When I am really honest with myself, this is what I would love an Italian grocery store to be…
They would carry everything you need. Maybe not everything you want… but definitely everything you need.
(Baccalà!)
Pasta, bread, cheese, meat, onions, garlic, peppers, tomatoes, oregano, basil, rosemary… maybe some fruits and nuts.
(Castagne arrostite!)
They might also have a few little things extra.
Espresso percolators…
… Italian playing cards…
… pizzelle irons.
My first wife, Susan, and I were right around the corner from such a place when we lived in St. Clair & Dufferin neighbourhood in Toronto in the late 70s.
(Frutta e verdura!)
What I wouldn’t give to live once again a 2-minute walk from a place like this!
When I am in The Heart of the Old World[1], there is a certain pervasive sound you hear… a kind of omnipresent background music… a gently swaying ‘bed track’ to the place. It is a general all-encompassing soundtrack permeating the entire area… made up from the voices of hundreds of Jewish girls and women.
It is useless trying to explain a symphony with words,. I will at least give you a tiny taste of some of the lyrics. Try to imagine the sing-song tones blending in and through each other, above and underneath each other, mixing and intertwining, separating and repeating, like a Bach fugue.
Those who know what I am talking about are well familiar with the melodies, counter-melodies, tempos and keys. To the uninitiated, I can only say that one cannot describe a colour adequately with words… it must be seen to be fully understood. Similarly, like a Shakespearean play, the words are meant to be heard, not read. [2]
At the grocery store, on the sidewalk, in the coffee shop, in the parking lot… it binds us and keeps us together. It forms a warm comforting blanket around us.
And now… let us listen… and hear those precious voices all around us…
Boruch HaShem! Im Yirtzeh HaShem. B’ezras HaShem!
It’s all shtuss. It’s just a bunch of shtuss.
Yes, bli neder. Absolutely, bli neder! Of course, bli neder!
Make a brochah, Shmuley. Did you make an after-brochah?
Chas v’sholom! K’neine hora! Lo aleinu!
You hold by that? We don’t hold by that! Who holds by that?
Look at that punim! What a shayna punim! Can you believe the punim on this kid?
Where are you for Shabbes lunch? You’re coming for Shabbes dinner, right?
Where does he daven? What time do they finish davening over there?
She lives in Beit Shemesh now. Ramat Gan. She’s in Bnei Barak.
I had occasion the other day to spend a leisurely afternoon with my dearly beloved friend, Davka Frei. [1]
Davka is a stunningly beautiful Jewish girl who has zero interest in Yiddishkeit. [2]
It’s not that she hates Judaism or even dislikes it. It’s simply not on the radar with her. As such, she is continually flummoxed at the fact that I live an observant Jewish life.
I did not grow up Orthodox. I chose to become Orthodox later in life. And this is what gets her!
You see, while Davka can wrap her mind around someone being observant because he or she was raised that way and ‘did not know better’ (i.e. FFB – Frum From Birth [3]), she has a much harder time understanding why someone who ‘knew better’ (i.e. had a normal non-observant life) would choose a frum lifestyle.
(Frum vs Frei)
Fortunately for the both of us, the Frum/Frei debate hasn’t affected our relationship in the least because for the most part we are completely dippy about each other. For all of our differences in terms of religious observance, we thoroughly enjoy each other’s company.
(Frei vs Frum)
And it is that genuine affection that trumps just about everything else.
In our own way, we are both as Loonie as they come… but we arrive at our loopiness from different angles.
(That’s not us, btw)
That’s what makes lunch (kosher, of course… my friend puts friendship over flavour! [4]) with Davka such a wonderful, delightful experience.
[1]Davka Frei (pronounced ‘DAHV-kah FRY’). Not her real name. Davka Frei is a pseudonym. Davka is an Aramaic word that has no precise English translation. The closest you can come is probably ‘very’ or ‘exactly’ or ‘precisely.’ Frei (lit. ‘free’) is a Yiddish/German word meaning ‘non-observant’or ‘not Orthodox’… as in ‘free’ from religious observance.
[2]Yiddishkeit (from the Yiddish; Lit. “Jewishness”) – the word is usually used to mean Judaism and everything related to Jews and Judaism.
[3]Frum (from the German fromm, meaning “devout” or “pious”. The ‘u’ is pronounced like the ‘oo’ in ‘book’ or ‘cookie’) meaning committed to the observance of Jewish commandments and law, specifically of Orthodox Judaism. Frum is the opposite of Frei.
[4] Truth be told, our last lunch together was at the Oasis Cafe in downtown Toronto. I wasn’t expecting much. We both had the Eggplant Parmigiana with caesar salad and Peach Snapple. It was astonishingly good. Davka: “It’s so delicious, you’d never know it was kosher!” LOL
This past weekend, I had the pleasure of spending Shabbes with my rebbe and mentor, R’ Michael Skobac [1] and his charming wife, Chashi.
R’ Skobac is Master Po to my Grasshopper.
(R’ Skobac and I SO don’t look like this!)
Shabbes dinner featured a spelt/camut challah that was out of this world!
He was kind enough to share the recipe with me… and here it is!
R’ Skobac’s Healthy Challah for Dummies (and those short on time):
Ingredients:
3.5 cups of spelt flour
1/2 cup of kamut flour
4 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
2 cups water
2 Tablespoons oil
1.5 tablespoons of honey
Method:
Mix ingredients well into a dough. Divide in two and shape into round loaves.
Bake both loaves on a cookie sheet (covered in parchment paper) @ 350F for 40 minutes.
Check to make sure they’re done and ENJOY!
Simple. Fast. And for those intimidated by baking anything more complicated that muffins or banana bread, a really great way to feel like you know what you’re doing.
[1] Rabbi Michael Skobac - one of the world’s foremost authorities on Missionaries and Cults – is the Director of Education and Counselling of Jews for Judaism (Canada). He was educated at Northwestern University and Yeshiva University and has been involved in Jewish education and outreach work since 1975. (He and I also sit together at our little shtiebl, Congregation Bais Dov Yosef in Toronto [aka The Holy Strudel King]).
If I ever need to set up a quick, informal yet special rendezvous with someone near and dear to me, I choose Sadie’s Diner & Juice Bar in downtown Toronto.
Sadie’s is on the northwest corner of Portland and Adelaide streets. One block east of Bathurst and two blocks south of Queen Street West.
My dearly beloved friend, CC, introduced me to the place when she and I set up a lunch date just before she moved to Toronto from Ottawa. As an extra bonus attraction, CC brought along her daughter, EC (aka CC Jr, aka Volume 2).
My darling CC is the one you can blame for getting me started with this whole blogging thing. She herself is a top-knotch writer and I have often encouraged her (i.e. nagged her) to send her writing to The New Yorker. I feel her writing is as good as most of the Shouts & Murmurs articles I’ve read and enjoyed at the back of the magazine.
The get-together with my dear CC was my first time at Sadie’s Diner and CC was right on the money about choosing that as the perfect spot. She and I had a wonderful get-together and I sincerely hoped that EC wasn’t too bored out of her mind.
A few months later, when my own daughter (Exhibit One) and I planned a bit of a downtown rendezvous, I immediately suggested Sadie’s. Once again, it was the perfect choice. She and I sat at a table near the front window. The service was wonderful, my daughter loved the food and the atmosphere and I had one of my best times with her.
She thought the place was just wonderful. One of the things that simply tickled my daughter to death was a plastic cow milk dispenser.
(Exhibit Two’s favourite milk dispenser. Note my wallet absent-mindedly left on the table)
Together, we carefully plotted my daughter’s emigration to Israel at that tiny little table. I am sure that in due course, I will arrange a clandestine meeting with my son, Exhibit Two, and begin plotting his emigration to Israel. I have no doubt that he and I will meet at Sadie’s Diner, hopefully at that same little table near the front window. That spot has brought me much luck in the past.
The good times I’ve had there have endeared Sadie’s Diner & Juice Bar to me. It holds a special place in my heart.
Sadie’s is cozy, informal, yet at the same time very chic and hip in a quirky downtown way. Each time I’ve been there, it has been a wonderful experience shared by those nearest and dearest to me. But take some free advice on this subject… don’t waste Sadie’s on ordinary, average, dull, boring people. Save it for the quirky, exciting people in your life. Share it with that special friend who is the artist, photographer, writer, adventurer, actor or just the one that’s odd and weird but in a good way. Save it for that certain loonie in your life without whom you simple cannot do.
I have promised another dearly beloved friend, AC, a get-together in Toronto. She too is a most talented writer and would, no doubt, get a kick out of Sadie’s. I am long overdue for a face to face tête-à-tête with her.
AC has recently threatened to interview me and I feel I should take her up on her ill-conceived offer. I am in favour of and try actively to encourage reckless behaviour in others and I want to show my support however and whenever I can.
So next time you are in the Bathurst and Queen neighbourhood… or even if you just want to plan a lunch downtown with that special beloved oddball in your life, I recommend Sadie’s Diner.
I’ve never regretted it and I am sure you won’t either.
Many years ago, when I worked at a law office in downtown Toronto, I had a friend with whom I would love to lunch.
I am using the word lunch here as a verb because when it came to my friend, lunch was not just a noun. It was definitely not a thing. With him, lunch was alive, it was something you did. It was an action, an activity – and an active one at that, if I may be permitted the redundancy.
With my friend, lunch was an experience.
Why?
Because at one point during lunch… it could be right at the beginning, it could be while waiting in line, it could be during the meal, or just after dessert… but sometime during lunch, it was all but inevitable that my friend would do something or say something stupid, bizarre, unexpected, ridiculous and, usually, quite memorable.
It was an average run-of-the-mill day when my friend called me up and said that his morning plans had collapsed and that he was ‘open for suggestions.’ Within the hour we were standing in line at a semi-trendy eatery around the corner from my office.
My friend was blithely gabbing away about the video project on which he was presently working. He was about two-thirds of the way through it and he had not quite decided yet whether it was merely awful or truly dreadful.
We were seated in fairly short order. He continued on about the project non-stop (my friend is a compulsive talker) when I suggested he shut his yap and tell the waitress what he wanted for lunch. Swinging back and forth on the odd metal chairs upon which we were sitting, my friend charmed our waitress and somehow managed to keep the topic of his conversation with her more or less on the subject of what was on the menu.
It was my turn to fill in the air time. My friend, pretended to listen to me while experimenting with just how far back he could lean in the chair without flipping over. I had to say that I was fairly impressed, although I had my doubts as to the chair’s ability to withstand such a work-out.
It was at this point that I realized that during his last back-bending stretch, the longish hair at the back of his head all but fell into the food of the young woman seated at the table directly behind him. Oblivious to the situation, my friend held his position, complimenting both his own skill and that of the chair’s designer. The young woman stared at my friend’s head as it hovered above her lunch. Had I been in her position, I could not have resisted the urge to jab a fork into his neck. Clearly, she was made of stronger stuff.
He looked up into the somewhat startled and puzzled eyes of the young woman and muttered a “Oh, I’m terribly sorry” in that kind of sincere yet off-hand tone one uses when accidentally bumping against someone in an elevator.
He sat up and began tucking into his lunch with a disturbing enthusiasm.
I am afraid I could not look the woman in the eye and, therefore, could not tell whether she touched her food after The Incident.
I did notice, however, that she had ordered the souvlaki.
Let’s face it… lunch can be boring. One way to inject a bit of fun into this run of the mill activity is to invite a loonie to share lunch with you.
I try to do so whenever I can and I have rarely regretted it.
A few weeks ago, I signed up with a program called Partners in Torah.
It is run by that fabulous adult Jewish education organization, Aish HaTorah. [1]
The premise is quite simple. People who, for various reasons, cannot get together with a study partner to learn Torah, Jewish history, Hebrew, Talmud, Halacha (Jewish law), and so on, can get connected with an appropriate person and, together, they study on the phone for 30 to 60 minutes a week.
(I saw this at Aish HaTorah’s Village Shul in Toronto)
As per their website…
Partners in Torah’s signature phone study program offers Jewish adults of all backgrounds across North America a cost-free learning opportunity to discover Judaism – its culture, history, and traditions – at their pace and their schedule. Jewish men and women with an interest in acquiring specific skills or who simply want to build on their Jewish knowledge-base, are matched, one-to-one, with a carefully selected personal Torah trainer or “mentor” for up to an hour a week of over-the-phone study and discussion. Participants can choose any topic including Hebrew, Jewish philosophy, or history. In its decade and a half of operation, Partners in Torah has engaged more than 40,000 intellectually curious Jews across North America, and today supports some 4,000 weekly study partnerships (over 8,000 individuals!).
I emailed Partners in Torah and very shortly thereafter received a phone call from a charming young lady who asked me several questions confirming my status as a Jew, a bit of my background, what I was interested in studying and why, etc.
I told her that while I spend about half of my week in a Orthodox neighbourhood in Toronto, the other half of my week I practice as a criminal defence lawyer down in the Niagara Region of Southern Ontario. Not exactly The Heart of the Old World and certainly not a bastion of Torah Study. In fact, you can count all the Orthodox Jewish men in the entire region on one hand. So I was very keen on being able to learn with someone as opposed to studying on my own (not the ideal method, by any means).
I also indicated to the young lady that I wasn’t all that interested in Talmudic civil law. If a wall crumbles and collapses and a person gets injured, trust me, I could not care less who is liable to pay damages. I went to law school for three years. I hated tort law then and nothing since has improved my outlook on the topic. Bunch of ambulance chasers, if you ask me.
(A page from the Mishnah Berurah, this one dealing with the laws of Passover)
I told her that what I was interested in was the practical day-to-day application of Jewish law. When asked to be more specific, I suggested studying the Mishnah Berurah (the Chofetz Chaim‘s commentary on the Shulchan Aruch[2]), especially Hilchos Shabbos (Sabbath Laws).
Surprisingly, she said, “I know just the person for you!” She then set me up with one of their volunteers, a guy in New Jersey.
He and I emailed back and forth a few times, and spoke on the phone the next day regarding what I was interested in learning and what would be a mutually convenient time for us to learn.
We agreed to study together Wednesday evenings from 7:30 to 8:30 pm.
The first study session went really well, I thought. It was exactly what I was hoping it would be. I couldn’t have been more pleased. I am looking forward to the next study session!
As the poster above says, “There’s happy. And then there’s ‘I have my very own Partner in Torah’ happy!”
[1] For those of you who follow this blog even semi-regularly, you will probably recognize the name Aish HaTorah as also being the international organization that runs, among other things, the Jerusalem Fellowships program which my daughter Exhibit One, attended in August 2011 and which my son, Exhibit Two, will attend this coming May 2012 in Jerusalem.
[2]Mishna Berurah (“Clarified Teachings”) is an important and widely used commentary, consisting of six volumes, on the Orach Chayim section of Yosef Karo‘s digested compilation of practical Jewish Law, the Shulchan Aruch. It combines his own elucidations and differing opinions with those of otherAharonim (post-medieval authorities.)
It is a sad day indeed when someone poaches your nanny.
Let me say right off the bat that I’ve been extremely lucky with all of the nannies I’ve hired over the years for Exhibits One and Two when they were mere tots. Each one better than the next with not a clunker in the bunch.
Others have not been so lucky. There is a friend of mine who has had the opposite experience… one nanny an even bigger horror story than the last.
In the olden days when dinosaurs ruled the world and it was relatively easy to hire a nanny, the government had (and still has, as far as I know) an ‘incentive program,’ of sorts. If a person outside Canada could find employment in Canada as a Foreign Domestic Worker (I think that’s what they were officially called) and maintain employment as a domestic for two years, then that person could apply for permanent residency status. [1] This was a good way for Canada to get the kinds of workers it needed and, in addition, increase its population. My father, like so many Italians, came to Canada after the war with a similar program that encouraged foreign labourers to work up in lumber camps in northern Ontario for a year or two, then become landed and bring over their wives. It was a pretty good deal in those days.
So, too, the foreign nanny program seems like a good set-up. So… what is going wrong?
You know that old cliché, “Good domestic help is so hard to find!”?
Apparently, the supply of good nannies is drying up.
According to a recent Toronto Star article, “Since 2010, fewer foreign live-in caregivers have been admitted to Canada, partly due to the declining applications by Canadian families who are now required to pay for all recruitment fees incurred and partly a result of Ottawa’s slower processing and tighter screening. The shortage of live-in caregivers has been exacerbated since mid-December when the federal government issued 14,000 open-work permits to nannies who met the employment hours to apply for permanent residency.”
The article continues, “The number of live-in caregivers arriving in Canada has plummeted by 40 per cent from its peak of 13,773 in 2007 to just 8,394 in 2010. Currently, average processing time to get an overseas nanny is 15 months, 17 months for the Philippines, the main source country.”
As a result, nanny poaching has become a rampant! Fewer foreign domestics coming into Canada (declining applications, tighter government processing), more experienced nannies leaving the job pool and more families desperate to find good, trusted nannies to care for their kids, especially in a situation where both parents have full-time jobs and do not want to put their children in day-care.
What was once an employers’ market has rapidly turned into a nanny’s market! No longer content to work for minimum wage, good nannies these days can pretty well call the shots, especially when parents are willing to tempt them away from their present employers with higher wages, better living conditions and other attractive incentives.
As mentioned above… and this fact cannot be overstated… so many good nannies have completed their two years employment, obtained open-work permits and have moved out of the ‘live-in nanny’ business and into the ‘I’m going to make a better life for me and my own family, thank you very much’ business!
Which leads me back to my opening statement. It is a sad day indeed when someone poaches your nanny.
(Nanny no more!)
But really, what did we expect? Did we seriously think these wonderful women become nannies for the sheer thrill of taking care of our little kids night and day for little pay? Did we honestly believe these girls wouldn’t leave us for more money and a better deal for themselves? Or, heaven forbid, to start their own lives and families the first chance they could get? The only reason they looked after our kids, cleaned our houses and cooked our food was the hope that after two whole years of this crap, they would be well on the road to becoming Canadian citizens! Oh, and just in case you still haven’t caught on… that’s why they came over as nannies in the first place!
The law of supply and demand is hitting parents were it hurts the most… in their children’s lives.
It’s a tough situation to be in, no doubt. But parents can make it easier on themselves and reduce the risk of having their nannies stolen from under their noses.
Here is some free advice from an old man who’s hired a few nannies in his day.
Pay them well. Don’t scrimp when it comes to the women who are taking care of your children. Don’t give them only what you are absolutely required by law to pay. Give them the bare minimum and it is just a matter of time before someone realizes how much your nanny is really worth… and is more than willing to pay it!
Treat them well. They aren’t your servants. They aren’t your slaves. They certainly aren’t your friends and family. Treat them as valued employees. As with monetary compensation, if you don’t treat them well… someone else will be happy to do so!
Give them their own time and their own space. Having a live-in nanny doesn’t mean she is on call 24-7. She needs her own life, her own space and her own time. Make her work environment seem like a prison… and she will be happy to grab the first opportunity to escape.
Do everything above-board. Pay all of her source deductions. Make sure she is in this country legally! Don’t give in to the ‘under the table’ urge. You will both be happy in the long run. Trust me.
Be kind and generous. You, in turn, will be rewarded with their loyalty. Be nasty, stingy and mean… and you are basically asking them to find a new job.
Here is another truism I’ve learned when I was an employee…
‘You will often put up with being treated poorly if you are paid well… and you will often put up with being paid poorly if you are treated well… but there has to be at least one or else you quit!’
Good luck out there. I hope you are as fortunate as I was!
[1] A permanent resident is someone who has acquired permanent resident status by immigrating to Canada, but is not yet a Canadian citizen. Permanent residents have rights and privileges in Canada even though they remain citizens of their home country. In order to maintain permanent resident status, they must fulfill specified residency obligations. (Citizenship and Immigration Canada)
Hot on the heels of the fabulous Boboverhasidic wedding I went to last month, I had the opportunity to attend, along with my beloved S.G., a bar mitzvah last weekend at the holy Congregation Chasedei Bobov in the Bathurst and Wilson area of The Heart of the Old World, in Toronto.
It had been many years since I attended services at Congregation Chasedei Bobov (aka the Bobover shul) and was looking forward to going back. Located at the north-east corner of Bathurst Street and Carmichael Avenue, the building has undergone significant renovations in the last year or so.
When I arrived there at about 9:30 am, the large shul was already almost full. I was worried I would not be able to sit down when a young man came up to me, smiling and friendly, and offered to find me a seat. Before I knew it, I was at a table near the back and settling in nicely.
(Bobover hasid deep in prayer)
There were many familiar faces in the congregation. Several people came up and greeted me with hearty handshakes. It’s really easy to feel at home almost immediately when you are with Bobovers. They’re so warm and genuine, I find.
The bar mitzvah boy did marvelously well, of course, and the family and entire congregation was rightly proud of him.
After services, everyone was invited to a kiddush that was held in the smaller (original) shul which doubled that morning as a reception hall. When I was at Bobov eight or nine years ago, the smaller room was the main (and only) sanctuary. It had a large opening in the ceiling from which those in the women’s section on the second floor could look down.
Once again, there did not seem to be an empty seat and, once again, a Bobover hasid came up to me, greeted me warmly with a firm handshake and a hearty “Good Shabbes!” and found me a seat at one of the tables. At the kiddush, I scanned the large crowd and could pick out more familiar faces, many of whom came up to me to say hello. Shouts of “Good Shabbes!” and “Mazel tov!” rang throughout the hall.
(Bobover hasidim)
There was lots of food and drink. I had an opportunity to meet new people and reconnect with many old familiar faces.
Eventually, SG and I made our way out of the shul and then walked about a kilometre further north to the home of the bar mitzvah boy. We had been kindly invited by the parents to join them for lunch. I was indeed fortunate in sitting with the bar mitzvah boy, his father and grandfather and other close family members and loved ones. We celebrated for most of the afternoon. It was a remarkable spirit-filled experience.
SG and I walked back down Bathurst Street to the shul I usually attend, Congregation Bais Dov Yosef (aka R’ Bartfeld’s shul, aka the Strudel King)… about a kilometre south of the Bobover shul. SG went home for a well-deserved rest while I stayed at shul for afternoon prayers, shalosh seudos and evening services.
It was a magnificent Shabbes made even more special by the intensity, fervour and Ahavas Yisroel (love of one’s fellow Jew) of the Bobover Hasidim. Virtually everyone I met there encouraged me to come by more often… and that once every eight years was not nearly enough!
I will definitely take them up on their kind offer. Shabbes there is an awesome experience and one which I will want to enjoy again and again this year.
As usual, I spent the Jewish Sabbath this past weekend in Toronto.
This year, the Xmas holidays spilled over into the following Monday and Tuesday. Also, I was able to leave work very early Friday morning, so I had the good fortune to spend most of Hanukah in The Heart of the Old World! Woohoo!
(Latkes – aka Jewish hashbrowns)
Depending on your taste, we were either blessed or cursed with a snow-free holiday season. For me, this was just fine. Now while I despise heat and sunshine, I am also no fan of snow and ice. Most of the festive week, therefore, was a kind of grey overcast cool damp depressing wonderful time. Couldn’t have asked for more!
(Sufganiyot – aka Jewish doughnuts)
It was a great week with friends, loved ones and, of course, my SigOth, SG. A blur of Hanukah parties, blended-family get-togethers, synagogue services, shopping, shiurim, meals with friends (new and old) and loved ones, and good old-fashioned quantity time together.
Today is the last day of Hanukah. May everyone continue to have a joyous and blessed holiday season, filled with happiness, love and good times!
(Baccalà!)
(Castagne arrostite!)
(Frutta e verdura!)
