aking up last Friday morning to the news that a shul in Melbourne had been firebombed felt like waking up to bushfires raging out of control in the middle of the summer—terrifying, but sadly, not unexpected.
Since October 7, when Hamas unleashed its horrific attacks on Israel, Australian Jews have been living in increasing fear and isolation. The rise in anti-Semitism has been overwhelming, and worse, it has been met with silence, empty outrage and even quiet acceptance from those entrusted with our protection. Now, seeing government officials feign shock at the fact that this toxic environment has escalated to the firebombing of a shul is not only infuriating but adds insult to injury.
The warning signs have been impossible to miss, if anyone bothered to look. Even before Israel began defending itself against Hamas, Jewish Australians were warned that it was “too dangerous” to attend a vigil at the Sydney Opera House to mourn the victims of October 7. Too dangerous to mourn. Let that sink in.
The warning wasn’t unfounded. Nearby, anti-Semitic slogans were shouted with impunity. Police did nothing, and Jewish Australians stayed away out of fear. This wasn’t just a failure to protect us—it was a message: You are not safe here.
Since then, our streets have been taken over week after week by so-called “pro-Palestinian” protests. These are not peaceful gatherings. They’re filled with banned terrorist flags, open praise for violence and slogans soaked in hate. The government not only allows these marches, but it grants permits for them. What message does that send? Hatred isn’t just tolerated here; it’s given a stage. And what message does that send to those who seek our destruction?
Just hours before the shul was attacked, the government voted against Israel at the United Nations—again. What made this vote even more devastating was that it wasn’t tied to anything as basic as demanding the release of Jewish hostages still held by Hamas. That should have been nonnegotiable. Instead, the government voted against the only democracy in the region with no conditions, and at the same time effectively voted against social cohesion in this country.
Let’s be clear. This wasn’t leadership. This wasn’t diplomacy. This wasn’t humanitarianism. It was moral posturing, a move that might win points abroad but leaves Australian Jews abandoned at home. The consequences aren’t in the Middle East; they’re here, in our streets, where hatred flourishes, unchallenged by those with the power to stop it.
The first duty of any government is to protect its citizens. Are Jewish Australians not citizens? Why, then, have we been effectively abandoned?
This failure isn’t just about us. When police stand by as hatred marches through the streets, when violence is met with shrugs, and when leadership falters in the face of prejudice, the rot spreads. Hatred, once normalized against one group, will eventually turn its gaze elsewhere. How long until others feel the consequences of this failure?
The firebombing of a shul wasn’t just an attack on the Jewish community—it was an attack on Australian society. A government that allows this kind of hatred to fester endangers not just Jews but every citizen. When hatred is tolerated, no one is truly safe.
So no, no one should be surprised. “The standard you walk by is the standard you accept.” By turning a blind eye to marches of hate, by failing to condemn the glorification of terror, by prioritizing politics over protection, the government has sent a loud and clear message—anti-Semitism is tolerated here. And in tolerating it, they have failed us all.
The arsonists who attacked the shul are, of course, responsible for this crime. But a government that ignores hatred, excuses prejudice and enables an atmosphere of hostility cannot escape its share of the blame. The fire may have been lit by the arsonists, but who handed them the matches?
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