Of all the curious sights in the bustling newsroom at Nu Magazine, there is perhaps no greater oddity to behold than myself. Hand-picked from McGill’s knuckle-dragging horde of goyim, I am one of the few gentiles that can be seen loitering around the water cooler at Nu’s offices—and the only staff writer who works Saturdays. Despite my rural shortcomings as a Nova Scotian, I believe I offer the journalistic transparency and chutzpah that a Jewish culture publication requires. In this, my first article for Nu, I hope to elaborate on my fascination with the Jewish world and describe some early encounters of mine.
My interest was first teased out through the passive observation of Halifax’s synagogues. I remember two nondescript temples that I would be shuttled past during my family’s commutes—they were prominent for their mystery, for being so muted an expression of religiosity, culture, and identity. The reluctance of these structures to flaunt their status as places of worship puzzled my young mind. I was familiar with the architecture of maritime Christendom—skinny, pale cathedrals perched on the edge of craggy shorelines—and the vinyl temples of Halifax’s suburban Muslim community. But the Hebrew-adorned, soft-spoken Synagogues of Halifax’s streetscape spurred on my juvenile curiosity.
My first proper introduction was through a friend of my father’s, a fishmonger who moved from New England to Nova Scotia in the 1990s. Every couple of years, we would be welcomed for a Passover Seder at his home on the rugged shores of Terence Bay. I relished being able to take part in what was a peculiar, uncommon activity for a Maritimer. But before noshing could start, we children were made to act out the Ten Plagues before the dinner table. I remember my father, Nova Scotia’s most spiritually irreverent man, being set at ease by our pre-pubescent theatrics. But I was puzzled by the nature of each plague, their awesome grandeur, and why us kids were putting on the show. When the time came to feast, I struggled to reconcile how a centuries-old rite bore relation to the servings of whitefish and brisket on my plate.
What I came to realize was that the same stories, food, and performative antics were being dished out at tables around the world. The ritual was what brought families and friends together under the same roof—a cultural glue that commanded a special intimacy and connection between participants. I enjoyed relinquishing the cold secularism of my father to engage in this curious ceremony and “join the club” for an evening. In retrospect, I was envious of our friend’s tradition and the niche world his family was a part of. My experiences at those Terence Bay Passovers presented me with a culture that I saw as convivial, special, and deeply treasured by its practitioners.
My Jewish enlightenment was further galvanized in my first year of university. I was studying at King’s College, a small liberal arts institution in Halifax, when I encountered Dr. Daniel Brandes. I can clearly recall that morning in autumn when he taught Moses Maimonides’ Guide for the Perplexed. I had never sat before such an eloquent orator nor had I encountered Jewish philosophy until he spoke about the Guide. Dr. Brandes was able to transmit Maimonides’ concepts with a professorial tact and intelligence that I have not encountered since—at one interval, we were told to “lay down our pencils” and bask in his didactic brilliance as he explained via negativa. His pedagogical excellence was another profound force in my formative Jewish education. Through him, I could glimpse the prosaic power wielded by Jewish thinkers, and have since kept my nose buried in the pages of Heschel, Kafa and Arendt among others.
Since coming to Montreal, I’ve had the chance to observe and occasionally participate in the exceptionally rich Jewish culture of the city. Pilgrimages to Snowdon Deli and Wilensky’s, Shabbat dinners, and combing “the Main” (Saint Laurent Boulevard) for historic sites have sustained my interests. But what I wish to do is connect more with Jewish culture as it is alive today. Writing for this magazine is a great honour and opportunity to properly engage with Jewish culture around me. I hope my honest love and interest is reflected in future articles—I cannot wait to explore more.
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