Dim the lights or defy the dark?

I write to you from Jerusalem, a city that embodies both our ancient story and our future, the capital of the Jewish state. Today, my thoughts are not only here, but also with the victims and families affected by the horrific terror attack in Australia. Across continents and communities, we are once again confronted with a brutal reminder: hatred does not respect borders, and innocent lives are too often targeted simply for who they are or what they represent.

As I walk Jerusalem’s cobblestone streets, I am reminded of my own upbringing in Tashkent, in the Soviet Union, where Jewish holidays were never celebrated openly and Jewish identity was something to be concealed. Only when I made aliyah to Israel did I truly discover the meaning of our traditions: the joy of celebrating our heritage and faith with pride and without fear.

One of my most enduring memories is of my grandfather, Meir, who kept a small collection of ancient coins. Each Hanukkah, he would give one to every grandchild, a quiet, private reminder of the unbroken bond between the Jewish people and our land. At the time, I did not fully grasp the symbolism. Today, I see in those coins his quiet pride: pride in being Jewish, in celebrating openly, and in passing on our people’s story to the next generation.

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And yet this year, a painful and familiar question has resurfaced across Jewish communities worldwide, sharpened by the violence we have witnessed in Australia and elsewhere: should we celebrate quietly? Should we draw less attention? Should we dim the light?

This question echoes far beyond one country. In the United Kingdom, Jewish schools have cancelled outdoor activities. Synagogues have been vandalised. In Manchester, on Yom Kippur, worshippers at Heaton Park Hebrew Congregation faced a deadly attack. Online, anti-Jewish slurs that once belonged to the margins now circulate openly. On university campuses, protests that claim to target Israeli “policy” often leave Jewish students feeling singled out simply for being Jewish. Jewish institutions have been forced to dramatically increase security in response to credible threats.

This attack did not happen in a vacuum. It is the direct result of years of antisemitic agitation that has gone largely unchallenged

We have also seen how fear is sometimes addressed not by confronting extremists, but by restricting Jewish life itself. In Birmingham, at the Maccabi Tel Aviv–Aston Villa match, Israeli and Jewish fans were told not to attend, described as a “security measure.” For many, the message was painfully clear: visibility had become a liability, identity a problem to be managed.

The murderous shooting attack at a Chanukah event in Sydney underscores where this path leads if hatred is allowed to fester unchecked. This attack did not happen in a vacuum. It is the direct result of years of antisemitic agitation that has gone largely unchallenged, where inciting slogans such as “Globalise the Intifada” and “From the River to the Sea” were repeatedly tolerated, normalised, and dismissed as mere rhetoric.

This week, those words translated into violence.

Western governments received countless warning signs. Too often, they chose complacency over clarity, caution over courage. They must now come to their senses, confront the consequences of this failure, and act decisively to protect Jewish life and to stop the incitement that fuels such attacks. Asking Jews to hide, withdraw, or accept diminished visibility is not protection; it is surrender.

Chanukah offers a different response. It is not a festival of silent endurance, but one of resilience and courage. The Maccabees fought not only for survival, but for the right to live openly as Jews, to worship freely, and to rekindle a light that symbolised sovereignty, dignity, and hope. Today, that same spirit finds expression in the modern State of Israel and in Jewish communities around the world who refuse to surrender their identity to fear.

The chanukiya in the window is not a decoration. It is a declaration. It says: we will not shrink ourselves to make others comfortable. We will grieve with those who have suffered, stand in solidarity with victims of terror everywhere, and still remain proud of who we are. We will not allow violence to dictate how, or whether, we live our Jewish lives.

Because the chanukiya in the window affirms something simple and profound: that Jews belong, in Britain, in Australia, in Israel, and wherever our people call home. And as those lights shine, we are reminded of something greater still: the light of one home strengthens the light of another. In London and Jerusalem, in Sydney and Melbourne, in Manchester, Birmingham, Glasgow, Leeds, Brighton, and across Israel and the UK, we shine brightest when we shine together.