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Jewish comedian Modi Rosenfeld, a mainstay for Orthodox audiences, is gay. So what?

(JTA) — Mordechi Rosenfeld, the Jewish comedian, insists that the recent Variety article in which he reveals he is married to a man is not a “coming out” piece.

“This article is showing that I’m a veteran comedian and I’m married to a man,” said Rosenfeld, who is known to his friends and fans by the nickname Modi. “This is it. It doesn’t feel like a coming-out piece to me because I’ve been out.”

Anyone who has listened closely to Rosenfeld’s podcast in the last year would know that he and his husband have been married since 2020. The pair talk about living and traveling together, and in a recent episode revealed they would be vacationing on Fire Island, which has a famous gay scene, with prominent gay Jewish cookbook author Jake Cohen.

But the news could easily have come as more of a surprise for one swath of Rosenfeld’s core audience: Orthodox Jews from communities like the one where he grew up, where LGBTQ inclusion remains an unfamiliar and often frowned-upon frontier. Rosenfeld has delivered his signature blend of highly informed Jewish comedy, which often digs into the technical details of Jewish law, on kosher Passover cruises; at benefits for Orthodox organizations including yeshivas, Young Israel chapters and Hatzalah, the Orthodox ambulance service; and on the annual Chabad-Lubavitch movement telethon. But until recently, his routine has contained little whiff of his personal life — in fact, some of his jokes suggested to his fans that he had a wife named Stacy.

“Stacy” is in fact his manager and husband, Leo Veiga, a millennial raised Catholic in South Florida whom the 52-year-old Israel-born, Long Island-raised comedian met on the New York City subway in 2015. The split content has reflected Rosenfeld’s long-espoused belief that the only way comedy can work is to tailor the set to the crowd.

“Even though some religious organization has brought me in and people are coming to see me, I understand I’m under the umbrella of a certain demographic that I need to respect and know the audience,” Rosenfeld told the Jewish Telegraphic Agency. “If you put me in front of an audience, I give them what they need. And they don’t need gay material — they need the material for this audience.”

“But when I’m on the road doing my material, I can do whatever I want,” he added. “They came to see me.”

The Variety article was born of Rosenfeld’s deepening belief that it’s possible to merge his Orthodox and gay identities more publicly — something that he has long done as a congregant and sometimes-cantor at the Modern Orthodox synagogue he attends in the East Village.

“The prayers are done in an Orthodox way. And somehow, gays have been attracted to come to this synagogue,” he said. “We have a whole group of gay people and we have a whole group of trans people welcome.”

“The rabbi’s thing is no one should ever feel bullied, no one should ever feel excluded,” Rosenfeld said. “Be you. Be a proud Jew and be you.”

Rosenfeld’s “not a coming out piece” is significant and part of a broader recent pattern, according to Rabbi Steve Greenberg, the founding director of Eshel, an advocacy organization for LGBTQ Orthodox Jews and their families.

“You used to leave. Coming out meant [you] had to go. Because you could either stay and be silent, or speak up and leave,” Greenberg said. “What has begun to change the story is people insisting on not choosing between their religious identities and their queer identities and insisting on staying in Orthodox communities.”

The Variety piece comes at a time of tension around LGBTQ inclusion in Modern Orthodoxy. Yeshiva University — where Rosenfeld studied at the Belz Cantorial School of Music — has made headlines for fighting for the right not to recognize an LGBTQ student club. This month, a synagogue affiliated with the Modern Orthodox flagship also made news for its treatment of a transgender congregant; Yeshiva’s top Jewish law authority said she could no longer pray there.

The episode ignited strong feelings for Rosenfeld.

“To torture someone like that, somebody who’s religious, who’s keeping the mitzvahs, who’s teaching, who’s doing that, and to open that up and to do what they did is so terrible,” Rosenfeld said. “It’s so, so terrible. That’s the only thing I can tell you.”

For Rosenfeld, there’s no tension between Jewish observance and being gay — although his articulation of why reveals an awareness of the pain that others might feel in trying.

“Being gay, you can keep Shabbos, you can keep kosher, you can keep anything you want to do,” he said. “You can learn Talmud, you can learn Torah, the only thing you can’t do is kill yourself. You can’t commit suicide. That’s not even on the table as an option.”

When Rosenfeld shared the Variety article on his Instagram page, the vast majority of the nearly 800 comments left by fans and friends showed support for his public embrace of his gay identity.

“It’s amazing that you announce that you are gay,” one fan wrote. “You are an example to all the Jews struggling with their gayness. You are a role model to me. Cheers.”

“I think it’s great you can be out with so many of your orthodox fans,” wrote Peter Fox, a freelance writer and Jewish community advocate. “What a wonderful gift of visibility.”

But a few commenters said they would boycott his work in the future, some citing interpretations of Jewish law.

“I can’t believe you are gay,” wrote one person. “What a giant Hillul HaShem [desecration of the name of God]. I lost all respect for you. Unfollowing now. And good luck to you when it’s time to be judged by The Almighty.”

Rosenfeld doesn’t anticipate that the Variety article will lose him any gigs. If anything, he says, it might actually increase his audience. Since he has started adding gay material to his repertoire, his audiences have been increasingly LGBTQ, like at some of the “Holidazed” shows he performed in December at Sony Hall in New York.

Still, he noted, “onstage, I’m more Jewish than I am gay.”

Rosenfeld began to dabble in comedy while working on Wall Street early in his career, when his colleagues realized he was good at impressions. In the last several years, he has emerged as a leader in a wave of comedians focusing on their Jewish identities, even playing himself on an episode of HBO’s “Crashing.” Five years ago, New York City’s then-mayor, Bill de Blasio, declared June 26 as “Mordechi Modi Rosenfeld Day” in honor of his contributions to the artistic community, and last August, Rosenfeld co-hosted the first-ever Chosen Comedy Festival on Coney Island with his frequent comedy partner Elon Gold to a crowd of 4,000. The Jewish comedy show has since gone on to an audience in Miami and will head to Los Angeles in February.

Meanwhile, Rosenfeld has embarked on a steady stream of sold-out shows on multiple continents himself, while enjoying several viral moments. In one bit that was shared thousands of times last year, he pilloried the practice of taking people who have made antisemitic comments to Holocaust museums, joking, “It just gives them ideas.”

Since comedy clubs reopened after their pandemic closures, Rosenfeld has worked on new material at New York’s iconic Comedy Cellar, where patrons’ phones are kept in sealed envelopes and filming is prohibited. The absence of phones gives comedians the freedom to workshop new material — and a lot of that new material, for Rosenfeld, has been focused on living with a millennial husband.

Rosenfeld and Veiga’s story is a classic New York City meet-cute: The comedian was riding the 6 train when he felt a tap on his shoulder. It was Veiga, then an intern at CAA, the talent agency, introducing himself.

“And then we went on a date,” Rosenfeld told JTA. “I picked him up and I brought him to the Comedy Cellar, where I was performing. And he didn’t know that.”

After his 15-minute set, Rosenfeld returned to the comedians’ table, where he had nabbed Veiga a seat, to gauge his date’s reaction. “I said, ‘So I’m a comedian.’ And then we had dinner, we had two more dates, and then he moved in.”

In the eight years they have been together, Rosenfeld credits Veiga with facilitating the evolution of his career as both his husband and manager. During the COVID lockdown, as comedians everywhere found themselves unable to perform in their usual crowded clubs, Rosenfeld says he thought he was getting a break from work — but it was Veiga who suggested a pivot to video. That’s when Rosenfeld grew his online presence and developed his now-beloved characters, like the Israeli know-it-all “Nir, not far” (married to the fictitious, off-camera Stacy) and the Hasidic Yoely, who reviews quarantine-era TV shows and runs for president.

While Yoely is a character, Rosenfeld, too, is religiously observant. He wraps tefillin in the morning, even while touring, and he and Veiga keep a kosher home. Though Veiga is not Jewish — the couple had a civil wedding — he attends synagogue with Rosenfeld, his Hebrew and Yiddish pronunciation is excellent, and he is extremely well-versed in Jewish ideas and lingo. That has occasionally enabled him to stand up for their relationship when encountering people who believe it is forbidden: In one anecdote on the podcast, Rosenfeld shared that at a Shabbat retreat at a yacht club in notoriously conservative Orange County, California, a man at the couple’s table told them that the Bible says two men should not live together. Veiga retorted that the Bible says people should not mix wool and linen — implying that not all strictures are always followed, and leaving the man dumbfounded, according to Rosenfeld’s account.

Veiga has been part of Rosenfeld’s podcast behind the scenes since it began in August 2021, and began appearing on-screen in the taped recordings in December of that year. (In a sign of how deeply Jewish content is woven into his own life, he once wore a kitschy shirt referring to “muktzeh,” the prohibition of touching or moving certain objects on Shabbat.) Rosenfeld co-hosts the podcast with Jewish comedian Periel Aschenbrand, where guests include a mix of mostly comedians with the occasional rabbi (one time, Alan Dershowitz made an appearance).

Leo Veiga, left, wears a t-shirt bearing the Hebrew word “muktzeh,” which refers to a prohibition of touching certain objects on Shabbat. (Screenshot via YouTube)

In the December episode with Jake Cohen, Rosenfeld and Veiga recounted their experience at the Republican Jewish Coalition meeting in Las Vegas. The couple, who admitted to following RuPaul’s Drag Race more closely than American politics, learned what causes Republican Jews were almost universally excited by (Israel and antisemitism on college campuses) and what causes they were lukewarm on (abortion) solely based on the volume of applause in the room. They also said they were surprised by how welcomed they felt as a gay couple at a Republican event, and remarked on how many of the political figures and donors they met were excited to show them pictures of all the other gay couples they knew.

Veiga said in the episode that he didn’t learn until after they agreed to the gig that the conference lineup included Florida Gov. Ron DeSantis and former Vice President Mike Pence, whom Rosenfeld said he found “a little creepy.” Both men have advanced policies and ideas that are anti-LGBTQ.

Rosenfeld said he had no principled objection to performing for Republicans, or anyone else.

“If the Democrats want to invite me, I will go there,” Rosenfeld said. “If Al-Qaeda wants to invite me, we’re there. A check and a microphone, and I’m there. It’s simple.”

The aside came as Rosenfeld, Veiga and Cohen discussed one of Rosenfeld’s favorite ideas — what he calls “moshiach energy.”

“Moshiach energy,” as Rosenfeld puts it, is akin to the Jewish principle of loving your neighbor as yourself and then putting that energy into the universe in order to bring about the coming of the Messiah. The idea is inspired by the last leader of the Chabad-Lubavitch Orthodox movement, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson — a major source of inspiration for Rosenfeld, who studied at a Lubavitch yeshiva.

Comedian Modi Rosenfeld Rosenfeld speaks with Rabbi Manis Friedman, right, and comedian Periel Aschendbrand on his podcast in November 2021. A portrait of Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson, the last rebbe of the Chabad Orthodox movement, is behind Rosenfeld. (Screenshot via YouTube)

It’s an attitude that he says is embodied by his synagogue, which he has attended since it opened in the 1990s.

“I am so fortunate to belong to a synagogue, Sixth Street Community Synagogue, where when you put moshiach energy out, it comes right back at you,” he said.

Schneerson considered homosexuality a sin and advocated for Jews to choose not to yield to homosexual urges. Last year, on his podcast, Rosenfeld hosted a Chabad rabbi, Manis Friedman, the former translator for the Rebbe, who espouses the same view; he said he finds Friedman inspiring even though he may not agree with all of Friedman’s views. It’s one of many instances where Rosenfeld has been able to square his identities in ways that have proved challenging for others.

Greenberg, the executive director of Eshel, agreed with Rosenfeld’s hypothesis that the Variety article would have little effect on the comedian’s ability to book gigs — and he said Rosenfeld’s commitment to Orthodox ideas and practices could work in his favor.

“Maybe some of those organizations that have hired him before will actually think this is an even  more important reason to have him,” Greenberg postulated. “Some people will see this as a kind of affirmative step that you don’t have to abandon your religious identity because you’re gay.”

It’s an idea that is central to one of Rosenfeld’s signature jokes. For him, being Jewish means praying with tefillin every day, eating kosher food and observing Shabbat — while also being married to his husband.

“I always say: the Jewish people — we’re not the chosen people, we’re the choosing people,” Rosenfeld said. “Being Jewish is a lifestyle — like Equinox.”


The post Jewish comedian Modi Rosenfeld, a mainstay for Orthodox audiences, is gay. So what? appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.

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California Jewish groups decry antisemitic conspiracy theories printed in governor’s race voter guide

(JTA) — As Californian voters checked their mailboxes this week, they found a voter guide containing conspiratorial claims about Israel and antisemitic rhetoric.

The mailer, which was sent by California Secretary of State Shirley Weber to the households of all registered California voters, featured biographical information about candidates slated to appear in the state’s June primaries. In all, there are 32 candidates listed, of whom 10 are considered serious contenders.

Among those who are not: the far-right activist Don J. Grundmann, who is not affiliated with any party and has previously described a group he was affiliated with as a “totally peaceful racist group.” Grundman used his entry in the guide to promote a series of anti-Israel conspiracy theories and antisemitic rhetoric.

His entry claimed that Israel had been behind the murder of conservative activist Charlie Kirk; purposefully killed U.S. soldiers during an attack on the U.S.S. Liberty in 1967; orchestrated the 9/11 attacks and planned to “suitcase nuke” the United States.

“Israel, the REAL terrorists, created and funds Hamas via Qatar,” Grundmann wrote. “Countless war crimes by lsrael/ Netanyahu. No further funding for Israel. They call Palestinians AND Christians AND America ‘Amalek;—their sworn forever enemy.”

The paragraph, which included a series of links to websites promoting antisemitic materials, also included a series of antisemitic claims about Jewish supremacy.

“We are ‘goyim’ (less than human animals/cattle) that they will enslave. We are stupid chumps,” Grundmann wrote, using the Hebrew word for non-Jews that has been increasingly used by the far-right. “Israel rules our conquered Republic. Talmud—their Bible—says Christ boiling in in Israel allowed/planned/promoted Hamas attack (they murdered their own people) to justify genocide and steal billion$ in Gaza oil/gas rights. Christian Zionism = soul poison. Talmudic Judeo-Christian values’ don’t exist . . .”

In both the print version delivered to voters and the online version of the voter guide, a disclaimer was added for Grundmann’s entry that did not appear for any other candidates: “The views and opinions expressed by the candidates are their own and do not represent the views and opinions of the Secretary of State’s office.” The line also appears on the bottom of each page.

Local Jewish groups, including the Jewish Federation of Orange County, decried the inclusion of the entry, saying in a letter to Weber, “When something appears in an official voter guide, it carries a level of legitimacy and reaches millions.”

Added the groups, including the federation, the Anti-Defamation League of Orange County/Long Beach, the Jewish Community Action Network and Israeli American Council, “By including a statement containing antisemitic tropes and conspiracy theories in an official voter guide, the State has effectively provided a government platform for rhetoric that fuels division and undermines the safety and dignity of Jewish communities.”

The groups called on Weber to explain how the statement was approved. They contended that the entry violated the guidelines by making “extensive reference to third parties” and using “largely of inflammatory and conspiratorial claims unrelated to any permissible category of content” included in the provisions.

“At a time of rising antisemitism, including rhetoric rooted in antisemitic tropes in a state publication is deeply concerning,” read the letter. “This isn’t about limiting speech—it’s about enforcing neutral standards and maintaining the integrity of our election materials.”

The voter guide comes as antisemitism has emerged as a notable issue in the upcoming California governor’s race, with several candidates staking out their approach to rising antisemitism in the state at a candidate forum in February. The primary is on June 2.

The post California Jewish groups decry antisemitic conspiracy theories printed in governor’s race voter guide appeared first on The Forward.

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Matan Koch, disability advocate who urged Jewish communities to ‘let everyone in,’ dies at 44

(JTA) — Matan Koch needed little introduction as he rolled up to the podium to speak at his synagogue’s Disability Shabbat service in October. His wide smile and power wheelchair made him well known to many his Los Angeles congregation, Ikar.

Still, Rabbi Sharon Brous, beaming at him, described her congregant warmly before ceding the microphone.

“The most important thing for you to know about Matan is that he is a deeply soulful, profoundly decent, and incredibly kind human being. And every single day that you have been in our community, you have made our community better,” she said. “It’s an absolute joy and honor to dive in with you, to call you a friend, and to have you as a beloved member of our community.”

In the sermon that followed, Koch described times that he had felt excluded from Jewish communities, or struggled to be included, because of his own disabilities. He urged his fellow congregants to change the way they think about inclusion.

“Every time you’re looking for one more participant, one more volunteer, one more Torah reader, think about who is excluded from our community by disability or any other reason — and think about how we would be enriched if only they were here,” he said. “Then let that motivate us to create an inclusive community that truly lets everyone in.”

It was a synopsis of the mission that Koch carried with him in his personal and professional life. Koch, who used a wheelchair throughout his lifetime, and who was respected as an accomplished lawyer, a passionate advocate for people with disabilities, and a committed member of Jewish communities, died Friday in Los Angeles, after a brief but fierce battle against stomach cancer. He was 44.

“His condition declined far more quickly than he, and we, had hoped,” his family wrote as they shared the news of his death on his Facebook page, filled with remembrances from hundreds of friends and followers from across the country.

“Ever optimistic, he pushed to squeeze every drop of love and connection and intellectual engagement out of life,” they added. “Even as options narrowed, Matan remained focused on staying present and connected to the people he loved.”

At the time of his death, Koch was the Los Angeles’ ADA compliance officer and director of its disability access and services division, ensuring that the city comported with the requirements of the 1990 Americans with Disabilities Act.

In the last post he authored earlier this month, Koch expressed both anger about his illness and appreciation for the many people who were contributing to a crowdfunding campaign to allow him to die with dignity at home. He said he was feeling “fury that my life has been cut so tragically short, euphoric overwhelming at the outpouring of love and support, and awe and gratitude for my family as they work with all of you in a full court press to see my needs met.”

Born in 1981, in New Milford, Connecticut, Koch was both brilliant and precocious and from an early age moved through a world not built for his body with clarity and determination, according to Rabbi Shira Koch Epstein, one of his four siblings.

Born prematurely, he had cerebral palsy, a neurological condition that severely limited his mobility and required him to use a wheelchair.

It was just a few years after the passage of the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act, which reshaped the requirements for schools to serve students with special needs. Yet his parents, the late Rabbi Norman Koch and Rosalyn Koch, a Jewish educator, had to fight for services from their local public schools.

Koch advanced to Yale University at age 16 and went on to Harvard Law School when he was just 20, graduating in 2005. He held numerous appointments on disability rights committees, first at Yale and then as vice president of the New Haven Disability Commission. In 2011, President Barack Obama tapped him to serve on the National Council on Disability.

“His whole life was breaking glass ceilings,” Epstein told the Jewish Telegraphic Agency in a phone conversation just hours before Matan’s death.

“He had a body that was built for a world that doesn’t yet exist and he spent his whole life working to build systems that recognize ability, expand access and include people across the full spectrum of disability,” Epstein said, adding, “He sees the goodness in every person he meets, and he sees the possibility.”

The family of five kids grew up in a deeply Jewish home. Epstein recalled her younger brother having deep conversations about Jewish values and ideas with her and their father.

“That was something very important to Matan. He really loved to learn and loved to sing. He sang with gusto. And he loved camp,” added Epstein, who serves as executive director of Atra, the Center for Jewish Innovation.

Their parents were leaders at Camp Eisner, the Jewish summer camp in the Berkshires, and the family spent their summers there. “The Jewish community is his home,” she said.

Rabbi Jonah Pesner, director of the Religious Action Center of Reform Judaism and senior vice president for the Union for Reform Judaism, was the director of education at Camp Eisner when Koch was a camper. He recalled a time when Koch asked Pesner to help him to go to the bathroom.

Koch led Pesner back to the bunk and explained step-by-step, how to assist, with laughter and without making Pesner feel self-conscious. “From the earliest age, Matan was engaging, mature beyond his years and non-judgmental,” Pesner said.

After graduating from law school, Koch worked first as an associate at major law firms before striking out on his own as a consultant working to help businesses and nonprofits become more inclusive. From there, he joined a disability rights organization called Respectability, moving to Los Angeles to become its local director.

Many people assumed that because he was quadriplegic, Koch must be helpless, according to Jennifer Laszlo Mizrahi, the Jewish activist who co-founded the group, now known as Disability Belongs. In fact, she said, his abilities were remarkable.

She recalled the role Koch played during the Covid-19 pandemic, a perilous time for people with disabilities, who faced high mortality rates if they became ill from the virus.

Many of his staff were disabled. They — and countless other disabled people — couldn’t risk going to a grocery store before vaccinations were available.

Koch’s team partnered with Los Angeles and the federal government to change the regulations to allow SNAP beneficiaries to have their groceries delivered in California and in several other states. “That was huge,” Laszlo Mizrahi said.

In Los Angeles, Koch was an active and beloved member of Ikar. In his Disability Shabbat sermon, he recalled an experience in college that led him to take a deep dive into a Talmudic debate on excluding people who might be distracting from leading the priestly blessing, he told them. Ultimately, the rabbis reasoned their way into acceptance.

“In using that text, Matan acknowledged the reality of how a community might interact with someone with a disability,” recalled Morris Panitz, the congregation’s associate rabbi. “People might be uncomfortable at first. But the work of the community is to get to know the person.”

Koch delivered his sermon with conviction, but gently, with his warm smile, Panitz said. This was true of him generally. “He invited people along for the journey,” he said.

“Matan Koch left an indelible mark on our community,” the synagogue told its members in an email on Sunday that added, “Matan’s persistent belief and tireless work to ensure that everyone feels welcomed and known will endure as a moral vision in our community. We will miss Matan’s enthusiastic davening, wide smile, and generous love.”

Koch could hold court in meaningful conversations as easily with heads of businesses as with Jewish texts, said Jack Rubin, one of his closest friends since they met their first week at Yale. Until Koch could not anymore, they talked for hours at a time.

“Nothing was outside the bounds of his intellectual curiosity or his capacity to wonder,” said Rubin, whose family spent the first of Passover with Koch at Koch’s home earlier this month.

“We had seder with him, for as long as he had the energy. He asked my kids questions. It was amazing,” Rubin said, holding back tears just a few hours before Koch died.

Although Koch possessed a unique ability to persuade people to embrace inclusion and implement meaningful opportunities for disabled people, according to those who knew him well, he did face limits in his own life.

At one time, Koch hoped to attend Hebrew Union College and become a rabbi, Pesner recalled. He and others tried for a long time to make it happen. But Koch’s complex medical needs couldn’t be overcome within the school’s physical and programmatic constraints at the time.

“It’s the biggest regret of my career that we could not figure out how to get him rabbinic ordination,” Pesner said. “I think it was a loss for the Jewish people.”

Yet Koch never stopped pressing Jewish communities to rethink how they treat members with disabilities, challenging up-and-coming leaders at the Reform movement’s youth conference and being honored in 2016 by the Jewish disability inclusion organization Matan.

“Sometimes you can be a change-maker and be a person who’s putting out really big ideas, but sometimes it can come with a sharp edge,” Rabbi Rick Jacobs said in a movie compiled to honor Koch at the time, which also included a tribute from the actress Mayim Bialik. “With Matan, it comes with love, and he raises people up.”

Meredith Polsky, the director of the organization Matan, said in an email that her group would continue the mission of the friend and advocate who shared its name — a name meaning “gift” in Hebrew.

“Though his final breath came far too soon, we carry that charge forward, committed to building a Jewish community that reflects his vision of true inclusion and belonging,” Polsky wrote.

Koch’s father Norman died in 2015. Koch is survived by his mother, Rosalyn Koch, siblings Rabbi Shira Koch Epstein and Jason, Yonatan Koch, Adina Koch and Aytan Koch; nieces and nephews Amichai, Kobi, Avigayil, Duncan and Jason and his honorary family: Martin Smith, Jack and Stephanie Rubin and their children Olivia and Edward.

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Assault outside synagogue and rock thrown through Judaica shop window ratchet up Toronto Jews’ concerns

(JTA) — A pair of incidents took place outside of Jewish sites in the Toronto area over the weekend, adding to a series of attacks that have left the city’s Jewish community unnerved.

During Shabbat services on Saturday, a man tried to force his way into the Sephardic Kehilah Centre, in the suburb of Vaughan. After the man was turned away by security, he reportedly encountered a father and son on their way to the synagogue and punched the father in the face. The father was left with no serious injuries.

The following day, photos circulated after a rock was hurled and broke the window of Aleph Bet Judaica, a shop on the heavily Jewish Bathurst Street corridor. Police did not confirm which business was hit, but confirmed that a rock was thrown at a business near Bathurst Street and Regina Avenue, and that the Hate Crime Unit “was consulted and is aware.”

No suspects have been identified in either incident.

Unlike other recent attacks on Toronto synagogues and Jewish businesses, which were carried out late at night, these two incidents took place in broad daylight, both around 9:30 a.m.

The UJA Federation of Greater Toronto wrote in a statement that the Sephardic Kehilah Centre incident, which is being investigated by the police’s Hate Crime Unit, reflected “a continued pattern of antisemitic violence targeting our community.”

In March, three synagogues across the Toronto area were hit with gunfire. In the last couple of months, a restaurant owned by a Jewish pro-Israel advocate was shot at twice, at two of its locations. And in 2024, a Jewish girls’ elementary school was hit by gunfire on three separate occasions.

“As these incidents become more normalized, they erode public safety and our way of life as Canadians,” the UJA’s statement read. “This cannot be tolerated.”

The Canadian Jewish News reported that the suspect was turned away by synagogue security on Saturday for “suspicious behavior,” according to an email from the rabbi, and told security that he was Middle Eastern and not there for prayer services. After the man left the building, according to the email, he threw away torn pieces of paper which looked to contain verses of Psalms.

B’nai Brith Canada blasted “people in positions of authority” who it says have “responded with hesitation, weak enforcement, and political platitudes while Jewish communities continue to pay the price.” It also thanked Vaughan Mayor Steven Del Duca, who wrote that “we must be vigilant and do everything possible to support and protect our Jewish residents.”

The group called for the federal government to take eight specific actions to combat antisemitism, including establishing a national antisemitism task force, providing emergency funding for the protection of Jewish institutions, and prosecuting the repeated gunfire attacks as acts of domestic terrorism.

On Monday, B’nai Brith also released its annual audit of antisemitic incidents, which found that there were 18.6 antisemitic incidents reported per day across Canada in 2025, a 9% increase from 2024.

The post Assault outside synagogue and rock thrown through Judaica shop window ratchet up Toronto Jews’ concerns appeared first on The Forward.

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