Bondi Beach crossroads: In the wake of terror, Australian Jews stand tall, not small - opinion

The new year was launched in Sydney’s harbor with a massive celebration. This year, the festivities paused, as a massive menorah was projected on the Bay Bridge, and hundreds of thousands lit up the night to remember the lives lost in the Bondi attack.

Still, the tears are flowing in Sydney. I witnessed hundreds gathered at a newly erected memorial to Rabbi Yakov Levitan, revered for his decades of service to the Jewish and broader Australian community. His widow stood surrounded by friends, and as the ceremony concluded, their two sons, 16 and 9, quietly recited the kaddish, their young voices rising above the murmurs of weeping.

Still, something important is happening beneath the grief. My two Uber drivers – one a Nepali immigrant who has lived in Australia for 15 years, the other a native-born Australian – each told me that “something has shifted in this country.” They are not alone. The front pages and prime-time broadcasts remain focused on the attack, as Australia moves through a kind of national reckoning, reminiscent of America’s post-9/11 moment.

For Australian Jews, the sense of shock did not begin at Bondi. It was sharpened by marches across the Sydney Harbor Bridge calling to “globalize the intifada” and “kill the Jews” – eliminationist slogans shouted openly in the center of a liberal democracy. Some public figures participated or looked on with little rebuke and the silence from many quarters was deafening. But for many Jews, that silence has now produced a new clarity about where they stand and how they must respond.

One of the most striking developments is how Australian Jewry has chosen to answer all this. In other Western countries, Jewish leaders often respond to antisemitism by pleading their case in the language of generic multiculturalism: We are model citizens. We support diversity. Our communities host interfaith Seders and pride parades. The message is: We deserve a place at the table because we resemble everyone else.

The evening was not framed as a diversity rally; it was explicitly Jewish. Psalms were recited. A large menorah was lit against the night sky. Traditional songs were sung. The message, however, was not inward-looking. New South Wales Premier Chris Simms called for a “Campaign for Mitzvahs” (acts of moral responsibility), and then did something unusual for a secular politician: he explained, on national television, what the Hebrew word means, and urged Australians of all backgrounds to honor the victims through concrete acts of kindness and justice.

Rabbis used the moment to introduce the wider public to the Seven Noahide Laws, the code of universal ethics in Jewish tradition: belief in God, the rule of law, a commitment to justice, sexual morality, respect for life and property, and basic decency. This was not the vague rhetoric of “tolerance.” It was a forthright presentation of Jewish moral teaching as a framework that can speak to all people.

This approach is not just spiritually satisfying; there is evidence that it may be more effective. A recent study out of Princeton found that generic appeals to multiculturalism or repeated injunctions to “remember the Holocaust” do not significantly reduce antisemitism. By contrast, communities that clearly articulate their values and distinct religious commitments tend to gain greater respect from the broader public. In other words, when Jews speak honestly in the language of Torah and ethics, rather than hiding behind buzzwords, both their self-respect and their public standing are strengthened.

AUSTRALIA NOW finds itself at a crossroads. One path is familiar from Europe: incremental normalization of extremist rhetoric, polite indifference from elites, and the quiet conclusion by many Jews that the country they once loved is no longer theirs.

The other path is more demanding. It requires political leaders to take ideological extremism seriously, not only when it comes from the far Right but also when it comes cloaked in the language of “resistance” or identity politics. It calls on universities, media, and religious institutions to distinguish between criticism of Israel – which any democracy must tolerate – and the open demonization of Jews as such.

But the path forward does not rest entirely with non-Jews. Australian Jewry’s response in these weeks suggests another lesson, relevant well beyond Sydney. When Jews present themselves primarily as a vulnerable minority pleading for protection, they may win sympathy, but it is fragile and easily withdrawn. But when they present themselves as bearers of a moral tradition – confident in their identity, faithful to their principles, and generous toward their neighbors – they invite respect and, sometimes, admiration.

Bondi will remain a place of sorrow for a long time. For the families of the murdered and the wounded, there is no easy consolation. Yet there is a real possibility that this attack will mark not only a descent into fear, but the beginning of a different kind of reckoning – one in which Australians more honestly confront extremism in their midst, and in which Jews respond by standing taller, not smaller.

The outcome is not predetermined. It will depend on choices made in parliaments, newsrooms, campuses, and synagogues. But in these weeks of grief, Australian Jewry has offered a bracing model: confront hatred without flinching; refuse to apologize for being Jewish; and answer violence not merely with calls for “tolerance,” but with a renewed insistence on justice, faith, and moral responsibility for all.