Op-Ed – Page 15

Opposition to policies

In Tel Aviv on Jan. 28, Israelis demonstrate against their government’s judicial reform proposals. A majority of Canadian Jews also oppose the proposals. (photo by Oren Rozen)

A new poll shows that most Canadian Jews oppose policies favoured by the current Israeli government. Fully three-quarters of Canadian Jews say they are emotionally attached to Israel. However, 56% claim that Israel’s government is moving in the wrong direction, compared to just 13% who say it is moving in the right direction.

Opposition is especially strong to laws proposed by members of the governing coalition that would allow gender segregation in some public places, ban Pride parades and legalize conversion therapy for LGBTQ+ people on religious grounds, with between 83% and 88% of Canadian Jews expressing opposition to such moves.

Some 73% of Canadian Jews oppose judicial reform that would make it easier for the Israeli government to reverse Supreme Court decisions, thus adding their voices to that of well-known Canadian jurist and former minister of justice Irwin Cotler, among others.

Two-thirds of Canada’s Jews oppose the idea of disallowing Palestinians from serving in the Israeli parliament, compared to just 15% who support the idea. About twice as many Canadian Jews oppose building new Jewish settlements in the West Bank and incorporating parts of the West Bank into the state of Israel as favour such initiatives.

The so-called “grandparent clause” in Israel’s Law of Return allows anyone with one Jewish grandparent to claim citizenship, but religiously Orthodox members want the clause removed. Some 58% of Canadian Jews oppose such a move, while 17% favour it – hardly surprising since fewer than one-fifth of Canadian Jews are Orthodox.

Israel’s minister of national security was once convicted of incitement to racism and supporting a terrorist organization. Israel’s minister of finance recently described himself on radio as a “proud homophobe.” JSpaceCanada and the New Israel Fund of Canada have proposed that the Canadian government refuse to meet or build relationships with these ministers. Nearly six in 10 Canadian Jews agree with that proposal, while just two in 10 disagree.

Commenting on the results, Joe Roberts, board chair of JSpaceCanada, said, “These results couldn’t be clearer, Jewish Canadians are overwhelmingly concerned with the direction and policy decisions proposed by Israel’s radical governing coalition. These are not the shared values that the Canada-Israel relationship was built upon. Jewish Canadians, like the hundreds of thousands of Israelis taking to the streets to protest the undermining of democracy and assault on the human rights of Palestinians, expect bold and decisive leadership on this issue from the government that represents us in Ottawa.”

Ben Murane, executive director of the New Israel Fund of Canada, said, “Canadian Jews are worried that a country that removes basic democratic checks and balances and eviscerates the independence of the judiciary can no longer be referred to seriously as a full democracy. They overwhelmingly oppose the Israeli government’s legislation stripping power from the country’s judiciary, one of the few remaining institutions willing to protect the rights of Palestinians, LGBTQ people, women and other vulnerable populations.”

The poll was funded by JSpaceCanada and the New Israel Fund of Canada, organizations that promote democracy and equality in Israel, as well as a two-state solution to end the Israel-Palestine conflict. It was designed and analyzed by Prof. Robert Brym of the department of sociology and Centre for Jewish Studies at the University of Toronto. Brym commented, “To corroborate these findings we need more polls with larger samples asking similar questions. However, this poll provides a fair baseline representation of Jewish community perspectives on issues of vital importance to the approximately 404,000 Canadians who identify as Jewish by religion or ethnicity.”

The poll, fielded between Feb. 16 and 28, 2023, by EKOS Research Associates, is based on a nationally representative sample of 288 Canadian adults who identify as Jewish by religion or ethnicity. Nineteen of 20 polls like this one would likely yield results with less than a 5.8% margin of error.

– Courtesy JSpaceCanada

Condemn Smotrich’s comments

Independent Jewish Voices Canada is calling for immediate action by the Canadian government in response to comments by a senior Israeli minister that the Palestinian town of Huwara should be “wiped out.”

Speaking at a conference hosted by news publication TheMarker, Finance Minister Bezalel Smotrich, who is also the minister in the defence ministry, in charge of civilian affairs in the occupied Palestinian West Bank, said he thinks “the village of Huwara needs to be wiped out” and that “the state of Israel should do it” rather than private citizens. Huwara is a Palestinian town on the outskirts of Nablus, surrounded by settlements, long subject to violence from Israeli settlers and orchestrated infrastructure shutdowns from the Israeli government.

The minister’s comments came a few days after Israeli settlers went on a violent rampage in Huwara and neighbouring villages, which has been widely labeled a pogrom, including by the Israeli military general in charge of troops in the West Bank and the former director of the Anti-Defamation League. Four hundred-plus Israeli settlers attacked the Palestinian villages of Huwara, Zaatara, Burin and Asira al-Qibliya, burning dozens of homes and killing a 37-year-old Palestinian man while wounding hundreds as Israeli forces stood by. The man who was killed, Samih al-Aqtash, had just returned from volunteering in Turkey to help earthquake victims. He was the 67th Palestinian killed by either the Israeli army or vigilante settlers this year alone.

A pogrom is a violent riot with the specific intent to massacre or expel a specific group of people. It emerged as a Yiddish word in the late 19th century to describe the attacks on Jews across the Russian empire. We use the word “pogrom” to recognize that Israeli settlers are recreating the kind of targeted, racialized terrorism that targeted Jews in Europe. We use this word to recognize the hypocrisy of claims that Jewish settler riots are protecting Jewish safety.

Many Canadian and Israeli Jews, including many of our members, have ancestors who lived through these horrific, targeted antisemitic riots in Europe. Many of our members are also descended from, or are themselves, survivors of ethnic cleansing and genocide. These atrocities often started with pogroms that were officially ignored or officially enabled.

The comments by Smotrich on March 1 are a clear validation of the previous Sunday’s pogrom and constitute an explicit call for ethnic cleansing if not outright genocide. To this we say loudly and unequivocally: “not in our name.”

What we are witnessing in Israel is shocking, but it is by no means an aberration. Emboldened by the impunity afforded to them by the likes of Canada and other Western governments, the Israeli government and settler groups are simply more explicit about their settler-colonial aims to displace, replace and keep Palestinians out from the lands they claim. Israel was founded on the ethnic cleansing of 750,000 Palestinians, known as the Nakba, or “catastrophe,” which continues to this day, 75 years later.

IJV calls on Canada to clearly articulate what the Israeli government is calling for as ethnic cleansing and condemn Minister Smotrich’s comments in the strongest possible terms. Canada cannot claim to be vigilant against ethnic cleansing and genocide while refusing to name Israeli action and incitement to these heinous acts.

IJV also joins calls on the Canadian government to boycott the new far-right Israeli government and to advocate for international protection for the undefended Palestinian people living under Israeli rule.

Finally, IJV calls on organizations representing Canadian Jewish communities to loudly condemn the settler pogrom and government officials’ incitements to violence. Our communities need clear moral leadership to hold Israel to account.

Israel isn’t shying away from saying it as it is. Neither should Canadians.

* * *

Editor’s note: This letter does not acknowledge that more than 850,000 Jews were forced to leave their homes in Arab countries in the 20 years following the Arab-Israeli war of 1948.

Making room for compassion

I’ve been under stress lately. It’s the usual: money, household, family and work concerns. Some of it is my own doing: in our enthusiasm for extracurricular activities, I somehow managed to sign our twins up for three different weekly ones during January and February. Yet, even though rushed dinners and drives through snowstorms and -30°C windchills aren’t my favourite activities, I found a silver lining. As my kids learned to use sewing machines at the studio, I got to knit and read quietly in the renovated waiting area overlooking river skating trails and watching the sunset. During chess club at the local Chabad, I saw friends briefly, then I hid, reading alone.

Thinking about the two sides of these activity nights made me reflect further. Having the time and energy and, yes, money to manage these extra enrichments is a gift, even if schlepping kids around can be hard and tiring for parents. The few moments of relative quiet, while the kids are happy, occupied and learning, usually enable me to regain my composure.

Once I have had those moments, I find room to be more patient, kind and compassionate. I’m not big on spas or manicures or tropical vacations. For me, something as simple as a few moments alone in a warm, quiet place with a good book or a good view can give me that reprieve.

I thought of this while speaking with my mom recently. She mentioned that, while on neighbourhood forums, sometimes she feels that all people do is complain. Worse, she feels that, in a Jewish forum, there is always someone who reads everything that happens to her as antisemitic. There was a pause in the conversation as I sensed her frustration. I was able to reach back into one of those warm, calm moments and suggest, in response, that perhaps in an era of rising antisemitism, the person concerned about antisemitism had actually experienced trauma. That, maybe, her fearful responses and anxiety were a response to a real incident.

Similarly, I wondered about those who were “always complaining” online. Perhaps those people also had bad experiences, but had no one offline to comfort or hear them. No one “saw” them. As a result, they were seeking that attention and reassurance online instead.

There is no shortage of distressing stuff happening, particularly if you’re reading about the ongoing earthquakes and displacements in Turkey and Syria, the deaths and violence between Israelis and Palestinians, or the increased crime or fatal drug overdoses at home in Canada. There is plenty of “awful” to go around.

The big challenge is in finding that space in which to compose ourselves and respond to others with compassion and patience. It can be as simple as a cheerful conversation or joke, and as difficult as listening to someone’s painful cries for help, on repeat.

As someone who grew up in the United States, I dreaded what I would hear after the Shabbat recently described as a “Day of Hate” proposed by neo-Nazis. All day, I remained tense, worried. What happened? Thank goodness, nothing much. My brother’s family attended a lovely bat mitzvah at our family’s long-time congregation … like many in the States, they went to synagogue and nothing happened. Yet, the overall increased antisemitic activity afoot made it hard for me to just relax and hope for the best. Even if nothing happened on that day, the amount of hate going around has increased. Almost worse though is the response that Jews who are anxious about this are simply “crybabies” or “crying wolf” or worried about nothing. The bad feeling comes from fear. Some of it, due to intergenerational trauma, is internalized.

My husband’s father was born in a displaced persons camp in Germany after the Second World War. Although my husband’s grandparents lived, they lost most of their families. They managed to survive the war, with harrowing stories. My husband’s bubbe, may she rest in peace, talked about her experiences over and over. I often sat next to her, holding space for her stories, as she repeated her trauma in different ways. She’d effortlessly shift languages, speaking whatever language – among them, Hebrew, Yiddish and English – to whomever also had that room to hear her, see her and listen.

By contrast, my husband’s zayde, z”l, spoke less about the war, but, in his final years, when he lived in a nursing home, he replayed a scary story over and over. At every door of the care home, the healthcare workers posted photos of him, because he’d try to escape. Mimicking what must have happened during the war, he’d trick someone or sneak past or do something that allowed him to leave the home. They were the enemy, trapping him, and he needed to get out. Zayde often succeeded, showing up on the doorstep or sitting in his car in the driveway. He scared the heck out of Bubbe when she found him. He, too, was replaying his traumatic past.

We’re lucky to have new kinds of therapies and medications that help some people cope with trauma, but many of us still are working through issues. Even with access to basics like housing, food, medication and, hopefully, love, we all struggle to be seen and heard, to find enough compassion and love to make it through. We need to each find that quiet, well-lit space to regain our composure, so we can then reach out and help others.

As Hillel says in Pirkei Avot: “In a place where there are no men, strive to be a man.” It could also mean: “In a place where no one is acting like a good person, strive to be one.” Nowadays, some of our places for listening are online. Our social encounters are different than before, and finding that patience or inner strength can require more effort.

Love, and its close cousin, compassion, are not limited commodities. A heart full of kindness can find more space to help. As my crazy wintertime parenting and worry load lightens, I realize that I wish everyone could have that gift of an hour of solitude, watching the sun set over a river, seeing a rabbit’s tracks or a biker commuting home. We can’t singlehandedly fix or stop the world’s trauma, but we can gift each other our time and patience to help others feel seen and to heal from it.

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

Antisemitism fight continues

The City of Richmond on Feb. 13 adopted the International Holocaust Remembrance Alliance Working Definition of Antisemitism, though not without controversy. Several members of the public expressed opposition to the motion, which eventually passed 6-3.

In many, if not most jurisdictions where this definition has been adopted, there has been opposition contending that free expression is threatened by the definition. In some cases, the motions to adopt have been defeated. Vancouver city council initially opted not to adopt the definition and only when a new council was elected last year did it pass – and, again, not unanimously, like one might expect a statement against bigotry to pass in a Canadian city.

Overwhelmingly, the criticisms are not about the definition itself, but about the fact that, of the 11 examples accompanying the definition, seven explicitly mention the state of Israel. But, if the examples are a problem, why aren’t we examining the examples on their merits? It is hardly an argument to say that the examples reference Israel and, therefore, make the definition insupportable. Let’s demand answers: which ones threaten free expression – by which we mean the right to criticize Israel?

The first Israel-related example offered is: “Accusing the Jews as a people, or Israel as a state, of inventing or exaggerating the Holocaust.” Is this the problematic example? Are critics of Israel afraid that they will not be able to make their case against Israel without resorting to Holocaust denial?

The second example is “Accusing Jewish citizens of being more loyal to Israel, or to the alleged priorities of Jews worldwide, than to the interests of their own nations.” The “dual loyalty” canard has been a mainstay of anti-Jewish rhetoric for centuries, positing that “the Jew” is always an alien whose collective, tribal instincts trump their citizenship. Are opponents of the IHRA definition afraid of losing the right to invoke this age-old slander?

The third example is “Denying the Jewish people their right to self-determination, e.g., by claiming that the existence of a state of Israel is a racist endeavour.” Is this the key phrase? Understanding the role that Jewish statelessness played in almost 2,000 years of tragic history is crucial to appreciating the connection of Jewish people to the land and the state of Israel – and it is one motivation of allies to ensure Israel’s continued existence. Is it the wish of IHRA definition opponents to make the Jews of Israel stateless people again? (Spoiler alert: Personally, if there is a single example that rankles, I think this is the one.)

The fourth example offered is “Applying double standards by requiring of [Israel] a behaviour not expected or demanded of any other democratic nation.” Is opposition based on the fact that, after practically ignoring the state-sanctioned mass murder next door in Syria, the genocide against Uyghurs in Western China, the almost countless instances of human-created and natural catastrophes worldwide that are overlooked or eclipsed due to condemnation of Israel at the United Nations, opponents – in activist groups and churches, in social justice movements and academic committees – will be called out for their compulsive approbation of the one Jewish state? Is the problem that they do not want to have a spotlight shone on their gross hypocrisy?

Or is it example number five?: “Using the symbols and images associated with classical antisemitism (e.g., claims of Jews killing Jesus or blood libel) to characterize Israel or Israelis.” Are critics of Israel afraid that their effectiveness will be enfeebled if they cannot plumb the depths of the ancient and deadly accusation of deicide or killing babies?

Is it number six?: “Drawing comparisons of contemporary Israeli policy to that of the Nazis.” Is it the right to deface an Israeli flag by painting a swastika over the Star of David that opponents of the definition fear, the right to accuse Israeli soldiers of behaving like Gestapo?

The final Israel-related example is “Holding Jews collectively responsible for actions of the state of Israel.” Is opposition to the definition founded on the fear that critics will not be able to pin blame on their Jewish neighbours for the actions of a government half a world away? Are they afraid that spray-painting “Free Palestine” on North American synagogues or kicking over Jewish headstones will be met with a condemnation these acts do not now evoke?

While critics are correct that seven of the 11 examples included with the IHRA Working Definition of Antisemitism reference the state of Israel, there is not one of these examples that should be problematic to any person of goodwill. Not one infringes on any right to engage in free and fair criticism of Israel or of anything else. Any doubts about this are negated by the fact that the definition itself explicitly states that it is “legally non-binding.”

Opposition to the IHRA definition is the indignation of bullies being called out as bullies, their belligerent tactics itemized, and their only response being to claim that they are the ones being bullied. It is a self-righteous ploy we have seen since the dawn of the anti-racist movement, now applied to antisemitism.

The adoption of the IHRA definition is a victory for the fight against bigotry and antisemitism. The opposition to the adoption shows us just how far we have left to go.

Different ways to celebrate

Meetings aren’t my favourite things, but sometimes they are stimulating or useful. At a recent meeting, I found myself thinking about the issues differently than the others in the online gathering.

Earlier this month, the Torah portion Yitro included the Ten Commandments, an important moment for the Jewish people, which we celebrate on Shavuot. We all received the Ten Commandments, and one interpretation says that this is an act of radical inclusion, because it includes all Jews. Not just the men, or the adults, or those over 13 years old, and not just those who are considered typical for one Jewish ritual or another, but everyone must be present to hear the reading of the Commandments. This means that a proper reading of the Ten Commandments should be accessible to everyone in the Jewish world, including people with disabilities of all kinds.

I have thought a lot about disability access, but I hadn’t reflected on it in terms of another holiday that is big in many Jewish communities: Yom Ha’atzmaut. At this meeting, a community leader explained – to those who had not experienced it – how the Israeli Day of Independence is celebrated here in Winnipeg. I knew she was directing her information to those who weren’t from Winnipeg. However, I’ve never been to this local event, either.

Her description was engaging: imagine a very large double gymnasium space, booths set up by many community organizations with different games, events and snacks for younger families. Then, later, kids’ choir and dance performances, and then more professional entertainment. The evening ends with fireworks.

Every year, I hear from families who have had a marvelous time at it. Yet, we have never gone. No, it has nothing to do with how we feel about Israeli politics. It has everything to do with having a child with some challenges. Early on, we knew it was impossible to manage our twins at an evening event. It messed with our bedtime schedules. It resulted in two screaming kids, overtired and unable to sleep properly. The outing wouldn’t be fun, nor would the aftermath the next day.

In the end, it wasn’t only that my twins didn’t sleep through the night until they were almost 5 years old. It was that one of my kids ended up with a diagnosis that loud noise, crowds, overstimulation and change in routines would all remain difficult for him. Sensory processing disorder, a part of his challenges, can mean a lot of things, but, for us, it means avoiding events full of noise, crowds, lights, colour and commotion – like the community-wide Yom Ha’atzmaut gathering – or splitting up parenting so that only one kid attends.

Of course, disabilities manifest themselves in lots of ways, changing and shaping our lives. Roughly 22% of Canadians age 15 and up live with some form of disability. As a younger kid, my child couldn’t stand watching movies; a short half-hour kids’ TV show was all he wanted. However, as 11-year-olds, both my kids lined up on the couch to watch The Lion King because they are doing this as a musical at school. Rather than going to a theatre or seeing it elsewhere, watching the movie at home works. It’s where we can control the volume, use a smaller screen and the pause button. This makes all the difference. Now my kid chooses, every so often, to watch an entire movie, and he thoroughly enjoys it.

As the online meeting progressed, I saw that I might be expected to work the booth at Yom Ha’atzmaut in the future. But something has shifted in me and I, too, would rather avoid this event now – both due to COVID concerns and, frankly, because it just doesn’t meet my family’s needs. Does it mean we won’t celebrate the holiday? Of course not. We’ve enjoyed our share of falafel, Israeli celebration specials streamed live online, and more, but I’ve hit a milestone of my own. I am OK with saying no to an obligation that I don’t want to do. Not everyone has to celebrate the same way to belong. Inclusion may mean that, when we gather to hear the commandments at Mount Sinai, some of us receive the message differently than others.

Part of our growth as people is getting to a place where we know who we are and what we can manage as individuals, families and as a people. I’m glad our community does this single huge event. It seems to be something treasured by several generations of Winnipeggers. That said, it’s not ideal for my family, and we don’t have to be pressured into attending it.

Jewish traditions and celebrations evolve and change over time, just as our cultural understandings of disability and inclusion do. Events that adapt to meet those needs promote Jewish continuity for generations to come. Most important, though, is knowing how to value and meet our individual needs in context of this, because, no matter what our challenges are, we are all made b’tzelem Elohim, or in the image of G-d. We all matter as part of the Jewish community, whether we attend an enormous community event or whether we stay home to celebrate instead.

Opportunity for healing

This article was originally presented as a d’var Torah called “Healing our relationship, as Jewish Canadians, with Ukraine and Ukrainians.” It was delivered at Or Shalom Synagogue on Shabbat, 14th of Tevet, 5783; Jan. 7, 2023. It is intended as a beginning of a conversation about how we, as Canadian Jews, can heal our relationship with Ukrainians and Ukraine.

When many of us Canadian Jews think about Jewish experience on Ukrainian territory, we think of antisemitic violence. We think of pogroms, of rape, of plunder. And, ultimately, of either escape or death. For those of us with personal ancestral history in the territory of Ukraine, this pairing of the land with violence is particularly acute. One Or Shalom member told me, with raw emotion, about his father’s experiences at the hands of brutal Ukrainian guards in various Nazi concentration camps. My Uncle Leo referred to Easter as pogrom season in the town of Yavorov, the town presently in western Ukraine, called Yavariv in Ukrainian, where he lived until the age of 11. He spoke to me of his childhood as a past from which he had, thankfully, escaped.

It is not uncommon for individuals to seek escape from a painful childhood past. However, we are learning from contemporary trauma theory that, as much as we may want to leave the past behind us, it lives on within us. Ukraine lives on in the deep psychic life of many of us and in the psychic life of the Canadian Jewish community with its extensive roots on Ukrainian territory.

As we are all aware, the Ukrainian people are heroically resisting a brutal assault by Russian forces. As well as eliciting fear, horror and outrage, this situation presents us with an invitation to move beyond our feelings of separation from our history on Ukrainian soil and from the Ukrainian people. The war provides us with the opportunity to claim our own legacy and place in the new, complex, multiethnic, multiracial, democratic Ukraine, with all its triumphs, challenges and contradictions. This is an opportunity for healing.

I want to share some of what I have learned that has helped me on this healing path.

If we look at the historic record of Jewish life on Ukrainian territory, we see that Jewish-Ukrainian coexistence was deep, complex and multi-dimensional. Demographically, Ukrainian territory was one of the main centres of Jewish life for more than 400 years. On the eve of the Holocaust, there were more than two-and-a-half million Jews in that area.

There were periods of horrific violence and crippling antisemitism against Jews on Ukrainian territory, as well as periods of ongoing systematic prejudice. These realities must not be overlooked or minimized. But we also see many examples of interconnection between Ukrainian Jews and ethnic Ukrainians. We see many examples of shared music with similar melodies and even bilingual songs; of similar folk stories; and of similar folk remedies and folk healing practices, with Jewish Ukrainian and ethnic Ukrainian folk healers sharing their remedies with each other and tending to both populations.

And there is considerable similarity in those quintessential Jewish activities – food preparation and consumption. This past summer, I made pickles with my Ukrainian-Canadian friend Beverly Dobrinsky, using an old family recipe of hers. The next day, I discovered the exact same recipe, grain of salt per grain of salt, in my own disordered family recipe collection.

Looking at literary translation, one of my passions, we find many examples of the translation of works between Yiddish and Ukrainian and between Ukrainian and Yiddish. In the late 1920s, Ukrainian writer Yuriy Budiak wrote two bird-themed children’s books that have been described as delightful and playful. Shortly thereafter, the books were published in Yiddish translation and enjoyed by Yiddish-speaking Jewish children. These books were recently published by Naydus Press in the United States in a trilingual edition – Ukrainian, Yiddish and English – to raise funds for the Ukrainian war effort.

During the 1930s, both Yiddish and Ukrainian writers experienced repression by the Stalinist Soviet government and experienced difficulty publishing their own writing. In response, they began translating one another’s work and the work of Soviet-sanctioned writers from one another’s cultures. The esteemed Yiddish poet Dovid Hofshteyn translated the work of Taras Shevchenko, known as “the national bard of Ukraine.” The Yiddish writer Leib Kvitko taught Yiddish to the Ukrainian writer Pavlo Tychyna, who went on to translate a number of Yiddish writers into Ukrainian.

As Prof. David Fishman from the Jewish Theological Centre in New York points out, all these similarities and interconnections‚“only happen with close contact.”

Moving into the present, by focusing solely or predominantly on past violence and persecution, we fail to take into account the cataclysmic changes Ukraine has undergone, notably since the breakup of the Soviet Union and the country’s emergence in 1991 as an independent nation with a sizable contemporary Jewish population. David Klion estimated, in Jewish Currents, that the Jewish population of Ukraine at the time of the Russian invasion in February of 2022 was more than 100,000 people.

Since independence, Ukrainians have been redefining what it means to be Ukrainian, moving from an ethnic category of belonging based on ethnic and religious identity to a civic category based on citizenship. This is an important issue for all Ukrainians, but particularly for the many individuals, including Jews, who are not ethnically Ukrainian.

Last April, I had the enormous privilege of hearing a Zoom talk organized by the Vancouver Holocaust Education Centre and given by Dr. Magda Havryshko, a Ukrainian academic. Havryshko spoke of two different national narratives in Ukraine, an ethnocentric narrative focusing on the country as the homeland of the Ukrainian people, and a multiethnic narrative “that priorizes examining Ukraine’s difficult history in relation to Jews.” Havryshko shared information about several inspiring initiatives undertaken in Ukraine in relation to its Jewish population. I will outline three of these initiatives here: during the celebration of Ukrainian independence in 2021, Holocaust history and memory was central; the history of the Holocaust on Ukrainian territory is now taught in all schools beginning at the elementary level; and, lastly, President Volodymir Zelensky and his government have set out a definition of antisemitism, introducing legal punishments for antisemitic acts.

Prof. Amelia Glaser, who studies and teaches comparative literature and translation, has spoken about a desire among contemporary Ukrainian writers to “look very closely at past moments of history and of ethnic violence as Ukrainian tragedies‚” rather than solely as Jewish tragedies. The book-length poem “Babyn Yar in Voices‚” by Marianna Kiyanovska, a non-Jewish Ukrainian, about the 1941 slaughter of Jews in a ravine outside Kyiv, was recently published in English translation by Oksana Maksymshuk. Further, several works by Ukrainian Yiddish writers have been recently translated into Ukrainian, including the fabulous avant-garde Yiddish poetry of Debora Vogel and Sholem Aleichem’s Tevye, which many of you know as Fiddler on the Roof. By the way, Sholem Aleichem lived most of his adult life in Kyiv, a city that he loved.

Without in any way discounting the violence and antisemitism against Jews on Ukrainian territory, I hope I have provided a little forshpayz, an appetizer, about areas of cooperation and interconnection between Ukrainian Jews and ethnic Ukrainians. I have focused on translation and literature, two of my passions, but I encourage you to look for examples of interconnection in the areas of your own interest.

When I think about healing my relationship with Ukraine, it helps me to think about the complexity of my own identity and experience. I am the granddaughter of Jewish immigrants who fled poverty and persecution in different parts of the former Russian Empire, including Ukrainian territory, at the beginning of the 20th century. My maternal grandparents settled in Montreal; my paternal grandparents, in New York. It is telling that I do not know the specific history of the Indigenous nations in the areas in which my grandparents settled but I think I can assume that the lands had been forcibly taken from the Indigenous inhabitants. Two generations later, I continue to live on unceded (that is – stolen) territory, that of the Squamish (Sḵwx̱wú7mesh), Tsleil-Waututh (səlilwətaɬ), Musqueam (xʷməθkʷəy̓əm) and Kwikwetlem (kʷikʷəƛ̓əm) First Nations.

Canadian society is involved in a collective process of teshuvah, of redefining the relationship between us settlers and the Indigenous peoples on this land. Like all settlers, as Canadian Jews, we are challenged to take responsibility for our active involvement or silent complicity in the ongoing Canadian genocidal project against our country’s Indigenous inhabitants. Can we see our commonality with Ukrainians as we both address our brutal oppression of “the other”? Are we, as Canadian Jews, willing to embrace the complexity of our lived experience, to look both at our privilege, especially when it is experienced at the expense of others, as well as at our own painful experience of victimization? Can we hold both at once with integrity?

I finish by sharing the wisdom spoken by an Indigenous man, whose name I unfortunately did not get, at Grandview Park at this past year’s Orange Shirt Day. “When you take a step to heal, you also heal the ancestors. You heal the ones behind and the ones ahead.”

I welcome ongoing dialogue on the issues raised in this talk. Thank you for your kind and open attention.

Helen Mintz’s translation of Vilna My Vilna: Stories by Abraham Karpinowitz (Syracuse University Press, 2016) garnered three literary awards, and her translation of Janusz Korczak: Teacher and Child Advocate by Zalmen Wassertzug is under consideration by the University of Poznan Press. Mintz’s translations have appeared in In Geveb, Jewishfiction.net and Pakn Treger, and her writings about translation in Words without Borders and BC Studies. Her website is helenmintz.net.

Land of milk, honey …

Toward the end of last year, Israel signed an historic agreement with Lebanon, enabling both countries to enjoy an abundance of natural gas located deep below their respective territorial waters.

Now, Israel can continue exploring its northern Karish gas field without the risk of Hezbollah missiles overhead. And Israel will receive indirect royalties from Lebanon’s Kana field – with no peace treaty (yet), royalties will be paid via a third country. Add that to potential revenues from Israel’s other natural gas finds in the Mediterranean, and there’s the opportunity of Israel replacing Russia as Europe’s main natural gas provider. Israel will become more than just the land of milk and honey.

Optimistic forecasts of a natural gas Sovereign Wealth Fund are for billions of shekels in tax revenue. Trusting that the new ruling gas triumvirate – Prime Minister Binyamin Netanyahu, Finance Minister Bezalel Smotrich and Energy Minister Israel Katz – will optimize our natural gas and its wealth fund, then Israel becomes the land of milk, honey, natural gas and an overflowing wealth fund.

Hopefully, Lebanon’s natural gas opportunity will help their economy. Then it, too, will be a country overflowing in natural gas and with its own wealth fund.

***

Israel’s 2022 inflation rate was 5.3%, its highest since 2008. Within the OECD, Israel had the third lowest rate, behind Japan’s 3.0% and Switzerland’s 3.3%. How’s that for our little shtetl! Can’t even compare these rates with the much poorer performing OECD countries such as Estonia at 23.6%, Lithuania at 24.1% and Turkey at 83.5% (yikes!).

Israel’s rate was even lower than the 6.3% of Canada, whose neighbour to the south experienced a similar level. As for Israel’s neighbours, Jordan and Saudi Arabia were at 4.4% and 3.3% respectively … pretty good. Egypt suffered a 24.4% inflation rate, Syria a rate of 105% and Lebanon 189.4%, one of the highest in the world! Israel, the land of milk, honey and competitive inflation rates.

***

Then there’s the judicial reforms bonanza. Israel’s new justice minister, Yariv Levin, is looking to overhaul the system by granting the government – through a simple majority vote – the right to overturn High Court decisions and by giving politicians more power in appointing Supreme Court judges. Detractors are concerned this gives the government way too much say over legal matters and threatens our democracy. Supporters – largely those who voted for the new government – believe these changes will strengthen the legislature’s ability to enact the will of the electorate. Theirs, anyway.

Karnit Flug and Stanley Fischer, former Bank of Israel governors, are firmly in the former camp. They’re concerned these reforms will harshly undermine the High Court’s authority and concentrate too much power with the government, hurting Israel’s sovereign credit rating, destabilizing the economy and reducing the standard of living.

Netanyahu – the free market czar who revolutionized Israel’s economy as finance minister and who extracted natural gas from our sea as prime minister – believes his judicial reforms will rejuvenate the economy by reducing excess regulation and judicialization.

Adding to the festivities. Israel’s anti-reform (and largely anti-government) movement had its third weekly 100,000-person protest in Tel Aviv last month. A sea of people storming the city square, waving flags of blue and white, singing folk songs and Hatikvah and shouting slogans of support for the high judges. Israel, the land of milk, honey and a real judicial balagan.

***

It’s here! 7-Eleven opened its first store in Israel. In downtown Tel Aviv (of course), with plans to roll out hundreds of branches throughout our little shtetl over the coming years. Hello, Slurpees! Those multi-coloured slushies were a staple of my Canadian childhood. Although now I am more a fan of the fresh Dole bananas sold at the stores in the United States and Japan, which I’d buy as a healthy snack while on overseas business trips. Looking inward, does this mean the demise of Israel’s famous mom-and-pop stores, found in neighbourhoods across the country, the Bella’s and Yankela’s, which add to Israel’s heimishe-like atmosphere? That would be a pity! Israel becoming the land of milk, honey, Slurpees … and Dole bananas.

***

On a much lighter note, what about Israel’s maple syrup revolution? It was once only available from specialty food stores, and at an exorbitant price. But what’s a poor Canadian immigrant to do? I paid the ransom and our family enjoyed Shabbat morning French toast, pancakes and waffles. Whenever visiting Canada, I stocked up with the stuff, packing carefully bubble-wrapped bottles of both real and imitation maple syrup into my suitcase.

But, thanks to free trade. Real maple syrup – the organic kind from Canada – became super cheap in Israel, even less expensive than in Canada! And it’s available everywhere, even at Bella’s and Yankela’s. Now when I return to Canada, I take back Canadian maple syrup as gifts. Dare I say it … Israel, the land of milk, honey and Canadian Maple Syrup, eh.

Bruce Brown is a Canadian and an Israeli. He made aliyah … a long time ago. He works in Israel’s high-tech sector by day and, in spurts, is a somewhat inspired writer by night. Brown is the winner of the 2019 AJPA Rockower Award for excellence in writing, and wrote the 1998 satire An Israeli is…. Brown reflects on life in Israel – political, social, economic and personal.

Promises can be motivating

Most of us have to work for a living. Even if we enjoy most of what we do, it’s rare to find someone who feels every moment of their job is a joy. After all, if they’re paying you to do it, my brother and husband would joke with me, “there’s a reason they call it work.”

However, sometimes things happen at work that just aren’t OK or comfortable. Long ago, I worked at an hourly job at a university doing educational administration. It was a mind-boggling number of obligations, managing hundreds of short courses, from instructor attendance lists and access codes to editing course descriptions, proofreading course catalogues and scheduling classrooms. I even set up chairs and tables myself for some courses. It was not my favourite job.

When Passover came along, I had to request time off to clean and cook at home, as I was expecting family to visit. It was not a standard holiday at this university and, although I was asking for time off without pay, the dean questioned me in detail about why it was necessary to grant this to me.

I needed the job. I’d finished my graduate degree but my husband hadn’t finished his yet. We needed the income. I tried to politely field the questions. I knew she was just curious and likely hadn’t ever had the opportunity to ask a Jewish person these kinds of things before. She took pride in wishing me happy holidays – by name – even when she got the Jewish holidays wrong or shared the greetings at the wrong times of year. Even so, she was in a position of power as my boss and I had no option but to answer her if I wanted to keep my job.

The weird part about this encounter is that it doesn’t only happen to religious minorities working for a majority culture boss. I’ve experienced similar questioning as a freelancer working for Jewish organizations, too – everyone wants to know what your observance level is, whether they know your family, if you have a plan for the holidays. Perhaps it’s meant to be friendly and supportive but it can also feel uncomfortable or intrusive. If one answers truthfully, sometimes the outcome doesn’t align with whatever the boss’s preferences would be.

If you work in a large organization with a human resources department, maybe there’s help there, but, most of the time, bringing it up elsewhere can result in more trouble than it’s worth. If diversity and inclusion at your organization don’t recognize “Jewish” as one of the categories, you may have singled yourself out for even more difficulties later on.

The commitments we make Jewishly vary, and everyone chooses their own boundaries. However, these promises we make, to ourselves and our families, are in some ways vows that we must honour and reconcile with our work lives.

This made me think about the talmudic tractate of Nedarim (Vows), which I just finished studying. Much of the tractate is spent trying to help people understand why rabbis think vows of any kind are just a bad idea. Culturally, too, this tractate seems to recognize a time when someone could announce that “all vegetables are forbidden to me” and suddenly this very poorly thought out vow becomes real and must be observed. Hence, the rabbis spent a lot of time suggesting that people just avoid taking vows altogether: better to skip making serious promises you can’t keep. That said, eventually, the Kol Nidre prayer was developed for erev Yom Kippur – it is a blanket prayer releasing us from all the vows we could not keep over the past year.

Rabbi Elliot Goldberg taught an interesting perspective in an online siyyum (celebration at the end of the tractate) on My Jewish Learning. Goldberg points out an example from Nedarim 8a that, even if one is committed to doing mitzvot (commandments), making a vow to do more is motivating: “Rather, it teaches us this: it is permitted for a man to motivate himself to fulfil the mitzvot in this manner, although the oath is not technically valid.” For example, if someone decides that, this year, it would be good to attend services or to donate more to charity, these are not technically vows, but more like New Year’s resolutions. We’re already supposed to do these things, but if we voice a commitment to doing them, it is motivating.

What does this have to do with our uncomfortable moments at work? Sometimes, even knowing that a situation will be awkward, we decide to do it anyway. It would have been easier for me to work right through Passover instead of going through the question-and-answer situation with the university dean. Instead though, this hard encounter motivated me even more to take the time off to clean, cook and spend time with visiting relatives.

Sometimes, finding a way to cope with a difficult situation at work can result in a deeper personal commitment to one’s own beliefs and values. In my case, even though I was very happy to leave that job, I believe that my year working in the Short Course program made a difference. When I left, colleagues told me that they’d learned from me and respected what I’d offered the department.

Our household finances often dictate our work lives – we all have to pay the bills and eat. Yet, sometimes Jewish law, provincial or federal law also affect our finances and ability to make our way in the wider world. We shouldn’t make vows, but promising ourselves to try harder next time to do what’s right just might be motivating in situations that don’t make those choices easy.

Women deserve to be seen

As a mom of twin toddlers about 10 years ago, I was desperate for childcare. Call it preschool, nursery school, daycare or old-fashioned babysitting, it was impossible to come by when we were looking. Every place had long waitlists. I was told by more than one place that I should have put our family on the list for childcare before I gave birth. (An absolute no-go from my position, due to Jewish traditions.) Then I heard about the possibility of spots at a local Chabad preschool.

I am a feminist and, while really invested in Jewish life, I’m on the liberal, egalitarian part of our tradition. I hadn’t even looked at Chabad as an option. I am still amazed by how we were welcomed there and how much help the preschool teachers and other families gave us. Older kids from other families even helped walk my 2-year-olds up and down the stairs to the school when I couldn’t manage. It was a gift when I truly needed a break.

At first, my twins could only manage preschool in the mornings, so I couldn’t get back to work. It allowed me three hours at a time on my own and I used it get long overdue medical support for myself or for one twin at a time. I accomplished basic household needs like grocery shopping or changing bedding. Sometimes, I got to rest. My twins didn’t sleep through the night until they were four-and-a-half years old. Eventually, the kids stayed longer hours at preschool and I worked a little, but it was a challenging time.

While in this sleepless, liminal state, I met Jewish women I’d never encountered before. Moms with more than 10 kids, for instance – a situation I’d scarcely considered before my kids went to this preschool. While some of my extended family made negative comments about my encounters with this pocket of traditional Jewish observance, I marveled, realizing that some parents raised big families with skill and love. Other families struggled with only a child or two. Large families were not inherently “bad” nor small families “good.” I learned many things from these experienced parents. They did not judge us. They helped whenever they could. Their kindnesses were a blessing.

Winnipeg, our city, is crisscrossed by train tracks. It wasn’t uncommon to be stuck at a train crossing going to preschool. I joked about this with a mom who was very involved in the Lubavitch community and had a big family. My twins loved trains, so we unrolled the car windows to hear the horn and the bells and trains rattling on the tracks and enjoyed the moment. She smiled and said she too enjoyed the unexpected wait at train crossings. She used the time to pray. She had a pocket-sized book of tehillim (psalms) and another siddur (prayer book) that she kept in the minivan specifically for occasions like this.

I was flummoxed, impressed by her piety but surprised. This woman, who was so incredibly busy, also invited my family to her kids’ huge birthday parties. She found time at train crossings to pray? Wow.

Afterwards, if her older kids sought me out at a Shabbat dinner or community event, I made room at the table, tried to treat them like I would treat my kids. Her mentorship and thoughtfulness made a deep impression.

I’ve been reminded of this because, lately, Haredi and Modern Orthodox women have been in my social media feed. In recent years, some Haredi publications have stopped using women’s faces or bodies in their photos and advertisements. I follow Chochmat Nashim, an organization that fights to keep images of observant women’s and girls’ images in traditional Jewish publications, so that Jewish women can see themselves in the world around them.

I also read about agunot (chained women), whose husbands will not grant them a get (a Jewish divorce) so that they can remarry. In some cases, these women wait years, are forced to pay large sums of money, or give up custody rights to their children so they can be granted a divorce. Since they observe Jewish law, a secular or civil divorce isn’t enough, and they can’t remarry in their communities without a get. One of the only ways they get “seen” is through loud protests held by other Orthodox women, who stand as allies, trying to bring attention to the situation. Sometimes, this public shaming is the only chance they have to receive a get. Imagine what this allyship means if it is one’s only recourse to escape domestic violence or to be free to remarry.

Another example: a concert was held in London, a special Orthodox women’s-only concert, designed so that Jewish women could sing and other women could attend. (In these parts of the Jewish community, it’s considered alluring and inappropriate for men to hear women sing. This is a way for talented women to perform and other women to enjoy their amazing gifts.) Despite all their precautions, there were rabbis who said that attending this women-only event would be forbidden. Guess what? Women went anyway. The event was sold out.

For me, “seeing” the strong moms of big families as mentors and friends was an eye-opener. They taught me so much, both about their everyday lives and how they viewed Judaism, orthodoxy and Hasidism. Despite a truly overwhelming load of parenting, work, religious and household obligation, they modeled for me how to find time for things that are important. Whether it is helping a kid with learning disabilities or praying at train crossings, they make time for what matters to them.

To some extent, these are all the same women. The ones whose images are banned from publications, who might suffer because they are denied a Jewish divorce, or who might be kept from attending even a women-only concert of religiously acceptable music – they are also perhaps the same mentors who model good parenting, find room for prayer and care for others’ children as their own.

Regardless of our level of religious observance, Jewish women deserve to be seen, loved and treated with respect. This may seem obvious, but it still isn’t happening.

Resilience amid disruptions

I’ve been thinking about my childhood school bus driver, “Dot” or Dorothy Gelles. I lived in a house that was technically not too far from school to walk, but there weren’t enough sidewalks and there was one dangerous intersection. As a result, I rode Bus #302 and then, later, when #302 was retired, #562, with Mrs. Gelles. Ours was a relationship that lasted from kindergarten until Grade 12.

I started driving in Grade 10, lived in Israel on a kibbutz in Grade 11, and mostly drove my younger brother to school when I returned for Grade 12. Still, I rode the bus every day until those last few years. I sat at the front, chatting with Mrs. Gelles and enjoying the ride. Later, I read, did homework or talked to other kids. The bus wasn’t late. Mrs. Gelles rarely missed a day driving us. We trusted Mrs. Gelles. She was a dependable, reliable and kind part of our lives.

Though growing up in a different country, my kids are also eligible for the school bus through Grade 6. They go to a Hebrew-English bilingual school that requires a bus ride. I’ve always thought it was a wonderful gift to parents and good for the environment that they could take the school bus. Although there have been some years in which the bus has been dependable, with mostly the same drivers, I have never properly managed to figure out each driver’s name or been introduced. To me, this is the most precarious part of the school day during Winnipeg winters – I’ve always felt a little nervous about the ride, the drivers, and whether they’d make it to school or home.

This year, due to the pandemic, sick days, the labour shortages and lack of trained drivers, things are the worst they’ve ever been. When there was a bus drivers’ strike, we knew that the school bus wasn’t coming. We were responsible for getting our kids to school and home. When someone contacts us early in the morning and says, “This route is canceled,” we shuffle around our work days to get the kids to school. Sometimes, there’s no notice at all: scared kids and panicked parents result.

On the last day before winter break, our kids weren’t dropped off at the bus stop at 3:46 as per the schedule. They didn’t get home until after 4:35 p.m., more than an hour after the school day ends, at 3:30. The high that day was around -22°C. We were lucky: our kids are 11, old enough to cope, and we figured out what had happened. Their dad was working from home. He dropped everything, stayed at the bus stop in the cold while I phoned the bus transportation office and the school. We found out that there had been a late bus that didn’t get to the school until after 4 p.m., a substitute driver, and that driver got lost. Everything went wrong. The school secretary apologized – she should have called me sooner. I knew that not only would my kids be upset, but they’d missed their piano lessons, too.

This is part of a bigger disruption narrative. So far, this year, Grade 6, is my kids’ first school year since Grade 1 where we haven’t had a teacher change or disruption yet. It’s true that everyone feels jostled by the COVID pandemic but, starting six years ago, before this virus happened, every year something interrupted their learning. Everyone deserves maternity leave and, yes, teachers retire and principals shift schools, but theirs has not been world’s most stable learning environment. Everyone wants to blame COVID but the problems are much bigger than that. Yes, we’re lucky in many ways, but expecting a stable schooling environment shouldn’t be unreasonable with all our other privileges in Canada.

Being resilient in the face of change has been seen as an important skill to have as the world shifts to cope with pandemics, climate change, wars, supply chain issues, etc. There is much to be said for being flexible and able to roll with what happens. At the same time, most adults are resistant to change and don’t like it. For many, we want our coffee or tea with breakfast, our meals cooked in a certain way, our exercise routine or housecleaning to be orderly. Ritual and routine reassure everyone.

In many ways, Judaism reflects this. We’re still praying in ways our ancestors prayed thousands of years ago. Our holidays, sanctuaries and social halls look remarkably similar from one country to the next, even with culturally different norms. We relish the familiar, even as it slowly changes and adapts to fit modern sensibilities. No matter what Jewish movement you’re accustomed to, Orthodox, Chabad, Reform, Reconstructionist, Conservative or Renewal, or if you use terms like secular, traditional … we’ve all made adjustments reflecting our evolving understanding of Judaism and the world around us, or in reaction to those things.

What makes our traditions comforting, reassuring or even just functional is not the same for everybody. However, one thing remains the same. Aside from catastrophic events, it’s the way we react to and adjust to change that matters. Finding a positive way forward, moving towards solutions – these help us grow and learn. Jewish communities, forced through pogroms, expulsions and murders, have created art, literature, liturgy and rabbinic rulings to cope with terrible circumstances we could not control.

As everyone now knows, we cannot control everything. We can only hope to give the resources and resiliency to help everyone cope. In Winnipeg, making sure the kids wear warm sweaters and snow pants along with parkas and boots? That is one step. Another is offering contingency plans: an extra set of house keys, feeling comfortable with the neighbours, knowing there’s a safe place to go if they get locked out.

Many in North America, pre-pandemic, were used to stability. We made plans for weddings or trips a year in advance. It may be that our new “normal” brings us much closer to what our ancestors knew long ago. With increasing weather, climate and health emergencies, and political upheaval, we need to find resources and solutions when change happens. Cause change is going to happen.

Meanwhile, we can also all strive to be a bit more like Mrs. Gelles: caring, reliably on time and trustworthy. I can never see a driver open those school bus doors without smiling and thinking of her. And hoping for the best and wishing for that stability for my children, too.