Two gunmen took her friend. She won’t let them take something else

Two Gunmen Took Her Friend. She Won’t Let Them Take Something Else

Two gunmen took her friend She won – In the early days of July 2026, Nikki Goldstein and Rabbi Eli Schlanger shared a moment of calm amid the chaos of their lives. Goldstein, a woman who described herself as “blonde, blue-eyed, and White-passing,” had long wrestled with feelings of shame about her Jewish identity. Schlanger, a devout orthodox rabbi with glasses and a beard, was known for his unwavering commitment to tradition, always donning a black hat and jacket. Their Zoom conversation, set against the backdrop of a rainy Sydney summer, was a rare blend of humor and introspection. Goldstein teased Schlanger about being the only “secular Jew” he knew, but he gently refuted her, saying, “There’s no such thing as a secular Jew. We’re just Jews.”

The Shooting at Bondi Beach

Two weeks later, the tranquility of their discussions was shattered. Schlanger was at Bondi Beach, leading a Hanukkah celebration, when the attack unfolded. The evening had been lively—children laughed while munching jelly-filled doughnuts, and families gathered to watch the menorah lighting, a symbolic act of light triumphing over darkness. But at 7 p.m., Goldstein’s phone buzzed with alarming messages. “Gunshots at Bondi Beach. Lots of sirens and choppers on the way,” her friend texted. Her stomach dropped. The rabbi, who had been her trusted guide in spiritual matters, was now in danger.

“Oh God, could be MY rabbi,” she typed, her voice trembling with fear. The message was a quiet acknowledgment of the growing threat, a reality that would soon become even more stark.

As details poured in, Goldstein’s despair deepened. She collapsed into her husband’s arms, then wailed like a wounded animal. The attack, carried out by two ISIS supporters, left Schlanger and 14 others dead. It was a brutal reminder that antisemitism, once considered a relic of history, had found a new foothold in modern times.

The Rise of Antisemitism in America

Goldstein’s personal tragedy resonates far beyond Australia. In the U.S., antisemitism has surged to alarming levels, with the Anti-Defamation League (ADL) reporting that assaults against Jewish individuals reached a 46-year high last year. The same hatred that claimed Schlanger in Sydney now lingers in American streets, manifesting in targeted attacks, online harassment, and a pervasive sense of unease. Armed guards now routinely patrol synagogues, community centers, and schools, a precaution born from fear rather than mere vigilance.

Many Jewish Americans have begun to hide their Star of David necklaces, along with other symbols of their faith, out of concern for their safety. According to recent surveys, 73% of Jews report encountering antisemitism online, often in the form of conspiracy theories or aggressive debates about Israel. “This is the new normal for Jews in America right now,” said Florida Representative Jared Moskowitz, a Jewish lawmaker from both major parties, during a televised interview. “Jews are starting to hide in this country, and that is the telltale sign that we are on a very scary trajectory.”

The resurgence of antisemitism is tied to the ongoing conflict in the Middle East, particularly the war in Gaza. After Hamas launched a devastating attack on Israel on October 7, 2023, killing over 1,200 people, the response from Israel included military action that resulted in at least 72,000 Palestinian deaths. This war has intensified global antisemitism, with incidents spiking not only in the U.S. and Australia but also across Europe. Yet, the roots of this hatred stretch far deeper than the current crisis.

A Historical Perspective on Jewish Persecution

Antisemitism is not a new phenomenon. For centuries, it has been a persistent force, shaping the lives of Jewish communities worldwide. In the Middle Ages, Jews were often accused of “Christ killers” and driven from European countries. The 19th century saw violent pogroms sweep through Russia, leaving countless families displaced and others dead. During the Jim Crow era in America, Leo Frank—a Jewish man—was lynched in a notorious case that highlighted the deep-seated prejudice of the time.

Nazi Germany’s Holocaust, which claimed six million Jewish lives, remains one of the most harrowing chapters in the history of antisemitism. Yet, even in the face of such devastation, the hatred has not faded. Instead, it has evolved, adapting to new contexts and fueling modern conflicts. Today, it lingers in debates about Israel, conspiracy theories, and the broader cultural narrative that frames Jewish identity as a point of contention.

From Trauma to Transformation

Goldstein and Schlanger’s story, however, offers a different angle. Their partnership, forged in the hospital ICU after Goldstein was gravely ill, became a lifeline. She had fallen into a coma following pneumonia that overwhelmed her lungs, and doctors warned her husband and daughter to prepare for the worst. When she awoke, she called it a miracle. Schlanger, who had blown a shofar to awaken her, became more than a spiritual advisor—he became a symbol of hope and resilience.

Together, they co-authored a book titled “Conversations with My Rabbi: Timeless Teachings for a Fractured World.” The work captures their dialogues, which evolved from casual chats into profound reflections on faith, identity, and the human condition. Goldstein’s journey from doubt to conviction, and Schlanger’s steadfast belief in Judaism’s enduring values, are central to the narrative. The book serves as both a personal account and a call to action, urging readers to look beyond the surface of Jewish stereotypes and embrace the wisdom of their tradition.

Goldstein’s perspective is particularly compelling. As a woman who once felt ashamed of her Jewish heritage, she now sees its strength in the face of adversity. “Why do Jewish people evoke so much hatred?” she asks in the book, a question that resonates with many in the diaspora. Her answer lies in the teachings of Judaism, which emphasize compassion, justice, and community. “There is a way for a non-Jew to see past the swirling conspiracy theories and debates about Israel,” she writes, “and actually learn something meaningful from Judaism that could improve their lives.”

Slanger’s response to the shooting at Bondi Beach underscores the urgency of this message. “I love my wife and my children,” he had once said, “and I am doing exactly what I am meant to be doing.” That statement, made during their earlier conversation, now takes on added significance. His death was not just a loss for his family but a stark reminder that the same forces that once targeted Jews in history are still at work today. Goldstein’s survival, a miracle she credits to Schlanger’s shofar, becomes a testament to the power of faith and connection in the face of hatred.

As the world grapples with rising antisemitism, Goldstein and Schlanger’s story serves as a beacon. Their book, published in the wake of the Bondi Beach tragedy, aims to bridge divides and offer a deeper understanding of Jewish life. It is a message of hope, not just for Jews, but for all who seek to learn from the resilience and teachings of a people whose history is intertwined with the struggles of humanity. In a fractured world, their conversations remind us that the essence of Judaism is not just in rituals, but in the courage to face darkness and find light within.