identity

Patriotic belonging diminishes

(photo by Cynthia Ramsay)

When I was a kid, living near Washington, DC, my dad would hang an American flag up out in front of our house on US holidays. We’d all go outside for Memorial Day or 4th of July and raise the flag together. It was a solemn ritual. It was uncomplicated and patriotic.

As my understanding of US history and geopolitical actions changed, I still remember feeling a sense of awe as we sat on a blanket under the night sky, celebrating Independence Day with fireworks and Sousa marches. I carried that mostly uncomplicated feeling with me when we moved to Canada in 2009, the feeling of pride in where I lived. I became a dual citizen, believing I could hold that feeling for two nations at once.

A few years ago, Winnipeg changed its celebrations around Canada Day. Some of the huge gatherings resulted in spikes in crime. Many events also didn’t properly acknowledge Indigenous peoples’ roles in this country. We found, with younger kids, that the crowds, loud noises and late nights required to celebrate with others became too hard.

The choice to downplay some aspects of Canada Day reflected a new understanding. Manitoba’s Indigenous population is 18.1%, larger than any other province. Winnipeg is home to the largest urban Canadian Indigenous population. Our kids attend public school in a division where the student population is approximately 30% Indigenous. Indigenous peoples have complex relationship with patriotism for many valid reasons.

I felt this nuanced understanding of patriotism and how it related to my country was only fair as a critical thinker who reads the news. Little of it had to do with my Jewish identity, I thought. Since Oct. 7, I realized that was incorrect.

On June 1, Prime Minister Mark Carney announced that “Canada’s civic compact is failing Jewish Canadians.” This speech was, unfortunately, too little, and too late. While he did this, there were more incidents of hate, and little done to enforce the laws to stop it. Carney has created a new advisory council to combat hate, which has only one Jewish person on it. While one of their tasks is to tackle antisemitism, the council has a participant who supports Palestinian resistance via Iranian proxies like Hamas and Hezbollah. Another member is a lawyer who represented Palestinian protesters in a university encampment. This doesn’t strike anyone in the Jewish community as an unbiased or safe environment to combat Canadian antisemitism.

Sorting through my feelings, I found a strange parallel in the Babylonian Talmud Tractate Chullin, which I am studying as part of Daf Yomi (a page of Talmud a day). This tractate, about kosher slaughter, is technical but contains insights that have broader implications. On page 44, there’s a discussion of treifa and how to detect it. In this situation, treifa refers to an animal that has a physical defect and will likely die soon. This type of animal isn’t kosher.

Sometimes, this is discovered only after slaughter. For the animal’s owner, this is a financial loss, too. In Dr. Sara Ronis’ essay on My Jewish Learning on Chullin 44, she highlights Rav Hisda, “who says: Who is a Torah scholar? This is one who sees his own treifa.” This is someone who sees his animal’s status, takes the financial loss and keeps potentially non-kosher meat out of the food supply. This person thinks critically enough to recognize when something might be harmful even when it’s difficult and the outcome doesn’t benefit them.

All my thoughts about patriotism felt emotional but abstract until October 2023. Then it became personal. The following situation is one I had but illustrates multiple Jewish Canadian experiences.

Someone I knew posted on social media. I’d sat on a committee with her. I visited her farm. I supported her business. Right after Oct. 7, this person cheered “resistance.” She promoted a “walkout for Palestine” at an urban high school near me. This person lived out in the country, not in the city. Still, she had lots of followers and this reaction to the Oct. 7 attack contributed to the antisemitism in Winnipeg.

When I asked her why she did this, I heard that this non-Jewish, leftwing Canadian once dated a leftwing Israeli. She believed in “one state” for Israelis and Palestinians. She’d once raised money to visit the West Bank but hadn’t managed the trip. She then defined antisemitism for me. After this online confrontation continued, I broke off contact, but this person still follows me on Instagram. It feels like I’m being stalked by someone who wants to monitor my minority identity.

My kids now attend that public high school, and I imagine how dangerous it could be if they were there during a “walkout for Palestine.” There’s a straight line from having a leftwing non-Jew feel confident enough to define Jew-hate to me, a Jewish person, and the hate we’re dealing with now. If a walkout happens at school, do my Jewish kids stay in the building, thus getting singled out as targets? My kids’ choice to side with Israeli friends and family and the Jewish state means they could be endangered at school by such “resistance” activism.

When I moved to Canada, I reveled in how safe and public Jews felt in Winnipeg. It was a novelty after moving from Kentucky, where I’d often felt worried about my safety. When someone recognized me on a Winnipeg street and called out to me from her bicycle, yelling that she knew me from synagogue, I felt unsettled. Six months later, I too felt safe enough to put my menorah in the dining room window during Hanukkah.

Sadly, that first Hanukkah in Canada, in 2009, is when my house got egged. It felt safe to be Jewish here, but we still couldn’t be that public about who we were.

When my twins were preschoolers, they walked to synagogue with us, wearing kippahs, because they felt proud of their identity. It was also easier than getting the kippahs on just outside the shul. We’re now in a situation where everyone’s toque, sun hat or ball cap comes off and the kippah comes on – sometimes even inside the building. We’ve had to change. It wasn’t safe.

Like many in Canada and the United States, I am now significantly less trusting of government and our country’s actions. I wonder if I will know when it’s time to move, when things are too unsafe. The older me sees value in the ways of Rav Hisda. It’s a sign of wisdom and maturity when we can identify and predict a loss or risk before it happens, and even cut our losses.

Part of me wishes for that uncomplicated time when I could lay back on my blanket, watch the fireworks and feel soaring pride. I’m sad to have lost that pride and the easy feeling of belonging I had in the past. Now, I wonder if I ever really belonged then, either.

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.

Creative project ideas

Considering the extra challenges Jews have faced these last few years, there are many of us who have reacted by delving more into our Judaism and our Jewish identities. Perhaps that’s why a book the Independent received a handful of years ago seems even more relevant now – both as a way to explore one’s identity, but also one’s creativity. With summer approaching and school soon letting out, who couldn’t use some ideas on how to fill the coming increase in a young person’s unstructured hours?

DIJ – Do It Jewish: Use Your Jewish Creativity! by Barbara Bietz, with colourful and playful illustrations by Daria Grinevich, is targeted to children 8 to 12 years old, but, honestly, any older person who has been contemplating their creative side would glean something, many things, from it. Published by Intergalactic Afikoman in December 2020, in the heart of the pandemic, it fell by the JI’s wayside, unfortunately, but not out of mind. So, while not hot off the press, it is hot off the JI bookshelf, and well worth adding to your household as a guide for worthwhile projects that could be used simply to pass the time in a fun, imaginative way, or it could spark a career or hobby path.

The book has chapters on filmmaking, cartooning and graphic novels, cooking, songwriting, painting and art, midrash, and Judaica. Each chapter comprises a main interview with a practitioner of the artform being presented, with the interview divided into four main sections: Doing It Jewish, Keeping It Going, Making It As Good As It Can Be, and Taking It Further. Then, there is a secondary artist spotlight.

Each chapter concludes with a how-to summary of sorts, featuring ideas of what to do and what questions you might ask yourself as you work through an idea. And, each chapter includes a list of necessary tools for the project, as well as a glossary of terms comprised mainly of Jewish words, like Talmud, kreplach, Shavuot or dreidel, but also script, graphic design, choreography and beatnik.

DIJ – Do It Jewish features almost 20 artists sharing some of their inspirations, processes and advice, as well as concrete steps for aspiring artists to embrace their Jewishness and express it creatively.

The complexities of identity

More than 16 years ago, I was accepted into a master class for writing fiction with a well-known regional author at a university near me in Kentucky. I’d written lots of non-fiction and dabbled in fiction. I thought this would be a good opportunity. Shortly after arrival, I realized that this was a fiction class that specialized in Appalachian themes. Although I was from Virginia, my background wasn’t Appalachian. I felt like an outsider. I was also the only Jewish person there. As things progressed, the author suggested we should always “write what we know!” He talked a lot. The class was a lot drier than I’d hoped.

When it was time for short writing exercises based on prompts, I let loose. I purposely wrote to fit in, creating a vignette around church. When it came time to read these pieces, everyone nodded along with my church scenario – I was fitting in, but only because I was purposely faking it. First, I’d proved to myself that “write what you know” wasn’t always necessary, because, of course, famous fantasy or science fiction authors don’t truly know the alternate worlds they dream up. Even fiction authors don’t always know how to do everything they describe in their imaginary worlds. Second, I’d faked being part of the majority religious culture and those classmates bought it.

In the afternoon, it was time to workshop pieces we’d submitted earlier. I’d submitted writing that had been favourably reviewed elsewhere. I felt somewhat confident. However, the workshop’s approach was to criticize without complimenting – and many comments didn’t even seem relevant to what I’d written. When I tried to respond, I was shushed and told I must not know how these kinds of workshops worked. Responding was bad form. I was meant to be “shamed” without recourse. I felt vulnerable and took their unhelpful comments to heart, forgetting that I’d been part of different yet successful writing workshops long before, as a teen at the University of Virginia. The day dragged on. I noted the famed author’s agitation and cigarette smoking at the breaks. I wasn’t having a great learning experience.

I returned home to spend the evening with my husband and my father-in-law, who was visiting from New York. They’d just heard of the sudden death of a close family friend in a skiing accident. I devoted my evening to them and realized that skipping day two of this workshop to be with family was more important. I sent regrets to the famous author’s class, but I mostly felt relief.

Later, I learned that the famous author, whose work was described as traditional, heterosexual rural Kentucky, and who had a wife and small kids, was going through a divorce at the time of the workshop. Later, he became happily married to a man. I wondered again about the “write what you know” and “represent your identity” advice.

This all came to mind when I recently read obituaries of Tom Stoppard and Frank Gehry. Stoppard, a great Czech/British playwright, only addressed his Jewish heritage later in life, when he learned more about what had happened to his family during the Holocaust. Gehry, born to a Polish-Jewish immigrant family in Toronto, heard Talmud from his grandfather as a child. Although Gehry claimed he was an atheist, he attributed his questioning and creativity to the rich encouragement of his childhood. Gehry changed his name from Goldberg to Gehry at the urging of his first wife, who wanted to avoid antisemitism.

I gained access to this fuller description of these creative figures not from a single write-up but from several. If I’d relied on the CBC’s account of Gehry, I’d only have known about his Judaism from his name change and antisemitism concerns; CBC never used the word “Jew” or “Jewish.” The retrospectives on Stoppard’s work came from both the CBC and Jewish publications, but Stoppard’s last name came from a non-Jewish stepfather. That man wanted him to stop using the name Stoppard when his work became too “tribal” or Jewish for his stepfather’s taste.

Stoppard and Gehry were ethnically Jewish and had identity struggles. They and their families wrestled with who they were in a cultural climate that made it hard to be Jewish. I didn’t know either of these men or their families, but the public obituaries and descriptions brought into sharp focus that same feeling I’d had when I wrote about church activities from a first-person perspective.

I remember a family friend who changed his name to avoid quotas, to get into medical school more than 60 years ago. I’d hoped that this need for identity code-switching would no longer be so pressing when I moved to Winnipeg in 2009. For a time, this was true. I didn’t have to be so careful about saying who I was and what that meant. Now, after Oct. 7, this struggle has risen to the forefront again.

Since Oct. 7, 2023, we’ve faced options like whether to downplay our ethnoreligious identity, embrace it with joy and pride, perform it by speaking out against hate or by being a “good Jew” who doesn’t, the kind with whom many non-Jews feel most comfortable.

This isn’t an obvious choice. Many of us code-switch daily. It’s no different than what Jews did during the Hellenizing days leading up to the Maccabees and the Hanukkah story, or the days of the European Enlightenment, when Jews were finally considered “citizens” – up to 1933 or so.

There isn’t a “one size fits all” answer, nor is it clear that anyone would have the same answer for every situation. I often think back to that “famous author,” carefully performing as a heterosexual, married man and droning on as an expert. It may be that we’re all experts on our own identities, but it’s also necessary to name the experiences we have when we purposely or unconsciously obfuscate, struggle or react with pride when it comes to who we are.

Some parts of our identities loom large. Other aspects of who we are may lurk in the background most of the time. We cannot examine these issues until we think about them and name them. It’s easy to tell people to “write what they know.” It’s much harder to write who we are and what we don’t know, especially when it feels unsafe. Further, just like how Gehry and Stoppard’s names changed, we, too, evolve, morph and change over time, even if we don’t know how to describe it.

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.

Victoria Fringe has started

Director Francis G. Matheu, right, with actors Nolan Fidyk and Dan Landry rehearsing Alan Segal’s Shade Apparel. (photo by Sarah Nicole Faucher)

This year’s Victoria Fringe Festival, billed as “12 days of madcap fun this summer,” started on Aug. 20 and runs to Aug. 31. Included in the lineup are pieces by two local Jewish community members, Alan Segal and David Heyman.

Segal describes his play, Shade Apparel, as “comedy, drama and absurdity.” It features Danver, a playwright rooted in daily routine, who tries to find answers to questions he never knew he had. And, Segal told the Independent, “He is not prepared for the answers. Shade Apparel is a play about wanting to know more and not knowing where to find anything.”

In Segal’s words, our society is “heavily psychologized,” in that everything is given a psychological or emotional origin story, he said. “But, if we breathe, we absorb culture, ideas, ideals and assumptions.

“Most of the time, we have a slight awareness of the precise origin of these. Their origin tale, however, is found in the social cauldron of daily life. This, too, is our apparel. We are clothed in more than material fabric,” he said.

From an early age, Segal has had an interest in how people become, well, anything; for example, how are allegiance, assurance, belonging, anger, dissent, happiness, or its opposite, created?

Segal’s first Victoria Fringe experience was not as a playwright but as a supporter of the arts who was captivated by the aura and array of creativity he observed. Last year, he founded Imbroglio Theatre, which will put on Shade Apparel.

“Beyond headlines and supposed fame, people venture into many realms of expression. I loved it from the start, and I expect many will be enlivened by what is approaching in Victoria at the end of August,” he said.

The creative team for the Fringe show comprises Dan Landry, Nolan Fidyk and Kendra Bidwell (cast), Alan Segal (writer), Francis G. Matheu (director), Elaine Montgomery (stage manager), Luke Weston and Andrea Gregg (lighting design), Phil Letourneau (music and sound design), Sarah Nicole Faucher (costume design) and Doug Wills (poster and program).

“Shade Apparel is the second play I have written – a project I never intended to write and had no inkling of, until it leaped into my mind as a single scene,” said Segal.

His first play, Frey’s Anguish, premiered in March 2024 at Paul Phillips Hall in Victoria.

photo - David Heyman’s Ducks co-stars, right to left, Gloria Snider, Lorene Cammiade, Ryan Kniel and Danielle Greschner — David Heyman’s Ducks co-stars, right to left, Gloria Snider, Lorene Cammiade, Ryan Kniel and Danielle Greschner. *(photo from David Heyman)*

Heyman’s play, Ducks, takes place in the aftermath of an incident in which 1,600 ducks flew into an oilsands tailings pond in northern Alberta and died – a true event that caused international criticism of the provincial government. Years later, the oil company that owned and operated the pond was fined and the government promised tighter restrictions; however, the damage to Alberta’s reputation was significant.

The fictionalized theatrical story centres on a government communications director who has 20 minutes to retrieve an embarrassing, career-ending invitation erroneously sent out in his name before the media or public find out about it.

“I was communications manager for the premier of Alberta at the time [of the real-life incident] and, although I was not involved in managing the issue … I was able to observe the crisis-management efforts from up close,” Heyman said.

“The characters and events in the play are entirely made up but are informed by my inside knowledge of how communications offices work, and how the media deal with such situations,” he said. “Before joining the Alberta Premier’s Office, I was a political reporter at the Calgary Herald for many years. Many people who work in governments in Alberta and BC have told me that the play feels authentic, which was my goal.”

When Ducks premiered at the Victoria One-Act Play Festival in 2023, it won the prize for outstanding original script. When it was performed at the 2024 Edmonton Fringe Festival, five of eight shows sold out and the play received stellar reviews. The play has also been performed at the Nanaimo Fringe Festival and in Tofino.

Heading into the Victoria Fringe, Heyman said, “We’ve got a top-notch cast, a great director and a great stage manager this year. The rehearsals are going very well and I’m confident it will be a hit.”

Heyman is the show’s producer and, joining him in mounting the Fringe show are Ryan Kniel, Lorene Cammiade, Gloria Snider and Danielle Greschner (cast), Francis G. Matheu (director), Andrea Gregg (stage manager) and Sarah Heyman (associate producer).

David Heyman has written an as-yet-unperformed sequel, Rhymes with Ducks, that he hopes to put on at next year’s festival. “The sequel is designed also to be a second (and final) act, and perhaps one day both will be performed as a single show,” he said.

For the Fringe, Shade Apparel is at Victoria Conservatory of Music’s Wood Hall, while Ducks is at James Bay United Church. Both plays are 45 minutes long. For tickets and more information, visit victoriafringe.com.

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

Our Jewish-Canadian identity

Before Passover, a relative of ours in New Jersey asked if we would have problems getting Manischewitz wine. I told her all would be fine. Even though US alcohol had been taken off Manitoba’s shelves, we would just buy other brands of kosher wine instead, I said.

I felt confident about this possibility until I marched to the kosher section of the wine shop and saw the notification. The store encouraged us to buy whatever was available “right now” because all kosher wine, no matter where it is made, is imported through the United States. We were fine for Passover and, to be honest, my family is more flexible about wine the rest of the year, so the situation didn’t worry me too much.

A Manischewitz joke from my mom, visiting from the States, made me wonder about how much kosher wine is available now in Manitoba, and I did some googling. Between the provincially run Liquor Marts and the private wine shop that caters to those who keep kosher, I saw about six wine varieties available.

Then, my husband told a story he’d heard from someone attending minyan. Their family kept kosher. To get the kosher wine they wanted during Manitoba’s ban on US alcohol, they placed a special order with Happy Harry’s liquor store in Grand Forks, ND. The dad drove from Winnipeg, crossed the border, picked up two cases of wine, paid the duty at the border and drove home again. It was a 470-kilometre round trip, more or less, to resolve the issue.

You don’t think a lot about this when supply chains function between countries, but, in the absence of kosher wine imports, you have whatever odds and ends are left – and Kedem grape juice, which is still available.

Plenty of Jewish Canadians may be asking what they will drink on the holidays. This made me think about the Babylonian talmudic tractate I’ve just started studying, Avodah Zara. This tractate, compiled by about 500 CE, concerns how one lives alongside idol worship. It considers issues like whether Jews should do business with non-Jews before their festivals, because the money they earn might go towards ritual sacrifice to idols.

It gets more specific though. Jews lived in diverse places, with many different cultures around them. The rabbis wondered, what if there were a water fountain and the water spurted out of a Greek god or an idol? Jews may not drink “from Zeus’s lips.”

The rabbis then suggest a more concerning health issue about these fountains with pipes. There was danger, they posit, because these pipes brought water from ponds or rivers. You might swallow a leech. Medical suggestions about what to do if you swallow a leech (or, heaven forbid, a hornet) follow. Apparently, one is allowed to boil water on Shabbat to deal with this problem, or swallowing vinegar might help.

This discussion on Avodah Zarah, page 12, examines how to deal with many issues in communities where we Jews interact with others, working and living together, specifically mentioning Gaza and Bet She’an. Yes, those two locations have been in the news … funny how little changes.

This tractate page describes how to cope with another even more difficult dilemma. During this period – the Mishnah was compiled by about 200 CE, and the Gemara was added by 500 CE – some people believed that Shavrirei, a water demon, came out at night. If you got thirsty at night, you must wake up someone else to accompany you, as the demon would only be a problem if you were alone. However, if you were alone and thirsty, there was another solution. One knocked on the jug lid and recited an incantation: “shavrirei verirei rirei yirei rei.” Maybe reducing the name of the demon at each repeat results in causing the demon to disappear, too?

To most modern thinkers, this whole approach will seem bizarre. An entire tractate is devoted to avoiding idol worship, since Jews believe in only one G-d. Yet, at that time, Jews also seemed to believe that dangerous demons existed, swallowing leeches could be resolved by consuming hot water, and a person would die from swallowing a hornet but might delay their demise by drinking vinegar. Worldviews are complicated, and full of contradictions.

These days, Jews, both in Israel and the diaspora, live in community with non-Jews. We must cooperate and get along even when our traditions don’t jibe. Further, we must consider when our actions are meaningful and when they’re tokenism. Some examples of avoiding idol worship suggest that Jews should avoid even the appearance of worshipping idols. For instance, if you get a thorn in your foot near an idol statue, don’t bow down there to pull out the splinter! It looks bad.

From the outside, sure, Jews in Canada can stand behind our country’s counter-tariffs and the choices made by our country and provinces to deal with trade issues. It’s within the rights of provinces to pull US alcohol from our shelves. That said, how then do Jewish families who require kosher wine to say Kiddush, celebrate Shabbat or weddings or holidays? According to at least one household, it requires crossing the border, paying the duty and getting on with things.

It’s not clear whether the counter-tariffs, lack of US alcohol sales or decreased Canadian tourism to the United States will make any difference in the Canada-US trade relationship. Like the incantation to get rid of the demon Shavrirei, perhaps reducing the names of those who bother us makes them disappear. Maybe it’s just a ritual that makes us feel better. We can’t tell from here.

Over time, our priorities differ. Sometimes, we’re scared of a water demon. Other times, we’re feeling thrashed about by trade talks with an “orange” ruler of a different sort. In both cases, we might respond with token acts or incantations, which mostly don’t change things. Yet, the rabbis point out, water is essential to life. We must drink, so we come up with hopefully safe solutions to quench our thirst. Wine is a little less necessary, but we bless it multiple times a year, so does the kosher wine shortage matter more now? The issue creates discord between our Canadian and Jewish identities, as we live in the diaspora.

Perhaps all will be resolved when Canada’s internal trade between provinces improves. Maybe we’ll think less about this when the weather cools and we’re not quite so “thirsty.” Here we are, almost 2,000 years after these issues were first discussed, still wondering the best ways to live in diverse societies, meet our needs and get along with our neighbours.

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.

Love and learning

People from many cultures show love via food and, of course, Jews are no exception. And what a palate our culture has, since we have lived in so many places. Two children’s books from Collective Book Studio, one new and one from recent years, highlight the flavourful diversity of Jewish culture, while teaching other valuable lessons.

Coming out this August, Tali and the Timeless Time by Mira Z. Amiras, with illustrations by Chantelle and Burgen Thorne, shares the love of a granddaughter for her grandmother, and vice versa. Every Friday, Tali helps her nona get ready for Shabbat. Nona gives hugs, tells stories, still tries to get Tali to nap, even though she’s older now. When Nona dozes off, Tali explores in the backyard, cleans up the small fountain there, feeds the goldfish. When Nona awakes, it’s time to cook.

“We bake!” says Tali. “Today, it’s bourekas, yummy for eating. Nona makes them with filo (which it turns out is cheating). She says her nona let her ’cause it doesn’t need kneading.”

The week before, the pair made stuffed grape leaves – yaprakas, dolma or dolmades. Nona’s favourite dish is huevos (eggs) cooked in tomatoes with feta and arroz (rice).

While Tali’s grandmother might get Tali’s name wrong, or forget a word or two, she has these recipes ingrained in her.

“I’m having big thoughts,” says Tali, “but Nona’s not listening – she’s singing ‘chakchouka,’ it’s sometimes called, not just huevos, in the Holy Land, Tunisia and the land of the pharaohs. In Mexico, it’s a lot like huevos rancheros….” But Nona loses focus, she starts dancing with “her zills and her fans.” Tali finishes making dinner, the pair eat together, then dance some more.

In another role reversal, Tali tucks Nona into bed for the night, not sure she should leave her alone. Luckily, Tali and her family live nearby.

It’s a lovely book, “timeless time” being a beautiful description of a day spent with a loved one, doing this and that, in no particular order, sharing stories, mixing up past with present, making memories that will adapt over time.

Family and food are also at the heart of 1, 2, 3 Nosh with Me, written by Micah and Joshua Siva, and illustrated by Sviatoslav Franko, which was published a couple of years ago. In it, the dog Buckwheat shows us the yummy food the family eats, starting with the “One golden challah, to celebrate Shabbat…” We work our way up to “Ten crispy latkes, served by candlelight.” In between, we have matzah balls, matzot, kugel, knishes, apples for a sweet new year, sufganiyot, bagels and hamantashen. (It’s not clear why the Hanukkah treats are separated, but that’s a quibble.)

Tali covers a few Sephardi staples and Buckwheat has the Ashkenazi favourites down. Between the two books, the breadth of world Jewry, as seen through just some of its traditional foods, is impressive.

Deborah Wilde makes magic

Writer Deborah Wilde is more public now about the Jewish elements in her novels, which have always had a Jewish sensibility. (photo from Deborah Wilde)

East Vancouver author Deborah Wilde has been a writer since childhood, when she filled countless notebooks with her stories. Born and raised in Greater Vancouver, she also spent some years in Kitimat; hers was the only Jewish family in town. She read Isaac Bashevis Singer and watched Neil Simon movies. It was an upbringing she describes as being “rich in tradition.”

Wilde started her writing career in TV and film. “I loved it. I got to be in writers’ rooms, it was a real privilege,” she said. However, she added, screenwriters are “part of a machine: you’re hired to work on other people’s stories. I wanted to tell my stories.” These stories, as it turns out, are ones with strong Jewish representation and tough, sassy female protagonists.

With the movie industry being in what she describes as “a terrible state,” Wilde took the leap into young adult fiction. In writing the Nava Katz series, she was pleased to find that many of her screenwriting skills were transferable to this new genre. “Dialogue is my happy place,” she laughed. “I had a great time doing it.”

She knew that she had to have Jewish protagonists. “I was an avid reader as a kid but I only saw myself in Holocaust stories,” she explained. “Where was the Jewish girl falling down the rabbit hole or going through the cupboard into Narnia?”

In Wilde’s books, we meet a Jewish mom from Mumbai, and the love interest in her current series is a Mizrahi Jew. Diversity even within the Jewish community is vital, she said. “I want smart Jewish women who have adventures, who are the object of desire.”

Having embarked on her career in fiction, Wilde has reached her initial goal of publishing five books in three years. It took a lot of stamina and she learned that being an independent (or “indie”) young adult author was “not sustainable.” Setting her sights on an adult audience, she took inspiration from her “love of old Hollywood – it was the banter. And I’d always read romances,” she said, “so I wanted to include that as well.”

Wilde settled on first-person, urban fantasy. A relatively new but extremely popular genre, urban fantasy tales are set in the world we live in but with magical and supernatural elements. Ordinary or “mundane” activities are constantly disrupted by these troublemaking nasties, sometimes with deadly consequences.

And that is where we meet Jewish heroine Ashira Cohen, private investigator. Walking down a Vancouver street, Cohen comes across a “grimy convenience store selling long-distance phone cards and bongs.” A Vancouver scene we probably recognize, but she might also run into a bodyguard who’s been possessed by a demon or a delinquent teen with a talent for vanishing into thin air. Cohen is fast-talking, feisty and funny, but she’s also “someone you’d want to run into at Café 41,” said Wilde.

Meanwhile, Cohen’s finances are in a state, her love life is stagnant and she’s extraordinarily (and creatively) accident prone. The character is unsentimental, caustic and cynically bored. An interview with a young adult client gave her, she says, “all the details about their nauseatingly cute courtship and very little useful information.”

Wilde’s novels bring a big helping of zany chaos, a nod to the screwball comedies of the 1940s, staple viewing in the author’s childhood home. But, while the books conform to established genres – such as the “chosen one” trope, the terribly attractive and just as infuriating nemesis – they’re also full of little winks at the reader: neurotic elders, Jewish idioms, references to Jewish traditions.

Wilde’s talent lies in her ability to layer elements of regular life – like an eye-rolling teen whose statements sound like questions, or the intrusive badgering of Ash’s mother at a moment when tensions are already running high – over the frenzied dangers of the world inhabited by Cohen. The result is fiction that is absurd, surreal and peppered with rapid-fire dialogue reminiscent of the classic film His Girl Friday.

There is also a serious undercurrent. The author seasons her prose with references to history. For example, one of the magical characters, Meryem, is a Turkish magic refugee who has fled the “purges.”

Jewish representation is very important to Wilde. “There is so little fiction and television with strong, tough Jewish characters,” she said. The Jezebel narrative isn’t a Jewish story but, explained Wilde, “it has a Jewish sensibility – because that’s my own. It’s authentic to my experience.”

There has always been a Jewish flavour to Wilde’s writing, but it was more subtle; it could be found in the humour. “Readers would find the Jewish stuff eventually,” she said. “But now I’m talking about it in my ads, or even in certain interviews. I’m more public about it now.”

This is one of the aspects that makes Wilde’s work original. While Greek, Celtic, Roman and Norse tales have been all the rage for years, Jezebel’s Jewish folklore and mythology make it stand out. “I won’t write it if I don’t have something original to say,” said Wilde. And that’s where we find a magical organization called Nefesh, or, in Hebrew, “soul” or “life.”

Wilde is both a prolific writer and a businessperson. Talking about the switch to indie authorship, she describes it as “exhausting and a huge learning curve.” She is now both an author and her own publishing house. She has learned about search engine optimization, how to print and distribute books, the advantages of the different platforms and the wizardry required to publish ebooks online. But, despite all the technology that runs behind the scenes, Wilde finds that “word of mouth is still the best form of advertising – many people comment on my ads with things like, I just bought this book because of all the comments, so it had better be as funny as you all said!”

But she’s not alone in her work: her team now includes her husband (who designed the back end of her online store), an editor, cover designers and a slew of peers on whom she has depended for critical (but kind) feedback, moral support, professional insight and companionship.

Wilde sells her books directly to readers. She explained that, when you buy from Amazon, “you’re actually leasing the book.” Instead, she said, “When you buy digitally from an author, you actually own the book – it’s yours, not just a link you have access to while you have that device.”

Past and present intersect with Wilde’s writing. Most of her grandfather’s family was killed in the Warsaw Ghetto. Of those who survived, she said, “They ended up in a displaced persons’ camp in Germany. My mom was born prematurely in that camp, delivered by a former Nazi doctor.” So, stories about how Jews once lived in Russia, which invaded Poland in 1939 and fully occupied it at the end of the Second World War, “that was my childhood.”

Having been raised by her grandparents, Wilde said, “I know there is absolutely an aspect of me working through this generational trauma, baggage, but, at the same time, there’s also me working through the patriarchal aspect of Judaism.”

Shula Klinger is an author and journalist living in North Vancouver.

An almost great movie

Coexistence, My Ass! follows Israeli activist and comedian Noam Shuster Eliassi as she develops her show of the same name. (photo from DOXA)

Coexistence, My Ass!, directed and produced by Amber Fares, is almost a great documentary. But it fails to ask at least two key questions that would have made for a more in-depth portrayal of an interesting and complex human being.

Coexistence, My Ass!, whose May 4 screening at the DOXA Documentary Film Festival already has sold out, is about comedian Noam Shuster Eliassi, who was born in Wahat Al-Salam / Neve Shalom / Oasis of Peace, a village in which Jewish and Palestinian Israelis have chosen to live together. It has been considered a model of coexistence and Shuster Eliassi grew up amid the idealism it represented, and speaks Arabic fluently. She and her best friend (to this day), Ranin, a Palestinian Israeli living in Oasis of Peace, were among the kids trotted out as the generation who would bring peace.

Shuster Eliassi’s mother is Jewish Iranian and her father is Jewish Romanian. The couple met in high school (in what country is not revealed), so basically grew up together. They decided to live in Oasis of Peace and became, says Shuster Eliassi in her act, what most Israelis love to hate most: woke, progressive leftists. “They believe in the radical idea that Israelis and Palestinians deserve the same equal human rights! Crazy. So radical.”

It seems important to know why Shuster Eliassi’s parents left their respective countries to live in Israel, but especially her mother. With Iran as the main funder of Hamas’s – and other terrorists’ – murderous activities, and the fact that tens of thousands of Jews had to flee after the 1979 revolution, it seems that Shuster Eliassi’s mother’s experience is crucial to understanding Shuster Eliassi. But this question, if ever asked, doesn’t make it into the film.

Shuster Eliassi is an intelligent and accomplished person. By age 15, she had graduated, so to speak, from being one of the kids giving flowers to visiting celebrities (who would often mistake her, because of her dark skin, for being Palestinian – and with such good Hebrew!) to speaking around the world about coexistence and the possibilities for peace. At 21, she got a full scholarship at Brandeis University for being a peace activist. She even met the Dalai Lama, who, she quips, didn’t think she was Palestinian – “He just thought I was Indian.”

At 25, Shuster Eliassi landed a “peace worker’s dream job” – a position at the United Nations. We don’t learn much about what her job entailed, but there are clips of her speaking about the West Bank and Gaza as being the biggest prisons in the world, and how “the occupation” affects Palestinians and Israelis. Career-wise, she was on a wave of success, she says in her show, when she saw Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy’s TV program, made before he was elected, about a comedian who becomes president. Zelenskyy, of course, then did become president, so Shuster Eliassi observes that, if she wanted to take her political career seriously, she needed to start writing jokes.

photo - Comedian Noam Shuster Eliassi in performance — Comedian Noam Shuster Eliassi in performance. *(photo from DOXA)*

This takes us to where the film begins, with her at Harvard in 2019, where she’s been asked to deliver a peace-building project. She tells them that Coexistence, My Ass! will be that project, and she’s accepted.

In the documentary, we see the development of Coexistence, My Ass! and how Shuster Eliassi’s views change as the political situation in Israel deteriorates and the violence increases. Her parents are often her sounding board, as are friends and fellow comedians. We witness the results of a hate crime – the school in Oasis of Peace was set on fire in September 2020. We see moments of happiness, most unexpectedly, perhaps, when Shuster Eliassi returns to Israel from the United States with COVID and must be quarantined in a hotel, where sick Jews and Palestinians are being isolated from the general population.

“And everyone is radically getting along. This is a 5-star oasis of peace. If they continue getting along, my comedy career is over. Just kidding, you’ve read the news, I have material for years. Netanyahu has my back,” says Shuster Eliassi in her act. “Somebody give him a beeper,” she adds sheepishly, referring to Israel’s taking out of Hezbollah with exploding pagers in September 2024.

Months before Oct. 7, 2023, Shuster Eliassi was disillusioned and would get into yelling matches with Jewish Israelis protesting the Netanyahu government and dangers to democracy because their protests didn’t also explicitly call for equal rights for Palestinians. Whereas pre-COVID, she says, “My biggest responsibility is to speak to my people…. The Jewish audience is where we have to work,” the purpose of Shuster Eliassi’s comedy ceases at some point to be a way to encourage peace and becomes a form of resistance.

After Oct. 7, when some of Shuster Eliassi’s family and friends abandon their belief in coexistence because they feel peace with Palestinians isn’t possible, Shuster Eliassi goes the other way, giving up on coexistence because she feels – though doesn’t state explicitly – that peace with Jewish Israelis is not possible.

Moria, a comedy writer, advises Shuster Eliassi that people need to hear what Shuster Eliassi has to say, but it can’t just be “genocide, genocide!” The role of a comedian, says Moria, is “to bring people together. To unify. We can’t stop the killing, but we can unify people. To get people to see the world through your eyes.”

“No, that’s not what I’m doing,” responds Shuster Eliassi, who explains that her goal isn’t to unify, it’s “to voice resistance to this insane show of force that has swept everyone up blindly.”

Shuster Eliassi’s friend Ranin reluctantly retains hope for coexistence because, otherwise, she tells Shuster Eliassi, there is no place for Palestinians and Arabs within Israel. For Shuster Eliassi, though, by the end of the film, there seems to be no place for Jews in Israel. She only sees fault with Israel, and somehow thinks that Hamas wouldn’t want to kill all Jews if Israel had dealt with “the occupation.”

If memory serves, Hamas is only mentioned once in the documentary, in a clip from Shuster Eliassi’s show, where it is part of a joke, perhaps one told before 2023, it’s not clear. Why Hamas plays little or no role in Shuster Eliassi’s view of the evolving situation is the second of those two key questions that would have made Coexistence, My Ass! a better film.

While Shuster Eliassi laments that Israelis – even the coexistence crowd – are not able to meet Palestinians where they’re at, she is unable to meet her fellow Jewish Israelis where they are at. While she is comfortable performing at a Palestinian festival where she’s greeted by a man wearing a “Palestine vs the world” T-shirt that, on the back, has a Palestinian flag over all Israel, she isn’t comfortable with Israelis who would fill out that same map with no Palestinian territories. While she is correct that peace is only possible between equals, she only sees one oppressor – Israel. Not Hamas. Not any other international party, like Iran. Just Israel.

Many of the people at the sold-out screening of Coexistence, My Ass! will think it’s the most amazing film ever because, despite attempting to be fair – and it seems like Fares honestly did try to present multiple sides – it ultimately heralds their anti-Zionist beliefs and justifies them. Others will be disappointed that Coexistence, My Ass! ends up being just another anti-Israel film, which will, no doubt, win more awards than it has already, despite its critical flaws.

Film Fest starts soon

Sabbath Queen is a film about the life of Amichai Lau-Lavie, part of a rabbinic dynasty going back 38 generations. (still from film)

The 36th annual Vancouver Jewish Film Festival runs April 24 to May 4, beginning with opening night film Midas Man, which “offers Beatles fans a fresh look at the pivotal role Brian Epstein played in the band’s meteoric rise.” An enormous range of dramatic and documentary films, features and shorts, fill out the festival’s run, and the Independent reviews some of them here.

Tradition!

Hester Street, based on Abraham Cahan’s 1896 Lower Eastside immigrant novel Yekl, was released in 1975, about the same time as Fiddler on the Roof. The movie approaches some of the same topics of assimilation and tradition, without the song and dance.

Yankl (now Americanized Jake, played by Steven Keats) transforms from a yeshivah bocher to a shmatte sweatshop worker. Along comes Gitl, the wife who had waited behind in Russia, and young son Yossele who, payos cut off, becomes Joey.

The 50th anniversary of the film’s release reminds us that the 1970s were a time of nostalgia and of Jewish narratives that both idealized and lamented the American dream. In Hester Street, which is in black-and-white for mood, the boarder Bernstein (Mel Howard) represents tradition and continuity, contrasting with Jake in the fight of money versus learning, of getting ahead versus getting an education. Bernstein’s presence in the home of the primary couple puts Gitl in a predictable three-cornered bind both romantic and cultural.

Hester Street, which is filmed in black-and-white for mood, confronts the themes of tradition and assimilation — *Hester Street*, which is filmed in black-and-white for mood, confronts the themes of tradition and assimilation. *(still from film)*

Younger viewers might take some time to recognize Gitl (Carol Kane) as the kooky landlady from Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt. Meanwhile, the tough-talking landlady in Hester Street is recognizable as Doris Roberts, who contemporary viewers will recognize as the buttinsky mother-in-law from Everybody Loves Raymond.

There are subversive components of the film, including the role of divorce in perpetuating traditional values. Subversion twists again and indeed Gitl assimilates in her particular ways. As the last line in the film declares ambivalently, “We mustn’t be too quick to say this or that.”

Director Joan Micklin Silver was a pioneering woman in male-dominated 1970s Hollywood.

Kosher queen

Tradition, continuity and modern times are absolutely the themes of Sabbath Queen, a film by Sandi DuBowski about the life of Amichai Lau-Lavie.

The scion of a rabbinic dynasty going back 38 generations, Amichai is the son of politician, ambassador (“and we suspect a spy”) Naphtali Lau-Lavie and nephew of Israel Meir Lau, former chief rabbi of Israel. Filmed over 21 years, the documentary follows Amichai as he is ordained as a rabbi, via the Conservative movement’s Jewish Theological Seminary. But choosing the Conservative movement over orthodoxy is the least of Amichai’s rifts with his traditional family.

In 1993, Amichai was outed as a gay man in a news report and, it seems, he never looked back. After fleeing to New York a couple of years later and getting involved with the Radical Faeries, a queer, shamanistic spirituality group, “one vodka too many” leads to his alter ego emerging “out of my head like Athena.”

The drag queen Hadassah Gross – a Hungarian sex advisor, kabbalist, matchmaker and widow of six rabbis – was born. Amichai describes his drag persona as “something between channeling and performing” and it is all about exploring the intersections of feminine and masculine. (“What the goyim call the yingele and the yangele,” says Hadassah.)

“Artists are the new rabbis,” he declares, but eventually seems to decide that being an artist is not enough and he seeks his rabbinical smicha, in large part, it seems, to combat his brother and the larger establishment on Orthodox dogma.

He becomes the spiritual leader of a decidedly unorthodox congregation called Lab/Shul. And, when his officiating of interfaith partnerships clashes with the Conservative movement, the rabbi faces the consequences.

Amichai’s brother, father and mother have their reservations, to put it mildly, about Amichai’s activities.

“We’re pushing a lot of boundaries here,” he acknowledges. Or, as his Orthodox rabbi brother puts it, not entirely sympathetically, “He’s playing with Judaism.”

One feels invasive as the camera goes close up on Amichai at his father’s funeral and that sense of voyeurism repeats throughout the film, as does the feeling that the documentary’s subject is something of an emotional exhibitionist.

The relationship between Amichai and his immediate family represents the larger cultural dissonance between queer and other nonconforming Jews and the orthodoxy of the tradition, though there is an astonishing, uplifting conclusion to some of these challenges by the film’s ending.

A family affair

I first saw A Real Pain on a flight home from Israel last month. Selecting a Hollywood treatment of two cousins doing a Holocaust road trip to their grandmother’s hometown in Poland, I girded myself for cringe-inducing, inappropriate or otherwise disappointing fare. My expectations were pleasantly upended. This is a profound, beautifully presented film that hits the right notes in so many ways.

I am not the only one impressed. Unbeknownst to me when I chose it, the script and the acting were already grabbing accolades worldwide. Costars Jesse Eisenberg (who won the BAFTA Award for best original screenplay) and Kieran Culkin (who won both an Oscar and a Golden Globe for best supporting actor) deliver moving and multidimensional characters.

David (Eisenberg) and Benji (Culkin) are the proverbial odd couple but what I had somehow anticipated to be slapstick comedy turned out to be deeply touching. As we find out more about Benji’s story, his erratic behaviour makes more sense.

Moments that could come off as didactic – almost documentary-like scenes at the Polin Museum and the Monument to the Ghetto Heroes, among others – somehow work even when you think they shouldn’t. The British tour guide James (Will Sharpe) is repeatedly challenged by Benji and acknowledges his own shortcomings as a non-Jewish facilitator, inviting viewers to ponder insider/outsider roles in the immediate and larger story.

If you ever wondered what corner Baby from Dirty Dancing ended up in, here she is – Jennifer Grey – playing a supporting role as one of the members of the cousins’ small tour group.

Spousal secrets

It is hard to write about Pink Lady without giving too much away. A seemingly ordinary religious Jerusalem couple with three happy kids and an involved extended family are upended when the husband is subjected to violence and blackmail.

Director Nir Bergman’s Hebrew-language feature film sees Lazer (Uri Blufarb) and Bati (Nur Fibak) pondering the most existential questions of how God challenges even his most dedicated adherents. A deeply serious film with both laugh-out-loud incongruities and eye-covering discomfiture, Pink Lady is a slice-of-life with deep theological questions.

Oct. 7 revisited

image - Of Dogs and Men, which deals directly with the attacks of Oct. 7, 2023, is a blend of fiction and documentary — *Of Dogs and Men*, which deals directly with the attacks of Oct. 7, 2023, is a blend of fiction and documentary. *(still from film)*

At least two films in the festival deal directly with the attacks of Oct. 7, 2023.

Of Dogs and Men is a blend of fiction and documentary. Director Dani Rosenberg’s film follows 16-year-old Dar (Ori Avinoam, also cowriter) as she sneaks back into Nir Oz, her vacated kibbutz, in search of her missing dog Shula.

While the quest for the dog may be a stand-in for the larger search

Israelis have undertaken as individuals and collectively to discover the fate of missing people – Dar’s mother’s fate remains unknown – it is hard not to wonder if the choice to centre a (missing) dog in the story is not meant to invite dissonance among overseas viewers. Given the indifference and even celebration with which some people worldwide have responded to the Oct. 7 attacks, is the tragedy of a lost dog a statement on the qualitative value the world places on Jewish life?

Dar tags along with a woman who rescues animals in the abandoned and war-torn areas.

“Aren’t you afraid of dealing with those dogs?” she asks the woman.

“Look what human beings did. So, I should be afraid of dogs?” the woman responds. “There’s no creature more awful, crueler than human beings and I still live among you.”

Through the imagery of destruction and the litany of names of victims, the film breaks down distinctions between Israeli and Palestinian victims.

The documentary 6:30 provides a harrowing, minute-by-minute narrative of Oct. 7 events from different locations and perspectives. The interviews with survivors just a week after the attacks show raw emotion.

Some of the Nova festival-goers thought they were hallucinating as the hellish day unfolded. Several people, including first responders, speak of detachment, of a disconnect between what they were seeing and what they could believe. In retrospect, one survivor wonders if his liberation is real or if he died and that is what he is now experiencing. Others talk of the emotional burdens they will carry forever.

Linor Attias, a United Hatzalah volunteer who arrived at Kibbutz Be’eri in a mass casualty event vehicle, notes with pride that Arabs and Jews were united among the rescue workers trying to save the lives of victims. She loaded people into ambulances, where they released piercing shrieks of agony, having held them in for hours of silence in order to save their lives.

“That howl of pain cuts through the soul,” she says.

The most chilling thing about the film is realizing, amid all these horror stories, that these are the testimonies of the lucky ones.

Full details and tickets are available at vjff.org.

How Jews are indigenous

Last month, Ben M. Freeman spoke about his latest book, The Jews: An Indigenous People, as part of Kolot Mayim Reform Temple’s 2024/25 speaker series. (PR photo)

Ben M. Freeman, founder of the modern Jewish Pride movement, spoke from his home in London, England, about his work and ideas in a Zoom webinar on Jan. 12. Titled Building Jewish Pride and Recognizing Jewish Indigeneity, the virtual event was hosted by Victoria’s Kolot Mayim Reform Temple.

The author of Jewish Pride: Rebuilding a People and Reclaiming our Story: The Pursuit of Jewish Pride, Freeman’s latest, The Jews: An Indigenous People, will be released this month.

Freeman began by calling into question the perception that indigeneity implies people who have lived on the land and are primitive or oppressed.

“I have great issue with that because the idea of those things being inherent is to destroy the great diversity of the indigenous experience,” he said.

The United Nations, he explained, set up seven criteria used to determine the indigeneity of a people to a particular land. Freeman, in his writings and talks, argues that Jews are indigenous to the land of Israel even by the UN’s criteria.

“[The UN] also created rights for indigenous people: the ability to have self-determination, the ability to practise your own religion, have your own language, all of these different things. But, again, many of them are still rooted in this idea that indigenous people are inherently oppressed,” he said.

“We’re not here to say that indigenous people have not experienced oppression. That would be ludicrous. Many indigenous groups do experience that, but we can’t necessarily say these things are inherent….”

To view certain groups as only victims, he contended, strips them of agency. Freeman would define an indigenous people, rather, as a group whose collective identity begins in one specific land, and it is in that land they remain rooted either physically, spiritually or culturally.

“This is their home and is where they originated, developed and continue to be fixed through a connection to the environment and natural resources, living systems, culture and practice as a people, irrespective of their sovereignty in the land,” he said.

This definition, Freeman believes, not only applies to Jews in Israel but also refers to the experiences of the Maori in New Zealand and First Nations in Canada, and other peoples in other countries.

From his perspective, Jews were a small group of tribes that developed into a civilization over time. The Torah played a large part as it codified Jewish civilization by taking practices that already existed, reshaped some of them and retold some of the stories, creating a culture that contains religion.

“Almost all the practices were rooted in the land. Pesach was two different festivals: one was a matzah festival and one was a sacrifice festival. Rosh Hashanah, our new year, was the beginning of the agrarian year. Shavuot is an agricultural holiday,” Freeman said.

“One of the odd experiences of being Jewish is that we exist in this cognitive dissonance almost because we will describe ourselves officially in many ways as a religion, but then we have so much of our practice rooted in land.”

Freeman also put forward that a distinguishing characteristic of Judaism is that, unlike Christianity, it can be a religion but not exclusively a faith or creed.

“Christianity has creed. My partner is a Christian and I sometimes ask him, ‘Could you be a Christian without believing in Jesus?’ And he’s like, ‘no.’ We don’t have that,” said Freeman. “That’s why you can have atheist, secular or agnostic Jews who are part of Am Yisrael. There is nothing we have to believe to be Jews.”

Freeman went on to discuss Jewish pride, which, for him, bears three central tenets. The first is to encourage and empower Jews to reject the shame of antisemitism – to wear one’s Jewishness as a badge of honour.

The second point is to repudiate non-Jewish definitions of Jewish identity.

“I just feel it’s so egregious to me that non-Jews think they have a right to tell us what it means to be Jewish or any aspect of that experience. This is my identity. I will tell you what it means to be a Jew,” he said.

The third tenet is for Jews to go on a journey to explore their identity through a Jewish perspective. “We have to be able to say this is who we are,” he said, “but we have to humbly accept that takes time. We need to be doing real work to investigate our Jewishness and then, most importantly, [do it] through a Jewish lens.”

Freeman is scheduled to travel to Canada in March to discuss The Jews: An Indigenous People, with appearances in Toronto, Windsor and Edmonton. His schedule may include stops in Ottawa and Vancouver, as well.

Next up in the Kolot Mayim 2024/25 lecture series, on March 2, 11 a.m., is Jonathan Bergwerk, author of the Audacious Jewish Lives books, who will speak about Jewish innovators who changed the world. Go to kolotmayimreformtemple.com to register.

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