In light of the Sunday attack in Australia on the Jewish community, I wanted to read a letter sent by my friend Scott Reckler to his family--he is Jewish--in response to the Jewish community's pain and misery that they were feeling,…
In light of the Sunday attack in Australia on the Jewish community, I wanted to read a letter sent by my friend Scott Reckler to his family--he is Jewish--in response to the Jewish community's pain and misery that they were feeling, experiencing. This is a real-time letter that he sent to his family on Sunday. I thought it would be appropriate for us to hear these powerful words written to Scott's family:
So each year, we light our own menorahs to remember that
light can triumph over darkness, that courage and faith can
outlast oppression, and that the smallest spark can ignite
hope for generations.
Tonight is the first night of Hanukkah. It arrives during a
moment that feels heavy and unsettling--a time when
antisemitism is surging in ways I have never experienced in
my lifetime.
Scott is 58 years old.
I had hoped that the recent movement toward peace in the
Middle East and a reduction in protests might cool the
temperature. Instead, it feels as though the ancient and ugly
beast of antisemitism has been unleashed again, and it will
not be easily forced back into the bottle.
Earlier today--
He is talking on Sunday, of course--
that reality became heartbreakingly clear. Jews gathered at
Bondi Beach in Australia to celebrate what would have been
the first public Hanukkah menorah lighting of 2025 anywhere
in the world--a moment meant to symbolize light, unity, and
hope.
Instead, it became a scene of unimaginable horror. Two
armed men opened fire on the gathering. At least eleven
people were killed simply for being Jewish. Dozens more were
wounded, including police officers. One attacker was killed,
the other apprehended, but none of that changes the
devastation left behind. The pain is overwhelming. The shock,
the sadness, the anger--all of it sits heavily.
But history has taught us something essential: our response
matters just as much as our grief. The Jewish answer to
darkness has never been retreat. It has always been light.
Our response does not need to be loud or performative. It
needs to be intentional, dignified, and deeply rooted in who
we are.
Let us each take on an extra mitzvah in memory of our holy
brothers and sisters who were murdered simply because they
were Jewish. A small act of goodness. A moment of kindness.
An affirmation of life.
If I may suggest one simple but powerful act: tonight, when
we gather with family and friends, let us be especially
mindful as we light the Chanukah menorah. The single candle
we light on the first night represents more than tradition.
It represents oneness. It represents resilience. It
represents the unbroken chain of a people who refuse to let
darkness define them. That small flame projects a message--
quietly but unmistakably--that we are still here, that we are
proud of who we are, and that we will continue,
unapologetically, to share light with the world. Let us be
who we are in the most beautiful way: proud Jews, joyful
Jews, strong Jews--committed to goodness, justice, and life.
Light does not diminish when it is shared. Light only grows.
This Hanukkah season, let those of us--my words, not his--who are Christians light a candle for our Jewish communities, for the strength of our Jewish communities, for the protection of our Jewish communities, and for God's favor to shine on our Jewish communities.
Finally, remembering the words of the Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.:
Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that.
Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.
May 2026 be the year that people of good intent stand strong with those who should not have to stand by themselves. May we as a nation, we as a people, and specifically we as Christians stand not just with the Jewish community, but, when possible and necessary, may we stand in front of the Jewish community.
I yield the floor.