My Jewish identity isn’t taking a holiday  

On a Greek Island holiday, I made loose plans to meet up with some friends from Tel Aviv. Before I even sat down, they noticed the Magen David (Star of David) around my neck. 

“Wow! I love that you’re wearing it!” an Israeli friend exclaimed, impressed but also a little concerned.  

Their necks were bare—no Jewish stars, not even a chai or chamsa. I felt a pang of sadness. Their desire to slip under the radar marked a shift from the borderline-obnoxious Jewish pride I’d come to associate with Israelis before October 7. 

What hadn’t changed was the ruach—the intoxicating energy I know and love. The table buzzed, ouzo flowed, and too much food was ordered. I sunk into the familiar rhythm of their banter, understanding more from their gestures and tone than the Hebrew itself. There’s something about the way Israelis relax—so confident, so alive. 

But the anxiety beneath that relaxed exterior was revealed when the conversation circled back to my necklace, which glinted against my freckled skin in the low afternoon sun. It was too hot to wear anything but bathers, and I was too content to even think about covering it up. 

“Don’t you feel scared?” they asked. 

The question struck me as surreal coming from people who’d just lived through months of sirens, missile strikes, and shelters. That was scary. 

But I had the privilege of saying “Australia” when asked where I was from. The neutrality of my home country (colonial origins notwithstanding) is not something I take for granted anymore. 

The global hostility toward Israel—and let’s be honest, toward Jews—has become loud and aggressive.