Features
Mud: Shtetl to Shoah
By DAVID TOPPER A Note to the reader: I will preface this story with a remark about me. I often write stories and poems using the pseudonym Dee Artea (pronounced D R T, my monogram) when writing in a female voice. But this is the first time I have put Dee into a story.
I’m trying to decide what to do with the document that you’re reading. You’ll see shortly, I’m sure, what I’m talking about – that is, if you read on.
I don’t know what to do. I’m stymied. And it’s all because of this new assistant I hired. Dee Artea, who refuses to tell me anything about her past. Not where she’s from, her family, nor even the origin of her name. Nothing. Beyond her being Jewish, I don’t know anything about her.
Well, to be precise, I didn’t hire her, and I guess calling her an assistant is not quite right either – since we’re living together. So, I can’t really fire her, can I?
Which is why – or, at least, one reason why – I’m stymied.
Plus, it just occurred to me that you may agree with her point of view – and then, so-to-speak, take her side on this matter. Well, so be it. Still, what to do?
Many readers will agree with me. My point-of-view, I’m sure. Yes. I am.
There you go. That’s my friend Dee, butting in and making her point. Forcefully, I would say. What should I do about her, short of putting a password on my computer?
In the meantime, I need to bring in some back-story.
It all started when Dee saw my heart-rending book of Roman Vishniac’s photographs of Jews living in the Pale of Settlement in the 1930s. … Wait, before that: I wanted to write something for the local Jewish paper about the pogroms of the late 19th & early 20th centuries as precursors to the Shoah. … No, that’s not it, either. … I need to go … further back. Yes, here goes.
I first met Dee, who was out of a job. I think she got fired for insubordination and th—
That’s what my boss called it. Actually, I was just correcting his mistakes. Proofreading and such.
Okay, anyway, we met one warm day this past spring when I was sitting on a bench in the English flower garden in Assiniboine Park, reading a book. As she walked by, she noticed that I was reading a book of stories by Sholem Aleichem, so she sat down beside me and started a conversation. She immediately told me that Sholem Aleichem (meaning “peace to you”) was the pseudonym of Solomon Rabinowitz, born in the Ukraine in 1859 and one of the most famous Yiddish writers of fictional stories of shtetl life; but, having witnessed a vicious pogrom in 1905, he emigrated, and eventually settled in New York City for the rest of his life – all of which I already knew (well, maybe not the exact dates).
It was quickly clear that Dee was bright, Jewish, and knew a lot about some of the same things that fascinate me in Jewish culture and history. We “hit it off” as they say. Indeed, it was uncanny how much we thought alike – well, at least, on most things. When we parted and decided to meet on this same bench the next day, I thought to myself: bashert.
That’s a very strong statement, I’d say. Don’t you think?
Yes, indeed.
Well, clearly, I liked her. But I must say that I wasn’t attracted to her. She was friendly and all, but not physically appealing. To be honest, she looks a lot like me – which isn’t a compliment, since I’m a man. We are moreover about the same height, complexion, and body weight. There’s nothing particularly feminine about her physique and manners. Nonetheless, over time (really the short time we’ve been together) I’ve moved beyond these external matters, as we’ve become closer, a lot closer, as intellectual – and I might even say, as spiritual – mates.
Despite looking alike, we have different personalities. I’m the rational, level-headed guy, calm (at least, externally so) under pressure. Whereas Dee is passionate, compulsive, and readily shows her emotions. Of course, there is nothing unusual about this classic male/female dichotomy. Cliché? Well, so be it.
You know, there’s a reason for all of this, eh?
In subsequent meetings – initially in the park, then later in my home – I showed her my writings and told her about my research and plans for an essay on the 19th & 20th century pogroms, as portending the Shoah. She was very knowledgeable on this topic, and diligently read over the draft of my essay, correcting my mistakes as she went along. Her proofreading I found very helpful and not at all intimidating. Her changes to my original draft made it a much better essay. And I’m thankful to her for it.
As you should be.
Once she moved in with me, she had access to all my books. Quickly she read all the stories I have by Sholem Aleichem, which was the catalyst of our relationship, as you know. Next came Roman Vishniac’s book, mentioned before. Specifically, it’s called A Vanished World, published in 1983, with 180 photographs of life in the shtetls in Eastern Europe between 1935 and 1938.
Either Dee found it, or I pointed it out to her – but, in either case, she read the book and devoured it. She could not stop speaking about it for days – yes, days. She was that obsessed with it.
Yes, and I’m still obsessed because these pictures are almost too painful to look at. They break my heart. They should break yours too.
Yes, I agree. And it occurs to me that this is a good time to bring in some more back-story. Here goes. Roman Vishniac (1897–1990) was born in Russia and grew up in Moscow. In 1918 the family moved to Berlin (ironically because of the rise of anti-Semitism in revolutionary Russia). Hence it was from Germany, although sponsored by – namely, paid for – by the JDC (American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee), that Vishniac made several trips into Eastern Europe to photograph Jewish life. He frequently used a hidden camera to capture everyday life in the world of the shtetl (Yiddish, for “little town”), as immortalised, as was said, in the stories of Sholem Aleichem.
Since his trips took place in the years 1935-1938, the title of his book, A Vanished World, had a doubly tragic meaning: that the world of the shtetls was gone, but so were the lives of the people in the photographs, almost all of whom most likely perished by coldblooded murder. Vishniac himself narrowly avoided being another victim of the Shoah, but luckily ended up in 1940 as a refugee in the USA – alive, yet penniless, trying to make a living by taking pictures of people in and around New York City.
You know, he once took a series of pictures of Einstein.
I know.
Ah, of course, you would know that. Oh, and did you know that there is a crater on the planet Mercury named Sholem Aleichem?
Yes.
As I suspected.
As mentioned, many of Vishniac’s pictures were taken in the Pale of Settlement in Eastern Europe. This was a clearly marked area, roughly comprising Lithuania, Ukraine, Belarus, and parts of western Russia and eastern Poland (including Warsaw). It was the creation of Imperial Russia under Catherine the Great and was controlled by the Russian army. Recall, for example, that the Jews in 16th century Venice were segregated or quarantined into what was called for the first time a “ghetto.” Well, I would call the Pale of Settlement that began around the late 18th century, a ghetto writ large. Except for Jews with specific professions, businesses, or other situations (such as Vishniac’s father, when they lived in Moscow), all Jews were forbidden to live or even to just be anywhere outside the Pale (such as in Russia proper) – a rule that was strictly enforced until 1914, around the start of the First World War.
Since Vishniac grew up in Moscow, he had a childhood that was fundamentally isolated from Jewish culture.
Yes, that’s true. Thus, those years in the Pale were his first exposure to shtetl life. Incidentally, to be accurate, the area over which Vishniac roved in those years 1935-1938 encompassed more than the Pale. It also covered other parts of Eastern Europe, such as Austrian Galicia, the Kingdom of Romania, and the Kingdom of Hungary – for they too had shtetls scattered throughout their lands.
Nonetheless, having so many Jews concentrated in such small areas between the east and the west, made them (crudely put) sitting ducks. Or, switching metaphors, the Jewish shtetls were islands in a sea of Christianity, prone to occasional violent storms or even hurricanes of hostility, often resulting in the loss of life. This was true, first with the series of pogroms out of Imperial Russia in the 19th and early 20th centuries in the Pale of Settlement; then, later, as armies criss-crossed Eastern Europe during and between the two World Wars. Whether it was the German army moving east, or the Russian army moving west – it didn’t matter. With the breakdown of the rule of law, murder became ordinary: gentile neighbours just walked in and killed Jewish neighbours, confiscating their homes, belongings, and land. The lawlessness often led not only to brutality, where Jews could be slaughtered where they lived, but also to sadistic acts of humiliation, torture, and rape – before being butchered. Then there were the mass executions where men, women, and children were marched into nearby forests or open fields or over ravines or along riverbanks by German army units, often accompanied by local militia (collaborators), and shot point blank – the bodies then dumped into mass graves or allowed to float down rivers to a grave in the sea.
Do you know what happened in Latvia under German occupation?
Sadly, I do. In German-occupied Latvia, a blue bus of commandoes (Germans and locals) traveled the countryside for six months (July – December 1941) killing the Jews of the towns and villages, murdering over 22,000 innocent children, women, and men – one-third of the population of Jews in Latvia. They went on to assist in other killings, so that the entire Jewish population of Latvia – minus a few survivors – died in the Shoah. These Nazi mobile killing units, roaming throughout Eastern Europe, slaughtered more than one-million Jews – often wiping out entire communities. Such extreme, excessive, meaningless, malicious, senseless, and unprovoked cruelty – is unique in history.
Importantly, today sites of these past atrocities are being excavated in Eastern Europe, as this mass murder is finally, painstakingly, and painfully exposing its gruesome tale.
Yes, finally. Historian Timothy Snyder has called these the European “killing fields.” Let me put it in perspective this way. Probably the common mental image of the Shoah for most of us is that of emaciated prisoners in a concentration camp, such as Auschwitz. However – and this is not commonly known – in fact, more Jews died in these killing fields than in all the camps combined. It’s what has been called “the other Holocaust.”
As you know, I too have read Snyder’s book. I agree with him when he says that “the crime of the Holocaust was unprecedented in that it was the only such attempt to remove an entire people from the planet by way of mass murder.” Indeed, he calls it “the single most murderous outburst in human history.” You know, I sometimes have trouble sleeping at night, knowing so many died in vain, while I’m living peacefully in my bubble in Winnipeg.
Yes, Dee, me too, as you know.
But back to life in the shtetls throughout Europe because there’s more I want to say, starting with another topic that deeply haunts me.
Ah yes, the other Vishniac book.
This other book is titled Children of a Vanished World, published in 1999 (after Roman died) and it is edited by Mara Vishniac Kohn (Roman Vishniac’s daughter, who chose the pictures from her father’s massive oeuvre) and Miriam Hartman Flacks (a Yiddish scholar). The text is in Yiddish (with English translations), plus some poems and music. The main motivating force of the book (for me, at least) is the imagery: 70 black & white photographs, exclusively of children, making it another “Vishniac book” that tugs deeply at the reader’s emotions. So many child Shoah victims: 1.5 million, who perished in the madness of hate – epitomized in these 70 or so innocent faces.
So difficult to look at these pictures and not imagine how, in addition to their already hard lives in the shtetls, they were destined to experience a horrific fate.
To me, the photographs reveal how the life of many shtetl dwellers was, in itself, miserable.
Yes, life in the shtetl was much worse than most of us realize. Actually, it’s there in Sholem Aleichem’s stories, if you look closely.
True, although there were also wealthy Jews here and there. Rich merchants, for example, usually living in large cities, such as Warsaw, Cracow, or Lviv. Perhaps epitomized by the Rothschilds in Paris.
Remember Shalom Aleichem’s story “If I were Rothschild?” An amusing little story where he dreams about what he would do with all that money, starting with paying for his Sabbath meal, then further helping his family, friends, others, and then all the Jews of the world. In fact, with all that money he could end all wars. But then he realizes that the source of all this trouble is money itself, and so he eliminates money altogether.
And so, he ends by asking: How will I now provide for the Sabbath? – thus coming full circle. Which brings me back to the lowly life of most Jews, especially in the Pale and other shtetls, which was economically bleak, with many living in poverty. Women worked almost exclusively in the home, of course. Men were primarily tailors, artisans, shopkeepers, carpenters, cobblers, push-cart peddlers, and tax collectors – as such they often interacted with their non-Jewish neighbours in the village and sometime at weekly fairs. Few Jews farmed because (with some exceptions) Jews were not permitted to own land. When they did own land, what was allotted was often of poor quality for growing crops. Overall, therefore, they were forced to live in the shtetls, where the buildings were shabby wooden structures, and the streets were unpaved.
Yes, and unpaved roads turn to mud when it rains. Mud, mud, lots of mud. Allow me to quote from a landmark book on shtetl life: “In the summer the dust piles in thick layers, which the rain changes to mud so deep that wagon wheels stick fast and must be pried loose by the sweating driver, with the assistance of helpful bystanders. …When the mud gets too bad, boards are put down over the black slush so that people can cross the street.”
Yes Dee. And because of the extensive poverty, Jewish organizations within the shtetls set up a social welfare system, with free medical treatment for the poor. According to some historical statistics, no shtetl in the Pale had fewer than about 15% of Jews receiving tzedakah (charity or relief). Some sources say the number was even as high as over 30%.
There is nothing to romanticize about in such a life. Believe me. A life steeped in mud.
Agreed. Nonetheless, and against these grave odds, the Yiddish-speaking culture flourished. Valuing education and intellectual proclivity, most males were literate (unlike many of their gentile neighbours, such as the peasants).
Here’s a line from a story by Sholem Aleichem: “Earlier in the day the ice had begun to melt, and the snow had turned into waist-high mud.”
The modern Yeshiva system developed too; here students learned Hebrew under a melamed (teacher), of course Hebrew being the alphabet of Yiddish. Showing Jewish fortitude and resilience, they were able to make a life out of the bleak world of the shtetl.
“Joseph the Righteous took my hand and we leaped across the mud. Night was drawing closer and closer, and the mud became deep and deeper. I imagined I had wings, I was being wafted in the air.”
For them the “shtetl” was not the place: it was the people. And the “home” was not the house: it was the family.
“I was plodding through the mud alongside Methuselah, … who pulled his legs from the mud.”
Such dogged spirit produced Sholem Aleichem, whose most well-known creation was Tevye the Dairyman.
“Well, from all the good luck, nothing is left, but nothing, nothing but mud.”
From his stories of Tevye came the Broadway musical and film Fiddler on the Roof. One of the highlights of Fiddler is the scene showing a pogrom, which disrupts the otherwise joy of a wedding scene.
“They slogged through the clay mud and seated themselves on a log.”
As depicted in the play and film, however, this pogrom is mild as far as pogroms go; it’s more like a nasty act of vandalism.
No wonder Philip Roth called Fiddler “Shtetl Kitsch.” And Cynthia Ozick said it was an “emptied-out, prettified romantic vulgarization” of literary master Sholem Aleichem’s Yiddish tales.
One of the first series of pogroms took place in Odessa in 1821, where 14 Jews were killed.
“Around here the mud is so deep that it took the wagon all night to pull through the town.”
But in the late 19th century and into the 20th century it got worse. A series of about 200 pogroms took place from 1881-1884 in the Pale. Thousands of Jewish homes were destroyed. At least 40 Jews were killed and there are reports of 100s of rapes. The next wave was 1903-1906 and much bloodier with over 2000 Jews killed.
“For a time, it even looked as if I might spend Passover axle-deep in mud.”
Thus, from the 1880s to about 1914, over 2 million Jews emigrated out of Russia ending up primarily in the UK, USA, & Canada. I’m sure many readers are where they are today because their forefathers and foremothers came over in one of those human waves.
“She admits that she’s a tinderbox. When a bad mood hits her, she’ll throw mud at anyone.”
Sounds like you, Dee. You, the passionate one.
“We greeted and shook hands, with me knee-deep in the mud.”
But this is enough, already. Stop it. Yes, Sholem Aleichem called attention to the role of mud in shtetl life. So Dee, you’ve made your point.
Time to end this tale. … Now!
And, Dee, you know what? Despite my original misgivings about your insufferable intrusions in my story – I’ve decided to keep them where they are, for they force me to acknowledge the hardship of the Jews in the shtetls. Considering that this culminated in the Shoah, I see them as appropriate for such a terrible tale that is often difficult even to fathom.
From mud in the shtetl to mud in the mass graves – mud has become for me both a reality and a metaphor for all the pain and sorrow of our people in Europe before the rebirth of Israel.
Albert Einstein was mentioned by Dee, and so I’ve added this, to give some levity to what is otherwise grim and depressing.
As mentioned before, when Vishniac was a new immigrant in New York he earned a living by photographing people. One day he traveled to Princeton, New Jersey, where Einstein lived. Vishniac falsely told the guard at the Institute where Einstein worked that they had known each other in Germany, and thus gained access to Einstein’s office. Einstein was sympathetic to a fellow Jew, a refugee too, and thus allowed Vishniac to take pictures of him while he was working in his office that day doing mainly mathematical calculations, either on paper at a desk or on several blackboards on the walls. Among the many famous portraits of Einstein is one by Vishniac, which you will find on the Wikipedia website for “Vishniac.” I must say, however, that I question the assertion there, that it was Albert’s favourite portrait of himself.
I also wish to point out that throughout the 1930s and into the 1940s, Einstein, using his celebrity status, worked tirelessly writing letters and such, to get Jews out of Nazi Europe – and was successful in many cases.
Since Fiddler on the Roof was mentioned above, here are a few comments on it, considering the theme of this story.
First, Fiddler was preceded by the Yiddish movie Tevya by Maurice Schwartz in 1939, a symbolic year, with the start of the Second World War. Although once thought to be lost, a print of the film was discovered in 1978, and it is now in the US National film Registry by the Library of Congress. In black & white, with English subtitles, Tevya is worth watching for historical reasons, but otherwise it also romanticizes the lives of the Russian Jews. Indeed, it ends, not with a pogrom, but a mere eviction of Tevya and his family from the village they were born into. Incidentally, there were also some earlier theatre productions based on the life of “Tevya the Dairyman.”
As for Fiddler – music by , by , and book by Jose – it was first a stage musical in 1964. The title comes from a painting by Marc Chagall (who made a harrowing escape from the Germans by being smuggled out of Nazi-occupied France in May 1941), and as such, the set and scenery of the stage productions mostly reflected the brightly coloured palette of his paintings. The 1971 film, in colour, was probably grittier and more realistic than most of the stage productions. Nonetheless, after watching it again, I must say that it lacks the necessary mud. There’s lots of dirt, well-packed dirt, and the occasional dust – but no mud. Not until the very end, when all the villagers are leaving Russia in the winter, with a layer of snow on the ground; and, at one point, a wagon gets temporarily stuck in a (muddy?) rut, but it’s immediately pushed out – a brief moment, a fraction of a second. That’s it.
Here’s a short, Annotated Bibliography.
- Sholom Aleichem, Favorite Tales of Sholom Aleichem, trans. by Julius & Frances Butwin (New York: Avenel Books, 1983). Note: most sources spell his first name as Sholem. This book contains 55 story stories. Of course, the quotes about mud are clearly Yiddish exaggerations – but, in having done so, they speak of the true misery of shtetl life.
- Wendy Lower, The Ravine: A Family, A Photograph, A Holocaust Massacre Revealed (Boston: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2021). This is an extraordinary work of historical research. But it’s an extremely painful book to read, for it takes the reader through the details of a specific murder of a woman and a child in the Holocaust. Now, multiply that horror by millions. This book is in the Winnipeg Library system.
- Timothy Snyder, Black Earth: The Holocaust as History and Warning (New York: Tim Duggan Books, 2015). This too is a painful-to-read chronicle of the “other Holocaust” in Eastern Europe, which at the time was the heartland of world Jewry. Multiple copies are in the Winnipeg Library system.
- Roman Vishniac, A Vanished World (New York: Farrar, Straus, & Giroux, 1983). Out of print. Many of the pictures are mesmerizing. I treasure my copy.
- Mara Vishniac Kohn and Miriam Hartman Flacks (editors), Children of a Vanished World (Berkeley: Univ. of California, 1999). There is a copy of this book in the Winnipeg Library system. As said: it’s heartbreaking to look at these pictures of children – and to contemplate their fate.
- The archives of Vishniac’s estate were deposited in 2018 in the Magnes Collection of Jewish Art & Life in the Library of the University of California, at Berkeley. For the scholars – or future scholars – out there.
- Mark Zborowski & Elizabeth Herzog, Life is with People: The Culture of the Shtetl (New York: Schocken, 1952). 1995 reprint. This is the “landmark” book mentioned in the story. The quotation is from page 61.
Features
Winnipeg’s Jewish Community and the Question of Online Casino Bonuses: What Manitoba Players Should Know
A reader wrote in last month asking a simple question: is it legal to play online casino games in Manitoba, and if so, what’s actually a fair deal? It’s the kind of practical, money-conscious question this paper’s readers tend to ask before spending anything, the same instinct that shapes how the community shops, budgets for the High Holidays, or decides which shul renovation appeal to support. Manitoba’s online gambling landscape has changed enough in the last few years that the old assumptions no longer hold, and it’s worth walking through what’s actually there now.
Manitoba’s Online Casino Landscape in 2026
Manitoba doesn’t have an open, competitive online casino market the way Ontario does. Since April 2022, Ontario has allowed private operators to apply for licences and compete for players directly. Manitoba still runs a single-operator model: Manitoba Liquor & Lotteries (MLL), the Crown corporation that also runs the province’s Liquor Marts and lottery products, operates the one legal online casino for Manitoba residents, PlayNow.com. That’s the whole regulated market in this province. Outside that single option, Manitobans who search for online casinos will find dozens of sites willing to take their money and their information, a pattern this paper’s own Local/Canadian News coverage has tracked as provinces across the country adjust their approach to regulated gambling. Some are licensed elsewhere, Malta, Curaçao, the UK, and operate in a legal grey zone for Canadian players; enforcement against them has been inconsistent for years. None of them answers to Manitoba’s regulator, and none of them contributes a dollar back to this province.
How Casino Welcome Bonuses Are Structured and Regulated
A welcome bonus is usually presented as free money: deposit $50, get $50 in bonus funds, sometimes with free spins attached. What matters is the fine print attached to it. Wagering requirements determine how many times you must play through the bonus amount before you can withdraw any winnings; a 30x requirement on a $50 bonus means $1,500 in total wagering before that money is really yours. Game weighting matters too: slots typically count 100% toward that requirement, table games often count 10% or less, which punishes anyone who prefers blackjack over slot spins. Time limits, usually 7 to 30 days, and maximum bet sizes while a bonus is active, round out the list of terms most players skip past. On PlayNow.com, these terms are published in plain language and reviewed by a provincial Crown corporation with community accountability baked into its mandate, the same mandate that funds Manitoba’s healthcare and education budgets. That’s a meaningfully different relationship than the one an offshore site has with a Manitoba customer.
The Difference Between Licensed Canadian Operators and Offshore Alternatives
This is where the practical stakes are highest. A licensed Canadian platform is subject to specific consumer protections: verified game fairness, dispute resolution through a regulator you can actually reach, and deposit-limit tools that work. An offshore operator answers to a foreign licensing body, if it answers to anyone at all. Winnipeggers who’ve had a withdrawal disputed by an offshore casino know how limited the recourse actually is; there’s no Manitoba office to call and no local regulator with jurisdiction. Across the country, players comparing regulated options increasingly start by checking a best casino bonus Canada comparison rather than relying on whichever ad appears first. It’s a reasonable way to sort a legitimate Canadian-licensed platform from an offshore look-alike before depositing anything.
Responsible Gambling Resources Available in Manitoba
This part matters more than the bonus terms. MLL runs Informed Gambling, its dedicated responsible-gambling program, which includes deposit and time-limit tools, self-exclusion options, and educational material aimed at helping players recognize when a habit has become a problem before it becomes a crisis. Manitobans concerned about their own gambling, or a family member’s, can call the Manitoba Addictions Helpline, toll-free at 1-855-662-6605, for confidential support. Shared Health, formerly the Addictions Foundation of Manitoba, also provides professional counselling free of charge to anyone who needs it, regardless of ability to pay. For a community that has always taken care of its own, through the Chesed Shel Emes, through synagogue-run support networks, through the kind of quiet checking-in that happens after a funeral or a hard year, these resources are worth knowing before they’re needed, not after. Chasing a Canadian online casino bonus isn’t worth it if the wagering requirements are already causing strain. That’s a conversation worth having, honestly, inside families and inside the community, before it becomes a private one.
Where to Compare Current Casino Bonus Offers Across Licensed Platforms
None of this is an argument against playing. It’s an argument for playing somewhere accountable, with terms you understand, and for a modest amount you’ve already decided you can afford to lose. Manitoba’s single-operator model makes that comparison simpler than Ontario’s crowded market, but it also means doing the homework on wagering requirements and licensing status matters just as much, if not more, when there’s only one legal option and a long list of unregulated ones competing for the same click. Ask the question before depositing, not after; that’s the same advice this community gives about most things worth being careful with.
Features
Embracing your femininity in Tishrei
By ELENA KNIGHT Rosh Chodesh Sameach! This month, Tishrei, is a time of beginnings; we observe Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, Sukkot, Shemini Atzeret, and Simchat Torah, we celebrate humanity’s creation, and we celebrate the seventh month since the Exodus from Egypt with shofar and festivities.
Though all Jewish people celebrate the head of the month, traditionally, women are rewarded for not participating in the sin of the Golden Calf, and many women take the day to honour the Shechinah, the feminine mystical aspect of the divine. Literally meaning “dwelling,” the Shechinah relates to G-d’s close and relational presence amongst people, such as in the Temple. In Kabbalah, since the word is grammatically feminine, the Shechinah is seen as the feminine aspect of G-d, representing a nurturing, compassionate presence, an almost motherly form of the divine. But how can we honour the Shechinah specific to Tishrei?
Rosh Hashanah provides a straightforward answer: New Year’s resolutions. A tradition observed across the globe, by people of all traditions and faiths, we can apply the idea to our New Year, and think of ways to improve in the year 5787. Make a resolution to join a women’s group at your synagogue or JCC, support woman-owned businesses (the SHE-Canada directory can help you find them!), read up on feminist theory or history, or mentor a young girl in your community. And, like traditional resolutions, don’t kick yourself if you slip up!
While we listen to the shofar, recall that its sound awakens the soul, mystically preparing us all for the Shechinah’s manifest presence on Yom Kippur, when it comes to earth to bring realignment and forgiveness.
Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, also offers a way to embrace your feminine side. On this day, we are prohibited from all work, and physical pleasures; though it may sound counter-intuitive, this is the perfect day to be aware of your womanhood in its most natural state. No adornments, no makeup, no perfume, no fancy shoes, no gold jewelry. This is a day when we can see who we are without the extras, as G-d made us, and be aware of the beauty in our creation as is. Also, for any women who are pregnant, nursing, or otherwise exempt from the holiday restrictions, isn’t it amazing to know that our Creator values our health over all?
Sukkot offers a time to appreciate the bounty that G-d has provided over the past year, but what I want to call attention to is the Four Kinds. The etrog has both taste and aroma, the lulav’s fruit, the date, has taste but no aroma, the hadas has aroma but no taste, and the aravah has no taste nor aroma; at some point in our life, and likely at some point in the month, we are all like one of the Four Kinds. The Midrash drew a comparison between taste and Torah learning and between aroma and good deeds. Sometimes, we have etrog moments, when we have a perfect balance between learning and doing, we are in harmony. Sometimes, we have lulav moments, when we prioritize learning over worldly involvement. Sometimes, we have hadas moments, when we prioritize action over enlightenment. And sometimes, we have aravah moments, when we have no energy for learning nor doing. All of these are necessary for living, and during the month of Tishrei, we can appreciate each of these moments. As we sit in our Sukkah, we are wrapped in the wings of the Shechinah, and experiencing its divine protection as we celebrate the Festival of Ingathering.
Shemini Atzeret begins our prayers for rain, and here’s where I get a little extra mystical. Rain is connected to femininity through its association with the womb of creation, fertility, and gentle power which renews life. In Genesis, G-d creates the world from a formless void, using language which conveys ideas of a cosmic womb, a life-generating space which G-d filled with his purpose to design our world. As humanity was created in G-d’s image, the womb metaphor is solidified. As rain comes, it revives the earth, making it fertile, restoring the feminine principles of creativity, emotional depth, and spiritual renewal in the very land we walk on. Rain comes most often as a gentle power, one which arrives calmly, sustaining all life.
Simchat Torah is the time when we celebrate finishing the annual cycle of reading the entire Torah and beginning again. Here, we are brought back to Rosh Hashanah and its new beginnings, with an added layer of holiness and celebration. On this day, it is tradition to dance and revel in the joy of our peoplehood, our identity, our Jewishness, and, let’s add, our femininity. G-d has given us a remarkable gift by making us women. While we revel in the holiness of Torah, let us also revel in the holiness of womanhood.
Features
The tragedy of Clara Haber
By DAVID TOPPER This story of the sad and short life of a remarkable woman, Clara Haber, should be better known. I hope this essay is a step in that direction. Her legacy deserves it.
She was born Clara Helene Immerwahr on June 21, 1870 to two Jewish parents. Interestingly, the German surname breaks down into: immer (always, forever, still) and wahr (true, real, right). Take your pick. I like: Still real.
Being smart and hardworking, she was the first woman to obtain a doctorate in Chemistry from the University of Breslau, part of Germany at the time (today it’s in Poland). This was in 1900. Several years before that, she had converted to Christianity. A year later, 1901, she married Fritz Haber, who also had a doctorate in Chemistry. (He was from Breslau too; they met at a dance.) He was two years older than her, and he also had converted to Christianity, in the early 1890s.
This act of conversion – starting in the early 19th century, when, on the heels of the French Revolution, Jews came out of their ghettos – was more common among European Jews than you might think. There were about 2000 conversions per year throughout the century. Some famous ones are: the poet Heine, the mathematician Kronecker, and the composers Mendelssohn and Mahler. In most cases it was the only road to prestigious appointments, otherwise restricted to Christians.
On June 1, 1902 Clara gave birth to what would be their only child, Hermann. The job of raising Hermann was given to her, Fritz being too busy with his important work in his Chemistry Lab – thus ignoring her work in Chemistry. He put in 18-hour workdays, barely leaving time for dinner (if he ate at home) and some sleep. Plus, Hermann was a sickly child, and hence Clara spent all her time raising him – without Fritz. In letters she spoke of her unhappiness in the marriage: especially “Fritz’s oppressive way of putting himself first in our home and marriage, so that a less ruthlessly self-assertive personality was simply destroyed.” These are harsh and powerful words, expressing her extreme disillusionment and frustration with her married life. Yet it was true; her potentially successful career in Chemistry was dead. She never accomplished anything after her degree. The family and household took all her time and energy.
What, therefore, was this important work that kept Fritz busy and out of the home? He was the Director of the Institute for Chemistry in Berlin. His first major discovery was synthesizing ammonia from nitrogen gas and hydrogen gas, which revolutionized the production of fertilizer. The result was higher yields in agriculture throughout Europe and eventually the world. (Even today, it’s been estimated that food produced from this process supports almost half of the world’s population.) For this Haber was seen as a hero, alleviating otherwise mass starvation. In 1918 he got the Nobel Prize in Chemistry for this work.
But there was a flipside to all this: the fertilizer could also be used to make explosives. This too Fritz explored, especially with the start of the First World War in August 1914. Out of this work came poison gases, and thus the creation of chemical warfare.
Fritz was a staunch German patriot and nationalist, supporting the War from the beginning. For example, he signed the “Manifesto of the Ninety-Three,” with other German intellectuals in support of the War. (Incidentally, Albert Einstein, who was living in Berlin at this time – they were good friends – refused to sign the document.)
Fritz not only worked in the lab producing the chemical, he was also involved in supervising their deployment on the war front. Thus, he was in Ypres (near Flanders), Belgium on April 22, 1915. As one historian has drolly put it: “The small Belgium city of Ypres is to chemistry what Hiroshima is to physics.” Indeed, this was the first use of chemical weapons in military history. They released around 170 tons of poison gas across a 4-mile front. There were an estimated 800- 1400 immediate deaths among the French and Algerian troops. Fritz left before the battle was over. During the entire so-called Second Battle of Ypres, from April 22 to May 25 – there were over 67,000 casualties among the French, Canadian, and British troops.
(As an aside: this battle was commemorated by John McCrae, who wrote “In Flanders Fields,” a poem recited every Remembrance Day here in Canada.)
Leaving Belgium, and after a brief stay at home, Haber immediately went to the Eastern Front to oversee gas released against the Russian Army. For all this work, he was given the rank of Captain by the Kaiser.
Meanwhile, Clara, usually alone, was raising Hermann, and taking care of the household, not having time to explore all the chemistry she would like to do. In letters she says that her husband’s work with poison gases is a “perversion of the ideals of science” and “a sign of barbarity, corrupting the very discipline which ought to bring new insights into life.” She also witnessed the accidental death of a former classmate, who was in Fritz’s lab working with these chemicals. To make matters worse, she was hearing rumours of Fritz’s involvement with other women. (Humm, it seems he found time for that!)
When Fritz returned home from Belgium (I don’t know the exact date), and before he left for Russia on May 3rd, there was a celebration at their home on the success of the gas attack. There are reports of arguments between Fritz and Clara, but we don’t know the details. What we do know, as a fact, is this. On the following morning, May 2, 1915, Clara took Fritz’s military pistol and walked into their garden. She shot into the air (presumably to test the gun) and then, pointing it into her chest – she pulled the trigger. Hermann heard the shots, ran into the garden – and his mother died in his arms. The following morning, Fritz left for Russia, to supervise the gas attack on the Eastern Front.
At this point in my story, Clara is gone. But there’s more to tell, and – if she knew the rest – I’m sure she would want the reader to know it too. Especially this.
During the final weeks of the First World War, on the Western Front, the Allies now launched a series of gas attacks in the district of Ypres on the Germans. On the night of October 13-14, 1918, just south of Ypres, in the town of Wervik (or Werwick), the British forces used mustard gas on the 16th Bavarian Reserve Infantry Regiment. One German corporal serving as a messenger in the army was caught in the attack, and was partially blinded. He was able to stagger to safety and eventually was taken to a military hospital in Germany to recover. We know about this because he wrote about it in his 1925 book, Mein Kampf. Adolph Hitler recalled: “I stumbled and tottered back with burning eyes…. [M]y eyes were turned into glowing coals; it had grown dark around me.” He was still in hospital at the end of the War on November 11, 1918, at the signing of the Armistice with Germany’s surrender. While lying blinded, he says he had a vision to enter politics to “save” Germany. How much this is true and how much perhaps psychosomatic, due to the shock of the mustard gas – or just plain hyperbole – we will never know. But it led to his myth of Germany’s “stab in the back” – and all that followed with the rise of the Nazi Party.
In 1933, when the Party took over the country, Fritz was still alive. During the 1920s he had a staff at the Kaiser Wilhelm Institute developing more gases, such as the cyanide gas formulation, Zyklon A, which was used as an insecticide to spray on plants. In the spring of 1933, with the passing of Hitler’s law of removing all Jews in professional jobs throughout the country, Fritz was stunned. But it was worse. Fritz not only lost his job: but all his awarded metals, his many accolades, the staunch patriotism and nationalism, his service to the country, even the conversion to Christianity – it all came to naught, since he was a Jew by birth. Thus: his legacy was completely erased from all records, in all German history – as if he never had even existed.
And so, in August, he left the country. He first went to Paris, then to Spain, England, and finally Switzerland. He even took a brief trip to Palestine, where he bequeathed his private Library to the nascent Weizmann Institute, and was offered a position there. He accepted it, but never fulfilled it. He died of severe coronary sclerosis in Basel, on January 29, 1934 at the age of 65.
A major outcome of the Nazification of Germany, as we know, was World War Two. And with that – the Holocaust. Both Clara and Fritz died before all that; but not members of their families.
Most of Clara’s families were assimilated Jewish professionals and intellectuals, which was no buffer to the Nazi plague. Most of the Immerwahrs died in Auschwitz or Theresienstadt. Only a few had fled to France and then the USA. None was in Germany in post-1945.
As for Fritz’s family, he had a younger half-sister, Frieda. She fled to Jerusalem and survived the war. But her children and grandchildren all died in Auschwitz.
Also, after Clara died, Fritz later married Charlotte Nathan. They had two children: Eva and Ludwig. Just before he died, Fritz sent them to Switzerland; from there all three went to England, surviving the Holocaust.
Then there is Hermann, the only child of Clara and Fritz. After the Nazi party took over Germany, Hermann immigrated to the USA. There he married and had a child, Claire, who became a chemist. Not surprisingly, he had episodes of depression over his adult life, eventually committing suicide in 1946. Sometime later, Claire did the same.
As a final point in this part of my story, I note the following fact. The pesticide gas, Zyklon A from Faber’s lab contained an odorant – to warn users. When the Nazis took over Faber’s lab in the Institute, they removed the odorant, producing Zyklon B, the gas used in the mass murders in the gas chambers during the Holocaust.
As a coda to this story, I wish to compare Clara’s story with Mileva Marić, Einstein’s first wife. The reason for this will be seen below.
In brief, here’s Mileva’s story. Born in 1875 to a Christian Orthodox Serbian family, she had a dislocated hip that resulted in her walking with a limp all her life. Although this isolated her as a child growing up, she had a very loving and doting father who encouraged his very bright daughter in her school work (she was especially good at math) and was proficient at the piano. Moreover, she was the first girl to attend high school physics courses in the entire Austro-Hungarian Empire.
After graduation, she applied to the prestigious Zurich Polytechnic, since (as we saw) Switzerland admitted women to all classes. She passed the entrance exam and majored in Mathematics. With all this potential, it seemed that the future was hers to make, even as a woman. Then, in a small Physics course, she met Einstein. They quickly became a couple. Except for the time they spent together, Mileva still did her school work and passed all her courses over the first three years.
In her fourth year she started on a thesis, hoping to get a PhD. But she failed her final exams. She repeated them, but still didn’t pass. What happened? I find it hard to believe that this sudden change in her performance was due to the tests being too tough for her – after all that she achieved up to this time. The thing that was different – and which I believe was the source of her predicament – is this: she was pregnant with a child fathered by Albert. With the baby in her belly, she just couldn’t concentrate on the tests.
She went home to her parents and the child was born (a girl, they named Lieserl). Being illegitimate, Lieserl was left with her parents (who were very supportive) and Mileva went back to live with Albert. They married in January 1903, in a small civil ceremony. Neither set of parents was there. And so, Mileva became a housewife – and eventually the mother of two boys. Like Clara, all the earlier promises came to naught. Mileva didn’t even get a university degree – let alone her aspiration of a PhD.
By around 1909 Albert was being noticed by the physics community for his publications on relativity (a subject he essentially created) and quantum physics. Mileva wrote to her closest friend that Albert “lives only for his work” and that the family “is unimportant to him.” This strain on the marriage came to a peak in the spring of 1914 when they moved to Berlin, where he had accepted a prestigious position in the Physics section of Kaiser Wilhelm Institute.
For this we need to come back to Fritz and his friendship with Einstein. In many ways their friendship was unexpected, since (except for being born Jewish) they had little in common – opposite on the topics of nationalism, patriotism, war (Albert was a pacifist). Even in dress: Fritz was meticulous in his three-piece suits, and Albert sloppy in dress with his hair all over the place. Yet, when they first met in September 1911 at a scientific society meeting in Karlsruhe, they quickly became close friends. In particular, Fritz was so impressed that he became the chief orchestrator to draw Einstein to the position in physics at the Berlin Institute.
Thus, late in 1913, Einstein was offered a position, and he accepted it. But Mileva was reluctant to leave Switzerland. One main reason: Albert had a divorced cousin in Berlin, Elsa, who Mileva knew Albert was visiting when attending meetings in the city. She even suspected (correctly) that it was an intimate relationship.
Nonetheless, around Christmas 1913, Mileva traveled to Berlin to look for a place to live. She stayed with Fritz and Clara, and – not surprisingly, from all we know about them – the two women quickly and deeply bonded. They certainly had lots to talk about: given their similar situations regarding their stifled careers and abusive husbands. Mileva found an apartment, and in April 1914 she, Albert, and their two boys moved to Berlin.
They were not there for even a month, and the marriage entered a new phase. Albert demanded a series of rules for their relationship. Mileva was to do the laundry, prepare him three meals a day, and keep his office clean – all without any personal relations, no intimacy, and never being seen in public together. It was degrading and cruel; she was reduced to being a maid and a cook.
Mileva tried to accept all this, but quickly found that she couldn’t endure the humiliation. Fritz and Clara knew about all this. Clara consoled Mileva. Fritz acted as a mediator, as the marriage completely broke down. Fritz was a witness, signing the separation agreement. In July 1914 Mileva packed up her things, and she and the two boys went back to Switzerland, where she lived for the rest of her life. The following month was the start of the War – and, ultimately, in May 1915, Clara’s suicide.
There it is: Clara’s sad story, and how it overlapped with Mileva Einstein’s story – with ultimately their short, but profound, friendship.
I hope all this helps bring to light the legacy of this potentially brilliant, surely fascinating, and ultimately tragic woman.
Clara Helene Immerwahr Haber is long gone. Yet, for me, she is: Still real.
- *
Readings:
For Albert’s abusive treatment of Mileva, see: David Topper, “The Dark Side of Albert: Einstein and Mileva Marić, his First Wife,” published in The Academy of the Heart and Mind, February 7, 2025.
For the quotation comparing Ypres and Hiroshima, see: Jörgen Neffe, Einstein: A Biography (2005), p. 252.
