Everywhere, All the Time.

We’re friends, you and I. As close as can be. We share common values. We have common interests. We love spending time together. But there’s something you can’t see that I want you to know. I’m Jewish.

“Are you kidding?!”, you’re probably saying. “You know I know that. We’re different religions, but we’re not religious. We respect each other for who we are. You wish me a Merry Christmas and I wish you a Happy Chanukah.”

This is all true, but there’s more to it than that. There’s something below the surface no one can see unless they’re Jewish. I’m not going to talk to you about taking sides in the Israel-Hamas war. We both feel sickened by the loss of innocent lives, Israeli and Palestinian. What I want is to give you an insider’s view and tell you what it’s like for me, a regular guy, to be a Jew in Canada. I want you to know so you’ll better understand me and be able to support me. If you’re willing to do so. Not everyone is.

Many people think there’s no need to worry about Israel. They assume Jews will always be okay. We can take care of ourselves. We hold positions of power and influence. We’re financially successful.

That’s not reality. The reality is we’re in danger. We’re vulnerable. Both as a people and as individuals. We always have been.

I never really thought about what it meant to me to be Jewish until recently. It was just part of who I am, in the same way I’m a male, Caucasian, Canadian. But this war triggered something in me. It made me think about my Jewishness. So let me tell you about my Jewish side.

I’ve been Jewish my entire life. Growing up, we celebrated Jewish holidays and enjoyed Jewish traditions. We went to synagogue on the High Holidays. My Jewish identity was instilled in me at a young age, both at home and at school. I’ve grown up into what I’d call a cultural Jew with strong emotional ties to Israel.

My grandparents came to Canada from Poland before the Holocaust. They were the lucky ones. A few of their family members survived the war and eventually came to Canada, but most remained behind and perished. We didn’t have the opportunity to have a large extended family growing up because of the Holocaust.

My parents were young children in Montreal during World War II. Everyone spoke about the war and the Holocaust. My mother remembers hearing my grandmother’s cry of anguish when she found out her family’s village in Poland had been taken over by the Germans. Everyone knew what that meant. She also remembers being chased by non-Jewish boys who threw rocks at her and her friends because they were Jewish. Did you ever have rocks thrown at you because of your background? Then, like now, antisemitism was everywhere. It’s something we live with.

I was born in 1961 and grew up in Montreal. Almost everyone in my neighbourhood was Jewish. We looked and played like any other kids in any other part of town. I never felt any different because I was Jewish.

I went to a Jewish private school until I graduated high school. It was there I first learned we Jews weren’t the same as everyone else.

My schooling wasn’t religious. We didn’t pray. We learned English and French and the usual subjects like math, science and geography. We also learned Hebrew and Yiddish and other subjects like Jewish history and culture. This was when I first learned about antisemitism and how Jews have been persecuted throughout history. This became part of my Jewish identity.

Some of my teachers were Holocaust survivors. I saw the tattoos of their death camp prisoner numbers on their arms. They shared firsthand accounts of what happened in the camps. Can you imagine how I feel today when I hear people say the Holocaust never happened and is a fiction made up by Jews to gain sympathy?  

A large part of our education was about the State of Israel, its history and its vital importance to the existence of the Jewish people throughout the world. I was a Canadian first, but Israel was my homeland. Israel would welcome me with open arms if I ever needed its protection because I was Jewish.

I went to Israel for the first time when I was twenty one. I didn’t realize how much Israel contributed to my sense of security as a Jew until I got off the plane. I was so overcome with emotion to finally be in my homeland that I got down on my hands and knees and kissed the ground. It wasn’t a dramatic gesture. It came straight from my heart. I was home. Amongst my people. Where I wouldn’t have to worry about being persecuted for being a Jew. It felt like a load had been lifted, a load I didn’t even know I was carrying.

Antisemitism wasn’t just something we learned about in class. I remember our school being evacuated when Jewish schools were the targets of bomb threats and being told not to walk near the public high school because the kids there would beat us up. Did your school ever receive bomb threats just because you belonged to a certain demographic?

I also faced antisemitism during the summers I spent in the Laurentians, catching frogs, swimming, exploring the forest and playing baseball, badminton and golf. Almost everyone there was French-Canadian and Catholic. There was no mistaking it – we were different and everyone knew it.

We joined the golf club shortly after Jews were allowed to join. In addition to my father, my brother and myself, there was one other Jew, my uncle’s business partner. No one knew we were Jewish and I wasn’t about to tell them. We already stood out enough because we were English. Even back then I knew being Jewish could expose us to potential harm.

My best friend in the Laurentians was English, but not Jewish. When his brother was accused of cheating in a golf tournament, people started calling him a cheater. They also called him a dirty Jew because of his Jewish sounding last name. They referred to him as a dirty Jew when they spoke to me, not knowing I was Jewish. I was probably twelve at the time. I kept silent. I wasn’t about to admit I was Jewish and he wasn’t.

Despite learning so much about antisemitism and experiencing it firsthand so many times, I still felt relatively safe living in Canada. As long as I didn’t rock the boat, nothing bad would happen. Jewish people could never be persecuted in Canada like they had been elsewhere in the past. But I was always on the lookout for potentially harmful antisemitism.

Nothing has changed today except I’m less naïve. I can no longer bury my head in the sand like I did when I was a boy and fool myself into thinking it can’t happen here. Antisemitism is everywhere.

Most frightening of all are the people throughout the world calling for a Jewish genocide. Not all people, but enough. It doesn’t take that many people for mob mentality to take effect. Imagine an angry mob in front of you shouting threatening statements as you try to make your way to the hockey game? We all remember the Holocaust. We live with it every day.  

So how do I feel about this? I feel alone. I feel like the world believes Jews and Israel can take care of themselves because they’re in positions of power and influence and are financially successful. We’re always the bully no matter what we do. Even when innocent people are slaughtered without provocation. The world looks to persecute us.

I don’t feel safe. Even in Canada. Antisemitism is rampant everywhere and gaining traction. You even see it in places you least expect it, like in our friends, sometimes consciously and sometimes unconsciously. I’m always on the alert. Sometimes I think about where I would go if the mob came for me. Would any of my non-Jewish friends hide me? Even at the risk of death to their family? Would you?

I feel sickened and I’m suffering at the loss of innocent lives on all sides. I’ve experienced unfathomable personal loss and my heart breaks to think of all the other people who are now feeling similar pain. Not just in the Middle East. In Ukraine, in Russia and in so many other places. This isn’t just about Jews. My heart also breaks for all the other peoples of the world who are persecuted for who they are. People are people. If we stand by and let the bullies have their way with one group, it won’t be long before other bullies realize we’ll also stand by while they have their way with other groups.

It comes down to this: No matter who you are or where you go, if you’re Jewish, you’re not safe. Just because you’re Jewish. I don’t live in a state of constant fear, but I don’t live free from fear either. There’s a simple old Yiddish expression that captures everything. In Yiddish it’s “Siz shvehr tzu zyne a yid.” It means it’s hard to be a Jew. It was true then and it’s true now.

But despite all this, I’m proud to be a Jew. I’m proud of my heritage. I’m proud of our history and resiliency. I’m proud of what Jewish people have accomplished. And I’m proud of the kind of people we are. Have you ever heard the word “mensch”? That’s a Yiddish word.

Now that you know how I feel, I hope you’ll be a friend to the Jews and stand with us.

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I’ve given a lot of thought to whether I should share what I’m thinking about the war, but I said earlier this wasn’t going to be about taking sides so I’m going to stick with that. I may change my mind later. I hope you already have enough to ponder.

Thanks for reading and for sharing your most precious resource, your time, with me. I wish you peace. I wish the whole world peace. We’re in trouble.

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