Opinion – Page 71

Climate a Jewish issue

The World Health Organization has labeled climate change “the greatest threat to global health of the 21st century.” As a physician, it is difficult to ignore such a dramatic statement.

Climate change is real. The sea levels are rising, temperatures are increasing, more violent storms are becoming the norm. As Canadians, we are seeing consequences of climate change even more than other countries. Last year, Fort McMurray in Alberta was almost destroyed by a massive forest fire. This year was the worst year in British Columbia’s history for forest fire damage. (While climate change is not the sole cause of these events, it is known to be a contributing factor.)

Our glaciers are shrinking, as anybody who has visited the Athabasca Glacier in the Rockies can confirm. Temperatures in the Yukon and Northwest Territories are rising faster than in most other parts of the world. Traditional indigenous life in the north is being made much more difficult by the shortening of winter and the melting of the permafrost.

Climate change is also a Jewish issue. When the environment is changing so dramatically that human lives and well-being are at stake, Jewish values tell us that we must take action.

Pikuach nefesh (the saving of a life) is a fundamental Jewish principle. Climate change is believed to share some responsibility for present-day wars and loss of life, including the conflict in Syria. The World Health Organization predicts that 250,000 people will die each year between 2030 and 2050 due to the effects of climate change. Is it not incumbent upon us as Jews to try to mitigate these effects in line with the pikuach nefesh principle?

Climate change is a complex issue. Many people find it too complicated and too overwhelming, such that they are paralyzed into inaction. So what we can do about it?

In line with Jewish practice, the first response should be educating ourselves about the issues. There are many articles and books about the subject. One of the most compelling authors for me is Bill McKibben. He has written a book called Eaarth (Henry Holt and Company, 2010) in which he describes how the earth is changing, such that it is becoming a new and unfamiliar place.

Fossil fuels are the main culprits. Weaning ourselves off coal, oil and natural gas is paramount. Substituting sources of renewable energy such as solar, wind, tidal and geothermal is crucial.

On a society level, we can try to prevent further construction of oil and gas pipelines, and further development of the LNG (liquified natural gas) industry in northeast British Columbia. We can elect members of the Legislative Assembly and of Parliament who share our concerns.

On a personal level, we can drive less, fly less, use hybrid or electric vehicles, and support public transportation. We can eat less meat, as the cattle industry is a major contributor to increased greenhouse gases. We can consume less, recycle more and compost more.

Everybody can do something to help mitigate the effects of climate change. Doing nothing is no longer an option.

I take inspiration from the talmudic Choni, otherwise known as the Circle-maker.

One day, Choni was walking on the road and saw a man planting a carob tree. Choni asked the man, “How long will it take for this tree to bear fruit?”

The man replied, “Seventy years.”

Choni then asked the man, “And do you think you will live another 70 years and eat the fruit of this tree?”

The man answered, “Perhaps not. However, when I was born into this world, I found many carob trees planted by my father and grandfather. Just as they planted trees for me, I am planting trees for my children and grandchildren so they will be able to eat the fruit of these trees.”

This week, as we are sitting in the sukkah, let us contemplate the fragility of our planet, and strive to make the earth a more secure place for our children and grandchildren.

Larry Barzelai is a Vancouver-based family physician, who has a special interest in geriatrics. He administers the annual Public Speaking Contest organized by the Jewish Federation of Greater Vancouver. He is a member of the board of CAPE (Canadian Association of Physicians for the Environment).

Jewish routines help us cope

At 7 a.m., I came downstairs on a school morning and discovered that one of my 6-year-old twins was busy. He’d filled up a container with water so he could watch his expandable water toys grow – again. After the toys grow enormously in the water, we dump out the water. We let them dry and shrink and put them away for a month. This is a frequently repeated ritual in our house. Any good science experiment is one worth repeating, right?

Good teaching requires frequent repetition. Life, it seems, is also probably the best teacher. I’ve been thinking about how to cope with and learn from the repetition of the Jewish calendar as it applies to life’s ups and downs.

One of our dogs, Harry, has been very ill with lymphosarcoma. By the time you read this column, Harry, aged 13 and a half, may no longer be with us. For people who have animals, you know how hard this transition can be. Yes, there are all sorts of veterinary interventions for pets now, but this cycle of life and death can’t be avoided. Although, historically, some Jews have lived in cities, away from animals, Jews have also lived, worked and loved animals on farms, in villages, towns and cities. The Talmud teaches us that we must feed our animals before we eat. More generally, Jewish tradition teaches that we must treat animals humanely, and cannot allow an animal to suffer unnecessarily. (This applies even in kashrut, to animals we eat.)

Harry’s illness requires our kids to be careful. Our dog is very sore, and cries out sometimes at night, which wakes up the little boys. We’ve been slowly introducing the topic of dying at odd moments, when we sense our kids need to talk. Jewish tradition has supportive rituals for illness, death and burial. While these aren’t necessarily applicable to our bird dog, it’s a useful way of remembering that our tradition gives us help during times of illness, death, and in mourning.

The timing of all this has also hit my husband and me. When we pray to be inscribed in the Book of Life, both of us recall relatives who passed away around the time of the High Holidays in years past. If you keep track of the Jewish calendar (as well as the secular one), you may connect Jewish holidays with your personal history, such as associating, as I do, Kol Nidre with the death of a great-uncle, who was walking home from shul when it happened.

Tying our lives to the Jewish calendar and to these mourning rituals helps us connect to generations of Jews who came before us, who mourned people (and animals) and who made an effort to live with joy as best they could.

Recently, my husband and I became Canadian citizens. We juggled our citizenship ceremony with three trips to the vet in one day. At the ceremony, the official suggested we would always remember the date. Instead, I wondered if I could forget Harry’s medical needs while we were at the ceremony.

When we got home, we chose to celebrate becoming Canadian. Friends came over. They’d planned to meet our kids after school if we were late getting back from the ceremony, but we all gathered together instead. My husband got us a cake from Eva’s Gelato, and Marcello, one of the (Jewish Argentine) owners, insisted on a big cake – because our citizenship was a big thing! (Thank you, Eva’s!)

As Sukkot and Thanksgiving occur, we have this opportunity to reflect, with gratitude, on the amazing things we have. We can be thankful for plentiful harvests and food, for the opportunity to celebrate outside with our families and friends before winter hits, and for our good times, together.

Watching those silly toys expand in the water generated memories of other holidays and happy occasions. When we lived in Kentucky, we were fairly isolated and did not have many Jewish friends nearby. However, we mail-ordered a lulav and etrog, and we built our sukkah on a brick patio in our backyard.

Over the years, we had some big Sukkot dinner parties there. We lit candles, as it was dark in the sukkah, and we would eat a fancy meal with some (non-Jewish) friends to celebrate. Meanwhile, in the yard, just beyond the sukkah, the fancy table setting outside and the lights, I saw that our bird dogs, Harry (the setter mix) and Sally (the pointer mix), were doing every kind of rambunctious (and embarrassing) and loud dog play. Our guests were biology professors, like my husband. They laughed, making jokes about how to observe and understand dog behaviour, before returning to enjoying their meal and time outdoors. Harry the dog stopped roughhousing so he could chase crickets as they hopped about on the bricks.

We use ritual and holidays to mark time passing, and to observe our traditions in many ways. The Jewish calendar can help us embrace both the hard times and the sweet and memorable happy ones.

Harry the dog has been a laidback, playful, loving and opinionated part of our household, much like his movie namesake in When Harry Met Sally. I’m hoping to hold onto the dancing lights, those fall sukkot and the young, cricket-chasing dog. I’m remembering the frolicking while doing my utmost to ease the last days of an elderly, sick dog.

Chag Sukkot sameach.

Joanne Seiff writes regularly for CBC Manitoba and is a regular columnist for Winnipeg’s Jewish Post and News. She 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 on joanneseiff.blogspot.com.

Merkel’s election win

Angela Merkel was returned for a fourth term as Germany’s chancellor on Sunday, defeating her main Social Democrat opponent, as well as a seemingly global surge toward populism. However, while she succeeded, her vote share declined – and the footnote of the election turns out to be the bigger story.

The far-right Alternative for Germany (AfD) party came third, taking about 13% of the vote and entering parliament for the first time. The result was as good as any polls had predicted, meaning that some people who voted for them probably didn’t feel comfortable sharing their voting intentions with pollsters. The party was formed just four years ago, amid an anti-immigrant and anti-refugee backlash in response to Merkel’s liberal approach to the crisis caused by the Syrian civil war. In response, Merkel reined in her liberal approach somewhat, possibly saving her party from defeat. Just a few months ago, Merkel’s reelection appeared to be in doubt.

The success of Merkel’s conservative bloc is a sign that, when push comes to shove, German voters trust her steady hand at a time when the European Union and the world is in upheaval. While immigration remained a central issue in the election, its potentially negative impact on Merkel’s chances may have been blunted by the overarching desire for stable government.

In the face of Brexit and various economic crises in EU member states over recent years, Merkel emerged as the unequivocal leader of the vision of European unity. German voters endorsed her overall approach. But the emergence of AfD is worrying, though not surprising. Extremist parties have been burgeoning all over Europe – and extremism is flourishing in the United States. It would have been stunning if Germany completely avoided this trend.

For their part, the Social Democrats had been in a governing agreement with Merkel’s conservatives and, as is often the case in such scenarios, found themselves at a disadvantage in differentiating themselves from the incumbent government when putting their case to voters. They may choose to rebuild their party from the opposition side, rather than form another coalition with Merkel. However, if they choose to cooperate with the conservatives, that will put the third-party AfD in the enviable position of official opposition. This would give the radical right grouping even greater prominence than their 13% vote share would seem to justify.

“We will change this country,” declared Alexander Gauland, a co-leader of the AfD, on Sunday night. These are eerie words coming from the leadership of a group that promises a return to traditional German “volk” values, glorifies the Nazis and has been accused of racism and antisemitism.

The extremists will have an unprecedented platform (at least in the postwar era) in German politics and, even lacking legislative power, will be able to give voice to ideas that have largely been taboo in the German body politic for the past 70 years.

Yet, we should not allow the dark lining to obliterate the silver cloud. The election secured a stable, reliable and moderate direction for Germany that is good for Europe, the world and, not incidentally, Israel.

In its manifesto, Merkel’s party acknowledged a “special responsibility of Germany toward Israel” and earlier equated the BDS (boycott, divestment and sanction) movement with the Nazi campaign to boycott Jewish businesses. Under Merkel’s leadership, Germany has continued and strengthened its very close alliance with the Jewish state. The German government has been a bulwark, to the extent that a single government can be, against the anti-Israel movements at the EU and the United Nations.

In election after election in Europe over the past year, worst-case scenarios have been avoided. Extremist parties have made inroads, but generally less than anticipated. The AfD’s relative success may be seen as a protest vote, in which case we may be seeing its zenith. In any case, Germans will now get a clear view of what the party stands for – and will have the opportunity to stand up in opposition to the divisive and xenophobic policies the AfD promotes.

Compassion needed

“… what the Lord doth require of thee: only to do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God.” (Micah 6:8)

Despite its solemnity, Yom Kippur is my favourite of the Jewish holidays. The ritual of atonement, the accounting for our soul’s transgressions, humbles and connects us.

When we ask God for forgiveness, what are we asking for? Not for His acceptance, nor His condoning of our transgressions. What we are seeking is His compassion: the recognition that we are human and that, to be human, is to have both divine potential and to be inherently flawed. Atonement humbles us; His compassion restores our dignity.

As a physician specializing in addiction medicine, I see and support people who truly believe they are unworthy of this compassion. Many people believe that addiction is not something that affects Jewish people. I can attest that Jews are as susceptible to this neurological disease as any other group. From the Downtown Eastside SRO (single-room-occupancy) hotels, to the extravagant homes of Shaughnessy, substance dependence is having a deep impact on our community as a whole.

Our failure to acknowledge the addiction issues within our community has forced people with substance dependence into hiding and fostered ignorance over compassion. Isolating drug users can be deadly. We know that, statistically speaking, the majority of the lives lost throughout the overdose epidemic have been people who have used drugs alone in their homes.

Is it possible for us to consider extending the compassion, the dignity that we desire to receive on Yom Kippur, to people who are dependent on drugs?

For most of my patients, drug use began as a coping tool, a way to manage physical or mental pain. Haven’t we all resorted to coping strategies at some time, sometimes constructive, sometimes foolish?

What is your coping mechanism? When you don’t want to deal with a situation, do you binge on Netflix? Do you eat junk food, work too much, smoke? Fiddle with your phone, endlessly scrolling through social media? Do you sometimes misuse a prescription medication to help you manage your thoughts or worries?

Have you ever experienced shame around your coping mechanism? Do you find yourself shutting the phone off when your spouse walks in the room? Eating differently when others are around?

Imagine if your coping mechanism was not easily hidden. Imagine if, when you realized that it had become a problem and you tried to stop, you plummeted into severe anxiety and physical withdrawal – convulsing, vomiting, sweating, aching everywhere – but you couldn’t afford the days or weeks it would take to withdraw because you had a job to do, a family to care for. So, you spiraled deeper, always in search of a way to manage your pain. Until, eventually, it became impossible to hide.

Drug addicts are our vulnerability and suffering made visible. Or, as Rabbi Shais Taub said, “Addiction is but the human condition writ large.”

Last September marked the launch of Jewish Addiction Community Services (JACS) Vancouver, an organization created to provide members of our community with support around the effects of addiction. Rabbi Paul Steinberg spoke at the opening event. His words continue to resonate: “… I pray that we can tear down our walls of fear and provide a safe place to express our vulnerabilities, truly embracing teshuvah as a real agent of transformation. If our congregations cannot be a place for the depressed, the addicted, the junkie or the ex-con, then what claim are we making on our Judaism? What kind of temple have we really built?”

This Yom Kippur, let us acknowledge and have compassion for the addict in all of us. Let us welcome those with substance dependence into our congregations, and into our hearts and prayers. If you know someone with an addiction problem, let them know that you are grateful for the effort they are making, an effort that reflects a persistent theme in the history of the Jews – escaping enslavement and finding freedom. We all have something to learn from their struggles.

And let them know they are not alone. Tell them about JACS Vancouver. For more information, visit jacsvancouver.com, email info@jacsvancouver.com or call 778-882-2994.

Dr. Alana Hirsh is a Jewish Addiction Community Service (JACS) Vancouver volunteer and program committee member.

Yiddishkeit – a story of love

Dear Yiddishkeit, I’m home! Did you miss me? Sorry I was away for so long. I got kind of lost in the desert. But I’m finally back, and living happily in … well, different places: at Ohel Ya’akov Community Kollel, at Chabad of Richmond and, recently, at the National Jewish Retreat in Palm Desert, Calif. (Not that other desert.)

I met your family, Chabad Lubavitch, about 13 years ago. They seemed authentic and sincere, and welcomed me warmly. I got the sense that they live what they preach: that every Jew is important and has a unique mission in life. This really resonates with me and makes me want to search for the mission that drives my life. Even though I’m not a Torah-observant Jew, your family treats me like one of their own. I don’t dress all that modestly, but I never feel judged by them. It’s funny, I grew up living a fairly secular life, yet I’ve never been more certain about where I belong, and that’s Chabad.

Oh, Yiddishkeit, I’ve admired you from afar for years. I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye on everything – you know, that Shabbos thing, the kosher thing. But there’s always been a chemistry between us. Even if it was unspoken. I have to admit, I’m enthralled; I want to know everything about you. Your likes and dislikes, your temperament, what you look for in a partner. I do know you’re a veritable buffet of fascinating facts and your family’s unabashed optimism and positivity inspires me beyond words. You and your family are smart, solid, attractive and respectful. How could I not love you?

So, how come we’ve played a game of “come here, go-away” most of my adult life? You were shy, yet inviting, all at once. And me? I was just non-committal. You never pushed me into anything though. You just waited me out until the time was right.

I remember in 1997 when one of your family – Rabbi Avraham Feigelstock – called me in the hospital when he found out I was very sick and had been there for 43 days. I’d never even met the man, and here he was calling me: “How are you feeling? Do you want a visit? Can I bring you anything? Let me give you my home and office phone numbers, in case you feel like talking.” I will always be grateful for that. I knew that there was more to this than mere friendliness.

After I recovered, I began going to weekly Friday night dinners and Saturday Shabbat services at the Kollel, where I met Rabbi Shmulik Yeshayahu. His Shabbat sermons jumpstarted something inside me that made me want to know you better. The Kollel is also where I met my bashert, Harvey. I owe you a lot, Yiddishkeit.

Until recently, I wasn’t even sure where I stood with you, Yiddishkeit. But now I know for a fact that I’m smitten. You swept me off my feet. And it only took 61 years! The turning point for me was last year at my retirement party, where another of your family members – Rabbi Yechiel Baitelman – gave a beautiful speech. He said: “Retirement doesn’t mean retiring from life. It means going on to do mitzvahs, and study and do good things.” This fanned the fire inside, and now I enjoy weekly Torah study classes at Chabad of Richmond and volunteer with the Light of Shabbat and Israel Connect programs. I have even attended the Jewish Learning Institute’s National Jewish Retreat. Twice! Rabbi Baitelman’s enthusiasm, encouragement and positivity are infectious.

But let me back up a bit. Early last year, I had a personal issue that was troubling me deeply and I needed someone to talk to. So, I asked Rabbi Baitelman if he could spare the time to speak with me. Long story short, we met at a Starbucks in Richmond and, for the next one-and-a-half hours, he looked directly at me and focused like I was the only person in the world who mattered. That, Yiddishkeit, made a huge impression on me. It reinforced everything I’d heard and read about Chabad – that they consider every Jew important and indispensable.

I once heard someone say, “We don’t choose Judaism. Judaism chooses us.” I am unspeakably honoured that you chose me, Yiddishkeit. I’m sure there are others much prettier, smarter and more devoted than I. Why me? You must have your reasons. Never mind.

All I know for certain is that you have given my life meaning and purpose. I’m more committed than ever to doing mitzvahs, studying Torah and learning about all things Jewish. What started as curiosity has blossomed into commitment. I regularly listen to Jewish scholars like rebbetzins Rivkah Slonim and Menucha Schochet and rabbis Moshe Bryski, Yitzchak Schochet, Y.Y. Jacobson, Mendel Kalmenson and others on Torah Café; and watch Rabbi Simon Jacobson’s videos from his Meaningful Life Centre. Books like The Secret of Chabad, Toward a Meaningful Life, My Rebbe, The 613 Mitzvot, The Empty Chair, The Rebbe’s Army, and books on davening, healing, Tanya, Shabbat and Jewish grieving have enriched my life unimaginably. One of the most life-changing events, though, was the National Jewish Retreat.

As I do more Jewish reading, I come across Yiddish and English adages that impress me with their profundity. It’s what I try to live by now. Check them out:

“Tracht gut, vet zein gut,” “Think good, and it will be good.” (Rebbe Menachem Mendel Schneerson of Lubavitch)

“Who is wise? One who learns from every man.” (Ben Zoma from Pirkei Avot, Ethics of the Fathers)

“Always remember: you are never given an obstacle you cannot overcome.” (Rebbe Nachman of Breslov)

“Gam zu l’tovah,” “This, too, is for good.” (Nahum Ish Gamzu)

My Jewish learning is like a prospector who shuffles the rocks around on his sieve, hoping to find gold. The more I infuse my life with Yiddishkeit, the more gold I find.

Let me declare, Yiddishkeit, in front of heaven and earth, that I commit, forever more, to being faithful, trusting and open to the love you give me. I promise not to squander or minimize it. I promise to hold you close and be there for you, like you are for me.

Fast forward. Hashem and I are now on a first name basis. We live together blissfully and share the chores. We hold each other up, and we’re true partners. I admire and adore you, Hashem. There is You and only You. Always.

Did I come to this love story overnight? Heck, no! It’s taken me decades of searching, questioning, losing and then finding myself. Yet, here I am – home. Where I’m meant to be.

My husband Harvey says there’s nothing quite as cloying as a convert. Even if it’s a Jewish-to-Jewish convert, like me. I’ve become a cheerleader for Yiddishkeit. Everything excites me, because it’s all so new. Learning to read Hebrew – let’s celebrate! Torah study class – break open the Manischewitz! Trying to keep Shabbat – woo-hoo!

I’m taking it all with baby steps. Nothing too drastic or radical, even though there are days I want nothing more than to totally immerse myself in Yiddishkeit. I’ve learned there’s no speeding up a process that has its own timetable. For now, lighting Shabbos candles, saying certain blessings, going to Torah classes and giving up certain foods is where I’m at.

At this point, I’ll slow dance with Yiddishkeit, keeping a respectful distance. And I won’t let anyone cut in. It’s just the two of us. The perfect shidduch!

Shelley Civkin recently retired as librarian and communications officer at Richmond Public Library. For 17 years, she wrote a weekly book review column for the Richmond Review, and currently writes a bi-weekly column about retirement for the Richmond News.

Trump-Bibi bromance

Israeli Prime Minister Binyamin Netanyahu, left, with U.S. President Donald Trump in New York. (photo from Israel’s Government Press Office via Ashernet)

A great deal of diplomacy depends on intangibles like whether the parties involved like or dislike each other. Israeli Prime Minister Binyamin Netanyahu made little effort to hide his frustration with Barack Obama, the former U.S. president. The feeling was blatantly mutual, as even the most obtuse reader of body language could interpret from photographs of the two men together. Netanyahu and the current resident of the White House … this is whole new meeting of minds.

There are similarities and differences of style and substance between Bibi and Donald Trump. One thing worth noting is that each has their core of stalwart domestic supporters and another, possibly even more virulent, bloc of detesters.

Seeing the two leaders together in New York this week, present for the annual United Nations General Assembly, was a reminder of how big a role mutual affection or irritation between two leaders can affect international relations.

The Israeli prime minister engaged in a Trump-like tweetstorm Monday morning, including this one: “Under your leadership, @realDonaldTrump, the alliance between the United States and Israel has never been stronger.”

This may not be true – the relationship has always been extremely tight – but it is certainly true that the alliance between the two countries’ leaders is strong.

It’s always wise for Israeli leaders to seek good relations with the American president, but this particular relationship is double-edged. A recent poll indicated that 21% of American Jews view Trump favourably, while 77% view him unfavourably. This puts Netanyahu in a difficult position of his own choosing – hitching his wagon to a politician who is deeply distrusted by the largest population of Diaspora Jews.

There is also something odd about Netanyahu’s interpretation of the Israel-U.S. relationship. Just a couple of years ago, at the depths of the Netanyahu-Obama snit, commentators wondered if the bilateral relationship had ever been lower. (Calmer heads insisted that, despite the childishness at the top, on every issue of bilateral substance, everything remained tickety-boo.) Now, just 10 months into a new administration, the Israeli leader alleges that the alliance has never been better. Was a change in the White House all it took for things to go from bad to super-awesome? If so, upon what kind of a foundation does this relationship rest? And, what are the metrics?

The reality is that, for reasons pragmatic and ideological, the Israeli-American bond is strong and indivisible. What Netanyahu did in New York this week is simply the flip side of the coin he tossed when Obama was in office. Then, he betrayed diplomatic processes to accept an invitation from U.S. congressional leaders. Now he’s got a man he likes in the White House and he’s throwing bouquets at him. In both instances, he is crudely poking around in the internal politics of the United States, a strategy that has (in ordinary times) about a 50-50 chance of blowing up in a foreign leader’s face. And these are not ordinary times. Trump is a divisive and potentially dangerous figure who is supported by the worst elements in American society, including racists and antisemites. By wrapping himself in Trump’s flag, Netanyahu is playing a risky game.

Even so, coming just hours after the Emmy awards, the Donald and Bibi show had its fleeting moments of humour, if unintentional. To wit, Trump lent his inimitable erudition to the promise of Mideast peace.

“Most people would say there’s no chance whatsoever. I actually think with the capability of Bibi and frankly the other side, I really think we have a chance,” Trump said. “I think Israel would like to see it and I think the Palestinians would like to see it. And I can tell you that the Trump administration would like to see it.”

Apparently we’d all like to see it. Yet every administration since Truman has tried, to one extent or another, to facilitate peace between the Israelis and their neighbours. The best and brightest among the presidents have proved incapable of the task. Is it possible that this one will counterintuitively succeed? The definition of insanity is said to be doing the same thing again and again and anticipating a different outcome. President after president has taken a similar approach to this problem and failed. No one can accuse Trump of doing things the conventional way. And, he’s put his best man on the job – son-in-law Jared Kushner – whose qualifications appear to be, well, mostly matrimonial.

Trump, the self-proclaimed great deal-maker, has repeatedly failed to find any common ground with a House and Senate led by his own party and has so far been able to achieve none of his signature initiatives. A modest achievement like solving the Israeli-Arab conflict would be something worth bragging about. As Trump and Netanyahu plot that little rabbit trick, we will watch with interest or, if you’re a praying person, maybe do that.

Inspiration from home

A young Israeli-American entrepreneur has invented an app that people – of any age – can use to find a hookup. No, it’s not for romantic hookups, although it does involve love, in a sense. Deevee Kashi invented Deed, an app that allows people to hook up with one-off volunteer gigs, whether serving food at a soup kitchen, walking shelter dogs or providing social interaction for seniors.

The idea may be perfect for our time. The contemporary generation is plugged-in, highly scheduled and perpetually busy, but also deeply committed to making positive impacts on the world. Deed may be just the thing for someone with an unexpected hour or two on their hands to do something more than downing a mocha while waiting for their next meetup.

We’d like to think it is not a coincidence that the app was invented by a Jew. Tzedakah, as Rabbi Joseph Telushkin reminds us, is an obligation and an act of justice. Conversely, to refrain from tzedakah is an act of injustice.

As we spend time in reflection over the holidays, it would be good and rejuvenating to balance the news of natural and human-made disasters with the antidote of tzedakah we see in abundance around us. The Deed app is a high-tech example, but closer to home we have an uplifting richness of good deeds that should make us proud of our community.

This week, the community came together to officially launch the Jewish Federation of Greater Vancouver’s annual campaign. No single act of tzedakah does more than the annual gift that goes to support almost every philanthropic endeavour in this community. This is, rightly, a high-profile campaign, one that you will continue to read about in these pages as the campaign continues. (Interviews with the speakers at Wednesday night’s FEDtalks event are available at jewishindependent.ca.)

There are plenty of other good deeds taking place rather more quietly all year round.

In the past year, at least three synagogues – Temple Sholom, Or Shalom and Congregation Emanu-El – have sponsored Syrian refugees, and others are contemplating doing so or are in the process of making it happen. Such an act is a long-term commitment and a life-changing one not only for the refugees, but for all those whose lives are touched by the experience, and as true a demonstration of justice in action as we could hope to see.

Ensuring that the model of goodness is carried on l’dor v’dor, from generation to generation, is Marc’s Mensches, a new initiative by the Bayit that helps encourage young people in the Jewish community by rewarding them for good deeds. It is a wonderful venture, with nominations reportedly pouring in, which is no surprise, as we have seen some of the most innovative and ambitious tzedakah initiatives emerge from the youngest among us. Our community’s Jewish schools and, of course, parents, are doing a superb job of instilling this core Jewish value in successive generations.

The Independent is undertaking a fresh approach to recognize the power of tzedakah among younger generations through our “18 Under 36” celebration, which will coincide with the 18th anniversary of the current leadership of this almost-90-year-old newspaper. Nominations are open for people under 36 – who are Jewish or doing great things for the Jewish community – to be recognized at this very special event Dec. 6. Please consider nominating someone, then join us for the celebration!

Appropriately, volunteers of all ages have been acknowledged and appreciated recently by the Jewish Family Service Agency, Jewish Seniors Alliance and other organizations. There are few good things in our community that are not dependent on the golden touch of armies of volunteers.

The danger in enumerating a few of these great acts is that we miss countless more … so please be aware that those we have mentioned are truly the tip of an iceberg of tzedakah and this is more reason for great pride. After the holidays, we will return to the quotidian news that can bring down even the most optimistic among us, but let’s try to keep close in our hearts some of these acts of tzedakah and let us be inspired in the new year to add to them.

Shanah tovah.

Being a young Jew in 2017

From the beginning, Jews have struggled to define ourselves within the societies we inhabit. Since the time of the Babylonian exile, we have carved out spaces in other peoples’ countries, walking the fine line between self-definition and belonging.

We have sacrificed much to belong. In becoming part of patriarchal societies, we lost knowledge of the sacred feminine goddess whose statues still stood in the Temple hundreds of years into its use. We lost countless songs and stories and figures of whose existence I will never know. We also lost members of our tribe, ancestors no one is descended from, in crusades, pogroms and massacres across Europe and elsewhere.

But still, we fought to belong. We, know that, above all else, community sustains us, so we infused our culture into traditions that keep us together and nourish us, like foods and songs. When we were exiled from one country, we found shelter in another. We did the jobs they allowed us to do, we lent money and became merchants and bankers. I was taught early that, in each generation, there are those who will oppose us, who will seek our demise. But, after each setback, we found a new place, we salvaged what we could and reinvented ourselves. This is what it is to be diasporic. We were silent about painful things as necessary, and we did what it takes to continue.

And now it is the year 2017. We live among Europeans and Americans, and everywhere in the world. The last genocide is still within living memory, my grandmother having witnessed Kristallnacht, her sister lost in the Holocaust. Now, my grandmother is hugely successful, she has the Order of Canada and never speaks German anymore. We are so adaptable.

They were persecuting us before the word genocide was even coined. Now, we almost sit at the table of whiteness. I have never walked on the street and been profiled for the way I look – any prejudice surfaces after I reveal my own identity. This is my privilege. We are meant to laugh at jokes about Jewishness, because they are not as potentially harmful as jokes about other races. They do not mask death tolls like jokes about our black or indigenous friends; Jews aren’t being murdered or incarcerated at the rates of other people. The jokes about Jews are about how supposedly wealthy we are, a thing we are expected to be proud of.

But still, we are afraid to be openly Jewish in many spaces, because we know we will be asked about Israel, held responsible for the actions of Israel, or at least asked if we have ever been to Israel. The word Jewish or a Magen David on a sign at a Pride march or other progressive gathering could well put us in danger, perceived by some as condoning colonialism or being Zionist, though displaying pride in our Jewishness in these instances has nothing to do with Israel. A minority, we are still tokenized, even by our progressive colleagues. Still proving we deserve to belong, we are used to comments like “you don’t even look Jewish.” What will we sacrifice in the search for belonging in a system that may never really accept us?

Our sages teach that our responsibility is to be a light in the world, that the world we were born into is fragmented and incomplete, and ours is the work of repairing it. I struggle with what this looks like. How can we seek to repair the world even while we ourselves are so broken? I feel very broken these days, astonished by the rise of public fascism in a world that needs healing in so many ways that call on me to help.

I remember, as a preteen, reading about neo-Nazi groups that existed in secret in Europe and being shaken to my core. Now they walk in our streets and our neighbours tell us it is rude to “fight hate with hate,” or they joke about “punching” the agitators, as if the heavy, daily history I carry in my body was as simple as a meme.

We are taught that, since all corners of our universe are fragmented, that means God is also that way. Perhaps then it is alright to be broken, to be incomplete but still trying. Our very name is our task – Yisrael, those who wrestle with God. Those who do even the hardest and most impossible work. Work that it is impossible to ever finish – no one can win against God. But we keep showing up, even as we struggle and break and repair ourselves.

Part of the task of my generation is healing the inheritance we received from elders who escaped the Holocaust or watched family perish, and parents who were raised by people with broken relationships to wealth, food and affection, among other things. We carry these legacies in our bodies and they manifest differently in each of us. For me, I see in my family the deep need to prove we deserved to be the ones to survive. I see the need for material success and productivity and external praise. I hold the grief in my body in moments when I don’t know where the small judgmental voice in my head is coming from, and I recognize the pain of my ancestors rising to the surface in me, now that it is safer to process it than it’s ever been before. My vow is that this healing will happen in my lifetime. It may not be completed, as we are taught that intergenerational trauma lives for generations, but I am not free to abandon the work. I will never tell my – or anyone else’s – daughter “you’ll do well with dating because you’re pretty for a Jewish girl,” as I was told.

Jews are supposed to question everything, our holy books are full of questions, discussions and interpretations. Let us use this training to continue to challenge the status quo. Perhaps being a broken vessel will help – perhaps if we were whole, we would not have such a capacity to hold fragments of others’ pain. Having lost so much and started over so many times in the last 2,000 years, can we not see that anything is possible? Can we not be the ones who discard systems that do not unify a fragmented world? We need to believe that anything is possible – there is nothing to lose in pursuing a world full of our own light, which reveals the light of others along the way.

Ariel Martz-Oberlander is a director, writer, teacher and community organizer seeking to find the personal in the global. As a Jewish settler on Coast Salish territories, her practice is rooted in a commitment to place-based accountability through decolonizing work.

Long-overdue reunion

Left to right, Lilia Apelbaum, Olga Livshin and Tanya Kogan, during their reunion in Vancouver. (photo by Tanya Kogan)

For two weeks this August, my apartment was unusually crowded. Friends from Haifa and Los Angeles were staying with me. We talked almost nonstop the entire time they were here. While they have already left for their respective homes, the memory of their presence still lingers in my house, in the photographs and in my fond recollections.

In 1973, the three of us, three Jewish girls, high school graduates from different Moscow schools, lived in the Soviet Union. We met for the first time when we enrolled in the Moscow Institute of Economics and Statistics. For five student years, we were inseparable. We studied in the same groups and partied with the same friends but, after graduation in 1978, we parted ways. This year, 39 years later, the three of us met for the first time since then, at my place in Vancouver.

Many things have changed in our lives, of course, but, despite the grown-up children, deteriorating health and multiple wrinkles, all three of us have stayed basically the same: the same personalities, the same interpersonal dynamics, the same feeling of closeness as friends. And our relationship with our Jewishness also has stayed basically the same.

At the time of our youth, all observance of Jewish traditions in the Soviet Union was suppressed. Not banned, per se, but not encouraged. There was one synagogue in Moscow and, I have to admit, I never visited it. My parents tried to blend in with mainstream society, so they never visited it either. We didn’t celebrate Jewish holidays, and I didn’t even know about most of them. Only my grandfather went to synagogue on most Saturdays and some Jewish holidays. He tried to instil some sense of Jewish identity in our household (as he lived with us) but, unsupported by my parents, he was unsuccessful. I was never interested in anything Jewish when I was young.

The situation was a bit different with my two friends. Tanya Kogan (née Schneiderman) lived in a similar household to mine. Her parents’ one ardent desire was to blend in. Being “the same,” not sticking out, was safer in Communist Russia but, after her high school graduation, Tanya broke away from the “blend-in” mold.

“I wanted to know who I was,” she told me. She immersed herself not only in her academic studies at the institute but also in Jewish customs and traditions, to the extent they existed in Moscow of that time.

“I tried to learn Yiddish from my grandmother, even though she was ashamed to speak it. I went to synagogue for some Jewish holidays and, every year, for Simchat Torah. It’s such a fun holiday. Lots of students from our institute were there. Not many colleges and universities in Russia accepted Jewish students, but ours did, and there were many of us. We danced in the streets together,” she remembered. “I bought matzos every year and fasted on Yom Kippur.”

photo - Left to right, Tanya Kogan, Olga Livshin and Lilia Apelbaum – Class of 1978 — Left to right, Tanya Kogan, Olga Livshin and Lilia Apelbaum – Class of 1978. (photo from Olga Livshin)

My other visiting friend, Lilia Apelbaum, was also part of the group of students that danced in the streets outside the Moscow synagogue on Simchat Torah. Her father came from a family where tradition was paramount.

“We bought matzos every year when I was a schoolgirl,” Lilia said. “We would travel on the Moscow Metro with the big packs of matzos wrapped in brown paper, to a seder in some relative’s home, and I would think: ‘I’m special. I’m better than all the people around me. I know something they don’t.’ I felt very proud.”

In 1996, Lilia, her parents and her young son immigrated to Israel. She still lives there, in Haifa.

“My father went to synagogue often when we lived in Moscow, but he stopped going after we immigrated,” said Lilia. “In Moscow, he needed it to prop his Jewish identity but, after we settled in Israel, he said he didn’t need it anymore. He felt Jewish and happy without the support of religion.”

Lilia herself doesn’t follow any Jewish tradition, doesn’t keep kosher and doesn’t attend synagogue, but she is still, as in her childhood, intensely proud to be a Jew and an Israeli. “I love Israel,” she said. “It’s a wonderful country, very humane.”

She told me a story about her neighbour and friend. “She is very sick. Once, we walked outside together, and she fell. Her legs wouldn’t support her and I couldn’t help her – she is a big woman, much bigger than myself. I panicked; didn’t know what to do. Suddenly, a couple cars passing along the street stopped. Totally unknown men climbed out of those cars, lifted her, helped her to a bench, and then drove away. Where else would a car stop just to help a strange woman on the sidewalk? Only in Israel.”

She talked about the urban improvements being undertaken in Haifa, about Israeli healthcare and technology, about her fellow Israelis, and her eyes shined with love for her country.

Tanya also left Russia. In 1996, she and her family immigrated to America and settled in Los Angeles. “I almost never go to a synagogue here,” she said. “But I do keep kosher. Mostly. In my own way. During Passover, we don’t eat bread. I make so many interesting dishes with matzos, my family always anticipates the holiday. They don’t want bread – they remember that torte and this pie for years after and always ask if I would make them again. It’s a game we play. It’s easy and fun to be a Jew in America.”

Like my friends, I left Russia, too, at about the same time. In 1994, I came to Vancouver. Unlike my friends, though, I didn’t get in touch with my Jewish roots right away. It took me some time to become a part of the Vancouver Jewish community. At first, I was busy with my computer programmer job, raising children as a single mother, and generally integrating into the Canadian society. But life has a wicked sense of humour. It pushed me toward my Jewishness in a roundabout way.

In 2002, I got very sick. My illness altered my worldview and induced me to change my priorities. In 2003, I started writing fiction. A few years later, I quit my computer job to dedicate myself fully to my writing career. At that time, I tried to find a writing gig. I took a course on a mentored job search, and one of the assignments was to find a mentor.

I scoured the internet for some Vancouver writing professional to approach, to ask to be my mentor, and came up with the name Katharine Hamer. At that time, she was the editor of the Jewish Independent, a newspaper I had never heard about before. I sent her an email and, to my amazement, she replied. She said she didn’t have time to mentor me, but she offered to add my name to the list of her newspaper contributors. I grabbed the opportunity.

My first article for the Jewish Independent was published 10 years ago, in July 2007. I write about Jewish artists and writers, teachers and musicians. I love my subjects, every one of them, but I have never written about myself before. This is the first time and my 301st article for the paper.

Three friends from Moscow, three Jewish women from around the world, spent a wonderful week together during their reunion in Vancouver. We are planning to meet again soon. We are not going to wait another 39 years.

Olga Livshin is a Vancouver freelance writer. She can be reached at olgagodim@gmail.com.

Not a voice for peace

The American organization Jewish Voice for Peace claims as its mission the achievement of “a lasting peace for Palestinians and Jewish Israelis based on equality, human rights and freedom.”

As anyone living in 2017 knows, words are occasionally empty vessels, and can at times even express the opposite of what they appear to convey. JVP’s mission is an example.

The JVP website equivocates on whether a one-state or two-state solution is desirable for Israelis and Palestinians. “We support any solution that is consistent with the full rights of both Palestinians and Israeli Jews, whether one binational state, two states, or some other solution. It is up to Israelis and Palestinians to reach a mutually agreed upon solution,” it reads. But a new campaign by the organization is making waves – and showing JVP’s true aims.

The group is calling on young Jews to reject the offer of a free trip to Israel through Birthright. The campaign’s hashtag – #ReturnTheBirthright – underscores JVP’s nonchalance about Jewish self-determination.

Posters for the campaign ask: “How was your trip to Israel? The 5,149,742 Palestinian refugees are curious.”

We could split hairs about the number 5,149,742. Palestinian refugees are defined unlike any other refugees in the world. Thanks to the perpetual Palestinian statelessness created and maintained by the Arab world since 1947-48, and a United Nations definition that makes refugee status an inherited Palestinian birthright, the number of Palestinian “refugees” grows larger by the year.

Explaining the campaign, the group’s website says, “we must acknowledge that the modern state of Israel is predicated on the ongoing erasure of Palestinians. Taking a Birthright trip today means playing an active role in helping the state promote Jewish ‘return’ while rejecting the Palestinian right of return. It is not enough to accept this offer from the Israeli government and maintain a critical perspective while on the trip. We reject the offer of a free trip to a state that does not represent us, a trip that is only ‘free’ because it has been paid for by the dispossession of Palestinians. And, as we reject this, we commit to promoting the right to return of Palestinian refugees.… There are other ways for us to strengthen our Jewish identities, in community with those who share our values. Israel is not our Birthright.”

The campaign invites young Jews to sign a promise declaring: “We are Birthright-eligible Jews between the ages of 18 and 26. We pledge that we will not go on a Birthright trip because it is fundamentally unjust that we are given a free trip to Israel, while Palestinian refugees are barred from returning to their homes.”

There is a host of problems with JVP’s approach. Almost everyone acknowledges that a final agreement between Israelis and Palestinians will include some accommodation for Palestinian refugees. But even top Palestinian officials have acknowledged this is likely to be some sort of compensation or exchange, not a literal and complete right of return that would effectively eliminate Israel’s Jewish majority. By demanding precisely that – a complete and literal right of return for Palestinians, ignoring all the nuance, history, practicalities and implications of such a move – JVP is calling for an end to Israel, despite talk about wanting Israelis and Palestinians to reach a mutually agreed upon solution.

Moreover, if “a lasting peace for Palestinians and Jewish Israelis based on equality, human rights and freedom” is JVP’s genuine objective, they are going about it all wrong. The inevitable outcome of the right of return that is endorsed by JVP would be a Palestinian-majority region between the Jordan and the Mediterranean.

There is plenty to criticize in Israel’s approach to Palestinians, particularly by the current government. But, by polarizing the discussion, encouraging Palestinians to expect complete victory without compromise, groups like JVP make things worse, not better.

When both sides compromise and acknowledge that the other has rights, the potential for peaceful coexistence will emerge. Campaigns that deny the Jewish people’s right to sovereignty in their indigenous homeland do not advance a resolution to Palestinian statelessness; they prolong it.

In the meantime, as Jewish university students return to classes this month, we encourage them to travel to Israel, whether on Birthright or another program, and take the opportunity to open their eyes to the world, to look at it critically and refuse entreaties to bury their heads in the sand.