Opinion – Page 87

Democracy and choice

The sublime thing about liberal democracies is that they are based on the rights and responsibilities of individuals rather than groups. Unlike the kind of sectarian societies imploding in civil war in the Middle East, in a liberal democracy, it is the individual who chooses to go to the ballot box (or abdicate) or to attend a protest (or go to the movies), and it is the individual who must abide by the law or face punishment.

In robust multicultural societies like Canada’s, individuals are given another opportunity – to identify as an ethnic, religious or cultural group. While these groups are considered a boon to the fabric of society, all rights and responsibilities remain solely with the person. Which is why calls for Muslims in Canada and the United States to publicly denounce acts of terrorism committed by the Islamic State (ISIS) and others inspired by them, is understandable – but ultimately wrong.

Here’s where it’s understandable. Terrorism – defined as the targeting of civilians for political ends – is morally distasteful. When committed by a fellow citizen, the action is especially corrosive, leading to distrust and paranoia. When an act of terrorism is committed by a person or group claiming to act on behalf of a particular religion, it’s tempting to want everyone else from that religion to denounce the action.

Here’s where it’s wrong. As a Jew, I regularly urge my fellow Jews to stand up for injustice as Jews, to stand up against an array of Israeli policies that I find objectionable. I encouraged my Jewish community centre (when I was a board member) to undertake staff training around LGBTQ awareness, thus enabling it to declare itself an “LGBTQ safe zone,” as facilitated by the Jewish LGBTQ organization Keshet. As a Jew, and as a Jewish columnist in the Jewish press, I stand up for religious freedom in Israel, for human rights, for an end to the occupation and for racial and ethnic equality.

But let’s recall an incident last summer with Jewish pop singer Matisyahu. Organizers attempted to ban Matisyahu from performing at a music festival in Spain unless he denounced the Israeli occupation. Matisyahu is an American, not an Israeli. His only association with the Jewish state is that he himself is Jewish.

It was a distasteful act of political theatre on the part of the organizers precisely because they drew a faulty line of logic: Israeli occupation is morally objectionable to them, so all Jews (or at least famous ones) must take a public stand because they are Jews. (After a public outcry, the festival organizers backtracked.)

In a liberal democracy, whatever collective identities we hold – sexual, religious, ethnic and so on – are the domain of the private sphere unless we choose, as individuals, to act otherwise. So, while I hope my fellow Jews will take a stand against an array of social ills, and am aware that some don’t, I would be disgusted and disturbed if, say, a work colleague or a politician or a journalist in a local or national daily were to demand that I, because I happen to be Jewish, denounce one thing or another.

The upshot? Community conversations about dynamics relating to that community are crucial to have. But they are just that: community conversations. We must leave members of synagogues, mosques, churches, JCCs and other organizations to debate among themselves whether and how to publicly denounce actions committed in their name. The pages of the community newspaper may indeed be one useful forum among many for these tough conversations.

And perhaps the Jewish community, being more integrated, prosperous and secure than the Muslim community in North America, may even serve as a model. But demanding that sort of stand taking by others in a civic forum violates the delicate multicultural balance that is intrinsic to a liberal democracy, where the individual is the only meaningful object and subject of political action.

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. This article was originally published in the CJN.

Living at Victoria’s Hillel House

Living at the Victoria Hillel House has provided Hannah Faber a space to engage with her Jewish identity in a holistic way. (photo from Hannah Faber)

When I decided to move to Victoria to finish my undergraduate degree at the University of Victoria, I was told by a longtime friend to look into the Victoria Hillel House as a place to live. At first, I was cautious because I had not been very active at the Hillel of my last university. Following that friend’s advice has turned out to be one of the most transformative experiences I have ever had. Living at the Hillel House has given me so many opportunities to be a part of the Jewish community, which has irrevocably changed my sense of Jewish identity.

Within the first week of moving to Victoria as a transfer student, I was asked by the Hillel director to volunteer at a lot of community events. There were two things that struck me deeply and had me admiring the local Jewish community. The first was how small it was and, therefore, how everything within it was such a labor of love. The second was how much older most people at community events were and how much they wanted young people to become involved. Even though I grew up in a relatively small Jewish community in Calgary, the question of whether or not young people would commit and engage in the Jewish community did not seem nearly as urgent as it does in Victoria. Victoria Jewry is made up of mostly older people who have dedicated their lives to the community and are looking for people to carry the torch.

photo - The Jewish tradition of sitting down to a nice meal plays a large part at the Victoria Hillel House — The Jewish tradition of sitting down to a nice meal plays a large part at the Victoria Hillel House. *(photo from Hannah Faber)*

My ability to get involved with the kehilah is in part because I am a resident of the Victoria Hillel House. Living in the Hillel House has provided me a space to engage with my Jewish identity in a holistic way, to explore its many facets and intricacies. The space created is based on values like hospitality, generosity, tikkun olam, as well as inclusive and compassionate listening. I can ask questions about the intersections of feminism and Judaism in my life, and how social justice could be directly informed by my Jewish identity. It is a place where I have explored pertinent questions relating to my Jewish identity with other young Jews, been surrounded by Jewish culture, met members of the Jewish community outside of the university, as well as faculty, and done that all within the Jewish tradition of sitting down to a nice meal.

Hillel House has been a place for me to feel a sense of pride in my identity as a person who is part of a greater shared history. It is rare for one to find a place that validates oneself and simultaneously allows for personal growth. The Victoria Hillel House has done just that. It has played an integral part in allowing me to come into my Jewish identity and, for that, I am very grateful.

Hannah Faber is a Victoria Hillel House tenant, as well as the volunteer coordinator of the Jewish Students Association and an undergraduate studying theatre at the University of Victoria.

Are good intentions enough?

The pope visited a Rome synagogue Sunday – the first visit to a synagogue during his papacy and a significant event in the context of inter-religious friendship. Pope Francis condemned violence based on religion and called on Catholics to rediscover the Jewish roots of Christianity. During the past half-century, relations between the Catholic Church and the Jewish community have made historical and immensely positive advances. Out of a history of bleak victimization based on Catholic teachings, the modernization of Catholic doctrine in the early 1960s reversed the millennia-old accusation of deicide and began a process of reconciliation that has been largely genuine and welcomed.

But, sadly, antisemitism – religious or otherwise – remains.

Recently released statistics say 2015 saw more Jews make aliyah from Western Europe than in any year since the founding of the state. Nearly 10,000 Western European Jews – 8,000 of them from France – made the move to Israel. While this level of aliyah will be heralded by some as a positive milestone, it reflects a dismal trend for Jewish communities in France, the United Kingdom, Italy and Belgium which, in that order, saw the greatest number of emigrants.

And the trajectory seems unlikely to abate, with Jews in the southern French city of Marseille now being advised by the leader of their community not to be seen in public with a kippah after a brutal assault on an identifiable Jew in that city and several years of similar violence across France.

In response, two women have started a social media campaign using the hashtag TousAvecUneKippah – everyone with a kippah. The idea is for everyone to don the traditional Jewish headwear as a gesture of solidarity and to confound those who would no longer be able to identify Jews to attack. This has resulted in some fun viral photos, such as a kippah on the Mona Lisa and another atop a model of the Eiffel Tower.

The idea that “we are all Jews” is an effort at solidarity and is a heart-warming and obviously well-intentioned move. It has some history, too. There is an apocryphal (that is to say, in this case, pleasant but untrue) story of the Danish King Christian X wearing a yellow star in solidarity with his country’s Jewish population during the Nazi occupation of his country. It is the sort of story that we wish were true.

Even so, there is a potential downside to claiming membership in an oppressed or victimized group. Middle-class North American university students wrap themselves in Palestinian keffiyas, thinking they are showing solidarity when to some it can have a whiff of blackface, of usurping the history of another.

Cultural appropriation can cut both ways. The idea that “we are all Jews,” as the kippahs-for-all idea seems to advance, has a potential to damage as well as heal. The pretense that “we are all Jews” could provide a licence to critique Judaism and Jews in ways that people would never dare with other ethnic or religious groups. If we are all Jews, after all, then antisemitism is little more than self-criticism.

Another not insignificant consideration is the fact that the world is not all Jews. Neither are we all Muslims (or Parisians or Charlie Hebdo or anything else). While such efforts at solidarity and support are well-intended, they also, in their way, betray a proud tenet of Canadian and other pluralist societies, which is that we do not gloss over or erase these differences, but celebrate and defend them.

Similarly, the pope’s efforts to exalt the Jewish roots of Christianity, seemingly well-intentioned, could be problematic. The fact that Christianity emerged as a Jewish sect has been a point of contention for 2,000 years. That a small group of stiff-necked people has refused to accept Christianity as a successor religion has caused outrage that has led to literally countless deaths over centuries.

The idea that we are all Jews is a nice one in times like these, but we should remember that such ideas have a double edge.

Mein Kampf and free speech

Adolf Hitler’s manifesto of hatred against Jews, Mein Kampf, went on sale last week in Germany for the first time since 1945. The annotated edition proved a bestseller, we hope because people intend to take a critical look at the ideas that drove their country to apparent mass insanity.

The reissue has been controversial, not surprisingly, but, as a practical matter, banning material these days is impossible. Mein Kampf is available to anyone with an internet connection, so the act of banning it in recent years has been a statement of principle rather than an effective means of keeping it from interested eyes.

Nevertheless, the book is an historical document that should not be hidden away. The ideas it contains were the seeds of one of humankind’s greatest atrocities. This suggests it has a power that those who would ban it justifiably fear. Yet, again, since banning it is not feasible, better that the opportunity be welcomed to analyze it and try to understand, confront and negate the ideology it represents, which is clearly the intent of producing a heavily annotated edition.

In fact, news of the book’s reissue has already sparked some welcome, thoughtful reflections on the nature of antisemitism, ideological hatred and also the matter of free expression itself. One lesson is that words matter. They have power. This is certainly the undergirding reason the book has been banned in Germany for 70 years.

It may seem a conflicted philosophical principle we have taken on this page for many years to stand firmly in the court of free expression – the right of people to express themselves free of undue constraints by governments, mobs or the threat of violence – while contending at the same time that people should police their own self-expression. It is not conflicted; in fact, it is a primary tenet of democratic, pluralist societies. It is the axiomatic idea that with freedom comes responsibility.

The proof that words matter is evident every time a Jewish person is stabbed in Israel. Palestinian society is being saturated by calls to kill Jews, including publications that demonstrate the most effective means of stabbing a Jew. Of course, Palestine is not a democratic, pluralist society where freedom and responsibility are sides of a coin, so this may be one of the reasons Western voices have for decades given a pass to rampant incitement.

But, tragically, we see it far closer to home. Some of the language around the arrival of Syrian and Iraqi refugees to Canada has gone beyond the realm of what most Canadians probably like to imagine is our tolerant, liberal approach to “others.” At a welcoming event for Syrian refugees in Vancouver last week, an individual pepper-sprayed people milling about outside the venue. It seems an act of such deliberate cruelty to undermine the confidence and well-being of people seeking a better life. It is impossible to know the precise factors that motivated this attack, but we can be fairly certain that some of the language used recently about refugees and Muslims did little to dissuade a person inclined to violence that such behavior was unacceptable. Donald Trump, according to opinion polls one of the people most likely to be the next U.S. president, has made obscene, inexcusable statements about refugees and Muslims. Such words do not fall on deaf ears.

We are at a time in human history where the very nature of words seems to be changing. Everyone can send their opinions out into the world in ways never imaginable even two decades ago. At the same time, long-form reading seems to be declining precipitously and we, in Western societies at least, may be forming our opinions more on bite-sized slogans than on deep consideration.

It’s hard to pinpoint what it means that the erstwhile banned rantings of Mein Kampf flew off German bookshelves. Hopefully it means people aim to use this annotated version to critically assess their country’s history.

Children at camp age

Grade 10 girls at camp. The author’s kids came back from camp inspired by the Jewish teens leading and caring for their group and wanted nothing more than to be ensconced in that same atmosphere the following year. (photo from Lauren Kramer)

My friend’s daughter is heading off to Jewish overnight camp for the first time ever, and her poor mom is terrified. “How will I know if she’s safe in the lake?” she wonders. “What if there’s a sexual predator among the staff members? What about her medications?”

She reminds me of myself some eight years ago when my kids first headed off to camp. The idea of not being able to protect my children myself was frightening and I worried incessantly that first week, calling daily to find out if my kids were sleeping well at night or crying with homesickness. I was certain it would be the latter. “She’s fine,” my daughter’s madrichah would tell me over the phone. “She’s found a group of friends, she’s busy all day long and at night she’s too tired to do anything but fall straight asleep.”

Her words were reinforced when they finally put my daughter on the line. From her voice I could tell the phone call was taking her away from something she’d much prefer to be doing. “Mom, everything’s OK, don’t worry,” she said. “See you in three weeks!” The phone line went dead.

So, I stopped worrying and started enjoying the blissful quiet, the sudden absence of laundry and the easiness of preparing meals for three people as opposed to six. The house stayed spotless for much longer and the hours of the day were mostly mine, and easily filled. The kids came back inspired with Jewish camp ruach, heart sore about their recent goodbyes to cabin mates who had become best friends. With shining eyes, they told stories about Israeli folksongs sung around the campfire at night, new tunes they’d learned for Birkat Hamazon and the fun they’d had raiding the boys’ cabin and pulling pranks. No sooner had they returned than they were counting down to next year’s summer camp.

With all this positive Jewish energy wafting over our home, the $1,000-per-week cost per child didn’t seem so exorbitant anymore. They’d come home with a shot in the arm of Jewish love, passion for Yiddishkeit and enthusiasm for kosher food. They were inspired by the Jewish teens leading and caring for their group and wanted nothing more than to be ensconced in that same atmosphere the following year. By comparison, the Jewish afterschool program they’d been enrolled in during the school year had generated moans of discontent and efforts to skip class on a regular basis.

I’m a big fan of Jewish summer camp and it was I who coaxed my friend to send her daughter in the first place. Surrounded by a non-Jewish milieu in their home community, with only a small Chabad presence in their town, I knew it would expose their little girl to the best of Judaism in a stimulating, fun, unforgettable environment. There would be music, good food, playmates, dancing, crafts and mischief – all the components of a brilliant summer. And it would ignite in their daughter’s soul a burning love for Judaism as she’d never experienced it before, and a desire to repeat the experience, again and again.

So, I consoled her fears with gentle encouragement, insisting that the staff were superbly vetted, the lake carefully watched by qualified lifeguards and the children’s swimming skills meticulously evaluated before anyone even stuck their toes in the water.

But it’s a process, this worrying, one all moms endure and one that can only be allayed when they hear the happiness in their kids’ voice, their impatience to get off the phone and their sheer love of camp when they return home afterwards. For the majority of kids, anyway. If my friends’ child is one of the small percentage that become desperately homesick and returns home early, I’ll be in the doghouse, big time.

Lauren Kramer, an award-winning writer and editor, lives in Richmond. To read her work online, visit laurenkramer.net. This article was originally published in the Canadian Jewish News.

Bright lights to end year

Canadians have been in an uncharacteristically self-congratulatory mood lately over our national response to the Syrian refugee crisis. The federal government has come through on behalf of thousands of people fleeing the catastrophic violence in Syria, with the prime minister and what appeared to be most of his cabinet showing up personally to greet the first arrivals. Perhaps more impressive still has been the mobilization of ordinary Canadians to sponsor and aid refugees, with synagogues, churches, community groups, neighborhoods and individuals stepping up to help. In contrast with the response from many in the world, including the Gulf states and divisive figures like Donald Trump, Canadians should be rightly proud of our collective response.

Certainly there are concerns among some Canadians about the newcomers. The idea that “radicalized” individuals could slip in under the guise of humanitarian status is frequently mooted. More likely is the potential that some refugees may carry with them ideas about women, Jewish people, gay people or others that are not consistent with this country’s norms. This is not something to gloss over. We should be aware of it and ensure that, along with our clearly demonstrated willingness to offer a heart-felt welcome to the refugees, we also model for them other Canadian ideals, including respect for difference. The fact that the groups sponsoring refugees are themselves representative of Canadian diversity should be a good head start in this regard.

The joyous welcome we have witnessed is an uplifting way to draw 2015 to a close. This has not been a year filled with happy news, yet the last few weeks have brought us several encouraging lights in the midst of the winter’s darkness.

In Paris last weekend, 195 countries made an historic step toward reining in the carbon emissions that are causing climate change. These two issues – refugees and the climate – are not unrelated. Scientists and other warn that if something significant does not change quickly, the world will be awash in populations struggling against each other for arable land, potable water and habitable space. It is a daunting prospect, put mildly, and events in Paris suggest the world may finally be taking the danger seriously. Of course, we have made false promises before. Again, we may have reached a moment of truth where the arc of history is bending toward repairing the damage we have done to the world.

There has been another very significant development in recent days. The rapprochement between the Jewish people and the Catholic Church that began five decades ago took a very major and substantive leap forward with remarks by Pope Francis and the release of a landmark statement by the Vatican.

Catholics, the document states, are obligated to demonstrate their faith in Jesus to all people, including Jews, but the Catholic Church “neither conducts nor supports” missionary initiatives aimed toward Jews. From the perspective of 2,000 years of Christian doctrine that situates the Catholic Church and Christianity as the preemptive successor religion to Judaism, this is a revolution. It is the antithesis of the sort of language and ideas that have caused incalculable strife for Jews in Europe and other primarily Christian lands. It suggests that the leadership of the church, once deemed infallible and all-knowing, admits that some things are unknowable. The Christian dictum that eternal life requires belief in and dedication to Jesus as the messiah is neither negated nor affirmed by this new statement, deeming it “an unfathomable divine mystery” that salvation can come only through Jesus while the church also affirms the biblical covenant between God and the Jewish people, the Vatican says.

“While affirming salvation through an explicit or even implicit faith in Christ,” the Vatican document says, “the church does not question the continued love of God for the chosen people of Israel.”

The Pope has repeatedly made friendly gestures to the Jewish people, rejecting millennia of hostility and continuing a trajectory of reconciliation begun in the 1960s with the Second Vatican Council.

These three developments – the welcoming of refugees to Canada, the recognition that we must care for our planet for its and our survival, and an historic reappraisal of the relationship between Christianity and Judaism – seem like pleasant things to reflect on as we close out a year in which bright lights are a welcome respite.

Perspective gained at camp

On a logging road near Smithers, B.C., the Unist’ot’en people occupy their traditional land in order to stop work on the 11 pipeline projects that would run through the area. Located beside Wedjin Kwa (Morice River), the camp is one of the only places left in the world where it is safe to drink directly from a natural body of water. Add to this the rustling trees, abundant huckleberries, countless wildlife and more, and it is clear why it is worth fighting for this land.

The Unist’ot’en maintain a checkpoint where all visitors must answer a series of questions posed by a member of the clan to assess the level of support for the clan’s action before being allowed into the territory. Supporters and allies have been allowed into the camp, as well as loggers with preexisting contracts; however, pipeline workers and helicopter crews arrive often and are reminded that they have not followed the appropriate channels to be permitted to do work on the land.

During my visit, the camp was on high alert after a tip that police planned to raid and demolish the camp, and arrest people living there. Stories around the campfire included many accounts of police misinformation and aggressiveness from veterans of the land defence struggle since the Oka crisis in 1990. There were also accounts of police following members of the camp when they went in to town, and of helicopters and surveillance drones flying overhead more than six times a day.

As those telling stories began to reminisce about siblings and parents in the residential school system, I saw the patterns of trauma visible in my own family and community emerge. The way that pain is passed through generations reveals an eerie overlap. I see remnants of the Holocaust in the way my grandparents raised my parents, my family’s relationship with food and eating, and the way they remember and guard their identity because someone once tried to take it away. With new research into genetics and epigenetics, we now know that trauma during a person’s lifetime can be passed to their children through their genes. This means that both habits and practices built during a lifetime, as well as genetic responses to stress, can be passed on.

An authority that once promised to keep them safe has betrayed both my ancestors and the people at the camp. When one elder spoke about watching as his siblings and childhood friends disappeared at the residential school, it echoed the blank pages that are so many Jewish family trees since the 1930s. I also see similarities between the Holocaust and the genocide of First Nations peoples through the reserves and the residential school system, the devastation caused by smallpox and alcoholism, much of which was propagated by the state. Not to mention continued racism.

I understand that the situations are not identical but there is enough commonality that it warrants a deeper look. I do not understand why peoples who have gone through cultural and physical genocide don’t come together in dialogue and support for each other’s survival. Throughout the last 70 years, we have promised repeatedly to “never forget,” but First Nations peoples still suffer discrimination, and this should command our attention. When there is injustice for some, there is no justice for anyone, and who better to stand in support of equal rights and freedoms, than a people who also has a long history of being oppressed and having to fight for survival.

Ariel Martz-Oberlander is a theatre artist, activist and poet living in Vancouver, Coast Salish territories. She is grateful every day for the people who work to make the world a more lovely place to be.

Denkmal

This is not about Dachau, although
these things happened there.

When my son and I visited the Denkmal,
as the Germans refer to Dachau,
it was late afternoon,
and it was deserted.
The weather was rainy and cool.
Vancouver weather: warm for
December in Bavaria,
I was told.

We walked around, peering
curiously into the barracks
where the living dead stared with eyes
like those of African night mammals
at the stunned American cameramen,

and then we stepped into the “Duschbad,”
and then into the crematorium
and then back outside into
the drizzle –

Finally, I stopped to look at the bronze memorial
to the “Unknown Prisoner”: a stooped, skeletal
Muselmann
in rags, ashy and green from the wet Bavarian winters;

leaving a pebble on the pedestal, as I had been taught,
I turned to leave.

My son had lingered behind.

Fifteen, tough and big;
standing quietly in front of the pitted bronze,
his black football jacket dripping rain,
sloppy, untied Adidas hightops
and blue/white acid-dyed jeans soaking through –

he slowly reached up
to his soggy old Detroit Tigers
baseball cap,
and politely

between wet thumb and forefinger,

tipped the brim.

Graham Forst, PhD, taught literature and philosophy at Capilano University until his retirement and now teaches in the continuing education departments at Simon Fraser University, University of British Columbia and Banff School of Fine Arts. From 1975 to 2010, he co-chaired the symposium committee of the Vancouver Holocaust Education Centre.

Ludicrous standards

Sweden’s Foreign Minister Margot Wallström has accused Israel of “extrajudicial executions” of Palestinian terrorists. The minister said, in the country’s parliament, that Israel has a right to defend its citizens, but went on to clarify that such defence should not include “extrajudicial execution” and accused Israel of a “disproportionate” response.

It is a familiar refrain from the European community, a place where Israeli products are being labeled as part of a boycott strategy, sometimes by vigilantes in makeshift uniforms patrolling shops and applying stickers to Israeli goods. Israel has a right to defend itself, in the world’s eyes, up to and until it actually begins to defend itself.

The issue is confused by some outside observers. It is true that Israel is a democratic state that respects the rule of law. But it is also a country at war with radical Islamist terrorism. There are, certainly, laws and judicial recourse for crimes, but when a murderous act is in the process of unfolding, the first objective of security forces is to end the situation. Certainly, the next objective should be ensuring that judicial process takes precedence by, for instance, shooting in the leg or otherwise disabling the attacker through non-lethal means. From half a world away, it is hard to judge the actions of frontline security personnel (or, at least, it should be more difficult than it seems to be) but we would hope that response is balanced with preservation of life and the addressing of crime through Israel’s admirable system of judicial oversight.

At the same time, we should be cognizant of double standards.

Remember just over a year ago, in October 2014, a terrorist murdered Cpl. Nathan Cirillo at the National War Memorial and then proceeded to Canada’s Parliament Buildings, where he was taken down, fatally, by the sergeant-at-arms, Kevin Vickers.

Vickers became a national hero. He was not condemned by the government of Sweden or anyone else. The Canadian government was not pilloried for “disproportionate” force or “extrajudicial execution.”

No, there are two sets of rules in this world. One set for Israel which, despite all the threats and existential challenges it faces, is expected to maintain the world’s highest standards – actually, ludicrous standards – of engagement, while everyone else gets a pass, including the tyrants whose governments currently sit on august bodies like the United Nations Human Rights Council.

Predictably and correctly, Israel’s foreign ministry lambasted the Swedish politician’s comments, dismissing them as “scandalous, delusional, rude, and detached from reality.”

“The [Swedish] foreign minister suggests that Israeli citizens simply give their necks to the murderers trying to stab them with knives,” the Israeli foreign ministry said in a statement. “The citizens of Israel and its security forces have the right to defend themselves. In Israel, every person who commits a crime is brought in front of a judge, including terrorists. The citizens of Israel have to deal with terrorism that receives support from irresponsible and false statements like that.”

The Swede’s comments are not unusual, although they are particularly flagrant. They are of a type we have seen repeatedly when Israel faces an upsurge in terrorism. The attitude it depicts reflects more concern for the murderers than it does for their victims. Rare is the word of support or empathy for Israel’s untenable position facing down individual terrorists incited by their government and society to stab, drive over or otherwise murder Jews.

The Swedish foreign minister’s words really speak volumes about where Europe’s sympathies lie these days.

Comparing refugee response

While American political discourse around whether to accept Syrian refugees smolders under the embers of xenophobia, Canadians have been opening their hearts and their wallets to bring in Syrian refugees.

Canada is one of the only countries with a private sponsorship option, which means that groups of ordinary citizens can provide funds and demonstrate their intention to provide emotional and logistical support to refugee families for one year, thus enabling the absorption of refugees whom the government might not otherwise have been able to afford.

Like many faith and neighborhood communities, Jewish communities, especially through synagogues, are on the frontlines of this effort.

It’s not often that a rabbi’s sermon gets reprinted in the daily newspaper of a major city, but such was the case for Rabbi Lisa Grushcow of Montreal’s Temple Emanu-El-Beth Sholom. “For too long, we have thought of religion in passive terms, counting how many people are sitting in the pews or paying dues,” she wrote. “All this is necessary but not sufficient. I want us to count how many lives we change, how many people we help, how many hearts we touch.” Her synagogue is sponsoring at least one refugee family.

Meanwhile, a sermon delivered on Kol Nidre this year by Rabbi Dan Moskovitz of Temple Sholom in Vancouver helped capture the hearts and minds of his congregants. “Tonight, I want to ask you to do something great. I want to ask you to save a life, the life of a stranger – because we were once strangers in the land, because we are human beings and that is the only similarity that we really need.” It didn’t take long for the congregation to come up with the $40,000 necessary to sponsor a refugee family. They are now fundraising to bring a second. Other synagogues across the city – including the Jewish Renewal Or Shalom, which is sponsoring three families – have followed suit. (See story, page 1.)

In Toronto, Jewish Immigrant Aid Services, one of nearly 100 organizations across the country that enjoys sponsorship agreement holder rights, has been flooded with sponsoring requests.

I spoke to Ryan Friedman of Darchei Noam and to Pippa Feinstein of First Narayever Congregation, two Toronto-based synagogues that are sponsoring refugees. Feinstein in particular noted that, while wanting to “ensure a safe place for any refugee family who is looking to come to Canada,” her congregation is aiming to launch “parallel awareness-raising activities” around the plight of persecuted minorities in the region.

Among those minorities are the Yazidi people of Iraq, who are being faced with a genocide – in the words of the United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights – at the hands of ISIS. In collaboration with other faith groups, Winnipeg’s Jewish community has spearheaded an effort to sponsor multiple Yazidi refugees. As Belle Jarniewski described it, “When I saw the article about the mass grave [of the Yazidis], I really responded to it viscerally. It reminded me that we keep talking every year “never again” and, as Jews, we talk about this all the time, how important it is … and what are we doing about it?”

In my own city of Ottawa, Lori Rosove and Dara Lithwick of Temple Israel launched a community-wide effort to sponsor a refugee family. As Rosove explained it, “It’s the human thing to do.”

I, too, have helped launch a cross-denominational grassroots sponsoring effort, working through both Jewish Family Services of Ottawa and the United Church of Canada. Since a handful of us gathered in a neighbor’s living room in early September, we now number 250 participants and have raised $150,000 so far, enabling us to sponsor six families. So as to provide the suggested “soft-landing” that settlement agencies advise, each family will live with a neighborhood host for the first couple of months.

And what of pushback from community members? Moskovitz explained that, while 95% of his congregants have been enthusiastic, a few were not. “I met with each individual or group who registered a concern,” explaining the “rigorous UN screening and the Canadian screening [process].”

For their part, American Jewish groups have been doing what they can. There was the statement of moral clarity issued by 10 Jewish organizations. And there is a rabbis’ letter drafted by HIAS, urging their elected officials to “welcome the stranger.” In addition to lobbying Congress to accept refugees and supporting local resettlement agencies in their efforts, the U.S.-based Religious Action Centre of Reform Judaism has taken the initiative to help American congregations partner with Canadian ones in order to support their neighbors’ efforts. As RAC head Rabbi Jonah Pesner told me: “To sit at our [Passover] seder tables every year and [tell] the story, [starting with] ‘my father was a wandering Aramean,’ and to live through 5,000 years as a community of refugees, not to model for the world what it means to welcome the stranger would be an abdication of our legacy.”

So, while the U.S. Congress wrings its hands over whether to accept a meagre 10,000 souls, Canada (one-tenth the population) has pledged to receive 25,000 Syrian refugees by February, of which 10,000 are expected to be sponsored privately. When private citizens are empowered to help people from across the globe, the bluster and rhetoric can be bypassed while the real work of saving lives and opening hearts can take place.

Mira Sucharov is an associate professor of political science at Carleton University. She blogs at Haaretz and the Jewish Daily Forward. A version of this article was originally published on haartez.com.