The past can consume you if you let it. And reality isn’t as easy to discern as you might think. Two recently published thrillers from Simon & Schuster share these themes in common, but their authors address them in completely different ways.
Anna Porter’s Gull Island takes readers on an unsettling, at-times gory, modern-day journey through the protagonist’s thoughts and memories as she visits alone her family’s isolated island cottage and a ferocious storm hits, unmooring her boat and rendering her cellphone ineffective. Roberta Rich’s The Jazz Club Spy begins with a brutal pogrom in 1920 Ukraine and then jumps to 1939 Manhattan, where the protagonist, now a young woman, sees in passing one of the Cossacks who rampaged her village – as she starts looking for him to exact her revenge, she is enlisted by the US government to help find him for them, as he is a possible conspirator in an assassination plot.
Neither genre – psychological thriller or espionage novel – is the type of fiction I’d generally pick up, but I enjoyed both. They provided an escape, I learned a few things, I wanted to know how they would end.
While The Jazz Club Spy started off gritty and harsh, by the second chapter it read more like a young adult novel. Given the state of the world at the moment, I didn’t find that necessarily a negative thing. I rooted for Giddy Brodsky, who survived that traumatic pogrom and was now helping her family pay the rent and feed themselves, her dad having left for reasons we eventually find out.
As a cigarette girl in a club, Giddy uses her natural sleuthing skills – looking through customers’ pockets, listening to conversations for clues, etc. – to help her friend Hattie’s clairvoyant act. After Giddy sees the Cossack on a tram, but loses him in the crowd, she puts those skills to personal use, and then uses them to help the government. This happens after she asks a club regular who works in the immigration department for assistance, and he shares with her that the Cossack is an “undesirable” and could she help the government track him down.
Giddy is not only a competent detective but an aspiring entrepreneur, who creates her own makeups and lotions. The money she earns from spying goes to help her set up her own beauty store. But, to achieve success, she must first complete her mission, one that is complicated by love and the dangerous situations she must place herself in to root out the Cossack and try to prevent the assassination and a potential global political crisis.
The Jazz Club Spy is all about external threats and heroic acts. There is no doubt about Giddy’s strength, purpose and whether she’s a good person. Gull Island, on the other hand, is all about internal threats and acts that cause harm (even if that isn’t the intent). Jude’s a great unknown, even to herself, and she gets progressively more disoriented as the storm hits the island and she struggles to get the water pump working, hurts herself in various accidents, and drinks we’re not quite sure how much alcohol while she’s there.
Jude has come to the island at her mother’s request. Jude’s father has gone missing and a copy of his will is apparently at the cottage. She is also there for personal reasons, to rummage about, to figure something out, to look through old photographs; there are many of her sister, not so many of her. Jude has grown up in a dysfunctional family and the cottage was not generally a happy place. As the storms intensify – the rain and wind outside, the memories barraging Jude and the physical cuts and bruises she receives along the way, dealing with broken glass, wild animals and things not so clear – the tension ratchets up. When the sun returns and Jude surveys the damage left behind, a key piece of the mystery is understood.
Porter isn’t afraid to explore dark places, and she masterfully leads readers through Jude’s turmoil. I found it noteworthy that the book Jude finds at the cottage to read is Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind by Yuval Noah Harari. “I had abandoned it years ago because I didn’t want to feel as insignificant as the author had made me feel,” thinks Jude. “But tonight, being alone in the cottage, with something digging under the bedroom window, feeling insignificant would be useful.” Spoiler alert: by the end of the novel, she is set to finish the book.
In 2019, NASA astronaut and scientist Jessica Meir was part of the first all-woman spacewalk. According to : Jewish Women who Rocked the World, she “celebrated Hanukkah in space by wearing festive holiday socks and sending a Happy Hanukkah message to earth on social media.”
This is just one of the many “Fun Fact[s] to Mench’n” in this enlightening book written by the mother-daughter team of Rachelle Burk and Alana Barouch, and illustrated by Arielle Trenk. She’s a Mensch! is one of two books the JI received from Seattle’s Intergalactic Afikoman to review. The other is the perfect antidote to the “girl math” phenomenon popularized on social media, though hopefully kids under 9 aren’t engaging with that. Counting on Naamah: A Mathematical Tale on Noah’s Ark by writer Erica Lyons and illustrator Mary Reaves Uhles imagines Noah’s wife as being a genius in math and engineering.
Using the basics of the Noah story, Counting on Naamah offers a midrash of sorts. “A midrash is a tale that begins with a story from the Torah. Then it fills in the missing pieces to imagine the rest,” explain Lyons and Reaves Uhles at the back of the book. “The story of Noah leaves a lot to the imagination. What was it actually like to live on that ark? How did they take care of all those animals? And who was the generally unnamed ‘Mrs. Noah’? Counting on Naamah tries to answer these questions.”
The story begins when Naamah is a child, and uses her talents to help each of her three brothers – with market transactions, estimated herd transport times and archery angles. She has her own projects, as well, drafting plans for a desert sand scooter, for example.
When she meets and falls in love with Noah, the two become “impossible to divide,” but Naamah retains her agency and is a crucial help in building the ark, housing and feeding the animals, and more. And Noah knows just what to do to thank her.
Counting on Naamah is a charming story, creatively and colourfully illustrated. As is She’s a Mensch!, which is a nonfiction work that highlights 20 women who “rock!”
“Jewish women ‘round the world have talent, strength and smarts,” the book starts. “They shine like stars in every field from science to the arts.
“Jewish women through the ages have helped shape history. These mensches are authors and activists, athletes and adventurers, and everything in between.”
Indeed, the women featured range from writer Emma Lazarus in 1883 to Meir, in 2019. They include familiar – Golda Meir, Barbra Streisand, Ruth Bader Ginsburg – and less familiar names, like Marthe Cohn, who was a spy for France during the Second World War; Vera Rubin, who provided proof of dark matter in the 1970s; Nalini Nadkarni, who performed the first survey of rainforest treetops in 1981; and Judit Polgár, who became a chess grandmaster at age 15, in 1991. There’s a list of 18 honourable mentions.
Each entry in She’s a Mensch! has something different: unique drawings that connect the mensch to their chosen pursuit, a four-line poem and a short blurb about the mensch, often a fun fact, and always a mensch-related question to ponder, such as, How can you help others? (Henrietta Szold) What kinds of stories can you tell? (Judy Blume) and What great adventures do you dream of going on? (Cheryl and Nikki Bart)
Both of these books would make great Hanukkah gifts for kids of any gender. As would this year’s Hanukkah addition to Intergalactic Afikoman publisher Brianna Caplan Sayres’ and illustrator Christian Slade’s Diggers series, which has more than 10 books, and counting.
Where Do Diggers Celebrate Hanukkah? (published by Penguin Random House) would be a happy addition to a kid’s Diggers collection, or a fun introduction to the series. For the diggers, cranes, mixers, armoured trucks, tankers, dump trucks and food trucks, we’re asked to wonder what each does for an aspect of the holiday. For example, “Does Mom dig up the ancient jar that held the precious oil?” And the cranes, “Do they decorate their construction site with ‘Happy Hanukkah’ all around?” After a day of serving meals outside, do food trucks “serve sufganiyot and other food that’s fried?” Inquiring minds will want to know.
Theodor Herzl, during the First Zionist Congress, in Basel, Switzerland, 1897. (photo from mfa.gov.il)
Sometime before 1223, the first bridge spanning the Rhine River at Basel was constructed, funded through a loan to the town’s bishop by a Jewish moneylender. The bridge was a significant factor in the development of trade in the strategically located city, which is in northern Switzerland, near what are now the German and French borders.
The bridge lasted almost 800 years and was replaced between 1903 and 1905. There may be only one photograph in existence in which the original bridge can be seen – a photograph with another very significant Jewish connection. It is believed that the only place one can see the original Middle Bridge, or Mittlere Rheinbrücke, is in the famous shot of Theodor Herzl in a moment of contemplation outside the First Zionist Congress in 1897.
The bridge provides a sort of bookend to the Jewish story in Switzerland. While the bridge stood eight centuries, the history of Jews in Switzerland proved far less stable than the stone Mittlere Rheinbrücke.
A pocketwatch with Hebrew characters and an engraving of the Western Wall on the reverse. (photo by Pat Johnson)
Switzerland has a rightful reputation for natural magnificence – rolling green meadows, massive snowcapped mountains, glacial streams and rivers – as well as political stability and neutrality that have made it home to a host of international nongovernmental organizations and United Nations agencies. The prevalence of cheese and chocolate also give it a delicious reputation. History is not so agreeable.
Some of that history is told in Basel’s small but impressive Jewish Museum of Switzerland. When the institution opened in 1966, it was the first new Jewish museum in the German-speaking world since the Holocaust.
Basel itself holds a special place in Jewish history – for better and for far worse. Herzl, credited as the founder of political Zionism, was not one for false modesty. After his debut as convenor of the 1897 conference, he declared: “At Basel, I created the Jewish state. In five years, perhaps, and certainly in 50, everyone will see it.”
Herzl himself did not see it. He died in 1904. But, indeed, 50 years on, the United Nations passed the Partition Resolution and, a year after that, the state of Israel was created.
The Three Kings Hotel, Basel, site of the First Zionist Congress, 1897. (photo by Pat Johnson)
There are probably only about 1,000 Jews in Basel – there are around 20,000 in all of Switzerland – yet Basel stands out not only as the birthplace of the modern Zionist movement and home to the national museum of Jewish life and culture, but also has hosted the Zionist Congress 10 times, more than any other place.
Sadly, Basel is also on the Jewish historical map for far less rosy reasons. In 1349, an estimated 600 Jews were burned at the stake in Basel and 140 children were forcibly converted. This was just part of a series of pogroms in the 12th and 13th centuries across Switzerland, some based on blood libels or motivated by allegations of well poisonings at the time of the Black Plague.
Switzerland may have a reputation as being exceptional in Europe – neutral in foreign relations, and not a part of the European Union or most other multilateral bodies – but human-made borders and the majestic Alps seem to have done little to protect Swiss Jews from the horrors that have befallen coreligionists elsewhere on the continent across centuries.
As in other places, Swiss Jews were limited by law as to the professions they could pursue. A range of deliberately demeaning regulations were in place, including homes built with separate doors for Jews to enter. Jews were forced to pay what amounted to protection money to authorities.
A Swiss Torah scroll at Jewish Museum of Switzerland, Basel. (photo by Pat Johnson)
Early in the 17th century, almost all Jews were expelled from Switzerland. Physicians were a professional exception and Jews were allowed to remain in just two villages.
After Napoleon invaded Switzerland, a series of political reforms began, some better and some worse for Jews.
Jews were formally permitted to settle anywhere in Switzerland after a referendum in 1866 resulted in a slight majority of Swiss endorsing equal rights for Jews. (The Swiss have a mania for referendums, even on issues of basic human rights.)
Migrants then came from middle and eastern Europe, especially after pogroms in Russia in the 1880s. More came from Germany after Hitler came to power, in 1933, but Switzerland, like the rest of the world, eventually slammed the doors shut, in 1938.
Swiss banks, with their uniquely secretive policies that protect the illegal and immoral, have been forced to reconcile, to an extent, with their complicity with the Nazis, as well as their profiteering from the assets of Jews who, because of the Holocaust, never reclaimed assets they had deposited for safekeeping as turmoil roiled their homelands.
The Jewish Museum of Switzerland’s display of Torah crowns and breastplates, and yads (pointers used to help read the text). (photo by Pat Johnson)
Seemingly an oasis of stability and reason in a continent aflame in fascism, Switzerland nevertheless was steadfastly determined to prevent Jews from finding haven there. After the Anschluss, when Hitler’s army invaded and absorbed Austria, Jews from that country desperately tried to enter Switzerland, but mostly were met with rejection. Likewise, after the Nazis swamped France and the Low Countries, refugees from those places were similarly spurned.
In all, about 23,000 Jews were admitted to Switzerland – but only as a country of transit. The Swiss authorities even prevailed upon the Third Reich – successfully – to stamp German passports issued to Jews with an unmistakable scarlet letter “J” to make it easier to identify and reject potential Jewish border-crossers.
Swiss authorities prevailed upon the Third Reich – successfully – to stamp German passports issued to Jews with a “J” to make it easier to identify and reject Jewish refugees. (photo by Pat Johnson)
In the 1990s, as Swiss actions during the Second World War and the Holocaust were the subject of international attention, a backlash to this critical historical assessment led to an upsurge in antisemitic rhetoric and what a study indicated was a substantial reduction in inhibitions against racist expressions toward Jews. More recent public opinion polls suggest the Swiss are among Europe’s most antisemitic populations.
An old and unresolved sticking point for Swiss Jews has been the banning of kosher slaughter, which was outlawed in 1874 and remains prohibited to this day. Since 2002, the Swiss government has allowed the importation of kosher meat, but ritual slaughter remains illegal.
For all its significance in Zionist history, Basel appears to have no commemorative plaque or similar tribute marking either its centrality in the birth of the modern Zionist movement or of Herzl’s association with it, although the museum celebrates the connection.
The Jewish Museum of Switzerland is located in a nondescript side street about a 20-minute walk from the Basel train station. It is open Monday to Thursday, 1-4 p.m., and Sundays, 11 a.m.-5 p.m. The permanent exhibition explores Jewish culture, religion and history through an impressive assemblage of ritual objects, documents, household items and testimonies. The current exhibition, Literally Jewish, which runs into next year, explores how Jews have been perceived depending on the time, language and attitude, including, as the introductory material says, “from derogatory to valourizing, ideological to idealizing.” Adult admission is 10 Swiss francs – about $15.50 Canadian – making it one of the more affordable attractions in a country where everything is gobsmackingly expensive.
The Ben-Gurion family in their Tel Aviv home, 1929. From left: David and Paula with youngest daughter Renana on Ben-Gurion’s lap, daughter Geula, father Avigdor Grün and son Amos. (photo from National Photo Collection of Israel / Government Press Office)
David Ben-Gurion, who died 50 years ago, insisted Israelis needed Hebrew names. The process was controversial – but the outcome is clear.
The 50th anniversary of the death of David Ben-Gurion will be marked Dec. 1. The first prime minister of Israel is generally remembered in noble terms, though we live in an era when heroes are being toppled from their plinths. His actions in times of war and peace have been parsed by historians – fairly and unfairly, as seems inevitable – but Ben-Gurion’s legacy among Zionists appears generally secure. Those with ideological axes to grind will grind, but the esteem in which most Israelis and overseas Jews view “the Old Man” remains largely favourable. However, an aspect of his policy that affected people in a very personal way has come in for a reconsideration in the past couple of decades, though it is hardly the stuff that will make or break a reputation. It is the Hebraization of names.
Ben-Gurion was a fierce advocate of Israelis (or, before 1948, Palestinian Jews) adopting names that reflect their new reality and that, by extension, turn their backs on the past and the diaspora. Ben-Gurion himself was born David Grün (or Gruen), changing his name to the Hebrew Ben-Gurion (son a lion cub) in 1910. By 1920, at the latest, he had become an evangelist for Hebraizing names and, when he was in power, he insisted that leading military and political figures adopt Hebrew names.
Ben-Gurion did not start this trend – though he is perhaps most closely associated with it because he was in a position to make it the force of law and custom. He instituted an administrative order that senior military figures and diplomatic officials representing Israel abroad must have Hebrew names. Others, like Golda Meir, he browbeat into the change.
Of course, Jews – and others – have been changing their names since the dawn of migration. People have frequently altered their names when moving to a new society, in order to fit in. Iberian Jews migrating en masse to the Low Countries after the expulsions of the 1490s are an early, well-documented example. Jews arriving on North American shores routinely changed their names, but so did non-Jewish migrants. It was not necessarily (or only) antisemitism that name-changers sought to outrun, but differentness in general. There are stories of French newcomers changing from Boisvert to Greenwood.
Dara Horn, in her book People Love Dead Jews, emphatically debunks the long-held belief passed down by generations that their family names had been changed at Ellis Island (or whatever entry point was appropriate to the story). No, she argues, that didn’t happen. The changing of names by Jewish new Canadians and Americans was, she contends, done by the migrants themselves and represents a sad realization that the Goldene Medina might not be the refuge from antisemitism they had hoped.
But changing one’s name to fit into a society already in progress, like America’s, was different than the situation of arriving in the pre-state Yishuv. This was not a matter of looking around for a local-sounding name and changing Moses to Murray or Lipschitz to Lipson. This required inventing a whole new lexicon of names. It was not the act of taking a common name in the new place, but of inventing entirely fresh first and last names.
The process was a legacy, ultimately, of Eliezer Ben-Yehuda (né Perlman), who was the driving force behind the revival of Hebrew as a vernacular language. After making aliyah in 1881, he came to believe that the redemption of both the people and the land of Israel required a new language to replace Yiddish. This represented a rejection of the diaspora reality and mentality, and served to create a medium through which an eventual (hoped-for) ingathering of exiles from around the world, including places where Yiddish was not the Jewish lingua franca, could communicate. The revival of an ancient land would coincide with the revival of an ancient language, both modernized to meet the needs of a new type of Jew. Ben-Yehuda raised his son and daughter exclusively in Hebrew, which must have made for a somewhat lonely childhood, being effectively the only two people in the world to speak the language as a mother tongue.
Eliezer Ben-Yehuda (né Perlman) was the driving force behind the revival of Hebrew as a vernacular language. (photo by Av Yaacov Ben Dov / Widener Library, Cambridge)
As the language spread – in large part thanks to Ben-Yehuda’s continued perseverance in promoting it and inventing modern words where the ancient language lacked them – the application of the new tongue to family and given names likewise grew.
The repudiation of the diaspora took on an entirely new relevance after the Holocaust. Some who made aliyah resisted changing their names, being attached, as is understandable, to one’s family name. Even so, no Jewish surnames were particularly long-established in the first place, since the practice of Jews adopting inheritable family names was only a century old, or a little more, at that time. The Austro-Hungarian Empire required Jews to take surnames in 1789 and in the Russian Empire and the German principalities not until the following century. At that time, choosing a name followed predictable patterns for Jews and non-Jews: a variation on “son of,” (Aronoff, son of Aron; Mendelsohn, son of Mendel), a reference to a profession (Becker for a baker; Melamed for a teacher), or a connection to the town or region (Frankel, from Franconia; Warshavski, from Warsaw; Wiener, from Vienna).
The adoption of Hebraized names in Palestine and Israel took four primary approaches.
The first was the traditional use of patronyms or matronyms, which is probably the oldest form of naming. Yiddish names, but also names that were German, Polish, Russian, English or French patronyms could be Hebraized: Davidson to Ben-David, Mendelson to Ben-Menachem, Simmons to Shimoni.
A second approach was to choose a Hebrew name that sounded like the original name. In some cases, the new name had a (sometimes remote) connotation with the original, as in the case of Lempel (little lamp) becoming Lapid (torch). Levi Shkolnik would become Israel’s third prime minister as Levi Eshkol. This was more than simply a near-homophone. It reflected another trend in the process, which was to adopt a name that spoke to the commitment of the chalutzim, the pioneers, whose Zionism was deeply informed by a back-to-the-land ethos. Eshkol means “cluster of fruit,” so it did double duty, sounding something like the original and also having a kinship with the blooming desert.
A third strategy was basic translation. Goldberg might become Har-Zahav (mountain of gold); Silver or Silverman might become Kaspi; Herbst, which in German and Yiddish means autumn, could be changed to a Hebrew equivalent, Stav or Stavi.
The fourth approach took the pioneer spirit and connection with the land to greater depths (with or without the homophonic advantage of Shkolnik/Eshkol). Flora, fauna and geography of the new homeland were attractive new names that situated the migrants linguistically and geographically. The writer Carrie-Anne Brownian cites such examples as Rotem (desert broom), Nitzan (flower bud), Yarden (Jordan), Alon (oak tree) and Tomer (palm tree). Simply adopting a place name gives us Hermoni, Eilat, Golani, Kineret and many others.
Those whose names already had a nature theme were at an advantage. The Haganah commander Moshe Klaynboym changed his family name, which meant “little tree” in Yiddish, to Sneh, Hebrew for “bush.”
Not necessarily related to nature, but to the idealization of the Zionist spirit, some took names like Amichai (my people live), Maor (light), Eyal (strength), Cherut (freedom) and Bat Or (daughter of light).
Golda Meyerson, after prodding from Ben-Gurion, became Golda Meir. Interestingly, her rather emphatically Yiddish given name she kept, presumably making Ben-Gurion half-satisfied.
Golda Meyerson, with prodding from David Ben-Gurion, became Golda Meir. (photo from mosaicmagazine.com)
As refugees from the Middle East and North Africa began pouring into Israel in the 1950s and ’60s, the Hebraization of names came to be seen as Ashkenormative, the taking of one’s ancestral name being another indignity (alongside inadequate housing and social stigmatization, among other things) that different-looking newcomers faced in their presumed Promised Land.
It seems, for example, that teachers encountering “strange” Mizrachi and Sephardi given names took it upon themselves, in some cases, to assign kids new names based not on any Zionist ideological imperative but for the same reason Canadian teachers in the early to mid-20th century dubbed kids with “foreign” names new ones the teachers could more easily pronounce. In retrospect, some have complained that this phenomenon was an insidious part of a larger (conscious, unconscious or some of both) effort to force Mizrahim and Sephardim to comport to Ashkenazi expectations even in things as intimate as a given name.
Sami Shalom Chetrit, a professor at Queens College in New York, who is of Moroccan-Israeli origin, recalled in a Forward article by Naomi Zeveloff, feeling outraged when an Israeli elementary school teacher nonchalantly renamed him, along with other non-Hebrew-named kids.
“Alif, your name from now on will be Aliza,” Chetrit recalled the teacher declaring. “Jackie, your name is Jacob, and Michele, your name is Michal. She kept going alphabetically. Then she said, ‘Sami, your name will be Shmuel Shalom.’
“I went to my father, crying.… I really felt like something was stolen from me, something precious. I said: ‘They changed my name! They changed it!’”
Chetrit’s father taught the teacher something the next day, according to the story. In Arabic, “Sami” comes from the root “samar,” the father said, meaning “heavenly superior,” and that, the father declared, is “international.”
The tendency eventually faded out. When a million migrants from the former Soviet Union arrived in Israel, after 1991, almost none chose to, or were pressured to, change their names.
There are contemporary exceptions even to this, though. Anatoly Shcharansky, one of the most famous of the Soviet “refuseniks,” became Natan Sharansky on arrival in Israel in 1986. The American historian Michael Bornstein became the Israeli politician-cum-diplomat Michael Oren, having changed his name when he made aliyah in 1979.
Newcomers to Israel today are free to change their names – and free to keep their “galut” (“exile”) names. Israel, today, is an overwhelmingly Hebrew society, though. New arrivals do not present a risk of swamping the place with Yiddish, Arabic, German, Polish or English, as might have seemed a danger 75 years ago, creating a Babel where cultural unity was desperately needed.
In addition to the psychological impacts of adopting Hebrew names (and language) as a refutation of the diaspora that had so recently been the locus of calamity, there was the practical reality of finding commonality among wildly diverse new citizens. That has been achieved. Even sorbing a million Russian-speaking new Israelis after 1990 did not dilute the ascendency of the Hebrew language. For whatever criticisms the forced (or vigorously encouraged) adoption of Hebrew names might invite, there is no doubt the intended outcome has been realized. Ben-Gurion’s dream not only of a Jewish state, but a Hebrew one, is firmly in place.
Sufganiyot (jelly doughnuts) for Hanukkah have come a long way, and now come in countless variations. (photo by Avital Pinnick / Flickr)
In Israel, sufganiyot (jelly doughnuts) have gone through a major revolution. For years, they were injected with strawberry jelly and dusted with confectioners’ sugar. In a recent ad by a well-known Israeli bakery, there were 14 variations of sufganiyot, including the “classic strawberry jam.” Twelve are dairy and two are pareve (can be eaten with milk or meat dishes).
For the pareve offerings, there are colourful sprinkles, dairy-free chocolate and ganache (filling made from chopped chocolate and heavy cream). Among the dairy choices are “Raspberry Pavlova,” filled with sweet cream and topped with raspberry ganache, pavlova (a meringue named after the Russian ballerina, Anna Pavlova), sweet cream and Amarena cherries; “Curly,” filled with cream and topped with Belgian chocolate and milk, dark and white chocolate curls; “Mozart,” filled with nougat-flavoured sweet cream, frosted with white chocolate strips and topped with Mozart cream (a chocolate liqueur) and chocolate curls; “Cheese Crumbs,” filled with cheese mixed with white chocolate and butter cookie crumb frosting and topped with cream cheese; and “Pistachio,” filled with pistachios, frosted with white chocolate ganache, and topped with pistachio cream and pistachio shavings.
Jewish law does not prescribe any special feasting or elaborate meal for Hanukkah as it does for other holidays. Maybe this is because the origin of Hanukkah is not in the Torah but in the Apocrypha, the books of literature written between the second century BCE and the second century CE, which were not incorporated into the Hebrew Bible.
The Books of Maccabees, of which there are four separate books, only say that the hero, Judah, “ordained that the days of dedication of the altar should be kept in their season from year to year by the space of eight days from the first and 20th day of the month Kislev, with mirth and gladness.”
So, where do we get all the food we eat? It is in the Talmud, where the so-called miracle of the oil burning for eight days is written. This myth was inserted to de-emphasize the miracle of military triumph and replace it with a more palatable idea, that of the intervention of G-d, which somehow would seem more a miracle than a fight of man against man, according to the sages of the time. (By the way, it is only within the past few years that children’s books about Hanukkah dare say the oil story is a legend or a myth.)
Practically every Jewish ethnic group has the custom of making and eating a form of food prepared in oil as a reminder of the “miracle” of the jar of oil.
The late Gil Marks wrote, in The World of Jewish Desserts, that doughnuts fried in oil, ponchikot, were adopted by Polish Jews for Hanukkah. The name is taken from the Polish word paczki, which led to the nickname ponchiks, the Polish name for jelly doughnuts. Ponchiks are similar to jelly doughnuts, only larger and more rich tasting, and were traditionally served on Shrove Tuesday, the day before Lent. They were made to use up shortening and eggs, which were prohibited during Lent.
Sufganiyot have a different history. In The Jewish Holiday Kitchen, Joan Nathan, an acquaintance of mine from our Jerusalem days and noted cookbook author and maven of American Jewish cooking, noted that she learned the origins of sufganiyot from Dov Noy (z”l), former dean of Israel folklorists.
Noy related a Bukhharian fable to Nathan, which says that the first sufganiya was a sweet given to Adam and Eve as compensation after their expulsion from the Garden of Eden. Noy said the word sufganiya came from the Hebrew word sof, meaning end; gan, meaning garden; and Ya, meaning G-d. Thus, the word means, “the end of G-d’s garden.”
According to Noy, this fable was created at the beginning of the 20th century, as sufganiya is a new Hebrew word coined by pioneers. Some say sufganiyot means sponge-like and that the doughnuts are reminiscent of the sweet, spongy cookie popular along the Mediterranean since the time of the Maccabees. Hebrew dictionaries say the word actually comes from the Greek word sufgan, meaning puffed and fried.
John Cooper, author of Eat and Be Satisfied: A Social History of Jewish Food, has another theory. He says Christians in Europe ate deep-fried pastries on New Year’s Eve, and Christians in Berlin ate jelly doughnuts. In that context, German Jews started eating apricot-filled doughnuts. When they immigrated to Palestine in the 1930s, they encouraged the population to eat the jelly doughnuts for Hanukkah.
One of my favourite pieces of research is the characteristics that sufganiyot are said to have:
• they are round like the wheel of fortune;
• they have to be looked at for what is inside, not for their external qualities; and
• they cannot be enjoyed the same way twice.
My research on the internet shows the calories for one sufganiya vary from 93 to 276, and gluten-free versions with rice flour are about 165 calories.
Whatever their origin – or number of calories – sample the real thing and you won’t forget it!
Sybil Kaplan, z”l, was a Jerusalem-based journalist and author. She edited/compiled nine kosher cookbooks and was a food writer for North American Jewish publications, including the Jewish Independent. We communicated regularly, but mostly in the leadup to a holiday issue. Not having heard from her in advance of this Hanukkah paper, we reached out, getting the sad news that Sybil recently passed away. It was a pleasure working with her for these past 20+ years and we will miss her. She always provided more stories than we could use, so, in this issue, we run a few we had yet to publish, honouring her in our way. May her memory be for a blessing.
There is no particular history associated with apple latkes that I can find, but they make a great accompaniment to any Hanukkah meal. Here are a few of my favourite recipes.
DAIRY APPLE LATKES (makes 12)
2 large tart, unpeeled, cored apples cut into 1/2-inch chunks 1/4 cup brown sugar 1/4 tsp cinnamon 1 1/2 cups flour 1 tbsp sugar 1 tsp baking powder 1 beaten egg 1 cup milk* 1 tbsp melted butter*
1. In a bowl, combine apples, brown sugar and cinnamon.
2. In another bowl, mix flour, sugar and baking powder.
3. In another bowl, combine egg, milk or non-dairy creamer and butter or margarine. Stir into flour mixture to form a thin batter. Fold in apple mixture.
4. Heat oil in a large frying pan. Pour 1/4 cup batter for each latke. Flatten with a spatula and fry until lightly brown. Turn.
5. Drain on paper towels.
6. Serve with sour cream, or a bowl filled with one tablespoon of cinnamon combined with half a cup of sugar.
(*To make this pareve, substitute with non-dairy creamer and pareve margarine.)
APPLE PANCAKE (This recipe came from Aliza Begin, the wife of Menachem Begin, with the compliments of the Prime Minister’s Bureau in the 1970s.)
2 large tart apples 2 eggs 2 tbsp flour dash sugar dash cinnamon oil
1. Peel and grate apples coarsely into a bowl.
2. Beat eggs slightly in another bowl and add to apples with eggs, flour, sugar and cinnamon. Mix well.
3. Heat oil in a frying pan. Pour batter into pan. Fry until golden on both sides.
4. Sprinkle powdered sugar on top and serve warm.
APPLE LATKES (This recipe came from Light Jewish Holiday Desserts by Penny Wantuck Eisenberg and appeared in the Kansas City Jewish Chronicle many years ago. It makes 24 pancakes.)
1 large apple, peeled, cored and cut into large hunks 1 lemon, halved 1 cup flour 4 tbsp sugar 4 large egg whites 1/2 cup skim milk 1 tbsp canola oil
1. Place apple pieces in a shallow bowl and squeeze lemon juice over.
2. Finely chop apples in a food processor. Measure 2 cups, and place in a bowl.
3. Place flour and three tablespoons sugar in processor and pulse to blend. Add two egg whites, milk and oil and process until smooth. Stir in apples.
4. Beat the other two egg whites in a mixer bowl until foamy. Add one tablespoon sugar and beat until stiff peaks form. Fold batter into egg whites.
5. Spray a frying pan with cooking spray and heat. Make two-inch pancakes from batter by tablespoon. Cook 40 seconds, turn, press down and cook until pancakes are cooked through.
6. Drain on paper towels. Sprinkle with sugar and serve.
Sybil Kaplan, z”l, was a Jerusalem-based journalist and author. She edited/compiled nine kosher cookbooks and was a food writer for North American Jewish publications, including the Jewish Independent. We communicated regularly, but mostly in the leadup to a holiday issue. Not having heard from her in advance of this Hanukkah paper, we reached out, getting the sad news that Sybil recently passed away. It was a pleasure working with her for these past 20+ years and we will miss her. She always provided more stories than we could use, so, in this issue, we run a few we had yet to publish, honouring her in our way. May her memory be fora blessing.
For a Hanukkah night gathering or on Dec. 31, as we move into a new secular year with a celebration, small or large, appetizers are a wonderful addition to any party. Here are some quick and easy recipes for appetizers when you’re hosting – or contributing to a potluck.
CHEESE PUFFS (makes 40)
1 cup water 6 tbsp butter, cut into small pieces salt and pepper to taste 1/2 cup flour 1 tbsp Dijon mustard 4 large eggs 1 cup coarsely grated kosher Swiss cheese
1.Preheat oven to 425°F. Prepare several large cookie sheets with vegetable spray and flour.
2. In a saucepan, combine water, butter pieces, salt and pepper. Bring to a boil, add flour and stir vigorously about two minutes with a wooden spoon until mixture forms a ball and is firm. Remove from heat.
3. Beat in mustard, eggs and cheese.
4. Drop by heaping teaspoons onto cookie sheets one-and-a-half inches apart.
5. Place one sheet in top third of oven and one in bottom third of oven. Bake for 15 minutes.
6. Reverse position of sheets and bake five minutes more or until puffs are golden brown. Serve hot.
1. Preheat oven to 325°F and grease a large baking dish.
2. Drain artichoke hearts, reserving two tablespoons of marinade. Place in a bowl.
3. Place reserved marinade in a frying pan and sauté onions.
4. Remove from heat and add artichokes. Add eggs, crackers, cheese.
5. Pour into baking dish and bake 35-40 minutes.
6. Cut into one-inch squares. Serve immediately or reheat before serving.
Garlic bread “fries” (photo from jewishlink.news)
GARLIC BREAD “FRIES” (Grace Parisi is a well-known chef, and she created this party snack for Food & Wine. It makes 8-10 servings)
4 tbsp unsalted butter 1/2 cup olive oil 3 large minced garlic cloves 1/2 cup chopped flat leaf parsley 1 large split and halved baguette 1/2 cup freshly grated Pecorino-Romano or a sheep’s cheese
1. Preheat oven to 350°F.
2. In a frying pan, melt butter in olive oil. Add garlic and cook one minute.
3. Remove from heat and add parsley.
4. Place bread on baking sheetcut sides up. Spoon garlic butter on top, sprinkle with cheese and bake 10 minutes.
5. Turn on broiler and broil one minute.
6. Cut bread into half-inch “fries” so they look like bread sticks.
MARINARA “KETCHUP”
1/4 cup olive oil 3 peeled, halved garlic cloves 1 tbsp tomato paste 35 ounces canned, whole, peeled Italian tomatoes salt and pepper to taste pinch of sugar 2 sprigs basil
1. Heat olive oil in a saucepan. Add garlic and cook, stirring, five minutes.
2. Add tomato paste and cook one minute.
3. Add tomatoes, crushing them with the back of a spoon.
4. Add salt and pepper.
5. Stir in sugar and basil and bring to a boil. Simmer until sauce is reduced to three cups and thick. Discard basil and garlic.
Sybil Kaplan, z”l, was a Jerusalem-based journalist and author. She edited/compiled nine kosher cookbooks and was a food writer for North American Jewish publications, including the Jewish Independent. We communicated regularly, but mostly in the leadup to a holiday issue. Not having heard from her in advance of this Hanukkah paper, we reached out, getting the sad news that Sybil recently passed away. It was a pleasure working with her for these past 20+ years and we will miss her. She always provided more stories than we could use, so, in this issue, we run a few we had yet to publish, honouring her in our way. May her memory be for a blessing.
The steps of the Vancouver Art Gallery were illuminated by lights representing those murdered by Hamas on Oct. 7, as the community gathered Nov. 7 to mark shloshim, 30 days of mourning. Here, Ohad Arazi addresses the crowd. (photo by Pat Johnson)
The steps of the Vancouver Art Gallery were illuminated by hundreds of lights representing lost lives, as the community gathered Nov. 7 to mark shloshim, 30 days of mourning, after the unprecedented terror attacks in Israel.
Among the lives lost on that single day was Ben Mizrahi, a 22-year-old Vancouverite, for whom Rabbi Shlomo Gabay of Congregation Beth Hamidrash recited El Moleh Rachamim.
“The past 30 days have been some of the most difficult of our lives,” said Ohad Arazi, who spoke at the gathering. “They have been difficult for some of us as Jews, for others as Israelis. They have been difficult for all of us as humans.
“There are not two sides here. It is not about politics, history, land, religion or anything in between,” Arazi continued. “This is about one thing and one thing only. This is about humanity. Nothing, absolutely nothing, justifies the horrific crimes that were committed 30 days ago. I do not know what comes next from the region as Israel and its allies must now fight to end Hamas’s regime…. But one thing I do know is that we here in Vancouver, here in Canada and elsewhere, we have a voice. We have a voice to stand up for humanity and to cry out against the senseless massacres that were carried out a month ago.
“For now, we need you, all of you, to stand up for Israel. Speak up. Your voice matters. Call them terrorists, not militants, for crying out loud. Do not give up hope that we will bring home all 242 hostages. These are dark days for Israel, but it’s an even darker time for the world, as many choose to side with evil or to not take a stand unequivocally in support of humanity.”
Another speaker, Moti Kotik, is an Israeli who has lived in Vancouver for 20 years. His friend’s daughter, Agam Berger, was kidnapped to Gaza on Oct. 7.
“Tonight, I don’t want to talk about the barbaric atrocities committed by Hamas,” Kotik said. “Nor do I want to speak about those crimes against humanity that so many failed to condemn. Instead, I’d like to share some personal thoughts and realizations that I’ve had in the last 30 days about what it means to be an Israeli Jew in the diaspora.”
For Israelis abroad, he said, it’s challenging to witness events from afar. He cited the Yom Kippur War, which began 50 years to the day before the October pogrom, calling it “a war that changed the lives of our parents.”
“This is our Yom Kippur and it’s already changing us,” he said. “For the first time, I was able to look from the outside and imagine what life for Jews would have been if there was not the state of Israel.”
Kotik said there has traditionally been a division between Israelis and other Jews in the community.
“Many times, we don’t mix with the local community,” he said. “For me, that is done. There is no more duality. I realize that I cannot escape from what I am, from what we are, which is one people, Jewish people, one community that supports each other, that makes us stronger.”
Kotik said the soldiers defending Israel on the frontlines today carry a burden of history.
“They are not there for their families and friends or neighbours, they are not even there just for the people of Israel or even for all of us,” he said. “They are there right now, risking their lives, in the name of every Jew that ever lived. Every Jew throughout history who did not have someone to protect him, who did not have someone to defend him, for every Jew throughout history, they are risking their life and putting it on the line. But they feel us and they feel our warmth and our support and our unconditional trust and they know, while they are on the front, we have their back and it helps them carrying that weight.”
The community gathered Nov. 7 to mark 30 days of mourning since Hamas’s terror attacks. (photo by Pat Johnson)
Ezra Shanken, chief executive officer of the Jewish Federation of Greater Vancouver, welcomed elected representatives and said he does not take for granted the presence and support of government officials and police.
Michael Lee, member of the Legislature for Vancouver-Langara, said he has been hearing from parents whose children in public schools and at universities are experiencing antisemitic taunts and bullying. He commended the City of Vancouver and the Government of Canada for adopting the International Holocaust Remembrance Alliance Working Definition of Antisemitism and said he has been advocating for years that the province of British Columbia likewise adopt it, so that Crown counsel and law enforcement have that tool to aid in prosecuting hate crimes.
John Rustad, leader of the B.C. Conservative party, said he was disgusted that Canada has allowed pro-Hamas rallies to take place.
“It should never, never happen in this country,” he said. “I will do everything I can to stand with you, to stand for peace and to make sure that people understand history.”
Lenny Zhou, a Vancouver councilor, brought greetings from city hall.
“This is not about Israel and Palestine,” Zhou said. “It is not about Jewish or Muslim. It is about Israel and Hamas. It is about civilization and terrorists.”
Rabbi Susan Tendler of Beth Tikvah Congregation read a prayer written for the shloshim and spoke of the anxieties felt by Jews worldwide.
Rev. Doug Longstaffe, a United Church minister and a founding member of the Multi-Faith Summit Council of BC, but speaking on his own behalf, said he believes it is a mistake that more non-Jews are not stepping up in solidarity.
“No group has had power used against them for so long, systemically and lethally, in such a variety of ways and places and it is staggering,” he said. “While I am not arguing that it is harder to be a Jew than to be Black or Brown or Asian – how would I know? I’m white – but it is different. I see that. And it is different mostly because of the history of antisemitism, which I have been privileged to learn about and horrified by.
“There are more hate crimes today against Jews in Canada each year than [against] any other group,” Longstaffe said. “I think our first responsibility as gentiles to Jews is to understand that, considering their unique history, the right of every group to protection under the law needs to be applied most rigorously to Jews.
“Second, considering this unique history of the Jewish people, we need to lose our naivety, so that we do not unconsciously jeopardize Jewish safety by thinking they should simply assume goodwill,” he said. “Third, we need to be especially understanding, as gentiles, of Israel’s need and right to self-defence when surrounded by terrorist groups who wish to destroy all Jewish citizens.”
Regular weekly rallies to free the hostages continued Sunday. That vigil, which emphasized the approximately 40 children held hostage – including an infant born in captivity last week – recognized United Nations World Children’s Day Nov. 20. Four Vancouverites whose cousin, 17-year-old Ofir Engel, is a hostage in Gaza, attended, with one giving a moving sketch of the youth, who was visiting his girlfriend at Kibbutz Be’eri when the attacks occurred. Attendees then marched down Robson Street to Denman, where they amassed outside the restaurant Ofra’s Kitchen, whose proprietor, Ofra Sixto, has been subjected to hateful anti-Israel harassment.
At the Nov. 9 Kristallnacht commemorative event, left to right: Dr. Janus Møller Jensen, Nina Krieger, Prof. Chris Friedrichs and Abby Wener Herlin. (photo by Rhonda Dent)
The rescue of Danish Jews during the Holocaust – an operation that mobilized almost the entire strata of Denmark’s population – is one of the bright lights in the history of that dark era. That extraordinary event, which took place 80 years ago last month, is one of the reasons Denmark had one of the highest survival rates of any country during the Shoah. Even this uplifting story, though, has its “shadows,” according to an expert who spoke in Vancouver Nov. 9.
Dr. Janus Møller Jensen, an historian and director of the Danish Jewish Museum, was the keynote speaker at the annual community-wide Kristallnacht Commemoration, presented by the Vancouver Holocaust Education Centre and held at Beth Israel Synagogue.
Denmark has an unusual history in the context of Nazi occupation. After the Nazis invaded the country with minimal opposition, in April 1940, politicians and the king, Christian X, surrendered, but managed to negotiate terms that allowed the Danish democratic system of government to continue in a so-called “peace occupation.” Importantly, one of the Danish demands was that no Dane be singled out according to their race or faith, said Møller Jensen.
This status quo fell apart in 1943, after a series of strikes and uprisings around the country. Amid the Nazi crackdown came rumours at the end of September that an action against Danish Jews was imminent. At the same time, word spread that Sweden was prepared to accept Danish Jews as refugees. A mobilization of fishing boats began – as did the Nazi mobilization – in early October. Up and down the coast of Denmark, small and larger boats carried their cargo of Jewish Danes across the straight to neutral Sweden. In all, an estimated 7,220 Jews and 686 non-Jewish spouses were transported. Of all Danish Jews, 472 were captured by the Nazis and transported to Theresienstadt, in present-day Chechia, a waystation to the extermination camps. Of these, all but 53 survived the war, in part because the Danish government persuaded the Nazis to allow food and medicine packages to be delivered to the Danish inmates.
Another stunning reality was that, when the Danish Jews who survived – estimates of survival range from 95% to 99% – returned to Denmark, almost all found their homes and possessions intact – a stark difference from what Jews elsewhere in Europe discovered if they returned to their places or origin.
Not all of Danish history is so bright for Jews, said Møller Jensen. A long history of Catholic and Lutheran theological antisemitism permeates Denmark, and immigration policies before the Second World War prevented many Jews from elsewhere from reaching refuge.
“We have letters of refusal in our collection, of people who we know later died in the camps,” said Møller Jensen.
In addition, Danish companies and agricultural producers provided materials to the German war effort, although this was required of all occupied countries, he noted.
Not all rescuers acted on altruistic motives, either, Møller Jensen added. Some fishers took money to transport Danish Jews, but he also noted that, while hindsight suggests the Nazi occupiers turned something of a blind eye to the rescue operation, those involved at the time did not know this and would likely have assumed they were risking their lives.
BC Premier David Eby spoke at the Kristallnacht event. (photo by Rhonda Dent)
In addition to the hands-on rescue, Danish society rose up against the Nazis’ action. “Organizations from the entire strata of society – doctors, professors, students, lawyers, industries, working unions – protested,” he said. “The Danish church promulgated a so-called ‘Shepherd’s Letter’ to be read aloud in all of the churches in Denmark the following Sunday, stating that this was an unchristian act, that all people were the same in the eyes of God and that this was wrong and the congregation should assist and protect their fellow human beings…. One of the priests remembered, having read the letter aloud, that the entire congregation spontaneously rose to its feet and shouted ‘Yes!’”
Beth Israel’s Rabbi Jonathan Infeld thanked Møller Jensen and reflected on his words.
“The Danish people,” he said, “did exactly the opposite of what happened in Poland. When the Jews came back to Poland, they were murdered and their property was stolen, and when the Jews came back to Denmark, dinner was waiting for them on their tables. That is righteousness.”
BC Premier David Eby spoke at the Kristallnacht event, saying he wanted to provide assurances that all parties in the Legislature are committed to ensuring that the Jewish community in British Columbia is protected from antisemitism and feels safe. He acknowledged the proximate anniversaries of Kristallnacht and Remembrance Day, and noted that his government had just announced that Holocaust education will become mandatory in the BC school system.
“The thing about remembering is you can’t remember something you’ve never learned, you can’t remember something you were never taught,” Eby told the audience. “I’m proud to stand with you, to support your community, to stand against antisemitism, to stand against Islamophobia, to stand against all forms of hate, for British Columbia to be a beacon of hope in the world of what is possible at a time when those who want to promote division and hate seem to be on the rise just about everywhere. We have lots to be proud of in this province and part of what I’m incredibly proud of is the strength of our Jewish community here and I’m very honoured to be with you here this evening.”
Before the keynote address, Prof. Chris Friedrichs, emeritus professor of history at the University of British Columbia, contextualized Kristallnacht and called the Danish rescue “the most spectacular episode of rescue in the entire history of the Shoah.”
The Kristallnacht gathering was presented in conjunction with Congregation Beth Israel and funded by the Jewish Federation of Greater Vancouver, with support from the Robert and Marilyn Krell Endowment Fund of the VHEC. Møller Jensen’s visit was facilitated by Norman Gladstone and Birgit Westergaard.
Corinne Zimmerman, president of the board of the VHEC, introduced a procession of Holocaust survivors, who carried memorial candles. Nina Krieger, executive director of the VHEC, opened the event and read greetings from Prime Minister Justin Trudeau. Cantor Yaacov Orzech recited El Moleh Rachamim. Councilor Sarah Kirby-Yung read a proclamation from the City of Vancouver. Taleeb Noormohamad, member of Parliament for Vancouver Granville, sent video-recorded greetings from Ottawa. BC cabinet ministers Selina Robinson and George Heyman were in attendance, as was Michael Lee, member of the Legislative Assembly for Vancouver-Langara.
The event drew a record crowd, according to organizers, of 420 in-person attendees and an additional 120 watching via livestream, including groups at the Louis Brier Home and Hospital and the Weinberg Residence.
For Jews everywhere, including here in British Columbia, recent weeks have been among the most painful in most of our living memories. Not only are we in deep grief from the events of Oct. 7 and in fear for the well-being of the 240 hostages and those we know who are serving in the Israeli army, many feel abandoned by some of our erstwhile friends, whose silence has been deafening, or whose confident utterances, lacking compassion or knowledge, have been galling.
We have been stunned at not just the moral equivocation between Israeli military actions and the deliberate atrocities perpetrated by Hamas, but by the implicit and explicit celebration of those atrocities by people locally and worldwide. Many of us are struggling to reconcile the critical need to end the reign of Hamas, whose main mission is to kill all Jews, with the losses of thousands of innocent lives in Gaza. We have few safe spaces to share our grief, frustration, confusion, to discuss what possibilities might exist for a better future not only for Israelis and Palestinians, but for all of us who are facing the incredible amount of antisemitism that has, apparently, been waiting for an excuse to be unleashed.
Every day, there is news coverage or social media comments that jerk us into another paroxysm of shock and disgust, be it the insensitive, lopsided remarks by a political leader or the online rantings of antisemites and terror supporters. Faced with this deluge, it is understandable to want to commiserate with like-minded people. In our experience, there has been a vast amount of sharing on email, social media and WhatsApp groups of the most atrocious and often grisly imagery, posts and ideas. For our own sake, and the well-being of those we care about, let’s stop doing this.
It’s time to recognize and correct habits that harm our mental wellness and that of those around us. Avoiding the darkness of feeling alone at times like these is one of the most important pieces of advice, as each of us struggles individually with assimilating the new world we inhabit.
The Vancouver community came together on Nov. 7 to mark 30 days since the brutal murder of more than 1,200 Israelis, mostly Jews, including a local young man and other Canadians, and the kidnapping of 240 others. Weekly vigils are continuing – and attendance is not waning, presumably because hundreds of people feel the necessity to unite in shared pain and for the inherent strength of community. Attending a rally or vigil is one way to harness the social support that is so important in times of struggle.
There are other steps that many of us could take to heart.
It’s important, of course, to remain aware, to be engaged citizens and activists, to be informed of current events. But there is a line between being informed and being unable to look away. We need to recognize the limitations and consequences of consuming endless amounts of information. It is neither necessary nor healthy to ensure that we – and everyone around us – are aware of every single outrage each and every day. Set aside time to review the news, but do not hit “refresh” repeatedly. Set a timer, if you think it would be useful. Stay accountable to yourself or ask someone who cares about you to remind you to set down the phone or remote. And be that person for your loved ones, when asked to assist them in being less fixated on the news. A crucial antidote to hopelessness is action. Be involved, for sure, but forwarding distressing emails to people who share your views (or not) is likely not constructive involvement.
Likewise, social media. Contesting and correcting false and hateful information on social media can feel important, but we need to put our abilities in perspective. The impacts that an individual can have on social media are a tiny ripple in the ocean, while the impact that social media can have on an individual is like a tsunami. Being bombarded by messages that remind us that there are many in the world who hold despicable views or are gleeful at the destruction of Israel and/or the Jewish people predictably impacts our emotional, psychological and spiritual wellness. If you are tempted to share horrendous posts with family and friends, consider what is to be gained by doing so.
Also, let’s pick our fights. We have plenty to be concerned about close to home. We do not need an incessant barrage of calls to sign petitions against things that are happening at universities in another country, or in response to offensive comments by never-before-heard-of activist groups or D-list celebrities. If we want to have an impact and have the internal resources for the fight, devote those resources to where they are going to have the most impact. Get involved with organizations doing work you believe in, join the many events taking place, both addressing the issues at hand, but also just finding comfort and strength in such things as the social and cultural events offered by our community, which allow us to come together without being completely gripped by fear and despair.
On an individual level, take time for quiet contemplation. Take a walk around the neighbourhood or in the park without headphones. Consider what your deeply held values are and find strength in that foundation. Stay open to hope, to possibilities not yet discovered and to finding paths to more compassion for yourself, for your loved ones, for your community and for those who are different from you or hold views that challenge your own. Do not exclusively dwell on the tragedies of the past and present, but spend time and effort to envision a future that is better for Israelis, Palestinians and all peoples – and how your values and actions today can hasten that better world. This, at root, is the heart of what it means to be Jewish. It is, perhaps, the only path through this pain.
As a cigarette girl in a club, Giddy uses her natural sleuthing skills – looking through customers’ pockets, listening to conversations for clues, etc. – to help her friend Hattie’s clairvoyant act. After Giddy sees the Cossack on a tram, but loses him in the crowd, she puts those skills to personal use, and then uses them to help the government. This happens after she asks a club regular who works in the immigration department for assistance, and he shares with her that the Cossack is an “undesirable” and could she help the government track him down.
Jude has come to the island at her mother’s request. Jude’s father has gone missing and a copy of his will is apparently at the cottage. She is also there for personal reasons, to rummage about, to figure something out, to look through old photographs; there are many of her sister, not so many of her. Jude has grown up in a dysfunctional family and the cottage was not generally a happy place. As the storms intensify – the rain and wind outside, the memories barraging Jude and the physical cuts and bruises she receives along the way, dealing with broken glass, wild animals and things not so clear – the tension ratchets up. When the sun returns and Jude surveys the damage left behind, a key piece of the mystery is understood.
