'Everyone's asking what they can do to help my community. My answer is simple.'

I'm Jewish. And even now, that feels scary to write out loud.

It's not because I'm ashamed. It's because, like many Jewish people, I was taught early to be careful.

That lesson came from family history, from the Holocaust survivors we come from, from a community that understands visibility, for us, can carry risk.

Watch: The Mamamia Out Loud hosts discuss the tragedy in Bondi. Post continues below.

Earlier this year, I co-wrote a novel called Love Overdue. It's a romantic comedy, but it's also a deliberate celebration of Australian Jews. We wrote it because we're proud of our community, and because so few stories centre Jewish Australians in ordinary, nontraumatic ways.

We also wrote it because, more than ever, we felt we needed joy.

The particular joy of Judaism, the warmth, the humour, the ritual, the light, is something us Jewish people cling to, especially in uncertain times.

Lighting the candles on the third night of Chanukah. Image: Supplied.

It was that joy people were immersed in on Sunday night in Bondi, celebrating Chanukah.

And then, suddenly, that joy was ripped away. Replaced with anger, grief, fear.

And still, this is the part I didn't expect, alongside all of that, it was also replaced with humanity, with kindness.

People are reaching out without opinions or explanations. People I haven't spoken to in years are checking in, simply to say they are thinking of us. Public figures who have never spoken out before are sharing messages of solidarity with Jewish communities.

I've seen long lines of Australians of every faith and background waiting patiently for hours to give blood. I've watched the footage of Ahmed Al Ahmed, brave, instinctive, extraordinary, tackling the gunman.

Of Jackson Doolan, the lifeguard who ran from Tamarama to Bondi with medical supplies, I heard about lifeguards, civilians and off-duty police rushing toward danger, not away from it, just to help in whatever way they could.

It has been extraordinary to witness. And if I'm honest, it's also been confronting.

Image: Instagram/@thebondilifeguardsofficial.

Because for the past few years, many Jewish Australians have been asking for exactly this: to be seen as human when we speak about fear or antisemitism.

Not to be told we're overreacting. Not to have our pain caveated or turned into a debate. Just to be believed.

So, when people ask what they can do now, beyond donating time or money, my answer is simple.

Keep doing this.

Keep seeing us. Keep checking in without an agenda. Keep listening when Jewish people talk about fear, even when it's uncomfortable, especially when it's uncomfortable.

If someone shares their grief, resist the urge to contextualise it. If they say they're scared, don't rush to reassure them out of their own reality.

You don't need the perfect words. "I'm thinking of you" is enough. So is "This isn't okay, you deserve to feel safe." Or just, "I believe you."

If you really don't have the words, a heart emoji is okay too.

And when this moment fades from the headlines, because it will, remember how this felt.

Remember the instinct to show up, to protect, to care. Carry it forward the next time Jewish Australians speak about antisemitism, or any community says they don't feel safe.

Seeing humanity in this moment doesn't erase the pain. It doesn't soften what happened or rush us toward healing. It doesn't take away that sinking feeling in the pit of our stomachs.

But it does matter.

Because this, this banding together and willingness to listen, is the version of Australia I want my kids to grow up in.

And maybe, one day, they'll be able to say I'm Jewish, and it won't feel scary at all.

Ali Berg is a Melbourne-based writer, the co-author of four bestselling romantic comedies and co-founder of Books on the Rail. You can follow her on Instagram @aliandmichelle and @alibergwrites.

Feature image: Supplied, Ali with her holocaust survivor grandmother Jacqueline, and grandfather Harry.

Listen to more about the many stories of light, community and acts of bravery emerging from the darkness of the Bondi terror attack on Mamamia Out Loud below.

More ways to help following the Bondi Beach shooting.

In the aftermath of the Bondi Beach shooting, many people are searching for meaningful ways to help during the incredibly distressing time. If you're able:

You can support victims and their families by donating to verified GoFundMe fundraisers established in response to the attack here.

By giving blood at your nearest Australian Red Cross Lifeblood centre, to help those receiving medical care. Find your nearest donation centre here.

You can also pay your respects and share messages of support via the NSW Government's Online Condolence Book, which offers comfort and solidarity to those affected. You can sign the book here.