spinofflive
“Not until I was eleven, in my last year of primary school did I realise I was wholly Jewish”
“Not until I was eleven, in my last year of primary school did I realise I was wholly Jewish”

SocietyJune 2, 2019

On being Jewish after March 15   

“Not until I was eleven, in my last year of primary school did I realise I was wholly Jewish”
“Not until I was eleven, in my last year of primary school did I realise I was wholly Jewish”

Christchurch resident Sara Green* reflects on what it was like growing up Jewish in New Zealand, and what it means to be an ethnic minority today. 

My initial intent with this essay was to give a personal perspective of how it felt to belong to an ethnic minority in New Zealand. Then the world as I knew it shifted for the second time in eight and a half years.

In ten minutes, the personal became not just national, but global and could no longer be ignored.

Being a member of an ethnic minority in this country took on new meaning and attracted new consequences. If a white supremacist could attempt to rid the world of as many Muslims as possible, he could as easily gun for any minority, any group that was not white, Christian or heterosexual.

How dare he forever change my sleepy, naïve, beautiful city that was finally managing to restore itself after a series of massive earthquakes? How dare he put Christchurch on the map in this way?

The larger mosque, Masjid Al Noor, is in my part of town. It was Muslims this time, but what if he’d honed his hatred for Jews, not Muslims? It’s a primitive, self-centred, self-protective response. But it’s happened often enough over the centuries.

I never thought New Zealand was big enough or important enough for terrorists to bother with. Too small to make a splash in the global pond. But my husband has always said, “It will happen eventually. We’re an easy target.” Even green, leafy, sleepy Christchurch.

He was right, and I mourned. Christchurch mourned for the Muslim community’s terrible loss.

I believe I’m no different from anyone else (false, of course: everyone’s different). But I’m human. As Shakespeare’s Shylock said, “Do I not bleed?”. Although I’m different, if I try hard enough, I can be (or almost be) the same and deserve to be treated the same. Perhaps, if I don’t talk about my difference, we can all pretend it isn’t there.

No, my difference can never be eliminated. It’s the white rhino in the room. Some will like me despise it, others will like me for it. Still, others will never like me because of it, and now I’m too old to care. Like it or not, others will pigeon-hole me if they choose.

Christchurch. (Photo by Carl Court/Getty Images)

Discovering who you are is a developmental process that poses more difficulties for some than others. It may feel more urgent for those on the fringe, for those from minority groups, for those who stand alone, wishing to assimilate, hoping – even expecting – to be accepted as one of the majority.

I realise I could as easily be describing a terrorist in the making: seeking common beliefs and purpose, a sense of belonging to a group. But with the necessary addition of alienation, hate, deep-seated anger and vengeance, as well as a touch of paranoia, grandiosity and narcissism.

My father was an agnostic with atheistic leanings and my mother Jewish but not religious. This made for a happy philosophical partnership: as in everything, my parents met halfway. And I thought I was ‘half-Jewish’, although which half I wasn’t sure, nor was I sure what the other half comprised.

Not until I was eleven, in my last year of primary school, did I realise I was Jewish – wholly, completely – because of matrilineal descent (much later I was told that this was a concession to protect children born of rape during wars and pogroms. Not the sort of thing my parents would tell a teenager. But some believe it goes back to the Torah and the founding matriarchs of the Nation of Israel. For me, the former seems more plausible, and relevant still today).

In my teens, like anyone else, I needed a pack to run with. This new identity – being Jewish – gave me entry to ‘a pack’.

Starting high school in 1954, I discovered a handful of other Jewish girls. They were ‘properly’ Jewish with two Jewish parents and had attended Synagogue services on Saturdays and High Holidays. In the days of daily Christian worship in state schools, Jewish students and the occasional ‘other’ with outlying religious views could ask to be excused from morning assembly on religious grounds. I joined this clique in the music room. Throughout these years, I experienced no antisemitism, no bullying, no snide remarks – nothing at all about being Jewish. It seemed neither a curiosity nor a black mark against me.

But I also needed social connectedness outside of school, a group to hang out with, and it needed to be mixed. Various school friends invited me to their church socials. But I didn’t belong there. I felt awkward, apologetic, and my adolescent angst burgeoned. I felt like an outsider. That is until I found a Jewish youth group called Habonim.

Habonim was (and still is) non-religious, but strongly Zionist in philosophy with affiliated groups throughout the Diaspora. It arose out of the early 20th century European migration that established kibbutzim (collective farms) in the then-Palestine, now Israel. Kibbutzniks worked the soil and made pockets of biblical land ‘flow with milk and honey’ again. Habonim’s mission was to encourage young people to emigrate to Israel, and a significant number of those I knew in my youth eventually did.

But for me, Habonim was simply a group in which I felt at home. Like extended family. I lost my sense of difference. I’ve always felt the plight of the immigrant, the isolation from extended family. My father was ‘abandoned’ here by his family as a very young man, and my mother arrived alone as a nineteen-year-old.

Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe, Berlin, Germany (Photo by Luca Rüegg)

Being Jewish is an ethnicity, reflected in genetic makeup, independent of compliance with a set of religious beliefs so it can’t be discarded or changed like a religion. You can hold contradictory beliefs and discard the rituals, but you’re still Jewish. And for young people, it’s difficult to maintain their Jewishness within the ever-diminishing Jewish communities of New Zealand.

The local pool of acceptable mates was fast drying up when I was young. Our parents had not become exiles (or immigrants) to protect their right to live and worship freely and openly, only to have their children ‘marry out’ and give them grandchildren who were not, in their eyes, Jewish. Many families moved overseas to larger communities. Young adults drifted away to seek Jewish partners in Melbourne, Sydney, New York or London, the ongoing exodus further depleting these small communities.

Despite being non-religious, I was willing to be married under a chuppa in the local synagogue by an orthodox rabbi, in respect for the feelings of others and at the expense of my father who, on this occasion, suffered discrimination for not being Jewish and was not permitted to walk me up the aisle. It was a humiliating experience for him, which I now bitterly regret. But I was young, and all I wanted was to be married, mindless of details or ceremony.

Today, all New Zealand Jewish communities are small and some have disappeared completely. Many young people ‘marry out’, following the worldwide trend toward acceptance of cross-cultural marriages.

One Jewish extended family took me under their wing as an adolescent, cosseted me, and instilled in me some of the basic knowledge and cultural rituals of Judaism, like the meaning of Passover (Pesach) and the symbolic foods that form the feast.

All my married life we have celebrated the Passover in our home, in recognition of the importance we place on personal freedom, not just for the ancient Jews, but for people of all races, creeds and religions in all countries.

“Being Jewish is an ethnicity, reflected in genetic makeup, independent of compliance with a set of religious beliefs so it can’t be discarded or changed like a religion”

As a younger adult, being Jewish was of limited importance to me. My identity as a member of the medical profession was stronger and more satisfying. And to be truthful, I wanted to be judged for myself, neither positively or negatively on the basis of a cultural or ethnic connection. So I didn’t advertise the fact that I was Jewish. I didn’t deny it either. I didn’t think it relevant. In retrospect, it was probably common knowledge anyway. I was never aware of being overly discriminated against for being a Jew (though I can’t say the same about being a woman).

But was I wrong in detecting a certain hostility, perhaps born of envy, when non-Jews said of some successful or prominent person, ‘of course, they’re Jewish’? If so, perhaps I can be excused for my sensitivity, arising from the legacy of thousands of years of history.

Being Jewish may be denied, but it can’t be expunged. Hitler taught us that. Even today, systematic extermination of a people may be pursued ruthlessly.

Lest we forget. We remember, but it happens again.

Jews are used to being on the move, to being expelled, from Rome in the 1st century AD, from England in 13th century and from Spain in the 15th century. They are used to being directed where they can live, to ghetto life. The Pale of Settlement (now Belarus). The Warsaw Ghetto. Pogroms. Jew-baiting.

How can people behave in such a way towards members of their own society?

It’s simple: create an enemy for political reasons, blame them, reduce them, dehumanise them, hate them, and then you can believe you are purifying society by exterminating them. Just as it happened in Nazi Germany. Just as it happened in Christchurch on March 15 when the gunman set about eliminating Muslims – 51 real people.

The Berlin Holocaust Museum (re)humanises victims of Nazi extermination. It was Manny Finkelhor who was being rifle-whipped. It was Rachel Eichelbaum, with her children at her skirts, who was struggling with her load. It was Rabbi Stein who was japed by Nazi soldiers. And each prod, each obscenity, each vain hope ate into me and released a flood. I was my brother’s keeper, and I had failed and would fail again.

Real people with real families, going about their day to day lives; their hopes and fears, joys and sorrows. Just like any of us, just like the members of the Christchurch Muslim community.

Judaism, then, is an ethnicity, not merely a religion or a set of beliefs. It’s also a culture lived by real people.

Once I joined a book group that met in the hall of the local synagogue. One member was brought up in the Bronx in New York City, another in the East End of London. These people spoke with nostalgia and a sense of loss about a Jewish way of life, the shared cultural idiosyncrasies that made them feel at home which they miss in New Zealand.

A swastika is daubed beneath the Star of David on a preaching lectern April 30, 2002 at Finsbury Park Synagogue in London. (Photo by Sion Touhig/Getty Images)

On my first trip to Israel, I felt overwhelmed knowing that most of the people around me were Jewish. There was a security in that knowledge, despite the presence of weapons everywhere. Many of these Jews were atheists, some celebrating High Holidays for cultural rather than religious reasons.

I was struck by the huge cultural variations – black, brown, white. Since Jews had no homeland from biblical times until the mid-20th century (when Israel was established), communities settled in various parts of Europe, Russia, North Africa and Asia, acquiring over generations genetic, physical and cultural features of the local peoples.

And – horror of horrors – I noticed the hierarchy. At the time of my visit, those at the bottom of the pecking order were refugees from the dissolved Soviet Union; before that, I was told, it was the North African Jews. All Jews were clearly not equal in Israel.

Israel is a Jewish homeland and sanctuary. Yet every day its citizens, both Arabs and Jews, live with acts of terrorism and with the threat of being pushed into the sea.

It’s an unfortunate fact that you can’t alter extreme and rigid beliefs with rational argument. So we can’t change extremists, only ourselves – potentially.

Jacinda Ardern has advocated a radical new approach to terrorism, one of love and unity. But does the overwhelming display of support for the Muslim community represent a significant shift in how we New Zealanders view our ethnic minorities? Does it represent acceptance? Or is it primarily an effort to reassure ourselves that ‘He’ (the gunman) is not ‘Us’?

Overt anti-semitism is on the rise again. Misinformation is rising, playing on sympathies. If, heaven forbid, our Jewish community were to become a future target, would there be the same outpouring of love and support we saw toward the Muslim community?

No one seems particularly concerned about the swastikas that have appeared since March 15. Nor that Jewish cemeteries are frequently desecrated. Nor that for the last couple of years an Auckland synagogue has needed to employ security guards to let its congregation gather and worship in safety.

Are we, as a country, ready to set an example? Are we willing to embrace our minority cultures – all of them – to recognise, accept and celebrate the richness of difference?

To support our ethnic minorities as ‘Us’?

* A pseudonym. 

Keep going!
Illustration by Asia Martusia King
Illustration by Asia Martusia King

SocietyJune 2, 2019

I went to the ‘NZ Men’s Summit’ and they tried to recruit me (UPDATED with response)

Illustration by Asia Martusia King
Illustration by Asia Martusia King

Why would anyone go to a men’s summit, in an age of online self help videos and feminism, let alone bother to host one? Critic sent a reporter to find out by spending a day with Dunedin’s Men’s Rights Activists.

Update, 10 June 2019: Hans Laven, the clinical psychologist who appears in this story, has contacted The Spinoff contesting the account of his speech. Please scroll to the foot of the article to read his rebuttal.

The ‘NZ Men’s Summit’ was hosted at the University Rugby clubrooms near campus, but we were the only students who attended. At its peak, the conference had 17 attendees (including us), 13 of whom were speakers, their partners, or organisers. Besides us, only two people were below the age of 40. It was $80 for nine-and-a-half hours, seven speakers, and budget finger food.

Kerry Bevin, whose Republic of New Zealand Party received the lowest number of votes for any party in both the 2005 and 2008 general elections, is the leading man behind the NZ Men’s Rights Activist (MRA) scene. He was proud that this is the fourth year of the summit, and said the summit for next year is already planned for Hamilton. He hopes to “wake up society to the neglect of men and boys … Men are raised from the get-go to carry heavy loads and not to complain. We need to complain.” He also highlighted male suicide, the 15:1.5 ratio of women’s to men’s shelters, and that the MRA movement is “not anti-women.”

“We want real gender equality, not sham gender equality.”

Some leaflets adorned tables – one of them labelled Clementine Ford, a feminist writer from Australia, a “misandrist”. Another said the domestic abuse/White Ribbon campaign is “feminist propaganda”. A third detailed why there should be a Ministry for Men’s Affairs.

The first speaker is Sean, the leader of the ‘Oamaru Wolfpack’, a group which formed almost four years ago after a suicide in their community revealed a need for men to start talking to each other. Sean gave a solid talk in sync with a creative and well timed YouTube video about his grassroots efforts to connect men with support.

The second speaker, Donald Pettitt, directs CANMEN, a men’s centre in Canterbury that emerged out of a summit on men’s wellbeing in 2007. He encouraged Otago to start one too, describing his role as creating “happy, healthy men,” and his shelter as being “for all men, not just men in trouble”. Apparently, over half of the counsellors, students, and volunteers are women.

“Men don’t care about the gender of the help, just that they are getting it,” he said.

In the Q&A, a man named Steve contributed a bizarre comment about modern drinking culture, regarding “how much worse the young women are now when they get drunk, especially in the pubs and the clubs, and it’s quite a danger to men”.

The next speaker, self-described “professional friend” Tone Miller, delivered an engaging and fiery talk (complete with trigger warnings) about his work with male survivors of sexual abuse, which brought a round of applause. In the Q&A, clinical psychologist Hans Laven objected to Tone’s repeated use of the word ‘survivor’.

“I think that’s a bit of a manipulative term that’s been used by the Women’s Movement a lot,” Hans said.

A few minutes later Hans bizarrely suggested that there has been “a whole lot of people who have been ‘sexually abused’” – in inverted commas – “as children, for whom it’s not really not much of an issue.”

The Minister for Health, David Clark, was mentioned, prompting Steve to call him a “soyboy”. A couple of awards were also handed out by the organisers. Clementine Ford received the ‘Misandrist of the Year’ award in-absentia. Kerry cherrypicked a few of her zanier quotes, which stirred the room up a bit. Two fathers received self-congratulatory awards for fighting “parental alienation”. Wolfpack Sean got the ‘Man of the Year’ award, which was genuinely touching.

“Once the canoe’s in the water, everyone starts happily paddling,” says Bettina Arndt, pictured. Photo by Fairfax Media via Getty Images.

After morning tea, a video entitled “I Like Getting F**cked” by anti-feminist Bettina Arndt was played. According to her, Western feminism has created a switch from women “taking it” (referring to unwanted marital sex – or, rape) to “forcing men into a life of sexual repression”. At one point, Steve commented, “Yeah. Don’t get married to a Western girl.” Arndt claimed that “men risk everything if she decides she’s had enough [in the relationship]”, but she also claimed that “women can enjoy sex without desire”, so it’s hard to take her points too seriously.

Susannah Kruger was one of only two women. She started her talk with a quote from the Bible. She then spoke about being a “very powerful woman” back home in Namibia, but that she had struggled to find her place in New Zealand, especially in the workplace, because she is “too traditional” for the feminist ideology of the country. This was greeted with cheers from the men in the audience. However, as the subject turned to her experiences with divorce and the family court, the audience quietened.

Kruger talked about her former husband running off and refusing to share custody, and her subsequent difficulties in accessing adequate child support. At one point she lamented that she couldn’t afford television for her children. She has written a book, The Family Court and I. “I really try and not make it a gender issue,” she said. Then she sat down.

Her current husband Raphael, a tall man with a shaved head, immediately stood up, and broke the tension by bursting into song. His song asked Merlin, “how do you tame a woman?” The cringe factor was next level, exacerbated by the fact that he sang well. We didn’t dare look at each other, or at him. I looked down at the sweaty palms on my notebook. He received a wild round of applause. I felt like I was losing my mind.

Then, it was time for Hans’ very not-gender-neutral talk, “Scandalous Apathy Towards Male Suicide”. He accused the Spinoff of harbouring SJW (social justice warrior) tendencies, and a deep bias against men, which elicited a guffaw from the room. He seemed to be more interested in espousing male victimisation than offering solutions, squarely blaming feminism and “women’s behaviour towards men” for high rates of male suicide. The Q&A provided heated comments. Tone claimed to have gone to a conference about mental health where he was specifically asked not to talk about men. Hans called the phrase toxic masculinity “hate speech”. The fact that women are half as likely to succeed in committing suicide was explained by women just wanting attention, and therefore not using as lethal measures as men. Hans is a practising clinical psychologist.

Jordan Peterson at The Cambridge Union on November 02, 2018 in Cambridge, UK. Photo by Chris Williamson/Getty Images

Lunchtime came and [Critic chief reporter] Sinead left, closely followed by the Oamaru Wolfpack. I was sitting in an under-heated rugby clubroom on a Friday afternoon watching an extended Jordan Peterson interview with a group of grey-haired men. I felt very alone. Had I accidentally taken the first step towards becoming an MRA?

The next speaker was Australian author Stephen Holden. By this point I was deeply disoriented, and couldn’t get a read on the more moderate speakers. On one hand, not all of them were cranks and some were talking about real issues. On the other, they all seemed to be encouraging each other’s woman-bashing. The undercurrent of fear and anger in the room had begun fill me with paranoia. Stephen’s talk was technically the best of the lot. He was a good speaker and clearly media savvy. He credited men’s spaces and groups with turning his life around following – shocker – an acrimonious divorce.

Finally, it was Gordon’s turn to speak. It was mostly a long, mumbled ramble about writing letters to various government organisations, delivered with the airs of an ineffectual jailhouse lawyer. I felt sorry for whoever has to pen the many “fob off” letters he complained about receiving.

As I spooned instant coffee into my mug, Kerry approached me. “I hope you’ll join the movement,” he said. As someone would say later on in the discussion, there was a lot of hope in “the next generation”.

The final session was a discussion forum. Kerry unzipped his polar fleece to reveal a T-shirt that read ‘MRA’. He spoke about testosterone therapy and high blood pressure, then segued into setting up an MRA political party. Of all the parties Kerry has reached out to, he said “New Zealand First is the only one that’s listening”. What followed was a series of complaints about the family court, false rape allegations by women, and that men’s rights activists cared way more about equality than feminists did. All the nuances of their concerns were lost in a fog of anger and zealous antifeminism. I wanted to leave, or laugh, but I barely had the strength to roll my eyes. I turned to watch the drizzle on the playing field.

As the summit finally began to wrap up, they insisted that I, as a younger person, contributed a final remark. I was reluctant, and told them they wouldn’t like to hear what I had to say, but they very enthusiastically said they would like to hear it, handing me the microphone. I told them that they had utterly failed to convince me of the necessity of a men’s rights movement, and that I found feminism more convincing. A small furore followed. Steve heckled me about believing in more than two genders. “It must be nice living in fantasyland,” he said before walking out. Hans accused me of not caring about male suicide. I tried to give a half-hearted explanation of the patriarchy before I realised I didn’t have it in me, and it was time to go home.

Over the course of the conference there were some powerful statements about men’s mental health and wellbeing, as well as productive and thoughtful discussions by some speakers. But the key agenda of the organisers and attendees seemed to be to shit on women and equate the rise of women’s liberation to the decline of men’s.

I left around the same time as Donald. I was genuinely perplexed at the hostility towards feminism from some of the men. “It’s a bit of a bête noire [pet peeve],” he said. We shook hands as we parted, and I ate an orange on my way home during a lull in the rain.

Additional reporting by Sinead Gill.


Hans Laven writes:

More NZ men commit suicide than our entire road and homicide tolls combined. I call for this to be taken seriously. Oscar Francis cared so little about suicide, bereaved families and friends that his article ignored what my talk was about and instead sought to damage my reputation through lies and distortion.

Let me make it clear that in no way did I ‘squarely blame’ feminism for high rates of male suicide, a ridiculous claim. In fact, I referred to research on causal factors none of which were feminism.

I did not allude at all to ‘women’s behaviour towards men’.

I did not say anything about women being ‘half as likely to succeed’ with suicide or explain this by ‘women just wanting attention’. More fabrication.

My talk suggested many solutions none of which Francis mentioned.

I did refer to current denigration of men as possibly contributing to male suicide. If feminism encourages such denigration then it deserves blame but my talk made no such attribution.

My contribution about the term ‘survivors’ during another speaker’s discussion time included thanks for the speaker’s work in this important area. My point was that the term ‘survivors’ suggests victims need to believe they suffered deadly harm. Although many people are seriously harmed, it’s also true, not ‘bizarre’, that a significant group who experienced something under the title ‘sexual abuse’ don’t suffer significant problems and don’t need their resilience to be invalidated.

Why would Francis seek to cause harm to me? It appeared to be because he heard a few statements that challenged his beliefs and he couldn’t cope. At the event he said he had done ‘gender studies’ at university and he suggested men’s high suicide rate was due to guilt for their bad behaviour. So indoctrinated.