Opinion – Page 2

A new story every year

Each year, we revisit the same Torah portions but, while the words remain the same, our understandings change based on what is happening in our world or in our lives. The exodus story, the story of Passover, remains as relevant as ever, as people in many parts of the world are being oppressed, are stateless or are living amid war.

As Russia’s attack on Ukraine continues, citizens of that besieged country are seeking refuge in neighbouring states. It does not appear, at present, that Jewish Ukrainians are suffering any more or less than any other citizens of that state. However, history has shown that whenever and wherever upheaval occurs, it almost inevitably affects Jewish people in some particular way.

The age-old question, “What does it mean for the Jews?” is an acknowledgement that events that ostensibly appear unrelated to Jewish people specifically will have unique consequences for Jews.

As Russia’s invasion has faced an unexpected reply from the Ukrainian military and people, the risk of Vladimir Putin being backed into a corner opens the door to worrying potentials. He has already made threatening noises about chemical weapons and, even more worryingly, nuclear weapons – the very suggestions being an untenable line to cross for any nuclear-capable world leader.

It should be remembered, but it has been too infrequently mentioned during this crisis, that Ukraine once had the third-largest nuclear arsenal in the world, a legacy of the dismantling of the Soviet Union. In 1994, Ukraine was persuaded to transfer its entire arsenal to Russia to be decommissioned with the promise from the Western world that we would ensure that country’s security in return. As Ukraine’s President Volodymyr Zelensky continues his virtual global tour, prevailing upon the West to provide more military aid, we should remember that he is asking for the Western world to fulfil the promise it made to his country less than three decades ago.

We should also not need reminding that the existence of a Jewish state is a modern miracle that provides a place of refuge, mere decades after the absence of a homeland led to Jewish history’s worst cataclysm. There are some 200,000 Ukrainians who would qualify for Israeli citizenship under the Law of Return, and planeloads of Jewish Ukrainians are making their way to Israel, fleeing a modern-day pharaoh.

Of course, the land of milk and honey is, in reality, a real-world country facing an enormous range of problems. Recent terror attacks have some people fearing a third intifada or, at least, a season of upheaval like we saw last year when violence erupted. In turn, that hostility spread worldwide, with spikes in antisemitic incidents around the world, including in Canada. While Jews are securely ensconced in the Promised Land, Israelis still seek liberation from the figurative enslavement by terrorists and their supporters. And, at the same time, Palestinians also do not have the freedom they desire and deserve. This latest violence does not serve either people’s dreams of peace or justice; it further enslaves us to cycles of justifications of more violence and pain.

Meanwhile, Jewish families in North America are excited to return to comparatively normal seders and celebrations after two years of pandemic. This is itself a form of liberation. As we reenact the ancient exodus at our seder tables, we will hope for and commit ourselves to a world where all who are oppressed find freedom. This is not a rote rereading and it is not a theoretical wish. In a world with so many challenges and dangers, the story of escape from bondage remains as relevant and urgent as ever.

Again: war triggers memories

Again and again the world does not learn. The ego of dictators and high-ranking politicians is inflated, bordering on insanity. There are many conflicts in the world, but it is Russia’s war on Ukraine that I’m thinking of at this moment.

Who is suffering from all this? The mother with her scared child in her arms, the father who is forced to stay behind and fight, the old and frail, the children in the orphanage who have nowhere to go, the 36-day-old baby boy who does not have yet an identification paper, a name of his own. Who is suffering? The expecting mother who is running, injured, between the ruins of the hospital; the children, scared, hiding in the bomb shelters, hearing explosions and not knowing if they will have a home to return to.

Again and again, people are running in fear, looking for safe shelter. All around them, shelling, sirens, bombardment, hundreds of tanks parading on main city streets, explosions, ruins and distraction.

All this is taking me back decades to another time, the Second World War: Romania, 1940. It triggers memories of my early childhood journey of displacement, fear, cold and hunger. Then 2 years old, my family and I – and thousands of other Jews from northern Romania – were driven out of our homes to the unknown. For one year we were forced to live in a ghetto in a city called Czernowitz (now in Ukraine) in terrible conditions.

After one year, the ghetto was dissolved and we were forced for days to walk by foot in deep mud, carrying bundles of our meagre belongings on our backs toward an area called Transnistria. Long lines of frightened people, old and young, crying babies, the sick and those with disabilities. Those who could not walk were left behind or shot. The Romanian or German soldiers riding on their horses where shouting and beating up anyone who did not comply with their orders.

They forced us to walk from village to village until we arrived in a place called Djurin, where we settled down. There, we lived for four years in terrible condition. My father was taken from us to a work camp. My mother collected dry wood bunches from the nearby forest and exchanged them for food with the Ukrainian women who felt sorry for us. Toward the end of the war, my mother was injured in a bombardment when the Germans were retreating.

I am glad that I was too young to remember most of my fears, but I can’t escape the ripples of horror from those times. They are engraved in my psyche, in my pores. I tremble now when I see the young children on the TV screen with their big, scared eyes. Maybe they are hungry, cold or frightened. I wish I could hug and console them and feed them with my special chicken soup.

image - “Earth Don’t Cover Their Blood” by Sidi Schaffer, Gesher Project, 1998, mixed media — “Earth Don’t Cover Their Blood” by Sidi Schaffer, Gesher Project, 1998, mixed media.

For us, there was no place to seek shelter, nobody wanted us, and nobody cared. The world was silent to our plight. We were denied refuge from most countries. We should remember the destiny of the St. Louis ship, which carried Jewish refugees trying to escape the terror of the war in Europe but was not allowed to enter Cuba, the United States or Canada. The ship had to return to Germany, where 254 of the passengers were murdered by the Nazis. Nor should we forget the ship Struma’s disaster – it was torpedoed and sunk with 800 Jewish refugees, who were on their way from Romania to Palestine. We should not forget Canada’s Frederick Blair, who was in charge of the immigration branch at the time, or then-prime minister William Lyon MacKenzie King’s immigration policy “None is too many,” just when the Jews of Europe were in despair and looking for shelter.

War is evil, then and now and always. Still, I can’t stop being amazed at the differences I see in the world’s reaction of kindness and compassion toward the Ukrainian refugees these days. Moldova, one of the poorest countries in Europe, Poland, Romania and Germany – all have opened their gates with outstretched arms to help the tired mothers, scared children, orphans, the sick and the old. The world’s reaction shows me that the world is changing – including Canada – and that gives me hope.

Israel is bringing in thousands of people from the war zone. They give humanitarian assistance wherever needed. Synagogues in Ukraine, and Jewish congregations from around the world, help bring people to safety, like the Odessa orphanage children that were taken to Berlin.

Still, millions of people suffer because of politics and a madman who wants to expand his territory and his pockets.

I wish that we had in our camps some support, food and warm clothing, medical attention and safety. For us, the world was blind. Only the ones who survived live to tell.

We child survivors are now home for one another.

Sidi Schaffer was born in northern Romania. In 1940, she and her family were put into a ghetto in Czernowitz and, one year later, they were driven toward a concentration camp named Djurin, in northwestern Ukraine. There, in terrible conditions, they survived for four years. In 1945, they returned to Romania and, in 1959, they immigrated to Israel, where she received her degree in art education. In 1975, with husband David and their three sons, she came to Canada. In Edmonton, she went back to her studies and graduated with a bachelor of fine arts from the University of Alberta. In 1998, she and her family settled in Vancouver. Schaffer is a proud member of the Child Survivor Group of Vancouver.

Praying for family in Ukraine

Left to right: Lucien, Grisha, Carole, Leanne and Svetlana at the airport in Kyiv, Ukraine, in 2019. (photo from Carole Lieberman)

My husband Lucien and I have been following the horrific invasion of Ukraine by Russia with particular interest. In 2019, we had the wonderful opportunity of traveling to Kyiv to meet Lucien’s first cousin, Grisha Lieberman, and his family.

Grisha’s father Sam had immigrated to Canada in 1923 and, after spending several years on the family farm in Rumsey, Alta., and later in Calgary, unfortunately Sam returned to Russia in 1928 to escort his parents, who were unhappy in Canada.

Sam had planned to return to Canada, but, after the war, ended up in the Gulag for close to 10 years. At age 57, truly a broken man, Sam met and married Rosa, a Jewish woman, and their son Grisha was born in 1958. We searched for the family for many years and finally contacted them in 2018.

Following our weeklong stay with Grisha and his wife Svetlana in May 2019, we formed a close bond. We are in touch with them often and enjoy regular Zoom visits despite language differences. Our daughter Leanne traveled with us on our 2019 visit, and we were all welcomed warmly.

Svetlana and Grisha have one son, Stanislaus, who is a lawyer in Kyiv. Their daughter, Tina Karol, a famous singer, performs at large concerts in Ukraine and travels the world to perform. Her tour to several U.S. cities, scheduled for this month, was recently canceled.

We follow details of the attack by the Russians on Ukraine closely and value every message that we receive from our cousins. Svetlana messages us regularly and writes that they are in the city of Ivano-Frankivsk, in western Ukraine, where they are staying in an apartment and have access to limited items. They did not want to leave Kyiv and did so only at the last minute by evacuation train. They categorically refuse to leave their cherished land of Ukraine.

She writes: “Fascist Russia wants to destroy our state, just as Hitler tried to destroy other countries in 1941. But Ukraine gives a worthy rebuff to the aggressor…. We believe that Ukraine will win back its freedom and that we will welcome you back to beautiful Kyiv.” She writes that they are getting used to the air raid strikes that occur two or three times each day. Their son Stanislaus is with them in western Ukraine, now in possession of a gun that was provided to him by the government to aid in Ukraine’s defence.

Their daughter Tina left Kyiv before the Russian aggression. When we were there, we clearly remember Tina telling us that she kept a suitcase packed in case of an urgent situation. She is currently in Warsaw; her 16-year-old son goes to school in England.

Last week, we watched with tears as Tina was interviewed on CNN. And, at a recent charity concert in Lodz, Poland, called Together with Ukraine, Tina was one of the performers. It was touching to see her sing with 7-year-old Amelia, who had previously sung “Let it Go” while hiding in a Ukrainian bomb shelter, before making it safely to Poland. Tina performed at a No War telethon attended by the leaders of European countries, the United States and Canada. And, on March 28, she performed in Israel at a charity concert, with funds being raised for medical needs.

We continue to pray for our family and for all Ukrainians, and for a peaceful resolution and a free Ukraine.

Carole Lieberman, a longtime Vancouver resident, is originally from Montreal. She is a mother of three, grandmother of four, and has enjoyed selling Vancouver real estate for 32 years. You can read her article about her family’s 2019 visit to Ukraine at jewishindependent.ca/meaningful-family-trip-to-kyiv.

Catch cancer before it starts

Today’s ancestry services, like 23andMe, have made us more aware than ever of our genes and just how important they are, for both our own health and the health of our children. Celebrities like Angelina Jolie and Matthew Knowles (Beyoncé’s father) have highlighted the importance of two genes specifically – the BRCA genes – and their role in the development of hereditary breast and ovarian cancers. Even so, with the risk of carrying these genes in the general population only estimated between 1/400 and 1/1,000, for most of us, these genes seem like someone else’s problem. But, a few years ago, I learned that people of certain backgrounds, specifically those with Ashkenazi Jewish heritage, are actually at 10 times the risk of the general population (one in 40) for carrying these BRCA genes. I then learned that I was BRCA1 positive. I am an Ashkenazi Jewish woman.

In the 1970s, my paternal grandmother, then a young woman, was treated for breast cancer and made a full recovery. She passed away in 2014. When she died, I requested to be tested for BRCA through the B.C. Cancer Agency’s Hereditary Cancer Program. At the time, I was not prioritized for the test because no one in my immediate family had had a cancer that would directly link me to the gene. I was not seen at the time as being “high enough” risk.

But, in December 2017, I received a phone call that changed everything. It was from my older sister. She had recently volunteered to join something called the Screen Project study at Women’s College Hospital in Toronto, which included testing for the BRCA gene mutations. She had received her results and had tested positive for the BRCA1 gene mutation. I immediately registered for my own test. The test eventually came in the mail, I spit in the cup and sent it back. A month later, I received my own call from the study.

I was told that I was also positive for the BRCA1 gene mutation and that my chances of getting breast cancer and/or ovarian cancer were extremely high – about 70% lifetime risk. I was told that I would need to make some urgent decisions about having more children because regular screenings and preventable surgeries were now available to me. It was recommended that I take action immediately because of my age. The study connected me back to the B.C. Cancer Agency’s Hereditary Cancer Program, which would connect me with my medical care team.

The next year would prove to be a whirlwind for our family. Within a month, I was pregnant with my third child. I planned to have a surgery to remove my ovaries and fallopian tubes (a salpingo-oophorectomy) the following year. While all of this was taking place, my sister had gone for her first mammogram. It initially was clear, but more intensive screening (available in priority to BRCA carriers) revealed cancer. I then had to witness my beautiful older sister battle breast cancer and go through a full double mastectomy. She luckily made a full recovery. We then celebrated the end of her battle with the birth of my own child, followed soon after by my own salpingo-oophorectomy, the day before my sister’s reconstructive surgery.

As devastating as those phone calls were, one thing is clear to me – that my sister is now cancer-free and alive because she learned she was BRCA1 positive. I also know that my own BRCA status has afforded me the ability to make life decisions, have preventive surgeries and avoid cancer now and in the future. Although scary to consider, the knowledge of the BRCA1 gene in our family has been invaluable and saved lives.

I now volunteer for a committee in British Columbia called BRCAinBC, which is working to improve awareness of and access to testing for the BRCA genes in people of Ashkenazi Jewish heritage in the province. It is our message that all people with Jewish heritage should consider getting tested for BRCA genes, as new studies show that only half of all Ashkenazi Jewish carriers have the requisite history of cancer in the family that would indicate risk for carrying a BRCA gene.

We also let people know that the best time to get tested is when they are young and healthy – before cancer strikes! Testing for BRCA in your 20s and 30s provides people with many more options to prevent and manage their risk of cancer. Testing is quick, simple, easy and cheap (or free in many cases).

It is just as important for men to get tested as it is for women – BRCA genes are better known for their role in breast and ovarian cancers, but they also significantly increase the risk of many other cancers that affect men, including aggressive prostate cancers, pancreatic cancers and melanoma.

Learning your BRCA status can, of course, be overwhelming, but it also can provide you and your family with the tools to stop cancer before it starts. That’s what it did for me.

Tovah Carr is a member of the BRCAinBC committee in British Columbia. BRCAinBC is an initiative to increase awareness and understanding of genetic cancer risk in the Jewish community and provide support for those who want to get tested and for people found to carry the BRCA genes. For more information, visit brcainbc.ca. For more information on the Screen Project, go to thescreenproject.ca.

Four more questions to ask

One of the four additional questions that the Centre for Israel and Jewish Affairs suggests we ask ourselves this Passover is: As we solemnly intone “Next year in Jerusalem,” how can we express the significance of the land of Israel in our Jewish Canadian identity? (photo by IRR Photography)

Traditional celebrations of recent Passover seasons were certainly curtailed, and even canceled, by the pandemic. For those of us fortunate enough to have emerged from COVID-19 with our families intact, we now – finally – will have an opportunity to come together to celebrate the holiday as it should be – among extended family and old friends.

The limits placed on us by the pandemic, however, have not curtailed the Centre for Israel and Jewish Affairs’ work. Ensuring increased COVID funding for frontline charitable organizations helping the elderly, ill and all others among our most vulnerable was paramount in our advocacy to governments at all levels. Supplemental funds are never quite sufficient, but these extra funds were realized in federation agencies across the country.

The disturbing surge in antisemitism that came with the pandemic became another focus of our work. Last summer, as a founding member of the Canadian Coalition to Combat Online Hate, we organized the federal government-|sponsored Emergency Summit on Antisemitism that brought together government, media, academic and other experts in combating online hate that so often leads to real-life violence.

Connected to pervasive hate online is spreading distortion and even outright denial of the Holocaust. A poll commissioned by the Canadian charity Liberation75 showed that, of 3,600 students in grades 6 to 12, a shocking 33% were either uncertain about the Holocaust, thought that the death toll was exaggerated or questioned whether the Holocaust even happened. In Ontario’s largest school board – and in others from the West to the Maritimes – incidents of antisemitism have begun to be reported almost weekly.

This kind of disturbing trend requires focused, strategic action. CIJA has received a grant to leverage the expertise of historians, teachers and Jewish scholars to create a curriculum for Ontario middle-school students that will teach them about the Holocaust – and about modern-day antisemitism. Most recently, CIJA has urged support for MP Kevin Waugh’s private member’s bill that proposes Canada follow the example of other countries – including France and Germany – to make Holocaust denial an offence under Canada’s Criminal Code.

To spur discussion about what such legislation could do, CIJA hosted a national webinar about reasons to criminalize Holocaust denial, the challenges posed, and what we can learn from jurisdictions where similar laws have been enacted. With experts from Canada, France and Israel espousing various perspectives, the discussion was informed, civil and productive.

Discussion. Now that’s an area where Jews tend to feel both comfortable and motivated. And that brings me to the Pesach celebration awaiting us this year. Of course, we will delight in visits with our loved ones. Some of us will see children or grandchildren, newly arrived or grown significantly since our last Passover seder together. Many will have questions – not only the traditional four we ask annually, harking back to our historic connections to Israel, but also questions about being Jewish today, in Canada.

We think Jews in communities large and small have lots to talk about, and we want to facilitate engaged, thoughtful discussions responding to four more questions we’ve proposed for this Passover. We propose, this Passover seder, that Jewish families and friends think about the issues CIJA, as the advocacy agent of Jewish federations across Canada, has been prioritizing.

More background is available, along with suggested responses, at cija.ca/4morequestions, but here are the questions:

Looking at increased denial and distortion of the Holocaust, our most recent enslavement, how can we stop Holocaust denial and distortion? In the realm of online hate and antisemitism, we remember numerous historic efforts to destroy the Jewish people. What can Canadians do to combat online hate and antisemitism today? Turning to community security, as a once-enslaved people, we ask, what does a safe space for Jewish Canadians look like? And, as we solemnly intone “Next year in Jerusalem,” how can we express the significance of the land of Israel in our Jewish Canadian identity?

That’s a lot. But that’s what we are up against, even living in Canada, one of the safest places for Jews anywhere.

As we gather this year, whether part of a small family, an extended clan of young and old, or among friends, let us celebrate the joy of our survival and how, together, we can work to shape our future.

May your Passover be a peaceful, thoughtful, and happy one. Chag Pesach sameach!

Judy Zelikovitz is vice-president, University and Local Partner Services, at CIJA, the Centre for Israel and Jewish Affairs.

Puddle splashing and balance

If you’ve ever slogged through a spring melt in a place, like, say, Winnipeg, you know about the odd balance … the one where it’s best if the snow melts slowly, even painfully, with a freeze at night. Why? Too fast a melt and everything is flooded.

On the prairies – or, frankly, any place without good drainage – basements, wellies and everything else can be in trouble if a big pile of snow hits a too-warm sunny spring. In these places, and I’ve lived in three, now that I think of it: Buffalo and Ithaca, New York, and also Winnipeg … spring is both desperately, sorely anticipated and, well, sometimes gross. It’s full of dirty snow, big puddles and treacherous ice.

Yet we continue, every winter, to long for spring and better weather to come. It’s like we have amnesia and forget this long dirty shoulder season. Years ago, I told myself that, obviously, the snowbirds had it wrong. The best time to travel, if it could ever be managed, would be during the puddle period.

I was thinking about the puddles, Passover and, also, the talmudic tractate I am currently studying as part of Daf Yomi, a page of Talmud a day. From now until the summer, that tractate is Yevamot – the tractate that deals with the notion of levirate marriage. What’s that, you say? It’s the ancient obligation for a childless widow to either marry her husband’s brother to produce a child after her husband’s death, or perform a ceremony called halitzah, in which she is freed from this obligation.

This is probably the first time in more than two years of doing this Daf Yomi study when I seriously just wanted to quit. Yes, studying an ancient text, no matter how holy or intellectually stimulating, can sometimes feel irrelevant. Yevamot goes way beyond “slightly boring” or irrelevant. It wanders into the gross, mucky puddles for me. It’s right up there in the news articles that come with trigger warnings because of issues containing abuse. For a modern person, particularly a woman, some of these rabbis’ discussions in Yevamot really wear me down – because rape, child marriage and other issues really unacceptable to the modern reader arise frequently.

I was proceeding, reading late at night out of duty, and using an approach I perfected in graduate school. This involves skimming the thing as fast as possible so that, if one day I am ever asked about this in a weekly seminar, I can nod somewhat knowingly and bring up the one or two points I can remember. This worked when the professor assigned three academic tomes a week and expected us all to discuss them. (Later, I learned he did this in hopes we would drop the course due to the workload. He felt guilty when we all took it anyway and bought us coffees while we soldiered onwards.)

Of course, I’m learning for the sake of learning now, not because I expect to be tested or, heaven forbid, asked to lead the seminar at a moment’s notice.

This is one of those few times when I was saved by social media. I was on Twitter and, because I follow others who are also learning this way, I started seeing their comments. Several of them summed up, in 280 characters or less (or a TikTok), that they too were struggling. Eye-rolling and other more disgusting noises may have come out of their mouths at some of this. I had a huge sense of relief. I wasn’t alone. Others felt exactly the way I felt. We were part of some internet club I’d forgotten I’d joined. Whew.

There’s a reason why, traditionally, Talmud is studied in a hevruta, a pair or group setting. Some of the topics are hard to understand, for all sorts of reasons. I don’t have a physical study group. Heck, that’s OK, I’ve done nearly this entire thing during a pandemic. I’m a busy mom who stays up too late to read this stuff. I’m lucky to have access to it at all, as a woman, and also for free, online at Sefaria. There’s a lot of support online now that got me to this point, since this kind of study was traditionally dominated by men.

However, I know that feeling a sense of camaraderie and the insights that come from studying with others are important. They certainly helped spur me to continue when I thought the subject matter of Yevamot wasn’t for me and I wanted to quit.

To bring this back to those dirty spring puddles, well, this time of year, while it can be a slog, is also prime time to prep for Passover. This, too, can feel like a struggle. However much preparation you take on for this holiday, it can feel too hard. Cleaning up and scrubbing and eating down your chametz (bread products) can get to be too much.

For many, there’s pressure from those more traditional. Have you cleaned between the sofa cushions thoroughly? How about the stroller?

Those who are secular or less involved pressure me in another way, asking why I make myself “crazy” with any of this.

Passover preparations can feel like one long walk through Winnipeg’s springtime: navigating endless icy puddles, black ice and snow mold.

What helps me continue? It’s that whiff of spring air, or maybe the matzah ball soup, cooked in advance of the holiday. It’s the photo or long ago trip to a warmer climate, where the flowers were already in bloom. Also, it’s taking myself back to the Babylonian Talmud, in Yevamot 13. That’s the page with the reminder that the rabbis teach us not to divide ourselves into factions. That is, we are to value our diversity, our various customs, rather than let our disagreements divide us.

Some people love Passover. Some people love splashing in puddles. Life is a balancing act, and we’re lucky that we’re all unique and different. There’s sometimes a huge sense of shame that rises up when we admit that, actually, no, this text/season/holiday might not be the best thing since, say, sliced bread. Finding out, via a study partner, a friend or even a stranger online that we’re not alone can be so reassuring.

We’re not all the same, but the rabbis encouraged us not to create factions or separate ourselves unnecessarily, either. This is useful wisdom because, after Passover, Shavuot’s not far behind. Pesach’s cold in Winnipeg, and even Lag b’Omer picnics can be snowed or rained out. But Shavuot? That’s a holiday I love. It takes all kinds, as we teeter totter our way through the Jewish year, balancing between seasons. That balance is what makes our holiday observances, and even the talmudic tractates I struggle through, rich indeed.

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.

Know Hatzaad Harishon?

Journalist and author Sybil Kaplan, who is a regular contributor to the Jewish Independent’s special holiday issues, was, in her younger years, the first leader of Hatzaad Harishon, a Jewish youth group that was formed in the 1960s in New York. She led the group for five years. At some stage in the 1970s, the organization ceased to exist.

Kaplan has written a book about Hatzaad Harishon but would like to augment it with the memories of more of its former members. She is hoping that they would share some of their recollections. If you or someone you know is familiar with Hatzaad Harishon or you were a member and would like to connect with Kaplan, she can be reached at [email protected].

Canada’s new direction?

Jewish Canadians were instrumental in building the Canadian labour movement and, by extension, the Cooperative Commonwealth Federation, which would go on to become the New Democratic Party.

Political scientists and others have observed that, as immigrant communities integrate into their new societies and become more economically secure, their voting patterns and ideological outlooks tend to move across the spectrum. While Canada has seen a small but steady growth of Jewish immigration in recent decades – with spikes during significant events like the end of the Soviet empire – the community, as a whole, is now firmly established.

Canadian Jews, like other groups that have deep roots in our relatively new country, have experienced economic and social success. Individual Jewish households, of course, face every range of economic and social challenge, issues that are addressed by a network of social service agencies guided by the principle Kol Yisrael arevim zeh bazeh, all Israel is responsible for one another. While there is a sacred instruction for Jews to care for our own, Jewish values have also played a role in the actions of Jewish Canadians in relation to the broader Canadian society. Through individual and collective activism, from individuals like David Lewis in the last century to groups like the Centre for Israel and Jewish Affairs today, Canadian Jews have influenced public policy and made the country better and more welcoming for all.

Despite whatever economic advances Canadian Jews have made as a group, it is often noted that, as a community, Jews tend to remain politically progressive. In a practical sense, this has been complicated by positions taken by some on the left, including trade unions, the New Democrats and the Green party. Jewish Canadians are overwhelmingly Zionist and, over the past 50 years, picking up steam in the past two decades, the left has become less and less supportive of Israel and Jewish self-determination. The debate about where anti-Zionism ends and where antisemitism begins is for another day. Stated simply, many Canadian Jews are progressive voters who, due to foreign policy issues, find themselves politically homeless. (The pro-Israel stands of the Stephen Harper government also shook many Jews away from their traditional political allegiances.)

With this context in mind, the surprise announcement Tuesday that the federal Liberal government has signed a supply and confidence agreement with the New Democrats may allow some progressive Zionist voters to have their cake and eat it too.

Under this deal – the same kind of agreement that the NDP and Greens in British Columbia signed to topple the B.C. Liberals in 2017 – the parties have agreed to advance things that have long been on the NDP agenda, such as a national dental care program and national pharmacare. It will apparently enhance ongoing reconciliation work through investments in Indigenous housing and continuing to confront the tragedy of missing and murdered Indigenous women and girls. Changes to the tax system and reducing barriers to participation in elections are also among the points released Tuesday.

The thorny issue of affordable housing will also be part of the mix – although what any government can successfully and substantively do on this issue remains a big question mark.

The provision of affordable universal child care – a promise made repeatedly by the Liberals and still not realized – is another marquis issue, as is addressing climate change and supporting workers.

The deal hearkens back to a similar one between then-prime minister Paul Martin, a Liberal, and the New Democrats, under Jack Layton, which buoyed a minority Liberal government in exchange for a $4.6 billion injection of federal funds into social programs.

For Canadian Jews who remain committed to progressive political values, the rather sudden announcement this week could be very welcome. Canada will (presumably) get a raft of new legislation on issues from environmental protections to economic justice, without subjecting Canadian foreign policy to the whims of a party that has signaled disregard to Jewish Canadians’ familial, historical and emotional ties to the state of Israel.

For those Canadian Jews who do not subscribe to this agenda, well, there is an opportunity for shaping an alternative. The federal Conservative party is in the early stages of what will be, it appears, a fight for the ideological soul of the party. The response to the Liberal-NDP deal by interim Conservative leader Candice Bergen was predictably skeptical. She called it a “power grab” by Trudeau, though time will tell whether a three-year reprieve from a snap election will allow the new Tory leader to cement their role before facing voters.

In any event, the battle lines for the next several years are being drawn. A Liberal-NDP agenda on one side and a possible new approach at the head of the Conservative party on the other.

We hope that Canada avoids the level of polarized partisanship we see in the United States and some other countries. It is, in fact, Canada’s history of moderation and compromise that has made it a welcoming place for Jews and other minority communities. However, it is always healthy in a democracy to have clear, definable choices.

The NDP and Liberals will be laying out their apparently ambitious agenda for the coming years. Those vying for the Conservative party leadership will now have a plethora of fresh policy initiatives to sink their teeth into to define themselves in contrast with this unexpected new informal coalition.

Experiences shape identity

I recently studied the Pardes story in Tractate Chagigah of the Babylonian Talmud. This story is a complicated, mystical journey. The Mishnah starts by asking what extremely sensitive topics are difficult and, therefore, should only be taught in small groups. The presence of G-d is one of those topics. In the Pardes (literally “Orchard”) narrative, four rabbis go in search of G-d’s presence. It’s a life-changing event. Only Rabbi Akiva comes out alive and intact. Ben Azzai dies. Ben Zoma “was harmed” – this is interpreted to mean that he lost his mind. Elisha Ben Abuya becomes acher, or other, a heretic who is forever changed by his experience.

This narrative stuck with me, particularly the stories about Elisha Ben Abuya, who, although still respectful and learned, remains forever “othered” by his experience. He’s unable to be included, or to properly reconnect or embrace communal Jewish life again.

When I was 14, I decided I wanted to become a rabbi. For years, this was my goal. I was actively involved in my congregation. My mom, a Jewish professional, started a Jewish nursery school, and then went on to become a director of education and, finally, a temple administrator/executive director. That building and community were like my house. I knew it inside and out. The rabbi’s family was extended family to me. We had picnics and cookouts, I played with their kids. I knew that Jewish professionals were people I loved. It made becoming a rabbi seem attainable.

I lived in Israel for a year in high school. I went to and worked at Jewish camps, studied Hebrew and Near Eastern studies in university, taught religious school and Jewish music and served on a religious school committee. I helped lead services. Then, in my last year of university, I interviewed at not one, but two rabbinical schools. I started with the Reform Movement’s Hebrew Union College (HUC). I later interviewed at the Reconstructionist Rabbinical College (RRC).

I wasn’t accepted. Looking back, with a lot more interview experience, I can easily see that the interview process was flawed. The committee asked illegal, uncomfortable questions. The process didn’t judge me on my academic skills, Jewish involvement or merits. I was told, after the “try again next year” rejection, that I needed counseling. (Not career counseling, but just vague “counseling.”) Since my family was closely tied to the Reform movement, I heard later that, in that cohort, the competition for women to be accepted was much harder than it was for men. Many more women applied than men did, and there were reportedly quotas. At the time, women hadn’t reached parity in the field. The seminary didn’t want to accept more than 50% women.

Later, I watched several people, including a guy I had dated in university, get into rabbinical school and become a successful rabbi. He had lower academic grades and less Hebrew proficiency than I did.

RRC’s interview was much more respectful. I appreciated it, but they suggested that they weren’t sure I was Reconstructionist. They also rejected my application, again with an invitation to resubmit later, when I was “sure.”

Losing the life goal of becoming a rabbi was a difficult identity shift. I focused on what I had wanted out of the rabbinate: Jewish learning, chances to teach and lead services, build community and write about Jewish topics. I pursued a master’s in education and started teaching. I moved, got a dog, and got engaged … all serious commitments. It meant I wouldn’t suddenly be reapplying to rabbinical school and flying off to spend a year in Israel. I didn’t want to put off my life any longer to face rejection again.

On social media, I recently watched a long-time teacher transition out of the classroom to another kind of consultancy work. It was a flashback moment. More than 20 years ago, I was a high school teacher. I also taught religious school and tutored kids for b’nai mitzvah. Teaching was a huge part of who I was as a person. However, I wasn’t sure that my position was ideal. I still wanted to study more. I decided to go back to graduate school. This coincided with getting married. When I returned to get a religious studies degree, it felt like I’d lost any sense of authority, despite having a master’s degree and teaching experience.

In the graduate program, I earned a tiny stipend as a teaching assistant. Nobody cared that I already knew how to teach. While I did learn a lot, mostly on my own, I had the bad luck to enter a program that was splintering. A lot of faculty left, including my advisor. Without an advisor, I finished with only a second master’s degree, and went back into an educational administration job. I continued moving for my husband’s academic career, becoming a shape-changer in terms of my freelance work life.

I’m now in mid-career and, while I’m not a rabbi, I achieved some of my goals. I study more, have taught some, and I write about Judaism. That said, reading about Elisha Ben Abuya’s “othering” as a result of his experiences really struck home. Many of us have had these life-altering shifts of identity. Sometimes, it is individual, like a teacher’s career change or a divorce or the death of a loved one. Sometimes, like the millions fleeing war in Ukraine, Syria or Afghanistan, it’s a complete departure from life as they knew it. It can be soul-crushing. Some die, like Ben Azzai. Some are unable to maintain their sanity, like Ben Zoma.

One’s career or life can change gently, but often it’s sudden, like in war or with a swift rejection. Sometimes, it is a sapling or “shoot,” a hope for new direction, cut down, as Ben Abuya’s experience relates. Our lives shift. We change identities and directions. However, through all this, Jewish traditions can offer us a story or a metaphor from which we can learn or with which to identify.

Elisha Ben Abuya’s story is a tough and sad one. It also offers solace. I suspect more of us have had this gut-wrenching experience than we want to admit. Acher/Ben Abuya was public about his angst and struggle – and his community did try to help. Perhaps there’s a lot to be gained through processing and acknowledging our hardest experiences, even if, in Acher’s situation, his relief and resolution came only long after he died.

Hoping sanctions work

The world’s economies have never been more integrated or interdependent. This is most immediately evident in the fact that a war halfway around the world sends gasoline prices skyrocketing in Metro Vancouver.

But that interdependence has also permitted the most dramatic, swift and merciless sanctions ever seen – as a response to that very war. Within days of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, a jaw-dropping catalogue of economic penalties was slammed against the Russian regime. Not only that, but the sanctions have taken aim at individual millionaires and billionaires who exist in a symbiotic, mafia-like relationship with the Russian dictator, Vladimir Putin. Every day, the news is filled with one company after another cutting ties with Russian businesses, stopping trade with Russian producers and withdrawing their products and services from Russian consumers.

Cultural boycotts have also been swift. The Vancouver Recital Society canceled a scheduled event with the Russian piano wunderkind Alexander Malofeev and scores or hundreds of similar cancellations have taken place in the classical music arena and other cultural sectors. International sporting competitions have barred Russian participation.

The combined effects of these thousands of individual actions are intended to put pressure on Russian citizens who will then, the plan goes, turn on their leader who will then, perhaps, alter his murderous invasion and withdraw or, better still, be ousted in favour of a return to the nascent democracy Russia was nurturing before Putin put his boot heel on its neck.

If these sanctions work, it could be a turning point in human history – nonviolent economic retribution outmanoeuvring brute force. (In addition to economic sanctions, Western countries have also supplied Ukraine with military equipment and other supports, while stopping short of meeting the entreaties of Ukraine’s President Volodymyr Zelensky that the West get more directly involved, including by implementing a no-fly zone over his country, which would equate to a direct military conflict between Russia and the West.)

Events are unfolding by the minute, with more than two million refugees flooding neighbouring countries in the course of just 10 days and horrific images of destruction and death flowing out to the world. Amid all this, a few observations stand out.

Israel’s Prime Minister Naftali Bennett traveled to Moscow after Zelensky implored him to act as an intermediary. Israel has fraught, complex and deep historical and contemporary connections with both countries, including a massive chunk of Israel’s population that came from Russia and Ukraine in the past 30 years and another large proportion with older roots in the region. Bennett and Zelensky are, it has been noted, the only two Jewish heads of government in the world. Zelensky’s steadfastness during these weeks of war has inspired the world, perhaps especially Jews worldwide, who now see him as a David defending both his homeland and democracy itself from the Goliath of Putin’s military. It would be remarkable if the prime minister of Israel were able to play a part in brokering the end to war and restoring national integrity to Ukraine.

In this space, we have been critical of cultural boycotts that target Israeli performers, athletes and others. Cultural interactions between citizens of diverse countries are the lifeblood of global civilization. In the case of real or proposed sanctions against Israel, the end-goal is ambiguous. Depending on the proponent, movements to boycott Israel aim to variously sanction particular policies, end the occupation or end Israel (as the term “anti-Zionist” implies). They are, for all intents, a punishment without end, given that the end-goal is vague. In the case of Russia, the hope is that the short, sharp shock of sanctions will lead to a satisfactory resolution and then we will ideally again soon welcome Russian performers and athletes, to say nothing of a return to trade with one of the world’s largest economies. The clarity of the call – leave Ukraine alone! – is critical to success. Unlike the undefined or obscured goals of BDS, the campaign against Russia is clear. If Russia retreats, sanctions will be peeled back.

There is another issue worth considering. It is notable that countries guilty of egregious crimes, such as the Chinese government’s imprisonment of hundreds of thousands of its Uyghur Muslim citizens and others, have not brought down the near-unanimous wrath of the West. Perhaps this is proof of the dictum that white lives elicit greater global concern than lives of people of colour. It may also be that the world understands that the invasion of Ukraine might be a precursor to greater territorial ambitions. It is also unavoidable that, for the Western collective memory, war in Europe evokes the gravest ghosts of the 20th century.

We will soon know whether the most comprehensive sanctions ever imposed (undergirded by materiel support) can end this conflict without the worst case scenario – direct conflagration between nuclear powers, Russia and the West – coming to pass. If they are successful, it would signal a new age in which concerted economic influence, rather than boots on the ground, can turn the tide of history.