Freedom of religion in Sydney

My 12 year old son, Naftali, called me last Sunday night from a friend’s bar mitzvah at the Bondi pavilion.

“Mum. I am not joking. There is a shooter here. I… I don’t know what to do”.  

I did not for one second think he was joking. It was not because he prefaced the call in a mature, clear voice belying his 12 years that I understood this was no joke. It was not the gunshots ringing out in the background that assured me that this was indeed very real. It was the deep seated knowledge that a serious terrorist attack on the Australian Jewish community was unquestionably inside the realm of possibility.

For the past 805 days we, the Jews of Australia, have repeatedly told the Australian government “We do not feel safe,” and so when my son called me to say there was a gunman (actually there were two), no part of me questioned the veracity of the unbelievable words I was hearing.

The first Shabbat after October 7, my husband was interstate at a conference.

I asked my rabbi if it was okay to carry a phone in a bag on Shabbat as an emergency safety precaution. I did not feel safe walking our local streets, in the heart of Sydney’s Jewish community.  

I began wearing sneakers at all times in case I needed to run.  Even on Shabbat. Especially on Shabbat, when I would be on foot. 

With time I stopped worrying about my footwear on Shabbat, but the latent fear remained. 

In Sydney this week, knee-high concrete bollards were erected outside shules and at the road intersections nearby. We are used to these — they appear before Rosh Hashanah each year and remain until after Yom Kippur, when shule attendance peaks. Then they are removed, leaving the much smaller, more observant population, who regularly attend Shule, at the mercy of from whatever these structures are protecting us. Following the Sunday evening terror attack on a community Chanukah event, our lives — the lives of the smaller observant population – suddenly have become worth protecting. 

These bollards do not make me feel secure. Like the incessant helicopters in the sky above the eastern suburbs at the moment, where the Sydney Jewish community is concentrated, they are just another reminder that I am not safe. These bollards, these helicopters….they are not protecting us from the scourge of antisemitism. 

It’s Shabbat morning. I’m about to walk my son to attend the bar mitzvah he was supposed to be celebrating on Sunday night. 

As we get dressed it begins to rain. I sigh. We’re going to have to walk in the rain. Naftali says to me “It’s okay, Mum – you don’t have to walk me there.” I smile at him and start looking for my raincoat.

I put on my headscarf. Normally on Shabbat I cover my hair with a wig. Like all human hair, if the wig gets wet, it will need to be re-washed and blow dried. The friend and sheitel-macher who does this for me will not be working this week or indeed for many weeks to come. She is sitting shiva for her brother, Rabbi Eli Schlanger z’’l, who was murdered on Sunday evening. 

I pause to consider my footwear for the first time in two years and then I catch myself, indignant. The onus is not on me to run. The onus is on my government to ensure I do not need to run. 

As I leave home, I grab my house keys and enfold them tightly in my palm. Like we were taught to do as young women as a measure of self-defence, if we found ourselves walking alone at night. There are people in this country with guns aimed at us, and I have my house keys to defend myself. 

I don’t normally walk Naftali to shule, and as we walk he asks “Am I not allowed to walk by myself anymore?”. 

We walk past Cooper Park, where almost 25 years ago my husband and I got married. We could not do that now.  The thought is visceral; I feel it slam me.

We could not do that now. Without security. We cannot do anything without security. We cannot pray….without security. We cannot attend school…..without security. We cannot have community events…without security. We cannot get married in a public space…without security.  My 12 year old cannot safely walk alone on the streets like any other 12 year old in Australia.

I thought I lived in a country where I could practise my religion freely. But the reality is we do NOT have freedom of religion. We are free to practice our religion….behind barbed wire, high walls, locked gates and armed guards. That is not free. 

 I don’t want to live in a country where we are being given more security. I want to live in a country where we don’t need any.

I want to live in a country where I am free to live as a Jew.  This is not it.