war

An almost great movie

Coexistence, My Ass! follows Israeli activist and comedian Noam Shuster Eliassi as she develops her show of the same name. (photo from DOXA)

Coexistence, My Ass!, directed and produced by Amber Fares, is almost a great documentary. But it fails to ask at least two key questions that would have made for a more in-depth portrayal of an interesting and complex human being.

Coexistence, My Ass!, whose May 4 screening at the DOXA Documentary Film Festival already has sold out, is about comedian Noam Shuster Eliassi, who was born in Wahat Al-Salam / Neve Shalom / Oasis of Peace, a village in which Jewish and Palestinian Israelis have chosen to live together. It has been considered a model of coexistence and Shuster Eliassi grew up amid the idealism it represented, and speaks Arabic fluently. She and her best friend (to this day), Ranin, a Palestinian Israeli living in Oasis of Peace, were among the kids trotted out as the generation who would bring peace.

Shuster Eliassi’s mother is Jewish Iranian and her father is Jewish Romanian. The couple met in high school (in what country is not revealed), so basically grew up together. They decided to live in Oasis of Peace and became, says Shuster Eliassi in her act, what most Israelis love to hate most: woke, progressive leftists. “They believe in the radical idea that Israelis and Palestinians deserve the same equal human rights! Crazy. So radical.”

It seems important to know why Shuster Eliassi’s parents left their respective countries to live in Israel, but especially her mother. With Iran as the main funder of Hamas’s – and other terrorists’ – murderous activities, and the fact that tens of thousands of Jews had to flee after the 1979 revolution, it seems that Shuster Eliassi’s mother’s experience is crucial to understanding Shuster Eliassi. But this question, if ever asked, doesn’t make it into the film.

Shuster Eliassi is an intelligent and accomplished person. By age 15, she had graduated, so to speak, from being one of the kids giving flowers to visiting celebrities (who would often mistake her, because of her dark skin, for being Palestinian – and with such good Hebrew!) to speaking around the world about coexistence and the possibilities for peace. At 21, she got a full scholarship at Brandeis University for being a peace activist. She even met the Dalai Lama, who, she quips, didn’t think she was Palestinian – “He just thought I was Indian.”

At 25, Shuster Eliassi landed a “peace worker’s dream job” – a position at the United Nations. We don’t learn much about what her job entailed, but there are clips of her speaking about the West Bank and Gaza as being the biggest prisons in the world, and how “the occupation” affects Palestinians and Israelis. Career-wise, she was on a wave of success, she says in her show, when she saw Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy’s TV program, made before he was elected, about a comedian who becomes president. Zelenskyy, of course, then did become president, so Shuster Eliassi observes that, if she wanted to take her political career seriously, she needed to start writing jokes.

photo - Comedian Noam Shuster Eliassi in performance — Comedian Noam Shuster Eliassi in performance. *(photo from DOXA)*

This takes us to where the film begins, with her at Harvard in 2019, where she’s been asked to deliver a peace-building project. She tells them that Coexistence, My Ass! will be that project, and she’s accepted.

In the documentary, we see the development of Coexistence, My Ass! and how Shuster Eliassi’s views change as the political situation in Israel deteriorates and the violence increases. Her parents are often her sounding board, as are friends and fellow comedians. We witness the results of a hate crime – the school in Oasis of Peace was set on fire in September 2020. We see moments of happiness, most unexpectedly, perhaps, when Shuster Eliassi returns to Israel from the United States with COVID and must be quarantined in a hotel, where sick Jews and Palestinians are being isolated from the general population.

“And everyone is radically getting along. This is a 5-star oasis of peace. If they continue getting along, my comedy career is over. Just kidding, you’ve read the news, I have material for years. Netanyahu has my back,” says Shuster Eliassi in her act. “Somebody give him a beeper,” she adds sheepishly, referring to Israel’s taking out of Hezbollah with exploding pagers in September 2024.

Months before Oct. 7, 2023, Shuster Eliassi was disillusioned and would get into yelling matches with Jewish Israelis protesting the Netanyahu government and dangers to democracy because their protests didn’t also explicitly call for equal rights for Palestinians. Whereas pre-COVID, she says, “My biggest responsibility is to speak to my people…. The Jewish audience is where we have to work,” the purpose of Shuster Eliassi’s comedy ceases at some point to be a way to encourage peace and becomes a form of resistance.

After Oct. 7, when some of Shuster Eliassi’s family and friends abandon their belief in coexistence because they feel peace with Palestinians isn’t possible, Shuster Eliassi goes the other way, giving up on coexistence because she feels – though doesn’t state explicitly – that peace with Jewish Israelis is not possible.

Moria, a comedy writer, advises Shuster Eliassi that people need to hear what Shuster Eliassi has to say, but it can’t just be “genocide, genocide!” The role of a comedian, says Moria, is “to bring people together. To unify. We can’t stop the killing, but we can unify people. To get people to see the world through your eyes.”

“No, that’s not what I’m doing,” responds Shuster Eliassi, who explains that her goal isn’t to unify, it’s “to voice resistance to this insane show of force that has swept everyone up blindly.”

Shuster Eliassi’s friend Ranin reluctantly retains hope for coexistence because, otherwise, she tells Shuster Eliassi, there is no place for Palestinians and Arabs within Israel. For Shuster Eliassi, though, by the end of the film, there seems to be no place for Jews in Israel. She only sees fault with Israel, and somehow thinks that Hamas wouldn’t want to kill all Jews if Israel had dealt with “the occupation.”

If memory serves, Hamas is only mentioned once in the documentary, in a clip from Shuster Eliassi’s show, where it is part of a joke, perhaps one told before 2023, it’s not clear. Why Hamas plays little or no role in Shuster Eliassi’s view of the evolving situation is the second of those two key questions that would have made Coexistence, My Ass! a better film.

While Shuster Eliassi laments that Israelis – even the coexistence crowd – are not able to meet Palestinians where they’re at, she is unable to meet her fellow Jewish Israelis where they are at. While she is comfortable performing at a Palestinian festival where she’s greeted by a man wearing a “Palestine vs the world” T-shirt that, on the back, has a Palestinian flag over all Israel, she isn’t comfortable with Israelis who would fill out that same map with no Palestinian territories. While she is correct that peace is only possible between equals, she only sees one oppressor – Israel. Not Hamas. Not any other international party, like Iran. Just Israel.

Many of the people at the sold-out screening of Coexistence, My Ass! will think it’s the most amazing film ever because, despite attempting to be fair – and it seems like Fares honestly did try to present multiple sides – it ultimately heralds their anti-Zionist beliefs and justifies them. Others will be disappointed that Coexistence, My Ass! ends up being just another anti-Israel film, which will, no doubt, win more awards than it has already, despite its critical flaws.

אייר קנדה חוזרת לטוס לישראל בחודש מאי הקרוב

חברת התעופה הלאומית של קנדה, אייר קנדה, תחזור לטוס לישראל במהלך חודש מאי הקרוב. זאת, בכפוף למצב הביטחוני שישרור באזור הנחשב לאחד המסוכנים העולם. ואם המלחמה תסתיים סוף סוף ולא צפויים משברים נוספים קרובים

במקור הייתה אמורה אייר קנדה לחזור לטוס לישראל במהלך חודש אפריל, אך כאמור לסוף הוחלט בחברה הקנדית לדחות את הטיסות לתל אביב בחודש ימים. כך מסבירה מנכ”ל אייר קנדה בישראל, רות בן צור. היא הוסיפה: “יש לנו ביטחון מלא בקו, ברגע שיכולנו לחזור זה הדבר הראשון שעשינו”

אייר קנדה הפסיקה לחלוטין לטוס לישראל לאור המשבר הביטחוני הקשה במזרח התיכון, המלחמה בעזה והמלחמה בלבנון, במהלך חודש אפריל שנה שעברה. אז אמרו בחברה הקנדית כי: “הפעילות של אייר קנדה לתל אביב וממנה תישאר מושעית לעתיד הנראה לעין, לאחר מעקב אחר ההתפתחויות באזור. אנו מתחייבים לחדש את הטיסות לישראל וממנה ונעשה זאת ברגע שזה יהיה בטוח עבור לקוחותינו והצוותים שלנו”

כאמור במהלך חודש מאי הקרוב, אייר קנדה צפויה לחדש את הטיסות מטורונטו ומונטריאול לתל אביב. יצויין כי כיום אין טיסות ישירות מקנדה לישראל, לאחר שחברת התעופה הלאומית של ישראל אל על, הפתיעה בהודעתה כי החל מחודש אוקטובר שנה שעברה, היא ביטלה את הטיסות הישירות לטורונטו ומונטריאול. וזאת, מחוסר כידאיות כלכלית בזמן שעדיף היה להסיט את המטוסים לקווים רווחים יותר. בקהילות של הישראלים והיהודים באזורי טורונטו ומונטריאול קיבלו את הפסקת הטיסות הישירות של אל על מישראל לקנדה ובחזרה, בתדהמה ובכעס רב

בשנת אלפיים עשרים ושלוש הטיסה אייר קנדה כמאה ותשעים אלף נוסעים בקווים בין טורונטו ומונטריאול לתל אביב. שנה קודם לכן מספר הנוסעים בקווים אלה עמד על כמאה שבעים וחמישה אלף

במקביל הודיעה לאחרונה אייר קנדה כי היא מוסיפה קו חדש בין קנדה לפורטוגל, שיכלול טיסות בין מונטריאול לפורטו. הטיסות שיחלו בארבעה בחודש יוני, במשך ארבעה ימים בשבוע, ימשכו כל הקייץ ועד סוף חודש ספטמבר. באייר קנדה מאמינים שקוו חדש זה יהיה רווחי במהלך הקיץ של שנה זו. יצויין כי לאייר קנדה יש טיסות קבועות בין טורונטו לבירת פורטוגל – ליסבון, וכן בין מונטריאול לליסבון. קווים אלה הוכיחו את עצמם בשנה שעברה ולכן התווסף גם קו לפורטו

באייר קנדה קיימת אופטימיות בנוגע לטיסות לשווקים שונים באירופה כולל פורטוגל, תוך הוספת קווים חדשים והגדלת הקיבולת בקווים קיימים של החברה הקנדית. בנוסף לקו לפורטו אייר קנדה מתכננת להוסיף קווים חדשים גם לאיטליה וצ’כיה, בהם בין טורונטו לנאפולי, ובין טורונטו לפראג. מדובר בשלוש טיסות שבועיות שיחלו במהלך חודש מאי

לעומת זאת באייר קנדה נערכים לקיצוץ בטיסות שבין קנדה לארה”ב לאור מלחמת הסחר נגד קנדה עליה הכריז נשיא ארה”ב דונלד טראמפ. לא מעט קנדים התבטאו לאחרונה על רצונם להחרים את ארה”ב ובמסגרת זו, לא לרכוש עוד מוצרים אמריקאיים ולא לטוס לארה”ב

לאור הירידה המסתמנת בביקוש לטיסות בין קנדה לארה”ב, באייר קנדה נערכים לקצץ במספר הטיסות בין שתי המדינות השכנות. בין הקווים שעשויים להיפגע – באם הביקוש לטיסות לארה”ב יקטן – הם לאזורים “חמים” המיועדים לבילויים כמו פלורידה, לאס וגאס ואריזונה

בסקר אחרון שנערך הודיעו כחמישים ושישה אחוז מהקנדים כי הם מוכנים לבטל את הטיסות שלהם לארה”ב, או להימנע מלטוס לארה”ב. באם טראמפ יחריף בסנקציות נגד קנדה, אחוז הקנדים שיסרבו לטוס לארה”ב צפוי לגדול משמעותית

Diversity in health care

Left to right are Rabbi Jonathan Infeld, Dr. Salman Zarka, Dr. Tim Oberlander and Dr. Erik Swartz at Congregation Beth Israel, where Zarka gave a few talks Nov. 21-23. (photo from Beth Israel)

“Our professional ethics, as well as Israeli legislation, mandate that we provide life-saving medical care to anyone in need. We do so for all citizens in Israel without discrimination based on religion, origin, race or political beliefs. We provided this care for Syrians and previously treated Lebanese patients, until the border was closed in 2000,” Dr. Salman Zarka, director of Ziv Medical Centre, told the Independent.

Zarka was in Vancouver last week, speaking at Congregation Beth Israel on the ethics of triage, on treating Syrian patients in Israel, and about his community, the Druze.

“I am delighted to visit Canada and share with different audiences the amazing work we’ve been doing at Ziv Medical Centre this past year, dealing with both war and emergency situations,” Zarka told the Independent. “This visit is also a great chance to thank the supporters in Canada from the Jewish community, Beth Israel, the Federation and the Ronald S. Roadburg Foundation.

“The visit is a chance to share our ongoing efforts in treating the wounded, as well as past activities related to caring for Syrian casualties,” he said.

Caring for an “enemy”

“The humanitarian aid to Syrians lasted for around five years, from 2013 to 2018, until [Bashar al-]Assad took back control of southern Syria, closed the border, thereby stopping patients and wounded from Syria coming to Israel,” said Zarka, who led the establishment of the now-closed military field hospital that provided medical support to Syrians wounded in the country’s ongoing civil war. He and his colleagues at Ziv Medical Centre have also provided care to Syrians.

“It is indeed unusual and uncommon to extend a professional and human hand to your enemies during their time of need,” he said. “On the other hand, we have an ethical duty to treat every patient and every wounded person. This dilemma existed at the start of the process, when wounded Syrians arrived at the Israel-Syria border. We treated them and asked ourselves what we should do next. On one hand, the Syrians are one of our most severe enemies, yet our ethics and professional standards oblige us to save lives and provide aid to all in need. Moreover, Israel is known for its global humanitarian assistance. Ultimately, we chose to provide care, treating close to 4,600 Syrians, including children, women and men.”

Before he retired from the military, Zarka served in various capacities in the Israel Defence Forces, including many leadership roles, and is currently a colonel brigadier in the reserve force. He is an expert in public health and public health administration, as well as being a practising physician, among other things. He was Israel’s chief COVID officer during the pandemic. In 2014, he became the director at Ziv Medical Centre, in Tzfat, about 11 kilometres from Israel’s border with Lebanon.

“Ziv Medical Centre employs about 2,200 staff members who come from the unique multicultural background of the region,” said Zarka. “At Ziv, secular Jews work alongside ultra-Orthodox Jews, Muslims, Christians, Druze, Circassians and Bedouins,” he said. “The hospital atmosphere is familial, and everyone collaborates to achieve the noble goals of saving lives and bringing healing to those in need. Cultural differences influence how people perceive illness, and our multicultural staff enables us to offer culturally sensitive care for various health needs.”

After the Oct. 7, 2023, Hamas attacks on southern Israel, the northern part of the country faced increased threats from Hezbollah in Lebanon, leading to mass evacuations of the region.

“For over a year now, the north has faced a complex situation with rocket fire and evacuations,” said Zarka. “This state of conflict forces Ziv Medical Centre to operate from protected spaces and remain prepared for mass casualty incidents. The need for readiness and staying in protected areas limits our ability to treat patients comprehensively, but it is unethical to deny necessary medical treatment to our northern population, which depends on Ziv for their routine treatment.”

The challenges are numerous.

“Some of our patients left the area, preventing us from continuing their care, while others relocated nearby and continued their treatment,” Zarka said. “Both the evacuated population and those facing rocket fire, injury and loss require increased mental health support, leading to a rise in emergency room visits. Additionally, some of our staff had to evacuate from their homes, posing challenges for employees who continued to work at Ziv despite the distance.”

The security situation in the north requires the medical centre to reassess its reinforced spaces, while continuing to provide necessary medical care to patients, even during emergencies, said Zarka.

“The end of the war and the return of residents to their homes will pose significant mental health challenges for both adults and youth, as was seen following the COVID-19 pandemic,” he added. “Preparing to expand services in the region is essential. The north will require substantial investment not only for recovery but for growth, making it a beautiful and unique area, home to multicultural residents, many of whom are from lower socioeconomic backgrounds, who depend on Ziv Medical Centre for their health care.”

Israel’s Druze community

There are about 150,000 Israeli Druze. The Druze religion is monotheistic; it branched off from Shia Islam in the 11th century and has since incorporated elements of other religions. The Druze are ethnically and linguistically Arabic, mainly living in Syria, Lebanon, Jordan and Israel, notably, in northern Israel.

“The Druze community in Israel chose, even prior to the state’s establishment (back in the 1930s), to ally with the Jewish population, a minority at the time, possibly as a bond between minorities,” explained Zarka. “The Druze supported the Jews before the state was founded and fought in the War of Independence. Afterward, the Druze decided to enlist in the IDF as volunteers and requested mandatory enlistment for their men, which began in 1956. Druze men serve in the IDF like Jewish men, with high enlistment rates in combat units, continuing with a significant service, achieving senior ranks. I served in the IDF for over 25 years in key roles in the Medical Corps, commander of medical services in the Northern Command and head of medical services, retiring with the rank of colonel.”

A 2023 article in the National Post noted, “Aside from combat roles, the Druze have a presence in health care: in 2011, the Druze made up 16% of the IDF’s medics, despite making up only 1.6% of the force.” The article gave Zarka as an example of a prominent Druze, having achieved success in both the military and in health care.

There are challenges for the Druze community in Israel, however.

“Much has been said about the ‘blood pact’ forged between the Druze and the Jews in Israel, which, unfortunately, translates into casualties in Israel’s various military conflicts,” Zarka told the Independent. “Alongside this connection, particularly strong in the IDF and security forces, there exists a civilian gap in the so-called ‘pact of life.’ The Nation-State Law [in 2018] did not address minorities in Israel, omitting the crucial term ‘equality,’ making the Druze feel relegated to a lesser status compared to their Jewish fellow citizens.

“Beyond the significance of this matter, which is not merely declarative, Druze towns (mainly villages) have long suffered from planning and land allocation issues, complicating construction and housing, even for discharged IDF soldiers. Addressing these two issues, namely equality and long-term planning, is central to the relationship between the Druze and the government.”

?מדוע אינני חוזר לגור בישראל

אני גר בוונקובר כבר למעלה מתשעה עשרה וחצי שנים ואין לי שום תוכניות לחזור לישראל. הסיבות לכך רבות וברורות מבחינתי. ובעיקר: אינני מוכן לחזור אחורה למציאות כה מורכבת וקשה שכפי שליוותה אותי במרבית חיי בישראל

במלחמת ששת הימים הייתי בן שמונה ואני זוכר כיצד אימי הגיעה לבית הספר כדי לקחת אותי למקלט של סבא הסמוך לביתנו במרכז ירושלים

מייד לאחר המלחמה הסביר הפרופסור ישעיהו ליבוביץ’ כי כיבוש השטחים בעקבות המלחמה יהיה אסון מבחינת ישראל, ישחית את המדינה ואף יסכן את עתידה. אז עדיין לא הבנתי על מה הוא מדבר. אך כשאשר התבגרתי קלטתי עד כמה דבריו של פרופסור ליבוביץ’ היו ונשארו נכונים עד עצם היום הזה

במלחמת יום כיפור עת הייתי בן ארבע עשרה ההורים היו כרגיל בנסיעה בחו”ל. אחי ואני נשארנו בבית כאשר נשמענו להוראות להפעיל האפלה בשעות הערב. לאחר מספר ימים ההורים הצליחו למצוא טיסה ולחזור מארה”ב לישראל

במלחמת לבנון הראשונה נקראתי לצאת למילואים בלבנון. הייתי בסך הכל פקיד בפלוגת הנדסה, איך כיוון שהם נאלצו לצאת לשטח בלבנון גם אני הצטרפתי אליהם. אנו שרתנו באזור ציר מזבושה תחת אחריותו של המגד בני ברבש. אחרי כחודש מילואים השתחררתי הביתה

לאחר המלחמה נסעתי לטיול מהנה באירופה ומאז ננטע אצלי לראשונה הרצון לעבור ולגור בחו”ל. פשוט לממש חלום ולגור באחת ממדינות המערב

בין לבין חיינו בישראל פיגועים רבים שלצערי הפכו לשגרת חיים. מי שחי בישראל מכיר מלחמות, פיגועים והרבה הרבה ימים לא שקטים. כך היה וכך יהיה

בראשית שנות השמונים התחלתי להבין סוף סוף שאחזקת השטחים הכבושים לא מאפשרת לפלסטינים להקים מדינה עצמאית משלהם. ובמקביל מסכנת את ביטחונה של ישראל. כבר אז ראיתי שישראל מחולקת לשני מחנות ברורים: תומכי השלום והחזרת השטחים ותומכי החלום של ארץ ישראל השלמה שהאמינו שזה דווקא יגביר את הביטחון במדינה. אני כאמור נימנתי על מחנה השלום שלאורך השנים הלך והתכווץ לצערי. לעומתו מחנה של המתנחלים ותומכיהם הלך וגדל. אז התחלתי להרגיש פחות ופחות שייך לישראל

במלחמת המפרץ הראשונה כבר גרתי בתל אביב. לא אשכח לעולם את הלילה הנורא ההוא ביום חמישי בסביבות שתיים לפנות בוקר. צפיתי אז בחדשות בטלוויזיה שתיארו את מהלכי ארה”ב בעיראק ואז נשמעה הסיסמה “נחש צפע” ולאחריה הופעלה אזעקה. אז הופיעה השקופית “בשל התקפת טילים על ישראל הופעלה אזעקת אמת”. ואכן נפל טיל מעיראק בשכונת התקווה, שבקו אווירי קרובה הייתה לביתי במרכז תל אביב. שמעתי היטב את הדי הפיצוץ ונכנסתי ממש לחרדה נוראית. אז אמרתי לעצמי כי הכתובת היא על הקיר ויום אחד יגיעו הטילים האמיתיים מאיראן שהכוונה לטילים אטומיים. הבנתי אז שעלי לעזוב את ישראל ולצערי רק לאחר ארבעה עשרה שנים עשיתי זאת

תוך מספר דקות יצאת את ביתי ונסעתי בטירוף לביתו של חבר כדי שלא להיות לבד. למחרת החבר עזב את תל אביב ונסע למשפחו באילת. ואז החלטתי לנסוע לבית הורי בירושלים, ששם שההיתי בכל תקופת המלחמה. בכל פעם שנשמעה “האזעקה” ממש נכנסתי לחרדה בחרדה ושהייתי עם הורי בחדר האטום

לאחר רצח ראש הממשלה יצחק רבין באמצע שנות התשעים הרגשתי עוד יותר כמה אני לא יכול להשתייך עוד לישראל. אז גם החל לככב בנימין נתניהו האחראי לגל ההסתה נגד רבין. הפכתי לזר בה ועדיף להיות זר בחו”ל. לאחר עשר שנים עזבתי לוונקובר

UNRWA faces deadline

Last week, the Israeli government announced that it would ban the operation of the United Nations Relief and Works Agency from operating in Israel, including in East Jerusalem.

For Arab citizens in East Jerusalem, this would mean an end to civic services like garbage pickup, three UNRWA-operated schools, and some health care and social services.

The laws passed by the Knesset would not preclude UNRWA from operating in Palestinian territories, but they would impede their work substantially. And they would eliminate any privileges or assistance UNRWA staff receive from the Israeli government, including easy passage across borders and through checkpoints.

UNRWA is a problematic organization. Begun in 1949, it has been criticized for perpetuating the Palestinian refugee crisis it was ostensibly created to resolve. By preventing Palestinian refugees from being resettled in host countries, UNRWA ensures that the refugees stand as living testament to the presumed injustice of Israel’s founding – the original sin in the anti-Israel narrative.

Through permissions granted by a bloc of Arab, Muslim and nonaligned states at the United Nations, UNRWA has expanded seemingly beyond the control of its larger parent body.

In the most illuminating example of UNRWA exceptionalism, the organization changed the definition of “refugee,” so it applies to Palestinians in ways it applies to no other people on earth. Palestinian refugee status is a heritable right, meaning descendants of the original refugees – now down to the third and fourth generations – are designated refugees when they may never have set foot in their ancestral homeland and may be second- or third-generation, for example, Jordanian- or Lebanese-born non-citizen residents. The objective of this strategy is clear: make the problem grow. The approximately 700,000 refugees of the 1948 war have grown exponentially, to 5.9 million people.

Operating in Gaza, the West Bank, Jordan, Lebanon, and Syria, UNRWA operates more than 700 schools, teaching about 500,000 Palestinian students. UNRWA clinics provide primary health care, mental health support and referrals to specialized medical services. The agency provides food assistance, welfare and other forms of support. During times of war and other crises, UNRWA provides emergency food, shelter and medical services to affected populations. They respond to needs created by violence, displacement and natural disasters. UNRWA is responsible for the most fundamental services in the refugee camps where generations of Palestinians live, including sanitation, water supply and housing.

So why is Israel banning this agency that is so clearly a lifeline to the Palestinian people – especially in a time of catastrophic war?

Israel has provided to the United Nations evidence that some of UNRWA’s 30,000 employees were involved in the Oct. 7 terror attacks and have collaborated with the terrorists before and after that dark day.

There are also older, systemic complaints. For decades, Israelis and others, including the European Union, have complained that the UNRWA-operated Palestinian education system is as much about inculcating antisemitism and a radical political agenda as it is inculcating the three Rs.

As a politicized arm of the United Nations, UNRWA is both a weapon in the decades-long global campaign against Israel and an agency that provides desperately needed services to Palestinian civilians, never more than in a war that is wreaking destruction and death on the people of Gaza.

Israel’s move looks punitive and vindictive in a moment when the world sees the humanitarian tragedy in Gaza. This is a bad PR move on the part of a country with a bad PR history. But PR should be among the last concerns in situations where thousands are dying. Banning UNRWA could have disastrous consequences on some of the most vulnerable people.

The Knesset’s vote to ban the organization is set to take place in 90 days. That is not a long time, certainly, but it is a window during which UNRWA and the larger UN apparatus has an opportunity

to demonstrate goodwill. To date, they have effectively ignored Israel’s decades-long protestations that UNRWA is, for whatever necessary social services it provides, also a provocative source of incitement that promotes dependency rather than initiative and fosters antisemitic and anti-Israel activism and even terrorism.

After years of Israeli complaints and warnings, the Knesset finally put a time-limited threat to their concerns. The UN, NGOs, commentators and much of the world are up in arms over the announcement. Instead, they could be diverting those substantial energies into cleaning up the mess at UNRWA.

Perhaps the Knesset vote is an empty threat. Or rather, it could be an empty threat, if it’s primarily intended to make the larger UN body and the world take seriously the systemic problems UNRWA has exhibited through its long and troubled history.

If UNRWA demonstrates it is willing to take seriously the rot at the heart of its operation, we hope that Israel will not enact the ban. No one can clean up the panoramic mess in three months, but we hope that evidence of goodwill would be met with flexibility on Israel’s side.

If, in the worst case scenario, the UN does not do what it should have done long ago, Israel has an obligation – humanitarian, moral and legal – to ensure that the necessities of life are provided to the people in territories it occupies. In the absence of the UN behaving responsibly, Israel must. And Israel should absolutely be able to call upon a community of humanitarian nations to assist in that process. The world’s leaders have had a great deal to say about the well-being of Palestinian civilians in the past year. This would be a moment for them to put their money where their mouths are.

The ethics of triage in war

Dr. Salman Zarka (photo from Ziv Medical Centre)

Dr. Salman Zarka is general director of Ziv Medical Centre, in Safed, Israel, which is about 11 kilometres from the border with Lebanon. He visits Vancouver this month, speaking at Congregation Beth Israel on Nov. 21, 7:30 p.m., on the topic of Medicine Under Fire: The Ethics of Triage in War. He also speaks during Shabbat morning services on Nov. 23 about Who are the Druze? And How Does Diversity Help Medical Outcomes in Ziv Hospital?

Zarka is a member of the Druze community. He served in the Israel Defence Forces for 25 years, and is a colonel brigadier in the reserve force. An epidemiologist, he is an expert in public health and public health administration. He is also a practising physician, and lectures at University of Haifa’s School of Public Health. He was chief COVID-19 officer in Israel’s Ministry of Health from 2021 to 2023 and, prior to that, the medical assistant of the ministry’s general director.

To hear Zarka speak, register at bethisrael.ca.

When new is also ancient

It turns out that a war and a worldwide increase in antisemitism may cause more Jewish people to return to Jewish spaces. Some Jewish atheists try out fasting for Yom Kippur. New faces appear at synagogue. Lectures and events that were sparsely attended in the past seem to have more takers. If you’re a regular in a Jewish community, you may have seen this already. There are many reasons, including a need to find community and avoid antisemitism, or to return to religious practice after dealing with so much death. For those who were already attending or even occasionally attending Jewish services or events, things have also changed.

My twins had their b’nai mitzvah in June. I’d long thought of how cool it would be if they could help fill out a minyan more often (a group of 10 needed for communal prayer). However, there have been obstacles. Our congregation’s building was under renovation. The temporary spot, while lovely and hospitable, required a car ride.

This fall, the congregation moved back to its building and we live in easy walking distance. My kids attend public school and didn’t have Sukkot off. Yet, when one kid asked to attend minyan on Hoshanah Rabbah, the last day of Sukkot, I immediately said yes. He would have “an appointment” that morning, according to the attendance sheet, and arrive a little late. We figured, no need to claim a religious holiday (antisemitism concerns, again), but that’s what it was, of course.

Hoshanah Rabbah was a new experience for us, though it’s an ancient ritual. It involves circling the pulpit (a stand-in for the Temple altar) seven times, with lulav and etrog in hand. Marking the end of the fall holidays, it’s a last chance to ask for forgiveness and a better year.

Traditions differ about what is said during this ritual, but our congregation read piyyut, which are traditional poems, a part of Jewish liturgy that often includes acrostics (poems that use the alphabet). Some of the piyyut are very old. I found myself praying that my fruit trees don’t get fungus or that my fields wouldn’t be cursed. It might seem funny to ask for some of these things, but my city backyard has young apple, apricot, plum and cherry trees. I don’t want fungus!

It was especially poignant to pray – in the “Foundation Stone (“Even Shetiyah”) poem – about “the goodness of Lebanon, beautiful place, joy of the world.” This came straight out of the Siddur Ashkenaz (the Ashkenazi prayerbook), with specific quotes from Isaiah, Psalms and Lamentations. Our historic relationship with Lebanon is a rich one. Many of us, Israelis and diaspora Jews, would love to visit Beirut, the “Paris of the Middle East.” Some of us have ancestors who lived there, and we would like to see where they grew up or spent time. This urge isn’t new; our desire to have a good connection to Lebanon as a neighbour is ancient.

Then, we all were handed bundles of willows. We beat these on the lectern with force while saying, “Save your people and bless your heritage, care for them and carry them forever.” It was primal, cathartic, and very messy. There were willow leaves everywhere.

My kid was only a little late to first period art class. I went home in wonder. Later, I joked with one of my professors from graduate school, Jack Sasson, who I respect deeply, about how, for me, this previously unknown Jewish ritual felt stirring and exotic. He suggested that paganism still has something to teach us. The beating of the willows is ancient indeed. It’s a namburbi ritual from Mesopotamia, he said. When I remarked that I could get into this paganism thing, his reply left me laughing. “Ishtar will welcome you.”

I was still reflecting on all this when watching some new friends with young kids dancing on the evening of Simchat Torah. To help everyone through the first yahrzeit of Oct. 7/Simchat Torah, our rabbi dedicated each hakkafah (circuit around the room with the Torahs) to a different group: first responders, those who had died in the past year, the unity of the People of Israel, etc. The next afternoon, the kids came over for snacks and to play. One of the parents asked me why there was so much reference to Israel stuff. I realized that here, too, was a confluence of old customs and new experience.

I explained that some of these prayers, for instance, the prayer for the hostages, weren’t new. The Talmud, codified in 500 CE, discusses the topic of hostages at length. The first instance of the prayer for the redemption of hostages that we use today was documented in the Mahzor Vitry, named for Simhah b. Samuel of Vitry, a French talmudist who died in 1105 CE.

I reminded them that many present at the synagogue were in mourning for people who had died. While celebrating old holidays, we need to acknowledge the current situation. These days, services usually include prayers for the state of Israel and the Israeli army, too. None of these are newly written prayers.

Of course, Sukkot itself, a harvest festival that required Israelites to go to the Temple in Jerusalem – last destroyed in 70 CE – is also all about Israel.

I drew a few conclusions from these social encounters. First, for those who may feel jaded and aware of Jewish yearly events, there’s always something new to learn. For me, it was the primal connection to Mesopotamia, namburbi ritual and, yes, Ishtar, the goddess herself. For those who hadn’t been at synagogue for some time, there were many questions, new encounters and experiences, too. What unites it all is a realization that, while our individual learning curve might be new to us, the rituals, the prayers, and the historic connections to Israel are ancient.

For all of us, in a time when political rhetoric seeks to disconnect diaspora Jews from the land of Israel, Sukkot and Simchat Torah were a powerful – and timely – reminder of our past and our future, together.

Joanne Seiff has written regularly for the Winnipeg Free Press 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.

Love is… being together

There is something somewhat intimate about being woken up in the middle of the night by rocket sirens. Feet and arms lightly intertwined with my wife’s, feeling a slight tug of the cover to her side in the never-ending battle-of-the-blankets, I am startled by the sound. I am slow to make sense of the sirens, which are coming both from outside and my cellphone, the latter also providing a strobe-light effect. I look to my wife, nudge her and say in a most loving but rushed tone, “Let’s go! Missiles!”

Remember those Love is… comic strips of the 1970s by New Zealand cartoonist and love culturalist Kim Casall? Well, how about Love Is… waking up snuggled together to a missile alert? Not the free love and innocence of the hippie generation, but for sure love!

And what about Love is… ensuring your wife enters the safe room first. How’s that for being a gentleman? As the sirens go off and we rush to our safe room, my wife goes in first, then I rush in after her, slamming shut the heavy iron door behind us. Actually, if our kids are home or we have guests, I will make sure everyone is inside – including our dog – before entering. Just seems like the right thing to do, danger be damned. How’s that for bravado?

***

Speaking of love. Returned from Tel Aviv with my wife the other day. Incoming missiles and a known routine. Pull over. Exit car. Move away from the vehicle. Crouch down on roadside. Cover your head with your hands (though I don’t know how that helps if a missile strikes you). So, there was my wife, huddled next to me, while the Iron Dome chased and intercepted its overhead target. In a chivalrous act of protection, I hovered over my wife, giving her a second layer of armour. I hugged her. Amazing how adrenalin works. Love is… shielding your wife from incoming missiles.

In a similar spirit. Love is… being alone with your wife in the safe room during missile alerts. It’s not for no reason that births spike during wartime.

***

Then there’s our morning routine. Prewar, it was pillow talk about the chores ahead. Now, the first thing we cross-check is Code Red missile alerts received on our cellphones overnight. Where were the sirens? Where did the missiles land? Or almost land? Other carnage or near-carnage? Other military developments? Not the most romantic of topics but that’s where our minds are these days – from the moment we wake up until we fall asleep. Love is… lying in bed together comparing missile alerts and military actions.

***

The other week, during Iran’s second cruise missile attack on Israel, where more than 180 missiles were fired at our little shtetl with the intent to exact maximum, indiscriminate death and destruction, there was significant news chatter about the attack. Under the fog of war, not fully clear what to expect.

My wife, who works in Tel Aviv, just completed her shift and was taking a bus home. She called to advise me that her bus was late and that her cellphone battery was running low, so I shouldn’t worry if she’s delayed and doesn’t answer. Shortly after our conversation came the news flash about a mega-casualty terrorist attack in nearby Jaffa and another attempted attack in Tel Aviv. I tried calling my wife back. No answer. Wishfully and optimistically, I attributed it to no battery.

Then the news flash that Iran had fired several hundred cruise missiles at Israel. Expected to arrive in our airspace within the next … 12 minutes. Not 10 minutes, not 15, but 12. This was for real! Where was my wife?! There was no way to call her, to learn of her whereabouts.

If she were on the bus during a missile barrage, what would happen? Would the driver follow Homefront commands? Would the bus pull over? Would the passengers get off the bus? Would they crouch down away from the bus with their hands covering their heads? Would someone hover over my wife … protect her?

Time is ticking – three minutes from the expected cruise missile impact. Anxiously pacing the living room, I keep looking to the news for some insight about something. Then, I hear the elevator. I run into the hallway, watching the red digits slowing climbing to my floor. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. The door opens. There she is. In all her beauty. Somewhat frazzled-looking. I give her a giant, protective bear hug. Immediately, sirens go off throughout the city and our cellphones buzz and flash with missile alerts. My wife arrived literally in the nick of time.

We quickly make our way to the safe room. My wife enters first. I slam the door shut behind us. With her tension unravelling, my wife begins to cry – from exhaustion, from stress, from survival. Again, we embrace.

Love is… holding your wife near in the safety of your safe room during a missile attack.

***

Please continue donating to the Israeli war and revival efforts, or buy Israel Bonds. Twelve months after the Oct. 7, 2023, Hamas terror attacks, the war is still raging, and on several active fronts. Sderot and Metula – and even Tel Aviv and Haifa – are Israel’s front lines. And Israel is the diaspora’s front line.

Bring them home now.

Bruce Brown, a Canadian-Israeli, made aliyah more than 25 years ago. He works in high-tech and is happily married, with two kids. He is the winner of a 2019 American Jewish Press Association Simon Rockower Award for excellence in Jewish writing.

האם יהודים וישראלים נמצאים בסכנה מחוץ לישראל

(צילום – רוני רחמני)

אירועי השבעה באוקטובר שהביאו למלחמה הקשה בין ישראל והחמאס ברצועת עזה הגבירו משמעותית את השנאה והאנטישמיות כלפי יהודים וישראלים שגרים בעולם. נשאלת השאלה האם הםנמצאים בסכנה קיומית? והאם השנאה והאנטישמיות יתמתנו לאחר סיום המלחמה בין ישראל והחמאס

לאור אירועי השבעה באוקטובר שהציגו תמונה קשה מנשוא של פעילות החמאס הרצחנית שכללה גם מעשי אונס והתעללות, ישראל, ישראלים ויהודים בחו”ל זכו לסימפטיה לתקופה קצרה שנמשכה כחודש ימים. אך כשהעולם רואה את מאות אלפי אזרחים בהם נשים ילדים רבים שנהרגו לאור הלחימה של צה”ל מול החמאס, הסימפטיה וההדה התחלפה בשנאה ואנטישמיות גלויה מול ישראל כמדינה, וכן כנגד ישראלים ויהודים שגרים ברחבי העולם. ככל הלחימה ברצועת עזה נמשכת, שמביאה להרס גדול תמונות קשות מתפרסמות בכל העולם של ילדים רעבים ורבים רבים שמתים בקרב האוכלוסייה המקומית, להבות השנאה גדלות בצורה חריפה ביותר

ישראלים ויהודים רבים בעולם המערבי שכולל את מדינות אירופה, ארה”ב וקנדה, מורידים פרופיל בחיי היום יום שלהם, מסתירים סממנים יהודים וישראלים ובודקים מי עוקב אחריהם. עד כה נרשמו הרבה תקריות נגד ישראלים ויהודים במדינות שונות וכנראה המצב אף יחריף, כל עוד נמשכת הלחימה ברצועת עזה ונרשמים הרבה קורבנות בנפש. לפי שעה אספקת מזון ומצרכים חיוניים לאוכלוסיה המסכנה של עזה רבתי, לא מספיקה

המלחמה בעזה הציתה כאמור את האנטישמיות בעולם שמגיעה לרמות גבוהות ביותר

יתכן ובמדינות דרום אמריקה זה לא מורגש אך בכל המערב זה מורגש כל הזמן וכל יום. תקריות נגד יהודים וישראלים נרשמות כל העת בערים רבות בעולם בהן ברלין, ניו יורק, לוס אנג’לס, לונדון, מונטריאול, טורונטו ועוד ועוד

ונקובר כרגע יחסית שקטה אך מדי סוף שבוע יש כבר הפגנות של פלסטינים ותומכיהם. להערכתי כשלושת אלפים משתתפים מגיעים לאירועים אלה שמתקיימים בעיקר בדאון טאון. אלפים צועדים לעבר הכיכר המרכזית בעיר – בין הרחובות רובסון ווסט ג’ורג’יה -והמשטרה סוגרת את הרחובות. זו תמונה לא נעימה כלל וכלל. הפגנות התקיימו גם בגשרים מתחברים לדאון טאון (בוארדד וגרנוויל) והתנועה התעכבה במשך שעות. הפגנות קטנות יותר מתקיימות באזורים מרוחקים יותר במטרו ונקובר

אתה אף פעם לא יודע מי יעמוד מולך ברחוב או בחנות האוכל וכידוע שונאי ישראל לא מבחינים במי תומך במדיניות ישראל במאה אחוז ומי שמתנגד למלחמה בעזה שהביאה לקורבנות רבים ורעב גדול. רבים הפכו לעיוורים לאור הסכסוך הנוכחי. וזה מצב חמור בפני עצמו

בנסיעה להוואי לא לקחתי לראשונה ספר בעברית אלה באנגלית. לא רק לטיסה אלה גם לקריאה בחדר במלון. בחדר אני לא נועל את הדברים כיוון שזה רק יכול לעורר חשד שאני מחביא משהו בעל ערך. לכן אין יותר ספרים בעברית בנסיעות

אני כידוע לא מדבר עברית ברחובות אך כשיש מפגש עם חבר או שניים דוברי עברית בקפה אין לי ברירה, כי הם לא מוכנים להסתתר ולדבר באנגלית ודווקא מבקשים לדבר בעברית

כשאני מדבר באנגלית עם מקומיים הם מבחינים במבטא שלי. רובם חושבים שאני בא מרקע צרפתי או גרמני שזה לא רע. אך אין לדעת מה יכול לקרות אם מישהו שאינני מכיר ידע שאני ישראלי לשעבר

הדברים רק הולכים ומחמירים. לא ידוע לאף אחד מאיתנו האם תירשם רגיעה במצב או השנאה והאנטישמיות אף יחריפו. להערכתי יקח עוד זמן רב עד שנרגיש להקלה במתח והחיים יחזרו למסלולם במדינות המערב. התקווה בסוף תנצח

Stories of resilience shared

A family fleeing war, aided by acquaintances from a lifetime of hospitality. A person’s choice to be the light in a dark world after a loved one was murdered. The creation of a vital medical resource as a tribute to a father who died too young. These three stories were shared at the event A Night of Hope, which was held at the Jewish Community Centre of Greater Vancouver Nov. 30. The three stories of resilience were intended to give hope in response to the trauma Jews worldwide have experienced since Oct. 7.

Rabbi Susan Tendler, spiritual leader of Beth Tikvah Congregation in Richmond, shared “the unlikely story” of how she became a rabbi, in part because of the trauma of having experienced the murder of a loved one.

In the year 2000, she recalled, “I was living my best life.” She thought she knew who she would marry, she had a dream job as a teacher in Israel and was planning on making aliyah.

photo - Rabbi Susan Tendler — Rabbi Susan Tendler *(photo by Pat Johnson)*

“I returned to the United States to get my affairs in order before making the big move as the Second Intifada broke out,” she said. Global conflict was compounded in the personal realm when her engagement was broken off. With foreign students avoiding Israel, her job was suddenly eliminated. Things began looking up, though, when she met Mike, “who showed me what partnership might look like.”

“And then, one night, he was brutally murdered,” she said. Five young men, joyriding, had crashed a car and needed another vehicle.

“They came upon Mike and murdered him, not even for his wallet. Just for fun,” Tendler said. “Just to take his car a few miles down the road before they ditched it.”

The murder plummeted her into depths of darkness.

“I couldn’t understand how such palpable evil could exist in the world,” she recalled. “How could a human being, created in the image of the divine, not understand life as sacred? What were the lives of those individuals that they didn’t hold this basic value as truth? And, by doing so, those five young men took the sanctity out of this world for me, for Mike’s family and his friends. I really didn’t care to live in a world with such sheer evil. It wasn’t that I was suicidal – I knew the difference and I wasn’t – I just really didn’t care to live or to die.”

She cited the Israeli poet Yehuda Amichai, who wrote that the Jewish people are “infected with hope.”

“We are taught to love others, to embrace others and to share our burdens with others,” Tendler said. “We need not struggle alone…. So, as I held on, people rallied, surrounded me and guided me through the darkness.”

Overcoming this and other personal and geopolitical traumas led her to an important insight.

“I came to realize that, if I didn’t like living in a world full of darkness and evil, then I needed to be the light,” she said. “I needed to choose life. I needed to choose hope and spread kindness, goodness and godliness to others.

“The world needs us right now,” she continued. “We all have hope coursing through our veins. Certainly, it has been weakened and doubted [since Oct. 7], but that is exactly what they want. We won’t let them win. Let the light created by our hope and optimism join forces, knowing indeed that we are not alone and that this positive energy be magnified as it draws others in. May our light be a beacon for the world.”

Tanja Demajo, chief executive officer of Jewish Family Services, shared her family’s history of survival in the Holocaust and the personal story of her family’s escape from the post-Yugoslavia war in Bosnia, where she was born. She had not shared any of this publicly before.

As a child in Mostar, young Tanja would often come home from school to find strangers at the table. Anyone passing through or needing hospitality was received in their house and welcomed with food.

photo - Tanja Demajo — Tanja Demajo (photo by Pat Johnson)

“My family always kept the door open,” she said. This openness, she believes, helped save her family when war exploded.

In 1992, when she was 11-and-a-half, everything changed, seemingly in a day.

“There were explosions everywhere, there was shooting everywhere, the army was everywhere,” she said. “The city emptied.”

Getting away from the fighting was not easy. Roadblocks were set up by different militias and Demajo could see the fear in her father’s expression as they confronted each successive barrier.

“We had to stop at three different points and at three different points we came across some people that my parents knew through their life,” she recalled. Keeping an open door meant there were people who knew the family and remembered their hospitality. “In each of these three situations, these friends came forward and put their lives on the line so they could let my family pass through.”

After the war ended, the family reconnected with her grandfather, who they had not seen in years.

“That was the first time actually that my grandfather shared with us his own story,” she said. From a community of 300, the grandfather and an uncle were the only survivors of the Holocaust.

She asked him why he was so cheerful, despite all he had gone through.

“He had this beautiful way of just hugging people and he would hug me and say, what are the things you remember as a child?” She recalled spending weekends with her grandfather, the meals and stories they shared. “And he said, well that’s how you survive. Because those are the things that matter. The people you have in your life, the friendships that you share with them and the food you share with them.”

The connections she saw her parents forge at the table – which proved potentially lifesaving as the family fled war – are a lesson she has always carried. It is something that Jews worldwide can remember now, she said.

“We need allies and we need to have these conversations to bring people together,” she said.

Jaime Stein shared the story of how the death his father, Howard Stein, in 2006, from acute leukemia, inspired him to help create Canada’s first public

photo - Jaime Stein — Jaime Stein *(photo by Pat Johnson)*

Early in the last decade, when Stein helped launch the $12.5 million campaign to create the facility, Canada was one of only two G-20 nations that did not have such a service. Umbilical cord blood contains blood-forming stem cells, which can renew themselves and differentiate into other types of cells.

Working with Canadian Blood Services, Stein and the fundraising team for the project decided on a big focal point for the campaign – climbing Tanzania’s Mount Kilimanjaro, the highest peak in Africa.

“We got 25 people to sign up [to climb] and everybody had to raise a minimum of $10,000,” Stein explained.

Stein, in his 30s at the time, when $10,000 was a daunting sum, organized weekly 9 a.m. hikes with friends and strangers, at which he would offer career advice, listen to his hiking mates or otherwise engage, then write a blog post.

“People started donating and people started telling their friends as well,” he said.

In the end, he raised $27,000, second only to the chief executive officer of Canadian Blood Services among the 25 climbers. Of course, the money turned out to be the easy part. They still had to ascend the mountain.

Like many others who climb tall mountains, Stein experienced altitude sickness – so severely he almost had to turn back.

“I could barely make it to camp,” Stein recalls of the onset of the crisis. “I just remember thinking about my dad, thinking of my family, thinking of the training, thinking of everything I did as I tried to get to camp.”

Slowly, his oxygen levels climbed and he was able to complete the trek.

The trip itself raised $350,000 and, eventually, the team raised all the funds necessary. Canada now has a fully functioning umbilical cord blood bank, with four collection sites, including one in Vancouver.

Alan Stamp, Jewish Family Services clinical director, and Ezra Shanken, chief executive officer of the Jewish Federation of Greater Vancouver, contextualized the stories as lessons in resilience community members can use to confront trauma.