Our answer to hate: We recommit to Jewish life
What happened on that Friday in Melbourne was an attack on a building, but more than that, it was an attempt to frighten a people. It failed
It was Friday afternoon in California when I read the news.
Back home in Melbourne, it was already Shabbat. Families had lit candles. Shules had filled with the sound of “Lecha Dodi.” People were greeting one another with smiles and songs.
And then came the unthinkable: Someone attempted to burn down our beautiful East Melbourne Shule. With people inside.
I sat in stunned silence, halfway across the world, refreshing news updates from my phone while the sun was getting ready to set over California. I watched from a distance as messages flooded in, statements were released, and videos began circulating. I was physically far but emotionally glued to every detail.
As the hours passed and Shabbat settled in for us, a single question kept echoing in my mind: Now what?
What do we do after the fire? What do we do when the damage is cleaned up but the fear remains? What do we say when the words “antisemitism has no place here” are said again and again, and yet here we are?
I was asked by several Americans while there: “What’s going on in Australia? What’s happened to your country?”
And I find myself at a loss.
Because this attack was not a lightning bolt. It was a culmination. It followed months of marches chanting for intifada. It followed Jewish restaurants being stormed. It followed an atmosphere that no longer feels like isolated incidents but part of a pattern.
And so again, now what?
First, we must be honest.
We keep hearing, “we must stop antisemitism.” But what does that mean when so much of today’s antisemitism is tied up in the hatred of Israel, the very heart of our people? When protesters chant “Death to the IDF,” when Israel is accused of genocide with no evidence, when being Jewish in public now requires explaining and justifying, then how exactly do we stop it?
For most our community here in Australia, Israel is not an abstract policy issue. It’s part of who we are. Our prayers face Jerusalem. Our holidays follow the rhythm of our homeland. Our souls are tied to that land even when we live oceans away.
So when the Jewish state is demonised daily, the Jewish people feel it deeply. To pretend these are separate issues is not just misguided. It is dangerous.
Will the newly formed Victorian taskforce be willing to say publicly that Israel is not committing genocide? Will our leaders be brave enough to distinguish between protest and incitement?
Because if not, we are addressing the smoke, not the fire.
But despair is not a Jewish response. The Torah teaches that when Moshe stood before the burning bush, he turned to look more closely, and only then did G-d speak to him. Maybe the message for us is that in moments of fire, we are not meant to turn away. We are meant to lean in. To look more closely. To find our role.
We recommit to Jewish life. We fill our shules, not because we aren’t afraid, but because we refuse to be defined by fear. We deepen our connection to Israel, not apologetically, but proudly. We educate ourselves and our children to recognise the lies and speak the truth with strength and dignity. We thank our allies and we expect moral clarity from our leaders.
And we support one another. We do not go through this alone.
What happened on that Friday in Melbourne was an attack on a building, but more than that, it was an attempt to frighten a people. It failed.
Because that same Friday night, across the world, candles were lit. Kiddush was made. Prayers were sung. It was the same last Friday night.
And this coming Friday, it will happen again. And again. And again. That is our answer to hate.
That is what we do now.
Rabbi Daniel Rabin is rabbi of Caulfield Hebrew Congregation.
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