This morning, as the first light of Shabbat peeked through the window, I sat in quiet stillness. The birds were chirping, their song rising above the hum of a new day. It was one of those small, perfect moments—the kind that reminds me why we hold onto this tradition, why we welcome Shabbat week after week, why we carve out space for peace even when the world feels anything but peaceful.

I was still feeling full—having, once again, overindulged at Shabbos dinner with family. The table had been overflowing with food and conversation, laughter and stories passed between generations. That fullness wasn’t just in my stomach—it was in my heart. A reminder that, even in challenging times, we are sustained by each other, by community, by love.

On my regular Shabbat morning walk with Mich and the dogs, that feeling of comfort was interrupted. Hate speech, antisemitic graffiti—words and symbols meant to unsettle, meant to make people like me, like us, feel unwelcome in our own neighbourhood.

And the painful truth is, it’s working.

I’d love to say it doesn’t get to me, that I can brush it off. But seeing those messages out in the open carries weight. Someone took the time to make sure we knew we were being targeted. That knowing sits heavy, especially on Shabbat, a day meant for rest, joy, and connection.

Yet, even in that discomfort—even in the fear, frustration, and sadness—I refuse to let the darkness have the final word.

I refuse to let those who trade in hate rob me of the joy I felt hearing the birds this morning. I refuse to let their messages overshadow the warmth of last night’s meal, surrounded by family, stories, and more food than anyone could possibly eat. I refuse to give them more power than they already claim.

This is what they want—for us to feel afraid, to shrink back, to question our place. And I won’t let them win.

Shabbat is a time of fullness—of spirit, of tradition, of connection. No amount of hatred scrawled on walls can take that away.

So I choose to hold onto the joy of the birds and the lingering warmth of last night’s meal. I choose to lean into community, to keep walking these streets, to keep showing up.

Because this is our home. And we are here to stay.

And this afternoon, I have the privilege of wandering Northside to help parents welcome their new child into covenant and community. A reminder that even as others try to make us feel unwelcome, we are still here, still growing, still embracing the sacred cycle of life. Hate may try to shake us, but love and tradition will always keep us rooted.

Shabbat Shalom, friends.

Photo Credit: AI generated image as I’m not prepared to circulate the images we saw this morning

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