A LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS

A DARK YEAR ENDS IN LIGHT

This year’s celebration of Hanukkah will be different because of the pandemic, but it still gives us pause to feel grateful

BY STEPHANIE WHITTAKER

Photo tomertu/Shutterstock.com

EVERY YEAR AT HANUKKAH, Susan Schwartz and Markus Martin go to a party at the home of friends. “There are usually between 20 and 30 people there, about seven families,” Susan says. “Each family brings a menorah and lights the candles on it, and a beautiful light fills the room.”

That “beautiful light” is the whole point of the annual Jewish holiday that occurs around the time of the winter solstice. Hanukkah, the festival of lights, commemorates the rededication of the Second Temple in Jerusalem more than two millennia ago. During the Maccabean Revolt, a small group of Jews successfully drove out the Syrian-Greek oppressors who ruled Israel and were trying to impose their customs and religion on the Jewish people.

After reclaiming the Temple, the Jews had enough consecrated oil to burn the sacred lamp for one day, but it burned for eight. The eight-day celebration of Hanukkah commemorates this miracle.

The symbolism of the light bears new poignancy in 2020, a year that’s been metaphorically dark because of the COVID-19 pandemic. “Many Jewish holidays are centred around celebrating with friends and family,” says Susan. “This year will be different because we won’t be with others, but Markus and I will be together and we will feel happy and grateful for the fact that we’re well and have made it to another holiday.”

Home in Canada’s publisher, Sharon Azrieli, says Hanukkah, which takes place this year from December 10 to 18, will be celebrated on Zoom by many Jews. “We did Passover and Rosh Hashanah on Zoom earlier this year,” she says.

Traditionally, Sharon has celebrated the holiday by lighting menorahs with her children, preparing potato latkes (pancakes) and exchanging little gifts. “The holiday is a time to await the return of light and for the Earth to complete its journey around the sun,” she says.

It’s also a time for holiday songs in the Azrieli household. Sharon’s first job was as a cantor at Temple Adas Israel in Sag Harbor, New York. After returning to Montreal with her sons in 2000, she was the cantor at Temple Emanu-El-Beth Sholom in Westmount, Quebec from 2001 to 2003. “I love the Hanukkah songs,” she says. “I sing them with my family, and that’s one of the best parts of lighting the menorah. As we light the candles, we sing the songs.”

Rabbi Lisa Grushcow of Temple EmanuEl-Beth Sholom says her synagogue has “had to get creative” this year with online services and holiday celebrations.

Far from being a setback, Rabbi Grushcow says, the pandemic has created opportunities to unite communities. “We can connect with people we wouldn’t normally connect with through technology,” she says. That became obvious when Temple Emanu-El-Beth Sholom live-streamed its service on the eve of Yom Kippur (Day of Atonement) in September. “We had 5,500 people watching it on Zoom,” she says. “And they were from all over the place. With Hanukkah, we can have grandparents reading stories with their grandchildren online or lighting candles together.” –>

Luigi Ademollo, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

Photo by Asya Nurullina/Shutterstock.com

The synagogue, which serves 800 households, plans to make available a Hanukkah image combined with the rainbow of hope that many Quebecers have displayed in their windows throughout the pandemic. And because the holiday represents light, the Temple will use the season to do community outreach through its Tushes & Toes program, which provides socks and underwear to people experiencing homelessness.

“Hanukkah’s universal theme is about bringing light,” the rabbi says. “Miracles also require human participation.”

Sara and Danny Waldston say that their Hanukkah celebration is limited to six people this year, including their daughter, Dalia, son-in-law, Tom, and two grandchildren, Sam and Sophie. The family moved in with Sara and Danny at the beginning of the pandemic when they were facing renovation woes in their own home. Baby Sophie was born in October.

Montreal artist Chaki drew this artwork for Sharon Azrieli after she sang as cantor at his daughter’s wedding.

Photo by tomertu/Shutterstock.com

Photo by ChameleonsEye/Shutterstock.com

“Here’s what we won’t change this Hanukkah,” says Sara. “I’ll still make corn latkes, which are my specialty. The world’s best potato latkes will be made by my 93-year-old mother; she usually makes eight to 10 dozen but we’ll need only a couple dozen this year.

“We’ll light candles every evening and have Zoom visits with our two other daughters who are in Toronto.”

There are also plans to have candle-lighting ceremonies by Zoom with their extended family of 27. “We did this on Friday evenings at the beginning of the pandemic and during the high holidays,” says Sara.

In addition to latkes, are there any plans to prepare sufganiyot, the traditional jelly doughnuts enjoyed at Hanukkah? “No,” says Sara. “I don’t make doughnuts because I don’t like them.”

And, jokes Danny, “I won’t have doughnuts because I’m not allowed.”

The couple, who live in Hampstead, Quebec, say they will “bring attention to gratitude during the holiday.”

“We are so grateful for our place in the world right now,” says Sara. “And it will be particularly special this year because we get to share the holiday with another grandchild.”

Susan Schwartz says one of the things she loves about lighting the menorah is how its brightness increases each day as a subsequent candle is kindled. It is, after all, about the light at the darkest time of the year.

“The past year has been a dark time,” says Sharon Azrieli. “So we must bring as much light as possible into each home. The seasons must turn and as seasons pass, this too shall pass. We have to find inner strength.”

A TRANSFORMATIVE TEMPLE SOJOURN

Staying in a Japanese Buddhist community was preparation for the COVID-19 lockdown

TEXT AND PHOTOGRAPHY BY LA CARMINA

IN 2017, I spent several nights living in a simple Buddhist temple surrounded by trees, high up on Japan’s Mount Kōya. I booked this retreat because several friends had recommended it to me as an intriguing cultural immersion. At the time, I thought of the trip as nothing more than an enjoyable break from city life.

I didn’t realize how meaningful my temple stay would be until 2020, when my life was shaken up by COVID-19 and seemingly endless months of lockdown. Now that I’m holed up in Vancouver, I often find myself thinking back to the nature walks and seasonal meals I shared with the Buddhist monks. By adapting their gentle practices to life in a pandemic, I have found a surprising source of resilience in these difficult times. –>

A mystical mountain

I encourage a visit to Mount Kōya once the world has reopened for international travel. Kūkai, creator of the Shingon sect of Japanese Buddhism, founded this otherworldly temple complex in the year 819. Since then, both monks and laypeople have come to “Kōyasan” to learn about Esoteric Buddhism.

From Osaka, visitors can take an approximately two-hour train journey north to Gokurakubashi Station, followed by a five-minute cable car up the mountain. Most visitors stay for one to three nights in a shukubo, a Buddhist temple guesthouse. To make a booking, foreigners may visit the Kōyasan Shukubo Association website, and fill out a request form.

The joys of walking outdoors

At Kōyasan, there’s nothing much “to do” other than taking forest walks, which is the point of the journey. Without an itinerary or distractions, I could stroll aimlessly, and simply be present with the wild, natural surroundings. I vividly recall the gentle thrill of coming across Japanese rock gardens, koi ponds, and ancient red gates.

Nowadays, I rarely leave my apartment because of the pandemic. It’s no longer possible to go to a concert or house party to be entertained. However, I’ve rediscovered the meditative pleasures of walking outdoors in uncrowded areas. I’ve grown to appreciate the tiniest seasonal changes in my neighbourhood, such as the bud of flowers and scent of falling leaves. –>

Healthful home-cooked meals

Perhaps the most memorable aspect of my temple stay was the meals. Every morning and evening, I sat down to a tray of healthful food prepared by the resident monks. Little compartments were filled with such colourful dishes as miso eggplant, pickled vegetables, steamed tofu, and rice. Everything was vegetarian, local, seasonal and delicious.

Dining out is limited in 2020, but I’ve learned that I feel my best when I eat balanced, home-cooked meals like these. Inspired by the Shingon Buddhists, I’ve enjoyed making easy dishes such as soba with tofu and vegetables, and miso fish with a side of seaweed.

Connecting with my community

While staying at the temple, I felt as if I were part of the “sangha” or community. At 6 a.m., I watched the monks chant sutras in front of glowing candles and gold relics. Then, I shared meals and went on walks with friendly guests from around the world.

COVID-19 has removed our ability to socialize in person. Remembering the lessons of Kōyasan, I’ve sent messages to friends and family members, and organized regular video calls. These small efforts have had an enormous effect: I’ve rekindled friendships and felt supported by many while remaining in isolation.

The peaceful pleasures of staying at home

When night fell over Mount Kōya, I retreated to a room that contained nothing more than a futon mat on a tatami floor, and sliding doors. I climbed into the enormous bathtub for a long, hot soak. Then, I wrapped myself in a robe to read or look at the stars, before turning in.

I admit that during these long months at home I’ve had periods of ennui. To break the spell, I pretend I’m on a mini retreat like the one I did in Japan. This reconnects me to the pleasures of doing yoga or getting lost in a good book. And it helps me appreciate what I have right here, rather than lamenting the things that have been taken away. –>

Lessons of impermanence and loss

Anyone who visits Kōyasan should spend time in the Buddhist graveyard, Okunoin. Located deep in the forest, this is Japan’s largest cemetery and a site for spiritual rituals. I saw how locals honoured their loved ones with bodhisattva statues, which they dressed in hand-knit hats and bibs. Many graves were over a century old, including Kūkai’s mausoleum. Covered with moss and illuminated by fingers of light, they seemed to have become one with their surroundings.

COVID-19 has forced us to come faceto-face with the hard truths of uncertainty and loss. The virus crumbled my plans for 2020, and it remains unclear when things we took for granted—flights or festivals—will rebound. I also know people who contracted the virus and continue to struggle with its effects.

My Kōya experience has helped me come to terms with the impermanence of all things. I’m learning to be gentle with myself and others, and to take things moment by moment, rather than getting caught up in dreams of the past and worries for the future. Inner peace may not come easily in these challenging times. But the lessons I learned from my Buddhist temple stay have helped me get a little closer to acceptance.