This isn’t the country my parents wanted for me. It isn’t the country I want for myself. On Sunday morning, I took my grandchildren to their swimming lessons and all was sunny peace and lemonade ice blocks. A few hours later, my world, their world, was dark.

Some of us call this time of year Chrismakkah. Families with Jews and Christians, celebrating together, birth and light and love. Now, after the massacre at Bondi, there is no light, no love. Tears and fears. My country is gone.

Hundreds of people listen to speeches before Friday’s paddle-out at Bondi Beach to pay tribute to the victims of the massacre last Sunday. Credit: Kate Geraghty

I message friends from New Zealand. Did it recover from the Christchurch massacre? No, not really. Is it too soon? No, says one old mate. I don’t think we will ever recover, he says. He says local Muslims don’t go in for annual commemorations. I get that. Sure, honour the dead, but could we erase the day this ever happened.

I am broken. The tears are in my eyes when I wake up and when I go to bed. A woman at the kindy Christmas party embraces me and I try not to sob because it’s too embarrassing even for me, even for someone whose feelings are always bubbling at the surface anyway. Plus, do I really want to discuss with anyone what it means to be Jewish in Australia today?

Yes, I appreciate your messages, but do you match your words with action? Do you call out people you know when they are bigots? From today, that counts more than anything while I still have to work out how to exist in a country that saw 15 Australians murdered in the hot blood of rage against people who were just celebrating life. We........

© The Sydney Morning Herald