Opinion – Page 2

Recalling a shining star

My mother, Joyce, met my father, Bernie, at a dance at the Jewish Community Centre in Vancouver. She was selling tickets. He just wanted to talk to her, but she sent him upstairs to check out the other young women at the dance. He did, then came right down and asked her out, even though she told him she had two children and was in the middle of a divorce.

photo - Joyce Freeman with Ria, her first grandchild — Joyce Freeman with Ria, her first grandchild. *(photo from Cassandra Freeman)*

My mother was both elegant and beautiful. When I was a child, she ran a “model and poise” class for teenagers out of Kerrisdale Community Centre. My sister and I modeled there for an audience when I was about 4 years old. Later, I did some ballet on stage as well, with my partner from the dance school. I still remember how nervous I was, but it was so much fun.

I grew up with the many people in the house my mother invited over. They were from all over the world and spoke English, Hebrew, Arabic, Russian, Serbo-Croatian, Spanish and other languages. (Looking back, I see why I chose to get a degree in international relations!) Mom would literally ask people she met shopping or on the street back to the house for dinner. A lot of them were single and lonely.

My dad worked as a court reporter and often had late hours, so refused to go out. My mother, therefore, had parties at home. I remember pancake and waffle brunches with at least 50 people going in and out. The toppings were cherry, pineapple, strawberry, blueberries, peaches and, of course, whipping cream and syrup. All my friends from the neighbourhood would be there, too.

My friends got an education in Judaism, including the Jewish holidays and the basics of keeping a kosher kitchen. One friend, Madeleine, credits my parents for her choice of a career that involved prosecuting war criminals. I’m guessing that’s because dad was a court reporter and she learned about the Holocaust from us.

I was thrilled when my mother invited the National Ballet of Canada company over for dinner after their performances – if my Uncle Sam had not been performing with them, she might have done it anyways.

I remember two things about the dancers. One was that they seemed to go back to the table and eat at least three times. The second was that, even though they were athletes, they didn’t have a hope when playing table tennis in our basement. Apparently, they had little hand-eye coordination. I remember meeting Karen Kain. She said I had a nice straight back and should continue to dance – and she left me all her beads.

My mother had good friends she would call almost every day. One was my godmother, Helen Friedman, who became like a grandmother to me. We spent a lot of time together. I took on her left-wing perspective and voted NDP for a very long time. She was also a feminist with a capital “F” and I took that on, too.

Growing up in my parents’ house, it was like all three of us kids – Devorah, Tzvi and me – ate social justice for breakfast. Now I see that this was clearly the ancient Jewish tradition of tikkun olam, healing the world. My sister said I had it so bad that, at age 8, I wrote to the Vancouver Aquarium and demanded they let their whale go back into the ocean.

My mother was clairvoyant. She taught me how to send her a psychic message about what I wanted for lunch on my way home. I normally got what I requested but that’s likely because I either wanted macaroni and cheese or a salami sandwich. My father says that, when we kids left home, my mother could make us call her at will, which I believe.

Mom’s favourite psychic story was about Dad and Grandma. Dad would come home from work and say, “Joyce, I don’t know why I bought that.” And Mom would say, “Oh, Grandma wanted that.”

I inherited my mother’s ability to communicate with spirits. Just before my Uncle Steve’s funeral, I was ironing. He said, “Hurry up and get to the funeral.” Mom got a message from him, too. During the transmission, it feels perfectly normal. Sometime after Uncle Sam died, I got an energy hug from his spirit. It didn’t diminish the sadness, but it was comforting.

At some point, my mother began doing I Ching readings for guests and family. I have her I Ching book and display it proudly. It is a book of strategy above all. It doesn’t tell the future, as most people think. It says that, if you are in this situation, you should do this; if you are in that situation, you should do that. It’s difficult to read but my mother was smart and seemed to know exactly what it was saying, even if it talked a whole lot about princes and generals and varied states of mind.

The other thing Mom did was cook – and she is famous for it. I remember helping her by cutting cucumbers. They all had to be about one-eighth of an inch thick or they were no good.

My mother got sick when she was 40 and was never really well after that. She had become a Chabadnik, which I believe helped her with the pain.

We knew when she was going into hospital because she would cook meals for us and put them in the freezer. In her late 70s, she was diagnosed with a cruel disease called Supranuclear Palsy. They tried a Parkinson’s pill, but it didn’t work. Mom died, at age 84, just as the sun was setting, bringing in the first night of Passover. We recently marked her yahrzeit.

A few days after she died, both my sister and I got the same message from her spirit. She said, “I am skipping.” I took this to mean she was ecstatic at being without her painful body. Now, I imagine she is a shining star in the universe. And that’s how I remember her.

Cassandra Freeman is a Vancouver storyteller and improviser.

Is it the end of an era?

The landslide defeat of Viktor Orbán and his Fidesz party in the recent Hungarian parliamentary elections could herald a seismic shift in European and global politics. Or not.

There were many issues at play in the election, obviously, including pocketbook economics and other domestic matters. Overseas observers have focused on Orbán’s “illiberal democracy” – his hacking away at free media and other institutions that tend to be measures of democratic health. It bears noting, to his credit, that as undemocratic as Orbán may have been in office, when he was defeated, he accepted the peaceful transition of power without apparent reservation.

The Hungarian election outcome is notable because of the era it could bring to a close. Orbán’s election in 2010 is viewed in retrospect as a major milestone in the advance of far-right politics in Europe.

Orbán did not invent European far-right politics, clearly. His election, though, was a major breakthrough and served as a model and inspiration for other movements, including those outside Europe, like figures in Latin America, as well as Donald Trump, who went so far as to send his vice-president to Hungary in an unashamed bid to shore up support for the Hungarian leader in the final hours of the campaign.

Something else Orbán may not have invented, but which he and his government exemplified and honed, was an ambiguous, somewhat cunning approach to Jews and the Jewish state.

Jews, put mildly, have a history with European far-right politics. Even sensible non-Jews are conscious of this third rail. Neutralizing the echoes of that history – or at least casting its veracity in doubt – is essential to legitimizing contemporary far-right politics.

Being pro-Israel has been a calculated and expedient position for figures like Orbán. In the sense that support for Israel fits into a xenophobic European narrative that sees Israel as a bulwark of Western civilization, there is something more transactional going on. Far-right pro-Israel politicians are often militantly anti-Muslim, supporting Israel less because they endorse Jewish self-determination than because of the adage that the enemy of my enemy is my friend. Contemporary Israel is a model for them of defiant nationalism facing down (not coincidentally, Muslim) threats, which justifies some of their own domestic policies.

Support for Israel can also serve as a reputational shield. Supporting Israel in their foreign policy can deflect allegations of antisemitism – even in cases where leaders and grassroots supporters have deeply problematic records of antisemitic rhetoric. In many countries, Jews serve as a wedge in centre and left politics, pitting more vulnerable communities against one another as those in power deflect attention from charges of corruption or the results of bad policies and other inequalities that plague societies.

Pro-Israel politicians who deny charges of antisemitism often engage in anti-Jewish dog whistles like conspiracy theories about “globalists,” “elites,” “the Epstein class” or George Soros, in which linguistic stand-ins for “Jews” allow just enough plausible deniability. Orbán perfected this strategy, using the Hungarian-born Jewish billionaire Soros as a scapegoat, with overtly antisemitic undertones.

In France, Marine Le Pen’s National Rally presents itself as pro-Israel and protective of French Jews. But many Jews and analysts question whether this is a tactical strategy to “mainstream” the party, which was founded on explicitly antisemitic premises by Le Pen’s father, Jean-Marie Le Pen.

The far-right Alternative for Germany (AfD) party routinely attacks the Holocaust memorialization culture in Germany and tolerates antisemitic rhetoric in its ranks, while its pro-Israel foreign policy puts a twist in its ideological pedigree. But the AfD’s commitment to Israel looks to many observers like a qualified alliance based on Jews fitting the party’s anti-Muslim civilizational story.

Austria’s far-right Freedom Party, founded by former Nazis, has attempted to soften the hard edges of their anti-Muslim immigration policy with what some have termed a “charm offensive” toward Jews, especially relating to support for Israel.

The opacity of parties with problematic, antisemitic individuals taking actively pro-Israel stands has blurred conventional lines in politics and apparently created some confusion in the Jewish community. At a time when voices defending Israel are so rare, some Jews welcome anyone who expresses anything that can be construed as something like empathy.

Above all, foreign policy is a place where alliances are commonly as tactical as they are principled. Notably, the government of Israel plays this game, too. Last year, far-right European figures were invited to a conference on combating antisemitism. (Many mainstream Jewish leaders stayed away.)

Whether Orbán’s downfall is a Hungary-specific phenomenon or whether it might portend a waning of the European extreme right and those forces around the world will be known only over time. Either way, what will it mean for Jews and the Jewish state? That, too, remains an open question – one that Jewish communities need to keep trying to better understand and be more strategically positioned to respond to.

The only sure thing is that Jews and Israel will remain tools in the hands of self-interested politicians, one way or another.

Taking life a step at a time

Feeding teenage boys healthy, homemade food is no joke. It’s a marathon and not a sprint. Every time, I start with “Where did the leftovers go? Did you eat them all?” and “What else can I possibly throw together from the produce in the fridge and meat in the freezer?”

For anyone who is immersed in household routines, food production easily moves from creative enjoyment to drudgery. This morning, I pondered what to make for dinner, as I walked the dog. Just like the need to think up meals, the dog walk feels heavy, each step weighing me down. Then I hear a noise and look up to see Canada geese migrating home. It’s a sign of spring and, after a long winter, a sign of joy.

We’re experiencing what looks like a failing ceasefire, ongoing wars and, in North America, ongoing antisemitic upheaval. I feel I have that sentence on repeat. The situations change but the worry about world conflicts and about friends and family remains. I’m afraid to invest in commenting on today’s news because tomorrow, we’re still going to wrestle with these issues, but the specifics will change. I feel swamped by it, and I’ll guess that I’m not alone in that.

I continue to study Daf Yomi, a page of Babylonian Talmud a day. Lately, I’ve been trying to follow the rabbis in Menachot, as they cover the particulars of grain sacrifices and how they were carried out in the Temple. The Second Temple in Jerusalem was destroyed just under 2,000 years ago, and these rabbis were discussing this more than 1,500 years ago. On one hand, the rabbis’ debate feels important – they worried that, should the Temple be rebuilt, they would need to understand and replicate these sacrifices. On the other hand, the incredible level of nuance in these discussions feels over the top. It’s way past “How one loads the dishwasher” and up there with “How do you clean out the sink drain?” and “Do you sort coffee grounds from tea leaves in your compost?”

It’s between these extremes that a lot of spiritual discussion happens. It’s something like “We are but a grain of sand on an endless beach” and, at the same time, “Listen to your heartbeat, as its beat is the centre of the universe.” As individuals, our lives are nothing in the eternal universe and, also, we are the centre of everything all at once.

I get mired in the minutiae, particularly when it comes to household management. Societally, this is common for middle-aged moms with kids at home. This past week, we bought our kids an old-fashioned clock radio, in hopes they would wake up on their own. Despite the clock, their dad goes in first to tell them to wake up. I come in 15 minutes later, to rouse them again. This morning, something occurred to me as I sang “Modeh Ani” at high volume to my teenagers and then a little Paul Simon, “Oh, my momma, she loves me, she loves me, she gets down on her knees and hugs me, she loves me like a rock!” (I can be annoyingly loud and cheery in the morning.) Maybe, even at 7:15, my boys like seeing us do this. Maybe these will be things they remember. Maybe this is how they are reminded that their parents love them.

Slogans that urge us onwards, to do “great things,” like “How we spend our days is how we spend our lives,” can really rub me the wrong way. After the raucous wakeup, I was outside, dressed and walking the dog 15 minutes later, wondering if this meant that picking up dog poop or reminding a kid not to forget his lunch was indeed how I’d spend my life. In a “loud” world full of people who boast of big world-changing endeavours, where does that leave me?

Some people I went to school with are, indeed, in big important positions in business or nonprofits, making change in the world, and that can make a person feel small and hopeless. The notion of tikkun olam, or fixing the world, feels far off. This umbrella phrase is a concept consisting of many individual mitzvot (commandments). It’s misleading and too broad when the individual commandments (visit the sick, provide food for the poor in your community, etc.) are accessible. Example: I saw a new mom of twins feeling desperate online. I knew, from experience, how to help.

“You can do this,” I wrote. “Take it one feed, one diaper change, one snack and one nap at a time. Take all the help you are offered. Think forward but only to the next thing you have to do.”

When I was in the trenches, alone, with my twin infants, I felt furious when smiling people said, “Enjoy it! It will all go by so quickly.” It was painful and slow, like being a grain of sand on an endless beach. Now, though, as I jostle my teens off to school with their lunch bags, I’m reminded that we can do big things, like raise a whole new generation, through these small details.

The rabbis spent a lot of energy trying to reconstitute what Temple sacrifice looked like. This seems a bit much to me until a kid loses his brand new, handknit mittens. Suddenly we’re retracing our steps, calling the places where he might have left them, and getting into the nitty-gritty. These little steps, how we spend our days, are, I believe, how we find our humanity. The global conflicts and issues change, but, if we can just focus on doing these small tasks for others, we can make enormous change over time.

It’s OK to be annoyed, bored and frustrated by all of life’s mindless tasks. That’s a real feeling that many of us share! It’s legitimate. Now, though, I have to go make chicken meatballs, with onions and dill and matzah meal in them, for supper, which we’ll have with potatoes, sweet potatoes, beets and a salad.

These endless details? They’re about nothing. They mean everything.

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.

Nakba exhibit biased

The following is the executive summary of the study The Canadian Museum for Human Rights and Its Nakba Exhibit: Bias and Animus in Process and Outcome and the Nature and Impact of the New Antisemitism in Canada, written by Dr. Bryan Schwartz, a professor of law at the University of Manitoba, and Rhonda Spivak, LLB, editor of the Winnipeg Jewish Review. It is reprinted with permission, edited for JI style and length. The exhibit is set to open in June. For a link to the full study, go to winnipegjewishreview.com.

The proposed Nakba exhibit at the Canadian Museum for Human Rights (CMHR), titled Palestine Uprooted: Nakba Past and Present, is not a balanced exploration of displacement. It is a partisan exercise in the demonization and delegitimization of Israel – driven from its inception by a process whose composition predetermined its outcome.

A publicly funded national museum exhibiting biased content that vilifies one national/ethnic group’s homeland constitutes a discriminatory denial of equitable human rights education.

The process and work product – to the extent it is already available – are not consistent with the CMHR’s statutory mandate under the Museums Act, the Canadian Human Rights Act (CHRA), the International Holocaust Remembrance Alliance (IHRA) definition of antisemitism adopted by both Canada and Manitoba, and the ethical codes of the Canadian Museums Association (CMA) and International Council of Museums (ICOM).

The bias is structural and traceable. The CMHR assembled a Palestinian Content Advisory Network whose membership was kept opaque – referenced once in the 2022/23 annual report and then deleted. Investigation reveals that its members hold views that are hostile to Israel and not sustainable on a fair-minded analysis of history and current realities.

Ramsey Zeid, president of the Canadian Palestinian Association of Manitoba and member of the advisory network, has publicly called Zionism a “disease that must be destroyed,” accused Israel of genocide, rationalized the Oct. 7 massacre as Palestinians “biting back,” and condoned violent intifada with language such as “intifada revolution … scorch the earth.” Other advisory network members have framed Israel as an apartheid settler-colonial state, endorsed the boycott, divestment and sanctions (BDS) movement, advocated one-state solutions that would deny the right of the Jewish people to their own state, have accused Israel of genocide at its founding and in Gaza, and compared Israel to the Nazis. The CMHR cannot credibly claim that work product shaped by this group is free of bias and animus rather than driven by it. By including persons with such views in an official advisory committee, it has extended official recognition and an aura of respectability to them.

The process excluded and marginalized the mainstream Jewish community at every stage. There was no public consultation of the kind that accompanied the Holocaust gallery. The Jewish Heritage Centre of Western Canada withdrew its partnership with the CMHR over the exhibit. The Centre for Israel and Jewish Affairs (CIJA) warned that the exhibit would deliver an incomplete and unbalanced narrative that would omit Jewish refugee experiences. The Abraham Global Peace Initiative (AGPI) wrote to the CMHR, the minister of Canadian Heritage and the prime minister requesting suspension.

Jewish organizations who supported the exhibit are fringe anti-Zionist groups, such as Independent Jewish Voices (constituting at maximum 0.2% of Canadian Jews, this report places them around 0.0025% of Canadian Jews), the United Jewish People’s Order (expelled by the Canadian Jewish Congress in 1951, and whose membership has never surpassed their 1950s numbers, placing it well below half a percent of Canadian Jews; it seems that their largest attended event in recent years was around 350 people total) and the Jewish Faculty Network (less than 0.05% of Canadian Jews). IJV and UJPO were involved with the organization that organized a Nov. 2, 2025, panel at which the exhibit’s director discussed her involvement in the exhibit.

The exhibit’s content is equally one-sided. The CMHR’s potted history, as per its website, attributes Palestinian displacement primarily to Jewish and Israeli armed forces while omitting critical context: Jewish acceptance of the 1947 UN Partition Plan, repeated Arab rejection of two-state solutions, the invasion by five Arab armies to destroy the nascent Jewish state, over a century of lethal anti-Jewish violence in Mandatory and Ottoman Palestine (documented from at least 1834), the ethnic cleansing of approximately 850,000 to 900,000 Jews from Arab countries after 1948, and the documented pattern of rejectionist violence against moderate Palestinians who favoured coexistence.

The very term “Nakba” – originally coined to describe the catastrophe of Arab armies’ failure to destroy Israel – has been recast to frame Israel’s founding as an illegitimate catastrophe, implicitly justifying campaigns to eliminate it. The CMHR exhibit instead insists that “Nakba” refers only to the displacement of Palestinians and avoids acknowledgement of Arab rejection of the two-state solution, of the right of Israel to exist as the Jewish homeland, and the armed invasion of Israel by the armies of five Arab states aimed at Israel’s destruction.

The museum’s diversity policies require representation of multiple perspectives, especially on contested histories, which in this case requires presenting sources that nonviolent Palestinian villages were allowed to stay, multiple Arab sources showing calls by Palestinian leadership and Arab states for evacuation of villages to further the Arab war effort, or leave rather than give the nascent state of Israel legitimacy…. Since Israel is an open society, multiple lines of scholarship diverge. That is not the case in Arab states, which have not opened their archives. Nor is it the case in the Palestinian Authority, where President [Mahmoud] Abbas made “Nakba denial” a crime subject to jail terms.

The exhibit, as Zeid’s own statements make plain, rests on a double game. The exhibit is presented as a collection of individual personal narratives – merely “telling stories” about the effects of displacement, yet it simultaneously advances “the story” that is supposedly the single overall historical truth. The audience is expected to accept these personal narratives as historical fact, even in the context of an advisory network whose documented members variously call Zionism a “disease” or a virus that must “be destroyed” and adopt other epithets that demonize and delegitimize the Jewish state.

It is known that oral histories can contain varying degrees of fact and can be coloured by “collective memory” – political perspectives on past events that are widely shared but may not reflect fairly or fully the actual events of individual lives in earlier generations. Judging from the composition of the Palestinian Content Advisory Network, we can expect these stories to be infused with negativity towards Israel and a lack of any historical context.

In practice, we can expect that many or all narratives in this exhibit may be an occasion to vilify Israel, from its foundation until the present. For example, it may speak of checkpoints without mentioning the suicide bombings that necessitated them, of displacement without mentioning Jewish acceptance of partition and Arab rejection of it, of suffering without acknowledging that it was Arab rejectionism and aggression that created the refugee crisis in the first place.

The “personal story” framing is a shield against accountability: it permits the museum to disseminate a partisan political narrative while disclaiming responsibility for its historical claims. This exhibit will contribute directly to the rising tide of antisemitism that has made Canada an increasingly dangerous place for its Jewish citizens, as documented in … this report.

This selective framing constitutes the “Three Ds” of antisemitism identified by Natan Sharansky and popularized in Canada by former justice minister Irwin Cotler: demonization, delegitimization and double standards applied to Israel. It occurs at a time when Jews face the highest per capita hate-crime targeting of any group in Canada (Statistics Canada). Many Jewish Canadians feel unsafe in their own country, even though both Prime Minister Justin Trudeau and Prime Minister Mark Carney publicly affirmed Zionism and Israel’s right to exist and prosper. Those are the rights that the advisory network has dismissed for this exhibit.

The CMHR, in the aftermath of the genocidal attack on Israel in 2023 and the ongoing brutalization of hostages, allowed an unauthorized pro-Palestinian “die-in” inside the museum. This “die-in” was allowed while refusing a request from supporters of Israel for a counter-demonstration, a disparity that exemplifies the institutional bias at work. [CMHR vice-president of exhibitions] Matthew Cutler’s public statements at the time made it unmistakable that the museum had already promised off the books, without public consultation from the Jewish community, to include an exhibit that focuses on the contested oppression of Palestinians by Israel.

Officials of the CMHR have, on the public record, favoured anti-Israel fringe groups while showing disrespect for the groups that represent the overwhelming majority of Jewish Canadians. The museum has not been transparent with the general public or the mainstream Jewish community. This invites the question of how transparent museum bureaucrats have been with the museum’s own board of trustees, who are responsible for fulfilling the museum’s mandate and maintaining its reputation.

The exhibit in its current form must be halted. The CMHR must commission an independent historical review by balanced, credentialed experts. It must require transparent public consultation, including meaningful engagement with mainstream Jewish Canadian organizations; ensure the exhibit includes parallel refugee stories, Arab rejectionism, the full context of the conflict; and conduct a governance audit of curatorial processes to prevent future partisan capture.

Proceeding instead risks CHRA complaints, further reputational damage and continued erosion of public trust in a taxpayer-funded national institution whose mandate is to promote universal human rights, not to serve as a vehicle for the delegitimization of the Jewish state.

Survival not passive

Driving south along Oak Street on a recent sunny spring morning, it was hard not to feel the hope of renewal. Paralleling Vancouver Talmud Torah is a majestic line of cherry blossoms in full flourish. A few metres on, outside Congregation Beth Israel, waves of daffodils tell the cyclical story of nature and regeneration.

If hope itself were temporal, springtime would be its incarnation. Sometimes, though, recognizing and feeling hope can take effort.

For many of us, the just-ended celebration of Jewish redemption and rebirth held special resonance, as it has since 2023. The ageless stories, relived at the seder, remain so relevant. We are living through a period that feels, at once, ancient and immediate, because hatred has resurfaced so ferociously and wears familiar disguises.

The redemption of the last hostages from Gaza and the end of that war gave little reprieve before a new war began in a cycle with which Israelis are all too familiar. Jewish history, though, teaches that darkness is never the whole story.

Seeking peace is a central obligation in the Jewish tradition. But Jewish law, halachah, also acknowledges the role of force when necessary. Jewish survival has never been passive; it has never been the result of favourable conditions. It has been an act of will – a refusal to accept that the present moment, however dark, is permanent. From the destruction of the Temples to the expulsions of Europe and the Levant, from the crusades and pogroms of the Middle Ages to the ashes of the 20th century, Jewish history has been punctuated by chapters that seemed like endings. And yet, they were not.

Jewish hope is not blind. It is strategic – necessary and unavoidable. Consider what has happened in just the past century – an epoch that, in the annals of Jewish time, is the blink of an eye. A people nearly annihilated rebuilt not only our lives, but our language, our culture and our sovereignty. The rebirth of Jewish life in our ancestral homeland was not inevitable. It was improbable.

War is tragedy. There are no easy moral lessons in suffering, no easy narrative that redeems loss. But history demonstrates that moments of profound rupture can create the conditions for transformation. As David Ben-Gurion said, “In Israel, in order to be a realist, you must believe in miracles.”

The peace between Israel and Egypt followed a devastating war. The Abraham Accords emerged from a recognition that endless conflict was untenable. It is not naïve to hope that, from the current devastation, a new framework might eventually emerge – one that prioritizes stability, dignity and coexistence over perpetual violence.

The same is true of the surge in antisemitism globally. It is alarming, yes. But it is also exposing something that has long simmered beneath the surface. Ideas that were once coded are now explicit. Relationships that were once assumed are now being tested. Perhaps, in these challenges lies opportunity.

There is a growing recognition that Jew-hatred and Israel-hatred are not isolated prejudices, but warning signs. Individuals and communities are standing ground and pushing back. Young Jews and “Oct. 8 Jews” – whose connections to Jewishness were limited until the shock of renewed hatreds motivated new inquiries into their identities – are rising to the moment.

Non-Jewish allies are speaking out, showing their support in their actions and presence. Take, for example, those daffodils at Beth Israel – planted in memory of those people murdered in the Hamas terror attack on Israel on Oct. 7, 2023, the garden was inspired by a non-Jewish ally. (See jewishindependent.ca/flowers-for-those-murdered.)

The story of Passover does not promise that the journey will be easy. It does not deny the existence of hardship or doubt. It does insist that liberation is possible. And this idea is not just tradition. It is necessary and an obligation.

New law a desecration

Israeli Minster of National Security Itamar Ben G’vir holds up a champagne bottle in the Knesset on March 30, toasting the passage of Israel’s new death penalty law. (screenshot)

On March 30, two days before erev Passover, Israeli Minister of National Security Itamar Ben-Gvir celebrated the passing of his racist, dangerous, vengeful and unjust death penalty law by raising a champagne bottle and drinking to victory. The customary toast in Jewish tradition, of course, is to exclaim “L’chaim!” (“To life!”) Partly for this reason, the name chosen for the Jewish anti-death penalty group I co-founded, which now includes thousands of members in Israel and abroad, is “L’chaim! Jews Against the Death Penalty.” Those members of the Knesset who support this law have upended the phrase meant to evoke Judaism’s core life-affirming principles.

While Ben-Gvir claims to be a pious and observant Jew, his actions once again reveal his blatant disregard for Jewish values, and an essential mockery of Jewish ritual symbolism. He might as well have screamed “Lamavet” (“To death”) for his celebratory toast. Make no mistake: the passage of this death penalty law will certainly bring death for both convicted terrorists and innocent Israelis and Jews across the world. It is an abomination that will prove disastrous for multiple reasons.

Wine at Passover

One of the most well-known facts about the Passover seder, which both Jews and many non-Jews are keenly aware of, is that it traditionally involves drinking four cups of wine or grape juice. These four cups are a mandatory rabbinic commandment, representing the four expressions of redemption God used in Exodus 6:6-7 to promise freedom to the Israelites. Consumed at specific intervals in the seder, they symbolize freedom, joy, and key stages of liberation, from slavery to becoming a nation.

Perhaps one of the most widely understood reasons for drinking wine on Passover, as on Purim and on any Jewish holiday, is its symbolism of life, joy, sanctification, and transformation used to elevate holy moments like Shabbat, holidays and weddings. It signifies “cheering the heart,” redemption (specifically the four cups at Passover) and divine blessing, while also serving as a reminder of the need for temperance and balance. By lifting a glass for death just ahead of Passover, Ben-Gvir has effectively desecrated this sacred tradition with inverted, grotesque symbolism.

Another tradition of the Passover seder highlights the extent of the sacrilege of Ben-Gvir’s celebration. It is customary for seder-goers to remove 10 drops of wine, one for each of the plagues they chant, symbolizing how the suffering that each affliction produced for our people’s enemies diminishes our joy. This list culminates in the 10th plague of the death of the firstborn of Egypt at the hands of Malakh Hamavet, the Angel of Death. Instead of honouring this Passover ritual, Ben-Gvir profaned it by using wine to glorify killing.

The 10 Plagues

It is most fitting, with Passover only recently having ended, for L’chaim to use the 10 Plagues – with which God cursed the Egyptians in response to Pharaoh’s “hardened heart” – as symbols of the many reasons to oppose the death penalty. We align these biblical maladies with 10 damning strikes against the death penalty to highlight that capital punishment itself is a plague on any society that enacts it. Capital punishment condemns any government that wields it, including Israel now, infinitely more so than any of the individuals it condemns to death.

Dam (Blood): Israel’s death penalty law could increase terrorism, making it more enticing to would-be martyrs (shahids).

Tzifatdeiya (Frogs): It will undoubtedly endanger Jews worldwide.

Kinim (Lice): From Adolf Hitler to Donald Trump, Machiavellian politicians wield the death penalty as a political tool, particularly for election campaigns, and that is the case with this law. Consider the recent examples in Israel of Ben-Gvir’s noose-shaped lapel pin and his video promoting the death penalty law, illicitly filmed at a gallows museum in Jerusalem, as well as Limor Son Har-Melech’s Nazi-inspired Purim costume featuring an injection syringe.

Arov (Wild Animals): Jewish tradition makes the death penalty virtually impossible to carry out. Passage of this law has betrayed the life-affirming core of that tradition.

Dever (Pestilence): Terms like “deterrence,” which is a fallacious delusion when applied to the death penalty, and “retributive” or “proportional” justice, are veils for vengeance. Unequivocally, revenge does not bring closure for murder victims’ loved ones.

Sh’chin (Boils): The death penalty is racist, and this law in particular is viciously discriminatory.

Barad (Hail): The death penalty inherently violates the human right to life. Relatedly, it often results in physical torture, and always is psychological torture, for individuals counting down to their execution day. There is no humane way to execute human beings against their will.

Arbeh (Locusts): Many execution methods are direct Nazi legacies, including firing squad, gassing and lethal injection.

Choshech (Darkness): Capital punishment will traumatize the executioners within the Israel Prison Service. This law also risks placing anyone involved in contravention of human rights treaties.

Makat Bechorot (Death of the Firstborn): The death penalty inevitably risks executing the innocent.

Onward toward repeal

On March 30, the same day that the Knesset passed this barbaric law, a vast coalition of Jewish organizations across Israel and the world immediately petitioned the Israeli Supreme Court to repeal it. The next day, the Supreme Court ordered that the state must respond to the petition and the request for an interim injunction by May 24. The members of L’chaim, together with Jews of good conscience and all of civilized humanity, will continue to do all we can to support this vital, sacred effort.

None other than death penalty abolitionist Elie Wiesel (1928-2016) aptly referred to capital punishment as the “Angel of Death.” It is high time to banish this medieval plague from Israel once and for all. The final uplifting song of the Passover seder is “L’shanah haba’ah b’Yerushalayim” (“Next year in Jerusalem”). It is our consummate hope and intention that next Passover, Jerusalem will see the repeal of this monstrous legislation.

Cantor Michael Zoosman is a certified spiritual care practitioner and received his cantorial ordination from the Jewish Theological Seminary of America. He sits as an advisory committee member at Death Penalty Action and is co-founder of L’chaim! Jews Against the Death Penalty. Zoosman is a former Jewish prison chaplain and psychiatric hospital chaplain. He lives with his family in Vancouver.

Resilient joy in tough times

A few days ago, our beloved, big, senior dog had a limp. We went to the vet, on short notice. Our regular vet was away. It was icy and snowy. I got the dog into my 23-year-old car, backed it out of the 123-year-old garage. We made it there on time. The dog got help for what is maybe arthritis or an injury, perhaps from the ice. Driving home, I wondered if I should run an errand but decided, nope, it was windy and raw. The dog should be warm and cozy at home again.

I parked the car in the driveway, got the dog inside and then returned to put my car into our narrow garage. I heaved open the left garage door, planting it into the ice. I hoped the prairie winds wouldn’t slam it shut again. When I got back into the car, it was completely dead. Wouldn’t start.

Then I realized that the heavy garage door had come off its bottom hinge. Huge screws were hanging halfway out. I closed it as best I could and locked it. Inside again, I nearly keeled over because I’d missed eating lunch.

When I warmed up, ate, triaged my work and called the Canadian Automobile Association, I anticipated the worst. The day hadn’t gone as planned.

Yet, CAA help arrived quickly. Miraculously, the fix was simple. A terminal needed to be replaced on my battery. At that moment, the raw day tempered by a cup of hot tea and a moment to think, I was seized with gratitude. What if my car had died on a busy street, with the dog inside? What if we’d been stuck at the vet? What if I’d stopped to run an errand and then been stuck with a car that wouldn’t start and a dog hurting too much to walk home?

Back inside, I looked again at a garage door photo I’d taken. It could have been even worse. What if I hadn’t noticed the screws hanging off the hinge? What if I’d shoved the heavy door and it crushed me underneath it instead? The possibilities were far worse once I’d thought about what happened. This has a happy ending. My husband will repair the hinge when that ice melts. My car now starts. My dog is on medicine and will hopefully be better soon. Gratitude felt like the only answer here.

This was midweek, and we stayed close to home through the weekend. Though we live near downtown Winnipeg, where the national NDP convention took place, we steered clear. At synagogue, one kid played baritone sax for the family service on Shabbat, as little kids danced along in their seats. My other kid greeted families in the lobby as they arrived. Before the wiggly kids got there, we spent a few moments at the main service and did the Birchot Hashachar, the morning blessings, where we thank G-d repeatedly for the good things, the everyday basics, happening in our lives.

On Sunday, our teens spent time on science fair preparation and on helping deliver Passover hampers for those in need, and we adults worked on the household. My husband cleaned steadily but managed to burn something in the microwave, break a pencil sharpener and a cereal bowl. I began to worry again about this weird bad luck, when I thought of the Birchot Hashachar. I remembered what to do. Being resilient meant pausing and finding gratitude instead.

Emergency services had to be called to the high school earlier this week for a student, but, this weekend, my kids are safe, healthy and doing productive things. Though I walked past slogans calling for radical protests at the NDP convention and a woman attendee wearing a keffiyeh at the café right near home, we’re safe, for now.

This year’s celebration of Israel’s birthday feels emotionally like a larger, more difficult version of our small misadventures. War is no joke. Israel is really going through it right now. Via social media, I see these extended family members in my tribe, my community, running for bomb shelters and fighting. Yet, I’m so impressed by the way Israelis strive for beauty and everyday normalcy – trips to the park, surfing and making music – with so much violent disruption. It’s been scary to watch, and I’m not there. That said, maybe the lesson in this birthday is seeing how, after these horrible, life-shattering events, it’s possible to practice that mind shift. The gratitude one, where strangers care for one another in bomb shelters, sharing food, music and space while struggling with what could have happened.

It’s unsettling to be Jewish near a Canadian political convention peddling antisemitic tropes. I’m reeling from seeing a premier who lives near me, who is also a parent I’ve spoken to on the playground, say deeply unsettling words on the NDP stage. Even if Wab Kinew’s “Epstein class” comment wasn’t intended to be antisemitic, his words, about this “dumb war” horrified me.

Jewish tradition teaches that all lives are valuable. Premier Kinew said North American lives shouldn’t be lost – to stop a repressive regime that has already killed thousands of its citizens. Our lives are no more valuable than theirs. Iranians deserve help, as do all the people harmed by the horrible regime and its terror proxies.

In precarious times, it’s helpful to seek the good. To remember that heavy garage door, still dangling off its hinge, the car that died, thankfully, in the driveway and was fixed, and the veterinary help that came when needed. Being grateful and practising joy, even when it’s a strain, is complicated. I want to be happy on Israel’s birthday, but it’s a complicated emotion, too. It requires practising gratitude and celebration even when times are tough, but that’s what we’re “commanded” to do sometimes.

This year, I wish for peace and everything good for everyone in Israel and its neighbours, as well as in other places where conflict reigns. Thank goodness Israel exists, as a place of refuge for all Jews, but it’s OK to wish for safer times at home in the diaspora, too. May the year ahead be an easier one, without war or complication; one in which we can all embrace less fear and more simple joy.

Teach critical thinking

We are failing in a battle we cannot afford to lose. Canadians and the world are trying, unsuccessfully, to control the spread of misinformation and disinformation at the source, policing online platforms, flagging content and regulating perpetrators.

This “supply-side” approach is fundamentally flawed. Information today moves too fast, too freely and too globally to ever be contained. Controlling what is produced is a losing battle. Our main hope is to vaccinate consumers of information against the pandemic of lies.

In recent issues, the Independent has reported on steps being taken by the provincial and federal governments to police boundaries (for example, provincial legislation that would create “bubble zones” around religious institutions) and strengthening hate crime laws (the federal government’s Bill C-9). These are deeply necessary and well-intentioned steps.

They are also like plugging a collapsing dike.

In the immediate term, we need to police speech that is hateful and potentially violent. In the longer term, we need to educate citizens to differentiate between truth and lies so they are less susceptible to bigoted ideas and misinformation.

B’nai Brith Canada has launched a national digital literacy campaign that is timely and necessary. (Click here for story.) Even this initiative, though, should go further. Digital literacy alone is not enough. Canadians – and people everywhere – require a much broader foundation in critical thinking and media consumption. They need to know not just how to use digital tools, but how to question and critique all manner of information: how to evaluate sources, how to distinguish fact from fiction, commentary from reporting, propaganda from legitimate information.

If individuals are equipped to interrogate what they see – if they instinctively ask, “Who created this? Why? What evidence supports it? What motivations might the creator have beyond informing me?” – then misinformation loses some of its power. It stops spreading, not because it has been removed, but because it has been assessed and rejected by its targets.

Importantly, this is not just about young people, though teaching students these skills early is essential. Misinformation does not discriminate by age, and neither should our response. In many cases, older generations, who did not grow up in a digital environment, are even more susceptible.

The world is experiencing a tsunami of information. Everything – everything – depends on the ability of each of us to navigate these surging waters. If people cannot tell what is real, they cannot make informed decisions or vote responsibly. If they cannot distinguish truth from manipulation, democracy itself erodes.

This is especially relevant right now to Jewish Canadians, who are deeply concerned by surging antisemitism and antizionism. We are wringing our hands over how to successfully confront this crisis. If we can train people to identify misinformation, propaganda and assorted falsehoods and conspiracies, the Jew-hatred problem may not entirely resolve itself. Those steps would, however, almost certainly be the most effective and enduring contemporary response to an ancient and enduring bigotry.

A society that can think critically is a society that is less easily misled. And, in today’s world, that may be the most important skill of all.

Learning to bridge divides

A friend from my grad school, Jill, has a distinguished academic career. She’s now the chair of her university’s religious studies department. She’s co-authored a book on dialogue in education and works with an organization called Essential Partners, which “helps people build relationships across differences to address their communities’ most pressing challenges.” This work shows great promise in helping people listen and learn from one another.

This dialogue-oriented academic approach draws on the Socratic seminar, an ancient learning technique I was taught as a young teacher. It gets students to interact, do analysis and to listen carefully to one another.

I was thrilled that this technique was used in one of my twins’ public school English classes. His regular teacher was on leave and an experienced, retired teacher took over the classes as a long-term sub. As a former English teacher, I watched my Grade 9 student dig into the material. He did prep work to learn how to participate, including writing journal entries and eventually producing a literary analysis essay. The cherry on top was that this whole unit focused on Elie Wiesel’s book Night. The students finally accessed some Holocaust education (mandated by the province but not previously implemented) as part of this rigorous unit.

Then my kid reported that classmates said the sub was “trying to Jewify” them. Later, classmates said he only got high marks because he was Jewish and a teacher’s pet. In a polarized political climate, this teacher did everything right to facilitate safe dialogue and teach important texts. Even so, antisemitism popped up – showing how necessary dialogue like this is for our society at this moment.

Our household likes to discuss and debate. We don’t shy away from difficult topics. I think we succeed at this type of conversation at the dinner table, though we could all benefit from improvement in our listening habits.

When I became a parent, I stepped back from the academic work I used to love. I became a caretaker when we had twins, due to health challenges. I also mostly stopped teaching, due to all the moves necessary for my husband’s work.

To “get back” some of this work, I’ve explored different opportunities in the last year. I spoke on “finding hope,” as part of an ethics, politics and humanity panel at an interfaith conference. I committed to teaching two workshops at Limmud. In another foray, I took advantage of a podcast’s call for entries and applied. This local academic podcast focuses on “peopling the past.” They requested submissions to examine the relevance of the ancient world in understanding contemporary issues.

I wanted to explore how the Babylonian Talmud, in tractates Zevachim and Menachot, examines boundaries, definitions and understandings of “appropriate sacrifice.” I saw fascinating parallels between this ancient discussion and how textbook definitions of words like “apartheid,” “genocide” and “colonization” are being manipulated today. I thought it could make a great case study of how the Talmud recorded hundreds of years of comparison and dialogue between rabbis (scholars) and how that model might be applied to analytic discussion today.

The rabbis disagreed about definitions and details. It was a high stakes conversation for them. Ritual sacrifice in the Temple was a thing of the past, but they felt it essential to understand and record the right way to do this, so the Jewish people would know how to manage if the Temple were rebuilt. Further, if the Temple is never rebuilt, what could we learn from the “right” and holy way to do sacrifice?

Months passed. The deadline for hearing back from the podcast organizers passed. I inquired politely but heard nothing. Then, I did something I should have done in the first place. I researched more about the nearby academic organizing this. I learned this academic was heavily invested in Palestinian activism. Once I read this, I figured I would never even hear back about my proposal. Yet, to my surprise, I got a polite form letter, which (of course) turned down my submission.

My pitch might not have been competitive. I’ve got two master’s degrees but no PhD or university affiliation. The topic maybe was too controversial. Perhaps my write-up was too plainspoken. After sleeping on it, I realized none of that mattered. In fact, I was relieved. After all, considering my family’s challenges in listening more and talking less at the Shabbat table, I wondered if I could have pulled off a podcast conversation with a person so firmly entrenched in an opposing and confrontational viewpoint.

Studying Daf Yomi (a page of Talmud a day) since January 2020 helps me shed light on these career-building experiences. Every day, I read rabbis’ debates, over centuries, that model dialogue and analytic questioning. There are aspects of the Socratic seminar in these texts and the ways in which scholars build relationships and bridge differences to solve their communities’ challenges. Repeatedly, I see this difficult, but meaningful, process play out between rabbis who lived almost 2,000 years ago, in a text compiled a little over 1,500 years ago.

A reflective teacher evaluates what was or wasn’t successful in an assignment or lesson plan. This recent rejection allowed me that reflection. I’d take off points if I assessed myself. First, I failed to do enough research to realize that this podcast, while geographically convenient, wasn’t a good fit for ideological reasons. Second, it helped me examine ways I can grow as a listener and work to create meaningful spaces for respectful, safe dialogue across deep divides. Studying Talmud for a few minutes a day, across six years, gives me even more respect for the role of civilized, rigorous discussion and safe spaces to disagree. Some people aren’t ready to grow this way. They cannot leave space for that intellectual growth. When challenged, they respond with rejection or name calling, as my kid experienced.

Finally, I realized why sometimes academics spend a lot of grant money and time on choosing the “right” professor to travel to their institution. It’s sometimes too uncomfortable to sit in the room with someone who is not an easy match. Still, we might learn more from the dialogue with those more challenging discussion partners. Learning to bridge divides and live together is sometimes the most meaningful work, after all.

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.

Moment of opportunity

From the first of Vancouver’s weekly vigils for Israeli hostages, after the 10/7 attacks, members of the local Iranian community were a welcome presence. Asked by the Independent why he was moved to join the mostly Jewish crowd at one of the first vigils, an Iranian-Canadian man explained that no one knows better than Iranians the enemy Israel is up against.

Now, it is the Iranians in Vancouver who are gathering regularly to show solidarity with their families halfway around the world. And it is uplifting not only to see Israeli flags and Jewish community members amid the throngs, but additionally inspiring that the Jewish presence is as profoundly welcomed at these gatherings as the Iranian-Canadian support was at our own community’s vigils.

The escalating confrontation between the United States, Israel and the Islamic Republic of Iran is fraught with danger. War in the Middle East rarely unfolds in neat or predictable ways. Yet, for all the risks, the present moment might represent a genuine opportunity.

For more than four decades, the regime in Tehran has destabilized the Middle East. Since the Iranian Revolution in 1979, the Islamic Republic has invested enormous resources in regional proxy networks, backing armed groups across the Middle East while suppressing dissent and freedoms at home. Iran is one of the world’s foremost state sponsors of terror and the primary backer of both Hamas and Hezbollah – Israel’s most dangerous terrorist enemies.

Many Iranians living outside Iran, probably most, support efforts to weaken or eliminate the Islamist regime in Tehran. Diaspora communities across North America and Europe include people who fled political persecution, censorship and the stifling of basic freedoms.

Domestic opposition – the courageous Iranians who have taken to the streets in opposition to government tyranny – has not dislodged the regime, obviously. Many hope that the US-Israel military action could create an environment that might topple it.

The Israelis and Americans, it needs to be noted, have both explicit and less overt objectives in this war. One stated aim, of many unclear objectives, is to ensure that Iran is prevented from developing nuclear weapons. Regime change is not an explicit goal. The US president has instead called on the Iranian people to take this opportunity to continue to rise up against their oppressors. However, the US administration has not made it clear that ending the theocracy is their aim or that the US will be there for the Iranian people if the war’s other geopolitical aims are met.

For Israelis, regime change in Iran probably presents the greatest chance for stability the country has experienced, at least in the past four decades.

A post-theocratic Iran might pursue normal relations with its neighbours and with the West. It could redirect vast resources away from proxy wars and toward economic development.

None of this, of course, is guaranteed or, perhaps, even likely. History offers sobering reminders that the collapse of authoritarian regimes can produce chaos as easily as freedom.

Iran is not Iraq in 2003 or Afghanistan in 2001. It has a large, educated population, a long, cohesive national history and a strong sense of cultural identity that predates the current regime. Civil society – though heavily suppressed – has shown remarkable resilience, from women’s rights movements to waves of protests demanding political reform. These internal forces matter a great deal. Ultimately, the future of Iran will be determined not by foreign militaries but by the Iranian people.

That is why the current moment, dangerous as it is, should also be understood as holding possibility. If external pressure weakens the regime enough to create space for internal change, Iranians may have a chance to shape a different future.

The risks are undeniable. Escalation could spiral. More civilian lives will be lost – especially as a regime saturated with end-times theology sees its very survival threatened. The region could face new volatility before it finds stability. Civil war could break out.

Sometimes, though, the status quo is the deeper danger. The Islamist regime in Tehran has spent decades exporting conflict and constraining the aspirations of its people. As long as it remains in power, Israel and other countries in the region will not know dependable calm or have much chance to fulfil any dreams of peace.

For the Iranian people, for the region and for the world, this may be one of those rare instances when risk and opportunity arrive together. What follows will depend not only on military outcomes but on whether the international community – and Iranians themselves – can seize the chance to build something better.

As events unfold half a world away, something positive is happening closer to home. In this time of danger and war, it is uplifting to witness Jewish British Columbians standing alongside our Iranian neighbours as they have stood alongside us in our most challenging moments.