Hatred and Indifference in Modern Australia

Two days after Hamas massacred 1,200 Israelis, I was sitting at my desk in the Sydney Central Business District. Zoe, my colleague, stood up from her desk with a worried look. Holding her phone, she told me that the New South Wales Board of Deputies had received a police warning: the safety of Jews in the city could not be guaranteed. The message she had just received was encouraging them to leave.

That message, combined with the knowledge of an upcoming pro-Palestinian protest in the city, made me feel something that I’d never felt before as an Australian citizen. I felt queasy as I remembered other times when Jews had felt safe in their own cities—then suddenly no longer.

It was during that moment of fear that I realised what antisemitism really was. Not being Jewish myself, I had never had a personal connection with the Holocaust. My knowledge of antisemitism was purely theoretical and abstract. It was a phenomenon I had read about in books, seen in films and documentaries, but it hit me that day like a slap to the face. I realised that antisemitism is two things: active, vicious hatred and cool institutional indifference towards that hate. And it was that institutional indifference that made me feel afraid.

The vicious hate manifested that night when a mob congregated on the steps of the Opera House chanting “where’s the Jews,” “fuck the Jews,” and “fuck Israel.” But what unnerved me was the indifference of authorities who had permitted this celebratory march from Sydney Town Hall in the first place. This was compounded when only one person was arrested at that rally where flags were burned—and that was a bystander carrying an Israeli flag.

Since that day, Australia’s Prime Minister, Anthony Albanese has followed the model of indifference shown by the NSW Police. He says “antisemitism has no place in Australia,” while anti-Israel protesters freely demonstrate in front of synagogues. He takes no responsibility for surging attacks on Jews while simultaneously undermining the world’s only Jewish state. While Albanese might not be personally antisemitic, his intentional paralysis speaks of something more damning.

In the early hours of Friday morning, a synagogue in the Melbourne suburb of Ripponlea was firebombed. Worshippers who were inside the building fled for safety. Built by Holocaust survivors, the synagogue was the Adass Israel congregation’s place of worship. The fire destroyed irreplaceable Torah scrolls passed down through generations, leaving the building gutted.

A timeline published by The Australian this weekend exposes the timid response from Australia’s leaders. Albanese said nothing when a mob descended upon Central Shule Chabad Synagogue in Melbourne’s East on the anniversary of Kristallnacht. He said nothing when an anti-Israel convoy drove through Sydney’s Eastern suburbs, home to many Jewish Australians. He remained silent when families of Israeli hostages fled from protesters who ambushed them, calling them “baby killers.” No response came when a Melbourne professor had his office stormed, protesters calling him a “war criminal” for working with an Israeli University. Silence again when former Olympian, Australian Senator, and Indigenous woman Nova Peris was surrounded by an intimidating mob at the Great Synagogue in Sydney.

The silence extends beyond government. While major corporations and cultural institutions rush to signal their virtues on climate change and the Voice, they remain conspicuously silent when Jews face actual violence and threats to their physical safety. This isn’t about social exclusion or verbal slights that we normally associate with prejudice. It’s about institutional paralysis when synagogues burn, when Jewish MPs have their offices vandalised, and when mobs celebrate the massacre of Jews in Australian streets. The threat is immediate and physical, yet the response remains tepid.

From the River to the Sea: The Significance of a Slogan

Not all of those who advocate for a single state “from the river to the sea” have genocidal intent, but their recommendation, if acted upon, is very likely to result in either the genocide or ethnic cleansing of Jews.

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This institutional indifference stems from a perverse logic: Jews are seen as too successful to be victims. Their relative educational and economic achievements are held against them, transforming antisemitism into what some view as legitimate political protest. Left-wing leaders, trained to spot hatred born of contempt, are blind to hatred born of envy. Their framework for understanding oppression breaks down when the targeted group is successful.

This is why Anthony Albanese cannot move beyond platitudes or convey authority on an issue that requires leadership. Many in the Labor Party cannot recognise that a group that is (on average) highly educated and successful can be victimised precisely because of their success. Rushing to champion Indigenous and LGBTQA+ issues, our left-leaning leaders fall mute when confronting violent hatred directed at Jewish Australians. Their ideological framework, built around power differentials and systemic oppression, leaves them paralysed when faced with mob violence against a minority group that doesn’t fit their pro forma templates. But this blindness to success-based persecution isn’t just a philosophical failure—it betrays the basic duty to protect all citizens from violence.

Of course, one may argue these Labor politicians are simply responding to electoral demographics, particularly in seats with significant Muslim Australian populations. And the outrage over Israel’s military response in Gaza and Netanyahu’s policies deserves expression in a democratic society. Nevertheless, our leaders have failed to draw a crucial line: while criticism of Israeli policy is legitimate, calls for Israel’s destruction cross into explicit antisemitism. When protesters march with “From the River to the Sea” placards, display Hamas and Hezbollah symbols, and demand Israel’s elimination, they’re promoting ethnic hatred that directly threatens Jewish Australians who have no say in Israeli policy. Our leaders’ reluctance to point out this distinction has left Australian Jews vulnerable to intimidation and violence that has nothing to do with criticising Israel.

The firebombing of the Adass Israel Synagogue—a place built by Holocaust survivors seeking refuge from persecution—shows where institutional indifference leads. When our leaders fail to draw clear lines between legitimate political discourse and naked Jew hate, when they treat attacks on Jewish Australians as a low priority, they create the conditions that we learn about in history books. The vicious hatred may come from a militant few, but it’s the silent majority—particularly those in positions of power and influence—who let it spread. For Jewish Australians, their grandparents’ stories must no longer feel like stories of a distant nightmare but lessons in a fear that never ends.