06/24/2026
The dust is beginning to settle here in Montreal, but the air is still cloudy.
Yesterday was a tragic day. A police officer lost his life in the line of duty. A civilian was killed. Families were shattered. A city was shaken. And for many of us in the Jewish community, especially those who live, work, pray, shop, and raise families in and around Côte-des-Neiges, the fear felt very close to home.
Montreal is a big city, but the Jewish community is small. We are a one-degree-of-separation people. Someone knows someone. Someone was nearby. Someone was locked down. Someone heard something. Someone got a message from someone else who heard something from someone else who saw something online.
And that is exactly where the danger begins. Because in the haze of yesterday’s insanity, I watched the story change over and over again.
There was a second shooter. Then there wasn’t. It was this motive. Then it was that motive. This person was killed by this person. Then maybe not.
This was confirmed. Then it wasn’t. Names were shared. Videos were forwarded, some so graphic they did not belong in the public sphere. Theories were packaged as facts. Rumors were passed around like breaking news. And every few minutes, another person with a phone and a platform became a correspondent, commentator, investigator, and judge.
I understand how it happens. The news cycle is moving at the speed of panic. Media outlets are trying to report in real time, and real time is often too fast for truth. Citizen journalists want to be first. Social media rewards the loudest person in the room, not the most careful one. And we live in a world where everyone feels they must have an opinion before they have information.
But what worried me most was not only the misinformation “out there.” It was the misinformation “in here.” In our own community. Jewish news accounts, Jewish WhatsApp groups, Jewish social media pages, Jewish commentators, some of them took a still-unfolding tragedy and immediately forced it into a story they already knew how to tell.
And I get it. We are raw. The Jewish community has been through a lot. Jewish-hatred is real. We have been watching our schools, synagogues, students, and families deal with threats, hate, vandalism, harassment, and violence. So when something terrible happens near Jewish life, our nervous system says, “Here we go again.”
That is human. But human does not always mean holy. Sometimes our fear starts writing the article before the facts arrive. Sometimes our pain becomes a headline. Sometimes we are so fired up , jumping on anything that moves near the Jewish community and dragging it into the story we were already telling ourselves.
That may feel protective in the moment. But it is dangerous. Because once we stop caring whether something is true, we have not defended the Jewish people. We have weakened ourselves.
Truth matters. Facts matter. Restraint matters. Not every tragedy that touches Jews is antisemitism. And not every tragedy that is not antisemitism is irrelevant to Jews.
Both can be true. Côte-des-Neiges is multicultural. It is also home to a deeply connected Jewish community. Both can be true. A Jewish person can be killed in a tragedy without the entire tragedy being a specifically anti-Jewish attack. Both can be true.
The Jewish community can be genuinely frightened, and still be responsible with language. Both can be true.
This is where we need to lower the temperature. Not because antisemitism is not real. Not because we should stop being vigilant. But because a panicked community can accidentally become an amplifier for darkness.
There is a mitzvah to tell the truth. There is a mitzvah not to spread falsehood. There is a mitzvah not to inflame people unnecessarily. There is a mitzvah to guard your tongue, and in 2026 that includes our thumbs.
Before forwarding something, we need to ask: Do I know this is true? Who confirmed it? Am I helping anyone by sharing it? Am I calming the situation or feeding the fire? Is this information, or is this adrenaline wearing a costume?
We often think lashon hara is just gossip at a Shabbat table. Today, lashon hara has screenshots, breaking-news graphics, forwarded voice notes, and little fire emojis. It travels faster than we do.
A Jewish response cannot be, “Forward first, verify later.” That is chaos.
The Rebbe taught us that when the world feels darker, we add light. But light does not only mean candles and songs and inspirational quotes. Light also means clarity. Light means responsibility. Light means telling the truth even when fear is tempting you to exaggerate. Light means saying, “I don’t know yet.”
That may be one of the holiest sentences in a crisis. “I don’t know yet.” It is humble. It is honest. It is mature. It gives truth a chance to catch up.
After we lower the temperature, we still need to do something with all this energy. Because people are shaken. People are sad. People are angry. People feel helpless. And helplessness is a very heavy thing to carry.
So don’t carry it. Convert it. Turn the adrenaline into mitzvahs. Give tzedakah. Put on tefillin. Light Shabbat candles. Check your mezuzahs. Say a chapter of Tehillim. Call someone who may be scared or alone. Thank a police officer or first responder. Support the institutions that hold Jewish life together every day.
Reach out to someone you love and say the words now, not later. Perhaps most urgently: become a calmer person online. In a world addicted to outrage, calm is a form of leadership. In a world where every tragedy becomes content, compassion is rebellion.
Yesterday was tragic enough. Let’s not add to it by spreading things that may not be true. Let’s not let algorithms shape our souls.
We are Jews. We are not helpless. We are not hysterical. We are not people who hand our nervous systems over to the loudest voice on the internet. We are a people of truth. A people of responsibility. A people of light. And when the world feels darker, we do not make it darker by forwarding fear. We add light. One fact at a time. One mitzvah at a time. One act of goodness at a time.
(Photo created with AI, text is my own)
