Lucas Meyer: Jewish Canadians live in terror. But we'll still be asked to forgive

Hedging that your social media post is only about Israel or Zionism isn’t a get-out-of-jail-free card when it comes to its impact on Jews.

By: Lucas Meyer

Whenever I read, listen to, or watch something about anti-Semitism in Canada or the Israel-Hamas war and all its offshoots, I tend to go through it at least twice. First, I do a quick skim to find a particular sentence, passage, or statistic that catches my attention. Then, I go back for a thorough read to process it fully. Maybe I take a screenshot or save a new bookmark before moving on to what has become a common practice for many Jews since October 7: mentally screaming into the void, then carrying on.

But in Dan Pujdak’s recent article here in The Line on Canadian Jews during the war, one line stopped me: “How will Jewish communities in Canada begin to forgive?”

I stared at the ceiling. I read it again. Back to the ceiling. And on and on.

I’ve pondered this question with Jewish and Israeli friends, peers, colleagues — even my former rabbi. Like most Jewish conversations, there are more opinions than people. But if I had to distill one common feeling, it’s this: forgiveness seems like a distant island, visible on the horizon — but with no boats in the water.

Forgiveness is usually transactional; someone has to ask for it. And right now, Jews aren’t exactly holding their breath for such a collective gesture. After all, it took roughly 200 years after the first Jews arrived in Canada in 1760 for them to be more or less fully integrated into society. Discrimination, economic scapegoating, conspiracies and devastatingly low immigration levels during the Holocaust all hindered progress.

Today, that progress has stalled — arguably hitting its lowest point for Canadian Jews since the Second World War. And as dismaying as it is to see Jews as the top target in hate crime reports, or to witness cosplay of Hamas leader Yahya Sinwar at the corner of a Canadian Jewish neighbourhood, the conversations I had most often centred around something more personal: lost friendships and a spellbinding level of ignorance.

It’s one thing to see an Instagram reel from a casual contact you can quickly unfollow. As several people told me, it’s another thing entirely when a best friend of years — decades even — shocks you with not just a sudden foray into Middle East commentary, but indignation at your support for Israel. As if they could answer even the simplest questions about the state — or, more importantly, about its enemies. How do you come back from that?

The claim that such animosity is about Israel, not Jews, is a naive distinction. One of the most recent surveys of Canadian Jews found that 84 per cent are either very or somewhat emotionally attached to Israel, with 94 per cent supporting its existence as a Jewish state — which, for many, is just another way of describing Zionism. When renowned political sociologist and Jewish demographer Robert Brym asked Jews if they believe Israel has the right to exist as that state, 91 per cent said yes. In his view, that makes them Zionists.

In other words, hedging that your social media post is only about Israel or Zionism isn’t a get-out-of-jail-free card when it comes to its impact on Jews — especially when it comes from those who just arrived at the party.

Don’t get me wrong — if you want to criticize Israel, pull a ticket and get in line. You’ll be waiting longer than it takes to get a sandwich at Schwartz’s Deli in Montreal along with the rest of us. Dissent is a hallmark of Jewish discourse. But incurious ignorance disguised as activism does nothing for us — nor for Palestinians living under Hamas rule, as Gazan analysts themselves will tell you.

One Jewish friend told me he’d love nothing more than to see Netanyahu in The Hague. Yet in the same breath, he wished the broader public understood just how much Jews feel under existential threat. He wishes the Hebrew school he takes his kids to didn’t need police protection.

He’s not alone. In Brym’s research, 80 per cent of Canadian Jews who feel attached to Israel also feel less safe since October 7. When you have shootings at Jewish day schools, chants of “Long Live October 7!” attendees being assaulted for trying to enter a Liberal party fundraiser, and a million other incidents, you can understand why we’re on edge when a former friend or colleague suddenly starts posting about Israel.

For me, the most sobering line in Brym’s 2024 study is this: “It is plausible to claim that highly anti-Semitic adults outnumber Jewish adults by roughly three to one in this country.”

But put aside the numbers and remember those outnumbered Canadian Jews are also … people. Your neighbours, your coworkers. They’re the parents who have to explain to their kids why they were called a “Zionist pig” at school, why there are bullet holes in their synagogue windows, and why a police car is parked outside. They’re the young adults doomscrolling past social media posts celebrating a pogrom at a music festival. They’re explaining to their grandparents why people are protesting at Auschwitz or screaming “Death to Canada!” on television. They’re the families who have to wonder why someone tried sneaking through a hill path to get closer to a Walk With Israel event. They’re the university students who have to ask themselves whether they’ll see a Nazi salute alongside a “Final Solution!” chant.

These things don’t happen in a vacuum. They happen because people feel they can. That societal permission is terrifying.

Let’s talk about young people for a moment — however you define them. Brym’s research says that following Muslims, the groups with the most negative attitudes towards Israel are non-Jewish NDP supporters and non-Jewish university students. That last one especially is not the generation that saw Israel fight off multiple armies post-Holocaust, or again in 1967. They didn’t see Israel broker peace with former enemies or unilaterally withdraw from Gaza in 2005. The generational chasm between those who lived through those moments and those who didn’t feels unbridgeable.

One woman who organizes Jewish community events told me: “What can we do when we lose allies? Hope we can find new ones.” At least that’s something within our control.

My former rabbi suggested that the only true resolution for Jews in the diaspora is a two-state solution abroad. There’s a logic to that — especially now, with Iran, Hezbollah, Syria, and Hamas all weakened. Israel and Saudi Arabia were already in normalization talks before the war, with Palestinian statehood as a key condition. Why not just pick up where they left off?

If only it were that simple. One Israeli-Canadian friend described how his family wept watching hostages return home. He then pointed out that Israel always fails to strike a peace deal in the immediate aftermath of a military operation — it takes years.

Years is also how long another Jewish friend thinks it may take to rebuild some of his lost relationships, if those friends even want him back.

He damn sure doesn’t deserve that wait. None of us do.

At this point, forgiveness and resolution feel like little more than hopeful ideas — far-off thoughts in a sea of bewilderment. So we sit with our heads in our hands, stomachs in knots.

Lucas Meyer is a commentator, former journalist, and current senior media consultant with Enterprise Canada.

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