9/11

Watch them blame Israel

A restaurant in Vancouver closed for a day, calling for people “to hold the Zionist occupation accountable” for the war in Gaza. Writer Loolwa Khazzoom notes, “When terrorists blow up Israelis, there is often an undertone of accusation: it’s Israel’s fault, the narrative goes, that these tragedies happen…. But who truly was responsible for creating Palestinian desperation, and who is accountable for remedying it?” (photo by Larry Barzelai)

On 9/11, I was 20 blocks away from Ground Zero, sleeping in the living room of a friend when she woke me up, screaming hysterically – something about terrorists and an airplane crashing into one of the Twin Towers. As I tried to comprehend what was happening, my friend turned on the television and, right then, the second plane crashed into the second tower, as we watched in horror.

My thoughts came in this order: Now they’ll understand what it feels like to live in Israel. Watch them blame this on Israel. OMG we’re going to die.

Two decades later, on the morning of Oct. 7 – in the wake of what some are calling Israel’s equivalent of 9/11 – I felt the pain of collective Jewish agony, and promptly reached out to my friends and family in Israel, including those living close to the Gaza border.

Unbeknownst to many, those in the border towns, such as Sderot, are predominantly working-class Mizrahim and Sephardim – children and grandchildren of the 900,000 Jewish refugees from throughout the Middle East and North Africa. They are the ones predominantly getting pummeled by Hamas rocket fire, as the world yells about “white European colonist settler Israelis.”

So, it’s no surprise that, after the initial feelings of shock and outrage, grief and concern, I once again thought, “Watch them blame this on Israel.” And they did, within hours – with a BBC News interview going so far as to compare the Hamas attack to the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising.

It’s nothing new, of course. When terrorists blow up Israelis, there is often an undertone of accusation: it’s Israel’s fault, the narrative goes, that these tragedies happen. By creating Palestinian desperation, Israel has created Palestinian terrorism. But who truly was responsible for creating Palestinian desperation, and who is accountable for remedying it?

The Arab world is called just that for a reason. Beginning in the Arabian Peninsula about 1,300 years ago, Arab Muslims launched a brutal campaign of invasion and conquest, taking over lands across the Middle East and North Africa. Throughout the region, Kurds, Persians, Berbers, Copts and Jews were forced to convert to Islam under the threat of death and in the name of Allah.

Jews were one of the few indigenous Middle Eastern peoples to resist conversion to Islam, the result being they were given the status of dhimmi – legally second-class, inferior people. Jews were spared death, but forced to endure an onslaught of humiliating legal restrictions – forced into ghettos, prohibited from owning land, prevented from entering numerous professions and forbidden from doing anything to physically or symbolically demonstrate equality with Arab Muslims.

When dhimmi laws were lax and Jews were allowed to participate to a greater degree in their society, the Jewish community would flourish, both socially and economically. On numerous occasions, however, the response to that success was a wave of harassment or massacre of Jews instigated by the government or the masses. This dynamic meant that the Jews lived in a basic state of subservience: they could participate in the society around them; they could enjoy a certain degree of wealth and status; and they could befriend their Arab Muslim neighbors. But they always had to know their place.

The Arab-Israel relationship and the current crisis occur in the greater context of a history in which Arab Muslims have oppressed Jews for 1,300 years. Most recently, anti-Jewish riots erupted throughout the Arab world in the 1930s and 1940s. Jews were assaulted, tortured, murdered and forced to flee from their homes of thousands of years. Throughout the region, Jewish property was confiscated and nationalized, collectively worth hundreds of millions of dollars at the time.

Yet the world has never witnessed Middle Eastern and North African Jews blowing themselves up and taking scores of Arab innocents with them out of anger or desperation for what Arab states did to the Jewish people. Despite the fact that there were 900,000 Jewish refugees from throughout the Middle East and North Africa, we do not even hear about a Middle Eastern/North African Jewish refugee problem today, because Israel absorbed most of the refugees. For decades, they and their children have been the majority of Israel’s Jewish population, with numbers as high as 70%.

To the contrary, Arab states did not absorb refugees from the war against Israel in 1948. Instead, they built squalid camps in the West Bank and Gaza – at the time controlled by Jordan and Egypt – and dumped the refugees in them, Arabs doomed to become pawns in a political war against Israel. Countries such as Syria, Iraq, Saudi Arabia, Libya and Lebanon funded assaults against Israeli citizens instead of funding basic medical, educational and housing needs of Palestinian refugee families.

In 1967, Israel inherited the Palestinian refugee problem through a defensive war. When Israel tried to build housing for the refugees in Gaza, Arab states led votes against it in United Nations resolutions, because absorption would change the status of the refugees. But wasn’t that the moral objective?

Israel went on to give more money to the Palestinian refugees than all but three of the Arab states combined, prior to transferring responsibility of the territories to the Palestinian Authority in the mid-1990s. Israel built hospitals and educational institutions for Palestinians in the territories. Israel trained the Palestinian police force. And yet, the 22 Arab states dominate both the land and the wealth of the region. So, who is responsible for creating Palestinian desperation?

Tragically, the Arab propaganda war against Israel has been a brilliant success, laying on Israel all the blame for the Palestinian refugee problem. By refusing to hold Arab states accountable for their own actions, by feeling sympathy for Palestinian terrorists instead of outrage at the Arab propaganda creating this phenomenon, the so-called “progressive” movement continues to feed the never-ending cycle of violence in the Middle East.

Loolwa Khazzoom (khazzoom.com) is the frontwoman for the band Iraqis in Pajamas (iraqisinpajamas.com) and editor of The Flying Camel: Essays on Identity by Women of North African and Middle Eastern Jewish Heritage (theflyingcamelbook.com). She has been a pioneering Jewish multicultural educator since 1990, and her writing has been featured in the Washington Post, Marie Claire, Rolling Stone and other top media worldwide. This article was originally published in the Times of Israel.

Relationship with the earth

At the dinner table, I asked my family what I should write. One of my kids, age 10, immediately said, “Climate change. People think the problem’s all hot air, but the problem’s really hot water.” There was a smirk at his joke, but his twin nodded in agreement.

Hurricane Ida’s just made landfall and is churning its way up through swaths of the United States as I write this. Haiti is in shambles from its most recent earthquake, only compounded by the storm that followed. In Manitoba, we’ve lived through a hot, smoky summer, surrounded by wildfires and besieged by drought. When it finally rained, there was so much of it that some places flooded.

The weather has, at times, felt apocalyptic. While I’m not superstitious, the recent uptick in truly awful weather and world events made me think back to Yom Kippur, 20 years ago.

In 2001, my husband and I sat in Yom Kippur services in Durham, N.C., where we lived at the time. Just a little over two weeks after Sept. 11, the terrorist acts in New York, Pennsylvania and at the Pentagon were on most people’s minds in that congregation.

Like many, I have images burned in my brain from that time, as both my family near D.C. and my husband’s in New York City, were alive, thank goodness, but personally affected. At synagogue, when we reached the prayer Unetaneh Tokef, the room fell silent, electrified. This ancient prayer, perhaps written by Yannai in the sixth century, is familiar to most who’ve attended services on the High Holidays or listened to Leonard Cohen:

“On Rosh Hashanah will be inscribed and on Yom Kippur will be sealed – how many will pass from the earth and how many will be created; who will live and who will die; who will die after a long life and who before his time; who by water and who by fire, who by sword and who by beast, who by famine and who by thirst, who by upheaval and who by plague, who by strangling and who by stoning. Who will rest and who will wander, who will live in harmony and who will be harried, who will enjoy tranquility and who will suffer, who will be impoverished and who will be enriched, who will be degraded and who will be exalted. But Repentance, Prayer and Charity mitigate the severity of the Decree.”

In Temple Beth El in Durham, there was loud sobbing and then, the most elemental keening and grief that I’ve ever heard. Twenty years later, I can’t forget my brother-in-law running down Broadway as the second tower fell behind him, covered in its dust as he escaped Manhattan on the Staten Island ferry, or my father-in-law, who walked five miles through Manhattan in the middle of the street, only to stand in Central Park, afraid to go indoors. My father and brother, away from D.C. on business trips, waited days, unable to get home. My sister-in-law, stuck in D.C. overnight, was finally able to leave the city and walked home to her apartment in Virginia, only to suffer through continual sonic booms, as fighter pilots raced overhead, shaking her high-rise building.

I will never hear this prayer, which is primarily part of the Ashkenazi liturgy, without being shaken by that keening sound.

However, just as I remember it, it’s also helpful to keep reading. It says that, by doing repentance, prayer and charity, we can change the severity of the outcome. We’re taught clearly that repentance is not simply feeling badly about past behaviour, it’s about making amends. We must apologize to those we’ve wronged and try to fix our mistakes. Our prayers are not simply rote, but must come from our hearts, with the right kind of kavannah, or intention.

Finally, it mentions we must do tzedakah, which some translate as charity, but really also means righteousness. It is the obligation to do the upstanding, just thing, and to act with integrity.

Although I can’t help but think of this prayer in context of those who died, both on Sept. 11 and those who, each year, aren’t written in the Book of Life for the next year, it’s not just about that. This prayer says we must act now to make change and to stop bad things from happening to us.

Even for those who don’t believe in its literal power, the message is clear. If we want to be able to live with ourselves later, we’re taught that we must repair our relationships promptly, practise introspection through prayer, and make a big effort to step up and do the right thing.

Those who’ve lived through floods, wildfires, earthquakes and hurricanes this summer would argue that bad things are happening. The rest of us, living through the pandemic, would be hard-pressed to disagree. Yet, Jewish tradition teaches us that we aren’t passive observers. We aren’t meant to simply submit and accept this.

More than one rabbi has told the joke about the man on top of his roof in the middle of a flood. He ignores the orders to leave, turns down a neighbour’s offer of a ride, says no to the rescue boat and refuses to be saved by helicopter.

The floodwaters rise higher. He drowns. Then he gets to speak with G-d. He says, “Lord, I believed in you. Why didn’t you save me?” And G-d responds, “Well, I sent you an evacuation order, a carpool, a boat and a helicopter! What else do you want?”

While we battle a pandemic, forest fires, rising temperatures in ocean waters and on land, it’s helpful to remember that our tradition teaches us that “G-d helps those who help themselves.”

This is a strange year, where some of us, used to sitting in synagogue, will instead be streaming services at home again, or perhaps spending time praying outdoors. It could also be the year where we decide that, upon reflection, it’s important to repair our relationship with the earth and to start doing the right thing personally. Climate change is upon us. It’s going to take everyone’s efforts to make a difference.

Wishing you an easy fast. May you be written for good in the Book of Life.

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

A fine line we all walk

Left to right: Choices co-chair Debra Miller, Choices co-chair Sarah Marel-Schaffer, keynote speaker Lisa Friedman Clark, Choices co-chair Judith Blumenkrans and Jewish Federation of Greater Vancouver women’s philanthropy chair Megan Laskin. (photo from JFGV)

This year marked 13 years since the inception of Choices and some 450 women gathered in the Beth Israel reception hall to mingle over dinner and support Jewish women’s philanthropy. The keynote speaker was Lisa Friedman Clark, a New York native who commanded the floor as soon as she described herself as the “luckiest unlucky woman alive.”

Clark’s story is compelling. Diagnosed in 1995 at age 23 with a rare form of ovarian cancer, she endured chemotherapy and survived the illness against incredible odds. Andy Friedman, her boyfriend at the time, stood by her side throughout and, two years later, the couple married and began what she described as a “storybook life.” The arrival of twin boys completed their new family and both were pursuing successful careers up until Sept. 11, 2001. That morning, Andy went to work on the 92nd floor of One World Trade Centre and never came home.

There were audible gasps from the audience as Friedman Clark described the details of the morning her life changed forever. “He called me after the second plane had hit and said he was in a room with all his colleagues and they had plenty of air,” she recalled. “Later, we found out that the plane had hit one floor above him and the damage to the stairwells was so bad that he and his 68 colleagues could not get down. His floor was the line of demarcation between life and death. Those on floor 92 and above died.”

“I was 39 years old with two 11-year-old boys whose hero had just been killed in one of the most horrific manners one could think of,” she continued. “One minute you’re rushing to get the kids off to school and, in a split second, your husband has been murdered and life as you knew it has ceased to exist.”

Friedman Clark’s message was devoid of self-pity. “We all walk a fine line between being a donor to Federation and being a recipient of its generosity,” she told the crowd. “We never know when our lives will change.”

Federation counselors, social workers and support groups in New York were trained to deal with families affected by terrorism and came directly to the aid of her family and others in the same situation, she said. “They were uniquely able to understand our needs, and they were also there with financial aid for anyone who needed it. This help was invaluable and, had it not been for the many people that helped me at Federation, I’m not sure where I’d be today.”

Another story that touched a chord with Choices attendees was that of Ronit Yona, an Ethiopian Jew who, as a child, was rescued during Operation Moses. She lived in Israel for several years and more recently moved to Vancouver with her husband and two sons. Yona recalled her early years as a child in Ethiopia, growing up in a village that was home to 1,000 Jews and a life that revolved around home, school and synagogue. At the age of 9, everything changed. “The Ethiopian government wouldn’t allow us to practise our customs,” she explained. “I found myself following my father through the jungle at night as he led our donkey and horses, all loaded with our entire life. My father told me that, if the soldiers found us, they would kill us.”

Yona and her family became refugees in Sudan, in a tent camp where there was no sanitation and dysentery was rife. She recalled walking four hours a day to fill heavy jugs with water for the family. Then, at 10 years old, she found herself on an airplane with other Ethiopian families en route to Jerusalem. “What I didn’t know then, as a child, was that we weren’t walking alone on that journey,” she said. “ORT helped my father train as a nurse in Ethiopia and, later, the global Jewish community gave its money, time and energy to the Jewish Agency to rescue the Jews of Ethiopia who were stranded in Sudan.”

“We are all here this evening because we care about the future of the Jewish community, here at home, in Israel and around the world,” Megan Laskin, chair of women’s philanthropy at the Jewish Federation of Greater Vancouver, told attendees. “We’re celebrating making good choices for ourselves as strong women and setting a lasting example of l’dor v’dor. Women’s philanthropy is truly a force and your contributions are changing and saving lives.”

Last year, Choices generated more than $2.1 million. For information on this year’s campaign, visit jewishvancouver.com.

Lauren Kramer, an award-winning writer and editor, lives in Richmond. To read her work online, visit laurenkramer.net.

Finding beauty on travels

After a three-month travel adventure with the purpose of seeking beauty wherever I went, many thoughts raced through my mind. I had quit my job, gone on the road, run out of money, and had no clue what came next. I couldn’t have predicted that a philosophical discussion on the meaning of life with a perfect stranger would change my life. But it did.

A tall man stood behind me in line at passport control in the Sydney airport. He started to chat with me, wondering where I was going. Grinning, I explained I was returning home after wandering around Australia and New Zealand solo. He was heading to Wales.

Grant was part of an elite Australian special-forces team. Somehow we got into a serious conversation, keeping busy until our flights by walking together around the airport. It was August 2004.

“Everything happens for a reason,” Grant said with confidence.

“How can you be so sure?” I replied.

“I know it. I have seen it every day of my life. It’s just how the world works.”

“Do you really believe that?” I wondered. “How do you know that things happen for a reason? Maybe things happen and we give them reason, and not the other way around.”

I recalled every detail of how I spent Sept. 11, 2001. I was working for CNN as a field producer on Lou Dobb’s show, Moneyline. My job had started a few weeks prior and I was thrilled: the low drama of financial news was perfect for me. I distinctly remember a conversation with my father about this feature of my new job at the end of August 2001.

“I can do this,” I said. “The markets go up and down; there’s no blood and guts in these news stories.”

A short time later, I was a witness to Sept. 11, and I can’t think, let alone write, about it without having tears in my eyes.

In a state of shock, I watched smoke pour out of the enormous gash in one of the World Trade buildings. Soon after, the tower started to collapse as I watched, and my brain screamed, “There are people in that building and you are watching them die and there is nothing you can do!” I have never felt such anguish and helplessness. With these thoughts now racing through my mind as we wandered the airport, I asked Grant, “Where were you on Sept. 11?”

He spoke solemnly, “I’ll never forget Sept 11. My mother died in my arms at the hospital, and then my brother and I heard the news.”

I was surprised. As I was watching my city fall apart, his world was also breaking into pieces thousands of miles away. Soon after that difficult day, Grant was one of the Australian servicemen who went to fight the war in Afghanistan.

I ended up covering terrorism and the Sept. 11 story for two years. It got to me. My usual happy-go-lucky cheerful disposition disappeared. Covering funerals and sad stories daily left a deep imprint on me. I needed a change. I wanted to see the beauty in the world, the happy moments, the positive. I read books by every optimistic self-help guru I could lay my hands on, including books by the Dalai Lama. However, the book that made the most impact on me was an Australia and New Zealand guidebook. So, I put my math skills to good use, reached into my savings account and soon after found myself – and my backpack – at a Victorian-style hostel in Auckland, New Zealand.

Down Under was the perfect place to embrace a new worldview; to fill my head with beautiful images to counter the horrible ones. I hitched rides from perfectly lovely strangers, drank pure water from ancient glaciers that I hiked, and dared myself to do anything and everything interesting, including scaring myself to death skydiving with my new travel friend, Dave Ellis.

I admit, the night before I was scheduled to jump, I tossed and turned, praying for it to rain. I wished I could back out of my commitment without appearing to be terrified. I was afraid of heights and scared out of my mind. But, my sense of adventure got the best of me, as it usually does, and I went ahead with the leap.

Dave and I became the best of friends after jumping out of a perfectly good airplane 12,000 feet above Queenstown, New Zealand. Later in the trip, he invited me to come explore Perth, Australia, after I had toured that country’s east coast. Traveling without a plan but with cash in hand left me open to seeing where the world would take me.

It was a great suggestion. That said, a less-than-desirable five-hour-plus cross-country flight from Brisbane squished in between two larger-than-life rugby pIayers brought me to my destination.

One night while in Perth, I was invited to Dave’s parents’ house for dinner. His British grandmother, Bette Ellis, told me about her life and how she had met her husband in Jerusalem in 1946. Leonard was in the British military. They traveled the world together. She was an adventurous lady filled with energy and, as a youngster, an avid dancer.

Her world was forever changed on Feb. 28, 1967, when she was nearly killed in a terrorist bombing in Aden, Yemen, where she was living at the time. The bomb exploded at a cocktail party she was attending. The two women right next to Bette and with whom she had just been speaking, were killed. She survived but was left a paraplegic, paralyzed from the waist down.

The Ellis family was torn apart. Her youngest son, David, was sent to England to be looked after by Bette’s sister. Her husband Leonard suffered from extreme guilt because he had left Bette at the party as he was called away to work. They eventually divorced, and she became a single parent to three children. Leonard went on to have years of health difficulties and passed away at age 62 from cancer.

In the most unlikely place on the planet I would have imagined, I had come face to face with terrorism again, and the effects it had, even 40 years later, on a family. Once again, my heart was ripped to shreds over how one act, one moment in time, can shatter and splinter a person and a family forever.

The story stuck with me, and I emailed Dave’s father, Alex, to interview him. He wrote, “Thanks for the interest in Mum’s story. Yes, the impacts may go on for years and in many cases are difficult to cope with whereas the public interest tends to be more about the event and the immediate impacts. In many ways, there are almost forgotten victims of such attacks. Mum was a very strong person and led a very active life considering the extent of her injuries. Her story is certainly one of strength and hope but there is no doubt that many other victims have not fared as well.”

He continued, “Coincidentally, Mum passed away, and the date is very easy for us to remember as it was 11 Sept.”

Shocked and teary-eyed, I couldn’t help but wonder about the timing. While more than 13 years have passed since Sept. 11, 2001, for many, it is as if it happened yesterday; for some, the scars of this terrorist act will remain and be felt for generations. Even though Bette had passed away years after the 2001 attacks, this sad date still had resonance, personally, nationally, globally. She was a woman with a staunch will to live, and her family, a role model of love, made the best of a tragic situation.

I don’t know if I believe that things happen for a reason, but I do know that giving them purpose is all most people can accomplish. So, the next time you travel, be open to the world and its wisdom. Even in learning of others’ heartaches and tragedies, there is some hope to be found. On your journeys, if you are truly lucky, you might make lifelong friends like I have in the Ellis family, friends who will restore your vision of the world, and show that good can triumph over evil.

Masada Siegel is an award-winning journalist and photographer. Follow her at @masadasiegel and visit her website, masadasiegel.com.