Oct. 7

Reflections from Be’eri

Hundreds of terrorists entered Kibbutz Be’eri. Of the 1,000-plus residents, 101 kibbutz members were killed, 30 people were abducted and one-third of the houses were severely damaged or destroyed. (photo by Larry Barzelai)

My wife and I frequently travel to Israel to visit our three grandchildren. Our interest in Be’eri comes from its special connection with Kibbutz Hatzerim, the birthplace of our daughter-in-law. I feel that the story of Be’eri is a paradigm for the story of the Jewish people, the story of building something magnificent, experiencing a great

destruction and rebuilding afterwards to create something even better. It also illustrates how, when people work together, they can accomplish greater things.

Through a mutual friend, I arranged to meet Yaron, a lifelong member of Kibbutz Be’eri and one who had survived the Oct. 7 massacre. He graciously took me on a tour of the kibbutz as he described the events of that day. Much of what follows are descriptions of the events in his own words. He’s given me permission to share them with you.

On the evening of Oct. 6, Yaron and other kibbutzniks were celebrating the anniversary of the founding of Kibbutz Be’eri. Sharing drinks later with some of his closest friends, they started planning a summer hiking trip in the French Alps.

At 6:30 in the morning of Oct. 7, Yaron heard unusual noises, as he slept with his wife and two young children – both under 5 years old. It sounded like shelling and bombing. When the red alert siren went off, they ran to join their kids in their home’s mamad (reinforced security room), which is also the kids’ bedroom.

Initially, Yaron wasn’t too concerned, even after receiving a text that the kibbutz may have been infiltrated by enemies. “OK, I guess we’ll be cooped up in here for a couple of hours,” he thought.

“Messages in the different kibbutz WhatsApp groups start reporting about terrorists walking inside Be’eri,” he writes. “It is close to 8 a.m. Someone writes a message that she hears gunshots.”

Shortly after that, someone reports hearing “terrible screams from the apartment above her, then silence.” Another says that one of the houses in the kibbutz is burning.

Yaron tries to stay calm. The power goes off. Their dog, who is not inside the room, is unusually silent. They hear that someone is in their house.

“They get to the room and try to open the door. I fight over the handle, heart pounding,” writes Yaron. “They don’t succeed! Every time they try, I swing the door handle back to the upright, ‘Safe’ position.”

Eventually, the terrorists give up on opening the mamad. Yaron ignores the calls in Arabic and English to come out of the room. He and his family listen, as the terrorists sing, while wrecking the house. First, there is the smell of gasoline, then smoke enters the room.

A neighbour advises them, via Yaron’s phone, that they should close the gap under the door with wet clothes.

“I take the sheet from my daughter’s bed, pour the bucket of urine on it and jam it under the door,” Yaron writes. “Outside the room, the fire grows fierce, it consumes five years of our lives in minutes…. We are in a closed room, we have no electricity, the children are coughing. I realize that the fire in our home is probably so crazy that even those inhumane monsters can’t still be waiting outside the door. I let go of the handle and I take a deep breath and feel some oxygen flow to my brain. So far, it was the pressure and fear of the terrorists that was suffocating me, but now the smoke is becoming the main problem.”

Yaron’s wife continues to text with neighbours, calling emergency team members repeatedly.

“All of our children’s books are burning outside,” Yaron shares. “Amidst all the terror we hear one of our favourites, a sound book of Arik Einstein songs, catching fire. The fire makes it play, chillingly, one of the happiest songs we know: ‘It’s Saturday morning, a beautiful day….’”

Suffocating on the smoke, the family has no choice but to open a window of their second-floor apartment. Despite the fear of what awaits them outside, the smoke is too much and they climb out onto the metal awning below.

“The four of us are sitting on the metal. We can breathe but we are exposed 2.5 metres (eight feet) above the ground. OK, now what?” Yaron recalls.

They can’t reach the emergency team, so they jump to the ground and hide in a nearby shed. Yaron jumps first, his wife hands him the kids, then follows.

photo - A house identical to Yaron’s, which has been demolished, that gives an idea of the window of the family’s safe room and the challenge of jumping to the ground from the second storey — A house identical to Yaron’s, which has been demolished, that gives an idea of the window of the family’s safe room and the challenge of jumping to the ground from the second storey. *(photo by Larry Barzelai)*

“Another neighbour reaches out, ‘Come to my place.’ I call him. I ask him to risk his life, leave his mamad and open his house for us. He does this while we’re on the phone. We are hesitant to come outside, we are debating with our eyes, and can’t decide if we should stay hidden in an unsafe shed or try to reach a safer place but risk exposure. I ask him to risk his life even more, to take a look outside and verify there are no terrorists in sight. He bravely obliges and says it’s clear. We were in the shed for maybe five, maybe 10 minutes, maybe it was two years, who knows. The kids are silent…. My heart is racing, I open the shed door and we sprint to the neighbour’s house.”

The fire has consumed their own home, and their beloved dog. Temporarily safe at the neighbours’, Yaron sees that the fire might cross over to where they are hiding. “We decide we need to evacuate,” he writes. “At a distance, we spot a few IDF soldiers. A small company or a team…. They escort us to a nearby building where my brother lives. We contact him and he let us in together with two more kibbutz members who had gotten stuck in a similar situation.”

Around 11 p.m., soldiers returned to Yaron’s brother’s place. “They helped us out, they asked us to cover our children’s eyes to shield them from the horrors on the kibbutz lanes and they escorted us to the yellow gate.”

“We made it out,” he writes. “We made it out.”

Most of Yaron’s extended family survived the massacre, except for an aunt who was murdered. In total, hundreds of terrorists entered the kibbutz. Of the 1,000-plus residents, 101 kibbutz members were killed, 30 people were abducted and one-third of the houses were severely damaged or destroyed.

Another victim of the massacre was Winnipeg-born Vivian Silver, who had, prior to Oct. 7, driven patients from the Erez border crossing to hospitals in Israel. She learned Arabic so that she could better communicate with her Bedouin neighbours. She truly believed in a peaceful future between the residents of Israel and the Palestinians of Gaza. Sadly, she was killed on Oct. 7. Her remains were so badly burned that it took weeks to identify her by DNA analysis.

Eli Sharabi, another resident of Be’eri, was kidnapped and taken to Gaza. In his book Hostage, he describes 491 tortuous days in Hamas captivity. He was looking forward to reuniting with his family once he was freed. Instead, upon his release, he discovered that his wife and daughters had been killed on Oct. 7. He cried at their gravesites for two hours, before making the decision that he had to move forward.

Immediately after Oct. 7, Yaron and his family spent many months living in an apartment in the Dead Sea area. They were alive and they were safe, relatively free from missile attacks, but life was far from normal. To say nothing of the trauma they were dealing with, reestablishing a kibbutz lifestyle, while living in a crowded hotel with none of the amenities that glue kibbutzniks together, was challenging.

The family has since relocated to a temporary custom-built village adjacent to Kibbutz Hatzerim. Be’eri and Hatzerim are sister kibbutzim, both founded in 1946. Be’eri was named for Berl Katznelson, a founding father of Labour Zionism, whose nickname was Be’eri; Hatzerim, after a verse in Deuteronomy (2:23) that mentions hatzerim (farms/enclosures) “as far as Gaza.”

Be’eri and Hatzerim are both traditional socialist kibbutzim, populated mainly by people on the left of the political spectrum. Thus, it was natural for Kibbutz Hatzerim to offer to build a temporary kibbutz adjacent to them for people from Be’eri to live until their kibbutz was rebuilt over a two-year period.

photo - The new neighbourhood on Kibbutz Be’eri, where Yaron and his family are planning on living. The rebuilding of the kibbutz is expected to take two years — The new neighbourhood on Kibbutz Be’eri, where Yaron and his family are planning on living. The rebuilding of the kibbutz is expected to take two years. *(photo by Larry Barzelai)*

Most former residents of Be’eri are now living in the temporary kibbutz. Some facilities, such as medical clinics and administrative offices, are shared by the two kibbutzim. Otherwise, the temporary Be’eri has its own houses, schools and offices. Hatzerim expanded its dental clinic, seniors lounge and grocery store to accommodate the increased needs of the larger population. In typical kibbutz fashion, members of both communities met many times to jointly plan this project.

Every day, Yaron leaves his family on the temporary Kibbutz Be’eri to commute 45 minutes to the original. About 60 kibbutz members are living there now, while it’s being rebuilt, and the plan is for most members to return by the start of the school year this September. A printing factory and agriculture are the two sustaining industries on Be’eri.

Yaron’s home, along with 140 others, was destroyed on Oct. 7. Recently, members of Kibbutz Be’eri made a collective decision to tear down all the damaged buildings. They want to try and wipe away the terrible memories of Oct. 7 and build anew. As one part of the construction work, the kibbutz is building a new subdivision, where Yaron and his family are planning to live.

But Yaron isn’t sure that he wants to return. He was born on Be’eri and has lived most of his life there. However, the memory of the trauma of Oct. 7 is very strong. He’s not sure he wants to move back to this place, where so much death and destruction happened. He confided that he may want to live outside of Israel, somewhere he can anticipate a more peaceful future for his children.

Larry Barzelai is a Vancouver family physician, specializing in care of the elderly, who travels to Israel frequently to visit his three grandchildren there. He is presently co-chair of the Jewish Medical Association of British Columbia.

Women share experiences

Left to right, at CHW Vancouver Centre’s SHE DAY event March 8: Ruthi Akselrod, Laura Lewko (kneeling a bit), Pam Wolfman, Toby Rubin, Jocelyn Brown, Ruth M’Rav Jankelowitz, Tamara Shenkier and Laura Mossey. (photo by Shula Klinger)

On March 8, CHW (Canadian Hadassah-WIZO) launched its first SHE DAY event. Hosted at the Jewish Community Centre of Greater Vancouver, the celebration of International Women’s Day included a panel discussion, a shuk (market) of women-led businesses and kosher refreshments.

CHW Vancouver Centre president Toby Rubin, who introduced the panel, also shared that, starting in October, the Vancouver CHW team would be under the joint leadership of Pamela Wolfman and Jocelyn Brown, who moderated the discussion between Dr. Tamara Shenkier, Ruth M’Rav Jankelowitz and Laura Mossey.

Shenkier, who is an oncologist, educator and advocate, recently retired. Her 30-year career included numerous leadership roles in medical education and governance, and she spent the last decade-plus focusing on breast cancer. She is a founding member of the Jewish Medical Association of British Columbia.

Jankelowitz has spent three decades in commercial and hospitality design, and her portfolio includes many household names, including DKNY, Timberland and Nike. Her company, Janks Design Group, has created the spaces of such eateries as OEB, Nando’s and Tap and Barrel.

Mossey brought her voice as a non-Jewish Zionist and educator to the panel, sharing some of the influences that have helped frame her identity and worldview.

The conversation was dominated by the topic of antisemitism and its marked increase since the Oct. 7, 2023, Hamas terror attack on Israel.

“Things were bubbling in the cauldron but, since then, I have felt as though I am ‘the Jew,’” said Shenkier, who spoke of feeling more exposed and more vulnerable in recent months than ever before. She talked about changes to medical curricula that followed consultation with “thought leaders,” rather than medical experts, and how students were being encouraged to contemplate their practice through the lens of race – though, she noted, “Jews were never mentioned as a marginalized, persecuted community.”

Mossey, too, has seen efforts to erase Jewish identity. For example, the Coquitlam school district now asks parents to share their identity in questionnaires, she said, and “Jewish wasn’t included.”

Brown asked panelists about the biggest challenges they have faced – as Jews and/or Zionists – in their personal and professional lives.

“The hardest thing for me was the silence – from colleagues, friends, employees,” said Jankelowitz. “I gave them countless chances to learn and nobody asked. It was pretty astounding. So, I made my voice louder.”

Mossey addressed the dangers of misinformation and disinformation, highlighting the need for strong leadership.

“We are all vulnerable,” she said, describing a history lesson she gave to Grade 10 students. She taught them about the origins of Black Friday: when, on Nov. 18, 1910, suffragists protesting at Parliament in London, England, for the right to vote were physically and sexually abused. Given that today’s students can graduate without being taught about democracy, she said, “it’s imperative that they hear about the challenges that have been faced by women, somehow, from anyone who’ll show leadership.”

Mossey pointed to the hypocrisy of “safe classrooms” after the provincial teachers’ federation donated $50,000 to UNWRA, many of whose teachers and doctors have been shown to be Hamas operatives.

Asked to speak about resilience, all three women talked about the importance of setting boundaries. Jankelowitz said she had let go a client of 10 years. “I designed all of their stores. They had unionized and the team made a statement about genocide and apartheid, citing Amnesty International and Francesca Albanese [of the United Nations]. I don’t want to create spaces that will alienate my own community,” she said.

Jankelowitz also shared a positive experience: meeting a woman at a Business Network International event who asked to be educated about Zionism. “In one week,” said Jankelowitz, “I put together a historical dossier, links, books … to this day, she’ll come and ask me to verify what she’s heard, she tells me, ‘So I can fight it.’”

Mossey also has not been shy about living according to her values. She has worn emblems in support of Israel and shows her solidarity with Jewish students in various ways. When a principal asked her to hide her social media feed from public view, her response was unequivocal: “No.”

She recalled a conversation with a Jewish student, where she explained her purpose: creating a safe learning environment for all kids.

Asked to offer their advice to other women, Shenkier talked about her own life, cautioning against falling into unhelpful extremes: “being in denial, moving ahead as if nothing has happened,” and, on the other side, “absolute paralysis, anxiety, rumination, catastrophizing.” Find a middle ground where healing can really be possible, she said. “You need to acknowledge and sit with your pain. The community will sit with you, without trying to fix it.”

Shenkier advised people to “separate who you are as a human being from your thoughts, feelings and projections.” She added, “expunge the word, ‘should,’ from your vocabulary. Focus on your strengths. Say ‘no.’ Stop comparing yourself to others, do what brings you joy.”

Earlier in the discussion, Shenkier had spoken of the mythical person who can “have it all,” and the damage caused by such a mindset, which she described as “oppressive.” She stressed the importance of “self-awareness gained through introspection.”

Mossey recommended: “carry your burden, share it, talk and let friends help you. Be physical to get through the stress.”

“Focus on what you can control,” said Jankelowitz. “You don’t need permission to use your voice. The room doesn’t decide if you belong to it.”

Mossey asks one question when she is challenged on her position on Israel: “Do you believe in the Jews’ right to self-determination?” She said the response helps her decide, in an instant, whether the conversation is worth pursuing.

“Don’t waste your time talking to people who aren’t interested in learning,” said Mossey, who has read dozens of books about Judaism and Israel, yet said she would not call herself an expert on the topics.

The panelists explored the theme of resilience at some length.

“What does resilience look like in the current climate?” Brown asked.

“Showing up for the community, for my team at work, being consistent in my beliefs,” Jankelowitz shared. “Equip yourself with the facts.”

Mossey responded with stories about her mother – a 17-year survivor of a high-risk cancer surgery – who taught her the word’s meaning: “Lean into your faith, keep your family close, and do something every day” to stand up for your cause.

Commitment to personal values and professional ethics are also vital, added Mossey. “I’m not going to make myself smaller to avoid offending a kid who knows nothing about history,” she said.

Brown asked panelists to share an example of when their identity had felt like a strength as opposed to something they “needed to explain, manage and protect.”

Shenkier’s happy childhood in Montreal was a “grounding, not a cloak I can put on and take off,” she said. She considers herself lucky to have been a physician, a career where “the constant questions, the examination of one’s ethics and the practice of empathy were all congruent with my faith.”

Mossey recalled a meeting where she was asked to “identify herself.” She felt that traditional labels, such as “white,” “heterosexual” and “cisgendered woman,” were unhelpful. On that day, she said, “What differentiates me is my character. So, now I identify as a Zionist.”

Jankelowitz, who was once a logistics officer in the Israel Defence Forces, agreed: “owning the identity is more powerful than hiding it,” she said.

As the questions came to an end, the audience rose in a standing ovation.

Toby Rubin reminded attendees that, if anyone faces antisemitism, they can find support through CHW.

Event sponsors included Sylvia Cristall, Laura Lewko, Ruth Freeman, Brown (Acubalance Wellness Centre), Rubin and Wolfman; the national corporate partner was real estate development company Israel Canada. The afternoon was catered in part by Ricci Leigh-Smith’s team at Perfect-Bite, and organized by Amanda Aron Chimanovitch, community engagement and event officer for CHW, Western Canada.

Proceeds from SHE DAY events – which took place in Montreal, Calgary, Edmonton and Delray Beach, Fla. – went to the Eden Association Trauma Therapy Centre. Founded in 1997, the centre provides trauma care to young women and girls in southern Israel, where the need has increased greatly since Oct. 7.

The next CHW Vancouver Centre event is Games Day on May 6 at Richmond Country Club. Proceeds from it will go to supporting post-traumatic stress disorder therapy at Shamir Medical Centre and psychological rehabilitation at Hadassah Hospital in Israel. To register, go to chw.ca/region/western-region.

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

Drawing on his roots

Multi-instrumentalist and songwriter Ezra Ben-Shalom’s debut solo album, Known and Unknown, was released in 2025. (photo by Michelle Behr)

With his debut solo album, released last year, Kelowna musician Ezra Ben-Shalom shows off his personal side, with a uniquely Jewish touch.

For Ben-Shalom, who reconnected to Jewish ritual practice around five years ago, Known and Unknown – his first solo project – is a deeply personal one. The focus of his music and daily life has become all about asking questions, he said. It’s about finding ways to be of service in the world and creating a connection with something larger than himself.

“I’m doing my best to be of value to the world and to the culture. And, you know, you step in front of a room of people and take a deep breath and open your mouth and sing – I want to offer something that’s real, that’s authentic and that’s meaningful,” the 43-year-old said in a phone interview.

The album is highly Jewish-inspired, owing to his own reconnections – and, he said, he hopes it will encourage empathy among listeners.

“I think the album title was maybe a hint to myself to come from that place of humility, that we don’t have the answers, as much as we think we know or that we learn,” said Ben-Shalom.

The songs on Known and Unknown include some Hebrew words, and the sounds of a shofar on two tracks, though the lyrics are largely in English.

Jewish themes shape much of Ben-Shalom’s interpretation and highly personal expressions; however, he emphasizes that, while his path is Jewish, he sees the disc’s new compositions as something more broadly accessible. The songs, he said, are “about inner experiences and feelings and reflections, and they’re about living in the world as a human being, not as a Jewish human being.”

Themes of transformation, vulnerability and boldness underline the album’s adult alternative and folk-adjacent sounds, and Jewish references abound, with songs titled “Shechina,” “Shake the Dust,” and “El and Gil.”

New name, old passion

Ben-Shalom is the new-ish musical handle of producer and multi-instrumentalist Ezra Cipes, who grew up in Kelowna and has played in bands since he was 14 years old, he told the CJN.

By the time he was 19, Cipes and one of his three brothers co-wrote a song with Indian-born Canadian punk/alternative music icon Bif Naked, who grew up in Winnipeg. He’s also performed regularly and recorded with the Calgary-born indie-pop-folk artists Tegan and Sara. (Bif Naked’s bassist, Chris Carlson, produced, co-wrote and played most of the other instruments on Ben-Shalom’s 2025 album.)

Prior to the new project, another band featuring the musical Cipes family had been nominated in 2022 for a Juno Award in the children’s music category for the second disc by the troupe, called the Oot n’ Oots. The five-piece band comprised Ezra; his three brothers, Matthew, Gabe and Ari; and his daughter, Ruthie, who was the singer.

When that project wound down following the end of 2023 summer festivals, the guitarist and keyboard player turned to exploring a different expressive musical language. He had set out on that musical exploration when the Oct. 7, 2023, attacks by Hamas in Israel, which triggered the Gaza war, refocused his artistic lens.

“Oct. 7 put a lot of things into focus and showed the ways that, really, we’re all lost in one way or another,” he said.

The way the world responded after Oct. 7 was a “frustrating and painful” experience, he said.

“You think, ‘What can any of us do?’ And none of us can fix it – you can’t completely change all these cultural narratives and people’s ideas and correct the record or bring a higher perspective on our own, but we can do our part. We can stand strong in our own truth and share it, proudly and with strength and humility.”

Explaining that he’s always needed “a little spiritual medicine in my life,” Ben-Shalom described reading at night, from literature and philosophy to spiritual and self-help books, and had long realized he needed to do that, even before he connected with Judaism.

Pivotal turn to Judaism

Growing up, while his family – who own a successful organic vineyard – belonged to a local synagogue, they weren’t traditionally observant, though he became bar mitzvah and attended Jewish summer camp.

But, as an adult, he reflected, he was “totally disconnected” when it came to traditional Jewish practice and observance.

It was a moment in 2020, early during the pandemic, following a sweat lodge ceremony led by Ron Hall, a longtime family friend who’s an Indigenous artist and biologist, that brought Ben-Shalom an epiphany.

“It [the sweat lodge] was one of those moments that really flipped a switch in my whole life, and it was just a hinge moment. I thanked him [Hall] for the ceremony, and I shared with him how powerful it was and how meaningful it was, how deep it was,” said Ben-Shalom.

“And I said to him that he’s lucky to have the traditions to draw on to connect with his own soul and with the creator and I said to him: ‘All I have is this shallow materialistic Western culture.’

“And he said, ‘What are you talking about, Ezra? You’re Jewish. You come from an Indigenous people.’”

Nobody had ever said that to him before, Ben-Shalom recalled, and it became a turning point.

“I had grown up thinking it was cool to be Jewish and, like, neat, but also vaguely embarrassing to be Jewish, and it was something I didn’t really like to talk about or get into very much because … I always felt othered,” he said.

The COVID-era wave of social justice movements brought a resurgence of ideas “about decolonization and equality,” he said. “It’s good to support the Indigenous people keeping their culture, keeping their language, keeping their tradition, keeping the oral culture alive.”

He felt a tinge of hypocrisy. “And then I realized I was not honouring my own ancestors and I didn’t know my own language. I didn’t know my own story,” he said.

Ben-Shalom now attends the local Chabad, lays tefillin and wears tzitzit and a kippah.

He described one of the first times he performed the new music at a live show at the Kelowna venue Revelry in 2024.

“I got off stage and my whole body was sore, from holding myself and breathing and keeping myself grounded and keeping myself in a state of service,” he said. (Since then, he’s felt “a little bit more relaxed” performing the new material.)

“The songs are almost like prayers, and you have to kind of get into that place to sing them, where there’s a genuine connection and not just notes and not just words.”

Ben-Shalom hopes to bring the album in a live performance to audiences across Canada, and to ensure that includes Jewish audiences, he told the CJN.

“I’d like to play for all audiences that will have me, but, in particular, I want to go and play for Jewish people,” he said. “I want to share these songs with Jewish people. I want to bring inspiration, pride and honour to our tradition, to Jewish people.”

Jonathan Rothman is a reporter for the CJN based in Toronto. This article was originally published on thecjn.ca and is reprinted with permission.

האנטישמיות גואה ביוון

חזרתי מחופשה בת שבוע מיוון ונוכחתי לדעת שגם במדינה ים תיכונית זו האנטישמיות גואה ומורגשת היטב. כיום ישראל ויוון נחשבות למדינות ידידותיות למדי אך מבחינת לפחות חלק מאזרחי יוון, ישראלים ויהודים נחשבים לאויבים לאור ההרג הרב של פלסטינים ברצועת עזה, כתוצאה מאירועי הטבח של השבעה באוקטובר

יחסי יוון וישראל התחממו מאוד מאז השבעה באוקטובר לאור קרע הגדול בין ישראל לטורקיה – שהמאשימה את ישראל בביצוע רצח עם ברצועת עזה. ביוון שלא שוכחים לטורקיה את כיבוש חלק מהאי קפריסין ולכן ברגע שנוצר נתק ביחסי ישראל וטורקיה, היוונים קפצו על המציאה והגבירו את יחסי החברות עם ישראל. לאחר השבעה באוקטובר ראש ממשלת יוון הגיע לביקור סולדירות בישראל, והצהיר אז שהוא מגיע לישראל לא רק כבעל ברית אלה גם כידיד אמת. שיתוף הפעולה ההדוק בין ישראל, יוון וקפריסין כולל הגנה אווירית ואימוני צבא משותפים, וכן גם פרויקטים של אנרגיה. יוון רכשה לאחרונה מערכות הגנה אווירית מהתעשיה האווירית של ישראל תמורת כשלושה מיליארד יורו

למרות קשרי הידידות בין ישראל ליוון האנטישמיות ביוון נגד ישראל מורגשת מאוד וישראלים לא מרגישים בטוח במדינה הים תיכונית. התקריות האנטישמיות הרבות ביוון גרמו לחלק מהישראלים שעברו לגור בה לקום ולעזוב למדינות אחרות. ישראלים הותקפו כאשר הגיעו באוניות ליוון, או ברחובות או באזורי הבילוי השונים. במקביל הפגנות מחאה רבות מצד פלסטינים ותומכיהם התרחשו בחלקי המדינה השונים. המפגינים מתנגדים למדיניות ממשלת יוון של שיתוף פעולה עם ישראל בתחומים שונים

אני ביקרתי ביוון במהלך חודש פברואר שנחשב לעונה שקטה יחסית, כדי להימנע מהחום הכבד והעומס הכבד של תיירים. הסתובבתי באופן חופשי בשתי הערים אתונה והרקליון (שנמצאת באי כרתים). במסגרת סיורי וביחד עם קבוצות מודרכות ראיתי לא מעט כתובות גרפיטי בגנות ישראל, הישראלים והצבא הישראלי – לאור אירועי השבעה באוקטובר. בהרקליון ראיתי באחד הרחובות כתובת בעברית מסביב גדר המקיפה עץ כדלקמן: “אתם הרוצחים לא רצויים כאן”. המדריכה היוונית ביקשה ממני לתרגם זאת עבורה ופניה הראו שהיא הרגישה מאוד לא בנוח כשהבינה במה מדובר

לאור האנטישמיות הקשה ביוון שרת התיירות של המדינה אולגה קפלויאני, אמרה כי יוון היא יעד בטוח, שיוויוני ומכיל עבור כל המבקרים – כולל תיירים מישראל. לדברי השרה יוון לא סובלת אפלייה ולא תקבל התנהגות שפוגעת או מבזה כל אדם. היא הדגישה כי המדינה שלנו הייתה ותישאר יעד בטוח, פתוח ומסביר עבור אזרחי ישראל. לדברי קופלויאני התיירות מהווה גשר של ידידות, שלום והבנה הדתית. הוא ציינה עוד כי משרד התיירות שבראשו היא עומדת פועל כל העת בשיתוף עם משרדים ממשלתיים נוספים במטרה להבטיח שכל מבקר ביוון – ללא קשר למגדר, מוצא או אמונה דתית – ייהנה מביטחון וכבוד. שרת התיירות של יוון אמרה עוד כי האנטישמיות בכל צורה שהיא, נחשבת לדבר דוחה, היא מקוממת ואין לה מקום ביוון, לא בתיירות, ולא בדמוקרטיה של המדינה שלנו. כבוד ואירוח הם ערכים שאינם נתונים למשא ומתן

וכיצד מגיבים ברשת הישראלים על האנטישמיות ביוון: וויתרתי על יוון עד שלא ישתלטו על הזבלים האלה, תחרימו את יוון, אל תסעו לשם ואל תקנו נכסים במדינה ותבזבזו כסף במקום עויין, היוונים לא אוהבים אותנו ורק רוצים את הכסף שלנו, לא להתקרב ליוון בגלל האנטישמיות, תשכחו ממני עד כאשר תשתלטו על המטורפים האלימים אלה, המציאות מגלה כי האנטישמיות ביוון עולה

נתניהו לא מתבייש להאשים את ביידן באחריות להרג חיילים ברצועת עזה

ראש ממשלת ישראל בנימין נתניהו, לא בוחל בשום דרך להאשים אחרים במה שקרה ברצועת עזה. הוא לעולם לא יקח אחריות על מחדליו הרבים. הפעם נתניהו שובר שיאים חדשים כאשר הוא מאשים ישירות את נשיא ארה”ב הקודם ג’ו ביידן, באחריות להרג של חיילים בעזה. זאת, כיוון שביידן סירב להעביר לישראל את כל התחמושת שהיא הייתה זקוקה לו. מדובר בעוד שקר מבית נתניהו וחבל שהוא לא משלם מחיר על כך

נתניהו אמר במסיבת עיתונאים כי “בשלב מסוים לא הייתה לנו מספיק תחמושת וגיבורים נפלו. חלק מאובדן התחמושת היה כתוצאה מאמברגו. ואני גמרתי אומר שלא נגיע למצב הזה יותר”. נתניהו הדגיש כי “המצב הזה השתנה מבלי היכר עם כניסת הנשיא הנוכחי דונלד טראמפ”. נתניהו הטיל אפוא את האחריות למותם של חיילים על אמברגו הנשק על ביידן. הדברים הכעיסו ובצדק את בכירי הממשל הקודם, שלא האמינו למשמע אוזניהם והאשימו את נתניהו בכך ששיקר והתגלה ככפוי טובה. תומכיו הרבים של נתניהו בישראל ובארה”ב מאמינים לשקריו ולא לאמת. זאת, בדיוק כמו תומכי טראמפ בארה”ב וישראל. גם הם מאמינים לשקריו ולא לאמת. לא פלא הוא שטראמפ ונתניהו מסתדרים מצויין כי הרי מצא מין את מינו. מדובר שני נוכלים שבמדינות מתוקנות כבר מזמן היו יושבים בכלא

לגבי ממשל ביידן לאור השבעה באוקטובר: התמיכתה שלו ביידן בישראל הייתה איתנה כסלע, וזה נעשה במחיר פוליטי עצום בארה”ב. עמוס הוכשטיין הישראלי, לשעבר שליחו של ביידן, אמר: “הרשו לי להבהיר, לאחר תמיכה צבאית של יותר מ-20 מיליארד דולר, הגדולה ביותר בהיסטוריה של ישראל, שתי נושאות מטוסים מיהרו לאזור, מנעו מלחמה אזורית נרחבת, הביסו את מתקפת הטילים והרחפנים האיראנית פעמיים, הגנו על ישראל ברגעים הפגיעים ביותר, לאחר שהצילו אינספור חיים של ישראלים – התגובה המקובלת היחידה לנשיא ביידן ולעם האמריקני – היא תודה”

עובדתית, ממשל ביידן עצר רק משלוח אחד של פצצות במשקל טון אחד. וכן האמריקנים עיכבו גם טרקטורים כבדים שהיו נחוצים להריסת מבנים ממולכדים. נתניהו טוען כי בגלל מחסור בהם נשלחו חיילים לטהר מבנים וחלקם נהרגו. מצד שני יש לא מעט מומחים צבאיים שטוענים כי צה”ל לא התארגן נכונה למלחמת הגרילה מול החמאס ושילם מחיר כבד שכלל חללים רבים

נתניהו שלא כמפתיע שכח גם את הסיוע החיוני שהגיע מצד ביידן, שהזהיר את איראן וחיזבאללה מניצול המצב וקרא להם בתחילת המלחמה אל תעשו

אם כן מדוע נתניהו בחר להתקיף את ביידן בעת הזו? יש לכך שתי תשובות. הראשונה לרצות את טראמפ שכרגיל מעריך מעריצים שתומכים בו כל הזמן. וכן ניסיון להסיט את תשומת הלב הציבורית מדברים בעייתיים במיוחד שנתניהו אמר בראיון לעיתון זר לפני מספר שבועות. נתניהו הסביר בריאיון כי ישראל בחרה של לבצע הפצצות שטיח נרחבות בעזה וכי ההחלטה הזו, שהייתה שלו באופן אישי, הובילה לאובדן חיי חיילים רבים יותר בקרבות קרקעיים. “איבדנו חיילים רבים בגלל זה”, אמר נתניהו במפורש. ואת זה חוגי הימין הקיצוני בישראל לא רצו לשמוע, שכביכול ישראל פעלה באיפוק יחסי מול ביקורת בינלאומית גוברת. משפט הזה נשמע כמו הודאה בכישלון: החלטותיו האישיות של נתניהו סיכנו חיי חיילים ישראלים

ביידן, שמיד אחרי השבעה באוקטובר שלח נושאות מטוסים, להרתיע את איראן והעניק תמיכה דחופה לישראל ברגעיה הקשים ביותר, הפך פתאום למטרה קלה. ההתקפה עבדה: בתוך יממה הכותרות בישראל עברו להתמקד בבגידתו במקום בראיון שהביך את נתניהו

Last hostage home

Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu lays a wreath at Ran Gvili’s funeral in Meitar on Jan. 28. (photo © Amos Ben Gershom / GPO)

Yasam (Israel Police Special Patrol Unit) Master-Sgt. Ran Gvili z”l was buried on Jan. 28 in his hometown of Meitar. The last remaining hostage from the Hamas attacks of Oct. 7, 2023, his body was brought back to Israel on Jan. 26. After 843 days, the clock in Tel Aviv’s Hostages Square stopped ticking, and the displays of the kidnapped at Ben-Gurion Airport and the National Library of Israel were removed. For the first time since 2014, not a single Israel Defence Forces soldier or civilian is being held hostage in the Gaza Strip.

Two years, three months and 20 days after Gvili, 24, fell in a battle at Kibbutz Alumim near the Gaza Strip, the hero was given a fitting military funeral. Thousands of police officers, IDF soldiers and residents stood in silence along the streets of the Beer Sheva suburb as the funeral procession passed.

The service was attended by President Isaac Herzog, Prime Minister Binyamin Netanyahu, Police Commissioner Daniel Levy and Sephardi Chief Rabbi David Yosef, alongside senior political and security figures. The sombre ceremony was the first funeral of a hostage from Oct. 7 attended by the prime minister.

Netanyahu eulogized Gvili: “He considered his injured shoulder meaningless because he believed with all his heart and strength that the security of the state rested on him and the shoulders of his comrades.

“He saved lives – many, many lives,” said Netanyahu.

The prime minister also announced that a new town, Renanim, would be established near Meitar in Gvili’s memory.

Addressing the family, Herzog apologized on behalf of the people of Israel, saying: “I’m sorry we were not there for him. I am sorry that, along with so many other families, you had to wait so many long, agonizing days for the return of your loved one.”

He added: “Without hesitation and without asking, again and again, [Gvili] said, ‘Here I am,’ and went into the line of fire to protect us.”

When the attacks began at 6:29 a.m. on Oct. 7, Gvili was at home, where he had been recovering from a broken shoulder sustained in a motorcycle accident. As news began trickling in of kibbutzim and cities near the Gaza frontier being overrun and their residents massacred, he decided to join the battle. Though on medical leave, he reached for his gun and his uniform, and went to help.

His father, Itzik Gvili, told Ynet News that his son “just put on a uniform and said to me, ‘Abba, I’m going.’ I said to him, ‘Where do you think you’re going?’ and he answered, ‘What do you think? Do you think that my friends will fight alone? I’m going to help them.’ He didn’t ask me. Rani can’t be stopped.”

Driving west toward the carnage at the Nova music festival, Gvili rescued an estimated 100 people fleeing the rave. He then engaged in a battle with dozens of Hamas gunmen near Kibbutz Alumim, killing 14 terrorists before being fatally shot when he ran out of ammunition. At 10:50 that morning, he texted friends that he had been shot in the leg.

For months, Gvili’s family held out hope that he was alive and being held hostage somewhere in the Gaza Strip.

His mother, Tali, told Haaretz in November 2024 that the family had received photos from Oct. 7 showing him arriving unconscious at Shifa Hospital in Gaza City, and later in Zeitoun on the back of a motorcycle, “but they aren’t conclusive … in this situation, hoping for a miracle feels reasonable.”

Gvili’s body was recovered by IDF search teams following a months-long intelligence operation. Under combat conditions in the northern Gaza Strip, some 700 bodies were disinterred at al-Bats Muslim cemetery in Shuja’iya and Gvili’s was identified by IDF dentists after carrying out the forensic examination of 249 corpses. Many noted that the word ran (singing) has a numerical value in gematria of 250. Gvili was still wearing his uniform, and he was buried in it rather than in shrouds as is customary for civilians.

According to the Hostages and Missing Families Forum, “Ran had a passion for motorcycles, enjoyed gatherings with friends, cherished moments with his sister and brother, and relished playing the guitar while sipping lemon arak.”

Gil Zohar is a journalist and tour guide based in Jerusalem.

Seniors profoundly affected

Dr. Gloria Gutman thought interviewees would have refused to place themselves in situations where they might be targeted or victimized, like rallies or Jewish events, but that wasn’t the case. “People felt more comfortable and secure when they were actively part of the Jewish community,” she said. (internet photo)

There’s been lots in the media about Jewish students feeling intimidated, but we tend not to think about older people,” Dr. Gloria Gutman told the Jewish Independent about a recent study she conducted with Dr. Sharon Avidor on the experiences of older Canadians since the Oct. 7, 2023, Hamas terror attack on Israel. “We really want to raise awareness of older people among service providers and the general community, and let them know that the impact is really on all of our community.”

Gutman, a lifelong Vancouverite, is vice-president of the International Society for Gerontology, director emerita of the Gerontology Research Centre at Simon Fraser University and professor emerita of SFU’s department of gerontology. Wondering how older members of the Canadian Jewish community were coping in the aftermath of Oct. 7, she reached out to the local Jewish community in summer 2024 for help in recruiting participants for the study she conducted with Avidor, a psychologist in the faculty of social and community sciences at Israel’s Ruppin Academic Centre. Their findings were published in the Canadian Journal on Aging last fall, with the title, “I No Longer Can Say ‘Never Again.’”

Avidor and Gutman interviewed 15 older adults, including Holocaust survivors and Russian immigrants to Canada, and 11 service providers. Respondents were not just deeply affected by the Oct. 7 attack and the ensuing Israel-Hamas war, but experienced the public discourse as anti-Israel and at times antisemitic, upending their sense of safety and belonging.

The study found that Holocaust survivors and their offspring, older Russian emigres to Vancouver and LGBTQ+ Jewish seniors were more impacted. Almost everyone interviewed felt a deep connection with Israel, and personally affected by Oct. 7. Many felt isolated from non-Jews in their communities and were shocked at the lack of support they encountered outside of the Jewish community, as well as by the extent of misinformation proliferating about Israel. Given their experiences of antisemitism and discrimination, many were frustrated by the notion that Jews were considered a part of the white majority.

Interviewees were apprehensive about publicly displaying their Jewish identity and felt deeply offended by the anti-Israel vitriol expressed in pro-Palestinian demonstrations. They felt a strong need to connect with others in the Jewish community, as connecting with like-minded people provided solace at a time when their social circle was shrinking to almost exclusively Jewish friends.

Prior to the study, Gutman thought interviewees would have refused to place themselves in situations where they might be targeted or victimized, like rallies or Jewish events, but that wasn’t the case. “People felt more comfortable and secure when they were actively part of the Jewish community, and some who had not previously been involved came out of the woodwork after Oct. 7, getting comfort from engaging in community-based events,” she said.

Many of the LGBTQ+ respondents were in a somewhat different situation, alienated from LGBTQ+ groups because of “belligerent, negative, and even hateful comments about Israel, sometimes personally aimed towards them because of their Jewish backgrounds,” notes the study, while also not feeling comfortable attending events with an unequivocal pro-Israel view. Thus, Avidor and Gutman write, many in the LGBTQ+ community “were given to experiences of loneliness and isolation.”

Holocaust survivors said they were retraumatized by Oct. 7 and what has followed – the study’s title comes from a survivor who used to end her talks in schools with “never again,” but told Avidor and Gutman, “My recent talks are that I no longer can say never again.”

Emigres from the former Soviet Union felt especially vulnerable. One of the service providers for members of this group described why this was the case: “Because they came, you know, after Holocaust, after everything they’ve been through in Soviet Union, it was terrible. It was terrible. Antisemitism was terrible. And I know my parents went through all this too: wouldn’t be able to be accepted to a university or a good job because of their last name. So they all have these previous traumas and experiences.”

Some of the seniors had robust coping abilities because they had overcome immense struggles in the past. “We heard things like, ‘we’ve lived through this before and will live through it again,’” Gutman said.

Her hope is that this research will raise awareness of the impacts of Oct. 7 on Jewish older adults, particularly among service providers.

“Ours is one of the few studies, to our knowledge, to explore the effects of antisemitism among older adults, often a less vocal and less salient group in society,” she said. “The Oct. 7 attack, the Israel-Hamas war and perceived antisemitism and anti-Israeli rhetoric, have had profound effects on Jewish older adults living in Canada, and this must be recognized and given appropriate attention.”

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

האלימות בישראל מורגשת בהרבה מגזרים

בעברי כאשר גרתי בישראל לא חשבתי שהמדינה נחשבת לאלימה במיוחד אך בשנים האחרונות שיניתי את דעתי. כיום להערכתי האלימות בישראל מורגשת בהרבה מגזרים וכמעט בכל פינה. חדשות לבקרים אנו קוראים על אלימות מצד אזרחים נגד אזרחים אחרים ועקומת האלימות הולכת וגדלה. נראה שהישראלים פורקים כל עול, מצפצפים אחד על השני ומנסים לפתור את בעיותיהם באמצעות אלימות, שחלקה קשה ביותר. האם המצב יכול להשתפר בעתיד ועקומת האלימות תשנה כיוון ותקטן? לא ברור. אך ברור שהאלימות המקומית במדינה היא התנהגות מדבקת וזו תמונה שבאמת לא הולמת ומחמיאה למדינה שנלחמת על קיומה. חלק יטענו שלאור המצב הבטחוני המסובך בו נמצאת ישראל גדלה האלימות בין האזרחים. אני לא יודע אם זו הסיבה העיקרית לאלימות המשתוללת בישראל. בכל מקרה לדעתי אין שום הצדקה לנקוט באלימות בין האזרחים

הנה מספר דוגמאות לאלימות במגזרים השונים: גננות ועוזרותיהן מכות ופוגעות פיזית בילדים בגנים, שכנים רבים על מקומות חנייה והולכים מכות, בעלים מכים את נשותיהם ואף פוגעים בהן מינית, משתתפים בחתונות הולכים מכות באולמות האירועים, אורחים בבתי מלון רבים והולכים מכות בחדרי האוכל, חיילים בצבא רבים והולכים מכות בחדרי האוכל הצבאיים, יריבים פוליטיים הולכים מכות בהתכנסויות פוליטיות, וכמובן גורמים פליליים יורים על יריביהם ולא מעט מוצאים את מותם בדרך זו. התנהלות פלילית זו מאפיינת את המגזר היהודי ואת המגזר הערבי כאחד. כמובן יש גם אלימות במגרשים הכדורגל שזה לא דבר חדש, וכן בין תומכי ממשלת נתניהו למתנגדים לה. אחד מארגוני הפשע שהשתלטו על קבוצת הכדורגל של בית”ר ירושלים – לה פמיליה – הוא תומך נלהב בממשלת נתניהו ולכן הוא אחראי גם באלימות קשה בתחום הפוליטי. צריך להוסיף גם את האלימות מצד דתיים וחרדים שלא בוחלים בשום דרך לקדם את מדיניותם הקיצונית. חרדים פוגעים בגורמים המזוהים עם הרעיון שהגיע הזמן שגם הם יתגייסו לצבא. ואילו מתנחלים פוגעים קשות בפלסטינים בשטחים הכבושים, וכן בערבים ישראלים בשטחי ישראל

ישראל שהייתה בעברה מדינה סובלנית, מתקדמת וליברלית הופכת להיות יותר ויותר שמרנית, ימנית, דתית ואלימה. בעבר היה הבדל גדול ותהומי בין תושבי שראל לתושבי השכנות במדינות ערב. לצערי בשנים האחרונות הפער הולך וקטן והתנהלות הישראלים והאלימות שמורגשת בכל פינה, מזכירה יותר ויותר את השכנות שמעבר לגבול

גיבוי לדברי בנוגע לאלימות הקשה בישראל מצאתי שימוש בבינה מלאכותית של גוגל. שם נאמר כי: “אלימות בישראל בשנה שעברה אופיינה בעלייה חדה ומדאיגה במגוון מדדים, החל מפשיעה חמורה בחברה הערבית ועד לזינוק במספר מקרי הרצח של נשים”. לגבי אלימות נגד נשים מוזכר כי “שנה שעברה הוגדרה כאחת השנים המסוכנות ביותר לנשים בישראל”. ולפחות ארבעים וארבע נשים נרצחו אשתקד. ואילו “הפשיעה במגזר הערבי ממשיכה להחמיר” ואשתקד נרצחו כמאתיים וארבעים ערבים ישראלים. ובכלל: “כחמישה עשר אחוז מתושבי ישראל חוו אשתקד סוג של פגיעה (הטרדה מינית, פשעי רשת או אלימות)”

לפי הבינה המלאכותית של גוגל שלושת הגורמים העיקריים לעלייה באלימות הם: 1) המלחמה בעזה לאור השבעה באוקטובר שהיו לה השלכות פסיכולוגיות קשות שהביאו לעלייה באלימות במשפחה והחמירה את המתח החברתי. 2) עליה בתפוצת הנשק החם במיוחד במגזר הערבי ובמשפחה. 3) חוסר אכיפה ותקציבים תוך דגש על מחסור בתוכניות אסטרטגיות בין משרדי הממשלה, ומשאבים לרשויות המקומיות לטיפול בשורש האלימות. בתקופת ממשלת נתניהו נרשם זינוק חד במספר הנרצחים בישראל. מדובר בגידול של כשמונים וחמישה אחוזים

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.

Jews in time of trauma

Many Jewish Canadians face unique mental health hurdles right now, and many of the professionals they depend on to help them are themselves struggling with related challenges.

The trauma that has affected Jews in recent years – from the horrors of Oct. 7 to the global explosion of antisemitism societally and in the personal lives of diaspora Jews – has created unprecedented needs in the mental health sector. Professionals in the discipline, including Jewish psychiatrists, psychologists, counselors and social workers, are often dealing personally with some of the same issues their clients are confronting.

Dr. Rotem Regev (photo courtesy Rotem Regev)

Dr. Rotem Regev is a Vancouver psychologist with a private practice specializing in trauma, as well as expertise in therapist training, especially addressing practitioner burnout. Burnout in the profession was exacerbated by COVID. Then came Oct. 7.

Within days of the terror attacks, Regev’s inbox filled with requests from Jewish clients, and from therapists. Non-Jewish clinicians approached her about how to counsel their Jewish clients.

She assembled a webinar for non-Jewish practitioners about the intersectionality of trauma and Judaism, called How to Help Your Jewish Client in this Unprecedented Time.

There were 70 non-Jewish therapists in the first webinar.

“At one point, pretty early on, my Jewish therapist colleagues came to me and said, why is this only for non-Jewish therapists? We need to know what to do,” she recalled.

After other collective traumas, like the 9/11 terror attacks or Hurricane Katrina, counselors may have shared trauma with their clients. After 10/7, though, the antisemitism that swept the world meant many clients – and practitioners – did not feel safe seeking the help they needed.

“We can’t turn to our professional colleagues for consultations,” she heard from fellow practitioners. “We feel silenced. We’re unwelcome in places. And then I said, OK, this is unprecedented. There’s nothing about this in the literature. We need to document our experiences.”

Regev sent out questionnaires to more than 250 mental health practitioners in British Columbia who are Jewish. From the responses and her subsequent research, she coined the term “compounded traumatic reality.”

“It’s not only a shared traumatic reality, but it is compounded by the extra layer of antisemitism,” she said. Her paper on the subject was published last month (Nov. 11) in the peer-reviewed Journal of Human Behaviour in the Social Environment.

Regev’s career has taken a decided shift. She created the International Centre for Collective Resilience, which trains mental health professionals in culturally responsive, trauma-informed care around these specific issues. In that capacity, she developed the CHAI Method™ for clinical practitioners to balance the needs of their clients with their own connection to the trauma.

The CHAI Method™ is a four-part framework that begins with “Connect,” where individuals recognize what is happening, followed by “Honour,” which acknowledges identity and lived experience, particularly in an environment where others invalidate these experiences. “Activate” moves the practitioner into culturally responsive strategies and setting appropriate boundaries. “Integrate” transforms the experience into lasting capacity for both the practitioner and their client.

Regev has already delivered trainings in the CHAI Method™ at McGill and Concordia universities in Montreal and will offer it in Vancouver on Feb. 8 and 9.

Eventually, she said, the training could be adapted for healthcare providers – physicians especially are facing profound challenges right now, Regev said – as well as educators, clergy and others who are not accredited mental health providers.

Regev was born and raised in Israel, though she spent several teenage years in Vancouver while her mother was doing a master’s and a PhD in psychology here. She returned to Israel, did her army service, but moved to Vancouver permanently at age 28.

Israelis and diaspora Jews are having parallel but different experiences, she said. While many diaspora Jews lost loved ones on Oct. 7 and in the subsequent war, that experience is almost universal among Israelis. The experience with antisemitism in the diaspora, on the other hand, is not something Jews in Israel live with. Above all, she said, Israelis are having a shared experience with their entire society. For two years, it has been impossible to escape the reality, if for no more apparent reason than the ubiquity of hostage posters and memorial placards everywhere in the country. Jews in the diaspora, no matter how connected they may be to their Jewish community, are nonetheless surrounded by non-Jews living a completely different reality.

For diaspora Jews, finding a mental health practitioner capable of addressing their unique needs has come down to word-of-mouth. Regev hopes there will be a systematization, perhaps a database of professionals accredited in her CHAI Method™, which will provide assurances to clients that the counselor they are engaging with is prepared to consider the specific contemporary experiences of Jews.

There is plenty to be done, Regev said, and she has been balancing these new responsibilities with her clinical and training work, taking on tasks that currently have no dedicated infrastructure or funding behind them. She is seeking financial backing to support her initiatives.

To register for the February seminar or for further information about Regev’s work, visit icfcr.ca. In addition to training, she is also available as a speaker.