The Munich Massacre: Translating Tragedy to Faith

Memorial to the 11 Israelis slain at the Olympics in Munich 1972 - High Contrast

For many of us who were kids at the time of the Munich Massacre, the slaughter of the 1972 Israeli Olympic contenders by terrorists was an incomprehensible act. The events, which unfolded in painfully slow detail over several days represented a turning point in our lives. For me, it signaled the unexpected birth of my Jewish identity.

No doubt for many young Jews who dreamed of competing at the Olympics one day, the murders provided a dash of cold reality on their futures, a wake up call to the risks that they might be taking by competing in an international competition like the Olympics. In truth, they symbolized risks that to some visceral level, every Jewish competitor recognizes when he or she steps out into the limelight. The Munich terrorist attack however crystallized those fears into reality.

I on the other hand, had never dreamed of Olympic stardom much less an athletics career. Nevertheless, with Munich something changed in me. In my family, events like these were not discussed. They were internalized with an edgy discomfort that made discussions of the most profound tragedies impossible. As I watched the anger on my father’s face and listened to my mother’s frenetic, almost anxious silence during radio reports, I realized a turning point had arrived. Although I could not tell at the time how profoundly it would affect my family, I knew that something in me was changing.

Casualties transported during Yom Kippur War 1973 - IDF

That awareness revisited me the following year with the outbreak of the Yom Kippur War. As I sat next to my father in the TV room watching the news reports, he said the words that would herald the beginning of a transformation.

“I have half a mind to go to Israel and volunteer."

 Looking back, I realize that it was my naivety that both allowed me to appreciate those words as truth, and run with them. My father, a devoutly secular Jew who had devoted his life to clinical research, was a diabetic, almost 50 and in no position to head off to Israel to volunteer during a war.

Northern Israel, c. 1974 - Dani G. via PikiWiki

Still, I memorized that statement with uncanny precision for when I would one day return them to him as my justification for enrolling in an ulpan during the 1974 PLO terrorist attacks in northern Israel.

It is interesting that it is others’ shortcomings that often inspire our own spiritual journeys. The inhumanity and cruelty of the terrorists' actions that day in September awakened an awareness in me that would eventually, through many turns, stops and starts, set me on the path to becoming a religious Jew.

I imagine that there are others who remember the Munich events and were touched by them, or who had pivotal events in their lives that helped them realize their identity as Jews.

Did you experience an event that shaped who you are today? Please share your memories and comments below.

The Multicultural Jew: Ties that Bind Us to Israel: Music and Stories fro...

The Multicultural Jew: Ties that Bind Us to Israel: Music and Stories fro...: For many of us in the Jewish Diaspora, our relationship with Israel is a complex one. We feel a kinship the contemporary Jewish state, e...

Ties that Bind Us to Israel: Music and Stories from the Heart

For many of us in the Jewish Diaspora, our relationship with Israel is a complex one. We feel a kinship the contemporary Jewish state, even though we don’t live there, and in some cases, never will. We also feel a commitment to its safety and survival, that could be best described for many of us as a mitzvah or an historic obligation to protect the Jewish homeland. The Shoah’s indelible mark has helped to reinforce this sense of commitment.

Ulpan students - by Masa Israel

It is a testament to that sense of loyalty that North American parents send their kids to Israel each summer. During the mid to late 20th century when Israel was still building its commercial infrastructure, Jewish families sent their children to work on kibbutzim in exchange for room, board and a few months of Hebrew lessons.  North American Jews bought Israeli bonds to contribute to its economy. They donated money to Jewish charities that supported immigration to Israel.

Parents instilled the Yiddish concept of mitzveh to teach their children that it was a good deed to help the fledgling Jewish nation, while reinforcing the Hebrew concept that it was a mitzvah – a Jewish commandment – to stand in support of Jewish heritage. For the teen that travelled to Israel, that trip was an unforgettable rite of passage. For Israel, it was the umbilical cord that assured its connection with the Diaspora and continued support from future generations. 

These days we still send our kids to Israel and we still contribute to its economy. But we have found other ways as well to stay in touch with our cultural birthplace, methods that suggest that for today’s generation, it isn’t just obligation or mitzvah that motivates our identity. It’s something more personal and intrinsic to how we see ourselves as Jews here in the Diaspora.

Marina Maximilian Blumin, Yom Ha'atzmaut in Vancouver*

At Yom Ha’atzmaut we fill theatres to hear Israeli singers tell us about their homeland. Performers like the Israeli singer Marina Maximilian Blumin, who paid a visit to Vancouver, Canada on April 25 and has performed across North America, provide us with an up close understanding of what it is like to live on the Jewish frontier, to experience its diversity, and to appreciate musical trends that are not always heard through western media.

 Marina Maximilian Blumin singing "Confession"*

Their music transports us from our common understanding of what it is to be a Jew in a society where we are a minority, to the singular experience of living without that distinction.

We attend forums on Israeli political topics and we vocalize our support for Israel in the way we vote, the candidates we elect and the initiatives we inspire. But we also show our support by bolstering less known celebrities, particularly those who help Israel’s first responders.

Singers like Ritasue Charlestein, who has been recognized in Israel for her support of injured service members, have until recently, remain largely unknown in the Diaspora. A member of the Israel Medical Corps who provides support to veterans and active soldiers through songs and acts of compassion, she provides North American Jews with an unusual and much needed glimpse into the challenges, tragedies and triumphs that Israeli soldiers often face on the front line. Her performances have been modest to this point, but continue to gain attention in Jewish communities across the U.S. and Canada.

Ritasue Charlestein with Adam

North American Jews may not use Hebrew in our day-to-day interactions, and some of us may feel self conscious about attending a religious service that is completely in Hebrew, but we don’t have a problem packing a theatre for a night of Israeli music. We wouldn’t think twice about listening to the moving accounts of a first-hand witness interspersed with the Hebrew language and Israeli music.

Marina Maximilian Blumin*

We listen to Ritasue and Marina not just to understand our cultural roots, but because in many ways, we feel a kinship with what they sing and represent. We want to be that compassionate singer transporting the wounded from their pain. We can believe for that moment that we’re the one inspiring change, who transforms distant observers to passionate, compassionate supporters of Israel. We listen to Ritasue Charlestein’s story of the soldier’s victory over certain death, and we feel as if we are the ones singing and appealing for his unexpected recovery.

We watch Marina Maximilian Blumin create her artistry on stage, and find solace and reassurance in its beauty and uplifting power. Israel’s success is confirmed for us each time we find ourselves swept away by the words and songs of its contemporary journey.

For North American Jews, the connection with Israel is much more than an obligation, a mitzvah, or an act of observance.  It serves as an affirmation that our lives as Jews, however secular, or however religious in observance, are what define our humanity.  

Israeli Dancers*

Thanks to Jennifer Houghton and the Jewish Federation of Vancouver for use of the above images.

Appreciation is also extended to Ritasue Charlestein for the opportunity to attend her presentation.

The Multicultural Jew: Kaddish for the Living

The Multicultural Jew: Kaddish for the Living: I never understood the significance of saying Kaddish for a loved one until I was forced to say it myself ...

Kaddish for the Living

I never understood the significance of saying Kaddish for a loved one until I was forced to say it myself.

Yom Hazikaron, Ramle - US Embassy, Tel Aviv

I suspect this is true for many Jewish individuals: Although we may think we understand the importance of a religious tradition, we often don’t appreciate its purpose until one day, overcome by the moment, we’re forced take it on as our own. Consumed by grief we repeat the words that we have heard week after week, year after year. We say them at first because we are supposed to. Later we come to realize that we say them because we want to – we need to. Something in the cadence, the somber march of the words gives us purpose and makes us feel that for the first time that week, we have a way of expressing our loss and pain and ultimately regaining who we are.

The first time I said Kaddish for my father three years ago, it seemed like an insurmountable challenge. His death had been expected, yet acknowledging it in public required an acceptance that seemed beyond comprehension. Saying those words publicly, before a minyan*, seemed impossible. But by the fifth or sixth day a sense of acceptance had swept over me. My father was gone and I was honoring his life and his significance with these words.

Man Wrapped in Prayer Shawl (1909) - Leopold Pilichowski

Still, I seemed unable to internalize the importance of saying Kaddish any farther than my obligation to do so. Over time, it became an obligation I took on, a mitzvah I claimed personally. In an odd way it gave meaning to my father’s difficult death, all the months he had suffered from Parkinson’s Disease, and the gallant and determined fight he waged to the end. It reassured me that even in the cruelest of circumstances, there is continuity, and that it is through our part in that continuum that their lives continue to be acknowledged.

As I found out during those first few weeks however, finding closure is an individual process. A half hour after watching my father die, I found myself sitting in a mortuary with a family member while he efficiently arranged for my father’s cremation.

In the eyes of some of my family members, cremation was my father’s last wish. It was a final if not efficient form of closure. After all, from their perspective, what more could be wished by a scientist who had devoted his entire career to the clinical explanation of life?

They didn’t know of the discussions my dad and I had about Judaism. They didn’t know that a year before he had died he had asked to borrow the book, To Be A Jew by Hayim Halevy Donin, and had on several occasions engaged me in discussions about Jewish life cycle events. My father, who had been raised secular but had taught me everything I knew about the true meaning of being Jewish had never lost his desire to know and connect with his heritage.

But he still believed that identity was a personal decision, and that it was up to each of his kids to define that question individually. And I suspect that is why to this day, we each claim to understand a distinctive piece of who he was, and what he truly believed. Saying Kaddish for him may not have been what he expected of me, but I think he would have been happy to know I did. Kaddish didn’t just fulfill a religious obligation; in this instance, it gave acknowledgment to the fact that in his own way, he lived his life as a Jew.

My brother’s death last March however, carried a different understanding of the importance of saying Kaddish. An unexpected death catapults one into the present. It is a brutal reminder of the disconnect we have with life, and the fact that even what we believe to be the most consistent can suddenly inexplicably be stripped away from us.

Man visiting a grave site, Mount St. Olives - Ian W. Scott

I am convinced that the ancient rabbis understood this.  Tradition both binds a community together and mollifies in moments of pain, and there is nothing that quells grief better than consistency of action and the sense that even in the midst of turmoil our ancient traditions still go on.

It was my father’s passing that gave me an understanding of the importance of saying Kaddish, but it was my brother’s death that taught me that Kaddish is truly meant for the living, not for the dead. It honors the dead, but it upholds the living by reaffirming that it is our most personal and sacred traditions that affirm who we are.

Mourner's Kaddish  - prov. by Erika Herzog

In the intense few moments after I stood up the first time to say Kaddish for my brother, I realized that it was the Mourner’s Kaddish that was giving me strength to honor his memory, not the other way around. The cadence of the Aramaic words had a purpose beyond their spirituality, and that was to provide direction and focus for the mourner. The words may express our innermost prayers, but it is its rhythm and its essence that allow us to grapple with the most basic and human of instincts: the need to know that we go on in spite of the loss around us.

My brother’s death, which occurred three years to the day after my dad’s, will always have an inextricable link to my father’s yahrtzeit. Even though his heart stopped beating only moments before midnight, David wasn’t pronounced dead until the following day. The EMTs spent two hours – well into the early morning of the following day - trying to revive him, to no avail.

And yet, it seems fitting that my brother’s yahrtzeit should fall on a different date than my father’s. Their deaths will remain entwined in memory, but the distinctiveness of who they were will reaffirmed by the simple, though painful act of saying Kaddish two days in a row.

The Mourner’s Prayer, eloquent, stately, but understated, is Judaism’s greatest acknowledgement of the sanctity of life. It gives closure to the irreconcilable and reminds us that memory has a purpose that is best reflected in the accomplishments of the living.

* Conservative and Reform Movements define a minyan (quorum) as a group of at least ten Jewish men or women (e.g., who have reached the age of bar/bat mitzvah). Orthodox Movement define a minyan as at least ten men.

Six candles for the six million (Pearl Harbor) - US Navy

Toward A Contemporary Definition of Shavuot

Shavuot, Gan Shmuel 1936 - PikiWiki

Ask a Talmud Torah student what the meaning of Shavuot is, and you’ll probably get a textbook answer encompassing any or all of the following: It’s the Festival of Weeks, the date Jews commemorate the giving of the Torah by G-d and it commemorates the ending of the Counting of the Omer, that intense period of loss, mourning and self reflection that begins with the last days of Passover and concludes with the welcoming of Shavuot.

True, Shavuot is all of these things. It’s history, it’s religious symbolism and it’s our link with our past when Jews relied upon the manual counting of handfuls of wheat at harvest time.

Wheat Field, Israel - Victor Beruzcov

But these days we don’t count handfuls of wheat for sale on the global market. In fact, time moves by even smaller increments that reflect the ever changing weight we put on the commerce of our ancestors. The omer has been replaced by the byte, the bushel by the meg. Volume moves in gigabytes and terabytes; relevance is nuanced by what we can exchange in information, not what we can eat in a season.

The proliferation of information is no longer dependent upon runners who can dash across hillsides, and isn’t restricted to the distance of human endurance. Our world is shared in milliseconds, not hours or days.

Child Refugee - Steve Evans

An excerpt of the Torah can be read in Vancouver British Columbia Canada and shared in a millisecond’s difference in Sydney Australia; a child’s life can be transformed in a day by a magnanimous donor in another country fulfilling Gimilut Chasidim.

So what should be our means today for acknowledging Shavuot? Do changes in our society warrant changes in how we celebrate significant religious events? Are there ways that we can, and do reflect their importance that will help us pass on the meaning of a significant Jewish event?

During the 1960s, ‘70s and ‘80s, the celebration of Shavuot was lost, or at least diminished in many American Jewish homes. In his May 12, 2010 commentary, Forward Magazine's Editor-at-Large, JJ Goldberg offers an explanation for this phenomenon that however, humorous and almost tongue-in-cheek, hits to the heart of Jewish identity. 

“The pomp deficit is only a symptom … of Shavuot’s larger problem: its dour message,” says Goldberg.
A message that was, and often still is, perceived as “the handing out of the rulebook, with its bounty of Thou Shalts and Thou Shalt Nots,” not necessarily the uplifting story of a people released from captivity or triumphant in battle (as are Passover and Hanukkah) or the engaging family tradition of experiencing a brightly decorated sukkah in the back yard. For many, Shavuot’s importance lost its relevance as secular Judaism came to the fore in American society in the early ‘60s. Coincidentally, with that loss went the relevance of maintaining Jewish religious traditions that impart who we are.

Today there are many ways to look at the significance of a holiday that gave us the ability to appreciate identity. Yes, there are the classic stories about the Jewish people’s elevated status when it was chosen to carry the Torah, but there are a myriad of contemporary ways to express the gift our ancestors did not have the privilege or human experience to express.

• Since the time of Mount Sinai, we have begun to appreciate the value of a balanced ecology. We have learned that with foresight, we can turn desert landscape into a habitable universe. Over the years we have found ways to teach our children that our heritage and Israel’s ecology are inextricably linked.
• We have converted ancient lessons into medical accomplishments. Israel stands as a technological leader in medicine in areas such as exoskeletal prosthesis for victims of war and terror attacks, cancer research and rehabilitative medicine, all of which underscore mitzvot that preserve and sanctify human life. The Israel Defense Force's Save and Rescue Unit uses what it has learned about saving lives in terrorist attacks to train and aid communities in other parts of the world.
• We have learned that a community isn’t restricted by civic or national borders, and that Jewish history transcends its own lineage in surprising ways that sometimes take hundreds or thousands of years to discover. Communities like the Bnei Menashe in India; Chueta Jews in Mallorca (page 32), Spain; and Iquito Jews in the Amazon reaffirm that the Jewish People aren’t homogeneous in heritage and can be found in every corner of the Earth. 

 

• We have also found ways to connect with and nurture the Jewish spirit in places that were decimated during the Shoah. Places like Poland, Germany, Spain and Russia have reclaimed their Jewish heritage much as did those same countries after pogroms hundreds of years earlier. History may repeat its mistakes, but it has also taught us that the Jewish spirit is strong when supported by others who care.
• We have learned that women have a powerful voice that carries its own measure and its own value, and that Jewish identity matures, strengthens and evolves with each generation that strives to teach the story of Shavuot to the next.   

And we have learned that the Jewish People is nothing without the Torah it was entrusted at Mount Sinai. Shavuot serves as our eidetic reminder of the importance of that gift, and that it is our ability to translate its message into a contemporary context and to share that significance with others that continues the Torah’s legacy. 

Child at Shavuot - Mykaul

The Multicultural Jew: Challah: Reshaping Our Image of the Quintessential...

The Multicultural Jew: Challah: Reshaping Our Image of the Quintessential...: Challah is a mainstay in the celebration of Jewish traditions. The salty-sweet twist of bread makes its appearance at almost every majo...

Challah: Reshaping Our Image of the Quintessential Jewish Bread

Shabbos beauty - Roland

Challah is a mainstay in the celebration of Jewish traditions. The salty-sweet twist of bread makes its appearance at almost every major festivity on the Jewish calendar. Its braided symmetry is meant to be emblematic of the goodness we seek in life. It symbolizes the joy and peace of Shabbat, the continuity of a new year at Rosh Hashanah, and the sweetness that we seek in our life throughout the world. Its braided form holds immense religious symbolism in our observance as Jews and would seem to be an irreplaceable part of every Shabbat meal.

So it is hard to imagine someone turning down a piece of this favourite confection when offered. Harder still to believe, is the fact that there have been millions of Jews throughout history for whom this hand-made delicacy would be nothing short of perilous to eat.

But in fact, a significant number of Jews must abstain from eating challah – or matzo, or hamantaschen for that matter – as the result of a strange and quirky autoimmune disease that wreaks havoc on the body when wheat is ingested.

The affliction is called celiac disease, and its symptoms really don’t have anything to do with wheat per se, but with a protein that is present in wheat, rye, barley and spelt. Ingestion of gluten by someone with celiac disease triggers an autoimmune reaction that can ultimately herald the diagnosis of other diseases, like malnutrition, osteoporosis, and cancer.

Wheat - Dag Endresen

It isn’t enough that these grains happen to be four of the five species that are used in hamotzi, baked bread. Modern food processing techniques make the ingestion of oats – the fifth grain used in hamotzi – risky unless the oats have been processed in a certified gluten-free environment.

Gluten-free advocates often talk about the significant cost and difficulties that this disease can present, but few Jewish authors have centered on what to me, seems an even greater danger: the sense of disconnect that can result from not being able to participate in specific traditions, and the sense of alienation that comes from recognizing that something so intrinsic to our faith is out of bounds for those with celiac disease.

Sure, there are gluten-free (GF) challah recipes these days. In fact, hundreds if not thousands live on the Internet. And there is gluten-free Shemurah oat matzo. There are also support groups, and a staggering number of Jewish cooks with their own personal appreciation of the trials of staying GF. This alone suggests that a significant number of the estimated 3 million celiacs in the United States may be Jews. But even in its best and most ornate form, GF challah is just not the same as the buttery-sweet braided tradition that has been passed down through the ages.

Rosh Hashanah roundness - Ryan C Boren

Gluten is much more than a coincidental ingredient in bread. It is what allows us to braid the challah and build the many symbols into our holiday challot, such as the ladder or the roundness of a fulfilling new year. It is what, through synthesis with other ingredients, creates the fluffy, airy texture that we crave at Shabbat. The appearance alone of challah made without gluten is reminiscent of a compromise, a symbol of something cherished, but not quite attained.

Gluten is also what allows matzo to stay together, but retain its flaky texture, and is an intrinsic part of certain dishes on the Pesach seder table. Without gluten, dishes like chicken soup with matzo balls, gefelte fish and your bubbeh’s fantastic Passover cake are all the harder to make. Judaism is replete with symbols fashioned from gluten’s unique alchemy, and amazingly bereft of kosher options to use in its stead.

Chickpea GF bread - Artis Rozentals

Some holiday recipes can survive without gluten, of course. Over the years cooks have discovered curious stand-ins for the protein, like guar gum and xantham gum, that when combined with ingenious mixtures of flours made of bean, vegetable and non-gluten grains can create passable hamantaschen, cakes and cookies. And oat flour, which by itself, is harder to leaven, makes satisfactory matzos.

And therein lies the problem.

Sharron Matten, the author of the blog Kosher Every Day  and Chicago-based chef notes that rabbis have stipulated that in order for baked bread to be considered challah (and thus observe its Shabbos traditions), it must comprise a “significant amount” of flour from one or more of the five grains. This is an option that is nearly impossible for GF bakers, who often must rely upon large amounts of other ingredients like tapioca, rice flour and potato starch to “lighten” the dough. Matten’s answer to the problem is both ingenious and an example of the extensive brainstorming that Jewish GF bakers must use to remain religiously observant. Her recipe even includes the use of a baking pan that simulates the braided appearance of wheat challah.

Yet the truth is, creative cooking doesn’t override all problems. What does the GF individual do at shul on Friday nights, after Shabbat morning services and bar/bat mitzvahs? Individuals who are GF are unable to eat anything at celebrations if they are unable to tell for sure that the food was prepared with GF needs in mind. Ironically perhaps, the growing availability of non-gebrokts* baked goods at Passover makes the holiday a bit easier for celiacs, but only if there is forethought to labeling the dishes "non-gebrokts" or gluten free.

The true challenge in other words, isn’t finding ways to reinvent the wheel at home, but to stay connected socially with the community in a way that is meaningful and allows the celiac individual to at least feel there has not been a disconnect with the Jewish lifestyle.

And it is a problem that is growing. According to the Mayo Clinic, the incidence of celiac disease has risen sharply over the last 60 years. Researchers say the increase is due to improved diagnostic methods, as well as a growing intolerance to gluten in the general population.

Many Jewish communities are already attempting to address this problem by ensuring that there are items on Kiddush tables that are certified gluten free, and that alternative dietary options are available at community events. Still, more that can be done to ensure that Jews who have celiac disease can find the means to stay connected to their communities. They include:

• Organizing educational forums to discuss the halachic challenges associated with a GF diet

• Offering kosher GF cooking/baking classes for Passover and Purim

• Including articles in synagogue newsletters about kosher gluten-free resources

• Establishing a regional “hotline” to help connect individuals with gluten intolerance.

Our traditions sustain and nurture our connections with Judaism and throughout history, have evolved to meet the changing needs of our communities. Perhaps the increasing prevalence of celiac disease will offer just such an inspiration for new traditions and new ways to express the meaning, symbolism and beauty of challah at the Shabbat table.


*Non-gebrokts - (Yiddish) refers to the Orthodox-Ashkenazi tradition of abstaining from eating any product made of matzo that has been combined with liquid (such as matzo balls) during the first seven days of Passover. The Jewish food industry now makes many of its baked products without matzo in recognition of this exceptionally stringent tradition, rendering foods made in this manner gluten-free.

Remarkable Haggadahs for the Contemporary Seder Table

A 14th-century haggadah - Public Domain

For many Jewish families, Passover is a time steeped in tradition. The haggadah that is used to tell the story of the Jews’ Exodus from Egypt, like the recipes that complement the Passover meal, has often been passed down from generation to generation. A traditional Orthodox Jewish haggadah can almost as likely be found on the seder table of a Reform Jewish family as on the table of an Orthodox family. For some, Passover is a time for revisiting one’s roots, the traditions that define them, and their identities as Jews.

The Passover Haggadah for Contemporary Readers

But for others, Pesach is a time for considering the present, and their personal responsibilities to the rest of the world. The subject of ecology, poverty and the impact of the human footprint on the environment have all become topics at the contemporary Seder table and opportunities for reflection in the broader meaning of Passover. The topic of tzedakah – the act of righteous living – has become a cornerstone to Passover observance in some communities. In others, striving for a more peaceful existence has become synonymous with the ancient Jews’ escape from bondage and strife.

These discussions have led to an explosion of creative expression, and an ever-expanding selection of haggadahs in the bookstore and on the internet. E-publishing has opened the door to a wide variety of versions that can be easily printed off, some with ornate depictions, and others with simple text. Some include the original Hebrew text; others provide only the transliteration and English passages.

Print Haggadahs for Passover Seders

The Central Conference of American Rabbis (CCAR) sells the beautiful, sensitively depicted haggadah, The Open Door, written by Sue Levi Elwell, with art by Ruth Weisberg. Written for the Reform audience, it contains both Hebrew and English text as well as transliterated portions, and can be purchased through the CCAR website.

Sharing the Journey: The Haggadah for the Contemporary Family by Alan S. Yoffie and illustrated by Mark Podwal is one of the CCAR's most recent publications and has been lauded for its inclusive text and stunning art work. It can be purchased in soft cover or a beautiful cloth-bound gift edition.

Historian and novelist Elie Wiesel has put out his own exemplary haggadah illustrated by Mark Podwal. As expected, his writings in A Passover Haggadah remind the reader not only of the travails of the ancient Jews but of more contemporary recordings of slavery and mistreatment, and the importance of continuing one’s link with history.

The Modern Haggadah Distributing Company features a wide variety of haggadahs, from books that are directed toward Jews who are practicing Buddhists, to a popular family haggadah that includes the complete Birkat Hamazon (blessing after the meal) for more traditionally observant Jews.

Haggadahs from Israel - PikiWiki

Online Haggadahs for Easy Printing

Quite a number of websites offer free, print-as-you-go haggadahs, some with ornate color illustrations, others with bare-bones text and explanations. Some include the Hebrew, others include only transliterated prayers.

In addition to its print haggadahs, Modernhaggadah.com sells an internet version as well. Written by Rabbi William Blank, it is designed for contemporary readers who like their haggadah to be “brief, to the point, (without) unnecessary ornamentation.” It is well illustrated however, and contains both the Hebrew and transliterated prayers. The book can be downloaded directly from the site.

Rabbi Rachel Barenblat provides on her velveteenrabbi.com site, a black-and-white version with sensitive explanations of some ancient and some new traditions. She utilizes the modern-day tradition of including an orange on the Seder table and gives some explanations to transliterated terms used during the Seder. The haggadah could easily be used with guests who are just learning about the Passover experience.

Rabbi Amy Scheinerman offers her own printable version with just enough illustrations to make it enjoyable to read, educational and inspiring, but not labor-intensive for the printer.

The Jewish Federations of North America covers the whole gamut, with a list of downloadable haggadahs that range from an Orthodox text put out by Chabad, to a basic haggadah published by the Jewish Federation. If their five published options don’t suit, readers shouldn’t lose heart: there is also a link for do-it-yourself haggadah software from Jewishfreeware.com.

It has been said that the haggadah tells the story of the Jewish people – and does so in a way that all generations can understand. Contemporary haggadahs take that lesson one step further by recording the meaning of the ancient story in modern-day terms. It may well be possible that generations in the future will look back at these haggadahs as commentary on the struggles that Jews - and all humans- faced in our lifetime, and our own interpretation of the true meaning of what it means to be, and live as a Jew.

Adapted from The Contemporary Jewish Passover Haggadah by Jan Lee and published on Suite101.com.

Passover in Perspective: When Moses Discovered Skype

As we rid our lives of the last of the chametz for the year, take a moment to enjoy these two great videos.

Thanks to Aish (via YouTube) for putting Pesach into perspective for us:

And - my favourite - Thanks to JewTribe for this gem!





Chag Sameach everyone!

Iran: Lessons from an Ancient Homeland

Esther - Edwin Long (1878)

For many of us, Purim is a time for forgetting sadness and worrisome topics, and enjoying a good story. It is a time for reveling in a tale for which we already know the ending. We’re able to boo Haman’s evil designs and cheer on Esther’s amazing courage without even a consideration as to whether this story could ever turn out differently. We’re able to turn away from history’s brutal lessons and for one full day be swept away by a tale that takes place in a land and a reality far away from our own.

This year however, Purim arrives with a dose of reality. Persia, Queen Esther’s homeland, after all, is not a land in a far, far away place, or an allegorical figment of our imagination, but the origins of present-day Iran. Try as we might to ignore it, the tale of Esther has an uncomfortable ring to it, as if it carries a message that we’re meant to heed.

And it does.

Protests against planned speech at Columbia - David Shankbone

Each year, we reread the Book of Esther, not just for its levity and joyful outcome, but because it reminds us to listen to that inner sense as Jews. Its “street-smart” message nudges our consciousness and reminds us to be attuned to the world around us and those who might mean to do us harm. It begs us to listen to history and warns us against the follies of complacency.

This message hasn’t been missed by journalists in past weeks, who have been quick to remind us of the gravity of a nuclear Iran. Even Prime Minister Netanyahu took advantage of the timing of Iran’s nuclear aspirations by providing President Obama with a copy of the Megillah Esther, as if to demonstrate that the Jewish people had walked this path before and took its history, and its lessons, seriously.

But while the story of Purim carries a valid warning against complacency, I wonder if we aren’t missing another part of the Megillah’s message.

Our recount of the rally against Haman begins not with a preemptive strike against the Persians, but with dialogue. It is Esther’s disclosure to the king that brings about a change in the political balance and the rescue of the Jewish people from destruction. Esther’s bravery is personified by her willingness to go against protocol and use her position to win the king’s ear.

Iranian Jews, 1917 - Public Domain

Anecdotal recounts of history rarely tell the whole story. They offer insight, but they often miss the human quotient, especially when dealing with the opposing side of the story. While the story ends happily for the Persian Jews, it is far from a bloodless accomplishment.

Roya_Hakakian

“It is said that 75,000 Persians died” in the ensuing battles, says author Eli Ajzenman on his blog JewTribe. “It has been argued this has not really been such a great moment with so many deaths.”

The information we are afforded is scant, but as Ajzenman points out, Iranian-Jewish author Roya Hakakian has summed up the issue with a point that make historians squirm.

“(By) bombing Iran we would be bombing a portion of Jewish history,” said Hakakian, in a recent interview with YnetNews. Hakakian fled Iran with her family in 1979, and now lives in the United States. She frequently writes on the state of affairs in Iran.

It is estimated that as many as 25,000 Jews still reside in Iran. Historical monuments such as the shrine to the Jewish prophets Habakkuk and Daniel and of course the presumed tomb of Esther and Mordechai still stand in Iran.

Mausoleum of Esther and Mordechai, Iran - Philippe Chavin

But Hakakian has offered another reason for reconsidering a preemptive strike: Jewish ethics, which urge us, said Hakakian, to regard others’ fates with compassion.

According to Hakakian, a strike on Iran would force the Iranian Jewish population to go into protective hiding and “would weaken Israel’s position in the region.” It would be the populations that would suffer, not the regime, which is already on tenuous ground in a country that is “ripe for revolution.”

This may be why Obama has been stressing patience. He knows the ramifications of a war with Iran would cost Israel, as well as many innocent victims in Iran. He knows it would do little to engender a source of support for Israel’s existence in the region, a source that Israel needs badly.

The Megillah Esther helps us to see the benefits of avoiding complacency in our dealings with others. It reminds us of who we are, and of our unity as a people. It is determining how we use that information, and still retain our compassion toward others however, that truly tells our story as a people.

Man praying in synagogue, Shiraz Iran - Dept. of State (US)

Valentines in Reflection: The Jewish Passion For Being in Love

Holding hands - Elizabeth Ann Colette

For one day this past week, Jews turned their attention away from Iran, presidential elections and financial crises to consider the more profound and complex topic of human nature: love.

Even though some rabbis continue to debate whether Valentine’s Day is a kosher Jewish holiday, its enigmatic hero St. Valentines still figured large in Jewish publications on February 14 this year. From North America to Israel, Jews adopted the once Catholic holiday as a pretext for openly demonstrating feelings of love and commitment. They also demonstrated that dates matter least when love is present, and matter most when one wants to make a social statement.

The words “Valentine’s Day” was nowhere to be found in the press release issued by the Israeli organization Nefesh B’Nefesh, on February 14. Still, the sentiment of love could hardly be missed when husband and wife Phillip and Dorothy Grossman stepped off the plane in Israel on Tuesday. Phillip, age 95 and Dorothy, 93, stand as the oldest individuals in Israel’s history to make aliyah. They had already been married for seven years by the time Israel was granted statehood, and have contributed a long list of family members to the country’s safekeeping. They’ll be joining their children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren in their new home.

Phillip and Dorothy Grossman - Sasson Tiram, courtesy of Nefesh B'Nefesh

Cupid – or the Jewish equivalent – was busy in the Judean Desert of Israel this past week, where religiously observant young men and woman matched skills to find out who would be best suited in a shidduch (traditional Jewish arranged marriage).

The biblical-themed farm Genesis Land was the site of the Amazing Race, in which Orthodox-observant men and women competed together in competitions that involved skills such as drawing water, sheep herding and other biblical-era tasks. In addition to acquiring some new (and hopefully rarely needed) rural skills, they’ll have gained an opportunity to find out just how well a potential spouse really works under pressure. 

Romantics have known it for ages, and now researchers have proven it: Love is a many splendored thing – especially when your oxytocin levels are high.

According to researchers at Bar Ilan University, elevated levels of our “cuddle hormone,” more clinically known as oxytocin, have been found to be present in the early stages of a romantic relationship.

Young love at the malt shop - Keven Simpson

“New lovers had substantially higher plasma levels of oxytocin, as compared to non-attached singles,” the research team reported.

To confirm this, the researchers measured the oxytocin levels of couples who had just engaged in a new relationship, and then retested those who were still together 6 months later. The team found that the cuddle hormone stayed high in those who were still romantically involved.

The report concluded that “(these) findings suggest that oxytocin in the first months of romantic love may serve as an index of relationship duration.”

And lastly, to ensure that man’s (and woman’s) best friend is not forgotten, Jasmine TV (a subsidiary of the Jasmine Group Holding Company, which is based in Israel) has developed a television station just for dogs.

According to Haaretz Newspaper, DogTV in Southern California (where else?) is a step closer to ensuring that our best friends are not left lonely next Valentine’s Day evening when their custodians are out enjoying that romantic dinner. 

Dogs watching TV - Krossbow

 Sharing the steak and bone with you may be closer to Fido’s concept of a perfect dinner, but at least this time he’ll have the TV all to himself. DogTV points out that the happy sounds and images that are broadcast are specially configured with canine sensibilities in mind.

Rostov-on-Don: Keeping the Memory of Jewish Holocaust Victims Alive

Schoolgirl laying flowers at the Shoah memorial.

In what was once a deserted field on the outskirts of the city of Rostov-on-Don, Russia lies a monument to Shoah (Holocaust) victims called Zmievskaya Balka. Sprawling green lawns and attractive walking paths stitched together by a memorial site now lie where some 27,000 – mostly Jews – were slaughtered by the Nazis on a single day in August 1942.

The sheer number of Jews that perished in that field that day has underscored the importance of this memorial site to Russia’s surviving Jewish communities. Not only did entire families perish in the tragedy, but a full accounting of the identities of the victims has so far, never been compiled. Thus Zmievskaya Balka, Russia’s Babi Yar, as it is referred to, symbolizes more than one day’s atrocity under the Nazi regime. It represents generations of Jewish history in Rostov, Poland and other surrounding areas that may never be reclaimed.

Recently, the commemorative plate that marked the site was replaced by the government. Reference to its Jewish victims has been removed and substituted with a more generic description. The plaque now states only that the victims were “citizens of Rostov-on-Don, (and) Soviet prisoners of war.” The Russian Jewish Congress has launched a lawsuit in an effort to repeal the change, but the Ministry of Culture has said the change will remain, stating that “the plaque does not distort or change the subject of (the) cultural heritage site.”

There’s a benefit to ensuring that other groups are not overlooked in the historical reference. But the Nazi’s actions at Zmievskaya Balka had one end goal: to obliterate Jews and any others who sheltered or supported them. And while Holocaust memorials can never replace the unimaginable numbers of lives they symbolize, they serve as powerful reminders to the Jewish people that those who died has meaning and carry historical weight.

The Russian Jewish blog Lemberik suggested that with the loss of this crucial reminder to Jewish history “the memorial complex of Zmievskaya Balka can no longer officially (be) considered a Holocaust memorial and has no relation to the Jewish people.” While the recognition of the 15,000-20,000 Jews that perished at Rostov will go on, its historical reference to an ethnic cleansing of Jews that once took place has been lost. For future generations the memorial will cease to exist as a reminder of the true cause of those deaths.

Laying Wreaths at August day of memorial.

For the worldwide Jewish community, the switching of the plaques at the memorial site is a reminder of how tenuous our grasp can be on history.  Artifacts only serve as temporary reminders – and often inaccurate symbols - of who we are and who we once were. Our ability to ensure that history stays true to fact lies in what we teach our children, and what their descendants carry forth as well. 

August 11-12, 2012 will represent the 70th anniversary of the massacre at Zmievskaya Balka. The regional Jewish community is honoring this year in the way that Jews throughout time have honored victims: with an affirmation of life. They are attempting to put together an accurate listing of the victims from that date, and have sent out a global call for relatives, friends and witnesses to step forward and help identify the names of those who perished at Rostov-on-Don. In so doing, they hope to compile a list of those who survived them as well.

Interested individuals who may be able to assist with this endeavor are encouraged to visit the website RememberingRostov.com. 

Zmievskaya Balka memorial site to the 27,000 victims.

Photos courtesy of RememberingRostov.com

The Multicultural Jew: Israel and Presidential Elections: Finding the Cen...

The Multicultural Jew: Israel and Presidential Elections: Finding the Cen...: Voting day - Debaird Every four years, Americans undertake a seemingly impossible task. Armed with the information we glean from p...

Israel and Presidential Elections: Finding the Center in Jewish America

Voting day - Debaird

Every four years, Americans undertake a seemingly impossible task. Armed with the information we glean from presidential candidates’ banners, television ads, sound bites, our personal research and whatever information we may have filtered out of the latest report of a candidate's alleged actions, we head to the polls to elect the new president of the United States. 

For American Jewish voters, the task is even more daunting. For many, the security of Israel – a hot topic these days – is always at the top of their voter’s tip sheet. Even my father, and his father, devout secular Jews who despised political rhetoric and boycotted most electoral debates, voted with an eye toward ensuring Israel’s safety. For my dad, as for many Jews in North America, a vote advocating support for Israel was a vote for plurality in his home country. For my grandfather, who had been raised Orthodox and later defied his father’s religious expectation by refusing to become a rabbi, there was nothing more sacred than representation that assured a Jew’s right to live and worship (or not worship) as he chose. From his vantage point, that could only be achieved by voting for candidates that would assure Israel’s right to exist.

Learning how to vote - Jewish women hear tips in Yiddish (1935).

But it was from my father, oddly enough, that I learned what I feel is the true secret to voting as an observant Jew. Commonality isn’t found in a candidate’s talking points, or his sworn love for Israel, nor even his willingness to tour the Holy Land, but in the precept that has guided Judaism since its beginning and has molded the very platform of Talmudic debate: The willingness to hear and to express all sides of a question, and to look for commonality over discord, before speaking one’s piece.

It’s a problem-solving process that has precedent in the actions of ancient rabbis who debated controversial issues like the rights of the poor to glean the edges of a farmer’s field, or the compassion of treating non-Jews as neighbors with needs and rights. It is guided by what has always been foremost in the Jewish heart: that there is strength in acknowledging the other side, and courage in seeking compromise, even when you believe one side is right.


This year however, it has been difficult to hear the moderate voice in America’s discourse. Calls for conciliation by the president have been mistaken in some cases for apathy or worse, betrayal. And election platforms by opposing candidates that four years ago were considered too extreme are now seen as having merit.

Politicians that appear to quickly and openly endorse Israel over Palestinian calls for recognition now appear more credible to Jewish voters than those who listen to both sides and then openly declare their support to Israel. Even platforms that espouse right-wing values such as upholding Christian prayer in school, opposing gay rights and blocking access to education for children of illegal immigrants now seem preferable over that of a moderate candidate who strives for political consensus. 

Protesters against gays in front of a high school graduation - K763

As American Jews have learned before, it is difficult to quantify extremism. The McCarthy era began in the late 1940s as a pretense to investigate communist values in America. By its decline almost 10 years later, senate investigations had moved far beyond the specter of investigating American values. Citizens of all walks of life had been blacklisted from working on the pretense that their moral views could not be proven to be genuinely “American.” Notably, homosexuality eventually became targeted by the investigations, as did one’s willingness to question the appropriateness of the investigations themselves.

It is interesting that Israeli political views appear to be shifting toward the center once again, suggesting that even in a land divided by deep political conflict, the yearning for consensus and mutual respect can be found.

As American Jews, we need to find our center as well. Israel needs our confidence in its future, just as we need Israel’s. Such mutual trust is necessary if we truly value Israel’s security as a nation, and a Jewish homeland.

The American spirit is strong - Ildar Sagdejev