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Tag: antisemitism

When to call in, call out

When to call in, call out

Truckers and others ostensibly contesting government pandemic responses have laid siege to downtown Ottawa. In reality, the protesters seem to have a panoply of grievances, many of which manifest as antisemitic, racist, sexist and just plain obnoxious.

Those noxious traits spread across the country last weekend, as satellite protests took place in Vancouver and other cities. In Toronto, a handbill was distributed declaring that “every single aspect of the COVID agenda is Jewish,” followed by a litany of other antisemitic declarations. This is on the heels of the appearance of swastikas and confederate flags at protests, the appropriation of Holocaust imagery by anti-vaxxers and other inappropriate expressions from COVID skeptics.

The defence, such as it is, from organizers and supporters is that these cases are incidental, represent a minority within the movement and, in effect, should be ignored.

Racism, antisemitism and other forms of hatred should never be dismissed or overlooked. Ideas and images like these must be identified, isolated and removed from any movement that wants to be taken seriously by Canadians. It is no less abhorrent to march alongside people carrying a swastika flag than it is to carry a swastika flag.

Some cases, like waving the Nazi flag, are clear cut and easy to call out and condemn as antisemitism. Other cases, like (we suspect) Whoopi Goldberg’s, are more nuanced. Goldberg’s statement that the Holocaust was not “about race” set off a frenzy. As if more fuel was needed, a jokey recipe she submitted to a cookbook decades ago, called Jewish American Princess Fried Chicken, conveniently resurfaced. All of this seems to have opened a floodgate of previously muted concerns about Goldberg’s appropriation of a Jewish last name and even Jewish identity. Goldberg was called out and suspended for two weeks by her producers.

In fact, Goldberg may have been expressing some combination of contemporary “progressive” understandings of race, which sees a hierarchy of oppression based on skin colour. Before we get too self-righteous about the state of racial dialogue today, remember that a couple of generations of Jewish Americans and Canadians have spent a great deal of effort to downplay differences between ourselves and the (white) majority. There is genuine confusion about Jewishness as a religion, a peoplehood and a racialized group. While it should not always fall on minority communities to school others on issues of identity, neither should our default be to assume ill-will when confusion or ignorance remain possibilities.

While people who wave swastikas may be irredeemable, people like Goldberg – who has expressed solidarity with the Jewish community to the extent that she has said, “I just know I am Jewish” – are a different story. She may be misguided about where Jews fit into today’s conceptions of race and identity, among other things, but her flailing in the midst of the controversy suggests she is confused, not hostile.

There is an alternative to “calling out.” There is a term – “calling in” – through which the opportunity is taken to educate someone who has made an unfortunate remark, to encourage them to learn and adjust their outlook. The process has the potential for turning enemies (or perceived enemies) into allies – and it has worked wonders in countless cases.

Acknowledging intent is critical. Goldberg’s words were poorly chosen and she needs some education. People who wave swastika flags are on another level. Putting on a yellow star because you are asked to vaccinate for the health of yourself and others is contemptible. Handing out flyers blaming COVID on the Jews is as antisemitic as words get. There is a time for calling in and a time for calling out.

The organizers and supporters of the trucker protests need to call out the bad seeds among them. The legitimacy of any movement – whether it be against vaccines, for the rights of a group of people, for protection of the environment, or for whatever other cause – depends on well-intentioned members acknowledging and addressing the presence of those who are motivated by less well-intended objectives, not ignoring them.

And this brings us back to us. It is fine, indeed correct, to call out the hypocrisies of our critics and those with whom we disagree. But we have all been in conversations around the dinner table, on social media, in private messages and emails, where our friends, relatives or guests have expressed unacceptable ideas about others, including fellow Jews who look different or who practise Judaism differently. Racism exists in every community.

If we ask other groups to be vigilant about intolerance in their communities – and to be willing to “call out” or “call in” various comments and actions – we should make sure our own house is in order. We cannot demand that others do this if we do not practise it ourselves. It applies to our critics and enemies. It also applies to ourselves and our friends.

Format ImagePosted on February 11, 2022February 10, 2022Author The Editorial BoardCategories From the JITags antisemitism, protests, racism, truckers, Whoopi Goldberg

On safety, listen to your gut

Last week, I received an email, out of the blue, from a Canadian media research company. A part of its business model involves scraping writers and journalists’ internet data, putting it into a public database, and then “enabl[ing] PR professionals to identify the right contacts for their press work.” I found out about it because they approached me. They showed me information they had, which identified me solely from writing this column. They suggested that, unless I revised and improved the profile, it was about to be publicized online as they sent it.

Lots of our data is on the web. It’s not private. I’m not contesting that. I haven’t hidden my identity. However, I felt unsettled by this contact and my lack of control. First, I wondered, did this company’s mission have any benefit for me? The answer to that would be, no. I didn’t want to be barraged by press releases. Also, based on what I wrote about in the Jewish Independent, what would those PR professionals want to market? Jewish book subscriptions? Time-saving devices for Jewish moms? I was baffled – but their approach has more problematic angles as well.

The first would be ethics. I’m a writer, but I didn’t go to journalism school. I write opinion pieces, knitting patterns and, occasionally, informational articles. I have written books for knitters and fibre artists. I’m not a hard-hitting journalist. I’ve signed no official ethical code of conduct. Even so, it doesn’t do me (and most writers and journalists) much credit to assume that, if I were low on ideas, with a deadline coming, that I would rely on press releases for something to say. Essentially, those public relations professionals write press releases so that they can get free publicity or information distributed for their clients. It’s about money, buying and selling.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I’ve written a press release or two of my own. I wrote them to market a new piece or design I’d made, and I sent them to my newsletter subscribers, or editors I worked with – people who might choose to read my work or knit my design. Perhaps they’d like it. So, I am not completely above the fray here, ethically, but I was asking them to read my (low-cost or free) work. I’m not marketing the next best expensive gadget to clean the kitchen floor. In these self-distributed press releases, I suggested people check out my writing. If they liked it, to say so, and I followed up with “thank you.”

The second issue was that of the public distribution of a person’s contact information. I’ve written for Jewish publications over the last 15 years. I’ve had my share of hateful letters, emails, phone calls and threats. Although many of our physical institutions have boosted security, with security cameras, guards and police contacts, as individuals, we don’t all have the same monitoring. Heck, I don’t even earn a salary for what I do. So, in light of the rising antisemitism around us, I pick and choose carefully what to write and what I say. It’s a balancing act. I want to speak out, be proud of my Jewish identity, and also be safe.

These decisions about our personal safety are usually done behind closed doors. Mostly, it’s unconscious, a gut-level response. For example: “Does this dark shortcut look like a safe place to walk at night? Nope, let’s walk farther, along the better-lit sidewalks.”

While I thought about these issues, after a whole spate of antisemitic and racist events in North America and Europe, I was reminded of the discussion in the talmudic tractate of Moed Katan. In this tractate, the rabbis examine what it is to ostracize or excommunicate someone, usually a rabbinic colleague, in the Jewish community. The decision is a hard one, and the details vary from one case to another.

Ostracizing someone is a temporary move. The person is still allowed to study Torah, earn a living, and can seek readmission to the community once he (it’s almost always a “he” here) seeks to correct his wrong or apologize. The notion of excommunication is much more severe. The most well-known “modern” excommunication is of Baruch Spinoza, who was famously excommunicated by the Jewish community of Amsterdam.

While I’m not a rabbi, and certainly lack any level of importance like Rav Yehuda (Rav Judah HaNasi), I do feel like these lessons he offered on page 17 of Moed Katan are still useful. His message is that we cannot separate a scholar from his actions. Even someone who has conducted himself poorly and others have reported that bad behaviour can be suspect. We can choose to separate ourselves from that person.

I asked the newswire to immediately remove me from their database. Their mission didn’t align with mine. In any event, I didn’t feel safe with what they wanted to amplify about me online. It was, in a small way, my chance to distance myself, if not ostracizing or excommunicating.

The recent events surrounding the Freedom Convoy and its allies, throughout Canada, also have given me ample moments to reflect. We were out on the Winnipeg River trail last Saturday, taking a Shabbat walk with kids and dog, when we heard the trucks honking. Freedom Convoy allies protested in Winnipeg, along with displays of antisemitism. I didn’t personally see the Juden stars and swastikas, but, like Rav Yehuda, I didn’t need to. I believed the reports of fellow Winnipeggers. In my gut, things felt out of control. We climbed off the river, up the riverbank and headed home.

Our choices to publicize or keep private, to behave in an upright way or not, to separate ourselves from those whose behaviours don’t align with our values, are personal ones. The talmudic rabbis recognized these behaviours long ago. It’s also a pressing modern-day question. Do we wear things that identify us as Jews? Do we choose to keep good, upright companions around us? Do we speak out against injustice? These are sometimes unconscious steps to protect ourselves and those around us.

Rav Yehuda isn’t here to tell us how to act, but I think most of us know already. When someone approaches us, and the situation seems unsafe? Listen to your gut. We have thousands of years of struggle behind us, helping us to keep safe in perhaps dangerous, or just unknown, waters.

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

Posted on February 11, 2022February 10, 2022Author Joanne SeiffCategories Op-EdTags antisemitism, excommunication, fear, Freedom Convoy, liefstyle, ostracization, Talmud
Rabbi talks of healing

Rabbi talks of healing

Clockwise from top left: Rabbi Charlie Cytron-Walker of Congregation Beth Israel in Texas speaks with the Anti-Defamation League’s Cheryl Drazin, Jonathan Greenblatt and Deb Leipzig. (screenshot)

Rabbi Charlie Cytron-Walker was bustling around Congregation Beth Israel, in the Dallas suburb of Colleyville, Tex., getting ready for Shabbat morning services. There was a knock on the synagogue’s door and the rabbi welcomed a stranger who was looking for shelter from the unusually cold morning. Cytron-Walker prepared the man a cup of tea and made conversation.

“There were no initial red flags,” the rabbi recalled Jan. 20, in an Anti-Defamation League web event that included the director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. The man exhibited no signs that he would be a danger, said Cytron-Walker.

“The sense of nervousness, the darting around, those kinds of things that you might expect,” were absent, said the rabbi. “He was calm, he was appreciative, he was able to talk with me all the way throughout, look me in the eye.… I didn’t have a lot of suspicions.”

The unexpected guest was, of course, Malik Faisal Akram, an armed British man who would take the rabbi and three congregants hostage in an 11-hour standoff on Jan. 15. In the end, for all the responders mobilized and crisis negotiators assembled, the incident ended when the rabbi threw a chair at the attacker and the four hostages escaped.

Cytron-Walker explained how he put together the man’s motivations by listening to his rantings and the conversations he was having by phone. Akram was seeking the release of Aafia Siddiqui, a convicted terrorist known as Lady Al Qaeda, who is incarcerated in an American prison not far from Beth Israel synagogue. The hostage-taker apparently subscribed to antisemitic ideas, including the belief that the United States would do whatever was necessary to save the lives of Jewish hostages and that pressure by Jews could lead to his demands being met. At some point, Akram became aware of Rabbi Angela Buchdahl, senior rabbi at Central Synagogue in New York City, and demanded to speak with her during the incident.

“I don’t know how or why he chose her exactly, other than the fact that he thought that she was the most influential rabbi,” said Cytron-Walker. “And I was thinking, this guy really believes that Jews control the world.… I tried to explain to him to the best of my ability that it doesn’t work that way.”

The rabbi credited law enforcement for their response, and spoke at length about the security preparations that synagogues and other Jewish institutions take, with the support of groups like UJA Federations, the Anti-Defamation League, the Secure Community Network and the FBI.

“We had a security plan in place,” said Cytron-Walker. “All of it was helpful, and yet, one of the things that we are aware of is that no matter how good the plan is, no matter how good the security is, these kinds of things can still happen.”

Christopher Wray, director of the FBI, expressed solidarity with not just those immediately affected by the incident but the entire Jewish community.

“We understand all too well that these kinds of attacks are terrifying and that they are not only terrifying to the individuals directly and physically involved, they are also terrifying for all the members of Congregation Beth Israel and, really, for the entire Jewish community, many of whom understandably worry about other threats still out there,” Wray said. “Our joint terrorism task forces across the country will continue to investigate why this individual specifically targeted Congregation Beth Israel on their day of worship.”

Neither Wray, nor any other individual on the livestream, addressed remarks by the FBI’s special agent in charge of the case. As the hostage-taking in the synagogue was unfolding, Matthew DeSarno told media that the assailant was “singularly focused on one issue, and it was not specifically related to the Jewish community, but we are continuing to work to find motive.” His remarks have been condemned as erasing the antisemitic motivations of the terrorist.

While none of the hostages was physically harmed, Cytron-Walker spoke of the emotional recovery that he, the other hostages and the broader community are undergoing.

“It’s going to be one step at a time for us,” he said. “We are doing the best we can to heal. We’re going to have services on Shabbat evening, we’re going to have services on Shabbat morning, we’re going to have religious school on Sunday and we already had a beautiful healing service on Monday night that was so meaningful – to actually see people, to be able to hug people.… But it’s one step at a time.… I’m getting the care that I need. I’m trying to make sure that I take care of my family and, at the same time, one of those pieces that we’re going to have to get past is that sense of fear.

“There was something traumatic that happened within the congregation,” he continued, “and we know that it’s not just our congregation that feels a sense of fear. It’s something that a lot of people and a lot of Jewish people in particular, our people, are living with.… We want to be able to go to services and pray and be together because one of the most important things is to be with one another within that sense of community. That’s needed right now more than anything else.”

Jonathan Greenblatt, chief executive officer of the Anti-Defamation League, moderated the online event.

Format ImagePosted on January 28, 2022January 27, 2022Author Pat JohnsonCategories WorldTags ADL, Anti-Defamation League, antisemitism, Charlie Cytron-Walker, hostage-taking, security, terrorism, Texas
A blind view of terror

A blind view of terror

Another violent attack on a North American synagogue, this one in Texas, has undermined the feelings of security among Jewish people everywhere.

It is important to see the incident in perspective. Thankfully, the rabbi and three other hostages survived the 11-hour ordeal and the only physical casualty was the perpetrator himself. Second, although such incidents happen too frequently, it must be remembered that, in the context of the many Jewish institutions in North America, this remains a highly unusual phenomenon. Third, the community – Jewish and non-Jewish – locally and internationally condemned the attack and celebrated the escape of the hostages. This differs from situations we have seen in other times and places in which those in power – police, political leaders, the general public – were either complicit or indifferent. A service of healing two days after the incident brought a thousand people of many religious and demographic backgrounds together in response. Police, interfaith leaders and elected officials were united in their expressions of condolence and solidarity.

As Rabbi Charlie Cytron-Walker noted in a presentation with the Anti-Defamation League (click here for story), Jewish community organizations benefit from the (sadly necessary but well-developed) security protocols created and implemented in partnership with Jewish organizations and law enforcement officials. These precautions are familiar to anyone who has set foot in a Jewish institution in recent decades. The visible presence of security can be a reassurance but also is a reminder of the potential for such an attack for people entering a synagogue for services or a Jewish community centre for a workout or sending their children to a Jewish day school. However, another byproduct of this increase in security and comfort for some Jews is the discomfort and lack of safety these protocols elicit in racialized Jews and others who experience more harm from policing. The answer to the problem of a lack of security cannot only be addressed by ever-increasing security, be it walls, cameras, guards, or bollards.

It is perhaps one of the most enduring cognitive disconnects that, while almost any Jew has, at least in the back of their mind, the potential for attack, whenever such an incident does take place, a seemingly opposite reaction occurs among some non-Jewish observers.

In the Texas case, it was exemplified by Matthew DeSarno, the FBI agent in charge of the case, who, in the midst of the crisis, told media that the perpetrator “was singularly focused on one issue, and it was not specifically related to the Jewish community, but we are continuing to work to find motive.”

Even without knowing the details of the individual perpetrator or his motivations, the idea that an official would insist that an attack on a synagogue is unrelated to the Jewish community is jaw-dropping. Unfortunately, it is a common response.

The most celebrated example was after terrorists in Paris targeted a kosher supermarket in 2015, when then-U.S. president Barack Obama condemned those who “randomly shoot a bunch of folks in a deli in Paris.” If the Islamist terrorists who perpetrated the attacks on multiple Jewish targets that day didn’t know that Hypercacher was a kosher supermarket with a primarily Jewish clientele, it was an incredibly lucky coincidence for them.

This refusal to see explicit attacks on Jews as explicit attacks on Jews may be a psychological phenomenon beyond our realm to unravel. Yet there seems to be some socio-psychological need to search for any alternative explanation than plain old antisemitism when a synagogue or other Jewish institution is attacked.

To be kind, perhaps it is wishful thinking. Decent people might search for a rationale that alleviates the fear that the oldest prejudice is as alive today as ever. More realistically, there is a web of conscious and, probably more commonly, unconscious biases that blind people to the blatantly obvious.

As we learned more about the perpetrator, we discovered that he subscribed to a form of conspiracy thinking that sees Jews as having unparalleled power – in this case, the ability to induce the American government to release an imprisoned terrorist. Nevertheless, because the perpetrator was using Jews as an avenue meet his objectives, rather than being motivated solely by a desire to attack Jewish people, the FBI agent eliminated antisemitism as a motive – a truly confounding perspective from a law enforcement official standing outside a synagogue where Jews were being held hostage.

This reaction happens too frequently to be dismissed as a coincidence. There is something baked into the Western imagination that makes denial and deflection the default response to an attack on Jewish people.

One explanation may be that the very ideas that the Texas assailant held – that Jews are inordinately powerful – although rarely expressed so crudely, is actually held by a large swath of the general public, perhaps leading people to conclude that, no matter what befalls an individual Jew or two, “the Jews,” as a people, still hold all the cards or will be just fine.

Other obfuscations dismiss clear and unequivocal attacks on Jews as mere “political statements” on Middle East affairs. Interestingly, those who sometimes explicitly blame Israel or Israeli policies for overseas antisemitic incidents are playing into another familiar and ancient trope about Jews: whatever befalls them, they have brought upon themselves.

It is never bad advice for Jews to be vigilant about our individual and collective security and each violent attack is a timely reminder. But what we need to see are more non-Jews, especially those in positions of authority, addressing the blindness they have as individuals and institutions to what is, to Jewish eyes, absolutely obvious.

Format ImagePosted on January 28, 2022January 27, 2022Author The Editorial BoardCategories From the JITags antisemitism, Charlie Cytron-Walker, FBI, security, terrorism, Texas

Sadly, not a new experience

Some of us are likely struggling to recover from the hostage-taking event at Congregation Beth Israel in Texas, along with pandemic stress. Perhaps most stressful is that we know a synagogue invasion could happen anywhere, during any service. Most of us figure out where the exits are when we go to synagogue, a Jewish community centre or other Jewish institution. We know the history. We need to be on guard when we gather.

On Jan. 15, we streamed our local congregation’s services to our Winnipeg living room and watched a kid my children knew from elementary school lead services. He was becoming a bar mitzvah. Jewish life continues despite the pandemic.

Antisemitism and traumatic events continue, too. When I realized what was happening in Texas, thanks to Jewish social media, it was hard to look away, even though it was Shabbat. Initially, non-Jewish news reports said there was an “apparent hostage-taking event.” This language was used despite the event being livestreamed. Why wasn’t it “real” from the beginning? Even after the hostages were freed, alive, thank G-d, the FBI didn’t immediately use the word antisemitism or hate.

There was no immediate answer from the FBI on why this person chose a synagogue during Shabbat services. There was a rush in some quarters to discuss why Islamophobia is wrong. Even as the hostage-taker identified his cause as aligned with that of Dr. Aafia Siddiqui, a convicted felon who was outspoken in her antisemitism at her trial, others (including the synagogue president and the FBI) suggested this was a random event. Some articles said the hostages were “detained” – somehow implying they were at fault by being at synagogue on a Saturday morning.

When Jewish leaders, as well as President Joe Biden, Vice-President Kamala Harris and Prime Minister Justin Trudeau spoke about this as an antisemitic act of terrorism, it wasn’t a narrative immediately embraced elsewhere. I found this unsettling. The feeling – of pointing out an issue but not being believed or heard – felt all too familiar. Language and how we tell our stories can twist our understanding of events, and this experience already seemed to be depicted in a way that didn’t ring true.

Certainly, the hostages will be debriefed, the hostage-taker’s family and history will be examined. We’ll learn more about what his motivations might have been. However, my instincts follow that of many Jewish people, as Rabbi Rick Jacobs, Union for Reform Judaism president, told MSNBC, “There’s no doubt that the underlying whole premise … was antisemitism,” he said, “The hostage-taker didn’t go to McDonald’s, didn’t go to some random place, and that is part of the story of antisemitism, to single Jews out.”

Remembering similar recent experiences hasn’t helped. Since the May 2021 war in Israel and Gaza, I’ve spent time reminding myself that I’m not crazy, and that I studied a lot of Middle East history as part of my long-ago undergraduate degree and graduate work. I knew that some of the narratives being touted online about the Israel/Palestine conflict were incorrect and badly mangled interpretations of the relevant history. I was particularly upset by the idea circulating on social media that Israelis were simply “white colonizers” subduing a brown people. This narrative didn’t reflect our thousands of years of history in Israel, nor did it account for the detail that, in fact, more than 50% of Israeli citizens are people of colour.

I recently studied a text in the Babylonian Talmud, Megillah 29A, which brought these issues to mind. It explored where Jews could find the Divine Presence in Babylonia. Rabbis were discussing how to find a holy place in the Diaspora after the destruction of the Temple. Rabbi Abaye says the Divine Presence visits the ancient synagogue in Huzal and the synagogue that was destroyed and rebuilt in Neharde’a. From there, two different stories are told about when the Shechinah, the Divine Presence, made itself known in Neharde’a.

Abaye died in 337 CE. So, we know that nearly 1,700 years ago, synagogues existed where Jewish people went to pray and study, and some of them were ruins that were rebuilt. Our need for holy places of gathering in the Diaspora is not new. Further, according to the stories on this page of Talmud, these places didn’t always feel safe. Sometimes, even the Divine Presence herself, the Shechinah, dropped by and that was frightening – never mind modern-day hostage-takers with guns.

A bit farther down on the page, Rabbi Eleazar haKappar, a late tannaitic rabbi (who lived roughly around 220 CE) suggests that, one day, in the future, all the synagogues and study halls in Babylonia will be transported and reestablished in Israel. Even then, there was a longing for return to Israel. Archeology shows us that Rabbi Eleazar haKappar was a real person, a colleague of Judah HaNasi, who likely spent most of his life in Katzrin. There is a door lintel originally from his beit midrash, his house of study, in the Golan Museum. Found in a mosque in the Golan Heights, its inscription says, “This is the Beit Midrash of Rabbi Eleazar haKappar.”

I felt reassured by reading about the Babylonian synagogues and the longing for Israel that was felt so long ago. Our religious connection to Israel is old. It’s in every synagogue service, every Passover seder, and deep within the Talmud. Our stories are tied to Israel. Despite others’ “versions” of history, the Jewish connection to Israel cannot be made into just a 19th-century European political movement.

Also, like the rabbis, I believe that those who are inclined to do so can feel the Shechinah within ourselves and in our synagogues. Jews and allies prayed world over for the safety of the hostages at Congregation Beth Israel. It would also take the hostages’ training and bravery and the intervention of police and FBI. Many people, including Rabbi Angela Buchdahl in New York, called 911 in the effort to try to help things turn out OK.

The trauma of this experience will linger with the Jewish community of Colleyville, Tex., for a long time. A man with mental health issues was offered shelter in a synagogue and given a cup of tea by Rabbi Charlie Cytron-Walker. That man became an armed hostage-taker. He took Jews as hostages. That rabbi and his congregants bravely handled the situation. The rabbi threw a chair at the right moment – and then, this man died there.

We’ll surely learn more detail over time. Meanwhile, we continue to be on our guard. Our congregations are holy because we come to be inside them. Sometimes, the Shechinah is there, too. This is the powerful story of the synagogues in Huzal and Neharde’a.

The text reminds us that we must keep track of our Jewish identity and narrative. Journalists who call Jews “apparent” hostages or say that Jews were “detained” in their own place of worship and an FBI spokesperson who doesn’t mention antisemitism? This isn’t our narrative. We can’t let it become the history that matters.

We’re People of the Book. We’re a people with a long, well-documented history. This ages-old written and oral history, and even archeological evidence, gives us confidence to believe in who we are and our story. Our words and the way we use them matters, so we must choose carefully. No story is perfect, we are only human. Even so, we should be the ones to tell it and guard it for future generations.

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

Posted on January 28, 2022January 27, 2022Author Joanne SeiffCategories Op-EdTags antisemitism, Charlie Cytron-Walker, FBI, history, hostage-taking, Judaism, Shechinah, Talmud, terrorism, Texas
Horn co-launches book fest

Horn co-launches book fest

Dara Horn and David Baddiel open the Cherie Smith JCC Jewish Book Festival on Feb. 6. (photos from JBF)

Early in her new book, People Love Dead Jews: Reports from a Haunted Present, Dara Horn reflects on a controversy at the Anne Frank House museum in Amsterdam, where an employee who wore a kippa to work was told by his employers to hide it under a baseball cap because it might interfere with the museum’s “independent position.”

“The museum finally relented after deliberating for four months, which seems like a rather long time for the Anne Frank House to ponder whether it was a good idea to force a Jew into hiding,” writes Horn.

The snappy summation is typical of the author’s approach: biting wit in the face of affronts of various dreadfulness. And the affronts pile up, supporting the incendiary thesis of the title.

Horn discusses the world’s interest in Anne Frank’s story, including the insistence on repeating the line from her diary, “I still believe, in spite of everything, that people are truly good at heart.” Leaving aside the fact that Frank wrote these words before she experienced how truly evil at heart some people can be, Horn writes, the line provides a “gift of grace and absolution from a murdered Jew (exactly the gift that lies at the heart of Christianity).”

Horn, who is part of the Feb. 6 launch event for the 2022 Cherie Smith JCC Jewish Book Festival, is a novelist with a PhD in Yiddish and Hebrew comparative literatures. Her take on contemporary antisemitism is suffused with her understanding of how Western audiences expect “coherence” and often an uplifting ending to the stories in our literature or other entertainment.

“Holocaust novels that have sold millions of copies both in the United States and overseas in recent years are all ‘uplifting,’ even when they include the odd dead kid,” she writes. “The Tattooist of Auschwitz, a recent international mega-bestseller touted for its ‘true story,’ manages to present an Auschwitz that involves a heartwarming romance. Sarah’s Key, The Book Thief, The Boy in [the] Striped Pyjamas, and many other bestsellers, some of which have even become required reading in schools, all involved non-Jewish rescuers who risk or sacrifice their own lives to save hapless Jews, thus inspiring us all.”

These uplifting stories, she points out, make up a large chunk of Holocaust-related literature, yet illustrate phenomena that were almost nonexistent during the Holocaust: non-Jews risking their lives to save Jews.

“Statistically speaking, this was not the experience of almost any Jews who endured the Holocaust,” she writes. “But for literature in non-Jewish languages, that grim reality is both inconvenient and irrelevant.”

She summarizes: “Dead Jews are supposed to teach us about the beauty of the world and the wonders of redemption – otherwise, what was the point of killing them in the first place?”

On the subject of non-Jewish rescuers, Horn goes into an extensive exploration of the life of Varian Fry, an American man who worked for the Emergency Rescue Committee, a group of American intellectuals that, beginning in 1940, distributed emergency American visas to endangered European artists and thinkers. What they envisioned rescuing was not so much the individuals themselves, but the very concept of European civilization, which they correctly believed to be in mortal danger from the Nazis. But, rescuing a culture’s greatest artists, writers and thinkers and sequestering them to safety in America, Horn posits, is itself “a sort of eugenics.”

For someone with an explicit distaste for disproportionate attention to rescue stories, Horn devotes a significant chunk in the middle of the book to what amounts to a biography of Fry. As the reader starts wondering how this fits into the larger thesis, Horn points out how the veneration of the more universal European culture for which Fry and his colleagues risked their lives was not extended to the particular Jewish culture that was the expressed target of the Nazis.

“Fry tried to save the culture of Europe, and for that he should be remembered and praised,” Horn writes. “But no one tried to save the culture of Hasidism, for example, with its devotion to ordinary, everyday holiness – or Misnagdim, the opposing religious movement within traditional Eastern European Judaism, whose energy in the years before the war was channeled into the rigourous study of musar, or ethics. Entire academies devoted to the Musar Movement were destroyed, their books burned out of the world, their teachers and leaders and scholars murdered – all the things that everyone feared would happen to the vaunted culture of Europe. No rescue committee was convened on behalf of the many people who devoted their lives and careers to … the actual study of righteousness. For them, there were no Varian Frys.”

Horn notes that, in the 1990s, there was a burgeoning of Holocaust museums and exhibitions all over the United States, including the opening of the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum in Washington, D.C.

“The idea was that people would come to these museums and learn what the world had done to the Jews, where hatred can lead. They would then stop hating Jews.

“It wasn’t a ridiculous idea, but it seems to have been proven wrong. A generation later, antisemitism is once again the next big thing, and it is hard to go to these museums today without feeling that something profound has shifted.”

She suggests that the lesson some people take from these exhibitions is the opposite of what was intended. The idea of the museums is that everyone should learn the depths to which humanity could skin sink, she writes.

“But this has come to mean that anything short of the Holocaust is, well, not the Holocaust. The bar is rather high.”

Therefore, when people are shot in a synagogue in Pittsburgh or San Diego, this is “not the Holocaust” and, presumably, nothing to get too concerned about in the greater scheme of Jewish victimization. Harassing Jewish college students is not the Holocaust. Lobbing missiles at sleeping children in Israeli cities is not the Holocaust. Even hounding ancient Jewish communities out of entire countries and seizing their assets is not the Holocaust. Horn does not mention Martin Niemöller, but she seems to be suggesting that, if “they” are coming for “the Jews,” most people will not speak up until it reaches something akin to the Holocaust, which we may have unwittingly recast not as the endpoint of hatred and antisemitism but as the stick by which the world measures threats to Jewish people.

An antisemitic attack in Jersey City, N.J., provides Horn with insights into how mainstream audiences try to make sense of antisemitic violence.

New Jersey’s flagship newspaper, the Star-Ledger, noted that “the attack that killed two Orthodox Jews, an Ecuadorian immigrant and a Jersey City police detective has highlighted racial tension that had been simmering ever since ultra-Orthodox Jews began moving to a lower-income community.”

Horn points out a few of the factual and logical inconsistencies in the media’s coverage, including that the assailants had never lived in Jersey City, so they weren’t reacting to any state of tension there. Moreover, the community that was attacked was accused of “gentrifying” a “minority” neighbourhood.

“This was remarkable, given that the tiny Hasidic community in question, highly visible members of the world’s most consistently persecuted minority, in fact came to Jersey City, fleeing gentrification, after being priced out of long-established Hasidic communities in Brooklyn,” she writes.

The book concludes rather unexpectedly, not with recipes for solving the contemporary crisis or explicit calls to action, but rather with reflections of her experience with Daf Yomi, the page-a-day, seven-and-a-half-year journey through the Babylonian Talmud. She provides a lovely and succinct explanation of Rabbinic Judaism.

“Until the year 70 CE, Judaism had been centred at the ancient temple in Jerusalem, where worship was mediated through priests offering sacrifices,” writes Horn. “After the Romans destroyed this temple and exiled the people, there was no particular reason for this religion, or even simply this people, to survive in any form. But on the eve of this temple’s destruction, one sage, Rabbi Yochanan ben Zakkai, had himself smuggled out of the besieged city of Jerusalem in a coffin, after which he convinced the Roman general Vespasian to allow him to open an academy for Torah scholars in a small town far from Jerusalem. Both Rabbi Yochanan ben Zakkai and Judaism faked their own deaths in order to survive this cataclysm. The small cadre of scholars in that small town reinvented this religion by turning it into a virtual-reality system, replacing temple rituals with equally ritualized blessings and prayers, study of Torah, and elaborately regulated interpersonal ethics. The sages frantically arguing about when and how to recite which prayers are survivors and descendants of survivors, remnants of a destroyed world. They are anxious about remembering every last detail of that lost connection to God, like mourners obsessing over the tiniest memories of a beloved they have lost. One might expect that this memory would eventually fade, that people would ‘move on.’ Instead the opposite happens. Once the process of memory becomes important, the details do not fade but rather accrue – because the memory itself becomes a living thing, enriched by every subsequent generation that brings new meaning to it.”

Without batting readers over the head, Horn seems to be advocating what Jews have always done – finding meaning, comfort and guidance by interrogating ideas and arguing across centuries with the greatest minds of the tradition. She may be, as she says, “part of a ridiculously small minority that nonetheless played a behemoth role in other people’s imaginations,” but her Daf Yomi practice reminds her that she is far from alone.

“I turn the page and return, carried by fellow readers living and dead, all turning the pages with me,” she concludes.

Horn will be joined at the virtual festival opening Feb. 6, 1 p.m., by David Baddiel, whose book Jews Don’t Count shares themes and emotions with Horn’s. Baddiel’s book, like others in this (sadly) flourishing genre, was reviewed in these pages recently (jewishindependent.ca/ tackling-the-hatred-head-on). They will be in conversation with Marsha Lederman, Western arts correspondent for the Globe and Mail.

For the full book festival schedule, visit jccgv.com/jewish-book-festival.

Format ImagePosted on January 14, 2022January 13, 2022Author Pat JohnsonCategories BooksTags antisemitism, book fest, Cherie Smith JCC Jewish Book Festival, Dara Horn, history, Holocaust, Holocaust literature

Faux freedom fighters

Last week, a cluster of protesters, including at least two medical doctors, demonstrated on the lawn of the B.C. Legislature, reciting the now-boring litany of justifications for putting others at risk by refusing to be vaccinated against the coronavirus.

Griping from anti-vaxxers has become routine online and, for the most unfortunate among us, in family discussions and among friends. Invoking high ideals of freedom and dredging up quotes from great people in history to reinforce their narrative, many anti-vaxxers claim victimhood, driven either by ignorance of science or obstinacy.

What happened at the legislature last week was more galling than other such incidents, however. On a spectrum from the fairly innocuous act of an individual making ignorant remarks on social media to the atrocious behaviour of impeding emergency vehicles and making a ruckus outside hospitals, this one fell somewhere in the middle.

The demonstration was organized by Common Ground, a free distribution magazine originally focused on natural health and wellness but which has lately gone down conspiracy rabbit holes. The most recent issue warns: “Parents – Protect your children.” The sage advice on how to protect your kids includes rejecting the advice of every legitimate medical professional in North America.

There is also a rambling, full-page open letter to B.C. Attorney-General David Eby from anti-gay activist Kari Simpson, who runs  a group called Culture Guard, which seems determined to guard a culture that most of us would prefer to see vanish. A centrefold of the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms, along with multiple calls for the preservation of free speech, position conspiracy theorists as downtrodden voices of reason and goodness pluckily standing up to tyranny.

And here is where the Common Ground crowd goes particularly off course. The demonstration was specifically linked to the 75th anniversary of the Nuremberg trials. The unsubtle messages at the protest were that modern medical experts and those who follow their advice are ideological descendants of the Nazis and those who refuse the vaccines are defenceless voices of righteousness and reason, equivalent to the victims of the Holocaust.

The demonstrators hanged in effigy Health Minister Adrian Dix, Solicitor General and Public Safety Minister Mike Farnworth and Premier John Horgan. The effigies were a nod to the fact that, as a result of the Nuremberg trials, nine Nazi doctors were hanged for their participation in medical experimentation and other atrocities. Common Ground is, and the protest was, rife with assertions that the vaccines are a form of human medical experimentation. As one doctor who addressed the crowd said, the anti-coronavirus vaccines are “the most dangerous injection in the history of vaccination.” Uh-huh.

The invocation of the Holocaust and Nazism has been a pandemic within a pandemic. People have donned yellow stars to portray their perceived victimization and have shamelessly exploited the language and imagery of that epoch.

In an era when cultural appropriation is a cancelable offence, it seems Jewish history remains the ethical equivalent of public domain. Note that the grievous historical experiences of other peoples with traumatic histories are rarely, if ever, trotted out in quite this way.

If privileged, sanctimonious North Americans wanted to find a reason for justifiable indignation, they wouldn’t have to pick at the scabs of Jewish trauma. They could look at the real tragedy and injustice in the world today: global inequality in vaccination status. While many Canadians now expect a third dose, there are 1.4 billion people in Africa and only 7.8% are double-vaxxed.

But why focus on genuine, contemporary atrocities when one can play a victim in the crudest historical reenactment of the Holocaust and, somehow, incredibly, face the mirror and see a freedom fighter?

Posted on December 17, 2021December 16, 2021Author The Editorial BoardCategories From the JITags anti-vaxxers, antisemitism, B.C. Legislature, Common Ground, COVID, health, Holocaust, Nuremberg trials, pandemic, protesters, vaccination

Antisemitism allowed?

An ongoing controversy in Canada’s largest school district took a more bizarre turn this week.

Last spring, the student equity advisor of the Toronto District School Board compiled and released a compendious assemblage he called “resources to educators.” The materials, issued via email by Javier Davila, were a hodgepodge of anti-Israel propaganda, and included outright antisemitic content and the glorification of suicide bombings.

The “resources,” for example, claim that Palestinians “have been legitimately resisting racism, colonization, and genocide since the 1920s to the present day by any means necessary: general strikes, demonstrations, armed struggle, and martyrdom operations (called ‘suicide bombing’ by Zionists).” Davila’s materials also included a link to the website of the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine, a group that is banned in Canada. Bibliographical recommendations include children’s books that characterize Israelis as thieves and murderers.

The materials Davila distributed are intended to guide teachers in educating students about the Arab-Israeli conflict. They were not vetted by senior officials in the school board and, when controversy ensued, Davila was put on leave but then reinstated. Despite the absence of even a slap on the wrist, he moderated a panel in June with the tagline “How can we educate about Palestine if we can’t even say it?”

Not only is Davila free to “say” Palestine, he is also, evidently, free to distribute whatever material he chooses to Toronto teachers. Which brings us to this week.

Alexandra Lulka is a Toronto school trustee who is Jewish and represents a heavily Jewish district of the city.

“I was outraged to discover that some of this material justifies suicide bombings and other forms of terrorism,” she wrote on social media during the conflict in the spring between Israel and Hamas in Gaza. “This is reprehensible. These materials were provided by an employee from the TDSB equity department, the very department that should be countering antisemitism and violence, not fanning the flames.”

The school board’s integrity commissioner investigated Davila’s materials and found they did indeed contain antisemitic content and promote terrorism – and then called for Lulka to be censured because, the commissioner’s investigation declares, it was the purview of the school board, not Lulka, to determine whether the content was unacceptable. The commissioner went further, condemning Lulka for not pointing out positive aspects of Davila’s “resources.”

The Centre for Israel and Jewish Affairs criticized this part of the situation in particular.

“It is astonishingly unreasonable to compel a Jewish trustee calling out Jew-hatred to also highlight positive elements in the resources. The recommendation to censure her for not doing so is misguided and must be rejected,” said CIJA’s vice-president Noah Shack in a statement. “Punishing Trustee Lulka is contrary to the values of an educational institution purporting to engender learning and mutual respect.”

Friends of the Simon Wiesenthal Centre also drew a contrast between what should have happened and what did happen.

“This outrageous process against TDSB Trustee Alexandra Lulka is just the latest manifestation of the institutional antisemitism afflicting the TDSB,” said Jaime Kirzner-Roberts, the centre’s director of policy. “Not only is the investigation and its findings unjust, but it’s ridiculous that the person who calls out a transgression is being punished but the person responsible for the transgression was not.”

We are familiar, by now, with antisemitism being downgraded by the very people who are appointed (or self-appointed) to monitor and combat racism and bigotry. The Toronto case, which presumably will have been decided Wednesday (after the Independent goes to press), is a step beyond. It threatens to condemn the very people who stand up against antisemitism, even as a perpetrator of what the integrity commissioner acknowledges was anti-Jewish racism gets off scot-free.

This outcome is problematic, not only for the potential danger it presents to Jewish students in Canada’s largest school district. It encourages teachers to miseducate students on a sensitive and complex international issue with very real consequences for intercultural harmony here at home.

Editorial Note: After the Jewish Independent went to press, the TDSB voted to not censure Lulka. For the full story, see thecjn.ca/news/alexandra-lulka-tdsb.

Posted on December 10, 2021December 10, 2021Author The Editorial BoardCategories From the JITags Alexandra Lulka, antisemitism, Centre for Israel and Jewish Affairs, CIJA, Friends of Simon Wiesenthal Centre, FSW, Israeli-Palestinian conflict, Javier Davila, Jew-hatred, politics, TDSB, Toronto, Toronto District School Board

Ideas worth the fight

During Chanukah, we celebrate the victory of light over darkness, of the triumph of our values over the hegemonizing ideals and practices of the oppressor.

A crucial part of Jewish tradition is applying the wisdom of the past to the challenges of today. And the world is full of challenges today. One of those closest to home for some of us is the culture and climate at universities. Over the past two decades, we have witnessed growing anti-Israel activity and antisemitism on campus.

Concurrently, a new orthodoxy has emerged, which is viewed by many as an overdue reckoning and by some as ideological overreach. This shift is typified by an intolerance or rejection of ideas that are deemed intolerant or worse. Racism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia and ideological extremism have been targeted by growing numbers of students and faculty, which, on its face, is progress. Even so, issues with this evolution include who is doing the judging, as well as where intolerance of intolerance intrudes on academic growth and ideological diversity, which is the lifeblood of the institutions.

A confounding aspect of campus culture today is that, in an ideal world, anti-Jewish sentiments would be included in the panoply of censured ideas. Instead, too often, the people who are denouncing racism are carving out exceptions in this one instance, as many voices have observed. (David Baddiel’s book Jews Don’t Count was reviewed in these pages recently.)

In a curious development, it has recently been announced that a group of academics, activists and entrepreneurs are set to open a whole new university. The University of Austin, to be soft-launched in Texas next year, intends to be a petri dish for unfettered “academic freedom.”

The historian Niall Ferguson, who is one of the proponents of the new school, has written of the problem they intend to address, using some of the reductive shorthand now deployed in this larger “culture war”: “Trigger warnings. Safe spaces. Preferred pronouns. Checked privileges. Microaggressions. Antiracism. All these terms are routinely deployed on campuses throughout the English-speaking world as part of a sustained campaign to impose ideological conformity in the name of diversity. As a result, it often feels as if there is less free speech and free thought in the American university today than in almost any other institution in the U.S.”

The University of Austin appears to be a product of frustration. The state of campus discourse today is problematic in many ways. But there is a larger principle at stake. If there is a problem in the academy at large, is the solution to pack up one’s books and ghettoize into a whole new school? Around the globe, liberal values are under threat by totalitarianism on both extremes of the political spectrum from left to right. The campus environment reflects and is a contributor to the trends in society, how we relate to one another and ourselves, as well as organize our politics and affiliations. We do not have the ability (yet) to decamp to another planet because of rampant illiberalism on this one. Similarly, while we do have the capacity to segregate ourselves into alternative institutions, is that in any way going to improve the broader issue?

Ironically, the purpose of the University of Austin appears to be to create a space for uncomfortable ideas. But isn’t that precisely what they are running away from? As in so many things in life, we have a choice: flee or stay and fight.

Academia is one of the places where we address, however awkwardly and inconclusively, concerns like power, class, race, gender, legacies of colonialism and many, many more. If the voices of intellectual homogeneity on campus are determined to shelter students from disturbing topics, or to instil in them a uniform, facile response, is it the proper reaction to give them what they want?

It is understandable and tempting to abandon the institutions that betray our values or challenge our identities. It is also understandable and tempting to want to have a whole institution that reflects back our values and reinforces our identities. Neither scenario sits well within Judaism’s long tradition of debate and critical thinking. And neither scenario makes for a healthy society.

Our only reasonable response in life – and especially at supposed institutions of higher learning – is to continue engaging in the battle of ideas, however daunting and hopeless the fight might appear.

Chanukah is but one of the Jewish holidays that teach us miracles can happen – but that they don’t happen on their own. We have an active role to play in this world, and should always be looking for ways to bring light into it.

Posted on November 19, 2021November 18, 2021Author The Editorial BoardCategories From the JITags academic freedom, antisemitism, Chanukah, culture, debate, education, Judaism, Niall Ferguson, politics, University of Austin
Walking through our history

Walking through our history

Left to right: Drew Carnwath, Measha Brueggergosman and Sam Rosenthal are the main creatives behind the podcast The Christie Pits Riot. (photo by John Ebata)

On Aug. 16, 1933, Toronto experienced what is viewed as one of the worst race riots in Canadian history. Earlier this fall, the Hogtown Collective, an immersive theatre company, released a four-part podcast that recreates the events of that summer evening 88 years ago.

The eponymously named podcast, The Christie Pits Riot, is seen through the eyes of its 12-year-old protagonist, Joey Rosenbaum. Created by Sam Rosenthal and Drew Cranwath of Hogtown Collective and set amid the circumstances of the Great Depression, Hitler’s rise to power in Germany and escalating ethnic unrest within Toronto, the series also contains an interactive walking tour through the neighbourhood where the riot took place.

The centre of the conflict is a baseball diamond in Christie Pits Park. Tensions began festering during a playoff between two local teams, the Harbord Playground, consisting mostly of Jewish and Italian players, and St. Peter’s, a club sponsored by a local church. Fights erupted and a full-on riot ensued. There were many injuries, but no fatalities.

The mass brawl, which lasted six hours, started after the final out of the second game of a quarterfinal pitting Harbord against St. Peter’s. Two nights earlier, at the first game, a swastika had been displayed by some fans. In the weeks before these games, troubles in Toronto had been brewing more broadly between some Jewish residents and antisemitic groups, primarily those calling themselves the Swastika Club.

A number of Jewish boys and young men who had heard about the swastika incident at the first game rushed to destroy the swastika unfurled at the end of the second. Supporters of both sides, including the Italians, who supported the Jews, joined in the melee.

In the podcast, narrated by Rosenthal, the listener gets a snapshot of life in the city at the time and follows Joey through his day – running errands for his father’s drugstore – along Bloor Street, near the ballpark.

“We wanted the audience to be able to access this story through an emotional, not just historical, perspective,” Rosenthal told the Independent. “Making our hero a young boy allowed us to show the world from his perspective.

“Exploring the deeper issue of systemic racism and antisemitic behaviour can be challenging,” he added. “Our young hero doesn’t understand hatred the way an adult might, so his character provides a means of asking questions about antisemitic racism. We also wanted a way to keep things rooted in the present simultaneously, so as to be able to draw clear parallels to the same problems and issues” that still exist.

The first three instalments take the audience through Depression-era Toronto, with the final episode coming to a head at the fateful game. When the riot breaks out in the story, we find Joey trying to get his friend Rachel home. They are helped along the way by Nala – voiced by Juno Award-winning soprano Measha Brueggergosman – who encourages Joey to stand up for what he believes.

In addition to providing her vocal talent, Brueggergosman was the podcast’s musical supervisor.

In releasing a theatrical production during the pandemic, the creators spotted a chance to provide audiences with a safe and tangible way to experience where the riot happened via the walking tour.

“To look out at Christie Pits Park and imagine what it would be like being in the middle of 1,000-plus people fighting is a terrifying thought, and so it makes the story land in a more visceral way if one can actually be there while listening in,” Rosenthal said. “Since my grandfather owned a store at the corner of Bloor and Manning, the walking tour is a perfect addition to share some of my family history within the broader scope of this chapter from Toronto’s history.”

Several scenes in the story are situated in the drugstore operated by Rosenthal’s grandfather from the early 1920s until the late 1950s.  Rosenthal’s father, Joseph, grew up in the neighbourhood and worked there. Joseph was born after the riot, and knew about it from his own father.

“My dad shared many stories of being a young boy in a deeply divided antisemitic Toronto,” said Rosenthal. “When he told me there were once signs posted at the Balmy Beach Club that said, ‘No Jews or Dogs,’ and that there were Swastika Clubs in the 1930s, I felt compelled to tell this story. My father and his friends were often brutalized or threatened whilst walking home from school. I wonder how many Toronto residents know this about our city’s past, and why it seems still entrenched in our present.”

Rosenthal’s hope for the production is that younger listeners not only learn that the riot was a dark chapter in Canadian history, but see it as a way to honour previous generations who paved the way for the diverse culture that Toronto is celebrated for today.

The Christie Pits Riot is available online from multiple providers. The Anchor app can be used by anyone interested in taking the guided walking tour through the Toronto neighbourhood where the riot transpired – the app can be found at hogtownexperience.com.

Sam Margolis has written for the Globe and Mail, the National Post, UPI and MSNBC.

Format ImagePosted on November 19, 2021November 18, 2021Author Sam MargolisCategories Performing ArtsTags antisemitism, Christie Pits Riot, history, Hogtown Collective, podcast, Sam Rosenthal, theatre, Toronto, walking tour

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