'One month on from the Bondi attack, there's one lesson we're all forgetting.'

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I was born in Bondi. I learnt to swim in its ocean, walked its streets as a teenager, and understood the community there long before I had language for it. When I moved to Melbourne at nineteen, I carried Bondi with me as something foundational. So, when the violence unfolded, it did not feel distant. It felt like something had torn through a place that shaped me. 

It has been a month since the attack. The shock has faded, but the questions have not. 

This violence is not abstract for me. I lost someone I loved deeply, someone who was part of my family for decades. She has been identified as the 15th victim. 

She didn't die. She was murdered. I am careful with that language, because euphemism makes brutality easier to digest, and this should not be easy to digest. Her death was not an accident or an inevitability. It was the result of hatred being given permission to act. 

As a proud Jewish woman, that familiarity is impossible to ignore. 

The hosts of Out Loud grapple with the Bondi tragedy, Australia's worst terrorist attack on home soil. Post continues below.

I work in social impact and inclusive employment, alongside marginalised and undervalued communities. What I see every day is the power of being listened to. When people feel seen, believed, and connected to others, confidence grows, trust deepens, and outcomes change.  Community, built intentionally, is one of the most effective tools we have. Jewish communities have been demonstrating this truth for generations. 

I have felt many things in the weeks since the attack. I am devastated, angry, strangely empowered, and not surprised. Surprise is a privilege Jewish people have not had for some time. 

The rise in antisemitism has not been sudden. It has been steady, often reframed as political disagreement or dismissed as too complex to address. In workplaces, schools, and institutions, it has frequently been treated as uncomfortable but not urgent. Jewish concerns are acknowledged, then de-prioritised. They are noted, then sidelined. 

This violence did not emerge from thin air. It is the end point of rhetoric that dehumanises and isolates, quietly teaching people that Jewish lives are negotiable. When hatred is tolerated at a low level, it does not stay there. It escalates. 

What has struck me since the attack is the way communities have come together. We have held each other tighter. Colleagues, peers, and friends from my professional world have reached out. For me, this reflects care and connection. But it also raises a harder question: why does it so often take tragedy to activate responsibility? 

Image: AAP

The announcement of a Royal Commission matters. It signals that this violence must be examined seriously, with honesty and accountability. But inquiries alone cannot carry the full weight of prevention. They look backward by necessity. Community is what operates in real time. It is what determines whether early warning signs are taken seriously, whether people feel safe enough to speak up, and whether intervention happens before harm escalates.

I hope we resist the temptation to see Jewish communities only through the lens of victimhood.  We are not here to assign blame on an entire community or ask for special treatment. We are here to be clear-eyed about what is not working, and to push for better solutions.

Jewish communities are not passive recipients of harm. We are builders, contributors, and active participants in shaping safer, more connected societies. 

I see every day what happens when people are intentionally brought into strong, values-led communities. Belonging is not a feeling. It is infrastructure. It shapes behaviour and creates accountability.

Strong communities do not just comfort people after harm. They reduce the likelihood of harm in the first place. This is not idealism. It is something I see working every day. 

The inverse is also true. When responsibility is diffused and people assume someone else will speak up, harm finds space. Violence does not start with action. It starts with permission, created through silence and neutrality. 

Listen: Families of those killed and injured in the Bondi Beach terror attack are demanding Prime Minister Anthony Albanese urgently establish a national royal commission. Post continues below.

For me, being Jewish has always meant holding complexity. Pride alongside grief, joy alongside vigilance, and celebration alongside remembrance. I am proud to be Jewish not because it is easy, but because my Jewish identity has taught me how to love, how to persist, and how to remain proud even when it is difficult to be. I've learnt that from my grandparents, three of whom were Holocaust survivors. 

Community should not only show up after tragedy. It should show up when inequity appears in a meeting, a classroom, a group chat, and across social media. It should show up when misinformation circulates unchecked. It should show up early, when intervention can still change outcomes. 

Bondi will always be home to me. So will Melbourne. So will the Jewish community that has held me across both cities and across my life. These communities are strong, capable, and resilient. They are also grieving. Sympathy is not enough. What we need — and what I believe is possible — is action. 

If there is anything to take from this moment, it is not just solidarity in the aftermath, but responsibility in the present. Responsibility to intervene and responsibility to challenge what is factually wrong and morally dangerous. Responsibility to understand that hatred ignored, does not disappear, it sharpens. 

I am proud to be Jewish, and proud of the many communities I am part of. And I believe deeply in their capacity to build something better than what we are living through right now. We know how to do better. Now we must choose to.

Feature Image: Supplied.