The haunting words of a young girl at Bondi Beach should send a chill down the spine of every Australian. 'Now when I come to Bondi, I think about dying,' she told her mother, Dina. This isn’t just a child’s fleeting fear—it’s a stark reflection of a society grappling with a resurgence of antisemitism that feels both ancient and alarmingly modern. What makes this particularly fascinating, and deeply troubling, is how quickly the idyllic has turned ominous. Bondi, once a symbol of Australia’s laid-back coastal culture, now carries the weight of a terror attack that killed 15 people. But the attack itself is just the tip of the iceberg. The real story lies in the years of unchecked hatred that paved the way for it.
Personally, I think the Royal Commission on Antisemitism and Social Cohesion couldn’t have come at a more critical moment. Witnesses like Natalie Levy, a Jewish mother and volunteer with the Jewish Community Security Group NSW, paint a picture that’s both heartbreaking and infuriating. Her childhood in Australia was marked by singing songs on Bondi Beach, a world away from the reality her children face today. Her son’s preschool is guarded by a small army of police and security officers, while her 15-year-old daughter navigates a public school where swastikas are scrawled on walls and 'heil Hitler' is chanted in hallways. What many people don’t realize is that this isn’t just about isolated incidents—it’s a systemic issue that’s been allowed to fester.
One thing that immediately stands out is the normalization of antisemitism among young people. A Geelong mother, known only as AAP, shared that her son’s peers discussed dressing up as Adolf Hitler or the Bondi Beach shooters for their Year 12 celebrations. Her children begged her not to intervene, fearing isolation and ridicule. This raises a deeper question: How did we reach a point where such ideas are not only entertained but seen as acceptable by teenagers? In my opinion, this is a failure of education, of societal values, and of our collective vigilance.
The interim report by Royal Commissioner Virginia Bell SC, with its 14 recommendations to bolster counter-terrorism capabilities, is a step in the right direction. But it’s not enough. What this really suggests is that we need to address the root causes of antisemitism, not just its violent manifestations. The commission has received over 7,400 submissions, a testament to the scale of the problem. Yet, as Bell noted, the spike in antisemitic incidents is 'clearly linked to events in the Middle East.' This connection is often oversimplified, but it’s crucial to understand how global conflicts are weaponized to fuel local hatreds.
From my perspective, the most chilling aspect of this crisis is how it’s affecting children. Natalie Levy’s daughter is proud of her identity but lives in fear. Dina’s daughter associates Bondi Beach with death. These are not just individual tragedies—they’re symptoms of a broader societal illness. If you take a step back and think about it, the fact that Jewish children in Australia are growing up in fear is a damning indictment of our times.
A detail that I find especially interesting is the use of symbols in this struggle. Natalie Levy wore a bee brooch during her testimony, a tribute to Matilda, the youngest victim of the Bondi shooting. That small pin carries the weight of loss, resilience, and defiance. It’s a reminder that antisemitism isn’t just about hate—it’s about erasure. And we can’t afford to let that happen.
In the end, the Royal Commission’s final report, due a year after the terror attack, will likely offer solutions. But solutions alone won’t heal the wounds already inflicted. What we need is a cultural shift, a recommitment to the values of inclusivity and respect that Australia prides itself on. As I reflect on this, I’m struck by how fragile those values can be—and how vigilant we must be to protect them. The question isn’t just how we stop antisemitism, but how we rebuild a society where no child has to think about dying when they visit the beach.
