Images of Arsen Ostrovsky, bloodied after the attack, jolted people waking up around the world to mark Hanukkah, the Jewish festival of lights. Ostrovsky had recently moved back to Australia from Israel to help combat antisemitism. The irony is brutal: He became a victim of the very hatred he returned to confront. The question is unavoidable: Who will stop it?
A father and son ran through crowds on Bondi Beach, spraying bullets at young and old, turning what should have been a peaceful Hanukkah celebration into a scene of horror.
If investigators confirm the attackers’ ideological motivations and ties to the Islamic State, it will fit a familiar pattern of extremist violence. What is already clear, though, is that the reactions from the Muslim world and the political left in the days afterward matter as much as the investigation itself.
Qatar, which presents itself as a regional mediator, condemned the brutal attack—but failed to say plainly that Jews were under assault. Israel’s neighbor, Egypt, with which Israel has just signed a major gas deal, followed with similar language.
Australia did see condemnations from Muslim institutions, but most avoided naming either the target or the motive. The Australian National Imams Council and the Council of Imams NSW “unequivocally condemn[ed] the horrific shootings in Bondi,” saying that “acts of violence and crimes have no place in our society” and urging Australians to “stand together in unity, compassion, and solidarity.” The language was earnest but incomplete: It never mentioned Jews, Hanukkah, or antisemitism. The same pattern appeared elsewhere. The Alice Springs Islamic Mosque called the shooting “completely against Islamic teachings” and stressed that Islam “forbids the killing of innocent people,” condemning violence in general terms while sidestepping the antisemitic nature of the attack.
These omissions matter. When condemnations erase the Jewish identity of the victims and the antisemitic nature of the crime, they drain the attack of its meaning—and make it easier for the next one to happen. Silence becomes permission, signaling impunity to Muslim extremists and supremacists who read the moment as an open season on Jews.
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The October 7 massacre opened the floodgates to a wave of antisemitism that has spread across borders—online, in the streets, and in public life. Two years later, as many hoped the war between Israel and Gaza was finally winding down, the hatred has kept rising.
Jews have survived pogroms, fascism, racism, and antisemitism—and still must defend the right to live openly. From Amsterdam to Italy, from Canada to Chile, incidents have mounted. The groundwork is often laid by Islamic extremists who distort faith into an ideology of violence.
In parts of the Muslim world, antisemitic narratives have been amplified by currents of hard-line ideology—from Wahhabi-influenced preaching to Muslim Brotherhood rhetoric, and by Islamic State-style propaganda.
Imagine if the crown prince of Saudi Arabia, who is transforming his kingdom and trying to draw Western investment and travelers, said clearly that it is time to stop antisemitism against Jews. Imagine if Qatar stopped trying to play instigator and grand mediator at the same time, and invested in education that includes Jewish history rather than erasing it.
At Bondi Beach, Ahmed al Ahmed, a bystander who intervened to stop the attackers from killing more innocent people, was hailed as a hero. The victims were Jews; the rescuer was Muslim. That contrast carries a message of hope: Solidarity is possible, and courage can cross religious lines.
A New York imam recently visited Israel to show Mayor-elect Mamdani he stands with the Jewish state. There are interfaith forums where genuine learning happens and values are exchanged. Those circles need real tools, resources, and support to educate on a larger scale.
Religious leaders who preach hate should be held accountable, and governments must enforce laws that curb incitement and protect communities.
Another example is the growth of Judeo-Christian alliances globally over the last two decades. Christians have defended Jews throughout history, from the Spanish Inquisition to the Holocaust. Today, Christian groups are forming by the day to speak out in churches, in the media, and on campuses in defense of Jews’ right to live freely and without fear.
There are brave individuals in the Muslim world, but they remain too few, and many face social and political costs that limit their impact. These voices are vital, but they cannot be expected to carry the burden alone.
If you follow Arab newspapers, it is rare to read a columnist who calls out antisemitism directly. Criticism of Israel is not inherently antisemitic, but anti-Zionism can slide into antisemitic tropes when it denies Jewish legitimacy or treats Jews collectively as guilty.
When major networks like Al Jazeera can no longer treat Jewish safety and Jewish rights as optional, public discourse will improve—and so will the prospects for coexistence.
We will all soon ring in 2026, an era of rapid technological change, for good and for ill. This is the moment for leaders in the Arab and Muslim worlds to stop the insanity: Stop excusing antisemitism, stop laundering it through euphemisms, and start confronting it—clearly, publicly, and consistently.