Parents are paying to keep their children safe at an Australian school
In the chambers of a Royal Commission, Australia is being asked to reckon with a question that has haunted civilizations before it: whether a society can remain a home for all its people when hatred is allowed to take root in plain sight. Jewish families, educators, and community leaders testified this week that the frequency and ferocity of antisemitic attacks have fundamentally altered daily life — children no longer play in parks, schools have become fortresses, and some families are quietly planning their departures. The hearings arrive at a moment when the country is simultaneously navigating fuel costs, geopolitical tremors, and a surge in electric vehicles, a reminder that a nation's crises rarely arrive one at a time.
- A Sydney Jewish school's gates were spray-painted with slurs the day before students returned, and the school has since cancelled excursions and restricted children's outdoor movement to manage the threat.
- Community leaders testify they receive consistent death threats and have their families' photographs posted online, with one prominent advocate drawing direct comparisons to the antisemitic Soviet Union his family once fled.
- Jewish families are calling community leaders to ask a single, haunting question: when is it time to leave Australia — a country once considered among the safest in the world for Jewish people.
- At least one family has already answered that question, announcing their move to Israel and telling the commission they no longer feel safe or welcome after years of escalating hostility.
- The Royal Commission's first public hearings signal a governmental attempt to name and address the pattern, even as the broader economic backdrop — rising fuel costs, global instability, and an EV surge — underscores how many pressures Australians are navigating at once.
On the first day of public hearings before Australia's Royal Commission on Antisemitism and Social Cohesion, the country was confronted with testimony that revealed how deeply Jewish institutions and families have been forced to change their lives. Stefanie Schwartz, president of Mount Sinai College's board, described arriving at her Sydney school in January 2025 to find antisemitic slurs spray-painted across the gates — the day before students returned. The 400-student school has since cancelled excursions, restricted lunchtime outdoor access, and become a place where parents pay tuition partly for the safety it offers. Schwartz told the commission that the frequency and intensity of such attacks had fundamentally shifted in recent years, and that the youngest were bearing the cost most visibly — including a non-Jewish child who photographed the slurs and asked his parents what they meant.
Alex Ryvchin, co-chair of the Executive Council of Australian Jewry, testified that Australia now resembled the antisemitic Soviet Union his family had fled when he was a child. He faces death threats, threats against his children, and strangers posting his family's photographs online. Being called a slur in a Sydney street, he said, stopped him cold. Most chillingly, he described Jewish families calling him to ask when they should leave the country — a question he said he understood completely, even as he vowed to remain and fight for Australia's future.
A witness identified only as AAM told the commission her family had already made their decision, planning to relocate to Israel by year's end. She invoked the 2024 Bondi mass shooting as a turning point. 'We never expected Jews to be hunted on Bondi Beach,' she said. 'We don't feel safe here. We don't feel welcome. For my family, we've had enough.'
The hearings unfolded alongside separate national pressures: Treasurer Jim Chalmers confirmed the government would not extend a fuel tax cut beyond June, while electric vehicle sales surged 66 percent year-to-date in New South Wales, driven by anxiety over fuel costs and global instability. The juxtaposition was quietly telling — a country accelerating toward one kind of future while struggling to hold together the human fabric of its present.
On the first day of public hearings, Australia's Royal Commission on Antisemitism and Social Cohesion heard testimony that laid bare how thoroughly the country's Jewish institutions have been forced to fortify themselves against a rising tide of hate. Stefanie Schwartz, president of Mount Sinai College's board, described walking past her school's gates in January 2025 and seeing antisemitic slogans spray-painted across them—slurs like "Jew dogs" and "Jew terrorists"—appearing the day before students returned for the academic year. The 400-student independent Jewish day school in Sydney has since become a fortress of sorts. Excursions have been cancelled. Children no longer visit a nearby park at lunchtime. Parents now pay tuition at an Australian school partly to keep their children safe.
When Schwartz spoke of seeing a non-Jewish student photographing those words and later asking his parents what they meant, her voice carried the weight of a particular kind of loss. That child, growing up in Sydney, was learning that such language was normal enough to appear on a school's walls. She told the commission that the frequency, visibility, and intensity of antisemitic attacks had fundamentally shifted in recent years, and that this change was being felt most acutely by the youngest and most vulnerable—the children themselves. Some Jewish families, she said, had chosen not to enroll their children at Mount Sinai precisely because they deemed it too risky.
Alex Ryvchin, co-chair of the Executive Council of Australian Jewry, offered testimony that moved beyond institutional concerns into the realm of personal threat and historical memory. He told the commission that Australia now resembled the antisemitic Soviet Union his family had fled when he was a child. The rampant abuse, the violence, the denigration—he had seen it all before, in another country, another era. As a prominent advocate for the Jewish community, Ryvchin faces consistent death threats, threats against his children, and individuals who post his family's photographs online. Being called a "Jewish dog" in the street in Sydney, he said, stopped him in his tracks.
Yet what may have struck the commission most forcefully was Ryvchin's account of Jewish families calling him with a specific, chilling question: when should they leave? He told them he would call them when the time came. He said he was not going anywhere himself—he would go down with the ship if necessary, because he loves this country and will continue to fight for its future. But he also said he completely understands those thinking about exit strategies and plan B's. History, he noted, has shown how quickly things can change.
Earlier in the day, a witness identified only as AAM testified that she and her family had decided to move to Israel at year's end. She said Australia had once been one of the safest places in the world for Jews, but that was no longer true. "We never expected Jews to be hunted on Bondi Beach," she said. The reference was to a mass shooting at Bondi in 2024 that killed six people and wounded others. For AAM's family, the decision to leave was final. "We don't feel safe here. We don't feel welcome," she told the commission. "For my family, we've had enough. It is not OK."
The testimony unfolded against a backdrop of broader economic and geopolitical uncertainty. Treasurer Jim Chalmers announced that next week's budget would not extend a 26-cent fuel tax cut beyond June, though he said the government had prepared contingencies to help households and the economy weather potential escalation of the Middle East conflict, which has disrupted global oil supplies. Meanwhile, electric vehicle sales in Australia surged dramatically—Tesla and Polestar deliveries more than doubled in April compared to the same month the previous year, with 1,458 vehicles sold. New South Wales led the national growth, with year-to-date EV sales up 66 percent. The shift reflected Australians' anxiety about fuel costs and global instability, even as the country grappled with a different kind of crisis: the question of whether its Jewish citizens could still call it home.
Notable Quotes
There's always been a need for security amongst Jewish Australians, but the frequency, visibility, and intensity of these antisemitic attacks has fundamentally changed in the last few years.— Stefanie Schwartz, president of Mount Sinai College board
We never expected Jews to be hunted on Bondi Beach. My family and I no longer want to live in Australia.— Witness AAM, testifying to the Royal Commission
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
When Schwartz talks about children asking their parents what "Jew dogs" means, what's really at stake in that moment?
It's the normalization of hatred. That non-Jewish child is learning that antisemitic language is ordinary enough to appear on public walls. He's learning it's not shocking. That's the infrastructure of a society where prejudice becomes ambient.
And the school's response—cancelling excursions, keeping kids off the playground—is that security or is it something else?
It's both. Yes, it's literal security. But it's also a kind of surrender. The school is saying: we cannot guarantee your child's safety in the wider community. So we shrink the world they're allowed to move through.
Ryvchin says he's not leaving, but he's also telling families when to go. How does that work?
He's holding two truths at once. He believes in fighting for Australia's future. But he's also a realist about history. He's seen what happens when things tip. So he's both anchor and escape route.
The witness AAM says Jews are being "hunted" on Bondi Beach. Is that hyperbole or is that how it feels?
For her, it's not hyperbole. It's the lived experience of a place that once felt safe becoming a place where you calculate risk. The Bondi shooting crystallized something that was already building.
Why does the EV surge matter in this story?
It's a counterpoint. While one part of Australia is grappling with whether it can remain home for its Jewish citizens, another part is making practical decisions about fuel and climate and the future. Both are real. Both are happening at once.