Op-Ed – Page 46

Soul-opening retreat experience

Let me start by saying that I grew up a secular Jew. As I’ve gotten older, my desire for more Yiddishkeit has increased tenfold. Long story short, I went from being a “High Holidays-only Jew” to someone who lights candles every Friday night, attends shul every Shabbos and goes to Torah classes regularly.

My latest quest to embrace Judaism took the form of the 2016 National Jewish Retreat. Sponsored by the Rohr Jewish Learning Institute and Chabad, this six-day retreat took place in Palm Desert, Calif. More than 1,400 Jews from all over North America settled in to the enormously lavish JW Marriott for Jewish learning and fun.

I’m stopping here because I know that when I got to Chabad, many of you shut down and/or entertained a plethora of preconceived notions and stereotypes: black hats, long coats, lots of rocking and davening, strict Shabbos rules. Think again.

Even I was skeptical, wondering whether I’d be judged for my “immodest” clothing, my limited Jewish observance and my lack of Torah knowledge. But, no sooner did I get there, than a variety of religious and not-so-religious folks introduced themselves and welcomed me warmly. From that point on, I was hooked.

The programs comprised 150 lectures and 75 speakers. Keep in mind the retreat was only six days long, so I had to choose my topics wisely. All told, I attended 29 lectures. And I even had time to go the washroom once or twice. From 9 a.m. till late into the night, I had the honor of learning from world-renowned speakers, listening to radio talk-show host Dennis Prager, attending a Dudu Fisher concert, viewing the stunning art of Barbara Hines, and enjoying Jewish comedian Robert Cait.

The main event, the retreat sessions, covered a wide spectrum of topics including practical lessons from the Tanya; discovering purpose and mission in life; Jewish medical ethics; the pursuit of happiness and gratitude; the relevance of G-d in 2016; handling personal struggles, pain and suffering; a challah bake; a talk about why bad things happen to good people; Jewish law; living with faith; the legacy of the Lubavitcher Rebbe; Israel’s inclusive army; the miracle at Entebbe; wine tasting; the historical relationship between Jews and Muslims; antisemitism; how to pray with passion and purpose; the future of Israel and Zionism; Jewish history and mystical prophesies; the feminist challenge of 2017; a farbrengen for women; and leadership. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg.

Focusing on the personal more than the political, historical or global, the sessions I attended were nothing short of awe-inspiring. Never having experienced intense spiritual Jewish learning like this, I was a human sponge. It sparked something visceral in me and my emotions ran wild. (Read: I’m emotionally incontinent and my tears overflowed early and often.)

My favorite sessions included a class on the Tanya, which is an early work of Chassidic philosophy and a “one size fits all” life manual. It’s basically the “GPS for life” and encourages us all to live with purpose and meaning.

I also attended a couple of sessions on the Rebbe and the secret of Chabad. While some people consider Chabad a radical sect of Judaism, it has actually become the mainstream, because of the Rebbe’s focus on outreach to Jews around the world. He considered outreach the key to continuing Yiddishkeit. The Rebbe was without doubt the most influential rabbi in modern history. A revolutionary figure and an inspiration, he created an “army” of shluchim (emissaries), who set up Chabad houses around the world to inspire Jews in Jewish traditions and education. As a result, Chabad is considered a “vanguard of change” and leaders in the community.

A session called The Pursuit of Happiness reinforced the idea that happiness and blessings are directly correlated. And, since happiness is a choice, we should direct our emotions towards positive things. In essence, we’re really products of our choices, not our circumstances.

Pain and Suffering was a session about transforming pain into growth. The speaker made a poignant observation about grief having “energy.” He posited that, when a person can harness that energy, they can change the world. He also pointed out, from studies, that people with faith have more resilience and strength. In his words: “You don’t know the power of faith until you have nothing left but faith.”

There were lots of social events at the retreat, too. I got particularly emotional during the challah bake, while lighting Shabbat candles with 600 other women, and singing and dancing after Havdalah with more than 1,400 Jews from my new Jewish “family.”

And then there was the gourmet kosher food. When I heard about the 24/7 tea room, I expected a small room with maybe some Danish and coffee, then I saw the football-field-length foyer with fruit, candy, chips, cookies, sandwiches and various beverages. That was during the weekdays. On Saturday night, at around 11 p.m., I experienced my first melaveh malkah meal: a lavish buffet that symbolically escorts the departing Shabbat queen. Imagine vegetarian burger sliders, innumerable cheesecakes, pastries, a crepe station, a pasta station, lox and bagels, an ice cream station, and more. At midnight, I thought to myself, “Do I keep eating or do I sleep?”

I came back bubbling with enthusiasm, anxious to tell my husband Harvey all about it. When the descriptions and tears of joy were done, he said: “So, I guess you drank the chicken soup.” You bet I did. And boy was I thirsty!

A huge thank you goes to Rabbi Yechiel Baitelman of Chabad of Richmond for encouraging me to attend the retreat. I could never have imagined how it would alter how I think and feel about being Jewish. Truly, it was a soul-opening experience.

Every single day was a blessing of inspiration and spiritual holiness for me. Sharing my stories from the National Jewish Retreat is my way of sharing the blessings. I only hope that you get to experience it for yourself one day.

Shelley Civkin recently retired as librarian and communications officer at Richmond Public Library. For 17 years, she wrote a weekly book review column for the Richmond Review, and currently writes a bi-weekly column about retirement for the Richmond News. She’s also busy exploring her Yiddishkeit.

Reflecting on election

In the last federal election, Mira Oreck was the NDP candidate for the riding of Vancouver Granville. (photo from Mira Oreck)

Nearly one year after the Canadian federal election, I had a chance to sit down with Mira Oreck (by phone), the NDP candidate for the riding of Vancouver Granville. I had knocked on doors with Mira during the early days of the campaign while I was visiting Vancouver that summer and I was eager to hear her reflections, particularly from a Jewish community standpoint.

Mira’s Jewish community affiliations run deep. She attended Beth Israel Hebrew School and Camp Ramah, she was president of her United Synagogue Youth region and served on the USY international board. She later went on to serve as regional director of Canadian Jewish Congress. Today, she is a member of Or Shalom Synagogue. Mira recalled being “overwhelmed” by how “members of the Jewish community connected with the campaign. People were genuinely curious and excited by the idea that someone from our community could be in Parliament.”

Unlike many other Canadian ridings, Mira said, the riding of Vancouver Granville was “primed for the conversation” around Jewish and Israel issues. And, since she already knew many Jewish community members and leaders personally, she said didn’t need to make cold calls to introduce herself. So, she was intrigued by a snippet of advice she heard someone give to one of her opponents who would indeed be making those rounds. The advice? The candidate should never mention the word “peace.” Apparently, to more conservative Jewish ears, “peace” is code word for being anti-Israel.

It’s a fascinating tidbit to me, since my reference point in academic circles is the reverse: many on the “far left” of the Israel-Palestine debate understand peace to be problematically “pro-Israel,” which is to say representing a complacent adherence to the status quo, without the hard work needed to challenge injustice. Whatever the correct referent is, this suggests how loaded is the discourse around Israel. It’s hard for candidates to speak their mind, knowing that every phrase could be a landmine.

But, on Israel, Mira insisted she kept her message consistent: against BDS, pro two-state solution. Her goal, as she put it to voters, was to “see peace in my lifetime … and not try to perpetuate ingrained ideas of the ‘other.’”

As much as she didn’t shy away from using the term “Zionist” to describe herself – despite some on her campaign preferring she not – Mira tried to emphasize that single-issue voting (for example, on Israel) has its limits. “I would say to voters that we are having an election in Canada and, first and foremost, my role as MP is to be concerned with the country we are governing.” For that matter, Mira said there were not “distinguishable differences on party platforms regarding Israel and Palestine. I wanted to know from [voters] what they thought the significant differences were; often people couldn’t name any.” Still, the topic of Israel came up “a lot less” than she expected. Instead, people in the Jewish community, she said, talked “about Bill C-51, refugees, climate change, child care … overwhelmingly more than I heard them talk about Israel.” The campaign, she said, “was a really good reminder” that “our community is not at all homogeneous.”

Sometimes, aspects of how politics played out as she engaged with members of the community saddened her. She recalled talking to a group of Jewish seniors, some of whom had been her Hebrew school teachers. They were Conservative party backers. “There was no amount of knowing me, coming from the Beth Israel synagogue and my connections to Israel, that enabled them to give me a fair hearing.” It was hard, she said. “I felt like they weren’t willing to know me for who I was, or the values that I hold.”

And there were times in the campaign where Mira had conversations that alarmed her but left her feeling hopeful. When she met with students at King David High School, she was shocked by some inflammatory descriptions of Palestinians. These students said things “that didn’t make sense, but were clearly coming from a very fear-based place,” she said.

Mira stood her ground. “I was really tough with the kids; really challenging them. I wasn’t trying to win over their votes; I was trying to have a real conversation with them about issues.” Later that afternoon, Mira recounted, two kids showed up to volunteer on her campaign. “It was a reminder,” she said, “that, while there were a few loud kids with strong opinions, others were thinking critically.”

Currently on maternity leave from being director of public engagement at the Broadbent Institute, a non-partisan think tank that describes itself as “championing progressive change through the promotion of democracy, equality and sustainability,” Mira – to me – represents the best our community has to offer when it comes to the sort of critical thinking she describes, and trying to make a difference, even if the nature of the electoral game means that one doesn’t always come out on top.

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.

Familiar song from long ago

“And the ransomed of the Lord shall return / And come with song unto Zion.” (Isaiah 35:10)

Seville, Spain, summer 1480

“The fire is painful to the flesh, but kind to the soul,” said the man in red velvet robes who sat at the dark mahogany table. Such statements had earned him the title of “the Scourge of G-d.” He sat stiffly at a table that flanked one end of a courtyard fenced with eight-foot-high stucco walls. A heap of faggots surrounding a pile of tree limbs stood at the other end of the courtyard. In the middle of the enclosure, a cluster of people, surrounded by darkly dressed men with swords, shuffled their feet and stared dolefully at the dust that rose with their movement. Destitute of hope, their hearts were as dry as the earth.

One family stood rigidly facing the table where the red-robed figure scanned names from a lengthy scroll.

“It’s your choice, but be quick about it. We’ve got a town full of Jews to process before sundown.”

It was a familiar scene all over Spain. The Inquisition was in full flower, creating martyrs and new Christians. And now it was the turn of the Capouya family. And, that day, Zalman Capouya, father to three whimpering daughters plagued with heat and terror, chose life for his family. “We already have enough martyrs in heaven. We need more Jews on earth so they can grow and multiply as the Lord commanded.” His wife nodded and sobbed softly in relief.

But the life that followed wasn’t so simple. No visible thread of their Jewish identity could be displayed. Like tens of thousands of crypto-Jews, they attended church and disguised within an alien ceremony whatever level of mitzvot obedience they practised. There was always a lifeline – a tether to the ancestral faith: the lighting of candles behind shuttered windows, a Shema before bedtime with the family huddled in a tight group, a favorite song now relegated to the basement instead of the gilded assembly hall of the synagogue. No bread during Passover. There was always something. Slight and hidden, as light as a tallit thread, but a reminder that children wouldn’t forget. Maybe the seeds would sprout in other times, other lands.

New Jersey, U.S., autumn 2016

It was a haunting melody. A tide of suffering, but sweet with hope. It poured out of the open doors of the synagogue like a stream, swollen with the rains of spring. Catherine was a block away, but the song flooded her senses. She’d walked around the synagogue twice as she listened. Last year she’d heard it, too. And on this same holiday the Jews called Rosh Hashanah. Their New Year, someone told her.

But it was not only the beauty of the song that made her circle the synagogue twice in astonishment. This melody – sung by Jews – was her family song. That’s what her parents and grandmother called it: “our family song.” They sang it at Christmas and New Year’s. They sang it at baptisms and funerals. It was an old, old family custom, her grandmother had explained.

But Grandmother couldn’t explain the song’s origins. “All I remember is that my grandmother sang it to me,” she replied irritably after a hail of questions from Catherine. “It’s a family song. Enjoy it and don’t ask so many questions.” But why would Jews sing it, Catherine wondered.

At school the next day, Catherine couldn’t wait to meet her friend Rachael at their locker.

“Rachael, I walked by your synagogue yesterday morning on your holiday. They were singing this gorgeous song.”

“You must have heard us chanting Avinu Malkeinu.”

“Let me go with you next week. Would you mind?”

“No, of course not. It will be chanted again next week on Yom Kippur.”

Catherine did not tell her family the exact truth about the lure of the synagogue, only that she was meeting a friend. And that was true enough. They met a short block from the synagogue and, as they walked, Rachael explained the meaning of the day, the elements of the service. Catherine listened somberly, almost apprehensively. Something larger than she had ever encountered was looming on her horizon.

Once inside, she followed her friend’s instruction and carefully read the English for each prayer. It was all so familiar – like a dream reencountered – a spiritual déjà vu.

The congregation sang – their voices filled the domed assembly hall like the prayers of the lost fill the heart of G-d. Deep in Catherine’s being was an ache she’d never known before. She sang and let a gentle tide carry her home.

Ted Roberts is a freelance writer and humorist living in Huntsville, Ala. His website is wonderwordworks.com.

Shul etiquette “commandments”

There’s no use in pretending it doesn’t bother me. The woman has invaded my sacrosanct space and time! But what can I do about it?

Let me explain.

I have a precious and brief time that I dedicate to enhancing my well-being each week. I attend a yoga class on my doctor’s order to become mindful of my time and space. I have come to cherish this opportunity to shut out the constant and disparate white noise that my brain exudes during the rest of my week. It’s the noise that reminds me to pay a bill, check my calendar for meetings, and note the items I have to remember to add to the shopping list. Not to mention all the family obligations that must be juggled. I’m anxious just writing these items, worried that my life is spinning out of my control, hence my doctor’s suggestion-cum-order.

In the first few minutes of each class, I focus my energy, breathing in and exhaling slowly. Recently, just as I was reaching the plateau that allows me to connect mind and body, the door to the quiet room opened with a woman who was not quite finished a phone conversation.

“Yeah, I know just what you mean, Sally. I had the same issue with her. I’ll have to tell you about it after my yoga class. I’m just getting in to it now.” Sally’s friend looks around, finds a spot, dumps her bag and continues to talk. “Oh, you do? Which one do you take?” She tucks the phone between her ear and shoulder, then unrolls her mat. “Really? Uh huh. Oh, and how much is it? Wow, that’s a lot less than I’m spending.” She upends her bag, looking for her water bottle. The instructor looks at her and smiles, suggesting she is ready to begin. “Listen sweetie, I gotta go, this class makes the British rail schedule look slack! Yeah, let’s do that, I’ll check my schedule for next week. No problem, I’m always here for you.”

As the instructor takes us through the first movement, Sally’s friend declares that this first stretch is feeling good, especially after such a stressful day. I am regaining my initial plateau, reminding myself that I need to judge others favorably. But with each position shift Sally’s friend has a comment. I’m finding these verbal utterances very intrusive.

Sally’s friend is not content with oohing and aahing. Now she is complimenting other classmates on their yoga attire. My desired state of mind is now wishful thinking. The only thing I am mindful of is how aggravated I am getting. Doesn’t Sally’s friend realize that this space and time is sacrosanct to me and to the others? Surely she must realize that there is a time and place for everything, and that this is neither the time, nor the place for her behavior. How can she be so oblivious to her poor yoga etiquette? Can she not see the distress she is causing?

This is related to my other dilemma. I don’t go to yoga to enhance my well-being and connect with my soul and my soul-maker; for that, I go to shul and pray with my community. And Sally’s friend’s behaviors reflect behaviors that regularly occur each Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur and on any given Shabbos, from people both religiously observant and not. So, I humbly submit for consideration and hopeful implementation “10 commandments of etiquette for shul attendance.”

Remember in whose house you are a guest. The sanctuary is G-d’s domain, not yours. People often comment they don’t find shul a “spiritual experience,” but a little preparation can help. Just as you ready yourself for a day of work, ensuring you have briefed yourself for an upcoming meeting, for example, so you should ready yourself for prayer. Avail yourself of the many sources of Jewish inspirational writings for the appropriate holy day. It’s up to all of us to bring our own spiritual thoughts and emotions to the sanctuary.
No cellphones. Just as theatres request that you refrain from talking, texting or photographing, shul is not a place for cellphone use during Shabbos or Yom Tov. If G-d needs you, He’s got a better way of getting your attention. And, if you can’t separate yourself from your communicator for the length of services, you’ve probably got an addiction and may need some professional help – perhaps even a yoga class.
Stop the chatter. Shul is not a baseball diamond, and you are not in the outfield yelling, “batter, batter, batter, swing batter.” The rabbi, chazzan and Torah reader do not require a cheering section and you are not there to provide color commentary. They do require your respectful attention.
Socialize outside the sanctuary. Any conversation longer than the prerequisite greeting of “Good Shabbos or good Yom Tov” should be held outside of the sanctuary. Nobody else wants to hear about your bad back and why you can’t golf or play tennis anymore.
No market reports, please. Whether it’s Bloomberg, BNN, the Wall Street Journal or the costs of buying kosher meat and poultry, if it is important enough to discuss at length, see Commandment #4.
Wear comfortable shoes. Women, you are not walking the catwalk in a Jimmy Choo or Louboutin fashion show. There are lengthy periods of the services that require standing in front of the open ark. Sitting down while the ark is open is disrespectful unless you’re over 70 or have a serious medical condition or impairment. If you regularly suffer from foot fatigue, pinched toes or aching bunions, bring a pair of flats.
No beach, cocktail or lingerie wear. It should be obvious but if your outfit suggests you need to apply sunscreen, then don’t wear it to shul, as it’s unlikely that there will be a tanning bed provided. Likewise, men, jeans – no matter if they are considered “dress wear” – are not appropriate unless you are under the age of 6, and even then it’s questionable. As well, unless your shul sports a disco ball from the ceiling over the bimah, leave the booty-shaking togs at home.
Don’t show off your offspring. Bubbies and zaidies, your grandchildren are not fashion accessories. They are small human beings, worthy of your respect. If you insist on traipsing them through the sanctuary to have your shul mates ooh and aah over them, you are doing yourself and your grandchildren a disservice, and creating a distraction for all around you.
Bribing children into the sanctuary. From a small child’s point of view, the sanctuary is crowded and there are a bunch of strangers wanting to pinch their cheeks or kiss them. Offering bribes in the form of candy, juice, cookies or an iPad or other tech gadget often results in major negotiations that would impress even the most accomplished CEO. Save yourself the grief and sign the kids up for shul programs for their age group, or leave them at home with Mary Poppins.
No electronic gadgets. This is for shul attendees of all ages. Just as police are cracking down on distracted driving, there should be a penalty for distracted davening. Do not engage your smartphone or Star Trek communicator during “slow parts” of the service. Answering your email, checking Facebook or sharing your latest photos are not earning you any extra credit with G-d.

We all have a lot to be grateful for and Rosh Hashanah is the time to express our gratitude to our creator on the anniversary of the creation of the world. At a time when we ask for emotional, physical and spiritual help on behalf of ourselves and others, we should be mindful that we are being judged by the king of all judges regarding our behavior, our attitudes, our compassion and our consideration for our fellow human beings.

Ellen Freedman is a native Vancouverite. She is a longtime reader and first-time writer.

Moments with Elie Wiesel

Robert Krell, left, and Elie Wiesel. (photo from Robert Krell)

I met Prof. Elie Wiesel in 1978. I was 38 years old. He was 49. Elie, as he insisted I call him, came to Vancouver to speak at a commemorative event. It was for Yom Hashoah, the day of Holocaust Remembrance.

He arrived Friday afternoon and I fetched him at the airport and brought him to our home for a few moments pre-Shabbat and then to his hotel. He had agreed to a press conference on Saturday morning stipulating only that no microphone be used. Elie was observant.

I moderated that morning. He was engaging, handled difficult and peculiar questions equally graciously, and made a deep and lasting impression on the journalists and religious leaders who attended. I learned that morning that his book, Night, a slim 120 pages, had once been nearly a thousand pages written in Yiddish and published in Argentina. How had he reduced it to its present size? By eliminating every paragraph without which the book would not lose its essence, and then by eliminating every sentence in those paragraphs that was not needed to sustain its narrative. Ever since, I have tried to practise that in my talks and writings.

Elie asked me to visit at the hotel on Sunday for breakfast and we ended up talking all day. That evening, he spoke to an audience of 500. I had the honor of introducing him. I used two minutes. How long does one need to introduce Wiesel? He was known to all, even though he had not yet received the Nobel Peace Prize; that was to come in 1986. His lecture that evening was astonishing. One could listen to him forever, one of the few speakers in the world who commands attention and seldom, if ever, loses his audience.

We remained friends. He was the kindest, gentlest, wisest person in my life. And he always made time for me although he was also the busiest and most prevailed upon person imaginable.

So, I took it upon myself to do two things. One was to call him from time to time and briefly visit when I was in New York. Famous people sometimes have no one who inquires as to their own lives. I did not ask him for anything unless the idea began with him. No demands, requests, or favors. The other was to assist wherever I could with whatever little I could do. For example, he asked whether I could arrange for him to be in touch with Rudolf Vrba, one of only four or five escapees from Auschwitz and the author of the Vrba-Wetzler Report (Auschwitz Protocols) warning of the imminent deportation of Hungarian Jews in 1944.

Vrba lived in Vancouver and I knew him well. Elie and Rudi subsequently corresponded for years and I can only guess that some of it concerned the fact that the Wiesel family was not informed by those who received the report in Hungary when there was still a chance to flee into the nearby Carpathian Mountains. Did they ever meet? I offered Elie the opportunity. His response, “I do not think I can look into his eyes.”

One time, when in New York, I received Elie’s return call. Yes, he had time for me to have a brief visit on Monday morning. I went to his home and we caught up for perhaps a half hour. During that time, he excused himself only once, to take a call from the White House. Presidents, secretaries of state, governors and senators, all sought his counsel. He often flew at short notice to speak, to warn, in the midst of various crises around the world.

It was close to Passover. He asked who was traveling with me and I told him, my wife Marilyn and our oldest daughter and granddaughter. Elie was upset not to greet them and he insisted we all visit the next Thursday so he could personally wish them a happy Pesach. How he made time in his wildly busy schedule, I will never understand.

I saw Elie speak in Israel at the 1981 World Gathering of Jewish Holocaust Survivors at Lohamei HaGeta’ot (the Kibbutz of the Ghetto Fighters) and at the closing ceremonies with then-prime minister Menachem Begin. While in Los

Angeles in 1982, I heard him speak at Cedars-Sinai Hospital on “the Holocaust patient” and on “talmudic tales” at UCLA Hillel House. Spellbinding.

For the very first International Conference of Child Survivors and Their Families – the 1991 Hidden Child Foundation/Anti-Defamation League conference – the New York-based committee asked if I could convince Elie to speak. Since Elie seldom said no if he was able to attend, wherever in the world he was needed, this request for my involvement was puzzling. After all, this was New York, his home and the site of the gathering. But he had declined. My guess is that the situation had become complicated by competing factions.

I called him and reminded him that this was “the gathering of the children.” Where else would he want to be? He graciously agreed to give the closing address. I introduced him on the closing night and wondered out loud how it was possible that I had heard him lecture at Yale, in Israel, New York and Los Angeles. Somehow, wherever he was, I found him. I must be his groupie! I certainly never missed an opportunity to hear him and to learn from him.

In 1998, in New York, Elie presented me with the Elie Wiesel Holocaust Remembrance Medal for my work in Holocaust education, my psychiatric contributions to the care of Holocaust survivors and the founding of the Vancouver Holocaust Education Centre. Elie had visited the VHEC and served on its international advisory council along with Irwin Cotler, Yaffa Eliach and Sir Martin Gilbert. My family was there and my children all came to know him better. His loving presence is seared into their memories. Children, for him, were like a magnet. All who wrote to him received a personal response. How he managed this, in between teaching at Boston University, speaking around the world and publishing at least one book every year, I do not understand. But that is what he did.

In 2008, I went to Boston to celebrate his 80th birthday, which consisted of a three-day Festschrift devoted to his scholarship and writings, as well as a tribute concert.

Although surrounded by his friends and fellow scholars, I found him sitting alone in the front row and joined him. At one point, I turned to him, “Elie, what is it like to hear all these scholars speak about your contributions all day long?” His response, “I am a good listener.” And, indeed, he was. He listened attentively, to individuals and to humanity.

I nominated Elie for an honorary doctorate from the University of British Columbia and, although he was still recovering from open heart surgery (and wrote a book Open Heart), he traveled to attend the 2012 ceremony and to participate in An Evening with Elie Wiesel, held at the Orpheum theatre, attended by some 3,000 people. Our cab driver said, “Oh, look, Elie Wiesel is speaking.”

As the interviewer for the evening’s proceedings, I asked questions, some “naïve,” as in “Why remember such awful events?” referring to the Shoah.

Elie’s response: “How can you not? Memory is part of who you are, your identity. I have so many wonderful memories of my family and being in shul and it’s all I have now of my family except my two surviving sisters, of whom one has since passed on. Without memory, who would I be? The moments are so important.”

“Elie,” I asked, “you were asked to be the president of Israel. Can you tell us about this?” He answered that the thought had tormented him. How could he turn down the highest honor that could ever be bestowed upon him? He felt he was letting down the state of Israel that wanted him and his leadership. But, he explained, he was without political experience and all he really has are words which, as a politician, would no longer be his. “And besides,” he joked, “my wife would have divorced me.”

“How do you choose the language in which you write?” (Elie speaks Hungarian, Romanian, Yiddish, Hebrew, French and English.) “I prefer the eloquence of French, which is the easiest for me. And, sometimes, my choice is determined by what I am writing about. And I like to write to classical music, preferably a quartet, as an orchestra is too distracting.”

“What message would you send to our young people here tonight?” His response, “Your life is not measured in time and years. It is a collection of moments. You will look back and have so many moments in time that remain fresh, memorable and meaningful. I would tell all of you young people in the audience to enjoy all these moments in time. Being here in Vancouver this weekend has been one of those moments for me.”

With his passing, I shall be without more such moments with him. His death leaves an enormous void, for his moral strength and inspiration will be missing from all who benefited. We must resolve to step up and commit to continuing to learn from and emulate this remarkable human being who returned from the depths of despair and loss to provide a measure of hope.

I urge you to read Night and Elie’s brilliant memoir in two parts All Rivers Run to the Sea and And the Sea is Never Full. Having absorbed at least these books, you may then reflect upon, and hopefully act upon, the lessons learned. They will last you a lifetime.

Dr. Robert Krell is professor emeritus, department of psychiatry, University of British Columbia, distinguished life fellow of the American Psychiatric Association and founding president of the Vancouver Holocaust Education Centre, in whose newsletter, Zachor, this article has also been published.

Cancer makes me angry

Cancer. Now I’ve said it. Just saying it tightens up my gut. It makes me want to swallow. I look around to see if anyone can sense the anger, the blind rage that surges through me. I find myself breathing faster. The fight-or-flight chemicals prompted by fear are racing through my body. Mostly, I try not to think about it because of the instant effect it always has upon me. I don’t know about others, but I hate it. Just the thought of it makes me angry.

To me, the idea of cancer is like a living presence, dressed up in the image of death, stalking through our lives, the destroyer of health and happiness. It looks this way and that, it looks for those at whom it will swing its lethal scythe. I know it’s really like spores in the wind, poisons in the soil, air and water, or genetic predispositions hiding in our DNA, waiting for the merest provocation to flower like a deadly bloom of nightshade. I know it is like an evil charlatan that smilingly gives way to our defensive measures, only to strike back with deadly force when we have let down our guard. I know it has so many disguises and tricks that we have to learn the new ones every day that we are alive. It takes some of our best minds to keep us relevant in that battle.

I know about all the new promises, new hopes yet to be realized. We learn something new every day. But, so does cancer, reacting to counter every twist and turn we make. We are not there yet in spite of all the public promises that are made. It is not politically correct to say it, but the same promises were being made during the time cancer was a living presence in my home. So I retain the hate that I learned.

When it struck in our home, we reacted with shock. We marshaled our resources and radically changed our lifestyle. My late spouse gave up her stressful and demanding work. She was a simultaneous translation interpreter. She was the manager and creator of her own firm, one that was preeminent in Canada, but she delegated her work and ceased professional activity. She underwent a mastectomy, radiation and chemo. We changed our diet toward the completely macrobiotic and a shelf full of recommended natural products. The result – in six months all traces of the disease were eradicated! We declared victory. My spouse became a poster child, a survivor, to rally the spirits of all victims of the disease. After a year, we relaxed our guard and returned to our previous way of life.

Four or five years later, two cancer cells were discovered during the regular screening that had been maintained. The number of cells quickly multiplied and, after a time, a regular regime of chemotherapy was reintroduced, accompanied by multiple discomforts. This continued for years. No material effect on the disease’s progress was ever noted. Eventually, several metastases were discovered, until the cancer was generalized. None of the chemotherapy offered appeared to have had the least effect.

My role changed over time, as I became a full-time caregiver. Indeed, after years of feeling like a helpless bystander, there was great consolation in, at last, being able to play a useful role. I had the feeling I was witnessing hand-to-hand combat with the cancer, a living, breathing adversary. I hated the losses we were sustaining on a daily basis. The success of radiation sessions in fighting off the external manifestations of the cancer felt like victories.

At one point, the cancer prevented the kidneys from working. The doctors asked if we wanted them to intervene. Although my late wife declined, because she was suffering the effects of uremia, which impairs judgment, my resounding yes won the day. The intervention was successful. We went off on a two-week holiday in Italy. I treasure to this day the sight of her dancing to her own music on a sunny balcony in Tuscany.

The medical resort to radiation to eliminate ugly lesions that appeared, time after time, on various areas of the body, seemed like a blessing. But, the ultimate effect of these sessions was to destroy the ability of the body to produce the red and white blood cells we depend on for life. I did not understand that these were a signal that the medical profession had given up any hope of a remission, because the doctors continually talked to us of impending victory. I did not question it, full of continuing hope as I was. In effect, they were offering palliative care, while continuing to test drug combinations on my late wife.

Eventually, these blood cells could only be provided for her by external means. We learned, after a time, that these infusions of blood cells, enormously costly, were the only way to keep my late wife alive. I always assumed these would continue, but I marveled at the generosity of the system on which her life depended. The various chemotherapy combinations, with all their accompanying distress, continued to be presented by doctors as the answer and the cure. She followed every prescription faithfully in spite of the discomfort they engendered.

Suddenly, we were informed by the hospital administration that my late spouse was to be assigned to hospice care in our home. Calls to the doctors went unanswered. Any assistance I could provide was replaced by outside help. We were told that the life-giving infusions were being withdrawn. She expired after three weeks, 10 years after first contracting the disease.

I do not know if the doctors ever confided to my late wife the real state of the struggle in which we were engaged. If they did, she never shared the details with me. We never ever spoke of her impending demise.

I remain a survivor of the experience, full of anger at the caregivers, anger at my helplessness and ignorance, and full of rage against the inexorability, the implacability of the disease. Its overwhelming power in the face of our defences, even after once having been initially repulsed, gives me little faith in the happy claims of any early relief in our struggles against the disease.

I appreciate that there have been some small victories, that some conditions have become treatable instead of fatal. I am grateful for that. I appreciate that we must encourage those who are facing the challenge and the threat. I know that they, and we, have to continue fighting it like soldiers on the frontline, despite our many losses. Cancer, I hate it!

Max Roytenberg is a Vancouver-based poet, writer and blogger.

Poland’s wartime contradictions

In August, Poland’s right-wing cabinet approved a bill that would criminalize using the phrase “Polish death camp” or “Polish concentration camp,” with punishments including fines or imprisonment.

The bill raises questions about Poland’s role in the Holocaust. It echoes the country’s communist-era stance on the Second World War – that Poland was a victim and heroically saved Jews.

Growing up, I was told the opposite by my family, my Jewish day school and the broader community – that Poland was antisemitic and complicit in the Holocaust.

But recently, I’ve come to believe that both narratives are true. As we approach the High Holy Days and Yizkor, I think it’s worth reflecting on whether we as a community can see Poland’s role in the Holocaust differently.

This summer, I visited Poland for the first time with my sister, and the trip was full of contradictions. For example, we learned that Christian Poles – including our local guide’s grandparents – were sent to concentration camps, too. The Nazis killed two to three million Christian Poles and three million Jewish Poles. In total, Poland lost one-fifth of its prewar population – more than any other European country. But, those numbers represent roughly 10% of the Christian Polish population and 90% of the Jewish Polish population.

At the POLIN Museum in Warsaw, I learned about Zegota, the Council to Aid Jews. The Polish government-in-exile created it to support and fund Jewish resistance in Poland, including the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising; it was the only such organization created by a European government.

At Yad Vashem, Poland has the most Righteous Among the Nations of any country. Yet, it also lost one of the highest percentages of Jews of all European countries.

We found that Holocaust memorials were also inconsistent, dependent on local policies rather than a unified national one. In our baba’s hometown of Wlodawa, the Jewish cemetery is now a park, without a Holocaust memorial, unlike the many memorials around Warsaw, Krakow and the preserved camps. This inconsistency seems to reflect the divisions within Polish society about whether, and how much, Poland took part in the Holocaust.

In our zeyda’s (z”l) hometown of Bilgoraj, we spoke with three people (through our guide) who live near his former house, which was recently torn down to build a shopping mall. One of them, who had the same build and attire as our zeyda, recognized our family name and said that our zeyda’s next-door neighbors were rumored to have hidden Jews (including, possibly, one of our zeyda’s younger sisters). Another neighbor said her mother hid a Jewish man for three days before he fled town, and that Jews and Christians lived in peace before the war. (Our grandparents never expressed that.)

Nearby, a new development claims to recreate the town shtetl, including Isaac Bashevis Singer’s house, a Belarusian-style (not a local-style) synagogue and luxury apartments. We called it “shtetl Disney.” We didn’t see any information on display about why the real shtetl disappeared, and I only hope that no one will want to live in a place that seeks to profit from nostalgia for a lost community. But that, too, depends on how people see their country’s role in that loss.

At the Krakow Jewish Culture Festival, we took a synagogue walking tour with a guide who, like a growing number of Poles, has discovered her own Jewish ancestry since communism ended. (She’s now a Yiddish lecturer at Columbia.) We learned that Polish-Jewish history dates back 1,000 years, since Jews fled the Crusades and got special protection, including freedom of religion, from a series of Polish kings. We also saw “Jewish-style” restaurants run by and for non-Jews, and “shtetl rabbi” statuettes being sold in the Old Town – we felt uncomfortable seeing people exoticize and capitalize on our culture.

We also saw a play, based on a true story, about a Jewish Torontonian with Polish roots who visits Poland for the first time, confronts the history and legacy of the Holocaust and witnesses the country’s “Jewish revival,” led by Jews and Christians. Seeing some of our experience reflected back at us emphasized, for me, that Polishness and Ashkenazi Jewishness are partly intertwined, whether or not we acknowledge it.

Realizing that our family is more Polish than we’d thought was both heartwarming and heartbreaking. On our way to Wlodawa, we bought fresh forest blueberries along a highway, and realized our grandparents would have grown up eating them, rather than discovering them in Vancouver as adults, as we’d assumed. In Wlodawa, the restaurant where we ate lunch could have been our baba’s dining room: the walls were peach, the curtains were lace and doilies covered the tables. In Lublin, flea-market stalls sold porcelain figurines just like the ones in her glass-doored cabinets. Were we in Poland, or at home?

Several times, I’ve wondered what to make of these contradictions.

The Jewish community, coming from collective trauma, can insist that Poland was a perpetrator; the Polish government, wanting to avoid collective reflection or partial responsibility, can insist it was a victim or martyr.

The truth is, some Christian Poles collaborated and killed Jews; some joined the partisans or hid Jews; most did nothing. The country was occupied and partitioned, and no one (Jewish or Christian) knew what was going to happen. There was a death penalty for resisting or hiding Jews. The truth is, societies are messy and heterogeneous, and we can’t make universal statements about them.

My question is, do Jews and Polish society want to perpetuate narratives that deny the differences within Polish society during the Second World War? Or do we want to heal?

If we want healing, I believe both communities need to accept that Poland was both perpetrator and victim, complicit and righteous – much as we may not want to, and much as that may feel difficult or even impossible. If we can accept this paradox, maybe then we can move from our respective pain to some kind of healing.

Tamara Micner is a playwright and journalist from Vancouver who lives in London, England. Her work has appeared in the Globe and Mail, Wall Street Journal and London Review of Books.

BDS puts Green party in turmoil

In early August, the Green Party of Canada voted at its national convention to endorse boycott-divestment-sanctions (BDS) measures against segments of Israel’s economy and society. BDS advocates were quick to claim victory, citing that the Greens are now the first Canadian political party of any significance to support BDS.

But not so fast.

In the wake of the vote, party leader Elizabeth May immediately declared she was “devastated” by the decision and “disappointed that the membership has adopted a policy in favor of a movement that I believe to be polarizing, ineffective and unhelpful in the quest for peace and security for the peoples of the Middle East.” May added that, “as is the right of any member, I will continue to express personal opposition to BDS” – a breath-taking statement to hear from a party leader, particularly when the leader is the party’s sole voice in Parliament.

In the weeks that followed, May openly mused to the media about how this entire episode was causing her to rethink her future in the Green party. In an interview with CBC Radio, May talked about the possibility of walking away from the party: “I would say as of this minute I think I’d have real difficulties going not just to an election but through the next month. There are a lot of issues I want to be talking about with Canadians, and this isn’t one of them.”

And May wasn’t alone. The leader of the Green Party of British Columbia, Andrew Weaver, issued a scathing statement disavowing the federal party’s decision. “This is not a policy that I nor the B.C. Green party support,” said Weaver. “I think the Green Party of Canada needs to take a careful look at their policy process and ask themselves how a policy that goes against Green party values could have been allowed on the floor of a convention.”

Various Green candidates likewise condemned the decision. One from Ottawa said, “I’m in a state of disbelief.… I don’t agree with it, I don’t like having that over me going into [the next] election.” Another, from Halifax, said the policy is “destructive for the party.… Every country has its issues. When we specifically single out Israelis, I worry about the buzzwords and subtext and code language, which is antisemitic.”

A party torn apart. A leader willing to quit. Controversial headlines eclipsing anything else the party intended to highlight coming out of convention. Is this what a BDS victory looks like?

The fight against BDS revolves around psychology much more than economics. Israel’s economy is strong, with trade and ties growing despite calls for BDS. But, on the psychological level, BDS activities have the potential to poison attitudes toward Israel among civil society organizations and demoralize the Jewish community. On both levels, BDS proponents failed when it comes to the Green party.

While May has since declared she will stay on as leader, every Green voter should be outraged that BDS activists – in using the party to promote their own marginal agenda – nearly pushed the Greens’ only voice in Parliament out of the party. If anything, this initiative has exposed the toxic nature of BDS to those it intended to seduce. As CIJA Chair David Cape recently wrote: “Once again, BDS has proven bitterly and publicly divisive for political parties that contemplate endorsing it. In this case, BDS has sown resentment among Greens and come at a great cost for anti-Israel activists.”

And when it comes to the morale of the Jewish community, this issue has mobilized thousands of Jewish Canadians across the political spectrum (including former Green party members) to speak out and condemn the party’s hostility toward Israel. In a matter of weeks, CIJA galvanized some 7,500 Canadians to email the Green party’s leadership to express their opposition to this initiative. Without question, our united efforts had an impact, with May openly admitting BDS is “very clearly a polarizing movement that leaves most of the Jewish community in Canada feeling that it is antisemitic.”

Hopefully, this will spur May and other Greens to take the steps needed to annul the BDS policy and regain control of the party’s direction from those behind this hateful agenda.

Steve McDonald is deputy director, communications and public affairs, at the Centre for Israel and Jewish Affairs.

Those who came before us

I was recently in Australia, where I presented at Limmud Oz, a Jewish festival of learning. One thing – among many – that struck me about the community was that, on more than one occasion, Limmud sessions or other parlor meetings opened with a public acknowledgment of the elders of the Gadigal people (in Sydney) and the Boonwurrung people of the Kulin Nation (in Melbourne).

Similar acknowledgments are becoming more common in locales across Canada – references to the Métis Nation at events in Winnipeg; the Musqueam, Squamish and Tsleil-Waututh in Vancouver; the Wendat, Anishewabe and Massasagua in Toronto; the Algonquin in Ottawa. But I have only heard this done once in a Jewish context – at a Jewish Voices for Peace event in Ottawa.

Ittay Flescher, a Jewish educator at Mount Scopus Memorial College, a day school in Melbourne, has been one of many educators to call for his school assemblies to open with a similar acknowledgment, and feature signs on classroom walls “acknowledging country,” in Australian parlance. His shul, Shira Hadasha, a partnership minyan, also incorporates such a statement in its Prayer for Australia.

Flescher has gone deeper in raising awareness, having introduced a Grade 9 aboriginal studies course. These students were in kindergarten when the government issued its historic 2007 apology for the Stolen Generations policies, whereby aboriginal children were taken from their parents to be raised by whites – Australia’s version of Canada’s terrible Sixties Scoop.

Named Yorta Yorta Beyachad (beyachad means “together” in Hebrew), the course is anchored in a little-known event that bound Australia’s Jewish community in Shepparton to William Cooper of the Yorta Yorta tribe. Having been one of the first to launch an aboriginal civil rights movement, in 1938, Cooper – a person with no status, no voting rights and no formal citizenship, as was the case among aboriginals in Australia at the time – turned his sights to another oppressed people. Appalled by the events of Kristallnacht, Cooper marched to the German consulate in Melbourne to present a petition denouncing “the cruel persecution of the Jewish people by the Nazi government of Germany,” an act of protest that stayed virtually hidden until it was discovered by a Melbourne archivist in 2002.

Each year, Flescher takes his students to Yorta Yorta country in partnership with the Australian Jewish social justice organization Stand Up. For three days, they meet with elders, learn traditional dances, discuss issues around identity, and deepen their understanding of aboriginal history. They visit Cummergunja, one of the Catholic missions where aboriginals were forcibly placed in 1889. They even visited Cooper’s grave where they recited Kaddish for the victims of the Shoah. “It was an incredibly moving and humbling experience,” Flescher said.

The Canadian Jewish community is beginning to tackle the issue as well. The CJN reported in May on a Jewish teen cultural exchange to the Nipissing First Nation Reserve. And, in response to the Truth and Reconciliation Commission, several Jewish groups, including Ve’ahavta, the Toronto Board of Rabbis, the Canadian Council for Reform Judaism and CIJA, signed a “statement of solidarity and action.” Bernie Farber, former head of Canadian Jewish Congress and now head of Mosaic Institute, has been at the forefront of moves to advance deep and thoughtful discussion about the fate of the First Nations.

These are all encouraging. And, like the dancing of the hands before reciting the Shabbat candle blessing or the kissing of the mezuzah before entering a room, there is something powerful about a ritual-like statement at the beginning of a Jewish gathering to acknowledge who came before us and how we can help repair the wrongs inflicted – even if most of us, or our ancestors, were fleeing our own private horrors when we arrived at the shores of this great country.

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. This article was originally published in the CJN.

A call to community seniors

Recently, I met an old friend. During our conversation over coffee, he asked if I was still involved with the Jewish Seniors Alliance of Greater Vancouver. “Of course,” I said. With a funny look on his face, he said, “You are putting a lot of time into this work.”

His remark and the look irritated me quite a bit, and I said, “Joe, you are probably 10 years younger than I am, you have your wife and children near you, you are a lucky man. You are also financially independent. It may be possible that you are not aware and possibly don’t care about what is happening around you – you are complacent.”

Let me bring Joe – and you – up to date.

There are several hundred elders in our community who are poor, lonely, marginalized or abused. JSA is making every possible effort to find these isolated individuals in order to help them.

In its outreach and advocacy programs, JSA is contributing to the well-being of countless elders with our educational programs. We reach out to these people through our two forums and four Empowerment Series sessions yearly; through our Senior Line magazine, which is published three times a year and contains current, relevant and well-research articles; and by means of our website, which not only informs but entertains.

And Joe, why should your indifferent attitude change? You are OK and you believe that JSA has nothing to offer you. But, there are hundreds of seniors giving of their time and wisdom to help other seniors. Something else you should know Joe – sooner or later, almost every senior needs help.

At our annual general meeting in September, JSA will be honoring a few individuals selected by their organizations for their extensive volunteer work for Vancouver’s seniors. And Joe, please note that JSA’s events are cost-free and are not fundraisers. Our outreach programs have a preventive focus, so that people like us remain functioning and enjoying a healthy life for as long as possible.

And Joe, if you think that this is all, let me tell you about our Peer Support Program, which JSA started almost four years ago.

Our two professionals have trained more than 100 senior volunteers to be peer counselors: to give emotional support, to conduct weekly visits at seniors’ homes and to make weekly phone calls. The peer counselor takes a 55-hour training course, and the callers and visitors take a 17.5-hour training course.

These trained volunteers come from every walk of life and different cultural backgrounds, and they speak many languages. They have a clean police record and they sign a confidentiality agreement. Their commitment to JSA is for at least one year. To date, we have more than 50 volunteers servicing more than 150 families.

JSA also provides referrals to seniors and their families, enabling them to access benefits and services offered by the municipal, provincial and federal governments. JSA’s bereavement support program helps seniors, either individually or in a group setting.

Last year, JSA trained 11 seniors to be ambassadors for creating awareness of senior abuse in homes and institutions. They talk to individuals or groups of seniors, and more than 300 seniors have benefited so far from this program.

Frankly, Joe, I shudder at the thought of what would happen if JSA were unable to provide these unique services in our community. We are in contact with 5,000 seniors, and we are doing our best to inform, educate and entertain them.

Seniors have the untapped power to help themselves politically. Unfortunately, this power is being wasted by either disinterest or failing to act. Only 650 to 700 seniors have chosen to be members of JSA, although it costs a mere $18 a year.

JSA must exist, grow and be able, with the support of the community, to provide these services. However, community involvement and financial support and interest are crucial. Without volunteers, nothing would be possible!

How about you Joe? You are not involved in anything right now – perhaps it is about time to start giving of yourself to our community?

Serge Haber is president emeritus of Jewish Seniors Alliance of Greater Vancouver. A version of this article was originally published in the June issue of the organization’s magazine, Senior Line.