It is difficult to comprehend that we are here once again, forced to witness our community hunted, forced to run and hide for their lives, and to see innocent Jewish bodies left lifeless and bloodied on the ground, gunned down by radical Islamist terrorists on yet another Jewish holiday. For a tiny nation like ours, the weight of this grief is nearly unbearable.
I have always worn my Judaism loudly and proudly, but now I find myself messaging family and friends to beg them to stay safe, asking them to avoid public Chanukah events, and hearing friends seriously contemplate pulling their children out of Jewish schools. That reality tells you everything about the world we live in today. It is open season on Jewish people.
On the first night of Chanukah, as Jews around the world prepared to light candles symbolizing resilience, victory over persecution, and the miracle of a small amount of oil that burned for eight days, we were forced instead to usher in the holiday in mourning. A Chanukah celebration at Bondi Beach in Sydney became a scene of terror.
In response, a vigil was organized spontaneously in Tel Aviv to honor the victims. Despite the last-minute notice, hundreds of Israelis showed up, many of them young olim who had uprooted their lives from diaspora communities to build new lives in Israel. Among them were Australians, some who had made aliyah and now live in Israel, and others who were visiting when the attack occurred and were suddenly confronted with the horror unfolding back home, where their families and friends lived.
It was clear from how they spoke that Bondi Beach was not chosen at random. For most Jews in diaspora communities, Chanukah falls in the winter, when we light candles and celebrate indoors with family and friends. But for Australian Jews, since Chanukah falls in the summer, Jewish celebrations move outdoors—into parks, beaches, and public squares. Over the years, Bondi Beach became an iconic place for these celebrations, synonymous with Australian Jewish communal life. It was a place where families gathered openly and proudly, where Judaism was visible, joyful, and unafraid.
That is precisely what made the attack so violating. The terrorists did not just target people; they targeted an identity and a community's sense of safety and belonging in Australia. They targeted the idea that Jews could exist publicly, confidently, and unhidden.
Even through grief, many Australians spoke with a profound sense of gratitude. Again and again, through tears and trembling voices, they said the same thing: "thank God we have the State of Israel." They said it while mourning the dead, while worrying about loved ones thousands of miles away, and while absorbing the trauma of what had happened. Their instinct was not despair, but relief that Israel exists.
One father from Bondi Beach, who was visiting Israel when the attack occurred, spoke at the vigil and broke down as he confirmed that his wife and children were safe. His tears were not only for fear and loss but for what he was witnessing: Jews from across the world standing with his community, showing that they were not alone. He saw that there is now a place where Jews instinctively gather in moments like this, a Jewish state that understands Jewish pain without explanation.
That reaction speaks volumes.
For generations, Jews who were massacred in pogroms, exiled from cities, or hunted across continents had nowhere to turn. There was no address for Jewish suffering, no army sworn to protect Jewish lives, and no state that viewed attacks on Jews anywhere as part of a broader threat to Jews everywhere. Today, that reality has changed.
Israel's enemies understand this clearly. Jewish institutions and places of worship worldwide often fall under the protective reach of Israel's security services, and Israel's National Security Council repeatedly warns Jews and Israelis abroad to exercise caution, particularly at unsecured public gatherings. To those who wage violence, this is not a war against a country, but a war against a people. Global terror attacks orchestrated by Iran, from Buenos Aires to Amsterdam, and the attacks in Australia in 2024, underscore this truth.
Australian Jews understood this instinctively, and in the aftermath of Bondi Beach, they responded not only with fear, but with clarity: the existence of Israel changes everything. Israel does not prevent antisemitism, nor does it stop terrorists from trying, but it ensures that Jewish blood is no longer cheap, that Jewish lives are no longer defenseless, and that Jewish communities are never truly alone.
This will not be the last targeted attack against Jews, but for the first time, Jews confront this reality with a state, an army, and a peoplehood that refuses to disappear quietly.
At Bondi Beach, terrorists tried to shatter a symbol of Jewish life lived openly and proudly, but in Israel, Australian Jews reminded us why that symbol still matters. They showed that even in the face of terror, Jewish life persists, visible, proud, and resilient, and that community and solidarity can overcome fear. The existence of Israel is a lifeline for Jewish life and security. It is a place where Jewish suffering is understood without explanation, where Jewish lives are defended, and where Jews from all over the world can find refuge and support.
This moment will be another test for the world and how it responds to the surge of terrorism globally. While Jews have historically been the first targets, we know that what begins with our community will never remain confined to it. The persistence of violence against Jews is a warning to all, and the way the world responds by calling out and taking strong measures against terrorism will determine whether hatred is allowed to spread unchecked.
For the Jewish community, the existence of Israel is not only a lifeline, but also a signal that injustice will not go unanswered and that the world must stand against those who seek to destroy the innocent.
