On a crisp December evening in Wellington, Florida, more than 100 members of Temple Beth Torah and their neighbors gathered under the open sky. The occasion was bittersweet: the fourth night of Chanukah, the Festival of Lights, marked by a ceremony that blended remembrance, healing, and hope. Yet, this year’s celebration was shadowed by grief, as the community came together to honor the victims of the Bondi Beach tragedy in Sydney, Australia—a mass shooting that had shaken Jewish communities around the world just days earlier.
The ceremony, held on Wednesday, December 17, 2025, was more than a ritual. It was a statement of solidarity, a moment to reflect on shared pain and resilience. As the Chanukah menorah—known as the hannukkiyah—was lit for the fourth night, each flame seemed to push back the darkness, both literal and metaphorical. Rabbi Andrew Rosenkranz addressed the crowd, his voice steady but filled with emotion. “When acts of violence try to spread fear and darkness, our response must be to remember, to stand together, and to bring more light into the world. Each candle we light tonight is a commitment to healing, hope and our shared humanity,” he said, as reported by Temple Beth Torah.
The tragedy in Sydney had struck a particularly raw nerve. Just three days before, on December 14, Hanukkah celebrants at Bondi Beach were targeted in a mass shooting that left the global Jewish community reeling. According to The Hernando Sun, the attack came only 26 months after the October 7, 2023, massacre at an Israeli music festival—a grim reminder of the persistent threats facing Jewish people worldwide. The Sydney attack also coincided with Simchat Torah, a holiday that celebrates the completion of the annual cycle of Torah readings, further deepening the sense of loss and disruption.
For many, the question was not just “Why?” or “How could this happen?” but “How do we keep this from happening again?” As Ron Becker, spiritual leader of Congregation Beth Tefillah and the Jewish Community Center of West Pasco, reflected, “We are still trying to come to grips with this latest tragedy, which comes at a time when we should be celebrating freedom and courage. We can’t control what occurs in other parts of the world, but here in our region of Florida, through our interfaith efforts, we can foster understanding and supporting people of all faiths, cultures, and backgrounds during these perilous times. We pray that all who are suffering will be comforted by their faith and that we can move forward in peace and love.”
The sense of solidarity and defiance was echoed in Spring Hill, Florida, where members of Temple Beth David gathered on Friday evening, December 19, for a public Menorah lighting ceremony followed by their regular Sabbath service. The event, held in the wake of the Sydney tragedy, was marked by heightened security—a sheriff’s deputy was on duty, a sobering sign of the times. One congregant confided, “I’m afraid to put my menorah in the window. I walk around the neighborhood and nobody has their menorahs in their windows.” Another noted the financial strain of paying for security, money that might otherwise have gone to other causes.
Yet, despite the palpable feelings of sadness and fear, there was also resilience. Eileen Beaman described the attack as “another atrocity in our struggle to survive.” Cookie Goodman expressed disbelief, saying, “It’s unbelievable that people have these thoughts of attacking us. What did we do to them?” For Marilyn Rosenberg, the Bondi Beach massacre was “yet another reminder of the rise in anti-Semitic acts. We condemn the hateful actions and unnecessary loss of life and pray for a more peaceful world.”
Inside the synagogue, Rabbi Jen Goldman brought a different kind of light. With exuberance and warmth, she greeted the congregation: “Happy Hanukkah! Shabbat Shalom! Gut Shabbos! Happy Festival of Lights! It’s so wonderful to be together as one community, as one people, celebrating the joy of Hanukkah. This is a reminder that even in dark times, we have the beautiful light—the light that represents hope, joy, and togetherness.” As she twisted the middle bulb of an electric menorah, representing the shamash, and then each of the other six bulbs for the sixth night of Hanukkah, the symbolism was clear: the community would not let fear or hatred extinguish their spirit.
The service continued with the lighting of a traditional menorah with real candles, and the congregation joined in singing hymns in Hebrew, Yiddish, and English. Some songs were joyful, others more solemn. Prayers were offered, including one for healing—both physical and spiritual—for members of the congregation and their loved ones. In her sermon, Rabbi Jen spoke of the importance of maintaining joy and peace in one’s heart, a message echoed throughout religious texts. She referenced the words of Isaiah 2:4: “And they shall beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks: Nation shall not take up sword against nation; They shall never again know war.”
After the service, congregants gathered for a festive meal of latkes and pastries, a tradition rooted in the Hanukkah story of the oil that lasted eight days. Rabbi Jen quipped, “The oil lasted for eight days, which gives us an excuse/reason to eat donuts and latkes fried in oil.” The laughter and camaraderie were a testament to the community’s enduring strength.
Both ceremonies—at Temple Beth Torah and Temple Beth David—highlighted the duality of the Jewish experience: mourning and celebration, fear and hope, vulnerability and resilience. The lighting of the menorah, whether electric or with real candles, became more than a ritual; it was an act of resistance, a declaration that the community would not be cowed by hatred or violence.
Temple Beth Torah expressed deep gratitude to all who attended their ceremony, emphasizing that shared remembrance and the lighting of Chanukah candles are sources of comfort, healing, and renewed hope. The message from both Wellington and Spring Hill was clear: in the face of tragedy, the Jewish community would continue to stand together, to remember, and to bring light into the world.
As the Festival of Lights drew to a close, the glow of the menorah lingered—a beacon of hope and a reminder that, even in the darkest times, the commitment to healing, peace, and shared humanity endures.
