The aftermath of Bondi has helped me understand who my true friends are

My first newspaper byline appeared in our community paper in 1990; it was a re-imagining of Dorothea Mackellar’s seminal poem My Country, an assignment set by my year 5 teacher.

“I love a sunburnt country/And everything inside/I call myself Australian/With dignity and pride.”

I’ve been thinking about my poem, and the original that inspired it, since the tragic events at Bondi six weeks ago, both as an Australian, and as a proud Jew.

Whereas Mackellar wrote of sweeping plains, droughts and flooding rains, conveying the vastness and at times brutality of this land, my 10-year-old self focused on the thing that I thought was most central to my country, and my place in it: the people.

“From east to west, north to south/From near and from afar/Australian people join together/Bricks to mortar, ground to tar.”

It’s been said that the aftermath of Bondi has brought out the very best – and, sadly, sometimes the worst – in everyday Australians. By now we are all familiar with the names and heroic stories of some of the people who courageously risked their lives to save others: Boris and Sofia, Reuven, Matilda, Ahmed, Gefen, Chaya. We commemorate them especially on Thursday, a national day of mourning.

What’s common to most of the people who were murdered or injured, as well as those who performed acts of heroism during the massacre, is that they are migrants; many of them, or their parents and grandparents, chose Australia as a place to live where they could contribute while still representing their cultures and communities.

From near and from afar.

As part of this country’s 100,000-plus Jewish community, I grew up with a heightened sense of the debt we owe to migrants, people like my Holocaust-survivor grandparents who, after gaining safe passage to Australia, spent the rest of their lives contributing to this wonderful, sunburnt country.

My grandparents are all gone now, and in some ways I’m relieved they’ve been spared from this post-October 7, 2023 wave of antisemitism, which, after prolonged campaigning from many walks of society, will be examined by a Commonwealth royal commission this year. I also acknowledge that while antisemitism is a particularly pernicious cancer infecting our country at this moment, other religious and ethnic communities have also experienced their share of hatred and marginalisation.

“Where are you long lost country/Which way did you turn/Our hope is lost, time’s running out/The last straw’s out to burn.”

Since December 14, there have been many times I’ve felt hopeless. I’ve questioned my safety, my place in this country, some of my friendships and how, after all my grandparents did to contribute to life here, are there still people who call themselves Australians who would rather I didn’t exist?

Still, there have been positives. At least I’ve finally learnt who are the true allies in my circle, and I’ve naturally gravitated towards them. I went to my jewellery box and pulled out the “chai” pendant I got for my bat mitzvah and now wear it around my neck proudly and openly (“chai” is the Hebrew word for life, and along with the Star of David is one of the defining symbols of Jewish life). And I’ve started using my voice more, speaking up and having conversations where I once chose silence, for fear of rocking the boat.

As one friend wisely pointed out, the issues we’ve had to deal with in the shadows and cry about in the dark for so long are finally coming into the light. And, as another said, if there’s no hope for a better tomorrow, then what’s the point of any of it?

“Get on your feet, poor country/It’s hard to, please, but try/Satisfy your people/Our slate is clean and dry.”

And so, this Australia Day weekend, I’m trying to choose hope, as hard as it is sometimes. Hope for less anger. Hope for a return to feeling safe and secure on our streets and in our institutions. Hope for more understanding from those who know, and education among those still on the path to learning.

And, whenever I find myself faltering, I can look at my own words, from 35 years ago, for guidance.

“Start anew, dear country/And we will help you’ll see/And we’ll be proud Australians/Like we once used to be.”

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