Listen to Sorella Abrahams, a survivor of the attack in Bondi Beach, (whose husband is also from my community in London) shared a story in an interview that starkly frames what we are experiencing.
Her family keeps a large menorah outside their home year round. Since October 7th especially, it has become something more than a decoration. Neighbors recognize the house. It stands as a symbol of Jewish presence, warmth, and pride, and it has been met with a surprising amount of love and support.
But then came fear.
Her family had been on Bondi Beach when the attack unfolded. When they finally made it home that night, their children were crying, terrified.
“Please, Mom. Aba. Turn off the menorah,” they begged. “Our house is going to become a target.”
As parents, they instinctively responded the way Jews always have. We don’t turn off menorahs. We don’t hide who we are. We stand tall.
But the children kept crying. And in that moment, as a mother trying to calm frightened kids, she turned it off, even though every part of her resisted doing so.
The next day, a Christian neighbor came by. She shared that as she was driving past the house, her daughter noticed the darkened menorah and burst into tears.
“No,” the girl cried. “They’re turning off their menorah. The evil can’t win.”
That was all it took.
Without hesitation, the family decided: no matter what, that menorah goes back on.
We don’t turn off menorahs.
We don’t surrender to darkness.
We shine light, even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.
Because each one of us carries a spark of G-d inside. And our task, particularly in moments like this, is to let that spark shine.
Our children are frightened. And that makes this situation even more painful. But fear does not get the final word. Light does.