December 2024
Nicki Franek

Moravia, 1942. The Nazi occupation had been raging for three years. Given that Nazi racial theories demeaned both Jews and Slavs, no one in Bohemia or Moravia felt safe.My non-Jewish grandfather’s family were heavily involved in the partisan forces fighting the Nazis; his parents hid partisan fighters, his older brothers actively participated in ambushing the Nazis; and my grandfather, at the tender age of 12, functioned as a runner carrying ammunition to the partisans hiding in the woods. At the end of the war, the entire family was awarded with the Memorial Slovak National Uprise Medal of Courage.  

Jewish history is nothing if not a collection of stories about courage. I have been moulded by these stories and can remember internalizing at a young age that courage was a moral virtue that could be demanded of me at some point in my life simply because of my Jewish ancestry. That day would come on Oct. 7, 2023, when the Goliath of antisemitism woke the David in me. 

After a year of watching the world’s response to the relentlessly rising antisemitism, however, I’ve come to realize that courage is not just a defining characteristic of Jewish history—it’s the defining characteristic that marries Jews and their allies. During the Holocaust, only 28,217 Europeans (0.005 per cent), risked their lives to aid Jews and only 7,500 citizens (0.1 per cent) of Bohemia and Moravia joined the partisan forces who fought the Nazis. The courage it took to choose the path of persecution demonstrates a moral integrity that leaves me speechless. These heroes are the bedrocks of Western civilization and I see now that my courage comes from both the Jew and the ally in my lineage. 

Sadly, these numbers also reveal a truth about our societies today. As our universities are overrun by students wearing keffiyehs and the majority of houses in my neighbourhood display lawn signs that glorify pan-Arab imperialism while they credit themselves as anti-colonialists, it is clear the courageous bedrocks are still few and far between. Meanwhile, the most outspoken and influential self-styled revolutionaries, operating within the security of our democracy and without a true understanding of genuine courage, are praised as paragons of virtue.

But this should come as no surprise when our leaders and academics fail to lead with moral courage themselves; when our Prime Minister validates the fraudulent International Criminal Court (ICC) ruling and threatens arrest of an ally and democratically voted leader; or when Carleton University hires Hassan Diab, a PFLP terrorist directly involved in the 1980 bombing of a Paris synagogue that killed four, to teach a class called “Social Justice in Action”; or when tax funded CBC dilutes acts of antisemitism and frames a violent and premeditated pogrom in Amsterdam as “a clash between Israeli football supporters and Dutch youth."

It can be deeply disheartening to witness history once again exposing the cowardice of the silent majority. Seeing so many vilify Jews as a means to signal virtue or gain clout—echoing the very narratives our grandparents recounted—can dim even the brightest hope. Yet, in stark contrast, a single story of courage and solidarity can reignite boundless optimism within our community. Stories like that of Martha and Waitstill Sharp, American Unitarian aid workers who, in 1939, sailed from Massachusetts to Prague to help thousands of Jews escape to the U.S.; or Imrich and Irene Valentovci from Bratislava who risked everything to hide and feed our family friends the Rosas within the walls of their home for the entirety of the war. Or even the wife of my Jewish great-great uncle, whose brave refusal to annul their marriage, despite the grave personal risk, saved him from the gas chambers. These acts of bravery remind us of the enduring power of allyship in the face of adversity.

This past year has deeply challenged my world view. Through this time of reflection, I have come to a profound realization that I was raised amidst a rare and precious relationship between Jews and their courageous allies;  a relationship full of admiration, integrity, respect, shared pain and trauma. We may not have the world on our side, but we have something so much greater: a forever union with the world’s most courageous heroes.

Nicki Franek lives in Toronto with her husband and two children.