Towards a Jewish Values Declaration

In my February 20 column about why Temple Israel removed its bid to move to the Jewish Community Campus, I discussed why the decision was ultimately as much about potlucks as property. Temple Israel planned to have two kitchens in its new facility, one which would be under the supervision of the Vaad HaKashrut and which would be used for community-wide events, and another which would abide by a different set of dietary standards and would be dedicated to Temple events and private simchas.

I concluded by suggesting the dispute over dietary laws and standards merely scratched the surface of what is a broader conversation that needs to be had about the set of values that bind us as a community.

I often hear the term “Jewish values” mentioned, but I’m not always sure what that means. In the spirit of the goal behind this Values, Ethics, Community column that I was invited to launch some years ago, I’m going to try my hand at laying out a first-cut Values Declaration. These are both aspirational values as well as descriptive ones. Where we fall short in practice, we should strive to improve.

My hope is that this will be a draft which people will weigh in on, redraft, rework and wrestle with.

1. Jewish Literacy – This is a theme I’ve returned to, particularly around discussions of Jewish education and Jewish camp. I think it’s fair to say that a value of our community is ensuring our next generation is conversant in Jewish history, Hebrew (if not Yiddish) language, the cycle of the Jewish calendar, and Jewish prayer. This means we need to shore up the ability of our institutions to deliver the kind of Jewish knowledge that will sustain a content-rich Jewish identity. Having a Jewish identity with knowledge as its cornerstone is ultimately richer and less prone to clubbishness for its own sake.

2. Kehila (community) – Our many community events and fundraising efforts signal to each other, and to our children, that shoring up existing institutions and their enhancement of Jewish life in Ottawa is a priority. But, we should be cognizant of where we can strive to improve the various institutions that make up the landscape. I have written previously about my desire to work within my own shul to strengthen practices around inclusion, for example. In Exit, Voice and Loyalty, Albert Hirschman’s famous social science formulation, the ultimate question for some, for whom mute loyalty doesn’t feel right, may be how one can exercise one’s voice before one abdicates altogether?

3. Israel – In many of our community activities, we work to inculcate a connection to Israel. I think we could work to encourage a more nuanced understanding of Israeli culture, as well as the serious political situation in which Israel finds itself. Some people seem to view a connection to Israel as implying that Israeli actions should not be criticized. In my mind, there remains much more to be discussed around this, including the question of how we can be meaningfully engaged if we don’t wrestle loudly and visibly with the question of Israel in our lives, and with the impact of Israel’s actions on others.

4. Derekh Eretz (civility) – When someone acts unkindly, I sometimes hear the action criticized in terms of it not living up to Jewish values. Jewish tradition points to the imperative of derekh eretz, (literally “the way of the land,” but generally understood to mean, kindness, appropriateness, and civility). This, of course, should translate into awareness both of how we treat each other interpersonally within and across communities; how we manage pluralism, including different types of Judaic belief and practice; and how our community may occasionally deliver messages about other communities. This also means that we should continue to be aware of the kinds of messages our community-sponsored speakers deliver about others groups.

5. Tikkun Olam (repairing the world) – Are there wrongs out there that need to be righted? Who is hungry? Who is lonely? Who is excluded? Who is suffering? What is at risk? Working to build up a sense of community feels hollow to me if we don’t see our actions as being connected to a grander vision of repairing the rips in the fabric of the world, including on our planet itself. Though we are a strong and vibrant community, we should view our borders as permeable.

Let’s see how we can continue to hone the conversation on Jewish values in Ottawa. E-mail your thoughts to me at mira_sucharov@carleton.ca or, as always, write a letter to the editor at bulletin@ottawajewishbulletin.com. I will collect what I receive and get back to you in a future column.

**A version of this column is appearing in this week's Ottawa Jewish Bulletin**

Thinking big about community with my friend Sam Zunder

I depend on my gym buddies to help me get through my regular workout at the Soloway Jewish Community Centre (SJCC). Recently, I spoke to one of them, Sam Zunder, about the weekly breakfast of eggs, toast, juice, and coffee he shares most Sunday mornings with 12 to 20 other guys. They are old Ottawa friends, many of whom have been breakfasting together for 25 years. They used to meet downtown at the Bay Street Bistro, but now they gather on Sunday mornings at Sam’s retirement residence.

Sam generally enjoys where he lives. He’s in a beautiful part of the city a short drive from one of the synagogues where he enjoys an associate membership, but there’s something lacking for him. “I want more Jewish culture. I want a kosher place,” Sam told me.

A few years ago, with his wife’s health in decline, they moved from their condo to a retirement residence. But he wishes there was a Jewish retirement residence in town, one located even closer to a synagogue and to other cultural activities.

Perhaps it is Sam’s storied history working for decades in his ByWard Market family business, Zunder’s Fruitland (originally, Zunder’s Quality Fruit Supply). Sam was profiled by Shawna Wagman in an Ottawa Magazine (November 2008) feature on the history of the ByWard Market’s Jewish food vendors.

“‘We were happy. There was never a locked door, and everybody helped each other out,’ recalls Zunder. ‘It was all Jewish people. You could just walk into anybody’s house, just like that.’”

This is the sense of community that Sam tries to recreate with his weekly breakfasts with his buddies, and on his regular visits to the SJCC.

Hearing Sam tell it, now is the time for the Jewish community to think creatively about new possibilities. Perhaps some shuls should consider land sharing. But, most importantly for Sam, the community – backed by a creative-thinking real estate developer or two – should consider adding a retirement residence to the property.

Others have been writing in a similar spirit of co-ordination. Although she works at one of Ottawa’s shuls, Marie Levine’s letter to the Ottawa Jewish Bulletin (published December 12, 2011) was written in her capacity as a private individual. She suggested “one spiritual centre encompassing many shuls.” In a letter in the following issue, David Kardish went further, calling for a “community shul on campus."

Looking around our community, it’s a fact that some shuls need to move – whether because they’ve recently sold their site or because they are outgrowing their space – while others have an adequate building but a surplus of land. Still others may wish to contemplate a new location, or a differently-sized building. Some denominations are growing while others are not.

Maybe a synaplex model, in which multiple shuls share some common banquet hall facilities, office staff, and classrooms, but have separate sanctuaries in a hub-spoke model, is the way to go.

Maybe some more informal outdoor recreational aspects could be added, like the basketball court Stephen Fried wrote about in his book, The New Rabbi. For regular post-kiddush pickup basketball games with other congregants and clergy at Philadelphia’s Temple Har Zion, Fried would keep his gym shorts and runners in his bag. In Ottawa winters, an ice rink might be appealing: think Shacharit & shinny.

Perhaps there are others like Sam who feel their specific needs aren’t being met by the current institutional structures. In addition to a retirement residence, maybe shuls should explore some affordable housing, perhaps co-ordinated with the Multifaith Housing Initiative. Maybe clergy housing – designed with the needs of a rabbi or cantor and his or her family in mind – could be envisioned.

Maybe some congregations will consider merging.

In Ottawa, Beth Shalom was, in fact, the product of two congregations which merged in 1956, with a third added 15 years later. Mergers are not easy. The pull of institutional memory can be strong, and compromises sometimes end up appearing to privilege one organization over another. Because of an amalgamation across three synagogues, the Rosh Pina Synagogue in Winnipeg – where my parents met, where I had my bat mitzvah, and where I said a final goodbye to my grandmother – was able to retain its building, but had to take on a new name. Winnipeg clearly saw potential for growth in a kind of Eitz Chayim (literally tree of life), a tree of synergy and possibility. But, it surely was with some sense of a fallen limb.

I hope Sam gets his infusion of community. And I hope that as a community we keep getting infusions of creative and caring thinkers like Sam and the many others who are trying to keep the conversation going. Maybe, if Sam’s dream becomes a reality, his weekly Sunday breakfasts will be right after minyan, with a bit of schnapps to chase the eggs and toast.

**A version of this appeared in the Ottawa Jewish Bulletin**

The Real Story Behind Why Temple Israel Decided not to Move to Campus

Temple Israel decision ‘was as much about potlucks as property’

I read the January 27 community advisory from the Jewish Federation of Ottawa about Temple Israel, Ottawa's only Reform synagogue, deciding not to move to the Jewish community campus with both surprise and disappointment. To my mind, the move would have added additional texture and vibrancy to our campus.

The Federation release said “moving to the campus imposed certain limitations, which included leasing, not purchasing, land and thus not having a property to sell in the future should the need arise.” This sounded reasonable enough to me.

But, as I soon learned, there is more to the failed bid than meets the eye. Temple Israel’s decision to pull out was as much about potlucks as property; as much about spiritual values as equity values.

Specifically, Temple Israel’s business plan involves having two kitchens: one under the supervision of the Vaad HaKashrut and another which would be what Temple calls “kosher-style”: no pork products, no shellfish, and no direct mixing of milk and meat.

As I understand it from conversations with Rabbi Steven Garten (Temple Israel's rabbi), the idea was that Temple’s own events – including simchas and the congregation’s monthly potlucks – would be free to use the “kosher-style” kitchen while community events would use the strictly-kosher kitchen.

I also spoke with Mitchell Bellman, president and CEO of the Jewish Federation of Ottawa who told me he believes the failed bid hinged on the issue of leasing versus owning. But, as he also acknowledged, “There’s no doubt that the position of the Federation and of the Vaad HaKashrut is that there would be only one kitchen in the Temple building: a kosher one.”

Rabbi Garten told me the idea of two kitchens is central to Temple’s vision, including sharing home-cooked food that congregants warm up in the shul kitchen.

“The majority of Jews in this city do not keep kosher,” said Rabbi Garten. “The Federation has a perspective that keeping the campus kosher is an important statement for them, and we have a perspective that offering people who are participating in the life of the Temple an option. We felt that this was a way of opening the community, rather than keeping it narrowly defined.”

Paul Lyons, co-chair of the Temple Israel Building Renewal and Implementation Committee, echoed this sentiment.

“We would like to provide an institution where people feel comfortable participating, even if they aren’t kosher. They could host a non-kosher wedding or a bar mitzvah, for example,” said Lyons.

“Temple Israel’s vision is that of a big tent where people are free and encouraged to re-affiliate, given that affiliation rates are so low. We want to offer an institution that reflects the plurality of the Ottawa Jewish community,” he added.

While Reform Judaism views many halachic stipulations as not being binding, it is the issue of kashrut that looms large in the historical memory of North American Jewry when it comes to denominational issues.

One cannot think about Reform Judaism and kashrut without reflecting on the infamous Trefa Banquet, an event some historians have identified as paving the way for the founding of the Conservative movement about three decades later.

Held at the Cincinnati Highland House in 1883 to celebrate the first graduating class of Hebrew Union College, the gala honoured various local dignitaries, academics, clergy and professionals. The menu included clams on the half-shell, soft-shell crabs, shrimp, frogs’ legs and other period delicacies. Rabbi Isaac Mayer Wise, president of Hebrew Union College, denied knowing about the menu in advance. But given Rabbi Wise’s apparent lack of contrition after the event, historians are still undecided as to whether this was an underhanded attempt by Wise and his supporters to thumb their nose at traditional Judaism.

But much has changed since then. Whereas classical Reform Judaism rejected kashrut completely, contemporary Reform practice encourages serious study of all the mitzvot, including those surrounding dietary practice. The broad range of Reform perspectives surrounding kashrut is encapsulated well in the recent book, The Sacred Table, which encourages a general mindfulness around eating, and which I reviewed last year in the July 18 issue of the Ottawa Jewish Bulletin.

Some may feel that having a uniform kosher standard is the ultimate statement of inclusiveness. But Temple Israel’s leadership feels differently.

“Value statements that are offered in the name of inclusivity are also exclusive,” Rabbi Garten stressed.

“There have been regular meetings of five of the congregational rabbis since the late fall,” to discuss various synagogue and community issues, the rabbi added. “It’s fascinating, that in these meetings, people are really comfortable saying ‘what happens in your shul is what happens in your shul.’ Why couldn’t that have been the outcome on the campus?”

All this makes me return to one of my longstanding questions: What, exactly, are our communal values? As Passover, one of those great stocktaking holidays, approaches, I shall float my vision of how we can arrive at a joint values statement for the Jewish community in Ottawa, a statement that I invite everyone to grapple with, to debate and to rewrite and rework. As the debate over the relocation of Temple to the Jewish community campus demonstrates, the time has come.

**A version of this article originally appeared in the Ottawa Jewish Bulletin Feb. 20, 2012 issue**

A Sense of Place on Tu B'Shvat

Today is Tu B’shvat, a holiday named quite prosaically for its calendar date. But the theme -- celebrating the trees -- is anything but. For me, the poetry is amplified by Tu B’shvat coinciding with the week of my grandmother’s yahrtzeit.

When we joined a synagogue a few years ago, I made sure to enter my Babba Rosie’s yahrtzeit date in the shul calendar, despite not being considered a primary mourner (a role not typically extended to grandchildren of the deceased). Nevertheless, I cherish coming to shul with my kids so I can recite kaddish in my Babba’s memory, and so they can hear her name read from the bima. Our daughter was named after my Babba Rosie. We celebrated Rory’s first birthday as a tribute to her great-grandmother’s memory: the colour scheme was purple, my Babba’s favourite colour, and recipes came from Eaton’s The Grill Room cookbook. My Babba loved stopping for a bite at The Grill Room in Eaton’s-Portage Avenue after scouring the aisles for the perfect bargain.

Family stories are the stuff of family connection. But hardly anyone else in Ottawa knew my Babba. Sixteen years ago, my husband and I relocated from Vancouver (where I had moved as a teen from Winnipeg) to Washingon, DC and then to Ottawa, where I accepted a faculty position at Carleton University.

Ten years and two kids later, it’s important to us to make roots. It’s important that our kids feel a sense of connection to Ottawa, even if they have to travel thousands of miles to visit their grandparents, aunts, uncles and most of their cousins.

Tu B’shvat is a wonderful opportunity to think about how we make roots, and successfully nurture them. But is it possible to feel rooted in a place that’s not your home town? Does nostalgia, fuelled by time and the physical distance of relocation, obscure a natural feeling of belonging? It’s not always easy, but I think that a sense of day-to-day mindfulness and a regular dose of gratitude can shore up a sense of place.

In Ottawa, my husband and I chose to buy a home in a neighbourhood that has a very conscious sense of place. The Glebe has a marked sense of togetherness and purpose. The grocers, shops and cafes on Bank Street convey a small-town atmosphere, and enthusiastic public schools centered around a vibrant community centre give children a feeling of ownership over their area. Soon after, we helped found a chavurah -- a group of six families that meets monthly to celebrate shabbat and havdalah. Seven years later our group has grown from five kids to twelve. The oldest of the lot recently celebrated her Bat Mitzvah, and we have barely skipped a month in over seven years.

From the time our kids were toddlers, the SJCC had become a second home to us. There, I have found myself drawn to lay leadership positions to support a gathering spot that I think is superb for engendering a sense of community, heritage, and physical and social wellness. Our shul gives our kids yet another important point of contact and community. As they observe my comings and goings, they are also learning that keeping a shul running takes commitment, including serving on committees and training to lead services.

While we often travel to Vancouver for Passover, we make clear to our kids that our home -- with a wide array of friends spanning various generations -- is meant to be a hub of gathering and celebration, even if far from much family, and even if the high holiday season sometimes feels onerous in its intensity and frequency of the festivals. Dragging our sukkah boards and bolts from the garage each fall reminds them that structures can be temporary, but with some effort, they can convey a sense of home and hospitality.

I hope my children grow up feeling a sense of place and belonging in their neighbourhood, in their shul, at the SJCC and of course in their own home. This Tu B’shvat, even though there is hardly a hint of green to be seen in wintry Ottawa, I will be thinking of those stately yet precious artifacts of nature: the trees that surround us and which will sprout leaves in a few short months. I will say kaddish in memory of my Babba Rosie. And I will continue to cultivate a sense of mindfulness and gratitude to help strengthen the young roots that connect my family and I to our community.

**A version of this article appeared in this week's Ottawa Jewish Bulletin.

What Yaffa Yarkoni Means for the Israel-Diaspora Relationship

With the first day of the new year also came the death of one of Israel’s legendary singers. Yaffa Yarkoni was known for entertaining IDF troops through the decades, singing such classics as “Finjan” and “Shoshana” and winning the 1998 Israel Prize for Hebrew song.

Known as the “war singer,” in her final years Yarkoni rejected the label and became an outspoken critic of the occupation. But now, Israeli papers and politicians are reflecting on her marked cultural contribution to the country. Clicking on some youtube links, I realize that at least one of her recordings had formed part of the soundtrack to my summer camp mornings. As my fellow campers and I sleepily dressed and made our way toward the flagpole in the 1980s, her accordion-tinged songs would waft across the field.

But it wasn’t until I was spending an evening with my “kibbutz family” in the mid-1990s when I learned Yaffa Yarkoni’s name. That evening I inquired who the Israeli singer on TV was. “Yaffa Damari,” replied my kibbutz “mom,” Yonit. Immediately, she and her husband collapsed into peals of laughter. Yonit had made a hilarious verbal slip, combining Yaffa Yarkoni’s name with that of another famous Israeli singer, Shoshana Damari. Damari had long been Yarkoni’s “BFF and rival,” in the words of an Israeli friend of mine.


**Originally appearing in the Jan. 23 issue of the Ottawa Jewish Bulletin**

I recall that moment well, I think, even fifteen years later, because their laughter had the quality that only longstanding intimate partners, schooled with the same cultural references, can share. 

Fast-forward to fall 2011, and the blogosphere was on fire with much collective agitation over an Israeli ad campaign. In a series of commercials aimed at Israelis living abroad, Israel’s Ministry of Immigrant Absorption was seeking to convince emigres to return home. The commercials included American-raised grandchildren who know it’s Christmas but are barely aware of Chanukah; a boyfriend who doesn’t understand why Dafna, his Israeli girlfriend, is upset on Israel’s Yom Hazikaron (Memorial Day), or a dozing Israeli father who awakens only once he hears his son say “abba” rather than “daddy.”

The ad campaign fell on very critical ears, both in Israel and among North American Jewish writers. But at least one prominent pair of commentaries reveals a crucial difference: Israelis tended to understand the ads as a critique of Israelis moving abroad, period. The Diaspora Jewish commentators, on the other hand, understood the partners of these fictional Israelis to be Jewish, suggesting that Jewish life in the Diaspora is somehow inadequate.

In Haaretz (Hebrew version, translation mine), Moran Sharir summed up the Yom Hazikaron commercial this way: “Convince your daughter to return home.... She’ll marry this goy, yet! The goy wants to commit indecent acts with your daughter on this sacred memorial day!” 

In December, The Atlantic’s Jeffrey Goldberg wrote that Dafna’s boyfriend, “to my expert Semitic eye, is meant to represent a typical young American Jew.” And that “I don't think I have ever seen a demonstration of Israeli contempt for American Jews as obvious as these ads.” 

Soon after, Goldberg circulated a Jewish Federations of North America memo stating that “we are strongly opposed to the messaging that American Jews do not understand Israel. We share the concerns many of you have expressed that this outrageous and insulting message could harm the Israel-Diaspora relationship.” 

Israeli prime minister Benjamin Netanyahu ordered the ads pulled soon after.

I don’t disagree with Goldberg’s and JFNA’s annoyance. But what’s missing from all this hand-wringing is the realization that countries do have unique cultures, and Israelis deserve to revel in theirs. If anything, perhaps this should serve as a wake-up call for Diaspora Jewish communities to become more knowledgeable in the cultural nuances of Israel. 

How many North American Jews can speak Hebrew? How many follow Israeli films, singers and plays, and find themselves humming Israeli folk songs? I consider myself more well-versed than the average Canadian Jew on the Israeli cultural knowledge front. I can actually sing (and understand) the words to Finjan. But even I didn’t know Yaffa Yarkoni until the day I heard my kibbutz family talking about her. There is some legitimacy to the Israeli assumption that leaving Israel and raising a family elsewhere will result in cultural dilution. To ignore this fact is to assume the Diaspora Jewish life contains the same Israeli cultural texture. It simply doesn’t.

But this doesn’t mean we can’t try harder to link ourselves to life in Israel in meaningful, culturally nuanced ways. For my part, I shall pledge this year to make my way through an entire Israeli novel (in Hebrew), no matter how taxing. I’m thinking Syed Kashua’s Second Person, a book I brought home with me on my last trip to Israel. What will you do?

Jewish Supplementary Education: A New Paradigm?

Chatting with colleagues the other day, the topic of extra-curricular activities came up. One colleague recounted many drives to rural Quebec where his son plays competitive water polo. Another mentioned early-morning trips to the hockey rink.

They turned to me, “And your kids?”

Thinking through my three-times-a-week commuting schedule to Hebrew school and many weekends busy with synagogue activities, I retorted: “My kids? They are competitive Jews.”

At least that’s how I feel these days.

With less time for spontaneous exercise than we had in my day (I recall hours of carefree cycling as an eight-year-old), coupled with fewer families opting for both Jewish day school and synagogue Judaism, we need a new paradigm.

One paradigm I know won’t work is the endless preaching I hear about soccer being the enemy of Jewish continuity. Somehow, the poor sport of soccer has become the vessel for carrying the frustrations of contemporary leaders surrounding the lack of Jewish engagement in their communities. These leaders might be gently chiding parents for choosing “soccer over shul,” but I hear them hissing “Soccer! Soccer! Soccer!” in a Victorian-era-laced religious rant.

This year, my seven-year-old daughter attends her supplementary Hebrew school three days per week for a total of six classroom hours. Compared to the nine weekly hours of Judaic studies taught at the Ottawa Jewish Community School at the elementary level, I consider my daughter’s two-thirds content at one-sixth the price – with the benefit of public school French immersion, neighbourhood friends and the gift of being part of a multicultural school experience – to be a bargain.

But I am also committed to taking my kids to shul one or two Shabbat mornings per month, which means that weekend mornings are out for scheduled activities. So, for now, say goodbye to skiing (where you need a weekend block that would cut into either shul or Hebrew school).

But this year, I also want my daughter to learn piano and tennis, and she wants to add musical theatre, dance and hockey (finishing on Friday afternoon just in time for her to be home for Shabbat dinner). Add two parents with full-time jobs, one who has trouble saying no to committee work and who spends months learning High Holiday davening and Torah chanting at her shul, and the other who has 94 Shakespeare speeches to learn for his part in a community theatre production of King Lear, and you have one busy family. And just wait for her younger brother’s activities to join the roster.

It’s no wonder more than two-thirds of Jewish children in Ottawa aren’t receiving any form of Jewish day or supplementary school education.

There’s got to be a better way.

One American Jewish educator has proposed what she calls “badges.” Rabbi Joy Levitt, executive director of the Manhattan JCC, writes, “We are faced with an unacceptable gap between the Jewish lives we want for ourselves and for our families, and the Jewish lives we actually experience.” (“The New Hebrew School,” The Jewish Week, January 11, 2011)

Rabbi Levitt’s vision entails Jewish students across the city working toward a badge system whereby they would commit to mastering several themes, partly of their choosing: Hebrew language, community service, Jewish arts, prayer, tikkun olam, and even attending camp. Once a week they would gather after school with their Jewish peers in a clubhouse atmosphere to socialize. Rabbi Levitt envisions that the program could be run through a JCC or through synagogues.

Her mention of synagogues and summer camp brings me to my last point. Many families I know are so tapped out by formal Jewish education they have little appetite to include shul or Jewish residential summer camp as a regular part of their family’s experience. I could devote a column to the historical and contemporary experiential importance of synagogues in anchoring Diaspora Jewish life, but for now I will say a brief note about camp: it is well known that Jewish camp is the single most important predictor of future Jewish identity.

To Rabbi Levitt’s ideas I would add that community institutions might think about ways to better catch the family market, especially after the very well-serviced baby and preschool years: whether it’s the monthly Havdallah & singing & pizza sessions that Agudath Israel is now running (and where I moonlight on Hebrew-rock guitar), or the Friday night family services and potluck dinners at Temple Israel. Jewish supplementary schools might also consider moving to a Shabbat model, providing for more experiential learning.

It’s hard to have one’s cake and eat it too, but with some creative thought, we may be able to enlarge the pie and create more meaningful and satisfying solutions.

**Appearing in this week's Ottawa Jewish Bulletin**

Rethinking our Community Speakers. Again.

Another community-wide event and I’m left impressed with the many volunteer and staff efforts to coordinate hundreds of women, set the tables beautifully, organize door prizes, get local business sponsors, corral table captains, and run a great party. But the next morning, I was left with a hangover. And it wasn’t from the kosher shiraz. It was a moral hangover, you might say, a somewhat queasy feeling that we are again missing the point. 

Again we invited a speaker who was intelligent, engaging and dynamic. Miri Eisen is an example for women the world over who wish to chip away at the traditionally male-dominated military echelons. When Eisen retired from the IDF in 2004, she had earned the rank of colonel, a rare feat indeed for an Israeli woman.

But again we invited a speaker to deliver a message that I, for one, am both weary and wary of. Eisen spoke eloquently about the Gilad Shalit trade, framing it in terms of tough “choices” that governments have to make. But then her talk turned troubling. Having mentioned the term Jewish values, she went on to attack Arab culture in fairly unsavoury terms, including suggesting that specifically Arabs desire to view the corpses of their enemies. Referring to the Arab Spring, she noted that Arabic does not have its own term for democracy.

Now let’s unpack this. Can we have a discussion about Jewish values that does more than scratch the surface? Does everyone in the room even know them and feel them, or even agree on what they are? And most importantly, can we talk about Jewish values without needing to denigrate other cultures?

I’m going to leave aside the Gilad Shalit discussion here; readers can consult my perspectve on it on my “Fifth Question” blog on Haaretz.com. And to Eisen’s credit, she did attempt to shed light on how rationality and emotions can work together in interesting ways in diplomacy.

But let’s talk about the business about viewing dead bodies. The evening Eisen said these words, I reflected on what I had been doing that very same afternoon. Taking a short break from working on my book manuscript, I had clicked on footage of a bloodied Gaddafi being captured and attacked. Gross, huh? Indeed, I had to turn it off after a minute. Am I the only Jew who had clicked on this CBS video (incidentally posted by a Jewish Facebook friend)? And, aside from me, are Arabs the only viewers of CBS news? An absurd discussion, I know, but absurdity begets absurdity.

Let’s talk about Arabic and the word for democracy. As Eisen said, Arabs say “democratiya.” Well, Hebrew’s word for democracy is exactly the same. And guess what? So is the word for democracy in French, Spanish, English, give or take a consonant or a vowel; you get the idea.

At the end of the evening, one friend asked me whether I think it is possible to find a speaker who is both balanced and passionate. Awoken in the middle of the night by the musical beds that goes on in our house with two restless kids, I had a few minutes to come up with names of five Jewish women out there who can lend a perspective that I think is sorely needed at our community events.

A Ruth and a Naomi: Ruth Messinger, head of American Jewish World Service, has altered the way we think about tikkun olam and how we put it into practice on the global stage; Naomi Chazan, past Member of Knesset and Deputy Speaker of the Knesset, is currently president of the New Israel Fund where she strives to make Israel a more socially just society. (Messinger spoke at another JFO event here in 2007; perhaps it’s time to invite her back.)

Two Rabbis: Sharon Brous and Jill Jacobs, both in the Newsweek/Daily Beast list of “top 50 influential rabbis in America” show how we can create dynamic and innovative sacred communities, and strive for social justice in all realms, even in the Israeli-Palestinian domain. Brous heads the spiritual community of Ikar in LA, and neither does she shy away from transformative thinking on Israel in her downloadable sermons; Jacobs is executive director of Rabbis for Human Rights.

Free to Be: Letty Cottin Pogrebin, a founding editor of Ms. Magazine and a past-president of Americans for Peace Now, is at the top of her game in promoting women’s issues and nuanced thinking on Israel. And she consulted on my favourite children’s album: Free to Be You and Me, a transformative piece of work.

All these women have passion. All are complex thinkers. And any of them would help breathe fresh air into how we think about Israel, Jewish values, and social justice, while serving as an antidote to the Self-Othering messaging that this community seems to crave so desperately.

**Appearing in this week's Ottawa Jewish Bulletin