Op-Ed – Page 49

What’s next with Iran deal

Given the copious amount that has been written on the Iran deal, we publish this summary of key points by American Jewish Congress to help readers wade through the various articles and blogs, and form their own opinion about the deal:

The historic deal with Iran intended to curb its nuclear weapons program will receive a full airing in the U.S. Congress in the next several weeks. The following is a short summary of key points to keep in mind as the debate unfolds:

Several steps must be taken before the Iran deal goes into effect. Congress has 60 days to review the deal’s terms, hold hearings, conduct a debate and take a vote in both the House and Senate.
If Congress passes a resolution of disapproval and sends it to President Barack Obama for his signature, he has 12 days to veto the resolution. The president has said already that he would take such action, if necessary.
Many members of both parties in Congress have expressed deep skepticism. Israel is lobbying hard against it; Gulf states, led by Saudi Arabia, also oppose the deal, but are conducting their lobbying efforts more quietly.
The deal also must be brought to the United Nations Security Council. It is unclear at this time if that will happen before or after a congressional vote.
No sanctions will be lifted before the end of this year. The International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA) first must provide, by Dec. 15, a baseline assessment of Iran’s possible military activities relative to its past nuclear program.
The IAEA will be given “when necessary, where necessary” access to monitor Iranian compliance, with a mechanism that gives Iran up to 24 days before permitting inspectors to visit designated sites.
This “managed access” falls well short of the president’s earlier assertion that the IAEA must be allowed to have intrusive access on an “anytime, anywhere” basis.
The current UN arms embargo will remain in place for five years and UN ballistic missile sanctions will stay in place for eight years, though both time periods can be reduced if Iran is judged to be acting in full compliance with the deal.
The lifting of the arms embargo is outside the parameters set by President Obama, who repeatedly said during negotiations that only issues related to the nuclear file were legitimate subjects for compromise.
Economic sanctions against Iran will be removed in stages, with some frozen assets scheduled to be released when the deal moves to implementation by the end of the year, in which case Iran is expected to benefit from $100 billion to $150 billion in cash.
Many observers are concerned that Iran, whose current annual defence budget is approximately $30 billion, will use the influx of cash to support proxies such as Hezbollah in Lebanon and Syria, Hamas in the Gaza Strip and Houthi rebels in Yemen, and to foment instability throughout the region with greater funding to the Iranian Revolutionary Guard and the al-Quds force’s efforts in Iraq and Syria. This is on top of billions in expected oil revenues and the significant economic bump Iran is expected to enjoy through increased commerce with the international community.
Sanctions can be restored should Iran violate the deal, though most observers are highly dubious that so-called “snapback” provisions will be effective.
The deal will be terminated 10 years from the date of its adoption as long as Iran does not violate UN sanctions, though there are elements of it that have a 15-year life expectancy.

Ethical will still holds true

Family, Israel remain at centre of Dvora Waysman’s ethical will. (photo by Ashernet, taken on Jerusalem Day 2015)

Very often wills – including ethical wills – are updated as circumstances change. I wrote my ethical will in the early 1970s, when I was still dewy-eyed about aliya and Israel was somehow more innocent, despite the wars she had endured and her ongoing fight for survival.

It was a less materialistic society back then. If you had one car per family, you were well-off; TVs, videos and microwave ovens were a rarity. In fact, not everyone had a telephone and, thank heavens, the ghastly, intrusive cellphone had not been invented.

Our four children (two sons and two daughters) were still kids. They now have all done their army service, graduated university, married and given us 18 wonderful Sabra grandchildren and 10 great-grandchildren, all still living in Israel.

While Israeli society has changed over the past four decades, many of the things I loved have endured. I still find it a great privilege to live in the beautiful city of Jerusalem – it still inspires my poems and my dreams. I still feel part of a family – even though it’s often a squabbling, divisive one. I’ve never considered leaving – to do so would be for me an amputation.

So, with these modifications, I present again my ethical will as it was first published by the World Zionist Press Service, who distributed thousands of copies and reprinted it in two anthologies, Ethical Wills and So That Your Values Live On, both edited by Jack Riemer and Nathaniel Stampfer. I have not changed it, because I can still become misty-eyed at my love affair with Israel. Perhaps today, like a marriage, the passion has somewhat abated, familiarity may have reduced the miraculous to the humdrum but, nevertheless, I am still in love!

My ethical will

As I write this, I am sitting on my Jerusalem balcony, looking through a tracery of pine trees at the view along Rehov Ruppin. I can see the Knesset, the Israel Museum and the Shrine of the Book – that architectural marvel that houses the Dead Sea Scrolls.

I am at an age where I should write a will, but the disposition of my material possessions would take just a few lines. They do not amount to much. Had we stayed in Australia, where you – my four children – were born, they would be much more. I hope you won’t blame me for this.

For now, you are Israelis, and I have different things to leave you. I hope you will understand that they are more valuable than money in the bank, stocks and bonds, and plots of land, for no one can ever take them away from you.

I am leaving you the fragrance of a Jerusalem morning – unforgettable perfume of thyme, sage and rosemary that wafts down from the Judean hills. The heartbreaking sunsets that give way to Jerusalem at night – splashes of gold on black velvet darkness. The feel of Jerusalem stone, ancient and mellow, in the buildings that surround you. The piquant taste of hummus, tehina, falafel – foods we never knew about before we came here to live.

I am leaving you an extended family – the whole house of Israel. They are your people. They will celebrate with you in joy, grieve with you in sorrow. You will argue with them, criticize them and sometimes reject them (that’s the way it is with families). But, underneath, you will be proud of them and love them. More important, when you need them, they will be there!

I am leaving you the faith of your forefathers. Here, no one will ever laugh at your beliefs, call you “Jew” as an insult. You, my sons, can wear kippot and tzitzit if you so wish; you, my daughters, can modestly cover your hair after marriage if that is what you decide. No one will ridicule you. You can be as religious or as secular as you wish, knowing it is based on your own convictions, and not because of what [non-Jews] might say. You have your heritage – written with the blood of your people through countless generations. Guard it well and cherish it – it is priceless!

I am leaving you pride. Hold your head high. This is your country, your birthright. Try to do your share to enhance its image. It may call for sacrifice, but it will be worth it. Your children, their children, and all who come after, will thank you for it.

I am leaving you memories. Some are sad – the early struggles to adapt to a new culture, a new language. But, remember, too, the triumphs – the feeling of achievement when you were accepted, when “they” became “us.” That is worth more than silver trophies and gold medals. You did it alone – you “made” it.

And so, my children, I have only one last bequest. I leave you my love and my blessing. I hope you will never again need to say, “Next year in Jerusalem.” You are already here – how rich you are!

Dvora Waysman is the author of 13 books. She can be contacted at [email protected] or through her blog dvorawaysman.com.

Summer, sun … melanoma

A public service video produced a few years ago and making the rounds again this year hits me close to home. Produced by the David Cornfield Melanoma Fund and called Dear 16-Year-Old Me, the video warns of the dangers of melanoma and the importance of sun smarts and mole checks.

When I was 21, I had just recently returned from a year living in Israel, where I attended Hebrew University. One morning in Vancouver as summer was winding down, I was flipping through the Vancouver Sun at my parents’ kitchen table and paused on a full-page feature about melanoma.

I glanced over at my right forearm. I had long had a mole there, but now I noticed the mole contained one of the warning signs of melanoma: rather than being a uniform brown, it had a darker spot on a medium-brown background. Overcoming my fear of needles and scalpels, I insisted that my family doctor remove the mole.

A week later, back in Montreal for my final year of university at McGill, I received a call from my parents that I should make an appointment with a plastic surgeon as soon as possible. The biopsy results had come back and I indeed had malignant melanoma, thankfully only to a depth of 0.4 millimetres – so far. I was more scared than I’d ever been. One of my best friends scooped me up that evening for a distracting sojourn on St. Laurent Boulevard.

A few days later, I left my flat in the McGill Ghetto and went to the Jewish General Hospital. My surgeon, the late Dr. Jack Cohen, was a much-admired member of the medical profession in Montreal. He was also an excellent amateur whistler, and I asked him to whistle through the surgery to help calm my nerves. He warmly complied before leaving me with a formidable scar: a small price to pay for saving my life.

That night, swaddled and bandaged, I walked over to the McGill Arts Building to hear Canadian author Michael Ondaatje read from his latest novel. As the evening closed, the painkillers began to wear off.

My friends and family know that because of my melanoma history, I am much less fancy-free when it comes to summer fun than many of my fellow Canadians who are desperate for sunlight after our country’s seemingly endless winters.

I take care to wear hats and sunscreen (I seek out favorite brands and stick to them). I constantly seek out shade. I don’t sunbathe. I don’t turn my face to the sun and quip about needing vitamin D; instead, I take oral supplements.

As for sun-smart clothes, this season’s “maxi dress” fashion trend has helped a little. And, with the recent development of vitiligo on parts of my body, my vanity helps me want to avoid the sun for the cosmetic goal of keeping an even skin tone, as well.

When I’m feeling sarcastic, I joke that my Zionism – given the first of three years I spent in Israel – gave me melanoma. Sometimes, I look wistfully at the last photograph of my pre-surgery arm, my near-deadly mole visible as I sport a large backpack, smiling for the camera while waiting for the Egged bus from Jerusalem to take me to kibbutz Urim, one of my favorite weekend hangouts.

When I’m feeling ironic, I think about how the religious laws of modesty that I often privately disdain are actually very prudent for protecting the body from the dangers of the sun’s rays. It is for the reason of modest dress, researchers have inferred, that Palestinian citizens of Israel develop melanoma at lower rates than that of Jewish Israelis.

When I’m feeling especially cautious – which is always, when summer comes – I’m careful to apply sunscreen to my kids each morning. No one said that the sticky, daily ritual was fun. But it’s important.

I try not to saddle my kids with more fear than they deserve to have in their innocent years. Life is scary, and we need to protect ourselves where we can.

Mira Sucharov is an associate professor of political science at Carleton University. She blogs at Haaretz and the Jewish Daily Forward. This article was originally published in the Canadian Jewish News.

Choosing the side of hope

When focusing on Israeli-Palestinian relations, as I do for a living, it’s nice to have a good news story to relay once in awhile. On June 22, the annual Victor J. Goldberg Prize for Peace in the Middle East (run by the New York-based Institute of International Education) was awarded to Yehuda Stolov and Salah Aladdin, two leaders of the Interfaith Encounter Association (IEA). To many outsiders, inter-ethnic encounter experiences seem a no-brainer when it comes to grassroots, peace-building efforts. But not everyone is so convinced, particularly the “anti-normalization” faction of the Palestine solidarity movement.

The Goldberg Prize recognizes “outstanding work being conducted jointly by two individuals, one Arab and one Israeli, working together to advance the cause of peace in the Middle East … [by] bringing people together and breaking down the barriers of hatred toward ‘the other.’” It comes with $10,000 US.

IEA brings together Israelis and West Bank Palestinians to engage with one another in an “interactive, interfaith encounter” context. The organization has run 1,900 programs over 13 years, with 4,000 individuals participating in 2014 alone. Stolov is executive director of IEA, and Aladdin has taken on various leadership roles in the organization, most recently as assistant director.

The so-called “anti-normalization” movement is amplified by elements of the Palestine solidarity movement who associate with BDS (boycott, divestment and sanctions). For example, the Palestinian Campaign for the Academic and Cultural Boycott of Israel guidelines urge that Israeli-Palestinian encounter-type initiatives be boycotted under the rubric of “anti-normalization.” The guidelines go on to suggest that “events, projects, publications, films or exhibitions that are designed to bring together Palestinians/Arabs and Israelis so they can present their respective narratives or perspectives, or to work toward reconciliation, ‘overcoming barriers,’ etc., without addressing the root causes of injustice and the requirements of justice” be boycotted.

The anti-normalization tendency may be understandable as a philosophical commitment, particularly if one believes – as those BDS activists do – that justice points to the amelioration of only one side’s lot. But even if one believes that the only justice to be served is that of the Palestinians, the anti-normalization tendency is a misguided way to hope to achieve it.

Psychologists have long shown the importance of the “contact hypothesis” for reducing intergroup prejudice. Recent studies have even shown that even “imagining a positive interaction” with an outgroup member can be just as powerful in reducing prejudice as face-to-face encounters can be. And the first step in getting Israelis to realize the power their country wields over Palestinian life and dignity is to render the Palestinian experience visible.

Stolov agrees. The only way to end the occupation, Stolov explained when I reached him by phone in Israel, is to increase the sense of human connection between Israelis and Palestinians. Aware of the anti-normalization pressures some participants may feel, participation in IEA is kept “under the radar,” press access is restricted and meeting spots are chosen so the events can appear as inconspicuous as possible.

As the lead Palestinian drafter of the 2003 Geneva initiative, which sought to lay out a two-state plan for Israeli-Palestinian peace, Ghaith al-Omari has every reason to be jaded. And having advised the Palestinian negotiating team from 1999 to 2001, al-Omari knows firsthand how little has emerged from the halting peace process. Still, he has recently declared his opposition to the anti-normalization movement in a moving essay in Fikra Forum, reprinted on the Third Narrative website (thirdnarrative.org/israel-palestine-articles/ills-of-anti-normalization), where I serve as co-director of its scholars for Israel and Palestine affiliate group. People like al-Omari and the founders of IEA and even the Goldberg peace prize visionaries realize the possibilities inherent in hope rather than cynicism. And if you have to choose among them – as it seems you do these days – I’d rather be on the side of hope.

Teaching on the Holocaust

One of the most powerful books I read as a preteen was Fran Arrick’s Chernowitz. A young adult novel about bullying and antisemitism, I recently revisited it as I read it aloud to my own kids. Told mostly in flashback form, the novel leads up to an episode of revenge by the victim to the antisemitic bully, followed by a school assembly about the Holocaust led by the school principal as an attempted antidote. While the victim goes through tremendous personal growth as he realizes the limits of vengeance, his tormenter is portrayed as blinded by bigotry and beyond redemption.

I wondered how the themes would hold up a generation later and in the context of my own kids’ lives. Given that at the time I first read it I attended Jewish day school and was surrounded by almost all Jewish friends, I wondered how my kids – who are one of only a few Jewish kids at their large public elementary school – would react. I like to think that their Jewish identity is solid and their friendships nurturing enough to feel secure from the ignorance from which racism and prejudice stems. On this, time will tell.

The theme of revenge is also apt in today’s political climate, where cycles of violence are all too prevalent on a global scale. While it can taste sweet at the time, revenge – rather than justice-seeking – all too often leaves a bitter aftertaste. The book succeeds in mining this ethical complexity. I also appreciate the author’s unvarnished treatment of bigotry and the lesson around how important and sometimes challenging it is to keep parent-child communication open and flowing.

But the book’s final scene – that of the school assembly where graphic Holocaust footage is shown to the students – left me wondering. Assuming empathy and awareness are good antidotes to all kinds of prejudice including antisemitism, how much exposure is too much, particularly when it comes to images of Nazi atrocities?

My own kids know that their paternal grandfather was a survivor of Auschwitz. They have heard of Hitler – he is a common word in their vocabulary, for better or worse, and they know something of the Holocaust. But, as I read the final pages of Chernowitz to them aloud, I found myself omitting much of the excruciatingly graphic imagery, which included references to Mengele’s victims.

When it comes to Holocaust education, the consensus now seems to be that graphic imagery should be used “judiciously,” in the words of the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum – and “only to the extent necessary to achieve the lesson objective. Try to select images and texts that do not exploit the students’ emotional vulnerability or that might be construed as disrespectful to the victims themselves,” the museum advises educators on its website.

Julie Dawn Freeman, a professor of history, has warned that exposing students to too much graphic imagery can backfire in multiple ways: it can desensitize students to the subject, it can provide students with a sense that classroom trust has been violated, it can unwittingly provide a voyeuristic experience and it can dehumanize as well as stereotype the victims.

On all of these counts, the fictional principal’s shocking assembly, while well-intentioned, probably failed.

For these and other reasons, many of us have tended to focus on individual perspectives. In this vein, Anne Frank’s diary has, of course, had great impact. And many educators have made wonderful use of direct survivor testimony. When my father-in-law Bill Gluck was younger, he made a point to visit Vancouver schools and community centres to share his tale of survival. I have been fortunate to host Ottawa’s David Shentow in my course at Carleton. But, as we know, and as my own family experienced firsthand this year with the loss of my father-in-law, our own loved ones in the form of Holocaust survivors won’t be around forever.

Prejudice, hatred, suffering and revenge are heady themes for kids and preteens. Whatever our methodology for getting students to think ethically, at the very first, we can work our hardest to get them to think about basic impulses like kindness.

Camp’s decision misguided

In March, Young Judaea’s Camp Solelim made headlines for turning away a prospective camper because he’s not Jewish. Before having made their final decision, I wish they would have spoken to Aaron Ingram. A Winnipeg-based real estate and corporate commercial lawyer, Aaron is by all accounts a leader in the Jewish community. He sits on the board of directors of Camp Massad of Manitoba as well as the Shalom Residences; he is a member of the Jewish Federation’s Community Relations Committee, he is a Jewish Federation donor and, as he describes it, is “a longtime supporter of the Jewish community and the state of Israel.”

Did I mention that Aaron is not Jewish?

Let’s back up to when Aaron was a chubby-cheeked, blond 5-year-old in 1989. That summer, he accompanied his mom who had taken a job as the head cook at Camp Massad in Winnipeg Beach, the Hebrew immersion camp that I also attended. Fast forward 18 years, and Aaron had logged 10 years as a camper and eight summers as a counselor, including two as assistant director. (His mom, Marilyn, is still head cook.)

A very agreeable kid with a big personality, as a youngster Aaron quickly landed leads in the camp plays. With no formal Hebrew background, his lines were transliterated for him. Soon enough, he acquired the services of a Hebrew tutor during the school year. By the time Grade 5 rolled around, he was enrolled in one of Winnipeg’s half-day Hebrew-immersion schools. In grades 7 and 8, he attended Joseph Wolinsky Collegiate, the Jewish high school, where he earned a spot in the highest Hebrew level. He recalls being able to finally read the camp play scripts in Hebrew letters as a “big moment” for him.

“As a child growing up in the disadvantaged North End of Winnipeg,” Aaron told me in an e-mail interview, “my experiences in the Winnipeg Jewish community, being immersed in the wonderful environment that is Camp Massad, a world of creativity and intelligence, and the lifelong friendships that I have developed … have heavily influenced me.”

I asked Aaron whether he feels Jewish. Not religiously, he tells me; he is an atheist. (That there are Jewish atheists is admittedly a bit of complexity we didn’t get into.) But he considers himself culturally Jewish, and certainly a part of the Jewish community. “I have cried tears of despair in the death camps in Poland,” he tells me, “and have cried tears of joy upon my arrival in Israel.”

And were he to meet and marry a Jewish woman who wanted him to convert, he says he would do so “without hesitation.”

Aaron recalls his early experiences with daily and Shabbat prayers at Massad. “When I was a young camper, participating in the daily prayers and Shabbat tefillah, it felt like being handed the keys to a secret world that was welcoming me. I loved singing the prayers. I still know most, if not all, by heart.”

For his part, Aaron thinks Solelim’s decision to bar access to Tyler Weir is seriously misguided. As a board member at Camp Massad, he personally extended Tyler an invitation to join the Camp Massad community and offered to personally fundraise to offset the cost of airfare from Toronto to Winnipeg.

It’s clear that there’s a value clash between the particularist and insular dimensions of Jewish programming, and especially Jewish camp – fueled, no doubt, by the fear of intermarriage. On one hand is the need to inculcate culturally rich and rigorous experiences in our youth. On the other is the desire to fit in with Canadian multicultural values of openness and pluralism. Even there, though, multiculturalism relies on robust transmission of cultural identity, something that can most easily be achieved in a culturally homogeneous context, some would argue.

Yet, people like Aaron – and I join him in this sentiment – would claim that opening the windows a crack to those who might have their own reasons for wanting to partake of our rich communal traditions may yield unexpected benefits not only for them, but also for the communities of which they may seek to be a part.

Committed to translating Israel

What someone writes clearly says a lot about a person. And so do the books one chooses to translate. For Israeli books that make it abroad to an English-speaking audience, an important and sometimes overlooked subset of Israeli literary society is the translators themselves.

Himself an accomplished author based in Chicago (his newest book is a young adult novel called Me Being Me is Exactly as Insane as You Being You), as a translator, Todd Hasak-Lowy sees it as his mission to bring excellent and innovative literature to English speakers. Motti by Asaf Schurr (which also includes an afterword by Hasak-Lowy) is a good example. “You could change 30 words of it and you wouldn’t know it’s an Israeli book. It challenges what people think of about Israeliness. That’s a book I want Americans to read because it’s great Hebrew literature, someone who’s a product of that society, but it’s not Amos Oz.”

As an American who never made Israel his permanent home, Hasak-Lowy spent a year in Israel after high school, took some Hebrew in college, and then pinned himself to a seat in the library in graduate school deepening his Hebrew knowledge, before spending some additional time in the country. “When I graduated high school, I knew around 300 Hebrew words from summer camp; when I got to grad school, I was able to crawl through an early [A.B.] Yehoshua novel over 30 months,” and now he’s a sought-after translator who thinks carefully about which projects he seeks to take on.

Haim Watzman is a translator’s name I had long known, staring at me from the inside front page of some of the most formative books I read about Israel when I was younger, including David Grossman’s first two non-fiction books, The Yellow Wind and Sleeping on a Wire. The first in-depth look at the Palestinian experience of being under Israeli military occupation, The Yellow Wind brought the Palestinian narrative to an Israeli – and then to a worldwide – audience; Grossman’s follow-on treatment of Palestinian citizens of Israel was similarly path-breaking.

Watzman and I spoke by Skype, as he and his wife, Ilana, prepared to celebrate their 30th wedding anniversary with a trip to the Netherlands. In talking to Watzman about politics, style, culture and translation, there are some technical points I was reminded of. First, English translations of Hebrew books tend to run about 30% longer. The economics of this for publishers can be daunting, so sometimes translators suggest editorial cuts. Second, because of the gendered nature of the language, Hebrew can afford both more passive tense and longer, meandering sentences. As Hebrew writers have become accustomed to using the passive voice that English writers now eschew as being a bad habit, translators have to take on an editing role: fact-checking and at times asking the writer “who” did what, exactly? And as for long, drawn-out sentences, English readers prefer theirs short and breezy.

About The Yellow Wind, Watzman describes it as his “rookie” assignment, which he was fortunate to land. As an undergraduate at Duke University, Watzman had written a thesis on Palestinian citizens of Israel, and as a correspondent for the Chronicle of Higher Education covering Palestinian colleges in the West Bank, he felt it important to bring the Palestinian story abroad. And while he’s careful to insist that these are the author’s works, not his own, today he says he’d do some things differently in the translation. Though he thinks “the translation came out fine – the public loved it; the editors loved it,” he says he “was more deferential then. I’d probably be more demanding of the author today, in terms of needling him for clarifications and suggestions.” Stylistically, he pushed to change Grossman’s present tense to the past, and he chose to keep some Arabic terms in the English translation.

It wasn’t until years later and subsequent translation gigs – including Grossman’s (and other authors’) political petitions published in newspapers – that Grossman finally asked him whether he agrees with the thrust of his political messages. For the most part, Watzman does.

I couldn’t help but be intrigued by the fact that Watzman leans left-liberal while being Orthodox in his religious outlook. (His Twitter profile photo, for example, is a sketch of Grossman working with Watzman, the latter’s kippa dominating the foreground.) Watzman explains that he came to religious observance “gradually,” having been “very taken by Shabbat and the intellectual component, including the debate over texts.” Two things “didn’t work for him,” however: orthodoxy’s attitude towards women, and the tendency within the Orthodox community towards right-wing politics. “I wasn’t going to give up my political principles for religion.” In Jerusalem’s Baka neighborhood, Watzman eventually found a like-minded community called Kehilat Yedidya.

And, while Watzman is committed to liberal democracy and human rights, he is no pacifist. Having tragically lost his son Niot in a military accident four years ago, Watzman tells me how he understands the military to be a necessity. Yet, while “Israel has to be vigilant and defend itself,” the country should be searching for peace through “accommodation and understanding.” He believes that “you can be both a Jewish nationalist and a liberal humanist. Not only is it possible, it is essential.” One could say that reading Israeli books, including new literature as well as the kind of searing non-fiction works that Grossman, Tom Segev and others have produced, captures this dualism perfectly: a nation committed to writing in its own land in its own language, while keeping tough questions in the foreground.

Mira Sucharov is an associate professor of political science at Carleton University. She blogs at Haaretz and the Jewish Daily Forward. A version of this article was originally published on haartez.com.

Consider the maps we use

I always enjoy seeing my kids bring home assignments from Hebrew school, and last week was no exception. On a map of Israel were labeled five major cities whose names the students had to write in Hebrew. For my part, I delighted in reminding my son that we have relatives or friends in Jerusalem, Tel Aviv and Haifa, and near Be’er Sheva. There was only one problem with the map, I noticed. There was no Green Line. So, to the untrained eye, it looked like Israel’s borders span from the Mediterranean Sea to the Jordan River.

As I often do when I want to tease out a political conundrum, I took to social media. On my public Facebook page, I offered to donate $36 to charity for the first person who can show me a Green-Line-indicated map of Israel currently being used in any Jewish educational setting. Laurie MacDonald Brumberg wrote that a Washington, D.C., Jewish day school has a National Geographic map containing the Green Line hanging in the classroom. Karin Klein of Chicago showed me a Green Line map she said was used at a Schechter day school. And from Gabriel T. Erbs I learned that J Street U has launched an initiative to circulate Green Line maps to educational institutions. Apparently, URJ President Rabbi Rick Jacobs has agreed to champion this among URJ camps and Hebrew schools, according to a March 22 article published on JewSchool by David A.M. Wilensky. Gila Miriam Chait added that Yachad, a pro-Israel, pro-peace group in the United Kingdom, is following suit.

What is at stake in the mapping debate? We all know that Middle East maps are heavily invested with the symbolism of legitimacy and delegitimization. The Palestinians have long been accused of erasing Israel from their school maps of Palestine – both from the Palestinian Authority and from Hamas. An article in the current online Jewish virtual library makes precisely this point. It’s clearly ironic that we are doing the same thing we accuse our adversaries of doing.

Some might argue, however, that since the Green Line is an armistice line, not a border, that there is no need for Israel to include it. It is true that it is not a border, but neither does Israel’s international territory extend eastward from Jerusalem all the way to the Jordan River. The point is, the West Bank is under occupation – whether one sees the occupation as justified or not – and maps should reflect this geopolitical reality.

Now, beyond simply making more accurate and, therefore, educationally useful maps, what might a more politically informed Israel curriculum entail? From my kids, I have heard about the ingenious ways that Israel foiled the Egyptian invasion of 1948, including placing stones in irrigation pipes to create noise simulating artillery. My 8-year-old was impressed. I know that for Yom Ha’atzmaut, their Hebrew school served falafel, and I hoped and expected that my kids will learn some Israeli folk songs. Some folk dancing would be great, too. What I remain less certain about, however, is how much complexity about Israel’s future our kids’ schools are willing to impart. Will kids learn who the “Palestinians” are? I know that I am guilty of frequently muttering to them about “Israel and the Palestinians” without proper context. While narratives of inter-state war can be much simpler to impart, when it comes to the Palestinian civilian aspect of Israel’s founding, and the current military occupation over millions of Palestinians, it’s difficult to know where to begin.

When we learn about the past, it’s equally important to consider the future. In fact, no one knows more about the importance of historical memory in shaping today’s collective political outlook as the Jewish community. As Wilensky writes in the context of the maps, “it’s unpleasant for many to hear, but the final status of a two-state solution – if such a thing can ever be achieved – is going to rely heavily on the Green Line. Putting visual depictions of that reality before the eyes of American Jewry will go a long way toward showing them the somewhat unpleasant truths that will help build a more absolutely pleasant future.”

As for the J Street U’s map initiative, given that Jacobs has pledged to roll them out at Reform schools, I hope he will make Ottawa’s very own Reform Judaism supplementary school an early stop.

The anniversary of liberation

This photo and caption appeared in the Jewish Western Bulletin, Aug. 23, 1946.

May 5, 1945, is firmly etched in my “child’s” mind for that was the day of my family’s liberation or, more accurately, what remained of my family. The German occupation had been brutal and, with the collaboration of thousands of Dutch Nazis, 108,000 Dutch Jews had been deported and nearly all were murdered. Of those sent to Auschwitz and Sobibor, approximately 4,500 survived. Of Holland’s total prewar Jewish population of 140,000, fully 80% were murdered.

I had survived with my Christian hiders, Albert and Violette Munnik, and my “sister” Nora, their 12-year-old daughter. When I was reunited with my parents who had miraculously survived also, I had come to love the Munnik’s as my own family, and I was Robbie Munnik, not Robbie Krell. But I was given back, not without protest, a Jewish child who had no experience with Judaism but was nevertheless hunted for being a Jew.

In Nazi-occupied countries, 93% of Jewish children were murdered. Some escaped just before the war, a few thousand during the war through clandestine operations. But overall, no more than one in 10 survived. That is the nature of genocide. Murder the children.

Holland has somehow managed to maintain a reputation of comparative decency during the war years. Some of this good will emanates from the story of Anne Frank who left behind a diary written during her days in hiding in an attic in Amsterdam. The Frank family did in fact receive heroic assistance from Miep Gies, as did I from the Munniks and my father from the Oversloot family.

But of roughly 14,000 Dutch Jewish children in hiding, over half were betrayed. And, of course, so were the Franks. That adorable, intelligent adolescent Anne and her family were deported on the second to last train from Westerbork to Auschwitz on Sept. 3, 1944, three months after D-Day! She died an agonizing death of hunger and typhus in Bergen-Belsen. Only her father survived.

I write this piece on the 70th anniversary of liberation, a gift of 70 years of life. Who could imagine it? During the war, death had been a close companion, confirmed shortly after the war by the chilling reports that came our way from the few survivors that returned and from the photos that formed part of the news. I heard the descriptions of torture and murder from eyewitnesses. They were there. They had seen and suffered. And their lives and ours had been destroyed. No grandparents, no aunts or uncles. Two other children in our family survived, one also spared in hiding, the other, smuggled into Switzerland. That was it.

And what have I learned over these 70 years? The Holocaust imprint never leaves and no day passes without reminders. Had we tried to forget, it would have proved impossible. From the moment that the world discovered what had been done, the antisemites began their effort to deny what happened. Holocaust denial followed the campaign of murder with the effort to murder memory.

No wonder. Nearly everyone had blood on their hands. The British Mandate of Palestine was closed to Jewish immigration, preventing European Jewish refugees from fleeing. Canada and the United States had closed their doors. The Jews of Europe were trapped and murdered with technological efficiency, aided and abetted by Jew-hating collaborators in almost every country dominated by the Nazi invaders. The only way to be freed from guilt would be for the Shoah not to have happened. But the perpetrators were unable to erase the evidence. The Holocaust is the best-documented massive crime of murder and theft in human history.

Over the years, I have also learned of the systematic betrayal of visionary Jewish leadership who fought for the reestablishment of a Jewish nation-state in what is now Israel from the 1890s. No, Israel is not the result of the genocide inflicted upon European Jewry. If it were, Jews would not have had to fight the British colonialists in 1945-1947 to achieve freedom. And Holocaust survivors trying to reach Palestine would not have been incarcerated in camps in Cyprus.

The victory over the Ottoman Empire led to the establishment of a number of Arab states. Only the British promise of the 1917 Balfour Declaration’s intent to establish a home for the Jewish people went unfulfilled. The 1920 San Remo Conference affirmed that intent, only to witness the British carve off 80% of the territory known as British Mandatory Palestine to create the Emirate of Trans-Jordan. To add insult to injury, it was decreed that no Jew could settle there. This travesty resulted in the remaining 20% to be contested by Jews and Arabs to this day.

I was in Israel in 1961. The Western Wall of the Temple, the holiest site in Judaism, was controlled by Jordan and Jews were forbidden access. During Jordan’s illegal occupation from 1948-1967, all the synagogues in east Jerusalem were destroyed. Nor had Jordan advanced the cause of their Arab brethren or established a Palestinian state in the territories held.

I was at the Eichmann trial. I saw the architect of the annihilation of my people. Over time, it appears that a great deal of European posturing over Israel and its policies are an attempt to deflect attention from the horrendous misdeeds of the European past. There is a concerted effort to make Israel look like a nation with a brutal bent and whose activities, even those in self-defence are painted with the brush of Nazi and/or apartheid terminology. How offensive! How cruel! Its practitioners deny antisemitism for they have found a new outlet for Jew hatred, anti-Zionism. Israel has become the Jew of nations.

It is disconcerting, indeed, to witness the dawn of liberation 70 years ago descend into a night of renewed hate. I seek a measure of comfort in the words of Martin Luther King, Jr., and Eric Hoffer, the longshoreman philosopher. Dr. King wrote, “Israel is one of the great outposts of democracy in the world and a marvelous example of what can be done, how desert land can be transformed into an oasis of brotherhood and democracy. Peace for Israel means security, and that security must be a reality.” And Hoffer, “I have a premonition that will not leave me; as it goes with Israel so will it go with all of us. Should Israel perish, the Holocaust will be upon us all.”

I have to hope that antisemitism will be opposed and extinguished wherever it flourishes and that Israel’s right to exist will be protected. Then our liberation will have acquired meaning.

Robert Krell, MD, is professor emeritus of psychiatry at the University of British Columbia, and founding president of the Vancouver Holocaust Education Centre.

A universalist tikkun olam

Growing up, the writer was involved in community campaigns to help free Soviet and other Jews suffering state-sponsored, organized persecution. These campaigns were international and Vancouver youth also participated in them. Here are but two of the many items in the JWB about these causes: top one is from 1982; below, from 1976.

I was recently reminded of a fashion-activist item many Jewish teens of my generation wore: the stainless-steel Soviet Jewry bracelet. Etched with the name and date of arrest of a single Jewish dissident in the Soviet Union, each bracelet transmitted to the wearer a deep and penetrating sense of social justice and tribal consciousness. I wore mine proudly, and recall being equally pleased to be selected from my seventh grade class to present handmade cards of encouragement to Avital Sharansky, the wife of jailed activist Anatoly Sharansky (later Israeli politician Natan Sharansky), when she visited Vancouver in the mid-1980s on her global campaign to secure his release.

With the last of the Jewish communities having been freed from state-sponsored, organized persecution (other campaigns as my generation was growing up included the freeing of Ethiopian and Syrian Jews), there is little in the way of that Soviet Jewry bracelet campaign to bind today’s Jewish teens together in such a single, uncontroversial way. The modern state of Israel represents an ongoing cause, of course, but that issue is much more fraught: should a Jewish teen wear a bracelet etched with the name of a fallen Jewish soldier, or the name of one of the 182 Palestinian children currently (as of February 2015) being held in Israel detention – according to data provided by Defence for Children International? When it comes to social justice and activist solidarity, the issue of Israel is clearly complex.

I decided to poke around to see what Jewish teens these days are concerned with when it comes to issues and activism. What I found was a dizzying array of causes. From the website of the Orthodox NCSY (National Conference of Synagogue Youth), I found reports of teens volunteering with Habitat for Humanity and with Oklahoma tornado victims. Both USY (Conservative Judaism’s United Synagogue Youth) and NFTY (the Reform movement’s North American Federation of Temple Youth) select an annual theme to guide their social action and tikkun olam efforts: for 2014, USY chose “a focus on acceptance and tolerance including but not specific to gender, special needs, LGBTQ and racial equality,” according to its website. NFTY chose a similar theme for 2014-15: sexuality and gender equality. Habonim-Dror, which has various active local chapters, or kenim (nests), included a Maryland referendum initiative, for example, to campaign for undocumented high school graduates to become eligible to pay in-state university tuition fees.

Other Jewish educators I polled from the Jewish educators’ network JEDLAB reported that their teens are involved in various issues, including suicide prevention, food banks, poverty, water issues, peace/conflict resolution, mental health awareness and advocacy, women’s rights and empowerment, LGBTQ activism, medical marijuana, vaccines, human trafficking, transgender acceptance, orphans in western Kenya and child soldiers.

A report from the Jewish Teen Funders network attempts to aggregate data from 71 Jewish teen foundations in the United States and Canada during 2013-14, showing where the total of nearly $1 million in philanthropic dollars went. Across 362 grants awarded, the top five issue-areas in descending order were: youth, education, special needs, chronic illness and poverty.

And none of this even begins to capture the array of charitable and social awareness efforts represented in today’s mitzvah projects popular among 12- and 13-year-olds marking their bat and bar mitzvahs, a trend that was absent in my generation, as I recall, anyway. As a complement to that, here in Ottawa, my own shul has been running a monthly b’nai bitzvah class by Cantor Jeremy Burko, which has been including discussion of Jewish-history-informed social justice topics, such as labor conditions in the fashion industry.

What’s the takeaway from this big picture? On one hand, there is no longer a single cause (if there ever was one) that unifies Jewish teens. And that means that tribalism is likely being replaced by a sense of universalism: the sense that social justice must necessarily cross ethnic and religious boundaries. On the other hand, today’s Jewish teens are no doubt indeed being united in the very belief that through Jewish social action, they can repair the world in a global, nuanced and holistic sense. So, while I admit to feeling some nostalgia for the simplicity of the worldview embodied in the Soviet Jewry bracelet I wore with pride and even some excitement, I think we should feel buoyed by the youthful energy and optimism in our midst that the world is ours – and theirs – for the repairing.

Mira Sucharov is an associate professor of political science at Carleton University. She blogs at Haaretz and the Jewish Daily Forward. This article was originally published in the Ottawa Jewish Bulletin.