6.51pm, Sunday 14 December. My phone rings, it’s my father. I’m a little surprised – I’d seen parents only a few hours earlier, after lunching with them at our favourite Indian eatery, Taj in Surry Hills. We’d feasted on pani puri and biryani and mango lassi to celebrate my Bombay-born father’s 82nd birthday – albeit a day early – because my brother and daughter were flying to Melbourne that evening. Elana Benjamin
I answer the phone. “Turn on the news,” Dad says calmly. “There’s a shooting in Bondi.”
I misunderstand, thinking my father is watching TV in his Bondi semi – the same one where I grew up – and is instructing me to do the same.
“Are you home?” I ask.
“No,” he says, still calm. “Mum and I are in lockdown in the [Bondi] Pavilion.”
My heart races. I fumble with the remote control until I finally switch on the television. But there’s nothing on the news – it’s only four minutes since the killing spree began. There’s nothing on social media, either. Dad had assured me they’re safe, but I have no clue what’s going on and I’m terrified.
Later, I will find out the shooting is a targeted attack on our Jewish community at Bondi Beach’s annual Chanukah by the Sea celebration. It’s a joyous celebration of the Jewish festival of light, which I’ve attended numerous times in the past. My parents, however, weren’t at this event; they’d simply gone to the beach for a walk.
Later, I will see footage of the gunman opening fire from a footbridge over the Bondi Beach car park. It’s the same footbridge I traverse on my regular walks along the promenade.
Later, I will discover that I know many people who were at the Chanukah event; some of whom were injured, others who narrowly escaped harm. And although I don’t personally know any of those who were murdered, they are only one degree of separation away. Elana Benjamin
Soon after 7.30pm, my father phones to tell me that he and my mother are leaving the Pavilion. I am beyond relieved that they are safe; that my father will live to see his 82nd birthday. But already, I have a sense of the carnage which has taken place in the suburb in which my family has lived peacefully for over 60 years, since leaving their native India. And I am painfully aware there are many innocent people who will never celebrate another birthday.
My husband and I get in the car to pick up my parents. The streets are eerily quiet for a summer’s Sunday evening, save for the police cars and their screeching sirens. My mother is shaken but my parents are physically unscathed. They are among the lucky ones.
The following day, my body clocks what my brain cannot. My digestive system goes offline and I feel as if I’m walking around in a daze. My husband and I walk down to the Bondi memorial. I see a friend and his family who recount their story of survival. I sob in my friend’s arms. How could this have happened?
Both my parents were born and grew up in Bombay, now Mumbai, and were part of its small Baghdadi Jewish community. Their community began to disintegrate in the 1950s, following India’s independence and the establishment of Israel. In the 1960s, most of my father’s large family immigrated to Sydney. They settled in Bondi, close to the established Ashkenazi (European) Jewish community. My mother arrived in 1970 to marry my father.
Aside from a sojourn in an adjoining suburb, I’ve lived in Bondi all my life. Bondi Beach is my happy place. It’s where my mother pushed my pram in the witching hours of the afternoon when I was a baby, and where I did the same with my own children. It’s where my then-boyfriend, now-husband, proposed to me. It’s where I went during COVID lockdowns to stay sane; where I walk each day when working from home. Elana Benjamin
Bondi prides itself on its multicultural community, including a significant Jewish population. Until recently, we have rarely experienced antisemitism. That all changed after October 7, 2023, culminating in Sunday’s shooting at Bondi Beach – the worst terrorist attack in Australia’s history.
Since then, I’ve had relatives, friends and colleagues reach out from near and far to see if my family and I are okay. I am deeply grateful for their love and care, and for all the wonderful messages of support. But my Jewish community and I are not okay; not even close. Elana Benjamin
Sunday’s massacre has shattered our sense of safety and security. We are devastated. Heartbroken. Angry. So much senseless loss of life. So much trauma. So much hate allowed to go unchecked.
I’ve never considered living anywhere other than Australia. But for the first time ever, I turned to my husband last night. “If we have to leave,” I asked him, “where will we go?”
READ ALSO: Plating memory: Elana Benjamin’s cookbook on Indian-Jewish food
