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Enjoy an afternoon movie

Would you like to go to the movies? Yes? That is exactly what about 80 people did on Nov. 25 at the Peretz Centre for Secular Jewish Culture, thanks to the wonderful combined effort of Jewish Seniors Alliance and Vancouver Jewish Film Centre, which co-host a movie screening scheduled on the afternoon of the last Tuesday of every month.

Upon arriving, we were treated to a light buffet of bagels, sweets, fruit and beverages, then we headed to the large auditorium, where VJFC director Robert Albanese welcomed the audience and introduced the day’s film, The Outrageous Sophie Tucker.

After Gyda Chud, on behalf of JSA, made some announcements, including that the previously scheduled JSA Empowerment series talk Oy Vey, My Back! will be presented in March, Albanese spoke of the variety of films that the film centre will be presenting over the next few months. Then, Sophie Tucker “entered” our world.

Tucker was born Sonya Kalish to Ukrainian Jewish parents in 1886 as they fled from czarist Russia. She only became Sophie Tucker after she adopted her former husband’s name, Tuck, and added the “er.” That name became a password that could be used to gain entry to celebrities and even presidents.

In the film, authors and biographers Lloyd and Susan Ecker relate much of Tucker’s story.

When very young, she worked in her parents’ kosher restaurant, a job she did not enjoy. One day, her father asked her to distribute pamphlets at theatres as the actors left, since most of them were Jewish. He thought it would increase the number of diners.

While doing this task, Tucker heard the music from inside a theatre, she snuck in and what she saw changed her life forever, as well as the lives of her future audiences. She ran away to New York, leaving her family, but knowing where she belonged.

She tried vaudeville but, not being a classic beauty, she had difficulty being accepted “as is,” so she sang in “black face.” Eventually, her powerful voice began to be heard. When she forgot her makeup one day and sang as herself, the show was a success – she never performed in black face again.

Irving Berlin wrote music for her and she “stopped the show” when she sang. Tucker worked without a contract; her word or a handshake was sufficient.

Tucker was respected and she respected others, asking for their names, numbers and addresses upon meeting them and entering those contacts in a book, which eventually housed 10,000 names. She would write to these people if she were coming to their towns, asking them to come see her perform. She was the original Facebook – only it was the Tuckerbook.

Ted Shapiro, her accompanist for 46 years, had the unique talent of being able to interpret the mood that Tucker wished to portray.

In later years, mobsters took over the ownership of many nightclubs and Tucker befriended Al Capone. He enjoyed having her sing, as she brought people into his Chez Paris. He called her a “human cash register.”

In the years to come, Tucker decided to share what she knew and opened a school teaching young women how to be “Red Hot Mamas.”

She knew how to market herself: in the 1930s, she was the spokeswoman for soup; in the 1940s, she advertised blouses for the fuller mamas, saying she enjoyed being overweight – “Too much of a good thing is wonderful!” She prided herself on having creative and huge hairdos, calling herself the “Modern Marie Antoinette,” and always carried a large filmy handkerchief as she performed.

In 1929, the biggest entertainer was Al Jolson and he sang in the first talkie. That same year, Warner Bros. had Tucker debut in the movie Honky Tonk, where she sang “Some of These Days,” a song with which she is still identified. Judy Garland learned how to “sell a song” from Tucker.

During the war, Tucker was one of the performers to whom soldiers wrote and received answers. She was a pinup girl along with Betty Grable.

There was a young Jewish soldier who was obsessed with music and hauled around his records, vowing that he would play Tucker’s rendition of “My Yiddishe Mameh” in Berlin when he beat Hitler. Unfortunately, he died before he could accomplish this goal but his fellow soldiers fulfilled his vow, much to the anger of some German soldiers, as that song had been banned in Germany. The victors played it for eight hours through the streets of Berlin.

Tucker remained on top for 58 years, into the television era. Along the way, she befriended many, including Josephine Baker, who, because she was black, was having a hard time being allowed to perform – until Tucker invited her to sing with her.

Tucker’s talent and her voice were both immeasurable, but her true outstanding ability was in marketing herself when there wasn’t the media infrastructure there is now. She was indeed the last of the Red Hot Mamas, a glowing ember, memorable, still admired, still inspiring!

Expressing what we all felt, Chud thanked Albanese for enriching our lives with this movie, then we all went home with the echo of a song in our hearts, “Some of These Days.”

Binny Goldman is a member of the Jewish Seniors Alliance of Greater Vancouver board.

Herstory on the screen

A corrective of sorts to the Old Testament’s predominantly patriarchal view of seismic events and everyday tribal life, Lifetime’s emotion-tapping adaptation of The Red Tent fulfils one’s modest expectations for a primetime soap opera in period garb.

Anita Diamant’s best-selling saga of female self-actualization and familial tribulation, centred on Jacob’s daughter Dinah, is rendered here as an aspirational fable informed more by Harlequin Romance than hardscrabble reality. Viewed as harmless entertainment and a desert respite from winter, The Red Tent provides acceptable escapism, but if you’re hoping for an earthy, accurate sense of how people actually lived in those days, or a spiritual experience (on television?!), those prayers won’t be answered.

The Red Tent aired earlier this month on Lifetime. If you can get your hands on it, either as a DVD or in rebroadcast, the two-part miniseries comprises three hours of couch time (minus commercials).

The titular scarlet structure serves as a community centre and haven for Jacob’s four wives and their daughters. In this comfy, cozy enclave, the young Dinah acquires extraordinary self-confidence – presumably from seeing firsthand the essential role of women in the family. Their most cherished skill is midwifery, partially for its autonomy (the men assuredly want no part of assisting births) and because it’s closely linked to females’ unique function. As one woman puts it, “We are the lucky ones, for we alone are the ones who can give life.”

The experience of childbirth in biblical times was presumably more primitive than New Age-y, so you’ll be rolling your eyes at the miniseries’ insistence on hinting at suffering without bringing us down by actually showing it. (My biggest peeve about the show’s glamor quotient is that everyone has perfect teeth and nobody ages, despite the skin-wrecking trifecta of sun, wind and sand.)

The film’s greatest challenge, however, is plausibly reconciling a 21st-century feminist point of view (embodied by Dinah) with the societal limitations placed on women in those days. It’s jarringly anachronistic, for example, when Dinah shocks her closest sibling, Joseph, by announcing she’ll choose her own husband at such time as she determines. But it does provide the foundation for her character’s aggressive interfaith love affair with the king’s son, Shechem. This passage of the Bible has been interpreted in several ways, but The Red Tent presents their sexual relationship as mutually consensual and an expression of love.

That doesn’t soothe Jacob’s pride in the least when he’s informed that Dinah and Shechem have married, and things go south in a hurry. Whatever sins the menfolk proceed to commit, the second half of The Red Tent – spotlighting Dinah’s life in exile – takes pains to show that women are as capable of men at inflicting cruelty.

Part 2 of the miniseries embraces such reliably eye-watering themes as separation from, rejection by and reconciliation with one’s children. They may comprise the meat and potatoes of the plot, but the heart of Dinah’s journey involves accepting the family and tradition she was born into and the talent for midwifery that she inherited.

The Red Tent implicitly honors the continuum of women that preceded and followed Dinah, extending to the present day. At the very least, this female-oriented interpretation offers an exceedingly interesting counterpoint to Ridley Scott’s testosterone-fueled Exodus: Gods and Kings, which opens this weekend, and picks up – chronologically speaking – shortly after The Red Tent ends.

Michael Fox is a writer and film critic living in San Francisco.

Miracle of language’s birth

Hebrew is an ancient language still spoken in Israel and by Israelis worldwide. We all know that. This is history. Hebrew was revived about 130 years ago by Zionist Jews coming to Palestine, and those of us who speak Hebrew know that we speak a Semitic language that evolved from biblical and mishnaic Hebrew. However, when thoroughly researching the structure of Israeli Hebrew, things appear differently.

In Colloquial Israeli Hebrew: A Corpus-based Survey (Walter de Gruyter & Co., 2014), I show that spoken Israeli Hebrew is different from ancient forms of Hebrew. Different in almost every linguistic aspect. Different to the level of defining two separate languages; one is ancient, the other is new. The ancient one has a set of Semitic rules; the new one has a new set of rules that are sometimes Semitic and sometimes not. The vocabularies of the two languages are similar, but not identical. And, linguistically, it is very difficult to define them as if one evolved from the other. Despite their similar vocabularies, they differ in too many linguistic characteristics to be considered one language.

Language is commonly considered a set of words, but languages are much more complicated systems than just a random collection of words. Language is a human system of communication. It contains a set of signs, common to all speakers of the same language. These signs represent notions in the real world. Grammatical rules govern the way these signs are formed, pronounced and ordered. These grammatical rules define the relations between the elements in the language, which form the final contents we transfer to others. These rules are common to all speakers of the same language.

Languages have native speakers – those who acquired it during childhood, and use it natively to communicate with others. Language acquisition is a biological process that all of us, humans, undergo. We are all born with a linguistic system that allows us to acquire a language, our language. The process of language acquisition takes about 10 to 12 years. Then, the system with the linguistic properties of our native language is permanently stored in our brains. This system contains all the information about our native language that we need for communication. It is an unconscious system, not an organized set of rules like the ones taught in schools. All native speakers of the same language share the same set of linguistic rules. Otherwise, they would be unable to communicate with one another, i.e., produce coherent speech and comprehend others’ speech, using the same set of signs and rules.

Vocabulary vs. grammar

Vocabulary is the easiest part to transfer from one language to another. Words are borrowed from one language to another all the time. Only phonological adjustments are sometimes needed to turn a foreign word into a word in one’s native language. But borrowing other elements is much more complicated, and much less common. Languages have different structures and different linguistic preferences; what is “friendly” in one language can be very complicated in another. Many words were borrowed from biblical and mishnaic Hebrew into Israeli Hebrew over the years; some have gained additional or alternative meanings. At the same time, very few rules could be transferred in their original form from these sources into Israeli Hebrew. This is because of an interference of the revivers’ native languages, which were very different in their linguistic structures from the Hebrew sources.

When learning Hebrew grammar, we have been frequently taught that we speak Hebrew with mistakes. However, we still produce coherent speech in Israeli Hebrew, and we still comprehend other people’s speech. This means that we all share the same system of linguistic rules. True, these are not the rules “desired” by our teachers. These are other, unconscious, rules that are situated in our minds, but they are our native rules, which we master and use all the time. If we have passed the age of 12, our language system has been completed, and we have a grammar of our native language in our minds. And it is the same grammar to all speakers. Native speakers cannot make mistakes in their own language. Furthermore, what seem like “mistakes” are usually identical among all native speakers. This is an indicator that they are not mistakes, but rather rules. Only no grammarian has officially defined them yet, and they are different from the “desired” rules. Israelis, thus, do not speak Hebrew with mistakes, but rather speak a new language. This language has a set of rules different from that of biblical and mishnaic Hebrew – a new set of rules based on various origins, many of which are European languages, as elaborated herein.

Phonological characteristics

Phonology deals with everything that has to do with the sounds, syllables and intonation of a language. The typical sounds of Israeli Hebrew are very similar to the ones found in European languages. Also, all the typical sounds that are dominantly detectable in many Semitic languages are absent. These are, for example, pharyngeal, glottal and emphatic consonants. They are never noticed in Israeli Hebrew speech.

Syllables in Israeli Hebrew can contain double and triple consonant clusters. These clusters are absent from ancient forms of Hebrew. Such sequences are “forbidden” in traditional Hebrew. On the other hand, syllables having double and triple consonant clusters are typical in European languages. Such clusters were very common in Yiddish, which is the source of many characteristics of Israeli Hebrew.

Short and long vowels in spoken Israeli Hebrew can distinguish between the meanings of words, whereas in traditional Hebrew this is impossible. Thus, a difference in meaning is enabled between the words ze (this) and ze: (identical) in Israeli Hebrew speech. This difference is entailed by the short versus long vowels of the same quality. Traditional Hebrew never allows long vowels in syllable nuclei. Historically, the long vowels are explained as a result of a falling weak consonant between two short vowels. Synchronically, it is evident that vowel length makes a semantic difference between words.

Languages have “music,” that is an extra-linguistic feature of speech. This “music” varies between languages, and contains several features, one of which is intonation. Israeli Hebrew intonation is very similar to that of Yiddish, and very different from that of Semitic languages.

Morphological characteristics

Morphology deals with the way words are derived, and what is the nature of their components. The basic morphological unit in a language is called a morpheme; it is the smallest grammatical unit that represents a meaning. In English, -ness is a morpheme representing a state, as in happiness. A morpheme is not an independent component; it is always attached to another element.

Semitic languages employ a unique strategy of word formation that is based on roots and patterns. Roots and patterns are abstract morphemes, which cannot be attached one to the other. Instead, they are integrated into one another to form new words. The root contains a sequence of consonants, usually three or four, carrying a general meaning; the pattern is a linguistic structure, also carrying a general meaning. The pattern would usually contain vowels, and also reserved locations for the root consonants in between these vowels. Roots and patterns cannot be pronounced independently; their pronunciation is enabled only when being integrated into one another.

Words in Semitic languages, including traditional Hebrew words, are primarily formed by a combination of a root and a pattern. Yet, words in Israeli Hebrew are derived in many other ways, too. Indeed, there are words in Israeli Hebrew that are formed by a root-pattern derivation, such as many verbal forms. However, Israeli Hebrew speakers clearly prefer a more European-like formation of words. European-like word formation employs various concatenation processes of elements. Concatenation is typically being attached in a chain. There is a higher priority among Israelis to form new words in their language this way. By adding a suffix to a stem, or by blending two words into one, they keep the meaning of the new word more transparent. The new words represent one concept while, at the same time, they reflect the original components. Therefore, this kind of derivation has gained priority over the root-pattern strategy.

The verbal system

When looking thoroughly into the verbal system of spoken Israeli Hebrew, many questions arise. Traditional Hebrew, like other Semitic languages, has a rich verbal system based on roots and patterns. There are seven verbal patterns in traditional Hebrew, standing for role-taking and tenses. Two of them represent passive meanings, yet Israeli Hebrew employs only five verbal patterns, and no passives. Passive forms in Israeli Hebrew are very rare, uncommon and unnatural. Native speakers of the language would comprehend passive forms, but never produce them naturally.

The verbal patterns of traditional Hebrew represent tenses: past, present and future. They also include unique imperatives, one for each non-passive pattern. However, the five verbal patterns of Israeli Hebrew do not stand for tenses. They rather reflect aspects and moods, similarly to Slavic languages. Also, they have no unique imperative forms; the latter are derived from prefixed forms that represent mood. The Israeli Hebrew verbal system, in its overall structure, is not similar to any Semitic verbal system. Conversely, it is identical to the structure of the Russian verbal system; the same aspectual forms stand for the same times in the two systems.

Basic verbal stems in Israeli Hebrew are mostly created in the “Semitic” way, by the combination of roots and patterns. However, newer processes of verb formation employ the combinations of stems and affixes, as well as nouns and affixes, on the account of the traditional root-pattern formation. The use of nominals to form verbs is typical to European languages, where a noun or an adjective can easily function as a verb, with or without an affix.

The formation of a verb in Israeli Hebrew is a complicated process, which involves several semantic and morphological processes. Initially, a stem is formed, either by a root-pattern combination, or otherwise. Then, additional suffixes and/or prefixes are attached to it to denote person, gender and number. Many verbal stems are created from foreign words. These stems are governed by the foreign word’s original phonological structure. This means that the sequence of consonants and vowels in the foreign word would govern the choice of the pattern in which the final verb is created. Stems can sometimes be created from whole words, in particular nouns.

The Israeli Hebrew verbal system also contains many concatenated verbs. Concatenated verbs are combinations of at least two consequent inflected verbal elements, each is inflected separately. And no separators are allowed between the two elements; they must be consequently ordered. Concatenated verbs are not observed in other Semitic languages, nor in traditional Hebrew. They express a wide variety of more specific aspects and moods than the basic aspectual and modal notions of the single verbal forms. Concatenation processes, therefore, are a characteristic of Israeli Hebrew, in both the verbal and the nominal systems. It is a linguistic process that is uncommon in Semitic languages, and is more typical to European languages.

Language syntax

Syntax deals with the composition of phrases and clauses from single elements, and the relations between these elements within the phrase or clause. The syntactic features of Israeli Hebrew reflect almost exclusively European languages, whereas Semitic features can be hardly detected.

Each human language has a typical word order of elements in the clause. The elements in the clause are commonly represented by the letters S, V and O, standing for subject, verb and object, respectively. Semitic languages are characterized by a word order of VSO, which means that the verb is typically the first element in the clause, followed by the subject. Israeli Hebrew, however, is characterized by a word order of SVO, in which the subject precedes the verb. This word order is the default order in European languages. This is how the elements in the clause are ordered in Germanic, Roman and Slavic languages. On the other hand, nominal clauses with no verbs are allowed in Israeli Hebrew, which is a Semitic characteristic, and does not exist in European languages. This is one of very few Semitic features in Israeli Hebrew syntax.

Noun compounds in Israeli Hebrew are combinations of two consequent nominals that form a phrase having one meaning. The components of a noun compound in Israeli Hebrew can be either a sequence of two nouns, or a sequence of a noun and an adjective. Definiteness of these compounds is similar to European languages: noun compounds in Israeli Hebrew take a definite article at the beginning of the phrase, on the first component, referring to the whole phrase as one unit of meaning. This is parallel to making, for example, the English term “go-between” definite by adding the definite article before the first component, as in “the go-between.” Semitic languages, including normative Hebrew, typically take the definite article on the second component of the term.

Nouns and adjectives in Semitic languages have gender. During speech, Semitic languages require a gender and number agreement between elements in the speech sequence. Israeli Hebrew has gender distinction in nouns and adjectives. However, gender and number agreement in Israeli Hebrew speech works only one way: backwards. It exists only when referring to a previously mentioned element. When an element is expected to agree in gender and/or number with a following element, it never does. It appears in its unmarked form, usually the masculine singular. This one-way agreement rule is apparent in all the language systems – verbs, nouns, adjectives, etc. Standing out are the numerals that in Semitic languages have two forms: masculine and feminine. Israeli Hebrew, apart from the numeral one, employs only one form for both genders. The use of neutral numbers and the distinction in the numeral one is also employed in Roman languages.

Summary

Israeli Hebrew has not evolved directly from earlier Hebrew forms. It was created artificially, employing, although unconsciously, mixed rules from many languages, including earlier forms of Hebrew. This way, some of the original Hebrew characteristics, which are Semitic, could be preserved, whereas at least as many were “imported” from other, European, languages. (See G. Zuckermann, “A New Vision for ‘Israeli Hebrew’: Theoretical and Practical Implications of Analyzing Israel’s Main Language as a Semi-Engineered Semito-European Hybrid Language,” Journal of Modern Jewish Studies 5, no. 1 (2006): 57-71.)

So, has the revival of Hebrew ever occurred?

We are nearing Chanukah, and Chanukah is about miracles. Perhaps the miracle of Hebrew revival never happened, but another miracle has certainly taken place: the emergence of a new language. A language whose number of speakers has been increasing, and which is alive and evolving. It has a short history of 130 years – it does not go back thousands of years – but its emergence is at least as miraculous as the revival of a language, and as impressive.

Nurit Dekel is principal linguist at NSC-Natural Speech Communication, an academic researcher of Colloquial Israeli Hebrew teaching at the Levinsky College of Education, Tel Aviv, and the author of Colloquial Israeli Hebrew: A Corpus-based Survey (Walter de Gruyter & Co., 2014). She thanks David J. Swykert (magicmasterminds.com/djswykert) for reviewing this essay and providing very insightful comments.

Time to put the Hebrew back

With the school year in full swing, and with Chanukah just beginning, I’d like to take the opportunity to offer a single wish for Jewish community life in Canada. It’s quite specific and straightforward but, I believe, far-reaching.

I hope and wish that our community’s supplementary and day school teachers would speak Hebrew to their students. In other words, I’d like to see us put the Hebrew back in Hebrew school.

Having experienced more than one supplementary school via my own kids, this column is not meant to impugn any particular school, but rather is meant to capture a troubling dynamic I’ve witnessed in more than one place, and with more than one teacher.

For example, seldom have I heard the teachers say the simplest of Hebrew phrases – such as boker tov (good morning) – to the kids when greeting them. As I picked up my kids recently, I puzzled over why the teacher was asking the students to put the chairs on the tables in English when Hebrew would work beautifully for a simple command involving two common nouns.

Some months ago, I approached one school director about my concern, citing Ottawa’s very successful French immersion program as a model. (Recall that, until recently in Ottawa, where I live, kindergarten classes were only a couple of hours per day, showing that even direct application of spoken French in a limited time can have profound results.) The director’s response was that, for French immersion schools, French is akin to a religion. Here, on the other hand, the director explained, “We are in the business of teaching kids how to be Jews.”

I’ve been mulling over the distinction since then. Is Hebrew language acquisition conceptually distinct from “teaching kids to be Jews”?

Now, admittedly, I’m one of the more passionate Hebrew-philes there is, having elected to speak only Hebrew to my kids since they were infants. I realize not everyone shares my obsession for Hebrew and Israeli sitcoms, music and news.

I decided to tackle that director’s implication. I started by thinking about the one Hebrew word that virtually everyone living in a North American city knows. By dint of the craze around Christmas, probably the first Hebrew word children learn – even before shalom, ima or Shabbat – is Chanukah.

Now, most everyone knows that Chanukah is the name of the Jewish holiday commemorating the Maccabees’ victory over the Assyrian-Greeks. But, how many of us actually know the literal meaning of the word? Here’s a further challenge: I would wager that knowing the literal meaning of the word Chanukah provides key links to three seemingly unrelated things: a) better recall of the meaning of the holiday, b) an understanding of the causes of the First Intifada, and c) a deeper conceptualization of the entire relationship between Jewish identity and education.

So, here goes. Chanukah is the Hebrew word for dedication or inauguration. Knowing this would help kids remember that central to the holiday was the rededication of the Second Temple, and would render intelligible the chanukat ha’mizbayach phrase in the popular holiday song whose Hebrew words often register in kids’ minds as gibberish, unless they are schooled in the language.

Chanukat ha’bayit is also the Hebrew phrase for housewarming. A bit of modern Israeli political history reveals that Ariel Sharon’s provocative Muslim Quarter housewarming party in December 1987, during Chanukah, is understood by many political observers to have helped fuel the first Palestinian intifada. (Perhaps his housewarming party was meant to be a word play on the Festival of Lights, falling as it was at the same time. Perhaps not, but it also serves as a useful memory mnemonic for students of Israeli politics.)

Finally, all Hebrew words derive from a three-letter root. The root of Chanukah is the same as the root for chinuch (education) and for chanich (camper, initiate). In other words, in a beautiful piece of poetic connection, understanding Hebrew can be seen to be an early step of being initiated into the Jewish people in a meaningful way. In any event, the idea of education in Jewish life – whether formal, through school, or informal, through camps and youth groups – is meant to remind kids they are joining something much larger than themselves. And that can only be helped by being regularly exposed to the rich and eternally clever language of our people.

Mira Sucharov is an associate professor of political science at Carleton University. She blogs at Haaretz and the Jewish Daily Forward. This article was originally published in the Ottawa Jewish Bulletin.

Does God love dogs and cats?

As a boy growing up in the foothills of Berkeley, my parents encouraged me to have pets. From guinea pigs to parakeets to even a pet chicken named Fwedwika, my home was full of little critters throughout most of my childhood. By encouraging me to be a caretaker for my pets, my parents taught me the meaning of responsibility, consistency and perhaps even love. So, I’ve often wondered if the Jewish religious scriptures supports animal activism and what exactly God would say if I posed the question, “Do You love dogs?”

Dogs are the only animals in the Torah that receive a reward for their actions. When the Jewish slaves flee Egypt, it states, “not one dog barked.” (Exodus 11:7) As a reward for that refrain, God said, “… and flesh torn in the field you shall not eat; you shall throw it to the dog[s].” (Exodus 22:30; Mechilta) However, God’s affection for animals doesn’t end with affable companions such as dogs. This affection even extends to insects. King David had to learn this lesson when he questioned the purpose of such “vile creatures” as spiders. Subsequently, God created an event whereupon a spider’s web saved his life, thereby impressing upon Judaism’s mightiest king that every creature has purpose (Midrash Alpha Beta Acheres d’Ben Sira 9).

The Talmud teaches that the reason the Almighty created animals before humans on the sixth day of creation was to teach humans humility, so much that “even a lowly gnat” may be more deserving of life (Sanhedrin 38a).

So, one may infer from here that God does indeed love dogs … and all the rest of His creatures, too. But does this manifest itself into practical animal activism or does it remain a more generalized and undefined value in Judaism?

Jewish law is replete with requirements for the caring of animals. Examples include laws prohibiting inflicting pain on animals (Kesef Mishneh, Hilkhot Rotzeah 13:9), requiring one to feed animals in a loving manner (Igg’rot Moshe, Even haEzer 4:92) and protecting animals from being overworked (Hoshen Mishpat 307:13). We see from these and more, the extensive lengths to which the Torah goes in order to ensure the proper care of animals. Even when one must slaughter an animal to feed one’s family, there are numerous Jewish laws set in place to guarantee that the animal’s death is quick and painless (Guide to the Perplexed III:48).

One insight we can glean from the Torah about why God may have made animals is that they were created to express the “glory of the Creator.” (Pirkei Avos 6:11) The sheer diversity and beauty of animals leads one to appreciate the Creator even more, thereby leading one to proclaim, “How great is Your work, O Lord.” (Psalm 92:5) One might also say that the Creator has placed us, the descendants of Adam and Eve, in His beautiful garden to be the “caretaker” of “God’s garden” and all the animals therein (Genesis 2:19-20).

Mankind is created last in the days of Creation because humans are the pinnacle of Creation; we are the beings created in God’s image (Genesis 1:27). When we use our free will responsibly, acting with compassion and sensitivity, we become like God, as it says, “Just as He is compassionate, so should you be compassionate. Just as He is righteous, so should you be righteous.” (Midrash Sifre Deuteronomy 49) When we develop ourselves to be spiritually refined, we fully realize the title of “caretakers of the world,” of God’s beautiful world and all the animals in it.

Imagine what message it sends a child when parents teach that God wants all our animals to be fed before we feed ourselves (Talmud, Brachot 40a). Imagine what message it sends our child when parents teach that God watches us to see if we are being compassionate to the animals in our midst (Talmud, Bava Metzia 85a). And imagine what message we bequeath to our children when we say that to become truly righteous and spiritually fulfilled, we must cultivate a sensitivity towards animals, as it says “A righteous person knows the needs of the animal.” (Proverbs 12:10)

Perhaps this is why God specifically made Noah build an ark to save all the animals during the Flood. After all, God could have easily made a miracle where the animals were saved without Noah needing to slave away for 40 days and nights meticulously tending to the care of each animal in the ark and even sharing his own table with them (Malbim, Genesis 6:21). One could answer that this was precisely to highlight that the concept of being the “caretakers of the garden” didn’t end with Adam and Eve but is an essential responsibility of mankind for all time.

Additionally, one can also say that the way we treat animals is a reflection of the way we treat people. In the Torah, we observe the repeating story of how a loving shepherd is chosen by God to lead the spiritual flock of the Jewish people after previously demonstrating his dedication to a flock of sheep (Midrash, Shemot Rabah 2:2). A barometer for one’s sensitivity towards other people can be seen in how we treat the animals in our midst. This emphasis on caring for animals can be a way to further those feelings of sensitivity that may eventually lead to goodwill for all mankind.

There is a final fascinating perspective that the Torah is teaching us. Animals can serve as our teachers. There are God-given qualities inherent in the instinctual habits and mannerisms of the animals around us that can serve to inspire humans to achieve greater heights of spiritual fulfilment. For example, the very first law in the Code of Jewish Laws is, “Rabbi Yehuda ben Taima said, ‘Be as bold as a leopard, light as an eagle, swift as a deer and strong as a lion to do the will of your Father in Heaven.’” (Avot 5:20) Poignantly, this is placed as the first law in a book of Jewish legalities. This idea is most evident in the statement of Rabbi Yochanan: “If the Torah had not been given, we could have learned modesty from the cat, honesty from the ant, chastity from the dove and good manners from the rooster.” (Talmud, Eiruvin 100b) Perhaps we could also learn from a dog the power of devotion, loyalty and even having a positive attitude.

I will conclude with a teaching about man’s best friend, the dog. The notable 16th-century Jewish leader, the Maharsha, says that a dog is a creature of love. Hence, the Hebrew name for a dog is kelev, which is etymologically derived from the words kulo lev, or all heart (Rabbi Shmuel Eidels, Chidushei Aggadot, Sanhedrin 97a). Remember that Adam and Eve were instructed by God to give all the animals of the world their Hebrew names (Genesis 2:19-20). When they made this personal connection with the beasts of the world, the names they chose were prophetically accurate so as to encapsulate the essence of each animal into a name that truly revealed its soul (Bereishit Rabbah 17:4). Thus, one may extrapolate from this that the Hebrew name for a dog was precisely chosen to be indicative of the loving soul of this marvelous creature.

So, yes, God loves dogs. And we should, too.

Rabbi Levi Welton is a writer and educator raised in Berkeley, Calif. A member of the Rabbinical Council of America, he graduated from the Machon Ariel Rabbinical Institute in 2005 and from Bellevue University in 2008 with an MA in education. Having served Jewish communities in San Francisco, Sydney and Montreal, he currently resides in New York and specializes in working with youth and young adults. This article was originally published by Aish Hatorah Resources and is distributed by Kaddish Connection Network.

Our diasporic connections

Consider an unbearable rift forced between a human being and his/her native place; between the self and the true home. Its essential sadness can never be surmounted.

If you were born in this country, you are not an exile – all the rest of us not born in Canada are, in one way or another. Whether we were exiled or left of our own volition, we are all diasporic, we all live in galut, we all know the strings, the tugs, the connections with our past: parents, forebears, birth place, culture, that which is so much, or was, part of every fibre of our being.

Think of when you are traveling and you bump into someone from Canada, Vancouver, Montreal, Scotland, India, anywhere, and immediately you discover what we call in Hindi a jhath bhai, someone who knows what you are talking about, with whom less explanation is necessary, and who could probably finish your sentences for you. A lantsman maybe?

Moonbeams are not tangible; you cannot stretch out your hand and touch them. These moonbeams, however, are human connections, family, culture, food, little idiosyncrasies and expressions we understand without further explanation on our part. And we miss these tremendously, in our inner core.

I meet taxi drivers, HandyDART drivers, people born and raised in India, and soon we are off and running in so many directions after discovering we come from the same country. On a scholarship in Montreal some 30 years ago, I was hitchhiking a ride one evening up University Avenue back to residence. A taxi driver stopped to pick me up – I kid you not! Before we reached the top of the hill, he had told me his name (which is also my maiden name in Arabic), that he was from Iran (where my father’s parents came from) and, in no time, we had shared so much and made so many connections.

My connections are varied and many, for which I feel truly blessed: Jewish (whether Ashkanazi or Sephardi), Indian, Israeli, Middle Eastern, British (well, I say, sod the lot of you chaps!).

And so it goes. In this manner, we also feel rich in connections. Imagine strings being tied from you to others with whom you have longtime and deep connections, not because you know them personally but because your well of memories might be the same. It is from these wells that you draw the richness of commonality, that make you feel you are part of such treasures, a history of which you can now share – even if only for a few minutes as you stand in line waiting to pay for your bag of bananas.

And why are these connections more real than moonbeams?

Seemah C. Berson, author of I Have a Story to Tell You (Wilfred Laurier University Press, 2010), is a freelance writer and occasional dabbler in art, children’s poems and stories.

Nature knows no borders

Traveled thousands of miles

Inching my way

Between mothers, children, prayer books

Vying for space, so that I may touch

Your precious stones

Stones that have heard millions of tears

Stones that hold hope and anguish

Weeping and praying surround me

And I cannot hear my own sigh as I ask

Will you negotiate?

I plead

as I fold my scrap of paper

Tiptoeing upwards

to search for

a vacant space I ask

like so many before me

Can you make a miracle?

– Jerusalem 2013

Dawn has just broken. I’m walking along the beach, inhaling whiffs of sea spray. White Rock’s lights are fading in the distance, and ocean and skies are turning blue together against the backdrop of a glowing sunrise.

The hotel manager told me that if I rose early I would catch all of nature’s beauties. I’m not disappointed. Harbor seals are out fishing, birds of all shapes and sizes have begun their morning songs and skim the ocean for breakfast. A mother porpoise and her baby are playing, and fishing boats are gliding smoothly over the waves.

The only sounds are the whistling of crickets, high-pitched cries of seagulls and the rhythmic hiss of the surf. Once in a while, my laptop informs me of a new message but, fortunately, nature wins. I have the discipline to ignore it; nature wins.

This little corner of the world spells P-E-A-C-E.

The hotel has changed hands many times in the 30 years I’ve been coming here. Every visit has been different, with a purposeful or personal story.

Nature, though, is always consistent. Out in the natural world, I receive solace and my writer’s block dissolves, at least 99 percent of the time. This year, writing about peace feels like the one percent block. And an impossible task begs a purposeful visit.

The scenery is breathtaking, except for the tall unsightly steel object placed in the middle of water, a physical manifestation of the boundary between countries. I note that the boats are sailing to either side of the eyesore.

In the natural world, the skies and seas are open for birds and other creatures. No passports or border patrols needed. I am reminded of a 2012 BBC travel article, titled “Where birds know no borders.”

“Unrestricted movement between Israel and the Palestinian territories is not always possible for those on two feet,” the article reads. “But if you shift your gaze upwards, something entirely different comes into focus.”

A migration of a billion birds belonging to more than 540 species traverses through the skies each autumn and spring. Both governments have set up centres for avid birders who come from all over the world to see this spectacular sight.

Could this be a miracle, like the one I asked for last year at the Wall?

As I move my gaze away from the metal border structure and back to reality, I wonder if nature, prayer, music and dance can help us engage and connect with the world.

Can we create more connected global communities? Can we uncover commonalities that reduce conflicts? Can we build more peaceful nations? Miracles happen daily in nature. Look no further than the dove.

– Blaine, Wash., 2014

Jenny Wright is a writer, music therapist, children’s musician and recording artist.

Are Jews, blacks still allies?

Rabbi Susan Talve at an NAACP march in Ferguson, Mo., with recent bar mitzvah boy Terel Wooten Jr. (photo by Philip Deitch)

Though the relationship has at times been conflicted, throughout the 20th century, particularly in the 1950s and ’60s, the alliance between Jews and African-Americans was strong. This alliance was evident in the Jewish role in the founding of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP) in 1909, and in Jewish leaders joining black leaders to push through the Civil Rights Act and the Voting Rights Act of the 1960s.

At the height of the Civil Rights era, Jewish figures projected spiritual meaning on to the struggle for social justice. After marching alongside the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. in the 1965 march on Selma, Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel was quoted as saying, “I felt my feet were praying.” Jack Greenberg, former director-counsel of the NAACP Legal Defence Fund, likened his early days arguing civil rights cases before the U.S. Supreme Court to being in synagogue.

While demographics and history have played out differently in Canada, from the 1950s to the early 2000s, Canadian Jewish Congress engaged in dialogue with other groups representing minorities, including the Jamaican Canadian Association and the Urban Alliance on Race Relations.

Now, some argue these ties have dissipated and that North American Jews no longer have the same appetite for social justice or feel the same level of kinship with other minority groups.

Yavilah McCoy, the African-American Jewish founder of Ayecha, a nonprofit that advocates for Jews of color in the United States, wrote in Tikkun magazine last January about what appeared to her to be “a great silence among many of the white Jewish social activists I know,” in the wake of the 2012 killing of unarmed black teenager Trayvon Martin in Florida and the acquittal of his killer.

Bernie Farber, a social activist and former head of CJC, said Canadian Jews have strayed from their duty to support other minority groups. “Working with the Canadian black community was once part and parcel of what we believed was necessary to create a climate of tolerance,” he said. “Somehow, we’ve slipped away from that.”

In light of the August killing of unarmed black teenager Michael Brown by a white police officer in Ferguson, Mo., and of the grand jury’s decision last month not to indict him, as well as the recent decision to not indict a white police officer for the choke-hold death of Eric Garner, a black man from Staten Island, as North American Jews, we might ask ourselves, do we have an obligation to fight for the rights of marginalized groups around us? If not, why not?

The weakened coalition between blacks and Jews can, McCoy argued, be partially attributed to the Black Power movement of the late ’60s, which saw black activists shift from King’s racially integrated approach to an ethos of “self-determination, self-defence tactics and racial pride.”

Though this was “crucial to the evolution of black consciousness and identity in America,” it left many Jewish activists “with little input in the black community, and an anti-racism movement that seemed to be moving on without them.”

She also cites dwindling antisemitism in the United States, compared to sustained anti-black racism, and the growing class division between Jews and African-Americans as additional factors.

Farber said that in his opinion the gulf between Jews and blacks resulted not from class disparity, but from North American Jews – particularly Canadian Jews – becoming more inwardly focused, fixated on self-preservation.

About a decade ago, he said, angst about Israel caused Canadian Jews to place their focus on Israel advocacy, downplaying associations with groups of color.

“Canadian Jews have become more parochial,” he said. “Issues of social justice have taken second position…. But by giving up on the social justice agenda, we do ourselves an incredible amount of harm … we’ve lost a lot of who we were.”

In Canada, the Jewish response to Ferguson has been fairly quiet, but some leaders are voicing concern.

“The killing of Michael Brown should deeply disturb us and offend our sense of Jewish moral values,” said Rabbi Aaron Levy of the Toronto congregation Makom. “There’s a strong history of part of the Jewish community identifying with the political left. Where that has gone is a good question.”

Avrum Rosensweig, president of Ve’ahavta, said the “deep scars between the white and black communities” in the United States are “deeply troubling.”

“We see that in Canada with our aboriginal community…. Like Michael Brown, they are seemingly invisible, judged differently because of the color of their skin.”

While Jews on both sides of the border may be less involved in activism, there are certainly exceptions: some American Jewish groups have thrown their support behind demonstrators in Ferguson. In October, nearly 30 rabbis from across the country joined 200 interfaith clergy in peaceful demonstrations, asking police to repent.

The New York-based group Jews for Racial and Economic Justice (JFREJ), which coordinated protest groups after Martin’s killing, is running a campaign for greater police accountability.

T’ruah, a multi-denominational network of rabbis and Jewish communities that works for human rights in North America and Israel, has expressed staunch solidarity with the Ferguson protesters and is in the midst of launching a prison reform campaign.

“Torah teaches us we shouldn’t stand idly by the suffering of our neighbors,” said Rabbi Rachel Kahn-Troster, T’ruah’s director of programs. “Policing and mass incarceration disproportionately affect this one part of our population, and we feel obligated to speak out.”

Rabbi Susan Talve of the Central Reform Congregation in St. Louis, near Ferguson, has long worked to alleviate racism and poverty, developing relationships with African-American and Muslim groups.

A fixture at the Ferguson protests, Talve laments that the Jewish community has become less engaged in social justice. “We’ve gotten pretty complacent in America, as white people,” she said, “but [events in Ferguson] have been a real wake-up call to the Jewish community to stand up for people who don’t have a voice…. That’s certainly what Torah calls us to do.”

Rabbi Michael Adam Latz, senior rabbi at Minneapolis’ progressive Shir Tikvah Congregation, said he, too, felt compelled to protest in Ferguson. “It wasn’t too long ago that it was Jews getting beaten in the streets. I think that we who have suffered have the obligation to stand with people who continue to suffer.”

– For more national Jewish news, visit cjnews.com.

Refugee recognition

President Reuven Rivlin Rivlin addresses the Nov. 30 ceremony at his residence marking the first Day of the Expulsion and Deportation of Jews from Arab Lands and Iran. (photo by GPO/Mark Neiman)

It may have been 47 years ago but Yossef Carasso remembers every detail of the night that he was taken to an Egyptian police station from his home in the city of Tanta, near Cairo. It was the first night of the 1967 war.

“We were the only Jewish family still left in Tanta and, at 10 p.m., there was a knock on the door,” said Carasso. “The policeman told my father, ‘We’re looking for your son and son-in-law.’ They took us to a police station and left us there all night.”

Carasso, who was not accused of any crime, was among 400 Jews who were imprisoned in Egypt at the start of the war when Egypt, along with Syria and Jordan, attacked Israel. For six months, he said, his parents didn’t know if he was still alive. Finally, he was allowed to write to them. Two years later, he was released and, the next day, he and his family left Egypt, originally for France and then for Israel. According to Justice for Jews from Arab Countries (JJAC), almost 120,000 Jews left Egypt in the 1950s and ’60s. There are only a few dozen Jews left in Egypt today.

Last week, Carasso attended a ceremony at Israeli President Reuven Rivlin’s residence, designating Nov. 30 as the national day of commemoration of the plight of Jewish refugees from Arab lands and Iran. According to the United Nations, about 850,000 Jews left their homes in Arab countries; and 750,000 Palestinians became refugees with the creation of the state of Israel in 1948. The largest number of Arab Jews came from Morocco, Algeria and Iraq. Today, half of all Israelis have roots in Arab countries.

Celebrating the holidays in rural B.C.

Mountain Baby’s Chanukah wares on display. (photo from Judy Banfield)

For most of us, preparing for Chanukah is fairly simple. When it comes to finding candles, dreidels and even menorahs, there is no lack of stores and gift shops in Vancouver and Victoria in which to find that last-minute Chanukah item. Even online ordering seems faster these days, with delivery options that can take as little as a day or two to Canada’s West Coast.

But if you are one of the several hundred Jews who populate British Columbia’s small communities where neither stores nor outpost are likely to carry Chanukah candles let alone a chanukiyah, celebrating the Jewish Festival of Lights means not only a ton of advance planning but might even mean mapping out your prep, just short of a supply reconnaissance.

First, there’s the planning: the long-distance phone calls, the maps and, often, the overnight accommodation arrangements. Then there’s the road trip – sometimes for several days at a time. For those semi-rural residents who have moved from larger Jewish communities, said Kamloops Jewish community (1-250-372-9217 or kamloopsjewishcommunity.wordpress.com) president Heidi Coleman, planning Chanukah in the country can be an experience in itself.

“In Montreal, you didn’t really have to do so much to be Jewish because Montreal had a huge Jewish community,” said Coleman, who moved to Kamloops two years ago from the East Coast. “Here, everyone who is interested is making an effort to maintain their Judaism.”

Since Kamloops is only a four-hour drive from Vancouver (in optimum conditions), community members often travel to “the big city” to pick up their supplies. She acknowledged that, over the years, the community, which includes members in rural areas outside of Kamloops, has developed an “emergency” list of contacts to fit each holiday season, ranging from Jewish Federations of Canada-UIA in Toronto, to the Okanagan Jewish Community Centre in Kelowna. Still, she said, local stores are beginning to realize that they have a Jewish community in their midst.

“Last year, at Target in Kamloops, they had Chanukah decorations,” remarked Coleman, amazed.

Anne Zazuliak, who serves as the office administrator for the Okanagan JCC in Kelowna and runs its small gift shop (1-250-862-2305 or ojcc.ca), said they often receive customers from throughout the Okanagan and beyond. The small shop has filled a vital niche for Okanagan Jews for almost 20 years. Prior to that, said David Spevakow, the organization’s president, the community did as many rural households still do: they poured over catalogues and purchased in bulk through long-distance connections.

The Chabad Okanagan Centre for Jewish Life and Learning (1-250-862-2305) also acts as a conduit for rural Jews. The centre’s co-director, Rabbi Shmuly Hecht, said the centre does “a lot of contact all over the valley,” providing everything from “Chanukah artifacts” to tzedakah boxes and how-to guides for holiday observance. Jewish families will travel from as far as Salmon Arm, 90 kilometres away, to connect with the centre, which, like many Chabad locations, hosts Chanukah celebrations for the outlying communities.

In Nelson, a long day’s drive from Vancouver, the children’s store Mountain Baby (1-250-352-1789 or mountainbaby.com) is often the go-to place for Jewish families tucked throughout B.C.’s rugged eastern mountains. The shop is owned by Judy Banfield, and is a well-known niche for this time of year.

“I only stock Chanukah supplies,” said Banfield. Vital items like candles, dreidels and chanukiyahs can be shipped outside of Nelson and generally take a “couple of days within B.C. and Alberta” or longer for areas out of province, she said.

The Kootenay Jewish Community Association (contact is anathgrebler@gmail.com), also in Nelson, sometimes orders other resources for its members, as well. The organization, which has members scattered throughout the Northwest, helps to connect Jews in areas far away from synagogues.

At the other end of the province, Yvette and David Freeman, who live in Qualicum Beach on Vancouver Island, travel two hours to Victoria to purchase their Jewish holiday supplies. David, who is a lawyer, and his wife Yvette, frequently travel throughout the province, and are acquainted with the challenges being Chanukah-ready in semi-rural areas.

“We always take our own supplies, whether it is kosher food, candles or wine with us. Of course, nearly every B.C. Liquor store carries Manischewitz kosher wine,” said Yvette Freeman.

“In our traveling, we find that there generally seems to be no central buying system.” Often, she said, “we are surprised to find ‘Jewish relevant’ items in some supermarkets.”

Just the same, she observed, there are now options for rural Jews that didn’t exist just a few years ago, thanks to the Internet.

“It all depends on the attitude of the person and the amount of money they are prepared to pay to maintain their level of commitment to Yiddishkeit,” Freeman said.

Jan Lee’s articles have been published in B’nai B’rith Magazine, thedailyrabbi.com and Voices of Conservative and Masorti Judaism. She also writes on sustainable business practices for TriplePundit.com. Her blog can be found at multiculturaljew.polestarpassages.com.