Man plans, and G-d laughs. That’s what I reply whenever I’m asked how we landed in Regina, Saskatchewan. My wife and I both grew up with a shared dream of one day moving on shlichus.
We pictured ourselves finding an opportunity in an existing Chabad house, working together with other Shluchim. Hashem had something else in mind. None of the options we investigated worked out, so we decided to widen our search to include cities that didn’t have shluchim yet.
I grew up in Winnipeg, so of course I’d heard of Regina, the capital of Saskatchewan, a six-hour drive from my hometown. As we started laying the groundwork for this option, we encountered many setbacks along the way. So, we crossed Regina off our list, and started researching the next city. We’d made plans to visit the new place for Pesach, which is when we learned all the challenges we’d met in Regina had been resolved.
So while we felt we’d been planning every stage of our lives, Hashem was really pulling the strings.
Jewish History in Saskatchewan
Jews have been in Saskatchewan for over 100 years, since the early 1900’s. Farming colonies, remnants of which can still be seen in provincial heritage sites, were spread across the province. In Edenbridge, an abandoned Jewish farming settlement whose name was Anglicized from Yidden Bridge, you can still see the structure of the shul and the cemetery behind it.
After a series of droughts in the 1930’s, the farmland dried up, and the settlements disbanded, their members joining larger Jewish communities in larger cities.
Nowadays, there are about 1,000 Jews in Saskatchewan, mostly located in Regina and Saskatoon.
Arriving in Regina
Our first introduction to Regina was on par for how the shlichus came about in the first place. We had a house, but couldn’t move until some renovations were completed. In the meanwhile, we spent time with my family in Winnipeg. What was supposed to be a few weeks turned into a couple months. Finally, just a few days before Rosh Hashanah, the house was ready.
We debated staying in Winnipeg, or traveling to Regina. If we went, we’d arrive just one day before Yom Tov started, so we wouldn’t have any time to knock on doors or scavenge for a minyan. It didn’t seem like we had any reason to spend Rosh Hashanah in Regina, so we decided to stay put.
An hour later, the phone rang.
“Shalom! Is this Chabad?” asked an Israeli-accented voice.
Giora*, as he introduced himself, was part of a group of Israeli alarm salesmen. They’d be in Regina for Rosh Hashanah, and wanted to know if they could spend the first night with us.
“Betach!” I answered. “On one condition. If you daven with me, I promise to feed you!”
We quickly packed everything up, bundled our family into the car, and made the drive. Barely 36 hours after we’d arrived in Regina, we held a minyan, the walls of our “shul” made from piles of unpacked moving boxes.
It was clear to us, as it was throughout the process, that Hashem’s hand was guiding us, and that we were merely doing His bidding. Obviously, He wanted us in Regina for Rosh Hashanah.
Building Community and Connections
One of the first programs we launched was Kids in the Kosher Kitchen, a cooking class for children, where we were able to teach them the laws of kashrus, yomim tovim, and more.
One day, I received a call from Delfina*.
“Buenos dias,” she began. “I’m calling from Argentina. My family is considering moving to Regina soon. I see you offer cooking classes for kids. Can I register my children?”
We were ecstatic to hear about another Jewish family coming to Regina, and offered our help finding a place and getting settled. They took us up on the offer, and they chose a place nearby. They came over often, and we soon developed a close connection.
They moved just as summer began, and we offered them a place in our newly formed Camp Gan Israel.
“It sounds great,” Delfina said, hesitantly, “but our kids don’t speak English.”
By hashgacha pratis, I’d hired a bi-lingual counselor.
“Don’t worry!” I assured her. “We have a counselor who speaks fluent Spanish!”
So Delfina’s children attended camp, and our families grew even closer.
It was around the Shabbos table one week, a couple of months later, when the topic of bris came up. Delfina and her husband admitted their sons had not had brissim.
“We wanted to give them the choice when they got older,” she said.
We tried explaining the significance behind having a bris at 8 days old, and how it differs from the Muslim custom of waiting until 13. They listened with polite, but detached attention.
A few years later, Delfina’s husband, Mateo*, bounded into my office, a smile shining on his face.
“You’ll never believe it, Rabbi! Delfina is expecting!”
“Besha’ah tova!” I wished him, thumping him heartily on the back. “That’s great news!”
“We found out it’s a boy,” he said, grabbing a seat. “I remember a while ago, we talked about having a bris. I know what we said then, but time has a funny way of changing your perspective. Delfina and I talked, and we want to give this baby a bris when he’s 8 days old!”
That was in September of 2019. When Delfina gave birth to a healthy baby boy in April 2020, the world was a very different place. Strict Covid restrictions prevented any gatherings, and Delfina and Mateo were worried about
