Rabbi Nir Gurevitch from the Gold Coast Hebrew Congregation

Good evening to one and all.

A farmer once had a donkey that fell into a deep narrow pit. The animal cried loudly for hours, and the farmer tried to figure out what to do. Eventually, he decided that the donkey could not be saved. He resolved to fill in the pit and bury the donkey and spare it any more pain. As the farmer began shovelling dirt into the pit, the donkey cried out in distress. But after a while, something unexpected happened. The crying stopped. The farmer looked down-and to his amazement, with every shovel of dirt that landed on the donkey’s back, the donkey shook it off and stepped up. Shovel after shovel, dirt after dirt, the donkey kept shaking it off and stepping up using the dirt as another step. Before long, the donkey stepped out of the pit and walked away.

Friends, we the Jewish people are that donkey in the pit. For thousands of years, we have had dirt thrown on us—lies and libels, hatred and humiliation. We have been persecuted, vilified, spat upon. Our synagogues have been torched, our dignity attacked. We have been shouted at with anti-Semitic slurs in the streets of the very countries we helped build. History tried to bury us. But with G-d’s help something extraordinary happened. With every shovel of dirt meant to suffocate us, we did what Jews have always done: we shook it off—and we stepped up. Empires rose and fell, but we remained. They tried to erase our faith; instead, our light burned brighter. They tried to silence our voice; instead, our moral voice grew stronger. They tried to break our spirit, but instead we carried it forward, stronger and prouder, into the hearts of our children. And this past Sunday, at our festival family celebration of Chanukah in Bondi Beach, more dirt was thrown; hatred once again finds its voice, reminding us, painfully, that the pit still exists. We are not resilient because we are untouched by pain. We are resilient because we refuse to let pain define us.

The dirt meant to bury us became the foundation upon which we stood taller. That is the story of the Jewish people: beyond survival, we rise. Beyond endurance, we bring light. We shake it off—and step up. The festival of Chanukah—known as the festival of light—teaches us what to do in moments like this: when hatred shouts loudly, we respond by illuminating our surroundings, by coming tighter as a community, by singing, by choosing faith over fear. Each flame we light says: you did not bury us. Each night we add another candle and declare: we are still here. Darkness does not win. Terror seeks to break our spirit. It wants us to be afraid to live openly as Jews, to gather, to pray, to celebrate. Our response must be the opposite. We will not hide. We will not retreat. We will strengthen our commitment to our Jewishness and to each other. Let us all walk away this evening with a resolution to increase in acts of kindness to one another, become ambassadors of light, to be more giving, more loving, more united, because in the presence of light and goodness, darkness and evil will always dissipate. In conclusion, in these painful days, we have also witnessed something profoundly moving: an outpouring of love, care, and solidarity from friends, neighbours, leaders, and from every single person here tonight.

Your presence matters. Your messages, your concern, your willingness to stand with us—these are not small things. They are light, and we thank you wholeheartedly for your love and support. To our dear Mayor and GC City Council—your support has strengthened our resolve, lifted our spirits, and reaffirmed the shared values of humanity, decency, and mutual respect that bind us together.

May G-d bring healing to the injured, comfort to the bereaved, strength to our communities, and peace to our land. With unity, resolve, and hope, thank you.

Shaina Rebibou–Representative of Jewish University Students

Good evening. My name is Shaina, and I’m a Jewish university student studying here on the Gold Coast. Today I’ve been asked to talk about how young Jewish Australians are feeling right now. There are so many emotions I could describe, but the truth is, we are so tired and uncertain. Campuses that were once places of open debate have become spaces of tension. Classrooms where ideas were meant to be explored have become places where Jewish students feel they must measure every word, hide a necklace, tuck a Magen David beneath a shirt, and think twice before speaking up. Some of us wonder: do I belong here? Is it safe to be visibly Jewish? Why does defending my identity feel like a provocation? These feelings are real, and they matter.

And yet, we are tired. We are so tired. Tired of our Australian government constantly letting us down. Tired of our classmates falling for and sharing propaganda. And tired of feeling upset, ostracised, and failed. Since October 7th, 2023, the Jewish people and Jewish youth of Australia have been terribly let down and abandoned. We have spent hours talking to university presidents and politicians about how scared and vulnerable we are as Jewish people in our home-Australia. And although they listened, they never truly heard what we said. Our pain today is a direct result of wilful ignorance, empty promises, and false reassurances.

Since last Sunday, I’ve received messages from Jewish students who are sceptical of our future in this country. We do not feel safe enough to want to stay in Australia. We are worried about raising our families and watching our children grow up in a place where it is lethal to light a Chanukah candle, dangerous to go to synagogue, and social suicide for people to find out you are a Jew. For years, we have put in non-stop effort to combat mainstream media lies, gaslighting, and propaganda. We are tired of watching our leaders, classmates, and fellow Aussies enable and encourage protests of hate and division, and especially tired of the complicity and silence. As Simon Wiesenthal said, “For evil to flourish, it only requires good men to do nothing.” Australians, we implore you to step up and showcase the values that make Australia truly Australian—the courage, the kindness, and the mateship that we are known for. Before I finish, I want to leave you with one final message of hope. Together, we can make a change. Together, we can turn fear into safety, silence into voices, and darkness into light. Australians, this is our moment to stand—not just as individuals, but as a community. I want to specifically mention this past week: the Australian community has really shown up for us by donating blood and attending memorials. Thank you so much for all of your support; it has been so heartwarming.

I also want to add a special thank you to the many people who have stood with us over these last few years: all of our Iranian friends; the Hindu Council of Australia; Indigenous Friends of Israel; Christians for Israel; the Kiwi Man Up Christians; Mark and Freya Leach and everyone from Never Again Is Now; Gold Coast Mayor Tom Tate; and everyone here today—thank you for your support. When we’ve felt alone, you have been there to give us hope. You have put your lives on the line for us, and we will forever be grateful. I am. You are. We are Australian. Let us show the world what that truly means.