Opinion – Page 23

Beauty in indrawn breath

An indrawn breath. What are the things that cause your eyes to widen, that are such a surprise, good or bad, that they literally take your breath away? There may not be many things that do that to you, but they do leave an impression. I have found it important to mark them.

Myself, I prefer the happy surprises. When that person you have been dreaming about every night pops the question, that can take your breath away. Perhaps even better, someone you never dreamed of appears before your eyes, sweeps you off your feet and whisks you to a place that never existed before. Your feet rise from the ground and, amazingly, you are bodiless, and it can go on and on, even for a lifetime! Eventually, you have to breathe again, but now you are in a new world, and things have changed forever. Am I raising your expectations too high? Why not ask for the moon? It happened to me.

How about when a new life is born. Then, suddenly, there is an indrawn breath, and a cry – the world has changed forever for all those concerned. And there will be many ups and downs. Try to enjoy the ups as much as you can!

I remember coming upon an iris in a garden, the colour was blue-black. It took my breath away. The beautiful delicacy of an orchid, its shape, colours – that does it for me every time. A piece of music can pierce me to the very core and set me weeping, so that I find it almost impossible to breathe. A summer day in a vineyard, the clouds advancing to attenuate the summer heat, the blush of air on my skin from a gentle breeze as I hide in the shade of a massive tree – I hold my breath and hug myself. When I stand with my fingers brushing the weathered stone of the ancient Wall in Jerusalem, I can feel the thrum of the centuries rumbling under my skin and my body shakes uncontrollably in resonance with the events I am heir to; I feel myself gasping for air, I am transported.

Let me take you into my confidence. I am intoxicated with life, totally drunk and out of my skull. The tsunami of sensory input coursing through the coruscations of my cortex from my eyes, ears, skin, not to mention my taste buds and my gut, have me in a constant state of arousal. And I haven’t even mentioned sex. I kid you not.

The tiny tiptoeing of an insect on my skin brings me to full alert. I wonder where it thinks it is going, what it sees, feels. Will it bite, just feed on my exfoliations, or is it exploring to find a friend? As it crawls across my arm, I contemplate the feel of my muscles when they propel me down the street. I sometimes am impelled to break into a run just to experience the pump of my heart and the puff of my lungs. What a rush to be alive!

Talk about taste and what it does to my senses: the sweet and bitter of wine, the acridity of a cigar, the shock of a shot of single malt, and that’s just the stuff designed to kill brain cells. What about salt and vinegar, spiced meats and garlic, onions and, a favourite, caraway seeds?

There is no bland for me. How about a rib steak, medium rare, seared so the exterior is caramelized, adding salad with a sharp vinaigrette? How about battered cod, with French fries and lots of ketchup? Does this sound like a sensible low-cal diet for an old fogey like me? Let’s not mention desserts, enjoyed in moderation even though I am diabetic. The sight of one in a French restaurant is sometimes enough to excite me to breathlessness. I haven’t mentioned that I love a tart apple pie.

I have experienced Yellowknife at 40-below, with a wind, and the desolate airport tarmac, in scenic Mauritania, at 45˚C, the juicy humidity (with body melting like ice cream) of the Congolese jungle and the aridity (feeling like a dried-up leaf) of Darfur. I know when I am fortunate in passing my time in a temperate climate. Just being in a pleasant place is something I can never take for granted.

And, for a bit of something else, I know what it is to try to survive in the hurley-burley of a chaotic business environment. I have learned to appreciate the joys of single-tasking after being in situations where I have felt like a 10-armed paperhanger, working against time. And more? Believe me, you would not necessarily enjoy seeing your name on the front page of a newspaper or your face on the TV news. Talk again about the indrawn breath.

But it is our human relationships that top it all for me. There is nothing like the right one, or the wrong one, to get us breathing like a steam engine, testing the resistant capacities of our vascular systems. It surely takes the cake for the height of experience. When your moment arrives, and you feel that sense of communion with another person, just smiling at each other across a small space, you feel the need to pinch yourself to prove that the instant is really real. I don’t know about you, but I have to take a really big breath to try and keep calm. I feel I could burst with the ecstasy of the experience, because I can remember the misery of those other so-lonely times. Oh, yes, I can.

Welcome to Life.

Max Roytenberg is a Vancouver-based poet, writer and blogger. His book Hero in My Own Eyes: Tripping a Life Fantastic is available from Amazon and other online booksellers.

Deep, dangerous bias

The sale by George Soros of a (comparatively) modest holding in Elon Musk’s Tesla car company seems to have sent Musk into a Twitter tirade last week.

“He wants to erode the very fabric of civilization,” Musk tweeted in a reckles overreaction. “Soros hates humanity.”

The context of the smear is worth a moment of consideration. A man who sinks a chunk of his estimated $185 billion US pile into a space flight hobby says that a man who has donated (at a minimum) $32 billion US into building civil society in the former Soviet bloc and other countries “hates humanity.”

Beyond this context is a whole lot of subtext.

There is nothing essentially wrong with a public figure criticizing another public figure. If the target feels he has been libeled, there are legal recourses available. That’s not really the issue here.

As one of the world’s foremost funders of liberal causes, Soros draws criticism from plenty of people who don’t agree with his politics. Fair enough. But “Soros” has become a shorthand. Generations of people have used the name “Rothschild” to invoke a conspiracy of Jewish wealth and power. “Soros” is a 21st-century update of that conspiracy.

This is a bit dicey. It is fair to criticize someone who dumps billions of dollars into causes you disagree with. If the person happens to be Jewish, that doesn’t make you antisemitic. If you use that person’s name as a stand-in for a complex of ideas about Jews more generally manipulating events with wealth and the manipulative force that can come with it, that is antisemitic. But, of course, getting into the head of a suspected bigot is impossible. One person can accuse another of racism, the accused can deny it and neither is any further ahead. Sometimes the accused may not even be conscious of what they have done.

But Musk tipped his hand. He launched his outburst with: “Soros reminds me of Magneto.”

Magneto is a villain in the Marvel Comics franchise X-Men. Like Soros, Magneto is a Jewish survivor of the Holocaust.

The idea that Soros “hates humanity” is an especially laden accusation. It seems like a peculiar assertion – unless one is familiar with centuries of slander against Jewish people, which has posited that Jews are the embodiment of Satan, the enemy of all things good. In Christian theology, including official Catholic doctrine until the mid-1960s, Jews were accused of deicide, of literal God-killing, of destroying what is most sacred to humanity. To accuse a Jew in 2023 of hating humanity – and all that implies in the context of funding social change movements – is to invoke (intentionally or not) millennia of deadly ideas about Jewish evil-doing. To also invoke a (Jewish) cartoon villain in the process makes Musk’s playing to pervasive tropes about Soros, money, Jews and power seem more deliberate.

This is what is so confounding about racism and bigotry in general, and antisemitism in particular: it so often manifests not as outright intolerance and hatred but as unconscious or barely conscious bias that motivates our beliefs and actions without us knowing it. In some ways, this is the more frightening prospect. It is easy to identify and condemn the most overt acts of racism or hatred. Parsing and reproving harmful, unconscious ideas is much more challenging.

We are not all in a position (thankfully!) to have our Tweets or other late-night brainwaves analyzed by millions. Musk hosts a powerful platform and his speech can move financial markets and mobilize followers. Ideally, he may take time to reflect on whether he carries unconscious biases that need examining.

For us, there are at least two lessons. First, we are reminded that confronting antisemitism is not as easy as condemning those who exhibit the most obvious signs. Second, while we are critical of one of the most prominent people in the world letting slip what appear to be deep-seated conspiratorial ideas that project onto a single individual a host of negative characteristics attributed to the group to which he belongs, we would do well to consider how we use the platforms we each have in our daily lives in the service of justice, anti-racism and truth.

Honouring others in death

There’s nothing like a tree stump to put things in context. I walk the dog in an area full of mature trees and wildlife. Tucked in a bend of a river, we’ve got a lot of trees here. However, this enormous tree had died. I contemplated its huge stump and growth bands. My impatient dog pulled me towards her usual routine, so I didn’t manage to count the rings to learn just how long it lived, but likely it has existed since long before settlers claimed this land.

One gift I’ve gained from living in Winnipeg, where more than 15% of our population is Indigenous, is a better connection to and respect for the earth and living things. In my urban daily walks with the dog, I’ve seen woodpeckers, ducks, geese, hawks, deer, fox, and more. I’m filled with awe by the wild natural world around us and the contexts offered by Canada’s First Peoples.

However, I’ve also seen the traumas played out through what Canada has done to its Indigenous population. There are unhoused people nearby, living in camps along the riverbank in all kinds of weather. On a warm day, I saw a woman on the ground. I thought she was sleeping and went on my way. Then I struggled, wondering if I should have called for help. Perhaps it was an overdose or something worse. At the time, I promised myself that if she were still there when I returned, I would call for help. The whole walk, I debated whether it was better to involve police or not. Indigenous Canadians aren’t always treated fairly by law enforcement. She was gone by the time I returned. I felt relief because I hadn’t been forced to make a decision. Would sleeping on the ground in an area that was her people’s ancestral land result in an arrest or accusation of criminal behaviour?

This situation, of not being sure if a call to the police was safe, came to mind when hearing the latest news reports regarding the deaths of four women in Winnipeg. These women’s remains were left in multiple garbage bins in May 2022, according to police reports. Some of these dumpsters were sent to Prairie Green landfill on May 16. Jeremy Skibicki is accused of killing these Indigenous women: Rebecca Contois, Morgan Harris, Marcedes Myran and a fourth woman, unidentified, who Indigenous leaders have named Mashkode Bizhiki’ikwe, or Buffalo Woman.

Some of Contois’s remains were found at Winnipeg’s Brady Road landfill in June 2022; her remains were in at least two dumpsters, one of which was spotted before being picked up by the dump truck. The police didn’t find the other women’s remains and declined to do a search for them, saying it would be dangerous and expensive. They have arrested the man they think committed the crimes and said they didn’t need to find the bodies to press charges. Public outcry, along with the families’ voices, forced the government to do a feasibility study regarding a search of the Prairie Green landfill, which has now been released. It says it could take up to three years and $184 million to search for their remains.

Like many Manitobans, I was horrified by how this has unfolded. The idea that these women’s bodies should remain in the trash rather than have a proper, culturally sensitive burial, is abhorrent. I couldn’t imagine why anyone needed a feasibility study to determine that their remains should be found as soon as possible. I, like many others, couldn’t understand why a search didn’t commence immediately in June 2022. I wouldn’t be alone in saying that it seems as though the decision to not recover the bodies promptly seemed inherently flawed and racist.

Unfortunately, this isn’t a new situation. Jewish tradition is rich with historic detail. The Babylonian Talmud, codified by about 500 CE, has already described what to do about it. Even a kohain (priest), who normally must avoid the dead to avoid becoming “defiled” (unable to do Temple sacrifice, during the days when there was a Temple in Jerusalem) is commanded in the Talmud to bury any dead person he finds abandoned on a road. This is called a meit mitzvah. Today, it’s considered a special and important mitzvah (commandment) for all Jews to uphold: if we discover a dead person with no next of kin, we must do the right thing. We must tend to that dead person with respect and bury them properly.

In the Babylonian Talmud Tractate Sotah, on page 45b, we learn that we’re responsible for burying bodies that we find. We must find body parts and bury them together. There’s a rabbinic discussion about what the proper rituals and procedures are “if he was strangled and left in a garbage heap.”

Walking by that enormous tree stump with its yearly growth rings reminds me that we have only a set time here on earth to do the right thing. Jewish tradition teaches us to be upstanding while we’re here. The families who lost their loved ones in these awful crimes deserve to have their rituals around death observed. These include a proper burial and send off of their loved ones’ spirits. Deuteronomy 16:20 reminds us “Justice, justice shall you pursue.” That sometimes requires us to dig at a landfill, i.e. a modern-day garbage heap, to pursue it.

It’s sometimes expensive and hard to do the right thing. It’s even more expensive and harder to correct an error like this one, when someone believes certain bodies on a trash heap are somehow less valuable or important. The police force took an unacceptable approach – to stall, and then find excuses for why we shouldn’t treat every person equally, and value every life taken.

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.

Living under fire of missiles

Working from home, it was after 6 p.m. and my global Teams meeting had just started. Comfortably settled and talking about suppliers, delivery times and prices, my smartphone beeped incessantly – the Code Red missile warning app. More than 350 missiles fired at Israel over the last couple of days.

Rehovot has managed to dodge almost all the missiles. We could see them soaring overhead and hear the guided collision with our Iron Dome anti-missiles. And the nonstop news cycles informed us in real time where rockets were being intercepted.

Since terrorist Khader Adnan died from his hunger strike at an Israeli prison, Israel had been bracing for reaction from the Islamic Jihad in Gaza. In the same way my Canadian cousins warn their loved ones about a pending blizzard – Did you hear the weather report? It’s going to be a cold one. Potential white out. Bundle up. Hurry home. We do the same here but for different reasons – Did you hear the news? Adnan died. Might be terrorist attacks or missiles from Gaza. Be aware of your surroundings. Hurry home.

Sure enough, we felt the reprisals, with about 100 missiles fired from Gaza. Israel waited, preferring to respond at a time and place of its choosing. Our reaction came about eight days later, with the targeted assassination of three Islamic Jihad leaders; their names of no consequence, each responsible for reprehensible terrorist crimes over the years. And, with that, Operation Shield and Arrow began.

Back to Teams. Another siren went off. This one not only coming from my app, but also from outside. “Bruce!” my wife yelled. “Missiles!” “Hurry!” Not sure my European and U.S. coworkers understood when I shouted into my headset, “Missile siren! Gotta go!” Abruptly exiting my meeting, I darted to our TV room … er … reinforced safe room, which doubles as a den in quieter times.

We have about 75 seconds to reach our shelter before a missile hits or, preferably, gets knocked out of the sky – as apposed to the 15 seconds for those living closer to Gaza. Can’t imagine their stress during these times.

We just managed to close the heavy steel door and fortified iron window shutter when “BOOM!” The loudest boom we ever heard. My wife and I almost hit the ceiling, knowing this was more than the reassuring and softer crash of an Iron Dome antimissile intercepting an Islamic Jihad rocket high in the sky. No. This was something much closer, much more ominous.

Numerous calls from friends and family followed. Were we OK? Amazing how quickly news travels. My son texted from the safety of his dorm in the United States – a missile had landed next to his best friend Amit’s home. Then my daughter texted from the relative safety of her work north of Tel Aviv – a missile hit near the home of her best friend (and Amit’s sister) Shira. And on it went. With more chilling calls from neighbours.

I tried rejoining my Teams meeting, to create some normalcy. But I was too hyper, too distracted. Couldn’t focus on discussions about price variances and purchasing systems. I excused myself again, advising them the precariousness of the situation.

Rehovot had suffered a direct hit, due to the malfunction of our Iron Dome system. It was just around the corner, not far from Amit and Shira’s home. Curiosity being a strange animal, I walked the two blocks into what was literally a war zone. A chill engulfed my entire body as my skin crawled.

My favourite bakery nearby became a gathering place for the shocked. I considered buying cookies and cakes for our first responders, then thought better of it – didn’t want the action to be confused with the celebrating Palestinian street, which hands out sweets after such attacks.

The smell of sulfur, carbon and potassium nitrate dominated. A flash back to younger days of playing with cap guns … my mind looking for a safer place.

Time seemed to halt. Somewhat apocalyptic. Traffic snarled and jammed. Red-and-blue flashing lights from police vans, fire trucks and ambulances. Army sappers and Israel’s 669 search-and-rescue unit moving about in their yellow vests. Local and international news crews mustering about. ZAKA – the Orthodox volunteers who collect the remains of the wounded and dead after terror or missile attacks – were scouring the area. There were five wounded, one dead.

Alas, Israelis have learned to move on quickly. Within hours, the streets were reopened, the destroyed building draped with Israeli flags. And I joined another work meeting later that evening, this time much calmer. Again, in search of normalcy and routine. Echoing Herb Keinon from the Jerusalem Post, specific memories of these military operations – whether they last weeks, days or a weekend – quickly fade into the background. It’s difficult to differentiate one from the other: Rains, Summer Rains, Autumn Clouds, Black Belt, Breaking Dawn, Cast Lead, Pillar of Defence and, now, Shield and Arrow. The list goes on, unfortunately.

Israel takes maximum precautions to avoid collateral damage. We are known for our warning methods. Sometimes a “knock on the door,” unarmed missiles skimming the roofs as a warning of incoming rockets. Sometimes dropping leaflets advising of a pending attack. Missions are even aborted when civilians are spotted nearby. But our enemies indiscriminately shoot missiles – hundreds of them – towards Israel, hoping for maximum death, maximum damage. Fortunately, our missile defence system renders much of this arsenal ineffective. Until one gets through. As it did in Rehovot. My little shtetl. Paraphrasing from the Torah – may we be blessed with peace.

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.

A family metaphor

As British Columbia’s Jewish community and friends come together Sunday to celebrate Israel’s 75th anniversary – a concert at the Queen Elizabeth Theatre, capping a multitude of celebratory events over the span of weeks – no one doubts that this moment is unlike any in the short history of the state, or in the relations between the Jewish state and the Diaspora.

The General Assembly of the Jewish Federations of North America took place recently in Tel Aviv and the news service JNS headline noted modestly: “Jewish Federations’ annual conference becomes embroiled in political battles.”

It is true that the umbrella of the Federation system has generally tried to steer clear of internal Israeli politics. This is part of a larger family dynamic in which the instruments of the Diaspora are expected to not rattle the cage of Israel and Israeli officials are expected to retain a level of polite distance in commenting on Diaspora affairs. This separation has always been porous, especially when it comes to issues that directly affect Diaspora Jews, such as recognition of non-Orthodox conversions, egalitarian prayer at the Kotel and similar matters. But fears that proposed judicial reforms, and other plans of the new governing coalition, will alter the fundamental democratic DNA of the state have lowered the bar for engagement by overseas mishpachah. Indeed, weekly demonstrations in cities across North America and Europe, including in Vancouver, by the group UnXeptable represent a new wrinkle in the stay-in-your-lane status quo.

It is interesting how little criticism we have heard of this phenomenon. Time was, such behaviour would have been seen as “airing dirty laundry in public.” Israel (and Jews) have enough people criticizing them that we don’t need to add to the pile-on ourselves, the thinking has tended to go. It may be a sign of the widespread revulsion to the proposed judicial reforms themselves that have eclipsed this long-held reluctance to publicly criticize. Or it may be something more fundamental. Perhaps Diaspora Jews and Israelis are now engaging on a more equal footing.

Of course, we should not overstate our influence. Like buttinsky in-laws, we may significantly overestimate the weight of our interventions. Israeli officials have long chided overseas critics for their uninvited advice. And indications are that average Israelis don’t think a great deal about us at all.

Michael Steinhardt, the American philanthropist who cofounded the Birthright Israel program, wrote in the online journal Sapir recently that we may be seeing a complete inversion of the Israel-Diaspora relationship. The paradigm since 1948 has been that the Diaspora’s role is to “build” and “save” Israel.

“Israel is doing just fine,” Steinhardt writes. “We non-Orthodox Diaspora Jews, on the other hand, are not. ‘Supporting Israel’ has become a kind of narcotic, giving us a sense of self-worth and achievement that allows us to ignore the tempest that has put our own future in doubt.”

While Israel still faces challenges, Steinhardt seems to argue that it has evolved to a point where it can handle them on their own. At the risk of taking the family symbolism to its extreme, Diaspora Jews may be behaving like empty-nesters, their role now diminished, struggling to find a new identity.

He specifically cites assimilation, disengagement from Jewish life, declining Jewish education and synagogue attendance, which was already in decline before being pummeled by the pandemic.

“And then there’s the increasing pressure of antisemitism on campuses, city streets, and in public institutions,” writes Steinhardt. “Taken together, these constitute a well-documented existential threat to Diaspora Jewry that is far more immediate and profound than anything Israel faces today.”

It may be hyperbole to suggest that these crises facing the Diaspora, however serious, are “far more immediate and profound” than Iran’s nuclear ambitions, continuing terrorism or, perhaps, even the self-inflicted divisions caused by overreach by the new government. But it deserves discussion.

When our family members grow up (there really is no end to the metaphor), we do not give up supporting them. We continue to offer advice and wisdom – whether they want it or not.

And perhaps this is the correct lesson from the metaphor: when the once-dependent member of the family reaches a level of maturity that they can engage in an equal footing with the rest of the kinfolk, the dynamic rightly changes to a discussion between equals, in which either side is freer to offer criticism and advice, and both sides are free to take or reject it.

Surely we can all agree on this: when you reach 75, you ain’t no kid.

Boundaries are a good thing

The house directly behind ours is for sale. This neighbourhood doesn’t have back lanes, so we look out over their backyard as well. Occasionally, when I’ve stepped outside with the dog, I encounter a family checking out that house’s yard, just beyond my fence. I always call out, smiling, welcome them and say I hope they will be our new neighbours. I’ve had several wonderful interactions, and one that gave me the creeps – the potential buyer, a man in camouflage with a woman trailing behind, left me unsettled. I took my big dog back inside and locked the door.

Our shared back fence needs to be mended. There is a tree, partly on our property, which needs to be trimmed. We never managed to meet the old neighbours, who we hear were seniors who couldn’t manage the upkeep and needed to downsize. We planned to try again to talk to the neighbours about the fence and the tree, but then the For Sale sign went up. Now we await the next occupants.

Overall, we’re delighted with the friendliness of our new neighbourhood. We took our weekend morning dog walk with another neighbour and her baby and participated in our community clean up. It’s a thoughtful place, where we help each other remember the yard waste pickup days or we look out for lost items. Yet fences exist for a reason – not just to keep dogs and kids in the yards, but also to provide us with personal space.

These encounters reminded me of Robert Frost’s famous poem “Mending Wall” and its unforgettable line “Good fences make good neighbours.” This poem (which is available online and worth reading) often springs to mind when I’m considering how to navigate in the world.

Jewish life also has lots of boundaries and reminders for how to order our lives and relationships. This is such a big part of our tradition that it’s hard to offer only one example. There are the ways we read the Torah portion each week, or how we get married or how we bury loved ones, how we are to educate our kids or how we should treat our elders. Our tradition offers us lots of structure and ideas for how we are to behave in a Jewish context.

All this came to mind when talking to a friend about work boundaries, which we’ve both struggled with addressing. She works unpredictable shifts. They sometimes seem assigned at random and she’s worked every weekend in recent memory. Her schedule isn’t dependably the same. There are weeks where she works six days in a row. Other times, she is told to go home early due to lack of work, or has several days off unexpectedly. It becomes very hard to make solid plans, like when I might see her next, or even when she can easily pick up groceries or consistently go to a once-a-week event.

I have a household that thrives on routine. For best success, we plan the heck out of things. If my kids have an afterschool activity and I’m taking them there, I’ve often thought out dinner and gotten it into the slow cooker before I start work in the morning. We have a dog that doesn’t like to be alone, a fair number of household medical appointments, and our old house is still undergoing needed renovations. We parents are spread thin! For me, having an unpredictable work meeting or emergency outing can disrupt this fragile equilibrium. Planning makes everything possible. It’s how I fit in my various paid and volunteer commitments, my kids’ and household needs, and also, I joke, my eating and sleeping.

In most Jewish practices, we’re a people of moderation, things have to be in balance. Like Frost’s poem, sometimes what makes us “good neighbours” are those walls, the boundaries we create to make structures that enable us to cope. We need structure. In religious life, we might call some of those structures rituals or behavioural expectations: derech eretz, how we are to behave towards one another. Whether it’s from the Tanakh (Torah, Prophets and Writings) or from rabbinic teachings, we’ve got a framework that helps us create those metaphoric walls.

Unfortunately, it can be hard to actually maintain our own boundaries when things get out of hand. It’s hard to stand up to a difficult work situation or a bully at school and say, “No, this is out of bounds.” Yet, most of the time, this is what we have to do to maintain our dignity and move forward. Sometimes, we have to remind others that “this isn’t in the job description” or, for kids coping with a bully, “No, I don’t have to respond when you say hurtful things. I can walk away and tell an adult.”

Good boundaries help us become better people, better workers, or even more thoughtful in our Jewish practice. However, it’s hard to find the courage to respond appropriately and draw one’s “line in the sand.”

Today, my twins went to the backyard for raucous playtime with pool noodles. They hopped on and off the deck, sparring with their imaginary swords, as they dueled and chased each other. Much later, right before bedtime, I heard that one of them saw a woman at “that house for sale.” My son demonstrated her expression of distaste as she gazed at them and his bad feeling about it – but my kids were safe in our yard as they played, laughing on our side of the fence.

Setting boundaries for ourselves, or fixing a literal fence, can sometimes mean everything. It may make good neighbours or give us orderly schedules that allow us to more calmly cope with our lives. Staying healthy and promoting our well-being might not always be wrapped up in spa days or vacations. We might promote wellness by saying no when others overstep. We can embrace structures, rituals, traditions or routines that make us feel best, allowing time for pool noodle sword play or a consistent day off work. We need boundaries in all things, work and play, because it’s the good fences that make good neighbours.

Countering lies and hate

Peter Julian, the New Democrat member of Parliament for New Westminster, recently tabled a bill to address what he suspects are algorithms that encourage online extremism. B’nai Brith’s annual audit of antisemitic incidents, released recently, said three-quarters of antisemitic incidents last year took place online. And, as the Centre for Israel and Jewish Affairs notes in their Not On My Feed campaign, “Online hate leads to real-world violence.”

Few people would disagree that online hate and incitement are problems. How we confront it – that’s where we get into the weeds.

It is possible to control what people read on the internet – countries like China and Iran have demonstrated that, in anti-democratic and oppressive ways. Democracies like Canada should not join the high-tech book-burning that is internet censorship by government. Governments and regulatory bodies, of course, do have a role, however. Setting parameters for acceptable online behaviour and then enforcing these to the extent possible must be a role authorities take on. Staffing limitations are obviously a challenge, but several precedent-setting cases could send a message to others.

Social media behemoths like Facebook and Twitter should take action where they can to delete the most dangerous incitement. These corporations have proven themselves either incapable, unwilling or incompetent at this task. Governments need to incentivize vigilance by making lack of response financially unsustainable. In Germany and France, for example, social media platforms have 24 hours to take down hate speech or risk fines. Likewise, internet service providers (ISPs) have a responsibility to monitor the independent sites housed on their networks, the places where hate groups recruit and train.

Interventions like these are important, but of limited impact. For example, ISPs are based everywhere and every country has different rules around online content. Even Canada and the United States – countries perhaps as comparable as any two on earth – have dramatically different ideas about limitations on freedom of expression.

Attacking online hate and incitement is a perpetual game of Whac-A-Mole. However, just because a task is difficult does not mean we should shy away from it. On the contrary. We must do more of what is difficult.

We are a mere two generations into a connected civilization. We are still babes in the online woods. Yet, in many ways, we behave as though we are in the world we once knew.

We are no longer in a world of three TV networks and two daily papers. We are on a planet of nearly eight billion people – and anyone with an internet connection has an ability to reach audiences exponentially greater than the most powerful voices of a century ago.

It is simply not possible to effectively police online content – though we are correct to monitor and identify the worst of the worst.

There are two things that democratic societies that seek social peace and coexistence must strive toward. First, we need to empower individuals and organizations to counter untruths with truths. We must make it as easy to access the facts as it is to stumble upon misinformation and disinformation.

Google News, for one, has taken to adding a fact-checking section to their search results pages. The site Snopes.com provides a compendious analysis of online truths and fictions (although it has had its own veracity issues, involving a plagiarism controversy in 2021.) On issues of antisemitism, a veritable constellation of organizations exists to identify and correct misinformation, including HonestReporting, the Committee for Accuracy in Middle East Reporting and Analysis (CAMERA) and the Middle East Media Research Institute (MEMRI).

But we also need to attack this problem at the other end, on the “consumer” side. We must do a better job of educating and equipping people in democratic societies to critically discern fact from fiction, news from commentary, legitimate criticism from unfounded bias and hate. In a time when parents and others are concerned that education systems are not effectively teaching what are collectively, if imprecisely, called “the basics,” anyone asking teachers to also become instructors in the complexities of media bias and online incitement is going to come up against preexisting groups calling for more life skills training, more “three Rs,” more economic literacy, more mathematics and science, more physical fitness, etc. There is only so much that can be fit into a six-hour school day.

We live in a time and place where one of the most watched “news” networks routinely feeds falsehoods to viewers, even if a cost of doing business is a legal settlement of $787 million. Those lies led to an insurrection that tested the strength of American democracy more than anything probably since that country’s Civil War. That was an early warning signal for every democracy about the price of disinformation. We cannot hope this problem goes away, because what is likely to go away in such a scenario are our most cherished societal values.

We must do more of everything we are already doing. We must confront and contest the lies and hatred online (and in other media). We must allocate our philanthropic funds to organizations that counter lies and incitement. We must include everywhere we can – in formal and informal educational settings – lessons on identifying facts from falsehoods.

In an online world where conflict and hatred get algorithmic kicks to the front of the line, we must teach the young (and the older and less tech-savvy) to value that which unifies and enriches. In the simplest formulation, we need to remind our children, our grandchildren and ourselves of that old truism: don’t believe everything you hear or read.

Women’s rights evolve

Recently, Prime Minster Justin Trudeau visited Winnipeg. CBC reported that his trip involved promoting the federal budget, meeting with students, trade workers, apprentices and the mayor. The visit included celebrating with members of the Jewish community for Passover, as it fell during the holiday. I was at home and jokingly looked around my living room … nope, Trudeau wasn’t visiting our house! After he left the city, there was a photo published from the Simkin Centre, Winnipeg’s Jewish care home, with Trudeau wearing a kippah and shaking hands with residents. If anybody gets the honour of a visit with the prime minster, it should be our elders. I was pleasantly surprised.

However, the most interesting Winnipeg moment appeared on Twitter and in the news. In it, Trudeau speaks to an anti-abortion University of Manitoba student who says he’s a People’s Party of Canada supporter. Any educator trained in the Socratic method could recognize Trudeau’s response. This student engaged the prime minister in discussion while Trudeau was greeting people and shaking hands. Trudeau responded just as a good high school teacher would. He took the student’s comments seriously, carefully voiced them back and asked direct, probing questions to lead the student to the next step. They covered dental care, religious freedom, and then went on to women’s health care. Trudeau’s questions were things like “Do you believe women should have the right to choose what happens to their own bodies?”

The student later responded, “I think if they’re sleeping around they shouldn’t be allowed to abort the baby, personally.” The student conceded, in a few more steps, that he hadn’t quite decided whether a woman who had been raped should have access to abortion. Trudeau then encouraged him “to do a little more thinking – and praying.”

This clip circulated quickly through social media and brought up many issues. The thing that stuck with me was the student’s assumption that if a woman was pregnant and sought an abortion, it was because “they’re sleeping around.” Not something like the pregnancy might be a danger to the mother and, as such, needed to be terminated, or the fetus had grave abnormalities and wouldn’t live. There are viable reasons to need an abortion. While it’s not always simple, Judaism supports the mother’s right to health and well-being above that of a fetus.

Most surprising: the student failed to acknowledge facts he should have gotten in sex education. Facts like it takes two people to make a pregnancy happen. There was no assumption of any male responsibility.

This parallels something I’ve been studying while doing Daf Yomi (a page of Talmud a day) and am now reading about in Tractate Sotah. This tractate explores the Sotah ritual spelled out in the Torah, which identifies a woman accused of adultery by her husband. There’s not a lot of evidence to show this ordeal was ever practised historically, which hopefully it wasn’t. It involved a series of acts, including the priest at the Temple giving a meal-offering, taking down the woman’s hair, making her swear she was faithful, and then writing the oath on a piece of parchment, erasing it in water mixed with dust from the Tabernacle, and making her drink it. These “bitter waters” theoretically would predict a woman’s guilt. If she is guilty, she would be ill and infertile, or possibly die. A woman who was innocent would be fertile and not be harmed.

From a modern perspective, of course, this sounds completely repugnant, particularly when examining the talmudic tractate. The rabbis debate a scenario in which a man warns his wife not to be alone with another man. If she’s in a room alone with this other man for “some length of time” – this time varies but it could be very short, according to some rabbis – she’s potentially guilty of adultery. Again, no assumption at all of any male responsibility.

I feel eerie parallels between modern events and this talmudic exploration. In some U.S. states, increasingly restrictive access to abortion has brought about some convoluted laws to limit women’s ability to control their bodies. A new law in Florida requires a woman to show proof of rape or incest to be allowed access to an abortion if they are more than six weeks pregnant. Proof of rape or incest means “providing a copy of a restraining order, police report, medical record or other court order or documentation proving her victim status.” While the law is being challenged, if doctors violate the law, they can be charged with a felony.

Today, we recognize that a religious ritual forced on a woman accused of adultery, including forced consumption of bitter waters, doesn’t prove anything. Yet, the “legislators” of biblical and talmudic times felt this public shaming and ordeal proved a woman’s guilt or innocence. It was, perhaps, the ancient equivalent of forcing a rape victim to go through the medical examinations, police reports and other documentation. Many accounts indicate that obtaining this “proof” is not easy.

In Winnipeg, there are so few nurses available in the sexual assault unit to administer the rape kit that victims have been asked to go home and return later when a nurse is on duty, but to avoid showering. There are ample police reports where they assume a woman “asked for it,” or that she deserved it because of what she wore, etc. Expecting compassion from a Temple priest or police officer seems unlikely for many.

What to make of these inequities? To a 21st-century feminist, the Sotah ritual is abhorrent, but it’s equally horrendous that a victim must prove her victimhood again and again to get access to necessary health care. It’s compounded by hearing a Manitoba student assume that a woman slept around if she got pregnant, without any recognition of who else participated or what else might have happened. The Jewish historical tradition shows that, like other rigid biblical punishments – such as the ben sorer u’moreh (the rebellious son), who, in the Torah, is supposed to be stoned to death, but, in the Talmud, the rabbis give so many impossible parameters for the situation that it would be impossible to kill a rebellious son – our culture evolved and didn’t continue these harmful actions, but the ramifications linger.

The hopeful thing in regards to some women’s healthcare access is that our situation, at least in Canada, continues to evolve. Money talks: Trudeau’s Liberal government pledged $3.5 million to improve Canadian abortion services. Yet, the prime minister’s questioning of that student gave me more hope. No one could have predicted that conversation in advance. Our elected leader is “walking the walk” when it could have proved awkward. There’s something powerful about being trained in the (ancient) Socratic method. Unlike the ancient Sotah ritual, it works.

Grandfather’s prayers

The author’s family Machzor, which was printed in Warsaw in 1913, was most likely owned by her grandfather. (photo by Shula Klinger)

Growing up, I was never taken to shul. I never saw my parents pray, read religious texts or attend any Jewish community events. I saw my maternal grandfather’s tallit case once or twice; I don’t know if he attended shul regularly. These ritual items were simply family artifacts, not elements of our daily lives.

At school, I went to Shabbat with a school friend and muddled through, not knowing the customs. I went to Jewish assembly twice a week and learned the Shema – sort of – from the other girls. With an Israeli father who spoke fluent Hebrew, I didn’t know where I fitted in. Religious Jews weren’t “our people.” My father’s religion was Zionism, not Judaism. I was English, but, at the same time, I wasn’t.

My mother passed away in 2020. As I went through her belongings, I was startled to find a Machzor (prayer book for the High Holidays) that had belonged to – I presume – her father, Dr. Bernard (Boris) Stein. It was coming apart and not just from age; it had clearly been well-used.

This was a deeply moving discovery for me. It told me that my family had once kept the High Holidays, that my ancestors did attend services and were indeed part of a spiritual community.

The prayer book’s worn, shabby velvet has been repaired more than once. Once bound in a rich purple velvet, glue marks are all that is left of the cover ornament. The buckle is mostly intact but the spine is roughly stitched together with cotton thread. This is not the work of a professional artisan; maybe it’s the handiwork of my grandfather himself. He was used to handling a needle and thread, though as a surgeon.

From the Cyrillic text in the front, I learned that the book was published by Levin-Epstein in Warsaw. Why would my grandfather, who was born in Lithuania and raised in South Africa, have owned a Polish Machzor?

According to Nathan Cohen in Warsaw: The Jewish Metropolis, Warsaw did not rise to prominence in Eastern European Jewish life until the second half of the 19th century. This was a result of the czar’s 1836 decree that closed down Jewish printing houses in the Russian empire. Only select printers in Vilna and Zhitomir were allowed to print in Hebrew characters. Warsaw, however, was outside the boundaries of this region, so the Jewish printing industry moved there instead. My family prayer book was published in 1913.

photo - Once bound in a rich purple velvet, glue marks are all that is left of the cover ornament — Once bound in a rich purple velvet, glue marks are all that is left of the cover ornament. *(photo by Shula Klinger)*

And what of our Machzor’s future? I don’t want to pack it up and hide it away. I want it to be a family heirloom for generations to come, and for my children to see it as they grow up. They are proud of their heritage and will also want to see that the book is well cared for.

I sought the advice of a professional. Having worked with local bookbinder Richard Smart on a Jewish Independent story about Anne Frank in late 2017, I returned with the book and a new set of questions.

Could the book be repaired? Smart said no, because “any new suede isn’t going to blend in nicely with the old … it’s very fragile.” However, he came up with another option for conserving it: building a custom box. This way, he said, “it’ll stay in one piece, but it also keeps its history of having been handled and used.” I like this approach because it prevents the book from coming to further harm, but it also preserves it as evidence of my ancestors’ religious lives.

While the book will not be in circulation, I am heartened by the knowledge that it will, at least, be safe. Even if it doesn’t form a part of my own religious practice, it won’t be discarded or tucked away like a souvenir. This Machzor will be treated in a manner that befits an ancient treasure: laid carefully in a box that is made by hand. I’m proud to be its guardian until it passes to the next generation of our family.

To see a video of Smart reaching his decision about the Machzor, visit @oldenglishbindery on Instagram.

Shula Klinger is an author and journalist living in North Vancouver.

Measuring happiness

Amid the miasma of glum news from Israel is a light to be celebrated.

A scan of the headlines reveals existential worries. Proposals from the governing coalition of Israel are derided as threatening the democratic foundation of the country, an overthrow of the rule of law and a move that gestures to a dictatorship. The strife, which includes hundreds of thousands of Israelis protesting in the streets for more than 14 weeks, now is piled upon by more conflict – a resurgence of the intermittent terrorism that plagues the country and its peoples. Individual acts of terror against civilians, as well as cross-border violence in the form of rocket fire from Syria, Lebanon and the Gaza Strip, have unsettled Israelis already distressed by domestic affairs. Conflict in Jerusalem between the Israel Defence Forces and Muslims who barricaded themselves inside the Al-Aqsa Mosque disrupted Passover, Ramadan and Easter commemorations over the weekend.

And yet, when an annual report on the happiness measurements of citizens around the world was released last month, Israelis had spiked to become the fourth happiest people in the world, up from ninth last year. Admittedly, the data were from 2020-2022, and so were not collected during the current upheavals, but they do cover the worst years of the pandemic and implicitly take into account other periods of terror, political turmoil and challenging times.

“The happiness movement shows that well-being is not a ‘soft’ and ‘vague’ idea but rather focuses on areas of life of critical importance: material conditions, mental and physical wealth, personal virtues and good citizenship,” according to Prof. Jeffrey D. Sachs, who is director of the Centre for Sustainable Development at Columbia University and is involved with the study. (Simon Fraser University’s Dr. Lara Aknin is also part of the World Happiness Report team.)

For the sixth year in a row, Finland topped the list as happiest in the survey, which measures life expectancy, GDP per capita, social support, corruption levels, generosity, people looking after each other, and freedom to make key life decisions. Canada came 13th.

One of the world’s foremost academic experts in the science of happiness is the Hebrew University’s Prof. Yoram Yovell, who is a well-known figure on Israeli TV and who visited Vancouver in 2019. Canada ranks high (though not as high as Israel), along with the Nordic countries, Switzerland, the Netherlands, Canada, New Zealand and Australia, he explained during his visit here, in part because they share a developed world economy with social stability, fundamental freedoms, basic infrastructure like clean water, and supportive social welfare and healthcare systems.

Happy people, Yovall has noted, also tend to experience a sense of social cohesion and purpose. In Israel, some of that cohesion comes from the shared experience of military and national service and, for many, the decision to live in the Jewish state, which reinforces membership in a collective identity.

There may be something reassuring to Diaspora Jews about the happiness of our Israeli cousins. Many of us read the news and fret over the well-being of our family and friends overseas. It is a curious comparison to see Jewish Canadians wringing our hands while the objects of our concern are leaving us in the dust when it comes to the annual happiness rankings. Of course, it is not quite so clear-cut. A sense of well-being, happiness and overall contentment are slightly varying concepts and are not the same as carefree bliss. The meaning of life is a life of meaning, it has been said, literally or in effect.

As we celebrate the 75th anniversary of renewed Jewish self-determination in the state of Israel, despite all the concerning news, we can be happy that Israelis – and Canadians – consider themselves, overall, to be happy. And we can contemplate the conditions that contribute to happiness – and what changes are needed to improve those measures in other countries. Everyone has a right to well-being.