We Don’t Need Another Verse…
Friday, December 19, 2025 – כ״ט כִּסְלֵו תשפ”ו
Yesterday in Sydney, the Jewish and broader Australian community gathered for an emotional funeral for 10-year-old Matilda, the youngest victim of the Bondi Beach Hanukkah massacre. Friends and family remembered her as a bright, joyful child — a “ray of sunshine” whose sudden loss was nothing short of a nightmare for those who knew her. Mourners clutched flowers and bumblebee symbols reflecting her nickname “Matilda Bee,” and her grieving father implored the world, “Just remember — remember her name.” Hundreds gathered to honor her life alongside other victims, including an 87-year-old Holocaust survivor, Alexander Kleytman, who died shielding his wife.
In Jewish tradition, memory and mourning carry deep spiritual weight. The verse נֵר יְהֹוָה נִשְׁמַת אָדָם — “The soul of a human is the candle of God” (Proverbs 20:27) evokes the idea that each human life is a divine light, entrusted to illuminate the world. When a child like Matilda is murdered in the midst of celebrating Hanukkah — a festival of lights — that image becomes especially poignant: not only has a young life been extinguished, but a small flame of joy and potential has been violently snuffed out. This verse poignantly captures the sorrow and sacred remembrance that now surround Matilda’s memory.
The Bondi Beach shooting was a targeted act of antisemitic terror during a Hanukkah event, leaving deep wounds in Australia’s Jewish communities and beyond. Yet amid the grief, stories such as Ahmed el-Ahmed’s heroic intervention — rushing a shooter and disarming him despite being shot himself — have become powerful symbols of courage and shared humanity. His actions likely saved countless lives and have inspired widespread admiration and support.
At the same time, the way that heroism has at times come to overshadow the specific nature of the attack reflects broader tensions in public discourse about antisemitism. Some commentators have emphasized el-Ahmed’s bravery without equally centering the fact that the victims were targeted for being Jewish and killed while observing their festival, illustrating how narratives of solidarity can sometimes divert attention from the central injustice suffered by the Jewish community.
This dynamic finds a haunting parallel in Israel. A recent investigative broadcast on Uvda revealed hours of footage collected by Hamas of six Israeli hostages held in Hamas captivity in Gaza tunnels — Hersh Goldberg-Polin, Eden Yerushalmi, Ori Danino, Alex Lobanov, Carmel Gat, and Almog Sarusi, known by some as the “beautiful six.” On camera, they were filmed performing extraordinary acts of resilience, such as lighting Hanukkah candles together under duress. These intimate moments transformed abstract headlines into human lives with hopes, rituals, and dignity, forcing viewers to confront the tragic reality that all six were later murdered. The footage captures a powerful and heartbreaking moment, when immediately after they lit candles on a makeshift paper-cup Hanukkiyah, they began to sing Maoz Tzur. Ori Danino, who grew up in a traditional home, carried on by singing the first of six verses. A few others, puzzled, asked, “Wait, there are more verses to that song?!?!” He explained, in so many words, that the song recounts Jewish history through cycles of oppression and miraculous redemption, celebrating God as the ultimate “Rock of Ages.” To which then Eden Yerushalmi chimed in, saying, “Maybe now we need to add another verse…” whose context was lost on no one.
It is unthinkable that today we may need another verse as Jews lit candles in tunnels as captives just minutes and hours from their homes, and were eventually murdered. It is unthinkable that Jews were murdered on Bondi Beach in daylight as they gathered to light candles, following the Talmudic dictum of פִּרְסוּמֵי נִיסָּא, “publicizing the miracle”.
We, of course, don’t need or want an additional verse. We need action, protection, and a global refusal to accept this hatred of our people as a norm. And yet, the struggle does not end with moral clarity alone; it continues in how leaders name violence, assign responsibility, and shape the public narrative that follows.
The political responses have further highlighted how narratives are shaped and contested. In Australia, Prime Minister Anthony Albanese initially faced criticism for what some saw as hesitancy in framing the attack as an unequivocal antisemitic incident. Under increasing pressure, he later acknowledged the need to do more to address antisemitism, and he announced a comprehensive action plan to strengthen protections, counter hate speech, and confront violent ideology. But one cannot ignore the shockingly low level of security surrounding the event. What is more, the buildup of anti-Jewish and anti-Israel sentiment can neither be overlooked nor seen as disconnected. Over the past two years, we seen protesters yell “Death to the IDF,” “Globalize the Intifada,” and in some reports, “Gas the Jews.” In January 2025, two synagogues in Sydney were targeted and spray-painted with red swastikas and graffiti that glorified Hitler and the Nazis. “F*** the Jews” was the message sprayed across a child care center that was set on fire near an Orthodox shul. (Here is a complete timeline of antisemitic attacks in Australia.) Those who were paying attention were, of course, shocked but not necessarily surprised.
Meanwhile, Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu’s remarks attempting to link the Bondi attack to Australia’s earlier recognition of a Palestinian state drew sharp rebukes for conflating unrelated foreign policy decisions with a domestic act of antisemitic terror. Such rhetoric risks instrumentalizing Jewish suffering for geopolitical ends rather than centering attention on the antisemitic violence itself.
Beyond praise for el-Ahmed, some progressive commentators and organizations largely refrained from confronting the antisemitic core of the attack, focusing instead on narratives of heroism and intercommunal unity. This critique argues that emphasizing moral hope at the expense of naming antisemitism for what it is may unintentionally mute the specific harms inflicted on Jewish life.
For American Jews today, these events carry urgent implications. Antisemitism in the United States has surged in recent years, manifesting as harassment, vandalism, and threats against Jewish institutions and individuals. The Bondi tragedy — and Matilda’s funeral — highlight that Jewish vulnerability is not limited to distant contexts: children, elders, and everyday community members can be violently targeted anywhere. The attempt to universalize or soften the narrative through heroism or political framing can diminish the recognition of Jewish suffering as a discrete issue requiring specific acknowledgement and response.
Likewise, the Uvda footage of the hostages serves as a stark reminder of the human cost of prolonged conflict and the deep wounds it inflicts on families and communities. For American Jews — who often straddle concerns about domestic antisemitism and emotional investments in Israel — there is a need to affirm Jewish life and memory both at home and abroad without dilution.
In both Sydney and Gaza, the image of a light extinguished — a “ner,” a candle snuffed out — resonates strongly with Jewish memory and mourning. The challenge for Jews in America and around the world is to hold that light with clarity: to honor the souls taken, to confront hatred where it appears, and to insist that Jewish lives and memories are acknowledged with precision, empathy, and spiritual seriousness, not merely woven into broader narratives that risk obscuring their particular pain. In doing so, communities keep alive not only the memory of Matilda and the six hostages, but the enduring truth that each soul — each candle — matters profoundly in the world.
Hag Urim Sameah, Shabbat Shalom, and Hodesh Tov!