Toward a More Decent Society: Tragedy in Tumbler Ridge

I remember exactly where I was when the Parkland school shooting happened.

I was serving as CEO of the United Synagogue of Conservative Judaism. It was an ordinary afternoon until my phone rang.

It was my youngest daughter, Alana.

She said, “Dad, I’m okay.”

I remember feeling confused.

“Okay? What happened?”

Then she told me there had been a school shooting.

And I remember something I wish I didn’t remember.

Relief.

Relief that it was in Florida and not New Jersey, where she was in school.

That moment has never left me.

Why was she calling to tell me she was okay?

Because through USY she had friends at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland. Thankfully, they survived. Others — including USYers I knew — did not. Seventeen people were murdered that day, including students and teachers, among them Jewish victims whose families would carry grief forever.

By 2018, school shootings in America had become horrifyingly familiar. Since Columbine, they had begun to create something dangerous: numbness.

I never allowed myself to become numb.

But I did become frustrated.

Every time, the same response:
“Thoughts and prayers.”
“Thoughts and prayers.”

And then nothing.

It always seemed to me that this was nonsense. There were sensible laws that could protect children while still respecting the Second Amendment. But political courage rarely follows moral clarity.

In Canada, things are different.

Not perfect.
But different.

And this week reminds us why that difference matters.

A Canadian Tragedy

This week, violence entered the small northern British Columbia town of Tumbler Ridge — a community where most residents know one another.

An 18-year-old attacker killed members of her own family and then opened fire at Tumbler Ridge Secondary School, killing students and a teacher and injuring many others before dying by suicide.

Across Canada, people are asking a question Americans have asked too often:

How could this happen here?

Even in a country where guns are harder to obtain and violence is far less prevalent; it can still happen.

The Torah understands that reality.

Mishpatim: From Revelation to Responsibility

Immediately after Sinai, the Torah gives us Mishpatim.

Not prayer.
Not theology.

Law.

“וְאֵלֶּה הַמִּשְׁפָּטִים…”
“These are the laws…” (Exodus 21:1)

Rashi teaches that the word “and” connects these laws directly to Sinai.

Civil responsibility is sacred work.

The Torah begins with laws about vulnerability — injury, damages, power, responsibility.

Because a holy society is measured not by what it believes,
but by how it protects human dignity.

The Stranger in an Age of Fear

Again and again in Mishpatim, the Torah commands:

“You shall not oppress the stranger.”
“You shall not mistreat the widow or orphan.”
“You know the soul of the stranger.” (Exodus 22–23)

The Torah assumes something deeply human:
Fear narrows empathy.

Violence makes communities want to withdraw, to protect only their own.

But Torah insists on the opposite response.

Rabbi Jonathan Sacks taught that the command to protect the stranger reflects Judaism’s belief that the experience of vulnerability must lead to responsibility, not isolation.

Fear does not suspend morality.
Fear tests morality.

Shabbat Shekalim: Shared Responsibility

This week is also Shabbat Shekalim.

Each Israelite was commanded to contribute a half-shekel toward the community.

Not a full coin.
A half.

The message is simple:
No one is whole alone.

Rich and poor gave the same amount so that no one could claim ownership over the community (Megillah 29b).

The half-shekel is Torah’s model of social responsibility.

Everyone contributes.
Everyone belongs.
Everyone is responsible.

A Distinctly Canadian Response

Canada does not experience school shootings with the frequency of the United States — in part because firearms are more tightly regulated.

But Canada has not been immune.

École Polytechnique in 1989.
Nova Scotia in 2020.
And now Tumbler Ridge.

After tragedies like these, Canada has often responded with collective responsibility — strengthening laws, mental-health supports, and community solidarity.

Not perfectly.
But seriously.

That instinct echoes Torah.

Mishpatim teaches responsibility.
Shekalim teaches shared belonging.

Together they teach that a society is judged not only by how it prevents violence — but by how it responds afterward.

Toward a More Decent Society

The philosopher Avishai Margalit spoke about the idea of a decent society — a society whose institutions do not humiliate people.

The Torah pushes even further.

A decent society protects dignity.
A decent society shares responsibility.
A decent society refuses to become numb.

That was the danger after Parkland.
That is the danger now.

Not only violence.
Numbness.

Closing

Years ago, my daughter called to say she was safe.

This week, parents in Tumbler Ridge received calls that would change their lives forever.

A small Canadian town will never be the same.

Earlier this week, Beth Tzedec shared a statement expressing our grief and solidarity with the people of Tumbler Ridge. We are holding the victims, their families, and the entire community in our prayers.

But Jewish tradition teaches that prayer alone is never the final response to suffering.

Prayer opens the heart.
Action sustains the world.

The rabbis teach:
“גדולה צדקה שמקרבת את הגאולה”
“Great is tzedakah, for it brings redemption closer.” (Bava Batra 10a)

So, this week, how will we do more than pray.

I encourage you to make a gift of tzedakah to support the Tumbler Ridge community — to help students, families, and educators begin the long process of healing.

Because the half-shekel teaches us that healing is a shared responsibility.

No one can repair a broken world alone.
But together, we can move it toward decency.

And Torah responds, as it always does after fear enters human life:

Protect the vulnerable.
Share responsibility.
Refuse numbness.
Build community.

Toward a more decent society.

That is the work of Torah.
That is the work of Canada.
That is our work.