Oh, how our lovely lucky land is aching and turning on its moral axis. It’s so hard to turn to the light during this festival of lights.
Oh, how our beautiful Bondi has been left bereft and in mourning, how we are weeping to see it so anguished. Blood and broken bodies have replaced beach and burnished bodies. No garland of flowers around your lovely neck, just a heaping of wreaths at your feet. We are sitting shiva for you, beloved.
Oh the irony and agony of saying Shehecheyanu Lazman Hazeh (a traditional blessing said at the first lighting of Chanukah candles), which thanks God for letting us live to experience this moment, when your heart is broken and you would rather be anywhere else but this particular place and time. It is an inversion of our traditional Jewish aspiration for our festivals – we always seek to move from mourning to rejoicing, from dejection to exhilaration.
How do I reassure my grandsons not to worry about the increased armed guards and police presence at their school gates? How do I soothe them not to be afraid of the darkness when they go to bed at night? How can I say “do not be afraid” when I myself am having trouble sleeping – thinking about the experiences of my parents during the Holocaust, the horrors of Nova of October 7, and now Bondi.
Oh my people – you who have filled this planet with so much colour and light – you’ve seen too many a dark night.
(“And darkness hovered over the deep”).
The world’s older hatred is flourishing among some of our Abrahamic cousins, cutting with unholy crescents in the name of a glorious prophet – who is surely looking down in despair at those who destroy and desecrate in his name.
But wait – Jews of Australia, please do not despair.
We have also been wrapped so generously and gently in the loving cloaks and cloths of our Aussie friends and neighbours, supported by protectors and healers, and even the lifeguards who represent the pursuit of life not death.
Both Jews and all our Australian countrymen should draw from the words of the great Hassidic master, Rabbi Nachman of Bratislava: “All the world is a very narrow bridge, but the main thing to remember is to have no fear, no fear at all.’’
Fear is the weapon of those who hate, love is the armoury of those who bring shared comfort, attachment and joy. If antisemitism is the world’s longest hatred, the Bible reminds us that Judaism also introduced the earliest and longest loves: Love your God, love neighbor, love the stranger. And don’t forget to love yourself – but especially at times of crisis, “love your neighbor as yourself.”
We must remember not to forget Bondi
And yet we must also remember to forget
Not to forget the casual calloused hearts of those who would hunt us down as we pray and play
But to forget and banish the toxic venom of fear being spread by those who would maliciously desecrate our sacred ceremonies and holy places, those who seek to intimidate us, push us behind ever thicker and taller walls
We may be wounded – our flesh charred – but our spirit still burns… oh how it burns, like those brave Chanukah lights piercing the darkness. It is by My spirit that you find life, says God
We may be unsure why God has placed us in this time, but we do know how we respond will shape our future
Oh my Lord
Daddy Abba Avinu
Don’t forsake us
(al taazveinu)
Help us find the strength you have planted within us
Hold me for a little longer
Hold me like you hold the stars
Name me like you name the stars
Let the new sparks grow out of that blackened beach, out of the punctured bodies
Today let us climb the beams of light
As we did when terrible rockets pounded the fields of Zion
We Jewish people are here to stay and ride our lions of Judah into a more hopeful future
We will join the ancient dreamers of this crusty continent
We, the people of the dream, meet the people of the dreamtime – and all who dream of and work for a stronger, better Australia
We will not, we must not, we cannot, cease our dreaming…
