After Bondi: What Chanukah asks of us this year

This week has been heavy. Shocking. Unsettling. And for many Jews, clarifying.

In the aftermath of the Bondi tragedy, we noticed something painful but also very familiar. Some public statements expressed grief without naming who was targeted and why. No mention of Jews. No mention of Chanukah. No mention of antisemitism. At the same time, there was an intense focus on the bravery of the Muslim man who intervened. His actions were heroic and deserve recognition. But it is worth asking why his religion became a focal point, while the fact that Jews were targeted during Chanukah celebrations so often did not. If the rescuer had been Christian, his faith would likely have gone unmentioned. This imbalance tells us less about him and more about the ongoing discomfort (even aversion) many people have with naming antisemitism plainly.

What we are seeing here is part of a larger pattern. Writer Dara Horn famously titled her book People Love Dead Jews. What we are learning, again and again, is something even more sobering. Many people do not even love dead Jews. They love symbols. They love narratives that make them feel moral. They prefer Jews as ideas, not as real people experiencing real harm. When Jewish suffering is specific and current, it automatically has to be downplayed, given “context,” redirected, or ignored entirely.

We are seeing this deflection play out in other ways as well. Some have tried to turn this into a debate about gun control, despite the fact that Australia already has some of the strictest gun laws in the world. Framing it this way avoids the more uncomfortable truth: this was a targeted antisemitic attack. Witnesses reported that the attacker deliberately waved others away in order to target Jews gathered on the beach.

Understanding this lack of care does not mean that we should stop speaking out. It just means we stop speaking with unrealistic expectations. Our voices still matter. Naming antisemitism still matters. Telling the truth still matters. Speaking up matters, but it does not guarantee understanding or support from others and we need to accept that. Silence, on the other hand, has never protected us.

Many of us want to believe that if we explain ourselves better, speak more carefully, or find the right words, people will come around. That antisemitism is simply confusion, not a choice. Sometimes that is true. Many people are not educated, misinformed. But many others are not interested in being educated. This week reminds us that antisemitism is often not about confusion at all. Sometimes people understand perfectly and still choose not to care.

It is also worth remembering that much of our speaking is not really for the outside world anyway. It is for each other. When Jews speak clearly and without apology, it helps people feel less alone and less crazy. That matters.

Still, something has to shift.

We cannot base our safety or sense of worth on other people’s willingness to name us and care about us. Asking repeatedly to be seen has never protected Jews.

This shift does not mean we become hardened or lose compassion (but maybe it helps you understand the mentality of certain communities?). It means directing our energy where it matters most. Toward our people. Toward our communities. Toward strengthening Jewish life, instead of chasing validation from those who are never going to see us.

Chanukah asks something different of us than explaining or appeasing. It comes at the darkest time of the year (in the northern hemisphere), when the nights are longest. Judaism does not deny the darkness or ask us to ignore it. Instead, it teaches us to act and create light. Not all at once, but one candle at a time, growing gradually, just like strength and healing do.

Chanukah is also a story of Jewish defiance. Of remaining visible, faithful, and proud even when it was difficult and dangerous.

Holding onto these ideas does not mean pretending things are easier than they are. It also means facing reality honestly. It is a scary time to be a Jew. Feeling shaken, angry, or exhausted is not an overreaction. It is an appropriate response to what is actually happening.

Fear, however, is not the full story. The same people who lit candles through exile, violence, and persecution are still here. Still gathering. Still honoring traditions and Jewish practices. Still choosing life. Still bringing light into dark places. We are the smallest people, but the largest family. 

This week, may we take care of one another. May we speak honestly without making things feel more hopeless. And may we remember that Jewish strength has never come from being acceptable. It has come from being rooted in something larger than us and in each other. 

May this Chanukah bring hope, courage, genuine connection, Jewish pride and light to our homes and to our hearts.

Chag Sameach ❤️❤️‍🩹