Opinion – Jewish Independent

The will of “the people”

The deed is finally done. For years, Quebec politicians have been talking about secularism, or laïcité, proposing a range of actions to ban the presence of visible religious symbols among government employees. On Sunday, following a weekend of almost round-the-clock debate, the Coalition Avenir Québec majority in the National Assembly passed Bill 21. The law bans symbols such as the crucifix, turban, hijab and kippah for provincial employees in positions of authority, such as judges, police, prosecutors, court clerks and schoolteachers.

The bill was met with lamentations and anger from the opposition. Catherine Dorion, a member of the National Assembly representing the left-wing party Québec solidaire spoke powerfully in favour of individual liberty and the right to exhibit religious identity.

“Each person in this room who will vote for Bill 21 will bear the responsibility for this first great breach in the dike we had proudly erected to protect the fundamental rights of all Quebecers,” she said.

The vote came a day after a similarly contentious debate on another bill, which addresses the province’s agreement with the federal government over immigration to Quebec. On the one hand, the bill aims to ensure that immigration reflects the province’s labour requirements, which is justifiable. On the other hand, the bill also permits the creation of a “values test” that new Quebecers would have to pass before admission to permanent residency. A test of this nature is one thing in theory – extreme examples like female genital mutilation are raised as justifications – but it is something else in practice.

Government measures to adjudicate an individual’s beliefs is a recipe for disaster. Certainly we would like to see people with hateful or violent attitudes toward particular cultural groups prevented from entering the country, or rehabilitated if they are already here. There are programs and policies in Canada to address this problem and they should be strengthened. But applying what amounts to a form of prior restraint on the ideas and beliefs of new Canadians by a government with limited respect for civil liberties crosses a perilous line.

The religious symbols law parallels the immigration law in its flouting of civil liberties, but diverges importantly in a number of ways. It applies to people who are already Canadian (for the most part, at least), which is a more grievous affront than putting up barriers for non-citizens.

In responding to criticism, Quebec Premier François Legault declared: “Someone once said, beware of those who say they like the people but do not listen to what the people want.”

This language reflects a populism we have seen in Europe as well as North America, but which has been thankfully rare in this country. The idea that governments should do whatever “the people” want invites a tyranny of the majority that is almost destined to trample on individual rights, especially the rights of members of minority communities. It bears stating that, in Quebec, in order to deliver the will of the people, the assembly had to clip the wings of democracy not once but twice, invoking closure on debate on both bills and, in the case of Bill 21, promising to use the Canadian Constitution’s Notwithstanding Clause to override what even the government of Quebec acknowledges is a unconstitutional infringement on individual rights.

We are seeing flare-ups elsewhere in Canada of how some of “the people” would like to see public policy progress. On the same busy weekend, a rally in downtown Vancouver against transgender rights and opposing the province’s progressive sexual education agenda turned nasty (if the mission of the event wasn’t nasty enough) when counter-protesters showed up to confront them. At the rally were the Soldiers of Odin, a far-right group, people wearing yellow vests, the symbol of an amorphous movement that began in France and has attracted extremists, and at least one leading member of the People’s Party of Canada, a new populist party that seems determined to stoke a range of fears and prejudices in the lead-up to the federal election this fall.

Violence also erupted last weekend at a pride parade in Hamilton, Ont., when protesters showed up at the celebration. A local politician laid blame for the violence, which included punching and choking, on “far-right evangelicals” who he said were “just there to sucker-punch people.”

All of this is to say that Canada is not immune to extremism or even politically motivated violence. There is, of course, an important line between the violence in Hamilton and the laws that were rammed through Quebec’s legislature. Violence deserves universal condemnation while passionate disagreements over politics – even laws we see as repressive and excessive – are justifiable and welcome. Still, these incidents all reflect different approaches to “othering” – the idea that “we” are under threat from “them.”

What is encouraging is hearing the voices of those forced to defend the values of inclusion and respect for diversity. There was eloquence on the opposition side of Quebec’s National Assembly last weekend and, in response to the altercations in Hamilton and Vancouver, admirable recommitment by many to the values that we genuinely hope will represent the Canada we hope to create. This is also a reminder to speak up, so that when politicians say they are doing what “the people” want, what they mean is the will of people who pursue inclusion, acceptance and diversity.

Being positive can be hard

My Southern friends and family often joke, “The Lord works in mysterious ways.” This morning, I wondered what I would write for this column. I was walking dogs in the sunshine and things were mostly going well.

Except, right after 8 a.m., as I set up the slow cooker for dinner, my husband returned to the back door. He’d just left for work, but announced, “Change of plans.” Why? He’d just discovered that my car had another window smashed. It was the second time in eight days.

This column could be a real downer. There’s plenty to write about the rise in vandalism and crime, the current meth and opioid addiction crisis, the lack of mental health supports and addiction counseling; there’s a lot to say. Since we’re commanded to care for the sick and the homeless, well, it’s all a Jewish topic. (Yes, Jews struggle with mental health issues, commit crimes and take drugs.)

However, I’m going to look at something else that happened instead. When the first window broke, we thought it might be from vandalism, but it was just as likely that the vibrations from nearby construction broke the glass. I tried to come up with a positive narrative.

Sad to say, the second broken window was clearly smashed by a person, who then scattered our (totally worthless) belongings around in the car. We came to the inevitable conclusion – this wasn’t just an accident. Someone was trying to steal but couldn’t find much in there of value.

It’s easy to get stuck in a negative feedback loop here. If you spend a lot of time complaining, focusing on the negative, and repeating what happened, it’s bound to get you down. Yet, it takes work to be positive sometimes.

My kids are the lucky recipients of PJ Library books each month. Every generation of Jewish kids is offered the folk story where someone comes to the rabbi to complain about his house. The rabbi usually tells the man to get a dog, then a chicken, a duck, then a goat, cow and horse … put them all in the house.

Of course, it’s a chaotic, messy, loud experience. The poor complainer comes back to the rabbi saying, “Rabbi, why did you suggest this?” And the rabbi tells the man to give away or sell all the animals. Suddenly, when his little house is empty and quiet again? It’s a palace.

I won’t lie, we all have many things to kvetch over. Things don’t go well, or things that we want that cost too much money, or seem beyond reach. The truth is that we’ve been struggling with this, as a people, for as long as we’ve been around. In the Torah portion Sh’lach L’cha (Numbers 13:1-15:41) which happens around this time of year, we read about how scouts were sent out to check out the Promised Land. How they describe it – good (who doesn’t like milk and honey?) but with significant downsides. It’s settled by giants! They will eat us!

As a result, aside from Caleb and Joshua, G-d doesn’t let anyone in who was enslaved in Egypt, essentially sending a new generation into the land of Israel. Some read this as punishment for all the negativity and things that went wrong. Others see it as something of a narrative “refresh” button. Want to get rid of the negative feedback loop? Start with people who see things in a positive light, and don’t let them focus on what is going badly.

Is it possible to cut out all negativity? In my opinion, I think that’s naïve. The world is a challenging place. There are going to be difficult experiences and bad days. However, we also need to consciously work to be grateful for what we have. Like the man with the livestock in his house, we may not realize how good we have it until things get much, much worse.

Recently someone commented that she was amazed to see me smiling and present when I was actually quite tired. (Plus, I was struggling with some bad stuff, but I kept it to myself. She didn’t even know about that.) Sometimes, we have to “fake it until we make it.” As a mom with grade school kids, I don’t get many breaks. There are times when a kid or dog is sick and wakes me up at night, when street construction is terribly loud or, heck, my car keeps getting vandalized. However, if I give in to the negative feelings and list all the complaints, I get stuck on that same problematic negative narrative, like the aforementioned Torah portion, when those folks in the desert got frightened and suggested they should go back to Egypt.

This portion also mentions a list of physical things we can do to remind ourselves of our positive connection to G-d and Judaism, such as wearing tzitzit and taking a portion of our baking as a gift to G-d. It was a good reminder. Today, I’m making a big batch of challah – and I said the blessing as I sectioned off a portion of the dough.

It takes a brave leap some days to be positive and seek out the things for which we are grateful. Yes, my windows were smashed. I’m hoping all will be repaired by the time you read this column. In the meanwhile, I focus on how good that challah will taste and – maybe? – how quiet it will be when the construction is over.

Seeing life’s challenges as the glass half-full rather than half-empty can be hard work. However, that work is a conscious (and a Jewish) choice.

Joanne Seiff has written regularly for CBC Manitoba and various Jewish publications. She is the author of three books, including From the Outside In: Jewish Post Columns 2015-2016, a collection of essays available for digital download or as a paperback from Amazon. See more about her at joanneseiff.blogspot.com.

A word chosen with care

Words matter. In a period when traditional media compete with social media, where everyone on the planet can pretty much find a place to say whatever they want, the weight of words can seem lost in the deluge of opinions, aspersions and insults. So, it is encouraging, in some ways, to see a pitched battle over the use of a single word. It assures us that many people still understand the power that language can have.

After the Truth and Reconciliation Commission’s 2015 final report, the federal government set up the National Inquiry into Murdered and Missing Indigenous Women and Girls. The MMIWG report, released last week, concluded that there are “serious reasons to believe that Canada’s past and current policies, omissions and actions towards first Nations peoples, Inuit and Métis amount to genocide….”

The use of the term genocide has sparked a debate. Top federal officials at first avoided using the word. At the ceremony marking the release of the report, Prime Minister Justin Trudeau was interrupted by an audience member who yelled, “Genocide! Say it!” Trudeau opted against it on that day, but he would use the term later in the week. Justice Minister David Lametti deflected discussion, saying he would leave the determination around the use of the term genocide “to academics and experts.”

The 1948 Genocide Convention defines it as “intent to destroy, in whole or in part, a national, ethnical, racial or religious group.” Raphael Lemkin, the Polish Jew who coined the term, described genocide as an effort to destroy the foundations of a national group with the objective of annihilation. While genocide certainly includes state-led mass murder, the term can also incorporate a range of less aggressively lethal acts, such as Canada’s residential schools system, the core goal of which was to eradicate indigenous cultures and languages among native peoples in the country.

The report identifies “colonial structures,” including the Indian Act, the Sixties Scoop, residential schools and offences against human rights, as antecedents to current rates of traumatic violence, suicide and deaths among indigenous populations.

The MMIWG report makes a series of recommendations, including, for example, that police services investigate officers for discrimination and mistreatment against indigenous peoples and failures to investigate crimes, government funding to improve recruitment of indigenous peoples into policing, a national task force to review and potentially reinvestigate every unresolved case and a standardizing of protocols around treatment of the thousands of missing and murdered women.

The chief commissioner, Marion Buller, chose the term genocide determinedly and used it throughout the report.

“This report is about deliberate race, identity and gender-based genocide,” she wrote in the opening paragraph of the final report.

However, the report also acknowledged that there are “outstanding disagreements” over the definition of the term. Alongside the final report came a 43-page legal analysis of the term genocide and how it applies to the Canadian situation.

The lead author of the legal assessment, Fanny Lafontaine, a specialist on international criminal justice and human rights at Université Laval, said, “I think it has to be understood as a very distinct type of genocide from the Holocaust…. Genocide is composed of lethal and nonlethal acts. All of that together leads to the physical destruction of indigenous people, but also as a social unit. It’s the genocide taken as numerous acts spanning decades, basically, that is the root cause of the violence against [indigenous] women,” she told the National Post.

RCMP statistics indicate that 16% of female homicides in Canada between 1980 and 2012 were perpetrated against indigenous women, who make up just 4% of the population. This is triple the rate of nonindigenous women and double those of indigenous men. Testimony from individuals and families that were incorporated into the final report tell a harrowing story of violence and dehumanization.

Some might say that the debate over the term genocide detracts from the urgent, less theoretical components of the report and its recommendations. Maybe. But the considered choice by those who best understand the social impacts of systemic discrimination against indigenous Canadians, especially indigenous women, to use the term genocide should give us pause. Among Jewish observers, there may be an understandable sensitivity to anything that seems to shift the weight of the word, which was created specifically to articulate the Jewish experience in the Shoah. Yet, we should also take this opportunity to learn and understand why and how a community in our midst would articulate their own experiences as amounting to genocide.

Knee-jerk responses are not helpful on this front (or any, probably) and, while the arguments over the meaning and intent of the term reassure us that people still appreciate the power of words, we might also caution not to get stalled over this debate. What non-indigenous Canadians should do at this point – especially if we have an issue with the use of the term genocide – is to dive deeply into the tragic legacies of colonialism that have led to this moment and try to understand why this term was carefully chosen. Perhaps, we can each start with a commitment to read the report.

Reflections on parenting

So, I’m thinking about the times of our growing up, and who did what in the story of our lives. We never think much about it while it’s happening, during the years when we are coming to our senses. During those times, we are too busy trying to figure out what’s going on.

This process has always fascinated me, wondering what I was thinking. I can’t remember any details about how it was for me. Do you ever wonder how we ended up in the particular places we were, with the people with whom we were packaged? Do you ever wonder how it was that these particular people came to inhabit your life?

Didn’t we just take for granted what was happening all around us as we were growing up, and just went on from there? But, let’s face it, the operation of our lives didn’t just happen. Somebody was out there doing the heavy lifting for us while we just floated along with the tide. It may take us a lifetime to figure that out and to begin to appreciate how generous other people have been, with what may have been meagre resources, in the making of our lives. I remember I resented, for the longest time, never having had any choice about the particular place in which I found myself. I couldn’t wait to get out of that place into one of my own making. Are all of us that arrogant as to our imagined rights at that young age? Did you ever have similar disloyal thoughts?

I think about the roles I had in bringing up my own children. I get the feeling that I sleepwalked through that job, concentrated as I was on making the best of my career opportunities. How much of that was ego and how much of that was an inbred drive, an absorbed imperative to provide for my dependents? I always told myself that they were the ultimate beneficiaries of my misguided priorities. My dependents may have a different view.

How much time did I spend preparing them to cope with the demands of a sometimes hostile world? Did I spend enough time counseling them as to how they might overcome the challenges they were sure to face? Did I do enough beyond providing food, clothing and housing? Was it enough? Did I do a better job than my parents did, as I was convinced I could? Didn’t I have a greater capacity to do that, so that so much more was expected?

I’ve never talked to my kids much about these concerns. Now I am a little hesitant about broaching the subject. I fear the memories they might have would have them judging my behaviour as bordering on neglect. Horrors! Did I do enough of the heavy lifting that was required? Do you people out there ever think about this stuff? Don’t we all console ourselves with the thought that we always did our best under the circumstances? Do we dare ask our kids about that?

If we look at nature, at the way creatures go about raising their young, it is clear that, in most cases, mammals and birds will, like humans, protect and nourish their young during their vulnerable periods, even to the point of surrendering their lives if need be. For wild creatures, the pains they go to, making nests and burrows, hunting and gathering food, seem without limit, commandeered by instinct. And the young learn by following their parents’ example. For humans, that period of vulnerability is so much longer. And what our young have to learn is so much more complex.

I always thought I would do better when my turn came, only to realize on maturity how the many gifts I had been given by my parents would challenge my own capacities to match them with my own brood. We know what a difference parental attendance can make in an offspring’s future.

How many parents stick with a job they hate to put bread on the table? How many parents stay in a relationship they loath to keep a roof over the heads of their young? Most just keep on doing what they have to do, day after day, year after year. That’s heavy lifting!

How many parents abandon places where they know all the rules for the unknown, in the hope of ensuring their children will have a better chance at life? How many jump off into danger in the hope of finding a better life? We are hearing a lot about that these days at the Unites States’ southern border. And at many European borders for the last several years. Didn’t most of us have it a lot easier?

How do we define what we owe ourselves and what we owe to those we are responsible for bringing into this world? How many of those rules come from outside ourselves, absorbed from our parents, from our communities? (What a hierarchy of social imperatives I inherited just by being born Jewish! What was in your birth box?) Or, like other creatures, do we mostly act out of instinct? We see all kinds of behaviours. And we can’t help judging what we see, whatever our own performance has been, with whatever tatters of standards remain to us.

Now, no longer under the gun, and seeing things with a broader perspective, what do we do now? Do we think we have the right to butt in on our offspring with our own views about how things should go? How do you think we would feel if we were in their place? Isn’t it obvious? Do we have the wisdom to wait to be invited to comment? Will that invitation ever come?

For many of us, the heavy lifting is now in other hands.

Max Roytenberg is a Vancouver-based poet, writer and blogger. His book Hero in My Own Eyes: Tripping a Life Fantastic is available from Amazon and other online booksellers.

Chocolate babka debacle

Babka gone bad: The Accidental Balabusta’s first attempt at this Jewish treat was less than a stellar success. (photo by Shelley Civkin)

After I conquered challah and cholent, I felt it was time to tiptoe into the forbidden realm of babka. I say the word with a great deal of reverence, because, well, if you’ve ever eaten a spectacular babka, you know it’s something awe-inspiring. There are limitless variations of babka: chocolate, Nutella, boozy, apricot and cinnamon, pumpkin, butterscotch and more. I even found a recipe for babka ice cream sandwiches and babka bread pudding. This is not diet food. Never was. Never will be.

Babka is comprised of a basic challah dough or a butter challah dough. Every recipe is different and, sometimes, to achieve the perfect babka (which I am far from accomplishing) you need to do a bit of mixing and matching of recipes.

My first attempt at making chocolate babka was an unmitigated disaster. Not only was my dough so velvety soft that I couldn’t even roll it, but the filling was so thin that it smooshed out all over the place. Part of the problem was math. I have always been math challenged. In fact, I have a pair of socks that say: “The three things I hate most are math.” My brain shuts down when faced with mathematical conversions (yes, I know there are apps for that). Long story short, I mistakenly used a half-pound of butter instead of a half-cup of butter for my babka dough. Hence, the flaccid, unresponsive dough. Nobody likes flaccid dough. Most people don’t even like the word flaccid. Except sex therapists. Anyway….

My other challenge was not realizing that you have to refrigerate the dough for a bit before rolling it out and filling it. There are tons of YouTubes on how to make babka – I recommend viewing several of them before attempting this at home. Also, check out lots of Jewish cookbooks, too. I stress “Jewish” because we Jews know how to accentuate the caloric value of our food so that it tastes impossibly rich and irresistible. Jewish baking is famous for a reason. If a recipe calls for eight ounces of dark chocolate, what the hell, 12 ounces must be better. Half a cup of butter – why not half a pound? Don’t bother pointing it out. I see the error of my ways.

If my first attempt at babka was less than a stellar success, it’s not just because of the aforementioned infractions. My main excuse is my miniscule galley kitchen. I lay the blame squarely where it belongs: on the almost-nonexistent counter. Things are so squished in my kitchen that there’s very little room for food. Or utensils. Take, for example, my long, articulated spatula. It’s the perfect implement for shmearing the chocolate onto the dough before rolling it up. I digress.

Back to the babka. I started shmearing the chocolate and, part way though, I had to sneeze. So, I put the long spatula into the bowl with the melted chocolate sitting on my teeny, tiny counter. The sheer force of my sternutation – it was probably a 7.8 on the Richter scale – caused the chocolate-covered spatula to fly out of the bowl and splatter chocolate everywhere, and I mean everywhere. It ended up on the walls, the floor, me, the counter, the carpet and Harvey, who looked on in mute husbandly horror. It was like something out of a slasher movie. Except the splatter was 85% bittersweet cacao chocolate instead of blood. I could have been arrested for assault with a confectionery weapon. All that was missing was the yellow police tape.

As if that wasn’t enough, the excitement of it all caused me to knock the recipe into the sink, which was filled with dirty bowls and brown water. At that point, I almost cried. But I didn’t. Instead, I casually looked at my chocolate-covered hubby and said: “OK, no one died. I’m going to try again.” I was determined not to let this babka get the better of me. I was going to show it who was the boss.

After wiping chocolate off my face, the walls and the counter (I may have licked the counter), I rolled up the flaccid babka, shoved it into the fridge and poured myself a teeny, tiny single malt Scotch. Just to shore up my nerves. Once I’d consumed the liquid fortification, I took out the babka, sliced it down the middle lengthwise, which is kind of difficult when it’s not really a shape, and proceeded to twist it so that that the layers of dough and chocolate showed on the outside. Then, I carefully laid it to rest in a parchment-lined coffin. I mean loaf pan. Said Kaddish.

photo - Babka gone better: Subsequent babka attempts were more successful — Babka gone better: Subsequent babka attempts were more successful. *(photo by Shelley Civkin)*

Since I’d made enough dough for about 15 babkas (by mistake, of course … remember my math impairment?), I now had to figure out what to do with the rest of it. I was tempted to sell it on Craigslist, but how would I even describe it? “Blob of velvety soft dough for sale. Nearly house-trained. Enough to make several loaves of bread or a small border wall. If frozen. Pick-up only. $10 obo.” In all honesty, I would have paid someone to take it off my hands at that point.

Stuck with all that dough, I shmeared and shaped the rest of it into circles, rectangles and free-form sculptures, jammed them into every available pan I had, and shoved them into the oven to bake. The entire procedure took about 11 hours. My bone graft and tooth implant took less time. I think I started the whole process at around 9 a.m. and didn’t remove the final “babka” (I use that word loosely) until around 8 p.m. Of course, I’m also factoring in the time it took the restoration team to steam clean our entire apartment. Should have just moved.

By that time, there was no way I was making dinner. So, we ate three-quarters of one chocolate babka for dinner. Slathered in even more butter. I think I may have sent both of us into a slight sugar coma. Not sure. No paramedics were called, so it couldn’t have been that traumatic.

I put the rest of the evidence into the freezer, for when I want to scare some unsuspecting dinner guests. I promise, here and now, that my next foray into babka-making will start with single malt Scotch.

If I’m lucky, it may end there, too.

Shelley Civkin, aka the Accidental Balabusta, is a happily retired librarian and communications officer. For 17 years, she wrote a weekly book review column for the Richmond Review, and currently writes a bi-weekly column about retirement for the Richmond News.

See the light inside everyone

Lately, I’ve been thinking about Elijah the Prophet, or Eliyahu Hanavi. He’s that guy who somehow travels worldwide, to drink all the wine at every Passover seder every year. (What a hangover he must have!) Elijah is also supposed to attend every Jewish boy’s circumcision (brit milah or bris). We sing about him during Havdalah, the short service that separates the Sabbath from the rest of the week. This guy’s all over the place!

Well, he’s both all over the place in Jewish tradition and shrouded in mystery. This is the quirky prophet that never actually died, but instead ascended to heaven. He’s got three separate roles in Jewish tradition.

1) He’s a zealous prophet, reminding people how to behave properly and to remember G-d.

2) He’s known to appear and help those in distress.

3) He’s supposed to announce the coming of the Messiah or the Messianic Age.

(There’s more to Elijah’s roles, depending on what text you study.)

I hadn’t thought much about Elijah as an adult. I’m not big into worrying over the coming of a man on a white donkey (from Babylonian Talmud, Sanhedrin 98a) or the Messianic Age. However, he makes an appearance in ways that capture my kids’ interest. There’s that mysterious cup on the seder plate, and the song that we sing hoping that this week will be the one where Eliyahu Hanavi shows up to bring about the Messiah’s coming. Even if a kid doesn’t attend a bris too often, he might ask questions about Elijah.

There are a lot of stories that retell rabbinic traditions about Elijah. The most powerful are ones I never forgot from childhood, and which may still be helpful today. The stories seem to align directly with those points above, that adults are already supposed to know.

From the Prophets, we know that Elijah reprimanded others, threatened them with scary stories and told them to shape up. It’s essentially “putting the fear of G-d” into them. Apparently, he was good at this role, as he was sent to do it multiple times. In Jewish folklore, Elijah is the stranger who appears and helps the poor and reminds the wealthy of their failings. It’s this combination of the stranger who appears when you least expect it and the coming of the Messianic Age that I think about most often. Why?

I was taught to try to treat everybody with respect and empathy – because that person might be Elijah. That Elijah could appear at any time, looking like an old lady or a child, a homeless person or an older person with dementia. How we treat people indicates how we’re doing on bringing about a better age, or a Messianic one. When this idea was introduced to me, I remember thinking it sounded weird.

As an adult, it makes more sense because, well, life is weird. Life offers us many opportunities to practise conscious kindness, to do mitzvot (commandments) that help make the world a better place. If we keep doing this “fixing the world” (tikkun olam), well, we might just hear from Elijah.

There was that time when we had a stranger knock at our door. My husband answered it and then told me what happened. It was an indigenous man who didn’t look well. He looked like he had been doing some traveling through back lanes, but he came to the door with our dog’s collar in his hand.

I was immediately anxious. Our dogs are never without their collars and ID tags. However, this man came along, saw the collar in the back lane, clearly beyond the fenced yard. He was worried for the dog. The good news? We called her, and our dog was happy and safe inside. She’d somehow managed to shed her collar and leave it in the back lane without anyone noticing. This kind act made me wonder: Was this Elijah, known for his affinity with dogs? In the Sefer HaAggadah, it’s said that, when dogs are happy for no reason, it’s because Elijah is in the neighbourhood.

Sometimes, one of my kids carefully saves the seat beside him at services for what appears to be an imaginary friend. We joke that he knows Elijah is coming. Instead, it ends up being the friend on her own who needs just one spot or maybe even a stranger, who we then get to welcome to synagogue.

It’s the extra granola bar in my “mom bag,” when I thought someone might need a snack – and, indeed, a hungry person turns up. He needs it to continue onwards. Who knows what that person’s potential will be? That stranger gets a granola bar because, well, he might be Elijah.

This is all mystery and whimsy, if you take a purely Western and scientific view of the world. Yet, most of us acknowledge that we can’t explain why we’re lucky or when misfortune befalls us. Is it because of our behaviour or our efforts to do good in the world? Is it because some people “deserve” misfortune? I think not.

There are amazing people, all around us, who have struggled. Some were homeless, were put in foster care as children, or had addictions. Perhaps they suffered through wars or trauma. This childhood lesson about Elijah has stood me in very good stead because, if you remember that every person has value, every soul is important, it doesn’t matter how the person’s body presents itself. Whatever their clothes or hair look like, that person could be Elijah. Better yet, every person is someone important. It’s up to us to see that light inside, the potential waiting there, and to acknowledge the “other,” as Martin Buber would say. Be ready to offer something, with love and hope, when needed. It could be welcoming someone and offering a seat, a kind word, a thank you for returning a lost item, or a granola bar. Anybody can do this. Remember, that person across from you may be Elijah. The rest? It’s up to you.

Hiding is not an answer

“Doctor, it hurts when I do this,” says the patient in an old joke. “Don’t do that,” advises the doctor.

In a decidedly unfunny twist on that old joke, the German government’s Commissioner on Antisemitism Felix Klein responded to the fact that Jews are being beaten up on German streets by advising German Jews not to wear kippot in public.

Discretion may be the better part of valour. In the short term, donning a baseball cap may be a personal choice for someone who merely wants to dash out to the market to pick up some vegetables. As part of a bigger picture, the idea that Jews in Germany should hide their identities – and the bleak historical resonance that act of Jewish hiding evokes in that particular nation – is a testament to something far beyond individual security. If a country – but, more importantly, that country – is not a safe place for identifiably Jewish people to go about their everyday lives, that is a society with a problem.

After the Holocaust, many Jews, including the leaders of Canadian Jewish Congress, determined that the surest path to safety, security and acceptance for Jewish people was to promote a universalist approach and advocate for a society in which all people are safe, secure and accepted. This is one reason why, throughout recent Canadian history, we have seen Jews in leadership roles in multicultural organizations and supporting policies that advance inclusive, universalist goals.

But there may be, in this approach, an unfortunate acknowledgement that asking people to take a stand in support of Jewish people in particular may be a losing bet. Consider the disparate responses in theory and practice of public opinion in recent months. After the murders in synagogues in Pittsburgh and San Diego, a great many voices (on social media, predominantly) declared solidarity with Jewish people. Yet almost concurrently, when Israelis were under attack by missiles and incendiary devices from Gaza, the overwhelming reaction was to condemn Israel’s responses. It is incongruous and incoherent to support Jews under threat in one place and, at the same time, side with those who would attack Jews in another location.

The bigger point is that, if a society like Germany seems prepared to accept a level of social illness that means a kippa becomes a hate target, how do Jews respond?

Israel’s President Reuven Rivlin reacted passionately to events in Germany last weekend.

“We will never submit, will never lower our gaze, and will never react to antisemitism with defeatism – and we expect and demand our allies act in the same way,” he said. But Rivlin’s is the voice of a self-determined Jewish people sovereign in their own land. The reality for Jews in Germany, and in many other places, is that they face antisemitism of a sort and magnitude unseen since 1945. Whether Diaspora Jews will indeed submit, lower our gaze or react with defeatism actually remains to be seen, Rivlin’s encouraging words notwithstanding.

Rivlin is unequivocally correct, though, when he says he expects more of Israel’s allies in protecting Jewish people, rather than suggesting that we hide our identities. Ideally, as a result of this discussion, the German government will recognize the inappropriateness of the commissioner’s words. Through preventive actions, like increased security, and educational efforts, including genuinely tackling antisemitism in schools and public discourse, the government of Germany, as well as other European countries, can move in the right direction.

Equally important, especially when leaders won’t lead, citizens must. It falls to each of us – Jews and non-Jews – to build bridges of understanding across ethnic, religious, linguistic and cultural lines. We need to advocate for those same inclusive values. Yes, times have changed and ideals of multiculturalism and the celebration of difference have taken a beating, but the inherent goodness of those values has not changed.

We also should strive to make intolerance and bigotry socially unacceptable again. The culture in Europe and North America has become coarsened and we are becoming inured to statements and imagery that would have been unacceptable before. Social media is partly to blame for this, but, as it seeps into broader society, we need to keep calling out words and ideas that divide, harm, vilify or seek to diminish others.

We know these “solutions” sound idealistic and perhaps a bit like bailing out the Titanic with a thimble. But we got to this stage in history through a million small incremental steps in the wrong direction. It is a constellation of small, positive steps that may be our best way back – in conjunction with people of all backgrounds who share our views.

Two things are certain. There is no magic wand that is going to right the wrongs we see in the world – and hiding our identities is no solution.

Put down “the ducky” in shul

I chatted with a friend recently about what it was like in “the old days” when someone had to take a cellphone call during synagogue. This is when there were only big, clunky cellphones. I remember seeing a doctor on call pacing in the lobby. He – and it was usually a man – looked apologetic as he listened carefully. It was an emergency. It was a doctor who needed to attend to a patient, even though it was Shabbat and he was at services.

Given the circumstances, we recognized it was OK, because it was pikuach nefesh. He was helping save a life and that level of emergency is allowed, no matter how observant you are, on Shabbat. You put a person’s life above everything else.

The media has done many features where they reflect on research that shows how social media and being attached to a cellphone or other device has affected our health. It can keep us from interacting in the real world with other people, from sleeping or focusing properly. Social media increases our anxiety levels and, sometimes, it’s an addiction. Waiting to get that next update, from a friend or a news source, can sometimes seem more important than any actual person or event taking place in the same room.

My kids know the lesson from Sesame Street and the classic song, “Put down the ducky!” Ernie wants to play the saxophone, but Hoots the Owl tells him, “Put down the ducky if you want to play the saxophone!” It’s a lesson that we must break habits – like carrying a cellphone or the rubber ducky – to learn something new, make music and interact with others.

In the Jewish context, I see it everywhere. It’s at services, lectures, at the Passover seder or Shabbat table, at the kids’ events and play dates. It’s so pervasive that those doing it don’t even realize they are blocking out the world to engage with their electronics. It’s like a body part for those folks, while its noise means others can’t concentrate.

I was at a family service on Shabbat when we were interrupted with what sounded like a radio playing. It seemed to drift on and off and it was terribly distracting. Are we hyper-aware of such things? Absolutely. I am always tired and it makes me extra sensitive to noise and stimulation. There are some folks in my family who are also noise-sensitive. Too much noise and chaos often means we just have to leave. It’s too much.

Meanwhile, while the radio-like sound continued to compete with the prayers, adults in the back kept talking over it all. My husband, usually immune, looked bothered. I encouraged him to get up and ask someone to shut it off, since I sat with a kid on my lap. I thought it might be somewhere outside, but I was wrong. It was one of the talking adults, who failed to even notice that her phone was making the noise. Even when it was finally shut off, the adults continued to talk.

The interference was so pervasive and distracting that I couldn’t wait to leave. At Kiddush, at the end of the service, I heard someone say to a kid, “You can go ask the rabbi, he’s not praying now.”

That was it in a nutshell. I found myself wondering what the heck we were doing there. Are you coming to synagogue to play live-streaming radio and talk loudly? If you aren’t praying, or even sitting quietly, as a role model for kids, why bother coming to disrupt everyone else?

Some might say this is just an isolated incident, but it’s pervasive. On Yom Kippur, there was a grandfather who thought it was OK to hop up and snap photos with his phone during the service.

As I looked at the Torah portion, Behukotai, Leviticus 26:3-27:34, for the first week of June this year, I remembered this experience. It’s a portion that emphasizes all the amazing things offered by the Divine Presence “if you follow my laws and observe my commandments.” It’s a carrot-and-stick story, it clearly states the bad things that will happen to those who don’t follow the rules.

Our understanding of the laws and commandments may have changed, but social norms still exist. We live in a society with clear tension between individuality and the common good. If you judge someone else’s behaviour, you can be told that judgment is inappropriate – even when the individual isn’t behaving in a considerate or safe way for the community. If you feel uncomfortable with someone’s behaviour, we’re taught “we can only control ourselves and our response to it.”

You may not want to stop social media use on Shabbat or want to pray at services, and that’s your choice. However, it’s probably not your place to keep others distracted with your phone so they cannot concentrate on prayer. If you’re set on having it your way, and don’t want to think about others, why join a community Jewish event to do it? Stay home to use your cellphone instead.

Winnipeg prides itself on being a friendly place, and inspired other places to adopt a United Way campaign day of “conscious kindness.” It might be time to live the slogan and think of others – if you can’t put down the phone for your own sake, please do it for ours.

Absorbing controversy

Israel’s Eurovision 2019 entrant, Kobi Marimi, didn’t fare very well but he gave an emotional performance. (photo © Martin Fjellanger, Eurovision Norway, EuroVisionary)

The Eurovision Song Contest, like the World Cup, is one of those cultural phenomena that seems to enrapture huge swaths of the world while North Americans observe it dispassionately, if at all, wondering what it’s all about.

For Jewish North Americans, the annual international songfest gained attention last year and this year for the 2018 Israeli victory by performer Netta Barzilai, a victory that comes with the privilege of hosting the next contest. So it was that the world descended on Tel Aviv last week for the 2019 edition.

Commentary on social media was polarized. Anti-Israel activists called for a boycott of the event, while Israelis and Zionists (as well as tourists who are as attuned to Israel-Palestine politics as most of us are to the nuances of Eurovision or the World Cup) posted photos of a rapturous Mediterranean seaside celebration.

Calls to boycott one of the world’s most watched cultural events because it takes place in Israel represent a continuing effort to portray Israel as a nation apart from the rest, an untouchable among countries. To make this approach make sense, Israel has to be recast to fit the narrative. Notably, there was no serious discussion of a boycott when Eurovision was hosted by Russia, an autocracy guilty of terrible crimes and oppression.

For all its bluster and online ubiquity, the boycott-Israel movement has largely been a failure on the surface. Last week, activists called for a boycott of Israeli wines and, in response, there was a run on Israeli wines at Vancouver-area liquor stores. Similar campaigns have regularly produced far more sizzle than steak, with counter buycotts negating any large impacts that the boycotts might inflict.

What the BDS movement does successfully, though, is solidify in the minds of uninformed or unengaged people the idea that the Israeli-Palestinian conflict can be blamed on one party. If peace, justice and coexistence were the real aim of the movement, they might choose to call out injustices and corruption by the Hamas and Fatah rulers in Palestine alongside wrongs perpetrated by the Israeli government and military. Indeed, boycotts need not have any actual economic success in order to succeed at planting a narrative – a fact the BDS movement has seized upon.

Meanwhile, there has been outrage from supporters of the BDS movement in response to legislative moves to block anti-Israel boycotts. The German Bundestag recently passed a resolution condemning BDS as antisemitic and calling it redolent of Nazi-era boycotts. Activists have responded with a classic goose/gander dichotomy, seemingly demanding the right to boycott while incensed that anyone might boycott them back.

As we have written in this space previously, legislative punishments for boycotting Israel, which have also been passed by many U.S. states, may come from the right philosophical place, but we’d prefer to see the basis of the movement countered intellectually, rather than with the blunt force – and unintended consequences – of these laws.

Ultimately, the message we should take from the Eurovision experience and the broader BDS movement is that misrepresentations must be met with truth, even if that seems like a Sisyphean effort. More specifically, the boycotts should be met with a forceful response that not only declares our opposition to the boycott itself. We must also loudly proclaim that the underlying assertion of unilateral Israeli guilt for this seven-decade conflict is a false premise upon which the entire BDS cause rests. Of course, Israel has responsibilities in the goal of a lasting peace, but so do Palestinians, a fact that BDS supporters and much of the world refuse to acknowledge.

Eurovision organizers tried unsuccessfully to keep politics out of the competition but they came anyway. The supposed controversies did nothing to detract from the “big show” and, in fact, could be said to have highlighted the complex entity that is Israel and its capacity to embrace diverse views.

While Israel’s entrant, Kobi Marimi, didn’t fare very well – coming in 23rd of 26 entrants – he gave an emotional performance, finishing his song “Home” with tears. He later told reporters, “I don’t have words to explain how much I love this country, and how proud I am for myself and my team.” We’re pretty proud, too.

Harbingers of future?

In 2015, the federal New Democratic Party nixed Paul Manly’s hopes to run for Parliament, barring his candidacy because his anti-Israel politics were deemed too extreme. Manly joined the Green party and, this month, won a federal by-election in Nanaimo-Ladysmith. As only the second Green federally elected, Manly now makes up 50% of the federal Green party caucus.

By-elections are notoriously poor predictors of voter intentions in general elections. Manly’s win could go down as a footnote in history – or it could be a harbinger of tectonic change in Canadian politics. Little should be extrapolated from a single by-election outcome, but neither should we ignore the fact that the by-election win by Deborah Grey of the Reform Party, in 1989, represented the beginning of a new epoch in Canadian politics. The Reform party in the West and the Bloc Québecois in Québec gobbled up the Progressive Conservative party – and the New Democrats’ share of the vote.

Just days before the Nanaimo by-election, the Green party also made inroads in the Prince Edward Island provincial election, forming the official opposition. Just as a by-election is not a good measure of federal voters’ intentions, neither is a modest success in the micro-province of P.E.I. What both these outcomes do suggest is that a larger number of Canadians than ever before are considering casting a ballot for the Greens.

The outcome in Nanaimo-Ladysmith should send chills down the spines of Liberal and NDP organizers. Both parties saw their vote share collapse while the Greens leapfrogged and the Conservatives held their own.

Conventional wisdom says that the Green party should take more votes away from the NDP than from any other party. However, many 2015 Liberal voters are over their Trudeaumania and millions of Canadians are looking for a place to park their votes. The party would get a significant boost if Jody Wilson-Raybould and Jane Philpott, two women who embody the country’s disappointment in Prime Minister Justin Trudeau and his sunny ways, opt to run under the Green banner, as has been rumoured.

Jagmeet Singh, who managed to win his own by-election last year, can hardly find any silver lining in recent results. With the Liberals, who arguably ran to the left of the NDP last time, hemorrhaging support, the NDP should be sitting pretty. They are not.

Six months out from the general election, Conservative leader Andrew Scheer is the only party leader who should be pleased with the current landscape.

What this all means is not completely clear. Under Thomas Mulcair’s leadership, the NDP was dragged back to a more moderate middle after a period when it had seemed to go a bit off the rails, notably on the issue of Israel and Palestine. How the party addresses that and other contentious issues in the coming years will be determined significantly by the makeup of their caucus after the October elections. It was after their last terrible drubbing, in 1993, that the NDP fell under the sway of anti-Israel extremists. With just nine seats in parliament, and Svend Robinson as the most vocal and visible MP, the party became a hotbed of anti-Zionist activism. (Robinson is seeking a comeback in the riding of Burnaby North-Seymour.)

Under Mulcair’s leadership, a number of former New Democrats, like Manly, shifted over to the Green party. Elizabeth May, the party leader, and, until this month its only MP, doesn’t seem certain of where she stands on the issue. When her party’s convention passed a wildly unbalanced attack on Israel, she threatened to resign unless it was rescinded or watered down. Since then, she herself has made some contentious comments about Israel.

In the NDP and in the Green party, there are a small number of courageous Jewish and non-Jewish Zionists trying to lead their parties to a common-sense position on Middle East matters. Too often, these individuals are ridiculed in our own community when they should be commended for promoting a balanced, reasonable approach to the issue regardless of political persuasion.

Nevertheless, given the emerging landscape, if the Greens and New Democrats do not form some kind of electoral alliance – and if the Liberals do not pull themselves out of their largely self-inflicted pit of unpopularity – Canada is likely to be in for a long run of Conservative government. In that case, the nuance of Israel-Palestine policy on the left will be a moot point.