Extract from The Guardian
On 7 October 2023 Hamas launched a terrorist attack on Israel’s civilian population. By land, sea and air. More than 1,000 people were murdered. It was the greatest loss of Jewish life in one day since the Holocaust. More than 200 hostages were taken. Young people at a music festival near Re’im, and residents in the town of Sderot and small residential communities with names unfamiliar to most Australians – Kfar Aza, Be’eri, Nir Oz, Nahal Oz, Re’im, Holit, Zikim, Kerem Shalom, Sufa – were mercilessly attacked.
The US Department of Justice later presented terrorism charges against Hamas’ leadership. The words used to describe the atrocities – armed Hamas operatives attacked and shot civilians, including children, sometimes with machineguns and sometimes at point-blank range, and weaponised sexual violence against Israeli women, including through rape and genital mutilation – do not, and cannot, fully describe the horror.
And yet, hope.
Caulfield Park, a few days later. In the heart of Melbourne’s Jewish community. My community. Six thousand worried people. Worried for Israel. Worried for Australia. People experiencing shock and grief. I re-read the sickening words I spoke on that day:
Israelis murdered in their homes – shot as they answered their front doors. Israeli children butchered in their beds. Entire families mercilessly slaughtered in their cars, their kitchens, their living rooms. Men, women and children. Jewish men. Jewish women. Jewish children.
And I weep.
Israel’s defence begins. With guns and bombs. Of course. How else does a state defend itself? The might of the Israeli Defense Forces could not defend Israel on 7 October. Words alone cannot defend it now. Those who say Israel should not defend itself do not support Israel’s right to exist. “The river to the sea” – but with less poetry.
And yet, hope.
Our TV screens and social media feeds are full of horror. Destitute Gazan families. Dying children. Rockets. Rubble. Many thousands of non-combatants – innocent men, women and children – killed and injured and many, many more displaced. The idea that a Jew can weep for a Palestinian, and vice versa, is lost in the fog of war, and a morass of hate.
And yet, hope.
Blockades of electorate offices. Graffiti. Blood-red paint. Sabotage of communication pits. Even fire. Electorate officers threatened and injured. Australians who need help with social security and immigration left wanting for the sake of protest.
And yet, hope.
A young professional man, doing what young men do, talking to a politician at an event about this and that. But at the end, “I’m part of the tribe, Mark. Do we have a future in Australia?”
And yet, hope.
Nazi swastikas daubed on small businesses. In Melbourne. In 2024.
And yet, hope.
Six million dead. Within living memory. I am the son and grandson of Holocaust survivors. Australia gave them the home it denied many others. Yet I am asked why I support genocide. Do they not know the pain that question evokes? Maybe they do.
And yet, hope.
More than 100 hostages remain unaccounted for.
And yet, hope.
[xxxx] the Zionists! You Zionist [xxxx]! And so on. Insert your own profanity. The menu is endless. An ideal number of characters for a Musk/Zuckerberg social media comment. Made for easy-to-use stickers on trains and phone boxes. The slogans even fit on apparel.
And yet, hope.
Substituting Zionist for Jew is considered by some a method of expertly cloaking antisemitism with a critique of anticolonialism. Hint – we know exactly what you mean to say when you say it.
And yet, hope.
You must be used to this, Mark. Actually, no. Not in Australia. Australia has been a safe place for me and my family. And my community. Something has changed this past year.
And yet, hope.
Guards outside primary schools. The kids going through the gates wear short pants. Jewish kids. Yes, the guards were there before 7 October. But now there are more of them. And their parents worry more.
And yet, hope.
Bipartisanship on Israel fractures. The opposition leader says it’s “reckless” to maintain support for a two-state solution. The Greens drum up division inside and outside of parliament. Partisan politics trumps everything in pursuit of a cheap social media post, a new headline, a new donor, a new voter.
And yet, hope.
Universities become battlegrounds. Encampments generate tension. The special envoy to combat antisemitism, Jillian Segal, tells a parliamentary committee that Jewish students on Australian campuses are traumatised and feel isolated and unsafe. All around Australia Jewish students tell me they don’t feel welcome on campus and they don’t think their universities care.
And yet, hope.
A senior local government officer I have known and respected for decades is subject to antisemitic abuse. His council deals with the abuse by directing him to work from home.
And yet, hope.
Abuse and derision directed at anyone expressing concern for the Islamophobia experienced by Muslim Australians, including Palestinian Australians, after the Hamas attack. As if there is a hierarchy of hate.
And yet, hope.
People fleeing Gaza become objects of fear. Labelled a threat though they left their homes with no more than their clothes, their children and hope for a better future. Question time fodder.
My friend Josh Burns says: “The Palestinian people of Gaza, like my family and friends in Israel, did not choose this war and we must maintain our humanity and respect human rights for all.” He cops ongoing abuse.
Leviticus 19:34 tells us “the stranger that dwells with you shall be to you as the home-born among you, and you shall love him as yourself”. For many, fear has overwhelmed the kindness that represents their true selves.
And yet, hope.
Why so silent, Mark? This, I have been asked a lot. I have thought about it a lot too. I have said little in public about the Hamas-Israel war because I am not the foreign affairs minister. I am Australia’s first law officer. A minister, not a commentator. Just because I’m not talking doesn’t mean I don’t understand.
Over the past year I have watched events on the other side of the world affect my home in an unexpected way. The rise in antisemitism in Australia after the Hamas attack has been truly shocking. Equally shocking has been the reluctance of some on the left to call out Hamas’ behaviour for what it is – an attempt to kill as many Jews as possible and inflict harm every day since.
The failure of many, including the opposition, to show empathy and compassion to people fleeing Gaza has also been inexplicable. The weaponisation of prejudice and hate for political gain is always ugly, and the last 12 months have been very ugly.
As a minister I have approved security funding for synagogues, mosques and Jewish and Islamic schools. I have legislated to ban Nazi symbols and other symbols of hate. I have introduced legislation strengthening hate speech laws. The Australian Human Rights Commission in my portfolio is conducting a study into the prevalence and impact of racism in our universities, with a particular focus on the incidence of antisemitism, Islamophobia and the experience of First Nations peoples. I am a member of a government that established Australia’s first Special Envoy to Combat Antisemitism and a Special Envoy to Combat Islamophobia.
I have always thought actions matter more than words. But words do matter, and the words on this page reflect some of the pain, anguish and sorrow I have heard, as well as some of the pain I have experienced myself, over the past year.
And yet, I have hope.
Hope that hostages who are still alive will return to their loved ones.
Hope for a lasting ceasefire that ends the killing.
Hope for the rebuilding of Gaza.
Hope that Israel will maintain its democratic foundations.
Hope for a two-state solution – an Israeli state alongside a Palestinian state with Israelis and Palestinians living securely and prosperously within internationally recognised borders.
Hope too, for an Australia where the stranger shall be treated like the home-born, where faith-based schools don’t need blast walls and armed guards, and where antisemitism, the oldest hatred, is part of our past and not our shared future.
I wish for a future where each of us – no matter our faith, race or politics – is guided by hope, not hate.
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Mark Dreyfus is Australia’s attorney general
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