olam), nor are you free from doing your part.’”

Segal recognizes that NVC is not always effective in resolving conflict and that it can take a lot of patience to sort through complex situations. He told the Independent that it did, however, change his life.

“While my connections to people and activities have remained the same as they were before I began to practise NVC, the way I connect and experience these connections are significantly different and far more satisfying,” he said. “I have learned to apply my learning to my marriage, to my employment as a bus driver prior to my retirement, to my retirement, to family and to my own self.”

Psychologist Marshall Rosenberg developed NVC in the 1970s. In part, it was his reaction to the bullying he went through in school because of his Jewish surname. In his book Nonviolent Communication: The Language of Life, he states that bullying is a “tragic expression of unmet needs.”

Segal further explained that Rosenberg’s nine categories of needs are safety, sustenance, love, empathy, community, creativity, recreation, meaning and autonomy.

Rosenberg became famous for creating dialogue between people around the world who were involved in violent conflicts, including Israelis and Palestinians. Trainers in NVC today are continuing his work.

“While NVC teaches the use of compassionate understanding to achieve resolution of conflict, it supports the use of force in situations where there is a threat to life, where the other party is unwilling or unable to enter into conversation and presents a threat,” said Segal.

Rosenberg suggested that, in times of conflict, people respond by defending themselves, attacking the other or withdrawing from the situation, sometimes even experiencing complete collapse, explained Segal.

“Learning that emotions are rooted in previous learning and part of a complex, unconscious process in the brain and directly rooted in the degree to which needs are fulfilled, one can then respond with curiosity and reflection in place of old patterns of reaction,” he said.

Segal sees NVC as a way to practise Judaism’s emphasis on social justice and “apply many of the maxims expressed by the rabbis in Pirkei Avot [Ethics of Our Fathers],” he said.

If you have questions about NVC or are interested in Segal’s classes, you can contact him at [email protected]. Rosenberg’s books are available online and the Centre for Nonviolent Communication, which he founded, offers international training and certifies individuals as trainers: cnvc.org.

“NVC is about connecting with ourselves and others from the heart,” it says on the centre’s website. “It’s about seeing the humanity in all of us. It’s about recognizing our commonalities and differences and finding ways to make life wonderful for all of us.”

Cassandra Freeman is a freelance writer living in Vancouver.

Witnessing as relationship

We’re experiencing a transformation in Winnipeg – one that holds hands with truth and reconciliation. Recently, a statue of Queen Elizabeth II, newly restored, was put back on a plinth in front of the Manitoba Legislature. The media showed it, fixed and shiny, and reported on the cost of repair. The next day, it was vandalized again.

Two years ago, on Canada Day, protesters knocked down two statues, those of Queens Victoria and Elizabeth II. The statue of Queen Victoria was too damaged to repair; its pedestal was covered with the protesters’ red handprints, like the blood of all the Indigenous children lost. It was both vandalism and art installation, a painful reminder of the clash between colonialism and Indigenous suffering in our country.

This struggle is ongoing and Winnipeg spells it out through violence, poverty and discrimination. Much of the time, the discrimination appears invisible to those who don’t witness it, but it’s there. I’ve admired the strength of one Indigenous activist, Vivian Ketchum, who described being followed around in a drugstore on June 11, 2023, by a security guard – an older woman, she didn’t hesitate to discuss this fact with the much younger security guard and then resolved the issue with the manager. A day later, the CBC featured a story that also included Ketchum, this time describing how, when an Indigenous woman goes missing, the friends and family must go looking for her themselves because, even after reporting, the police don’t appear to be listening or helping.

Being a witness is something I’ve been learning as I study Daf Yomi, a page of Babylonian Talmud a day. In Gittin, the Tractate about divorce, there’s an extended discussion among the rabbis about the get (a Jewish divorce document), how it should be written, delivered and witnessed for a valid divorce. It turns out that practically anyone can write the document, but the divorce is not valid unless specific parts are personalized, delivered and witnessed in front of the right people. The witnesses and the act of witnessing the document being signed are the important parts.

As a writer, it doesn’t matter what I write if no one reads and “witnesses” it. Having an audience offering the right kind of respect or interest matters for those who produce content. The written word, on its own, doesn’t automatically have importance. It’s the relationship between the readers and the words that matters.

This notion of “being in relationship” is also part of what it means to be a treaty people, bound by the agreements made between Indigenous peoples and Canadian settlers. Relationships are a two-way stretch. It takes work on both sides to change and make a difference.

Here’s a personal example of “being in relationship.” Years ago, I had a traumatic experience with a close long-time friend. The friend ghosted me. She disappeared, without explaining why. It caused harm. I spent years trying to reach out, apologize and mend things. I couldn’t understand what had happened. I was deeply hurt.

Eventually, I realized that it takes two people to be friends. One person cannot do it on her own. A friendship is a relationship. If only one person is relating, there is no friendship. This realization enabled me to stop trying to fix things. Instead, I mourned the loss and moved on. To my surprise, about 15 years after this “break up,” this friend sought my forgiveness. We’ve worked towards a new relationship ever since. It will never be the same, but we’re both trying.

Although this wasn’t a marriage breakup, it contained enough parallels that it helped me gain a deeper understanding of failed relationship and the need for Jewish rituals to cope with it. The Jewish rituals around divorce and the giving or receiving of a get are far from perfect. They are deeply flawed in the ways that men can maintain power and control over their wives – only men can give women a divorce in this religious model. Yet, for many, the ritual has deep value.

In Winnipeg, there are individual efforts to make relationships and try to push reconciliation forward. It’s a difficult process. It’s not happening with enough speed. Like other relationships in our lives, it takes work. We must fix broken systems to acknowledge the ongoing racism around us. When the government mended the statue of Queen Elizabeth and erected it back on the Manitoba Legislature grounds, it wasn’t done with the necessary relationship work in place. Almost immediately, the statue was labelled with spray painted words like “Colonizer” and “Killer.” While some find this disgraceful vandalism, others see it as no less than the truth. Queen Elizabeth reigned over Canada during a time in which residential schools still held control over many Indigenous peoples, harming and sometimes killing their children and families.

If we’re in relationship with others, we have to be open to seeing others’ worldviews. This is only possible when we witness others’ needs and stand ready to serve others as part of a bigger community. Yes, someone needs to write a get, a Jewish divorce, but, without appropriate witnesses, it cannot become a valid divorce. When we witness others’ needs at their most painful moments, giving them validity, together, we’re in a meaningful relationship.

In past years, the Winnipeg Canada Day celebration at the Forks included fireworks. After the news about the deaths of so many children at residential schools, the Forks changed its Canada Day focus. While there are still July 1 events at the centre of our city, they’re now more attached to Indigenous practices and meaning. This year, elders will open the event with a ceremony and a sacred fire. The day’s activities will be full of diverse cultural programming. Instead of fireworks, there’s a drone show, with 100 drones, to honour Indigenous teachings and tell stories about the stars.

It takes healing, ritual and forgiveness to get through serious trauma or to mend fractured relationships. Canada Day is still an important part of who we are as a country. Standing witness is an essential part of Jewish practice. Remembering how we Canadians got here, as a treaty people, in a relationship, can make our celebration more meaningful for everyone.

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

When the least is not enough

As we face the fourth wave and the COVID Delta variant, many Canadians are less concerned. If one is vaccinated, risks are much lower. Outside, I see many close-knit groups of people strolling on the streets to restaurants and bars. This correlates with Manitoba’s recent choice to abandon capacity and indoor mask requirements. For those with kids under age 12, it’s a scary scene right before school starts. The Delta variant is looking for vectors, and unvaccinated kids may be one of them.

It’s hard to stop thinking about this as a parent. In anxious moments, I hear the Jaws movie’s theme music as we drive past the elementary school. It’s still summer, but Rosh Hashanah, a new year and a time of reckoning are around the corner.

Much of the pandemic rhetoric now involves a refrain of “getting back to normal.” However, for many of us, we’re not sure normal’s going to ever be the same. Many people have died. Normal isn’t the same after the death of a loved one. Normal also isn’t the same for those who were very ill or are suffering from long COVID. For many parents, including me, this prolonged time at home with my kids has resulted in more teaching and childcare and a lot less time to work. Things may change, but “normal” is something elusive. If our kids are too young to be vaccinated, I’m not sure we’re there yet.

Yet, Elul, the Hebrew month where we contemplate our actions in time for the New Year, is upon us. Even if you don’t ever get to a morning minyan, someone’s blowing a shofar every day now, around the world, except for Shabbat. It’s time to wake up our souls.

This metaphor about “normal” has a lot in common with teshuvah, when we seek forgiveness for what we’ve done wrong to others this year. We apologize and seek forgiveness, but any relationship where one party harms another may remain forever changed. It’s one thing to look at the Torah portion of Re’eh (Deuteronomy 11:26-16:17) and read that Moses set before the Israelites the choice, from G-d, between blessing and curse, and simplistically say, “It’s easy! Choose to be a blessing.” Many sermons sound like this, but, when things go off track, it’s not always simple. Obviously, trying to fix it is the right thing to do, even though the effort may not make a relationship all better.

I’ve been studying the talmudic tractate of Sukkah and, on page 31a, there’s a good example of this kind of unsatisfactory resolution. On this page, an old woman comes before Rav Nahman, the exilarch (leader of the Babylonian Jewish community) and the sages and screams, saying they are sitting in a stolen sukkah. Remarkably, no one disagrees with her! She’s upset because the sukkah was constructed with wood that was stolen from her. Even though she’s right, Rav Nahman is condescending. He pays no attention to her.

Rav Nahman says, “This woman is a screamer and she has rights only to the monetary value of the wood. However, the sukkah itself was already acquired by the exilarch.” His legal ruling is that, when a sukkah is built of stolen wood, the wood’s original owner only deserves compensation for its value.

In Rabbi Elliot Goldberg’s introduction to this Talmud page online on My Jewish Learning, he is uncomfortable with this decision. In other talmudic discussions, a stolen lulav is invalid, or G-d denounces theft, even for the sake of heaven. Even if this stolen sukkah fulfils the commandments on Sukkot, Rabbi Goldberg writes that mistreating an elderly woman who has just been robbed is wrong. Rav Nahman lacks respect for her, demeaning her by calling her “a screamer” and failing to speak to her directly.

What is going to fix this relationship or make things “normal” again? If someone pays this woman for the wood, it doesn’t make appropriate amends for her experience, even if that were all she were entitled to legally.

When studying this, I saw an odd metaphor for some of what’s going on around us. We may be transitioning to a new time in which we all have to cope with COVID as endemic. Our new “normal” may include breakthrough illnesses in those who are vaccinated. It may include feeling unsafe or condescended to or unfairly dealt with, as we navigate changing public health orders that don’t keep some of us safe. This may feel risky or, for some people, like an amazing freedom, as they legally disregard the risks.

However, the chances of being ill or having long COVID remain. Like the old woman who is robbed, we may be eligible for compensation after the fact, but the original trauma remains. If someone steals your wood, it isn’t OK. You may get COVID, even if you’re vaccinated. It might not be OK. Worse yet, you could experience the loss of a child or another vulnerable family member who couldn’t be vaccinated. There’s no compensation for that. Losing even one person is too many.

I may be a risk-averse scaredy-cat, but I’ve been thinking about that talmudic elderly woman in Sukkah 31a. If she hadn’t been robbed in the first place, she wouldn’t have had to confront important rabbis and been treated poorly. The new normal for her didn’t get her wood or her dignity back. So, too, if we can be careful, perhaps we can avoid getting sick during a pandemic – but people don’t choose to be robbed or to be exposed to a virus. If we’re careful, bad things can still happen.

What does this mean for Rosh Hashanah this year? When we seek forgiveness and resolution with others, perhaps it’s not enough to simply try and fix only what we’re legally obligated to fix. If we want a “new normal” in a relationship or in society, we will have to build trust, mend fences and patch up things so that our mistakes can be mended. Our new societal normal should result in an even stronger darned fabric than what existed before the pandemic hole was torn out. We can’t expect everything to come out OK if we behave as Rav Nahman did.

I don’t know how the fourth wave will go, or if vaccination will protect our kids. We could think about one another, behave kindly and with compassion in the meanwhile. Masking up, keeping our distance, washing our hands, and doing extra for one another are important. We owe it to one another, and to that older woman that Rav Nahman shamed. Maybe, when it comes to some Jewish laws or health care, the bare minimum required by the law is just not good enough.

Love note across the divide

Eighteen years ago, when I lived in southern Israel, the region that is getting hammered by rockets as I write this, my boyfriend at the time – Muhammed – was a Bedouin Muslim, also living in the area. I went to visit my mother in Berkeley, Calif., for a month or so. During my visit, I was hanging out with a friend of mine, who had grown up a secular Jew, then married a religious Moroccan Muslim. She had been inspired by her husband’s religious devotion to explore her own religious tradition, starting to keep kosher, go to Orthodox synagogue, and so on.

She and I were driving through downtown Berkeley, when we got stopped at a red light. As it so happened, to the right of us was an anti-Israel demonstration and to the left of us was a pro-Israel demonstration. The crowds were shouting slogans, slogans that flew across the street, over our heads in the car, the two of us, Jewish women in relationships with Arab Muslim men. We turned to each other, held our gaze for a minute, then burst out laughing hysterically. When the light turned green, we took off, leaving the Arabs and Jews behind us, yelling at one another.

When we feel threatened, we can get into a defensive posture, Us-Them thinking, unproductive fact-flinging, conversations from the brain instead of from the heart. We can go around and around the same circle of thought and narrative, as, meanwhile, people’s lives are torn apart by trauma and tragedy. I believe that the path to peace is not through political conversations, but, rather, through emotionally intimate relationships with individuals – getting to know and care about them, listen to their stories, understand the complexities and nuances of their lives. So that there is no Us and Them, but rather, there is just Us, the human family.

Prior to my relationship with Muhammed, I was a very political person. I did not just attend rallies; I organized them. As an indigenous Middle Eastern Jew, the daughter of a refugee from Iraq, I certainly had a lot to yell about: I am a direct descendant of the people of ancient Israel, which was destroyed 2,600 years ago by the Babylonians, who took my ancestors as captives to Babylon – the land of today’s Iraq. My ancestors stayed on that land through the Arab-Muslim conquest of the region 1,300 years ago and up through the modern day, until shortly after the Farhud – the pro-Nazi wave of genocidal violence against Jews in Baghdad – following which, my family fled to Israel.

Despite the brutal violence, exile and traumatic uprooting my family endured, along with the material loss – all Jewish personal and communal property was confiscated and nationalized by the Iraqi government – and, despite the personal, intergenerational trauma that carried forward through the years, in Israel and the United States, my family story was invisible in public discourse about Arabs and Jews, in both the Arab and Jewish narratives. This was the case despite the fact that indigenous Middle Eastern Jews made up the majority of Israel’s Jewish population, and that there were 900,000 indigenous Middle Eastern Jewish refugees worldwide in the 20th century, with stories mirroring those of my family.

I spent 20 years of my young adult life devoted to getting these stories out there, with a mission of changing the way people think. I spoke at respected institutes, published in prestigious media, my work reaching the eyes and ears of tens of millions of people. Then, my thinking changed – not about the history or politics, which remained the same – but about what to do with the history and politics, how to interface with them.

Because Muhammed and I were together amid a volatile environment of Arab-Jewish enmity, we kept things apolitical in our relationship. Paradoxically, this led to what was perhaps the most political act of all: Arab-Jewish love, visible for others to witness. My neighbours went from cautioning me against dating Muhammed to asking if I was still with Muhammed, to asking how Muhammed was doing. They feared him at first, but then got to know him and care about him. Experiencing that transformation, in turn, made me realize that the simple things in life, the connection we feel in someone’s presence, can be more powerful and important than all the high-brow intellectual discourse in the world, the litany of things we may have to say, no matter how valid those things may be.

image - The author’s forthcoming album, Iraqis in Pajamas, includes songs in response to the violence in the Middle East — The author’s forthcoming album, Iraqis in Pajamas, includes songs in response to the violence in the Middle East.

In addition, after getting diagnosed with cancer and choosing to heal from it naturally, I radically shifted my values and priorities – with joy, peace and ease shooting up to the top of my list. As part of my transformation, I returned to my lost love of music and started writing songs that were deeply personal, from the heart, and, as far as I knew, entirely apolitical – leaving me surprised when, after a performance, a man told me not only that he loved my music but that it was very political. My music disarms people, he and others have told me, specifically because I have no agenda, no interest in persuading anyone of anything; rather, I am just sharing – my story, my life, my journey. The simplicity and space of it all allows people to open their hearts, listen and, ironically, after all those years trying to change people’s minds – transform the way people think.

I don’t know the solution to this conflict that has been raging on for decades, endangering the lives of my family and friends, Jews and Muslims alike. I do, however, know this: as individuals, we have the choice not to participate in divisive thinking, to instead use conflict as an opportunity to reach out to people across the divide and get to know one another, in the most basic human ways, whether playing basketball or playing music or going for a walk and enjoying the sunset. In our cynical world, putting love at the forefront of our consciousness may sound hokey or impractical. But, at the end of the day, I think it’s the only thing with the hope to effect change.

Loolwa Khazzoom (KHAZZOOM.com) is an Iraqi-American Jewish musician, writer and educator. Her work has been featured in top media, including the New York Times, the Washington Post and the Boston Globe. Her forthcoming album, Iraqis in Pajamas, with her band by the same name, includes songs in response to the violence in the Middle East.

Want to be a therapist?

Avrum Nadigel’s latest book, which he co-authored with the late Dr. David Freeman, is aimed at people contemplating a career in family therapy. (photo from Avrum Nadigel)

Therapist Avrum Nadigel’s latest book hit the shelves this month. Co-authored with the late Dr. David Freeman, Where Would You Like to Start: A Master Therapist on Beginning Psychotherapy with Families is structured as a conversation or interview between veteran therapist Freeman and then-newish therapist Nadigel.

Nadigel is a family marriage therapist based in Toronto. Originally from Montreal, where he had worked for the Jewish community for years, he moved to Vancouver for a spell. It was here that he met Freeman (who passed away in 2010).

Freeman had brought in various therapists to speak on marriage, love and respect at different events. Attending these lectures, Nadigel found what the therapists had to say “redundant and I didn’t find it very helpful for me. I had a pretty severe case of fear of commitment, and they all rambled on about the same thing. But, when David spoke, it blew my mind.”

About a year after hearing Freeman speak, Nadigel met, online, the woman who would become his wife, Dr. Aliza Israel. “She is from Vancouver, but was staying in Toronto at the time,” said Nadigel. “Now, we’re married and have three kids. And that all started because of David’s talk in Vancouver. David’s talk introduced me to a type of therapy called family systems theory.’”

Nadigel read many books on the topic, including Freeman’s, which made Nadigel rethink his previously held suppositions about relationships and marriage. “I changed the way I practise with my own clients,” he said.

Nadigel moved to Toronto when he was accepted into a residency there. He started up a private practice and began to look for someone to mentor him. At his wife’s suggestion, he reached out to Freeman in Vancouver, who, although semi-retired, was happy to supervise Nadigel via Skype.

Nadigel recalled some of the game-changing ways in which Freeman changed his way of thinking.

“When I was single, if I felt anxious or not good in a relationship, I was taught that this meant there was something wrong,” said Nadigel by way of example. A relationship “should be lovely, giving and with good communication, but, as soon as I get anxious, I bolt. Then, David comes around and goes … ‘Perhaps your own internal states of anxiety have nothing to do with the people you’re dating, but with your own internal struggle itself.’ It really changed how I saw discomforting feelings in intimate relationships. It helped me sit with them longer.”

Thinking about his eventual marriage to Israel, Nadigel said, “I often think back to that time and think, ‘How did all this work?’ Maybe, it was one part luck, one part theory and one part having a good therapist in my corner.”

In addition to Freeman’s counsel, Nadigel has done much study on family systems, notably he did post-graduate training with the Western Pennsylvania Family Centre, which teaches Bowen family systems theory, as formulated by the late Dr. Murray Bowen, a psychiatrist and founder of the theory.

Recalling his conversations with Freeman, Nadigel said, “David was very worried about two things. Number one, that people were focusing too much on hacks and behavioural changes, and that the system was much more powerful than that … and that the system would often, not always, but often, thwart any attempts the individual would try to make the change. So, he was very concerned that there were so few therapists offering a larger perspective about human suffering.

“The second thing he was very worried about – I think this is because he was a grandfather at the time of his death, he had two grandkids – was about the disconnect from wise elders in society. I think that’s really coming home to roost right now, the fact that we have the hashtag on Twitter, where it says, ‘BoomerRemover.’

“Some people are thinking that, well, it’s good about this coronavirus – it’s going to kill off all the old people and there’ll be more condos. I don’t know what the hell they are thinking but we really do see the elderly as an inconvenience in a lot of cases, and David thought this creates an impoverished culture – that, when you think of traditional society, it’s the elders who share life lessons that can only be acquired over time, through adversity and history. You can read a book, but it’s very different if an elder tells you what it was like to survive the Blitz in Britain. And David thought that young people in their marriages were impoverished, because of their lack of connection.

“So, with those two things,” said Nadigel, “I thought, maybe, if I can somehow convince David to write another book, I could be the young green therapist and he could be the senior guy. He could speak to me and motivate the next generation of therapists.

“I thought to myself that it should be snappy and quick.… I threw him the idea and I think the same day he got back to me and said he thought the format’s viable – except that, in this case, it would be Skype calls between a young therapist and a senior therapist…. We quickly started working on this once a week.

“Then, David had the manuscript and was going on vacation,” said Nadigel. “We had a few more chapters to write; he really liked where the book was going. Then, I got an email from him, a very brief email, which was odd, because he was much more verbose. It just asked if I could call him.

“I thought, that doesn’t sound good, that maybe he was going to say the book sucks. I called, and it was his now-widow [Judith Anastasia], who answered, and she said, ‘Avrum, I’m sorry to tell you, but David died of a heart attack while we were cycling in Croatia.’ I couldn’t believe it. It was a crazy summer. My dad died, my son was born and David died.”

Several years later, with Anastasia’s blessing and to honour Freeman’s memory and work, Nadigel started to complete their book.

“The book gives you a taste of a master therapist, to experience the wisdom and thinking he brought to thousands of families and couples he’s worked with over 40 years,” explained Nadigel. “And, once you finish the book, you might feel it’s your responsibility now to go and further your training in this area.

“David’s life work was helping people understand that, if you want to do well with your own personal goals and struggles and gridlock, you have to understand what you’re up against,” said Nadigel. “And you don’t do that by just talking about your neurotransmitters and serotonin and dopamine, or meditation…. It’s about certain ways of the here and now, that you either distance or connect through relationships that are happening right now – that are happening with your mother, your father, your sister, your aunt, your cousin. The work is staring you right in the face right now.”

Family system coaching, consultation or therapy, said Nadigel, is based on “the theory and the road map of going back and reworking through some of the gridlock in your family. And those people who are successful at doing something and thinking differently [about] their problems with their relationships – siblings, spouse, kids, whatever – [are] bringing those successes to every relationship. And that does not happen in the clinician’s office.

“Also, this type of therapy understands that human beings don’t get into problems because of their thinking – they get into problems because they are flooded with feelings…. It tries to promote good thinking to balance out strong feelings, toward being a little more strategic in how you conduct yourself in your relationships.”

And Nadigel himself is an example of how the approach can work.

“I’ve often thought that, if I was reading about this book, the interesting angle I always found … is that I was a punk rock alternative musician in Montreal. I was commitment-phobic and really saw marriage and family, marriage considerably, as the death knell of all that’s good in life – [that it’s] boring and sucks the nectar out of a good life. Then, David comes along in Vancouver and he just creates a profound paradigm shift in me, and I have come to a wildly different understanding. I’ve become a marriage therapist myself, a father, all this kind of stuff, so a pretty fundamental transition.

“I was one of these people that, once upon a time, really had a strong distaste for the very thing I’ve embraced,” said Nadigel. “It really is all credit to this one little talk in Vancouver in the JCC. There’s hope there. It doesn’t take years and years. It could be a 50-minute talk.”

Nadigel has created a blog and podcast to support the new book. To access it, visit nadigel.com/start. Electronic and hard copy versions of Where Would You Like to Start are available at amazon.ca.

Rebeca Kuropatwa is a Winnipeg freelance writer.

Blending families

Rebecca Eckler’s latest book is one of her most candid. (photo from Rebecca Eckler)

Rebecca Eckler knows firsthand the challenges of forming a mixed, blended or bonus family. Based on her experiences, the author, blogger and former National Post columnist has written Blissfully Blended Bullshit: The Uncomfortable Truth of Blending Families.

“Everyone was private messaging me saying, ‘I’m going through this with my blended family. I know you are in one. How do you handle this?’ I’m thinking, ‘People need help,’” Eckler told the Independent.

When the American television show The Brady Bunch first aired 50 years ago, its premise relied on what was then a rarity – two parents on their second marriage, each bringing three children into the same home.

“The difference with The Brady Bunch is you never saw exes. You never saw the grandparents or cousins. It was just about the family. But blended family is so many other people,” said Eckler. “There is a lot of suffering, and people in blended families don’t want to admit how hard it is,” including when parents take sides with their biological children in a tiff between siblings.

“I had no idea all the BS that pops up, and all the variations of people who have to get along,” she said.

Eckler described this, her 10th book, as “my favourite book because it’s so candid.” During the writing process, she and her then-partner “unblended” and she discusses many of the unexpected issues that arose from the breakup. For example, the biological siblings, half-siblings and bonus children now weren’t – quite suddenly – in one another’s lives regularly. The more familiar struggles of breaking up with someone included the division of possessions; in Eckler’s case, agonizing back-and-forths over mundane items like the microwave and bed.

While she and her ex now have new partners, other difficult situations lay ahead.

“You know what was the hardest thing for me?” she said. “Telling [her daughter] Rowan’s dad that another man was moving into the house with two children. I felt like he would feel that another man is taking over the role of ‘dad’ in my daughter’s life. I could hear him choking up when I was telling him.”

Then there was the time that one of her (new) stepdaughters asked Eckler to go prom-dress shopping. While in the dressing room, the daughter took selfies and sent them to her biological mother. “So,” said Eckler, “while I was invited to come with her, it was her mother who had the final say. These are things that you don’t think about until they happen to you.”

One lesson learned through all of this was that partners need to keep open the lines of communication.

“I think one of the biggest mistakes at the very beginning is, we discussed nothing, which was ridiculous, but I had ‘love goggles’ on. He moved into my house and his kids were in my house 50% of the time. So, for them, I think it never felt like their home. To me, it always felt a little like, ‘this is my home’ that you guys have moved into. The [new] kids didn’t even get to pick their room.”

Horns locked over Jewish issues, too. When her partner wanted to bring ham into the home, discussions ensued – over the ‘December dilemma’ of a Christmas tree (she refused), Jewish versus mainstream summer camps, and to which grandparents they’d go to for the Passover seder.

“It’s almost like a cautionary tale, and it’s very juicy. It’s also a book for grandparents to read,” said Eckler. “I think I’d probably make a shitload of money if I came out with a line of greeting cards for blended families. ‘Happy bonus granddaughter’s day!’”

Dave Gordon is a Toronto-based freelance writer whose work has appeared in more than 100 publications around the world.

פרידה מחבר יקר

.שכונת הווסט אנד בוונקובר (Francisco Anzola)

ביום רביעי בבוקר אחרי ארוחת הבוקר ישבתי למספר דקות על הספה בסלון הגדול שלי בוונקובר, כדי לתכנן בקפידות את יום העבודה שלי. צריך להכניס תיקונים בסיפור על דני וילדותו מירושלים, להמשיך בהכנות ליריד הספרים הקרב וממשמש וכמובן בעיקר – לכתוב סוף סוף את הסיפור הזוי על ישראלי שהכיר לטינית בת”א, שכעובדת זרה טיפלה בקשישים. השניים התאהבו, עקרו ליבשת הצפון אמריקנית ומאז הם חיים באושר ואושר.

הסתכלתי על כתמי הרטיבות בסלוני כתוצאה מהדליפות הבלתי פוסקות. כידוע יורד הרבה גם בוונקובר וזה המחיר של החיים הרטובים כאן. אני עוד אתן בראש לבעל הבית שעד לרגע זה לא תיקן את הדרוש. מתי אוכל להינות מדירתי החדשה ללא מפריע שאלתי את עצמי ביאוש מה? לא רוצה ביורוקרטיות, לא רוצה רעש מהשכנים, לא רוצה מים בסלון. לא רוצה ולא רוצה.

בעודי מסיים את פרק המחשבות המייאש על צרותי, נכנסת פתאם לסלון במהירות של פרארי חדישה בת זוגתי שתחייה. בוודאי תבקש משהו ממני לשם שינוי מילמתי לעצמי. “רונימו יקירי”, אמרה בקול החיבתי שלה. “האם תוכל ללת לי כסף לרכישת פירות בשוק? אתה הרי כל כך אוהב לאכול את הפירות העסיסיים כאן. זה עושה לך כל כך טוב בבטן החמודה והרגישה שלך. ואני כל כך אוהבת לראות אותך מאושר כל כך יקירי אהובי”. הבנתי שלא אוכל להימלט שוב מהדרישה לתת לה כסף. זהו! הפעם שום תירוץ לא יעבוד כאשר מדובר בפירות שאני אוכל כל היום, כל יום. היא נגעה בנקודה מאוד רגישה בחיי – פירות חיי. הכנסתי את ידי לכיס שזו הפעולה הכי שנואה עלי בחיים. חשבתי לא פעם לתפור את הכיס ולסגור אותו לתמיד, כך שארנקי שהוא קודש הקודשים שלי, ינוח לו לעולמים ללא מטרד. הוצאתי את הארנק המקופל שהרהרתי שעתה הגיע הזמן להכניס בו קיפולים נוספים. שלפתי ממנו באיטיות ובעצבות שטר של חמישה דולר כחולים חדשים. הסתכלתי בצער רב על הפרידה הבלתי נמענת מחברי היקר והרגשתי שכל עולמי קורס בבת אחת. הפרידות האלה גומרות אותי והורסות את בריאותי. ביקשתי עוד דקה להחזיק בשטרי היקר וקירבתי אותו לליבי שפעם כתחנת כוח שעומדת לקרוס מהעומס. מהלב שלי החלש משהו העברתי את השטר לפי כדי שאוכל להעניק לו נשיקת פרידה אחרונה. פתאם אני שומע את בת זוגתי צווחת ליד הדלת הפתוחה: “יקירי! אינני יכולה להמתין כל היום בשביל הפירות שלך. בניגוד אליך יש לי גם עסק לנהל. מדוע שלא תקנה את הפירות בעצמך?” הבנתי שהפרידה זו היא סופית ומוחלטת והעברתי לה בצער רב את שטר חמשת הדולרים המסכן שלי. זו ממש התעללות חסרת רחמים בי ובו. עם סיום טקס העברת השטר מיד ליד שדאגתי שיהיה איטי ככל הניתן, אמרתי לה בתקיפות מהולה בכעס ותסכול: “אני מצפה לקבל בחזרה עודף והרבה. את קולטת?!” בעוד היא סוגרת את הדלת ואני שומע את צעדיה המהירים במדרגות התלולות מטה, מילמתי לעצמי “שעדיף שתחזיר לי מספר מטבעות מצלצלים זכר לשטר האבוד שלי”.

הרמתי ידיים: אאלץ להתמודד עם הרטיבות כיאה לוונקובר ועם אובדן חמשת הדולרים שלי, כיאה לדן פזרן. התיישבתי מול המחשב וניסיתי להירגע ולארגן את מחשבותי מחדש. כיצד אתחיל את הסיפור על העובדת הזרה שהכירה בישראל גבר והשניים במסגרת אהבתם עקרו לוונקובר הקרה והרחוקה? אולי אתחיל דווקא בדירה עם הסלון הגדול שהם שכרו בשכונת הווסט אנד?

Cultivating self-awareness

Oren Jay Sofer believes that, with nonviolent communication, a person can learn “how to identify what is most important to you and what’s more important to someone else … and, then, how to come up with more solutions and ideas for complex situations.” (photo from Oren Jay Sofer)

Oren Jay Sofer, author of Say What You Mean: A Mindful Approach to Nonviolent Communication, took a longer route to finding his connection to Judaism. “Probably,” he said, “most of it was because the teachings weren’t really available for me growing up – the more mystical or spiritual teachings of Judaism.”

The Buddhist practice of meditation resonated with Sofer. Then, he happened upon Dr. Marshall Rosenberg’s practice of nonviolent communication. Through learning about it, Sofer gained an accessible and practical complement to the inner transformation of meditation. “The two really started to work together in a synergistic fashion – in my personal transformation, in my relationships and in my direction in life,” said Sofer. “That, over time, led me to the work I’m doing today.”

A couple of years ago, Sofer was approached by a publisher about writing a book on his practices. He jumped at the opportunity to share what he had learned from integrating meditation practice, nonviolent communication and other concepts through Dr. Peter Levine’s work of somatic experiencing, a way of healing trauma through the nervous system.

“I was getting feedback [from students] that there was something unique about bringing these systems together, that people found really helpful,” said Sofer. “So, I wanted to reach more people, to write it down in a way that other people can go through this sort of progress of learning that I’ve put together – that could be of great benefit to them personally and for our society, in terms of the kinds of divisiveness and polarization people are experiencing around the world in so many places.

“I wanted to reach more people and help them have the tools to have more meaningful conversations in their life,” he added.

Sofer has found that communication and mindfulness are effective vehicles for aligning one’s life with one’s values, insofar as the choices we make, the work we do and the conversations and relationships we have.

This way of communication is accessible to anyone, no matter what age, religious belief, race, gender, or otherwise. “It’s for anyone who wants to improve their communication and have better conversations – parents, employees, supervisors, spiritual seekers, students, anyone – that is something I find so powerful and gratifying about this work, that it unites us as human beings,” said Sofer.

“We all communicate. And, we do it pretty much all day long in every area of our life. Even when we are alone, we have that inner voice going. So, the audience isn’t limited in any way, because we all depend on communication in our lives and it’s one of the things that determines our happiness. I really see this as a life skill that’s important for everyone.”

According to recent research conducted by Shawn Achor and others, the social relationships and connections we foster are one of the greatest predictors of long-term happiness, as well as of many different health markers. And, the quality of our relationships, to a large degree, is determined by our communication skills.

The book is set up rather like a field guide of how to communicate and converse. So, it’s not the kind of book you will read over one weekend or week. It is one you can read over several months, taking a few pages at a time, with exercises and principles interspersed throughout to work on and absorb.

“You can’t learn to swim by reading a swimming manual, right?” said Sofer. “You need to get into the water. You can’t learn to communicate from a book. You have to do it. But, the book can tell you how to do it in a way that you’re running experiments that will give you the information you need to figure out what will work best in your life and relationships. It’s really meant to be applied in a step-by-step way. And, it takes people through a whole arc of training with specific foundations to integrate into their lives.”

The book’s first foundation is to “Lead with Presence,” which Sofer views as an essential prerequisite for any effective conversation or meaningful relationship.

“We need to be here to have more self-awareness if we’re going to navigate the complex terrain of human interaction with any skill or clarity,” said Sofer. “So, there’s a whole section about what it means to have more self-awareness, how to cultivate it and how to bring it into our relationships and conversations.

“And, there are all kinds of practices, skills and pointers – everything from pausing, to developing more embodied self-awareness, to developing what I call ‘relational awareness,’ which is the capacity to be not just aware of yourself, but of the other person, space and energy between you.

“Then, the book looks at our intentions, which is a huge component of human interaction, happening beneath the words. Our non-verbal communication is, to a large degree, shaped by our intentions.”

With the goals of building the kind of goodwill, trust and collaboration that lead to more satisfying connections, Sofer guides the reader through a self-reflection about their habits, training, family, culture and society, to help them determine which parts need improvement.

“There are many different stories I tell about the power of intention in conversation,” he said. “The third section really looks at how we navigate conversations themselves – in terms of where we place our intentions, how we say what we really mean, how we know what we mean, how we come to more clarity about ourselves about what’s happening, and how we hear others more clearly, even when they’re speaking to us in ways that are critical.

“This section is really where the training in nonviolent communication comes in, looking at the mechanics of the conversation, how to become more skilful, how to identify what is most important to you and what’s more important to someone else … and, then, how to come up with more solutions and ideas for complex situations.”

According to Sofer, one of the roots of violence stems from our relationship to emotional and psychological pain, and the views and beliefs we hold about their origins.

“If I believe that you caused my pain, then there is a very short distance to the assumption that you deserve to be punished or to have retribution, being the cause of my pain,” said Sofer. “In nonviolent communication, we differentiate between the cause and the stimulus. Obviously, we affect one another in this world. We stimulate pain, but we don’t directly cause it. This is a very radical concept in many ways for people to take in.

“When we examine it, we start to see the truth of it, which begs the question if anyone can actually make you feel some way. And, you know, two different people will respond to the same event completely differently. One person will respond completely differently on two different days.

“So, the nonviolent component, in one way, is pointing to this link between our language and our willingness to use physical violence to accomplish our aims or meet our needs. When we think and speak in ways that are connected to our shared humanity, one of the aims of nonviolent communication is that violence no longer makes sense, as we’re in touch with a deeper layer of our existence.”

Sofer also speaks about the origins of nonviolent communication as a tool to create social change, noting “Without transforming our outlook, interactions and consciousness, it’s impossible to transform our society for the better.”

Sofer’s book, Say What You Mean: A Mindful Approach to Nonviolent Communication, is sold by many vendors, but there is a free gift offer when it is purchased from the author’s page, orenjaysofer.com/book.

Rebeca Kuropatwa is a Winnipeg freelance writer.

Building an epic relationship

Sam Laliberte and Jared Schachter share what they’ve learned about long-distance relationships in The #LDR Activity Book. (photo by Ricky Pang / Sincerely Image)

The first quote in The #LDR Activity Book is from American writer Meghan Daum: “Distance is not for the fearful, it’s for the bold…. It’s for those knowing a good thing when they see it, even if they don’t see it enough.”

Sam Laliberte and Jared Schachter, co-writers of the activity book for people in, or contemplating, a long-distance relationship (LDR) knew a good thing when they saw it, and didn’t let Schachter’s move from Toronto to San Francisco get in the way.

“For two years,” they write in The #LDR, “we were long-distance loves, capturing our visits on Instagram and maxing out our data plans during weekly video calls. We picked up many lessons (most learned the hard way) and fun activities to keep our relationship strong AF despite living three time zones apart. It definitely took work, epic relationships don’t just happen, but we made it through and now we want to share our learnings with the world.”

In an email interview with the Independent, Laliberte and Schachter said they “always wanted the book to be interactive and fun for couples, since long, text-heavy books can be daunting and would be less conducive to creating positive interactions between couples.”

The #LDR Activity Book has eight chapters covering topics at the core of any relationship, even with yourself: understanding your personality, how you like to give and receive love, your values, what triggers you, envisioning the future, and more. Each chapter begins with an explanation of why the topic – expressing love, communication, IRL (in real life) visits, keeping the spark alive, values, trust, conflict resolution and planning – matters, followed by some “best practices”: assuming good intent, for example, giving “your partner the benefit of the doubt and operat[ing] under the impression that they’re trying their best.” Laliberte and Schachter then share a few tips of what worked best for them and, of course, there are several activities, some of which you complete on your own; others, with your partner.

Laliberte and Schachter wrote this book with Schachter’s mother, Beverley Kort, who is a registered psychologist in Vancouver, with more than 40 years’ experience counseling couples. They also interviewed dozens of other couples “who survived and thrived as long-distance lovers.”

“On top of all this,” they told the Independent, “we were also honest about the fact that our long-distance relationship didn’t work out. We too were scared of the associated stigma and didn’t have any resource to turn to, to help alleviate some of our concerns. The ability to create something for other couples [in a long-distance relationship] was really exciting for us.”

photo - pages of The #LDR Activity Book — The #LDR Activity Book takes couples through various activities.

Laliberte and Schachter are still together, though, just closer geographically.

“We’ve been in a relationship for almost three years now,” they said. “We spent one-and-a-half years in a full long-distance relationship (Toronto-San Francisco) and, now, because we have flexible jobs, we spend a majority, but definitely not all, of our time together. We were separated for two months at the end of 2018 but are now on an extended travel together in South America for four months.”

Feedback about the book – which Laliberte and Schachter encourage readers to share – has been very positive, they said, giving a couple of examples. Thessa (New York) and Anthony (Dublin) wrote about The #LDR, “Absolutely love it. The quality is great, the art and quotes in the book are gorgeous, and information in the book is spot on.” Sara (Los Angeles) and Charles (Toronto) emailed, “#LDR was a fun way to build our relationship after knowing each other for only a week! We met at a music festival and spent the next year living on different coasts and time zones, and used this book to provide a framework for exploring our new relationship.”

A longtime long-distance couple with whom the JI shared the book completed several sections, some that reinforced what they were already doing – daily rituals (regular texts and phone calls) and planning out IRL visits, for example – and some that either introduced new ideas or suggested activities they wanted to do more often, such as creating a joint vision board and talking about important moments during texts and calls, respectively.

To fund the publication of The #LDR Activity Book, Laliberte and Schachter ran a Kickstarter campaign. Seeking $6,000, they received contributions of more than $10,000 from almost 200 backers, with their initial funding goal being covered in less than 24 hours. The result is a smart-looking, durable, 63-page, full-colour, hardcover (with metal corners), spiral-bound “scrapbook.” More importantly, it is a book full of good advice and beneficial activities and exercises, if you (and your partner) are willing to be open and put in the time. And the learning continues online.

“We’ve also now partnered with a sexologist to create a bonus chapter on ‘Sex from a Distance,’ after a number of readers began asking more detailed questions about this area,” Laliberte and Schachter told the Independent. “It is available for free download if you signup for our email newsletter on our website.”

The #LDR Activity Book is for sale on ldractivities.com for $35 per copy, or $60 for a set of two. Laliberte and Schachter have created a special discount code for Jewish Independent readers: use JINDEPENDENT20 to receive 20% off.

***

On Feb. 17, Sam Laliberte and Jared Schachter were interviewed on the podcast From Long Distance to Marriage. The episode can be found on audioboom.com.