Years ago, my wife and I were out for a walk when she asked me a question that has never left me. 'When did they know it was time to leave?' She was talking about Jewish communities in other countries and other eras — communities that believed they were safe, established and fully integrated into the societies they called home. When did they realize things had changed? How did they know that what was happening around them was not temporary? At what point did leaving stop being unthinkable and start becoming necessary?
At the time, it felt like a historical question, the kind of thing you wonder about but never expect to apply to your own life.
Today, around Shabbat tables across Canada, a different version of that same question is being asked: If things continue on this path, where would we go? That question alone should alarm every Canadian. Not because people are packing their bags tomorrow. Most are not. But because the answers are already being discussed. Florida. Texas. Panama. Israel.
For most Canadian Jews, these are not vacation destinations in this conversation. They are possibilities. They are options. They are what has come to be known as Plan B. And that is what many Canadians do not understand.
Canadian Jews never had a Plan B. We were not constantly looking over our shoulders. We were not maintaining contingency plans. We were not quietly preparing escape routes. Canada was the plan.
For generations, Canadian Jews believed they had found what previous generations could only dream of: a country where they could live openly as Jews, build businesses, raise families, contribute to society and know that their future was secure. Canada was Plan A. Canada was also Plan B.
That assumption is beginning to crack. Since October 7, Canadian Jews have watched Jewish schools being shot at, synagogues being firebombed, community centres being targeted, university campuses becoming hostile environments, and antisemitic incidents reaching levels that would have been unimaginable only a few years ago.
Equally damaging has been the response. Too often, Jewish concerns have been treated as political complications rather than urgent warnings. Too often, institutions have appeared more interested in managing optics than confronting reality.
The result is not panic. It is something far more significant. It is doubt.
In recent days, I have heard more discussion about Plan B than at any other point since October 7. Ironically, it came after the prime minister's announcement on antisemitism and the creation of a new council tasked with addressing it. The announcement was intended to reassure Canadian Jews. Instead, for many, it had the opposite effect. Not because Canadian Jews oppose efforts to combat antisemitism. We have been demanding action for nearly three years.
But the announcement itself felt like a recognition that the problem has reached a level requiring a formal government response. For many, it confirmed that the situation is serious enough to warrant a Plan B. And once that conversation starts, it is hard to stop.
Some will dismiss this as overreaction. They will point to Canada's history of pluralism and tolerance. They will argue that things are not as bad as they seem. But the people having these conversations are not alarmists. They are professionals, community leaders, parents who never imagined they would be discussing where their children might be safer. They are people who love Canada and want to stay.
But love alone is not enough when your children come home from school afraid. Love alone does not protect a synagogue from arson. Love alone does not guarantee that your workplace will not become a site of protest against your existence.
What Canadian Jews want is not special treatment. They want what every Canadian wants: to live without fear, to practice their faith openly, to raise their children in safety. They want their government to treat antisemitism not as a political issue to be managed but as a crisis to be solved.
Until that happens, the question will continue to echo around Shabbat tables, in community centres, and in private conversations: Where would we go? And that question, once asked, does not go away.
