Opinion – Page 77

Come together, right now

Canadians – and concerned citizens worldwide – are reeling from the horrific attack on a Quebec City mosque (the Centre Culturel Islamique de Québec) on Jan. 29 that left six dead and others wounded. Amid the revulsion and grieving, here are some possible lessons.

We can’t ignore the Trump factor. While Islamophobia has long preceded U.S. President Donald Trump, by all indicators, Trump’s hatefulness – capped by his wide-reaching travel ban – has unleashed additional hatred against Muslims and other minorities.

Since the election, the Southern Poverty Law Centre has recorded more than 700 incidents of “hateful harassment” across the United States. Despite our ingrained public ethic of multiculturalism, Canada is clearly not immune.

Price-tag-style attacks might have come to Canada. What West Bank Palestinians are tragically used to, Canadians might be now experiencing as well. It is probably no coincidence that Prime Minister Justin Trudeau stepped forward to declare his government’s intention to take in refugees barred by Trump’s executive order. But Trudeau’s welcoming pledge might also have unleashed more hatred in dark corners of Canada against anyone who can too easily be “othered.”

West Bank Palestinians are all too often the target of this kind of retribution. Whenever the Israeli government appears to retract support for the settlement enterprise – in the form of evacuations of illegal outposts, for example, violent settlers enact what they call “price-tag” attacks against Palestinian life, limb and property. These, too, of course, are terrorist attacks.

Some Israelis have created a counter movement – rather than price tag (tag mechir), they enact acts of kindness and solidarity (tag me’ir, light tag). The many Women’s Marches in Canadian cities countrywide to coincide with the Women’s Marches in the United States were an example of this approach. So was the vigil at Ottawa’s Parliament Hill the day after the murders, to stand in solidarity with the victims of the mosque attack. We will need many more moments of connection in the weeks and months to come.

Quebec has a fraught history with multiculturalism. Is it a coincidence that the attack occurred in Quebec rather than in a different province? Maybe. But just maybe this hateful violence stems from the province’s difficult relationship to multiculturalism. While Canada enshrined multiculturalism into law in 1971 – the first country to do so – Quebec’s history with multicultural policies, probably owing to the province’s concern with maintaining its own minority-language identity, is much more fraught.

In 2013, Quebec attempted to enact a failed Charter of Values (Charte de la laïcité), which sought to ban “conspicuous” religious symbols from being worn by public sector employees. A decade ago, the town of Hérouxville, also in Quebec, issued its own “code of conduct,” widely seen as a dig at immigrants.

Said one storeowner in 2013 interviewed for the Globe and Mail, “Immigrants are welcome to come to Quebec, but when they come, they have to adapt to our ways.”

Banning religious symbols – as the province had sought to do in 2013 – is not the same as murdering people in cold blood, of course. But this kind of flat intolerance against religious expression can all too easily become twisted in the mind of a hateful and violence-prone individual to commit the unthinkable.

It is terrorism. Despite the bigoted propensity by some to use the word terrorist to delegitimize and dehumanize certain ethnic or religious groups, this term does have a clear definition and we should use it when warranted, if only to make sure we keep using it correctly. Simply put, terrorism is violence for political ends.

An attack on a centre of worship is intended to instil fear in society around that target group – the worst kind of collective dehumanization. This is politics of the ugliest and most hateful kind.

Misinformation unleashes further hatred. On the Monday morning after the attack, the media were reporting the names of two supposed suspects, one of whom was apparently of Moroccan origin. Some right-wing news outlets made hay from this, circulating the information even once the media clarified that he was apparently a witness, not a suspect. As of now, the sole suspect is 27-year-old Alexandre Bissonnette, who has since been charged with six counts of murder.

Come together, right now. In a statement following the attack, Trudeau said it is “heart-wrenching to see such senseless violence. Diversity is our strength and religious tolerance is a value that we, as Canadians, hold dear.”

While I hesitate to use the kinds of binaries that have arguably led the world to this point, I am tempted to say that the coming days and weeks will reveal two types of people on this continent: ones who are here to support one another against the forces of hatred, Islamophobia, antisemitism, misogyny and xenophobia; and ones who are aiding and abetting those terrible forces. Among those who stand on the side of goodness and compassion, the time is now for solidarity across every fissure.

Mira Sucharov is an associate professor of political science at Carleton University. She is a columnist for Canadian Jewish News and contributes to Haaretz and the Jewish Daily Forward, among other publications. A version of this article was originally published on haartez.com.

Importance of transparency

Stav Daron’s application to the Island School of Building Arts was initially rejected because he is Israeli. After public pressure, the school reversed its decision and apologized. (photo from facebook.com/stav.daron)

Now that the sawdust has settled on the controversy around the Gabriola Island-based Island School of Building Arts’ initial rejection of an Israeli applicant based on his nationality, we can assess the implications. According to various reports, the school’s manager had responded to a prospective Israeli applicant, telling him that they are “not accepting applications from Israel” owing to “the conflict and illegal settlement activity in the region.” After pressure from the Centre for Israel and Jewish Affairs, Friends of the Simon Wiesenthal Centre and B’nai Brith Canada, the school reversed its decision and issued an apology on its website.

The rejection of the student was a move that not only likely contravened the B.C. Human Rights Code – which forbids service-providers to deny services to clients based on national origin, among many other things – but served to embarrass the school. But there are some deeper layers that deserve examination here.

First, we need to ask what the role of BDS (boycott, divestment and sanctions against Israel) is in all of this. Many would interpret the school’s move as an instance of BDS. In one sense, they would be right; in another, they would be wrong. BDS entails commercial, academic and cultural boycotts, in addition to calling for divestment from companies helping the occupation and, in the most unlikely scenario, getting other countries to institute sanctions against Israel. Importantly, the academic boycott aspect of BDS does not call for targeting individuals unless, like deans or university presidents, they are representing an Israeli academic institution in an official capacity.

While it’s not clear to me whether the Island School is an accredited academic institution or a private business, I will discuss it in the context of the academic boycott since that’s what probably comes to mind for most readers.

Though detailed BDS guidelines exist, not all would-be BDS activists are necessarily aware of them. And, even if they are aware of them, they might end up applying their own standards. There is anecdotal evidence that individual Israeli academics are indeed harmed or even directly targeted by BDS. My interview with a BDS activist at Syracuse University, for an article I published in Haaretz, pointed to this kind of slippage. All this is to say that BDS may have a spillover effect – and a chill factor – far beyond its intended boundaries.

On the other hand, while the decision was ill-conceived, this same spotlight enabled a light to be shone on problematic Israeli policies. This won’t persuade groups for whom Israel can do no wrong, but the school’s initial action – which the school’s representative said was intended to stay in line with the school’s “moral compass” – may have served its aim, as clunky as the action was.

We can also ask what the role of public shaming is in propelling international change. Scholars have noted that countries can be shamed into compliance – whether to adhere to international law, to ante up humanitarian aid in the wake of a disaster or to offer debt relief. These kinds of dynamics work best when it is governments being targeted. To focus political action on an individual outside the context of any national representation, which is what Island School did, is deeply problematic. Here, I would point to the controversy around the Egyptian judo athlete rejecting his Israeli opponent’s handshake at the 2016 Olympics as a grey area. The Olympics ideally take place outside of politics but athletes are, of course, representing their country and there may be political theatre playing out on some stages, however disappointing it may be. But this was not the case with the Israeli applicant to the Island School who was representing no one but himself.

Finally, the brazenness of the act enabled Jewish groups in Canada to take swift action. The school could have quietly rejected the applicant with little fanfare, but the manager’s honest and forthright emails left no doubt as to what motivated the decision. This meant that the full story circulated quickly on media and social media, and pressure from national Jewish groups succeeded in quickly getting the decision reversed. This means that, perhaps, as painful as it was, we can be glad when actions are taken in a transparent way, making strategies around pressure and counter-pressure much more straightforward. This is ultimately a good thing for buttressing an active civil society, even if we don’t all agree on the policies being protested.

Eight rungs of tzedakah

Little Free Libraries are open 24/7 in cities across Canada. (photo by Josie Tonio McCarthy)

Have you heard of the Little Free Library movement? It’s a way for neighbours to exchange books. Throughout Winnipeg, Vancouver and other cities, there are little freestanding houses, a little bigger than a birdhouse. If you have a book you no longer want, you can leave it. If you’re looking for a book to read? You can take a book whenever you want. These Little Free Libraries are open 24/7.

Walking to our closest Little Free Library has become an important destination for me and my twins. It’s free, good exercise, and encourages our love of reading and learning. My twins often argue over which book to donate. Our house is overflowing with books. In order to take home a new storybook, we have an “even-exchange” policy.

Recently, I read on the National Public Radio (NPR) website about a similar U.S. movement, but, instead of books, the little house is a food pantry for the hungry. One family calls theirs a “blessing box.” Others call it a “little free pantry.” Sometimes, only one family stocks it with food, diapers or toothpaste. Sometimes, a whole neighbourhood takes part. The article mentioned that, in one neighbourhood, most of the food is taken between midnight and 7 a.m.; in another, the food comes and goes continuously. It’s a way of helping others anonymously. You don’t have to face someone at a food bank to admit your family is hungry and cannot afford food.

When I read this, I wanted to build one of these little food pantries right away, but then realized that, in a cold Canadian climate at this time of year, canned food or other stuff won’t do well outdoors. Even if that freestanding unheated food pantry doesn’t work out right away, the concept still made me want to do better than I’d been doing.

photo - Amadeo Ruiz Olmos’ statue of Maimonides stands in the Jewish Quarter of Córdoba, Spain. Maimonides compared tzedakah to a ladder with eight rungs, each of which you climb bringing you closer to heaven — Amadeo Ruiz Olmos’ statue of Maimonides stands in the Jewish Quarter of Córdoba, Spain. Maimonides compared tzedakah to a ladder with eight rungs, each of which you climb bringing you closer to heaven. *(photo by Howard Lifshitz via commons.wikimedia.org)*

I thought about a worksheet I’d used to teach religious school, maybe 20 years ago. I can’t find that piece of paper anymore but I remembered the point. It was about Maimonides’ ladder of tzedakah (justice, or charity). Maimonides (Rambam), a great Jewish scholar and teacher in the 12th century, lived in Spain and Egypt. I borrowed the following summary from the Jewish Teen Funders Network website, to remember the details.

Maimonides believed that tzedakah is like a ladder. It has eight rungs, from bottom to top. Each step you climb brings you closer to heaven.

1. The person who gives reluctantly and with regret.
2. The person who gives graciously, but less than one should.
3. The person who gives what one should, but only after being asked.
4. The person who gives before being asked.
5. The person who gives without knowing to whom he or she gives, although the recipient knows the identity of the donor.
6. The person who gives without making his or her identity known.
7. The person who gives without knowing to whom he or she gives. The recipient does not know from whom he or she receives.
8. The person who helps another to become self-supporting by a gift or a loan or by finding employment for the recipient.

To put this tzedakah approach into practice requires work. Many of us are stuck on the first five rungs of the ladder. I’m going to skip the first two rungs, because, while many of us may have only achieved this level, I’m going to act like we’re better than that. Right?

For instance, our membership dues to a synagogue or other Jewish organizations are acts of tzedakah, but usually of the third-rung kind. (If we could afford to donate more, we sink below No. 3.) We occasionally may get up to No. 7, when donating to a food bank. If you decide to “sponsor” something in the community and your name is pasted all over the event, that’s No. 5. It means, for instance, that while you do not know who ate the kiddush lunch you sponsored, everyone who is there knows your name. So, while some do this to celebrate a special event with their community, others do this named sponsorship because they like the attention. It’s tzedakah, sure, but it’s also about ego.

We could change the way we do our “tzedakah” business. We could push our Jewish community higher up Maimonides’ ladder. Here are some ideas.

Instead of “name in lights” sponsorship, we could donate anonymously to support a community meal, event or service. This could perhaps allow an organization to sponsor a free event. Maybe a congregation could have a nicer kiddush lunch on a Saturday or have an oneg on a more regular basis. It could boost the financial situation of an essential community function, like operational costs (heat, lights, water?), educational events, building renovation or maintenance. It could raise the salary of someone who works for the Jewish community. It could create new employment for someone in our community. It could offer a loan or gift to someone who needs a step-up to begin supporting himself or herself.

Ach! I hear you saying. I’m no moneybags. I can’t pay for someone’s salary. Fine.

If these sound too hard, lower your goals. Could you consistently offer a small amount of money or time when asked to help? Could you pay membership dues early? Could you donate food to the food bank every time you grocery shop? Maybe empty the change from your pockets every Friday afternoon to put in a pushke (collection box)?

Making a difference and working your way up that ladder can start small. It can be as simple as being gracious about donating. What about volunteering time or thanking others who donate? Many of us have the capacity to climb this metaphorical ladder. Shall we ascend those rungs together?

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

The time to act is now

Temple Sholom Rabbi Dan Moskovitz addresses a Concerned Canadian Clergy for Refugees multi-faith clergy press conference at Jack Poole Plaza in Downtown Vancouver on Jan. 29. (screenshot)

The murders at a Quebec City-area mosque Sunday night shattered our sense of Canadian safety and multiculturalism. Six worshippers were killed and at least a score more injured in the shooting rampage inside a Ste.-Foy Islamic centre during evening prayers.

We are confident we reflect the intent of every reader and the broader community we serve when we offer condolences to and solidarity with the victims, their families and the entire Muslim community in Canada, each member of which must be feeling a sense of grief and fear.

We will not, however, state, as some inevitably do in such situations, that “We are all Muslims now.” After this tragedy, only members of the targeted group can fully appreciate the sense of isolation and anxiety such a tragic act instils. We cannot all understand the variety, depth and breadth of feelings of those affected, so, while we should acknowledge our common humanity and grief, we should offer special comforts to our Muslim friends and ensure that they know that Jewish Canadians and all Canadians sympathize with the uniqueness of a hate-motivated attack.

The grief that enveloped us late Sunday should not eclipse the light we witnessed on Sunday morning, when local clergy, led by Temple Sholom’s Rabbi Dan Moskovitz, other rabbis and clergy from different faith traditions, gathered to stand in solidarity against the executive orders signed by U.S. President Donald Trump last Friday.

The president decreed that all refugees would be immediately banned from entering the United States for at least 120 days. A parallel announcement declared that citizens of Iran, Iraq, Libya, Somalia, Sudan, Syria and Yemen would be banned from entering the country for at least 90 days.

The presidential orders came as a stunning blow to those who didn’t take Trump at his word. Even many who count themselves as among his fiercest opponents seemed to believe Trump would stop short of his most extreme promises. But there he was: doing exactly what he said he would do – banning Muslims from entering the United States (as well as taking preliminary steps to construct a wall along the border with Mexico).

“To be clear, this is not a Muslim ban, as the media is falsely reporting,” the president obfuscated in a written statement Sunday. “This is not about religion – this is about terror and keeping our country safe.”

Despite this contention, one of the stomach-churning aspects of this seemingly random list of Muslim-majority countries is what they share in common: as the New York Times has reported, these are countries where the Trump organization has few business interests. If one subscribed to the idea that banning people based on nationality was a wise move, certainly Saudi Arabia, which produced almost all of the 9/11 terrorists, and Egypt and the United Arab Emirates, which have not insignificant records of radicalization, would logically (if that is the correct term) be on such a list. So might Turkey. But residents of those countries can, for now, continue to enter the United States.

Trump’s orders were additionally jarring for Jews and others who were solemnly marking International Holocaust Remembrance Day at the very time Trump was turning America’s back on refugees. The history of the United States – and Canada, and almost every other country – in turning their backs on Jewish refugees is the reason the Holocaust was able to occur in the magnitude that it did. The callousness Trump exhibited in taking actions against refugees on International Holocaust Remembrance Day is abominable, even worse than his intentional omission of Jews in his Holocaust statement that day.

Syrian refugees are not, at present, finding every door in the world closed to them, as Jews did in the 1930s. They are, however, having the door to the golden medina – the great land of liberty whose preeminent symbol openhandedly welcomes the homeless, tempest-tost, huddled masses yearning to breathe free to a place of permanent refuge – slammed in their faces. In Trump’s America, Lady Liberty lifts her lamp beside the golden door only so that refugees can read the sign: “Keep out.”

The move by Canadian clergy is admirable. They deserve our thanks and support as they provide a model for individuals to take a stand at an important time.

Likewise, we were proud to see the remarks of Prime Minister Justin Trudeau, and the thousands of Canadians who have shared his sentiments, that Canada will step up where America is faltering and take in some of those refused entry to the United States. We invite readers to contact members of Parliament to let them know that plenty of Canadians – including Canadian Jews – understand that Canada is in a unique position to act at a time when the United States is betraying our erstwhile shared values.

By press time, it remained unclear what specific animosities drove the perpetrator of the Ste.-Foy attack. And, while it is premature to blame the murderer’s actions on ambient anti-Muslim agitation stoked by a swath of demagogues leading all the way up to the president of the United States, the rhetoric in which Trump and many of his supporters are engaging is certain to have negative consequences.

Consequences, too, will be felt from the actions of well-intentioned people. The rabbis and other clergy who step forward and condemn bigotry are the best antidote to the negativity and hatred we see. They are whom we should emulate. We must step forward with them.

Taking the higher road

On President Donald Trump’s inauguration day last Friday, Richard Spencer, an up-and-coming voice of the extreme right-wing in America, was punched in the face by a protester.

Spencer is president of the National Policy Institute, a white supremacist organization, and calls for a whites-only homeland. He is sometimes credited with inventing the term “alt-right,” which is a catch-all for the extremism emerging in the United States at present. He was giving an interview to a reporter when someone stepped into the frame and punched him in the face.

Social media erupted, with plenty of people contending that punching Nazis is fair game. (For the record, Spencer had denied he is a Nazi just before the punch landed. He describes himself as an “identitarian,” which is a term associated with far-right, white supremacist ideology.)

Spencer is one among many on the far right who are emboldened

by Trump’s victory. His attacker, apparently, was emboldened by the belief that violence against people like Spencer is justifiable. This is the reality of the day in parts of the American body politic.

No one knows what the Trump administration portends. The new president contradicts himself and has no guiding ideological compass. He speaks (and tweets) without any evidence of self-control and reacts wildly to the mildest provocation. It is probably safe to venture, however, that the Trump administration will not advance the rights of women, religious or ethnic minorities, refugees and immigrants or LGBTQ people. While the Trump team includes numerous Jews, Zionists and philosemites, the campaign also attracted support from the most racist and antisemitic individuals and entities in the country. Journalists with Jewish names who reported unflatteringly on Trump have been subject to particularly brutal online harassment.

As Trump moves from rhetoric to action, we will have plenty of opportunity to analyze his record. What is likewise worthy of consideration is the manner in which the opposition to Trump manifests. The mass rallies in Washington and around the world last Saturday were inspiring. While billed as “women’s marches,” participants reflected a panoply of interests and identities. The events went off, largely, without a hitch – there were no arrests in the approximately 600 marches that took place around the world, including here in Vancouver. It remains to be seen, however, whether the outpouring of political engagement demonstrated by marchers will morph into a structured political movement. As an historian of social movements told the New York Times, after big rallies like Saturday’s “there is a lot of unfun, unglamorous work to do.”

The marchers were overwhelmingly civil, their handmade signs frequently illustrating superb wit and insight. But not all of the resistance to Trump has been as peaceful. The individual who punched Spencer represents a different sort of character.

There is a stream on the left – perhaps we should call it the “alt-left” – which exhibits its own totalitarian tendencies. So righteous are some “progressives” – we’ve seen this very clearly among some anti-Israel activists – that opposition to their target is justified by any means necessary. For some, this means punching an opponent in the face. For others, it can mean justifying such violence, or completely rejecting in other ways the right of dissenting voices to be heard.

As odious as Spencer’s ideas are, and however much we might contend that people who share such views only understand force, the introduction of violence – as well as ideological extremism in defence of liberty – is, to contradict Barry Goldwater, indeed a vice.

Most of us can probably agree that if anyone’s ideas are worthy of approbation, it is Spencer and his like. Yet if we extend this to argue that, as a result, a punch in the face is justifiable, then – does this really need to be explicitly expressed? – we accept that violence based on political disagreement is a legitimate part of our society’s foundations. If mere disagreement is enough to merit physical attack, then what will our political institutions eventually become and how will we ever be able to keep our leaders, or those with the financial and other means, from systematically abusing human rights or other oppression? With even more violence?

It is, of course, challenging to engage with supporters of a man who is belligerent and nasty, and who licenses this behaviour in his followers. The booing of Hillary Clinton during the inauguration was a symptom of the mentality of some Trump supporters.

But we side with Michelle Obama on this, suggesting that when those on the extreme right go low, those of the centre and of the reasonable left and right should go high. To employ the tactics we have seen from Trump and his supporters – lying, scapegoating, vicious personal attacks – would not only debase causes deserving of defending, it would represent a spiral from which the political system might never return.

In addition to the many differences of policy that will emerge between the Trump administration and its critics in the years to come, we hope there will also be a discernible difference of style; that, in the face of boorishness, “alternative facts” and insensitivity, the opposition will demonstrate dignity, truth and respect for humanity.

UN resolution implications

The human consequences of implementing the recent United Nations resolution about Israel would be devastating, say American representatives of Israeli schools, synagogues and other institutions in parts of Jerusalem that Israel captured in 1967.

UN Security Council Resolution 2334, adopted Dec. 23 with the United States abstaining, asserted that all “Israeli settlement activities” in “the occupied Palestinian territory, including East Jerusalem” are “a flagrant violation of international law.” It stated that Israel must “immediately and completely cease” such activities and also take action to “reverse negative trends on the ground.”

A number of major Jerusalem neighbourhoods are situated in what the UN calls “East Jerusalem,” which is the area that Jordan occupied following the 1948 Arab-Israeli war. Nineteen years later, those sections of the city were reunited with the rest of Jerusalem as a result of the 1967 Six Day War.

One of those neighbourhoods is French Hill, a major urban area located in the northeastern part of the city. “I live in French Hill,” award-winning Israeli author Yossi Klein Halevi told JNS.org. “So the recent UN resolution has criminalized me and my family as occupiers.”

“I’m not illegal, and I’m not a ‘settler,’” said historian Maurice Roumani, a professor emeritus at Ben-Gurion University of the Negev, who resides in Armon HaNetziv (East Talpiot), a neighbourhood in eastern Jerusalem with a population of 14,000. “These artificial definitions by the UN do not reflect reality.”

The institutions that could be adversely affected if the UN resolution leads to international boycotts or other actions include the Ilan Residential Home for Handicapped Young Adults and the Beit Or Home for Young Autistic Adults, both of which are located in the Gilo neighbourhood; forests and housing projects sponsored in and around Jerusalem by the Jewish National Fund (JNF); and portions of the Hebrew University campus. Even the ancient Jewish cemetery on the Mount of Olives might be affected.

“My grandparents, great-grandparents and great-great-grandparents, going back seven generations, are buried on the Mount of Olives,” Washington, D.C.-based attorney Alyza Lewin told JNS.org. “Does the UN propose to ban Jews from using the oldest and largest Jewish cemetery in the world? The notion that Israel is violating international law by burying its dead on this sacred spot is unthinkable.”

Could members of the British family find themselves accused of fostering the “illegal occupation” of eastern Jerusalem? Princess Alice of Battenberg, a great-granddaughter of Queen Victoria, is buried in a small Christian cemetery at the foot of the Mount of Olives. A number of British royals have visited her gravesite over the years, including Prince Charles during his trip to Israel last October.

There also are Arab residents in a number of across-the-line Jerusalem neighbourhoods, including Givat HaMatos, Gilo and Neve Yaakov. “Some of my neighbours [in French Hill] are Arab Israelis,” Halevi noted. “Are they occupiers, too, or is it only the Jewish Israelis? Now that I am officially outside of the law according to the UN, I imagine that anything can happen.”

Possible international action against those sections of Jerusalem would cut across Jewish denominational lines, affecting Orthodox and non-Orthodox institutions alike.

The Masorti movement – the Israeli branch of Conservative Judaism – sponsors a school and synagogue in French Hill, a school in Gilo and synagogues in the Ramot neighbourhood and the Jerusalem satellite community of Ma’ale Adumim. “The UN resolution is indiscriminate and historically obtuse,” said Rabbi David Wolpe of Sinai Temple in Los Angeles, who is one of the most prominent Conservative rabbis in the United States.

Not on the guest list

Over the weekend, representatives of 70 countries and international organizations gathered in Paris to discuss peace between Israel and the Palestinians. Absent were Israelis and Palestinians.

A final statement adopted by participants innocuously promised “to support both sides in advancing the two-state solution through negotiations.” It also called on Israelis and Palestinians “to refrain from unilateral steps that prejudge the outcome of negotiations on final-status issues, including, inter alia, on Jerusalem, borders, security, refugees, and which they will not recognize.”

The gabfest wound up with no firm plans for future action and with no tangible results save a statement of well wishes for peace and coexistence.

The official absence of the very people whose future the conference was convened to discuss carries echoes of the past. In an earlier age, European powers gathered to redraw the maps of the Middle East, among other places. More recently, in 1938, world powers gathered in Evian to decide what to do about the Jews of Europe (conclusion: nothing).

The French government, which hosted last weekend’s conference, aimed to nudge along the process toward a two-state solution.

“The two-state solution, which the international community has agreed on for many years, appears threatened,” French President François Hollande said. “It is physically threatened on the ground by the acceleration of settlements, it is politically threatened by the progressive weakening of the peace camp, it is morally threatened by the distrust that has accumulated between the parties, and that has certainly been exploited by extremists.”

The futility of the conference – and the incomplete understanding of the issues by the parties involved in it – may have been summed up in Hollande’s litany of what he sees as the barrier to two states.

Certainly settlements are not helpful to advancing an ultimate resolution and are a kind of provocation. But settlements are not irreversible. There can be negotiated land swaps or Israel can hand over settlements to Palestinians, as they did in Gaza. They are an obstacle to peace, but they are not the most grievous.

Likewise, to cite the “progressive weakening of the peace camp” without acknowledging why Israelis who have believed in peace are abandoning hope dismisses Israelis’ legitimate reasons for losing faith in a negotiated peace. Certainly there has been a recent emboldening of extremists on both sides, as compromise has seemed to float further from reach. Yet the “peace camp” Hollande referenced is an Israeli entity. Weakened though it may be, it is eminently stronger than any equivalent on the Palestinian side, where signs of compromise with the Zionist entity invite accusations of collaboration. Ordinary Palestinians who want to live in peace, too, are left feeling little hope, with their governments and extremist clergy inciting the elimination of Israel on one side and a right-wing Israeli government that has done little towards reconciliation on the other.

A solution, or set of solutions, to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict is complex and, at this point, hard to imagine. But, inasmuch as there is hope for one, it must come from Israelis and Palestinians. International diplomats and do-gooders can hold all the confabs they want, but all such gatherings are a pointless waste of time.

Jewish ethics and surrogacy

(Spikebrennan via Wikimedia Commons)

The subject of surrogacy has been examined by Jewish scholars, mainly rabbis, for thousands of years. The Jewish belief system of ethical values incorporates two independent and seemingly disparate thoughts. The first is the obligation to be fruitful and multiply and to fill the earth, and the second is the obligation to free the captives, to actively engage in the redemption of those who are enslaved. In modern context, to free the captives is the fight to end human trafficking, and surrogacy has been identified as a form of human trafficking. An examination of how these two elements of Jewish core beliefs, once given ethical attributes, interface can hopefully open discussion in the Jewish community.

Genesis 1:28 commands us be fertile and increase. Jewish tradition considers it to be the first of the 613 commandments of the Torah. Again, after the flood, Noah is enjoined, in Genesis 9:1, to be fruitful and multiply. In this context, it stands for regeneration of life after death-dealing disasters.

In biblical times, infertility or barrenness in women spoke to, among other things, the values and concerns of an agrarian society requiring manpower to work the land and tend to the flocks. The need to people the land and have heirs to inherit property was of great importance. Adoption and polygamy were acceptable practices. The Jewish matriarchs, Sarah, Rebekah and Rachel, all were infertile prior to God’s intercession. The significance of having a child was so valued that the Divine presence saw to the continuation of the lineage. Handmaids bore children, fathered by the patriarchs, when their wives suffered from infertility. The surrogates for the biblical matriarchs bore the children; however, as the Bible stories tell us, relational conflicts ensued.

Jewish tradition finds connection from one mitzvah to another, from one transgression to the next. How does this fit with the subject of surrogacy and how it is perceived today? Surrogacy can certainly be a dimension of human trafficking, a form of modern-day slavery where people profit from the control and exploitation of others. As defined by Canadian federal laws, victims of human trafficking include children involved in the sex trade, adults aged 18 or over who are coerced or deceived into commercial sex acts, and anyone forced into different forms of “labour or services,” such as domestic workers held in a home or farm workers forced to labour against their will. In many countries, the practice of commercial surrogacy can be indistinguishable from the buying and selling of children, and meets the criteria of human trafficking.

Altruistic or compassionate surrogacy is legal in Canada, but it is definitely illegal to pay a surrogate mother for her services. The Assisted Human Reproduction Act prohibits the provision or acceptance of financial consideration to a woman for acting as a surrogate. However, it is legal to reimburse a surrogate mother for her reasonable expenses incurred as a result of surrogacy. In the province of Quebec, the Quebec Civil Code has not allowed for surrogacy agreements. Recent case law has changed the rights for couples to engage in surrogacy agreements, paving the way for legislative change in the future.

Jewish law has been forced to evolve as reproductive technologies have impacted family, parent(s) and child(ren). Rabbinical authorities have had to apply halachic analysis and interpretation to modern technologies including reproductive technology. Since the 1970s, there has been discussion, starting with the subject of artificial insemination. Sperm donation, ovum donation and surrogacy are the three ways for an infertile couple to become parents. Legal contractual obligations are undertaken.

Opposition to surrogacy was raised by Rabbi Immanuel Jacovits, chief rabbi of the United Hebrew Congregations of the Commonwealth from 1976 to 1991. In his 1975 publication Jewish Medical Ethics, he argued that to use another person as an incubator and then take from her the child that she carried and delivered for a fee is a revolting degradation of maternity and an affront to human dignity. It is not the technology that concerned him; rather, the social and ethical implications of the act of medical reproductive intervention.

In 1977, Rabbi Elie Kaplan Spitz acknowledged that ethical problems can arise with surrogacy when the offspring has no relationship with its birth mother. The status and rights of a surrogate vary among geographical localities based on the laws of the land which, increasingly, form the basis of rabbinical discourse.

The Committee on Jewish Laws and Standards of the Rabbinical Assembly provides guidance to the Conservative Jewish movement in matters of halachah. In 1984, Rabbi David Lincoln’s guidance was accepted, citing surrogacy as a “mitzvah-blessing so great that we should not deny couples of this opportunity.” By 1988, the committee concluded that the mitzvah of parenthood is so great that ovum surrogacy was permissible.

Rabbi Prof. Aaron Mackler offered his opinion that surrogacy could not be recommended, as he believed that maternal status is determined by gestation and birth, and that the danger of commodification of the child is real and present. His thoughts are echoed by Rabbi Prof. David Golinkin who, in a response published by the Schechter Institutes in 2012, redirected childless couples to adoption. He stated, “anyone who raises an orphan in his home, Scripture considers it as if he has given birth to that child.”

Many Jewish women in the latter part of the last century, in response to the Holocaust, felt an added incentive to be fruitful, like Noah’s kin in biblical times, in order to create a continuance of their ethnic identity. Therefore, Jewish women could be cast in the role of breeders whose purpose was the security of the Jewish ethnic identity. It is possible that the fear of annihilation created a psychological response that welcomed any safe method of family creation. It is also possible that this fear is now embedded in the Jewish community’s psyche as a modern response to fulfilling the biblical injunction. As such, there might be a greater willingness for women to look for alternative methods of family creation. Being fruitful so that your family will continue now speaks to procreation through natural family births, adoption and surrogacy.

It can seem problematic to apply the label of exploitation to any part of the surrogacy agreement. In commercial surrogacy, the birth mother receives a commission for her service, beyond her health-care, lodgings and clothing expenses and potential lost income. Is there any coercion for these mainly middle-class women to engage in surrogacy for financial rewards (not financial needs)? However, what needs recognition by Canadians is the state of surrogacy around the world. There is much cruelty and abuse resulting in significant pain and suffering of birth mothers. Baby-breeding farms do exist. International surrogacy agreements dissolve, leaving newborns stateless.

There is a body of literature that recognizes attachment issues for the gestational surrogate mother to her birth child. Developing an emotional bond with a baby during pregnancy, knowing that, after birth, all contact and rights will be relinquished can cause psychological distress. During the nine months of gestation, the birth mother bonds with and becomes emotionally attached to the baby growing inside her. This is a normative emotional response and it is in conflict with the rational understanding of the surrogacy process.

Jewish law recognizes the birth mother as the legal mother. Although this status can be waived and national laws allow for the transfer of newborn children through legal contractual vehicles, ethical and moral consideration should be given to the surrogate. It is fundamental, as a Jewish value, to care for those in need. If the surrogate has unresolved needs after giving birth, they should be acknowledged and resolved, as she is not only a production vessel. Is there a mechanism to ensure that the surrogate is not trapped or enslaved in a state of ongoing post-partum depression? Education for the new parents, as a component of the contract, on the surrogate’s needs beyond the physical could have value. Judaism recognizes women as equal to men in the eyes of God, according to the Torah. Valuing the birth mother will assure a fair process.

Addressing the subjects of infertility and parenthood in today’s context brings forward the changing demographics of families, their structure and roles. Indeed, the definitions of family, marriage, spouse, men’s and women’s rights and obligations within the family have made a paradigm shift. Now, same-sex Jewish couples and single people can choose surrogacy as a method of family development. Rabbis’ seeming silence on this issue is, to some, a problem, as they see the rabbis as having acquiesced to the law of the land in regards to the legitimacy of surrogacy.

Surrogacy in our North American context appears to be a mainly benign and favourable solution for those who want to create or enlarge their families. Still, caution must be taken when embarking on this process of family creation to ensure that there is no pressure from external interest bodies on any parties in the surrogacy relationship. Consideration of the potentially negative aspects of surrogacy needs to come into play in decision-making. Both those wanting a child and the surrogate need to be protected from undue influence and to be provided with appropriate supports.

Surrogacy has become an accepted form of reproductive technology in our modern Jewish life. Denial of its worth is not an option. The ethical values discussed by Maimonides, a great halachic scholar, philosopher and physician who lived in the 12th century, hold true today. He talks about behaviours that need modification, balance and examination for the individual to reach a virtuous state: “In truth, it is the middle way that should be praised.” His guidance is worthy of due consideration. Surrogacy, as a process for the creation of a Jewish family, must be undertaken with a full understanding that the path to be taken has ethical complexities that need to be considered before the journey starts.

Marni Besser is a consultant to National Council of Jewish Women of Canada, human trafficking file.

Saying goodbye to a dear friend

Jenny and Zvika, 2002. (photo from Jenny Wright)

I am at Vancouver International Airport and U.S. Customs hands me a card asking the purpose of my visit to the United States. Is it business, pleasure, study? “None of the above,” I respond.

If I were to write a response, it would be: “To say goodbye to a lifelong friend who is leaving our world shortly.” Even at 65, it’s the first time for me to be traveling somewhere with a purpose such as this. And I never expected it to be Zvika (Irv Spivak), a childhood friend whom I have known longer than my husband.

At 15, we met at a rural boarding school in Israel. Two “misfits” or, should I say, creative souls, who had not quite grasped how to integrate into Israel’s society. Zvika was from New Jersey and myself, England. Our friendship flourished. Our mothers, both widows, also became friends.

Zvika was a natural comedian. He could imitate anyone. Presidents, cartoon characters, teachers and family members were only a few of the objects of his jokes. He mimicked accents and, when reciting a joke, it was told with such colour and credit, it became real.

Zvika loved to perform to an audience and I became his “informal” manager in Haifa. I introduced him to my good friends Ronit and Pini and several others and we became a close group. No party was complete without an hour or two of sketches. Nobody was ever excluded and tourists often made up half the parties we held. By midnight, we were laughing and crying uncontrollably, clutching our stomachs in pain. There were frequent complaints from neighbours and we were sure they thought we were drinking and smoking funny stuff but we were all high on pure laughter.

Zvika loved flying and had developed a series of international airline stewardess skits performed in numerous languages. Eventually, when the repertoire was over, I’d lead a round of Hebrew and English folk songs into the wee hours of the morning, with harmonies added by Zvika.

We didn’t know at the time that these carefree days would end very abruptly. On Yom Kippur, a coalition of Arab states launched a surprise attack, knowing that the majority of Israelis would be in synagogue. Zvika had stayed over and we were preparing to go out when the shrill siren began blaring. We looked at each other in disbelief. Today? Yom Kippur? The holiest day? Turning on the radio, we learned that Israel had been attacked by Egypt, Syria and Jordan. We headed to the shelter and remained there for several hours until the shorter siren indicated it was safe to leave.

Our lives took a different turn. I had been hired to perform on a cruise line heading to France and Zvika was planning to actualize his dream of becoming an airline steward.

Haifa’s port, however, was now closed indefinitely, so I offered to perform for the Israel Defence Forces military troops. Together with a magician and another musician, the newly formed Tsevet Havai Pikkud Tsafon (Northern Command Entertainment Troupe) was created.

Zvika was drafted as a medic and stationed somewhere near Nazareth.

En route to the Golan Heights after several successful performances, I realized we were passing army bases in Nazareth. “Stop, stop!” I yelled to the driver. “I want to visit my friend.”

Surprisingly, the driver complied and, moments later, I was hugging Zvika.

“Join us,” I said.

“Are you kidding? I won’t be allowed, even though I do very little here.”

“Let’s speak to your base commander,” I urged. Shortly after, we were performing our tunes for the commander and soldiers. With hearty applause, the commander understood how immensely valuable our music would be for the troops and permission was granted for Zvika to leave.

Our group performed in newly acquired territories: deserted villages surrounded by cattle and sheep, bunkers, and sometimes only a few miles from the bombings. We traveled to the Lebanese, Syrian and Sinai borders. The silent and somewhat eerie landscape filled with roars of laughter as Zvika carried out his sketches for the soldiers. We would learn later that, for some, this would be the last show they would see.

Eventually, Zvika was summoned to his base and I returned to Haifa to complete my previous plan.

Zvika moved to New York to become, you guessed it, an airline steward, and I moved to England. We’d reunite on special occasions. When I moved to Vancouver, my English friends threw a farewell party and Zvika flew over to attend and share all the skits with my friends. When he finally settled in San Francisco, we always stayed in touch.

Zvika’s larger-than-life personality drew people to him from all walks of life. Everyone felt that he was their best friend. He loved people, Cuban cigars and food and, before long, began selling diamonds at a Union Square store.

However, in 1989, he developed HIV and, with every visit, I began to wonder if it would be the last one. But, he overcame it and, in contrast, developed yet a larger tenacity with life.

He became a marriage commissioner, California-style. I was fortunate enough to attend Ronit’s daughter’s wedding and witness how eloquently Zvika created meaningful wedding vows. In 1997, he officiated more than 75 weddings and then branched out to do funerals, naming ceremonies, pet funerals and being the master of ceremonies at various events.

In March 2016, Ronit informed me that Zvika had been diagnosed with an aggressive form of bile duct cancer. He sent regular updates including this one: “The standard prognosis is four to six months or an additional year or two if chemo is successful. That being said, I was told 25 years ago that I’d be dead from AIDS after six months and we all saw how that prediction turned out. :-)”

I arrive at the hospice and my other lifelong friend, Ronit, is there to greet me. Zvika clutches my hand and I suppress my tears. In the days to come, he weakens. There are swarms of people coming in to say their final goodbyes. His friends move him to his house to die peacefully. I sing our old melodies to him. There are no harmonies. But, he is surrounded by love and care until his passing.

One of Zvika’s quotes was “My friends are my greatest blessing. I value honesty, loyalty and friendship. I love making new friends.”

Sixteen years ago, in a post-birthday note to all his friends, Zvika wrote: “If I were to die today … I’d die the happiest man ever to have lived and loved for knowing you. It has never been about the material things for me (hell, I’ve lost everything twice), it has always been about the memories of good times with each and every one of you. Your footsteps are indelibly etched in my brain. You are all my personal angels and friends.”

Jenny Wright is a writer, music therapist, children’s musician and recording artist. She also teaches creative writing and can be reached at jennywright3@gmail.com.

Do we seek solace or action?

Armon Hanatziv Promenade in Jerusalem on Jan. 8 following a terror attack. Four Israel Defence Forces soldiers were murdered – Yael Yekutiel, 20, Shir Hajaj, 22, Shira Tzur, 20, and Erez Orbach, 20 – and at least a dozen other people were injured when a truck driver, from the East Jerusalem neighbourhood of Jabel Mukaber, drove at speed at a group waiting at a bus stop. The terrorist was shot dead. (photo from Ashernet)

Israel is threatened by enemies who respect no rules of engagement, as we saw in the brutal vehicular attack that killed four and injured many others in Jerusalem Sunday.

Israel has faced the challenge of maintaining the moral code of a democratic, humanitarian society under the cloud of threatened annihilation and incessant terror. At the age of 18, young Israelis are often faced with the most impossible dilemmas as citizen-soldiers sworn to uphold national security while conducting themselves in a manner as ethical as the national ideals they are defending.

When Israeli soldiers go rogue, as they occasionally do, and contravene the moral code of the country and the Israel Defence Forces, the response is often polarizing. Worldwide, critics depict individual crimes as symptomatic of the culture of an illegal, apartheid state that is rotten at the core, while defenders cite the judicial processes that follow as evidence that Israel does indeed live up to its values. Sometimes, these cases open deep schisms, as we have seen recently in the case of Sgt. Elor Azaria.

Last year, Azaria, an IDF medic, shot dead a Palestinian terrorist in Hebron who had been disarmed and incapacitated. Azaria told a fellow soldier: “He stabbed my friend and he deserves to die.”

A panel of three Israeli judges unanimously convicted him of manslaughter with a possible sentence of 20 years.

“The fact that the man sprawled on the ground was a terrorist, who had just sought to take the lives of IDF soldiers at the scene, does not in itself justify disproportionate action,” the judges determined.

The trial and its aftermath have opened a debate – or reopened an endless one – about what is moral and immoral as Israel, depending on your perspective, struggles for its existential survival or perpetuates the occupation of Palestinian lands.

The case is being depicted as a fight for the moral soul of the country, although many issues have been portrayed in this dramatic fashion over the decades.

For other countries, addressing essential questions of national morality, of right and wrong, is not necessarily second nature. Yet much of the world is facing choices as stark or starker than Israel’s.

Donald Trump is about to be sworn in as president of the United States. While governments in European and other democracies have, at times, been led by unpredictable individuals, Trump’s ascension is unprecedented for a plethora of reasons that do not need itemizing.

In responding to Trump, and to myriad other current events, we have few precedents to guide us, yet how we respond will determine what our world will become.

Do we quietly accept the presidency of the bigoted, petulant, potentially dangerous Trump, recognizing that, for better or worse, he is the leader of the world’s ostensibly greatest democracy? Or do we stand as steadfast in every way possible against the regressive parts of his agenda (as scattershot and incoherent as that agenda may be)?

Do we try to empathize with, understand and transform the economic, social and racial outlooks that led 63 million Americans to vote for him, or do we dig in our heels and declare them, if not outright racists and women-haters, at least voters for whom xenophobia, race-baiting and misogyny were not deal-breakers, and seek to isolate them from mainstream discourse?

Further afield, do we oppose with every fibre the far-right movements that are growing in France, Hungary, Poland, Italy, the United Kingdom and elsewhere in Europe, or do we seek to ameliorate the conditions that are leading increasing numbers of Europeans to support these sorts of ideologies?

Do we choose to view Syrian refugees as potential terrorists or, at least, as products of a society where antisemitism is deliberately inculcated? Or do we see in them the same desperate humanity of our recent and long-past ancestors?

There are situations in the world that can reasonably cause us to seek solace in isolation, to retreat to the literal or figurative woods and cut ourselves off from the daily news that is so unsettling. However, we have a tradition that encourages discourse and action, one that tells us to repair the broken world, even if we are unable to complete the task.