When we think of Pesach, the theme that emerges is: “We were slaves of Pharaoh in Egypt, but the Lord brought us out of Egypt with a mighty hand.” As slaves, we endured years of torture and hardship, with no choice but to obey the edicts of the Pharaoh. In essence, we were powerless. Those addicted to either drugs, alcohol or a behaviour (think gaming, gambling) are slaves as well. They are chained to a disease that has control over their lives – their brain has been kidnapped into thinking “this is what I need to live, to survive.” They no longer have freedom. Often, the notion that they can break free is beyond what they can envision.
When the Jews left Egypt, their days in the desert were a struggle. Some wondered why they left what they knew for the unknown. Yet, here they were. With manna for food, a cloud for protection, they wandered for 40 years: a long, hard journey to learn how to live with their new-found freedom.
When someone initially breaks the chains of addiction, the struggles they face are no less daunting. There is fear, a sense of loss; a feeling of, will this work? Can I be successful? Will I be better off? In essence, they can feel like they are in a desert.
To assist individuals in the precarious time of new-found freedom, JACS Vancouver has launched the Sustaining Recovery program: a wrap-around service that supports clients with individual counseling, assessment and program planning.
Working with our client, we together build and implement a personalized set of supports and tools that focus on where they are in their journey, and what specific supports they need. When the opportunity arises, we help them focus on identifying the forces, triggers and/or messages that are beneath the surface of their addiction. They learn how to make different choices, where to go for help and how to recognize that life is better, health is possible.
The path to freedom, as our ancestors found out, was not easy – nor is it for those wanting to sustain recovery from addiction. With personal willingness and commitment, and solid and constant support, success and a purposeful life is within reach.
Shelley Karrel is a registered clinical counselor, and is manager of counseling and community education at JACS Vancouver. For more information about JACS, contact [email protected].
One of my twins is always looking for something new to learn online. For awhile, he was fascinated by a Massachusetts service dog project, where Great Danes are trained to provide support to those with balance and mobility impediments. He found this amazing service dog program through the website explore.org. It has live cams of animals all over the world. While we’re not traveling anywhere, my kid is bird watching, seeing service dogs, polar bears, and more. When we least expect it, he rushes up with his iPad and demands that I admire a nesting owl, or that his biologist dad identify an animal he’s never seen before.
This kind of intellectual curiosity is something I’m excited to see. Open-ended questioning about the world and how it works is a special kind of Jewish exploration. This intensity and enthusiasm is how we delve into studying Torah and Talmud, or how we engage with the world in general.
Passover is an obvious time to think about questions and how we approach and answer them. Our families have been telling the Exodus and “Once we were slaves and now we are free” story for thousands of years! Still, our questioning can’t just stick to the Four Questions and be done. Sometimes, even with good intentions, we get hung up on the rote narrative of the seder. We know we have to get through it. We start at the beginning and head to the end. It’s a yearly ritual routine, punctuated by matzah, lots of other foods, wine, and, in normal times, family and guests.
When we were first married, I once attended a smaller seder with some of my husband’s family. I was excited and nervous to engage over the Haggadah’s ideas – but it didn’t turn out as I expected. The family was committed to getting through the ritual traditionally and to the food part. They looked uncomfortable when I tried to talk about ideas or ask questions. In retrospect, I realized I knocked them off their game. There was a seder routine – and I wasn’t following theirs.
My other twin is also learning. He’s not into the animal live cams. Instead, he comes up with questions about school projects. He brainstorms and makes suggestions, even when they’re not welcome. The remote learning teacher suggested he limit his research on one social studies project to their “class time” online rather than do more research later.
Of course, the minute he logs off, I help him look up his questions and learn – whenever he wants. His teacher maybe wants to slow down the group learning, or avoid making more social studies lesson plans, but feeding intense curiosity with knowledge helps enthusiastic learners blossom. In my experience, putting somebody off when they want to learn more feels negative and does the opposite.
For many people, the pandemic has knocked them off their game. Losing regular routines may have felt negative. As people anticipate getting vaccinated, they talk more about which things they miss the most and long to do when things return to “normal.” For another view, I recently read a CBC news article that quoted David Eagleman, a neuroscientist.
Eagleman suggested that, in fact, the pandemic might be good for people’s brains, because the huge lifestyle changes we’ve experienced have forced us off our “path of least resistance.” We’ve been forced to be more flexible and innovate. This can be positive for our brain health. In some cases, forcing our brains to adapt may result in positive growth and changes in our work or home lives.
In a Jewish context though, when we consider our ritual routines, we must balance the comfort of what’s familiar with the opportunity to learn. Questioning and continuing to grow intellectually are valuable, particularly during Passover.
In the talmudic tractate of Pesachim, on page 105a, there’s a discussion about when to say certain blessings such as the Kiddush. Should we interrupt a meal in the middle to do Kiddush? Rav Hamnuna the Elder says, “You don’t need to do this, because Shabbat establishes itself.” In other words, our holidays, like Shabbat or Pesach, will happen whether we are ready or not. We must automatically rise to the obligations associated with them. So, yes, we do a lot of things by rote and habit.
Even so, the next page, Pesachim 106, teaches that there are times where leaders must do things extemporaneously, or work to learn more to figure out what to do. A good leader both continues with the routines and remains able to ask questions, be flexible and learn.
It’s too early for me to conclude whether our freeform research online this year has helped my twins become lifelong learners. (I hope so!) I don’t know if observing animals via live cam will result in a career like field biologist or even a hobby like bird-watching. Whatever they choose, creating a routine-based learning environment that encourages and cultivates questioning, improvisational thinking and flexibility may go a long way towards helping them succeed later on.
It’s true, as Rav Hamnuna the Elder explains, that holidays happen whether or not we’re ready for them. As Rabbi Sari Laufer explains on My Jewish Learning’s explanation of Pesachim 105, “Kiddush doesn’t make Shabbat begin, we make Kiddush because Shabbat has begun.” Yet, once our holidays begin, it’s our obligation to engage with them, to learn and to question.
“Due to the pandemic” is a phrase we’ve heard too often, usually in relation to cancelations or programs offered exclusively online. Perhaps we might add a positive “due to the pandemic” twist. We’re forced to be more flexible thinkers in our ritual routines, too. We can question why we always did them this way. In the end, we might be all the better for that brain jostling and chance for intellectual inquiry.
My family and I wish you a wonderful, thoughtful, questioning Passover, full of joy this year, however different it may be from your usual routines. Chag sameach.
Joanne Seiffhas 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.
A Stitches by Orli mask, modeled by the designer Orli Fields.
A little over a year ago, Israeli radio news reported that Dr. Li Wenliang, an eye doctor in Wuhan, China, had tried to warn people that there were too many sick in his region. The report caught my attention because it stated that the doctor had been silenced by Chinese authorities.
When the coronavirus outbreak first became newsworthy, Israelis – from the prime minister on down – were sure we wouldn’t be seriously encumbered by it. We were in the mood to confidently assist others. I remember a man in front of me at the grocery checkout, turning around to ask if I knew why he was buying so many packages of toilet paper. When I said no, he told me he was sending toilet paper to family and friends in the United Kingdom.
In an unexpected turn of events, however, the virus became not just a key topic of discussion, but the manager of our daily lives. Over the long months of 2020, family visits and events were severely curtailed. In Israel, for religious and non-religious alike, Jewish holidays are always occasions for get-togethers, but not so this past year.
Some friends and acquaintances have become so nervous about catching the virus, they no longer want to converse, even outdoors, at a safe distance and from behind a mask. Fearing the spread of the pandemic, government officials, in turn, have put the kibosh on live cultural events.
Many people have learned to work from home and some have managed to re-create themselves, opening new businesses, such as those involving logistics, shipping and delivery. For example, a tour guide who used to lead groups through the colourful Mahane Yehuda Market now prepares and delivers baskets of shuk food items. Notably, during the pandemic, some lucky artists and galleries have found more of a demand for their work. Possibly this is due to the fact that people are home so much, staring at the walls, as it were. Yet, most artists-musicians, singers, actors and all the crews that keep theatres and other cultural facilities running have found themselves without work and without significant governmental bailout grants. All tolled, thousands of people have been laid off or have become unemployed altogether.
Whether because we were in lockdown or because we were anxious about being in situations where we might be exposed to people who have the virus, we have perfected online shopping to the level of an art. But some of us have also taken advantage of the farmers who are selling their produce directly to clients rather than through the now-quiet public markets.
We have learned to see ourselves as others see us, that is, in tiny boxes on Zoom. Some cultural institutions – such as the National Library of Israel, the Zionist Confederation House, Beit Avi Chai, Yad Izhak Ben-Zvi and others – have been broadcasting lectures and even some festivals on Zoom. I know one lecturer whose delivery has actually improved over Zoom.
Another Stitches by Orli mask, also modeled by the designer Orli Fields.
Not only have we learned that we can talk and be understood with a mask over our nose and mouth, I have heard that there are people who, being self-conscious of their teeth and mouth, are now more confident in public because they are wearing a mask.
And masks have changed over the course of the pandemic. In Tel Aviv especially, you will see people wearing designer masks, even while most of us are dressing more simply. In my neighbourhood, for instance, the vast majority of people wear sweatpants and sweatshirts (called “training” in Hebrew) on a daily basis. Teenagers wear indoor-outdoor pajamas; sometimes, they venture outside in their slippers.
The pandemic has brought out lots of dark humour, something Israelis have always been good at. And people have become more cynical about government proclamations. As but one example, the “last lockdown we will have” has happened four times already.
The coronavirus has aided in dividing Israel even more, as certain segments of the population are singled out for their non-adherence to government policy, but are not held accountable for their non-compliance. As one doctor candidly told me, “healthcare decisions are hampered by political considerations.”
Until this pandemic, many discharged Israeli soldiers would travel to southern Asia or to South America to “clear their heads.” With the spread of corona, however, travel has no longer been a safe option, so, in the past year, some soldiers who finished their compulsory service decided to immediately enrol in colleges and universities.
Altogether, the pandemic has caused tremendous financial and emotional stress. We have learned that corona is the loneliest hospitalization and death. But government budget problems have left social service agencies and nonprofits with little or no funding to continue their work of easing the tension, so the psychological damage continues to spread, untreated.
On the brighter side, people have picked up new hobbies, such as gardening or building terrariums. Baking has become a big thing, too. Working on jigsaw puzzles is another activity going through a revival. There seems to be more appreciation of nature, as well, as people have been going out for walks or picnics near their homes as a way to cope. And there has been a significant rise in the number of people adopting dogs, which may help reduce or prevent stress disorders during the pandemic. (While the number of abandoned pets has not dropped in Israel, it has not increased.)
It is generally acknowledged that doctors, nurses and other hospital staff are on the frontlines of the pandemic, so they were the first to receive coronavirus vaccinations. However, there is no shortage of vaccines in Israel and two things happened just recently: “pop-up” inoculation stations opened, to accommodate both citizens and non-citizens, so that, basically, anyone who walks in with an ID can get one; and Israel’s prime minister began talking about vaccine diplomacy – selling or giving vaccines to other countries.
The few pluses of 2020 notwithstanding, however, I doubt most Israelis, if not all, would object to having skipped the past year.
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.
Passover is coming! I’m actually looking forward to this second chance at the pandemic seder. Sounds crazy, perhaps, but the rabbis in talmudic times believed in second chances, and this is one of them – an opportunity to make a smaller holiday experience meaningful.
The second-chance concept has a long history. Have you ever noticed Pesach Sheini on the Jewish calendar and wondered? Well, a month after Passover started, there was a second opportunity. Those who’d been impure (interacted with a corpse, for instance) or been on a distant journey, could still potentially sacrifice the Paschal lamb at the Temple on this second Passover date.
This second Passover was not a huge, inclusive repeat opportunity. The Jewish community was required to plan ahead. It wasn’t acceptable to say, “Oops, I missed #1, so now I have a free do-over.” The only opportunities to do Pesach Sheini were spelled out very clearly. Most of those who messed up the first time weren’t eligible for the second round.
Planning ahead for the Passover sacrifice was spelled out in the Talmud. It struck me as interesting because, even now, like many big Jewish holidays, Passover requires a ton of planning. Even when the Temple was standing, one had to “register” to sacrifice a lamb. For Passover, everyone needed to do it, so imagine that version of old-fashioned registration, long before curbside pickup, cellphones, computers or online platforms came on the scene!
We all know many people who are more “in the moment” and aren’t good at the planning-ahead parts of life. Whether it’s a holiday, a big winter storm or a pandemic, some people are just better able to prepare in advance. This isn’t a modern issue, it’s a human one. It’s something akin to Aesop’s poem about the ant and the cricket. While the cricket sings and dances away the summer, the ant prepares for winter.
In some ways, my household was oddly ready for a pandemic. To clarify, no one is really ready for emergencies like this. However, our household had an odd assortment of skills that allowed us to make the best of a difficult situation. I’m not making light of the situation, not at all – having lost a relative during this time, we know the virus means business. Even with such a serious challenge, however, it’s possible to see things that worked out.
For one thing, I’m married to a biology professor. Although he scared the pants off me in early 2020, I can’t say I wasn’t warned about what might happen as the coronavirus spread. It gave me an early warning system that worked, although it was hard to manage my anxiety at the beginning, too, since no one else seemed as alarmed.
We might have been practically prepared in some ways. We have always tried to eat carefully, with homemade local foods. We had full freezers. Our canning closet was stocked with homemade jams, pickles, and more. We had homebody skills, too. I’ve been making bread (and not just challah!) for years. We were fine in the food department.
The transition to learning and staying at home involved screaming, upset twin 8-year-olds at first. Again, though, we felt oddly lucky. I used to be a teacher and, while that never involved grade school students for anything other than religious school, we got into the swing of things. “Once a teacher, always a teacher” is apparently true. I wasn’t swayed by the screaming – I taught high school and community college in urban U.S. environments, where occasional weapons (and screams) weren’t unusual. I’ve figured it out. We’re still voluntarily remote schooling. It has worked for us.
We’re also mostly introverted. As creative folk, our stash of things to do has kept us sustained. There’s been lots of reading, as well as sewing, knitting, weaving and spinning, as well as coin collecting and building with Lego, and we’ve made good use of the kids’ art supplies. We’ve felt well-occupied.
Yet, the story of “second Passover” and planning ahead struck hard these past few weeks. We had a serious issue with our car. Then our boiler needed repairs during a frigid part of Winnipeg’s winter. And our hot water heater needed replacing.
When the weather began to warm up, we glibly thought we’d solved all the hard stuff. Whew. Never think that! On a Sunday evening, my husband went to the basement to get the dog food. He heard a trickling sound. In short order, he was dismantling part of the basement. We had a radiator pipe that froze and then burst as things warmed up. This cued yet another round of emergency plumbers’ visits during a pandemic, with the kind of repairs for which you just can’t plan ahead.
All this led me to thinking about our second, upcoming pandemic Passover. Passover is always a home-based holiday. We can make plans. We can save up and attempt to make everything work. Yet, some things are like the Yiddish saying, “Man plans. G-d laughs.” Even so, we keep trying. My parents in Virginia have already told us that they plan to join us (via Zoom) for the first seder. Our twins seem surprisingly motivated to clean up a mountain of toys, as we tidy the house before the holiday. We’re getting ready.
These days, Jews mostly don’t observe Pesach Sheini, but I’m really hopeful about enjoying another “first” Passover while apart. For months to come, a continuation of the Purim “everything’s upside down” spirit will be normal. We’re not done with this pandemic yet, so we must both plan ahead – and be grateful for flexibility and all these second chances.
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.
I don’t know what the reason is, but I note a change in my attitudes, ideas and emotional makeup. Could it be my advancing age, or was what I’m feeling always there, hidden under the impedimenta of getting through life?
We all start out, when getting on our feet, stumbling about – in choosing our direction, determining a focus, finally forging the path or paths that will be the ones we follow through most of our lives. Our background cannot help but be important in that process and, for some people, it is the essence of who they are. For me, I never felt it was of much matter.
These days, however, as I advance toward the final curtain, with a burgeoning altered perspective, I become more and more certain that I am all about what I was when I started. This may mean nothing to so many of you out there who have re-made yourselves into the images of what you wanted to be, rather than that what you were, but this seems to be the truth for me. I am extremely conscious of this because I had a spouse who totally remade herself into what she wanted to be by conscious effort, but I find now that that was not to be for me.
I know that I am being arbitrary by appropriating the “chicken soup” theme as an ethnocentric symbol of my Jewish background. Surely it is available and present in the culinary arrays offered by so many cultural groups. Nevertheless, I have seized on it because of what it means to me and to so many of my co-religionists. How often was it a centrepiece of the Sabbath meal, when chicken was the only meat offering even in a spare week’s diet, in the shtetl and on the tables of recently arrived immigrants in the “new world”?
For me, no matter how important the item was in the diet, making the sparse stretch so much further, it has a context for me that goes much further, even beyond its important role as “Jewish penicillin.” For me, it speaks of home and hearth. For me, it speaks of a mother’s love for her children, her family and her home. It speaks to me of taking something small and making it into something big that had ramifications for a person all of their lives.
For many us, our lives are shaped by the happenstance of our early experiences. Child psychologists can confirm that the impressions we absorb in our early days can have important implications for the people we become in our later years. I believe that one of the important things parents can offer their children is to provide evidence to them of unconditional love. We absorb that into the essence of our beings unconsciously and it can set us up well for life.
Chicken soup speaks to me of unconditional love. Whoever we are, whatever it is, that love can impart a sense of self-confidence that can otherwise take years of positive experience to generate. It can give us the strength to try, and fail, and try again and again until we succeed, or choose to move on.
For me, the humble chicken soup speaks of that unconditional love. For me, in the Jewish home of my upbringing, that was the message I received. So, now, after many decades of pursuing a life in nonsectarian environments – for the most part, a Jew among non-Jews – I trace back my capacity to arrive and thrive, to the original environment from which I drew my strength.
Am I being too ethnocentric? Surely, working in an environment that was much more merit-based than the one my grandfather and father were born into made an enormous difference? All too true! And yet, for me, I feel the difference of how I grew up.
Whatever your background, from where do you draw the drive that powers you through life? Mine leads back to chicken soup.
Max Roytenbergis a Vancouver-based poet, writer and blogger. His book Hero in My Own Eyes: Tripping a Life Fantastic is available from Amazon and other online booksellers.
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.
Joanne Seiffhas 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.
Since the beginning of the pandemic, we have been confronted by two viruses: COVID-19 and, in its wake, the rampant spread of online hate.
As much of the world has been forced indoors, our time on the internet using social media has increased, which has advantages. We have found new ways to engage, stay in touch with our loved ones, and maintain and transform our connections to our workplaces and the world.
But the same technologies that have allowed us to keep connected have also served as springboards for the spread of online hate and conspiracy theories, which form the perfect Venn diagram of antisemitism. Since the pandemic broke, we have witnessed the emergence of ludicrous conspiracy theories accusing Jews of being responsible for the spread of COVID-19 or of profiting from the havoc. As a community that has consistently encouraged compliance with public health measures, we may be tempted to dismiss these outlandish conspiracy theories as nonsense. It is a type of nonsense, however, that spreads quickly and remains a cause for great concern.
Recent history has taught us that what begins online as the absurd mutterings of a few haters can, and too often does, turn into real-world violence. What we witnessed in Pittsburgh, Christchurch and Halle can certainly happen again. The threat is even greater today because people are spending more time online while also under considerable financial and emotional stress, a combination that makes people even more susceptible to messages hate-mongers are peddling.
Curbing online hate has been a priority for the Jewish community – and, therefore, for the Centre for Israel and Jewish Affairs – for nearly a decade. Since the beginning of the pandemic, we have remained on high alert, monitoring the emergence of antisemitic and hateful activity and bringing it to the attention of law enforcement and social media platforms.
Recently, we launched Stop the Transmission! (cija.ca/stop-the-transmission), a campaign powered by CIJA and funded by Canadian Heritage through the Anti-Racism Action Program. The campaign has provided practical tools and tips to hundreds of thousands of Canadians to identify and slow the spread of conspiracy theories, misinformation and deliberate disinformation.
We have also engaged directly with social media giants and are proud to have collaborated with our colleagues at the World Jewish Congress to urge Facebook to ban Holocaust denial, one of the most pernicious forms of Jew-hatred, from their platform, an action they took earlier this year.
We continue to call on social media companies to adopt the International Holocaust Remembrance Alliance definition of antisemitism, the most widely accepted definition in use today, including by the Government of Canada, who adopted it as formal policy in its 2019 Anti-Racism Strategy. In response to the global collective effort of our community, Facebook’s chief operating officer, Sheryl Sandberg, said “the IHRA’s working definition of antisemitism has been invaluable – both in informing our own approach,” and that Facebook would “continue to refine” its “policy lines as speech and society evolve.”
A continuing aspect of our work is advocating for governments to advance policies to address online hate directly. Federally, we continue our call for a national strategy on online hate that includes clear, harmonized and uniform regulations that apply to platforms and providers operating in Canada, as well as an independent regulator to enforce them. You can help by visiting notonmyfeed.ca and taking action.
CIJA is also working with Canadian Heritage to host the Action Summit to Combat Online Hate, scheduled for April 14-15. You can pre-register at cija.ca/action-summit. The summit will feature discussions with experts, law enforcement, industry leaders and community groups like ours. The goals are to create greater understanding of the issue and develop concrete actions to address it.
Even once the pandemic is over, our migration to the digital world will endure. We, therefore, must stay committed and united in our efforts to combat antisemitism and other forms of hatred online.
Judy Zelikovitz is vice-president, university and local partner services, at the Centre for Israel and Jewish Affairs.
Eleven months into the global COVID-19 pandemic and the statement, “we are living in unprecedented times,” has become commonplace and cliché. But, truth is at the root of this clichéd phrase. Finding and feeling our way through this new reality has been fraught with stark and opposing responses; from being immobilized and stuck, to being re-inspired and productive. As an educator and counselor who has been working with tweens, adolescents and adults in the community, I have witnessed both responses, or states of being, which are completely understandable and interchangeable as minutes turn into hours, as hours turn into days, as days turn over into weeks, and weeks turn into months.
For the purpose of this article, I want to focus on how the tweens and adolescents I work with have acknowledged that, while living life through COVID-19 is extremely tough, they have found, as the late Maya Angelou phrased it, “rainbows in the clouds” during this period. It is important to acknowledge the challenges youth face, such as experiencing restrictions to peer group interactions and experiencing the change of their schooling to remote learning. Further, an important yet more general challenge youth have faced is that the developmental stage these tweens and adolescents are in is typically punctuated by healthy detachment from their families and, in turn, usually is a period where more independence is fostered. This has been halted, interrupted and/or confused, as COVID-19 has demanded that youth are at home with their parents and families.
My overarching teaching and therapeutic philosophy is to meet the individual where they are. I try to listen to their spoken and unspoken language without handing out a quick fix. I am interested in how individuals, especially tweens and adolescents, connect with themselves as their lives have slowed down, as they have retreated to bedrooms, and in-person interactions and experiences have reverted to screens and the virtual world.
To facilitate a way into the interiority of my clients, I use the modalities of expressive arts therapies, contemplative writing and mindfulness practices. In the sessions I hold with them, they commiserate on how life is for them; grieving the smaller and larger losses and disappointments they have experienced; they freely use the session to rant and complain, and share their fears and anxieties. I then work with them in various creative and expressive modalities, which has enabled them to clarify, settle, discover and deepen a connection to their mind, body and heart.
Conducting expressive art exercises on secured video has been a poignant and immediate process. Using the shared-screen option, tweens and adolescents have been able to create and present their creations in real time. Expressive art therapies have encouraged self-discovery and enabled youth to access a range of emotions and insights that many of them did not even know they were experiencing. Engaging in exercises such as “what is in my heart?,” “draw a place,” “shape of me” (for which they can attach photos) have lowered stresses and anxieties, assisted in attention span and focus, and created an emotional uplift and emotional awareness. In these stressful, highly anxious times, expressive arts therapies have assisted greatly in calming, centring and linking youth to both their interior selves and the larger landscape of their lives, despite the uneasy and ongoing pandemic landscape.
Contemplative writing is a compassion practice that encourages one to write whatever the mind has to offer. It is a modality that helps to access who we are, what we need and what we want. It is an embodied practice that allows connection of one’s head, heart, body, breath and the page. Individual contemplative writing sessions have enabled youth to listen fully to themselves and the stories they need to tell and share. It has enabled youth to be listened to and, furthermore, to understand their own insights and often non-realized thoughts. I often tell my clients: tell your stories, I will hold your words and the spaces between them. The modality of contemplative writing has allowed youth to gain confidence and feel empowered, as they accessed and used their own voices, and overall experienced a sense of agency through their writing, telling and sharing of stories.
Throughout my sessions, in conjunction with expressive arts therapies and contemplative writing, I often employ various mindfulness practices. The general aim of mindfulness is also to connect with oneself. For tweens and adolescents, who are used to, even in COVID-19, a fast-paced, pop-up, manic existence with multiple devices in reach of their hands and gazes, mindfulness offers a sharp departure. The frenzied pace of day-to-day life often increases anxiety and depression in young people. It needs to be said that, often, the anxiety and depression is more of a low-grade malaise that we are unaware of until we begin to practise mindfulness.
Generally, mindfulness involves slowing down, delving into a deeper breath, noticing and following through into various practices to relax the mind and body. With tweens and adolescents, I also invoke the senses, encouraging them by carrying out exercises that use guided imagery and engagement of the five senses. This sensory engagement includes holding and touching various objects and taking time to peel and eat (taste) an orange. In the slowing down, in the distillation to being in the moment, in the focus of breath awareness and sensory awareness, I have found youth to become more relaxed, receptive and connected. Once they have practised mindfulness, it serves as a useful and cushioning tool whereby youth are able to calm and centre themselves as they navigate their day-to-day lives.
Dr. Abby Wener Herlinholds a doctorate degree from the University of British Columbia. She is the founder of Threads Education and Counselling and works with tweens, adolescents and adults. She carries out themed social justice and creative arts and writing workshops for students, teachers and schools. She is available for therapeutic sessions and contemplative writing workshops. She can be reached at [email protected] or via threadseducation.com. This article was originally published on health-local.com.
So enthralled am I by the sheer volume and calibre of free online Jewish learning opportunities since the start of the pandemic, that I sometimes forget that the people who do the teaching do it as their livelihood, not as a hobby. Therein lies the problem.
We, the students, the partakers of all manner and sorts of online classes and lectures during COVID, gobble up the learning as though it’s candy, or fine wine. We sit in front of our laptops, tablets and smartphones and act for all the world as though we deserve this high level of education. It should rain down upon us. We’re Jews. We’re the People of the Book. We’re entitled. Teach us!
Make no mistake: we are blessed to be the recipients of this stratospheric level of dedication, and we should not and cannot take it for granted.
But, sometimes, we forget.
We forget that the rabbi or rebbetzin or Jewish scholar or educator who is teaching us needs to feed their family and pay their bills. We forget that we need to support them just like they support us. Too often, we blithely go on learning from week to week, month to month, blissfully ignoring this reality. Yet, we expect a paycheque. Or a pension check, if we’re lucky. Why shouldn’t they?
Zoom classes have become as common as dust since the beginning of the pandemic. Every Jewish religious and/or spiritual organization I can think of is offering Zoom classes weekly, if not daily. They have filled the gaping holes that once were our thriving, healthy, “normal” lives. These same Jewish organizations recognize the desperate need for some kind of normalization, some sort of lifesaver for people to hang onto. In the absence of our daily routines of work, socializing and gathering together as a community, there is little left to celebrate, never mind sustain us. Local synagogues have leaped into the abyss to lift us all up, or those of us who needed lifting, anyway. They have rallied together to create curricula, offer Torah classes, general Jewish study courses, podcasts, livestream videos and so much more. Not only because it’s the source of their livelihood, but because they feel our desperate need, the soul’s yearning for Jewish learning.
There is enormous comfort in seeing others – even if only virtually – and knowing that we are studying Jewish topics together, learning as a community. The overwhelming isolation felt by so many people right now is beyond description. The personal losses, the devastating repercussions from COVID-19 can’t be counted. Our lives have been turned upside down in every way imaginable. And then some. But learning offers hope.
Sure, everyone copes differently with the pandemic, but anybody who says they haven’t been affected by it is just plain lying. Being the adaptable creatures that we are, we take comfort (or relief) where we can find it. For some, it’s food, or alcohol, or Netflix. For others, it’s learning. And, for others still, it must be Jewish learning. Something draws us – something draws me – to our heritage, our history, our Judaism. And, suddenly, we are home.
Myriad times, sitting in front of my computer during or after a Zoom class, usually given by a rabbi, I find myself weeping. Partly as a release from all the stress and anxiety I’m feeling right now; but mostly from a deep sense of gratitude. Gratitude that we, as a community of Jews, haven’t been forgotten. That, amid the detritus of COVID, our faith leaders have intuitively known that we need help, that we can’t do this on our own. So they step up to the plate, full of enthusiasm and inspiration, and they fill us up. Not only do the classes inform us and expand our brains, but they benefit us by keeping us moving forward in a meaningful, purposeful way.
So, why am I writing all this? To remind each and every one of us, myself included, that we should be menschen and pay the favour forward. Pay it, literally, to every rabbi and rebbetzin and Jewish scholar or other educator who shares not only their time, but their wisdom, to help us get through this pandemic in the most meaningful way they know how. Make a donation. Show you care. Make as many donations as you’re able. Big or small, the act is a sign of appreciation. A sign that we value the learning. A sign that we know little, and yearn to know more. A sign that we appreciate their caring, knowing that they will do anything in their power to help. And G-d knows we need it right now. So, whatever we do, we shouldn’t forget to support those who support us.
It would be the century’s grossest understatement to say that I’ve learned a lot during the pandemic. Sure, I’ve learned immeasurable things about human nature and caring and compassion. But I’ve also expanded my Jewish learning a hundred-fold, maybe a thousand-fold. The pandemic has given me the time. But those doing the teaching have given me the inspiration, the foundation, the thirst for more. Instead of being overcome with hopelessness, I’m filled with hope. I see a pattern to life, a way out of this. That is no small thing. We need to pay it forward. Or pay it back. Either one will do.
If there’s a global sense of helplessness pervading much of what we do these days, we can counteract that by not only feeling grateful, but showing it. It could be construed as crass to say that we should pay for our Zoom classes and livestream lectures and podcasts. So be it. Call me crass. It wouldn’t be the first time. Just get out that credit card and do the right thing.
Shelley Civkinis 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.
I watched inauguration day with great emotion, for numerous reasons, including the fact that a Black Indian woman is in the White House for the first time in history. I was equally excited not only about the corollary fact that there is a second gentleman for the first time in history, but that he is a Jew – the first in history to enter the White House. And yet, I noticed that the very same media outlets celebrating
Kamala Harris’s mark on history failed entirely to mention her husband’s mark on history. If Doug Emhoff were of African, East Asian, Middle Eastern or Latino descent (as, for the record, a critical mass of Jews are), I believe it would have been another story entirely.
Case in point: there was fanfare over the fact that Alejandro Mayorkas, appointed to head of Homeland Security, is the first Latino and the first immigrant to fill the position. There was nary a peep, however, about the fact that he is also the first Sephardi Jew in American history to serve in a cabinet. Given the fact that Sephardi Jews are invisible not only in the American mainstream but even in the Jewish mainstream, his appointment is a significant milestone.
But still, silence.
I believe this silence is rooted in the deeply embedded, twisted and, for the most part, unexamined brand of racism against Jews – namely, that Jews are rich, all-powerful and controlling the world. Over the millennia, across the globe, this ideology has been used to fuel and justify anything from discrimination to genocide of Jews – ironically underscoring the lack of Jewish power, given how easy it has been to beat down and upend Jews, no matter what leadership positions or financial assets we may have accumulated under our collective belt.
Despite the many obstacles to Jewish power and wealth, in this country as elsewhere, Jewish accomplishment in either realm is typically put under a microscope, resented and/or derided. At best, it is envied, with an undertone that Jews don’t deserve it, and that there is something dirty or sinister about Jewish money and power.
Take a personal example from the late 1980s, when I was a student at Columbia University, and Professor Griff from Public Enemy came to campus: speaking to a packed audience, he launched a pointed attack on Jews – among other things, referring to the school as Columbia Jewniversity. This, despite the fact that a scant 50 years prior, Jews were barred admission at Columbia and throughout the Ivy League, simply for being Jews.
Another example: Hollywood routinely comes under attack as being run by Jews, instead of getting recognized and celebrated as a hallmark of Jewish creativity and survival. And yet, as documented in the film Hollywood: An Empire of Their Own, Jewish immigrants created the industry from the ground up, specifically because, as Jews, they were barred from the spectrum of other professions in America.
“RichJewish” mindlessly rolls off people’s tongues like one word, and people routinely ascribe supernatural business powers to anyone with Jewish blood. But how many are aware of the historic racism and persecution behind each of these ideas? While the particulars varied according to time and place, in Christian- and Muslim-dominated societies alike, throughout the millennia, Jews were prohibited from owning land, banned from most or all established professions, and barred entry into schools from elementary to university levels. Jews thus were forced into entrepreneurship and innovation, in the interest of survival, leveraging whatever scraps or cracks in the system that were available at the time.
Of particular note, for centuries in Christian Europe, Jews deliberately were banned from all professions except that of the despised userer – effectively forcing Jews into a “dirty business,” then punishing Jews for it, through genocide. While times have changed, the image of the crooked Jew persists, if only through a vague sense of distaste or mistrust.
As a colleague once noted, “Religion creates culture.” While we live in a predominantly secular society today, American ideas and values are shaped by a primarily Christian legacy, including the embedded notion that Jews are all-powerful. So, it’s understandable, albeit questionable, that most Americans could not comprehend the significance of the first Jew in the White House or the first Sephardi Jew in the cabinet.
I, however, did. So, after watching Harris and Emhoff walking down Pennsylvania Avenue, with Ella Harris in tow, sporting a classic JewFro, I took matters into my own hands and wrote a song, “Jew in the White House,” blending an ancient Iraqi Jewish prayer with original music and lyrics, celebrating Emhoff’s stamp on history. It was telling that a number of Jewish friends – in real life and on social media – were distinctly uncomfortable with my song airing on YouTube, afraid that calling attention to a Jew in power might stir the rancour of racists and lead to a wave of anti-Jewish violence. After all, Proud Boys and QAnon ideology is rooted in classic tropes of Jews running the world, so why add fuel to the fire?
Exactly my point.
At its best, Jewish power is conditional, tenuous and fragile. It is neither handed over nor readily available to Jews. It is not a privilege. It is hard-won – the outcome of scrappiness and sacrifice over the course of generations, in the face of overwhelming odds. And it is high time that we not only recognize it as such, but full-on celebrate it.
Loolwa Khazzoom(KHAZZOOM.com) is an Iraqi-American Jewish musician, writer and educator. Her work has been featured in top media, including the New York Times, Marie Claire and Rolling Stone. This article was originally published by jewthink.org.
