Op-Ed

Complexities of celebration

My family’s in the middle of a month of celebrations. June is always this way at our house, but it’s even more intense this time around.

In a “usual” June, we celebrate two family birthdays and a wedding anniversary; it’s also the end of school for our kids. This year, we started off with a bang. Our twins had their birthday on Erev Shavuot. In the morning, we joined the huge Pride Parade festivities. In the evening, our community, in Winnipeg, had a Tikkun Leil Shavuot (a traditional night of study at the beginning of the holiday) with hundreds participating from four congregations. While we ate dairy foods and celebrated, to our surprise, the whole room sang our kids a rousing version of Yom Huledet Sameach (Happy Birthday). It was something to remember – they were surrounded by smiles and learning.

Shavuot is celebrated in a lot of ways. It’s a first fruits and first wheat harvest holiday. It’s also the day that we celebrate the giving of the Torah and read the Book of Ruth. Some observe this holiday as a day of radical inclusion, when everyone, no matter your age or gender, should hear the Ten Commandments read.

Radical inclusion is something I think about a lot. This year, my nephew in Virginia, LJ, who has cerebral palsy and uses a power wheelchair and assisted communication device, celebrated Shavuot with his confirmation class at Temple Rodef Shalom, a Reform congregation near Washington, DC. He gave a speech at the service, carefully planned, about the intersection of his identities as a Jewish and disabled person and as an advocate for accessibility. He spoke eloquently about how Judaism teaches us to pursue justice, and how he works to help make that possible. LJ has given many speeches: on how others can learn about assisted communication, on how to teach math to those with visual disabilities, and on myriad other topics. At 16, LJ is already an accomplished advocate who rolls into rooms filled with adults and shows them new ways to help learners with disabilities.

During his recent speech, LJ mentioned how his religious school helpers have gone on to helping professions: speech pathology, special education, and more. It’s true that some see people with disabilities as having high needs, but all people have things to teach others and to give the world. LJ’s need for physical support results in a huge net positive. He positively affects the lives of many others around him.

At the Tikkun Leil Shavuot I attended, Rabbi Yosef Benarroch (who served in the 1990s as spiritual leader of Beth Hamidrash in Vancouver) gave the keynote. Benarroch is retiring from Congregation Adas Yeshurun-Herzlia here in Winnipeg and moving back to Israel to join his family. His address reminded us about all the ways in which we can help one another and perform acts of chesed (kindness) towards others. His summary of a day in the life of a congregational rabbi made me feel tired! However, it was filled with ways he was of service to others, while getting to do mitzvot (commandments) and sharing important moments in people’s lives.

I’d be the first to say that, sometimes, as a mom, helping meet others’ needs can be exhausting. There are years where I look ahead to June and think, “Wow, I’ll be making a lot of birthday cake – and how many holiday and celebratory meals?” Yet, hearing these two different perspectives, on Jewish advocacy and acts of kindness, really raised me up. It reminded me of how much there is to do in the world, and how lucky we are if we’re healthy, capable and able to do it.

Right now, in Manitoba, we’re coping with huge wildfires and many evacuees. As the bossy mom, I forced everyone to go through their closets so we could participate in the donation drives, because something like 17,000 people have been forced to flee their homes. One of my family members said, “We just donated stuff! We probably don’t have anything to offer!” Three bags of clothing (women’s, men’s and teens’) and blankets later, we were dropping off what we could find before Shavuot started. I reminded my 14-year-olds that this was their birthday mitzvah – the traditional extra commandment that they took on – and we celebrated it through the smoky morning.

If you’re like me, it can be a struggle to relax into a wholehearted celebration while holding so much in our hearts at once. Whether it’s the hostages in Gaza, the war, the wildfires, antisemitism worldwide or issues closer to home, it’s understandable if it’s difficult to be completely joyful. Yes, we are commanded to celebrate at certain times, but I am reminded of the traditions of Jewish weddings. At every Jewish wedding, we break a glass to remind ourselves of the loss of the Temple in Jerusalem. We hold a bittersweet feeling of grief and pain even at our most meaningful moments. This acknowledgement doesn’t keep us from continuing to hope, to celebrate, while including everyone.

Today, I’ve had the honour of visiting a longtime family friend in the hospital. I brought her snacks and flowers from our garden. She’s just undergone surgery after a fall. I was relieved to find her in good humour. I’ve gotten to cook a bit for her family, as well as mine, and found time to work, walk the dog and even pull up copious weeds. Every handful of invasive greenery removed showed me the flowering plants underneath. I celebrated the riotous colour of both the weeds and the irises.

There’s no guarantee that every moment will be happy or every summer a celebration. Still, we have so many opportunities to do kindnesses, perform mitzvahs and be there to advocate for one another. If Shavuot sticks with me long after it ends, it’s not because of cheesecake or even first fruits. During a month of family celebration this year, Shavout also offered the opportunity to celebrate our tradition, which offers us great gifts if we make the most of them: learning, Torah and radical inclusion, too.

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.

Sharing a special anniversary

When does something begin? I’ve been thinking about that as I go through 95 years’ worth of Jewish Independents. Well, 20 years of JIs and 75 years of its predecessor, the Jewish Western Bulletin. The JWB also had its predecessors – mimeos and letter-sized versions. The paper’s founders started counting on Oct. 9, 1930, the official first tabloid edition, when they could have started July 15, 1925, “the natal issue of the Vancouver Jewish Bulletin.” Or maybe earlier. Who knows when the idea that brought into existence what would become, through thousands of issues, the paper you today hold in your hands or read on your computer.

image - Making the cover of this special issue, where six stories jump to the inside and the rest of the stories are blurbs that direct readers to pages on the inside, was an organizational challenge. There was no way I could replicate the brevity of the 1930s articles, but I could mimic the style. — Making the cover of this special issue, where six stories jump to the inside and the rest of the stories are blurbs that direct readers to pages on the inside, was an organizational challenge. There was no way I could replicate the brevity of the 1930s articles, but I could mimic the style.

I know I’ve mentioned this fact in previous anniversary issues, that the JI could be considered five years older than the age we have deemed it to be. In looking through so many beginnings – and endings – throughout the years, it struck me again. So many organizations have multiple possibilities for the equivalent of their first edition. For example, the Louis Brier Home and Hospital was organized in 1945, but the idea for it probably came even earlier and the home didn’t open until 1946.

I share this as a caveat because, as I went through the paper’s archives, looking for other community organizations that are celebrating a significant anniversary this year, I no doubt have missed some. But my intent was good – I wanted to share the JI’s “special day” with others.

Unfortunately, I was hampered in my goal because the search function of the online Jewish Western Bulletin archives (newspapers.lib.sfu.ca/jwb-collection) is basically dysfunctional. If I had a 95th birthday wish, it would be to have the funding to have all the newspapers back to 1925 re-digitized and re-indexed, so that this priceless resource could be more accessible. In the meantime, I hope readers can embrace the random smattering of “clippings” that represent my attempt to show how the newspaper has grown with the community – our success being directly attributable to our collective success.

image - I continue to wish that the founders of the newspaper had started counting in 1925, when the “natal issue of the Vancouver Jewish Bulletin” was published. — I continue to wish that the founders of the newspaper had started counting in 1925, when the “natal issue of the Vancouver Jewish Bulletin” was published.

Going through the pages of the newspaper over 95 years is both an inspiring experience and a sobering one. Countless people, organizations, businesses and events no longer exist, but there are always new people coming into the world, coming into the community; new groups being created, new businesses popping up, new ideas being discussed, new events being organized. If the size of the Community Calendar is any indication, there is more happening in the community today than there has ever been.

During my 26 years as publisher – or, one of my other beginnings, 27 years since I was hired by the paper – there have been recessions, wars, a global pandemic, and seemingly inexhaustible antisemitism, which has increased greatly since Hamas’s terror attacks on Israel on Oct. 7, 2023. I am still processing that massacre, the ensuing war and all the other violent conflicts happening in the world, the hate and the anger that threaten to overwhelm. It never ceases to amaze and sadden me, humanity’s ability to be as destructive and cruel as we can be creative and compassionate. I won’t dwell on the negative here.

In running the newspaper, I have tried to maintain a middle ground, to be inclusive but also respect my own boundaries. I think there are concerns that should be played out in public, and others that should be dealt with privately. The JI is not a gossip rag, it is not sensationalist or alarmist. That is a decision I have made, and that our editorial board (Pat Johnson, Basya Laye and me) considers every issue.

While not ignoring the hurtful, the divisions, the controversies in our community or the larger universe, we try to cover stories in a way that doesn’t depress and paralyze action, but rather opens the door for solutions or at least positive attempts at change. We don’t want readers to put down the newspaper in despair, but rather to think about what they can do to contribute to a better world, whatever that means to them. One ad in this paper heralds the JI for being the bearer of good news – it makes me happy that people think that, even as we report the news that’s not so good.

The Jewish Independent has survived so long because of one thing: community support.

In 95 years, there has been much to mourn, that is true, but there also has been so much to celebrate. Personally, during my tenure as publisher, I have benefited from many kindnesses, from generous landlords and donors to loyal subscribers and the people who support the paper through purchasing ads.

I have met, worked with and/or become friends with some truly amazing people. I consider myself lucky to have joined the paper early enough to have met in person several of the visionaries who built the organizational foundations of this community, not to mention those of the province, even of Canada, in some instances. There are afternoon teas, lunches and gala dinners I’ll remember forever, if the mind stays healthy.

The people I work with are smart, talented, dedicated and should be earning a lot more than they are. I might own the paper, but by no means do I run it alone. The people whose names you see on the masthead every issue are integral to publishing the paper. And all the people who have been on that masthead over the years – and the many more who have not been recognized in print – have helped keep the paper going, from its first days to today. I thank you all.

I am not a journalist per se, nor an entrepreneur. I’m trained as an economist, and still make myself chuckle when I think of the most uneconomical choice I have made in my life – to buy this newspaper. But it has kept me clothed and fed, with a roof above my head. It has taught me so many things and, though I’ve not always been a willing student, I am better for the lessons.

Most importantly, I am better for all the people I have encountered on this journey. I have made many friends and acquaintances. Not all my encounters have been pleasant or easy, but I have come to appreciate more as I’ve gotten older that, behind the organizations serving the community are simply people. Maybe people I don’t always agree with, but people who are undeniably committed. They are people who believe in community so much that they give of their time, either as volunteers or staff or both, working in one place, volunteering in others. Or they give of their financial resources, funding causes in which they believe, choosing to give away some of their money rather than letting it sit in the bank or using it for personal wants and needs.

It is a privilege to do what I do for a living. I am proud to be part of this extraordinary community. Kol hakavod to us all. May we go from strength to strength….

Now let’s party. Happy anniversary to all the other Jewish organizations celebrating a milestone this year!

Privileges and responsibilities

When we moved to Canada for my husband’s academic job in 2009, we had work permits. Mine stated I couldn’t work with children or do farmwork. I’d previously been a teacher, but, with this work permit, I only taught adults. I volunteered at friends’ farms, but these skills couldn’t offer income. I did a few Jewish community events, leading family services, for instance, but I didn’t want to jeopardize my status.

I felt all the upheaval was worthwhile. We lived in a college town in Kentucky before moving to Canada. We drove 121 kilometres each way to attend a congregation with a rabbi. The town we lived in had about 20 Jewish families and a lay-led small Reform congregation. While my husband’s professor job was good, I’d lacked job prospects there. It was lonely without much of a Jewish community. When my husband was offered a Canada Research Chair in Manitoba, moving north made sense.

We’re law-abiding folk. We followed all the visa requirements. However, when trying to get Canadian permanent residency, the process required a chest X-ray. Pregnant with twins in 2011, I had to wait until after I gave birth. This stalled things. Meanwhile, we never thought committing a crime was a good choice while in Canada on a visa or a residency permit. (Or now, as citizens.)

Canadian permanent residents have all the rights of citizenship except voting and running for public office. If you’re convicted of a crime, permanent residency can be revoked. At each stage, whether work permit, permanent residency or citizenship, it’s important to obey the laws of the place you’re living in.

Later, as a permanent resident, I pitched book ideas to publishers at a Winnipeg library event. The publisher asked if I was a citizen. If not, they said they couldn’t read my manuscript. Their government funding was “only for citizens.” Afterwards, I researched it and emailed the publisher – Canadian presses can publish eligible permanent residents’ work using the same government funding. I received no reply.

By then, I realized my non-citizen experiences were normal and considered acceptable. Citizenship means something. Those born in Canada often don’t understand their privileges. Newcomers will mention their credentials and the hard effort it took to enter Canada. Canada loves successful, educated immigrants. Yet, upon arrival, those credentials often aren’t recognized, meaning we’re not eligible to do the same work here. It might take years to requalify the “Canadian” way.

I recalled all this when the US government began to detain foreign university students before deporting them. The outcry has been fast and furious. How dare immigration take Mahmoud Khalil away from his pregnant wife? Yet, as a parent, I thought, “Why would anyone on a visa or residency permit risk illegal behaviour? They might be forced to abandon their family!”

Perhaps protesting international students never reviewed their visa terms. In the United States, green card holders aren’t allowed to try to change the government by illegal means. Those who trespassed on or vandalized university campuses, threatening resistance in support of groups deemed terrorists by both the United States and Canada, took big risks.

Some US international students knew they’d violated their visa regulations. Some students “self-deported.” A Cornell graduate student, Momodu Taal, left the United States on his own.

Cornell University emphasizes that actions have consequences and that, with privilege, comes responsibility. I heard this repeatedly during my undergraduate years at Cornell. However, when a Columbia University grad student, Ranjani Srinivasan, left the United States for Canada, CBC’s headline read, “Grad student who fled US says claims about her alleged support of Hamas are ‘absurd.’” Why did Srinivasan flee if the allegations were absurd and didn’t violate the law?

Long ago, my husband attended graduate school in Britain. As an American, he had to register his identity and contact information at the local police department. Though he didn’t break any laws, the trek to the station and the US passport stamped “ALIEN” were a sobering reminder of status.

It isn’t popular to take responsibility for one’s actions. Even expecting law enforcement to enforce the laws against some illegal activity isn’t common. Hate crimes against Jewish Canadians soared out of control in 2024. According to a recent B’nai Brith Canada audit, few cases are prosecuted. According to 2023 statistics, 72% of these types of hate crimes went unsolved.

Perhaps those fleeing the United States have seen this statistic. It’s now common in North America to protest on city streets, waving Hezbollah or Hamas flags. Protesters use words like “intifada” and “resistance” while claiming this is a right to free speech. These words and the actions that followed resulted in the deaths of thousands whose identities differed from the Islamist groups who “resisted.” Sometimes, Jews in Israel (or Canada) are the targets. Targets include Israeli Druze, Christians or Bedouin, too. In neighbouring Syria, minority groups targeted by Islamists are slaughtered, but without Canadian news coverage comparable to the Israel/Gaza conflict.

As but one example of many incidents across the country, it’s apparently legal to protest and yell “baby killers,” an antisemitic trope, outside of the Winnipeg Jewish community centre. That same building complex contains a daycare, school and programming for the elderly. In April 2025, protesters claimed they did this because two Israeli soldiers came to speak about their experiences on Oct. 7, 2023, and their military service in Gaza.

But, wait a moment, Canadian soldiers who speak about their military service in Afghanistan don’t face protesters. Do protesters stand near mosques when a relevant guest speaks, to protest violent upheavals in Syria, Nigeria or Sudan? No, it’s only about Israel, where half the world’s Jewish population lives. Protesters openly spout hatred against Canadian Jewish citizens, about 1% of the Canadian population, but not other minorities.

Immigrants, like foreign students, don’t get all the rights of citizenship. Citizenship is a “membership” and has its privileges. Freedom of expression isn’t absolute in either the United States or Canada. In both countries, discrimination, hate speech, incitement to violence and defamation are illegal.

Canadians must remember the responsibilities that accompany the privileges. Let’s enforce Canada’s laws against hate. Behaving properly towards one another and treating all Canadians as worthy of respect are Canadian values. Hate speech, and valorizing terrorist groups and their flags, aren’t.

When crisis hits, we show up

As a member of the Jewish community, I’ve come to recognize a powerful truth: when crisis strikes, we show up. That’s who we are.

It’s not performative. It’s not for headlines. It’s rooted in Jewish values that demand action – to heal the world (tikkun olam), to care for the stranger (ve’ahavta et hager) and to take responsibility for one another (arevut hadadit).

So, when tragedy struck our Filipino neighbours at the Lapu Lapu festival in Vancouver, the Jewish community responded – as we always strive to do, with compassion. Our community mobilized within hours. Not just with condolences, but with coordinated, tangible action. A dedicated fund was quickly established for affected families. We partnered with Filipino BC, the United Way, the Archdiocese of Vancouver, the City of Vancouver and other local organizations to ensure a compassionate, coordinated response.

These aren’t symbolic gestures – they are meaningful efforts to help a community recover, rebuild and feel supported in its darkest moment. And it’s not the first time our community has responded like this – not even close.

We’ve shown solidarity with Indigenous communities through Truth and Reconciliation events, advocating for justice, supporting families of missing and murdered women, and bringing in speakers.

After the Quebec mosque shooting, we stood with our Muslim neighbours, condemning Islamophobia, and supported Syrian and Afghan refugees with sponsorship, fundraising, housing, and provided immigration help.

In response to George Floyd’s murder and rising anti-Asian hate, we participated in rallies, spoke out and called for systemic change in policing.

We’ve actively supported LGBTQ+ rights by participating in Vancouver’s Pride Parade and advocating for policies against discrimination.

In the wake of floods and wildfires, we provided aid, opened our homes and joined environmental campaigns for climate justice.

From Haiti to Ukraine, and East Africa to Nepal, our community has raised money and supported global aid efforts to provide humanitarian relief to those affected.

We don’t burn flags, we build bridges. We don’t chant hateful slogans, we extend hands in solidarity. We don’t destabilize, we stabilize, support and stand together. That is the spirit that lives within the Jewish community here in Vancouver. In moments of crisis, we don’t disappear – we show up.

That is the spirit embedded in Jewish life. These values are part of who we are. They guide us – especially in moments of pain and need. We act when it matters most.

That’s why I’m proud to be Jewish. Proud to be part of a people whose instinct is to act with compassion – no matter who is in need. Tzedakah, tikkun olam and arevut hadadit are not just words we recite. They are the path we walk. That’s who we are.

Lana Marks Pulver is board chair, Jewish Federation of Greater Vancouver.

Ways to overcome negativity

In times of rising antisemitism and violence, fear is valid. When the world feels like it’s unraveling, anchoring yourself in a deeper sense of purpose can be healing. (screenshot)

Fear is not a weakness. It’s a deeply human response to a real or perceived threat. In times of rising antisemitism and violence, fear is valid. But we must not let it be the only voice in the room.

By acknowledging the fear – whether of violence, isolation or helplessness – we reduce its power. At the same time, we also make space for other emotions, such as courage, care and resilience, to emerge.

There are many things we can do to help us overcome the foreboding atmosphere of negativity and fear that is knocking at our door. Focusing on what we can do, gives us a sense of agency when we might otherwise feel helpless and alone.

There is the physical aspect of fear. It is important to be aware of what is happening as you notice you are feeling anxious, by staying present and being grounded. The brain often races into the future during fear: What if this happens to my community? My family? Me? This kind of “catastrophic thinking” pulls us out of the moment and floods our bodies with stress hormones.

It is important to know how to manage physical symptoms as they come up. Have you ever practised mindful breathing or meditation? Going to the beach and being aware of the beauty of our surroundings is a way to relax the constant noise that comes with stressful thinking. It is important to stay informed, but we often tend to keep scrolling for more information when there might not be anything else available. Learn how to say “dayeinu,” it is enough for today.

Build connection, not isolation

Fear thrives in silence. One of the most powerful antidotes to fear is community; connecting with people who understand your pain and can help hold it with you. It is important to build community to fight isolation. Ask yourself:

• Who in my life can I be vulnerable with?

• Is there a synagogue, support group or mental health resource I can lean on?

• Can I be that presence for someone else?

There is strength in the simple act of saying, “You’re not alone.” It may be that your reaching out to ask for help will in fact help someone else.

Not everyone will be on the front lines of activism – and that’s OK. But each of us has a role to play in healing the world, even in small ways:

• Check in on someone who may be afraid or isolated.

• Wear your Jewish identity with pride – a Magen David, a kippah – if it feels right to you.

• Educate others, kindly and clearly, when misinformation spreads.

• Support Jewish organizations and security efforts.

Courage doesn’t always roar. Sometimes, it whispers, “I will keep showing up.”

When the world feels like it’s unraveling, anchoring yourself in a deeper sense of purpose can be healing. Ask yourself where you can make an impact. Do you have a particular skill that may make a difference to individuals or an organization? Judaism has a rich tradition of resilience, moral clarity and hope. Pirkei Avot 2:5 reminds us that, “In a place where there are no leaders, strive to be that leader.” In other words, act with integrity, even when others do not. This is real courage and takes strength and commitment.

Judaism teaches us to choose hope

Our tradition teaches us to choose hope, again and again. Hope isn’t naïve. It’s an act of spiritual resistance. It’s choosing to believe, even with trembling hands, that goodness still exists and that we are its agents. When you are with friends and family, celebrate moments of kindness. Remind one another of stories, not only of loss, but of survival and joy.

Living Jewishly, publicly and proudly, in today’s world takes immense strength. You are not alone in your fear – nor in your resolve. Fear may visit, but it doesn’t get to move in and take over. Our world needs as many of us to be positive ambassadors as we need those fighting antisemitism on the front lines. As Mahatma Gandhi once expressed it, “be the change you wish to see in the world.”

Shelley Karrel is a registered clinical counsellor in Vancouver; you can reach her at karrelcounselling.com.

Living in a personal paradise

It is raining today in our area of Vancouver. I am specifying our area because things could be very different in other areas of our metropolis, with the variety of climatic zones it presents on the shores of our western sea.

My Bride and I are enjoying the solitude of our own company. Our various familial connections are pursuing their affairs in different parts of the planet. We are in our 90s (thereabouts), tolerating various aches and pains that time has made us heir to. Nevertheless, I am suddenly aware that we have achieved our personal paradise.

I am aware that we are surrounded with an unending list of things in our world that need corrective action. Our world can report a litany of tragic stories that require happy endings, some that personally touch us deeply, many we are aware of from afar. We know there are things to be done, some that may even require concerted action on our part.

But, at this very moment, I am overwhelmed by a feeling that those in my immediate circle are safe and secure, and I am grateful. I can look around me and see the place where I live. It may need tidying, but it is pleasing to my eye. We have pictures of our loved ones, past and present, and they cover almost every possible vacant space.

There are many beautiful things that we have collected over the years arrayed where they have found places to stand. The fridge is full to bursting and we doubt that we will be able to consume it all before we will have to discard some of it. We have money in the bank for the bills this month and as far out in time as we can imagine.

In our long history, we know that there have been many times, many places, where the scene before us was very different. Despite the whirling of issues in our minds, the horrors we know exist even around the corner, we have a place and time that is, for us, a paradise.

I remember when I endured a space that spoke to me only of finding the means to escape. I know that my Bride has faced conditions, physically and emotionally, that taxed the limits of her strength. Somehow, we’ve managed.

There were times when our offspring were off in unknown places beyond our capacities to intervene on their behalf as we would have liked. We have had personal relationships that have tried us beyond the limits we thought we could bear, and we survived them.

My Bride and I have been together for 20 years. Despite my solitary nature, she persisted nevertheless, until we were ultimately able to be open to each other as to our mutual vulnerabilities and forge a loving relationship. We glory in that every day.

We remember our triumphs, those accomplishments of which only we ourselves may be aware, jobs well done. Our present makes our contemplation of our past so much easier. And those past experiences make our present – the people, the place, the time – more like the paradise it is.

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

Shattering city’s rosy views

The horrific car-ramming that killed attendees at the Lapu Lapu Day Festival on April 26 was Vancouver’s baptism by fire into a club into which no city seeks membership. This urban gem of “Beautiful British Columbia,” where one can ski down a mountain, sail in the ocean, cycle along rolling hills and relax on a beach on the same day, now also is home to a mass killing event. Life for Vancouverites will never feel as rosy again – nor should it.

As a Vancouver resident and mental health outreach worker who hails from the United States – where such events have become far too commonplace – I can only hope that this massacre will serve as a wake-up call to the province for the need for more mental health beds in the region. Specifically, I pray that this event will lead to the political will to reopen a reformed Riverview Psychiatric Hospital, which never should have been allowed to close in the first place.

While the exact circumstances of what led the individual charged with committing this murderous act remain under investigation, it is established that he had been a client in the Vancouver mental health system. The current broken state of that system is at least in part the result of the fate of the closing of Riverview, which was the only dedicated psychiatric hospital serving the Greater Vancouver area.

Riverview was understood to be rife with abuses. I experienced something similar while serving as a chaplain resident at Washington, DC’s St. Elizabeth’s Hospital from 2012 to 2013, when it was undergoing a years-long settlement agreement with the US government for mistreatment of patients. Instead of following St. Elizabeth’s successful model of investing in the reformation of a century-old institution, elected officials here chose to capitalize financially and politically on Riverview’s deservedly nefarious reputation. They drew upon the understandable outcry over the violations – as well as the contemporary trend toward deinstitutionalization – to justify closing the hospital altogether in 2012. These excuses offered ample cover for what was at the heart of their motivation to close Riverview: saving taxpayer dollars to become endeared with the voting public.

In the 13 years since that decision, Vancouver’s Downtown Eastside has effectively replaced Riverview as an open-air psychiatric hospital. Rather than living in a protected environment, individuals in the greatest need of mental health support are forced to try to survive amid a fentanyl-laced, drug-laden dystopian metropolis. Members of this extremely vulnerable population succumb every day on the streets and in their homes to fatal overdoses of drugs to which their illnesses make them abundantly susceptible. This is an abomination that cannot stand in a civilized nation the likes of which Canada professes to be. Indeed, British Columbia now is the only Canadian province without an exclusive psychiatric hospital. For a province whose largest city – Vancouver – is a hotbed for the suffering and preventable deaths of human beings living with the dual-diagnosis of mental illness and addiction, this is simply inexcusable.

As Riverview prepared to close, community mental health outreach programs opened, partly in the hope of meeting the needs of clients discharging from that moribund institution. Among those initiatives were new, innovative mental health outreach teams, such as the Assertive Community Treatment (ACT) teams on which I serve as a spiritual health practitioner. Despite the best efforts of dedicated professionals alongside whom I am privileged to work on these teams, Vancouver’s “capital” punishment of its mentally ill persists. As I write these words, I have learned that another young client of ours has perished, the latest victim of a broken system plagued by chronically lacking mental health housing and hospital beds – someone whose life might well have been saved by Riverview.

The rebuilding of Riverview hospital will not guarantee that Vancouver will be spared from another horror the likes of the Lapu Lapu Day attack. It will, however, provide some peace of mind to those of us who work in Vancouver’s mental health system every day that our society is taking every reasonable action to buoy the system intended to help support those who are at heightened risk of endangering themselves or others.

As part of my duties for the ACT teams, I run a weekly spirituality group at the Gathering Place on Seymour and Helmcken streets for clients and staff. Each week, I guide attendees through images, poetry and live music as we explore a universal theme. This week, I was prepared to explore the concept of “springtime,” playing such songs as “La Vie en Rose” by Edith Piaf. Like Vancouver’s rose-coloured veneer in cherry blossom season, that plan, too, was shattered by the Lapu Lapu massacre. Instead, we will be making space for individual and collective mourning for the members of the Filipino community, as well as our fellow client who just passed today, by offering a rendition of “A Tree of Life.” This song by Idina Menzel and Kate Diaz commemorating the victims of the Tree of Life Synagogue shooting in Pittsburgh, Pa., on Oct. 27, 2018, will now be used to help make space for the profound need for grief support across Vancouver.

How many more deaths will it take before we break through the mirage of the rosy-coloured hues of British Columbia’s rainforest paradise? Rather, may we grow our own “Tree of Life” here in the form of a new and improved psychiatric hospital on the Riverview grounds. Former Riverview vice -president and assistant administrator Dr. John Higenbottam adroitly mapped out exactly how to achieve this more than a decade ago in his proposal entitled “Into the Future: The Coquitlam Health Campus – A Vision for the Riverview Lands.” (See rhcs.org/media/Into_the_Future_-_the_Coquitlam_Health_Campus.pdf.)

It is high time his advice was heeded.

Cantor Michael Zoosman is a certified spiritual care practitioner with the Canadian Association for Spiritual Care and received his cantorial ordination from the Jewish Theological Seminary of America in 2008. He sits as an advisory committee member at Death Penalty Action and is co-founder of L’chaim! Jews Against the Death Penalty. Zoosman is a former Jewish prison chaplain and psychiatric hospital chaplain. Currently, he serves as a spiritual health practitioner (chaplain) for mental health outreach teams, working with individuals in the community living with severe mental health disorders and addiction. He lives with his family in Vancouver. His opinions are his own.

Finding hope through science

The organizer of a conference panel I’m going to be on asked me some questions ahead of the event. He asked how to find hope from a Jewish perspective amid challenging times. I responded with both academic Jewish content and personal information about my sons’ recent big success at a science fair. This person, a male academic, quickly grasped the personal narrative I provided – he thought it was about being a mother. Let’s not be “essentialist,” I suggested. My ability to provide information about hope doesn’t stem from reproduction alone.

If one looks at what is going on in the United States, where there’s interest in limiting women’s reproductive rights, including motivating women to have more children and boost the birth rate, one might think that is what women are mostly for: reproduction. Yet, all sorts of data indicate that, for example, in a country like Israel, which has a high education rate and good possibilities for women, a high birth rate is also possible.

Perhaps choosing to have multiple children is easier with better health care, reliable social networks and support and maternity leave, and in a country that ranks high in terms of happiness on a global scale. Countries without birth control or proper education for women have high birth rates, but there are also high mortality rates. Focusing on women’s reproductive capabilities alone misses the boat. If women are educated and engaged in their country’s workforce, they contribute more than their biological value – the quick response of a male academic to traditional rhetoric about mothering left me disappointed.

This notion of maintaining hope during challenging political moments can be approached in many ways. I’m still sorting out what I’ll say in the five-minute slot on the conference panel. However, something I learned yesterday in the Babylonian Tractate of Makkot, on page 20b, made me think further about these issues.

Makkot 20b is about haircuts and ritual cutting as a mourning practice. First, Jews are not supposed to cut their hair in certain ways. Second, self-harming through incisions or ritual mutilation isn’t considered an acceptable mourning practice – self-harm isn’t OK.

While I studied this, I was also checking out the Canadian election results. My father, in the United States, was surprised that we hadn’t let our kids stay up late to watch what was happening. I explained that we’d voted early, and that our kids had voted in a school mock election. Also, we wouldn’t know the complete results until later anyway. More importantly, my kids needed sleep to cope with other activities later this week. Sleep felt like more important self-care.

It struck me that much of our tradition, and Jewish law, tries to maintain a complicated form of self-care. Even in dire circumstances, Jewish tradition encourages us to practise resiliency, intellectual curiosity and hope. Each day, the sun will rise, our souls will return and we will have what we need, like clothing and food, and feel grateful for it. As I write this, I hear Omer Adam’s popular musical version of the traditional prayer said on rising, “Modeh Ani.” (Google it, it’s good!)

While we also pray for our country and its leaders, sometimes we jokingly invoke the words that Tevye quotes his rabbi as saying in Fiddler on the Roof: “A blessing for the czar? Of course! May God bless and keep the czar … far away from us!”

My household felt strangely conflicted about voting. We knew for instance that the Conservatives, in the past, cut funding for research and science, which worries us. Choosing parties that maintain or grow science funding is important to us personally, since my husband is a science professor. His lab needs funding to do research. Good science research can protect us. However, the Liberals have a poor track record of protecting Jewish Canadian citizens. Our local NDP MP has expressed something akin to real hate in my dealings with her. So, again, we can think like Tevye’s rabbi: we bless the outcome of a democratic election – no matter how it goes – while hoping those in charge don’t get close enough, through their actions, to do us any harm.

Similarly, the rabbis acknowledged that mourning causes us great psychological pain. This might encourage some to self-harm. Ideally, we should control that impulse. Self-care is a balancing act. It’s not always clear how to make safe choices.

Locally, I watched politicians’ interactions with the Jewish community with interest. In one case, an incumbent Jewish Liberal MP of a riding known to historically have a “big” Jewish community mentioned that perhaps only 5% of his riding was Jewish. His efforts made to support the Jewish community and offer allyship to Israel were an expression of his conscience. That choice likely didn’t help his chances and maybe even was an impediment to his campaign, but that decision to act conscientiously offered me hope, too, even if I couldn’t vote for him because I don’t live in his riding.

Sometimes, our choices aren’t as clear as we’d like them to be. It can be hard some mornings to rise full of hope and gratitude amid the political chaos and death we hear about each day. Given that, we need the reminder of ancient, traditional Jewish prayer and thought, too. There are days when I feel praying is a rote practice. Other days, I remember that we’re doing this in a way that brings us connection with ancestors who maybe didn’t have enough food, who suffered with terrible plagues or physical danger. In many ways, things are so much better for us than they used to be. This alone is worth our gratitude.

When the rabbis warned long ago against cutting oneself, they lived in a world without antibiotics or effective medical care. My conversation about finding Jewish hope wasn’t simply about reproduction, my maternal pride, but rather my pride in the kids doing good science. I have hope because I don’t only believe in blind faith, I also believe in science. Whether it’s Israel’s Iron Dome, Jonas Salk’s polio vaccine, or other discoveries, doing science is another form of self-preservation.

The world can be a painful place. We must make compromises to continue as a small minority ethno-religion. Those choices require us to acknowledge what’s happening, to make nuanced decisions based on what’s best in the moment, and to build a better world each day.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m proud of my children, whatever they do, but I’m filled with hope because my Jewish kids won all sorts of accolades at a divisional science fair. To me, that’s Jewish self-care for the future. Yes, it’s also a political statement, too.

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.

Flying camels still don’t exist

We’ve been getting a lot of weird phone calls lately. The caller ID says it is from our credit card company or the bank. Yet, the person on the phone seems a little off. What we realize, before giving away any important information, is that it’s likely some new kind of scam. The person calling knows our names, or knows where we shop or bank. Maybe that person has seen our mail. Maybe they work at the store and noticed our info when we ordered online. Maybe the information has been sold to them. No matter, it becomes clear it’s a scam. We hang up. Later, we might log on and check our accounts. Is everything fine? Is someone stealing money or information?

This is well worth asking because, sometimes, there is theft happening. If you read the news, there are often articles saying “Caution! Look out! There’s a new scam out there, beware!” Like everything we read, it’s helpful to think critically about this. Criminals are always upping their game to catch new victims. This isn’t a new phenomenon.

I’ve just started studying a new tractate of the Babylonian Talmud, Makkot. So far, it’s mostly about how a court of law rules and doles out punishment. I’ve learned about “conspiring witnesses.” That is, witnesses who arrange in advance to lie about something to the court. For instance, imagine there was a crime in Saskatoon and there were witnesses to it. The conspiring witnesses might swear that, in fact, the criminal was in Winnipeg that day, and not in Saskatoon. It’s clear to the court that the conspiring witnesses were lying, due to the testimony of others. How should the court punish those conspiring witnesses? How are they held accountable for lying?

This topic continues for awhile, but my absolute favourite moment happens on Makkot 5a. The situation is as follows, in summary:

Rava says: If two witnesses came and said, So-and-so killed a person in Sura on Sunday morning and two other witnesses came to court and said to the first witnesses, on Sunday evening, you were with us in Nehardea – if one can travel from Sura to Nehardea from the morning and arrive by the evening, fine, nobody is misleading us. If not? They are “conspiring witnesses.”

The Gemara (later commentators) say: This is obvious. Don’t be concerned that these witnesses traveled via “flying camel” – that is, using a magical or impossible way to travel with great speed. You don’t have to take that kind of thinking into account.

In practical terms, Sura and Nehardea were both places in Babylon with Jewish academies of learning, but they were far apart. Nehardea was destroyed in 259 CE. More than 1,766 years ago, the Mishnah described this. Later rabbis advised students not to be taken in by somebody lying outright in court. After all, these lying witnesses didn’t travel by “flying camels.”

It often feels like that we’re struggling with ever new and complicated scams. The pace and amount of information via the internet and social media is astounding. Yet, I sometimes hear the most interesting things close to home, in the old-fashioned way people have always communicated. When is that? Well, when I’m visiting with friends, having a cup of coffee after lunch on Shabbat, or at synagogue.

Both world news and “true accounts” are only as good as the people who tell them and how much trust we have in those sources. If those sources rely on witnesses who like to offer bald-faced lies, well, that’s not a good source. If we have trouble with the veracity of someone’s account, we must ask: What flying camel did you ride in on?! How were you in two places at once, that you witnessed both these things?

Jewish tradition is amazing. We have these ancient sources to remind us that “there’s nothing new under the sun.” The bigger point is a modern one: we must get out of our usual news bubbles or coffee klatches. We are so easily lulled into believing some versions of the “truth” when we trust our sources without question. For example, some Canadian news outlets suggest that Israel is targeting specific Gazan locations with a vengeance. Yet these same outlets fail to mention the Hamas rocket fire that came from that location just before the Israeli response. So, if the story conveniently fails to mention why the Israeli army is firing at a specific location, the news article may not be an objective source of war coverage.

In the Winnipeg Free Press newspaper, I read about a new lecture series created by professors supposedly concerned about freedom of expression. Their invited speaker, a professor from York University, brought up the suspension of her colleague, who had been charged with “vandalism of a bookstore.” Notably, the article did not mention which bookstore. My household strongly suspected it had been the incidents targeting Indigo, when Jews and Israelis were targeted by protesters. Further, the article didn’t mention that freedom of expression doesn’t mean freedom to commit crimes against businesses.

The article’s tone was matter of fact. A person could read such an article and feel that the professors were rightfully concerned about the loss of freedom of expression. To me, it seemed like the example given before, of the distance between Sura and Nehardea. If you don’t know the particulars, such as the distance between these two locations, you can miss the absurdity of the situation. In the guise of defending free speech, the professors wanted readers to bemoan the suspension of a professor who was charged with vandalism – a crime.

Sometimes, when someone presents a news story or a court defence that seems so smooth and practised as to be suspicious, well, perhaps that’s because it is. Likewise, the tidbits we gain at Kiddush lunch after services may also vary in their reliability. We may have faster transportation and cellphone connections today, but, sometimes, things still aren’t as they seem. As much as things change, much is still the same. Yes, a juicy bit of news is an interesting truth to ponder, but a lie is still a lie. We still have conspiring witnesses to contend with and, even now, we still don’t have flying camels.

Pondering peace post-Oct. 7

Commemorations of individuals murdered at the Nova festival. (photo by Pat Johnson)

Since I returned home to Vancouver from Israel a few weeks ago, it has taken me time to write about my reflections. There’s the usual getting over jetlag, catching up with work, dealing with the odds and ends that pile up after a five-week absence. I have also experienced a degree of avoidance. In some ways, there is so much to say I don’t know where to begin. In other ways, what can I possibly say that hasn’t been said before?

Unlike Israelis, I have had the luxury of putting my head in the sand, to some extent, in the days since I returned to my ridiculously quiet suburban home. My experiences – including a visit to the Gaza Envelope, Kibbutz Re’im and the Nova festival site, and conversations with scores of Israelis – have been percolating. In recent days, I have been immersed in video testimonies and other reports from survivors of the Oct. 7 attacks.

One of the reasons I have avoided writing so far, I think, is that the parallel I feel compelled to make is one that I hate to invoke. I intentionally avoid making comparisons with the Holocaust, as almost any contrast cheapens the sanctity of that event’s memory. It also is unavoidably an exaggeration – nothing can compare to the Holocaust. And so, we should not be in the business of raising false equivalencies.

But not everyone subscribes to my hesitancy. More than one Israeli I spoke to referred to Kibbutz Be’eri as “Auschwitz.”

Although I was guided around the sites of the Oct. 7 atrocities by a senior Israeli military official, we were denied entry to Be’eri, which came as a relief. I didn’t want to make the choice not to go in, but I was glad that decision was made for me.

I had to ask myself – as other people asked me – why I was compelled to visit these places in the first place? I had not, for example, taken the opportunity to watch the footage that screened in Vancouver last year of the most terrible carnage from Oct. 7. I believed that I knew enough of what happened that I did not need to be exposed to the images so graphically. (There are people, on the other hand, who I think should be forced to watch such footage.)

I could say no to the video but, in Israel, I felt an obligation to bear witness in what small way I could by visiting the Nova festival site and other locations, including Highway 232. My guide, who was among the first on the scene during the morning of Oct. 7, provided (as you can imagine) a jarring play-by-play of what he witnessed, saw, heard and smelled that day.

As I watch documentaries and continue to read about the events, and hear from eyewitnesses, including those who defended their kibbutzim, and military personnel who were among the first on the scene, it is almost impossible for the mind not to go to historical parallels.

I hear stories of people pretending to be dead for hours while murderous attackers surrounded them. Testimony recounts the nonchalant murder of the elderly, babies, anyone and everyone the terrorists could kill – as well as the collaboration of “ordinary” civilians.

The ripping apart of families. Parents shielding their children from gunshots. Families huddling as they are engulfed in flames. Survivors’ stories of screams still ringing in their ears. Jews recalling what they were sure were the last moments of their life. Acts of brutality that defy human imagination. Sadistic jubilation while perpetrating acts that make most people recoil. Residents of a village reconnoitring after the catastrophe to determine who remains alive.

The parallels are, to me at least, unavoidable.

There is, of course, a quantitative chasm between this modern horror and that of the Shoah. It is this difference that also makes comparisons so incredibly problematic. But it is the qualitative experiences, the grotesque similarities between Nazi atrocities and those of Hamas, that force the mind to go in that direction.

While visiting Jerusalem, I stumbled upon a pathway that begins at Yad Vashem, the Holocaust memorial museum and research centre, and winds through the military cemeteries in which the casualties of Israel’s successive defensive wars and endless terror attacks are buried, as are most of the country’s prime ministers, presidents and other leading figures. The pathway ends at the tomb of Theodor Herzl, the man most credited with making real the dream of a Jewish state, and adjacent to the museum that tells his life story.

The message here is that, from the moral abyss of the Holocaust to the sustaining of national self-determination as envisioned by Herzl, the path has had an unimaginable human cost.

The promise of the state of Israel, in Herzl’s mind, was that a people who were no longer stateless would not be subject to the predations of their brutalizing neighbours. Like so much else Herzl envisioned – he imagined that Jews would be welcomed for the positive contributions they bring to the region – a state has not ushered in the lasting peace for which he had hoped.

photo - An empty Shabbat table set for missing loved ones at Hostages Square in Tel Aviv — An empty Shabbat table set for missing loved ones at Hostages Square in Tel Aviv. *(photo by Pat Johnson)*

We have known this since the moment Israel’s independence was declared and the new country was immediately invaded by the massed armies of its neighbouring countries. The Arab states unanimously rejected coexistence and soon Jews from across the Middle East and North Africa were expelled or otherwise forced to flee, most finding a home in the new Jewish state. The Arabs who were not within Israel’s border at the time of the 1949 ceasefire – and their generations of descendants – have been held as stateless people ever since in one of history’s most cynical acts.

What is still able to shock, even in a world where we have become inured to inhumanity, is that there are people who experience joy at Jewish death and thrill at the opportunity to torture, terrorize and kill Jews. A state has not removed that possibility from the world.

If there was one single objective for the existence of a Jewish state, this was it: the basic security of the Jewish person. On Oct. 7, that promise was broken.

While many Israelis told me that Oct. 7 demonstrated that coexistence with Palestinians is impossible, other people told me that it merely made them redouble their commitment to building a future of peace and coexistence. If I went back to those who said Oct. 7 taught us to work harder for peace with Palestinians, would they see a cognitive dissonance in my position as I do with theirs?

If the existence of a Jewish state cannot prevent the most basic thing it was created to realize, is the entire enterprise a failure?

A Jewish state does not guarantee, obviously, that Jews will not still and again experience the atrocities that have befallen them historically. It is, nevertheless, the best defence, however imperfect.

The Israelis who told me they must work harder for peace believe that, when our ideal falls short, rather than give up, we have to do more to attain it. For them, that means doubling down on peace activism. I admire their idealism.

For me, any realistic plan for peace is worthy of consideration. But I will also double down and say that the answer to a Jewish state that fails to live up to its core mission of keeping Jewish people from reliving the horrors of the past is also not to give up – but to continue building a Jewish state that is impermeable, unparalleled in strength and impervious to the genocidal assaults of its neighbours.

Reflecting on the thousands I saw buried along the pathway between Yad Vashem and Herzl’s tomb, I believe that, until Israel’s neighbours are incapable of the sorts of atrocities we have seen, Israelis must work for peace, on the one hand, while assuming their neighbours won’t change, on the other.