When we think about Israel’s prominence now, with its population approaching 10 million, and its contributions in so many fields being far out of proportion to its size, it is sobering to recall its early beginnings, and its fragility, when it issued its Declaration of Independence 75 years ago.
On the day that Israel’s independence was declared, May 15,1948, forces from five Arab countries invaded to join internal resistance to Israel’s existence, which had begun in November 1947 with the United Nations declaration of the Partition Plan. The war continued until January 1949, through multiple calls for a ceasefire by the United Nations, as the Arab side saw their hopes for a quick victory reversed.
The government of Israel changed its stance during this time. Initially concerned only with preserving the UN Partition Plan, which involved non-contiguous pieces of territory, as its forces gained the initiative, it sought to establish borders having a greater chance of being more defensible in a hostile neighbourhood.
During the early period, Israel managed to establish the beginnings of a standing army, navy and air force, as well as a commando unit, assembled by bits and pieces from around the world. With unleashed immigration, available soldiery increased every day during the war period. As the war proceeded, every man, and every unmarried woman, in Israel over the age of 25 was eventually subject to mobilization. It has been said that the Jews’ secret weapon in the face of the existential threat they confronted was that there was no other place for them to go.
Many of the indigenous Arabs fled the country during the hostilities, sometimes at the urging of the invading troops, but there were also populations expelled, where Israeli forces faced hostility. Jews in the country had faced increasing violence from their Arab neighbours and, during the war, in areas occupied by Arab forces, particularly in the Old City, but also in the West Bank, there were Jewish residents who were summarily murdered.
Many of the battles were fierce and bloody, with substantial losses of people and material on both sides. Attacks on isolated settlements by Arab units were often aimed at overcoming the resistance of poorly armed residents living in strategic locations. The strength of their commitment to defending their homes often carried the day.
By the end of the struggle, more than 6,000 Israelis had been killed – one-third of the fallen were individuals who were survivors of the Holocaust. Estimates of the number of Arabs/Palestinians killed in the war vary from 5,000 to 10,000.
In the end, Israel retained its allocated portion under the partition and won some of the territory that had been ascribed to the Arab side by the UN plan. Israel withdrew from territories it still occupied in the Egyptian Sinai and in southern Lebanon when hostilities were ended by a ceasefire.
Israel inherited a de-facto Egyptian presence in the Gaza Strip and a Jordanian annexation of the Old City of Jerusalem, and what was ancient Judea and Samaria became the West Bank and under Jordanian control. These were a portion of the areas that had been allocated to the Palestinians by the UN Partition Plan. It was at great cost that control of West Jerusalem was retained.
Israel was attacked again in 1967 and in 1973, successfully defending itself and extending Jewish occupation in further areas that were a part of the country’s historic past, including the Old City and the West Bank. In the 1967 war, Israel seized and, in 1981, annexed Syrian territory, the Golan, high ground from which it was constantly being bombarded.
Under the later Oslo agreements, the Palestinian Authority (PA) was established to allow Palestinian self-government in the heavily populated areas of the West Bank. Israel unilaterally withdrew from the Gaza Strip in 2005. In a 2006 Palestinian election, the Hamas terrorist group became the elected government, but the PA (led by Fatah) refused to relinquish power. Hamas seized control of the Gaza Strip by force, and remains a continuous source of violence. In Lebanon, the terrorist group Hezbollah remains a factor, while Israel has managed to contain Iranian efforts to establish themselves in Syria.
In recent years, there have been alliances made with neighbouring Arab countries. Some of these countries recognize their common cause with Israel to counter efforts by Iran for hegemony. Many of these countries are seeking benefits from the technological advances made in Israel in sectors like agriculture, medicine, cybersecurity and defence. Research and development has been a priority investment by the succession of Israeli governments since its adoption of the private enterprise model for its economy. Foreign investment has poured into Israel, helping fund economic growth, and placing Israel among the world’s highest in GDP per capita.
The standard of living of Israel’s Arab citizens has also risen with increasing integration and exceeds that of citizens in neighbouring Arab countries, or those under PA administration. Perhaps this is another reason for the move to normalize relations with Israel by several Arab countries under the Abraham Accords.
As Israel’s 75th anniversary approaches, several problems remain to be tackled. Concerns over security and increased Jewish settlement in disputed areas are among the factors that led to the election of a government coalition many consider extremist, with some policy proposals, such as the judicial reforms, raising alarm among centrist and left-leaning elements. These have led to mass protest demonstrations in Israel and abroad. Demands from the ultra-religious sector who have gained political power, if realized, could impair the lifestyles of many in the general population. As well, there has been a wave of terrorist attacks recently and there is concern that this may lead to revanchist policies targeting Palestinian citizens.
At 75 years old, the state of Israel continues to be a happening place.
Max Roytenberg is a Vancouver-based poet, writer and blogger. His book Hero in My Own Eyes: Tripping a Life Fantastic is available from Amazon and other online booksellers.
Eleanor Boyle’s Mobilize Food! Wartime Inspiration for Environmental Victory Today offers concrete ideas for how food systems can be transformed. (Julie Doro Photography)
I plan to make the Honourable Woolton Pie. Just for fun, not necessarily because I think it’ll taste wonderful, though it might. Named after Lord Woolton (Frederick Marquis), who was appointed minister of food in 1940 Britain, it represents several of the British government’s goals during the war years: it was “meatless, thrifty, filling, and made use of domestically produced in-season foods.” The recipe is in Eleanor Boyle’s latest book, Mobilize Food! Wartime Inspiration for Environmental Victory Today (FriesenPress, 2022). The book is the only reason I know who Woolton is. More importantly, the book offers many reasons to feel less naïve for mostly believing that humankind can save ourselves and the planet before we kill ourselves and the planet.
Mobilize Food! is an optimistic examination of Second World War rationing and other wartime policies in England and how the lessons from that period could help us counter the climate crisis by changing our food systems, to start. Lest one think that Boyle is a pie-eyed dreamer, she has solid credentials – a bachelor’s in psychology, a master’s in food policy and a doctorate in neuroscience. The Vancouverite also has been a journalist and she taught for many years. She wrote the book High Steaks: Why and How to Eat Less Meat (New Society, 2012).
Despite all of Boyle’s education and experience, she still believes that radical change is possible. This is heartening in and of itself. But it’s the 42-page bibliography that I found more assuring. The recommendations Boyle makes in Mobilize Food! are based on extensive research. And they consider what individuals, governments and businesses are already doing, as well as what they could be doing more of (which is a lot). She is not arguing for a socialist utopia, or a utopia of any sort, though she does imagine more engaged, civic-minded communities than I think currently exist anywhere in the world. That said, she gives an example of a city that apparently has ended hunger – Belo Horizonte, Brazil, “which in 1993 declared access to food as every citizen’s right. It then implemented food price subsidies, supply and market regulation, supports for urban agriculture, education on food preparation and nutrition, and job creation in the food sector.”
How does this relate to Second World War Britain? As did Britain during the 1940s, Belo Horizonte set up state-subsidized restaurants that are open to everyone (to avoid stigmatizing people on lower incomes), it feeds kids in the public education system every day, it partners with private grocery stores so that they can sell cheaper fruits and vegetables, and it supports family farms, among other actions “that help democratize food.”
Boyle provides copious data and examples of how the food industry, as it stands, is contributing to climate change “by contributing at least a quarter of human-caused GHGs [greenhouse gases].” It does this through its use of fossil fuels, the cultivation of monocultures (“vast, unnatural acreages of single-species crops”) and destroying ecosystems by removing or burning vegetation, among other activities. One of the eye-opening stats is: “Some analysts calculate the contribution of livestock to overall anthropogenic GHGs as at least 30% and as high as 51%.”
Boyle argues persuasively that how we produce and consume food can be transformed. The first half of Mobilize Food! runs through all that Britain did to make significant changes, “from national agricultural policy to the family dinner plate. They didn’t wait for dire food shortages or society-wide agreement of exactly how to proceed. Even before war was declared, government set up a high-powered food committee to craft plans for making food systems crisis-ready.” They used multiple strategies and strived for general engagement using PR campaigns and other tools. “The programs were simple but transformational,” writes Boyle, “based on shifts toward domestically produced, plant-rich and minimally processed foods. Together those programs adequately fed the population – and, in many ways, better than prewar, by providing broader and more equitable access to food and enhanced health [reducing diabetes and heart disease, for example].”
The wartime measures also show that people can change how they eat and act, she notes. But leadership is key – Lord Woolton was very charismatic, it seems, and, on the larger scale, Boyle writes, “Only governments have the mandate for the public good, the oversight for national strategy and the legislative levers. Only public officials can do the necessary system-wide planning, coordinate sectors, forge agreements across regions, and make the tough decisions.” Lastly, such massive change relies on everyone participating: “We’ll need to think systems-wide and involve every segment of society, every community, every food-related business and civic organization, and every one of us.”
Boyle admits this all “sounds like fantasy. But, as the story of World War II Britain shows, such a transformation has occurred.” Am I personally convinced we have what it takes to mobilize so drastically? The larger whole is still too much for me to contemplate, but I can eat even less meat and fewer processed foods, buy more from local growers, invest in businesses that improve the environment and/or social outcomes, support politicians who are working toward a healthier and more inclusive society. No doubt, there is much more that I could be doing, but it’s a start.
I’m glad that I read Mobilize Food! Full of images (including awesome wartime PR posters), data and stories from people who lived through the war effort, it is engaging on many levels. It reminded me that what seems impossible may not actually be so. And the importance of hope – combined with action – cannot be overstated.
Hüttenbach in Medan in 1880s. (photo from KITLV Album Or. 27.377)
Jewish communities in Indonesia have always been tiny, though their history is long. Jewish merchants are recorded in Sumatra as early as the 10th century, and diasporic and Israeli newspapers regularly report on the very small groups of Jews now living in Indonesia. (A 2022 article estimated that there were only 50 Indonesian Jews, and perhaps 500 Jewish expatriates.) However, the largest communities with the most substantial record are those in the late colonial cities of Batavia (now Jakarta), Surabaya and Manado.
The digitization of Dutch archives, both from European publications and the colonial newspapers, has facilitated research about the history of Jewish groups in the Indonesian archipelago. In this article, we offer some notes towards a history of some Jewish merchants in Medan between the 1870s and 1940s, as tobacco plantations on Sumatra’s east coast developed.
The Deli region on the east coast of Sumatra was not developed until the mid-1860s, when a few Dutchmen accepted an invitation from the sultan of Deli to establish tobacco plantations in the area. By the late 1890s, it had become one of the most profitable parts of the Dutch empire.
Deli tobacco leaves were “thinner than cigarette paper, and softer than silk,” and quickly the plantation zone’s tobacco became highly valued. The result was a brown “gold rush” of Deli tobacco in the late 1870s, attracting German, Swiss, English and Polish planters, as well as Dutch, to the new “dollar land.” Planters, tolerated and sometimes abetted by colonial authorities, instituted a brutal and often murderous system of exploitation of imported Chinese and Javanese labour.
Before long, merchants established themselves to serve the European population’s taste for European goods and technology. Among these new arrivals were several Jews, including Ashkenazi Jews from the Netherlands, Austria and Germany, as well as others who relocated from existing Baghdadi Jewish communities in Penang and Singapore. There are also scattered accounts of Jews in the Dutch army serving in Sumatra.
Mercantile opportunities
We know very little about how many Jews tried their luck in the eastern coast of Sumatra, but we have not yet found any evidence of a synagogue (as in Surabaya) or a dedicated cemetery (as in Aceh). The most consistent record of the community available today is not from the colony but rather from Amsterdam’s Nieuw Israëlietisch Weekblad (New Jewish Weekly). The first mention we have found in that newspaper was a report of an August 1879 anonymous donation of 60 guilders originating in the Sumatra’s east coast and destined for the Dutch branch of the Alliance Israélite Universelle, an international Jewish educational charity.
Between 1899 and 1901 the NIW published letters from N. Hirsch, a non-commissioned officer initially writing from the fortress of Fort de Kock (now Bukit Tinggi). In his letters, when not speculating that some Indonesians might be descendants of the lost tribes, Hirsch is troubled by the challenges of Jewish life in the Indies, without religious or community institutions. Months after his first letter, Hirsch joyfully reported the arrival of a kosher butcher and, in 1901, having since moved to Padang, on holding the first religious services at his home.
However, the bulk of sources concern a few European Jewish merchants who became prominent in Medan. Among the first Europeans to come to Deli were members of the Hüttenbach family, an established and assimilated merchant family from the German Rhineland city of Worms. The eldest son, August Hüttenbach, began working for the German-Jewish company Katz Brothers in Penang in 1872 at the age of 22. Katz Brothers, which had arrived in Penang in 1864 at the height of the tin rush, invested in all kinds of business, including supplying ships for freight. When the Dutch-Aceh war broke out in 1873, the company provided logistics and supplies to the Dutch military, and the Hüttenbach family’s shipping business ran a regular service to the Aceh ports.
While August became a prominent merchant in the British Straits settlement colony port of Penang (now in Malaysia), his younger brothers Jacob and Ludwig Hüttenbach settled across the Strait of Malacca, in Deli. In 1875, they opened the first European store in the harbour settlement of Labuhan Deli to cater to all the needs and requirements of the Dutch government, plantations and industrial groups.
Gradually, the family firm developed into a general merchandise company supplying all sorts of goods from Europe, and even establishing its headquarters in Amsterdam and another office in London. With their own shipping lines at their disposal, they were for a time the only importer in Deli. When the Hüttenbach enterprise moved its Sumatran operations inland to the developing city of Medan in the 1880s, the street on which they established their business was named Hüttenbach Street (today Jalan Ahmad Yani VII).
Hüttenbach enterprises supplied all manner of goods and services, ranging from live water buffalos and Brazil nuts to Bordeaux wines. It furnished machinery, tools, motors, electrical goods, harnesses, saddles, guns, ammunition, watches and clothing, and served as an agent for brands including Ford, Cadbury, Heineken and Guinness Stout, as well as other European trading, insurance and manufacturing companies. In the 1910s, its annual imports totalled 1,200,000 guilders and it supplied across the whole of Sumatra.
At the turn of the 20th century, Jacob and Ludwig retired to Europe and left Heinrich Hüttenbach (1859-1922), the youngest of the brothers, in charge of the company. Heinrich, who had been a well-known planter in Malaya, moved to Medan to run the company. A small glimpse of the brutality of plantation life is visible in the German primer Heinrich wrote to provide instruction for Europeans learning plantation Malay (Anleitung zur Erlernung der Malayischen Sprache), including instructions such as: Lu orang bôhong. Lu bukan sakit. Lu malas sadja. Saja mau kassi pukul sama lu. (You are a liar. You are not sick. You are just lazy. I will hit you.)
Selling to the sultans
Medan’s growth attracted other Jewish merchants, who also opened stores selling European consumer items such as clothes and luxury goods. Two German Jews, Louis Kellermann of Leipzig and Max Goldenberg of Hamburg, opened the S. Katz & Co. shop in the Kesawan shopping street. The Katz Brothers, a prominent firm of Singapore and London, did not appreciate what appeared to be an appropriation of their name, and put a notice in the local newspaper, the Deli Courant, making clear that no connection existed. We cannot know whether Katz’s implication – that Kellermann and Goldenberg were seeking to capitalize on a familiar trading name for their profit – was correct.
Advertisements from S. Katz, Goldenberg & Zeitlin, and Hüttenbach in the Deli Courant, 1899. Katz Brothers was a well-known company in Singapore and S. Katz was a company in Medan not related to Katz Brothers in Singapore.
Among S. Katz’s employees was Russian-born Alfred Aron Arnold Zeitlin (1863–1938). Partnering with Goldenberg, Zeitlin opened a new store called Goldenberg & Zeitlin in November 1898, on the same main shopping strip, Kesawan Street. Majestic by all accounts, they specialized in the importation on luxury items such as jewelry, music boxes, typewriters, hunting rifles, glassware, curtains, suitcases, cigars and so on.
Other competitors were not far behind. An English-language travel guide to Sumatra in 1912 highlighted one of them: “A visit should also be paid to the establishment of Messrs. Cornfield. The firm are the official suppliers to the various sultans, and make a specialty of superior diamond jewelry of every description, although their stock includes well-selected continental fancy goods, pictures and also the latest modes.”
The Goldenberg & Zeitlin building at Kesawan around 1890. The company later became M. Goldenberg & Co. and was acquired by a German company. It was seized by the Dutch when Germany invaded Holland in 1940. The building has been demolished and turned into shophouses. (photo from Stafhell & Kleingrothe, KITLV 154472)
Wilhelm Cornfield (1862–1908), an Austrian Jew, had come to Deli in the 1880s, first working as a cutter at the S. Katz shop. In 1893, Cornfield started his own business as a tailor, offering European clothing with imported fabrics. Before long, he carried a complete range of clothes and luxury goods from London and Paris.
The first generations of merchants eventually left or passed away and were replaced by their children. When Wilhelm Cornfield passed away in 1908, his children expanded their father’s business. In particular, his son Isidore (1885-1923) became an investor in many luxury stores in North Sumatra, and also owned tea and coconut plantations on the east coast of Sumatra.
Heated competition
Jewish merchants competed to import European consumer goods, their firms merging, dividing and often clashing with one another. In 1915, the Hüttenbachs’ company split into a wholesaler business and the retail business. The retail business was managed by Isidore Cornfield while Heinrich Hüttenbach maintained the import interests. This split, however, caused a legal dispute between Hüttenbach and Cornfield about the management of the new department store. In the end, Cornfield won the case and opened Medan’s Warenhuis(Warehouse) in 1920, the first department store in Sumatra, the remains of which still stand. The Hüttenbach firm, on the other hand, was declared bankrupt in December 1921, after 46 years of business, due to the global financial crisis and mismanagement.
The bankruptcy resulted in Heinrich Hüttenbach’s return to Amsterdam. A few months later, he went missing on a passage from Amsterdam to London, and was declared dead five years later. The Cornfields, too, suffered great misfortune. Isidore and his wife, opera singer Henriette Zerkowitz, returned to Vienna, where he died of heart disease in October 1923 at the age of 38. By 1939, now run by his brother Adolf, the Cornfield fashion store, in financial trouble, was liquidated, closing its doors in July 1939 after more than 50 years of trading. Most likely, as the Depression caused a decline in demand for Sumatra tobacco, consumer luxury goods were no longer a viable business.
Cornfield advertisement in Isles of the East: An Illustrated Guide by W. Lorck, published by Royal Packet Steam Navigation Co. (KPM) in 1912.
Like many other German and Dutch Jews, most of these merchants were assimilated to European society and identified with national groups in the colony. They belonged to Dutch and German clubs and contributed to patriotic celebrations. Indeed, Hirsch complained of the European Jewish merchants that they represented themselves as Christians, were lost in bitter competition with one another, and were utterly lacking in piety. With many secular and/or assimilated Jews, there seems to have been little impetus to form Jewish institutions.
Dutch Jews and war
At the end of the First World War, there was high demand for expatriates to come to the Deli region to manage plantations and serve the colony. Many Dutch Jews responded and went to work for plantations, Dutch companies or the government; there are also a few examples of Jewish doctors. But newspaper archives suggest that numbers remained tiny, and only from the mid-1920s is it possible to speak of community activities.
One tantalizing biography from the 1920s is that of writer, painter and planter László Székely, born to a Jewish family in what is now eastern Hungary, with a birth name given as László or Smiel Ziechrman. Arriving in Sumatra in 1914, his life and work is rather overshadowed by an affair with a Dutch planter’s wife, Madelon Lulofs, that scandalized Deli colonial society. After divorce and remarriage to Székely, Lulofs, in works such as Rubber (1931), became one of the principal literary voices critical of Dutch colonial power. Székely also wrote literary sketches of his own, mostly for the Hungarian press. His novel, translated into English as Tropic Fever: The Adventures of a Planter in Sumatra (1937), provides a candid picture of colonial planters’ life in Sumatra, now considered an important social commentary on that vanished society. The couple settled in Budapest in 1930.
When Germany invaded the Netherlands in May 1940, the Jewish community raised funds to support relief efforts, but, by March 1942, Sumatra, too, had fallen to the Japanese. Some Jewish families found themselves under threat at both ends of the world: persecuted in Europe on the basis of their Jewish identity, and in the Indies as Dutch enemies of the Axis Japanese. Adolf Cornfield died in a Japanese internment camp. A Dutch Jewish physician who worked on the east coast of Sumatra, Dr. Hans Koperberg, was also captured and imprisoned by the Japanese. In a book of poetry titled Bittere pillen en scherpe pijlen (Bitter Pills and Sharp Arrows), he wrote about his experiences of being moved from one camp to another, dedicating his book “to my two sisters murdered by the Huns, Uncle Dr. Felix Catz and Aunt Brama and to all the friends murdered by the Japs.”
Our investigations have so far found little record of Jews in Sumatra after the Second World War. Survivors left for the Netherlands or perhaps Australia and, by 1958, Sukarno had expelled all Dutch citizens from Indonesia.
Budiman Minasnyis a professor of soil landscape modeling at the University of Sydney with an interest in Indonesia colonial history. Josh Stenberg is a senior lecturer in Chinese studies at the University of Sydney. An earlier version of this article was published in Inside Indonesia 146: Oct-Dec 2021.
Attendees at UBC Hillel House’s Rosh Hashanah dinner to start the 2022/23 school year. (photo from Hillel BC)
Hillel BC celebrates its 75th year with a celebration March 30 at the University of British Columbia Hillel House.
Hillel BC was founded in 1947, under the name B’nai B’rith Hillel Foundation, in the same spot on UBC’s campus where it still operates from today. This came from an understanding that Jewish students were being excluded from the main student clubs on campus and they needed a place to socialize and be Jewish.
The original space was an old, wooden one-room house that was at the outskirts of campus. Little did they know then that this location would become the heart of the campus as the university expanded.
Established in 1947 on UBC campus (left), Hillel BC’s current building – on the same site as the old one – opened in 2010. (photo from Jewish Museum and Archives of BC L.00070)
In 2002, B’nai B’rith Hillel Foundation became Vancouver Hillel Foundation, the first Hillel International-affiliated program in Canada, which was followed by establishing space at both Simon Fraser University and University of Victoria. Eight years later, the current building was opened, solidifying Hillel’s space on the UBC campus and beyond. Today, Hillel BC continues to serve at UBC, UVic, SFU, Langara College, Emily Carr University of Art + Design and other post-secondary institutions as needed.
The current Hillel BC building on UBC campus. (photo by ThosGee via panoramio.com)
In addition to celebrating 75 years on campus, Hillel @ 75 on March 30, 7:30 p.m., will provide an opportunity to thank recent executive directors Rabbi Philip Bregman and Sam Heller. The Jewish Student Association, Israel on Campus Club and AEPi (Jewish fraternity) will offer the community an overview of their activities in dedicated tables, and a short presentation will be given by the board and current staff. Special guests include Deborah Buszard (UBC interim president), Joy Johnson (SFU president), Skip Vichness (Hillel International board chair) and Vancouver Mayor Ken Sim.
“We are very excited to have the community back in our building for this celebration of our 75th anniversary,” said Rob Philipp, executive director of Hillel BC. “Due to COVID, we missed a lot of important events worth noting, specifically the 10th anniversary of our UBC building, and the retirement of Rabbi Philip Bregman and Sam Heller. We want to take the opportunity to celebrate our successes and recognize some of the key people who helped lead us through some difficult times. The evening reception will be at our UBC building, attended by special guests, and it will host the first viewing of our promotional video.”
For more about Hillel BC and to purchase a ticket for the event ($75), visit hillelbc.com. A portion of the ticket price is tax-deductible.
Excavation Theatre presents What a Young Wife Ought to Know by Jewish-Canadian playwright Hannah Moscovitch, at Performance Works on Granville Island March 24-April 1.
It’s Ottawa in the 1920s, pre-legalized birth control. Sophie (Bronwyn Henderson), a young working-class girl, falls madly in love with and marries a stable-hand named Jonny (Michael Briganti). After two difficult childbirths, doctors tell Sophie she shouldn’t have any more children, but don’t tell her how to prevent it. When Sophie inevitably becomes pregnant again, she faces a grim dilemma. Inspired by real stories of mothers during the Canadian birth-control movement of the early 20th century, playwright Moscovitch vividly recreates a couple’s struggles with reproduction.
The Excavation Theatre production will be playing in the final weeks of Women’s History Month, exactly 100 years after Canada’s first birth-control advocacy group was formed in Vancouver, and fresh off the landmark announcement that birth control prescriptions will be free in British Columbia starting April 1. For tickets, visit excavationtheatre.com.
Lindsey Tyne Johnson (photo from Lindsey Tyne Johnson)
Returning from a Birthright trip to Israel in 2019, artist Lindsey Tyne Johnson was inspired. Learning the aleph-bet, she made a laser-engraved spirit board in Hebrew, but accidentally arranged the letters left to right, as they would be in English, and not right to left, as Hebrew is read. The mistake spurred her not only to create the exhibit Hebrew Spelled Backwards, which is on display at the Kamloops Art Gallery until April 1, but to explore her cultural heritage, from which she had been estranged, and learn more about Judaism.
The other, more sombre, inspiration for the Hebrew spirit board and the exhibit was, Johnson writes in a blog post, a “desire to feel closer to my brother after the events that left him homeless and his eventual passing.”
“Born with the name Liam, my brother changed his name to his chosen Hebrew name, Noah as an adult,” she writes on her website (lindseytynejohnson.com). “My mother had mentioned our Jewish ancestry to us as children, but my brother was the only person to explore it…. I can still remember it as what my mother called ‘one of his many phases’ in his late teenage years. She chalked it up to a phase, but it’s the string I use to tie memories of my brother together.”
“My brother was the first person I witnessed who explored their Jewish heritage,” Johnson told the Independent. “When he moved to Vancouver in his early 20s, he legally changed his name to his Hebrew name, Noah. He struggled a lot with his mental health, and there were times when I felt like I was losing the brother I grew up with. It was an attempt to feel closer to him that I went on Birthright and had a bat mitzvah. I wanted to remember the part of him that was happy, passionate and excited about life.
“My brother lost his life to fentanyl in 2021. It was devastating and broke my family apart,” said Johnson, who has two other siblings. “Many struggle to understand substance abuse/mental illness’s connection to generational or cyclical trauma. It’s unfair to look down upon those who might suffer from those things. I try my best to advocate for the destigmatization of mental illness where I can, though I’ve had to be careful not to let others’ ideas also negatively affect my mental health.”
While not a large exhibit, Hebrew Spelled Backwards is powerful, thought-provoking in a serious way, but also using humour. For the exhibit’s images, Johnson explains on her website, “The sandy colour palette was chosen as a tribute to the desert, a significant location in Jewish history and culture. I use digital media to blend traditional Jewish motifs with modern techniques, creating a dynamic visual experience.”
Johnson said, “Like many artists, my process is sporadic and requires a particular head space to create something I’m happy with. I often have ideas for pieces while doing mundane daily activities; if I don’t write them down, they’re lost forever. I practise a lot of sequential art, which is usually silly comics about everyday life, but they’re generally never seen by other humans. My style reflects the graphic novels I like to consume. I can’t help but be inspired by artists like Craig Thompson and Marjane Satrapi, both visually and thematically. My dream is to produce a graphic novel one day.”
The Hebrew Spelled Backwards exhibit comprises not only Johnson’s artwork, but her voice. Each picture has a QR code and viewers can hear Johnson give explanations of the Hebrew words and some context for the images, making the exhibit more accessible and inclusive. The illustrations variously include Jewish symbols and/or Hebrew text, supernatural elements, pop art iconography (a Warholesque can of Birthright’s Instant Bat-Mitzvah, for example) and current topics of concern, like rapper Ye’s antisemitic comments, poignantly drawn as a short series of cellphone text messages from a mom to her child that ends with the child asking, “mum, why is ye mad at us?” This is one of the works that, as the exhibit description reads, “examines the complexities of identifying as Jewish and the fear and uncertainty that often come with it.”
“I have a couple of fears about identifying myself as Jewish,” Johnson told the Independent. “Initially, when diving into Jewish culture and Judaism as a religion, I was afraid people might not think I was ‘Jewish enough,’ since only one of my parents has Jewish ancestry. My siblings and I were raised without Jewish traditions or education…. Having a bat mitzvah really helped with that fear, though. I’m also grateful that I’ve never really encountered anyone from the Jewish communities I’ve belonged to that has made me feel that way.
“RaeF” by Lindsey Tyne Johnson
“The other part of that fear was that people would think differently of me or assume certain tropes or ideologies about me if I publicly identified myself as Jewish. This is an unfortunate reality I’ve experienced, even if subtly. Most commonly, people think I’m OK with antisemitic jokes or jokes that involve the Holocaust. It’s an exhausting thing to experience.”
Putting together the exhibit has allowed Johnson not only to explore her fears, but also her own biases.
“Creating these pieces required me to reflect on the experiences of people like Batsheva Dueck (aka Cynical Duchess, a modest fashion content creator) or more conservative Jews, who experience more assumptions made about them based on their dress or religious beliefs,” she said. “Since working on this exhibition, I’ve been more sensitive to times when I’ve excused antisemitic values expressed by my peers or acquaintances. When I lived in Brooklyn, I lived with someone who spoke quite negatively about Hasidic communities. This has been an excellent opportunity to witness my biases and encourage others to reflect on their biases or assumptions, too.
“It’s also allowed me to tie other pieces of my identity together,” she continued. “I’ve been able to connect my Irish ancestry with my Jewish ancestry, for example. It has given me a sense of wholeness or completeness and I’ve accepted that I can be many things all at the same time and I’ve accepted that that’s OK. We all contain multitudes.”
Johnson went to Ireland this past summer to visit where her Ashkenazi family moved to in the 19th century, and “to visit the Irish Jewish Museum and Waterford treasures.”
“I was probably in the fourth grade when my mother talked to my siblings and me about it,” said Johnson of first learning about her Jewish heritage. “It was after I had come home and talked about how we were learning about World War II at school. It was surreal to hear my mother, an immigrant from England, talk about a side of our ancestry that had never really been discussed before. I didn’t understand what it meant at the time.”
Johnson herself has lived many places. She was born in Edmonton in 1993, but her family moved to Saskatchewan and then Prince George, B.C., shortly after.
“I spent most of my youth in Prince George but moved to Dawson City, Yukon, as soon as I could save up enough money to attend the Yukon School of Visual Arts,” she said. “Yukon SOVA is a one-year foundational arts program. Still, I decided to stay in the Yukon upon completion and remained in the territory for about five years before I moved to Brooklyn in 2018. I was in Brooklyn for only half a year before moving to Kamloops to be closer to my family, but it made a lasting impression. Going from a territory of 35,000 people to my neighbourhood in Williamsburg with four times that amount was dizzying.”
Johnson said she loves the Kamloops Jewish community. “I joined shortly after moving to Kamloops from Brooklyn and felt incredibly welcomed,” she said. “The [Okanagan Jewish Community Centre] president, Heidi Coleman, is a huge inspiration and comfort to me. It’s pretty relaxed in terms of how often we have gatherings. We don’t have a synagogue or a place to meet, so we usually celebrate holidays at someone’s house. The ‘younger’ (20 to 30 years old) of us have a close bond, and I often have a group of us over for various holidays, too.”
Johnson is currently in her third year at Thompson Rivers University, where she is doing a bachelor’s in criminology. “I’m most interested in victimology,” she said. “I think Canada and most of the world fail victims of crime to an astronomical degree. It’s wild to think about how much attention we give criminals without considering how we could better support the survivor or victims of their crimes.”
Artistically, she is planning a piece that more specifically honours her brother Noah. “I want to educate the general public about how the consequences of generational or cyclical trauma can lead to mental health struggles like substance abuse,” she said. “I would like to highlight that it’s not specifically someone’s ‘fault’ for struggling the way they do.”
The exhibit Shedding Some Light on the Jewish Community in Vernon is at the Museum and Archives of Vernon until the beginning of April. (photo from Alexandra Fox)
If you are passing through the Okanagan between now and the beginning of April, check out the exhibit on Vernon’s Jewish community, which recently went up at the Museum and Archives of Vernon. Last month, I sat down with collections and exhibits intern Alexandra Fox to chat about it.
Between sips of hot chocolate at a local café, we bonded over the fact that we are two queer Jews from the Lower Mainland, who grew up spending winters up on SilverStar Mountain Resort with family, and both find ourselves currently in Vernon. We also share a love of local Jewish community history.
Carmel Tanaka: What inspired you to curate an exhibit about Vernon’s Jewish community?
Alexandra Fox: When I came here, I found that there weren’t a lot of openly Jewish people and most of the non-Jewish community was not aware of the Jewish community. I wanted to shed some light on a community that has often gone under the radar and that’s why I titled the exhibit Shedding Some Light on the Jewish Community in Vernon. It was partly a pun on certain traditions of lighting candles, too.
Basically, I wanted the exhibit topic to be something that meant a lot to me. I come from a multifaith family, with my dad being Jewish and my mom being Protestant. Growing up, Jewish identity had been a confusing thing for me as, technically, I am not Jewish, due to it being matrilineal but it was always the religion I connected with the most. Maybe this is in part due to always being told that I look Jewish. However, you cannot always tell if someone is Jewish, as there is so much diversity in the community. I wanted to curate this exhibit so that I could honour my identity a bit more.
CT: What have been some of the reactions to the exhibit?
AF: The reactions to the exhibit have all been positive so far and I believe it will stay that way. I’ve had a few questions about certain Jewish traditions that are represented by the items in the exhibit but they have all been very respectful. Some of my co-workers have also congratulated me on making an excellent exhibit.
CT: During the research and curation of the exhibit, did anything surprise you? Did you face any challenges?
AF: I was surprised by how small the Jewish community was when it started in the 1970s – it numbered only 20 people – and how small it really still is. The 2021 Census … in the case of Vernon, it shows that most Jewish people identify as Jewish but are not practising. This trend doesn’t surprise me because I think a lot of Jewish people in other communities are the same, but the numbers of Jews (both ethnically and religiously) are so small.
Some of the challenges that I faced while creating the exhibit were during the call-out phase and during the editing phase. Since our museum didn’t have any Jewish objects in the collection, I had to do a call-out to the community…. I felt limited to reaching out to practising Jews rather than those who identify as ethnically Jewish because I didn’t have a lens into the community and was only able to reach out to the Okanagan Jewish Community Centre and Chabad House. Only the Okanagan Jewish Community Centre agreed to loan some objects to the museum for the exhibit.
CT: What resources did you use in compiling the exhibit?
Alexandra Fox, curator of the exhibit Shedding Some Light on the Jewish Community in Vernon. (photo from Alexandra Fox)
AF: The resources I used to compile the exhibit were from Census data analyses, the Okanagan Jewish Community Centre website, the Chabad website, some existing pictures in Vernon’s museum archives, as well as Ronnie Tessler’s research from the Jewish Museum and Archives of B.C., which focused more on Kelowna than on Vernon.
CT: Community archival projects are limited to the availability of resources. If you were able to continue researching Vernon’s Jewish community, what stories would you like to dive further into?
AF: Only after finishing the exhibit did I find out that one of the people who developed SilverStar was Jewish, so if I were to continue researching Vernon’s Jewish community, I would totally dive further into finding out about that family. I would like to know if the SilverStar community even knew about Dr. [Michael] Lattey being Jewish.
Also, if I were able to continue researching Vernon’s Jewish community and developing the exhibit, I would extend the call-out to more community members so that I could expand the range of people represented by the exhibit, such as Vernon’s very own, the Saucy Soprano Melina Schein, who won Food Network’s Wall of Bakers and who I only found out about after the exhibit.
As an intern at the museum, I seemed to be quite limited in who I could extend the call-out to and I wish I had met with you, Carmel, before the coffee meetup because then I could reach more community members, especially those not affiliated with community organizations or synagogues.
I would also like to dive deeper into the 2021 potential sale of Nazi memorabilia by Dodd’s Auction, a local and much beloved auction house. The memory of the Holocaust is very present in Vernon’s Jewish community so when these items were included in the auction, the community – Jewish and non-Jewish – successfully demanded that it be halted, and the items were returned to the consigner. It’s important to me to ensure that these stories and this part of local history are heard.
CT: Your exhibit, the first of its kind in Vernon to my knowledge, is a wonderful “Jewifying” of museum space. Why is it important for the Jewish community to share our stories in rural towns like Vernon?
AF: “Jewifying” the museum space, as with creating space for any other groups that have been historically left out of museum space, is a very important thing. I think it is especially important in museums located in rural towns because these are the places that are most likely to have fewer interactions with any minority groups…. In many rural towns, the Jewish people (or any other minority group) feel like they have to hide that part of themselves and I think it is very important to show them, and the rest of the community, that you don’t have to hide your identity.
CT: Is there anything else that you’d like to add?
AF: I’d like to add that this is the first exhibit I have curated and, although limited by time and other factors, I poured my heart into this exhibit, which had a personal connection to me. When embarking on this exhibit, as mentioned earlier, I wanted to do something that was personal to me. It was either something about Jewishness or queerness and I decided to choose the former. My sister is in Israel right now, volunteering on a kibbutz, and I felt that curating this exhibit would be my way of honouring my identity.
Carmel Tanakais the founder and executive director of JQT Vancouver, and curator of the B.C. Jewish Queer and Trans Oral History Project (jqtvancouver.ca/jqt-oral-history-bc) and the Jewpanese Oral History Project (@JewpaneseProject on Instagram). She has family ties to Vernon, and it was a Japanese-Canadian friend who tipped her about Fox’s exhibit.
This article was originally presented as a d’var Torah called “Healing our relationship, as Jewish Canadians, with Ukraine and Ukrainians.” It was delivered at Or Shalom Synagogue on Shabbat, 14th of Tevet, 5783; Jan. 7, 2023. It is intended as a beginning of a conversation about how we, as Canadian Jews, can heal our relationship with Ukrainians and Ukraine.
When many of us Canadian Jews think about Jewish experience on Ukrainian territory, we think of antisemitic violence. We think of pogroms, of rape, of plunder. And, ultimately, of either escape or death. For those of us with personal ancestral history in the territory of Ukraine, this pairing of the land with violence is particularly acute. One Or Shalom member told me, with raw emotion, about his father’s experiences at the hands of brutal Ukrainian guards in various Nazi concentration camps. My Uncle Leo referred to Easter as pogrom season in the town of Yavorov, the town presently in western Ukraine, called Yavariv in Ukrainian, where he lived until the age of 11. He spoke to me of his childhood as a past from which he had, thankfully, escaped.
It is not uncommon for individuals to seek escape from a painful childhood past. However, we are learning from contemporary trauma theory that, as much as we may want to leave the past behind us, it lives on within us. Ukraine lives on in the deep psychic life of many of us and in the psychic life of the Canadian Jewish community with its extensive roots on Ukrainian territory.
As we are all aware, the Ukrainian people are heroically resisting a brutal assault by Russian forces. As well as eliciting fear, horror and outrage, this situation presents us with an invitation to move beyond our feelings of separation from our history on Ukrainian soil and from the Ukrainian people. The war provides us with the opportunity to claim our own legacy and place in the new, complex, multiethnic, multiracial, democratic Ukraine, with all its triumphs, challenges and contradictions. This is an opportunity for healing.
I want to share some of what I have learned that has helped me on this healing path.
If we look at the historic record of Jewish life on Ukrainian territory, we see that Jewish-Ukrainian coexistence was deep, complex and multi-dimensional. Demographically, Ukrainian territory was one of the main centres of Jewish life for more than 400 years. On the eve of the Holocaust, there were more than two-and-a-half million Jews in that area.
There were periods of horrific violence and crippling antisemitism against Jews on Ukrainian territory, as well as periods of ongoing systematic prejudice. These realities must not be overlooked or minimized. But we also see many examples of interconnection between Ukrainian Jews and ethnic Ukrainians. We see many examples of shared music with similar melodies and even bilingual songs; of similar folk stories; and of similar folk remedies and folk healing practices, with Jewish Ukrainian and ethnic Ukrainian folk healers sharing their remedies with each other and tending to both populations.
And there is considerable similarity in those quintessential Jewish activities – food preparation and consumption. This past summer, I made pickles with my Ukrainian-Canadian friend Beverly Dobrinsky, using an old family recipe of hers. The next day, I discovered the exact same recipe, grain of salt per grain of salt, in my own disordered family recipe collection.
Looking at literary translation, one of my passions, we find many examples of the translation of works between Yiddish and Ukrainian and between Ukrainian and Yiddish. In the late 1920s, Ukrainian writer Yuriy Budiak wrote two bird-themed children’s books that have been described as delightful and playful. Shortly thereafter, the books were published in Yiddish translation and enjoyed by Yiddish-speaking Jewish children. These books were recently published by Naydus Press in the United States in a trilingual edition – Ukrainian, Yiddish and English – to raise funds for the Ukrainian war effort.
During the 1930s, both Yiddish and Ukrainian writers experienced repression by the Stalinist Soviet government and experienced difficulty publishing their own writing. In response, they began translating one another’s work and the work of Soviet-sanctioned writers from one another’s cultures. The esteemed Yiddish poet Dovid Hofshteyn translated the work of Taras Shevchenko, known as “the national bard of Ukraine.” The Yiddish writer Leib Kvitko taught Yiddish to the Ukrainian writer Pavlo Tychyna, who went on to translate a number of Yiddish writers into Ukrainian.
As Prof. David Fishman from the Jewish Theological Centre in New York points out, all these similarities and interconnections‚“only happen with close contact.”
Moving into the present, by focusing solely or predominantly on past violence and persecution, we fail to take into account the cataclysmic changes Ukraine has undergone, notably since the breakup of the Soviet Union and the country’s emergence in 1991 as an independent nation with a sizable contemporary Jewish population. David Klion estimated, in Jewish Currents, that the Jewish population of Ukraine at the time of the Russian invasion in February of 2022 was more than 100,000 people.
Since independence, Ukrainians have been redefining what it means to be Ukrainian, moving from an ethnic category of belonging based on ethnic and religious identity to a civic category based on citizenship. This is an important issue for all Ukrainians, but particularly for the many individuals, including Jews, who are not ethnically Ukrainian.
Last April, I had the enormous privilege of hearing a Zoom talk organized by the Vancouver Holocaust Education Centre and given by Dr. Magda Havryshko, a Ukrainian academic. Havryshko spoke of two different national narratives in Ukraine, an ethnocentric narrative focusing on the country as the homeland of the Ukrainian people, and a multiethnic narrative “that priorizes examining Ukraine’s difficult history in relation to Jews.” Havryshko shared information about several inspiring initiatives undertaken in Ukraine in relation to its Jewish population. I will outline three of these initiatives here: during the celebration of Ukrainian independence in 2021, Holocaust history and memory was central; the history of the Holocaust on Ukrainian territory is now taught in all schools beginning at the elementary level; and, lastly, President Volodymir Zelensky and his government have set out a definition of antisemitism, introducing legal punishments for antisemitic acts.
Prof. Amelia Glaser, who studies and teaches comparative literature and translation, has spoken about a desire among contemporary Ukrainian writers to “look very closely at past moments of history and of ethnic violence as Ukrainian tragedies‚” rather than solely as Jewish tragedies. The book-length poem “Babyn Yar in Voices‚” by Marianna Kiyanovska, a non-Jewish Ukrainian, about the 1941 slaughter of Jews in a ravine outside Kyiv, was recently published in English translation by Oksana Maksymshuk. Further, several works by Ukrainian Yiddish writers have been recently translated into Ukrainian, including the fabulous avant-garde Yiddish poetry of Debora Vogel and Sholem Aleichem’s Tevye, which many of you know as Fiddler on the Roof. By the way, Sholem Aleichem lived most of his adult life in Kyiv, a city that he loved.
Without in any way discounting the violence and antisemitism against Jews on Ukrainian territory, I hope I have provided a little forshpayz, an appetizer, about areas of cooperation and interconnection between Ukrainian Jews and ethnic Ukrainians. I have focused on translation and literature, two of my passions, but I encourage you to look for examples of interconnection in the areas of your own interest.
When I think about healing my relationship with Ukraine, it helps me to think about the complexity of my own identity and experience. I am the granddaughter of Jewish immigrants who fled poverty and persecution in different parts of the former Russian Empire, including Ukrainian territory, at the beginning of the 20th century. My maternal grandparents settled in Montreal; my paternal grandparents, in New York. It is telling that I do not know the specific history of the Indigenous nations in the areas in which my grandparents settled but I think I can assume that the lands had been forcibly taken from the Indigenous inhabitants. Two generations later, I continue to live on unceded (that is – stolen) territory, that of the Squamish (Sḵwx̱wú7mesh), Tsleil-Waututh (səlilwətaɬ), Musqueam (xʷməθkʷəy̓əm) and Kwikwetlem (kʷikʷəƛ̓əm) First Nations.
Canadian society is involved in a collective process of teshuvah, of redefining the relationship between us settlers and the Indigenous peoples on this land. Like all settlers, as Canadian Jews, we are challenged to take responsibility for our active involvement or silent complicity in the ongoing Canadian genocidal project against our country’s Indigenous inhabitants. Can we see our commonality with Ukrainians as we both address our brutal oppression of “the other”? Are we, as Canadian Jews, willing to embrace the complexity of our lived experience, to look both at our privilege, especially when it is experienced at the expense of others, as well as at our own painful experience of victimization? Can we hold both at once with integrity?
I finish by sharing the wisdom spoken by an Indigenous man, whose name I unfortunately did not get, at Grandview Park at this past year’s Orange Shirt Day. “When you take a step to heal, you also heal the ancestors. You heal the ones behind and the ones ahead.”
I welcome ongoing dialogue on the issues raised in this talk. Thank you for your kind and open attention.
Helen Mintz’s translation of Vilna My Vilna: Stories by Abraham Karpinowitz (Syracuse University Press, 2016) garnered three literary awards, and her translation of Janusz Korczak: Teacher and Child Advocate by Zalmen Wassertzug is under consideration by the University of Poznan Press. Mintz’s translations have appeared in In Geveb, Jewishfiction.net and Pakn Treger, and her writings about translation in Words without Borders and BC Studies. Her website is helenmintz.net.
Among the documents in the Houdiniana Collection at the New York Public Library for the Performing Arts is a thank you letter from Harry Houdini’s brother to Dr. Daniel E. Cohn, who was Houdini’s doctor at the time of the escape artist’s death in Detroit on Oct. 31, 1926. (image from New York Public Library for the Performing Arts, Houdiniana Collection)
Did you know there’s a Harry Houdini connection to Vancouver’s Jewish community? My late husband was Theodore (Ted) Cohn, emeritus professor of political science at Simon Fraser University. Ted’s father, Dr. Daniel E. Cohn, was Houdini’s doctor at the time of the escape artist’s death in Detroit on Oct. 31, 1926 (Halloween).
After Ted’s mother, Ethel Schatz, died in 2012, we acquired papers related to Cohn’s care for Houdini. Cohn was just 25 years old, starting his medical practice. He was the substitute doctor for the Statler Hotel at the time of Houdini’s Detroit tour.
Prior to his Detroit performance, on Oct. 22, Houdini had been punched unexpectedly in Montreal by a McGill student, J. Gordon Whitehead. Whitehead was testing Houdini’s ability to withstand abdominal blows. Without advance notice, however, Houdini was unable to prepare his muscles, and his appendix was ruptured. Nevertheless, he and his wife Bess traveled to Detroit, where he performed at the Garrick Theatre on Oct. 24. He collapsed after the show.
Houdini reluctantly went to Grace Hospital after being examined by Dr. Cohn. His surgeon, Dr. Charles S. Kennedy, operated and discovered the now-gangrenous appendix. With no cure in sight, Houdini remained hospitalized. Specialists were consulted, to no avail.
Among the documents in the Houdiniana Collection are Dr. Daniel E. Cohn’s notes on his examination of Harry Houdini (page 1 shown here). (image from New York Public Library for the Performing Arts, Houdiniana Collection)
Cohn was able to spend time at Houdini’s bedside, getting to know him and even bringing him “Farmer’s Chop Suey,” a sour cream-raw vegetable dish Houdini requested. The two ate this Jewish specialty together.
A thank you letter to Cohn from Houdini’s brother, Theodore Hardeen, and other original documents are now in the Houdiniana Collection at the New York Public Library for the Performing Arts. These include Dr. Cohn’s notes related to Houdini’s medical care and death, and insurance and legal letters related to Cohn’s payment. I wanted these valuable items to have a better home than our personal archival-quality folders, and approached the specialty library, where these papers will be available to researchers.
One of the legal documents related to Harry Houdini and Dr. Daniel E. Cohn. (image from New York Public Library for the Performing Arts, Houdiniana Collection)
Houdini’s father, Rabbi Mayer Samuel Weiss, moved to Appleton, Wisc., in 1878, to be the first rabbi at Zion Congregation. Houdini, known then as Erich Weiss, was 4 years old. Houdini is buried in Machpelah Cemetery, Queens, N.Y.
Among other things, Hanukkah is about bringing light into the darkness. There is plenty of darkness in the world and a vast range of concerns calling for radiance.
Mainstream media seem to have taken the cue that Hanukkah is the moment to discuss the alarming and rising phenomenon of antisemitism. Time magazine declares: “Amid antisemitism, Hanukkah celebrations carry new weight.” USA Today explained a new tradition: “On Hanukkah, the ninth candle reflects how anyone can fight antisemitism by sharing truth.” Here in Canada, both Prime Minister Justin Trudeau and Opposition Leader Pierre Poilievre highlighted antisemitism in their annual Hanukkah messages. Expect to see similar expressions of concern in a few days, as the end-of-2022 reflections on the good and bad of the year just passed and hopes for the fresh new year fill pages and airtime during the slow news days of the winter holidays.
We are not complaining. This issue needs thorough and ongoing coverage. It just seems, somehow, that writing and talking about what is often called the world’s oldest bigotry lacks new insights. Many agree that this is a problem. Few, though, have solutions beyond platitudes.
Finding innovative ways to think and talk about “the world’s oldest” anything is, by definition, a challenge. Some of the greatest scholars in the world have studied the problem, vast networks of activist organizations and Jewish communal agencies devote themselves to defeating it, and still it grows. If we had the definitive explanation or the silver bullet to solve it, you would not be reading it here – we would be sharing our wisdom from the dais of the Nobel Prize ceremony and as the lead story on the world’s media. Undaunted, a few thoughts:
The very phrase “antisemitism” may be problematic. The term was invented in the late 1800s by a proud antisemite to describe his orientation. But while there is a great deal of conscious and visible antisemitism in the world today that rightly raises alarms, there has always been an equally, perhaps more, worrying phenomenon in the form of unconscious bias about Jews that permeates many societies and individuals. This is more insidious and, therefore, more difficult to challenge.
It is worth noting that antisemitism is often most prevalent where no or few Jews exist, making it easier to project onto a largely imaginary enemy the fears and hatreds carried by the individual or the society. Similarly, we see a projection of Jewishness onto any unpopular phenomenon, an example being the “Great Replacement” theory, a paranoid fantasy in which whatever the perpetrator despises (in this case immigration) is cast as a problem with Jewish roots.
Both of these phenomena touch on what we suspect is the nut of antisemitism: it is a problem that affects Jews but it is not a problem of Jews. That is, if Jews did not exist, the antisemites would have to invent them – which is, in essence, precisely what they have done with the caricatured “Jew” that is demonized by antisemites.
This understanding, of course, does nothing to resolve the problem. And, again, a problem known as “the world’s oldest hatred” is not going to be solved in one generation with one easy antidote. It is encouraging, though, to see the range of responses to the problem, from more in-depth coverage in mainstream media to the statements of top leaders in Canada, as well as in the United States, where a major presidential effort against antisemitism is being led by Doug Emhoff, the second gentleman of the United States, who recently led a roundtable of leading thinkers, and in a host of other undertakings worldwide.
As is said in a different context, the first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem. As a society, we have a consensus that antisemitism is a growing problem. As we approach 2023, we hope those thoughts will turn to even more action in confronting this confounding blight.
