The shadow of antisemitism has crept its way into the consciousness of my five-year-old, without his even knowing its name, let alone its shape-shifting manifestations.
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As an Indian-American married to a Canadian Jew, I have been horrified at the precipitous, global rise of antisemitism. The gunfire volleyed at a Jewish girls’ school early Saturday morning is a blood-chilling example in a steady stream of antisemitic incidents on Canadian soil. As a mother raising three young children in a sheltered bubble within central Ottawa, I naïvely imagined we would not face the collective impacts on our family so soon. The rise of antisemitism is personally felt, even among those you might not expect.
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Around Hanukkah, our five-year-old asked, “Why don’t people like Jews?” He’s not able to say why he thinks this, and we go through many scenarios. He made beautiful school drawings of menorahs and Stars of David. Did another kid say something? Or a grown-up? It was not lost on me that he used the general term “people,” and that this first sting of judgment was for his Jewish heritage, rather than the brown skin we share.
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A while later, he confided in my husband: “Someone on my bus told everyone Jewish to raise their hand. But I knew not to do it, Daddy. They sounded mean.” What would have happened if he’d complied? This should break anyone’s heart. It certainly broke ours.
After our trip to India, he cuddled up to me and whispered: “Mommy, I told my class that we saw the synagogue in Mumbai that Bubbe and Zayde visited before I was born. And that I have cousins in Israel. That’s OK, right?” As our eldest, he is grappling with a vague unease. What would you say as a parent? “Yes my son, proudly be who you are.” And unsaid but going through my mind: “We will teach you to be strong against any hate you face.” Because the other answer — “No my love, don’t share that outside our home”— would be confusing and shattering, planting seeds of a shame he should not feel for his cultural inheritance, and for his family. The shadow of antisemitism has crept its way into his consciousness, without his even knowing its name, let alone its shape-shifting manifestations.
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For now, our three- and one-year-old sons have been spared. They belt out or bob along to Shabbat songs, and I can only hope they cling to this unadulterated joy a bit longer.
For my part, I have been privy to unfiltered antisemitic remarks in recent months, especially from those unaware of my family background. A professional contact nonchalantly described his employers as “cheap Jews” — sure I’d chuckle along, stunned by my shock, quickly seeking to deflect, “Not to be offensive …” An acquaintance animatedly documented his dating history and added, “I’d never date a Jew.” A colleague eagerly downplayed the sexual violence against Jewish women on Oct. 7.
To speak as freely as they did, these people must have been confident that their views comprised the social norm. I would like to believe that they do not, that most would immediately recoil at the underlying hate, however casually deployed. And I’d like to believe that some people are confused or not informed, or need reminding that antisemitism is an ancient hatred we must actively combat, perhaps even more so when yearning for the self-determination of all peoples.
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For those of us still committed to originally well-intentioned DEI values, who have fought against other forms of hatred, where are you? Are you scared? We need you. What are the costs of speaking up? What are the costs of not? Have you checked in with your Jewish friends?
This is not a zero-sum game. We have the choice to safeguard or sacrifice our society’s commitment to inclusion. We should listen to — not undermine or gaslight — those voices sounding the alarm, with experiences far worse than those detailed here. Consider tuning in for or reviewing the House of Commons Justice Committee’s hearings on antisemitism, now underway. Whatever your politics, please do not be silent — and thereby complicit — when you witness Jew hate in all its modern forms.
I regret not speaking up sooner and more forcefully, not telling even some close friends how it’s been — out of shock, disillusionment, fear. I’ll strive to fight against the normalization of antisemitism in our community. If you’ve been feeling the same, I hope you’ll join me.
Tejaswinhi Srinivas, Ph.D., C.Psych., is a clinical psychologist in Ottawa.
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