My Family Survived Bondi Beach

We expected peace when we moved from Israel to Australia. The war followed us.

Sydney

The author lights a Hanukkah candle in Sydney, Dec. 15.

When my wife and I told our daughters we were relocating from Israel to Australia, our 8-year-old looked up at me and asked: “Abba, does that mean no more boomies?” She was referring to the sirens and explosions that had become part of everyday life since Oct. 7, 2023. “Yes,” I said. Our new home would be safe; our move would mean calm, distance from war, a fresh start for a child who had seen and experienced horrors that no child should.

Less than three weeks later, we were in the crossfire on Bondi Beach.

We had come, like many other families, to celebrate Hanukkah, the joyous festival of lights and Jewish survival. My family sat down to watch the menorah lighting, and I went to get food, barely 50 feet away. Then the horror began, with relentless, rapid gunfire in all directions.

At first, amid the chaos, I ducked for cover, then immediately ran toward my family. As I rose, one of the gunmen’s bullet hit my head. I fell to the ground and bled profusely. I took a photo of my face and sent it to my wife, telling her that I loved her, not knowing whether I’d see her again.

To my right, an elderly man crouched, covering his wife. He was also hit, not moving. To my left, a few feet away, I saw body parts strewn on the ground. Another man ripped off his shirt and lent it to me to help stop the blood gushing from my head.

It lasted about 15 minutes—the longest, most excruciating period of my life—before I was able to make contact with my family. My wife had managed to escape unharmed and found refuge with our children at a nearby surf club.

I’ve spent years telling stories of terror and resilience as a lawyer. I have advocated for victims, documented atrocities and fought for survivors. I never imagined I would become one. Doctors later told me it was millimeters between life and death, “a miracle” I survived. Trolls, spreading AI-generated images, said I was faking it, something I first learned about as I was about to be wheeled into the operating room. God willing, I will make a full recovery.

What I saw on Bondi was pure evil. The terror, screams and lifeless bodies. It felt like the Nova Music Festival all over again, except this time it was on the beach I’d grown up on—an Australian sanctuary. I’d moved my family here to escape war and was taking up a new job to help combat antisemitism.

Over the past two years, that scourge has surged unabated. The Jewish community has warned time and again that when hatred is allowed to fester, when it is excused, normalized or mainstreamed, it inevitably leads to violence. The Bondi attack is the deadly manifestation of the failures to heed those calls.

The warning signs were impossible to miss. On Oct. 9, 2023, while Jewish bodies were still being identified in Israel, crowds gathered outside the Sydney Opera House chanting: “Where are the Jews?” Synagogues have since been firebombed, schools have required heightened security, and families have been harassed. Each incident has been met with predictable statements of concern, promises of review and assurances of action. None came. If the horrors of last week are not to be repeated, Bondi must become a turning point.

Australia doesn’t need another inquiry, strategy document or press release expressing sorrow. We need urgent, decisive action. Our laws must be enforced. Incitement must have consequences. Intelligence must be acted on and radical Islamic extremism must be confronted, not managed.

My physical scars from the attack will heal over time, but the memories of the horror I witnessed will never leave.

And yet, even in the darkness, I witnessed something hopeful. Ordinary Australians, people with no obligation and no protection, ran toward danger to help the wounded. They applied pressure to wounds, offered comfort, shielded strangers with their own bodies and risked their lives to stop the shooters. This is the real Australia. Not the ravenous hatred of the murderers and their enablers, but the quiet courage of decent people.

As I light the Hanukkah candles this year from my hospital bed, I do so as a survivor. But more important, as a father who still believes in the promise I made to my daughters—that this is a place where they can live in peace without the boomies. Hanukkah teaches us that light isn’t inevitable. We must defend it. If Australia wishes to remain a country where Jewish life can flourish openly and safely, this moment must change us all.

Mr. Ostrovsky is an international human-rights lawyer and head of the Sydney office of the Australia/Israel and Jewish Affairs Council.