Daniel Cass: D’var Yisrael

In this week’s Torah portion of Shemini, we read about the tragic death of Aaron’s two sons, Nadav and Avihu, who brought a “strange fire” before God and were consumed by a heavenly fire. This story serves as a reminder that we must approach our relationship with God with reverence and humility and be considerate in our approach when engaging in spiritual practices.

I was fortunate to recently take a week-long trip to Israel with five members of our Holy Blossom youth group and Lisa Isen-Baumal and Rabbi Kaye. During our visit, I was struck by that same deep sense of reverence and humility. It is a profound feeling to walk in the footsteps of the Jewish people who lived in the land thousands of years ago. I felt a strong connection to the generations who came before me whether I was floating in the Dead Sea or riding a grumpy camel. Everywhere I went, whether it was the old market in Jerusalem or the bustling streets of Tel Aviv, I could feel a sense of awe and respect for the holy sites and traditions of the Jewish people.

I was moved by my visit to the Western Wall, where I witnessed countless individuals pouring out their hearts in prayer and devotion. Despite the crowds, rain and noise, there was a deep sense of reverence and connection to something greater than us and our time on earth.

Reflecting on this experience and in reading this week’s portion, I was reminded of the importance of approaching our relationship with God with the proper respect and humility. Just as Nadav and Avihu were consumed by a heavenly fire when they approached God in the wrong way, we must be mindful of the proper procedures and laws when engaging in spiritual practices.

At the same time, our trip to Israel also reminded me of the incredible power of community and tradition in sustaining our connection to God. This is also reinforced for me at this time of year when my family gathered to celebrate Passover and observe the Passover Seder. This tradition unites us in our faith and gives us a moment to remember in respect and reverence the power and love of God for his people.

As we navigate our own spiritual journeys, whether in Israel or at the Seder table, may we always approach God with the proper reverence and humility, and draw strength and inspiration from the power of community and tradition.

Judaism is not a solo sport: On hosting our first Seder

By Kelly Baron 

My husband and I joined Holy Blossom’s community last September, right as I was starting the Introduction to Jewish Life (IJL) classes, the entry point to Toronto’s Reform Jewish community for Jews by choice. My husband was raised in a Conservative synagogue in North Toronto; I was raised, as we joke, mostly by wolves, in a small town on the border of Quebec. He grew up with a huge family—his father is from Montreal, one of seven; his mother is from Toronto, one of three—and I with nearly none. We’ve had radically different lived experiences of what community entails.

I’ve spent most of my adult life searching for the kind of community that my husband was born into. Initially, that search led me to academia; I’m in the final stages of a PhD at the University of Toronto. To the shock of no one but me, that didn’t lead to the sense of community I’ve been seeking. PhDs are, of course, notoriously individualized pursuits, especially after the coursework is finished. What isn’t an individual pursuit, however, is converting to Judaism, especially at Holy Blossom.

The wonderful, welcoming Taylor Baruchel told us in our very first Zoom Hebrew class that we’d be starting with some introductions because, in a teaching that would become a common refrain over the next eight months of classes, “Judaism isn’t a solo sport.” This was a profoundly different learning experience for me after spending the last five years on my PhD: suddenly, I couldn’t just read the books on my own, write the essay, and pass the exam. That simply wasn’t the point. The point was developing a community connected by shared history, shared religion, and shared values.

When I realized that, I changed how I approach the coursework. I of course still do all the readings, submit my essays on time, and practice my Hebrew like a good IJL student should. But sometimes, in class, I’m what I consider to be a traditionally bad student. I’m open to distractions, to replying to people’s questions, to sending the Zoom direct message to build connections that have since led to great friendships. I’m calling this “traditionally” bad, and not IJL bad, because it’s led me to finding that sense of community that I’ve been searching for.

So this year, we hosted our first Seder. It was non-traditional, occurring on the Shabbat after the first two nights of Passover, because everyone had family commitments, and we wanted to all be together as a group. One of our dear friends made beautiful haggadot (mostly from the “Jew Belong” option on Haggadah.com, bound with a gorgeous cover of springtime flowers), complete with “meditation moments” that sparked questions about cherished memories and our values and beliefs. Our Seder plate included an orange and “Ruth’s mix” to be inclusive of LGBTQ+ folks and Jews by choice. The plate itself is a family heirloom from my husband’s Safta, a Holocaust survivor who was a dearly loved matriarch of my husband’s family before she passed. It was the perfect combination of history, religion, and community.

My children won’t be raised by wolves. Nor will they have to search for their community. I’m grateful that I chose to do the work of IJL and follow this path so that they can be born into Holy Blossom’s welcoming, inclusive community.