Judaism

Writing & fixing holy scrolls

Scribe Mordechai Pinchas concluded Kolot Mayim Reform Temple’s 2024/25 Kvell at the Well series with the talk Torah Tales: Adventures in Scribal Art. (photo from Mordechai Pinchas)

On April 6, Mordechai Pinchas spoke about his experiences as a Jewish scribe (sofer, in Hebrew) in the final webinar of the 2024/25 Kvell at the Well series. Titled Torah Tales: Adventures in Scribal Art, the event was organized by Victoria’s Kolot Mayim Reform Temple.

Based in London, Pinchas, who is known academically as Marc Michaels, has been writing Torah scrolls, Megillat Esther, ketubot and the scrolls inside mezuzot and tefillin for more 30 years. He is a Cambridge scholar, earning a PhD in Jewish manuscripts from University of Cambridge’s faculty of Asian and Middle Eastern studies.

A Jewish scribe writes and restores holy works using quills, parchment and special inks, all the while following a strict set of rules, explained Pinchas. Indeed, there are many, many rules, which Pinchas came back to through the course of the talk.

The scribal art, he said, goes far beyond calligraphy and requires a detailed knowledge of Jewish law and a relatively high level of religious observance.

Pinchas provided a recipe for the special ink a scribe might use, which includes gum arabic, gallnuts (from oak trees), iron sulfate and water. The gallnuts are crushed to form tannic acid, mixed with the other ingredients and cooked on an open flame until a residue is left. The larger lumps of gallnuts are strained out and the mixture is left for six months to turn black and be used as ink.

For quills, Pinchas believes that a swan’s quill is too soft and a goose quill too hard and prefers a turkey quill. “As Goldilocks would say, it is just right,” he said.

Quills, Pinchas warned, must be adjusted in such a way to limit the risk of a scribe sneezing because, if that happens on parchment, it is impossible to remove. Scribes shifted to quills on the move to Europe, he said. Beforehand, they used reeds – which were used to write the Dead Sea Scrolls.

“We switched to quills because that’s what the Christians were using and they were getting a much finer, nicer point on their calligraphy,” he said.

A large part of a scribe’s job is repairing scrolls. Returning again to the rules, he said, “It only takes one letter to be wrong, and that means maybe the ink has come off or it’s broken or whatever, for the whole scroll to be pasul (invalid).”

If a scroll is deemed pasul, Pinchas told the audience, then it must be placed in the ark with an indicator to show it’s invalid, such as arranging its belt outside of its mantel. Jewish law states that it must be repaired within 30 days, but, he said, it may take much longer.

Among the Torah scroll repair horrors presented by Pinchas were gauze that joined seams together, stains from tape that had to be scraped out, and a patch that was sewn onto the scroll.

Typical repairs, he said, are not so extreme and mostly involve fading and broken letters, which require much overwriting. On occasion, whole columns no longer exist, having been completely rubbed away by time. Sometimes, members of a congregation might mark the scrolls with a pencil or ballpoint pen. In one slide Pinchas displayed, someone had drawn a flower onto the scroll.

In his career, Pinchas has also encountered incorrect spellings, deletions and Hebrew characters that were mistakenly joined together. Missing words, mixed-up letters and omitted characters from various Torah scrolls were shown to the Zoom crowd as well.

“And then you get wear and tear, dirt, holes, rips and things like that. You have to be very careful. You can patch a Torah, but you’re not allowed to do half patches,” he said.

What’s more, accidents can happen, especially when lifting the Torah during times when one side is much heavier than the other, ie., at the start and at the end of the yearly reading cycle. In one example, a Torah was torn through columns, thus the columns had to be removed and rewritten in the style of the original scribe.

Perhaps topping the list of Torah misadventures is the case Pinchas came across of a young person studying for her bat mitzvah and the family dog chewed through a section of the Torah.

“It was literally the best excuse for not learning a bat mitzvah portion – the dog ate my portion,” Pinchas joked.

“I had to do an emergency fix because there wasn’t enough time. I repaired it in the style of the original scroll, but only part of it, which you’re not normally supposed to do except in the case of an emergency – and this was a massive emergency. Because the parchment was much older than the shiny new parchment, I coated it with Yorkshire Tea. And it worked.”

A prolific author, designer and presenter, Pinchas designed the prayer book for the Movement for Reform Judaism and has written numerous books and articles on scrolls, the Bible and art; he wrote the children’s book The Dot on the Ot. Pinchas is currently working with Kolot Mayim to restore a Torah scroll.

Sam Margolis has written for the Globe and Mail, the National Post, UPI and MSNBC.

Welcoming by example

Shifra Sharfstein and her husband, Shlomo, run Georgia Tech Chabad House with the help of their children. (photo from Shifra Sharfstein)

My parents invited countless people into their home over the decades and fed them on Shabbat and Passover. Little did we know that their acts of kindness would inspire one of their grandchildren to bring Shabbat dinners to hundreds of Jewish students at Georgia Tech in Atlanta each year.

Shifra Sharfstein grew up in Vancouver until she was in Grade 7, going to school at the local Chabad House and also learning about Judaism with her parents, Tzvi and Nomi Freeman, and grandparents, Joyce and Bernie Freeman.

“We went every Wednesday night for a special dinner,” Shifra recalled. “Grandma would spoil us with our favourites each week. She would read us a book and chat with us. She would listen to us talk and let us help make desserts in the kitchen. It was a space that was just all love, pure unconditional love.”

Shifra also gives credit to her grandfather, who supported my mom’s efforts to bring what seemed like the entire Jewish community into our house to feed them.

My mother grew up in India and her parents were from Iraq. Shifra remembers the Sephardi tomato soup with potatoes and meatballs, which took Mom a whole day to make.

“My cousin Ariella and me would talk all night about how much we loved that soup!” she said.

When Mom passed away, Shifra compiled a recipe book for family and friends called With Love from Joyce.

She remembers Mom’s international food.

“Baked Alaska coming out of the oven with cold ice cream inside always seemed like magic,” she said. (And then there was the cherry pie, which I can still taste.)

She remembers gathering together with her cousins before every Jewish holiday, making hundreds of hamantashen.

“I do the same with our college students, today,” she said.

Shifra runs Georgia Tech Chabad House with her husband Shlomo, and with the help of their eight children.

“I could go on forever talking about how much my grandmother and grandfather inspire me,” she said. “Whenever I’m in the kitchen for awhile, especially the week before Pesach, which is grandma’s yahrzeit, I feel her there with me. Sometimes, the powerful work we do is overwhelming, especially when we’re helping students deal with tragedy, and I close my eyes and see Grandma’s smile and feel the beautiful love she had channeled through me, her granddaughter.”

Recently, the couple threw a dinner for 500 Jewish students and dedicated it to the memory of Shifra’s grandparents. It was the first time so many people had dined there.

“Thank G-d we have lots of help and an amazing community of beautiful Georgia Tech students!” she said. “But we keep it all homemade at Chabad and I always incorporate Grandma’s flavours in it.”

Shifra said she also was inspired by the way her grandparents had so many guests who were welcomed like family.

“Grandma always said that what mattered was that we all got along,” Shifra explained. “She told us stories of Jews from different backgrounds and how what was most important is that we all came together, no matter our differences, with love … she truly loved every Jew with zero judgment. I think I absorbed that from her. She looked past the outside and saw that each person has a beautiful soul. She taught me how to do the same and I truly try to make that my focus every time I meet someone new.”

Shifra considers herself a feminist, running the Chabad House they live in and taking care of her children side by side with her husband. She is an accomplished speaker, as well.

“Knowledge is power,” she said. “I grew up being taught to always ask questions. My father and mother spent time learning with me as a young girl in Vancouver and the more I learnt and [the more] I asked, the more I realized how much I could accomplish.”

She added that she is inspired by the late Lubavitcher Rebbe’s teachings about women.

“As a Chabad leader, I know my Rebbe taught me that Jewish women in leadership have a unique power as nurturers who can change the world with love,” she said. “It’s the same message [now] and I intend to take it with me and change my part of the world with that feminine loving touch.”

Chabad Georgia Tech has seven Jewish classes each week, a weekly BBQ, social events, events where they counsel students and, of course, the highlight of their week is Shabbat, with anywhere between 80 and 130 students who come and then stay, chatting late into the night after dinner.

All this activity has had an impact. For example, there have been three weddings in the last 14 years and, right now, another couple is engaged to be married.

Shifra says their success is due, as well, to their dedicated team of students, who run many of the events. There are about 1,000 Jewish students on campus.

Cassandra Freeman is a freelance journalist and improv comedy performer living in Vancouver.

When crisis hits, we show up

As a member of the Jewish community, I’ve come to recognize a powerful truth: when crisis strikes, we show up. That’s who we are.

It’s not performative. It’s not for headlines. It’s rooted in Jewish values that demand action – to heal the world (tikkun olam), to care for the stranger (ve’ahavta et hager) and to take responsibility for one another (arevut hadadit).

So, when tragedy struck our Filipino neighbours at the Lapu Lapu festival in Vancouver, the Jewish community responded – as we always strive to do, with compassion. Our community mobilized within hours. Not just with condolences, but with coordinated, tangible action. A dedicated fund was quickly established for affected families. We partnered with Filipino BC, the United Way, the Archdiocese of Vancouver, the City of Vancouver and other local organizations to ensure a compassionate, coordinated response.

These aren’t symbolic gestures – they are meaningful efforts to help a community recover, rebuild and feel supported in its darkest moment. And it’s not the first time our community has responded like this – not even close.

We’ve shown solidarity with Indigenous communities through Truth and Reconciliation events, advocating for justice, supporting families of missing and murdered women, and bringing in speakers.

After the Quebec mosque shooting, we stood with our Muslim neighbours, condemning Islamophobia, and supported Syrian and Afghan refugees with sponsorship, fundraising, housing, and provided immigration help.

In response to George Floyd’s murder and rising anti-Asian hate, we participated in rallies, spoke out and called for systemic change in policing.

We’ve actively supported LGBTQ+ rights by participating in Vancouver’s Pride Parade and advocating for policies against discrimination.

In the wake of floods and wildfires, we provided aid, opened our homes and joined environmental campaigns for climate justice.

From Haiti to Ukraine, and East Africa to Nepal, our community has raised money and supported global aid efforts to provide humanitarian relief to those affected.

We don’t burn flags, we build bridges. We don’t chant hateful slogans, we extend hands in solidarity. We don’t destabilize, we stabilize, support and stand together. That is the spirit that lives within the Jewish community here in Vancouver. In moments of crisis, we don’t disappear – we show up.

That is the spirit embedded in Jewish life. These values are part of who we are. They guide us – especially in moments of pain and need. We act when it matters most.

That’s why I’m proud to be Jewish. Proud to be part of a people whose instinct is to act with compassion – no matter who is in need. Tzedakah, tikkun olam and arevut hadadit are not just words we recite. They are the path we walk. That’s who we are.

Lana Marks Pulver is board chair, Jewish Federation of Greater Vancouver.

Ways to overcome negativity

In times of rising antisemitism and violence, fear is valid. When the world feels like it’s unraveling, anchoring yourself in a deeper sense of purpose can be healing. (screenshot)

Fear is not a weakness. It’s a deeply human response to a real or perceived threat. In times of rising antisemitism and violence, fear is valid. But we must not let it be the only voice in the room.

By acknowledging the fear – whether of violence, isolation or helplessness – we reduce its power. At the same time, we also make space for other emotions, such as courage, care and resilience, to emerge.

There are many things we can do to help us overcome the foreboding atmosphere of negativity and fear that is knocking at our door. Focusing on what we can do, gives us a sense of agency when we might otherwise feel helpless and alone.

There is the physical aspect of fear. It is important to be aware of what is happening as you notice you are feeling anxious, by staying present and being grounded. The brain often races into the future during fear: What if this happens to my community? My family? Me? This kind of “catastrophic thinking” pulls us out of the moment and floods our bodies with stress hormones.

It is important to know how to manage physical symptoms as they come up. Have you ever practised mindful breathing or meditation? Going to the beach and being aware of the beauty of our surroundings is a way to relax the constant noise that comes with stressful thinking. It is important to stay informed, but we often tend to keep scrolling for more information when there might not be anything else available. Learn how to say “dayeinu,” it is enough for today.

Build connection, not isolation

Fear thrives in silence. One of the most powerful antidotes to fear is community; connecting with people who understand your pain and can help hold it with you. It is important to build community to fight isolation. Ask yourself:

• Who in my life can I be vulnerable with?

• Is there a synagogue, support group or mental health resource I can lean on?

• Can I be that presence for someone else?

There is strength in the simple act of saying, “You’re not alone.” It may be that your reaching out to ask for help will in fact help someone else.

Not everyone will be on the front lines of activism – and that’s OK. But each of us has a role to play in healing the world, even in small ways:

• Check in on someone who may be afraid or isolated.

• Wear your Jewish identity with pride – a Magen David, a kippah – if it feels right to you.

• Educate others, kindly and clearly, when misinformation spreads.

• Support Jewish organizations and security efforts.

Courage doesn’t always roar. Sometimes, it whispers, “I will keep showing up.”

When the world feels like it’s unraveling, anchoring yourself in a deeper sense of purpose can be healing. Ask yourself where you can make an impact. Do you have a particular skill that may make a difference to individuals or an organization? Judaism has a rich tradition of resilience, moral clarity and hope. Pirkei Avot 2:5 reminds us that, “In a place where there are no leaders, strive to be that leader.” In other words, act with integrity, even when others do not. This is real courage and takes strength and commitment.

Judaism teaches us to choose hope

Our tradition teaches us to choose hope, again and again. Hope isn’t naïve. It’s an act of spiritual resistance. It’s choosing to believe, even with trembling hands, that goodness still exists and that we are its agents. When you are with friends and family, celebrate moments of kindness. Remind one another of stories, not only of loss, but of survival and joy.

Living Jewishly, publicly and proudly, in today’s world takes immense strength. You are not alone in your fear – nor in your resolve. Fear may visit, but it doesn’t get to move in and take over. Our world needs as many of us to be positive ambassadors as we need those fighting antisemitism on the front lines. As Mahatma Gandhi once expressed it, “be the change you wish to see in the world.”

Shelley Karrel is a registered clinical counsellor in Vancouver; you can reach her at karrelcounselling.com.

Finding hope through science

The organizer of a conference panel I’m going to be on asked me some questions ahead of the event. He asked how to find hope from a Jewish perspective amid challenging times. I responded with both academic Jewish content and personal information about my sons’ recent big success at a science fair. This person, a male academic, quickly grasped the personal narrative I provided – he thought it was about being a mother. Let’s not be “essentialist,” I suggested. My ability to provide information about hope doesn’t stem from reproduction alone.

If one looks at what is going on in the United States, where there’s interest in limiting women’s reproductive rights, including motivating women to have more children and boost the birth rate, one might think that is what women are mostly for: reproduction. Yet, all sorts of data indicate that, for example, in a country like Israel, which has a high education rate and good possibilities for women, a high birth rate is also possible.

Perhaps choosing to have multiple children is easier with better health care, reliable social networks and support and maternity leave, and in a country that ranks high in terms of happiness on a global scale. Countries without birth control or proper education for women have high birth rates, but there are also high mortality rates. Focusing on women’s reproductive capabilities alone misses the boat. If women are educated and engaged in their country’s workforce, they contribute more than their biological value – the quick response of a male academic to traditional rhetoric about mothering left me disappointed.

This notion of maintaining hope during challenging political moments can be approached in many ways. I’m still sorting out what I’ll say in the five-minute slot on the conference panel. However, something I learned yesterday in the Babylonian Tractate of Makkot, on page 20b, made me think further about these issues.

Makkot 20b is about haircuts and ritual cutting as a mourning practice. First, Jews are not supposed to cut their hair in certain ways. Second, self-harming through incisions or ritual mutilation isn’t considered an acceptable mourning practice – self-harm isn’t OK.

While I studied this, I was also checking out the Canadian election results. My father, in the United States, was surprised that we hadn’t let our kids stay up late to watch what was happening. I explained that we’d voted early, and that our kids had voted in a school mock election. Also, we wouldn’t know the complete results until later anyway. More importantly, my kids needed sleep to cope with other activities later this week. Sleep felt like more important self-care.

It struck me that much of our tradition, and Jewish law, tries to maintain a complicated form of self-care. Even in dire circumstances, Jewish tradition encourages us to practise resiliency, intellectual curiosity and hope. Each day, the sun will rise, our souls will return and we will have what we need, like clothing and food, and feel grateful for it. As I write this, I hear Omer Adam’s popular musical version of the traditional prayer said on rising, “Modeh Ani.” (Google it, it’s good!)

While we also pray for our country and its leaders, sometimes we jokingly invoke the words that Tevye quotes his rabbi as saying in Fiddler on the Roof: “A blessing for the czar? Of course! May God bless and keep the czar … far away from us!”

My household felt strangely conflicted about voting. We knew for instance that the Conservatives, in the past, cut funding for research and science, which worries us. Choosing parties that maintain or grow science funding is important to us personally, since my husband is a science professor. His lab needs funding to do research. Good science research can protect us. However, the Liberals have a poor track record of protecting Jewish Canadian citizens. Our local NDP MP has expressed something akin to real hate in my dealings with her. So, again, we can think like Tevye’s rabbi: we bless the outcome of a democratic election – no matter how it goes – while hoping those in charge don’t get close enough, through their actions, to do us any harm.

Similarly, the rabbis acknowledged that mourning causes us great psychological pain. This might encourage some to self-harm. Ideally, we should control that impulse. Self-care is a balancing act. It’s not always clear how to make safe choices.

Locally, I watched politicians’ interactions with the Jewish community with interest. In one case, an incumbent Jewish Liberal MP of a riding known to historically have a “big” Jewish community mentioned that perhaps only 5% of his riding was Jewish. His efforts made to support the Jewish community and offer allyship to Israel were an expression of his conscience. That choice likely didn’t help his chances and maybe even was an impediment to his campaign, but that decision to act conscientiously offered me hope, too, even if I couldn’t vote for him because I don’t live in his riding.

Sometimes, our choices aren’t as clear as we’d like them to be. It can be hard some mornings to rise full of hope and gratitude amid the political chaos and death we hear about each day. Given that, we need the reminder of ancient, traditional Jewish prayer and thought, too. There are days when I feel praying is a rote practice. Other days, I remember that we’re doing this in a way that brings us connection with ancestors who maybe didn’t have enough food, who suffered with terrible plagues or physical danger. In many ways, things are so much better for us than they used to be. This alone is worth our gratitude.

When the rabbis warned long ago against cutting oneself, they lived in a world without antibiotics or effective medical care. My conversation about finding Jewish hope wasn’t simply about reproduction, my maternal pride, but rather my pride in the kids doing good science. I have hope because I don’t only believe in blind faith, I also believe in science. Whether it’s Israel’s Iron Dome, Jonas Salk’s polio vaccine, or other discoveries, doing science is another form of self-preservation.

The world can be a painful place. We must make compromises to continue as a small minority ethno-religion. Those choices require us to acknowledge what’s happening, to make nuanced decisions based on what’s best in the moment, and to build a better world each day.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m proud of my children, whatever they do, but I’m filled with hope because my Jewish kids won all sorts of accolades at a divisional science fair. To me, that’s Jewish self-care for the future. Yes, it’s also a political statement, too.

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

Different kind of seder

Held on April 15, the Third Seder: Understanding Addiction and the Path to Freedom focused on the slavery of addiction. (photo from JFS Vancouver)

There was matzah, grape juice, charoset and horseradish on the table. Guests read from the Haggadah and enjoyed a meal of matzah ball soup, brisket and roasted vegetables. At first glance, you might think this was just another seder – but it truly was different from all other seder nights.

The Third Seder: Understanding Addiction and the Path to Freedom was held April 15, with Rabbi Joshua Corber, director of Jewish Addiction Community Services (JACS) Vancouver, at the helm. All the guests had something in common: they were people with or recovering from addiction, or family members of loved ones who have experienced or are still struggling with addiction.

“No situation is more similar to slavery than one’s addiction. Someone who has experienced addiction truly understands what it means to be a slave,” said Corber as he introduced guests to From Bondage to Freedom: A Haggadah with a Commentary Illuminating the Liberation of the Spirit, written by Rabbi Dr. Abraham Twerski (1930-2021).

“Rabbi Twerski, z”l, is an absolute giant,” Corber explained. “Steeped in Torah learning and Chassidus, he was a psychiatrist who specialized in addiction and, with this background, his ability to leverage Torah as a recovery tool is unparalleled. This is reflected in his Haggadah, but he also led the way for other Torah scholars.”

At all other seders, guests drink wine or grape juice, but at the Third Seder, only grape juice was on the table. Guests recited sections from the Haggadah that wrestled with concepts like liberation from addiction, and how family members could deliver “tough love” by setting boundaries. They expressed their pain and shared their stories with candour.

“Slaves to addiction tend to think recovery isn’t possible,” said one guest, who introduced himself as a recovered alcoholic.

Corber agreed. “I thought addiction was my life, and that I needed to tolerate it,” he confessed. “I was held down by inertia because addiction was the only life I could imagine. In some ways, it was like I was already dead.”

The guests at the seder, which was held at Reuben’s Deli by Omnitsky, ranged in age from 22 to 80. Some were still wrestling with active addiction, while others had been in recovery for lengthy periods. Together, they formed a community of support that was inclusive and devoid of judgment.

“Addiction is a family disease and having a community for recovery is amazing,” one guest declared.

Corber echoed those sentiments. “A goal of JACS is to get the whole community behind the cause of supporting Jews entering recovery or coming out of addiction and, so far, that’s been missing,” he said.

There remains a stigma surrounding addiction, particularly in the Jewish community, Corber said. “There seems to be a reluctance to discuss the matter openly in the community and we have to break this stigma. Addiction is not a choice, it’s a disease. And, while most of us acknowledge this, it has not fundamentally changed our attitudes. Jews who are struggling need to feel supported and accepted by their Jewish community.”

Corber said the Third Seder will become an annual event, and more programming is being planned for Shavuot and other Jewish holidays. For more information, visit jacsvancouver.com.

Lauren Kramer, an award-winning writer and editor, lives in Richmond.

Racing from Purim to Pesach

My kids were volunteering at the Purim carnival, helping younger kids do games and offering other support. My husband was there to help. I went home early “for a break.” Meanwhile, I receive “helpful” warnings from Jewish websites and other moms on social media. “Passover is coming!” they mention with cheerful purpose. Perhaps this fills some people with glee. Mostly, I feel doom in the pit of my stomach.

Following influencers who run their large observant Jewish households like a well-oiled machine actually has been useful, to some extent. Oh, if she started making chicken broth or cleaned her pantry, maybe it’s time for me to do it, too? By following these tips, sometimes I feel I can manage better.

Then, however, the system fails me. Many of these capable influencers live in large Jewish centres, surrounded by kosher grocery stores, take-out and supportive extended families. They also have the finances to travel with their families to Passover resort vacations. If they travel, they don’t have to clean their houses or cook for the holiday. If they stay home, some use catering or even disposable plates for the whole holiday, which produces mountains of trash. My environmentally conscious household would never go for that.

For those who lack a large Jewish community infrastructure, or financial and family supports, making holidays happen can feel overwhelming. We hover in between, operating in a weird middle ground that is both freeing and isolating. Our families live far away. Since public school and work don’t stop for Pesach, we don’t travel for this holiday. We care about keeping Pesach. I cook and clean for weeks in advance, but I can’t do it all. I gave up on changing the dishes the year I gave birth to twins. While I may feel some guilt, I haven’t looked back.

Facing the next holiday’s prep feels exhausting. Maybe that’s because I just finished baking dozens of cookies (hamantashen and palmiers) for our Purim mishloach manot treat bags.

I’m thinking about how successful businesses and governments work. A business that runs smoothly depends on internal systems, competent managers to keep things working and other staff at various levels. A functional government also relies on an efficient bureaucracy. Right now, we’re hearing of how President Trump’s government is “cutting bureaucracy” and creating “efficiency.” However, what has followed is chaos.

Yes, there are always cases of bloated bureaucracy or waste, but, in many contexts, efficiency can mean that only one person knows how to do something essential. If that person has an accident or falls ill or is fired? Bad things happen.

I think of this while trying to keep my Jewish household on track through our holidays and the secular calendar. It takes mental energy and organizing skill to get kids through homework, afterschool extracurriculars, volunteering, and planning for summer activities in advance. Meanwhile, the dog needs grooming and her teeth brushed. Our house could use a good vacuuming.

Running a home is historically a Jewish woman’s domain. It’s a lot of work. There are Jewish literary references to a balabusta (Jewish housewife) and even Eishet Chayil, a Woman of Valour, from the book of Proverbs, which is traditionally recited to some women on Shabbat.

Many liberal households long ago ditched the tradition of reciting Eishet Chayil on Friday nights. Neither my childhood household nor my married one has ever included this. Instead, like many other Jewish households where women are professionals, in my family, women work alongside household management. So, the historic celebration of a “women’s place” at home got scrapped, but the expectations increased.

Last night, I stayed up late after the whole household watched the movie Barbie together. Although I’m no Barbie fan, I enjoyed the subversive, witty tricks of this movie’s plot. Yet, I still had to place a grocery order afterwards. My husband was folding laundry. My twins changed their bedding before their bedtime, too. The exhaustion reminded me of one of the elements of a functional bureaucracy.

When things run smoothly, it’s because everyone has jobs – and no one’s job requires them to do everything. There is necessary duplication at work. More than one person knows how to do something, so that if a person goes away or gets sick, the system doesn’t collapse. Overlapping work roles and slack in a system are necessary. When an emergency happens, there’s extra capacity when systems overload.

Running a household smoothly, so that everyone’s well fed, valued and has their needs met, is a complicated endeavour. In the Babylonian Talmud, Tractate Sanhedrin, pages 86-88, there’s a lengthy conversation about what it means to be a “rebellious elder” and whether there are ever times when one must be executed for teaching inappropriate information. The rabbis suggest there are three different courts of appeal for these cases. Yet, there is also an understanding that some rebellious elders teach rulings based on tradition, from their teachers, and, other times, they offer a reasoned argument, based on what is “the correct understanding in my eyes.” That is, using logic, texts and real-life examples to draw conclusions.

Historically, women oversaw their households, that’s what our texts say, but times change. Now, we also expect women to be, at least theoretically, equals in the workplace. But the research indicates that women still bear the brunt of household chores, and the mental gymnastics and emotional work related to keeping everything afloat.

It’s time to rethink business models that preach that any duplication is redundant. If we want our homes to run smoothly, we must expect that more than one person be responsible for making Passover, or even afterschool carpools, happen. We moms cannot keep this schedule up any longer.

As I wrote this, one of my children rang the doorbell. He has a key but expects me to open the door for him anyway. That same child went out this afternoon to shop for Passover foods with his dad, who also picked up the weekly grocery order and did a lot of laundry today. Like Barbie’s weird movie world, or the topsy turvy Purim story, we must keep turning things around or even upside down. We cannot expect even “women of valour” to do everything. It’s time for everybody to learn more of the jobs to make our households function. Over here in Winnipeg, this mom is tired. It’s time for everybody to pitch in.

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

Help with the holiday

In Every Generation: A PJ Library Family Haggadah can be downloaded from pjlibrary.org/passover. (photo from PJ Library)

Passover is the ultimate Jewish story – a tale of freedom, hope and food – which makes it the perfect holiday to share with the entire family. Passover is time for gathering, reflecting, telling stories and working towards a world with freedom for all. But planning to cover all that with kids may feel lofty – especially if you’re a little hazy on the details yourself. The free Jewish book program PJ Library has you covered as a go-to destination for making Passover special.

Visit PJ Library’s Passover Hub at pjlibrary.org/passover to find everything you need to plan your Passover seder, set your table and answer your kids’ questions. There, you’ll find PJ Library’s free downloadable Passover Guide, a family-oriented primer that lays out how to prepare for the seders and the foods you need for your table, as well as offering up meaningful activities to make the most out of all eight days. The guide covers three main sections: how to get ready, what you need to get through the seder, and what comes after the festive meals have come to a close.

Also available for digital download from the hub is In Every Generation: A PJ Library Family Haggadah. It follows the arc of a traditional Haggadah and features all the major songs, prayers and moments, but also incorporates helpful framing and stories for kids so they can get the most out of this experiential meal. It also has new question prompts to help you reinvigorate your seder. The online version can be downloaded for free, while the PJ Library Haggadah is available for purchase in paperback from Amazon.ca.

Beyond the guide and the Haggadah, the Passover Hub features downloadable activities to keep little ones entertained during the seder, book lists, a step-by-step video playlist to help kids learn (or brush up on) the Four Questions, and recipes. There are fun and easy recipes like Charoset Breakfast Balls, a perfect grab-and-go breakfast that’s healthy and packed with protein, Chicken Skewers with Avocado Dip, or cholent, a classic hearty Jewish dish made in the slow cooker.

About PJ Library

PJ Library’s goal is to inspire joyful Jewish experiences by sending free storybooks and activities to families with children ages 0-12 and offering ways to connect with community. The program was founded in 2005 by the Harold Grinspoon Foundation and, with the support of donors and partners, now distributes books in seven languages to more than 650,000 children in more than 40 countries every month. The PJ Library family experience is built around the monthly storybooks and also includes family-focused holiday guides and other free gifts. Anyone who visits PJ Library’s website can hear original storytelling podcasts and explore a vast collection of Jewish parenting resources. The program welcomes families across the diversity of Jewish life. Learn more or sign up for monthly children’s books at pjlibrary.org.

– Courtesy PJ Library

Welcoming guests again

There may not be magic at hand to prepare dinner or clean up afterwards, but the Weasleys’ home in the Harry Potter series, the Burrow, is a good model for how to welcome guests, with Mrs. Weasley’s always sharing her love, food, home, and even her motherly reprimands with others. (photo by Karen Roe / flickr)

This winter, I felt our household was in hibernation. Between endless viruses brought home from middle school and -30˚C temperatures in Winnipeg, I doubted we’d ever emerge. Then, our household caught a break. We’ve had a few weeks now where all four of us seem mostly healthy. Also, there has been a rare moment of “early spring,” where temperatures are around freezing, the sun is out and everyone seems cheerful about the deep, goopy slush.

We have started to dig ourselves out. Not from the snow, but from all the activities we piled up during the coldest time of year. One kid removed his slot car racers and a 3D printer project from the dining room. Another kid tidied up a huge set he’s building for his video production class. There are still too many books and knitting projects on the coffee table (my fault). My husband even cleaned up his piles of paper. Why all the hurry? Well, suddenly people are coming over again to visit. We’re hopefully emerging from our long retreat.

During our hibernation, we stayed home, went to work and school, and to synagogue. That was mostly it. But then I got an email out of the blue. When I walk my setter-mix dog, we often encounter a tiny dog, Lulu, and her human, and we chat. Deep into our winter sojourn, we weren’t seeing Lulu or her people much, it was just too cold. Yet Lulu’s people, thoughtful neighbours, invited us over for cheese fondue, wine and a warm chat. After a great night out a block from home, I realized how small our world had become. I decided we owed them a dinner invitation. They’re coming (probably without Lulu) for Shabbat dinner this week.

I’ve always enjoyed cooking big Shabbat and holiday dinners for friends and having great conversations at the table. I was raised with this kind of hospitality. My parents’ home was always open to my friends, who timed their visits to enjoy their favourite foods or discuss things with my parents or siblings, and their friends, too. However, over the years, I’d really cut back on these dinners. First, because my twins still go to bed early. Then, because of the pandemic. After Oct. 7, I felt wary about the outside world and wanted to feel safe at home. About a year ago, I stopped inviting people. I could say it was because I was concentrating on my twins’ b’nai mitzvah preparations or the event itself, with friends and family visiting, but that was last June. This winter, we’ve been sick and it’s been so cold.

On one Shabbat at synagogue, I heard an impromptu talk from a young adult visiting home. He was serving in the Israel Defence Forces as a lone soldier and spent part of his time at home talking to groups about what was happening in Israel, and we discussed how to combat antisemitism in Canada. At this event, a community member suggested that inviting friends and allies over, perhaps to Shabbat dinner, could help others learn about who we are and gather more support.

What happened afterwards, along with the warmer, slushy weather, is that some of our friends began to seek us out.

Last week, an amazing acquaintance, who used to run a gallery we loved, asked me to sign one of my books for her friend’s birthday. Of course, I said, come on over. I showed her our “new” historic house and she brought me tulips.

Then, a longtime artist friend in her 80s contacted me and decided she was coming over the next morning for muffins and coffee, so she could show off her newest marbled paper experiments.

Last week, a retired newspaper columnist that I really respect happened to spot my husband outdoors with the dog. He started to text with my husband and asked to come see how we’d renovated things. My husband said yes. Our neighbourhood’s full of old houses with interesting quirks, so visiting each other’s homes is always fun. They’re coming for coffee and cake on Sunday. It seemed like high time to pick up the dog toys from the living room carpet.

All of these encounters with warm people who sought us out and wanted to get back in touch? None of them is Jewish. All of them are people who want us to know they are safe, they care about us, and they value our company. This was an important realization, well worth the effort it takes to clean up the messy paw prints and kid fingerprints for a visit.

When I imagine how I want my home to appear to friends, or even strangers, I think of the Burrow, the Weasleys’ home in the Harry Potter series. Well, that’s not quite right. Our house doesn’t use magic to knit sweaters or stir pots of soup. Those are my hands, my knitting and my cooking, instead. However, whenever I think of the Burrow, I think of a warm, welcoming place where Mrs. Weasley feeds everybody and makes everyone feel welcome and loved, despite the normal clutter and chaos of family life.

My notion of hachnasat orchim (welcoming guests) comes from Jewish tradition, a much older playbook than the Harry Potter series. However, the meaning feels the same, even if my household menu includes hamantashen and chicken soup. Mrs. Weasley’s always sharing her love, food, home, and even her motherly reprimands with others, and it goes beyond her family. Her home, the Burrow, sounds like a retreat, but it’s not a hibernation. It’s an enthusiastic embrace.

I am hoping to get back to that safe and cheerful place, where our home is full again with fascinating friends, good food, stimulating conversation and an open heart. Our gardens are still under dirty snow here. It sometimes takes a heroic effort to rise above winter weather and the residual sadness of the war, but good things await. Things are warming up at my house in Manitoba. I’m hoping for happier days ahead.

Growth and change is Torah

In middle school, we studied the 1920s in English and social studies. It was a period ripe with new slang. I remember the long list of phrases we had to learn and interpret. The surprise was that I knew some of the expressions because my family still used them! Phrases like, “Aren’t you just the bee’s knees?” or “He thinks he’s the cat’s pajamas!” This weird phenomenon came to mind when I happened upon an ancient rabbinic discussion in the Babylonian Talmud, Sanhedrin 62a.

Rabbi Zakkai taught a Baraita (an early teaching that was left out of the Mishnah, codified around 200 CE) in Rabbi Yohanan’s presence. It said that, when one did, in a lapse of awareness, a whole series of inappropriate things deemed idol worship, one was only obligated to bring one sin-offering sacrifice to wipe the slate clean.

Rabbi Yohanan responded with “Go out and teach outside.” It was the ancient equivalent of “Get out of town!” or “Get out!” This is the laughing or indignant response somebody makes when you say something unbelievable or surprising.

One can read this text in many ways. It’s possible that Yohanan earnestly thought Zakkai was teaching nonsense and that he shouldn’t teach that inside the house of study, because every action deserved its own separate offering to repent for these mistakes.

However, as the page continues, the importance of context reveals itself. Imagine a time when idol worship was everywhere. A person could inadvertently look like they were worshipping an idol or a person when they were just bowing respectfully as a custom or doing what they had to do to get along. If surrounded by idol worship, a person may do things that everyone else does, automatically and without reflection.

We still do this. Think about the phrases “knock on wood” or “crossing one’s fingers and toes.” These aren’t Jewish concepts, but many say them anyhow, just as we might use phrases from other religions in conversation. They’re part of the culture around us.

I was thinking about these cultural shifts recently because we had our own big moment a few weeks ago. We were driving home after middle school. I remarked that I’d taken the dog on the river trail for an amazing walk at lunch time. (In Winnipeg, our rivers freeze, allowing several kilometres of walking, skiing and skating trails, along with art installations and events on the ice. It’s like a pop-up provincial park in winter.) One of my kids complained that he hadn’t gotten enough skating in yet. The weather that day was perfect but a cold snap was coming. I suggested that they head out right away onto the ice on their own.

My kids seemed astounded by the offer, but they took me up on it. We live a block from the river and there’s a convenient ramp down the riverbank. Before we could reconsider, they were off with skates, helmets, snowpants and the loan of my cellphone so they could reach me. I told them to be back in an hour. This bought me more time to make Shabbat dinner, too.

Just before 5:30 p.m., the phone rang. My responsible kids called from the ice, saying, “We got a little too far away, we’re getting tired, but we’re coming back now. We’ll be a little late.” When they got inside, both kids were wobbly, legs rubbery from exhaustion. I had to help them get off their parkas and snowpants, but they were full of triumph. They had taken off on their own and had an adventure. At dinner, they described bumping into a classmate who was out with his mom and younger siblings. While the classmate was a better skater than them, my 13-year-olds seemed puffed up with pride that they were allowed out by themselves.

Times change. As a Gen Xer, when I was 13, I babysat for two siblings on my own. I took the Washington, DC, metro by myself. I was a latchkey kid of longstanding. As the oldest child in my family and “mature,” I had a lot of leeway, as well as responsibility. Was it always good for me? I don’t think so, but it’s just the way things were.

My kids have had a longer stretch of childhood, with more supervision. While they have always had household chores and other responsibilities, these maiden voyages of independence now happen one after the next. Since the skating experience, they’ve been on their own for a Saturday night while we went out to a neighbour’s house. They take the dog walk on their own. This week, they’re headed off to a winter camp sleepaway experience with their school.

Generational shifts often lead us to believe that things are altogether different than they used to be. Yet, when I realized that I used 1920s slang as a kid, it reminded me that, while things change, some things stay the same. We no longer do sin offerings when we’ve made a mistake as part of Jewish practice. We don’t live in a culture surrounded by physical idols and their worship. However, we still make mistakes and seek absolution. Our kids still learn and grow through graduated steps towards independence, complete with worry and insecurity. One rabbi’s “Go and teach outside” becomes “Get out of town!” – after 2,000 years, the inference isn’t that different.

For each generation, something old becomes new again, or seems new, at least. For every parent, those amazing first moments of change in their kids are important. I burst with pride, telling others about the skating adventure. I revel in being able to go out socially (down the street), while my kids put themselves to bed. These ages and stages happen for everyone, but, each time, we’re still ecstatic with the individual circumstance.

My kids told me later that they had read until 8:40 or 9 o’clock when we were out, but, when we got back, their room was silent, lights were off, with the dog on guard. It was a moment of success. I nodded, feeling impressed. Inside, I was thinking, “Get out of town! Look what we accomplished here!” “Rabbi,” I wanted to say, “check these big bar mitzvah boys out! Look at this growth! That, too, is Torah.”