This past week has felt like a relentless assault on the soul. As Hanukkah progressed – from the first candle to tonight’s last – the collective joy of Jews has been overshadowed by hatred, violence, and the grim reality that being Jewish in 2025 still means living under threat. What should have been eight days of light and defiance against historical oppression became a stark reminder that the forces trying to extinguish us are still very much alive today.

It started when I woke up on the day of the first candle to the news of the targeted terrorist attack at a “Chanukah by the Sea” celebration at Bondi Beach in Sydney, Australia. An ISIS-radicalized father and son exploited catastrophic security failures to gun down celebrants in broad daylight. Fifteen Jews murdered – including a 10-year-old child and an 87-year-old Holocaust survivor – had their live extinguished, with dozens more injured. I was tired before I even got out of bed – tired of waking up to surging antisemitism, of the harassment, the violence, the targeted hunting of Jews. Tragic. Bleak. Reality.

Yet that same evening, the Windsor Jewish community gathered at the Detroit River for our annual outdoor Hanukkah lighting. Despite the metaphorical dark cloud hanging overhead, we came together to honour our faith and live Hanukkah’s essence: standing firm against any force that tries to dim our light. It was exactly the medicine I needed on a day that felt like an open wound. Local leaders showed up in solidarity, and while we were flanked by heavy police protection – because nothing says “Festival of Lights” quite like armed police on standby (but in 2025, that’s apparently the price of admission for being publicly Jewish) – we lit the oversized menorah anyway.

Chag Chanukah Sameach.

The Bondi massacre revealed both the depths of hate and the heights of human courage. Multiple people risked their own lives – with some making the ultimate sacrifice – in attempts to stop the shooters. May their memories forever be blessings.

As the week wore on, the implications for Canada became impossible to ignore. B’nai Brith reported 6,219 antisemitic incidents in 2024 – 17 per day, a 124% surge since 2022. Canadian Jewish institutions are under attack, whether by firebombings in Montreal, repeated shootings at Jewish schools in Toronto, or targeted vandalism nationwide. Bondi wasn’t just an Australian tragedy; it was a dire warning for Jews globally.

Canadian Jews responded with quiet, stubborn resilience. Across the country people proudly lit menorahs in public and displayed menorahs proudly in their windows. The Canadian Jewish News put out a call for photos of defiant celebrations, and my photo of Windsor’s riverfront lighting on the first night was featured prominently as the first submission they received. Jews refused to let international terror silence our local Jewish lives.

But by December 20, the crisis hit even closer to home. Toronto police announced charges against three men – Waleed Khan, Osman Azizov, and Fahad Sadaat – on nearly 80 charges, including terrorism-related offenses tied to ISIS. They had attempted abductions of young women, stockpiled an AR-style rifle and high-capacity magazines, and explicitly targeted the Jewish community. Intelligence now warns that attacks on Jewish holiday events in Canada are a “realistic possibility.” Police patrols around synagogues and community centres have intensified – a visible, familiar reminder of the threat Jews live under.

Statistics Canada confirms Jews remain the most targeted religious group, accounting for roughly 70% of religion-motivated hate crimes while comprising less than 1% of the population. How did we get here? A permission structure built by leaders tolerating weekly hate marches, genocidal rhetoric, academic calls for violence, and ideological capture that enables bigotry out of fear of being labelled bigoted. Canada is the frog in slowly boiling water – and our political class is too busy arguing over the definition of “boiling” to turn off the stove.

Hanukkah’s light is meant to push back darkness. This week, we needed it more than ever. We gathered, we celebrated, we defied. But the darkness is growing bolder, more organized, more deadly. If we don’t act—decisively, urgently—to close the gaps, confront the hate, and protect our communities, the water will boil over.

There’s still time to turn down the heat. But we’re running out.

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