history – Page 3

An oral song tradition

Shenandoah University Prof. Lori Şen spoke about Sephardic music on Nov. 2, as part of Kolot Mayim Reform Temple’s 2025/26 lecture series. (PR photo)

Kolot Mayim Reform Temple started its 2025/26 Building Bridges Zoom lecture series – six music-themed talks running through April – on Nov. 2, with Lori Şen, a professor of vocal pedagogy at Shenandoah University in Winchester, Va.

The title of Şen’s lecture was Classical Echoes in Ladino: Sephardic Songs Reimagined.

“This talk is especially meaningful to me, as it reflects a journey that began about eight or nine years ago with my doctoral dissertation in voice performance,” she said.

“What started as an academic project has since grown into a broader exploration and celebration of a rich and underrepresented genre within the Western classical tradition – Sephardic art song.”

Şen spoke about the Sephardim, their history, language and culture, before discussing the elements of traditional Sephardic music. Later, she introduced Western classical arrangements of Sephardic folk songs for voice and various instruments, and spoke about the development of this genre, playing excerpts from a variety of songs.

Within the expanse of what constitutes Sephardic culture, there is a language, most commonly called Ladino or Judeo-Spanish, a mix of 14th- and 15th-century Castilian, with contributions from Galego-Portuguese, Catalan, Valencian, Aragonese, Hebrew, Turkish, Arabic and others, such as Greek, French, Italian and Balkan languages.

“A certain linguistic creativity is inherent to Judeo-Spanish, which has even been used as a vehicle for expressing verbal revenge through humour in an oppressive society,” Şen said, citing examples of plays on words that can be found in Ladino.

Şen quoted from linguist Marie-Christine Varol, author of Manual of Judeo-Spanish: “Irony, distance, puns and endless plays on meanings and stylistic nuances bouncing back and forth make this language of quotations, double entendres, discrete jokes that seem undecipherable of implied and overly clear meanings into an original and eternally renewed linguistic system steeped in a devastating sense of humour that can only be achieved through a knowledge of several languages, a knowledge that gives it its strength, its richness and its freedom.”

Şen said the types of Sephardic song are defined based on musical parameters such as structure, melody and rhythm, as well as the text and the relationship between the music and text. Many songs were passed down orally, making their origins difficult to trace. Others are Ladino translations or adaptations of Turkish, French and Balkan songs, incorporating dance rhythms like tango and foxtrot, and sometimes referencing familiar operettas.

“Since this repertoire represents such a wide range of cultural exchange, the musical analyses of them require vast musical knowledge,” Şen said. “Sephardic music possesses elements of Western classical music of all periods, starting from medieval, Spanish, Moroccan, Balkan and Greek musical traditions, and Turkish folk and classical forms, including makam.”

Makam is the Middle Eastern modal practice with more pitches than we’re used to in our Western 12-tone notation system.

According to Şen, although instruments were employed on occasion, the Sephardic song repertoire is essentially vocal. When instruments were involved, they were mainly percussive, a tambourine, for instance, though mandolin and oud were also employed.

Traditional Sephardic folk songs, since they were transmitted orally, incorporate a large amount of improvisation. Thus, the melodies of the same songs can differ significantly between communities and across generations.

On her website, lorisen.com, Şen has a catalogue she compiled that includes lists of Sephardic works and composers, works categorized by instrumentation, and songs. Based on archival research and interviews she has conducted with Jewish musicians and music scholars, Şen has identified more than 45 composers who have arranged more than 190 different traditional Sephardic folk songs in the art song form for voice and various instruments. Also on her website is a Ladino diction guide designed to assist singers interested in performing Sephardic songs.

A mezzo-soprano and Fulbright alumna, Şen’s range spans opera, art song, musical theatre and jazz, and she has performed throughout Europe and the United States. Her teaching and research specialize in vocal literature, pedagogy and voice science. Further, through her background in physics, she explores the art and science of the singing voice.

The next lecture in the Kolot Mayim series will feature Broadway historian and lecturer David Benkof on Jan. 11 at 11 a.m. Benkof will deliver his talk – Spotlight on Jewish Broadway with the Broadway Maven – in Victoria in person and on Zoom. For information, visit kolotmayimreformtemple.com.

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

Jew-hatred is centuries old

Bar-Ilan University’s Dr. Mordechai Kedar spoke in Vancouver Nov. 17 at Temple Sholom on root causes of Jew-hatred. (from idsf.org.il)

The Enlightenment of the 18th century carried hopes for Jews that their long history of persecution would end, but the ideas of that period carried the seeds of a new form of Jew-hatred. Communism was intended to erase class and national differences, which might have eliminated discrimination toward Jews, but this ideology too carried a poisonous element. Zionism was intended as the answer to systemic discrimination against Jews. It too, though, merely sparked a variation on the ancient bigotry.

In a survey spanning centuries, one of Israel’s leading scholars of the Middle East explained the seemingly limitless justifications for Jew-hatred in Christian and Islamic civilizations.

Dr. Mordechai Kedar spoke in Vancouver Nov. 17 at Temple Sholom on root causes of Jew-hatred. Kedar is a senior lecturer in Arabic and Middle Eastern studies at Bar-Ilan University, where he has taught for more than 30 years. Kedar served for 25 years in Israeli military intelligence, specializing in Syria and regional Arab affairs.

Kedar said he prefers the term “Jew-hatred” to antisemitism because it subverts the rhetorical claim that Arabs, who are semitic, can therefore not be antisemites.

“We don’t find anti-Jewish sentiments in India, in China, Japan and Korea,” said Kedar. “One reason is the religion. Both Christianity and Islam are religions which are derivatives of Judaism. Therefore, in order to establish their validity and their legitimacy, they must undermine the validity and the legitimacy of Judaism.”

Another reason, he said, is that there have historically been few or no Jews in those places. In addition to being theological, Kedar argues, Jew-hatred has been a xenophobic reaction to the “other.” In the absence of Jews in India or Japan, this role was filled by other others.

Traits of Jews themselves also spark antisemitism, he said. Illiteracy in Jewish communities has been almost nonexistent, said Kedar, and this has created jealousy. More recently, the disproportionate number of Jewish Nobel Prize recipients may be a point of pride for Jews, but it can serve as a red flag for those seeking reasons for resentment. Jewish success in a range of fields spurs bitterness among some who are less successful or struggle to compete.

The historical trajectory of Jew-hatred is long and winding.

“Two hundred years ago, more or less, some countries, especially after the Enlightenment in Europe, started to give emancipation to Jews,” said Kedar. “Instead of erasing the differences between Jews and others, [this freedom] actually increased the hatred because now the Jew, the ‘other,’ invades our circles, he becomes a lawyer, he becomes an accountant, he competes with us in our court.”

When Jews in Germany abandoned traditional distinctive clothing choices, this caused a backlash among non-Jews.

“This is frightening for them because, all of a sudden, the Jew looks like us,” Kedar summarized. “Is he like me or not? All of a sudden, he wants to look like a German, sound like a German, act like a German.”

With the French Revolution, and gaining steam after 1848, the Age of Nationalism was another turning point. The collapse of empires, notably the Austro-Hungarian Empire, where as many as one-third of Europe’s Jews lived, brought unanticipated challenges for Jews. As Hungarians, Romanians and others gained both national sovereignty and greater ethnic identity, Jews were again isolated as outsiders.

“If we are Romanians, we are Christians,” Kedar said. “We speak Romanian.… We dance to the same music. We eat the same food. Who doesn’t? The Jew. He eats different food. He speaks a different language. So, he’s not one of us.”

Socialism and communism were meant to erase the differences between peoples, Kedar said, including the very concept of separate nationalities.

“And who is leading this erasing of nationalism? The Jew Trotsky and Lenin, with his [Jewish] roots,” said Kedar. The Jew is blamed when nationalism is ascendant and when communism is pushing nationalism to the margin, he noted.

Envy and othering even undermined Zionism, which was conceived as the ultimate answer to the inescapable antisemitism experienced by the stateless Jew.

“The Zionist movement was another reason to hate the Jew,” Kedar said. “Let’s imagine that we have a little town in Romania with problems of employment, problems of poverty, problems of alcoholism as well. The Jews are starting this new theology of Zionism, to leave the country and to go to eretz Israel. ‘What, you’re going to leave us and go to a better place? We hate you.’”

Kedar spoke extensively about Islamic theological and political antisemitism, which he described as like a “layer cake.”

“Judaism was canceled 2,000 years ago by Christianity,” he said. “And Christianity was canceled 14 centuries ago by Islam. So, Judaism was canceled twice.… Since Judaism is null and void, why do we need a Jewish state if there is no Jewish religion?”

Another layer rests on the Islamic concept of dar al-Islam, the domain of Islam, he said, which holds that no land controlled by Muslims must ever fall into the hands of the infidel.

Under the Ottomans, he said, eretz Israel was under Islamic rule and should forever remain so because, “according to the belief, according to Sharia, any land in the world has only a one-way ticket to enter the House of Islam, not to get out.”

A third layer is a widespread rejection of Jews as a people or as a nation. By reducing Jews to a religious group, he said, this idea subordinates Jewish identity to national affiliation, so a Jewish Canadian is Canadian first and that is their nation. This argument succeeds in justifying dozens of Muslim states while rejecting one Jewish state based on the premise that these are not Muslim states, but Turkish, Uzbeki or other states that happen to share a religion.

A fourth layer, said Kedar, is that some Islamic thought denies Jewish connections to the land and maintains that the people who today call themselves Jews are descended from central Asian Khazars who converted to the Jewish religion.

These concepts negate a core intention of Zionism, which was to resolve the problems created by Jewish statelessness. Muslim opposition to Israel, founded on these layers of theological justification, and Western opposition to Israel, mainly taking the form of political criticisms that extend into existential rejection, have prevented the Jewish state from serving the role Zionism intended, which was in part to make Jews a people like any other.

Rabbi Dan Moskovitz welcomed Kedar, who is associated with the right-wing in Israel, and said his congregation is a “big tent.”

“I did hear from some of you here,” said Moskovitz, “or in the community, [asking] why is Temple Sholom hosting Dr. Kedar?… As the senior rabbi of this congregation, it is my intention and mission to bring in voices, within the boundaries of the tent of the Jewish people, that represent the spectrum of Jewish thought. I tell my children all the time, you only learn when you listen to people that you don’t already agree with.”

Aron Csaplaros, BC regional manager for B’nai Brith Canada, which co-sponsored the event, introduced Kedar. He also highlighted his organization’s most recent audit of antisemitic incidents, noting they recorded 6,219 incidents of hate against the Jewish community in Canada in 2024.

“That’s the highest number we’ve ever recorded in the more than 40 years that we’ve been tracking this data,” he said. “That comes out to an average of 17 antisemitic incidents every single day.”

Incidents range from online harassment, threatening behaviour and vandalism targeting Jewish institutions to direct attacks against Jewish individuals, Csaplaros said.

“It is hostility directed at people simply because they’re Jewish,” he said. “Many in our community feel less safe today than at any point in their lifetimes. Parents hesitate sending their kids to school. University students are increasingly targeted and isolated. And Jewish Canadians who have always lived openly and proudly now find themselves looking over their shoulders or questioning whether this is still the country that can offer the sense of security that they once felt.”

Post-tumble, lights still shine

I recently celebrated Shabbat morning in a way I don’t recommend. I stepped out of my house for the dog walk, thought, “Oh, slippery!” The next thing I knew, I lost my footing. I fell down several stone steps. I ended up on the sidewalk. I’d let go of the leash. My large dog stood patiently, looking concerned, as I lay on the front walk, assessing the situation.

We’ve had a long and temperate fall here in Winnipeg. The light glaze of ice that covered everything was an unfortunate surprise. I’m very lucky. I was able to get up. I went back up the front stairs with the dog and got help. While I’m bruised and my hands were bloodied, nothing broke. While I would have preferred to go right back to bed, I stayed active enough to manage the rest of the weekend. My kids volunteer at services, so I still had to go there, too. Sometimes, what we want isn’t possible, so we make the best of the situation.

I think about Hanukkah, and the adversity that Jews face, in this way. In the best possible situation, we wouldn’t have to fight physically or verbally to maintain our traditions. We would be able to celebrate in a full-throated way, without hesitation. Yet, that option doesn’t always feel possible, even if we might think that embracing Jewish joy is the best way forward.

The issue arose for me recently when I participated in an accessible “make along.” This event, called Fasten Off, has a period each fall where knitting and crochet designers offer a big discount on their downloadable patterns. It is intended to be as accessible as possible to people with disabilities, as well as those with other challenges. There are multiple categories of challenges: non-gendered, low-vision, sizing for those who are taller or larger than average. For the first time, this year, there was a category on the form that one could tick off that said, “marginalized religious group.” I really didn’t know what to do.

It’s true that my designs include kippot and a hamantashen baby rattle stuffie. I have never hidden my identity. Now, in Canada, Jews are a marginalized group, with documented hate crime numbers and antisemitism rising. However, I wondered what would happen if I checked off this box. Would it mean fewer people would buy my work? More? What benefit would it have? I both ticked off the box and contacted the organizer to mention my concern. I got no response at all, which made me feel even more worried.

My sales stats show what a huge shift the last two years have been. Previously, one of my kippah patterns, as an example, had been a dependable seller. I looked up this design’s sales and found I’d sold only about 16 kippah patterns (all styles) on three sales platforms during two years of the Gaza war. In the previous year, 2022/23, I sold 14 copies of this pattern on only one sales platform. As a result of this drastic sales drop (I have more than 80 designs online), I ended up taking a break from designing. It no longer became cost-effective to sink money into creating new designs when knitters no longer make even these small purchases. It doesn’t mean my business interests changed. The situation has. I’m still marketing my work, offering discounts and trying to attract interest – even while being part of a “marginalized group.”

Our tradition teaches us to pivot when things are challenging. In the Torah parsha (portion) Toldot, Isaac grows successful as a shepherd. (Genesis 26:13 and onwards) However, when he increases his household and flocks, he needs more water. When he digs new wells, he runs into trouble. First, the Philistines fill up his old wells and, then, as he moves onward, digging new ones, other herdsmen object. He pivots, digging new wells in new places until he finds one that works out. Meanwhile, in time, those who objected to him previously seek a reconciliation, seeing Isaac’s divine fortune, and they make peace. (Genesis 26:31)

After hearing this portion chanted in synagogue, a friend reminded me that sometimes being resilient means pivoting or waiting with patience when faced with adversity. Things don’t turn around right away. We both have engaged in a lot of Jewish advocacy and antisemitism education work over the past year together. She is a professional, public figure, while I tend to write and reach out behind the scenes as a volunteer. Sometimes, my efforts net quick responses, and I know what I said mattered. Other times, I have no idea if anyone received my email or if they read it. I keep trying, as I’m invested in this effort to make life better for Canadian Jews for the long haul.

I believe that bringing up issues concerning antisemitism education, equity reviews in schools and school curriculum matters makes a difference. Sometimes my message reaches the right reporter or school official. Sometimes, it doesn’t or it fails. Yet, in every situation, it’s important to pick myself up, dust myself off – and start all over again, even if the setbacks can hurt.

During Hanukkah, we celebrate the triumph of regaining religious freedom and peace. We use candles to illustrate the metaphor of bringing light to dark times. Sometimes that light is sweeter because of the struggle beforehand.

I’m still very sore from tumbling down our icy front steps, but I’m also incredibly grateful. This morning, the dog barked, asking for her walk and, while I may still be hobbling and bruised for a bit, I was able to get outside again.

That opportunity, to keep digging wells, reaching out to others and continuing to try? It matters. Some might see Jews as marginalized, but it’s also possible to take another read. Rather, we’re lucky and resilient, too, a people offering religious freedom and Hanukkah light to other nations.

Joanne Seiff has written regularly for the Winnipeg Free Press 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.

Visit to cradle of Ashkenaz

Buried next to Maharam of Rothenburg’s grave is Alexander ben Salomon of Wimpfen (known in some sources as Alexander Süsskind Wimpfen) – the man who paid for the release of the rabbi’s remains. (photo by Pat Johnson)

They say that history repeats itself and, if this is true at all, it is perhaps more true for Jewish history. The recent exchange of almost 2,000 imprisoned Palestinian terrorists for the remaining Jewish hostages held in Gaza was an act of moral compromise that has a long lineage.

Throughout Israeli history, the centrality in Jewish values of the sanctity of life and the respectful burial of the dead have been exploited by the country’s enemies. Yahya Sinwar, the mastermind of the 10/7 pogrom, was himself freed in a 2011 prisoner release that saw more than 1,000 Palestinian terrorists set free in exchange for the freedom of Gilad Shalit, an Israeli held in Gaza for more than five years.

The ransoming of Jews goes back much, much further, however – at least to the very beginning of Ashkenaz.

In a recent brief visit to the German city of Worms, southwest of Frankfurt, I learned of Rabbi Meir of Rothenburg, who was the leading Ashkenazi halakhic authority of the 13th century. Also known as the Maharam of Rothenburg (an acronym of “Moreinu ha-rav Rabbi Meir,” meaning “Our teacher, the rabbi, Rabbi Meir”), he was imprisoned after attempting to leave the Holy Roman Empire around 1286. Jews were legally considered imperial property and valued for their tax revenue. His attempted departure was due to rising oppression, repressive taxes and broader political instability.

His arrest was intended both to prevent Jewish emigration and to extract a massive ransom by holding the most prominent rabbi of the era hostage. Although the Jewish communities were prepared to pay for his release, the Maharam refused to permit an excessive ransom, invoking the talmudic principle that captives should not be redeemed at exorbitant cost lest it encourage future kidnappings. He remained imprisoned until his death in 1293. After death, his body was held for 14 years, until a private individual paid for the release. He was ultimately buried in the Jewish cemetery at Worms.

The cemetery is known as Heiliger Sand, or Holy Sand, and the Maharam’s grave is adorned in mountains of memorial stones. Buried next to him, and also remembered with countless stones, is Alexander ben Salomon of Wimpfen (known in some sources as Alexander Süsskind Wimpfen) – the man who paid for the release of the rabbi’s remains. The parallel graves symbolize the duality of moral sacrifice and restorative compassion.

The Maharam aside, the cemetery is one of the most significant burial sites in the Jewish world. It is the oldest remaining Jewish cemetery in Europe, the earliest grave estimated to date from 1058.

Worms was one of the central pillars of medieval Jewish civilization because it stood at the heart of Ashkenazi religious, legal and cultural development during the Middle Ages. Together with Mainz and Speyer, Worms was one of the “ShUM cities,” the most important Jewish centres north of the Alps between roughly the 10th and 13th centuries. The ShUM communities created the foundations of Ashkenazi Judaism as it is still practised today. It was one of the earliest Jewish settlements in Central Europe after Jewish migration from the Mediterranean world. It was a cradle of Ashkenazi civilization and the Maharam its most venerated scholar.

Jewish life in Worms became a template for Ashkenazi Jewish communal life, developing the legal customs (minhagim) around marriage, mourning, tzedakah and education that spread throughout Central and Eastern Europe. Even after the devastation of the Crusades and later expulsions, Worms endured in Jewish consciousness and culture. The last burial in the cemetery was in 1942. Miraculously, unlike many other Jewish cemeteries across Europe, this one survived the Shoah relatively intact.

The symbiosis – if that is the correct word – of Jewish and Christian life in Worms is embodied in the larger dichotomy of European Jewish life. From the cemetery, the main edifice visible outside the grounds is the imposing Worms Cathedral. Worms may be central in Ashkenazi tradition, but it also holds a profound place in Christian history.

photo - From the cemetery, the main edifice visible outside the grounds is the imposing Worms Cathedral — From the cemetery, the main edifice visible outside the grounds is the imposing Worms Cathedral. (photo by Pat Johnson)

Martin Luther, the 15th-century monk who sparked the Protestant Reformation and drove the most significant schism in Christianity, nailed his 95 theses to the cathedral door in Wittenburg, about 400 kilometres from Worms. Luther’s history intersected with Worms when he was tried at the unappetizingly titled Diet of Worms, in 1521, and found guilty by imperial authorities. Refusing to recant, he became one of history’s most consequential heretics – or spiritual pioneer and reformer, depending on one’s perspective.

To Jews, Luther is a despotic figure. After effectively inventing Protestant Christianity, Luther was solicitous to the Jews, hoping that the stiff-necked people who had rejected the doctrine of Jesus as purveyed by the Vatican would jump on board the rebranded Lutheran variety. When they overwhelmingly did not, Luther transformed into a ferocious antisemite, putting quill to papyrus in some of history’s most vile racist tirades.

From the perspective of this history, the cathedral dominating the sightlines of the Holy Sand can be viewed as a place where one of history’s greatest Jew-haters got his comeuppance. Of course, the Catholicism that the building still represents has its own problematic history, to frame it kindly. And, for that matter, Luther landed on his feet, historically speaking.

Visiting the cemetery is a moving experience – with a bizarre and almost laughable twist.

Unsurprisingly, there were two security personnel seated at a table outside the gate. I attempted to gather some information, but our lack of shared language prevented much conversation. They did motion toward a box of what I thought were face masks, but which turned out to be makeshift kippot. In fact, they were peaked paper caps, the sort that short order cooks at Denny’s might wear. It was an odd experience to be walking around an ancient cemetery looking like I just stepped out of Mel’s Diner.

We should use caution in making sweeping parallels across history, but it is striking how the enemies of the Jews across the centuries have recognized and exploited the importance of pidyon shvuyim, the redeeming of captives. How many other traditions, I wonder, have prayers in the liturgy for specifically this eventuality? A visit to the Holy Sand reminds us how deep that tradition of exploitation goes.

The Maccabees, old and new

A postcard featuring the work “In Prayer – In War” by Polish-American artist and cartoonist Mitchell Loeb (1889-1968). (internet photo)

Of all the Jewish holidays, Hanukkah is the one most intimately connected to Israel and the Zionist dream. It mirrors the struggle to reestablish the Jewish state, and is perhaps more political in nature than religious.

Hanukkah represents Jewish military power and Jewish independence, which, in the case of the Hasmoneans, lasted 80 to 100 years. The Hasmoneans and their fellow second-century BCE Judeans were able to establish a state despite having had to face a strong and well-equipped empire. The odds were heavily stacked against them, yet they prevailed. This is why some people say that the Hanukkah story parallels the struggles and achievements of Israel’s first Jewish residents and founding pioneers, surrounded as they were by hostile neighbours.

It is hard to claim that the miracle in which a tiny bit of oil lasted, not for one day, but for eight days, is a critical part of an Israeli Hanukkah. However, oil is a crucial part of the holiday. Sufganiyot (filled donuts), fried in oil, go on sale at least a month before the first candle is lit. (I saw them on sale in a Tel Aviv bakery on Nov. 10!) Nowadays, Jerusalem coffee houses and bakeries even have their sufganiyot rated by the media.

Potato pancakes (levivot, in Hebrew; latkes, in Yiddish) take second place to sufganiyot. Perhaps because levivot are generally products of one’s private kitchen, rather than a bakery, or perhaps because, as an historically Ashkenazi Eastern European food, it appeals to only half the Jewish population in Israel. The other half is Sephardi, meaning people whose long-ago origins were in Iberia, while, in the United States, no more than 10% of the Jewish population is either Sephardi or Mizrachi (Jews who came from Muslim-ruled lands). I couldn’t find any recent figures for Canada’s Jewish population by these measures.

As for levivot, they are no longer made just with potatoes. There might be additions or substitutions like sweet potatoes or zucchini, featuring spices such as cumin and paprika.

As many know, Israel’s climate is well suited to growing olives, and olive trees have grown here for centuries. The trees like the semi-arid climate, with our long, hot, sunny summers and mild, cool winters, as well as Israel’s rocky terrain. Generally, Israeli-grown olives are ready for picking starting just before Hanukkah. There are olive-picking festivals and such events highlight another difference between diasporic and Israeli observances of Hanukkah.

Those living in pre-state Palestine knew what Hitler was doing in Europe. According to historian Benny Morris, the Jewish population in Palestine was reading several newspapers at the time, like Ha’aretz, Davar and Do’ar ha-Yom.

The pre-1948 cultural products reflect not only what Palestinian Zionists knew about the fate of European Jewry, but also an ideological effort at creating a new national character. This “new” Jew would not be a victim. He would be a kind of new Maccabee. According to historian Reuven Firestone, the new Zionist Jew would be strong, confident and effective, and the very act of developing the land of Israel would, in turn, develop the Jewish psyche and person.

So, Hanukkah songs written in either the pre-state or early statehood days focus on the success of Zionist fighters more than they do the accomplishments of the Maccabees. In 1936, Menashe Ravina composed the song “Mi Yimalel.” Its lyrics are: “Who can retell the mighty deeds of Israel, who can count them? / In every generation a hero will arise, a redeemer for the people. / Listen! / In those days in this time / The Maccabee saves and redeems / And in our day the whole people of Israel / Will join together and arise and be redeemed.”

In the 1940s, Sara Levi Tanay wrote the words and Emanuel Amiran wrote the music for “Ba’anu Choshech Legaresh.” The idea is that, by banding together, the state can survive: “In our hands are light and fire. / Each person is a small light, / And all of us a great light. / Go away darkness, away, obscurity! / Make way for the light.”

Starting in the 1940s, the Young Maccabees organization began a torch race on Hanukkah. This race was unique to Israel’s celebration of the holiday. It began in the Modi’in area, where it is believed the Maccabees are buried, and was held in all kinds of weather. In December 1954, for example, when the runners reached Jerusalem, it was pouring rain. Israeli youth organizations like the Scouts hold marches and hikes on Hanukkah.

Ironically, the original torch races, called lampadedromia or lampas, took place in ancient Greece, as part of religious festivals honouring the gods of fire. I say ironically, as the Maccabees fought for their independence from the Syrian Greeks of the Seleucid Empire, which was a Greek successor state to Alexander the Great’s empire. The Seleucid empire, under Antiochus, ruled over Judea. It desecrated the Temple in Jerusalem and sought to forcefully impose Hellenistic culture and religion on the Jewish population.

Today, in both Israel and in the diaspora, chocolate coins, usually wrapped in gold or silver foil – the 1920s brainstorm product of Loft Chocolate Company – are given to children during Hanukkah. Probably not too many people are aware of this, but, according to Rabbi Deborah Prinz, this edible gelt (money, in Yiddish) recalls the booty, including coins, that the Maccabees distributed to Jewish widows, soldiers and orphans, possibly at the first celebration of the rededication of the Jerusalem Temple. Also, in ancient Israel, striking, minting and distributing coins expressed Hanukkah’s message of political autonomy. The Maccabees’ descendants, the Hasmoneans, ruled Judea, as mentioned above, and issued their own coins.

Finally, a column in the Great Mosque of Gaza once bore inscriptions in Hebrew and depicted a seven-branched menorah (like the one used in the Temple), a shofar and an etrog, indicating a Jewish community in the area during the Roman/Byzantine and talmudic eras. These inscriptions apparently disappeared after the First Intifada in 1987. The Hanukkah menorah, or hanukkiyah, by contrast, has nine branches, commemorating the eight days the oil burned in the rededicated Temple, plus a shamash (helper) candle to do the lighting of the symbolic candles.

Deborah Rubin Fields is an Israel-based features writer. She is also the author of Take a Peek Inside: A Child’s Guide to Radiology Exams, published in English, Hebrew and Arabic.

From the archives … Hanukkah

The editorial in the Dec. 8, 1939, issue of the Jewish Western Bulletin.

We’ve come a long way in many ways, though some readers may disagree. I read, kind of in horror, the newspaper’s Dec. 8, 1939, editorial in which the lesson drawn from Hanukkah was that, “More formidable than the most rabid anti-Semite is the unfaithful Jew in our ranks. More threatening than all the malicious libels and frauds of such papers as DER ANGRIFF and DER DEUTSCHE BEOBACHTER, is the Jew who is IGNORANT of his history, ignorant of his literature, his tradition, his TORAH and his God.”

I can appreciate the Maccabean victory “was not by a superior might but with a superior SPIRIT, that untrained Judean forces did meet the enemy and vanquished him.” I agree that Jewish education is vital to Jewish continuity, but yikes. I’m not sure all the “yelling” capital letters encourage the message that: “There must be a closer alliance, a sense of closer affinity, a warmer consciousness of brotherhood between Jew and Jew and between the individual Jew and Jewry at large if we are to succeed – nay, if we are to insure our future as a people!”

I am also always surprised at how much of the advertising in the early years of the Jewish Western Bulletin was for alcohol. As but one example, given the time of year, is the Dec. 24, 1941, ad from United Distillers Ltd., “The Happy Holiday List” that readers are asked to “cut out and keep for reference,” which I guess I’ve done, though I don’t think any of the brands still exist.

I did enjoy some of the Hanukkah trivia that made the front cover of the Dec. 11, 1936, paper, though it was a jarring juxtaposition with the world news. As it happens, the first item, on the melody of the traditional Hanukkah song “Maoz Tzur,” mentions Martin Luther, as does the article on the cemetery in the German City of Worms that is featured in this week’s issue – on this very page, in fact – which discusses briefly Luther’s legacy.

In his “Lights on Hanukah” article, Rabbi Abraham H. Israelitan points out: “The familiar melody of ‘Maoz-Tzur,’ the well-known hymn that is sung after the kindling of the lights, is not Jewish at all, as is commonly supposed, but is really an adaptation of an old German folk song of the Middle Ages. This German folk melody has also been utilized by the Christians. The famous Martin Luther, for example, utilized it for his German chorals.”

The rabbi also notes, “One of the poems in Lord Byron’s ‘Hebrew Melodies’ – ‘On Jordans Bank’s’ [sic] – was set to the music of Maoz-Tzur by the great poet’s close friend Isaac Nathan.” He goes on to reveal “the origin of latkes,” and a few more of what we now call “fun facts.” Israelitan was not a local rabbi. His article was distributed by Seven Arts Feature Syndicate, which, according to Google, was an American group that provided content to Jewish papers from the 1920s through the 1960s.

Holiday parties, concerts, menorah lightings and more have always been promoted or covered in the newspaper, of course. Almost every Hanukkah issue has included recipes, gift ideas, personal holiday stories. And pretty much every Hanukkah-themed editorial aims to point out what the Maccabees can teach us today or what light we can shine to diminish the darkness in the world – though we do it a little less harshly than the editors of 80, 90 years ago, I think. Most certainly, we do it with fewer capital letters.

image - An adl in the Dec. 24, 1941, issue of the Jewish Western Bulletin — An ad in the Dec. 24, 1941, issue of the Jewish Western Bulletin.

image - An article on Hanukkah trivia in the Jewish Western Bulletin Dec. 11, 1936 — An article on Hanukkah trivia in the Jewish Western Bulletin Dec. 11, 1936.

Lessons from past for today

At the Kristallnacht commemoration in Victoria on Nov. 6, Congregation Emanu-El’s Rabbi Elisha Herb led a community pledge of mutual respect and support, joined by local politicians, faith leaders and law enforcement. (photo by Penny Tennenhouse)

“Hate has no boundaries and needs to be resisted wherever and against whomever it is found. This is necessary to protect our whole society. The history of the Shoah teaches us the dangers of complacency,” said Micha Menczer in his opening remarks at the Nov. 6 commemoration in Victoria of Kristallnacht, the Night of Broken Glass.

Menczer is a founding member of the Victoria Shoah Project, which held the community’s commemoration at Congregation Emanu-El. The project is a group of Holocaust survivors and their descendants, as well as educators and other individuals, dedicated to Holocaust remembrance and education.

photo - Micha Menczer — Micha Menczer, a founding member of the Victoria Shoah Project, gave the opening remarks at the Nov. 6 commemoration in Victoria of Kristallnacht. *(photo by Penny Tennenhouse)*

After Menczer spoke about the increase in hate crimes in Canada – of which Jews are often the target – Kristin Semmens, a history professor at the University of Victoria, spoke about Kristallnacht, the organized anti-Jewish riots in Germany and Austria on Nov. 9-10, 1938. The violence sent a clear message to Jews that they were not welcome in Germany, said Semmens, noting that, although Jews had already faced extreme persecution, no one foresaw what would come.

“Even after November 1938, even after the destruction and horror and humiliation and fear, even after the shattered storefronts, the burning synagogues, the mass arrests, the physical assaults and murders, few could have imagined how much worse things could get,” she said.

Semmens stressed that, while people came on Nov. 6 to commemorate what happened in the past, it is also fundamentally important to act in the present, to differentiate among people when it comes to basic human rights today.

“We cannot turn a deaf ear or a blind eye to defamation and demonization,” she said. “We must find the courage to challenge the wrongs we see in our society. And, as the events leading to Kristallnacht reveal, we must beware of the beginnings.”

Nina Krieger, British Columbia’s solicitor general and minister for public safety, was the keynote speaker. Due to inclement weather that evening, she spoke from the Lower Mainland via Zoom.

“How can we, today, fathom six million lives cut short solely because they were Jewish?” asked Krieger, who, before entering politics, was the executive director of the Vancouver Holocaust Education Centre (VHEC).

“Sadly, as we gather to remember events of 87 years ago, our historical imagination, I think, is less challenged than we thought. With the recent Manchester synagogue attack and the graffiti scrawled on this congregation, the echoes of the past are particularly and painfully resonant.”

In August, antisemitic graffiti was painted at the entrance of Congregation Emanu-El. According to a September post by the synagogue, Victoria police have since found the suspected perpetrator, who “has been charged on two counts: mischief relating to religious property and wilful promotion of hatred.”

Krieger noted that, during the pandemic in Canada, contingents within the anti-vaccination movement borrowed symbols from the Holocaust, such as yellow stars and photos of Anne Frank, to portray their feelings of being marginalized and victimized for the requirement to carry proof of vaccination. She said a commitment to history and memory is the necessary antidote to such Holocaust distortion and trivialization, “which we are seeing with increasing frequency as the Holocaust transitions from lived to mediated memory.”

She pointed to the VHEC’s use of primary sources when engaging with the 25,000 young people the centre educates each year. “Fragments of the Shoah – artifacts, photographs, documents – provide tangible entry points into the past and to individual human experiences during an event that might otherwise be an abstraction of numbers,” said Krieger, who reminded the audience that, in a time of rising antisemitism, the Holocaust may not simply be a lesson but a warning, “an inescapable fact that speaks to what is possible.”

Remembrance of the Shoah, she said, “provides an opportunity to wrestle with fundamental questions about the fragility of democracy and our responsibility as citizens today.”

Music performed by Kvell’s Angels, a local klezmer group, and the Capriccio Vocal Ensemble of Victoria, conducted by Adam Jonathan Con, was interspersed between speakers at the commemoration.

Politicians, leaders from other faith groups and members of the Victoria Police Department rose at the end of the ceremony to recite a pledge of mutual respect and support.

In the program notes to the commemoration, the organizers drew attention to the events that transpired in Germany 87 years ago, when at least 91 Jews were killed and 30,000 Jewish men were forced into concentration camps, Jewish homes and institutions were ransacked, businesses destroyed and synagogues burned. It was, the notes read, “a reflection of the inability of ‘polite society’ – of Jews and non-Jews – to comprehend that the institutions at the very heart of civil society (the police, uniformed people, political representatives) would be at the very core of this violence inflicted on the Jews of Germany and Austria, or contribute … to its devastating effect.”

The commemoration was sponsored by Congregation Emanu-El and the Jewish Federation of Victoria and Vancouver Island.

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

Rebuilding a life after Shoah

Prof. Robin Judd, author of Between Two Worlds: Jewish War Brides After the Holocaust, speaks with community members at the Kristallnacht commemoration in Vancouver Nov. 9. (photo by Sova Photography)

The history of war brides – generally British or European women who married Allied military men – is widely known and has been explored by historians and social scientists. Between 1944 and 1948, about 65,000 dependents came to Canada as spouses or intended spouses of military personnel.

Speaking at Vancouver’s annual Kristallnacht commemorative event Nov. 9 at Congregation Beth Israel, Prof. Robin Judd discussed an almost unknown subset of this phenomenon: Holocaust survivors who met Allied soldiers in displaced persons’ camps after the war and went on to marry them.

Judd is associate professor of history at Ohio State University and immediate past president of the Association for Jewish Studies, the largest international society for scholars of Jewish studies. Her award-winning book Between Two Worlds: Jewish War Brides After the Holocaust explores the harrowing task of rebuilding a life in the wake of the Holocaust.

Many Jewish survivors, as well as community and religious leaders, viewed marriage between Jewish women and military personnel as a way for the survivors to move forward after extraordinary trauma, said Judd, whose academic interest in the subject stems from family history.

“My grandmother was a war bride,” Judd said. “She was a survivor. She and my father survived the war in hiding. My biological grandfather died at liberation, and my grandmother married an American soldier after the war, who then adopted my father.”

Her grandmother spoke little about her experiences during or immediately after the war, though Judd knew the rough outline of her past. Only when Judd began research into the subject did she learn that her grandmother’s experience was not as unique as Judd had assumed.

The individual stories of these war brides, and their efforts to integrate, offer lessons around survival in the aftermath of trauma, as well as larger issues concerning marriage, immigration and citizenship, she said.

Judd focused on a few couples, including Isaac and Leesha (neé Leisje Bornstijn) Rose, and Sala (neé Solarcz) and Abe Bonder.

Sala survived in the Warsaw Ghetto for more than a year, before deportation to a ghetto outside Lublin, then to Majdanek and a series of other camps. She was liberated during a death march in April 1945.

At Rosh Hashanah services at a DP camp in Hanover, she met Abe, a mechanic in the Royal Canadian Air Force. Until then, Judd said, Sala had avoided the Canadian and British soldiers overseeing the DP camp because she said they made her feel like a monkey in the zoo.

“But Abe came to her and started to speak to her in a very quiet Yiddish,” Judd recounted. “It was his questioning, his real interest in understanding who she was and what she had experienced that made her want to seek a second encounter with him.”

Many of the war brides found themselves at the whims of their new extended families, subsumed into existing structures that were foreign and unfamiliar. Often, they arrived in the new country and did not have homes of their own but lived with their husbands’ families, sometimes with multiple generations in the same home.

Leesha arrived in Ottawa and moved in with fiancé Isaac and her soon-to-be mother-in-law, with whom she had limited language skills to communicate. The groom’s mother took it upon herself to plan the wedding.

“Leesha and other war brides are often talking about how, in these moments, whether it was the marriage or it was having their first child, or it was their first child’s bar or bat mitzvah, or their first child’s wedding, how they so desperately missed those murdered family members at that time,” Judd said.

Newcomers were sometimes judged unfairly, as if their healthy appearance diminished the perception of their suffering. A newspaper article described Leesha as “a good-natured chubby little girl.”

“There was this notion that these women looked almost too healthy,” said Judd, “That the trauma was almost not written sufficiently enough on her body.”

Associations and networks existed for the newcomers to connect with others from similar backgrounds, including Jewish war bride clubs and synagogue-affiliated groups.

The war bride experiences Judd studies are diverse and include sad but also happy memories, she said, from the difficulties of reconstruction and recovery to stories of resilience and rebuilding.

Prof. Chris Friedrichs, a scholar of German history who taught at the University of British Columbia from 1973 until his retirement in 2018, contextualized Judd’s presentation, as well as Kristallnacht and the larger history of the Holocaust.

Kristallnacht sent a message to the world, he said. But the world did not listen.

“This horrific Night of Broken Glass was front page news all over the world, but not for long,” he recounted. “Much else was going on in the world at that time and, within a few days, Kristallnacht was forgotten. In fact, the world learned nothing from Kristallnacht. But the Nazis learned a lot. They realized that whatever they might do to the Jews, there would be no consequences. And thus, once Hitler’s war started in 1939, within Germany itself and in every country the Germans conquered under cover of war, a relentless program to exterminate the Jews began to be carried out by beatings, by shootings, by starvation and by gas.”

Hannah Marazzi, executive director of the Vancouver Holocaust Education Centre (VHEC), which presented the event in partnership with Beth Israel and the Jewish Federation of Greater Vancouver, called Kristallnacht “a defining moment in which the shadow of hatred quite literally burst into flame.”

Dr. Abby Wener Herlin, associate director of programs and community relations for the VHEC, introduced Holocaust survivors, who lit candles of remembrance.

“Tonight, as we are about to light candles … we vow never to forget the lives of the women, men and children who are symbolized by these flames,” she said. “May the memory of their lives inspire us to live so that we may help to ensure that their memories live on.”

Beth Israel’s Rabbi Jonathan Infeld thanked the speaker and reflected on his family’s experience.

“My father left the DP camp and moved to Pittsburgh,” Infeld said. At a party at the Jewish community centre specifically to make shidduchim, marriage matches, for Holocaust survivors, he met the woman who would become his wife and the rabbi’s mother.

photo - Vancouver Deputy Mayor Sarah Kirby-Yung, centre, and councilors Lenny Zhou and Lucy Maloney at the Nov. 9 Kristallnacht commemoration — Vancouver Deputy Mayor Sarah Kirby-Yung, centre, and councilors Lenny Zhou and Lucy Maloney at the Nov. 9 Kristallnacht commemoration. *(photo by Sova Photography)*

Cantor Yaakov Orzech chanted El Moleh Rachamim, the memorial prayer.

Taleeb Noormohamed, member of Parliament for Vancouver Granville, warned of the dangers of ignoring the lessons of history.

“If we don’t take the lesson that remembrance requires us to take, we end up with a quiet normalization of what that night represented,” he said. “This is a fight that we all take on. We take on with responsibility, we take on with conviction, and we take it on to honour all of you who survived and all of you that have relatives and friends and loved ones that didn’t. So, we say, may their memory be a blessing and, indeed, may it be, but may it also be a reminder to all of us that the work that is to be done is for all of us.”

Terry Yung, member of the BC Legislature for Vancouver-Yaletown and a retired senior officer with the Vancouver Police Department, told the audience the future depends on education.

“We cannot arrest ourselves out of hate, we cannot,” he said. “We have to educate people in this world of darkness.”

Sarah Kirby-Yung, deputy mayor of Vancouver, and fellow city councilors Lenny Zhou and Lucy Maloney read a proclamation from the city.

From the archives … books

In honour of Jewish Book Month, which runs Nov. 13 to Dec. 13, I’m highlighting a short article that appeared in the Independent’s predecessor, the Jewish Western Bulletin, on Dec. 18, 1970.

The focus on the Jewish Community Centre Library, now called the Isaac Waldman Jewish Public Library, stressed the “vital role” the library plays “in the life of the Vancouver Jewish community” and how it serves “the community at large in a very meaningful and important way. At any time, one can pass by and see it being used for recreational reading, browsing or study.”

The article notes how a visiting professor who stopped in at the library remarked “how thoroughly cross-referenced it was.”

“Mrs. Marvin Weintraub, hardworking and dedicated volunteer librarian,” aka Rita Weintraub, is interviewed for the story. Many in our community will have known Rita, who died in 2020. The library she was instrumental in building was a lifelong passion. In the article, she refers to the library as important for “the spiritual well-bring of the community.” As such, she said, it should be “the concern of all organizations as well as of all public-spirited individuals who are in a position to provide an endowment which will link their name in perpetuity with the highest Judaic ideas of learning and Torah.”

Vrba monument is unveiled

Robert Krell, left, founding president of the Vancouver Holocaust Education Centre, and Al Szajman, the current president, unveil the monument to Rudolf Vrba at Schara Tzedeck Cemetery. (photo by Pat Johnson)

Rudolf Vrba, a scientist who had a significant but comparatively quiet career in the laboratories and lecture halls of the University of British Columbia, enjoyed a comfortable life with his wife Robin in Vancouver before his death in 2006. Unbeknownst to thousands of his students over the years, Vrba may have saved more Jews during the Holocaust than any other individual. Despite this astonishing fact, his name has remained almost unknown not only among scholars of that history but even in his own adopted community of Vancouver.

At Schara Tzedeck Cemetery in New Westminster on Oct. 26, a monument was unveiled that seeks to remedy Vrba’s relative anonymity.

“Why do so few know his name?” asked Dr. Robert Krell, founding president of the Vancouver Holocaust Education Centre and a member of an ad hoc group that came together to recognize Vrba’s life and bravery. “Sir Martin Gilbert, the British historian, wrote that Vrba was directly responsible for saving at least 100,000 Jewish lives. Others now credit him with the preservation of as many as 200,000 Hungarian Jews.”

Before about 200 people gathered in the cemetery’s chapel prior to the monument’s unveiling, Krell recounted the exploits of Vrba and his co-conspirator, fellow Slovakian Jew Alfréd Wetzler, who were incarcerated in Auschwitz.

In April 1944, Vrba, just 19 at the time, and Wetzler, 25, contrived to conceal themselves within the Auschwitz compound, while, outside the camp, a massive search was undertaken by dogs and armed guards. After hiding silently in a woodpile for three days, the two men escaped and traveled for days by foot to Slovakia, where they shared all the information they had amassed about operations at the death camp. Vrba has been credited with having had an almost photographic memory and, over 22 months in Auschwitz, with Wetzler and he both having risen to positions of comparative privilege and trust in the camp, they were uniquely equipped to tell the world what was happening.

Vrba had worked on the arrival platforms at the camp, observing the incoming Jews and, later, in the “Kanada” compound, where the stolen valuables of arriving prisoners were stored. Wetzler was a registrar and clerk in the camp. The pair chose their moment to act because their vantage points alerted them to the imminent deportation of the last remaining large group of surviving Jews in Europe, those of Budapest.

Their account, which became known as the Auschwitz Protocols, or sometimes the Vrba-Wetzler Report, was the most credible and detailed information received to that moment about the extent of mass murder taking place in Auschwitz. More than 400,000 Hungarian Jews had already been murdered.

“The Jews of Budapest were next,” said Krell.

After dictating the report, Vrba joined the Slovakian army as a machine gunner and, later, joined the Slovak partisans, participating in 10 major battles and being awarded multiple medals for bravery.

After the war, Vrba completed a PhD in biochemistry at Charles University in Prague, then lived in Israel and England before serving as a research fellow at Harvard Medical School. He married Robin, an American, in 1975 and they made a home in Vancouver. Vrba was an associate professor in the department of pharmaceutical sciences at UBC for 30 years and Robin was a realtor.

The explanation for Vrba’s relative anonymity has been explored in books, including a recently released first volume of a two-part biography by Vancouver writer Alan Twigg. (Holocaust Hero: The Life and Times of Rudolf Vrba was reviewed in the Oct. 10 issue of the Independent.)

The unfamiliarity with Vrba’s story in Israel, in particular, has been explored by Ruth Linn, a University of Haifa academic who first heard of Vrba when she was on sabbatical in Vancouver in the late 1990s. She returned to Israel and began asking if others with expertise in the field knew of Vrba, Wetzler and their escape. Her explorations led to her 2004 book Escaping Auschwitz: A Culture of Forgetting, which made the case that there was a deliberate effort in Israel to silence Vrba’s voice and obscure his history.

Vrba bore particular animus toward Rezső Kasztner, a leader of the Budapest Jewish community who went on to become a mid-level bureaucrat affiliated with the Israeli establishment and the Mapai party that led the country. Vrba – and others – viewed Kasztner’s actions as having saved the lives of Kasztner, his family and several hundred of his friends and associates at the possible expense of thousands of other Hungarian Jews. Vrba believed that, had ordinary Hungarian Jews been privy to the Auschwitz Protocols, as Kasztner was, they could have made their own decisions about whether to board the deportation trains.

The new monument and the unveiling ceremony were the culmination of several years of work by a group including Krell, Yosef Wosk, Geoffrey Druker, Joseph Ragaz, Arthur Dodek and Bernie Simpson, who formed a core committee advancing the project. Dodek, who emceed the Oct. 26 event, acknowledged additional contributions from the Kahn family, Ryan Davis, Marie Doduck and Jack Micner. Mayor Patrick Johnstone of New Westminster attended.

Organizers thanked the Schara Tzedeck Cemetery Board, including chairs Arnold Silber and Jack Kowarsky, and executive director Howard Jampolsky, as well as Schara Tzedeck’s Rabbi Andrew Rosenblatt.

Rosenblatt spoke of biblical and modern concepts of righteousness, citing Vrba as the definition of a hero.

“He did not escape from Auschwitz simply to save his own skin,” said the rabbi. “He escaped from Auschwitz to save Hungarian Jewry. He escaped from Auschwitz to warn the world.”

The monument, located adjacent to an area of the cemetery not yet open to burials, means that future generations who pass through mourning loved ones will have an opportunity to reflect on true heroism.

“I am struck anew by how singular his legacy was, how young he was, how hard he fought to bring the truth to the world,” said Hannah Marazzi, executive director of the Vancouver Holocaust Education Centre, which sponsored the ceremony. “It is a legacy of courage, brilliance, sorrow, resilience and endurance. But perhaps what I have treasured most is learning about his life and legacy from those here who have had the privilege of knowing him.”

Druker noted that the monument reflects an increased awareness of Vrba locally and hoped that the knowledge would expand beyond his hometown.

Druker read aloud the inscription, which recounts the details of Vrba’s life: his origins, his deportation to Majdanek and Auschwitz, his escape, his war heroism and his life as an academic.

“We hope that, in Israel, he will finally be recognized for what he is: a central hero that changed the course of the Holocaust for Hungarian Jews,” Druker said. “We want the world to recognize that too.”

photo - The new monument to Rudolf Vrba at Schara Tzedeck Cemetery — The new monument to Rudolf Vrba at Schara Tzedeck Cemetery. *(photo by Pat Johnson)*

Chris Friedrichs, professor emeritus of history at UBC, put Vrba in the context of his times.

“The existence of Auschwitz was no secret to those leaders,” he said. “They knew that Auschwitz was the site of a vast industrial complex where German war production was being performed by forced labour. But, as we know, this report for the first time described the actual operations of the camp in terrifying detail, making clear that Auschwitz was not only a location of industrial activity, but also the site of mass extermination of human lives on a scale that nobody had previously fully grasped.

“A huge number of Hungarian Jews had already been sent to Auschwitz, but the approximately 200,000 Jews of Budapest had not yet been deported, and it was largely thanks to this warning that the deportations were halted and the lives of most of those 200,000 Jews were saved.”

The experiences Vbra underwent at a young age, as well as his anger that his escape and the report he helped draft did not save even more lives, affected him through his life. Friedrichs, who knew Rudi and Robin Vrba, said they enjoyed a happy life in Vancouver, but the past haunted Vrba.

“For, although he could escape from Auschwitz, Rudolf Vrba could never really escape from the Shoah,” said Friedrichs. “He knew too much and he cared too much to put what he had seen behind him.… Rudolf Vrba was dedicated to relating the facts, but there was also anger, and that anger was directed not just against the Nazis, but also against Jewish leaders during the war who could not bring themselves to inform their fellow Jews about what was happening in Auschwitz. He was like a biblical prophet who had inveigled against the wilful ignorance or stubborn disbelief of those who should have known better.”

Friedrichs credits Robin, who now lives in the United States and was not able to attend the unveiling, as “not only his cherished companion for over three decades,” but with ensuring that his legacy not be forgotten.

“In fact,” said Friedrichs, “that task is a challenge for all of us. Even the Jewish community of Vancouver never fully recognized the greatness of this man and the role he had played both in saving Jewish lives and in contributing to knowledge of the Shoah.”

The monument is a belated recognition, said Friedrichs.

“What we do today is overdue, but it is not too late,” he said. “Future generations will pass by this monument and realize how proud our community should have been that this man lived and worked for 30 years in our midst. As we watch the monument being unveiled, and if we gently lay some stones upon it, we will be paying a debt of gratitude to someone who is not only a hero of the 20th century, but should continue to be an inspiration for the 21st.”