Opinion

A good place to start

A massive 94% of Canadian Jews support the right of Israel to exist as a Jewish state. However, according to University of Toronto sociologist Robert Brym, who conducted the survey of 600 respondents, only 51% of those call themselves “Zionists.”

In the National Post this month, Brym took aim at those he says have weaponized his work, including the group Independent Jewish Voices and Avi Lewis, who is running for the leadership of the federal New Democratic Party. Lewis and IJV have claimed, based on an apparent deliberate misreading of Brym’s study, that 49% of Canadian Jews are not Zionists.

Brym calls that “gaslighting.”

When asked “Do you support the right of Israel to exist as a Jewish state?” 94% of respondents answered “yes” – in a word, they are Zionist. However, in another question, about how they personally identified, 51% of Jewish Canadians affirm they are Zionist, 15% “express ambivalence” about referring to themselves as Zionist, 7% say they “don’t know” and 27% say they are not Zionist. Just 1% describe themselves as “anti-Zionist.”

Intellectually honest politicians and organizations should not engage in misrepresenting Jewish Canadians’ actual views and the diminishment of their overwhelming emotional, spiritual, familial and other connections to Israel and its right to exist.

Here is something we should be pondering: How has a word and an idea that reflects the manifestation of Jewish self-determination, freedom, actualization and civilizational achievement become so sullied that almost half of Jews hesitate or refuse to identify with it?

In some ways, it is understandable. Before Israel became a state in 1948, Zionism as a contemporary political movement was the outgrowth of Theodor Herzl’s late-19th-century idea of a separate Jewish homeland. Since 1948, and the existence of Israel as a nation-state, the term Zionism has been associated with a tangible country, with a military, a government, and the flaws and foibles that accompany all nation-states. Zionism has come to mean, in some eyes, a vast range of concepts, including actions, good or bad (but, for the purposes of Lewis and groups like IJV, almost always bad), of the government of Israel.

This contradiction between the strict meaning of the term as it is defined in the political sphere and the broad application of it by bad actors is part of the reason many Jews are hesitant to adopt the descriptor “Zionist.” Jews themselves may have limited knowledge around other forms and visions of Zionism that have existed, making it difficult for the average Jew to engage in a discussion that contextualizes modern-day Zionism and the fuller arc of Jewish history.

Given the challenges and anxieties around being Jewish in Canada (and everywhere else in the world) right now, perhaps it is unwise to criticize the hesitancy of half of Canadian Jews to self-identify with an unpopular term. This is especially the case when faced with nefarious discourses that align Zionism with racism, white supremacy and Naziism, and a lack of knowledge of how to respond to those charges.

This survey’s misuse seems like a line in the sand, though.

The defilement of the term “Zionist” to mean things it doesn’t mean is part of a larger trend to score political victories by moving goalposts and using language to obscure truth.

Generally, the anti-Israel narrative is founded on a sort of postmodern rejection of objective definitions and terminology. Terms like “apartheid,” “settler-colonialism,” “ethnic cleansing” and “genocide” are redefined to encompass whatever those who weaponize the terms want them to mean.

When Jews, in the form of the Jewish state, are accused of genocide, a term that had to be invented to describe the Jewish experience of mass death, it makes arguing over the adoption of the label “Zionist” seem petty. But, if there is no consensus on something so foundational to the way many Jews define ourselves and our values, we put ourselves at a disadvantage in combating an abuse of language that reduces the human dignity of the Jewish people and, worse, can have literal life-and-death consequences.

If we are going to reverse this trajectory, which threatens not just Jews but truth itself, we need to contest the manipulation of language. By proudly reclaiming the term “Zionist,” which, apparently, 94% of Canadian Jews are but either don’t know it or won’t admit it, perhaps we can build some of the resilience and strength needed to combat the fight against more destructive and deceitful redefinitions of terms.

If we are going to defend the definition of the words we use to discuss the most vital issues of our time, “Zionism” seems like a good place to start.

When boundaries have shifted

The beginning of January has not been easy in Winnipeg. We’ve dealt with hate crime graffiti, including swastikas, on Shaarey Zedek Synagogue, Kelvin High School, the Abu Bakr Al-Siddique Mosque, as well as a hookah café, residential properties and street signs. For my household, it was personal. It hit our congregation and my kids’ school. It marred street signs near where we live. It defaced a mosque where I know one of the members. This is a lot to deal with. The police triumphantly made an arrest, but, from what I’ve heard, it seems unlikely that this individual did all these crimes. The story is familiar to Canadians at this point. Here it is.

Hate crimes happen. “Oh!” our leaders say. “Hate crimes are horrible. This isn’t Canadian. We will seek justice!” Then, an intermittent flow of outrage and misinformation follows. Suddenly, there’s an arrest. Everything’s solved. Canadians live happily ever after.

That is, until a new crime pops up. When that’s reported, the response sometimes is, “Well, this isn’t fitting into our narrative. We don’t know how this happened.” It even extends to, “Oh, we (police or officials) don’t clean up graffiti, so you can go ahead and do this yourself.” Essentially, another episode is swept under the rug as inconvenient.

I learned about the Overton Window in a social science class years ago. However, when it came up in reference to societal change and antisemitism, I had to review its meaning. The term is neither positive nor negative. It defines something that we have all experienced. Imagine you have a spectrum of beliefs: about school choice, disabilities, tolerance and diversity, human rights, whatever. The term was originally designed to describe how a politician might use a “window” to define policies on this spectrum. Occasionally, it’s used to say where someone’s beliefs fall on the political spectrum. We can shift the Overton Window; for instance, towards increased accessibility for those with disabilities. Some shifts are good, some are not. This term helps describe what’s happening with respect to antisemitism.

As the police described their arrest of the suspect in this recent series of hate graffiti, they said something like they “would have to examine the motive behind the crimes.” I was flummoxed. How could a swastika on a minority’s place of worship or a public school be anything other than an act of hate? Discussion followed about the suspect’s mental health situation, as he is unwell. Soon after he was released from custody, he was arrested again, for breaking into a home and violating the conditions of his release.

Many people have mental health issues, but going out in the dark at 4 a.m. to paint swastikas isn’t a normal, common expression of those challenges. People who perform hateful acts should face consequences. The Overton Window of what is considered “acceptable” antisemitism seems to have shifted.

I’m guessing there are multiple people committing this hate in our city. Yet the narrative here indicates that “Hurray! We’ve got the culprit” and no more effort is being made to resolve the bigger issues.

Meanwhile, I concluded my Daf Yomi (daily page of Talmud study) of Tractate Zevachim, on how sacrifices worked in the days of the Temple in Jerusalem. I’m lucky I didn’t start my learning with this – it felt like a slog. However, I continued studying the tractate, even while I found it somewhat dry and lacking in fun aggadah (stories).

Zevachim examines questions like when is a religious ritual sacrifice acceptable? What is the right physical and mental space for doing these holy rituals? When is it considered transgressive because it’s done wrong? When is it accepted even if it is not done in quite the right time or place? What rituals are exempt from repercussions, even if they are not done exactly right or considered acceptable practices?

These questions are intellectual exercises. We have no Temple in Jerusalem. The rabbis quoted in this approximately 1,500-year-old text didn’t have a Temple anymore. We Jews in modernity don’t do ritual sacrifice. Still, questions about what feels acceptable or forbidden, exempt or meaningful, have real-life repercussions. When the rabbis discussed different parts of ritual, they considered shifting their Overton Window about what they could see as correct, acceptable, exempt from punishment, or such a violation that one was cut off from the Jewish people.

Historically, the Overton Window about what’s considered appropriate discourse or hate speech has also shifted – multiple times. Slurs and crimes against Jews are commonplace throughout millennia. We’ve also had some golden eras, when things felt safe.

This January was another shift in Winnipeg. It’s been horrible, but we knew it was coming. It’s part of a worldwide shift of what’s considered “acceptable” antisemitism. I’ve been asked what can be done. I suggested giving this hate a broad, inclusive definition. Re-read the International Holocaust Remembrance Alliance definition. Nothing good is intended when someone spray paints a swastika on a synagogue door. It’s even more of a threat when it’s on a classroom whiteboard or hidden in a Jewish kid’s locker, as was the recent case.

We must educate people about history, including how to avoid antisemitic hate. Make that education required. With definitions and education, our window of what’s acceptable or a crime firms up.

These experiences have felt like a terrible personal violation. It feels threatening and unsafe. Yet, our congregation responded with courage and love. We welcomed many non-Jewish supporters at our Shabbat services afterwards. We responded with pride and inclusivity.

The kid was so brave. He took a photo of the graffiti on his locker, asked a parent for help, went to the school office. Now, there’s a police report, all his classmates know what happened.

The kid also faced extended questioning from administrators about “if he’d told the whole story.” He was told that “everyone makes mistakes.” One lesson the kid learned is that maybe reporting the hate crime itself was a mistake, because, instead of supporting him, the approach involved the suggestion that the victim did the graffiti to begin with. This is bad news, and a familiar type of antisemitism, where Jewish victims are blamed for having “brought it on themselves.” We shouldn’t say this to any victim. It’s not OK. If this is treated as being OK, it means that victims may trust institutions less, and report less often.

Sunshine is the best disinfectant. Actions like education and transparency can clean up and eradicate hate. We don’t know who did this, but we know who we are. We’re Jewish. We’ve been here before. We’re made of stern, proud stuff. The Overton Window has shifted. It’s time to ask our allies to all lean in to help shove it back again.

Joanne Seiff has written regularly for the Winnipeg Free Press 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. Check her out on Instagram @yrnspinner or at joanneseiff.blogspot.com.

Killed for being Jewish

For Jews worldwide, the hope represented by the first candle of Hanukkah was snuffed out by the horrifying mass murder at a communal Hanukkah celebration in Sydney, Australia. At press time, 15 were confirmed dead, ranging from a 10-year-old named Matilda to an 87-year-old survivor of the Holocaust, Alex Kleytman.

There have been many antisemitic incidents and attacks in Australia in the past two years, as there have been in many places. One of the reasons this hatred is spreading is the refusal of leaders to recognize and address it specifically as Jew-hatred.

This stubborn blindness was evidenced in the words of Australia’s Prime Minister Anthony Albanese in the immediate aftermath of Sunday’s mass murder.

“An attack on Jewish Australians is an attack on every Australian,” he said.

This is the sort of bromide politicians bring forth in moments like these, almost entirely devoid of meaning and, more significantly, a refusal to see the incident for what it is.

This was absolutely, decidedly, emphatically not an attack on “every Australian.” It was a targeted attack on Jewish Australians and to paint it as anything else – to universalize the very anti-Jewish particularity of the violence – is to deflect attention from the reality and true nature of the problem and ensure no resolution to Australia’s crisis of antisemitism is reached.

An Australian Jewish communal leader said antisemitic incidents in the country are “off the scale,” noting a series of recent antisemitic arsons, which pile upon recent attacks on synagogues, a daycare centre and an Israeli restaurant, as well as a tragically long list of less violent incidents.

The Australian problem is a microcosm of a larger global phenomenon. Government leaders, activists, commentators, NGOs and public figures worldwide for (at least) two years have been condemning Israel in the most malevolent terms, including outright blood libels and slanders that have become so endemic as to be treated as received truth.

The parallels between the tenor of frenzied rhetoric against Israel – including from the highest levels of government, society and media – and the unprecedented spike in antisemitic violence has seemed to spark almost no recognition of cause and effect. An alternative (and perverse) explanation seems to be that the victims of these incidents deserve it, considering their perceived complicity in Zionism.

Given the panorama of tragedy in the world and the myopic focus on the only one involving the Jewish state puts the lie to naïve assessments that there is no correlation here. Or that the Jewish victims are to blame. If overheated rhetoric toward any other identifiable group paralleled extraordinary targeted violence against members of that group (or anyone seen to be in sympathy or associated with them), almost anyone would recognize the correlation.

The Australian government, like so many others, seems to believe they can condemn Israel in the most strident, undiplomatic terms, on the one hand, and claim, on the other hand, shock and dismay – even bewilderment – when violence against Australian Jews erupts.

In the aftermath of the mass murders, Albanese committed to stronger gun laws, which are already some of the strongest in the Western world. Well, OK. But how about stronger laws and customs against antisemitic incitement? How about toning down the declarations from his own government, which some have accused of rewarding the 10/7 terror attacks by nearly instantaneously demanding and then leading a vanguard of nations to unilaterally recognize Palestinian statehood while terrorists are still in control there? How about listening to the voices of Jewish Australians who have been warning for more than two years that this sort of terror was becoming inevitable given the pitch of rhetoric?

It will be noted extensively that the attacks were apparently perpetrated by a father and son who are reported to be migrants from Pakistan. (The father is dead. The son is in hospital with significant injuries.) It should be noted at least as prominently that the man who disarmed one of the attackers is a Syrian Muslim. If we want to paint a broad brush of blame, we must also paint with an equally broad brush of heroism, truly incredible courage and heroic action. Let us not, though, pretend that there are not dangerous strains of cultural and theological antisemitism embedded in some communities that absolutely need to be addressed much more vigorously and vociferously than they are currently being addressed. It is also true that antisemitism knows no borders and has spread to nearly every pocket of the world over the last 2,000-plus years.

Early indications are that Australia is determined to ignore the obvious parallels between unrestrained continual damnation of Israel across society, including at the highest levels, and violence against Jews. Maybe other countries – like ours – will take heed and learn from Australia’s folly before it is too late. We hope so. Canada’s government and civil society have responded very much along the lines of Australia’s throughout these horrible two years.

The complexities of identity

More than 16 years ago, I was accepted into a master class for writing fiction with a well-known regional author at a university near me in Kentucky. I’d written lots of non-fiction and dabbled in fiction. I thought this would be a good opportunity. Shortly after arrival, I realized that this was a fiction class that specialized in Appalachian themes. Although I was from Virginia, my background wasn’t Appalachian. I felt like an outsider. I was also the only Jewish person there. As things progressed, the author suggested we should always “write what we know!” He talked a lot. The class was a lot drier than I’d hoped.

When it was time for short writing exercises based on prompts, I let loose. I purposely wrote to fit in, creating a vignette around church. When it came time to read these pieces, everyone nodded along with my church scenario – I was fitting in, but only because I was purposely faking it. First, I’d proved to myself that “write what you know” wasn’t always necessary, because, of course, famous fantasy or science fiction authors don’t truly know the alternate worlds they dream up. Even fiction authors don’t always know how to do everything they describe in their imaginary worlds. Second, I’d faked being part of the majority religious culture and those classmates bought it.

In the afternoon, it was time to workshop pieces we’d submitted earlier. I’d submitted writing that had been favourably reviewed elsewhere. I felt somewhat confident. However, the workshop’s approach was to criticize without complimenting – and many comments didn’t even seem relevant to what I’d written. When I tried to respond, I was shushed and told I must not know how these kinds of workshops worked. Responding was bad form. I was meant to be “shamed” without recourse. I felt vulnerable and took their unhelpful comments to heart, forgetting that I’d been part of different yet successful writing workshops long before, as a teen at the University of Virginia. The day dragged on. I noted the famed author’s agitation and cigarette smoking at the breaks. I wasn’t having a great learning experience.

I returned home to spend the evening with my husband and my father-in-law, who was visiting from New York. They’d just heard of the sudden death of a close family friend in a skiing accident. I devoted my evening to them and realized that skipping day two of this workshop to be with family was more important. I sent regrets to the famous author’s class, but I mostly felt relief.

Later, I learned that the famous author, whose work was described as traditional, heterosexual rural Kentucky, and who had a wife and small kids, was going through a divorce at the time of the workshop. Later, he became happily married to a man. I wondered again about the “write what you know” and “represent your identity” advice.

This all came to mind when I recently read obituaries of Tom Stoppard and Frank Gehry. Stoppard, a great Czech/British playwright, only addressed his Jewish heritage later in life, when he learned more about what had happened to his family during the Holocaust. Gehry, born to a Polish-Jewish immigrant family in Toronto, heard Talmud from his grandfather as a child. Although Gehry claimed he was an atheist, he attributed his questioning and creativity to the rich encouragement of his childhood. Gehry changed his name from Goldberg to Gehry at the urging of his first wife, who wanted to avoid antisemitism.

I gained access to this fuller description of these creative figures not from a single write-up but from several. If I’d relied on the CBC’s account of Gehry, I’d only have known about his Judaism from his name change and antisemitism concerns; CBC never used the word “Jew” or “Jewish.” The retrospectives on Stoppard’s work came from both the CBC and Jewish publications, but Stoppard’s last name came from a non-Jewish stepfather. That man wanted him to stop using the name Stoppard when his work became too “tribal” or Jewish for his stepfather’s taste.

Stoppard and Gehry were ethnically Jewish and had identity struggles. They and their families wrestled with who they were in a cultural climate that made it hard to be Jewish. I didn’t know either of these men or their families, but the public obituaries and descriptions brought into sharp focus that same feeling I’d had when I wrote about church activities from a first-person perspective.

I remember a family friend who changed his name to avoid quotas, to get into medical school more than 60 years ago. I’d hoped that this need for identity code-switching would no longer be so pressing when I moved to Winnipeg in 2009. For a time, this was true. I didn’t have to be so careful about saying who I was and what that meant. Now, after Oct. 7, this struggle has risen to the forefront again.

Since Oct. 7, 2023, we’ve faced options like whether to downplay our ethnoreligious identity, embrace it with joy and pride, perform it by speaking out against hate or by being a “good Jew” who doesn’t, the kind with whom many non-Jews feel most comfortable.

This isn’t an obvious choice. Many of us code-switch daily. It’s no different than what Jews did during the Hellenizing days leading up to the Maccabees and the Hanukkah story, or the days of the European Enlightenment, when Jews were finally considered “citizens” – up to 1933 or so.

There isn’t a “one size fits all” answer, nor is it clear that anyone would have the same answer for every situation. I often think back to that “famous author,” carefully performing as a heterosexual, married man and droning on as an expert. It may be that we’re all experts on our own identities, but it’s also necessary to name the experiences we have when we purposely or unconsciously obfuscate, struggle or react with pride when it comes to who we are.

Some parts of our identities loom large. Other aspects of who we are may lurk in the background most of the time. We cannot examine these issues until we think about them and name them. It’s easy to tell people to “write what they know.” It’s much harder to write who we are and what we don’t know, especially when it feels unsafe. Further, just like how Gehry and Stoppard’s names changed, we, too, evolve, morph and change over time, even if we don’t know how to describe it.

Joanne Seiff has written regularly for the Winnipeg Free Press 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. Check her out on Instagram @yrnspinner or at joanneseiff.blogspot.com.

Keep lighting candles

We were intrigued to receive notice of the 2026 PuSh International Performing Arts Festival, which takes place in January and February. The festival has been running for more than two decades and bills itself as “a creative hub for dialogue.”

“The 2026 PuSh festival is an invitation to the culturally fearless – to those ready to step into fresh futurities and the uncharted possibilities of live performance,” said artistic director Gabrielle Martin in the media release that landed in our inbox recently.

Curious words for a festival that last year demonstrated cowardice that redefines the term.

The controversy centred on a play titled The Runner – a one-person offering by non-Jewish playwright Christopher Morris. The story is set in Israel and has as its focus an ultra-Orthodox Jewish ZAKA volunteer who faces an ethical decision: when encountering a wounded Palestinian woman, he opts to save her rather than pursue an Israeli soldier’s body.

The play had garnered acclaim, having won multiple awards in Canada, and was to be featured at the 2024 PuSh festival. The Belfry Theatre in Victoria had already canceled its planned 2024 run of the show after the theatre was vandalized and a public dialogue was overtaken by protesters.

The scheduled PuSh production was also targeted. Some critics complained that the play centred Jewish experience while marginalizing Palestinian voices and trauma, presumably because depicting an Israeli as a complex moral character was beyond the pale.

One Palestinian artist participating in the festival said he would withdraw his work if The Runner remained in the lineup. Organizers caved, couching their gutlessness in self-adulatory language of prioritizing artists whose perspectives were “underrepresented” given current events.

If the festival was indeed committed to “fearless” exploration, The Runner was an ideal vehicle for that sort of examination. Instead, organizers brought shame upon the arts sector, betraying the very values PuSh specifically and the arts in general are expected to advance.

Keeping up with incidents of hypocrisy these days is a game of Whack-a-Mole, but we cannot overlook the vote by the BC Green Party to adopt a so-called “Anti-Genocide Motion” at their provincial convention. The motion declares that the party will “oppose genocide, apartheid, systemic discrimination and colonial violence – at home and around the world.”

In supporting the motion, the party’s new leader, Emily Lowan, stated that the Greens consider the recent war in Gaza to constitute “genocide” and “colonial violence.”

The motion and the leader’s full-throated support for it is especially disappointing because, under previous leaders, the BC Greens had resisted the spiral of their federal party into this sort of hyperbolic and ahistoric anti-Zionism.

We could go on. There is literally not the space in this column or in these pages to delineate the myriad causes for Jewish disenchantment these days. This, though, is not justification for despair. History has presented Jews with challenges in the past, put mildly.

If these developments and their hypocrisy raise your heart rate, consider using that energy as fuel to build something better. The world is troubled right now, for Jews and for others, too, but it is a Jewish tradition – especially at this moment in the calendar – to light a candle rather than to curse the darkness.

If you are expending energy complaining to your friends about these events, consider more active ways to effect positive changes. For example, you can contact the Green Party and tell them you are affronted by their adoption of a resolution that debases the term “genocide,” misrepresents events globally and foments intercultural division at home. Contact the PuSH festival and their sponsors to tell them you haven’t forgotten their illiberal folding to coercion. Support arts institutions that continue to host and produce Israeli and Jewish art and artists, and our own community arts and culture organizations, which have faced additional challenges over the last two-plus years. Whenever you are angered or disappointed, remember that action is the antidote to helplessness and hopelessness. Just one candle can illuminate the darkness and bring hope and inspire change.

Post-tumble, lights still shine

I recently celebrated Shabbat morning in a way I don’t recommend. I stepped out of my house for the dog walk, thought, “Oh, slippery!” The next thing I knew, I lost my footing. I fell down several stone steps. I ended up on the sidewalk. I’d let go of the leash. My large dog stood patiently, looking concerned, as I lay on the front walk, assessing the situation.

We’ve had a long and temperate fall here in Winnipeg. The light glaze of ice that covered everything was an unfortunate surprise. I’m very lucky. I was able to get up. I went back up the front stairs with the dog and got help. While I’m bruised and my hands were bloodied, nothing broke. While I would have preferred to go right back to bed, I stayed active enough to manage the rest of the weekend. My kids volunteer at services, so I still had to go there, too. Sometimes, what we want isn’t possible, so we make the best of the situation.

I think about Hanukkah, and the adversity that Jews face, in this way. In the best possible situation, we wouldn’t have to fight physically or verbally to maintain our traditions. We would be able to celebrate in a full-throated way, without hesitation. Yet, that option doesn’t always feel possible, even if we might think that embracing Jewish joy is the best way forward.

The issue arose for me recently when I participated in an accessible “make along.” This event, called Fasten Off, has a period each fall where knitting and crochet designers offer a big discount on their downloadable patterns. It is intended to be as accessible as possible to people with disabilities, as well as those with other challenges. There are multiple categories of challenges: non-gendered, low-vision, sizing for those who are taller or larger than average. For the first time, this year, there was a category on the form that one could tick off that said, “marginalized religious group.” I really didn’t know what to do.

It’s true that my designs include kippot and a hamantashen baby rattle stuffie. I have never hidden my identity. Now, in Canada, Jews are a marginalized group, with documented hate crime numbers and antisemitism rising. However, I wondered what would happen if I checked off this box. Would it mean fewer people would buy my work? More? What benefit would it have? I both ticked off the box and contacted the organizer to mention my concern. I got no response at all, which made me feel even more worried.

My sales stats show what a huge shift the last two years have been. Previously, one of my kippah patterns, as an example, had been a dependable seller. I looked up this design’s sales and found I’d sold only about 16 kippah patterns (all styles) on three sales platforms during two years of the Gaza war. In the previous year, 2022/23, I sold 14 copies of this pattern on only one sales platform. As a result of this drastic sales drop (I have more than 80 designs online), I ended up taking a break from designing. It no longer became cost-effective to sink money into creating new designs when knitters no longer make even these small purchases. It doesn’t mean my business interests changed. The situation has. I’m still marketing my work, offering discounts and trying to attract interest – even while being part of a “marginalized group.”

Our tradition teaches us to pivot when things are challenging. In the Torah parsha (portion) Toldot, Isaac grows successful as a shepherd. (Genesis 26:13 and onwards) However, when he increases his household and flocks, he needs more water. When he digs new wells, he runs into trouble. First, the Philistines fill up his old wells and, then, as he moves onward, digging new ones, other herdsmen object. He pivots, digging new wells in new places until he finds one that works out. Meanwhile, in time, those who objected to him previously seek a reconciliation, seeing Isaac’s divine fortune, and they make peace. (Genesis 26:31)

After hearing this portion chanted in synagogue, a friend reminded me that sometimes being resilient means pivoting or waiting with patience when faced with adversity. Things don’t turn around right away. We both have engaged in a lot of Jewish advocacy and antisemitism education work over the past year together. She is a professional, public figure, while I tend to write and reach out behind the scenes as a volunteer. Sometimes, my efforts net quick responses, and I know what I said mattered. Other times, I have no idea if anyone received my email or if they read it. I keep trying, as I’m invested in this effort to make life better for Canadian Jews for the long haul.

I believe that bringing up issues concerning antisemitism education, equity reviews in schools and school curriculum matters makes a difference. Sometimes my message reaches the right reporter or school official. Sometimes, it doesn’t or it fails. Yet, in every situation, it’s important to pick myself up, dust myself off – and start all over again, even if the setbacks can hurt.

During Hanukkah, we celebrate the triumph of regaining religious freedom and peace. We use candles to illustrate the metaphor of bringing light to dark times. Sometimes that light is sweeter because of the struggle beforehand.

I’m still very sore from tumbling down our icy front steps, but I’m also incredibly grateful. This morning, the dog barked, asking for her walk and, while I may still be hobbling and bruised for a bit, I was able to get outside again.

That opportunity, to keep digging wells, reaching out to others and continuing to try? It matters. Some might see Jews as marginalized, but it’s also possible to take another read. Rather, we’re lucky and resilient, too, a people offering religious freedom and Hanukkah light to other nations.

From the archives … Hanukkah

The editorial in the Dec. 8, 1939, issue of the Jewish Western Bulletin.

We’ve come a long way in many ways, though some readers may disagree. I read, kind of in horror, the newspaper’s Dec. 8, 1939, editorial in which the lesson drawn from Hanukkah was that, “More formidable than the most rabid anti-Semite is the unfaithful Jew in our ranks. More threatening than all the malicious libels and frauds of such papers as DER ANGRIFF and DER DEUTSCHE BEOBACHTER, is the Jew who is IGNORANT of his history, ignorant of his literature, his tradition, his TORAH and his God.”

I can appreciate the Maccabean victory “was not by a superior might but with a superior SPIRIT, that untrained Judean forces did meet the enemy and vanquished him.” I agree that Jewish education is vital to Jewish continuity, but yikes. I’m not sure all the “yelling” capital letters encourage the message that: “There must be a closer alliance, a sense of closer affinity, a warmer consciousness of brotherhood between Jew and Jew and between the individual Jew and Jewry at large if we are to succeed – nay, if we are to insure our future as a people!”

I am also always surprised at how much of the advertising in the early years of the Jewish Western Bulletin was for alcohol. As but one example, given the time of year, is the Dec. 24, 1941, ad from United Distillers Ltd., “The Happy Holiday List” that readers are asked to “cut out and keep for reference,” which I guess I’ve done, though I don’t think any of the brands still exist.

I did enjoy some of the Hanukkah trivia that made the front cover of the Dec. 11, 1936, paper, though it was a jarring juxtaposition with the world news. As it happens, the first item, on the melody of the traditional Hanukkah song “Maoz Tzur,” mentions Martin Luther, as does the article on the cemetery in the German City of Worms that is featured in this week’s issue – on this very page, in fact – which discusses briefly Luther’s legacy.

In his “Lights on Hanukah” article, Rabbi Abraham H. Israelitan points out: “The familiar melody of ‘Maoz-Tzur,’ the well-known hymn that is sung after the kindling of the lights, is not Jewish at all, as is commonly supposed, but is really an adaptation of an old German folk song of the Middle Ages. This German folk melody has also been utilized by the Christians. The famous Martin Luther, for example, utilized it for his German chorals.”

The rabbi also notes, “One of the poems in Lord Byron’s ‘Hebrew Melodies’ – ‘On Jordans Bank’s’ [sic] – was set to the music of Maoz-Tzur by the great poet’s close friend Isaac Nathan.” He goes on to reveal “the origin of latkes,” and a few more of what we now call “fun facts.” Israelitan was not a local rabbi. His article was distributed by Seven Arts Feature Syndicate, which, according to Google, was an American group that provided content to Jewish papers from the 1920s through the 1960s.

Holiday parties, concerts, menorah lightings and more have always been promoted or covered in the newspaper, of course. Almost every Hanukkah issue has included recipes, gift ideas, personal holiday stories. And pretty much every Hanukkah-themed editorial aims to point out what the Maccabees can teach us today or what light we can shine to diminish the darkness in the world – though we do it a little less harshly than the editors of 80, 90 years ago, I think. Most certainly, we do it with fewer capital letters.

image - An adl in the Dec. 24, 1941, issue of the Jewish Western Bulletin — An ad in the Dec. 24, 1941, issue of the Jewish Western Bulletin.

image - An article on Hanukkah trivia in the Jewish Western Bulletin Dec. 11, 1936 — An article on Hanukkah trivia in the Jewish Western Bulletin Dec. 11, 1936.

Words hold much power

At an event hosted by the National Council of Canadian Muslims on Nov. 1, Toronto’s Mayor Olivia Chow said, “the genocide in Gaza impacts us all.”

Four days later, protesters attacked a group of Jewish students from Toronto Metropolitan University at an event featuring a speaker who served in the Israel Defence Forces during the recent Gaza war.

Is this cause and effect? Did Chow’s words give a kind of permission for anti-Israel activists to act out violently?

Human nature doesn’t work so neatly. Suggesting one directly led to the other is both unprovable and probably specious.

Both of these incidents, however, are part of a larger zeitgeist.

For (at least) two years, Israel has been accused of monstrous barbarities. Accusations against the Jewish state include deliberate starvation, ethnic cleansing, intentional mass killings, wanton destruction of infrastructure and other assorted war crimes.

There are legitimate debates around the definitions of terms and whether or how they apply to recent events in Gaza. However, public discussions, as Chow demonstrated, rarely reflect these nuances.

As a society, we now widely accept that incendiary language can lead to incendiary actions. In discussions around immigration levels, for example, responsible public figures generally engage in discourse that does not demonize migrants or new Canadians. Concerns have been raised in recent years around the tenor of discussion around transgender issues, with advocates warning that some of the language can exacerbate emotional isolation, especially in transgender youth, and can lead to suicide ideation. Words, it is widely accepted, can have tangible, indelible impacts.

This thoughtfulness seems nowhere to be found when Jews and allies warn that the provocative language against the Jewish state is having serious impacts on Jews in Canada.

While cause and effect are rarely provable, correlations can be clearer. Over the past two years, combustible rhetoric against Israel has coincided with an unprecedented spike in antisemitic acts against Jewish institutions and people. One would think, under the circumstances, that reasonable people might see the potential that one is at least somewhat related to the other.

Raise this possibility, though, and you can expect to be met with assertions that “Zionists” are trying to silence criticism of Israel or that there is a “chill” on discussion of urgent and legitimate international matters.

This is an admirable defence of free speech. It is interesting, though, that concepts of almost unfettered free expression seem to be the redoubt of Israel critics who accept limitations on civil discourse in a vast range of other topic areas.

Is it a coincidence, also, that the very concept of “Zionists” controlling what other people are permitted to think and say about Israel dovetails with traditional antisemitic concepts of Jewish power and control?

What everyone should be able to accept – because the evidence is plain – is that there is a parallel between the intensity of rhetoric against Israel and increasing attacks on Jews in Canada (and elsewhere).

Toronto’s mayor is just one of many Canadian leaders who should know better than to nonchalantly toss around accusations, understanding that the pitch of condemnation against Israel is having concrete impacts on Jews in Canada.

Anyone with a public platform should behave in ways that recognize the intended and potentially unintended consequences of their words. A mayor of a Canadian city, for example, should know that her words will have limited effect on the lives of Palestinians, but plenty of impacts here at home.

In a diverse country like Canada, where inclusivity is considered a core value, people in positions of respect and power have a duty to act responsibly, to promote unity and avoid phrases that might inflame community tensions.

Did Chow’s words directly lead to the violent attack on Jewish students this month? Almost certainly not.

But they contributed to an environment already aggravated with tension and peril.

Give yourself the gift of love

A friend shared her plans for a “great” day off. This included a deep dive into her refrigerator to clean things out. This household task is necessary. Food safety is important, but that doesn’t make it fun. When the kitchen is completely clean and there’s nothing growing where it shouldn’t, it’s a relief. I also feel much better after a big clean up, even when it’s an effort.

I’m studying the Babylonian Talmud Tractate Zevachim, which is about how sacrifices must be done in the Temple, including what is prohibited. It’s mostly an intellectual exercise. The rabbis discussing this all lived after the destruction of the Second Temple. They were ironing out the minutiae, even when the whole sacrifice infrastructure no longer existed. Some see this debate as a grand effort of the imagination. Others read it to witness ancient legal debate in action. Many ask what we draw from these rabbinic texts today.

Since I’m a mom with twin teenage boys who eat a lot, I think about it practically. The concept of piggul pops up often. This is a disqualified offering, a sacrifice that cannot be accepted because the priest’s plan is to eat the sacrifice after the correct time for doing so. In modern terms, imagine purchasing food for a family gathering with deep spiritual meaning, but intending to wait to cook and serve it after its “best before” date. “Here, beloved relatives, please have this expensive roast that I chose to spoil before cooking!” It feels like a rabbinic prohibition that says: “It’s disqualified and forbidden to make a holy sacrifice this way because it’s wrong to give people food poisoning.” It’s bad housekeeping.

This food poisoning reference is meant in jest! Yet, sometimes we forget to be grateful and celebrate the amazing foods and gatherings that our families and friends offer us. One of my teens is taking a food and nutrition elective at school. This wasn’t a class he rushed to sign up for but he’s learning a lot. When he missed classes due to a field trip, he cooked at home instead. This kid likes to be our salad chef, but now he’s learning to make muffins, cakes and pancakes. He’s suddenly aware of how much goes into making meals. He now feels bad when he sees that I’ve produced (yet another) dinner without help, or when his dad stays up late frying eggs or making pancakes for breakfast the next morning. We don’t want our kid to feel bad. It’s both our duty and gift to our kids to feed them well, but I’m thrilled that he’s learning what goes into this labour so he can contribute, too.

I’m a “maker.” I find meaning in making things by hand, whether it’s sewing clothing, spinning yarn and knitting sweaters, or baking bread. The calm and focus I feel while making things is one of my life pleasures. Still, the drudgery of producing endless meals or sewing 10 pairs of pyjama pants for fast-growing twins can seem less pleasurable.

Since I have high standards for how things are made, my household often claims it is hard to buy gifts for me … so they don’t. (Note: I give them lists, I point out things I admire by other artisans and even voice when something is too expensive!) This past week, I gave myself a gift instead.

First, I came up with easy meals. I arranged grocery pick up so that the rest of the household could do it and then put the items away. Next, I lined up several necessary, but enjoyable, making activities that I wanted to do when I didn’t have work deadlines. As the week unfurled, I spent hours at the sewing machine and hand-sewing. I knitted and read. I took long dog walks. I relished wearing new flannel PJs that I’d just made myself and using new dishtowels I’d sewn. I even sewed a new, natural-fibre oven mitt rather than shop for a subpar one.

On Friday, I scheduled a walk by myself to two well-regarded artisan markets. I didn’t buy much. I came home with a new pottery service piece (for family food production), an industrial sweater pin made by Cloverdale Forge, a blacksmith, and a lot of inspiration for future creativity.

My weekend was also a big present. Our incredible cantor, Leslie Emery, was formally installed at Congregation Shaarey Zedek, though she has worked in our community for many years. My children and I chanted Torah at her installation Shabbat service. We heard amazing music at a Saturday night concert. We celebrated our cantor as a community. It was full of love.

The congregational installation guest was Elana Arian, an accomplished Jewish composer, performer and educator. It turned out I knew who she was. When I attended and worked at what used to be called UAHC Kutz Camp – the international leadership summer camp for Reform Jewish teenagers in Warwick, NY – Elana was one of the children running around. Her parents, Rabbi Ramie and Merri Arian, often came to teach at Kutz Camp. It was a full-circle moment to hear this Jewish musical talent at my congregation. I remembered the joyful little kid she’d been at summer camp, too.

Elana Arian taught us a song from her new album, If We Loved Like That, which is based on the talmudic teaching to “love your neighbour as yourself.” First, Elana pointed out – we need to love ourselves. Sometimes, making time to do this great service, to love ourselves, feels like too much. It’s too hard to offer ourselves a clean refrigerator or a staycation of rejuvenating creative work. It’s too much work to learn to chant a new Torah reading. Fact: we often don’t make time to go to bed early or sleep late, make and eat healthy food or take a long walk. Yet, these are the greatest gifts we can offer ourselves.

Don’t do “piggul” and eat spoiled meat. Carve out time, when you need it, to honour yourself and do things right. By extension, those chores for family, community and the world will feel easier. As one of Elana’s famous songs goes, “I have a voice. My voice is powerful. My voice can change the world …” – but to be the most powerful you? You need to fill your own cup up first.

Joanne Seiff has written regularly for the Winnipeg Free Press 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. Check her out on Instagram @yrnspinner or at joanneseiff.blogspot.com.

From the archives … books

In honour of Jewish Book Month, which runs Nov. 13 to Dec. 13, I’m highlighting a short article that appeared in the Independent’s predecessor, the Jewish Western Bulletin, on Dec. 18, 1970.

The focus on the Jewish Community Centre Library, now called the Isaac Waldman Jewish Public Library, stressed the “vital role” the library plays “in the life of the Vancouver Jewish community” and how it serves “the community at large in a very meaningful and important way. At any time, one can pass by and see it being used for recreational reading, browsing or study.”

The article notes how a visiting professor who stopped in at the library remarked “how thoroughly cross-referenced it was.”

“Mrs. Marvin Weintraub, hardworking and dedicated volunteer librarian,” aka Rita Weintraub, is interviewed for the story. Many in our community will have known Rita, who died in 2020. The library she was instrumental in building was a lifelong passion. In the article, she refers to the library as important for “the spiritual well-bring of the community.” As such, she said, it should be “the concern of all organizations as well as of all public-spirited individuals who are in a position to provide an endowment which will link their name in perpetuity with the highest Judaic ideas of learning and Torah.”