Tag: Oct. 7

Film Fest starts soon

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

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

Tradition!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kosher queen

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A family affair

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

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

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

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

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

Spousal secrets

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

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

Oct. 7 revisited

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Full details and tickets are available at vjff.org. 

Pondering peace post-Oct. 7

Commemorations of individuals murdered at the Nova festival. (photo by Pat Johnson)

Since I returned home to Vancouver from Israel a few weeks ago, it has taken me time to write about my reflections. There’s the usual getting over jetlag, catching up with work, dealing with the odds and ends that pile up after a five-week absence. I have also experienced a degree of avoidance. In some ways, there is so much to say I don’t know where to begin. In other ways, what can I possibly say that hasn’t been said before?

Unlike Israelis, I have had the luxury of putting my head in the sand, to some extent, in the days since I returned to my ridiculously quiet suburban home. My experiences – including a visit to the Gaza Envelope, Kibbutz Re’im and the Nova festival site, and conversations with scores of Israelis – have been percolating. In recent days, I have been immersed in video testimonies and other reports from survivors of the Oct. 7 attacks. 

One of the reasons I have avoided writing so far, I think, is that the parallel I feel compelled to make is one that I hate to invoke. I intentionally avoid making comparisons with the Holocaust, as almost any contrast cheapens the sanctity of that event’s memory. It also is unavoidably an exaggeration – nothing can compare to the Holocaust. And so, we should not be in the business of raising false equivalencies.

But not everyone subscribes to my hesitancy. More than one Israeli I spoke to referred to Kibbutz Be’eri as “Auschwitz.”

Although I was guided around the sites of the Oct. 7 atrocities by a senior Israeli military official, we were denied entry to Be’eri, which came as a relief. I didn’t want to make the choice not to go in, but I was glad that decision was made for me.

I had to ask myself – as other people asked me – why I was compelled to visit these places in the first place? I had not, for example, taken the opportunity to watch the footage that screened in Vancouver last year of the most terrible carnage from Oct. 7. I believed that I knew enough of what happened that I did not need to be exposed to the images so graphically. (There are people, on the other hand, who I think should be forced to watch such footage.)

I could say no to the video but, in Israel, I felt an obligation to bear witness in what small way I could by visiting the Nova festival site and other locations, including Highway 232. My guide, who was among the first on the scene during the morning of Oct. 7, provided (as you can imagine) a jarring play-by-play of what he witnessed, saw, heard and smelled that day.

As I watch documentaries and continue to read about the events, and hear from eyewitnesses, including those who defended their kibbutzim, and military personnel who were among the first on the scene, it is almost impossible for the mind not to go to historical parallels.

I hear stories of people pretending to be dead for hours while murderous attackers surrounded them. Testimony recounts the nonchalant murder of the elderly, babies, anyone and everyone the terrorists could kill – as   well as the collaboration of “ordinary” civilians.

The ripping apart of families. Parents shielding their children from gunshots. Families huddling as they are engulfed in flames. Survivors’ stories of screams still ringing in their ears. Jews recalling what they were sure were the last moments of their life. Acts of brutality that defy human imagination. Sadistic jubilation while perpetrating acts that make most people recoil. Residents of a village reconnoitring after the catastrophe to determine who remains alive.

The parallels are, to me at least, unavoidable.

There is, of course, a quantitative chasm between this modern horror and that of the Shoah. It is this difference that also makes comparisons so incredibly problematic. But it is the qualitative experiences, the grotesque similarities between Nazi atrocities and those of Hamas, that force the mind to go in that direction.

While visiting Jerusalem, I stumbled upon a pathway that begins at Yad Vashem, the Holocaust memorial museum and research centre, and winds through the military cemeteries in which the casualties of Israel’s successive defensive wars and endless terror attacks are buried, as are most of the country’s prime ministers, presidents and other leading figures. The pathway ends at the tomb of Theodor Herzl, the man most credited with making real the dream of a Jewish state, and adjacent to the museum that tells his life story.

The message here is that, from the moral abyss of the Holocaust to the sustaining of national self-determination as envisioned by Herzl, the path has had an unimaginable human cost.

The promise of the state of Israel, in Herzl’s mind, was that a people who were no longer stateless would not be subject to the predations of their brutalizing neighbours. Like so much else Herzl envisioned – he imagined that Jews would be welcomed for the positive contributions they bring to the region – a state has not ushered in the lasting peace for which he had hoped.

photo - An empty Shabbat table set for missing loved ones at Hostages Square in Tel Aviv
An empty Shabbat table set for missing loved ones at Hostages Square in Tel Aviv.  (photo by Pat Johnson)

We have known this since the moment Israel’s independence was declared and the new country was immediately invaded by the massed armies of its neighbouring countries. The Arab states unanimously rejected coexistence and soon Jews from across the Middle East and North Africa were expelled or otherwise forced to flee, most finding a home in the new Jewish state. The Arabs who were not within Israel’s border at the time of the 1949 ceasefire – and their generations of descendants – have been held as stateless people ever since in one of history’s most cynical acts.

What is still able to shock, even in a world where we have become inured to inhumanity, is that there are people who experience joy at Jewish death and thrill at the opportunity to torture, terrorize and kill Jews. A state has not removed that possibility from the world.

If there was one single objective for the existence of a Jewish state, this was it: the basic security of the Jewish person. On Oct. 7, that promise was broken. 

While many Israelis told me that Oct. 7 demonstrated that coexistence with Palestinians is impossible, other people told me that it merely made them redouble their commitment to building a future of peace and coexistence. If I went back to those who said Oct. 7 taught us to work harder for peace with Palestinians, would they see a cognitive dissonance in my position as I do with theirs?

If the existence of a Jewish state cannot prevent the most basic thing it was created to realize, is the entire enterprise a failure?

A Jewish state does not guarantee, obviously, that Jews will not still and again experience the atrocities that have befallen them historically. It is, nevertheless, the best defence, however imperfect.

The Israelis who told me they must work harder for peace believe that, when our ideal falls short, rather than give up, we have to do more to attain it. For them, that means doubling down on peace activism. I admire their idealism.

For me, any realistic plan for peace is worthy of consideration. But I will also double down and say that the answer to a Jewish state that fails to live up to its core mission of keeping Jewish people from reliving the horrors of the past is also not to give up – but to continue building a Jewish state that is impermeable, unparalleled in strength and impervious to the genocidal assaults of its neighbours.

Reflecting on the thousands I saw buried along the pathway between Yad Vashem and Herzl’s tomb, I believe that, until Israel’s neighbours are incapable of the sorts of atrocities we have seen, Israelis must work for peace, on the one hand, while assuming their neighbours won’t change, on the other. 

Flowers for those murdered

A new daffodil garden at Beth Israel commemorates the 1,200 people murdered by Hamas on Oct. 7, 2023. (photo by Cynthia Ramsay)

“It’s not much, but I wanted those in the Jewish community to know that they are not forgotten, and they are not alone,” Lora Anjos told the Independent.

On the morning of April 27, at Congregation Beth Israel, there will be a dedication ceremony in memory of the 1,200 people murdered in the Hamas terror attack on Israel on Oct. 7, 2023. To be dedicated is a new daffodil garden at the synagogue’s southwest corner, at 28th Avenue and Oak Street. The garden was inspired by Anjos.

Just over a year ago, Beth Israel member Alan Farber paid a visit to Anjos. Farber, a retired lawyer, and Anjos, also a lawyer, shared office space for many years. During that time, they became close friends. When Farber saw Anjos in February 2024, he said, “Lora expressed to me how upset she was over the horrific events of Oct. 7 and how sorry she felt for her Jewish friends over the rise of antisemitism. Lora said she would like to do something as a memorial to the innocent victims of the slaughter, and suggested planting 1,200 daffodil bulbs that would bloom annually in memory of the fallen. She wanted to place it at a Jewish location but truly didn’t know how to go about it. I was inspired by her idea and told her to leave the organization to me.”

Farber approached Beth Israel’s Rabbi Jonathan Infeld with the idea of a garden and Infeld “simply said do it,” Farber shared.

“Everyone I dealt with in organizing the planting was fully on board and inspired by the commitment made to our community by a non-Jewish person,” said Farber. “Grade 11 students came in October and helped plant 1,200 bulbs.”

Anjos came to that October event, spoke to the King David High School students and helped plant bulbs with them and members of the congregation, said Farber.

“There are a few stories I could tell that would explain it. But this one stands out,” Anjos told the Independent of her reason for wanting to do something for the Jewish community. She was influenced, in part, by a conversation she had with a former Dalhousie University classmate, Robert Astroff, who was part of the small Jewish community in Halifax. Some of his family members had been killed in the Holocaust and, she said, “If I recall correctly, he started keeping kosher after visiting the camps, in honour of those who lost their lives. He was gracious in all respects, including the sharing of his faith, through stories and food, hospitality and kindness, as an act of community.

“Sometime after graduation, he came to Vancouver,” she said. “We met and had lunch at the Vancouver Art Gallery. We sat outside on the terrace. It was a hot and sunny day. We talked about many things. But, at some point, the discussion turned to traveling. I mentioned the unexpected feeling I had experienced years earlier when I flew into Amsterdam after a four-month backpacking trip to Europe. As the plane descended over the flat green fields and dykes of Holland, I was reminded of Richmond, where I grew up, and immediately felt a sense of peace, as if I was landing at home. What happened next has never left me. Robert said he felt the same thing when he flew to Israel for the first time. I asked him why – because my sense of home and peace had stemmed from the similarity of the terrain between the Netherlands and Richmond, while Israel and Nova Scotia looked nothing alike. He said: Because, Lora, when they come for us again, Israel will be the only country that will protect us.

“Those words shook me,” said Anjos. “I had no doubt as to the heartfulness of Robert’s feelings. But I did not believe that that would happen. I did not believe I would live to see a pogrom. And I did not believe that, if such hatred took place, Israel alone would stand against it. I was left incredibly sad that Robert thought his fellow citizens, his friends, his colleagues and his country would not protect him. I could not fathom that. Then, Oct. 7, 2023, happened.”

Anjos spoke fondly of Farber and his late wife, Felicia Folk, who died in August 2023, as well as other Jewish friends and colleagues who have shown her kindness over the years, including Janet Stern.

“She had worked at Mills Brothers in Halifax, which I frequented often,” said Anjos. “When I was set to leave Halifax for the last time, she took a tired and broke student out to the most glorious lunch. It was so unexpected and so appreciated, I remember it still. Kindness from people who knew me well, and not so well.”

To attend the dedication, register at bethisrael.ca. 

A theme of “Am Israel Run”

The Jerusalem Winner Marathon encompassed multiple races, from a full marathon to a 5K circuit and a 1.7K family run. (photo from Jerusalem Municipality)

On April 4, approximately 40,000 runners participated in the 14th International Jerusalem Winner Marathon, which broke all previous records for participation. Held under the theme “Am Israel Run,” the event paid tribute to the Israel Defence Forces, security forces and emergency responders, serving as a powerful symbol of resilience, hope, strength and the enduring Israeli spirit.

The winner of the marathon in the men’s category was Bohdan Semenovych, 39, from Ukraine, with a time of 2:22:47. The winner in the women’s category was Salgong Pauline Gepkirui, 37, from Kenya, with a time of 2:51:58.

photo - The full marathon
(photo from Jerusalem Municipality)

Among the runners were around 15,000 IDF soldiers – both reservists and active-duty personnel – and members of Israel’s security and emergency services. The marathon drew about 1,800 international participants, all of whom ran along a course that passed landmarks including the Knesset, the Old City walls, Sultan’s Pool, Mishkenot Sha’ananim, Mount Zion, the German Colony, Rehavia, the Armon Hanatziv Promenade, Ammunition Hill, Sacher Park, Mount Scopus, the Mount of Olives, and other notable places.

photo - The 5K marathon
(photo from Jerusalem Municipality)

Among the participants this year was the mayor of Jerusalem, Moshe Lion, who ran in the five-kilometre race.

The 14th International Jerusalem Winner Marathon featured six race categories: the full marathon, half marathon, 10K, 5K and 1.7K family run. Additionally, the event included the Community Race, an exclusive feature of the Jerusalem Marathon.

The event was organized by the Jerusalem Municipality, in collaboration with the Jerusalem Development Authority and with the support of the Ministry of Jerusalem and Heritage, the Ministry of Culture and Sports, and the Ministry of Tourism. The event’s main sponsor was Toto Winner, and Saucony partnered in the event. Additional sponsors included Hapoel Centre, Eldan, Cinema City, Reidman College and Bezeq Business. The marathon was produced by Electra Target. 

– Courtesy Jerusalem Municipality

Ruchot Hatzafon headlines

Ruchot Hatzafon members, left to right: Gil Melamood (bass guitar), Adam Halfi (keyboards), Ofir Baz (drums), Liraz Moalem (stage manager) and Eyal Shavit (vocals and electric guitar). (photo by Yannay Shifron)

“We will dance again” is the theme of this year’s Yom Ha’atzmaut community gathering on April 30 to celebrate Israel’s 77th anniversary amid the heartache that continues since Hamas’s Oct. 7, 2023, terror attacks. In addition to Nova Festival survivors, other special guests will be the band Ruchot Hatzafon, some of whose members still have not returned to their homes in Israel’s northern region because of the continued threat from Hezbollah in Lebanon.

“Better now, but it was very traumatic for everyone,” Eyal Shavit told the Independent about how he and his fellow musicians were doing since Oct. 7. “It’s difficult to put to words. We all live very close to the Lebanese border. A couple of us, Liraz [Moalem] and Gil [Melamood], live right on that border, in Kibbutz Malkiya and in Kibbutz Kfar Giladi, so they had to move to more central places in Israel and to this day they still haven’t come back to their homes.

“For the rest of us, it wasn’t as bad, but it still affected our lives in so many ways. Not to mention financially, as well as the mental trauma, the fear and the grief. However, we are among the luckiest ones in the grander scheme of things and we do what we have to do, both as individuals and as a people. We keep living, we keep moving forward and we keep celebrating our lives, all the while remembering [those] who are still held in Gaza by Hamas and grieving with anyone and everyone who has suffered the most terrible losses on that day.”

Shavit said he left his kibbutz, Kfar Szold, a couple of days after Oct. 7, “because the feeling at the time was that it can happen again at any given moment by Hezbollah in Lebanon, but, within a couple of weeks, I realized that it would be safe enough to go back … so I’ve stayed there since.”

Shavit is Ruchot Hatzafon’s lead vocalist and he plays the electric guitar. (He is also, as it happens, co-author of the book Hilarious Hebrew with Hebrew teacher Yael Breuer, which the Independent reviewed in 2016: jewishindependent.ca/from-nonsense-knowledge.) In Vancouver, Shavit will be joined by Melamood (bass guitar), Adam Halfi (keyboards), Ofir Baz (drums) and Sapir Breier (vocals).

“In this instance, Sapir will be with us in Vancouver, as Vered [Sasportas] couldn’t join us this time,” said Shavit of the band’s other primary vocalist.

Moalem is the band’s stage manager.

The group has been together about six years, and Shavit explained its evolution. 

“It was a bit of luck really,” he said about his joining. “I’d just returned from the UK to Israel, having lived in Brighton, England, for 13 years, where I studied music and made my living playing gigs in pubs and events.”

Friends from high school – Melamood (who also was in a military band with Shavit during their army service) and Baz – contacted Shavit and asked him to be a part of the band, along with another high school friend, Halfi, so that they could play at an event.

“We then immediately got booked for a second event by Liraz Moalem, who then became our band manager,” said Shavit. “It was a lot of fun and a nice opportunity. We all aspired to do this for a living.”

A couple of years after that, he said, Sasportas, who they met through a mutual friend and colleague, became part of the group and, said Shavit, “she fit right in, as well as being a brilliant singer and performer.”

Ruchot Hatzafon – which translates as the Northern Winds – has two types of shows.

“One is an energetic set of very popular songs both in Hebrew and in English that everyone likes to dance to, and the other show is a tribute to Israel’s army bands, who have a huge legacy in Israeli culture and used to dominate the charts back in the ’60s up until the mid-’70s,” explained Shavit. “That show includes a bit of storytelling and mostly wonderful and famous songs by the old army bands.

“In Vancouver, we will play our party music set, along with some special requests, like ‘Yerushalayim Shel Zahav’ by Naomi Shemer, for example.”

Other songs that Vancouverites will hear on April 30 include “Ahava Besof Ha’Kayitz” (“Love at the End of Summer”) by Tsvika Pik; “Ein Makom Acher” (“No Other Place”) by Mashina; “Naarin Shuva Elay” (“My Boy, Come Back to Me”) by Margalit Tsan’ani; “Natati La Chayai” (“I Gave Her My Life”) by Kaveret; and some Israeli Eurovision songs.

“And, in English, probably ‘Think’ by Aretha Franklin, ‘I Will Survive’ by Gloria Gaynor, ‘Don’t Stop Me Now’ by Queen and more,” said Shavit.

The band members have similar musical tastes, he said, perhaps because they all grew up on a kibbutz. “We’re generally more drawn to Western-influenced rock and pop music and songs in English, rather than Mediterranean-influenced songs, which are another genre of cover bands in Israel,” he said. “We play only a few of those.”

This will be Ruchot Hatzafon’s first time performing outside of Israel. They’ll arrive April 28 and return home on May 2, but Shavit said they’re thinking about extending their stay a couple of days.

“I can say for all of us that we feel this is an honour and a privilege to be invited to play for the Jewish communities in Vancouver – especially after what we’ve all been through as a people,” Shavit said. “We are thrilled to come and celebrate with everyone there.

“In addition, we get to visit a little bit of Canada, which, personally, I’ve always wanted to visit.”

Tickets ($18) for the Yom Ha’atzmaut event must be bought in advance. To do so, visit jewishvancouver.com/israelhere.  

Aussie activist ignites crowd

Australian TV personality Erin Molan at Schara Tzedeck in Vancouver March 19. (photo by Pat Johnson)

Security was tighter than usual at Congregration Schara Tzedeck when Australian media personality Erin Molan spoke to Vancouver’s Jewish community March 19.

The non-Jewish commentator has become a lightning rod for anti-Israel activists since becoming a vocal voice in support of Zionism and Jews, particularly after Oct. 7, 2023. She is dumbfounded by the controversy.

“If you said to me two years ago, there’s going to be a terror attack, Hamas will slaughter 1,200 people, they will take hostages, they will burn children … you are going to come out very strongly and publicly and condemn those actions and you’re going to support the victims of those atrocities and that’s going to be controversial and you will be in the minority, I would have said you are dreaming, there is no chance in hell,” Molan told the audience. “But here we are.”

Since that October day, Molan has lost the four jobs she held in Australian journalism – her main gig as a commentator on Sky News Australia, a radio position, a column in Sydney’s Daily Telegraph and a regular magazine spot. Molan has not explicitly said she was fired for her pro-Israel views. 

“Pure coincidence, of course,” was her response to a direct question put to her by Amir Epstein, executive director of Tafsik, the organization that brought her on a cross-Canada tour.

In February, she became host of 69 X Minutes, a news program conceived and funded by Elon Musk, which airs on X, the platform formerly known as Twitter.

Molan received a loud ovation for her comments on US President Donald Trump.

“You might love him, you might hate him,” she said. “Would I want him to marry my daughter? No. Do I think that in some ways he is the right person for this time given the alternative? Absolutely.”

She said Trump is shaking up a situation that demands new approaches.

“At least he’s throwing something different out there,” she said. “How many two-state solutions do you want to give the Palestinians? How many chances do you want to give? What are we up to, eight? Eight more chances for the same people that, at the last ceasefire, came on TV seconds after the ceasefire began and said, just FYI, we will do Oct. 7 again at the first available opportunity. 

“You can’t keep doing the same thing,” she continued. “That’s insanity.”

Her assertion that Trump’s disruptive tactics are right for the time and place come in part from watching, she said, every second of available recorded footage from Oct. 7. Many of the perpetrators wore body cameras, in some cases livestreaming their attacks.

“I thought I understood how depraved they were, well prior,” she said. “I’d seen enough, I’d heard enough, I knew that they were probably as low as you could get. Watching the raw vision [recorded footage] gave me the next-level understanding of who you are dealing with and … I left there saying, there is no way you can coexist with those people. 

“I watched a video of a dad jumping out of a window with a 4-year-old under his arm and then maybe a 6-year-old running beside him,” she recounted. “Just that fear on his face that … he knew that they were coming. He was not going to be able to do anything, but he was doing whatever he could. The terrorists killed him, then went to the fridge with two kids covered in blood, shaking, [having] just watched their dad killed and then pulling drinks out and they’re laughing. I watched their faces as they hacked the head off a young man. That, to me, is what I can’t ever forget, the joy that they derived in what they were doing. Two little girls and a little boy being burnt alive – they shot their parents and then they burnt them alive. I just don’t think you can keep pretending that this is just a dispute over land or this is just two countries that don’t really get along well. No, there are not two sides to this. They are evil, depraved, bloodthirsty murderers who will never, ever stop. So, whatever the solution is moving forward, it cannot have Hamas in existence at all and, from there, I don’t know, but I think you’ve got to try something different.”

Molan’s experiences with domestic partner violence have influenced her approach to the Oct. 7 attacks – and provided a contrast between the way she, as an Australian woman, is perceived differently from Israeli women.

“I was in a couple of very violent relationships that resulted in me being hospitalized a lot,” she said, noting that she shared the story for the first time publicly only a few months ago.

When Molan did so, she said, “all the feminists in Australia … were public and effusive in their sorrow and their praise for my bravery, for sharing.”

She said, “These were the same people who deny what happened to Israeli and Jewish women on Oct. 7, the same people who have not said a word about any of it. [They are] completely OK with Hamas raping, slaughtering, killing women.” 

She experienced firsthand the very different reactions to her, “an Irish Catholic girl,” and to the rapes and murders of Israeli women, she said.

While she said everyone should be speaking up in support of Israel and against Hamas and global antisemitism, she had particularly harsh words for Islamic community members and leaders, not least because Islamic extremism hurts Muslims, she said. 

“They should be at the forefront of this fight,” she said. “Where are they? That’s what’s really disappointed me in this space. There’s the odd one or two and they are incredible and they’re brave and they’re powerful, but … this was a perfect opportunity for [Muslim community organizations] to come out and say, ‘That’s not who we are, that doesn’t represent us or our religion.’ But, instead, they tried to downplay it, they tried to make it OK, they tried to normalize it.”

Molan has been critical of Canada’s now-former prime minister Justin Trudeau, as well as leaders in her own country and elsewhere, who she says have allowed the bar to be lowered on acceptable discourse.

She cited the example of a hate rally at the Sydney Opera House, hours after the atrocities in Israel, during which people expressed antisemitic chants and threats.

“If I were in power, if I were the leader of a nation and that had occurred on my watch, you could not have held me back in terms of what action I would have taken,” she said, adding that this was a moment when hateful and potentially violent people were gauging what would be accepted and what would not be accepted in society.

At that point, Molan said, leaders should have come down hard and police should have acknowledged that support for terrorism and incitement of violence against identifiable groups is illegal, freedom of speech notwithstanding. In Australia, Canada and elsewhere, she said, that did not happen.

She credited the Jewish community worldwide for their collective reactions to the challenges they face.

“You would be justified in being the most hateful people in history,” she said. “You would be justified in having hearts full of hate and no one could ever judge you for it. Every time you gather, all you say is, ‘Bring them home.’ That’s it. Every gathering I’ve seen of Jewish people since Oct. 7, the only focus there has been ‘Bring them home. Bring our people home.’ The other side, every gathering is ‘Intifada,’ ‘River to the sea,’ ‘Death to Jews.’ How can the world not see the stark difference between these two groups of people?”

Schara Tzedeck’s Rabbi Andrew Rosenblatt opened the event with a prayer for the hostages.

Mijal BenDori, vice-president, community planning, partnerships and innovation, of the Jewish Federation of Greater Vancouver, thanked the Vancouver Police Department, hired security and the community volunteer group Bitachon for keeping British Columbia’s Jews safe.

The event was co-sponsored by Federation, Schara Tzedeck and Tafsik, a new national organization that Epstein said targets “the Islamists, the Marxists, the communists, the keffiyeh Karens, the Jew-haters.”

His group, he said, has a number of projects in development, including an app to identify and remove anti-Jewish and anti-Israel hate graffiti; a group called LGBTJew, to provide a place for queer Zionists; and a support group for people who have been alienated by their Jewish families for their support of Israel. 

Ellis gives needed context

Author Israel Ellis with his new book, The Wake Up Call, after a Feb. 10 talk at Beth Tikvah Synagogue in Toronto, where he joined journalist Dave Gordon in conversation. (photo by Dave Gordon)

In his new book, The Wake Up Call: Global Jihad and the Rise of Antisemitism in a World Gone MAD, author Israel Ellis brings the events of Oct. 7, 2023, into a compelling, fact-based and easy-to-read focus.

Backed up by scores of footnotes and references, the book is a no-nonsense look at the Hamas terror attack of Oct. 7 and, poignantly, the attack on democracy Ellis believes happened in the months prior to them. The addition of personal stories from Oct. 7 survivors and family members adds another level of documentation to an already all-encompassing book.

Ellis weaves in his own lived experience and perspective as a Jewish Canadian in the diaspora with firsthand accounts of contemporary antisemitism and his reflections on being the father of an Israel Defence Forces lone soldier fighting in Gaza. His personal observations allow the reader to connect with him, as well as better understand the interconnectedness of Jews, no matter where they live, and Israel.

For non-Jews, it can be daunting to begin learning about what happened on Oct. 7, and the global repercussions. Many non-Jews do not know the history of the Middle East, how the state of Israel fits into this history, or what the definition of “antisemitism” is. Ellis helps fill in these blanks, and this is why I am so excited to introduce this book to my friends.

Since Oct. 7, 2023, Canadians (and people from other countries) have seen large pro-Palestine protests in the streets of all the major cities and in academic spaces, with large university encampments set up across the country. Most people in the Jewish community see these protests for what they are: pro-terror and anti-democratic. But, for a Canadian with little knowledge of what the Israeli/Palestinian conflict is, these protests and encampments can look like a fight for human rights. No doubt, some individuals believe they are marching for human rights while chanting  “intifada revolution,” but many are there to show support for Hamas, to some degree or another. This is why the knowledge, geopolitical insight and historical context Ellis brings with his writing is so vitally important.

I read a lot of books on Israel, as a non-Jewish Canadian interested in educating myself, and Ellis’s new book has become a favourite. One of the reasons is that Ellis writes about many protests and political events that are still fresh in our minds. He discusses protests that took place in Toronto and the encampments at McGill University (and others). He shows the utter incompetence of Canadian politicians, such as Toronto Mayor Olivia Chow, in handling the rise of radical Islam. He strongly condemns Canada’s minister of foreign affairs, Mélanie Joly, who shook the hand of Mahmoud Abbas, leader of the Palestinian Authority, in what is a now-famous Ramallah photo-op. These events, along with many others, are documented in Ellis’s book, illustrating a pattern of political complicity and complacency that he says has contributed to the eroding of Canada’s moral backbone. 

As a Canadian university student, I have experienced firsthand my peers sympathizing with and rallying for terrorist organizations. The university institutions have been complacent in protecting neutral academic spaces, allowing terrorist propaganda to infiltrate our lectures and giving some professors the ability to promote hatred of Israel and the Jewish people.

A quote from The Wake Up Call that gave me chills reads: “There is no coming invasion. It is already here. Jihad has already been invited into our universities, professions, communities and public institutions. October 7 was a wake-up call. It is an example of the hunger for Global Jihad, and what can happen if it is allowed to be satiated. To think that these events are restricted to a narrow strip on the Mediterranean is a complete miscalculation of reality.”

The Wake Up Call should be read by anyone – uninformed or well-informed, Jew or non-Jew – who wants to better understand the political, social and historical context behind the current rise in anti-democratic, pro-terror narratives that have taken over many Western spaces. 

Zara Nybo, a fourth-year student at the University of British Columbia, is a StandWithUs Canada Emerson Fellow. Connect with her via Instagram: @zaranybo.

In every generation …

This year, the Jewish community will greet Passover with mixed emotions. On a holiday where we celebrate the 3,500-year-old Exodus from Egyptian slavery to freedom, we also mourn the modern-day hostages held captive for so long and the loss of those who will never return to their loved ones.

Passover offers a unique opportunity for families and friends to gather around the seder table, retell the story of the Exodus, eat symbolic foods and, most challenging of all, attempt to keep the younger children engaged until the meal.

It can be difficult to explain to our children the enduring importance of Passover – a tale of survival, courage and resilience. The story of the Jewish people facing an impossible obstacle and conquering it, of our people standing up against oppression, proud of our Jewish identity, confronting and overcoming baseless hatred.

For more than a year, Jewish students have been made to feel othered, embarrassed, threatened and, sometimes, compelled to hide their Jewish identity. Since Oct. 7, 2023, online Jew-hatred and anti-Israel vitriol have become all too common. While cities, overrun by hate-filled protests, seem almost completely desensitized to the hate, we see our children suffering.

An excerpt from the Passover Haggadah reminds us that “in every generation, one must see oneself as having personally come forth from Egypt … and you will tell your child on that day.…” As we sit down at the seder table this year, we will, once again, tell the next generation the story of the Jewish people’s victory against oppression and that pride in our identity is the way to fight oppression.

The younger guests at our seder – our children, our grandchildren, our nieces and nephews – are the next generation of leaders. It will be their responsibility to challenge antisemitism head-on, and it’s our responsibility to educate them about how to do it.

The Centre for Israel and Jewish Affairs remains committed to protecting the quality of Jewish life in Canada. Our team is working with government officials to advocate for the introduction of safe access (bubble) legislation to protect schools and places of worship from the threat of violence or harassment. We are also advocating to enforce existing legislation that combats both online and real-world hate. 

We continue to demand accountability from social media platforms, institutions and organizations. We urge the government to support the provinces’ education for judges, Crown attorneys and law enforcement regarding antisemitism and hate crimes. We continue to stand by our policy priorities that include advocating for community safety, for maintaining public order and for fighting antisemitism in schools and on campus. 

The community, after a long year-and-a-half, is tired. Some of us are scared. And yet, we remain proud. We know more work must be done to protect ourselves, our children and our Jewish identity. So, this year, as we retell our ancestors’ story to our children, we are reminded that we remember the past to protect our present – and our children’s future. It starts at the seder table. But it doesn’t end there. 

Judy Zelikovitz is vice-president, university and local partner services, at the Centre for Israel and Jewish Affairs.

The people’s army of Israel

Volunteers with Sar-El in Israel last March. (photo from Marina Sonkina)

Last year, about this time, I was in Israel, volunteering with Sar-El, an organization that connects the Israel Defence Forces with volunteers from more than 30 countries, who provide the army with non-combat support. So many others had wanted to help after Oct. 7 that I had to wait several months for my documents to be processed.

The mood was understandably sombre. Not just the trauma of the Hamas terror attacks, with hostages captive, but also the antisemitism that engulfed the Western world like fire. 

I asked some of my fellow volunteers why they had come to Israel during such a dangerous time. The answers I got, especially from non-Jews, both surprised and comforted me. A Christian volunteer from Detroit wanted Israel to know that it did not stand alone. A middle-aged Australian had been sponsored by her church in Sydney to help people of the Holy Land under an attack. Two Romanian girls didn’t speak a word of Hebrew or English, but answered me in Italian: “Aiuto” (“Help”).

“I had a very good life. I had a chance to travel all over the world. But, until now, I’ve been traveling horizontally,” a Parisian Jew of Algerian descent told me. “Now, it’s time to travel vertically,” she said, raising her eyes to the sky. “This land is sacred. I feel it here like nowhere else. And now it’s in peril.”

In spite of rockets being fired into Israel from Lebanon, Gaza and Yemen, the volunteers felt more protected in Israel than they did back home. Many felt relieved that, finally, there was no need to conceal one’s true feelings or to hide one’s Jewishness.

“I don’t feel safe in the US anymore,” said a New York lawyer who had been attacked from behind in the streets of Manhattan, his yarmulke yanked off his head.

A German woman from Munich was on her 10th visit to Israel. “I’m not Jewish, and I can’t explain it,” she said. “All I know is that I love people here. Love their warmth. Chaos? Yes! They talk loud, they are emotional, but I don’t mind that. I plan to spend half a year here once I retire.”

Initially, I wasn’t sure how we, civilians, could help the IDF fight Hamas in Gaza, but my first day at the medical military base near Tel Aviv made it clear. Hundreds of different medications and medical devices that had come from warehouses across the country had to be sorted out, their expiration dates checked. Those who accuse Israel of racism should see these medicines, each labeled in four languages: Hebrew, Arabic, English and Russian. (Thanks to Soviet antisemitism and, lately, to Putin’s war on Ukraine, 15% of Israel’s population comes from Russia.) 

On the military base, I saw clearly what is best in Israel: its people. The IDF mirrors the diversity and inclusiveness of a society that, in its short history, has accepted refugees from more than 100 countries. 

Without Moshe, for example, we would have had no idea how to sort the truckloads of medications arriving every day. Having come to Israel from Bukhara (in Central Asia) as a child, Moshe kibitzed in three languages, instructing us by means of his hands while talking on his cellphone. From his easy smile, I would never have guessed that his wife had recently died of cancer, that his two sons were fighting in Gaza and that, every day after his work with us, he went to a synagogue to pray. One morning, Moshe directed us to place boxes in long rows on the floor, in an unusual configuration. The next morning, a group of children with autism and down syndrome came to finish the sorting, also helping their people’s army.

Paul, a mathematician who came from France, was in charge of the military base’s math department. Ruth, who had made aliyah from the Netherlands as a teenager, was serving as one of the madrichot (female soldiers tasked with organizing and looking after Sar-El’s volunteers); after the army, she hoped to become a specialist in Japanese culture.

On another military base, about 20 kilometres from Gaza, in the Negev Desert, one of our tasks was to assemble care packages for soldiers spending Passover at the front, away from home. In two days, we filled 15,000 boxes with grape juice, matzah and other traditional items. A  soldier with a distinct Californian accent came to help us. He was a “lone soldier,” a soldier who has no family in Israel. Various families take turns welcoming lone soldiers for Shabbat, feeding them and giving them a sense of home.

photo - The cover of a Haggadah that Sar-El volunteers inserted into thousands of Passover boxes that were sent to Israeli soldiers in Gaza. It shows the multicultural character of the Israel Defence Forces
The cover of a Haggadah that Sar-El volunteers inserted into thousands of Passover boxes that were sent to Israeli soldiers in Gaza. It shows the multicultural character of the Israel Defence Forces. (photo from Marina Sonkina)

Once, an officer joined us, helping make up the boxes, which was unusual, given his rank. Later, I saw him in the mess hall speaking in Hebrew to the base commander, who was originally from India. I found out that the officer was Druze. Living mainly in the country’s north, in the Galilee region, the Druze community enjoys all the civil rights of other Israelis, while maintaining their Arabic language and customs. Many Druze reach high echelons in the army, in medicine and other professions. When a Hezbollah rocket struck the Druze town of Majdal Shams, killing 12 children playing soccer, Prime Minister Binyamin Netanyahu went there, addressing community members as “brothers and sisters.” He promised that Hezbollah would “pay a heavy price” for killing their children, and he kept his word.

When I think of the soldiers I met and talked to, one thing sets them apart from young people of their age in North America: a seriousness of purpose, and the burden of responsibility. They know that the survival of Israel lies on their shoulders. They also know that, while defending their  country, they may not survive. Death lurks behind every corner in Gaza and Lebanon. It has hidden in an effigy of a child pleading, in Hebrew, for help, but booby-trapped with explosives. It was underground, in the tunnels, some going 50 kilometres deep. It disguised itself in doctors’ scrubs, inside Kamal Adwan Hospital in Gaza, which was appropriated by Hamas terror operatives.

Every fallen soldier is loved and mourned as one’s own child. Army service acts as a social glue in a country into which millions of refugees, speaking different languages, have poured. The IDF is still the backbone and pride of this society.

At a party for troops just returned from Gaza, I saw a religious Jew in a yarmulke (skullcap) and tzitzit (prayer shawl) hanging from under his uniform, with a baby girl in each arm and an automatic rifle dangling behind his back. I talked to a medic, a corporal who was more outspoken than many – a college history teacher in times of peace, he had three young children at home.  

“Is there any possibility of peace between Palestinians and Jews?” I asked him.

“Before Oct. 7, I supported a two-state solution because I wanted peace, but the Palestinians do not want peace,” he responded. “We’ve tried it many times in the past. They want only one state, an Islamic Caliphate with Sharia rule. We, Jews, are in their way and they want us dead…. We have to fight – if we want to survive.”

“What about your children?” I asked. “Will they have to fight, too?”

“Yes, them, too,” he said. “They’ll be left with no other choice.” 

I shook my head in distress but said nothing.

“Look,” said the man, “illusions cost us very dearly. We can’t afford them anymore.”

I remembered Golda Meir’s words, spoken in 1957: “Peace will come when the Arabs will love their children more than they hate us.”

There is a truce in Gaza now. But, while some 20,000 Hamas fighters have been eliminated, 10,000 armed fighters are still at large. 

Marina Sonkina is a fiction writer, and teaches in the Liberal Arts Program 55+ at Simon Fraser University.

Welcoming guests again

There may not be magic at hand to prepare dinner or clean up afterwards, but the Weasleys’ home in the Harry Potter series, the Burrow, is a good model for how to welcome guests, with Mrs. Weasley’s always sharing her love, food, home, and even her motherly reprimands with others. (photo by Karen Roe / flickr)

This winter, I felt our household was in hibernation. Between endless viruses brought home from middle school and -30˚C temperatures in Winnipeg, I doubted we’d ever emerge. Then, our household caught a break. We’ve had a few weeks now where all four of us seem mostly healthy. Also, there has been a rare moment of “early spring,” where temperatures are around freezing, the sun is out and everyone seems cheerful about the deep, goopy slush.

We have started to dig ourselves out. Not from the snow, but from all the activities we piled up during the coldest time of year. One kid removed his slot car racers and a 3D printer project from the dining room. Another kid tidied up a huge set he’s building for his video production class. There are still too many books and knitting projects on the coffee table (my fault). My husband even cleaned up his piles of paper. Why all the hurry? Well, suddenly people are coming over again to visit. We’re hopefully emerging from our long retreat.

During our hibernation, we stayed home, went to work and school, and to synagogue. That was mostly it. But then I got an email out of the blue. When I walk my setter-mix dog, we often encounter a tiny dog, Lulu, and her human, and we chat. Deep into our winter sojourn, we weren’t seeing Lulu or her people much, it was just too cold. Yet Lulu’s people, thoughtful neighbours, invited us over for cheese fondue, wine and a warm chat. After a great night out a block from home, I realized how small our world had become. I decided we owed them a dinner invitation. They’re coming (probably without Lulu) for Shabbat dinner this week.

I’ve always enjoyed cooking big Shabbat and holiday dinners for friends and having great conversations at the table. I was raised with this kind of hospitality. My parents’ home was always open to my friends, who timed their visits to enjoy their favourite foods or discuss things with my parents or siblings, and their friends, too. However, over the years, I’d really cut back on these dinners. First, because my twins still go to bed early. Then, because of the pandemic. After Oct. 7, I felt wary about the outside world and wanted to feel safe at home. About a year ago, I stopped inviting people. I could say it was because I was concentrating on my twins’ b’nai mitzvah preparations or the event itself, with friends and family visiting, but that was last June. This winter, we’ve been sick and it’s been so cold.

On one Shabbat at synagogue, I heard an impromptu talk from a young adult visiting home. He was serving in the Israel Defence Forces as a lone soldier and spent part of his time at home talking to groups about what was happening in Israel, and we discussed how to combat antisemitism in Canada. At this event, a community member suggested that inviting friends and allies over, perhaps to Shabbat dinner, could help others learn about who we are and gather more support. 

What happened afterwards, along with the warmer, slushy weather, is that some of our friends began to seek us out. 

Last week, an amazing acquaintance, who used to run a gallery we loved, asked me to sign one of my books for her friend’s birthday. Of course, I said, come on over. I showed her our “new” historic house and she brought me tulips.

Then, a longtime artist friend in her 80s contacted me and decided she was coming over the next morning for muffins and coffee, so she could show off her newest marbled paper experiments.

Last week, a retired newspaper columnist that I really respect happened to spot my husband outdoors with the dog. He started to text with my husband and asked to come see how we’d renovated things. My husband said yes. Our neighbourhood’s full of old houses with interesting quirks, so visiting each other’s homes is always fun. They’re coming for coffee and cake on Sunday. It seemed like high time to pick up the dog toys from the living room carpet.

All of these encounters with warm people who sought us out and wanted to get back in touch? None of them is Jewish. All of them are people who want us to know they are safe, they care about us, and they value our company. This was an important realization, well worth the effort it takes to clean up the messy paw prints and kid fingerprints for a visit.

When I imagine how I want my home to appear to friends, or even strangers, I think of the Burrow, the Weasleys’ home in the Harry Potter series. Well, that’s not quite right. Our house doesn’t use magic to knit sweaters or stir pots of soup. Those are my hands, my knitting and my cooking, instead. However, whenever I think of the Burrow, I think of a warm, welcoming place where Mrs. Weasley feeds everybody and makes everyone feel welcome and loved, despite the normal clutter and chaos of family life.

My notion of hachnasat orchim (welcoming guests) comes from Jewish tradition, a much older playbook than the Harry Potter series. However, the meaning feels the same, even if my household menu includes hamantashen and chicken soup. Mrs. Weasley’s always sharing her love, food, home, and even her motherly reprimands with others, and it goes beyond her family. Her home, the Burrow, sounds like a retreat, but it’s not a hibernation. It’s an enthusiastic embrace.

I am hoping to get back to that safe and cheerful place, where our home is full again with fascinating friends, good food, stimulating conversation and an open heart. Our gardens are still under dirty snow here. It sometimes takes a heroic effort to rise above winter weather and the residual sadness of the war, but good things await. Things are warming up at my house in Manitoba. I’m hoping for happier days ahead. 

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.