Features
New book by former Winnipegger suggests introducing new “rituals” into divorce as a way of easing the pain
“Moving Forward – An Ancient Divorce Ritual for the Modern World”
By Dr. Marilyn Beloff
Available on Amazon Books
Reviewed by RAYMOND HALL
Introduction: Dr. Marilyn Beloff, PhD is a collaborative divorce coach, child specialist, divorce mediator, and marital and family therapist. A native of Winnipeg, she presently lives and works in Vancouver, BC.
Guilt. Shame. Fear. Self-doubt. Self-pity. Denial. Anger. Confusion. Frustration. Aloneness. These are but a few of the emotions that invariably accompany marital breakdown and divorce, an event that is now experienced by almost one in two adults at least once in our lives. These emotions abound regardless of whether that breakdown occurs with the suddenness of a shattering glass, as in the exposure of infidelity, or more slowly from a gradual fading away of romance and mutual commitment, or simply from any number of growing irreconcilable differences.
In contrast to almost all other major life events–childbirth, bris, baptism, birthdays, graduation, marriage, and even death–in which we engage in rituals of either celebration or mourning and in which we mutually express an effusive sharing of human compassion, marital breakdown is almost invariably devoid of ritual, despite being one of life’s most traumatizing events. At the very moment where a susceptible adult most needs friendship, understanding, compassion and support, he or she is left instead with emptiness, or worse, ostracism. The divorce decree arrives in the mail.
In this groundbreaking seminal work, Dr. Beloff, using her extensive practice and experience in Depth Psychology, challenges this gaping hole–the predominant absence of ritual and social convention accompanying marital breakdown. It doesn’t have to be this way, she asserts. There is an effective alternative.
She shows that it is possible for one to find inner peace and needed closure in order to be able to let go, to move forward as a whole person, without being burdened with the emotional baggage of separation and divorce, by fully engaging in an effective ritualistic process. Using the rubric of the Jewish ‘Get,’ the compulsory ritual required prior to re-marriage in the Jewish faith, as a launching point, she posits a better process.
As she demonstrates first by discussing her own painful marital breakdown and then by weaving seven individual ‘tapestries’ (testimonials) into a comprehensive thesis, an effective ritualistic process that addresses the need for closure can also provide an enrichening existential experience.
That experience can evolve both in a spiritual sense and in an integral sense by reconfirming one’s personal dignity and inherent self-worth. An effective ritual, therefore, can not only provide closure but can act as a catalyst to future personal growth. Most importantly, this process need not be limited to orthodox religious practices–rather, it carries with it broad social psychological implications applicable to secular and traditional religious practices as well as to conventional therapy.
The ‘tapestries’ described in Moving Forward document a wide gamut of conflict and general dissatisfaction with the traditional Jewish ‘Get’. As both she and her subjects explain, the Get procedure varies widely by level of orthodoxy, by geography and by local practice. It has both a ‘shadow’ side and a ‘healing’ side. In its more orthodox form it is criticized as being overly structured, one-sided, impersonal and blatantly sexist.
That criticism appears to be well-founded. Words in the required recitation of the ancient Hebrew ritual that say, “I chase you from my house…” obviously do little to provide emotional or intellectual comfort to a woman facing the aloneness of an uncertain future.
In my view, however, the strength of this book lies in the lessons provided from those describing the healing elements of such a ritual, as well as from Dr. Beloff’s reflections on the suggestions made by those who passed through the process–especially the suggestions made with respect to actually creating a ritual that provides a more egalitarian and fulsome experience that enables not only sanctified closure, but also emotional closure that encompasses forgiveness, independence and a rebuilding of dignity and strength, for both spouses.
In my own law practice, I know of very few clients or lawyers involved in family law matters who would describe themselves as being happy with the ultimate resolutions generally provided through the legal system, especially in matters of child custody and access. I have come to assume that in cases involving separation and divorce, there are no winning clients–everyone loses. And losing engenders buckets of long-lasting negative emotions.
Although alternative dispute resolution processes such as mediation and arbitration can provide effective alternatives to expensive, protracted court proceedings, they are still adversarial in nature. Consequently, they often do little to minimize the significant adverse emotions engendered in both parties to a marital breakdown–emotions that invariably are carried forward long after the legal process has ended.
Those adverse emotions obviously impose constraints on one’s success in moving forward. As a result, any process that facilitates emotional closure and personal reconciliation could be of immense assistance, especially if that process is spiritually based, if for no other reason than that it is undertaken willingly by both parties with the objective of attaining personal emotional and spiritual peace.
What do these ‘tapestries’ instruct? What lessons can be learned?
First, on marital breakdown, legal processes alone are wholly insufficient to provide critical emotional closure to those who, regardless of whether they realize it or not, could use help. There often is a fundamental need for emotional support and encouragement for both parties to the breakdown, regardless of the cause of the breakdown.
Second, traditional spiritual services, where they exist, can be helpful but their effectiveness in providing healing is often short-circuited by the application of unquestioned rote protocol, impersonal attention by strangers to the participants, and dicta suffused with gender inequality.
Third, there is no “one process fits all” solution to what individuals truly need to begin the healing process. But therein lies the key. The most striking examples of successful transformation cited in these ‘tapestries’ occurred in individuals who took an active and creative role in designing and executing their own ritual of liberation: choosing trusted witnesses, and, for example, having those witnesses symbolically tie and untie knots. But above all, carefully drafting one’s own recitations to either supplement or to supplant the existing ritual processes.
Direct personal involvement in constructing and executing an appropriate ritual dialogue bridges many of the inadequacies in effecting a healthful transformation. The more that the individual embraces the kavannah, the intention or sincere commitment of the heart to letting go, the easier and more effective the resulting transformation. The more that the individual involves close personal friends in the ritual, the greater the comfort moving forward.
Moving Forward, an appropriately-titled contribution to social psychology, is essentially about helping separated individuals successfully achieve a critical, deep personal life-changing transformation that will assist them to pursue a future that is largely unencumbered by remorse, antipathy and illusions of fantasy at a critical stage in their lives.
Dr. Beloff has opened a vital door to that healing. But as always, it will be up to individuals to actually walk through that door, in their own way.
Raymond Hall was called to the Bar by the Law Society of Manitoba in 1988 and is now a practising member of the Law Society of B.C.
Features
I Speak “Jew”
By MARK E. PAULL I grew up in Montreal. Born in 1956. Anglo by birth, sure. But that never quite fit. I don’t speak “Anglo” the way they mean it. My real language is Jew.
And I don’t mean Hebrew or Yiddish. I mean the language of reading the room before you enter it. The code-switching, shame-dodging, laugh-first-so-they-don’t-pounce dialect we pick up early. It’s a language built on side-eyes and timing and ten generations of tension.
I speak French—enough to make myself understood. Enough to charm a dinner table, crack a joke, get someone’s uncle to nod. I’m not fluent, but I’m fast. Doesn’t matter. In Quebec, language isn’t grammar—it’s inheritance. It’s who your grandfather cursed out in a hardware store.
To the Francophones, I’ll never be one of them. My accent betrays me before I say a word. I’m just an Anglo. And not even that, really. Because when the lens tightens, when they look closely, I’m just un Juif. Just a Jew.
And to the Anglos? Same thing. I can wear the suit, speak the Queen’s English, order the wine properly—still a Jew. Even in rooms where I “pass,” I don’t belong. I’m not invited in to be myself. I’m invited in to behave. To be safe. To not say the thing that makes the air stiff.
We’re the only people still called by our religion. No one says “Orthodox” for a Greek. No one says “Vatican” for an Italian. No one calls a Black man “Baptist” before they see his face. But “Jew”? That sticks. That’s the label. Before passport. Before language. Before hello.
I’ve mostly made peace with that. But there’s still this ache—knowing you can live your whole life in a place and never really be from there.
Let me tell you a story.
We had this block party once—the folding-table, paper-plate kind. Kids zipping by on scooters. Music low. Everyone asked to bring something from “your culture.”
The Greek guy brought lemon potatoes and lamb—felt like it came with a side of Byzantine history. The Italians brought two lasagnas—meat and veggie—with basil placed like confetti. The Vietnamese couple brought shrimp rolls that vanished before they hit the table. Even the German guy—built like a fridge—brought bratwurst and a six-pack with gothic lettering.
And then us.
My partner made Moroccan fish. Her grandmother’s recipe. Red with tomatoes, garlic, cumin. Studded with olives and preserved lemon. I brought a bottle of white wine. Dry. Crisp. From the Golan Heights. Not Manischewitz. Not even close.
We laid it out. Someone leaned over: “Moroccan? But I thought you were Jewish.”
We smiled. “We are.”
Then: “So… where’s the brisket? Isn’t Jewish wine supposed to be sweet?”
That’s when it hits you. No matter how long you’ve lived here, how many snowstorms you’ve shoveled through, you’re still explaining yourself. Still translating your presence.
Because they don’t know. They don’t know Jews came from everywhere. That “Jewish” isn’t one dish—it’s a whole map. That we had Jews in Morocco before there was even a France. That some of us grew up on kreplach, some on kefta. That some of our mothers sang in Yiddish, others in Arabic, and some in both—depending on who was knocking.
They don’t know. And worse—they don’t ask.
And that’s the part that gets you. Not the slurs. Not the graffiti. Not even the occasional muttered cliché. It’s the blankness. The shrug. The image they already have of you that’s built out of dreidels and sitcoms.
“Jewish” as nostalgic. As novelty. Something they saw once on a bagel.
Sometimes, when those questions come, I float. One version of me walks out. Another turns into a mouse. One turns into a Frisbee. Just gone. Not mad. Just tired.
Because being a Jew isn’t cute. It’s not nostalgic.
It’s ancient.
Before Montreal.
Before France.
Before Poland. Before Spain.
Before pogroms.
Before ghettos.
Before Hitler.
Before even the word Europe.
We were there.
Go back to the 5th century. 2nd century.
Go back to Jesus—our kid, by the way.
Go further—Babylon. Persia.
Keep going—Temple. Exile. Wandering.
And still, after all that, I’m at a table in Quebec explaining why our fish has cumin in it.
It’s almost funny. If it didn’t wear you down a little.
I’m not looking for pity. This isn’t a complaint.
I’m proud. I know what I carry. I walk into any room with five thousand years behind me. I come from people who kept the lights on through every kind of darkness—and laughed through it, too.
But sometimes, I just wish I didn’t have to explain so much.
All I want is to put down my dish…
…and hear someone say:
“That smells amazing. Tell me the story.”
That’s all.
Mark E. Paull, C.A.C. is a Certified ADHD Coach – IPHM, CMA, IIC&M, CPD Certified
Writer | Lived-Experience Advocate | Type 1 Diabetic since 1967
He has been published in:
The New York Times, The Globe and Mail, Folklife Magazine, Times of Israel, CHADD’s Attention Magazine, The Good Men Project
Features
At 104, Besse Gurevich last original resident of Shaftesbury Park Retirement Residence
By MYRON LOVE At 104, Besse Gurevich is the last of the original residents of Shaftesbury Park Retirement Residence. She may also be the oldest member of our Jewish community.
Although her vision and her hearing have diminished considerably, her mind and memory are still intact. A few weeks back, this writer sat down with her in her suite as she recalled a life filled with highs and lows and her many contributions to her community, both in Winnipeg and Fort William before that.
The daughter of Jack and Rebecca Avit, her life’s journey began in 1921 in a home on Carlton Street near Ellice Avenue, near her father’s furniture store. He later operated a cap factory.
When she was ten, the family – she had two brothers and a sister – moved to Manitoba Avenue in the old North End. “My father had put a deposit down on a house on Scotia,” she recalls. “But my parents didn’t feel that the neighbourhood was Jewish enough.”
Her schooling included Peretz School and, like so many of her generation, St. John’s Tech (as it was known back then.) “I was actually supposed to be going to Isaac Newton for high school,” she says. We were living on the wrong side of the tracks for St. John’s. After one day at Isaac Newton, I found a way to transfer to St. John’s.”
In 1940, 19-year-old Bessie Avit married Jack Gurevich, a young man from Fort William. The wedding was marred though, by the sudden, untimely passing of her father.
Following the wedding, Besse moved with her new husband to Fort William where Jack Gurevich worked in retail clothing sales. “We lived in Fort William for 20 years,” she says. “Our three children (Judy, Richard and Howard) were born there.”
She recalls that there were about 200 Jewish families – including her sister and one of her brothers for some years – in town, during the time she lived there. “We were very well known in the community,” she recalls. “I was involved in everything.”
Her community activism continued after the family’s return to her home town. While Jack went to work as a salesman for Western Glove Works, Besse became an indefatigable community volunteer. At one time or another, she served as vice-president of ORT, Hadassah and National Council of Jewish Women in Winnipeg. She was also a long time B’nai Brith member.
In the business world, the highlight of her career was the building of Linden Woods. “I became involved in real estate development for a time,” she recalls. “I was hired by Genstar to develop Linden Woods. The company estimated that it would take about 20 years to complete. I got it done in two.”
She also taught hair dressing for a while. “I worked with many young Jewish brides,” she says.
Recent years have not been kind to Besse Gurevich. Her beloved husband, Jack, died in 2016 – after almost 65 years of marriage. Older son, Richard, passed away in Vancouver in 2018 and, most recently –six months ago – younger son, Howard, followed. She notes that there were 200 mourners at Howard’s funeral.
(Howard Gurevich was in marketing for many years before turning his talents to the art world. In recent years, he was best known for Gurevich Fine Art in the Exchange District and his support of local artists.)
Besse Gurevich celebrated her 100th birthday – which took place at the height of the Covid shutdown – quietly.
While she used to enjoy reading. she is unable to do so any more. She can still listen to television.
And while she has few family members to visit her any more, she does have a group of friends interesting enough from the local theatre scene. For many years, she was a close friend of the late Doreen Brownstone, one of the leading figures in theatre in Winnipeg for more than half a century. Besse became part of the group that would visit Doreen every week and, since Doreen passed on three years ago, the members of the group have continued to visit Besse on a weekly basis.
Features
Winnipeg author’s first novel gripping tale of romance, action and intrigue, set in 15th century Spain and Morocco
By MYRON LOVE “The Chronos of Andalucia”, a novel just released by first-time author Merom Toledano, is a historical romance set in late 15th century Spain and Morocco, filled with passion, action, intrigue, unexpected twists and turns – and, of course, with the requirement of any medieval story – a quest.
The easy-to-read, 190 page book follows the adventures of Catalina, a young woman living by her wits on the streets of Granada in the year 1487, (just after the Christian armies of Ferdinand and Isabella had recaptured all of Spain from the Moors) – while trying to evade the agents of the Inquisition, who had murdered her Jewish mother and Christian father 10 years earlier. She was left with an insatiable desire to learn about astronomy, along with a mysterious map and an astrolabe (an instrument formerly used to make astronomical measurements) – the importance of which will only be unveiled if she can get to the city of Tangier in Morocco.
Early on, there is a reference to Abraham Zacuto, a prominent Spanish rabbi famed for his knowledge of astronomy and astrology.
The action begins when she has a casual interaction with a former Spanish soldier, Diego. When the forces of the Inquisition approach, she flees with the soldier – who is also her love interest – and who helps her to escape. They turn for help to a childhood friend of Catalina’s – Roberta, a nun, who helps them on their perilous journey to Tangier – a journey that includes being captured by pirates, surviving a shipwreck, being separated for a long period of time and, of course, finding each other again and realizing the success of their joint quest.
In his writing, the author paints vivid word pictures of the different characters and beautifully invokes the colour, sights, sounds and scents of the time and the places.
What I found truly remarkable about the writing of “The Chronos of Andalucia” is that English is not Merom Toledano’s first language. The Israeli-born author – he grew up near Haifa – came to Winnipeg with his young family just eight years ago.
“I have had this book in mind for several years now,” says the satellite engineer whose working career takes him to many different parts of the world.
He notes that he has always felt a connection to Spain, Spanish music and literature – a reflection of his family’s modern origins in that country. His great-grandparents, he relates, lived in Toledo – hence the family name, Toledano. His parents lived in Meknes in Morocco while his father attended university in Tangier before making aliyah.
Toledano just published “The Chronos of Andalucia” in April on Amazon. He reports that the book – which is available here at McNally Robinson – has been selling well –close to 100 copies – with orders coming from a bookstore chain in England, a bookstore in Denmark, and one in Italy.
“I have had between 30 and 40 positive reviews so far,” he reports.
Toledano adds that he envisages “The Chronos of Andalucia” to be the first in a series – a la the writer Danielle Steele. He is already working on a sequel – which is hinted at the end of “The Chronos” and, he reports, he is establishing his own independent publishing operation.