‘They thought this would never happen here’: attack on Melbourne synagogue revives memories of past atrocities | Australia news

Deep inside Melbourne’s oldest and largest synagogue, partially obscured by a velvet curtain decorated with a Star of David, Rabbi Shlomo Nathanson is preparing for the worst.

He carefully handles handwritten copies of Torah scrolls, sacred to his faith, which have been stored at the synagogue for generations. Security around these scrolls, and the community that holds them dear, is being bolstered, as a wave of fear and anger washes through Jewish communities in Australia.

Like many, Rabbi Nathanson watched with disbelief as the destruction caused by an arson attack on the nearby Adass Israel synagogue was revealed. The building was left standing but its insides were gutted by fire. Police say the blaze was “an attack on the Jewish people” that is being treated as terrorism. Three suspects are yet to be apprehended.

Among the charred ruins was a Torah scroll pulled from the rubble of the Great Synagogue in what is now Bratislava, Slovakia, which was firebombed during the second world war. The scroll was one of seven saved by Jonas Eckstein, who was detained in a forced labour camp during the Holocaust.

After the war, Jonas decided to take the scroll as far away as possible. He settled in Melbourne, which to this day has the highest number of Holocaust survivors outside Israel. He migrated with his one-year-old son, William. Both joined the Adass Israel synagogue, which became the centre of their lives.

On Monday morning, more than 70 years after the scroll was first saved, William, like his father, pulled it from a burned synagogue.

“It’s hard to believe this happened again, in Australia, of all places,” William says.

“My parents came here and thought this was the greatest country in the world. They thought this would never happen here. They got as far away from Europe as possible because they wanted a new life. And then this came at me.”

Nathanson says many members of his congregation believe “a threshold has been crossed” in Australia. After spending more than a year warning of a rise in antisemitism, influenced by events in the Middle East, he says they’re now asking “what are we doing to protect ourselves?”

“We are all looking over our shoulders in a country where we never thought this would be something we needed to do,” he says.

‘They called me a baby killer’

Two weeks before his synagogue was targeted, Benjamin Klein says, he was attacked with antisemitic abuse. Klein, a real estate agent, was standing outside a property in the leafy suburb of Camberwell in Melbourne’s east.

“I was on the side of the road and someone just screamed at me. They called me ‘a baby killer’. They really got stuck into me. I didn’t know this person. This is what Melbourne is turning into,” says Klein, who is a board member of the Adass Israel synagogue.

“As kids, we always grew up with a little bit of screaming here and there, but nothing serious. Now, the jewel in the crown of our community, the synagogue, is laying in ruins. All the holy books are burned on the ground. It’s a kick in the guts.”

In the days after the fire, buildings in Sydney’s eastern suburbs – home to a substantial Jewish population – were graffitied with anti-Israel messages and a car set alight, the second such incident in the area in recent weeks. Separately, in the southern suburb of Arncliffe, antisemitic tropes and praise for Hitler were daubed on a wall.

Australian political leaders have met Jewish leaders and visited synagogues, assuring them there is no tolerance for antisemitism. But Jewish communities continue to report abuse. Some believe their warnings have gone unheeded .

The events of the last week have also triggered a brutal partisan political debate. Conservative opposition politicians have accused state and federal Labor governments of not only being too slow to respond to concerns from Jewish communities, but even of enabling and emboldening the perpetrators.

It’s a charge the prime minister, Anthony Albanese, has rejected, saying: “This [is] a time for unity, not a time to seek political advantage or to seek to divide.” This week his government established a national taskforce to investigate antisemitism which includes the nation’s intelligence agencies, millions of dollars for security upgrades at places of worship, and pledges to help rebuild the Adass synagogue.

Klein says that since the arson attack, his seven-year-old son has asked him why there are so many security guards at his school. He says he no longer lets his daughter walk their local streets alone.

Menachem Vorchheimer, who questioned whether the Victorian premier had failed to protect Jewish residents outside the synagogue this week, said his children had suffered antisemitic attacks in the past 12 months.

“My son, my little boy, has unfortunately been abused a couple of times,” says Vorchheimer. “When he wants to go the shopping centre, we have discussions about whether he should wear his yarmulke or not.”

The Adass congregation is distinct from other parts of the ultra-Orthodox community in Melbourne. It has its own synagogue, schools and even kosher food certifier, in line with its stricter interpretation of ultra-Orthodox Judaism.

Its congregation is ideologically diverse, but the Adass community is broadly non-Zionist, out of a religious belief that a Jewish state should not exist until the coming of the Messiah.

‘People are wearing baseball hats instead of a kippah’

Rabbi Gabi Kaltmann’s grandfather, Joseph, also settled in Melbourne after surviving the Holocaust. After spending time in concentration camps and losing his immediate family, he wanted to create a new life. He joined the Adass Israel synagogue and remained a member until his death.

This week, Kaltmann stood beside government and opposition MPs who toured the charred synagogue. They all declared there was no place for antisemitism in Australia. But Kaltmann, who is a rabbi at a neighbouring synagogue, says his community had warned something like this could occur for more than a year.

“We have been sounding the alarm on antisemitism since October 7,” says Kaltmann. “People are definitely a lot more hesitant to look physically Jewish when they are going out. People are wearing baseball hats instead of a kippah. They’re not wearing their Stars of David necklaces like they usually would.”

Kaltmann says his community has been punished for the actions of a foreign government. He says some Jewish people no longer feel safe in the city, which has hosted weekly pro-Palestinian rallies for more than a year.

“We are talking about Australian citizens, not Israelis, not people who have any bearing over the actions of the Israeli government,” Kaltmann says. “These are Aussies that came here to live in peace and harmony. That’s it. That’s all we want. We are sick of it.”

Outside the synagogue, Philip Zajac, the president of the Jewish Community Council of Victoria, says the Adass community is apolitical, with many members refusing to recognise Israel. He says they are not Zionists, nor actively involved in the politics of the Middle East.

“Their focus is religion, not Israel,” Zajac says. “Their life is about prayer, being devout, and honouring the traditions of Jewish religion.”

‘We must redouble our efforts’

Melbourne’s Holocaust museum, which was created in 1984 by refugees who survived concentration camps, will now increase its operating hours in response to the string of antisemitic attacks.

The museum’s chief executive, Dr Steven Cooke, says its founders were determined to ensure that no one forgets the horrors they endured, but importantly, to ensure they are never repeated.

“We must redouble our efforts in terms of educating the whole community about the dangers of antisemitism, the horrors of the Holocaust, and what is happening today,” Cooke says.

Many Jewish leaders in Melbourne want these latest attacks to be a turning point for Australia. While some feel their warnings about antisemitism were largely ignored, they hope political leaders will become more vigilant about social cohesion.

“This is a community that is largely descendants of Holocaust survivors,” says Kaltmann. “We know what the scourge of antisemitism can lead to. It doesn’t just stop at the Jews. It will start with us. But it won’t end with us.”

Pinned to the destroyed facade of his grandfather’s synagogue is a handwritten note that may bring some comfort: “An act of hate designed to intimidate has done the opposite – it has brought us all closer together. This behaviour, this antisemitism, has no place in our society.”