The following article is by the speaker at our May 30 event, ‘Witnessing from the Heart”.
OPINION
I was almost burned alive for wearing a hijab. This is what I told my kids
By Elshimaa Abdelhafiz
Published in The Globe and Mail May 29, 2025.
Article reprinted by permission of the author.
Elshimaa Abdelhafiz is a registered dental hygienist based in Ajax, Ont.
One quiet afternoon two months ago, I went to the library, as I often do, carrying my books and my dreams of simply trying to build a better future for my three daughters. Almost everything I do is for them.
When I walked in, however, I noticed a woman muttering angrily. I assumed she was struggling. I chose to avoid confrontation and sat quietly with my back to her. But without warning, she launched an unprovoked attack, yanking my hijab, pouring liquid on my head, and screaming, “I will set you on fire!” as she flicked a lighter again and again.
I froze in horror, unable to move. In my mind, both then and since, I kept asking, Why? What did I do? My only “offence” was being a Muslim woman wearing a hijab. I never even saw her approach, and that has haunted me the most.
As a visibly Muslim woman, I’ve always known there was a risk that I could be targeted. But I never imagined someone would try to burn me alive in broad daylight, in a public space, in front of strangers. I felt humiliated, vulnerable and shaken to my core. What’s more, I recently learned that my assailant had been charged last October for allegedly swinging a machete-style knife in a plaza in Ajax, Ont. Why was she allowed back on the streets?
As a cancer survivor, a mother and a woman who wears her faith outwardly every day, I’ve faced many battles. But nothing breaks my heart more than thinking my daughters might grow up feeling unsafe or unwelcome because of who they are. And I think of how close I came to a different ending. If that lighter had worked, my daughters could have grown up looking at a scarred face, or worse, traumatized not only by what happened, but by the reminder of it every single day. That thought still haunts me.
And yet, amid all that fear, it was the courage and kindness of strangers that pulled me back toward hope – a hope that we should all try to hold amid a broader wave of fear.
This terrifying incident occurred during a time when tensions between Canada and the United States were rising. U.S. President Donald Trump had launched a trade war with Canada, intended to provoke division and instability. These days, it has become too easy to hate.
But when I think back to that day at the library, I don’t only remember the attack – I also remember the people. I remember the strangers who didn’t look like me or share my faith, but who were ready to step in and help. I remember the compassion of the library staff, the bravery of the security guards, and the kindness of the police, all of which reminded me that this country is still my home, and that hate, no matter how violent, will never define us.
I am emboldened by the fact that in my darkest hour, I saw light: Canadians standing taller, shoulder to shoulder, more committed than ever to our shared values. It is just one part of a beautiful wave of social cohesion that I’ve seen rippling across this country.
So that’s the message I wanted to impart to my children after the attack. When I got home that day, shaken but safe, I sat with my daughters to explain what had happened. They were frightened and confused. Why would someone want to hurt their mama just for wearing something on her head? I told them about the strangers who stood by me – the people who didn’t hesitate to do the right thing.
I told them that while cruelty exists, compassion is stronger. I reminded them that we don’t wear hijab to hide; we wear it to honour who we are. I reminded them that our dignity is not something anyone can take from us. And I showed them that while hate may shout loudly, kindness and solidarity are always louder.
I dream of a country where my daughters can walk freely, their heads held high, their faith unshaken. I want them to grow up believing that this is their home, and not just in name. I want my daughters to be able to navigate the world with confidence. I want them to feel a strong sense of belonging – not just as residents, but as an important part of our country, a land where our differences are celebrated and where each unique background helps make our community stronger. I dream of a future where kindness and unity guide us all.
My hope for that future is rooted in the Canada I’ve come to know – and in my daughters.
