I never expected to be working on combatting antisemitism or Jewish community advocacy. 

Nearly ten years ago, I travelled to Israel as a recent political science graduate, interested mainly in the region’s politics. As someone who grew up attending Filipino churches, the trip also carried spiritual significance. 

However, what I saw on the ground was different from what I read in the news or on social media: Diverse cultures and religions, living side-by-side with a thriving modern society and a cutting-edge tech industry.  

It was a complex place where many were struggling to build a better, more peaceful future. At the time, we had many tough conversations, but I walked away with an appreciation for honest, respectful dialogue about hard topics.  

When I returned to Canada, leaders and families in the Jewish community welcomed me into their homes for Shabbat dinners and holidays. I listened far more than I spoke.  

Over time, I learned that we can honour each other’s differences, bond over our common humanity, and support one another in times of need.  

That understanding became more concrete during the COVID-19 pandemic. 

Like many in the Asian community at this time, I experienced a hate incident. I found myself reaching out to Jewish colleagues and friends, asking how their community had navigated similar moments. 

What I encountered was practical advice: take a collaborative approach to addressing hate, partner with communities facing similar threats, and engage others with patience to help them understand lived experiences different from their own. 

That exchange shaped how I think about allyship. When communities and people show up for each other, as allies, we’re stronger than our differences.  

After the Oct. 7 Hamas terrorist attacks, I watched this same principle play out again, this time directed toward the Jewish community itself.

Places I had visited in northern Israel, like Misgav Am, were no longer tranquil communities, but were evacuated or targeted by Hezbollah rockets, drones and missiles. 

I also observed a worrying trend that I noticed during the COVID-19 pandemic: Foreign events leading to the targeting of diasporas here in Canada.  

In the months after Oct. 7, Vancouver Police Department cars in front of synagogues, schools, and community institutions became a common sight. Larger gatherings had metal detectors, armed police officers, and heightened security.  

The thought of attending school, a place of worship, or a class at a community centre under the threat of violence is unconscionable to many in Canada.  

Yet it was a reality I saw my Jewish friends and family experience daily.  

I also saw the resolve and strength of a community that is not willing to see the repetition of past waves of antisemitism.  

David Decolongon in Israel (photo submitted)

This is why, despite how hard some days have been, I am proud of the work I have done with the Jewish community in B.C. to see mandatory Holocaust education included in the K-12 curriculum, to secure additional resources for hate crimes units, and to advocate for security funding for communities targeted by hate.  

Soon after, in Vancouver, I found that all those years of allyship were tested following the deadly attack at the Lapu-Lapu festival. Jewish communities in Vancouver and Winnipeg launched emergency fundraising efforts to support victims and their families. 

For many Filipinos, the response resonated deeply with kapwa—the cultural value of shared identity and collective responsibility. There was no expectation of reciprocity, no political calculation, just communities showing up for one another in grief. 

Moments like that clarify what allyship actually looks like in practice. 

A decade after my trip, my professional path has evolved in ways I didn’t anticipate. 

But the core lesson I took from those early relationships hasn’t changed: we are stronger when we work together. 

David Decolongon is the Associate Director, Policy and Communications with the Centre for Israel and Jewish Affairs, Pacific Region. Previously, he worked for more than six years at the BC Legislature, where he focused on combating hate. 

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