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Even with that gratitude, it nonetheless stings. As I first noticed the swastikas on our home of prayer, neighborhood, recollections, and goals, I felt profound disappointment. Tragically, symbols of hatred are neither stunning nor sudden, however there’s an acute ache once they land at one’s personal entrance door.
Because the perpetrator sat behind the police automobile, my buddy Leo walked by together with his canine on a leash. Leo and his household moved to Montreal from Frankfurt a number of years in the past, and he has described himself — as a Jew in Germany — as having been born together with his luggage packed. He got here to Montreal and joined our synagogue neighborhood, embracing a brand new life in our tolerant Canadian society.
Leo checked out me quizzically, questioning concerning the police presence. I pointed to the doorways, and his face fell as he internalized what had occurred. Then I pointed on the gasoline canister — one’s creativeness instantly travels to incinerated synagogues and Jewish shops and books in 1930s Germany, and one prays that such photographs are relegated to works of historical past.