Between Borders: Navigating My Identity as an Asian-Canadian Jew

Growing up and discovering who we are often comes with the discomfort of not fitting into our own ideas of “normal.” As a child, I struggled to reconcile the different aspects of my identity. Now, nearing my seventeenth birthday, I still grapple with balancing my love for Canada, my Jewish soul, and my mixed heritage.

My mother, who was born in Seoul and grew up in Alberta during the 1970s and 80s, experienced racism that no child should have to endure. I grew up in a more accepting Canada. Born in Canada, I spent four years in Taiwan when my parents were posted there as diplomats.

Back in Ottawa, the national anthem is played every morning at my high school, and every July 1^st my family celebrates Canada Day. When my father recounts stories of his childhood in apartheid South Africa, I feel beyond grateful to have been given the gift of being born into this wealthy, stable and multicultural country. I take equal pride in being Canadian and Jewish.

Though my background adds complexity, I am, above all, a proud Jew. No pressure will ever silence me.

Despite the presence of many Jews of color in North America, I often felt alienated as an Asian Jew, my mother having converted. At sleepaway camp, I was called “Sushi” behind my back and asked if I could speak Chinese.

As I got older, people questioned if I was really Jewish because I didn’t look Ashkenazi. I grew tired of explaining my background and ‘proving’ my religiosity. I hated the looks of surprise people gave me when I told them that I observed Shabbat and kept kosher.

Being treated as different in my own community hurts. But as much as it could feel isolating, the Jewish community has held me close in every other aspect. It has given me the morals and guidance to live my life in a way that keeps me close to God and the people around me. It has taught me to try and make the world a better place through acts of kindness and giving charity. I have felt at home in every shul, from Bali to Jerusalem.

In Taiwan and Ottawa, I was never the only mixed kid in my class but always the only observant Jew, the only one missing seemingly countless days of school for Jewish holidays and not getting to attend birthday parties because they were held on a Saturday (Shabbat). Early on, classmates were curious about my heritage; no one questioned my Hanukkah presentations.

Effects of Increasing Antisemitism

But that changed in middle school. Suddenly, everyone had an opinion about “The Jews” and was an expert on the geopolitics of the Middle East. In 2021, as Hamas launched missiles, my Instagram feed exploded too. Students in my grade felt the need to advocate for Palestine, although the majority of them had never even heard of the conflict, let alone be able to place it on a map.

I used to be able to turn off antisemitism by shutting my phone. But just a couple of years later that easy fix no longer worked.

We felt abandoned by our government that claimed it stood with the Jewish-Canadian community.

When Hamas attacked Israel on October 7th, there was nothing that could stop the collective pain and panic that ensued in my community. The horrific violence that the terrorist organization inflicted on thousands of civilians, murdering, torturing, raping and taking hostages from their own homes and at the Nova festival left us all broken. Our calls and texts felt futile; we were powerless in the diaspora. Fear and anger took over that first week. As always, our community united to raise funds and send supplies.

Nonetheless, we felt abandoned by our government that claimed it stood with the Jewish-Canadian community, even as our institutions were vandalized and communities threatened without serious repercussions. I felt as though the only people we could count on were fellow Jews and a handful of courageous gentile friends and neighbors.

That fall, the mezuzah, placed on Jewish doorposts as a sign of identity and faith, was stolen off the front door of our house, and my synagogue in Ottawa received numerous threats (none of which thankfully came to fruition).

All of a sudden, the whispers of the end of the golden age of North American Jewry felt very real. At school, my classmates were back to posting things like “support Palestine if you’re

human,” and shushing me for saying that women being sexually assaulted on October 7th was wrong. There are too many similar instances to count.

Finally, after losing “friends” and shedding many tears, I came to peace with our predicament: somehow, being Canadian and a Jew who supports the state of Israel is not socially acceptable, at least not amongst the TikTok generation.

That did not mean that I became silent – quite the opposite, actually. In April of 2024, I became part of the Kenneth Leventhal High School Internship, an Israel advocacy and antisemitism education program run by StandWithUs. Through this program, I found strength in peers facing similar struggles.

Though my background adds complexity, I am, above all, a proud Jew. No pressure will ever silence me. Am Yisrael Chai!

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