ethics

Honouring others in death

There’s nothing like a tree stump to put things in context. I walk the dog in an area full of mature trees and wildlife. Tucked in a bend of a river, we’ve got a lot of trees here. However, this enormous tree had died. I contemplated its huge stump and growth bands. My impatient dog pulled me towards her usual routine, so I didn’t manage to count the rings to learn just how long it lived, but likely it has existed since long before settlers claimed this land.

One gift I’ve gained from living in Winnipeg, where more than 15% of our population is Indigenous, is a better connection to and respect for the earth and living things. In my urban daily walks with the dog, I’ve seen woodpeckers, ducks, geese, hawks, deer, fox, and more. I’m filled with awe by the wild natural world around us and the contexts offered by Canada’s First Peoples.

However, I’ve also seen the traumas played out through what Canada has done to its Indigenous population. There are unhoused people nearby, living in camps along the riverbank in all kinds of weather. On a warm day, I saw a woman on the ground. I thought she was sleeping and went on my way. Then I struggled, wondering if I should have called for help. Perhaps it was an overdose or something worse. At the time, I promised myself that if she were still there when I returned, I would call for help. The whole walk, I debated whether it was better to involve police or not. Indigenous Canadians aren’t always treated fairly by law enforcement. She was gone by the time I returned. I felt relief because I hadn’t been forced to make a decision. Would sleeping on the ground in an area that was her people’s ancestral land result in an arrest or accusation of criminal behaviour?

This situation, of not being sure if a call to the police was safe, came to mind when hearing the latest news reports regarding the deaths of four women in Winnipeg. These women’s remains were left in multiple garbage bins in May 2022, according to police reports. Some of these dumpsters were sent to Prairie Green landfill on May 16. Jeremy Skibicki is accused of killing these Indigenous women: Rebecca Contois, Morgan Harris, Marcedes Myran and a fourth woman, unidentified, who Indigenous leaders have named Mashkode Bizhiki’ikwe, or Buffalo Woman.

Some of Contois’s remains were found at Winnipeg’s Brady Road landfill in June 2022; her remains were in at least two dumpsters, one of which was spotted before being picked up by the dump truck. The police didn’t find the other women’s remains and declined to do a search for them, saying it would be dangerous and expensive. They have arrested the man they think committed the crimes and said they didn’t need to find the bodies to press charges. Public outcry, along with the families’ voices, forced the government to do a feasibility study regarding a search of the Prairie Green landfill, which has now been released. It says it could take up to three years and $184 million to search for their remains.

Like many Manitobans, I was horrified by how this has unfolded. The idea that these women’s bodies should remain in the trash rather than have a proper, culturally sensitive burial, is abhorrent. I couldn’t imagine why anyone needed a feasibility study to determine that their remains should be found as soon as possible. I, like many others, couldn’t understand why a search didn’t commence immediately in June 2022. I wouldn’t be alone in saying that it seems as though the decision to not recover the bodies promptly seemed inherently flawed and racist.

Unfortunately, this isn’t a new situation. Jewish tradition is rich with historic detail. The Babylonian Talmud, codified by about 500 CE, has already described what to do about it. Even a kohain (priest), who normally must avoid the dead to avoid becoming “defiled” (unable to do Temple sacrifice, during the days when there was a Temple in Jerusalem) is commanded in the Talmud to bury any dead person he finds abandoned on a road. This is called a meit mitzvah. Today, it’s considered a special and important mitzvah (commandment) for all Jews to uphold: if we discover a dead person with no next of kin, we must do the right thing. We must tend to that dead person with respect and bury them properly.

In the Babylonian Talmud Tractate Sotah, on page 45b, we learn that we’re responsible for burying bodies that we find. We must find body parts and bury them together. There’s a rabbinic discussion about what the proper rituals and procedures are “if he was strangled and left in a garbage heap.”

Walking by that enormous tree stump with its yearly growth rings reminds me that we have only a set time here on earth to do the right thing. Jewish tradition teaches us to be upstanding while we’re here. The families who lost their loved ones in these awful crimes deserve to have their rituals around death observed. These include a proper burial and send off of their loved ones’ spirits. Deuteronomy 16:20 reminds us “Justice, justice shall you pursue.” That sometimes requires us to dig at a landfill, i.e. a modern-day garbage heap, to pursue it.

It’s sometimes expensive and hard to do the right thing. It’s even more expensive and harder to correct an error like this one, when someone believes certain bodies on a trash heap are somehow less valuable or important. The police force took an unacceptable approach – to stall, and then find excuses for why we shouldn’t treat every person equally, and value every life taken.

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. Check her out on Instagram @yrnspinner or at joanneseiff.blogspot.com.

The kill fee – and its fallout

I was honoured with the opportunity to chant the first aliyah for the Torah portion Aharei Mot. I’m still new to chanting Torah, so I practise every day. I can read and translate Torah but, for some reason, I didn’t reflect on what I was reading at first. I was chanting that very sensitive set of instructions given from G-d to Moses to pass along to his brother Aaron.

A few weeks ago, we read in Leviticus 10:1-7 that Aaron’s sons Nadav and Abihu offered “strange” or “alien” fire. Their sacrifice was overeager and unusual. They drew “too close” – in some readings of Leviticus 16:1 – to G-d and were struck down. They were killed.

After the death of Aaron’s sons, the instructions Moses passes along to Aaron are crucial. He isn’t to go into the Holy of Holies, behind the curtain, because G-d dwells in a cloud above the cover. Aaron’s sacrifices and his approach to the holiest spaces are scripted, careful and correct. When reading rabbis’ commentaries on this, their thoughts are all over the place, from quoting Sting’s lyrics “Don’t Stand so Close to Me” to talking about vulnerability and the divine. This is a text that has a lot to unpack.

As a freelancer, I do writing and editing jobs with various deadlines. Sometimes, I write a piece months in advance, submit, and hear nothing back until the publication arrives in the mail with payment. With other jobs, I get to revise and review copy edits, the editor says exactly when the piece will run and I’m paid early without prompting. Others require me to submit an invoice or I don’t get paid at all. Every gig is different. I’ve even worked for publications that have gone bankrupt before my article was to appear. So, I did all the work but, in the end, received nothing, not even a publication credit.

In other situations, I write or edit something with a short deadline. These can be very satisfying jobs that happen quickly. Sometimes, it’s a political analysis piece that runs in the newspaper. Other times, it’s a healthcare editing job that might improve the lives of breastfeeding moms. There’s a thrill to a tight deadline where I manage to get it done, and perhaps make a difference.

Before Passover, I submitted some queries (ideas) to a publication with which I’d worked before. I got a very fast response. The editor said she’d been about to write on one of these topics. Would I cover it instead? I said sure, asking for her outline and any other details she wanted included. Instead, she suggested I write it on my own, without her outline. I did this as fast as I could, as I also faced the hard deadline of cleaning and cooking for the holiday. I asked for quick feedback, since my time was limited, but I didn’t receive any.

Almost a week later, the editor asked me for revisions, asking why I didn’t include several items, which were on her mental checklist, unbeknown to me. I didn’t feel prepared to do it, but I researched and did one more rewrite before Pesach.

During the middle of the Passover, the copy edits arrived. I’d never seen so many before! Much of it seemed to ask me to prove mundane things with academic sources. Many copy editors have provided me with corrections and solutions over the years, and it’s usually just an “approve” track changes or a comment or two to move ahead. Responding to these comments took nearly three hours. I felt as though perhaps I’d written something wrong, although I’d been researching, writing and teaching on the topic for years.

The next day, I received a note from the editor. It would take too long for us to come to agreement over the edits. I was sent a “kill fee.” A kill fee is usually a quarter to a third of the amount agreed to for the whole project, if the project cannot go forward. This was a bit of a relief. I had more time for the holiday. I could be done with a hassle that already had earned me less than minimum wage.

Moments after I accepted the kill fee, the editor was on social media, writing glib jokes about the article topic and how she had to write the article herself. So, not only had I lost the gig, but there was some shame now, too. This was public “punishment.” Somehow, I’d been incapable of writing on this supposedly easy topic. With the holiday’s end and Shabbat approaching, I had ample time to reflect on the crummy experience.

For context … in the book Little Women, published more than 150 years ago, the character of Jo March is offered a $100 US prize payment for a story she wrote. I was offered $150 Cdn to write this story and paid a kill fee $50 Cdn.

When I thought back on Aaron’s painful loss of Nadav and Abihu, and how they’d been warned not to do things the wrong way, I wondered what lessons I could find there. I don’t make sacrifices at an altar. I never want to lose my children in such an awful way. However, on a much smaller scale, I pushed myself too hard to meet an elusive last-minute work goal. It cut me close when I failed, and then to be shamed via social media for it. I had my work “killed” – perhaps because my writing failed to come close enough to the editor’s ideas, or maybe because it was a little too detailed or uncomfortable and they questioned it. Who knows? Just as we will never know what Nadav and Abihu were thinking, I couldn’t be inside this editor’s thoughts either.

Unlike Aaron, I don’t have to work with this editor/client again. Aaron serves G-d, and cannot make the same mistakes his sons did. He is in a painful place where he must learn to do better. I, too, am in a place where I need to reconsider how I work and what I will work towards.

Luckily, I didn’t lose anything so precious as did Aaron. I can still explore how to make things better – it’s important to find a work/life balance that works, because that article was not worth the hassle. As the TV advertisement goes, some (important) things, like our family and holiday celebrations, are priceless.

Ethical responsibilities in business

Writer and filmmaker Joel Bakan takes part in an online Canadian Hadassah-WIZO fundraising event May 30. (photo from Penguin Random House Canada)

The Canadian Hadassah-WIZO (CHW) Vancouver Book Club invites all CHW supporters, family and friends to an exclusive opportunity to be part of a conversation with Vancouver’s own Joel Bakan, an internationally recognized and award-winning author, producer, professor and legal scholar. Brunch with Bakan, which is a national CHW fundraising event, will take place May 30, at 11 a.m. PST.

Journalist and author Adam Elliott Segal will ask his own, as well as your questions, about Bakan’s hard-hitting book, The New Corporation: How “Good” Corporations are Bad for Democracy, which won the silver medal at the 2021 Axiom Business Book Awards in Business Ethics and is shortlisted for the B.C. and Yukon Book Prize for 2021. Segal’s roots are in Vancouver, though he now lives in Toronto, where he writes for the Globe and Mail, Toronto Star, Reader’s Digest and a host of other newspapers and magazines.

The New Corporation traces the consequences of a world close to losing its foundation of democracy. Bakan says the onus is on us to make the necessary connections and to actively be part of meaningful solutions if we want to leave our children and grandchildren a positive future. The Q&A with Segal will have a special focus on Jewish values, and ethical responsibility in business and corporate governance.

There are various ticket tiers for the Brunch with Bakan event, from $18 for the Zoom talk only to $118 for the talk, access to stream the film, a copy of the book (minimum two-week turnaround time for delivery) and name recognition. All ticket tiers include a tax receipt for the maximum allowable amount and the film, called The New Corporation: The Unfortunately Necessary Sequel, will be available May 25-28 for ticketholders to stream.

Over the last century, CHW has been involved in all aspects of Israeli life, supporting programs and services for children, women and healthcare in Israel and Canada. To tickets to the Brunch with Bakan fundraising event, visit chw.ca/thenewcorporation.

– Courtesy CHW Vancouver

Holy jab a moving experience

We’re celebrating at our house. I’ve gotten my first AstraZeneca vaccination “jab.” I’ve got a sore arm and felt droopy afterwards, but I’m thrilled to have finally gotten access.

As a pragmatic, 40-something Gen X-er, I had to wait my turn. Then I rushed to get an appointment. In the Manitoba social media world, we heard others complain that the system was difficult to navigate. The deadpan reply from our cohort was something like, “Guess you’ve never had to get up early to try to register your kids for swim lessons.” In a place where resources like, say, vaccination or indoor pool swim lesson spots, are very limited, we’ve learned to negotiate systems that were not designed for our needs or to be welcoming.

This big event for 40-somethings in several Canadian provinces happened to coincide with the Torah portion of Acharei Mot-Kedoshim, Leviticus 16:1-20:27. This big double parashah (portion) covers a lot, including what it means to be holy. In some cases, it might mean “to be prepared.”

It’s also the portion that encourages us to “Love your neighbour as yourself” and Leviticus 19:34 reads, “The stranger who resides with you shall be to you as one of your citizens; you shall love him as yourself, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt: I the Lord am your God.”

The Torah is, sort of, a holiness how-to guide of its time, and some of the issues may no longer be everyday things for many. However, the pandemic forces us to be prepared for simple things like wearing a mask during a shopping outing. Add in more complex things, like obtaining access to that coveted vaccination, too. It’s interesting that the weekly parashah topics like preparation, holiness, loving neighbours and caring for strangers all came up at once.

The nurse who gave me my jab had worked in the COVID wards. She exuded calm as she went through her vaccine script. She made the moment feel monumental and holy while preparing me. When I thanked her, she said how great it was to be part of this effort to keep so many others healthy and safe after experiencing the suffering in the hospitals.

As I sat in the doctor’s waiting room for my 15 minutes after the jab, I thought about this. Masking up, getting vaccinated and social distancing are all ways that we show love for one another right now. Those actions are so powerful that I’m affronted and sad whenever someone demonstrates as an anti-masker, doesn’t wear a mask or even spits in public. Indeed, that means he doesn’t love his neighbour enough.

While I waited, it was a quiet. Yo-Yo Ma wasn’t serenading others on his cello in the clinic or anything like that. Instead, I turned and congratulated a stranger, a man who had also just gotten his shot. It was an oddly affirming moment. He had a spouse with an immune condition. Like me, he had kids learning at home. At first glance, I might have felt apprehensive chatting – he was heavily inked with tattoos and intimidating. Still, the love we both felt towards the universe for this opportunity and to those who also cared so much that we’d rushed to get vaccinated, was tender and transformative.

While I’d been able to get my shot, alas, Manitoba, and other parts of Canada seem to be quickly losing their battle to outrun the third wave. Vaccines can’t get into arms fast enough. Yet, as I read the news, there are also multiple reports of moments where people are taking care of strangers. In North Dakota, there’s now a pop-up Moderna vaccination site at a rest stop. They managed to vaccinate 62 truck drivers from Manitoba the first day. This was such a gift to our province, which hasn’t chosen to prioritize these essential workers.

In Montana, the Blackfeet Nation has invited Albertans to cross the border (with permission) to get vaccinated on their reservation. They were able to use up expiring vaccines on both strangers and Indigenous relatives who lived across the international border.

Many Jewish people have reported on social media that they recited the Shehecheyanu or the slightly more complicated “bathroom prayer,” which thanks G-d for the miraculous workings of our bodies. I uttered a silent prayer of my own, too.

It was also a chance to appreciate the kindness of strangers who looked after me. The doctor stuck his head in to ask if I had any questions. The nurse and I had a deep conversation – about illness, death, birth and our struggles as parents – in our few minutes together before and after the vaccine. Like so many who’ve been mostly social distancing and staying at home, these nurturing interactions have been few and far between this year.

I must admit, when we stream services on Shabbat at home, I’m not standing up much. I’m not on my tiptoes as we would in synagogue when we sing the Kedusha – the part where we say, “Holy, Holy,” and try to ease ourselves up closer to heaven and to the angels. Preparing oneself and trying to be holy is, for all of us, a process, but I felt just a little more prepared after what I experienced this week.

If you’re anxious about needles, don’t worry. My kids looked at my arm and I don’t have a “hole” there!

I feel like my vaccination experience captured a snapshot of how we can all strive to be more prepared. It’s an opportunity to love our neighbours, care for the stranger and, maybe, in the process, become a bit closer to heaven and more holy.

Mussar & tikkun olam

Dr. Rachael Turkienicz (photo from Kolot Mayim)

At a Jan. 3 Zoom lecture organized by Kolot Mayim Reform Temple in Victoria, Dr. Rachael Turkienicz spoke about mussar (Jewish ethics), tikkun olam (repairing the world) and whether there is a commandment to build bridges.

Turkienicz, founder and director of the Toronto-based Rachael’s Centre of Torah, Mussar and Ethics, began at the beginning, explaining why the Torah starts with creation and not with the patriarchs and matriarchs or the first commandment in Exodus.

“We start with Genesis because it is the ‘common’ that all human beings will have, and so Judaism will begin with what we all have in common,” she said. “No person can ever say to another person, ‘My father is greater than your father.’ And Father in this instance can be capitalized. One person creates the great equalizer. We should never fight with one another over this.”

She then showed how tikkun olam follows from creation, and raised the questions, When did the world break and how did it break? As man is finite and God is infinite, cracks will occur in the process of creation, and it is up to humanity to repair them, according to Turkienicz.

How do we repair? Through free will, she explained. “Free will is the most powerful thing next to God. It is so powerful that I can use my free will to deny God.”

The problem, however, is that “nowhere do we have a program that teaches us what free will is and how to use it,” she said.

In the course of daily routines, free will can take a less prominent role in our thinking, as many of us coast along “on automatic,” i.e., we function without making choices. As a result, nothing is being repaired and the world is continuing as it always does, she explained.

One example of being on automatic is when someone poses the question to an acquaintance passing by: “How are you?” The response is frequently: “I’m OK.” Neither the person asking nor the respondent delves deeply into the subject before moving on.

Being able to use free will is further compounded by the number of choices we have in an open society. Citing academic studies, Turkienicz contended that having a vast array of options available can actually hinder our ability to make use of the power of free will.

Enter mussar, a spiritual practice founded on offering a solid framework on living an ethical life. Mussar differs from kabbalah (Jewish mysticism). Whereas kabbalah is knowledge one receives, mussar moves from a person into the world, said Turkienicz.

Mussar stems from the concept that it is all well and good to know the commandments and recite Torah. However, such knowledge in itself does not make someone a mensch. “Mussar is learning to use my free will to repair the world. The commandments are the utensils, the goal is tikkun olam,” Turkienicz explained.

While mussar has been around for more than a millennium, it expanded in the 19th century to communities throughout Eastern Europe. Before the war, it was studied at the top continental yeshivot, but nearly all the leading exponents of mussar were murdered in the Holocaust. Recently, though, there has been a resurgence of the practice in both Orthodox and more liberal branches of Judaism.

Turkienicz compared mussar with other ethical philosophies, using the scenario of a person seated on a bus when an elderly person boards. Most of us are taught that we should give up our seat in such a situation. But what if the elderly person declines the offer? Ethics would say to sit back down, whereas mussar suggests that one should stay standing, because the issue is not about the elderly person but rather one’s own free will.

“Inside of me something said it is not appropriate for me to sit while an older person remains standing. Whether the elderly person sits down or not changes nothing,” she argued.

According to mussar, we are in control of the personal ingredients that comprise us, be they spirituality or patience. We all have the same ingredients, only the measurements are different, said Turkienicz. A person who does not see himself as spiritual still has a degree of spirituality. Likewise, someone who deems herself impatient has an allocation of patience within her. Our free will distributes the measurements.

“My free will chooses what is my perspective and where will I focus,” Turkienicz said.

As to whether there is a commandment to build bridges, she quoted Israel Salanter, a 19th-century rabbi and founder of the modern mussar movement, who said, “A good Jew is not one who worries about his fellow man’s soul and his own stomach, but about his fellow man’s stomach and his own soul.”

Turkienicz concluded that, while there is no commandment to build bridges, “everything else shows us we should do so, because, if we choose not to, we have lived where that leads us, and we don’t want to go there.”

To view the presentation in full, go to kolotmayimreformtemple.com and search “lectures.” Turkienicz’s talk was part of the synagogue’s Building Bridges series, the next instalment of which takes place March 7, featuring University of Calgary art professor Jennifer Eiserman on Canadian Jewish art. Click here for more information.

Sam Margolis has written for the Globe and Mail, the National Post, UPI and MSNBC.

Importance of food security

Plans are for Jewish Family Services to open a food centre in the Mount Pleasant neighbourhood this year. (photo from jewishvancouver.com)

The Tu b’Shevat More Than a Bag of Food program – a day of giving, of cooking and of education on food security in the age of COVID-19 – concluded with a panel discussion on the importance of good food, supply chain challenges, and the ensuing impacts and issues facing the Vancouver Jewish community.

The Jan. 28 program was presented by Congregation Beth Israel and Jewish Family Services (JFS), and the discussion event featured Mara Shnay, founding member and chair of the JFS client advisory committee; Cindy McMillan, director of programs and community partnerships with JFS; Dr. Eleanor Boyle, an educator and writer on food and health; Krystine McInnes, chief executive officer of Grown Here Farms, a company that supplies more than 1.5 million families with produce in Western Canada; and Dr. Tammara Soma, assistant professor at the School of Resource and Environmental Management at Simon Fraser University.

Moderator Bernard Pinsky began by highlighting the connection of the Jewish community and providing food. “Feeding the needy is an act of chesed,” he said.

“For people who are food insecure, it is not about having enough for food,” explained Shnay. “It is about not having enough money for anything – to buy a new pair of shoes, to replace a phone, to go to the dentist or to take one’s kids to the movies, and it is about living in that kind of poverty. In Vancouver, housing security is inextricably linked to food security. The income of many JFS clients is less than their rent,” she emphasized.

COVID-19 has exacerbated the circumstances of many JFS clients, particularly seniors, who are at higher risk of contracting the disease and, therefore, should refrain from using public transport or going to stores. Consequently, shopping has become increasingly expensive for them.

McMillan said the food needs within the Jewish community more than doubled in the past year, with children comprising 20% of those seeking food services. The number of Jewish families and seniors living in poverty has been rising for several years in the Lower Mainland, well before the pandemic started, she added.

To help combat the challenge, JFS will open an as-yet-unnamed food centre in the Mount Pleasant neighbourhood in the spring of 2021. “There will be a community kitchen, a place for social gathering, opportunities for general food knowledge, cooking classes, meals and a warehouse with increased storage for dry goods and perishables,” said McMillan.

The centre will also have a market-style food pantry for people to choose their food according to their customs and cultures, and the offerings will extend to outlying communities in the Greater Vancouver area through a pop-up van. The centre’s emphasis will be on supplying healthy food in a dignified manner to those in need, she explained.

Boyle spoke of food security in a wider sense – “We have food security when everyone is confident they can put adequate, healthy food on the table,” she stated.

There are systemic problems in Canada, she pointed out, as the country exports half the food it produces. “Food is treated like any other consumer good, like cars or shoes. It is run largely by private industry and, for business, social good is not a priority, profit is,” Boyle argued.

She advised involving government in the food industry, as is done in other sectors, such as education, transportation and health. More money, she suggested, should go to those who have trouble buying food, perhaps in the form of guaranteed income. The federal government could also pay farmers to grow certain amounts of healthy foods, like lentils, which would be available at below-market rates to everyone. This would in turn enhance food security and health for everyone with no stigma attached to buying this food; rich and poor would be paying the same price at the grocery checkout, said Boyle.

“There needs to be a shift from big agriculture to a more diversified local system,” she continued. “We created these current systems, and they should work for us. Change can happen. We will need to face down climate change and make food systems more sustainable,” she said, urging support for local food that is sustainably produced, as well as for people to waste less food and to eat a more plant-based diet.

McInnes elaborated on Boyle’s points by listing a number of problems in the supply chain, the agriculture and retail sectors, and government policy. “We are in a game in which corporate interests win and farmers lose, and consumers don’t understand that they are playing the card of the unwitting party that made it all happen,” she claimed.

Reeling off some concerning figures, McInnes reported that 85% of the space in grocery stores is controlled by four or five companies, that retail mark-up of local produce is 150% to 200% on average and that 92% of Canadian farmers do not have a succession plan.

Soma, meanwhile, spoke of food as spirituality and food as a right. She questioned, from an ethical perspective, the policies of big agriculture, which, for example, kills male chicks because they cannot produce eggs.

“Food as a right is not a secular concept, it is an act of spiritual justice to promote equity,” said Soma. “Food is a means of building relationships and a means of showing that you care and love someone.”

She added, “Without food security, we will not have peace and we will not have unity. The further the distance between the food and the one who eats it, the more the waste. There is a loss of connection.”

To watch the food security panel discussion or the Hilit Nurick and Rabbi Stephen Berger cooking session that took place earlier on Jan. 28 (and to download their red lentil soup recipe), visit bethisraelvan.ca/event/tubishvat5781.

Sam Margolis has written for the Globe and Mail, the National Post, UPI and MSNBC.

טרודו שוב מסתבך

ראש ממשלת קנדה ג’סטין טרודו

ראש ממשלת קנדה, ג’סטין טרודו, שוב הסתבך בשערוריה גדולה שיכולה לאיים על עתידו הפוליטי. זאת דווקא כאשר מניותיו עלו לאחרונה בשל הטיפול הנאות של ממשלתו הליברלית במגפת הקורונה. רבים רבים בקנדה ומחוצה לה מוכירים לו הערכה רבה על מה שעשה עבור אזרחי קנדה בימים קשים אלה.

ממשלת טרודו העניקה תשעה מאות מיליון דולר לעומת הצדקה ווי שמטפלת בסטודנטים, במסגרת חוזה חדש בתקופת הקורונה. העמותה נותנת מענקים לסטודנטים שלא יכולים לעבוד בעת הזו עבור פעיליות התנדבויות שונות. בו בזמן מתברר בימים אלה שהעמותה שילמה כספים רבים למשפחת טרודו. אם כן זו השערוריה השלישית בה מעורב טרודו בשתי הקנדציות שלו בזמן שהוא מכהן ראש ממשלה. הפעם מדובר באירוע החמור ביותר שעדיין לא ברורים ממדיו הקשים. משרד האתיקה מתחיל לחקור את הפרשה המסובכת וזו בעצם כאמור זו הפעם השלישית שמעשי טרודו מגיעים לחקירות כאלה.

מפלגת האופוזיציה השמרנית דורשת מהמשטרה הפדרלית לפתוח בחקירה כדי לגלות אם מדובר בפעילות מושחתת של טרודו, עת העניקה ממשלתו חוזה ממשלתי נחשק בשווי של כתשעה מאות מיליון דולר לעומת הצדקה ווי, בזמן שהאחרונה שילמה לאורך השנים סכומי כסף גדולים לבני משפחתו של טרודו.

עומתת הצדקה ווי זכתה בחודש יוני בחוזה לניהול תוכנית פדרלית לחלק מענקים בגובה של עד חמשת אלפים דולר לסטודנטים, עבור התנדבות בארגונים שפועלים ללא מטרות רווח, במהלך משבר הקורונה. טרודו עצמו היה שותף למו”מ עם העמותה להעברת התקציב הגדול. לאור הביקורת הקשה עמותת ווי הודיעה כי לא תממש את החוזה ותוותר על התקציב הממשלתי.

עמות ווי שילמה בשנים האחרונות כמאתיים וחמישים אלף דולר לאמו של ראש הממשלה, מרגרט טרודו, עבור עשרים ושמונה נאומים שנשאה באירועים שונים. אחיו של ראש הממשלה, אלכסנדר טרודו, קיבל שלושים ושתיים אלף דולר עבור שמונה נאומים באירועים שונים. ואילו אשתו של ראש הממשלה, סופי טרודו, קיבלה אלף וחמש מאות דולר עבור נסיעה מטעם העמותה.

עוד מתברר שבתו של שר האוצר בממשלת טרודו, ביל מורנו, הועסקה בעמותת ווי. מורנו כמו טרודו השתתף בדיונים להעברת התקציב לעמותה.

משרד המבקר של קנדה כבר פתח כאמור בבדיקה בנוגע להתנהלות ראש הממשלה טרודו, בנושא העמותה. חבר הפרלמנט מטעם המפלגה השמרנית, מייקל בארט, טוען כי ידוע שמשפחתו של טרודו הפיקה תועלת כספית משמעותית מהארגון. ולכן ברור לגמרי שיש ראיות מספיקות כדי שהמשטרה תחקור את הפרשה. מפלגת בוק קוויבק קראה לטרודו לפנות את כיסאו עד לסיום החקירה, לטובת סגניתו, כריסטיה פרילנד. זאת בשל האפשרות שתיפתח גם חקירה פלילית.

משרד האתיקה של קנדה פרסם בשנים האחרונות שני דוחות שבהם קבע כי טרודו הפר תקנות הנוגעות לניגוד אינטרסים. הראשון מייד לאחר שטרודו מונה לראש הממשלה בקנדציה הראשונה שלו (באלפיים ושבע עשרה). טרודו יצא לחופשה באי הפרטי של הפילנטרופ וידיד המשפחה שלו אגא חאן, באיי בהאמה. זאת בזמן ששחאן ניהל משא ומתן על מימון פרויקטים ממשלתיים שונים. הדוח השני פורסם לפני כשנה לאחר שטרודו הואשם בניסיון להשפיע על ההליך המשפטי בעניין חברת התשתיות הגדולה מקוויבק אס.אן.סי לוולין. אז דובר כי טרודו ניסה להשפיע על התובעת הכללית ששימשה גם שרת המשפטים שלו, כדי שלא תעמיד לדין את החברה שהואשמה בתקופת ראש הממשלה הקודם, סטיבן הרפר, כי שיחדה בכירים בלוב כדי לזכות בחוזים ממשלתיים גדולים.

The comfort in imperfection

We’re not perfect. Yes, and you’re saying, so, why is this in the newspaper? I’m writing this over winter break. Like many families, we chose a staycation. We’ve done some walks and games outside, and a lot of time just hibernating, resting and rejuvenating indoors. All the Chanukah treats were investments in this: new toys that our twins could play with for hours, books, warm socks – and a huge gift for all of us: my husband chose to repaint our main bathroom as part of his time off.

I know, you’re still thinking, why is this in the Jewish newspaper?

Well, first, if you’re a Jewish family who celebrates only Chanukah, winter break gets long. It’s a time when the radio and TV are full of someone else’s holiday celebrations. In a cone of silence, my family has always turned inwards, to hang out together. My parents used to joke it was the time of year for wallpapering. (My mom would choose the paper and my dad would hang it and curse about wallpaper!)

Aside from a much-improved colour and some very important anti-moisture paint, the bathroom fix-up also gives us a chance to seek comfort and self-improvement from within, by focusing solely on our household. I think my husband gets a great sense of satisfaction when he finishes a home repair project and feels it is a “job well done.” He dwells endlessly on the parts that aren’t perfect, and what might be better.

This is connected to the Torah portion Vayechi (Genesis 47:28-50:26) for a few reasons. This portion is very much about family, connections, our blessings and our imperfections. Joseph’s father, Jacob, is dying. Jacob’s dying blessings and wishes are both comforting to some and very uncomfortable for others. His need to include Ephraim and Menashe (his grandchildren) and to offer blessings out of birth order strike many as unfair. The rabbis discuss why Jacob crossed his arms and preferred the younger over the older grandchild. One wonders why he includes the children of his favourite child at all.

Yet, if you think back, Jacob has never been particularly even-handed with his kids. This is the dad that made Joseph the multicoloured coat. Joseph is the child of his old age. Jacob is unfair. He plays favourites, and this rubs us wrong as modern parents or family members. Dads shouldn’t play favourites, right?

When you read Jacob’s predictions (or blessings) for each of his children, some of them sound generous, and others are really harsh. It’s hard to imagine how this experience would feel from a modern perspective, it’s so out of whack with how we see modern family relationships. True, his sons have not been consistently upright people. However, at least Jacob mentions them. He doesn’t even acknowledge Dina – his daughter doesn’t exist here.

This story remains something I dwell upon because my twins’ Hebrew names, in part, are Ephraim and Menashe. Their dad’s Hebrew name is Yoseph (Joseph). Their grandfather’s name? Ya’akov (Jacob). You get the picture. Whenever we bless our kids on Friday nights, we say, in Hebrew, “May you be like Ephraim and Menashe.” Then we translate the prayer into English. We say, “May you be like …” and we use their English names. May they be like (true to) themselves.

When we reflect on it, we can see that, even among our patriarchs, like Jacob, we have imperfect role models. Jacob stole his twin brother’s birthright. He wrestled with the Divine. He played favourites with his children in harmful ways. He was by no means a perfect person. In a sense, this is comforting. No matter how crummy our mistakes or imperfect our efforts, we know that many biblical role models also weren’t perfect. Perfection may be overrated.

Our best hope is that we be true to ourselves – continually striving to seek peace and justice and pursue it, in a flawed world. We can commit to doing our best, within our own particular skill sets, to making things better.

As we start a new secular year, 2020, and decade, we have so many opportunities to reflect on what’s not right about the world. Yet, we can also gain comfort from the knowledge that imperfect people (and paint jobs!) can still make a positive difference for a long time to come.

Here’s to a better world in 2020 – imperfections, warts and all.

The wisdom of an oxymoron

Shabbat, Nov. 23
Chayei Sarah, Genesis 23:1-25:18
Haftarah, I Kings 1:1-31

I am an American citizen living in Vancouver, B.C., and serving a Reform congregation for the past six years. This juxtaposition of two increasingly disparate identities has given me a unique perspective on this week’s parashah, Chayei Sarah, and its introduction of the term ger toshav, resident alien.

In Chayei Sarah, we read the rather peculiar line, “Ger v’toshav anochi imachem” – “I am a resident alien [foreigner] living for a time among you; sell me a gravesite among you, that I may bury my dead here.” (Genesis 23:4) This is what Abraham says as he petitions the owner of a field for the right to purchase land for a gravesite for his wife Sarah.

To both the student of Torah and the student of the English language, this phrase, ger v’toshav, resident alien, piques interest and draws attention. It is an example of one of those delightful and often poignant turns of a phrase in any language, an oxymoron – the bringing together of two seemingly incompatible and opposite terms, like sweet sorrow, recorded live, act naturally, good grief, passive aggressive and, though not kosher, but still illustrative, jumbo shrimp.

I have always enjoyed how this literary device can be used to construct biting commentary on the incongruity of frequently paired things. That commentary can have a powerful effect, causing a moment of silence to hover over a room as we contemplate the phrase’s meaning. We recognize this when we dwell on the underlining message of ger v’toshav, resident alien. The oxymoron challenges us to see compatibility – even harmony – in seemingly incompatible things.

So, what is a ger v’toshav, a resident alien? In our Torah portion, and in Jewish legal texts that have followed, a ger v’toshav was an individual of special status in the community, one who lived permanently among the citizens of a place but did not have the status of a citizen. A ger toshav enjoyed all the protections a society offered its citizens but was exempt by virtue of his (it was not gender inclusive back then) special status from many of the requirements of citizenship. A ger toshav was a protected visitor and honoured guest in a society. Central to this was the public obligation for the health and welfare of a ger toshav. This was the sacred responsibility of each citizen in that society and of the society as a whole.

Jewish law is emphatic about our responsibility to the stranger who lives within our midst. Thirty-six times in Torah we are commanded to “love the stranger.” Every year at Passover, this theme serves as the narrative thread of the seder. At the very centre of the Torah, in the Holiness Code, we read, “The strangers who reside with you shall be to you as your citizens; you shall love each one as yourself, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.” (Leviticus 19:34)

In this week’s parashah, Abraham, the emissary of Judaism to the world, the individual whose merit and relationship with God, above all others, is the reason we were given the Torah, is presented not as a powerful, wealthy businessman or as a man who regularly talks with God. Instead, he is presented as a helpless stranger in a land that he now calls home, seeking aid and assistance from its citizenship.

The text is both graphic and poignant. His dead wife literally lays at his feet, he owns nothing in this land and he asks to purchase a place so he may bury her. He does not seek a handout; he is willing to pay a fair price for the land, but wants permission to do so. And the Hittites who owned the land sell him a burial plot, breaking with their tradition, breaking the law against allowing aliens, even resident aliens, from owning land. (See Manfred R. Lehmann, “Abraham’s Purchase of Machpelah and Hittite Law,” Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research, February 1953.) They sell him the land because they see themselves in his shoes; they imagine their own dead lying at their feet and they make a new law – and they help.

We hear the echo of this story in our own times, at borders north and south, east and west of wherever we are. How do we treat the strangers who show up in our land? Are they to be feared, incarcerated and ostracized? Or are they to be allowed some comfort, as our forefather Abraham was in his hour of great sorrow and despair?

When we are reminded of the kindness shown to our ancestors, when we are reminded that it was also a kindness shown to us, because we too were once strangers in the land, then the solution Judaism demands of us is obvious no matter the challenges. We must care for those who cross freeways, deserts, oceans and mountain ranges to get here, just as (or better than) our nations cared for our parents and grandparents as they were running for their lives. We must reach out to the strangers in our midst, to the resident aliens who live and work here, but for whom economic, social, medical and educational systems have no place. Torah commands us to make a place.

As is our tradition, when Abraham buried Sarah, he placed a stone on her grave as a sign to all who would see it: a sign with its own double meaning, like an oxymoron. The stone signified that beneath this ground lay Sarah, the wife of Abraham, the mother of Isaac. But it also said that this ground, this portion, belonged to Abraham, a resident alien in the land of the Hittites, who purchased this land though he had no legal claim to it. The stone is a sign for all times, a symbol of the kindness and sense of responsibility shown by the Hittites to the ger toshav, the resident alien, the stranger in their land, and a symbol of the universality of human life.

We all mourn our dead. Every person’s life has meaning, even if he or she speaks a different language than ours, comes from a different country, is a member of a different tribe. When we fail to act to heed this mitzvah, our Torah is clearly misunderstood.

Rabbi Dan Moskovitz is senior rabbi at Temple Sholom and author of The Men’s Seder (MRJ Publishing). He is also chair of the Reform Rabbis of Canada. His writing and perspective on Judaism appear in major print and digital media internationally. This article originally appeared on reformjudaism.org.

Safe, healthy and respectful

Campers at Pennsylvania’s Camp Havaya. (photo from Camp Havaya)

In Pirkei Avot (Ethics of Our Fathers), Ben Zoma says, “Who is honourable? One who honours others.” The Foundation for Jewish Camp’s Shmira Initiative “aims to make camps safe, healthy and respectful model communities. Shmira, in Hebrew and in the vernacular of Jewish summer camp, means guard duty, embodying the social and individual responsibility every community member has to ensure a safe environment.”

For some camps, the initiative provides practical training that has been needed for some time. But, at Camp Havaya in Pennsylvania, camp director Sheira Director-Nowack told the Independent that they have been operating on the initiative’s principles for many years.

“We have people who go by ‘he,’ by ‘she’ and by ‘they,’ as rabbis, teachers, students, educators, campers and staff,” said Director-Nowack of the camp, which is part of the Reconstructionist movement. “So, for us, the sexual harassment piece is something we’ve always discussed, have always had a policy for. I used to work at a camp that did not have that defined as clearly and they had some real challenges. We don’t have some of those challenges here, because it’s very up front and very clear – how you treat all people, not just insofar as gender, but in all areas of inclusion.”

At Camp Havaya, respect is constantly discussed.

“The name of our camp mascot is Howie Bee,” said Director-Nowack. “We talk about ‘how we be,’ using that as a fairly common statement to talk about how we should treat each other with respect, kindness … better than you’d want to treat yourself, you’d want to treat the other person … and, not just as a Jewish phenomena, but as a human phenomena.”

While Director-Nowack acknowledged that, every so often, they run into power conflicts in a relationship, they try to ensure it never gets near the point of harassment.

At Camp Havaya, she said, flirtation is discouraged. For example, there are strict rules as to what clothing is acceptable. Everyone must wear shirts at all times and clothing should be loose fitting. They also have no boys against girls competitions. Instead, all sports are open to everyone and, while everyone swims together, there are rules about appropriate swimwear.

Language and attitude is another area that is closely monitored at the camp. “We don’t use the word ‘broad’ or ‘chick,’ we don’t use a lot of derogatory terms,” said Director-Nowack. “We don’t make jokes at other people’s expense.

“We want everyone to treat each other how they would treat their own family or themselves…. There’s not a constant need for romance or underlying things that go into that modern love thought and, because of that, we don’t see certain behaviours that other places might see.”

The concepts of the #MeToo movement are discussed at camp, as are other relevant topics, like Black Lives Matter and the Israeli-Palestinian conflict.

“Our constituency is made up of people who are interested in these things … also, things like respect for people with special needs, inclusivity, race, culture and minorities,” said Director-Nowack. “We don’t talk about these things because they’re hot topics. We were talking about them before they were considered cool to talk about.

“We also give the credit to younger people, because it is them who are changing the verbiage, changing ideas. They are bringing them to us and we are bringing them to camp, because, if camp is a microcosm of society, then we want to be part of that.”

If and when the topic of sex comes up, Director-Nowack said she teaches her staff to turn the conversation back to the camper and ask why he or she is wondering about it.

Camp Havaya has a no-sex policy. If inappropriate behaviour is observed, Director-Nowack said, ‘We don’t punish people for behaviour, but I may or may not ask them if camp is the appropriate place for it. I don’t feel like there’s any place at camp where you could be sexual appropriately, and that’s what we talk about.

“We don’t hook up in the middle of the woods – that’s just not what we do. And, we really don’t have a lot of that. I don’t think I’d kick someone out of camp just because they kissed someone. But, I’d say something like, ‘I just walked passed you kissing … not what I want to see, not OK, not cool.’ If it got further than that, it would depend on the kid, the parent, the discussion and the situation. We’re dealing with human beings and we have an environment that’s not constant.”

Still, staff members do talk with campers about consent, in an effort to ensure all of them are comfortable in their own space at all times.

“Our goal is to create young leaders in the Jewish community who are thoughtful and intelligent, and who are, therefore, going to go out and lead a Jewish life and know themselves,” said Director-Nowack. “We love that some people find their love and their relationships at camp. But, I also love that people find their independence at camp … or that they want to lead a more productive Jewish life without a partner…. We want our kids and staff to leave camp as people who are going to make decisions guided by some basic values.”

For more information on the Shmira Initiative, visit jewishcamp.org/shmirainitiative.

Rebeca Kuropatwa is a Winnipeg freelance writer.