Finding Hope in Unexpected Places

In October, a friend mentioned a small crêperie tucked away just off the Val-David exit on Quebec’s 15 North. It wasn’t the crepes or the onion soup that inspired his recommendation, but something far more profound: the owners, though not Jewish, prominently displayed a chanukiah in their restaurant.

Intrigued, I decided to visit. On a crisp October day, a year since the life-altering events of October 7th, a year into a war that has taken too many lives and with hostages still waiting to come home – I made my way there. When I arrived, I spotted the chanukiah immediately—a modest electric one perched on a small shelf in the corner.

I sat down with my friend, my Magen David necklace resting visibly on my chest. Wearing this necklace has become more than a fashion statement; it’s my quiet act of defiance against the rising tide of global antisemitism.

When our waiter, a young man with a kind demeanor, brought the bill, he noticed my necklace and smiled. Gesturing toward the chanukiah, I asked if it had been a gift. He shook his head and replied with quiet pride, “No. We chose to display it. Many of our customers are Jewish.”

He then pointed to another piece of decor resembling the Western Wall and shared a story that warmed my heart. During the pandemic, he explained, Jewish customers had supported their business in remarkable ways, even during tough times. As a gesture of gratitude, the owners decided to honor that generosity by displaying Jewish symbols.

“People asked us to take it down,” he added, his voice steady, “but we refused. It’s our way of showing solidarity.”

His words resonated deeply. I couldn’t help but think of the Maccabees, whose courage and resolve we celebrate during Chanukah. They stood firm in their beliefs despite immense pressure to assimilate. And here, in rural Quebec, this small act of solidarity—a chanukiah in a crêperie—felt like a modern reflection of that same bravery.

The past year has been unimaginably hard. Across Montreal, Canada, and the globe, we’ve witnessed pro-Palestinian protests on university campuses, street demonstrations, and chants that blur the line between anti-Zionism and outright antisemitism. Yet, as I sat in that little crêperie, seeing a French Canadian ally light up their restaurant with a chanukiah, I was reminded that we must never give up hope.

No matter how dark the times may seem, hope is at the very core of who we are as a people. Tikvah—hope—is the thread that has sustained us for generations. It is the courage to believe that better days will come, the conviction that we can persevere, and the faith that G-d will prevail.

We express our hope through our actions: lighting the Chanukah candles, wearing a Magen David necklace, and celebrating our Judaism unapologetically.

We are the ever-living people, sustained by our hope.

In a small crêperie in rural Quebec, I found a reminder of that enduring hope—and the courage to carry it forward.