Op-Ed – Page 43

Obligation to be hospitable

Imagine, for a minute, that you’re throwing an open house for a children’s sports team. You’ve invited a lot of people. You don’t know them all. Yet, you’re the host. It’s a beautiful, sunny, warm day. You’ve set up your yard for a party. The lemonade and cookies are out, the welcome banner is flapping in the breeze.

As people drift up your sidewalk, you see they’re nervous or ill at ease. “Welcome!” you say, and your family smiles at them. “Come on in. Join us.” You offer them food and drink. Then, you ask guests gentle, kind questions. “How long has your kid been playing soccer with our team?” or “Where does your kid go to school?” “Have you met our dog?” and so on.

Before long, you’ve learned new things about these strangers. You’ve made a few connections. As other people join the party, you lead a parent, Gabriel, over to talk to Morley, who shares Gabriel’s interests in dog training or hockey. You help all these people to relate to one another. Then, they can begin friendships. Soon, they will be hosting the next encounter – for their new friends and acquaintances.

Many people are rusty at this kind of face-to-face socializing. In the social media age, we “friend” people online long before we meet in person. We’re more likely to chat online than we are to approach strangers in person. It’s a cultural shift that can make people feel more awkward and self-conscious when they actually get together in person.

If you’ve never moved from one community to another, you’ve got family and friends built in – people who likely knew you in kindergarten or as a teenager with acne. These are longtime friends. You don’t have to do any work to know them. Why bother meeting new people?

Because we’re obligated as Jews to be hospitable. It’s our obligation to make new connections with others! (Both Jews and non-Jews.)

I recently heard a great story about a Passover seder. A young Jewish woman from Indiana was studying and working in London, and alone for the holiday. She followed the Twitter feed of London-based CNN reporter James Masters. He tweeted and asked if anyone needed a seder to attend. Samantha Gross, an intern with the Evening Standard, responded. She thought he was offering to find her a spot somewhere at a community event. Instead, he and his wife picked her up and brought her home to a Pesach table with grandparents and the kind of family love and embrace that really moved her. (To tears, although she claimed it was the horseradish!)

A Winnipeg congregation, Shaarey Zedek, is sponsoring a special speaker next week named Dr. Ron Wolfson. I could claim that I’d read everything he’s written (not true). I could boast that my mom has taken classes with him (true) and that he’s spoken at my parents’ Virginia congregation (true). I could mention that he’s collaborated with Rabbi Larry Hoffman (true) who came to speak at Winnipeg’s Temple Shalom recently (true), and whose daughter went to summer camp with me long ago (true). However, none of that background or Jewish geography matters.

What matters is that Dr. Wolfson is coming to Canada to speak – and it’s well worth reading his books or finding a way to hear him in person. Why?

What he teaches is a profoundly Jewish message. It’s about building relationships and connections that might be new, and take work. For many Jews, going to shul is like going home – most of the people there are your family and friends, you’ve known them forever. It takes no work to relate to them. However, our society is transient. There are a lot of newcomers at every congregation. We need to do both the right thing and the Jewish thing, and practise “audacious hospitality.”

What’s that? Well, in Genesis 18:1-18, there’s a story that is uniquely ours. Abraham and Sarah are in their tent when three strangers walk by. Abraham rushes out to them, welcomes them in and, with Sarah, he helps them wash and offers them food and hospitality. Abraham knows what it is to be a traveler and to be hot, tired and hungry. He knows that he should reach out, it’s the right thing to do.

The strangers (angels) bring messages to them. One is that even though they’re old, Sarah will have a child and Abraham will become the patriarch to a great and populous nation.

The message is clear. It’s incumbent upon us to be like Abraham and Sarah, and like Masters’ family, too. We need to welcome others, build real relationships with them, and offer them our (Jewish) hospitality. This may make all the difference. Will we be Abraham’s “great … nation” or lose Judaism to assimilation?

Ten years ago, I was invited to participate in an interfaith “green” religious service. The interim Anglican priest who ran the service bumped into me at the farmers market a few days later. I thanked her for the opportunity, and invited her to my Shabbat table. That was her very first dinner invitation in Bowling Green, Ky., and the start of many more happy hours at my table and hers. We are still good friends. She told me that it figured a Jewish person would be first to “invite her in,” as Abraham and Sarah did.

This pastor (and friend) both reminded me and taught me more about my obligation to be hospitable as a Jew. Abraham knew how to do this. It’s high time we did, too.

Joanne Seiff, a regular columnist for Winnipeg’s Jewish Post and News, is the author of a new book, From the Outside In: Jewish Post Columns 2015-2016. This collection of essays is now available for digital download, or as a paperback from Amazon. See more about her on joanneseiff.blogspot.com.

Failure is a possibility

Israeli culture does not encourage failure; rather, it is somehow more tolerant and accepting of it. (photo from Shutterstock.com via Israel21c)

When was the last time you admitted you failed? Have you ever felt comfortable talking about your failures? How often do you use the word “failure” in daily life? How does even thinking about failing make you feel?

Legendary American football coach Vince Lombardi once said, “It’s not whether you get knocked down; it’s whether you get up.”

This reminds me of a cult TV show that I used to watch growing up in Israel, Zehu-Ze (That’s It). It had a character by the name of Yatzek, who discovered interesting places all over Israel and the kids watching the show had to guess where he was.

At the end of each episode, Yatzek would fall in a different way: from a tree, into the river, from the back of a horse, and even into cow manure. Naturally, the kids who were watching would be concerned. To reassure them, he always said, “Kids, no need to worry: Yatzek always falls and gets back up.” An entire generation of Israeli kids grew up with this strong message on a weekly basis.

I believe our culture has a very strong influence on our failures and, mostly, on our attitude toward these failures.

In late 2006, I joined the founding team of Modu. Modu was founded by serial entrepreneur Dov Moran, who previously led M-Systems to one of the biggest mergers and acquisitions in the history of Israeli high-tech. In a very short time, Modu raised more than $120 million, recruited more than 200 employees in Israel and abroad, opened a few subsidiaries around the world, and developed and manufactured two consumer products. All elements for success were present and yet, only three years after its inception, the company closed its doors.

But many Modu employees decided to start their own start-ups, including me. Out of this one big failure, dozens of new business ventures were initiated. How could it be that people who were part of such a huge investment in time, energy, resources and sacrifices were not discouraged after being part of a failed start-up? Rather, they decided to invest more energy, take more risks and start ventures of their own. This is a bold move, since statistically 90% of start-ups fail and the 10% of start-ups that make it are likely to fall apart along the way.

What is it that drives people to try despite the risk of failure? Is it possible that people’s level of comfort with failure is somehow related to their culture, as demonstrated by Yatzek, the crazy character that kept falling and getting up?

The Oxford Dictionary defines failure as “lack of success.” You have either succeeded or failed. It’s a binary game. On the other hand, if you look at the definition of failure in Hebrew, it is much more fluid: “someone that tripped, made an error, did not succeed.” Our language is a mirror of our culture. Informal messaging plays a major role in the values we learn from a very young age.

In Hebrew, adolescence or teenage years are referred to as “the foolish age.” At this age, people tend to act without thinking, resulting in many failures. Therefore, the terminology only reflects their inherent nature. When society regards them as such, as evident in Israel, it gives young people the chance to follow their natural way and experience what might be regarded as foolish – before they become young adults.

Even the Israeli military seems more tolerant of failures relative to other military organizations worldwide. The Air Force Academy teaches how to cope with failures as an essential part of regular conduct drills. After every single flight, the crew gathers in the “investigation room” and the pilot debriefs on what was successful and what was not, in front of a squadron of 40 fighters. The focus is on learning from mistakes and not to make the same mistake twice.

Israeli culture does not encourage failure; rather, it is somehow more tolerant of it and accepts it in such a way that we keep getting back up, trying, moving forward and advancing.

On a personal and professional level, I admit, I fail at least once a day. From this, I’ve learned that one of the things that really makes me happy is that my children are growing up in Israel, where we have the unique ability, as a culture, to look at any event head-on, success or failure, and discuss and learn from it.

I wish all of us could give our kids the understanding that the process is sometimes more important than the outcome, that failures are part of life and that what really matters is how you pick yourself up.

Don’t be afraid to fall. Let your kids fail, too. Just make sure to teach them to get up and never stop trying.

Inbal Arieli was a lieutenant in the elite Israel Defence Forces intelligence 8200 unit and later took leading roles in the Israeli high-tech sector. She is a senior advisor to Start-Up Nation Central and is currently co-chief executive officer of Synthesis. Featured as one of the “100 Most Influential People in Israeli High-Tech,” Arieli is working on an exploration of how Israeli culture breeds entrepreneurs from a young age. Israel21c is a nonprofit educational foundation with a mission to focus media and public attention on the 21st-century Israel that exists beyond the conflict. For more, or to donate, visit israel21c.org.

The work is not solely ours

Music is an amazing tool for learning. When I was a kid, I learned a lot of Jewish music. It wasn’t choir music, or strictly for prayer. No, I learned “everything” Jewish through music. I sang parts of Pirkei Avot (Sayings of our Fathers), Israeli pioneering songs from kibbutz life, Torah verses, Israeli pop songs and commercials, and even, yes, a lot of liturgy.

It happened on autopilot. I wasn’t forced into anything. There was no strong emphasis on performance. It was “Naaseh v’nishmah,” “We will do and we will hear.” (Exodus 24:7) When you participate and enjoy singing, sometimes the words sink in. I remember my mom putting on records (of Jewish music) and I’d roll around the living room rug, listening and singing.

When Christian classmates were busy memorizing Bible verses to earn rewards at church, they’d ask me how many I could recite. I had no idea what to say. “Oh,” I’d say, “We don’t do that.” We did do that, I realize now, but it was so intuitive, so much a part of our daily experience, that I never even noticed what was happening. I knew the words, in Hebrew and English. I understood them, but I never thought of it as reciting religious text. It was part of a summer camp song session, or a regular Sunday at religious school, or in the prayers we sang at services.

Years later, I still have that musical memory bank. It comes in handy. Recently, exhausted and stressed, I was able to sing along without thinking when someone introduced a new tune at services. It might have been new to others, but I’d heard it before. I also used this treasure trove to dig up something I needed to think about – work/life balance.

Rabbi Tarfon said the day is short and there’s a lot of work, and the workers are lazy and the reward is great and the master of the house is pressing – it’s not your responsibility to finish the work, but neither are you free to desist from it. (Pirkei Avot 2:15)

I remembered the whole quote by hearing a bit of the tune in my head. Suddenly, I was singing to myself on the street as I walked to an errand. I went home to look it up on sefaria.org, an online nonprofit that offers open-source access to Jewish texts.

The bigger issue that I wrestled with was that of work and community involvement. How much is enough? How can we decide where to invest our time and why?

I don’t think of myself as a big volunteer, but lately I’ve become overwhelmed. I had to reduce my volunteer load. Managing my work, household, kids, community commitments and health felt like too much. Only one thing might need more time – an extra freelance job, a couple kids sick with viruses or a volunteer gig – and the whole tower of cards will tumble.

As a relative newcomer to Canada, I cannot call up a family member in the neighbourhood or a longtime friend to bail me out. Our extended families are far away. Although some friends might be able to help, they, too, are caring for kids, juggling jobs, etc. It’s my observation that many newcomers feel this way. The process that recruited them to Canada felt very positive, but after that? It can be a daily struggle. It’s hard to find a place in a community where long-established families have strong roots.

So, what does Rabbi Tarfon have to do with this? Well, this song helped me realize that, while I felt deep responsibilities towards my commitments, I couldn’t “finish them” on my own. I could work, volunteer and try to help, but our effort has to be a communal one. It’s not all my personal responsibility – and if my health or family’s well-being is at stake, that has to come first.

Bringing a good attitude to the work we do is important. We can’t all be like the curmudgeons on the Muppets. Those grouchy men are the ones who sit in the balcony, scowls on their faces, as they criticize all the other Muppets who put on the show. Instead, we need to each do our share, because the grouchy puppets in the corner aren’t contributing.

We have to stop ourselves when our efforts to contribute become too much, too taxing and risk our well-being. When we start criticizing everyone else? It’s time for a break – because we aren’t finishing all that work by ourselves, in any case.

What we are doing is contributing to a whole, healthy (Jewish) community. And, if you keep reading, Rabbi Tarfon says, “If you have learned much Torah, your reward will be much.” This is an interesting circular argument. The rabbi suggests we work hard, and we do our share. Then we’re rewarded for our learning. Guess what? My reward for stepping back from volunteering was more time to study Rabbi Tarfon’s wisdom. I learned it again – and now offer it to you. That’s a sign of a healthier work cycle.

Joanne Seiff, a regular columnist for Winnipeg’s Jewish Post and News, is the author of a new book, From the Outside In: Jewish Post Columns 2015-2016. This collection of essays is now available for digital download, or as a paperback from Amazon. See more about her on joanneseiff.blogspot.com.

Active Jewish millennials

If the occupation is going to end with the help of North American Jews, it will be owing to the growing force of millennials who stand up not only for their own rights, but the rights of others.

One of these individuals has taken to social media via a series of parody videos to get her message across. As Avi Does the Holy Land prepares to launch its second video-log season, I’ve been thinking about its creator, Calgary-raised Aviva Zimmerman. When I was first alerted to “Avi’s” Facebook page, I admit I was fooled. “Arab workers literally BUILDING the Tel Aviv boardwalk. And they call us a racist country?!! #TelAviv #coexistence,” she wrote. I nearly shot back in anger to the mutual friend who had acquainted us, before taking a closer look. Satire is supposed to cut close to the bone, and that’s certainly what Avi Does the Holy Land does.

In the v-log’s first season, “Avi,” a sexed-up Canadian Jew who “went on a Birthright trip and fell in love with Israel,” skewers Israeli treatment of liberal Zionist critics, Israel’s shoddy treatment of Eritrean and Sudanese asylum seekers, Tel Aviv’s party scene as counterterrorism policy and Israeli LGBTQ policy as used in the government’s PR campaigns. A successful Indiegogo campaign for season 2 has now expanded to raising funds for a live show.

“Avi” is one type of millennial Jew – though, of course, a larger-than-life version. The differences in opinion and action among millennials regarding Israel, however, are real, ranging from those trying to burnish Israel’s image abroad via an uncritical look at the country to those trying to tarnish every image of the country. But there is a healthy cadre of young Jews deploying a sense of solidarity with their own, as well as with the oppressed.

Some young Jews are gravitating to Open Hillel, to encourage a more pluralistic discourse about Israel on North American campuses, or to the Centre for Jewish Nonviolence, which takes young Jews to the West Bank for projects in solidarity with Palestinians resisting settler encroachment. At the University of British Columbia, there’s the Progressive Jewish Alliance, which bills itself as “a group of progressive Jews committed to creating a new, vibrant, independent Jewish space.”

And there’s IfNotNow, whose anti-occupation mission has expanded into resisting the many moves of Trump’s administration. IfNotNow declares on its website, “Just as Moses was commanded to return to Egypt and fight for the liberation of his people, we, too, feel called to take responsibility for the future of our community. We know the liberation of our Jewish community is bound up in the liberation of all people, particularly those in Israel and Palestine.” Recently, IfNotNow created a hashtag called #ResistAIPAC. “When the Trump Administration Goes to AIPAC, the Jewish resistance will be there to meet them,” the site says.

With the message of Passover soon upon us again, we might best consider how to raise children whose connection to Israel can be transformed into one pushing for rights and freedom for all.

Mira Sucharov is an associate professor of political science at Carleton University. She is a columnist for Canadian Jewish News and contributes to Haaretz and the Jewish Daily Forward, among other publications.

More crucial issues at hand

Islamophobia and antisemitism have again reared their ugly heads this year, including with mosque burnings and desecrations of Jewish cemeteries in the United States. In response to the attacks on the St. Louis cemetery, Muslim-American activist Linda Sarsour helped launch a crowdfunding campaign to help rebuild. A few days out from its March 20 closing, launchgood.com had raised more than $160,000 – its goal was $20,000.

Sadly, some in the Jewish community – in both the United States and Canada – have sought to discredit Sarsour and her gesture of solidarity. I have seen accusations of Sarsour being an antisemite and of supporting Hamas, so I’ve been spending time trying to dig up the proof. But no one who levies these charges seems to be able to produce a shred of evidence.

Here’s what I did see: a two-minute video circulating in the right-wing blogosphere, which is meant to incriminate Sarsour. But there was nothing incriminating in the video. Sarsour even mentions Israel’s “right to exist,” something that landed her in hot water, ironically, with some in the Palestine solidarity movement. As Haaretz reported, she has actively told her followers to avoid using antisemitic language when criticizing Israel’s actions in Gaza, calling that kind of discourse “unacceptable.”

She is accused of shilling for Sharia law. I have seen her make tongue-in-cheek remarks about Sharia, pining for better maternity leave in America and forgiven credit card debt. It seems right-wingers could use a sharper irony sensor.

Finally, I have seen a photo showing her posing in a group with someone who apparently had ties to Hamas. She herself has denied Hamas ties. It’s tough to accuse someone of supporting a group when she denies all links. She doesn’t sound like a very loyal or helpful supporter to me.

Now, she is certainly no Zionist. In 2012, she tweeted, “Nothing is creepier than Zionism.” She supports BDS (boycott, divestment and sanction of Israel) and a one-state solution. If that’s the full and entire body of actual evidence linking Sarsour to the unsavoury views of which she’s accused, then we need to focus on that alone.

Is it beyond the pale to oppose Zionism? And is BDS antisemitic? According to the U.S. State Department’s definition of antisemitism – which relies on the “3 Ds” definition: demonization, delegitimization and double standards when it comes to Israel – one could argue that, in its opposition to Zionism (which, in its current manifestation, precludes Palestinian refugee return), it is. The trouble is, the 3 Ds definition of antisemitism is hugely problematic. It implies that opposing a particular ideology – even one that strains under its own weight to maintain ethnic privilege within a democratic framework – means that one is promulgating hatred of Jews. The logic just doesn’t hold up.

So, without actual evidence for Sarsour’s so-called antisemitism, I smell a toxic brew of Islamophobia and misogyny. A strong, vocal Muslim-American woman with a Brooklyn accent who stands at the podium of the half-a-million-strong Women’s March on Washington (which she co-chaired) and mentions that she’s her occupied-territories-residing grandmother’s “wildest dream” might just be a bit much for those who think Muslims deserve to be taken down a notch or that Palestinians living under occupation are not deserving of basic rights.

If that’s what it is – Islamophobia and anti-Palestinian prejudice – then I wish they would just say so. It would give me more time to devote to other matters rather than asking for evidence where none exists.

Speaking of antisemitism, we should be asking why President Donald Trump took so long to condemn recent antisemitic incidents, humiliated a Jewish reporter who politely challenged him on this, and appointed a top advisor – Steve Bannon – who is linked to trafficking in antisemitism and other forms of racism. And we must ask why the forces of antisemitism and Islamophobia have been so rapidly unleashed. We must stand together against all forms of antisemitism, Islamophobia and racism, as Sarsour would have us do.

Mira Sucharov is an associate professor of political science at Carleton University. She is a columnist for Canadian Jewish News and contributes to Haaretz and the Jewish Daily Forward, among other publications. A version of this article was originally published by CJN.

These times call for solidarity

When a multicultural country like Canada faces a stark rise in hatred targeting one ethnic group, its social and ethical solidarity is put to the test. The question for Canada’s Jewish establishment is, how will it respond to the shocking spike in hatred targeting the Muslim community?

On the heels of the Quebec City mosque shooting, which left six worshippers dead, and then a hate-filled protest outside of a Toronto mosque, a private member’s motion to condemn Islamophobia was introduced in Parliament. Regrettably, the Centre for Israel and Jewish Affairs (CIJA) is opposing the motion, at least in its current form.

Liberal MP Iqra Khalid introduced the non-binding motion (M-103) urging the government to “better reflect” the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms by “quell[ing] the increasing public climate of hate and fear,” while “condemn[ing] Islamophobia and all forms of systemic racism and religious discrimination.” Her motion also asks Parliament to convene a study to address these issues and “to conduct needs assessments for impacted communities.”

As the motion – intended to express the will of Parliament but falling short of having any legal force – acknowledges, there are already Charter provisions for opposing racism and discrimination. And Section 319 of the Criminal Code already outlaws “communicating statements in any public place, incit[ing] hatred against any identifiable group where such incitement is likely to lead to a breach of the peace.” But, sometimes, the law is not enough to signal collective revulsion.

The demonstrators outside the downtown Toronto mosque held signs such as “Ban Islam” and “Muslims are terrorists.” Interviewed on camera, one of the protesters makes the following chilling observation: “They [she presumably means Muslims] start out friendly and, before you know it, they grow so much in population that they take over.” The interviewer challenges her: “This is sounding a lot like what people said about Jews at one time,” to which the protester replies: “There’s no comparison. Jews were not evil.”

For its part, CIJA calls M-103 “flawed.” As CIJA head Shimon Koffler Fogel writes, the motion “requires us to silence legitimate concerns or suppress a public conversation about those strains of Islam that pose a real and imminent threat to Jews around the world,” adding that the motion “denies space and opportunity within the Muslim community to confront those strains of Islam that do indeed exist and do indeed cause harm to the majority of Muslims who do not subscribe to an extremist ideology.” For these reasons, CIJA is urging lawmakers to oppose it.

It’s not the first time a private member’s motion has been introduced to focus Canada’s attention on a specific form of hatred. In 2015, Conservative MP James Bezan asked “all members [of Parliament] and all Canadians [to] join me in denouncing antisemitism.” In 2015, Liberal MP Irwin Cotler asked the “House [to] condemn the alarming development of a new antisemitism….” And then, of course, there’s the 2010 Ottawa Protocol on Combating Antisemitism, which convened parliamentary representatives from an array of countries to call out antisemitism.

CIJA director of communications Martin Sampson shared with me the amended text of the motion CIJA proposed to Khaled, including trying to add a clause that would “recognize that criticism and condemnation of any and all forms of extremism is not only acceptable but necessary in a free and democratic society; and tasking the proposed study to define ‘Islamophobia in Canada.’”

Bernie Farber, former head of Canadian Jewish Congress and now head of the Toronto-based Mosaic Institute, a diversity, peace and justice organization, said he is “baffled and stunned” by CIJA’s opposition to the motion.

Is the lack of explicit acknowledgment of the legitimacy of criticizing religion a problem, as CIJA is suggesting? No. Parliamentary motions have no legislative force. The existing Criminal Code – including laws governing freedom of expression – will remain unaffected. Fogel’s claim that the motion will silence criticism by force of law is simply wrong. It may serve to dampen enthusiasm for the kind of hateful anti-Muslim demonstrations we saw in Toronto, but that is the point.

Or perhaps the vagueness of the term Islamophobia is a problem. Sampson calls the word “politically charged and imprecise.” Cotler, for instance, is suggesting that M-103 be amended to say “anti-Muslim bigotry.”

But, like homophobia, Islamophobia is simply the term that exists to denote this form of bigotry. When I asked historian of language Liora Halperin why the term got saddled with the more clinical “phobia” suffix instead of acquiring the more straightforward “anti” prefix, she acknowledges that phobias are psychiatric diagnoses, not ideologies. But, she adds, “in practice, fear is indeed part of racism.”

The term antisemitism – which, ironically, was coined by a German antisemite – captures the unique phenomenon of Jew hatred. Similarly, Farber argues, “hatred of Muslims needs its own specific word to get people to understand the importance of what this kind of hatred of Muslims can do. And we’ve seen it, sadly, right here in Canada.”

These times call for solidarity in the face of rising tides of antisemitism, Islamophobia and all other forms of racism. In the wake of the mosque massacre and the hateful protests on Toronto’s usually peaceful streets, coupled with the shadow of U.S. President Donald Trump’s xenophobic policies, the time is now for Canadians to stand together against Islamophobia. That’s the word we have, that’s the member’s motion being proposed, and that’s the wave of hatred – one prominent wave among many, sadly – that we urgently need to address.

Why not wait and see?

Things seem to be way out of control these days. So many of the things we used to take for granted in our lives now seem topsy-turvy. There used to be a right and a left, liberal, conservative, moral, immoral. Could it be really true that a rich guy with all the power in the world, who previously used his power to exploit the weak, rip off the powerless, abuse women, exploit racism, has become an upright guy? Maybe?

Witness U.S. President Donald Trump’s relentless focus on creating new jobs for those who have been displaced in their work by globalization, by robotization, by environmental imperatives. Witness a realpolitik that ignores political correctness and confronts fears we all have that we will be overwhelmed by an ideology of global supremacy that hides behind a religious façade.

What if Trump ignores the short-term advantage of going along with the power of oil and population numbers in the Middle East, trade interests in Europe, debt holdings of U.S. treasuries in China, and asserts support for a beleaguered Israel, gives notice that the United States is again prepared to fight robustly to maintain its international stature, and disarms Russia by seeking common cause in areas of common interest from a position of renewed military strength and commitment? What is wrong about making a serious effort to maintain the integrity and respect of America’s borders, and recognizing that international trading arrangements have ignored the reality that certain partners’ internal politics have undermined and eroded the supposed advantages of those arrangements? Perhaps his lack of ideology will overturn Republican extremism, make the United States a better place for millions of the country’s illegals, by finding some path for them to a legal presence there, and result in a replacement health program that is better for Americans than the one that has been dictated by gridlock and lobbyists.

We are seeing some of the power guys shaking in their boots about what Trump is going to do next, how he is going to shake up the country, and the world. Will he confront legislators who are lapdogs for lobbyists? Is he actually going to create jobs for those blue-collar guys who are having trouble adjusting to a changing world and are looking at a jobless future? Is he actually going to stop potential terrorists from getting into the United States? Will he confront cyber hackers, no matter what the cost to innocents, privacy concerns and the niceties of international relations?

There is that side of the coin. How many innocents will suffer in the process of getting the job done? How many in his base will presume a freedom for racism, misogyny and anarchy? Does our distaste for his past and some of his bedfellows mean we can’t trust him? Because the fact is that some of us just don’t trust the motives.

But are motives the be all and end all? What if he does actually tackle those countries that are abusing the rules set by trade agreements, like Mexico, China and some other countries? What if he actually is going to support a U.S. alliance with Israel? What if he calls Iran’s bluff or confronts Saudi Arabia, Turkey, the Emirates, Iran, etc., on their policies that favour terrorism? What if he challenges the Palestinians on their refusal to recognize a Jewish state and a Jewish presence in the West Bank, which is legal and sanctioned by the Oslo Accords?

Surely we are overdue for a change from Barack Obama’s failed policies. Why shouldn’t we lean on some of these guys? Why shouldn’t we put the United Nations on the backburner where it belongs, because it caters to the worst actors in human rights? Shouldn’t we go for American energy independence and deal with the consequences of using new technology?

Aren’t there some things that need fixing? Could some of the things we hate be the price for better policies in other areas? Don’t we have to wait and see what we are really going to get before we push the panic button?

Max Roytenberg is a Vancouver-based poet, writer and blogger. His book Hero in My Own Eyes was recently published.

Bibi’s visit to Washington

Israeli Prime Minister Binyamin Netanyahu’s visit to the White House generated more buzz than policy direction. But there’s nearly as much to be gleaned from what he and U.S. President Donald Trump didn’t say as from what they did. Here are some takeaways.

Trump is eerily out of touch with antisemitism. Given the apparent spike in antisemitic incidents across the United States, including 60 bomb threats to Jewish community centres across North America in January alone, one reporter asked Trump what he planned to “say to those among the Jewish community in the States and in Israel, and maybe around the world, who believe and feel that your administration is playing with xenophobia and maybe racist tones.” In response, Trump opened bizarrely with a reference to the number of Electoral College votes he received. Then he deployed the classic “some of my best friends are Jewish” evasion by mentioning his Jewish daughter and son-in-law and grandchildren. He concluded by saying, “you’re going to see a lot of love.” On the heels of omitting the mention of Jews from the White House statement on International Holocaust Remembrance Day – though his opening remarks mentioned “survival in the face of genocide” – this evasion continues the chill.

Does Trump know what a one-state solution means? Trump seemed to roll back the longstanding U.S. commitment to two states by saying, “So I’m looking at two-state and one-state, and I like the one that both parties like.”

It’s not clear that Trump is aware of what he means by a “one-state” solution, particularly since people tend to use it very differently. The Israeli right-wing has, in recent years, spoken of a one-state solution involving various forms of West Bank annexation. In this scenario, it’s unlikely that Palestinians would be given full rights. However, Israeli President Reuven Rivlin has recently called for annexing the West Bank and providing full voting rights to Palestinians. On the left, the one-state solution has certainly meant a single, democratic state. In that scenario, refugees would likely be given full rights of return and the culture and identities of both national peoples would be elevated. It’s unlikely that Israel would accept such a situation. But, given the extent of settlement entrenchment in the remaining territory, which would have been allocated for a Palestinian state under a two-state scenario, all of these ideas need to be explored.

As for settlements, Trump was more critical of Israeli settlements than one might have expected, given his settlement-supporting pick for ambassador to Israel, David Friedman. “I’d like to see you hold back on settlements for a little bit,” he told Bibi.

A Jewish state is not what it seems. Bibi has done a masterful job over the last several years in pointing the world’s attention to the fact that the Palestinian Authority has not recognized Israel as a “Jewish state.” No less than five times in

Netanyahu’s remarks at the Washington press conference did he declare that Palestinians must recognize “the Jewish state.” At the same time, he hid the fact that the Palestinians have, in fact, recognized Israel’s right to exist in peace and security. On Sept. 10, 1993, the day before the Oslo Agreement was signed, Palestine Liberation Organization head Yasser Arafat wrote to Israel’s then-prime minister Yitzhak Rabin that the PLO “recognizes the right of the state of Israel to exist in peace and security.” Bibi need not look far for the texts of these letters of mutual recognition. They are on Israel’s own Ministry of Foreign Affairs website.

As for Israel’s demand that the Palestinians recognize Israel specifically as a “Jewish” state, observers realize that this is code for denying Palestinian refugees the right of return. This is a contentious issue and will have to be part of the final status negotiations. In sum, it is not up to the Palestinians to recognize

Israel’s Jewish character; that is an internal matter. It’s up to the Palestinians to recognize Israel’s existence, entailing safety and security – and that, they already have done.

What’s the substance? Skilled orator that he is, Bibi stressed he wanted to deal with “substance,” not “labels,” uttering the word “substance” five times. By substance, he made clear he wanted the Palestinians to recognize Israel as a “Jewish state” (see above) and wanted Israel to retain security control in the eastern part of the West Bank. Wouldn’t it be something if, by “substance,” Bibi meant that everyone in the areas currently under Israeli control is entitled to basic civil rights and human rights? Maybe that’s too substantive. One can dream, though.

Blessings of love, religion

Once a month, my husband (a secular humanist Jew) and I (Roman Catholic) join the Fraytik tsu Nakht at the Peretz Centre for Secular Jewish Culture. At the Friday night secular humanist Shabbat celebration, we sing songs, light candles, eat challah bread, and sing in Yiddish and Hebrew. But what I am also learning is the humanistic approach to Jewish cultural heritage.

At the celebrations, they give a great deal of importance, as it says in the text that we read, “to human dignity and the human power to make a better world … and gratitude for the wonders of the world.” Being from a Latin American country, I do not know Yiddish or Hebrew, but I have memorized the lyrics to songs like “Daylanu Shalom” and “Hineh Ma Tov,” so I can sing along with the other people.

When I married Carl, I enjoyed imagining that I was married to a relative of Jesus Christ, since I am practising Catholicism and Jesus is Jewish. We found out that we have more things in common than we imagined. We really enjoy seeing all the similarities and sharing them. For instance, I go with Carl to his Jewish events, where we light candles “to reflect on our own light and the light of others, we praise the healers, the builders and the dreamers. We celebrate the peacemakers, those who teach, who nurture, who love, who share, and those who create for humanity.” At the same time, I have an altar in our room, where I spend time praying the rosary, lighting candles and meditating. Carl comes with me on Sunday to listen to Mass, and is curious for something new, like listening to Mass in Latin, hearing the sermon or just listening to the beautiful music from the pipe organ at Holy Rosary Cathedral, where I belong. Our relationship is based on respect and acceptance, so we can both learn from each other without judgment. Together, we discover that hope is bright and love fills our hearts.

This past year, like every year, we received a phone call from one of Carl’s friends inviting us to his home to celebrate Passover. For me, this means learning more about his culture and imagining how was the Last Supper that Jesus had with his disciples. I love the prayers, the singing and being with good friends who accept me and welcome me, even knowing that I am Catholic, but, above all, I enjoy it because I’m taking part with my husband, who I love.

Carl and I married in a civil ceremony, a Jewish ceremony and in the Catholic Church. We learned that celebrating our differences has made us closer and that religion, far from being a barrier, is a blessing from our Higher Power, however we understand It.

Delta Vazquez Leon has worked part time for Holy Rosary Cathedral for almost four years as an administrative assistant-receptionist. Her mother tongue is Spanish, and she helps Spanish-speaking parishioners in their needs. Some Sundays she assists in the distribution of Holy Communion, and participates in any way she can in Cathedral activities. In her spare time, she likes to write, draw and paint.

Chatting with my father’s G-d

I am 69 years old and I have been living with multiple sclerosis for the last 29 years. During that time, my disability has affected my spirituality, and vice versa.

I grew up with Orthodox Jewish maternal grandparents in the same house as my less-than-Orthodox parents. Spirituality is about love if it is about anything, and my earliest memories of spiritual experience are all tied up with my love for my grandfather and his for me.

I was very close to my grandfather, Shmuel (Samuel) Silberberg. He died when I was 12, but until then, for as long as I can remember, I sat with him in the synagogue in the rows closest to the ark. There was a sense of belonging – those old guys were connected. Looking back, it is funny that I had a strong sense of belonging where I definitely did not belong. Young girls were not wanted there. But my grandfather belonged, and it was clear to all that he thought I belonged with him. He was not argued with. Even my father, Moishe (Morris) Novik, sat with the other 50 regular guys in the middle toward the back. He sat where he belonged, which was not up front with me and the old guys.

After my grandfather died, there was no more sitting with the old guys in the synagogue. I got sent upstairs to sit with my mother and the rest of the women. It just wasn’t the same. There was one row of old women who had that aura of belonging, but the other women were chatting or moving around. My connection to Judaism drifted away.

Around 1978, I went to visit my parents in New York. To my chagrin, I realized that my children, ages 8 and 6, knew nothing about being Jewish and knew plenty about Christianity. Oops. If I didn’t give them a sense of being Jewish, our dominant Christian culture would move in. When I returned to Vancouver, I searched for a place our family would fit. For a single, lesbian, politically active welfare mother, this wasn’t easy. But the children and I persevered, and we found the Peretz Shul (officially the Peretz Centre), a progressive secular Jewish place of education and culture. Our Jewish identity was saved – we had an anchor. I came to see spirituality as the sense of belonging that I remembered and that I needed for my children. Every Sunday I took them to the Jewish school and, once a month, there was a potluck lunch following. The kids had secular bar and b’nai mitzvah, and all was well.

By 1988, the woods and physical movement were my spirituality. My son had moved out on his own and my daughter was staying with family in California, so I hiked, cross-country skied, and spent time in British Columbia’s backcountry. The woods and mountains were my holy places, my grounding and my anchor. I found it impossible to wander in the beauty and not feel in every fibre of my body that I was part of something so much bigger than I.

Enter primary progressive multiple sclerosis. In this type of MS, disability gets steadily worse, without pause or remission. And my world was – and is – turned upside down. In the midst of this chaos and uncertainty, where was my anchor now?

In 1989, I took a medical leave from the travel agency I owned and moved to an A-frame home on friends’ property in Mission, B.C. No electricity, no running water. I chopped lots of wood. My MS moved slowly. I could happily live in the bush while trying to sort out what it all meant. I was blessed to find a weekly aboriginal healing circle, through the Mission Indian Friendship Centre, that warmly welcomed and grounded me.

Back on the farm, I walked with the dogs to the waterfall and talked to G-d, the G-d who was and is very much my father’s G-d. He had a personal relationship with G-d and, as a kid, I learned from watching him. When we went to the cemetery, he chatted with his dad and mom. He would stand by their graves and have long, friendly conversations, and I would watch with awe how the talks were never solemn, just friendly and intimate. When he was done, he would always ask if I had anything to add. I would shake my head and he would smile. There was never any pressure that I should talk.

The important lesson I learned was that it is OK to talk to dead people. And they will listen – they are interested. I spoke about this lesson at my father’s funeral. When one of my children or I had a problem, some people would say, “I’ll pray for you.” My dad would say, “I’ll talk to my friend upstairs for you.” He was just a regular guy who spoke about his friend upstairs in the way he would talk about any neighbour. For me, as a child and even now, this relationship is soothing and comforting.

With the chaos that MS brings to my life, sometimes a breakthrough comes when I can step back from the insurmountable roadblocks and see them instead as stepping stones on my path. This is difficult for me. My first impulse is to kick, scream and deny every new loss. Yet it is crucial to see the stepping stones so I can move forward. I remember that from hiking.

In 1990, I was back on my porch in Vancouver and missing the aboriginal healing circle. I thought, “Wait, I have my own ritual.” Around this time, my son, who had just become a father, said, “Mom, it’s time to go to synagogue.” And I said, “I know where to go.” We went to Or Shalom, where I found much grounding and a sense of community. I told a friend at Or Shalom that I hadn’t been to synagogue in 30 years. She just said, “Welcome home.” And home it was to me, my son and my granddaughter. Over the years, people have asked, “How did you manage to get your son to come to synagogue?” And I tell them it was his idea.

A few years later, in 1994, I wanted a way back to the woods. I had heard of therapeutic horseback riding, and I thought that, with the horses, I could get there. My first lesson, just 10 minutes of riding, felt great. I was convinced that this was going to sort out my hip joints, legs and back. That happened, and the surprise was that my soul and psyche were also woken up. I always felt like I had just done something grand. I, who don’t often feel proud of myself, suddenly felt quite proud for getting on this obstinate horse, Brew. He was an elderly, beautiful chestnut gelding. But strong-willed, like me. Before I got on a horse, I would always have a minute where I thought, I am insane to climb all the way up there. But, as soon as I got up there, I felt wonderfully alive. The day I rode Visteria, a big 16-hand chestnut mare with an amazingly smooth walk, it was like gliding along on top of the world. My hips unlocked and I felt my spirit rising.

For a few years, those horses were my anchor, my connection and my strength. Riding gave me back the joy of moving. I began to realize again how much my sense of spirituality was connected to physical movement. Hiking, long walks, swimming and horseback riding put me in a place where I could be connected to G-d, where I could feel myself part of a larger whole. But, with MS, there was one loss after another. I went through several aids: cane, then walker, then scooter, then horses.

Before the MS diagnosis and the losses in mobility, did I talk to G-d? Not much. The first conversations I remember happened in my year in Mission, during my daily hikes to the waterfall, with G-d and the dogs my daily company.

Now, with my mobility much more compromised, I still find G-d time where I can. The conversations now centre on “meaning.” What does this new life mean? What am I supposed to be doing? And so often G-d answers, “Go write.” I complain about the endless health maintenance that leaves so short a day, and G-d answers, as she always has, “Go write.”

Can I say exactly where spirituality is in my life and what it means for me? I am still a tad confused. Primary progressive MS slowly and persistently takes stuff away, so, in the 29 years of the illness, I have reinvented myself over and over and over again. The long hikes are just a memory, and I don’t often get out of my house to my synagogue anymore. Now that my physical movement is so limited, will I find a way to grow more spiritually?

Still, when I need spiritual guidance, I ask my father to talk to his friend upstairs. My father smiles and says, “You can talk yourself now, you know.” We both know that I do have my own conversations. But I still like using him as my go-between.

Ellen Frank was a writer, activist, mother, grandmother and retired travel agent, author of Sticks and Wheels: A Guide to Accessible Travel on the Lower Sunshine Coast (Ouzel Publishing, 2006), Taking the Reins (Kindle, 2011) and several articles published in anthologies and in periodicals, including the Jewish Independent. She lived with primary progressive multiple sclerosis from 1988 to her death in January 2017.