In a nutshell, the survey conducted by ParticipACTION looked to understand the reasons why, “If physical activity is recognized as being valuable (for improved mental health, increased energy and reduced risk of chronic diseases like diabetes and heart disease), but participation rates are still so low, what is preventing people from living active lifestyles?”
The survey concluded these main takeaways:
Key Generational Barriers (Based on 2026 ParticipACTION Report)
Gen Z (18–27): Reports the highest number of barriers, including high self-consciousness, fear of failure, and lacking companionship or space for activity.
Other Generations (Millennials, Gen X, Boomers): While also facing constraints (work obligations, boredom with exercise choices, injury and other health issues, particularly for Boomers), they tend to report fewer psychological, image-driven barriers compared to Gen Z.
Universal Barriers: Across all ages, common barriers include lack of time, low energy/fatigue, and financial constraints.
A key recommendation from the article was for individuals to seek supportive, beginner-friendly group activities and spaces that reduce social pressure to boost confidence. I agree with this recommendation.
The results of this survey got me thinking, what would have to change, on a bigger level, for factors such as time, low self-confidence, lack of energy, financial constraints, to not block increases in physical fitness across ages?
REASON – as a society, we have to make a bigger change in the messaging about the reason for exercise. Existing societal messages leave many people with the idea that the main reason to get out there for regular exercise is to “improve” the way they look. While it can be great for people to feel more comfortable in their body because they workout more regularly, this should not be the primary driver. The primary driver should be – exercise will make you feel better overall. It will improve the health markers/outcomes described in the survey.
We, as a larger society, have to do more than talk about “work/life balance”. We need to advocate for more green spaces, more time, better transporation options, more affordable ways for people to successfully incorporate fitness in their day. It should not be thought of as a “nice to have” but a “necessity”.
What do you think readers? What can be done to remove some of the barriers described in the survey?
Nicole P. likes to make a habit of exercising in the morning so that it’s done and she feels better to start the day.
My first (guest) blog post for FIFI was about my imposter syndrome when it comes to fitness. I talked about how, despite, my decades of dedication to fitness, I still felt like the kid who received a participation badge in gym class.
I haven’t felt that way in a while. I have often blogged about the WHY I am so consistent with my fitness. Thankfully, I learned long ago that my WHY was about how fitness makes me feel. How, no matter what else is going on, fitness leaves me feeling better. Some days that may be a smidge. Some days it may be the smidge that leads to a good workout – on another day.
As I get older, the WHY just becomes clearer to me. Watching parents age and seeing, firsthand, the importance of maintaining functional fitness as one ages has become crystal clear. Of course, not everything is within one’s control, but where it is, doing what one can, within what works for them, can contribute to more freedom when one is older. Whether that means the ability to walk to the grocery store or lift a travel bag onto a train, every little bit can help.
I have experienced, first-hand, the grief of losing parents and beloved pets and I have experienced how movement, even at a slower pace, can help you move through the sluggishness and omnipresence of grief.
I long ago trained myself not to focus on society’s idea of results when it comes to fitness. If I focus on how fitness makes me feel and not how it may change the number on my pants — the WHY is more sustaining for me.
This doesn’t mean that I am immune to the perfectionist-seeking culture of “the perfect amount of protein/cocktail of hormones/supplements/cold plunging” that could make me exude the platinum version of Nic, both internally and externally. But, the grounding I have in my long-standing habits prevents me from taking the idea of perfectionism too seriously. I know it’s not possible.
What is perfectionism to me, anyway? Is it important to me? NO. As I get older, the idea of legacy becomes more of a nagging question. Legacy for me has nothing to do with my outward appearance. It has to do with what others may remember about you. Especially, how you may have helped or inspired them in a positive way.
A colleague, who is a few years older than me, recently told me that they have been discovering how much they enjoy strength training. They have been working with a trainer, in a safe way. They told the trainer, right off the bat, that they didn’t want to focus on losing weight or inches. They wanted to focus on feeling stronger. My colleague told me how well it’s been going and how much better they have been feeling.
This isn’t the first time someone has casually mentioned to me that they have had this type of experience and that they were, partly, influenced by my approach to fitness and seeing me in action for awhile. Each time, this type of thing makes my heart sing.
As I continue through various stages of middle-age and beyond (poo poo poo), I am so glad that I have my style of training under my belt, and, hopefully, withstand societal pressures that come with this stage of life.
Nicole P. is experimenting with different gyms, continuing strength and conditioning workouts, doing some mat pilates and anxiously awaiting clearer sidewalks to return to more consistent running routines again.
I have been in the same book club for over 27 years. I have a pretty good record when it comes to keeping up with the books each month. Until last year, I rarely arrived at book club, not having finished that month’s book. This year, I’m finding my attention span is flimsy. I’ll start a book. It may be interesting to me. For many reasons, I just can’t keep my focus, for very long.
Is my trouble with being able to focus due to our collectively shrinking attention spans? Is it due to being brain tired from work that can be emotionally heavy? Is it due to my own emotionally heavy 2025?
How do I describe the last year? A year in which I lost my Mom. I also lost my beloved shih-tzu. My other beloved senior schnauzer has advancing kidney disease. My husband and I have been giving him sub-cutaneous fluids, and other meds, to keep him comfortable, and still occasionally peppy, as long as possible.
Here’s Miggy, the schnauzer, with a peppy walk/run in his booties.
Then, there were the two uncles who died (one on the same day as my Mom). Also, my sister’s Mother-in-law, a beloved member of our family, also died. Each of these people lived to generous, advanced ages and had good lives.
I keep thinking that I want to write about sad things in a way that is humorous. I want to make note of the happy things too. I need to work on my comedic writing. Perhaps, that will be a goal for 2026.
There were many good things in 2025. The friends and family who were there. Strengthened relationships with people very important to me. There were adorable 3 year olds.
I was visiting my Dad, the other day, who now lives in a very nice assisted living community. When I went to his room, he was waking up from a nap. He started saying he felt funny. He said, he didn’t know how to explain it. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He also has mild dementia, so that is not unususal. But, I asked him, “are you not feeling well?” “No, I feel fine”, he said, “I don’t know how to explain it”, he said. We went through a few adjectives and landed on “a bit anxious.” “Ah, yes”, I thought. More evidence, we are related.
My sister and BIL, also visited, while I was with my Dad, along with the adorable 3 year old. Three year olds have a way of adding healthy doses of smiles to the room, which linger throughout the day.
While we were all sitting in the common area, “bistro”, another resident entered the room. She was all smiles and very friendly. She also seemed blissfully unaware that the muu-muu she was wearing was pretty see-through and short. She confidently swayed and sauntered as she made herself a coffee. It made me giggle. Not at her. But, just at the random, simple, silliness of life. I am glad for her that she was so happy in her flimsy muu-muu.
My fitness schedule has been pretty consistent. I have managed to get out for one or two short jogs/week, even though December has been more icy than usual. I have enjoyed two or three great strength and conditioning workouts/week (some at new places, that I like). Those times at the gym continue to be a good distraction from the daily stresses. I often have friends with me, which is a great treat, but, also, movement continues to clear my head and strengthen my soul in ways I can only appreciate.
In 2026, I’d like to have the ability to strengthen my attention span. I want to enjoy more books. I want to write more. I want to be creative in ways that spark joy.
I want to spark more joy in 2026. That’s what I keep thinking. I don’t want to parade around in a flimsy muu-muu. I want the feeling of joy that surpasses what is physical or obvious on the surface.
I wish more joy for myself and for everyone.
Nicole P. is looking for more workouts and whimsy to spark joy.
By the beginning of October, I found myself wishing 2025 would end.
My dog died in April.
My Mom died in July.
My Uncle died on the same day as my Mom, in July.
My Dad is adjusting to his new assisted-living residence. Dementia makes that a bit more challenging than expected.
My sister’s mother-in-law died last week
This is not the start of a Loretta Lynn tribute song.
A young woman with long auburn hair, sittng with her legs folded behind her. She’s wearing jeans and a tank top and denim jeans. She’s holding an acoustic guitar. There is a brown dog sitting at her feet. She’s sitting on the porch of a ranch-style home with the property of that home in the background.
I could continue to list off the reasons why I can’t wait to see 2025 in the rear view mirror.
I like the idea of a new start, as much as anyone. A new year offers the chance for new fortunes. Better fortunes? A real vacation or two? Exciting career opportunities? Hope for the world’s seemingly fragile state?
I am telling myself to stop wishing for 2025 to end.
I don’t like wishing my life away. Whether a week or a month or two or a year.
Not to mention, who knows if a new year will bring better fortunes. There are other options.
It’s true. 2025 hasn’t been my best year. Yet, I am here. I am healthy, and, like any day, week, or year, mixed in with the heartache and stress, there have been some good things.
It’s not the easiest thing to say out loud, but, as much as I miss my Mom, I don’t miss her illness. She was sick for a couple years. Her illness kept her housebound, highly medicated, and, not completely herself. I grieved every bit of my Mom I lost during that time. I will forever miss the opportunity to call my Mom, but, moving on from that period of time, is not completely a bad thing. I’m so fortunate to have had MY Mom for 53 years.
Grief has a way of shining a light on the supportive people around me. I am so grateful for those supportive people.
Just over a year ago, I was struggling with inexplicable balance issues, that seem to have subsided for several months now. This is a huge relief, when I set out for a run or for my daily walk to work.
My sister continues to amaze me, in her ability to take care of necessary little details that continue to come up, when caring for elderly parents.
My husband makes me proud. He’s the best life partner for me and I’m so grateful for him every day.
My stepdaughter has been a great source of comfort and I am proud of her and her early adulthood achievements and stability. All while she’s experienced her own losses.
I have remained consistent with my fitness throughout this year and I am proud of myself for working through all the grief, and, grateful that I am able to do so. I still say thank you, as part of, my mantras, while on my long jogs. I continue to see fitness as the best way to weather life’s rollercoaster moments (I’ve never been a fan of rollercoasters).
The world continues to make me shake my head. From fascist leaders to unnecessary civilian deaths to growing antisemitism, I am buoyed by the friends who continue to make my immediate world make sense.
Friends, in general, continue to be a bright spot, whether working out next to me, working in the cubicle next to me, sharing a meal or a text. 2025 has been a bright spot for highlighting the power of friendship.
The little ones (toddlers) and young adults in my sphere continue to bring joy and delight.
My elderly schnauzer (14+) who gave us a scare over a year ago but continues to age in bittersweet ways, brings me many moments of joy, each day. Oh Miggy, please continue to become an even older adorable fur baby.
There is always music and films and books and grateful moments of learning and escapism.
Around Halloween I decided that wishing the rest of the year away would be a frightful idea. I’d rather believe there are still good moments to come, in these last two months of the year.
So, I don’t wish for 2025 to end. I look for the moments, each day, where I can add value to those around me, seek fitness endorphins, revel in the bliss of simple rituals, enjoy hearty laughs and sneaky joys. These moments will help me successfully navigate the puddles I may need to jump over (hopefully, without being wobbly).
I’m ready for some clowning around.
My husband and I in quickly cobbled together costumes for a friend’s costume birthday party.
“Nicole, it’s just as important to exercise your body as it is to exercise your brain.”
This was the teacher in Grade 9 who was both my math teacher and my gym teacher. At the time, I seemed like a serious academic student. I did well in math (and dropped it the next year, go figure) but I may as well have worn a sign that said, “How soon can I get out of gym class?”
Those words from that gym teacher have replayed in my brain many times over the years.
Along the way, I have become more aligned with the gym junkies than the math mavens. I don’t need convincing about the benefits of fitness.
When I was at a recent gerontologist visit with my Dad, the Dr. was impressing on my Dad the importance of going to the exercise classes offered at his seniors’ home. He often doesn’t feel like going and opts for a nap. The Dr. was explaining to him how clear the research is on the importance of exercise on brain health. I’m not sure how long it will motivate my Dad in going to his class, more often, but I have been reminded more than once, while with my ailing Mom, before she died and with my Dad in his seniors’ home, how important basic fitness is throughout one’s life. It doesn’t go away.
What simple wisdom did you hear when you were young that still resonates?
Nicole P. enjoys running, strength training, and requents small communities with likeminded people.
This is not a sad post. I swear. Yes, last week, I wrote about how the body goes through a different grieving process than the mind and, in my case, that process was physically draining.
Yes, this Sunday will be three weeks since my Mom died. Of course, I will be grieving in a myriad of ways, both with big, gut wrenching feelings, and with flowing, small, day-to-day, flutters.
On flutters, last weekend, my sister sent me a photo of a butterfly that was sitting near where she and her family were hanging out on a beach. She said it had been hanging out for awhile, read, “Mom’s hanging out”. I apologize to my sister, if that’s not exactly what she meant, but that’s what the jist was to me, and, what many of us close to my Mom would think in that moment. That’s what we think about, when a very close loved one has just died. Their energy is still around.
Also, last week, I was walking back from the gym, with a friend and she said, “Oh, there’s a ladybug on you!” I glanced down and there was a ladybug parked on my black tank top, on the left side of my chest, yes, over my heart.
Now, I’ve had a soft-spot for ladybugs for awhile. I’m not the only one to see ladybugs as a sort of creature comfort in trying times. There have been many a time where I’ve noticed ladybugs hanging out around me in a way that did provide me comfort. I even have a toque I wear in winter (for last few years) that has an arty portrait of a lady bug. I’ve been considering getting a little ladybug tattoo, for awhile. Although, I haven’t fully decided if I will. Anyway, I dug that moment with the ladybug and my friend, who noticed, and knew what that moment would mean to me.
Back to energy. Another thing one might do, when one witnesses their mother’s body go from alive, to not alive, and, one shares the experience with others, and experiences the sensations that come with such deep transitions, is look up what happens to one’s energy when one dies. Does it make the dark TV vibrate for no reason? Where does your Mom’s soul GO exactly. In my searches, that first week, I found an article about the physics of energy and that it has to go somewhere. I shared the idea with my Facebook friends and that I found comfort in the idea that, “You can hope your family will examine the evidence and satisfy themselves that the science is sound and that they’ll be comforted to know your energy’s still around. According to the law of the conservation of energy, not a bit of you is gone; you’re just less orderly.“
So, is my Mom’s energy around in the form of a butterfly or in the form of a ladybug? Maybe?
BUT
And, this was my slightly wry reaction partway through this past week, “Who the f*ck cares?”. Neither the butterfly nor the ladybug are actually my Mom. I can’t hug either one. I can’t call them and tell them about my day at work, like I did, almost every day. When I went to call someone today, just dialling the Toronto area code, “416” prompted my phone to suggest my MOM’s number. Why not?! That’s who I would call, more often, than not.
If I am going to look for my Mom’s energy, now that her bodily form is gone, I will look for it in ways that make me smile. The friends who brought little key tchotchkes to make bracelets in honour of my Mom, because I have a meaningful tattoo with my Mom’s name in Hebrew, along with a drawing of a key, that has special significance to me.
I will look for my Mom’s energy, when I am reminding myself to be nice to someone, when I’m not in a “nice” mood.
I will look for my Mom’s energy, when I’m looking for strength to hold firm on a challenging call at work.
I will look for my Mom’s energy when I’m baking cookies or making soup or making many other dishes she loved – either to make or have me make for her.
I will look for my Mom’s energy in my sister’s no-nonsense way of taking care of what needs to be done with care for my Dad and other practicalities.
I will look for my Mom’s energy when my nephews are joking with one too many expletives and we all laugh at how my Mom would have joked that, that, was enough F bombs for one meal time.
I will look for my Mom’s energy when my husband and I smile knowingly at a memory we shared with my Mom in a thousand ways.
I will look for my Mom’s energy in all of the family and friends who continue to check in on me to see how I am – although I don’t always know how to respond – OK. Fine.
I will look for my Mom’s energy when I look for ways to find joy in each day, as she would have done, if she were still here.
This is not a sad post. I swear. My Mom left a happy legacy. Not a sad one. Also, she left way more than a ladybug, as sweet as they are.
Nicole P. is hoping you all have a joyful weekend. Her Mom would have wanted that.
Mind: Mom was very sick for over a year. She was given 1-3 months and blew that prognosis out of the water. She wasn’t herself anymore.
Body: You may think you’ve slept enough but I am tired.
Mind: It will be hard but I had all this anticipatory grief. Maybe it will be easier.
Body: OK, you want to go for a run. Just don’t expect me to breath normally or go as far as usual.
Mind: She was wasting away. I saw her body shut down, bit by bit.
Body: The person who birthed you, watched over you, cared for you, thought about you, like no one else, is not physically here anymore. Let’s sit fixed to the couch a bit longer.
Mind: I have been with two Aunts when they died. I sat with them and witnessed their last breath. This isn’t new.
Body: Was that real? Was that week real? I feel a bit nauseous.
Mind: Her soul left her body. I saw it with my own eyes.
Body: It’s 2pm and I can’t keep my eyes open.
Mind: Mom had a good life. She was so loved. So many people said how much she acted as a Mom or Grandmother force in their lives.
Body: MY Mom is gone. OK, let’s lift some weights and move some energy around.
There’s a popular “Gen X meme” going around that says, “Gen X is 45-60 years olds, who look 30-40 years old, but mentally are still teenagers.”
It’s lighthearted. It’s representative of how many Gen-X-ers feel, apparently. When it passed my feed, the other day, I had two streams of consciousness:
We do not look like 30-40 year olds. Have you seen 30-40 year olds? We don’t. That’s OK. We are not meant to look 30-40 years old when we are in our 50s and 60s. Perhaps, what is meant is we look like 30-40 year olds, 30 years ago. But, even then, that’s not true. Sure, hairstyles and clothing may have aged people back then but we also had the perspective of young people (back then) perceiving them to be old when they were not. We perceived certain hairstyles as “old” because at 15, 42 seemed “old” and that was the hairstyle they had.
Why do we want to look 30-40 years old? Reality is, we live in a superficial world. We are surrounded by people getting fillers at 30-40 years old (OK maybe that is starting to make us look similar). We also live in a society that often tells people that they are only valuable while they are young (but not too young. There is a small window between too young and too old). Sure, I pass a mirror, on occasion, and, I think, “Who IS THAT?” It doesn’t matter “how fit” or “young” we feel or how lucky we are in our genetic make-up and/or how lucky we’ve been with our health, after a certain age (maybe menopause is the great equalizer?) we just look different. Even if someone has Botox and fillers (I do not but subscribe to the “you do you camp”) it does not take away the change in the overall shape of a person that starts to look older as they age. If you are a runner, you can often tell how old a person is, from behind, even if they have an athletic build. There is just a different way people carry themselves as they age. I digress, because, what I really am thinking about here, is, why do we want to look like we haven’t laughed thousands of times? Why do we want to forget all the tears that made us more resilient but left a few etches in our faces? Many of us love recounting things we experienced over the years to others – to our friends – young and old – we get value from having friends of all ages – but why do we value the experience and the stories and not how our body holds those experiences and stories? I fully believe we would help our society’s feelings about aging and older people if we valued all parts of aging, the wisdom that comes with age, but also the way age makes us look – like we have lived!
I am not “mentally still a teenager.” We can feel different ages at different times of our lives. In some ways, I felt like an “old soul” when I was a teenager. At a certain point of young adulthood, many of us discover that, as we get older, our “inside voice” doesn’t change that much. It may be very similar at 10, 18, 25, 50 or 80. But – you cannot be 53 and still “be mentally like a teenager”. As a teenager, you have not experienced the ups and downs of a long life, whether close to home – with family and friends, with career, with the fragility of life all around us – OR – in the larger world around us. Perhaps, what is meant is that we still feel youthful, in some ways. We still have youthful hope about certain things. Perhaps, hope is not age-specific. One can be old and be hopeful. We may have great days, physically. Regardless, people who are 45 to 60 years old do not feel “mentally like a teenager” unless they have not learned anything. Unless they have not taken what life offers, processed it and then proceeded to think about those things as the fully grown middle-aged person they are.
This meme reminded me of my thoughts about age, these days. On my recent birthday, an acquaintance asked me what the number was? I responded that it was, “a good number” – because – it was a number. It is an age. It IS. I am alive. That is what we learn at 53. That is how I “am mentally”.
Finally, I would argue that this meme isn’t representative of how Gen-X-ers feel, overall. Gen-X-ers often like to remind others about how we were raised on independence. We were sent out to play in the morning and told not to come back until the lights came on. We drank water from the neighbours hose when we were thirsty. We fended for ourselves when we came home after school, when our parents were at work, and we didn’t die from mulnutrition by eating too many cans of “Chef Boyardee” or “Flakies” as snacks. We learned to trust our senses, whether crossing the street or sensing danger from a stranger. We survived a society that wanted us to shrink ourselves and accept injustices and we found ways to fight for what was right and led the path for greater understanding of how to do these things in more meaningful ways. So – why would a Gen-X-er want to look younger and feel younger mentally? Gen-X-ers pride themselves on surviving hard knocks, defining cool, all while changing the mechanism by which we listen to great music, dozens of times. Gen-X-ers should pride themselves on showing all our pride in our faces as we age. Gen-X-ers should be proud to be aging, if we are to be so lucky.
As Gavin and I were having coffee this morning, before I went to the gym, I was recalling the times my sister and I participated with my Dad, as a kid, in the Walk for Israel. I said, “I know the route became shorter over the years, but I have a memory of it being 25km and that seems impossible.” Gavin nodded that it did seem unlikely and must be an exaggerated childhood memory. I searched for “1980 Walk for Israel” because that would be around the time we were participating as children, and it was 30km! I do remember there being stops where people attended to our blistered feet. It still seems unfathomable that we walked that far. I was 9, almost 10. My sister would have been 13.
The memory of that walk and others we attended, with my Dad, were positive memories. Besides, going for Walks for Israel, most of our walks with our Dad were less than a kilometre from our apartment near Bathurst and Finch, down to the Baskin and Robbins ice cream store at Sheppard and Bathurst. During the Walk for Israel we would wind our way through the city from North York, which was still its own city, down Avenue Road, to downtown Toronto, and we stopped along the way for donuts and other goodies. I remember it being very hot. Not like this cold and rainy May, we’ve been experiencing in Toronto.
Being kids, I don’t remember it feeling very political that we were walking for Israel. I don’t remember a big police presence, but I may have been ambivalent to it, as a kid. The walk felt very community oriented and a fun day in a city where I had only ever experienced feelings of belonging. According to a search online, “The first Walk with Israel was organized in May 1970 as the “Walk for Jewish Survival”. The original walk is 22 miles (35 km) long and funds raised go to the UJA-Israel Special Fund. The walk was billed as the largest single community event for Jewish Toronto with money always designated for Israel.” This was the source: https://www.jewishtoronto.com/history-of-uja-federation.
I grew up in a diverse environment. At least, it felt like it at the time. My family is Jewish, but we were never overly devout, in the sense that we didn’t regularly go to synagogue. We celebrated the Jewish holidays (Passover, Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur and, more as we got older, and it became a more important holiday, Chanukah), but they always felt as though they were more about the traditional food and getting the extended family together, than about the prayers or religious aspects of the events.
My family was lower income growing up. We lived amongst other Jewish families, but also amongst people from all different backgrounds. The public schools I went to in North York were very multicultural, even applying a 2020’s DEI lens. We communicated these differences in a way we wouldn’t now but it never felt, to me, that we didn’t all get along. My parents were never exclusionary about who our friends should be and they always had friends from different backgrounds.
As we grew up and started dating, marrying, etc., our family became more diverse and our family gatherings always included people from different backgrounds going forward.
As I grew older, even though I loved Hebrew school and had other strong ties to the religion, I grew to understand that I am more culturally Jewish, than religiously so. I consider myself an atheist, in terms of my understanding of a higher power. However, that cultural connection has remained strong, throughout my life. As I moved out of predominantly Jewish neighbourhoods, expanded my circle of friends to include close friends of different backgrounds, particpated in DEI events at work, and in many other instances, the cultural influence of Judaism on my life is undeniable. It’s something I cherish, respect and embrace.
While I feel culturally very Jewish, I also feel as though “my people” includes anyone who I identify with, where there is mutual understanding, support, etc. Those things have little to do with whether someone is Jewish or not.
In my late 20th century, North American, experience of growing up, Jewish, this involved going to after school Hebrew school (mmm, challah and grape juice), reciting the four questions at Passover, and, being reminded regularly of the Holocaust. Understandably. I was barely a generation removed from people directly affected by the horrendous massacre that happened in Europe under Hitler. It wasn’t only the Holocaust we were regularly informed about. We were told about the times our great uncles had to fight off the neo-Nazis in Toronto in the ’40s and how the Jews and Italians came together to do so. We were told of the regular antisemitism in Toronto, including signs in parks that read, “No Jews or Dogs”. We were told of great-grandparents fleeing Russia/Poland/Ukraine/Lithuania from the Pogroms in the ’20s. There were ample examples of our people fleeing and being massacred.
When I went to the University of Windsor in 1993 as a 21 year old, I remember being shocked at casual antisemitism (“You are Jewish” with a crinkled up nose and an expression of dismay, “I’m not Jewish” when someone was accused of being cheap). I had never witnessed it in my 1980s/90s urban utopia of Toronto at that time (I am not saying it was a utopia, but in my mind, in my experiences, and having experienced some other events since that time, including world events, it was a happy, peaceful, feeling, time).
Being an avid reader, I read books such as Night by Elie Wiesel, as a young adult. I remember reading his account and his assertion of, “Never Again” and understanding that he meant to anyone. Not just to Jews. It’s a sentiment I still hold and hold to all people. Not only Jews. I’ve also read many accounts over the years of the Palestinan experience in Israel. There is nothing like a well-written, personal account of an experience, to get one to have a better understanding of the “other”.
Before I get into the rest of my post today, I want to say that this post is about my feelings. It’s not about facts. And, not because facts are not important. I will just say that in last several years, I have read many facts, often from very educated people, on both sides of the Israel-Gaza conflict. I can read those facts, nod my head at many things, and still leave those facts, uncertain about many aspects of what is being talked about. I can have conversations (rarely) with people where we exchange a few facts, as well as a few emotions/feelings, and leave feeling as if no understanding has been reached. I think it’s important to understand facts and have conversations, but I don’t expect a lot of understanding from my post today. I am not looking to “sway anyone” and I would appreciate it if people don’t try to “sway me” in return. This is just a post about my feelings.
As an adult, as I have become more and more grounded in my political leanings (I am “woke” in terms of social responsibility, yes, but I am also fairly moderate in terms of fiscal responsibility, etc. and further away from the norms of my childhood. I have been comfortable in my belief that I don’t agree with much of what Prime Minister Netanyhu does. I grew to understand that if there was a fresh conflict in Israel, in the news, it was not OK for me to question the Israeli PM, in some company. As is often the case with any group that feels that they may not survive otherwise, you are either “with Israeli” or not. I have often said, well, I don’t agree with many politicians in Canada. I don’t agree with Netanyhu. I can believe Israel has a right to exist (and I do) but that doesn’t mean I agree with everything its leaders do, just as I don’t agree with everything that our leaders in Canada do.
So, whenever I’d wake to fresh news of a new conflict in the Middle East, involving Israel, I’d start getting tense. Not just because the idea of conflict and people suffering is upsetting, but, because, I knew I’d start seeing polarizing posts about the issue, in my social media feed. Polarizing posts on both sides.
With the rise of Trumpism, there’s been a rise of polarization on topics, in general. With the Middle East, it seems particularly challenging to find moderate, middle ground, let’s find some commonalities, type of conversation.
Also, with the rise of Trumpism, there has been a rise in people who hate people coming out of the woodworks to share their nonsense on social media. Whenever there is a rise in hate of any kind, you can be sure the Jew haters will have a field day. I have seen many examples of such emboldened hatred, in my neighbourhood in east Toronto. Ten years ago, I was aghast when I came across a swastika and a Jew hating expression on a utility pole in my neighbourhood. I was shocked. But would not be shocked today. It has become the norm.
Having said that, the antisemitism doesn’t feel omnipresent. And, while I see the feelings expressed that if you don’t 100% support Israel, you are feeding into antisemitism, I feel as though by resisting any conversation, there are ways this can encourage antisemitism, as well. There are many contributing factors to the rise of antisemitism. Some of those factors involve supporting leaders who rile up fears in everyone as a way of showing their support. Just like there are many different political views on any topics, many of us have different opinions on what the root causes of antisemitism are and how best to address it.
When the horrendous attack by Hamas happened at a music festival in Israel on October 7, 2023, in addition to being horrified at the barbarism on display that day and feeling sad for the unnecessary loss of life and the taking of hostages (50 of whom remain held by Hamas), I must have sighed many times and still do because it was clear that Israel would retailiate. Yes, it’s about bringing the hostages home. Yes, there are reasons Israel is protecting itself. Whatever people’s feelings are about this conflict, my feelings at my core are, even if it’s for freedom and Israel’s right to exist, “at what cost”. Freedom at what cost? Has the loss of life that has occurred since October 7, 2023 created any chance at peace, lasting peace? How many Palestinian’s lives have been lost? I will add, when I see “Free Palestine”, my response is “from who”. It’s not as simple as a ceasefire. However, I would prefer there be a ceasefire.
When I express some of my comments as described above, I am considered, by some Jews, as a “bad Jew”. However, there are situations, at work, in my community, in other instances, where I don’t feel 100% comfortable expressing my concerns about the protests against Israel, as well. I know a couple other people who have similar feelings as myself, but it sure does feel that, for many of us, we are in “no community” land.
I support those who participated in the Walk for Israel that happened in Toronto today. I support their belief in community, Israel, the need for Israel and it’s right to exist. I feel sad that the event has become so political that there needed to be a huge police presence. I feel sad that the occurrence of the event was met with a large protester presence. However, I didn’t feel compelled, this year, or in recent years, to join in on the event. It’s something I think about as I think about my childhood memories and where I feel the strongest sense of community today.
Lest anyone feel upset by anything I said above, I truly wish for a world in which people are at peace, both in their physical safety and in their hearts.
Nicole P. is hoping the sunny weather evident in this photo from last year, returns to Toronto soon.
