Opinion – Page 5

Post-tumble, lights still shine

I recently celebrated Shabbat morning in a way I don’t recommend. I stepped out of my house for the dog walk, thought, “Oh, slippery!” The next thing I knew, I lost my footing. I fell down several stone steps. I ended up on the sidewalk. I’d let go of the leash. My large dog stood patiently, looking concerned, as I lay on the front walk, assessing the situation.

We’ve had a long and temperate fall here in Winnipeg. The light glaze of ice that covered everything was an unfortunate surprise. I’m very lucky. I was able to get up. I went back up the front stairs with the dog and got help. While I’m bruised and my hands were bloodied, nothing broke. While I would have preferred to go right back to bed, I stayed active enough to manage the rest of the weekend. My kids volunteer at services, so I still had to go there, too. Sometimes, what we want isn’t possible, so we make the best of the situation.

I think about Hanukkah, and the adversity that Jews face, in this way. In the best possible situation, we wouldn’t have to fight physically or verbally to maintain our traditions. We would be able to celebrate in a full-throated way, without hesitation. Yet, that option doesn’t always feel possible, even if we might think that embracing Jewish joy is the best way forward.

The issue arose for me recently when I participated in an accessible “make along.” This event, called Fasten Off, has a period each fall where knitting and crochet designers offer a big discount on their downloadable patterns. It is intended to be as accessible as possible to people with disabilities, as well as those with other challenges. There are multiple categories of challenges: non-gendered, low-vision, sizing for those who are taller or larger than average. For the first time, this year, there was a category on the form that one could tick off that said, “marginalized religious group.” I really didn’t know what to do.

It’s true that my designs include kippot and a hamantashen baby rattle stuffie. I have never hidden my identity. Now, in Canada, Jews are a marginalized group, with documented hate crime numbers and antisemitism rising. However, I wondered what would happen if I checked off this box. Would it mean fewer people would buy my work? More? What benefit would it have? I both ticked off the box and contacted the organizer to mention my concern. I got no response at all, which made me feel even more worried.

My sales stats show what a huge shift the last two years have been. Previously, one of my kippah patterns, as an example, had been a dependable seller. I looked up this design’s sales and found I’d sold only about 16 kippah patterns (all styles) on three sales platforms during two years of the Gaza war. In the previous year, 2022/23, I sold 14 copies of this pattern on only one sales platform. As a result of this drastic sales drop (I have more than 80 designs online), I ended up taking a break from designing. It no longer became cost-effective to sink money into creating new designs when knitters no longer make even these small purchases. It doesn’t mean my business interests changed. The situation has. I’m still marketing my work, offering discounts and trying to attract interest – even while being part of a “marginalized group.”

Our tradition teaches us to pivot when things are challenging. In the Torah parsha (portion) Toldot, Isaac grows successful as a shepherd. (Genesis 26:13 and onwards) However, when he increases his household and flocks, he needs more water. When he digs new wells, he runs into trouble. First, the Philistines fill up his old wells and, then, as he moves onward, digging new ones, other herdsmen object. He pivots, digging new wells in new places until he finds one that works out. Meanwhile, in time, those who objected to him previously seek a reconciliation, seeing Isaac’s divine fortune, and they make peace. (Genesis 26:31)

After hearing this portion chanted in synagogue, a friend reminded me that sometimes being resilient means pivoting or waiting with patience when faced with adversity. Things don’t turn around right away. We both have engaged in a lot of Jewish advocacy and antisemitism education work over the past year together. She is a professional, public figure, while I tend to write and reach out behind the scenes as a volunteer. Sometimes, my efforts net quick responses, and I know what I said mattered. Other times, I have no idea if anyone received my email or if they read it. I keep trying, as I’m invested in this effort to make life better for Canadian Jews for the long haul.

I believe that bringing up issues concerning antisemitism education, equity reviews in schools and school curriculum matters makes a difference. Sometimes my message reaches the right reporter or school official. Sometimes, it doesn’t or it fails. Yet, in every situation, it’s important to pick myself up, dust myself off – and start all over again, even if the setbacks can hurt.

During Hanukkah, we celebrate the triumph of regaining religious freedom and peace. We use candles to illustrate the metaphor of bringing light to dark times. Sometimes that light is sweeter because of the struggle beforehand.

I’m still very sore from tumbling down our icy front steps, but I’m also incredibly grateful. This morning, the dog barked, asking for her walk and, while I may still be hobbling and bruised for a bit, I was able to get outside again.

That opportunity, to keep digging wells, reaching out to others and continuing to try? It matters. Some might see Jews as marginalized, but it’s also possible to take another read. Rather, we’re lucky and resilient, too, a people offering religious freedom and Hanukkah light to other nations.

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

From the archives … Hanukkah

The editorial in the Dec. 8, 1939, issue of the Jewish Western Bulletin.

We’ve come a long way in many ways, though some readers may disagree. I read, kind of in horror, the newspaper’s Dec. 8, 1939, editorial in which the lesson drawn from Hanukkah was that, “More formidable than the most rabid anti-Semite is the unfaithful Jew in our ranks. More threatening than all the malicious libels and frauds of such papers as DER ANGRIFF and DER DEUTSCHE BEOBACHTER, is the Jew who is IGNORANT of his history, ignorant of his literature, his tradition, his TORAH and his God.”

I can appreciate the Maccabean victory “was not by a superior might but with a superior SPIRIT, that untrained Judean forces did meet the enemy and vanquished him.” I agree that Jewish education is vital to Jewish continuity, but yikes. I’m not sure all the “yelling” capital letters encourage the message that: “There must be a closer alliance, a sense of closer affinity, a warmer consciousness of brotherhood between Jew and Jew and between the individual Jew and Jewry at large if we are to succeed – nay, if we are to insure our future as a people!”

I am also always surprised at how much of the advertising in the early years of the Jewish Western Bulletin was for alcohol. As but one example, given the time of year, is the Dec. 24, 1941, ad from United Distillers Ltd., “The Happy Holiday List” that readers are asked to “cut out and keep for reference,” which I guess I’ve done, though I don’t think any of the brands still exist.

I did enjoy some of the Hanukkah trivia that made the front cover of the Dec. 11, 1936, paper, though it was a jarring juxtaposition with the world news. As it happens, the first item, on the melody of the traditional Hanukkah song “Maoz Tzur,” mentions Martin Luther, as does the article on the cemetery in the German City of Worms that is featured in this week’s issue – on this very page, in fact – which discusses briefly Luther’s legacy.

In his “Lights on Hanukah” article, Rabbi Abraham H. Israelitan points out: “The familiar melody of ‘Maoz-Tzur,’ the well-known hymn that is sung after the kindling of the lights, is not Jewish at all, as is commonly supposed, but is really an adaptation of an old German folk song of the Middle Ages. This German folk melody has also been utilized by the Christians. The famous Martin Luther, for example, utilized it for his German chorals.”

The rabbi also notes, “One of the poems in Lord Byron’s ‘Hebrew Melodies’ – ‘On Jordans Bank’s’ [sic] – was set to the music of Maoz-Tzur by the great poet’s close friend Isaac Nathan.” He goes on to reveal “the origin of latkes,” and a few more of what we now call “fun facts.” Israelitan was not a local rabbi. His article was distributed by Seven Arts Feature Syndicate, which, according to Google, was an American group that provided content to Jewish papers from the 1920s through the 1960s.

Holiday parties, concerts, menorah lightings and more have always been promoted or covered in the newspaper, of course. Almost every Hanukkah issue has included recipes, gift ideas, personal holiday stories. And pretty much every Hanukkah-themed editorial aims to point out what the Maccabees can teach us today or what light we can shine to diminish the darkness in the world – though we do it a little less harshly than the editors of 80, 90 years ago, I think. Most certainly, we do it with fewer capital letters.

image - An adl in the Dec. 24, 1941, issue of the Jewish Western Bulletin — An ad in the Dec. 24, 1941, issue of the Jewish Western Bulletin.

image - An article on Hanukkah trivia in the Jewish Western Bulletin Dec. 11, 1936 — An article on Hanukkah trivia in the Jewish Western Bulletin Dec. 11, 1936.

Words hold much power

At an event hosted by the National Council of Canadian Muslims on Nov. 1, Toronto’s Mayor Olivia Chow said, “the genocide in Gaza impacts us all.”

Four days later, protesters attacked a group of Jewish students from Toronto Metropolitan University at an event featuring a speaker who served in the Israel Defence Forces during the recent Gaza war.

Is this cause and effect? Did Chow’s words give a kind of permission for anti-Israel activists to act out violently?

Human nature doesn’t work so neatly. Suggesting one directly led to the other is both unprovable and probably specious.

Both of these incidents, however, are part of a larger zeitgeist.

For (at least) two years, Israel has been accused of monstrous barbarities. Accusations against the Jewish state include deliberate starvation, ethnic cleansing, intentional mass killings, wanton destruction of infrastructure and other assorted war crimes.

There are legitimate debates around the definitions of terms and whether or how they apply to recent events in Gaza. However, public discussions, as Chow demonstrated, rarely reflect these nuances.

As a society, we now widely accept that incendiary language can lead to incendiary actions. In discussions around immigration levels, for example, responsible public figures generally engage in discourse that does not demonize migrants or new Canadians. Concerns have been raised in recent years around the tenor of discussion around transgender issues, with advocates warning that some of the language can exacerbate emotional isolation, especially in transgender youth, and can lead to suicide ideation. Words, it is widely accepted, can have tangible, indelible impacts.

This thoughtfulness seems nowhere to be found when Jews and allies warn that the provocative language against the Jewish state is having serious impacts on Jews in Canada.

While cause and effect are rarely provable, correlations can be clearer. Over the past two years, combustible rhetoric against Israel has coincided with an unprecedented spike in antisemitic acts against Jewish institutions and people. One would think, under the circumstances, that reasonable people might see the potential that one is at least somewhat related to the other.

Raise this possibility, though, and you can expect to be met with assertions that “Zionists” are trying to silence criticism of Israel or that there is a “chill” on discussion of urgent and legitimate international matters.

This is an admirable defence of free speech. It is interesting, though, that concepts of almost unfettered free expression seem to be the redoubt of Israel critics who accept limitations on civil discourse in a vast range of other topic areas.

Is it a coincidence, also, that the very concept of “Zionists” controlling what other people are permitted to think and say about Israel dovetails with traditional antisemitic concepts of Jewish power and control?

What everyone should be able to accept – because the evidence is plain – is that there is a parallel between the intensity of rhetoric against Israel and increasing attacks on Jews in Canada (and elsewhere).

Toronto’s mayor is just one of many Canadian leaders who should know better than to nonchalantly toss around accusations, understanding that the pitch of condemnation against Israel is having concrete impacts on Jews in Canada.

Anyone with a public platform should behave in ways that recognize the intended and potentially unintended consequences of their words. A mayor of a Canadian city, for example, should know that her words will have limited effect on the lives of Palestinians, but plenty of impacts here at home.

In a diverse country like Canada, where inclusivity is considered a core value, people in positions of respect and power have a duty to act responsibly, to promote unity and avoid phrases that might inflame community tensions.

Did Chow’s words directly lead to the violent attack on Jewish students this month? Almost certainly not.

But they contributed to an environment already aggravated with tension and peril.

Give yourself the gift of love

A friend shared her plans for a “great” day off. This included a deep dive into her refrigerator to clean things out. This household task is necessary. Food safety is important, but that doesn’t make it fun. When the kitchen is completely clean and there’s nothing growing where it shouldn’t, it’s a relief. I also feel much better after a big clean up, even when it’s an effort.

I’m studying the Babylonian Talmud Tractate Zevachim, which is about how sacrifices must be done in the Temple, including what is prohibited. It’s mostly an intellectual exercise. The rabbis discussing this all lived after the destruction of the Second Temple. They were ironing out the minutiae, even when the whole sacrifice infrastructure no longer existed. Some see this debate as a grand effort of the imagination. Others read it to witness ancient legal debate in action. Many ask what we draw from these rabbinic texts today.

Since I’m a mom with twin teenage boys who eat a lot, I think about it practically. The concept of piggul pops up often. This is a disqualified offering, a sacrifice that cannot be accepted because the priest’s plan is to eat the sacrifice after the correct time for doing so. In modern terms, imagine purchasing food for a family gathering with deep spiritual meaning, but intending to wait to cook and serve it after its “best before” date. “Here, beloved relatives, please have this expensive roast that I chose to spoil before cooking!” It feels like a rabbinic prohibition that says: “It’s disqualified and forbidden to make a holy sacrifice this way because it’s wrong to give people food poisoning.” It’s bad housekeeping.

This food poisoning reference is meant in jest! Yet, sometimes we forget to be grateful and celebrate the amazing foods and gatherings that our families and friends offer us. One of my teens is taking a food and nutrition elective at school. This wasn’t a class he rushed to sign up for but he’s learning a lot. When he missed classes due to a field trip, he cooked at home instead. This kid likes to be our salad chef, but now he’s learning to make muffins, cakes and pancakes. He’s suddenly aware of how much goes into making meals. He now feels bad when he sees that I’ve produced (yet another) dinner without help, or when his dad stays up late frying eggs or making pancakes for breakfast the next morning. We don’t want our kid to feel bad. It’s both our duty and gift to our kids to feed them well, but I’m thrilled that he’s learning what goes into this labour so he can contribute, too.

I’m a “maker.” I find meaning in making things by hand, whether it’s sewing clothing, spinning yarn and knitting sweaters, or baking bread. The calm and focus I feel while making things is one of my life pleasures. Still, the drudgery of producing endless meals or sewing 10 pairs of pyjama pants for fast-growing twins can seem less pleasurable.

Since I have high standards for how things are made, my household often claims it is hard to buy gifts for me … so they don’t. (Note: I give them lists, I point out things I admire by other artisans and even voice when something is too expensive!) This past week, I gave myself a gift instead.

First, I came up with easy meals. I arranged grocery pick up so that the rest of the household could do it and then put the items away. Next, I lined up several necessary, but enjoyable, making activities that I wanted to do when I didn’t have work deadlines. As the week unfurled, I spent hours at the sewing machine and hand-sewing. I knitted and read. I took long dog walks. I relished wearing new flannel PJs that I’d just made myself and using new dishtowels I’d sewn. I even sewed a new, natural-fibre oven mitt rather than shop for a subpar one.

On Friday, I scheduled a walk by myself to two well-regarded artisan markets. I didn’t buy much. I came home with a new pottery service piece (for family food production), an industrial sweater pin made by Cloverdale Forge, a blacksmith, and a lot of inspiration for future creativity.

My weekend was also a big present. Our incredible cantor, Leslie Emery, was formally installed at Congregation Shaarey Zedek, though she has worked in our community for many years. My children and I chanted Torah at her installation Shabbat service. We heard amazing music at a Saturday night concert. We celebrated our cantor as a community. It was full of love.

The congregational installation guest was Elana Arian, an accomplished Jewish composer, performer and educator. It turned out I knew who she was. When I attended and worked at what used to be called UAHC Kutz Camp – the international leadership summer camp for Reform Jewish teenagers in Warwick, NY – Elana was one of the children running around. Her parents, Rabbi Ramie and Merri Arian, often came to teach at Kutz Camp. It was a full-circle moment to hear this Jewish musical talent at my congregation. I remembered the joyful little kid she’d been at summer camp, too.

Elana Arian taught us a song from her new album, If We Loved Like That, which is based on the talmudic teaching to “love your neighbour as yourself.” First, Elana pointed out – we need to love ourselves. Sometimes, making time to do this great service, to love ourselves, feels like too much. It’s too hard to offer ourselves a clean refrigerator or a staycation of rejuvenating creative work. It’s too much work to learn to chant a new Torah reading. Fact: we often don’t make time to go to bed early or sleep late, make and eat healthy food or take a long walk. Yet, these are the greatest gifts we can offer ourselves.

Don’t do “piggul” and eat spoiled meat. Carve out time, when you need it, to honour yourself and do things right. By extension, those chores for family, community and the world will feel easier. As one of Elana’s famous songs goes, “I have a voice. My voice is powerful. My voice can change the world …” – but to be the most powerful you? You need to fill your own cup up first.

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

From the archives … books

In honour of Jewish Book Month, which runs Nov. 13 to Dec. 13, I’m highlighting a short article that appeared in the Independent’s predecessor, the Jewish Western Bulletin, on Dec. 18, 1970.

The focus on the Jewish Community Centre Library, now called the Isaac Waldman Jewish Public Library, stressed the “vital role” the library plays “in the life of the Vancouver Jewish community” and how it serves “the community at large in a very meaningful and important way. At any time, one can pass by and see it being used for recreational reading, browsing or study.”

The article notes how a visiting professor who stopped in at the library remarked “how thoroughly cross-referenced it was.”

“Mrs. Marvin Weintraub, hardworking and dedicated volunteer librarian,” aka Rita Weintraub, is interviewed for the story. Many in our community will have known Rita, who died in 2020. The library she was instrumental in building was a lifelong passion. In the article, she refers to the library as important for “the spiritual well-bring of the community.” As such, she said, it should be “the concern of all organizations as well as of all public-spirited individuals who are in a position to provide an endowment which will link their name in perpetuity with the highest Judaic ideas of learning and Torah.”

A better future possible

This feels like a turning point. Few people who observe international affairs, especially in the Middle East, would doubt that the conclusion of the two-year-long war means a significant change in the dynamics of the region.

It is an understatement to say that wars cause upheaval. The result of any war is always catastrophic death and destruction. But wars also, by definition, upend status quos.

The First World War decisively ended the age of empires. The Second World War ushered in, among much else, a new world order including the concept of universal human rights.

Every war, among its other consequences, is like throwing a deck of cards in the air. What emerges in the aftermath is to some extent beyond the control of any of the belligerents, including the victors (such as there are ever true victors in war).

In Israeli history, it has sometimes seemed as though a war ends and things return to the status quo ante. Israeli-Arab wars have ended before with little or no decisive change in the broader context of conflict. New wars, sadly, have always erupted. Perhaps the end of the Gaza war will usher in a time of changed dynamics or maybe the region will revert to its perpetual bottom line of Zionists-versus-anti-Zionists and little will change. The eight-decade battle over Israel’s right to exist is unlikely to be conclusively settled, whether or not the current ceasefire holds.

This feels different, though, in many ways.

The global engagement with this particular conflict – the diplomatic condemnations, the isolation of Israel, the worldwide street protests, the systematic boycotts of Israelis and Jews, the raging antisemitism that paralleled it – set this war apart from others of the past. One thing almost all Jews are probably watching closely is whether the easing of military tensions in the Middle East leads to an easing of antisemitic tensions worldwide. Many of us hold our breath awaiting that verdict.

The US administration plays a distinct wild card. It helped broker the ceasefire, but also has floated some provocative ideas of how to rebuild Gaza.

The talk about rebuilding Gaza, to which some European powers have committed and to which Arab states have given at least lip-service, is a physical necessity. As formidable as that reconstruction process will be, a moral and political rebuilding will be far more daunting. “De-Hamas-ification,” to update a term from a previous war, is a stated objective of Israel and its supporters. But, as some commentators have noted, Hamas may be as much a symptom of an extremist intolerance in elements of Palestinian society as a cause. This is likely particularly true without broad and sustained supports for Palestinian voices and aspirations that are anti-authoritarian or desiring of coexistence or peace with Israel. Militaries can be defeated perhaps more easily than some of the tenacious ideas that they represent.

Additionally, it will be fascinating to see whether the world, having made Gaza the almost singular focus of international affairs for the past two years, will now take any responsibility for ensuring the safety and prosperity of the Palestinian people, or whether we will collectively abandon them again until the next catastrophe reawakens our sense of humanitarianism.

Despite the Madison Avenue mantra, “new” does not always mean “improved.” Sometimes, things can change for the worse. But this does seem like a moment of opportunity.

On the one hand, it has become clear that “From the river to the sea …” is not a practical strategy. On the other, for those who seek peace, we have understood that we are not powerless witnesses to history. Each of us, in our way, has influence. Many erstwhile apolitical people have been motivated to action, to engage in dialogue across social and political boundaries, and to be part of the efforts to bring about a better life for all sides.

Now that the immediate war is over, we should hope coming together is possible among those of differing perspectives to advance a future of mutual benefit. What we do now, as individuals, as countries, as Jews, as humans, and in whatever context we act and whatever forms our actions take, can have a powerful impact on what happens next.

Time to include

More than one in four Canadians aged 15 and older, about 27% of the population, are living with a disability, according to the latest data from Statistics Canada. That’s an increase from 22% in 2017, and the numbers are expected to continue rising as our population ages and mental health challenges become more prevalent.

This isn’t just a statistic. It’s a reality for more than eight million people. Yet, despite these numbers, many of us in the disability community still find ourselves on the margins of Canadian society – overlooked, underestimated and too-often excluded.

I am neurodiverse. I have a cognitive disability, and I am a self-advocate for the disability community. I speak from experience and from the heart because I know what it feels like to be left out.

One of my earliest and most painful memories happened nearly 30 years ago, but it still lingers. In elementary school, there was a class camping trip I’d looked forward to for weeks. I stayed up all night baking chocolate chip cookies to share with my tentmates. But, when I got to school, I learned no one wanted to share a tent with me. That night, I slept alone in a tent that flooded during a rainstorm. I was soaked, cold and humiliated.

It wasn’t an isolated experience. I remember birthdays where I was the only classmate not invited, weekends without playdates, and watching other kids plan sleepovers I was never part of. These moments left marks, not just as a child, but as an adult working to change things for others.

I share these stories not to seek sympathy, but to urge action, because these experiences are still happening. Many of us with disabilities face uncomfortable, unkind or dismissive attitudes simply because we are different.

While some people make a sincere effort to be open-minded and inclusive, others respond to our presence with unease or judgment. We are frequently excluded from mainstream media, social spaces and cultural narratives. When we are represented, it’s often through inaccurate, stereotypical or tokenizing portrayals. This must change.

We need a cultural shift in how Canada understands, engages with and includes people with disabilities. That starts with honest conversations and with listening. Are you assuming what we need instead of asking? Are you speaking for us rather than with us?

There’s a powerful phrase within the disability rights movement: “Nothing about us without us.” It means decisions that affect our lives must include our voices. That should be the standard in education, policy, health care, the arts, employment, everywhere.

The next time you interact with someone who is different, pause. Consider your assumptions. Choose empathy, choose respect and choose inclusion.

Remember: more than a quarter of Canadians have a disability. We are your neighbours, your co-workers, your classmates and your friends. We are part of Canadian culture. We belong.

Alison Klein is a self-advocate.

Add Jewish joy to the mix

In Grade 9, the English teacher rotates table placements monthly because sitting with different students helps expose everyone to new worldviews. In general, this makes sense; discussions about literature require us to hear lots of opinions. This was also where, last week, my kid got exposed to a view that our household could have done without.

I didn’t know about the rotating seating until one night at dinner, when my kid asked if I knew of a short video that I could recommend. He needed to explain to a classmate that “all Jews are rich” was an antisemitic stereotype. Both parents stalled for a moment as we sought more information.

It turns out that other tablemates shut down this classmate immediately. They told her to be quiet and do her schoolwork. Let’s call the student Anna. These other female classmates’ backgrounds were Filipina and African Muslim. While grateful, my kid can’t wait until the seat assignments will be changed. He believed that Anna got her information about the Gaza war and Jews from TikTok and that maybe fighting this misinformation with facts, using shortform videos, would help.

When pressed, we learned my kid didn’t have a social media connection with Anna for forwarding information, nor did we think she would watch the video. After all, Anna’s grandmother was Palestinian and liked Jews, saying we were cousins. We parents concluded that someone in Anna’s life or online introduced hateful stereotypes to her. That’s what she believed – not her grandmother.

My husband retold the story of when his family was forced to couch surf. They were homeless for a year. My father-in-law, a young architect without financial backing, sold their family home to fund future work, including their new, half-built house. When the bank lost the deposited cheque from the house sale, they had nowhere to go. My husband, a kindergartener, his toddler brother and his mother spent the year at his grandparents’ New York Lower East Side apartment. My father-in-law had to stay with his parents in New Jersey. When the awful lost cheque episode resolved, they finally moved into their half-built house. They washed their dishes at the only faucet – in the bathtub. My husband could have gone on: his grandfather, raised in Mezrich, Poland, lived in a home that they shared with their cow for winter warmth and financial security. His great-grandmother had 13 children. This included three sets of twins, but none of the twins survived.

Our son said he didn’t want to share any family information. Our truths didn’t matter to Anna, he thought. He didn’t want this kid spouting hate to think he cared or even discussed this with his family. He wanted her to think her prejudice hadn’t affected him. He felt, aside from showing a video to counteract it, he’d get nowhere in explaining how she’d upset him.

This reaction correlates to a JTA article by Ilana Horwitz, a Tulane University professor. Noting that her Jewish studies students didn’t choose topics concerning antisemitism or Israel, she asked why. Her students are constantly facing antisemitism outside her classroom online and in person. Their anxiety about “saying the wrong thing” when it comes to Israel means that they don’t want any more discussions or pressure than they already face. Exhausted, they come to her class to find ways to deepen and strengthen their Jewish knowledge and history and find “Jewish joy.” They want “to remember what we’re fighting for.”

My child’s experiences echo some of the code-switching I did as a teenager in Virginia more than 35 years ago. As an adult, I realized that my Jewish identity, practice and ideals were carefully separated and toned down when we were a small minority amid Christian Southerners who were perhaps ignorant at best when it came to treating Jews as equals. Not much has changed, although, in Winnipeg, the majority culture is coded as secular Christian rather than religious, and there are many more Muslims, Hindus, Sikhs and other religious traditions around.

I recently attended a Jewish-Christian interfaith event on the 60th anniversary of Nostra Aetate, when the Pope decreed that the Catholic Church should guard against antisemitism and that Jews hadn’t killed Jesus. The event’s planners had great intentions. The speakers were good. Rabbi Lisa Grushcow (PhD) and Dr. Murray Watson, a Catholic theologian, brought thoughtful, intellectual views on the subject. They didn’t shy away from much-needed dialogue as a bulwark against rising hate. Unfortunately, the event moderation left something to be desired. The well-intentioned Catholic senior citizens, who rose during the Q&A to speak, didn’t have critical questions. Instead, they wanted to “testify” about the “great Jewish boss” they’d had or seek reassurance that it was OK to disagree with the nice “quite Orthodox Jewish couple” in their senior living facility when it came to the West Bank/Judea and Samaria. I couldn’t help myself. Leaning over to a Jewish friend, I whispered that it’s good there are these amazing Jewish examples mentioned, because of what it suggested about the rest of us “no-goodniks”!

After several awkward moments, I felt relieved when the event ended. As a small minority in Canada, we need allies and connections. We cannot afford to give up on building bridges with others. First, we might make deep friendships and gain positive community, but also, with rising hate, it’s important to have allies (like those school tablemates) who stand up and tell haters to stop when they spout prejudice.

That said, this work to counter antisemitism isn’t solely our problem. Perhaps my teen and those students at Tulane are right. We should devote more energy to our Jewish joy, culture and history. Let’s embrace all the good, rich parts of our identities and re-invest in our learning and celebration. My kid, and most of his tablemates, didn’t want to give hateful stereotypes any airtime. In this instance, he was probably right. Lots has changed since I dealt with this in high school. I was often forced to give all the explanations and information about Jews, since I was the only Jew there. Then, afterwards, there was Jew-hate spewed towards me anyway.

What’s changed is our understanding of what causes criminal behaviour. We now recognize that a short skirt doesn’t cause sexual assault. Nothing we do specifically, as Jewish individuals, brings on this hate. Nothing the modern state of Israel or individual Jews do created this ancient hatred. It’s not our behaviour or fault. We don’t have to own this or fight this alone. Antisemitism is an old symptom of a much more invasive disease of ignorance and hate.

The solutions are complicated. Meanwhile, let’s consider shutting down these biases when they pop up, just as they did in my kid’s Grade 9 class. Let’s offer some Jewish joy to the mix – and let’s also remind one another that it’s not all on us. What causes antisemitism? Antisemites.

From the archives … editorials

Almost every year that the Jewish Independent has entered the American Jewish Press Association’s Simon Rockower Awards for Excellence in Jewish Journalism competition, the paper has been recognized for its editorials. We have won for other articles, too, in several different categories, but have taken away the most honours for our editorials. This year, for instance, we took first and second place! (See jewishindependent.ca/ji-editorials-win-twice.)

The JI’s editorial board, Pat Johnson, Basya Laye and I, don’t always agree initially on what the editorial’s stance will be. Our back-and-forths, exchanging our different views and coming to a consensus, is one of my favourite parts of running the paper. It’s a key reason, I believe, that the editorials have been so award-winning.

Another reason is that the three of us have read and worked on the Jewish Independent for so many years, and we’ve been part of this community for so many years. We are grateful for those on whose shoulders we stand. The wisdom of previous generations, and that of our own generation, inspires how we look at what’s happening here and elsewhere in the world.

As I looked through the JI archives, I came across the first editorial I wrote for the paper, when it was still called the Jewish Western Bulletin, and before Pat, Basya and I became a team. I also clipped out just some of the thousands of editorials that have been written over the years. There are so many recurring themes, including communal and democratic responsibilities and the importance of free speech. The editorials variously try to calm, cajole, educate or empower readers.

image - April 13, 1945, editorial in JWB — April 13, 1945: The paper’s editorials were brought under community review. Associate editor Goodman Florence describes the meeting that took place and comes to the conclusion that, “He who aspires to express himself must expect to receive both ‘bouquets and brick-bats’ – and if he is intelligent he will use them both.”

image - Oct. 26, 1973, editorial in JWB — Oct. 26, 1973: Jewish Western Bulletin editor Sam Kaplan calls out community members who’ve not contributed funds to Israel in the wake of the Yom Kippur War. The editorial floats the idea of publishing a list of these “Missing Jews of Silence.”

Feb. 6, 1998, editorial in the JWB — Feb. 6, 1998: My first editorial for the paper argued for limited regulation of the internet, concluding that state censorship is more dangerous than free speech, including hate speech.

image - The JI editorial board’s first place Rockower Award winners from 2024

The JI editorial board’s first place Rockower Award winners from 2024 – and our many other missives – can be read at jewishindependent.ca.

Antisemitism a problem

The overwhelming joy of seeing the remaining hostages reunited with their loved ones, and Israelis and Jews heaving a sigh of relief after two excruciating years, is tempered with the sadness of all that was lost on and since Oct. 7, 2023. The entirely reasonable fear, also, is that this eight-decade conflict is not over. With the days-old ceasefire already fraying, it is not clear that even the immediate conflict is decisively ended.

For Jews in the diaspora, the past two years have seen two related but distinct conflicts. The war in the Middle East, with the fate of the hostages as well as the loss of Palestinian and Israeli lives, has been a constant source of pain. The paroxysm of antisemitism worldwide has been a parallel phenomenon.

We are careful to note that the phenomenon of antisemitism is parallel to the war in Gaza, not caused by it. The blame for antisemitism must always be placed where it belongs – on antisemites. To justify it as being a consequence of international affairs is to excuse the perpetrators and avoid the problem. Even so, it is naïve to ignore the parallel – for decades, every time violence flares between Israelis and Palestinians, trouble increases for Jews worldwide.

Assuming that the war is over, we will see whether the antisemitism we have witnessed and experienced – the violence against Jews, the attacks on Jewish institutions, the loss of jobs, the end of friendships, the graffiti, vandalism, and tsunami of online and verbal hatred and conspiratorial speculation (and even unintended offence) – abate. Even if it does subside, the underlying issue remains. Antisemitism in Canada is a Canadian problem. To accept that it ebbs and flows with international news is not an acceptable approach for people who claim to oppose racism and advance inclusion.

Two interesting approaches – and doubtlessly scores more that have received less publicity – take aim at the issue. They come from organizations with significantly different views and propose significantly different responses. This diversity is understandable, in part because antisemitism manifests in diverse ways and so requires diverse responses. This also points to a larger problem: antisemitism is so diffuse and varied, and so historically enduring, that we can disagree on its very nature, its manifestations and causes, let alone how to confront and overcome it. If anyone had the magic solution, we wouldn’t be having this discussion three millennia on.

The latest intervention is a report by the Nexus Project, a US-based nonprofit focused on combating antisemitism while protecting democratic norms like free speech and civil rights. The Shofar Report: A Call to Defend Democracy and Confront Antisemitism contends the best way to combat antisemitism is to strengthen the values of American society (and other Western societies). It argues that Jewish safety and security and American (or, we might extrapolate, Western democratic) institutions are inseparable. Put succinctly, their approach rests on the conventional wisdom that the very societies where antisemitism flourishes are endangered in existential ways. As such, antisemitism is a kind of canary in the coal mine of societal erosion.

The report has several calls to action, including expanding education around the Holocaust, media literacy and diverse Jewish contributions to society; strengthening civil rights enforcement; countering disinformation and conspiracy theories; preserving academic freedom; building cross-community coalitions; and so forth. It critiques antisemitism on the left and right of the political spectrum. While these are not fresh ideas, they are compiled and contextualized here within the apparent erosion of American democracy. If these approaches have not seemed to work, a response might be that we have not been doing them forcefully enough or with enough resolve. With a rapidly changing landscape, might focused attention and some new tactics yield better results?

The Heritage Foundation has a rather more assertive approach. The foundation is perhaps best known in this era as the authors of Project 2025, which serves as a policy map for the current American administration.

Project Esther: A National Strategy to Combat Antisemitism, which was released a year ago, rests on the assumption that antisemitism in the United States (and, again, to extrapolate, in the West) is not an incidental, populist phenomenon, but a deliberately fomented strategy of a coordinated “Hamas Support Network.” The strategy of this report is to put pressure across academic, social, legal, financial and religious spheres to identify and isolate forces they see as perpetrators, supporters or fence-sitters. Their aim is to dismantle the “pro-Palestinian” movement as it is currently constituted, including associated liberal and progressive organizations. To that end, they focus exclusively on left-wing antisemitism. They recommend a combative strategy based on existing and new counter-terrorism and hate-crime laws, investigations and litigation.

We may agree with aspects of one approach more than the other, or take nuggets from each and a thousand other tactics. The solution to antisemitism’s rise, if there is one, will probably come from some synthesis of strategies: building bridges, fighting for democracy, and holding individuals and institutions accountable for their failures and fomentation. The most important thing is to be engaged in the struggle and not to assume that, if an overseas conflict is resolved, the domestic problem will be solved. That would be a form of denial and, while we can disagree over the potential resolutions, we must be unanimous in recognizing the painful realities of the problem.