Opinion – Page 2

A complex problem

In British Columbia last year, 2,272 people died from toxic drugs, according to information released last week. More than 11,000 people have died of drug toxicity in the province since a public health emergency was declared in April 2016.

While many people associate these tragic deaths with the troubles of the Downtown Eastside, the reality is that Vancouver Coastal Health – the region that includes that neighbourhood as well as much of Metro Vancouver – accounted for 14% of the drug-related deaths in the province last year. Rural communities are disproportionately affected. Most disproportionately affected of all are Indigenous communities. The First Nations Health Authority reports that, while making up 3.2% of the province’s population, First Nations people comprised 15% of all toxic drug deaths in 2021 and 2022.

It is worth remembering that, while people have died from toxic drugs on the streets, they also have died in the living rooms of our most exclusive neighbourhoods, and they have died everywhere in between.

The City of Vancouver just announced $2.8 million for the hiring of 58 mental health workers and expanded programs to address frontline issues and public safety responses, according to Mayor Ken Sim. Also, this week, a new policy went into effect in British Columbia, under which possession of some illegal drugs will not result in arrest or charges. This is an innovative effort to reconsider the problem as a health issue, not a legal one.

While there may be disagreements and concerns about the approach the city, the province and the federal government are taking on the problems that plague individuals and communities around mental health, addictions, crime and safety, there has also been a degree of unnecessary and unwelcome cynicism. Too many seem to view the problems – and the people they affect – as an inconvenience to be swept away rather than as complex social issues requiring comprehensive responses.

In the search for explanations and solutions, there has been too frequent a tendency to blame the victim, to drive through troubled neighbourhoods in our city and province and condemn not the problems, or the context of those problems, but the people they affect.

In many instances, people suffering represent the contemporary impacts of policies and practices past and present. Land acknowledgments and efforts at reconciliation mean little to nothing if they are not accompanied by truth and by compassion for the long-term effects of these wrongs. Coming to terms with the impact on Indigenous peoples of residential schools, intergenerational trauma and generalized discrimination and lack of opportunity has opened many eyes to how these historical and contemporary realities have affected communities. Perhaps we have not done as well in recognizing how these impacts manifest in individuals.

People experiencing the harms of the drug poisoning crisis, Indigenous and non-Indigenous alike, come from a place of struggle and suffering. Really, every person is impacted in some way by circumstances of their social context, as well as their experiences. Some of the problems we experience are a result of individual health or vulnerabilities and others of systemic discrimination or falling through cracks in the education system or social safety net. Whatever the causes, they each require us to come together to address them.

Of course, these issues are not at all limited to our city. Across North America and elsewhere, urban and rural communities are troubled by substance issues and other problems, including a lack of safe and affordable housing, which is foundational to individual and communal well-being. If anyone had simple answers, they would have been adopted and implemented by now. This is an enormous challenge we must attempt to address humanely, compassionately and effectively without victim-blaming.

Organizations and many individuals in the Jewish community have been committed to these issues for some time and those collective efforts reflect the core Jewish value of tikkun olam, repairing the world, but they also reflect hakaim takim imo, “you shall surely lift him [and her] up.”

The tragic statistics confirm what we already know. They are a reminder, though, that a great deal remains to be done to address the problems and to reduce the social causes of the crisis. Trying new approaches that focus on compassion and justice is a right course. They may not work. But the cost of not trying is far too high.

Opportunity for healing

This article was originally presented as a d’var Torah called “Healing our relationship, as Jewish Canadians, with Ukraine and Ukrainians.” It was delivered at Or Shalom Synagogue on Shabbat, 14th of Tevet, 5783; Jan. 7, 2023. It is intended as a beginning of a conversation about how we, as Canadian Jews, can heal our relationship with Ukrainians and Ukraine.

When many of us Canadian Jews think about Jewish experience on Ukrainian territory, we think of antisemitic violence. We think of pogroms, of rape, of plunder. And, ultimately, of either escape or death. For those of us with personal ancestral history in the territory of Ukraine, this pairing of the land with violence is particularly acute. One Or Shalom member told me, with raw emotion, about his father’s experiences at the hands of brutal Ukrainian guards in various Nazi concentration camps. My Uncle Leo referred to Easter as pogrom season in the town of Yavorov, the town presently in western Ukraine, called Yavariv in Ukrainian, where he lived until the age of 11. He spoke to me of his childhood as a past from which he had, thankfully, escaped.

It is not uncommon for individuals to seek escape from a painful childhood past. However, we are learning from contemporary trauma theory that, as much as we may want to leave the past behind us, it lives on within us. Ukraine lives on in the deep psychic life of many of us and in the psychic life of the Canadian Jewish community with its extensive roots on Ukrainian territory.

As we are all aware, the Ukrainian people are heroically resisting a brutal assault by Russian forces. As well as eliciting fear, horror and outrage, this situation presents us with an invitation to move beyond our feelings of separation from our history on Ukrainian soil and from the Ukrainian people. The war provides us with the opportunity to claim our own legacy and place in the new, complex, multiethnic, multiracial, democratic Ukraine, with all its triumphs, challenges and contradictions. This is an opportunity for healing.

I want to share some of what I have learned that has helped me on this healing path.

If we look at the historic record of Jewish life on Ukrainian territory, we see that Jewish-Ukrainian coexistence was deep, complex and multi-dimensional. Demographically, Ukrainian territory was one of the main centres of Jewish life for more than 400 years. On the eve of the Holocaust, there were more than two-and-a-half million Jews in that area.

There were periods of horrific violence and crippling antisemitism against Jews on Ukrainian territory, as well as periods of ongoing systematic prejudice. These realities must not be overlooked or minimized. But we also see many examples of interconnection between Ukrainian Jews and ethnic Ukrainians. We see many examples of shared music with similar melodies and even bilingual songs; of similar folk stories; and of similar folk remedies and folk healing practices, with Jewish Ukrainian and ethnic Ukrainian folk healers sharing their remedies with each other and tending to both populations.

And there is considerable similarity in those quintessential Jewish activities – food preparation and consumption. This past summer, I made pickles with my Ukrainian-Canadian friend Beverly Dobrinsky, using an old family recipe of hers. The next day, I discovered the exact same recipe, grain of salt per grain of salt, in my own disordered family recipe collection.

Looking at literary translation, one of my passions, we find many examples of the translation of works between Yiddish and Ukrainian and between Ukrainian and Yiddish. In the late 1920s, Ukrainian writer Yuriy Budiak wrote two bird-themed children’s books that have been described as delightful and playful. Shortly thereafter, the books were published in Yiddish translation and enjoyed by Yiddish-speaking Jewish children. These books were recently published by Naydus Press in the United States in a trilingual edition – Ukrainian, Yiddish and English – to raise funds for the Ukrainian war effort.

During the 1930s, both Yiddish and Ukrainian writers experienced repression by the Stalinist Soviet government and experienced difficulty publishing their own writing. In response, they began translating one another’s work and the work of Soviet-sanctioned writers from one another’s cultures. The esteemed Yiddish poet Dovid Hofshteyn translated the work of Taras Shevchenko, known as “the national bard of Ukraine.” The Yiddish writer Leib Kvitko taught Yiddish to the Ukrainian writer Pavlo Tychyna, who went on to translate a number of Yiddish writers into Ukrainian.

As Prof. David Fishman from the Jewish Theological Centre in New York points out, all these similarities and interconnections‚“only happen with close contact.”

Moving into the present, by focusing solely or predominantly on past violence and persecution, we fail to take into account the cataclysmic changes Ukraine has undergone, notably since the breakup of the Soviet Union and the country’s emergence in 1991 as an independent nation with a sizable contemporary Jewish population. David Klion estimated, in Jewish Currents, that the Jewish population of Ukraine at the time of the Russian invasion in February of 2022 was more than 100,000 people.

Since independence, Ukrainians have been redefining what it means to be Ukrainian, moving from an ethnic category of belonging based on ethnic and religious identity to a civic category based on citizenship. This is an important issue for all Ukrainians, but particularly for the many individuals, including Jews, who are not ethnically Ukrainian.

Last April, I had the enormous privilege of hearing a Zoom talk organized by the Vancouver Holocaust Education Centre and given by Dr. Magda Havryshko, a Ukrainian academic. Havryshko spoke of two different national narratives in Ukraine, an ethnocentric narrative focusing on the country as the homeland of the Ukrainian people, and a multiethnic narrative “that priorizes examining Ukraine’s difficult history in relation to Jews.” Havryshko shared information about several inspiring initiatives undertaken in Ukraine in relation to its Jewish population. I will outline three of these initiatives here: during the celebration of Ukrainian independence in 2021, Holocaust history and memory was central; the history of the Holocaust on Ukrainian territory is now taught in all schools beginning at the elementary level; and, lastly, President Volodymir Zelensky and his government have set out a definition of antisemitism, introducing legal punishments for antisemitic acts.

Prof. Amelia Glaser, who studies and teaches comparative literature and translation, has spoken about a desire among contemporary Ukrainian writers to “look very closely at past moments of history and of ethnic violence as Ukrainian tragedies‚” rather than solely as Jewish tragedies. The book-length poem “Babyn Yar in Voices‚” by Marianna Kiyanovska, a non-Jewish Ukrainian, about the 1941 slaughter of Jews in a ravine outside Kyiv, was recently published in English translation by Oksana Maksymshuk. Further, several works by Ukrainian Yiddish writers have been recently translated into Ukrainian, including the fabulous avant-garde Yiddish poetry of Debora Vogel and Sholem Aleichem’s Tevye, which many of you know as Fiddler on the Roof. By the way, Sholem Aleichem lived most of his adult life in Kyiv, a city that he loved.

Without in any way discounting the violence and antisemitism against Jews on Ukrainian territory, I hope I have provided a little forshpayz, an appetizer, about areas of cooperation and interconnection between Ukrainian Jews and ethnic Ukrainians. I have focused on translation and literature, two of my passions, but I encourage you to look for examples of interconnection in the areas of your own interest.

When I think about healing my relationship with Ukraine, it helps me to think about the complexity of my own identity and experience. I am the granddaughter of Jewish immigrants who fled poverty and persecution in different parts of the former Russian Empire, including Ukrainian territory, at the beginning of the 20th century. My maternal grandparents settled in Montreal; my paternal grandparents, in New York. It is telling that I do not know the specific history of the Indigenous nations in the areas in which my grandparents settled but I think I can assume that the lands had been forcibly taken from the Indigenous inhabitants. Two generations later, I continue to live on unceded (that is – stolen) territory, that of the Squamish (Sḵwx̱wú7mesh), Tsleil-Waututh (səlilwətaɬ), Musqueam (xʷməθkʷəy̓əm) and Kwikwetlem (kʷikʷəƛ̓əm) First Nations.

Canadian society is involved in a collective process of teshuvah, of redefining the relationship between us settlers and the Indigenous peoples on this land. Like all settlers, as Canadian Jews, we are challenged to take responsibility for our active involvement or silent complicity in the ongoing Canadian genocidal project against our country’s Indigenous inhabitants. Can we see our commonality with Ukrainians as we both address our brutal oppression of “the other”? Are we, as Canadian Jews, willing to embrace the complexity of our lived experience, to look both at our privilege, especially when it is experienced at the expense of others, as well as at our own painful experience of victimization? Can we hold both at once with integrity?

I finish by sharing the wisdom spoken by an Indigenous man, whose name I unfortunately did not get, at Grandview Park at this past year’s Orange Shirt Day. “When you take a step to heal, you also heal the ancestors. You heal the ones behind and the ones ahead.”

I welcome ongoing dialogue on the issues raised in this talk. Thank you for your kind and open attention.

Helen Mintz’s translation of Vilna My Vilna: Stories by Abraham Karpinowitz (Syracuse University Press, 2016) garnered three literary awards, and her translation of Janusz Korczak: Teacher and Child Advocate by Zalmen Wassertzug is under consideration by the University of Poznan Press. Mintz’s translations have appeared in In Geveb, Jewishfiction.net and Pakn Treger, and her writings about translation in Words without Borders and BC Studies. Her website is helenmintz.net.

Land of milk, honey …

Toward the end of last year, Israel signed an historic agreement with Lebanon, enabling both countries to enjoy an abundance of natural gas located deep below their respective territorial waters.

Now, Israel can continue exploring its northern Karish gas field without the risk of Hezbollah missiles overhead. And Israel will receive indirect royalties from Lebanon’s Kana field – with no peace treaty (yet), royalties will be paid via a third country. Add that to potential revenues from Israel’s other natural gas finds in the Mediterranean, and there’s the opportunity of Israel replacing Russia as Europe’s main natural gas provider. Israel will become more than just the land of milk and honey.

Optimistic forecasts of a natural gas Sovereign Wealth Fund are for billions of shekels in tax revenue. Trusting that the new ruling gas triumvirate – Prime Minister Binyamin Netanyahu, Finance Minister Bezalel Smotrich and Energy Minister Israel Katz – will optimize our natural gas and its wealth fund, then Israel becomes the land of milk, honey, natural gas and an overflowing wealth fund.

Hopefully, Lebanon’s natural gas opportunity will help their economy. Then it, too, will be a country overflowing in natural gas and with its own wealth fund.

***

Israel’s 2022 inflation rate was 5.3%, its highest since 2008. Within the OECD, Israel had the third lowest rate, behind Japan’s 3.0% and Switzerland’s 3.3%. How’s that for our little shtetl! Can’t even compare these rates with the much poorer performing OECD countries such as Estonia at 23.6%, Lithuania at 24.1% and Turkey at 83.5% (yikes!).

Israel’s rate was even lower than the 6.3% of Canada, whose neighbour to the south experienced a similar level. As for Israel’s neighbours, Jordan and Saudi Arabia were at 4.4% and 3.3% respectively … pretty good. Egypt suffered a 24.4% inflation rate, Syria a rate of 105% and Lebanon 189.4%, one of the highest in the world! Israel, the land of milk, honey and competitive inflation rates.

***

Then there’s the judicial reforms bonanza. Israel’s new justice minister, Yariv Levin, is looking to overhaul the system by granting the government – through a simple majority vote – the right to overturn High Court decisions and by giving politicians more power in appointing Supreme Court judges. Detractors are concerned this gives the government way too much say over legal matters and threatens our democracy. Supporters – largely those who voted for the new government – believe these changes will strengthen the legislature’s ability to enact the will of the electorate. Theirs, anyway.

Karnit Flug and Stanley Fischer, former Bank of Israel governors, are firmly in the former camp. They’re concerned these reforms will harshly undermine the High Court’s authority and concentrate too much power with the government, hurting Israel’s sovereign credit rating, destabilizing the economy and reducing the standard of living.

Netanyahu – the free market czar who revolutionized Israel’s economy as finance minister and who extracted natural gas from our sea as prime minister – believes his judicial reforms will rejuvenate the economy by reducing excess regulation and judicialization.

Adding to the festivities. Israel’s anti-reform (and largely anti-government) movement had its third weekly 100,000-person protest in Tel Aviv last month. A sea of people storming the city square, waving flags of blue and white, singing folk songs and Hatikvah and shouting slogans of support for the high judges. Israel, the land of milk, honey and a real judicial balagan.

***

It’s here! 7-Eleven opened its first store in Israel. In downtown Tel Aviv (of course), with plans to roll out hundreds of branches throughout our little shtetl over the coming years. Hello, Slurpees! Those multi-coloured slushies were a staple of my Canadian childhood. Although now I am more a fan of the fresh Dole bananas sold at the stores in the United States and Japan, which I’d buy as a healthy snack while on overseas business trips. Looking inward, does this mean the demise of Israel’s famous mom-and-pop stores, found in neighbourhoods across the country, the Bella’s and Yankela’s, which add to Israel’s heimishe-like atmosphere? That would be a pity! Israel becoming the land of milk, honey, Slurpees … and Dole bananas.

***

On a much lighter note, what about Israel’s maple syrup revolution? It was once only available from specialty food stores, and at an exorbitant price. But what’s a poor Canadian immigrant to do? I paid the ransom and our family enjoyed Shabbat morning French toast, pancakes and waffles. Whenever visiting Canada, I stocked up with the stuff, packing carefully bubble-wrapped bottles of both real and imitation maple syrup into my suitcase.

But, thanks to free trade. Real maple syrup – the organic kind from Canada – became super cheap in Israel, even less expensive than in Canada! And it’s available everywhere, even at Bella’s and Yankela’s. Now when I return to Canada, I take back Canadian maple syrup as gifts. Dare I say it … Israel, the land of milk, honey and Canadian Maple Syrup, eh.

Bruce Brown is a Canadian and an Israeli. He made aliyah … a long time ago. He works in Israel’s high-tech sector by day and, in spurts, is a somewhat inspired writer by night. Brown is the winner of the 2019 AJPA Rockower Award for excellence in writing, and wrote the 1998 satire An Israeli is…. Brown reflects on life in Israel – political, social, economic and personal.

Promises can be motivating

Most of us have to work for a living. Even if we enjoy most of what we do, it’s rare to find someone who feels every moment of their job is a joy. After all, if they’re paying you to do it, my brother and husband would joke with me, “there’s a reason they call it work.”

However, sometimes things happen at work that just aren’t OK or comfortable. Long ago, I worked at an hourly job at a university doing educational administration. It was a mind-boggling number of obligations, managing hundreds of short courses, from instructor attendance lists and access codes to editing course descriptions, proofreading course catalogues and scheduling classrooms. I even set up chairs and tables myself for some courses. It was not my favourite job.

When Passover came along, I had to request time off to clean and cook at home, as I was expecting family to visit. It was not a standard holiday at this university and, although I was asking for time off without pay, the dean questioned me in detail about why it was necessary to grant this to me.

I needed the job. I’d finished my graduate degree but my husband hadn’t finished his yet. We needed the income. I tried to politely field the questions. I knew she was just curious and likely hadn’t ever had the opportunity to ask a Jewish person these kinds of things before. She took pride in wishing me happy holidays – by name – even when she got the Jewish holidays wrong or shared the greetings at the wrong times of year. Even so, she was in a position of power as my boss and I had no option but to answer her if I wanted to keep my job.

The weird part about this encounter is that it doesn’t only happen to religious minorities working for a majority culture boss. I’ve experienced similar questioning as a freelancer working for Jewish organizations, too – everyone wants to know what your observance level is, whether they know your family, if you have a plan for the holidays. Perhaps it’s meant to be friendly and supportive but it can also feel uncomfortable or intrusive. If one answers truthfully, sometimes the outcome doesn’t align with whatever the boss’s preferences would be.

If you work in a large organization with a human resources department, maybe there’s help there, but, most of the time, bringing it up elsewhere can result in more trouble than it’s worth. If diversity and inclusion at your organization don’t recognize “Jewish” as one of the categories, you may have singled yourself out for even more difficulties later on.

The commitments we make Jewishly vary, and everyone chooses their own boundaries. However, these promises we make, to ourselves and our families, are in some ways vows that we must honour and reconcile with our work lives.

This made me think about the talmudic tractate of Nedarim (Vows), which I just finished studying. Much of the tractate is spent trying to help people understand why rabbis think vows of any kind are just a bad idea. Culturally, too, this tractate seems to recognize a time when someone could announce that “all vegetables are forbidden to me” and suddenly this very poorly thought out vow becomes real and must be observed. Hence, the rabbis spent a lot of time suggesting that people just avoid taking vows altogether: better to skip making serious promises you can’t keep. That said, eventually, the Kol Nidre prayer was developed for erev Yom Kippur – it is a blanket prayer releasing us from all the vows we could not keep over the past year.

Rabbi Elliot Goldberg taught an interesting perspective in an online siyyum (celebration at the end of the tractate) on My Jewish Learning. Goldberg points out an example from Nedarim 8a that, even if one is committed to doing mitzvot (commandments), making a vow to do more is motivating: “Rather, it teaches us this: it is permitted for a man to motivate himself to fulfil the mitzvot in this manner, although the oath is not technically valid.” For example, if someone decides that, this year, it would be good to attend services or to donate more to charity, these are not technically vows, but more like New Year’s resolutions. We’re already supposed to do these things, but if we voice a commitment to doing them, it is motivating.

What does this have to do with our uncomfortable moments at work? Sometimes, even knowing that a situation will be awkward, we decide to do it anyway. It would have been easier for me to work right through Passover instead of going through the question-and-answer situation with the university dean. Instead though, this hard encounter motivated me even more to take the time off to clean, cook and spend time with visiting relatives.

Sometimes, finding a way to cope with a difficult situation at work can result in a deeper personal commitment to one’s own beliefs and values. In my case, even though I was very happy to leave that job, I believe that my year working in the Short Course program made a difference. When I left, colleagues told me that they’d learned from me and respected what I’d offered the department.

Our household finances often dictate our work lives – we all have to pay the bills and eat. Yet, sometimes Jewish law, provincial or federal law also affect our finances and ability to make our way in the wider world. We shouldn’t make vows, but promising ourselves to try harder next time to do what’s right just might be motivating in situations that don’t make those choices easy.

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.

Obligation to criticize

Last Saturday, Israel’s ambassador to Canada announced he was resigning over differences with the new government back home.

Ronen Hoffman has served only about a year in the role. He was appointed by the last government and, before that, had been a Yesh Atid party member of the Knesset under the leadership of former prime minister Yair Lapid. So, Hoffman was a political appointee, which makes his resignation significant but not the bombshell it would have been had he been a career diplomat.

Nevertheless, this was perhaps the most conspicuous example in Canada of ripples of response to what media around the world have taken to calling Israel’s “most right-wing government ever,” which was sworn into office under the once-and-then-again-and-now-again Prime Minister Binyamin Netanyahu Dec. 29.

Having alienated, via policies or personality, a great number of potential allies on the centre and right, Netanyahu cobbled together a parliamentary coalition that includes some of the most extremist voices in Israeli society. As we mentioned in this space last issue, some of the approaches the new government seems bent on are not merely matters of policy but structural tampering with the fundamental tenets of Israeli democracy, including the courts, definitional foundations of citizenship, possible assaults on LGBTQ+ rights, as well as what appears to be a new bull-in-the-china-shop approach to governance and settlements in the West Bank.

In this issue of the paper alone, two separate Canadian organizations express concern about the impacts that perceptions of the new government in Israel will have on their work here.

Some Diaspora voices have been saying that this is the time for overseas allies to express in whatever ways possible to their Israeli counterparts, family and friends the impacts that certain policy approaches there will have on Jewish people here, and on relations between Jews in both places.

There is no doubt that the people who have made a cottage industry of attacking Israel in the past will continue to do so, using as fuel any evidence that the state of Israel is abandoning its commitments to human equality, democracy and pluralism. Haters gonna hate.

But there is another possibility, a conceivable glimmer of light shining through the cracks of Israeli-Diaspora relations.

There has always been a rhetorical disconnect between “anti-Zionism,” which by definition seeks the elimination of the Jewish state, and “criticism of Israel” or “criticism of particular policies,” which tends to be more nuanced. There has also been a casual accusation that pro-Israel voices are “uncritical” in their support for Israel, that there is a tendency to turn a blind eye toward things taking place in Israel that deserve condemnation.

Recent developments put these various positions in stark contrast.

There are now many issues and policies that probably the vast majority of Jews outside Israel (as well as inside Israel, as enormous protests in recent days have shown) find disagreeable, even abhorrent. For those who support Israel’s right to exist and for those who don’t, these issues and policies present an opportunity.

It is now especially necessary for supporters of Israel and allies to be absolutely clear that it is possible and reasonable to be emphatically, unequivocally supportive of the right of the Jewish people to self-determination in the form of the state of Israel while at the same time pointing at very specific policies with which we disagree vehemently.

There has often been far too much vagueness in this discussion, allowing people with unreasonable positions to appear reasonable, to allow people who would like to see Israel wiped off the map claim they are only criticizing “policy.” On the flip side, while there has always been a vibrant discourse among Diaspora Jews on events in Israel, critics have somehow been able to ignore that vibrancy and claim a monolithic Zionist hegemony of ideas. (This is, ironically, a conspiracy theory masquerading as a conspiracy theory.)

As this Israeli government proceeds with its agenda, and recognizing that Israeli voters have the final say, overseas Jews who for generations have supported and helped build the Jewish state have a right to express our opinions. We also have an obligation to be specific. There has perhaps never been a time when it has been easier to be clear: Israel has a right to exist. But efforts to chip away at the foundations of Israel’s judiciary, human rights and citizenship definitions are unacceptable, and it is right for Israelis and their overseas allies to say so in our loudest voices. Criticizing policies and being steadfast defenders of Israel have never been contradictory impulses. Now, more than ever, these are our obligations.

Women deserve to be seen

As a mom of twin toddlers about 10 years ago, I was desperate for childcare. Call it preschool, nursery school, daycare or old-fashioned babysitting, it was impossible to come by when we were looking. Every place had long waitlists. I was told by more than one place that I should have put our family on the list for childcare before I gave birth. (An absolute no-go from my position, due to Jewish traditions.) Then I heard about the possibility of spots at a local Chabad preschool.

I am a feminist and, while really invested in Jewish life, I’m on the liberal, egalitarian part of our tradition. I hadn’t even looked at Chabad as an option. I am still amazed by how we were welcomed there and how much help the preschool teachers and other families gave us. Older kids from other families even helped walk my 2-year-olds up and down the stairs to the school when I couldn’t manage. It was a gift when I truly needed a break.

At first, my twins could only manage preschool in the mornings, so I couldn’t get back to work. It allowed me three hours at a time on my own and I used it get long overdue medical support for myself or for one twin at a time. I accomplished basic household needs like grocery shopping or changing bedding. Sometimes, I got to rest. My twins didn’t sleep through the night until they were four-and-a-half years old. Eventually, the kids stayed longer hours at preschool and I worked a little, but it was a challenging time.

While in this sleepless, liminal state, I met Jewish women I’d never encountered before. Moms with more than 10 kids, for instance – a situation I’d scarcely considered before my kids went to this preschool. While some of my extended family made negative comments about my encounters with this pocket of traditional Jewish observance, I marveled, realizing that some parents raised big families with skill and love. Other families struggled with only a child or two. Large families were not inherently “bad” nor small families “good.” I learned many things from these experienced parents. They did not judge us. They helped whenever they could. Their kindnesses were a blessing.

Winnipeg, our city, is crisscrossed by train tracks. It wasn’t uncommon to be stuck at a train crossing going to preschool. I joked about this with a mom who was very involved in the Lubavitch community and had a big family. My twins loved trains, so we unrolled the car windows to hear the horn and the bells and trains rattling on the tracks and enjoyed the moment. She smiled and said she too enjoyed the unexpected wait at train crossings. She used the time to pray. She had a pocket-sized book of tehillim (psalms) and another siddur (prayer book) that she kept in the minivan specifically for occasions like this.

I was flummoxed, impressed by her piety but surprised. This woman, who was so incredibly busy, also invited my family to her kids’ huge birthday parties. She found time at train crossings to pray? Wow.

Afterwards, if her older kids sought me out at a Shabbat dinner or community event, I made room at the table, tried to treat them like I would treat my kids. Her mentorship and thoughtfulness made a deep impression.

I’ve been reminded of this because, lately, Haredi and Modern Orthodox women have been in my social media feed. In recent years, some Haredi publications have stopped using women’s faces or bodies in their photos and advertisements. I follow Chochmat Nashim, an organization that fights to keep images of observant women’s and girls’ images in traditional Jewish publications, so that Jewish women can see themselves in the world around them.

I also read about agunot (chained women), whose husbands will not grant them a get (a Jewish divorce) so that they can remarry. In some cases, these women wait years, are forced to pay large sums of money, or give up custody rights to their children so they can be granted a divorce. Since they observe Jewish law, a secular or civil divorce isn’t enough, and they can’t remarry in their communities without a get. One of the only ways they get “seen” is through loud protests held by other Orthodox women, who stand as allies, trying to bring attention to the situation. Sometimes, this public shaming is the only chance they have to receive a get. Imagine what this allyship means if it is one’s only recourse to escape domestic violence or to be free to remarry.

Another example: a concert was held in London, a special Orthodox women’s-only concert, designed so that Jewish women could sing and other women could attend. (In these parts of the Jewish community, it’s considered alluring and inappropriate for men to hear women sing. This is a way for talented women to perform and other women to enjoy their amazing gifts.) Despite all their precautions, there were rabbis who said that attending this women-only event would be forbidden. Guess what? Women went anyway. The event was sold out.

For me, “seeing” the strong moms of big families as mentors and friends was an eye-opener. They taught me so much, both about their everyday lives and how they viewed Judaism, orthodoxy and Hasidism. Despite a truly overwhelming load of parenting, work, religious and household obligation, they modeled for me how to find time for things that are important. Whether it is helping a kid with learning disabilities or praying at train crossings, they make time for what matters to them.

To some extent, these are all the same women. The ones whose images are banned from publications, who might suffer because they are denied a Jewish divorce, or who might be kept from attending even a women-only concert of religiously acceptable music – they are also perhaps the same mentors who model good parenting, find room for prayer and care for others’ children as their own.

Regardless of our level of religious observance, Jewish women deserve to be seen, loved and treated with respect. This may seem obvious, but it still isn’t happening.

Democracy in danger

A pageant of pandemonium consumed the United States House of Representatives last week as it took 15 votes to confirm Kevin McCarthy as speaker. The chaos was caused by a group of far-right congresspeople representing less than five percent of the total House membership. Eventually, McCarthy triumphed – well, squeaked through – by cutting backroom deals that will empower the extremists and weaken the office of the speaker.

Although the holdouts are on the far-right fringes of American society, personality was a major factor in the weeklong deadlock. The opponents have issues with McCarthy as a person and a politician as much as they have with his policies. To succeed, McCarthy had to agree to concessions and cough up inducements that defile the dignity of his office and put the House of Representatives in jeopardy of being hopelessly deadlocked and dysfunctional.

An analogous situation is unfolding in Israel, where Binyamin Netanyahu has returned to the prime ministership. To do so, he had to make some very grubby deals with some very distasteful people.

Here, too, personalities were at play, as much as policies. There is a swath of centre-right politicians who would have joined a coalition that was not headed by Netanyahu. As a result, to regain power, Netanyahu was forced to make deals with far-right figures who should never have been considered for inclusion in a democratic government.

Both of these situations speak to an unfortunate reality of parliamentary democracy. When a bloc fails to attain a comfortable majority, they can find themselves dependent on the support of narrowly focused, ideologically driven extremists that represent very few voters. In many cases, the extremist tail ends up wagging the dog.

This is regrettable and it is sometimes inevitable. Democracy is by no means without its downsides. In fact, Winston Churchill’s aphorism – “Democracy is the worst form of government – except for all the others that have been tried” – resonates here.

The foundational piece of democracy is free elections and the peaceful transition of power, a cornerstone that was attacked on Jan. 6 two years ago at the U.S. Capitol. That cornerstone is now under siege in Brazil, in a striking parallel – as if the supporters of defeated former president Jair Bolsonaro directly stole the playbook of the American Republicans’ “stop the steal” scheme to subvert the 2020 U.S. election.

Violent protesters ransacked Brazilian government buildings this week, stealing weapons and artifacts and vandalizing facilities. Brazil does not have as long a history of democratic infrastructure as Israel or the United States, which could make it more vulnerable to attack. One core difference in the Brazilian case, versus the Israeli or American situation, is that the threats, at this point, are coming from outside the government – the protesters are supporters of a defeated (and possibly self-exiled) former leader. In the United States, the insurgents have an apparent stranglehold on one of the houses of Congress and, in Israel, are fully in charge.

The biggest concern in a democracy comes when the extremist tail that wags the dog not only influences policies but actually begins chipping away at the institutional underpinnings of democracy itself. This is a legitimate concern in Israel, as some partners in the coalition are threatening the judicial system, the functioning of police and the very definition of Israeli citizenship. The vote for U.S. House speaker did not itself represent a threat to democracy, though the final votes poignantly took place on the second anniversary of the insurrection that was the greatest attack on American democracy since the Civil War – a moment from which the country and its democratic foundations still reel. And continued dysfunction in the House portends a difficult road ahead for U.S. democracy as voters tire of do-nothing legislative bodies and what some perceive as broken political systems.

Both Israel and the United States are on unprecedented precipices. (Brazil, ironically, probably less so.) However, in both Israel and the United States, entrenched civil society organizations and strong parliamentary opponents are in place to monitor and bolster the fundamentals of their societies. Those on the (geographical and/or ideological) outside should support in every way we can the movements for democracy, pluralism and tolerance in Israel, the United States and everywhere in the world where these values are threatened, including if we see dangers to them here at home.

Resilience amid disruptions

I’ve been thinking about my childhood school bus driver, “Dot” or Dorothy Gelles. I lived in a house that was technically not too far from school to walk, but there weren’t enough sidewalks and there was one dangerous intersection. As a result, I rode Bus #302 and then, later, when #302 was retired, #562, with Mrs. Gelles. Ours was a relationship that lasted from kindergarten until Grade 12.

I started driving in Grade 10, lived in Israel on a kibbutz in Grade 11, and mostly drove my younger brother to school when I returned for Grade 12. Still, I rode the bus every day until those last few years. I sat at the front, chatting with Mrs. Gelles and enjoying the ride. Later, I read, did homework or talked to other kids. The bus wasn’t late. Mrs. Gelles rarely missed a day driving us. We trusted Mrs. Gelles. She was a dependable, reliable and kind part of our lives.

Though growing up in a different country, my kids are also eligible for the school bus through Grade 6. They go to a Hebrew-English bilingual school that requires a bus ride. I’ve always thought it was a wonderful gift to parents and good for the environment that they could take the school bus. Although there have been some years in which the bus has been dependable, with mostly the same drivers, I have never properly managed to figure out each driver’s name or been introduced. To me, this is the most precarious part of the school day during Winnipeg winters – I’ve always felt a little nervous about the ride, the drivers, and whether they’d make it to school or home.

This year, due to the pandemic, sick days, the labour shortages and lack of trained drivers, things are the worst they’ve ever been. When there was a bus drivers’ strike, we knew that the school bus wasn’t coming. We were responsible for getting our kids to school and home. When someone contacts us early in the morning and says, “This route is canceled,” we shuffle around our work days to get the kids to school. Sometimes, there’s no notice at all: scared kids and panicked parents result.

On the last day before winter break, our kids weren’t dropped off at the bus stop at 3:46 as per the schedule. They didn’t get home until after 4:35 p.m., more than an hour after the school day ends, at 3:30. The high that day was around -22°C. We were lucky: our kids are 11, old enough to cope, and we figured out what had happened. Their dad was working from home. He dropped everything, stayed at the bus stop in the cold while I phoned the bus transportation office and the school. We found out that there had been a late bus that didn’t get to the school until after 4 p.m., a substitute driver, and that driver got lost. Everything went wrong. The school secretary apologized – she should have called me sooner. I knew that not only would my kids be upset, but they’d missed their piano lessons, too.

This is part of a bigger disruption narrative. So far, this year, Grade 6, is my kids’ first school year since Grade 1 where we haven’t had a teacher change or disruption yet. It’s true that everyone feels jostled by the COVID pandemic but, starting six years ago, before this virus happened, every year something interrupted their learning. Everyone deserves maternity leave and, yes, teachers retire and principals shift schools, but theirs has not been world’s most stable learning environment. Everyone wants to blame COVID but the problems are much bigger than that. Yes, we’re lucky in many ways, but expecting a stable schooling environment shouldn’t be unreasonable with all our other privileges in Canada.

Being resilient in the face of change has been seen as an important skill to have as the world shifts to cope with pandemics, climate change, wars, supply chain issues, etc. There is much to be said for being flexible and able to roll with what happens. At the same time, most adults are resistant to change and don’t like it. For many, we want our coffee or tea with breakfast, our meals cooked in a certain way, our exercise routine or housecleaning to be orderly. Ritual and routine reassure everyone.

In many ways, Judaism reflects this. We’re still praying in ways our ancestors prayed thousands of years ago. Our holidays, sanctuaries and social halls look remarkably similar from one country to the next, even with culturally different norms. We relish the familiar, even as it slowly changes and adapts to fit modern sensibilities. No matter what Jewish movement you’re accustomed to, Orthodox, Chabad, Reform, Reconstructionist, Conservative or Renewal, or if you use terms like secular, traditional … we’ve all made adjustments reflecting our evolving understanding of Judaism and the world around us, or in reaction to those things.

What makes our traditions comforting, reassuring or even just functional is not the same for everybody. However, one thing remains the same. Aside from catastrophic events, it’s the way we react to and adjust to change that matters. Finding a positive way forward, moving towards solutions – these help us grow and learn. Jewish communities, forced through pogroms, expulsions and murders, have created art, literature, liturgy and rabbinic rulings to cope with terrible circumstances we could not control.

As everyone now knows, we cannot control everything. We can only hope to give the resources and resiliency to help everyone cope. In Winnipeg, making sure the kids wear warm sweaters and snow pants along with parkas and boots? That is one step. Another is offering contingency plans: an extra set of house keys, feeling comfortable with the neighbours, knowing there’s a safe place to go if they get locked out.

Many in North America, pre-pandemic, were used to stability. We made plans for weddings or trips a year in advance. It may be that our new “normal” brings us much closer to what our ancestors knew long ago. With increasing weather, climate and health emergencies, and political upheaval, we need to find resources and solutions when change happens. Cause change is going to happen.

Meanwhile, we can also all strive to be a bit more like Mrs. Gelles: caring, reliably on time and trustworthy. I can never see a driver open those school bus doors without smiling and thinking of her. And hoping for the best and wishing for that stability for my children, too.

A first step to solutions?

Among other things, Hanukkah is about bringing light into the darkness. There is plenty of darkness in the world and a vast range of concerns calling for radiance.

Mainstream media seem to have taken the cue that Hanukkah is the moment to discuss the alarming and rising phenomenon of antisemitism. Time magazine declares: “Amid antisemitism, Hanukkah celebrations carry new weight.” USA Today explained a new tradition: “On Hanukkah, the ninth candle reflects how anyone can fight antisemitism by sharing truth.” Here in Canada, both Prime Minister Justin Trudeau and Opposition Leader Pierre Poilievre highlighted antisemitism in their annual Hanukkah messages. Expect to see similar expressions of concern in a few days, as the end-of-2022 reflections on the good and bad of the year just passed and hopes for the fresh new year fill pages and airtime during the slow news days of the winter holidays.

We are not complaining. This issue needs thorough and ongoing coverage. It just seems, somehow, that writing and talking about what is often called the world’s oldest bigotry lacks new insights. Many agree that this is a problem. Few, though, have solutions beyond platitudes.

Finding innovative ways to think and talk about “the world’s oldest” anything is, by definition, a challenge. Some of the greatest scholars in the world have studied the problem, vast networks of activist organizations and Jewish communal agencies devote themselves to defeating it, and still it grows. If we had the definitive explanation or the silver bullet to solve it, you would not be reading it here – we would be sharing our wisdom from the dais of the Nobel Prize ceremony and as the lead story on the world’s media. Undaunted, a few thoughts:

The very phrase “antisemitism” may be problematic. The term was invented in the late 1800s by a proud antisemite to describe his orientation. But while there is a great deal of conscious and visible antisemitism in the world today that rightly raises alarms, there has always been an equally, perhaps more, worrying phenomenon in the form of unconscious bias about Jews that permeates many societies and individuals. This is more insidious and, therefore, more difficult to challenge.

It is worth noting that antisemitism is often most prevalent where no or few Jews exist, making it easier to project onto a largely imaginary enemy the fears and hatreds carried by the individual or the society. Similarly, we see a projection of Jewishness onto any unpopular phenomenon, an example being the “Great Replacement” theory, a paranoid fantasy in which whatever the perpetrator despises (in this case immigration) is cast as a problem with Jewish roots.

Both of these phenomena touch on what we suspect is the nut of antisemitism: it is a problem that affects Jews but it is not a problem of Jews. That is, if Jews did not exist, the antisemites would have to invent them – which is, in essence, precisely what they have done with the caricatured “Jew” that is demonized by antisemites.

This understanding, of course, does nothing to resolve the problem. And, again, a problem known as “the world’s oldest hatred” is not going to be solved in one generation with one easy antidote. It is encouraging, though, to see the range of responses to the problem, from more in-depth coverage in mainstream media to the statements of top leaders in Canada, as well as in the United States, where a major presidential effort against antisemitism is being led by Doug Emhoff, the second gentleman of the United States, who recently led a roundtable of leading thinkers, and in a host of other undertakings worldwide.

As is said in a different context, the first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem. As a society, we have a consensus that antisemitism is a growing problem. As we approach 2023, we hope those thoughts will turn to even more action in confronting this confounding blight.

Opportunities for growth

Moving into an old house that needs fixing is a challenge many people aren’t prepared to consider. I’ve heard this repeatedly from people who are both impressed and stunned by our choice.

We’ve just moved into our fifth old house as a married couple. We can see the big yard, friendly quiet neighbourhood, the structure’s amazing character features from 1913, and feel this was a good choice, if an expensive one. We’ve been married almost 25 years, too. We’ve become smart enough, as partners, to hire contractors to help us cope with the things that are far beyond what we can manage to do ourselves. So far, we’ve had fewer arguments this time around.

However, there are moments when I doubt my choices. This house has a lot of broken window panes. In some cases, someone just enclosed the window in a wall, so it sat there for perhaps 50 years, broken or not. When our contractors opened up one of the walls, well, all became clear. It was no wonder that plumbing pipes froze there in a Winnipeg winter – in a dark space with a broken window. Never mind triple-paned argon-filled glass, just closing some of the windows with regular, unbroken glass would have made a world of difference.

My husband took the first few windows to be repaired at a local hardware shop. When these came back, fixed properly and affordably, he carefully fitted them back in where they belonged. Then he watched a This Old House YouTube video to figure out how to get out still more of these broken beauties. Then, he described how he’d need my help to slide out the next large storm window.

I got anxious. This involved broken glass, fragile window frames, standing on a mudroom ledge (while he stood on a ladder outside) and December weather. Also, it involved cooperating with one’s spouse, which can sometimes be stressful, too! Luckily, the Winnipeg December weather was mild, right around freezing. I eased myself onto the ledge, over some stairs, and held onto the window exactly as instructed. I had some serious nerves.

To my surprise, the broken storm window, which had been partially concealed behind drywall for many years, slid right out. There was barely time to admire the buttery paint of the inside window, although we took a second to notice the old-fashioned curtain rod. Someone took the time to drywall in this entire window but left the curtain rod hooks still completely intact. Go figure.

When I climbed down, I was oddly proud. I hadn’t fallen off the ledge, we’d removed the window, and I’d gotten up close and personal with a really old part of my house that was still in good working order. Then I remembered to go wash my hands right away. I’d just been grasping with sweaty hands onto peeling lead paint on the window frames … but I digress.

We all need growth opportunities. Lots of people take on new extreme sports or complicated hobbies. Others learn new languages, develop new relationships or take journeys to new places. Perhaps because of the pandemic, or having younger kids, I have had small expectations of myself. I’m not taking any solo international vacations or racing fancy cars. Even so, I’ve had growth opportunities. Life offers them free of charge, when you least expect it, whether it’s house renovations, new professional or Jewish learning experiences or just wintertime in Manitoba.

I’m also several years into some Jewish learning, doing Daf Yomi, a page of Talmud a day, which takes more than seven years to complete. I’ll be the first to admit that, some days, I breathe a sigh of relief when I find that it is a very short page. (Nedarim-Vows, the current tractate, has a few of these!)

And, I’m experiencing this house renovation, complete with having a major plumbing overhaul done last weekend. This included not having a stack at all for a long afternoon. (The stack lets waste water leave your home. Without a working one, well, nobody flushes the toilet or runs a faucet. It was quite a wait.)

We currently have a completely gutted kitchen and might not have a finished kitchen again for quite awhile. Slow cooker meals and the kitchenette in the first floor powder room require forethought and improvisation. Again, maybe, seen optimistically, these, too, are chances for growth and learning.

Most of my experiences aren’t extreme. I’m not climbing Kilimanjaro, yet it was quite the adrenaline rush just standing on the ledge above the stairs, dealing with the broken window. It’s these moments that help keep us stimulated, challenged, changing and growing as people.

As a kid, I remember how hard it felt leaving for a Jewish summer sleep-away camp. It was exciting and terrifying, all at once. Big milestones in life – major birthdays or, say, hitting 25 years of marriage – can also be seen as colossal events. However, my daily life seems to be full of those moments that some see as inconsequential, until they become teaching moments.

I’m reminded of one squishy deep-snow spring day. I got my car stuck in our back lane parking spot. It was a goopy mess. If my four-wheel-drive SUV got stuck, well, anyone’s could. Alone with my twins, I had to manage to fix it. With their help, I got us out, using all the tricks my dad had taught me long ago, including my floor mats for traction, rocking the car back and forth, and more. My kids and I cheered, sweaty and covered in disgusting slush and completely late for whatever we’d set out to do, but we’d gotten the car out together.

We didn’t climb the highest peak. Far from it. We got ourselves out of a rutted, snowy prairie back lane in springtime. Judaism offers us a whole list of blessings to memorize and recite, and many of them are for small moments. When we eat bread, bless our kids on Shabbat, pray for rain, see a rainbow or just get up in the morning, we have a chance for a blessing. Yet, the moment we pause to reflect on what happened, maybe we realize that those growth moments – going to summer camp, buying and renovating an old house, one window at a time, or teaching kids important winter driving skills – weren’t quite so small after all.

Here’s to growth moments.… May yours in 2023 be meaningful and not too painful!