Opinion

Does Bill C-9 matter?

Canada’s new Combatting Hate Act, which has just come into force, says many of the right things. The question is whether anyone in the justice system will act on them.

The passage of Bill C-9 into law creates a distinct hate-motivated crime offence, defines hatred in the Criminal Code and prohibits intentionally intimidating or obstructing people trying to enter places of worship, schools, community centres, cultural facilities and other spaces used by identifiable groups. It also makes it an offence to wilfully promote hatred through the public display of symbols principally associated with listed terrorist organizations, as well as specified Nazi symbols. The legislation removes the former defence based on good-faith expression of a religious opinion in certain hate-propaganda cases.

The law does not ban peaceful protest, political advocacy, religious teaching, disagreement or criticism. Its threshold remains high: expression must amount to the wilful promotion of hatred, which the Criminal Code now defines as an intense and extreme emotion associated with vilification and detestation. Merely offending, humiliating or discrediting someone is not enough.

Despite claims of threats to free expression, Canadians remain free to criticize governments, religions, ideologies and political movements. The law will (theoretically) intervene when protest becomes intimidation or when access to a synagogue or community centre is deliberately obstructed.

Of course, Canada already had laws against assault, threats, arson, vandalism, criminal harassment, intimidation and hate propaganda. Hatred was already an aggravating factor at sentencing. Yet, Jewish Canadians have watched an alarming procession of apparently serious incidents produce no charges, no convictions, no outcomes that reflect the gravity of the conduct.

In October 2023, in Montreal, Adil Charkaoui led a public prayer asking God to count the “enemies of the people of Gaza,” exterminate them and spare none. Prosecutors concluded that the evidence could not prove beyond a reasonable doubt that the words constituted incitement to hatred against an identifiable group. No charges were laid.

In Ontario, Waisuddin Akbari was convicted after threatening to plant bombs in every Toronto synagogue and kill as many Jews as possible. In July 2025, he received 60 days of house arrest, followed by probation and a weapons prohibition. The judge rejected a discharge, but a sentence served at home for threats of mass murder against Jewish worshippers hardly communicates the full force of public denunciation.

Here in Vancouver, more than two years ago, an unidentified attacker poured accelerant at the entrance of Vancouver’s Schara Tzedeck Synagogue and set it on fire. Police released surveillance footage, but no suspect has publicly been identified or charged. The inability to identify an offender is not the same as prosecutorial reluctance, of course, but, for the targeted community, the practical result is identical: an attack occurred and nobody was held accountable.

These cases reveal different failures at different stages. Police may not recognize the significance of antisemitic language or symbolism. Investigators may lack the resources or specialized knowledge required to build a case. Prosecutors may decide that the high legal threshold or limited prospect of conviction makes proceeding unwise. Courts may convict but impose nominal sentences.

As we have said before in this space, passing a law does not close any of these gaps.

Police officers need training in the legislation and more broadly in the contemporary forms antisemitism (and its sister scourge antizionism) takes, including violence-inciting slogans like “from the river to the sea” and “globalize the intifada.” Crown prosecutors need the expertise and institutional will and support to bring difficult cases forward. Attorneys general must provide timely consent where the Criminal Code requires it. Judges must apply the law in ways that recognize not only harm to an individual victim, but the broader intimidation inflicted on an entire community.

The Combatting Hate Act may help. A distinct hate-crime offence could make motivation central to a prosecution rather than an afterthought at sentencing. The access provisions respond directly to the intimidation that has increasingly surrounded synagogues, Jewish schools and community gatherings, and neighbourhoods with a higher proportion of Jewish residents. Clearer statutory language may also give police and prosecutors more confidence about where lawful protest ends and criminal conduct begins.

Still, legislation is mere paper until institutions give it life.

That said, laws do have a purpose beyond prosecution. They express the moral judgment of society. At a time when antisemitism and antizionism have become louder, more extreme, more brazen and more socially tolerated, Parliament has drawn a line.

That imprimatur is significant in itself. Enforcement will determine whether the Combatting Hate Act becomes an effective instrument or another unfulfilled promise. But, even before the first prosecution, the law sends a necessary message: hatred is not acceptable, intimidation is not activism and Canadians should not have to run a gauntlet of hostility and danger to worship, study, gather or just go about daily life in this country.

What belonging means

British Columbia has been home to Indigenous peoples since time immemorial, and shaped ever since by people who came from somewhere else. For generations, people have arrived here seeking opportunity, freedom, safety and the chance for a better future. They brought different languages, traditions, beliefs and experiences. Together, they helped create one of the most diverse and vibrant places anywhere in the world.

That diversity is one of British Columbia’s greatest strengths. But it also comes with a great responsibility. In a province where so many of us have roots elsewhere, belonging is not something we inherit. It is something we build.

As we prepare to celebrate BC Day, I find myself thinking about what that means. Not simply belonging within our own families or communities, but belonging to the broader story of British Columbia. For Jewish British Columbians, that story stretches back more than 160 years.

Like so many communities across this province, ours is an immigrant story. Families arrived from Eastern Europe, North Africa, Latin America, the former Soviet Union, Israel, South Africa and countless other places. Some came fleeing persecution. Others came searching for opportunity. Over generations, they contributed to the economic, cultural, civic and charitable life in our province. Along the way, they found something equally important: a place to belong.

That sense of belonging did not happen by chance. It was built by neighbours who welcomed newcomers, by community leaders who created opportunities to participate and by people willing to reach across cultural and religious differences to form lasting relationships.

Those relationships matter because no community succeeds in isolation. They matter because a healthy society depends on trust, and because our differences do not need to divide us. That lesson feels especially relevant today.

Over the past several years, difficult conversations have strained relationships in communities across Canada. Too often, polarization has overshadowed our shared humanity. Yet, some of the most encouraging moments have come from people choosing another path: dialogue instead of division, partnership instead of polarization, curiosity instead of suspicion.

Those choices rarely make headlines, but they are the choices that strengthen communities. They are the choices that define British Columbia at its best.

This belief in connection is reflected in the recent evolution of the Jewish Federation of Greater Vancouver to the Jewish Federation of British Columbia. While it may appear to be a simple name change, it reflects a larger reality. Jewish life in this province is no longer centred in one city. Today, nearly 30 Jewish communities across British Columbia are helping shape a shared future, and our responsibility is to ensure that every community has the opportunity to thrive, and to support an increasingly connected province. The transformation reflects a belief that, despite differences in geography, background or experience, we are stronger when we remain connected.

That vision extends well beyond the Jewish community. British Columbia has always been strongest when people from different backgrounds choose to invest in one another. Guided by the enduring presence of Indigenous peoples and enriched by generations of newcomers and families who have called this province home, we continue to foster a shared future, one where people continue to build bridges rather than walls. Diversity is not simply something we celebrate. It is something we sustain through relationships, participation and a commitment to the common good.

For more than 160 years, Jewish British Columbians have sought to contribute to that vision. Philanthropy has long been one of the ways our community expresses its values, supporting not only Jewish organizations but also hospitals, universities, social service agencies, cultural institutions and countless initiatives that strengthen life across this province. This tradition reflects a simple belief: when one community succeeds, we all benefit.

The same spirit continues today through volunteerism, civic engagement and partnerships that bring people together across communities. BC Day reminds us that our lives are shaped by the people who show up for us. It is also a reminder that stronger communities are built by those who show up for one another. The neighbour who offers a welcome. The volunteer who lends a hand. The leader who creates opportunities for people to connect. The bridge-builders who choose understanding over division.

These acts may seem small, but, over time, they create something extraordinary. They create belonging.

In a world where it is often easier to focus on what separates us, there may be no greater gift we can give one another than the commitment to keep working toward making the province a place where everyone can belong – and there may be nothing more important than that.

Ezra Shanken is chief executive officer of Jewish Federation of British Columbia.

Make time to congratulate

A few days ago, a press release arrived in my inbox for the 2026 Redress Design Award. In capital letters, it read, “2026 finalists announced, tackling common to complex textile waste.” After I wrote the book Knit Green: 20 Projects & Ideas for Sustainability (Wiley & Sons 2009), I ended up on several PR lists. These marketing specialists somehow concluded that I had unique pull and could publicize their events.

This continued even as Wiley sold off their craft book line, stopped marketing my books, and sales fell away. Then, I discovered that another, remarkably similar book was published, first in German and then translated into English, while my book was pirated for free download. Then Anthropic scraped my books, along with many others, to create an early version of AI. Long story short, although I care about sustainability and the environment, my efforts as an author don’t give me enough clout to warrant all the press releases. That said, I enjoyed reading about new young designers’ efforts to promote textile reuse, so I stayed on this e-list.

I’m sure you’re wondering why I’m writing about this for a Jewish publication. Don’t fear! There are so many references to textiles, their production, use and value in Jewish sources. As well, our investment in tikkun olam – the notion of fixing the world – applies here, literally, when it comes to sustainability.

This year, when the Hong Kong-based, “Asia-focused environmental NGO Redress, dedicated to reducing clothing’s negative environmental impacts since 2007” announced its finalists, the list included something exciting. An Israeli won one of the coveted finalist spots. This is not a minor competition. The “finalists, who out-designed hundreds of applicants globally, represent seven regions across Asia, Europe and Middle East.” These finalists offer circular design solutions for textile waste, including “factory excess, clothing waste and furniture waste.” According to the release, there are currently 92 million tons of textile waste produced by the fashion industry annually, and only a miniscule amount of this is recycled.

The press release describes that “Tal Zohar (Israel) repurposes recycled fibres, discarded leather scraps, second-hand hardware and factory leftover yarn, including wool yarn cones donated from a closed factory.” This is all admirable. Zohar’s sketches show an Israeli/Middle Eastern ethos, with stylistic influences from her Moroccan (North African) family. However, that’s not what struck me as most remarkable.

We’re experiencing a moment in which Jewish and Israeli creatives are harassed and isolated due to the Gaza conflict and wider antisemitism. PEN America recently documented Israeli and Jewish writers’ experiences of growing isolation and exclusion on their social media. I saw the post on Instagram, but its comments absolutely proved the point. They were a dumpster fire, full of hate. Shortly afterwards, Dinaw Mengestu, the PEN America president, resigned in protest. He was protesting the lack of support for pro-Palestinian activism.

In this context, I was ridiculously excited to see that a young Israeli designer’s work was being celebrated on a wider stage. Will Zohar win? Will her designs and sustainability efforts become well-known or upscaled in a meaningful way? I don’t know. Still, I want to thank an NGO for choosing and valuing a designer on her merits, while a country and our people are being actively forced out of many arenas.

This confluence of two of my interests, fibre arts and Judaism, also happened elsewhere. After nearly a year of grassroots efforts, our Winnipeg congregation is beginning to embrace a once-a-month, co-ed needlework group. This group of knitters, beaders, crocheters, spinners, weavers, quilters, embroiderers and others, is largely sourced from our membership. Many of these fibre artists were cast out of their neighbourhood groups after Oct. 7 because they were Jewish or supported Israel.

One in three women in North America knits, so this group of needleworkers is in fact a big market share of our community. We deserve to feel proud and recognized not only in the wider world, via fashion competitions, but also in our neighbourhoods. On a basic level, if you want a synagogue member (me) to wash and mend all the plush Torahs for the family services, you need to show you value that member’s textile skills.

More broadly, you may not care about sustainability, textiles, fashion or traditional women’s work, but our tradition teaches us to say “yashar koach” (“well done”) when someone reads Torah, has an aliyah at synagogue, or does a good deed. We need to celebrate and congratulate each other every day, especially in the current environment.

As a mom, I am increasingly proud of people who step up. Not just my kids, but anyone’s children, and even those who are older than me, all fall under this new feeling of pride. I am proud when someone does something good! Also, I’m proud when someone is there for others or is celebrated for their professional skills. This is a special kind of Jewish joy we can all do more often. Jewish joy is something we all need to feel, share and acknowledge.

So, Tal Zohar, you don’t know me, but I wish you a hearty mazal tov on becoming a finalist in the Redress Design Award competition. As a Jewish mom and an author who writes about fibre arts, textiles and sustainability, I’m here to celebrate people like you who’ve done beautiful work under pressure.

A rising tide lifts all boats. We owe it to one another to applaud a job done well. This is a Jewish tradition, this chance to say “yashar kochech” (for a woman) or “yashar koach” (for a man) – or, in English, “well done!” Let’s do more of this special Jewish form of congratulations to bolster one another during difficult – and, hopefully soon, easier – times.

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.

Wedding a ray of light

This week, Sasha Troufanov and Sapir Cohen were married. The couple had only recently begun building a life together in Ramat Gan when terrorists burst into the home where they were visiting with family on Kibbutz Nir Oz on Oct. 7, 2023. Troufanov was beaten and stabbed. Cohen hid beneath a bed, wrapped in a blanket, but was discovered. They were dragged into Gaza separately.

Cohen was released after about two months, during the November 2023 ceasefire. Troufanov remained in captivity for more than 400 days. During that time, he believed he would never return home.

After his release, Troufanov told Cohen that, throughout his captivity, he prayed not for himself, but that Cohen would find another man to love. He wanted her to have a future, because he had lost hope that he would have one.

On Sunday evening, surrounded by family, friends and fellow former hostages, they were married.

“I want to thank you for coming today to share this joy with us,” the groom told the guests. “You’ve been with us every step of the way. Thank you so much. I love you.”

For the pair, and for those who love them, this must have been a deeply meaningful simcha. For those of us who do not know them, it is also a ray of light emerging from a time of worldwide Jewish anxiety and grief. To know that two people who had endured such suffering are celebrating love and committing to a life together is uplifting.

Much has been said about the fact that, for the released hostages, and anyone who has endured prolonged trauma, the end of the ordeal is rarely the conclusion of the suffering.

Jews worldwide celebrated the return of hostages, thousands embraced them on their arrival home, we felt vast relief that, for the surviving hostages, the worst was behind them. We did not, though, assume that the future would be entirely rosy. We understand trauma now in ways we did not in times of earlier Jewish catastrophes. We know that each survivor will experience varying consequences from what they experienced.

For Troufanov, there is also the knowledge that, while he survived, his father, Vitaly, was murdered on Oct. 7. His mother and grandmother survived captivity. Countless others in their circle did not.

The road ahead will not be easy. Probably not for the happy couple and not for thousands of other families who have lost loved ones and experienced a range of tragedies. But every long journey begins with a single step. This wedding was one of those steps.

Judaism has always understood that joy is not a life without suffering. Joy is an obligation despite suffering. In Deuteronomy, Moses conveys G-d’s command to the Israelites: “I have set before you life and death, blessing and curse. Therefore, choose life.” That injunction, u’vacharta ba’chayim, is not addressed to people whose lives are uncomplicated. It is addressed to a people whose story has already been marked by slavery, wandering and loss. Choosing life is not always easy.

Jewish tradition insists on remembering and re-experiencing. At every wedding, a glass is broken to remind us that even at the height of personal joy, the world remains imperfect. But the converse is also true. Even in the deepest darkness, we insist on making room for joy. The defiant slogan of the Nova survivors was “We will dance again.”

There are people who imagine resilience as stoicism – the refusal to cry or to be affected by pain. Jewish resilience permits grief. It sanctifies memory. It insists that mourning has its time and place. Then, slowly, even painfully, it asks us to re-enter life, to love again, to laugh, to rebuild. This response, we understand, is not because the past does not matter or that it no longer has a hold on us. It is because the present and the future matter too; that what is past and what is to come are a balance, like joy and grief.

Sasha Troufanov and Sapir Cohen may have been, to some, symbols of unimaginable suffering. This week, for one evening at least, they were not former hostages. They were simply a bride and groom. That is worth celebrating.

In Jewish tradition, we often speak of bringing light into darkness. It is an image that can become so familiar we risk overlooking its profound meaning. Light does not eliminate the darkness all at once. It pushes it back, one candle at a time – this wedding was one such candle.

May there be many more joyous occasions, as survivors, their families, their friends and everyone affected by this tragedy – and that means all of us – rededicate ourselves to building the future.

What “Jewish food” means

(photo from levhaolam.com)

Summer this year brought me an unusual experience. My twins went to stay with grandparents in Virginia and work as CITs (counselors in training) at a Jewish day camp. My husband dropped them off and then attended a conference. After a flurry of paperwork, packing and arranging, my family had left. Suddenly, I was alone with the dog. I’d made no solid plans while I’d spent so long getting everyone else ready. I settled into household chores, dog walks and routines that still needed to be done, even though there was no one else home.

Eating by myself for 10 days felt daunting. Previously, I’d spent a lot of time procuring healthy food and cooking for teenagers who eat a lot. I hadn’t been alone for this long since before having kids 15 years ago. I started off strong, cooking myself eggplant for salads, potato gnocchi and apple crumble. I prioritized things I like that other family members don’t. After awhile though, I was relieved to get two invitations for dinner and one helpful ride to pick up my car, which had been in the shop.

One dinner invitation was from neighbourhood friends. The other was from synagogue friends. In both cases, the people inviting me were Jewish retired professionals, and at least my parents’ ages. There were many differences – one intermarried, one person who chose Judaism long ago, one secular and some deeply committed to Jewish religious life. Yet, part of the conversation at both meals and during the car ride was “Jewish food.” What was Jewish food? What did I want to eat? Also, there were discussions on how beloved relatives’ and friends’ North American recipes shaped our cooking and eating.

All my hosts discussed North American versions of Eastern European Jewish food in detail. They had specifics: a long-lost recipe for kasha, a brisket, a “New York” cheesecake, homemade pickled beets, cucumber pickles and horseradish. In each conversation, they seemed surprised that my understanding of Jewish food didn’t mean exactly what they thought it meant.

I tried to explain childhood foods I ate at home in Virginia: Southern (American) cooking, mixed with both Eastern and Western European foods, occasional New York Jewish deli items, plus other influences like Israeli, Middle Eastern and Asian foods. This, too, was Jewish food. The foods my friends called Jewish were also Eastern European, often shared by our non-Jewish Ukrainian, Polish or Russian Winnipegger neighbours. We’re a product of family and ethnic ancestry and our environment. Winnipeg’s colder climate means that those with Eastern European backgrounds have every reason to eat the ways their ancestors did: hearty meals with root veggies and long cooking times.

Comparing this life experience with what I’ve been studying lately in Daf Yomi (a page of Talmud a day) has been interesting. While kashrut evolved over time and has precise requirements, it also has many differences from one household or community to the next.

I was taught as a kid to appreciate whatever was served to me, eat it, and say thank you. Not much was different with these recent meals. None was kosher. All were carefully prepared for me, with affection. I ate with gratitude. I appreciated being fed and included at the table. This contrasts significantly with the detailed analysis of kosher slaughter that I’m reading about in the Babylonian talmudic tractate Chullin, but it’s not as different as one might assume.

When discussing the kosher slaughter details, the rabbis are concerned with proper health and safety, as they understand it. Today, we’re lucky to have laws around food security and safety and home kitchen hygiene. In a sense, these laws do some of the same work, as the concepts were understood 1,500-2,000 years ago.

Due to wider travel and modern communication, we now recognize a diversity of eating habits and cultural traditions. What’s considered a normal diet or food consumption varies significantly. So, too, things differed throughout the Jewish world, according to the Babylonian Talmud.

There’s an understanding among the rabbis that people were keeping kosher differently, according to different rabbis’ rulings. That is part of what’s discussed in Tractate Chullin. On page 59A, Rav and Shmuel debate the kashrut and safety of a deer that had its back legs cut off. Their concern and care for each other means that, even if they debate many rabbinic rulings, they want to protect each other. (Rabbi) Shmuel worries that they might be poisoned by bad meat, because the deer might have been bitten by a poisonous snake. The two decide to cook the meat in a particular way. They will be able to tell if the meat is poisonous by whether it falls off the bone when roasted. They discover through this experiment that the meat is unsafe. They don’t endanger themselves by eating it.

There’s a lot to unpack here. Scholars, leaders and others can disagree on many things in a civil manner and care deeply about one another’s wellbeing. Our heartfelt discussions about food, recipes and preparations are how we nurture each other, show affection and protect each other from harm, whether it’s poisonous venom or loneliness. Further, Jewish traditions teach us that, while we may be absorbed in the details – Is it kosher? Is it safe? Is it your favourite? Is it vegan, vegetarian, non-allergic, gluten-free? – it’s not what we eat that matters, but rather how we show our care for others as we feed them that counts.

When I contemplated being alone, friends asked what my favourites were – and, to be honest, I couldn’t even tell them. After cooking meals for others for so long, I just appreciated the invitations, conversations and any food that was different than what was on my table. If pressed, I’d say that I love salatim (Israeli salads), fruit, cheese and dessert. In the end, brisket and turkey meatloaf were just as good. I understand that being included at someone’s Shabbat table and being part of a community is the important part.

If you’re Jewish, and you’re thinking about food carefully, with gratitude and care towards others, it’s all Jewish food, no matter what you put on the table. So, please extend that invitation. Welcome guests!

As a guest, remember to say thank you for the opportunity to share someone’s companionship, no matter what they feed you. It’s the (Jewish) thought that counts.

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.

Deal strengthens Iran

Many American Jews have given up on the Democratic Party. Seeing intractable opponents of Israel within its congressional ranks, many Jewish and pro-Israel voters decided that their best or only hope was within the Republican Party.

This trend was based partly on the seemingly knee-jerk antizionism of a chunk of the Democrats’ congressional caucus and by the oft-repeated idea that Donald Trump is the greatest friend Israel has ever had in the White House.

There are myriad problems with these assumptions.

First, abandoning one party in a two-party system is a high-risk strategy. Putting all eggs in one basket is not a wise approach in any scenario.

It is especially unwise in a scenario where the egg basket is controlled by a mercurial figure who has demonstrated no consistent loyalty to any person or idea, and whose fits of rage are directed at ostensible allies as often as they are at enemies.

The US-Israeli war with Iran earlier this year held the potential for a complete reshaping of the Middle East region. The defeat of the Islamic revolutionary regime in Iran would have tectonically altered the course of the region’s history, eliminating the greatest source of state-sponsored terror, massively (and further) reducing the capacity of Israel’s nearest enemies, Hamas and Hezbollah.

Based at least partly on the idea that regime change must come from within Iran, the United States in particular (but Israel as a partner in the war) stopped short of pursuing regime change.

The resolution to that war – the memorandum of understanding and ongoing talks aimed at a lasting cessation of violence – is apparently intended to prevent Iran’s drive toward nuclear military capacity. Perhaps it will.

At the same time, however, although concrete details are suspiciously sketchy, indications suggest that Iran is likely to come out of the war not chastened, but strengthened.

What is known about the apparent accord drafted by the United States and Iran is that it will deluge the Islamic regime in hundreds of billions of dollars in “reconstruction and development” funds. Time was that the defeated in a war paid reparations. Under the Trump doctrine, it seems, the historical penance is reversed. The defeated now apparently receive unprecedented windfalls. And this reputed $300 billion avalanche of cash does not include the freeing up another colossal sum of currently frozen Iranian assets.

Many commentators had suggested that a debilitated and humiliated Iran, economically devastated by the war, would be weakened to the point where the Iranian people would be able to rise up and overthrow their oppressors.

Instead, it appears that the regime will see itself in an erstwhile unimagined place of wealth and triumph.

The widespread idea that a weakened Iranian regime would lead the populace to revolution based on continued and worsening daily economic realities seems likely to be averted by a cash bonanza that will allow the ayatollahs to bribe their populace into complacency.

Worse for everyone, the flush regime will be able to rearm Hamas, Hezbollah, the Houthis and its broader network of evildoers.

What several weeks ago looked like the potential for the greatest realignment for the better in regional history now appears like the worst possible outcome. Iran seems to be given a free hand to pursue its darkest agendas, bankrolled by the “peace agreement” improbably crafted by the author of the 1980s bestseller The Art of the Deal.

If there is a single lesson here for Canadians and citizens in other democracies, it is that we must not allow the well-being of the bilateral relationship with Israel to become politicized. Party regulars in challenging environments must remain and fight, rather than abandon the traditional multipartisan approach to Israeli security.

There can be no denying that, at present, one party in Canada has a near-monopoly on pro-Israel policy. This appeared to be the case in the United States until a few hours ago. We can see how quickly things can change, leaving Israel effectively friendless at the highest levels.

Defending Israel in centrist and leftist political environments may seem challenging if not futile. But abandoning those spaces to haters because a mouthy carpetbagger comes along saying the right things until he turns like a mad dog on those who thought they were his friends leaves us in the worst imaginable spot.

Patriotic belonging diminishes

(photo by Cynthia Ramsay)

When I was a kid, living near Washington, DC, my dad would hang an American flag up out in front of our house on US holidays. We’d all go outside for Memorial Day or 4th of July and raise the flag together. It was a solemn ritual. It was uncomplicated and patriotic.

As my understanding of US history and geopolitical actions changed, I still remember feeling a sense of awe as we sat on a blanket under the night sky, celebrating Independence Day with fireworks and Sousa marches. I carried that mostly uncomplicated feeling with me when we moved to Canada in 2009, the feeling of pride in where I lived. I became a dual citizen, believing I could hold that feeling for two nations at once.

A few years ago, Winnipeg changed its celebrations around Canada Day. Some of the huge gatherings resulted in spikes in crime. Many events also didn’t properly acknowledge Indigenous peoples’ roles in this country. We found, with younger kids, that the crowds, loud noises and late nights required to celebrate with others became too hard.

The choice to downplay some aspects of Canada Day reflected a new understanding. Manitoba’s Indigenous population is 18.1%, larger than any other province. Winnipeg is home to the largest urban Canadian Indigenous population. Our kids attend public school in a division where the student population is approximately 30% Indigenous. Indigenous peoples have complex relationship with patriotism for many valid reasons.

I felt this nuanced understanding of patriotism and how it related to my country was only fair as a critical thinker who reads the news. Little of it had to do with my Jewish identity, I thought. Since Oct. 7, I realized that was incorrect.

On June 1, Prime Minister Mark Carney announced that “Canada’s civic compact is failing Jewish Canadians.” This speech was, unfortunately, too little, and too late. While he did this, there were more incidents of hate, and little done to enforce the laws to stop it. Carney has created a new advisory council to combat hate, which has only one Jewish person on it. While one of their tasks is to tackle antisemitism, the council has a participant who supports Palestinian resistance via Iranian proxies like Hamas and Hezbollah. Another member is a lawyer who represented Palestinian protesters in a university encampment. This doesn’t strike anyone in the Jewish community as an unbiased or safe environment to combat Canadian antisemitism.

Sorting through my feelings, I found a strange parallel in the Babylonian Talmud Tractate Chullin, which I am studying as part of Daf Yomi (a page of Talmud a day). This tractate, about kosher slaughter, is technical but contains insights that have broader implications. On page 44, there’s a discussion of treifa and how to detect it. In this situation, treifa refers to an animal that has a physical defect and will likely die soon. This type of animal isn’t kosher.

Sometimes, this is discovered only after slaughter. For the animal’s owner, this is a financial loss, too. In Dr. Sara Ronis’ essay on My Jewish Learning on Chullin 44, she highlights Rav Hisda, “who says: Who is a Torah scholar? This is one who sees his own treifa.” This is someone who sees his animal’s status, takes the financial loss and keeps potentially non-kosher meat out of the food supply. This person thinks critically enough to recognize when something might be harmful even when it’s difficult and the outcome doesn’t benefit them.

All my thoughts about patriotism felt emotional but abstract until October 2023. Then it became personal. The following situation is one I had but illustrates multiple Jewish Canadian experiences.

Someone I knew posted on social media. I’d sat on a committee with her. I visited her farm. I supported her business. Right after Oct. 7, this person cheered “resistance.” She promoted a “walkout for Palestine” at an urban high school near me. This person lived out in the country, not in the city. Still, she had lots of followers and this reaction to the Oct. 7 attack contributed to the antisemitism in Winnipeg.

When I asked her why she did this, I heard that this non-Jewish, leftwing Canadian once dated a leftwing Israeli. She believed in “one state” for Israelis and Palestinians. She’d once raised money to visit the West Bank but hadn’t managed the trip. She then defined antisemitism for me. After this online confrontation continued, I broke off contact, but this person still follows me on Instagram. It feels like I’m being stalked by someone who wants to monitor my minority identity.

My kids now attend that public high school, and I imagine how dangerous it could be if they were there during a “walkout for Palestine.” There’s a straight line from having a leftwing non-Jew feel confident enough to define Jew-hate to me, a Jewish person, and the hate we’re dealing with now. If a walkout happens at school, do my Jewish kids stay in the building, thus getting singled out as targets? My kids’ choice to side with Israeli friends and family and the Jewish state means they could be endangered at school by such “resistance” activism.

When I moved to Canada, I reveled in how safe and public Jews felt in Winnipeg. It was a novelty after moving from Kentucky, where I’d often felt worried about my safety. When someone recognized me on a Winnipeg street and called out to me from her bicycle, yelling that she knew me from synagogue, I felt unsettled. Six months later, I too felt safe enough to put my menorah in the dining room window during Hanukkah.

Sadly, that first Hanukkah in Canada, in 2009, is when my house got egged. It felt safe to be Jewish here, but we still couldn’t be that public about who we were.

When my twins were preschoolers, they walked to synagogue with us, wearing kippahs, because they felt proud of their identity. It was also easier than getting the kippahs on just outside the shul. We’re now in a situation where everyone’s toque, sun hat or ball cap comes off and the kippah comes on – sometimes even inside the building. We’ve had to change. It wasn’t safe.

Like many in Canada and the United States, I am now significantly less trusting of government and our country’s actions. I wonder if I will know when it’s time to move, when things are too unsafe. The older me sees value in the ways of Rav Hisda. It’s a sign of wisdom and maturity when we can identify and predict a loss or risk before it happens, and even cut our losses.

Part of me wishes for that uncomplicated time when I could lay back on my blanket, watch the fireworks and feel soaring pride. I’m sad to have lost that pride and the easy feeling of belonging I had in the past. Now, I wonder if I ever really belonged then, either.

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.

Need holistic approach

Prime Minister Mark Carney delivered a much-vaunted statement on Canada’s antisemitism crisis last week. It was unlikely to satisfy everyone – partly because there is only so much a single government can do about a global social phenomenon like escalating Jew-hatred.

Even by the standards of that acknowledgement, the address, delivered in Toronto’s Holy Blossom Temple, seemed like a significant missed opportunity.

Some might have expected Canada to appoint a Royal Commission that would investigate the problem of antisemitism in this country, as Australia has done. That, too, likely would have been criticized as kicking the problem down the road.

Instead, Carney announced something called the Ministerial Advisory Council on Rights, Equality and Inclusion, under the stewardship of Marc Miller, the minister of Canadian identity and culture. The council’s mission seems reasonable enough: analyzing “the nature, scale and drivers of antisemitism in Canada – including across our public institutions, workplaces, campuses, public services, professional bodies and online spaces”; coordinating a “whole-of-federal-government approach”; improving research and the collection of data on hate incidents; and “measure[ing] the impact of our efforts, to reinforce those investments in education, prevention, training and community safety that are delivering real results and helping to build a safer, more inclusive Canada for all.”

Lovely enough, though Carney’s speech seemed defensive on at least two fronts. First, he insisted none of this would impinge free expression, which came across as a bit of a sop to those who insist that there should be no limits to the Jew-hatred and anti-Israel bombast on Canadian streets, in classrooms and at workplaces. Further, while insisting that antisemitism is a top priority and that it would be moved to the top of the new council’s agenda, the council is, in the end, a broadly mandated body with a massive jurisdictional swath including, as its name states, amorphous “rights, equality and inclusion.” At a time when many Jews feel like their interests cannot be addressed without an addendum acknowledging the concerns of a laundry list of other equity-seeking peoples, the assignment of antisemitism to this omnibus-type council seems as much an insult as a salve.

What most people did not know during Carney’s speech were the names of the members of the new council. Among them is a lawyer behind a Charter of Rights challenge in defence of anti-Israel encampments. More galling to many is the inclusion of former Liberal MP Omar Alghabra, who has been head of the Canadian Arab Federation, is an admirer of Yasser Arafat, and lobbied to keep Hamas and Hezbollah off Canada’s list of proscribed terrorist entities.

It is an understatement to say that this news undermines the confidence of Jewish (and most reasonable) Canadians that the council will be anything like a panacea for the antisemitism problem. One could hardly conjure council members more likely to raise distrust among Jewish Canadians, no matter how respected any of the other members may be.

Carney also outlined not insignificant steps the government has taken, including funding for programs against radicalization and for Jewish community security. The latter funding is, of course, deeply necessary and appreciated, but also a symptom, rather than a treatment, of the issue.

Rich on bromides and with a requisite quote from Elie Wiesel, the prime minister’s speech probably struck most Canadian Jews as bland and empty. Carney uttered not a word about Israel or antizionism. More than this, the role of Islamic extremism as a major source of antisemitism in Canada was addressed only indirectly. As many commentators have noted, if we are too afraid to even acknowledge and name a main driver of the problem, the likelihood of taking steps that will resolve it seems very remote.

At a minimum, the PM’s address gives a benchmark with which to measure success or failure in the next few years. Any progress brought about by the work of the council and the other steps Carney noted, including Bill C-9 regarding hate propaganda, hate crimes and access to religious or cultural places, will be welcomed. The government should be held to account for any shortcomings.

As important as government action is, that alone will not have the impact necessary if there is not a significant upswell in public demand for change. While Carney called for a “whole-of-federal-government approach,” we need an all-of-society approach, with civic groups, media, the corporate sector and, especially, individual Canadians, speaking up against antisemitism.

Cutting grass with scissors

Nine years ago, I was walking with my twins, then age 6, to synagogue, when we passed an older woman in her yard, using scissors to cut the grass along the boulevard. At that moment, herding Grade 1 kids along, it felt hard to imagine why anyone would do this. It became a discussion topic. Why was this lady using scissors to do this? Was this a sign she wasn’t feeling well (in “kid” talk, aka mental illness)? Did we have to do something to help? We passed this person and her lawn several times on Saturday mornings that summer.

Recently, I, too, was using scissors to cut the lawn. I wanted to plant some runner beans along our chain link fence. Cutting the longer grass thatch away from this small space before planting was hard to do with our manual reel lawn mower, but the scissors made quick work of the problem. Within moments, I’d cleared away a strip of two to three inches on each side of the fence. With a satisfyingly large pile of thatch and grass for the yard waste, I was ready to start planting.

This morning, during a heat wave, I was using our mower, which is powered only by human efforts, no gas, no electricity, just a quiet whirr as it works. It struck me that people would look at me the way we looked at the neighbour cutting grass with her scissors. We choose a more environmentally friendly, retro, way to mow. Yes, it’s slower and more work. Yet, cutting the lawn is remarkably Zen. It’s an exercise in meditation, even when it’s hot out.

Modern spirituality often uses words like Zen, flow, meditation, spiritually alive and “finding deeper meaning” to help us access these experiences. These buzz words are supposed to differentiate spirituality from religion. As is, “I’m not religious or observant, but I’m spiritual.” Still, there’s nothing new about the concepts behind these terms. Our ancestors also worked to find flow or a Zen state of “being nothing” (a Buddhist/East Asian concept) in their lives.

I pondered this while attending an after-Kiddush lunch learning session on Shabbat. The speaker, a therapist, introduced the notion of mussar to the crowd with words like “journey” and “spiritual growth.” He spoke for 45 minutes. I wished I’d gone home to nap. The speaker, recently trained to discuss this Jewish concept, quoted a saying of the Kotzker Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem Mendel of Kotzk (1787-1859), but didn’t even give his name.

To summarize the core concepts of mussar to a friend later, here’s what I knew before the talk:

Mussar was invented in the 19th century in Lithuania based, in part, on medieval Jewish texts. It focuses on moral conduct and positive character building from a Jewish perspective via specific values such as humility and gratitude. Practitioners explore these values via self-reflection, meditation, pair and group dialogue. This growth is intended to be an ongoing self-improvement effort to draw the individual soul towards the Divine.

Aside from concluding that I may not be destined for these 45 minute after-lunch sessions, I also summed this up in four sentences without using any buzz words to express it. There’s nothing wrong with learning mussar. It’s an approximately 170-year-old form of modern group and individual self-betterment and therapy, through a Jewish lens. This presentation offered it in 21st-century lingo.

Summer is a great time for celebrations, but it’s also a time to embrace the meditative moments of just being, like hearing the water hit the shore at the ocean, swinging in a hammock, laying in the grass watching clouds, digging in the dirt or pushing the mower back and forth in straight rows. Some of my most transcendent Jewish prayer experiences have happened at Jewish summer camp, outside, singing in harmony while overlooking the lake. The sunshine and the bugs and birds singing – it’s all a chance to slow down and enjoy amazing moments of wonder and observation in the natural world. It’s a moment to express gratitude for the divine creation we get to experience.

I, for one, feel wrought up over wars, constant misinformation, concern about relatives and friends in Israel, and in need of more calm. Closer to home, the recent data about the rise in Canadian antisemitic incidents can put a Jewish person’s nervous system in high alert. It’s legitimate to feel anxiety. Still, that’s not healthy all the time.

For many, big gatherings in the sunshine are not what helps us relax. It’s the quiet state that comes from “being nothingness,” according to the Buddhists, our own Jewish traditions and from being alone outdoors and celebrating G-d’s creation.

Maintaining wonder comes in different forms for all of us. It’s OK to find that flow state, or, as Rabbi Sari Laufer expressed it in a recent Torah commentary about the parsha (portion) Naso: “Flow is the mental state where we are deeply immersed, focused and energized – so much so that time disappears. We forget to eat and sleep. Flow is a peak experience of purpose, creativity and connection. Crucially, flow is not meant to be permanent. We are designed to move in and out of it. A person living perpetually in flow would burn out, would find it utterly unsustainable.”

Settling down our nervous systems, escaping that adrenalin-fueled anxiety, is essential to maintaining balance during difficult times. One way to do that is through flow-state activities, whether grounded in mussar, daily routines, knitting or attending minyan. It’s sometimes found in a long walk to shul. Still others find it by trimming the grass by hand, a few blades at a time, with scissors. I think back on that woman, sitting on the ground, rapt with concentration, and marvel. In the Babylonian Talmud, in the Tractate of Berachot, on page 62a, the rabbis recount stories of students following their mentors to the bathroom and even the bedroom. Why? Everyday activities can be holy and essential to our wellbeing. Like cutting blades of grass, staring at the clouds, or finding one’s flow state – this is also Torah.

Zionism as a solution

(internet photo)

On May 17, Tafsik Organization and Stop Antizionism hosted a full-day World Symposium Against Antizionism. With justifiable pride, the organizers declared that this was the first conference in the world specifically dedicated to combating antizionism. Keynote speaker was Ben Shapiro, co-founder of The Daily Wire, along with Gad Saad, Eve Barlow, Leora Shemesh and a packed A-list of inspiring Jewish leaders from around the world.

The fire of Jew-hatred has been ravaging the Jewish community across our country, and elsewhere, and absolutely every option must be considered to put it out. At the same time, I wonder, What if this conference had been organized around the topic of Zionism, where these same speakers focused on all the many visions, projects and ways that Jews everywhere could support the cause of Zionism?

Whether you identify more with Zionism, Jewish peoplehood, Israel or Judaism, if we really want to declare war on antizionism and antisemitism, I think it is by embracing everything that makes us proud to be Jewish and to live Jewishly. For every action each of us takes to combat antisemitism/antizionism, imagine the impact if we also did an equal action that deepens our Jewish identity. Consider it a one-to-one combating antisemitism, promoting Zionism challenge.

As Canadian Jews, we have endured longstanding discrimination. Many of us remain vigilant, knowing our lives will be shaped by the latest surge of “protesters” in Jewish neighbourhoods, or by flash mobs of such protesters at Toronto subway stations or at public forums like Phillips Square in Montreal. where effigies were hung.

When, in Vancouver, someone sets fire to the entrance of Schara Tzedeck Synagogue and the Jewish Federation of BC reports that 62% of Jewish community members have experienced at least one antisemitic incident, wearing Jewish symbols in public is an act of pride and defiance against any of our fellow Canadians who secretly, or openly, hate us for being Jews.

Even before Oct. 7, 2023, B’nai Brith recorded that, in Canada, in 2021, for the sixth consecutive year, records were set for antisemitic incidents in the country, reaching 2,799 that year. In their recently released 2025 Annual Audit of Antisemitic Incidents, B’nai Brith found there were 6,800 incidents of antisemitism documented that year.

Zach Bodner, chief executive officer of the Palo Alto Jewish community centre and the head of the Zionism 3.0 movement, declares: “We have to stop pretending that anti-antisemitism will keep Judaism alive for the next generation…. We have to stop believing that fighting against antizionism will keep our kids loving Israel.”

Rabbi David Hartman, in his 1982 essay “Auschwitz or Sinai?” challenges us to examine if we will live our Judaism shaped by trauma, persecution and hatred, or if will we be shaped by covenant, responsibility and moral purpose. “It was not Hitler who brought us back to Zion, but rather belief in the eternal validity of the Sinai covenant,” he wrote.

Recently, as a simple test, I went to the Jewish Independent archives and clicked on the antisemitism tag, I found 45 pages of articles. When I went to the Zionism tag, I found only four, but the tag for Israel had 111 pages, while antizionism/anti-Zionism had three pages of results combined.

I then decided to compare the number of articles published in 2026 between the antisemitism and Israel tags. I found about 30 articles in the former and roughly 25 in the latter. Of those 25 Israel stories published in 2026, at least four dealt with antisemitism and included that tag search as well. Of the 21 remaining Israel articles, most could be construed as some form of cultural connection, solidarity with or interest in Israel, more than enough to classify as Zionism.

While close in number, so far in 2026, antisemitism stories are outpacing stories about Israel and/or Zionism. I have no doubt this same test could be used with any other Canadian Jewish publication, with similar findings.

I’m sure we can agree that there is so much more we can do to inspire ourselves and pass the torch from Sinai to our future generations, rather than allow so much of our creative and intellectual drive and energy to be focused on those who hate us.

We are living in the aftermath of 1948, the year when we Jews finally transformed the seemingly impossible dream of reestablishing statehood into reality. We have a strong North American Jewish community and representative organizations that make us an undeniable political force.

With these resources that were unimaginable to previous generations of Jews, we have new goals to set, new visions to dream, new swamps to drain, new heights to achieve – as Jews.

So, I ask every one of you reading this: What inspires you about being Jewish? What about Judaism, Zionism or Israel inspires you? What leads you to live a Jewish life and gives you strength during tough times? What drives you to be the best Jew you want to be?

For every statement, action, rally or event you attend where you roar with defiance against our haters, please take a moment to express why you are the Jew you are; how you live Jewishly; and why you are proudly part of the Jewish nation. Your words, your ideas, your vision can and will inspire many others.

Alan Herman has lived in Israel twice, including when attending Ben-Gurion University, where he completed his master’s degree in Middle Eastern studies. He participated in the Quebec-Israel Committee’s parliamentary program in Montreal, and organized many Israel and Zionism related events as a co-chair for the Toronto chapter of the Canadian Institute for Jewish Research from 2013 to 2025. He is a proud member of the board of Upstanders Canada.