Torah

The Kitchen food hub opens

Jody and Harvey Dales cut the ribbon at the Kitchen’s opening on April 18. On their left is Tanja Demajo, JFS chief executive officer; on their right is Janelle Zwarych, JFS director of food security. (screenshot)

Along-in-the-works food hub was launched by Jewish Family Services in a virtual grand opening April 18. Dubbed the Kitchen, the facility will be home to a range of JFS programs that target food insecurity.

“We believe that nourishing and good food has the power to connect people, to build a healthy community and to inspire us to engage in conversations about social justice,” said Tanja Demajo, chief executive officer of JFS. “The Kitchen is not a place but a destination, a destination in which community involvement breaks down the wall between the givers and receivers. We strive to empower people to make personal choices, to advocate for themselves and have access to the basic resources needed for healthy lives.”

The opening of the Kitchen, located on East Third Avenue between Quebec and Ontario streets, is the culmination of more than two years of work, during which JFS and the Jewish Federation of Greater Vancouver have implemented recommendations from their joint Food Security Task Force report, which was released in 2018. Initiatives already undertaken include an expansion of the JFS food program to hub models that recognize and accommodate the 50% of clients now living outside Vancouver city limits. They have also developed new programs, such as Breakfast Club for kids and meals for seniors. Healthy cooking classes have been delivered and, at the start of COVID, food programs were shifted to delivery-only. With the support of RBC, JFS purchased a food van to facilitate movement of goods between suppliers, warehouses and hubs.

Demajo especially thanked Jody and Harvey Dales, who ceremonially cut the ribbon at the new facility.

“Their belief in dignified access to food, in JFS and this community’s ability to undertake this project is what made this dream a reality,” she said.

Bill Kaplan, JFS board chair, put the landmark event in context.

“JFS has been serving our community since 1936,” he said. “Although the context of our times change, our mission has not. We continue to serve our community as an extension of our family and, today, we are here to mark a special occasion in that service…. The name, the Kitchen, captures everything we hope this space to become – a warm, inviting place for members of our community to be welcomed, nourished and cared for. There will be healthy food, cooking classes, counselors to talk to, space for workshops, all provided here at this new location. It’s how we can meet the real needs of our community in an environment that is both dignifying and empowering.

“The tagline that we chose is ‘Nourishing Lives,’ which captures not only the physical nourishment that we receive through food, but a more holistic purpose as well. It’s within community that the act of giving and receiving nourishment takes place. This connection is the context for relationships – for someone to check in with you, to ask you how you’re doing, give a listening ear, give a helping hand. In these times especially, we need human connection for the nourishment of our souls. That is something we aspire to with the space and, as a community, we invite you to join us in that purpose.”

Stan Shaw and Simone Kallner, co-chairs of the JFS Food Security Committee, celebrated the launch and thanked those who made the project possible.

“Our new food hub facility is a wonderful example of what the Jewish community is doing to provide inclusive and dignified and respectful and reliably secure access to food to the most vulnerable among us,” said Shaw. “It’s a dream that’s come true. I am inspired to have been a part of such a wonderful team, including the staff and incredible volunteers at Jewish Family Services that have made this possible.”

Kallner added: “This new space will give people somewhere to go for support, connection, social gatherings … where everyone feels the comfort, warmth and inclusivity that our community can offer. It has been a true honour and privilege to be part of this amazing project alongside an incredibly talented, dedicated and heartfelt committee.”

She thanked Ezra Shanken, chief executive officer of the Jewish Federation of Greater Vancouver, and Marcie Flom, executive director of the Jewish Community Foundation, for invaluable support.

Rabbi Dan Moskovitz of Temple Sholom affixed the mezuzah and spoke of how hunger, by definition, is a problem that is largely out of sight and, as a result, too often out of mind.

“But this building, these people, this sign on the door, this address, this community program – they change everything as of this moment,” he said. “Hunger in the Jewish community is no longer invisible…. With this building and our community’s public and intentional dedication to supporting it, staffing it and promoting its many services, hunger in our community can no longer be overlooked, it can no longer be ignored. The very real pain of an empty stomach, that too many in our community experience on a regular basis, it cries out to us, it cries out for immediate attention, immediate action. This building, and what takes place here, they are the shofar blasts that must wake us up to the most solvable problem in our community. We can end hunger in the Jewish community. We can fix this.”

Torah, he added, commands farmers to leave the edges of their fields unharvested so that the hungry can obtain food.

“When we go shopping, our modern equivalent of harvesting our fields, we must buy extra food for the food bank every single time, and we can bring it here,” he said. “Open your hand to those in need, we read in Torah. It’s through our tzedakah and that of our Jewish community, through food drives and bar/bat mitzvah projects, donations made in honour and memory of our loved ones, all the ways Jews have given throughout time and all the ways that we give of our resources, all of those things will sustain this place and will fulfil the commandment to extend our hand to those in need.”

Janelle Zwarych, director of food security at JFS, led the virtual tour through the facility.

“The Kitchen means so much more than just food,” she said. “At any good party, it’s where everyone comes together, it’s a place of warmth, a place of creativity and a place of fun. Our place, the Kitchen, means all of those things rolled into one.”

In addition to being a place for the storage, sorting and delivery of food to clients, there is space for group cooking and classes, as well as community meals, when health protocols permit. There are offices where clients can meet with caseworkers to access government supports or borrow equipment from the Red Cross while picking up groceries. There is a small library, a kids’ zone with toys and books and working space for volunteers.

More information is online at jfskitchen.ca.

Torah class marks 10 years

Rabbi Manis Friedman is the keynote speaker at Chabad Richmond’s celebration on June 1. (photo from Wikipedia)

On June 1, Chabad Richmond will mark 10 years of the weekly Torah studies class. A special event celebrating the past and launching the future will feature guest speaker Rabbi Manis Friedman, a renowned lecturer, counselor and author of several books and many articles. The topic is The Top 10 Reasons to Study Torah.

Starting in 2011 as a small group that met with Rabbi Yechiel Baitelman to discuss the weekly parashah (Torah portion), this assembly of retirees has grown to more than 20 people weekly.

“While not exclusively the domain of the retired, these weekly morning Torah classes mainly attract seniors,” said Baitelman. “Not only are local Richmond and Vancouver folks attending, but participants from Alberta and Quebec are joining virtually as well. During the pandemic, with more people working from home, we have some younger participants, too. Everyone is welcome.”

When the pandemic struck last year, Baitelman recognized the need for the continuity of Torah studies and immediately started offering classes via Zoom. These weekly classes have provided learning, but, more importantly, inspiration.

Richmond resident and longtime Chabad attendee Grace Jampolsky approached Baitelman back in 2011 and asked if he would offer a weekly Torah class. She gathered a few friends, and so began the 10-year tradition that is now a foundational part of the participants’ lives. The weekly class is a program of the Rohr Jewish Learning Institute of Richmond.

Acknowledging Chabad Richmond’s accomplishments to date, Baitelman said, “It’s all about celebrating our past learning and looking forward to growth and continued learning for the future. The continuity of weekly Torah study over 10 years is a real milestone. It represents thousands of hours spent studying the Torah portion of the week together, interactively, as a community of learners.”

As the participants attest, the classes have had a positive impact on expanding their Jewishness.

“If you were to ask me what the goals of the Torah classes are, I’d say it’s two-pronged goal – to increase class attendance and to share a love of Torah with our community,” said Baitelman.

Speaking with a few of the initial attendees, it became apparent that it’s not just the content of the classes that resonates with people, it’s Baitelman’s approach to teaching.

Ralph and Gina Blasbalg are two of the original members and, when asked how the classes have impacted their lives, Ralph Blasbalg said: “It’s always something to look forward to, especially when we’re cocooning during the pandemic. We don’t go out very much because we’re very vulnerable. The Torah lessons, the talks, the spirited wisdom of our rabbi – we are so lucky to have this rabbi in our community. Rabbi Baitelman is such a mensch, he’s just a wonderful human being.”

When asked how it’s enriched their lives, he added: “First of all, the knowledge that we are gaining, the knowledge about Torah, the knowledge about our community and the responsibilities that each one of us has to share and pay forward to the community. And the benefit that it gives to us, meaning that we have a sense of belonging, and we realize how our ancestors lived and how faith supported them through even worse times. We just have a pandemic – they had pogroms and illness and suppression and oppression … and, still, this faith, this Yiddishkeit, the manner of living by the Torah rules – the manual of life – is so important to us, for me, it’s definitely giving me that.”

Former participant Stevie Steiner said: “I was one of the first people in the group … and I attended for several years. I loved that class. It gave my life more meaning and purpose. If I went to the class tired, by the time it was over, I found myself so uplifted, or thoughtful. It made me look at things very differently, and very positively. Rabbi Baitelman always saw the glass half full, rather than half empty. It made quite a difference in my life actually. Rabbi Baitelman is a wonderful man and excellent teacher. He’s got a talent for getting the lesson across. The material was always very relevant. The rabbi was a very positive influence.”

Regular participant Maria Hughes said: “The weekly Torah classes have had a big effect on me. I’m from Russia, where there were no Torah classes, no nothing. I just knew I was Jewish because it was in my past, but I was discriminated against everywhere there. I went to live in Israel, but didn’t go to synagogue because I felt like an outsider and we didn’t know Hebrew. When I came to live in Richmond and started attending Chabad Richmond, I really started learning about Judaism and started feeling more and more proud of being Jewish…. It was like the puzzle came together. I started studying more and loving it. So I started talking to my daughter (who lives in Israel) about it a lot and we had different discussions. She was not religious at all … but, slowly, my daughter started keeping Shabbat and I think my influence was a big part of it. My talking about Judaism had a big effect on her. It affected not just me, but also my daughter and grandchildren. It affected a whole generation.”

Ezra Shanken, chief executive officer of the Jewish Federation of Greater Vancouver; Rabbi Efraim Mintz, executive director of the Rohr Jewish Learning Institute; and Sheldon Kuchinsky, board member of Chabad Richmond, will be present to offer greetings at the celebration of the class’s 10 years.

Guest speaker Friedman is the dean of Bais Chana Institute of Jewish Studies, the world’s first yeshiva exclusively for women. He hosts his own cable TV series, Torah Forum with Manis Friedman, which is syndicated throughout North America.

The event takes place at 7 p.m. on June 1 via Zoom at chabadrichmond.com/celebrate. Register online using the link, or call 604-277-6427. Everyone is welcome.

Shelley Civkin is a happily retired librarian and communications officer. For 17 years, she wrote a weekly book review column for the Richmond Review. She’s currently a freelance writer and volunteer, including at Chabad Richmond.

Holy jab a moving experience

We’re celebrating at our house. I’ve gotten my first AstraZeneca vaccination “jab.” I’ve got a sore arm and felt droopy afterwards, but I’m thrilled to have finally gotten access.

As a pragmatic, 40-something Gen X-er, I had to wait my turn. Then I rushed to get an appointment. In the Manitoba social media world, we heard others complain that the system was difficult to navigate. The deadpan reply from our cohort was something like, “Guess you’ve never had to get up early to try to register your kids for swim lessons.” In a place where resources like, say, vaccination or indoor pool swim lesson spots, are very limited, we’ve learned to negotiate systems that were not designed for our needs or to be welcoming.

This big event for 40-somethings in several Canadian provinces happened to coincide with the Torah portion of Acharei Mot-Kedoshim, Leviticus 16:1-20:27. This big double parashah (portion) covers a lot, including what it means to be holy. In some cases, it might mean “to be prepared.”

It’s also the portion that encourages us to “Love your neighbour as yourself” and Leviticus 19:34 reads, “The stranger who resides with you shall be to you as one of your citizens; you shall love him as yourself, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt: I the Lord am your God.”

The Torah is, sort of, a holiness how-to guide of its time, and some of the issues may no longer be everyday things for many. However, the pandemic forces us to be prepared for simple things like wearing a mask during a shopping outing. Add in more complex things, like obtaining access to that coveted vaccination, too. It’s interesting that the weekly parashah topics like preparation, holiness, loving neighbours and caring for strangers all came up at once.

The nurse who gave me my jab had worked in the COVID wards. She exuded calm as she went through her vaccine script. She made the moment feel monumental and holy while preparing me. When I thanked her, she said how great it was to be part of this effort to keep so many others healthy and safe after experiencing the suffering in the hospitals.

As I sat in the doctor’s waiting room for my 15 minutes after the jab, I thought about this. Masking up, getting vaccinated and social distancing are all ways that we show love for one another right now. Those actions are so powerful that I’m affronted and sad whenever someone demonstrates as an anti-masker, doesn’t wear a mask or even spits in public. Indeed, that means he doesn’t love his neighbour enough.

While I waited, it was a quiet. Yo-Yo Ma wasn’t serenading others on his cello in the clinic or anything like that. Instead, I turned and congratulated a stranger, a man who had also just gotten his shot. It was an oddly affirming moment. He had a spouse with an immune condition. Like me, he had kids learning at home. At first glance, I might have felt apprehensive chatting – he was heavily inked with tattoos and intimidating. Still, the love we both felt towards the universe for this opportunity and to those who also cared so much that we’d rushed to get vaccinated, was tender and transformative.

While I’d been able to get my shot, alas, Manitoba, and other parts of Canada seem to be quickly losing their battle to outrun the third wave. Vaccines can’t get into arms fast enough. Yet, as I read the news, there are also multiple reports of moments where people are taking care of strangers. In North Dakota, there’s now a pop-up Moderna vaccination site at a rest stop. They managed to vaccinate 62 truck drivers from Manitoba the first day. This was such a gift to our province, which hasn’t chosen to prioritize these essential workers.

In Montana, the Blackfeet Nation has invited Albertans to cross the border (with permission) to get vaccinated on their reservation. They were able to use up expiring vaccines on both strangers and Indigenous relatives who lived across the international border.

Many Jewish people have reported on social media that they recited the Shehecheyanu or the slightly more complicated “bathroom prayer,” which thanks G-d for the miraculous workings of our bodies. I uttered a silent prayer of my own, too.

It was also a chance to appreciate the kindness of strangers who looked after me. The doctor stuck his head in to ask if I had any questions. The nurse and I had a deep conversation – about illness, death, birth and our struggles as parents – in our few minutes together before and after the vaccine. Like so many who’ve been mostly social distancing and staying at home, these nurturing interactions have been few and far between this year.

I must admit, when we stream services on Shabbat at home, I’m not standing up much. I’m not on my tiptoes as we would in synagogue when we sing the Kedusha – the part where we say, “Holy, Holy,” and try to ease ourselves up closer to heaven and to the angels. Preparing oneself and trying to be holy is, for all of us, a process, but I felt just a little more prepared after what I experienced this week.

If you’re anxious about needles, don’t worry. My kids looked at my arm and I don’t have a “hole” there!

I feel like my vaccination experience captured a snapshot of how we can all strive to be more prepared. It’s an opportunity to love our neighbours, care for the stranger and, maybe, in the process, become a bit closer to heaven and more holy.

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.

Inclusion matters – always

I was talking to my mother on the phone when she told me about one of her committee projects. At her congregation in Virginia, there’s an outdoor space, in the woods. It’s used as a learning environment and sanctuary, with play space, too.

While it may be a charming and rustic foray into nature, it’s also something else. It’s inaccessible to those with disabilities. My mom described how a group home brought some of its residents to an outdoor service, only to discover that, in fact, the residents couldn’t attend, because they use wheelchairs. The trails, filled with rocks and tree roots, are too difficult for those wheelchairs to navigate.

My mom is on the “inclusion committee” at her synagogue. In part, she joined because she cares about everybody at her congregation. She wants to practise “audacious hospitality” and “radical inclusion.” The other part is more personal. My nephew uses a wheelchair. Of course, she wants to help him have a full and meaningful Jewish experience.

These bumpy trails are a physical barrier to inclusion. Our Jewish communities are full of physical barriers. These can be things like having only one staircase as an access point into a building – and no ramp. It can mean having no accessible bathroom, or no place for a mom to breastfeed. It could be lacking a way to invite a person in a wheelchair onto the pulpit, because there’s no ramp, or even no handrail for those who might not be stable on their feet.

Physical barriers aren’t just stairs, of course. What about large-print prayer books or documents that work with text-to-speech software for those who have visual impairments? What about an amplification system, sign-language interpreter or closed captioning for those with an audio disability?

Even beyond this, there are those whose differing abilities aren’t visible. Is there a quiet room available and unlocked for those who have sensory challenges? Many might need a break from loud music at a bar mitzvah or during a raucous Simchat Torah celebration. Is there a way that those who have mental health challenges or intellectual disabilities can be offered support if they need it while at a synagogue event?

February is Jewish Disability Awareness and Inclusion Month, or JDAIM. If this were a committee meeting, this is when, inevitably, someone would speak out. “Whoa,” this person might say. “We’re just a small congregation with limited funds. We simply can’t do all this. We can’t be all things for all people.”

This is the second barrier to break down. It’s an attitudinal barrier. When someone’s attitude gets in the way of helping practise radical inclusion, it stops us from meeting every Jewish person’s needs in the community. This attitude adjustment is necessary when, for example:

a baby starts to fuss and a parent works to quiet the baby and feed him,
a nonverbal person makes noises during services,
a person needs to stand or sit during services because of pain or disability when everyone else is doing the opposite,
a person who cannot hear turns to her spouse to ask, “What page are we on?” in that loud voice.

The list could be a mile long. I’ve seen somebody cast a fish-eye at every one of these people. Given how many of us struggle with disabilities, well, let’s just say it’s high time for a change in attitude.

To the person who says, “We’re a small congregation, we can’t do all this,” be ready to stand up and say, “Did you ever wonder why it’s such a small shul? This is why. This attitude. This inability to try and include everybody and to work to meet their needs.”

It doesn’t cost a lot to build a portable ramp for the bima (pulpit). Sometimes, funds can be raised in creative ways to fix physical barriers. What’s harder? Working to change our conscious and unconscious attitudes about disability and inclusion.

Disability will affect all of us or our loved ones at some point in our lives. Please, don’t wait until you break your leg to acknowledge this. It’s really important to bring JDAIM up, but it shouldn’t be a once-a-year discussion.

In the portion Yitro, which we read in synagogues at the beginning of February this year, G-d speaks to Moses and to all the people at once. They all hear the Ten Commandments together in Exodus 20:1-14. Rabbi Ana Bonnheim’s commentary on this portion uses the phrase “radical inclusion.” Moses prepares the people to hear from the Almighty, and they all receive this revelation together – each in his or her own way. Rabbi Bonnheim reminds us that inclusivity, this frequent repetition of “ha-am”, “the people,” is essential to Jewish tradition.

On Shavuot, when we gather again to hear the Ten Commandments, everyone is supposed to be there. If we want a Jewish gathering where everyone physically can be there, it’s time to start an inclusion committee, if your community doesn’t have one. If you already have that committee, remember the public relations campaign that must accompany any initiatives, so that attitudinal barriers change as well as physical ones. The truth is that, even if everyone can physically be present, if your community projects a bad attitude, those with disabilities won’t want to be there.

As for me, I received a “save the date” card for my nephew’s bar mitzvah recently. I cannot wait to see him, using his assistive speaking device, leading the service. Of course, there’s a closed border and a pandemic in the way, too, but their congregation works so hard to include everyone that I know that, in the worst-case scenario, I’ll be there virtually, through livestreaming. Jewish celebrations, like every other kind of Jewish gathering, are for all of us. That’s why inclusion matters.

Explore Torah’s secrets

“People tend to read biblical stories like they do mythology,” said Chabad Richmond’s Rabbi Yechiel Baitelman, one of the local Rohr Jewish Learning Institute (JLI) instructors. “Our course invites participants to look deeper and discover the underlying themes and relevant life lessons these stories were designed to convey.”

Baitelman is talking about a new six-session JLI course called Secrets of the Bible: Iconic Stories, Mystical Meanings and Their Lessons for Life, which starts Nov. 4, 7:30 p.m. The course will be offered both in-person, to a limited audience, at 4775 Blundell Rd., in Richmond (following COVID-19 restrictions), and online via Zoom. All classes – which are one-and-a-half hours long – will be recorded on Zoom and accessible online for six days after each class. For Vancouver Islanders, the course will be presented by Chabad of Nanaimo, 5450 Oceanview Terrace, in Nanaimo, starting Nov. 3, 7 p.m.

The course presents a unique way of reading the stories of Adam and Eve and the Tree of Knowledge, Noah and the great flood, the lifelong feud between Jacob and Esau, Joseph’s multicoloured coat, the golden calf, and Korah’s rebellion. For each of these stories, three questions will be answered: What is the deeper meaning behind the story? How does it shape the Jewish worldview? What wisdom does it hold for us today?

Throughout the six sessions, Secrets of the Bible explores major life themes, including human subjectivity and bias; the underpinnings of relationships; negotiating spiritual growth with practical impact; why inspiration is fleeting and how to make it last; understanding equality and privilege; and navigating parallel spiritual and material life paths.

Secrets of the Bible is designed to appeal to people at all levels of knowledge, including those without any prior experience or background in Jewish learning. This course is open to the public, and attendees don’t need to be affiliated with a particular synagogue, or other house of worship.

“These biblical stories come alive as their deeper meanings and insights are revealed. They hold the key to life lessons for us all,” said Baitelman. “I encourage you to sign up for this thought-provoking course that’s sure to deepen your understanding of Judaism and enrich your life. You are welcome to try the first class for free with no obligation.”

To register and for more information about the Chabad Richmond course ($95/person or $160/couple), call 604-277-6427 or visit chabadrichmond.com/jli. For the Nanaimo course ($95/person or $152/couple), call 250-797-7877 or visit jewishnanaimo.com/secrets.html.

Song of healing is a hit

Israeli artists Yair Levi and Shai Sol sing Moses’s prayer to heal his sister Miriam of leprosy. The song, “Refa Na,” has resonated with people during the pandemic.

The song “Refa Na” (“Heal Her Now’”) by Israeli composer Yair Levi, together with vocalist Shai Sol, has become a global hit during the current COVID-19 pandemic.

Based on Moses’s prayer to heal his sister Miriam after she contracted leprosy, the song was released on Levi’s Facebook page April 6. The lyrics include the words, “O Lord, heal her now. O Lord, I beseech thee. Then we will be strengthened and healed” (Numbers 12:13) and Levi’s original is in multiple languages: Hebrew, as well as English, Spanish, French, German, Chinese, Arabic, Russian, Hindi and Swahili. The song has been picked up in dozens of covers, from Lebanon to Argentina.

When Levi’s grandmother fell ill, he composed a tune incorporating Moses’s prayer for his sister’s wellbeing. The song has resonated throughout the world during the current pandemic, garnering hundreds of thousands of views and shares.

“My grandmother had an illness unrelated to coronavirus, but the pandemic obviously affected everyone, myself included,” Levi, 31, told Ynet news portal. “Due to the epidemic, I received the names of people in need of prayer and a list of about 20 names accumulated on my fridge. Every day, I would say a prayer for the sick, and I searched for words and a tune related to medicine.”

Then Levi remembered the “Al na refa la” prayer in Numbers.

“I took my guitar and composed the music for it on the spot and, since I have a recording studio in my home, I recorded the song within a week.”

Levi then approached Sol, a vocalist with Miqedem, a band that composes and sings Psalms all around the world.

“In quarantine and with no way to actually meet, she recorded herself,” Levi said.

After posting the song on social media, he said, “It was amazing. We received many responses and translations. Immediately after we released the song, it was shared online by evangelist Christians, Jewish communities, and even the Friends of the IDF organization.”

But not only the obvious audiences were enthusiastic.

“We have received cover versions from all over the world, including from a Lebanese singer, and, on Saturday evening, I received three new covers from Namibia … India and a Brazilian singer, Fortunee Joyce Safdie, who performed the song live on her Instagram page,” he said.

“Getting so many messages from people all around the world is incredible,” he added. “If I have the privilege to spread prayer around the world, to me, it’s just crazy. When people from all over the world translate and sing a prayer for health, it feels like it is literally the End of Times.”

During his three-year service in the Israel Defence Forces, Levi – who grew up in Israel’s secular mainstream – became intrigued by traditional Judaism. A turning point in his life came on May 31, 2010. Serving as a naval commando, his elite unit stormed the MV Mavi Marmara, one of six ships in the Gaza Freedom Flotilla attempting to breach Israel’s blockade of the coastal enclave. Nine Turkish activists were killed in the incident, while 10 IDF soldiers from Levi’s unit were wounded. After the sea battle, Levi was determined to join an IDF officer course. But, at the age of 26, he decided to pursue a musical rather than military career.

“I spoke with my commander, who told me people often regret what they had not done,” Levi said. “It opened my eyes and I realized that the flotilla incident pushed me in the direction of the course, but my real dream was to make music and become a singer.”

Levi has released two albums, Breathing Again (2016) and Let Go (2017).

“People see me as a religious person but I don’t like labels,” he said of his oeuvre.

To hear more of Levi’s music, visit yairlevi.bandcamp.com/releases.

Gil Zohar is a writer and tour guide in Jerusalem.

Feeding the body and mind

National Hebrew Book Week has taken place every year in June. Its fate for this year, in light of the COVID-19 pandemic, is unclear. (photo from gojerusalem.com)

In Israel, you know Shavuot is approaching when you see the grocery stores setting up displays of pasta and spaghetti sauce. The pandemic shouldn’t change that.

Israelis are obsessed with the thought of eating non-meat meals on Shavuot. I suspect that at the heart of this obsession is the feeling that, even today, many people still consider eating a non-meat meal equivalent to eating less than a full meal. Hence, the worry that there really will be a satisfying meal to appropriately celebrate the holiday.

While there are many lovely explanations about why we eat dairy on Shavuot, they seem to be secondary to some practical considerations. As Rabbi Prof. David Golinkin points out, in the late spring, young calves, lambs and kids are weaned. Thus, historically at this time in Europe, there was an abundance of milk. Bear in mind that refrigeration is a fairly new process and that, prior to refrigeration, farmers needed to move fast with perishable milk. They made cheese and butter, which, likewise, needed to be consumed relatively fast. This dairy excess may have motivated some Jews to eat dairy on Shavuot. (See the article “Why do Jews Eat Milk and Dairy Products on Shavuot?” on the Schechter Institutes’ website, schechter.edu.)

But, eating a non-meat meal on Shavuot is not restricted to the customs of European Jewry. As Jewish food expert Claudia Roden notes in The Book of Jewish Food: An Odyssey from Samarkand to New York, Sephardi Jews in Syria made cheese pies called sambousak bi jibn, Tunisian Jews had a special dairy couscous recipe and, in places like Turkey and the Balkans, Jews prepared a milk pudding called sutlage for Shavuot. (If you don’t want to eat animal-based foods, you don’t need to feel left out. The United Kingdom’s Jewish Vegetarian Society helps you enjoy a variety of traditional, but vegan, cheesecake recipes.)

So from where did all this dairy focus originate? One appealing explanation reminds us of what was supposed to have happened on Shavuot, namely that the Jewish people received the Torah. In Gematria, the Hebrew word for milk (chalav) adds up to 40, the number of days on which Moses stayed on Mount Sinai in order to receive the Torah.

Significantly, studying the Torah and other Jewish texts on Shavuot eve has become a major trend in Israel, as well as in the Diaspora. The big Israeli cities offer any number of options for participating in a tikkun leil Shavuot. These free learning sessions welcome the participation of all of Israeli society, from the religious to the secular, and everyone in between. Those living in smaller towns and on kibbutzim and moshavim likewise hold study sessions on the night of the holiday.

The idea of all-night studying originates with the kabbalists. The earliest members of this group apparently studied with Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai, the author of the Zohar, who lived in the second-century CE. It was this scholar (also known by his initials, as Rashbi) who stated: “G-d forbid that the Torah shall ever be forgotten!” (See the Babylonian Talmud Tractate Shabbat 138b.) By the Middle Ages, the kabbalistic all-night Shavuot study had really picked up steam in places such as Safed.

photo - Studying the Torah and other Jewish texts on Shavuot eve has become a major trend in Israel, as well as in the Diaspora — Studying the Torah and other Jewish texts on Shavuot eve has become a major trend in Israel, as well as in the Diaspora. *(photo from pexels.com)*

Some claim the reason for studying during the night is found in the midrash stating that it was a way to correct for the Children of Israel’s mistake of oversleeping on the morning they were meant to receive the Torah. Others claim, however, that the Hebrew word tikkun should not be translated as correction, but rather as adorning or decorating the bride. The bride in this instance is the people of Israel and the groom is either G-d and/or the Torah.

According to a late 17th-century Libyan tradition, Shavuot symbolizes the wedding day between the people of Israel and the Torah. According to this tradition, the Torah is the bride, which explains the title of the Libyan Shavuot text entitled Tikkun Kallah. Accordingly, those who read this tikkun are likened to bridal attendants.

The importance of studying on Shavuot is bolstered by the fact that Israel’s Hebrew Book Week (or, in some places, Book Month) begins right after Shavuot. I do not believe this occurrence is coincidental, but rather links us to the idea that we are still the People of the Book and a people of books.

The Israeli book fair has been running for many years. This year, 2020, would mark the 59th annual celebration of Hebrew Book Week and the fair’s age is all the more impressive when you recall how shaky was the Israeli state’s start as an independent entity. Recent years’ events have included Israeli authors appearing in coffee houses, story hours and plays for children, guided walks in Israel’s National Library, the more traditional book signings and, of course, the possibility of thumbing through thousands of Hebrew books.

In brief, our spring holiday offers opportunities for both spiritual and physical nourishment.

Deborah Rubin Fields is an Israel-based features writer. She is also the author of Take a Peek Inside: A Child’s Guide to Radiology Exams, published in English, Hebrew and Arabic.

Be sure to wash your hands

Before bed each night, our kids practise their reading, both in Hebrew and in English. We have a routine where I knit and sit next to a kid, listening to him reading his Hebrew Grade 3 stories, and their dad does English with the other kid. Then we switch. Recently, I’ve heard two separate easy-reader versions of the story about Hillel and the mitzvah of cleanliness.

For those of you who might not be up on Grade 3 curriculum, Hillel was a great teacher of Torah. One day, he is rushing off and his students ask him, “Where are you going?” He answers, “To do a mitzvah!” And they say, “What is the mitzvah?” And he says, “Cleaning is a mitzvah!” as he heads to the bathhouse.

In one story, it points out that Hillel was also trying to show that, in general, keeping clean is important. We should clean our fruits and vegetables before eating, clean our bodies, clean our houses, etc. This is obviously a useful lesson for kids. It’s good to know that Hillel taught us to keep clean. (I’ll need to mention this next time I’m asking everyone to tidy up their toys and things!)

Even in the Torah, there are multiple reminders to wash. While this isn’t news for Jews, frequent washing isn’t every culture’s practice. During outbreaks of the Black Death in Europe, Jewish communities were often spared because of their insistence on cleanliness, while those around them were dirty and, therefore, more prone to catching this illness. This meant most Jews avoided the plague (Black Death), which was transmitted by rats and fleas. Unfortunately, this also led to situations in which the Jewish community was blamed for the illness, because why weren’t the Jews getting sick, when everyone else was? Through the lens of history, we know why – they washed and, therefore, had fewer fleas and rats around.

In the Torah portion Ki Tisa (Exodus 30:11-34:35), G-d tells Moses to construct a fancy washstand for Aaron and his sons in the Tent of Meeting. Essentially, being clean is part of doing holy work.

The weird thing about all this isn’t that our tradition spends a lot of time on how to properly wash and keep clean and, therefore, be ready for holy work. The weird thing is how often we forget to wash despite this information.

The outbreak of COVID-19 (the coronavirus) is a firm reminder of what we can do, every day, to stay well. We can wash our hands, with soap, with some frequency. You can recite the alphabet or the aleph-bet to be sure you’ve washed long enough. Washing well is not some mystical religious ritual. It’s essential to our health and well-being.

We can also practise social distancing, another tradition straight out of the Torah. Lepers had to stay outside the camp for several days, for example. This is not new information, folks! It was old news by the time the rabbis were creating our oral tradition, what became the Talmud.

The advice around a virus outbreak changes every day, so I cannot predict what officials will know or say when this article is published. However, disease outbreaks aren’t new. We’ve been wrestling with how to deal with them for as long as the Jewish people has been around. Considering things like skin diseases and leprosy as part of this, then, as mentioned, there’s information about how to deal with that going to the Torah.

One parallel that I can’t skip is – remember the golden calf? When Moses was getting the Ten Commandments, there was a mad rush to collect valuables and build the golden calf as a way to reassure the scared and frustrated Israelites. But it didn’t turn out so well. Acquiring wealth or idols didn’t help us avoid scary or frustrating things. We can’t know the future and alas, no amount of gold – or toilet paper – can keep us healthy.

The gold calf story reminds me of the reports of preppers, who are madly hoarding hand sanitizer, toilet paper, masks and other essentials. They are afraid, of course, but this illogical amount of acquisition causes shortages. It also gouges others by trying to resell these items at high prices. Of course, medical professionals haven’t advised anyone to do this hoarding – and Moses didn’t tell anyone to build a golden calf either.

We have to rely on the best medical advice we can get and do practical, everyday things to stay safe, like washing and social distancing.

I hope everybody stays healthy, but it would be wrong of me not to do my part in encouraging that. So? In the words of another famous character in our household, Ernie from Sesame Street, “Now everybody wash! Everybody – wash your hands!”

Some things just don’t change.

When Joseph went missing

A friend recently went through a scary time and, as a result, I did, too. His niece in Minnesota, a young mother, simply disappeared. She went out on a date and didn’t come home. Her mother was with the woman’s children. When she didn’t know what to do, she contacted police, the story was in the media and the important, informal networks of the Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women and Girls (MMIWG) swung into action.

Like many friends, I tried to pass the word along about a woman who was missing. Her family needed her. My friend couldn’t sleep. He worried. I worried. The worst part seemed to be not knowing how to help, what to do and what happened. Things seemed very dangerous.

Some in the Jewish community may say, this isn’t about me. They would be wrong on several levels. First, and most apparent, your prejudice is showing. There are many Jewish community members who have ties to multiple other communities in Canada. Yes, there are indigenous Jews; as well, there are many other cross-cultural, interreligious and inter-ethnic family connections of which you may not be aware.

Second, anyone can be at risk. Missing people and human trafficking are as old as time. When Joseph’s brothers throw him into a pit and then sell him to the Ishmaelites (Genesis 37:28), they’re participating in human trafficking and slavery. They turn Joseph into a missing person. His parents go through the anguish of not knowing what happened to their child. If you’re a parent or, heck, if you’ve ever lost a pet, it’s not hard to imagine this anguish.

Rashi’s commentary says that Joseph was sold several times. According to Midrash Tanhuma, he’s sold from the Ishmaelites to the Midianites and, from there, into Egypt. This description is not unlike what happens now to women captured in wartime. News reports offer similar stories of women enslaved today – by Boko Haram or, to mention refugees closer to home, Yazidi women who were enslaved by ISIS, some of whom have found homes in Canada.

Some believe slavery is a thing of the past, tied to faraway, evil people – like the narratives I’ve heard from Canadians about the American South. People might be evil, but they aren’t far away. This is a modern issue. Once a person is being trafficked, it’s very hard to break free. She’s possibly been forcibly confined, addicted to drugs, beaten and sexually assaulted. She may be hidden, unable to get help, and brainwashed by those who kidnapped her.

There are charities that work against human trafficking, and many nongovernmental organizations do, as well. However, I was recently invited to participate in a raffle. The business offered a prize in exchange for donating to an anti-trafficking organization. I got as far as clicking through to the organization’s donation page before I saw that it did its work through a lens of Christian evangelizing. Here’s what I found: “Agape International Missions has an incredible team of staff members and volunteers who faithfully carry out our mission, day in and day out. At AIM, we believe that Christ through His Church will defeat the evil of sex trafficking, so we invite you, the Church, to join us in this fight!”

Further, if you wanted to work for them, and you’re not Christian? Too bad. Here’s what their job search info looked like: “You should consider pursuing a career with AIM if: You’re a Christian; You agree wholeheartedly with our Statement of Faith. As the foundation for all we do, our Christian faith is a uniting factor among volunteers and staff.”

Essentially, this Christian organization uses an “us” versus them narrative, in which this religiously motivated group is all good. They are out to conquer this evil that happens to faraway (non-Christian) others. Sadly, if you change the religious ideology, I’m not sure Jewish communities are much different in how we portray social action issues.

Kidnapping, human trafficking, using sex as a weapon – many people like to think these terrible things don’t happen to “us.” However, this naïve view harms victims, perpetuating the idea that these things only happen to people far away or long ago, or who somehow did something wrong to deserve it.

Joseph, according to Jewish tradition, was our relative, a part of our family. His brothers kidnapped and sold him. My friend’s niece went missing this winter. This isn’t some ancient or distant problem. Some argue that, if Joseph hadn’t been his father’s favourite, or if he’d behaved better, this wouldn’t have happened to him – this is blaming a victim.

In Joseph’s case, he lived. He was found, and he flourished over time, in Egypt. My friend’s niece came home to her mother and children after a week. It’s still unclear what happened to her. It sounds like something like human trafficking may have taken place. We (helpers outside the family) may never know.

Every time a missing person is found safe, it’s lucky – but it’s not a sure thing. Often, many hundreds of people’s efforts go into finding someone, and keeping others safe.

If you’re sent a missing person’s information, don’t judge whether or not the person is “worthy.” Send it onwards. Just imagine if your relative or friend went missing – wouldn’t you want everyone’s help, without judgment or religious prejudice?

What is the worth of work?

Recently, I’ve had numerous encounters with middle-aged women. This isn’t strange. I’m talking to women who are a lot like me: dealing with school-aged kids, piano lessons, finding childcare, etc. What’s remarkable is that the same conversation pops up – about work.

One friend, an author and artist, said that she does the math every time she’s invited to do a workshop or a special event. Will the cost of travel, supplies and teaching preparation be worth the return? She’s often told, “Well, we can’t afford to pay you to teach” but, when she shows up for the single event she agreed to do for payment, what happens? People surround her, saying, “Well, if we’d only known you were coming, we would have paid for you to do a multi-day workshop!”

Another woman explained that she is only now, after years of staying at home, getting back to very part-time work in her field. Why? The cost of childcare would have canceled out anything she would have earned with part-time work.

Among women who juggle a full-time job with conventional hours, there’s an acknowledgement that it’s extremely hard to manage. In some cases, their partners step up to do the childrearing and run the household. In others, there are moms who are obligated to work full-time, be “on call” as the primary caretaker and either do, or hire someone to do, all the household chores. For many, this works because everyone’s healthy and they have support from extended family. In case of illness or lack of family support? Forget it. Of course, since these women do manage it, anyone who struggles is seen as “not as capable” as a woman who “has it all.”

This is a big topic, and it’s also (surprise!) a Jewish topic. We’ve been wrestling with it forever. In Exodus, the Israelites flee Egypt and slavery. Yet, in Exodus 14:12, the Israelites are afraid and they actually suggest to Moses that it would be better to return to Egypt and slavery (work without being paid) than to die in the wilderness. Lacking faith, they struggle with how they will be fed, and manna appears for them.

The first question is, what is the value of our work? For the Israelites, they were willing to live for nothing more than food and housing, as Egyptian slaves, rather than cope with being tossed out into the unknown. They didn’t value their work, and perhaps didn’t have the confidence that things could be different. Yet, when they take that risk, miraculously, their basic needs are met.

There are no guarantees. We can offer up our work for free – in whatever professional fields we’re qualified to do so – but there’s no surety that, at the end, we’ll have any offer of full-time, paying work. I see women doing this all around me. There’s an expectation that you’ll volunteer to offer your presentation, and you’ll also tack on free teaching, writing, editing, professional-level creative work or even childcare for others’ children. (Yes, I’ve been asked to do all these things for free.)

Here’s the second question. Is the Israelites’ manna in the desert the ancient equivalent of the “guaranteed minimum income” or “basic income” concept? At what point in modern society do we decide that everyone should get enough to eat? When is it acceptable to say, “Everyone should have a warm place to live, no matter what you earn or your special needs or other health challenges”?

In the Talmud, in Berachot 17a, the sages of Yavneh say that we are all G-d’s creatures, those who learn Torah in the city and those who labour in the fields. That both kinds of people rise early. Neither one is superior. Their work has equal merit as long as they “direct his heart towards Heaven.” This includes the idea that the labourer doesn’t presume to do the Torah scholar’s work and the scholar doesn’t presume to do the labourer’s. In this gendered ancient world, this leaves out women. Then Rav Hiyya acknowledges that women are offered “ease and confidence” because they do an enormous amount to sustain Jewish learning through raising their kids Jewishly and supporting their husbands who study Mishnah.

So, even in talmudic times, work was valuable and considered important, no matter what you did. Further, a woman who is doing “traditional” things like taking care of her children’s education or her husband is owed “ease and confidence” for her efforts.

Our work has meaning. It has important economic and social value. However, sometimes, when we compare our resumés, we feel lacking; certainly if we are being asked to do work for free. It turns out that we shouldn’t be expected to work for free, because our work, no matter what it is, is equivalent and necessary.

A more modern reminder: Martin Luther King, Jr., preached that all work is crucial and deserves fair pay. He supported the Memphis Sanitation Workers’ strike. To be healthy, we need trash collection. Garbage collectors matter.

There’s also no such thing as being out of the workforce. That dinner you cooked, the snow shoveled, the cleaning you did to keep someone healthy, the child you kept safe – according to the rabbis, if you do your work with the right intention, it’s all equally important.

I was recently invited by a favourite undergrad professor of mine to submit a short bio for the Cornell University Near Eastern studies department’s alumni page. I read some previous ones – doctors, rabbis, professors and others – and felt out of my league. Then I talked about it with my husband and thought about it. Being asked to share my work experience on that forum means, like the rabbis’ view of work, mine is valuable too – and so is yours.