these times? Anxiety about the war and its impact here was affecting the mental health of everyone—my colleagues, my interview subjects, and the audience. Maybe there was something to learn from those more directly affected. Lynne Mitch- ell, a practicing psychotherapist in Toronto, was a lifelong friend of Vivian Silver, the 74-year-old peace activist originally from Winnipeg, who was initially believed taken hostage from Kibbutz Be’eri. Lynne told me how she was using her professional training to counsel Vivian’s two sons, Chen and Yonatan, as they struggled with not knowing what happened to their mother. The tech- nique was mostly one of listening. It would be December before Israeli officials found enough of her remains to declare Vivian had actually been killed on Oct. 7. It wasn’t quite Chesed Shel Emet , the Jewish commandment to honour the de- ceased without any compensation in return. But I felt that by doing multiple podcast episodes about Vivian Silver, I was making my small contribution to her life and legacy. T he CJN Daily found Canadians who rushed to Israel to join the war effort however they could—and also asked those who were already there, why they felt com- pelled to stay. Leora Prutschi’s original program of volunteer work in Eilat pivoted to helping do arts and crafts with displaced Israeli kids forced to evacuate the Gaza area and stay in hotels. Reichman University student Maya Winkler had her classes cancelled for months, so she dedicated the study time to babysitting children of soldiers. Joey Lipetz, a yeshiva student in Mevasseret Zion, hand-tied the fringes of prayer shawls for soldiers to wear into battle. Ronnen Harary, the co-founder of Toron- to-based toy company Spin Master, shared the emotional experience of providing toys and games to Israeli children. He also joined Montreal natives Franck Azoulay and Lawrence Witt serving BBQ treats and burgers from a food truck to lineups of IDF soldiers about to head into battle. Toronto cardiologist Dr. Bradley Strauss told me how he went to lend a hand in a hospital in Afula, as one of thousands of Diaspora medical personnel who turned up in the early days. One of the most remarkable stories I did was about Joy Frenkiel, a social work-
personal details to anyone I was interviewing. You can’t compare griefs. They’re all terrible. But soon the Israeli-based relatives of Tiferet Lapidot started contacting Canadian journalists to raise awareness that she was missing from the music festival, and likely in Gaza. Tiferet was about to turn 23. Her aunt and uncle, Galit Goren and Harel Lapidot, were speaking on behalf of the family. Both grew up in Canada, as had Tiferet’s father. They all kept their citizenship when they moved back to Israel in the 1970s. But officials at the Canadian embassy in Tel Aviv weren’t getting back to them. The Lapidots desperately wanted Ottawa and Qatari officials to pressure Hamas to hand her back, and hoped stories in the Canadian media would do the trick. Goren explained why she wasn’t able to sleep in her own bed for worrying that her niece might be spending nights tied to a chair, or on the floor in a tunnel under Gaza. I cried, then. For Tiferet. For my son. I revealed that I was a newly bereaved mother. I felt I needed to show them some kind- ness, and show that I understood some of what they must be feeling. Eleven days later, Israeli authorities confirmed Tiferet had actually been killed on Oct. 7, at the music festival. This would be a recurring theme in my stories over the weeks and months, as next-of-kin waited unusually long for forensic experts to make a positive identification. But there was only so much detail in these atrocities that I could bear seeing for myself. W hile I didn’t personally know any victims or hostages, the war and the spike of antisemitism in Canada after Oct. 7 brought its own distress and feeling compelled to do something from this side of the world. We were grateful for those who organized the donation of items to help with the war effort, and the opportunity to contribute to fundraising campaigns. But there was no getting around fear about potential threats to our lives as Jews living in Canada. Three times a week, I routinely visit a Jewish building in Toronto to swim. Security had been ramped up, but I worried it was inadequate. No one was checking my gym bag or purse. How were those with kids in Jewish day schools under threat coping in
er originally from Chomedey, Quebec, whose main job was helping soldiers’ families get through the dreaded “knock on the door”–when military authorities break the solemn news their loved one has been killed in battle. I told her that she was doing holy work— which I felt because of my own recent first-hand experience. I’ll never forget the compassion the police officers showed to us on that fateful night in July. But even 25 years of experience couldn’t prepare Frenkiel for the second task she volunteered for. It took place at the morgue on the Shura base, where families positive- ly identified the remains of loved ones. Amidst all the indescribable cruelty at the hands of Hamas, she still can’t get two par- ticular sounds out of her head: IDF soldiers hammering wood to build coffins, and the motors of refrigerated containers storing hundreds of still-unidentified bodies. For this daughter of a Holocaust surviv- or, Frenkiel saw her efforts as her way to fulfill the mitzvah of giving kindness to the murder victims during the darkest period of Israel’s modern history. S peaking of former Montrealers, I consider myself in that category too, even if I was among the English-speaking Ashkenazi Jews who left in droves in the late 1970s. I still consider it “home” given how it’s where my mom and sister and other family members still live. I wasn’t surprised to have to report on the spike in hostilities toward Jewish students at Concordia University, and McGill. In their day, my nephews had been among the vanguard of activists who opposed the Boycott, Divestment and Sanctions (BDS) resolutions passed by anti-Israel student councils. But after Oct. 7, aggressive street rallies became a fixture in the city. Then, on Nov. 7, Montrealers woke up to shocking news. Not only had a Molotov cocktail fire bomb been thrown at the door of a synagogue in Dollard-Des-Ormeaux, but gunshots had left holes in the doors of Yeshiva Gedola in midtown Montreal and at the Herzliah High School. A Jewish business was also targeted. I was already booked to travel to Mont- real to visit my family. So, I tucked my microphones into my briefcase, intending to explore why my native city had suddenly become a dangerous place for Jews. Driving along Westbury Avenue, and in
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