Turning 40 and Revisiting Judy Blume

As I turn 40 this month, I notice that several of my beloved childhood books, like Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing and Otherwise Known as Sheila the Great, both by Judy Blume, turn 40 this year too. As I find myself reading Blume’s books to my daughter lately, I thought it would be fitting to revisit one of my favourites, Are You There God, It’s Me, Margaret, through 2012 eyes, both as a parent of a daughter (and a son), and as a girl who can no longer deny she’s a grownup.

The 1970 classic tells the story of a grade 6 girl as she negotiates a family move from New York City to the suburbs, leaving behind her grandmother, her old friends, and soon (as she is on the cusp of puberty), her childhood. Margaret’s mom is a lapsed Christian and her father is a secular Jew, so Margaret deploys frequent private discussions with God to make sense of her own identity. 

Judy Blume’s use of intermarriage as a plot device was prescient, as intermarriage rates were rising in North America. But Margaret’s maternal grandparents had disowned her mom for marrying a Jew. Perhaps because of this, Margaret’s parents present her background less as two heritages to be celebrated than as burdensome theological obligations to be shed, in the words of an old friend who describes his own Jewish identity this way. In today’s much more pluralist climate, Margaret’s parents’ world might seem outdated to some, at the same time that her own private spiritual quest feels entirely current.

There is much of the simple intimacy of 11-year old female friendships to mine, with summer sprinklers, friendship clubs, and kids who are not so over-programmed that they cannot spend afternoons just hanging out and talking.

I had recalled much in the book about periods and bras, and it’s hard to say that the fascination with the mixed distinction of having passed through puberty ever goes out of style. With each decade of age the contours of the questions and focus of the fascination simply shifts a few bodily inches vertically in some places and horizontally in others.

Of course, it’s easy to giggle at the antiquated feminine hygiene products depicted. (Subsequent editions have apparently replaced the “belts” that predated even me -- with adhesives.) But the most shocking part to my 2012 sensibilities was the scene of Margaret and her friends looking at an issue of Playboy, a magazine that the father of Margaret’s friend typically keeps in the family magazine rack. Eleven year olds looking at the naked breasts of an 18-year old girl-woman from pornography belonging to their dad, seems, well, unsavory. I hadn’t recalled that scene as I worked through the book with my daughter (who, luckily, thought they were reading a medical book) before I skipped ahead.

But Playboy in the early 1970s wasn’t what most pornography is today. Coming out of the fifties, many would have viewed reading Playboy as an outright act of social liberation. Neither was the old joke about reading Playboy for the articles entirely bogus. Both Saul Bellow and Isaac Bashevis Singer were published in Playboy. Playboy wasn’t Bible comics (though with its share of sex and violence the Bible is a poor example, perhaps), but neither was it the kind of trashy and frequently violent porn that has replaced the tamer and more artistic erotica of the pre-digital age.

The final thing that strikes me today is how hetero-normative the book seems. Margaret and her friends concoct lists of boy crushes and attend parties dominated by boy-girl spin the bottle. Would a young lesbian or a gay male teen find a space for themselves in Judy’s world? Writing in the early seventies, Blume wouldn’t have likely considered the GLBTQ market. But there is so much timelessness to her stories that I almost wish she could slip in some more sexually pluralistic references alongside the updates of feminine hygiene products. I have tweeted Blume on the topic. Maybe an idea will be sparked; who knows?

Unlike much of what passes for children’s lit these days (series like Diary of a Wimpy Kid), Blume doesn’t peddle in demeaning stereotypes and toxic patterns of interaction where power is wielded capriciously. Judy Blume’s characters argue, experience real and robust emotions, and are often plagued by self-doubt. But the fights are clearly between people who care deeply about each other, and the self-doubt is eroded as the characters grow and mature. In short, they are both human and humane.

Celebrating my fortieth in the real company of my own treasured relationships and in the imaginary company of Judy’s characters -- in all their tender complexity -- is not a bad way to usher in a new decade. 

**A version of this appeared in The Ottawa Jewish Bulletin**

We Don't Make Peace with our Friends, After All

With the death of Benzion Netanyahu, the father of Israeli Prime Minister Binyamin Netanyahu, one article about his legacy has been shared widely. Writing in Tablet Magazine, Yossi Klein Halevy wrote of the legacy of Revisionist Zionism, the hawkish version of Zionism peddled by Vladimir Jabotinsky through to Menachem Begin through to today’s Likud party. The take-away message of Revisionist Zionism according to Halevy? “Don’t be a fool.”

Israeli slang changes frequently. But one term that has remained for decades is the word “fryer.” One of the worst things you can be in Israel is a “fryer,” a fool, someone who is taken advantage of. No wonder that the right-wing Zionists I know shared the article on Facebook almost immediately.

But there’s another side to the story. Recently I sat down at Bridgehead coffee in the Glebe with Yariv Oppenheimer, director of Peace Now in Israel. During our interview as well as at the talk he gave that evening at Temple Israel, Oppenheimer painted a bleak picture of the state of Israeli democracy. Both within Israel and via the Israeli occupation of the West Bank, the peace camp is sorely needed.

In Israel, two recent laws threaten to undermine Israeli democracy.

The Nakba law declares that any publicly-funded organization attempting to commemorate the Palestinian Nakba (the Arabic word meaning “catastrophe” that Palestinians use to describe the violence and dispossession surrounding the Palestinian exile of 1948) is liable to have its funding cut. 

The boycott law entails any Israeli calling for a boycott of settlement products being subject to a civil suit without the plaintiff having to prove damages. In response to the boycott law, Peace Now launched a campaign that quickly went viral called “sue me; I boycott settlement products.”

Talking about budget discrimination against the Arab sector and widespread racism within Israeli society, Oppenheimer said, “I think Arab Israelis are more loyal to Israel than Israel is to its Arab citizens.”

The Revisionist Zionist philosophy that motivated Netanyahu’s father, and today Netanyahu and most of his governing coalition, warns Israelis away from playing the fool. Revisionist Zionists surely were not troubled over the military administration Israel extended to its Arab minority citizens until it was repealed in 1966, they do not lose sleep over Israel’s 45-year-long occupation of 2.5 million Palestinians in the West Bank that continues apace, nor are they distressed by the apparent erosion of the free-speech principles integral to Israeli democracy.

It’s all good and fine to retreat behind fortress Israel, shutting our ears to Palestinian suffering at the hands of Israel’s occupation policies, and chalking up anti-democratic legislation as necessary for security. But we must realize that there is a great moral and strategic cost to not questioning why Palestinian commemoration of their history is a threat, and why Israelis challenging their country’s settlement policies with their wallets needs to be stifled.

One of the most striking things Oppenheimer relayed in his public talk was when he regularly meets with Israeli teens. Most of the teens he talks with no longer have a concept of the Green Line, no longer seem to realize that the West Bank is an entirely separate entity from democratic Israel. Neither do these teens seem troubled by the occupation. “If we have the power to enforce an occupation, we should,” these teens tell him. He responds by telling them that one day they may very well find themselves studying abroad and sitting next to a Palestinian student at university. “What are you going to tell that Palestinian student?” he asks them. “How will you possibly be able to defend the occupation then?” 

That morning, I asked Oppenheimer a question I often hear from the right: how can Israel contemplate a withdrawal from the West Bank given the ongoing rocket fire following the 2005 pullout from Gaza? 

Oppenheimer’s answer was this. He rightly pointed out that both Israeli-Arab peace treaties -- one with Egypt in 1979 and another with Jordan in 1994 -- have held. Israel’s withdrawal from Gaza was a unilateral move; unaccompanied by a peace treaty. To this I would add that neither was it a full withdrawal: while Israel did remove its ground forces and all 7,000 settlers, Israel still maintains a naval blockade and control over airspace as well as control over borders.

In Hebrew, Yariv means adversary, opponent, or “he will fight.” It’s an odd name perhaps for someone who leads the main grassroots peace camp movement in Israel. But we shouldn’t forget that Peace Now was founded by Israeli army officers in the late 1970s, officers who understood the value of security as well as the urgency of making peace with their country’s adversaries. You don’t make peace with your friends, after all.

**A version of this appeared in this week's Ottawa Jewish Bulletin**

Talking about Israel with our Grandmothers

At my Passover seder, an elderly relative who suffers from senility was having a particularly foggy day.  Though I’ve known him all my life, my grandmother -- sharp as a tack into her nineties, realized the man had forgotten me. “Mira is a professor who tries to get the world to love Israel,” my Babba said. Though she delivered it with a wink, it was an obvious jab at what she sees as my dovishness when it comes to the question of Israel.

Seems that grandmothers come up a lot nowadays when Jews discuss Israel. University of Toronto’s Jenny Peto caused a small firestorm in 2010 with her controversial MA thesis on Holocaust Education which she dedicated to her late grandmother. If she were alive today, Peto wrote, “she would be right there with me protesting against Israeli apartheid.” (Soon after, her incensed brother sought to correct that view of their grandmother in a letter to the National Post.)

Grandmothers also figure in the opening sentence of Peter Beinart’s new book, The Crisis of Zionism. “I wrote this book because of my grandmother, who made me a Zionist.” Beinart sees Zionism undergoing an intense moral and political crisis, and seeks to do everything he can to keep his beloved Jewish and democratic Israel afloat. By this he means push for a two-state solution and an end to the highly undemocratic occupation that has plagued Israel’s moral profile for forty-four years.

It’s clear to me from ongoing conversations with my grandmother -- and with many other Jews -- that the Jewish community needs to think seriously about what it means to care about Israel.

What does it mean to feel attached to a country of which one may not be a citizen, but whose anthem one sings at community events, whose birthday one celebrates in Diaspora communities, which receives a portion of funds raised through annual Jewish Federation campaigns, to which we send our kids on Birthright, and where we may visit, live or mark our kids’ Bar or Bat Mitzvah? 

If we truly and deeply care about Israel, do we remain silent in the face of shocking actions of brutality like the recent video clip of the IDF soldier slamming his M-16 rifle into the face of a Danish protestor? Do we attempt to silence criticism of Israeli policy with accusation of anti-Semitism? Do we decide to sign up for Israel advocacy training, so we can act as Likud government spokespeople?

Or do we chart a different path, one where we wrestle with Israel, and think deeply about the implications of its current policies for Israelis and for Palestinians? Most importantly, do we recognize that the officer who beat the Danish protestor is a symptom of the bigger problem of occupation?

I have heard people say that we shouldn’t “air our dirty laundry,” that the subject of Israel is a family affair. Surely our synagogues and other Jewish organizations represent the metaphorical family living room. But when it comes to those venues, voices seeking to pierce the silence are few and far between. 

Beinart writes that if Israel ceased to be a liberal democratic Jewish state, “it would be one of the greatest tragedies of my life.” To that end, he calls for a boycott of settlement products from what he calls “non-democratic Israel.”

Beinart has a public voice: author of wide-circulation books, editor of the new Daily Beast blog Open Zion, and writer of a much-discussed 2010 article in the New York Review of Books where he demanded that the American Jewish establishment be more responsive to the moral sensibilities of younger Jews who are being forced to “check their liberalism at the door” when it comes to engaging Israel.

Not all of us enjoy a regular public platform. But each of us can decide when to speak out, how to vote, to whom to donate money, and how to talk with our kids. Those who care about Israel’s future might reconsider where their charitable efforts go. Groups like Ameinu, the New Israel Fund, Peace Now, Rabbis for Human Rights, and, in the U.S., J Street, are desperately digging in the avalanche for the keys to a democratic and Jewish Israel, keys that some days are being camouflaged by the dirt of occupation. The alternatives -- a “one-state solution” or perpetual occupation -- are simply not tenable if one wants Israel to remain both democratic and Jewish.

There’s a reason why young progressive and liberal writers on Israel -- from the radical left to the Zionist left -- invoke their grandmothers. In different ways, these young Jews are trying to honour their ancestors’ legacy. Beinart concludes, “Either our generation will help Israel reconcile its democratic and Zionist ideals, or we will make our children choose between them.”

**A version of this column is appearing in this week's Ottawa Jewish Bulletin**

Towards a Jewish Values Declaration

In my February 20 column about why Temple Israel removed its bid to move to the Jewish Community Campus, I discussed why the decision was ultimately as much about potlucks as property. Temple Israel planned to have two kitchens in its new facility, one which would be under the supervision of the Vaad HaKashrut and which would be used for community-wide events, and another which would abide by a different set of dietary standards and would be dedicated to Temple events and private simchas.

I concluded by suggesting the dispute over dietary laws and standards merely scratched the surface of what is a broader conversation that needs to be had about the set of values that bind us as a community.

I often hear the term “Jewish values” mentioned, but I’m not always sure what that means. In the spirit of the goal behind this Values, Ethics, Community column that I was invited to launch some years ago, I’m going to try my hand at laying out a first-cut Values Declaration. These are both aspirational values as well as descriptive ones. Where we fall short in practice, we should strive to improve.

My hope is that this will be a draft which people will weigh in on, redraft, rework and wrestle with.

1. Jewish Literacy – This is a theme I’ve returned to, particularly around discussions of Jewish education and Jewish camp. I think it’s fair to say that a value of our community is ensuring our next generation is conversant in Jewish history, Hebrew (if not Yiddish) language, the cycle of the Jewish calendar, and Jewish prayer. This means we need to shore up the ability of our institutions to deliver the kind of Jewish knowledge that will sustain a content-rich Jewish identity. Having a Jewish identity with knowledge as its cornerstone is ultimately richer and less prone to clubbishness for its own sake.

2. Kehila (community) – Our many community events and fundraising efforts signal to each other, and to our children, that shoring up existing institutions and their enhancement of Jewish life in Ottawa is a priority. But, we should be cognizant of where we can strive to improve the various institutions that make up the landscape. I have written previously about my desire to work within my own shul to strengthen practices around inclusion, for example. In Exit, Voice and Loyalty, Albert Hirschman’s famous social science formulation, the ultimate question for some, for whom mute loyalty doesn’t feel right, may be how one can exercise one’s voice before one abdicates altogether?

3. Israel – In many of our community activities, we work to inculcate a connection to Israel. I think we could work to encourage a more nuanced understanding of Israeli culture, as well as the serious political situation in which Israel finds itself. Some people seem to view a connection to Israel as implying that Israeli actions should not be criticized. In my mind, there remains much more to be discussed around this, including the question of how we can be meaningfully engaged if we don’t wrestle loudly and visibly with the question of Israel in our lives, and with the impact of Israel’s actions on others.

4. Derekh Eretz (civility) – When someone acts unkindly, I sometimes hear the action criticized in terms of it not living up to Jewish values. Jewish tradition points to the imperative of derekh eretz, (literally “the way of the land,” but generally understood to mean, kindness, appropriateness, and civility). This, of course, should translate into awareness both of how we treat each other interpersonally within and across communities; how we manage pluralism, including different types of Judaic belief and practice; and how our community may occasionally deliver messages about other communities. This also means that we should continue to be aware of the kinds of messages our community-sponsored speakers deliver about others groups.

5. Tikkun Olam (repairing the world) – Are there wrongs out there that need to be righted? Who is hungry? Who is lonely? Who is excluded? Who is suffering? What is at risk? Working to build up a sense of community feels hollow to me if we don’t see our actions as being connected to a grander vision of repairing the rips in the fabric of the world, including on our planet itself. Though we are a strong and vibrant community, we should view our borders as permeable.

Let’s see how we can continue to hone the conversation on Jewish values in Ottawa. E-mail your thoughts to me at mira_sucharov@carleton.ca or, as always, write a letter to the editor at bulletin@ottawajewishbulletin.com. I will collect what I receive and get back to you in a future column.

**A version of this column is appearing in this week's Ottawa Jewish Bulletin**

Thinking big about community with my friend Sam Zunder

I depend on my gym buddies to help me get through my regular workout at the Soloway Jewish Community Centre (SJCC). Recently, I spoke to one of them, Sam Zunder, about the weekly breakfast of eggs, toast, juice, and coffee he shares most Sunday mornings with 12 to 20 other guys. They are old Ottawa friends, many of whom have been breakfasting together for 25 years. They used to meet downtown at the Bay Street Bistro, but now they gather on Sunday mornings at Sam’s retirement residence.

Sam generally enjoys where he lives. He’s in a beautiful part of the city a short drive from one of the synagogues where he enjoys an associate membership, but there’s something lacking for him. “I want more Jewish culture. I want a kosher place,” Sam told me.

A few years ago, with his wife’s health in decline, they moved from their condo to a retirement residence. But he wishes there was a Jewish retirement residence in town, one located even closer to a synagogue and to other cultural activities.

Perhaps it is Sam’s storied history working for decades in his ByWard Market family business, Zunder’s Fruitland (originally, Zunder’s Quality Fruit Supply). Sam was profiled by Shawna Wagman in an Ottawa Magazine (November 2008) feature on the history of the ByWard Market’s Jewish food vendors.

“‘We were happy. There was never a locked door, and everybody helped each other out,’ recalls Zunder. ‘It was all Jewish people. You could just walk into anybody’s house, just like that.’”

This is the sense of community that Sam tries to recreate with his weekly breakfasts with his buddies, and on his regular visits to the SJCC.

Hearing Sam tell it, now is the time for the Jewish community to think creatively about new possibilities. Perhaps some shuls should consider land sharing. But, most importantly for Sam, the community – backed by a creative-thinking real estate developer or two – should consider adding a retirement residence to the property.

Others have been writing in a similar spirit of co-ordination. Although she works at one of Ottawa’s shuls, Marie Levine’s letter to the Ottawa Jewish Bulletin (published December 12, 2011) was written in her capacity as a private individual. She suggested “one spiritual centre encompassing many shuls.” In a letter in the following issue, David Kardish went further, calling for a “community shul on campus."

Looking around our community, it’s a fact that some shuls need to move – whether because they’ve recently sold their site or because they are outgrowing their space – while others have an adequate building but a surplus of land. Still others may wish to contemplate a new location, or a differently-sized building. Some denominations are growing while others are not.

Maybe a synaplex model, in which multiple shuls share some common banquet hall facilities, office staff, and classrooms, but have separate sanctuaries in a hub-spoke model, is the way to go.

Maybe some more informal outdoor recreational aspects could be added, like the basketball court Stephen Fried wrote about in his book, The New Rabbi. For regular post-kiddush pickup basketball games with other congregants and clergy at Philadelphia’s Temple Har Zion, Fried would keep his gym shorts and runners in his bag. In Ottawa winters, an ice rink might be appealing: think Shacharit & shinny.

Perhaps there are others like Sam who feel their specific needs aren’t being met by the current institutional structures. In addition to a retirement residence, maybe shuls should explore some affordable housing, perhaps co-ordinated with the Multifaith Housing Initiative. Maybe clergy housing – designed with the needs of a rabbi or cantor and his or her family in mind – could be envisioned.

Maybe some congregations will consider merging.

In Ottawa, Beth Shalom was, in fact, the product of two congregations which merged in 1956, with a third added 15 years later. Mergers are not easy. The pull of institutional memory can be strong, and compromises sometimes end up appearing to privilege one organization over another. Because of an amalgamation across three synagogues, the Rosh Pina Synagogue in Winnipeg – where my parents met, where I had my bat mitzvah, and where I said a final goodbye to my grandmother – was able to retain its building, but had to take on a new name. Winnipeg clearly saw potential for growth in a kind of Eitz Chayim (literally tree of life), a tree of synergy and possibility. But, it surely was with some sense of a fallen limb.

I hope Sam gets his infusion of community. And I hope that as a community we keep getting infusions of creative and caring thinkers like Sam and the many others who are trying to keep the conversation going. Maybe, if Sam’s dream becomes a reality, his weekly Sunday breakfasts will be right after minyan, with a bit of schnapps to chase the eggs and toast.

**A version of this appeared in the Ottawa Jewish Bulletin**

The Real Story Behind Why Temple Israel Decided not to Move to Campus

Temple Israel decision ‘was as much about potlucks as property’

I read the January 27 community advisory from the Jewish Federation of Ottawa about Temple Israel, Ottawa's only Reform synagogue, deciding not to move to the Jewish community campus with both surprise and disappointment. To my mind, the move would have added additional texture and vibrancy to our campus.

The Federation release said “moving to the campus imposed certain limitations, which included leasing, not purchasing, land and thus not having a property to sell in the future should the need arise.” This sounded reasonable enough to me.

But, as I soon learned, there is more to the failed bid than meets the eye. Temple Israel’s decision to pull out was as much about potlucks as property; as much about spiritual values as equity values.

Specifically, Temple Israel’s business plan involves having two kitchens: one under the supervision of the Vaad HaKashrut and another which would be what Temple calls “kosher-style”: no pork products, no shellfish, and no direct mixing of milk and meat.

As I understand it from conversations with Rabbi Steven Garten (Temple Israel's rabbi), the idea was that Temple’s own events – including simchas and the congregation’s monthly potlucks – would be free to use the “kosher-style” kitchen while community events would use the strictly-kosher kitchen.

I also spoke with Mitchell Bellman, president and CEO of the Jewish Federation of Ottawa who told me he believes the failed bid hinged on the issue of leasing versus owning. But, as he also acknowledged, “There’s no doubt that the position of the Federation and of the Vaad HaKashrut is that there would be only one kitchen in the Temple building: a kosher one.”

Rabbi Garten told me the idea of two kitchens is central to Temple’s vision, including sharing home-cooked food that congregants warm up in the shul kitchen.

“The majority of Jews in this city do not keep kosher,” said Rabbi Garten. “The Federation has a perspective that keeping the campus kosher is an important statement for them, and we have a perspective that offering people who are participating in the life of the Temple an option. We felt that this was a way of opening the community, rather than keeping it narrowly defined.”

Paul Lyons, co-chair of the Temple Israel Building Renewal and Implementation Committee, echoed this sentiment.

“We would like to provide an institution where people feel comfortable participating, even if they aren’t kosher. They could host a non-kosher wedding or a bar mitzvah, for example,” said Lyons.

“Temple Israel’s vision is that of a big tent where people are free and encouraged to re-affiliate, given that affiliation rates are so low. We want to offer an institution that reflects the plurality of the Ottawa Jewish community,” he added.

While Reform Judaism views many halachic stipulations as not being binding, it is the issue of kashrut that looms large in the historical memory of North American Jewry when it comes to denominational issues.

One cannot think about Reform Judaism and kashrut without reflecting on the infamous Trefa Banquet, an event some historians have identified as paving the way for the founding of the Conservative movement about three decades later.

Held at the Cincinnati Highland House in 1883 to celebrate the first graduating class of Hebrew Union College, the gala honoured various local dignitaries, academics, clergy and professionals. The menu included clams on the half-shell, soft-shell crabs, shrimp, frogs’ legs and other period delicacies. Rabbi Isaac Mayer Wise, president of Hebrew Union College, denied knowing about the menu in advance. But given Rabbi Wise’s apparent lack of contrition after the event, historians are still undecided as to whether this was an underhanded attempt by Wise and his supporters to thumb their nose at traditional Judaism.

But much has changed since then. Whereas classical Reform Judaism rejected kashrut completely, contemporary Reform practice encourages serious study of all the mitzvot, including those surrounding dietary practice. The broad range of Reform perspectives surrounding kashrut is encapsulated well in the recent book, The Sacred Table, which encourages a general mindfulness around eating, and which I reviewed last year in the July 18 issue of the Ottawa Jewish Bulletin.

Some may feel that having a uniform kosher standard is the ultimate statement of inclusiveness. But Temple Israel’s leadership feels differently.

“Value statements that are offered in the name of inclusivity are also exclusive,” Rabbi Garten stressed.

“There have been regular meetings of five of the congregational rabbis since the late fall,” to discuss various synagogue and community issues, the rabbi added. “It’s fascinating, that in these meetings, people are really comfortable saying ‘what happens in your shul is what happens in your shul.’ Why couldn’t that have been the outcome on the campus?”

All this makes me return to one of my longstanding questions: What, exactly, are our communal values? As Passover, one of those great stocktaking holidays, approaches, I shall float my vision of how we can arrive at a joint values statement for the Jewish community in Ottawa, a statement that I invite everyone to grapple with, to debate and to rewrite and rework. As the debate over the relocation of Temple to the Jewish community campus demonstrates, the time has come.

**A version of this article originally appeared in the Ottawa Jewish Bulletin Feb. 20, 2012 issue**

A Sense of Place on Tu B'Shvat

Today is Tu B’shvat, a holiday named quite prosaically for its calendar date. But the theme -- celebrating the trees -- is anything but. For me, the poetry is amplified by Tu B’shvat coinciding with the week of my grandmother’s yahrtzeit.

When we joined a synagogue a few years ago, I made sure to enter my Babba Rosie’s yahrtzeit date in the shul calendar, despite not being considered a primary mourner (a role not typically extended to grandchildren of the deceased). Nevertheless, I cherish coming to shul with my kids so I can recite kaddish in my Babba’s memory, and so they can hear her name read from the bima. Our daughter was named after my Babba Rosie. We celebrated Rory’s first birthday as a tribute to her great-grandmother’s memory: the colour scheme was purple, my Babba’s favourite colour, and recipes came from Eaton’s The Grill Room cookbook. My Babba loved stopping for a bite at The Grill Room in Eaton’s-Portage Avenue after scouring the aisles for the perfect bargain.

Family stories are the stuff of family connection. But hardly anyone else in Ottawa knew my Babba. Sixteen years ago, my husband and I relocated from Vancouver (where I had moved as a teen from Winnipeg) to Washingon, DC and then to Ottawa, where I accepted a faculty position at Carleton University.

Ten years and two kids later, it’s important to us to make roots. It’s important that our kids feel a sense of connection to Ottawa, even if they have to travel thousands of miles to visit their grandparents, aunts, uncles and most of their cousins.

Tu B’shvat is a wonderful opportunity to think about how we make roots, and successfully nurture them. But is it possible to feel rooted in a place that’s not your home town? Does nostalgia, fuelled by time and the physical distance of relocation, obscure a natural feeling of belonging? It’s not always easy, but I think that a sense of day-to-day mindfulness and a regular dose of gratitude can shore up a sense of place.

In Ottawa, my husband and I chose to buy a home in a neighbourhood that has a very conscious sense of place. The Glebe has a marked sense of togetherness and purpose. The grocers, shops and cafes on Bank Street convey a small-town atmosphere, and enthusiastic public schools centered around a vibrant community centre give children a feeling of ownership over their area. Soon after, we helped found a chavurah -- a group of six families that meets monthly to celebrate shabbat and havdalah. Seven years later our group has grown from five kids to twelve. The oldest of the lot recently celebrated her Bat Mitzvah, and we have barely skipped a month in over seven years.

From the time our kids were toddlers, the SJCC had become a second home to us. There, I have found myself drawn to lay leadership positions to support a gathering spot that I think is superb for engendering a sense of community, heritage, and physical and social wellness. Our shul gives our kids yet another important point of contact and community. As they observe my comings and goings, they are also learning that keeping a shul running takes commitment, including serving on committees and training to lead services.

While we often travel to Vancouver for Passover, we make clear to our kids that our home -- with a wide array of friends spanning various generations -- is meant to be a hub of gathering and celebration, even if far from much family, and even if the high holiday season sometimes feels onerous in its intensity and frequency of the festivals. Dragging our sukkah boards and bolts from the garage each fall reminds them that structures can be temporary, but with some effort, they can convey a sense of home and hospitality.

I hope my children grow up feeling a sense of place and belonging in their neighbourhood, in their shul, at the SJCC and of course in their own home. This Tu B’shvat, even though there is hardly a hint of green to be seen in wintry Ottawa, I will be thinking of those stately yet precious artifacts of nature: the trees that surround us and which will sprout leaves in a few short months. I will say kaddish in memory of my Babba Rosie. And I will continue to cultivate a sense of mindfulness and gratitude to help strengthen the young roots that connect my family and I to our community.

**A version of this article appeared in this week's Ottawa Jewish Bulletin.