I am writing this while glued to the television, Sunday night, in Australia. Four hours ago, two gunmen targeted a Hanukkah celebration on Bondi Beach, slaughtering and injuring so many. At the time of the publication of these words, at least 15 murdered, at least 29 injured. Those numbers may rise. 

I know this slice of Bondi Beach so well because I lived there for two years. My mother Mira, born in 1927 in Czechoslovakia, had been in Auschwitz when she was 17, and a fellow Jewish prisoner who helped her survive had moved to Sydney, while Mira chose Melbourne. When I was in my 20s, I accepted a job in Sydney, and Mira’s savior Edit let me live in an apartment she owned. It was situated above a kosher butcher. And it was in Bondi Beach. My mother liked the area because the Hakoah club — a Jewish community center — was only a few doors down. It was the safest place she could think of. 

Most mornings, I would head to the sea, along the curvy coastal path known as the Bondi-to-Bronte walk. A few days ago, I watched Oprah Winfrey on that trail – a recommendation from actor Hugh Jackman for how to spend her time while in Australia on a speaking tour. It sparkles, that stretch of the world. The sunlight bounces off the water, and the air is filled with suntan lotion and wet dogs shaking their fur and the sounds of chatter as people walk past. It’s quintessential Sydney, including the next beach along, past Bondi:........

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