Kanata pastor Bob Davies shares how Christians can support their Jewish neighbours amid rising antisemitism.
At the Simeon Initiative this summer, which brought together 50 pastors, including many Evangelicals, and 50 rabbis in Toronto, I was thankful for the words of Rabbi Jarred Grover of Beth Tikvah Synagogue [posted in July with permission at FaithToday.ca].
He affirmed how “serious theological reflection” by the Christian community after the Holocaust led to a voice of support for the Jewish people during a surge of antisemitism in the 1980s. His remarks tell us serious engagement in this conversation makes a real difference.
Since October 7, 2023, we are witnessing a resurgence of antisemitism alarmingly reminiscent of the social climate of the 1930s that spread not only in Hitler’s Germany but also here in North America, even among our churches.
Retaining intentional awareness of that history benefits and betters us for a couple of reasons.
First, the ancient history of antisemitism can be used to deflect our self-assessment. In the 1930s, for example, Johannes Leipoldt found early evidence of antisemitism in the Elephantine papyri from a Jewish community in Egypt in 410 B.C. He contended antisemitism spread quickly in Rome because of Jewish revolts against Nero, Trajan and Hadrian.
But hate for Jews emerging in ancient times or in other places must not be used to offset or minimize what we see happening today.
Secondly, the Holocaust (or Shoah, the Hebrew term for calamity) was so monstrous it can be misused to diminish the severity of antisemitism here in Canada. Antisemitism was not exclusively a German aberration and need not metastasize to the horror of gas chambers to be a severe evil.
The example of Charles Coughlin
Let me offer an example. Michigan-based priest Charles Coughlin was born in Hamilton, Ont., and ordained in 1916 as a part of the Basilian Fathers, who were fierce advocates of social justice. Coughlin became the founder of the National Union for Social Justice.
In the 1930s Coughlin’s radio show, the Golden Hour of the Shrine of the Little Flower, broadcasted from Michigan to southwestern Ontario and eventually reached up to a third of the American population. The show received up to 80,000 letters per week.
Coughlin’s radio messages tended towards the political and economic, focusing on progressive causes like workers’ rights and income inequality. He blamed American bankers and the Jews for poverty, ultimately seeing nationalized socialist policies in Italy and under Hitler as ways to advance those causes. By the end of 1938, he overtly explained away the evil of the Kristallnacht, claiming the real crime was the Soviet murder of millions of Christians driven by atheistic Communist Jews like Lenin and Trotsky, and the persecution of Jews amidst Naziism was only a defense mechanism.
His voice was not universally affirmed, to be sure, especially where his political support for Roosevelt turned on and off. But his message was on the North American airwaves. Within a year, Canada infamously turned away the MS St. Louis, a ship transporting 900 Jewish refugees, many of whom were murdered in camps after their return to Germany.
Remembering stories like Coughlin’s helps us recognize how hate for Jews is often parasitic. Coughlin’s antisemitism smuggled itself into the culture on the back of concerns for social justice, disenfranchised workers and political protectionism. Antisemitism, even in the church community, has consistently proved a problem on both the left and the right.
Evil messages fly swiftly
Furthermore Coughlin’s story illustrates the alarming speed with which his messages spread. He began broadcasting sermons in 1926, and by 1930 his show broadcast nationally in the U.S. By 1934 he had more than 100 clerical staff handling correspondence from 30 million weekly listeners. Something about antisemitism burns like wildfire.
I’m not alone in identifying that weird spiritual pattern. One of the pastors from my home church in Scarborough, a Scotsman named Arthur Paterson Lee, once served in a communications unit in the British forces. He told me about the first time his unit picked up transmissions referring to a “final solution.” He and his fellows did not believe the rumoured implications. He told me of his later realization, “Bob, it was as if something demonic spread across the land.”
Whatever spiritual realities are at play, when we as Christian leaders speak today about the Jewish people or Israel, centuries of libels and lies lay like landmines beneath whatever we might say. Attempts at clever nuance or equivocations detonate those old tropes in erratic fashion, sparking again defamatory fires and fears. We need to know that while we imagine ourselves personally unscathed, our neighbour suffers the shrapnel.
Indeed, around us are a people increasingly intimidated and isolated. As EFC Senior Ambassador Bruce Clemenger observed recently, our Jewish neighbours are less than 1% of our Canadian population but are the target of 68% of hate crimes.
So what can we do?
Do your neighbours know your heart?
As a child I learned the family story of Norbert, an Orthodox Jewish refugee from Germany. In early 1939 Norbert could not return to Germany following Kristallnacht, so in coordination with an Orthodox Rabbi he came to live with my Baptist minister grandfather in Wales. Norbert’s stay was brief. With the declaration of war in September of 1939, he was detained as an enemy alien and sent to Montieth Camp Q in northern Ontario. Norbert later served in British intelligence but was lost in northwest Europe in 1944.
So far no one is looking for refuge in our homes. But that story illustrates something deeper than the provision of a well-made bed, warm meals and a safe harbour. My father took pride in his father as he passed on Norbert’s account as part of our family story – my grandfather helped a Jewish refugee boy, and that was clearly understood and shared as good and right.
But we could also examine my grandfather. An orthodox rabbi gave counsel, and the Jewish community extended a great trust. Something about my grandfather, maybe his friendship or tone of support, perhaps conversations and laughter together lost to history, signaled something to invite that trust. Before the glass of Kristallnacht was swept up in another land, my grandfather was in touch. Another lady in their Merthyr Tydfil church wanted to help. She couldn’t. But she knew the young pastor and his wife had hearts open to step in, and step up, and care.
Is that true of you? I’m not asking if you have a spare bedroom ready. I’m asking if those around you know your heart in these matters.
Relationships are like bridges. When we first meet, we swing a rope back and forth across a chasm between us, and if we like what we find or are determined enough, we swing it back and forth. We can’t really carry anything of weight that way, of course, so the day comes when we put down some stakes and tie the ropes. Then wood slats and then footings and a wooden bridge. We might cross in a car but couldn’t yet manage a freight train.
That day may come when all the complexities of concern can be shared in good faith. But the basic sharing of your heart doesn’t need to wait. A phone call when you hear about something in the news. Checking in every once in a while. What an incredible gift God has given us in our ability to meet another’s eyes and smile.
Do you know the Jewish people proximate to you? Have you heard their sentiments and concerns? The shifts in our world are enough to signal the need for better bridges, and nothing stops lies and libels from spreading like knowing others and holding them in your heart.
Early in 2024, One Way Ministries in Ottawa helped facilitate a Christian-Jewish dialogue event at Kehillat Beth Israel here in Ottawa. I happened to arrive early. Once I was through security, I had an opportunity to see their beautiful sanctuary. Stained glass windows reflected the history of the Jewish people: the Exodus, the Shoah. And then a voice greeted me. “Welcome,” said Jason Green, the cantor. “My home is your home.”
And I have a friend.
And so does he.