Tim Wilson (Goldstein, Liberal Party, Shadow Minister for Small Business) Share this | Hansard source

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When the first shots rang out and people dropped to the ground, my father lifted his head.

He shouted at the terrorists, swore at him, challenged him: "how dare you come here, how dare you come to our place, to our people".

A woman later told me as she lay over her children whispering shema certain it was her final moment, the gun was pointed at her.

And then suddenly the terrorists turned, my father had distracted him, he had pulled him away.

Then came the footage the world saw.

My father throwing a brick at an armed terrorist, not out of recklessness, out of instinct, out of refusal to stand by.

More footage followed.

My father grabbing the gun, he knew how to use one, and he was ready to fight.

He was shot in the wrist, then another bullet, and then another, he collapsed to the ground.

My father said when we leave this world we take nothing with us. But he did.

Eleven bullets were found in his body.

A silent record of the final minutes of his life. Minutes filled with courage, with clarity and with selflessness.

I was privileged to hear this tribute from Sheina Gutnick to her father, Reuven Morrison, at the Bondi Shloshim at St Kilda Shule, as well as Perele Goldhirsch's tribute to her brother, Rabbi Eli Schlanger, last Monday. Today we honour their memories, with Edith Brutman, Dan Elkayam, Boris and Sofia Gurman, Alexander Kleytman, Rabbi Yaakov Levitan, Peter Meagher, Marika Pogany, Adam Smyth, Boris Tetleroyd, Tania Tretiak, Tibor Weitzen and, of course, Matilda, and the many others who were injured, as well as the first responders and the bystanders.

Bondi is, of course, a long way away from Goldstein, but the communities are connected by their people. On the Friday before the Bondi attack, I went to Central Shule in Caulfield South, and we discussed how wonderful it was that everything was seemingly returning to normal, and the mood was joyful at Chanukah at the Racecourse, just before 7 pm, as I arrived, on 14 December. But, as the news trickled in, the mood turned, as attendees lived the fear of texts going unanswered and phone calls ringing out to loved ones they knew were at the sister event in Sydney. Moreover, we all lived the daunting fear of whether we were safe in the context, and this has become the lived experience for Australians of Jewish heritage.

In the days that followed, I contacted many people I saw that night. Some told me family members were safe; others had friends who had sustained injuries but were stable in hospital. And some needed help. I also had to make phone calls to express condolences to grieving families.

While these families were days into processing their loss, they were also two years into living a bigger trauma: that, since 7 October 2023, the ancient bigotry of antisemitism is once again out of its cage. They know that, once antisemitism is let out, there is no quick fix; only sustained leadership can stop it, and, once it is out, it will also come for you. Their anger comes from the frustration of saying something repeatedly and not feeling heard. One local rabbi exclaimed to me in the days after: 'Everyone is saying, "Light through the dark," but where were they when it was dark over the past two years?' Another Goldstein constituent shared: 'The government is offering more money for bigger walls, but I don't want to live behind bigger walls; I want to live a life without them.' While we thank the volunteer Community Security Group, or CSG, for protecting the Jewish community—and we do; they protect the community, schools, synagogues and events—Australians of Jewish heritage don't want to need them. Another constituent wrote to me: 'My anger really is not with the jihadis; they're kind of doing their thing. My anger is that not a single person in our government will talk about the cause of the problem.'

Four days after, I joined a small number of people at Bondi pavilion as the sun rose. Shortly after I'd laid flowers on behalf of the Goldstein community, a women broke down on my shoulder as she told her story of the community she loved being torn apart. In the days after the tragedy, the Jewish community have spoken of their defiance, and, correctly, they've said that the answer must be to be more Jewish. But the responsibility falls to all of us to be our best selves for them too, because Bondi showed the moral clarity and courage that ordinary Australians can show in an instant. It also shows, for all of us, so much of what has been lacking that led to this tragedy.

When I hear calls for new laws because otherwise our government won't be able to stop antisemitism, I worry they underestimate the scale of the challenge. If we could pass a law that ended an ancient bigotry from the human heart, we'd all pass it tomorrow. We need more than a repeat of media-cycle political fixes in place; we need the enduring commitment that this moment compels. A royal commission is welcome. Some law will help. We know the evil we want to confront. Those who cultivate radicalisation to do harm have no place in this nation.

What the community wants from us now is clarity, to call out, of course, the Islamic extremism that motivated this antisemitic terrorism and to lead, because Bondi represents a day when our fraying social fabric was violently torn. The task of restitching it is long and tightening it an enduring one. As my colleague the member for Berowra said this morning:

… Bondi will wither be the crescendo of a bad chapter in our history or the midpoint of a story that gets worse.

Our task is one of honesty, leadership, vigilance and courage. It is not through our words but our deeds. Only then will we honour the words. May their memory be a blessing.

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