Opinion: Faced with intimidation, a community begins to shrink — not by choice, but by necessity

One law enforcement officer said something to me that has stayed with me: “I don’t weigh in on politics. I’m here to protect everyone. But if I can choose between being spit on or being hugged, I’ll take a hug any day.” That simple statement speaks to the humanity behind the uniform, writes Ezra S. Shanken. Photo by Arlen Redekop /PNG

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Communities are not built in theory. They are built in presence.

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They depend on people feeling safe enough to walk through the door, to gather, to participate, to be visible.

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Judaism is not something we observe from a distance. We gather. We show up. We pray together, learn together, and support one another in real and tangible ways. Some of our most sacred prayers require a quorum. When people do not feel safe enough to walk through our doors, our way of life and our community itself are at risk.

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I felt this during the COVID pandemic. I briefly returned to our Jewish Community Centre the day after it had closed. The temperature outside was nearly identical to the day before, yet inside the building felt profoundly different. It was not just empty. It was cold. The absence of people had stripped the space of its soul. A body without a soul is not life.

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In the months following Oct. 7, 2023, the date of the deadly Hamas attack on Israel, I feared that feeling would return. Not because of a public health crisis, but because of something more insidious: fear, intimidation, extremism. The kind of pressure that makes people hesitate, questioning whether it is safe enough to attend school, synagogue, or community programming.

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When that happens, the consequences are not abstract. They are immediate and deeply human. A community begins to shrink, not by choice, but by necessity.

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Leadership in these moments requires clarity. We do not retreat. We do not disappear. And we do not accept intimidation as the cost of living openly as Jews.

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That resolve is made possible by those who stand watch so that we can stand together.

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Across B.C., officers from the Vancouver Police Department, the RCMP, and other security services have maintained a consistent presence outside Jewish schools, synagogues, and community institutions. Their role is not symbolic. It is practical, preventative, and deeply human. It allows parents to send their children to school with confidence. It allows seniors to attend services without hesitation. It allows a community to remain visible.

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One officer said something to me that has stayed with me: “I don’t weigh in on politics. I’m here to protect everyone. But if I can choose between being spit on or being hugged, I’ll take a hug any day.” That simple statement speaks to the humanity behind the uniform, the quiet dignity of service, and the emotional toll that often goes unseen.

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Jewish tradition teaches that saving a single life is considered to have saved an entire world. Protecting our community means safeguarding thousands of those worlds. Not buildings. People.

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Jan. 9 is recognized as Law Enforcement Appreciation Day. Most people do not mark it on their calendars. But for communities like ours, the sentiment behind it is not confined to a single day.