A love letter to my non-Jewish husband

This isn’t a typical love letter, but writing is my love language, and this is my way of thanking my husband for standing up for me and our children, for my family and for all Jewish people faced with the worst antisemitism in our lifetime.

Fate brought the two of us together during one of the most peaceful periods in history when he, a Perth-born, Anglican-raised atheist, and I, a non-religious Orthodox Jew from South Africa, met at a mutual friend’s party in 1998.

I was an idealistic film and TV student with a nose ring, and he wasn’t like the party-hard guys I knew in Perth. A few years ahead of me, he was more reserved, a non-drinking footy player who’d broken a shin before starting his first corporate job. I didn’t think he was my type or that we had much in common, so it was a surprise when he asked our friend for my number and called the next day to invite me out.

He arrived on crutches to pick me up for our first date, still in his work suit. My mum answered the door and raced inside, gushing “he’s an Adonis!” under her breath like an excited schoolgirl. I hadn’t noticed this at the dimly lit party, and it would take several dates for him to grow on me. As it turns out, there’s nothing more attractive than someone who knows their worth and walks to their own beat.

But the last year has been uniquely distressing for our family in the wake of October 7. Our proudly Jewish son has faced persistent antisemitism at high school, despite attempts to educate the students who’ve targeted him on 12 different occasions. As one of the only Jewish students at his school, it’s been isolating for him and painful for us, knowing that our children cannot be shielded from today’s virulent version of this ancient hatred.

After the last antisemitic incident, we met with school administrators to discuss how to tackle this issue effectively and with sensitivity during a time of conflict, in a way that can bring people together and build bridges, rather than driving them further apart.

Before October 7, whenever I expressed concerns about the global rise of antisemitism, my husband would reassure me it would never again reach the extreme level that preceded the Holocaust. But over the last year, we’ve been horrified by scenes reminiscent of 1930s Germany unfolding in Australia and around the world, where Jews are hunted, attacked, ostracised and made unwelcome in the cities where they live, work, study and travel.

Never did we expect our son would be caught up in this spiralling web of hatred, exacerbated by the proliferation of social media that inverts, distorts and denies the Holocaust. Nor did we realise Holocaust education is no longer part of the Australian high school curriculum and is only offered in Year 10 as an optional subject.

As I listened to my husband talk about the current war in Gaza and Lebanon, I realised how far he’d come in his understanding of the Middle East conflict and its far-reaching consequences for diaspora Jews. My heart almost left my chest when I heard him say, “right now in 2024, I believe antisemitism is the number one race discrimination issue globally, and we need more Holocaust education in our schools.”

Coming from a non-Jew, these words had profound impact, and I was overwhelmed with gratitude for his public display of allyship. In that moment I fell in love with him all over again. I knew if we’d been a couple in the 1930s, he would’ve risked his life for us and other Jews. That he would’ve been considered Righteous Among the Nations. And it made me realise how rare it is for Jewish people to have strong allies who educate themselves and stand up for us without fear.

I allow myself to imagine a world where every Jewish person has an ally like my husband, where there are more upstanders than bystanders in every school, university and workplace, and it gives me hope and strength during these troubled times.

To the love of my life, a man of substance and the ultimate mensch. Thank you for leading the way with your love for me and our boys.