Sunday, December 21st

Sunday morning: I was moved to tears this morning at Bondi, where a thousand people – Jews and many who were not of the Jewish faith – gathered together at a place where God’s name had been desecrated, and instead sanctified it.

Yes, there is great evil in the world – far too much of it, including here in Australia. But to witness so many beautiful souls come together – people of all denominations, all faiths, agnostics and atheists – united by a shared desire to respond with goodness and kindness, was profoundly moving.

I was especially touched by Rabbanit Judith Levitan, who received semikha from Yeshivat Maharat. She spoke softly, spiritually, rooted in faith – weaving together a soulful message as delicate tapestry. Rabbanit Judith spoke of our tradition of shiva, the seven days of mourning, explaining it in a way that allowed everyone present to understand its meaning: how shiva is a time when mourners sit and are comforted by visitors who come to tell stories, to share memories, to reflect.

Then Rabbanit Judith turned to the crowd and said: Here you are, visiting our collective shiva.

She concluded by reminding us that at the end of shiva, our tradition calls upon mourners to walk around the block – to move from the anguished question of why to the essential question of what now? How do we respond?

And in that moment it struck me deeply to witness an Orthodox woman rabbi, a true mekadeshet Shem Shamayim, sanctifying God’s name so powerfully. I offer thanksgiving to God for allowing me to experience this moment – this moment of deep pain and suffering, and at the same time, a moment of great hope. I say to Rabbanit Judith, with humility and gratitude: thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

May Rabbanit Judith be well. May her family be blessed. May all of Am Yisrael be blessed – ken yehi ratzon.

Sunday Afternoon: As we leave the Sunday morning vigil, we meet Harris – a most lovely man who had just finished giving a tour of the Bondi site to several visitors. He told us that he had attended the event but had left early. Quietly, he showed us where different moments had unfolded, pointing out where things had stood, indicating the exact spot where Rabbi Eli had been standing. Seeing it there, in place, was chilling.

We attend lunch at Rabbanit Judith’s home. She and her husband, Tommy, host close family members. Rabbanit Judith shares a d’var Torah, reminding us that in the midst of every tragedy there is hope – and even the challenge to rediscover joy. We must learn from the past, grieve for the lost, and still find a way to move forward.

I thought of that beautiful verse from Psalms: “Those who sow with tears will reap with joy.” In Hasidic literature, the punctuation shifts: “Those who sow with joy and tears.” It is the Yehuda Amichai idea – that life’s experiences cannot always be compartmentalized; they synthesize. While it is true there is a time for war and a time for love, it is also true that within love there can be war, and even in war, love.

From there, we travel to a kumzitz arranged by Rabbanit Adina Roth, another extraordinary musmechet of Yeshivat Maharat. Students and parents gather with Rabbi Amitai and Rabbi Mike. Together, we do what we can to comfort and to teach. The message, carried in word and song: “The whole world may be a very narrow bridge, but the main thing is not to be afraid.”

The students seem riveted and deeply engaged as Amitai and Mike share their thoughts. And while Rabbanit Adina herself is clearly shaken by what has occurred, I pray that she, too, finds some solace in the togetherness she created that afternoon.

Sunday Evening: We join many thousands – perhaps tens of thousands – for the eighth candle lighting of Hanukkah at Bondi. Chabad has arranged an impressive program, with speakers and politicians. All are applauded except Prime Minister Albanese, who is booed. I join in the booing. Some around me say it feels inappropriate to be disrespectful, but I feel otherwise. Rallies are not only about those who speak; they are also about how the crowd reacts. And as long as the crowd is peaceful, it is important for politicians to hear what people are feeling.

What touched me most was the melody of Menachem, the Chazzan at the Great Synagogue – as he intoned Ani Ma’amin, Ani Ma’amin b’emunah shleimah. In spite of everything, I still believe. The emotional peak came when the crowd, led by a singer on stage, sang what is considered the unofficial Australian anthem, Waltzing Matilda. People held up their lit phones, waving them side to side. Darkness had fallen. It felt as if the earth itself was crying, and in the heat of the evening, tears flowed freely. It was an otherworldly moment.

Monday, December 22nd

Monday Morning; We attend the funeral of Dan Elkayam, a French Jew who became a soccer player. Throughout the funeral, I think of our grandchildren, Moshe and Zalman – children of our Dov and Shayndi – who love soccer and see players as their heroes.

The presiding rabbi tells the story of Dan, who was not only a great player but a true mensch. Once, after being tripped by an opponent – an incident that often escalates into confrontation – Dan rose from the ground and reached out to hug the one who had tripped him.

Rabbi Dadon, whose 14 year old daughter Chaya was injured in the attack, invited me to recite a teaching from Pirkei Avot: It is not upon us to finish the work, but neither are we free to desist from it. I add that Dan started his work through the goodness he brought to others through soccer, and now it is up to us to continue it – to live his legacy of pure goodness and love of life.

We visit the shiva of Rabbi Eli Schlanger, described by many as the ultimate giver. Upon entering, I meet his brother Baruch, who immediately tells me that we are connected. Unbeknownst to me, he spent many years with his family in Manhattan Beach and knew my wife Toby’s sister Sue, her husband Yerucham, and their children well. He reels off their names – Shlomo, Yosef, Yitzi… Right there in the shiva house I call Sue – and they speak.

We share with Eli’s sister that one of the closest relationships in Torah is between brother and sister. Perhaps for that reason, Abraham says to Sarah upon entering Egypt, “Imri na achoti at” – say you are my sister – because the bond between siblings can never be severed.

Most searing is spending time with Rav Eli’s eldest. There are so many layers to this tragedy: the horror of how low human beings can sink, and the devastation of families – wives becoming widows, children becoming orphans.

From there, we spend time with Chana, married to a Chabad rabbi and, God willing, finishing Maharat this year. Her journey to semikha is compelling. She shares how she and her husband have been consumed, day and night, with caring for their community in Melbourne – just an hour and a half flight from Sydney. Though deeply Chabad, she explains how essential advanced Torah learning was to her path.

Monday Afternoon: We visit a life center offering pastoral and psychological counseling to those seeking help. Police are also present, listening to testimonies from those who witnessed the events and wish to share what they saw.

We then travel to the shiva of Rav Yaakov Levitan, a close confidant and partner of Rabbi Eli. Every visionary needs someone who attends to the details, who advises and refines. Rav Eli was blessed with Rav Yaakov in this role. While Rav Eli greeted the masses, none of that which was set up at Bondi could have happened without Rav Yaakov.

Sitting with his sister, his parents – his mother Miriam and father Tzvi – I am broken. We talk. Mostly, I try to listen. I offer the only blessing that feels possible: that they take care of themselves. The loss of a son and brother can never be repaired – only, at best, managed. They share beautiful stories of Rav Yaakov. We embrace as we leave.

We meet Rabbi Groner. I share that I met his father thirty years earlier in Melbourne. I fall on his shoulder as I tell him that my grandfather, Rav Dovid, my father’s father, was the ba’al tefillah at a small shtiebel called Re’im Ahuvim in Brownsville in the late 1940s. Rabbi Groner tells me he knows the shul well – his family davened there too. He asks whether I have any recordings of Rav Dovid’s nusach.

We also meet Rabbi Gutnick, head of the Chabad Beit Din. He recalls visiting Riverdale years ago and coming to the Bayit, curious about the history of our mechitzah. I share my conversations with Rabbi Soloveitchik and his guidance. Rabbi Gutnick, aware of my involvement with Maharat, speaks eloquently about the importance of women learning Torah at the highest level. He is full of praise for Rabbanit Judith and shares how she insisted, in her role as a military chaplain, on wearing skirts rather than pants as part of her uniform. Rabbi Gutnick is not only a scholar – he is warm, kind, and, to my ear, deeply respectful, even across differences.

Monday Evening: We go to the home of George and Michal. Michal is the aunt of my daughter-in-law Shayndi; George is a chazzan in a progressive community. They describe being involved day and night in communal care.

With us is Rabbanit Nomi Kaltman, another Maharat musmechet, mother of five, lawyer by day and CEO of Jofa Australia by night. We speak about holding governments accountable. She shares how she has worked tirelessly with the press in Australia, Israel, and beyond to convey the horror of what occurred.

Someone at the table raises discomfort with the booing the night before when the Prime Minister was mentioned. What do I think? I say: I was proud. Proud that the crowd expressed its truth. I joined in the booing. It is important that the Prime Minister hear that under his watch this occurred – that responsibility must mean not only words, but action; laws that ensure antisemitism is never again allowed to rear its ugly head in Australia.

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)