Lauren Kramer

Seniors profoundly affected

Dr. Gloria Gutman thought interviewees would have refused to place themselves in situations where they might be targeted or victimized, like rallies or Jewish events, but that wasn’t the case. “People felt more comfortable and secure when they were actively part of the Jewish community,” she said. (internet photo)

There’s been lots in the media about Jewish students feeling intimidated, but we tend not to think about older people,” Dr. Gloria Gutman told the Jewish Independent about a recent study she conducted with Dr. Sharon Avidor on the experiences of older Canadians since the Oct. 7, 2023, Hamas terror attack on Israel. “We really want to raise awareness of older people among service providers and the general community, and let them know that the impact is really on all of our community.”

Gutman, a lifelong Vancouverite, is vice-president of the International Society for Gerontology, director emerita of the Gerontology Research Centre at Simon Fraser University and professor emerita of SFU’s department of gerontology. Wondering how older members of the Canadian Jewish community were coping in the aftermath of Oct. 7, she reached out to the local Jewish community in summer 2024 for help in recruiting participants for the study she conducted with Avidor, a psychologist in the faculty of social and community sciences at Israel’s Ruppin Academic Centre. Their findings were published in the Canadian Journal on Aging last fall, with the title, “I No Longer Can Say ‘Never Again.’”

Avidor and Gutman interviewed 15 older adults, including Holocaust survivors and Russian immigrants to Canada, and 11 service providers. Respondents were not just deeply affected by the Oct. 7 attack and the ensuing Israel-Hamas war, but experienced the public discourse as anti-Israel and at times antisemitic, upending their sense of safety and belonging.

The study found that Holocaust survivors and their offspring, older Russian emigres to Vancouver and LGBTQ+ Jewish seniors were more impacted. Almost everyone interviewed felt a deep connection with Israel, and personally affected by Oct. 7. Many felt isolated from non-Jews in their communities and were shocked at the lack of support they encountered outside of the Jewish community, as well as by the extent of misinformation proliferating about Israel. Given their experiences of antisemitism and discrimination, many were frustrated by the notion that Jews were considered a part of the white majority.

Interviewees were apprehensive about publicly displaying their Jewish identity and felt deeply offended by the anti-Israel vitriol expressed in pro-Palestinian demonstrations. They felt a strong need to connect with others in the Jewish community, as connecting with like-minded people provided solace at a time when their social circle was shrinking to almost exclusively Jewish friends.

Prior to the study, Gutman thought interviewees would have refused to place themselves in situations where they might be targeted or victimized, like rallies or Jewish events, but that wasn’t the case. “People felt more comfortable and secure when they were actively part of the Jewish community, and some who had not previously been involved came out of the woodwork after Oct. 7, getting comfort from engaging in community-based events,” she said.

Many of the LGBTQ+ respondents were in a somewhat different situation, alienated from LGBTQ+ groups because of “belligerent, negative, and even hateful comments about Israel, sometimes personally aimed towards them because of their Jewish backgrounds,” notes the study, while also not feeling comfortable attending events with an unequivocal pro-Israel view. Thus, Avidor and Gutman write, many in the LGBTQ+ community “were given to experiences of loneliness and isolation.”

Holocaust survivors said they were retraumatized by Oct. 7 and what has followed – the study’s title comes from a survivor who used to end her talks in schools with “never again,” but told Avidor and Gutman, “My recent talks are that I no longer can say never again.”

Emigres from the former Soviet Union felt especially vulnerable. One of the service providers for members of this group described why this was the case: “Because they came, you know, after Holocaust, after everything they’ve been through in Soviet Union, it was terrible. It was terrible. Antisemitism was terrible. And I know my parents went through all this too: wouldn’t be able to be accepted to a university or a good job because of their last name. So they all have these previous traumas and experiences.”

Some of the seniors had robust coping abilities because they had overcome immense struggles in the past. “We heard things like, ‘we’ve lived through this before and will live through it again,’” Gutman said.

Her hope is that this research will raise awareness of the impacts of Oct. 7 on Jewish older adults, particularly among service providers.

“Ours is one of the few studies, to our knowledge, to explore the effects of antisemitism among older adults, often a less vocal and less salient group in society,” she said. “The Oct. 7 attack, the Israel-Hamas war and perceived antisemitism and anti-Israeli rhetoric, have had profound effects on Jewish older adults living in Canada, and this must be recognized and given appropriate attention.”

Lauren Kramer, an award-winning writer and editor, lives in Richmond.

Late-in-life cartoonist

Beverley Kort is a therapist who brings a psychological perspective to her worldview – and to her cartoons. (illustration by Beverley Kort)

At 75, Beverley Kort is just getting started with her second career as a cartoonist. A frequent contributor to the Jewish Independent, Funny Times and Grand Magazine, Kort is a therapist who brings a psychological perspective to her worldview – and to her cartoons.

“I was always told I was a lousy artist,” she admitted in a recent conversation with the JI. “So, when I was looking for a new, more sedentary hobby, I thought to myself, ‘let me take up something that I know I’m not good at, and perhaps I can get mediocre at it!’”

She began with art classes and quickly gravitated towards cartooning five years ago. Since it was a hobby and something she wasn’t taking too seriously, she submitted her work in myriad directions just to see what would happen. To her surprise, the response has been positive, resulting in publication in magazines, newspapers and a 2023 book, Hold That Thought, edited by David Endelman.

“In the art world, you don’t get seen until you’re somebody, but, in the cartoon world, if you’re willing to take a risk, you can get seen,” she explained. “With cartoons, it’s the idea that matters, not the art.”

Kort has two separate stations at her home office, one for therapy and one for cartooning. These days, she carries a notebook to record ideas, reads newspapers and listens to podcasts for inspiration.

“I give myself three hours each week just to sit and play with cartoons,” she said. “I’m having so much fun! I’m in touch with many creative people I’d never have otherwise met and, while I don’t ever want to take cartooning too seriously, I am improving.”

Her work as a therapist has a strong influence on her cartoons, and her examination of the human condition and its quirks is great for generating ideas. Her topics range from life’s frustrations to aging, parenting and grandparenting, and the fresh, lighthearted perspective Kort brings is unequivocally humourous.

“Arriving at cartooning late in life has been liberating for me, but I still get a thrill each time an editor accepts my work,” she said. “There’s a fearlessness that comes with no longer needing to build a career or impress others, though I hope my sense of humour connects with as many people as possible. What’s more, I’ve discovered that new passions can find you at any age.”

Lauren Kramer, an award-winning writer and editor, lives in Richmond.

Benefits of being a counselor

A fundamental part of being a counselor is to support the campers. (photo from Camp Kalsman)

Rachel Mintz worked as junior counselor, senior counselor, canoe specialist and assistant director at Camp BB-Riback in the late 1990s. In her work today as deputy chief data officer for Environment and Climate Change Canada, she’s quick to credit her leadership style, passion and confidence to the skills she learned at camp.

“Camp actually played a role in my career path,” she told the Independent. “One major lesson a person learns from work at camp is the power of passion. Anyone who came in 1998, when I was canoe specialist, would’ve experienced how much I loved teaching kids the freedom of paddling their own canoe. Today, with the staff I manage, I believe in finding projects that align with their strengths and passion.

“My last year of camp, I was 19 and working as assistant director, a position that gave me the confidence to apply and take on future management roles,” she added. “I learned the importance of a leadership role and the ‘behind the scenes.’ I came to realize that I have skills to coordinate moving parts and that I enjoy influencing others in their work.”

Jewish camp directors in the northwest are already recruiting counselors for summer 2026.

“As a counselor at camp, you build community, work with kids, run programs and act as a role model,” said Zach Duitch, executive director at Camp Solomon Schechter. “These experiences running a cabin, dealing with challenges and problem-solving teach you resiliency, which is critical for this age group. Our counselors learn from their experiences and realize that they can overcome things with patience, communication and problem-solving. It’s such an important learning experience.”

Duitch believes strongly that a position as a camp counselor teaches teens skills they would never learn in a traditional retail environment or minimum-wage summer job. “They’re learning hospitality, conflict resolution, health and hygiene for a group of eight-to-12 kids, how to run a program – these are human skills and executive skills,” he said. “We even take their phones!

“Consider that, if our counselors didn’t do this, they’d likely be bumming around at home on their phones and staying up late,” he explained. “My message to these teens is this: working as a counselor is an experience that truly doesn’t exist elsewhere. Take advantage of this opportunity as long as you can, before you’re thrown into really needing to find a job.”

Duitch’s own work as a camp counselor set him on the path to dedicating his life to Jewish work. Another camper he knew, the late Rabbi Matthew Bellas, found his path to the rabbinate at camp. “Camp teaches you skills, but it also shows you what your passions are,” said Duitch.

If money is your teen’s top priority for the summer, a camp counselor position is not going to be a top contender. The salaries for counselors range from honorariums to a few thousand dollars. One upside of the money earned at camp is that the counselors don’t spend it while they’re working. “When you leave at the end of the summer, you leave with a lump sum,” Duitch said.

Rather than look at it in financial terms, he encouraged parents to think about the opportunity camp counseling gives teens to create impact.

“If you went to camp and loved the immersive programming, the fun, the memorable moments and the joy, maybe this is your turn to give back to the kids as a counselor. There’s nothing like living a fully immersive Jewish experience at camp, surrounded by a community you can rely on.”

Don’t look at it as a “summer filler,” agreed Liza Rozen-Delman, executive director at Camp Hatikvah. “Your teen will build confidence and emotional maturity as a counselor, learning to manage stress, communicate clearly, lead with empathy and take real responsibility. These are skills that prepare them for university, travel and future careers.”

Becoming a counselor is the natural next step after aging out of camp, she said. “It lets young people return to a place they grew up, one that feels safe, familiar and supportive. These roles offer structure, purpose and a guided environment where teens can practise independence, learn to meet expectations and develop accountability, something many aren’t used to today.”

The work is meaningful but demanding, she noted, with early mornings, late nights and constant responsibility, as counselors support kids, run activities and manage group dynamics. “One of my favourite sayings,” she shared, “is that camp doesn’t just prepare young adults for ‘work,’ it prepares them for life.”

At Schechter, candidates are interviewed for their past experience working with kids, their values, trust, accountability and communication skills.

“Have they failed before, and have they used that experience to succeed? We love to give second chances at camp,” Duitch said.

Rozen-Delman said she looks for counselors who demonstrate empathy, kindness, responsibility, confidence and initiative. “They need to be team players and strong communicators,” she said.

“Camp doesn’t run without these young Jewish role models,” Duitch added. “They bring the magic to life, and we want to continue to invest in them, motivate them, provide them with resources and challenge them.”

“Working at camp is an investment in your development,” said Stacy Shaikin, executive director at Camp BB-Riback. “There’s no other job for young people that gives you this much responsibility and a chance to troubleshoot and think on your feet. Everyone who has ever done it looks back on it and uses these tools in their careers.”

When Rachel Mintz’s daughter returned home from camp, Rachel quizzed her on her favourite part. Her answer was immediate, and just two words: the counselors.

Lauren Kramer, an award-winning writer and editor, lives in Richmond.

The value(s) of Jewish camp

Summer camp experiences, which encompass a range of activities campers get to try, can be costly. (photo from Camp Hatikvah)

If you get sticker shock when you see the cost of Jewish summer camp, you’re not alone. Pay full fare and you could easily be spending $1,000 per week. But there’s a reason it’s so high, say camp directors. Running a Jewish camp is an expensive endeavour – and it’s not getting any cheaper.

For Camp Hatikvah, which welcomes 480 summer campers to the Okanagan each year and a staff of 90, the biggest chunk of its operating budget – just over $2 million in 2024 – is salaries and honorariums. Only two staff members have year-round employment and the rest serve only in seasonal roles, said Liza Rozen-Delman, executive director. Food is the next largest expense, followed by costs related to site operations. And the general program experiences, which encompass the range of activities campers get to try, don’t come cheap either. Hatikvah campers get to waterski and wakeboard, and have access to an inflatable thunderdome on the lake, among other experiences. Now add the cost of insurance to the equation.

“Camper fees cover the direct costs of care, supervision, food and other daily needs, but donors fund all capital projects, major equipment purchases and our financial assistance program,” she said. “Camp could never break even on fees alone. We rely on our donors to help offset operational costs by funding anything considered an investment that lasts beyond a single summer.”

The biggest challenge facing Jewish camps across North America is maintaining affordability for middle-income families, Rozen-Delman said. “All camps, including ours, have wonderful financial assistance programs for those in clear need. What is harder to manage is families who earn higher incomes but struggle to balance the high cost of living an engaged Jewish life.”

Hatikvah tries to manage this by setting its camp fees as low as possible and requesting donations from those who can donate. “We’re fortunate to have donors who understand the immense importance of a Jewish camping experience,” she said.

The same is true for other camps.

“Camp tuition doesn’t cover the cost of operating Camp Miriam and, as expenses continue to rise, that gap only widens,” said Leya Robinson, Miriam’s community director, who noted that no camper is turned away due to lack of funds and about 40% of campers receive a scholarship each summer.

“We rely heavily on donors and grants not only to uphold this commitment but also to cover essential camp operating costs,” said Robinson. “Operating costs include salaries, staff training and benefits, food services, facility maintenance, utilities, insurance, programming, transportation, property taxes, equipment, medical supplies, annual organizational dues and fees, and security.” She added that the camp, which is located on Gabriola Island, is in the midst of a capital campaign “to upgrade our physical facilities so we can continue delivering the ‘Miriam magic’ for generations to come.”

Camp Miriam has more than 350 campers each summer and 85 summer staff. Throughout the year, they have three full-time and three part-time staff.

In Washington State, Camp Solomon Schechter welcomes 630 campers over the course of a summer, and has a staff of 80 to 100.

“Tuition covers only 80% of our operating costs, so we rely on the community to help us with donations, and on our diversifying revenue stream, which includes an outdoor school and a retreat centre available for rent,” said Zach Duitch, executive director.

Schechter is a kosher camp, and kosher food, especially meat, chicken and cheese, are much more expensive than their non-kosher equivalents. The cost of taking care of 100 staff is high, and running high-quality programs infused with Jewish values and themes requires significant funds, too. Up to 30% of camp staff comes from Israel, South America and the United Kingdom. “We love that delegation and we can’t run the camp without them, but, between agency fees, flights and visas, the costs add up,” Duitch said.

photo - Camp Solomon Schechter kids with Israeli flag and faceprint

The camp experience helps Jewish youth develop lifelong friendships, connect to Israel and have a strong Jewish identity. (photos from Camp Solomon Schechter)

Programming fees are expensive, too. “Today’s parents want and expect their kids to develop new skills at camp, and that demands staff and supplies,” he said. “It’s not enough to play gaga or kick a soccer ball around for three weeks. They want a new toolkit and to know their kids are advancing their skills in terms of tefillah [prayer], sports, arts, cooking and everything we do at camp.”

Like Rozen-Delman, Duitch emphasized the quandary of camp fees for middle-class families. “Affluent families can afford to send their kids to camp. About 25% of our camper base requests some level of financial aid,” he said. “The trickiest part is for middle-class families that want to send their kids to camp. Maybe they need to put a new roof on their house, and that takes priority. How do we make sure all families can come to camp? We know how essential the camp experience is in terms of developing lifelong friendships, connecting to Israel and fomenting a strong Jewish identity.”

Schechter’s annual operating budget is $5.5 million and, while the camp has figured out how to stay financially solvent, it can get challenging when donors drop the size of their gift, or if the camp doesn’t meet its campership goals. “We’re creative and, if we have to pivot, we certainly do,” Duitch said. “We need to focus on endowment, life or legacy gifts, because those can add thousands of dollars into your operations without touching the principal. Our goal is to grow our endowment to secure our programs and infuse cash into our operating budget.”

Consider this, said Stacy Shaikin, executive director of Camp BB Riback in Alberta. “We open six weeks ahead of summer camp, to ‘turn the machine on’ before the kids can come out. There’s an insane number of requirements – health, safety, certifications, and all that stuff has increased in price. We don’t just pay the counselors, we house and feed them. And, remember, nothing in the Jewish community comes cheap. You’re dealing with a market that is small and has ethnocentric needs, such as kashrut and special skills required for teaching. We bring in Israelis to add those cultural pieces to the experiences, and that comes at a cost, too.”

Camp BB Riback welcomes around 250 campers and 70 staff each summer, and its prices run at the lower end of the Jewish camp fee spectrum Canada-wide, said Shaikin. However, there are costs of running a Jewish summer camp that can’t be avoided.

“I have 40-plus buildings that use electricity, a boat that requires maintenance and fuel, a ropes course that has to be certified every year, a horse program and a swimming pool. Anyone that runs a swimming pool will tell you it’s a money pit,” Shaikin said. “And, every year that goes by, you have to think about renovations and replacements.”

He stressed, “I’m not complaining – I’m just offering insight into the business. We’re not-for-profit and our goal is to not lose money, but also to put something back into keeping our campsite up.”

Most of the nearby Jewish summer camps were established more than 70 years ago and maintenance costs run high – keeping the property competitive and its facilities clean, safe and up to code, means putting money back in every year.

So, as you start to consider a Jewish camp experience for your child, keep in mind the value being offered, as well as the values being imparted.

“We’re not making money at our Jewish camp. We’re literally just trying to keep the business afloat and out of debt, which is a struggle for not-for-profits,” Shaikin said. “We’re a community entity and we’re not gouging families in any shape or form. We take our responsibility seriously: to encourage people to send their kids to Jewish summer camp. If they do, then we will continue to have a flourishing Jewish identity in our province, our country and in the world.”

Lauren Kramer, an award-winning writer and editor, lives in Richmond.

Help with the legal aspects

When Erin Brandt founded the Antisemitism Legal Helpline in January 2024, the employment and human rights lawyer had no idea how much time this volunteer position would consume.

“The fact that we’re getting this many calls is a little terrifying,” she said. Last year, 32% of the more than 50 calls for assistance were about employment and labour issues, 29% about human rights, and the remainder were about defamation, strata or tenancy disputes, criminal matters and on-campus incidents. This year, as of early November, there had been 44 calls, with the top two concerns remaining the same, but with the order reversed: human rights (30% of calls), followed by employment and labour issues (25%).

“A lot of people don’t know about us and, therefore, aren’t calling – so this represents just a small sampling of what’s going on in BC,” she said.

The Antisemitism Legal Helpline’s operational costs are mainly funded by the Law Foundation of British Columbia, and all legal advice is provided on a volunteer basis by 30 lawyers, “mostly Jewish, but also non-Jewish who have identified as allies of the Jewish community,” said Brandt.

The helpline’s steering committee includes Brandt, Jessica Forman and Cindy Switzer; Rochelle Garfinkel is the coordinator.

Jews who have experienced antisemitism and want to inquire about the potential for legal action can call the helpline and be referred to a lawyer with an appropriate specialty. They receive a 30-minute, free legal consultation about whether there has been a legal breach and, if so, what the options are.

photo - Lawyer Erin Brandt, founder and steering committee member of British Columbia’s Antisemitism Legal Helpline — Lawyer Erin Brandt, founder and steering committee member of British Columbia’s Antisemitism Legal Helpline. *(from antisemitismlegalhelp.org)*

“People come to us looking for advice on whether their case has merit, and part of our job is to explain the legal system and what it looks like to pursue a complaint to conclusion,” Brandt said. “It could include sending a cease and demand letter, among other options. If an individual wants to pursue a complaint further, sometimes a lawyer may be prepared to take it on pro bono, or the case might be strong enough that it warrants seeking outside funding, from resources in the Jewish community. There are legal funds available.”

The lawyers in the roster are confident and experienced, Brandt added. “One of the things people look for is cultural competency. When they feel vulnerable or attacked, they want to speak to someone who empathizes with what they’ve been through. Our roster of lawyers is small, but strong, and if a situation comes up where the current roster can’t help, the steering committee steps in to work our networks and bring in the right lawyers.”

The US equivalent of the Antisemitism Legal Helpline is the Anti-Defamation League’s Legal Action Network, which launched in early November with a team of 40 law firms constituting some 40,000 lawyers. “This is the largest and most powerful network of attorneys in this country, united and walking in lock step in the fight against antisemitism,” said James Pasch, vice-president of litigation at the ADL. Those attorneys are not all Jewish, he added, and being Jewish was not a prerequisite for volunteering legal assistance.

“We were looking for like-minded, talented attorneys who’d be interested in pro bono cases to fight back against antisemitism, and we’ve been heartened by the response of the American legal community. There’s an understanding that the spread of antisemitism in our communities cannot be tolerated and, when it crosses the line to horrific conduct, it’s incumbent on us to push back and fight for the rights of the Jewish community.”

Victims of acts of antisemitism receive a call from a law firm that does a thorough intake process. After that, if there are issues that are legally actionable, they work to provide ongoing legal assistance on an individualized case basis.

“We have to use every tool in the toolkit in the fight against antisemitism, and using the courts will be a vital tool in that fight,” he said. “We’re extraordinarily heartened and grateful that such a large swath of the legal community has decided to stand ready to provide pro bono legal assistance to the Jewish community.”

After Oct. 7, 2023, an antisemitism hotline for college students and professors was launched by the law firm Gibson Dunn, in collaboration with the ADL, Hillel International and the Brandeis Centre. While it led to 25 legal actions that resulted in settlements, criminal prosecutions and policy changes at universities, calls were coming from people outside of college campuses, too. They encompassed employment issues, denial of service and harassment of students in schools among other issues.

“The rise of antisemitism was never going to just stay siloed on campus,” Pasch noted. “We’ve seen antisemitism metastasize and spread across the United States. It was vital that we set up a system that gives the Jewish community an ability to fight back against it, tell their story and pursue legal remedies that will better protect us now and for years to come.”

To reach the BC Antisemitism Legal Helpline, call 778-800-8917 or email [email protected]; the website is antisemitismlegalhelp.org.

Lauren Kramer, an award-winning writer and editor, lives in Richmond.

A way to meet fellow Jews

OneTable dinners – a platform for young professionals to meet on Shabbat – are occurring in 700 cities, including Toronto, but not yet Vancouver. (photo from OneTable)

My son moved to Florida in August, choosing the Sunshine State for its large Jewish community, great weather and the many outdoor recreational possibilities it offers when Vancouver is soaked with rain. He quickly found opportunities to engage with young Jewish professionals like himself, through a synagogue, but also through OneTable Shabbat dinners.

“I had an amazing Shabbat experience,” he told me, as he explained how it works.

Someone agrees to host a Shabbat dinner for a certain number of people, who each bring an item to help with the meal. OneTable reimburses the host $10 per person, which doesn’t cover the costs, but it helps, particularly if the host is feeling cash-strapped.

In my son’s case, the meal was take-out sushi, which was completely fine with the 20-somethings gathered around that Florida table. They talked, laughed and ate together, kindling new friendships and inspiring my son to play host at a OneTable Shabbat soon.

My curiosity piqued, I started making inquiries about OneTable. What a great fit this would be for Vancouver, I thought, given how difficult it is to make new Jewish friends here. That’s especially true for young Vancouverites looking for Jewish partners in a city with an intermarriage rate of 43%, according to a 2011 study and intermarriage rates in Canada have increased, according to another study that came out this year, so likely Vancouver’s has, too.

But it’s also a challenge for Gen Xers like me. What an incredible idea, to surround yourself with potentially new Jewish friends at a home table defined by challah and shared food! Alas, OneTable is not offered here.

Irit Gross, chief advancement officer at OneTable, described how the organization began in 2014, when two philanthropists united to address the epidemic of loneliness that was occurring. Young Jewish adults were focusing heavily on their mobile phones, and disassociating themselves from the traditional Jewish institutions where their parents and grandparents had socialized.

OneTable sent out a survey, asking young people what it would take to get them to choose Shabbat on a Friday night, rather than another option.

“People were socializing online, so we knew we needed to meet them in a virtual space,” Gross said. “We began investing in a platform similar to Airbnb, where, as a host, you could go online and post your dinner and, as a guest, you could join one. That’s the essence of how we started, with the goal of people going online to be offline.”

The $10 per person remuneration was added when OneTable realized money was a barrier to millennials wanting to host five to 10 people in their homes. The reimbursement allows the host to elevate their offering; for example, by buying better wine, or a nicer tablecloth for the event.

That first year, OneTable began in the Jewish heartbeat of North America – New York City. As the organization fundraised and collaborated with local federations in other cities, it quickly expanded to Chicago, Los Angeles, Boston and Miami.

“We knew where the young adults were and went to set up shop in those locations,” said Gross. Today, OneTable dinners are occurring in 700 cities, including Toronto, and 49 states, as well as Washington, DC.

The organization has engaged 320,000 unique individuals, with many returning for more. “Those 320,000 people have come back and either guested or hosted two or three times. That engagement rate shows that our goal and mission of creating a Shabbat ritual is coming to fruition and happening in the community,” she said.

Prior to Oct. 7, 2023, OneTable was engaging 40,000 unique individuals annually. “After Oct. 7, that jumped to 82,000 unique people, meaning we doubled in 2023 and sustained that increase in 2024,” Gross noted. “It’s been a marker for our organization, catapulting us to really think not just about how we’re addressing millennials, but, also, bringing Gen Zs together.”

After reading reports about how Jews across many different age groups were looking for ways to find community, OneTable expanded its offerings, though its core audience remains the 20-to-30-something demographic, which accounts for 95% of its time and budget.

The organization’s research is far from over. “We’re still trying to figure out how to stay relevant and continue to be the number one choice for young adults in their 20s and 30s, so they can create their own Shabbat rituals,” said Gross.

Five years ago, the UJA Federation of Greater Toronto requested collaboration with OneTable, beginning a conversation that would take two years before the program launched. OneTable began operating in Toronto in 2023 with a three-year funding grant, and Gross said Toronto has been one of its most successful communities.

OneTable is not in Vancouver, and there seems to be no conversations about it coming here. Prior to Oct. 7, the Ronald S. Roadburg Foundation reached out to OneTable.

“I think it’s a great organization, but we’re not funding in the space of young adult engagement,” said Mark Gurvis, the foundation’s chief executive officer. “If we were funding young adult engagement, we’d fund this for sure. Federation’s involvement is the key for this, and whether we’ll step in with Federation remains to be seen.”

I asked the Jewish Federation of Greater Vancouver about the possibility.

“While Vancouver doesn’t have OneTable, we’re fortunate to have many organizations that host meaningful Shabbat dinners and gatherings that bring people together throughout the community,” said Caryl Dolinko, Federation’s communications and marketing director.

“We are continuing to develop a family-connector model to strengthen engagement. We’re also happy to explore other initiatives and opportunities that are out there in the community, as we would love to do with OneTable.”

She continued, “Our focus remains on supporting the many partner organizations and community initiatives that already create opportunities for meaningful Shabbat experiences and peer connection.”

Dolinko gave the example of Axis, a Federation initiative for Jews in their 20s and 30s. “Last year, Axis held 15 events for 682 unique participants, with 345 attending multiple events,” she told the Independent. The network connected 32 volunteers to community organizations and maintains active WhatsApp and Instagram engagement, she said.

“We are restructuring our PJ program to prioritize mixed-heritage families and have expanded PJ Library access into public school libraries, pediatrician offices and other community spaces,” she added.

With an intermarriage rate like ours in Vancouver, I’d argue that the current model is not working. But no one is asking me.

I moved to this city to start my family, in 2000. Now, a quarter-century later, three of my children have left for other cities and countries, where their odds of meeting Jewish partners are much better. My youngest will follow in two years. I miss them desperately, but I want them to spread their wings – and I want them to marry someone Jewish.

Gross understands all too well that funding dollars need to go to other worthy initiatives.

“There are a lot of people out there fighting against hate,” she noted. “I don’t know if there are enough people fighting for the joy of Jewishness, the special rituals that remind us why we love our traditions.”

For more information, visit onetable.org.

Lauren Kramer, an award-winning writer and editor, lives in Richmond.

Editor’s note: This article has been updated from the print version to better reflect Jewish Federation of Greater Vancouver’s commitment to youth engagement in the community.

Seeking middle ground

At the local launch for her new book, October 7th: Searching for the Humanitarian Middle, Globe & Mail columnist Marsha Lederman admitted she’s “not doing great.”

“A lot of us in this room can say that,” she said in her opening remarks at the Jewish Community Centre of Greater Vancouver Sept. 18. “It’s been another terrible week with terrible news.”

Lederman was the Western arts correspondent for the Globe for 15 years, before moving to the opinion section in 2022. Her memoir, Kiss the Red Stairs: The Holocaust, Once Removed, was published that same year. (See jewishindependent.ca/a-story-of-two-families.)

On Oct. 9, 2023, Lederman began writing columns on the aftermath of the Oct. 7 massacre in Israel and the tide of antisemitism that followed it. When an editor suggested she publish a book containing a full year of those columns, together with other material she’d written on Jewish identity, she began working on October 7th.

The process of collecting material for the book was emotionally wrenching, said Lederman, a child of Holocaust survivors whose intergenerational trauma was triggered by the Hamas attack.

“It was really hard to relive those early days, rereading the columns and remembering what was happening in the world at that time. When I read through older articles I’d written about my Jewish identity, I was shocked at how many times that subject matter had come up and the extent to which they foreshadowed what would happen in the war.”

When she filed that first column on Oct. 9, Lederman said she wrote it in a haze of shock, emotion, upset and fear. “I knew it wasn’t what had just happened, but what would happen next: retaliation, that it would be terrible for Palestinians, and that there would be anti-Israel sentiment. But I could never have predicted that all things would have exploded the way they have and that it would still be there, almost two years later.”

Describing herself as a “progressive Zionist,” Lederman said she believes the state of Israel has a right to exist but is “strongly against the war and the occupation. I’m horrified by what some of the settlers are doing in the West Bank, but I love Israel and Israelis – though not the ones in power right now. I don’t blindly approve of everything Israel does and part of my caring for Israel is what has led me to speak out.”

In an hour-long talk moderated by Kathryn Gretsinger, a journalist and associate professor at the University of British Columbia, Lederman discussed her hope for a two-state solution, her annoyance at how people speaking out in favour of Palestinians have been branded antisemitic, and the threats she has received in response to her columns.

“My trauma is nothing compared to what people in the war zone are experiencing, but it’s still a horrible experience,” she said.

Prior to Oct. 7, Lederman said she saw herself as a journalist who happened to be Jewish. After Oct. 7, as she began writing about the attack and subsequent war, she said she put herself on the page, explaining her Jewish background. When she wrote about plastic surgery recently, the Globe received a letter to the editor stating, “how dare Lederman write about that when children are dying in Gaza!”

The book’s subtitle, Searching for the Humanitarian Middle, deals with the quandary of holding several feelings simultaneously: concern for Israel and the Israeli soldiers, as well as Palestinians who are being killed.

“I believe the humanitarian middle is essential, and there are a lot of caring people who want to see an end to this war. The numbers are terrible: 60,000 Gazans have been killed in this war,” she said, citing numbers released by the Hamas-controlled Ministry of Health.

“That’s appalling to me,” she continued. “Hostages are still underground and antisemitism has reached a level that’s shocking, even to me, as a pessimistic catastrophizer. The word genocide carries so much weight for us as Jewish people. Israel was born out of the ashes of the worst genocide we have known. So, for Israel to be accused of that very crime is heartbreaking.”

Asked what her solution to the war would be, Lederman said a ceasefire deal is the way to go. “I believe what we’re seeing from Israel is an over-

reaction and I would urge the government of Israel to consider a two-state solution. I believe that’s the answer.”

She said, “My heart aches for the hostages and their families, and for all the people in Gaza. When I think about the intergenerational trauma from this time, it’s shattering. I feel a responsibility to write about this as a Jewish person, a journalist, a mother, as someone who cares about other human beings, and as a child of Holocaust survivors, but I’m feeling the weight of the world in my fingers.”

Lauren Kramer, an award-winning writer and editor, lives in Richmond.

BCers are living on the edge

Every area of Southwest British Columbia is exposed to some form of natural hazard, warns Nicky Hastings, a physical scientist with the Geological Survey of Canada at Natural Resources Canada, who spoke at Har El’s seniors lunch earlier this month. (photo by meggomyeggo / flickr)

Those who attended Nicky Hastings’ talk at Congregation Har El earlier this month came away with a renewed awareness of the many natural hazards we’re exposed to by living in British Columbia.

Hastings, a physical scientist with the Geological Survey of Canada at Natural Resources Canada, specializes in coastal science and disaster risk reduction. Her Sept. 3 talk at the synagogue’s regular seniors’ lunch was titled Living on the Edge: Geology, Natural Hazards and Risk in Southwest British Columbia.

photo - Nicky Hastings — Nicky Hastings *(photo from Nicky Hastings)*

Hastings explained that we’re located on the cusp of the Pacific Rim of Fire, an area prone to earthquakes and volcanoes. But we’re also exposed to flooding in the deltas and floodplains, snow avalanches, wildfires and their smoke, storm surges, sea-level rise and the effects of climate change. This means that every area of the region is exposed to some form of natural hazard.

“We know these hazards are here, and things need to be done to address them – and some of that mitigation is happening,” said Hastings. Drive the Sea-to-Sky Highway and you’ll see rock bolts attached to stabilize the slopes and reduce the risk of rockslides, she said. Lions Bay has a spill channel and catchment basin to catch the debris flows caused by intense periods of rain.

Modeling by the Geological Survey of Canada is being done to predict what earthquake ruptures might look like, and who might be impacted.

“We looked at two tsunamis that already occurred, to see how sea level might change if similar events were to recur, and our modeling did not show those big, 20-metre waves we saw in the Indonesia tsunami,” she said. “It’s more the west coast of Vancouver Island that will likely be impacted.”

While those of us who live in Delta and Richmond might feel comforted by the 600-plus kilometres of dykes that protect the shorelines, that infrastructure can give a false sense of security, Hastings said. “Dykes are engineered structures that need to be maintained and updated. They can breach,” she said. The 2021 floods, for example, caused $2.7 billion of damage and claimed the lives of 6,000 animals.

Hastings encourages everyone to participate in the annual Great ShakeOut Earthquake Drills to prepare for earthquakes, which will be held on Oct. 16, at 10:16 a.m.

“Sign up online at shakeoutbc.ca and practise this drill so it becomes second nature,” she said. “In an earthquake, you have seconds to minutes to act to protect yourself, and you need an emergency readiness kit so you can take care of yourself for 72 hours.”

A new early warning system for earthquakes will send out alerts that can give businesses time to shut down elevators, and cities time to stop hospital operations, open fire station doors and stop trains, she said.

Other monitoring programs and mapping are being done on volcanoes like Mount Baker and Mount Garibaldi. While the last major eruption was in the 1800s, Hastings warned that volcanoes can cause big landslides and volcanic ash can damage aircraft, collapse roofs, cause lung damage and injure animals and plants.

“The seismic monitoring we’re doing creates more awareness – it gives us a chance to mitigate and know how to plan and prepare,” she said.

Hastings’ main takeaway was the need for Southwest BC residents to live with awareness. She lamented that, even with the warnings in place and the research her organization continues to do, communities are still building infrastructure in harm’s way, such as floodplains. Sustainable development in British Columbia, she said, requires striking a balance between growth and an ongoing awareness of the dynamic, hazard-prone landscape we call home.

Lauren Kramer, an award-winning writer and editor, lives in Richmond.

An activist by necessity

Dr. Ted Rosenberg speaks with an audience member at the Medical Outcomes of Emerging Antisemitism event held at Beth Israel Sept. 4. (photo by Pat Johnson)

Dr. Ted Rosenberg never imagined he’d become an activist but, after the anti-Zionism and antisemitism he witnessed at the University of British Columbia faculty of medicine after Oct. 7, 2023, he couldn’t keep silent.

The 30-year practitioner, who resides in Victoria, addressed a group at Congregation Beth Israel on Sept. 4.

Rosenberg resigned from his post as clinical assistant professor at UBC’s faculty of medicine in January 2024, after repeated attempts to get the school to address antisemitism were essentially ignored. Since Oct. 7, he has written blogs, testified about the antisemitism before the House of Commons and, most recently, self-published the book Ayekha, Where Are You?

After Oct. 7, Rosenberg said he noticed that Jewish doctors weren’t regarded the same way they had been. Before that day, he’d experienced the odd antisemitic comment from patients. After it, he knew that a torrent of hatred towards Jews was coming, and that he needed the language to deal with it.

His activism began after 225 UBC medical students signed the petition “A Call for Action on Gaza,” which called for a ceasefire, condemned Israel as “a settler-colonial state,”

accused Israel of “collective punishment through indiscriminate bombing of civilians” and claimed that “Palestinian people have been continually abused, traumatized and killed by the settler state of Israel and its Western allies for over 75 years.”

In response, Rosenberg wrote to UBC president Benoit-Antoine Bacon, dean of the faculty of medicine Dermot Kelleher and other university officials.

“I assumed they didn’t understand these complex issues,” he said. “I explained to them that antisemitism leads to dehumanization, and I suggested we work together to meet with the students, talk about the petition and about antisemitism.”

Rosenberg described the dean’s response as a “boilerplate letter.”

“He said I could file a complaint through the university’s DEI [diversity, equity and inclusion] program – which has nothing about Jews or antisemitism,” Rosenberg noted.

Demoralization set in as further incidents in the faculty failed to garner any action from the university.

Some 284 physicians wrote to the dean, describing the dangerous environment at UBC for Jewish students, faculty and patients. They received no response. Then, a professor Rosenberg worked with posted a picture of Jesus in the rubble of Gaza on social media. Rosenberg made the decision to resign.

“I’d been begging these leaders to stand up and speak about this, to model respectful dialogue, and no one was saying anything,” he said. “I realized the faculty of medicine had adopted hardwired ideological positions, and I felt I had to opt out and make a public statement about it.”

After his resignation, Rosenberg received a call from a retired dean, who admitted, in tears, how badly he’d felt about his colleague’s treatment. “He said the senior administration at UBC had silenced him and others, tying their hands. He spoke of how people were intimidated to speak out even when they shared my views, because they feared they’d be marginalized. He was looking for absolution.”

In May 2025, Rosenberg received a call from Member of Parliament Anthony Housefather, requesting he testify in Parliament the following week about the antisemitism he’d experienced. Rosenberg felt an enormous responsibility to get his testimony right. “In my work as a physician, I look after old people. I’m not a genocidal maniac,” he said. “But that’s what my students are thinking about me.”

While antisemitism has not subsided, Rosenberg is optimistic that truth and sanity will ultimately prevail. In his work with Doctors Against Racism and Antisemitism, he’s been writing letters to different medical departments, but, for the most part, those letters have been dismissed.

“I think there’s a systemic bias in the Western world against Israel and Zionism and a lingering bias against Judaism,” he said. “The title of my book, Ayekha, is a question to the world: where the hell are you? People need to wake up and look at the truth.”

Rosenberg noted that one requirement of entrance into medical school at UBC right now is a demonstration of your social justice activism.

“The epitome of evil in the social justice narrative is settler-colonialism, and the worst settler-colonialism is Zionism,” he noted of the school’s view.

“This means Jews are not going to get into medical school. I’ve had Jewish medical students email me to say they changed their names to non-Jewish names, just to get in. This is real, and BDS [boycott, divestment and sanctions] is happening. We need to speak out against it and be aware that DEI does not include us as Jews.”

Lauren Kramer, an award-winning writer and editor, lives in Richmond.

Offering solidarity, support

This summer, Jewish Addiction Community Services (JACS) and Jewish Family Services Vancouver (JFS) launched JACS Family Circle, a group that meets biweekly to provide solidarity and support for family members and loved ones of Jews experiencing addiction.

“Most people are surprised that this exists,” said Rabbi Josh Corber, director of addictions and mental health services. “But alcoholism is a family disease that affects everyone in the family differently. And, regardless of their loved one’s recovery journey, they deserve to have a life that’s happy, joyous and free.”

Nine people showed up for the first JACS Family Circle meeting, on July 28, and, depending on the needs of the attendees, the frequency may become weekly. Corber said gratitude was the main theme that emerged from the first meeting. “We received immense appreciation for the fact that this group exists now, and the attendees were happy to have this group and to have one another,” he said.

Since their Third Seder event in April, JFS and JACS have been busy launching this group and the Jewish Addiction Circle (JAC), a support group for people struggling with addiction, which follows Jewish teachings as they relate to self-care and recovery. JAC also meets biweekly. While participants don’t have to be Jewish to attend, they should be connected in some way with Judaism, or at the least, comfortable with the therapy provided having a Jewish basis.

Corber leads JAC and co-leads JACS Family Circle with Elana Epstein, a certified recovery coach.

In early July, JACS Vancouver participated in the AA International Convention in Vancouver, which was attended by more than 30,000 people. Because AA does not partner with external agencies, JACS rented a booth at “Sober City,” at the Junction Public Market, Granville Square. There, Corber interacted with convention attendees, tourists and cruise ship passengers, educating them about the work of JACS and similar Jewish organizations in other cities in Canada and the United States.

“I was able to make connections with many Jewish addicts in recovery,” he said. “There were sober Jews from small cities in the US who felt very isolated as Jews, and some of them were moved to tears when they spoke with us. Many of the people who approached us were Jewish, and many were not, but all of them were happy that we were there. Some didn’t know of any Jewish agency involved with addictions prior to meeting us.”

Corber worked hard to spread awareness of JACS’s work at the convention, and says addiction services for Jews are needed now more than ever.

“It can be difficult for people who aren’t Jewish to help us if they don’t understand the Jewish culture, though they sincerely want to,” he said. “But what we can build together will benefit the Vancouver Jewish community as well as alcoholics everywhere. The returns on our participation are hard to quantify right now but, on a world level, JACS Vancouver is now much more known. This can bring all kinds of returns, including philanthropic.”

Those interested in joining JAC or JACS Family Circle should email Corber at [email protected] for more information.

Lauren Kramer, an award-winning writer and editor, lives in Richmond.