Family Day at Stable Harvest Farm was educational – and fun! (photo by Cynthia Ramsay)
Sunday, July 6, was a beautiful sunny day. Perfect for a visit to Stable Harvest Farms, in Langley, to enjoy one of its Family Days.
My wife and I joined the first tours of the morning. Our group of maybe 50 people, including lots of young children, was split into two, after a brief introduction by one of the university student interns who work on the farm over the summer. We were then led through some of the fields, where we learned a bit about the vegetables and flowers being grown there, while the other half of the group started at the petting zoo.
Just two of the many animals at Stable Harvest Farm. (photo by Cynthia Ramsay)
Stable Harvest Farms, a nonprofit founded by Syd Belzberg, welcomes more than 15,000 visitors a year – families, educators, students, volunteers, members of various groups. Several Jewish organizations have participated in the educational offerings. For example, Vancouver Talmud Torah has been involved since the farm’s establishment five years ago, with students from grades 2 to 7 visiting once or twice a year.
“We continue to feed and support organizations both Jewish and non-Jewish through JFS [Jewish Family Services] and Meals on Wheels, and countless other nonprofit organizations,” Belzberg told the JI.
Stable Harvest has donated well over 360,000 pounds of produce since 2020 to various communities in Greater Vancouver. On our tour, we found out how that produce is grown and harvested organically, stopping at some of the 12 education stations that have been created for visiting schoolchildren and others. The stations cover a wide range, from what’s in a seed, to what organic agriculture is, to methods of irrigation. One of the coolest stops was the bat boxes, houses for owls and bug hotels station. But, I have to admit, feeding the sheep and the Nigerian dwarf goats was the most fun. And we got to see the beekeeper in action.
On our tour, we found out how that produce is grown and harvested organically, stopping at some of the 12 education stations that have been created for visiting schoolchildren and others. (photo by Cynthia Ramsay)
In addition to the learning stations, there are signs everywhere. All the crops are labeled with what’s being grown and fun facts abound. Did you know that there are some 27 different types of broccoli, for instance? Or that snapdragons are edible, and can be used for dyeing cloth?
Farmer Maya led our group, making sure we all had enough water and were faring well in the heat. All the staff are “mentored by an experienced educator to develop and deliver impactful, age-appropriate learning experiences aligned with BC’s Ministry of Education goals,” Belzberg told me later.
The focus, he said, has been making sure the learning stations “link directly to the BC curriculum’s ‘Big Ideas’ and core competencies (e.g., communication, thinking, social responsibility),” as well as being sensory- and inquiry-based.
The beekeeper in action at Stable Harvest Farm. (photo by Cynthia Ramsay)
“Students engage through touch, smell, sight and movement – using storytelling, questioning and games to spark curiosity,” he said.
As our Family Day tour proved, the activities offered are inclusive and adaptable for diverse needs, and the staff are well-trained to keep visitors young and old, with varying levels of physical and mental nimbleness, engaged. My wife and I had both an educational and entertaining time. It was well worth the drive from North Vancouver, where we live. Most everyone would enjoy the fresh air and welcoming atmosphere, I think.
To keep track of the many things going on at the farm, including volunteer opportunities, follow it on Instagram and check out the website, stableharvestfarm.com, every now and again. You can find out when the next Family Day is and book a visit on the website or by email, [email protected].
Jennifer Lines as Beatrice and Sheldon Elter as Benedick in Bard on the Beach’s production of Much Ado About Nothing. (photo by Tim Matheson)
For a Vancouver summer experience, almost nothing beats an evening at Bard on the Beach. The appearance of the red and white tents in Vanier Park signals the start of the Shakespearean season. This year, two comedies – Much Ado About Nothing, done in its proper period, and Two Gentlemen of Verona, set in the 1980s – are featured alternating days on the BMO Mainstage.
There was much excitement in the air on Much Ado’s opening night. From the moment I walked into the tent and saw the stunning set (kudos to Pam Johnson), I knew I was in for a treat. The scene is 17th-century Mediterranean Messina with an elevated balcony, vined pillars, terraced gardens and a flagstone wishing well, all drenched in a cornucopia of brilliant colours.
One of the Bard’s most entertaining comedies, the story revolves around two couples, one young and naïve, for whom love is just one romantic whisper away, and one mature and skeptical of what love can bring into their lives. Jennifer Tong and Angus Yam play the young Hero and Claudio while Jennifer Lines and Sheldon Elter, the more experienced Beatrice and Benedick.
The action starts off with a trio of soldiers, Don Pedro (Matthew Ip Shaw), Benedick and Claudio, who, upon returning from battle, stop to rest at the home of Lord Leonato (David Marr), Hero’s father and the governor of Messina. There is instant chemistry between Claudio and Hero, but, while it initially appears that the younger couple will be the main protagonists, it becomes apparent that the play is really about the older two. Lines, with her mass of red hair, comes across as a fiery feminist and is sublime in her role as she exchanges witty bons mots with Elter’s Benedick, a confirmed bachelor. They both mock love and he makes it very clear that marriage is not on his agenda. However, they both “doth protest too much” and it really comes down to “will they or won’t they?”
The journey to their final epiphany is a furious romp through a masked ball (with an erotic pas de deux), mistaken identities, athletic eavesdropping, false allegations of infidelity and a faked death. The language is peppered with double entendres.
Don Pedro attempts to play cupid (“some cupids kill with arrows some with traps”) for both couples but is hindered by his dastardly half-brother Don John (deliciously played by Karthik Kadam), who tries to sabotage the Hero/Claudio nuptials. Cue a motley crew of the local watch, helmed by Bard veteran Scott Bellis as the inept Constable Dogberry, who are tasked with bringing Don John and his co-conspirators, Borachio (Tanner Zerr) and Conrad (Kristi Hansen), to justice. Steffanie Davis, as one of the watch team, entertains with priceless facial expressions and physical antics and, along with her cohorts, injects slapstick comedy into this rom-com.
A prologue precedes the first act, with the inclusion of text written by Erin Shields that is meant to provide a counterpoint to 400-year-old misogyny, including with respect to a woman’s supposed holy grail – the snaring of a husband. Lines challenges the audience with her passionate monologue while Tong mimes the actions from the balcony. As Shields notes in the program, “this additional text both gives an opportunity for a limited character to reach her heroic potential and provides a framework for this incredibly successful comedy to reach contemporary audiences in an even deeper way today.”
In addition to the gorgeous set, the show boasts fabulous costumes by designer Mara Gottler – leather doublets and earth-toned breeches for the men, corset frocks for the women, including frothy gowns and veils for the wedding scene. Jewish community member Mishelle Cuttler provides the sound design.
The production is fun – and it makes a powerful statement. But I have a problem with the script and the suggestion that virginal Hero might risk her marriage to Claudio by having a pre-wedding night tryst with someone else, and with Claudio’s readiness to believe the gossip, leading him to abandon her at the altar. Her subsequent fainting “death” and ultimate resurrection, leading to their reunion, does not account for the wrong that was so easily done to her. Even her final monologue, describing her pain and path to reconciliation, does not ease the blow.
The Much Ado cast shifts gears on alternating nights and pivots to 1980s Verona, with all the colour and decadence that entails.
Matthew Ip Shaw as Valentine, Agnes Tong as Silvia, and Tanner Zerr as Turio in Bard’s production of Two Gentlemen of Verona. (photo by Tim Matheson)
In Two Gentlemen of Verona, best friends Proteus (Jacob Leonard) and Valentine (Ip Shaw) separate, as Valentine goes to Milan to find excitement while Proteus stays behind to be with his girlfriend Julia (Tess Degenstein). However, Proteus’s parents, Antonio (Craig Erickson) and Ursula (Jennifer Clement), think it best that he follow his friend to Milan, to stay out of trouble. So, off he goes with his manservant Launce (a terrific Bellis) in tow and Crab, Launce’s dog (Mason in real life and artistic director Christopher Gaze’s own yellow Lab). As expected, Crab steals every scene he is in, without making a sound. On opening night, he even stopped to nuzzle some front row patrons as he exited the stage.
Valentine, on arrival in Milan, is immediately smitten with Silvia (Tong), the daughter of the Duke (a mafiosi-like Elter). When Proteus arrives, he conveniently forgets about his girlfriend Julia and is equally taken with the glamorous femme. So, when Valentine tells his best bud that he intends to elope with the duchess, Proteus, to have Silvia for himself, tells the Duke. After all, as Proteus states, “in love, who respects friends?” Meanwhile, the Duke wants Silvia to marry Trurio (Zerr), although who knows why, because he comes across as a big, dumb athlete.
Valentine is banished from Milan and Proteus attempts to woo Silvia, who makes it quite clear that she is not interested. Julia arrives, disguised as a man, to check up on her boyfriend and the fun/intrigue begins with swapped rings, torn love letters and a gang of Gothic outlaw rockers armed with various weapons, including a chainsaw, who intervene and provide for a surprising ending.
The production values are high and the designers have done a great job in creating a 1980s vibe, from Johnson’s multi-arched set to Gerald King’s lighting design. Costume designer Carmen Altorre highlights exercise leotards and leggings à la Jane Fonda, padded shoulders, caftans and tennis whites, as well as Miami Vice pastel-coloured suits to clothe the posh crowd. Of course, there is the hair – voluminous back-combed dos for the women and mullets for the men. A lot of the action takes place around the pool house, with props including a floating pink swan, multi-coloured beach balls, boom boxes and skateboards.
Malcolm Dow’s sound design brings back all the 1980s oldies and goldies, including theme songs from Dallas and St. Elmo’s Fire, with some funky choreography courtesy of Nicole Spinola.
Director Dean Paul Gibson has taken liberties with the script and not just a nip and tuck here and there, but major surgery, particularly with the ending. Purists may be appalled but the #MeToo generation will applaud the final scene.
Running on the smaller Douglas Campbell stage are The Complete Works of William Shakespeare (abridged) [revised] [again], a 90-minute romp through all 38 Shakespeare plays and 150-plus sonnets, including a version of Hamlet done backwards, and The Dark Lady, about Shakespeare’s supposed muse, collaborator and lover, Emilia Bassano, a Crypto-Jew.
For tickets, visit the website bardonthebeach.org or call 604-739-0559. The festival runs to Sept. 20.
Tova Kornfeld is a Vancouver freelance writer and lawyer.
Jacob Samuel self-produced his newest comedy special, Big Talk. (Chelsey Stuyt Photography)
Jacob Samuel’s second comedy special, Big Talk, premiered on YouTube last month and already it has racked up more than 20,000 views. The Vancouver-based comedian filmed the 52-minute special in front of live audiences at the city’s China Cloud Studio. In addition to writing and performing, Samuel gets producing, directing and editing credits.
Much of the material in Big Talk was worked out over five years, a period punctuated by Samuel’s winning a 2021 Juno Award for best comedy album for his first special, Horse Power. And that win was not the first time the comedian was recognized for his work.
At 25 years old, Samuel submitted some of his original single-panel cartoons to The New Yorker magazine, which published some of them – a notable achievement, especially at such a young age. Several other publications have featured his humorous illustrations, as well, including the Jewish Independent. He has published two books of single-panel cartoons.
Samuel has been performing stand-up for years – at clubs, on stages, television and radio, at festivals. He’s a regular on CBC Radio’s The Debaters.
His drive to perform started early in life.
“Honestly, I’m still trying to convince myself I can competently tell a joke,” he told the Independent. “Growing up, my parents and their friends revered clever comedians. I always felt that being funny was a difficult thing that people valued. As far as I can remember, I have always been driven to get up and talk in front of people even though I wasn’t naturally great at it – when I was young, I had some minor speech impediments.”
As for his gutsy New Yorker submissions, he said, “It seemed like a fun thing to try. I’ve always had a certain misplaced confidence about going after things … I’m not sure why. I think I was blessed with a certain level of obliviousness and an audacity to go for things that I found interesting/exciting.”
Samuel’s new special shows off his rapid delivery and finely honed comedic timing, and the material supports his affable relationship with the audience. The jokes in Big Talk run the gamut, covering the joys and challenges of welcoming a new puppy, the mental health benefits of knitting, the absurdity of the Honda Odyssey, being newly married (Big Talk’s jokes are “officially approved” by his spouse), and other very funny bits.
Being successful requires more than just comedic writing talent and good timing.
“Being a comedian now is like running a small business,” he said. “I have a manager now, but I still manage much of my booking, touring, and sometimes I even produce my own shows. So, I spend just as much time doing ‘comedy admin work’ as I do writing and performing material. You can’t really advance your career now by being exclusively an ‘artist.’ I maintain many comedy spreadsheets, which maybe sounds like an oxymoron.”
Even after all the commercial elements have been satisfied, there are still obstacles to confront. Being an artist who is driven to perform does not mean there are no pre-show jitters, Samuel shared. “The fact that people are coming to see me now actually makes me a bit nervous because I hope I’m as good as what they expect.”
Big Talk feels more personal than Samuel’s previous work, while also featuring plenty of material about everyday human struggles and absurdity.
“I still feel like my comedy is pretty observational but maybe I’m digging more into my personal life subconsciously now,” he acknowledged. “I think maybe I’m gravitating towards more personal material because that is what people tend to connect with more. Maybe I’m getting more inspired to do personal material because, as I get older, I think I’ve gotten a better sense of myself. I think it’s a natural part of maturing, to go from observing the world around to becoming more self-conscious. Having said that, I still love observational comedy. I think my favourite type of comedy weaves both together.”
The use of social media has its benefits, like building an audience, but it comes with costs, too.
“The pressure to produce more content has grown exponentially…. Many of the comedians who are now gaining the most fans are just churning out content,” said Samuel. “So, I do feel more pressure to do that, to keep up, but I’m pretty good at keeping it to a reasonable level so as to not burn out. I need to make sure I’m still having fun writing and performing, so I limit how much I’m going to indulge those pressures.”
But he can’t completely avoid them, as social media has the power to make or break projects in this era.
“The benefits of social media are pretty enormous, in that you can gain an audience without having to go through any gatekeepers,” said Samuel. “The risk is that you start ‘creating for the algorithm only’ and start trying to make content based on what you think will go viral as opposed to what you find funny. Then I think you just end up sounding like other comedians who are doing the same.”
Asked about the potential impacts of artificial intelligence, Samuel said. “If you asked me this a year ago, I would say I was not at all afraid of AI. It seemed that it would write jokes that were very basic, crude and pretty unfunny. However, since then, it’s gotten a lot better. I think AI can be useful in comedy but I’m also pretty worried about it. I was playing around with AI a few weeks ago and it’s getting pretty good at writing comedy that is formulaic or follows a basic structure. I’ve heard of some other comedians using it to see if their idea is creative enough – if the AI can think of it, then it’s not. It could also be useful as a brainstorming tool. I think AI will change comedy, but I don’t think it will put comics out of business because people crave human connection. Will it make comedy worse or better? It could go either way.”
AI is not the only complexity these days.
“I don’t think any topics are beyond the pale … but some are a lot harder to make an audience laugh at than others,” said Samuel. “When people complain that certain topics should not be joked about, it’s often that the jokes they’ve heard about that topic just were not clever or nuanced enough. I think the more intense and heavier the world is, the more important comedy is…. Comedy is a great way to cope with uncertainty, but I’m also concerned about the increasing amount of comedy that is just feeding off of and confirming disinformation and catering to specific groups’ political views rather than challenging them.”
Asked about what it is like to be a Jew in comedy, particularly during the events of the last couple of years, Samuel said, “I’m not sure I have a great answer…. I don’t think it’s really impacted my career. It has impacted how I feel about being a Jewish performer. I do think that it’s more important now to talk and joke about being Jewish. I definitely feel like a form of antisemitism that was previously contained has now been unleashed in several forms. My only response to that as an individual is to find more ways to joke about being Jewish on stage and not to shy away from talking about being Jewish.”
Big Talk is dedicated to the memory of Samuel’s mother, who passed away in 2021.
“It probably wouldn’t surprise people to know that my mom was my biggest supporter,” he said. “I’m sure she would’ve become a full-time press agent for this special. When I published my second book of cartoons, in 2017, she managed to get a copy to the prime minister somehow (true story). Justin Trudeau sent me a signed letter about it – he was more popular then….
“My mom made a significant professional contribution to Canada’s Jewish community,” added Samuel. “She was the executive director of Toronto’s Jewish affordable housing agency for two decades and was very proud of her work and the impact it had on helping people access affordable housing.
“When I won the Juno Award, I was in the midst of dealing with my mom being very ill. It was the most difficult thing I’ve ever had to deal with. Although I don’t talk about it explicitly, I developed most of the material for this special in the wake of losing my mom. Building this act was something I could work on to process my grief. There’s also something about losing a family member that makes you want to take action in life. It definitely contributed towards my drive to produce this show as an actual comedy special and take the risk of self-producing and self-releasing it.”
Big Talk can be seen on YouTube, which is “the only place to watch [it,] unless someone reading this owns a streaming network and wants to make a deal,” Samuel said.
As for the near future, Samuel has another “special” to produce.
“My wife and I are expecting our first child very soon,” he shared. “So, I’m going on a hiatus from touring and performing for a few months. After that, I will probably be back on the local circuit, likely with some new material about how relaxing it is to have a new baby.”
Son of a Seeker follows Kai Balin’s search for where he fits within Judaism and Jewish community. (still from Son of a Seeker)
Kai Balin’s documentary Son of a Seeker, which screened to a sold-out Rothstein Theatre last month, is an official selection of the 2026 Vancouver Jewish Film Festival, which will take place next April.
The very personal work that follows Balin’s search for where he fits within Judaism and Jewish community will be thought-provoking for viewers, generating questions about what religion, family and belonging mean to them.
“I think my mother, sister and even my brother have a more innate sense of security in who they are and in who they are as Jews,” Balin told the Independent. “My dad and I, on the other hand, have a more complex identity. It makes it harder to fully fit in or feel completely rooted. However, I see it – and I know my dad does too – as a kind of blessing. It’s ultimately who we are. And, while it comes with plenty of challenges, being a seeker is also a beautiful way to live.”
Balin dedicates the documentary to his grandparents, who survived the Holocaust. “But survival is not the same as security,” he narrates in the film. “My father and I have spent our lives trying to understand what it means to continue.”
Having grown up in a Jewish but not religious home, where his deeper questions were not answered, Balin’s father, Jeffrey, began looking for answers elsewhere, notably, in Buddhism. And, while Balin’s mother, Jennifer Shecter, grew up in a traditional Jewish family and attended Jewish school, “bringing a strong sense of Judaism into the home wasn’t a priority, but I knew I was a Jew,” says Kai Balin in the film. “And I got to create a version of Judaism that I owned and I loved.”
The home video clips in the film highlight this love. As a child, Balin plays at being a rabbi, wants to be one when he grows up. But, over the years, he loses this connection, just as his father begins to return to Judaism. How the father and son negotiate their respective paths, while being respectful of the other’s journey, is a key aspect of the documentary.
“When I first started making Son of a Seeker, I had no idea what the title would be, or even what the story really was,” said Kai Balin. “I knew I wanted to explore Judaism and what it means to be Jewish, but I didn’t expect it to become so personal. Early on, I interviewed a few dozen Jewish people from across the spectrum on camera. But, in the end, I realized I wanted this film to be something much more intimate.
“My dad initially thought he’d just be one of many voices in the film. He didn’t expect to become such a central figure in the story. It pushed him far beyond his comfort zone, but he ultimately believed in the project and gave me his full blessing to be a part of my documentary.”
Balin’s sister, Justine, and brother, Jackson, are also in the film, his brother in the background, while his sister is featured more prominently.
“My sister was my right-hand woman throughout the entire process – I truly couldn’t have made this film without her,” said Balin. “She filmed what’s arguably the most important scene in the movie, when I’m walking through the town where our grandfather was born and raised until he was sent away to a forced labour camp and had everything taken from him and his family. My sister also spent countless hours in the editing room, helping make the tough calls about what to cut and what to keep. Without her input, the film would’ve easily been two hours long and a lot less focused.
“My whole family really stood behind me on this project,” he said. “They gave me the strength, courage and confidence to see it through.”
Balin came to filmmaking somewhat organically.
“I was studying kinesiology at Western University. After my second year, I worked on an indie film, Volition, as part of the swing crew, helping with lighting and grip. Later that summer, I was the program director at Camp Hatikvah (2017), where the videographer/photographer, Denis Lipman, brought some super cool gear…. Right before my third year, I bought a camera – and, from then on, I started dedicating less and less time to what I was actually studying, and more time learning how to shoot and edit.
“I was running a nonprofit at school that threw club and bar events for local charities, and the first video I ever made was a recap of one of those nights,” said Balin. “I started getting more involved on campus and around the city (London, Ont.), looking for any chance to shoot videos.
“My first paid gig was filming a club event that featured a guy in a robot suit on stilts. I was also on the rugby team, so I made a few hype-up videos for them whenever I was injured (which was quite a bit). Over the last two years at my time in university, I got more invested in videography and less focused on kinesiology. I ended up shooting videos for all sorts of events and student clubs.”
After graduating, Balin pursued videography full time. Not wanting to make corporate videos, he started making a documentary about his dad’s work.
“He was a leadership development coach working mostly with heads of NGOs and social enterprises,” explained Balin. “I lined up a plan to travel to different countries, mostly in East Africa and India, to film these organizations and their leaders. I started shooting, but I didn’t have a clear direction. Eventually, I lost the passion for the project – and for filmmaking altogether. I just wanted to travel.”
It would be almost five years before Balin made another video.
“It took about three months to put My 5 Year Video Project together – I wasn’t working any other job at the time – and we held a small premiere in August 2024 with around 70 people,” he said about the film, which can be seen on YouTube.
“I didn’t expect people to be so moved by what I had created,” he said. “That experience gave me the confidence to pursue my next film project. At the time, it was just a rough idea, and I had no clue it would eventually become something so personal – and so deeply centred around my father’s story as well.”
But, for Balin, it’s the personal aspects of art, films and books that draw him in, “even if I can’t directly relate to what the creator is going through,” he said. “I remember hearing years ago, from a few directors I really respect, that you ultimately have to make the film for yourself – something you’d enjoy watching a hundred times over, and something that excites you to work on every day.
“For me, that excitement comes from sharing something personal. It’s my life, my questions, my struggles, and I find them interesting. So maybe others will too.”
As for what comes next, Balin said, “One side of me just wants to let the river flow, follow life as it comes without getting too attached to any future outcomes. But the other side of me dreams of being a famous, successful filmmaker making big-budget movies. There’s still something in me that maybe wants to be a rabbi one day as well.”
He added, “I know my relationship with Judaism will continue to evolve, but, for now, I’ve found a sense of peace. I feel like I have a steady relationship with it, and I’m much more secure in who I am as a Jew than I was when I started this film.
“These days,” Balin said, “I find myself seeking something else: my soulmate. That might even be the focus of my next documentary – exploring the journey to find ‘the one’ – if that concept even exists.”
Writer Adina Horwich only met Yehuda Miklaf and his wife Maurene in Jerusalem, even though both Adina and Yehuda are from Nova Scotia. (photo by Adina Horwich)
So, this guy walks into my Yiddish group one fine Sunday in Jerusalem – this is not the beginning of a joke. In the group, we welcome anyone who is into Yiddish, with any background, and, on that day, Yehuda was introduced to us. We went around the room asking him questions. I asked where he hailed from. Little could I have anticipated his answer: Nova Scotia.
“I don’t believe it!” I said. “So do I!” Then, “From where, exactly?”
“Annapolis Valley.”
“Oh,” I paused, thinking to myself, I’d be hard-pressed to find any Jews there.
Later, Yehuda’s story was revealed when the teacher matched us up to work together.
Yehuda, an Esperanto speaker and aficionado, has only recently started to learn Yiddish, while I have been at it for 15 years. I started off with little but the smattering I heard as a child. Yehuda happened upon it by the by, via a friend in the hand-printing scene, where he is an active, prominent member. With the characteristic zeal that he tackles so many projects, and lots of gumption, he has taken to Yiddish very well.
The sight and sound of us two old-time Bluenosers (nickname for Nova Scotians) hacking a chainik in Yiddish, is too precious. But, most of all, I like when Yehuda slips into the down-home accent I grew up with. That is when I really kvell.
Né Seamas Brian McClafferty, Yehuda was born in the mid-1940s to a father with Irish roots and a mother with origins in Quebec. The youngest of eight, he had an idyllic childhood, as a small-town Catholic youngster in Annapolis Royal, which today has a population of only 530.
In his last year of high school, Yehuda attended a Fransciscan seminary in upstate New York, his first foray away from home. With his fellow students, he passed a building with Hebrew letters, which intrigued him. A friend he asked about these unfamiliar markings promptly replied: “That’s just Hebrew.” Yehuda had never seen, much less met, any Jews.
He completed his last year of high school and then spent a year of silence and meditation at the novitiate in the Adirondacks. The following year, he furthered his studies towards the priesthood, commencing a rigorous and intense program that sounds like a yeshiva govoha (Torah academy of higher learning).
Discipline and training, mostly in silence, hours of meditation and living under austere conditions, Yehuda carried on through to the second of four years. He heard a lecture about the Torah, which was demonstrated by a small model scroll, and delved deeply from then on, backed by the church’s ecumenical approach of spirituality and faith. He availed himself of the library to his heart’s content and took to reading the Hebrew Bible over and over again. He didn’t know it at the time, but his first steps towards life as an Orthodox Jew were taken, while he was encouraged to become a scholar of the “Old Testament.”
Over the four years of study, Yehuda began to have rather different ideas about how he wanted to live his life.
Returning to Canada in the mid-1960s, he spent time in Toronto and in Nova Scotia, taking road trips home to tend to his father who had taken ill. Things grew clearer.
Yehuda absorbed every mention of things Jewish. It was an emotional attachment. In 1966, after having left Christianity, he discussed his evolving beliefs with a Jewish friend, who said: “You sound more Jewish than me. I’m surprised that you haven’t converted.”
The conversion process was long but not arduous. Yehuda took a class in Toronto and eventually went to the mikvah.
He and his wife Maurene – who he met through his roommate in Toronto – visited Israel, as tourists, for an extended vacation. They had not intended to make aliyah, but, smitten with Israel, as so many of us are, did so three years later.
After making aliyah, Yehuda had to “rinse and repeat,” so to speak, as often happens with conversion. Israeli rabbinic courts do not automatically accept even the most stringent diaspora Orthodox ones, and Yehuda had to go through it again, studying for a year and then going to the mikvah. The converting rabbi gave him the option of choosing a name and Yehuda suited him, since that’s where the word Jew comes from. Miklaf (literally, “from parchment”) was a good abbreviation of McClafferty, he thought, and could not have been more fitting for his chosen profession of printer and bookbinder.
Like most new immigrants at the time, they started out at an absorption centre and had a routine klita (absorption/integration), including Hebrew language studies at ulpan. Maurene got a job in high-tech and Yehuda opened a studio. He started out by binding the original of David Moss’s My Haggadah: The Book of Freedom, and branched out into printing.
The couple attends an Ashkenazi shul but try not to be pigeonholed as being from one background (Sephardi or Ashkenazi). Early on, Yehuda tasted some traditional Ashkenazi delicacies and learned how to make potato kugel, for which he’s now famous, along with kneidlach.
Yehuda still has two siblings in Nova Scotia and visits his longtime friends in Annapolis Royal.
Our paths from the Atlantic led us to meet in Jerusalem, where we raised our families. The Miklafs have two children and several grandkids. Their daughter was a high school friend of my daughter’s, and both women have been living in the same community, and they see each other now and again.
Ma’aseh avot siman l’banim – the deeds of the fathers are a sign for the children – or, in this case, Ma’aseh horim siman l’banot, the deeds of the parents are a sign for the daughters.
Adina Horwichwas born in Israel to Canadian parents. In 1960, the family returned to Canada, first living in Halifax, then in a Montreal suburb. In 1975, at age 17, Horwich made aliyah, and has lived mostly in the Jerusalem area. She won a Rockower Award for journalistic excellence in covering Zionism, aliyah and Israel for her article “Immigration challenges.”
Through a chance conversation with a curator at the Auschwitz Memorial and Museum, conductor and composer Leo Geyer came across musical scores composed by concentration camp prisoners during the Holocaust. June 3 to 7, at London’s Bloomsbury Theatre, the music Geyer documented was played for the first time in 80 years. (photo from Sky Arts)
In 2015, London-based musician and composer Leo Geyer was commissioned to write a tribute honouring British historian Sir Martin Gilbert, who had recently died. Visiting Oświęcim, Poland, to better understand the Holocaust historian’s research, a chance conversation with a curator at the Auschwitz Memorial and Museum led Geyer to a trove of forgotten musical scores composed by prisoners who had been forced to perform in the SS-run orchestras in the Nazi concentration camp, where more than 1.1 million died in gas chambers, mass executions, torture, medical experiments, exhaustion and from starvation, disease and random acts of violence.
The deteriorating and fragile sheets of music, written in pencil, were faded and ripped. Many had burn damage. Intrigued, Geyer devoted nearly a decade of detective work to studying the documents and filling in missing gaps, and the music formed the basis for his doctorate at Oxford University. From June 3 to 7, at London’s Bloomsbury Theatre, the music Geyer documented was played for the first time in 80 years, to commemorate the liberation of Auschwitz in January 1945. The opera ballet included the unfinished scores that Geyer completed and choreography by New York-born choreographer Claudia Schreier.
“The musicians took incredible risks to make brazen acts of rebellion. When good news of the war [of the Allies’ June 6, 1944, D-Day landings] reached the men’s orchestra in Auschwitz I, they performed marches not by German composers but by American composers,” Geyer said in an interview with France 24’s daily broadcast Perspective.
The guards couldn’t distinguish between a Strauss waltz and a John Philip Sousa march.
The musicians “would also weave in melodies from Polish national identity such as St. Mary’s Trumpet Call (a five-note Polish bugle call closely bound to the history of Kraków). We also know of secret performances [that] would take place, which would principally encompass Polish music, but we also know Jewish music was performed as well,” said Geyer.
The story of the orchestras at Auschwitz was popularized by Fania Fénelon, née Fanja Goldstein (1908-1983), a French pianist, composer and cabaret singer whose 1976 memoir Sursis pour l’orchestre, about survival in the women’s orchestra at the Nazi concentration camp, was adapted as the 1980 television film Playing for Time. The orchestra, active from April 1943 to October 1944, consisted of mostly young female Jewish and Slavic prisoners of varying nationalities. The Germans regarded their performances as helpful in the daily running of the camp in so far as they brought solace to those trapped in unimaginable horror. As well, the musicians held a concert every Sunday for the amusement of the SS.
Geyer explained that the SS organized at least six men’s and women’s orchestras at Auschwitz, and perhaps as many as 12. The groups principally played marching music as prisoners trudged to the munitions factories and other industrial sites, where they worked as slave labourers, he explained.
“Musicians had marginally better conditions than other prisoners,” he noted. Nonetheless, he said, “The vast majority of the musicians and composers did not survive the war.” Most of their names are lost. Geyer was able to track down the composer of one unsigned composition by comparing the handwriting to a document found at a conservatory in Warsaw.
Adding poignancy to the performances in London, the musicians played from copies of the original scores.
“We poured our heart and soul into these performances,” said Geyer. “I am neither Jewish nor Romani. But I am human.”
Gil Zoharis a writer and tour guide in Jerusalem.
* * *
A replica of Auschwitz
Due to conservation issues, the Auschwitz Memorial and Museum no longer permits the filming of movies at the historic site. Using advanced spatial scanning technology, the museum employed a team of specialists, led by Maciej Żemojcin, to create a digital replica of the Auschwitz I camp. The project was recognized at the Cannes Film Festival.
Museum spokesperson Bartosz Bartyzel told Euronews Culture that the replica was created “out of the growing interest of directors in the history of the German camp.”
“The Auschwitz Museum has been working with filmmakers for many years – both documentary filmmakers and feature film directors,” he said. “However, due to the conservation protection of the authentic memorial site, it is not possible to shoot feature films [there]. The idea to create a digital replica was born out of the need to respond to the growing interest in the history of the Auschwitz German camp in cinema and the daily experience of dealing with the film industry. This tool offers an opportunity to develop this cooperation in a new, responsible and ethical formula.”
A tofu dish worth the effort. (photo by Shelley Civkin)
As far as my husband Harvey is concerned, tofu is a four-letter word. Spoken only in hushed tones. And for sure not in mixed company. If given a lie detector test and asked if he believed tofu was evil – as in, unforgivable and heinous – he would reply unconditionally in the affirmative. And he would pass the test. I, on the other hand, think quite highly of tofu. I have great respect for its versatility, inexpensiveness and health benefits. Granted, it’s undeniably bland when left to its own devices. But zhuzh it up with some seasoning, cover it in sauces and marinades, pair it with rice or noodles, and you’ve got yourself a very respectable, even snazzy, lunch, dinner or snack. Think of it as the tabula rasa of the food world.
The other day, as I was contemplating what to make for lunch, Harvey was busy frying a couple of eggs on his little Proctor Silex one-burner cooktop. (He can’t go near our induction stove because of his pacemaker with defibrillator, so he was on his own.) It was the perfect time for me to indulge in a tofu-forward meal.
Enter garlic sesame tofu from eatwithclarity.com. Sweet, salty and tangy, this recipe is delicious when freshly cooked and hot, and tastes even better cold the next day. The recipe calls for it to be served over rice with steamed broccoli, but I think it would be just as yummy over rice vermicelli noodles. It’s a bit labour intensive – not baked Alaska intensive, but do set aside about one to one-and-a-half hours to make this dish. It’s not a lunch you can throw together in 10 minutes like say, a PB&J sandwich. But, if you have the time, it’s totally worth the effort.
GARLIC SESAME TOFU
tofu 1 tbsp low-sodium tamari or soy sauce 1 16-ounce block of extra firm tofu 1 tbsp cornstarch 3 tbsp breadcrumbs
sauce 5 cloves garlic, minced (I used only 2) 1 tbsp oil 1/3 cup low-sodium tamari or soy sauce 2 tsp toasted sesame oil 2-3 tbsp honey or maple syrup 1 tbsp rice vinegar 1 tbsp cornstarch 4 tbsp water, divided
Preheat oven to 400˚F and line a cookie sheet with parchment paper.
Drain excess liquid from tofu by wrapping it in paper towel, placing it on a plate, covering it with another plate and pressing it down with a heavy object on top (I used a cast iron pan). Let it sit for about 30 minutes. Pressing the tofu makes it crispier.
Cut the pressed tofu into one-inch squares and put the squares in a large bowl. Toss with 1 tbsp tamari or soy sauce. Add 1 tbsp cornstarch, then 3 tbsp breadcrumbs (or Panko), until all pieces are evenly coated.
Put all the tofu squares on a baking sheet lined with parchment paper and bake for about 30 to 35 minutes or until golden brown.
During the final 10 minutes of baking, prepare the sauce.
Mince the garlic and sauté it with 1 tbsp oil in a large non-stick pan for 2 to 3 minutes or until lightly browned. Be careful not to over cook it or it will become bitter.
Add in 1/3 cup tamari or soy sauce, 2 to 3 tbsp honey or maple syrup, 1 tbsp rice vinegar, 2 tbsp water and 2 tsp sesame oil.
In a separate bowl, whisk together 1 tbsp cornstarch and the remaining 2 tbsp of water and then add this to the fry pan.
Heat over low heat for 3 to 5 minutes or until the sauce starts to bubble and thicken.
When the tofu is done, toss it in with the sauce. Garnish with sesame seeds and serve over rice with steamed broccoli (or rice vermicelli noodles). Enjoy!
You could likely make this same recipe using slabs of tofu, instead of cubes, essentially turning it into a fake-steak, but you’d still have to cut it so it’s not too thick. Different presentation, similar result, I’m guessing. Don’t quote me on that.
I’m told you can substitute tofu for all kinds of other proteins in dishes like lasagna, spaghetti and meat sauce, chicken casseroles, etc. That is, unless you have a husband who’s like a police sniffer dog. I tried it once, and Harvey busted me from 10 paces away. Luckily, I got off with a mere warning that time.
Since we’re on the topic of health foods, if you haven’t already discovered hemp hearts (also called hemp seeds), you’ve got to give these a try. For me, they’re the equivalent of Frank’s Red Hot sauce – “I put that sh*t on everything.” These little gems are deliciously nutty tasting and packed full of protein, omegas 3 & 6, amino acids and important nutrients like iron, magnesium, fibre and zinc. Plus, they’re gluten-free, vegan, paleo- and keto-friendly. And, if that isn’t enough to convince you, they’re grown in Canada! Oh, and they’re kosher! Manitoba Harvest is a big producer of hemp hearts, and you can buy them practically anywhere.
These little nuggets of nuttiness are an equal opportunity food – you can put them on salads and on toasted bagels, in smoothies, sprinkle them on casseroles and cereal, and even eat them straight out of the bag by the spoonful. You can bake with them, cook with them and substitute them for breadcrumbs in some recipes.
Manitoba Harvest has an extensive lineup of hemp heart recipes at manitobaharvest.ca/blogs/hemp-resource-hub and I’ll definitely be trying some of them soon. The point is, I used to sneak these tiny protein warriors into our dinners without my hubby knowing until, one day, he relented and agreed to try a “test” spoonful (for the first time, or so he thought). Alert the media: he was instantly and completely culinarily hooked!
Moral of the story is this: don’t try to sneak in a known verboten food unless your partner is even slightly flexible in his/her culinary adventurousness. And, know this: there is absolutely no way to disguise a Brussels sprout. You can purée it, hide it in soup, barbeque it and smother it in maple syrup and feta, but it’s still a Brussels sprout. Like Sarah Palin said: “You can put lipstick on a pig, but it’s still a pig.” I respectfully submit that this is true of that mini cabbage-like vegetable that Harvey wouldn’t eat if it were the last food left in an Israeli bomb shelter. In all fairness, I feel the same way about okra. I’m only human, after all.
Shelley Civkin, aka the Accidental Balabusta, is a happily retired librarian and communications officer. For 17 years, she wrote a weekly book review column for the Richmond Review. She’s currently a freelance writer and volunteer.
Since Oct. 7, 2023, antisemitism and intimidation have been rife on campuses, including the University of British Columbia, where there have been numerous incidents of graffiti and personal attacks on the university’s president, among others. (photo from Hillel BC)
Jewish university students and their allies are reflecting on a challenging year at British Columbia’s postsecondary institutions. Activists continue to make life difficult – but leaders at the campus organization Hillel BC are emphasizing the resilience of students and the unity of the community.
The first full academic year since the Oct. 7 terror attacks and the ensuing war wrapped up recently. In some ways, it was less chaotic than the previous year, but more intense, according to Ohad Gavrieli, executive director of Hillel BC.
“If we could summarize this year,” Gavrieli said, “it would be that there were fewer fires but they blazed with greater intensity.”
Last year, campuses across North America, including at the University of British Columbia, the University of Victoria and Vancouver Island University, were occupied by anti-Israel protest encampments.
“Last summer, the encampment occupied the campus, literally and figuratively, for months, demanding responses and counter-narratives that detracted from our primary work,” said Gavrieli.
Those disruptions ended before the new academic year, but 2024-’25 began with a flurry of hostility from anti-Israel activists. UBC’s main Point Grey campus seems to be the locus of the activism, with other campuses showing similar but reduced agitation commensurate with their size, he said.
At UBC, the activists’ scattershot tactics have been honed into more targeted protests, boycotts and campaigns, he said. At the same time, Hillel, Jewish students and a significant group of allies are more prepared than they were when the explosion of anti-Israel – and often overtly antisemitic – activism roiled campuses beginning in October 2023.
The 2024-’25 school year opened with vandalism, including a pig’s head being mounted on a gate near the home of the university’s president in a protest that apparently targeted the RCMP, Israel and the UBC administration. The head was accompanied by a sign reading “Pigs off campus.” The incident, for which anti-Israel activists took credit online, was an apparent reference to the surname of UBC’s president, Benoit-Antoine Bacon, but, in online discourse, Israelis, Zionists and Jews are often depicted as pigs.
The UBC campus, and others, were swathed in anti-Israel graffiti as students returned to school last September.
Anti-Israel activists have targeted UBC’s president Benoit-Antoine Bacon in various ways. (photo courtesy Hillel BC)
In October, a conference featuring an Israeli archeologist had to be relocated from UBC’s Green College after the facility’s windows were smashed and hateful messages were spray-painted on the building during the night before the scheduled event.
In November, a coordinated “Strike for Palestine” was organized, including an occupation of UBC’s Global Lounge, the office where students access international academic exchanges. Anti-Israel groups also gathered outside the Buchanan Building, the main arts complex, demanding UBC’s financial divestment from Israel.
In December and January, the campus was blanketed with posters accusing UBC’s board of governors of supporting genocide. Graffiti and harassment continued, with some students reporting they no longer felt safe in class.
In February and March, UBC saw a student referendum campaign calling for divestment from Israel. This was followed by another “Student Strike for Palestine.”
When Vancouver and Whistler, including UBC, hosted the Invictus Games, an international adaptive sports competition for wounded, injured and sick military personnel and veterans, protesters homed in on the presence of Israeli soldiers and veterans, causing disruptions and engaging in further extensive vandalism.
As the school year ended, convocation ceremonies were targeted, with protesters and some graduates wearing keffiyehs or other symbols and carrying or unfurling signs, disrupting numerous graduation events throughout the province.
Despite these and many more challenges, Gavrieli said, Hillel continued to serve as a refuge of safety, belonging and Jewish pride.
“We continued to host weekly Shabbat dinners, hot lunches and holiday celebrations across our campuses, including new programming at UBC Okanagan and Thompson Rivers University,” he said.
The campus organization has seen significantly increased interest in their programs and expanded involvement over the past two academic terms, as students, faculty and staff converged on Hillel for emotional and practical support. These programs include significantly enhanced mental health services, said Gavrieli, as well as building organizational capacity empowering students to advocate for themselves and their community.
The achievements of Jewish students and their allies were marked at a Night of Resilience, held at Hillel UBC on March 27.
Looking back at the year past, Gavrieli emphasized the high points, especially the strength of Jewish students who have “risen with courage, dignity and pride.” He also cited continuing healthy dialogue with university administrators and other stakeholders, though he expressed the wish that university leadership were more vocal in condemning hate-motivated language and acts, and addressing abuse of podium. Many professors and teaching assistants have pressed their personal political opinions on students, Gavrieli said, including instances in which the subject matter was not remotely related to the instructors’ disciplines.
Relations with campus security and the respective police services have been universally positive and constructive.
“We have received nothing short of exemplary cooperation from all areas of security and policing,” Gavrieli said.
Other achievements include a “We Are Here” toolkit, an online resource that helps students file formal complaints and access support. This technological response systematized reporting procedures to make intelligence gathering more effective and to ensure easy and immediate access for students needing supports.
Hillel staff successfully assisted several students in navigating institutional processes, according to Gavrieli, including challenging biased grading. They condemned the disruption of academic spaces, voiced concerns to the administration and stood with students who felt abandoned.
Gavrieli expressed gratitude to individual and organizational allies in the Jewish community, who have ensured that the campus organization has the resources it needs to respond as best as they can to the situations arising on campuses province-wide.
Roman Chelyuk is one of a small but increasingly visible group of non-Jewish allies who have coalesced around Hillel in recent years. Growing up in Ukraine, Chelyuk had Jewish peers and family friends, and has traveled twice to Israel. He was supposed to travel there again last month with the Canadian Jewish Political Affairs Committee but the conflict canceled that mission.
Roman Chelyuk was one of the non-Jewish allies honoured at the event Night of Resilience, held at Hillel UBC on March 27. He is pictured here with Ishmaeli Goldstein, Hillel’s campus advocacy specialist. (photo courtesy Hillel BC)
He first connected with Hillel when the Ukrainian students’ club did a joint program with the Jewish students and he hung around, partly motivated by the isolation he was seeing among his new Jewish friends.
Chelyuk, who just graduated in international relations, was treasurer and, for a time, interim president of the Israel on Campus club.
One of the clearest signs he sees of the changed situation on campus is that Jewish students are challenged in making connections with other affinity and interest groups like the one through which he was first introduced to Hillel. Joint initiatives with other student clubs have largely dried up.
“That was easy to organize before Oct. 7 and it was not after,” he said. “It’s generally heartbreaking.”
Sara Sontz, who expects to graduate next spring in sociology, was president of UBC’s Jewish Students’ Association this past year.
“It’s definitely still been challenging,” she said, citing protests on campus, professors derailing topics by discussing the Israel-Hamas conflict when it is unrelated to the discipline, even singling out students with Jewish names and asking for their opinions on current events.
“I find it really frustrating because students are there to learn on a specific topic for their degree and it’s frustrating when Jewish students are then forced to almost hide their identities because they don’t want to be called on or put into an awkward position within the class,” she said.
“We haven’t let all the hate and all the protests affect how strong we feel about ourselves and our community. I think that’s the most important thing.”
– Sara Sontz
“I’ve always been open about my Jewish identity,” said Sontz, “but, after Oct. 7, I and many other Jewish students stopped wearing our Magen David necklaces or, for some, they stopped feeling comfortable even going to class – and some stopped going to class – just because of the safety concerns and the emotional discomfort.”
There are silver linings, Sontz said.
“I always try to look for the bright side,” she said. “The one thing I found is that the community got stronger after Oct. 7, due to the necessity of having to have a unified front, to have a community to go to when you have such difficult problems and having your fellow Jewish students, or Hillel and Chabad on campus, really provided that safe space.”
She hopes for better things in the new academic year, though her optimism has limits.
“It’s constant,” she said. “It’s never-ending.… But we haven’t lost hope. We are a really strong community.… We haven’t let all the hate and all the protests affect how strong we feel about ourselves and our community. I think that’s the most important thing.”
Several Iranian missile barrages targeted residential areas in Ramat Gan and other areas of Israel. (photo by Yoram Sorek / Wikimedia Commons)
A missile alert blared! Early Friday morning, like 2 a.m. early, we ran into our saferoom, seemingly to seek safety from yet another Houthi missile from Yemen. As usual, I was the last to get there. Not because I heroically brought up the rear, but because I lagged behind, looking for my glasses and Ventolin puffer – in the heat of battle, I can’t seem to remember where I put them.
As I entered our sanctuary and slammed the heavy steel door shut, my wife exclaimed in disbelief, “We’re attacking Iran!”
Dumbstruck at first, thoughts then flew through my mind at hypersonic ballistic missile speed, including the prayer for the army, “He who blessed our forefathers Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, may He bless the fighters of the Israel Defence Forces, who stand guard over our land….”
The purpose of the siren that morning? Get Israelis in front of the TV, announce this remarkable development and prepare us for the days ahead. To advise us we were under emergency lockdown and we should remain close to safe areas until further notice, in anticipation of Iran’s retaliation.
So there we stayed for the rest of the night, watching history unfold. In shock. In awe. In fear.
* * *
Much later that morning, I noticed we were out of Manischewitz wine, needed for that evening’s Shabbat dinner. Now, I am not a religious person, but we are living in existential times. I needed to say the blessings.
“I’m going to the grocery store to buy some Manischewitz,” I told my wife.
“No!” she said. “We can be attacked any moment. We can do without the wine.”
“OK. I’ll go to the corner store,” I said by way of compromise. “We need the wine for the blessings tonight. I’ll be back in a minute.”
I guess everyone was looking for Manischewitz that day, as our corner store was sold out. I made my way to the store a bit further down the road, running, hoping not to be caught in a missile barrage. But that store also had sold out. Guess a lot of people wanted to say the blessings that Shabbat.
I tried one more store, a bit farther away, running faster, still hoping not to be caught in a missile barrage. Sold out there as well.
Determined to buy my Manischewitz, I ventured even further away, towards the main street, hoping even harder to not be caught during a missile alert, so much farther from home than expected. Found it! That night, we said the prayer for the IDF.
* * *
Speaking of blessings, I talked with a friend who has become very religious. As we discussed the situation, he asked what people who don’t believe in prayer are doing now. “Praying,” I deadpanned.
* * *
A few days later, my city was hit by two Iranian intercontinental missiles in the middle of the night. The impact was tremendously loud and tremendously scary. Our building shook. The destruction was immense, several blocks wide. With all the confusion and damage, there was no looting. Not here and not in other areas of the country suffering the same outrageous fortune from the mullahs’ missiles.
In the morning, my wife and I walked along the main street – where I bought the Manischewitz – surveying the damage. You could still smell the dynamite. The huge front window of the bookstore was blown out. Now, if I were a looter … forget the TVs and stereos from the store next door or the perfume from the nearby pharmacy. As a bibliophile, I would probably loot the bookstore, grab a few bestsellers – not.
The scene was very humbling. Very depressing.
* * *
My wife and daughter are sleeping in the saferoom. I remain in our bedroom across the hall, sprinting to join them several times a night as missile alerts blare. I’ve put an extra pair of glasses and my inhaler on a shelf to avoid delays.
Our saferoom is a messy fortress stocked with mineral water, canned goods, medications and passports. We each have packed an overnight bag, should our place be hit by a missile. How helpful are an extra pair of pants and underwear should we lose everything? We also put some shoes near the fortified steel door – we can’t imagine walking over rubble and shards of glass in our bare feet. Of course, we packed some personal keepsakes: photographs, favourite books, my plastic superhero figurines.
* * *
There was another missile alert the following Friday morning. As we made our way to the saferoom, I again brought up the rear. Again, not because of heroism but, this time, to grab the pots of food simmering on our stove. Dinner was my wife’s specialty. I wasn’t going to risk it to a ballistic missile fired by angry mullahs. This time, the Manischewitz was chilling in the fridge.
* * *
Anxious speculation comes to an end. Another Machiavellian Trump triumph. Doing the right thing, the moral thing. Several B-2 stealth bombers flew over 35 hours under the guise of a two-week bluff. To defeat tyranny, or at least to destroy those dang nuclear sites, “By wise counsel thou shalt make thy war.” (Proverbs 24:6)
* * *
The ceasefire is holding. We unpacked our overnight bags and put the keepsakes back in place. Batman, the Green Arrow and the Flash are safely back on the library shelf.
* * *
The financial cost to Israel of the 12-Day War, as it’s now referred, is huge, some billions of dollars. A war brought by surprise to the enemy – not against the Persian people but against the myopic, maniacal mullahs of the Islamic Republic of Iran. So please continue donating to your favourite Israeli charity or buy Israel Bonds or come visit and spend your tourist dollars here.
Israel lost 28 people during the war. According to Jewish mysticism, one soul is like an entire universe. But, while 28 universes were destroyed – and I don’t say this lightly – it was only 28, which is testament to Israel’s great preparedness and adherence to Home Front Command instructions. At every opportunity – billboards, newspapers, public service announcements, movie trailers – instructions were given. And again. And again.
* * *
Bring them home now.
Bruce Brown, a Canadian-Israeli, made aliyah more than 25 years ago. He works in high-tech by day and, in spurts, is a writer by night. He is the winner of a 2019 American Jewish Press Association Simon Rockower Award for excellence in Jewish writing.
Warren Kinsella, left, and Ben Mulroney at Montreal’s Beth Israel Beth Aaron Synagogue June 19. (photo by Dave Gordon)
In 1980, when Warren Kinsella was in Calgary performing with his punk rock band, one of his friends tapped him on the shoulder to say some men in the crowd were giving a Nazi salute.
“I didn’t believe him. I didn’t think it was possible,” said Kinsella, now a Toronto Sun columnist, at a recent talk. “There, in fact, were three big guys, shaved heads, T-shirts, jeans, suspenders, Doc Martin boots, coloured laces, and they were making Nazi salutes.”
Kinsella confronted one of them, twice asking him to stop the salutes, and was greeted with an expletive and the word “Jew.” As the Irish-Catholic Kinsella tells it, a fist came his way, he hit back – a fight involving his buddies and the skinheads erupted. Eventually, the “skinheads retreated, battered or bruised,” said Kinsella. After the show, one of them pointed at Kinsella, saying, “We’ll be back.”
“And the truth, my friends, is they never really left.”
On June 19, at Montreal’s Beth Israel Beth Aaron Synagogue, Kinsella was joined by syndicated radio host Ben Mulroney, who acted as the moderator of the event called Weaponizing Genocide: Exposing Propaganda and Hate in the Age of Misinformation. It was a fundraiser for the Foundation for Genocide Education, which was founded in 2014 by Heidi Berger, a child of Holocaust survivors. The nonprofit aims to ensure that the subject of genocide is taught in North American high schools.
Since that incident 45 years ago, Kinsella has battled Jew-hatred as a lawyer and as a journalist – at times with rifles jammed in his chest, police protection, bomb threats and death threats.
“I’ve seen lots of hate, but I have never seen it as bad as it is,” he said at the June event. What the Jewish people are fighting is not only a seven-front military war, but a propaganda war “we are losing,” he said.
Kinsella, the author of 10 books, will soon publish The Hidden Hand: The Information War and the Rise of Antisemitic Propaganda, along with an accompanying documentary.
Exactly 18 months before Oct. 7, 2023, social media profiles started popping up all around the Muslim world, Kinsella said. They had “very few followers” and were filled with “stuff about soccer matches and celebrities and pictures of kittens.” On the morning of the seventh, as Hamas and its allies were attacking Israel, thousands of these social media profiles came to life, he said, noting those that had just a few followers suddenly had half a million.
“They pushed out lies,” he said, such as “there had been no murder, no rapes.”
“It was an indication of how sophisticated and how effective these guys were, as they were able to get that word out into the stratosphere,” said Kinsella.
“Antisemites,” he added, “know that … this is the greatest political, cultural and economic revolution of our lifetimes,” with Generation Z’s primary source of information being TikTok, “one of the principal platforms for antisemitism on the planet.”
After the event, Berger told the Jewish Independent that social media literacy for students is critical, to “learn when the term genocide is being used to manipulate their views and their emotions.”
In his remarks, Kinsella said some three million members of Gen Z in Canada believe Israel should be wiped off the map and that Hamas was justified in its actions. Weeks before Israel sent troops into Gaza, he said, young people across Western democracies were chanting the lies that they had seen online.
These were organized campaigns of protests, with professionally made signs, and the “disrupting and terrorizing of Jewish neighbourhoods with military precision,” said Kinsella. “They had talking points. They had food, drink, transportation. They even had legal representation for free….And many of them were being paid to show up.”
He said, “It was principally a campaign to seize the sympathies of our young. And it’s a campaign that’s winning.”
Kinsella, president of Daisy Consulting Group, who has worked for various high-profile US and Canadian political campaigns, noticed that protesters used pithy phrases “very much like what political mainstream parties do,” such as “from the river to the sea” and “free Palestine.”
“Who’s against freedom?” he asked. “It’s nice.”
Media, government and nongovernmental organizations continue to take Hamas at its word, said Kinsella, citing an early example. On Oct. 17, 2023, when the Gazan Health Ministry declared that Al-Ahli Arab Hospital in Gaza City had been bombed by Israel and that 500 people were dead, it made headlines around the world. “The bombing was cited as evidence of Israel’s genocidal war,” yet evidence later showed it was a Palestinian Islamic Jihad rocket that hit the parking lot, and perhaps a few dozen were killed.
The day of the Montreal talk, Iran bombed Soroka Medical Centre in Beer Sheva, Israel – a war crime that almost no media reported on, said Kinsella.
“The line I always use with politicians: facts tell, but stories sell,” said Kinsella. “That’s why they try to overwhelm us, because they know if our story gets heard, if it gets seen, if it gets read, they will be defeated, because, at the end of the day, their story is a litany of hate.”
Dave Gordonis a Toronto-based freelance writer whose work has appeared in more than 100 publications around the world. His website is davegordonwrites.com.
