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As siblings who grew up in the Cedarvale neighbourhood of
Toronto, we hold dear the memory of our parents, Lottie and
Philip, answering every knock at the door from the ‘meshulachim’
who came asking for contributions. Often times, as if they
knew precisely when we would gather for our family dinner,
they would be warmly greeted by either of our parents. No
one ever walked away empty handed and was never begrudged
for interrupting our meal. We specifically recall our mother
handing a pair of our father’s shoes to one individual
who rang. He was in need of just one pair of shoes, while
we had enough that parting with one pair was inconsequential.
What ever our parents did, by way of charity, was always
done quietly, sans fanfare, sans recognition. But it was loud
enough for us to hear and to replicate. As our mother says,
she and our late father established the roots and now it is
the responsibility of us and our children to nurture these
roots, to have them stretch father and deeper through our
own acts of charity. Our parents also believed firmly in formal
Jewish education and ensured that both we and all of our children
attended day school.
The venerable tradition of helping others was started by
our grandparents. When our family in Europe was subjected
to the evil clutches of Nazism, our father’s father,
Kalmen — who was already comfortably established in Toronto
— provided them safe passage to Canada and set them up
with work upon their arrival. This left a lasting impression
on our parents and ourselves.
We give back, as did the generations before us, and our children
have displayed the results of this most essential lesson through
their own activities such as percentages of bar/bat mitzvah
gifts being donated to charity or, by their own initiative,
handing out holiday meal leftovers to the homeless. They appreciate
what it means to have and understand well how to share with
those that don’t.
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