It’s been a year since I first got behind a microphone with Avi Finegold and (the future Member of Parliament) Melissa Lantsman for the debut episode of an audio experiment called Bonjour Chai.
And so, we marked this anniversary with a discussion topic at the core of what we’re all about: “If our existing Jewish establishments are failing us—what comes next?”
Given that me, Avi and now David Sklar have settled into hosting this weekly current affairs podcast for The CJN, we had thoughts! And our two guests did, too.
Here’s the gist: For many decades, federations and synagogues have been the cornerstones of the community. And yet, the overall shul attendance is terminally on the decline, accompanied by the ongoing trend of younger Jewish generations looking to branch into new ways of fostering a sense of identity.
While exceptions abound, and certain outreach efforts succeed, religious practice is generally no closer to being seen as “cool” by most than it was a generation ago, if not two.
What’s broadly defined as spirituality, on the other hand, has become all the rage. You see it reflected in yoga retreats, meditation apps, personal mantras—things which usually lean to the ways of the East. (And I don’t mean praying in the direction of Jerusalem.)
But growing up in Montreal meant the established Jewish community was built around what Avi calls “shiny establishments.” And most of them were set in stone decades before I was born. Being an artist, I increasingly felt these environments didn’t work for me.
The irony is that the spiritual aspects of Judaism seemed absent from the activities of Jewish people I knew. While they might’ve attended High Holiday services with their families, or went home for Shabbat dinner, the prevailing priorities were squarely focused on longtime local institutions and a long-distance love of Israel. Few showed any desire to break beyond those boundaries.
I felt surrounded by types who wore UGG boots, texted on BlackBerry Messenger, and had their tastes dictated by Top 40 radio. Grade 7 was when I felt the most pressure to conform because I spent elementary school being teased for my love of musical theatre and flowery long skirts.
But spiritual desires beyond the superficial came from home. From a young age, I have memories of my dad teaching me and my siblings Torah, with a focus on the philosophical aspects of Judaism. Shabbat was more of a time to feel connected to a higher sense of being. Every week added a piece to something bigger.
Jump to life after high school. Because my CEGEP program was time consuming (we theatre kids tended to hermit in the department’s “Green Room”) I didn’t join Hillel or any other Jewish student group. There was but one Jewish person in my department, a year below me. She and I bonded—and we remain friends to this day. But most of the time I just felt like the token Jew.
And as my family became less religious, I kind of fell out of the community altogether. The glue that held my Judaism in place lost its stickiness. And to top it off, the three Jewish friends I hung on to from high school were very secular. Not that I hold that against them—it just meant a specific kind of inspiration was harder to find.
When I moved to Vancouver, my Montreal mom nagged me to go to any kind of Jewish event at all. I was worried that I wouldn’t fit in, like some adolescent déjà vu. I feared it would be too “shiny.” But I eventually gave in to the guilt, and made some great friends who I started to have Friday night dinners with. (And then I never went to any other mainstream Jewish gatherings in that city—whoops!)
Eventually, I heard about Moishe House and that became a great resource for me. The non-profit founded in 2006 in Oakland, Calif., bridges the gap between high school and family life, by providing opportunities for residents in their 20s and 30s to run activities out of their homes for fellow young Yids.
They didn’t pay me to write this, I swear! But I just so happen to currently live in one.
What I love about MoHo is that it’s a free-for-all. Although there are certain subject focuses each house has to hit—like Jewish learning and tikun olam—the residents ultimately decide what they’d like to do.
Which means unlike older establishments attempting to attract younger people as a sideline project, this is a crew exclusively focused on engaging their peers. The events are fun, inclusive and non-denominational. There’s no expectation of being a certain way. The expectation is that you’ll come as you are.
My connections in Vancouver’s community seemed a lot less religiously traditional than I experienced in Montreal. The secular Jews were also more inclined towards a spiritual side. It’s the coast where you’re more likely to encounter practitioners of Jewish Magic (it’s a thing, apparently), groups that commemorate Rosh Chodesh, and mikvehs in the ocean.
Moving to Toronto last September opened me up into diving deeper. And, despite six more months of pandemic diversions and distractions, I’ve met tons of young Jews who are more engaged than any other city I’ve lived in.
There’s a multitude of weekly events to choose from, on a scale from shiny to fringe. Downtown community leaders, while very diverse in religious affiliation, are very much connected and work alongside one another. Annex Shul, Makom and Toronto Parternship Minyan, for example, have plenty of young people—and young families, too. Today, it seems like there are also many progressive spaces, beyond anything I’ve seen before.
Maybe that’s what it boils down to: having options. We’re lucky here. How many folks in other Canadian neighbourhoods can say the same?
Our conversation on Bonjour Chai reinforced how this is the ideal time for our biggest buildings to up their engagement game, in ways that go beyond building memberships in a traditional way. Or, it starts with asking friends why they aren’t involved—two years of social distancing and masks certainly didn’t help with that—and then filling the gaps however you can.
If all else fails, Moishe House will live on. But we’ve got way more real estate to fill back up with life now.
Something to watch this week (but only in B.C.)
The Vancouver Jewish Film Festival, which is running in a virtual format through March 13, is featuring the international premiere of the documentary feature Jews of the Wild West.
Jews of the… Wild West? Yup, you heard me right, considering how the Western movie genre had a Jewish face from the start. Gilbert M. “Bronco Billy” Anderson, the star of The Great Train Robbery, was actually born Maxwell Henry Aronson.
And he wasn’t the only trailblazing Jewish cowboy on this frontier. From Levi Strauss to Golda Meir, many Jewish refugees from Eastern Europe ended up there. The doc features historical photographs and footage, as well as interviews with activists, cowboys and rabbis.
“From cowboys to trailblazers, Jewish pioneers left a lasting legacy of resilience, entrepreneurship and community in the American West,” explains filmmaker Amanda Kinsey, who considers her production a reflection of her allyship.
“Unfortunately, these stories are too often marginalized and few people are familiar with the outstanding contributions of these gutsy immigrants,” she adds. “My goal is to amplify their stories, preserve a rarely told chapter of Jewish history and, in doing so, help tell a positive story of immigration.”
Jews of the Wild West is being made available for a few days of exclusive streaming in British Columbia. To watch the film and check out the rest of the lineup, visit the VJFF’s website. Or watch the trailer right here:
Ilana Zackon can be reached at ilanawritesthings[@]gmail.com and found on Facebook and Instagram.
HEAR what else she has to say every week on Bonjour Chai
