To The Jewish Man Who Told Me I Would Never Walk Alone.

I don't even know his name, but his words are forever in my heart.

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This is my thank you to my Jewish friends.

I do not want to compare my situation to others; such thinking never helps anyone, but I know I have much to be grateful for and am blessed. I am not a hostage, terrified, abused, being moved daily in a tunnel under Gaza; I am a free man. May God protect the hostages and heal the hearts of the many who have lost so much.

“In prosperity, our friends know us; in adversity, we know our friends.”

– John Churton Collins

But as a free man, I have realised that sometimes we don’t know who has our back until someone attacks us from the rear. I never imagined that a casual comment about Hamas being Nazis to a stranger in Pakistan would send my world into turmoil, that it would thrust me out of a community, that it would put my career in remission, that it would test me, that I would spend so many nights with my dogs watching the sun come up without going to bed.

I thought I had many friends; I thought they would rally to my cause, but outside of a handful, a GB and CF, it has been exclusively been Jewish strangers.

On my lowest day, leaving CAMH, AG, a youthful Jewish grandmother called and encouraged me. She was always there for me when I was going through her struggles—and so many others. I remember CL calling me at the airport and telling me I was his hero; I had never heard such words.

I remember meeting CL at a health club and speaking to a group of Jewish businessmen. When I get stressed, and most of the time, I do not speak in straight lines, I think I drove this group of ten men a little batty. However, they were there for me; they came for one reason: to show their support.

At this meeting, one man stood at the table. I don’t remember his name, but he said he was a Liverpool FC fan. Strangely, I had sometimes been one; my grandfather had come from Liverpool. This man said the anthem for Liverpool FC was “You’ll Never Walk Alone.”

He paused, raised his juice class, and hushed the group. “Paul, we want you to know you’ll never walk alone.” I remember nothing else from that meeting; only ten busy, successful Jewish strangers had come together to tell this Gentile stranger, this middle-aged rambler, “You will never walk alone.”

I went home and watched videos of the fans singing it; the words went deep in my heart. It is not like we met or talked frequently in subsequent months, but I know he did not say his words cheaply. It was not a moment of great emotion, and he was not seeking to be profound. No, he just looked me in the eye, said it a few times, and wanted me to know he was serious.

You will never walk alone.

There are so many, including AP, EB, JB, SS, TB, BS, and others, whose names could fill the rest of this page. On the first day of my suspension, AP, a Jewish student at my university, slight of stature but with a ferocious heart, called me and said, “We will win this; I am with you; my parents are with you.”

Most of these Jewish strangers are like me. They are not rich or famous. They have their struggles and owe me nothing but have stood by me.

They have said that I will never walk alone.

At times, I have been disappointed. Many friends, blood relatives, and acquaintances I have known since boyhood have disappeared—most, if not all. There is a residue of betrayal, and these emotions flit around me like persistent and annoying flies.

But such is not worth reflecting on; I am grateful for the Jewish man who spoke for the group when he said, “You’ll never walk alone.”

I was to go to Israel but had to stay. I wanted to ensure the security of my remaining work; I could not risk it. But one day, I will go to Israel. I must go to Israel.

When I was 19, I went to Dachau, Auschwitz and another camp whose name escapes me; some impressions run deep. I remember my father’s Jewish professor friends; the thought of being against someone because they were Jewish, or Indian, or whatever, I do not think that ever crossed my father’s mind.

A couple of years ago, I gave the eulogy at my father’s funeral, and I said, “I will always be my father’s son.”

My father would have supported me; he would have joined the chorus of men who said you’ll never walk alone.

And while I am not a Jew, I am most comfortable with Jews. I recently met with a Jewish therapist, a wonderful man, Ed Schild, and a young woman joined us. As I began to speak, a wave of anxiety began to build in me; I could not be silent.

I turned to her and asked, “Are you Jewish?” I didn’t want to see the straightbacks, the bristling of many medical professionals, or the “When is your Bar Mitzvah Finlayson” crowd, but she was Jewish. My anxiety departed, and I knew I was with friends.

For all the Jewish strangers, the people I will never meet, the people on Substack, Facebook, and those on LinkedIn who send words of encouragement, your kindness has been my strength and support.

As the supporters of Liverpool stand together, arms linked, and nobly sing their anthem, you’ll never walk alone; I, too, will join and stand with my Jewish friends.

My father's spirit will join us from heaven, our voices will climb to the heavens, and we will be blessed and never walk alone.

Thank you.

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