Stranger in a Strange Land

“I have been a stranger in a strange land.” (Exodus 2:22)

I am an American living in Canada.

It’s not a major culture shock. Sure, there are differences – social, cultural, linguistic, political – between my country of origin and my country of residence. There are things that take getting used to; cultural assumptions that surprised me. But the two countries are deeply aligned in their values and ways of life. (In fact, when we moved here five years ago, my then-seven year old son confided in me how disappointed he was that it wasn’t “more different.” He thought moving to a new country would entail the wholesale adoption of a new way of life!)

And yet, Thanksgiving Day has always been hard for me. In Canada, of course, today is an ordinary day. I dropped my children at their school buses, and I sit at my desk in my office. And I am aware that “back home,” people are sleeping in, preparing meals, watching football, celebrating a holiday. It is a day on which I feel separated from friends and family, on which I feel far from home. So it’s a small reminder to me that it is not always easy to make a new life in a new country. And that I have been very, very lucky.

Thanksgiving is, at its core, about immigration. It is a celebration of the experience of coming to a new country, being welcomed, and making a life.

That is a message that we need today, perhaps more than ever. Right now, millions of refugees around the world are seeking new countries and new homes. They are seeking to start over, to rebuild their lives in a place of safety and security. Just as the Pilgrims did nearly 400 years ago. Just as my Jewish ancestors did 3 generations ago.

Jewish tradition knows well the experience of the refugee. The Torah tells us that we were slaves in Egypt and sought a new life in the Promised Land. The Passover Seder reminds us that “Arami oveid avi – Our father was (literally!) an Aramean/Syrian refugee.” And it was less than 100 years ago that our own people were the asylum seekers, desperate to escape the dangers of their countries, too often labeled as subversives or security threats.

And so, I am proud of this Jewish community’s response to the current refugee crisis. My congregation has raised thousands of dollars toward resettlement. Some local congregations are actively “adopting” refugees. Some close friends here in Toronto are literally preparing to welcome a refugee family into their own home if necessary. These are our Jewish values at work.

I don’t begin to answer the political questions. I know there are potential security risks. But I also know that there are real people – real families – “yearning to breathe free.” And I know that if there’s anything my country of origin and my country of residence have in common, it is that they are societies of immigrants – great, diverse communities made stronger because they are composed of people whose parents or grandparents or great-grandparents came from somewhere else. We North Americans know what it is to be a stranger. We know what it is to wander, and we know what it is to build a life in a new home.

On Thanksgiving Day, of all days, we ought to remember that.