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Real need for connection in a virtual world

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Parshot/Festivals

Facebook isn’t a place for a nice Jewish boy, let alone a rabbi. That’s rich coming from me, a rabbi with a significant social-media presence. I was excited to join Facebook shortly after it launched, was one of the first rabbis on Twitter, and opened an Instagram account pretty much as soon as it went live.

Back in the days when a Zoom minyan simply meant that the chazan was in a hurry, I engaged social media in line with the Chabad attitude that, although we’d never own a TV, we would use any tech opportunity to spread the word.

Facebook was intriguing. It networked me with people from around the world (like in 2007, when I live-chatted with a Jewish student barricaded in his dorm room during the Virginia Tech shooting, and got a local rabbi to find him). It gave me an unprecedented teaching platform through adverts, posts, videos, and what has now become Facebook’s largest “Ask the Rabbi” group.

When I joined Twitter, I found a fellowship of tech-savvy rabbis who engage in cyberspace, and have become friends in real life (we even got to snap the largest rabbi-selfie in history in 2014). Then came WhatsApp and the most (invasive?) and effective means of messaging my community about just about anything.

One of the most crucial things they teach you in rabbi school is to know how to determine when something kosher turns non-kosher. We follow a simple principle: as long as a food emits flavour, it can’t absorb flavour. Get it? Yes, it’s a law about meat and milk (for details, ask your local Orthodox rabbi or check the “Ask the Rabbi” page on Facebook), but it’s a rule for life.

You stay kosher when you inspire your environment, rather than be inspired by it. That’s been my goal with social media (and why I deleted Tik Tok when I couldn’t find a way – or the time – to add value). Call me a hypocrite, but I’m the social-media rabbi who lectures loudly about why you shouldn’t be on social media.

We need real friends, not followers. We need face-to-face engagement not fleeting “likes” for things that we’ll never remember. We need uninterrupted conversation with actual people; conversations that aren’t punctuated by beeps and buzzes and, “Sorry, I just have to quickly reply to this.” Yes, I love the reach of my social-media presence, but I love social presence more.

Then COVID-19 arrived, and human interaction shut down. No more coffee convos or shul-time schmoozes. No guests at the Shabbos table. Our Pesach seder was family-only for the first time ever.

I had chosento be an early adopter of social media. I was forcedbecause of an overseas trip, to be an early-quarantiner, right at the start of the COVID-19 pandemic.

Just as I wound up my 14 days of isolation and prepared to resume running Chabad Strathavon, South African shuls closed their doors. G-d does have a sense of humour.

I’d been following the trends in Israel and New York, and appreciated that we’d be in some form of social hiatus for the better part of 2020 (perhaps longer). I realised that many would feel adrift, and that it would take considerable creativity to retain a community in spite of the imposed social distance.

All of a sudden, that objectionable tech that had wedged people apart when we had been able to converse across a table would become the only means to keep us together. The very tool that had undermined social connection would now preserve it. Our sages teach that G-d always prepares the cure before he sends the disease. We haven’t yet unearthed His solution for the virus, but we can now see how well He prepared us for the social challenges we’d face.

I tried Zoom pre-Shabbos drinks, and they flopped. I launched a short daily WhatsApp video inspiration, and it flew. Our family compiled a Spotify playlist to host a “virtual kumzitz” each Saturday night, but it plodded.

We changed tack, and started to invite members of the community to share their inspirational stories, and it took off. Our morning minyan gave way to a short shiur and tefillin get-together over Zoom.

Now that the minyan is back (kinda), those who are unable to attend still Zoom in to feel the shul energy. My weekly shiurim, which historically attracted a modest crowd around the table, now include participants from Israel, the United States, England, and the Netherlands.

I suspect that when we are able to resume in-person classes, we’ll have to retain the Zoom connection too, both for those abroad and for those who are happy to listen from bed.

All the tech is spectacular. It has allowed me to do things like speak in both Sydney and Atlanta on the same day, and send daily WhatsApp inspiration to hundreds globally. It has brought our community together in an unprecedented fashion.

It has opened the experience of exploring Judaism to those who hadn’t previously, in the hubbub of urban living, paused to consider it. Yet, at the end of the day, what I’ve learned more than anything is how much people appreciate a 30-second personal phone call or a challah delivered to their home on a Friday.

Whatever technology may provide, it will never replace the warmth of a personal gesture. When the COVID-19 barriers come down, I sincerely hope that we will remember to prevent virtual communication from interfering with human connection.

  • Rabbi Ari Shishler is the rabbi at Chabad of Strathavon.

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OP-EDS

In the race against COVID-19, vaccination just the first lap

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About 200 years ago, the Torah giant, the Tiferet Yisrael (Rabbi Israel Lifshitz – 1782 to 1860) exhorted his followers to be vaccinated against smallpox. The sage was meticulous in fulfilling the mitzvah aseh (positive commandment) of the obligation to avoid the much greater threat to life posed by the disease even if the vaccine itself was far from harmless. In those years, smallpox vaccination was a rather hazardous procedure coming with a mortality of close to 1:1000.

It has been ascribed to the Tiferet Yisrael that he drew up a list of non-Jews who ought to be credited with olam habah (a future in the world to come). Top of his list he put the chosid, Yenner, (Edward Jenner) who developed the first human vaccine against smallpox at the close of the 18th century which saved millions of lives down the years. About 200 years later, that virus was eradicated from the planet by global vaccination.

So, where are we now with our present pandemic – the COVID-19 pandemic? What could the future light at the end of the tunnel look like?

Our current travails with the COVID-19 pandemic are due to a new virus, SARS-Cov-2, introduced into the human population just less than a couple of years back. This is a new pandemic, against which new vaccines were developed at an unprecedented breakneck speed to prevent the resulting new disease. It was a triumph of advanced modern science to develop new vaccines within a year of discovering the causative virus in order to address this formidable new pandemic with urgency. Technologies were employed which had never previously been used for human vaccines. To add to this bewildering mix came the internet and pervasive social media – valuable tools for disseminating important public-health messages, but an equally sinister vehicle for spewing misinformation, conspiracies, and mistrust and, in no small measure, contributing to confusion, anxiety, and, unfortunately, vaccine hesitancy.

So, where do we stand on the eve of Rosh Hashanah 5782 (2021) in controlling the COVID-19 pandemic? As of 24 August (by the time you read this these figures will be quite a bit higher) more than eleven million doses of vaccine have been administered in South Africa with more than 21% of the adult population being vaccinated. Even now, the effectiveness of the vaccination programme is starting to be felt with a small, yet significant, reduction in serious COVID-19 disease and hospitalisation in the country.

What is our expectation for controlling the pandemic with vaccination? It’s interesting that when we look back at the earlier days of the pandemic last year, the scientific community thought that the SARS-Cov-2 virus was as menacing as any new pandemic was feared to be, but that it would turn out to be no more complicated than measles or polio to combat and conquer. We hoped, as with measles and polio, that it wouldn’t take long to develop an effective vaccine to conquer this newcomer.

But that was before the virus uncannily demonstrated its ability to mutate and generate new variants which could escape the protection afforded by vaccination. In turn, the Beta variant arrived, which was relatively resistant to vaccines, and after that, the highly contagious Delta variant, which is now also flexing its muscles for vaccine escape.

Common wisdom dictates that infectious diseases can be combatted in four phases. Phase one is the phase of containment. In this phase, the main damage caused by the offending infectious agent is brought under control. In the case of COVID-19, this is the phase reached by Western developed countries. High vaccine coverage has drastically reduced severe disease which, in the pre-vaccination era, resulted in wealthy countries being brought to their knees and unable to cope with the overwhelming number of critically ill patients, and mortuaries unable to keep pace with burying the dead. But, in spite of extensive vaccination campaigns, infection and illness still persist to a worrying degree. Fortunately, in the majority of cases, illness is mild. Where preventive measures are relaxed, as prematurely occurred in many countries such as Israel, the United States, and several European countries, there have been significant flare-ups. Most public-health authorities would accept this to be an interim phase, as restrictive measures still need to be in place to prevent epidemic waves of illness flaring up.

Only in a future phase two, the phase of control, may we contemplate returning to a pre-COVID-19 life. To enter into this phase, a second generation of advanced vaccines would have to be developed. They would need to provide more effective and durable immunity, be able to be effective against any new variants, and also be able to reduce transmission markedly from infected vaccinated persons. For the latter, the new vaccines will need to effect good immunity in the upper respiratory tract – mucosal immunity. There is, indeed, intensive research into developing this next generation of vaccines. In this phase, restrictions may be relaxed to the point of returning to our pre-2020 lifestyle. Infection and illness won’t totally disappear, but it will be at a tolerable level – perhaps much like the common cold or flu we all accept every winter season.

Phase three, the elimination phase, has been reached with a number of vaccine-preventable diseases. In this phase, infection and illness no longer occur in many parts of the world because of successful vaccination campaigns, although it remains present in other regions of the globe. Examples are polio, measles, and a number of other childhood infections. This phase cannot yet be contemplated for COVID-19. Our best expectation would be to enter into phase two, the control phase.

The ultimate phase four, the eradication phase, has been achieved only with one infectious disease – smallpox. About two centuries after the chosid, Jenner, invented the smallpox vaccine, and following unprecedented vaccination campaigns in every corner of the world, the disease and the virus were finally eradicated in 1980, and the virus formally declared to have been purged from the planet.

Meanwhile, let’s try make the present phase, phase one of COVID-19, as successful as possible. Get vaccinated, and continue to maintain all infection-prevention measures religiously so that we can safely look forward to phase two – maybe some time next year?

  • Barry Schoub is the chairperson of the Ministerial Advisory Committee on COVID-19 Vaccines. He is professor emeritus of virology at the University of the Witwatersrand, and was the founding director of the National Institute for Communicable Diseases. He writes in his personal capacity.

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Parshot/Festivals

This year, be the change your shul needs

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COVID-19 has drastically accelerated change in the way the world works – from a social, work, health, and travel point of view. Politics, economics, and social behaviour has shifted dramatically. And it has had a deep impact on our shuls.

As a community, we are at a watershed moment and have a unique, historic opportunity to rebuild our shuls – creatively and with renewed focus on purpose and meaning.

And we need to do it together.

Many have become comfortable davening at home, and have even begun to question the necessity of returning to shul. I would like to suggest why it’s not just important, but vital.

Praying in isolation can easily become a self-centred experience. Alone with our thoughts, we have only our own hopes and concerns to focus on. But when we pray with a minyan – when we are able to see each other and feel real empathy – we have the opportunity to pray for each other. We see the pain on a person’s face who is struggling financially. Or another person struggling with health complications. Or someone else struggling with a family issue. We are able to truly open our hearts to those around us, and pray for them in their moment of need. The Talmud tells us there is also tremendous personal merit in praying for others’ needs before our own.

And there is the undeniable spiritual power of davening in a minyan. Our sages explain that when we pray together, we come before Hashem not just on our own merit, but with the collective merit of the community – and, in fact, all of klal Yisrael. A minyan represents not just its members but links us spiritually to Jews around the world and across the generations. Our prayers are therefore exponentially more powerful. This is particularly important on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, when we come before our Creator in judgement, and need every merit we can get.

By praying in a minyan, we become part of something greater than ourselves. When we come to shul, we are contributing to the community. Just by being there, we create a newfound energy and vibrancy.

Particularly now. The pandemic has put great pressure on our shuls, and there is an enormous challenge – but also a great opportunity – to rebuild them to positions of strength, equalling and then exceeding what they were before the pandemic. To build a new, rich sense of community that inspires existing congregants and draws new people in.

And to do that we need to get involved, to be proactive in building the sense of community within our shuls. This means starting or joining shiurim; attending services both on Shabbos and during the week; participating in chesed activities – whether it’s making meals, visiting the sick, or reaching out to fellow congregants with messages of love and support; or contributing to the everyday running of the shul, sponsoring a brocha, or championing a new programme ourselves.

There’s a paradigm shift here. We need to start viewing ourselves not as clients of our shul, but as partners, active participants – not spectators, but players. Our relationship with our shuls shouldn’t be as a consumer weighing whether the product or service is of sufficient benefit to us; the decision to return to shul or daven at home shouldn’t be a cold cost-benefit analysis about what suits us better. We need our shuls. And our shuls need us.

Ultimately, it’s for our own good. Hashem has hardwired us to derive the greatest satisfaction, paradoxically, from moving beyond self-interest. Transcending the self – acting for the sake of the collective, contributing to a greater cause – is deeply fulfilling and deeply pleasurable. Coming back to shul and driving these changes is its own reward.

Among the great challenges society is going through during this pandemic is widespread depression and isolation, each reinforcing the other. And the greatest antidote to these twin challenges is to leave our isolation – to get out there and make a contribution. To get involved in the community. This is absolutely vital for both our own mental health and spiritual vitality, and our communal vibrancy.

Now, as we prepare to welcome in the year 5782, is the time to renew our shuls as active players, not spectators, and partners, not consumers. Ready to make a difference. Together.

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The day of judgement is a day of love

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I recently argued with a good friend. She always tries to be strictly objective in her assessment of her children. I objected. I feel strongly that my job as a mother isn’t to be objective about my children but always to see the good in them, to judge them favourably, and love them unconditionally.

This positivity bias toward my children is obvious and natural, but at the same time, I truly believe that life experience will teach them to be realistic and humble, that I don’t have to. All the encouragement, support, and love I can give them can only build them up and make them great.

This unconditional positive regard and acceptance can swallow up so many of their problems, so much of their self-doubt and negativity. It can charge my children with all the confidence and strength they need to face life’s challenges and make a success of their lives. I believe in them, and they know it. You’re entitled to your own parenting style, but this is mine, and I stand by it.

It occurs to me that this is also a model to understand our relationship with Hashem, who is like a parent to us. Too often, we approach Elul, Rosh Hashanah, and Yom Kippur with trepidation and fear. We become discouraged and demoralised, too mindful of our failings, too oblivious to our potential. This approach is valid if we believe that Hashem’s judgement of us is impartial – “objective” and unbiased. We could justifiably be afraid if we imagine that Hashem is coldly examining our thoughts and deeds and dispassionately attributing credit and blame.

But instead, I offer you the idea that the prevailing atmosphere of Elul is love. We are Hashem’s children, and He is not objective about us at all. At this time of year, when we are in Hashem’s presence, we can allow ourselves to feel loved, encouraged, and supported. We can believe that He sees so much more good in us than bad.

This attitude can inspire us to overcome our faults and weaknesses. Knowing that Hashem believes in us and wants us to succeed can enable us to conquer self-doubt and negativity. We’re not in a power struggle with Hashem, we aren’t His adversaries. He’s always helping us and supporting us. And in this light, on Yom HaDin, our day of judgement, we have little to fear.

We can feel safe in the knowledge that we all have the unfair advantage of being judged by our Loving Father in heaven, who believes in us. He regards each of us as a hero. He knows that our strengths can overwhelm our weaknesses. He wants only to reward us and help us succeed. Like the perfect parent, He judges us favourably, waits for us patiently, loves us unconditionally, allows us to grow up slowly, watches our choices, and gets much nachas from our growth!

Shana tovah uMetuka! May we all be written and sealed for goodness!

  • Rebbetzin Gina Goldstein has been speaking, teaching, writing, and volunteering in the South African Jewish community for more than 25 years. Together with her husband Chief Rabbi Dr Warren Goldstein, she co-founded The Shabbos Project, Sinai Indaba, and Generation Sinai.

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