Yesterday I saw a woman in my Toronto neighbourhood wearing a Jews Against Genocide t-shirt. Normally I’d see this and start thinking about the politics implied, about whether I bought that the wearer was in fact Jewish (in this case, ‘dar pinged affirmative; yes I know Jews can look all ways), things of that nature. Instead, all I could think was, no Parisian lady would dress like that. Not because no woman in Paris would share that intersection of identity and politics but because no one’s wearing shirts to that effect, of any politics.

Allow me a how-I-spent-my-summer-vacation digression: I was in Europe for two weeks, first in Belgium, visiting my in-laws, and then in Paris, visiting the few pastry places that deign to stay open in August. I had figured this would be a very-offline sort of trip, given that I hadn’t brought my laptop, and more to the point, that my husband and I were there with our 3- and 5-year-olds, under circumstances that made online-ness at the level of checking that day’s weather report a challenge.

What I hadn’t anticipated was just how offline everything would feel.

What I mean by this is not that they don’t........

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