Jewish life

Counting the Omer at home

For university students or professors, like my husband, the end of term is coming. Some universities call this winter term, others say spring term. Even though I haven’t been in school for a long while, I still remember the feeling at the end. Many of my classmates were elated after they sat their last exam. They’d yell loudly after they left the exam hall, or go drinking or do something celebratory and crazy. I often had an entirely different experience.

Most of my coursework, in the humanities and social sciences, required writing papers instead. During the study week and the exam period that followed, I’d line up the due dates, create a calendar and plow through. Each paper would require its set of books, carefully piled up, with scraps of paper as bookmarks or long lists of online references. I’d check the professor’s requirements – five pages? 12? 20? – and sometimes crank out a paper every day or two.

In that era, the professors liked hard copies, so I’d print out my work, staple it, and trudge across campus, leaving it in a professor’s mailbox. Then, I’d walk home and, sometimes, I’d take a break from writing. Other times, I’d just start the next paper. When the last research paper was written and submitted, that was it. No fanfare. No yelling or parties or even shared experience with classmates. In some cases, by the time I finished writing, the dormitories would be emptying out. I’d feel hollow and exhausted, but, even while I was alone, I was triumphant. It was all finished. I could go home.

Real life isn’t a lot like the end of a semester. True, holidays end (buh-bye, Passover!! See ya next year!) and big work projects get turned in, but, many times, there’s no big completion marker, no hurrah. It’s a lot more like turning in those term papers. It’s a lot less like the group partying after exams.

Our triumphs and mile markers during the pandemic have been quieter, overall, for me – a lot like that feeling of turning in my research papers by myself. I cheer every time someone shows off their COVID vaccination information on social media. I’m in awe of what many have accomplished during this independent time in terms of learning new skills (sourdough, pottery, whatever) or in their career trajectory; again, mostly seen via social media. It’s sometimes hard to “see” oneself the same way, though, particularly when vaccinations are going so slowly.

Whlie I know, objectively, that many of us are accomplishing a ton, it’s also equally valid to do a reasonable job just staying afloat during such a crisis. Getting meals on the table, kids educated and – not to be forgotten – working are big accomplishments right now. As some are struggling with mental health, food or housing insecurity, it can be important to recognize how many of us are doing OK, and could potentially help someone else.

The Jewish calendar has really steered our household during this stay-home period. For instance, right now, we’re counting the Omer at home, for the first time ever. My kids did it in preschool, and I’ve been vaguely aware of it some years, but I certainly wasn’t raised with doing this at home.

What’s the Omer? It’s the verbal counting of the days between Passover and Shavuot. While we no longer bring a grain offering to the Temple in Jerusalem on Shavuot, we still measure this stretch between the holidays. The kabbalistic mystics added a level of meditative imagery, too, a way of preparing ourselves to mark the gift of the Torah to the Jewish people on Shavuot.

One of my twins is keen to cross days off the calendar. He and I are counting the Omer together. To remember, I’ve been writing the right number on a chalkboard and he and I turn to each other at some point and announce, “It’s the Xth day of the Omer!” Then we say, for instance, “NINE, NINE, NINE!” and laugh. But, in all seriousness, for us, it has become a way of keeping track of time. It’s an accomplishment, if not a divine mystical meditation.

I’m very much looking forward to being vaccinated – and I’m hoping to say the Shehecheyanu blessing (being grateful for having reached this moment and season). I can’t wait to feel, with the vaccination, that I’ve done all I can to cherish life, according to Jewish tradition, and be healthy for my family.

On the Jewish calendar, we’re looking forward to having a family barbeque on Lag b’Omer. Both 9-year-olds here are excited about their hot dogs and maybe getting to eat them outside.

It still feels like an absolutely uphill trudge in the snow, though. This is literal – we’re also in the midst of a big April snowstorm in Winnipeg. The plows are working outside my home as I write this. However, using this ancient system to count the days, or the Omer, both connects us to our past and helps us make incremental gains towards whatever is to come in our hopefully brighter, post-pandemic future.

Every year, we receive the Torah on Shavuot, and it’s something to celebrate, a milestone. Each moment, no matter how mundane, is something for which to feel grateful.

Many say that, when the pandemic is over, there will be a roaring ’20s feel, that people will party wildly in the streets. I suspect it’s going to be a lot more like the trickling sensation of writing and turning in one paper at a time, until I’d met all my undergraduate course load deadlines. Even so, I’m counting the days until I can feel relieved at the end, and celebrate with family, at home. Since no one knows when that end will be scheduled on any calendar, I’ll just keep counting the Omer, instead.

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

Grilling kebabs for Lag b’Omer

Grilled skewers make great Lag b’Omer fare. (photo from pixabay.com)

Lag b’Omer, which this year starts on the eve of April 29, is not mentioned in the Torah. The holiday isn’t mentioned anywhere, actually, until the 13th century, and no particular foods are associated with it.

The Torah does command us to begin counting the Omer on the second night of Passover. Omer, which means sheaf, was a measure of grain from the new barley harvest cutting, brought to the Temple on the 16th of Nissan. Fifty days later is Shavuot. Thus, the counting of the Omer provides a bridge between the Israelites being freed and receiving the laws. The seven-week period is a period of mourning, when observant Jews do not shave or get haircuts and when there are no marriages or public festivities.

The respite is Lag b’Omer. Lag is a combination of the Hebrew letters lamed, which stands for the number 30, and gimmel, which stands for the number three. The 33rd day of counting the Omer commemorates the time when students of the second century’s Rabbi Akiva, who supported Bar Kochba’s rebellion against the Romans, were struck with a plague. On this day, it stopped.

Most Jewish holidays feature different symbolic foods. In Joan Nathan’s Jewish Holiday Cookbook, Lag b’Omer barely gets a mention, as “a time for picnicking” – she suggests roast chicken, eggplant salad, German potato salad, Moroccan carrot salad, fresh fruit and cookies. Of all my many Jewish and Israeli cookbooks, the only one that devotes an entire chapter to Lag b’Omer food is A Taste of Tradition by Ruth Sirkis. She says the bonfires mark the beginning of the outdoor cooking season and recommends pickle dip, tehina, mini relish trays, mixed grill (kebab and shashlik), pita, baked potatoes, baked corn, fruit and lemonade.

Here are three tips for grilling on a skewer: flat or square skewers will keep the food from revolving; if you spray the grill before cooking, foods will not stick; and partially cook vegetables before threading on a skewer, so foods cook in the same amount of time.

And here are a few recipes.

MEAT AND POTATOES SHASHLIK
(6 servings)

2 pounds cubed beef
1/3 cup balsamic vinegar
1/4 cup olive oil
1 tbsp Dijon mustard
1 tbsp Worcestershire sauce
2 tbsp soy sauce
1 tbsp cilantro or parsley
12 small red or white potatoes
2 small onions, quartered

In a plastic bag, combine balsamic vinegar, oil, mustard, Worcestershire sauce, soy sauce and meat. Close and let marinate two hours or, if refrigerated, up to eight hours.
Place potatoes in a saucepan and cover with water. Bring to a boil, reduce heat and cook for 15 minutes. Drain and place in a bowl.
Pour some marinade into the bowl of potatoes and toss.
Thread six skewers, alternating meat cube, potato, meat cube, onion quarter, meat cube, potato, meat cube. Thread the remaining potatoes and onions on extra skewers.
Grill skewers three inches from the heat for five minutes on each side (for medium rare), more for well-cooked, basting with marinade before turning.

LAMB KEBAB
(6 servings)

1/2 cup olive oil
2 tbsp red wine vinegar
1 tbsp minced garlic
1 1/2 tsp Dijon mustard
3 pounds cubed lamb
2 red bell peppers
2 green peppers
2 quartered onions
12 mushrooms
1/2 cup chopped cilantro

Place olive oil, vinegar, garlic, mustard and lamb in a plastic bag, close, shake and set aside.
Core and seed peppers, cut into one-by-two-inch pieces. Add to marinade along with mushrooms. Place in refrigerator at least four hours.
Place onion quarters on a plate and brush with some of the marinade. Thread meat on skewers, alternating with vegetables and allowing three pieces of lamb per skewer. Grill three inches from the heat for five minutes per side for medium rare, brushing with marinade when turning.

GRILLED VEGETABLES
(8 servings)

1/4 cup olive oil
1/4 cup red wine vinegar
1 tbsp minced garlic
2 tsp Dijon mustard
1/2 tsp basil or oregano or Italian seasoning
2 quartered red onions
1 red (or yellow) pepper cut in 1.5-inch strips
1 green pepper cut in 1.5-inch strips
4 halved plum tomatoes or 8 cherry tomatoes
4 squash cut in half-inch pieces
1 eggplant cut in half-inch pieces

In a plastic bag, combine olive oil, wine vinegar, garlic, mustard and spices. Add vegetables, close bag, toss and let marinate at least three hours.
Using one skewer for each vegetable, thread onto skewers allowing half an inch between each. Grill three inches from the heat source for three to five minutes, carefully turning. Place marinade in a bowl. Slide vegetables off skewers into marinade and toss.

Sybil Kaplan is a journalist, lecturer, book reviewer and food writer in Jerusalem. She created and leads the weekly English-language Shuk Walks in Machane Yehuda, she has compiled and edited nine kosher cookbooks, and is the author of Witness to History: Ten Years as a Woman Journalist in Israel.

Recalling the Catskills

A postcard of the legendary Kutsher’s resort.

After the Lower Eastside of Manhattan, there is perhaps no place that holds so enormous a place in the imagination of Jewish life in North America as the Catskills.

The Catskill Mountains, really a region of the larger Appalachian Mountain range, is a sprawling section of southeastern New York state. Just 160 kilometres from New York City, the area is a world away from the workaday life that lower- and middle-income Jews of mid-century America experienced. The relative proximity to the world’s largest Jewish population centre made the Catskills a destination for generations of Jewish (and other) Americans.

Phil Brown, a professor at Northeastern University, author of Catskill Culture: A Mountain Rat’s Memories of the Great Jewish Resort Area and founder of the Catskills Institute, delivered a webinar March 3. It was presented by the Jewish Study Centre.

The resort region emerged, to use an inapt metaphor, by farmers trying to create a silk purse from a sow’s ear. The land was not good for farming. Chickens and dairy cows were about all it would sustain, and farmers began opening their homes to temporary lodgers.

“You didn’t come to a hotel, you didn’t come to a resort, you came to our house,” Brown reflected. “You came to our family and they treated you like family. And it didn’t matter if you wanted another potato because we grew them here, we grew the corn, we made the cheese, we made our own butter and the cows were giving us milk twice a day. We could make all the butter and cream and sour cream that you needed…. It was served with a full hand because that’s what people came up here for.”

Elaborate menus were an invitation to excess. “So many things to choose from,” said Brown, “and it wasn’t like you chose one or two of these things for breakfast, you had one from each group. You had the fruit, you had the appetizer, then the cereal, then the eggs and the pancakes.”

In addition to the three meals a day the all-inclusive resorts offered, there was a concession to buy snacks while lounging by the pool or playing tennis, then noshes during the evening program at the “casino” – this wasn’t a gambling den, just the name most resorts gave to the theatre space – and, after that, maybe a drive into town for a bite at one of the late-night diners.

In an astonishing array of about 500 “resorts” – ranging across every quality – and another 500 or so “bungalow colonies,” there was something for everybody. One colony, with accommodations that were a cross between cabins and tents, attracted single young people and newlyweds.

image - Pool scene at the Pines Resort in the heyday of the Catskills — Pool scene at the Pines Resort in the heyday of the Catskills.

In many cases, families would come for the entire summer – two months for a manageable price. Mom and kids might stay all through, with fathers commuting back to the city on Sundays. At its heyday, the Jewish Catskills drew 500,000 visitors a year, making it, in the 1950s and ’60s, the world’s largest resort area.

The glossy catalogues produced by the local tourism agency had subtle and less-subtle code words to segregate their clientele. “Dietary laws observed” was the signal for a Jewish resort, while “Churches nearby” sent the opposite message. The phrase “No Hebrews” left less to the imagination.

Brown’s own family story is a microcosm of Jewish American strivers taking entrepreneurial risks in the Catskills hospitality industry. “My parents began in 1946 as the owners of a small hotel called Brown’s Hotel Royal on White Lake,” he said. “They had that hotel until 1952. Not very long – six years.”

Economic challenge was a part of the Catskills experience in part because of extended families and the porous boundaries between work and play in vacationland. “It was a place where the family came to work, the family came to stay and no one could tell the difference if they were working or staying,” he said. “And this is partly why my parents went broke. People thought they would have a job there and they didn’t really do much work.”

After losing their hotel to bankruptcy, they worked for others. “My mother, always a chef, my father having other jobs, running a concession, working as a maître d’, working as a chauffeur,” Brown said. Young Phil started working in the resorts at a early age. By definition, the places that employed them were the smaller ones; the larger, swanky resorts only hired male chefs.

“After they lost their hotel in 1952, they moved down to Fort Pierce, a little town 150 miles or so north of Miami,” he said. “The idea here is that they would get a new start here and that all of the Jews coming down to go to Miami Beach would be so hungry for good New York food by the time they got to Florida that they would stop in here on the way.”

Opening a restaurant with a large sign declaring “Brown’s Jewish Restaurant” in a community where the Ku Klux Klan was still openly marching took chutzpah. They crossed local norms when an African-American family walked in and was served like any customers would be. But it was not racism or antisemitism that did the business in. “My parents, having lost a hotel because they were good businesspeople, did not do well running restaurants,” he said wryly.

They found their way to Miami Beach and they ran the coffee shop at the Haddon Hall Hotel, which was partly owned by the Kutsher family, who owned one of the Catskill’s most renowned resorts. It was not uncommon that proprietors of Catskills hotels would also own properties in Florida, capturing clientele for the summer season as well as the winter.

The resorts were not just getaways but miniature societies, where people knew lots about each other and created very intimate relationships. This was at least partly because the folks one would run into there were not usually strangers.

The Seven Gables Hotel, where Brown really learned the hotel industry ropes, was known as a “Jackson Heights hotel,” because most of the people who worked and lived there came from the Jackson Heights area of the New York borough of Queens. The owners came from there, they hired staff from there and they recruited guests via the local synagogues and social networks.

There was a huge diversity in the properties, but, generally, he said, lower-cost bungalow colonies had cabins with their own kitchens, so the food was prepared by the family rather than eating in a restaurant or dining hall. These were often built on a lake or river and so did not have swimming pools. Nor did they provide a wealth of entertainment. The bungalow colonies supplemented the low rent by selling groceries to the guests.

On the flip side, the higher-end hotels and resorts not only served multi-course meals, they also imported vaudeville acts from Manhattan’s Second Avenue theatres and other comedians, musicians and entertainers, who would work a circuit in the “Borscht Belt,” often making a good living and building a name for themselves.

By the 1970s, the Catskills were starting to decline as a destination. Some of the old resorts have become yeshivot or Jewish kids camps. Some are being used as boarding houses. Many of the smaller and mid-sized places have been converted into private homes. At least one is now a resort for Korean-Americans and another has been revived by Russian-speaking Jews. But the heyday is well and truly gone, Brown said.

“It’s a world mostly lost to us physically,” he said, “yet so powerful in our memories and emotions.”

Louis Brier and the pandemic

The garden in the courtyard of the Louis Brier. (photo by David J. Litvak)

It hasn’t been easy for any of the staff and companions working at Dr. Irving and Phyliss Snider Campus for Jewish Seniors – which comprises the Louis Brier Home and Hospital and the Weinberg Residence – during the pandemic. Nor has it been easy for the residents and their families. However, seeing a 100-year-old Holocaust survivor happily walking down the hall or a beaming bubbe (who was born in Lithuania) wheeling herself from one end of the facility to the other, or another resident greeting everyone with a hearty “Aye Yai Yai,” I can’t help but smile. Despite the challenges, we have been lucky here, so far, to have escaped the worst of COVID-19.

My pandemic journey at the Louis Brier began in January, when I was hired on a permanent, part-time basis as a mashgiach (kosher supervisor) during an influenza outbreak that foreshadowed what lay ahead. I was hired to replace one of the Brier’s longtime mashgiachs – the facility employs two on a part-time basis – and I had big shoes to fill. The previous mashgiach not only provided kosher supervision in the kitchens but entertained residents with his piano playing, puppet shows and conducting of services in the Louis Brier synagogue on Saturday mornings and weekdays.

Being employed as a mashgiach at the Louis Brier during the pandemic has had many challenging moments – slicing meat and deboning turkey were particularly painful for me because I am a vegetarian, but, luckily, I am no longer required to perform those tasks. Anyways, prior to the pandemic, Shabbat services would be held on Saturday mornings, with a Kiddush lunch afterwards that featured herring, gefilte fish, pastries, challah and grape juice. It was a real highlight for the residents, particularly the lunch. However, due to the pandemic, the weekly services and special meal were canceled. In addition, the monthly Shabbat services that were led by Cantor Yaacov Orzech and the Kol Simcha Choir were canceled, as were Friday night services. It is only recently that Louis Brier chaplin Chazzan Rob Menes has resumed the Friday night services and, in response to a personal request from one of the residents, informal Saturday morning services have also returned.

photo - Chazzan Rob Menes sounding the shofar at the Weinberg Residence — Chazzan Rob Menes sounding the shofar at the Weinberg Residence. *(photo by David J. Litvak)*

On Rosh Hashanah, a full service for the residents was offered, thanks to Richard Wood and Adam Ben Dov, members of the Louis Brier’s religious committee, and Rabbi David Rosenfeld of Chabad, who sounded the shofar for the residents. Menes has been blowing the shofar every morning at the Louis Brier, as well as at the Weinberg Residence, on occasion. While no family members were able to join the services, Rosh Hashanah was celebrated, albeit in a low-key manner.

Other holidays that have occurred since the pandemic have also been observed quietly. Passover at both the Brier and Weinberg was particularly stressful, as kosher-for-Passover products that would normally be available could not be ordered. The facility’s food services manager valiantly persevered to make sure people were provided kosher food during the holiday, however, and the other mashgiach and I – with the help of Rabbi Mendy Feigelstock and Schneur Feigelstock of Kosher Check – worked to keep the home kosher and chametz free. It wasn’t easy. It was a subdued Passover in another way, because the seders at the Weinberg were canceled to ensure that the residents were kept safe from the virus.

That has been the underlying principle since the pandemic began – keeping residents safe. From the outset in March, the Louis Brier’s chief executive officer, David Keselman, has shown foresight. For example, he canceled the annual Purim Megillah reading and Purim parties, which would have taken place just as the coronavirus was taking off.

In addition, from the outset of the outbreak, companions and other employees at the Louis Brier have been prohibited from working at more than one job. These decisions and the dedication of the staff and administration ensured the safety of the residents. Not one resident of the Louis Brier or the Weinberg Residence has contracted the virus.

To show his appreciation of the job that has been done at the Louis Brier, one resident, a fellow North End Winnipegger, nominated the administration for the Order of British Columbia, the Order of Canada and the Nobel Peace Prize. The resident, who started the badminton club at the home and maintains a tulip garden in its courtyard – the only outdoor space residents have been able to go for fresh air during the pandemic – marveled at how lucky he and other residents are. In the Daily Blah, a newsletter he published, he noted: “The Louis Brier does not have the virus, has a beautiful garden and we can play badminton.”

While it is true that the residents have been physically safe and have not contracted the virus, the pandemic has taken a psychological toll on everyone in the building. Until recently, due to provincial prohibitions, residents were not allowed outside visitors, other than seeing loved ones through the glass of the front lobby, and talking to them on their cellphones. Now, residents are allowed to have scheduled visits with loved ones outside the front entrance of the Louis Brier and outside the Weinberg, as well. It is a small victory that will hopefully boost the morale of the residents.

As for me, I just keep thinking of 100-year-old Louis Brier resident who tells me that, as long as he can eat, talk and walk, it’s a good day! The resilience of residents like him reminds me to always be grateful for the basic things in life.

David J. Litvak is a prairie refugee from the North End of Winnipeg who is a freelance writer, former Voice of Peace and Co-op Radio broadcaster and an “accidental publicist.” His articles have been published in the Forward, Globe and Mail and Seattle Post-Intelligencer. His website is cascadiapublicity.com.

Lubeck shul sees restoration

Israel’s Lavi furniture factory recreated Carlebach Synagogue’s original ark from three prewar black-and-white photos. (photo from IMP)

Viewing the restored Carlebach Synagogue in Lubeck, Germany, brings to mind the biblical prophecies of consolation, where the Jewish people are reassured that the day will come when not only will they be restored to their land, but their houses of worship will likewise be restored. Sadly, neither the shul’s rabbi nor any other of the original community members are alive today to revel in the synagogue’s reinstated glory; however, in an interesting twist, several of the rabbi’s grandchildren are the children of founding members of Kibbutz Lavi, whose furniture factory designed and built the synagogue’s ark and other holy articles.

Rabbi David Alexander Winter, rabbi of the Carlebach Synagogue, fled Lubeck in 1938, together with most of his community. Several months later, on Kristallnacht, when many of Germany’s synagogues were torched and burned to the ground, the Lubeck shul was damaged and looted, but not destroyed – the building had been sold to the municipality and the contract, signed by the rabbi, was inside the synagogue, in plain view.

For Winter’s grandchildren, seeing the restoration of their grandfather’s synagogue is especially moving. “It’s a feeling of coming full circle,” said Yehudit Menachem, who visited Lubeck last year, seeking to learn more about her family history. Dr. Ariel Romem, a pediatrician and one of the grandsons, remarked that the restoration is symbolic of the re-blossoming of the Winter family and of the Jewish people as a whole. “They may have ruined the shul, but they never succeeded in breaking us,” he said.

In the seven decades since the Holocaust, the once-stately synagogue, established in 1880, has suffered looting, a firebombing, squatters and general neglect. German architect Thomas Schröder-Berkentien began working on its restoration in 2010, but the project was stuck due to a lack of funding. In 2016, the federal government dedicated a sizable sum, with other funding arriving from the Schleswig-Holstein state, the Lubeck-based Possehl Foundation and UNESCO, which had declared the Old City of Lubeck a World Heritage Site. The total cost of the project amounted to almost $10 million.

Schröder-Berkentien was intent on finding the best craftspeople for the synagogue furniture, and also felt that it was only right that the furniture should come from Israel. He found the Lavi furniture factory online and, after several inquiries and a visit to the carpentry workshop along with his team, was assured that they had the necessary experience and expertise to perform the research and produce items of quality and beauty. Indeed, in its 60 years of operation, Lavi has designed and produced interiors for synagogues in more than 6,000 Jewish communities around the world, including for new and restored synagogues in Germany.

Motti Namdar, the factory’s chief planner, described the challenge, and ultimate satisfaction, of creating replicas of the original items. “We only had three prewar black-and-white photos to go by,” he explained. “The photos showed only one angle and even that was not very clear. It was difficult to make out a lot of the detailing or which metals were used, especially for the ark, which you can see from the photos is very unusual.”

Ultimately, much of Namdar’s work had to be done by deduction and a knowledge of the history of the period. “I traveled to Lubeck to see the synagogue and examine the parts that had not been damaged. Part of the ladies’ gallery was intact. The architect had hired restoration experts who carefully removed the layers of paint from the walls, exposing the original murals. The synagogue as a whole had been built in the Moorish style, and I proceeded in that direction.”

In one of the photos, it’s possible to make out the pointed roof-like structure at the top of the ark, which Namdar designed to include 1,500 “scales,” all coated in pure gold. Under Namdar’s direction, the Lavi factory completed all the articles by the deadline. “The hardest part wasn’t the tight schedule, but, rather, building everything such that it could be taken apart, packed and shipped, and then reassembled so that everything fit perfectly.”

photo - Since its restoration, Carlebach Synagogue in Lubeck, Germany, has been serving as a spiritual hub for Lubeck’s 700-strong Jewish community — Since its restoration, Carlebach Synagogue in Lubeck, Germany, has been serving as a spiritual hub for Lubeck’s 700-strong Jewish community. *(photo from IMP)*

But while it was clear to the craftspeople at Lavi that they wanted to produce replicas that were as authentic as possible, the project’s architect, Schröder-Berkentien, was intent that the structure itself, which was restored to be a national monument, should serve as a testament and, in his words, “like a wound,” as a painful reminder of the events of 1938. This was the reasoning behind his decision not to redo the synagogue’s original ornate façade, which, together with the cupola and other elements, had been destroyed on Kristallnacht. “The plain red brick tells the story of what happened,” he said. “A rebuilt façade would ignore that part of history, failing to show the suffering of the era. This is what makes it such a unique monument among other German synagogues.”

When news of the coronavirus pandemic first broke in January, the factory began working overtime so that everything would be ready for the gala re-inauguration, which was to have been attended by high-ranking German officials, including Chancellor Angela Merkel, members of the restoration committee and local community figures, as well as Winter’s grandchildren from Kibbutz Lavi. However, when it was finally time for the assembly and installation of the furniture, the world was already in COVID-19 lockdown. As soon as it was possible, Lavi sent their own experts from England to complete the work. Now, the synagogue stands in all its resplendent glory, but the ceremony has been postponed indefinitely.

The important thing is that the synagogue is open and operating, serving as a spiritual hub for Lubeck’s 700-strong Jewish community. “This synagogue is not only a place of prayer, but a symbol of the revival of Jewish life in Lubeck, throughout Germany and around the world,” said the current spiritual leader of Lubeck, Rabbi Nathan Grinberg.

– Courtesy International Marketing and Promotion (IMP)

Jewish diversity exists

Rivka Campbell, a co-founder of Jews of Colour Canada, speaks at a school event. (photo from JOCC)

The spirit of openness and inclusion that many Jewish organizations express in their literature and social media posts is frequently not felt by Jews of colour, according to several members of the community.

Jews of colour, who are said to represent about 12% of the overall Jewish community, constitute a broad spectrum of people, including those of African, Middle Eastern, East Indian, Asian, Indigenous and Latin American descent, yet they are vastly underrepresented in congregation attendance, on organizational boards and throughout the community as a whole.

Rivka Campbell, a co-founder of Jews of Colour Canada (JOCC), says the unwelcoming feeling happens immediately upon entering a Jewish institution. She refers to it as the “question or questions” that are asked: Do you know this is a synagogue? What made you decide to visit? When did you convert?

“These are not the sorts of questions that most Jews who attend a synagogue or other places associated with Judaism have to answer, and it is really none of anybody’s business,” Campbell told the Independent.

In a recent Jews of colour webinar run by Moishe House Montreal, participants relayed numerous negative and often disturbing experiences, some of which caused them to distance themselves from Jewish circles.

“I have withdrawn from synagogue life and gone into online mode,” Deryck Glodon, Campbell’s JOCC co-founder, stated. “I don’t want to be in a position where people make you feel uncomfortable or unwelcome. People don’t know that Jewish diversity exists.”

Another participant mentioned a rabbi who once told him to choose between being black and being Jewish. Yet another recalled several untoward remarks made in Jewish settings about Filipino people, which happened to be part of this person’s heritage.

“It’s driving many Jews of colour away from any involvement within the broader community,” noted Campbell, who is executive director for Beit Rayim, a Conservative synagogue and school in Richmond Hill, Ont.

Campbell, the sole Canadian recipient of the Union of Reform Judaism’s JewV’Nation inaugural fellowship – a leadership development program – has had numerous encounters with misconceptions. She is often asked if she is Ethiopian. Once, at a Kiddush, she had to explain to someone that being a person of colour does not correspond to a fondness for fried foods.

A noticeable thread during the Moishe House webinar was the wide disparity between the progressive causes supported by Jewish leaders and the experiences of people of colour within the community.

Many Jews of colour feel that, despite some good intentions by Jewish organizations, there are always those moments when they have to prove who they are, when they just want to be, Campbell explained. The hope, she said, is that, one day, Jews of colour won’t have to spell out what Jewish diversity is.

“Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel’s solidarity with Dr. Martin Luther King happened 55 years ago – we need to do something now and not rest on our progressive laurels,” she said. “Nor should we forget that Rabbi Heschel was not universally praised from within the Jewish establishment for his civil rights stand.”

As for what clergy and lay leaders can do, Campbell pointed to the resources found on Union of Reform Judaism website regarding diversity, equity and inclusion for all members of the community.

For the broader community, she said, “It is not a big deal to be welcoming. Treat me the same as anyone else. You have to see me as a Jew first. ‘Shabbat Shalom’ should flow off the tongue as easily with me as anyone else.”

She continued, “Our diversity as Jews of colour adds to the diversity of Judaism. This can be turned into a very positive thing.”

On this hopeful note, in 2017, Campbell started work on a documentary that shares several stories of people from various backgrounds within the Jewish community and is designed to show the richness therein. Its objective is “to discuss how we are starting to embrace our differences and how we can do a better job of celebrating our diversity.”

Campbell’s first involvement with Jews of colour groups began at the time social media was gaining momentum. After locating ones on Facebook, she found their focus to be American-centric. In 2012, she started her own Facebook group, A Minority Within a Minority: Jews of Colour, a Canadian-focused group.

The need to move beyond Facebook ensued and, together with Glodon, she started a website and reached out to “people in the real world to have gatherings and lunches.”

“The aim was to have an in-person connection, to do things like teaching, research and advocacy,” said Campbell. The group was incorporated as a nonprofit and, at some point, she would like it to be a charitable organization.

JOCC hopes to expand its presence outside of Ontario and Quebec, and would like to have more exposure in British Columbia. Campbell spoke at Beth Tikvah

in July.

For more information about Jews of Colour Canada, visit jewsofcolour.ca or their Facebook page, facebook.com/joc.canada.

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

Reflections of a lone soldier

Joel Chasnoff spoke at a Zoom event presented by Jewish National Fund of Canada on June 1 and he’ll speak at a CHW Montreal Zoom event on June 21. (photo from APB Speakers)

Michael Levin grew up in Philadelphia, joined the Israel Defence Forces as a lone soldier and died in a battle with Hezbollah in southern Lebanon in 2006. At that time, most Israelis weren’t familiar with the concept of a lone soldier – a legal term for a volunteer, usually (but not always) from outside Israel, who enlists to defend the Jewish state.

Levin’s death at 22 came just days after he returned hastily from his leave back home in the United States when he learned of the start of the Second Lebanon War. He flew back to Israel, hitched a ride to his platoon in Lebanon and took up the fight against the Iranian-backed terrorists. He was killed in an intense firefight in the Hezbollah-controlled village of Aita al-Shaab.

His grieving mother, Harriet Levin, was concerned that her son’s funeral would not have a minyan to say Kaddish and so, on arriving in Israel, she asked a few people to come to the military cemetery to ensure a proper Jewish burial. On her way to Mount Herzl, traffic was so congested she feared she would be late for her son’s funeral but, when she did get there, she discovered that the few people she had asked to spread the appeal for a minyan had shared the news widely. Media picked it up and more than 10,000 Israelis showed up to pay their respects.

It was a turning point in the Israeli consciousness, according to Joel Chasnoff.

Chasnoff is a stand-up comedian and writer who shared his own story of leaving his Chicago-area home two decades ago to become a lone soldier. In a Zoom event presented by Jewish National Fund of Canada June 1, Chasnoff, who now lives in Israel, spoke of the changing understanding of lone soldiers – and his reflections on now being the father of soldiers. A decade ago, he chronicled his experiences as an IDF volunteer in the book The 188th Crybaby Brigade: A Skinny Jewish Kid from Chicago Fights Hezbollah.

Today, lone soldiers are a better understood phenomenon in Israel and supports are in place that were not when Chasnoff volunteered in 1997. There is now a network of Lone Soldiers Centres – commonly called Michael Levin Centres – around Israel, to help overseas volunteers adapt and smooth their way to a successful integration, coordinate holiday and Shabbat homestays and deal with the myriad complications that arise for a newcomer to Israel.

Chasnoff shared comedic experiences, including the challenge of proving he was indeed a lone soldier without Israeli parents, when government officials insisted that Levin’s father had never left Israel after his first visit in 1976. The stakes were basic – a lone soldier’s salary at the time was $160 a month instead of $80, plus a few privileges. But it required a sheath of documents from the States to prove that his father was indeed an Illinoisan, not an Israeli.

“Never mind that he had raised me in the U.S. and I have a very strong and good relationship with my dad. The Israelis believed that my dad was actually living in Israel the whole time and I was just trying to pretend that I was a lone soldier to get the extra $80 a month,” Chasnoff said.

His decision to join the IDF was sparked by a visit to Israel as a teenager.

“I got off the plane,” he said, “and, you know, you’re 17, your hormones are raging. What’s the first thing you notice being a teenager coming to Israel? How beautiful the Israelis are. The women were all tan and fit, the men were these hunks with muscles and crew cuts. It’s so odd because they have the same roots as we do, right? Except they look like supermodels and we look like Jews. How does that happen? That’s not fair.”

The soldiers he met were just a year older than he was.

“They were 18, and they had machine guns and berets and Ray-Ban sunglasses and forearms like bricks,” said Chasnoff. “And then there was me, slathered in sunscreen, wearing a fanny pack … stuffed with lactose pills.”

One of the eye-opening things Chasnoff discovered about the Israeli army, he said, is how democratic it was.

“I would even say insanely democratic,” he said, noting that soldiers argued about orders and fought with their superiors. “People ask me what’s it like in the Israeli army. I think the best way to describe it is, imagine a bunch of Israelis running an army. That is the Israeli army.”

This is why one of his platoon-mates was a darling among commanders: he didn’t speak Hebrew. The young man was raised in an evangelical Christian home in Oklahoma, but, at a certain age, learned that his mother had converted from Judaism. One thing led to another and he volunteered for the IDF.

“So, they made him a tank gunner,” Chasnoff said, “because, to be a tank gunner, you basically need to know six words – stop, go, left, right, forward, back. Tim was one of the best soldiers in our platoon because he didn’t have the Hebrew to argue back. When the commander would give orders, the guys would argue. Tim, by not having Hebrew, just did what he was told. And was an excellent soldier for that reason and one of our commander’s favourites.”

Unfortunately, a lack of Hebrew can be deadly in moments of military conflict. Chasnoff said some casualties in conflicts in Gaza may have resulted from linguistic challenges and he believes the military is doing a better job ensuring fluency in such situations.

While lone soldiers is a term associated with overseas volunteers, Chasnoff said that about half of the 6,000 lone soldiers are Israelis, mostly Charedim whose volunteer service or other factors estrange them from their families.

While lone soldiers were not so much in the Israeli consciousness a few decades ago, they are now a welcome oddity.

“I think, when you get a lone soldier in your platoon, people are very excited about it,” Chasnoff said. “Everyone wants to bring him or her home to show the family the sort of strange character who came all the way from New York City or Sydney, Australia, or whatever. People are really interested in what motivates them to serve, so they are invited. It’s very, very different than the old days.”

Addressing the broader differences between Israelis and Diaspora Jews, Chasnoff riffed like the comic he is.

“We grow up with this myth that Israelis are, you know, just like us. They are Jews and we are Jews and we’re one big happy family. And then you get to Israel and you realize the Israelis are nothing like the American Jew. They speak their minds. They shout. They argue,” he said. “You’ll never be with an Israeli and wonder to yourself, ‘I wonder what she really thinks about me right now.’ I’m married to an Israeli for 21 years and I can honestly say that once in those 21 years has my Israeli wife apologized to me because, in the Middle East, apologies make you look weak and nobody wants to look weak. We had one huge fight where she actually apologized and it wasn’t even a real apology, it was an Israeli apology: she came up to me a few days later and said, ‘Yoeli, motek, I am sorry you’re such an idiot.’”

He also has plenty of material about growing up Jewish in America.

“My mom was actually one of these Jewish mothers who – let’s be honest – they have a special ability to worry about every situation,” he said. “You give them any scenario, they will figure out the potential thing that could hurt you in that scenario.”

For their annual family visit to Texas to see his paternal grandparents, Chasnoff’s mother would book the family on two separate flights so that, if a plane went down, the entire family wouldn’t be lost.

“That’s a typical Jewish upbringing,” he said.

When his zaidie gave him a jersey with the number of his favourite player and his own name, Joel, on the back, Chasnoff’s mother refused to let him wear it outside the house because a stranger would know his name.

“And, because he knew my name, I would think he knew me, so I would go with him,” he said. “You know why? Because I’m an idiot. That’s why there are no Jewish athletes. Not that we’re bad at sports, our mothers won’t let us wear the jersey.”

Readers will have another chance to hear Chasnoff speak this month. CHW Montreal is hosting a Zoom BBQ with the comedian on Father’s Day, June 21, at noon, Pacific time. Visit facebook.com/chwmontreal and click on Events for details. Funds raised benefit hospital workers at the Shamir Medical Centre and Hadassah Hospital in Israel.

Real estate in time of COVID

Michael Geller at the groundbreaking of ConWest’s IRONWORKS development in 2017. (photo from Michael Geller)

The COVID pandemic and the months of social isolation it created will have impacts on real estate prices, urban design and human behaviours, says a local expert. But the changes are not likely to be revolutionary so much as accelerate trends already underway.

Michael Geller, an architect, planner, real estate consultant and property developer, spoke to the Temple Sholom Men’s Club in a virtual event via the meeting platform Zoom May 25. (For more on the club, click here.) Geller is also adjunct professor in Simon Fraser University’s Centre for Sustainable Community Development and a longtime leader in Jewish communal organizations. His topic was Real Estate in the Era of COVID.

“Housing sales are down significantly and are as low as they have been in recent memory,” he said. Wages have been dramatically impacted for an enormous number of individuals and household debt is increasing significantly. Many renters are unable to meet their payments.

Housing sales are affected by the obvious issues of economics, but also because buyers and sellers are reticent about the physical interaction required in the process of viewing potential homes. Sales have not entirely collapsed, though, he noted.

“There are still some bidding wars for more affordable condos, priced under $700,000,” said Geller, adding: “Can you imagine 30 years ago being told that affordable condos would be under 700,000? It just shows you what has happened to our market in recent years.”

While sales are down, there has not been a significant increase in the supply of either listings or new homes coming to market, he said. “So, at the moment, we aren’t seeing the dramatic drop in prices that many assumed, myself included, would occur.”

What may occur is a stalling of new construction because lenders are cautious. “They don’t want to lend money for anyone to buy land at the moment,” he said. “This is a significant factor.”

While there were many years when there was almost no purpose-built rental housing created, this has shifted, with about 4,000 new units this year in the city proper and 9,300 in Metro Vancouver. This supply, combined with the economic challenges brought about by the pandemic, have had impacts on rental rates. “For the first time in a long time, we are starting to see a softening of rent,” he said.

Foreign investment has been credited with playing an outsized role in property values in recent decades and some commentators speculate that buyers may be “circling like vultures” in the event of comparative real estate bargains in British Columbia, he said.

Geller noted the opposite could occur, however, as the market softens. “Some of the people who came, especially from mainland China but also Hong Kong and Europe, might actually divest themselves of their investments and pull out of the Vancouver market,” he said.

International events will also likely play a role. Uncertainty and upheaval around changes in China’s governance of Hong Kong could make Canada very appealing, especially to the 300,000 residents of Hong Kong who have Canadian citizenship.

“We have a high level of personal safety and, when you think about it, that is one of the most important considerations,” he said. “You can have all the money in the world but if you don’t feel safe in your home at night, you may not necessarily stay in that home.”

British Columbia’s recognized success in dealing with the pandemic has enhanced its international image. “As we start to focus more and more on health issues, that cannot be ignored,” he said.

Foreign investment in Vancouver has dropped significantly since the implementation of the foreign buyers’ tax.

“Will those foreign buyers come back, even if they have to pay 20% premium?” Geller asked. “If they don’t come back, and if that means local developers decide not to build, whether it be rental or condominiums, and we start to see significant unemployment of all those construction workers … then it may well be that the government says, you know, this is a difficult situation, these are unprecedented times and maybe they’ll just decide that, for the next two years, the foreign buyers tax will be reduced to five percent rather than 20% in order to stimulate the economy.”

On the commercial real estate front, the experience of working from home may change our relationship to the office. If people continue working remotely, that could reduce demand for office space. On the flip side, new ideas of personal space and social distancing could mean that people come to expect fewer workers in more space, thereby increasing demand.

If more people do opt for remote work options, some may choose to move to more affordable and remote locations. Home design might adapt to include formal workspaces so that people aren’t using kitchen counters as desks. Condo towers and apartment buildings might opt for hotel-style shared business centres rather than spas. They may move toward more “touchless tech” – a familiar example being the Shabbat elevator.

As stores reopen, retailers may see a decline in shoppers, but Geller suspects that warehouse space is headed for a bull market. “As more and more people are buying online, there is a need for more and more warehouse space to store all this product before it’s delivered,” he said. “This applies not just to clothing and giftware, it applies to food and other goods that are stored in cold warehouses.”

Looking at social changes that have resulted from pandemics in previous centuries, Geller said, “One of the things that came out of [earlier pandemics] was an appreciation of the need for more parks and green space throughout the cities. Central Park in New York, that was created by the New York City Board of Health because of the belief that this would lead to improved human environmental health for everybody in the city. In most European cities and many other American cities, large parks and green networks were created to help people lead healthier lives.”

Improved sanitation, water supply and sewage treatment systems were also at least partly a result of these catastrophes. Home design changed, including the advent of sleeping porches, based on the understanding that fresh air was preferable to stuffy interiors. The modern bathroom, including the proliferation of white tiles that both made it easier to clean and added to the perception of sterility, emerged. Wooden toilet seats, which were the norm, were replaced by plastic ones.

“The powder room became a creation in a larger house because the man who came to deliver the coal or to deliver the ice, you didn’t want them going through your house using your bathroom, so powder rooms became popular,” he said.

Though he had plenty of ideas, Geller was emphatic that he didn’t really know what the future holds. But he has some confidence about a general forecast.

“Often,” he said, “pandemics and similar sorts of events accelerate changes that were already happening.”

Men’s club is booming

Members of Temple Sholom Men’s Club at last year’s Whistler retreat. This year’s event, scheduled for May but canceled due to the pandemic, was to focus on indigenous issues. (photo from templesholom.ca)

Temple Sholom Men’s Club, which hosted the Michael Geller talk May 25 (click here for story), is catching the attention of the larger Reform movement for bucking the trend of declining vibrancy among synagogue men’s groups. In the process, say its leaders, they are also taking a stab at reducing the sociological phenomenon of men experiencing a dwindling social circle.

The synagogue has seen its men’s club grow from defunct to 260 members since being revived in 2016.

President Larry Bloom and vice-president David Schwartz credit the success to individual members stepping up to organize programming. But they also think one of the keys to success is identifying a particular need for men of all ages in the shul community.

Traditionally, they say, sisterhoods have had clear objectives, including fundraising and specific projects. Men’s groups have tended to be more amorphous in terms of their mission.

“Men’s clubs are traditionally, I think, a ‘what have you done for me lately’-type of deal,” said Bloom. “Typically, men’s club programming is maybe a softball team, a dozen guys in the summer, may be a bagel and bite before services, maybe a poker game at somebody’s house once a month or once a season.”

The Temple Sholom Men’s Club reinvigorated itself through a range of programs with what they call “added value.”

A trip to the Vancouver Symphony Orchestra – one of the club’s “co-ed” events – featured a pre-event talk by Gordon Cherry, a former trombonist for the orchestra, as well as from a current VSO member. Movie nights feature guest speakers. When they screened Above and Beyond, the Nancy Spielberg film about the Israel Air Force, Temple member Mark Elster, who served in the Israel Defence Forces, spoke.

Other activities include a regular Mix-and-Mingle before services, family outings to Vancouver Canadians baseball games, beer and wine tastings, educational events, a Men’s Café with Rabbi Dan Moskovitz, the shul’s senior rabbi, Jewish walking tours, and seminars and workshops on topics such as How to Make Your Seder Fun and Meaningful, and Sexual Harassment in the Workplace. Their annual fundraiser – a latke sale that this year fried and sold 1,000 of the Chanukah treats – donates revenue to the Temple Sholom school.

A popular annual retreat in Whistler, scheduled for May but canceled due to the pandemic, was to focus on indigenous issues, including First Nations speakers and a blanket ceremony.

Another popular recurring event is Pastrami and Poker, in which a professional poker facilitator comes in with casino-calibre tables and the mood is distinctly high-stakes. The price of admission includes pastrami sandwiches and $5,000 in chips.

“We play a little Sinatra Spotify in the background and you feel like you’ve gone to Vegas,” said Schwartz. A retired lawyer, Schwartz assures that everything is in line with provincial gaming regulations. At the end of the night, winnings are prorated and paid out in raffle tickets, which are drawn for some swanky donated prizes like high-end Scotch.

Bloom is especially proud that the club attracts men from every age group, something that is not always the case in such forums, he said.

“That was always important to us, that we didn’t narrow our range and just go after the boomers and older,” he said.

The success is a counterweight to the known phenomenon that men’s close friendships tend to dwindle as life progresses.

“I don’t think guys go out of their way to say, ‘Gee, I wish I had more friends,’” said Bloom. “But I think most guys, if they were honest, would probably say, ‘I wish I had more buddies.’… That was very important to us right from the start. Let’s bring guys together, give them a venue, give them an opportunity to come together, socialize and then maybe some bonding will happen after that.”

Bloom, who stresses that his title of president is mostly for administrative purposes and the club functions cohesively as a non-hierarchical group, also credits the success to the support of the synagogue.

“We get a lot of support from the shul, a lot of support from our president of the board, from the board itself, from Rabbi Dan for sure,” he said. “I’m not sure every synagogue gives their men’s club the kind of support we get.”

Many reasons for optimism

Given two recent murderous attacks on American synagogues, combined with terrorist missiles from Gaza landing throughout southern and central Israel, it is easy and understandable to be pessimistic. But a new study on Jews in Canada is jam-packed with reasons for optimism.

The report 2018 Survey of Jews in Canada was released recently. Produced by the Environics Institute for Survey Research, the University of Toronto and York University, the study was funded by Federation CJA and other Jewish communal organizations. To those who have followed these subjects closely, the data are not completely surprising but, brought together in a single document, it is quite a compendium of encouragement.

Inspired by a groundbreaking 2013 Pew Research Centre study on American Jewry, the report assesses a wide range of factors, including the importance of Jewishness in the lives of respondents, how they define that identity, membership in synagogues and Jewish organizations, financial support for Jewish causes, candlelighting and other religious observances, intermarriage, experiences with discrimination, connections to Israel, dedication to repairing the world, migration patterns and even federal political party support.

Perhaps because of its inspiration in the American example, the study routinely compares Canadian findings with the situation to the south. This is fair, given the useful contrasts it provides – and it is especially illuminating to see that many of the differences between the Jewish communities in the two countries paint a very positive picture of the Canadian situation.

Only half of American Jews have made a financial donation to a Jewish organization or cause, compared with 80% of Canadian Jews.

Canadian Jewish kids are twice as likely to attend a Jewish day school or yeshivah and a greater proportion of Canadian Jews have attended Sunday school, Hebrew school or an overnight Jewish summer camp. The number of Canadian Jews who are bar or bat mitzvah is higher than that of Americans – 60% versus 50%. Intermarriage rates in the United States are about 50%, compared with 23% in Canada.

Canadian Jews have a much stronger connection to Israel than American Jews, with twice the likelihood of having visited the country. Nevertheless, Canadians and Americans “are similarly divided in their opinions about the political situation in Israel,” according to the report.

Rudimentary Hebrew is common among the vast majority of Canadian Jews, with 75% saying they know the aleph-bet and 40% claiming to be able to have a conversation in the language. Among the groups with the greatest proficiency in Hebrew are those under 30 years of age. These numbers are significantly higher than those of our American cousins.

Among Jewish Canadians, 64% say that being Jewish is very important in their lives, compared with 46% of Americans, while only 8% of Canadian Jews say being Jewish is not very, or not at all, important, compared with 20% of American Jews.

An astonishing 80% of Canadian Jews (or, at least, respondents to the survey) indicate an educational attainment of a bachelor’s degree or higher, compared with 29% of the general population. Similar findings two decades ago led to a major investment by Jewish communal bodies in youth-serving agencies like Hillel, which was seen as the last, best hope for reaching unaffiliated young Jews. As these numbers suggest, while many other aspects of Jewish identity may be discarded or de-emphasized, the commitment to education is among the most effectively transmitted values from generation to generation.

Among Canadian Jews, 47% belong to a Jewish communal organization other than a synagogue, compared with 18% for Jewish Americans. (In Winnipeg, this number is 57%, which helps explain why that comparatively small Jewish community is so impressively active.)

The report does not provide definitive explanations for the differences, though different factors are suggested to play a role in various scenarios. If we were to posit an overarching theory about the differences between American and Canadian Jews, it would go back to the 20th century’s very different experiences. The Canadian Jewish community was massively influenced by postwar immigration, including survivors of the Holocaust. These newcomers remade the Canadian Jewish community, to some extent, in their own image. The American Jewish community, in comparison, was already strong and had well-developed infrastructures before the

influx of survivors and other immigrants after 1945. As the report indicates, Canada also has a different approach to multiple identities, with multiculturalism being officially celebrated, whereas the American trend is to downplay difference and assume a unified Americanism.

Of course, there is no prize for being “better” Jews than our fellows from another country – even if it does satisfy our innate Canadian need to differentiate ourselves from Americans. Nonetheless, in a world with so many challenges, where is the harm in celebrating good news?

Jewish people worldwide are in a time of challenge and change. Many European Jews are questioning their futures there, and communities in Latin America, Africa and Asia are experiencing a range of external and internal challenges, including changing relationships with Israel and with the rest of the Diaspora. Some of the factors that account for the positive news in the recent report are distinctively Canadian and cannot be replicated. But the study deserves a closer look by all Diaspora Jewish communities to see if there are successes that could be replicated elsewhere. We sometimes like to flatter ourselves by declaring “the world needs more Canada.” So might the Jewish Diaspora.