A reflection

a hanukkah menorah with candles on it — Photo by

I’d normally say Chag Sameach, but after Sunday, it doesn’t quite feel apt. In truth, I’ve been in complete disbelief.

Last Sunday, the first night of Chanukah, I was celebrating with my family at my cousin’s house over dinner. We talked about heading to Melbourne’s Chanukah in the Park, a tradition filled with food, entertainment, rides and celebration many of us have headed to for many years. I mentioned, a little surreptitiously, that I didn’t feel safe going any more, like something bad was going to happen. ‘No, no!’

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An hour later, everyone’s phones were pinging, and the air changed completely.

No-one could stop looking down at their individual screens, reporting on what was unfolding. Panicked phone calls.

Me? I shut down completely.

I wanted to leave. I didn’t want to look at my phone. I didn’t want to see my social media, my news apps, nothing. While others were glued with messages and calls flying, rightful shock, tears, anger, outcry - I was the opposite. I couldn’t bear a word of it. People kept messaging, I kept ignoring.

Not a week prior, I had been in that very spot, socialising with friends Jewish and secular. It just seemed too incomprehensible, too exhaustingly devastating.

It’s just… this isn’t supposed to happen here. The last mass shooting was over 30 years ago, in Port Arthur, Tasmania, 1996.

Australians don’t have guns. Australians don’t get scared to celebrate religious holidays. Australians don’t get scared to leave the house.

As a adult, I don’t consider myself religious. With respect to religious freedom, my guiding principles come down to The Golden Rule. To me, my ‘Jewishness’ is akin to cultural identity - foods, family, shared means and experiences, heritage, history and lineage - the reason I am in Australia at all.

I’ve been asked recently if I have experienced antisemitism. While many of us interpret this word differently, particularly in modern times, I have felt lucky that for the majority of my life, I didn’t. My grandparents, Holocaust survivors, came to ‘the lucky country’ to escape it.

But as an adult, there were some incidents that started far and few between and have grown over recent times.

A person I travelled with in my early 20s, when he was working full time on a good salary and I was a full time student, asking me “are you being tight with money because you’re Jewish?”

Another acquaintance in my mid 20s, recounting a story where a friend paid for everyone’s meals and drinks after a party “which was surprising, you know, because he’s Jewish.”

Having a Christmas in July party in my early 30s and wearing a fun ugly Chanukah sweater. But as my partner parked the car and I walked in alone, for the first time, I felt panic that someone might not like what I had on and wanted to shield it from public view.

Being told in a workplace that we can’t upset “the Zionists who fund the place.”

After October 7, not wanting to cause a fuss or send mixed messages by wearing my Chanukah earrings, shirt or jumper any more.

Being scared people would bring up the middle east conflict in social settings to bait me into unpleasant conversations I wasn’t interested in.

Innocently walking my dog at the park and being accosted by a guy who told me that “Jews are responsible for 9/11 and all the wars in the world.”

Being scared to to go synagogue, to the lighting of the menorah in the city, to Chanukah in the Park.

As horrible as it sounds, part of me is relieved my ancestors aren’t around to see this. I shudder thinking about my dad, my aunt, my grandparents having to see it all. It’s just been so hard to comprehend.

I have, finally, today looked at everything. While I wasn’t there, it’s just so close to home, like I’m sure it still is for many of you, in Australia and even on the other side of the globe.

Thanks to those who messaged, and apologies if I deflected or didn’t reply, it’s just a lot and feels too much to handle at times, the sadness. And I’m lucky. I’m here. My family and friends are here. We will be fine.

In terms of what to say or do - donate blood. To those who aren’t Jewish, contact your Jewish friends by checking in, and denounce antisemitism when you see or hear it. Your support is everything to us.

To those who are Jewish, look after yourselves, take breaks from the news when it is impacting mental health, and look after loved ones. This post spoke to me - rather than dividing, the hope to keep connecting.

I hope those of you who do celebrate did so with loved ones. Chanukah is, after all, the festival of light, and there will be light at the end of the tunnel again.

Batsheva Capek (my aunt) - El Dio Alto Ladino

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