Why do they hate us? Why do I have to hide my uniform?
In the long and unresolved history of belonging and exclusion, Australia's royal commission into antisemitism is hearing testimony that Jewish citizens have been quietly pushed to the margins of their own workplaces, hospitals, and professional communities — not through law, but through the accumulated weight of small erasures. Since October 7, 2023, what was latent has become visible: nurses told to remove hostage photographs, employees asked to shed their names, and children asking why they must hide who they are. The commission now holds the question that societies periodically must answer — whether institutions will acknowledge what they have permitted, and whether acknowledgment will be enough.
- Jewish Australians are describing a before and after — October 7, 2023 as the moment institutions that once felt neutral revealed themselves as hostile or indifferent.
- A nurse was verbally abused in hospital corridors, called 'Zionist scum,' and told to remove hostage photographs, while her Hanukkah message was blocked over Gaza 'sensitivities.'
- A corporate employee was asked by her own CEO to use a 'less obviously Jewish' name with clients — a request so normalised within the company that her email and directory entries were already being altered.
- Mental health professionals report a surge in Jewish patients seeking help, including a nine-year-old asking why she must hide her school uniform and why no one stands up for her.
- A community organiser who once built social cohesion networks has spent eighteen months running 103 crisis workshops instead, unable to address any other issue while hate and harassment dominate.
- The royal commission now carries the weight of determining whether these patterns represent institutional failure — and whether its findings will produce change or simply document harm.
Australia's royal commission into antisemitism heard this week from Jewish workers, professionals, and community leaders who described a world that shifted beneath them after October 7, 2023 — one in which institutions they had trusted became places of exclusion, silence, or open hostility.
A nurse manager in a New South Wales health district, identified only as AAV, told the commission that her workplace is no longer safe for Jewish staff. After placing photographs of Hamas hostages on her office wall and wearing a yellow ribbon in their memory, she was instructed by management to remove them. A Hanukkah greeting she submitted through hospital channels in December 2025 was rejected due to sensitivities around the Gaza conflict. In the corridors, colleagues called her 'Zionist scum' and told her she should be ashamed to belong to 'a group of child killers.' She told the commission that if her employer has tolerated this, the health system is unsafe for anyone from a marginalised background.
In the corporate world, an employee identified as ABM described being asked by her chief executive to adopt a name that was 'less obviously Jewish' when dealing with external clients — the same international partner whose objections had already led the company to terminate an Israel-based colleague. The company's board had begun altering her email signature and directory listing before she had even raised a concern. ABM said she felt not shame at being Jewish, but shame that her identity had become a professional liability. She has since left.
A clinical psychologist named Sarah told the commission she is treating a growing number of Jewish Australians seeking help for harassment and exclusion from academic and professional spaces. Among her patients is a nine-year-old who asked: 'Why do they hate us? Why do I have to hide my uniform?' Sarah also described leaving a Facebook group of 2,500 psychologists after it became a space where Jewish clinicians were accused of siding with 'the oppressor' — a group that had been apolitical for a decade until October 2023.
Lynda Ben-Menashe of the NSW Jewish Board of Deputies told the commission that her organisation's entire focus has shifted. Work on social cohesion and cross-community leadership has been set aside. Since October 2023, she has run 103 workshops in community members' homes, reaching around 5,000 people navigating harassment and violence. Domestic violence, she noted, is among the issues that can no longer receive attention.
The testimony collectively describes a community whose relationship to its own institutions — hospitals, workplaces, universities, professional networks — has been fundamentally altered. Whether the commission's findings will produce systemic change, or simply provide a formal record of what was lost, remains the open question.
A royal commission into antisemitism in Australia has heard testimony this week that reveals a pattern of institutional discrimination against Jewish people across healthcare, corporate workplaces, and academic settings—one that has intensified sharply since October 7, 2023, and shows no sign of abating.
In a New South Wales health district, a nurse manager who identified herself only as AAV told the commission that her workplace has become unsafe for Jewish staff. She described how she placed photographs of hostages taken by Hamas on her office wall and wore a yellow ribbon in their memory in the weeks following the October 2023 attack. Her manager instructed her to remove them, citing concern that they might upset or offend colleagues. More recently, in December 2025, her request to share a Hanukkah greeting through the hospital's media channels was rejected due to sensitivities around the Gaza conflict. AAV recounted being subjected to verbal abuse in corridors—colleagues telling her she should be ashamed to belong to "a group of child killers," calling her "Zionist scum," and attempting to justify Hamas's actions to her face. The cumulative effect, she said, left her feeling targeted and powerless. She concluded that if her employer has tolerated this behavior, the health system is unsafe not only for Jewish people but potentially for anyone from a marginalized background.
The discrimination extends into the corporate world with equal force. An employee at an Australian-owned global company, speaking under the pseudonym ABM, described being asked by her chief executive to adopt a name that was "less obviously Jewish" when interacting with external clients. The company had previously terminated an Israel-based employee at the request of an international business partner who did not want to work with anyone from the Israeli division. When ABM began her role in August 2025, the executive told her that her name might "add some complexity" for that same stakeholder and suggested she use a different name in external meetings. The company's board had already set wheels in motion to alter her email signature and her name in internal directories. ABM said she felt shock and shame—not shame at being Jewish, but shame that her identity had become a liability. She has since left the position.
The psychological toll on the broader Jewish community is becoming visible through mental health professionals. A clinical psychologist named Sarah, who declined to give her full name, told the commission that she is seeing "so many" Jewish Australian patients seeking help for harassment and exclusion from professional and academic spaces. She described hearing from a nine-year-old patient who asked her: "Why do they hate us? Why do I have to hide my uniform?" When the child pressed further—"Why doesn't anybody stand up for us?"—Sarah had no adequate answer. She also described a Facebook group of approximately 2,500 clinical psychologists that had remained largely apolitical for a decade until October 7, 2023. After that date, members calling for Palestinian support began clashing with Jewish colleagues, accusing them of siding with "the oppressor." Sarah left the group, as did other clinicians, because it no longer felt safe.
Community organizers are now dedicating resources entirely to crisis management. Lynda Ben-Menashe, who works with the New South Wales Jewish Board of Deputies, told the commission that before October 7, 2023, the organization had never needed to mount broad community support campaigns. She had been focused on building social cohesion and fostering networks of Australian leaders across different backgrounds. That work has been shelved. Instead, since October 2023, she has organized 103 workshops in community members' homes, reaching approximately 5,000 people seeking guidance on navigating harassment and violence directed at them. Ben-Menashe said the organization is now unable to focus on other issues—domestic violence, for instance—because it must respond to the immediate crisis of hate speech and violence affecting the Jewish community.
The commission's work comes as Australian schools are moving to permanently remove books by author Craig Silvey from curricula following his admission to child exploitation charges. Education departments across multiple states have confirmed they have no plans to reinstate his texts. Separately, a publisher has announced it is reviewing ways to sever its relationship with Silvey entirely.
The testimony presented to the royal commission suggests that for Jewish Australians, the past eighteen months have fundamentally altered their relationship to institutions they once trusted—hospitals, workplaces, universities, and professional organizations. The question now is whether the commission's findings will prompt systemic change or whether these patterns will continue to deepen.
Notable Quotes
NSW Health, having tolerated this behaviour, means the healthcare system is not only not safe for Jewish people. It's potentially not safe for anyone that comes from some sort of diverse background.— AAV, NSW health nurse manager, to the antisemitism royal commission
I felt a sense of shame that I hadn't felt before, and not because I was ashamed of being Jewish, I'm a proud Jew, but because I was suddenly made aware that something so deeply personal to me could be negatively viewed by others.— ABM, corporate employee, describing being asked to change her name
We literally had never been in this position before. So we didn't know what to do. And I just made it up really as we went along.— Lynda Ben-Menashe, community organizer, on launching emergency support workshops
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
What strikes you most about these testimonies—is it the individual incidents, or the fact that they're happening across so many different sectors at once?
Both, really. Any one of these stories in isolation might be dismissed as a misunderstanding or an overzealous manager. But when you hear a nurse being told to hide her grief, a woman being asked to change her name, a nine-year-old asking why people hate her—and all of this happening in hospitals, boardrooms, schools, therapy offices—you realize this isn't scattered. It's systemic.
The nurse said her manager was concerned about "upsetting" other people. Do you think that's genuine concern, or is it something else?
I think it starts as genuine concern, maybe. But genuine concern for whom? The manager was worried about offending people who might be upset by images of hostages. That's a real calculation. But it means the Jewish employee's grief—her cousin was killed—becomes the problem to be managed rather than the harm itself.
The woman who was asked to change her name said she felt shame. That's a specific emotional response. What do you think she was ashamed of?
She was explicit about it: she wasn't ashamed of being Jewish. She was ashamed that her identity had become a liability. That's different. It's the shame of being made aware that something central to who you are is being treated as a business problem to solve.
The psychologist mentioned a Facebook group of 2,500 clinicians that fractured after October 7. Why would that particular space matter so much?
Because it was supposed to be safe. These are mental health professionals—people trained to hold space for difficult conversations. If that space becomes hostile, where do you go? And if you leave, you're isolated from your peers. That's a particular kind of loss.
Ben-Menashe said they've never had to do this work before. What does that tell us about what's changed?
It tells us that whatever existed before October 7—whether it was tolerance, integration, or just invisibility—has broken. Now the community is in survival mode. They're not building networks anymore. They're managing crisis. And that's a massive shift in what it means to be Jewish in Australia right now.