Opinion – Page 18

Speaking up for safe spaces

Although I have been doing Daf Yomi (studying a page of Talmud a page a day), I fell asleep a few days ago before I could finish learning my page of Talmud. I was worn out. And it was a page particularly relevant to my life.

Bava Kamma 99 talks about the value a craftsperson brings to the raw materials. For instance, if a customer brought wool to be dyed but something went wrong and the dyer made a mistake, the dyer would owe the customer the value of the wool. The value of the craftsperson’s enhancement is a different, additional calculation on top of the raw materials’ value. The skill and artistry that the craftsperson brings to their craft has economic value, which is part of what this tractate of Jewish law covers.

I’m a maker. I create lots of things, from baking bread to making labneh and many homemade family meals. I can make jams and pickles. I’m a hand spinner. I also dye yarn. I knit and design things. I even occasionally weave. I sew clothing, too, if in an elementary way. I appreciate it when I read about how a craftsperson adds value to raw materials in a Jewish text because it’s personally relatable. It shows that, in a time when everything was handmade, the rabbis valued the skilled work involved to make functional and sometimes beautiful things.

Since I had to study the rest of page 99 before heading on, I did half of that page and the next on the same day. Bava Kamma 100a talks about how teachers “go beyond” – not just in how they teach Torah, but in how they do mitzvot (commandments) and help others. Even though I trained as a teacher long ago, nobody’s an expert at everything. I teach some things, like hand spinning, and not others. I’m not able to “go beyond” as a sewing teacher, for example, and, instead, I searched for someone who could teach my kids.

My kids took sewing classes and attended sewing camp for two summers at a studio nearby. The small business owner was warm and inviting. It seemed to be a safe place. When she asked people to write blog posts for her, I did. It didn’t pay much but I thought it was a good community business, promoting slow fashion and reuse.

As many people were, I was in shock after Oct. 7. I didn’t immediately see anything concerning about this business, as it felt like it was “mostly” about sewing. Then, eventually, I began to realize that, in fact, there was an increasing trickle of activism on this social media feed. Like many Canadian progressives, this was part of a wider theme. Nothing was expressed in solidarity with the hostages or those who died on Oct. 7. Rather, the business began acknowledging and amplifying Palestinian influencers, posting participation in a raffle for the Red Crescent and posting ceasefire comments.

Every time I ask questions of someone I know – Why are you posting this? Do you support the right to a democracy to protect itself? – the exchanges, often disappointing, take an enormous amount of energy. Being brave and speaking out is tiring with so much antisemitism circulating.

I finally got up the nerve to ask the business owner … why are you posting about this, what does this activism about Israel and Gaza have to do with your small business? Are you Israeli or Palestinian? Are you an activist about a lot of things beyond slow fashion? If so, where is your outrage about Nigeria, Sudan, Syria, Uyghurs…?

In response, she did say she wanted all the hostages released, but she had never posted that publicly. Instead, she had reposted images promoting a tatreez (Palestinian embroidery) class. Fine, I thought, this aligned with her sewing business – but the image posted showed the outline of Israel with Arabic on top that read “PALESTINE” across the whole country. It erased Israel altogether.

I engaged via social media messaging, but saw it wasn’t likely to help. She asked, well, what do you want me to say? I suggested one could choose to be an ally of people you taught or worked with, or could choose to listen and to not amplify only one side. She didn’t choose either of those options. Instead, she decided to take down my writing from her site. I’d suggested that she could remove my name, if she chose, as it was her prerogative, that she’d bought my writing and owned it.

She then made things clear, saying it was “Only Jews who told her to ‘shut up’ or ‘stay in her lane as a Canadian.’” She said plenty of Jews aligned with her beliefs … although, based on the polls, I responded they were likely a minority. I suggested maybe only those Jewish customers brave enough to say something had spoken up.

I was initially sad to lose this community connection. I could have unfollowed this person without this discussion. My kids would never have taken another class. I’d never do business with her again. The depth of her concerning opinions wouldn’t have been revealed.

By exposing this small businessperson’s attitude, I learned more about what was “out there” in the local makers’ community. This included a willingness to lose business and relationships with students and clients who feel uncomfortable with these views.

I struggle sometimes to create a positive sewing lesson environment for my kids at home. However, there’s a different outcome here. I might grow as a person from “adding value to raw materials” as a craftsperson, to teaching more. This was something I could do. I falsely hoped that, if I tried hard to communicate, build bridges and connect with this person, things would change. But I need to continue learning and growing, too. Even this negative experience might have positive potential for growth.

When telling my family about the experience at the dinner table, my twins surprised me by saying, “Well, what took you so long? We could never go back there again.” Indeed, sometimes we give intolerant people too many chances to rise to the occasion, to become upstanding people. In this case, my kids knew the way before I did.

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

Anti-racism work at risk

Selina Robinson resigned Monday as British Columbia’s minister of post-secondary education and future skills. She also announced she would not seek reelection as the member of the Legislature for Coquitlam-Maillardville – though she said the latter was a decision she had made earlier.

The resignation Monday afternoon was the culmination of a remarkably speedy controversy that erupted late last week, after video circulated of Robinson, during a B’nai Brith Canada panel discussion, referring to pre-state Israel as a “crappy piece of land with nothing on it.” That she qualified the statement immediately, saying “there were several hundred thousand people, but, other than that, it didn’t produce an economy, it couldn’t grow things, it didn’t have anything on it,” is cut off from almost all the video clips.

The language choice was problematic and careless, no question. The Zionist movement has often been criticized for consciously or unconsciously overlooking the presence of existing populations in the land that became the modern state of Israel. One of the original slogans was: “A land without a people for a people without a land.” Robinson certainly knows this history.

What she meant – as she clarified again after the controversy erupted – was that the land had few if any natural resources or economic development. There is nothing historically inaccurate about that. Not only did Palestine not have an abundance of natural resources but, for hundreds of years, it had been an ignored piece of a failing Ottoman Empire, then, for two decades, an abused outpost of British colonialism. Regardless, the way in which Robinson spoke is not a fair or productive way to talk about a land that clearly (so clearly) means so much to so many people. Resources, economic or otherwise, are not the markers of the inherent value of a land or its significance to Indigenous peoples or anyone with a close relationship to place. That said, the feverish response to her words has been out of proportion. There is a world in which her clarification and apology would have sufficed. But, of course, this is politics.

And it is more than just politics. It is Israel and Palestine politics – and that is a particularly vicious game, even here in peaceable Canada. Annamie Paul, former head of the Green Party of Canada, learned tragically what can happen to a Jewish political leader who dares to take a nuanced position (or, really, anything but a wildly anti-Israel approach) to Middle East affairs. Some of us feared Robinson’s principles on this front put a similar target on her back. We’ve been proved right.

Robinson has been an outspoken pro-Israel voice, never more than since Oct. 7. There is no doubt that some were looking for an opportunity to knock her down – and she stumbled in a bad way, leaving her open to precisely the sort of attack some people were no doubt itching for.

Protesters, who, since Oct. 7, have been ready to mobilize about Israel with any provocation, moved into action. Social media erupted in such performative ferocity one would think British Columbians had suddenly discovered one of our leaders was a member of the Klan.

A major New Democratic Party fundraising gala Sunday night was canceled, apparently because they feared a protest that would distract from the party’s message in an election year. A news conference on Monday on a completely unrelated issue was also canceled, presumably for the same reason.

Groups accused Robinson of “blatant bigotry.” Anjali Appadurai, who ran against the current Premier David Eby for party leader, accused Robinson of “racist views.” Protesters Monday and people on social media accused her of “white supremacy.” After the controversy arose but before she resigned, Robinson had agreed to take anti-Islamophobia training.

It is perhaps most remarkable that the people most loudly condemning Robinson probably intersect significantly with the demographic that contests the widely accepted definition of antisemitism, contending, in effect, that Jews make up false “smears” about bigotry for political gain. This, of course, is precisely what happened to Robinson: an offhand (and, yes, offensive) remark is recast as “Islamophobia” by activists who have been waiting to pounce on precisely this sort of slipup. Not incidentally, it sidelines one of Canada’s few Jewish, pro-Israel elected officials.

The rhetoric being used around whiteness, settler colonialism and vulnerable communities also reinforces narratives about Israel that are deeply troubling and rooted in antisemitism and ignorance. Robinson’s comments, heard through an already flawed lens, produced a result that was all but predetermined by entrenched narratives. This is a disturbing reality, one that hurts more than Jews and their allies. Such abuse of terms like racism and white supremacy offend the serious work we must do as a society to confront these problems. Mobilizing these terms for crude political gain, as they have been against Robinson, undermines the fight against racism.

Robinson, and many in the Jewish community, no doubt feel heartbroken this week. In the long run, though, it is the people of British Columbia who are the losers. They have lost the services of a committed public servant.

More than this, our political culture and the fight against racism in all its forms have been debased.

Small but staying visible

A new novel blurb for Tilda is Visible by Jane Tara just arrived in my email inbox. I haven’t read it yet, but its premise is familiar. Publisher’s Lunch describes it as a book “about a successful woman who wakes up one day to discover her ear is gone, the next day her nose; she is diagnosed with a condition whispered about around the globe – as some women age, they start to disappear; she finds a renegade doctor, other diagnosed women, as well as a blind man who might see her more clearly than anyone ever has.”

The plot reminded me of an anecdote I heard. Since a person in a position of authority at work must be impartial, any outward expressions of her Judaism or feelings about the war remain mostly off-limits as a “boss.” An admin assistant proudly hangs a Ukrainian flag, but an Israeli flag is out of bounds. The boss feels that the current situation and increasing antisemitism make her feel smaller. Her recent solution? She put up a piece of tape on her door with a handwritten number. She does this to recognize how long Israeli hostages have been held in Gaza. This idea, started by hostage Hersh Goldberg-Polin’s mother, Rachel, helps people show a visible sign of concern about the hostages. It’s a small way to stay visible during a difficult time.

Older women often experience the feeling of becoming smaller. As women age, their earnings can decrease, despite job seniority or wisdom. If a woman doesn’t dye her hair or “keep up” appearances, others comment that she is “past her prime,” as if worth is only wrapped up in appearances or fertility. Despite recent legal or financial protections, many older women’s financial worth depends directly on a higher-earning male partner.

Many Jews describe a similar feeling of “becoming smaller” after Oct. 7. Politicians pair antisemitism and Islamophobia when discussing discrimination and hate, but the numbers aren’t equivalent. In Canada, the Jewish community is a minority and, in terms of population, substantially smaller than the Muslim community. Jewish community members describe choosing not to shop in areas where they used to feel safe or trying to avoid conflict in places where protests take place. Protesters may hold Jewish Canadians somehow responsible for the Gaza war.

There have always been security concerns, but now when a Jewish event happens, organizers include information about security provisions. We are a small group, forced by circumstance to become smaller to protect ourselves. Our worth and safety as citizens feels tied to the majority’s interest in keeping minorities from harm.

For some, it’s a new and restrictive feeling. However, social media clips of Israeli soldiers singing “Gesher Tzar Me’od” show that this isn’t new. These words, which come from Rabbi Nachman of Breslov, with music written by Ofra Haza, are “The whole world is a narrow bridge and the main thing is not to be at all afraid.”

Rabbi Nachman lived from 1772 to 1811 in Ukraine and founded the Breslov Hasids. He was the great-grandson of the Baal Shem Tov, who started Hasidism. During his lifetime, Rav Nachman traveled to Israel, moved within Ukraine, and struggled with tuberculosis. Although he died at age 38, his teachings remain vibrant. While this song is old, the message remains contemporary.

One way to understand the feeling of becoming smaller or narrower is to look at Jewish texts that embrace the concept. Psalm 118:5 says, “From the narrow place I called out to you [G-d], G-d answered me from a wide space.” Another translation ends, “the Lord answered me and brought me relief.” The word for Egypt, Mitzrayim, holds within it this idea of a “narrow space.” How eerie that soldiers, heading south into Gaza, towards Egypt, reminded themselves of this.

Continuing the metaphor, when leaving Egypt, Moses took the people into the wilderness, which is seen as a big, uncharted territory. Diving into the unknown is scary. New endeavours feel this way, whether it’s something dangerous like a war or something less worrying, like starting something new or entering an unfamiliar place.

We’re often encouraged that, if we dive in and move beyond our anxieties, we will have great opportunities ahead. Surely Rabbi Nachman’s efforts to help people seemed novel in his time. He taught through niggunim, wordless melodies. He encouraged his followers to embrace uninhibited prayer, personal conversations with the Divine, and to fulfil the mitzvah of always being joyful. To those who just go to services and follow along, or who don’t pray at all, it all might feel a little ecstatic and weird.

Yet, getting beyond a narrow place or being made to feel small can sometimes result in something bigger and better ahead. Whether you make yourself bigger through prayer, protest, quiet signals (like masking tape numbers), getting out into nature and the world or singing, you are finding a bigger space for yourself. When I simply take a walk with my dog and pause to see the prairie landscape, to greet neighbours and be greeted, I feel momentary narrow places dissipating. In contrast, when we think of the truly small spaces where Israeli hostages spend their time, our feelings of being diminished in the diaspora may not feel as pressing.

We choose to see others and be seen when we consider wider possibilities or the wilderness ahead. Being acknowledged and “seen” for our contributions helps everyone. It scares away our inhibitions to make it past the narrow spaces and into a better time. Right now, advocacy through law helps some fight hate and discrimination. Some, like the Israel Defence Forces, physically fight. Others might bide their time in scary, smaller spaces to get to a safer space, a place full of potential, ahead.

When we’re afraid, our breathing becomes shallow. We get less oxygen to our brain. We think less clearly. Rabbi Nachman and Ofra Haza may not have known the biology behind why singing would open up our souls. Surely, those deep singing breaths help us take on bigger, harder things. Those deep breaths, like experiencing the outdoors in nature, offer us more power to conquer our fears. When we sing out, we also become visible. Our voices, even as a minority in the diaspora, may be heard.

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

End the war: surrender

This week’s suggestion of a time-limited ceasefire that would free remaining hostages in Gaza and return the bodies of the dead to their families seems, in the context of a bleak historical moment, encouraging. The optics of bartering for the lives (and dead bodies) of Jews is something that should (but won’t) make the world recoil in revulsion. Nonetheless, anything that brings the hostages home is worthy of consideration.

A comprehensive agreement brokered by third parties could have positive results, even as it includes the releasing of Palestinians imprisoned in Israel, including those who are guilty of terrorism. At a minimum, it would not be the vague “ceasefire” some have been calling for, which others might view as letting Hamas off the hook for their atrocities. A blanket ceasefire without a release of hostages is, and should be, out of the question.

All this talk of ceasefire, though, should raise a question almost no one seems to be asking. With so many calls for Israel to declare a ceasefire, why is no one – seemingly no one, including Israel-supporting voices – calling for Hamas to surrender?

Conceivably, this particular war could end tomorrow if Hamas conceded. Why aren’t the voices who want to end this war now calling for the one step that could realize that goal?

Certainly, the idea of Hamas surrendering and their leaders facing justice is unpalatable to sympathizers in the West. There is a not-negligible number of activists and commentators who not only support the Palestinian “resistance” in theory, but support it at its most brutal, celebrating the kidnappings, rapes and murders as “amazing” and “brilliant” (in the words of just one college instructor on the steps of the Vancouver Art Gallery in October).

There is also the slightly more convincing idea that, while a democratic government like Israel’s may be swayed by overseas public opinion, a terror regime will not be. As fair as this assumption may seem on its face, evidence debunks it. Millions of people marching worldwide, dressings-down by the United States’ president and top diplomat, a show trial over “genocide” at the International Court of Justice and what seems like a world aligned against it seems to have altered the Israeli resolve not a gram.

The inevitable fallback position in these discussions is that Israel is the powerful party here and so holds the cards. The power differential does not mean, though, that Israelis either are not vulnerable or that they are to blame for the war. For the families of those murdered on Oct. 7 and the Israeli soldiers killed in this conflict, power differentials are a pile of dirt next to empty chairs at their tables. For whatever power discrepancies might exist, Hamas has shown its ability to breech Israel’s defences, and its resolve to do so again, if it can. Hamas has the one card up its sleeve that could end this war: surrender.

Calls for a ceasefire imply that Israel should surrender itself to a future of perpetual terror, because Hamas has repeatedly expressed the determination to fight until Israel is eliminated – setting up a zero-sum situation in which anything short of the complete eradication of Hamas is a defeat for Israel. On the other hand, Israel has made unilateral moves in the past – disengaging from Gaza in 2005, for example – and will likely be forced to do so again as perpetual war is untenable on several levels.

As numerous commentators recently have suggested, total de-Hamas-ification of Gaza is probably unlikely. Perhaps the endpoint will be a situation in which Israel has achieved a position of unequivocal strength, with the likelihood of a repeat of Oct. 7 eliminated, and some as-yet-unimagined political structure in place in Gaza. While street activists and diplomats worldwide think they have all the answers to what Israel should do, not one group has stepped up to suggest they would serve as peacekeepers or otherwise oversee Gaza’s transition away from Hamas’s regime. There are, of course, larger geopolitical imperatives, including the maintenance and expansion of the Abraham Accords, which Saudi Arabia has said depend on a two-state solution. Prime Minister Binyamin Netanyahu, to the consternation of American and other officials, is insisting Palestinian statehood is off the table for now.

Another realistic reason why Western observers may not be calling on Hamas to give up is the understanding – intuitive, if not conscious – that Hamas will never surrender because it is determined to continue this fight regardless of cost and futility. Their stated goal is the eradication of Israel even if that takes generations. Hamas leaders have indicated that thousands upon thousands of dead Palestinians are a small price to pay for a centimetre’s advance toward that ultimate goal. The embedding of terror infrastructure in civilian areas, the use of human shields and child combatants are evidence that Hamas will fight to the last person.

In Jewish cyberspace and in Israel-minded media, there have been millions of words spilled in recent weeks about the necessity of victory, the justness of the war even in the face of the mounting casualties and much more. There also have been calls for a ceasefire as a way to get the beloved hostages back home with their families and their hurting nation.

Given what’s at stake, we hope and pray for what seems impossible, a Hamas surrender. We also hope and pray for the possible – that Israel will be victorious in achieving its security, that there will be a world in which both Israel and Palestine coexist in peace. And, more immediately, that the hostages will be returned.

Critical thinking a vital skill

As a 20-something in the mid-1990s, I taught high school English. Part of my course load was a collaborative Grade 10 World Civilizations course that I co-taught with a social studies teacher. One day, I flippantly advertised our next assignment to a room of 16-year-olds, saying, “Oh, hey, we’re going to start reading Candide by Voltaire next week! You’ll love it! It’s full of sex, drugs and violence.”

To my surprise, many of those students talked to their parents. I received a flurry of concerned phone calls, messages and emails. Parents were worried about the curriculum. In the end, my explanations were successful. Yes, it’s true that Candide is probably rated R, but this fantastical satire was first published in 1759. It’s a famous classic, it’s definitely “literature,” with lots of intrigue and ideas we can learn from – and, oh yeah, it’s not true.

Literature teachers often speak of the great truths found in the classics, but fiction isn’t “the truth.” It’s complicated to untangle, and that’s why we study it to develop our critical thinking skills. In our multi-discipline history and English course, we had opportunities to discuss how history evolved, how we could examine primary sources to draw conclusions, and more. Literature was just a part of our opportunity to read and analyze important texts.

All this came to mind recently when some antisemitic posts came my way via social media concerning the Talmud. People started quoting the Talmud and inferring from brief quotations that Jews did all sorts of evil things. This was something of a modern blood libel approach; using brief snippets out of the huge body of law and literary work to condemn an entire ethnoreligious group. What followed was both a lot of nonsense and some deep belly laughs from Jews and scholars who study Talmud. Now, if you want to understand this text, buy all the tractates of the Babylonian (and don’t forget the Jerusalem) Talmud. You’re looking at a several-thousand-dollar purchase, which you can’t read unless you know Aramaic and Mishnaic Hebrew, as well as Rashi script, to read his commentary.

In recent years, Sefaria, an online database, has offered access to Talmud and many other Jewish texts, both in the original and in translation, for free. It’s been a tremendous gift and democratization of these ancient texts. However, having access doesn’t mean you have understanding. Like reading Candide for the first time, it’s helpful to have a teacher, some historical context, and lots of support to aid in your comprehension. These online X commenters, taking short rabbinic quotes out of context, had no idea what they were talking about. In many cases, the Talmud’s rabbinic musings explore arbitrary legal situations that never happened in order to explore and define the minutiae of Jewish law.

Also online, I saw others bemoaning how learning historical “facts” seemed solid and unquestionable – dates and events – but that, with modern events, it seemed hard to define what had happened and what was true as compared to misinformation. This anecdotal experience is common but it’s misleading. It takes a long time to establish a common narrative around a historical event, and “the winners” of war or political events create their version of history. Using multiple primary sources, as well as multiple historians’ accounts, helps learners see how historians lend their biases to their interpretation of what happened. We only get a full picture of “what happened” through exploring many perspectives from multiple sources. Even then, it’s hard to know if the history we’ve learned is “true,” or not.

Developing a mature understanding of literature and world events requires us to be critical thinkers. As F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote in 1936, “… the test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposed ideas in the mind at the same time, and still retain the ability to function.”

I’d say that, often, intelligent people explore complex political, historical, social or literary scenarios that hold multiple opposing ideas at once. But this kind of learning takes time and energy. It does not happen automatically. Our society loves binaries, where we get a quick yes/no answer.

My kids aren’t in high school. Yet, as a parent, I look forward to the day they come home excited about a “mature” literature assignment full of “sex, drugs and violence.” Each new milestone achieved fills me with hope. This year, for the first time, I have two kids who skate on their own, and I don’t always have to lace them up. At the same time, we’re trying to get to complex, but age-appropriate understandings of the Hamas-Israel war. We explore what is happening along with how the media depicts the situation. Who shapes our understanding of what’s happening? How? Most difficult is exploring the questions around whether anyone “wins” in a war when there is so much suffering involved.

The world is complicated. We can use literature and ideas for enjoyment, but also as tools to help think about big issues. Thinking critically about complex issues is a sign of intelligence and maturity. We must cultivate this skill. I hope it’s something my kids achieve as those long-ago high school students did.

Critical thinking is also a lens through which to examine the multiple simplistic social media and news narratives we’re facing every day. One can ask why the description of an event is so simplistic or who is consistently blamed in the narrative. Often, a short take on Talmud doesn’t demonstrate a deep understanding. A news article that fails to include the back story isn’t going to cut it. A view that always blames only one country – Israel – or one ethnoreligious group – Jews – might be similarly flawed.

Developing our thinking skills enables us to understand complexity. It also helps us discern an argument’s flaws. Let’s nurture smart thinkers so they can recognize and discard the nonsense, misinformation and hate that pops up so frequently now online and in the news.

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

Nuance is vital path to empathy

On the morning of Oct. 7, 2023, I was in Vancouver, celebrating the holiday of Simchat Torah with my family. We woke up, my father went to synagogue, and I lay on the couch sipping coffee and reading a book. Four hours later, I was sitting on the couch of the Mizrachi family. Ben Mizrachi z”l was one of my brother’s closest childhood friends, a pillar of joy in our community, and an attendee of the Nova Music Festival in Israel on Friday evening. I watched for two days in helpless disbelief as his parents waited to hear whether their son was alive. On the third day, his body was identified.

By Oct. 9, I had already unfollowed one of my friends on Instagram. By Oct. 19, the number had become too many to count. I opened my friends’ Instagram stories with a pit of dread in my stomach, wishing I could stop looking, but feeling compelled to know where they stood. Ignorance may be bliss, but knowledge is safety. I watched, feeling resentful and hopeless as friends with no lived experience in this conflict posted comparisons between the Israeli government and Nazi Germany, tokenized anti-Zionist Jewish voices, spread demonizing misinformation, labeled Israelis “European settler-colonialists” and justified sexual violence in the name of “resistance” and “liberation.”

Humans crave consistency. We naturally gravitate towards narratives with a clear villain and an undeniable victim. Research on cognitive dissonance theory has demonstrated that we experience intense psychological discomfort when faced with information that conflicts with a preconceived belief. In response, we can either change the preconceived belief, which requires us to admit we were previously wrong, or we can discount and discredit the new information to protect our self-image. The dominant narrative in liberal North American circles has become that Jews and Israelis are colonizers in a land stolen from Palestinians. In accordance with cognitive dissonance theory, if Jews and Israelis are oppressors, we cannot also be victims. So, we must not be victims, after all. This narrative feeds into classic stereotypes about Jews as powerful, wealthy, manipulative and, in modern parlance, privileged.

Prejudice and discrimination have psychological benefits. Research shows that the act of derogating a member of a stereotyped group has positive implications for self-esteem. One foundational study by Fein and Spencer (1997) found discriminating against a woman who fit the stereotype of a “Jewish American Princess” dramatically improved participants’ self-esteem after receiving negative feedback. In other words, putting others down makes us feel better. Many in my social circles would balk at the mere thought of discriminating against a marginalized group. Yet, if you can convince yourself that a marginalized group is privileged, you can reap the self-esteem benefits of derogation without suffering cognitive dissonance. If Jews are oppressors and not victims, then discrimination is not only warranted, it feels good.

In the study conducted by Fein and Spencer in 1997, research participants enacted their discrimination in private, by degrading the Jewish subject’s personality and job qualifications. Today, we can perform our discrimination publicly through social media. Public discrimination maintains the self-esteem benefits of private discrimination, with the bonus of entrenching belonging within a social in-group. Humans have a fundamental need to belong. We fulfil this need by affiliating ourselves with social in-groups based on race, ethnicity, disability, music preference and TV-show character fandoms. Posting socio-political stances on social media is not simply about sharing information, it is a means of signalling affiliation with a valued in-group of social justice advocates. The opportunity to simultaneously derive a self-esteem boost from the derogation of Jews is a heady combination.

Despite our pursuit of certainty in the face of cognitive dissonance, certainty is the enemy of knowledge, nuance and, in the context of the Israel-Hamas war and other conflicts or social divisions, empathy. Research in social psychology has shown that the more certain we feel about our socio-political opinions, the less likely we are to seek out information that might challenge our beliefs. Those who feel certain in their characterization of the current Israel-Hamas war as morally unambiguous cannot cave to nuance, lest their psychological well-being suffer. Yet, the embrace of two opposing truths is at the core of seeing each other as human, capable of being both villain and victim in the same breath. Sitting with cognitive dissonance is painful, but it is the only path to true empathy.

Shira Mattuck, MA, is a clinical child psychology doctoral student in the Genetics and Neurobehavioural Systems: Interdisciplinary Studies (GENESIS) Lab at the University of Houston. She was born and raised in Vancouver and is a graduate of Vancouver Hebrew Academy and York House School.

Poll addresses bigotry

For Jews around the world, 2023 was among the most traumatizing years in recent memory. The advent of a new secular year, the turning of the calendar page to 2024, presents a figurative new beginning, some optimism and hope for a potentially better time. These emotions do not come easily right now, which is why the results of a recently released opinion poll seem right for the times, reflecting a little darkness and a little light.

An Angus Reid poll asked Canadians their opinions on the prevalence of antisemitism and anti-Muslim hatred and prejudice in Canada.

Addressing both types of prejudice – toward Jews and Muslims – 11% of respondents say there is “not really a problem at all in Canada.” However, about one in 10 respondents viewed antisemitism as a “minor problem” (11%), while 14% said the same about anti-Muslim hatred. More than half of respondents described antisemitism (52%) and anti-Muslim hatred (53%) as “a problem, but one among many others.” And just over one-quarter of respondents, 26%, said antisemitism is “a major problem requiring serious attention,” while 22% said the same about anti-Muslim hatred.

The overall impression left by the poll is that, among Canadians, there is genuine concern and recognition of these bigotries as an issue. Where more worrying numbers arise is when results are teased out based on Jewish and Muslim survey respondents. In both instances, perhaps unsurprisingly, members of the affected groups express the belief that the problems are of much greater severity than the general population seems to think. On the issue of anti-Muslim hatred and prejudice, 48% of Muslim respondents say it is a major problem, while 38% of overall respondents say it’s a problem, but one among many. The first number – with almost half of Muslims saying it is a major problem – is double that of overall respondents.

Meanwhile, 75% of Jewish respondents said antisemitism is a major problem – almost triple the number of overall respondents who thought so. While a vast majority of respondents see antisemitism as a problem, to varying degrees, Jewish respondents are far more likely to view the severity of antisemitism as greater. Conversely, Muslim respondents were almost three times as likely as overall respondents (32% versus 11%) to say antisemitism is “not really a problem at all in Canada.” Fully 49% of Muslim survey respondents said antisemitism is a minor problem or not really a problem, indicating a schism in appreciation of the problem between these communities. Jewish respondents were slightly more acknowledging than overall respondents toward anti-Muslim bias, with 26% calling it a serious problem (compared with 22% overall), 55% as a problem but one among many (versus 53%) and only 4% saying it is not really a problem at all (versus 11%).

Polling is an imperfect science and recent electoral surprises have indicated its shortcomings in dramatic ways. Nevertheless, a poll of this sort probably captures fairly effectively the zeitgeist of Canadian opinion.

One indication seems to be that members of groups affected by prejudice and discrimination view them as much more serious problems than people who are not directly affected. It is human nature to be more concerned about things that affect us directly. However, when there are significant divergences of opinion around the seriousness of a social problem between people who are directly affected and those who are not, it is, at a minimum, a sign of a communication issue and potentially signals a threat to multicultural cohesion.

One might wonder whether those who experience antisemitism and anti-Muslim bigotry are not doing an effective job of explaining their experiences to the larger community, or whether the larger community is not listening – or, perhaps, a combination of both circumstances is at play.

It is often said that the first step in confronting a problem is the simple acknowledgment of its existence. What is absolutely encouraging is the apparently overwhelming recognition that these are problems that need addressing. There has been, in human nature and across history, a tendency among many people who are not affected by racism to be oblivious to it or to actively deny that it exists. We are fortunate that, if this poll is to be believed, we do not need to convince our neighbours that bias and discrimination are issues.

As we look ahead to the rest of 2024, as Jews and Canadians, let’s dedicate ourselves to tangible solutions to these problems and to really listening to other communities when they tell us they are facing prejudice and discrimination. These are two of the challenges we need to rise to meet.

CANCELED Play should not be canceled

Christopher Morris as Jacob in The Runner. (photo by Dylan Hewlett)

Since this article was published, PuSh has canceled the production. For the statement, click here.

The Belfry Theatre in Victoria has removed Christopher Morris’s play The Runner from its 2024 lineup. I can see why it did so – the threats of violence are real, and scary. But it was the wrong decision.

“The Belfry Theatre presents contemporary work, with ideas that often generate dialogue. That is why, a year ago, we decided to bring the much-acclaimed play, The Runner, to Victoria. However, we believe that presenting The Runner at this particular time does not ensure the well-being of all segments of our community,” reads the Jan. 2 statement.

Last month, a petition was started to remove the one-man play about an Israeli rescue worker whose life is forever changed after he helps an Arab woman, who may have stabbed an Israeli soldier to death, before attending to the soldier. A counter-petition was started by members of the Jewish community to keep The Runner at the theatre. At press time, the protest petition had more than 1,400 signatures, while the counter-petition had more than 2,400.

The Belfry Theatre invited people to come and discuss any issues surrounding the play. That Dec. 22 meeting dissolved into chaos, overtaken by protesters with bullhorns and anti-Israel signs. The Belfry building was subsequently vandalized with multiple stickers that said “trash” and anti-Israel sentiments, topped off with a red-spray-painted “Free Palestine.”

The threat of more violence – implied by the aggressiveness of the protesters at the December meeting and the defacement of the theatre’s building – was probably a main reason for the Belfry canceling the show. It seems that the protesters have successfully bullied the theatre into changing its programming. Instead of contributing to a safe space in which ideas could be presented, considered, discussed, perhaps agreed upon, perhaps not, the protesters have created an atmosphere of fear. They have put other creatives on notice – unless you reflect only what we believe, we will shut you down.

By succumbing to the pressure, the Belfry has perhaps protected its staff and its building – the importance of which cannot be understated – but a dangerous precedent has been set. On the larger world stage, we have seen how screaming down other viewpoints, vandalism and worse violence, misrepresentation and misinformation, can win the day. The success of such tactics in Victoria is another reminder, if we needed one, of how easily freedoms can be removed. How easily voices can be silenced.

Accuracy and context matter, and the petition includes neither.

The petition describes The Runner as “a story of Israeli settlers in a dehumanizing exercise of whether Palestinian and Arab life is of value.” Its writers “demand[ed]” the Belfry “remove The Runner from [its] 2024 lineup,” claiming that it “features the violent and racist rhetoric of Zionism from an exclusively Israeli perspective.” They cite two unattributed, non-contextualized sentences from the script that ostensibly support their position.

The play is not about Israeli settlers, it does not celebrate Israeli settlers or militant Zionism. Jacob – a volunteer from Jerusalem with ZAKA (Israel’s nongovernmental rescue and recovery organization) – is the main character, the hero, the one the audience is rooting for, along perhaps with the Arab woman he helps save.

The quote chosen by the petitioners is spoken by Ari, Jacob’s brother, who is portrayed as a rabid settler nationalist. He is a jerk, and an awful brother. People like Ari do exist, but one of the points of the play seems to be that he is not the model human, that his views are not what people should think.

The petitioners have one aspect of the play almost correct: it does focus on Israeli perspectives (plural), as the main character is Israeli, and so are his mother and brother, and his colleagues. And I will admit that I had trouble with this aspect of the play, too. I felt that The Runner only asked questions about Israelis’ morality, that it disparaged Jews’ claims to the land, that it depicted every Israeli character other than Jacob harshly. While terrorism is shown, the terrorist characters aren’t held to any account, in my view, and there are no moral demands made of them.

I am proud that the petition to keep The Runner in the Belfry’s lineup was initiated by members of the Jewish community. I believe in Israel’s right to exist and to defend itself, at the same time as I believe in the right of people to criticize, question and protest. In a democratic country, I don’t see the need to attack people or destroy property to voice an opinion, especially not about the arts. It is no wonder there are multiple conflicts taking place around the world – even in Canada, where we enjoy multiple freedoms and are relatively rich in resources, we find it challenging to be open, civil and respectful of diversity.

If The Runner had encouraged violence or discrimination, I might have signed a petition against it, too, and even joined a rally, but I hope that I would have chosen to critique it instead, to share my point of view instead of trying to silence Morris’s. I certainly would not have chosen to threaten or commit violence against people or property.

Several aspects of The Runner bother me, but I think it is an excellent piece of work because it has taken up more of my brain space than almost any other play, movie or performance that I’ve seen or book or article I’ve read. It has made me angry, thoughtful, sad, and I continue to contemplate my various reactions. It has literally kept me up at night. In this respect, Morris has done his job extremely well. People should see this play. I sincerely hope the bullies will not succeed in silencing the PuSh Festival’s presentation of it as well.

For my interview with Christopher Morris, click here. To read statements about the Belfry Theatre’s decision to remove The Runner from its lineup, click here. For more on the Victoria situation, see thecjn.ca/news/runner-play-victoria.

CANCELED Statements on The Runner

The Jewish Independent received the following statements regarding the play The Runner after the Belfry Theatre in Victoria canceled the scheduled March performances of the play, which is set to run as part of the PuSh Festival in Vancouver Jan. 24-26.

Since this article was published, PuSh has canceled the production. For the statement, click here.

Christopher Morris, artistic director of Human Cargo and playwright of The Runner:

As a playwright who values the role of theatre as a platform to explore ideas about the complexities of life, I was disappointed to learn that the Belfry removed The Runner from its programming. I also empathize with the challenging situation they were facing. I am saddened that people in Victoria – especially those with very divergent views and those traumatized by the atrocities in Israel and Gaza – will be denied the opportunity to come together in a theatre to explore their common humanity, share their grief and perhaps discover a flicker of solace and hope.

Since it premièred in 2018, my play The Runner has been seen by audiences in six cities, received numerous awards and unanimous critical acclaim. I am humbled that theatre companies have produced this play, which is a nuanced and thoughtful conversation about the preciousness of human life. Their endorsement tells me that they also see its effectiveness in creating a dialogue with their audience.

I am deeply traumatized and saddened by humankind’s capacity to wage war. As a Canadian, I want our politicians to do all they can to make the violence in Gaza and Israel stop. I hope theatre companies and playwrights do all they can to give audiences the opportunity for dialogue and to build bridges between our silos. I believe The Runner is an excellent opportunity for those things to happen. And Vancouver audiences will get the chance to experience this production in a few weeks, at the upcoming PuSh Festival.

***

Gabrielle Martin, director of programming, and Keltie Forsyth, director of operations, PuSh Festival:

The PuSh Festival recognizes the pain of those watching or connected to the conflict in Gaza and Israel and the feelings of hurt and helplessness, knowing our experiences here in Vancouver are nothing like those who are suffering direct violence or who have lost homes, friends and family members.

We understand the objections to our programming of The Runner as a part of that shared hurt. When we see death, particularly civilian death, on this scale, we feel the injustice and the inhumanity at work, and we want to do something about it. Here in Canada, far from the conflict, it’s easy to feel helpless, to feel like contacting politicians, rallying or protesting isn’t enough. At PuSh, what we do is present live art, and sometimes we share the feeling that what we do isn’t sufficient.

Art reflects the world and the times in which we live. At its best, it’s an essential cultural force that builds empathy and understanding. Our aim is that PuSh brings us together and inspires us to have complex conversations; to challenge ourselves and each other not only to think differently, but to feel differently. The festival experience is greater than the sum of its parts and defined in how each piece sits in conversation with the other. These pieces share a sense of cultural urgency and, together, welcome generative friction through plurality as a cultural strategy.

The Runner is situated within a program that explores our shared humanity in ways that transform the political into the personal, intimate and domestic. This play, by Canadian playwright Christopher Morris, is a story about triage that’s set in Israel. It is not funded by the Israeli government, and Christopher has no direct ties to any country in the region. The play unpacks one character’s dilemma between humanist impulse and socially imposed morals, as he advocates for seeing all human life as equal. In its commitment to examining the polarizing tensions and conflicting ideologies at work within its Israeli protagonist, it exposes painful racism behind the dehumanizing sentiments encountered by the character. Christopher shares: “I lack the experience, or expertise, to speak on or write a play about the extremely complicated conflict that’s happening right now in that part of the world. And what I’ve been offering since 2018 is a play, from my Canadian perspective, that explores the complexities, and limitations, of empathy and kindness.” Ultimately, he frames The Runner as “an offer for discussion.”

We believe this work offers one voice in a diversity of perspectives that diverge in specifics of identity and experience, but that all advocate for empathy and compassion. Dear Laila, playing parallel to The Runner, offers an autobiographical perspective on the forced displacement of Palestinians through one family’s experience of war and exile. Basel Zaraa, the artist behind the project, is a Palestinian refugee who grew up in Yarmouk refugee camp in Damascus, Syria. Dear Laila features a miniature model of his destroyed family home in Yarmouk camp, and three stories that represent the three generations who lived in the house. Intimate and interactive, the experience invites each audience member to connect with this story of “[a] family, like many families of our communities, who are stuck in a loop of losses.” Basel further frames it as “a way for me to face and express and understand the trauma that we live with.”

These two works form part of the wider 2024 festival ecology, and each plays an integral role to a balance that has been curated with care. In the face of violence and atrocity, presenting live art can feel small. We hope that, collectively, the performances and multimedia experiences of this year’s festival offer opportunities for self-reflection, better understanding others’ experiences, and dialogue – actions that, in our view, can sometimes offer building blocks for meaningful political change.

***

The Jewish Federation of Victoria and Vancouver Island is disappointed by the decision of the Belfry Theatre to cancel its production of the acclaimed play The Runner.

It is regrettable that the Belfry Theatre felt the need to cancel an artistic production, for the first time in its 46 years of existence, because it featured an Israeli Jewish man.

It is regrettable and disheartening that, when the Belfry Theatre attempted to have an open dialogue, it was vandalized and threatened by a “pro-Palestinian” mob, which ultimately led to a very quick decision without any meaningful consultation. The Belfry’s stated reasons for this decision were: “we believe that presenting The Runner at this particular time does not ensure the well-being of all segments of our community … this is not the time for a play which may further tensions among our community.” This decision does not reflect the wishes of the community as expressed in competing petitions: 1,400 against showing the play vs. 2,400 wanting the play to proceed.

We fear this decision will lead to other cultural events being canceled, as other venues may also give in to mob mentality and bullying. This is not what we expect from our cultural institutions, nor our community. It is not too late for the Belfry Theatre to reconsider their actions, as we hope they will.

The decision does not bode well for artistic and cultural expression in Victoria and Vancouver Island. It matters to stand up for what is right.

To read the Jewish Independent’s interview with playwright Christopher Morris, click here. To read the Independent’s op-ed on the Belfry Theatre’s choice to cancel its March run of The Runner, click here.

Focus during distracted times

As a freelancer, I often find interesting work opportunities that don’t pan out. I spent time in December applying for an editor gig that involved editing summaries of literature to provide students with educational support. I used to think these supports were “cheating,” using these kinds of guides, but now I know differently. Students with special needs deserve access to these stories. I recognize that every student has the right to learn, read great pieces of literature and access education, even if they struggle along the way. So, I dutifully filled out the form, sent off my CV and submitted an application. One application question irked me. “What’s your favourite piece of literature and why?”

Two things bothered me. One is that this response had a word limit on the form, so nobody could wax eloquent about whatever they chose. The second thing is that, as someone in mid-life who reads voraciously, I thought it was ridiculous to ask what someone’s all-time favourite was. I couldn’t possibly name only one, but I thought about it. I’ve been reading Talmud daily for about four years. I must like it. Further, it has helped me gain a lot of insight into the ancient world, and reflects further on ancient cultures, law systems and storytelling.

I tried to fit this into the form, but I had reservations. The organization had a big “We do not discriminate” statement on its page but, after Oct. 7, I wondered if I was risking something to say that the Babylonian Talmud was my current favourite. My concerns might have been warranted. On Dec. 25, in the morning, I received a vague form email telling me my application hadn’t been successful. My household laughed about the timing of the form letter. What were they indicating? That Jews should work as usual on Christmas, a North American statutory holiday? Or that my choice of literature was so egregious they couldn’t wait for a business day to reply? Perhaps something else about my qualifications didn’t meet their needs. It’s best not to work for a place that isn’t a good fit. Although this part-time gig had great potential, I wasn’t a contender. That’s OK.

This experience made me reflect on my lifelong relationship with reading. I’ve always loved to read. One of my undergraduate majors was in comparative literature. A favourite moment during my graduate work in English education came when the professor put different things on a table and asked us to list which things were “literature.” The professor included newspaper articles, fiction and nonfiction, plays and song lyrics, advertisements, and more. Her point was that we often couldn’t predict what piece of writing would stand the test of time. Further, all of us would have different answers to this question about how to define literature and its meaning. She was right.

Since Oct. 7, I’ve had a hard time focusing. For a long time, I couldn’t read a book. Don’t get me wrong – I’ve been glued to the news and social media, reading many articles and much political analysis. I listened to completely “fluffy” fiction audio books as I cooked but, eventually, I had to stop renewing a book I’d checked out from the public library. It was nonfiction, a book about the US Great Migration called The Warmth of Other Suns, by Isabel Wilkerson. It was well-written and engaging. I felt like apologizing to the author. I couldn’t focus enough to remember the various narrative threads or finish it.

Later, on Dec. 25, I managed to complete reading On the Way Home, the short diary of Laura Ingalls Wilder, which recounted her trip from South Dakota to her new home in Mansfield, Mo., in 1894. This brief chronicle transported me, giving me a window into travel during a period of US history that I could only imagine. Was it literature? Perhaps, because it worked the way literature should. I spent time in my imagination in a different place and time. It offered a brief respite. Perhaps it’s the start of being able to focus on reading again? I can only hope.

I wondered why I’d made it through this (admittedly short) volume I’d found at a neighbourhood Little Free Library. It made me reflect on what aspects of literature are valuable and what allows us to focus on it. Perhaps it’s about escape or the imagination. Maybe it helps us learn about relationships, history and culture.

Four years ago, I resolved to start Daf Yomi, reading a page of Talmud a day, on Jan. 5. It was my birthday and close enough to the start of the secular new year to be a “resolution” that truly stuck. After four years of reading a page a day, I am still immersed in this experience. Even though I read mostly in English, and barely skim the surface of each page, I’d argue this is a good read. I’ve learned a lot, but it has taken work and research to make meaning. Sometimes, I have to struggle with finding connections with the rabbis who lived 2,000 years ago. Even as the rabbis struggled with practical issues, I sometimes have to read commentaries and make a leap to figure out how the issues applied then as compared to today.

Great literature is about history and context, as well as mystery, and it’s all there, wrapped up for us like a big gift in Jewish literature. Religious texts like Torah and Talmud, as well as all the other Jewish stories that came afterwards, add meaning and depth to our lives. Surprisingly, I haven’t had trouble focusing on these narratives.

Here, too, is another lesson that literature is teaching me – we Jews are a small people but have incredibly rich literary and spiritual resources. As Israel struggles physically with war, these texts remind me what we’re fighting to maintain. Doing the work to understand these texts offers us so much history, context and tradition, I’m grateful to have the opportunity. It’s the least I can do when so much is at stake.

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