Opinion – Page 69

We should be more civilized

When we read Exodus, some people imagine what Egypt was like as an ancient civilization. If you’re a synagogue regular, you’re hearing the story unfold each week as the Torah is read. If you’re more likely at a Pesach seder at a relative’s dinner table, you’ve heard the same narrative. We imagine Joseph’s dreams and his esteemed position advising Pharaoh. There are the complicated family dynamics, the rise of a new ruler, the enslavement of the Jewish people, Moses’ ascension as a leader, and the plagues. We’re captivated in part because it’s compelling. There’s lots of tension, and that makes for good drama.

There are laws listed and proper ways to behave. There are also irrational and upsetting actions and behaviour that are completely out of bounds. Sure, one can approach a ruler and ask for something – or there’s darkness, frogs, lice and death. There’s a rational, law-abiding approach, and the emotional, gut-wrenching knee-jerk response. These are both fundamentally human reactions. When the plagues happened, I imagine that it must have felt like the end of the Egyptians’ world. The labour vacuum caused by the loss of slaves might have led to a collapse of functional Egyptian society.

I juxtaposed this familiar story with others that have crossed my mind. Over winter break, my kids (like most) and I were housebound for quite awhile. Due to a virus or two and the extreme cold, we weren’t going out. Mostly, the time passed without incident, but keeping siblings busy and out of trouble is no joke. When we weren’t one step ahead with the next round of button hockey or “Swedish scooting” (indoor games we made up as we went along), we’d turn our backs and a kid would be assaulting his brother.

As I pulled one kid off another, I imagined what the European settlers on the Prairies endured when they spent an entire winter in a one-room sod house with their children. I wondered how many kids killed one another. Many families also died of disease, starvation, or froze to death.

Meanwhile, my U.S. family sent my kids a homemade video of a gathering with friends. Everyone on the video joked about the dog’s squeaky toy, which resembled the current U.S. president. I struggled with this. In terms of behaving in a civilized way, it seemed too close to the bone of the matter. If we’re meant to respect the position but we can’t conscience the current president, how do we communicate this notion to our kids?

What’s our duty as upstanding people and as Jews? As a child growing up near Washington, D.C., I went to school with all sorts, including the children of politicians, diplomats, lawyers and civil servants. Back then, I remember how everyone worked hard to be civil to one another. Strom Thurmond, Jr.’s mother was a great volunteer in our classroom. Marilyn Quayle was a dependable carpool mom for my brother’s soccer team. Our political leanings were the polar opposite of Thurmond’s Dixiecrats or Dan Quayle’s, but, as elementary school parents, our respective parents could agree to disagree. Our parents modeled civility to one another, and that meant we too (mostly) treated one another with respect.

We teeter back and forth on a seesaw when it comes to behaving in an upstanding way. These days, anybody in D.C. would tell you that old-fashioned civility and common-sense manners are long gone. The current world political scene feels more like that period of plagues. Nobody knows what will strike us next.

Even so, we have choices when it comes to how we behave towards others. We can aim to be rational, thoughtful people who think through our actions and try to behave responsibly, as Hillel suggested. When someone who wanted to learn about Judaism asked Hillel to sum it up while standing on one foot, Hillel responded, “That which is hateful to you do not do to another; that is the whole Torah. The rest is its interpretation. Go study.” (Talmud: Tractate Shabbat 31A)

We may also behave impetuously, with emotional, irrational responses that seem more like sporadic and scary plagues. Jewish tradition would suggest we aim for Hillel’s behavioural model, though one can legitimate the name-calling and lack of civility, too. There are plenty of examples of non-rational biblical outbursts from which to choose.

It’s too easy to throw stones at each other based on our religious observance or our political views about Israel, Canada or world affairs. It’s much harder to behave with civility and agree to disagree. As I pull my twins apart and demand compromise, or suggest (again) to use please, thank you and you’re welcome, I spend a lot of time thinking about civilization and civilized behaviour.

When I student-taught high school in a rough D.C. neighbourhood, people often yelled on the street. Some yelled hello and smiled. Others sometimes yelled antisemitic, misogynist threats. A Grade 9 student nicknamed “Punkin” took to walking me to the train station. When the threats started, she’d pull herself up tall and holler right across the road, “Was you drug up in a barn?! Act civilized!”

Indeed, we weren’t brought up in barns. Punkin was from a good home, and the threats stopped when she broke the tension that way and called grown men out on their bad behaviour. I’m working hard to provide the same civilized model for my kids. We can treat each other better than that. We can agree to disagree without doing hateful things. I learned a lot from Punkin – and Rav Hillel, too.

Joanne Seiff writes regularly for CBC Manitoba and is a regular columnist for Winnipeg’s Jewish Post and News. She is the author of the book From the Outside In: Jewish Post Columns 2015-2016, a collection of essays available for digital download or as a paperback from Amazon. See more about her at joanneseiff.blogspot.com.

Games with capital

Last week, U.S. President Donald Trump recognized Jerusalem as the capital of Israel. There are a number of issues to unpack in his (un)diplomatic announcement.

First, rioting by Palestinians and others around the Middle East, as well as potentially related attacks on Jewish institutions in Sweden, are acts of violence that deserve to be condemned, with no excuses or legitimation.

Second, as for the president’s decision, we can leave aside partisanship from the mix. Former presidents Bill Clinton, George W. Bush and Barack Obama have all made effectively the same statement: Jerusalem is the undivided capital of Israel.

But we need to separate the ethical from the pragmatic. For whatever else it is – home to holy sites of three religions, a multicultural, multifaith, multilingual metropolis – it is Israel’s capital. Tel Aviv may be the economic heart of the country and the first modern Jewish city, but it has always been toward Jerusalem that the national aspirations of the Jewish people have been directed. But, the fate of Jerusalem is considered one of the core issues to be addressed in any permanent peace agreement that results in a two-state solution. Whether or not recognizing Jerusalem as Israel’s capital is the morally right action, the pragmatic truth is that the president’s move was not inspired by a desire to do right.

The most charitable thing we can say about the president’s Jerusalem decision is that he kept his promise to evangelical Christian voters. He was unequivocal before the election on this issue and, unlike those who came before, he appears to be following through. The same can be said on many other fronts where conventional observers assumed a cooler head would prevail once the weight of the office descended on the showman. The provocations around immigrants, the racism, the assaults on even members of his own party – none of these has eased since he moved into the White House. While Congress has ensured the president has so far passed no legislation of consequence – though a sweeping and irresponsible tax bill is on the horizon – the president has behaved just as he did when he was a candidate, esteem for the office, personal dignity and respect for others be damned.

Again, there may be disagreement on whether moving the embassy is a good thing, a bad thing, ill-timed or overdue. But let us not pretend that the president was moved by any ethical, theological or political morality. This was just the latest in a succession of provocative actions through which the president thumbs his nose at anyone with a modicum of nuance, diplomacy or sense of the larger geopolitical reality.

Trump likes to stir things up and this time he did it using Jerusalem. This is no favour to the Jewish people or Israel. We may, in fact, suffer its consequences alongside many in the Palestinian territories who may lose their lives in riots and skirmishes precipitated by this thoughtless edict. All of us are just the tools in another of his childish, and very dangerous, games.

How to treat siblings, others

When you have twins, many people ask questions, particularly about “when” you will separate them. When did they sleep in separate cribs, rooms, go to different activities, or have separate school classes? The answers for every family are different, of course.

My kids arrived at the same time, but they’re fraternal twins. That means, they’re brothers and they’re the same age. From the beginning, we tried to make Jewish connections to this: part of their Hebrew names are Ephraim and Menashe, and their dad is named, in part, Yosef. (And his father’s name is Ya’akov.) In the Bible, Ephraim and Menashe were brothers, not twins.

Twins have a special bond. My kids slept in the same crib for about nine months, and then in cribs across the room from each other. I met another parent of twin girls once. He described how the two toddlers would be placed in their separate, but adjoining, cribs to sleep. Inevitably, someone climbed into the other crib. When their parents went to get them, they both were sleeping in the same place.

Even now, one of my twins begs the other for a “sleep over” and what he means is, “Can I go climb into your bed with you?” (We say no, as it ends up keeping everyone in the house up.) My kids also shared something else – they didn’t sleep through the night until they were 4½ years old. It wouldn’t be an overstatement to say: we value sleep and bedtime, perhaps much more than togetherness.

The Torah portion of Vayeshev (Genesis 27:1-40:23) is a difficult story about brothers. It’s essentially about favouritism and sibling rivalry – when Joseph’s older brothers decide to gang up on him and get rid of him, because he is their father’s favourite.

I asked my kids what they thought about it, and they mentioned how great it was to have a brother, and a twin. They didn’t have toys that were “too old” or “too little kid” for them and they always had someone with whom to play. They love each other. They are best friends. They chose to take baths together in our claw foot bathtub until they were too big to fit comfortably.

At the same time, they also fight, get very jealous of anything seen as “unfair” – all the normal sibling things. However, instead of reading only rabbinic commentaries this time, I thought about my kids’ responses. This is valuable, too. They’re learning to take turns and take care of each other, and are establishing these bonds for life.

My husband shared a room with his brother throughout their childhood. In adulthood, despite managing young families and living in different countries, they still communicate often, about everything and nothing.

A teacher recently suggested I might separate my kids so they could develop their “individuality.” Instead, I reflected on the teenagers I met when I lived on a kibbutz in Israel. They were raised in children’s houses, all together. Though not twins, they were raised as a group. While this model isn’t common anymore, kibbutzniks produced great leaders for the state of Israel: many brave volunteers, military leaders and strong politicians. The kids I met answered questions as a class: their favourite game was soccer, their favourite foods were chips (French fries), ice cream and salad. The strength these kids had together and their camaraderie were powerful. We chose to keep our kids together, to nurture a deep feeling that someone has their back.

Part of sharing everything is learning together what’s safe and acceptable, and what isn’t. I want to raise my kids in Jewish ways – and that includes working on raising boys who know how to respect others. My kids love the newspaper cartoons, but require an adult to read and interpret them and, lately, political cartoons about celebrities and sexual assault are more frequent. This is a “touchy” subject for 6 year olds.

The rabbis teach us that everything is worth examining, and open to interpretation and extrapolation. Whether it’s the Torah portion’s lessons about how to treat siblings or a cartoon at the breakfast table, we need to think critically and learn from what is presented to us. This morning, we covered another lesson – “This man touched other people without permission. No one wanted to be touched that way. He lost his job. Now people are saying how wrong this behaviour is – in the cartoons and news.”

North American society puts a strong emphasis on being rugged individualists; people who know their minds and act independently. However, being a good Jewish person, a mensch, involves knowing how to behave among others – people you love, and strangers, too. Often, life isn’t fair – your youngest brother gets a fancy handmade coat, like Joseph. Yet, what matters is where the rubber hits the road; how we use derech eretz (the right way to behave) to cope with what life gives us. How we behave and treat others, no matter who they are, is what counts. In Jewish tradition, it’s how we act that matters.

Sometimes, the Torah portion of the week reminds of how we shouldn’t behave. When we read about Joseph’s “Technicolour Dreamcoat,” we’re reminded to examine how we behave: as parents, as siblings, and as people. We don’t live completely independently of our families and communities, even if we see ourselves as individuals. When I used to teach full time, I often had to stop students from doing something inappropriate, and I’d ask, “What would your mother or grandmother think of this?”

My twins know the Jewish thing to do – your mother wants you to keep your hands to yourself, to take care of each other and … don’t act like Joseph’s brothers did!

Joanne Seiff writes regularly for CBC Manitoba and is a regular columnist for Winnipeg’s Jewish Post and News. She is the author of the book From the Outside In: Jewish Post Columns 2015-2016, a collection of essays available for digital download or as a paperback from Amazon. See more about her at joanneseiff.blogspot.com.

Light against darkness

There is a reason that we wake up every morning to new reports of accusations against men in positions of power. It is not that the sad phenomenon of sexual harassment or violence is new – in fact, many of these accusations relate to incidents decades ago. It is also not because the women who are sharing their experiences of abuse are more courageous now than they were last week or last year.

The reason is that we have reached one of a series of tipping points. As recently as 2014, when a number of allegations of inappropriate and illegal actions by legendary comedian Bill Cosby became public, his accusers were treated as such accusers have routinely been treated: variously as complicit in their victimizations, as liars, as exaggerators, as willing partners who alleged assault only when the “relationship” went sour.

What has changed in this short time is a critical mass of people – women and men, as well as media, employers and the consumers and voters upon whose beneficence the alleged perpetrators have depended – have adopted a new willingness to believe women’s narratives of harassment and assault. This change has happened, in the context of social change, with startling suddenness.

This has created a tipping point of its own. Knowing that they are more likely to be believed than further victimized, a vast number of women have found strength in their numbers and, sensing the social change at hand, have stepped up to share their experiences.

The unprecedented acknowledgements by millions of women that they have been subjected to sexual harassment, assault or worse are taking place not only in Hollywood and Washington. As the #MeToo campaign is demonstrating, many, if not most, women have experienced something on the spectrum of gender-rooted harassment or violence. The incidents have caused unique effects in each instance, on each woman, effects that range from stunted career development and self-image issues to debilitating, lasting psychological trauma. So, put mildly, these are not good news stories.

Yet something good could come from this – indeed, it can’t help but. Our society is finally having an open and frank discussion about these issues. Yet another tipping point is surely upon us. The public perception of appropriate behaviour toward women (and, to extrapolate, respectful behaviour between all people, especially those in positions of vulnerability or subordination) has changed and will continue to change as we navigate this public discourse.

Again, this is not a good news story. In an ideal world, there would have been no such incidents that led us to this point. Yet, like the reconciliation process taking place between indigenous and non-indigenous Canadians, the fact that these things did happen, and that they cannot be undone, demands that a frank public reckoning take place and that we identify ways to hasten a better future. That we are doing so is a good thing.

These are not the sorts of topics we like to reflect on at the holidays, and yet it is something appropriate that this issue is top of the newscast as we approach Chanukah.

This holiday has, among other meanings, the idea of kindling light in the deepest part of winter. Each of the women who has come forward about her experiences has lit a single flame. Together, these lights have become a force against individual and collective darkness.

Survivor’s talk inspires

“There are as many Holocaust stories as there are Holocaust survivors,” said David Ehrlich, a survivor outreach speaker of the Vancouver Holocaust Education Centre, to open his afternoon talk at Langara College. On Oct. 31, a class of 20 students and several faculty members and guests heard Ehrlich – a Hungarian survivor of Auschwitz who immigrated to Canada via Paris in the late 1940s – tell his personal story.

This class is part of a program called Writing Lives: The Holocaust Survivor Memoir Project. In the first term, its students produce research papers on prewar European Jewish communities like the one that Ehrlich called home; in the second term, they will interview survivor-partners and together write memoirs of the survivors’ experiences.

Ehrlich is an evocative speaker. He spoke lovingly of his family home in Transylvania (now part of Romania). “We had a three-room home, and we were middle-class. But we had no running water and no electricity, not for another 20 years,” he said. “Kids don’t know any better. I thought that we had it well: chicken on Friday night, bread on the table, it was wonderful!”

But he also told of his experience with antisemitic violence, the hard choices made by families who tried to avoid a Nazi roundup, and life in Auschwitz. He silenced the room when he spoke of stepping off a train boxcar at Auschwitz: “I’ll never forget the view when the sliding doors opened, or the noise that the doors made,” he said.

The students – who in this term’s research papers attempt to imaginatively reconstruct Jewish life before the Second World War’s devastation – responded with questions about Ehrlich’s journey to Canada. He spoke of the family that he made in Canada: a wife and three sons. He made his story accessible to the audience of all ages.

The students admired Ehrlich and a bond was formed during his talk, which was about an hour long. When he finished speaking, there was a respectful silence, and no student seemed willing to be the first to break it. Teachers from Langara began the question-and-answer session and, once the ice was broken, the students filled the remaining time with questions. Ehrlich in turn shared relevant wisdom for Writing Lives’ participants.

“You are educated and smart,” he told them. “There comes a time where you’ve got to learn to put up with people who are different because you have to get along. Start practising by getting along with your fellow students.”

Indeed, Writing Lives features groups in which students collaborate on research and, ultimately, on memoirs with the course’s survivor-partners. These collaborations require empathy. Ehrlich conducted himself as an exemplar of empathy, stating, “I can’t hold the grandchildren of Nazi-era Germans accountable for the Holocaust,” and the students’ response to his talk suggests that they, too, understand empathy’s importance. The course thus offers an excellent venue for students’ development of collaborative skills and of compassion. It provides a space in which students can grow closer together.

The afternoon also contained humour and reference to contemporary subjects. Ehrlich joked that he was now willing to use various German-made appliances and recalled that the heavy rainfall during a roundup of Hungarian Jews paled in comparison to Vancouver’s weather. Ehrlich also demonstrated strong knowledge of news and politics by interspersing references to American and Canadian current events into his remarks. He shared his general optimism about the post-Holocaust situation, stating, “After three or four generations, the Germans are coming clean; they are behaving like good nations do. It’s the only country in the world where you cannot say that the Holocaust didn’t exist.” He added, “We in Canada are very lucky – multicultural – and there’s no way that one minority group could be persecuted as in the Holocaust.”

His audience appreciated his graceful, optimistic tone. One enthusiastic student baked dozens of cupcakes to celebrate Ehrlich’s recent birthday.

Ehrlich’s talk will guide Writing Lives’ students through the remainder of the program. They will respond to it in one of their weekly written submissions, and the experience of interacting with a Holocaust survivor foreshadows the interviews that they will conduct in early 2018. They could not have asked for a better guide.

William Chernoff is a student in the Writing Lives program. Coordinated by instructor Dr. Rachel Mines, the two-semester program is a partnership between Langara, the Vancouver Holocaust Education Centre and the Azrieli Foundation.

Follow the middle path

One of the stories that my father, z”l, used to tell me about his father, my grandfather, Rabbi Eyad Acoca, z”l, was that back in Morocco, at a young age, my grandfather traveled to the city of Sale to learn under the revered hacham, Ribbi Rafael Enkaua, z”l. In order to get there, he had to cross the Bou Regreg river. Once, while my grandfather was on a raft with other travelers, the raft tipped and all the people drowned except my grandfather, who held tightly onto his Talmud volume and got to the other side of the river safe and sound!

My father often recounted that my grandfather’s last wish was that at least one of his descendants continue his legacy and become a rabbi. His wish was fulfilled when I became a rabbi; in doing so, I merited to inherit a few volumes of my grandfather’s set of Talmud.

Through the years, I have come to understand that I have a big responsibility to continue in my grandfather’s footsteps and teach about Sephardi Judaism, which is unique and special. In recent years, numerous articles and lectures have been given regarding the future of Sephardi Judaism. As a Sephardi rabbi, I am delighted. However, to my dismay, I have found that most of the lectures have been framed in the extreme right or left. In my opinion, Sephardi Judaism has to come back to its origin, which was always the middle path.

Our great sage Maimonides, teaches us in his book Mishneh Torah (De’ot, the laws of personal development):

“Each and every man possesses many character traits. Each trait is very different and distant from the others.

“One type of man is wrathful; he is constantly angry. [In contrast,] there is the calm individual who is never moved to anger, or, if at all, he will be slightly angry, [perhaps once] during a period of several years.

“There is the prideful man and the one who is exceptionally humble. There is the man ruled by his appetites – he will never be satisfied from pursuing his desires, and [conversely,] the very pure of heart, who does not desire even the little that the body needs.

“There is the greedy man, who cannot be satisfied with all the money in the world, as [Ecclesiastes 5:9] states: ‘A lover of money never has his fill of money.’ [In contrast,] there is the man who puts a check on himself; he is satisfied with even a little, which is not enough for his needs, and he does not bother to pursue and attain what he lacks.

“There is [the miser,] who torments himself with hunger, gathering [his possessions] close to himself. Whenever he spends a penny of his own, he does so with great pain. [Conversely,] there is [the spendthrift,] who consciously wastes his entire fortune.

“All other traits follow the same pattern [of contrast]. For example: the overly elated and the depressed; the stingy and the freehanded; the cruel and the softhearted; the coward and the rash, and the like.” (chabad.org)

Maimonides writes, “The two extremes of each quality are not the proper and worthy path for one to follow or train himself in. And, if a person finds his nature inclining towards one of them or if he has already accustomed himself in one of them, he must bring himself back to the good and upright path.”

He continues, “The upright path is the middle path of all the qualities known to man. This is the path which is equally distant from the two extremes, not being too close to either side. Therefore, the sages instructed that a person measure … his character traits, directing them in the middle path so he will be whole.” (torah.org)

How I wish that the great minds of Sephardi Jewry would sit, united, and craft the future of Sephardi Jewry through Maimonides’ model. I hope that this will happen soon but, for now, let us all implement the lesson of Maimonides and implement the middle path in all our endeavours.

Rabbi Ilan Acoca is a veteran rabbi and educator. He is the rabbi emeritus of Vancouver’s Congregation Beth Hamidrash and currently serves as the rabbi of the Sephardic Congregation of Fort Lee-Bet Yosef, in Fort Lee, N.J., and rav beit hasefer of Yeshivat Ben Porat Yosef, in Paramus, N.J. He is the writer of the book The Sephardic Book of Why and has written hundreds of articles on various topics for different publications.

Why we head home

(photo from oliveandwild.com/collections/judaic)

It is the season for gatherings and celebrations, and many travelers are urgently trying to make their way home for the holidays. An innate urge seems to drive them back to their roots. And, I wonder, What is it that draws people home for the holidays?

This existential question arose one year as I was lighting the menorah on the first night of Chanukah. Friends and family were gathered at our home to celebrate the holiday season once again. The loving faces, which crossed generations, reminded me that, for some, it is Christmas, a time to spread peace and joy throughout the world. For others, it is Chanukah, with its message of rebuilding, rededication and freedom from oppression.

Suddenly, I had a surreal experience in which the immediate sounds, sights and smells faded into the background. I am both participant and observer in this scenario and am filled with an overwhelming realization that I am looking at the history of the years, the culture and religion of past centuries, sitting at my table eating symbolic foods like potato latkes, gefilte fish and sufganiyot. It gave me pause to reflect on one of our most basic human needs – a sense of belonging.

The rituals that accompany such special occasions, regardless of whether it is Christmas, Chanukah or a powwow, serve to strengthen communal and family ties. There may or may not even be a religious focus but their significance should not be underestimated, as they have a deep and long-lasting impact. It is our cultural and social heritage that carries us from the cradle to the grave, and we learn these social ceremonies within the safety and security of the family.

The emotional attachments that are developed in the course of such activities are powerful, especially for a developing child. If you ask many adults who celebrate Christmas, for example, they will recall the occasion with fond memories. The nostalgia of the colourful lights, the smell of turkey roasting, the sounds of fun and laughter with family and friends and the excitement of exchanging gifts are hard to erase from one’s psyche. Special foods like Christmas cake, latkes or bannock, which are interwoven with the particular celebration, help form a powerful emotional bond that ties us to one another, its strength consolidated with annual repetition.

And, when we are adults, we are bound to repeat them, not only for ourselves, but to give to our children and grandchildren. We want to provide them with the beautiful memories of childhood we enjoyed. Rituals link the past with the future. Those who have never had these experiences, or have lost them, suffer a sense of painful loneliness at these times, leading to a widespread myth that suicide rates increase over the winter holiday season.

Numerous studies indicate the opposite. For example, an analysis by the Annenberg Public Policy Centre, which has been tracking media reports since 2000 in the United States, found that half of the articles written during 2009-2010 perpetuated this myth. However, reported incidents of suicide are the lowest in December and this has not changed in recent years, according to the U.S. Centres for Disease Control and Prevention. A Canadian article, Holiday Depression by Michael Kerr, which can be found at healthline.com, also dispels the myth of higher suicide rates during the holiday season. However, it may trigger other issues, such as substance abuse or depression, which do increase.

Sadly, people may become aware that, with the passing years, family and friends are no longer always available. Children move away, people pass away and these celebrations can emphasize solitary feelings that are glaring in their stark contrast to the happy family images portrayed all around. But there are remedies for loneliness. Volunteer at a homeless shelter or see what your local synagogue has on offer. Create a new tradition and invite over new friends and neighbours. Stay active. It can offer much to alleviate feelings of isolation.

While these philosophical meanderings ramble through my mind, an explosion of laughter jolts me back from my reverie. I contemplate the people around me with warmth and appreciation. The people sitting at my table are not so different from those sitting at yours. Social formalities are found in all societies, religions and cultures, and are strikingly similar. Though the focus of holidays varies, they cement communities and families together. As Barbra Streisand sings, “People who need people are the luckiest people in the world.”

Libby Simon, MSW, worked in child welfare services prior to joining the Child Guidance Clinic in Winnipeg as a school social worker and parent educator for 20 years. Also a freelance writer, her writing has appeared in Canada, the United States and internationally, in such outlets as Canadian Living, CBC, Winnipeg Free Press, PsychCentral, and for Cardus, a Canadian research and educational public policy think tank.

The beauty of the light

(photo from flickr.com/photos/scazon)

The sky turns shades of orange and mauve as I glance outside my dining room window and notice the sun slipping behind the trees. The havoc and chatter in the house has peaked. I call my daughter to come and light the Shabbat candles with me. It’s time. Eighteen minutes before sunset.

We light the candles, nine for me, representing each of our family members, and one for her. We cover our eyes and circle the flames three times with our hands as we say the blessing that ushers in the holy Shabbat. “Baruch ata Adonai Eloheinu Melech HaOlam, asher kidshanu b’mitzvotav, v’tzeevanu l’hadlik ner shel Shabbat kodesh.” (“Blessed are you, G-d, our Master of the Universe, who has sanctified us with His mitzvah, and commanded us to light the candle of the holy Shabbat.”) Instantly, the chaos subsides and peace and serenity reign. It’s visceral, and a mystery to me how it occurs every Friday evening.

The Shabbat candles warm the atmosphere of the Shabbat table. Their soft glow draws us in. All week, we run from home to work and school, activities and errands that fill our days. Many of us do not share meals or spend time together at all!

Only on Shabbat do we have the opportunity to have precious moments with family and share meals, discuss our week’s events, share Torah thoughts and stories of the parashah, to enjoy each other’s presence as well as that of our Shabbat guests.

Shabbat, the seventh day of the week, is the gift that G-d has given us in order to reconnect with family and friends, and teach us, by His example, to rest as He did after creating our beautiful world for us in only six days. We reconnect with our G-dly souls and recharge our batteries for the busy week ahead. We pray at home and in a synagogue and get a special spiritual feeling as we connect to G-d and our community.

We also have Chanukah, an eight-day festival of lights, falling yearly on the 25th day in the winter month of Kislev. Chanukah recalls the Jews’ victory, with a small army, over the huge Greek army in the second century BCE. It also commemorates the miracle of the tiny bit of light, enough to burn for one day, which lasted for eight days, until the rededication of the Temple was possible after the struggle.

The Shabbat candles are placed inside our homes, while the Chanukah candles are placed so they can be seen from outside our homes. Why the difference?

On Shabbat, we are supposed to enjoy and benefit from the holy glow of the Shabbat candles as they shine over the beautifully set Shabbat table, with its white tablecloth and lavish settings. It is the main attraction for those fortunate to have a place around the table.

On Chanukah, we are forbidden to use the light of the menorah for any practical purpose. As the Chanukah candles melt, we are not supposed to do any housework at all. Only after they’ve melted, can we celebrate the miracle of the oil with food and games.

From this, we can extrapolate an essential difference between Shabbat and Chanukah. Shabbat is for us, the Jewish people; it nourishes and reinforces us weekly. Chanukah reaches beyond the warmth of the home to light up the darkness of the outside world. It reminds us not to be afraid, even in the harshest times. And Chanukah candles teach us to stand up and speak out for those who do not possess this strength. This feeds a pride that transcends ego. This is our proud Jewish heritage and our gift to the world.

As I polish my Shabbat candelabra, candlesticks and our family’s chanukiyah, I smile as memories of past Shabbatot and Chanukah celebrations mingle with anticipation. This year, Chanukah begins on the evening of Dec. 12 and continues until the 20th. Wishing you a very happy and festive Chanukah.

Esther Tauby is a local educator, writer and counselor.

Volumes in the silence

Jewish Voice for Peace held a discussion on antisemitism recently at the New School in New York City and the panel included Linda Sarsour, whose associations and opinions, particularly about Israel and Jews, are controversial.

The school defended its choice by saying that there are “differing views on the issue of antisemitism,” a Trumpian formulation on par with the idea that there are good people on both sides of every issue.

Sarsour, a daughter of Palestinian-American immigrants, rose to national prominence as a co-chair of the Women’s March earlier this year and was dubbed by Politico as “the face of the resistance” to Donald Trump.

She is also highly controversial. When she got into a public spat with ex-Muslims Ayaan Hirsi Ali and Brigitte Gabriel, Sarsour tweeted, “I wish I could take their vaginas away – they don’t deserve to be women.” (Hirsi Ali was subjected to female genital mutilation at the age of 5 in her native Somalia.)

Sarsour is particularly opinionated about Israel. She claims that Israel has a right to exist, but does so in the context of a “one-state solution” that would eliminate Israel’s Jewish identity. She supports the boycott, divestment and sanction movement and has defended sharing a stage with Rasmea Odeh, a terrorist involved in murdering two Israelis and wounding nine others. She has tweeted that “nothing is creepier than Zionism” (nothing?!) and said it is not possible to be a Zionist and a feminist.

So it was a point of contention when Sarsour was invited to join a panel on the subject of antisemitism. Yet Sarsour has something to say that everyone should listen to closely.

She says that antisemitism is “different than anti-black racism or Islamophobia because it’s not systemic.” As one commentator noted, what was more “systemic” than the Holocaust? But Sarsour was making a legitimate case: Jews in 21st-century North America do not suffer systemic economic disadvantage due to their Jewishness. Jews are no longer precluded from housing, universities or any place in the public realm because of their identity. Jews are not randomly pulled over and shot by police. Jews do not experience lower wages or lesser positions of employment because of their identity.

Antisemitism isn’t routinely expressed in the same ways as most other common forms of prejudice and discrimination. However, this doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist or should be dismissed.

Whether left, right or centre, most of us now accept an economic definition of discrimination: lower standards of housing, employment, opportunity and outcome. But antisemitism doesn’t manifest in these ways. However, it can manifest in hate speech, attacks on synagogues and other Jewish institutions, and physical assault. It can lead to genocide, as it has within the memory of the living generation. It can result in the ethnic cleansing of Jews from almost every Muslim-majority country on earth over the course of a couple of decades.

So, antisemitism is not a benign force, even if it does not fit the parameters we now widely use to identify and measure discrimination. In fact, it is, in itself, a form of discrimination to ignore the uniqueness of antisemitism.

Antisemitism can also take the form of a movement to eradicate the national homeland of the Jewish people. There are reasons to criticize Israel, but to argue that Jewish people are the only people in the world not deserving of national self-determination is problematic.

At the heart of the anti-Zionist movement is an imagined firewall between antisemitism and even the most extreme condemnation of Israel, including calls for it to be eliminated. It is fair to make the case that criticism of Israel is not necessarily influenced by anti-Jewish animus. But this is not the case being made by people like Sarsour. Their position is that there is effectively no connection at all between anti-Zionism and antisemitism and that any suggestion of a connection is a strategy to “silence” or discredit criticism of Israel.

The idea that opinions, stereotypes or prejudices about Jews play no role in perceptions of the Jewish state is unreasonable. If there is anything that should cause skepticism toward Sarsour and those like her, it is the stalwart refusal to even consider the presence in their worldview of prejudice about Jews. If any other group of people in the world so much as suggested that they were affected by bigotry or discrimination, people like Sarsour would take these concerns seriously. When Jews make this suggestion, it is rejected outright and labeled a ploy to win a political argument. This, in itself, speaks volumes.

Balfour is but one milestone

This year marks the 100th anniversary of the Balfour Declaration, a cause for commemoration and even celebration on the part of Jewish activists worldwide.

The Balfour Declaration refers to a short letter from Lord (Arthur) Balfour, former U.K. prime minister and then-foreign secretary, to Lord (Lionel Walter) Rothschild. In it, Balfour declared that the British cabinet had approved a statement that the government favoured the establishment of a Jewish national home in what was soon to become the British Mandate of Palestine.

The implications of the declaration have been debated by pro- and anti-Israel activists for, well, an entire century. For many in the pro-Israel community, the declaration is akin to a Magna Carta for the Zionist movement: an affirmation – from the very authority that would oversee the territory – that Zionism was indeed a worthy enterprise.

Without diminishing this sentiment, I offer my interpretation of the Balfour Declaration and what it teaches us about pro-Israel advocacy today.

The Balfour Declaration was a strategically vital recognition of the right of the Jewish people to self-determination – and one that clearly affected the course of history. But Balfour did not establish our national rights, which pre-existed the declaration. These rights have always been rooted in the natural right of every nation to shape its own identity and achieve self-determination in its ancestral land.

This is not a minor distinction. We dare not confuse the validation of our rights with the source of our rights. Indeed, our detractors falsely do so. In their minds, if the Balfour Declaration can be dismissed as a “colonial” statement, the rights of the Jewish people to which it speaks can be similarly undermined.

It’s this sort of nonsense that suggests Jewish history in the land began in 1917. To believe it, one would have to ignore the mountains – and caverns – of archeological and historical evidence that confirm a Jewish presence in the land for millennia. In addition to various non-biblical documents confirming Jewish indigenous roots in Israel, the Bible itself is widely recognized – even by ardent atheists – as a historical chronicle of a particular people in a particular land.

As Shimon Koffler Fogel, chief executive office of the Centre for Israel and Jewish Affairs (CIJA), recently observed, the Balfour Declaration was “one milestone among many that confirm the moral, historic and legal right of the Jewish people to self-determination in our ancestral land. Just as many states endorsed the Balfour Declaration at the time, the international community’s support for the national liberation of the Jewish people after centuries of exile has been expressed time and again.”

Fogel further noted that, in a similar vein, November also marks “the 70th anniversary of the UN partition resolution of 1947, which expressly called for the creation of a Jewish state.”

The Balfour Declaration matters today precisely because it is more important than ever that we show how our fundamental rights as a people are backed by international consensus. The declaration is not the linchpin of this recognition but rather a signpost on the road to achieving widespread affirmation of our rights.

Every year, CIJA brings approximately 200 Canadian leaders and future leaders (almost all of whom are non-Jewish) on fact-finding missions to Israel. As someone who heads an annual trip of post-grad students, I can tell you that most Canadians – including those sympathetic to Israel – are not particularly interested in what a British lord had to say about the region a century ago.

But what they do care about, and what makes them more receptive to understanding the strong legal and moral foundation for Israel’s existence, is that many global figures and organizations (including the United Nations) have echoed these rights. In this regard, Balfour is an important thread of the historic fabric.

The importance of non-Jewish validators applies to many pro-Israel advocacy issues, such as Israel’s right to define itself as a Jewish homeland, the dangers of BDS (the movement to boycott, divestment from and sanction Israel) or the threat posed by Israel’s neighbours. On these and other topics, our target audience is generally more receptive to our perspective when we can demonstrate that it is one shared by others, including governments and leaders around the world.

Balfour matters, but we should remember why. The declaration serves not as the basis for modern Israel’s existence but as a key witness to the abundant evidence – irrefutable, millennia-old proof – of the right of the Jewish people to self-determination.

Steve McDonald is deputy director, communications and public affairs, at the Centre for Israel and Jewish Affairs. Follow him on Twitter at twitter.com/koshermcdonald.