If there was one Abella Jewish touchstone, it was food. It was fun to eat at his moaning table. Whether intelligent or not, the feast was impressive.
Three years ago, I was Irving Abella and his wife. , A friend with Rosie. As it approached the synagogue on a sunny summer afternoon, Itchee, as is known, stopped, stayed longer, and studied babbling herds.
"My people," he softly said. "My people." Itche was not preaching. He acknowledged his busy, consequent faith at the heart of his life. It ended on July 3rd, when that fierce heart was unleashed.
Irving Martin Avella did many things, including historians, educators, and advocates. He is a member of the Order of Canada and a Fellow of the Royal Society of Canada. The father and husband of a talented partner who served in the Canadian Supreme Court for 17 years thankedfor retiringlast year.
Itche was Jewish. More cultural than a devout man, he wore his identity as comfortably as his wool pullover. Too many, his groundbreaking book (co-authored with Harold Troper) reveals how Canada was willing to refuse to allow Jews to flee Nazi Germany. did. Coats of many colorswere the vibrant history of Canadian Jews.
He was the chairman of the Canadian Jewish Congress, celebrating its purpose and resenting it. He tracked Nazi war criminals, supported liberal immigrants, developed labor history, and pioneered Canadian Jewish studies. "He was a prominent Jewish leader in Canada," says his respected colleague Bernie Farber.
Read the obituary ofof Avella's scholarships.What you don't read is how his Jews shaped him. It was in his bones. It was in his strong support for Israel. He had an avid and sometimes comical instinct for the various anti-Semites in the garden, found behind all the trees.
In the discussion, he never called the Holocaust to win the discussion. The disagreement was not personal.
Like many Jews of his generation, he refused to visit Germany. Until his visit, then Canadian ambassador Peter Böhm was sensitive to the Jewish Berlin.
But if there was one of his Jewish touchstones, it was food. Neither he nor Rosie cooked. They liked Blintz, schnitzel, chop trever, and kara, and ate out or brought in. They boycotted vegetables and outlawed leftovers.
Itchie lovingly recalled Abella ’s Lunch, his family's favorite dairy restaurant on Spadina Avenue, Toronto. His father worked behind the counter and his mother worked in the kitchen. He washed the dishes and waited for the table. They served Jewish garment workers. "The food was great," he said, "and the menu was constant." He said pea soup and potato latte (Tuesday), vegetable soup and salmon pate (Thursday), mushrooms. I remembered the soup cream and Gefiltefish "probably to attract Catholics" (Friday).
For Itchie, food was an identity. That was also humor. When I claimed that Montreal bagels were the best, he ridiculed, "Cohen may be our high priest (of Judaism), but not the high priest of cooking."
There was a fierce debate about smoked meat. Among us, it has been the subject of the Talmud's interpretation. You are thin or have fat. Machine sliced or engraved.
This existential debate culminated in the "Smoked Meat Summit" hosted by US Ambassador to Canada, David Jacobson. In pursuit of cross-border friendship, he invited us to bring our own variations to his dwelling — pastrami, corned beef, or replicas of some areas. Of course, the only option was smoked Montreal Schwartz meat.
Over the years, Avella has provided great help in wisdom. After Donald Trump was elected, he said, "Let's get out of depression." "That's the Jewish way."
When Canada banned the legendary Hebrew National Hot Dog from the stadium, he was frustrated because of its suspicious content. "I enjoyed dogs much more than games," he said. (Baseball was a passion.) He moaned when asked how he was celebrating "Hot Pastrami Day." "Sadly, I'm back in Ottawa. I'm celebrating the day at Tim Hortons."
Itchie Abella was delighted. An owl, discreet, self-respecting, undoubtedly kind, Jewish colossal statue that never left its roots.
Oh, how fun it was to eat at his moaning table. Whether intelligent or not, the feast was impressive. And laughter and love were always on the menu.
Andrew Cohenis a journalist and professor at Carlton UniversityTwo days in June: 48 hours of history with John F. Kennedy Is the author of.
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