By Dylan Shore

For thousands of years, the Jewish people gathered around their Seder tables and recounted the story of Exodus, the story of the liberation of the Israelites from slavery to their promised land of Israel. A story that had been told for thousands of years before simply saying the name of the country became a hot-button issue. While every year I contemplate the story and the broader history, trials, and tribulations of Jewish history, this year, I have found myself unable to focus on anything but the present and the future. It is hard to read the cliff notes for Exodus and the past year and a half and not see similarities. The revival of the phrase “let my people go” brings a stark reminder that whether we are referring to the desert landscape of the Sinai and Negev or the forests around Treblinka, we as a people are never out of the woods quite yet.

Growing up in Ottawa, I had quite a normal childhood. Just as most Jewish Canadian children in the '90s experienced, I would spend my time watching cartoons, playing road hockey, and biking around the neighbourhood with my friends, oblivious to the understanding amongst the adults about the large asterisk beside the Canadian portion of my identity. As is normal in the coming of age of every Jew, I eventually learned of the history of my people and about the asterisk. The asterisk that indicates while the Canadian portion of my identity is very real, the Jewish portion is what is written in a bold font and underlined. That this is the portion of my identity that will stand out amongst the populace. That this is the portion of my identity which can provide me with both immense pride and, simultaneously, an unbelievably heavy burden to carry. A burden that will be dismissed as imaginary, as paranoia, and as a way of keeping oneself on the outside of society looking in rather than integrating. A burden that only a fellow Jew will comprehend and meet with a silent nod of understanding.

During my childhood, I grew up in an extremely culturally diverse environment. During my tenure at my elementary school, I met people from all cultures across the world and was taught that this was our strength as Canadians. A belief that our country is a collective of all the strengths of the world, and while we had our own cultures, religions, and beliefs, we shared the commonality of the red maple leaf and an understanding that our identity was Canadian first, and then where we were from or what we believe, and not the other way around.

Looking back at my younger years, there were definite signs of the reality that a Jew faces, but that the naivety of a child looks past. As an adult, I can look at the time when I was told not to bring an Israeli flag to the Cultural Heritage Day and did not understand why as the spark of my inability to comprehend why, in such a celebration of cultures, mine was suppressed. But I believe that it was when, during a playdate at a “friend’s” house, I was told about “a cool play that shows the Jews as Nazis rounding up people in Lebanon” that the spark turned into a flame. I remember calling home to ask to be picked up but not wanting to say why out loud as my “friend” Mahdi’s mom stood in their kitchen in concern, not understanding my sudden departure. I remember the silence on the car ride home, unable to answer my father’s questions about what happened. Most importantly, I remember thinking: I am a Jew, and I do not live near Lebanon.

It was here where I connected the dots of the inseparable link between Jews and Israel. This was all but confirmed many years later during my first days back at school after the 2006 Lebanon War that took place over the summer, where I, the sole vocally Jewish Jew in my school, was held accountable for the conflict. Putting the racist remarks and physical altercations aside, it was the words of a student in my class asking, “Would you mind if Batoul wrote about how Israel started the war with Lebanon for her assignment?” that stuck with me. I had spent most of July and August of 2006 glued to my TV, watching the conflict unfold, so I was well-versed in my understanding of the conflict and the fact that this round of fighting started when Hezbollah attacked a group of Israeli soldiers in a cross-border raid, killing some and kidnapping others.

This was the moment when I understood the asterisk beside the Canadian portion of my identity. While I was born and raised in Canada, I was a Jew first, inextricably tied to Israel second, and a Canadian third. Fast forward to the modern day, and this inextricable link of Jews to Israel in terms of “holding them accountable” for the actions of Israel exists simultaneously with the chants of “go back to Poland.” I would find amusement in the irony of being inextricably linked to the land of Israel while simultaneously being told that I have no connection to the land if the once-whispered phrases had not evolved into chants throughout the streets of Canadian cities.

This year, at the Seder table, while hearing the story of Moses and the Israelites being recited, I cannot help but wonder when we will, as a people, recognize the modern Pharaoh in our society. This Pharaoh does not manifest as an individual but as antisemitism. Antisemitism that is rising at an alarming rate. Antisemitism that is being unchecked by our government as scores of people march throughout the streets chanting to “globalize the intifada.” A chant that should echo throughout the ears of every Jew in Canada. These are no longer calls for boycotting Israel, which can also be heard if you listen to the recycled catchphrases long enough. This is a call for an uprising of violence against Jews across the world.

Why are we so ignorant to think that this does not include us? Why are we so ignorant to think that it could never happen to us and that our governments will protect us from this and extinguish the flame before it spreads to our communities? Where in history has this proven to be the case? When has this proven to be the case now?

My wife grew up in Jerusalem during the Second Intifada. A time when terrorist attacks against civilians were so normalized that when she watched the first plane hit the World Trade Center in September 2001, she did not understand why this was so shocking to the world. That is the world of intifada. That is what they are marching throughout the streets of major Canadian cities, chanting for.

For generations, but specifically since the Shoah, there has been an unspoken understanding amongst many Jews to keep a suitcase packed in case we need to leave in a hurry and that we must “never forget.” I believe that we as a collective have forgotten the first portion of this and that we have misinterpreted the saying “never forget.” I believe that we have interpreted this phrase into a story that we tell ourselves and our children in order to keep the memory of those we have lost alive and to engrain the event into our history.

While I am not arguing that this is not important, I believe that we have missed a key meaning of the phrase “never forget.” That we must never forget that this can happen to us as well. When I look throughout Canada, I ask myself, what will be our sign to put this suitcase by the door? What will be our Kristallnacht? Will we wait for Pharaoh’s orders to toss us into the Nile?

To the Canadian government and the Canadian people, I ask you — is what you see happening throughout the streets representative of your beliefs? Are you content with what you see? I am not referring to the ability of one to protest or express opinions; I am referring to the outward calls of violence towards Canadian Jews. I am referring to the boycotting of businesses that are simply owned by Jews. Not by Israelis, but by Jews. Are you content with “protests“ occurring outside of a Jewish retirement home in Ottawa, gunshots being fired at Jewish schools in Toronto, or firebombs thrown at synagogues in Montreal? Do you believe that this dangerous road ends with the Jews?

Most importantly, is this the Canada that you want for the future? It surely is not the Canada I remember from my past. Siding with Canadian Jewry in the fight against antisemitism does not mean that you are taking a stance on anything happening in the Middle East. It means standing with the belief of Canadian values that say that no one should live in fear because they are Jewish or of any religion or ethnicity. That parents shouldn’t have to worry about sending their kids to Jewish schools in Canada. That Canadians should be able to pray in their houses of worship without worrying about it being lit on fire while they are inside.

Canadian society is at a tipping point where it must decide the country that it wants to be. Does it want to be a country that recognizes that disagreeing with Middle Eastern politics and standing up against the sharp rise in both violent crimes and hate crimes against a minority community within its borders does not have to be mutually exclusive? If not, both Canada and Canadian Jewry need to prepare for a modern Exodus.

-- Dylan Shore is a former Ottawa resident now living in Israel