A Purim-Ramadan Oasis for Middle East Peace on Canada’s Neediest Street Corner

A brief oasis for peace in the Middle East occurred this past Sunday right here in Vancouver, BC in the broken heart of the Downtown Eastside. Members of the local Jewish and Muslim communities converged on Main and Hastings’ infamous street corner at 11am for a joint commemoration of Shushan Purim (the day after Purim) and the holy month of Ramadan in our respective lunar calendars. Both of these sacred occasions call upon adherents to feed those who are food insecure, often through charity. Muslims refer to this as “Zakah.” Jews describe it with its Hebrew cognate “Tzedakah.” Both words denote righteousness. United in this shared charge on that day, these two Abrahamic religious traditions joined forces to nourish some of the residents of greater Vancouver’s veritable ground zero for the mental health, overdose, and housing crisis that plagues the city. The result was assuredly a “righteous” act for all participants, inspiring renewed hope for our troubled world.

This momentous gathering was an initiative primarily of Vancouver-Granville MP Taleeb Noormohamed, a few religious leaders of the Vancouver Muslim community and various local rabbis. In a powerful social media post describing this event, Rabbi Philip Bregman wrote “We may not be able to solve the world’s political issues but we CAN come together to deal with in a small way a local issue (feeding the hungry) that affects us all.”

It was my great honour to be a part of this group as an ordained cantor and member of the Vancouver Jewish community. It so happens that my day job often places me exactly at this notorious corner serving similar clientele. I work as a multifaith chaplain on Vancouver Coastal Health’s ACT (Assertive Community Treatment) Teams, providing spiritual care to clients and staff as they navigate the overwhelming existential angst, cumulative grief and moral distress that accompanies the city’s overdose death crisis. Many work days bring me to the same cruel corridor to help provide spiritual comfort and solace through presence and song. The task often is daunting, and the “wins” come few and far between. (On the very day that I wrote these words, our ACT Teams lost another longtime client to a preventable overdose death at the age of 29.) Standing alongside my Jewish siblings and Muslim cousins and handing out prepared dishes brought a whole new level of palpable hope. It reminded me of my regular outreach on the same corner with my fellow ACT Team members, including a Jewish colleague with family in Israel and a Muslim co-worker with loved ones in Lebanon.

I particularly needed the spiritual uplift on this Sunday, which like countless Sundays before again witnessed my Jewish community’s impassioned rallies at Vancouver’s City Hall (formerly at the Vancouver Art Gallery) calling for the release of all the remaining hostages – those alive and dead – who were taken to Gaza during the barbaric October 7th pogrom that waged war against Israel’s existential right to exist. Each of those protests reminded me of the massive March for Life that I attended on the Mall in Washington DC in the aftermath of that unconscionable terror attack against innocent families that violated Israel’s sovereignty.

I also specifically needed the spiritual uplift on that day of all days because March 16th marked the exact date when 23-year-old Rachel Corrie (April 10, 1979- March 16, 2003) – an American Jewish nonviolent human rights activist from Olympia Washington –  was crushed to death by an Israeli bulldozer as she protested the demolition of Palestinian homes in Gaza. This horrific anniversary led me to spend that early morning reflecting once again on how to reconcile my abiding love of Israel with my vehement disagreement with those Israeli and American governmental policies that have violated human rights, killed innocent children and civilians and threatened ethnic cleansing. As if to emphasize the point, earlier that same morning I had breakfast with a Jewish friend with whom I had engaged in a book club to discuss Peter Beinart’s latest treatise, Being Jewish After the Destruction of Gaza: A Reckoning. Another Conservative cantor I know well and respect had recently challenged me to open myself to voices I would not otherwise have considered regarding world affairs. I took that charge to heart and had decided to read Beinart’s latest work, which I would not have previously been likely to peruse. Like the death of Rachel Corrie, reflecting on this eye-opening book over breakfast proved immensely sobering as I began to realize the many blindspots in my own thinking over the years regarding Israel.

At a moment when my mind and spirit were still reeling from navigating these concurrent realities, Sunday’s Purim-Ramadan event provided me with a palpable spiritual uplift. That elevation primarily came as I witnessed Jews and Muslims happily working in solidarity as we distributed nourishment to those deprived of food.

Vancouver Jewish community resident Ben Lubinizky joins Muslim and Jewish community members in doling out food at the joint event. (No copyright.)

The spiritual boost also came, however, in becoming acquainted with devout Muslims in their bountiful humanity. There was Aroun, who shared with some Jewish attendees and I how members of his home mosque – Al-Jamia Al-Masjid of Vancouver – often would come downtown to provide food to the poor on Ramadan. Aroun had us all in stitches when he jokingly indicated how hard it was to handle so many comestibles while observing Ramadan’s required daytime fasting. In the same breath, Aroun sagaciously reminded us that though there are indeed extremists on both our sides, events like the present one proved that we do not have to toe their party line.

I likewise will never forget engaging in friendly conversation with another Muslim participant named Mohammed Zaid, to whom I had explained the traditional duties of a cantor as a chanter of prayer. Mohammed responded by offering to demonstrate his own lilting chanting of Qur’anic verses in Arabic, one of five languages that he speaks. I listened to his mellifluous voice echo the similar Middle Eastern musical modes that I employ when leading synagogue services. In his prayer, I heard words such as “Rahman,” an Arabic cognate for the Hebrew “Rachaman,” meaning Merciful One, and of course “Salaam,” which was my “Shalom.” His sonorous singing reminded me of my late friend Imam Sohaib Sultan, Z’L, of blessed memory, who was a fellow classmate of mine in my first chaplaincy training class years ago, and with whom I traded our traditions’ sacred melodies.

Our spirits were raised even during the traditionally dreaded cleanup time, as we together refolded the tables we had brought, and shlepped them into vans. My friend Ben Lubinizky and I shot the breeze with young Muslim men while we waited to gain access to the trash and recycling room in the back alley. As we reflected on current events, I felt inspired to pull out my recent Purim costume’s toque, on which was boldly sprawled the phrase: “Canada is not for sale.” My Muslim cousins promptly laughed and cheered me on in solidarity. Here was another front on which we were indeed united.

As we said our “Chag Sameakh”s, “Ramadan Mubarak”s and “Salaam/Shalom”s, I realized that a key to interfaith dialogue – even on the most fraught issues – can indeed occur through shared life-affirming experiences such as this one. This miraculous Shushan Purim and Ramadan event reignited within me with new hope when I needed it most. Coming to fruition just before the lethal ending of the ceasefire between Israel and Gaza only days later, it feels in retrospect reminiscent of the temporary, lauded 1914 Christmas truce, gift-exchange and soccer game between belligerent parties during the First World War. Just like during that brief respite from war over a century ago, our bonhomie that day has reminded me that by accessing the best of our respective Jewish and Muslim traditions to help those in need, our perennially linked peoples can make inroads in the stalemate that divides us. We can return to the centuries of peaceful coexistence that our ancestors shared. I will remember this every time I pray for the Israelis and Palestinians impacted by this war.

The memory of that miraculous Sunday morning gathering gives me hope that our mutual striving for lovingkindness can overcome all else. As Rabbi Dan Moskowitz poignantly reflected on the occasion, the two divided communities had aligned “to feed the hungry and also to collaboratively feed our soul’s hunger for shared humanity.” May we never forget these universal spiritual lessons for our time, lessons brought to us from a very real temporary oasis built on the most infamous intersection in the poorest postal code in Canada. If humanity can achieve this here – of all places – we can do so in Israel and Gaza, and across the world.