A silver lining for these troubled times

The other day I woke up to a six-minute voice message from my friend in Los Angeles which began, “Dear Jessica Bowker, this is my verbal letter to you. I just wonder if I’m about to step over a line, but I’m pretty sure our friendship can take it.”

My pulse quickened as I wondered what lay beneath this ominous preamble. But as my friend continued and I absorbed his words, the tension in my body dissipated. His message was in response to recent posts I’d shared on social media about antisemitic incidents in Australia, including attacks on Jewish high school students. The gist of it was, if you look for examples of hatred you’ll find them, it will drain your energy, and you’ll amplify hate at a time when more love is needed.

I replayed my friend’s message three times and ruminated on his words all day: “You were born into the world a beautiful human being of Jewish ancestry. And if you keep focusing on finding examples of people hating you or hating Judaism or being antisemitic, it’s not healing or solving the problem. It’s giving all those people more energy that they’re right.”

Recently I wrote about my phone addiction since October 7 and my drive for knowledge amid the exploding antisemitism on our shores. I’ve also reflected on the unexpected silver linings that have emerged because of it, particularly how my friendship circle has expanded and become stronger.

Ironically, if not for October 7 I wouldn’t have developed the close relationship I now have with a Palestinian Muslim mother from my son’s school. Nor would I have linked up with a Christian Arab Australian author in Perth and a Jewish Australian Israeli author and peace educator in Jerusalem. These meaningful connections have served as a counterweight, keeping me afloat during the darkest hours. Along with discovering a visionary community of Israeli and Palestinian peace builders, they fill me with hope.

For most of my adulthood, I’ve felt isolated as a Jew in Perth. I didn’t grow up in the Jewish community, my husband isn’t Jewish, and my children don’t attend a Jewish school. Until this year, I only knew one other Jewish person in my postcode. My friend’s message struck a chord, calling on me to “feed the joy and the love and the companionship and the sense of community that comes from being part of the Jewish community.” 

Earlier this year I visited two Jewish friends in Melbourne who I hadn’t seen for years. It soothed my soul to be around people who implicitly understood how I felt. Through social media, I’ve connected with other Jewish writers and I’m now part of a self-described ‘Chutzpah Club’ of Jewish mothers, which formed after discovering a Jewish neighbour on my street. We’ve gone out for drinks and dinner, and every few weeks we take turns driving to the northern suburbs for our kosher bagel and challah fix. We recently hosted our first Shabbat dinner with our Jewish neighbours, and watched on with full hearts as our children recited the Shabbos prayers in broken Hebrew.

Amidst this, my 13-year-old son continues to experience ongoing antisemitism at his high school. The other day another student said “I love Hitler” to him, the latest in a string of antisemitic slurs he’s endured since October 7. Deeply troubled by this, I shared a post on social media of the words “Gas the Fucking Jews” scrawled on a pole in east Melbourne, then a news story about students from an east Sydney Catholic high school performing Hitler salutes and targeting Jewish students.

Most of my friends are part of the silent majority of Australians who abhor antisemitism and racism in all its forms. Some have reached out to express their dismay at what’s happening to my son and the brazen displays of Jew hatred in Australia. As kind and empathetic as they are, I realise it’s impossible for them to understand the visceral fear their Jewish friends are feeling since October 7, and how the Gaza war is impacting on our daily lives. Because of this and my son’s experience, I will continue to speak out about this insidious and growing problem in Australia. And I know I’ll keep finding the silver linings, too.   

Though there are miles separating us, today and tomorrow my friend’s words will stay with me: “Step out of the focus of evil and negativity and into the positive, because that positive energy is pure love. Show people that we are pure love, and they can’t hate us. And if they do, it’s a reflection of them, not us.”

To my dearest friend across the oceans. The answer is yes, our friendship can take it. Thank you for encouraging me to keep stepping towards the light.