Op-Ed – Jewish Independent

Respecting minority opinions

There’s something extraordinary about Jewish texts. What is it? You may have heard of Hillel and Shammai, or any of the many famous rabbinic voices recorded in the Talmud and Midrash. Our foundational religious texts record and evaluate both the “winning” voice, the rabbi whose opinion became mainstream in our traditions, and minority views.

Sometimes, communities or people follow a viewpoint that was originally the minority voice. I’ve heard people say that they chose a less popular rabbi’s ruling, based on their study of the relevant texts. I’ve been at a Talmud study session where learner pairs presented summaries on why they sided with the minority in a debate.

Analysis and debate remain at the core of our Jewish identities. We’ve all heard the joke, “Two Jews, three opinions!” Sandwiched in that is the idea that we learned and thought deeply about it. There’s another angle to this joke though – the assumption that, if we’ve come to this point, we’ve heard differing opinions. We learned enough to make a judgment. We’re also committed to a civil discourse to get there, because, if every study session or discussion meant people fought violently, we’d never have survived for thousands of years.

Jews are traditionally committed to behaving appropriately – derech eretz, literally “the way of the land,” means “how we behave” – promoting peace and avoiding embarrassing others unnecessarily. We value a good argument but, in the end, agreeing to disagree – with civility – is key.

I recently read a piece written by historian Henry Abramson. It was published by online newsfeed JTA (Jewish Telegraphic Agency) about the Bergen-Belsen marriage contracts (ketubot) produced after the Second World War. After the war, this concentration camp became a displaced persons camp. There was a marriage and baby boom, seen as a way to repopulate the many lives lost there. However, the “standard” ketubah issued there did something very different. These marriage contracts acknowledged that many people didn’t know what had happened to their prewar spouses and families. It took years to find this out, and the contract stated that, if their first families reappeared, the people who signed this contract must take the situation to a beit din (a Jewish court) to figure out what to do. Jewish law was flexible and resilient enough in this terrible situation to find recourse in civility and law.

Unfortunately, the effort to accept difficult, diverse situations and opinions is being lost to the larger culture’s problems with incivility. Recently, the Charedi Orthodox deputy mayor of Jerusalem, Eliezer Rauchberger, was the keynote speaker at a national convention for Israel’s Real Estate Appraisers Association. He canceled at the last moment when he saw the event was being held in facility owned by the Conservative movement. He took the opportunity to condemn those who affiliate with the Reform and Conservative movements, calling them heretical. He sought to embarrass and shame others rather than be inclusive. (Hint: That’s not in line with the commandments.)

These are “distant” stories, but, closer to home, we’ve just demonstrated both sides of this civility debate in Winnipeg. Limmud supports the wide diversity of Jewish opinion and, as such, organizers of the learning event in Winnipeg invited Lex Rofeberg, a rabbinical student, educator and activist to speak. Rofeberg’s Limmud and Shabbat dinner topics weren’t controversial. His lecture subject was Digital Judaism, a topic that’s long overdue. (Parts of Winnipeg’s Jewish community look like they still use the abacus compared to other communities when it comes to this topic.)

Some people, however, disagree with Rofeberg’s Israel activism. Instead of respecting the right of others to hold a different opinion, they use their social media bullhorns to protest. These voices were loud in this case. It seems they had the attention of those with deep pockets who donate to support Jewish events. But, being loud, bullying others and manipulating funders doesn’t mean they were right.

Jewish tradition teaches us that minority voices deserve to be heard. It teaches us to respect others’ right to an opinion and to behave appropriately. These aren’t just Jewish values, they are our country’s democratic values. We should be flexible and resilient in our responses, not quick to condemn others.

Canceling Rofeberg’s Shabbat Across Winnipeg lecture (even though Rofeberg wasn’t going to make any comments about Israel or politics) was described as an action that would maintain shalom b’bayit, peace in the home. That’s another aspect of derech eretz many of us invoke as we try to hush shouting children. Limmud Winnipeg, by contrast, continued to support Rofeberg’s appearance at its event.

I missed this real-time drama. My kids go to bed early, so we eat Shabbat dinner at home. I’m not on Facebook. I didn’t get to Limmud this year. However, based on what I’ve read and heard, I’m saddened that some Jewish institutions bowed down before the social media bullies and donor dollars, and withdrew their support for the event.

Can we learn from people with whom we disagree? Of course. Does shaming others whose opinions differ with yours have a place in Jewish discourse? No.

North American Jews emphasize education. With that learning comes the ability to do analysis and think critically. We’re lucky to live in a country that allows us to voice those differing opinions. Shame on us, Winnipeggers, for bowing down to bullies who would silence that discourse – all for a little peace on Shabbat. We should know better. We should support healthy debate about things that matter to us. As adults, we should be able to behave appropriately and peacefully on Shabbat regardless.

We lost an opportunity to be our best selves – thinking, discussing and disagreeing while we break bread together. That said, I believe our community will have many opportunities to do this better in the future. The research indicates that younger Jewish community members may have different views – including those on Israel’s politics – than their grandparents do. It’s time to listen respectfully to one another.

Joanne Seiff has written regularly for CBC Manitoba and various Jewish publications. She is the author of three books, including From the Outside In: Jewish Post Columns 2015-2016, a collection of essays available for digital download or as a paperback from Amazon. See more about her at joanneseiff.blogspot.com.

Can only live in the now

It’s sunny today as I write this, and there is a lovely breeze fluttering the leaves on a tree outside my window. I am reacquainting myself with myself, pleasuring in the solitude. Writing this story for you (and myself) is a minor distraction.

Knowing ourselves can be scary, but we can get over that. We are not so bad after all. Look at all those good things we have done (rah! rah!) despite the weaknesses we know we have, and how they compare to the aspirations we have had for ourselves. It doesn’t mean we don’t have to try to be better, to achieve more, but facing our failings can make us be kinder to others.

My bride feels that I am amazing in my capacity to forgive myself for my errors and weaknesses. But I know, and I have told her, that she, and most people, are too hard on themselves. I believe it has something to do with the constructs we build up in our minds as to what we believe is success, the goals we set. Then, given the unpredictability of life, we are disappointed when we don’t realize all of them.

But these things we dream of are not real. They are something way out in a potential future. Only the now is real, only the now is what we can change. Often, when we get to the anticipated future, we no longer want what we aspired to. We have changed our mind as a consequence of our life experiences. Our pleasures may really arise from the incidentals we realize on our path, what we encounter in our nows. They may turn out to be what we treasure above all.

So, I forgive my errors as lessons learned, and aim for my goals as a spectrum rather than a single point. And I forgive my blunders as an excess of enthusiasm. I know my enthusiasms can be fierce, as I believe that we really have to want what we want to have some chance of getting there.

We all know that people are watching what we do. A lot of what we think about ourselves is motivated by what we believe other people think about us. And we worry about that at times. It can seriously affect our behaviour. As I have gotten older, however, I find that I am not so much worried about that. The person I am more concerned about is me – that’s the guy I have to come to terms with.

We cannot fail to develop in ourselves, unless we are sociopaths, some ideas about what are the right things to do in life. We absorb it from our parents, what we read or see, what our friends have said or done, and the “inner us” watches and measures everything we do, and passes judgment.

We know when we have violated what our inner judge has said is the right action. Nonetheless, we sometimes, thinking or unthinking, follow our own selfish self-interest. But, often, we are motivated to act in opposition to our short-term interests and according to the larger values we have absorbed.

When we do the wrong thing it stays with us. Our judge is difficult to escape. He or she is there every time we encounter ourselves in our thoughts. We have many ways to distract ourselves from what it is telling us, and that escape may tempt us powerfully, but we cannot know ourselves if we are not in touch, fully acquainted, with that inner self. We cannot be at peace if we are not in harmony with that inner self or judge.

We all know people who publicly espouse the public good and privately pursue the private good. We see examples of that every day on our television and internet screens, our newspapers and magazines, our trips to the grocery store or the community centre. Could we live with ourselves if we were that kind of person? Does it take self-delusion?

Most of us aspire to being the kind of people our children could respect, and we have taught them the lessons we believed would help them on their way. We all have had our aspirations to achieve positions and places, situations in life that we feel are appropriate for the kind of people we truly are. Hopefully, we are happy with the portion that we have earned and been given (as no one makes it on their own, or without some luck).

It is only in our solitudes that we truly confront the people we are, without pretension. Some people are able to be more like their real selves in public, but most of us present to others the person they believe others want or expect to see in us. How fortunate we are if we have those in our circle with whom we feel free to be the person we really are.

Deep in our heart of hearts, we know of all the compromises we have made with the principles we truly believe in. They weigh on us. We have corrected where we could along the way. For what remains undone, which cannot be fixed, we have to find in ourselves the generosity to forgive ourselves, and others.

This moment is the “there” we have arrived at, even if it is the life we did not necessarily aim for. This incidental is the real thing. We are really alive only in the now in which we find ourselves.

Max Roytenberg is a Vancouver-based poet, writer and blogger. His book Hero in My Own Eyes: Tripping a Life Fantastic is available from Amazon and other online booksellers.

A need for order in our lives

I’ve never seen my sister-in-law’s house look cluttered. Every piece of curated furniture and even the magazines are placed just so. I just couldn’t understand it, even though my mother told me that she was raised this way because her mother was an interior designer. My brother joked that, if he bought something new for their small townhouse, he had to give something up. Even as they moved and their family and lives grew complex, I always left their house feeling like mine had about three times as much stuff in it as theirs did.

During family emergencies where I helped out, I saw that this approach to home decorating wasn’t designed to make me feel badly about myself. So why was the house so carefully manicured? It was a chance to control something and make order where there isn’t any. When one is a methodical soul and life feels chaotic, it’s only natural to want to control something and make it do what you want. We can’t control politics or natural disasters. Even our family members are all independent. We struggle with their health and they do what they want whether or not it’s a problem for us.

This isn’t a Marie Kondo “spark joy” by cleaning article, although it may seem that way. No, it’s about Exodus, at the beginning of Chapter 38, where Bezalel comes on the scene. Bezalel helps create the Tabernacle of the Tent of Meeting, and the instructions, which were “drawn up by Moses’ bidding” (Exodus 28:21), spell out exactly how it’s to look.

I’ve heard sermons and discussions about this portion of the text where people say, “Why does the Torah spend so much time on these tiny details of design and style?” Yes, design and artistry are pleasing, and perhaps a chiddur mitzvah, beautifying the way we fulfil a commandment, but, for many, this seems to be extraneous and unnecessary.

Ever since getting to know my sister-in-law, who I love very much, by the way, I see this differently. Although I love aspects of design, I lack the gene that would enable me to keep my living space so tidy. It isn’t in me – and it’s certainly not in my spouse, who is more disorderly than I am. (He insists that every pile of paper is deeply meaningful and I shouldn’t touch his filing system.)

When we read about how the Tabernacle is created, it’s filled with precision and detail. It’s something that the Israelites contribute to, own and control, while in the midst of a wilderness, while wandering around and wondering when they will actually get to their new home. Perhaps it gives them a sense of security and purpose to create this during a time of nomadism and uncertainty. Unlike the golden calf episode, it’s a scene that’s calm and controlled.

Even while reading the specifics, there are surprises. Historically, women and children did nearly all hand-spinning of yarn. There were no factories for it. Every single yarn and thread for any garment was spun by hand, on a spindle. We might assume that all of the carefully hand-dyed linen yarn was provided by the Israelite women, yet it’s Oholiab, mentioned in Exodus 38:23, who is the man named as the carver, designer and embroiderer of “blue, purple and crimson yarns and in fine linen.”

There it is again. We think we are certain about all sorts of things in our environment and culture, like which gender does embroidery. We’re wrong. Many of the assumptions we make about gender roles, for instance, come from other times. For example, Victorian notions of a woman’s “higher spiritual nature” have seeped into Judaism. Our assumptions about what we wear or who does what kind of handiwork changes according to time period and culture.

So why be specific and detailed about the building of the Tabernacle or, for that matter, keeping your living room impeccably organized?

Some say that, since the Shechinah (G-d’s divine spirit) dwells in the Tabernacle, it must be perfect and beautiful. Others argue that our homes should also resemble the Tabernacle, because we each have bits of the holy spark, the divine, within. These are all wonderful aspirational and elevated ideas.

I’d argue something different. Our surprising world is busy and chaotic. Every time we shovel snow, the plow comes by and moves it, or it snows all over again. Maybe that flowerbed we planted last year didn’t bloom the way we’d expected it to. Our daily lives are out of our control in many ways, and this doesn’t account for disease, disaster, death or violence.

So, we manipulate what we can. My sister-in-law’s house is always going to be tidier than mine. It’s a way she can bring order to things despite the entropy around her. My house may be untidy, but I’m cooking, designing and knitting textiles in an endless attempt to keep people fed, warm and help them feel loved.

While writing this, my computer blinked. I lost a whole document. This week, a friend’s child is struggling and self-harming. Another far-away friend concludes radiation and chemo treatments, and I don’t know how she’s doing. My car might not start, my kids get sick at school – unpredictability and difficulties abound. However, there’s comfort in routine and minutiae. When we read the Torah portion or do the same Jewish prayers or rituals, we can offer ourselves that order and precision. We can’t control much, but we can control something. Goldsmithing, embroidery, carving, metal work or clothing, each of us can choose to create something precise and beautiful, in acknowledgement of a higher order.

Helicopter parent’s confession

A couple years ago, I sat smugly through a lecture on helicopter parenting, feeling fully confident that nothing spoken during that time applied to me. Who were these overly involved parents who just couldn’t let go, even once their kids had left for college? They were nothing like me, I thought. I’d been an early advocate of children’s independence in my community, encouraging my kids to navigate Vancouver’s public transit alone at the age of 12. My 9-year-old daughter walks around Steveston Village with her best friend and my 15-year-old girls have flown to the United States on their own. I thought I had the helicopter mom in me under control – until my son left for college.

That’s when my over-protective mama-bear instincts kicked into gear, where they remain on high alert. How do you protect your child when they’re so far from home? And where is the line between supportive help and concern, and running your child’s life instead of allowing them to live it on their own? These days, I ponder these questions a great deal, my stomach churning with anxiety as I contemplate all the unseen dangers my son could encounter in the absence of his mother’s watchful eyes and words of cautious advice.

Yesterday, a phone call. “Mom, the craziest thing happened as I was walking to school this morning,” he declared. “I was crossing the road at the traffic lights when a hard tug on my backpack pulled me backwards. I stepped back just as a car ran a red light, flying past inches away from me. I was so close to being hit!”

The vision torments me as I write this, my child so close to life-threatening danger. I worry now about more cars hurtling at breakneck speed on those icy roads that separate his dorm room from his lecture halls. About his reading break, when he’ll be a passenger on the icy 401, his safety at the mercy of drivers I’ve never met. About his plans to go ice fishing in the Muskokas – what if the ice breaks?

This precious, precious child of mine is so excited to experience the world in all its beauty, to challenge his personal limits and dive deep into the friendships and opportunities that surround him. I want all this for him, of course. He is growing, thriving and learning with every turn in this journey far from home. Yet I cannot stop the worry for his vulnerability, nor the fear of “what if?” that pesters my mind incessantly. If that’s the whirring of helicopter parenting, then I’m guilty as sin.

As parents, it’s not always easy to know when to step back and when to be actively involved, particularly when our children head off to college. It’s natural for us to want to protect our kids, said Julie Lythcott-Haims, who published the book How to Raise an Adult after witnessing years of helicopter parenting when she was dean of freshmen at Stanford University. “We love our children fiercely and we’re fearful about what the world has in store for them. But we make the mistake of … being like a concierge in their lives.” (See jewishindependent.ca/ dont-helicopter-parent.)

If I’m a concierge in my kids’ life, let it be known I’m a darn good one. Case in point: my son recently signed a lease on an apartment with a friend-who-turned-out-not-to-be-a-friend, and needed to get out fast. The management company delivered a virtual shrug when he asked for his money back. “We’re not in a position to do refunds,” they told my 18-year-old. At that age, you don’t necessarily know how to respond to a statement like that. But, when you’re 46, you do. You call the company’s chief financial officer and let them know in no uncertain terms that a refund needs to be forthcoming. Posthaste. Voila, the cheque arrived.

I canvassed a mom’s group to ask for their definitions of helicopter parenting, hoping they might help identify the line between caring, support and over-involvement in the lives of college-age kids. You might be a helicopter parent, they suggested, if:

You know your kids’ passwords so you can register them on time for courses.
You have been known to call your kids’ instructor/professor, suggest they graded an essay, test or exam unfairly and insist that they reconsider the grade.
You proofread and edit your kids’ college essays because you want them to get the best results possible.
You feel compelled to step in and prevent your kids from making mistakes.

I suspect we all want to shelter our children from making awful, life-changing mistakes, so we try to gently guide them around the sharp curves of young adulthood, intervening perhaps too often in our efforts to break their fall. There is deep love in this act, a love that stretches way back to their infancy and embeds us with the certainty that our children are our richest legacies, irreplaceable treasures we want and need to hold close. There will be times when we teeter on the line of over-protectiveness, when the whirring sounds of helicopter parenting will be obvious to those around us. But the best we can do is walk the line, treading with the utmost care. Trust me, it’s much harder than it sounds.

Lauren Kramer, an award-winning writer and editor, lives in Richmond. To read her work online, visit laurenkramer.net.

Retirement offers new path – the Accidental Balabusta

It was an uber-yummy pot roast that spawned the Accidental Balabusta. (photo by Shelley Civkin)

The definition of balabusta goes like this: 1) an impressively competent homemaker; 2) female head of household.

I recently saw balabusta used in a sentence: “She’s such a balabusta, she can make Shabbos for 20 in one afternoon.” Seriously? In which galaxy could anybody (never mind a balabusta) make any meal for 20 in one afternoon? I’m pretty sure that’s called hyperbole, or straight up bovine caca. Maybe I’m just not aware of the superpowers of real-life balabustas; the ones who sport red aprons and rule the domestic world. Personally, I couldn’t even make mac and cheese for 20 in one afternoon.

According to the Jewish Chronicle, “Balaboosters [sic] are rather out of fashion these days, victims of feminism and women’s magazines. Still, at least according to family myth, all of our grandmothers were balaboosters – heroic homemakers who raised large numbers of children in straitened circumstances and made real gefilte fish from a carp that swam about in the bathtub.” Not my Jewish grandmothers! Mine were neither spectacular cooks, nor did they have a bathtub filled with fish.

I don’t buy the idea that balabustas are out of fashion these days. I believe they’re just contemporary versions of the old-time balabustas. We hold down jobs, raise kids – well, not me, personally, but millions of other modern balabustas – and we’re active in our communities. And we just happen to bake, cook, do the laundry, clean the house and more. I, for one, am flattered to be called a balabusta. Even an accidental one. I feel like it puts me squarely in the category with other competent Jewish women, who juggle multiple tasks and are the glue that holds their families together.

So, how did I come to be crowned “the Accidental Balabusta”? It was the day I made a textbook perfect, uber-yummy pot roast. My husband Harvey took one bite and proclaimed me the Accidental Balabusta. Just like that! To substantiate his declaration, a week later I baked a batch of kalamata olive and rosemary challah buns (recipe from Rising: The Book of Challah by Rochie Pinson). They were exquisite. Or so I’m told. For the record, there was no bread machine or KitchenAid dough hook within 100 metres of my tiny galley kitchen. Just me, a 13-litre stainless steel bowl and enough flour to coat a bison.

For an encore, I made a handmade, painted challah cover. Next thing you know, I’ll be herding sheep. Anyway, that’s how the new moniker stuck.

Regarding the definition of balabusta, I might qualify as the “female head of household,” depending on whom you ask. As for being a remarkably skilled homemaker … well, the jury’s still out on that one. Way out. Truth to tell, most people I know would unequivocally classify me as the anti-balabusta. “That Shelley Civkin is a real balabusta!” Said nobody. Ever.

It’s not for lack of trying. OK, for about 50 years, it was. I simply wasn’t interested in cooking and cleaning. I was single and worked full-time. Since I only got married at age 53, the childbearing train had left the station. Empty. I was zero for three.

Then heaven happened: I retired three years ago. I took the advice of a wise rabbi, who told me that retirement doesn’t mean just sleeping in and doing nothing. It means helping others, doing mitzvot and finding your purpose in life. Did I mention I regularly volunteer to bake challah for seniors? I took the rabbi’s words to heart, and here I am today, the Accidental Balabusta. I’m sure my family and friends are laughing their tucheses off right now. “Shelley, a balabusta? You gotta be kidding?” For most of my life I was a water-burner.

If you ask Harvey, he’ll tell you I’m a great cook. To wit, he’ll eat anything. Exhibit A: the fish fiasco. A year or two into our relationship, I decided to make breaded snapper. So, I used my father’s recipe and coated the fish in flour, eggs and breadcrumbs. While it was frying, a tiny piece of breading came off, so I popped it my mouth. Something didn’t taste right. I checked the expiry date on the egg container – it was fine. Then I put my finger in the bread crumbs to taste them – they were good. Finally, I put my finger in the jar of flour. Only to realize that I’d just coated all my fish in icing sugar. Harvey, G-d bless him, ate the icing-sugar-coated fish. I went out for sushi.

Then there was the infamous lamb debacle. It was New Year’s Eve and I decided to go for broke, so I made a rack of lamb. I covered the lamb in my usual Dijon mustard, lemon and garlic mixture and put it in the oven. Our first bite in, both of us noted the unusually strong lemon flavour. But it was tasty.

An hour later, it wasn’t. Harvey ended up in the bathroom driving the big, white porcelain bus. Several hours later, I landed in the hospital emergency department having three bags of IV fluids pumped into me. Let’s just say I got very dehydrated, and leave it at that.

As for being a great homemaker, that’s not my strong suit. What I mean to say is this: I am not on a first-name basis with my vacuum cleaner. In fact, I couldn’t tell you the brand if my life depended on it. I am to housecleaning what porcupines are to Winnebagos. If tchotchkes aren’t screaming out to be dusted, leave well enough alone. Let me clarify: I’m not dirty. I’m just a little messy. I figure there are more important things to do than clean house. Like read. Or eat chips. When guests come over, though, I pull out all the stops. OK, I pull out the fancy hand towels. Actually, Harvey pulls them out. I watch.

The last time I did anything domestic was in Grade 3 Hebrew school, when our teacher had all the girls embroider kippot for the boys. The boys’ assignment – wait for it – was to wear the kippot. No sexism there. Of course, it was the early 1960s. So, you’re welcome, boys.

But back to the balabusta thing. It turns out that I actually enjoy cooking and baking. Who knew? With nothing but free time on my hands now (except for my volunteer activities), I can kick back, put my hair up and tie one on. An apron, that is.

Stay tuned for more Accidental Balabusta.

Shelley Civkin, aka the Accidental Balabusta, is a happily retired librarian and communications officer. For 17 years, she wrote a weekly book review column for the Richmond Review, and currently writes a bi-weekly column about retirement for the Richmond News.

Transferring our assets

(photo from Alpha Stock Images, photographer Nick Youngson)

After a lifetime of work, most of us would like to know that our assets and legacy are transferred to the next generations, children and grandchildren, in the amounts and percentages we chose while alive. Our hope is that this would happen as painlessly, securely and quickly as possible.

It is a subject I am quite passionate about. I have seen loving families, with the best intentions, fail to adequately plan this transfer of assets and they are faced with disappointing financial and emotional consequences. There is the very real risk that your assets will not land in the hands of the people you intended. In addition, even when your wishes are met, without the proper planning and communication, feelings can be hurt, with long-lasting negative, albeit unintended, consequences.

What is probate

Probate is a legal procedure that validates a deceased’s will and confirms the executor’s authority to carry out the testator’s wishes.

There is no requirement that every will must be probated. Proper planning can eliminate the need for probate, and the type of asset involved will generally dictate whether or not probate is required.

The cost of probate varies by province. British Columbia has fees of $14 per thousand on estates over $50,000, plus a filing fee. Property owned in another province may attract fees based on that province’s fee schedule.

Advantages/disadvantages

When letters of probate are obtained, financial institutions, transfer agents, land registry offices and other third parties can safely transfer the assets to the intended recipients. The time frame for any court challenges to the will or estate is usually measured from when the probate is granted. This limits the period when legal action may be taken.

However, the process can be very expensive, time-consuming and complex, and is open to public scrutiny. This loss of privacy can be very important to the ongoing harmony of the family when assets aren’t divided equally among the beneficiaries.

Avoiding or reducing probate

Make sure you have a will. Probate fees will be applied automatically if you die intestate (without a will).
Gifting prior to death can reduce the value of the estate subject to probate but must be done with care. There are important legal and income tax considerations and possibly property transfer taxes.
Use named beneficiaries whenever possible. Moving assets to vehicles such as life insurance, annuities and segregated funds is a great way to avoid probate. What’s important is that proceeds are paid quickly, typically in a few weeks, and directly to the beneficiary. This avoids lawsuits from family members who may feel they didn’t receive what they felt they deserved from the estate.
Holding assets in joint tenancy with a spouse, child or other family member will avoid probate, as the asset passes automatically upon death to the other individual. Using joint tenancy to avoid probate fees should involve careful consideration: there will be a loss of control once it is jointly held and the asset will be exposed to the joint tenant’s creditors. There are also certain complicated tax issues and other risks associated with this strategy.
Transferring assets to a trust will remove the asset from the estate. Be careful of appreciable assets that may attract a taxable disposition upon transfer. The use of an alter-ego or joint spousal trust can be very effective for this purpose. There are many cases where trusts are necessary to achieve more complicated wishes but they can be expensive to set up and require annual maintenance.
Transfer assets to a corporation. Except for outstanding mortgages on real estate, which are deductible, probate fees are generally charged against the gross value of an estate asset. If an estate asset was purchased with borrowed money, it may be beneficial to transfer that asset to a company. This will reduce the value of the estate and the company share value will be the asset, less the debt used to acquire it.
Have multiple wills. Not all assets are subject to probate. It is becoming popular to have two wills – one for assets that are probatable and one for those that are not. This strategy is not available in all provinces and the use of multiple wills may create problems with the new graduated-rate estate tax with respect to testamentary trusts. It is important to seek professional advice when considering these strategies.
Keep it simple. There are often cases where we can plan to quite easily avoid probate entirely. All assets can be invested within segregated funds (GICs, stocks and bonds are available) with named beneficiaries and others gifted. This can be done where income is still guaranteed for the rest of one’s life, but ownership has been transferred while alive, or will pass straight to beneficiaries later, thus avoiding probate.

***

Finally, I like to stress the gifting of assets while one is alive, be it to your family or a charity. There are many advantages, whether it’s the personal satisfaction of supporting your favourite charity, or the love shared with your children and grandchildren. After all, isn’t estate planning really intergenerational legacy planning?

Philip Levinson, CPA, CA, is an associate at ZLC Financial, a boutique financial services firm that has served the Vancouver community for more than 70 years. Each individual’s needs are unique and warrant a customized solution. Should you have any questions about the information in this article, he can be reached at 604-688-7208 or [email protected].

*** Disclaimer: The views (including any recommendations) expressed in this commentary are those of the author alone, and are not necessarily those of ZLC Financial. This information is not to be construed as investment advice. It is for educational or information purposes only. It is not intended to provide legal, taxation or account advice; as each situation is different, please seek advice based on your specific circumstance. This commentary is not in any respect to be construed as an offer to sell or the solicitation of an offer to buy any securities. ***

Making home a sanctuary

My kids love a song called “Make me a sanctuary.” The Hebrew comes directly from Exodus 25:8. It’s based on a Shaker hymn (much of the Jewish musical liturgy comes from outside sources) and it’s in Hebrew and English. The English lyrics say: “Lord, prepare me, to be a sanctuary, pure and holy, tried and true, with thanksgiving, I’ll be a living sanctuary for you.” In Hebrew transliteration: “V’asu li mikdash, v’shochanti b’tocham,va’anachnu n’varech yah, me-ata v’ad olam.” Translation: “Make me a sanctuary, that I may dwell among them, and we will bless Hashem, now and forever.”

This comes from the Torah portion Terumah, and describes how the people will make an exquisite ark so that they can worship together. I’m a “maker” and love creating things. I spin, knit, weave and sew. I write knitting patterns. I love to build and create. Today, I just finished making some cloth napkins. However, a home (or a congregation) can’t be an inspirational sanctuary without the basics. In Canada, that includes heat.

Recently, I noticed our house seemed cool. I perched on the stairs to check the thermostat. Someone installed it decades ago in a way that makes it hard for shorter adults, like me, to see. (My partner, whose ancestors spent time in Eastern Europe, didn’t seem cold.)

The next morning, the boiler wasn’t working. After checking the thermostat battery and shrugging, my partner went to work. As the work-from-home adult, I called repair places. Although it was warm outside for winter, the forecast predicted plummeting temperatures. I worried.

The busy repair places offered an appointment for the next day. We have two gas fireplaces, which pumped out heat valiantly while I called Manitoba Hydro. Hydro scheduled someone to come out to check our boiler’s pilot light. As the temperatures dropped, the boiler kept cycling, but no heat came up, so I shut it off.

At lunchtime, a chirping alarm went off in the basement. Something else was wrong, but I couldn’t even tell what was beeping. We have an old house. Its antiquated systems can be confusing. (Smart house upgrades circa 1918, 1952, etc.) I was also tired when this started from a busy weekend. I was so befuddled by what was going on with the boiler that I wondered if I was confused due to some kind of gas leak.

Once I shut it off the boiler, I was no longer confused but so tired from the cold that I wanted to take a nap. I was wearing a toque, a heavy Icelandic wool sweater and a shawl, but part of me was like, “Don’t take a nap! People die this way! How will the Hydro guys get in if you fall asleep?!”

Here’s the stupid coincidence. The beeping was an older fire alarm with a failing battery, which had nothing to do with the boiler. Installed in 2004, it was guaranteed to last 10 years. It gave up the ghost 15 years later, on the same day as the boiler troubles. We’ve had new, hardwired fire, carbon and radon alarms installed, but missed removing this one. I was freaking out over nothing. I’d call it irrational stupidity, possibly caused by a tired “freeze” brain.

The Hydro guys came, cheerfully disconnected the old fire alarm, relit the pilot light and told me to get the boiler fully serviced. When the tradesperson serviced the boiler, it was black, dirty and not burning cleanly. It needed attention. I also got the boiler chimney cleaned. It took awhile for the house to heat up, but there was good news. We were warm again! Bad news? I lost the better part of a work week to this drama, and I was cold.

Once I was warm, I thought beyond the basics – but many people can’t. If you’re stuck with challenges like staying warm, you can’t think clearly. In the midst of a Canadian winter, we’re so lucky to have heat. Taking a moment to remember this, and recognize that there are many who are cold this winter, and how it affects us, is very important.

I was incredibly grateful to hear the boiler cycling as everything became toasty. It made me very aware of how hard it is for those among us who cannot afford to keep their houses warm or who are homeless. I was so anxious that I woke up the next morning at 5:30 a.m., panicked that the boiler might stop working again as temperatures plummeted to -30 outside.

For those of us who find something’s wrong, there are ways to fix it. This is a kind of “adulting.” Grown-ups should keep up with home maintenance, whether it’s the fire alarms or getting their boilers serviced and chimneys cleaned regularly. I couldn’t remember the last time this was done at our house.

When I had twins, life got busy. We did the best we could, but forgot a lot of important details. We all need heat during the winter. Aside from being grateful, do something that I didn’t do – be proactive. Getting your heat in order before the cold temperatures and cold freeze brain hit is wise. I wish I’d known better, but you can still get it serviced in the wintertime.

Here’s wishing you a well-maintained warm, cozy home, with up-to-date fire alarms, during all the cold snaps. It’s much better to be safe and warm than sorry.

JNF Canada explains position

On behalf of JNF Canada (JNF), I wish to respond to allegations made by Independent Jewish Voices Canada, longstanding opponents of JNF Canada, as well as the opinion piece you published [“Tax troubles start year,” Jewish Independent, Jan. 11].

With regard to the substantive issues that have been raised about our projects in Israel we wish to reiterate our position.

• JNF has in the past carried out projects mainly of a charitable nature, such as parks, playgrounds and recreational facilities on land owned by the Israel Defence Forces. Our charitable funds never flowed to the IDF. The charitable funds were directed toward the hiring of indigent labourers to construct these projects. These expenditures represent under one percent of our expenditures over the past decade.

In your coverage, you suggest that we took action based upon an alert from the CRA. This, in fact, is not the case. Rather, it was our legal counsel who advised us several years ago that the indirect association with the IDF may be misconstrued or criticized by the CRA, so we ended our participation at that time. We have not for several years carried out projects located on IDF land, and we continue to operate in accordance with CRA regulations governing our status as a charitable organization. We stopped these projects on the advice of counsel well before this issue was brought to the public’s attention by a group trying to sensationalize it.

• With regard to projects located in disputed territory, JNF is committed to continuing to work with CRA to ensure we are in full compliance.

• Finally, in terms of governance and reporting, JNF operates in compliance with the Canada Income Tax Act. We have Israeli staff on site to direct our projects in Israel and regularly report on our activities.

Thank you for highlighting our work and for acknowledging that “Israel is Israel, is large part, thanks to JNF.” We take pride in having supported the building of water reservoirs, collaborated with dozens of educational institutions, built numerous recreational/educational facilities, planted millions of trees and supported pioneering research in green technology. Key projects for this year include supporting a trauma centre in Sderot, a project to feed Israel’s hungry, the rehabilitation of the Be’eri and Kissufim forests, and more.

JNF’s management and lay leadership are committed to improving our operations. For the past number of years, we have been making changes to strengthen our governance and controls. What will not change, however, is our commitment to helping build the foundations of Israel’s future. We will always stand shoulder to shoulder with the people of Israel to benefit the social service and environmental fabric of the state of Israel.

Lance Davis is chief executive officer of Jewish National Fund Canada.

An unexpected journey

The author’s maternal aunt, Sara Basson (at age 23). (photo from Libby Simon)

It was the long, cold winter nights in Winnipeg that made me do it. With my husband working late and a preschooler asleep in her room keeping me housebound, what else could I do? I finally tackled the onerous task of sorting seemingly hundreds of musty, dusty family photos that lay scattered inside battered cardboard boxes saved by my parents, their lives obviously too busy living the moments.

Who were these people in these tattered and torn brown photos? Some, I had been told, were Aunt Lorna or Cousin Sylvia. Others were total strangers. The clothing and hairstyles against an unfamiliar backdrop told of another time and place in history. Places I had never seen nor been, yet vague memories from childhood floated in my mind. Some pictures had writing on the back in a foreign language I could not read or understand. Nonetheless, I carted these decaying remnants along with all the important household belongings wherever we moved. Why had I not discarded them?

I now painstakingly placed these memories of bits and bytes under protective sheets in photo albums, one by one. Organizing them in some fashion was just too daunting a task. For the moment, preserving them was the goal – for whom I did not know. That question wouldn’t be answered until many years later, when I received a letter that launched an unexpected personal journey.

Bold, black type on unfamiliar letterhead demanded my attention – Lois Feinberg, Financial Consultant, Hollywood, Florida. I was about to toss out what I thought was spam sent by snail mail when one short sentence leaped out at me: “I’m your second cousin on your mother’s side,” it read. “My grandmother and your grandfather were siblings.”

Maybe it was more scam than spam but I had to pay attention. What did she want? Credit card numbers? Bank account numbers? Transfer a million dollars out of some remote African country? I read further with guarded skepticism.

“In the process of my genealogical research,” she wrote, “I found our mutual cousin, Sylvia, who gave me your contact information. I would like the names and birth dates of your family in order to register this information with the Yad Vashem in Israel.”

Yad Vashem. I knew it as the memorial centre for the murdered six million Jews and a symbol of the ongoing confrontation with the rupture of families engendered by the Holocaust. My doubts began to dissipate as the letter took on a flavour of authenticity. After confirming its legitimacy with Sylvia, I provided Lois with the information she requested. I did not pursue further personal contact, however, because, frankly, I have not been blessed, or cursed, with the need to search out relatives who could be more of a blemish than a blossom on my family tree.

But things were about to change.

Circumstances arose the next winter that would take my husband and me to Florida. I contacted Lois and invited her for lunch. When I greeted this pretty, dark-eyed, dark-haired lady, we hugged each other warmly. She appeared similar in age, slim, well-dressed and refined in manner. Lois had been a teacher turned financial consultant, divorced from her doctor husband, with two grown children.

“I discovered two other cousins who live in Florida whose grandparents are also siblings of our grandparents,” she said. I was stunned. Two more family members – right here!

photo - The author’s maternal grandfather, Abraham Basson (at age 60) — The author’s maternal grandfather, Abraham Basson (at age 60). *(photo from Libby Simon)*

“I’ll arrange a brunch at my home so you can meet them,” she promised with a smile. And, true to her word, the cousins all gathered at her home the following week.

A strange mix of emotions coursed through me as the past and present began to meld. Until recently, we were totally unaware of one another’s existence. Suddenly, we had a common thread tying us together – our grandparents.

Lois told me that the grandparent siblings, including my maternal grandfather, had all come to the United States in the 1930s to escape Hitler’s rise to power, but he was the only one sent back, because of a leg deformity. Not from disease, mind you, but the result of an accident. In the course of operating his paper company business, a heavy object had fallen on his leg yet he continued to run a successful business. I was told he and several other relatives were among the six million Jews murdered in the Holocaust.

Like a seismic jolt of lightning, the brown pictures flashed across my mind. For the first time, my grandfather became more than a lifeless face on a faded old photo. Sadness and anger pulsed through me. He was my mother’s father – a living, breathing person whose life had been cut short. Not by a natural disaster like a tsunami, a flood or earthquake, but by a human-made catastrophe, the Holocaust. Nature’s cataclysmic events kill randomly but humans ravaged and murdered with deliberation and purpose. While we had been spared the agony of their deaths, history had changed the lives of those who lived, splintering family shards across the globe, many of which will never be repaired.

Yet it was heart-warming to meet Marty, the supervisor IRS lawyer in south Florida; Arnie, a retired businessman; and their wives. After a four-hour brunch came to a pleasant end, plans were discussed for “The Brunch” next winter, ensuring a future for this fractured family.

These images gradually transcended time and geography and were now transplanted into my world in the 21st century. They were channeled from a dismal and distant past to live again in the present. In fact, in April 2012, I learned the names of six of my maternal relatives who were murdered in the Holocaust. My Israeli family had listed their names at Yad Vashem in Israel. I have now added them to Winnipeg’s Holocaust memorial on the grounds of the Manitoba Legislature to further ensure they will never be forgotten.

The exciting promise of a journey of discovery still lies ahead, as traces of life continue to sprout new branches on this family tree – blemish or blossom. I knew now for whom these pictures were preserved. I preserved them for me and for future generations of Jewish history. L’dor v’dor.

Libby Simon, MSW, worked in child welfare services prior to joining the Child Guidance Clinic in Winnipeg as a school social worker and parent educator for 20 years. Also a freelance writer, her writing has appeared in Canada, the United States, and internationally, in such outlets as Canadian Living, CBC, Winnipeg Free Press, PsychCentral and Cardus, a Canadian research and educational public policy think tank. She wrote this piece with International Holocaust Remembrance Day (Jan. 27) in mind.

Complexity and perspective

I recently heard some difficult news. A good friend of mine from university has been diagnosed with a serious form of cancer. Over time, we’d moved, had children and fallen out of touch, but I was able to reach her quickly. She is well enough for emailing, and we’ve fallen right back into the dear friendship we had 20-some years ago. Some of her more recent pathology reports are slightly more hopeful. Even so, it’s a very serious diagnosis and she’s in her mid-forties with kids in elementary school.

During university, this friend and I were part of a trio of busy young women. Often the only time we could spend together was breakfast. We’d have bagels and coffee at a sunny warm spot, the Ithaca Bakery. The snow was piled high outside and the windows were steamed with humidity as we laughed and complained together. It was the third friend who told me about the brain cancer. She and I each, within moments, had come up with medical resources for our dear friend. We felt lucky to be able to say, “I know something about this,” or “I know someone if you need medical information or another opinion.” We wanted to support her from far away.

I was reminded of this when looking at the Torah portion Yitro (Exodus 18:1-20:23), which starts out with a story about Jethro, Zipporah’s father, and Moses. Jethro is Moses’ father-in-law. When Moses tells him how the Israelites have escaped Egypt and what has happened, Jethro responds in Exodus 18:9: “And Jethro rejoiced over all the kindness that the Lord had shown Israel when He delivered them from the Egyptians.”

Rashi responds to this by saying that Jethro rejoicing is the literal meaning, but that Sanhedrin 94A (a talmudic midrash) suggests that Jethro’s skin prickled, or crept with horror. He felt upset about Egypt’s destruction. Rashi explains further that “people say” that one should not speak negatively about non-Jews in front of someone who has converted to Judaism, even if the family converted 10 generations ago.

Jethro is called a Midianite priest, and is considered a “non-Hebrew.” The Druze consider Jethro an important prophet and ancestor. No matter – Moses was close with him, and married his daughter. This text and the commentary is laden with meaning. Just on its surface: Jethro celebrates and is grateful that his daughter and son-in-law and the Israelites have come through a terrible experience. Yet further still, the midrash explains that Jethro knew the ramifications of the experience. Egyptians suffered and were destroyed to bring about this event. Finally, there are valued connections between people. It doesn’t matter where you come from – we shouldn’t cause distress to those we love, if at all possible, even if they aren’t part of our “in-group.” Things in life are complex. We should celebrate and be grateful, but not cause further harm, either. Jethro intertwines these concepts.

Jethro goes on to help Moses learn to delegate and do “leadership development.” He encourages Moses to rely on the Israelites to lead and take care of one another, as well.

What does this have to do with hearing of my friend’s terrible illness?

It was a wake-up call and a reminder to be thankful, as Jethro was, and celebrate what we have – we can’t take our health for granted.

The good news is I am back in touch with someone I care about. It’s also an opportunity to look at how a third friend told me this news, and that my friend with cancer has a rich community to lean on. She can delegate, too, regarding communication, help with her family, and maybe even finding medical advice and explanations.

It’s also a reminder that we’re all connected, regardless of religion. As Rashi shows us, treating people with care extends beyond the team with which you daven (pray).

Finally, smart people realize that real-life situations are complicated. It’s simplistic to have a one-size-fits-all approach to nationalism, for example. Moses supported and shepherded the Israelites, but he also cared deeply about people who were not, strictly speaking, part of his crowd. Yes, we’re Jewish, but we often love people who aren’t, and that is part of our tradition, too.

We’re lucky to have a tradition that values complication. As Jews, we face a lot of complex concepts in the world, whether it’s our own personal observances or how we apply those values to the world at large. We could choose a simplistic response, such as a tirade or blanket objection to a view different than our own. Many people do this – face it, it’s easier. Or, we could acknowledge the complexity of our choices instead.

Jethro wasn’t Jewish, and he wasn’t a one-issue guy. He could celebrate and express gratitude while wrestling with other feelings: concern, loss, sadness and worry. I hope to be like Jethro and do the same.