April 2026
Nadav Greenhut

A few days ago I was sitting with friends from Israel who, like me, had emigrated to Hamilton after the events of Oct. 7.
“Every siren here makes me jump,” my host said, as her partner nodded quietly in agreement.
“I can tell you it takes time,” I told her. “There was a time when every airplane noise would make me jump, but the nervous system eventually calms down.”

Our conversation took me back to the early weeks of the war, when my wife and I would huddle with our children in the hallway, aware that a direct hit could bring the house down. I remembered, too, the night in April 2024 when Iran launched a swarm of drones and missiles toward Israel — the non-stop doom-scrolling, the whine of missiles overhead, the explosions when they finally reached their targets, and the exhausted eyes of everyone the next morning. 

When we came to Hamilton in May 2024, we were welcomed with lots of help and the goodwill of almost everyone we met, especially from the Jewish community. At first, we rented an Airbnb. The homeowners, members of Hamilton’s Dutch community, went out of their way to help us in every way they could. When we started searching for a house, we quickly realized how challenging renting here could be. Even with the necessary funds, we had no Canadian credit history, no local employment, and no rental references — making landlords hesitant to rent to us. Thankfully, our hosts generously offered to extend our stay, which was a tremendous help during that difficult time.

The hardest moment came when we finally found a place and were about to sign the lease — only to discover that the landlord simply backed out. Suddenly, we found ourselves just days away from living on the street. Only thanks to my wife’s resourcefulness and the support of the Jewish community did we manage to get through this crisis.

The second major challenge we faced here was finding work. We submitted resumes to dozens of workplaces, and received rejection emails from all of them. It took my wife and me almost a year to secure employment. In hindsight, I now realize that job opportunities in Canada are scarce for almost everyone right now.

I owe my first opportunities here to many in the Jewish community. One remarkable woman with a grand piano let me practice nearly every day and shared conversations about music and philosophy that made me feel less alone.
Life’s surprises kept coming. My wife joined the neighbourhood “Buy Nothing” group, and on errands to pick up items, I met a couple who became like a second set of grandparents. The woman, who discovered late in life that she was Jewish, was tracing her family tree—and found relatives from the same regions of Europe as my grandparents. Even more astonishing: her family included several Greenhuts, making us likely distant relatives.

Eventually, the Hamilton Jewish Federation invited me to perform at the Jewish Film Festival and on Holocaust Remembrance Day—opportunities that continue to arise.

My family and I have been living in Hamilton for nearly two years now. I eventually found my first official job as a piano teacher at Long & McQuade in Brantford, and over time my name has become known in the community. Today, I’m fortunate to have a growing number of private students.

As new immigrants to Canada, we’ve faced our share of challenges, but we’ve also discovered unexpected opportunities. Most people we meet are kind and courteous, and there’s a level of politeness that, for better or worse, feels somewhat foreign compared to back home.

Life in Hamilton is a striking contrast to what I knew in Israel. The constant threat of missiles has been replaced by a bitter winter, with temperatures that make my friends and family members in Israel whistle in disbelief.

And the nervous system? It turns out that minus 30 degrees is far better than a missile attack. Indeed, we are cold but we are also blessedly calm.