homophobia

Reason to worry a lot

With 13 parties in the Knesset – and several of those umbrellas encompassing a variety of factions – patching together a coalition will be a challenge. It may not be possible at all, meaning Israelis would see their fifth election within a little more than two years.

Whatever pileup of strange bedfellows eventually manages to form a government, one particular possibility should be especially disconcerting.

To enhance their chances of passing the electoral threshold, three far-right parties united under the banner of Religious Zionism and succeeded in taking six Knesset seats. The Religious Zionist party, led by Bezalel Smotrich, seeks to annex all (or part, depending on which faction you listen to) of the West Bank and adheres to a familiar litany of Israeli far-right policies.

For this round of elections, they partnered with another small faction, called Noam, whose platform ostensibly seeks to create a halachic theocracy. In practical terms, the party is obsessed with homosexuality and seeks to delegitimize LGBTQ+ Israelis and roll back legal protections and equality. In addition to attacking gay people, the party has equated Reform Jews with Nazis and Palestinian terrorists who “want to destroy us.”

The third rail in this extremist triumvirate is Otzma Yehudit (Jewish Power), which is a descendant of the outlawed racist party Kach, led by the American-born fanatic Rabbi Meir Kahane, who was assassinated in 1990.

When Kahane was in the Knesset, before a law was passed to bar overt racists from elected office, all other members of the assembly would walk out when he rose to rant against Arabs. In an eerie echo of the Nuremburg Laws, Kahane sought to legally prohibit sexual relations between Jews and non-Jews, among other far-reaching extreme positions.

An indication of the shifts in Israel’s body politic over the decades is evidenced by the fact that the incumbent prime minister, Binyamin Netanyahu, worked behind the scenes to get these small extremist factions to cooperate in order to reach the electoral threshold. While previous prime ministers – and every other member of the Knesset at the time – refused to listen to the hateful rhetoric of Kahane, this prime minister helped ensure his ideological successors would be represented in the Knesset.

It is bad enough that these ideas will be given a legitimacy they do not deserve by mere dint of their advocates being members of the Knesset. As a small rump of crazed zealots, they should be ignored and shunned. Instead, they will play a central role in the determination of who (if anyone) forms the next government.

It is worth recalling an incident in Austria, in 2000, when the xenophobic, racist and arguably neo-fascist Freedom Party, led by Jörg Haider, entered into a governing coalition in that country. The government of Austria to which Haider belonged was sanctioned and condemned by governments worldwide and other member-states of the European Union ceased cooperation with Austria’s government.

While the Abraham Accords have reduced Israel’s diplomatic isolation dramatically, the country still faces unjust judgment in the court of global opinion. If a new governing coalition includes a segment of enthusiastic homophobes, misogynists, racists and ethno-religious supremacists, a universe of denunciation would rain down on the country. And rightly so.

In what may be an irony of historical proportions, that ugly scenario could be prevented by another stunning development on the other end of the political (and ethno-cultural) spectrum.

A new Arab party, called Ra’am, has bolted from the conventions of the Arab political sector and adopted a pragmatic approach. Rather than the purely oppositional stands taken by the other Arab parties for decades, Ra’am seems prepared to play the game that small Jewish parties have excelled at. In a fractured political culture, the tail often wags the dog. Ra’am, led by Mansour Abbas, seems to understand the opportunity this presents. Strangely, this Arab religious party could find common cause with Jewish religious parties on issues like funding for parochial education and other community needs (as well as its apparently virulent hatred of homosexuality).

As the horse trading begins in earnest this week to patch together a quilt of some ideological consistency in the Knesset, Ra’am is sitting in one of the most enviable positions of potential power, possibly able to extract all sorts of treasures out of a leader desperate for their crucial four votes. The only thing they have explicitly ruled out is any situation that would enable groups like Religious Zionism, Otzma Yehudit and Noam.

How ironic it would be if Israel were saved from its own worst angels by an Arab political party that learned its capacity for power from watching the fringe elements on the other side of the Knesset.

Removing graffiti full-time

Corey Fleischer volunteers most of his time to removing hateful graffiti. (photo from Corey Fleischer)

When Montrealer Corey Fleischer finished university, he was unsure of what career path to take. In the interim, to pay the rent, so to speak, he started Provincial Power Washing.

Reflecting back on those days, Fleischer said, “I hated what I was doing – washing a lot of trucks, houses, decks, residential and commercial – zero substance. I’m a person who thrives off substance.”

One day, while heading to a job, Fleischer happened to spot antisemitic graffiti out of the corner of his eye.

“I was driving downtown here, in Montreal, and I saw a swastika on a cinderblock in a very busy part of town,” he said. “I had the equipment needed to remove it, so I got out of the truck and did just that. I got back in my truck, not thinking anything of it.”

From that day on, whenever Fleischer came across such graffiti, he would stop and remove it. As well, in the evening, after returning home from work, he would grab a bite to eat, shower and go out to look for racist, antisemitic and homophobic graffiti to remove.

“I would scour the city for hate crimes – back alleys, on walls, anywhere,” said Fleischer. “I found another one (swastika) and then another one. And then I started noticing, as the graffiti-removal side of my business began growing … I realized this was a real problem around town. It became my pastime. I quit hockey and softball and everything. It’s what I spent all my time doing. It fulfilled my life.”

For the first several years, it was only Fleischer’s parents and close friends who knew what he was doing. Then, he received a call from the local B’nai Brith Canada office to confirm his address, as they wanted to include him in a community newsletter mailing. While Fleischer refused to give out his address, he told the BBC that he had pictures of 40 swastikas that he had removed over the past five years, if that was of interest.

The BBC representative, said Fleischer, “literally couldn’t understand what was coming out of my mouth. She couldn’t believe that’s how I was spending my time. So, I sent her the pictures. They sent out a blogger to come and follow me, to do a story on what I was doing.

“Lo and behold, my life at that moment completely changed. People started seeing what I was doing and wanted to get involved. It went from removing 40 to 50 hate crimes in five years … [to] a couple hundred last year alone. The increase was pretty crazy.”

Fleischer now has thousands of followers wanting to get involved, so he has many more reports coming in, asking for free hate-graffiti removal. He said he has gone from spending about 10% of his company time removing hate graffiti to 95%. And, thanks to social media, the movement Fleischer started has gone global.

“People are calling me from all over the world, trying to figure out how to remove hate crimes in their area,” said Fleischer. “And, I basically put it together and have the removal done – wherever the people are calling from – with a local company.

“For most people dealing with hate crimes, it’s not a comfortable situation. People don’t know what to do with them or how to act when they see them. I happen to thrive in uncomfortable situations. I’ll go and organize. If I can’t find a local company to remove it, I’ll contact the local government, mayors, statesman, whoever, to get it done.

“For example, there was an attack on a Jewish cemetery in New York state. Their whole cemetery was defaced with swastikas and hate symbols. And somebody called me up from the town, saying they’d seen my videos and they’d been staring at these swastikas on their cemetery for two weeks – right around Yom Kippur. So, they called me to find out what could be done.”

After Fleischer hung up the phone, he began calling power washers. As it was a small town, it was hard to find someone, so Fleischer called the mayor and the local government. Within two days, all the graffiti was gone.

“When people figure out who I am and what I’m doing, they tend to spring into action quicker than if it was another situation,” said Fleischer. “Although I started the movement, it’s not just me getting it done. It’s people in the community, that I like to call ‘my army.’ I’m just a tool that was given to these people in order to remove these hate crimes. I’m just the instrument.”

While removing the hateful graffiti is, of course, good, Fleischer pointed out that it does not deal with the root of the problem. So, he decided to collaborate with Montreal-based Overture with the Arts, a not-for-profit that provides mainly after-school art classes to high school students. One of its programs is targeted at educating students about the Holocaust through a series of spoken word workshops about Anne Frank. OWTA opted to include a talk by Fleischer in the program.

“Instead of thinking about the actual guys who are putting on the hate crime, I had to find another way to make a difference in our society and in our communities,” said Fleischer of his speaking role. “I had to think of a way to make another difference by educating our youth, our future.

“When I was growing up and was going to high school, I was never taught about the Holocaust. I was never taught about the biggest massacre, the biggest tragedy, in human history.

“Before I started this whole movement, I didn’t even fully understand…. I knew what a swastika was, I knew it was bad, but I didn’t understand everything that was going behind it.”

The first two schools at which Fleischer spoke were classroom-sized talks, but this quickly expanded into full auditoriums. Schools now flood him with requests to come and speak.

“I had two calls this morning from schools calling me, out of the blue, trying to figure out how I can come to their schools,” said Fleischer in his interview with the Jewish Independent. “The school tour is called Erasing Hate.”

Fleischer received a peace medal last year from the YMCA (Young Men’s Christian Association) for his efforts with Erasing Hate, along with 30 Auschwitz survivors.

“To think I’m even in the same bubble with people like that, with something I started doing as a pastime, because I followed my heart, is mind-blowing. It’s really something else,” he said.

“Hopefully, we won’t, in the future, be ignoring hate crimes on the street and the future – our kids, the kids in schools – will understand that you don’t need to be silent. You can wake up, open your mouth and you can make a difference. That’s what this has turned into.”

For more information, Fleischer is on Instagram (@ErasingHate) and Facebook.

Rebeca Kuropatwa is a Winnipeg freelance writer.

Small but important

There were fears that, if Donald Trump lost the election last week, his supporters would riot. Fewer people thought the opposite would happen – either that Trump would win or that those who opposed him would riot.

Nightly protest marches after the election were largely peaceful, but some were not, notably in Portland, Ore. It would be informative to learn if any participants in these street rallies were among the 45% of Americans of voting age who didn’t bother to cast a ballot. It would be galling in the extreme to find that people who couldn’t take a few minutes to vote on Nov. 8 were spending hours on the following days marching against the results of an election in which they didn’t think it necessary to vote.

But something more predictable has happened as well. Given the tenor of Trump’s campaign, and the glee with which his victory was met by such groups as the Ku Klux Klan, other white supremacists and those who go by the neologism alt-right, the Republican victory seems to have unleashed among some Americans a spurt of acting out. There have been countless recorded incidents of antisemitic, anti-black, anti-Muslim and anti-gay slurs, graffiti and even physical attacks. It was predictable that Trump’s hateful rhetoric would have an impact regardless of the election’s outcome, but the validation he received from more than 50 million Americans appears to have legitimized, or at the very least, inspired, some people to act out in antisocial, racist and violent ways.

In response, online articles, videos and infographics have been created demonstrating how to intervene and de-escalate a point of conflict. Also, a movement has emerged in which individuals demonstrate solidarity with individuals and groups who feel threatened.

A safety pin. A simple safety pin affixed to a garment is a new signal for people who may feel threatened in a situation – on a subway, in a classroom, at the mall, anywhere – that the person wearing a safety pin is a person who can be relied on for support.

It’s a small thing, but it isn’t. For an individual feeling threatened because they are identified as a target because of their ethnicity, religion or sexual orientation, a tiny signal of solidarity, support and refuge could be a lifeline.

We are in Canada, of course, not in the United States. But we would be naïve to think that what happens there doesn’t impact the social fabric here. There is racism, antisemitism, anti-Muslim bias, homophobia and other forms of bigotry under and at the surface here. The idea that we could provide a place of safety for individuals feeling threatened – or indeed that we could find ourselves looking for such a place – is as realistic for Canadians as it is for Americans.

Now that Remembrance Day has passed, we will remove our poppies, the symbol of respect for those who fought and died in the past for democratic and civil rights. Some of us, if we feel inclined, will replace it with a safety pin, evidence that we are committed to upholding these values today and in the future in whatever small but meaningful way we can.

Particular and universal

Vigils, like this one in Minneapolis, were held across North America to express grief and solidarity with the victims of the shooting in Orlando. (photo by Fibonacci Blue)

Still reeling from the latest gun attack in Tel Aviv, which killed four people last week, we awoke Sunday to the horrific news from Florida that a gunman had murdered 49 people in a gay nightclub in Orlando.

We whose job it is to put feelings into words struggle, though it seems nobody on social media lacks an opinion on gun control and the Second Amendment, homophobia or Islamic extremism, to which the murderer professed allegiance.

Immediately began the familiar cycle of Facebook solidarity, official condemnations and vigil-holding. President Barack Obama, who on the last such occasion of mass death declared, “Enough!,” had to conjure something original to say in this instance.

It is a peculiarity of the American political and cultural system that such tragedies are, it seems, accepted as a sad but unavoidable fact of life. Vested interests in the gun industry, which fund the powerful National Rifle Association, control members of Congress and have a not-insignificant base of grassroots Americans.

The murderer had been on the radar of intelligence authorities, yet he was able in the last two weeks to legally purchase a Glock pistol and a long gun, as was apparently his right as an American citizen.

When, in 2012, a gunman killed 20 children in Sandy Hook elementary school in Connecticut, some thought that would be the turning point, the moment some sense of sanity would be applied to guns in the United States. Nothing of substance changed and, if not then, it probably never will. Indeed, gun sales increase after such incidents, as the Wild West of American founding lore finds new life in the 21st century – self-preservation through firepower.

There are perhaps few who can as readily empathize with the LGBTQ community as members of the Jewish community. Jewish individuals and institutions are routinely targeted in Europe. Such incidents are far fewer but not non-existent in Canada and the United States. The ghosts of the 1994 Jewish community centre bombing in Argentina haunt us still. And Israelis are routinely attacked and killed by terrorists.

Though thousands of kilometres away from Orlando, the gay community and allies in Vancouver came together for a vigil Sunday night, as they did across North America. When an attack like this takes place against a small minority, it has particular resonance for members of that group even if they have no immediate connection with the victims. As a newspaper, we join with Jewish institutions and individuals in Canada in expressing grief and solidarity with the victims, the survivors and their loved ones, as well as with the entirety of the LGBTQ community here and everywhere.

After such tragedies, it sometimes seems that the particularity of the victims is downplayed to glean a universal lesson for humanity. We hear phrases like “injustice for one is injustice for all.” In his remarks Sunday morning, Obama said: “This is a devastating attack on all Americans.”

This is a necessary and true statement, but we shouldn’t only universalize our solidarity. The shooting was a deliberate, targeted attack on gay people and Obama’s remarks included articulate expressions of solidarity with the LGBTQ community. He did not, for example, make the same mistake he did during the Paris attacks, when he referred to Jewish victims as “a bunch of folks in a deli.” The Jewish particularity of the victims in Paris and the particularity of the Orlando victims’ sexual orientations must be recognized in order to confront the prejudices that underlie them.

Religious belief vs. pretext

There I stood, 13 and terrified. At Beth Torah Congregation in Toronto, on a bimah that my grandfather had literally helped build, I was chanting from a Torah scroll that his father had saved from their synagogue in eastern Poland and smuggled through the war – the same parchment from which my father, uncles and cousins had all read in turn.

The congregation’s eyes seemed to bore tiny holes into my skull as I read the most infamous words of my Torah portion, Acharei Mot: “Thou shalt not lie with mankind as with womankind: it is abomination.”

Bathed in family history and tradition, I thought I was about to drown. I may not have been the first gay shlemazel to have to swallow the words of Leviticus 18:22 during his bar mitzvah, but as the text passed my lips, I still felt completely alone.

The following year, as I was beginning to come out to my family and friends, the Supreme Court of Canada told an evangelical Christian university that it was free to exclude gays from its teacher education program. More than a decade later, the same university, Trinity Western, is invoking that ruling – and my bar mitzvah portion – as it claims the right to open an anti-gay law school.

They’re wrong, and anyone who truly cares about religious freedom should say so.

It’s far from clear that the Supreme Court’s 2001 decision – written, as it was, at a different time and on different facts – still empowers Trinity Western to discriminate against gays and lesbians. Yet, even if it does, the university’s anti-gay policy makes a mockery of freedom of religion. It’s one thing for people of faith to believe that gays are doomed to eternal hellfire, but it’s quite another to exclude them from a law school on that basis.

Read a Christian Bible cover to cover. It doesn’t end well for the Jews, either. Still, those of us who don’t accept Jesus Christ as lord and savior are welcome at Trinity Western University – provided that we don’t sleep with anyone of the same sex while we’re there.

If allowing Jewish students to practise Judaism isn’t a threat to Trinity Western’s religious freedom, what’s so different about allowing gay students to be gay? After all, according to evangelical Christians, we’re all going to end up shvitzing in the same place.

Imagine if the university required Jewish students to promise to abstain from Judaism. If that isn’t discrimination, neither was the Spanish Inquisition.

Can Christian scripture provide a basis for homophobia? Of course it can. Look no further than Leviticus 18:22. But the same set of texts might just as readily forgive racism, slavery or antisemitism. Why doesn’t Trinity Western discriminate against Jews or blacks the way it discriminates against gays? Because only fanatics would ever accept religious excuses for the former, and nothing does more to discredit religious freedom than using it to justify bigotry.

Anti-gay discrimination should be no exception. Those of us who depend on freedom of religion to protect our own beliefs should be the first to condemn its misuse. That doesn’t mean asking Christians (or Jews, or Muslims) to ignore scripture that prohibits homosexuality – though many do, and more should – but it does require us never to condone its use as a basis for odious discrimination. After centuries of blood libel, Jews are only too familiar with intolerance preached from the pulpit.

Those words that darkened my bar mitzvah portion – “v’et zachar lo tishkav mishk’vei ishah to’evah hu” – are chanted in synagogues around the world each year. After more than a decade, they still sting.

We can’t rewrite Leviticus, nor can we force the faithful to overlook passages that give us pause. But that doesn’t mean we can’t distinguish religious belief from religious pretext. If freedom of religion can justify almost anything, then it will be good for almost nothing. It’s up to those of us who need it to defend it from itself.

Adam Goldenberg is a Kirby Simon Human Rights Fellow at Yale Law School, a former Liberal speechwriter and a contributor to CBC News: The National. Follow him at twitter.com/adamgoldenberg. This article originally appeared in the Canadian Jewish News and is reprinted with permission. For more national Jewish news, visit cjnews.com.