Tag: history

The rise and fall of a giant

Michael Shamata directs The Lehman Trilogy, which will be at Victoria’s Belfry Theatre from April 23 to May 19. (photo from Belfry Theatre)

From April 23 to May 19, Victoria’s Belfry Theatre will stage The Lehman Trilogy, a three-act play that follows the Lehman family’s story, from three immigrant brothers arriving in the United States in the mid-1800s to the founding of their investment firm, which became a financial giant, then fell.

Michael Shamata, the Belfry’s artistic director, said he knew at once after reading the play that The Lehman Trilogy had to be shown in Victoria. 

“I couldn’t put the script down,” he said. “In literary terms – it’s a ‘page-turner.’ In theatrical terms – it is a stunning high-wire act. Three exceptional actors play three brothers and three generations of the Lehman dynasty. It’s a wild ride: from a tiny store in Alabama to a Wall Street juggernaut – from small-town enterprise to full-on moral corruption.”

The Lehman Trilogy was written by Italian novelist and playwright Stefano Massini. It has since been translated into 24 languages and appeared on London’s West End and on Broadway. In 2022, the show picked up five Tony Awards.

Ben Power, associate director at London’s National Theatre, adapted the play from Mirella Cheeseman’s English translation. Massini’s original work started as a nine-hour radio play before being shortened to a five-hour, three-act theatrical work written in free verse. The length was whittled down again when it hit the London stage under the direction of Sam Mendes and the cast, which once numbered 20, was cut to three.

The tale is remarkable. Lehman Brothers started out as a dry goods store in Montgomery, Ala. The firm grew exponentially, moved to Wall Street and rose to become a corporate behemoth before its demise during the 2008 financial crisis. As the Belfry states on its website, “We view The Lehman Trilogy as an exploration of the American Dream, and ultimately a critique of American capitalism.”

The story of Lehman Brothers, once one of the world’s most esteemed financial institutions, offers a worthwhile glimpse into “this journey which is so emblematic of the evolution of consumerism, capitalism and the American way of life,” notes the Belfry. In its heyday, Lehman Brothers employed 25,000 people. At the time it declared bankruptcy, it was in debt more than $600 billion.

One reason the play is compelling theatre, Ben Power told NPR’s The Indicator from Planet Money in 2020, is that it explores the abstract, as the Lehman company grows into a financial powerhouse by being, essentially, a middleman. Whereas, at one time, a trader might have had to bring goods, such as cotton, to a market to be seen (and touched) by a purchaser, trade on a stock exchange involves no such visibility or tangibility, as goods are traded through companies like Lehman Brothers.

“There is a move into the imagination, a move into metaphor. Instead of having a thing, you just have a word,” Power said. “And I think one of the reasons the story works is that at the heart of all these financial systems is the idea that one thing stands for something else. You get the distance from the actual thing that you are selling and the people’s lives you are impacting when you do that. The more you move into the abstract, maybe, the harder it gets to have a moral framework around what you are doing.”

The Victoria production features actors Brian Markinson (Henry Lehman), Celine Stubel (Mayer Lehman) and Nigel Shawn Williams (Emmanuel Lehman). The three take on the roles of dozens of other characters throughout the play.

“Casting across race, religion and gender highlights the universal seductiveness of both the American Dream and capitalism,” says the Belfry on its website. “In addition, given that the production’s three actors are playing multiple characters – crossing genders, cultures and ethnicities – why should the casting not do the same?”

A Broadway staging of The Lehman Brothers encountered some snags due to the pandemic. The March 26, 2020, official opening at the Nederlander Theatre was postponed and did not reopen until September 2021.

Though widely acclaimed by reviewers, The Lehman Trilogy did not receive universal praise. Writing for The Observer, David Rich called the play “profoundly antisemitic.”

“Not in a crude way – a clumsy turn of phrase here, a jarring stereotype there – but in its innermost essence, connecting a modern audience to malevolent beliefs about Jews and money that are buried deep within Western thought. Most striking of all, none of the people responsible for writing, acting, directing or producing this play seem remotely aware, and most reviews have missed it entirely,” Rich wrote.

The play is the first Jewish-related work to be in the Belfry’s lineup since the cancellation of The Runner late last year. The planned scheduling of that play, about an Israeli ZAKA volunteer, made national headlines after anti-Israel protesters demanded that it not be shown. 

To order tickets for The Lehman Trilogy, go to belfry.bc.ca. 

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

Take a trip back in time 

School girls, Lord Strathcona School, 1915. The JMABC Walking Tours take participants on a journey through the girls’ Strathcona neighbourhood, as well as to the Mountain View Jewish Cemetery, where many of the community’s pioneers are buried. (JMABC L.00172)

This summer, the Jewish Museum and Archives of British Columbia is once again offering opportunities for time travel. JMABC Walking Tours are back, taking guests on an immersive journey into Vancouver’s Jewish past. All you need to bring for the journey is your curiosity – and a hat and water!

The Jewish presence in British Columbia goes back 166 years, to the days before Vancouver was established as a city. Early Jewish immigrants arrived in the region during the 1850s Klondike Gold Rush, along with masses of other hopefuls seeking fortune in the wilderness of the BC Interior. Unlike their contemporaries, early Jewish gold-seekers did not head to the mines. Instead, they opted to sell supplies to those seeking gold. In the mines, there was no guarantee that gold would be found; in the shops, even unsuccessful miners needed provisions, thus guaranteeing an income for the shopkeepers.

The earliest Jewish community in the province was based in Victoria. It was primarily made up of businessmen and their families, who had profited during the gold boom. As the rush petered out, Jewish-owned outfitter shops transformed into general stores or niche market suppliers that specialized in items such as stoves, fabric, dry goods and other essentials, updating their stock as necessary to meet the changing needs of the times. When Vancouver was officially established in 1867, Jewish storefronts in Gastown were among some of the earliest establishments along the main thoroughfare of Water Street.

Eventually, attention in the region turned away from mercantile pursuits and towards the burgeoning real estate market. With the completion of the CPR and the dedication of Vancouver as its terminus station, the railway company began selling off large packages of land that had been taken from Indigenous communities. Real estate investors jumped at the opportunity, and Jewish businessmen were among some of the first investors in what would later become the residential and commercial neighbourhoods of Downtown Vancouver. As the city expanded, surveyor groups purchased large swaths of the forested area to the south, which now comprises the bulk of the City of Vancouver. During this time of growth, Jewish real estate moguls were instrumental in securing space for a Jewish section within the then-newly established Mountain View Cemetery.  

Around this time, the whispers of two core Jewish neighbourhoods sprang up: the West End, where those with more resources and status would settle; and the East Side, where immigrants and other lower-income families would congregate. The latter neighbourhood, Strathcona, was the closest residential area to the hub of the city. While the Jewish community eventually moved towards Fairview Slopes and Oak Street in the 1950s, the Strathcona neighbourhood continues to stand as a testament to the historic challenges and achievements of British Columbia’s early immigrants.

The JMABC walking tours seek to engage audiences in the remarkable structures and values that have contributed to Jewish life here over its history. Each tour introduces participants to the iconic characters, stories and cultural phenomena that formed the Jewish community’s foundations, and it is hoped that participants emerge from each experience with greater insight and new perspectives, inspired to continue building the legacy of the community in Vancouver. 

Jewish Strathcona: The Architecture of Community-Building
(JMABC Walking Tours July 7, July 21 and Aug. 18, at 11 a.m.)

Since the city’s early beginnings, Vancouver’s East Side neighbourhhood of Strathcona has been home to multiple waves of immigrant communities. From the 1880s through the mid-20th century, Jewish immigrants were among the ethnic minorities that claimed these streets as home. As early as the 1850s, these Jewish pioneers were establishing essential services and buildings to accommodate the vision of a thriving Jewish community. 

The JMABC tour of Strathcona highlights the themes of social welfare, family and tradition as cornerstones of Jewish communal development. The tour follows the journey of early immigrants to this area and the paths they took to found and build communal structures and social groups. Through the magic of storytelling, participants are transported back in time and immersed in the experiences of those who laid the groundwork for the expansive Metro Vancouver Jewish community we have today.

Mountain View Jewish Cemetery: Exploring Common Grounds
(JMABC Walking Tours July 14 and Aug. 4, 3 p.m.)

Despite its context and location, this tour is all about life! Like its sister tour in Strathcona, this experience transports audiences back in time to get to know the once-lively personalities of the people buried in the Mountain View Jewish Cemetery. Tour participants are encouraged to engage with the space and explore the unique aspects of the surroundings, looking beyond the façades of stone and dirt to understand the deeper nuances of this historic site. Using an audience-guided model, this tour can be repeated multiple times, with variable content and direction, stemming from three focal themes: the people, the stones and the stories. Each area of focus gives its audience new perspectives on the significance and role of a cemetery as a foundational pillar of Jewish community.

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To join a tour or to book a private one, contact the JMABC office at 604-257-5199 or [email protected]. 

– Courtesy Jewish Museum and Archives of British Columbia

Reflections on Shoah

For 20 years, on the afternoon of Yom Kippur, Prof. Chris Friedrichs delivered a lecture to the congregants of Temple Sholom on the subject of the Holocaust. It started in 2004, when Rabbi Philip Bregman, now rabbi emeritus of the shul, asked Friedrichs to speak on the most solemn day in the liturgical calendar. The rabbi asked him to reprise the lecture the following year, and it became an annual event.

After the 2014 passing of Friedrichs’ wife, Dr. Rhoda Lange Friedrichs, like her husband an historian, Rabbi Dan Moskovitz announced that the presentation would be known as the Rhoda Friedrichs Memorial Lecture. 

photo - Chris Friedrichs
Two decades of Prof. Chris Friedrichs’ Yom Kippur lectures at Temple Sholom have been compiled into a book, Reflections on the Shoah. (photo from Chris Friedrichs)

Friedrichs, now professor emeritus of history at the University of British Columbia, decided to end the tradition after 20 years and his friend and UBC colleague, Prof. Richard Menkis, suggested the idea of compiling the lectures in a book.

The volume, Reflections on the Shoah: Yom Kippur Sermons Given at Temple Sholom 2004-2023 is a small but irreplaceable volume offering deep and original insights on the lessons of history from a leading thinker on these subjects.

In these lectures, Friedrichs does not dwell on the facts of history so much as draw broader insights into their meaning. In 2005, he reflected on the term “martyrs,” which is often used in reference to the victims of the Nazis.

“A martyr is someone who has accepted death rather than renounce his or her Jewish faith,” he said. Yet, he noted, among the six million were many, like the Jewish-born Catholic nun Edith Stein, who were not killed because they refused to renounce their faith. Indeed, he said, renunciation would not bring redemption. It was Jewish “racial” identity, not adherence to Jewish ideas, that drove the Nazis’ murderous objectives.

In an historic sense, though, Friedrichs argues, Jews were murdered in the Holocaust because generations of ancestors had refused, against all pressures, to abandon their identities. “And, therefore, it is in fact right to honour those who died as martyrs,” he said.

In 2007, Friedrichs struggled with theologians’ explorations of the meaning of the Shoah, as though some divine purpose could be discerned from it.

“The Shoah was an entirely human event,” he said. “But that hardly removes the question: where was God while it took place? Why did God allow it to happen?”

God gave humans free will, he concluded, but this does not answer the unknowable question.

“In a world we cannot begin to understand, we can still hope for mercy, and we can pray for strength,” he said.

In a brief postscript to this lecture, Friedrichs writes that the daughter of a friend, having heard the sermon, asked her father “Where was God?” In response, the father said, “Where was man?”

In 2012, Friedrichs spoke of the first Holocaust memorial ever created, in May 1943, in the Majdanek death camp, where a group of prisoners persuaded the SS administrator that the camp could be made more beautiful if they could erect a pillar topped by a statue of three eagles about to take flight. The commandant never knew that under the base of the pillar the inmates had buried a container of ashes of the victims taken from the crematorium.

In 2013, Friedrichs addresses the problem with the very word Holocaust, which means a burnt sacrifice.

“What a meaningless term!” Friedrichs declared. “Six million Jews were sacrificed? Sacrificed to what God? Sacrificed to what end?”

In 2020, when his lecture was recorded and shared virtually because of the pandemic, Friedrichs spoke of the sanctity of life.

The next year, after unmarked graves were discovered adjacent to a former residential school in Kamloops, he spoke of the “humanitarian obligation to go beyond just our circle of Jewish concerns.” He drew parallels between the MS St. Louis, the ship of Jewish refugees turned away from ports of refuge, including Canada’s, and the Afghans clambering through the Kabul airport, struggling to escape the country before the takeover of the Taliban.

In 2022, he invoked a very different piece of history. In high school, his most memorable teacher was Anne Schwerner. When the news came, in the summer of 1964, that three civil rights workers had been murdered by white supremacists in Mississippi, one of them Michael Schwerner, Friedrichs realized this was his favourite teacher’s son. He reflected on the lessons of obligation to universal freedom and rights embodied in Jewish tradition.

image - Reflections on the Shoah book coverIn his last lecture in the series, Friedrichs spoke of how, when he speaks to audiences of high school students, as he frequently does, he makes the lessons relevant to young, multicultural Canadians.

“I tell the students that it is normal to dislike somebody because that person, as an individual, is bad or unkind or unpleasant,” he said. “But to dislike or hate somebody not because of their own characteristics but because they happen to belong to a group, to hate them just because they are Chinese or Filipino or South Asian or Black or members of any other group, is to take the first step on a path that has led and could lead again to things like the Holocaust.”

In most of his lectures, Friedrichs describes predations that are difficult to read and must have been more difficult to hear on a Yom Kippur afternoon, in a room that includes survivors of precisely such atrocities. This, though, is one of the invaluable aspects of Friedrichs’ approach. Whatever reservations might exist in this time of safe spaces and trigger warnings, one can hardly make the case that it is too burdensome to listen to a few examples of the barbarism for the sake of education, memorialization and understanding, when there are people in our community, including in the congregation Friedrichs was addressing, who experienced the cruelties themselves.

Anyone who heard these lectures when they were delivered, or has heard any of Friedrichs’ many presentations elsewhere, can hardly help but hear his deep voice and commanding delivery while reading his words. Those who haven’t had the privilege of hearing him speak are fortunate to have these lectures compiled in this new book.

Reflections on the Shoah is available at templesholombc.shulcloud.com/form/reflections. 

Many invaluable contributions

Harley Rothstein has just released a three-CD compilation of Jewish music and secular folk songs. (photo from harleyrothstein.ca)

A little over a year ago, my friend and musical colleague Harley Rothstein – cantor, songwriter, folk singer – shared with me his freshly minted three-CD compilation of both Jewish music and secular folk songs. The recordings, several years in the making, are Modim: Songs of Spirit and Gratitude; Songs of Love and Humanity: Folk Songs of Fifty Years, Volume I; and Songs of Love and Humanity: Folk Songs of Fifty Years, Volume II.

Before getting into more “nuts and bolts,” let me say something well understood by all hardworking creatives: the life of an artist is, in a very real sense, an act of service to the community in which they live. This contribution to the community is what stands the test of time, and Harley Rothstein is undoubtedly one such indefatigable contributor, an artist who has dedicated himself to serving the community in which he lives, and sharing his work unselfishly. The compilation under discussion here is only the most recent of the many invaluable gifts of music Harley has given us over the years.

As many readers may know, Harley is a scion of the philanthropic Rothstein family; indeed, his parents are the benefactors of the Norman and Annette Rothstein Theatre. So, he comes by “service to the community” quite honestly.

Harley Rothstein has been singing since the age of 6, and he learned to play the guitar at age 18. Since then, he has played and performed folk songs in many locales – from Vancouver’s Bunkhouse coffeehouse in 1965 to the Princeton Traditional Music Festival from 2016 to 2019, and numerous other venues and occasions in between. He was inspired by a trip to New York’s Greenwich Village coffeehouses in 1965 and to the Berkeley Folk Festival in 1966. 

Harley also played in rock bands in the late 1960s, taught elementary music and university-level music education from 1975 to the early 1990s, and sang for 10 years in the 150-voice Vancouver Bach Choir. He studied Jewish liturgical music with several cantorial teachers and has led congregations in synagogue services for 40 years. Harley has led many sing-alongs at political and social gatherings.

Harley’s musical contributions to local Jewish life have included years of performing, teaching and mentoring others who wish to lead services. He regularly conducts services at Or Shalom and Beth Israel, and has recorded a seven-CD set of instructional recordings, which are on the Beth Israel website.  

Now to the music at hand. On Modim: Songs of Spirit and Gratitude, Harley’s meticulous work makes accessible a raft of songs for the Jewish community, for prayer and for simple enjoyment. There is a variety of offerings – a klezmer song, two songs in Ladino, and two Israeli folk songs from the 1950s. The majority of the songs are prayers from the siddur, set to music composed by pioneer songwriters such as Shlomo Carlebach and Debbie Friedman, as well as contemporary songwriters including Hanna Tiferet Siegel, Myrna Rabinowitz, David Shneyer, Jeff Klepper and Dan Freedlander, plus five of Harley’s own compositions. Harley notes: “I focus on these because all of these writers have inspired a whole new repertoire of contemporary Jewish spiritual music.”

Indeed, the music of the synagogue has been transformed by contemporary songwriters, like Harley, who, over the past generation or so have introduced the melodic and harmonic sensibilities of North American folk song into congregational song. Harley’s compositions reflect this line of creative work, and are part of a revival, for many, of a Judaism that is closer to the people, enabling all attendees to participate in services in a meaningful way. This folk music thread serves as a common sinew running through the entire three-album project. 

The Songs of Love and Humanity: Folk Songs of Fifty Years recordings are a unique compilation of folk music that, I hope and expect, will help a younger generation become aware of the significant thoughts and hopes of their forebears. This in itself, apart from being an authentic and loving look back upon the artist’s personal musical history, makes the project irreplaceable. I salute Harley for his singular dedication.

The two CDs of folk songs are comprised of numerous pieces, 32 in all, which cover a truly large sweep of folk music history. Being Harley’s contemporary, I recognized many of these songs, but there were some that I was not aware of, or only dimly so, such as those that make up the track “Union Medley,” for example, and the rare gem “Toy Gun,” a 1960s antiwar song. There are classics by Woody Guthrie (“Blowing Down the Road”; “Hard Travelin’”), Bob Dylan (“Don’t Think Twice It’s All Right”; “I Shall Be Released”) and Pete Seeger (“God’s Counting On Me God’s Counting On You”). And other heroes of folk music are well represented – Tom Paxton, Ian Tyson, Gordon Lightfoot and Stan Rogers, among others. It’s a heady mix of work and labour songs, spirituals, political songs from the 1960s and Canadian songs. Harley says, “the unifying theme was that each song has been important to me in my career of over 50 years. This is why I refer to the recordings as a ‘legacy project.’”

Regarding the production elements, I really loved the focus on voice as foreground, unfettered by excessive tech. The songs are thus presented as primary and the accompaniment is just that, in support. It is also evident that these songs have been loved by the artist for many years, and one can hear this in his renditions. On Modim: Songs of Spirit and Gratitude, check out Harley’s own settings of “Yosheiv B’seiter” (“Dwelling in the Shelter of the Most High”), “Luley He’emanti” (“Mine is the Faith”) and the titular piece “Modim” (“We Give Thanks to You”). On Songs of Love and Humanity, I was delighted by his renditions of “Pack Up Your Sorrows,” “Follow the Drinking Gourd” and “Blowing Down the Road,” among many others. Throughout the recordings, Harley’s lyric baritone voice is always a pleasure to listen to.

Included with each CD is an informative booklet, with texts and backgrounders for all the songs. To find out more about the recordings, how to purchase them digitally or in hard copy, visit harleyrothstein.ca. 

Moshe Denburg is a Vancouver-based composer, bandleader of the Jewish music ensemble Tzimmes, and the founder of the Vancouver Inter-Cultural Orchestra (VICO).

The story of my mother’s narrow escape

In February, I attended the Canadian première of the movie 999: The Forgotten Girls, directed by Heather Dune Macadam, who also wrote the book on which it is based, 999: The Extraordinary Young Women of the First Official Transport to Auschwitz. Screened at the Rothstein Theatre, the documentary was presented by the Vancouver Jewish Film Centre.

image - poster for the film 999: The Forgotten Girls
Watching the film 999: The Forgotten Girls prompted Dr. Helen Karsai to write about her mother’s last-minute escape from the “work assignment” that had some of her friends taken to Auschwitz, where most were killed.

This is a brilliantly made movie, which combined clips from home movies, historic film footage and photos, interviews with survivors and others, Slovak folk songs, and more. The movie explained how the Hlinka Guards (Slovak militia) rounded up young, unmarried Jewish girls from small towns in eastern Slovakia. The Jewish girls from the city of Humenné were put on buses and transported to the city of Poprad, where they were put into military barracks. On March 25, 1942, when the number of girls reached 999, they were put into a cattle-car train and left Poprad and their native Slovakia for an “unknown destination.” The train went into the Third Reich for “volunteer work.” This was the first transport to Auschwitz. Most of these girls died there.

I heard a similar story from my mother, Klara (Tamara) Kulkova, who was born in northern Slovakia, in the town of Zilina. She remembered that, in the summer of 1940, she attended a Jewish camp of the Maccabi movement, and that she enjoyed that summer very much with her classmates and some older girls. She fondly remembered these days as being full of fun and laughter.

Then came the years of repression for Jews. They were not allowed to go to school or summer camp. In March 1942, my mother heard from her friends that they had received a letter, which summoned them to volunteer for a work assignment. She asked her parents for permission to volunteer, too.

At the time, nobody had any idea where these Jewish girls were going. For some reason, my mom’s father was not suspicious, despite that he had, by this time, given away his Ripper liquor-producing business to a Slovak employee for the company to continue functioning and given up the family’s spacious middle-class apartment, as Jews were forced to live in smaller accommodations. He gave my mom permission to go with her friends. So, my mom and her parents went to the gathering place in Zilina. The Hlinka Guards read the names of the invited girls and my mom’s name was not on the list. At this point, my mom asked a guard if she could join. He said, “Well, you are already here, I will add your name and you can come with your friends.”

The boys who had also been in the Maccabi summer camp decided to come help the girls with their luggage. My mom mentioned Duri Singer and I met Martin Schpitzer, who told me that the boys felt fear for the fate of these girls. They asked the guards in charge of these Jewish girls, where is this transport going? They got no answer. They also asked how long the working assignment would be, and again they did not get any answer, only smiles from the guards.

The train arrived in Poprad and the girls went into a military barrack. My mom remembers that her cousin, Erika Tellemanova, was with her, as well as some friends: Dita Linksova, Rosa Scheinbergerova, Iluska Weilova, Zuzka Policerova and Anika Grossmanova. She recalled that the military barrack did not have toilets. There was a hole in the ground, called a Turkish toilet, which they had to use. They slept on hay, on one side was Erika Tellemanova and on her other side was Rita Brownova. They stayed there for a few days, waiting for more girls to arrive from other towns, as the train out of Slovakia was, in my mom’s memory, to have around 1,000 unmarried Jewish girls on it.

In the meantime, after the boys returned, Duri Singer went straight to my grandparents and insisted that my grandfather try to get my mother out of the transport. My grandfather, Leon Kulka, listened. He then went to his lawyer and they traveled to the capital city of Bratislava, to the department of the Hlinka Guards. They met the head of the transport department and explained that they had not received a response about their application for “economically needed Jews” to be exempted from the deportations. They asked for my mom to be released and their request was granted. A telegram was sent from Bratislava to Poprad to release my mom.

My grandfather went back to Zilina and filled up his car with liquor, then traveled to Poprad to get my mother. The head of the camp said this was the first request he had received to release somebody and suggested that my grandfather take my mom and leave quickly. There was the possibility that some other Hlinka Guard would object to the release. Of course, all the liquor was left for the guards in the camp. Much later, my mom understood that the day after she left was the third transport of Jewish girls from Poprad to Auschwitz concentration camp.

After all this happened, my grandparents decided to send my mom away from Zilina, and she became a babysitter to her niece, Maya Berger, in the town of Sučany.

It took many years for my mom to be able to tell me about March 1942. It was only after the Second World War that the fate of the women transported became known. My mom lost her good friends, so she was only able to add very slowly some details about this tragic time in her life. 

Helen Karsai is a retired medical doctor, who used to work at BC Cancer Agency. In the 1980s, she was a co-chair of the Western Association of Holocaust Survivors, Families and Friends. Her previous printed article was “Secrets of My Native Town,” published in the Spring 2022 Zachor, the magazine of the Vancouver Holocaust Education Centre.

Immersed in animation

Alex Greenberg’s family experience drove his work for the Dallas Holocaust Museum. (photo from Alex Greenberg)

It was a winding road for Alex Greenberg to become head of animation at a leading creative technology firm in Vancouver. 

Born in Moldova, Greenberg and his family made aliyah in 1990, when he was 11 years old. After a “pretty regular childhood” in Israel, high school graduation, military service and a bit of travel around the world, Greenberg settled down to study animation.

“Unfortunately, two months into school, the director of the school took the money and split,” he said. “My luck. All the money was gone, the money I got from my [military] service.”

He started looking for schools in Canada and the United States where he could continue his studies. He discovered the Art Institute of Vancouver and moved here, by himself, in 2003.

Fast-forward … Greenberg is immersed in immersive technology. As head of animation for ngx Interactive, he has his finger in many projects – including one that shares the testimonies of Holocaust survivors and which, of everything he has worked on, is closest to his heart.

Founded more than two decades ago in Vancouver, ngx’s 80 or so employees, according to the company’s website, help clients “reimagine what’s possible in physical and digital spaces.”

“We work with four main sectors,” said Greenberg. 

The museum sector is a big one. The company took part in a major re-envisioning of the National Portrait Gallery in London, UK. It reopened last year featuring 41 multimedia exhibits, including an artificial intelligence-powered portrait experience, an animated projection wall featuring some of the gallery’s most stunning portraits, interactive touch screens, and documentary films produced by ngx.

The medical sector is another area and, if you have ever taken your kids or grandkids to BC Children’s Hospital, you may have seen the interactive aquarium ngx developed for the emergency room so that young patients and their families have something to take their minds off the stressful reasons for their visit.

A third area is themed attractions, which have engaged audiences in such diverse spaces as Vancouver’s Science World, SeaWorld Abu Dhabi, Jurassic World in Beijing and the Canada Pavilion at Expo 2020 in Dubai.

Their corporate and institutional work, another core area for ngx, includes an interpretive exhibition in the pharmaceutical sciences building at the University of British Columbia, where visitors explore the world of health, and a project for Roche Canada, in the Toronto area, where the global pharmaceutical company has an interactive space for employees to engage with the Roche brand story.

Other projects help visitors explore cultural institutions like the Citadel Heritage Centre in Halifax, Indigenous cultural storytelling at Wanuskewin Heritage Park in Saskatoon, and interpretive exhibits about nature at Wind Cave National Park in South Dakota.

Greenberg’s specific role in ngx projects is lighting and look development.

“When you are working on a project, there’s a certain style to it, lighting, a certain mood, something that will convey the story,” he said. “We don’t just create these experiences to make them look cool. There’s a lot of thought that is being put behind them, thinking about the colours and thinking about the movement and [in the case of the BC Children’s Hospital virtual aquarium] how kids are going to interact with it to help them relax.” 

In his seven years with the company, one project stands out among the rest for Greenberg.

Visitors to the Dallas Holocaust Museum, in Texas, enter a room that transforms into a home in eastern Europe at the start of the Holocaust. Survivors share their testimonies as the home becomes no longer a refuge but a backdrop for the projection of scenes of atrocities. Then the screen rises and a holographic version of a survivor engages with the audience.

Hundreds of hours of interviews with survivors using 360-degree cameras allow for the realistic perspective of meeting these individuals in person. The project, called Dimensions in Testimony and developed in partnership with Steven Spielberg’s USC Shoah Foundation, introduces school groups and other museum visitors to a different survivor and their experiences each week of the year.

“This was one of the most impactful projects that I ever worked on,” Greenberg said. “You feel like you’re sitting in their living room. As you hear the story, the room begins to change. Lights going off, you hear marching of the boots outside, the rooms become slowly, almost unnoticeably dilapidated, just to show that the people were driven out of their homes and these homes are left with nothing but memories and a few photographs.

“After that introduction, the screen goes up and there’s a hologram production of that survivor. That’s the technology that the USC [Shoah] Foundation has developed. You can ask a question – for example, ‘What was your favourite sport when you were little?’ – and that would trigger a story where the survivor will be talking about where he used to play soccer with his friends when they were little.”

The project was close to home for Greenberg, whose grandfather lost his entire family in the Shoah.

“There was a big part of me in that experience,” said Greenberg. “I can tell and I can educate other people, people that are coming to this museum and people around the world that still don’t know what the Holocaust is, don’t know what a genocide is. It’s almost like I was telling my story.” 

To heal a fractured campus

Last November, I interviewed my grandmother for an oral history project – one I had been meaning to do for a long time – about her experience surviving the Holocaust. As the grandson of two Holocaust survivors, I can affirm the reality of intergenerational trauma. Yet, as I listened to her story, I realized she was teaching me valuable, timeless lessons which the University of British Columbia community can apply on campus. That is why I am obligated to share her story – so that we avoid repeating the mistakes of the past. 

My grandmother was 13 years young when her parents and most of her family were taken away from her and deported, either to be shot on their way to Bergen-Belsen or exterminated in the gas chambers of Auschwitz. My grandmother, my safta (as I call her in Hebrew), was a little girl, orphaned, vulnerable and left all alone. She had every right to be bitter and resentful, to identify herself as a perpetual victim and to rightfully blame the Nazis for her suffering. But she did not.

She could never forgive nor forget the evil perpetrated by the Nazis. However, with this in mind, she had to move on with her life. The way she redeemed tragedy was not to define herself as the victim of the past, asking, “Who did this to me?” but rather by taking responsibility for the future, asking, “Given these circumstances, how can I help to put this situation right?”

This is the greatest eternal lesson I have learned from my grandmother and all the Holocaust survivors I have met: never internalize a victim mentality. Otherwise, you will not only become consumed with hate but also enslaved to the past. As the late chief rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks once said, “To be free, you have to let go of hate.”

My grandmother took the negative energy and elevated it toward a higher purpose: toward marrying my grandfather, toward raising a family, toward giving back to her community. Her all-encompassing identity, attitude and purpose in life has been not based on the hate of others. Rather, her identity is based on the love of her fellow Jews, of being grateful for her heritage and everything else she had. 

“No one can make you feel inferior without your consent,” Eleanor Roosevelt once said. There was one thing from my grandmother that even the Nazis could never take away: her will to be proudly Jewish. 

UBC campus today

For my grandmother, the Hamas massacre that took place on Oct. 7, 2023, triggered painful memories from the Holocaust. “Never again,” the lesson we learned from the six million Jews murdered, has now become “ever again.”

The amount of toxic hate I have seen on my campus (and other universities as well) since Oct. 7 has been both disheartening and overwhelming. From disrespectful comments on social media posts, to provocative posters on campus demonizing the other side, to verbal and physical harassment of students, there is a small, yet vocal, minority of students who create a highly flammable atmosphere on campus. 

At UBC, I have witnessed students chanting the phrase “globalize the intifada,” a term that has historically been used in the context of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict not for “peaceful resistance,” but for terrorizing Jews with suicide bombings, shooting attacks, stabbings and other means of armed violence. I have witnessed students blacklisting other students because they do not agree with their opinions. I have witnessed students rudely spamming hateful comments (which are now taken down) on UBC’s social media page to take advantage of International Holocaust Remembrance Day to push a political message. When I hear that “hate has no place on campus,” I unfortunately continue to observe the opposite.

This is the reason why I dropped my Middle East studies minor. Every time I walked into the classroom, the negative energy was palpable. I was walking on eggshells bringing up my Jewish identity or even mentioning the word “Israel.” Every day, I had to hide my kippa under my hat so that my classmates with different viewpoints would not identify me as Jewish and publicly shame me. In short, I did not feel welcome.

At a university, a safe space should not be a place where you are protected by those with whom you agree from those with whom you disagree – that is called groupthink. Rather, a safe space should be a place where you make space for those who disagree with you so that each can listen to the other with respect.

Whether or not you agree with Israeli, Jewish, Palestinian, Arab, Muslim or any other claims, there is no justification whatsoever to scream, silence or slander those with whom you disagree. Right now, the university needs more civility and calm for all students. 

Yes, we must acknowledge that there are significant casualties on both sides of the conflict. Yes, we must acknowledge each other’s suffering. At the very least, we can all agree that every human life is sacred with equal dignity.

While we cannot control external circumstances halfway across the world from us, we can control how we respond to it. We can choose to wallow in misery and demonize the other (asking “Who did this to me?”), or we can take action to recognize each other’s suffering and elevate it to something positive (asking “Given these circumstances, how can I help to put this situation right?”).

Now, how do we do that?

Listening, not labeling

Opening yourself up to someone whose colour, culture, class or creed is different from yours can seem daunting. In an age of echo chambers, filtered media and narrowcasting, we all have a tendency to tune in to that which aligns only with our own viewpoint, while tuning out others. However, it is precisely the people not like us that make us grow. 

From clubs tabling on campus to classmates sitting next to you, there are plenty of opportunities to actively seek out diverse perspectives. We need to learn how to listen for the sake of learning, not labeling.

If one has a monopoly on the truth, then why bother listening to others? Because, as a mystical Jewish saying goes: “A full vessel cannot receive.” It is only by acquiring humility, the sense of opening ourselves up to something beyond ourselves, that we realize our own perspective is merely one finite fragment of an infinitely fractured truth. Thus, I’ve reflected on three ideas worth sharing.

First: there is no justice for any person or people without listening to the other side.

Second: true peace, in our relationships with others and toward ourselves, comes as a result of active listening.

And third: in the words of C.S. Lewis, “Humility is not thinking less of ourselves, but thinking of ourselves less.”

Listening to the other is the first step toward recognizing the “dignity of difference.”

The antidote to hate

Hate, like COVID-19, is a virus. Viruses do not distinguish between different types of people, but rather fester and grow into an infectious force that threatens us all. Historically, for example, the Nazi regime may have started with targeting Jews, but it didn’t end with Jews. Nazis also targeted Roma, Sinti, LGBTQIA+, people with disabilities and political dissidents. Hate knows no bounds. 

With this in mind, I offer three practical suggestions for what each of us can do on an everyday level to bring more hope to campus – and perhaps other places.

First, take a moment to unplug your AirPods or headphones. Just do it! Whether it’s while sitting on the bus or walking on campus, withdraw from your isolated world for five minutes and acknowledge someone you don’t know by saying hello with a genuine smile. Give them your full, undivided attention and start a friendly conversation. Humanizing starts with acknowledging the other.

Second, take a class from a perspective you have never heard from before. I am a history major. I had never considered taking an environmental history course before simply because I was not interested. But it is precisely for this reason that I am taking the course. Now, I realize how I could see my preexisting knowledge and interests from a new, oblique angle I would never have seen otherwise.  

And third, follow social media accounts of people with different viewpoints from your own. Just like our earbuds, we are constantly using our phones. Every time we open Instagram or Twitter, we are training ourselves to focus on our interests and are quick to judge other accounts as not worth our time. Instead of judgment, be curious and interact with accounts to train yourself to learn from others, not label them.  

We are first and foremost a community, of students and professors, of friends and family, of human beings with human emotions. Divided, we are more susceptible to hate. United, however, we have the potential to become force multipliers of hope over hate.   

Each one of us should ask ourselves: Are we taking actions to further fracture our world, or heal it?

If we are to heal our fractured world, we must first recognize that each and every one of us has the power and influence to turn negative energy into positive energy, just like my grandmother did. If she could continue to spread light after going through the darkest chapter in human history, how much more so can every one of us dispel the darkness of hate by becoming beacons of light in our communities at UBC and elsewhere.

It all starts with one positive thought, one friendly compliment, one good deed. 

It all starts with you. 

Eitan Feiger is a fourth-year history student and the vice-president and treasurer of the University of British Columbia’s Chabad Jewish Student Centre. This article was originally published in the Ubyssey.

Exploring Jamaica’s Jewish history

Congregation Sha’are Shalom in Kingston, Jamaica. (photo from Jamaica Tourist Board)

It was a muggy Friday afternoon just hours after my family and I had touched down in Jamaica for a two-week vacation, and the plan was to attend evening services at Kingston’s only synagogue, Congregation Sha’are Shalom. Too tired to argue, my kids and spouse changed clothes, we squashed six into the rental car and ventured into the city.

Though we knew the stately synagogue on Kingston’s Duke Street had been there since 1912, it still felt surprising to go inside and find eight members of the tribe leading a Shabbat service. The two-level synagogue is a magnificent piece of architecture, with a majestic, mahogany aron hakodesh filled with Torah scrolls from other Jamaican synagogues that closed or merged over the years. The ground floor is composed of sand, making this one of just five sand-floored synagogues worldwide. One story says the sand hearkens back to when Jews were worshipping in basements in Spain and Portugal, during the Inquisition, and sandy floors silenced their footsteps. Another legend says the sand is there as a reminder that we should multiply like sand on the seashore. 

Sha’are Shalom has space for at least 300 congregants, but when we arrived, there were just the eight locals and the six of us. The deep, sonorous baritone of one member, who led the service from the mahogany bimah, filled the air with a spiritual melody and, above us, ceiling fans whirred, adding a reprieve to the humid evening. From the bimah, Stephen Henriques, the spiritual leader, spoke of the dispersal of Kingston’s Jewish community over the past four decades, adding that many of today’s members are interfaith. “Still, we are here, celebrating and living our Jewishness, as we have done for centuries,” he said.

We were warmly welcomed to the service, and happily joined in a kiddush of grape juice, challah and sweet Jamaican coco bread. I tried to imagine a time when the synagogue was brimming with Jews, its walls resonating with children’s laughter, congregants’ prayers and Jewish possibilities. There were times like this, but they happened many, many years ago.

Jamaica was occupied by the Spanish from 1494 until 1655. During that time, Jews from Spain and Portugal began trickling onto the island. With the Spanish Inquisition underway, those Jews became Marranos, practising their faith in secret. In 1655, when the British occupied Jamaica, Jews were able to practise their faith without secrecy, but they weren’t completely free from discrimination. Between 1690 and 1740, a “Jew Tax” was levied and only in 1831, the year of the largest slave rebellion in the country, were Jews allowed to vote and participate fully in public life. 

photo - Jewish businessman George Stiebel (1821-1896) was Jamaica’s first Black millionaire, in 1881
Jewish businessman George Stiebel (1821-1896) was Jamaica’s first Black millionaire, in 1881. (photo by CoCoLumps / wikimedia)

Jews had been quietly involved for years before that, but they embraced this opportunity with gusto. By 1849, eight of the members of Jamaica’s House of Assembly were Jewish. George Stiebel, a Jewish businessman who made his fortune in gold mining in Venezuela, was the country’s first Black millionaire, in 1881. He built Devon House, one of the country’s flagship mansions and a national monument today. 

We continued to nibble on coco bread in the Jewish Heritage Centre adjacent to the synagogue, wishing we had more time to peruse the walls, where there is lots of historical data on Jewish contributions to the island. It was dark by the time we left, so we didn’t have time to see the memorial garden, where tombstones dating back to the 18th century have been relocated.  

A few days into our stay, we left Kingston for Ocho Rios and Montego Bay on the north coast. When the sun shone, we explored Jamaica’s beaches, relishing the feel of the warm water on our skin. When the rain came pouring down, we drove to neighbouring parishes to explore small towns.

One such drive took us to Falmouth, a small town whose poverty and neglect is loudly revealed in its deeply potholed roads and dilapidated homes and buildings. Coming, as we did, from an all-inclusive resort just 20 minutes away, the disparity between the two environments was glaring. 

But it wasn’t always this way. The Jewish cemetery in Falmouth is filled with the graves of Jewish merchants who dominated the once-flourishing trade here in the 19th century. When I announced we were making a stop at the cemetery, there was a collective groan from the back of the car. “We went to synagogue – now we have to visit dead Jews?” my son asked. As my husband valiantly navigated through potholes the size of small swimming pools, I tried to explain how a cemetery could be a fascinating place to explore history. 

Though we were probably only a stone’s throw away from the cemetery, we never made it. After one particularly large pothole, and another ahead that threatened to drown the rental car, a decision was made. “I love you, sweetheart, but I just don’t want to get stuck out here,” my husband declared.

I couldn’t blame him.

Drive around Jamaica and safety is not a feeling that comes easily. For one, the drivers overtake with such reckless disregard for life that road accidents always feel imminent. For another, the looks you get from some locals leave your Spidey sense tingling with fear. Leave the resorts and there are few warm welcomes from the community at large it seems, with the exception of those who have something to sell. Jamaica is known for its violence, with a rate of 52.9 homicides per 100,000 people, as compared to Canada’s, at 2.5.

We turned around and headed back to the resort, where staff sweep trash off the beach daily, and food and booze are readily available day and night. Moving between the pool and the ocean, it didn’t take long to relax. As the mojitos flowed, though, my mind kept returning to those tenacious Jews who arrived in Jamaica hundreds of years ago. They came with sand in their shoes and buckets of determination to pursue their religion and build success in a new land. I wondered what they’d say if they could see Jamaica today. 

Lauren Kramer, an award-winning writer and editor, lives in Richmond. 

Drama & more at film fest

Yoav Brill’s documentary Apples and Oranges, about a moment in the history of the kibbutz movement, is mesmerizing. (photo by Avraham Eilat)

The 2024 Vancouver Jewish Film Festival takes place in person April 4-14 and online April 15-19. As usual, a diversity of offerings is included in this year’s festival and the Independent will review several films in this and upcoming issues. The Vancouver Jewish Film Centre also sponsors events throughout the year and some screenings take place before the annual festival begins. Full festival details will be online at vjff.org as April approaches.

Idealism remembered

Amid the euphoric aftermath of the 1967 war and the enduring popularity of the 1958 Leon Uris book Exodus (and its 1960 film incarnation), thousands of Jews and non-Jews descended on Israel to volunteer on kibbutzim.

They came to experience and emulate “the embodiment of man’s highest ideals – the kibbutznik,” as an apparently promotional film clip declares in Yoav Brill’s mesmerizing documentary Apples and Oranges. In just one particular spurt, 7,000 volunteers arrived in Israel en masse from around the world.

Through the recollections of aging Scandinavians, Brits, South Africans and others, and with nostalgia-inducing archival footage, the documentary shines a light on the socialist idealism and hippie adventurism that motivated these people to travel to the farming communities of rural Israel. Many returned, to Sweden, Denmark, wherever, and formed associations to support the kibbutzim and drum up more volunteers. So successful were they that the supply exceeded the demand. One group chartered a jumbo jet to go from Stockholm to Tel Aviv but the Israelis had to admit they had no use for 340 volunteers.

Generally, the spirit of the overseas visitors was welcomed, though the social impacts were not negligible. The temporary nature of their visits was disrupting. A middle-aged man reflects on his perspective as a kid on a kibbutz, welcoming all the strangers who became like big brothers and sisters, only to have his heart broken every time the groups departed from what he calls “the kibbutz fantasy.”

Strangers from another world – blond, exotic, sophisticated and drinking milk with their meals – descended on a cloistered society where all the teens had been together since kindergarten, introducing predictable social and hormonal disruptions. For their parts, many of the volunteers soon discovered they had no aptitude for the tasks to which they were set, although at least one Brit made use of his talents performing Shakespeare for an audience of cattle.

Many of the overseas youngsters were unabashedly out for sex, drugs and rock ’n’ roll. As one woman interviewed in the documentary says, “If there weren’t female volunteers at [Kibbutz] Mishmar HaSharon, many of our boys would still be virgins.”

In one incident that apparently caused national outrage, a group distributed hashish-laden brownies to an entire community, including at least one 8-year-old child, a crime that is not the least bit funny – but, of course, is hilarious when recounted by octogenarians who experienced it. 

With their Cat Stevens and Bob Dylan LPs, the foreigners brought a little bit of Woodstock with them, and took away some Israeli dance routines. But the adventure, as the viewer knows more than do the figures in the old footage, would not end well. Terrorism, including a highly publicized attack in which a volunteer was murdered, would strangle the flow of future volunteers.

The documentary is a masterpiece of the genre, capturing the joy and exuberance of the experience for both Israelis and the visitors, but addressing the serious problems the interactions raised. The clash of cultures introduced existential issues, including around conversion, mixed marriages, secularization and, of course, the collapse of the traditional kibbutz. 

The apples and oranges of the title, we are to understand, are the people who came together on the kibbutzim, as much as the produce they harvested.

Critics of the volunteer phenomenon seem to place some of the blame for the collapse of the kibbutz system on the labour underclass they represented, which undermined the egalitarian foundations of the movement.

The kibbutz network has largely petered out, almost entirely in spirit if not completely in form, and some of the Jews and non-Jews who came during the heyday have remained and integrated to varying degrees in the society that Israel has become. In one instance, an aging, bearded former volunteer actualizes his idealism by leading a ukulele orchestra.

The collapse of the idealistic experiment that the end of the film documents is expected but no less depressing for that. The slice of history and the magnificence of the story, so vividly told in the film, will stay with the viewer.

Transcendence of song

photo - In Less than Kosher, the real star is the voice of Shaina Silver-Baird as Viv, an atheist turned cantor
In Less than Kosher, the real star is the voice of Shaina Silver-Baird as Viv, an atheist turned cantor. (photo from Menemsha Films)

In Less than Kosher, a number of fairly two-dimensional character sketches come together – but with a redeeming twist.

A feature film that began its life as serialized online videos has the feel of excellent amateurism. Wayward Jewish girl meets rabbi’s bad boy son. Overbearing Jewish mother, well-intentioned buffoonish rabbi, go-along-to-get-along intermarried stepdad and hyper-chatty high school friend flesh out the cast.

Sitcom-like circumstances turn the atheist young woman into unlikely cantor. But the outstanding component of the film, the real star, is the voice of Shaina Silver-Baird, the lead actor and co-producer (with Michael Goldlist) of this cute confection.

The unlikely cantor Viv, whose once-promising pop music career is on the skids, has the voice of an angel and the story is less about her family or her romance with the (married) rabbi’s son than about the transcendent power of song. When she opens her lungs, Viv ushers in a changed world – and Silver-Baird’s voice invites the viewer into it. Music video-style segments, which Viv is dismayed to have dubbed “Judeopop,” raise the film to a different level. Liturgical music goes Broadway. Amy Winehouse does “Shalom Aleichem.”

A tiki-themed shiva is truly the icing on the sheet cake. 

Mysterious case

photo - The Goldman Case is a dramatic reenactment of the case of Pierre Goldman
The Goldman Case is a dramatic reenactment of the case of Pierre Goldman. (photo from Menemsha Films)

He was guilty of much, but was he guilty of murder? Pierre Goldman maintained he was innocent of the latter charges and a based-on-a-true-story film explores not only a man’s possible guilt but the intergenerational impacts of Polish-French Jewish life in the mid-20th century and their potential explanations for some unusual behaviours.

The Goldman Case is a dramatic reenactment of a famous (in France, at least) case of the Jewish son of Polish resistance heroes, whose own life was impacted by an apparent need to fill the giant shoes of his parents. The son wanted to be “a Jewish warrior” and so became a communist revolutionary, traveling to Latin America, Prague and elsewhere in search of opportunities for valour. 

Charged with a series of crimes, including the murder during a holdup of two pharmacists, Goldman was convicted in 1974 and sentenced to life imprisonment, though he maintained he was innocent in the two deaths. Following the 1975 publication of his memoirs, the judicial system reconsidered his case and major French voices, including Jean-Paul Sartre, took up his cause. This film is a (massively condensed) court procedural of that retrial.

Goldman’s Jewishness was not on trial but, interestingly, his defence team built their case partly around his family’s experiences.

The case – and the film – end with a new verdict. But the dramatic story would continue. Audiences will no doubt race to Google more about Goldman and his crimes and punishments. Enduring mysteries, though, will make the search necessarily unsatisfying. This cannot be said of the film, though, which is a gripping enactment, enlivened by the extremely animated courtroom drama, which suggests the French judicial system tolerates a great deal more outbursts than we expect in Hollywood depictions of North American judicial proceedings. 

Resistance screens here March 3

A still from the documentary Resistance: They Fought Back. (theyfoughtback.com)

Resistance: They Fought Back screens March 3, 2pm, at Rothstein Theatre. Presented by the Vancouver Jewish Film Centre, special guest at the screening will be director Paula S. Apsell.

The film’s synopsis reads: “We’ve all heard of the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising, but most people have no idea how widespread and prevalent Jewish resistance to Nazi barbarism was. Instead, it’s widely believed ‘Jews went to their deaths like sheep to the slaughter.’ Filmed in Poland, Lithuania, Latvia, Israel and the U.S., Resistance: They Fought Back provides a much-needed corrective to this myth of Jewish passivity. There were uprisings in ghettos large and small, rebellions in death camps, and thousands of Jews fought Nazis in the forests. Everywhere in Eastern Europe, Jews waged campaigns of nonviolent resistance against the Nazis.”

For tickets ($10) to the screening, visit vjff.org.

– from theyfoughtback.com