Category: Op-Ed

A long wait for redemption

 

We were fortunate to be guests at two warm and spirited seders this year. As designated song-leader, I tried to ensure that the singing was fulsome and sufficiently rowdy to rescue late-night flagging energy levels. One heartfelt moment was singing Ani Ma’amin. Based on Maimonides’ 13 Principles of Faith, the song declares, “I believe, with complete faith, in the coming of the Messiah.” It’s a song familiar to attendees of Jewish summer camp and Holocaust remembrance ceremonies. It’s beautiful and haunting and, with its concise lyrics, contagious for group sing-alongs.

There was an Israeli-Canadian couple at the seder and so, after singing about the Messiah’s hoped-for arrival, I grabbed the opportunity to insert another song from my favorite genre: Israeli ’70s and ’80s pop music. Shalom Hanoch’s 1985 hit, “Waiting for the Messiah,” launched onto the Israeli music scene an iconoclastic cry of frustration: “The Messiah isn’t coming – and neither is he phoning.” The few at the seder who knew it sang and air-banded for a bit before turning solemn as we wound down the seder with Hatikvah.

In Ani Ma’amin there is the belief that the world will one day improve, if only we are patient. Hanoch’s song, by contrast, is an attempt at hard-edged realism.

In 1985, Israel was gripped by hyperinflation. “The stock market crashed,” he sang. “People jumped from the roof; the Messiah also jumped, and they announced that he was killed….” Serious political ills were also ramping up, with the Lebanon War fresh in the memory of an increasingly restless nation. And, with the intifada breaking out two years later, more would follow.

Even in the absence of belief, messianiam is an ever-present notion in Jewish culture. In the 17th century, there was Shabbetai Tzvi, known as the false Messiah; later, there was the rejection of modern Zionism among the ultra-Orthodox who believed – and still do – that the experiment in Jewish sovereignty should wait for the Messiah’s arrival. Then there is the belief of some within the Chabad movement that the Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson may himself have been the Messiah. For my part, given that I speak only Hebrew to my kids, I’m stuck with phrases that I normally wouldn’t use in English – and which don’t always reflect my worldview – phrases like “what are you waiting for – the Messiah to come?” when my then toddlers would rest in a snowbank between their JCC preschool and the parking lot.

But what really struck me that night at the seder as we sang Hanoch’s lyrics was a two-fold question. First, which stance better fulfils the Judaic imperative of tikkun olam: the traditional belief in messianic redemption, or the belief that it is all up to us? And second, how can we agree on what of the many problems in the world are deserving of fixing in the first place?

Clearly, the world is in disrepair. Just within the last few weeks, for example, two infants died in unregulated South Tel Aviv day cares serving African refugees; Islamic militants of the al-Shabab Somali group slaughtered 148 Christian students at a university in Garissa, Kenya; bloodshed continues in Syria and Yemen; antisemitic attacks are on the rise, especially in France; and, in Canada, according to Make Poverty History, one in 10 children here lives below the poverty line.

Certainly, none of us in our lifetime will solve all the world’s ills, and with humanity’s imperfections, including our own mental and emotional flaws, our lust for power and the natural drive for accumulation amid scarcity, it’s hard to believe that widespread suffering will ever be overcome. Some believe that messianic yearnings lead to passivity; others that it spurs us to action.

But perhaps the biggest conundrum is how to agree on which of the world’s ills we should actually care about. For some, the criterion is whether the problem is local; for others it is the perception of how the solution will implicate their own well-being; for others it hinges on whether they think the problem is actually the fault of the sufferer. Whether or not one believes in the possibility of messianic redemption, or whether one believes that it is up to us mortals to repair the world, we would do well to start with something that is hard to contest: the importance of compassion for suffering wherever it is found.

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.

Nostalgia’s place in progress

There were no doubt many emotions surrounding the Israel Prize this year: disdain over Prime Minister Binyamin Netanyahu intervening to disqualify some judges apparently on ideological grounds, pride for the winners and disappointment among those forgotten. Even Chaim Topol, this year’s Israel Prize winner for lifetime achievement, said he had mixed feelings about his victory since other deserving candidates have been shut out in recent years. And for those who think about Topol in what is his most popular role, that of Tevye in the 1971 film (and some of the stage productions of) Fiddler on the Roof, there is likely one other emotion: nostalgia.

Nostalgia often gets a bad rap when it is talked about in the context of social maturity. But as I’ve argued elsewhere, the collective experience of nostalgia can also be a source of psychological sustenance for mourning an apparently simpler past in order to embrace a more complex present. In 20th-century Jewish popular culture, nowhere has this been more apparent than in the case of Fiddler on the Roof.

This was a time of emerging feminism and rising divorce rates. Races, religions and ethnicities were mixing as never before. The nature of Jewish religious practice was becoming viewed as a personal choice – something that Steven M. Cohen and Arnold M. Eisen have described as the emergence of a “Jewish sovereign self.” On this backdrop, Fiddler’s audiences were given a “safe space” – in today’s parlance – to mourn patriarchy, cultural homogenization, and collective adherence to folkways and cultural conventions.

Consider the dream sequence. In presenting his concocted reverie as a divine omen in order to convince Golde that Tzeitel should marry Motel, Tevye pulls a trick out of the bag of shtetl superstition. And the conceit works. Though we know it’s a ruse, we become caught up in the ghoulish spin of the costumes, choreography and music. For a few minutes, we bid farewell to outmoded beliefs and traditions without feeling that we are abandoning our past commitments outright.

Or the ironic and comical number “Matchmaker, Matchmaker,” where the comfort of convention is as thrilling for the daughters initially in the show, as is their fierce independence by the end.

Or Tevye conceding in the prologue that he doesn’t know the origin of some of the community’s customs. As Judaism becomes increasingly infused with contemporary values – the ecological dimension of powering down on Shabbat; the blending of new food politics with kashrut and the search for personal spirituality – Tevye’s proverbial wink directed at the audience allows us to keep one foot in the present of personal autonomy and choice, while the other dips into the comfortable past where automatic adherence to Jewish tradition formed the bonds of community.

American Jewish writer Cynthia Ozick complained that Fiddler portrayed Sholem Aleichem’s stories as “naive,” with “the occasion of a nostalgia for a sweeter time, pogroms notwithstanding.” Fiddler’s Broadway director and choreographer Jerome Robbins was concerned about the play appearing overly nostalgic, writing to his costume designer that he didn’t want audiences viewing the characters “through the misty nostalgia of a time past….”

For allowing Americans to come to terms with a changing America, however, and for American Jews to reflect on the rapid changes within their own communities, the nostalgia in Fiddler has been important. As Stephen J. Whitfield has written in his history of the show, Fiddler “had the advantage of distance: play-goers were far enough removed to memorialize without honoring any particular claims it might make, and without submitting to any moral mandates it might demand.”

Thinking about the role of Fiddler in today’s Jewish landscape, I think about the constant tensions between history and tradition on one hand, and modernity and contemporary values on the other. This has been especially important in how Jewish communities negotiate difference.

From the ashes of the Holocaust, the Zionist struggle for sovereignty and postwar North American Jews fighting against prejudice and discrimination, Jewish concerns now include many additional tensions. There’s intermarriage – how to broaden the tent enough to include intermarried families who may wish to be part of the Jewish people, but not so much that the meaning of being Jewish is lost; increased women’s ritual participation in North American synagogues and in public space in Israel; and LGBTQ Jews looking to take their place in Jewish communities. For their part, Israelis struggle – not hard enough, perhaps – to honor their state’s Jewish identity while extending full equality to the Palestinian minority and contending with the ongoing occupation, all while confronting the difficult plight of African refugees and asylum-seekers.

With Passover just behind us – and, for many, its nostalgia-drenched experience of gathering around the seder table – we might pause to consider how to navigate the uncertain waters of change while being anchored by tradition. And yes, a little nostalgia now and then might just help.

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.

 

Antisemitism so engrained

“If I am not for myself, who will be for me? If I am not for others, what am I? And if not now, when?” – Rabbi Hillel

I was more than incensed when a teacher at our public elementary school in Southern California decided to have her second grade students color paper Easter eggs and hang them in the hallway outside the classroom. The large sign that was attached read, “Happy Easter.” How appropriate this would be in a private religious school, but not in a setting where everyone does not celebrate Easter. I was so tempted to have my students paint matzos and hang them in the hallway with a sign that read, “Happy Passover.” I was even more tempted to ask her what kind of curricular connection she was making. How did this fare at our school site? Nobody even batted an eyelash. People walked up and down that hallway for weeks and it seemed like her display was commonplace to most. Of course, I would not classify this as an act of antisemitism just an act of insensitivity.

This is the world we live in as public school educators in the United States. We are to treat all holidays equally and not focus on one at the expense of another. We must always consider “separation of church and state.” But this is a huge misnomer! It is 2015 and, during my last 16 years of teaching in the district, meetings have consistently been scheduled during Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur and Passover. Am I to believe that this is just a simple mistake? After so many mistakes, I don’t think so. My only other Jewish colleague on campus suggested we not acknowledge this issue. According to her, it would “open up a big can of worms.” I said, “ It is indeed time to let the worms run wild!”

I think of all the public schools, colleges and universities that have recently been confronted by some terrible acts of antisemitism. Perhaps it’s naiveté on my part, perhaps I’m thinking that Jews and non-Jews have forged harmonious relationships with one another over the years, perhaps I am entirely wrong.

I am given shocking reminders of what it was like growing up in the mid-sixties and seventies. I was frequently called a “dirty Jew,” knowing full well that I had bathed before coming to school that day. During Yom Kippur, the administration at school did not acknowledge that this was a significant holiday and wanted to count it as a sick day. My mother fought a good fight but to no avail. Furthermore, tests were given during the High Holidays when the Jewish students were not there to take them.

I was a member of the speaker’s bureau in college. It was our job to bring to campus a good cross-section of individuals with varying viewpoints. To think that Yitzhak Rabin could not even speak that day over the chanting, booing and epithets being thrown his way by some students. It took an inordinate amount of security to stop this from getting really ugly. That incident is still engrained in my mind. I thought that something like this could never have happened on our campus. I was indeed wrong.

Some 50 years later, and I literally feel sick to my stomach knowing how Rachel Beyda, a student at the University of California, Los Angeles, running for a seat on the judicial council, was treated or, shall we say, mistreated. To think that her Jewish background would have been considered a “conflict of interest.” Is this a return to Nazi Germany, where Jews can be interrogated? Poor Rachel Beyda had to endure at least four hours’ worth. No matter the response from the chancellor’s office or the public and private apologies, a fellow Jew had been mistreated in the worst way.

I didn’t believe things could get worse until I recently visited my parents in Vancouver. Alas, a referendum vote at the University of British Columbia among the student population: “Do you support your student union (AMS) in boycotting products and divesting from companies that support Israeli war crimes, illegal occupation and the oppression of Palestinians?” What an absolutely frightening proposition. How fortunate the majority of students had the decency and intelligence to not vote for this most disturbing proposal.

When antisemitism hits your backyard, it’s time to bring in all the “heavy hitters” you possibly can and appeal to the members of one’s community. Unfortunately, this antisemitism is so deeply entrenched it may never go away. What a frightening phenomenon.

Linda Raphael Young was born and raised in Vancouver. She lives in Pasadena with her husband, Mel, a retired educator, and their 5-year-old Havanese, Dudley.

Biggest improbability?

In September of 1978, U.S. president Jimmy Carter was at his wit’s end after 12 days of face-to-face negotiations between himself, Egyptian president Anwar Sadat and Israeli prime minister Menachem Begin.

Neither party was at all inclined to make peace, both had legitimate grievances with the other nation, advisors were telling them peace was not possible and that the leader and the nation each man represented could not be trusted. Things got so heated that all three parties had packed their bags and prepared statements that the talks had failed. Cars were idling in the Camp David driveway and Marine One, the presidential helicopter, was being readied to return Carter to Washington empty-handed.

Failure then, in the midst of the Cold War, would have meant an opening for the further arming of Egypt by the USSR and the nuclearization of the Middle East, where ultimately the fanatical forces that were then lurking in the shadows could very well force the Superpowers into a feared nuclear standoff. This was much like what was happening in East and West Germany at the time, only in the hot desert sands of the Middle East, it was far more likely that tempers would boil over.

These were the stakes at Camp David. The proposition was that Israel give back the Sinai Desert, land it had captured in the Six Day War, land that served as their saving buffer zone in the Yom Kippur War just five years earlier. Land that contained settlements of Israeli citizens that Begin had pledged on his life never to abandon. To do all of that in exchange for a piece of paper that promised peace, signed by three men who did not trust each other.

No one thought it probable or possible, not between these three men, Begin and Sadat, who had spent a lifetime fighting each other, and Carter, who lacked power at home and credibility abroad.

And, yet, they signed a lasting peace treaty. Israel had been at war with Egypt in one form or another for literally millennia, since the days of Pharaoh. They have not been at war since and, next to Jordan, Egypt is Israel’s closest ally in the region today.

Mark Twain said, “History doesn’t repeat itself but it often rhymes.” No two eras or events are the same, but many if not all have similarities.

Three years before Camp David, president Gerald Ford had announced that the United States would be reevaluating its relationship with Israel because of Israel’s power play, along with France, in the Suez Canal. A crisis, if you recall, that nearly, like the Cuban Missile Crisis, was only a series of missteps away from another nuclear confrontation between the United States and the USSR.

You could not have had Camp David if you had not also had the sobering realization of the Suez Canal Crisis. Carter could not have pressured Begin to do the good and hard thing for the future of Israel if Ford had not created enough daylight between the United States and Israel for Begin to see the light at the end of the endless wars with Egypt tunnel.

“History doesn’t repeat itself but it often rhymes.” I am neither a politician, nor a political scientist – though in truth I have a degree in the latter and every rabbi must ultimately learn the skills of the former. I am a student and teacher of history, the history of our people both in the land and yearning for the Land of Israel – and in all that has happened in these past many years, really since the assassination of Yitzhak Rabin (alav ha’shalom), I hear the rhyme of history.

Call it “darkest before the dawn,” but while I am filled with worry, the seriousness of the matter gives me hope that it can no longer be ignored or put off. That the pressure of absolutes that made Camp David possible has returned to make peace between the Israelis and Palestinians possible, though still improbable once again.

The region and its people are under near-bursting pressure. But pressure such as faces Israel also clarifies priorities. The greatest achievements of diplomacy have often come in the face of the most extreme pressure or, as Carl von Clausewitz wrote, “War is diplomacy by other means.”

Let’s examine the pressures in play.

In Israel, the status quo between Israelis and Palestinians is set to devolve into a third intifada. Meanwhile, there is a seismic schism between the Jews in Tel Aviv who voted overwhelmingly for the left and the Jews in Jerusalem who voted overwhelmingly for the right. Israelis on left and right are living two different realities, and they want two different futures for themselves and for the Palestinians.

In the Arab world, the forces of fundamentalism have shaken what little remains of the nation-states from their complacency with and tolerance for radicalization. Arab armies are mobilized against radicalism and terror. Yes, there is a vacuum of leadership throughout the Arab world, including among the Palestinians – but that also creates space for a leader to emerge.

Outside of the Middle East there is a fundamental disagreement between Western democracies that want Israel to act more like them, and Israel that wants the West to see that the terrorist threat confronting its democracy today is coming to their shores tomorrow. And for much of Europe tomorrow is today.

Jews are under attack around the globe. Antisemitism has come out of hiding once again. Much of antisemitism is ignorance and, yet, where do we find it? Most shockingly in our institutions of higher learning, where, in the most distorted and twisted forms, they equate Jews with Nazis. We see this happening particularly in the BDS campaigns that are sweeping across North American university campuses and right here at the University of British Columbia. These same antisemites defend terrorists as “heroes,” inviting them as speakers on campus. The Talmud says, “olam hafouch,” the world is upside down. Indeed, bigotry masquerades as fairness.

The pressure is not only external; it is internal, as well. The relationship between Jews in the Diaspora and Jews in Israel is becoming a dysfunctional marriage. It’s not headed for divorce but maybe separate bedrooms, as each tries to focus on things they love about the other, even when they are disappointed in the other.

It seems hopeless, I know, this election result whether you are left or right – the winner of the election was “hopelessness” itself. As Binyamin Netanyahu declared, in his view, there will never be a Palestinian state while he is prime minister. Those who voted for him believe that to be true and those who voted against him believe that to be true. That is the very definition of being without hope.

There is no solution to this conflict in this neighborhood, in this region, in this time. And, with no Palestinian leader who can do the same, it’s just not possible.

And, yet, we said the same before Camp David. We never thought Rabin would shake Arafat’s hand or make peace with Jordan. That Sharon, who built the settlements in Gaza would dismantle them, and that it didn’t lead to civil war.

Begin, Rabin, Sharon. These were not peace seekers, these were warriors, evolved Hawks.

We are not ready for another Camp David today; Netanyahu is not anywhere near ready, and there is no leader on the other side who can be a Sadat or a King Hussein of Jordan, a warrior who has the credibility to make peace.

By the same token, the only one in Israel right now who has the credibility to make peace with the Palestinians is Netanyahu. If he signs off on it, the people will believe it.

We are in a dark period and it may get darker. The pressure on Israel will only increase. The choices the country will have to make are impossible to understand right now. Our own solidarity both with Israel and with each other as fellow Jews will be tested, and there will be cracks. But that is nothing new for us, or for Israel. We don’t always agree, as Jews here or there, past or present, we seldom agree. In the end, however, what we have always done is survive. There’s the biggest improbability of all: that we are still here.

Israel is 67 years old. By comparison, it took the United States 150 years to reconcile slavery, a process that included a civil war, incomprehensible social disorder and civil unrest. And the United States, which is almost 200 years older than Israel, is still not yet resolved on the issue of race, as Ferguson – among many other events – reminds us.

Canada could say some of the same about true reconciliation with First Nations. We are not yet there.

This election was part of the growing pains of a nation and, in the age of nations, Israel is barely a teenager. Israel is the bat mitzvah girl who stands proudly, if not ironically, before the congregation and declares, “Today, I am a woman!” And we all smile and say to ourselves, “Not yet, but today you gave us a glimpse of the woman you will one day be. It would be more accurate to proclaim, “Today, I will no longer act like a child.”

“The arc of history is long,” Martin Luther King Jr. preached, “but it bends toward justice.” That’s the history of the world and it’s the story of our people, a story we are telling again around our seder tables this week.

What do you take away from the seder? That Pharaoh was cruel? That slavery was terrible? Yes, but also that we were redeemed; that the pressure on Pharaoh ultimately helped him see the light.

“La’yehudim hayta orah” we sang just recently on Purim and every week, as we end Shabbat with Havdalah. “The Jews enjoyed light and gladness, honor and joy. May we, too, experience these same blessings.” In another dark time, when all hope appeared lost, there was light. Let there be light once again!

Dan Moskovitz is senior rabbi of Temple Sholom in Vancouver.

Five things every kid needs

What do children require in order to thrive? Here are five vital things we must give to our children.

1. Self-worth

All children have the need to feel accepted. When we nurture our child’s feelings of self-worth, we create a sense of pride. There is an atmosphere of belonging so that the child does not feel the necessity to find acceptance elsewhere. We want our sons and daughters to know that we love them for who they are and that each child possesses a unique gift given by God. For each child, the gift is different. It can be brains, personality, sports, art, baking, music, friendship, even the ability to care for a baby. Our role as parents is to help the child discover the magic within instead of focusing on the perceived gifts that others possess.

Once we are able to do this, we can help each child feel stronger with who he is. Self-confident children can deal successfully with the ups and downs that life brings. Kids who possess self-worth will better navigate future relationships, feel resilient enough to try and risk failure, and become a source of strength to future generations.

I do not mean a child who is full of him or herself. Some children perceive themselves to be superior and knock others down. This type of self-esteem is superficial and creates an arrogant child in and out of the home. Instead, I am speaking about the unearthing of what lies beneath the soul. If we can then show our children that they can use their gift to make this world better, we transmit to each child a confident awareness that “I make a difference” and “I have value.” When a child feels inadequate, we hear lines like “I can’t,” “No one likes me” and “I’m not good enough, smart enough and popular or pretty enough.”

Parents who appreciate their children’s differences, interests and talents, encourage their children to grow confident and be happy with who they are.

2. Security

We live in a sometimes scary world. Our children are aware of current events, painful tragedies and images that boggle the mind. Words like kidnapping, missiles, terrorist attacks and killings are no longer scenes from Hollywood movies. A generation is growing up surrounded by loss. And it is not just grim world news that kids must confront. I have spoken to parents whose children are fearful of returning home from summer camp because each year there are couples who announce their pending divorce. Do you feel confident that you have given your child a sense of security?

We can help assure our children by creating an atmosphere of trust. Despite the difficult world out there, know, my child that you can always count on me.

Here are practical ways to make this happen: rid yourself of chaos and commit to routines and schedules that work. Try to de-clutter so that your home environment does not feel messy and overwhelming. Keep your word: when you say you will be there don’t disappoint, and honor your promises.

A lack of consistency in rules makes a child unsure of what to expect. Wishy-washy discipline does not allow a child to anticipate proper consequences, and strips away the security of knowing right from wrong.

Most of all, let us recognize the destructive power we possess when we scream at our children. All it takes is a few moments of outrage to cause a child to feel that he is living with a parent who is out of control. Anger, yelling, sarcastic put downs and belittling removes the inborn trust that a child had but is now lost. Why would I want to connect with you if I do not feel safe at your side? Once the bond between parent and child is destroyed, it becomes very difficult to rebuild. Even if you try afterwards to spend time together and offer soothing words, lose it often enough and the harsh image and tone simmer within your child’s heart. Your son or daughter is always second-guessing – will this be a safe conversation or will I feel too vulnerable? Creating a stable home instead will enable your child to grow knowing the definition of dependable, reliable and trustworthy.

3. Relationship skills

Our children need to learn how to deal with others. Too often parents make excuses for their child’s misbehavior or hurtful words. Instead, let us concentrate on helping our kids handle their encounters. A practical way for us to do this is to open our eyes to teaching moments where kids can learn about apologies, forgiveness, gratitude, sharing, not interrupting, allowing others to be in the limelight, listening skills, overcoming the desire to hit or scream, dealing successfully with tantrums and learning how to quell angry reactions.

At the same time, it is important to impart the deference required when encountering authority. Discuss the proper derech eretz – standard of respect – while speaking to rabbis, principals, teachers, parents, relatives and elders. Just as crucial is the knowledge of how to act in a synagogue, bar and bat mitzvah, airplane, restaurant, hotel and other people’s homes. I have seen children destroy hotel lobbies while parents watch and laugh that it is not their home. Lacking social skills produces children who either bully or withdraw into painful silence. Providing the proper relationship know-how gives children character traits like loyalty, respect, unselfishness and honesty.

4. Sensitivity

Teach your children to be considerate of other people’s feelings. When a sibling or classmate has been pained, it is OK and appropriate for a child to feel empathy. If possible, give your children opportunities to cultivate compassion. The unpopular kid in class who never gets invited – how do you think he is feeling? How can we try to make this better? There are many chesed (kindness) projects that our children can get involved in, instead of just focusing on themselves. This past year, a group of bat mitzvah-aged students whose mothers I teach collected hundreds of coats that we shipped off to Israel. We discussed how there are kids their age who are freezing during the winter months because they cannot afford a coat. It was an incredible day that opened up the eyes and hearts of these young girls to the suffering of other children. Compassion can be nurtured.

Children notice if their words bring a smile or a tear. They recognize from early on if they’ve brought pleasure or pain. We cannot afford to shy away from allowing them to confront their behavior and deal with poor decisions that they’ve made.

As parents, we must replace angry reactions with firm but loving discipline. We cannot expect to raise sensitive children if we, ourselves, are insensitive to our children’s needs.

5. Love

Of course, all this is not possible if we lack the ability to make our children feel loved. Be generous with your affection. Hug more, laugh more, say “I love you” more. Stop making your child feel as if he is never “good enough.” Allow your children to see that you appreciate and are affectionate with your spouse. Give words of gratitude and admiration.

When you have family time, don’t seem bored and uninterested. Turn off your devices and tune in to the ones who count on you most in this world. Watch that the pressures of school, homework, carpools, bedtime and daily life do not ruin the precious moments you have together. Our families are our greatest assets. Let us create homes filled with peace so that we can transmit our legacy to the next generation.

Slovie Jungreis-Wolff is a freelance writer, and a relationships and parenting instructor. Her book Raising A Child With Soul is published by St. Martin’s Press. This article was distributed by the Kaddish Connection Network and appeared on Aish HaTorah Resources.

 

Apology spoof short-sighted

As election season progresses in Israel, how Israelis are seeking to position themselves is becoming clearer than ever. In its attempt to unseat Bibi Netanyahu, the joint Labor-Hatnua slate is billing itself as the “Zionist Union,” a moniker that rankles many, including prominent Arab-Israeli writer Sayed Kashua in a recent piece in Haaretz. The left-wing Meretz slate, which features a young politico who happens to have proud cousins in the Ottawa Jewish community (disclosure: I am one of them), is taking a different tack, underscoring the degree to which its policies differ from what has come before. “Revolution with Meretz,” its campaign posters declare. Most fascinating to me, though, is one of the ads coming out of right-wing-nationalist Naftali Bennett’s campaign.

In it, Bennett, head of the Jewish Home (HaBayit HaYehudi) Party, is dressed as a bearded hipster. As he makes his way around Tel Aviv, he is afflicted by a comedic apology problem. In a café, the waitress spills coffee; he apologizes. On a narrow residential street, his car gets rear-ended; he apologizes. On Rothschild Boulevard, a fellow denizen makes her way to a rented bicycle after he’s claimed it; he anxiously backs away, apologizing. Finally, he is shown on a park bench, reading the liberal-leaning Israeli broadsheet Haaretz, where he is reading a reprinted column from the New York Times, headlined “Israel needs to apologize.”

“From now on, we’re going to stop apologizing,” Bennett tells the camera, removing his costume. “Join HaBayit HaYehudi now.”

It’s a bit of brilliant campaigning, the message is seeking to appeal to Israelis’ collective core sense of self. No one wants to feel that their very existence requires an apology.

The policy question, of course, lies in whether Israel’s ongoing conflict with the Palestinians entails giving up the country’s core identity, or whether there is something else going on, namely the occupation. It’s an ongoing tension in how we understand the situation. On one hand are contemporary depictions like those in the otherwise excellent series The Honorable Woman (now streaming on Netflix) that suggest that Israelis and Palestinians just need to leave each other alone and peace will prevail. The unspoken truth, though, is that there is a very real overlapping set of territorial claims being cruelly manifested not only by Hamas rockets from Gaza and terrorist attacks from east Jerusalem and the West Bank, but also by the Israeli occupation. There, in the West Bank, day-to-day Palestinian freedom of movement is curtailed by settler-only roads and staffed checkpoints.

As Bennett has made clear in his increasingly vocal policy pronouncements, under his rule, the occupation would not end – it would simply morph into a sort of apartheid-like area in which Israel annexes part of the West Bank, with Palestinians granted autonomy in the others. In other words, no Palestinian state.

Bennett’s ad suffers from another problem: a reluctance to consider the idea that so much mutual pain has been inflicted by both sides – whatever one thinks of his annexation plan – that some conflict resolution measures may need to include mutual apology, just as mutual recognition has been an important currency of Israeli-Palestinian relations.

There is one area where Bennett’s ad does contain some wisdom: in identity politics. But it’s really only half a serving of wisdom. The crux of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict has been that neither side has been willing to truly recognize the material and identity needs of the other. Through riffing on the idea of apology being absurd, for Bennett to imply that Israel has a right to exist, is fine. But unless Israel recognizes the right of the Palestinians to the same, Bennett’s platform will appear to exist in a moral, political and strategic vacuum.

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.

The value of duty, empathy

When Vancouver-based philanthropists Rosalie and Joe Segal announced a lead gift of $12 million towards a new centre for mental health, I felt deeply moved. I had had occasion to visit a loved one at the old facility a few years ago. By any measure, it was a depressing, dilapidated and lifeless space. The new facility promises the kind of physical atmosphere of compassion and dignity so necessary to recovery.

The planned $82 million centre is slated to open in 2017. In recent Globe and Mail coverage, a reporter asked Joe Segal what brought them to this latest philanthropic decision.

I’ll depart here for a moment to mention that there is a common journalistic convention whereby the writer introduces a quote by paraphrasing. In this case, the reporter said that the Segals’ decision “came from a place of empathy.” Then came the actual quote from Joe Segal: “You have an obligation, if you live in the community, to be sure that you do your duty.”

Are empathy and duty the same thing?

The two vantage points at first seem quite different. Empathy is about actually experiencing the plight of another. There is clearly an affective component. Duty somehow feels more legalistic, perhaps even at odds with emotion. As philosopher Immanuel Kant famously said, “Duty is the necessity to act out of reverence for the law.”

If empathy is more about feeling, experience and emotion, and if duty is more cognitive and legal, it seems we need to be concerned with how to summon both values across society. I turned to colleagues to help me better understand the relationship between the two concepts. For some, a viscerally emotional connection between the two is indeed present.

International theory scholar Daniel Levine points out that, for a sense of duty to function, citizens need to feel reverence for institutions, even those that we ourselves have created. Or, perhaps having created laws and ways of living for ourselves is precisely what motivates a sense of duty, “we revere it precisely because it’s ours; we are the sovereign,” Levine suggests. “We are free because we legislate and judge for ourselves.”

For professor of Jewish philosophy Zachary Braiterman, the cognitive and emotional elements are intertwined, “duty has an affective element, an excitement of the senses around a task at hand.”

And, for Jewish filmmaker Eliyahu Ungar-Sargon, “duty flows from empathy, in that moment when I connect the suffering of another to my own experience and that touches a kind of primal anger which motivates action.”

In Jewish tradition, philanthropy – or tzedakah – is considered a legal imperative. The Hebrew word itself shares a root with righteousness and justice, and it does not contain the affective aspects that the Greek-based word philanthropy does, meaning love of humankind.

Empathy in general seems to be less obviously discussed in Judaism, until one realizes that the Torah’s golden rule – “Love your neighbor as yourself” – is ultimately an empathy imperative.

When it comes to mental illness, it’s especially important to keep both duty and empathy in mind. Empathy can be extra hard to summon towards those who are in the throes of the disease. Some forms of mental illness cause sufferers to refuse treatment. Some victims act socially or otherwise inappropriately. Sometimes the sufferer no longer even seems like the actual person.

The Segals are clearly aware of how insidious and invisible mental illness can be, and the challenges around recognizing it and treating it. As Joe Segal told the Globe and Mail, “Mental health was under the rug, and we tried to lift the rug so it can become visible.”

It’s a powerful reminder of how empathy and duty are important elements in building a better society – both for helping those in personal crisis and for enabling us all to live the values of kindness, generosity and compassion.

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.

The godliness of survival

As the 70th anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz approached last month, discussion turned to the shrinking number of survivors. My father-in-law, Bill Gluck of Vancouver, was one of them, having been deported to Auschwitz from Hungary in 1944, a beautiful boy of 13 with piercing green eyes, a compact frame and a knockout grin. We mentally celebrated his life on that anniversary. But not 24 hours later, his ailing body gave out.

As we began to grieve my father-in-law’s death, I became aware of the delicate dance between remembering Holocaust survivors for the individuals they were, and invoking their identity as survivors.

Esteemed psychoanalyst and child survivor of the Holocaust Anna Ornstein specializes in trauma. Yet even she bristles at being called a “survivor,” telling the Washington Post on Jan. 23, “That’s almost like another crime.” She added, “We were reduced to a race…. This is my name, I had parents who raised me a certain way, and that was not washed away.”

Mourners don’t have the luxury of asking the departed how they wish to be remembered. In any case, we each carry our own points of salience with us when we remember.

At my father-in-law’s funeral and shiva, Bill’s nephew recalled dancing on his uncle’s feet. My husband described the invisible love that had been all around him, like clean air. Bill’s daughter reflected on the heartiness of autumn’s last remaining leaves as she had helped make her father comfortable during his final weeks. And there were his fellow Holocaust survivors, coming to pay respects to a departed member of their own.

Before I met him some 20 years ago, my father-in-law had visited Vancouver schools, telling students his personal story of survival and freedom. For some of the audience, this was their first experience of learning about the Holocaust. One of these students later befriended a young man from Toronto when they studied together at Queen’s University. That young Torontonian would, a few years later, become Bill’s son-in-law.

My stepmom encountered Bill years before I met him, hearing him relay his personal account one evening at Vancouver’s Jewish community centre. I, too, recall reading about Bill’s journey in the pages of the Jewish Western Bulletin (now the Jewish Independent) before meeting his son, who I would go on to marry.

Survivors manage to touch so many, directly and indirectly. Yet, as each one is, my father-in-law was so much more than the sum of those harrowing experiences. Along with his wife, my beloved mother-in-law, Bill built a life of love out of the depths of inhumanity. He lavished a great deal of affection and nurturing on his family, and found his own moments of serenity and solitude as he took up distance sailing around the islands of British Columbia in his later years.

As the rabbi spoke about my father-in-law at the graveside service, he spoke of the godliness that surely ran through him. In young Bill’s harrowing months at Auschwitz, he had found ways to help his fellow inmates. Perhaps most profoundly, Bill had also committed to memory details of instances of kindness amid the horror. Sometimes a certain German guard in the camps would help him – pulling him out of a work line to give him a less strenuous task, placing him on a bicycle during a long march, even giving him his gun to hold. These stories of goodness didn’t die with Bill, for my father-in-law had taken pains to impress these anecdotes upon his children.

Perhaps the godliness of survival is also the godliness of looking for kindness wherever it happens to be, and instilling goodness in the everyday. Bill wanted life to be simple and good; he wanted to find kindness around him, and he hoped others did too.

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 previously published in the Canadian Jewish News.

Stand against extremism

(image from abouddandachi.com)

On Jan. 27, commemorations were held worldwide in remembrance of the Holocaust. Seventy years after the liberation of the Auschwitz concentration camp, these remembrances are as necessary as ever, as evidenced by the past year’s rising tide of antisemitic attacks the world over. And while it may be impossible to stop every terrorist attack everywhere in the world, the manner in which societies and individuals react to such atrocities is just as important as “killing the bad guys.”

A case in point would be the terrorist attack on the French satirical magazine Charlie Hebdo in early January. In the aftermath, a massive two million-strong march was held in the heart of Paris in support of freedom of expression. The phrase #JeSuisCharlie became the most widely used hashtag in Twitter’s history. To meet the increased demand from multitudes of first-time readers seemingly eager on making a statement against extremism, the publication run for the magazine’s Jan. 12 issue was increased from 60,000 copies to three million, and increased again to five million, and, again, to seven million copies.

Marches, Twitter campaigns and a massive surge in readership. Yet, largely relegated to the background was the fact that Jews were specifically targeted during those three terrible days in Paris. Indeed, for months before the Paris terrorist atrocities, Jews in much of Europe had been subjected to a relentless wave of vicious antisemitic attacks. An atmosphere of raw, unchallenged hatred for all things Jewish preceded the events in Paris, and the warning signs were there for anyone who cared to pay attention. When Jews in Denmark trying to hold an event calling for religious coexistence are chased off the streets by “Allahu akbar”-screaming, black-banner-waving thugs, then very soon someone will get it into their head to try to kill Jews in Paris.

Marches, Twitter campaigns and millions of new readers. Momentary, short-term reactions to a very long-term problem, one that has been building up for years. In the wake of such atrocities, it is natural for individuals to feel a strong need to act. And nothing reputes terrorism as effectively as making a stand with its intended targets and victims: by making a stand with the Jewish communities of Europe and the world over.

One effective, long-term method of displaying solidarity with Jewish communities worldwide is to show the same enthusiasm for their publications as the world has displayed for scooping up issues of Charlie Hebdo. To repudiate global extremism, one only needs to act on a very local level.

Salom, the Turkish Jewish weekly tabloid, isn’t exactly an easy publication to find in Istanbul unless you know where to look. But with a circulation of just a few thousand, it has for almost seven decades managed to put out a highly professional and relevant newspaper (far more substantial and better produced than the hopeless Syrian regime mouthpieces Al-Baath or Al-Thawra, even with the resources of the state), and over the years some of Turkey’s most prominent writers and journalists have written for it. Over the years: over the span of no less than 68 years.

A community, any community’s, newspaper is a chronology and journal of the times and events of that community’s history and its place in the world, the events that they were affected by or had an effect on, the opinions, hopes, dreams and fears of that community’s individuals. As a source for a history of the times, websites don’t come close.

And few things strike at the heart of a community’s sense of safety or belonging as attacking or intimidating its publications. For a community to lose its publication would be a devastating blow to its sense of identity, history and continuity within the larger society it inhabits.

And so, when a community is under sustained attack from fringe extremist elements, one of the best long-term demonstrations of solidarity is to adopt that community’s publications. And it was in this spirit that millions of people around the world suddenly felt a compulsion to own a copy of Charlie Hebdo, regardless of their opinions on the merits (or lack thereof) of the paper’s contents over the years. In the aftermath of a terrorist event, ordinary people are driven to respond with an act that loudly and clearly expresses their rejection of and revulsion at the attack.

Marches are all very well and good, but it is highly unlikely that the scale of the January Paris march will ever be repeated for years to come. Twitter hashtags? Very fleeting and very much of the moment. A long-term response is necessary to support a community under long-term threat.

And, while Jews in one’s local community may not face the same level of violence and intimidation as Jews in other parts of the world, the nature of global antisemitism is such that Jews anywhere can, at anytime, become targets from any source, no matter how distant or remote the threat may seem, as evidenced, to take a recent example, by the Hezbollah terrorist organization’s threats to strike Jews anywhere in the world in retaliation for its recent high-level losses in Syria.

Not everyone can be a Lassana Bathily, the Mali-born employee of the Hyper Cacher, the targeted Paris kosher supermarket, who saved countless lives by hiding customers during the attack. Individuals can still achieve a great deal by standing with those whom extremists would target, however. Heaven forbid that anyone should ever suffer a terrorist attack ever again, but let’s not wait until after an atrocity to express “Je suis (insert latest victims here).” Society’s embrace and acceptance of its minorities are the surest shield and protection against opportunistic acts of hate against those minorities. Terrorism thrives in an atmosphere and environment of unchallenged and unchecked hatred.

Holocaust commemorations are held just once a year, and by the time a society feels compelled to respond to atrocities in its midst with million-person marches, it is probably too late, extremism has already dug its roots deep into that society. Extremism is more effectively fought on the individual level, with small, daily acts of kindness towards those that may be vulnerable, and the ostracizing of those groups and individuals who are hateful in their speech and behavior (I’m looking at you George Galloway, you shameful carpetbagger). Global extremism is most effectively fought by very local acts of consideration.

In this day and age, fighting extremism can be as simple as buying a newspaper. Salom.

Aboud Dandachi is a Syrian blogger based in Turkey. He has been cited on issues relating to the Syrian conflict on the BBC, NPR, the Los Angeles Times, the Guardian, Al-Arabiya and Turkiye Gazetesi. This article originally appeared on his blog From Homs to Istanbul, which can be found at abouddandachi.com. It is reprinted with permission.

Why is media Israel obsessed?

More senseless violence has hit Jerusalem in recent months, with the brutal murder of four worshippers at a synagogue in the Har Nof neighborhood late last year and multiple stabbings and car attacks. Some folks, while on the one hand wanting to ensure the world learns of these heinous acts, will, on the other hand, continue to ask why the media is so obsessed with Israel.

I was reminded of this question not too long ago via a short CNN video clip with journalist Matti Friedman in which he discusses an article he wrote for Tablet last summer that’s taken on a new life online. To make his case that the media is unfairly biased against Israel, Friedman cites the 2013 death toll in Jerusalem compared to Portland (more deaths in Portland), and the century-long Arab-Israeli conflict toll compared to the ongoing carnage in Syria (more lives lost in Syria). He adds that, in the overall reporting on the Israeli-Palestinian saga, Israel is unfairly portrayed as the aggressor while the Palestinians are cast as victims rather than as agents of their own fate.

The question of presumed agency is a key one in the conflict: how the conflict actors themselves see it, and how others can serve to reinforce these roles. It’s a fair point.

However, to truly understand why individuals, media markets, foreign policy actors and international organizations devote so much time and energy to the Israeli-Palestinian nexus, we’d need some in-depth research to really understand their motivations. For now, here are several plausible reasons that seek to raise the discussion beyond the reductionist assumption that there is a “media bias against Israel” and the related, if unspoken, accusation that the world simply hates the Jewish state.

Perhaps most importantly, American taxpayers provide a significant annual sum of money to Israel, via the $3 billion in annual U.S. aid granted to Israel. It’s natural that the government and the voters in that country at least would disproportionately concern themselves with the region.

Second, the Israel-Palestine core is the heartland of the three main monotheistic religions. The role of religious symbolism in Western art, literature, film and culture in general is significant. The region, in short, has long captured the imagination of many.

Third, Israel – unlike Syria – is a democracy. Citizens of democracies tend to hold other democracies to democratic standards. That means that violence committed in the name of democratic values – for better or worse – sometimes gets more airtime.

Fourth, as others have written before, Israel is seen by many as a colonial transplant. There are very good arguments against a simplistic understanding of Israel as a colonial project. (There is no core state to which settlers send extracted resources, for example.) But there is no getting around the fact that Israel’s birth was precipitated in part by Europe’s carving up of the region into mandate territories after the First World War. The shred of the colonial shadow succeeds in galvanizing a certain political consciousness that other conflicts, especially civil ones within non-democracies, simply don’t, unfortunately perhaps.

Fifth, once Israel came into existence, it was seen by many as a plucky state surviving against all odds. It’s a narrative that Israel and the engines of Diaspora Jewry have themselves succeeded in promoting. That the world continues its fascination with Arab-Israeli geopolitics, played out now partly through the Palestinians, is, therefore, not surprising.

Sixth, Jews tend to punch above their collective weight in many aspects of popular culture: entertainment, the arts, literature and so on. That the Jewish state and its goings-on figure so prominently in the media can be seen as a benign extension of this. Add to this the fact that some of the players in the contemporary Israeli-Palestinian saga also hold American citizenship (three of the victims of the Har Nof synagogue attack held dual Israeli-U.S. citizenship, while the fourth was British Israeli) and the effect is magnified.

Finally, as for Friedman’s comparison between the disproportionate attention given to death and destruction in Israel compared to, say, in Portland, one could say that political violence naturally garners more international concern – again, sadly for those who are ignored – than death caused by typical urban ills such as poverty, petty crime, drugs or traffic accidents.

In sum, I’ve suggested seven plausible reasons why the world might be “obsessed” with Israel, none of them having to do with base hatred of the country or of Jews. Of course, there’s nothing saying that any of these possible reasons obviate the need to look antisemitism in the eye wherever it genuinely appears, or to spend more time analyzing the Palestinian part of the equation. But let’s at least consider the array of possibilities out there before we assume that the world is against us.

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.