Opinion

Every person has a voice

Elon Musk’s purchase of the social media behemoth Twitter, which appears probable, is raising questions about what the new management could mean to users and society at large. For Jewish tweeters and others, there are red flags.

The growth of social media of all varieties over the past 15 years has resulted in a massive change in the public dialogue. People have some ability to amplify or diminish the voices they do or do not want to hear, resulting in an unprecedented ability to self-select the information (or misinformation) to which we are exposed. The relative anonymity of the media has had additional harmful impacts, with racist, misogynistic, homophobic, antisemitic and other hateful statements being posted in volumes too massive to effectively police. The spike in antisemitic hate crimes we have seen in recent years is almost certainly a result, in part, of online antisemitism moving into the “real” world.

Since 2016, when Russian and other bad actors influenced the U.S. presidential election in favour of Donald Trump, some platforms, including Twitter, have been driven to address some of the most egregious content on their sites and abuse of the medium. Their efforts, however imperfect and inadequate, reflect an assumption that hate speech should not be accepted.

Musk’s planned purchase of Twitter (which has a number of hurdles yet to overcome) raises fears among some that his self-identification as a “free speech absolutist” may reverse the small strides Twitter has made in addressing hate speech.

If Musk, who is presumed to be the richest person on earth and who is known to be a micromanager, chooses to imprint on Twitter his vision of absolute free speech, we should expect the limited efforts to police the worst content will be diminished or eliminated.

Of course, Musk would not be the final arbiter of what is acceptable. He may be the richest person on earth and Twitter may be among the most powerful communications platforms ever known, but they are still subject to government oversight.

Among the challenges, of course, is that Twitter, like the rest of the internet, effectively knows no national boundaries. So, while the United States is lenient toward extreme speech, different countries take a different approach.

For example, Canada’s Parliament is considering two proposals to make it illegal to deny or diminish the historical facts of the Holocaust. Legislation like this – as well as existing hate crimes laws that prohibit the targeting of identifiable groups – will inevitably come up against transnational norms set by platforms like Twitter. Will social media platforms face endless legal challenges? Or will the sheer volume of offences make it impossible to challenge any but the most outrageous affronts?

Canadians have always had a different approach to free speech than our American cousins. Our Parliament, like many in Europe, recognizes limitations in the interest of national harmony. These often lead to contentious debates over where lines should be drawn. Introduce an anarchic, foreign-owned social media platform into the equation and these discussions become far more complicated.

These are difficult issues. In a perfect world, absolute free speech would be ideal, because, again in a perfect world, individuals themselves would balance their right to expression with their responsibilities as citizens of a pluralistic society. But, we do not live in a perfect world and some compulsion sadly seems necessary to prevent, say, outright incitement to murder or genocide.

Here, though, is something not difficult or complicated at all – we do not need legislation or philosophical debates around freedom in order to counter hate speech right now. In this space, over many years, we have argued that the best way to confront bad, or hateful, speech is not stifling that speech, but countering it with truth, compassion and decency. Silencing hatred (even if it were possible in the wired world) will not eliminate hatred. We are in a war of words, and more words, not fewer, should be our approach.

A magnificent case-in-point occurred in the past month.

After the student society of the University of British Columbia passed a resolution endorsing the boycott movement against Israel, Santa Ono, the president of the university, responded with a thoughtful statement condemning BDS.

Too often, destructive, hateful messages like anti-Israel boycott resolutions are met with silence, usually with the excuse that such resolutions or protests are legitimate expressions of free speech. Of course, they may well be. But this argument, which was used by UBC administrators and others in the past, misses the point. Free speech does not mean the right to have one’s opinions uncontested. As Ono’s statement makes clear, both sides have a right to have their voices heard. That is free speech.

At a time when too many campuses across North America are roiling with anti-Israel spectacles, the significance of a statement like Ono’s did not go unnoticed. In fact, the university president received a letter from another president. Isaac Herzog, the president of Israel, wrote a “Dear Santa” letter, thanking Ono for his unequivocal statement.

That Israel’s head of state would intervene to express gratitude for Ono’s statement is itself a statement of how serious the threats are from uncontested hate speech. But it also reminds us that we do not need legislation or courts to stand up – as individuals and as a community – against egregious attacks. Every person has a voice. Some use it to spread misinformation and hatred. Others use it for good.

The kill fee – and its fallout

I was honoured with the opportunity to chant the first aliyah for the Torah portion Aharei Mot. I’m still new to chanting Torah, so I practise every day. I can read and translate Torah but, for some reason, I didn’t reflect on what I was reading at first. I was chanting that very sensitive set of instructions given from G-d to Moses to pass along to his brother Aaron.

A few weeks ago, we read in Leviticus 10:1-7 that Aaron’s sons Nadav and Abihu offered “strange” or “alien” fire. Their sacrifice was overeager and unusual. They drew “too close” – in some readings of Leviticus 16:1 – to G-d and were struck down. They were killed.

After the death of Aaron’s sons, the instructions Moses passes along to Aaron are crucial. He isn’t to go into the Holy of Holies, behind the curtain, because G-d dwells in a cloud above the cover. Aaron’s sacrifices and his approach to the holiest spaces are scripted, careful and correct. When reading rabbis’ commentaries on this, their thoughts are all over the place, from quoting Sting’s lyrics “Don’t Stand so Close to Me” to talking about vulnerability and the divine. This is a text that has a lot to unpack.

As a freelancer, I do writing and editing jobs with various deadlines. Sometimes, I write a piece months in advance, submit, and hear nothing back until the publication arrives in the mail with payment. With other jobs, I get to revise and review copy edits, the editor says exactly when the piece will run and I’m paid early without prompting. Others require me to submit an invoice or I don’t get paid at all. Every gig is different. I’ve even worked for publications that have gone bankrupt before my article was to appear. So, I did all the work but, in the end, received nothing, not even a publication credit.

In other situations, I write or edit something with a short deadline. These can be very satisfying jobs that happen quickly. Sometimes, it’s a political analysis piece that runs in the newspaper. Other times, it’s a healthcare editing job that might improve the lives of breastfeeding moms. There’s a thrill to a tight deadline where I manage to get it done, and perhaps make a difference.

Before Passover, I submitted some queries (ideas) to a publication with which I’d worked before. I got a very fast response. The editor said she’d been about to write on one of these topics. Would I cover it instead? I said sure, asking for her outline and any other details she wanted included. Instead, she suggested I write it on my own, without her outline. I did this as fast as I could, as I also faced the hard deadline of cleaning and cooking for the holiday. I asked for quick feedback, since my time was limited, but I didn’t receive any.

Almost a week later, the editor asked me for revisions, asking why I didn’t include several items, which were on her mental checklist, unbeknown to me. I didn’t feel prepared to do it, but I researched and did one more rewrite before Pesach.

During the middle of the Passover, the copy edits arrived. I’d never seen so many before! Much of it seemed to ask me to prove mundane things with academic sources. Many copy editors have provided me with corrections and solutions over the years, and it’s usually just an “approve” track changes or a comment or two to move ahead. Responding to these comments took nearly three hours. I felt as though perhaps I’d written something wrong, although I’d been researching, writing and teaching on the topic for years.

The next day, I received a note from the editor. It would take too long for us to come to agreement over the edits. I was sent a “kill fee.” A kill fee is usually a quarter to a third of the amount agreed to for the whole project, if the project cannot go forward. This was a bit of a relief. I had more time for the holiday. I could be done with a hassle that already had earned me less than minimum wage.

Moments after I accepted the kill fee, the editor was on social media, writing glib jokes about the article topic and how she had to write the article herself. So, not only had I lost the gig, but there was some shame now, too. This was public “punishment.” Somehow, I’d been incapable of writing on this supposedly easy topic. With the holiday’s end and Shabbat approaching, I had ample time to reflect on the crummy experience.

For context … in the book Little Women, published more than 150 years ago, the character of Jo March is offered a $100 US prize payment for a story she wrote. I was offered $150 Cdn to write this story and paid a kill fee $50 Cdn.

When I thought back on Aaron’s painful loss of Nadav and Abihu, and how they’d been warned not to do things the wrong way, I wondered what lessons I could find there. I don’t make sacrifices at an altar. I never want to lose my children in such an awful way. However, on a much smaller scale, I pushed myself too hard to meet an elusive last-minute work goal. It cut me close when I failed, and then to be shamed via social media for it. I had my work “killed” – perhaps because my writing failed to come close enough to the editor’s ideas, or maybe because it was a little too detailed or uncomfortable and they questioned it. Who knows? Just as we will never know what Nadav and Abihu were thinking, I couldn’t be inside this editor’s thoughts either.

Unlike Aaron, I don’t have to work with this editor/client again. Aaron serves G-d, and cannot make the same mistakes his sons did. He is in a painful place where he must learn to do better. I, too, am in a place where I need to reconsider how I work and what I will work towards.

Luckily, I didn’t lose anything so precious as did Aaron. I can still explore how to make things better – it’s important to find a work/life balance that works, because that article was not worth the hassle. As the TV advertisement goes, some (important) things, like our family and holiday celebrations, are priceless.

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. Check her out on Instagram @yrnspinner or at joanneseiff.blogspot.com.

Celebrate Israel with joy

In the coming days, we celebrate the 74th anniversary of the rebirth of Jewish sovereignty in the land of Israel. By press time, we were still anticipating the first local in-person celebration in three years, a coming together that, if all goes to plan, will be cause for great joy.

Those immersed in the daily news from Israel can lose sight of the forest for the trees. We celebrate the scientific advances, the medical breakthroughs, the cultural triumphs coming out of the small but astoundingly creative Jewish state. Yet it may be only on occasions like Independence Day that we step back to observe the big picture.

The creation and flourishing of the Jewish state is a modern miracle – not only because every advancement has taken place within the context of a nation routinely under siege, but because these accomplishments would be exceptional even in the most conducive situations. There may be no other country that emerged in the postwar period of decolonization that has created a greater model for national development – lessons (like the oft-referenced act of making the desert bloom) that were widely shared with other emerging countries until after 1967, when the anti-Zionist movement snuffed out much of that international cooperation.

As a result of that anti-Zionism, our Zionism sometimes takes on a defensive tone. Young Israelis, traveling after their military service, meet young people from around the world in hostels and on hiking trails and are expected to justify their nation’s policies. Never mind Israelis, Jews in Canada and elsewhere are subjected to litmus tests to determine whether they are, by the standards of the interlocutor, a “good Jew” (anti-Zionist) or a “bad Jew.” (Of course, Zionists also engage in the good Jew/bad Jew game.)

Anti-Zionist voices dismiss claims that hyper-criticism of Israel endangers Jews in countries where mobs condemn the Jewish state in ferocious terms. These dismissals are disprovable through statistics. One could claim that the spike in antisemitic incidents in the Western world is unrelated to the precipitous rise in anti-Israel activism. But is there another case of a group of people in Canada or the United States or Europe telling people that their inflammatory rhetoric risks real-life violence only to have those concerns dismissed as a coincidence or as a trick to divert attention from alleged “war crimes”?

Aside from the physical dangers created by anti-Israel rhetoric, the insistence that none of this is aimed at Jews outside Israel is nonsense. Intent does not trump effect. The vast majority of Jews have familial, historical, religious and/or emotional connections to this land and the agitation against Israel is felt by Jews everywhere, no matter their views or feelings about Israel. Whether the mobs intend to strike fear in the Jews along the parade route is irrelevant – they do. Does this scenario constitute antisemitism? Well, if you seek the destruction of the world’s only Jewish state while striking fear in Jews worldwide and chanting “anti-Zionism is not antisemitism,” you have already demonstrated a spectacular indifference to the well-being of Jews everywhere. Does it really matter what we call that?

The trope that Israel was a consolation prize from the world to the Jews for the Holocaust is perhaps the most common misconception surrounding the history of the region. The world gave Israel nothing but a vote at the United Nations. After that, the Jews of the Levant were left to their own devices to build a state while under internal and external bombardment from neighbours.

Where the creation of the Jewish state intersects with the history of the Holocaust is in the collective global renaissance that the proclamation of the Jewish state meant for Jewish people. As the scope of the Shoah became known, Jews turned collective horror and grief into the constructive project of building a new country. Whether that was direct – fighting in the War of Independence or tilling the soil on a kibbutz – or indirect – supporting Zionist organizations abroad – this was an almost universal mobilization by the Jewish world. The agony of all the irredeemable losses of the past was channeled into reviving Jewish life in a sovereign state. Fairly or not, when Israel is attacked, it is received not, as the perpetrators insist, as “criticism of government policies,” but as an assault on the memory of all those who redirected what could have been existential collective despair into something redemptive.

As we begin the 75th year of Jewish sovereignty, let us situate the celebration in the biggest picture possible: despite all the naysaying, the war of words and the war of bullets and blades, the achievements of Israel are a source of pride for almost every Jew. Israelis, with the support of people like we who will gather at the Vogue Theatre on May 4, have made the desert bloom with agriculture, music and dance, science, medicine, high tech, art and almost every imaginable outlet of human creativity.

This is worth celebrating with unbridled joy.

Happy 74th birthday, Israel!

Like many Jewish kids who go to religious school twice a week, my understanding of Israel and its history was, well, simplistic. That changed when I was 16.

I went to live, on my own, on Kibbutz Beit HaShita for a year as part of their “American school” program. It was transformative for me in many ways. Among other things, I learned that Hebrew was a living, dynamic language, Jews were a diverse and complex people and that the land’s history was complicated. Also, I found out that, even far away from home, if, heaven forbid, something went wrong, there were, as Mr. Rogers described, helpers all around me. It was like all these strangers were distant relatives, a feeling I’d never experienced before.

I was a teenager, speaking in my third language, at a bus stop late one night in Jerusalem. I was scared I would miss the bus and not make it back to my class or back to the kibbutz. The motherly woman at the bus stop engaged me in small talk. “Oh,” she said, “You sound like you come from Beit HaShita. My cousin lives there. Don’t worry. If you miss the right bus, you can spend the night on my living room couch.” I felt alarmed at the time, but the bus arrived and I got home safely. I still remember that kind person’s offer – and it’s been more than 30 years.

For several reasons, I’ve never been back to Israel. I’ve wanted to go but life got in the way. Also, I did a lot more learning, in undergraduate and graduate school, and the complexity of the political situation felt intense. I navigated the opinions expressed in the Arabic classes I took and those of friends from all over the world. Due to antisemitism or facing someone who “hated Israel,” it sometimes felt hard to explain where I’d lived. I didn’t feel OK about some of Israel’s policy choices at times. I believed (and still do) that Palestinians deserved their own state, much the way many Israelis do, but I wasn’t Israeli so I didn’t vote there. It wasn’t my place to shift their politics. I just didn’t want to erase Israel. Yet, I also wasn’t sure if my very limited travel money should be spent on that tourism industry.

All this began to change after my twins were born. Winnipeg is a city of immigrants. Many newcomers I met in the Jewish community here spoke Hebrew and had lived for awhile in Israel, even if they were born elsewhere. After many years of only using prayer Hebrew, my brain woke up. Modern Hebrew sometimes began coming out of my mouth again. Suddenly, I was standing at the coat racks outside of the preschool classroom, trying to help a 2-year-old new to the school from Israel and, whoa, the preschooler Hebrew just came out of my mouth at a quick pace. My twins were stunned!

After the May 2021 war in Israel and Gaza, I spent time unfollowing and changing my social media habits. I wanted less hate and more nuanced news sources. Some of that news now arrives in Hebrew first, with occasional other languages mixed in. I got back in touch with my Hebrew study partner from university days, who lives in Jerusalem. When we streamed services from synagogue or made a seder, I felt more connected to those prayers about the state of Israel than I had in a long time.

The recent deaths in Israel, caused by terrorists who killed civilians, border patrols and police officers, Jews, Druze, Christians, Israelis and even Ukrainian workers, hit me hard. It felt again like I was losing cousins and friends. Even amid the isolation of pandemic times, I keenly felt the loss of these Israeli souls.

Birthdays are funny things. There are years when my own birthday comes and goes without much fanfare. I make myself a chocolate cake, some relatives or friends call, nothing much happens. I’m not much for big parties. Even before the pandemic, sometimes my early January birthdays were frigid and unremarkable. This year, though, I anticipate Israel’s 74th with a more deeply felt celebration.

I’m not likely to be part of a big event on Yom Ha’atzmaut and, for now, my travel budget remains small. Rising antisemitism in the world makes me worried though. It reminds me of how we need to ensure this safe place for future generations. I am in awe of just how much Israel has accomplished so far – in technology, education, medicine and more.

This is a year when I feel a big need to celebrate Israel and its continued existence amid adversity. Sometimes, bad things happen. Finding a space for gratitude helps remind us of what we do have – places to call home.

Happy birthday, Israel! Wishing you and all your inhabitants a happy, healthy and peaceful year to come. May you grow in mitzvot and success this year – and wishing you many, many productive years to come.

A new story every year

Each year, we revisit the same Torah portions but, while the words remain the same, our understandings change based on what is happening in our world or in our lives. The exodus story, the story of Passover, remains as relevant as ever, as people in many parts of the world are being oppressed, are stateless or are living amid war.

As Russia’s attack on Ukraine continues, citizens of that besieged country are seeking refuge in neighbouring states. It does not appear, at present, that Jewish Ukrainians are suffering any more or less than any other citizens of that state. However, history has shown that whenever and wherever upheaval occurs, it almost inevitably affects Jewish people in some particular way.

The age-old question, “What does it mean for the Jews?” is an acknowledgement that events that ostensibly appear unrelated to Jewish people specifically will have unique consequences for Jews.

As Russia’s invasion has faced an unexpected reply from the Ukrainian military and people, the risk of Vladimir Putin being backed into a corner opens the door to worrying potentials. He has already made threatening noises about chemical weapons and, even more worryingly, nuclear weapons – the very suggestions being an untenable line to cross for any nuclear-capable world leader.

It should be remembered, but it has been too infrequently mentioned during this crisis, that Ukraine once had the third-largest nuclear arsenal in the world, a legacy of the dismantling of the Soviet Union. In 1994, Ukraine was persuaded to transfer its entire arsenal to Russia to be decommissioned with the promise from the Western world that we would ensure that country’s security in return. As Ukraine’s President Volodymyr Zelensky continues his virtual global tour, prevailing upon the West to provide more military aid, we should remember that he is asking for the Western world to fulfil the promise it made to his country less than three decades ago.

We should also not need reminding that the existence of a Jewish state is a modern miracle that provides a place of refuge, mere decades after the absence of a homeland led to Jewish history’s worst cataclysm. There are some 200,000 Ukrainians who would qualify for Israeli citizenship under the Law of Return, and planeloads of Jewish Ukrainians are making their way to Israel, fleeing a modern-day pharaoh.

Of course, the land of milk and honey is, in reality, a real-world country facing an enormous range of problems. Recent terror attacks have some people fearing a third intifada or, at least, a season of upheaval like we saw last year when violence erupted. In turn, that hostility spread worldwide, with spikes in antisemitic incidents around the world, including in Canada. While Jews are securely ensconced in the Promised Land, Israelis still seek liberation from the figurative enslavement by terrorists and their supporters. And, at the same time, Palestinians also do not have the freedom they desire and deserve. This latest violence does not serve either people’s dreams of peace or justice; it further enslaves us to cycles of justifications of more violence and pain.

Meanwhile, Jewish families in North America are excited to return to comparatively normal seders and celebrations after two years of pandemic. This is itself a form of liberation. As we reenact the ancient exodus at our seder tables, we will hope for and commit ourselves to a world where all who are oppressed find freedom. This is not a rote rereading and it is not a theoretical wish. In a world with so many challenges and dangers, the story of escape from bondage remains as relevant and urgent as ever.

Again: war triggers memories

Again and again the world does not learn. The ego of dictators and high-ranking politicians is inflated, bordering on insanity. There are many conflicts in the world, but it is Russia’s war on Ukraine that I’m thinking of at this moment.

Who is suffering from all this? The mother with her scared child in her arms, the father who is forced to stay behind and fight, the old and frail, the children in the orphanage who have nowhere to go, the 36-day-old baby boy who does not have yet an identification paper, a name of his own. Who is suffering? The expecting mother who is running, injured, between the ruins of the hospital; the children, scared, hiding in the bomb shelters, hearing explosions and not knowing if they will have a home to return to.

Again and again, people are running in fear, looking for safe shelter. All around them, shelling, sirens, bombardment, hundreds of tanks parading on main city streets, explosions, ruins and distraction.

All this is taking me back decades to another time, the Second World War: Romania, 1940. It triggers memories of my early childhood journey of displacement, fear, cold and hunger. Then 2 years old, my family and I – and thousands of other Jews from northern Romania – were driven out of our homes to the unknown. For one year we were forced to live in a ghetto in a city called Czernowitz (now in Ukraine) in terrible conditions.

After one year, the ghetto was dissolved and we were forced for days to walk by foot in deep mud, carrying bundles of our meagre belongings on our backs toward an area called Transnistria. Long lines of frightened people, old and young, crying babies, the sick and those with disabilities. Those who could not walk were left behind or shot. The Romanian or German soldiers riding on their horses where shouting and beating up anyone who did not comply with their orders.

They forced us to walk from village to village until we arrived in a place called Djurin, where we settled down. There, we lived for four years in terrible condition. My father was taken from us to a work camp. My mother collected dry wood bunches from the nearby forest and exchanged them for food with the Ukrainian women who felt sorry for us. Toward the end of the war, my mother was injured in a bombardment when the Germans were retreating.

I am glad that I was too young to remember most of my fears, but I can’t escape the ripples of horror from those times. They are engraved in my psyche, in my pores. I tremble now when I see the young children on the TV screen with their big, scared eyes. Maybe they are hungry, cold or frightened. I wish I could hug and console them and feed them with my special chicken soup.

image - “Earth Don’t Cover Their Blood” by Sidi Schaffer, Gesher Project, 1998, mixed media — “Earth Don’t Cover Their Blood” by Sidi Schaffer, Gesher Project, 1998, mixed media.

For us, there was no place to seek shelter, nobody wanted us, and nobody cared. The world was silent to our plight. We were denied refuge from most countries. We should remember the destiny of the St. Louis ship, which carried Jewish refugees trying to escape the terror of the war in Europe but was not allowed to enter Cuba, the United States or Canada. The ship had to return to Germany, where 254 of the passengers were murdered by the Nazis. Nor should we forget the ship Struma’s disaster – it was torpedoed and sunk with 800 Jewish refugees, who were on their way from Romania to Palestine. We should not forget Canada’s Frederick Blair, who was in charge of the immigration branch at the time, or then-prime minister William Lyon MacKenzie King’s immigration policy “None is too many,” just when the Jews of Europe were in despair and looking for shelter.

War is evil, then and now and always. Still, I can’t stop being amazed at the differences I see in the world’s reaction of kindness and compassion toward the Ukrainian refugees these days. Moldova, one of the poorest countries in Europe, Poland, Romania and Germany – all have opened their gates with outstretched arms to help the tired mothers, scared children, orphans, the sick and the old. The world’s reaction shows me that the world is changing – including Canada – and that gives me hope.

Israel is bringing in thousands of people from the war zone. They give humanitarian assistance wherever needed. Synagogues in Ukraine, and Jewish congregations from around the world, help bring people to safety, like the Odessa orphanage children that were taken to Berlin.

Still, millions of people suffer because of politics and a madman who wants to expand his territory and his pockets.

I wish that we had in our camps some support, food and warm clothing, medical attention and safety. For us, the world was blind. Only the ones who survived live to tell.

We child survivors are now home for one another.

Sidi Schaffer was born in northern Romania. In 1940, she and her family were put into a ghetto in Czernowitz and, one year later, they were driven toward a concentration camp named Djurin, in northwestern Ukraine. There, in terrible conditions, they survived for four years. In 1945, they returned to Romania and, in 1959, they immigrated to Israel, where she received her degree in art education. In 1975, with husband David and their three sons, she came to Canada. In Edmonton, she went back to her studies and graduated with a bachelor of fine arts from the University of Alberta. In 1998, she and her family settled in Vancouver. Schaffer is a proud member of the Child Survivor Group of Vancouver.

Praying for family in Ukraine

Left to right: Lucien, Grisha, Carole, Leanne and Svetlana at the airport in Kyiv, Ukraine, in 2019. (photo from Carole Lieberman)

My husband Lucien and I have been following the horrific invasion of Ukraine by Russia with particular interest. In 2019, we had the wonderful opportunity of traveling to Kyiv to meet Lucien’s first cousin, Grisha Lieberman, and his family.

Grisha’s father Sam had immigrated to Canada in 1923 and, after spending several years on the family farm in Rumsey, Alta., and later in Calgary, unfortunately Sam returned to Russia in 1928 to escort his parents, who were unhappy in Canada.

Sam had planned to return to Canada, but, after the war, ended up in the Gulag for close to 10 years. At age 57, truly a broken man, Sam met and married Rosa, a Jewish woman, and their son Grisha was born in 1958. We searched for the family for many years and finally contacted them in 2018.

Following our weeklong stay with Grisha and his wife Svetlana in May 2019, we formed a close bond. We are in touch with them often and enjoy regular Zoom visits despite language differences. Our daughter Leanne traveled with us on our 2019 visit, and we were all welcomed warmly.

Svetlana and Grisha have one son, Stanislaus, who is a lawyer in Kyiv. Their daughter, Tina Karol, a famous singer, performs at large concerts in Ukraine and travels the world to perform. Her tour to several U.S. cities, scheduled for this month, was recently canceled.

We follow details of the attack by the Russians on Ukraine closely and value every message that we receive from our cousins. Svetlana messages us regularly and writes that they are in the city of Ivano-Frankivsk, in western Ukraine, where they are staying in an apartment and have access to limited items. They did not want to leave Kyiv and did so only at the last minute by evacuation train. They categorically refuse to leave their cherished land of Ukraine.

She writes: “Fascist Russia wants to destroy our state, just as Hitler tried to destroy other countries in 1941. But Ukraine gives a worthy rebuff to the aggressor…. We believe that Ukraine will win back its freedom and that we will welcome you back to beautiful Kyiv.” She writes that they are getting used to the air raid strikes that occur two or three times each day. Their son Stanislaus is with them in western Ukraine, now in possession of a gun that was provided to him by the government to aid in Ukraine’s defence.

Their daughter Tina left Kyiv before the Russian aggression. When we were there, we clearly remember Tina telling us that she kept a suitcase packed in case of an urgent situation. She is currently in Warsaw; her 16-year-old son goes to school in England.

Last week, we watched with tears as Tina was interviewed on CNN. And, at a recent charity concert in Lodz, Poland, called Together with Ukraine, Tina was one of the performers. It was touching to see her sing with 7-year-old Amelia, who had previously sung “Let it Go” while hiding in a Ukrainian bomb shelter, before making it safely to Poland. Tina performed at a No War telethon attended by the leaders of European countries, the United States and Canada. And, on March 28, she performed in Israel at a charity concert, with funds being raised for medical needs.

We continue to pray for our family and for all Ukrainians, and for a peaceful resolution and a free Ukraine.

Carole Lieberman, a longtime Vancouver resident, is originally from Montreal. She is a mother of three, grandmother of four, and has enjoyed selling Vancouver real estate for 32 years. You can read her article about her family’s 2019 visit to Ukraine at jewishindependent.ca/meaningful-family-trip-to-kyiv.

Catch cancer before it starts

Today’s ancestry services, like 23andMe, have made us more aware than ever of our genes and just how important they are, for both our own health and the health of our children. Celebrities like Angelina Jolie and Matthew Knowles (Beyoncé’s father) have highlighted the importance of two genes specifically – the BRCA genes – and their role in the development of hereditary breast and ovarian cancers. Even so, with the risk of carrying these genes in the general population only estimated between 1/400 and 1/1,000, for most of us, these genes seem like someone else’s problem. But, a few years ago, I learned that people of certain backgrounds, specifically those with Ashkenazi Jewish heritage, are actually at 10 times the risk of the general population (one in 40) for carrying these BRCA genes. I then learned that I was BRCA1 positive. I am an Ashkenazi Jewish woman.

In the 1970s, my paternal grandmother, then a young woman, was treated for breast cancer and made a full recovery. She passed away in 2014. When she died, I requested to be tested for BRCA through the B.C. Cancer Agency’s Hereditary Cancer Program. At the time, I was not prioritized for the test because no one in my immediate family had had a cancer that would directly link me to the gene. I was not seen at the time as being “high enough” risk.

But, in December 2017, I received a phone call that changed everything. It was from my older sister. She had recently volunteered to join something called the Screen Project study at Women’s College Hospital in Toronto, which included testing for the BRCA gene mutations. She had received her results and had tested positive for the BRCA1 gene mutation. I immediately registered for my own test. The test eventually came in the mail, I spit in the cup and sent it back. A month later, I received my own call from the study.

I was told that I was also positive for the BRCA1 gene mutation and that my chances of getting breast cancer and/or ovarian cancer were extremely high – about 70% lifetime risk. I was told that I would need to make some urgent decisions about having more children because regular screenings and preventable surgeries were now available to me. It was recommended that I take action immediately because of my age. The study connected me back to the B.C. Cancer Agency’s Hereditary Cancer Program, which would connect me with my medical care team.

The next year would prove to be a whirlwind for our family. Within a month, I was pregnant with my third child. I planned to have a surgery to remove my ovaries and fallopian tubes (a salpingo-oophorectomy) the following year. While all of this was taking place, my sister had gone for her first mammogram. It initially was clear, but more intensive screening (available in priority to BRCA carriers) revealed cancer. I then had to witness my beautiful older sister battle breast cancer and go through a full double mastectomy. She luckily made a full recovery. We then celebrated the end of her battle with the birth of my own child, followed soon after by my own salpingo-oophorectomy, the day before my sister’s reconstructive surgery.

As devastating as those phone calls were, one thing is clear to me – that my sister is now cancer-free and alive because she learned she was BRCA1 positive. I also know that my own BRCA status has afforded me the ability to make life decisions, have preventive surgeries and avoid cancer now and in the future. Although scary to consider, the knowledge of the BRCA1 gene in our family has been invaluable and saved lives.

I now volunteer for a committee in British Columbia called BRCAinBC, which is working to improve awareness of and access to testing for the BRCA genes in people of Ashkenazi Jewish heritage in the province. It is our message that all people with Jewish heritage should consider getting tested for BRCA genes, as new studies show that only half of all Ashkenazi Jewish carriers have the requisite history of cancer in the family that would indicate risk for carrying a BRCA gene.

We also let people know that the best time to get tested is when they are young and healthy – before cancer strikes! Testing for BRCA in your 20s and 30s provides people with many more options to prevent and manage their risk of cancer. Testing is quick, simple, easy and cheap (or free in many cases).

It is just as important for men to get tested as it is for women – BRCA genes are better known for their role in breast and ovarian cancers, but they also significantly increase the risk of many other cancers that affect men, including aggressive prostate cancers, pancreatic cancers and melanoma.

Learning your BRCA status can, of course, be overwhelming, but it also can provide you and your family with the tools to stop cancer before it starts. That’s what it did for me.

Tovah Carr is a member of the BRCAinBC committee in British Columbia. BRCAinBC is an initiative to increase awareness and understanding of genetic cancer risk in the Jewish community and provide support for those who want to get tested and for people found to carry the BRCA genes. For more information, visit brcainbc.ca. For more information on the Screen Project, go to thescreenproject.ca.

Four more questions to ask

One of the four additional questions that the Centre for Israel and Jewish Affairs suggests we ask ourselves this Passover is: As we solemnly intone “Next year in Jerusalem,” how can we express the significance of the land of Israel in our Jewish Canadian identity? (photo by IRR Photography)

Traditional celebrations of recent Passover seasons were certainly curtailed, and even canceled, by the pandemic. For those of us fortunate enough to have emerged from COVID-19 with our families intact, we now – finally – will have an opportunity to come together to celebrate the holiday as it should be – among extended family and old friends.

The limits placed on us by the pandemic, however, have not curtailed the Centre for Israel and Jewish Affairs’ work. Ensuring increased COVID funding for frontline charitable organizations helping the elderly, ill and all others among our most vulnerable was paramount in our advocacy to governments at all levels. Supplemental funds are never quite sufficient, but these extra funds were realized in federation agencies across the country.

The disturbing surge in antisemitism that came with the pandemic became another focus of our work. Last summer, as a founding member of the Canadian Coalition to Combat Online Hate, we organized the federal government-|sponsored Emergency Summit on Antisemitism that brought together government, media, academic and other experts in combating online hate that so often leads to real-life violence.

Connected to pervasive hate online is spreading distortion and even outright denial of the Holocaust. A poll commissioned by the Canadian charity Liberation75 showed that, of 3,600 students in grades 6 to 12, a shocking 33% were either uncertain about the Holocaust, thought that the death toll was exaggerated or questioned whether the Holocaust even happened. In Ontario’s largest school board – and in others from the West to the Maritimes – incidents of antisemitism have begun to be reported almost weekly.

This kind of disturbing trend requires focused, strategic action. CIJA has received a grant to leverage the expertise of historians, teachers and Jewish scholars to create a curriculum for Ontario middle-school students that will teach them about the Holocaust – and about modern-day antisemitism. Most recently, CIJA has urged support for MP Kevin Waugh’s private member’s bill that proposes Canada follow the example of other countries – including France and Germany – to make Holocaust denial an offence under Canada’s Criminal Code.

To spur discussion about what such legislation could do, CIJA hosted a national webinar about reasons to criminalize Holocaust denial, the challenges posed, and what we can learn from jurisdictions where similar laws have been enacted. With experts from Canada, France and Israel espousing various perspectives, the discussion was informed, civil and productive.

Discussion. Now that’s an area where Jews tend to feel both comfortable and motivated. And that brings me to the Pesach celebration awaiting us this year. Of course, we will delight in visits with our loved ones. Some of us will see children or grandchildren, newly arrived or grown significantly since our last Passover seder together. Many will have questions – not only the traditional four we ask annually, harking back to our historic connections to Israel, but also questions about being Jewish today, in Canada.

We think Jews in communities large and small have lots to talk about, and we want to facilitate engaged, thoughtful discussions responding to four more questions we’ve proposed for this Passover. We propose, this Passover seder, that Jewish families and friends think about the issues CIJA, as the advocacy agent of Jewish federations across Canada, has been prioritizing.

More background is available, along with suggested responses, at cija.ca/4morequestions, but here are the questions:

Looking at increased denial and distortion of the Holocaust, our most recent enslavement, how can we stop Holocaust denial and distortion? In the realm of online hate and antisemitism, we remember numerous historic efforts to destroy the Jewish people. What can Canadians do to combat online hate and antisemitism today? Turning to community security, as a once-enslaved people, we ask, what does a safe space for Jewish Canadians look like? And, as we solemnly intone “Next year in Jerusalem,” how can we express the significance of the land of Israel in our Jewish Canadian identity?

That’s a lot. But that’s what we are up against, even living in Canada, one of the safest places for Jews anywhere.

As we gather this year, whether part of a small family, an extended clan of young and old, or among friends, let us celebrate the joy of our survival and how, together, we can work to shape our future.

May your Passover be a peaceful, thoughtful, and happy one. Chag Pesach sameach!

Judy Zelikovitz is vice-president, University and Local Partner Services, at CIJA, the Centre for Israel and Jewish Affairs.

Puddle splashing and balance

If you’ve ever slogged through a spring melt in a place, like, say, Winnipeg, you know about the odd balance … the one where it’s best if the snow melts slowly, even painfully, with a freeze at night. Why? Too fast a melt and everything is flooded.

On the prairies – or, frankly, any place without good drainage – basements, wellies and everything else can be in trouble if a big pile of snow hits a too-warm sunny spring. In these places, and I’ve lived in three, now that I think of it: Buffalo and Ithaca, New York, and also Winnipeg … spring is both desperately, sorely anticipated and, well, sometimes gross. It’s full of dirty snow, big puddles and treacherous ice.

Yet we continue, every winter, to long for spring and better weather to come. It’s like we have amnesia and forget this long dirty shoulder season. Years ago, I told myself that, obviously, the snowbirds had it wrong. The best time to travel, if it could ever be managed, would be during the puddle period.

I was thinking about the puddles, Passover and, also, the talmudic tractate I am currently studying as part of Daf Yomi, a page of Talmud a day. From now until the summer, that tractate is Yevamot – the tractate that deals with the notion of levirate marriage. What’s that, you say? It’s the ancient obligation for a childless widow to either marry her husband’s brother to produce a child after her husband’s death, or perform a ceremony called halitzah, in which she is freed from this obligation.

This is probably the first time in more than two years of doing this Daf Yomi study when I seriously just wanted to quit. Yes, studying an ancient text, no matter how holy or intellectually stimulating, can sometimes feel irrelevant. Yevamot goes way beyond “slightly boring” or irrelevant. It wanders into the gross, mucky puddles for me. It’s right up there in the news articles that come with trigger warnings because of issues containing abuse. For a modern person, particularly a woman, some of these rabbis’ discussions in Yevamot really wear me down – because rape, child marriage and other issues really unacceptable to the modern reader arise frequently.

I was proceeding, reading late at night out of duty, and using an approach I perfected in graduate school. This involves skimming the thing as fast as possible so that, if one day I am ever asked about this in a weekly seminar, I can nod somewhat knowingly and bring up the one or two points I can remember. This worked when the professor assigned three academic tomes a week and expected us all to discuss them. (Later, I learned he did this in hopes we would drop the course due to the workload. He felt guilty when we all took it anyway and bought us coffees while we soldiered onwards.)

Of course, I’m learning for the sake of learning now, not because I expect to be tested or, heaven forbid, asked to lead the seminar at a moment’s notice.

This is one of those few times when I was saved by social media. I was on Twitter and, because I follow others who are also learning this way, I started seeing their comments. Several of them summed up, in 280 characters or less (or a TikTok), that they too were struggling. Eye-rolling and other more disgusting noises may have come out of their mouths at some of this. I had a huge sense of relief. I wasn’t alone. Others felt exactly the way I felt. We were part of some internet club I’d forgotten I’d joined. Whew.

There’s a reason why, traditionally, Talmud is studied in a hevruta, a pair or group setting. Some of the topics are hard to understand, for all sorts of reasons. I don’t have a physical study group. Heck, that’s OK, I’ve done nearly this entire thing during a pandemic. I’m a busy mom who stays up too late to read this stuff. I’m lucky to have access to it at all, as a woman, and also for free, online at Sefaria. There’s a lot of support online now that got me to this point, since this kind of study was traditionally dominated by men.

However, I know that feeling a sense of camaraderie and the insights that come from studying with others are important. They certainly helped spur me to continue when I thought the subject matter of Yevamot wasn’t for me and I wanted to quit.

To bring this back to those dirty spring puddles, well, this time of year, while it can be a slog, is also prime time to prep for Passover. This, too, can feel like a struggle. However much preparation you take on for this holiday, it can feel too hard. Cleaning up and scrubbing and eating down your chametz (bread products) can get to be too much.

For many, there’s pressure from those more traditional. Have you cleaned between the sofa cushions thoroughly? How about the stroller?

Those who are secular or less involved pressure me in another way, asking why I make myself “crazy” with any of this.

Passover preparations can feel like one long walk through Winnipeg’s springtime: navigating endless icy puddles, black ice and snow mold.

What helps me continue? It’s that whiff of spring air, or maybe the matzah ball soup, cooked in advance of the holiday. It’s the photo or long ago trip to a warmer climate, where the flowers were already in bloom. Also, it’s taking myself back to the Babylonian Talmud, in Yevamot 13. That’s the page with the reminder that the rabbis teach us not to divide ourselves into factions. That is, we are to value our diversity, our various customs, rather than let our disagreements divide us.

Some people love Passover. Some people love splashing in puddles. Life is a balancing act, and we’re lucky that we’re all unique and different. There’s sometimes a huge sense of shame that rises up when we admit that, actually, no, this text/season/holiday might not be the best thing since, say, sliced bread. Finding out, via a study partner, a friend or even a stranger online that we’re not alone can be so reassuring.

We’re not all the same, but the rabbis encouraged us not to create factions or separate ourselves unnecessarily, either. This is useful wisdom because, after Passover, Shavuot’s not far behind. Pesach’s cold in Winnipeg, and even Lag b’Omer picnics can be snowed or rained out. But Shavuot? That’s a holiday I love. It takes all kinds, as we teeter totter our way through the Jewish year, balancing between seasons. That balance is what makes our holiday observances, and even the talmudic tractates I struggle through, rich indeed.