I will help: On Being Canadian in a Time of Normalized Antisemitism In Jerusalem with my grandmother, Sima Mlynarski, in 1993. By Howard Fremeth August 4, 2025 Above all, I write this as a proud Canadian. This country has shaped who I am and continues to anchor my values. Canada has always meant a great deal to me. I grew up in Ottawa, immersed in the rhythms of Canadian patriotism. I played our two national sports, hockey and lacrosse, and, in high school, interned for my member of Parliament. My university years were spent studying the classics of Canadian history, political and communication thought: Ursula Franklin, Harold Innis, Marshall McLuhan, George Grant, C.P. Stacey, and Margaret MacMillan. My grandparents set the foundation for my deep appreciation for being Canadian. Though I never met my paternal grandfather, I was raised on stories of his remarkable life. He left the comforts of city life to join a rural community of Jewish farmers in Quebec. During the Second World War, he was assigned to work in a factory assembling Lancaster bombers. On my mother’s side, the legacy is one of survival and perseverance. My maternal grandparents endured the unimaginable. They lost their entire families in the Holocaust. They left the horrors of Europe behind and rebuilt their lives in Montreal, working as a tailor and a clerk in a bakery. They laboured not just for survival, but to create a better future for their children. My parents benefitted greatly from both the hard work of my grandparents and the progress of a post-war Canada. They were able to pursue higher education, succeed in high-paying careers, and fulfill the promise of a better life. They instilled in me a strong sense of Canadian pride through pictures and stories of their participation in Canada’s post-war wave of nationalism—Expo ’67, Trudeaumania, the 1972 Summit Series… My generation came of age during the glow of post–Cold War optimism. I vividly remember the fall of the Berlin Wall. Collecting trading cards with pictures of Arab and Western armies uniting in the Gulf War. And seared into my memory: an emergency school assembly to watch the handshake between Yitzhak Rabin and Yasser Arafat on the South Lawn of the White House. The Oslo Accords signing ceremony on the South Lawn of the White House, September, 1993. That’s not to say everything was rosy. The hatred my grandparents knew all too well never truly disappeared. In my own life, antisemitism would strike like an occasional spasm: hateful comments in dressing rooms, slurs in elevators, and disturbing posts online. Yet, these moments were few and far between, with history’s needle seemingly pointing in the right direction. For Canadian Jews, as for Jews everywhere, everything changed on October 7, 2023. It was as if we woke up one day in a parallel universe. The horrific scenes from across southern Israel revived the trauma of our darkest history: Jewish families hunted down in their homes and murdered in cold blood; women and men subjected to sexual violence; children and the elderly thrown onto trucks like cattle and taken to dungeons. Unlike the Nazis, Hamas made no effort to conceal their crimes. In fact, they recorded them on GoPros and streamed the carnage for everyone to see on our phones and screens. And then, while our eyes were still fixed on the horror in the Middle East, we were struck by a surge of antisemitism at home. Even before Israel responded to retrieve its hostages, mobs flooded Canadian streets and public spaces, as if the massacres in Israel had sparked a revival of hate elsewhere simmering just beneath the surface. What became instantly clear was this: while the terror of October 7th horrified me—and, I believe, most Canadians—some were emboldened by what they saw as a settling of accounts. Every weekend in cities across the country, downtowns were taken over by mobs chanting antisemitic slogans and, even more disheartening for me, “Jews back to Europe”—the very place my grandparents fled, and where their entire families were murdered. Instilling pride in the next generation, Toronto, May 25, 2025 Since this resurgence of overt antisemitism, I’ve seen things I never imagined I’d see in Canada. The National Holocaust Monument defaced with graffiti as a form of protest. And, an inverted red triangle—used by Hamas to mark Jews as targets—spray-painted in front of my children’s school. Over the past 22 months, Jewish schools have been shot at, synagogues firebombed, and multiple terror plots have targeted Jewish community gatherings and institutions. According to Statistics Canada, a Jewish Canadian is now 25 times more likely to experience a hate crime than any other Canadian. But stats don’t capture the full reality. For us, hate has become normalized and part of our daily life. It’s my friend’s child being bullied on the school bus. And my friend the teacher who has former students trying to get him fired. It’s my own children being told to cover their school uniforms in certain places to avoid being attacked. There’s one thought I haven’t been able to shake since October 7th: I’m grateful my maternal grandmother passed away before that horrific day. Not just because of the trauma Hamas’ atrocities would have stirred in her, but because she didn’t have to witness what happened to Canada in the aftermath. She died believing her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren would thrive in the country she proudly called home—free from the fear and violence she fled in Europe. These days, many Canadian Jews are questioning their future here. That’s because the antisemitism is relentless, coming at us from all directions. As I write this, Montreal’s Pride Parade—an event that calls itself a “festival for all”—has announced it is barring Jewish groups from participating. I don’t know what tomorrow will bring. But I do know this: Canadian Jews remain proud. And we are not alone. Allies from all walks of life and across faith communities are beginning to speak out. Together, we are standing up for the Canada that gave my grandparents—and so many others who chose this country—hope and promise. And the success of that effort won’t be ours alone; it will benefit all Canadians.