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ReflectionLifestyle

I am prouder than ever to be an October 6 Jew

There is a short-hand to describe the phenomenon of Jews reasserting their Jewishness after the Hamas attacks: October 8 Jews. I’m not an October 8 Jew, but maybe I’m an October 6 convert.
Elizabeth Sutherland
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Elizabeth lighting a candle wearing a kippah

“I’m not an October 8 Jew, but maybe I’m an October 6 convert” (Image: supplied).

Published: 6 October 2025

Last updated: 6 October 2025

It was in the winter of 2023 that I finally formalised my Jewish identity after a decade of practice and learning within the progressive community.

My Jewish wife and I had already been raising our daughter in a Jewish home and I had happily been informally participating in the community, but the time came when I craved more. I wanted to be able to be called to Torah at my daughter’s bat mitzvah and be seen as a Jew both inside and outside of the community.

When I finally reached the Beit Din (the rabbinic court that finalises conversions), the rabbis wanted to know why, in a time of growing antisemitism, would I want to subject myself to possible persecution. I took the question to be largely hypothetical, an important idea to ponder about a future that was yet to come into full focus.

I had no way of predicting the cloak of horrors that October 7 would lay across all of our days and mark us out as ‘other’.

It happened almost immediately. On the morning of Simchat Torah, October 7, 2023, I awoke with anticipation and excitement to finally hold the Torah along with my community and fully partake in a celebration that I’d only ever been on the sidelines of before. But then, news started rolling in from Israel of the Hamas attacks and by the time we reached our synagogue, the congregation was struggling to find the will to party.

Still, we stood together resiliently, unfurling the sacred scroll together, finding moments amongst the shock and fear to express Jewish solidarity and yes, even Jewish joy.

Already I was realising that this was an intense time to embrace my Jewish identity.

There’s little sympathy for my experiences to be found in the queer community, a place I once felt I belonged.

There is a short-hand in our community to describe the phenomenon of Jews reasserting their Jewishness after the Hamas attacks and subsequent war: October 8 Jews.

I’m not an October 8 Jew, but maybe I’m an October 6 convert.

In the Melbourne spring of 2023, just weeks after I converted, Israel bombed Gaza. Images reach us of children, their skin grey with concrete dust, their dark eyes holding a horrible wisdom beyond years, a terrible knowing.

Our screens over here pour their suffering into our mornings. Palestinian mothers, arms empty – or arms full with corpses – offer themselves to foreign photographers so that we might look upon their loss over our breakfasts.

I can’t stop looking. I read accounts from the kibbutzim that were attacked and razed. I weep at images of the young women dragged away bleeding. I listen to the agonised voices of fellow Jews who heard the gunshots that killed their families at the end of desperate phone calls.

On Facebook, I post a poem by Yehuda Amichai, a plea for wild peace. Many of my friends like the post. It will be one of the last times most of these people will interact with me on social media.

I have never even been to Israel, I say, in conversations with friends and acquaintances. I don’t support the government. I am appalled at the plight of civilians.

The fact that these are rote statements offered defensively doesn’t make them any less true, but it does make me feel a little smaller each time. I condemn some reported event in a war 14,000 kilometres away and it’s like I have rolled over and showed my belly. See? I am a good Jew. I am not going to bite you.

When I think of how one of my dearest friend’s cousins are in Israel, sheltering from missiles, the shame eats at me.

There’s little sympathy for my experiences to be found in the queer community, a place I once felt I belonged. It’s the same for all of us. At shul, a young queer man tells me he is desperately looking for housing but all of the rental ads explicitly say ‘no Zios’. I think they really mean, he says, no Jews.

Sutherland, middle, on her wedding day (Image: supplied).
Sutherland, middle, on her wedding day (Image: supplied).

Immediately after October 7, my daughter’s inclusive, inner-city government school became a place of disquiet. Kids hissed “Zio Nazi baby killer” at her in the hallways. They yelled “all Zionists are fascists!” as she walked by. Nobody asked her what her position on Israel was. The school, with the best of intentions, suggested that the upcoming history class excursion to the Holocaust Museum would help.

As the Holocaust survivor finished his address, a boy yelled from the back row – drowning out the voice of an elderly volunteer who had survived the camps and raised generations in his beloved Melbourne – “Free Palestine!”

It was less than one month after the massacre of more than 350 young people at the Nova music festival. It was the week of the 85th anniversary of Kristallnacht. There was one Jewish student in the class. My daughter.

By December 2024, I am used to the new reality of antisemitism in my life.

My kid is on the cusp of adulthood. For all parents, this is a weird time. We wrestle with the impulse to protect and the impulse to release. We try to dampen our fear of the world to avoid passing it on, but we also try to pass it on. I want her brave and intrepid and I also want her safe and sound.

After the first six months or so of weekly protests, she stopped wearing her Star of David necklace into the city. It’s not what her other mum and I want, but it is what we want at the same time.

By December 2024, I am used to the new reality of antisemitism in my life. Still, on the morning of the first synagogue firebombing I huddle on my sofa in shock. On Facebook, an old friend has shared a video of a pro-Palestine activist claiming the Adass Israel synagogue arson attack was orchestrated by Zionists. Her keffiyeh is carefully draped over her shoulders and she is saying that our people are committing false actions against ourselves to manipulate the media.

It is the kind of hate the alt-right spreads about school shootings in the US, and it’s coming from a left-wing Australian. It's coming for us.

I realise, with a jolt, that my friend no longer sees my humanity.

Sutherland on her first Simchat Torah around 2015 (Image: supplied).
Sutherland on her first Simchat Torah around 2015 (Image: supplied).

In the depth of winter almost two years later, I wake up to news that a second synagogue has been set alight in Melbourne, this time on Shabbat, when people were inside.

The only messages on my phone checking in on me are from other Jews.

Still, I am prouder than ever to be an October 6 Jew.

On the morning that I woke to the news that neo-Nazi graffiti was scrawled across the windows of local restaurants and plastered on the wall opposite the Holocaust Museum, I travel with my daughter to our supermarket, a few blocks away from the attacks.

While we wait at the check-out I receive a message from a Jewish friend: I am not okay. I text what support I can and start to load my shopping onto the conveyer.

The supermarket is full of families and the children strike me as tender and vulnerable but also resilient, flourishing and hopeful. I smile brightly at a boy with peyot, and a girl who helps her mother load a big can of kosher pickles onto the conveyer.

A tiny boy with red and blue cars on his kippah, strapped in a trolley seat, returns my daughter’s smile as we leave the store.

I see her Star of David glint in the light as she helps me load the groceries in the car. We head home and I think, thank you God for making me a Jew.

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About the author

Elizabeth Sutherland

Elizabeth Sutherland

Elizabeth Sutherland is a writer and teacher from Naarm/Melbourne living in the bagel belt with her wife and daughter.

Comments2

  • Avatar of Jacob Dessauer

    Jacob Dessauer6 October at 03:44 am

    Thank you for writing your experiences and sharing them. I read with tears in my eyes
    Wishing you a wonderful Sukkot

  • Avatar of Shelley

    Shelley6 October at 01:00 am

    Proud to be your friend, Elizabeth.